Who Needs Sleep? Well, you're never gonna get it.

I have a long history of poor sleeping. My whole family does. For the past couple of years it had become part of my sleep pattern to wake up for at least an hour or two in the middle of the night. Moving to this apartment saw a gradual improvement in my sleeping pattern. Not having roommates making full-on meals at 3 am, and no longer living in a neighborhood where night-long shouting matches and large garbage trucks are part of the background noise helped. But the past few weeks have seen a resurgence of insomnia with a vengeance. Case-in-point, now it is 5:15 am. I slept from approximately 1:45 am to 2:30 am, when I was awoken by Linus puking on the bed. I have not been able to return to sleep. Tim's alarm goes off in an hour and a half. That means I will probably fall asleep in an hour, so that I have juuust entered some good sleep when I get to be awake for him to snooze for 30 goddamn minutes. Not that I'm bitter. Then I will sleep until approximately forever, thus continuing a terrible pattern that will destroy my circadian rhythm. And no, I don't want tips for falling asleep or beating insomnia, thanks.

The job-that-must-not-be-named continues. I am doing the actual door-to-door work now in an upscale apartment building. The first day was great, but a family complained because the nanny spoke with me, so they quit letting me up. Their solution was to have the doorman (oh excuse me, concierge...he corrected me the other day) call up to each of the 90 apartments on my list. This is in between his regular doorman duties and he's kind of a dick about it. The other day he did other things and left me standing around waiting for him to call up to apartments for 45 minutes. We have this phony cordial relationship that I hate having with people, when in reality we are loathing each other more by the day.

On Saturday I had a different doorman who actually let me wander the halls, which was awesome. Today, Greg the Concierge was back and he gave me a hard time. First, insisting that I have been more productive when I have called up to apartments (not true) and then saying, well I had more yesterday because it was a Saturday afternoon. But today was Mother's Day. A FAMILY Day! And people were not going to want to talk to me. Also not true. Also? Not his problem. Which is interesting considering he has made it clear that we are not a team, not working together, and that he is basically doing me a favor.  Ultimately though he let me up, when I reminded him of how many apartments he was going to have to call.

All in all the work is ok. People have been pretty cooperative for the most part. Then, there was this interaction:
This kid who is like my age had made it clear that he has tons of money. i.e. "Oh I don't know if this is my primary residence. I have several residences and I'm always traveling. So you could even consider Paris, Milan, and London primary residences." (Totally serious by the way.)

So then I ask him about ethnicity. And he says that he doesn't understand. So I read off a list of possible Hispanic, Latino or Spanish origins for him. And he says "well I speak Spanish fluently." and I said...ok....well...is your family of any of these backgrounds? And he tells me he had an Argentinian nanny who "practically raised him." And then says he also speaks French and "you can see how this is so confusing!"

I was being observed by a supervisor. If I hadn't I would have said "you arrogant jerk. Speaking a language does not make you of that culture. You are a moron and you are clearly rich and white, so why don't we just go ahead and mark that down." In the end I wrote in "Latino" per his request.

He also said that his "power-of-attorney" sometimes stays at his place. Why he chose to identify her first as a power of attorney, rather than his sister (which he said later), is anyone's guess.  I assume it's to make sure I know he's so rich that he requires someone to have power of attorney.

So....basically what we have is a rich white kid, who travels a lot for his rich, white job. In his travels he meets people who have a wide variety of ethnic backgrounds and cultures. He starts to feel lame for just being a boring white kid, so at every opportunity tries to pretend like he is anything more interesting than a trust fund baby.  Blech.  So glad it's not someone I know in real life.

Supervisors keep telling me how great I'm doing though, which is good. I am hoping that once this part is done I can do some part-time office work for them. My goal is to not get a real job until September.

Bill, the guy who lives in my building and wouldn't tell me on what floor, hates me almost as much as Greg the Concierge. I will see him at team meetings and he ignores me. I saw him today and he said goodbye, looking at everyone but me. Fortunately, my life moves on. And it turns out that so many people are refusing to speak to him that it's becoming a problem. That's what you get jack-ass.

Now to try sleep again.  Perhaps my watching the Duggars as research for my next post.

In Which I Make A Trimphant Return to Blogging

Well, kids, you asked for it.  I am back, hopefully consistently.

I took a break from blogging because my most popular posts were about my dating disasters, and now that I am no longer dating I felt like I didn't have a lot to write about.

But the universe has blessed me with a job which I believe will be endless blog fodder, so I am going to document it.  We'll see how it goes.

So for those that don't know, I got a part-time temporary job working for the Man in the capacity of one who will be taking demographic information of those who reside in my community in an event that happens every ten years.  To avoid people finding my blog by searching for the actual name of this operation, I will not be using it.

This week was the training week.  So far training has gone about as expected.  It has been pretty disorganized and I have spent a lot of time reading my book.  The people in my training group are overwhelmingly middle-aged white men.  You work in your neighborhood, and this demographic is pretty consistent with the overall demographic of my neighborhood so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  But I know I am not going to be good friends with anyone.  I should note here for people who read my blog, but don't know me or haven't been updated since my last post - I have since moved out of the ghetto in Brooklyn  to lower Manhattan in a more middle/upper-middle class neighborhood. 

Today was the last day of sitting-in-a-room training, which is good because if I had to listen to this one obnoxious guy ask one more moronic question my head was going to asplode.

The story for the purpose of today's blog is about one of the middle-aged white guys in my training, named William.  William's MO throughout the training has been to talk too loudly about how no one is going to a) answer their doors to us b) be nice to us when we come by or c) give us any information that might help us.  William also had come up with several nonsense hypothetical scenarios that took up immense amounts of discussion time and would then complain that things were dragging on.  I had decided that I think that William's feelings about how others will act is more of a reflection on how he himself would act were someone with our job to come to his home.  And I was proved right in the following exchange in which I decided for some unknown reason to strike up a conversation with him.

William had mentioned that a local VIP lived on the same floor as him in his building.  During a break I made a little comment about this local VIP and somehow ended up mentioning which apartment complex I live in. William started off friendly and said "Oh I live in that complex too!" And I said, oh really? What building? And he answered that he lives in building X.  And I said "oh that's funny, I've never seen you, I live in Building X too!"  (This is not out of the ordinary.  The building has 35 floors and I probably have only seen a fraction of the people who live there.)

But this is where it turns weird.  It was like I could see on William's face that he was really wishing that this conversation would be over, but I couldn't really understand why. I plodded on and asked what floor he lived on and told him what floor I live on.  William got even more uncomfortable and said "that's secret."  "Ok", I said, "but when I see you on the elevator, I will know."  William just shrugged and it was clear that we both wanted this conversation to end.  I kind of half-continued to conversation with a weak discussion about development in the area, even though I should just have left him to himself, but I felt like I couldn't leave it at his weird rebuffal.

For some reason, I am still thinking about this conversation because it just felt so strange to me.  But, it proved my original assumption - William is expecting everyone else to be weird, cagey, and assholes because those are all true of himself.

There was a brief moment today when I thought I would end up paired up with him to practice going door-to-door, but mercifully that didn't take place because I was almost in tears at the prospect of two hours of that miserable conversation.  I am sure William feels the same way.

Actual door-to-door is on Sunday...updates then.
 In fun news, local VIP lives in my buidling...although I may never know on which floor.

That's how we do in Clinton Hill

So I was doing my grocery shopping on Saturday at my local Pioneer supermarket. And I'm in the produce section, rifling through leafy greens to find ones that haven't turned mushy brown, cuz that's what you have to do at the Pioneer. And then I see this dude over at the deli, who looks a lot like Food Network celeb Ted Allen...but surely, Ted Allen -- who on many episodes of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy lamented that the proletariat does not enjoy duck pate -- does not shop at the Pioneer. Even though they renovated it a month or so ago, so they no longer store produce on the filthy floor. And they added some organic/natural foods. And they added some fancy cheeses (by my standards, keeping in mind here that I am pretty pissed that the $1.99 cheese I like to buy increased to $2.49). But still, this is no gourmet market. This is where I and the 2,000 denizens of the Lafayette Gardens projects shop. Not Ted Allen.
Turns out, he does. Because I am the master of finding things out about people on the internet, I learned that Ted Allen actually lives a few blocks from me.
And you may be saying to yourself, wait Caitlin, don't you live in the ghetto? Wasn't someone shot on your doorstep like a year ago? And you are partially right, friend. But, as many visitors have observed, one only has to travel a few blocks to get to very nice brownstones and less gang activity. Like, a few blocks in Ted Allen's direction...
So I find an article in New York Magazine from October 2008 in which he discussess his move to Clinton Hill. I found another article with his address, but I am withholding it out of respect for his privacy. What if one of my readers from Kansas decides to stalk him?!
My favorite part of the interview is as follows: When's the last time you drove a car?
Today. I love Clinton Hill, but the grocery stores suck.

Well said, Ted. But, I suppose we all have to make concessions once in a while.

The good old days weren't always good, or, I am sure one day I will look back on these years with nostalgia

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KmUwVA3BqI

Anyone else who has posted the above 30 rock clip in their blog has done so to talk about what a hottie Jon Hamm is. Well not me. I am posting about Oswald. Because I HAVE Oswald in my building. I didn't know that was like, a thing, in New York. But it must be. If you don't watch the clip and didn't see the episode, basically Liz Lemon goes to give her neighbor his mail and a crazy guy answers the door. And then they explain that it's Oswald who lives in the basement and helps out sometimes.

Well, picture Oswald...but make him black, mute, and an alcoholic and make Liz Lemon's fancy tv writer's building into a dumper social worker's building and then you have my apartment and the guy from this post who lives in my basement and sometimes washes the window in the door.

I don't know his name, so in my head I usually call him Chris because sometimes he wears a Dickies-type work short with Chris sewn on, even though I am pretty sure it came from the garbage. Maybe I will switch it to Oswald.

One time I saw him stabbing a caged rat with what appeared to be a sharpened stick. True story.

Re-visiting old friends

There is nothing of interest going on in my life. Frank drank my milk, left a tablespoon of milk and then bought me some new.
Here is a blog I wrote in July of 2007 which is kind of funny. I saw Nelson on the train tonight on my way home. If you don't remember Nelson, he was mentioned in this post as the first neighbor I ever met...the one who has HIV and leukemia (which is apparently in remission).
So I get on the train and I look next to me, and there is Nelson sitting there. I see him every once in a while in the neighborhood and we'll say hi or whatever. So he's sitting on the train and we look over and recognize each other and so I say hi and he gets all queeny and gives me a big hug and says, "Hi!! omg I haven't seen you in ohmygod! I can't even remember the last time I saw you so I'll just say I haven't seen you in ohmygod!"
We chatted like old friends the rest of the way on the train. By that, of course, that I mean he rambled on while I sat there and tried to decide if he was high or just crazy. Topics included: his leukemia, and how it is in remission. His HIV, and how he still has it. His husband's viral load, and how it's slightly higher than they would like it to be. The new diet they are on to try to get his viral load down. Their new business, and how if I ever want to I can get my computer fixed for free. And also, how, apparently he was (just last night) telling his husband how I should come over for dinner.
I do not think this last part was true. 1. he did not know my name. He had to ask me. He later explained it by saying that he couldn't remember my name just now, but that last night he remembered it and was talking to his husband about me and how I'm such a great neighbor. 2. He's just a big crackhead liar. He kept saying things and I was like, you're making this up just right now. He said that he and his husband have been together 20 years, but last night was the first time they'd ever kissed. His husband's birthday is coming up, Nelson doesn't know what to get him but, "girl, you and I should go down to 5th avenue and just do some shopping to get him something. I am going to borrow my mom's car. Do you have a driver's license? Is it valid? Mine is suspended. But I just knew that you would be able to drive. In fact, I had you in mind to drive when I asked my mom to borrow her car."
I am not making this up. And this is how I accidentally invited him to dinner. I just off-handedly mentioned that I was going to be barbecuing, which I guess meant that Nelson and his husband should join Abby and I. In fact! It can be a celebration barbecue, because Nelson has been clean for 11 years...actually! today is the anniversary!
And that is the type of thing that I was like, you're just saying that....I'm not entirely sure that he's clean at all, but even if he is, it just felt like he was making up that this was the anniversary.
As we were walking home he asked a woman if he could buy a cigarette off of her. He then asked me for 50 cents, because he didn't think he had it. I said I had a quarter, and he was like, "oh maybe I have another quarter." So he reaches into his pocket and he totally had like 75 cents in there. Crack head scam artist.
So he decided he should come over at 8:30 for dinner. Crack heads tend to be flaky, so my only hope was that he would forget. It may have been the only hope I had that my roommate wouldn't kick me out. When she came home and I told her that I had accidentally invited Nelson over, she was real, real irritated.
But, fortunately for my livelihood, he did not show up. And that will just teach me to be a little bit quicker on my feet next time I run into one of my crack head neighbors on the train.
Nelson also gave me a juicy juice juice box. I guess it was a fair trade for the quarter he scammed.


Abby was my roommate for a year and a half. And we had a good, but kind of weird relationship. She came home that night and I told her that I accidentally invited Nelson over for dinner. All she said was "Goddammit Caitlin!" and went to her room. Months later she told me that he did stop by at like midnight but I was already in bed. I think she just said that to make me feel bad.

We have to get back to the Island

When I moved out of my old place, ALL I wanted was to be gone. I wanted to be done with the neighborhood, with the apartment, with the landlord, all of it. My sublet is up at the end of the month and I am back to looking at places. With everything that I was so over with that neighborhood, and with this dude who got shot in the face on my old corner, why do I keep gravitating towards places in the same area?

these are the people in your neighborhood

Here is what I love about my neighborhood. I can leave the house in sweatpants and I am the most popular girl on the block.
I was doing laundry today. Laundry day=sweatpants. And, because my pants are a little long, I tuck them into rainboots. It was not raining. My hair is half in a ponytail, half messy, because I'm too lazy to brush my hair. I can do this and no one stares. No one comments. I fit in. It's great.
I got a "hey mami" from an older gentleman as I was walking to the store. Not an unusual greeting, and actually my personal favorite. I also got what I believe was a hiss as I walked in front of the pizza shop. Not a greeting I enjoy.
Then there was a woman I have never seen in front of the pizza shop. Black, probably about in her 50's, wearing a puffy coat and what I would describe as a church hat. The kind with a flower. "Hey baby", she said, as I walked by carrying my empty laundry basket on my way to fetch my clothes from the dryer. "Hey" I replied.
I retrieved my clothes and walked back, my lady friend was still there.
"Daaamn girl, you was quick! Daaammnnn", she laughed.
"Yeah", I said, "I don't mess around went it comes to laundry".
She laughed some more. Repeating, "damn, girl you was quick!" And, "I hear ya baby, I hear ya darling" as I unlocked the door of the building and retreated to my apartment.
Love it.

Note: For those who may not be familiar, that picture is of the corner across the street, featuring the priest from Dios Es Amor church downstairs, his megaphone, and the Lafayette Gardens sign (rip) which was unfortunately destroyed in an accident I witnessed involving a car jumping the curb.

I wrote a whole long post about my first two days in Florida. But Blogger only saved my original draft, which annoys me because losing posts was the whole reason I switched. Oh well. When I get around to it I will re-do it.