To the lady who missed the bus

Few things tug at my heartstrings like the experience of watching someone running to catch the bus with all of the determination and speed of an all-star athelete, arms outstretched and reaching, and just missing it as the bus drives away from the curb, their efforts in vain. There's the look...the look on the person's face of sheer defeat. The shoulder shrug, the sigh, the explatives mumbled to all within reasonable earshot. My heart goes out to these people.

This morning, I sat on the back of the 77, and watched this very scenario play out like a slow, silent film. The woman, a curly-headed, heavy-set blonde in a neon green t-shirt and carrying several bags, was trying... trying to make it like the little red engine we read about in the familiar book from our childhood. After all, ours was the second bus in a row at the curb and you know what that means...another 20-25 minutes 'til the next and in this heat that's 20-25 minutes too long... The driver didn't notice her sprinting stride, the sweat on her brow, biting her lip, with the will to make it...make it to the bus before it pulled away. I watched her; we made eye contact. It was as if she was pleading with me to help her and I was rooting for her like it was the special olympics and she was a quadriplegic kid in an electric wheelchair race to the finish. I think I was actually holding my breath for her. The bus was too noisy for me to be heard by the driver in time, so I reached up and pulled the stop-cord just as the bus was pulling away. But but he didn't stop. She was left behind...a tired speck of person, catching her breath, forlorn- me looking back at her, helpless. I wanted to cry.

I thought, why do I feel this way any time I see this happen? Perhaps it's femme hormones gone awry. Or perhaps, I thought, it's because I've been there. Maybe not chasing the bus, but chasing something with all my might and just missing it- that's what can relate to. I knew she deserved to make it after such an intense effort and desire to acheive it.

And then I try to remember all the times that the bus came just as I turned the corner and arrived at the bus stop- in an almost perfectly choreographed synchronicity. That happens, too, on rare occasions. And I feel like my life in the past few days has been in that groove- that groove of synchronicity that isn't just an album by The Police, but a rhythm that's so perfect, it kinda scares me.

Okay. Not totally perfect- the apartment was without gas yesterday and I have been dealing with strange health issues lately. But, aside from that, I just got a much better paying job and gave notice to my current employer & co-workers who seem sorry to see me go but genuinely happy for me. And my landlord is actually mowing the lawn and I'm just feeling pretty optimistic, in general. In fact, with the job thing, the offer came just after I was being offered a promotion- and I was able to negotiate more money from the one offer because of the other...It was at the last minute that I accepted the final good offer and made the big change from the directioon of the promotion to going with a whole new job altogether- one that makes me feel happier. It all seemed meant to be. And funny, this was my horoscope for the day:

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Talk about a great day! Communication, surprises and last-minute changes are on the agenda. Will you be tickled? Oh, maybe just a touch -- enough to keep you smiling for at least 18 hours straight.

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Neon-green shirt lady: Your day, too, will come when you fall into synchronicity with the bus!

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The Boys Upstairs

So, the boys who have been living in the house upstairs (i'm in a basement apt...you know, "garden" minus...the garden) are finally moving out. And of course, they managed to cut of the gas without transferring it back to the landlord's account, so I am sans hot water and the clothes dryer has no heat. Fortunately for me I have an electric stove...you know, with all the gourmet stove cooking I do in the apartment and all...Well, actually, I just heated a frozen pizza, so that counts, right? Yes, it's pizza and ice cold showers today in the basement.

Will I miss my neighbors? Doubt it. I knew from the moment they moved in that they'd be noisy. Why? Well, one of the guys immediately struck up a conversation in a very..shall we say...Eddie Hascal kind of way. I knew he was trying to schmooze me, but I wasn't sure why until he got to the part in the conversation that was something to the effect of: "I'm so glad we will have a cool neighbor like you who won't be complaining about the noise."

"Why? Are you noisy?" I asked, eyebrow raised thinking BINGO...here's that catch.
"Oh, no. We're not noisy,. it's just that our last neighbors complained a lot about us. They were these old folks and didn't like us."

This was the beginning of many noisy-til-the-wee morning nights filled with heart-thumping-high-decibal hip-hop/dance mixes and a severely musically-challenged band of a bass guitar and drums. Well, if there was a melodic instrument in the house, it was completely drowned out by the others. And just when I thought the last neighbor was bad.

The last couple were boyfriend and girlfriend and they fought like cats and dogs. Wait. I take that back. The guy, Mike, was always screaming and the girl, Liz, was cowering around him, catering to his temperment. They had a dog, a girl Rottweiler, who took to humping my male dog whenever the opportunity presented itself. Eventually, Liz dumped Mike and moved out- taking the dog (so I came to assume given her apparent vacancy)- and Mike went through a series of random overnight hook-ups with young loud girls who were likely drug addicts. One even woke me up by screaming at him and stomping all over the place around 8 am on a Sunday and within the hour the house was surrounded by four armed police officers. They kept ringing the doorbell and no one would answer. So I emerged from my warm bed, dressed in my robe, and went out to ask them what the heck was going on. They thought I was the 'girl' who made the call. Apparently, Mike's screaming one-night-stand had called the police and said Mike threatened to kill her. The two of them had left in his big black, SUV, leaving me to deal with the officers. Within minutes, the officers received the number of Mike's cell phone over their radios and called him. The girl answered his phone and said she was with him and nevermind, everything is okay, they worked it out. The police were pissed that it was a complete waste of time. They called off their 'backup' and left. It was after that day that I started to wonder about Liz. I mean, I never did see her move out; I just never saw her again and asked Mike about it. He said she and the dog no longer lived there. And he never said anything about the psychotic, screaming girl either. He just interacted with me like all was well..occassionally knocking on my door asking to borrow sugar. He cooked all the time and always wore a chefs outfit. I thought he was a chef, seeing him dressed that way and always smelling the amazing aromas of dishes I probably cut the recipe for out of Simple Life and stuck in my kitchen drawer but never cooked. Liz, however, had corrected me saying he was not a chef just loved to cook. She said he traded stocks. God, I hope she and her dog Zoey aren't buried in the backyard. Or worse...made into gourmet meatpies.

I shouldn't complain, however. Even these neighbors cannot trump the one I had serious problems with in my last residence: THE STALKER. He literally stalked me on foot or in his car- he'd chase me, hide behind nearby objects/buildings and watch me, or walk at me and try to press his body up against me, was always looking in my windows, going through my mail, writing me notes, drawing me pictures. My dog caught him trying to sneak into my back door once and also, at the same time, 'someone' mysteriously tapped my phone line from the outside of the building, causing me to have problems dialing out- (which is how this was even discovered). I even had my own detective assigned to the 'case' and a police file on all this. It was a time in my life that I was most on the verge of a nervous breakdown and I'm not even a scared/skiddish person by nature. Yep, compared to this freak, noisy neighbors ain't so bad.

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Reckless Identity Assumption #223

Have you ever been in a situation where someone assumes something about you and it’s totally false, but their assumption ends up paying off for you in some way?

I’m think this happened to me recently. I came clean about it, of course, being the honest type. But I find it funny that the offer…the offer that is out there cannot be retracted at this point. I think it’s kinda funny. Here’s the short of it:

Someone I have known for about five months now in an acquaintance sense, versus biblical, mistook me for a single mom. And this someone decided to extend a rather generous offer, I had originally thought to be out of thinking that I’m worthy of it just as I am, but now I think it may have been out of pity for this RIA (reckless identity assumption). Who knows where he came up with this? I was racking my brain as to how he would have arrived at this doozy. Unless he overheard me talking about my ‘four-legged kid’ –as in, my dog? Oh, God. He must’ve thought I was the single mother of Siamese twins! What an unfortunate circumstance this is- the life of a struggling, single mother with Siamese twins; someone should save her, start a fund, erect a monument, something…he must’ve thought. I discovered this over a meal in which the guy asked me if it was a son or daughter that I had…this was, of course, part of the casual conversation following the generous offer.

It could have been worse, I tell myself, in hindsight;
he could have asked me when I was due!

I’m counting my blessings.

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i HEART email

I love email. Just love it.

Perhaps because I count myself as the kind of person who can better express myself in writing than in conversation. Not sure why that is exactly. Writing is more precise. It’s neater. I can think things through and delete if I feel like something doesn’t fit.

Email has also allowed me to keep track of large numbers of people I wouldn’t correspond with otherwise due to being at such a long distance.

I’m a sentimental person, it seems. I like to keep up with people. Email is great for that. I like that it’s not an immediate interruption- as the traditional phone call is, but there waiting when you’re ready for it. Also, it appeals to the organizer in me. I love electronic filing and fast searching for references. It’s fast, easy, paperless…lovely.

So, I am doing a ton of emailing on a daily basis. Which is great! But then I feel guilty that I’m emailing instead of writing and getting behind on my personal deadlines for writing stuff. And also, I have to coax myself out of emailing when intoxicated or drugged up on prescription painkillers, which isn’t very often, thankfully. This is far more tempting (& dangerous) for me than the drunk dial, especially since I changed my cell phone plan to one with limited minute usage per month. Like I said, I’m a sentimental person…so, I’m working to avoid these types of mishaps.

Suffice to say, if you haven’t heard from me in a while I may just be A) still drunk from those two glasses of wine I had, B) on prescription painkillers , C) haven’t gotten around to responding to your last email because I get at least 100 a day, or D) I don’t have much to say these days in your direction.

Ah, but it may surprise you to know that I’m not an IM girl. Not even a text message girl, really. I think because it seems trite unless you are simply using it for instant useful info like an address or a meeting time…stuff like office communication. So, for those of you who have requested my IM address, I am without one. Sorry. Besides, I like to think I'm worthy of more than a 'HowRU?' or a 'What's Up?' any day of the week. Do U feel me?

Go ahead. Be verbose. Send an email. And God forbid, don't be canned and send a mass email unless you are really saving the world and can't complete the task without my support. And yes, I can tell the difference. :)

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SPIFFY

Natalie, in the collections dept, said I look "Spiffy" today.
She's about 75. God Bless her. Spiffy.
I was going for Summery or Sophisticated but I'll settle for Spiffy

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