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Greymatter | Memebot

December 2005
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Thursday, December 15th


Like tarnished silver, the snow huddles on the street - ignored and lonely.
obviously on 12.15.05 @ 08:52 AM CST [link] [1337 Comments]


Wednesday, December 14th

Fuck Me Tonight [in red leather]


Yesterday I wore my infamous red FMTs (or as Momma would call them "FMPs" replacing the "tonight" with "pumps"). 4.5" stiletto red leather heels with a red satin ankle strap. Four years old and still kicking. Got them for a debutante party... cabaret? Moulin Rouge?. I remember careening into the University Park Nine West; desperate and searching for that perfect pair of slut heel. My dress, of course, was absolutely divine. Long and decked with beaded capped sleeves. A skirt that swirled and twirled with my every move. I loved dancing in that dress. Can't even remember the date but I'll never forget spinning across the Rivercrest dance floor. Joining the Madonna impersonator in a fantastic rendition of "like a virgin."
Nothing's better than a good pair of fuck me tonight's. They don't have to be fancy or expensive or suggestive. It's the mood. The aura that they deliver. That second after slipping your eager foot into its shape. The height that they deliver. Like foreplay.
Red leather FMTs like these never have a sell out date. They don't tire or spoil. They're nothing like eggs or trends. These are the sort of shoes that Bergdorf shoe buyers gawk upon in the elevator and whisper, "I love your shoes." See? They'll never expire.
I simply smile and thank them for the compliment.
Yesterday, after a signiicantly long day at work ("ohmigod. is it only 3:30? it felt way later than that." or "why does it have to get dark so fucking early!!"), I made my slow way home. Tromped and clipped through the store. Delivered all 20 brass vases to the seventh floor. Made all the appropriate arrangements. My heels sounding like a horse's shod hoof on pavement. Took a short nap on the subway and read chapters 6 & 7 of Prof. Parker's book. Made the sudden decision to transfer to the F-train at 34th street. Clip Clip Clip. Paper BG bags slapping my panty-hosed legs (brown opaque). Clip Clip Clip. Passed a homeless man sleeping on a subway bench. A young dred-locked girl playing the bongos in the foyer. Flourescent lights and lurching work-zombies. Clip Clip Clip across the mezzanine.
Made it to the F. A fair-spoken conductor who rarely announced the street names. Whispers across the train cars. What street is this? An old lady knitting a scarf. God I love the subway.
Lafayette and Broadway. Home at last. Clip Clip Clip across the stained tiled floor that stunk of old beer and piss. Flourescent lighting and icy drafts that bit my ankles. Like an angry maltese. Clip Clip Clip up the stairs. Excuse me. Excuse me. Me off in my world of thoughts, "fajitas and beer. fajitas and beer." Excuse me. "Fajitas and beer. Frosty mugs." Excuse me. Clip Clip. Four more steps. Who is this asshole? How many people are behind me? Excuse me. I stopped and turned. He was small. Tiny hands. Dark brown hair that kind of was curly. Bushy eyebrows. Textbook high school yearbook editor. 13th man on the debate team. Someone with Tiger Woods posted in their bedroom.
"yes?" I looked down upon him. The stairway was empty.
"I really like your shoes."
He almost dropped his bundle of belongings.
A rush to the throat. A tinge of embarassment and wariness. A punch in the stomach.
Thank you.
"Thank you." I said politely - like a debutante receiving her eighth pair of pearl earrings. Not too eager but not too stand-offish.
I turned and continued my ascension. Clip. Clip. Clip.
obviously on 12.14.05 @ 01:01 PM CST [link] [1863 Comments]


Sunday, November 20th

help!


my dead uncle's ex-wife is in town and wants to have lunch and/or dinner.
what the fuck do I do? what if she asks if her darling nephew has written me? how in the world do I confront the fact that she tried to set me up with a complete loser? shit.
just finished "sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs," and it's amazing. all should read it and feel incredibly smart and up-to-date on all things pop culture.
obviously on 11.20.05 @ 05:36 PM CST [link] [1952 Comments]


Sunday, November 13th

james joyce and five a.m.


stayed out 'til 5 a.m. and hung out with a short jewish boy who introduced himself as donald trump's son. naturally i didn't believe him but was so bewildered by his audacity that i accepted a glass of tea at a local diner. he then threw a fit when the milkshakes didn't come out in three minutes. he was god-awful. now am so tired and hungover and feeling fluish (perfect for the eve of my first day at work). also went to a club where bridget (fourth roommate who is oh so cool) and i danced with a sort black frenchman who smelled like a fourteen year old boy's gym socks. he just couldn't understand why neither of us wanted to dance close to him. then went to russian bar pravda where i helped a duke graduate get rid of the hiccups (hiccups are a contractiong of the diaphragm... in order to control your... put your hands on your head dammit!). then went to puck fair across the street and flirted with the irish bartender and told him (over two miniature hamburgers) that I'd bring my James Joyce the next time I went there. as I was leaving I ran into the scary, annoying, and rather odd short jewish boy (he had just returned from a bar mitzvah - so he says).



Now Fred and Anne's cat Townes are spooning on the couch and i'm still in my big ole teeshirt watching The Gilmore Girls and thinking of Sarah Tyndall.

obviously on 11.13.05 @ 02:29 PM CST [link] [751 Comments]


Friday, November 4th

DKNY


Went to an event at Donna Karan's late husband's studio. It was a performance art presentation by a Danish artist named Jasper Just. Of course Donna Karan was there. Swarmed in many shawls and jackets and good cheer. She arrived in a limo. How tacky is that? Well. I passed her later in the evening - right in a doorway when we were face-to-face. Right after one of Anne's employees had bet me to reintroduce myself. So I said, "Ms. Karan. I doubt that you remember me; I met you when I was a little girl."

"And what? You're saying that I'm old?" She smiled right at me and adjusted one of her many scarves.

Her hair was in a scrunchie.

"Oh God no; I was just much younger." She laughed as I continued, "I approached you at an event and complimented your clothes and you invited me to be in your fashion show."

"Get out!" she exclaimed. "I did that?! And were you in it?"

"Yes. It was a wonderful memory."

She started laughing even more. "And why are you here tonight?"

"I'm helping my aunt, Anne Livet."

"Well," she began, patting me on the shoulder, "that means we're practically family."



So there you go. Donna Karan and I are old friends and family.


obviously on 11.04.05 @ 08:59 AM CST [link] [2958 Comments]


Wednesday, November 2nd

Socked in the Belly


Just took Fred on his nighttime walk. Was shocked to see all of the homeless people curled up in the street nooks, covered with flimsy brown-hued blankets, and sleeping. It left me with this feeling of emptiness and sorrow - like no matter how much I wanted and desired to help them, I never could. When you're little you're led to believe that you can change the world and do all of these wonderful things, but in reality there's not much you can do. It's not like you can whisk them all up and employ them or house and feed them. I feel like my eyes were opened before they were ready for the sun glare. It's very disarming.
obviously on 11.02.05 @ 10:35 PM CST [link] [1568 Comments]


Saturday, October 22nd

Ruminating - an extension


Have yet to give a response and I know know know that I must.

It's sort of like if I don't respond to this person then my dead uncle's ex-wife will then accost me at the next family function and say, "D'ja set a date with my nephew yet?" while scooping more barbecue onto her Thanksgiving dinner plate. What will I do? What will I say? Will I just have to buck it up and tell her that he was too much of a loser? No...
I'll be forced to cringe and say in a very high-pitch squirm, "Nooo- not yet." Then she'll call him and say, "Oh honey, you really must be persistent with her; you don't want to lose her attention."

Oh but I do. I really want him to forget me. Completely and whole-heartedly. And this whole family set-up is such an awful pitch. It's so blue-blood brit trying to keep a grip on the family name. I really want him to forget me.
Just thinking about his blind hope and desperation makes me want to sink in embarassment for him - kind of like when you see someone completely humiliate themselves on television. It's the exact same thing.

And so I've stayed very, very busy. Avoiding calls or questions from my family. Unless they have to do with a job or an apartment. It's completely one-sided and completely wrong. But in the meantime, I've learned the ropes of this bustling city without much confusion. I've gone out and stayed in; completely worn down two perfectly good pairs of shoes and almost have worn in the third. I've met up with friends who I haven't seen in ages. People whose names and faces have sort of fallen into that strange melting pot of people I once knew and never thought I'd see again. I've driven a horse buggy through Times Square - for two whole blocks. While considerably drunk and dazzled by the blinding lights of 2:45 a.m. I've danced and nearly run into celebrities on the street. There was Luke Wilson - that was an embarrassing experience. Plodding along the sidewalk and nearly walking straight into him. So glad that I was wearing too-small of shorts and a wife beater. Nice. And then some gorgeous super model who I saw yesterday. I suddenly felt very, very short. And girthy. But everyone else here is very normal. It's like a small town with really tall buildings. And the boys are way cuter.
obviously on 10.22.05 @ 07:11 PM CST [link] [No Comments]