Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Uneventful, at Best.

To begin once again with karma: my commute was so, so atrocious today that John Kerry has to win the presidency. If he doesn't, I'm either going to hit the lotto or run into Jude Law on the street. I got up at 4:45 today to take a shower before work, got to the train station on time, realized I forgot my wallet, drove back to my house to get it, missed two trains on the way, took a late train with seemingly no seats on it, found two empty seats next to each other, enjoyed the breathing room for half a stop, at which point a big 'n' tall guy sat down next to me (he was thirteen and half feet tall and weighed somewhere around seven hundred pounds) and yelled across the aisle to his co-worker through the entire ride. I managed to get to Grand Central with my virgin criminal record intact, but found out that the downtown 6 wasn't running because a train was stalled at 23rd street, which is a totally bullshit stop anyway. So, everyone had to cram onto the expresses, the first of which was too full to get on and a little subway cop shined his light at me and told me to get back. After all of it, when I finally got on a 6 at 14th street, an old man laughed at me for fixing my hair in the window. See? Kerry wins.

Color me hormonal, but I was really, really sad when Brad left yesterday. I cried to Kelly Clarkson on the way home from work in the car. I'm not saying it had anything to do with the aforemtioned Ms. Clarkson ballad, I'm just trying to provide ample atmosphere in which to picture my sorry self. I also wanted to cry on the train today reading about Kerry at the last Wisconsin rally, and I'm positive I'll cry if we end up with that little monkey at the helm of our proverbial ship again, so maybe it really is just due to my being in a womanly way. Regardless, I was really sad.

Brad came up with a brilliant plan over the weekend; every once in a while, we split the Pennsylvania difference and meet at a motel for a weekend. It's a great idea for numerous reasons, the most significant of which being:

1. I'd get to see him more often.
2. If we picked the right motel, we could possibly convince people we are having an illict affair, which would would mean that
3. I get to wear a head scarf and sunglasses, and look around furtively.

Halloween was Halloween, and the curse of "Brad and Kathy have Sub-Par Holidays" continues. It seems like no matter how hard we try, holidays turn out uneventful at best. I'm not even going to go into either of our birthdays this year. New Year's was fun, but that seems like it was a fluke. Anyway, on Sunday we went down to the Village parade dressed as a waitress and Donnie Darko (you guess who was who) with a Witch for Kerry and--well, I'm not sure what Vanessa was--in tow. Maybe she was an extra from The Craft? Or Kai in eighth grade?

When we finally got down to Spring Street, Kai and Vanessa went in search of burritos, and Brad and I stood around and saw a fabulous pirate, a couple of iPods, Einstein, and a woman whose costume was apparently "strange woman with Don King hair yelling on the corner of Prince and Sixth Avenue for a guy named Vinnie for about fifteen minutes." If that was what she was going for, she totally nailed it. We watched the parade for a while, and then sat in a Starbucks for a while, and then took the (new! so clean!) train home again. After an emergency taquito-sorbet-some kind of frozen pasta with "voila!" in the title-run to the A&P, we watched about half an episode of Queer as Folk before I fell asleep like a tool.

The night before Halloween, Brad, Kai and I went to see "The Grudge." Kai kept her cool through the whole thing (funny, because this is the girl you couldn't pay to go near a sewer after she saw IT), but Brad and I were holding on to each other for dear life through the entire thing. Middle of the movie conversation:

Brad: Let go of my hand.
Me: whimper.
Brad: Man, it feels like I've been masturbating for like, TWENTY HOURS.
Me: whimper.

Off to read more CNN.com and look for images for the cover of a book no one will ever read, though I'm sure they will all be sent back to me anyway because the author doesn't like them.

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