My Sari Ass

I would love for this blog to be a platform for amazing ideological discourse on politics and human nature and a venue in which to rant about my hatred and despair over this vile administration and how we are traipsing the world spreading important values like corporate greed, global homogenization, and exploitation of the less fortunate while making our own constitution take it up the ass every day lubricated with a patented formula of fear.

But that doesn't seem to be the plan for tonight.

No, good reader, tonight I am bitching about stupid meaningless drivel, because it's 2:30am and I've been ironing a Sari for over 2 hours in the sauna (despite the window half open in a city where it snowed a mere 2 days ago) I inhabit in the wee hours of the morn. And I don't iron. Ever. (much to the chagrin of my mother, who now gets gloating privileges about having forced me to take a midget ironing board with me when I moved) While I have no doubt that I will be thrilled at having given myself scoliosis all evening when I look like an Indian Princess at my friend's wedding, rather than a drunken bag lady who's been dumpster diving in Jackson Heights, this somehow does not heal the burns. The damn thing still isn't exactly wrinkle free or anything, but after 2 hours I think non-tragic can translate into gorgeous Indian Princess.

Not only did I painstakingly iron 8 yards of very fragile fabric, but I had the additional pleasure of doing it to the lovely soundtrack of my neighbors having sex. Very loudly. It was kind of scary how loud and violent it sounded really. At first I thought perhaps they were throwing heavy furniture all over their apartment, but as the subvocals increased I decided that no one screams like that while tossing heavy armoires, not even if they land on your foot (which has happened to me before...don't ask, really). No my friend, this was the unmistakable battle hymn of the sneaky poke. It was so very, uh expressive, that I almost went over and knocked on their door to make sure there were no cows being slaughtered or anything- its one of the hazards when throwing armoires you know. Instead I moved all the precariously balanced fragibles, as the floor was feverently vibrating from the man-made earthquake next door, and went back to work vindicated in the knowledge that despite many prior accusations to the contrary, I am indeed not the loudest fucker in bed.

Now my procrastination has paid off and I only have a half hour to pack and shower before leaving for the airport at the indecent hour of 3:30am.

Who gets married on New Year's Day? It's a great new begining hallmark card and all, but a cruel joke on the out-of-towners.

Ghosts of Unfinished Projects Past

I'm not sure what possessed me, a bit of a committment-phobe, to start a blog. I'm completely new to the whole world of blogging (I've always been a late bloomer) and I suppose I got excited and overeager and decided to just dive in headfirst...Yay! Look at me...I'm blogging! I can write anything I want! Take that you hideous high school English teacher nazis! Ha ha! I'm such a grammar rebel! I'm narcicistic and it's not only perfectly acceptable, its the whole point! What's more, I'm running with scissors as I write this! Ha!


Then the panic set in. You know the panic. That lovely paralysis (probably caused by running with scissors) that renders you incapable of uttering (or writing- its an equal opportunity paralysis) a single word. Except maybe HA!, just because, well its fun to write if you imagine it read in some over the top I-caught-you kind of voice that your mother sometimes used.


I recalled the 5 incomplete diaries crying forlornly on my shelf, or perhaps under the bed, or wherever the hell they may be; the unsent holiday cards....from last year; the numerous e-mails I have yet to respond to lost somewhere in the black hole of my inbox (no, not that inbox you guttersnipe, you!). In fact the litany of abandoned half begun projects is too shameful to recite (and truth be told I couldn't remember most, until accidentally stumbling upon a knitting needle attached to a baby blanket for someone's now 5 year old newborn). Let's just say I can't even follow through with returning phone calls. So how can I ever hope to gain the coveted status of blogger?


I don't have an answer for that.


But for today, I'll post this rambling drivel and not allow the ghosts of unfinished projects past to stunt my growth as a person any longer! HA! And I'm going to work out too damnit! And I walked past a cookie 10 minutes ago without shoveling it into my mouth! HA!


See? Blogging is empowering, even if I do hate writing and words and commitment.


HA! (okay, not funny anymore...I got carried away)