Tag: party

It’s my Birthday and I’ll be a Bitch If I Want to

This is 35, with the help of hair dye, botox and a little lip filler (just enough to restore me to how I used to look). Cheers kids… enjoy your collagen while it lasts

I have minimal expectations for my birthday… and every year is a still a disappointment, despite my minimal expectations. I have almost no expectations at this point in my life when it comes to my birthday, and somehow I still end up hurt and bitter almost every February 18th. I don’t ask for a lot… in fact, I ask for very little. I told my fiance exactly what I wanted, and he failed to buy me “Tiny Music: Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop” STP album. Instead, knowing that I love Depeche Mode (at least he got that right…), he purchased what he thought was a framed, signed photo of the band. A simple Google search of that shit brought me to the site where he bought it and it says in CLEAR writing, that the autographs are a copy. He’s a straight man… I can’t get too mad; straight men aren’t the most competent. He did buy me the correct Depeche Mode album (Violater), but now the brand new record player my parents got me for Christmas has a distorted sound. It worked fine last time I used it, which was earlier this week. Like, WTF? Can nothing ever go smoothly? It’s my birthday and all I want is to listen to the soothing, melancholic sounds of Dave Gahan’s voice and my fucking record player is slowing down the music, making it sound slightly demonic. The BPM setting is correct; I tried cleaning the needle, and that didn’t work. I ordered new styluses online, but they won’t be here for a week. I hope a new needle fixes it… it’s a great record player, and I’ve asked everyone in my family for new records for my bday – now I can’t even listen to them.

My fiance also failed to plan/book a dinner reservation for tomorrow (since of course, he is FUCKING WORKING today, on my actual birthday). Now, the only fucking restaurant I wanted to go to is fully booked. All I want are oysters and cocktails from Maison Premiere. It’s one of my favorites….it’s small, pretty, cozy, the food is great, the drinks are strong, but, no. Fully booked on a random Sunday in February. I considered Sel Rrose because they have oysters, good cocktails and a seafood tower, but I refuse to dine somewhere that charges $15 for fries. Lick my ballz.

Yes, there are toxic chemicals polluting Ohio and killing wildlife and infiltrating the water. Yes, Putin has decimated all of Ukraine and the threat of nuclear war looms heavy. Yes, there are toxic chemicals in our orange juice and microplastics in our blood streams and we are all going to get cancer. Yes, 30K people died in Turkey and Syria from an earthquake. Yes, children are starving to death in Africa and Afghanistan. Yes, people in Iran and Russian are being sent to jail and/or death for attending protests. Yes, we are in the middle of a mass extinction and experiencing a scorching hot Earth because humans are disgusting pigs and we all deserve what we have coming: DEATH. Death? I welcome it at this point, if it means escaping current society. But for fucks’ sake… I just wanted one day, MY day to go right. And all I needed for that were oysters and a Stone Temple Pilots record.

Like I said though, my birthday always sucks. In 2017, my parents were in town that weekend, but we didn’t even go out to dinner – we ordered in Thai food because my nephew was only a few months old and someone failed to get a sitter or just take one for the team and have one parent stay home with the newborn. My iPhone also shit the bed that year on my birthday night, and I had to go to Verizon at 7PM to buy a new one… which I then dropped in the bath tub (thankfully it was OK).

When I was in high school, my best friend forgot my birthday every year. It’s always the people that I think will be the first to wish me a happy birthday that totally forget. You’re an adult, set a fucking reminder in your phone like I do to remember friends and families birthdays. We are all busy adults, but you can set a reminder a year in advance. On that note, some online friends and people I’m not that close to remembered my birthday… so, that is something happy. Thank you people who actually listen to me and take note.

I want to leave this country. There is a new mass shooting every day, no one even keeps track or remembers them anymore. You could die anywhere, the subway, the grocery store, a movie theater, your office…. this is no way to live. The amount of garbage and pollution and toxic chemicals and plastics infiltrating all aspects of life. The Far Right and the Far Left are equally as bad at this point. Like, I am pretty liberal, but why are we banning words like “ugly” and “fat” in new issues of Roald Dhal books? As if kids are never going to hear these words and much, MUCH worse probably directed at them by some little shithead they go to school with. Why are people vilifying J.K. Rowling? She is not against trans people, she supports trans people and their rights, she said that women, natural-born women, deserve safe spaces like women only violence shelters that are exclusively for them. But no, we live in a lazy world where no one researches their news or facts. Not on either side of the political divide. I’m so over this nation and everyone in it. No one has a brain anymore.

I went to the Meat Hook to buy duck breast to cook for my cat’s birthday, which is tomorrow. I figure if I’m not having the perfect birthday, at least I can give him a great day. They literally had one duck breast left. So I guess it is truly just for my cats now. No duck breast for me or my fiance… for the best. I’m trying to go vegan (again/still), but I will allow myself bivalves since they don’t have central nervous systems, hence, why I wanted oysters for my bday.

Everyday mood in my STP shirt and L.L. Bean that I bought and then stole from my dad. Grunge never died… it lives on in the best of humanity.

Cheers kids. This world is fucked, so take advice from a millennial such as myself and enjoy every day like it could be your last (because it could be). Don’t take anything too seriously because everything and everyone is/are always changing. You can’t control anything in this world apart from how you treat others and how you treat yourself.

Countdown to Italy: Linguine al Nero di Seppia

Sitting here in my apartment on yet another 98 degree day, waiting until the sun goes down and work is over so I can get out for walk. I had an entire entry written, including a recipe and all, but my 2015 piece of shit Chromebook refused to let me publish it when I tried hitting “Publish,” and then also deleted the entire entry, even though I had repeatedly saved it as I worked on it. So here I am, retyping it all… convinced the first version was the best and this won’t be as good as what I originally composed, since I am now angry and hurried. I make more money than I used to, and still can’t seem to justify buying a new $1,500 MacBook. So, I will continue to use this ChromeBook, a relic of 2015, a piece of technology that does me dirty every time I use it.

I am on a mission to lose 10 lbs. over the next five weeks, prior to my vacation. I WILL WEAR SHORTS and I WILL WEAR SUNDRESSES like a normal human – like a normal, average American woman – if it is the last thing I do. I am tired of hiding my lower body in black jeans on hot summer days, and I am taking action and holding myself personally accountable. I will reduce the size of my legs, and I will wear shorts with confidence.

I choose to focus on this seemingly attainable goal, since I am unable to control the political climate of this country, global warming, all of the helpless, homeless and sick animals I see on the streets of my neighborhood, and the out-of-control shootings and stabbings that happen daily here in NYC and also throughout the nation. I can only control myself. And so, I help sick animals when I see them, try not to buy single-use plastics, recycle, and try my hardest not to eat meat, which is easy to do here, but impossible to do when I visit my parents upstate, and now, I will try to lose 10 lbs. I can’t control the war raging in Ukraine, I cannot control the crimes committed in Myanmar by the national army (which I made the mistake of reading about yesterday), but by God I can call for help if I see a sick cat suffering on the street, and I can control the circumference of these thighs.

My neighborhood is trash… literally. Covered in trash and the people are trash. They get pets they don’t spay/neuter and then kick them to the curb when they get pregnant or, in the case of a male cat, start spraying. I wish I could abuse people the way they abuse animals. The sidewalks are a mean place around these parts, and the summer heat makes the psychos that walk these streets even more psychotic. I worry that I will die at the hands of a psycho due to gun violence or stabbing before I have the chance to get out of this God forsaken city. It is a legitimate fear. My fear of climate change that I cannot control is a daily undercurrent to all of my other activities and thoughts. Even when I am working or busy these days, I cannot stop thinking about how fucked the future of this planet is. There is nothing I can do though, apart from hold myself accountable for my own actions. I cannot control the people I encounter on the street though – and there are more crazies than ever before.

I want to leave this country, but mostly, I want to leave this city forever. I fantasize about going to Italy and not returning. Maybe we can buy a small property in Tuscany, and I can work remotely from another time-zone. Who has to know? Better yet, I would quit my job and just work on restoring the property and promoting it as a retreat and establishing a small farm-to-table restaurant. I can’t stay here any longer. Me and NYC are done. It has nothing left to offer me.

I wrote a recipe in my last entry that was deleted before I could publish, and now, I am too lazy to re-write it. Sorry. Here is a picture of the ingredients that I bought at Eataly though, and also a picture of my finished pasta dish:

It’s impossible to find/buy cuttlefish in this country, so rock shrimp had to do
lingue al nero di seppia (linguine with cuttlefish ink)

You can use your imagination and the picture of my ingredients above as a reference point if you want to make something similar.

I felt good about myself for .2 seconds after sweating out 2 lbs. in water weight during my 2.5 mile walk the other night.
I wish I had the confidence to actually wear shorts out of my house… I don’t like the sexual leering from men. I know I have thick legs and an ample ass…. but I don’t like people staring at it.

Five weeks until Italy. Wish me luck.