SELFABSORBED.ME

Well folks...it's about that time...as I said before, change is in the air.

And yes, change can be scary...even good change can be scary...but sometimes you have to just close your eyes..plug your nose...and jump right into that ocean water and just hope you can swim...

So Ponderings is about to change.

I have been asked by a great blogger to become apart of a new site formatted along the idea of Gawker or Jezebel, a site where women post their blogs on the same page, so that you can not only read me..but other funny women as well....all on living, dating, and surviving as women in our 20's.

As of next week, when you go to log in to NYCPonderings you will AUTOMATICALLY BE FORWARDED TO THE NEW SITE!

Will I still be writing the same stuff?
Yes.

Will you still be able to read JUST NYCPonderings Chick's writings?
Yes.

How often will I post?
Three times a week.

What is the benefit to this?
For my readers to view other female writers and for the other writer's readers to be able to read my stuff...essentially if we all had 500 readers, we might now have 5000...to put in simplified terms.

Look for the label 'NYCPonderings Chick'..on the new site to read all my stuff...and I promise to post just as often if not more..and for it to be just as hilarious as always...and most important, I still plan on staying ridiculously good looking...

There is a plausible new idea out there ....the idea that women are funny...yes, women, funny...can you believe it? ...And this new site is going to prove that. Because it is the year of the female comedian. So I am going to go put my clown suit on and I plan to see you all next week, same time, same place, just different site....hope you all enjoy!

For any questions feel free to email me anytime at kim@nycponderings.com

-Kim (NYCPonderings Chick)

Some people have nightmares about the boggieman..or about falling off a ledge…or even someone chasing them around with an ax.

Want to know what my nightmare is?

That I wake up one morning and I am living in the middle of a suburb… nowhere near any city… married to a man who wears pleated khaki pants …and we have a gray minivan.





(Shudders)


I get the chills just thinking about it.


It is like everything I ever didn’t want my life to turn into.


And that I would become one of those suburban housewives who go to Cosco to buy Cheese Doodles in bulk… and I eat them on the way home in my minivan… and spill orange crumbs onto the front of my stretched-out button up.

Wait, I am sorry, I have to go take a tranquilizer before I finish this story so I don’t get myself too excited.


…Ok, I am ok now.


And now add on top of that my weekends are filled with things like “making draperies” out of purple-pinkish flower fabric and measuring my “window size”… and having debates over which kitty litter smells the least.


Wait, I need three more glasses of wine before I finish this.


…Ok, I am back.


And during the middle of the week I have arguments with my khaki-panted husband about things like “shingle siding”. What?! Ugh, I just want to vomit right in my bed thinking about it.

And instead of working as a writer and editor I work as an assistant at some telemarketing company, where they have a big gray building in the middle of a nowhere-technology-park. And I pull-up, going a reasonable 29 miles per hour in my gray minivan… with child throw up all over the back seat.

...oh and we own some mutt-ass dog named "Fluffalupagus"... and three smelly fish who shit all day in the tank.

However, lucky for me, this is always just a nightmare...because I wake up, every morning and look around....and then I thank God that I live alone..laying in my expensive pajamas... have nothing but vodka and bottled water in my fridge.... and some boy whose name I have yet to learn sleeping in my bed…and I breathe a sigh of relief...ahhh, now that’s much better…

2am and I stand in the back of some guy’s apartment surrounded by drunk girls playing beer pong on a half rotting wooden table. I have a warm beer in one hand a half lit cigarette in the other. One girl in shorts smaller then underwear passes by me, spilling her Corona on my shoes, “chusse know someshum here?” she asks, leaning against me.

I nod my head. I did actually. The owner of the place. And when I round the corner to the bedroom, there he is, encircled in a cloud of smoke, and I could barely open the door when I noticed some guy behind blocking it. He looks through the opening at me.

“Password?” He says.

“Jeff don’t be an asshole”. I say, and push my way inside. But being inside was like pushing through another door because I couldn’t see beyond my fingertips. Cody Chesnut and the Roots 3.0 are blasting in the background and I search around to see Chris’ face. And then suddenly it was like he was on top of me.

“Kim!” Chris says. An odd element of surprise in his voice. “You enjoying the party?”

“Of course she is!” Jeff chimes in. “Look at her! But no Baby look at ME…did you see my t-shirt babe it has an Olson twin on it...” Chris eye’s Jeff as he starts to giggle like a little girl.

I just smile and move over closer to the bed. But the more I breath in the more confused I get as to where I am going.. or who I am here to see again ..and more convinced that I need a burrito than anything else.

“Kim did you bring this dog here?” Someone says from outside the room, carrying in the tiny Yorkie.

“Yeah, but I am just puppy sitting, it’s not actually mine.”

“Well I think the dog is high…just look at him, eating all the pretzels off the floor.”

“Ah, well I am pretty sure he would do that regardless….but fuck, I don’t know if a dog can get high but more importantly how am I supposed to get him home?”

“How did you get him here anyway…in the puppy express van?”

“No, I snuck him onto the bus.”

“Well then you can sneak him back on.”

The dog just looks back at me. His small hair matted in the front from beer spillage and his tiny paws covered in cigarette ash. He apparently didn’t know he was going to be partying this weekend.

I pick up the small dog and put him in my arms. Step outside the smoky room and into the hallway. I make my way up the backstairs to the roof. As I open the door, the shot of cold air, taking away my breath for a second. And I step out onto the patio, letting the wind break against my cheek. The dog hovers into the side of my sweater, until his face if fully covered by purple wool. The city lights are high in the sky and I carefully move each heel beneath the platform so as not to drop myself and pup off the ledge.

And we just sit there. On a broken patio chair. Me and the Yorkie. Looking out over the skyline. I take another drag from my cigarette.

Sometimes we are supposed to be grownups in our 20’s. And sometimes we can barely take care of someone else’s dog for 2 days. I keep staring at the Yorkie, making sure he is breathing. “Just keep him alive for 1 more day.” I think. I feel the tiny mouse of a dog shivering into the armpit of my sweater.

And I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of people my age having children.

And I can't think about being married, or having a mortgage, or even paying my credit cards off in full.

And I can’t even end relationships peacefully and maturely.

And one day I will learn to stop crank calling the pizza delivery guy and asking him to send ten Large Pepperonis to 69 Yourmama Street.

One day. But not tonight.

So I have this friend..let us call him “Pohn” so as to not confuse you with his ‘real name’. So Pohn and I used to work together many years ago. It was during a time when he wore braided belts and I had highlights the color of warm urine. It was not a good time for all to say the least. We always stayed very friendly even after we left the company though and would do the occasional "mass email", but that was as close to intimate as it got.

Well I was on my way to 7-11 two weeks ago because I like the price of their Diet Coke as well as their neon lights burning my retina…when I ran right into Pohn. Well one thing leads to another and I get the whole “I got a new phone and I don’t think I still have your number..” excuse (I mean really, is ANYONE besides ALF buying that one these days?) So I give him my number, he says I look great, I tell him he looks great too (I want to punch myself in the mouth just for saying it) and we go on our separate ways.

Fast forward to three days later. I get a text message from Pohn.

“Hey Kim, you really looked good yesterday, what are you up to tonight?”

Now being that it is 11:00pm on a Tuesday night and I am in a facemask and teeth whitening retainers, I figured now was not the time to be inviting any guests over.

So I responded, “ Thanks...I am heading to bed…I will call you tomorrow though.”

I then received a text back, “What are you wearing to bed?”

Um…what?

I look down at my grey sweatpants and t-shirt that says ‘Smokey the Bear Says Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires’..and I consider what it is I am supposed to write back to that.

Do I lie and tell him I am naked?

Do I tell him the truth and let him know that with the right amount of tube socks I might be able to be on a Full House episode?

Do I just not respond at all?

Do I ask him what HE is wearing?

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

And if I DID answer with a sexy response, was this going to continue on through the night? Was this some sort of sexual texting that I am unaware of, a texting ‘porn’ if you will…where two people sit at home alone but have wild fantasies through Verizon T9?

I didn’t want to set a bad tone for this new relationship and make him think I was some kind of texting slut. And then once you give it up once on texting, you could be expected to give it up everytime.

And furthermore, I didn’t know where this new relationship with Pohn was going anyway…what if we end up getting married one day and my kids ask me about the first time daddy and I fell in love and I have to tell her it was through my free night and weekend minutes and some one-handed quick fingers?

So I decided to play it safe and write back in the words of Marky Mark, “Say hi to your mother for me.”

So it’s true. I officially live with a dude.

Yup, he has black hair, green eyes and a high pitched meow. His name is Oscar and he is a Maine Coon Cat. I also refer to him as Oscalicious. He has gorgeous hair and sparkling eyes…so I tell him he looks just like his Mama.
Ever since Oscar moved in last month I can’t help but feel the overwhelming weight of living with a boy. He is dirty, he leaves stuff everywhere, doesn’t put things away... all he wants me to do is feed him... and when we watch TV together, he farts.

Seriously. I live with a dude. When I come home he rubs against me and is always trying to lay his head on my boobs, but the minute I start to get dressed to go out with friends he wants nothing to do with me. He will stare at the length of my skirt and at my wine glass, as if to say, "Are you getting drunk AGAIN you ho?!"

Last night I actually forgot about him for a moment and kicked him off the bed by accident. I rolled into the middle and pushed him off the side with my leg. I woke up to two green eyes staring intently at me from the floor. You could tell he was not happy...I hadn’t feed him or given him any love last night and seriously I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t rip up all my bras this afternoon while I am at work ...or hack into my facebook page.

Yesterday I found him sitting in my bathroom staring at a magazine with a half naked girl on the cover. I swear if I come home one night to find him reading a playboy while watching Sports Center I will not be fucking surprised.