Yes, well, it's Friday. Actually, a pretty good Friday. I got my Blimpie (YAY!) and I had a five dollar coupon from Duane Reade (if you don't have a Duane Reade savings card, get one - the points rack up really fast - I mean, like we're all in Duane Reade about once a day anyway, right?) - so I got Peeps to go with my Blimpie and Diet Coke (and a new scrubby poof for the shower because mine had disintegrated and some DR bootleg Tylenol - aren't you glad you know all this?). I love Peeps, even if the sight of me eating them causes my kid (kid, my ass - she's 23) to make ghastly gagging noises. Totally committed to healthy eating - that's me.
And it's friggin' raining again. Look, it's still winter. It's been winter for a while. I want SNOW, damn it - not this unending cold rain. I swear to God I've mildewed. And on the rare occasions it DOES manage to snow, it gets all pretty and snowy and gorgeous for about two hours and then guess what? IT FUCKING RAINS AGAIN. Arrgggh. I'm going to write a very stiff letter of complaint to Al Gore - it's all his fault. He got so hopped up about global warning that even the climate is agreeing with him. (Actually, I do most certainly believe he's right - I also know for an absolute fact that at some point in say, early April, when it's been like 65 for three days straight and everybody's starting to think about putting the winter clothes away, we're gonna get hit with about 73 inches of snow. Never fails.)
This morning I saw a gal on her way to work wearing four inch heeled purple satin pumps. Who on earth wears purple satin pumps to the office? I couldn't see the rest of her outfit under her coat, damn it - I'd be really, REALLY curious as to what sort of office outfit she thought went well with purple satin stilettos. Scratch that - I don't actually think I want to know. (Matching hot pants?) I'm not at my best early in the morning anyway.
And while we're on the subject of mornings and getting to the office, I'm getting pretty sick of my white frosted doughnut with sprinkles every morning. The thing is that I always stop at the coffee wagon outside my office and the very nice guy who runs it always sees me coming and is convinced (because I guess I got that particular doughnut three times in a row some time back) that that's what I want every morning - anyway, he's so thrilled that he always remembers my order that I just would feel terrible changing it. Would somebody please remind me that there's such a thing as being TOO damn nice?
Meanwhile, in other news, my peculiar neighbors have gotten peculiar to the point where I now think Bellevue is probably the right place for them. We moved into this little townhouse in a row of little townhouses on far West Charles Street in the Village in 1992. Some years later this gorgeous young couple moved in to the left of us.
Well, she got herself elected president of the co-op and proceeded to stage an all-out persecution of us that was deeply amazing (now, remember, we were there first). She called us on every tiny infraction - the music was too loud, we were drug dealers (because our friends were coming in and out all the time), there was a terrible smell coming from our house, we had too many parties, our garbage wasn't wrapped right - well, it went on and on and on. Complete with banging on the wall if she heard anything she didn't like. (This included, one evening, me playing a recording of Oklahoma at 7 pm.) She tried at one point to get a co-op rule made that stated that there was to be no noise after 8 pm on weekdays and 10 pm on weekends. In the VILLAGE?
All this has now calmed down, but she and her husband, who now have two adorable children, have decided that they need more space. Well, of course, the obvious and logical solution to this is for them to move to that nice gated Westchester community where they belong anyway. But that's not their solution. In the last two days, first she and then her husband have asked me if I would sell Sarah's room (Sarah being my daughter - read her blog which she's going to show me how to link to - she's amazing) to them.
Um, WHAAAT? Let's see, you persecuted me for years and now you want to take over PART OF MY HOUSE? Yup. They want to cut through the wall between my kid's bedroom (even if she actually lives in Bushwick now, she still comes home when she doesn't feel like making the long subway trek out there - and when she's out of cigarettes and/or feels that the food in my icebox is better and anyway, Mom's always got got clean socks) and their kids' bedroom and TAKE OVER PART OF MY HOUSE? It's not just me, is it? Does anybody else think these people need to be put away? Who on earth would even THINK about asking something like this?
Sheesh. I wonder if I could reinforce that wall with solid steel, just in case these overprivileged little people attempt to remodel in the middle of the night. Well, hell - if they could come up with that batty notion, they're capable of anything.