Ok, he got one award



I knew Missy would get video of the year for "Work It." It's just soooo catchy. Johnny got the best cinematography, and really, that's well-deserved. Mark Romanek made a piece of art. It was good to see Duran Duran, too, looking their age and still sporting eyeliner.



With this 3-day heavenly break awaiting me, I will be getting more sleep. I plan on conking out, cat-on-head style, and lying there like roadkill. If the phone rings, so be it. I am getting up tomorrow and conquering laundry. Then my redhead will be searching for new apartments. Perhaps I'll go with him so he doesn't end up like Steve and Miranda on "Sex and The City"---You can't live here! It's the doorway to hell! Certain folk in his inner circle have commented on me, but WE don't care.



Yes, I said WE. We get along, we enjoy each other's company, and we will be spending more time together, despite darts, mosquito control, stupid parents and nutso basements with bad air mattresses. Jealousy from Pete Puma imitators will only push him further away from you and into my life. Why don't you put down the drugs and the beer, and get out of your mother's house? Perhaps if you weren't such a selfish slob you could get out of your mother's house and into your own place. That's pretty sad for age 29, but then again, Steve is 37 and it hasn't stopped him!



My pinched nerve is acting up again and it feels like someone took a sledgehammer to my back. Perhaps Dexter will walk all over me later, Thai-kitty style.



Lunch is fast approaching....I'm off!

I don't ask for your wallet, let's finish what we started...



Yes, kiddies, in the words of Terence Trent, I'm going forward with a lot of things. One picky little bugger is my cell phone. I dropped it last week when it tumbled out of my backpack, and now it's sitting in a safe. I was hoping that someone would call, but they didn't. I've just called Skyrink where I lost it, and now I have to go back there again to a night manager and beg this person to open the damn safe.



Dexter is experiencing jealousy over a new visitor, but this too, shall pass. Fuzzer Boy will always be my favorite four-legger. He swirls around my legs as I wash dishes as if to ask, "Am I still here? Do you still dig me? Can I have another treat?" His fears are unfounded. I only have one black cat every 13 or 14 years. Olive was the exception. Her ashes are in a daisy-covered urn atop my bookshelf.



Fall is fast approaching! How I would love to pop over to Old Navy and begin my annual sweater hunt, but there is very little moolah this week. A banking glitch kicked my ass with one withheld check, and a paypal transfer that never went through. Stop sending me e-checks, eBayers! They take too damn long!

Whatever.



I have lost my skate shop, too. Now I have to haul my Pattern 99 blades out to Jersey if I want to sharpen my blades. Peck & Goodie was here for 60 years, and now the rent has been quadrupled. And where is our mayor? IN ISRAEL. Um, what about the people of New York? THEY VOTED for you. I didn't. I have a brain.



Turns out the guy who put up the sign depicting a Grinch-like Bloomie shooting a NYer in the back has been arrested and there is a court order for him to take down the sign. Soon, the NY Judicial system will be handing out booklets on policy law written in GERMAN. Well, you wanted him, people! Don't ask for something, you might just get it.



How quaint. I've got a full-steam ahead headache. Monday? I'm sleeping so damn late, it'll be sunset before I realize there are no more hot dogs or Coney Island tattooed people left. I'm already dreaming of blazers, scarves, dark lipstick colors, musky perfumes, and leaves falling in pumpkin patches. It's a little more than a month before Halloween candy shows up! I can't wait.....

Wow. Back to work...



I'm here. It's Monday. The power blame game has begun. Our power grid sucks. Someone screwed up royally. Trains were incredibly empty this morning, people were skittish and service was slow. Makes me wanna curl up with a good book and a nice cat by my side.



My boardwalk plans were destroyed yesterday. When I walked outside, it started raining horrendously. I ran back upstairs to grab my umbrella, but the downpour didn't cease for about an hour. I should have stayed in and put up some eBay listings, but ehhh. What could I have done? When it abated somewhat, I went to the diner around the corner and had a cheeseburger, then read through the Daily News. I was unable to find a paper at all on Friday, and that will definitely be something we'd all remember. I always read a paper, too. It felt weird to take a break.



I went online again last night, but no one was around. Ho hum. My old personals site contacted me to ask if I was going to update my listing. I did, just for the hell of it. I uploaded some interesting pictures. Now I'll sit back and see what idiots will contact me. This should be a hoot. They're all geeks or yuppies who want a size 2 mousy brat anyway, so my chances, as usual, are shot to shit. The older I get, the more I realize I wasn't meant to have anything, just the illusion of it. There's nothing left when you have nothing left to lose. I'd like someone else to do the work for a change. I'm 31 and my patience is waning.



Between that thought, and the picture of Steve, 'tis been an interesting Sunday, now that I look at it. My highlight of yesterday was watching "Nefertiti Resurrected" on the Discovery channel. A beautiful, cunning, queen who managed to salvage an empire without a man. Hey, I'm all for that! Kings never last, in name or in stature, it seems.

My weekend continues....



Ok, so it's now Friday, I've gotten 4 hours of sleep in 1 hour bursts. I'm ready to cave in. It's 11:30 and Rys calls me to see how I am. I can barely walk to the phone, my right leg, knee, calf, and achilles is swollen. I let the answering machine pick up, but it's all screwy, so I call back.

We chat and I ask about Robert's birthday. She says Jerome and him will be staying in CT due to no power. I reach for anti-inflammatory pills for my aching leg and make the immediate decision to stay in bed as long as I can. My super fixed the light fixture, but irony of ironies, he couldn't see if it was on due to the power failure. I limp over and try to log onto my Mac, to see who's online. I get in touch with my boss in NJ, and check up on the people in my office. We inadvertently got a day off from work. Robert was not online, and my connection kept dropping. Marie from the Bronx got in touch with me and her family's house near Flatbush Ave. burst into flames since people were looting and throwing things. The entire 2nd floor was destroyed. I logged off after 20 minutes and went to bed.



The throbbing in my right leg was horrible, so I lay down on my bed with my legs facing 'up' on the wall to release the blood flow. I spent the next few hours drifting in and out of sleep. Robert's birthday is obviously up in the air, Marie and I won't be going out to the new Moroccan place we talked about, and Rys is stuck with no power. Andrew and Antoinella didn't call me back, so I didn't know what was up with them. RD in Jersey got stuck at the casino where he works, so no word from him. All in all a shit day, and I could barely stand up.



Finally, my phone rang again. I hobbled in time to click off the machine. It was my redhead! He asked how I was and what was I doing. I told him my 11 1/2 mile ordeal through 2 boroughs and he nearly dropped the phone. "I'm coming to see you," he says. I reply that he's crazy and I'm in no shape, but he insisted. So, at 8:30 pm, we venture outside. I limp down my stairs, but my Aleve kicked in. We began circling various places in Bay Ridge, but a lot of places are still closed. He told me he was working in Park Slope with a client the other day, and there were a few restaurants he wanted to try. Some were crowded, but most weren't. We passed by Tutta Pasta, and I thought 'Well, Robert probably won't be here, he's stuck in CT." However, we went in the back and there he was! A great surprise! Now I felt better. I only have his cell and his IM at home, so no home number (that's on a post-it tagged to my PC at work), but this was great. I got to see everyone and introduce them to my redhead! They had finished dinner and were working on what looked like bananas foster, so my redhead and I took a table and tried to be unobtrusive. I filled in the names and stories of the group involved for my curly cutie. They came over, said goodbye and it was really a nice treat. Despite my pain and swelling, I had a great date, got to see my friend on his birthday,and salvaged a pretty rotten (not to mention physically painful) day. A good time was had by all.



(And my answering machine and cable box are working again today, so now I'm happy happy!)

How do ya like dem apples?



Ok, it's now day 2 of the post-blackout blitz in Brooklyn. We were the last to get our power yesterday, and I'm still recuperating. I lived through the unthinkable Thursday night.



We were told to leave the building at my job at 4:40 pm. My coworkers, Paula and Ro were the last ones out. We figured our routes. I then told 2 Australian tourists what happened and they headed back to their hotels. I started down 5th Ave. near 43rd st. I stopped in Bryant Park to eat some fruit for the energy I needed to face the buses/trains/walk I might do. Turns out, it was THE walk of my life. I started down 38th st. Buses were streaming by me. I figured one of them will eventually stop. WRONG.



Soon, I found myself near Victoria's Secret in Soho. I stopped to get an ice cream cone since I damn well earned it. I had now passed through mid-town, downtown, and approached Chambers Street at City Hall. I met 2 former students from my former job, and they wished me luck. I said to Jorge, a very sweet Argentinian, "I have faith God will get me home safe." Jorge squeezed my hand and said, "Yiss, Annie. You are good person." I faced the bridge, stuck in a sea of Jamaicans, my favorite absolute favorite people. We made our way up to the entry. Jokes and songs, not complaints, were all I heard.



"Whyya gotta be rushin like dat??" the woman on the left of me said. "People dey looozin dey minds, yah know?" I smiled and took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. At 7:25, I hit the half-way point on the Brooklyn Bridge. Easily thousands of us were marching forward over a 200+ year old structure. We swayed slightly, but the downward curve was in sight. I turned off, in sync with a purple and coral sky, towards Jay St. college. Buses were packed, left and right. None of these were my routes, though. I needed the b37 or the b63. I'd have to walk to Fulton Mall to get there. I soldiered onward, acutely aware of my achilles tendon starting to twist under in my sandals. I was NOT wearing walking shoes.



I continued down past Schermerhorn to 3rd Ave. No bus in sight. I had two options: either pick 3rd Ave, run into all the strip clubs and prostitutes, or 5th Ave, and run into the Latin Kings and the Netas near Sunset Park. Another option? 4th Ave. all the way down. I now faced 4 more miles of nothing but concrete and blackness. My feet were screaming, but I continued with the help of a kind woman in a botanica, and two dread-locked men handing out water and wet towels near St. Thomas Aquinas church on 9th St. I passed 36th st., 45th, 53rd, 59th, and 62nd. These are all my stops on both the N and R train, so I was right there. I could have gone to a car service, but I grit my teeth and thought, "No, this sonofabitch ain't gonna kill me." I reached my apartment and all my neighbors sitting in a sparsity of candles. Their daughter, Carol, handed me a flashlight as I made my way up the stairs. I promptly lit all the candles I had stored in my refrigerator, and my house was aglow in soft golden light. I promptly tried my mother, and miraculously got through. She had just been interviewed by a reported in Ocala, FL asking about word of NYC's blackout. She was thrilled that I got home, and tried my other friends. I had two cell phone numbers, which weren't working from my phone, so I got this "dead" stagnant air sound. I hung up and promptly fed my cats. They were thrilled to see me home.



I took a cold shower, soaked my swelling feet and my knee and fell into bed. At 3:45 everything popped on. It was like "Maximum Overdrive" or something. Weird. All the ice in my freezer collapsed, so I scooped it out. I didn't have to throw out my chicken or my eggs. We made it, though. New Yorkers can truly live through anything.

In the Spotlight, Day 2



Yes, kiddies, it was Day 2 of my kitchen light being stuck on. Dexter was kind enough to block the light out of my eyes by draping his 20 lb black feline bulk across my pillow, but it didn't help. I'm going on very little sleep and I feel achy and horrible.



My list of ailments: more hair loss--soon I'll be like the Sopranos: bald, mean, but very funny--root after root, night after night. I'm surprised I have any hair left. Palpitations in my heart have begun--a sure sign of my thyroid going bonkers. I'm taking supplements for it, but who knows if it's working? The pharmacy got my prescription wrong for my Pill dosage, so I'm pumped on 12 mg more estradiol than I should be. Feh--I'm halfway through the damn cycle, I might as well finish all of 'em. If I fall on the floor, hey, my cats do that all the time, and they're ok. It's not like I noticed this until Sunday night, 1 week after taking the first batch. My other vitamins just make me gag when I have to swallow them. I truly sympathize with cancer and AIDS sufferers. I'm a 'cocktail' of medications, too. Vitamins, minerals, and pharmaceuticals. 6 pills in all, but that's better than the 9 I was taking back in January. Let's see if I can reduce that number even further. Thank God for health plans.



I'm PMS'ing, too, which is soooo much fun. I just love hormonal disorders, don't you? I had the sense to take a vacation day tomorrow, but from what it looks like, I might be spending it in bed, exhausted. All my doctors say exhaustion is to be expected with all this. When is exhaustion a NORMAL part of anyone's life??? How is that supposed to make me feel? I'm part of a demographic of burned-out, insomniac females? Are we a special breed like the Amazons? Instead of spears we have Sominex and bedroom slippers?!! Somebody shoot me.



And, like the responsible moron I am, I paid all of my bills so they wouldn't sit on my desk mocking me. Now, my entire paycheck is gone, I have $2.50 in my savings and nothing in my checking. I will be living until next Friday completely cash free. I don't owe anything, but I don't have anything, either. Thank God for Visa cards. Wouldn't it be nice to just say "Fuck it" and leave the phone bill there for another 2 weeks? Why must I jump to pay everything on time? My friends don't and they seem happy. If I were a DJ, I'd be MC Ass Is Broke.



As Marybeth Burke used to say, "Stop the world I want to get off!" Marybeth was Mike Stella's girlfriend. I met and fell head over heels for him on this same day, 16 years ago. Not that anyone but me cares. Danny, don't strangle me when you read this. You're still my favorite drummer. Thank god for new redheads...

A light at the end of my......kitchen?



Ok, I go to bed after having a really nice convo with my new redhead. He gets "it" and that's good. My sense of schadenfreude is an asset, it seems. So, I hang up my phone and click off the long string to my kitchen light (think Lower East Side tenement 'chic'.)



Well, I awaken--BOLT I should say--at 4:30 am to find a light on in my kitchen. Ok, back to bed. Someone turned the light on. Zzzzzz....



JESUS CHRIST I LIVE ALONE.



Can you say "FREAK OUT"????



I stop, get up and listen. I hear nothing. I go into the hall. Still no sound. I peek around the corner to look at the light, fully expecting Freddy or Leatherface to impale my forehead and neck with an ice pick/knife/claw. Nothing.



No one's there.



Or is there?



I tug gently onto the string. It seems the mechanical "catch" to release the circuit is stuck. Great. Now I need to call my super. Joyous wonder.



I pop back into bed, exhausted. A thought comes to me: "What if there was someone out on the fire escape trying to get in?" That light surely would scare the holy hell out of him. Is someone watching over me? I've heard of lights blowing OUT, but not lights popping ON by themselves.



Hate to get "Sixth Sense" on you here, kiddies, but my dad used to sit up at night and read in the kitchen. He always left the light on, even when he went to bed sometimes. I would wake up to a copy of the NY Post, poetry, Moliere, Whitman, or a British tabloid waiting for me on the table next to the salt, pepper, and sugar bowl. My addiction for "Hello!" and "Paris Match" reached a frenzied pitch by the time I turned 15.



It was about 4:45 when I said to the air, "You've got a twisted sense of humor." A feeling of relief fell over me, and I returned dark into sleep. Dexter and Kashi stood near the doorway looking at me.



It's nice to be loved, I guess.

I'll always believe in miracles...



Legendary Hockey Coach Dies in Car Crash

"MINNEAPOLIS (AP) _ While his team rushed onto the rink and America began

to celebrate, Herb Brooks simply headed to the locker room. Even later, the

magnitude of the ``Miracle on Ice'' seemed to escape him. ``In the early

years, he thought it was just part of his job _ being a coach,'' recalled

announcer Al Michaels. Brooks, a master motivator who spent a lifetime

getting the most out of his hockey teams, died Monday in a car wreck at age

66."



I can still feel that grey shag rug in my old living room. I lived in Bensonhurst, but Lake Placid was New York, too. A cold, blustery Friday night. I sat alone, cradling my figure skates in my arms, glued to a tv set. Hockey guys were always stealing my ice time and scaring me as they whipped around Abe Stark. I was 7 going on 8. Mom was upstairs asleep, Dad was out with his friends. I never followed hockey before that team. The tension built. Was this why people liked this game so much? Finally I understood. I watched it on a black and white tv, but I knew the Russians had to be wearing red. I couldn't believe the shock on their faces as these guys, college kids I later learned, pumped their fists in the air and screamed. They had beaten the enemy, an evil superpower. One more game and the gold medal was theirs. One more game, and they won. I returned to my rink with a new found awe. I wanted to skate that fast, too, and feel the wind in my face. To this day, I prefer high school and college teams dropping the puck, not the pros. Mr. Brooks did that for me.



"In a recent interview at his White Bear Lake home, Brooks described to the Minneapolis Star-Tribune about watching one of his favorite movies, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.



"You know, Willy Wonka said it best: We are the makers of dreams, the dreamers of dreams," Brooks said. "We should be dreaming. We grew up as kids having dreams, but now we're too sophisticated as adults, as a nation. We stopped dreaming. We should always have dreams.



"I'm a dreamer."



Well, he's in good company now. Maybe he can teach Mr. Hines how to skate...

This thought suffices nicely



"One of the most radical discoveries [Gandhi] was to make in a lifetime of experimentation: in order to transform others, you have to transform yourself." -Eknath Easwaran in his biography of Mahatma Gandhi (as found on www.freewillastrology.com by Rob Brezsny)

Brownie Review



Yes, kiddies, I'm still going on about Fat Witch brownies. Soon, I'm going to be a fat witch myself! (wink wink to all little non-flying birds)

Yesterday's flavor was supposed to be butterscotch, but they were out by the time I got there, so I settled on a Snow Witch, which is a regular chocolate brownie with white chocolate chips. YUMMMMMY!!! Very impressive. Crunchy top, a bit crumbly, but not dry. Just enough balance between the butter and the cocoa to pinch together in a satisfying chocolate bite. I was impressed. Next week, I'm going to tackle the Baby Blondie Witch, which is a 1 oz lump of brownie made with chocolate chips! Can't wait.



Well, that's that for now. I've got to go wait for a phone call, so I'd better log off. (yes, I am a dinosaur with no DSL.)

When it rains, it....



Becomes really amazing to watch this city SHUT DOWN. New York must be the only metropolitan city that cannot handle water falling from the sky. Rain, drizzle, snow, hail, sleet, fog, mist: it all means the same thing--people FREAK as if acid or pepper spray will fall down and scar them for life. It's just water, people! Calm yourselves!!! This is not an excuse to run and hide and fuck up all schedules! Alas, kiddies, it always does.



This morning was a hoot: I get up extra early, I make my exit with time to spare, there's drizzle. No biggie. Well, bus drivers aren't showing up (although the MTA will tell you their service schedules are punctual and spotless--I'd love to know what they're smoking), and to make matters worse, I am stuck on the crosstown bus on the EAST side, not the west like I need. We are stuck in the tunnel for 45 minutes. I see a bit of light, so I call in. 25 minutes later, the driver has turned on East Houston and we proceed to go through Ave A, 1st Ave, and then 23rd street. It is now 9:25 am. Oh joyous wonder. Why can't I call in sick like the bus drivers do? Damn my sense of responsibility. Turns out it was roadwork plus an accident where a car or a van flipped over. Nice. Check your treads if it's raining! Or just act like a bus driver and stay home. Is there an announcement? Are there radios playing shadow traffic reports? Of course not. We just bite our lower lips while steam comes out of our ears and guess as to how we'll lie to our bosses this time.



I thoroughly enjoy the fact that traffic is a goddamn nightmare starting at 6 am. How do I know this? I get up to skate freestyles, which lately, I've been missing. Why? More bus drivers quit, and there's no 5:34 am bus anymore, like I need. Car service is $35, greedy bastards they are, so forget that. The traffic is in full blitz starting at 6 am. It's unbelievable. Still, those days are the only ones when I have a snowball's chance in hell of getting to work on time. And that's when I walk out my door at 5:45 am! Rain or shine! Maybe I should just pretend I'm skating everyday. That way I have 3 hours to battle the commuter bullshit that raises my blood pressure with frenzied accuracy.



Or, maybe the corporate assholes that made up this fantasy of 10 million people traveling in the same direction at the same time can give it up? It doesn't work. Toronto has "rolling" hours for jobs to reduce the flow of traffic, why can't we have that here? Some people at 9 am, some at 9:30, some at 10, some at 10:30. Those loveable Canucks keep it rolling until 11 am, it's safer, less stressful, and easier on the highways, not to mention its inhabitants. Why can't we do that????!!!!!



Because it makes sense.



I forgot. Stupidity and stress is the way it's always been done. Ooops, my bad. I'll shut up now.

Interesting dreams and Righteous Wrath



Well, my friend's blogs are getting more and more interesting. There's nothing better than seeing those with weak and tiny voices SHOUTING for the first time at ineptitude, slovenliness, and sheer crass behavior in their lives. No, I'm not a princess for this attitude. I AM A QUEEN. My friends, it seems, are in training! Hurrah.



Here's a nice message from my subconscious: I had a dream last night where I found a black wallet in a train station. Other people were glancing at it, but chose not to move. Rather, they stared at each other and me, to see who would first pick it up. I bolted forward and said, "I want to see that." They lunged right after me, but I told them to calm down, we'd look at the contents together.



Opening this wallet, money and documents were in it, not photos or credit cards, like a typical wallet. These papers were smeared in ink and white-out, and 2 transit chek vouchers had a velvet corner where a name appeared to be ripped off, as if the signature was placed on with velcro. I began to pass out the money to those around me, knowing if I shared, they'd step away and disappear. But these vouchers really fascinated me. I began to walk down a long terminal trying to decide what to do. Do I sign and use this as pseudo-money? Do I mail it back to the original recipient? Do I forge this person's name? I decided to put it back in the wallet. My decision: the person would replace it since he/she would know it was gone, but I could not sign my name to another person's property. The lesson of this dream hit me: don't sign over your identity to another person's things. Get your own things, be authentic.



If you are authentic, then you can see right from wrong. Authenticity works from outside-inside, not vice versa. So many of the people who've made my life absolutely miserable with judgments, close calls, shrieking, manipulation, and petty bullshit need to learn this lesson. Control me that YOU look better? No. Take control of yourself, improve, THEN come at me with what to do better. Until then, SHUT UP. I gave at the office, check's in the mail, fuck you and fuck you.



No victim am I.

Intelligence, wherefore art thou?



Yup, once again, stupid comment central! I go into a mom & pop video store to join since Blockbuster sucks. I don't have my phone bill, but I do have my cable bill, my credit card bill, my cell phone, and my driver's license. That's more than enough, right? Nooooo. He (super Mensa video man) wants to see my phone bill. So, I put my home phone number down on this "application", and my work number. The end of this "application" asks for my social security number. Nuh Uhhhh! I'm not putting that down unless it's the IRS, buddy. Identity theft, anyone? I don't need a minimum wage Huck Finn walking off with all my info and a new bank acount.



I say, "I'm not filling that out. My wallet was recently stolen. My fraud report urged me not to."



Mensa Man replies, "You should watch where you keep your wallet, then, huh ?" Condescension, anyone?



I come back with, "It was pickpocketed in Times Square. This isn't Giuliani's New York anymore."



Can't let a woman have the last word, huh, Mensa Man? Next, I hear "You shouldn't be hanging out there." Funny, you don't look like my father. Didn't I bury him two years ago?



"Um, I was in a theater, these people are professionals, they'll get you when you least expect it" I say. My Irish is EXTREMELY UP at this point.



"Why were you there? You've got the Alpine down the block." Steam is rising over my head now.



"The Alpine sucks and so do the people in it," I sneer, pen in hand over stupid application.



"What do you work in the city or something?" he asks, incredulously. Women who work? How rare in 2003. Gee, I must be part of a new breed. And who knew Manhattan actually had jobs? Guess Mensa Man doesn't get out much.



"I work for Associated Press, I prefer movie theaters in the city" I reply, with grand finality.



He looks at me blankly. I can tell he's got no idea what or where my job is. I win!



"Bring your phone bill the next time you come in," he mumbles, finally.



"Yeah, sure," I say, slinging my leather purse over my shoulder.



I think I'm going to find a new Blockbuster. And search for people who don't talk down to me.

Passive Aggression 101 (a/k/a Unfuckinbelievable Rudeness)



Ok, lesson plan, kids. First, make sure a manipulative princess takes your Old Navy card and blows $230 on whatever her heart desires. Never mind that she's not your girlfriend or even blowing you, she just flirts madly and this counteracts your lack of self-esteem. Secondly, make sure that you have no backbone whatsoever. In fact, the only erect thing is your dick since the supposed spine you have is made of jelly. Let this woman--and any other female, for that matter--walk all over you, take advantage, lie, and show nothing but strategy and a forked tongue. "Oh, I've got him trained." Ghetto Cow--one of my favorite people-- used that line with her fiance. This particularly spineless turd (really, spines are optional) married her. Treat a guy like shit and get whatever the fuck you want! But really, I'm being tangential. Back to the lesson, kiddies.



Thirdly, take a group of girls out (including Princess "Trained", of course) and get sucked into paying for everything. Since I witnessed this myself, I mistakenly assumed it was this person's generosity. Little did I know Princess was in the middle of another "training" session. And this other person paid for all of it, including flowers at the end of the night. Umm, red roses are nice, but horribly cliche. Especially when it's an obvious ploy to be liked. Or, maybe this was the end of the training session? Circus animals get a treat when their lessons are done, so is this a reverse "thank you"? I've no idea.



Once you think you've really had enough, drive out to god knows where the next day after being completely and utterly exhausted, but hey! Don't say anything about this to the people you're supposed to go out with that night. Then, pick everyone up, continue to say nothing, drop everyone off, and pretend to find a parking spot. After a few of these people have already gone to the planned venue and paid to get in, stand outside with a few of them (especially ones with platinum-limit credit cards) and "politely" relay to the platinum card holder that you're "not coming in" because you're "tired and had a long day" leaving 2 of these people at this venue completely stranded. And that's at the beginning of the night!



When Princess Train asks "Are you going to be ok?" one hour later instead of offering a ride or a way to get halfway home since her pupil isn't there and she is obviously out of place, bored, and has no idea what kind of music she's listening to, answer "Yes, I'll be fine." Even though you're not fine, it's 12:30 when you decide to leave, you walk halfway to your friend's house so at least she'll be safe, and you need to use the bathroom. Keep telling yourself "Yes, I'll be fine" as you stand there alone at a bus stop at 1:03 am, 1:15 am, 1:30 am, and 1:42 am when the bus finally comes because a) there is no other mode of safe transportation at that hour; and b) you don't have enough money to afford car service. Maybe if you have platinum credit cards you do, but you don't. You're blue collar, you work, and you're proud of this underneath it all. You get home at 2:32 am, but this doesn't bother you because you have principles and would never treat another human being like neglected rubbish. People who have money are apparently EXEMPT from such rules. But this lesson is not really about accounting, kiddies, just accountability. Sociology is a great teacher of important matters, kids. Some of you will learn this as time goes by. Really, it's a great help.



So, that is the lesson, kids: do one thing, say another. Say another thing, but mean something else. Never mind, though, since behavior has a way of speaking for itself. So, it's not really what you say, it's what you do that is GLARINGLY OBVIOUS AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE. No pun intended. You might wanna study, kids! You never know when life might throw you a pop quiz.



As for the answer to that question, "Are you going to be ok?" Absolutely. As soon as I figure out ways to keep rude assholes like the ones I just described far the fuck away from me.



And friends who offer to wait with me at bus stops. ;-)