Because It Has to Be Told

When people hear I went to school in New Orleans, the words “mardi gras” usually follow not too far behind. And I can understand why – boobs and beer and parades and debauchery must seem exciting to most people. And, while I value Mardi Gras as a significant part of New Orleans culture, it was never really my scene. My BFFL A-Payne always LOVED Mardi Gras in a way that I never did- making sure not to miss a SINGLE PARADE and going so far as to know the names, the celebrities and the good parade spots. I went along for the ride, as long as there was beer involved, which is not a Mardi Gras exclusive policy, but a good one none-the-less.

My favorite Mardi Gras story, however, happened not at a parade. It happened on the way to one. The sheer thought of it makes me laugh out loud and want to cuddle with Anna and then take a shower. And now, I am immortalizing it.

The Mardi Gras of 2006 was the first after Katrina and also, in my opinion, the best we have ever had. The energy in New Orleans was electric and hopeful and we were all so happy to be back with our friends and school.

On the Thursday before Fat Tuesday, five of us (Anna, Tia, Emilia and Cameron) piled into my car and headed down Freret Street to find a good parking spot on the parade route. Anna, my trusted confidant, was at the wheel (likely because I was already drunk or working on it). As we got closer to the parade route traffic picked up and we crawled through the streets- looking for a place to park.

We drive around for a while in unbearable traffic until finally, Anna sees it- the perfect spot. As she maneuvers the car to best park, impatient drivers behind her start to honk. Frustrated and vindicated, she spins the wheel around, pumps her fist in the air and yells to no one in particular “honk now, bitches!” and drives my car triumphantly into the spot. We all get out, get our Mardi Gras accoutrement, and walk to the parade route to enjoy it. We catch a lot of beads and cups and at one point, a man reaches down from a float, pulls Anna up onto it and she rides the rest of the parade on the top float like the Princess of New Orleans, waving to her minions below.

Well, that’s the way it would have happened. Except, instead of a parking spot, Anna parked my car in a suspiciously dark and smooth pile of sand dug into the ground. And well, if you have never driven your car into a sandbox, you might not know that it looks something like this:




(In Anna’s defense- although that is CLEARLY sand in that picture, it was getting dark and totally looked like a spot. I may or may not have had beer goggles on, but that’s beside the point.)

So, there we are. All five of us in my car. Involuntarily leaning forward into a sand pit. Wondering WTF happened and trying to strategize.

“What did we just drive the car into?”
“….Sand….? ….Dirt…..?”
“Should we get out?”
“…I guess…”

Having assessed the situation, we did what we thought the logical thing to do would be. Anna stayed behind the wheel and turned the car back on and the rest of us came around the front to push it out. Since the back was conveniently still out on the pavement, blocking traffic, we logically assumed that it would be relatively easy to push the car back up onto the pavement. Kind of hilarious, but not a big deal and would make a great story when we saw all of our friends later.

For those of you who HAVE driven your car into a sandbox before (or have a 5th grade understanding of physics), you are shaking your head at me in bemused disapproval. You are letting out a haughty laugh at our amateur mistake. “Fools!” you are saying. And you are right.

For those of you who haven’t, let me impart a life lesson onto you. For tires to effectively move a vehicle or bike or gyro cart, they need to have traction. And, interestingly, since sand does not provide that traction what happens when you push the gas and the tires spin is akin to spinning tires into a huge puddle of water- sand flies everywhere. And, since sand is flying out from under your tire, what its effectively doing is digging a hole. Making your car go even deeper into the sand.

Having seen after only a few tries (we were hopeful! Don’t judge us!) that this was NOT going to work, we came up with a new plan- call Tripple A. And so I did. Which was infuriating for more than one reason, but the most being that since it was Mardi Gras, after I spent 20 minutes on the phone going through the hideously tedious prerequisites of even getting them to call a towing company, they gave me a time estimate of 12 hours before they would get there.

“Should we just go to the parade and come back in the morning?” Anna asked, hopefully.

Most people who read this blog have seen me in a crisis situation. I don’t know if it is adrenaline or my redheaded temper, but something FIERCE comes out in me in the face of adverse situations and long waits. I was not waiting for 12 hours by my car. I WAIT FOR NO ONE. And I sure as HELL was not going to leave my car half way in a sand ditch, half sticking out into traffic in a bad part of New Orleans. I am no mechanic, but I was pretty certain that someone with some more know-how than me could get that puppy out in a second and sell it for parts or just cut off the back half so people could get through. I wasn’t going to risk either one.

So I do what any logical person would do- I get on my hands and knees in Katrina dirt and start digging. Cameron leaves to go find a wooden plank and a chain somewhere (it’s a bad part of New Orleans, which made that a surprisingly un-difficult task). Tia is digging with me. Emilia sits in the car and directs strategy (texts). Anna takes pictures:




The plan was disastrous, at best. Again, a lesson in physics- when you dig sand out of a hole, more sand just comes in and takes its place. And well, this plan didn’t really help with the whole “traction” issue. Because there was no way to get under the tire far enough to make the wooden plank effective. And, while I can’t prove anything, I am pretty sure something in that dirt is festering inside me to this day.

Just for good measure:


(Notice the T.J. Quills cup that was fashioned into a shovel. I just happened to have a few of those bad boys in my backseat. What a happy coincidence!)

Eventually, some guy comes by in a huge pick-up truck and tows us out. We go home and shower and head out for a night of drinking. Tripple A calls me to confirm a pickup time the next day at 2 p.m. (!) and I politely tell them to please go fuck themselves. But it remains one of my best New Orleans memories to this day.

Like a Sculpture, But Longer

Okay, so I am the worst blogger ever. I admit it. It’s true. Call the e-cops and take me to e-prison, for I have forsaken you.

But, while contemplating my delinquency, it occurred to me why: my life is boring.

Bear with me for a second here. When I started this blog, I was at a very tumultuous point in my life. Post-grad existential crisis, living at home, working as a 22 year old intern for $10 an hour- it provided endless comic relief. Not to mention, moving to the second most eccentric city in the nation (NYC) closely followed by having spent 4 years in the most eccentric city on the continent (NOLA), well, it provided a lot of material.

I lived in a closet! In Alphabet City! With a bright blue wall! In a five story walk up! Hilarious! It’s like the pauper version of Friends.

And well, I’d hate to admit it, but my life is pretty boring now. I live in an almost-real sized apartment, with enough room to walk around without clipping corners and shifting furniture. I have a steady 9- (mostly) 6 job that keeps me busy and happy for 40 (50?) hours a week. I have friends who I enjoy quiet evenings on the town with- a few beers at the bar and brunch in the morning. I run errands on Sundays and walk around when the weather is nice. I have more cleaning products under my sink than snack foods in my pantry. I bought a real couch that I sit on quite frequently. It just goes round and round.

And, while I am really enjoying D.C., I have to admit it is the perfect setting for a quiet and happy and boring life- there are things to do of course and a lot going on, but nothing that smacks you in the face with its ridiculous. I’ve never come home to find my street closed off for a Dominican Easter Parade featuring a Jesus impersonator bearing a large wooden cross or arrived home to my apartment building to find my key doesn’t work because management changed the locks overnight without informing anyone, and for the most part, I am okay with that.

But oddly enough- those are the same reasons I miss NYC. The ridiculous and absurdity of it all. The never knowing what is going to happen.

This weekend, I was talking to a friend, who has never been to NYC, about why it is so great. He was skeptical.
“What’s so great about NYC? What does it have that we don’t?”
“Museums! And restaurants! And bars! And shows! And a subway that goes EVERYWHERE!”
“We have all that here” , he rightfully replied.

And it’s true, D.C. does, for the most part have everything I want and need. Instead of a bodega on my corner, I have a CVS. Everything I want is, for the most part, within walking distance. I have found my brunch place (Jack’s), my dive bar (the Big Hunt), my dance bar (Madam’s Organ), my favorite museum (the Corcoran). I don’t want for anything, except for something that the tourism board can’t direct me to- I miss the weird. Weird is missing from D.C. and perhaps, because I have lived among the eccentric for so long, I miss it in a way that I can’t describe. D.C. is decidedly normal: work suits and pearls, polo shirts and fitting in, normal hobbies and boring clothes and jobs that save the world. Everyone fits into the mold here and it adds to the boring-ness. No one is spicing it up. No one is taking a chance on being the biggest weirdo on the block.

Well, most of the time.

Yesterday, it was unseasonably beautiful out for a day in early November. Hovering around the high 60’s and low 70’s, it was the perfect day for the last bike ride of the season. I hopped on my bike and decided to leave my phone/iPod at home- determined to be alone with my thoughts. And, for whatever reason, that conversation about NYC, more than anything else, was really sticking with me. What was my problem? Had I been brainwashed into the romance of NYC? Was it really ever as great as I thought? Why did I have such an allegiance to a city that did nothing but work against me?

As I was contemplating, I subconsciously headed up toward my favorite place in the city: Columbia Heights, which has a distinctively urban feel to it and draws me toward it more than any other part of this city. Old buildings, divey-dive bars, beautiful old and quirky houses- something about it just feels like home. As I biked through the residential streets, I noticed some big structure in the backyard of one house. Curious, I biked around the block a few times, trying to see what it was. It would be about the size of a shed when it was finished, but for right not it was mostly just a wire frame…of what? A head? I couldn’t tell.

At one point, I had stopped in front of the house and was blatantly staring into this backyard trying to figure out what the eff it was and a young-ish (early 30’s?) man came bounding out of the house. Startled, I turned my handlebars around and put my feet on the peddles, ready to bike away in embarrassment.

“Are you staring at my sculpture?!”, yelled a man from his porch.
“Uh well…yeah. I was just trying to figure out what it was” I yelled back, face turning red.
“I’ll show you, want to see it?”

I did want to see it. And although I have been adequately taught my stranger danger lessons and watched enough true crime shows to know how it could have turned out, I put my kickstand down and followed him into the backyard (sorry, Mom).

“I started it about two weeks ago as a form of protest- I couldn’t think of another way to adequately express my feelings about it ”

And there, in the backyard, I could see what this sculpture was. A HUGE soon-to-be paper-mache sculpture of two men kissing.

“Oh cool. Are you making this for any particular reason? Like…a parade? Or something?”

“No” he said decidedly. “Just because. My girlfriend is actually coming over to help me finish up in a bit”

I thanked him for showing me and got back on my bike- my heart swelling with a familiar feeling of admiration and judgment. This man, a straight man nonetheless, was building a paper-mache tribute to gay marriage in his backyard. It was so D.C.- so overly political and yet, so NYC in its unapologetic weirdness. And it was then that I realized that there are fucking weird people everywhere and that D.C. weirdos were almost better- smarter- in their weirdness.

And it was at that moment that I missed my blog.

The paper mache sculpture of two men kissing made me realize that even though I have a boring life, theres plenty of weird shit going on in the world. Weird shit I like. Weird shit I don’t like. Weird shit I have an opinion on. So, why not blog about that? It doesn’t ALL have to be about me (although I am fascinating). It can be about politics, feminism, health care reform, balloon boys and girls. There is so much material in the world, why deprive my tens of readers of my opinion about them?

So I am back baby. And, as a personal pledge to myself, I promise to blog at least once a week. There’s a lot of weirdness going on in the world and I want to be a part of it.

You’re welcome.

P.S.- Had I been the blogger I aspire to be, I would have taken a picture with my phone to accompany this post. I am still growing and learning, so forgive me. I’m not even really sure what street it was on –or honestly, if I was still in Columbia Heights when I saw it- but if we get another nice day this weekend, maybe I’ll go back and look for it for you, my loyal reader (Tia)

Long Overdue

Does anyone still read this anymore?

Well, I do. So for the sake of myself- here is a long winded blog entry about the last crazy three weeks of my life. You are welcome.

So it didnt really hit me that I was moving until...uhh I was moving. Even though my dad and brother came to clear out my apt a week before my last day in NY (which they were both REALLY thrilled about, let me tell you. especially my brother- never seen him happier), and I lived off an an air mattress, out of a suitcase and worked 12 hour days to finish everything up, everything still felt normal. That week was fun- spending time with NYC friends, walking around the LES just because I could, riding the subway because I knew I would miss that most of all- but it was still normal. My last day in the city was a beautiful, sunny and vibrant Saturday and I had to work an event for work before packing up my suitcase and air mattress and heading back to Jersey for the week. And although I was a little sad, I was mostly thinking that I hoped I got home before the sun went away and I could lay in my backyard with a beer and some magazines and enjoy the day.

(Seriously- I am a city mouse all the way, but I miss a good backyard on a sunny day)

The week in Jersey was stressful, because then it was actually time to think about moving 259 miles away. My coping mechanism to deal with such a HUGE CHANGE and not die of a panic attack was simple: finish one thing at a time and don't even think about the big picture. so, up until my last day of work I was thinking about only work. and then when i was home in Jersey there was everything else left to do- am i going to hire movers? where is my new place again? how do I move in? who will be helping me? how much is a uhaul? how am i going to pay for all of this? why cant someone just do this FOR ME?

but everything more or less figured itself out. I only cried once- although it was an embarassing and sobbing breakdown because the owner of my building was "mean to me" when I called to schedule a move in time. I picked up my uhaul on a Friday morning and my dad helped me load up the truck, i said goodbye to my dog for 10 whole minutes and drove myself down to Tia's in a truck that had more square footage than my entire apt in NYC.

move in day was surprisingly uneventful. although the "service elevator" we had to use was barely big enough to fit my little full size bed and we had to dismantle some furntture to get it up here. and to even get to the service elevator you had to go through this weird underground maze through the basement of the building. and there was a cleaning guy standing there leering at us as we were moving in who I am certifiably terrified of (and am also pretty sure is watching me right now on some sort of hidden camera, like a 20/20 special or something). but considering Tia and I moved everything in by ourselves- I was pretty impressed with how we did. I still have bruises- but the kind you are proud of- not the kind you get after falling out of your shoes after one too many beers.

So that was it. I was moved in and was officially a DC-ist. And the transition really wasnt as rough as I expected. I had already been working with the DC office for a few weeks so when I was officially there it didnt really feel like a dreaded "first day"- although I had a lot of work to catch up on. I really enjoy the people I work with- such strong DC personalities- although transitioning and trying to figure out exactly what they want as opposed to what NY wants is a little cumbersome. But I am getting there. I already have ten times the responsibilities I did in NY and I love it- I appreciate that they trust me so much already (although I am woman enough to admit that I am terrified of screwing up and almost went back to the office at least three times this weekend over silly things. the proving yourself stage is always the most difficult).

And surprisingly- although I felt like I would be alone almost all of the time- i am managaing to keep busy. My family is so close to me which I love and I have already seen them at least once a week since I've been here (in fact- immediately after I finish this post I will have to jump in the shower and metro myself out to White Flint to see my grandparents). I got to see my cousin before he moved to San Diego and my other two wonderful cousins are both here for the summer, before they continue on with their amazing lives in the fall. We had a cousin's night out last Friday which was a little rowdy followed by a perfect Father's day BBQ at my aunts on sunday, which wasnt rowdy but was delightful and made me realize that I am not really as far away from everything that feels comfortable as I thought.

In non family related activities, I have been keeping busy with friends- old friends from my Gtown days, close friends from Loyola and even a few from way-back-when. Its surprising how many people have ended up here (or at least stopped by on their way to ending up somewhere else).

DC is a lot more fun than I remember, although still a lot stuffier than I would prefer. I miss NYC- the rhythm of the city, the subway that really does go everywhere, the unique individuals who would be freaks and weirdos anywhere else, the good bar specials, cheap taxi rides, street festivals for no reason and the gyro guy on 17th and Broadway. Mostly I miss the feeling of knowing that I live in the best city in the world and feeling bad for all those suckers (read: me) who don't get to be a part of it.

But I am starting to appreciate DC- the fact that I have an apartment in a nice area that is big enough walk around in (with a COUCH and a tv and a walk in closet and a kitchen and air conditioning and an ELEVATOR- sweet jesus I love that elevator), how clean everything is, how smart and politically conscious everyone is, free museums, laying out by monument on a sunny day, the few good dive bars and the humidity that I am slightly embarassed to admit that I love (sorry, hair).

So basically- I am adjusting and for the most part, everything is going well. I promise to get back to writing more interesting things soon.

Its Official

Real post coming soon, when I am not spending the spare 5 seconds I have to myself after work every night getting ready to move 259 miles away. I'm exhausted.


But excited!

Prune Juice

I’ve been trying to think of a really quality blog post and thought I would have TONS of inspirational material, seeing as my life as of late has been absolutely INSANE. But, as it turns out, its been so insane that its hard to pick just one stupid little miniscule thing to blog about (aka- EmergenC) and instead all of the thoughts in my brain are trying to rush out at once and I am mentally constipated.

How’s that for an image to get you through the night?

So- friends, readers, lovers- this will not be my best blog post. I apologize. If you want to turn on “The Office” instead I’ll understand. We won’t be friends anymore (maybe still lovers) but I’ll understand nonetheless.

BUT- there is a cliffhanger at the end of the post!!! If that keeps you going!! Except its not a fun “whats going to happen on Grey’s Anatomy?” cliffhanger. It’s a “WTF IS GOING TO HAPPEN FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!?!?!?!” cliffhanger. If my life were a TV show- it would be awesome. This would be the series finale. I would be driving in a car, soulful music would be playing, I would be staring at the road straight ahead- contemplative, beautiful, majestic.***

But first- some cutaways and plot lines that no one but me cares about.

I went to D.C. (uhhh…six weeks ago…). Stayed with Tia in her lovely apartment, got to see PIPPI (my ultimate lover), went out in Old Towne and met two interesting guys and had a marvelous time. The next night I went on a girls night out with my mom and aunt, which was so fun and made me feel weird and grown up- but in a good way. The next night was my grandparents 80th birthday celebration, which was quiet and small and fun. We ate reallllly good French food and had three desserts. My grandma bought me a casserole dish for my new place. It was the perfect DC/Maryland weekend.

The next weekend (five weeks ago- whoo! I am a bad blogger) I went to New Orleans. Which was also tons of fun. It was amazing to see everyone again and see the campus and the city. I still loved it and I still miss it every single day. Good trip- French Quarter fest, social and sunburns at the fly. Everything I wanted it to be.

Girls weekend last weekend for Melissas birthday, so Aimee, Mel and Shayna all stayed at my apt. We went to a male “dance show”. I got so drunk I somehow stumbled home by myself and the night between 9 pm- and 3:45 am pizza party remains a mystery. A good one though. I hope?

I have been loving my apartment and roommate. As for my roommate- shes awesome. We did brunch and baked cookies yesterday. For a small apartment, we still manage to give each other our space. The apartment is still great- no major problems, still in the best location in the city. On Saturday there was a random parade down A for no apparent reason. Its awesome.

Work has been busy. Really busy. I stay late probably one night a week, but I don’t mind as I have been given bigger and more interesting projects as of late.

Oh- did I mention I might be moving to D.C.? Like, soon?

I don’t really want to get into the messy details, but I was sort of offered a promotion within my company. But the job? Would be in our D.C. office. So if I take it, I would move there. Soon. Real soon.

This is the part where the constipation kicks in. Because I have so much to say about it. And so little comes out (haha ew). And well- I am going down there to meet with them on Wednesday. So- stay tuned?




***Look- I know its not AS exciting as Grey’s, but I hope as my friend you are happy that I don’t have brain cancer or didn’t get hit by a bus or pregnant or married.

New Apartment

Okay okay, the time has come.

Pictures of my place! I dont really have anything witty to say. I am still exhausted after my religious experience (see below), much like the way you are tired the entire day after you get a massage.

I LOVE it. It makes me happy everytime I come home. Its small, but new. Charming, light and in the perfect location. I adore my roommate, who is also 22 and a recent graduate. We are on different schedules, so a lot of the time its like living alone. I've been cooking, cleaning, assembling furnature, painting and a myriad of other grown up things. I can walk to work. I cant tell you what a huge deal that is.

Anyway, on to the pictures:



This is my room. That is my BLUE wall and my bed and my TWO windows (I know this may not seem like that big of a deal, but trust me- having a window is not the norm in New York). You cant see it, but to the side of me is my rather large closet, that fits everything I need. Its small, but really cozy. I never feel like the walls are closing in on me. I plan on putting a big painting in the middle of the wall. The fleur de lis will need to move, but that was the only place there was a nail already there.



This is my shelf, and I just wanted to show it because Im still repping NOLA- beads (natch) and my beloved piggy bank that I got as a pledge in AKPsi. Never leave home without them.




Our "breakfast nook" that I LOVE. I love this table, I love that its right by the window, love the height. Just love love love. This is my favorite place in the apartment.




this is the rest of our kitchen. Pretty standard. Mini-fridge, which I thought I would HATE but I actually sort of like it. I never over-buy. I just stop by the grocery store on the walk home and buy what I need for a meal. Its awesome. Lots of wine, obv.




Our bathroom. If you dont live in NY or have never seen a NY apartment, you probably cant appreciate how awesome this is. But you can STAND in it and its NEW and its a shower with a DOOR. Its awesome. These are my standards.

In summation? I love my apartment, I love my life, love living in the city and love the way things are going so far.

In Celebration of Easter

Today, I saw Christ, reincarnate.*

I know i know, its hard to believe. I mean, why would Jesus come back to talk to a Jew? Isnt he busy being nailed to the cross, leading a religion, having a champagne brunch and passing out mutli-colored eggs to children? You probably dont believe me and hell- you might not even believe in him. But read on and I think you'll be pretty convinced.

This morning i woke up hungover, tired, full (from apprx. 8 beers i drank last night and the fried chicken i got on the walk home at 4 am this morning) and pretty damn happy. I laid in bed, looked at my awesome BLUE wall in the morning light, took a sip of water and reached for my computer for a happy morning of checking facebook, blogs, news etc.

I flip it on and it tells me I have software updates. "Why not?" I say to myself "I have all day to do nothing, I can spare the 45 seconds". Updates finish installing and the computer restarts and all I see is this:



For those of you unfamiliar with macs, this is the cute little icon for HARDDRIVE DEATH. "How do you know this, Heather?" you are surely asking yourself. Well, friend, I know because it just happened to me SIX MONTHS AGO.

Immediately I start to panic. I bolt out of bed, throw on a sports bra, put on my sneakers, throw my computer in a bag and head to the Apple store in SoHo. On the nearly half hour walk*, I am mentally talking myself down from the proverbial ledge. Last time this happened, it cost $400 and a few days to fix and I don't have either one right now. $400 might as well be $4,000,000 to me and I leave for New Orleans (!!!!) on Thursday morning. I am on the verge of tears, on a hellbent path through the east village, glaring at strangers because, really, its all their fault. Its unusually cold out, windy and sunny and I have on a light trench and no sunglasses. I am miserable.

Finally, I arrive at the apple store on Prince Street, open the doors and tell the greeters what my issue is. He says that they are by appointment only (which i mean, REALLY? how are people who are going to break their computers know they will need to make an appointment?) but since its Easter Sunday (first sign) that they might be able to put me on standby. We walk upstairs and he passes me off to the Genius Bar. My fate is in their hands.

A little boy who I can only assume was about 13, came over to help try and schedule me. He tells me they are too busy and don't have any standby appointments but if I would like I could make one for TWO DAYS from now so they can do the consultation and tell me whats wrong and then it would "only" take a couple more days to fix it. Or, I can just drop it off and they will call me in 48 hours and tell me what they want to do it and have me sign off on it and then take another few days to fix it. When i hear this, I am even more upset. Leaving your shit with apple means $$$$$$ and I dont even have $. Plus, I dont have a tv or cable, so the computer is what i do when Im home. We just got internet, and I am enjoying the speed and efficiency of actual paid internet (thanks for the 4 years of pirated internet though, Lowerline St.). I am upset.

Boy-whom-I-could-have-given-birth-to walks me over to the computer where I sign in to leave my computer and asks me what I want to do. I think about it: "I am an adult. Just yesterday I went to Ikea and assembled a kitchen table and I considered it the highlight of my week. I painted a wall all by myself. I have a 401K. I can handle. I can find a way to get the money. It will be okay".

Well, thats what I would have thought, if I didn't immediately burst into tears.

Yes, I cried in the apple store. And not, "oh your eyes are kind of wet" crying, but CRYING. I am a little embarassed but mostly FURIOUS AT MAC that I have to leave my computer for a week and pay them tons of money so they can just erase my whole goddamned hard drive and I can lose all my shit again.

Somewhere along the way, probably when the middle schooler realized he was dealing with a clearly unstable woman, I was passed off to another "concierge", who led me over to a genius to drop my computer off and get all my shit together.

When I first saw him, I thought nothing of him. Just another mere mortal who would say something to make me angry or cry or flail hysterically on the floor, no big. "Jay" (coincidence? nope.) opens my computer and puts his special apple thing in to view my harddrive on his computer. He asks me questions and I give him short bitchy answers, fighting back tears. He looks at me with a mix of confusion, sympathy and fear and keeps playing with my computer. I sit there silently crying and thinking of creative ways to make ramen noodles.

And I imagine that this is what a religious experience is like. When you are at your lowest, you can't believe its really happening at first. But sure enough, after he had played with it for a while, he looked at me and said "here, email the stuff you want to keep to yourself and Ill just wipe out your harddrive and reinstall it right now. Do you mind waiting twenty minutes?"

I instantly start to feel better, but I am cautious. "How much will this cost?"
"Nothing. We dont have to keep it so its no cost"

Can you hear the holy music people?

I literally almost made out with him, but I am pretty sure thats not the correct way to react when you meet Jesus. I couldn't believe it. This man, this deity, took me down to the end of the genius bar and walked me through the reinstall. In the meantime, he teaches me how to do things that I didnt know before. He sets up my computer the way I want it. He ignored the stares of the "conceirges" who told me I couldn't get help today. He stood up for me, just like he stood up for (most of) you. He saved me- picked me up off the floor, wiped my tears away and replenished me with wine and free gigabyte space. It was a religious experience.


At the end of it all, I felt like a new person. My computer is fine, fast, beautiful. I thanked him and apologized for being mean earlier and he laughed and said he understood. He really is forgiving.

So, if you want to have a religious experience- go to the Apple store on Prince street. Ask for Jay(esus).

Happy Easter, Jay(esus). Thanks for the resurrection.



*If you are offended by this post, eh. We probably shouldn't be friends anyway.

**The other night, on a date with a SEXY guy, he was walking me back to my apartment and I FELL out of my shoes (yes, plural) on my block, ate it hard (like sprawled out across the pavement) and got this nasty cut on the side of my foot that was bleeding everywhere. Its hurts to wear shoes, walk, stand upright, etc. So when I say walked, I mean hobbled. I'm pretty sure sexy guy will call soon. Who wouldn't want to date this?