This is how I see it….

Just what the world needs-an explanation for white people’s behavior. I’ve been occupying myself for days, and figured I’d share:

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

Jorge does not find it funny, but I looooove it. New Balance shoes, dinner parties, gay friends, kitchen gadgets, Billy Joel-those are some of mine things. Yours?

” suppose I never ever saw you
suppose you never ever called
suppose I kept on singing love songs
just to break my own fall

just to break my fall…”

Regina Spektor

So, she’s one of my new favorites. Her voice is so deceptive, sounding as if you can sing that way, too. Sadly, that is not the case-with my voice, at least. Maybe next semester I can register for some voice lessons, too.

As for me, and what I’ve been up to-just trying to figure out how to cushion the blow. It’s higher than it looked from down there. Fuck.

George got me an ice-cream maker for Christmas-a completely self-serving gift, obviously. You see, he knows I love to frolic in the kitchen, and he totally took advantage of that fact. Anyhoo, I love the gizmo. To christen it, I made Nutella gelato, which came out phenomenal. Jorge was sleeping when I was done, so I left it in the freezer and went out (it was a saturday night). A few hours later I get at text:

G: It’s ungodly to eat this ice cream

Me: Y?

G:I’m not sure we are allowed this kind of pleasure

Me: That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me!!!!

Months have passed, and we’ve been experimenting with flavors, textures, and methods since. Grapefruit Champagne Sorbet, Chocolate Covered Strawberry Frozen Yogurt, Strawberry Mint Sorbet, Mango Ice Cream…. you just put stuff in, and the most amazing frozen, creamy goodness comes out. We’re both hooked. I still have the above conversation stored in my phone, though it’s been months since the last spoonful of Nutella Gelato. He’s been asking for it, of course, but I haven’t made it. I’m totally using it as a bargaining chip-I know a time will come. Ah, I’d make an awful mother…

I’ve never been a big fan of Hillary’s, and the sentiment that I should vote for her because she’s a woman does not sit well with me. I don’t like what she stands for, and I wouldn’t vote for her if she were a man. One of my friends called me anti-feminist after I tried explaining that to him. I told him to go fuck himself.

Barack was my big hope, but he totally lost my heart after this. Are they 12? My god, they sound like rebellious teenagers fighting with their parents. That alone should disqualify them both.

So, god forgive me, I’m voting Republican next week. Check him out. It’s well worth it. Promise.

You can’t help who you love. You can’t help who you don’t love, either. Regardless of how long they’ve been there for you, in what capacity, or how much they’ve given. Giving back just never seemed right. I’ve known about it for awhile, though the info was unsolicitously obtained  through a third party who was unwilling or unable to keep their mouth shut. Alcohol was, of course, involved. Though not in any excusable quantities. Classic Sofia response ensued-lack of aforementioned control can break your heart. I like to inflict myself on others.

Perhaps I’m too far gone to realize when someone’s not acting like an asshole. Or maybe I just need to grow up.

So many conversations this weekend. I found out a lot about one person, and nothing about another one. What a shame.

I went to see a Guns’N'Roses cover band last weekend. They were really good. So was the company. Actually, I haven’t sat still for the past two weeks. I really do have the life right now.  

This month has been one giant, never-ending blast from the past. Long-lost contacts, some-relevant, some-not so much, others-not at all. All relevant now. Poetic justice. It’s strange, how unaware one can be of what really makes you who you are. How someone can become important to you just because they came at that particular time. Or vice versa (no pun intended, Tony, but it works well, no?).

And it’s not even over yet. I have to go to a wedding on friday, where I am to see tons of people I should have graduated college with. I’m looking forward to it. And after that-holiday party with an old coworker. But that, alas, is next month….

I know it’s cliche, but I’m writing it down anyway, so I can come back and read it whenever need be-if it’s too good to be true, it most likely is just that…

It was Daniel who started calling me Communist Barbie. We were running a store together, and he used to say that the staff was afraid of me. I was the evil one who made sure the bathrooms were clean, the stock room was in order, the light bulbs were changed, the overnights were scheduled right-basically, that everyone was as productive as last night’s party allowed them to be. So come Halloween that year I had the best costume in the bunch. It was such a hit that people asked me if they could duplicate it. Since “communist barbie costume” has been in the search terms for the past week, here is what worked for me.

Look for a picture of a sickle and a hammer online, print it, and make a stencil out of it. Get an old white tank (I used men’s), and paint the logo with bright red paint-any arts supply store carries cheap stuff that works really well. I wore that with a bright red patent leather bra underneath, paired with camouflage capris and bright red heels (I can be a hooch if the occasion demands it). Long blond wig is up to you. A friend of mine wore a camo dress with a red scarf around her neck and a Mattel logo stuck on her butt. The possibilities are endless. Unfortunately, I’m all grown up.

Have fun, ladies. Sexy Russian vixen, indeed….

One of my few complaints about Manhattan is the bathrooms in restaurants/bars/any venue where time is spent with the full intention of having fun. You try walking down a really narrow, steep flight of stairs in stiff, wide-leg, cuffed jeans and four inch heels after one vodka cranberry and two mojitos, which, by the way, were made with pure octane, not alcohol, I swear. There has got to be a better way…..

But, oh, fun times were had.

… or lack thereof. Basically, you plug it into your iPod and it vibes in rhythm with the music. Damn, I want an iPod….