214: The e-mail: Shallow or Deep?

In my previous post, I shared with you all my response to an e-mail from a first time reader. He has given me permission to post his e-mail to me. So, I'm going to share. But, even though he didn't ask, he will remain anonymous to you all. m'kay. good.

Hey,

[___]. I saw your recent comment on [___] blog and followed the link to your blog. And I read a bit. You sound like a good guy, with all the insecurities etc that we all have.

But the reason that I'm writing you is I wanted to respond to your 11/23/06 post. I think that I know how shitty you must have felt about your friend M. I only came out at 32 (being 36 now) and therefore hadn't dated much. So my friendships have been (and still are) immensely important to me. So, I know how crappy it can feel when a friend lets you down--especially an important friend. Even though I do feel that I have a good group of friends, I too have had the experience of hearing about plans or events that I wasn't included in. It's that sick to your stomach feeling, where you wonder why I wasn't invited. I, like you, like everybody, want to feel that I matter to someone. So, the main thing is that I wanted to share with you that I get what you're saying.

I hope you don't mind (even though I don't know you) but I wanted to share a story with you. From [___], I know that a blog is often a place to just vent so you may not want input, so you can take it or leave it.

And the other thing is this--(as [___] will attest to, I can get lecture-ish sometimes), here's a big lesson that helped me a lot. Maybe it something that you totally get, but hear me out. One of my best friends is this guy named Chris. Chris and I have been friends since the first month of freshman year in college. I'm Caucasian, Jewish (well, sort of) and pretty American in my thinking. He's from a South Pacific island and arrived here when he was 14 years old. So, not exactly the same upbringing for us.

Anyway, he is and always has been a great friend. But it's been a learning friendship--it's sometimes challenging being friends with him because we think so differently. And to prove this. During sophomore year of college, I found out about something that he did that totally pissed me off. I fumed for a bit and then decided to talk to him. At some point during the conversation I asked him, "Why would you do that?!" And he basically just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I didn't think it was that big of a deal." A light bulb went off for me. Of course, I knew intellectually that people don't think the same, but it was only at that point, at 20 yrs old, that I really, really "got it."

I realized, "Holy shit. He really DIDN'T think it was a big deal!" I was still pissed and had a right to be. We talked it through and resolved it. But it made me realize how that I'd been projecting my value system onto others and how it wasn't working for me. I expected people to think as I did (having an identical twin brother--no, he's not gay--didn't help this matter). If [I] had done to [me] what Chris did to me, that would suck. But that wasn't the case. Don't get me wrong, it's still a struggle for me to really realize that people think differently. But when I do "get it," it saves me a lot of misery (not all of it, but a lot).

You seem like a deep guy. And I hate to tell you this--as you probably already know for yourself--it's been a struggle to realize that most people won't interact at that deep level. But as I've gotten older, I've found more and more people who do. I agree with the blog comment that M was probably just being thoughtless as opposed to doing something purposely crappy.

Anyway, again, the main point, I wanted to convey, was that I know how you feel.

Take care,
[___]

213: The Response: Shallow or Deep?

I received a cool e-mail from a first time reader. He read this post and decided to write me. I wrote him back and I decided that I wanted to post my e-mail to him. So, without further ado, here's my response:

Hi [___],

Thank you for your thoughtful email. Wow! Your email lifted my spirit.

And by the way, my name is Jake. [___]. It's cool that you found my blog through a comment I left at "[___]."

I feel a bit cathartic now hearing from someone like you who identifies with and understands how I feel. I know I'm not the only person who feels... disappointment, hurt, or whatnot, and it's a great affirmation to hear that I'm not as isolated as I tend to locked myself into thinking.

I know and understand that not all people think alike, that I can't interact with everyone the way I think we should: at a deep level. I get it. Although, like you, I do find it at times difficult to "get it" ...

And your email just reminded me why I was so disappointed with the whole situation with M. You wrote: "So, I know how crappy it can feel when a friend lets you down--especially an important friend." Important friend. When I read it, I had to wonder if I have ever thought of M as an important friend. Immediately, I scoffed, because from the start, M stated that he wanted to separate his work life from his personal life, that he does not want his two worlds colliding. He made it clear that I was a co-worker. But since his declaration, I may have interpreted some of his actions, like him calling me his friend, as something like.., I don't know, him considering me his friend. When in fact, he was calling everyone his friend as Eddie was so prone to do.

And the problem is I've forgotten what I've learned from Eddie. One of the lessons is that I can't always interact with some individual the way I think we should interact. That not all friendships will be deep. As I've written: "In college, I was friends with those who wanted to be my friend. Some of these friendships were shallow and some were deep. Some friendships died off, some grew." I had applied the lesson learned.

But my grief from that night with M stems from the fact that because "M is the first gay man I met outside of blogosphere, a non-virtual gay man, if you will, to whom I've told that I'm gay," I've somehow managed to put him at a different level... perhaps on a pedestal. Hmm, I wonder if I'm making any sense... Because he was the first non-virtual gay man to whom I was truthful in regards to the man I am, maybe I felt that he'd take me by the hand and help me navigate the complex terrains of the gaydom, sans sex. I admit it's an unwarranted expectation. But at the very least, I wanted to learn from him. So, maybe deep down, he was an important person for me. And I will admit, I had once hoped that the word proceeding "important" in the previous sentence had been replaced with the word, "friend," and "was" with "is."

Yes, with M, I've forgotten the lessons of Eddie. I should have let this non-"friendship" with M remain as such, non-existent. I let my lonely heart speak for me, when I should have listened to my clinical mind.

And I do agree with TK's comment and your email: M was being thoughtless; he wasn't trying to be purposely crappy. But I still come to the same conclusion: I'm hurt, not because of M's action, but because of my reaction. And I'm trying not be beat myself up for it. Friendship is like investment. With M, it was an investment without profit. I lost. But I'm trying... no, I won't... no, I'm not beating myself up for it.

Sheesh, I'm sorry for the long-winded reply to your email, [___]. My original purpose was to thank you for letting me know you know how I feel. It means a great lot.

Thank you again,

Jake

212: People Must Die

Because I am a horrid, horrid man, I tend to wish (and I wish upon a star real hard, cuz those are the ones that really count); yes, I wish certain subway commuters gruesome death. At the very least.

To the following people:

• If you are someone, when riding the escalator, who won't move to one side to let others pass by, I wish you dead.
• If you are someone who pushes their way into a subway car when there are still passengers trying to get out, I wish you die a painful death.
• If you are an old lady with an excruciatingly sharp elbow, die! Just die already. Please! You're taking up valuable space and resources.
  
• If you are fat and take up 2.5 seats during the morning rush hour when every subway car is like a sardine can, go to the gym, go on a diet, lose that weight, or else, I have to wish you dead, dead, dead.
  
• And finally, if you are someone who clips their nails inside a subway car, which by the way isn't your fucking personal space, I wish for all the nail clippings in the world to be gathered, so that those human wastes will be forced fed to you spoonful by spoonful, and if you happen to vomit the acid treated, yet protein rich bolus (mmm, delicious) out, then that, too, will be forced fed to you. I wish you all that. And I wish you die a painful, slow death. Then I want you resuscitated and revived, so that you can be fed that nurishing goodness again, until you die a painful, slow death again. And we can repeat ad infinitum.
  

211: Remembrance

Last year this day my mom's aunt, my great aunt, passed away. Today her family and her relatives gathered to remember her. Besides the fact that I don't "do" family functions well, as you, my loyal readers, know already, the thing is, I had a hard time remembering the person who've passed away. I've known Grandma (that's what I've called her) and interacted with her since I was a boy, even before I had moved to New York. But there wasn't a single 'specific, vivid' memory, fond or otherwise, that popped into my head. It scared me. It scared me to know how good I am in detaching myself from those I should care about, from those who should be close to me. Could this be an indication that I am incapable of loving or being loved?

210: A Home Is Where the Heart Is

Hmm... Is a home where the heart is?

Nope, I beg to differ.

A home is where I know I can buy for a scrap... Scrap? Who am I kidding? Correction: A home is where I know i can buy for a assload and sell in about 5 to 10 years time for a huge shitload.

Could a condo in Williamsburg be just that? Could my home be it? I don't know. I have lots to think about.

I mean, sure, condos in Brooklyn are generally cheaper than ones in Manhattan. And should the price of a unit be the same in both areas, indubitably I'd get more space in Brooklyn than in Manhattan. But do I want to live in Brooklyn?

New Yorkers, what say you? What should I do?

209: There's Still A Long Way To Go

According to UNAIDS, There are, on this Earth, these numbers:

39.5 million ... People living with HIV
4.3 million ... People infected this year with HIV
2.9 million ... People dead due to AIDS this year

These people are your father, your mother, your brother, and your sister;
These people are your friends, your neighbors;
They are your son and your daughter;
They are your partner, your wife, your husband, your better half;
They are you.

Protect yourself; wear a condom.

208: A Night of Extravagance

Yesterday was my parents' wedding anniversary... their 45th wedding anniversary!

As their son, I must admit, I feel like I've done good, somewhat—finally.

You see, Mom and Dad never asked me of anything in terms of material displays of affections. What they’ve consistently asked was that I’d be good, good as in, “be a good son,” be the archetypal eldest son model of the Korean culture: one who has filial piety, or in other words, one who takes care of the parents when they get old and decrepit. So, getting a good edu-ma-cation was important. “How?” you may ask; “good question,” I’d answer. No, it’s because, as Mom always has told me, "having a good education will bring you lots and lots of fortune." By the way, I’m still waiting on that pile of riches to fall on my lap. So, sure, yes, I worked hard (...somewhat) to get into good schools. And I hardly ever, almost never, got into trouble. Giving no grief, making no fuss—some would say I’m a model of good behavior all around, a son who has not shamed his parents.

My parents seem satisfied with how I've led my life thus far. But as they are only human, their selfish desire for me is that I have a clearer direction in life. A direction that would lead me to be sufficient, to want for nothing. So that I'd become a man, an able provider, one who starts a family of his own. Having a nice wife at his side and at least one child in between them, like something you'd see in a perfect family portrait which hangs on the wall, placed somewhere prominent in a house with a backyard and white picket fences.

However, seeming my parents' wish for me will be somewhat rather difficult to fulfill, I've been resigned to feel not so much like a good son—not a bad one either, mind you, but just not good. It's evident that my parents are old, and especially my mom has sacrificed a lot to get me to where I am. I can say it was her push, more so than my own, that made me somewhat educated, worldly; it was her drive that helped open up many opportunities for me. Could I have grabbed onto many more nuggets of golden opportunities and cashed them in for security and wealth? Maybe. Then, I could have perhaps provided for my parents' security and paid for some of their luxuries, like throwing them a huge 70th Birthday Celebration.* But their birthdays came and went. I've failed to be a good son.

But today, I must admit, I feel like I've done good—finally.

Yesterday was my parents' 45th wedding anniversary. Although I think celebrating wedding anniversaries is more of a Western convention than a Korean one, I now had the chance to give them a material gift of some substance. I took them to a nice restaurant on 5th Avenue, near Washington Square Park, called CRU. We drank champagne and ate from the Tasting Menu, relishing every bite, and passing away the time with hearty laughters. Mom, I believe, in all her life, never had tried squab (then again, neither have I), never had anything fancy laid before her to eat. Dad may have had tried something classy. But regardless of their prior culinary experience or inexperience, seeing them smile, seeing them enjoy themselves, made me feel like I've done something finally good.


So to my Parents, Happy Anniversary!


*In the Korean culture, 60th Birthday is a milestone. Therefore, a large celebratory party is thrown by the children for their parents. However since I was still in junior high school when Dad turned 60 and in college when Mom turned 60, I had no means to throw either one of them a party. So a realistic goal would have been to throw them a modest 70th Birthday party.

207: What's With the Weather?

It's not too strange to see people walking down the street in t-shirts and shorts, is it? It's not really. But not in November, in New York! It's the last day of the month, and people are dressed like it's summer. Something strange is happening in New York. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

Al Gore, can you explain this to us? And can you tell us why this is a bad thing?

Thank you.

206: I'm in Love with Jennifers

And I am telling you
I'm not going.
You're the best man I'll ever know.
There's no way I can ever go,
No, no, no, no way,
No, no, no, no way I'm livin' without you.
I'm not livin' without you.
I don't want to be free.
I'm stayin',
I'm stayin',
And you, and you, you're gonna love me.
Ooh, you're gonna love me.

So, I’ve read somewhere, in some gossipy blog, that Beyoncé and her family are furious at the attention Jennifer Hudson, her co-star in the upcoming Broadway musical movie, Dreamgirls, is receiving. There’s even a talk of an Oscar for Jennifer, an American Idol loser, for her role as Effie. No wonder Miss I’m-A-Grammy-Winning-Diva is upset. But that’s all hearsay. Still, it’s a good juicy gossip.

Anyway, I get the sense that as a gay man, I’m supposed to have, um, a certain affinity for show tunes and the divas who’ve sung them. Who am I kidding? I do show this “gay” trait. Let’s face it, I am a stereotype.

The thing is Jennifer Hudson is reprising a role on film Jennifer Holliday made famous on Broadway. My first encounter with Jennifer Holliday was from her role as, Lisa Knowles, the choir singer and the spurned fiancée of a preacher on Fox’s Allie McBeal. I’ve heard her sing, and I was astounded by how good, no, great, she was. What I didn’t know was that she was already very famous with my people. You see, I’ve been a little late in discovering Dreamgirls. And oh my God, just listening to her sing “And I Am Telling You” on the Original Broadway Cast Album of Dreamgirls, I had chills, son, chills! Wait. I just found something in YouTube. It’s the 1982 Tony’s Performance by the cast. Remember when I said I had chills? Holy cow! A.M.A.Z.I.N.G.

Tear down the mountains,
Yell, scream and shout.
You can say what you want,
I'm not walkin' out.
Stop all the rivers,
Push, strike, and kill.
I'm not gonna leave you,
There's no way I will.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Jennifer Holliday won a Tony for her performance, and I’ve wondered, when I heard that Hollywood was making a movie version of the musical, if anyone can top that great emotive, powerful sound of Jennifer Holliday. Enter, Jennifer Hudson. I have yet to see her performance, but a few days ago, somehow the movie soundtrack got into my possession, and I’ve have heard Hudson’s take on the famous song.

People, she’s great. She’s amazing. She’s equally emotive and powerful as Holliday. Not only does Hudson embody Holliday, but she makes the song hers—it’s something, I think, Simon Cowell would say to the American Idol contestants he likes. But I think you’ll end up loving Jennifer Hudson after hearing her. Except, I guess Beyoncé and the Knowles family.

And I am telling you
I'm not going.
You're the best man I'll ever know.
There's no way I can ever, ever go,
No, no, no, no way,
No, no, no, no way I'm livin' without you.
Oh, I'm not livin' without you,
I'm not livin' without you.
I don't wanna be free.
I'm stayin',
I'm stayin',
And you, and you, and you,
You're gonna love me.
Oh, hey, you're gonna love me,
Yes, ah, ooh, ooh, love me,
Ooh, ooh, ooh, love me,
Love me,
Love me,
Love me,
Love me.
You're gonna love me.

From Dreamgirls: And I Am Telling You

205: Thanksgiving, Why Give Thanks?

Wednesday

Although the work day should have ended at 4, I was stuck at work, held up in a meeting that would not end. I had a plan to hang out that night. But first I had to wait for the call beckoning me for a night of debauchery. And when waiting became excruciating, I let my fingers dance on the keypad of my cell phone. Yet, nothing. Neither a reply nor a call ever came; I was stood up.

But the rainy night was not lost. One came to lift my forlorn spirit, and left me spunky and happy. That’s why I give thanks.


Turkey Day

A lazy, rainy morning was a start of my day. The people on the parade route seemed miserable enough, which made my mouth stretch from ear to ear. An odd sensation, I might add. Then my cousin and I visited our Great Aunt, a.k.a. Grandmother, who was in the hospital. We then got picked up and were rushed to our Aunt’s place for the Kim clan to clang up the late afternoon with songs and drinks. Okay, there weren’t any songs, but drinking I did. And lots of eating too. Plus, I had my pumpkin pie. And, and, and… only one member of the family piped in about my lack of having a fiancée, a potential baby maker, at my side. Oh, did I mention there was drinking?

But it’s okay, it’s all good. I saw “Happy Feet” and that was a good ending for the night. That’s why I give thanks.


Friday & Saturday

Lazy, lazy, lazy days. That’s why I give thanks.


Sunday

The 'rents and I take a trip to Brooklyn. I want them to see that owning a home in an "up and coming, or rather, already 'here'" neighborhood in Brooklyn can be a fine investment. They like the neighborhood. I may get them to help me with the deposit, once I find a place that calls out to me. "Jake," it will call out, "come to me."

Anyhoo... we finished the tour by stopping at Junior's to buy the best cheesecake in New York. So very delicious. That's why I give thanks.

204: Where the Shallow Meets the Deep

The one thing that I don't want people to know about me is that I don't have many friends. Maybe it's the constant uprooting I've experienced as a child that made me a bit hesitant to flash a smile or extend a hand. Maybe it's that I'm just unbearably shy. Whatever the reasons, what's been constant is that whenever there is a change in my life, a change defined as a move to a different location, a different school, a different job, whatever friendships I've established come to an unsatisfactory and quiet end.

After several cross-country relocations, and once I got settled in New York and was placed in Mr. Goldman's 5th Grade class, I befriended Sung. He and I were inseperable. He was, to me, more like a brother than a friend. Sung stayed friends with me, though I once swung a bat at him with a murderous intent; even when he pounded my face repeatly with his fists, my ties to Sung remained. Well, not at first, of course, but we've always found ways to straighten whatever seemed wayward with some jokes and laughter. He brought me porn with snatches *shudder* and, to tease me, he'd hit my jewels, cooing, "you hard?" We even grabbed each other's dicks, as pubescent boys are known to do.

But maybe it was my strict adherence to the "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" philosophy. We both went to different high schools; me, to one in Manhattan, and him, to one in the Bronx. As the school year progressed, Sung and I saw less of each other, though we lived in the same neighborhood. By the time the holiday season rolled around, we've not seen nor talked to each other for a long while. But that was okay. I had my Church Youth Group and the Worship Band.

My devotion to God, I believe, came, of course, from my conviction that God--the Father created me; the Son died for my salvation; the Spirit guides me to bear Fruit, to manifest the Light, the Living Word--that God is the reason I live. But the devotion also came from an unattained desire for companionship, for friendship. The Youth Group, sensing my lack of charisma, or rather, my lack of cool quotient, only embraced me so far. No one asked for my number; no one told me to call them. 'Perhaps my love for God is insufficient, so very insufficient that I am not experiencing God's love expressed through God's own people,' I thought, and I prayed, 'help me Dear Lord to love you more.'

Rather than leave those who haven't fully accepted me, I sought to infiltrate further into the Youth Group. I've even joined the Worship Band. It meant that four hours each Saturday were devoted to rehearsals and Bible studies. It meant, for those four hours, they would have to deal with me, to acknowledge that I was a part of them, even though it meant that I had to start "low." How funny, looking back, it wasn't, or rather, it didn't seem like I was being.., but I think it was then I started to forget how to say "no." And for each "no" I didn't say, for each time I didn't assert my own opinion or will, I started to forget my own worth. So, in a word, I became a doormat, a nice doormat for people, knowingly or unknowingly, to step on me.

Eddie was the leader of the band. He had a lame name, but he was cool. I felt cool just hanging out with him, so I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. He even called me a friend. But to him, everyone was his friend, and his friendship to me was as deep as spilled water on a table. He'd suggest that we go see a movie, that we go to the park, that we go hang out. Yet more often than not, when next Saturday rolled around, I'd hear how Eddie and his other friends saw a movie, how they went to the park to play Ultimate Frisbee, how they hung out, without me, without me, without me. Still, when he wanted my undivided attention, when he wanted something from me, more often than not, he had me, the nice doormat.

Looking back, it's all petty and insignificant, and I tell myself that I've outgrown it and I've learned the lessons. In college, I was friends with those who wanted to be my friend. Some of these friendships were shallow and some were deep. Some friendships died off, some grew. Yet, still, I didn't find a friend who I'd consider a best friend, a brother. And admittedly, it's because there was a part of me I was hiding from myself. If I couldn't be myself completely, how could I expect anyone to be involved in my life. There would always be a wall that I built. Besides, the "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" is still in play.

However, now, I've accept the deepest secret that I kept, and claimed it as a part of my identity. Yet I find the wall I've erected... well, let's just say that the Berlin Wall might have been easier to tear down than my wall. Also, "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" is... well, it's laziness and cowardice having a night of drunken and forgetable romp, and then them giving birth to the bullshit that is "Out of Sight, Out of Mind." I realize it.

Though, still, I'm prone to repeat history's mistakes. M is someone who has called me his friend. And M is the first gay man I met outside of blogosphere, a non-virtual gay man, if you will, to whom I've told that I'm gay. But over the past year of interacting with him, I've learned that he is more like Eddie than all the Eddies I've met over the years. He'd suggest that we do things, but he'd never follow through. He would snap his fingers to beckon me, and like a needy puppy, I'd go running. But last night, the camel's back broke, and I sent M a text message:

U know what? Im gonna care. U asked me if i thought most gay friendship is shallow. Even tho i said yes i'm 2 lonely n alone 2 abandon my hope of finding one, just one, deep friendship. I'm that pathetic n stupid. Well, good nite. N i blame myself 4 waiting by the phone. Happy Thanksgiving n have a great trip.

I did get a reply back. But it was from Verizon informing me that the message was too long. Soon after, another reply came, and this time it was from M, and he wrote: "Huh?"

An unsatisfactory and quiet end.

As I'm searching for a conclusion to this post, I think, I don't know. Where is it? Where does the shallow meet the deep? And when?

I'm hopeful, though. I have to be.

So be thankful for your friends. Be thankful that you don't struggle like I do. And know that I'm thankful too, because I'm carrying hope. That's what I got, and I'm gonna work it!

203: Thanksgiving Woes

We’re two days away from the time of year when I shall face those who share some small fraction of genetic material with me. And most certainly, I shall be bombarded with the most lambasting comments about my woeful lack of attachment in my life to an entity with a womb who can continue the family name. For that I’m thankful.

But as far as I’ve known, or rather, up to this past Sunday, my nuclear family and I have decided that we would spend this Thanksgiving as a nuclear family, with me managing the traditional American fare. I’ve been searching for the perfect recipes for turkey, gravy, stuffing, mash potato, oh my. Last night I was going to make a grocery list. But I get the dreaded phone call, a call informing me that the clan is required to congregate. Sigh. I really wanted to cook. Now, I have dried up turkey and nasty chunky gravy to look forward to. Yay!

Unrelated to Thanksgiving, last night I had a strongest of desire to cuddle. So, I went over to my cousin’s to play with her dog. I felt much better after that.

202: Weekend Recap

Here's a quick rundown of my fabulous weekend:

Friday night after work,
... I come home. And eat. And then, get this everyone, I go to bed... EARLY.

Saturday,
... I take the 'rents into Manhattan. Meet up with my cousin and feast at Dos Caminos. Go for drinks at the View, the revolving restaurant, in the Marriott Hotel in Time Square.

Sunday,
... I take a tentative step in becoming a potential future home owner. I walk down and up many streets and I take the lifts up and down many apartment buildings in search of a place that calls out my name.

But I wonder... Do I really want to settle in New York?

I think I need to explore what other places can offer me. Like, the West Coast. I've many vacation days and sick days left over this year. I'm almost tempted to buy a beat up car for something less than $500, and go West. And see what it can offer me.

Addendum:
I've just checked craigslist, and no one's selling a fully functional car for $500. It comes as no surprise that God hates me.

201: Ben!

A strange thing happens to me on my way to work. I’m on the 6 Train sitting down, my ears stuffed with what used to be white earphones, the iPod's playing … something I don’t recall, because my focus is on reading Paul Neilman’s “Apathy.” Then, suddenly I feel a tap on my right shoulder. I put the book down, unplug my right ear, and turn to face the agitator of my morning commute.

She’s around my age, I think. With a big grin, she tells me that my Ben Sherman bag is her design. And as to justify her interruption and as to show evidence, she lifts her big, black, Ben Sherman logo etched bag. It’s a pathetic attempt at her proof of her profession. My overprotective New York mentality goes into hyper-drive. Must I suffer another sort of crazy, other than me, on this dreary morn? I ponder. She gushes about how great it is to see her work in people’s hand. Then as the train reaches my stop, I praise her work, saying how much I like the bag, and with an awkward goodbye I walk away.

I don’t generally function well in the morning... Now as I’m writing this, I think, what if she was really the designer of my bag? Why wouldn’t she be? Why would some random stranger lie about who she is? I think I should go into craigslist’s Missed Connection or something, and apologize for my halting display of social ineptitude. Or praise the shit out of her so that she can get in touch with me and send me a sample or two of her new designs.

What say you?

200: ...O, My.

A friend from some southern town comes to the Big Apple. On Friday with him, I break bread on Jane's sumptuous table, and to hit the G Spot, I imbibe on an Appletini. But I miss. For my wandering hand syndrome, I seek counsel at Therapy. On Saturday night, instead of Bread, I opt for a glass of water, which takes forever to come. Poor harried girl. Can a hug help to hurry her up? I wonder. Eventually, even the daisy's thirst gets quenched. The night ends with us cashing out at the Bank some saved up booty shaking. Then we part: he, to his abode, and I, to abide. With a new realization. That the city is more than enough. That I am more than enough.

A gift to a friend from some southern town:

199: Let's See...

...I'm knackered. I hate it when work takes me to New Jersey. It's a punishment.

...I've just read the NYT, and WE WON!!! Virginia, I'm sorry. I take it back. You have made me proud. You are not worthless at all. Hmm, I've never said that you were, did I? Oops.

...Oh, take a look at this:

Ummm... Dayyum... YUM.

People, take note! I know what I want for Christmas.

198: Nail Biting

10:51 PM
I think the House will go Democrat. I think the House will go Democrat. Ask me how I feel?

No, I'll just tell you. Ecstatic! I'm ecstatic.

Now, I'm concerned about how the Senate races are coming along. Virginia is yet again disappointing me. People of Tennessee could have spoken loud and proud, shedding the infamous legacy of the South, by electing a first black Senator from the South since Reconstruction. But are they going to? It seems unlikely now. Total disappointment.

10:58 PM
Let's see the Daily Show's take on this Midterm Midtacular.

11:06 PM
I love the "loser" stamp the show is placing on the pictures of... losers! It's so deliciously sweet when the losers are Republicans. Oh, the show's calling the Senate race in Pennsylvania. Oh, let's see what's happened to Rick Santorum, the biggest ass in the Senate. Oh my God, he has been raptured. He'll be no where near the Senate chamber. Hallelujah.

11:18 PM
ABC News is predicting the control of the House will go to the Democrats. The New York Times indicates 14 seat gain for the Democrats, and we need just one more to take control. We won. We have overcome. We have the House. Now let's see by how big the margin the Democrats will take control, or as I would like to put it, whop the GOP's Elephant ass.

It's a good change. It would be a great change, if the Senate went my way.

197: I Voted, But For What? I Don't Know

I’m a little disappointed with this year’s election. My district will never be a battle ground district. In fact, my state will always be predictably Democrat. Seriously, does my vote count?

Besides the federal races, in New York State, we are voting for a new Governor, Comptroller, and Attorney General, and not to mention for members of the State Assembly. After having a Republican Governor for 12 years, we will go back to a Democrat running this state, Eliot Spitzer. I’m surprised that the GOP did not field anyone strong enough to challenge Spitzer and follow in Pataki’s footstep. Not that I’m complaining. As for the State Comptroller, I don’t know what the Comptroller does, so I don’t really care. Except that the incumbent, a democrat, Alan Hevesi, is mired in some political scandal and there’s a talk of impeachment if he’s re-elected. That’s hot! Also, a good example of how in New York politics runs in the family is by watching the race for the Attorney General seat. The democratic candidate, Andrew, is a son of a former New York Governor, Mario, (and a brother of a certain anchor of a national morning news program, Chris). Can you guess the family name? Finally, as for who is going to represent me in the state Assembly, both the Senate seat and the House seat will go to the Democrats. So, clearly, it’s another year of predictable outcomes. Not that I’m complaining.

I just want my vote to matter, like the Floridians during the 2000 election, or the Ohioans during the 2004 election.

And my Congressional district will return the long standing, the twelfth termed and soon to be thirteenth, and the unopposed gentleman from Flushing, New York, Gary Ackerman, to the U.S. House of Representative. *Yawn!* Seriously, the man has not campaigned here at all for as long as I can remember. Also, the junior Senator, and hopefully the next President of the United States, Hillary will return to her seat in the Senate. But did she come and visit us? I think not!

Because we’re so predictable, no candidates ever visit. We have no worth. My vote does not matter.

I need to move.

196: E-mailing My Post

This is a test. If this works well, then while at work I can pretend to be writing "work" e-mails. And that will be fantastic!

Well, I've made a few minor adjustments to my blog. And now I'm thinking I want a new look. But instead of worrying about a new look, I should, as many of you have repeatedly told me, concentrate on posting more often.

An effort is being made.

But remember, I'm someone who's prone to failure. So, I don't expect much from me, and so you shouldn't either.

YAY!

Self-pitying is sooooooo fun. Not overrated at all.

195: Elector's Dilemma

It's Halloween and I'm already looking towards the future, towards Election Day. I guess it's because I'm watching the Daily Show. And come on, Election Day is only a week away.

It's a day when we make choices, hoping that our choices are the right ones, the winning ones. We can hope and hope, but there will be times you will make wrong choices, and you'll end up feeling like some losing character in Mortal Kombat with the head decapitated with blood gushing up like Old Faithful.

But once a bad decision has been made, is there any saving grace? Can there be a do-over?

I don't know. Probably not.

So, if there isn't any saving grace or a do-over, I guess you have to let the consequences of the bad choice run their course, and come next Election Day you will make the right choice. A choice based on facts, not on suppositions and fear.

So, people, I plead with you. Help us take back the Senate and the House!