Do You Hear What I Hear? Whaaa?

All I hear is Christmas music. True, my radio dial is stuck on 106.7 (crappy alarm clock), but it's still November! Where's Snoopy? Where's George Winston? No Peggy Lee? Faith Hill warbling in that pseudo-style is not my idea of easy listening.

(ahhh...iTunes just kicked into Gino Vanelli. Gotta love a hairy guy that can croon.)

Still, I will dutifully traipse into Manhattan and begin my window shopping--particularly Lord & Taylor--I hear they did Fairy Tales as their Christmas theme this year. I'm also going to stop into that knitting cafe I've read so much about. Let's see if I fare any better than with Gotta Knit that fucked me out of 3 classes in April. Then maybe I can learn to increase and decrease properly. I can only make so many scarves.

And as for the few Pisces that read this here blogeroo, an interesting Jupiter-Uranus link that's happening right now will set things right for us, if we're willing to see the signs. That means taking charge, career changes (ooh! ooh!! Me first!!!), situations involving shifts of power, control and politics will lean ever so slightly in our favor. Like I've always said to my mother (March 13), one door closes for us and another slams shut on our fingers. That's going to change. I felt it Saturday night. Proof?

A huge eBay package was delivered to my door, no bickering (thank god) with the post office on the phone.

A pack of AA batteries that should have cost $2 cost me only $1. The guy didn't even argue, he let me take them!

Two pit bulls that live up the block and usually lunge for me (which makes me go around cars to avoid them) sat quietly as I passed by. One even wagged his little demonic tail.

And the horrible bitch neighbor who constantly complains I'm making noise in the hall died. Yes, died. No, I didn't create a voodoo doll, it was natural causes. I wonder what her 43 year old son will do now. Pay his own rent, maybe?

My chin hasn't broken out in about a week, and Muffin hasn't urped any hairballs.

I like this Jupiter thingie, I do. Keep your eyes open, my little fishie friends! It's gonna be an interesting December........

Goodbye Romano's

Well, it seems another fave restaurant of mine has bit the dust. Just like La Stella, which is now a Dunkin Donuts. Last night, I read the "Goodbye to all our Patrons" letter posted in the window of Romano's on 13th Avenue after visiting my hair salon to make an appointment (it was closed, dammit.) Romano's last day was October 3. Sigh...

Romano's was there for 70 years in the same spot. I remember how RD and I survived an onslaught of Michael Bolton's painful Christmas songs last year. If this spot becomes a Starbucks or a Duane Reade, I will have to slit my throat. Another great restaurant biting the dust. Is there nothing left of my childhood? How comforting it was to see all the other stores change year after year, but that place remained virtually untouched by time. Another knife to the chest. Billy Joel's "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant" conjured up images of this place for me. Always will. Mozzarella with tomatoes will never be the same, that's for sure. Change is inevitable, but I wasn't prepared for this. Oh well.

Happy news for a change: of all the ice rinks covered by the Daily News yesterday, Rock Center and Abe Stark in Coney Island got NO mention. I have very mixed memories of both. And it seems my favorite window fashionista Simon Doonan has dolled up Bloomingdale's this year with a zing at Charles and Camilla. Saks has done snowflakes, and there are different Nutcrackers all over the boroughs that are getting strong critical reviews. I love it, but Balanchine does get tired. There has been a thinning of the ranks with regards to NYCB principle dancers, so I will just have to see New York THEATER Ballet's version this year.

And I'm off tomorrow! Burning more vacay days. Laundry, and goofing off. I love when Thanksgiving is so early. Technically, it's still November, but the Christmas rush is here. I dig it.

Romano's...thanks for the memories.

You Heard it Here First!

***insert smile***

Didn't I say it first right here on this blog? Didn't I say that Nick & Jessica would be divorced or have children within five years? Well, they celebrated Anniversary #3 last month, and like, omigod, wow! They announced their separation last night. Like, I was right! Totally awesome, kiddies. THEY'RE TOO DAMN YOUNG. Wait, I take that back. SHE'S TOO DAMN YOUNG. He's 31. And can sing better. Whaddya expect when you marry a virgin with an overprotective family? Anyone notice his family was barely shown on "Newlyweds"? You saw his dad and his brother in, what, two episodes? The poor guy was overshadowed by someone less talented but with better connections. 98 Degrees is kaput, too. Let's see where his career goes. She's got Daddy holding the reins, so I'm not worried about her.

In other news, I'm at work. Can you smell the resentment? I didn't even feel like getting up to skate, but I did. Crossrolls and crossovers. Very "blah" kinda morning. The rink was warmer than it was outside! Shocking. 22 degrees does not make a happy camper of me, kiddies.

And the commercialist blitz has begun: between the replays of those poor parade-goers who got clonked on the heads with the Macy's balloon and Black Friday? It's a bit much. Technically, it's still November. That means I'm keeping the Indian, the pumpkin, and the pilgrim on my door until December 1 rolls around. Yes, I'm sitting here playing Peggy Lee's Christmas carols, but I need a pick-me-up this morning. Starbucks was closed downstairs and this weak-ass brown water they call coffee is just oh so not cutting it today.

I'm leaving early at 3 pm today. We've had 2 phone calls in the last 2 hours. Sloooow is the word. I could be home baking cookies or doing dishes or something.

My AdSense approval from Google came through. My lack of a new job (and I ain't gonna get one before January, I just know it) and pitiful funds has lead me to make a whorish corporate CEO decision: I will be putting advertising space on this here blog. Dexter thinks it's a good idea. I have his full bio ready, and he's going to start blogging shortly before Christmas. After all, links for cat food and toy sponsors make his feline heart go pitter-patter and my bank account go kaching. He also told me he wants the new Ionic Pet Pro brush for Christmas. He does not like the metal wire thingie I've been using at all. Neither does Muffin, and her fur is so matted, it's starting to look like dredlocks.

Well, it's 11:36 am, and I really REALLY wanted a pumpkin spice latte, but eh. I'll just have to deal. So far, I paid all my bills, blogged, and cleaned off my desk with these new Windex vinegar wipes. For the first time in weeks, I'm not sneezing! All that crap was going straight into my lungs. That reminds me...dustbunnies are brewing in my hall closet. Time to break out another pack of these things, I think.

Ciao and Meow for now!

Ha!

Pre-holiday inspiration from my fave astrologer, Rob Brezsney...

"As you slip into astrological prime time, you'll be shedding inhibitions and becoming more forthright about being yourself. Secrets that were inaccessible to you until now will finally reveal themselves, spurring you to peak performances. Exciting insights you were too timid to own before will erupt, empowering you to express creativity that has been dormant. There's just one small downside: Your rise to the next level could attract the disapproval of people who prefer the safety of mediocrity. My advice? Tell them to go to hell--in the most tactful possible way, of course. (P.S. For inspiration, keep in mind this idea from Friedrich Nietzsche: "Those who were dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.")"

No more beatings from mediocrity's iron fist, kiddies! Happy Leftovers...

Instant Karma's Gonna Get You

Well, I sit here with glee. Complaints of back pain did not come from me today, it came from someone else. Smug is the one term that comes to mind when I think of this person. Good. I have always enjoyed schadenfreude. I have cursed this place under my breath and out loud, maybe it's going to be an early Christmas gift? I'm loving it.

Either way, it might snow Wednesday. That gives me reason to jump with glee. It's starting to feel like that thing, WINTER. November ain't supposed to be 72 degrees.

Monkey Man Chimpareeno president (with a small 'p') tried to make a hasty exit when a reporter nailed him on this lovely war we're in. Chimpy made a comment on his "jet lag"--translation: screw you, I'm the president--and tried to make a mad dash, but the door was locked. I fell over laughing when I saw the streaming video. It's hysterical. And kudos to Rep. Murtha, who actually DID defend this country, for standing up to the bullshit rhetoric that passes for "patriotism" in the eyes of Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Monkey Man--all of whom had numerous deferments to get out of serving their country. But never fear! Like a good narcissist, he's got to celebrate someone standing up for his empty ideals, so Mongolia got a big shout-out from our Chimp. Kiddies, when you need to get support from a country that hasn't seen fame since Genghis Khan's time? It's time to pull out.

I just love selfish, spoiled, money-filled men with their parents riches protecting them. Wouldn't know hard work or decency if it came and bit them on the ass.

Quick Dexter update: he's doing fine after the hallway mishap. He hasn't gone near the door, and has promised never to speak of it. Kashi, on the other hand, is a crazy spider monkey who likes to climb things, like stairs. She's peeked her nose out the door a few times. Dex swished his tail as if to say, "Sigh...the young ones. They never learn!"

Off to lunch. All looks well today. Smuggo's going home. Should I get some Kleenex?

methinks not.

Beware the Snowman

He just peeked at me from a coffee cup. Yesterday, he wiggled in a box at Duane Reade. The day before he was staring at me from an HSN Christmas presentation. Who is this guy? Too small to be Frosty. I think I'm being followed!

And it is 45 degrees outside. This morning, I struggled out of bed stiff as a board, Dexter pushing me with his paws to get up, and saw my breath when I opened the bathroom window with a whoosh of cold air. November indeed, although it was 70 degree August on Monday.

Popped into Target and saw a giant Snow "family" made of wire and lights on skis. I swore I saw one of them wink at me.

The hardware store around the corner is selling lawn decorations--inflatable ...what else?...SNOWMEN. Eight feet tall, carrot nose, red scarf. It's an invasion.

We went from Halloween candy to the Frosty Mafia. How can this be???!!!

(the guilt I feel from just taking down my pumpkin and witch on my door and changing to a pilgrim and turkey might be the cause.)

I've only seen a few santas, maybe two reindeers, and a handful of polar bears. Are the snow "people" angry at global warming? Will it really be a cold winter? Is it a right wing conspiracy to scare us at the price of heating oil? I detect a political plot, kiddies. Will they hurl snowballs at us? AAACK!!!

Some of them are on skates. Some are in boots. Some have no legs at all. Just round bellies tucked under tufts. Standing there. Silent. Smiling.

I'm keeping my eyes out. You never know where this might lead.

Hallway Adventures

Dexter, who is dreadfully embarassed at having gotten locked out in the hall, doesn't want to write about getting stuck in a neighbor's apartment with a dog.

My neighbor, a kind Irish lady with a huge brown shaggy dog, found him stuck at Mary's door one floor below. Dex knew the door, but didn't know how to get back in, since it was THE apartment, but wrong floor. I didn't know the door closed behind him. About an hour had passed. Kashi was on the couch. Miss Muffin was in the kitchen, flumped and purring near the window.

After a frantic 15 minutes of tearing through each room--HOW can I not see a 20 lb black cat???--the horror dawned on me. Dexter is not here. He must be in the hall. I flung my door open. NO crying. NO yowl. Silence. Oh god, someone TOOK my Boo Face! I raced up to the top floor, began banging on doors--"Where's Dexter? Have you seen a huge black cat? Yellow eyes, one white whisker."

Nope.

Sorry.

Maybe he ran out the front door.

Visions of a squished cat under a speeding car fill my mind. Sweat begins to run.

I bolt down the stairs and see a pair of keys stuck in the door. Now I'm looking for my cat, and being a good Samaritan. Keys in the door = someone might break in OR maybe perhaps please GOD this person tried to grab a frightened black cat? I knock on the door, panicked beyond belief.

"yOUR KeYs aRE in the DOor. My GOd, HaVE YOU SEENMYBLACKCATHISNAMEISDEXTER!"

***insert lovely brogue here***

"Aw, dear. I have your cat. He's such a nice fella an me'dog likes him, too. We used t'have a cat, but n'more. Dexter's in the kitchen."

And there he was. Totally annoyed by this whole mess. Glaring at the dog (and then me) from under a yellow chair. I grabbed his back legs. He scratched my arm. He wouldn't move. The dog was REALLY happy with the new houseguest.

"He's such a good cat! He let me pick 'im up and didn't bite. Poor thing, he didn't know what t'do."

One long pull (and a bleeding arm) later, Mr. Boo is on my shoulders, still staring at the dog. A distinct look of 'I'm Never Going In The Hall Again' is in his eyes.
Back upstairs we go after some deep breaths and many thanks.

His tail is puffed out 4 inches and he's shaking. He retreats into a corner, obviously in shock. I drop food in the bowls and shake my head. The things I do for my fuzzers!

After doing dishes, sorting mail, and checking the answering machine, I grab a cup of tea and sit down with my knitting. He slinks up next to me and places his paw on my leg.

"Don't go by the door again, Boo."

He looks up at me and blinks. That's a 'yes' if ever there was one.

He drops his chin on my lap and purrs. All is quiet and well.

Stand and Salute

I did. This morning to two navy officers on their way to a memorial at Chelsea Piers. It's Veteran's Day, but you wouldn't know it at this place. We've never had this day off, which I find particularly disrespectful given this fake lie of a war we're in courtesy of the Smirking Monkey Boy Retard president (emphasizing small 'p'.)

The ranks of those from WWI and II grows thinner and thinner, and those from Vietnam might feel incredible resentment at showing their face, but those from the Gulf War and this current fuck up show their faces in true defiance. I'm proud of them.

I've never had the urge to understand the thought of voluntary enlistment and what that entails, but I understand the principle of standing up for one's beliefs even if means putting one's life on the line. Hell, that's me every day! Although you won't find me in uniform. (12 years of Catholic school is enough. No more hospital corners or starched collars for me.)

And France is blowing itself up. How quaint. I honestly wonder how long it will be before their lovely prime minister asks the USA for help. Again. If we didn't help them 60 sum-odd years ago, they'd be speaking German now. Qu'elle surprise.

In other news, it's cold out. I'm damn thrilled about it. There's nothing better than hearing the clanging hiss of heat coming up through the radiators. This sound is more comforting than anything I know, given my Dickensian childhood of cold winters and a broken boiler. Hot water is a blessing, too. One I never take for granted. That and my cats purring near me. Heaven, sweet heaven, that I can even hear that sound--so quiet and still my life has become.

It's a wonderful thing when you've taken great pains to rid one's life of chaos. No fighting, no phones ringing, no TVs blaring, no teenagers jumping and screaming, no sirens, fire trucks, or babies screeching. I live on the greatest block anywhere. Despite Mr. Puppy and the Drunk upstairs with all their footsteps and Metallica in the afternoons on weekends, this is my only complaint and how lucky I am.

The noise and insanity has folded itself up like pocket handkerchiefs and slid away. Can I be addicted to quiet? I think so. Over the last year, I've found myself at the calm mercy of libraries, churches, cemeteries. I can hear my own footsteps as well as my own voice. Knowing what I want and what I don't might have very well been the key to my current job hunt, which will be put on hold for the holidays, but hell, I can wait. I've got the spirit now--baking and knitting and counting the days to cured ham and turkey, champagne and chocolate, cookies and stockings. The seasons change and move forward. So do I.

I definitely salute that, too.

Agencies that Suck

Career Group, Access, Strategic Workforce, Segue, Winston, A List Associates, JemWorks, Forum, OfficeTeam, CareerBlazers, Forrest Edwards.

Agencies that have helped: First Choice, Hemisphere, Execu-Search, Carol Personnel.

The holidays are upon me, which means two things--I'm still here (makes me feel like herpes) and I'm still broke.

Turkey, stuffing, trees, giftwrap, and credit card bills will be what all these places will be worried about very soon, not me actually getting a new place to work where I can be 1) well-paid and 2) happy.

So, it's back to my books and back to Monster. If ya want anything done correctly, ya gotta do it yourself, kiddies. I redid my resume yet again, and tomorrow I'm going to conquer my cover letter for the gazillionth time. I am worth more than this. I hate the auditing team who keeps thinking they know more after working here one month than I do, after working here almost five years. Pretty soon, they are going to stamp me with a bar code, tell me to change my name, and put a computer chip inside my hand and chain me to the desk. It's coming, I'm telling you. Judge Dread was a terrifying comic strip, but all citizens were tracked.

Still, I've picked up my knitting again, have started to hoard cookie recipes, and I've started to tune in to the Food Network for gingerbread/cake/holiday contests for ideas and inspiration. It sure ain't coming from other areas of my life, so in my post-mortem Halloween blues, I'll just have to think about whether I want to cook turkey or a really good chicken this year. Dexter and Kashi love when I make cornish hens with creamed gravy, maybe I'll make a plate just for them.

I won't give in and I won't give up. I refuse to stop fighting and I refuse to compromise. That will be the death of me.

It's November!

hello.

this is dexter.

I am very happee that it's November. I will try and spell better sence that is whut my too-legger wuld like.

Last nite, CatWoman came on. Wen I saw Hally Berry on the skreen, I thaut I wuld fall off the cowch. I luv this woman, I sware. My too-legger kept switcheen channils so I had to sit on the remoat. Then she pickt up her nitteen (whut a skarf is I don't knoo. I'm cuvvered in furr so I'm warm.) I wunder if there weel be a seequell. My too-legger just rolld her eyes. Whut's with that?

Anyway, it's getteen colder, so I've takin to the cowch more this week. I am very excited abot the berd, too. With the stuffeen and grayvy. Last yeer, we had cornesh hens. I thaut they werr pidjuns, but I wuz wrong. Still, I likd the grayvy and jenerally enjoyt myself.

Therr is tawk of me getteen my own blog next yeer. I'll have to theenk abot whut I reely want to discuss. I have a lot of theengs that Carmine and my other frends want to heer abot.

And thenk yoo, Ketz...Qtzl..Coatzl...um, thenk yoo, Q, for the advisse on my putenshul blog.

stay postid!

love
dexter