Some people.

In general – I’d say about 95% of time – I run into nice people. Decent people. People who like people. Yeah there are some roadragers (is that a word?) and cranky people out there – but one on one, face to face, you usually get nice. Am I right? Am I delusional? I don’t think so. That’s why I was so shocked at a little episode we had yesterday. Let me share.

Because my husband and I are 90 and can’t stay up too late, we tend to go to a Sunday morning matinée to get our movie on. This also works because my teen and tween sleep the morning away and we make it home in time to all have an early lunch together. I love an early lunch. There are lots of other pluses to this scenario. Less crowds. Cheaper tickets. Older audiences. We love it all.

So yesterday we decided to sneak away and see Birdman. We made it there in the nick of time, got our tickets and ran to the theater. To our shock and awe – it was packed. Really packed. Friday night showing packed. My husband spotted two seats and we made our way. There were two couples separated by the open spots we wanted. We asked both couples if the seats were taken and one of them said instantly,”nope all yours.” The husband in the other couple said nothing, but the wife said,”they’re taken.” Okey dokey then. We moved on. We found seats a couple of rows behind them.

As the previews started we noticed more couples trying to find seats. They went through the same interaction with those couples as we did – and they were both turned away the same way.

The movie started. My husband leaned over and said,”there’s no one sitting in those seats. No one is coming. She lied.”

He was right. She basically just didn’t want anyone sitting there. Not a big deal right? Wrong. It takes me about two seconds to go through my emotions when this stuff happens. Disgust, anger, annoyance, and then finally, acceptance of the fact that they are not nice people. Or maybe they have some sitting-next-to-strangers disorder. Whatever. This is not the case with my husband, who is bothered to his very core, his very soul about the injustice. He grapples with their entitlement, he struggles with their complete lack of empathy for other movie goers. He’s upset. And he stays upset.

It doesn’t help that the movie is dark and sad. It doesn’t help that we have a clear sight view of this selfish couple, or that he knows the other folks turned away had to sit in the very front. Their movie going experience all but destroyed (not really).

The movie ends. He turns to me and says,” What did you think? That was great right? Oh, I’m going to say something to that couple. They should know that we know.”

In the early stages of my marriage I would have tried to talk him out of this, explained that we needed to be the bigger person etc. All that talk would have incited him even more. The other thing the talk would have done is to get him angry at me too, how could I not understand how horrible these people were? How could I not see he was right? Now, 18 years in, I say nothing. I say not one word. If he wants to say something, by all means, go for it. He is right. Some people should be called out, no matter how much of a scene it would make.

So I watched him go down the aisle, pass the couple and keep moving. When we got outside I asked him why he changed his mind, he said,” eh, some people.”

Some people indeed.

Hope you had a good weekend!

Come on!

How could all of these people have left work exactly the same time as me? Don’t they know I wanted to get home early today?
People. They’re a bitch sometimes.

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Comedy of Errors without the Comedy

It was a simple plan.

Friday night my son had soccer practice at 6:30. I was going to drop him off, watch a bit of practice and leave.

My daughter and a friend had to go to a dance at 7:00. And by had to I mean they would have LITERALLY died without going to this dance.

My husband planned to get home from work by 6:30, join me at the soccer field so I could take off and he could take him home.

We were meeting some friends for dinner at 7:30.

We can do this. We’ve done this before, like, a million times. I’ll drop off the boy. My husband will pick him up, buy him dinner, bring him to a friend’s for a sleepover, and go straight to the restaurant. I will drop off the girls  (another mom was doing pick-up) and meet at the restaurant. All’s well.

Then here’s what happened.

When I got to the soccer field I couldn’t find our team. I know that sounds insane – but it’s a sea of 9 year boys running around a football field. And they don’t wear their uniforms for practice – thanks for asking. It also turned out that they moved from our usual spot to the back field. Anyhoo, we didn’t get there till 6:45.

At 6:50 my husband called to say there is terrible traffic. He’s not making it to the field by 7:15.

No worries, I say. I’ll stay at the field and take him back, you (I’m looking at you husband), take the girls to the dance.

Small caveat that I had to fill him in on. On the way to the dance, you have to stop by another kid’s house and pick him up too.

Another small caveat I had to fill him in on. The dance was in the next town over.

As every wife and mother out there knows, there are certain details of how we get our day done which are on a “Need to Know” basis.

“Why didn’t I know that this dance wasn’t in our town?” he asks.

“What? Who are we picking up? Where?” he shouts.

Need to know baby. As in up until now, you didn’t need to know.

I’ll spare you the “spirited” discussion and “colorful” language that flowed like water from both of us. Did I mention that we never remembered to call our friends and say we’d be late?

We did make it to dinner – at 7:45. Not bad for a total breakdown of plans and routine.

Thankfully our dinner companions laughed off the lateness when we told them our tale of woe. You see, they have grown kids, and I’m sure they were thinking,” you think it’s bad now…wait until next year.”

But they didn’t tell us that. It’s on a “Need to Know” basis.

 

 

 

It takes a village to raise a blog

We don’t live in a small town. It’s not a city by any means, but it’s big. 5 Starbucks in a 3 mile radius big. But yesterday, as I ran some errands, I realized I’ve carved out a pretty unusual niche for myself. I’ve got people. I’ve got towns folk. I’ve got peeps that I know.  And by “know” I mean I speak to them on a semi-daily basis.

Nice lady at The Bagel Train – she and I go way back. Any woman who can supply me with that much warm bread is a keeper. But our conversations don’t stop there. Last year I got into a Zumba class frenzy (I’ve been cured since) and I’d see her at some of the classes in the local community center. This is what warm bread love gets you. We’d always wave hello from across the way and then I’d hide behind some moms in the back. These past few weeks I’ve been chatting her up about a new restaurant that opened up on Main Street. Even though neither one of us has tried it we’ve decided it sucks. She’s so great. And she smells like an everything bagel.

Family that owns the dry cleaners – now this is good. The Mae’s immigrated here from Korea in 1974. They lived in Queens, NY for the majority of the 80’s. The father and mother both got jobs at a local dry cleaner in their neighborhood and saved enough money to buy a store of their own. Then they bought another. And another. In between, they had a son and a daughter. The son (like his father) is an amazing golfer – he went to school in Florida on scholarship and now lives in Augusta,Ga with his family. How do I know all this? Because every time I drop off the laundry, I’d notice that the dad was watching the golf channel. Although I don’t play – I’ve run enough tournaments to talk the talk. We connected. We were one. Kinda. Anyway, they moved to our town because their daughter was accepted to Princeton. So they sold all the other stores, bought one here and decided to stay. She’s since graduated and moved to California. They also have a lovely Ecuadorian family that works there. A husband and wife (she just had their 4th boy!) I love the Mae’s.

Susan and Reese at CVS – Susan is the morning manager. She gets to the store at 6am and stays until 2pm. We bonded over all the photos I get printed there. She always gives me the pictures at the discounted coupon price even though I don’t have the actual coupons. Don’t tell anyone.  Reese is a 19-year-old cashier that works there. He looks like a frat boy whose gonna give you a bad attitude – but in reality, he’s the nicest dude ever. I’ve never seen someone with a bigger smile while they haul cases of water around. I got to know him because Susan is his mom. There are two of these stores that bookend my neighborhood. One of them is much closer than the other – but I go the longer distance for the both of them. I’m a weirdo stalker like that.

I love people.

There’s also the quirky gal at Wines and Spirits and Raj at Dunkin Donuts, but you get the point.

Look Book

I like pretty pictures.
If the pictures happen to be about food or home decor – all the better.
This past Christmas a new pal gave me a really great book called Edible Selby. Although I didn’t know it was great until now. I don’t deserve new friends. Don’t tell my old friends.
This past weekend I was reading the New York Times and found an article by the same author about a taco stand in California. This is why I love the Times. You may read it for the late breaking political and social news. I read it for its taco coverage.
Todd Selby is an artist, an author, a humorist and more. I have been reading his book all weekend.
It’s not a cookbook. It’s a book about cooks and cooking and food.

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It’s full of fun and whimsy.

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This is the page when I decided this book is for me.

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How can you not love an instructional book that starts with…plant the cocoa trees and harvest the pods. Ha! Double ha!
I also love the completely honest disclosure in the end.

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Tacos always lead to genius.

how YOU doin’?

My day. In a nutshell. Actually in a picture.

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This isn’t directed at everyone. Just 80% – 90% of the bastards I talked to today.

Sorry. Tomorrow will be better.

Like Anne Frank, I believe that in spite of everything – people are really good.

Am I comparing my sad little issues to one of the most horrific stains on human history?

Maybe.

So what.

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Diwali is my jam!

Not really. But my girl and her friends call everything their jam so I thought I’d get in on the action.  Even though every time I try to use the word I think of actual jam. Raspberry to be specific.

Anyway – it’s Diwali. The Indian “festival of lights”. A cross between Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s – without the turkey, booze or guy in the red suit. It’s the most important holiday for Indians. It involves (you guessed it) lights, lots of food, getting together with family and friends and being thankful for the good things in life. Sound familiar?

This ends my knowledge of Diwali. I think I did pretty good. Please refer to the internet or a good Indian for actual information.

Happy Merry Mazel Diwali!!

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