Me: Hi there. Who's this?
client: This is John and I have a huge cock.
Me: That's nice John, why are you calling me today?
client: I want you to suck my knob
Me: Really John, that's not what I'm here for. I'm here for you to serve me. Are you ready to descend toward poverty in my name?
client: I want you to suck my cock.
Me: John, that will never, ever happen. If you are lucky, I might allow you to suck some cock while I watch. Would you like to be my little slut John?
client: No, I want you to suck my cock.
Me: Wow John, not only are you a pathetic insignificant male, you are stupid too. Did you see my listing on the web or did you only hear me on the phone?
client: I heard you on the phone and I want you to suck my cock.
Me: Aaaaahh, I see. Were you mezmerized by my sexy voice? Do you need a strong woman to take advantage of you?
client: No, I just want you to suck my huge cock
click....What the fuck? There are dozens of chicks available for straight up phone sex, why call me? All of my listings say "DOMINATION." My phone intros are about "Let's MAX OUT your credit cards" and "Professional Dominatrix demands financial worship." There is no cock sucking involved in those two things! Whatever, I promise I will relate a better call soon.
How sad and wrong is it to take advantage of the incredibly difficult housing situation in NYC? There are so many crimes to choose from! I charged two-thirds of my rent for a (maybe) 5x7 room in my railroad tenement that I cut through to use the toilet. At least my roommates over the years chose that particular indignity. Yesterday, my boyfriend and a friend, who has posted on craigslist for potential roommates for her oh-so-punk, exceedingly dingy Williamsburg place, decided to start videotaping the interviews. Surreptitiously, of course. But how entertaining does this whole little exercise become, when the bass player from a one-hit-wonder band shows up to check out the space and starts talking about the b-list celebs he hung out with the night before? And how he woke up sans cash & cellphone? hehehe, I'm so easily amused.
My other current timewasting obsession is my listing on keen/niteflirt. Uh-oh I just put links to both of my jobs in one entry on my anonymous blog! Whatever, since I've only ever gotten 2 comments on the damn thing and all search engine inquiries that end up here are people actually looking for info on bleeding brains (not of the zombie variety), I'm not all that concerned. After all I'm obviously some attention/recgnition seeking loser anyway, right? Want to hear a little confession? I edited my bio page on the shop's site to include my whole name because I was dissatisfied with the results I got when I googled myself.
C and I saw 2000 Maniacs today and the rest of the weekend includes plans for Pink Flamingos, Rebel Without A Cause, Contempt and She-Devils on Wheels. Sorry, I still seem to be in chronicling mode rather than reflective. Soon enough you damn voyeurs!
That being the big news, here is the big excitement: Snee and I are going away for the weekend! Complete luxury and pampering on the Jersey Shore. We are staying at the Grenville in Bay Head and getting the "A Day At The Sea" package over at the Sea Spa and Salon at The White Sands. I would have chosen to stay there, but they have a three night minimum, and we do not have that kind of time. The B&B that we are staying at is right by the beach and a short walk to the spa. I am completely psyched! I'm slightly concered about the OA thing and being away, she can and will eat anything she wants and I am typically very bad when I am with her, but I feel strong and I've looked up meeting info out there and I think I can make it.
Fifteen minutes after the movie was scheduled to start, we gave up and as we cruised through Times Square I asked C if we could go to an arcade. He said he thought they had all been closed down and I whined in my head about how 42nd Street was so damn wholesome I couldn't even play graphic violent VIDEO GAMES! But then...he parked the bike by Port Authority because just outside the bowling alley there are still VIDEO GAMES! We did NOT play Dance Dance Revolution, but I did play a boxing game where you put on these huge rubber mitts and supposedly it tracks your ducking and blocking and you actually make punching movements to score. I knocked my guy out, but my heart was beating so fast after one round, I gave up the gloves to C. I promise I'm done babbling, but one of the BEST parts of this week is that I got a digital camera!!! Nikon coolpix 2500. I love it! here is a shot of someone playing that boxing game:
AMMI and last night we hit Sunshine's midnight show of
The Apple. A disco-opera from 1980 envisioning 1994, it was a complete box-office bomb...this tidbit from stinkers says it all:
When this awful film played at the Paramount Theater (now the El Capitan) in Hollywood for one week in November 1980, the film's distributor, Cannon Films, offered souvenir soundtrack records to moviegoers on their way in (albums to the first 100 and 45 RPM singles to the next 1,000). After the first showing ushers had to stop giving the records out because the few customers that paid to see this disaster started throwing their 12" vinyl LPs at the movie screen and around the theater like Frisbees during the film. No rips in the screen, thank goodness, just big dents.
However, we loved it.
This past week I watched the following films (in reverse chronological order):
RESURRECTION OF THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL (124 minutes)
THE PHONE (102 minutes)
BOUNCE KO GALS (109 minutes)
VERSUS (119 minutes)
DOUBLE VISION (110 minutes)
COMPANY (155 minutes)
RUNAWAY PISTOL (84 minutes)
BREAK OUT (105 minutes)
SO CLOSE (111 minutes)
TOO YOUNG TO DIE (67 minutes)
THE MATRIX (not reloaded)
HAPPINESS OF THE KATAKURIS
THE PIED PIPER 1986, 55 mins. Directed by Jirí Bárta.
THE PIT ,THE PENDULUM ,AND HOPE 1983, 15 mins. Jan Svankmajer.
THE EAR 1970, 94 mins. Directed by Karel Kachyna.
Still to come:
ICHI THE KILLER (124 minutes)
PING PONG (114 minutes)
I continue to sabotage this attempt to fix/figure out/resolve/improve our relationship by managing to forget to take my antidepressants for a week and subjecting my loved one to severe mood swings and general abuse. I love him, so you would think this wouldn't be so damn hard, right?
We continue to see more movies weekly than any other people I've ever met. This week we put our Pioneer membership to good use and saw Willard (which disappeared from the regular movie theaters less than 3 weeks after its release) as well as Shark Skin Man and Peach Hip Girl, which met his needs as foreign, preferably japanese with much violence and mine for gangster slickness, even though we both know it was a Tarrantino rip off. I also saw my first Hitchcock films ever over at AMMI a few weeks ago. For the record they were 39 steps and North by Northwest.
Today I may have overcome a significant phobia. Horror movies. I am nearly 28 and until the last year had successfully avoided anything even vaguely resembling a "scary movie". However C loves them and has repeatedly begged me to get over it. We have pinpointed the why and what of my fear. When I was about 4 or 5 I somehow watched Karen Black's Trilogy of Terror. In the house I grew up in there actually was a stone tribalesque warrior statue brandishing a spear. Fast forward 5 or 6 years and two of my cousins are holding me down on the couch trying to force me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street. All I recollect from this trauma is a guy (who I later found out was Johnny Depp) getting swallowed by his bed and it belching up blood. That was enough to make me break free and run upstairs screaming. Thus a psychotic aversion to horror was born. C has figured out that I am particularly adverse to any movie with a boogie man. So in a moment of weakness I agreed that the time to get over it had come and I agreed to watch Friday the 13th parts 1 through 3 in preparation for next week's midnight showing at Sunshine of part IV. Truth be told, I have been getting my feet wet over the last year by watching Carrie, Jaws and The Shining. All movies I would never have agreed to watch without C's prodding and all movies I even enjoyed. Last week when we went to the Museum of Natural History with my high school best friend and her amazing, adorable 3 year old son, she and C proposed watching the Jason movies at her house, a neutral territory. Guess what? It worked, I wasn't freaked out and even found them amusing in their ridiculousness. We took the bike up to the bronx, she made lunch on the grill and we had a great time.
The first thing C told me when I woke up today was that Mr. Rogers had died. This is sad, sure there'll always be syndication but unless they find kiddie porn on his computer, a little bit of sunshine and joy is just gone from this world. The cnn obituary seems to confirm that he was as impossibly good as he appeared. Honestly, I sort of doubted it, especially with the ordained minister part, but then I learned he was originally from Canada and as stereotypical and potentially wrong this is, I could completely believe in him. In my experience, Canadians are just nice and "whitebread" all around.
Last Call with Carson Daly (Luke Wilson from that movie Old School that we saw and loved last week was on along with
Ben Lee), then we hopped in a cab like in the movies and somehow made it from Rockefeller Center to Mercer Street in about 12 minutes, and made it to our seats before the house lights even went down for Lost Highway: the Hank Williams Story and the next night we saw the final installment of the Ben Lee & Friends series at
Fez. Which may or may not have been recorded. Busy, eh? I am sleepy and cranky and still have an hours worth of cleaning to do before I can go home.
I'm feeling dissatisfied and incomplete. Of course everyone (or at least every 16 year old girl and 35 year old housewife) does. I'm afraid that the lack of time I spend on my art/self/anything not related to my significant other will cause me to lose it, whatever it is. Since this syndrome is boring and pathetic, I only feel worse about it. Damn it, if I have to suddenly have a late twenties crisis, couldn't it be in reference to something unsual and interesting? No, it can't and it isn't. Same old shit, feeling unloved and at the same time afraid that any "I" or "self" has been eclipsed by the "we" and maybe even the "he" of our relationship. There is some major breakdown between my synapses. We had a huge talk last night/this morning trying to hash this out. I hear everything as critical and as a personal attack. I am smarter than this. I know I can be introspective and perceptive and --tive my way out of this funk.
Today's triumph is recording from C's minidisc player onto my G4 cube. Due to an amazing little invention called the imic, which we learned about on the ever useful cubeowner.com. I went to battle with my sound control panel, but I am victorious and now the totally illegal recording C made of a show we went to recently now resides in itunes.