Burning bridges like it's the fall of Roam.

I recieved an attractive birthday card from my grandmother two days late this year. Which is an improvement upon the past 3 years, when I wasn't even speaking to her. When my mother got in an accident this past May, I had to call her. She immediatly blamed me, but we spoke every day for the first few weeks my mum was in the hospital. Then we got into an argument over something small It was always over something small. We didn't speak again. Then her miserable boyfriend had a stroke last month, and she started to tell my mother she wanted to go into a Nursing Home.

The card I recieved said this "It looks like you and I will never have a relationship. I just want you to know that I appreciate everything you have done for your motherm you have been wonderful and I do wish you the best. Grandmother." Who sends that sort of thing, via a birthday card!!!!!!!!!

And my father who I still don't speak to didn't even attempt to conctact me for my birthday. Last year he forgot, and "apologised for the oversight."

It's just me and my mother now. But that's all it really ever was anyway.

SEX!

Now that I have your attention, I'd like to bring it to a topic that's near and dear to my heart. The proper disposal of condoms, used and unused. For used, never never never flush it down the toilet. Just because drug dealers in Greenpoint do it doesn't mean you should. For unused, and I'm speaking of the expired ones, take them out of the package before throwing them away. If they're non-lubricated, put them on your hands and pretend you're a tadpol.

I bring this topic up because while cleaning my room this evening, I discovered my box of condoms. Most girls have them, I believe. Mine is pink, with a velveteen bow atop. Going through them, I discovered most were expireded within the month.

I told my roommate that's a clear indication I'm not having enough sex. He pointed out maybe I am, I'm just not using protection. Think on that!

*yes Mum, I'm using protection.

If we learned anything from West Side Story...

On Wed. whilst shopping at H&M, or Harlem & M as my roommates calls it I was accosted by a women. Like many who hit the pavements of 125th St., she was African American. She was shouting some pro-Obama protesting rants about the world, when I strolled past. She switched gears and said to her friends, "look at that pale-faced Cracker. It's people like that that are destroying Harlem!" I felt I didn't have a decent case to make against her, so I just walked by.

I will say, my neighborhood is one that is changing. South Harlem has given way to SoHa, little store fronts are now Starbucks and New York Sports Clubs, and everything being built now is with the intention to be chic. I'm all for bettering a neighborhood - build a playground, have a neighborhood watch. But even I am saddened by the copious amounts of white washing.

Smooth Move, Ex-Lax

I dropped a heavy table on the foot of a Super Sexy Power Table supporter today. And I opted to not go to our lame-ass company picnic, and rather nursed a hangover. Thank you Gargantuan Margaritas! Supposedly, I'm expected to support my coworkers and not drop heavy obkects on them. For a nursing home, this is as corporate as I've seen. Oliver Stone should make a movie about us. Christina Ricci would play me, of course. Our VP would be played by Julianne Moore, the bitchy coworker in my department would be played by S. Epatha Merkleson, and the old sassy black lady I throw laser punches too, would be played my Jimmy J.J. Walker in drag. Instead of "Dynomite!" he'd say "Peace, Hippie!" And...it would be A MUSICAL!

My coworkers seem surprised I don't take any drugs.

What Elton John meant...

I saved a life tonight! Well, sort of. I was walking home after an evening in Murray Hill w/ my Bridge & Tunnel crowd, when there was this guy on 116th & Lenox just laying there, in a puddle of vomit. Like most New Yorkers, I just glanced over, and walked away. Suddenly, I was struck with the notion that I can affect change and I shouldn't be so obsessed w/ my adequit life, when there's a douche, comotose in his own man-juice! I double backed, and asked him and his friends if he was ok. I used the "I work at a Nursing Home" line. Get's 'em every time. He was conscience, but could barely stand. His friends told me they just called an ambulance. Dude! I said, just put him in a cab and take him home. I also asked the million dollar question - "did you take anything." He said no. Bingo. I wished the douches good luck, and walked home. It was exhilarating, assisting a stranger. He totally had it coming, though.

Being professional is attractive.

Today I ate with at the "important" table at lunch. Starting with day one, I've hated eating in our employee cafeteria. Yes, it reminds me of Junior High. When I first walked in, I was taken back to that place, hoping to God someone would have a seat saved for me, while not judging a huge heap of Cheese Fries on my plate.

Not even bothering to put up with any chance of gossip mongering-co worker shanagans, I was shuttering myself in my office to eat whilst reading New York Magazine's Vulture Blog, then when my Mum came, I was eating lunch with her. She has a virus of sorts this week, so I decided to be sociable and eat with on of the few coworkers I enjoy being around.

I met her in the cafeteria, and she was sitting at the power table. Or the "Super Sexy Power Table." Gathered around said table was the Director of the facility, the director of nursing, the VP of something or another, and my coworker, and myself. When I wasn't eating my meatballs, I just listened. Not quite ready to stir that pot. The VP praised me, and introduced me to the important people. It wasn't so terrible. Apparently, this is what it was like for popular kids. And I didn't even have to carry someone's saxophone or buy them a necklace at Claire's. Does this mean those miserable years are gone? Of course not, I live in New York City - those people all came here! Either that, or had a kid out of wedlock. Which makes me smile.

Baruch much?

I'm attempting to go back to school. I've been putting it off for many years, but when I have kids, I don't want them to be at my college graduation. I aspire to many things, most of which is greatness. I was planning on attending Lehman for Recreation Therapy, but after much thought and bs at work, I've decided to pursue Marketing & Promotions. If that terrible bitch at Spring Awakening taught me one thing, it's all about making the product freakin amazing, even when it's shit. I think there's a future for me.