272. I’m thinking of getting a job with the UN to make a bit of pin money.

Skinny people take their time eating because they don’t consider dinner a job. I will never understand this.

The other night I went out to dinner with my nephew Barry’s wife, Teresa and his childhood friend, Jack and Jack’s wife Ann.

I know Jack and Ann are grown ups. They have big kids but I still look at Jack as a teenager. By her connection to him, I feel the same way about Ann. Jack hasn’t changed at all, not in looks or grownupedness, Ann too.

Anyway we all had a lovely dinner.

At the end of the meal I was talking to Ann and Jack and Teresa were deep in conversation.

The waiter came over and asked if he could take the plates away. Everyone had finished eating. At least that’s what I thought.

He cleared the first three settings  but when the waiter tried to take Teresa’s dish, she put her hand up and told him “I’m not quite done” then she continued her conversation.

I looked at her plate. She had one bite size piece of sausage on it. Nothing else.

Although I was ok with her not wanting to give that last bite away, I was puzzled by her not just popping it into her mouth.

We all had had some wine and those three were happily dragging the evening on because they were having fun. I on the other hand, am old and wine means snooze time.

Only after the waiter had returned 3 more times to ask if he could remove her plate and each time she shook her head no while continuing her conversation and not making a move towards downing that last morsel, did I realize that I had to say something or we’d never get out of there and it was only minutes before my head would fall down on the crumb laden table in a deep sleep.

I love my niece Teresa and I pride myself in being subtle and diplomatic. I certainly didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable so I simply said, “Will you shut the fuck up and eat that sausage”

That seemed to do it. I was home and in my bed within 15 minutes.

271. A near death experience

Julie had a reading upstate for her new book,  “Friendkeeping” so she and I, accompanied by her 3 dogs, went up to spend the weekend with her parents, my sister Marcia and brother in law, Paul.

The ride up was really fun. Julie and I rarely get to spend that much alone time so we yapped and yapped. Even one dog vomiting in the back seat of my car and another farting constantly and snoring like one of the 3 stooges didn’t put any kind of damper on the trip.

We got up there at around 3. Very close to cocktail hour.

Now let me tell you about having a big sister. Even if you are 68 she is still in charge. If I wanted to help with dinner she tells me to shut up and sit down. In fact “shut up” was the theme of the weekend. The funny thing is that every time she said it it was like a kiss on the cheek and we give wet hard kisses in my family.

They live in this beautiful, comfortable house that they frequently say proudly has thick walls that keep something out and other things in. I never listened to the end of that story so I really am not up on the details.

Julie spent a great deal of time in the front driveway because she couldn’t get email in their house (remember those thick walls). I, on the other hand had email up the kazoo on my ipad and on my iphone. Much to her irritation I checked my email constantly even though most of what I received was for penis enlargements and reminders from Freshdirect.

This is something I want to say before I continue.

My brother in law, Paul is hysterically funny and talented  but he’s also deaf as a post, sorry Paulie. They constantly have music playing which would dull any other sounds and my sister can be said to be on another planet at times.

This wasn’t important until later in the afternoon when I went to powder my nose.

As I tried to leave the terlet, much to my surprise I couldn’t  open the door. I tried and tried.

Here’s the problem. You have to get someone to let you out but what do you say? Do you yell “Help!” or “Marcia!”?  No point in calling Paul and whatever you shout it’s embarrassing.

First I try a few half assed “Marcia”s.  I started thinking about those thick walls then and figured the only chance I have of escaping is to attract Julie’s attention. But she’s outside in the driveway which is on the other side of the house. I open the window ( it’s one of those side opening windows) and purse my lips through the opening trying to yell “Juuuulieeee”

No response.

Then I realized that if I was going to get out of there before the end of cocktail hour I’d have to give an all out yell.

The end of this isn’t very interesting. They did hear me and came and saved me  but any dignity I had was only a memory.

When I told my sister that she should fix that door so it wouldn’t happen again she told me to shut up.

270. Does this mean that President Obama will stop inviting me to dinner for the low, low price of $5?

We have a new President. I was so scared that President Obama wouldn’t win that I didn’t watch any of the returns and only found out the next morning.

The first thing I did was make a big smiley face on a piece of paper and slide it under David’s door.

He is in such a rage over this election that I almost want to ease his pain by taking the Obama Biden sticker off my front door. I said “almost”.

I want him to know that I am an American that isn’t  ” Sure that this country’s gone commie”.

Amidst all his rants I received an email from Lizzie saying “Well that was scary. What a relief. We’ll celebrate when I come home:)”

It seems they are the Arnold Schwarzenegger / Maria Shriver of the 18th floor. I mean that politically not that whole maid stuff.

The other night I watched the original “Pink Panther”.

In 1964 I remember it as being such a funny movie. Man have I changed. It was barely amusing.

Before the movie started the host spoke of Capucine, the woman who played Peter Sellers’ wife.

It seems that she was a longtime love of  William Holden who eventually broke up with her. They say she never got over him and eventually took her own life because of it.

Huh?

Maybe I didn’t really love dave because that never entered my mind and I’m not a rich beautiful movie star.

Of course dave is no William Holden either.

269. Isn’t it a shock when you realize that YOU are the asshole in the story?

Yesterday was Julie’s book signing in Connecticut for her wonderful new book “Friendkeeping” .

First there was a lovely brunch at Denis and Ann Leary’s house. Ann is not only a terrific generous woman, she’s a great writer. Every one of her books is a “can’t putter downer” and her new book, The Good House”  is coming out soon. I can’t wait to not put it down.

The brunch was followed by a book signing at the Hickory Stick Bookshop in Washington Depot, Ct.

One of the best parts of  going to one of Julie’s functions is that I get to see the people that I follow on twitter. It’s always a pleasant surprise to me but I worry that they’re disappointed and  I think to myself that they’re probably saying “No wonder she got dumped. She’s such a loser in person”.

Julie and I drove up with Brenda Copeland a dear friend of Julie’s and someone who might just be my new best friend. Brenda is a sunny pretty blonde who is also a successful editor.

Listening to those two pros talking business while I drove was a real wake up call to me.

I wrote this little blog, got plenty of good comments (not counting you, shitfeet, and you know who you are) and just waited for the offers to come in.

I figured writing a book is a piece of cake and since I have plenty of followers it was just a matter of time before I become Agatha Christie (I mean in book sales, not subject matter. I mostly whine while Aggie , I considered myself her equal so I saw nothing wrong with calling her Aggie), solves crimes

Hearing Brenda and Julie talking made me aware of the fact that even real writers have trouble getting agents and book deals. What chance do I have? The only good thing about this epiphany is that it gives me a whole new thing to kvetch about.

Anyway while I was moping up at the brunch I got an email from Liz who’s in Santa Fe saying that David has no internet:(

As you know, David has the technical know how of a lamp. If you recall I had to go over there at 10:30 at night once to turn on his TV.  Under normal circumstances  I would run next door and solve the problem for him but I was up in Connecticut.

So when I got home I knocked on his door to see if the internet was fixed.

At times like this he seems almost happy to see me. In about 2 minutes I found out that he had turned off the outlets that ran his computer, internet and Airport.

We were so happy that we toasted the occasion with about 40 glasses of wine. We went out to dinner and I went home to watch my ceiling spin around like a top.

So that’s my day. How was yours?

268. Welcome to New York punks.

I just got this email from my friend, Ronnie in response to my last blog post.

“I was on a crosstown bus last week (before the storm). When I got to the bus there were a bunch of people waiting to get on.

A small older man in his seventies dyed brown hair, dressed well, carrying two bags from the supermarket was arguing with the bus driver to take his dollars.  After 5 good minutes of making everyone wait, the bus driver let him on without paying.

He took a single seat.  I forgot to say that I was thinking of giving him coins when we were on line but the driver gave him the free ride first.

Anyway, I sat right behind him. I had my legs crossed and my crossed leg was facing him, not at all on him, at least a foot from him.

After a few stops he turned around to me and started screaming at me loudly “Get that food away from me. they let trash on this bus”  I didn’t answer him.

Then I leaned over and  asked him to take his bags out of the aisle since someone could fall on them.

He ignored me. I had to change my seat. I was boiling.

When I got up to leave I kicked his bags hard with my shoe and pushed them down the aisle.

Now isn’t that a good response?”

I never loved Ronnie more.


					

267. I can’t be responsible for my reaction if you piss me off.

Thank goodness my Halloween candy is all gone. Well, not ALL gone. I still have a Tootsie Pop and a piece of bubble gum left but I’ve decided to pass on them. Or at least save them for an emergency.

I”m really worried about the election.  Sandy will make it difficult for decidedly blue people in some areas to make it to the polls. I can’t imagine what life will be like if Obama doesn’t win. Not the least of which will be David’s self satisfied puss.

Back to me.

Only someone who lives in an apartment building and has to share washers and dryers with the other tenants will understand the tragedy that just befell me.

I got up early to do wash. It is an unwritten law that you have to be there the moment your wash is done because the next person has the right to take your wash out and use the machine.

I know this is boring but tough. I’ve got to vent. This is a psychological emergency.

I got down there exactly on time and put my wash in 2 dryers. I put them both in for 45 minutes.

I got back exactly 36 minutes later and, brace yourself, one of my dryers was rolling around as it should but the other one had another person’s laundry in it  AND MY LAUNDRY WAS IN A BALL ON THE TABLE.

Luckily the offending woman was standing right there.

“Did you take my laundry out?”

“Yes” she said defiantly “The dryer was finished”

Now I had her. I went in for the kill.

“Well I put both these dryers in for the same amount of time and the other one is still going”

She just shrugged, said “So?” and walked out saving herself from a savage beating.

I gave that empty doorway some look.

She’ll think twice before she pulls that crap again.