Fly the Friendly Skies...again, and again, and again

I'm on vacation in California. For a week. By the time I go home, I will have been on 8 airplanes. Eight. I have never done such a thing in all of my life. Thing is, my cousin and his wife, who I'm staying with, live near Santa Barbara. So I'm here. But then my friend Rekha got married in San Francisco. So I flew there. I changed planes a lot. My vacation looks like this:

Dec. 23: Boston to LA, change planes. LA to Santa Barbara. (2 planes)
Dec. 26: Santa Barbara to LA, change planes. LA to SF. (2 planes)
Dec. 28: SF to LA, change planes. LA to SB. (2 planes)
Dec. 30: SB to LA, change planes. LA to Boston (2 planes)

The great thing is that I seem to have gotten over my anxiety around flying. I didn't have to go to my "special place" in my head once. I did still locate the exit nearest me, though, in the event of an emergency. Gotta have something.

Annoying Airlines

Hello from Sunny California! Usually I have a lot of tales from my travels, but I had a pretty uneventful flight to CA, so for now there's just one tale to tell: that of the annoying voice of a flight attendant.

She was wearing the standard navy blue uniform, with bright red lipstick and curly black hair done up in a poodle-like poof on top of her head. She went up and down the aisle with one line, "Would you like to buy a snack?" Apparently, gone are the days of meals and bags of Chex Mix; you now have to spend $5 on a stale bagel. I refused.

Thing was, she didn't just ask if anyone wanted to buy a snack. She sort of shrieked it. It sounded like one word, getting louder and more high pitched at the end: "Wouldyouliketobuyasnack???" She sounded like Minnie Mouse on helium, or like a gun was being put to her head and she was told to utter the phrase into the phone so the ransom money would be sent.

By the time she got to the back of the plane, all you could hear was the cry at the end: "Buh bah duh bah eeeee?" I was this close to saying, "Would you like to lower your voice an octave???" I held my tongue, for once. By the time we landed, I was starving. That's a story for the next entry.

Celebrity Sighting sounds inappropriate

I saw kidnapped journalist Jill Carroll in the Sharper Image store tonight in the Copley Square Mall. I'm sure it was her; she had that bright red hair she got right after she returned home. I thought about going up to her, but what would I say? "Glad you're home safely"? By the time I had mustered up the courage, she was gone. It was pretty surreal.

Miscommunication

So at school on Friday it was Owen's first day to stay for Lunch Program, the extended part of our day. His mom (and my good friend) Liz told me in the morning that she would call around 1:00 to check in on him. I told her, "Just call my cell phone; I'll have it right with me wherever I am, so we won't miss the call."

'Round about 11:30, a bunch of us are at the playground, and Yumi's little brother, 18 month old Koh, falls off a climbing structure and cuts his head. His mother Miho was right there, but of course she was worried; the cut was deep, bleeding, and Koh was screaming. We happened to have a mom who is a doctor working that day, and she looked at it and told us to go to the ER.

So Miho, Koh, and I hop into a cab and zip off to Children's Hospital. The family is from Japan; they had never been to an American ER. I was there for moral support and to help with translating (or talking slowly) if needed. Poor Miho; her husband was in Japan.

So by the time we were all checked out and waiting for the three stitches that would need to be put in, Koh had been crying hysterically for an hour nonstop. He could be the next Pavarotti. He cried so hard he was exhausted and fell asleep. And at this point my phone rang.

It was Liz. She said, "How is he?" And I looked at Koh and said, "Well, he's fine now, but man, he was screaming for an hour, poor thing. He needs three stitches." And Liz said in a very high tone, "What??" And I suddenly realized what I had done, and backtracked, yelling, "Not Owen, not Owen! Oh my god, here was Liz, just calling to check on Owen like I told her to, but all I could think about at that point was Koh...I filled Liz in, and she just said, weakly, and still in a high-pitched tone, "Well, okay, I'll just call the Co-op now and check on Owen..." I felt like such a jerk.

So then I was all hyped up on my big goof up and we had to put Koh in a papoose to swaddle him so the doctor could put the stitches in. Not a fun thing to participate in. I felt like an alligator wrestler; that kid is strong! I started to cry but had to stop and hold it together for Miho. When it was all over and Koh was laughing with a popsicle and 3 stitches, Miho and I both cried. Whew.

Come to find out today that Liz had been so sleep deprived from just having her third child 8 weeks ago that when I started talking about "him", she thought I meant her baby, who was with a friend at the time, and I was talking about Koh, and man, when that adrenaline gets pumping in your body, all kinds of miscommunication can happen! What's the moral of this story? Get more sleep? Don't answer your cell phone when you're in the ER? Not possible on either count, so let's just say we can laugh about it now, but we sure weren't laughing then.

Soft as a Baby's Bottom

I have a cashmere sweater. That's right, I'm high society, I'm rich, I live a glamorous life.

Not really. My cashmere is not from a high end catalog or store. It didn't cost $300. Mine is the store brand of Macy's, Charter Club. It probably cost about $30. Still, I feel a sense of luxury just knowing that I actually own a cashmere sweater. That is, I did until the other day.

All of my hand washables had been sitting in my closet for the past year because I hate to hand wash. I finally cleaned out my closet and was reunited with my beautiful red cashmere sweater. I carefully hand washed it in cold water with Woolite, and laid it out to dry. When it was dry, I caressed it, folded it carefully, and noticed the label.

It said, "100% cashmere, 2 ply." Leave it to me to find cashmere that sounds like toilet paper.

Seriusly

Dear Readers:
The following is a description of an actual event. The thoughts inside my head (some would say overactive imagination) are italicized.

I have had so many run-ins with serial killers, it's a wonder I'm still alive. My quick wits and agile mind have saved me from being bound and gagged, stabbed and stuffed in the trunk of a car.

It happened today. I was in an apartment building, waiting to be buzzed in. An older man had just gone in, and he held the door for me, smiling in an older gentlemanly way. Only I knew he was no grandpa; he lured young ladies into his building on many occasions. I told him I wanted the people I was visiting to know I was arriving, so I buzzed anyway but held the door open with my foot.

He waited for me at the elevator, feigning politeness by allowing me to enter the elevator first. I went in, prepared. I cased the elevator for the emergency button, and had my hand on my cell phone in case I needed it to poke him in the eye. I pressed the floor I needed, and he laughed; he was going to the same floor. Coincidence, or trap?

I tensed my muscles and waited to defend myself against this sleazy wrinkled killer. I would elbow him in the stomach and simultanously step on his foot when he grabbed me around the neck. There wasn't enough room to flip him, but amazing things happen when one is under diress.

Luckily for him, when the elevator stopped at "our" floor, he let me go first, and then turned and went in the other direction. Turns out I had saved him from certain death, or at least a nasty and deserved ass-whupping.

Smells like Perfumed Spirit

Today I was sitting at the art table with my co-worker Amy and a few kids, and suddenly I smelled perfume. It smelled just like Poison, that perfume in the purple bottle that was so popular years ago. As I was making a face and inhaling, Amy looked at me, and I said, "Do you smell that?" She did.

This was unusual, because people at my school just don't wear perfume. I looked around; no woman to be seen. We kept smelling it, over here, not over there. I came to the conclusion that there must be a ghost among us. A very nice smelling ghost. I knew it was a ghost, because this same thing had happened to me before. Soon after my mother died (may she rest in peace), I smelled her perfume in my apartment hallway. I knew it was her.

But there at the art table, that was not my mother. It was some other spirit. I spoke to her, and asked her to give us a sign. I put some paper and a marker on the table and asked her to let us know who she was. The kids were blissfully unaware of all of this, except to answer in the affirmative when I asked them if they smelled perfume. It was driving me crazy. Finally, I went upstairs to the church office to see if Mary, the office manager, was wearing perfume and had come downstairs without being seen.

I went into the office and didn't smell anything. I asked Mary if she was wearing perfume, and she said no. Then I saw a can of aerosol spray on her desk. She told me that a homeless woman had come in to get some food, and she smelled pretty bad, so the guy who cleans the church sprayed air freshener around. I sprayed the air with a shot of it, and there she was, the perfumed spirit who had made her way all the way downstairs to the nursery school. Boy, was I disappointed.

I went down and told Amy that we didn't have a ghost, only the lingering scent from a can of aerosol, used to cover up the scent of someone real. She was disappointed too. She suggested that we pretend that it was a ghost anyway, and that's what we played for the rest of the afternoon. With the kids.

I Never Thought About It...

Just now I saw a blind man with his seeing eye dog. The dog was pooping. Now there's something I had never thought about...how does a blind person pick up after his dog? I didn't stick around to find out.

Directing Music

Sometimes when I hear a song, I see a movie. In my head. That I've written and directed. And starred in.

Today I was listening to my iPod on shuffle mode, and "The Long and Winding Road" by the Beatles came on. First of all, that song always makes me want to cry. Today as I listened to it, I saw the final scene in my movie:

I was standing on a hilltop, looking out over the horizon. The barely there grass that covered the hilltop was part green, mostly brown. It was a cool day, late afternoon. I was wearing a long skirt, boots, and had a tan colored shawl wrapped around me; think Robert Redford's Sundance catalog. I was hugging the shawl to me, but standing tall at the same time. My hair was very long, and blonder, for some reason. It was blowing slightly in the wind.

As the credits were rolling up the screen, I stood there, reflecting on my life, and vowing to move on from whatever hardship I had just endured, probably a breakup.

Well, that was the last 3 minutes of the movie, anyway. Now I just need to write the other 120 minutes. Does this happen to everyone when listening to music? I could see that scene with all that detail clear as day; it was just there! Fascinating. I was broken out of my directing fantasy when the next song came on: "Ring My Bell." Different kind of movie.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I went to my friends' house for Thanksgiving dinner. What a feast. I was assigned green leafy vegetables, and I obliged by going to Whole Foods and scooping up all kinds of lettuce and kale. I ended up making The Incredible Shrinking Side Dishes.

First of all, I didn't realize that kale shrunk almost as much as spinach. I had bought a whole pound of kale. It filled the pot. Threw in some free range chicken broth and boiled it for 20 minutes, and voila! I had enough for two people. The other six would have to eat something else.

The salad was diverse. It had two kinds of lettuce, some grape tomatoes, shredded carrots, edamame, and some LaChoy chinese crispy noodles for crunch. I wanted people to experience my favorite Japanese salad dressing, so I doused the mixture with it, tossed it up real nice, then went to take a shower. Halfway through I realized I had made that same mistake once before, and the salad had gotten progressively smaller.

Indeed, when I went to check on it, it had shrunk so much I had to put it in a smaller bowl. Thank god these were my friends, and not my future in-laws. They would understand and not judge me.

Turns out there was plenty of food. The turkey was smoked. Whoa. Everything was delicious. It was all laid out on the table, and it looked good. My dear friend Mike, who makes me look wishy washy, came out with a checklist to make sure everything was out. I had to laugh, because it looked ridiculous, but also because I would have done the exact same thing.

Lisa, Mike's wife, made this really cool soup (yes, I actually said cool soup) that was clear with scallions and carrot slices cut in the shape of fancy goldfish. I'm not kidding, look at the photo.

Mike went into the kitchen to carve the turkey, and it's a good thing he did it there. He had on the same kind of yellow rubber gloves I use when I'm cleaning the bathroom, and he tore that thing apart. I had to get rid of the association of toilets and turkeys, so I went back into the dining room to clear my head.

The turkey came out nicely sliced, and it smelled like smoked turkey, not disinfectant, thank goodness. It was delicious. For dessert there were three kinds of pie, and I had slices of two of them. Pure heaven.

For some reason, as we were all chatting away, satisfied and full to the brim, Mike brought out the turkey carcass and started hacking away at it right at the table. When he was done, it looked like a car that one of my boyfriends once had. He wanted to collect insurance money, so he took it to Harlem and left it there for a couple of days, with the doors unlocked. By the time the miscreants were done with it, it was hardly recognizable as a car. They got the radio, the tires, and some parts, and my boyfriend got his insurance money. I thought about this as I looked at what was once a turkey.

I wanted to take one of the nice cloth napkins and cover it up like they do at the morgue. The mother turkey would have to come along and identify her son, who was killed and then smoked, and then hacked to pieces. It would be too much for her; the family friend would have to do the awful deed. "Yes... yes, this is Tom. I'd recognize that pop up thermometer anywhere."

My overactive imagination did not get the best of me, and I had a delightful time. After Mike and Lisa read this, will they invite me over again?

Tattoo You?

My new tattoo has a heart on it with a banner that says MOM. Someone I hadn't seen in a long time saw just the MO part and thought it said MOI. I replied, "Yeah, and it says above it, 'It's all about...'" She laughed and said she wouldn't put it past me. Really? Moi?

I Can't Believe I Ate the Whole Thing

I have always been a late bloomer. While the other 10, 11, and 12 year olds were developing breasts, mine didn't come until I prayed to God when I was 14. I got my period at 16. I graduated high school at 19, and got my college degree after 7 years.

It shouldn't surprise me, then, that at 38, I am just now experiencing a phenomenon that women have been engaging in for years: the old, "eat a whole package of something in one sitting" phenomenon.

I had never done it, had never understood it, could not conceive of it, didn't know how women did it, but today I did it. I ate a whole container of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, 5 of them, in one sitting. And they were good.

I had a major attack of PMS on the way to the supermarket. PMS is such a strange phenomenom in itself. The littlest thing can set you off. I was wearing the new down jacket I ordered from Land'sEnd Kids, and it was feeling too big. It's a size L, 14-16. I was depressed about having cut off the tags, thinking I couldn't return it. I was thinking how ridiculous it was that a 14-16 kids was too big for me, a grown woman. I should be wearing a woman's size, but instead I was going to order a 10-12, and give my bigger coat away to some 11 year-old. I was going to run up my credit card bill, again. My eyes welled up.

I looked like a schlump. I looked like a white girl trying to be a homegirl. Real homegirls didn't know I really was one inside; all they saw was some white little thing with a ponytail and tied sneakers wearing a too big down jacket. They didn't know I grew up in Brooklyn, listening to Red Alert and The Quiet Storm. I was into rap before it was on MTV.

All these thoughts were running through my head as I went into the store to get some milk and cereal. I suddenly got a craving for comfort food. I went to the Pillsbury section and considered the options. I could get the buttery cresent rolls, lots of fat, but no sugary sweetness. They seemed healthier. There were the Grands!, the huge cinnamon rolls. Eventually I chose the regular cinnamon rolls, the small ones I used to eat as a teenager on a regular basis.

I hadn't eaten Pillsbury cinnamon rolls in at least 3 years, since I'd moved into my studio apartment, and it had probably been more like 5 since I'd had them. As soon as I got home, I called my upstairs neighbor to ask if I could use her oven. She said yes, and 12 minutes later I was back downstairs, with a plate full of goodness and a cup of tea staring up at me from my coffee table.

One by one, I popped them into my mouth, mindful of what I was doing. They were delicious, soft, sweet, and cinnamony. I didn't feel sick afterwards, but I'm sure I won't be doing it again any time soon. It's just not a good thing to do. But I know now how it feels to eat a package of something in one sitting. The PMS attack went away. And my new down coat should be arriving some time this week.

Cosmic Music

I made a CD of songs I think kids should know, to play for the kids at my nursery school:

The Banana Boat Song (Day-O), Harry Belafonte
Cars, Gary Numan
We Will Rock You, Queen
Yellow Submarine, The Beatles
and a couple more, just 'cause they're fun, including a song by Harry Belafonte called Matilda. Know it? I didn't.

A few kids were really into the CD. I taught them the meaning of The Banana Boat song, and what the word "tally" meant (Come, Mr. Tally Man, tally me banana). One boy really rocked out to Cars, and memorized the lyrics. It's so cute to hear him sing it. For We Will Rock You, I pounded out the beat on my legs or on the rug, and they really got it. One kid said to his dad at dinner, "You know, Dad, we all live in a yellow submarine."

I put Matilda on the CD because it's a live recording, and Harry Belafonte has parts of the audience and band repeat the chorus a million times, 10 minutes' worth. I thought it would be easy for the kids to remember when they heard it. The chorus goes, "Matilda...Matilda...Matilda, she take me money and run Venezuela..." One of my girls in particular likes that song because her mom is from Venezuela, and they had been there in the summer.

So we played it every day for about a week, and then one of the dads came in and told me that he and his son were in the supermarket and The Banana Boat Song came on. That was pretty cool, but then the next song was We Will Rock You, and that just seemed freaky. I thought it was pretty cosmic.

And then the mom who's from Venezuela called me today with this story:

She was in CVS buying stuff, and she was distracted and almost didn't pay. She came back to the counter and apologized, and the cashier said, "That's okay, I didn't think you were going to run to Venezuela." And the mom stopped in her tracks and said, "How did you know I was from Venezuela?" and the cashier said, "I didn't, I was just saying that from the song, "Matilda". And the mom said, "My daughter has been listening to that song at her school for the past month." And the cashier thought that she was the only one to know that song, because it's not that popular. The recording I got it from was from 1959.

So now there are 3 references to songs that haven't been in circulation for at least 25 years, all within a week. While I'm not the most religious person, I have to say I think it's a sign from God. A sign of what, I don't know. Any ideas?

Far from Reality

I had a reality TV moment tonight. I was in a building that had an elevator that had doors on both sides. I pretended I was on American Idol, going up to the big room to meet with Simon, Paula, and Randy to see if I made it through to the next round. It was a little nerve wracking for a minute there, wondering what if I should kiss the judges or just shake their hands. Unfortunately, my dream was shortened due to the fact that the building only had 3 floors. When the doors opened, the reality of the parking lot was like a slap in the face. Guess I'll stick to teaching.

Public Transportation Day from Hell

To continue my story from yesterday...
I decided to take the B line and change to the red line at Park Street. I figured I'd be on the T for awhile; I'd listen to my iPod and people watch. I wouldn't be cold with my dress on because I'd be inside the whole time. The trip normally takes about an hour. It was 2:30.

At Blanchard Street the T driver made an announcement that it would be the last stop due to construction. We had to go outside and get on a bus to go one stop to Kenmore, and then we had to go downstairs to get on another T to continue to Park Street. At this point I could have abandoned my trip and just gone home. Thing is, I'm a Taurus, and stubborn, and I was determined to get that goddamn tea you can only get in England and Cambridge, Massachusetts.
There were so many people getting off buses at Kenmore. Oh my god, it looked and felt just like a cattle call. We all filed down the stairs like lab rats and finally got on the next T.

At Park Street, where I usually change to the red line, there was a T employee standing at the top of the stairs. Not a good sign. He told us that there was construction on the red line and to go upstairs outside to take a bus that would take us to Kendall Square in Cambridge. We, the lab rats, did as we were told.

I thanked myself for having the foresight to charge my iPod battery all the way the night before, and cursed the public transportation system of Boston. But then I had to take that back, because when I lived in Japan, I made a vow to myself that I would never complain about public transportation again, because I lived for a year without it at all. I reminded myself that I hadn't had any plans that day anyway, so what was the big deal?

Got to Kendall and went downstairs to wait for another T to take me two stops to Harvard. Went into the store, picked up two boxes of tea, paid, and went back out. The time inside the store was approximately 8 minutes for an hour and a half of travel time, one way.

Got back on the T and did the same trip in reverse, only this time we only had to take one bus back, not two. By the time I got home, my bladder was screaming so loud I thought I might have an accident. Tights under a dress are very nice for slimming the waistline, but not so nice for riding a T for three hours.

Got home at 5:30 and put my pajamas on; I didn't care what time it was. Had a very nice evening in front of the telly with a hot cup of English tea.

Bad Sense of Direction

Man, what a day. Started off great. I was invited to a Bat Mitzvah at 10:00 this morning at a temple on Comm. Ave. I Mapquested it, and read to go up Washington, which is very close to me, then take a left on Comm. Ave. Seemed pretty close. By car, 7 minutes.

Thing is, I don't drive, so I figured I'd walk to Comm. Ave. I don't like the straight shot up Washington, and it seemed a long way to continue all the way to Comm. Ave. I thought I'd go the way I know, also known to me as the "pretty" way. I zipped down to Coolidge Corner, and zipped on down Babcock Street, which has all the pretty houses and trees and whatnot. I didn't realize that was a pretty long walk to Comm. Ave. too.

When I got to Comm. Ave., it was 9:50. I was looking for 1845 Comm. Ave., so I looked for the nearest number. It was 1021. Great. Couldn't walk, so I'd either hop in a cab or wait for the B line, which stops every block or so. I waited about 5 minutes, and the B came along. By the time it arrived, it was about 10:05. I got on the T and went up Comm. Ave. and saw one place I could've walked to, and then another. And finally, we passed the place I would have come to had I gone up Washington in the first place. It was very close to the temple. How 'bout that.

Here's a visual: Take your finger and put it at the bottom of a piece of paper. Now drag your finger up to the top, then across to the left. That's what I should've done. Put your finger back down at the bottom of the paper. Now make the letters M, Z, S, and T all over the paper. That's what I actually did. I have a terrible sense of direction. In this case it turned out not to matter.

Got to the temple at 10:15 and didn't miss a thing. The family who was hosting is notoriously late for everything, and this was no exception. They arrived at 10:45. I listened to a lot of Hebrew. It was a beautiful and very touching ceremony.

Afterwards, I debated whether or not I would go home and get into some comfy clothes or just get on the T and go to Cambridge to Cardullo's to get my special tea, made in England. I decided to go to Cambridge. I'd be on the T the whole way, only changing trains once, so it wouldn't be so bad. Guess again.

Halloween 2006

I'm going to be Angelina Jolie for Halloween. See my family photo?

Only in New York

Went to NYC this past weekend and had a blast. There were some funny moments on the subway. You know how sometimes on the subway there'll be a random empty bottle rolling around and everyone ignores it? Well, I was on the subway and there was a full jar of peanut butter rolling around. Peanut butter! No one saw where it came from, and no one claimed ownership. At one point, a guy just picked it up and tossed it in the trash when he got off. I wasn't fast enough with my camera, but man, it would have been a great shot.

Another time there was a panhandler singing for money. Normally I don't give money to anyone, but this guy was busting out some classics, and he wasn't half bad! He started with "Under the Boardwalk", one of my favorites. Then he sang an R & B ballad I hadn't heard in years. When he started singing yet another sappy hit, I had to open my wallet.

He was about to go to the next car when a group of inebriated women stopped him and asked if he took requests. They wanted him to sing Happy Birthday to one of the women, which he did, in his orginial way. They all clapped, and he got off at the next stop.

I took this shot of a guy while he was sleeping. I liked the image of just his legs showing.
And that's my little slice of the big Apple, this time around.

Point of View

There's this big controversy going on over here in Massachusetts, regarding wind turbines. They want to build these big futuristic looking windmills and put them in the middle of Nantucket Sound. These turbines will be a source of renewable energy for Cape Cod, which I think is a very good idea. Opponents say it will ruin the view of the beautiful beaches of the Cape. I have to say, I'm not much into views.

Most people are into views, I think. They hike a mountain, get to the top, and say, "Look at the beautiful views!" They go to a hotel and request a room with an ocean view. They go to a foreign country and...you get the idea. I've never been impressed by views. I can appreciate them, sure, but to me, a good view is looking up at the sky and seeing geese flying in a "V" formation. I love to see a pink sunset through tall buildings.

Most of the time, I'm looking down, not up. I don't drive; I walk all over the place. I'm 5'1", so I don't often notice things way up high. I see insects, flowers, spider webs, small children, and interesting trash.

I think I don't have the view vibe because I was raised in NYC. The only views I ever saw were skyscraper views, which are pretty impressive, actually. I worked at a place called Belvedere Castle, "Belvedere" meaning "beautiful views", incidentally. It's the tallest place in Central Park, and you can go to the top and get a good view of the park from there. I guess I like city views.

So, as far as the wind turbine controversy goes, I'm more interested in renewable energy than I am in a different view of Nantucket Sound. And that's my point of view.

Watch out at Walgreen's

I came upon this scene in my local Walgreen's; the
teddy bear in the middle never had a chance.
Somewhere in Las Vegas, Sigfried and Roy are looking
for their beloved tigers.

Here, Kitty Kitty!

I'm taking care of my neighbors' cats for the weekend, and one of them, Kipper,was just over, hanging out with Shelby. I went into the bathroom and opened up my new supply of birth control pills. Must've sounded like the treat bag, 'cause both Shelby and Kipper came running over. "I want a birth control pill!" "No, I do!" Poor little confused things. I redirected them to the kitchen and gave them their proper treats. I'll save mine for tomorrow.

Buggin' out

I liked the last photo I posted so much I thought I'd
post another favorite that I took this summer. I'm
having a lot of fun with my new camera and the edit
feature of my computer. Wow, imagine if I got
photoshop!

This was a beetle that was walking along the curb. I
call it a Curb Beetle. Anyone know what kind of
beetle it really is?

Project Runway at the New England Aquarium

This past summer I got hooked on Project Runway Season 3. One of my favorite designers is Uli, who made it to the top 4. She makes flowy dresses with lots of colors and wild patterns.

I went to the aquarium and I saw a fish that looked like an Uli dress. Is beautiful, no? That fish "made it work"!

Oh What a Night

Oh man, the PMS she-devil has gotta hold a' me! Last night, after putting it off for weeks, I finally sat down to buy online tickets to my friend's upcoming wedding in San Francisco. I dreaded doing it, because it wasn't just that I was going from Boston to SF and back; that would have been easy. No, I wanted to see my cousin James in Lompoc, which is closer to LA than SF, but sort of in the middle of nowhere, as he says. With all the logistics of when to go, how to get from here to there and back, it was a little much. Not to mention the prices.

Finally, I did it. I had spent probably 2 hours total going through this whole thing, and at the very end of Yahoo travel, they announced that my itinerary would be sent to my email address, which I noticed was one letter off! At this point I burst into tears. Yes, I know I can get the info somehow, but I was just so at the end of my rope. I couldn't print out the itinerary that was floating around in cyberspace anyway, because my printer had less than 5% of ink remaining, and my computer told me that if there was no ink in the printer it could stop working.

So, at my wit's end, I called my friend Hiro to go to Staples with me to get the ink. While I waited for him to pick me up, I ate a bowl of Special K for dinner. When Hiro arrived, I told him I wanted to go to my usual Staples, but he wanted to go to his, where you didn't have to pay for parking. After mild complaining from me, I acquiesced and we went to his.

I got my stuff, redeemed my cash card (current value: 63 cents), and swiped my ATM card to pay for my transaction. It didn't go through. I tried swiping it different ways, the young woman behind the counter tried different things, and it still didn't work. I asked for a manager, who came over, and she told me that because it was an ATM card that didn't have a credit card logo on it, it wouldn't work. If I had wanted to use a credit card, I would have used a credit card; I try not to use it on purpose. My ATM card works everywhere, including my Staples.

I didn't have any cash and was really pissed at this point. I said, "Well, I guess I can't get my stuff then", and I walked out. The cashier tried to give me my 63 cent cash card back, but I told her to keep it. I wanted to tell the manager to swipe it up her arse, but I didn't, because I am a mild mannered preschool teacher and kind to everyone.

Hiro and I went across the street to Dunkin' Donuts, where I ordered a chocolate frosted donut. The cashier said, "Would you like another one? It would just be a dollar." "Yes, I would!" I cried. Before we got back into the car I went back into the Staples and apologized to the young cashier, who again tried to give me my cash card. Poor thing, she looked so flustered. As Hiro and I drove home I told him that in the morning I was going to my Staples to see if my card worked there, and I'd call him to let him know.

Hey, guess what? My card worked at my Staples! I called Hiro and told him that I was never going to his Staples again. He understood.

I feel better today. Chocolate helps.

Earworm

You know that Gary Numan song, "Cars", from 1980? Well, I hadn't heard it in years, but it was on this CD a friend had lent me, and I remembered what a cool song it was. Very catchy. So I was psyched and had been thinking about it for a couple of days.

So then last night I was waiting to get the next part of my tattoo done, and "Cars" comes on, but this really different and cool version. Oh man, it was off the hook! So I asked to hear it again, and it was great the second time around too.

And last night as I went to sleep I got an earworm--when a song plays over and over in your head and you can't make it stop. "Cars" kept playing as I was going to sleep, and then every time I woke up and turned over, there it was.

Is it possible to get an earworm from reading a blog? Are you, dear readers, singing, "Here in my car, I feel safest of all, I can lock all my doors, it's the only way to live, in CARS!"

Firefighter in Training

The other day at school it was handwashing time. I took the kids to the bathroom that has one toilet and lined them up against the wall to wait their turns. As one kid was washing his hands, Joe (his name has been changed to protect his young and innocent identity) burst into the bathroom and shouted, "I have to pee, I have to pee!" I knew that he was new to using the toilet, so I helped him undo his pants as quickly as I could and set him on the toilet because he didn't want to stand.

Once he was seated, his cries changed to, "Hold my penis down, hold my penis down!" Say what???"Oh god, this is what his mother does for him", I thought. Because of my professional training and certain items in the news in recent years, my first inclination was not to hold his little penis down, no matter how badly he had to go.

While I was trying to figure out what to do, I turned my head for one second, and that's when a golden arch set forth from little Joe's private part. It looked like a rainbow. He sprayed the children who were standing in line, hitting little Keiko full-on in the process. She had it all over her pants and on part of her shirt. I must say, the kids handled it very well. Their attitude was, "Silly Joe!" Thank goodness.

All of the adults in the school rushed to my aid. It was hard for me to help the children because I was laughing so hard. Oh man, of all the things I have experienced in my career as a preschool teacher, this topped them all. But wait, there's more.

Keiko, her pants soaking wet from Joe's pee, refused to change her clothes. I called her mom to see if Keiko would change if her mother came, but it turned out that she had already spoken to Keiko while I was in the bathroom and she still didn't want to change. What could we do? She ate snack, and afterwards came over to me, saying, "See, Alex. It's all dry!" Oh god, oh god. Well, I rationalized, at least pee is sterile. She changed when her mom picked her up an hour later.

For Joe's mother's homework, I told her to put Joe in the bathroom with his older brother and father and have them teach him a thing or two.

Route 66

This evening's bus ride on the 66 was like a dark comedy. The lights were very bright, which highlighted the looks of despair that appeared on the faces of many of the passengers. It smelled like sweat and garbage.

At one point a large older woman came on and berated the bus driver. She said in a thick Russian accent, "Shame on you! One and half hours I wait for the bus. This is worst line ever!" The bus erupted in applause, and someone shouted, "Give that woman a seat!" and he moved his things over. I felt like I was in New York City. Reminded me of home.

Upchuck

My adorable cat, Shelby, just threw up. At first I thought it was going to be a hairball. I got a paper towel while her body heaved, ready to clean up a hairy mess. It wasn't, though. Turned out to be her food she had eaten a couple of minutes before. She sniffed and licked it and I went into the kitchen to get another paper towel. I got distracted by something, and when I came back, the regurgitation was gone.

Eww, gross, disgusting, I might vomit myself!!!!

I guess she believes in saving a tree.

Off Kilter

This morning I put my tea bag and hot water in my cereal bowl. I don't feel stressed, just a little off.




And then on the news this morning, they said there was an outbreak of e coli in bagged spinach. Guess what I bought last night so I could be healthy?

Teacher's Mistake

I was so proud of myself this year, having gotten everything ready for school by the time the first day came. Cups on the cup rack, parent mailboxes labeled, cubbies assigned. Turns out I messed up. Big time.

Gigi, here for her 3rd and last year of preschool, looked for her new cubby spot and couldn't find it. Her dad looked too, no sign. Oh man, how could I have missed giving Gigi a cubby? I thought I had gone through every name, but apparently I hadn't. I felt so bad; I am lowlife teacher scum. I promised Gigi that I would make her a cubby after school. I tried not to let it ruin my day.

Gigi was fine in the morning, till right after snack. After our dance activity she came and sat on my lap and said, "Alex, I do wish I had a cubby." Oh my god, the knife goes right through the heart and twists and turns as she looks at me with puppy dog eyes. I promised her again I'd make her one and said to her weakly, "Well, you still have your art cubby, see?" She knew it wasn't the same.

After school I corrected my mistake and realized that Gigi had cubby options. I called her up and asked if she would like to have her own cubby or share with a girl or a boy. She wanted to share with a girl, so that's what she got. I would have built her one, had it come to that. Oh well, no one's perfect. Even teachers.

Yeah, right. Try feeling that way when thirty 3 and 4 year olds depend on you and put you on a pedestal. In any case, I righted the wrong and Gigi was happy at the end of the day. And now I can sleep tonight.

Today

Today was a busy and fun day. First my co-worker and I did home visits. The teachers at my school visit each child's home for about 1/2 hour. We talk to the parents, see the kids and all their toys, visit cool houses and gather decorating ideas, and many times have a yummy snack. Our first stop today was the home of twins, a boy and a girl. They became friendly very fast. The boy wanted me to play The Incredibles with him, which I happily did, until he told me to kill him. I told him that's where I drew the line, and said I would put him to sleep instead. I blew on him, and he fell down. We were both satisfied.

At the end of the day I went to get a pedicure. This old lady sat in the chair next to me, and complimented me on my fish tattoo. She said she wouldn't be able to get one, on account of the poor circulation in her legs. She had a bit of poor circulation in her head, I imagined, but she was friendly enough. She asked the Vietnamese woman doing her toes, "You speaka English? Chinese?" The woman just smiled at her.

We were seated together to dry our toes, and she noticed the ring on my finger. She asked if I was married, and I said no. "You have a ring", she said. I said that yes, I did have a ring, but I wasn't married. She said, "You have a girlfriend?" I said no. She said, "I'm learning." She was learning how to be modern, talking about tattoos and gayness, and good for her. In her pale aqua velour running suit, she complained of being too hot and needing a cup of water, but no one could understand her. I arranged for her to get one. She mouthed, "Thank you" as I walked out the door.

On the way home I ran into the twins from the home visit. They asked what I was doing, so I showed them my pink glitter pedicure and said that I was going to the Farmer's Market and Starbucks. I did not explain that that was an oxymoron. As we were parting ways, we shouted our goodbyes:

Me: Goodbyyyyyye!
Them: Goodbyyyye!
Me: See you at schooool!
Them: Okaaaaaay!
Boy: I'll miss youuuuuuu!"
Me: Me tooooo, byyyyye!

After checking out the farmer's market and scanning around to see if there was anyone I knew (one former student who started 3rd grade today), I went to Starbucks. I got to play Clothing Adjuster (see previous posts) by informing a woman her dress wasn't pulled down all the way after coming out of the bathroom. Sometimes you just gotta let a girl know. She was very appreciative.

Now I'm home and I get to check my new pedometer. I got one because I was curious to see how many steps I walked in a day. You're supposed to walk 10,000. I'm doing more walking tonight, but so far my count is...16, 233. Okay, I think I'm good. It'll be interesting to see how many steps a day I average. Today I did more walking than usual.

And lots of writing. Hope you had a good day, byyyyyyye!!!

The Scent of a Woman

Yesterday I cleaned my bathroom with bleach bathroom cleaner. Bleach kills germs, makes white sinks and toilets stay white, and disinfects, right? In a windowless bathroom, it also stinks it up and makes one lightheaded. I had opened the window, but it didn't knock out the smell totally. I worried about Shelby, who didn't seem to notice any odor (or maybe she wasn't asleep on the couch, but passed out from the fumes). I cleaned up again with a non-bleach cleaner and then took a shower to dilute any leftover bleach.

All day I could feel the bleach clinging to my every pore. I ran the fan all night in hopes of diffusing the smell, but I swear I encountered its presence even when I woke up. I tried to shrug it off and had breakfast with friends at a local greasy spoon.

It worked. Now my pores are dripping with the smell of grease.

Mr. Dance Man

So this guy who won the dance contest deserves his own entry. He sort of had the outfit; he had the requisite white socks and black shoes. He had the white button down shirt, and a tie. But the rest of it made him something else. His suit was tan, as was his hat. He had an accent; he looked to be in his late 30's. He was a mixture of Pee Wee Herman, Roberto Benigni from "Life is Beautiful", and a door to door salesman from the 1950's.

Now imagine that guy dancing like Michael Jackson, move for move. At one point when he was onstage he told us that he used to draw stick figures of Michael Jackson's moves so he could copy them and memorize them. I'm not kidding, he really said that.

You could just imagine him being first in line when the MJ videos became available for purchase. How many VCRs did he burn out watching "Thriller" and "Beat It" over and over again so he could perfect his routines? He amazed us with his movements; the spins, the crotch grabbing, and the jerking. The crowd gasped and screamed when he actually did the splits gracefully and without injury. He was on fire, which both fascinated me and freaked me out.

All I could think about was what kind of life he had to be this perfect an imitator. Did he spend his high school and college days in his room alone, in front of the mirror, wearing out the rug with his spins? Had he ever had a relationship? Did he make an annual pilgrimage to Neverland Ranch? Did he want to be Michael Jackson? Maybe he made money on the side by performing at Sweet 16s and bar mizvahs. But he clearly didn't make enough, 'cause he couldn't even get the whole outfit.

In any case, he did a great job, he was perfect for the entertainment part of the evening, and good for him for having a passion. Let's hope he doesn't order Jesus Juice when he goes out with the boys.

Michael Jackson Sing-a-Long

Last night at the local independent movie theater there was a Michael Jackson Sing-a-Long. I knew as soon as I saw it on the marquee that I wanted to go. Who cared that it was at midnight, long past my usual bedtime? I immediately sent out a mass email inviting one and all to attend this glorious event with me. One by one they declined, except for one good friend, Diana, who I think accepted partly because she felt sorry for me. In any case, by midnight we were both pumped, and we stood in the sold out line of 200 people not knowing what to expect. As it turned out, we were amused, embarassed, thrilled, and horrified.

Diana and I scanned the small theater and sized up the audience. There were a lot of young-ish people there. I broke the crowd into two groups; those who were "real" fans like us, who grew up listening to him and remembered when the albums came out, and the other fans, who somehow were so into him that they would pay $9.50 to see a midnight showing of his videos.

The emcee was entertaining. He went around and handed out props to use during the videos: flashlights to light up different parts of the theater when "Billie Jean" came on (you had to turn on your flashlight on the beat when Michael stepped on the squares to make them light up), water bottles to spray the people around you when "The Way You Make Me Feel" came on and showed the broken fire hydrant spraying, and laser pointers, just because they're fun to play with.

The evening began with a moonwalk dance contest. All of the contestants got up on stage to do their best MJ moves. Out of two hundred people, there were four contestants; two men, two women. The screen showed a clip of MJ in 1995 at some awards show, and the participants did their stuff. It was immediately clear that the two women were not worth watching. All eyes were on a small Italian looking man in a tan suit, tie and hat, and a tall Asian college student. It became a battle. One would do a move, and the other would follow suit. Our job was to decide who did it better. After a few moves, the Italian guy blew college boy out of the water by moving exactly the way Michael was moving up on the screen. It was amazing and creepy. He won a DVD of the videos we were about to view. The creepiness was just beginning...

Inquiring Minds Want to Know

I was just walking down my favorite street, coming home from yoga class, when I passed by two kids. I noticed the little one first. She looked to be about three. She was staring at me, so I said hi. And then I got the third degree.

Me: Hi.
Girl: What's your name?
Me: Alex.
Girl: Why do you have that thing on your leg? (tattoo)
Me: Because I think it looks nice.
Boy (about six): Why do you have a yoga mat?
Me: Because I just got out of a yoga class.
Boy: And you're going home?
Me: Yes.
Boy: Where do you live?
Me: I live over there. (I pointed. I don't give out my address, even to six year-olds)
Boy: My friend lives over there.
Me: Dale?
Boy: No.
Me: Patrick.
Boy: No.
Me: Jonas.
Boy: No.
Me: Who?
Boy: Quinn.
Me: Oh, I know Quinn. I was one of his preschool teachers. I know him very well.
Boy: Oh! Well, if you see him, tell him I said hi.
Me: What's your name?
Boy: Liam.
Girl: Anya.
Me: Okay. (to the parent I hear at the door): I'm a neighbor! (back to Liam and Anya) Bye!
Both: Bye...

faux pas

My friend Courtney read my blog and thought it was very cute of me to ask if that bag was a Coach. She said she thought that that was akin to asking if something from Chanel was from the Gap. Ha! Listen, I read my People mag just as faithfully as anyone else, and I know all the stars have those bags, but when I see them I just cringe, so I don't even think about the price.

I was curious, though, so I Googled Chloe bags. Yowsa. You can get them at Needless Markups for about a thousand dollars. Wow. For those of us in the lower tax bracket, you can get a mini padlock keychain for $180. Or a crystal trim one for $615. Btw, the padlock is their signature. They are laughing all the way to the bank, I'm sure. Oh, and you can also get a bag made from a python. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to vomit.

Purse snatchers, beware!

In my travels, I am always seeing people and/or things I want to photograph. I hesitate, for fear of a negative reaction. I got such a reaction from a guy once who had a heart-shaped hole in his shirt I wanted to take a picture of. His girlfriend was also a photographer and was into it, but he wasn't. After that I figured I wouldn't ask anyone anything anymore.

Till today. I spotted one of those big bulky purses that are so popular these days. What caught my eye, besides the garish green color, was the gold padlock that adorned the front of the purse. I could not take my eyes off of it. Who on earth designed that purse??? How did he or she come up with it? Thought process of the designer: "I need something...strong... indestructable...shiny! I need protection from purse snatchers! I know! What could be stronger than a padlock?!"

I gathered up all my nerve and said to the owner of the safe on her lap, "I've been looking at your bag this whole ride. Is that a Coach?" She told me it was a Chloe. I said, "Can I take a picture of it for reference?" I didn't tell her the reference was for my blog. She was only too happy to oblige. So here it is. I still can't believe it. Thoughts?

Paws to consider

I'm on FIRE today with the blog entries! Gotta get off my duff, but had to post this one picture of my Fuffy's paws. I love to touch them, but she doesn't like it. She'll bite.

One of those getting to know you things

I copied this from someone's blog, and answered it myself:

1. How old do you wish you were?
I like the age I am (38).

2. Where were you when 9/11 happened?
I was in Japan. One of my former nursery school students, who is Japanese and was about 10 at the time, called me and said, "Alex, turn on the TV. An airplane flew into the two tall buildings." 9/11 didn't affect me like it did the people who were in America. Before 9/11, when I told Japanese people I was from New York, they said, "Cool!" After 9/11, they said, "I'm sorry."

3. What do you do when vending machines steal your money?
I say, "Goddammit!" and I hit the machine.

4. Do you consider yourself kind?
Yes.

5. If you had to get a tattoo, where and what would it be?
Good question for me, eh? My next tat is a stereotypical sailor tattoo. It will be a heart with a banner that says, "Mom." To honor my mom, who passed away 16 years ago, and also because I think she would get a kick out of it.

6. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?
Japanese.

7. Do you know your neighbors?
Yes, very well. I love my house and my neighborhood.

8. What do you consider a vacation?
Not being at work. Like now, I'm on vacation. Even if all I do is errands and nap.

9. Do you follow your horoscope?
Religiously.

10. Would you move for the person you loved?
Yes.

11. Are you touchy feely?
Depends on the vibe I get. Usually, yes.

12. Do you believe that opposites attract?
Yes.

13. Dream job?
I love my job now, but...some of my dream jobs include writer, actor, first ever really petite top model.

14. Favorite channels?
HGTV (Home and Garden channel), TLC, whatever channels Dateline, The Apprentice, American Idol, and Project Runway are on.

15. Favorite place to go on a weekend?
'Round here. I'm a homebody.

16. Showers or bath?
Depends on my mood. I do both.

17. Do you paint your nails?
Not my fingernails, they ruin too easily because I work with my hands and I love to do dishes. I get pedicures semi regularly in the summer.

18. Do you trust people easily?
Yes and no. Again, I go with the vibe I get.

19. What are your phobias?
Moths, things that fly and hop at the same time (grasshoppers, locusts), open staircases, bats getting into my apartment and flying above my loft bed, very close to my head. Guess I have a thing about things that fly, huh?

20. Do you want kids?
It would be nice, but I'm surrounded by kids all the time, so I'm not lacking for kid energy.

21. Do you keep a handwritten journal?
Nope. I have all my thoughts in my head.

22. Where would you rather be right now?
Than here? Nowhere.

23. What makes you feel warm and safe?
A cuppa English tea with lots of milk and sugar, and my fleece throw.

24. Heavy or light sleep?
Light.

25. Are you paranoid?
Why? What do you want from me?

26. Are you impatient?
No. Very patient. Except with vending machines.

27. Who can you relate to?
Oprah Winfrey. A fabulous woman who grew up poor.

28. How do you feel about interracial couples?
Fine. I've dated many different races.

29. Have you been burned by love?
Yes.

30. What's your life motto?
From my nursery school: Have fun, be safe, and use your imagination.

31. What's your main ringtone on your mobile?
It goes like this: da da da da da da da, da da da da...

32. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Reading a book I had realized I had already read before, but finished it anyway.

33. Who was your last text message from?
A guy I once dated, who turned out to be married.

34. Whose bed did you sleep in last night?
Mine own.

35. What color shirt are you wearing?
Grey.

36. Most recent movie you watched?
I'm terrible at this question. Uh...I think it was that date one with Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn. I got free passes, and was glad I hadn't paid for it.

37. Name five things you have on you at all times?
Grammar police: this is not a question. In any case,
1) iPod
2) wallet
3) keys
4) plastic case that holds first aid stuff: band aids, tissues, Advil, Chapstick, Purell
5) new digital camera

38. What color are your bed sheets?
Light aquamarine.

39. How much cash do you have on you right now?
Let me check: $8 in bills, $2.21 in change, and 2 tokens. The quarters will go in the laundry jar.

40. What is your favorite part of the chicken?
Boneless breast.

41. What is your favorite town/city?
Shibuya: Tokyo, Japan.

42. I can't wait till...
I hear from the love of my life.
I turn 40. I'm going to throw a fabulous party!
I get my next tat.
My debts are paid off.
I sell my first book.

43. Who got you to join MySpace?
Hmm...was this list of questions written by a 16 year old MySpacer? I don't like to think about MySpace because it makes me think of sexual predators.

44. What did you have for dinner last night?
A chicken teriyaki wrap.

45. How tall are you barefoot?
5'1"

46. Have you ever smoked crack?
Actually, my best friend and I did when we were in high school, but we did it wrong. Thank god.

47. Do you own a gun?
I used to own a glue gun, but I sold it at a yard sale.

48. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
English tea with lots of milk and sugar.

49. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
To lure in anyone, I'll use charm and flirting.

50. Do you have A.D.D?
What? Random question. Answer: no.

51. What time did you wake up today?
7:00 am. Like I do every day, even on vacation.

52. Current worry?
Is my cat scratching herself more than usual, and is it due to her heart medication, and why didn't I notice it sooner, and am I a terrible mother?

53. Current hate?
Baggers at the grocery store who put all the heavy things in one bag, and all light things in another.

54. Favorite place to be?
On the glider on my porch. Think I'll go there after this.

55. Where would you like to travel?
Back to Japan. It's been 6 years.

56. Where do you think you'll be in 10 years?
Either right here, or in a condo I've bought, close to here. Working on my second book.

57. Last thing you ate?
Vinegar and sea salt potato chips. Ick!!! I tried them because my friend had them.

58. What songs do you sing in the shower?
Anything that comes to mind.

59. Last person that made you laugh?
Last person who made me laugh? A little girl at a wedding who was dancing very well to klezmar music.

60. Worst injury you ever had?
I got bit in the arse by a German Shepherd when I was 10 and the size of a 7 year old. He shook me like a rag doll.

61. Does someone have a crush on you?
Yeah, but the feeling's not mutual. Sigh...

62. What is your favorite candy?
Snickers with almonds.

Brassiere Talk

I went to Lady Grace yesterday, the local intimate apparel store. The women who work there know their stuff.

Some things I learned:

* Get measured professionally.

* You are probably running around in the wrong size bra.

* You're probably bigger than you think. Deal.

* A bra is supposed to be tight and be able to hold those suckers in! Go from the outsidemost hook to the innermost.

* Try on at least 10 bras to see which ones you really like.

* Good bras are expensive.

* A bra will last only 6 mos. to a year, if handwashed. Do not use Woolite; it will ruin the straps. How many of us wear bras for years before replacing them??

Happy shopping!

Clothing Adjuster

Hey folks, remember that job I told you about, Clothing Adjuster? I got to do it at a wedding last weekend, my dream come true. I was one of the photographers, and I felt like I could take some liberties. I buttoned a button on a woman's dress, fixed the hair of three women (with their permission, of course), and adjusted peoples' hands for photos. I did not brush the dandruff off the old man's dark jacket, nor did I tell him to do it himself, though I really wanted to.

More Shelby Positions

This is called Hide Face.
It's pretty self-explanatory.








This is Measure. When she sleeps like this I always want to take
measuring tape and see how long she is, because she's fully
stretched out and she looks so long! She's scared of tape measures, though, so I never measure her.










This is Tummy. I hesitated to put
this picture up, because it's not the
most becoming one of my precious feline,
but it is one of her positions, so up
it goes. Sorry, Shelby. Mommy won't
give you so many treats.









Last but not least, this is my favorite position. It's called Slug,
because to me she looks exactly like a slug, a blob of fluff and fat.
When Shelby is in the slug position, it means she's in
a very deep sleep. I never disturb her when she's in Slug.

You may have noticed that all of these pictures were taken
in the same room. It's the bathroom, one of her favorite
places to rest. Good night, Shelby, sweet slug dreams!

Language of the future

I have said to many people:

"I'll send you the link to my blog."

I say it, and they understand it. Amazing. I still can't believe it's a real sentence.

New Position

I name Shelby's positions. I've never done this with my cats before. It's just that she rotates the same 5 or 6 ones over and over, and they're so easy to name. This is the first position I named. This is Sasquatch. She looks so regal and puffy when she does this. She is alert and in charge.








This is Crosspaws. She does this when she relaxes a bit and lets her guard down. Her left ear is slightly back; she was a little annoyed at me for taking this picture in her relaxed state.









This is Lady Godiva. Notice the rear left foot position. I have never seen a cat extend a rear foot this way. I've seen dogs do it, even a rabbit once, but never a cat. Such a lady.






This is the rarely seen Crosspaws Lady Godiva Combination. Again, note the extension of the rear leg, this time the right one. She is elegant and relaxed, and expects me to admire her and feed her salmon flavored treats.


More Shelby positions, including my favorite one, next time!

Next Time You See a Kindly Old Man...Think Twice

Yesterday I was on the subway, and I sat across from what looked like a kindly old man, about 70-75 years old. He was wearing a suit, had a tan that would make George Hamilton proud, white hair, and a big gold ring. I was wearing a tee shirt and a skirt that made the tattoo on my calf stand out.

As I sat down, then man looked at me and made a face that said, "Wow, I didn't expect to see that huge tattoo, but there it is!" He smiled at me, and I smiled back, kindly old man that he was.

He mouthed to me, "Beautiful." I assumed he was still talking about my tattoo. I had my earphones in my ears, so I removed them and said, "Thank you." He nodded and smiled. I smiled. I started to realize perhaps English was not his first language.

He got up to get ready for his stop, and he stood next to me because my seat was closest to the door. He patted my arm and mouthed, "I love you." Okaaaaaay, now you're getting creepy, old man. He gestured with his head toward the door, as if he was saying, "Would you like to get off with me, and perhaps we could, you know...?" I looked at him incredulously and said, "What are you thinking?" and I shook my head. Ewww. He went to touch my face, saying, "Beautiful", and I dodged him and slowly moved over to the next seat. He got off the train, and I sat there with icky feelings.

Why did he have to cross that line? Why couldn't he have just been a nice old man? How can someone make a stranger feel nice and then yucky in a matter of minutes? Eww and eww.

As I was getting off at my stop, a young man came over to me and said, "We had your back, you know. On the train, we were watching what was going on, and we were ready to step in if you needed it. Notice, I am telling you this as you're getting off the train, I'm standing a respectable distance from you, I am not touching you..." I laughed and thanked him. I hadn't known that other people were paying attention. I ranted a little bit about creepy old men, and he assured me that not all men were like that. I know, I know, but all it takes is one. I thanked him again for looking out for me. He wished me a nice day, and we parted ways. It was sweet of him to "have my back", and it gave me a little more faith in mankind.

How was your commute today?

Pac Man In My Chip Bag

I got a bag of chips today and this was in it. I didn't do anything to it, it was just this way. Adorable, don't you think?

Don't Steal This Idea

I'm want to start a new job. My title will be Clothing Adjuster. The job description is this: when I spot someone in my travels whose clothing needs adjusting, I will adjust and get paid on the spot however much they want to give me.

Examples include tucking a tag back into a shirt, fixing a cuff that has gone astray, pulling down a shirt caught under a baby Bjorn, and straightening a collar. These little fixings can mean the difference between getting that job or not, and how well a date might go. Depending on how comfortable the client is, I might go a step further and straighten out that part or hand over that much needed toothpick. I can think of at least two celebrities who could have used me before the paparazzi came flashing over. With the services of a Clothing Adjuster, no one's nipple need be exposed for the world to see.

Whether someone wants to give me one dollar or ten, I will take pleasure in giving my fellow commuters' appearance the slight adjustment they might need.

No Way

Just after I wrote the story about the black bug (see below), I took a shower. As I was rinsing my hair, I looked down and saw that I was sharing my shower with a big black ant, I'm not kidding. They talk to each other during the night, I'm sure of it. They plan these things.

A Bug's Life, Part 2

I seem to have a lot of encounters with insects, or maybe everyone does; I just choose to write about them.

Last night Shelby looked up at the ceiling, something she never does. She prefers to keep her center of gravity and her eyes close to the floor. Things with six legs do not interest her. Things that fly are slightly more interesting.

Up there on the wall, close to the ceiling, was a ghastly creature. It was black, long and skinny, with a pointed end and wings that made a horrible buzzing sound. I didn't know what it was, but I knew what it wasn't. It wasn't a fly, a mosquito, or a bat. It flew close to the wall so I could whack it easily if I was brave enough to. After determining that my fearless landlordwas not home by going out onto the porch and seeing that the livingroom light was not on, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands.

I grabbed the broom and whacked at the bug. No dice, it continued to fly and buzz. It flew over to my loft bed, buzzing annoyingly around my pillow. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep unless this thing was dead. I whacked it over the bed, but my positioning was awkward and it got away easily. It landed on the dresser near the TV. I hit it with the broom and it looked like it was out for the count. Just to be sure, I crept up close to it, and as I did, of course it buzzed and jumped up, causing me to scream and jump back (readers, do you sense a theme in my life here?), and it dropped down somewhere where I couldn't see it. This thing would just not die!

I asked Shelby, "Did it die, or just disappear?" She didn't know and didn't care; she was only interested in avoiding the broom. I picked up things on the floor gingerly to see if I could find a carcass. I flicked and jumped, flicked and jumped. I could not find it. I couldn't go to bed knowing that it might buzz again, so I looked for about 30 minutes until I deduced it had finally met its maker. I slept with one eye open.

This morning I got up and did my Sunday morning thing: had breakfast, read the paper, did a load of laundry. When I came back inside from the laundrymat, there was that fucking bug, alive and kicking, sitting right on my dining room table. I swear I saw it stick two legs in its ears and give me a raspberry. I took the movie section of the newspaper, rolled it up, and smacked it with the faces of Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx in a still from the new movie Miami Vice. It landed on the floor and I blew on it. Damn if it didn't kick a back leg at me! I hit it again and this time a wing came off, so I knew it was really dead. I took a picture. If you can identify this bug for me, I'll give you a hundred dollars. Well, not really, but I'll be very grateful. I've got to know what this bionic creature is. Till then, I'll check for holes in my screens.

Piles

I'm going through my piles of paper in one of the three places paper piles up in my apartment. I pick up each piece of paper and read it carefully. I sort it; Trash, Things I want to buy, Misc. I discover a piece of paper that I had written on the last time I went through my piles. I had written a list of exactly what I came across as I organized, just for kicks. I think I made this list in January 2006. Here's what the list said:

1 lei
1 Thanksgiving edition of Spare Change newspaper
4 framed pictures
10 magazines
2 mirrors
4 strings (Shelby's playthings)
9 notes to self
info sheet on flu vaccine
3 pads of scrap paper
box top ripped off so I could remember the name of the store
flyer from May 2005
1 Ziploc bag of plastic grass from sushi dinners (to be used for art projects)
tax exempt form from work
11 receipts
1 envelope of photos
card game
1 birthday card (birthday April 2005)
6 work flyers
1 order confirmation from May 2005
16 letters to friends in Japan I had hoped to visit (written in March 2005)
1 itinerary for Japan
2 postcards from The Gates exhibit in NYC
1 leather-bound notepad
1 roll of clear contact paper
1 pair of pedicure socks I've been meaning to give to a friend for about 3 months
13 articles
3 out of date flyers
3 credit reports
2 expired T passes
6 pamphlets
7 coupons
3 books
1 Metro newspaper
1 catalog
2 pay stubs
1 tiny plastic box
1 pink wig
1 giant Ziploc bag and 1 giant coffee filter for my collection of Big Things
1 candle holder
5 business cards
2 Ziploc bags of art supplies
1 candle
1 computer owner's manual

And now here I am again. Do I need all this stuff? I am very sure I could take a big trash bag, throw all the stuff in there and never miss it. But I love to sort and go through things, so I will. I find it fascinating the things that pile up. As long as I keep going through things and throwing away every few months, it doesn't get out of hand. This time it's all paper; no pink wigs or leis. I can't wait to see all the things that will go in the Things I want to buy pile...Christmas in my head!

A Bug's Life

Today I was at the T station waiting for a train, and I spotted a huge beetle walking slowly on the platform. It was brown, about 2 inches long, and it had these pinchy horn things on the front of its head. It moved very slowly, but steadily. I grabbed my camera from my backpack and waited for it to make its way to the yellow safety line so I could get a good background for my shot.

I took the picture and watched as the beetle continued to the edge of the platform. Suddenly it fell off the edge and landed on its back, poor thing. I hate the sight of a bug on its back, all six legs flailing in the air, helpless. I looked around for a stick so I could flip it over, but I couldn't find one. I decided to just flip it over with the toe of my sneaker. I touched it with my foot, and it grabbed onto my sneaker, causing me to scream and flail about with my two legs. I looked around, thinking it might be on me somewhere, but as it turned out it had landed on my backpack. I wanted it off, but I sure wasn't going to use my foot this time. I spotted a man sitting on a bench nearby and decided to ask for his help, even though I was embarassed as hell, because he had seen the whole thing.

I dragged my backpack by the strap towards him, and discovered he was someone I knew; a former parent at my preschool. We exchanged greetings and I asked for his assistance. He said he thought it was a mouse on the train track that I had been screaming about. At that moment the train came, so I asked him if he could just flick it off quickly so we could get on the train. He flicked it just as the train pulled up and the doors opened. The beetle landed safely on the platform under the bench. On its back.

"Alex! Look over here!"

Whenever I lug things back and forth to the basement of my house, I pretend I'm a famous actress and the paparazzi is hiding in the bushes, ready to take snapshots of me in my not-so-glamorous form. I'm usually wearing something that can get dirty, and even if I'm wearing socks I slip on my sandals because it's easy to.

I know I look like a schlump carrying a big blue plastic container or my sleeping bag wearing socks and sandals and having my hair in disarray. My alter ego comes out--this is what movie stars really look like: no makeup, no fancy gown and glittery borrowed jewelry. They look like you and me. I always fight the urge to throw my hand in front of my face to ward off the flashing of the camera bulbs.

You've seen the photos in People and Us magazines. "Real stars buying coffee! Shopping at Walmart! Cleaning up dog poop! Schlepping stuff to the basement!" This is what life is really about, not just take after take of kissing Leonardo DiCaprio. Or Johnny Depp. Or that young strapping fellow from Desperate Housewives.

Don't get me wrong, fantasizing about the red carpet has its place too, but it's fun to imagine the ordinary life of people who don't have an ordinary life.

Moosed

Since I've lived in New England I've wanted to see a moose. I've been to Maine many times and seen those ubiquitous yellow signs with a black moose silhouette, but never one up close and in person. Recently I paid a hundred bucks to stay in a lodge in Maine and go on a moose cruise, sort of like a whale watch. See moose we did, but we also encountered other strange creatures.

My friend Denise and I went on this cruise. We got on, and there were about 12 people; couples, some kids, Denise and I, and this woman close to my age who was by herself. We started chatting with her; she was from Bar Harbor, Maine. She had come on the cruise to get away, because it was raining in Bar Harbor. She left the kids and came down for the day. She was really nice and easy to talk to.

The cruise got started, and the Captain, this guy I'd say was in his 60's, asked everyone where they were from. Everybody went around, and when he got to the woman next to us, we said where she was from so we could say the Maine accent: Bah Hahbah. We thought we were pretty funny.

The Captain spewed off facts about the lake and pointed out interesting tree and rock formations. We came to a rocky wall of sorts, and the Captain told us that sometimes young bull moose fell off the land near the wall and they'd be floating dead in the water for 2, sometimes 3 weeks. I was startled by this information, mostly because there were children listening on this cruise. Of course the kids were probably fascinated, because one of them asked if the moose died when they hit the water, or did they die by drowning. The Captain said that was a good question, and he wasn't sure. But come to think of it, there was this bridge in Quichee, Vermont, where 15-20 people jumped to their deaths every year, so maybe they died when they hit the water. Shocked and horrified came close to how I was feeling at this point.

It didn't stop there. He went on to tell the story of a young woman who was free climbing the rock wall last year who got stuck. By the time people noticed her and went to rescue her, she let go and...you guessed it, fell to her death. I was bursting by this point and wanted to know if anyone else thought this guy was morbid or was it just me. I confided in the Bar Harbor woman, saying that every story the Captain told ended with death. She sort of laughed it off. I scrambled to get a piece of paper to jot down the details of this Moose Death Cruise so I could blog it later. All I could find was a band-aid, and Bar Harbor commented. "You're writing on a band-aid." I told her why; I just could not believe all this guy was saying.

Finally the topic turned to something more humane, Maine geese. Whew. He talked about how many geese were in the area, and how they had 4 or 5 eggs at a time. Ahh...life! Unless, of course, the water rose too high from rain, and then the eggs might roll into the lake and...well, you know the rest.

Thank god about that time someone saw a moose, so we were all spared the details of the demise of goose offspring. The cruise went on without any more horror stories, and we actually saw a couple of female moose and babies!

At the end of the cruise, Denise asked our new friend if she'd like to join us for dinner. She declined, saying that she was going to meet her husband for dinner. We parted ways, but saw each other again a few minutes later in the dining room. We saw the woman greet her husband with a kiss and sit down at a table on the other side of the room. Guess who her "husband" was? The Captain. Ewww, I was so weirded out. What???

I had many questions. Why had the Captain and this woman pretended not to know each other at the beginning of the cruise? Why had she sat silently while I dissed her man the entire time? And why the heck, when we asked her to dinner, did she not simply say, "No thanks, the Captain and I are having dinner"? I surmised that she and the Captain were indeed married, just not to each other, and the whole family owned lodge kept their dirty little secret. Denise didn't want to hear it, but I was sick to my stomach. This, right after I had met those other weirdos in New York. What is it with people??

We ran into her in the gift shop after dinner, and it was a perfect opportunity to confront her. I didn't, though, fearing that she'd get the front desk to charge extra to our bill or put something in our food. We just sort of made small talk and fake laughed. Yick.

What makes people act this way? What reason could she have for her behavior? What could she possibly gain? Some people are so strange, I just do not understand. Any theories?

My friend Amy, after hearing the story, remarked, "Well, you saw some moose. Sounds like you saw a coupla loons too!"

Prince @ Bryant Park 5 (last one!)

So Benny and I go into the library, and we run smack into this other fan, Angie. I remember seeing her at the concert, and Benny acts like he knows her. He asks how she is, and she says she's not doing so well. Prince is playing at this restaurant tonight...and Benny says, "Oh yeah, what's that place called? Butter, yeah, that's right." ( all morning he's been telling people the name of the place and suddenly he can't remember the name? Hmmm...)

Angie is agitated, and says she needs to see Prince tonight, but she doesn't know if she can change her plane ticket, she came all the way from Minnesota, can she change her plane ticket? she has to go to her hotel room and get her stuff. She's sort of wandering around, and she has tears in her eyes. Weird.

Benny and I go through the motions to sign up for free computers. I get one for noon, and he gets one for 12:05. It's now around 11:45. Angie comes up to me, still with tears in her eyes, and I'm curious, so I ask her what's wrong. She says she doesn't know if she can tell me, it's such a long story...and then launches into it. Something about how she knows Prince, see, her dad is a musician, and she once was at a concert, and Prince asked her to go onstage, and she didn't want to, so he got mad, and then she was at a club and he was there, and he called her name: Angie, and that new song, "Fury"? It's about her.

She needs to go see him tonight, she's gonna kick his ass, she left 2 kids at home, she doesn't know what she's gonna do, maybe she can use my cell phone. #1, how does she know I have a cell phone, and #2, and I ask her, why does she want to use my cell phone? She doesn't answer.

She says she knows I think she's crazy, everyone does when she tells the story, and this time I don't answer. I ask her why can't her dad the musician help her see Prince, and she says they're not talking right now. She doesn't know what she's gonna do, she left 3 kids at home...I say, "2 or 3 kids?" she said 3, she has an 18 year old at home...I say, "18! Wow, if you don't mind, how old are you?" (she looks not more than 30) She says, "I'm not that old!"

I start getting a weird vibe, and I decide that I'm going to ditch Benny and Angie. I say that I have to go to the bathroom so I can use my cell phone and pretend a friend has called me and I have to go home, can't go to the concert. Angie goes with me. I go into a stall, wait a few minutes, and come out, expecting Angie to be waiting for me. She's not. I make the phone call (to my voicemail), and Angie still doesn't come out. I go around the corner and there's Benny. I ask him if he's seen Angie, and he says that she went back to her hotel. Okay, weird. Pours her heart out to me and then doesn't say goodbye. And how is she going to get a ticket for tonight without going online?

I tell Benny that my friend called and reminded me I have a party to host tonight, oh god, I had forgotten, so now I really do need to go home, the decision has been made for me. He says, "Hmm...maybe I should go too. I can go to the bus station with you." And I say, "Well, actually, I'm gonna go to my dad's house before I go home..." and he gets it and says, "Okay, well, maybe I can use your computer at noon because your time is first." And I don't want to give him my temporary card with my name on it, don't want him to have any of my info, so somehow I hem and haw my way out of it, and we hug goodbye and I'm outta there.

And on the way to the bus station I pass the internet cafe at noon, and I think to myself that I can just go in there and get a ticket myself, but then I don't want to run into Benny later at Butter, and be alone at 1:00 in the morning with him. So I decide not to, I'm just going home.

I take the first bus I can and get right on, and as we're driving away, I theorize that Benny and Angie were working together and they were trying to scam me. The phone call he made to meet someone later? Her, at the library. Too many things didn't add up. They thought they had an easy mark, a lone woman with 2 hours of sleep. But they didn't know who they were messing with. Born and raised in NYC, and I watch Dateline religiously, besides. I ain't no fool! Humph! My life and sanity is more important than a concert that I might not have even gotten a ticket for, anyway. I arrive home and sleep for 11 hours.

The next day I get an email from the Prince fanclub, reviewing the show at Butter. Prince played a 3 hour set (not 3 song, 3 hour), with celebrities and fanclub fans surrounding him. I want to vomit. I get depressed all day, but console myself with the fact that I had to listen to my gut and I probably wouldn't have gotten a ticket anyway. I pride myself on my ability to know when something's amiss. I ain't no sucker.

Next time I will pack a nice outfit and bring a friend.

Prince @ Bryant Park 4

Benny and I went to get breakfast, but he had to make a phone call first. He used a pay phone, something I haven't seen in awhile. He talked to someone and arranged to meet later. When he got off the phone, I asked what he did for a living. He said he was in real estate; he followed up by saying that he didn't like to carry his cell phone with him. Hmm...never met someone who had a cell phone and didn't like to carry it, much less someone in real estate.

He had driven here from DC, and he was planning to stay the day. He told me and had told other people that Prince was planning on playing that night at a restaurant called Butter. Prince fans could buy a ticket for $121 by logging on the official website at noon. How come I didn't know this information? The announcement was made on the website at midnight the night before, when we were all in line. We hadn't met Benny till the morning, when he showed up in the front of the line with a gym bag full of handmade tee shirts he had made. I bought one, and let him cut in front of me. I had asked him if he had more, but he said they were in the car, so I just bought what he had. He was charming.

We stopped at a place to get something to eat. I told him I had to eat cheaply because I had given him all of my money to get the tee shirt. He offered to buy me something, but I declined. He saw some more fans in the place and went over to tell them about Butter. What a schmoozer. We talked about plans for the day. I told him I couldn't really afford to drop $121 for a ticket, and besides I didn't have a place to stay, I would be wandering the streets all day on 2 hours of sleep, dragging a sleeping bag around with me. He said he was going to get a hotel room and I could use it to take a shower or whatever. He was going to buy a cheap linen suit for Butter. Maybe I could get myself some shoes, let my hair down, then I'd be ready for Butter. Thanks, Benny.

I noticed his wedding band and asked if his wife was a Prince fan. He said she wasn't. She was home in DC, pregnant with their first child. This was his last hurrah before becoming a stay at home dad.

It was around 11:00, and I still needed to think. We passed by an internet place, so we went in to check out the website. I logged on, and indeed, what he said was true. Tickets went on sale at noon. What was I going to do? He suggested we go over to the public library, where logging on was free. At least we could try to get a ticket.

I hemmed and hawed. At one point I said that I thought I'd just go back to Boston, and he said, "Yeah, you know, I might just go back to DC too. Should we just go to the bus station?" I thought he had a car? Hmm...I wasn't sure what to do, and he suggested we just try the public library. Okay. I was thinking on 2 hours of sleep. Fuzzy.

Prince @ Bryant Park 3

About 6:00 Benny worms his way to the front, as do a couple of women I've chummed it up with. It's very hard to tell people that no, they can't cut in line and stand with me. The pregnant aunt and her nieces call me over, wondering where I've been. I go back up to my original spot and thank them. They remind me of the alliance.

The park opens up at 7:00. It's very organized. A man announces that they will let people in 10 at a time, and we are instructed to walk, not run, to the stage. We listen to instructions. I hang with my new pals and we gather together behind the VIP section, pretty close to the stage. I make new pals. A woman in front of me tells me and this other woman that we need to have her back, because if Sheila E comes out, she will fall backwards. We promise to catch her. Her pal who works with her at the post office has a nice digital camera, which he uses to capture all the beautiful female Prince fans in the audience.

The stage is set up with big black screens so we can hear what's going on behind them but can't see anything. We hear the sound check, the same song (Get on the Boat) about 5 times. We get excited every time. In between sound checks, the newest CD (3121) is played. My favorite jam (Black Sweat) comes on, and I go crazy. Black fans see white girl kick it and are surprised and impressed.

8:30--concert starts. Prince comes out looking like a baby's nursery. He has on a light pink suit and a turquoise shirt. Only Prince can work an outfit like that. He looks as hot as ever. He and his protege play 3 songs. Sheila E comes out, and we have to fan the fan in front of us. She swoons, but doesn't faint. After each song, during the commercial breaks, Prince messes with the sound system. He is not satisfied. We don't care. Sounds good to us.

After 3 songs, Prince exits and we chant, "More, more, more!" He does not give us more. That's it. Half an hour. Way too short. We are told how to exit safely. I stand in a daze. The crowd thins. I think I see Frenchie, a contestant on American Idol, season 3. She got booted off after it came out that she had been on an adult website. She showed America what was what when she got hired to be in Rent on Broadway.

I ask my new friends who wants to get breakfast. Everyone has to go to work, but Benny says he'll get breakfast with me. We leave the park.

Prince @ Bryant Park 2 (long, but interesting)

Robin got in line with me for a little while, we caught up, and then he went home. I began schmoozing, seeing who was who and what was what.

The first guy in line was Sean, who worked at the library right at the edge of the park. He got there at 5:45. Next was a man, and then two women, all of whom were not very talkative. They got there at 7:00. Next was a husband and wife team who were very talkative. A lot of fun. And right in front of me, a pregnant woman who brought a canvas hammock, so help me god.

Then came me, and then Rosalie, a woman from NYC, and behind her, a man who was originally from Israel and travelled a lot. I went around and said hi to all these people and said, "Okay guys, now, let's form an alliance!" Someone said, "What is this, Survivor?" and I told her it sure was, because we needed to stick together when people wanted to cut in line and once we got to the stage we shouldn't let anyone in front of us. We all agreed to watch each other's backs.

I became the unofficial line counter, just because I was curious. I walked up and down the line with a little notebook, taking notes and counting. People thought I was from a newspaper or from Good Morning America. I liked that, and didn't always say that it was just for my scrapbook and blog. Here are some of my recordings:

11:45 pm--19 people in line, including folks from New Jersey, Washington DC, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. After telling them I had travelled from Boston, I shouted out, "New England represent!"

1:00 am--Rosalie and I went around the corner to check out the VIP section. These were people who had won tickets to be the first people to go in. There were 6 of them when we first checked it out.

People often identified themselves by usernames from Prince's website. "Hi, I'm Utopia 7." "Hi, I'm Rosalie." "You're Rosalie! Girl, I dissed you last week, but what you said was crazy!" I was told if I wanted some free entertainment, go to the chat room and watch the fun.

After we met the VIPs, we went back to our section and I cuddled up in my sleeping bag (sans pad) and slept for 2 hours. I woke up at 3:00 feeling...well, not exactly refreshed, but good. I decided anyone who was in line after 3:00 was not a diehard fan because they didn't exactly spend the night. There were probably about 50 diehard fans.

A drunk homeless man came to our section with a sign that said, "Why lie? I want a beer." I thought it was funny. He chatted with us for a few minutes. I decided to take a picture of this scene for my scrapbook. Big mistake. I think I must have set off a Post Traumatic Stress episode in him, because when the flash went off, so did he. He started talking at me and pointing his finger. Rosalie tried to calm him down by making small talk, but he wouldn't leave me alone. I dealt with it by sitting Japanese seiza style and going into a trance, staring straight ahead and not saying a word. You can't talk sense to someone when they're ranting. I was fully aware of the man, and was waiting, waiting for him to actually touch me with that pointy finger so I could get up and kick his ass. Luckily for him, his friend came along, whispered something in his ear, and boom, they were gone. Rosalie told me she had my back, but she hadn't realized I had a pit bull within me.

3:15 am--78 people in line, plus 11 VIPs. I chose people at random to tell what their number was. One guy who was proud of being from Brooklyn was number 35.

4:10 am--105 people. I goofed when I told Mr. Brooklyn that he was 45. He said, "What? Last time I was 35!" Oh boy. We had people sneaking in the front already.

5:00 am--260. After that I stopped counting.

At 5:32 the park sprinkler system came on, waking those who were sleeping and soaking people's things. We all became a little more aware.

One and a half hours till the park opened.