The L Train Strikes Again

This morning I left 20 minutes earlier than normal only to arrive 30 minutes late to work. I ask of you, what is the point of leaving early if you will only get there later than had you left at your normal time. Here I am trying to do the right thing and stop at Whole Foods prior to work so that I can have some fruit and oatmeal today. So I rush like a crazy person to get out the door and still look cute. And this morning it even involved ironing, because The Princess had invited me out to an opening, which I will not be able to attend now because The Princess can be an idiot (if you doubt me, please see The Netflix Incident) and had the time wrong. Frankly, I would still be thinking I was going to this opening if Erica hadn’t jumped in (we don’t call her Fact Checker for nothing) with the correct time for the event.

That said I left the house 20 minutes earlier than normal and I was freshly pressed and still I didn’t make it to work on time. And do you know why? Because the L Train sucks. Seriously, I hate that stupid train. This morning, for no apparent reason it was just standing there with its doors open with a zillion people crammed inside and it wasn’t moving. So of course once it finally decides to move, the platform is jam packed with people. Thus begins the hideous cycle of every train arriving packed, opening its doors so people could cram themselves in and then driving away without me. You know why? Because I absolutely refuse to ride on a train that is so packed that I can actually feel someone’s breath on my neck (normally I am very fond of that feeling when it is the right someone (hey “A” wink, wink) , but not nasty Williamsburg strangers). So instead I am forced to wait and watch as multiple trains go by making me later and later.

While standing there watching the trains pass I happened to be reading an article in Health magazine about the flu vaccine. Frankly, I think those vaccines are pointless. They only protect you from three different strains of the flu and you can’t even be sure that those are the strains that are going to be floating around in your area. Not to mention, that almost everyone I know who gets the flu vaccine gets sick after receiving it. To which they usually say to me, “Yes, but I was only sick for a couple of days.” Um, okay, that’s how long I’m normally sick from the flu, so why would I trade that for a vaccine that makes me sick for sure, when I know there is a strong possibility that I won’t get the flu at all. The point here is that the writers at Health had a few suggestions for how to avoid getting the flu sans the vaccine. Guess what their number one suggestion was? “Avoid getting too close to strangers on a train.” Needless to say, I let the next train pass.

Jose and Jorge Need a Good Home

After 9/11, I was laid off from my cushy event planning job. Apparently people were not in the mood to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for parties. Who'd believe?

I ended up doing a hundred different jobs (while surreptitiously collecting unemployment checks) -- one of which was traveling around the country to different malls and installing (the now-defunct) Biotherm Skin Care Counters in Macy's. I was in a group the organizers called, "The Mountain Men." Kevin, main organizer, thought I'd feel comfortable with them, seeing as how I was from Georgia. There was Tommy, DooDah, and Michael -- all from the mountains in North Georgia, then the oddball Xanax addict, Joe from Queens, and me. Yes. DooDah -- the RedNeck Santa Claus. He was about 60, looked like he was about 80 (due to Santa beard and chain smoking), and always spoke of himself in third person. One one particular morning I was driving the 24' Budget truck (with lift gate) back to our hotel from the mall with DooDah in the passenger seat. The shocks were crap, so the truck bounced like crazy when you were traveling under 45 MPH. At one point he looks at me and says, "If this keeps up, DooDah's gonna need a rubber."

Well, one week, the MM and I were working in Laredo, TX and we had a day off. So, we did what any group of construction workers would do that close to the border. We went to Mexico for margaritas.

This is where I first met Jose and Jorge. I was shopping around the market area, trying not to step on the small children selling crappy bracelets for "one Peso please," and I saw them. My little devils. I fell immediately in love, and though I planned to only buy one, I couldn't decide between them. That's how Jose and Jorge came into the family.

Jose and Jorge became the Mountain Men mascots. They traveled with us everywhere and they gave me much comfort in a time in my life that was pretty dark. I mean, 4 nights a week, the MM and I would work from 9 PM until 8AM in a deserted Macy's. I was exhausted. I didn't have one intelligent conversation for over three months. DooDah and Michael refused to eat anywhere besides IHOP. It was miserable. Jose and Jorge saved me.

Now, Erica and I are moving and we're making compromises on what items we're taking with us and what items we're getting rid of.

She says Jose and Jorge have to go. I considered telling her that I'd rather she go, but Jose and Jorge aren't in a position to help with the mortgage, so I'm stuck.

People. I can't put them out on the street. Surely someone would find them and love them, but I can't risk it. What if a dog comes by and thinks they're toys -- or fire hydrants? What if the wind blows and they end up in the Hudson River? I'm having a hard enough time trying to come up with a way to tell them that they're not moving with us (and they are so excited about the new place) -- how can I be expected to add insult to injury by just dropping them on the front stoop?

So. I'm coming to you, dear readers. Who out there has room in their home, and heart, for two devilish characters from Nuevo Laredo, Mexico? They don't make messes, they're well-traveled, they don't smell, and they are very good listeners.

Another Love Letter ... I know ...ugh.

So. I'm at home tonight and I'm obsessively checking email and the blog to see if anyone has checked in (Ann? You still out there?) and I get a Facebook message from Erica's dad's girlfriend Sandi. (Yes. With an i. Don't hold it against her.)

And I watch this goofy video and I have a huge moment.

You know, so much of The Princess' blogging involves the "unacceptable" version of Mother that she ended up with. And just recently I was whining, "Why didn't I get a good family? My mom's nuts and my dad is absentee. It's not fair."

Then tonight I got this video and I realized. That I did get get the good family. I have Erica's family.

When E and I first started dating, her BFF Strong said to me, "You don't know how lucky you are. I've always envied the person who would end up with Erica. Because when you get Erica, you get her family."

Well, tonight it really hit me. Since E and I got together, I have struggled to understand her family. I've been accustomed to a family that is full of secrets and hidden personalities. My cousin had AIDS -- circa 1988 -- and his mother allowed my mom to change this chest tube he had ... without EVER mentioning that he was sick with what was known, at that time, as the incurable gay disease.

Know why they didn't talk about it? Because my aunt worked for the county school system and she was scared she'd lose her job. My high school still has segregated proms. So. You can imagine their view on gay butt sex.

Anyway. What hit me tonight was, this goofy video is such an example of how the relationship between E and her family and the one between me and mine is so vastly different. And it is huge, for this naive Georgia hick, that I can be exactly who I am. Because Erica's parents ... and their current partners ... accept me. And love me. And allow me to be who and what I am.

I think this may be the reason Erica and I are together. Since we became girlfriends, we've talked about our backgrounds and the fact that they are so hugely different. I think she and I were put into this world, in part, to experience the familial relationships we had and then to be exposed to polar opposites so that we both appreciate where we come from and where we've come to.

Potty Training

Let’s talk for a moment about good manners. I’m not certain why, but New Yorkers seem to lack good manners especially when it comes to cleanliness. Take for instant The Princess’, what I can only describe as grotesque, run in with Psoriasis Man. Yuck. For the record, I would not have sat for the duration of the ride next to him. Unlike The Princess, I wear 3 inch heels to work but still I would have endured foot torture before I would have sat next to someone while they were flinging their dry scabby skin on me. Seriously, who raised this person?

I do believe it’s all about upbringing. The Princess is from the South and I’m from the Midwest where, even if we wanted to do something that disgusting, we would be too embarrassed to behave such a way in public. Now, the longer you live in NYC the easier it does become to block out the fact that there are other people around. It’s really the only way to survive. That said, you are not alone and we have to inhabit your environment too, so please keep your scab flakes to yourself.

The women’s bathroom is seriously the most disgusting thing in the world. Of course I expect that when I go in to some random public bathroom that it is incredibly likely I will encounter an unflushed toilet or sadly things even more disgusting than that. What I do not expect is that at bathrooms in places like my job or the gym I will have to witness such disgusting behavior. It amazes me. And I’m not talking about a lack of maintenance by the cleaning crew. What I’m talking about is general bad manners. When my sisters were little and we would take them to a public bathroom, we would walk them through proper bathroom etiquette. Apparently, no one did this for the majority of women living in New York so I am going to do it for you.


Proper Bathroom Etiquette 101
#1. Always Flush. Yes, I realize this seems obvious but judging by the fact that 9 out of 10 times, I enter a stall only to find that someone has not flushed, the majority of you are not aware of this rule.
#2. Flush, until you can’t flush anymore. It is not enough to just flush the toilet once and then leave the stall. Apparently, many people do not realize this which is why I’m telling you please do us all a favor and make sure your flush took.
#3. , Wipe the Seat. Might I just say for a second, ick. Seriously, how can you not wipe the seat? If you insist that you must squat above it then you must make sure that you wipe the seat. And believe you me, you need to. I know for a fact that your thigh muscles are not strong enough that you can keep that squat going and not move, okay. You’ve sprinkled while you tinkled. Now clean it up!
#4. When you wash your hands, do not leave a pool of water on the counter . As proud as I am that you have decided to wash your hands, I have to say it makes me hate you when the entire waist of my shirt gets wet because you somehow do not know how to actually keep the water off of the counter. Here is a suggestion, should you find that when you wash your hands water gets all over the counter, please use one of those readily available paper towels and wipe the counter.

Remember people, we all have to share this space together. And as any good girl from the Midwest (or South) knows, that might be a stranger standing next to you in line for the bathroom, but you better believe she is still judging you.

Dear Netflix, Can I please get my porn back?

Erica and I are moving and I asked to be in charge of all packing. I am a huge control freak and as I've mentioned before, I have a need to organize and list every item that is packed as well as number the boxes with a code that indicates where the movers should put each box.

So, I've been on a kick of getting something move-related done every morning before work and every evening to keep the process going and to hopefully avoid a huge last minute rush.

Yesterday morning was "make the move to cancel the Netflix account". Our DVD player is currently disconnected and on a pile of boxes. The three DVD's we had at home have been sitting on the table for almost a month, so we decided to stop Netflix until we're in the new place and have the DVD player back up and running. Step one for stopping Netflix ... return videos. Easy enough.

I pack them up and drop them in the mail on my way to work. Then. This morning as I'm organizing things on the table which has become the hold-all for miscellaneous items that haven't been packed, but don't currently have a home either. What do I see? Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang. One of the Netflix DVDs. I'm confused at first, then it hits me.

There had been another disc sitting there. The porn.

Don't judge me people. I know we're not the only people with porn.

Of course, we no longer have porn. Because I mailed it to Netflix.