Purple socks

I have perfected my gym attire over the years. Grungy blue shorts, New Balance grey sneakers for old people, and a white v-neck tee shirt, preferably stained with food, blood, and/or coffee. What do I think this get-up says about me at the gym? Hopefully: "I am crazy. Don't come over and talk to me. After all, look at me!! I'm covered in blood." Or: "I have very little invested in being fit. I go to the gym every day merely because I have OCD." Or: "I am not cruising you, sir."

Much to my surprise, then, a handsome fellow approached me yesterday, while I was smoking outside of the gym, preparing to go in. For some reason, I was even sloppier than usual. It seems that I had practically emptied a cup of coffee over myself. And I hadn't shaved my head in days, so I was looking my age.

We exchanged pleasantries, and then the fellow remarked that he was enjoying standing there, flirting with me. At this I giggled with surprise. Such bravery on his part, to admit that he was flirting! NEVER does anyone make a fool of themself for me; it's me who makes a fool of myself for other people, all the time. Immediately, I was drawn into what the (obviously insane) fellow was saying. And I told him that I was surprised he was flirting with me, since I was suspiciously covered with coffee. He replied that he wasn't looking at the coffee. ;)

Given that I only had a few moments before my cigarette went out, I quickly sussed out his general situation: not a junkie, employed, handy - a step up from my usual prospects! As we parted, I said something a little crazy, as is my custom, (it helps to weed out the humorless or the fussy). "You have beautiful eyes," I said. "I'd love to get lost in them some time."

And then I went to the gym, where I worked out extra hard. After all, I have to get fit if I can hope to take off my clothes in front of the new guy without crying. But I wondered after I left the gym, how did he know I was gay? After all, when I first saw him, I was hanging out outside the gym with my cousin Alyse. Didn't he think I was with her? I like to think that I am passing for straight at all times, (at least until I open my mouth and a handbag falls out, as they say). I wracked my brain during my workout and after, but I couldn't figure it out what gave me away. Was it my posture? The way I smoked a cigarette as if putting hot things in my mouth was a pretty common occurrence? Was it, as one of my songs goes, "the silver inside of my sweet, detached eyes?" Then, back at home, I looked down and realized what it was. Silly me, I had been wearing purple socks.

Alyse in Madrid

As some of you know, my cousin Alyse is traveling through Europe currently. This picture is from a batch she posted on her Facebook page. In it, she is wearing a striped tee from American Apparel, jeans from Uniqlo (with the super low crotch cut / boy cut), some high top Vietnamese Converse knock offs from a vintage shop in Brooklyn, and a multicolored backpack from a vintage shop in LA. She is all over the map in this pic, as it were.

I like the forlorn-ness of this pic. What is she looking at? Who is she photographing? Perhaps Alyse herself doesn't know.

Often in my life, I have formed lasting bonds with people only to have them move away. In high school, it was Fatima P. After college, it was Alia S. Recently, my friend Tim moved to Berlin, where he blogs in a blog in which he has never mentioned me. I am very self-absorbed, as you must know by now, as you are reading a blog in which I reveal my life story through my outfits.

The most recent example of these friendships-with-separations was the intense bond I formed with Alyse last year. For a while, we were inseparable. We traded awkward stories starring my type-A sister, Maxine. Alyse cat-sitted for the Colonel. I mocked her other friendships (especially her friendship with her friend Midori, who can barely speak English!). Then she left, breaking my heart.

Where is Alyse now, on her European tour? She could be in Lisbon, I guess. She could be just about anywhere. She says she may return to NYC in the fall. I know, I know, I will probably be dead by then. But I will try to hang on, even if just to see what she's wearing then.

Slobber on the neck

What a good sport Oliver is! I wanted to blog about the Gee Henry / Sarah Hall / Richard Milward show so that my cousin Alyse would feel bad that she didn't get there on time. And I wanted to make her jealous, too. So I slobbered on her boyfriend's neck! He's a good person, with a good sense of humor. I'm still wearing Helmut Lang in this picture. I don't remember what Oliver was wearing, but I hope it went well with slobber.

Why am I here?

Alyse wanted to go to see "The Painter Max Francis" at Anthology Film Archives, and I blithely agreed, inviting Luther and Paula, too. Never again! They didn't sell tickets online or on the phone, so I had to go to the theater early, in case it sold out! There was a line of people outside waiting already, so I had to join the line, and wait in the rain, like a gypsy. People will tell you that I HATE NYC lines! What's the point? If there's a line, I'm too old to be on it. Finally, 15 minutes before the movie was to start, they deigned to open the doors. But not to friendliness or customer service! Everyone who worked there was born in Williamsburg, and they didn't even sell concessions! I had to run to the deli for some popcorn (which Paula hid from me during the movie). Then, an insufferable q&a. Never again, Alyse. And just look at the crowd! All those people, and not a drop of makeup! But I was intrigued by Max Francis's explanations of Jungian psychoanalysis, and I did order a book on Amazon on the topic. So maybe soon my life will start over and I will learn to love again. Not likely, though! :)

Cast

Alyse had an operation! And she guilted me into buying her some crutches, and hand-delivering them to her apartment. I had never seen anyone pair a cast with short-shorts, so I took a picture, so this moment could last forever. In a few short months, Alyse will probably be pregnant and fat, and I'll certainly be long dead. This is us outside the Slipper Room, after just having seen the lovely Della Dare perform. Paolo was there, too, but then he threw a hissy fit about walking with a crippled girl, and broke out. Fuck him! Midori joined us, and we saw "Ponyo," and I gave my card to a cutie at the theater. He did end up emailing me, but only about publishing jobs! Run, girl, run - as fast as you can, I emailed him. Presumably, he did, as I never heard back. Oh, well - you can't trust a guy who goes to see a cartoon alone. Just like it says in the Bible.