May 15, 2006
Dear Craig,
I should have taken you and the gangs offer to crash in the bat cave last night. Or should I have? Hmmm… No one thought, when I decided to make the commute home last night that it was too late for a young woman to be traveling in the big city by herself. None of us consider the grave consequences of an after midnight adventure. After all, it was only half past twelve on a quiet Sunday night. What could happen? No, no one thought of the dangers…but we didn’t think of the possibilities either!
Say what you will about the L train. Or let me say it for you: it sucks. Screw you, L train. Don’t get me wrong, if you are a fan of those painfully bright, very very very well air-conditioned, over-crowded cars that make up the L, forgive me. I agree, the L, hey! Sounds great – in theory. Might be wonderful, if the damn train ran when it was supposed to.
Now I understand having to wait an exceptional amount of time for the train last night, seeing as that it was Sunday and our attention should be focused on God or something like that. But that is just what I am getting to. For one gentlemen at the L train station, I think God was probably on his mind and definitely on his lips as he eventually was repeating, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
It all started as I was walking down the steps of the station to go to the train, I passed this gentlemen standing quietly, apparently waiting for someone. I made eye contact for a second and continued down the stairs. I found a place to stand, a comfortable distance from the other patiently waiting passengers and chose some music to listen to on my ipod. A moment later, I noticed my new pal that I had passed on the stairs, coming down the other staircase on the opposite side of the track. He went half way down and picked a step to sit on. Smart guy, I thought. Rest your feet while you wait for the train. With me in clear view of him and him of me, I focused my gaze in no specific direction and let my dazed mind drift off into the music.
I used to think that a girl traveling alone must make sure to avoid eye contact. Don’t let anyone think your sending them invitations or signals or anything. But I now believe, a glance around once in awhile, even if you’re so ready for bed, is a good idea. Stay alert. Be aware of others and what is going on around you. I say this for a very specific reason.
As I felt the breeze being made from the long awaited oncoming train, I looked up again at my gentlemen friend, relaxing on the steps, on the other side of the track. Turns out he had made himself more than comfortable as he sat and prayed to God. Only, it was what he was doing while he was praying that made me pray too.
About fifteen seconds before my train arrived I looked up to find that this man had pulled down his pants, spread his legs, and was jerking himself off – while staring at me from across the tracks. Oh God! My immediate reaction was to jump a little in horror at the so clearly visible and disturbing site. As I hid behind a pillar while the L pulled into the station, I rethought my initial response.
My second thought was that I should pull out my – phone, and take a picture. Wouldn’t it be great if you had instant gratification by getting a visual of the incident? But I think there is too much gratification going on here. Also, I didn’t want this man to think that this situation didn’t totally freak me out! So no picture.
As I settled in a seat on the train, feeling like I would never feel clean again, I thought about how brave that guy was. I would feel sorry for the person that would have to make the decision to either pass him as he pleasured himself on the stairs, while they were on their way to the train, or see him and wait for him to finish, risking missing their train. Apparently he didn’t care either way and had no concern for arriving commuters.
After a good nights rest which came after I took a cab (I learn quick) after I got off the L, to my front door – I came to my most recent feelings about the event. I decided that it was the ultimate compliment. What an awesome expression of attraction, “Oh, Hilary? Yeah, man. She’s the kind of girl that makes you drop your pants in public and get off when you see her.” Sorry do I feel for the girls that just “stop traffic.” Big deal. A tall drink of water? So what?! Drop dead gorgeous? I should be so lucky! If there isn’t immediate sexual arousal followed by the uncontrollable need to touch yourself, I’m just gonna think you’re not really that into me.
In fact, Craig darling, if the next time you say I look nice and it is not quickly followed by you dropping trow and jerking off – I’m just going to assume that you don’t really mean it.
With sincere affection,
Hilary
Monday, May 15, 2006
Monday, May 1, 2006
Classic Confessions
Dear Craig,
at three o'clock this morning i used some of your peanut butter to make two midly satisfying peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on my never-fail mini whole wheat bagels. i left the knife out as evidence, not as a mistake, but so you would know i wasn't trying to "sneak" the creamy substance without you finding out. i have every intention of getting you more peanut butter, to replace the amount i ate. but i am sure glad you didn't wake up and find me working my culinary magic by the light of the open refrigerator door.
mmmm....peanut butter.
you don't mind if i lick the knife and then go back in for more do you?
thanks!
hilary
Dear Craig,
Here is that "quick and easy" dinner recipe you were asking for:
Take one whole wheat mini bagel, open. Slice one whole dill pickle, place on bottom half of bagel. Layer your choice brand of potato chips (i prefer dirty kettle cooked salt and vinegar) on top of pickle. Spread condiments on top half of bagel, optional. Season to taste. Replace top half of bagel. Add a side of ramen noodles if still starving. Pray.
By the way, can you pick me up a bottle of wine on your way home so I can finish my paper? Whatever is cheap and red and has at least 13 percent alcohol. Thanks!
Bon Appetit,
Hilary
Dearest Craig,
Its gone. All gone. All of it. All my hard work, just ripped away. Gone. All of my energy, blood, sweat, and tears gone. All gone. Well, not all gone. Actually about 3/4s of it is gone. But it is basically all gone! Almost all of it, never to be seen again. All of my hard work and nothing to show for it. Nothing. Well, not nothing, I have about 1/4 left to show for it, but pretty much nothing to show for it! Its gone. Almost totally completely gone. I lost it all, Craig. I lost almost all of it.
Why God, why? Oh, the pain! The rain will never hide these tears.
And as I was left the other night to ponder my desperate state, I found myself blaming you. Yes, you, Craig. You! You, who were the one to show me how to host a picture so it would live eternally on a friends myspace page. You, Craig. You, who were able to fix my computer when the mouse stopped working by using alternate keys to maneuver around the screen. Craig, you. You, who were able to save your computer from total corruption and bring it back to new after downloading too much porn. Yes Craig, you.
As you stumbled to your bed after your twenty-five hours of partying so you could wake up at seven a.m. to go to work the next day, I thought to myself, "Isn't there anything else he can do to save my sociology paper from almost total deletion?"
But as I continued to sit in technical mockery and despair, I realized, the person I really blame - is myself. Yes, me Craig. Me. Me, who has basic computer knowledge, at best. Me! Me, who didn't create a backup file to secure my work. Craig, me. Me, who is wondering, "is backup one word or two, or does it have a dash?" Me, who didn't hit save. Who doesn't hit save?!!! Me. Thats who. And whose idea was it to be drinking wine while she wasn't hitting save? Yes Craig, that's right. Me.
Oh, the torture! Having to re-write words that sound familiar but I know just aren't the same. Gone. All gone. Almost all of it, totally gone. Never to be seen again. Oh, the tears! As I sit here, still in my lowest depths of 'mad at myself-ness', I have this terrible feeling again. For this Craig, is not the first, but the second time I have written this letter to you. These somewhat similar words were written somewhat similarly before. Before I hit post and the screen told me that the page couldn't be displayed and my letter was gone, Craig. Gone. This time, all of it totally and completely gone. Will the tears ever stop? Will this pain ever end?
I wanted to let you know that after looking deep within myself and acknowledging my electronic irresponsibility, can I say to you: I forgive you Craig. Yes Craig, you. But more importantly, I almost completely forgive myself.
Sincerely,
Hilary
Dear Craig,
Well! I am home now. My home that is. Not our home. Damn sublets, never the right amount of time. I am settling in. Lights are on, clean sheets on the bed, even got the internet up and running. It is amazing after the scares I had getting myself here. See, I didnt know if I was gonna be able to get through this moving thing alive.
It all started this morning when I fell down the stairs. Im fine, Im fine. I have decided that the bruise on my ass is cute (the one on my elbow is just unfortunate). Well I was feeling none too pleased and not looking forward to getting in the car for my little city drive. But I knew I should just get the 'moving my stuff out of Brooklyn' thing over with while the traffic wouldnt be so bad in the middle of the day. So I hopped in the pathfinder and was off -damn it- gas. So I hopped in the pathfinder, filled up the tank, chugged a redbull (I have never spelled out the word 'chugged' before. do it, its weird) and headed toward the Holland tunnel.
Now for most people, driving from Hoboken to Brooklyn is no big thing. For me, its cause for panic. But I printed my directions, although I have made this drive before, and felt confident that all should go as planned. How I managed to, after getting out of the Holland Tunnel and seeing the sign for the Williamsburg Bridge (I had directions to the Manhattan Bridge, mind you. But I thought, hey, I know that way. Ill go there.) how I managed to find myself at west 11th street to most new Yorkers would be, in a word, baffling. But before I am a jersey girl and certainly before I am a New Yorker, I am horrendous with directions. The fact that I found my way back to the Manhattan Bridge and made it to Brooklyn with the car in one piece is what I would call a successful city driving experience.
At the soon-to-be old apartment I began loading up the car, when it hit me, maybe this job is too big for one person? Next I heard my mothers voice in my head. She had given me some very important or, I should say, influential, moving advice, "Try to be aggressive about throwing stuff out. If you need something, we can just buy it." Ahhh. Consumerism. Im sold! ('Im sold,' get it? I could have said, 'works for me!' but I said, 'Im sol-,') Anyway, it got me thinking, that, and the many trips to the car, on top of the shortage of boxes, and Im all of a sudden like, who needs all this shit?!
And I just want to say right here, right now. I dont miss it. I dont miss it at all. None of it. I dont miss that winter sweater that was too worn to wear in public but when I put it on made me feel all warm and safe. I dont miss that teddy bear that, when I was stuffing his face in a box of junk, I grumbled, "I never should have had you." I dont miss my coach bag that my ex-boyfriend gave me for Christmas - wait! Oh, phew. I didnt throw that out. Shit, thought I was losing it for a second. No, I don't miss those things at all. Just weighing me down.
So with a slightly lightened load, I finished packing up the car. As I was vacuuming the now very visible dust bunnies in my empty old bedroom, I began to envy the kind of independent woman that buys her first car all by herself as opposed to the, more personally familiar, kind that moves out of their first apartment all by herself. But I dont want to focus on the negative. I want to think of the positive things of the day. Forget the bruises, the detour, the death threats (Ill get to that), the guns (dont let me forget about the guns), I want to think about the fact that it was a smart choice to wear a sports bra. The cable vision guy, who after parking behind me so I couldnt open the back of the car, before he drove away, sincerely asked me if I needed any help. The awesome sandwich I made when I got back to jersey. All good things. The death threat being yelled at the speeding away white Cadillac escalade with the license plate "sopranos 1" only made me more focused on my task at hand: Get the hell out of Brooklyn. The military men with machine guns -yes machine guns!- inspecting each car on my way back through the Holland Tunnel, just a minor 45 minute delay with a moderate amount of fear for my life mixed with the anxiety that if the van in front of me explodes half way through the tunnel, not only will I, but all my personal effects - go with it (with the exception of my favorite sweater and teddy of course). I dont want to harp on these minor and inconvenient fears of my mortality. The important thing is that I got back to jersey safe with most of my belongings in tact.
But as Bob Dylan sang me home, I thought back on our too short time as roommates (the second time around). I thought about who I was and how I feel now. We had awesome times, made awesome music, in an awesome apartment, with awesome people around us. Change is hard, isnt it? It is. But one thing that makes it easier is having good people - great people - around almost every step of the way. Im glad I got to do this alone today. Im proud of myself. And I know, when I need it, help is there. Either offered or asked for, it is there. I miss you already. I love you. Thank you for always listening and reminding me not to judge myself. You are always the brightest part of my day. Ill see you tomorrow, buddy. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Love,
Hilary
ps I left your sweatshirt on the back of your chair. Right now, I really wish I had taken it with me.
Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
pps I left you some ramen noodles, three eggs, and a jar of mayo. yum! (the walnuts are for angie!)
at three o'clock this morning i used some of your peanut butter to make two midly satisfying peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on my never-fail mini whole wheat bagels. i left the knife out as evidence, not as a mistake, but so you would know i wasn't trying to "sneak" the creamy substance without you finding out. i have every intention of getting you more peanut butter, to replace the amount i ate. but i am sure glad you didn't wake up and find me working my culinary magic by the light of the open refrigerator door.
mmmm....peanut butter.
you don't mind if i lick the knife and then go back in for more do you?
thanks!
hilary
Dear Craig,
Here is that "quick and easy" dinner recipe you were asking for:
Take one whole wheat mini bagel, open. Slice one whole dill pickle, place on bottom half of bagel. Layer your choice brand of potato chips (i prefer dirty kettle cooked salt and vinegar) on top of pickle. Spread condiments on top half of bagel, optional. Season to taste. Replace top half of bagel. Add a side of ramen noodles if still starving. Pray.
By the way, can you pick me up a bottle of wine on your way home so I can finish my paper? Whatever is cheap and red and has at least 13 percent alcohol. Thanks!
Bon Appetit,
Hilary
Dearest Craig,
Its gone. All gone. All of it. All my hard work, just ripped away. Gone. All of my energy, blood, sweat, and tears gone. All gone. Well, not all gone. Actually about 3/4s of it is gone. But it is basically all gone! Almost all of it, never to be seen again. All of my hard work and nothing to show for it. Nothing. Well, not nothing, I have about 1/4 left to show for it, but pretty much nothing to show for it! Its gone. Almost totally completely gone. I lost it all, Craig. I lost almost all of it.
Why God, why? Oh, the pain! The rain will never hide these tears.
And as I was left the other night to ponder my desperate state, I found myself blaming you. Yes, you, Craig. You! You, who were the one to show me how to host a picture so it would live eternally on a friends myspace page. You, Craig. You, who were able to fix my computer when the mouse stopped working by using alternate keys to maneuver around the screen. Craig, you. You, who were able to save your computer from total corruption and bring it back to new after downloading too much porn. Yes Craig, you.
As you stumbled to your bed after your twenty-five hours of partying so you could wake up at seven a.m. to go to work the next day, I thought to myself, "Isn't there anything else he can do to save my sociology paper from almost total deletion?"
But as I continued to sit in technical mockery and despair, I realized, the person I really blame - is myself. Yes, me Craig. Me. Me, who has basic computer knowledge, at best. Me! Me, who didn't create a backup file to secure my work. Craig, me. Me, who is wondering, "is backup one word or two, or does it have a dash?" Me, who didn't hit save. Who doesn't hit save?!!! Me. Thats who. And whose idea was it to be drinking wine while she wasn't hitting save? Yes Craig, that's right. Me.
Oh, the torture! Having to re-write words that sound familiar but I know just aren't the same. Gone. All gone. Almost all of it, totally gone. Never to be seen again. Oh, the tears! As I sit here, still in my lowest depths of 'mad at myself-ness', I have this terrible feeling again. For this Craig, is not the first, but the second time I have written this letter to you. These somewhat similar words were written somewhat similarly before. Before I hit post and the screen told me that the page couldn't be displayed and my letter was gone, Craig. Gone. This time, all of it totally and completely gone. Will the tears ever stop? Will this pain ever end?
I wanted to let you know that after looking deep within myself and acknowledging my electronic irresponsibility, can I say to you: I forgive you Craig. Yes Craig, you. But more importantly, I almost completely forgive myself.
Sincerely,
Hilary
Dear Craig,
Well! I am home now. My home that is. Not our home. Damn sublets, never the right amount of time. I am settling in. Lights are on, clean sheets on the bed, even got the internet up and running. It is amazing after the scares I had getting myself here. See, I didnt know if I was gonna be able to get through this moving thing alive.
It all started this morning when I fell down the stairs. Im fine, Im fine. I have decided that the bruise on my ass is cute (the one on my elbow is just unfortunate). Well I was feeling none too pleased and not looking forward to getting in the car for my little city drive. But I knew I should just get the 'moving my stuff out of Brooklyn' thing over with while the traffic wouldnt be so bad in the middle of the day. So I hopped in the pathfinder and was off -damn it- gas. So I hopped in the pathfinder, filled up the tank, chugged a redbull (I have never spelled out the word 'chugged' before. do it, its weird) and headed toward the Holland tunnel.
Now for most people, driving from Hoboken to Brooklyn is no big thing. For me, its cause for panic. But I printed my directions, although I have made this drive before, and felt confident that all should go as planned. How I managed to, after getting out of the Holland Tunnel and seeing the sign for the Williamsburg Bridge (I had directions to the Manhattan Bridge, mind you. But I thought, hey, I know that way. Ill go there.) how I managed to find myself at west 11th street to most new Yorkers would be, in a word, baffling. But before I am a jersey girl and certainly before I am a New Yorker, I am horrendous with directions. The fact that I found my way back to the Manhattan Bridge and made it to Brooklyn with the car in one piece is what I would call a successful city driving experience.
At the soon-to-be old apartment I began loading up the car, when it hit me, maybe this job is too big for one person? Next I heard my mothers voice in my head. She had given me some very important or, I should say, influential, moving advice, "Try to be aggressive about throwing stuff out. If you need something, we can just buy it." Ahhh. Consumerism. Im sold! ('Im sold,' get it? I could have said, 'works for me!' but I said, 'Im sol-,') Anyway, it got me thinking, that, and the many trips to the car, on top of the shortage of boxes, and Im all of a sudden like, who needs all this shit?!
And I just want to say right here, right now. I dont miss it. I dont miss it at all. None of it. I dont miss that winter sweater that was too worn to wear in public but when I put it on made me feel all warm and safe. I dont miss that teddy bear that, when I was stuffing his face in a box of junk, I grumbled, "I never should have had you." I dont miss my coach bag that my ex-boyfriend gave me for Christmas - wait! Oh, phew. I didnt throw that out. Shit, thought I was losing it for a second. No, I don't miss those things at all. Just weighing me down.
So with a slightly lightened load, I finished packing up the car. As I was vacuuming the now very visible dust bunnies in my empty old bedroom, I began to envy the kind of independent woman that buys her first car all by herself as opposed to the, more personally familiar, kind that moves out of their first apartment all by herself. But I dont want to focus on the negative. I want to think of the positive things of the day. Forget the bruises, the detour, the death threats (Ill get to that), the guns (dont let me forget about the guns), I want to think about the fact that it was a smart choice to wear a sports bra. The cable vision guy, who after parking behind me so I couldnt open the back of the car, before he drove away, sincerely asked me if I needed any help. The awesome sandwich I made when I got back to jersey. All good things. The death threat being yelled at the speeding away white Cadillac escalade with the license plate "sopranos 1" only made me more focused on my task at hand: Get the hell out of Brooklyn. The military men with machine guns -yes machine guns!- inspecting each car on my way back through the Holland Tunnel, just a minor 45 minute delay with a moderate amount of fear for my life mixed with the anxiety that if the van in front of me explodes half way through the tunnel, not only will I, but all my personal effects - go with it (with the exception of my favorite sweater and teddy of course). I dont want to harp on these minor and inconvenient fears of my mortality. The important thing is that I got back to jersey safe with most of my belongings in tact.
But as Bob Dylan sang me home, I thought back on our too short time as roommates (the second time around). I thought about who I was and how I feel now. We had awesome times, made awesome music, in an awesome apartment, with awesome people around us. Change is hard, isnt it? It is. But one thing that makes it easier is having good people - great people - around almost every step of the way. Im glad I got to do this alone today. Im proud of myself. And I know, when I need it, help is there. Either offered or asked for, it is there. I miss you already. I love you. Thank you for always listening and reminding me not to judge myself. You are always the brightest part of my day. Ill see you tomorrow, buddy. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Love,
Hilary
ps I left your sweatshirt on the back of your chair. Right now, I really wish I had taken it with me.
Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
pps I left you some ramen noodles, three eggs, and a jar of mayo. yum! (the walnuts are for angie!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
