Saturday, December 29, 2012

Spinster Saturday

I'm so happy to be back together with my full-sized keyboard. Heaven help me if we all make the switch to touch screen keypads at any point. My thumbs (like all spinsters, apparently), are too fat for that business.

Side Note: a guy on the flight back to New York told me that all spinsters were rumored to have big thumbs and bad breath back when the title actually related to spinning as a profession. However, I've just googled this and it is as yet unsubstantiated.  Though, I have to admit his reasoning did make sense.

This morning I had an early and spinsterly brunch at my favorite neighborhood brunch spot, Cafe Bar. They have excellent chocolate lave cake, but since I was already eating alone at 10:45 in the morning, I decided to settle for the (still delicious) huevos rancheros and the divinely fresh squeezed orange juice. I don't know what it is about fresh squeezed orange juice, but i just really love it.

After brunch I stopped by the grocery to get some special milk so there won't be any rooty-toot-toot or rummy-tum-tum in my apartment or cubicle, and I tried to find some peanut butter Chimes Ginger Chews, and of course they weren't there. Why are those so hard to find? To be a proper spinster, I need to have a purse filled with random candies.

On my way home, it started snowing really hard. Like sideways. So, I decided then and there I was going to come back to my apartment, put my bathrobe over my clothes, and not leave again. And that's what I've done. I made some hand painted and glittered thank you notes to send for my christmas gifts, and I watched two episodes of "Toddlers and Tiaras," one episode of "My Strange Addiction," and now I'm sitting in my bed under the covers watching Tyler Perry TV shows. I know, you're jealous.

The last thing I will say is about Twitter. I'm not sure I'm doing it right, but I'm trying. Yesterday I tweeted this photo to The Ellen Show. I think maybe it was a weird thing to do.

I'll leave you with this thought: for once in my life, my feet are actually cold right now. This is a (post Christmas) miracle.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

The Most Requested Story of the Season

Today I head back to the city, and unfortunately it's not a moment too soon. I've been feeding myself like a fatted calf, and I suppose it has to stop. But for once, this entry won't be about eating. Well, at least not all of it.

I come from a long line of story tellers. Our oral tradition dates back at least three generations and is fueled by a cast of idiosyncratic characters like my life coach of a grandfather and my beast of a workout-fiend Uncle Tom. So every time we get together, in whatever combination, the telling of stories on request is sure to occur. So this morning I bring you my most requested story of the season: "The Freelancer."

It took me three weeks to leave my last job after I'd accepted the one I have now, and in those three weeks I got so stressed and tightly wound, I knew I'd need to take a week's vacation in between. So, in the four weeks my job waited, a freelancer was brought in to hold my spot. She was a 38-year-old short,round, Canadian who hadn't had a full time job (from the sound of it) in all her eight years in the states.

As is customary, on my first day I had a rather extended meeting with Human Resources in which we reviewed all the necessary paperwork, etc, and when I left I was given a nice little wooden box that held a bright green composition notebook, a company water bottle, a can of coke, a box of coconut water, a cliff bar, some Raisinets, sun chips, pirate's booty, and a large box of nerds that held two different flavors divided in the center and with two different openings so you didn't have to mix them.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I was so pleased with the snack box because it presented so many hoarding possibilities. I like to save my snacks for when I need a little pick me up or reward or break. Having a little stock was exciting.

When I got to my new cube, I saw that the freelancer was sitting there working on a desktop PC with long, curly hair and eyes that were maybe just a little too jolly. Her teeth, too. There was something about her teeth that made me think she might have eaten a few too many oranges in her life.

The Freelancer stayed for the next three weeks, and slowly (or not-so-slowly) drove me to the brink of insanity. Aside from having suggestions for how I could do just about anything I was doing better and more efficiently while she somehow failed to get anything done herself, she seemed to have a growing obsession with my little box of treats.

"You should really put that coke and the coconut water in the fridge," was a daily suggestion. But if you've ever worked in an office, you know why I told her in as many ways I could think of that I'd like to keep them at my desk. As soon as anything goes in that office fridge, it seems there's someone in the office who regards it as community property. And yet every day she would bring it up. I finally gave in and gave her the coconut water, hoping for a policy of appeasement. That worked about as well for me as it did against the Germans of the 20th century.

And The Freelancer hated to eat alone. She always wanted to order in, but I need to take a little break from the office and its occupants around lunch time. One day she said, "we should order Moon Cake for lunch." Of course, she'd already brought this up before and ignored my disinterest in ordering.

"I've really been wanting to go to Subway," I said. Really, I didn't care where I went as long as the freelancer wasn't there. So I waited. I waited for The Freelancer to order her food so I'd know I was in the clear. Fifteen minutes passed and then twenty, and just when I was about to mention she should go ahead and order, she piped up.

"You know, I think I'll just go to Subway with you."

Really? Really. "I want to go by myself," I said, and I knew by her response that she was hurt. But remember, she is 38 years old.

When I got back to the office after my five minute absence, I told her I'd brought her a cookie.

"Are you sure," she said, more than slightly accusingly. "Are you sure you brought me a cookie? I thought you didn't like me anymore because you want to be aloooone." She sounded like a sixth grader. There was a pause. "Or did you ever like me?"

I couldn't believe my ears. I wanted to punch her in her acid-eroded teeth. I turned my head slowly and spoke to her like the child she was, "don't be a baby."

And she scowled.

But then, later that week, I tried to preempt any attempts she would make to milk her hourly pay by telling her it really wasn't necessary for her to stay late. I said it a few times, and around 6:45, she told me she was off the clock. And yet she stayed.

"What would it take for you to go to a singles event with me tonight?" She asked as if she knew I was going to say yes. The thought of attending any singles event where she would be present made me want to die a spinster.

"That's absolutely 100% not going to happen," I said quite firmly. I was hoping she'd then take this as her cue to go ahead without me. But she stayed. And she stayed. And she stayed. And she told me she was going to eat my pirate's booty. I was almost scandalized until I remembered it was a food product.

"I already ate it," I said, glad I had. She wanted to know when that had happened as if I should have shared. I would have rather eaten it in the dark recesses of the sample closet than shared my treat with her. She finally left for her event around 8pm, a good hour after it began. And of course I had to hear about it the next morning.

The next day, I walked away from my desk for a moment, and when I returned, she was facing me, my special box of nerds in her hand.

"I went ahead and opened this," she said, " just know."

I was sure steam was shooting out of my ears, but I tried to sound like I was not that upset. "Why you gotta be takin' my stuff without asking?" I said, sitting down and turning away from her.

"Oh," she said, "I kind of thought you'd already given them to me."

Clearly, this woman had learned nothing of me and my nature in our three weeks together. I would never have done such a thing as relinquish my treats to her.

"No, I didn't," I said, trying not to sound as explosively annoyed as I actually was, "but that's all right." Subtext: that's all right, I see you now. I know how you are. I will henceforth be hiding all my treasures from you. Especially edible treasures. Fatass.

The next morning, as I entered an appointment with my doctor in my phone, I received a text from my mom. My response detailed the coke situation, work fridge dynamics, and of course, Nerdgate 2012. I hit send as I crossed the street, hoping for a little sympathy. But when I checked to see if my mom had texted me back, I realized I'd sent the whole thing to my doctor.

And of course he received a detailed account at our next meeting. I'm sure you can guess what kind of doctor he is.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Forever Lazy and Christmas Morning

So I'm sitting in my bed waiting for everyone else to wake up this morning, and I've just seen a commercial for this thing called Forever Lazy. Please check out this commercial. It's basically a polar fleece zip front body suit with a "convenient hatch" in the back. I need one. According to the commercial you should even wear them outside.

Well, I guess I should brush my teeth before I kill everyone with my breath.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Christmas Shopping on Christmas Eve

Just a few images from my last minute Christmas excursion:

This lady's luxurious crushed velvet head to toe Christmas ensemble. Complete with DTM ( fashion speak for dyed to match) suede 90's heels.

Action shot of the same lady.

Camo wrapping paper.

A woman with her dog in a baby Bjorne

Merry Christmas!

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Sweaty Feet and Candy for Breakfast

Of course, I didn't eat sweaty feet for breakfast. What I mean to say is that I'm still in bed, and my feet are sweaty, but I don't want to get up. I'm leaving for the airport in less then three hours, and I meant to clean my apartment this morning, but instead I'm sitting here eating the candy my neighbor gave me for christmas (Andes Mints are surprisingly good for breakfast) and watching that weird Brad Pitt Chanel No 5 Commercial.

And also, to avoid cleaning, I made a twitter account for this blog! (Scary). So...follow me @spnstrhddiaries. I'm sure I'll be tweeting from the airport while I'm avoiding finishing Infinite Jest. That book is so long, and I'm still waiting for it to become rewarding.

All right, I think I owe it to myself to at least wipe down the counter (all 6" of it).

Friday, December 21, 2012

Cookies for Breakfast on the Last Day on Earth

Since the world didn't end, why not eat Rite Aid store brand Chocolate Chip Cookies for breakfast in bed? So I did. And then when I sat up to write this post, crumbs from my chest fell all over the duvet. I really never wonder why I'm single.

I'm really glad the world didn't end this morning, though, because the last thing I ate yesterday was a dinner of black beans (no rice) and more chocolate chip cookies. I mean, I could have done better than that for a last meal. Upon closer inspection, however, I have no idea what I would eat instead. Ice cream would be included, clearly.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

La Abuelita Mala

Yesterday was rough. I was super stressed and everyone needed something. So I was particularly excited to go out at lunch and call my mom on the way to my favorite lunch spot, Dig Inn.

As usual, my mom didn't pick up and called me back about a minute later. My guess is she can never find her phone.

When she did call me back, though, I stood outside the restaurant , my back against the wall, explaining why I am explosively stressed out. And suddenly, as I stood there, a tiny old woman in a stylish black coat kicked me in the shin and yelled at me in Spanish, shaking her fist and pointing. And all I could do was stand there and stair at her, dumbfounded.

And then I stayed at the office until 10:30Pm, not because I was afraid she was lying in wait for me out in the cold, but rather because I have enough work to do for three people.

And I'm blogging now while I am on hold with the office IT because, on the midst of all this work, my computer keeps massively malfunctioning. But oddly, it's more hilarious than anything else.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Pop Tarts on a Paper Towel

One of my favorite Spinsterhood-related books is Marjorie Hillis's Live Alone and Like It. Though the book is from the 1930s, I find a lot of the suggestions are still quite valid. Re: Breakfast in bed. While I don't have a maid to serve me breakfast in bed the way Hillis suggests, I find it's still enjoyable.

When I lived in the Village, I ate my breakfast in bed because I wanted to avoid my roommate, and my bedroom was actually the size of my bed. Now, I do it by choice. Luxurious Choice.

This morning, as ever morning, though, I'm doing it my own Spinster style by eating Brown Sugar and Cinnamon Pop Tarts   off an amazing paper towel. You know, I like to keep it classy.  But this way, more luxury: I don't have to do any dishes or load the dishwasher.

Last night when I got home from work at 10:30, I ate Pop Tarts off a paper towel for dinner, too.

Since starting the new job, I've been putting in a minimum of a 60 hour week. I assume this is mostly because I'm new and still getting my bearings, but the other night I found myself being chided by a (senior) coworker. Saying I should ask for a freelancer or some help, the lovely petite lady was concerned for me. "Don't you want to go out or watch TV or...have a baby?"

While the third item in that list seemed to be the one that didn't belong, I suppose she was speaking to one of the main reasons for my spinsterhood. And, unfortunately, the reason my thighs look like their made of oatmeal. I know, delicious.

Well, now that Pop tart time has ended, I shall take myself and my oversized cat shirt to wash my face.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Ladies and gentlemen, we have tacos

I'm waiting for my delicious bodega tacos now, and I'm very excited. And I just saw Twilight. By myself, if course. Duh.

Friday, November 16, 2012


Trip to M&J this morning for work. Delightful.

As Spinsterly as it Gets

Eating McDonalds alone in Manhattan on a Friday night is pretty much as spinsterly as it gets. But you'd be surprised how many people are doing it. I suppose we all feel pretty safe that no one we know will see us here. I am, in fact, sitting next to a family of foreign tourists who are eating mayonnaise and ketchup on their fries.

It's been a crazy long week - what with my sharing a desk with the freelancer who has a suggestion for how I can do pretty much whatever I'm doing better and more efficiently. She, too, is a spinster.

But I did get to do some awesome stuff at work this week. I made jewelry and glued studs and sequins on a hand knitted hat. And, of course, I went trim shopping at Tinsel Trading and M&J, both of which are always a treat.

I hope to spend the rest of my weekend with one Dr. Frasier Crane working on my Christmas calendar. Spinsterly bliss.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Presentation Day

Coming to you from the moonstruck diner where I'm eating breakfast on the morning of my first informal presentation at the new job. There I'd an Indian woman staring at me from across the room where she's having breakfast with her husband.

I stayed at the office until 10:45 last night doing some project the freelancer couldn't seem to make happen though she worked very hard on it. These things happen sometimes.

That being said, I'm very sleepy. I haven't left the office before 9:30 since last Wednesday.

The Indian couple just left, and I feel much more comfortable without an audience.

But I guess I'll see how this presentation goes. The good thing about being a spinster is that no one bothered me about how late I've been working.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Late Night Score - Spinster Style

Last night I got home from work around 10:15. But I stopped off at the Rite Aid at my stop. And what did I see? Honey bunches of oats buy one get one free. Major score. I'm sure I don't need to tell you what I had for dinner.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Waiting in line

Coming to you from the longest line ever at the Gap. I had to buy pants SIX sizes larger than usual today. I mean, really? But I did an hour on the treadmill this morning. But I ate chocolate from a kiosk at the mall. Geez.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Day 3 breakfast

I learned this breakfast from a spinster at my last job: plain oatmeal with a scrambled egg and salt and pepper. Protein plus oatmeal. Keeps you full till lunch easily. But this oatmeal today may be the best I've ever had.

Do, day two of the job was a bit more productive. Went to a meeting with a knit source. But the freelancer whose been filling in is making it awkward, saying she wants to stay and that she wants this job. Awkward.

For dinner last night: half a bag if grapes, a can of corn, a spoon of peanut butter. Don't be jealous of my spinster life.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Breakfast on my second day

So I started a new job yesterday. The office units like working in a Victoria's Secret catalog for hipsters. There are literally floor to ceiling photos of nubile 18 year olds (I can only hope they are that much younger than I am) dancing about in their undies. I did an hour on the treadmill last night and ate an apple with peanut butter for dinner. But you can see here pictured what I'm having for breakfast. More as the story unfolds.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

House Hunting and Returning to The City

So, my flight was cancelled and rebooked for a day later, giving me an extra day to enjoy my time in the south. With my extra day, my mom and I saw what seemed like a million houses with a very kind and patient real estate agent. To the left you'll find a photo of the kitchen in one of the houses we saw. The kitchen was literally twice the size of my bedroom. I almost fainted. It was glorious. I wanted to lay down on the marble countertops. But I didn't. But I wanted to.

One of the weird ways living in New York has manifested itself in me is that whenever I see a large space, I just want to move in with absolutely nothing and live in the emptiness. I'd like to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling and make snow angels in the lack of dust and dirt a newly cleaned house would have. And I'd like only to use the microwave and never dirty the kitchen. But have the kitchen nonetheless. And eat cereal sitting on a bar stool at the counter. And of course i'd have a house keeper, and she'd clean everything else. 

But in reality I alway make a mess, and somehow things accumulate. And I never put them away. Because, really, isn't it terrible the way cleaning never gets permanently done? You always have to do it again. And it's not even enjoyable. So, in my spinsterhood, I really have decided only to do it when I'm absolutely disgusted with the state of my living space.

And speaking of my living space, I'm back in the city. I'd like to report that I got a cab in no time flat yesterday without even waiting in line. But When I got to my apartment, I saw I would have a time getting inside. Pictured to the left is my apartment, taped off, obscured by a fallen tree. But we still had power. So...really, now that it's been trimmed, it's really not bothering us.'s not bothering me, at least.

But then I came inside and remembered that I live like a colony of squatters and leave about as much mess. At some point I'm going to have to figure out how to get a real house keeper. I can't be bothered to do it myself. My spinsterhood lends me the luxury of never feeling the necessity of cleaning for company. And what a luxury it is...until I have to get up to go to the restroom in the middle of the night and trip over my still-packed suitcase a month after I've returned from a trip.

But on to other things...

My butt seems to be colonizing my legs, and I blame Snickersbinge 2012 among many, many other things - or perhaps more accurately - meals. So, this morning, I may have compounded New York's need for disaster relief by causing small tremors in the earth as I jogged in my stretchy pants down the frigid streets of my neighborhood. If there's anything to make a girl want to work out more, it's being seen in public in stretchy running pants. That should very possibly be used as a form of punishment for eating innumerable fun-sized Snickers for breakfast for days on end. In fact, now that I think of it, it effectively was.

But the point of even starting that paragraph was to say this: The news media is all about what a disaster hurricane Sandy was for Queens, but it all pretty much looked the same to me. So...they need to calm down and state the specific neighborhood in Queens more often. It was the Rockaways, which are much closer to Brooklyn and, debatably, should actually be part of Brooklyn. 

But in any case, that is all. I'm sitting in my bed in all my clothes at 4:34 pm on a saturday. Under the covers. Livin' it up Spinsta Style.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Fat Boys

I stopped here to fill up my tank yesterday on the way back from Georgia. Apparently there's a restaurant inside. Classic.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

The Mexican Restaurant Mural

This was painted on the wall of the Mexican restaurant my sister and I visited yesterday. I mean, what do we think is going on here?

Monday, October 29, 2012


Yesterday I ate

The delicious JapaneseChicken and Carrots
That was a delicious food haiku for you.  You loved it. It's ok. You don't have to deny it.
So I'm sitting here at 6:47 AM, and I've just heard my brother start up his truck in the silence of the morning and pull away. My parents have put a giant TV in my bedroom, so I'm sitting here waiting for the Today Show after having eaten a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats. 
Why am I awake so early, you ask. Well, as my vacation would dictate, I must get as much sleep as my body wants. So, I went to sleep at 8:45 last night. Because that's how I roll.I'm also making the five and a half hour drive south to my sister's house to see my month-old niece. I figure the sooner I get on the road, the better.Matt Lauer is scaring me about this hurricane, but apparently I left New York at the perfect time. Taylor Swift and I will be heading away from the storm all day today. That's right, I bought the new album, and I love it. And I'm also going to listen to Carly Rae Jepsen. And Destiny's Child, but that's a given. All right, I've gotta get packin'. I hope to hit second breakfast before 10:30 AM. True spinsta fo' rill. 

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Flea Market

Day 1 of the spinsterhood vacation: Flea Market Bliss. 

My mom and I went to the local flea market which is a collection of long ramshackle sheds complete with dirt floors and makeshift compartments on one end that deteriorate into just plain tables as you reach the other end. It was everything I'd hoped it would be. 

Well, it was almost everything I'd hoped it would be. About ten years ago, it was everything I'd hoped it would be. That day, I bought a necklace I still wear to this day for only a dollar, but there was also something much better that day: kittens (duh). I mean, what's better than kittens?

So, every now and then, if you go in the springtime, there are kittens and puppies for sale at the flea market. On this particular occasion years ago, there was a woman wandering the aisles with less teeth than I have, holding a cute little short-tailed kitten. Like anyone would, I held the sweetness when the toothless woman asked if I'd like to. The little sharp-clawed thing climbed up my shirt and nestled its head in my neck, and I was in love.

I found my mother who was a few tables ahead of me and brought her back to the cat lady, asking if we could consider taking the little ball of fluff home. So we went back to the woman in her faded tee shirt and cutoff jeans so my mom could see the kitten. As the little one crawled up my mom's shirt, the snaggletooth told us a little about it.

"Yep, you see that short tail, there? Them's bobcat kittens. They gots the short tails 'cause my cat musta mated with a bobcat." 

After that, of course, we didn't buy the kitten. But there weren't any there at all this weekend, sadly. Not even bobcat kittens.

We did, however buy some boiled peanuts from a booth where a man was roasting and boiling.

Around the corner from the booth, my mom and i smelled something delicious we couldn't identify. When we rounded the curve, though, we saw a man and his wife at their porkskins booth. He was friendly, and she was not. But I bought a bag of plain and a bag of spicy. All for a grand total of $8 for a bag about the size of a large bag of potato chips. Ah, the flea market.
On the way out, we saw what I hope will adorn the front of my car someday: taxidermy. (see picture below.)

I also went to an extravagant halloween party tonight at a family friend's house where she had hired Marble Slab to come serve ice cream, a local hot dog restaurant to serve hot dogs, a caricature artist, and so many other things I can't even imagine. And I don't even want to think about how many fun sized Snickers I have eaten today. 

But I did get a nap today while I tried to watch some Law and Order: Criminal Intent, and it was glorious. I hope to take at least five more before the week is out. Hopeful there's more awesomeness to come. 

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Laundry Love

So I'm writing to you from the laundromat that sits half a block away from my apartment between a Chinese restaurant and another laundromat while this little girl sitting next to me carefully tears each page of a magazine to tiny shreds and then runs joyfully to the trash can to throw them away. And then she repeats the whole process. I think she may intend to do this for the remainder of this fine Thursday evening. While she is annoying me in a very serious way here at the laundromat, the thought occurs to me that I could really use those sweet shredding-and-disposing skills around my apartment. I wonder if this five year old needs part time employment for the holiday season. I could even pay in cookies. Or, since I believe this might please her even more than cookies, her compensation package could include a generous helping of my own personal reserve of unopened junk mail for her shredding pleasure.

Now, while I wholeheartedly have committed to unabashedly giving into my spinsterhood, I don't make a habit of spending such a fine Thursday night in my glitter velour track pants. No, I generally do more exciting things like eating cereal for dinner while watching the Thursday night lineup on NBC. However, tonight is special. Tomorrow morning I fly out for my first vacation since January to- where else?- my parents' house.

Of course there is such a thing as a "Staycation," but I'm doing myself one better. I am in such dire need of sleep that not even my crack-den of a one bedroom will do. I must commune with my homeland (and, of course, my home food). And you can expect updates from my spinsterly getaway such as the following:

(Before I write this next part, I must comment on the fact that the child is now, in fact, standing right next to me and staring straight at the side of my face as I fully ignore what I imagine,in a quieter locale, would be the sound of her small young breaths and the opening and closing of her eyelid.)

1. A very ghetto flea market.
2. Shopping for real estate just because it's exciting to imagine what my life would be like in someone else's house.
3. Eating those carrots from the Japanese place that has my picture on its wall. (I'm not even being hyperbolic here. There is actually a photo of me.)
4. Pestering my mother's cats who both remember and hate me. I've asked her to warn them to gird their loins. I somehow doubt they'll remember until the very last minute. It hurts my feelings they don't love me as much as I love them.

Well, I know you must be very sad, but my dry cycle's nearly over, and I must devote my efforts for the rest of my tenure this evening to casting dirty looks in the way of the child who is now continuously if irregularly banging her chair against the window my back now shares with hers. She has gone outside, you see, with what would seem to be the sheer objective of garnering my hateful glances. So, of course, I must oblige.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Pizza for Breakfast

Anybody who's ever eaten pizza knows it's better cold for breakfast. It's especially good for breakfast when you haven't left work before 8pm in over a month. So, here's to the pizza I'm eating in my bed while I watch Today in New York this morning because I can. A haiku for my pizza:

Green peppers and cheese
with pepperoni in bed
perfect for breakfast.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Livin' the Dream: Wallowing in Your Lameness

One of the things I really like about my spinsterhood is not ever feeling self conscious about doing whatever I want to do whenever I want to do it. Living in New York, there's a lot of pressure to do cool and exciting things all the time, but sometimes (re: most of the time), if I'm honest, I just want to do nothing. Or better yet, I want to do something I could have done living in the suburbs. I miss that, you know?

So yesterday was one of my typically enjoyable days. I wallowed in my lameness. I did the things I wanted to do without regard to whether or not they made me an attractive person or mate. And it was glorious. And here is how I did it:

Step 1: I woke up at 7AM

Unfortunately, I couldn't sleep any later, so I just went with it. After a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats with Strawberries (the best cereal in the world, clearly), I took a shower and hung out in my turquoise chenille bathrobe with giant white polka dots and a towel on my head. It's very old lady and unattractive, and of course I love it.

Step 2: I did some things I've been meaning to do.

So, last summer I just had to have a bike. I rode with some new friends all the way out to Gerritsen Beach and bought one out of some random man's basement bike shop. Well, I rode it for about two months, and then it stayed in font of my apartment building, collecting rainwater and dirt in the dips of its increasingly-papery bicycle cover. My super was paying way too much attention to it, so I decided it was time for me to let it go. I gathered some old clothes, including a sweet square-toed pair of boots I've had since eighth grade, and took all of it to the Salvation Army a few blocks away from my apartment. The only thing was, it wasn't even open yet, so I had to leave the bag of clothes by the door, and I gave the bike to an old man who was smoking a cigarette as he peered into the windows of the gated store. Weird.

Step 3: Suburban Bliss

I live in Queens. It seemed the most appropriate neighborhood when I was moving out of Manhattan. And I love it. I love that I'm a few stops away from Bloomingdales on 59th Street in one direction and a few away from Target and Queens Center mall in the other. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that I frequent the Target, well, much more frequently. Yesterday, though, I was visiting Queens Center Mall with my friend Janine. I needed a pair of Nike Dunk Sky Hi's. Bad.

But of course I was really early. Most of the stores weren't even open yet, and I relished the idea of sitting at a table at the Starbucks Kiosk drinking a caramel frappuccino and writing an extra-long entry in my journal. So that's what I did. And it was awesome.

Queens Center Mall is a good place for a spinster to hang. There are, like, a million jewelry stores where you can browse fine jewelry (more on this in a later post), a Sephora in the JC Penney, and a pretty good makeup department in the Macy's. One of my favorite things to do in my spinsterhood is letting the ladies at just about any makeup counter give me what they call a "touch up," but usually turns out to be a full-face makeover. I'm into it. So Janine and I did that. Oh, and also, they have chair massages there, and of course I've done that, too. Nobody knows me in Elmhurst, Queens, so what do I care?

And we also ate in the food court. Somehow this has never stopped being an exciting prospect for me. The mall where I grew up didn't actually have a legitimate food court, so they still inspire in me a sense of wonder at all the choices in one place. As such, you can imagine the overwhelming feeling I get sometimes just walking down the street in New York. So I relish the idea that I can heat bourbon chicken off of a toothpick every time I visit the mall.

Overall, it was a successful trip to the mall.

Step 4: Going to the movies by myself

In my last semester of school, I lived only a few blocks away from the movie theater at 8th avenue and 34th street. It was during this time that I realized what a real joy going to the movies by myself can be. I can decide I'm going to the movies five minutes before I go; I can go early in the morning, if I want; no one will ask me questions or talk to me during the movie; I don't have to have that awkward moment where I try to be accommodating about seating arrangements when neither of us actually cares; I don't have to worry about whether or not they're enjoying themselves or trying to hold my hand. All in all it's a good situation for me. One time i even got the mini corn dogs but was really embarrassed when I realized I was going to have to sit out in the open while we (the audience) waited for the theater to open, therefore silently admitting to everyone that I was really planning to eat those nuggets of nasty (/delicious).

So I did that. I went to see Here Comes the Boom. And it was silly and seemingly shot in only a few days, but I liked it. And I'm not ashamed. And while I watched it, I ate the bag of mini kit-kat bars I bought at the Rite Aide before I went. And it was great.

Step 5: In for the night.

As I walked home after the movie around 7pm, i knew I wouldn't be going back out once I got home. And as I took off my pants while walking to the sofa, I knew I would be ordering a pizza online and watching old episodes of Frasier on Netflix. And so I did. And it was great.

I think i went to sleep at 9pm, and I woke up at 5:30 am this morning. I'm pretty sure I'll take a nap later. And you know what? I can do that. Because wallowing in my lameness is one of my favorite things to do.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

It takes a mighty good man to be better than no man at all.

In my late twenties, everyone tells me I'm not technically a spinster yet. Truly, spinsterhood may not be my ultimate fate, but then again it very well might be. For years, every time a boy broke my heart, I would be completely shattered. Every time I'd talk to my sister on the phone I'd end up hyperventilating with a runny nose and a horrifying drip pattern of mascara down my cheeks. Classy.

All my life my mom used to tell me the Dixie Carter quote, "It takes a mighty good man to be better than no man at all." I always thought this had something vaguely to do with men who drank to excess, were violent, farted in front of you on purpose, or picked their nose and wiped it on the furniture. But in the past year, I think i may have really figured out what is at the heart of this quote. It's not about fearing men who are less than perfect. It's about how gangsta it can be to be a single lady.

So, in honor of Dixie Carter's wisdom my mother passed onto me, I'm dedicating this blog to enjoying living in what Marjorie Hillis termed living in "solitary refinement." Well, as refined as eating oreos in your bed while watching an entire TV series in one hit on Netflix can be...