After an action-packed weekend, I love to imagine what a video montage would be like if someone had to edit down the highlights. Heh. To the tune of "Somethin tells me I'm into somethin' good" maybe. Shot of us in Central Park, on rental bikes, smiling & toothy, whizzing past Sheep's Meadow, to a comedy show where we are laughing and pointing to each other: "Ohmigod! That's so ME!", eating a huge bowl of pasta in a "Mafia" joint (ooooo, shady!), having a little quiet time at my apartment with maybe a softened lens and candles, cut to us "rocking out" at rock show. I love it. I picture it all exaggerated and hokey, heavy costumerie and lots of practical jokes and laugh, laugh, laugh.

Just now on the subway: two blond mommy-sisters boarded the train in soho with a teensy tot, wrapped up all cuddly & pink in her stroller. A sax player panhandler was blasting the Godfather theme super loud. The pink baby just calmly looked up at him with a sort of nonplussed, unimpressed air.

Things lately have been pretty stressful. Last night I collapsed in bed, wiped out, and thrilled to just listen to the rain and drift off to sleep.

Except for the fact that I loaned my ladder to a friend and have forgotten to fetch it back. That was a year ago. In that year, nearly every higher-up ligthbulb has burned out and my curtains in my bedroom have come down, due to my very pretty-but-jerry-rigged installation. I also haven't taken the ugly a/c unit out of my window yet.

Which meant that I lay there last night, with someone's bright flood light pouring into my window. But I'd kind of wiggled out of it's beam, leaving Scott to remain illuminated all night. I mean, it was bright. The rain was doing something really wierd to the a/c, like, between every 9 to 300 raindrops one would hit and make this loud PLINK! Or the bigger ones: PSHHHHHT!

I could not get it going, I tossed and turned and at 3:40 a.m. I felt Scott get up and lie in the other room, on my teensy, tiny love seat. His legs hanging off the end, covered in a small fleece blanket that barely covered him-- he returned shortly. We were wide awake. At once, Scott mentioned something about how they sounded like firecrackers. Firing real randomly. Snap m pops. I couldn't stop laughing, picutring us lying there, all lit up from the floodlights and firecrackers sounding off right next to our heads. Interestingly, right when I suggested we get up and play a game of Scrabble, we both fell alseep.

The entire world is on a diet.

First, someone forwarded this thing, which is really, uhm, dizzying. Dotti has categorized and broken down the values for every kind of food imaginable. That is a lot of thinking about food. Handy if you've just found yourself having ingested tablespoons (note that it is plural) of marshmellow cream: youre OK. Only 1 weight watchers point! Hallelujah.

Then I got this email: I just watched popcorn pop in the microwave with a longing feeling. That image is incredible.

Marci's on this insane cabbage diet. Apparently that thing really works but at the price of smelling real bad and one day all you get is bananas and milk. Wow.

Today has been declared 'clean your mailbox' day here. Which has resulted in some hilarious finds.

Here's one: So last night we get home and get an xmas card from my aunt eve and it is their family photo and their bunny was in there. I was cracking up, after all the bunny discussion we had last night.

Priceless. Bunny discussion? Why?

Poor Paul! And not poor Paul!

For the past 5 days, I have been unable to remove this song out of my head. Which is not necessarily a bad thing- I've grown to love it. I've spread the contagion to Whitney, and have found this joy is only increased shared with friends. You see, the beauty of this particular ditty is that it can be hummed, as I dont believe there are actual lyrics, or it can be sort of loose-lipped hummed [bur-dur-DUR-DUR! bur-dur-dur-dur-dur-dur-dur..], or a more high-pitched version [boot doot DOOT DOOT! boot-doot...] and so on. But the real fun kicks in when you can sort of mouth-jam the 'funk' part.

Incredible. And perfect to deflect the low-low mood I am in today.

Which forces me then to throw in an added: Kick it out! for old times sake, and thank you Cathy, Jim Dandy to the rescue, indeed.

Stuart's mom is coming to visit her out in California next week. So, she is busy pulling together a fun agenda for them-- things that would suit her distinguished east coast mom. She emailed that she has put them up in a town down near Santa Cruz for a night, but then now is having second thoughts as its a bit remote. Maybe a little too bucolic for the likes of her refined, historian mom.

She then wrote that perhaps instead of worrying, she will volunteer the two of them to join the local pumpkin-carving contest. She said that she'd wear cut offs and a tank, and a little off from the group she'd zealously carve herself a real pumpkin masterpeice. Loudly, she would then bellow over to her mother: Looky my punkin, Ma! waving madly and smiling broadly. I picture punkin seeds stuck to her kneecaps.

I am starting to think that all of my friends were born within minutes of each other. My recent life can be described as one long birthday party, which kicked off Thursday evening and hasn't yet stopped. Which is both fun and tiring, and not without learning two things: 1) I should never be in the same room with sangria again and 2) I am maybe not the best person to plan an office cake-party.

Friday I got a message from a best friend who's birthday was this weekend, and she was most displeased with the way her birthday plans were unfolding. I knew what my role was: to come down the next day and remove her from any dork-festivites and try and do something fun. A birthday intervention. Packed my things, headed to her town and I was met at the train station. She was back to her natural cheery and plucky state, and wearing a cute miniskirt. Apparently, we were meeting her friend Dave at his house. Off we went.

I learned quickly that Dave had met a waitress the night before and had invited her to some afternoon fancy party. So she would feel more comfortable, he insisted that Whitney come along. Which meant me too. He was not taking no for an answer, as he really wanted to get this thing going with his new love interest. A beautiful woman from Morocco named Lubna, who doesn't know very much English.

I met Dave for the first time, and said a very slow Hell-o, my name is Holly! to Lubna, and the four of us loaded onto Dave's boat to head off to this party. It was a georgeous afternoon.

We were met at the dock by a fellow in a golf cart, who whisked us up, wayyyy up a hill to honestly the biggest home I have ever seen in my life. It was outrageous. Awkwardly, we made our entrance and were introduced to several grey haired men in "casual" attire and women who's hairdoos appeared to be all one unit. Giggling, we sort of parked ourselves by some crudite off to the side. All we could do was gasp at the incredible views and then were forced to play with Pepper, or whoever that was. It was silent and civilized, until the birthday girl stepped on Pepper. That dog can yelp, boy. I'm still chuckling.

Happily I ran into an old chum, and we hung out. Time suddenly seemed to fly by, and just when I was sure things were wrapping up, everyone moved into this biggest kitchen I have ever seen for Tequila shots and wine tasting. Not at all what I expected. Things got perfectly hilarious. Lubna was very drunk, people were running all over the various hallways and wings, and the birthday girl got a little frisky with a handsome gent, forgetting completely that there were survellience cameras all over the house.

Beautiful.

Sunday was short, I raced back to the city to celebrate Neil's birthday. The venue was cool, one of the men behind the bar was insane, the food was delicious.

Today I am sneezy and have dark circles under my eyes, but I got to wish my buddies a happy one. That's good.

Four things have made an otherwise very unpleasant morning pleasant:

1) I told Dave that I think someone is intimidated by him and he replied simply: "That would be embarrassing." Ha! Perfect response.

2) Its very quiet here today. All at once, I heard a loud PSSST! from around the corner, I peered over and Victor was standing there laughing. He explained that no one can refuse at good PSST. You can't.

3) I am not sure if its that he called himself the Leptard, or the descriptions of the country, but I'm a fan.

4) Diane just blurted: "What is the obsession with Jersey Girls?" And pointed out five movies with that title. She is born & raised and lives in Jersey. Good question.

A freelancer is helping Aaron out today in the studio. His checkered shirt is neatly tucked into his pants that match the top. He's been quiet and industrious all day at his computer-- with the economy as it is, freelancers are more than eager to please. They're hungry.

I was getting some tea just now in the kitchen, when I heard him pipe up timidly and suddenly: "Uh.. Aaron?" and seconds later he came dashing into the kitchen, Aaron trailing hurredly behind him, with a drippy ice cream sundae in his hands. Looked like it had melted and toppled to the side, thus making a creamy mess a little too close to our computer-nucleus. Yikes. It had a cheery abundance of strawberry topping cascading down its sides and kind of foaming together with the ice cream around the edges. It was all red, white and pink. It had become ridiculous.

I quickly handed him a plate from the cabinet and he gratefully accepted it. He plopped the plastic sundae-caddy on it, and smiled embarrasedly. "It sure looked like a good idea at the time...". I had to take it all in: the shameful smile and the gooey, fruity dessert he was trying to quietly enjoy. He silently turned and carefully carried the oversized ice cream-plate back to his desk.

Somehow that was completely heartwrenching.

Went out with some friends last night till around midnight, which is late for this gal. Nonetheless, it was worth it, we splurged & went uptown, to a glorious outside venue. I mean, the fall. It doesn't get much better than autumn.

Nonetheless, I got home and suddenly had to locate a long-displaced book. Had to. I rooted under my bed for quite some time with no result, except locating some old letters and pictures that actually are most worthwhile.

This morning, however, I woke up to find that my TV was set to the hispannic channel, as was my radio. Interesting.

Also something unrelated that I must note: some perfumes should be made illegal. They stink. Its offensive to the fresh air. This morning I had to break into a sprint to get ahead of this woman who had sprayed herself with the stinkiest familiar scent, not sure what, sort of strongish odor. Something about those women, too, they usually walk haughtily and wear tight pants. P.U.

I cannot look at the Alias chick anymore. No mas! I mean, you would think there are only, like, 4 beautiful women in the world, and we are forced to look at them over and over again- slapped on magazine covers, billboards, TV, newspapers. Crammed down your throat. How about some variety? Feh.

I have sneezed 32 times today. Am counting. I want to remove my nose from my head and scrub it and put it back on.

Everyone is doing the Weight Watchers thing here in a New York, and with glorious results. "Its common sense", everyone says. Some sort of a daily point system for food is the jist of it-- quantity control.

A friend of mine at the office went for it, he claimed that he wanted to drop his gut-- a mere 5 or so lbs. Since he joined, I have been supremely entertained. I get the sincere feeling that he's never been on any diet before. Yesterday was his official start date, he paid the $44 for the online version. A few hours later, he was standing over in my area, looking panicked, asking everyone how they do it and how many points do YOU get? He went home with a few nasty-sounding dinner suggestions, looking most conflicted.

I sat in a meeting next to him earlier today, and he whispered that he can't stop thinking about food. He wrote me little notes about cakes and lasagna.

Just now, late in the day, he plopped down and told me that the obsession with food is just skyrocketing. He said that he isn't even hungry, but that the point system has him all worked up. Said he remains on the site all day, sort of checking it from time to time in case there is some groundbreaking news like Just in: Big Macs are free!

He just left to go to the store to get a treat and asked: What can I get? What about that diet cake, you know, the spongy one that's supposedly not bad for you? Yes! POUND cake! I love pound cake! He stood up to leave, but was stopped and it was explained that it must be angel food cake that he is thinking of. Crestfallen, he sauntered off to the store and returned with something in a cellophane wrapper I can hear crackling over at his desk.

I do not know her, but I've been enjoying reading her for some time. Congratulations, Mighty Girl!

Fun with words.

This just in, a snipet from a hilarious email: ...and his big bulbous head will explode and his rubbery loafers will pop off.

That makes me laugh.

Also making me chortle today is my new usage of the term sometines. Not sometimes, but sometines. People don't know how to react. Its great. All the tines.

Yesterday was wierd. Really wierd. As I said in a previous post, it seemed that we were sort of lost, drifting along, unsure what we should be doing and feeling. There was no direction, or right or wrong thing to do. Our office let us have the day off, to reflect, mend, sleep, whatever.

I woke up early, showered and flipped on the news, and watched a wee bit of the Ground Zero ceremony, and caught a moving speech delivered by the daughter of a Port Authority victim. In strong but heavy voice, the young girl stated simply: "...I hope you didn't hurt very much..." and how much she missed him. I sat with my towel on my head, suddenly sobbing. I decided it was time to be with some people and switched off the tube.

Eric had organized a volunteering event, which suited me just fine. I arrived a little bit late to the Brooklyn facility, but it didn't seem to matter as our contact there was giving a long tour to us. I think she was hoping to sell us on their service, so we'd be sure to donate and return to help. After about a 45 minute tour of everything, including back storage areas, we started working. Which felt good. It was nice to be busy, and to be together. Around 11:35 there was a big announcement that it was "twenty-five minutes to lunch".

Sure enough at high noon we were told to stop what we were doing and we were directed into a sort of reck-room, where they had kindly laid out lunch for us. This included: spagetti, canned tomato sauce, canned corn, a very grey tuna salad and some fruit cocktail. I am no food snob, but whew, Nellie! The smell was twofold: the canned tomotoey smell and den-dank odor. But who can refuse a free lunch these volunteer peoples were kind enough to provide? You honestly have to partake.

I sat down with my spagetti and lukewarm red sauce and a few soggy saltines. None of it was really very humorous until Alison returned from the buffet line with her assortment: grey tuna, corn and plain noodles. We faced each other and I just about fell off my chair when I watched her spork up some fish with corn. Mind you, she is British and a gourmet cook.

Lunch went on about as long as our volunteering lasted, which was strange, but nonetheless, I think we did end up helping out somewhat. We all went to a breezy, empty restaurant afterwards and over beers we re-told our 9-11 stories to each other. It was kind of nice to be in Fort Greene.

I realized I was late to meet some pals back in the city, so I raced to the C train and got off on the lower east side, and tried to hail a cab up to the east village. One pulled up on always-zooey Delancey and I walked toward it, when I saw this teensy hipster girl with dangly earrings and groovy sunglasses beating me to it. Apologetically, she told me she'd been there first. I backed off, at which time she went to open the door and the cab driver sped off leaving her in the dust-- for no apparent reason. She spun around and looked at me confoundedly, threw her hands up in the air, stepped in a pothole and wrenched her ankle.

She wasn't badly hurt, and hailed another which pulled up promptly. She asked me if I would want to share the cab. I told her where I was headed and asked her if that was on her way. "Uhm, sure", she said, "I don't know where I am going." I slammed the door behind me and off we went. She took off her shades, and I saw that her eyes were wet. She wiped the tears off, turned to me and said "I am just having a really bad day." I empathized mildly. She went on to say that someone had knocked her really hard on the street and then screamed at her for walking into them, that her boyfriend was in a fight with her and that she just moved to the lower east side from Washington Square Park and is unhappy. She said that she was going to meet some friends, but first needed to just take a walk through the village. All at once she made the cabbie pull over at 3rd street and 1st, jumped out and told me to have a nice morning. It was 5 p.m.

Another perfect food: The Dot.

Something actually did make me laugh today. There is something so unnatural about getting up so super early in the morning. It is just so bad that its funny.

I mean early. Dark-early. So early that you are like rendered sub-sub-normal. Like you have pingpong balls for brains. You know that scene from Seinfeld when Elaine goes completely dim from having no sex? That's what I mean.

I woke up this morning first, staggered into the bathroom and had a few minutes to slowly begin to wake up. I walked back into the bedroom where Scott was sitting on the edge of the bed, puffy-eyed and hair sticking straight up. He was staring dead ahead in the dark. I'd love to know what was going through his head then. Is the sort of thing that looks like this: OOOOIIIOIOIIIIIOOOO, or more probably: Sleeeep is good. Sleep is really, really good..

He mumbled something to me about turning on the light, and with a quick flip I mistakenly hit the overhead light, the one with the 8 scillion watt bulb that instantly illuminated the room like it was a photo shoot. POOF! I could see everything. I had to struggle not to crack right up as he covered his face and hoarsely yelped at me: "off!". I flicked it off instantly. It happened so fast that I was left standing in the pitch black with this hysterical image in my head of the grumpy-puffy look on his face, hair sticking up and mouth open-- and then insantly it went pitch black and dead silent. It was like one of those quick flashy images one would see in a Haunted House. A few long seconds later, he found the kinder lamp, flipped it on and we were both laughing. That thing is cruel. That isnt the first time I've done that, either.

Cruising down the road about halfway to our destination in the soothing blueish morning light, I sleepily fumbled around my bag for my wallet. Ooops, not there. I totally panicked, ripping items out of my bag with my useless groggy-hands and onto the floor, heart pounding, eyes blinking wildly. Scott helpfully flipped on the teensy carlight. Ahhhh. Found it. Durrr. Was there all along.

I am de-pressed today. My limbs feel heavy. Eve of 9-11 and downtown is still.

There are so many quirky things I love about New York. Current loves, in no order:

- Subway tokens.
- Rich, poor, uptown, downtown-- no one knows how to handle the anniversary of 9/11 but we all know we feel saddened and sick, and want to help whoever/however we can.
- Coffee's not exceptional, but the milk & sugar is always added for you.

More later.

I dont think I can take this list anymore.

Wild boar lasagna? C'mon. Enough already.

Now that summer appears to be on its way out, I relished a cloudy, chilly Labor Day weekend entertained with scrabble and football--- being lazy without that summer-sun-is-out guilt. I'm ready for fall. Yip!

Perhaps getting autumnally carried away, Scott and I drove to a quaintsy country town a healthy distance away one day. Charged up on coffee, we merrily chatted and observed the rolling countryside flying past us, while I kept declaring that the leaves were starting to turn. I know.

So funny, those trips. We piled out of the car and started to amble around. Cute cobblestoney streets and loads of antique shops, we walked in and out of them, pretended to like certain things and within one hour, all our energy was zapped. But we hadn't done anything.

Feeling aimless, we found an outside restaurant and plopped down. We sort of stared at each other, and at the same time it dawned on us: why were we there? Its boring! Ha! I began to crack up as I noticed--- nearly every other table looked the same as we did. Down the streets, couples did a zombie-walk--- kind of bumbling along, mouths agape, not really paying attention and colliding into one another. Those sorts of "romantic" junkets are hilarious! It always sounds like fun before you get there, one may even go far enough to book an inn overnight, but it always has the same result: novacaine-legs and completely dull brain, looking down at a steaming plate of local fare and wondering if you are even hungry. Hilarity.