Sign me up!

If this is what Alan Strang had ACTUALLY looked like in the film, I probably wouldn't have gone into convulsions afterward. Damn, Equus! Dayam, Harry Potter!! Excuse me, I need a moment...

EDIT - And then, there's this. What is the age of consent in England, by the way?

Did you sign up?

I sure did!!!

Out of curiosity...

My Ipod just stopped working today. Whenever I power it on, nothing happens. It's at full charge, as well. I've done the troubleshooting goodness, but to no avail. Help me out, if you can!

EDIT - I figured it out. Thanks for the support.

It was much pleasanter at home, when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits.

A sabactical of sorts, is about to commence. I've overworked, underwhelmed, and in desparate need of Target. I'm going home for a few days, just to...go home. Time to get out of this crazy crazy world in which I live, and go home to another craziness - my parents. Just long enough that I'll miss you, you'll miss me, and we all be the better for it when I return. Now, let's buck up! You will not continue reading this, if I continue to be mopulant. It's almost Tuesday - fun things happen on Tuesday! Take those meds, get a good night's sleep, and come see me in the a.m.

Here are some fun things that happened to me, today!
-I had a nice bowl of soup
-Pipa Ripa and hubby picked up their kids at school, and she was wearing jeans made for a 14yr old.
-I played the 7yr old's Nintendo DS for a good chunk of time, and beat the crap out of Mario.
-my boss is getting even more pleased with the work I'm doing for the show

No good has ever come from leaving Manhattan.

Since moving to New York, my blog has been read by mostly everyone I know. I happily tell people about it, knowing they'll find enjoyment in my anecdotes, and what nots. I didn't count on becoming such great friends with certain readers of my blog, which makes things somewhat difficult. I'm a very open person, in general, and when I'm hurt or upset I talk about it. But when I'm hurt by someone I care very much for, who reads this on a daily basis, what can I do? I certainly can't blog about it. I wouldn't dream of inflicting pain or sadness on someone I care so much about. But I must, because I'm tired. And frustrated. So, let's suspend reality for just a moment. Imagine I never met you, in fact pretend this isn't even directed towards you. Just take it for what it's worth.

I am your friend. You are mine. You also might be one of my favorite people in all of New York. Which is probably why I'm able to accept your quirks, mannerisms, and on occasion, offensive behavior. I know that without everything you "come with", you'd just be another pretentious, boring asshole of a Hipster. But you're not. And that's what makes this so incredably difficult.

I completely understand your wanting to be with your friends, your "events", your dropping out of sight for several days to decompress. I get it, I really do. That's you. And while I truly appreciate your friendly extension of kindness, every now and again, it's terribly frustrating when it's over. Because I know I have to wait another month before spending a few moments with you, when you get an opening in your schedule. Although I work ridiculously long hours, I make time for my friends, because I look forward to their company. Just like I did last evening.

The things I went through to get to you last evening, aren't really important. Coming from the Upper West Side after a 12 hour work day might have some meaning to you, but the point is I was coming. I suppose I buy the reason as to why you didn't alert me to the venue change. Friends forgive stuff like that. What I don't accept is what transpired once I arrived.

Do you remember what you promised me? You promised me this night would be different from previous ones I've experienced. You promised me people would behave differently, that I and my guest would feel welcome. We weren't. I'm not entirely sure you noticed my absence, so soon after arriving. My guest and I decided there really was no reason to stay, since no extension was made on anyone's part to make us feel welcome.

I thought, perhaps, I'd make up this elaborate story about the exciting places we went to, once leaving your venue. But I'm to hurt to go to all of that trouble. In reality, we walked to a crappy diner under the 7 train, had shitty food, and went home.

I didn't think I'd be this upset. This sort of things happen, right? But, because you are who you are to me, it burns more than I couldv'e imagined. I promised myself I wouldn't allow things like this to upset me. But, I seriously cannot continue going out with people, with the promise of fun and fancy, when the end result is tears and anger.

I wish it wasn't so frustrating being your friend. If you were someone else, this would be so much easier. But you're not, you're you. And that's why it hurts so much. I wish I could actually speak to you, and tell this to your face. They're are many things I could say.

Curtains, drapes, and other housewares

I've always had hair "issues", which I attribute to my early dying foray at age 11. I was the first one in school to dye my hair. A trendsetter, oh yes. I was red hot Ginger, until 20. Here is a timeline of my hair accomplishments/defeats.

age 11 - picked up a box of Clairol Glints semi-perminant hair color at Fay's Drugs in Sinking Spring, PA after band practice, continue coloring every 8 weeks
age 12 - come to the decision that a Perm is a good idea. 3 weeks later, I brush it out. Have an afro for the rest of my 7th grade experience, resulting in a crystal clear understanding of "they're not laughing WITH YOU, they're laughing AT YOU." Trying to tweeze my eyebrows, I become frustrated, take my Flicker razor and shave them off.
age 13 - 15 - find a lovely shade of red, that glows bright purple under cafeteria lights. Therapy is up to twice a week. Attempt a fun shade of neon green for Halloween, that permiates my scalp. Go to school looking like She-Hulk for two weeks.
age 16-18 - back to my normal dark brown shade. Hair coloring, as well as kissing, hand holding, and hand jobs on Parents Day are against the rules at my boarding school.
age 19 - try going Blonde. Due to the red & orange deposits in my hair, I end up looking like Ronald McDonald's busty sister. Win the part of Nurse Rached in my college's production of "Cuckoo's Nest". Have an incredably depressing time at an after-show party, involving a hydrosepholic cat. Shave my eyebrows off. Again.
age 20-22 red, red, red. While living with my boyfriend at the time, I put my hair in a ponytail, and asked him to cut it off. That God Hair Cuttery was open late. Hair above my ears. He convinces me to try Nair for the first time. Down there. After several panic attacks and hosiptalizations, we break up.
22-24 bored with life, I let my hair grow below my shoulders
25 - that summer I go black, and enjoy being better than you. Fall, I go back to a warm brown shade. Winter, recieve a job I feel quite proud of, and get a smart "do" to go with it. We know what happened to that. Hair still looks great, though!

I bring all this up, because I found this - any takers? I didn't know they're called "Bettys."

Matt Dillion says hi! Again.

Waiting in the lobby of the apartment building for a child to get off the bus, Mr. Dallas Winston himself comes running across 81st St and into my heart. Seems to have just gone to the deli down the street, had a Post & a Times under his arm. He appeared to be wearing Blu Blocker sunglasses, and an awful neon orange parka. His unappealing ensemble matched his demeanor. For once, I'm taking Cameron Diaz's side on something - she was right about you!

Stroke of genius! Get it??

How often has this happen to you? You're tugging your partner's nuts impatiently, while they're putting the condom on, and you think "Golly, I wonder where I can pick up the "Q" around here" or "I don't have much confidence in the Coca-Cola corporation. I need some convincing!"

Really, I'm all for this plan. Safe sex rocks! Ever since Equus (damn Equus!) and possibly Brooklyn, I'm quite fearful of riding bareback.

I have a rule with the condoms I distribute. Yes, I'm the one for the job. If I give you one, and it's used in another state, you must mail the wrapper back to me. Bonus points if used overseas.

Wrap it up, Boys - it's cold out there!

Do your own damn photocopying!

It's tough being somebody's bitch. I arrived at work, to perform my typical tasks of bitchery. I was given a monumental one today. One of my employers is dealing with some legal crapp, and she's dragging me into it. Yes, yes familiar territory, I'm well aware. She's involved me in the past with this issue, and I've dutifully complied. Today, I was to photocopy "legal documents", blah blah blah. After becoming best mates with the Zerox guy at Staples - I'd been there 3 times in the course of an hour - I finally had enough. Luckly, my boss was content with the final copies I produced. I really don't enjoy doing this sort of work for her. This is right up there with giving her a massage and buying her Tampons.

Switching gears, I finally got my Rabbit in to see the Vet yesterday. No Vet in Philly was ever this precise and helpful. Did you know, Rabbits are the only animal that enjoys eating their own ear wax? Wow, right! The doctor was cleaning them, then giving the cotton swab to Jemima to munch on. Yum!

Puttin' on the Ritz!

Ha-cha-cha! I'm a HUGE Mel Brooks fan, and this warms my proverbial heart! If I was in Equity, I'd SO be there. I was thisclose to attending a non-Equity audition of Hairspray several years back, but I just couldn't get to New York.

FOR SALE - ONE USED COPY OF EQUUS ON DVD

Purchased with the understanding of providing enjoyment, entertainment, and the slightest bit of erotica, this copy is defective. It provided nightmares, evocation of God many times over, and a whole lot of uncircumcision. Take this copy of the award-winning film off my hands. Normally, $15 I will give it to you in exchange for a free therapy session, some fetal position rocking, and a big hug.

A paradigm shift.

The interview of which I spoke, several days back just didn't work. Not nearly enough bread, and the agency insisted I tell the family I attend church every Sunday. I haven't even seen Passion of the Christ. Whilst shopping last evening, I recieved another agency call. "Drop what you're doing, and head to Park Ave. This single mother is DYING to meet you!." In the middle of Sephora, amongst the prestige cosmetics, I realized I too, had become something to be bought. Although I have a price, I'm tired of using it. In that moment, I decided to quit the interview process, and work my 6-day plan. In plain English - I'm no longer looking for work. I have three perfectly adequet families. Although they don't summer in the South of France, prefer flying commercially, and don't keep their fridge stocked with Pelligrino (sob!), neither do I. I didn't attend a "nanny training school". Yes, they do exist. I'm not polished, meek, or dowdy, and while I am well-mannered (to a point) and cultured (to a point), I'm real. And if you don't like, suck it. Hard. Have you ever really heard me complain about the children? With 2 or 3 exceptions, I love my time with them. Because in the cold, drab reality of Manhattan private schools, neglectful parents, and semi-pro tennis lessons, I am the silver lining in their lives. I am content, I suppose.

I sure would like some Pelligrino...

Today was the first day of a new endeavor. I may have hinted at this last week. I'm now assisting in marketing and P.R. for a show. A Broadway show. Ok, fine - it's bloody Spring Awakening!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I've been told this could open up new doors for me. An exciting prospect indeed! Today, my task was to call every college and university in Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania and convince them to hang posters and flyers around their campus, and in their English and Drama departments. I only got as far as all of Connecticut, and the "T"s in New York. But, I got Yale!!!! I spoke to the head of the Yale's drama department! That's right Jodie Foster! Me! In fact, I "got" every college I spoke with. I called Qunnipiac, and spoke to some curmudgeonly English professor. "Speak clearly." "Use proper English." "Give me some tickets first!" If I had had him for English, I probably would have cried. My boss told me to fuck him, so I did. Metoporically, of course. I respect anybody that tells me I "give good phone."

I sure give good phone.

Day off! Fake cheese! Tortilla Chip intrigue!

Just once I'd like to be able to sleep in on a day off, and not be disturbed. Several weeks ago, one of the crazy roommates barged in on me at 3am, because she wanted to return my earrings. Thanks. Last week, another crazy opened my door while I was sleeping, wanting to borrow my laptop. No you may not; when you act like a child, you get punished like one. This morning one of my bosses called me at 8 in the morning, just confirming I'll be there tomorrow. Could it keep, absouletly.

Had a delightful lunch with another roommate (no Mimosa's today, sorry.) Shopped our ways up 5th Ave, and did quite well. I was in desparate need of more professional looking clothes. Bought a new game of Monopoly - who doesn't not love the Monopoly?, some DVD's, and went to the market to buy ingrediants to make som crazy cheese dip my roomate invented. It was quiet good.

Now we're eating the crazy yummy cheese dip, and watching Teen Witch. Crazy Teen Witch with crazy Caryn Kaye from my favorite and yours...My Tutor. My Tutor is almost as good as Private Lessons with Sylvia Krystel, but not as good as Scorned with Shannon Tweed. Now you know; I have a mild facination with cheesy skin flicks.

Try as I may...

I can't get excited about going out tonight. It's Saturday. Woo woo. I'm tired, frustrated with work, and bloody cold. Karioke with the roommates was a possibility, but not even the prospect of singing for Mike Myers is enough to get me out. I ordered some take out, watched my roommate bake, tried curling her hair, and we watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Who doesn't not love that movie? That's easily one of my top 10.

I saw Night at the Museum, AGAIN. I doen't really get better the second time around. I have the desire to expand my DVD collection this week. I almost bought Mommie Dearest for $10 bucks at Virgin, the other day.

Amazingly, I have off tomorrow. That never happens. Hopefully, I'll get brunch and do some shopping. I deserve to be shallow every now and again.

My roommate just declared, "My brain is so pretty. I should write a poem about it." You wished you lived here, come on.

You might be number 7 on my Myspace, but you're number 3 in my heart.

Because of my incredible tenacity and work ethic, sometimes, but not to often am I rewarded. Out of all the families I work with, I only recieved a gift from one of them at Christmas. But last evening, one of my employers gave me more tickets to Spring Awakening. Squee.

I took my roommate this time; she'd never been to a Broadway show before. I enjoy bringing people to musicals, that wouldn't normally care to experience it. Our seats were much better this time - sorry, my tall friend - and I realized you get to see some breast. Twice! Stage breast is one of the best kind. I couldn't imagine doing an onstage sex scene 8 times a week. Well, maybe I could. What a fabulous, fabulous show!!!!! And Duncan Sheik was there too.

Afterwards, we went to a Brazillian restaurant. As we might know, I'm not the most adventurous eater. But, my roommate's so damn persuasive. She ordered me a Caipriani, or something simiar. Full of rum, I was feeling it. But not so much, I couldn't remember my address. Even stranger, my roommate had no alcohol. It's like Freaky Friday over here! We also had some yummy rice and beans, and fried Yuca. Poor Yuca. Even the name sounds depressing. It's an aquired taste, most definatly.

My wonderful new schedule, which I waxed so poeticly about yesterday, might be thrown out the window. An agency contacted me today, and I have an interview with a familiy tomorrow. Damn, it sucks being in demand.

GO SEE SPRING AWAKENING!!!!!!!!!!!

My pulse and hopes are rising, so let's keep improvising.

Things are better today. And why shouldn't they be? I've worked 47 hours in the course of 4 days, slept a total of 7 hours in that time period, all the while making rent. That's what it comes down to, people. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

But, I think I've discovered a wonderful insanity eraser. I need a schedule; I can't work random hours for these families, working a bit here, a bit there. I need to limit myself, and must discontinue my overextension. So, I'm come up with a detailed schedule, that'll in the end, have me bringing home quiet a bit more, then my previous positions. Consequently, I'll be working 6 days a week, but after surving this weekend, it's apparent I have the stamina to carry on. And sadly, it'll impact Harold Nite, at least the first part. I wont be able to go home for the next two months, due to class being on a Wed. I will bring it to the families attention this week, and sanity will ensue.

Tomorrow is my first day off in a long while. I've been so neglectful of my Rabbit, I'm taking her to the Vet tomorrow, for a clip and check-up. She's healthy, but every 6 months...whether you need it or not. I don't to often discuss her, but she's the best thing in the world. She's a sophisticated creature of the evening, much like myself. I dropped at home, at 9.30, and spent the evening with one of my roommates, munching on Atomic Wings, watching the Golden Globes on Tivo, and dancing to Frank Sinatra. All in all, a lovely closing to an incredibly uneccessary, sleep-depirved weekend.

It's Murder on the Dancefloor

It's tough performing eight shows a week, two matinees. For me, it's part of my daily existance. Alltering myself to fit someone else's needs, must make one feel quite good.

One of my roommates is such fun, a real treat to be around. I look forward to coming home, and chatting all evening with her. I haven't had a friend like her in I don't know how long. We share some common interests, enjoy each other's company, and continualy make one another laugh, but we are fairly different.

She invites me to hang out with her friends, friends she's had for years. Right away, there's a bit of resentment and contsternation towards me, but that's understood when someone new invades the sacred sanitarium of friendship. These girls are very cool. They treat me well, and I feel they've accepted me, to a point. I think they feel I'm not a threat towards them. I'm safe. Reliable. Square. And to a point, that's true. But it's tiresome trying to prove to someone who's not of the same fiber, that a Square can coexist with a Hipster.

My roommate invites me to places, I wouldn't typically be clamoring to go to. But, I moved to the City, wanting to expand my horizons, experience new things. I come with her, simply because I like her company, and I'd love to get to know her group a little better.

This evening, we went to a dance club in Williamsburg or Greenpoint. It's all the same to me. The music was so loud, the lights were so bright, the people were so hip, I quickly lost my ability to keep up this charade. I desperatly wanted to leave, but I hung in there, for the sake of my dignity, and my social life. I followed my roommate, like a scared child lost in the mall, but she was all right with it. She made sure I didn't become lost, which I appreciate. Unfortunatly, she didn't realize I was lost the moment they stamped my hand at the door.

I left, and her friends seemed to support this decision. "Here's an easy way to the subway." Although my roommate was concerned, I didn't want my departure to hinder her enjoyment in any way.

I just walked the vacant streets of whatever pretentious town I was in, just telling myself not to show any emotion. I wanted to get lost, I was so hopeful I wouldn't find the subway. The lights of Manhattan teased me from across the river, and I knew I deserved that. I deserved it, because I shoud've known better.

Although scared and saddend by my poor choices, I pressed on. I refused to ask for help; I was determined to make it out of this on my own. And like other obsitcles in my life, I made it through.

Wallow in my sorrow, if only for a moment. Like a cocaine buzz, this to shall pass.

Join me this evening, at 8 at UCB for some Krompf. Thank you to those that made the previous evening, so blogable. Now, I'll go to my lunch table, and you go to yours. In ten years, we'll laugh about it - well, I will when I tell the story on Conan.

Oh, and you'll be happy to learn Jack-Ass is offically over and done with. But I am concerned for him. Emotional impotance is a very real problem in today's society; the Mental Health field has grown leaps and bounds, and I'm sure the right medication for your social disease, is out there. As for your physical impotance, again let me point you into the direction of proper medication. And please take comfort in knowing, I had the dubious honor of being the first person "bed" on your bed since you moved to Brooklyn. It's strange, because you weren't even in the room at the time. Nella guerra delle parole, vincerò sempre. Vaffunculo. L'Estremità.

Mike Myers says hi!

Planning on going to Sing Sing for some much needed Karioke, with - well, that part's not really important. But the point is, I was waiting for my group to finish their cigs, when through the window at Sing Sing, I see one of my idols, one of by biggest celebrity crushes, the best part of 54 - Mike Myers!!!!!!!!!!!!! Because I have such respect for him as a performer, I didn't disturb him and his much younger girlfriend. Does that mean, I'd verbally abuse Kirsten Dunst or Dane Cook - it's a definate possibilty. He's hair is cut so beautifully, and is so shiny. The wait for singing was horribly long, so I left. Oh, you'd never ever hear the end of it if I had sung Pat Benetar for Mike Myers! Never.

You want reality? I've got your reality right here.

My career hit an all time low today. Playing Checkers with the 7yr old (she beat me only once), the mother (nudist) comes over and sits down. She asks, "I hope you don't think I'm crossing a boundary, but would you mind giving me a massage?" This was in front of her child. See, I have a problem saying no, in basically everything I do. I'm so eager to please, and consequently I become a doormat of sorts. You're wondering if I gave in? Well, that's what Purell and electric shock therapy are for.

Now, I try not to be judgemental about people, but it's quite hard sometimes. And if I am judging, I keep in to myself, usually. But today, I couldn't hide it. The mother, who as a reminder weighs over 300lbs, asked me to get her some Ben & Jerry's from the market. She was very secretive about it, because she disn't want her children seeing her eat. I was to get 8 pints of ice cream, in an assortment of flavors. My immediate reply was, "Eight? Do you really want eight pints of ice cream?" She appeared shocked, as if it's perfectly normal to devour enough ice cream to feed the children's wing at Bellvue. Relizing my faux-pah, I apologized, "it's none of my business what you do with your ice cream." See how smooth.

I was told to call her, if certain flavors were unavailable. After three markets, I called her from the Gristedes at 84th & Columbus. She instructed me to read every Ben & Jerry's flavor they carried, all 23 of them. Once she was happy, I took the pints to the cashier. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is, buying eight pints of ice cream all at once? Almost as embarrassing as admitting I gave the crazy lady a massage in front of her daughter. Oh yeah, she gave a few of those massage moans. Time to go set my hands on fire.

there's a crazy guy playing my clarinet, and I'm not pleased.

Don't even get me started.

Firstly, the movie's tagline in eerily similar to my memoir's title. Secondly, she's SO wrong for this role - no, I'm not getting into it, just trust me. Finally, if as a Nanny she was attending a function where her charge was required to wear formal dress, she would be required to dress much, MUCH more demurely then pictured. Come on!

There's never a happy medium; integrity does have it's price.

I don't attend the Cinema often. When I do, it's usually for kid-related fare. Or Shortbus. Which would you choose? So, I was pleased to take the 7yr old and her companion (who claims to be a Princess in Ghana*) to see Night at the Museum. I had just begun working here, when they were filming. It was the first time I'd walked through a movie set, and, well you can guess my level of mania was quiet high.

It was a fun movie, but I was most excited because I'm a huge History buff, I love LOVE Dick Van Dyck, and the screenplay was written by Robert Ben Garant & Thomas Lennon. I love & support any State-backed projects, even if that includes Herbie Fully Loaded; sadly, it does.

time to dole out medicine...

Swoon worthy!

What's that you say? You say you weren't one of the 512 people to see the 2 month Broadway run of Chess? Oh, you missed Shogun the Musical & Rockebye Hamlet as well? Do you love Golden Globe nominees that fade into oblivion? I see. Well, you dig tremendous talent, comanding stage presence, and raw sexuality? Me too! Come see Chicago with my father's Hebrew school student, the one and only...Philip Casnoff!!!!!!!! It's at the Ambassador, in case you were wondering.

Little girls, little girls; everywhere I eat, sleep, and breath them

Today, I'm a commodity. I'm being "shared" by two families. In the "biz" we call this a Nanny Share. In reality, this is what the Confederate party was fighting for. Normally, the mothers coordinate the share amongts themselves, leaving the Nanny somewhat out of the loop. Here, I'm the liason between the two because they don't get along with each other.

The two girls know I care for both of them, and they are aware I act a particular way with each one. I'm very careful not to play favorites; it's really easy for me to care for 2 or more kids at a time. I just prefer multiples.

Switching gears slightly, I forgot to explain myself for my somber behavior at Cage Match last evening. On the way home from work, I got on the "6" train at 77th St.. I like the "6" almost as much as the "4". I typically take the "C" to the "L", but the crosstown bus was sitting there, looking helpless, so I hopped on. At 33rd St, a small group of Asian NYU students got on, and squished up agianst me. There was plenty of room farther down the bench, but whatever. Suddenly, the girl right next to me opened up a small Tupperware container of food. Weird. She began eating what appeared to be a small salad, and was gesticulating like mad with her fork. She was making me very uncomfortable. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something shiny in the container. It was scales. To a fish. Oh, crapp I though I was going to be sick. I then noticed something else - an eye. The freakin fish this broad was eating, had an EYE!!!!!!! The man sitting across the way, asked me if I was allright. I said yes, why? He replied I was turning green. The women finally realizing my discomfort, apologized and moved. I got off at the next stop, Astor Place, and proceeded to vomit outside the Starbucks facing Cooper Union. I'm sure I'm not the first person to spew into a trash can in the East Village.

Time

There's a lot one can do in the course of three hours. I've ismed with an Autistic child while being filmed for three hours. I've marched in a parade playing the tenor sax, down the boardwalk in Virginia Beach for three hours. I've tended to my (Mum's) world famous briscuit for more then three hours. I've patiently waited for a cocaine addict to achieve orgasm in three hours.

After time with the child, he hugged me. After the parade, I won an award. After the briscuit, my father was pleased with my ability to cook. And yes, that guy finally came. My point it, it doesn't matter how long something I do takes. The outcome will almost always be positive. And one has to admire my dedication, and hidden talents.

Off to the Toys R Us in friggan Times Square to buy a birthday present. Ugh. But join us tonight; it's "Hello Dolly Roustabout Night."

I'm lucky, you're lucky, we're all lucky!

Dear me, whose the unstable one now? I've never been "put" in a cab before. Then again, I've never finished an entire pint of beer before. That fact that it was light beer is inconsiquential. I couldn't remember my address. When I drink, my personality & demeanor go one of two ways - I become loud(er) and start insulting people (usually they don't mind, and they allow me to make out with them in a broom closet in Scotland, then they loose their job, because you can't make out with a hotel guest while serving drinks), or I become real quiet, and somewhat catetonic. I've met a catetonic person before, so I know what I'm talking about.

I suppose I prefer the latter of my drunk personas, simply because it keeps me out of trouble.

Damn you Idiots of the Idiotarod! CBS might be onto something.

So, I came home, and to my surprise was the last one in - that rarely happens. I sleeply pulled on my new polka-dot pajamas, fed my Rabbit, and called my Agorophobic best friend to relay the events of the night to him. No matter time of day, I always call him when I get home from being out with friends. If one must live vicariously through someone, it might as well be me!

These are the people in my neighborhood

Most are confused by the amount of families I'm currently caring for. What amazes me most, I've kept it straight and together this long. We know of the overweight Nudist on the UWS, with the twins, one having Autisim. He hasn't put his head in the toilet lately. His sister is my most favorite child in all of New York. She's the best. I succeeded in royally pissing this mother off, over the holidays. After she insisted I return my key, she back tracked, and took me back. Why? Because I'm the only Nanny you'll ever meet, that'll run 8 blocks to the Radio Shack, 10 min. before it closes, to buy an adapter for a laptop, and in turn, saving the freaking day.

Then we have the crazy 3-fingered ticket lady, also on the UWS, with the daughter whose charm grew on my overnight. Such a talented little girl, she taught me to ice-skate in the Hamptons, during Christmas. I almost forgot to mention, we ice skated with Tim Robbins at Chelsea Piers last week. Sadly, her mother is balls-out crazy, treats her daughter horribly, and doesn't pay me nearly enough. So, I'm happily tossing this gig towards my delightful roommate. She can use the bread, and it'll give her the exposure she needs. See, a relationship with me, is a symbiotic one!

Finally, we have the Autistic teenager who adores me. And I him. He's 18, and speaks of nothing but trains, forms of transportation, fast food, and women's legs. We went to the Central Park Zoo last weekend, and two weeks earlier we walked accross the Brooklyn Bridge all the way to my old apartment in Tribeca.

All of these families are great, in their own way. And amazingly, I've been able to support myself since leaving my last position. But I really, really need a stable, "normal" job. Once I have that, I won't have to schedule going to the movies, out to dinner, or hanging at UCB several days in advance. And I really need to get back to improv. I miss it so much.

Where's the Mousey?

Dead. Wedged between the front door, and the frame. In the fetal position. Her name was Andromeda, and I'm sure she lived a good life, feeding off my roommates scraps. She's currently draped in Bounty, awaiting a peaceful swim towards Staten Island. It's quite amusing, because the mega-crazy roommate has barefooted quite close to the "body", completely unaware of a cold, dead creature imediatly to her right.

In startling similar news, my roommate loaned me a copy of the Bell Jar. Imagine zany me, reading a book such as that? Some were concerned it would deeply affect me, due to the familiar subject matter. Of course it did not. There were no revelations to be had, with the Bell Jar. If anything it really jogged my clouded memories about the past, which will be extremely useful come memoir time.

Fuzzy Feelings

What a long, long day it's been - and it's only 5pm! When I go home, I do the majority of my shopping. Bizarre, perhaps. Savvy, yes sir! For those unfamiliar with my obsession, I LOVE Target. I would move in, like Jennefer Connely in Career Opportunities. If you see a lovely women carrying two huge packs of Bounty on a New Jersey Transit train, it's probably me.

But I not only scoured Target today. I chauffered my father to several medical appointments, drove through the snow (!), and rocked out to Night Ranger and Meatloaf on the radio of my Mum's Pontiac. I love Meatloaf, like I love Target - except I'm not as vocal about my love of the Loaf. He's just a brilliant singer, and a delightful showman. And his backup singer has a voice similar to mine, so it all works out in the shower. Paradise By the Dashboard Light? Come On! The best song about making whoopee in a car since Expressway to Your Heart! This man is a perfect example of what I find most attractive in a fella - as long as your passionate about your craft, and are damn good at it, appearances don't faze me.

While driving through the snow, the power of advertising got the best of me. The velvet tones of John Goodman spouting the wonders of Dunkin Donuts new White Hot Chocolate consumed me. I love White Chocolate more than Meatloaf, but not as much as Target. Oh, it was like John Goodman gave me a hug, and almost choked me - it was that good!

I just can't help myself!

It sure has been quiet in my head, since my involuntary sabatical. I forgot how therapeutic blogging can be. I'm going to be honest - I've been rather sad as of late, due to numerous factors. Nothing a good hug, and some money can't cure. And I promised those around me, I wouldn't delve into this particular factor/madness, but this is what I excell at. My bread and butter, if you will. I'll be vague, but only because I'm sheilding those I love from your stupidity.

Here goes.

Hey Jack-Ass - you're a Jack -Ass. Find someone else that'll do what I did. For three hours. And live to tell about it. Good luck.

might as well start off with a bang, yes yes?

What you will expect

-a high level of sophistication
-passion-fulled anicdotes
-wit!
-Anglophilia
-more open letters to strangers
-"concept" pieces
-photos! That's right, Mr. Eastman!
-excitement only Manhattan (ok fine, some parts of Brooklyn and suburban Philadelphia) can drum up
-Rabbits
-drama
-breasts, and lots of 'em
-high quality muckracking
-my sterling opinion
-comments only from the highest echelon of posters
-Musicals!
-bullet-filled posts, such as this one
-for $100 bucks, nudity
-just enough intrigue to get you through your day

Yes I, The Infamous Smirking Valet solemly swear to uphold the extreme fabulosity left by the previous incarnation. I will continue to not censor myself, spread the word of my deleriously humourous conterparts, and try to shock - just a smidge. If I've learned one thing from this experience...I'm certainly not going to tell to you, am I? Grab the handcuffs, the subpeonas, hold onto your pride, and step away from the ledge - let the hubris overflow commence.