Holiday cheer. Or lack thereof.

I received the following email from our administrative manager here at work:

Subject: Snazzy Holiday Time

Now that the cold weather is here to stay, let’s start diving into the holiday spirit! Feel free to jazz up your work areas with fun decorations and pretty, sparkly things. I’ve got a red bow, a tiny glass tree, and a small stuffed snowman at my desk. Can you top THAT?? Have fun!

Good lord. I love the holidays and all (okay, except for New Year's) but this is a little ridiculous. Don't people have better things to do at work, like blog or email their friends?

A twitch in time

This past week I have had a wicked twitch in my right eye. A coworker of mine said that that means someone is talking about me. If this is true, then someone is talking a whole lot of shit about me this week. Please stop. The twitch is very distracting and unattractive.

Thank you.

Fortune Cookie

Winter storm hits Midwest...

...and then the newscaster goes on to show footage of OKLAHOMA.

Perhaps I am just overly sensitive since I happen to be from a true midwestern state (go gophers!), but there is no way in hell that Oklahoma is a midwest state (except to East Coast people since anything west of NJ seems to be considered Midwest until you hit California.) Bible belt, yes. But, I guess they can't say that on the news. Southern, maybe. Southwest, unlikely. NM and AZ seem to be the only states that are given that designation. It's more Mid-South.

Maybe OK is still finding its geographical identity?

Know thy neighbors

I don't normally talk to my neighbors much. I am not unfriendly or anything, I just give people their space. Sure it would be nice to have someone I could stop by and borrow a cup of sugar or something, but those sorts of relationships can get complicated. I don't want to end up catsitting for people I don't really know. However, during the whole Dark Waters incident, I got to meet some of my neighbors. The ones who also had water damage. That was kinda nice. Although the girl who lives upstairs is seriously getting on my nerves. It sounds like she is moving enormously heavy pieces of furniture around at 11pm. Or it's a really bad form of tap dancing.

Anyways, I must be giving off some sort of "talk to me" vibe to my neighbors of late, because they keep chatting with me randomly in the elevator. Or maybe it's just because I'm so darn cute (they are all men in my approximate age group).

Like the previous post, I will number the incidences:

Elevator conversation #1:
Back from grocery shopping for an impending potluck, I hold the door for a young couple who were carrying a whole lot more crap than I was. I'm facing the elevator door, minding my own business, and suddenly I hear (very loudly) "HI, I'M ZACH! THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND ____. HOW LONG HAVE YOU LIVED IN THE BUILDING?" um, 2 years or so. "SO WHAT DO YOU DO IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD?" weird question. does he want to know what I do in my freetime? where I frequent? because I don't think any New Yorker actually has the luxury of working in the same 'hood they live in. so this is what I learned about Zach (other than he so obviously has not lived in NYC for long): He doesn't live with the girlfriend and he is a student at Bank Street. He lives on the 6th floor.

Elevator conversation #2:
It's about 1am and I had consumed several drinks and was ready to be home and in bed. I get my mail. Borat is on the cover of Rolling Stone. This other guy is in the elevator with me. Again, in loud voice (even with my headphones on) "OMG, HAVE YOU SEEN THE BORAT MOVIE YET?!" no. "I HEAR IT IS REALLY GOOD BUT HAS TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, YOU KNOW? IT'S LIKE..." offensive? I didn't learn much about that neighbor although I suspect, aside from being drunk at the time and a very loud talker, that he might also live on the 6th floor.

Elevator conversation #3:
I came home last night, got my mail and was waiting for the elevator with yet another dude (who I think I had just seen in Duane Reade buying some AirBorne). Get in the elevator, flipping through my TimeOut. It's the Pizza Issue. Again, loudly (no headphones this time): "I WONDER WHAT PIZZA PLACE THEY PICKED FOR THIS NEIGHBORHOOD?!" um, i don't know. probably Coronet since they always pick that place. (It has gianormous slices for cheap. a Colulmbia University staple.) "THAT PLACE SUCKS! I CAN NEVER FINISH A SLICE THERE. THE CHEESE IS TOO MUCH." yeah, i don't like it either. "THEY SHOULD PICK MAMA'S ON 106TH. I'VE TAKEN FAMILY FROM ITALY THERE AND THEY THOUGHT IT WAS GREAT TOO!" good to know. I will have to try it. Dude lives on the 6th floor. I wonder if all three of them live together?

The day that never ends

I am bored out of my mind at work today. There is nothing for me to do and my boss is at "Diversity Training" for the next two days. You would think this would be a great situation, right? Alas, there is only so much internet surfing I can do. My eyes water too much from the brightness of the screen after a while.

My apartment has not been repaired and my coat closet has this nasty damp smell remaining from the "Dark Waters" damage. It makes me a little sad. Especially since I have a closet-ful of stuff that is now homeless and strewn about the rest of the apartment. I called my landlord, since Miguel, my super, has promised me several different times to fix it in the past two weeks, but has never actually fixed it. My landlord promised it would get fixed by next week. (Miguel is going to the doctor today and won't be able to fix it. Too much information, I know.) And in the interim I should go buy that stuff that "looks like an OxyClean tub" but soaks up moisture.

Off to Home Depot I go.

I really should know better. Home Depot puts me in a foul mood almost as soon as I walk through the doors. Part of the reason is that I have unnecessarily high expectations of how my experience will be based on those commercials where everyone who works in the damn store is nice and knowledgable. But this is New York City.

Bad Home Depot Experience #1:
I went there once looking for a drill and I have to say, not only was the employee in the drill section a total asshole who clearly did not want to be working there, he was absolutely no help. I also asked him what kind of file I should get since one of my closet doors won't open all the way. The man told me I needed a wood shaver to shave off the bottom. I mean, WTF?! Do I look like kind of person who is gonna get a fucking wood shaver? I left home depot empty handed, aside from my blackened mood.

Bad Home Depot Experience #2:
Okay, so despite #1, I went back to HD to find this tub of dehumidifying stuff. The HD near my work is like 3 floors big and organized more like a maze than orderly aisles. I stopped some sketchy looking dude in orange who looked most likeliest to be an employee. He told me the stuff was called DampRid (makes sense) and it's in the Paint section. I'm dubious, but he would know better than I, right? WRONG. I go to the paint section. Can't find it. Ask the paint guy. He has NO IDEA what the hell I'm talking about. He says, "you should try putting bleach on the walls and then let it dry." As my sister says, it's fucking HOME depot, not GHETTO depot. I'm pretty frustrated at this point and I tell the guy that the other guy had told me it was in this section. He directed me to Household, Aisle 4 (which is as far away from the Paint section as possible). I am completely dubious.

But lo and behold, my DampRid was there! And only $3.75 a tub.

Happy I had completed my mission, yet still pissed off at how disappointing my HD experience was, I departed. The saddest thing is that I am not even sure the stuff will work.

A bleak day for fowl

I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving. It is not a big holiday for my family--none of us particularly like turkey (although I am quite fond of stuffing), my sister goes down to Atlanta for a week of in-law duty, and I have no desire to watch football or shop on Black Friday.

However, some friends and I had a little second thanksgiving potluck this weekend and my friend Aaron (who makes some of the best meatballs in the world AND dressed up last year as an easter bunny--yes, on easter--to hand out treats to the kiddies), told us by far the worst Thanksgiving experience ever:

One year during college, Aaron had been dating this girl. She convinced him to spend Thankgiving with her family, saying that they always go out to this "really nice restaurant." Aaron goes. That "really nice restaurant" was one of those Old Country Buffet type places (but better than a Sizzler). Her family thought it was the best thing. Aaron was not impressed.

But it gets better.

Girlfriend's Grandpa is there and he's old and probably sick--but still eating away at the buffet (it's Thanksgiving and all). In the middle of Thanksgiving meal, Grandpa dies. Yes, you heard me, he dies. The details weren't clear, but he was definitely dead. They had to come with a gurney and take Grandpa's body out of the restaurant. Aaron attempted to get the hell out of there, but the girlfriend wanted him to stay and be with her during these difficult times.

Hands down the suckiest Thanksgiving, right?

And no, he's no longer dating the girl. But he did get that famous meatball recipe of his from her mom...

Gobble gobble.

Like a really bad Japanese horror flick...

Today I was minding my own business, enjoying a leisurely Sunday afternoon and trying to clean up my kitchen a little before making a grilled cheese sandwich. I hear this noise of movement and of course I think it is the "fucking bastard", or mouse. But oh no, it wasn't mousie. Instead, I see a STREAM of dirty water coming through the wall and down the floor of my kitchen. HOLY FUCK, WHAT THE HELL IS IT? IS MY APARTMENT POSSESSED BY A REALLY PISSY EVIL SRIRIT?? It sounded like a waterfall was in my apartment, and I don't mean in that very zen water trickling way.

I frantically grab my nice bath towels and any other absorbent material in an attempt to stop it. SO MUCH water was coming down. I check my coat closet and it's streaming down the heat pipe in there and spattering on my newly dry cleaned coat. DAMMIT.

More bath towels.

But now it's dripping from the ceiling in the kitchen so I have to put buckets down. Water is filling up into my bathroom light fixture. THIS CANNOT BE A GOOD SIGN.

I run upstairs thinking I need to ream out the girlupstairs. She has the same problem. Except:

1. She doesn't have a coat closet like I do (interesting)

2. She just moved in so her shit is still in boxes and easy to move out of the way of the deluge. I have 2 years of stuff in those closets.
Anyways, we run into other neighbors. We call the super. He's "5 hours away in NJ". Is there really any place in NJ that is 5 hours away? Because I can drive PAST Providence to visit Sonya in less time than that. WTF. We call the landlord, but really, what can a call service to for us when water is running down the walls. We call 911 so the fire department can come and shut off the water. God Bless NY's Bravest.

And so, I have now moved all of the shit out of my closets and out of the way of the nasty ass water. There are no longer streams of water flowing down my floor or along the walls, although my ceiling is still leaking. Look at my recycling bin:

Yes, that is half full of nasty dark water. So disgusting.

And now I am a very, very sad cookie who is wet, dirty and stressed out. I never got a chance to make that grilled cheese either. BOO.

Trippy treadmills and other tales of the gym

First off, in case any of you were wondering, I haven't caught that goddamn mouse yet. Mom hasn't come through with her bacon suggestion either. That might be the problem. But mousie has been laying real low of late--I am hoping that maybe he just moved out without saying good-bye.

So, I went to the gym today because apparently I was getting used to going regularly. It's been two weeks and my muscles were getting antsy. Really. It was like some weird, mild form of Restless Leg Syndrome or something.

Now, I attempted the treadmill for the first time and quite frankly, it was a little scary. I'm not a runner so I thought some fast walking (believe it or not, faster than I normally walk) would be good. It's hard getting used to walking on a conveyor belt, and super trippy getting off. I don't know if it was a combination of fatigue and hunger, but when I got off, the ground was coming up at me and I was a little unstable. Freaky. And no, I was not on hallucinogens.

But let me tell you about one of my especially disturbing gym experiences:

So I was at the gym and was already dressed and in the large room that is specifically for us ladies to dry our hair and put make-up on. It's always very empty. I'm drying my hair, minding my own business, and this older woman, very heavy, comes and stands RIGHT next to me. Now, I know the towels are small--they barely fit around me--but for some reason she thinks it's more necessary to cover her upper half rather than her bottom half. Seriously, I tried so hard not to look, but she was right next to me in front of a wall of mirrors. Oh, man! Her belly was so big that it kinda pooched over and hid all of her unmentionables. A friend of mine calls this "bubble crotch." Needless to say, it was a little traumatic.

And to wrap things up, one last story about my very first gym experience:

My gym, like most, has TVs attached to the cardio machines. The first time I went on one of them, I could not for the life of me get the damn TV to work. I thought perhaps it was some sick reward system and you have to exercise hard enough to get it to work. Kind like mice on a wheel. But then I saw some very old woman biking away slower than MadDog can peddle her trike and HER TV was working just fine. I was at a total loss and instead tried to inconspicuously watch the TV of the person next to me, with the voices in my head as accompaniment. Finally, a friend of mine explained that the TVs don't work unless you plug your headphones in. LAME.

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...