Today's Soundtrack
brought to you by The Weather

Rainy Days and Mondays--The Carpentars
When The Sun Comes Out--Barbra Streisand
Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone--Bill Withers
Come Rain or Come Shine--Harold Arlen
I Can't Stand the Rain--Tina Turner
It's Raining Men--The Weather Girls
Waterloo*--ABBA

*okay, that one is a bit of a stretch but my office is right next door to the Winter Garden Theater, home of Mamma Mia...ABBA is always on my brain

Lunch by the Pound
New York is a deli city. I work in an office near Times Square where there are delis on every corner hawking eighteen dollar disposable cameras and five dollar brownies. They are nestled in between fast food joints and standby chain restaurants and small pizzerias doing big business. My lunch options are varied, but not always exciting. Enter the deli lunch bar.

If there is one thing any deli worth it's soup-sandwich combo has to offer is the long bin of warmed up dishes and iced down salads being offered to you, the hungry consumer, by the pound. The concept is both intimidating and exciting. It's like a big buffet, only the buffet is going to cost you a fixed rate depending on just how much food you actually eat. Now, as a well-fed Southern woman, I love a good buffet just as much as the next cowgirl. I like knowing that I can load my plate up with things that don't match at all, like potato salad and cheese sticks and pizza rolls and sweet and sour pork and then come back for seconds, even thirds of ill-matched choices. That is the beauty of the buffet after all, it is the perfect choice for Americans who want everything all at once. The frightening part is that, unlike a good sit-down buffet at the Sirloin Stockade where your empty plates are removed as quickly as you re-fill new ones, the deli to-go buffet must be weighed...on a scale...in front of God and everybody, including the skinny woman who works behind the counter. As much as I like food, I don't like knowing how much I am about to consume in one sitting. This is what keeps me from overindulging at the deli buffet. As I am loading up my plastic carton I am ever so cautious about how much weight I am holding in my hand. I scoop up pasta salad slowly in little amounts, only a couple of bowties at a time, and circle the place a few times to make sure that I am not taking precious ounces for granted. Because I am willing to share with the internet, today's lunch weighed in at .77 lbs and consisted of pesto pasta salad, a single chicken wing, a garlic breadstick and some beets. And I would be lying if I didn't tell you, had that buffet been a sit-down affair at $9.99 per person, my lunch would have weighed a significatly larger amount, then again, so would I.

Which leads me to this conclusion, perhaps the deli to-go pay-by-the-pound lunch is the best thing that ever happened to a desk-sentenced office gal who is a sucker for a good buffet.

Public Displays of Exhaustion
New Yorkers, as a general population, are an exhausted people. We walk from our homes to the subway then to work and to grocery stores with bags full of milk and eggs, to dinner dates and Broadway shows and up stairs and through parks. Any moments of motionlessness we can gather often times become moments for sleep. I have seen people in New York sleep on park benches and in movie theaters (a $10 nap, that's the type of dedication they've got!) Last week a man fell asleep at the table across from me in the Rockafeller concourse still holding his cup of Starbucks as the skaters twirled by. He was awoken by a polite tap on the table from the security guard. One day a woman was snoring so loudly next to me on the subway that the whole car was staring at her in disbelief (even the woman who was reading with her lips moving, like she could talk!)

Very recently I have become one of those people. I move around in a constant state of exhaustion fighting back every urge to curl up on a park bench or a subway seat just for a few moments of rejuvination. I don't know if it is the job or the school work or the horribly bad diet I've been shoveling into my body lately, or maybe it's just that I miss the sun. Whatever the cause may be, I too have become one of those exhausted New Yorkers who just moves through the motions every day waiting for a jolt of life to find it's way into my body.

So if you happen to pass by a heap of cocoa skin under a mass of black curls displaying her public exhaustion somewhere in one of the buroughs, please don't wake me, I am obviously in need of the rest.

I hate the fucking New York City transit system! After two and a half fucking hours I am finally home! I hate fucking MTA drivers whose whole fucking job, last time I checked, is to get me home or tell me that the fucking train is not going to run because the fucking power has gone out. But instead, the lame asses that are the MTA drivers choose to make me stand on the platform for forty-five fucking minutes until some lame driver finally decides to say "Hey, what are you guys waiting around for? Don't you know that the power is out on the WHOLE line and there are no trains running?" No, Mr. Smart ass, I didn't know that, because no one fucking told us! Just me and the hundreds of other people thought it would be cool to hang out under ground instead at home. And since the trains are broken, I officially hate fucking New York City cab drivers who, after forcing me to wander around and stop at some shady mini-mart ATM and pay a fucking fee to get cash for a ride home, refuse to take anyone back into Brooklyn because they fucking suck and are only going back to Manhattan and then, AND THEN, they pull away while a person is standing with the door open and fly down the street with the door blowing in the wind like they're in some fucking action movie! Which leads me to hating the fucking new York City bus system who tell you to go to the corner of 5th Avenue and Pacific street to wait only to find that the fucking bus stop is no longer an active stop! So you have to walk to some other shady stop in the middle of the night and wait another forty-five minutes for a bus that is swamped with tons of other Brooklynites who also hat the fucking New York City transit/cab/bus system! If it wasn't for the fact that I have some leftover Godiva truffles in my apartment that treated myself to yesterday, I am certain I would fucking hate life. As it is, however, I only hate anyone related in any way to the fucking New York City public transportation system who raised my monthly fair to almost eighty-dollars and then lets their trains break down twice in one week cutting off service for millions of people. FUCK!

Confession
Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I have broken one of your precious commandments. I watch Newlyweds. (No, that's not the broken commandment!) You see, the problem is, in watching that show I have begun to covet another woman's husband. I know it's wrong and I have tried to fight it. But alas, the Nick Lachey, he is too strong.

I don't know if it is the way that he balances the manly duties like mounting a flat screen TV until his KNUCKLES BLEED or the way that he insists on installing a whole new backyard of sod in a single day or how passionate he his about his little sports teams and how it evens out with the sensative lovey-dovey things he does like planning extravagant anniversary celebrations or romantic getaways and singing at his grandma's wedding...and those dimples and blue eyes. Even pre-teen girls are offering up their phone number to this guy! Plus, he is so patient, with certain people.

Oh Holy internet I am trusting you with my littel secret. I promise to do some hail Mary's before our next visit, but I don't promise that they will cure this burning lust inside that is way above 98*.

Shirt Talk

The message t-shirt craze has been out there for a while. And while I will admit that I am so over the "I Slept with Ashton" t-shirts or the teeny-bopper "Princess" or "Brat" t-shirts, I do like a shirt that speaks something about you. Perhaps it really isn't even possible, since these shirts are mass produced for anyone who cares, but I think that if you find a shirt that speaks about who you are as an individual and not as a marketing/fashion clone, then it can be kind of fun. I have a hot pink shirt that has the word BAADASSSS across the chest in black letters...and I love it! Granted I have to be in the proper mindset to wear it out on the town, when I do, it means something to me, makes me walk a little taller, toss my hair a little more. And then there is the Soul Sistah shirt I have, that one just keeps it real, tells you a little bit about where I am from.

And then there are these: Ones that might just have to end up in my closet...


Pretty self explanatory...at least I hope.


The best friend brought this one to my attention. You see, even though my bosom draws a bunch of attention, I don't so much like it...


And what gay man, I mean, completely heterosexual woman who happens to enjoy talented singers, wouldn't like this one...it's who I am after all, a Barbra freak.

Jesus on the "R" Train
On my way into work this morning I was sitting across from a trio of people, obviously tourists. Next to them was a man, obvisouly a New Yorker, listening to his head phones with his eyes shut singing along out loud. The tourists were chuckling and looking at each other. Us jaded train riders are used to crazies singing too loudly with their IPods and don't give it a second glance. The tourists, however, were trying desperately to figure out what he was singing. When they finally got it, they looked at eachother in agreement and smiled. When the man opened his eyes one of the tourists politely asked him if it was Michael W. Smith that he was listening to and he said yes. They connected. And started singing along together and talking about, well, The Lord. They were in New York on a mission trip (what New York transplants aren't on a mission really?) and they connected, the whole bunch of them, right there at 8:45 in the morning on the Manhattan bound "R" train. At the stop to change trains the man politely invited them to a service at his church in Manhattan and then led the group (there were a whole bunch of them you see) in a small group prayer on the platform before hopping over to the "N" train. People passed and looked at them funny while I stood by and looked at them with envy. Someday, I hope to have that kind of belief in people, in my faith, the kind of steadfast certainty that in a moment connects you to someone on a train, because of a song, because of a bond that is stronger than you both rooted in something you can't even see or touch but that can touch you.

This is my horoscope for today...(I hate it when those things are so accurate, it's kind of unnerving):

Goals and security needs are a focus in your life at this time, and there are challenges aplenty where such things are concerned. You are starting to get a little busier, so get some extra rest whenever you can. Make sure you keep yourself in peak condition. If you meet your deadlines you can expect to reap the rewards.

So that is basically my life at the moment...things are moving fast and I feel like my tired little body can hardly keep up. I've got all of these "goals" and "security" issues to deal with and it's making me a bit frantic. I'm just trying to breath and go "one day at a time" as I have been told to do. My plans for March are still the same, it's just going to take a little more focus and energy than what I was giving. Here's to fighting the good fight...

I've Got A New Attitude*
It's March..and time for a change. Somehow the semester has flown by and I am in no better a place than I was when I left New York for holiday break. I am still a student, and as such I have student-like responsibilities which I am neglecting. I turned in a paper on Tuesday, a week past its due date. I have made zero progress on my thesis which, technically, I should have already turned in a proposal for and had approved. (In my own defense, that part isn't easy when your advisor doesn't so much exist..maybe lucky number three will be the charm!) Instead, I have managed to waste a couple of months forgetting to re-check the library books gathering dust on my floor and paying the fines (at $15 already!) and just generally being a big loser-slacker-McDork. That isn't to say, however, that I don't do anything...need I remind you (and myself) that I work a full-time, forty hours a week job for bad pay. Or that I am completely caught up (save one chapter) on my class reading despite the late paper. Or that my volleyball skills are much in check these days. Or that I have many an obligation at the theater (Tonya Pinkins at Lincoln Center and Wicked for the 2nd time!) and that I have to attend these events because student tickets will only be in vogue for me for so long! No, I need to remind you (and myself) that I chose to be a NewYork graduate student and therefore must be a good one.

As such, I'm pulling out my new spring-time attitude and officially proclaiming March, Get Off Your Ass and Get Things Done Month! Anyone who wants to join me, membership is free for the whole month! And as a member you get the satisfaction of marking things off of your To-Do list for the whole month. My list is long and consists of a number of life-changing, different path kind of tasks, but now that I have more hours of sunlight, anything is possible. I think. So here it goes, today's the day...or maybe tomorrow, I haven't decided yet.

*Thanks, Patti for the inspriation