summer in the city

this morning was the first morning where the streets of new york city smelled like garbage. and i mean actual garbage.

summer is going to be awesome. . .

here come the judge. . .

remember the story about the crazy person we sublet from?

remember how we haven't gotten our security deposit and stuff back?

stay tuned. . .that's all i'm going to say. . .stay. tuned.

Oh, Say Can You Seeeeeeeeeee

i don't know about you people but i never really watched the west wing when it was on, and certainly never saw an episode after monsieur sorkin left. . .even i knew that would be a waste. i liked sports night and i liked the american president (although not as much as dadgo does. he cries at the end of that movie.)

i didn't even get excited when they cast alan alda as an evil republican and i love me some alan alda.

i have spent many years snickering at rogray and his friends as they quote long sections of the show (sorkin years only) and discuss plot details and intricacies. i have rolled my eyes at my friends who talk about how sexy bradley whitford is or how intense the donna/josh chemistry was. when people would talk about how martin sheen's josiah "jed" bartlet is the ideal president i would quietly laugh--what a silly thing to say.

but now. . .now is a different story. the day of new year's eve, le bff and i spent some time watching the first few episodes of season 1 (rogray has it on dvd) and i got into it so as i nursed my new year's day hangover i watched more of season 1. thanks to rogray's friend, the politician, we have been able to watch seasons 2 and 3 and when the politician's girlfriend finishes season 4 i will be able to watch the last of the sorkin years of the west wing. and i will stop there. because rogray has told me about some stupid things that happen after sorkin leaves.

like c.j. would ever, ever have slept with hoynes if sorkin had continued with the show? and of course donna and josh had to get together in the end because they always do that on shows but still -- i bet you sorkin wouldn't have done it and if he had it would have been cool.

because the west wing's first few season's when sorkin was probably writing them huddle under his desk while high on mushrooms and crack are brilliant. i'm not saying drugs are cool -- they're not -- seriously kids don't do drugs. unless of course, in doing drugs you become some insane genius and can produce work like the west wing. in which case, you should not only do drugs, but the studio should make sure you have a phone line dedicated to contacting your dealer for all the shrooms, marijuana, cocaine and whatever else floats your boat. and then the studio should pay for all those drugs. and then pay for your rehab so you can do the press circuit and go accept all of your awards without people thinking that you just got there via a taxi from skid row.

because you know what? all that drug addiction made for a really good show with really good characters. if jed bartlett was running for president i'd vote for him -- and i don't about all the fawning over bradley whitford (he seems to do the same thing in everything i've ever seen him in but it works in sorkin-land) but i am newly obsessed with these two. . .seriously. don't mess with c.j. she'll cut you.

so, in conclusion, i am sorry to those of you whom i may have offended by belittling your west wing love. i was wrong to do it. i hope you can forgive me. jed bartlett would.

p.s. i have watched a few episodes of studio 60 and i will never feel for it what i do for the wing. . .just sayin'.

Cause I won`t be those things in your magazine

i don't subscribe to nor do i buy vanity fair. occasionally i will peruse it (or vogue) if i feel my self-esteem is getting too high -- nothing like glossy photos of bony actresses and models trying to convince me i need to smell like a combination of ylang ylang, lavender, roses, and milk from the udder of a cow born in sweden but raised in japan being sold as a perfume named something like "murder" to remind me that i am an unattractive, smelly person undeserving of love and success. thank you conde nast!

all that is to explain why i just now found out about this glorious piece written by one christopher hitchens.

enjoy. . or get irate like i did.

since i'm more mature than him i just have one thing to say to mr. hitchens: assface.

You better have my cheese

the title for this post is from this trick daddy song. (warning: explicit lyrics -- momgo, dadgo -- i'm talking to you) it's got some pretty awesome rhymes. here's an example of a few:

J to the Dot
I make shit hot
I don't even really wanna hear what you got
Just sign me right when I come for my cheese

the point i am making is that trick daddy has somehow summed up how i feel about cheese and i am impressed that he feels so deeply about this cherished dairy product that he expresses his love for it in song. (i'm sure some of you would make the argument that he is, in fact, not talking about cheese in the most wonderful outcome of an udder but rather money. but i think trick daddy, deep down, truly loves cheese and this his ode. not benjamins. cheese.)

sweatpantsmom's daughter writes about her love of cheese brilliantly here. read it. seriously. it's hilarious. she is clearly a prodigy and will someday hold a position of great power and influence. or, at the very least, poet laureate of the united states.

i love cheese. almost all cheese. i'll admit there are some cheeses that lean to the pungent that i have a hard time with and there are some that i can only enjoy in small amounts (intense blues, sottocenere) but the majority of cheeses i love. in a deep, religious and profound way.

cow's milk? delicious.
goat's milk? would love to!
fresh mozzarella? yes.
brie? sure, why not.
manchego? i thought you'd never ask.
halloumi? let's spice things up.
drunken goat? i'm wasted just thinking about it.
parmesean? parma-yes!
spanish, french, italian, vermont, wisconsin, mexican? any and all.

if i go to some fancy pants restaurant i want dessert and the cheese plate. they bring it out with that quince paste, apricots, figs and so on. . .heaven.

so why am i writing about my unwavering commitment to cheese? for the last 2 years, for reasons i think you can decipher without me going into detail, rogray has been trying to convince me that i am lactose intolerant. oh god. whenever he says those words it's like he's calling my mother a whore while strangling our cat while telling me that bunnies are evil and barak obama is actually a neo-con. in a word, it makes me feel sick and depressed. so i look at him like he's just plunged a knife deep into my heart and is now twisting it around and as my eyes fill with tears i ask him, "why would you say something like that?"

not that i'm being dramatic.

i recently went through a period of cutting back on my cheese intake and the end result is that i fear rogray may be right. but i'll never tell him that. it's the kind of confession i'll only make in hushed tones to friends i can trust when i think rogray isn't in earshot. why am i so secretive about my fear? because it would be a break-up i don't think i could bear. what would life be like without my beloved cheese? and if i am lactose intolerant like he claims then why do i have no problem with yogurt?

and when he reads this and asks me about it i'll convince him that he must be crazy because i am NOT lactose intolerant and that i am worried about him and maybe he should see some kind of doctor if he is dreaming up stuff he saw on the internet.

smells like teen spirit

this week in temping i am working in the ceo's office of a national chain that sells soaps and candles to people for too much money -- the kind of place that when you walk into one of their stores you instantly get a headache from all of the overly scented melon, berry, mango, cocoa peppermint hand soap, body washes, lotions and oils that line the shelves. there's a 1 in 2 chance you can guess which place it is.

anyway, yesterday -- my first day here -- was crazy. i actually had work to do and most of it involved getting the ceo a variety of decaffeinated beverages and summoning car services (suv only!!). at one point i asked him if he was ready for his next meeting and he told me to ask someone else if they were ready and "don't bother me with this." awesome. this man in charge of convincing us that women should smell like an orchard just happens to be the kind of ceo who adores himself. so much so that he doesn't have a picture of his wife or children in his office (which i know for a fact exist) -- but rather a professionally done, wall size, photo montage of himself taken by some photographer of standing.

i don't mean pictures of him skiing, cooking, at work, at play -- i mean a photo shoot resulting in a montage of moments where he experiences a variety of emotions: joy, calm, thoughtfulness, disillusionment and finally confusion as he realizes he smells like he just emerged from a bath of vanilla, sage, lemon, strawberry scented salts and, contrary to what he tries to tell us, it does not smell good.

if i thought i could take a picture of it and post it without risking the .00001% chance of getting caught, sued, and banned from working in the pseudo-luxury sector again (oh the shame!), i would do it. let's just say he's not as attractive as he thinks. . .

Oh happy day!

We did it! -- now we have to see if we can keep doing it. . .and lets just keep our fingers crossed for the senate shall we?

i'm bummed that Lois Murphy from the 6th District didn't win since that's who we canvassed for but she lost by a mere 3001 votes (2%) and District 6 is mondo conservative so I have hope for them that the Democrats will win there some day.

jk thinks that all of the blog posts and phone calls to people telling them to go vote were "completely patronizing and tired." i think i would feel the same way (especially since you're often preaching to the choir in your own circle) except that rogray told me this story about something that happened when he was canvassing in PA yesterday: an older woman told him she wasn't going to vote because she was fed up with the whole system and didn't trust any of them. i agree with her feelings of anger and bitterness but i do not agree that not voting is the answer so i think reminding people to vote is a necessary evil.

but whatever. . .the point is now we've done it so please, please, please democrats: DO. NOT. FUCK. THIS. UP.

i'm shaygo and i approve this message.

Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies. . .

i may or may not be temping at a major company whose sole responsibility is to sell lingerie to women along with some really slutty clothes they sell only in the back of their catalogues (i mean, seriously, what's with those clothes?). this company may or may not have launched the careers of many super-successful super-models, two of which have their own tv shows. and i may or may not be violating some piece of paper i signed at my temp agency about confidentiality but what i'm about to say is, in no way, surprising, revelatory, or secretive (hint hint).

what i am about to do though is tell you about the un-photoshopped image that is to go in an upcoming catalogue that is meant to bludgeon you blind with boobs or make you wonder why your boyfriend refers to it as his free playboy subscription when it's clearly not a playboy -- it's not like they are objectifying women and paying said women millions of dollars to pose in suggestive poses in the nude or practically so -- oh, wait, yes they are. . .yes, it IS his free playboy subscription. i get it now.

anyway, in the photos i saw all the models wear skin-colored g-strings under all the underwear and they photoshop the visible parts out. one model clearly doesn't keep up with shaving her armpits. all the bras are too small for the models which is how their boobies are practically on their eye-level -- but since they are so small the straps and bands twist and dig into the skin creating the appearance of back fat. all of this along with various tattoos, skin blemishes and so on get photoshopped out -- and then muscle and bone definition get added in.

am i surprised? no. did i know this was happening? of course -- but there is something about knowing it and seeing it that makes it different. and after seeing these images i felt somewhat empowered because all of the times where there have been pictures of me where i thought i looked really good were not aided by a computer program. just by me being adorable.

and as an added observation about the glory of photoshop i saw this image on the subway today. now, bo derek is 50 and morgan fairchild is 56. and i applaud them for still working -- and obviously they have enjoyed some nipping, tucking, and the injection of clostridium botulinum aka botox aka minute doses of one of the most highly toxic bacteria on the planet (but i'm sure that there won't be any long-term damaging side-effects, i mean the doses are so small. . .so small they're cute!) but i don't care if your face has been pulled, scrubbed, lasered, exfoliated, injected, peeled, and then massaged with the lining of a goat's bladder -- you are still going to have wrinkles at the age of 56 or 50. . .check out this lady. Ms. Deneuve ages like she means it -- maybe because she's french, maybe because she's a better actress. . .but whatever -- if that's what 63 looks like -- sign me up!

waiting for tonight!

so i am back temping (couldn't be happier, really. beside myself with joy.) tonight when i get home i am going to upload a bunch of photos and get back to posting on as regular a basis as possible. but i'll leave you with this story in the meantime:

apparently we weren't supposed to move into the building on a saturday but since we had yet to see a lease much less sign one (still haven't btw)and nobody told us that when we handed over the money we didn't know that so we got some minor amounts of crap about it. i just acted all sweet and stuff and people seemed to forgive us -- and for the most part the other tenants couldn't be nicer. it was actually shocking how chatty and upbeat everyone was.

anyway, the next day as rogray and i are up to our necks in boxes and chaos i left to go get us some cleaning supplies (you heard me, i bought stuff to clean our house with and someday i'm gonna use it) and ran into an older woman with quite the brooklyn accent who immediately started admonishing me for moving in on a saturday. it went something like this:

old lady: are you the one who just moved into the building?

me: yes. i'm shaygo.

ol: well, i talked to your husband* yesterday and i told him that the house rules state that nobody can move in on a saturday -- monday trhough friday 8-5 is ok though.

me: i know i know nobodytoldusandwehadn'tseenaleasesowedidn'tknowblahblahblahsame story we told everyone else yesterday we're moved in so at least it's over.

ol: let me show you where the house rules are posted. (turns her granny cart around and takes me to the wall next to the mailboxes.) who'd you rent from (name redacted but she asked if i rented from the racist broker)?

me: yes.

ol: he's a serious bastard.

me: yeah! he is. . .(but i was actually really excited to hear her say this)

ol: who was in your apartment before?

me: i don't know.

ol: oh yeah -- it was that oriental couple. so here are the house rules:noloudmusicaftermidnightnosatellitetvnomovinginonsaturdayblahblahblahblahblah.

at this point i stopped listening because all i could think was that she and i thought the racist broker was a bastard for different reasons obviously.

what can i say -- i guess we're surrounded.

in other news we are still waiting on our security deposit to be returned from our last sublet in l.a. you can read about previous craziness with her here courtesy jk. she is now a month overdue and has avoided our calls and emails so we have gotten our family friend who is a lawyer involved. it's crazy, annoying and a nice chunk of change she has. . .

*normally i would say rogray's my bf but in this case if it seemed that i would be offending her by revealing that so i let it go. . .when i told rogray about the convo he says he never had a conversation with any old lady -- meaning that the lumberjack or c-squared -- rogray's 2 valiant friends who helped us move were blessed with her presentation of the house rules. sorry boys.

Prejudice. Wrote a song about it. Here it go.

So rogray and I have been in the midst of a great apartment hunt. When we first pulled into Brooklyn we immediately looked at 2 apartments. One was really nice – a touch up renovation for $1350 by Ft. Hamilton Pkwy. It just wasn’t really our neighborhood. The second was on 20th and 6th Ave next to 2 really cute looking restaurants (what’s happening down there – gentrification slows for nobody) and was priced at $1400 – again done quite nicely but was quite small. They were trying to sell it to us as a 1.5 bedroom but the .5 part looked like what the rest of us would call a large closet – or a “cloom” as koogs put it.

Day 2 we walked up and down 7th ave. in the slope and people looked at us like we were very poor, misguided souls. All the realtors said that this was a terrible time to look for places. One woman said she had an apartment for November 1 and as much as mo and the tweak loves us, I don’t think they want us living with them for a month. Another guy said he flat out had nothing in our price range anywhere. So we walked down and into a realtors office that mo had said had some listings in our range. We went in, sat down and began our spiel about how we just moved back here after a year in la la and blah blah blah get us something big for $1400 or less in a neighborhood where I can at least pretend I am close to my friends and also a nice kitchen would be great.

This is where we meet “the racist.” This guy is so fucking racist I don’t even know how to do him justice – first off he was wearing a shirt circa 1987 and his hair looked like his barber was a flowbee . At first he was just saying confusing things and telling us about apartments that he knew we wouldn’t want but just wanted to give us an idea of how slim the pickings were out there. Somewhere along the way he tossed in some line about “the orientals.” I immediately squeezed rogray’s arm which is the international symbol for “oh my god. Did you just hear him say orientals? Did that just happen. I’m pinching you instead of laughing or looking horrified.”

Things got worse from there: 1st – any person he referenced he made sure to include a one-word description of their ethnicity like “if you like spicy food this place is where the Spaniards go to eat.” The Spaniards? Like the conquistadors? Next: when we arrived at the building there was a group of black tenants who were moving out who had apparently had interactions with the racist. One of them *jokingly acted* like he was terrified of the racist which I thought was funny. . .and then we got in the elevator with the racist he said “he acted that way because he’s used to being in the jungle.”

WHAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTT?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!? The fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck?

So then we got into the apartment and much to our horror it was great. Cheap, big, laundry in the building, close enough to the train and heat, water and gas included. Crap. Because now are we going to rent from a racist – who at first we thought just didn’t know he was racist but perhaps totally knows he’s racist. Well, yes. It’s a nightmare – either we take the as perfect as we’re going to find apartment and give a racist our $$ or we are going to pass on it and get something slightly larger than a hamster cage for thousands of dollars and hope that we can make it month 2 month.

Picture book.

so i mentioned in an earlier post about arguing with rogray over the camera. sweatpantsmom has a great post about arguments with her husband in regards to the camera that pretty much sums up our dispute. basically ever since we got the digi-cam i have become obsessed with taking pictures of pretty much anything and everything -- nothing is off-limits including what i think are funny pictures of us waking up in the morning and every other second of the day in which we may or may not be doing anything of interest. especially if it's crossing a state line.

see, i believe that the crossing of a state line is a cause for celebration. it's a symbol of a journey as well as an acknowledgment that you made it out alive despite the attempts on your life by other drivers that think turn signals are for sissies and lane markers are merely suggestions.

rogray thinks differently -- he thinks pictures should be taken only when interesting or supremely funny things are happening and also what's the rush and also (horrifyingly) we lived just fine up until now without the camera, we'll be fine without a few pictures -- this last comment was made in response to my complete freak out over the camera battery dying just as we pulled into vegas -- tragedy!

so basically the spat broke out at the beginning of the trip when we crossed our first state line into nevada and rogray was asleep at the camera wheel and i lovingly smacked him and loving yelled to ask him "what the hell are you doing?!?! get out the camera!! WE'RE CROSSING A STATE LINE!!!!!!"

so i've tried to chill out about it and he's trying to be more on top of the camera thing so he doesn't see camera harpie explode from my forehead.