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March 5, 2007
I would love to take credit for this photo, but it belongs to another Goldberg.
It is cold outside. So very cold. I would like to go somewhere warm, please. Also, my toilet is broken. So very broken. And I don't know how to fix it and Rafe is away and I feel so helpless and I'm too scared to go to the landlord for fear that he will want to raise the rent. Vince came over last night after MAKING ME DINNER (I think this has happened once or twice in our lifetimes) and tried to jerry-rig things but I have a feeling it's not going to last. Masking tape can only perform so many miracles.
The toilet might be beyond repair. Maybe even as I write this the toilet is overflowing, a shitty waterfall is cascading down the steps, flowing out the front door and splashing right onto the head of my landlord who will then surely not just raise the rent but have a friend, probably that shifty-eyed guy in the tracksuit who hangs out on the corner all the time, come by one night, knock on the door, break Rafe's kneecaps, and then run away real fast.
God, why? I've been good. Over the weekend, we went to a Purim party with our bagel-loving friend. Girl really loves her bagels. The party was held in the wood-panelled basement rec room of an old-school synagogue down on east 6th street. If you're not familiar with Purim, think of it as the Jewish Halloween, minus the candy. The party was pretty wild, especially considering that we were right underneath God's very own house. No rabbis were present, as far as I could tell, but...there was a ton of cheap alcohol (go figure, Jews) and giant bowls full of hamentashen- you know, those dry triangular cookies filled with poppy seeds and sometimes prunes? Talk about getting the party started! And so, fueled by the fibrous cookies and drunk on one too many Manishevitz-tinis, we ended up dancing all night long. All night long. To a DJ spinning crappy early 90s music. I think they even played Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" (note that I knew, without even checking, that there are two "d"s in their name). The night, the mood, oh my! It was all so perfectly nostalgic, I made Rafe pretend that we were at the Bat Mitzvah party I never had. It was a fine weekend, and several fantasies were, ahem, fulfilled.
Right now I am interviewing a young lady who makes my toilet problem seem ridiculously petty. Or is her problem the petty one? Let ye be the judge. She stopped hiccuping last week, praise the lord. I don't know if I could have lived with myself if I had been made to talk to her while she was still hiccuping... 50 times per minute.
Posted by debbie at March 5, 2007 10:35 AM