Should have known

You Are a Cashew

You are laid back, friendly, and easy going. Compared to most people, you have a very mild temperament. You blend in well. You're often the last person to get noticed. But whenever you're gone, people seem to notice right away!

What Nut Are You?

Got this where I get many good things: Lisa's place.

So I am a hooker, now, too?

When I have to be up and out of the house at 7:15am (Uncivilized, I tell you. You'd think I worked in a factory in a Dickensian novel), I sleep, but the restorative nocturnal enterprise is compromised by my fear that I will sleep through my class. I am therefore capable of being unconscious and nervous at the same time, and the result is that I awaken about three hours before I am required to do anything or be anything to anyone.

(I am getting to the hooker part. Please be patient).

I started my day at 4am with a fifteen minute interval of self pity, but I am pleased to report that I did not cry and a few times, I even smiled into my pillow because whatever else you might say about this day, it's an easy one, teaching wise. All I have to do is show up and crack a few jokes. At 5am, I gave up on going back to sleep and went to a certain coffee and donut establishment to get on with the coffee and poor breakfast choice part of my day. (Donut).

(Now to the hooker part).

On my way, a man in a livery car stopped at the side of the road and said the following extraordinary thing:

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go for a blow job."

I pretended I did not hear him.

"Anywhere! Really!"

(As if I might request a ride all the way to Kansas in exchange for a few minutes of inappropriate sexual contact with a drunken gypsy cab driver. Jesus. H. Particular. Christ).

Still, I did not answer.

"Where are you going?" said he.

"Coffee shop," I said.

"Meet me later?" he pleaded.

And here is the part of the story where I start laughing right there in the middle of 2nd Avenue because - let's face it: when it's 5am, and one is in one's pajamas and flip flops, carrying nothing but a ten dollar bill, perhaps it is just possible that one might look as if one just might be a hooker.

Or no?

What do you think?

Either way, i took this picture when I got home. Morning over the United Nations.



I wish you all a fine and happy day during which no offers you to make you any such offers as the one described above. (Hint: get dressed before you leave the house and at least bring a handbag).

Love,

Nina

31-40

The ubiquitous 100 things post. The first ten are here. The second ten, aqui. Here are ten more items for it.

31) I eschew adverbs. You can (usually) find a verb that builds the adverb in so that no "ly" word is necessary. Case in point: "The police officer drove quickly to the scene." How about "The police office sped to the scene." ??

32) Someone left a comment on my blog last night calling me cold and heartless. That's right.... someone stumbled onto my blog in the middle of the night, read one post and decided that I am "cold". Jiggity jig.

33) My shoe size: 7.5

34) I lost my virginity when I was 21. You tell me: is that late, or early?

35) I lost my virginity for the dumbest reason EVER. Ready for this? (I wasn't). The reason was that I did not know anyone else who was still a virgin and I felt like a weirdo. Plus I had a nice boyfriend, so I figured I'd get it over with.

36) "Other" school starts tomorrow. I work from 8:15 - 7:20. OW.

37) I don't wear make up unless I have a real and verifiable excellent reason to do so. I love the stuff and all its girliness, but I but my face is my face. Take it or leave it. (Unless I want to bat some smokey black eyelashes at you. Then you get make up).

38) I love thunderstorms. Unless they are thundernados. I do not like those.

39) I might be going to Costa Rica for Christmas. Why the heck not? I have a credit with the company I was supposed to go to Africa with, and there is no one left to die. What could possibly go wrong? (insert ominous music here).

40) Increased doses of Lexapro make people (me) incredibly tired.

Real post tomorrow.

Love,

Nina

Panic Hire U Strikes again

I just agreed to do something that I would never, ever do again. Ever.

I agreed to teach an 8:15am class all the way across town for the people whose paperwork is so sloppy that they can barely manage to pay me until half way through the semester. Why oh why did I do this?

This is a personal failing I have had since I was old enough to get my work permit. I just can't turn down work. It is the grossest. But what can I do? Someone offers me work, I need the money, I take it.

The bright side, of course, is I'll have work and work means money.

The other bright side is that I am finally off my butt and doing laundry and working and gearing up for a new semester. The sulk is over. Back to work.

145

I would post the link to this quiz if I thought any intelligent person would endure the onslaught of mandatory marketing blah blah blah you'd have to wade through to get your results.



And you know what? I think the fact that I bothered invalidates the results.

But I'll take a 145 - since I need to think I am smart as compensation for being thick and ordinary.

Yee-haa.

Color Test. Scares. Me.

Found this over at Lisa's place and uh, the accuracy of it is scary. Can there actually be sometime to this? It doesn't actually says "You've been rooked" --- but pretty close.

Nina took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Seeks the determination and elasticity of will nec..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

Different

Today, I am taking my laptop up the Yonkers to watch the races. I have never done this before, but I hear it's fun. And it has been a long time since i have been anywhere involving animals. If I were really on my game, I'd go to the Bronx Zoo, but I think I'd get more work done watching the races. I hope the horses enjoy it because it seems like a lot of pressure to put on the feet and ankles and psychiatric outfits of those animals.

Because I am too busy trying to decide what to wear and I haven't had my coffee yet, I will respond to a few comments:

Avitable, Lord, yes, lots of anti-sad meds. They are working. Not all the way, but enough for me to brush and floss.

Rick(y), you know I had to dust the tops of my doors after you said that. Gracias. I had no idea the dust I would find.

Cath, Annie, Jane, Finn, why are you so good to me?


Everyone else, love to you too. I'll be fun again soon and shoot - maybe later I'll come home and post pictures of four legged creatures running around in circles.

Whee!

Love,
Nina

Look! Over here!

It's another post about how I am really tired! And not feeling like myself!

Made you look.

Anyway, despite being tired and filmy, I did finally manage to do actual things that needed actual doing. I amazed myself by putting away my gear for the trip I didn't take to Tanzania and I did some thoughtful editing and judicious commenting on a document that needed such attention. I knitted a row or two. I fed Cathead and gave him water, only to have him walk right past it and drink out of the toilet, as he prefers. Then I returned a bunch of emails. Not the really nice one you sent to me - not that one.

Let me just keep talking about that. My inbox runneth over with kind thoughtful emails expressing condolences and dispensing all sorts of good advice and though my momma taught me better, I haven't written you back. Why? Because I am not a very good person. But also because there are so many and if I write back to one person but then put off writing back to some other person, the uneasy feelings of having chosen to answer one email rather than some other email causes me distress. So, uh, my way of avoiding such uneasy feelings is to eat cheese and pretend there are no emails. What are you talking about? What? Huh? Look! Over there! It's.... me... being thick and ordinary and ungracious.

I'll get back to y'all. I will. But by the time I do, you will probably not remember who I am anymore, even though you have this here internet diary to remind yourself.

I have no idea where I am going to be in a year or what I am going to be writing about. Thank you for reading.

Chaos weary

I have held down my "whatever" to the extent that I have not been evicted or fired from anything. Yet.

All this reflection is leading me to a better understanding of what I already knew: I am doing okay, sure. But really what I am doing it what I always do: deny, distract, engage in my own special brand of chaos, which I will not describe because you'd be bewildered anyway. Suffice it to say that every day, I wake up with the same set up plans and every day I engage in different plans - plans I had not planned on and that do me no good, not to mention other people. Who does it help, exactly, to bleach my shower curtain when I know full well that I am moving out of here in six weeks? Where is the up-side to a searching a fearless shoe inventory - during which I dispassionately relieve my closet of all but ten essential pairs.

Someone at Salvation Army is going to be out of her mind with barely worn shoe-pleasure. Don't even get me started about the vacuuming. Of the bamboo blinds. That could surely have waited, too.

I did do some actual time-sensitive work today, but only after I disassembled the desk and swept all the crumbs out of the drawer joints.

I get that it's better than passing out in a mouldering pile of my own filthy laundry..., but shit... shouldn't that laundry be done already? Does the zero-underwear moment really need to arrive before I reconnect to what's real and what's right?

Can someone save me from myself? Why cannot I focus on, um, the business of my life? Why?

See if you can answer that while I climb a ladder and dust the crown molding. The rags and vinegar-water are waiting and I... I really think I am going to do it.

Yesterday

I swore I'd be a better blog friend to you yesterday. You know now that I did not succeed.

Let me tell you what I succeeded in doing yesterday:

a) sleeping
b) eating a pint of ice cream and an order of french fries
c)) talking to my uncle about how "super" we are - now worries here! Really!
d) smoking a cigarette
e) falling asleep in a pile of laundry on the floor - not to awaken for 9 hours

Not to alarm you, but I guess it's time to let the bravado go and face facts: this sucks. Am I am okay? Sure I am. What choice do I have? But if you someone gave me that game to play right now - the one where you can trade problems with someone else? The one where everyone (supposedly) owns up to really liking his or her problems more than anyone else's in the whole world?

Not me. I'd trade any of you. (Except maybe Adam, who will never believe me when I say that i have been working on it (really!) despite no evidence to the contrary.

See you all tomorrow.

First day of school

It was, um, busy. I'll write about it tomorrow. For now, how about another picture I took while leaning out my window?




I will be a better blogger tomorrow. Pinky swear.

A new record

Seeing as I am so enamored of Mike Phelps (as if the whole world, lately) I thought I would go for a record of my own.

I stayed up until 6am playing games on my iPhone.

There were moments when it was really hard. Around dawn, when Cathead started his usually serenade of the new day, I threw a ball of Peruvian yarn at him and went on with my plan to drain my phone's battery and achieve a personal best at being nocturnal and filmy.

I succeeded. I went to sleep at 6am, drug free.

And I slept until right about twenty minutes ago.

You tell me: what is your personal best for not sleeping for no reason?

Do I even get a Gold medal? Has any one of you bested me?

Love for P

Princess of internet excellent P requested that in exchange for her recent donation to the Nina is orphaned, disinherited and chronically under clouds of bad fortune fund that I write a haiku for the children of Afghanistan. I embraced this challenge with vigor, but found myself struggling with syllable related difficulties. So I composed three.

Afghan children of God
Mittens I would make
Bright colors for you

Smalls of war torn land
Hot sun and terrible noise
Still - be not afraid

Americans love
cheese - do your people make it?
Afghan kids - try it.

Your turn.

In comments, compose a haiku, or tell me which one of my poor attempts pleases* you most.

*Appreciating Lisa and Ingrid and a few other people, initial KP and LW. Do you folks have blogs? If you do, clue me in.

Welcome to Egypt

... a fun filled place with a thing called The Nile. Only I am so deep in it that I can't see the water for the water - nor do I care what country it is as long as there is a steady supply of diet soda, Doritos, and, um, well. I like it when the sun comes up and later it goes down and I can say I "did" another day, even if the doing of that day involved nothing more complicated than going out for diet ginger ale, of which I consume potentially life-threatening quantities.

Sometimes, however, denial is briefly arrested and I must face the general unpleasantness. I got a box in the mail from my step-mother today, containing the following items:

A crystal paperweight that I bought him (with his money) for his birthday when I was seven years old. He had kept it on his desk for thirty years.



She also sent me his class ring from college, which he wore throughout my childhood - but rarely wore after he retired. It's on a string around my neck. (Except for the moment when I took it off so I could take this picture for you).



The thing is, despite all this river business, I know it's going to really jump up and bite me in the ass one day soon that I am spending the weeks post End of the World (version 2.2) acting like nothing at all has happened. Seriously. I drink ginger ale and I work on stuff. With enough controlled substances, I sleep. It's almost like nothing ever happened, except it totally did, and maybe I am just not ready to even leave the Egyptian river. The real danger of drowning will ramp up when I get out. So I ain't doin' it. Stayin' in.

(Not nearly as off my nut as this post suggests. But getting my paper weight and my dad's college ring in the mail does get a girl's head above water for a moment. She does not like it and so back under water she goes. Maybe tomorrow I'll surface again for a minute or two, but that's not a promise).

(Still appreciating you - will post more about that (the appreciation) tomorrow).

Have a good weekend, and thank you for reading.

Four and One

I met up with my friend today and started clearing out the space I'll be living in. Four bags to Good Will and one bag of trash.

It's a good start.

It's going to be okay.

The folks I'll be living with will be home in a few weeks and once they get home, more progress.

I am scared but also happy. How? Why? Because although I will be living rent-free, I know I can earn my keep by helping them clear out their place.

I am scared, but it also feels right. It benefits me, but it also benefits them.

It's going to be okay.

How are you?

I took this picture for you

Busy day... will write tomorrow.*

*Wait. I changed my mind. I am on my way down to the house to start working the spot I am going to be living. I'll post when I get back.

List progress

Of yesterday's list, I accomplished 1, 4, and 5. I suppose I could get off my butt and return those pants that don't even fit me, but it has been a crazy, uh, day so far. More family drama, of the unanticipated sort. I am not going to blog about it because every time I do describe the FUBARness associated with my dad's illness and death, I always regret it later. Suffice it to say we just got smacked upside the wallet again. Life... it just isn't kind to my people. At all.

But day isn't over yet. I could return those ugly pants that don't even fit me, but instead I am doing the good thing I should have done days ago, which is laundry and working on a project for excellent blogger and good guy Avitable. I also have important work to do by request from P.

Note to anyone who wants to join me: when writing a haiku for the children of Afghanistan, note that the word itself takes up a lot of haiku space. Four syllables. Note also that if you abbreviate to "Afghan," your readers might interpret your poem to be a call to compassion for your basic polyester couch blankee - you know, the ones your grandmother made for you to snuggle under while you were watching Wizard of Oz. This haiku writing... it's a tricky business, and I want to do mine right.

I'll post that as soon as I can solve my syllable problems.

Wednesday, to you, is hump day (at least some of you call it that). To me, it's just a day, but congratulations to you if you feel like your work week is now all downhill from here.

(Still appreciating you. More than ever).

Cross-Mojination

It has been a weak week since I got home from whatever that was I went to in South Carolina. That craziness. I have been... what do they call it? gentle with my psychological outfit and I have tried not to overtax myself for fear I would have some kind of episode.

There comes a time, however, when it is time to get off the couch and stop fantasizing about living in a trailer and spending my days in lawn chair denuding dandelions. Today is going to be the day.

I will:

1) Go see my brother
2) Return those ugly pants that don't even fit me...
3) Stop by the post office
4) Go by my friend's parents' house and see where I will be living. Make sure I can see myself there, etc.
5) Stop by my church and place my hand on the door and look through the window. Rome. Day. You know what I am saying.

Your turn. What do you all need to be doing that you are putting off? Everybody pick something and tell me about it. Then, so we all have cross-mojination, go do it.

I love you.*


* Still appreciating you, too.

Why ever not

Yesterday was a banner day for me, productivity wise:

1) I put all the laundry in the laundry place.
2) I put all the stuff that goes in The Pile in to... The Pile.
3) I showered! (I even flossed and exfoliated)!
4) I really, truly, did prep work for classes - that begin in one week.

I even slept last night on less medication. Wondering how much I took last night? Are you ready for this? 45mg of temazepam and half a xanax. If you think that's gross, I'll just not tell you what it was taking to make me unconscious before the recent End of the World (version 2.2).

The result was I had a dream wherein my apartment was some kind of tube. In my tube, I had a walk in refrigerator, sort of like you'd see at the butcher's shop. On a shelf in a jar were three huge crawfish - big as lobsters, really. They were starving and fighting with each other, possibly trying to eat each other. On the floor of my walk-in preserver of deadness for later consumption, there were hundreds of dead, moldering octopuses. Only they were trying to wrap their feelers around my ankles.

The only upside to this dream as the diner style coffee maker that just never seemed to stop brewing. Coffee pot after coffee pot after coffee pot. Only it didn't spill because there seemed to be and endless stream of people there, strangers, in fact, pouring and drinking it.

Feel free to, um, interpret my dug-light dream for me. Or, you can just go ahead and regret that you stopped by today, as I would if I were you.* To take the sting out of that, I repost for you my giraffe with seven legs.** She is also wearing tights. I hope it helps.




Have a good Monday.



* I don't feel as bad as this post suggests. I just had terrible nightmares, probably from trying to cut back on drugs, which I is what I should be doing. If you want further upside, I haven't been drinking... at all... since my dad died. This deserves a post all its own. My lack of drunkenness puzzles me. I mean, who DOESN'T go on a wild ass bender, when... well, you know. I should be drunk 24/7 right now, and yet I am just... not. Can't figure that one out, either.

** By the way, I am still appreciating all of you. I think I am going to make it through the month without having to try to make pancakes out of contents of my vacuum filter, and that wouldn't be true at all without your help.


Ok I am really done talking now. Have a good Monday.

Thank you

The last thing my dad did before he died was build a bench on the lower deck and rock wall that he built during the last year of his life - a year during which he was definitely not supposed to be among us at all. And yet inexplicably was.



As you may or may not be able to see, he got out his soldering iron? Is that the implement? Anyway he inscribed the bench with the words "Rest ye and thankful be."

A day or two after he finished that bench and ran electricity down there to light the place at night, he went to the hospital, and the rest is history (June and July archives).

Thank you to everyone who donated yesterday:

Avitable
Martin
Daisy
LAS
Coal Miner's Granddaughter
Maggie
Matt
Woodrow
Five Husbands
Julie
Annie
One Pink Geek (are you blogless? I'd like to link to you).
Dagny
Nicoleantoinette
Maryse (are you blogless? I'd like to link to you).
Rich
Mr. Bingley
P

If I missed you, shame on me. Comment and I'll fix it.

Since I am on the subject of shame, I should keep talking about it. I felt itchy and uncomfortable all day yesterday and every time I got another donation I felt a little itchier. The reason is that I suffer from one fault or another in regard to that there paypal button. It's either pride - being too pigheaded to accept help when I need it - or shame, ie feeling the wrongness of getting into other people's pockets over my problems. I am also a little (a lot) ashamed of smearing all the family business all over the internet - even though my blog is anonymous. Who needs to hear this? And who, exactly, should feel sorry for me? I don't cancer for the third time and little kids to look after. I don't have wonky kidneys and, uh, limited time. Nor am I living with the heartbreak of infertility and its unfun treatments and anxiety and hopes raised only to be dashed again for no apparent reason. I could list others who have it worse than I do. I am sure you could, too.

Which is why I now say this to you: In a few months, after I move out of here and into a my friend's parents' place, my stuff will start working out fine again, and when it does, you'll get the money you sent me back. I know a bunch of you will say "Pshaw! I don't want it back! Just write more hateful sarcasm to entertain me and we'll call it even." Well... I can see why you might say that and I can see myself saying the same thing in your situation, but, well.

What I am asking is for you to help me twice by being cool about it when I paypal you back. I won't feel right unless I do, and even if you all hadn't saved my ass yesterday, I would still have, on the credit side, a great dad and great friends, too, both real and in the computer. And am I thankful for that? Hell, yes.


Fo those of you who have never seen pictures of he lower deck, rock wall and pergola my dad built in the last miracle year of his life - well, these are the most recent I can find. I am sure there are better, as all the finish work was done before he ever built the bench.





Have a good Sunday.

And it gets worse

Advised by excellent blogger and good guy Avitable, I have added a donation button. It turns out I can't make rent this month - my brother can afford to give me some, but not enough. I am kind of, how they call it, screwed?

The history: my dad got leukemia, and at the time, I had no debt and $20,000 saved. Two years later, after last minute plane tickets and rental cars, hotel rooms and phone bills, I am not only out of that money, but up to my ears in debt, too. This last week - $1000 in plane tickets for a funeral after which I was run out of the house after, I find out that my dad disinherited all his kids. Let me be clear: my dad's illness bankrupted us, or near it, and we inherited nothing of his - not kidding - many millions. My step mother got it all and she is not speaking to us. Meanwhile, I can't even make rent this month because even though my brother can lend me some money, it won't be enough to cover it. So I am looking at bouncing a rent check and not being able to make the minimum payments on the debt I incurred, all because I was trying to see my dad while he was in and out of ICUs and CCUs and having surgeries and what all else. Check the archive. It's all there.

I am screwed and all pride must now be squelched in the face of pure desperation.

Give me $5 if you can.

I love you either way.

The Plan

Being reduced to a beggin' ass bitch, as I am, here is the plan:

1) I borrow money from my brother, enough to cover rent and bills for the month. This is so humiliating I can't even describe what it feels like except to say that to have worked three jobs and found myself a beggin' ass bitch hurts my pride. And pride, though it's a sin, is something I am not afraid to cop to. (Get off my back about the ending of a sentence in a preposition. Geez. Pick on me for something else - like my pridefulness or my penury, ok)?

2) Move into my friend's parents' house down the road. They are getting on in years and they are moving to a house around the corner. They need someone to live in the house to keep the place in order, and they also need someone to help them sort out forty years of nick knacks. Given my background as a professional organizer, this is something I know how to do. The plan benefits them and it benefits me. I hate to give up my hole of a home, but the numbers dictate that I must. So I will.

3) Meanwhile I am going to work three jobs, again, to pay down all the misery debt I racked up.

4) After a year, I'll come up with some other plan.

This plan is all tentative, of course. I still have to iron out the details with my friend's parents, but the operating plan is that starting sometime in October, I'll be living in a big old house, trying to make sense of other people's past - and working out for myself some kind of future.

Good enough

You might have inferred that I am neither quitting nor leaving the blog world. Oh, sigh of relief!

(Hear me now applauding myself for relieving you of my narcissistic belief that you couldn't live without me).

If I can pull a post about the awesomeness of the Jews out of nowhere, I imagine I can think of other things to say.

What's to say today? Not much else.

I just felt the need to hit that orange button, and tell you I feel that even though all has gone wrong with the world, all feels right with me.

I hope you all are doing ok, too.

What is it with the Jews?

If you are anti-Semitic, Nazi-ish or just a closet Jew-hater, this post is not for you. Sorry to lure you in with the promising title, but here you will not find what you seek. Get gone with you.

(Everyone else: listen to the sound of all the mean people leaving the blog. *Click*).

What is it with the Jews? Since I moved to NYC, I have met exactly three men who I was absolutely certain were kind, decent, straight up, right in the head and right in the heart guys: all Jews. All of them have been my friends the entire time I have lived in NYC and all of them have wanted to be more than friends and have remained genuine and steadfast in their friendships with me in spite of my lack of romantic reciprocation. I go silent for months and they always email and call. I say "don't kiss me, ever" and they say, "That's cool, but I totally love you."

If you're wondering why I wouldn't just go with it and date one of these fine people, it's because I am Catholic, and my Catholicism, though shabby and not going well, is irreversible. And I think you all know I wouldn't raise a child Jewish. I couldn't do it. And if you know much about Jewish people, you know that even a secular Jew isn't going to taking their kids to CCD. No way.

So what's the point?

And yet damn it all if... well, see the above.

And you know what else? I am in financial ruins right now. Ruins. Smoke and ashes. Many many many good people have offered to help. But you know who banged my door right the fuck down and saved my ass - and did it in a way that ensured I couldn't be prideful and reject her help outright?

Sorority sister from way back in the day. Big star of David wearing observant Jew fixed some stuff for me in a way that I couldn't do for myself and in a way that I couldn't afford to refuse and though she knows I won't accept it, she basically left her wallet on the table, too.

Considering how much certain supposedly Christian people have behaved recently, my brain is turned inside out right now and it has made me wonder, anyway. Just a historical question that I demand that you not try to answer in comments: whose idea was it to be all hateful about Jewish people, exactly? Is it merely that biblical shit about Israel in Egypt that started the beef? Because Jews... at least the ones in my corner? Good people. All of them.

Seeing

Seeing my father disinherited his natural children and left his entire estate to my step-mother, and seeing as my step-mother has already emptied my father's estate of all its assets, and seeing as there is nothing left of my mother's in the house but a wedding picture and a few old quilts, and seeing as our step-mother is too busy popping pills and eating grief chocolate to talk to any of us... seeing as all that is true, I find myself feeling pretty good.

We - my brother, my sister and I - did nothing wrong - not to anyone. My dad got used and manipulated and so did we, but my brother, sister, and I did nothing wrong. Our intentions were good from A to Z.

What all that has to do with the blog, I have no idea. When I started blogging, it wasn't about anything, but it became about this. Now that there is no this, I find myself not knowing what to say.

Does anyone remember what I used to talk about? Does anyone remember who I was before this? Can someone remind me?

No need to answer that. I have a lot to do and I am sure you do, too.

The next day

For those of you who missed the post describing the disgrace that was my father's funeral, I am sorry. I had to take it down. It was just that ugly.

It is time for me to let you in on something else: I am considering closing this blog. Far too long, it has been about nothing but badness, and as I look into the future, I don't see anything but more badness. I am not sure that writing about it is the right thing to do. In fact, I am sure it is not.

If I make this decision (as I imagine I soon will) I will draft a final post and remove the blog. If I start blogging again under a new URL, I feel pretty sure you'll find me.

Thank you again to all of you. This outlet has been the bright spot in the worst year of my life, and all the support you all have shown me has given me hope. I have really needed it, and I could have gotten this kind, the blog kind, your kind, from nowhere else.

Thank you.

And so

Thank you to everyone who once again guest posted. Thank you for all the kind and supportive emails that I never returned. Thank you for showing up and reading even though you knew every time you did, it would lower your general happiness level a full notch (sometimes two). (I have taken back the reigns of my internet diary, so if the posts of the last few weeks have provided any exceptions to the depressive, psychotic, bitter, wrathful standards I have built and upheld for over a year, you can exhale. If you're into that my brand of _____________, here's your home plate. Virtually speaking, anyway).

Geographically speaking, we are at the airport waiting for a flight that takes off in three hours. You might remember that I was supposed to stay here until Wednesday and you might guess that it's odd for three people to sit around in an airport for three hours if they don't have to.

(Work on it for a minute. Have a inference or two and meet me a sentence later).

It has been almost twenty-four hours, actually, since we left. We spent the night at a hotel an hour away.

(Keep inferring. It was so much worse than you can possibly imagine. Imagine the epic worst way and then triple it or even quadruple it).

Having an internet diary that is run by your evil twin has a lot of drawbacks, but it has one indispensable advantage: because you don't know my name or theirs, I can describe everything that happened in the last 48 hours secure in the knowledge that I am slandering no one (because every word I say will be true) and also secure in the knowledge that I am exposing no one's identity. I'll be exposing you all to a complete guarantee that you'll be much less happy than you were before you started reading, but I leave it to your good judgment to decide whether to come back and find out why my dad's children are all refugees in airports for the better part of a weekend.

Love,
Nina

We believe that everyone should believe in something

Hi folks, LAS again. I figured I would put up this post over here that I posted on my own blog - since no one has posted yet today. Please keep Nina in your thoughts and prayers today (and have a drink for her!!).

So my cousin found this little thing that we wrote when we were 14 called "We Believe." We attempted to write down the things that we believed in at that age - some of these are from advertisements that we had hanging on our walls - others of them, I am honestly not sure where they came from. We made them up I guess. I remember when we wrote this. It won't be as funny to all of you, but when my cousin and I read it now, 17 years later, we were pretty much rolling on the floor laughing. So have a laugh if you want to - these are the things we thought believed in at 14.

We Believe
We believe in truth.
We believe we can sometimes lie.
We believe it should just go.
We believe there is a man in the moon.
We believe that peace is possible, maybe.
We believe that imagination is a doorway to understanding.
We believe that this commercial is good.
We believe that music is a bridge of expression.
We believe that poetry doesn't have to be written.
We believe that lust is necessary.
We believe that we are all alone out here.
We believe that we are candles.
We believe that people make their own heaven or hell.
We believe little kids know more than adults.
We believe you should feel not think.
We believe that things should be visually appealing.
We believe that Fig Newton's aren't just a cookie.
We believe that people shouldn't ask so many questions.
We believe that everyone should believe in something.
We believe that God is not judgmental.
We believe in the right to choose.
We believe that the news is breakfast for your head.
We believe if you have to be lost, you should make the most of it.
We believe that you have to have the ball to play the game.
We think we believe that black is not the absence of color, but we are not sure.
We believe that there is emotion after all.
We believe that pain is real.
We believe that rage is productive.
We believe that men should feel like shit.
We believe that anger should not be controlled.
We believe that silence is gray.
We believe that panic is art.
We believe that apathy is everything instead of nothing.
We believe that tomorrow may never come.
We believe that coldness is an emotional state.
We believe that sexy is a state of mind.
We believe we are victims.
We believe you should say you are sorry.
We believe that people can be on different ends of the same wavelength.
We believe there is something west of imagination.
We believe you don't have to get it.
We believe in the power of touch.
We believe that they want to steal our thoughts.
We believe we may die tonight.
We believe in the child inside.
We believe that what used to look wrong, now looks right.
We believe you are soaking in it.
We believe in songs about a boy.
We believe you should stand out in a dark crowded room.
We believe size isn't everything.
We believe temptations are to be yielded to.
We believe you should try them on first.
We believe in the rain.
We believe you are never to young to start.
We believe you should use your noodle.
We believe you can't find yourself until you lose yourself.
We believe we are lost.
We believe no one can be completely satisfied.
We believe we are collecting dust.
We believe there is a picture in every cloud.
We believe forgiveness comes with time.
We don't believe in time.
We believe in other peoples dreams.
We believe that wisdom comes with experience, not with age.
We believe real men should cry, often.
We believe that everyone is Venus in the dark.
We believe you should look to the cookie.
We believe that beauty can't be defined.
We believe in kindling our spirits.
We believe that love is a game.
We believe that if something looks too good to be true, it is.
We believe that it is fun being us.
We believe that 1,200 bodies can be buried in 1 acre of land.
We believe in purity.
We believe we are all invisible.
We believe in spontaneous combustion.
We believe you should always show your true self.
We believe we might be.
We believe there is sex in cyberspace.
We believe there are things we see for the first time again and again.
We believe the walls tell the story.
We believe that green is the color of war.
We believe in existentialism.
We believe we have run dry.
We believe you can defy reality.
We believe you are never really free from yourself.
We believe you should hang on to your horizontal.
We believe in shared ecstasy.
We believe it is a hell of a long way home.
We believe there is intelligent life out there.
We believe that every song is a prayer.
We believe that the sky tonight is the color of tears.
We believe we should sleep forever.
We believe that love is a nightmare created by someone else in a parallel universe.
We believe we die little deaths every day.
We believe we should all dissolve and simplify.
We believe there is no such thing as making love, it should be there already.
We believe everything is the way it is because it is.
We believe everyone should have at least one.
We believe that if you don't feel pain, you can't feel pleasure.
We believe that insanity is the key to survival.
We believe that other people are the icing on the cake, but the cake should be you.
We believe everyone is an island.
We believe that no one can do everyone, but everyone can do someone.
We believe it doesn't sound how it feels.
We believe it tastes green.

Confessions of a True Suburbanite

Hi again to everyone in Readerland from Kate P, putting in a guest post for Nina.

It's pretty easy to tell I grew up in the suburbs, right on the edge of the city. I'd get my taste of the city once in a while--church and shopping in the immediately adjacent communities, trips to the Art Museum and other must-see sites, the department store light show at Christmas, my dad's office--but I didn't really know my way around. I had a friend in college who knew the public transportation system practically inside and out, and I relied on her for both companionship and navigation when we wanted to hit South Street for shopping or go to a concert down by Penn's Landing. In my mid-20s I drove downtown just about every week to see an acupuncturist, but I didn't venture much outside of the area where her building was located. I knew how to get there, and how to get home.

Last night, I attended a dinner organized by a high school classmate for all of us local high school classmates to surprise the new chef at a particular downtown restaurant, because the chef was one of our classmates as well. (Little did I know this skinny blond kid in my art class would become a chef who is starting to get recognition for her talent; little did she, judging by the circuitous route she took.) Nobody took me up on my carpool suggestion, so I drove it alone.

Driving into the city requires consulting my dad, who worked downtown for decades and knows the city well. His directions got me pretty far, until it came to finding a place to park. The restaurant came up fast on my left, and there weren't any parking garages in sight. So a drove around the corner, and turned right at the first street sign with the "P" parking symbol indicating parking was that way.

It wasn't until after I had parked and gone down to the street level that I realized I didn't quite know how far I was from the restaurant. So I memorized the stores on the corner and started walking up the street--the opposite side of where I'd come in, so I was in essence making a loop instead of (probably more wisely) walking back up the way I'd driven. Fortunately I came upon someone from the Parking Authority, and while she sighed at my tourist-y ignorance of how far I was from the restaurant, she told me where I needed to turn.

After I'd turned the corner and made my way toward the restaurant, I had one of those "only in the city" encounters. Because this was a fairly swanky restaurant, and it was hot and humid out, I decided to wear my blue cotton sheath dress that came to my knee and a white linen shirt to cover my bare shoulders, with heeled sandals. I'm short and I'm not a toothpick, but I have nice legs (if I do say so myself), so what happens?

"Baby, you so beautiful."

Called out from some random stoop in front of some random store, a good block or so from the restaurant.

So, as an ignorant suburbanite, I ask those of you city-dwellers and city-savvy people, what should be the proper city response?

(A) Ignore it and keep walking;
(B) Yell "Thanks!" over your shoulder and keep walking;
(C) Turn around to see who said that;
(D) Hug your purse tighter and pick up the pace;
(E) _____________, you spoiled, uptight, ignorant suburbanite.

So today was the day I was supposed to guest post for La Nina. Oops.

Hi, my blogger name is Woodrow. Well, it was back when I used to blog. You see I quit a while back. I don't know why. Do I have to have a reason? Oh, and I'm also Nina's internet boyfriend. Be jealous. Be very jealous.

I'm reading a book called Child of God by Cormac McCarthy. The main character is having sex with a dead woman that he found on the side of the road. He keeps her in his attic. Just brings her down in the evenings to warm her up by the fire so she won't be so stiff and cold while he fucks her. Or at least that what he was doing until he burned his house down. In his defense he did buy her a new dress.

If you ever get the chance to visit Oklahoma in August, don't. It's hotter than two squirrels fucking in a wool sock.

I've "known" Nina for about a year now. She's good people. Even if she did once tell God to suck her non-existent dick. That was a classic. Do y'all remember that one? Nina does because I won't let her forget. I can't believe she puts up with me. She deserves better. She deserves better in a lot of other ways too. Asking questions that we'll never know the answers to is a waste of time though. Sometimes we've got to just be I guess.

I've got to run now. I have a date tonight. If I remember to I'll finish this post when I get home. Otherwise, adios. I thought I'd quit blogging anyhow.