fruity fruit fruit

Yesterday was not so good. And you know what really made it bad? Whole Foods didn't have any more organic, locally grown Winesap apples! Can you believe it? Those jerks. I did not buy a cupcake instead, let me tell you. What I did buy was an organic, Washington grown Red Delicious apple (and a Fuji and a Braeburn and a Bosc pear and an Asian pear and two bananas). But here's the thing about Red Delicious. While I will concede that they are indeed red, I would not, on my own, term them delicious. I've found that they're the apple you're most likely to find disappointingly and disgustingly soft and mealy, it seems impossible to buy a crisp one. Okay, granted the one I bought today was crisp and pretty good. But delicious? Please. But biting into one never turns me into a princess (a la Snow White), fulfilling my kind of backwards inverted fairy tale thinking, to which I'm prone.

But those Winesaps. Those were de-li-cious. Fucking delicious even.

Though I don't know if I'm being fair. My taste of apples may be heavily influenced by my childhood. (Isaac, stop reading now. I don't want any pointed comments about the farm and/or nostalgia.) I associate Red Delicious with after-Church "snacks" my father used to make, namely a mealy apple with some Tillamook cheddar cheese. Those were gross. Even though I still have apples and cheese as a snack but I use organic apples and organic white cheddar cheese. But I associate Winesaps with my grandmother's apple trees, where I'd just walk by and pick a fresh apple right off the branch and bite into it. I don't actually know what kind of apples she grew and I doubt they were Winesaps but the taste is awfully similar.

To summarize: I'm a snoot who only buys organic to make himself feel better. And it totally works.

"Go Winesap! Sometime they're red too!"

mor epics

I meant to type more pics but I think mor epics is better. Too bad this post will not reflect the better title.

I was involved in my first focus group the other day. It was for toothpaste but we didn't just sit around talking about toothpaste, oh no, this group was different! We spent the first 2 hours talking all about fresh! and what fresh! means to us and what is fresh! and how do you stay fresh! ever feel not so fresh! I swear the way there were saying fresh it had to have an exclamation point on the end. It felt very strange to sit around for nearly three hours seriously discussing toothpaste but I got paid $125 so whatever. But if a dental product is released soon that comes in the form of individual toothpaste balls held in a treasure chest container and they have the taste of dragon and/or starfruit, you'll know who gave them that idea.

At the beginning of the group we all had to go around and say our name, where we lived, what we did for a living and what our favorite TV show was. I ended up saying America's Next Top Model even though I wanted to say something snooty and British. But I had already decided that I was never going to go with my first response answer, since whatever it is usually makes me seem like an asshole. A guy ahead of me said Dexter and I perked up because I was thinking:

But he meant:


Isn't he cute? Which one? Exactly.

Once again my mind was on cartoons.

2nd interlude

Just so you know how things are going.

like crack

I think I have a problem. Can you guess what it is? As a hint, here's a picture from my trashcan.


That's right:
All my socks have holes in them.

No, wait. I mean:
All my underwear has holes in it.

No no, that's not right. Oh, I know!
I'm fucking addicted to ice cream.

I thought I had it under control for a while and not only did I think I had it under control, I actually did. I wasn't craving it or anything. But lately I've gone bananas, or Chunky Monkey, if you catch my drift. I just can't stop eating it. Every morning after, I wake up groggy, feeling awful and swear I won't eat it again right before I go to bed but inevitably, by the time I get home, that resolution becomes meaningless. It's not even really that I'm so stressed or have a hard life right now. I think it's probably just that I'm pushing myself to finish these first 150 for my Pilates certification. I'm so close, I should finish by next week. Of course, I then have to do 200 more teaching hours but that's later. Though I don't know if I'm reaping the benefits that these practice hours are supposed to provide. I've been so drained lately that by the time I start teaching my 6th, 7th or 8th session in a row I can hardly remember half of the exercises, much less direct my client. So I'm really probably not learning much. But whatever, at least I'll start getting paid...by my two paying clients.

what's in a name?

Last night I got together with Parfait. I don't know if I've ever talked about him before on this blog though I know I've talked about him personally with some of you. I think I'm kind of afraid he'll find this blog and realize what an asshole I am. Of course, he's bound to realize at some point, I'd just kind of rather it be in person.

Anyway, Parfait. He's older, duh. Maybe even almost twice my age, if I were a few years younger. But as we both age, the fraction between our ages will just keep getting smaller so really he's not that much older than me when you look at it in a larger context, say 500 years. Yes, I really should try to meet men my own age but we all know that's not going to happen so I might as well get as much pleasure out of this "relationship" as I can. And for the most part, it is pleasurable. Except for the fact that he doesn't really listen to what I say and constantly turns the conversation back to himself and tells stories that I somehow miss the point of and talk about all the amazing famous things or people he's knows, seen or done in this slightly annoying superior way.

Last night he told me that he got rid of all the drug paraphernalia in his apartment, which I think means that he's not going to do any sort of drug anymore...and he likes his drugs. He also told me that he got rid of his small circle of fuck buddies, "to make room in case there's the possibility that more develops between us." Okay, that's not really a direct quote but pretty close. He talked for about 40 minutes about cleaning his life ("metaphorically and literally") and us and what we might be but it was all very vague and noncommittal (which is good because I don't like commitment either) and I think I probably said about 5 words because I didn't know how to respond to that. Plus I was really really sleepy and I kind of felt like a jerk for constantly thinking about my bed while he tried to bare some part of his soul or something.

Here's another thing: he really likes to hint at the crazy wild party sex drug times he's had, which I'm sure are pretty true, but neglects to offer any details. He's told me, numerous times, that his last boyfriend asked him about some the crazier moments and he refused to answer because they would freak his boyfriend out. But he won't tell me anything either, for the same reason and you know I want to know because I have a dirty freaky mind. I just want to say, "Look, unless you (consensually) tied up some guy, chopped off his foot, threw it in the oven, fucked his bloody stump while it baked, basted his foot with your come and then fed it to him, I don't think I'll be very shocked. And even that might not surprise me."

How about you?

"supposebly" and "manglers"

I was little late to work today. That's nothing special. I've been arriving late to work pretty consistently lately. But today I actually woke up on time, took a relaxing shower and still had enough time left to fully lotion my entire body. Yeah. But the reason I was late was because I was listening to A Way with Words. I love this show. And if you're interested in language, specifically but not necessarily limited to English, and you're kind of a dorkus mcgorkus, you'll probably love it too. As I was listening I noticed that I kind of needed to leave to go to work but the hosts had just started the quiz part of the show and it was all about adverbs and how could I miss that? So I sat on my bed, fully dressed and ready to leave, and listened until the end of the quiz then ran out my door. I got a little sad that my I*pod has been broken forever and I can't listen to this show on the train anymore. Can I justify buying a new I*pod just so I can listen to past podcasts of a radio show while on the subway? Maybe.

unclean

Yesterday was laundry day, like, super for reals. I specifically went to the bank and withdrew 20 bucks which I then exchanged for quarters. I got home at 6:18 and walked into my room at 6:20. (Into my room is key.) Then, when I tried to walk out of my room, I couldn't! The door was stuck. I kept turning the handle but it wouldn't catch the latch. I'd noticed this happen before but with some gentle nudging I'd always been able to get it to catch. Not this time. I tried a few more times before pounding on my bedroom wall and yelling my roommate's name. No one answered. So I tried to call his phone, just in case he couldn't hear my pounding for some reason. (?) Turns out the number I have for him, which I thought was his cell phone, is actually the land line in our apartment, so I sat on my bed hearing the phone ring in the living room. So I went back to trying to jiggle the handle a few more times. I then called my friend and neighbor, Isaac. That's how I know what time this happened. I was thinking that maybe he could scale the brick wall of the church courtyard that my window overlooks, catch my keys, which I'd throw out the window, let himself into my apartment and try to jimmy the latch from the outside. Unfortunately, he was still at work. And he's not really one for scaling walls, in the rain, in the dark, on God's holy ground. I then took the bolts out of the hinges on the door and tried just pulling it out from the frame. My door opens into my room, that's why I couldn't just kick it in. That, and the fact that I would probably splinter it before it came free. But the hinges had been painted over at some point and weren't moving. Even after repeated bangs with my hammer, which I'm so glad I bought and keep in my room. My available laundry time was running out.

But the bathroom window was open! My window is on the inside corner of the building and our bathroom window is on the opposite corner. So when you look out my window, there's the bathroom.


The bathroom window consists of two sliding panels and when both are pushed down the opening is about 4 feet high by 2 1/2 feet wide. "Maybe," I thought, "I can climb outside my window, onto the bathroom ledge, through the bathroom window and then jimmy the latch myself from the outside." Did I mention I live on the 3rd floor? I was still on the phone with Isaac and, upon hearing my brilliant idea, he promptly tried to talk me out of it. I hung up quickly, promising to call back from the living room. I put my keys in my pocket, just in case, then debated whether or not to take my phone. Say I'm scaling my building and my phone falls out of my pocket to the cement below. It would definitely break and I'd be super pissed. But say I'm scaling my building and I fall to the cement below but can't call an ambulance because I left my phone in my room. I left the phone. So I held onto the molding around my window, put one foot onto the ledge of the bathroom and one on my ledge, transferred over to just the bathroom ledge, reached in through the window to grab whatever I could and tried to lift my legs through, one at a time. Here's what I was trying to get through, viewed from the inside.


That's not a lot of room, plus I'm pretty tall, which in some ways made it easier but in others harder. The point is, I got through, but not before knocking over my roommate's razor (which I was momentarily worried about until I remembered that I could, at any moment, fall to my death).

Now that I was out I figured it would be a simple matter of sliding a knife through the door jamb to press the latch open--a skill that I mastered as a child when my dad would lock the TV room door in the hopeless attempt to stop my brother and me from ruining our minds. It wasn't so easy. The fucking molding around the door made it so that I had to slide the knife it at this weird angle and I couldn't even find the goddamn latch. I tried using a small steak knife, a butcher knife, a spatula (I was running out of options), a paint blade and finally a giant screwdriver. None of them worked. I did start to do a pretty good job of wrecking the door frame. After many a failed attempt, I finally went downstairs to find my super, only to be told that he was out and wouldn't be back until 1AM. What the hell was I going to do? Yes, technically I could get in and out of my room through the window but not only is that not the safest way but it's not very practical. I need to get up at 4:30 the next morning and work straight until 8PM. And I still needed to do laundry. I was not about to start tossing my clothes through the bathroom window. I called Isaac again (from the landline, remember I wisely left my cell phone in my bedroom) to let him know I wasn't sprawled out on the concrete. He suggested I go to sleep on the living room couch and wait for the super to get home. But my stubborn side said, no, I am going to fucking fix this. So I went back at that latch with renewed vigor/anger. But it just wasn't working...from this side. Back into the bathroom! I threw the giant screwdriver into my room and once again traversed the heights. Once back in my room I jammed that screwdriver in the door frame and jiggled, wiggled, banged and pulled against it, totally tearing the wood until the door popped open. Success! As I pulled the door open more it finally started falling off its hinges, which I had neglected to put back in.

I started playing with the latch and found that I couldn't keep it in. I thought about taping it down but worried that one day, without my noticing, the tape would come off and I would get trapped again. So I unscrewed the plating on the latch, turned it upside down, and screwed it back in. Now the hole for the latch was too low so the plate kept it in.

So I got free but in the process really fucked up the doorknob and frame. If you're wondering why I didn't just take the doorknob off, I couldn't, it was nailed in. If you look closely, this is what you'd see.




But I'm planning that not many people will, particularly my roommates and certainly not my super, because I'm not going to tell them. My super kind of sucks and takes forever to fix anything so I'm just going to live with this. The door still closes and stays closed from friction so I'm fine.

Then I finally, finally, went downstairs to do my laundry only to discover that the basement was partly flooded and the machines were broken!

So instead I bought some brownie mix, actually made the brownies, and treated myself to a big bowl of brownies and ice cream, which I promised myself I could have a few weeks ago. And it totally made me sick. And I may or may not be wearing dancer briefs as underwear today, so I really hope I don't have to go to the hospital.



And here are some more pictures I discovered in my phone.

Me being pensive. Surprise. I have no idea when, where or why I took this picture. Or why I didn't delete it; I don't look very good.



My boss' dog. Her name is Lola and I love her.



Hershey Kiss wrappers from a whole bunch that I ate one day. I think I took this because my coworker said I could have as many of her chocolates as I wanted and I wanted to show her what a dangerous statement that was.

I quit

I just tried to write this post twice and each time it kept getting longer and boringinger. Here's a short recap: I quit my gym teaching job. The quitting sucked and was horrible but things worked out fine since I got to just stop instead of having to work there for another two weeks, which I was thinking I would have to do. The good news is that I already have an apprenticeship lined up for November. It's not many hours but it's at a place that I think has better potential. It won't give me health insurance but whatever.

hypocrite

Today I took a PIlates mat class out at the studio I teach at in DUMBO. I kind of hate mat classes. They usually just really hurt my hip flexors. But not today. This time they hurt something else.

As I was rolling onto my back doing some sort of exercise, I felt like a spider was crawling up the side of my right leg, right on my calf. I didn't think much of this since I usually feel like spiders are crawling up my legs. (Did you know that about me?) I reached down and swatted at my leg, which usually makes that feeling go away, but it remained. I swatted again and it still stayed. I reached down and slowly brushed my calf and noticed that I couldn't exactly feel my hand touching my leg. I could still feel it but it was like that weird semi-numb feeling you get when your muscles are coming out from anesthetic. That didn't seem too good. But I continued in the class anyway. Now, if I were training someone and they told me one of their limbs was going numb I would tell them to immediately stop what they were doing and discontinue exercising. Numbness is almost never a good thing. But is that what I did? Nope, I didn't want to seem like a wimp in front of my instructor. So I just kept going, slightly modifying little things to make up for the fact that I couldn't exactly feel my right leg. I figured I just stretched it weird and what I really needed was to just stand up and walk around. So I finished up class, got up, walked around, and the numbness stayed. So I changed and left, and it stayed. I went to work, and it stayed. And did some work-related errands, and it stayed. And now, nearly 8 hours later, I'm almost completely sure that my leg is back to normal. I know I'm kind of making it sound like I was walking around falling all over my right leg but it wasn't like that at all. Just a weird, numb feeling that I didn't even notice unless I was actually touching my leg. Isn't that strange.

Please don't send me reprimands; I'll well aware how dumb that was. That's the reason I blogged about it; I like to share.

time for a change?

I have a small hole in the underwear I'm wearing. It's very teeny, on the side of my right hip right near the band. It's so tiny you would never have noticed it, if I hadn't accidentally slipped my finger through and ripped it open another inch. Is it time for new underwear? I'm not so sure.

You know the old standby from mom?

"Make sure you have on nice, clean underwear. You might get in an accident and taken to the hospital and you don't want to be embarrassed by your undergarments."

Didn't your mom ever say that to you? Neither did mine. But anyway.

Here's the problem. If I were ever in an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital, my shitty (so to speak), holey underwear would probably be the last thing on my mind. On the other hand, if I walked around wearing cute new expensive underwear and got in an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital, my cute new expensive underwear would definitely be the first thing on my mind because it would probably get fucking ruined.

Now I'm not saying I don't wash my underwear, because I do. I'm just not overly concerned about a hole right now. But when you visit me in the hospital, I think you know what gift to bring me.

That's right: socks.