I'm a Stalker.

Know what sucks about living in a building filled with professional writers?

Leaving notes in the hallway. I just caught myself in the doorway thinking -- out loud, no less -- i before e except after c. Then I couldn't decide whether it was inconvenience or inconvienience. I knew it was the former but I kept saying, in-con-veei-nence. in-con-vee-nence. I finally convinced myself they weren't going to care -- or notice most likely. But then I thought, "I would totally notice and I would totally care." (Though I apparently would have to check my assessment in a dictionary.)

You'll be relieved (i before e) to know I got inconvenience right. Thank god.

So, have I told you about my building? I have real, honest to god, published, book on the Barnes & Noble table writers living in my building. One more step closer to Oprah. (Oprah can you hear me? Oprah can you see me? Oprah can you find me in the night?)

How do I know this you ask? Obviously, I am stalking my neighbors. Rather, I am stalking my neighbor's mail. My building is one of those with two front doors with the mail box in the little room between them. If someone gets packages that don't fit in the box, they're left on the floor in the doorway.

99% of the time, the package is for Tom. Tom is a book reviewer. I know this because I always check. (I always hope it's a surprise for me. It rarely is.)

I covet Tom's mail. Tom gets piles and piles and piles of books delivered to the hallway. And I come in and I see them and I tell you, it is hard not to steal Tom's mail. I've been in his apartment and I have seen his book collection. Tom has good books.

So, as I'm checking to see which publisher has sent Tom another book, I recognize a different name. Mainly because it is written above the name of my all-time favorite literary magazine. Someone in my building is getting mail at our address for my favorite literary magazine.

Her Name
Magazine's Name
Our Street Address
Her Apartment Number

If you've ever read HRH's and my profile, you will have noted that HRH and I strive to be friends with Sarah Vowell in order to get closer to our favorite writers (she is the key to all of them) and become friends with them -- Nick Hornby being one of the top 5. The woman who lives in my building is, by way of editing the literary magazine that he writes a column for, Nick Hornby's boss.

Feet Fit for Royalty

Okay, so it’s totally that time again, where both my fingers and my toes are in desperate need of some pampering. I am in the habit of trying to convince myself that I can wait three weeks before I need a new manicure/pedicure. I can not. Now I know this might seem strange to you dear readers, (and Nat that means you because I realize you’re the only one who reads this), who probably do not include a manicure/pedicure as one of your living expenses, though some of you should. Not to name names, HC, but I know you need a pedicure more than you need a TV. I haven’t seen you in forever but I would bet money that your feet are hideous.

The point is I’ve spent the better part of the morning attempting to determine where The Princess and I will be getting our pedicures done tomorrow. Yes, I’m at work, but I can multi-task people. You might have noticed I didn’t say mani/pedi, mainly because I hate how it sounds. I also hate FroYo (frozen yogurt, retarded yes?). Mani/pedi is a nails on the chalk board word to me, and I hate it. But let me tell you something, I understand why they invented it, typing, saying, and reading manicure/pedicure a million times is annoying. Well too bad, you must suffer with me or offer me an alternative that doesn’t sound like my name is Blair and I live on Park Ave, okay?

Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, yes, so The Princess (she insists on the capital t, I know, I know) and I are IMing about where we are going to go. You know I want the ideal place, affordable luxury. You know the one where I’m treated like the royalty I am but that won’t make me feel guilty for spending all my money on my feet. I’m sort of a poor royal you know, the kind you here about in US Weekly. Well, The Princess apparently does not have time for these decisions today; in fact she somehow thinks her little breakthrough/melt down with her mother entitles her to leave such important decisions up to me. And I quote, “listen. i'm still reeling from mom and my wine hangover. i can't talk you through your manicure/pedicure drama.” (All, please note even when The Princess is not being helpful she still uses manicure/pedicure.)

Let’s not dismiss the importance of this decision though, because ultimately this is my appearance. And I’m nothing if I’m not shallow. As I told the girl from the Gay Rights organization who was asking me for a donation as I left Barnes and Noble, “I would make a donation but I just spent all my money on fashion magazines. I know. I’m shallow.”