Friday, February 29, 2008

how many times can you cut your hand off, grandma?



Once upon a time (now) I worked with a little girl who is a "story teller". (read: she makes things up all the time. we might have a little problem here in the future.) I don't think that she realizes that she is story teller. I don't know if details are a bit hazy so she has to fill them in or if the stories she is telling me are 100% inaccurate. Either way, she does tell a good story. The other day she was telling me about how her grandmother's hand had been cut off twice...or rather came off twice. The first time her grandmother was just sleeping and then when she woke up, her hand was on the floor. (Now that is one way to prevent a little girl from ever falling asleep again. Just tell her that story.) Anyway, the grandmother was quick enough to think, "I need to sew this back on." So she did and all was well....



...until she accidentally cut it off about a month later! She was just making some dinner one day and then cut her hand right off! To which, this little girl responded, "How many times can you cut your hand off, Grandma?"


The End.

frogger

This morning I played Frogger on the way to work. No, I didn't have a PSP or anything like that. I decided to do it old school. For some reason I thought I could cross a four lane street, even with a green light working against me...during rush hour, mind you. I stood there, unable to move, trying to decide if I should "go for it" or if it would be safer to stay where I was. Luckily, I wasn't being timed so I decided to stay put in the middle of the road and dodged the cars as they drove by at different intervals. People I walk around the city with are always pulling me out of the way as cars whiz by. They keep telling me that I need to be careful. Maybe I should listen.

Needless to say, I did make it to the other side...

maybe i should move

My stairwell....'nuff said.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

exceptions to every rule

If any of you know me, you will know that I have an undeniable love for old people. I absolutely adore them--the cute, loving ones and even the grumpy, antisocial ones. I love them all. There is this one little, old lady who attends the ward right before mine. She is the tiniest, little thing you will ever see. She has got to be in her 90's and has as much spunk and dedication as anyone I know. Every Sunday, you will find her standing dutifully at the door handing out the programs. Every time I see her, I want to run up to her and give her a big hug and then be her best friend forever.

As I'm usually a favorite among the elderly, you will understand why one old woman perplexes me so. I work with her--not directly, but I associate with her enough that I have been privy to her elderly "charm". Also a tiny, little, shrinking woman, she appears as if she will break at any moment. But don't let that fool you. While small in stature, her personality is bigger than you could imagine...too big for me, in fact. No matter what I do, I can't seem to get her to "like" me. She doesn't seem to like anyone, really, but that doesn't remove that incessant desire that I have to make her like me. Almost every encounter I have had with her or seen her have with others has been laced with annoyance, grumpiness, and even disdain. On ocassion, it is funny, but as it is consistent, I have categorized it as "just plain mean". And I don't care who you are...mean is never cool.

Case in point: The other day we both happened to be in the restroom at the same time. Granted, the ladies' room is no place for conversation, but it doesn't mean that you have to completely ignore the other person either.

While standing at the sink...

"Good morning, G_____," I said in a cheerful, but not too cheerful voice.

nothing.

"Are you having a good day?" I tried again.

nothing.

I continued in silence then started to dry my hands.

"Alright, well take care," as I was leaving.

still nothing.

Sometimes I fantacize about telling her off and letting her know that I am SO happy that she is retiring this year. In the end, I guess I can no longer claim that I love all old people for that is not true. There are exceptions to every rule, I suppose.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

validation please


I just got back from San Francisco. I went there for a work conference (which was fabulous, by the way) and extended my trip through the weekend and into Tuesday of this week to visit with a dear friend (Tami) and her family. The weather was pretty crummy until my last two days which were spent in beautiful Napa and in the actual city. On my last night, we went to Fisherman's Wharf for dinner. I really wanted to pick up some sourdough bread to bring back with me. We headed to Boudin's as they make excellent bread and was actually featured on Food Network (LOVE Food Network!). I purchased my supply and we ended up eating dinner there. Tami had clam chowder and I had the chili. Very good.

We then took our parking ticket to get validated. To our disappointment Boudin's didn't validate. With that, we decided to set out to find a place that did. Parking was $2.00 for every 30 minutes. Highway robbery, I tell ya! We had to find validation! We first stopped at the chocolate store. We made some purchases, and then asked about validation. No such luck. Apparently, only the "fancier" (quotation marks added) restaurants provided such a break. We continued to walk up and down the street to look for places that validated. Our clever idea was to stop at another restaurant and to just order dessert in order to secure validation. The first place we stopped at didn't validate. Lucky for us, we asked before we were seated. We moved on. Finally, we spotted a "fancier" restaurant and walked in.

The view was fantastic. The lighting was dim, atmosphere quiet (save the old timey music in the background--perhaps it was Senior Night?), and we were over the water. It would have been very romantic had I been with a man. (sigh) We asked about validation as we were being seated and thankfully, they did! Yay! But then....we opened the menu.

Of course they validated! Everything was so expensive. We went through several menu options and decided the nicest thing to do would be to order a salad and a dessert to share. Even with that order we were embarrassed. I'm sure the waiter was a little dissapointed...especially when we asked for just water. But we ordered that still the same. The salad was delicious, as was the dessert. Sadly, because we were really full from the last meal we had eaten less than 30 minutes ago, we left much of the salad and even a portion of the dessert still on our plates. But at least we got validated, right?

Well, yes and no.

Our "free parking" ended up costing us $24.00. Had we just paid the dumb parking, we would have only dished out maybe $8.00. It didn't even occur to either one of us that we were taking the more expensive route! It just goes to show that those seeking validation do the weirdest things...

:( to :) in 60 seconds


I had a "disappointed in New Yorkers" moment today. I was on the train tonight, heading home after an extra long day at work. Grateful to be seated, I zoned out until I heard the sound of coins falling to the ground. The spill was followed by a homeless man getting upset and telling another man to pick up his coins. Apparently the man's girlfriend had knocked it out of his hands (no doubt, by accident). The man was getting increasingly aggitated and went on and on about them needing to pick up his coins because they caused him to spill it. I kept waiting for the couple to apologize or to make some sort of an effort to help recover the coins. Nothing. He got progressively louder and threatened to get crazy on all of us. I got a little anxious because I know that most people don't deal with the homeless very well or very nicely. The man and his girlfriend, both dressed in fine coats and suits turned their backs to the man and just shook their heads. We reached the next stop and they actually moved away from the scene of the crime. Still no apology. Still no effort to help. Enter disappointment.


When the couple moved and others emptied from the train, I looked down and saw the floor covered in coins. At the exact same moment, I along with two random men stooped down and started to pick up the coins. Picking up coins from the subway floor with no nails (I just cut them yesterday) is a lot harder than you think. Especially when you are trying to work fast and are hunched over with packages in front of you. But nonetheless, we got the coins picked up and put back into the man's paper cup. Another passenger pulled out a dollar bill and placed it in the cup when we were finished. My heart warmed as I reflected on our joint efforts to help someone out. I was grateful that my "dissapointed in New Yorkers" moment was outshined by a "this is one of the reasons I love New York" moment. To those that helped me pick up those coins...thank you. And to that couple that turned their noses up at "one of the least of these"...shame on you!