you ain't no ten

location: 19th street

dude sitting in front seat of parked van: "hello. wow. hello! damn girl! look at you! hey!"
(dude gets out of van as i walk past)
dude continues: "whoa! where you goin' beautiful? hey mama, you ain't no ten. you a TWENNY!"

Technical Foul!!!

I've had an outstanding request for several weeks to get Microsoft Visio and Project installed on my laptop. After sending a 6th reminder today, someone finally came to do it.

When the Asian IT Dude showed up at my desk, I said "Just a second, let me save everything." He told me I didn't need to do that. I said "Yeah, well, let me save everything anyway." I saved the work in two Excel files, four Word documents, three email drafts, and one Visio document.

I explained, "I downloaded the trial version of Visio 2007 because I really needed it, so you can uninstall it if you need to."

His response: "You have too many window open."

My response: "It's called multi-tasking."

When I finished saving and closing all of my windows, I handed control over to the IT guy. He immediately started committing multiple heinous IT fouls:

- He changed my start menu settings from small to large icons
- He changed my quick launch and taskbar settings
- He changed my browser home page
- He moved several icons on my desktop
- He RENAMED several icons on my desktop. RENAMED THEM!!

Can somebody PLEASE explain to me why all IT people think they have the One, the Universal, the Superior, the Only Way to Configure Desktop Preferences???? Like, seriously, I like my shit a certain way and I really don't need your grubby paws changing up my shit. I like my start menu to use "small icons." I like my taskbar to be two buttons tall so I can see everything easier and not have to freaking scroll up and down. My quick launch icons are in a specific order that happens to correspond to EVERY COMPUTER I'VE EVER USED and by messing with them you ensure that I will accidentally open Powerpoint 17 times per hour instead of Firefox. My browser home page is Google, and you need to DEAL WITH IT. And my desktop icons? Just don't touch. Just don't. No moving, no renaming, nothing. Step away from the damn icons.

Then, after all that, he did something that caused my laptop to reboot. He checked under my desk as if some reboot gremlin was to blame, and all I could say is "This is why I saved all my work." I have so been screwed by his type before.

As thankful as I am to have my new software (albeit older versions than the free ones I had), I now have to lose additional time re-setting all the crap that the dude just messed up, and another 10 minutes writing about it because I'm so ticked off. IT dude, if you're systematically scanning my desktop and all outgoing email, I hope you see this and stop messing up other people's Very Personal Settings.

pain in my freaking gas

Two weeks after I moved in to the new apartment, I finally call the energy company to set up my gas account, so I can cook food again sometime in the future, and they say they can't turn it on because the prior tenant has an overdue account on the apartment. Greaaaat. So I have to go to the main office, downtown Brooklyn, between 8-5 on Monday thru Friday, and show two forms of photo ID, a prior utility bill (from Florida), and the best part -- a copy of my lease, WHICH I HAVEN'T RECEIVED YET from my management company.

And if that's not enough, the monotone customer service dude, Otis, says he'll set me up as a prospective customer in the system to speed up my process (sounds good, right?), and asks for my social security number. I give it to him, and he says there's an old account in Massachusetts that used my SSN, but is under the name Tiana Miles. TIANA MILES!?! He gave me the address, it's Dorchester. Now I know I've lived a lot of places, but I ain't never lived in Dorchester. When I ask him how I fix that, he says the fine folks at the main office can help me when I go with my 2 forms of photo ID, a prior utility bill, and the imaginary copy of my damn lease. Super duper.

So yeah. I guess I'll be sticking to my milk and cereal diet for a little bit longer.

By the way - Does anyone know a Tiana Miles in Dorchester???

Hi ho, cheerio!

Well kids, looks like it’s Cheerios for dinner again. Yay!

This marks the fifth night of eight that I’ve had Cheerios for dinner, and the third night that I had Cheerios for dinner after also eating them for breakfast.

I know you’re wondering why.

The first night I was in my new apartment, I ran to the bodega across the street and bought toilet paper and milk. For a week, that milk has been the only thing in my fridge besides water…and the fridge instructions and warranty that are still in the meat drawer. I have no meat or perishable foods of any kind because, well…

Here’s the thing. I’ve had no time to call the gas company and schedule them to come turn on the gas in my apartment. This means I have no stove or oven to cook meals on or in. For the moment, the stove is purely for decoration, and/or for storing sweaters.

I realize the next logical jump for most people is “Well, use the microwave!” But, I don’t have one. My last apartment had one built in, so I got rid of mine, and…now I have nothing. (Makes me rather wish I’d kept the toaster oven that burned everything I put in it – even charred crap is a variation from Cheerios with milk.)

But as I told my concerned grandmother today – don’t worry. For starters, there’s a nice layer of fat around my ass that will surely sustain me if my nutritional well-being starts to wane. But also, there’s a cafeteria at work, and I eat normal, non-Cheerios meals there for lunch Monday thru Friday.

Furthermore, there is an end in sight to this whole grain madness. You see, the box is running low, and I will soon run out and be forced to eat something else from the cupboard…like corn flakes. (But when those run out, I’m really in trouble.)

It's a small Patriots world.

I got off the plane in Tampa. I rode the escalator down to baggage claim and saw my bag, first in line, already coming around the conveyor belt. I had both bags before most other people were even at the carousel, and I went straight out to the Ground Transportation.

I gave the Super Shuttle woman my confirmation number, and she gave me my receipt. I wheeled my bags over to a bench and took a seat next to a petite, grey-haired woman. As I sat, I noticed her red suitcase and its Patriots luggage tag.

"Oh, I'll sit next to a Patriots fan any day!" I said to her.

"Oh, are you a Patriots fan? Where are you from?" she asked.

"Boston area. Born and raised. Where are you from?

"Well, I'm from Ohio," she told me. "But my son plays for the Patriots."

This, naturally, piqued my interest. Judging from her tiny frame, I assumed she was about to name some third-string rookie who I've never heard of. But I asked anyway...

"Oh really? Who's your son?"

"Matt Light."

"MATT LIGHT!!! I LOVE MATT LIGHT!!! HAHAHA!!!"

"Oh good!" she said. "That makes two of us!"

So I basically spent the next hour and a half chatting with Matt Light's mom. She was heading to her mother's in Dunedin. I said "Oh, my mother lives in Dunedin too!" She said she was heading to Curlew Road. I said "Oh my nephew's daycare is over off Curlew Road!" She showed me pictures on her cell phone of her giant, legendary son holding his own son, and a nephew.

At some point (thinking specifically of Anne Marie), I told her, "You know, a few years ago, we talked about Matt Light more for his giant shaggy beard than for his playing!"

"Oh that beard! I hated that horrible thing!"

"Haha, I bet! It was so red and shaggy and hanging out under his helmet. But he wasn't the only one who had one..."

"He always has some gimmick. That was his idea you know, getting the other guys to grow one too. It's always a beard, or a long mustache, or who knows what."

We talked extensively about the team, about the coaching, about a season without Tom Brady. We discussed how we didn't want to talk about the Dolphins (sore issue) or the Giants (even more sore), although I did tell her what I'd heard about the Giants victory parade being rained on but confetti that wasn't fully shredded, raining people's divorce decrees and social security numbers down onto the city. "At least in Boston, we do it right." I told her about my nephew having more patriots and red sox attire when he was still in the womb than the rest of us will have in our lifetime.

After a while, the talk turned away from Matt Light, onto other things like New York subways, and Matt's siblings and their children, and life in Boston, and how annoying GPS can be when it's wrong, and how cute and lovely downtown Dunedin is, etc. The shuttle ride was 2 hours long (despite my 30 minute proximity to the airport), and on any other day I would have been furious. But this time, I didn't mind so much. As I told my cousin in a midnight text message, "The shuttle ride sucked, but I met Matt Light's mom!"

a table for four...minutes?

one of my annual thrills in new york is attending the san gennaro festival in little italy. it is there that i consume uncharacteristic amounts of fried oreos covered in powdered sugar, as well as other novelties like cannolis, zeppoles, torrone, and maybe a bite of a sausage. you will not, at any other time of year, find me so eager to eat street food.

during san gennaro, all the restauraunts in little italy expand. the streets are closed to cars, so the restaurants take over the sidewalks and sometimes the streets, building a temporary veranda for the week.

one of the drawbacks, however, is this...
















when a restaurant expands into the street, the street becomes part of the decorative ambiance. so you, dear customer, may find yourself enjoying the gnocchi with vodka sauce, while sipping a glass of chianti and asking for more freshly grated parmesan, and you turn to your left to ask Joe a question, but....you can't see him, because there's a parking meter between you.

what I wonder is, do you have to feed the meter to sit at this table?

does this bus go to crazytown?

So I'm waiting outside this building to meet the realtor to sign papers, and there's this lady at the bus stop on the corner. She asks me if this bus line will take her to the subway, and even though I don't know this neighborhood at all, I saw the bus when I got off the train, so I say yes.

"I'm celebratin today!" she tells me. "It's my grandmother's 100th birthday!"

"That's amazing!" I respond to her.

"She's not alive," she continues. "But I celebrate anyways. Her name is Nancy."

Now I know I've got a live one here. She stands out waiting for the bus for a minute, then comes back to tell me more...

"I know Donald Trunk," she says next. "I never met him but I know him. If I ever meet him I tell him three things: I love you, and keep doin what you doin."

At this point, I pretend to be very busy with my blackberry, but that doesn't stop her.
As she drew her next breath, my realtor pulled up at the bus stop and signaled to me that he had to park and would be right back. She momentarily redirected her dialogue to tell me he was cute before then asking me if I lived in the building, cuz you must have money to live in a building like that.

"I'm rich. I got twins in my family. I'm not from here. I'm from Alabama. That's why I aksed you how to get to the subway. My twin sister is in Atlantic City. I aksed my ma 'where's my sister? I up visitin from Alabama, so why aint my sister here to see me?' And you know what she said? She said 'your sister is in Atlantic City, and she won the jackpot so don't expect her anytime soon.' So I know she won somethin. I don't know how much but she better remember her sister."

Thankfully, the realtor appeared a moment later and got me off the crazy train. I bid farewell to my new friend, and she told me she loved me.

application status: pending

Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I've found my new home.

I called the broker of the apartment I looked at this afternoon, and I told him I wanted it. I spent the last 2 hours trying to gather digital versions of all my required paperwork (canceled rent checks, job offer letter, two years of tax returns, retinal scan, etc) and faxing them in with my application. Now I wait...

The new apartment, interestingly enough, is quite literally across the street from my old apartment. The addresses have a mere 24 units difference, which in this city, is practically the same building. So I'm excited.

I liked that neighborhood and its uncharacteristically large supermarkets (huge!) and proximity to the park (1/2 block!). Ooh, and that chinese place with the enormous, AWESOME steamed pork dumplings. And that other spot with the unbelieveable fluffy light guacamole. Oh yeah, I'm diggin' it. Big time!

But I have to remember it's not mine yet. Still waiting for the stamp of approval, at which time I sign over a sickening sum of money and my second-born child. (The first one was already signed over by a previous rental broker.)

the more things change...

the more things change, the more the stay the same.

if i waited two more months, i could say that i was here for a year. but...that didn't happen. and it won't. i'll be leaving florida about 11 months after i arrived.

i got a job offer in new york and i'm heading back up thatta way. i don't know yet where i'll live, or when i'll move, or any of the details in between. hopefully i'll figure that out in the very near future.

in the meantime, i'll be back to my old tricks again, like this, and this, so please forgive me in advance for being totally insane.

blogger's guilt

hey. remember me? yeah, the girl who used to blog here several days a week? yeah. hi.

i was made to feel foolishly guilty last week for not having posted to my own blog in...gee, i don't even know how long. so here i am.

i've been busy. like, insanely busy. i'm finishing up my graduate thesis (due in 3 weeks), and the "new" job is totally bonkers. i used to write most of the posts during my other, boring job...so that's partly why i've been lacking any updates.

anyhow, i just wanted to say...

i slipped on a bullet casing just now, going up the stairs from the subway. i (still) love bed-stuy.

overheard in bed-stuy

Nothing makes your morning like hearing a heartfelt welcome on your way to the subway.

"Ooooh gurrrrrl. Welcome to Brooklyn, baby."

enough with this heat already!

So today, our heat wave "broke." By "broke," I mean that instead of being 106°, it's only 95°, which is really no break of any kind if you ask me.

The thing about summers in New York is that, well, anything over 85° gets downright miserable. For example, going underground to the subway platforms adds a degree for ever stair you decend, usually a minimum of 10. And there's zero air movement on the platforms, unless you count the forced hot, putrid air mass that is the pre-cursor of an arriving train.

Then there's the power problems. ConEd, the power company, actually told my office building management to tell us to turn off all "non-essential" equipment to avoid a blackout spreading some 30 blocks. Apparently, this means lights out. Someone went around shutting off all the overhead lights, except those around the outer ring of the floor. This means that people who have window seats are getting sunlight AND flourescent light, and we other suckers are getting neither. How the hell does that add up?

Well, regardless, there's not much I can do about any of it. When it's hot, it's hot. When it's fiery burning hell, it's fiery burning hell. But at least StarBucks gave away free iced cofree for two hours yesterday. I didn't get one, but, just hearing they did it made me feel cool and chilled all over. Not.

so it's not my imagination...

I was just on the U.S. Post Office web site filing a change of address form. When I was done, I got an email with a ton of handy links to coupons, referrals, and...to the census?

Yes, the census. The post office linked me to a goverment census with information specific to my new zip code. And you know what it said?

One Race:
Black or African American: 89.2%
Hispanic or Latino: 8.0%
White: 2.2%

So...clearly it's not just my imagination that I was the only white girl in sight. But it's aight yo. I know they peeped my snowflake cracka ass. I'm bout to get down in dis joint! Holla!

snowflake in the hood

I know. I know. I've been gone forever. I used to blog while I was at work, teary-eyed from editing the most boring content on earth. But I got a new job, one that got REAL busy for me about the time that my last post appeared. I apologize for the neglect -- it's nothing personal. Quite the opposite really. I've missed you. I need you.

So here's the thing: I'm about to have a whole new batch of stories to tell. In a couple of weeks, I'm moving to my new apartment in Brooklyn. Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. And I tell you with much sincerity that I have, in my last two visits there, seen only 4 other white people -- and one of them was with me.

I tell you this not because I'm scared, but rather amused. Generally speaking, black men love me. They love a woman with an ass, and have even audibly commented before that I'm that elusive white girl in the hood who isn't skinny as a twig. Last week, I got a round of applause when I passed by the 10-12 black guys doing construction on my block. And during my apartment hunt, I had many, many compliments, smiles, and winks sent my way. So really, it has nothing to do with getting more for my money, or moving out of my shoebox studio. It's about self-esteem and feeling good.

So surely, as I adjust to my new surroundings, I'll be starting from scratch in terms of my city smarts. I mean, wearing comfortable footwear and tactfully avoiding remnants of dog poo are skills that transfer, but I know better than to believe I won't be surprised by anything in the new hood. So stay tuned. I promise I'll be back.

one of those crazy nyc days

This morning it took me forever to get to work. This is mostly because I spent about 40 minutes underground, in the subway, locked on a train between stations, going NOWHERE. Due to a "switching problem" and "sick customer" at Grand Central, I sat for 40 minutes in a dark tunnel. And for added fun, I was freezing. I guess to relieve claustrophobia the conductor felt the need to blast the air conditioning at maximum coolness. I was FREEZING.

Several of my friends and coworkers were similarly affected by the lack in train activity. Some were stuck on uber crowded train platforms, others sat on a train in a station with the doors open for eternity. Others yet fought the altnerative: highly overcrowded buses that go half the distance in twice the time. We all have to deal.

And then someone else told me that so-and-so witnessed a girl get mowed down by a cab this morning. It sent her flying into the air and heroic measures were taken to a) detain the cabbie and b) keep the girl's leg in tact.

I tell ya, it's the kind of day that makes me want to walk around in protective gear. What does a girl have to do to get around this city without losing a limb?

stop doing that!

Lately I have this horrible and unexplained habit of eating my own mouth. That is, I have a knack for taking a huge bite out of my own lip while I'm eating. And it hurts, and it upsets me VERY much.

It's that thing, you know, where the first chomp is painful enough to cause you to stop chewing mid-bite, no matter how delicious the food is, or how much it is burning the roof of your mouth. You just have to stop, just for a second, to take stock of the moment and file it away under Stupid Shit I Do to Myself. And then slowly, grimacingly, you run your tongue over the new wound to see if it is safe to continue without oral surgery. Eventually, you long for the food you were eating in the first place, and you chew, swallow and take another bite. Then....

CHOMP! OOOWWWWWWW!! You bite down on the SAME freaking spot 10 seconds later, causing you to whimper under the burdern of not just pain, but your own stupidity. Now you caress your lip with your tongue, pouting and hating yourself, knowing that it's bound to happen repeatedly for the next several days, and you'll be lucking if the gaping sore ever heals.

And then you go through the process of convincing yourself that it is because of ____ that this happened. Because you were chewing too fast. Because you turned your head while eating. Because once you bite it swells and you bite it again. Because of that one razor sharp canine tooth. Because of your misaligned jaw. Whatever, you name it, we blame it.

Point is, I don't know WHY we do this, but I do it all the freaking time and it HURTS. Dammit.

so not helping.

This is the tale of the bitchiest flight attendant EVER, as witnessed on a United Airlines flight just yesterday.

When I got on the plane, a small, cute blond woman was trying to get someone to switch seats so she could sit near her husband. Her timing was not fantastic, as many other people, including myself, were still trying to board the plane and shove our belongings into impossibly small overhead bins while she campaigned the rear of the aircraft.

Eventually, the flight attendant, who, for the purposes of this story we'll call The Bitch, told the cute blond woman (CBW) to just take her seat and get over it.

In response, the CBW said, not too timidly, "Well, I'm terrified of flying, so it would help me a lot if I could sit with him."

The part of the story I'm missing here is one I presume to be this: the CBW was extra nervous because as we were waiting to board our plane, CNN broadcast a story of a plane crash on the Airport Network. This, clearly, is a Very Bad Idea. Even the most confident flyers don't want to hear about a plane of ANY size plunging into powerlines. So a nervous flyer, such as the CBW, is made even more so by such news.

So then, The Bitch, showing her true, ugly self, snaps loudly at blondie: "Well, you should put it all in perspective. It ain't the World Trade Center you know. It's not that bad."

Nice. Nice. You are a goddam flight attendant. It's your JOB to be nauseatingly sweet and pleasant to all passengers, or, at the very least, to instill confidence in their safety. So not only is your hair bad but so is your attitude, Bitch. Do not in any way, in front of a scared little woman - nor anyone else on the plane - refer to the single largest airline tragedy in American history, ESPECIALLY on a plane departing from NEW YORK.

"United Airlines - Fly the Friendly Skies...Until Our Bitchy Attendants Shit All Over Them."

spam sandwich

WHY. WHY do the spammers hate me so much?? What is it about me that is so offensive that they feel the need to bombard me with useless and ridiculous emails about local naughty sluts and penis enlargement drugs EVERY NIGHT?!? And it's like...they KNOW when I go to bed. I'll get one or two such spam-mails during the day, but sure as shit, when I wake up in the morning and check my email, I'm BOMBARDED!!!

Example:













Nine out of ten emails are spam. And the 10th is a lame almost-spam. How do these people find me? And why? What did I ever do to you, "Jasmine Wiley"?? I don't know anything about your accentual, "Clara Billings." And both of ya, tell Frankie Fucking Chang to take his "sud delta" and shove it where the sud don't shine.

Grrrr.

it's good to be back.

Hello, yes, hi, I know, I know.

Don't worry. I'm back. In SO many ways.

First, I'm back from my weeklong business trip to North Carolina, followed by a weekend stint in South Florida. The weather in NC was cool and autumnal, and the trees changed colors right before my eyes. But there was all the smoking. And all the fried food. And the hotel's automated revolving door whose sudden and premature motion seemed determined to at least sever a limb from my body if it couldn't officially kill me.

Post-Wilma Florida was a little nutty: upturned trees, absent traffic lights, and dangling porches were everywhere. Plus there was the whole Dog Thing at my mom's, causing me great allergic distress, but bringing me delightful canine companionship.

But I was really, REALLY relieved to get home to New York. I was thrilled to draw a deep breath of that clean, smoke-free, dog-free city air. I'll take toxic exhaust fumes any day. I was tickled that cars actually yielded to me when I crossed the street (except for the cabs, who don't yield ever) and that there were actually working lights to get me across the street in the first place. And revolving doors that are manually operated -- they totally rock. It goes when I make it go, not a moment sooner.

And to top it all off, my month-long drought of internetlessness seems to be over. Mysteriously, my cable and internet were FINALLY turned back on when I got home. Jury's still out on how long it will last, but golly, I'm glad to have it back.

It's back. I'm back. Backity back back.
BACK!

return from the e-dead

I know, I know. Where have I been. Well, the point is, I'm back. For now. For an unknown amount of time. And if I disappear again, all complaints can be directed to Time Warner Cable & Internet Assholes.

My internet and cable went off on October 9th. And since then, it hasn't come back on consistently for more than about an hour at a time. This, to me, is a totally annoying and unacceptable inconvenience. And every time I call for support, they can only offer me mid-day appointments.

"How's Tuesday between noon and four?"
"Uh, actually, I have to work so...how about a weekend appointment?"
"Well ma'am, I'm showing that our earliest available weekend appointment is on November the 12th."
"So, I've had no internet or cable for over two weeks and you want me to wait three MORE weeks to get it fixed?"
"Ma'am, we'd be happy to credit you for the time that you were without service."
"That's not the POINT, Lashonda. The point is I'm dead in the water without internet and I'd like to think you'd do a little more to fix it for me."

And so it goes. I'm left constantly refreshing the local wireless networks for a signal I can pirate for 2 minutes while I get a quick hit of email to tide me over until I can check again from work. And naturally, 2 minutes just ain't enough time for me to write up a blog post for all y'alls.

So, like I said, I'm back, but probably not for long. If I vanish again, don't blame me, blame the assholes at Time Warner. I do.