I love Christmas. I love Christmas shows. But NOT BEFORE THANKSGIVING YOU ASSHOLES!
TBS just showed "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". It is NOVEMBER 15TH!!!!!!
I believe that Christmas decorations and stuff should go up the day after Thanksgiving when Santa rides down Broadway signaling the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I slowly got use to Christmas decorations going up before turkey day. But lately they even have stuff up before Halloween is over. WTF?
OK, I'm finished. I just had to get that off my chest. TBS, you suck.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round
I had dinner last night in Chelsea with a friend. We went to Salsa y Salsa, just short of a hole in the wall with surprisingly good food. I took the bus home. Lately I have found myself taking the bus more and more over the subway. I like looking out the windows.
I took the 23rd Street crosstown to the 3rd Avenue bus. Once on the 101 going up 3rd I settled in reading my New York Magazine up near the front of the bus. At 34th Street a group got on, and I looked up when I heard one of them mumble as he walked to the back, "Is this the bus to Europe? Boy, it sure is warm on this bus." Did I hear that right? Europe??? Ah, no dude, this is only going to get you to Harlem, sorry. I went back to my magazine.
Somewhere around 55th Street I realize the man sitting across the aisle and up one seat is talking. It's the Mumbling Guy. He's about 60, dressed ok, and reading the New York Times. Not your typical crazy person. He keeps talking about how hot it is. He says, "Maybe I should undress it's so hot in here," while he unbuttoned his top shirt button. Then he went back to his paper, continuously spitting out comments while he read. Alrightly then.
There was a gentleman in a suit on his cell phone next to Mumbling Guy. Across from them (and in front of me) were two old women. I continue reading when I hear a HUGE sneeze and it pulls my head up from my magazine. I couldn't tell who did it. But I noticed one of the old women is now standing up by the driver, in front of the white line. The driver tells her to please move back because he can't move the bus with her in front of the white line. She says she isn't getting off the bus yet but she hasn't moved back. She says she's trying to get out of the way of the germs. Sigh. It's crazy night on the 101.
During this, Mumbling Guy gets up and speaks to the driver. He is asking the driver to turn on a fan. The driver says either the heat is on or off, or the AC is on or off; there isn't an in between. Mumbling Guy returns to his seat mopping his head (though there is no sweat).We continue to sit at a green light because the old woman is STILL in front of the white line. The driver FINALLY get her to move back and we continue on our way. But she doesn't sit down in her seat, she stands. She says, "I see you looking at me." Pause. "Would you please cover your mouth when you sneeze?" She's speaking to the guy still on his cell phone who won't make eye contact with her even though the old woman is just a staring at him smiling. She finally sits down, only to pop back up because we have reached her stop.
The remaining old woman starts talking to the driver about how strange she was. All I could think of was that Standing Woman had a point--don't sneeze or otherwise on a bus without covering your mouth. It is just gross.
Not too long after that it was my stop. Mumbling Guy was still chatting away with himself. Wonder where he got off? He's probably still talking.
I took the 23rd Street crosstown to the 3rd Avenue bus. Once on the 101 going up 3rd I settled in reading my New York Magazine up near the front of the bus. At 34th Street a group got on, and I looked up when I heard one of them mumble as he walked to the back, "Is this the bus to Europe? Boy, it sure is warm on this bus." Did I hear that right? Europe??? Ah, no dude, this is only going to get you to Harlem, sorry. I went back to my magazine.
Somewhere around 55th Street I realize the man sitting across the aisle and up one seat is talking. It's the Mumbling Guy. He's about 60, dressed ok, and reading the New York Times. Not your typical crazy person. He keeps talking about how hot it is. He says, "Maybe I should undress it's so hot in here," while he unbuttoned his top shirt button. Then he went back to his paper, continuously spitting out comments while he read. Alrightly then.
There was a gentleman in a suit on his cell phone next to Mumbling Guy. Across from them (and in front of me) were two old women. I continue reading when I hear a HUGE sneeze and it pulls my head up from my magazine. I couldn't tell who did it. But I noticed one of the old women is now standing up by the driver, in front of the white line. The driver tells her to please move back because he can't move the bus with her in front of the white line. She says she isn't getting off the bus yet but she hasn't moved back. She says she's trying to get out of the way of the germs. Sigh. It's crazy night on the 101.
During this, Mumbling Guy gets up and speaks to the driver. He is asking the driver to turn on a fan. The driver says either the heat is on or off, or the AC is on or off; there isn't an in between. Mumbling Guy returns to his seat mopping his head (though there is no sweat).We continue to sit at a green light because the old woman is STILL in front of the white line. The driver FINALLY get her to move back and we continue on our way. But she doesn't sit down in her seat, she stands. She says, "I see you looking at me." Pause. "Would you please cover your mouth when you sneeze?" She's speaking to the guy still on his cell phone who won't make eye contact with her even though the old woman is just a staring at him smiling. She finally sits down, only to pop back up because we have reached her stop.
The remaining old woman starts talking to the driver about how strange she was. All I could think of was that Standing Woman had a point--don't sneeze or otherwise on a bus without covering your mouth. It is just gross.
Not too long after that it was my stop. Mumbling Guy was still chatting away with himself. Wonder where he got off? He's probably still talking.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
I Hate Sunday Nights
I hate Sunday nights and I am often quoted on Sundays as saying , "I don't wanna go to school tomorrow!"
I remember when I was little I would almost always have trouble falling asleep Sunday nights. The mintues would tick by. I could hear the TV from downstairs as my parents watched the Sunday Night at the Movies movie. Each commercial break they would play their special song and I would get more and more upset with each playing of the song because I knew it was getting later and later.
Worse were the Sunday nights, as I listened to said commercial breaks, before Monday's spelling tests. They weren't every Monday, but when we had them, my Sunday nights were more miserable. All those words running through my little brain; the pressure to have them all memorized.
Sunday nights are great on the rare occasion my husband is home. His presence can makes all those bad Sunday feelings never show up. But since he is in the restaurant business he is usually working both weekend evenings.
In my adulthood I have learned that NOT sleeping in late on Sunday morning is crucial. I can fall asleep rather quickly now, but I still don't want to go to school tomorrow.
I remember when I was little I would almost always have trouble falling asleep Sunday nights. The mintues would tick by. I could hear the TV from downstairs as my parents watched the Sunday Night at the Movies movie. Each commercial break they would play their special song and I would get more and more upset with each playing of the song because I knew it was getting later and later.
Worse were the Sunday nights, as I listened to said commercial breaks, before Monday's spelling tests. They weren't every Monday, but when we had them, my Sunday nights were more miserable. All those words running through my little brain; the pressure to have them all memorized.
Sunday nights are great on the rare occasion my husband is home. His presence can makes all those bad Sunday feelings never show up. But since he is in the restaurant business he is usually working both weekend evenings.
In my adulthood I have learned that NOT sleeping in late on Sunday morning is crucial. I can fall asleep rather quickly now, but I still don't want to go to school tomorrow.
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Big Vote
Well, tomorrow is the big day: casting the vote. In February, when we moved from Brooklyn back to Manhattan, I went to the voters Web site to do my change of address. An hour later I still had not figured out what to do. So I decided I would do it later.
Fast forward to October and I realized I only had a few days to make the deadline. So back I went to the site. Two hours later I finally get the form filled out. I kept having trouble because everytime I hit PRINT, part of what I filled out changed or dissappeared. Crap. So I took one of the bad printouts and filled in/wrote over the incorrect items, signed it, and dropped it in the mail.
Ten days later I get a letter from them telling me all that is wrong with my re-registration. I fixed it and mailed it back the next day.
Friday, before I left work, I called the NY Voters yahoos and asked what was up. Well, I'm registered, but still in Brooklyn. I was told to show up tomorrow, state my case, and see if they will let me do a paper ballot.
The lines are probably going to be CRAZY long tomorrow. But how pissed will I be if I show up, stand in that REALLY lone line, only to be told: sorry, you aren't registered here.
The point of all this is, that for all you hear about "make sure you vote" "you must vote, it's your right" blah, blah, blah, they sure don't make it as easy as it could be with the age of the internet.
Sigh.
Fast forward to October and I realized I only had a few days to make the deadline. So back I went to the site. Two hours later I finally get the form filled out. I kept having trouble because everytime I hit PRINT, part of what I filled out changed or dissappeared. Crap. So I took one of the bad printouts and filled in/wrote over the incorrect items, signed it, and dropped it in the mail.
Ten days later I get a letter from them telling me all that is wrong with my re-registration. I fixed it and mailed it back the next day.
Friday, before I left work, I called the NY Voters yahoos and asked what was up. Well, I'm registered, but still in Brooklyn. I was told to show up tomorrow, state my case, and see if they will let me do a paper ballot.
The lines are probably going to be CRAZY long tomorrow. But how pissed will I be if I show up, stand in that REALLY lone line, only to be told: sorry, you aren't registered here.
The point of all this is, that for all you hear about "make sure you vote" "you must vote, it's your right" blah, blah, blah, they sure don't make it as easy as it could be with the age of the internet.
Sigh.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I'm not wearing pantyhose
I had an appointment down in the village today after work. I got out of the subway at 8th Street and was crossing Broadway when I noticed the guy walking in front of me. He was wearing a white tee shirt, jeans, and had a backpack on (over both shoulders).
Now I know the cool way for guys to wear their pants these days is to wear them really, really low. But this guy took the cake. You could see both ass cheeks. His jeans were down below his butt. I think he was homeless, then again, everything he had on was rather new looking. I looked up again but he had become part of the crowd. His ass looked very smooth.
Side note: I'm watching the Idol finale. I didn't even bother to turn it on till 10 till 10. All I can say is this Sergant Pepper ode sucks. Well, the past winners sucked. Once they got to those voted off from this season it got a little better.
Now I know the cool way for guys to wear their pants these days is to wear them really, really low. But this guy took the cake. You could see both ass cheeks. His jeans were down below his butt. I think he was homeless, then again, everything he had on was rather new looking. I looked up again but he had become part of the crowd. His ass looked very smooth.
Side note: I'm watching the Idol finale. I didn't even bother to turn it on till 10 till 10. All I can say is this Sergant Pepper ode sucks. Well, the past winners sucked. Once they got to those voted off from this season it got a little better.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Most of 'em shock the hell outta me
Let me just start out by saying that I do not have a problem with women breast feeding their babies. Nope, not one bit. And I don't have a problem with them doing it in public. I guess I'm just shocked at what people do and where and how they choose to do it.
I left work tonight around 6:00pm. As I was walking to the subway I saw a woman standing in front of Madison Square Guarden. Lots of people going down to the Long Island Railroad and NJ Transit. As I get closer I see that the woman is breast feeding her baby right there on the street (she's standing--got to give her props for that) and she's singing the ABC song to her baby. She has her t-shirt pulled up exposing all of her breast (except for the nipple which is in the baby's mouth).
My Aunt Jane used to breast feed her son in public back in the 70s if she happened to be out at feeding time. What I remember is that she always threw a diaper over her shoulder and down over the baby. You couldn't see what was happening though you knew what she was doing. And she would try and sit out of the way. She would often have men and women come up to her and yell that this was a terrible thing she was doing and how could she do this in public. I never understood what was so upsetting to them since you couldn't see anything.
So when I saw this woman today it made me think of my Aunt Jane and how much of a lady she was in everything she did. She did the best for her child yet always tried to be respectful of others. I had to resist the urge to stop and ask that women to throw a diaper over her shoulder but I figured I would be like all those people who said things to Aunt Jane.
This all just pointed out to me that I'm getting older and often wish for the way things were.
I left work tonight around 6:00pm. As I was walking to the subway I saw a woman standing in front of Madison Square Guarden. Lots of people going down to the Long Island Railroad and NJ Transit. As I get closer I see that the woman is breast feeding her baby right there on the street (she's standing--got to give her props for that) and she's singing the ABC song to her baby. She has her t-shirt pulled up exposing all of her breast (except for the nipple which is in the baby's mouth).
My Aunt Jane used to breast feed her son in public back in the 70s if she happened to be out at feeding time. What I remember is that she always threw a diaper over her shoulder and down over the baby. You couldn't see what was happening though you knew what she was doing. And she would try and sit out of the way. She would often have men and women come up to her and yell that this was a terrible thing she was doing and how could she do this in public. I never understood what was so upsetting to them since you couldn't see anything.
So when I saw this woman today it made me think of my Aunt Jane and how much of a lady she was in everything she did. She did the best for her child yet always tried to be respectful of others. I had to resist the urge to stop and ask that women to throw a diaper over her shoulder but I figured I would be like all those people who said things to Aunt Jane.
This all just pointed out to me that I'm getting older and often wish for the way things were.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
That's the fork I knew
My husband and I have different schedules so I'm on my own five nights a week. I had a dentist appointment during my lunch time today, to have a chipped crown fixed, so didn't eat lunch due to a very numb mouth. By quitin' time I was starved. I decided to go to one of our favorite restaurants Red Eye Grill.
I get my favorite table, say hi to the servers that know us by name (we are there at least once a week), and settle in a quiet corner in the bar area with my New York Magazine crossword puzzle. I order my usual: french onion soup and a cobb salad. Let me just say now that the soup is so fab I actually dream about it. Amazing.
Not too long after I order a group of business men come in and take over the opposite corner (I'm at a 2-top next to the bar). There is a corner table between us in the "L" shaped space. My soup comes and everything fades away as I partake of the nectar. Next thing I know I'm being pulled from my dream-like state by 3 people moving into the corner space next to me. I try to ignore them and go back to my soup, ahhhhh.
The runner brings my salad and prepares it (they toss it table side). So I find myself hearing the woman less than 12" from me blabbing on and on about being vice president of this and vice president of that. And how on this trip she did this for work and on and on. Then she starts talking about a trip to Mexico and I mentally turn all my attention to what she is saying.
The reason for this being that my husband is Mexican. I spend a LOT of time in Mexico. I know Mexico. The man with her says how he doesn't want to travel there as he has a sensitive stomach. She starts saying how on every trip she has had a little bit of Montezuma's revenge. They are all blaming it on the water. Oh God how I want to butt into the conversation. Yes, you can get sick if you drink tap water (hell, my in-laws won't drink the tap water), but 9 times out of 10 you have the runs because you are drinking a lot of alcohol. Most people get sick on vacation because they are eating and drinking much differently than at home. Shit, I get the runs a tad when I go back to visit my mom in the mid-west--damn well water.
But nooooo, it's Mexico's fault you are sick. Then she starts blabbing about the time she got sick while in Merida. The man asks where this is and she says it is a town next to the ruins of Chichen Itza. Sigh. Lady, it is the capitol of the state of Yucatan and it is about a 2 hour drive west of Chichen Itza. And it has too many people in it to be even thought of as a town.
I know I'm getting petty; to most people who don't spend a lot of time there this is how it seems to them. But I just hate having to eat my meal listening to a know-it-all. She then proceeded to tell the ingredients in her Cosmopolitan. Just let me say this, she was wrong. Hehe.
Oh, and one last thing. During my salad more and more people join this group and I'm starting to feel boxed in, but don't want to rush my lovely dinner. There is now a woman sitting on the one long bench that we all share just a foot away from me. She turns her head to the right (towards me) and slightly down while she puts her hand in front of her face so she doesn't cough on the rest of her group. But the way she has her hand forces all the cough ON TO ME!!!! EEEEEWWWW. I quickly asked for the check and went home.
I get my favorite table, say hi to the servers that know us by name (we are there at least once a week), and settle in a quiet corner in the bar area with my New York Magazine crossword puzzle. I order my usual: french onion soup and a cobb salad. Let me just say now that the soup is so fab I actually dream about it. Amazing.
Not too long after I order a group of business men come in and take over the opposite corner (I'm at a 2-top next to the bar). There is a corner table between us in the "L" shaped space. My soup comes and everything fades away as I partake of the nectar. Next thing I know I'm being pulled from my dream-like state by 3 people moving into the corner space next to me. I try to ignore them and go back to my soup, ahhhhh.
The runner brings my salad and prepares it (they toss it table side). So I find myself hearing the woman less than 12" from me blabbing on and on about being vice president of this and vice president of that. And how on this trip she did this for work and on and on. Then she starts talking about a trip to Mexico and I mentally turn all my attention to what she is saying.
The reason for this being that my husband is Mexican. I spend a LOT of time in Mexico. I know Mexico. The man with her says how he doesn't want to travel there as he has a sensitive stomach. She starts saying how on every trip she has had a little bit of Montezuma's revenge. They are all blaming it on the water. Oh God how I want to butt into the conversation. Yes, you can get sick if you drink tap water (hell, my in-laws won't drink the tap water), but 9 times out of 10 you have the runs because you are drinking a lot of alcohol. Most people get sick on vacation because they are eating and drinking much differently than at home. Shit, I get the runs a tad when I go back to visit my mom in the mid-west--damn well water.
But nooooo, it's Mexico's fault you are sick. Then she starts blabbing about the time she got sick while in Merida. The man asks where this is and she says it is a town next to the ruins of Chichen Itza. Sigh. Lady, it is the capitol of the state of Yucatan and it is about a 2 hour drive west of Chichen Itza. And it has too many people in it to be even thought of as a town.
I know I'm getting petty; to most people who don't spend a lot of time there this is how it seems to them. But I just hate having to eat my meal listening to a know-it-all. She then proceeded to tell the ingredients in her Cosmopolitan. Just let me say this, she was wrong. Hehe.
Oh, and one last thing. During my salad more and more people join this group and I'm starting to feel boxed in, but don't want to rush my lovely dinner. There is now a woman sitting on the one long bench that we all share just a foot away from me. She turns her head to the right (towards me) and slightly down while she puts her hand in front of her face so she doesn't cough on the rest of her group. But the way she has her hand forces all the cough ON TO ME!!!! EEEEEWWWW. I quickly asked for the check and went home.
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