V for Vendetta. M for Mousie.

I have a new roommate. Like most, an unwanted roommate who 1. doesn't pay rent and 2. leaves his shit (literally) all over the place.

My new roommate is a mouse, and he has some serious issues with me.

Now, I understand that the cold weather just started and I live in an apartment building in New York City. Mice happen and I can live with that. What I cannot live with is when the little fucker comes into my bedroom--yes, you heard me right. he came into my bedroom--TWO nights in a row at 5:00AM and woke me up. He was rustling through my little file cabinet, apparently going through some of my old tax forms. It remains to be seen if the IRS will now be auditing me. When i turned on the light, he just sat there and looked at me. I have a feeling that if he could have, he totally would have flipped me the bird. There was some serious bad feeling I was getting from him.

I think I know why: when I first noticed the mouse, it was approximately 9pm on a weeknight and I was home watching some TV. The little bugger ran across the wall of my living room and hopped through the unbelievably small crack where the radiator pipe was. Fine. That weekend I got some steel wool and plugged up the hole. With mousie not in there, I guess. So now he's pissed at me and is trying to make my life hell.

So after being woken up at 5:00AM two days in a row, I decided to bust out the big guns and put out some glue traps. Yes, yes, they are totally gross and inhumane, but less bloody than a snap trap (which doesn't always kill instantly either), and more effective than the no-see-um hockey puck traps I got.

Well, 3 days later and I still haven't caught him. I think he suspects something b/c I haven't heard a peep from him. I still wake up in the middle of the night, but that's my own paranoia and/or heavy drinking that is the cause. My mom just got into town, so I explained the whole situation to her, in case the mouse's vendetta is automatically transferred to my family members. And this was the conversation that ensued:

Mom: What kind of bait are you using for the traps?

FC: Peanut butter. Chunky kind.

Mom: Oh no, that won't do. New York City mice prefer bacon.

FC: WTF? How the hell do you know they like bacon?

Mom: I've lived in NYC for years so I know this. Minnesotan mice are like country mice and they like peanut butter. But NYC mice want something better.

FC: I don't believe you. (sarcastically) Do they like the thick cut, non-fatty bacon the best?

Mom: Yes. I'll pick some up tomorrow. You'll see. I'll catch that mouse.


No lie. This is the conversation I had with my mother.

I'll keep you updated on whether or not the bacon traps work...

BUSTED! in the Land of 10,000 Lakes: REDUX

So remember that police bust in MN? Well, turns out my friend's tenant upstairs has been busted this time:

Mitchell law standout charged in visa scheme

http://www.twincities.com/mld/twincities/15783872.htm

Apparently, he was pretending to be a congressman and getting U.S. visas for his family in Cameroon. Totally sketchy. But a little more white collar than say dealing crystal meth, right? Then again, nine counts of fraud in federal court isn't so great either...

Track Nyack: My life as a checkpoint girl

Dirty recently hosted a bike race. I was selected as one of the check point girls. Now, fixed gear and track bikes are not my thing. I play no part in that subculture. I don't even know how to ride a damn bike.

Luckily, this was not a required skill for running a checkpoint.

Sure, it sounds fun: People in teams of two get on their bikes and ride as quickly as they can to the checkpoint in Central Park, eat a Devil Dog as fast as they can and then ride off to some bike track in Queens. No sweat. Riiiiight. I do not participate in competitive sports and I guess it brings out the worst in people sometimes. We were not exactly prepared for it. Some nasty bastards came through. And quite a few vegans. We tried to convince them that there were no animal products in a Devil Dog. It's probably all synthetic or some variation of high fructose corn syrup. But some very nice racers also came through also. Usually they were the ones who had no chance of winning. They would sit down and chat with us. And in the end, we didn't even find out who won since they still had another hour or so of riding.



There was a lot of thrown up Devil Dog around the checkpoint area. The squirrels and rats probably had a feast that night. Gross.



It was a good time, but I think next year's check point will rock even more. I may consider bringing a baseball bat next time too.

BUSTED! in the Land of 10,000 Lakes

I recently went back to my beloved home state of MN for a conference. What better way to visit than on work's dime!

After a two-night stay at the downtown Minneapolis Hilton, and two days of an extremely boring conference where everyone there seemed to contribute to our nation's obesity epidemic by drinking way too much soda (one girl there drank three cans of coke before 8:30am!), I made my way to the sweeter of the Twin Cities, my hometown of St. Paul.

That's when things started to get interesting. The first evening I think I saw enough people I went to high school with to qualify as a high school reunion. It isn't quite as frightening to me as it used to be and everyone generally seems much nicer (and less sober) than they did back in the day. Some people also have children that are over 10 years old. Very disturbing. I also met some dude who used to live up the block from me. His nickname is "Tuffy." Enough said.

I was staying with a friend of mine and the next morning I wake up to get some water. I hear all of these voices, which is strange since my friend had said she had a conference call from home that morning. I thought the voices were really loud for a conference call, but maybe my friend is going deaf and had the volume on high. So I walk into the dining room and there are like 6 people sitting at her table. Definitely not a conference call. And most of the people sitting were in S.W.A.T. gear with POLICE written across the front. We thought it was a drug bust (my friend has tenants living upstairs and you never know when people might be running a meth lab in their apartment.) Well, turns out to be Immigration & Customs Enforcement coming for her upstair tenant's cousin. The tenant is a political asylee from Cameroon who's in law school. He's here legitimately. We're not sure about the cousin but supposedly he's here legitimately also. But they still took him away in cuffs. Everyone was in their pajamas (not the cops) and they almost took him away without shoes. Rude. At this point, he is still being detained and may possibly be deported. It's very scary what limited rights immigrants have here.

I am sure the police thought it was interesting that not only did my friend have two African refugees in her house, but then some Asian girl walks in during the bust. They didn't even ask me for my ID.

Needless to say, I am glad I didn't get deported. Although I am not sure where they would deport me to since I am U.S. citizen...

Candy that lasts forever

I just got a bag of Smarties. I happened to look at the expiration date on the bag: August 10, 2009. That is about THREE YEARS from now. I find this very disturbing. Hopefully I will finish the bag off before then.

Dummies are people too

From my twin, who recently moved to Canada, on her first week at her new job:

On the downside, they are using these mechanical dummies as simulated patients for practice, and these dummies moan. And they moan long and loud. The first time I heard it, you can imagine what I thought I was hearing, but pretty sure I wasn't hearing, but worried that I might be hearing.

I thought that was pretty hilarious.

P.S. Apparently they have now given the dummies the capability to pant (it's supposed to sound like they have shortness of breath.) Good times!

The stressful way to a surprise wedding shower!

Gosh, September has started off crazy! Fortune Cookie has been a busy bee of late.

This past Saturday was the surprise wedding shower for team member Cookie D.

The Original Plan: D's fiance E was going to get her out of the house that afternoon so we could get things ready.

It did not go as planned.

So this is how it went down:

Thursday before:
Frantic emergency email from Little Cookie (now residing down below the Mason-Dixon Line in NC); Aunt Jean decided to invite them to spend the night in NJ. They accepted. They wouldn't be back until Saturday afternoon. We needed a Plan B to get D out of the house. It was up to me and Murphy. We both contacted D about getting together on Saturday. Her original response? I think Sunday may be the nicer of the days so maybe we could aim for that?

Yeah, not gonna work.

Friday before:
But we pulled through and got her to agree to Saturday (go Murphy!)

Saturday (Day of the shower)
12:00PM No word from D. Is she back from NJ? Because she needs to get out of that house before 3:00PM.

12:03PM Anxious call to Little Cookie. She hasn't heard anything either.

12:05PM Murphy calls. D is supposed to arrive approximately 2:00PM. We decide we will just meet up and that will force D to leave her house and come meet us.

2:00PM Waiting on the Queens Plaza subway platform after realizing the train is running express. 3 voicemail messages on my cell. As I'm checking them Cookie D calls. I answer. The train goes by. LOUDLY. She's on the platform too. SHIT.

2:01PM Riding the subway with D & E. Call Murphy. A plan B subpart 1 is formed. I will go back to the apartment with D & E so they can drop stuff off and then we'll meet her at a cafe. Perfect.

2:45PM Euro Delight cafe. Eating crepes. Having lovely time. All is going well. Little Cookie calls for confirmation that the coast is clear. It's a go.

3:30PM Done with the crepes. Crap. We still have to keep her occupied for another two hours.

4:15PM Murphy and E order another round of coffee. More time wasted. Conversation is continued.

4:45PM Panicked call from Little Cookie. They cannot get into D & E's apartment. The lock is funky. They are camping out in the hallway right now. SEND. HELP. FAST.

4:46PM I send a rather obvious signal to E. He gets up to pay the bill, I go up to us the lav. On my way I tell him the situation and that he needs to get over there pronto.

4:50PM I suggest we go get Italian Ice. And the 99 cent store. E says he needs to go home to use the toilet.

4:51PM I love 99 cent stores and can spend hours in them. We managed to drag it out for about 15 minutes.

5:05PM Italian ice is my friend.

5:12PM Stop at new restaurant to peruse menu.

5:14PM Murphy pulls off the best acting job of her life: fakes leg cramp. Stops at a tree to stretch it out.

5:21PM We return to Cookie D's apartment building. We enter the elevator and there is tape all over that says "CAUTION: WILD GIRLS!" and a poster of a cartoon dude in a cheetah speedo. D says "what is up with the tenants in this building!?".

Murphy and I play dumb.











5:22PM SURPRISE!!!! She didn't suspect a thing.

Hee.

p.s. the neighbors totally hated us even though we were well behaved during the party (note: this was posted after they had taken down the decorations in the elevator.)

Bad reputation

So I was waiting for the elevator at work and chatting with one of the recent college grads I train. He asked how I was doing, I told him I was well, except I was a little tired for some reason, possibly because I had some coke the night before.

He pauses. Then asks, "You mean coca-cola, right?"

Um, yeah. Do I look like the kind of person who does a few lines in the bathroom before bed? Crikey. I wonder what sort of reputation I have amongst these young 'uns at work!

Also, in a strange turn of events, at happy hour the other night BFF Bartender was telling us about his personal problems. I thought this was weird since he's the bartender and isn't he supposed to listen to OUR problems? I mean, we're the ones paying, not him. I guess that just means that we are truly regulars and our relationship with BFF has been taken to a new level? hmmm...

I woke up this morning to the weather report on the radio. Something about 40mph winds. This doesn't seem right. Or safe.

There's nothing better than coming to work drenched in sweat from the commute

Today is one of the hottest days of the year. The high is supposed to be about 105F, with a heat index of 115F. Excuse my language, but that is just too fucking hot. We should all just call it a day and stay home in the A/C (kept on Economy/Energy Saver so as to avoid a major blackout, of course) and watch Netflix. And eat massive quantities of watermelon and ice cream.

Onto my diatribe for the day (the heat is making me cranky and now the full blast A/C at work is giving me a bit of a head cold as it freezes off any residual perspiration):

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people forward me annoying emails. Sure, on occasion I will forward things that are of specific interest to specific people (and perhaps they are secretly hating me for it), but I like to think I use discretion. I'm talking about those emails about that damn Neiman Marcus chocolate chip cookie recipe that's supposedly secret and worth a half a million dollars or those poems about female empowerment or friendship. Which isn't so terrible, except the person forwarding it to me has not even bothered to delete the 18 pages worth of all the other million previous forwarding headings since the original email was first passed on. This particularly bothers me when they are forwarding an email so they can supposedly earn money or a trip to Disney World off of Microsoft. And don't even get me started on the random religious ones I get from coworkers. I don't care what you practice, more power to you, but don't send me anything with "God" or "the Lord" in it--or "Satan", for that matter. Especially if I don't even like you.

However, I got one of those chain emails today from a friend and despite my pet peeve, I actually read it. And at the very end, it says:

Friendship is like peeing your pants, everyone can see it, but only you can feel the true warmth.

I have to admit, that made me chuckle.

And the babies just keep on comin'...

I have been at my current place of work since January 2005. Up until now, there has always been someone pregnant in my office. If I tallied correctly, there have been six, count 'em, six babies coming out of my coworkers. The director of our department recently had a baby. No word that there were any other pregnancies so we thought the baby chain was broken and it was safe to drink the water again.





WRONG.




One of my coworkers (who got back from maternity leave, oh, about six months ago) is pregnant again. Four months pregnant, to be exact. Sure, I'm happy for her but WTF!?!

I guess I work in a baby-making factory or something...

Also work related, I went out with a co-worker of mine (not the one who's pregnant) the other night and had such a rip-roaring time that I had to leave work early the next day, I was feeling so awful. I think it was much worse than the Margarita Incident of 2002. I swear they serve undistilled grain alcohol at happy hour. Not pretty. I later received a text picture from him of the black eye he recieved over the weekend while at some club. He tripped and hit his face on the edge of a table. Definitely not pretty. I think perhaps that I should no longer hang out with this type of person. He could be a bad influence.

In other news, E-money is finally warming up to me. For a while he was playing dead when I was around. He also used to feign sleep. But I figure, it's okay if it took him 2 months to come around. It takes time to get to know people, right? Two months is nothing in one little kid's lifetime.

Wednesday night spoiler

I get riled up about many things (the state of our nation, the MTA, the high price of cereal, FedEx package slips left on my front door, etc), but what really upsets me these days--and is much closer to home--is when something disrupts my Wednesday night happy hour. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen. This particular week it was a person who caused me grief:

There was a very drunk man who kept harassing me. This sort of thing never happens to me--apparently my intimidation skills do not work on drunks or something. He comes RIGHT up behind me like he's my backside siamese twin and offers to buy me a drink. My glass was still 2/3 full so I politely refused. He ordered one regardless. Now, first off, I'm in my home-bar with BFF bartender. I'm only going to pay like $2 for my drink anyway. And secondly, I refuse to touch a drink that a stranger buys for me and handles. For christ's sake, don't touch my fucking straw or lime!!! Oh, and stop breathing down my neck...

We had to move twice to avoid this man. Thank god my friends were there to try and protect me by sitting on either side of me in corners. I kept giving BFF bartender dirty looks for continuing to serve the guy. I was also worried he might vomit on us. Granted, this guy was pretty pathetic--there are obviously issues at hand if you've been drinking alone for 7 hours straight. But eventually he set his sights on some other girl in the bar so I was free to enjoy the rest of my evening in peace. With our $22 tab.

If he's there (and drunk) the next time I go, I may have to throw down. There's a large Corona beer pinata I can hit him with...

And now it's Dirty's turn for a very happy birthday

It was the Dirty one's thirty-one earlier this week and I didn't get around to posting (yeah, I know, it's been a while...). Anyways, a happy belated birthday to you, Dirty! He's off to fulfill his best man duties elsewhere. If we're lucky, perhaps he'll post his speech?

In other news, I am bored out of my mind at work and struggling to keep awake. Perfect opportunity to blog, no? Ninety more minutes until I can leave. Tick tock. Tick tock.

I don't have any good stories at the moment, so let me tell you about my July 4th weekend:

Saturday: helped some of the Regulars move into their new apartment. At 9am. After a late night. From El Barrio down to East End Avenue. Fancy. In an unmarked yellow truck. Ghetto. The move went relatively smoothly, but you wouldn't know that from all of the bruises I have on my body. It looks like I was in some sort of brawl. You know, the kind where you can hit anywhere but the face? Not pretty. It also didn't help that I slammed my wrist in the closet door in my apartment a few days later. What's one more large bruise among several dozen, right? The best thing is that 2 blocks from their new apartment, on my way to the crosstown bus, I came across a 7-Eleven. That Slurpee was the best thing EVER. It totally made up for all the sweat and pain.

Sunday: woke up early again to catch a bus to Pennsylvania where some friends always have a long weekend camp & cook out. I historically never go, but this is the year of new things, apparently. Not only do I now eat mac-n-cheese, as well as mixing cheese with meat (mmm. grilled cheese with ham: my hangover remedy), I am now willing to go to the camp out. Which essentially entailed me hanging out at the pool with my best friends and reading In Touch magazine. Nnd when not sunning myself, I was stuffing my face with food. Any place with a 45lb rib roast on an outdoor spit can't be half bad.

Monday: I worked. And I emailed people I have been meaning to email over the past three years in a desperate attempt to get some response while trying to make it through the day. We got out early and I high-tailed it to the store to buy Dirty's birthday present. I can't say the camping store people were top notch in customer service, but at least they didn't seem quite as sullen as the employees of every Blockbuster Video store in the nation or the dim sum restaurants of Hong Kong.

Tuesday: Independence Day! My one day to sleep in this whole long weekend. Of course I was up at 8am. Dammit. I watched the fireworks from the 28th floor balcony of my friend and old prof, Dr. P. She baked us lemon meringue pies. I think it made up for the lack of A/C (and fans) in her apartment. I am not a big fireworks girl, having been dragged to see them by Mom every year of my childhood, but I have to admit they are pretty. This year they had cool ones that looked like jellyfish. Much cuter than the littler spermy ones.

And so a good week comes to an end. Now I only have another hour to waste before I'm off like a prom dress...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADDOG!!!

My favorite little girl in the world, MadDog, turns the big 4 today, so a happy birthday shout-out to her! She is currently preparing for a princess puppet party (Beauty & the Beast theme) with a princess castle-shaped pinata. I am jealous and plan on arriving after all the dozen or more kids leave and I can eat my cake in peace. Plus, then I can play with the Barbie Totally Real House I got her without having to fend off several 4 year old girls.

Top on MadDog's birthday wishlist was a boy doll. We had a hard time deciding which one to get her. Eerily reflecting reality, there appears to be so many more women than men in Barbie's world. Is Prince Ken in his tights better than surfer Blaine who doesn't come with any clothes (or a job)? I wanted to get Bride Groom Ken, because at least he's ready to commit and he's got a nice suit on. (As my friend aptly put it, we don't want any broken families moving into the new house.) However, the options at the store came down to Beauty & the Beast Prince or Surfer Blaine. MadDog preferred B&B Ken even though he had a bad ponytail and a Beast mask. Barbie could totally kick his ass. But at least he's not a beach bum.

So what's it like to be four years-old? She faces quandries such as these: how to deal with days of the week princess panties. First off, she can't read, so she has to ask her mom which Princess she's supposed to wear that day. But then it gets complicated. If you take a bath on a Saturday night, do you wear the Saturday panties? It will soon be Sunday, so would those be more practical? I'm more than 25 years her senior and I don't have an answer to this. This is another reason why I shower in the mornings...

Royal flush

I went to see X-Men3 recently and afterwards, there was a super long line for the ladies' room. Not unexpected. Except I noticed that the handicapped restroom was empty. I realize that there is some social protocol (and the American Disabilities Act) that requires those who are able-bodied to not use those stalls and if we do, to feel really guilty and try to pee as quickly as possible in case there is an irate person in a wheelchair waiting (and I have heard of this happening. No joke.) I feel this is fair. However, this is what I want to know: if there is a 20-person line for the bathroom, does a handicapped person have to wait in line or can she roll by and make a beeline for the handicapped stall?

On another note on bathrooms, I find myself constantly perplexed by the bathrooms at work. The kind of toilet paper that is offered changes EVERY day. In fact, I noticed today that the extra roll in my stall was completely different in texture and ply (one roll was two-ply, the other single-ply.) How can this be?! You would think that a large institution would consistently order the same kind of toilet paper. This boggles my mind.

By the way, my little nephew's new nickname is E-Money. Between him and MadDog, my sister has herself a little gang in her home.

buffalo wings, waffle fries and celery, oh my!

Apologies for the incommunicado. I wasn't trying to break up with you in some passive-aggressive fashion or anything. For real. The past two weeks have been a little hectic with visitors and way too many birthdays to count, culminating in tonight's mandatory Team Cookie meeting to celebrate Little Cookie's birthday. This celebration consisted of eating far too many buffalo wings and waffle fries and an attempt to counteract that all with half a plate of celery with blue cheese dressing.

Hey, at least I wasn't drinking also. But I'm having a fat week and this isn't helping. Perhaps that was an overshare...

Sooooo, let me do a bulletpoint highlight of what has occurred over the past two weeks:

1. I got a promotion! BLING BLING. Okay, not really, but the raise should cover my Wednesday night happy hour habit and a few choice wardrobe additions.

2. We returned to BFF Bartender last Wednesday night and he came through for us in full force (even the hater of the group, ahem, you know who you are Mr. EastSideGangSignThrower, warmed up to him when served his beer of choice without even having to tell BFF). I missed it, but the Regulars decided it was time for some eastside action and cheated this week. No word yet on how successful they were at getting free drinks elsewhere.

3. I am currently in a training to learn how to "Present with Confidence." I am the best presenter in the class and I learned that I actually don't gesticulate quite as wildly while I talk as I had thought. Whew. I had been concerned that I might take out someone's eye one of these days.

4. Baby E.T. has gained about a pound in his less than three weeks of life. He's getting chubby. But only in the belly and face. He still has skinny old-man legs. MadDog is dealing well with having a little brother and is very quick to hold his hand when he cries. On the other hand, she is also quick to ditch the family when the opportunity to go do something fun arises (Bronx Zoo, cherry lime rickies, etc).

5. I went to a party and my friend's brother had on penny loafers with pennies stuck in them. Um, and no, he wasn't five years old. More like 35. You'd think someone would tell him that that was so 1992, right?

That's about all I can think of right now. I guess that it's been busy, but I can't remember all of the usual inane fodder to post about...

My (brief) life as a single mother

Happy Mother's Day! And a very special shout out to all of the single mothers out there, my own mom included.

Okay, I have spent the last 48 hours as a single mom of a 4 year-old, so bear with me.

My sister went into labor Friday afternoon. I missed seeing my nephew born by approximately 15 minutes. But just in time for the afterbirth. Yay! Baby and mom are all well. We'll call him ET, and he is a cutie. Mom, Dad and baby had to stay in the hospital for 2 nights, so that meant Auntie Fortune was taking care of MadDog for the weekend.

It was a lot of work taking care of a kid. Lots of attention (I didn't want her getting hurt on MY watch) and activity, including a 4 year-old birthday party. Picture about 20 little kids dressed up as pirates and princesses running around for 2.5 hours. Especially after a huge piece of birthday cake, ice cream and candy from a pinata. It couldn't have been more insane if they were handing out speed. Although MadDog is a good girl and I adore her, I was most relieved when her parents walked through the door this afternoon. Nearly as happy as MadDog was, if not more.

People, I'm exhausted. I can only imagine what a full-time mom feels like. This is why moms totally ROCK!

Um, could I get a little mojito with my sugar?

Happy hour was rather uneventful last night. We went back to the sangria place in El Barrio. Live music came on. Good music, but so loud I think I now know what a dog feels like when someone blows one of those whistles that no human can hear. Terrible, I say. We had to move onto another bar down the street. After a very inconspicious "walk-by" to make sure we wouldn't totally get our asses kicked if we went in there. The waitress was quite nice and gave us our third round free. (For the record, I didn't have a third round.)

Now, for those of you who know me, I have no problem traveling around the city to meet up. South Williamsburg for Cinco de Mayo? Si. Beer garden in Astoria for Dirty's Thirty? For real. South Bronx for a bbq? Yo. LES for a white russian? Need you ask?

El Barrio for sangria? Hell yeah...Although, actually, perhaps not.

I have developed a beef with East Harlem: for one of the least gentrified 'hoods in Manhattan, why the hell are the drinks so freakin' expensive!? I mean, $8 for a mojito is a lot for E.116th and First Avenue. And there was so much sugar in that baby, I woke up this morning with a stomach ache. Seriously. Am I paying for the street cred or something? Because, quite frankly, I am perfectly happy being a West Side girl who drinks practically free walking distance from home.

"We're friends. I like you. Now go away."

Little MadDog is growing up fast. At parent-teacher conferences this week, MadDog's teachers told them she was doing very well in school and got along well with all the kids. She is the most popular girl in her class. Apparently when she walks in to class, everyone gets up and yells "MadDog's here!!!" That's my girl.

There is one boy in particular, Alex, who loves MadDog more than a 4 year-old boy should. He gets in her face a lot and cries when they walk home together and it's time for them to go their separate ways. Her teachers said that during one of these instances, MadDog told him "Alex, we're friends. I like you. Now go away." Ah, the delicacy of a diplomat.

This kid is going to rule the world, I tell you.

I am feeling cranky and under the weather this week, so I am nursing my bad mood with some milk and cookies. I have been on a bit of a social sabbatical the past few days, so I don't have any good stories to tell. Perhaps Thursday will bring new blog fodder, as it usually does...

Your friends and neighbors

I have a knack for forming personal relationships with the people around me. My gynecologist is really great. Anne knows me even though I only see her once a year and is always happy to see me. She's nice to the friends I refer to her. We talk a lot about public health and such. She tells me that she wishes we could hang out longer, but she has like 5 patients who have been waiting for hours to see her. She also hugs and kisses me on the cheek goodbye. Some find this weird, but let's think about this: if someone is spending time with my privates, I should be getting a kiss good-bye rather than just a note (or prescription, in this case) slipped under the door, right?

Maybe that was an overshare.

I also have a relationship with my hair stylist, Stacie. We are the same age and turned 30 a few months apart. That was a strong bond between us. Plus, she gives me good haircuts. I brought her back a small birthday present from Prague. She also hugs and kisses me goodbye. Granted, I also tip her well, but we have a connection.

And then there is BFF Bartender, but you've already heard about him previously. Ditto on the kiss goodbye. (I have a special way with bartenders in general and am known for getting free drinks frequently. I just wish I had this special way with bakery or Haagen Daaz employees instead. Or even donut cart people.)

So, I think I have made progress in forming a relationship with my ConEd man. Wait, let me preface this with the fact that he is a nice, attractive, young man. Not some old creepy dude. Anyway, it's been a much longer process developing a relationship. The man reads my gas meter every month. (Although it's been more of an every other month schedule.) This takes about 2 minutes. Nothing so involved as poking around my privates annually, cutting my hair every 3-4 months, or serving me numerous drinks every Wednesday night. But we chat, and say "I haven't seen you in a while. Where've you been? How's it going?" and he'll tell me he was on vacation, but working his second job. Or I'll tell him that I was on vacation (but without mentioning I was on my Eastern European Trifecta tour, because that sounds so bourgeois). We'll discuss the weather and things like that. And that's it. But this morning, I got a handshake goodbye. I was touched. Now, I don't need a hug and kiss goodbye from the ConEd man. That would be weird. But I like to think that I am one of his favorite meters to read in the building. And no euphemisms there, kids.

Eightball in the pocket

I try not to participate in height inflation. The measuring stick tells me I am 5'7", but other women my height say they are 5'8''. Which means that in man-height, I am about 5'10''. Last night I went out with some Brooklyn girls, and for the first time ever, I was the shortest one. It was definitely weird, and I can't say I liked it one bit.

The lovely ladies: Murphy (pool name: Jackhammer), Wick (pool name: Petri Dish), Zube (pool name: Wall. Or was it Flower?), and myself (pool name: Flower. Or maybe Wall. I can't remember).

We had a few drinks and went to play some pool. (Note: I do not play pool, but am always a willing observer. Dirty will back me up here.) We came across two gentlemen to play pool with. Both were from Indiana. Both were essentially married. Both seemed psyched to hang out with four lovely birds that weren't their wives. The first guy, Married (pool name: The Anvil, partner: Jackhammer) seriously had the weirdest twang. Definitely not how anyone I know from Indiana talked. Almost like that big rooster in those Looney Toons cartoons (Foghorn Leghorn). He also had the most ridiculous chuckle. Egads. He laughed a lot. He also wore pleated khakis.

The other dude, Almost Married (pool name: Bacteria, partner: Petri Dish), loved Wisconsin (Zube was from there) and would not stop talking about how great people from Wisconsin were. Now, that's all fine and dandy, but Wisconsin is also my home state's rival. Crikey, it's not THAT great of a state (Cheeseheads, please don't hate). At least MN has Prince, bless his purple-loving soul.

All in all, pool was played, the reigning pool sharks were usurped (props to Bacteria & Petri Dish), stories were told, and bedtime was late. Good times.