Sunday, April 24, 2005


Most New Yorkers (no matter how calorie conscious) can appreciate the drunken late night slice. After a few beers you can find us making the trek to particular pizza hot spots such as Sal’s on Avenue A, Lombardi’s on Spring street or Joe's in the West Village.

After a night out with Brooklyn friends we decided to catch the last call of slices over at Joe’s Pizza on Seventh Avenue in Park Slope. The slices were great, the crowd friendly but perhaps the best part was this unusual scene taking place down the street.

An older woman was leaning out her window lowering a blue bag on a string down to the pizza delivery guy. The guy was filling up the bag with extra slices and garlic knots.

KDunk: Hey, what’s going on here might I ask?

Pizza Guy: That’s Rosie. She sends a bag down every night at closing and we give her the leftovers.

KDunk: That’s great! Do you mind if I take a picture?

Pizza Guy: Sure! Why not? Hey, not a slice wasted!

*See for what people guessed was happening in this photo.

Friday, April 22, 2005


On F Train this morning...

"Attention passengers...attention passengers. There is a delay on this F train due to a pregnant woman going into labor in the car ahead of us. Please be patient because the little baby can't be."

Tuesday, April 19, 2005


Every day I wake up with a good attitude I swear. I stretch. I do morning exercises. I breathe in. I breathe out. I pet my cat. I think of what I am thankful for. I water my plants on the back porch. I kiss my future husband goodbye that is sleeping like a little baby. And then it all begins.

Sometimes it feels like a mean joke-as if someone is videotaping me from afar just to see how and when I will freak out. I walk down the street to the subway and any bit of serenity I’ve managed to store up begins to slowly leak out my body like the air from a child’s birthday balloon. It starts with a hiss and than gradually grows into a louder more constant screech as if a three-year-old is standing next to me stretching the mouth of a balloon throughout the day until I deflate.

It starts with my morning ritual of getting the paper. You know how on TV when they show exaggerated ‘bad New York’ and they show packs of crackheads standing outside a rundown deli making drug deals and acting like crackheads? Well that is real and it is filmed at the deli where I get my paper every morning. After fighting may way through the pack to get inside I then wait on line while people yell too loudly their LOTTO picks and teens push their way past me to buy lunches of Twinkies and orange soda.

I head towards the train where I am accosted on a daily basis by the AM New York paper man who hands out free papers. Despite my NEVER getting a paper and this man seeing me the same time every day he still plunges forth with his running up and waving of the paper in my personal space. At this point I still have an ounce of human compassion inspired that even the paper man still has hope that one day I will take his paper. Perhaps I better lighten up.

Then I get on the train. I can’t see because I am blinded by allergies that make my eyes swollen as if I went to bed sobbing myself to sleep. God forbid I see someone I know and have to talk. I read the paper (what I can see of it) and aside from the occasional packed subway car full of class field trips it’s not too bad.

Then I get off in midtown. Why don’t I just stop the blog here now that you know where my serenity goes. The subway stop for my serenity is 34th street in midtown. Midtown in so many words: Tourists. DMV lines. Old Navy. H&M shoppers. Macy’s. Clowns. Paint Your Name on a Piece of Rice. Ice Cream trucks. Hot dogs. Fake designer bags. All of Long Island pouring out in droves from the mouth of Penn Station.

And then I go to Starbucks. This is a new thing for me. I hate Starbucks and everything it represents and all the people that go there and work there but yet I am addicted. I’m an addict. Of Starbucks. It’s quite possible if I don’t get a large…sorry ‘Vente’ (gag) iced coffee from there on a daily basis I might explode. My main problem is that the people are too friendly and only because some high level Starbucks execs just returned from some lame ass off-site where they decided OUT is saying, “Next GUEST please…” to customers and IN is to know your customers by name. So now…when they ask you for your order they also ask your NAME. I'm sorry but no New Yorker I know wants to be ‘outed’ so early in the morning. This morning I watched some reasonably cool guy (BEN) turn red and reach for his iced mocha frappachino with extra butterscotch and whip cream. No good. No one wants to be like Ben.

Finally I reach my desk. I open my email and I have 27,000 emails because someone sent around one titled, “Help Me Name My New Puppy” and all 27,000 people who all apparently just learned what a computer is decided to reply-all.

And this my friends…is where my serenity goes.
And it is only 9:15am.

Saturday, April 16, 2005


So I went to Ethan's bday party the other night. Ethan is in my writing group. It was fun to go to Ethan's place because we never hang out outside of the group so while I 'know' him I don't 'know' him.

So standing by the snacks two girls approach:

Girl 1: How do you know Ethan?
Me: Oh. I'm actually in his writing group.
PAUSE-eyes dart between them
Girl 2: Wait...WHAT?!
Me: Ah...his writing group?
Girl 1: you're not. You're not in his writing group.
Me: What do you mean?
Girl 2: WE'RE in his writing group.
Me: WHAT?! Ethan has another writing group?
Girl 1: I never knew about this!
Girl 2: So Ethan is CHEATING on us?
Girl 1: How long has this been going on?
Me: Ah...not years or something? I don't know.

Three girls glare at Ethan across the room.
He laughs and shrugs.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


I am bad at lying. Sometimes I need to tell a lie and say that someone is not where they really are. A normal person might say, "Oh sorry-she's on a conference call right now." But do I say that? No. I say something so far from the truth in my efforts to cover up that it is so obvious that it's total crap.

Once at my old job long ago - my boss from LA, a health conscious freak of salad eating only nature - didn't want to take a call and asked me to lie.

Caller: "Is Jane Doe there?"
Me: "No actually she isn't."
Caller: "Is she coming back soon?"
Me: "Um. No actually."
Caller: "Ah...ok."
Me: "She ran to get a piece of pizza."
Caller: "A piece of pizza? Jane Doe...Jane Doe ran to get a piece of pizza?"
Me: "Yeah...ah..."
Caller: "Jane doesn't eat pizza."
Me: " know."
Caller: "Huh. And she is not going to be back for a while? From getting pizza?"
Me: "Ah. No."
Caller: "Listen. Whatever. Tell her to call me."


Speaking of pizza I'm off to get a slice.
And that is no lie.

Sunday, April 10, 2005


Today when pulling out some summer clothes-half of which are cheap H&M tank tops that have shrunk down to Baby Gap size-I put on one of the shirts from the pile and admired myself in the mirror with the door open. E walked by and yelled, "WOO HOO! YAY! I missed that thing! Can you wear it tonight?" and walked down the hall continuing to air guitar and sing, 'Breaking The Law' by Judas Priest.

Monday, April 04, 2005


Each year E and I love to celebrate Easter by heading to a bloody cockfight on a desolate, dusty, dimly lit road in rural Mexico. Not really, but this year we did and let me tell was an experience.

After getting the hell out of Acapulco-or what I like to call the Orlando Florida of Mexico (side note - Acapulco is quite lovely it's just that we happened to be there during Easter weekend when every family in Mexico was visiting and every woman getting their hair braided) we decided to hop on a bus called "Big Blue" and head towards an area on the coast a friend recommended called Pie de la Cuesta. The drive was fairly quick and made for cool people watching out the window. There was a sailor that boarded the semi-empty bus and I so badly wanted to spy shoot him but the end result was a picture of my left ear, hair and the roof of the bus instead.

As we came around the bend and looked down on the stunning view of the Pacific Ocean and miles of white sand, palm trees and palapas-little thatched roofs throughout the beach-I knew we had made a great choice. Then again, we were on vacation in beautiful Mexico. What was a bad choice really?

The bus stopped briefly on a dusty road (the public buses in Acapulco come to a rolling stop and one has to sort of jump off) and we were greeted by a local that said to E, “Pie de la cuesta, amigo?” It's true we did look a little confused. In fact I was overdressed and wearing a white short-sleeved blouse for some bizarre reason and also carrying a rolling suitcase. E had his, "I got this backback when I graduated college" gear and with all the rural chaos-kids, townspeople, chickens running around and us standing in the middle-it resembled the makings of a bad action/adventure/comedy starring Goldie Hawn and Adam Sandler.

Luckily a perfectly normal Mexican teenager with a scar on his cheek who I immediately assumed being white and uptight was going to beat us up-kindly pointed to the road where all the hotels were and we found a wonderful place right on the beach to stay the night.

The place was great, family run and steps from the ocean. Our room was painted bright aqua blue and you could hear the waves crashing. There was only one roach spotting but who cares. E (no offense honey) made a lame attempt to kill the roach by first “fanning” it from the room with the frilly orange fan I’d bought from a little girl on the beach earlier. After that didn’t work I did my best to be patient but E was just short of giving the roach a beer and cigarette in hopes that it would one day die of lung cancer until I finally lost my cool and yelled, “KILL IT!!!!!” and threw my sandal at him which he used and the deed was done.

After the world's BEST fresh fish empanada dinner (YUM!) made by the grandmother of the place and many cervezas we took a walk. It was dark and quiet and then soon we came across the sound of chickens squawking and a tiny white wooden barnish place and what do you know...a cockfight arena. After overcoming my fear that we might be killed (again-always with the killing) E convinced me to peek in. Sure enough it was a little arena-seats with fans watching-men in white cowboy hats and bottles of tequila, an MC, the two guys with their birds -stroking and petting their cocks-they were! I swear! And even blowing in the faces of the birds to get them angry before letting them free to attack one another.

I couldn't watch the actual fight. The sounds resembling a cat fight with it's painful decibels was enough. All I know is it was all over in like...30 seconds. One bird winner. One bird dead. The owner of the loser picked up the dead bird, scrunched it in his hands like it was a dirty paper towel and that was that.

E: "Happy Easter honey."
K: "Yeah...thanks. You too."

Sunday, April 03, 2005


Do you know about One of its many cool features is it provides a service that can text-message a group of your friends on their cell phones as to your location when you are out on the town. It makes hooking up with one another much easier.

Thank god for Dodgeball otherwise E and I wouldn’t have been able to keep tabs throughout our entire Mexico vacation on the whereabouts of one Andrew Krucoff.

For example:

...E and I sharing rooftop drinks overlooking the Zocalo square...BEEP...
"dodgeball says: Andrew K. is @ Duvet (Tue 3/29, 6:28 PM)"

...E and I walking hand in hand on the beaches of Acapulco...BEEP...
"dodgeball says: Andrew K. is @ Barramundi (Thu 3/31, 6:55 PM)"

...E and I eating dinner overlooking the Pacific Ocean...BEEP...
"dodgeball says: Andrew K. is @ Mona's (Sat 4/2, 10:57 PM)"

...E and I heading back to the hotel room...lights get the drift.

Granted we really missed Andrew but how does one set up the out of office reply on this thing? More’s currently Sun 4/3, 10:31PM and we haven't heard from Andrew yet. Someone. Please. Dodgeball me.

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