Glimpses

Have you ever overheard a snippet of someone else's conversation and knew in an instant that you'd just heard the most significant and telling thing they'd said all day? You don't even need to hear the full exchange, just bits will do. Sometimes it's something that makes you laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. Other times it's disturbing and you wonder what the precursor to your particular snippet was in that particular conversation. I found a site that chronicles just these kind of snippets overheard in New York city. This had got to be my favorite of the last week:

Drunk girl #1: So I think I am going to go as something I totally hate for Halloween.
Drunk girl #2: What are you going as?
Drunk girl #1: I think I am either going as a Jew or a Chinese person
or a tourist.
Drunk girl #2: Hey, you know I am Jewish, don't you?
Drunk girl #1: I don't care, I am definitely going as a Jew.
Drunk girl #2: Shots?

--37th & 3rd
Overheard by: Brian McCormick

The funniest part of it all is that I can think of 3 different bars right at 37th & 3rd that could have very plausibly been the home of this little ditty. It also cracks me up that New Yorkers hate tourists. I know I do. I lived in Brooklyn for a whopping 8 months and I despise tourists with a passion usually reserved only for cockroaches and serial killers. I guess I shouldn't say that I hate all tourists all the time, but most and most is more than accurate. It's the little things they do that put their identity as a tourist on garish display that really get to me. The stopping right at the top of the subway stairs... the carrying of the golf umbrellas in the city, thereby blocking out and whacking into every other person on the sidewalk (note: this is not only a tourist behavior, sometimes city-dwellers themselves do this and they inspire equal, if not greater, contempt)... the wearing of the god awful fanny packs... the walking at the pace of a snail with a limp right down 7th Ave so that it poses less danger to walk in the street and risk getting hit by a taxi rather than wind your way through the throngs of slow-moving idiots on the sidewalk and be overcome by an urge to kick one or more of them. Ahh New York, get ready, I'm coming back!

This is what it's like with no power...

Every noise you hear at night when you live in the ghetto and you have no electricity makes you jump up and grab your 2 foot machete that's propped up against the wall next to the bed... oh wait, that's just what I do. I bet we're one of few households that have machetes next to the bed.

You know, now that I think about it there are probably more than you'd assume there were. That makes me feel better... NOT! At least now we have power back and can be lulled back into a false sense of security by the gentle droning of the air conditioning system. That steady whirr makes me feel so much safer, if only because it muffles all the noises that keep me on edge and awake all night when there's no power.

SIDE NOTE: Yippy skippy, I'm going to New York Thursday night. It's NYC-J's birthday and I get to go see her and wish her a happy happy one in person. We're going dancing and I can't wait!

SHOUT OUTS: Jess has moved to South Carolina and she's getting settled in. I emailed with her briefly this morning, she's all safe & sound and everything's going well so far. I'm really happy for her. She's with her fiance and their terror of a puppy, Roxy, and she's been looking forward to this for a long time. I want her to be happy and I know she will be.

MT's fabulous play wrapped this weekend. It got excellent reviews and I know he was glad to be a part of it. He's wonderful and I'm glad I get to see him this weekend. I wish I could have been there to applaud and hoot and make a scene because he deserves it.

RANT: To the woman who pushed me out of the way to get into the elevator before me this morning at the office (literally - arms raised, hands out, pushing) - Fuck Off, Beeyotch. Sorry, that was very rude, but you know what? It felt pretty good to say.

Title for my Jeep

This is random: if anyone knows how I can obtain a title for a car that I've had posession of for 3 months, but never had the title please OH PLEASE let me know. The guy who gave it to me moved to Maine and he was supposed to send me the proper title (the one he gave me couldn't be used because it had been signed over to him by the original owner and you can only sign over a title once, then you have to get it titled in your own name in order to sign it over again), but he's flaked out on me and now I have a Jeep Cherokee that I can't register sitting in my damn driveway... useless. Grrrrrr.

So much to say, Part Deux

We left off at the little tykes from next door and we'll pick up with them again today. I just went out to get the clothes off the line (yep, down here in good old Miami we dry our clothes the old-fashioned way because the brainchild who wired the garage and installed the dryer outlet ran regular 110 house wiring and not 220 as required... fried wiring makes for a great reason to put up a clothesline) and Not-Shaun (he's the 5 year old, the 4 year old is Shaun and we can't remember the other one's name) was outside in his little boy tighty whiteys standing on top of the picnic table doing something he probably shouldn't have been doing to the umbrella. So I'm taking the clothes down and I hear,"Hey, hey, hey, hey, HEY LADY!" Nice greeting, kid, real nice. Anyway, I answer him and he proceeds to tell me that I "needs ta git a trash ca-yan ovah here" and clean up my backyard because "it be a wreck". See, we cleaned up after Wilma, but the wind was pretty gusty last night and blew all the little branches from the tree that weren't attached anymore down onto the yard. I looked at him like he couldn't possibly be telling me what I think he was telling me. This is one half of the little shit pair that trashed our garage the other day.

I decided that ignoring him was probably the safest bet, for his sake and mine. I turned back to the clothes I was tending to and he just kept on going. "HEY, hey, HEEEEY! Dis a mess ovah here!" After about a minute more of that I had had enough. More than enough, actually. I turned around and said very flatly, "I don't think you have any business telling me what I should be cleaning up." "Why not, huh?" "Because you should get your behind over here and clean up the mess you and Shaun made in my garage, that's why. If you don't want to take care of your own mess then you should shut your mouth." I was met with a look of terror and a frozen little 5 year old body, as if he'd been hit with some sort of futuristic ray gun. I guess his senses came back to him a few seconds later because he jumped down from the table and ran inside. Ms. Nicechick is gone, kiddies.

There comes a point when, after a week of dealing with hurricane aftermath that my patience for other peoples' children goes the way of the dodo. And since I have none of my own, that's all children, folks.

At least we got to the grocery store yesterday. That was a bright spot, sort of. It was quite a surreal experience - the entire dairy, meat, fish, and frozen sections were completely empty and taped off. Nothing frozen, no meat at all, no fish, no dairy & no eggs. I really wanted some eggs & bacon, but there just weren't any to be had. We made out pretty well, considering. Got some soy milk for cereal in the mornings and some creamer for the coffee. Got a few cans of soup and some beans & rice. Also picked up some mac & cheese (oohlala, the fancy kind that comes with the cheese sauce pouch, not the powder, tres cool) and some soda. The best purchase of the day was the Marzetti's caramel apple dip and a bag of granny smith apples. There's nothing that says Fall to me more than caramel apples, and it's an even better taste now after not having fresh produce in a week. I highly recommend it.

We also ventured out of Miami proper for the first time in a week yesterday evening when we found out that Steve's Pizza was open for business. Steve's makes the best pizza outside of Brooklyn, hands down. The crust is great, the cheese is high quality and yummy, and the sauce is perfect. Not to mention that they use the best pepperoni I've ever had. And they don't skimp on anything - we're talking handfuls of toppings... handfuls. It's one of the few things I'll miss about this area when we leave. It's going to be great to put the leftover slices in the oven for dinner tonight. That pizza makes me drool.

The man just got back from Home Depot. Well, an attempt at Home Depot from what he tells me. They're running on a generator and they're only letting 5 people in at a time. On top of that they're only letting people buy necessary supplies. Guess the small tub of grout the man needs to finish the tile in the living room doesn't constitute a neccessity. Oh well. I think it's soup time. I'll check in later.

P.S. I'm going to New York Thursday night and I'm so excited I can't even express how happy I am to be going. I miss my friends and I miss that city and plus, now I need to visit my favorite piercing studio on St. Marks because I accidentally pulled out my nose ring last night and I can't get it back in. I was blowing my nose and it got caught on the tissue, pulled the damn thing right out. I can get it 1/2 way in, but it's the other 1/2 that makes me nervous. I'm going to leave that to the pros. NYC-J's birthday couldn't have come at a better time! haha

So much to say

Have you ever felt like you have so many different things to say that you don't know where to start? ...and perhaps it might be best just to remain silent rather than exert a whole load of effort on expressing something in words that only makes sense in your head and heart? That's me today.

Where to start, where to start... be forewarned, this is going to turn into a hodge podge of non-sequiters, I'm sure of it. I love the term hodge podge, it makes me feel like I'm 83 years old when I use it. If I don't watch it pretty soon I'll be busting out the hullabaloos and hoozywhatsits. Lord.

OK, let's get down to bidness. First, there are all the things that happened during the hurricane that seem like glimmers of a distant past, but in actuality occurred less than a week ago. Here's the list of those happenings:

• (Try not to laugh too badly) I decided after a couple of Red Stripes that late Sunday night was a good time to trim my hair and take a shower. I got out the scissors and a few snip, snip, snips later my lovely shaggy 'do was looking a lot more fashionable. Since I had the scissors at the ready I figured I might attempt to infuse a little sexiness into my being and trim my "other" hair, if you catch my drift. Everything was going fine until I snipped a little too closely and caught some skin in the tip of the scissors and watched a ruby red drop of blood run down my thigh. Snipped lip - ouch. Nothing major, but that stings, so I advise remaining stone sober when dealing with such delicate places.
  
• Tuesday morning we still had no electricity, and by then were dying for a hot cup of coffee. We decided to brave the wilds of no-power Miami and begin the Great Coffee Quest. For an hour and a half we drove around, dumbfounded by the lack of concern for the safety of others and complete void of common courtesy exhibited by the people on the roads. When there is a widespread power outage and you come upon an intersection where a traffic light normally governs the flow of cars you are supposed to treat it as a 4-way stop and proceed accordingly. This is not a difficult concept. It's really not. But for some reason the people here either can't wrap their brains around that idea or they don't give 2 shits because they blow through intersections, don't yield, don't look for traffic coming from the opposite direction, basically they don't concern themselves with the rules of the road, thereby endangering, well... ME. Not cool. I already live in da 'hood, that's enough risk for one person - I don't need to fear for my life when crossing 22nd Ave. So we were waiting to approach an intersection in heavy traffic and the police were making our lane merge with the one to our right. Seemed simple enough, people were doing as they should - taking turns, one car from our lane, one from theirs, etc. But then it got to be our turn and the guy in the next lane didn't let us in. Now you tell me how much time it saves you in traffic that's not even moving at a steady 5 miles per hour when you don't let someone in front of you. I'll answer that one - NONE, not a stinking second. Well, this pissed me off and I said quite loudly, "What a jackass." The guy looked at me (you see, we could make direct eye contact because his smooth move of not letting us in got him a whopping half a car-length further so at this point we were right next to each other) and mumbled something in Spanish. I couldn't muster any restraint and said, "No, I don't habla espanol, you jackass." I said that I didn't even know how to say jackass in Spanish and the man goes, "Jackass-o". For some reason that was the funniest thing he could have said at that moment and so from then on, everyone that's done something stupid and careless in traffic has been promptly called a jackass-o.
  
• The little kids from next door (4 & 5 yrs. old) were undoubtedly bored to tears and decided to get themselves into a bit of mischief to bide their time. I came out to roll the car windows up and saw them running out of our front gate. Strange, I thought, they always say hello if they come over. I put the windows up and noticed that the garage was open and figured I should shut it up for the night. Which is when I noticed the smell. The distinct smell of gasoline. And then the hint of motor oil, sprayable foam insulation, and diesel. Oh yeah, those little shits had a war with garage fluids. There's still gas and motor oil all over the floor because we don't have a hose that reaches far enough to spray it off. There are bits of foam insulation on the dryer, the floor, the man's tools, everywhere. I went next door and told their grandparents that they may want to wash the little ones up because they'd dumped out gasoline and oil and insulation all over our garage. They ended up having their gasolline soaked (and I mean soaked) clothes stripped off on the front porch down to their underoos and got a good spanking. I know they probably got into stuff over their heads and ran away when they realized they'd done bad stuff, but they never should have thought it was OK to come into our garage w/o telling us. Lesson learned, I hope. Now we have a hurricane rain-fed lawn that looks like a jungle because there's no gas left to fill the mower. And there's no way in hell I'm standing in line for 3 hours to get gas - that's the average here now.

I need a break. My tummy is growling and I need to get a snack before I go on. To be continued...

New wall hanging? Probably not.

There was a story on cnn.com today about a cat who had hitched a ride from its home here in the States over to France via a shipping container after she wandered away from her house. When the container arrived in France the dockworkers called the vet's office listed on her tags and she's now being reunited with her family. Cats... I miss mine. I had to give up my two tuxedos when I moved to Brooklyn. They made me sneeze uncontrollably on a daily basis, made my eyes red and itchy, made my sinuses feel like they were stuffed with cotton, but I loved those little furballs. I wouldn't say that I'm a cat person, per se. I'm definitely more of a dog person, but I loved my own cats. So, I was saddened when my mom told me last weekend that their cat died.

She'd get these bursts of energy in the afternoons where she'd tear through the house and run up and down the steps like she was trying to beat her own best time trials record or something, she did it every day. Well, one day last week she sprinted up to the living room where my dad was on the 'puter and starting heaving like she couldn't breathe. My dad yelled up to my mom to come quick, my mom got downstairs and Kitty (I kid you not, that's her name) looked at her, heaved a couple more times, then laid down and died. It all happened in like 3 minutes. My mom felt terrible because there was no time to take her to the vet or do anything for her. She said it was like she was having a heart attack or something. She was on the floor and it looked like she was just sleeping, but her eyes were open and she was dead.

That afternoon my dad took her to the vet and paid for her to be cremated. The vet sent a sympathy card to my folks, which was super sweet, but my mom said to me, "And they sent something else with it that I'm not sure about. I don't know what to think about it yet. I haven't looked at it and I don't know if I will... it's just weird. You know how little kids press their hands into plaster and you hang it in the kitchen or something, well, they pressed Kitty's pawprint into plaster and I think it's strange. It's like, 'Here, have your dead cat's paw print.'" She said this to me while the man and I were in the liquor store last Sunday (stocking up for Wilma's impending thrash-fest) and I laughed so hard it echoed. I could tell that when she was saying all that about the plaster she was trying not to laugh. It was great. She misses that damn cat, though. What's funny about it is that cat never liked anyone. The only person she ever even acknowledged was my bro, and I think that's because she knew he's the one who picked her out at the pound. She was the runt and she was the only one who played with him, so he picked her even though she was raggedy and goofy looking. *aww* Poor Kitty. She was 10. They got her when I left for college and now she's gone. It will be strange to be there over Thanksgiving and not see her lurking under the dining room chairs, watching to see if any morsel of food drops onto the kitchen floor while deftly avoiding any human contact. R.I.P., Kitty.

Um, think again

Look closely - read the sign. New England is getting pounded by a Nor'Easter and the poor soul who built this snowman thought Miami would be a better place to be... I'd hate to burst his bubble, but Wilma took the paradise out of these tropics for awhile.

Back in bidness - sort of

3 days of bedlum and mayhem down, countless weeks of ramifications to come.

I'm back, baby! Kind of. Wilma was a stupid whore and we'll be cleaning up and repairing her messes for quite some time, but the important part is that the man is OK, I'm OK, Duke's OK.

This is my first day back at work and my plate is overflowing with projects, so this has to be short. But, I wanted to update you guys and let you know that all the finger crossing, good vibes, and candle lighting worked. We're alright. We made it through the worst of it.

Quick rundown of the damage:

• Window ripped off back of house
  
• Rest of 100 yr. old tree gone (Katrina left a little, but not much left now)
  
• 60-70% of shingles blew off roof (now when you stick your head up into the attic you see tiny spots of daylight - eek!)
  
• Carport all jacked up
  
• Paint damage to the man's car from the carport fiasco
  
• Front gate at driveway blown in
  
• No electricity since Monday morning at 7
  
• Everything in fridge and freezer has to be thrown out

That all sucks donkey balls, but there were some bright spots. A lack of electricity will force all sorts of great innovations. They say that necessity is the mother of invention, and it seems that's true. With no electricity and rapidly spoiling food, we had to figure out how to cook some of it or else it would all go to waste and we'd be stuck with cranberry sauce and pickles for who knows how long. Besides, we were dying for some coffee.

The man got 4 cinder blocks and made a square with them on the back patio. He stacked up some dead wood he gathered from the yard (erm, the wasteland formerly known as the yard) in the center and put a shelf from the oven over the top - there you go... homemade campfire pit complete with grill and "stove top"! We boiled water and made coffee in the french press, browned the ground beef we had in the freezer and added a chopped tomato and a jar of salsa con queso for some wonderful cheesy beefy tomato-y burritos and fried up some potatoes for some yummy fries. It was quite a campfire feast. Then last night I made pancakes for dinner. Thank goodness for Aunt Jemima mix that only requires water.

We got lucky and the power flickered back on last night, only to go out again in 5 minutes, but then come back again 20 minutes later. So we popped popcorn in the microwave and ate it watching the last innings of the baseball game. It was fantastic! I was able to take a hot shower this morning, but I just got a call from the man saying that the electricity had gone out again half an hour ago and not to use my phone much... can't charge it at home now. Not sure what we'll do for dinner tonight. The good thing is that we could both stand a little diet anyway.

For now I stay at work, earning a much needed paycheck, only to go home to a cold house (which is a welcome thing in my book - I love this Fall-like weather!!!) and probably a fire-pit dinner of beans & rice. Even if we have to resort to an hour & a 1/2 game of 20 Questions like last night we'll entertain ourselves somehow. I'll check back in when I can. Thanks for all the support everyone! It feels so great to be back in touch!

There's a lot more to tell about the Wilma hijinks, but for now I have to go. To come: jackass-o, Bad Boys II, musings on gun ownership, "is it a Liger?", snipped lip...

Wilma needs a BAM BAM!

Flinstones references rock. Get it... rock? Damn, I'm hilarious when faced with a crisis courtesy of Mother Nature. Wilma is coming our way. She's sped up a bit since hovering over Mexico like a lush looking for that last drop in a bottle of $3 schnappes. They say she'll make landfall on the west coast of the Florida peninsula by daybreak tomorrow. Daybreak this time of year is around 7:30, so we'll get her by late morning/early afternoon from what they tell us. They are smart people. That's what we're supposed to think anyway. They sure didn't have Katrina's path figured out very far ahead of time (in relation to Florida, that is), but that's another story for another day. Poor meteorologists, seems like their whole job's purpose is to have people hate them.

We're ready for Wilma and her merry band of cartoon disasters. We have no hurricane shutters and only 2 small candles and a couple of flashlights, but more importantly we have a 6-pack... scratch that, 5 left *gulp*... of Red Stripe beer (those Jamaicans know about beer, who woulda thunk it?), a lovely bottle of Hendricks gin (if you've not had the pleasure of Hendricks you should try it very soon - don't be afraid of the price, it's worth every penny... ask MT, he'll tell you. We drank it on the rocks at this chi-chi hotel bar one night and neither of us had ever had gin on the rocks before - this is the only gin I'll ever drink that way again), and a bucket of mojitos. We'd probably get sick of making them individually, so there's a bucket of the stuff in the freezer. A bucket of mojitos. That sounds decadent. Except for the bucket part. Bucket is a decidedly non-decadent word.

COMPLETELY UNRELATED RANDOM SAMPLING OF MELISSA THINGS:

1) K & I were talking about prison the other day. Yes, prison. I think it started because I said I'd never dream of fighting her because she'd kick my ass. She said of course she would, and then she told me that she would hope that she could hold her own in women's prison. If she were stuck there awhile she'd shave her head and be a real big bitch. She'd make another woman "her bitch" and then they'd leave her alone. She inserted a disclaimer stating that she had NO earthly idea why she'd thought it out. This is the piece de resistance, and I quote, "I don't wish jail on anyone though- that's some seriously scary shit. Anyways, back to the point, yeah, I'd beat your ass." That's love, folks. Plain and simple.

2) I reccommend Anna Nalick's debut album called Wreck Of The Week. The man and I picked it up at Target (don't you just love that place?) this afternoon when we were out and it's great. Breath (2AM) is my favorite. It really reminds me of this past Winter/Spring in New York. Very beautiful and painful all at the same time. "Winter just wasn't my season..."

3) Einstein Bros. Bagels makes a mean sandwich. We stopped there for lunch this afternoon and it was tasty and hearty and good and not overly unhealthy. They have fresh fruit as a side dish if you want it, I think that's nice.

4) The new Goodwill Superstore that opened this week in Miami is excellent. I spent $55 and got a Gap madras plaid blazer (so super cute), a vintage Sasson wool jacket that fits like it was cut for me, a grey cashmere sweater (oh yeah, that baby was $6!), a vintage LeTigre brown argyle sweater, a black sequined silk tank with gorgeous paillettes from Oleg Cassini circa. '78 or so that I'll probably wear to Julie's birthday party in 2 weeks (I don't think I've ever looked forward to going to NYC more than I do for her party), a Banana Republic woven blouse that's blue and looks so nice, and a pair of maroon Doc Martens that have never been worn. When I say never been worn, I think I might be the 2nd person to ever try them on at all. They're perfect. All that for $55. I'm in shock. Oh, and the man got this great hot pink button down that has pearl snaps like a western shirt, a pair of wonderfully broken-in black boots, a pair of Nike ACG waterproof trail trekkers, and a set of amazing chrome/glass rocks and shot glasses with an matching ice bucket all for $45. Combine our 2 totals and you could get my Docs or his ACGs. It was the day of deals all around.

5) I really like bagels.

6) Duke just pissed on the rug in the dining room *again* 20 minutes after being outside for an hour. WTF? He had ample opportunity to go to the bathroom when he was out roaming around the yard, but NO, he pees all over the dining room rug.

She's a'comin'!

At the bottom-left you can see the Ycatan peninsula of Mexico. Those folks have had the crap beat out of them by WIlma. Move over to the right and you'll see Cuba. Those people are getting her next, though not likely as bad as Cancun or Cozumel. Move up and to the right some more and *boom* yep, that's Florida. Miami is supposed to get the worst part of the storm unless she takes an extreme northward or southward turn. We're currently slated to be on the south side of the storm - her strongest side.

I'm sure we'll be fine (I know... famous last words). We're running out to do some last minute errands. Can't go through a storm without brownies. Total life-saving necessity.

Better Late Than Never?

I went to LA for work in June. Stayed at The Standard on Sunset. The total was $526.70. Well, I paid for it, got a receipt and everything. Case closed, right? Riiiiiiiiiiight. Stay with me, we'll revisit the information just mentioned in a minute or so.

The man and I went to the grocery store to get Wilma supplies last night after work. Yes, Wilma is coming. There is yet another hurricane getting ready to smack us around and disrupt our lives. Fun stuff. Good times. Anyway, back to the grocery store... We got a cart full of stuff. You know, the necessities: bread, turkey breast, hot dogs, fish sticks, stuff to make homemade crunch wrap supremes (oh yeah, I'm still obsessed with them). Basically we got a lot of crap food (which I'm totally stoked about) along with the regular healthy stuff.

We snaked our way through the packed aisles, filling up the cart. Made our way through the throngs of hurricane-frenzied Miamians, waited in line, I swiped my card, cashier said in her very best English, "How much money you gots in dat accown? Da musheen be sayin' insuffeeshunt funs". First, way to go, Slick LaQueesha. Didn't you attend the part of customer service training that teaches you not to announce to everyone in line that the customer in front of you has had his/her card declined... and that your little screen says "insufficient funds"? Second, yeah, um, WTF? I know for sure that there was a little less than $500 in there that morning. I started to get that hot feeling you get when you know something bad is going down - that tiny burst of adrenaline twinge. I'm still a little touchy since those bastards stole all my money a couple months ago.

The man paid for the groceries and told me that he was sure it was something simple, and not to worry. We went next door to the bank so I could check my balance at the ATM. It said $0.00. I about went into cardiac arrest thinking that someone had stolen my card info *again*. I was crazy woman the whole way home, and the man kept trying to soothe me telling me that it's no big deal, it will get taken care of, you know - all those things I wanted him to say even if they didn't really do a thing to calm me down. We got home, he said to leave the groceries, and go check with the bank. Isn't he great? I logged into my account online and lo & behold there's a $526.70 charge from somewhere in West hollywood. That would be from The Standard Hotel. 4 MONTHS AFTER I PAID FOR IT. See? I told you it would come full circle.

I talked to the bank this morning and apparently they were transferring over to a new system that week back in June - JUNE - and the bank paid the charge to the hotel, but didn't take the $$ out of my account. Now, I know I rightly owed that money to the bank, but they took 4 months to charge me for it! I also know that I should have noticed that there was an extra 500 bucks in my account back then, but I had expense reports out the wazoo because I was travelling and had work expenses and my own expenses coming in and out of the same account. So, now I'm $526.70 light in my checking account. I got paid today, but that was $526.70 that I was counting on. Can a girl not catch a break once in awhile? I mean, FO REAL YO.

I'd love for one of those Nigerian spammers to email me today asking me to send him $5,000 in order to recover from my most revered ancestor's bank account a sum of 1 million US dollars... I'd love to recount my bank story and ask him for money instead.

BONUS FEATURE: the office war I unwittingly started around here got way worse yesterday and my boss acted shitty to me the whole day. Today it's a little better, but I thought I left all this elementary school behavior behind when I left NYC???

P.S. Wilma, I hate you. I hate you with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns.

Crisis (Mostly) Avoided

The war wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. I avoided serious battle injury, and actually was treated like a victorious general leading the troops across the great, bloody plain for some reason. The people here seem to think I'm some kind of genius simply because I come up with more efficient ways to do things and I have some semblance of an eye for design. It's pretty funny.

I was apologized to more times than I can count and told that I'm doing "a fantastic job" over and over again. It was kind of sickening. Don't get me wrong, I'll take the pats on the back. Those things were nice to hear, but by the end of the meeting it was fairly obvious to me that the people who have been slacking were just talking me up like the champ I am in order to defer attention from themselves. No one in charge will notice that they had shirked all criticism if they just compliment the living hell out of Melissa, apparently. It sort of worked, too, which was mondo disturbo.

In the end, there are a couple of new procedures in place that will hold people accountable for their own work. Those, in the end, will benefit me greatly. Someone got all defensive and shitty, but we expected that. I think she'll get over it. I know I'm not dwelling on it. I'm outtah here. Leftover pizza and a clear beer calls. Yes, clear beer is that funky Smirnoff malt beverage... you know, it's the new Zima. And the awful part is... I like it. Take that!

My hands hurt

They do. Ouch. They're sore from cutting vinyl tile. Scissors work surprisingly well for such a task, but by the end of a whole room my hands are sore and feel as if they might blister. Yuck. I know, you're thinking, "Good lord, vinyl tile sounds gross. Makes me think of school cafeterias and bad, old kitchens from 1974." A-ha, this is where you're wrong, lovey. This particular vinyl tile is the exception to the rule, I'd say.

It's surprisingly good looking. It looks like slate and the colors are mottled and varied and it makes the walls in our dining room look like a big yummy mug of cafe con leche (ode to the Cuban god of caffeine). See, we needed an inexpensive solution to the horror that used to be the dining room floor. It was, well, it was hideous. Ever seen cat puke? Well, think of cat puke with dirt and sand ground into it and you've pretty much pictured the old dining room floor. It didn't start out that way, of course. It started as an off-white speckled mess of linoleum that was ugly even back in the day. It was nasty. The thing is, it wasn't dirty. I bleached the damn stuff several times. It was just that stained from years and years of Miami grit being tracked though the house by various Miami feet.

Since we're pretty fed up with this city and most of the people in it we're in the planning stages of our escape. That plan includes putting the house on the market and getting as much as we possibly can for it. When the man bought the place 6 months ago he got a great deal. Since then, there have been several houses in our 'hood that have sold for almost twice what the man paid. Which means the value of our house has gone up significantly. That's excellent news. Now, in order to get as much as we can for the house (read: sell it to well-to-do yuppies who think they're going to be the next urban pioneers in this "great up and coming area") we need to do several things. We've already painted the living room, made bamboo blinds (that look positively amazing - all for $24 for a roll of bamboo fencing we bought at Home Depot and cut to size), refinished the wood floors, painted the dining room, laid the new tile floor, painted the kitchen, trimmed all the hedges, planted a new palm tree and potted plant. Next, we're picking tile to lay in the front of the living room, putting in a new tub & vanity in the bathroom and refinishing the tile, and painting the exterior of the house. It might seem like a lot, but it's not that much, actually. We're doing the work ourselves and it's easier than you might think. The man's been remodeling houses for years now and I've never lived anywhere that wasn't a "fixer-upper" to some degree.

I can't wait until it's finished. No more sore hands. No more Miami house. It's going to look so super great by the time we're done that for a split second we won't want to leave. But then our sanity and sense of better judgment will return and we'll be itching to peace outtah dis joint.

Casualty of (Office) War

I started a war today. I didn't mean to. I certainly didn't toss any grenades or pop off a world leader or insult an entire faith. You know, the usual stuff people fight about and risk their lives for and kill other people for. But a battle was started nonetheless and when the smoke cleared I was standing right at the point of ignition. You see, there are certain forces here conspiring against me. Conspiring against professionalism in any sense - a much better assessment.

This all goes back to a central point - I am a temp. A "contractor". I do not work directly for this cruise line. I work for an agency that provides the cruise line with designers. I design. This is what I do.

There are procedures in place to make sure that I am given the information I need to complete my work and then pass along the finished product to the higher-ups. I don't have access to the inner workings of the company, nor do I ever care to. I prefer to stay out of the corporate culture and remain on the fringe. I come in at 9:00, I leave at 5:00 and no one calls me at home asking where things are. I do a good job and I collect a paycheck. That's what I'm in this for.

Today, however, I was thrust into the grammar school-esque behavior of typical office politics and he said/she said. I hate that. That's why I was so glad to leave my job in New York - no more corporate bullshit to weigh me down. Well, I got a healthy dose today and I hope it's the last of it for quite some time. There is a flow that happens whereby I am given a work request, I do the work, I turn it in. It's been that way since day one - for almost 2 months now. It's their policy, not mine. Turns out that the procedure I've been following isn't exactly what I should be doing, but I didn't know that until this afternoon. Sales Guy tells me to do one thing, Coordinator tells me to do another, and I talk to Director today and am asked where all my work is. Where's all my work? Um, what? It's been turned into Coordinator like always. Director hasn't seen a lick of my work since I got here. Again, almost 2 months now. So, Director has been thinking that I'm not very on the ball. Coordinator, who is out today, has some 'splaining to do on Monday. Fo shizzle.

I've said for years that if I look stupid, it better damn well be because I did something stupid, not because someone else did something to make me look that way. This time it's because of someone else and I'm pissed. Luckily, Director now knows both sides and thinks I'm a saint for putting up with all this disarray. Says he wants me to come straight to him and bypass the peons. Says between the two of us we'll get the whole thing straightened out and make it easier on everyone.

Sure thing, no problem. Does this new found partnership come with health benefits?

The Hunt for October

No, I'm not referring to baseball playoffs. I mean actual October. Where is it? It's not here. Not in Miami. Not in any form I can recognize, anyway. None of the tell-tale Fall signs have been lowered upon South Florida. None of the cues that the seasons have shifted and we're on the way to cooler, more inviting, sweater filled nights have appeared.

October here is nothing like the October I know - the October of my youth and not so distant past. Here there are no leaves that abandon their usual green for creeping, then flaming frocks of oranges and reds. There is no hint of crispness in the breeze, you know... that Autumn smell you can detect in early October that lets you know the cold temperatures of November and December are right around the corner.

That doesn't exist here. The palms are green, they sway in the warm, humid air just the same as they did all Summer. People wear shorts and tank tops. There aren't any sweatshirts and shorts or sweaters and jeans combinations going on in these parts. I don't see handpainted sandwich boards saying "Pick Your Own Pumpkins, Turn Here". Hot apple cider vendors are nowhere to be found and I don't think there's a hayride going on anywhere in the tri-county area.

I want Autumn in New York. I want Fall in the Midwest. I want a good old fashioned caramel apple in Pennsylvania Dutch Country and a steaming cup of hot apple cider from Eastern Market in DC or Prospect Park in Brooklyn. I miss those things. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to be able to get a sunburn in October and go to the beach all year long, but for this 4-season girl adjusting is harder than hard. I wonder how Duke would react to all the fallen leaves in the park and the rich, musky smells of Fall afternoons up north. They just smell different. They do.

The man did a great thing for me last week - this little gesture made me feel so much more at home. He got back from a trip to the grocery store and said that he needed some help, there were more things in the front seat and could I go get them. I went out to the car and there was the most perfect, round, gloriously orange pumpkin sitting on the seat as if it were a passenger. It put a big smile on my face. He always does. That one small thing made me feel like Fall was here. Now I have to figure out how I want to carve Jack. Jack's the pumpkin o'course. Maybe I can gaze into the candle-lit glow when he's finished and see a little October of my own.

Is it hot in here?

Or have I prematurely landed myself in the fiery depths of hell? And for once, I'm not making reference to Miami. I mean that I think I may have doomed myself to an overheated eternity today. As if I wasn't already headed in that general direction...

You see, I was listening to NPR, as I always do at the office, and there was coverage of relief and rescue efforts in Pakistan and India after the devastating earthquake that has now killed more than 43,000. People were pouring their emotions out over the airwaves. Grief was so evident and raw. Kids, old people, everyone who spoke was so obviously in unbelievable pain.

And then the bad things started. The bad things... the virtual nails in my coffin, as it were. The bad things were the giggles I was getting because I am sickly amused for some reason at the Indian/Pakistani accent. I can't help it. I just think it's funny. It sounds so exaggerated and unlike my own (which I'm sure sounds totally goofy to them) that when I hear someone speaking with that accent it makes me grin a bit and laugh on the inside.

I could almost feel the flames licking my ankles as I giggled to myself. I had visions of Apoo from The Simpsons that I just couldn't shake. I'd try to think about something else, and there would be Apoo. Standing there in my mind, offering me a squishy. I'm awful, I'm fully aware of it. So, if you're ever planning a trip to hell, remember to stop on by and say hello.

*FOR GOD'S SAKE, whoever you are... STOP clipping your fingernails IN YOUR CUBICLE. I can hear you and it makes me want to vomit. That is not OK to do at work. NOT OK.*

Oh, the laughter... the laughter!

Cat has sent me a link to a site that has not only made me smile, but made me laugh the kind of out-loud belly laugh that leaves you winded and hoping it happens again real soon. Click here to be taken away to ridiculous humor land. Ridiculous humor land is that kind of place that makes you feel sort of like a kid and sort of like a super hero's sidekick from a mid-70s action flick. I'm not quite sure I know what that means, but I like it. I like it the way I like bomb pops. You know, those tri-colored popsicles you'd get from the ice cream man as a kid that would turn your tongue glorious shades of red, then purple when you got to the blue bit. Yep, a lot like that.

Anyway, Cat said she'd send me a laugh from across the pond and did she ever. Thanks, sweets!

Trivial Pursuits

The world keeps spinning when bad things happen. Life keeps carrying on and things move forward like every other day. I understand that, and yet I'm so easily annoyed by bitching and moaning about trivial trifles of daily life when there is some serious bad stuff going on. I realize this is very hypocritical coming from me - the woman who feels compelled to complain about the smallest of things whenever her little mind deems appropriate... or not even. But...

Today, in particular, it is quite difficult for me to stomach the whiney, nasal-toned droning coming from the "office" next to me. Texas Lady is doing some serious hubby-bashing in there. First, to him. They're on the phone and there is a whole lot of this going on: "No, I did not say that, so don't even try to tell me that I did. Sometimes you are so stupid it makes me wonder what you do all day. Can you breathe on your own?" Yep, nice, eh? It can't end there, though. Then she calls down to one of her friends who works on another floor to moan about him to her. "I really wonder why I married someone so beneath me." All this while surrounded by her diploma from the christian college she attended and certificates from her church for various volunteer events.

How about this? Be glad that you live in a nice house, in a nice neighborhood with big, shiny gates to keep all the slummy people you wouldn't dare associate with out and keep all the WASP-y people in. Revel in your paycheck and your vacation condo on the beach and your tennis club and your personal trainer. And please, if you're going to berate your husband in your office at least make the effort to close the door to give the appearance that you want some privacy. I don't need any more reasons to dislike you. Certainly not today. Be happy that you have someone who loves you. Be happy he wasn't crushed beneath tons of rubble in a massive earthquake. Be glad he wasn't killed in a car crash on a busy highway. If he's so beneath you, then leave his obviously pathetic behind and strike out on your own. I, for one, have a fresh perspective on my man thanks to the events of this weekend. Is he perfect? No. Am I perfect? Far from it. Does he love me? Yes. Does that make me a lucky woman? Absolutely. Do we get along and enjoy each others' company more than we don't? Yes. Do we support each other and act like partners? You betcha. Do we have an idyllic life? No. Are we putting together a plan to reach our goals together? Of course. So what do I have to complain about? You, Texas Lady. I've got you.

Words fail, wit pales, articulation is difficult

Seems like a frivolous thing to do - try to be witty, fresh and somewhat entertaining in this blog when there are clearly more pressing things to concern myself with. Of course, as we all know (unless we've been afforded the immense privilege of living under a rock for the past 2 days) there has been a terrible earthquake affecting Pakistan, India, and Afghanistan. More than 30,000 people are dead and the number is climbing. An article on CNN.com this morning said that 40,000 people have been injured. It's difficult to imagine those numbers as they relate to people. 30,000 is the number who live in the town I grew up in (well, one of the towns). 30,000 people wiped out *like that*. I can't imagine it. It would be as if the whole town I lived in was gone - all killed by a natural disaster in one fell swoop. Men, women, children, whole families, old people, babies. Schools filled with children for the start of morning classes toppled by shaking ground beneath, trapping and crushing the students and staff inside. It's hard to fathom. I don't even know what to say. Words are failing me right now.

On a personal level there was an accident this weekend involving DC-Jen. She's going to be alright. It was a car crash. She spent a couple days in the hospital, had a couple surgeries, and will be able to recuperate nicely. I wish it was as simple as that, though. She'll be physically OK, she'll recover from her injuries, she'll be whole again. But, someone else won't be and she's wrestling with that and will be for some time. She had gone to do a good deed, to help someone she cared about, and she walked away but he didn't. She's in a lot of pain now, and I can only hope that she is able to come to terms with what happened in her own way, on her own time. She's right up at the top of my thoughts. I'm sending her all the goodness I can.

I'm not very entertaining today, not my witty self. If you know any good jokes, feel free to leave a comment. I think we could all use a laugh.

Auntie Em, Auntie Em!

Well, not quite. But sort of. Here's the low down - you should go see my friend's play. He's like totally fer sher super duper talented and when he says "come see my show" it's "come see my show because I think you'll enjoy it" rather than the far too common "come see my show because I have to fill seats and this is New York, why is it so damn hard to get a good audience". He rocks. The show sounds fab. It's an adaptation of a Nathaniel Hawthorne work and we know how I do so loves me some Hawthorne (check back to the tattoo entry and check out the dress form ink - the "D" is my Scarlet Letter. D for Dreamer - sometimes as villified as the A for Adultress.) Go see it. If you're in New York or will be soon there is really no excuse not to. *The Scarecrow* And give a hearty round of applause, would you? I can't be there to give him mad props myself (which makes me exceedingly sad and I don't want to think about it - this is show #2 that I've missed now), so it would be awesome if someone could give a little extra on my behalf. I thank you in advance.

I know it's a shocker, but...

I'm going to bitch and moan about something. I know, I know, you can hardly believe it. Whatever.

This is a continuation of the office behavior lessons of yesterday. If you only have one floor to go - how about taking the stairs? See, if you need to go down to the 4th floor from the 5th floor you could actually get there faster if you took the stairs. It's only about 20 stairs. And they go down. Here's a thought - it might reduce the size of your ginormous ass to a reasonable girth over the course of the next year if you adopted this routine.

I know you sit at a desk all day. But, that doesn't give you an excuse for those massive hindquarters. No siree bob, nuh-uh. Simply because you have easy access to junk food and the type of employment that affords you the opportunity to stuff your face with it all day while sitting, completely sedentary, in your cube does not - in any way - mean that you should take advantage of said opportunity. In case you haven't noticed, your "one too many bags of Cheetos" moment came and went sometime in '94. We're about 4,573 bags past that by now. I believe it coincided with the fading out of oversized flannels and heroin chic (shh, don't tell Kate Moss) as the popular trends of the time. So, do yourself a favor, take the damn stairs once in awhile. For real. You add an unecessary 15 seconds to my elevator ride and we all know I'm very important and am needed in other parts of the building. Thanks.

We Interrupt This Blog For A Special Report

Who would have thought that the next lesson in the series would have to come so soon? Bad office behavior is running rampant through our society, ladies and gents. We must act quickly if we are to squash it where it lies.

Very necessary addition to this morning's entry:

If you are headed to the bathroom to take a dump, drop the kids off at the pool, squeeze out a squishy, please, oh please don't emulate the woman in the following true story. Here we go -

I go to the bathroom. It is empty. This makes me glad. For, you see, I need to do a #2 and it's unpleasant when there are witnesses present. It just is, and you know what I'm talking about. I head into the stall on the end - set up shop in the "corner lot", if you will. Pants come down, I sit. Then come the footsteps. I knew I'd no longer enjoy the solace of an empty bathroom. Damnit. But, I can cope. Then the unthinkable happens... the footsteps go into the stall next to me. Right next to me. A-hem. There are clearly 5 other stalls available, including the lovely, spacious handicapped one way at the other end. I am clearly in the one next to the stall you chose. I don't understand this. Why, oh why, would you go for the only stall adjacent to mine? And why would you do so when your goal was a healthy poo? You boxed me in with your shit, lady! You put me in a shit box. You KNEW you were headed in to drop a load and yet you went into the ONLY stall in the whole damn restroom that's next to an occupied stall. You are a sick, sick bitch.

So, kids, the moral of the story is: don't be rude, go to the end when you're not alone.

Boys and girls, in this blog we've already visited the topic of proper vs. improper office behavior. I think it may be time for a brief refresher and a subsequent lesson.

• Audible farts - forbidden
  
• Loud conversations on speakerphone about personal topics - taboo
  
• Offering a sharp complaint about your health rather than a salutation when greeted by a co-worker - verboten
  
• Trapping someone with somewhere to be in idle conversation because you like the sound of your own voice - a no-no
  

Here's a quick new lesson:

Don't microwave something that smells like a cross between rotten fish and stinky gym socks. I know that your lunch smells good to you, but to the rest of us it reminds us of our worst-ever case of diarrhea. Be kind, eat food with a pleasant smell. I know this is subjective, but if it's pungent enough to be smelled down the hall and around the corner, chances are it stinks. Use caution when bringing leftovers of a very ethnic nature. I love stuffed cabbage, but you know what? It smells a lot like feet if you're not the one eating it, so I don't make a habit of bringing it with me to work... a place where I am not alone in the comfort of my own kitchen.

Another microwave tip - if you make popcorn, for Pete's sake please monitor the popping process. It is unacceptable office behavior to leave the immediate vicinity of the microwave while there is a bag of popping popcorn within. Absolutely not allowed. I know you may think you can get back from the bathroom before that 5 minute cycle is finished, but the bag clearly says that popping times may vary for a reason. Inevitably your popcorn will be done at 4 minutes and your bathroom trip will take 4 & 1/2, which means that the employees on the floor you've just polluted will have to inhale burnt popcorn fumes for the next hour. This is a smell that is not only unpleasant, but lingering. We'll all be smelling that for the rest of the afternoon. And once the fumes have subsided, we'll still hate you.

Let's move on from the food realm to the fun world of office music choices. If you have a radio at your desk and you work in a cubicle environment, it is quite unwise to play anything at a loud volume, let alone anything that sounds like you're working in a dance club. Not cool. I'm down with the funky sounds of today's tunes, but I don't think that 50 Cent is the best musical accompaniment to your job in the accounting department. It's a bit inappropriate when there are more f-bombs dropped in Accounting than in the mail room. Conversely, I don't want to hear your elevator music and smooth jazz with hints of soft rock and adult contemporary, either. Turn that shit down. It sounds like a dentist's office in here. Here's a simple way to know if you're outside the boundaries of proper music volume - turn on your radio, walk outside your cube. If you can hear it, it's too damn loud. I don't force you to listen to my NPR, I don't want to hear your Celine Dion. My Heart Will Go On and beat your ass if you don't lower the volume.

Time for a sprightly jaunt to the topic of clothing. This is pretty simple. One would think that it is understood (not to mention painfully obvious) that if you're wearing any type of pants or skirt, whether they be linen or polyester, that are the slightest bit transparent you would then want to disguise your underwear so as not to have the tell tale panty lines that betray your smooth-bootied look. This is something that all women need to know - if you're a black woman and you're wearing white pants, it's NOT, I repeat not, OK to wear white panties. You see, white pants and white panties over dark skin make for a distinct outline of the panties and completely distract from that lovely leopard print, low-cut top you're wearing. Oh yes, honey, I'm talking to you. Let's take that same theory and apply it to white girls. You're wearing black pants, they're not entirely opaque, and you're wearing black undies. This is not good. We all see your undies, which means we get a nice frame of your asscheeks. Ladies, the lesson is this: try some underwear that match your skin color. You can't go wrong.

That's all for today's session, kids. Have fun at work.

Sometimes you gotta applaud your friends

Disclaimer: if you're not directly involved in my life this entry may bore you, but then again, it might just remind you of what you see in your friends that makes you love them.

People go to the theatre and give standing ovations to the actors onstage. We cheer at sporting events for our favorite "gladiators of the gridiron". We go to rallies for political causes and attend fundraisers for charities. We give our all and are quick to encourage people we don't even have a personal relationship with. But sometimes it's worth it to stand up and applaud your friends - in my case it's very well deserved.

This past weekend Jess walked 50 miles. That's 5 - 0, folks. Fifty. As in the number of cents in the rapper's name. Oh yeah, she did that. Here's her blog entry about her experience at this year's MS Walk. She's really something, that Jess. She has a big heart, she has almost as big a smile. She's cute, she's spunky, she refuses to high-five, she likes football and loves Michigan State. She's a blonde bombshell of a woman who never gives up on anything, whether that be her friends, her health, her education, her boyfriend - whoops... fiance, her family, her job, her nutball puppy, nothing. She rocks. She deserves a little shout-out and a big round of applause. So, *clap clap*, for Jess today, her little legs are sore from doing a great, great thing this weekend.

Then there's K. K is awesome. She just is. And here's the cool part, as I've mentioned before, she married a very awesome dude. I like him. I like him a lot and it's so great. The man and I got a thank you card from them yesterday for the wedding and get this - K and T had both written in it. Guys hardly ever write thank yous. They just don't. I realize there are exceptions, but on the whole, hetero dudes don't get into the thank you notes as a rule. So, when I opened up that card and saw that K & T had both put in their 2 cents it made me smile from ear to ear. I called K to tell her how happy I am that she married such a good guy and I called T to tell him that I really appreciate the thank you and that he's so good to my girl. He liked that and said I should call more often. It was really nice to talk to him. He's the perfect example of the once rowdy teenager who took a little more than his share of risk who grew into a very responsible, loving adult who still keeps some of that wild side on reserve. That's a big part of why K loves him so much.

DC-J is continually cracking me up. I didn't get to know her very well at all when I was still there, but in helping K get ready for her wedding we talked a lot more and I got to see just how cool this chick is. She's smart and witty and has the dirtiest mind this side of the Mississippi. Not to mention that she knows just how to work that fantastic rack of hers to her advantage every time. I think that's something to be admired. Ha! Plus, she really helps K stay sane in DC. She's a great friend to her and for that I love her even more.

Then there's NYC-J. She's working her ass off in a production studio right now - actually she's shooting today - but she's been in the studio for about 3 weeks non-stop getting a commercial ready. How awesome is that, right? She's producing, she's taking acting classes, she's writing, and she's feeling more energized than any other time in the last year and I'm so happy about that. She deserves something great. She deserves a break and a pat on the back and a big hug. The girl has been through hell and back and now the sun is finally shining on that pretty face of hers again.

NYC-S is kicking booty as usual. She's been in the recording studio a lot lately, getting her next album together. I saw the photos from the shoot for the back cover and they're amazing. She's super cute anyway, but there's something about these photos that really brings out her inner light. It's super cool to see on film. She's going through her own ups and downs as of late, but she's coming out on top and I know she's going to have a really wonderful high holiday season this year. I hope she made her fabulous challah for Rosh Hashana last night. I miss it a lot.

*sigh* I love my friends. I know that they're fantastic people and they encourage me to be the best me I can be - and most of the time they don't even know they're doing it. That's what feels the best.

Skeeuuuuz meeeee!

Last night I was making dinner (lovely little stir fry with chicken and veggies, healthy and tasty) when I heard the man get up and open the front door. It didn't phase me, so I carried on with my stirring and frying. Then I heard him holler from the doorway, "Duke got out, he's walking up the street." Door closed, I kept stirring. Turns out that big horse of a dog pushed his way under the fence in the front yard. There's a portion that's a little loose and pretty easy to bend outward. He'd never shown an interest in getting out of the yard when he's not on his leash before, so we never even thought of making sure it was secure to the ground the whole way round the yard. Guess we'll have to revisit that option in light of last night's festivities.

Anyway, the man went out, called his name, and the dog came galloping back home like it was no big deal. He just wanted to see what else was out there, I guess. Can you blame him? It didn't really bother me, didn't make me worry that he's going to try to escape all the time or anything. We just have to get some stakes and make sure the fence is reinforced sometime this week. No biggie.

What bothered me was that I asked the man this morning how he knew Duke had gotten out because I didn't hear a knock at the door or anything like that. He said that the neighbor lady was standing outside yelling, "Skeeuuuuuuuz me, skeeeuuuuuuuz meeee!" over and over until he came out. Um, OK. Let's think about this for a second. You're the neighbor lady, you're outside, on a residential street, where there are at least 5 houses within earshot. You see that your next door neighbors' dog has somehow freed himself from the confines of his yard and you want to alert the people to such discovery. So do you go to the door and give a knock? Nope. You stand outside, yelling repeatedly until someone emerges from the house. Does this make a whole lot of sense? I wonder how many other neighbors came outside just to find out that she wasn't yelling to them. But how would they have known that from inside their homes? Just come to the damn door, woman.

But then again, you just might want to stand out there and yell since that's what will bolster the image of the neighborhood as slightly better than a public housing project. Go ahead, keep it up. You're probably in cahoots with the lovely family in the car ahead of us in the Church's Chicken drive-thru line Saturday night. I bet it was your idea to have them throw 4 fast food drink cups out the passenger window in order to make room for the ones about to be loaded into their car. It was extra special since the kids were in the car. Great example to set. Nice. Real nice. "Hey ma, we don't gots no room in dis cup holdah." "Dat's OK, baby, jus trow des ones out da windah. Some utha foo will clean it up. An if dey don't, I don't give a shit anyway."

I'm all for being true to yourself, be you and be authentically you - I applaud that. But when the you you're choosing to be is a disrespectful asshole I don't want to be around you. And by the way - stereotypes exist for a reason. You act indignant and insulted when someone makes a comment about poor black folks on welfare not living up to their potential. A-hem. If we would have been anywhere else I would have gotten out of the car, picked up that trash, and handed it back to them. But you know what? Since we're in Miami I probably would have ended up with a bullet in my white ass, so no such behavior from me.

Well, I guess the positive upswing from the end of last week went steadily down the toilet. Sorry about that. It's Monday. I need at least until Tuesday to be in a good mood. Actually - there is a super great thing to be positive about... the man cleared out the dining room for me this weekend so I have room to sew. I got up yesterday morning and he had been at it for an hour already. He moved everything out and we're going to get a table so I can have a cutting board and not break my back crouched down on the floor to cut my fabric. He loves me. It feels really good.