revisionist history.

Miss Self-Important attempts to verify an invitation to the French Embassy:

Miss SI: ok, they made me fax them back the invitation. that's promising. go france
Me: no wonder the revolution ended badly
Miss SI: we lost the constitution. please fax it back to us at your earliest convenience?
Me: exactly! the king lost his head. please return.

diagnosis: vacation coma.

I've been eating Wheat Thins for dinner lately. Perhaps that's not the healthiest option? I think I'm still recovering from vacation, where I ate enough to feed a small village in Burma. (Breakfast: pancakes and sausage and hash browns and fruit, and oh, wait..is that a muffin!? You get the picture.)

Anyway, I am back now, and tomorrow The 5402 is coming to visit for the weekend. We are having a reunion! Just like a sorority! ΚAΣβ 4EVAH! Seriously. I am only being partially ironic.

All I have to say is this: coming back from vacation is hard. When my brain and stomach recover, I will try to think of something interesting to write about.

maybe the fairies took it?

My iPod has mysteriously gone missing. After painstakingly backtracking my every move since the last time I saw it, I am convinced (convinced!) that it is somewhere in my room. But isn't materializing. I have gone through every drawer, and lifted every piece of furniture. I even sifted through my trash by hand, to make sure I didn't miss anything. That was a week ago. I am starting to lose hope.

This is sad, of course, especially since the stupid thing is only a year old. At the same time, I am almost enjoying my new iPod-less existence. It's like living without a TV, or eating yogurt for breakfast -- unpleasant, and yet, refreshing. (Living without internet, or being unable to listen to music at all -- these would be actual tragedies.) In New York, everyone is always listening to something; even the little old ladies are hooked up to their iPhones. You're supposed to be blocking everything out - those dudes fighting at the other end of the subway car, the guy playing the bongos, that baby in the stroller screaming its head off - but it seems to me that an iPod-less existence is actually less distracting. Plugging into an iPod and zoning out must take more mental energy than I realized. Plus, not listening to music allows for much more eavesdropping. People in New York really do say the weirdest shit.

And if you happen to pass me on the street, or in the subway, feel free to shout out my name! I won't be listening to my iPod, so I'll be able to hear you.

beached.

I was at the beach this weekend, with a few friends (and friends of friends) from high school. It was great.

We stayed in a cabin:


We did yoga on the beach:


And we cooked with fire:


I ended up with various ailments, however: a dozen mosquito bites, a sunburn in unfortunate places, and semi-permanent black lines on my feet. (Rubber flip-flops + insect repellent = mysterious chemical reaction.) I also got my ass kicked by a wave and, in addition to swallowing a gallon of salt water and nearly ending up topless, I got raked over a bunch of shells and now have a moderately-sized, moderately-painful abrasion down my back. My jeans also smell like a campfire.

All in all, a very satisfying trip to the beach.

small-time crime.

Last night, in the ladies' room of the Brooklyn Public Library, there was a girl, maybe 17 years old, primping in front of the mirror. While I washed my hands, she fixed her hair, inspected her makeup. She also had a very large piece of toilet paper hanging out of the back of her skirt.

I didn't tell her it was there. Does this make me a bad person?

Could I possibly blame my crime on the fact that I had just failed a GRE math practice test?

all about the benjamins.

JuVo and I didn't get that apartment we wanted. Clearly, you all did not pray hard enough.

When we called the brokers (notice, we had to call them, the injustice never ceases) the reason they gave was that we don't make enough money. This is all well and good, but also untrue: we would have paid exactly the same amount for this apartment as we do for our current one. Probably this excuse was just that: an excuse.

Or, perhaps not. After all, I do spend half of my post-tax income on rent. Isn't there some (cosmic) rule stating that one should not spend more than a third of one's salary on rent? But is salary in this scenario post-tax or pre-tax income? If it's pre-tax income, I'm doing OK. If it's post-tax income, then I should be living with my parents, or in Bushwick/BedStuy/Brighton Beach. I do make more than the average New Yorker, though, and if you combine our salaries, Juvo and I make a whole lot more than the median American household. So how much money does it take to get a decent sized, moderately bright, two bedroom apartment, in a neighborhood where I can walk home alone at night? Am I asking too much? Yes? Well. That sucks.

What's worse, I am not even a struggling artist/musician/free-lance writer. If I were, I could be too poor for that apartment I want now but still dream about The Great Payday (bidding war over manuscript, major record deal, work displayed in Whitney Biennial, etc.) looming on my horizon. As it is, this is all I've got, and it's not likely to change much in the next decade.

To take Keith Gessen slightly out of context: "That should be enough. I hope that's enough."

top five reasons i won't rent your apartment.*

1. All the windows face brick walls.
2. The bedrooms have no windows.
3. The bedrooms are underground.
4. I would only walk home alone at night if I was carrying mace and a large heavy object.
5. Any of the above, at a price I still can't afford.

*Based on real events. (Kill me now.)

8pm update: We saw an apartment we love! In a great location! For the right price! Everyone pray that we are approved. I'm serious -- PRAY.