Tuesday, June 17, 2008
For someone who gets the "glow" from drinking alcoholic beverages, I don't even know why I even bother to drink anything. For those of you who don't know what the "glow" is, allow me to explain: it is when your body absolutely refuses to digest the distilled-beverage-of-your-choice being put into your body. Instead of quietly flushing the obtrusive toxin out of your system like a normal person, your body decides to teach you a hard lesson by turning your face, then gradually your entire body a lobster red. That is after one drink. After drink two, the red turns into a magenta. After drink three, the magenta turns into an unhealthy purple hue. That is when the bartender starts cutting you off, your friends are starting to look worried, and you are absolutely mortified because the people around you think you are a raving alcoholic. In order to avoid the concerned/disgusted stares, I have learned to spend my adult drinking years in dark rooms, nursing my paper cup full of mystery juice all night long. It took me a number of years to really sit down and do a benefits analysis; upon doing so, I came quickly to the conclusion that it was not worth the social agony to continue in this fashion. Once I stopped imbibing fermented beverages, my defenses toward the poison started to get weaker and weaker. The happy buzz that accompanied my rose visage was replaced by nausea, irritability, and a desire to go the bathroom every ten seconds - in other words, a temporary pregnancy! A miracle. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is having a grand old time, completely oblivious to the irritable red heifer in the corner doing the pee pee dance. Adding insult to injury, those individuals unfamiliar with the glow syndrome often stare at my 7/8 full glass of Riesling in disbelief and ask me what's wrong with me. This is especially true among the fraternity/sorority demographic, who never quite grew out of the college drinking scene, and have built up an impressive tolerance. Explaining my affliction has taken so much time and energy out of me over the years, so for the sake of my own amusement, I resort to one-liners that have varying degrees of diplomacy like, "My body is my temple," "I don't need alcohol to freak people out," "I am trying to build my investment portfolio by conserving my spending habits," or "I saved just enough of my drink to throw in the face of people who try to tell me what to do," and other such niceties. Perhaps that is a little mean, but don't people have to make choices that are the best for them and those around them? Having one less red-faced, irritable New Yorker will do the City a whole world of good. So please, be kind to those with the "glow" the next time you encounter one. By nursing our mini-mug of gin and tonics night long, we are doing everyone a public service.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The Purl Bee did it again. I made this for my non-hat wearing boyfriend, as my attempt to make him a hat from a pattern of my own making ended in dismal failure. You can find the pattern to this amazing hat, called the 70's Ski Hat here. Although it looks very simple on the outside, there is an element in the hat the makes it a hundred times better than a store bought hat, which is the extra layer in the headband, lining the bottom of the hat. The double layer not only adds extra warmth needed to survive the Northeastern winters, but also keeps the hat securely fastened on my boyfriend's big 'ol head. When probed about the probability of his wearing my handmade concoction, he is optimistic; it is however, the middle of summer, and it's easy to make promises when it's 100 degrees outside. Only time will tell.
Friday, June 13, 2008
I didn't think women like this existed. I was proven wrong by meeting such an individual yesterday - like a rare specimen encased in a formaldehyde glass jar in a museum shop, transported into the spirit of a human resources director in $40 j crew flip flops and a cotton sateen summer dress of dubious origin. After a long and drawn out meeting, I was invited by her and her mini-me to the Bruckner, a trendy bar in the middle of the un-trendy borough, the Bronx. After stating the usual platitudes of how sucky and uncool the Bronx was to work in, the girls deftly steered the conversation toward what they really wanted to talk about: themselves! After proclaiming the need for all women to be properly coiffed, the alpha of the two stated proudly to me that her real estate working boyfriend of many years has never seen her without her make-up off. As if that is something to be truly proud of. I could only manage a weak grin, as if I were to open up my mouth, I would have unleashed a shrieky hyena like laugh that would have been too gauche for such an obviously sophisticated affair. Luckily, she and the other middle manager ended up talking about another favorite topic: how much everyone else sucks. They systematically and ruthlessly tore down everyone in the office, from frumpy clothes to bushy eyebrows, and by the end of it all, I felt a real need to have a shower and a shave. If this were high school, they would be the popular kids and I would be the fat friend. Except that I am not fat. I simply have the body constitution of a toilet paper roll, which always gives people the impression that I am "sturdy." Perhaps that is the woman equivalent of the "husky" guy - the purgatory between flab and thin... but I digress. I always approach such mascara-caked-ambien-popping people with caution, like a dog that has been played with too roughly by its merciless and impulsive master. But like a battered and abused dog, something always keeps me coming back for more. I don't really know what the hell they get out of the whole experience - perhaps I provide more fodder for them to talk about when I am not there, but by not contributing much to the conversation, I think they rather enjoy my company.
Monday, June 2, 2008
I have to give it up to the Purl Bee - they have the easiest patterns, with very well written instructions. This is the Sullivan Street Bolero and it took less than a week to make! It looks a bit awkward with a long sleeve shirt - I am still tinkering with how to pair it with the right clothes, in order to wear it in a not so crazy-knitting-lady way. Only time will tell with this one, but it's exciting nonetheless. This is a great way to learn how to pick up stitches as it is a relatively quick project, and thus non-threatening. I know I was nervous to pick up stitches for something like a sweater - you put in all that work, and it might all be for naught, because there is always the possibility of messing up with the neck and ruining it all! No such worries.