Archive for 2005

Dec 31 2005

In With the New

Published by under Uncategorized

This year’s resolutions should be easier to keep than last year’s, which were to be better at answering emails and blogwalking. Considering the many emails still awaiting my attention and the lack of writing my own blog, let alone reading other people’s, I don’t think I get a passing grade for the passing year. Hopefully this year’s model will be more attainable:

1. Get hair highlighted. It’s been 5 months now, and the roots of darkness are only lightened by rogue silver hairs. It’s time for a Pentagon-sized cover-up.

2. Get divorced. It’s been two years since we separated, the apartment is sold, and in the words of more famous former couples, we remain committed and caring friends. It’s time to get on with our lives.

3. Get off anti-depressants. They are expensive and bad for one’s girlish figure. It’s time to get off the pills and get real.

4. Find the perfect nude lip gloss. It’s time to go to Sephora!

Wishing you all a happy and peaceful new year.

8 responses so far

Dec 30 2005

Out With the Old

Published by under Bullshit,San Francisco

The apartment has finally been sold. Other than the breathtaking rudeness and generally unpleasant personality of the woman who bought it, the most shocking thing about the entire depressing process was the fun-filled discovery that the seller gets to pay the buyer’s real estate agent, too. The grand total for both agents was $35 grand. Grand for the agents, that is.

I can’t help resenting paying the Other Agent, when all he did was make a spacious apartment in Pacific Heights with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge from the roof garden and beautiful period details sound like a tenement in Hunters Point. A really good agent can make you totally ashamed of your place in under five minutes.

So let’s take a farewell tour of the place I lived in and loved for well over a decade.

Here’s the outside of the building which dates from 1927.

It’s three blocks from Nicolas Cage’s house
and the famous Haas-Lilienthal House, now a museum.

Guess we all just love to slum it.

This is the living room, which I painted a sunny yellow.

You can see the 250 year old grandfather clock, which has been in my father’s family ever since it was made. The rocking chair was made by my mother’s grandfather from cherry wood, with mother-of-pearl inlays. The plant is called Frank.

Another view of the living room, looking toward the kitchen.

The desk was my beloved godfather’s.

The kitchen, showing the wonderful old Wedgewood stove (it’s more than 50 years old and the best stove I ever had).

Behind the stove and sink are the handmade Italian tiles I had put in. The counters were made by my brother from quarter-sawn white oak. I really hate it that the new owner appreciates none of these things. She complained bitterly that there was no dishwasher. Undoubtedly, she’ll yank it all out and replace it with stainless steel everything and never cook in it, just show it off.

The bathroom has William Morris wallpaper (the frieze is called Willow Bough, and the rug matches) imported from England.

The doorknob on the closet is lead crystal, as are all of the doorknobs in the apartment. The tub is a real cast-iron clawfoot, dating from 1890. I painted the outside green and the feet silver.

Last of all, the bedroom, with another Morris rug and the 1920’s dressing table I got at a yard sale 20 years ago. It turned out to be surprisingly valuable.

You can also see the bay window with a glimpse of the garden.

So there you have it. It doesn’t look that bad, does it?

8 responses so far

Dec 29 2005

Follow Yonder OnStar

Published by under Uncategorized

You know how it always seems that you have a million things to do right before Christmas? Especially if you’re a dyed-hair, dyed in the wool Procrastinator like I am. My last-minute Christmas Eve tasks did not include malls or shopping, but rather, a trip to the notary, Barney, and then there’s the OnStar incident.

I was invited to spend Christmas with a friend and her family in another city, so I had to rent a car. As with most rental cars, it was far too fancy and complicated for the non-mechanically minded Me (I don’t care how anything works, as long as it works). Picked up car without incident, but faithful readers will know that if I get anywhere near a car, something will happen sooner or later. This time, it’s later, so you’ll just have to wait and see.

Of course I had not packed for the trip or wrapped the presents, though I had at least bought the presents. I was about to pack up the car and go when I got a phone call informing me that I had to get some documents notarized and Fed Exed for arrival on the morning of December 27 at the latest.

Swearing in a most un-holiday manner, off I went to the notary, thankful for their non-holiday work ethic. I took a number, and was banished to the waiting room, which was dominated by a TV set bolted to the wall and inflicting Barney on an unsuspecting public. As he cultishly sang repeatedly how much he loved his (presumably unknown to him) audience and informed them that they seconded his emotion, I looked vainly for an off switch or volume control. Barney, wherever and whatever you are, you freak, I do not love you. In fact, I think you’d make one fine target.

The three kids planted squarely in front of the set would have disagreed with me, except they were in a narcotic haze. If it weren’t for the evidence of Barney so unmissably present, I would have suspected their parents of improving the kids’ juice boxes with a calming hit of an opium-based derivative. But it was Barney himself who caused the slack-jawed, glazed eye look of these brainwashed infants. I was scared.

Fortunately, my number was called, I was relieved of some cash, and I was on my way before there was an incident.

On the highway, an old gentleman driving a white Cadillac and wearing a Santa hat passed me. I wonder if that’s how Santa gets around now? So much more comfortable than a sleigh, where he is exposed to the cold night air and reindeer butts and their products. And just wearing the hat instead of the whole costume is much more modern. Stylish Santa for the 21st century. About time he updated his look.

I stopped at Denny’s en route (I know, I know, but I really had to pee. Those among you who indulge in caffeine will know that a coffee-induced pee is more unstoppable than Barney), and I swear someone was doing coke in the next stall. All I can say is, she went in, didn’t avail herself of the usual facilities, but there was lots of sniffing going on. It seems eccentric to do coke in the Denny’s ladies’ room on Christmas Eve, but perhaps we all need a little help in dealing with our holiday stress.

Back on the road, it was dark, and the inevitable occurred. I got lost. I pulled over to consult the minutely detailed instructions so thoughtfully (and fruitlessly) provided by my hostess. My attempts to turn on the lights in the complicated car resulted in:

1. Opening the moon roof to the cold and rain.

2. Accidentally hitting the OnStar button.

I tried desperately to turn it off, to no avail. A creepy computer voice informed me that it was connecting, connecting…then Kanye West abruptly stopped playing and a voice over my stereo speakers said, “This is Darnell. What’s your emergency?”

I didn’t have the nerve to tell Darnell that my only emergency was being lost, bored, traumatized by Barney, and sick of driving, or to ask him if he was the same Darnell as Crab Man on My Name Is Earl, so I just stammered out an apology for my mistake. Darnell forgave me with the grace of a Wise Man, and vanished from my life, leaving Kanye West and a blushing Suzy in his wake.

I’m never calling OnStar again.

2 responses so far

Dec 24 2005

Merry Christmas, Everyone

Published by under Uncategorized

mn_old_christmas_card.jpg

This is a 162 year old Christmas card – one of the very earliest. Who says Victorians didn’t know how to party? I think it’s going to be a goodnight pretty soon for the wine-guzzling kid in the foreground!

Wishing you all a joyful holiday season (and lots of presents)!

4 responses so far

Dec 21 2005

Santa Claus Is Bummin’ Round Town

Published by under Uncategorized

I was awakened this morning by someone shouting, “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” angrily and repeatedly. I lay in bed, wondering what the answer was until curiosity overcame me and I peeked out the window.

There was an ancient-looking man, intoxicated, insane, and irate, walking out of the courtyard, gesturing at no-one (no-one visible, anyway) and screaming the age old, unanswerable question at the uncaring sky.

I discovered that Santa had come early this year, and had broken with tradition by substituting the oh-so-fashionable germ warfare for the usual stocking full of coal for those of us who are habitually naughty rather than nice. A seasonable, but so far, small-sized case of a flu-like illness. I never thought Santa would look like a crazy homeless guy, but then again, so many things are disappointing as an adult. Undoubtedly, an efficiency expert told him to get the bad ones out of the way early, and don’t bother dressing up for the likes of them.

With even more excuse than usual to languish and lounge, I checked out the December issue of Vanity Fair. The Letters section was frothing with rage about the November issue’s cover starring Paris Hilton. I thought I was underemployed until I saw the letters from rabid readers who angily cancelled their subscriptions and/or tore off the offending cover and mailed it back to the magazine with their complaints.

The most amusing letter for me was from none other than Mama Partridge herself, Miss Shirley Jones, she whose TV son was arrested for beating up a TV hooker, and whose catalogue of his many, many misdeeds can be found in his very entertaining and well-written memoir, Random Acts of Badness. As far as I know, Miss Jones never publicly railed against Mr. Bonaduce for being a bad role model, and I would venture to say that being a socialite who likes to have her photo taken is not as bad as being arrested for assault or being a crackhead.

But that’s just me.

Being an equal opportunity reader, I decided to check out La Hilton’s memoirs, too. However, they are less of an autobiography and more of a picture book. On the other hand, I did get diet tips, which, as you may recall, my dream girl wouldn’t give me:

Eat fast food, pasta, and chocolate as often as you can. Only eat carbs at night. Never take diet pills or drink diet soda or go to the gym. You might get sweaty.

And words of wisdom on topics of vital importance:

On tiaras: People act differently toward you when you have jewelry on your head.

On skincare: I’m over tanning beds, because I don’t want to get skin cancer. Mystic Tan instead. Be tan all year round. I go to sleep with my makeup on, because it makes my skin look all dewy, and there’s less to do in the morning.

On my beloved Weeki Wachee Springs: My first job (on the Simple Life 2) was at Weeki Wachee, a kids’ place with an underwater show. I got to play a mermaid. It was kind of stupid, but Elvis has been there, so that makes it kind of cool

On public transit: Yes, I admit I’ve taken the subway in New York – and it smells. It literally smells like pee. Why can’t they do anything about that? Does anyone ever clean down there?

And unlike the rest of us insecure girls, she only hates one thing about her body. It’s her size 11 (transvestite sized!) feet.

Comments Off on Santa Claus Is Bummin’ Round Town

Dec 08 2005

The Doors

Published by under Uncategorized

Observant readers like the eagle-eyed Mike (I’m betting his kids don’t get away with much!) may have noticed that although my door has a wreath, it did not have a doorknob. Typical of Me to accessorize without worrying about those dull necessities.

It really wasn’t my fault, though. A couple of days ago, I woke up to discover that the door would not open. The diva doorknob generally expressed her temperament by refusing to stay closed, but decided that an amusing variation would be to stay closed and see how I liked it.

I didn’t. I also could not open the door, and sooner or later, I would almost certainly want to venture out into the Wide World, despite generally agreeing with the Water Rat’s dim view of it.

With the doorknob snickering in the background, I called the building manager, Mister Anonymous. Yes, that’s his legal name. No, I don’t know why. I just call him Mister.

He came over as soon as he could. First, he had to oversee the ejection of an enraged and screaming Boob Girl, who managed to smash the glass in the building’s front door on her way out, in spite of the fact that she was in a straitjacket and being carried by a couple of strong men. I learned later that she had expanded her sales campaign from knocking on doors to slipping flyers advertising her sexual services under them. Imagine my annoyance to learn that everyone I know in the building had summarily disposed of these erotic ephemera. Now I’ll never see one.

So Mister went from one broken door to another. You can imagine that he was in a pretty good mood by the time he got to mine. First, he took the doorknob off. Still stuck. Tried to take off the hinges, but only two out of the four would come off. Finally, in exasperation, he kicked the door – and it opened. I still have the deadbolt to keep it closed, but Mister hasn’t brought me a replacement doorknob yet. Fortunately, the wreath was unscathed.

Comments Off on The Doors

Dec 06 2005

It’s Christmas Time at the Suzy’s

Published by under Uncategorized

I am feeling all festive this year. This is a bigger deal than you’d think, since it’s the first time I’ve felt like celebrating Christmas since Dad died, four years and four months ago. We always had such a wonderful time at Christmas. He and my stepmother would come every other year, and we’d rent a house right on the ocean in Bodega Bay. Often, it would be warm enough for a Christmas Eve picnic on the beach, and one of my very favorite photos of Dad was taken on New Year’s day at nearby Point Reyes, as he paddled in the ocean, loving the sun and the shore birds (the sanderlings were his favorites, and are mine as well: they’re like charming wind-up toys).

That can of GrinchBeGone must have really worked, because I have a tree! Naturally, it’s unnatural, being a vintage, silver and white number, originally from the long-gone, legendary Gimbels department store in New York. It may be even more vintage than I am, since the price tag reads $2.88!

I thought it would be a lot easier to set up than it was. I sort of imagined that you’d just open it up like an umbrella, but no. You have to put it together, and fluff out the branches. Then you have to find a tree stand to fit a trunk approximately the thickness of your average broom handle. I soon discovered that in the world of tree stands, you most certainly can be too thin. Nothing fit my tree’s svelte silhouette, so I ended up trapping it between bricks I found at the back of the building and covering them with cloth napkins I liberated from some first class travel some time ago. Who says crime (well, pilfering) doesn’t pay?

It’s also much harder to take a good picture of the tree than I had anticipated. It has three sets of twinkly lights that twinkle at all different times, so it’s never all lit up at the same time, and the photo was the best I could get. I love the twinkling, though.

As if that weren’t enough, I also have a wreath. This one is real Scotch pine and smells all Christmassy. You can tell I decorated it, since the ornaments are all haphazard. I think it looks pretty anyway.

4 responses so far

Dec 03 2005

It’s Christmas Time In the City

Published by under Uncategorized

ba_skylineairport_02.jpg

4 responses so far

Nov 22 2005

One Hour Nowhere

Published by under Uncategorized

The phone rang at the ungodly (well, un-Suzy) hour of 8:00 this morning. It was my doctor’s secretary, asking if I could come in this afternoon. Caught unguarded and uncaffeinated, I agreed. Later, considering the fact that I have to take two buses to get there (that’s two too many) and that I was overwhelmed by slothfulness (one of my personal favorite sins), I regretted this, but reflected that the dr. visit might result in a reduced dosage of happy pills, which should also result in a reduced size of Suzy. One of the side effects of the expensive, yet unamusing, happy pills is that one goes from Ab Fab to Ab Flab.

So I grumpily went to the bus stop an hour before the appointment, and as in Casablanca, I waited. And waited. And waited….

Finally, the long-awaited bus appeared. I got on, all unsuspecting, and suddenly, it took a detour. By the time I realized that it was not, in fact, going where I wanted to go, there were 15 minutes left before my appointment. No way I could make it. I got off the bus, called the dr.’s office, and got their voicemail, which breezily informed me that they were at lunch and – get this – they do not check messages left during their 1 &1/2 hour lunch break (despite the fact that my appointment was scheduled during that time). I left a detailed and annoyed message, and then spent almost the same amount of time I had spent waiting for the bus trying to get a taxi. There was no way I was dealing with any more public transit that day. I had waited and smelled enough, thank you.

By the time I got one, I was homicidal. When I got home, the phone was ringing. It was, you guessed it, my over-lunched dr.’s receptionist asking where I was. I explained everything yet again and told her I had left a message, but she said she hadn’t gotten it. Not checking your messages will do that, dontcha think? And why have voicemail at all, if you’re not going to check it? And PS to the public transit people, who are no doubt snickering evilly about the success of their practical joke, you might want to consider posting signs warning innocent patrons that the route has changed, and what it has changed to. Just a thought.

Martini o’clock is going to be a little early today.

5 responses so far

Nov 17 2005

Special Olympics

Published by under Uncategorized

I know they say hearing about other people’s dreams is really boring – and while I may be many things, I hope boring isn’t one of them – but I promise to keep it brief. Also Kirstie Alley wasn’t in this one.

I dreamed that I called a company to complain about something, only to be informed that they had closed their complaints department. No further complaints would be taken. I was furious, because complaining is one of the few things I do well. And often. If there were a Complaints competition in the Olympics, I’d get a gold medal. They could give you a topic, and the one who complains the longest and most entertainingly wins.

I don’t know why there isn’t, come to think of it. Practically everything else is an Olympic sport these days. Synchronized Knitting, with players all knitting and purling at the same time with the precision of the Rockettes. Points will be dropped for dropped stitches. Relay Speed Coloring, where one player feverishly fills in as much as s/he can before passing the crayon to the next player. The first one to fill in the entire coloring book without going out of the lines wins. False Eyelash Application, individual and whole strips. There will be mandatory eyelash extension testing, and anyone who fails will be condemned to using mascara only for an entire year.

2 responses so far

Nov 14 2005

Now Taking Requests

Published by under Uncategorized

As requested by La Candina:

1. What time did you get up this morning??8:30 am (and I had to set the alarm!)

2. Diamonds or pearls? Do you even have to *ask*? Gotta go for the sparkle, every time.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Capote. It was brilliant.
?
4. What is your favorite TV show? Glimore Girls, Everwood.

5. What did you have for breakfast? Pink grapefruit & black coffee.

6. What is your middle name? Jean (ugh – so unglamorous)

7. What is your favorite cuisine? Italian or French.

8. What foods do you dislike? Tofu. Anything soy-related, actually. Most dairy (milk; yogurt; sour cream, etc.) other than cheese. Oysters, caviar (why won’t anyone admit it’s fishy Jell-O?), smoked salmon, tuna, sushi. I don’t eat beef or pork. Maybe I should have listed the foods I do like instead!

9. What is your favorite potato chip flavor? I don’t really eat them. I do like Lundberg’s rice chips, though. Sesame-seaweed’s my favorite.

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment?? Blackalicious, The Craft, Janis Joplin, Pearl

11. What kind of car do you drive? I don’t have one at the moment, though I used to own a silver-blue 1966 Mustang convertible. My first and only car.

12. Favorite sandwich?? Chicken Caesar wrap.

13. What characteristics do you despise? Ignorance, cruelty, piety, intolerance.

14. What are your favorite clothes? My lavender suede Manolo Blahniks.

15, If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where WOULDN’T you go? Most of Asia, other than Thailand.

16. What color are your eyes? Green.

17. Favorite brand of clothing? In real life, I seem to wear a lot of Gap and J Jill. If money were no object, Prada.

18. Where would you want to retire to? Like I’ll be able to!

19. Favorite time of day? Twilight.

20. Where were you born? Syracuse, New York. Other than that, it has no redeeming qualities.

21. Favorite sport to watch? Sporty Suzy is teetering on the edge of extinction.

22. Coke or Pepsi? Champagne – if you’re going to drink calories, you might as well get a buzz. Or Perrier, despite the opinion of a well-known socialite who said, “I never drink water. Fish fuck in it.”

23. Are you a morning person or night owl? I’m a reformed morning person. So I’m a dedicated night owl now.

24. Any new and exciting news you?d like to share with everyone? New news? Isn’t that redundant?

25. What did you want to be when you were little? Idle rich. Still hopin’.

26. What are the different jobs you have had in your life? Au pair on the French Riviera; all-purpose worker (checking people in and out, making breakfast for hundreds, giving tours) at a youth hostel that was formerly a 150 year old jail; about a thousand temp secretarial jobs (commitment phobic); investment analyst, wife.

27. Nicknames: What is your nickname? Suz, Suzy (my family also likes to call me things that rhyme, like Floozy, Boozy, etc. and always laugh when I answer).

28. Piercings? Both earlobes, the cartilage of my right ear. A friend pierced my cartilage in 1984, so I feel well ahead of the trend on that one.

29. Ever been to Africa? No.

30. Ever been toilet papering? No.

31. Been in a car accident? Once, when I was about 9 years old. No serious damage. I wasn’t driving.

32. Favorite day of the week? They’re all the same to me.

33. Favorite restaurant? Swan Oyster Depot.

34. Favorite flower? Lilacs, sweet peas, lilies of the valley.

35. Favorite ice cream? Double Rainbow White Pistachio.

36. Favorite fast food restaurant? Those roadside stands in New England where you can get fried clams and lobster rolls.

37. How many times did you fail your driver?s test?? None, even though I hate to drive.

38. Before this one, from whom did you get your last e-mail? Sadly, my boss, if you don’t count junk mail.

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Do I have to pick just one?

40. Bedtime? When I’m sleepy.

41. Last person you went to dinner with? My fab friend Kelly.

42. What are you listening to right now? The whoosh of traffic and my life zipping by.

43. What is your favorite color? Pink.

44. How many tattoos do you have? None. Makes me feel all distinctive. Am convinced that there will soon be a porn fetish for girls with unmarked and unpierced bodies, since tattoos and piercings are so commonplace.

5 responses so far

Nov 11 2005

Field of Dreams?

Published by under Uncategorized

Awright, sports fans (and you know who you are). The neophyte and knowledge-less Sporty Suzy (who has no stats at her manicured fingertips and nothing in her brain cell that isn’t frivolous, shallow, and non-athletic) needs your help.

How and why does one keep supporting one’s home team?

  1. The players rarely, if ever, actually come from the city whose team they play for, so it’s not like they personally embody the spirit of the place.
  2. While they do get paid a lot of money, they are more or less helpless pawns who may be traded at any moment. Despite this sword of Damocles hanging over their heads, they have to be team players in the most literal sense, all working toward the same goal (no pun intended). If they do get traded, they have to start all over again with people they don’t know, or possibly with former enemies.
  3. Your favorite players get traded and you don’t get to see them play anymore. Do you switch loyalty to the team they play on, or keep watching the old team with the new people you don’t care about?
  4. Do you have to overlook things like Barry Bonds’ deplorably diva-like behavior, both on and off the field (I find the way he treats the women in his life more deplorable than the steroid accusations)? Do you have to overlook the fact that the Giants didn’t can his overbearing ass, but they did dump several players so late in the season that it was almost impossible for them to get picked up by other teams? I admit this rankled with me the most in the case of Marquis Grissom, my favorite Giant, who was a total gentleman about the whole thing. He was the Anti-Bonds. I really miss him.
  5. The whole embarrassing NHL d&eacuteb&acirccle. I can’t believe they were all so damned childish that there was no hockey for a year, and when it came back, the schedule was stupid, the rules had changed, and with the salary cap, some of the best players became instantly unaffordable. The Maple Leafs, for example, were dropping like, well, leaves (why are they the Leafs and not the Leaves, anyway? Anyone? Anyone?), losing stellar players like Brian Leetch, Gary Roberts, and Joe Nieuwendyk faster than you can say Don Cherry.

    Leaf it to a bunch of men to mess things up. I wonder if sports would be different if we girls ran the show. I bet the uniforms would be cuter.

4 responses so far

Nov 09 2005

Kirstie Alley Is My Dream Girl

Published by under Uncategorized

Apparently.

Last night, I dreamed that Kirstie Alley and I were in a public restroom somewhere (no, not like the infamous cheerleaders – sorry if you were hopin’ for some hot hot voluptuous girl-on-girl action, guys). She was earnestly trying to convince me that I had thrown something in the sink. I maintained my innocence, claiming that it was, in fact, pink confetti*.

I was distracted from the argument by the fact that I was unable to open the clasp of my adorable new pink handbag. I kept fiddling with it, to Kirstie’s great annoyance, until she finally grabbed it and opened it for me, dumping it back on my lap with disgust. I, on the other hand, was perfectly happy and starting rummaging through the contents: lip gloss! A sparkly hair ornament! Oooh, money!

I still say it was confetti. And I didn’t even get any diet tips.

*This reminded me of when I visited the Motown Historical Museum and found a single red sequin on the floor of the ladies’ room, as if one of the ladies from that glamorous era of music had just swept out the door in a fabulous gown.

3 responses so far

Nov 07 2005

Number One with a Bullet

Published by under Uncategorized

Ever wondered what to do with those pesky wedding rings, promise rings, and other sentimental jewelry which are no longer sentimental? Assuming, of course, that you refrained from throwing them back at the giver (though I believe tradition dictates that the one who gets left gets to keep the jewelry, as a sort of consolation prize: “And thank you for playing our game!”).

Worry no longer. The good folks at Goddammo will help you out. For a nominal fee, they will transform your unwanted rings’n’things into something much more useful: a bullet. Keep in mind: they don’t include gunpowder, and platinum costs $5 extra.

8 responses so far

Oct 29 2005

Paint It Black

Published by under Dogs,Rita,Uncategorized

Paint It Black

Today I followed the Rolling Stones’ advice and painted my front door black (though I probably wouldn’t take their advice on anything else, especially dating and cosmetic surgery). It’s all shiny and looks great. Now, if I could just find a way to haul home the two cement lions discarded outside a defunct night club down the street, I’d be all set.

Somehow painting your door black seems so Halloween. I also have a plastic light-up pumpkin in my window, but I doubt if I’ll get any trick-or-treaters, since I’m a little off the beaten track. The building was originally a coffin factory (and how Halloween is that?) in the 19th century. It was built onto as needed, so it’s full of strange passages (some underground) and weirdly-shaped rooms. Some of it is used as businesses, but most are live-work lofts, though officially, no-one lives here.

The part I live in is the former woodworking shop, and is attached to the big building, but has its own front door. Everyone else has to share. And to get to my shiny black door, you have to go through a semi-creepy brick, pigeon-infested passageway and then there’s the courtyard and Chez Suzy.

This can be a little annoying when having necessities of life like booze and groceries delivered, since I almost inevitably get a semi-irate delivery guy on his cell phone, saying, “I’m right outside, where are you?” and I have to direct him in. Nothing like a guy frustrated from making his delivery, is there?

In other building news, Boob Girl has been thrown out of her roommate’s apartment, but is still living somewhere in the building. Rumor has it that it’s a windowless room which used to be an office. Charlie has stopped answering his door at night.

Phil, the owner of Rita the Wonder Dog, has a new ladylove, which is good for me, since I get to keep Rita when he’s away at his girlfriend’s overnight. And you know how love is, especially in the first throes. So I get companionship, too, and I have to get my voluptuous butt out to the park twice a day to walk the dog, so that’s good, too.

However, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to picking up poop. I’m just not scatologically inclined. I laughed so hard when I read this on PostSecret. I wonder if I could teach an old dog that new trick?

4 responses so far

Oct 19 2005

Wild, Wild Life

Published by under Uncategorized

Wild, Wild Life

Bigger is not always better. For example, thighs. Or butts. Or To Do Lists. Or obstacles.

Or vermin.

The home invaders have gotten bigger and badder recently. In the past week, I have been visited by a squirrel and a pigeon (on different occasions, but both uninvited). It’s my own fault for leaving the front door open, but that doesn’t seem to matter all that much when you have a pigeon flapping around overhead or a squirrel scrabbling in your kitchen.

I’m sorry to say that I was unequal to the Nature challenge (as usual). Being the Hysterical Female Poster Child, I fled the premises and grabbed the nearest boy. Fortunately, the building is well-equipped with boys, available to deal with sudden emergencies of the plumbing and wildlife kind. Here are the lessons I learned:

1. What a broom is for. It’s for removing pigeons. Broom in hand, brushy side up, you wave it around over your head, and sweep the pigeon out of the door. Any fallen feathers can be removed by the cleaning crew, who probably already know how to use a broom.

2. In the case of squirrels, the approved method is to block all methods of egress (as PT Barnum would say) other than the door. Make a loud noise to flush squirrel out of hiding. Chase it out the door.

Alternate method: Get Rita the Wonder Dog to chase it out for you. This is one of her specialties.

3. Boys: they’re not just for opening jars!

4. Mr. Mouse is not as scary as previously thought. Of course, I haven’t seen him in about a year, and supposedly absence makes the heart grow fonder*, so this opinion is subject to change. After all, it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.

5. Don’t leave the front door open.

Well, this young lady has learned her lesson.

*And they also say, “Out of sight, out of mind”, but which one is it? I mean, you can’t have it both ways.

4 responses so far

Oct 17 2005

More Songs About Buildings and Boobs

Published by under City Life

My friend and neighbor Charlie, who lives across the courtyard (and, more importantly, brought me the fabboo Venetian presents this summer) heard someone knocking at his door ’round midnight.

He opened it to reveal a woman he had never seen before, holding two cigarettes. She offered him one in return for using his computer, but alas, smoking is not one of his vices. Her alternate suggestion? “Want to see my boobs?” His civilized response: “That won’t be necessary.*”

It turned out that she is an (allegedly) former stripper that a girl in the building took on as a roommate out of desperation. Her boyfriend left her suddenly and she needed help with the rent. A couple of days ago, I saw (and heard) the two of them arguing in the courtyard, the roommate telling Boob Girl that she never wanted to come home and find homeless people in her livingroom ever again. This seemed to be quite a reasonable request to me, though not to BG, who expressed her opinion so loudly that someone thought police intervention was necessary. It probably was. Homeless person was ejected, and I haven’t seen BG since. This roommate thing seems to be somewhat problematic.

On the (thankfully) less wild side, Jeff, who also lives in the building, just got a new roommate. He already lives with his brother Aaron, and the new roommate’s name is, you guessed it, Aaron, which is so delightfully Newhart. “Hi, I’m Jeff, this is my roommate Aaron, and this is my other roommate Aaron.”

*This reminded me of when Dad and I were walking through the Tenderloin, favored hangout of hookers, and he was propositioned. He very politely said, “No, thank you very much” in his cultivated English voice, which made me laugh. He said, “There’s no point in being rude about it,” and walked on.

3 responses so far

Oct 12 2005

Suzy’s Top Five Reasons For Not Blogging

Published by under Uncategorized

Suzy’s Top Five Reasons For Not Blogging:

1. Mom’s death hit me harder than I thought it would. In addition to working through the grief, I’m also working through the regret and guilt of not being a better daughter to her.

2. I’m selling my apartment. Any takers? I’d love it, since….

3. I’m broke and have the overdraft to prove it. I now understand how those English aristocrats can live in a castle, but not have enough money to pay the milkman. That’s how it is when all your money is tied up in real estate and not cash. And have failed to achieve idle wealth (the best kind).

4. The happy pills from the doctor aren’t making me happy. It’s an expensive, yet unenjoyable drug habit (the worst kind).

5. All this is making me suspect that the premise of the delightful comedy My Name Is Earl is correct, and all the bad things keep happening to me because of all the bad things I’ve done. If I followed his example, my list would take the rest of my life – and that’s just the stuff I remember.

Now I’m really scared.

9 responses so far

Sep 28 2005

All the News That’s Fit to Blog

Published by under Uncategorized

The party lived down to my expectations, ending at 4 am. In addition to the catering, there was a professional DJ, so at least I was annoyed with no expense spared. I’m probably just jealous of the Trust Fundies, since at about half my age, they have already achieved the goal of being idle rich – a goal which has so far eluded me.

I have a pre-season cold, which seems as unfair as having to go back to school before Labor Day. However, it’s a good excuse not to do much of anything except feel sorry for Self (one of my special skills) and lounge (ditto).

I was lounging around watching the spectacularly freaky Varietease, starring the spectacular Bettie Page and Lili St Cyr, along with transvestites (why do they always have such great legs?) and an MC who was definitely high on something, I know not what, when the fire alarm went off. Trained since elementary school in fire drills, I assumed it was a mistake or a prank or a test. Imagine my surprise when I heard fire engines and they stopped right outside the building. Not even Bettie Page was more interesting than that. I ventured outside and saw smoke coming from the roof of the main building.

I let the firemen into the building and left them to it. I knew it wasn’t my part of the building on fire, and since my bro is a fireman, I know how much they hate an audience. Later, I learned from the superintendent that:

– The fire started on the roof, because the guys who were tarring it (though not feathering; that was the pigeons’ job) went to lunch, leaving the tar and its heating accessories unattended.

– The super had put it out before the firemen got there.

– The firemen were furious, because the funky old building has all these mysterious hallways and doors and passages, and it’s hard to get where you’re going unless you already know or have a native guide. They weren’t too happy to find the fire was out by the time they had negotiated their way Through the Looking Glass.

– There was a naked man sitting calmly on the fire escape, holding his clothes and watching the proceedings.

5 responses so far

Sep 19 2005

Same Old

Published by under Uncategorized

“Plus Ca Change, Plus C’est La Meme Chose.”
(“The more things change , the more they remain the same.”)
— Alphonse Karr, Les Guepes, January 1849

I’m still here, folks. Suzy has not (as yet) left the building.

I’m still struggling to come to terms with being Little Orphan Suzy. I have a lot of regrets about my relationship with my mother, as well as the sorrow at losing her. There’s no easy way to work through these things, and as you know, I’m not a big fan of the hard way or the long way in anything.

Speaking of which, I haven’t given up on my beautification project. Reason dictates that it’s easier to fix up the outside than the inside (either physical or psychological), but as anyone who has ever lived through renovations will tell you, it takes longer and costs more than you’d ever think. There are sudden, inexplicable work stoppages. Things that should have been done weeks ago are not finished, or half-finished. Sudden problems are discovered. And then there’s the noise and the mess.

The road to hell (aka the gym) is paved with good intentions, especially mine. I only went once last week, and the only other real exercise I got was dancing to Blackalicious at a small club. The club cardio was probably cancelled out by the two Cosmopolitans I had, though they were each just a tiny puddle in a huge glass. If gyms had martinis, I’d probably be more likely to go, but even my poor math skills tell me that 1 workout+2 martinis = no thinner (though definitely happier). And there you have it: the conundrum of this girl’s life. One of them, anyway.

Others:

– What to do about my temperamental computer, which had a temper tantrum last week and lost my email for that week, along with changing the URL of my blog (it must have felt like being incognito for a while). Other computer-related issues are that the track pad doesn’t work, necessitating the use of a mouse with an iBook, and only one USB port (that used by the mouse) works. The iBook is about 4 years old, but I think computer years must be even longer than dog years, and mine is about 90 now, hobbling around on a cane and being ornery.

– What to do about the upstairs neighbors. Their G-rated nickname is the Trust Fundies, due to their outstanding youth (about 25) and sense of entitlement (boundless) and apparent disposable income despite lack of obvious employment (ditto). Their dogs are still howling and barking, and when the guy who lives above them had the temerity to complain, Mr. Trust Fund went psychotic and the neighbor fled in terror. They have informed me that they are having a catered party on Friday, meaning: don’t complain about the racket, even if it goes on until 3 am.

Of course, it’s catered. These are the same people who spent $5,000 on hardwood flooring for their rented apartment and have their windows professionally cleaned, despite their youth. Can’t they afford to put their dogs in daycare, so they don’t howl and bark all day long? The only consolation I have is that Mr. TF and both dogs got thoroughly skunked a couple of days ago. Thanks, karma, but I’m kind of looking for a bigger gesture here.

3 responses so far

Next »