You know I'm bad. I'm bad. Really really bad.

I realize that my blog is appearing remarkably unloved.

Blame the vacation! I'll talk to you when I'm back in New York. (And 26, too. YIKES.)

Don't worry. I'm having plenty of fun. Promise.

It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks.

Let me begin this post by making one thing very clear: I am NOT an ass girl. I am a pretty eyes or sharp wit or brilliant personality girl. Being of huggable size has taught me not to be too drawn to hard bodies or cut shoulders or perfect legs, as many of my female counterparts will rattle off when you pose the "what do you notice first in the opposite sex?" question.

All that being said, oh my sweet LORD, I was attacked by the hottest ass I have EVER seen on the subway this morning. Mr. Hotass walks on the subway, and like a moth to the flame, my eyes were immediately drawn to how lovely a behind he had. That sweet, sweet derriere then decided to plant itself DIRECTLY in front of me. Mere inches. There it stayed for the ENTIRE train ride. I probably blushed and giggled a lot - I'm not sure. And as the car filled more and more at each stop, aforementioned heavenly booty got closer and closer.

As if Mr. Hotass wasn't enough for my feeble, understimulated brain, luck smiled upon me and boxed me in by 3 other amazingly attractive men. So let's review. One 40 minute subway commute. One perfect butt. And three other veritable Adonises, all making direct contact with various portions of my leg.

I am fully convinced that God was having a LOT of fun with me this morning.

I'm all out of love. I'm so lost without you.

I never thought I'd say this. But I love summertime.
Especially because, in New York, there are a TON of free, fantastic things to do. I've already fallen in love with Coney Island. (And I NEVER thought I would be a beach girl. But I will be. Every day off between now and cooler weather, you will probably find my butt firmly planted in the sand.)
Last night, Crissie and I munched on carrots and hummus as we sat in Prospect Park (with 150,000 fellow New Yorkers) and listened to opera. It was, in a word, lovely.

Of course, I considered it a simple warm up for my FAVORITE free New York tradition...SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK. This year features Hamlet and Hair...to say I'm excited would be a gross understatement.

Is he gay? Or European?

Quite possibly the loveliest breakfast that ever did exist. Happy Wednesday, y'all!

I want you between me and the feeling I get when I miss you.

I was going to bring you some of my musings from the beach today. (I'm working hard on becoming a beach bum, you see.) (And being a beach bum means lots of reading and writing and thinking.)

But no. Instead, you get this. Because it's too funny not to post. I hope hope hope this was NOT done on purpose.

And so begins my 2 weeks till 26 countdown. I thought it would be nice to paint the perfect picture of maturity.

I've known about you for awhile now.

I love the women we're becoming. And I love the fact that we're worlds away from who we once were and completely different from who we thought we would be. I love that we can talk about religion, politics, celebrity gossip, hopes for our unborn children, retirement plans, fears, favorite foods, biggest disasters, and a bijillion other things in the time it takes to finish one bottle of wine. (I love that we now drink wine, but still appreciate Bud Light.) I love that it's not proper BFF time if silly hats aren't involved. I love that I make you proud and you make me smile. I love the memories we have yet to make. (And I love our future houses in Savannah, where those memories will eventually live.)

But mostly, I just love you.

Yes, I know you drive real fast. But your head is made of steel. Lucky for you.

When you try your best but you don't succeed.
When you get what you want, but not what you need.
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse.
When the tears come streaming down your face.
When you lose something you can't replace.
When you love someone, but it goes to waste.
Could it be worse?
And high up above, or down below.
When you're too in love to let it go.
But if you never try, then you'll never know
Just what you're worth.

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try, to fix you.
(Coldplay)


A common question out of my friend Elizabeth's mouth is "How's your heart?" During recent months, I've made it a point to ask myself this most important question daily. My brain sometimes tries to fool me into making me believe it is supreme. My words fool a lot of others, too. Especially when they come flying out without consulting my brain OR heart, as they are prone to do.

If you think about it, mutes have a high survival rate and people have been known to sit braindead for years. (Crass, but true.) But when the heart stops? You're a goner. Maybe it's time I started paying more attention to mine, then. Today was a terrible horrible no good very bad day. Thankfully, I could still see high above the mucky-muck and realize life in general is still happening and healthy. Just some hiccups.

But my heart isn't so good right now so I'm treading with caution for awhile. And I'm kind of at a loss for my next step. Perhaps this sense of floundering is merely my brain's attempt to regain and maintain control and my vocabulary's go at putting a label on it all. Worse still, maybe it's my ego's slow recovery process from all the things that HAVEN'T been going well. Maybe I should just quiet the voices inside, silence what manages to escape my lips, and tell ole Ego to take a hike. Maybe then, when my heart can get a word in edgewise, something more like what I actually deserve will happen.

Is this making any sense or just coming across as pointless dribble?
How about I put this all much more simply?

Dear World,
Here's my heart. Someone worthy, take it. (Soonish, please?) I know you're out there.
Kisses,
Alison

From the cheap (cough, free) seats

Apparently, it was a very theatrical week.

On Wednesday, Crissie and I saw A Catered Affair. The reaction? "Well. That wasn't nearly as terrible as I thought it would be." Unfortunately, the show has gotten a bad rep for being too short and too depressing. Ok, so sad and brief it was, but it had its moments. Tom Wopat and Faith Prince carry the show and Harvey Fierstein is...well, Harvey. Which is to say quite good and funny, albeit a bit over the top and obvious at times. The score is forgettable. The set is acceptable. The rest of the cast is tolerable. I'm pretty sure it was nominated in all the right places. (And sadly, probably won't win in any of 'em. But oh, how I would love to see Tom Wopat take home a Tony.)

Exiting the theatre, I couldn't stop singing bits of Grey Gardens and remembering back to last year and wondering where all the remarkable shows went.

And last night, I was forced into going to see Jersey Boys. We had a spare single and I've been bugging my boss for awhile so he made me go. "But John, I don't waaaaaanna," I whined. "I am tiiiiired - would you judge me if I said no?" He said he would indeed, and as my boss, ordered me to go.

Tough job, I know.

So, it was like, phenomenal and stuff. According to legend, it was a dud at the box office and even *GASP* seen at TKTS before it won its Tonys. I don't know why. The show is brilliant, start to finish. Clearly, the public at large just needs some shiny statuettes to know something is worth seeing. (Please oh please oh please oh please oh please let Passing Strange win this year.) But I digress. The show is that magical mix of the stuffs good theatre is made of. And I know it is considered a jukebox musical, given that the entire score is one group's music, but I haaaaate to call it that and drag it onto the same field as Good Vibrations and Imagine and Ring of Fire, etc. I left the theatre beaming. Well. Yawning and beaming.

And now it's Sunday morning and even though I haven't had a full night's sleep this week, my body decided to wake me up at 7:30. Just for funsies. So I'm going to put my pre-work time to good use and cleeeeean. Lori arrives on Wednesday, and I don't foresee having much spare time between now and then.

OH HAI!

Happy Birthday, Matilda!

I think it's pretty spectacular that of all the companies I could have worked for and all the hotels I could have been placed in, I spend at least one day a week at the Algonquin. Being something of a Dorothy Parker freak, (thank you, Dr. Hadley) I had heard all about the famous Algonquin Round Table long before I moved to New York. I find everything about this place magical. Especially the housecat, Matilda, who turns 13 today.

The staff, of course, has spent the day lavishing unnecessary attention on the poor creature. Ahhh, birthdays.

Maybe I'm thinking myself in a hole. Wondering who I am when I ought to know.

I looked down at my dinner plate tonight and burst into a fit of laughter when I realized I am still eating like a 4 year old.Granted, I made the chicken fingers myself, basting them first with dijonnaise, then coating them in a mixture of cornflakes and bread crumbs and baking them. And 4 year old Alison never touched a green bean. But still. A very juvenile dinner for a girl...fine, a woman...who will be 26 in less than a month.


So I had a beer, too.
(Very mature glass selection I might add.)

And since I am about to be another year closer to 30, I have made a decision. This is the year I stop being dysfunctional when it comes to relationships. So I'm going to start dating, as that is something I hear many adults do quite successfully. After realizing that the men in Brooklyn bars are actually cavemen and I'm not really a Manhattan bar kind of gal and none of my friends have anyone for me and I don't exactly work in a place conducive for match making, I have decided to admit defeat, bite the bullet, and actually give the internet dating scene a shot. Only, I still refuse to pay for it.

I signed up for okcupid today.

90% of the men that "approached" me were morons that could not differentiate between your and you're. But two stood out. And one asked me out. And I finally think I'm ready to consider this a viable option. So, watch me go! Look Ma, I'm DATING.

(Let's just all vow not to forget that the one man I DID deign worthy enough to meet me offline ended up getting rip-roaring drunk, chased me down, and slapped me in a parking lot. To say I am hesitant to believe this is entirely safe in New York, of all places, is a gross understatement.)


And there you have it.