Bed. Bed, Bed, Bed.

Well, so Caesar finally turned up to collect his damn credit card at nearly 11 last night, the result being that once again, Mother here did not get a decent night's sleep.

And I came home tonight to find the kitchen tiling being done by Mel augmented by a REALLY thorough kitchen cleaning being done by Rebecca, which I frankly think is neat. I can't think of a better way to say thank you for letting us stay with you than that - I mean, hell, I can always manage about money, but God knows I was never, EVER going to actually clean the coils in the back of the refrigerator like all the housekeeping books tell you to do. (Who in their right mind, in cold blood, actually moves a goddamn REFRIGERATOR?)

By the way, while sitting on the bus coming home tonight (no further word on Simone, et al, darn it), it occurred to me that someone might find my references to Mel as my friendly live-in lesbian offensive. The answer to that is that Mel is highly amused by it. Every time I hug her and say thanks for all her work around the house and tell her that everybody needs a live-in lesbian, she says, "Yo, Mommy! I'm a big butch bull dyke! I'm a MAN!" If the lady - sorry, gentleman - doesn't think it offensive, I don't think anyone else really has the right to. So anybody who was going to bitch may now calm the hell down.

Then my pal Jiggers came over, so I had to sit around and talk to him for a while. Anyway, I have finally escaped all this conversation and mad industry and am happily ensconced in front of the computer with my nightcap of beer feeling nice and sleepy.

I must say that all this rain is starting to irritate the hell out of me. Not to mention the fact that I think I'm beginning to mildew. And because I'm irritated, I spent most of today cataloging things that people were doing to irritate me. Like so:

When you leave your building on a rainy day, please check to see that it is in fact raining at that particular moment. I cannot begin to tell you absolutely ridiculous you look as you walk out putting your umbrella up, having entirely failed to notice that no one else has an umbrella up because it has STOPPED RAINING.

If you are going to have an intense three person conversation, having it directly in front of the revolving door to the building is not a good idea because I will hit you to get you out of my way.

If you are going to have any sort of conversation with someone else in the elevator, BOTH of you should get off the elevator at the same floor. Leaning on the door to continue talking as the elevator begins to make that truly annoying beeping sound is NOT okay. Furthermore, it causes other people in the elevator to arrive at their desks with cold pizza.

The person at the next desk who feels you are interested in her life story while you are merely trying to read the NYTimes should be shot.

People who walk down the street with their earphones in while texting away at the same time on their phones are highly amusing when they walk into lamp posts. They will get unamusing and really messy if they don't quit doing it while crossing 6th Avenue at lunch hour.

I have this fascinating notion about some sort of performance piece running around in my mind. I envision midtown at 5:30 pm - 44nd and 6th would do nicely - and there is a sniper somewhere in one of those buildings. He is taking out whole hordes of people. And those that remain are phoning and texting and listening to music and racing to get their trains and all they do is cast a very brief and annoyed glance at the fallen and step right over the bodies. In the back of the stage there is a large screen which carries what they are texting: I can't believe some damn fool just died on the street in front of me and I nearly tripped over him and simply ruined my new shoes and I'm never going to catch the 5:45 to Larchmont now and aren't people just so inconsiderate?

You think that's a joke? Don't be in midtown at rush hour.

So I will now finish my beer and take my book to bed. The cats (who are quite pissed off about all this work in the kitchen because A. that's where their food usually lives and B. no one will let them get their paws permanently stuck in the tile glue) have all been fed and watered, I have been fed and beered, and all's right with the world. And tomorrow is Saturday and somehow or another we're going to have a birthday party for me in the middle of a construction zone. Well, what the hell. At least the kitchen is clean!

Love, Wendy