I just received a Christmas card (a little early, I think, but...) from an old college friend. On the front is a child's drawing of an angel playing a harp. Inside is written the following message:
I know the card is ugly, but a little cancer girl drew it and she could be dead by now!
These are the holiday wishes that warm my heart.
Nov 29, 2007
Nov 28, 2007
Apparently I'm A Bryant Park Hooker--Dedicated to Sharona not because she's a hooker, but because she too understands the irritation of holiday crowds
(The following story is based on true, factual events. The names have NOT been changed to protect the innocent, but it has been abridged to conveniently be read in the span of a coffee break.)
Last night, I went to the tree lighting in Manhattan's Bryant Park. Which, oddly enough, the tree was donated by the Canadian Tourist Association. Hmmm...anyway. For the public's pleasure, the city of NY has installed a full size skating rink, free of charge to patrons, in the middle of Bryant Park. The night's festivities were to include:
1. The lighting of the tree.
2. Ice skating performances by national champions.
3. Vocal performances by Broadway performers (After all, they need something to do now that the strike is going on two weeks.)
I arrived early enough to only be three people deep from the rink. The tree was lit, the skaters performed, and the Tony winners sang. During all of this entertainment, a man in front of me turned around and asked,
"Would you like to take my spot? You'll be able to see better."
"Oh, no thanks." I said. "I'm fine."
"No, really. Squeeze right in here."
He shuffled me into his spot and I said a polite, "Thank you."
I noticed that as time went on he was pressing quite hard against me. Surely this old man, probably in his sixties, couldn't be getting "fresh" with me. I continued to watch, countering his weight. After all, everyone else is packed in here like sardines too. Why, just a little while ago a woman kept hitting her hands against my buttocks and I finally turned around and said,
"If you don't quit it back there I'm going to have to charge you for what you're doing."
She stopped.
I tired of the skaters and singers and this old man rubbing against me, so I turned and said he could have his spot back; I was leaving.
"Oh, I need to go too," and he followed me out of the throng. "Say, what's your name?"
"Leslie."
"Huh?"
"LESLIE."
"Oh, well, Leslie. I just wanna say something. You're a beautiful woman and I would really like to make love to you."
*blink blink*
"I mean, seriously. What do you say we get a hotel, I'll pay for it. I'll even throw a hundred thousand dollars your way."
*blink blink blink*
"I'm married," I say.
"That's okay. Everybody cheats."
He followed me all the way to the subway station, ten blocks away, trying with all of his might to get me to sleep with him. I told him that I admired his tenacity and, again, NO! I would not sleep with him.
I told my friend this story last night and she said, "Why didn't you sleep with him and take the money?"
My response: CAUSE I'M NOT A HOOKER!
Last night, I went to the tree lighting in Manhattan's Bryant Park. Which, oddly enough, the tree was donated by the Canadian Tourist Association. Hmmm...anyway. For the public's pleasure, the city of NY has installed a full size skating rink, free of charge to patrons, in the middle of Bryant Park. The night's festivities were to include:
1. The lighting of the tree.
2. Ice skating performances by national champions.
3. Vocal performances by Broadway performers (After all, they need something to do now that the strike is going on two weeks.)
I arrived early enough to only be three people deep from the rink. The tree was lit, the skaters performed, and the Tony winners sang. During all of this entertainment, a man in front of me turned around and asked,
"Would you like to take my spot? You'll be able to see better."
"Oh, no thanks." I said. "I'm fine."
"No, really. Squeeze right in here."
He shuffled me into his spot and I said a polite, "Thank you."
I noticed that as time went on he was pressing quite hard against me. Surely this old man, probably in his sixties, couldn't be getting "fresh" with me. I continued to watch, countering his weight. After all, everyone else is packed in here like sardines too. Why, just a little while ago a woman kept hitting her hands against my buttocks and I finally turned around and said,
"If you don't quit it back there I'm going to have to charge you for what you're doing."
She stopped.
I tired of the skaters and singers and this old man rubbing against me, so I turned and said he could have his spot back; I was leaving.
"Oh, I need to go too," and he followed me out of the throng. "Say, what's your name?"
"Leslie."
"Huh?"
"LESLIE."
"Oh, well, Leslie. I just wanna say something. You're a beautiful woman and I would really like to make love to you."
*blink blink*
"I mean, seriously. What do you say we get a hotel, I'll pay for it. I'll even throw a hundred thousand dollars your way."
*blink blink blink*
"I'm married," I say.
"That's okay. Everybody cheats."
He followed me all the way to the subway station, ten blocks away, trying with all of his might to get me to sleep with him. I told him that I admired his tenacity and, again, NO! I would not sleep with him.
I told my friend this story last night and she said, "Why didn't you sleep with him and take the money?"
My response: CAUSE I'M NOT A HOOKER!
Nov 20, 2007
Ringworm and Roaches
Today is my lovely husband's 27th birthday. What better way to celebrate than to get drunk? Unfortunately, festivities were not long-lived as he has a terrible head cold and life is miserable when you're sick. But, being the party girl I am (and by party girl I mean I drink in the dark by myself and listen to 70's hits), I set out on the several block trek to the liquor store. Yes, they know me by name there. But I prefer to see it as a testament to my winning personality and not because I'm a "regular."
After I exchange pleasantries and currency with my buddies down the block, I proceed home only to realize...it's trash day! One of NYC's greatest hidden treasures! Poor artists can furnish their entire home by bringing other's refuse in. And here, with this thinking, I thought I had found a treasure. Right by the dumpster cage that houses the largest population of rats on our block I saw it: the perfect end table/cabinet that we needed! Although my hands were full with liquor and mixer, I still found a way to pull it out from the other curb trash and give it a quick "once over."
"This looks great! I just need to make it home fast enough to drop this stuff off and come back with my roll-y cart. Oh shit! That lady's looking over here. I'll be damned if she gets it before me."
She was homeless...
So, I truck it back home, make a quick drink for my darling, grab the rolly cart, and shag ass to acquire my "find." But even in my haste to make it back to the dump, I grabbed a flashlight so that I could thoroughly check out the goods. It was night and I didn't want to bring trash into my home after all!
Lucky for me *ha ha* my beloved cabinet was still there. I pull out the flashlight and start examining the goods. Another lady eyes me, not homeless.
"Ha! These fools don't know what they're passing up! And I'm going to get it."
Upon further inspection, I found it to be severely water damaged, missing a drawer, and filled with cockroach carcases. Not to mention some brown, stringy "I don't know what's" to be found all over the inside.
Defeated, I dragged my rolly cart home.
I entered my building the same time as one of my neighbor's who happens to be a dog trainer.
"You going up?" he asks.
"Yes, thanks!" I hustle to the elevator.
His dog starts to nuzzle up to me and my hand makes its way to pet his snout.
"Hi, baby! How are you? Ahhh..."
"Don't touch him! He has ringworm."
I recoil in slight and utter horror while putting on my best neighbor face.
"Oh..."
I make it up in time to my apt. to wash my hands in scalding water 5 times before exploding. Between the roaches and the ringworm, I've had enough of the streets, and elevator, tonight.
So, happy birthday to my husband who now sleeps on a NyQuil cloud. And I pour myself another drink.
After I exchange pleasantries and currency with my buddies down the block, I proceed home only to realize...it's trash day! One of NYC's greatest hidden treasures! Poor artists can furnish their entire home by bringing other's refuse in. And here, with this thinking, I thought I had found a treasure. Right by the dumpster cage that houses the largest population of rats on our block I saw it: the perfect end table/cabinet that we needed! Although my hands were full with liquor and mixer, I still found a way to pull it out from the other curb trash and give it a quick "once over."
"This looks great! I just need to make it home fast enough to drop this stuff off and come back with my roll-y cart. Oh shit! That lady's looking over here. I'll be damned if she gets it before me."
She was homeless...
So, I truck it back home, make a quick drink for my darling, grab the rolly cart, and shag ass to acquire my "find." But even in my haste to make it back to the dump, I grabbed a flashlight so that I could thoroughly check out the goods. It was night and I didn't want to bring trash into my home after all!
Lucky for me *ha ha* my beloved cabinet was still there. I pull out the flashlight and start examining the goods. Another lady eyes me, not homeless.
"Ha! These fools don't know what they're passing up! And I'm going to get it."
Upon further inspection, I found it to be severely water damaged, missing a drawer, and filled with cockroach carcases. Not to mention some brown, stringy "I don't know what's" to be found all over the inside.
Defeated, I dragged my rolly cart home.
I entered my building the same time as one of my neighbor's who happens to be a dog trainer.
"You going up?" he asks.
"Yes, thanks!" I hustle to the elevator.
His dog starts to nuzzle up to me and my hand makes its way to pet his snout.
"Hi, baby! How are you? Ahhh..."
"Don't touch him! He has ringworm."
I recoil in slight and utter horror while putting on my best neighbor face.
"Oh..."
I make it up in time to my apt. to wash my hands in scalding water 5 times before exploding. Between the roaches and the ringworm, I've had enough of the streets, and elevator, tonight.
So, happy birthday to my husband who now sleeps on a NyQuil cloud. And I pour myself another drink.
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