Banner Day!

Consider yourselves lucky!  The muse just gave me a solid kick in the behind--THREE blog posts in ONE day!  Speaking of my behind, I was walking down the street, checking out my reflection in the windows (which is something I do regularly because I'm obsessed with my own image even though I'm usually dissatisfied with what I see), and I noticed that my ass is looking A-OK today.  I attribute this newly found "nice ass" to the whopping 3 days I worked out this month.  Maybe there is something to not-so-regular-but-well-intentioned exercise.  Now, I know that writing this is just asking for trouble, and I promise you that I will not turn into my former roommate.  I will not take hundreds of pictures of my own backside and hang them up around the house as "art", nor will I make a plaster cast of my posterior (along with 30 other people's derrieres) that will be used to make silicone butt blobs that I will stack or hang around different art galleries (or my living room).  I also will not use a Christmas card holder/wall decoration as a year-round condom dispenser next to my couch.  I just wanted to note that I think I may be doing my body a little good.  If only my middle would whittle a little, I'd be in business.

What won't help me do my body good is my insistence on visiting the bakery.  Yesterday I really wanted a "most-est" cupcake from my local bakery.  This little piece of heaven is modeled after a hostess cupcake, except it's gourmet and stuff:  yummy chocolate cake, Bavarian cream filling, topped with chocolate ganache--and for Valentine's, they are covered in sprinkles around the edges with a tasty cherry-flavored candy heart in the middle.  YUM!

I ran out of time yesterday, so I decided that today was the day.  I marched over to the bakery only to discover a line that stretched outside the door!  This is unheard of!  Rather than take this as a sign that I had no business in there, I found my place in line and patiently awaited my turn.  As I stood there, a couple came up to the bakery.  The woman was in her mid-40's wearing a hideous furry sweater, enormous rose-tinted glasses, with her hair in a pony tail (not unlike mine), and the man was non-descript.  I couldn't decipher their exact relationship, but I think they were co-workers of some sort.  As she walked up, I could tell she was annoying.  Here's how it all went down.

Annoying Lady: This is the place.  Here's where we want to be. (She attempts to walk inside the bakery despite the fact that there is an obvious line reaching outside the door.)  Where do you stand?  Do you think this is a line? (She and her companion then line up behind me.)  Will this work?  This is the place.  I bet they're fast.  They must be fast.  Do you think they're fast?  Wow.  They must be good.  I wonder why all of these people are here.  Do you know why so many people are here?  Why would all these people be here?  Is it that good?  What do they have in there?  Is this place good?  Why is there a line?  Why are all these people here?  I bet it's good.
Me: Valentine's Day is tomorrow.  That's why there's a line.
AL: (Looking baffled and somewhat unconvinced) Oh.  What's good here?
Me: Everything.  I like the cupcakes, the cheesecake, the tortes, and some of the cookies.
Friendly Fellow in Front of Me: It's true.  Everything's good.  However, there is one thing that's not all that great.  The more standard cookies tend to be too dense.
Me: Yeah.  I don't like their sugar cookies, but those Quake cookies are my favorite.  (For the record, the quake cookies are chewy chocolate hazelnut cookies covered in powdered sugar that used to be a bargain at 85 cents, but now cost $1.15)
FF: Have you tried their newest thing?  They have something called a Love Bun.  It's so delicious--croissant-like bread with pastry filling.
AL: (Turning to her grumpy companion) I just heard they have something called a Love Bun.  I'm going to get that.  My decision is made.  I'm getting a love bun.  What else do they have in there?
Grumpy Companion: This is gonna take too long.  I need to eat something.
AL: Well there are all these people here.  It must be good.  People wouldn't come here if it wasn't good.  I'm sure we can get something for you.
GC: Well, I'm hungry now.
AL: I'm getting a Love Bun.  Doesn't that sound good.  I think it'll be great.

(We finally make it into the shop, and AL starts bobbing around people trying to find what she wants, chattering about nothing in particular.)

AL: (To GC) It looks like they have Tuna Salad and Egg Salad sandwiches.  I wonder why they don't have more sandwiches.
Me: (Thinking to myself) Because it's 4 o'clock, you dumbass.  Lunch is far from over.  They close in three hours.
AL: I can't see everything.  I wonder what they have.  I want a Love Bun.  Oh no.  The Love Buns are gone.  I bet those guys took the last one. (For the record, FF and his friend did not take the last Love Bun.  The bakery didn't have any today.)  What are you going to get?
GC: I guess I'm getting a tuna salad.  That's all they have here.
AL: I wonder why they don't have more sandwiches.  Doesn't it seem strange?  Why would they just make tuna and egg salad. (Obviously she didn't notice the 5 other signs for sandwiches that WERE there before they were sold to lunch customers prior to 4pm.)

(After waiting for the millions of bakery-goers to get their sweets, I ordered my cupcake and was almost on my way.)

AL: Do you have any Love Buns?  I want a Love Bun. I heard their good.  So do you have any?
Bakery Dude: (confused) No.  Not today.
AL: Are you sold out?  Did that guy get the last one?
BD: We don't have any.
AL: Oh.  What's good?

(And that's when I left.)

- scene -

I NEVER want to be in a line with that woman again.  Should she become a regular at my local bakery, it may be the deterrent I need to NOT go there (and, quite honestly, I don't go there THAT much).  So annoying!

After that excursion, I stopped by my favorite coffee shop (since there are 3 to choose from on my street).  All I wanted was a large mango iced tea, and it took ten thousand years to get it.  Why?  Because a couple that was older than dirt was ahead of me.  Old people are slow.  One day I'll be a slow, old person (with no cats, but with a few too many quirks to go out into public on a regular basis), but until that day, I'll be the speedy young nipper who stands there slightly annoyed at the oldsters because she just wants her iced tea in less than 15 minutes.  And then, as I'm thinking about how silly it is for me to be annoyed, I'll start thinking about my grandparents and how I used to think they were unbelievably slow (and got slower as they got older).  Then, I'll start to feel bad about the way I acted like a spoiled brat (because I was 20 and full of piss and vinegar for no reason in particular) the last time I saw my grandma and wish that I could apologize for my behavior (since I didn't know it would be the last time I'd ever see her) and tell her I how much I love her and wish that I knew her recipe for chicken and dumplings that she created just for me.  But I guess that's just the cross I have to bear.

Anyway...I did get my iced tea, and I did eat the cupcake.  Both were divine, and now I'm good on the most-est cupcake for another year or so (I don't want to overdo it and make it less than a treat, ya know...besides, I gotta work on improving my reflection).

Is That Creepy? A Poll.

As you know, my cell phone is on a fabulous 3-day vacation to exciting NEW YORK CITY!  I don't know what kind of plans it made for its whirlwind adventure, but I'm sure it will take in a Broadway show and enjoy the nightlife that Manhattan has to offer.  My blackberry likes to get down if you know what I mean.

As you may or may not know, I like to bake (cookies in case you thought I was referring to a lifestyle choice other than that of "crazy cat lady" (sans cats) which may soon be a reality for me--and speaking of cats, I've been sneezing all day long and discovered it's because I'm wearing a hoodie with cat hair on it...argh!).  I also like to win people over with sweets.  So, it seemed only natural that I might make a batch of cookies to thank IT guy for dealing with pesky little ol' me.  Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time to bake (and the mood didn't really strike me), so I ended up buying some candy for a dollar (do I need to make a crack about being a cheapskate?  No?  That obvious, huh?).

Since tomorrow is Valentine's Day (and my phone will arrive at IT guy's desk tomorrow as well), I went with a box of chocolates with a silly picture of daffy duck and the space alien from Looney Tunes (okay fine, you dragged it out of me...it was a heart-shaped box).  And that led me to wonder, is that creepy?

I did write a note telling him that I sent the candy as a little thank you (and left out the bit that it was also incentive for him to help me out because I figured that was implied).  On the whole, I don't think sending treats is creepy (though maybe I've been fooling myself all these years), but the fact that it is Valentine's candy on Valentine's Day makes me wonder.

So, I'm putting it out there.  Creepy?  Yes?  No?

1-800-MNKY-LUV Is Closed For Business

This is a public service announcement to let everyone know that my cell phone is in a box on its way to New York.  For that reason, I ask that you not call me until further notice.  If you try to call me, you'll just end up talking to my IT guy, and I don't think any of us want that.  Also, don't call 1-800-MNKY-LUV.  I just made that up,  If you do so, it's at your own risk.  Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if it was a creepy phone sex number.  Your call might be similar to the one I made several years ago when someone (read: me) typed up a form and switched two of the numbers on the listing for customer service.  And, well, one day I needed some customer service (from the very company for whom I work, which is NOT, to the best of my knowledge, a phone sex hotline), so I dialed it and was shocked and horrified to be greeted by some sultry, yet still unattractive-sounding woman explaining the rates for her luscious services.  Horrified, I called my boss and had her try the number.  That's when I discovered that *I* was the one that mistyped the number, and I quickly let the matter drop...and revised the form.

So the blackberry is STILL the bane of my existence (apropos of nothing, if you misspell "bane", "bain", you are making some reference to bathing--thank you dictionary.com).  I can't get the stupid thing to work.  Today, I talked to Phonies, and they had me take my SIM card out (which made me sad, even though I don't really know its purpose beyond enabling me to use the phone overseas which I may never do...but I COULD), and it still didn't work.  I then wandered down to a neighborhood with better reception and ate a hamburger (that, at first, seemed small until I realized it was the size a hamburger SHOULD be) while attempting to connect to my company server.  After two attempts IT guy told me to send it to him.  Feeling I had no good argument against it, I relented.  If he can't get it to work, I'm sending everything back to Phonies (and I mean everything.  I've got some spring cleaning to do (which I did start the other day, and, for the record, my house sparkles), so they may end up with a couple boxes of rubber bands that are just taking up space next to the bag of receipts I need to shred).

Oh, and speaking of Phonies, I'm terrified of my bill.  I have no idea what it's going to say.  I'm not made out of money, people.  If I don't watch it, I'll start having night terrors about getting a million dollar cell phone bill that will replace the odd dreams I've been having about living in a mansion without access to the outside world (hmmm...I actually think I know where that dream originates...yikes.  I gotta get out more...and a working blackberry will only help that situation).

So, to sum up.  Don't call or text me, and if you do...don't do anything that I'll regret.

Signed,

MNKY-LUV 1

SEVEN?!

*I wrote a beautiful story of love and loss, but it got lost in the internet vacuum yesterday morning.  After spending my day mourning the loss of my masterpiece, I'm back to see if I can recreate the brilliance.**

The scene: Neighborhood Chinese Restaurant

The back-story: On Saturday night, I made plans with some friends to go out to dinner.  Since there were too many chefs in the kitchen (and more kept walking in the door), I bowed out of the decision-making process.  Once they agreed upon a favorite Chinese place, they called me and told me to be there at 7:45.  This is where the scene begins.

Time: 7:45

(I walk up to the brightly lit restaurant and peer inside to see if my dinner companions have arrived.  Since the place is so small, I can see that I am, in fact, the first to arrive.  So, I open the door and walk in.  The restaurant is very crowded, and a waiter approaches me.)

Waiter 1: Hello, how many?
Me: I'm meeting some friends here.  We have a reservation for 7 people.
W1: You're friends were here earlier.  They left already.
Me: No, the reservation is for 7:45.
W1: Oh.  One minute. (He then turns to help one of his many customers and walks away.)

(Another waiter approaches me from the back of the restaurant.)

Waiter 2: Hello, table for 1?
Me: Actually, I have a reservation for 7:45.
W2: Under what name?
Me: (Quickly trying to figure out whose name it might be under) Billy, Joe, or Bob*?  I'm not sure.

* The names were changed to protect the innocent.
(The waiter walks to the back and returns with a couple menus.)

W2: Table for 2.  Right this way.
Me: No, the reservation is for 7.
W2: SEVEN?! (He shrieked, quickly turning his head to either side to survey the impossible situation I'd just thrown at him.  Then, he gave me another panicked look, and ran to the back of the restaurant.)

(At that moment, 4 more of my dining companions arrived, just in time to witness the flurry of activity as two women and a baby were evicted from their newly acquired seats at a 4-person table and were ushered over to a soon-to-be vacated 2-person table.  The only other empty table in the place was moved over to accommodate us, and we were seated.  Dinner was delicious, the conversation was sparkling, and the freaked-out waiter turned out to be quite a spitfire.)

And that brings me to the live sex show...

We were seated directly in front of the door, so I had prime seating for people watching.  Since we were such space hogs, several people had to wait for tables.  As we finished up our meal (of which I ate far too much), a group of four women (I may regret saying this, but I'd like to state that they were four very unattractive women...and they were lesbians, but let it be known that the two facts (even though one is admittedly subjective) are not inter-dependent on one another...I'm just creating a visual for you, my readers) entered the restaurant.  They waited a few minutes to be seated, and just as the waiter motioned them over to a table, one of the women turned around (as if she were on a mission), grabbed her girlfriend's face, licked her cheek and started making out in a very unsettling way.  Now when I say "making out", I don't mean they were kissing in an innocent way like you probably should when in public at a family restaurant; I mean they were "making out" in that I've-got-to-f***-you-now-and-i-think-we-should-do-it-on-this-plate-of-moogoogaipan-because-this-couple-and-their-baby-don't-really-want-this-table sort of way.

Tongues were flying, hands were creeping, and I wouldn't be surprised if indecent exposure was risked.  All the while, I couldn't stop staring (and, I should also state that my assessment of their level attractiveness doesn't make the scene any more or less gross).  Apparently, I was the only person at my table that was privy to the sex show before us (mostly because of where I was positioned), so I didn't have anyone to commiserate with, and I didn't want to draw more attention to them than they were already doing.  I mean, come on!  We were in a brightly lit restaurant that was inexplicably filled with teenage boys.  Who does that?  Seriously.  There is a time and place.  And yes, I know that I am becoming more like my mother every day, but gay, straight, or animal-loving, you shouldn't subject the public to your lovemaking.  And yes, I DID use the term "lovemaking".  Crap.  I AM my mother.

So, just a quick word on my mom...  Whenever she sees people kissing in public (I'm not talking dry-humping next to a plate of chicken chow mein...just kissing), she gets all disgusted, and says, "There are better places for lovemaking."  Not only does my skin crawl at the mere sound of that term (especially when it comes out of my mom's mouth), but I get totally annoyed with her for being such a prude.  Now I'm starting to turn around on the issue, and I see her point.  Maybe it's that I'm quickly becoming the crazy cat lady on the corner (who doesn't have cats because she's allergic and too lazy and irresponsible to care for a living thing other than herself), or maybe I'm just making the natural transition to being more like my parents (which hopefully does not entail watching Fox News every night).  Whatever the case, I'd rather just eat my fortune cookie and laugh about my fortune "in bed", than suddenly discover that I'm eating in someone else's bedroom.

Despite being horrified (and somewhat entertained, since it was pretty funny in a very inappropriate way), I had a great time.  I mean, come on, I scared the waiter (he really did scream, "SEVEN?!") and I witnessed impromptu hot lesbian action.  It's all good fodder for storytelling.  What more do you need?

And I'm Disappointed, Why?

Uhhh....so yesterday I noticed that my snazzy new cell phone (with far more features than I've ever wanted or needed on a phone) does not have a camera, and I was actually disappointed.  For most people, this may seem obvious, but when you consider that I only started text-messaging less than 2 years ago (after my friends shamed me) and have NEVER had a camera phone, it seems a little odd.  Why do I suddenly care?  Why do I get sucked into uber-consumerism so easily?

I'm totally sticking with my 13-inch TV/VCR combo until it catches on fire like the rest of my appliances.  I don't want the headache of technology-envy to enter my life.

Oh, and for the record, I ran 8 miles this morning (okay, so it might have been 6-7, but still...I went far).  Woo!

Did I Mention That I'm Available?

Alright, gentlemen, start lining up to the right, 'cuz I'm AVAILABLE!

Today was a shining example of what kind of sweet catch I truly am.  It all started when I called my friendly IT guy to set up my blackberry with the company network.  After wrestling (or wrastlin', as we like to say in my homeland) with Phonies, I was feeling pretty confident about the final phase of my set-up.  What could possibly go wrong?  If you're thinking "everything", then you are close to right.  I think I may be a cell phone foster parent because I may be sending this puppy back to the shelter for adoption.

So, IT guy and I chatted (and I definitely need to bake him some cookies now), and we started the set-up process.  Of course, being in my house there is no signal (as previously discussed), so I had to wander outside (which is now where I will hold all of my important phone conversations,so for anyone that might want to call me, be aware that the world is my stage--also be aware that I may be sending my phone to IT guy, so he'll be answering my phone for a few days).  I walked about five blocks away until I found a full signal, then I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, facing the sun for 45 minutes.  I held my phone an arm's length away from me (because if it got closer, the signal was lost).  IT guy and I tried to make it work, but alas, it didn't.  The whole time I stood there, people passed me giving me odd looks.  I also noticed someone staring at me from their window.  They probably thought I was casing the joint.  Little do they know, I'm just an idiot with a piece of technology that I'll never fully master.

After an uncomfortably warm 45 minutes (because I was wearing a wool sweater and it was 65 degrees outside), I was starving.  Standing in one place with your arm outstretched is hard work.  Did I mention I was halfway up a hill?  Yeah.  Because my belly was doing the talking, I went to the first available restaurant (luckily it was located one storefront ahead of the terrible taqueria, otherwise we all know what would have happened--nothing but regret).

My hostess seated me outside at a table that was next to the window.  A group of people were sitting inside the restaurant on the other side of the window.  If the window weren't there, I'd be dining with them.  Knowing that we were far too close for comfort, I felt the pressure to be on my best behavior.  That means no excessive nose-blowing.

Everything was going smoothly in the beginning.  I selected my meal, I read the paper, I didn't clean out my ears.  I was an upstanding citizen.  Hell, I'd want to dine with me.  Then, my iced tea came.  What could go wrong with that?  Well, let me tell you.  The waiter (who is a delightful bear that loves to call me sweetie and always seems genuinely pleased to see me) put an enormous lemon slice in my tea that was conveniently cut down the middle for my squeezing pleasure.  Unfortunately, it was almost completely sliced, so when I squeezed it, half of it flew out of my hand and hit the window.  Had the window not been there, it would have hit the guy sitting caddy-cornered across from me in the face.  Nice.

I laughed that one off, and as far as I could tell, the window diners (who appeared to be having a business meeting) didn't notice (despite the fact that one of them barely escaped peril).  Still confident that I could pull off civilized, I continued reading the paper until my sandwich arrived.  Being famished, I knew I risked shoving too much in my mouth all at once.  Some people don't outgrow bad behavior, okay?  I really did my best to be a lady, but the universe was not on my side today (which says to me that I missed my window of opportunity to buy a lottery ticket).

I bit into my sandwich, and discovered that I'd gotten some gross gristle/bony/hard piece in my mouth, and I had no choice but to spit it out.  And here's where it gets complicated.  Had I been banished to a corner, where most restaurants like to seat solo diners, I could have gotten away with it.  But being that I was inches away from a business meeting that I couldn't hear, I was in a bind.  I tried to politely put my napkin to my mouth and spit it out.  Unfortunately, there is no graceful way to make that exit.  I did the best I could, but I know it was gross.  I also tried to discard the evidence by shoving the napkin under my plate, but as I looked up, I noticed that everyone on the other side of the table was looking at me.  CAUGHT!

I can't take myself anywhere!  No wonder I go to the terrible taqueria all the time.  They don't care, especially when I order take-out.

So that's the story.  Who wants to have dinner?

That's How I Roll...

In case you were hoping to get a little insight into how I live, here's a nice example.

Yesterday, I spent the better part of my morning on the phone with Phonies, trying to get my blackberry set-up.  I won't bore you with the details (as I already did that last week), so just know that it was a long and tedious process.  I think I may have too much phone, and I'm definitely too old to know how to use it.

As I was saying, my morning went a little bit like this.  I woke up, ate some breakfast, turned on the computer, did a little work,  and waited for my Phonie rep to call.  He never called, so I gave him an hour and called them myself.  Then I sat on the phone with three different people for over two hours.  On my final call, the customer service lady, who was a delightful woman from Kentucky, wanted to make sure I had internet access.  Unfortunately for me, my house is a vacuum of bad signals.  I had her on speaker phone and let her know that I was walking to the other side of the apartment (which is a palatial studio), at which point we commenced yelling to each other (that was actually kind of funny). 

Then, she told me I should just go outside.  To most this might be a reasonable request. For me, it struck fear in my heart.  Why?  Because I was still wearing my pajamas--and yes, it was noon.  Not sure what to do, I told her I'd be a minute.  So, I ran into the closet otherwise known as my bedroom (literally) and threw on some clothes.  I then yelled out to her that I was going outside.  I ran outside, checked the web, and came back in.  I told her it was a success, and she said, "Great.  You're set."

I had her sitting on the phone waiting for me for more than 5 minutes while I got dressed and ran outside.  Did she wonder what I was doing?  I certainly couldn't tell her that I was still in my pajamas.  That's just embarrassing (even though all the delivery people know what kind of lazy slob I am).

Oh well.  Once I was dressed, I suddenly felt like being productive, so I brushed my teeth.

And that's how I live.

Hey boys! I'm available!