And where have I been? Alas, my apartment has a carbon monoxide leak and I am currently couch surfing. My joylessness is manifest in many ways, and a dire lack of blogging is one of them.

That's right, a carbon monoxide leak for over 4 weeks now, that my slumlord is too cheap and too greedy to fix. The chimney is broken and the fumes from the furance are in my apartment. Along with a liberal sprinkling of black ash. Of course, Pinnacle Management (a publically traded company that received a special mention in the Village Voice last year in their annual 10 worst Landlords of NYC article), is hoping that my roommate and I will die, and that they can rent the place out to someone else who will also die, etc. Endless profit.

I gotta move and I gotta sue, but the sad fact is, goslings, I don't have 5 bucks to my name until the first of the year. Really. I am flat broke. Plus I can't even be in my apartment to pack. And then I'm gonna have to spend the next five years suing these criminals. And since I can't afford an attorney, I'm going to be a crazy pro-se trying to learn how to be a lawyer from one of those "...For dummies" books. Oh the humanity.

It really is more expensive to be poor.

I have no interest in moving or suing. I just want to go home and practice my ukulele, sort through some of the mail that is piling up, and do laundry. Doesn't seem like too much to ask, now does it?

2007, officially declared The Year of My Heart, has been one sorrow (heartbreak?) after another. I can't wait for 2008. Perhaps I angered the gods by declaring a year of my heart. Even though I am an atheist, I still appease the gods. (I see them as a furious cohort, blood spattered and wearing flayed human hides. Gods that demand human sacrifice.) Would it be hubris (or merely wishful thinking) to declare 2008 The Year in Which Things Get Better? Or perhaps, the Year of Moving On. Do I dare? Where can I offer up some of my blood to the apartment gods?

Rudolpho, who was drunk dialing me every other night desperate to speak with me when he thought all was well, has stopped calling me altogether now that he knows my life has fallen apart. Isn't it wonderful how people can completely disappoint? I guess it's a relief. When he calls he just wants me to comfort him, and I can barely comfort myself.

Of course everyone else has shown their true colors. My friends, normally a self-absorbed lot, have awesomely remained their usual self-absorbed selves. Enough with your carbon monoxide, Miss Black Lung, I have real problems, like this guy I've never actually had a date with like hasn't called me back. Alas, I am not kidding. There are a couple of shining stars who actually check to see that I'm still alive: Spartacus, Lolita, Modesty Blaize and Uncle Monty. You guys rock.

A friend of a friend has kindly lent me her very nice apartment for the next couple of weeks. May blessings rain upon her.

And so, this dress pictured above is long gone. Polyester. I love that pink frizzy hair that makes this classical themed dress psychedelic. I love the trompe l'oeil of the pleats across the back sholder. I love the contrast of the grey male statues and the female dancing figures in beige. I love this dress. If I had stumbled across it in a shop I would have snatched it up, no questions asked. Even though I am living out of a backpack at present.

The date on this post is deceptive. I am actually posting on 11/28/07.