2005: a review

well folks, i was all ready to write a play-by-play of all the wonderful and exciting things that happened to me this past year, but frankly, there isn't much to say except that i went into it sad but managed to come out pretty content. which is odd because i worked practically all the time. okay, that's not exactly true. i was actually trapped in a dungeon for most of it. and there's no cell reception in there.

nah, this was just a low-key year. i didn't have nearly enough time for the people i love, but i got a good glimpse of just who it is that loves me. you guys are the best and i don't know what i'd do without you.

but i do know one thing: this year i learned a whole hell of a lot about parking.

i'll be out for the next several days, so if you're bored, take a spin.
hope you have a safe new year's eve, and a happy and healthy 2006.

love, cadiz

vol. 1
vol. 2
vol. 3
vol. 4
vol. 5
vol. 6
vol. 7
vol. 8
vol. 9
vol. 10
vol. 11

yeah, you heard me

i think that there are certain things that we people of the night (who work evening and night hours) allow each other to get away with. or maybe it's our line of work dealing with reports. or maybe it's our -- shall i say finicky -- computer system. regardless, it seems four-letter words called out at various volume levels are no big thing around our office. it's always been that way in most places i've worked with these conditions. and people who have problems with it? well they just deal.

tonight i was dealing with a bit of a sticky wicket that wasn't a big deal by any means. the item in my project was a lot bigger than i had anticipated. by a lot. and i was having a hard time making it work.

'geez louise! this this is FRICKIN' HUGE!!'

'hey, watch it.'

'what? uh, i said frickin'

'i know you did. but that's just a SUBSTITUTE.'

'wha?'

for some reason, her manner and tone left me feeling like a middleschooler standing outside the principal's office with a pink slip in my hand, knuckles smarting from a ruler-rapping. and for the rest of the night i was sort of pouting about it behind my monitor. sure, i probably shouldn't have yelled out like that, but i was frustrated and had just drank a little bit of caffeine, and you know how i get with that stuff in my system.

as the night wore on, i was increasingly miffed. in the two hours since that incident, the guy behind this woman said 'co*ksucker', the person to my right said 'bast*rd', two more people said 'as*hole', and someone walking by said 'f*ck'.

WTF? all of this happened within TWO feet of this broad. but did she say a word? NO.

maybe it's because she's a little older and i'm a little younger than most of our colleagues. maybe it's because we've been pretty cool so she thinks she can *reprimand* me. this irritated me to no end. i wish there was something i could say, but that window was a small one and it's probably not worth it anyway.

but still. i'm FRICKIN' PISSED.

the problem with parking -- vol. 11

the problem with parking is that when your working hours are jacked and don't include any type of rhyme-or-reason around the holidays, you take for granted that the rest of the free world is off the day after christmas, don't expect seventy BAZILLION people to be downtown stepping into oncoming traffic aimlessly because they're done with family stuff and don't know well enough to STAY THE HELL HOME, and make yourself 20 minutes late finding and feeding a meter. then you get up into your ghost town of an office only to be called a moron because you could have parked in the lot because duh, today is a company holiday.

score one for me

christmas morning, i slept in late, leisurely played the stupid game with my family wherein everyone pulls out secret gifts we weren't supposed to buy from closets and under beds and presents them to recipients who dutifully shake their heads and say yearly refrains like, 'i told you not to buy me anything,' or 'you should save your money' while trying to supress the urge to completely rip open the paper around what they're secretly hoping is what they've been hinting at about for the last several months. what a freaking charade. sigh, but without it, christmas just wouldn't be the same. especially because the more i rack my brain to come up with the perfect gift for somebody, the more mild the thank you i get. and when i'm desperately in need for something and take a chance on a potential gift in the shop window, that's when they're overjoyed. i'll never get it.

case in point: i stumbled downstairs to see my brother watching some football recap about the 1985 Chicago Bears (a team he knows a hell of a lot about, considering he was only three during their Superbowl prime).

'you still obsessed with these guys? i mean, you really loved them, but i'm pretty sure you were in diapers back then.

'uh, YEAH. where the heck have you been? i LOVE that team. i'm a real fan. and i was NOT in diapers.'

'yeah, i guess i do remember you running around singing the lyrics to the 'superbowl shuffle in oversized Ray-Ban sunglasses.'

'DUDE, i have that same shirt jim mcmahon is wearing in the interview! he must shop at Target.'

'don't you ever get sick of watching and reading stuff about them?'

'hell no. what's wrong with you? hey, did you know some guy from the newspaper wrote a book about them? hang on, i think it's in the sports section'

'no, i hadn't. is it good?'

'looked pretty solid. here, lemme find that ad for it.' [rummaging through papers]

'okay you do that.' [walking away, smirking]


yeah, i had gotten it for him-- autographed. total last-minute whim purchase, about which i was very unsure.

touchdown!

it totally is better to give than receive, but when those Puma kicks he got for me finally come in the mail, maybe i'll be singing a different tune.

and to all a good night

so i was sitting here in the dungeon drowning my sorrow in dr. pepper and chocolate chip cookies thinking man, i'd even rather be with my parents and brother at some family-friend-prayer-meeting snoozefest, fighting off pushy aunties inquiring about when the hell i'm going to get around to getting married already, than out here in the dungeon by myself on christmas eve. i was okay with it for the first couple of hours, but the more i thought about twinkly lights and crackling fireplaces, the more it started to suck. exponentially.

however, lo and behold, a jolly middle-aged elf with slicked back hair from the other department brings me my reports at ten forty! ANNND, tonight they're only doing one set, so that means i don't have to wait here till 2:30 as originally planned.

merry christmas eve to me!

so, sorry folks, i had a long post brewing for y'all, but it's gonna have to wait. i'm hitchin my sleigh and getting the hell up out of here!

i hope you all have a wonderful holiday and are surrounded by those whom you love best.

MUAH!

once bitten -- FOREVER

recently, someone asked me what my favorite Christmas song was. I said, 'of course, it's Oh Holy Night.'

yeah, i totally lied.

my actual favorite Christmas song is a little ditty performed by WHAM! -- more specifically famous for its frontman, mr. george michael. yes folks, i AM that cheesy. it's catchy, it's poppy and dammit it has all the best elements: love, heartbreak and a vendetta in a chorus repeated to the point of tattooing it to your brain. what's not to love?

okay, so if WHAM! ain't your thing, the song has also been done by the Beatles, Jimmy Eat World, Human Nature, Savage Garden, Westlife, some person named Billie Piper and (shudder) Hillary Duff. I'm sure a bunch of others have covered it too.

i'm on a mission to find some decent *new* christmas songs. why does everything have to be a re-do of the golden oldies? seriously. 'doesn't it feel like Christmas' CANNOT be all that's out there.

these are the days

a radio station in town has long been classified as *alternative rock* (whatever the heck that is), which means i pretty much avoid it for the alleged 'metal-ish screaming' that i tend to pooh-pooh. give me a dope beat, a good hook and some clever rhymes -- okay, the clever rhymes are few and far between-- anyday. basically what i'm saying is this station is usually just another one i roll right past on the radio dial without a second thought.

however, in the new age of 'we play anything' formats that have taken over a good chunk of the presets, the old-style stations are scrambling to keep up. this alt-rock station has introduced its own 'shuffle' of sorts and intersperses some good old ditties from the '90s and even a few kicking beats from before then, too. they've added radio personalities who actually cut the talk to semi-interesting snippets, but what got me is an afternoon segment they call 'the last-letter game', which reminds me of a motherland game my mother kicks ass at, wherein you sing part of a song and other team has to come up with a new song that starts with the the last letter of what you sang. so i decided to give this station a whirl; it's now actually a preset in the car. besides, i need a vacay from mainstream radio hiphop. if i have to hear that stupidass 'Laffy Taffy' song ONE MORE TIME...

anyway, this week the 'alternative' radio station is celebrating its history by playing the top 101 songs of every year that it has existed. and some of those years were the formative ones of my youth -- back in the flannely days of Reality Bites when Soundgarden was still together. i actually listened to some of that stuff back then. but i was shocked at how many lyrics i can still recall. songs i didn't even KNOW that i knew.

one of the songs on the list for 1993 was 'These are the days' by 10,000 Maniacs. I haven't heard it in ages, but it made me feel all warm and happy. and it's funny, because at the time i had thought things were pretty lame. over the last few days, i've caught more of the lists and felt compelled to call some of my pals from those days. when James' 'laid' came on, i had to call a kid who simply looked over at me from across the room in spanish class and mouth you think you're so pretty and that high-pitched crooning was stuck in my head for days. or Liz Phair's 'supernova', which reminded me of all those times i forgot to tell my parents i was going to hang out at my best friend's house after school and we'd turn up the music so loud we couldn't hear the phone as we sat out on the roof, (which was cool until i came home to people who were pissed, having convinced themselves i'd been kidnapped and sold into street servitude in the city.)

it's funny how you never appreciate the situation you're in until it is so far gone, the only thing that can bring back a taste of it is a long-forgotten song.

happy landings

remember back in the day, whenever you'd be in a plane and the pilot made a safe landing, everyone would clap and cheer? have we become so desensitized to the miracle of flight that it no longer deserves applause? what's up with that?

the most wonderful time of the year

i admit it, i'm a sucker for christmas carols.

my dad probably owns more christmas music on vinyl than any other type of music and i grew up listening to it at full blast every weekend in december ever since i can remember. he would record hours of christmas-music-only radio onto cassette tapes and label them 'CHRISTMAS' with a little stick-figure tree.

so when i went away to college, i made sure to bring along a couple tapes so i could sing along with Nat King Cole or Karen Carpenter when the season rolled around. I wasn't, however, prepared for my roommate's reaction. now let me start by saying i was lucky to be placed with this girl. she's one of the most kind and thoughtful people i know, but she won't lie and doesn't hesitate to say what's on her mind.

'ugh. I HATE this crap,' was what she probably said when she heard those tapes the first time. i totally thought she was kidding. i mean, c'mon! who doesn't love 'holly jolly christmas,' or 'here come santa claus'?! but no, she really couldn't stand it. but i still played them a bit and tried to ignore her rolling eyes. after awhile, it became a joke and i'd threaten to play them to wake her up. she said she was glad to be rid of my 'damn christmas crap' when we were packing up to go home for winter break. i just shrugged it off.

the next fall, we moved into a dorm room a floor above our old one. when the holiday season was approaching, i went searching through all my stuff for my dad's good old christmas tapes. i could have sworn i had brought them, but let me tell you, there aren't too many hiding places in a single room shared by two people. so i resigned myself to spending that winter humming snippets of 'reindeer on the roof' or 'good king wenceslas,' awfully surprised my roommate wasn't telling me to shut up. i was sad. i thought i lost my tapes. at that time there was no 24-hour christmas station either and i only got to hear 'rockin' around the christmas tree' when i watched 'Home Alone.' it just wasn't the same.

when we were getting ready to move out at the end of the year, i had pulled the bed away from the wall to get some of the stuff that had fallen behind it. i heard something being tossed onto the bed.

'i know. i'm a bitch,' my roommate said.

and there they were; two cassette tapes with little stick christmas trees, that she had stolen while we were moving in and hidden. an act, she claimed, intended to preserve her sanity.

the problem with parking -- vol. 10

the problem with parking is when you tell your friend you'll be at her house in 45 minutes -- and you were -- however, it takes you another 40 minutes to find a spot near her building that isn't 2-feet deep in snow or taken up by plastic lawn furniture. sigh.

digging out

*I*T'*S* *S*N*O*W*I*N*G*!

i've always said that i need to be in a place that showcases all the seasons. and despite the fact that i had to dig my car out from under a foot and a half of snow this evening -- even after trying to park under a bridge -- and drive home on the highway at 30 m.p.h., hydroplaning once and afraid of being sideswiped by an errant SUV, i still think it's damn pretty.

but ask me again in March.

the single best thing about watching the Amazing Race Family Edition

not having to hear everyone refer to each other as 'babe.'

listening to racers bleat and bellow it ad nauseam -- to mean 'hurry the hell up' or 'you just put us in last place,' or 'i can't believe i brought you with me' or 'ohmygod i'm so not going to talk to you when this is over' -- erases any and all intrinsic sentiment from the word and encourages me to never want to use it as a term of endearment. ever.

i'm glad for the reprieve, even if it means i have to watch scantily clad sisters whine about how everyone is such a jerk but wonder why nobody likes them.

***UPDATE***
next tuesday night on CBS will be the season finale of The Amazing Race: Family Edition. if you're curious about what all the fuss is about, that's the time to check it out. it's two hours and will feature three families racing around the world to win a million dollars. and someone will win. without saying too much, the contestants include some characters. in the preview it shows that they'll be whitewater rafting, swinging on a trapeze, throwing each other down in an airport and --omar, this one is especially for you,-- curling.

just thought i'd put that out there. enjoy!

it called to me

a while back i went with my college girls to miami (south beach). there was plenty of sun and fun, but of course the festivities wouldn't be complete without a little shopping. being a very touristy spot, everything in the shops was marked up at an exponential rate correlating to the number of times it had been spotted on MTV. A few of my comrades found some pretty good things, but i was mostly there to window shop and had no intention of buying anything that overpriced from a chain store i could most likely find in the mall i've been going to since i was born.

but that didn't stop me from looking.

oohing and ahhing as other people tried on stuff was fun for awhile, but then i got the dangerous idea of maybe trying something on myself. you know, just for kicks. we walked into a popular nationwide chain. i was looking for something fun and ridiculous that i could entertain myself with but not actually purchase. i made my usual trip sequentially up and down every trendy little aisle being sure to look at everything at least once (you never know what gem can be hiding among corduroy capri pants). and while i can always appreciate what's hot this season, i realize the real value in a piece of clothing is its classic longevity, a rare quality that i hone into like a sonar.

and it happened. it was red. very plain and simple. hanging under the shimmery black one-sleeved numbers and the strapless assassins. very unassuming. easily lost in the crowd, but on its own, not half bad. a little like me. i pulled it out, holding it at arm's length. pretty decent. it was totally something i'd wear. the back was a little lowcut for my taste, but eh, it wasn't like i was going to buy it or anything. i slipped it on.

dude, it was like this dress was made for me. formfitting, but not in that annoying way that clings to every unattractive curve. crisp, but with just enough of a stretch to keep you from feeling locked in. it hit at just the right part of my knee, and the slits on the side helped with mobility, but weren't high enough for streetwalker status. it was well tailored and could easily be dressed up or down depending on jewelry and shoes. i was in love. until i looked at the price tag. the thing cost about as much as i was spending on lodging for that trip. and i clearly did not *need* it. so with a heavy heart, i spun around a couple more times and returned it to the rack.

you know when you find something perfect and don't buy it for some really stupid reason like you can't afford it, but then later catch yourself thinking about that item forlornly because it would have been perfect in so many ways? yeah.

however, there is a ray of hope in this story. a few months after my trip, it was getting to be christmas time. i decided to hit up the mall for a few gifts, and headed into a chain store that was moving locations and getting rid of everything in the building. the trip was on a whim, because everyone knows that after the first day, sales like that are often picked over so much that all that is left on the rack are damaged goods or things in size -18 or 56XX, that very few people can wear. but nevertheless, something compelled me to wander on in.

i brushed past all the oversized workpants and the sweaters that had bumps from being on a hanger too long when i saw it -- and i'm not even freaking kidding -- hanging nearly by itself on a rolling rack in the corner. there was nothing else hanging there but a looped up belt and half of a sweater set. the red dress. i recognized it right away and thought it was a cruel joke because of course it'd be in some ridiculous size or have a malfunctioning zipper or something. but upon further inspection, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. and it was my size.

i took it as a sign and went up to the counter, where i got the best news ever. not only was this dress *the* dress, it had been marked down SEVENTY-FIVE percent.

i'd have to say that's probably the most satisfying purchase i've ever made. it's just too bad that i haven't had any real opportunities to wear it. but even if i never do, just knowing it found me again is enough.

casi un bolero

When I was studying in Spain, the Festival of St. George, April 23, was a day when people exchanged books and flowers -- supposedly 'The Day of Lovers.' Somewhere along the way it also came to mark the deaths of both Cervantes and Shakespeare. Regardless, this was a day when everyone was either giving or receiving a red carnation or books on the breezy streets of Granada.

i've always been a sucker for both a good browse and a good book, so when we looked out to see the plazas covered in folding tables overflowing with heaps of books, it was enough to make me get out of the house at a decent time to peruse. i must have flipped through hundreds of books that day and purchased a fair amount of cookbooks, novels and the like. i got my share of flowers, too.

but there's one purchase from that day that particularly stands out. it's simply called "56 Boleros." i should have read the back more carefully, however, because where the enticing blurb that is supposed to lure the reader is usually located, it says:

BOLEROS
Si tienes un hondo penar
piensa en mi;
si tienes ganas de llorar
piensa en mi

(If you have a deep pain
think of me;
if you feel like crying
think of me)

after we shopped to exhaustion, a couple of my favorite people and i stopped off at our favorite cafe for some churros y chocolate. Now, this isn't your run-of-the-mill amusement park churro/choco combo: the pastry is crisp on the outside, soft and doughy in the middle, with crunchy sugar crystals that just melt into the chocolate on impact. and the drink is no watery Swiss Miss joke, either. we're talking liquid chocolate. god, i'm salivating just thinking about it. sigh.

anyway, we went out for a snack and shared our finds. somewhere along the way i got the idea that we should read from some of my new poetry books, and happened to choose good old 56. j cleared his throat, looked from s to me, and started reading in a cheesy operatic voice, but as he got farther along, the words sort of took over and we were all swept up in the drama of these poems that were famous for their lyrics and their melodies. maybe it was springtime. maybe it was spain. but all three of us were entranced.

not too long after that, things got very ugly. longterm friendships were severed. hearts were broken. bitter grudges were kept. i look back on that day, specifically on that book, and all i remember are the tears.

i hadn't thought about that stuff again for years, until we were talking about Boleros in the spanish class i'm now taking to brush up on my rusty skills. the senora is from Bolivia and was explaining that she doesn't think music today has the same feeling as those oldschool songs of love and loss that can make you cry just by reading the lyrics.

i went home and dug out old 56 for her. she looked through it, read a few phrases out loud, put her hand to her chest and shook her head. 'beautiful,' she said, her eyes welling up. and then launched into this terribly sad story about men, her divorce, her nogood ex-husband, and how she couldn't come up with anything consoling to say after her 20-year-old daughter had visited the father's office to find that the framed photos of herself and her brother on his desk had been replaced with ones of his new girlfriend's small children. soon we were both crying.

i don't know what it is about that book or its contents that taps into a person's emotions. but i'm pretty sure i'm not going to be flipping through it again anytime soon.

but just for old times' sake:

CENIZAS
Musica y letra: Wello Rivas

Despues de tanto
soportar la pena
de sentir tu olvido
despues que todo
te lo dio mi pobre
corazon herido
Has vuelto a verme
para que yo sepa
de tu desventura,
por la amargura
de un amor igual
al que me diste tu.
Ya no podre
ni perdonar ni darte
lo que tu me diste;
has de saber
que en un carino muerto
no existe el rencor.
Mas si pretendes
remover las ruina
que tu misma hiciste,
solo cenizas hallaras
de todo lo que fue
mi amor.

the problem with parking vol. 9 -- DELUXE

the best part about working on Thanksgiving was being able to park in the company lot, as no bigwigs decided to clock in. so today -- the day after Turkey Day, also known as the biggest shopping day of the year -- i was thinking the same would apply, i mean, what person with any kind of corporate power was going to show up?

the usual policy is this: the suits get to park in the lot, and then after five the underlings can move our cars in from meters on the street in a single-file, around-the-block line, taking spots as they become available and hoping to still make it back for the late meeting.

i had hoped, while running late as usual, that they'd let us park in the lot again today. and when i got there, it looked good; at most the lot was about a sixth full (the emptiest i'd seen in ages). i rolled up and put my keycard to the sensor. a voice crackled over the speaker:


'you can't park here.'

'what? why?'

'you can't park till three.'

'are you serious? but the lot is EMPTY!'

(a man with three little kids walks up to a car in the lot, carrying a bunch of shopping bags. and unless we've changed the hiring policy, i'm pretty sure they weren't there to work). they drive off as my pleading continues.)

'so wait, you're telling me you're not letting me in?'

'nope.'

'REALLY? even though it's EMPTY?! please?... c'mon, man. it's two TEN.'

'i know, i have a clock right here. come. back. AT. THREE.'

'you have GOT to be kidding me.'


i backed the car out of the entrance ramp, cussing like a sailor. somehow i managed to find a spot on a street a few blocks away, especially surprising because our office is very close to an extremely busy retail thoroughfare and everyone was out and about. maybe all the mad shoppers who had been up for 5 a.m. sales got pooped and went home.

i crossed through the deserted parking lot to get to the office, fuming at the vast array of potential spots that i had been denied. i stomped up the stairs and into the office. it's freaking bad enough to have to play the parking game every other day, but today? an unofficial holiday? WHEN THE F-ING LOT IS EMPTY?? oh, the injustice.

a few coworkers agreed. one even told me with bitterness in his voice that as he was rejected from the lot, he saw a whole family get out of a car with their ice skates. here we are, WORKING, and these people are out for a wintery jaunt. and just in case they felt like using their reserved spot, we're forced to look into a perfectly good parking area we can't have, like a piece of cheesecake in a locked revolving case.

but worst by far, was what happened to a key figure in our operation. this guy was pretty much in charge of the show today, and he came in at 2:40, only to be rejected by the same joker on a power trip in the security booth. he was forced into street parking as well. For god's sake, THE LOT WAS STILL EMPTY!

so all of us, grumbling, resigned ourselves to the fact that they weren't letting us in. thinking about it further, i can see why they have to be so strict; if not, every tom dick and harry from the company would come, park and enjoy the city, locking all of us out all day and night. but there's no need to be such a freaking SMARTASS about it, mr. i-have-a-clock-right-here. jackass.

security is getting an e-mail about this.

what's worse is that later, when i went to move my car from the meter to the lot at 3:30, i SAW that little skating family. and they were DAMN ANNOYING. the really did have their freaking skates slung over their shoulders. and on top of that, all four of them had matching annoying little oldschoolpajamatype sleeping hats -- you know, the ones that have the long tail that ends in a poufy pom pom? -- WITH STRIPES. it was like a freaking Gap commercial right there in the parking lot! I'll bet they had a gd thermos full of spiked eggnog in the front seat console of their stupidass LandRover and were going over the river and through the woods to their damn grandmother's house for dinner. and what was i going to be doing? chomping on gum for the next few hours because i forgot to bring my lunch and didn't want to go BACK OUT again in the cold. grrr.

and there isn't one damn thing i can do about it.

THAT, my friends, is the problem with parking.

sneaky little weasel

'what's up with you stealing my pillow last night? the guest room pillows are too puffy. i couldn't sleep, man.'

'yeah, my first night back i come home early from hanging out with the guys to watch the show with you when you got in, and you decide to go out drinking after work. what the hell?'

'huh? when i called to see if you'd landed, you were already at Dave's house. that's never an early night.'

'UH, but then i said i'd be home by the time you'd be. then i called you like five times.'

'i figured you were out, so i left my phone in the car. and uh, well... i kind of already watched it when i got home. but you were sound asleep!'

'WHAT?! i came home at TEN-THIRTY for you! oh i'm so gonna kick your ass. you just watch out, i'm going to saran wrap your bed or something.'

'dude... hey, isn't it punishment enough that i got a ticket?'

'just you wait.'

bye, ben

the stars aligned and i was able to go out with my coworkers after work. we had beers, snacks and conversation, a good chunk of which revolved around horror stories involving parking and towing in the city.

the girls made a few good arguments for moving downtown and ditching my car, but nothing was more convincing than getting back to my car to be welcomed by my second parking ticket in four days.

sigh. i'm going to miss what i could have done with you, mr. franklin.

the search is over.

anyone looking for the lyrics to 'dangerous on the dance floor' by musto and bones?
some anonymous person posted them in my comments!

i had no recollection the lyrics were so, uh, spicy. however, i'm glad that all those people searching for them can finally find what they're looking for.

thanks, anonymous!

i'm acting like a cranky old man

i have a serious problem. it's been growing for nearly a year. slowly, silently, building an arsenal, strengthening while i wasn't looking. it's snuck up behind me, and is hanging onto my back like that monkey from the quit smoking commercials of the late '80s.

i'm crotchety.

i'm cranky, and irritable and easily annoyed by seemingly normal things and sometimes i just want to scream because i want things to be silent and still and peaceful. all the time.

like right now, my roommate is in the other room watching nascar post-race commentary where some nasally driver is going on and on and on AND ON about getting the job done, hanging in there, bla bla bla. and although my pal doesn't have the volume up too loud, just listening to that drone makes me want to take a deep breath and bellow at the top of my lungs, 'SHUT THE F UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP! shut up, shut up, shut UPPPPPP!!!!' sigh.

every day when the house phone rings (starting at nine am and continuing in a barrage of telemarketers once every 30 minutes until i leave for work), the sound climbs in deeper under my skin. and twitches. it makes me want to throw things. and even when my cell goes off, i'm often annoyed until i realize it's someone i care about on the other line.

on the rare occasion that i'm around other human beings, i don't know how to behave right away. it's like i'm suddenly socially inept. i scoff at meaningless pleasantries. when i go to parties, even among those i've loved for almost half of my life, it takes a good thirty minutes for me to acclimate to the smalltalk. it's as though the real me has been buried under hours and hours and hours of solitary silence and i have to dive in, grab her neck in the crook of my elbow and crawl back to the surface in order to function normally again.

this is not me! anyone who's met me would probably be just as baffled. i'm the girl who loves to chat, who can't stand to be home alone. even if other people are in other rooms doing their own thing, i need the security of knowing that they're around. i couldn't fall asleep in college until i heard the roommate's key in the lock and knew she wasn't abducted by aliens or drunken fratboys.

it all began when i started working these odd late-night hours last december. i live in a house with two roommates, but when i'm at home they are at work and by the time i get in, they're asleep. so i've become accustomed to having free reign. i come in, stay up late catching up on recorded television, netflix, e-mail, blogs, long distance phonecalls -- whatever my heart desires -- and i don't have to answer to anyone. i no longer make 'how was your day' chitchat. i don't have to share the remote control. i can have oreos and milk for dinner and don't have to worry about anyone's disapproving looks. i can sleep until 2 p.m., just in time to get ready while watching 'The Facts of Life'. i've embraced the beauty of silence.

as great as that may sound, it's a solitary lifestyle. but it's affected me so much, i don't even recognize myself anymore.

on friday night i worked an early shift. it put me back at the house at about 8 pm. i walked in on the phone, as usual, took off my shoes and coat and planned on scavenging around the kitchen for something to eat just as i do every night when i get in. however i wasn't fully prepared for both the roomies to be awake, watching tvs in different rooms, asking how i was, asking if i was hungry, asking how my day was, asking about traffic, asking about the weather and not really noticing that i was on the phone.

i went to my room to finish my conversation and get used to the situation. in 20 minutes, things were back to normal and we hung out just like old times. it was nice. i'm thankful they miss me and want to talk to me when i'm around. i'm blessed there are so many people willing to work around my inane scheduling conflicts who make time to see me and the ones who interrupt their lunch hours to call me or stay up way past their bedtime to say hello. it makes me feel special. it makes me feel loved. it helps me forget about the sometimes when i feel so alone.

but i don't like being like this. i'm supposed to be cheery and chatty and not annoyed that someone wants to know how i'm doing. i don't want to be like those ugly old people who yell at the kids who disturb their gardenias by letting the kickball fly into their yard. well, at least not for another fifty years.

there has to be a 12-step program for this.

will power

Part of me is starting to believe the quality of my life would be exponentially better if i could just get out of bed when the alarm rings and stay out.

sigh.

one thick layer

'they have a new baby next door.'

'yeah, i saw the big cardboard stork in their yard, but i couldn't read it. a girl, right?'

'mmmhmmm. they named her robyn rae.'

'cute. hey, how old is what's her name, anyway?'

'she's probably about three years younger than you. the husband is your age.'

'oh. interesting.'

'when i finish this blanket, i'm going to take it over there.'

'it's so soft, ma. and the pattern is beautiful. i'm sure they'll love it.'

'just wait, my grandchildren are going to have sooo much stuff. sigh. but only if i can still see by then...'

'what? you still have a good thirty years left to spoil children. i'm pretty sure i can come up with at least one bundle of joy for you in that time.'

'thirty years? na nana na, i'm not hanging around that long.'

'what nonsense. i CANNOT believe i'm even discussing this with you.'

'maybe it's just not in my fate to play with my grandchildren.'

'good GOD.'

'well, you're not going to wait too long after you get married, right?'

'huh?'

'maybe just one year. then it's time for kids.'

'dude, is there something here i don't know about? are you setting something up behind my back?'

'no, but you don't have a lot of time. you shouldn't really wait.'

'mother, let me put it to you this way: there's time to get to know someone, time to be engaged, and time to enjoy my husband. THEN maybe i'll think about children. that takes years. like maybe five.'

'what? FIVE YEARS? goodbye, cadiz.'

'you really are a professional, you know that?'

validation

you know you're beat when there's an ache in the pit of your stomach, the coffee you had at 3 p.m. failed to make you crazy and wore off in less than 8 hours, and you're just a teensy bit delirious. but you're more zoned in than ever and have managed to accomplish more in the last 18 hours than you have done in the last week.

however, more than all that, it's knowing that when you do get to sleep, it's going to be ecstasy.


btw, thank you veterans and servicepeople.

thick skin of my teeth

i relished my days off. slept in late. dawdled about getting ready. watched a lot of tv. it really was a lazy long weekend. but i didn't want it to count for nothing.

so i had planned for a lovely evening out. we were supposed to have dinner, catch a comedy show at Second City and make it to my friend's birthday party. reservations were at five p.m.

at four p.m., i was still lying in bed, yelling at julia roberts' character in 'my best friend's wedding' for being such a meddling, selfish beeyatch. (i hated her in that movie. the actress, the character, what she did, everything. if only i hadn't despised cameron diaz so much, i'd have REALLY hated old jules. ironically, i really like the movie itself -- mostly because she didn't get the man. that and rupert everett singing.) so when the restaurant called to confirm the reservations, i paused to panic and pretend i thought they were for five-thirty, which worked.

if you thought that stroke of luck would be enough to light a fire under my ass to get up and get ready, think again. i lazed around until after julia dedicated the sculpture-licker rendition of 'the way you look tonight' to the happy couple before getting it together.

we sat in monster saturday night traffic to the city, looked for parking and made it to the restaurant at six-fifteen. the hostess wasn't too happy, but gave us a pager anyway. our show started at seven, and despite having booked tickets almost a month ahead, it worked on first-come, first-served seating that began at six-thirty. yeah, our chances of making it were looking slimmer and slimmer. by six-thirty we were still ordering. but we mentioned to the server that we had a show at seven, and god bless him, he got us out of there with five minutes to spare.

we were cutting it close. especially when we went to the wrong ticket booth all together. by six-fifty-eight, it was likely we'd have to split up and sit in empty spots here and there or sit behind a pole or something. but we were the second-to-last party to be seated and still managed to get front-row spots off to the side. as we sat down, the show began.

after it was over (very good, btw), we had time to pick up liquor and chips and head off to the birthday festivities, even less than fashionably late. we even found a parking spot sort of close by. seriously, lady luck was winking at me that night. it's the only explanation for how such a sloppy start could turn into such a sweet evening.

the thing about me is, no matter how close i'm cutting it, somehow, someway, i manage to scrape by and make it. right up until seconds before deadline. it's always been that way -- and i get a little rush off the panic, too. i know, i have a problem. and one day it's going to bite me right in the booty. when it really counts. and of that very day i live in constant fear and paranoia; which consequently doesn't cause me to improve my behavior.

my company that night showed tremendous patience and sportsmanship, despite all the tailgating, screaming at traffic, time requesting, running, hostess pleading and inhaling of food that my tardiness demanded. the only comment was, 'you know, cadiz, you definitely get an A+ for planning. it's just the execution that needs a little work.'

sigh.

minibreak

i actually managed to procure some days (in a row!) off.

so you might not be hearing from me for a bit.
but that doesn't mean i'm not thinking of you.

i'll be back to guard the dungeon again on tuesday.

muah!

p.s. old psychoblue said hello to me. (well it was more like a grunt, but still.) it must be my lucky day!

irony

i'm sitting at the dungeon, waiting for reports and reading the paper.

there's a story about how officials are struggling to decide just how people in post-Katrina morgues actually died. there's a photo with it, of a pink list of names of the deceased. it's taken from below and the biggest, most in-focus name is at the bottom.

It's "Deadman Jr., William"

losing my touch

as i was walking down the metal, corrugated-so-people-don't-slip steps out of the office, my heel caught on the fold-up part of my pantleg and i fell. all the way down to the bottom. my knees took the brunt of it and i spilled steamed milk all over the arm of my coat. i wasn't horribly upset about the way that milk is going to smell later, the fact that i made a tremendous commotion and probably should have been embarrassed, nor the fact that my knees were all red and sore (and when you're brown, that takes more than a slight trauma). i was upset because, though i managed to keep my cup upright and save most of the drink, i have always relied on my agility and quick reflexes to keep me from actually falling down.

sigh. i must be getting old.

B-A-N-A-N-A-S

things i wasn't aware of about modern-age concertgoing:

1) you need to be dressed like a stripper to fit in
2) it's not uncommon to be sitting among 8-year-olds, or 38-year-olds
3) it's a place dirty guys try and pick up teenagers dressed like hookers
4) sending text messages to a big screen can be half-hours of entertainment
5) you know you're old when you're jamming to Freestyle during intermission and kids around you have no idea what the hell kind of music it is
6) a whole bunch of cellphones aimed for pictures looks a lot like lighters back in the day
7) black-eyed peas have a lot of pep in their step
8) harajuku girls are snappy dressers, but don't get to have their own identities
9) ms. stefani likes to sing about the backseat
10) a hollaback girl isn't, in fact, something you want to be


we were so inspired by the between-act music, the girls and i went on a mission to find this dive bar in schiller park that someone said had a good oldschool dj. all i can say is that i'm blessed to know people with such a good sense of direction.

so when we finally got to Rog's, we were surprised it was so unassuming. however, it was relatively full and people were on a first-name basis with the servers. Our girl was very sweet, though she was surprised that we only had one round. the music definitely didn't disappoint. we made our way to the dancefloor, and it was good, including:

Fantasy Girl
Yolanda
Spring Love
The Percolator

however, the BEST was when my old roommate suggested i ask him to play good old Rita. the dj looked at me like, 'hello? of course.'

DANGEROUS ON THE DANCE FLOOR!

i had forgotten how dirty the lyrics were. but that rita, she's got moves.

brought to you by the letter P

Earlier i said that i loved shopping.

i lied. i actually hate shopping. okay, sort of. i only hate it when i'm in need of something. which... is always. unless i'm shopping for somebody else. and as a social activity. with the right company. but i could really live without all the fruitless sifting.

but what i really detest more than all the rest is shopping for pants. seriously, it SUCKS. but perhaps that's why i'm forever in need of doing it. because for me, buying pants is a no-go unless you actually try them on. and let's face the truth: it's going to take something really spectacular for me to want to take my pants off.

all the searching, carrying, waiting, limiting of things you can bring in, undressing under fluorescent lighting, being surrounded by mirrors aside -- do the ends really justify the means? just take a look at some of the factors:

a really good pair of pants:

* is a good, versatile color
* isn't dry-clean only (too lazy to reliably get to the cleaners)
* isn't peek-a-boo from the back of the waist
* isn't too loose in the back end
* isn't too thin where you have to worry too much about your choice of undergarment
* won't require too much reconstructive surgery (mostly i'm just pissed that i can't figure out how to do a decent "tricky hem," as my tailor grandmother would roll over in her grave knowing i couldn't do such a simple alteration myself.)
* doesn't have pockets that flare out like prince charles' ears
* doesn't have back pockets with big old flaps that constantly flip up
* doesn't have extraneous zippers/buttons/embellishments
* doesn't have stupid random fading/lines
* doesn't ridiculously flare at bottom
* will be compatible with shoes of different heights
* has a smooth zipper or reliable button fly (won't pop open at all times)
* doesn't create a 'p-pocket' in the crotch when you sit down -- insinuating there is something inside standing at attention
* doesn't climb up anywhere near places it shouldn't
* doesn't make noise during walking
* doesn't get shiny after being ironed even at a low setting
* doesn't wrinkle if the wind blows
* isn't a lint magnet
* has loops that fit my belt (better yet, doesn't require one)
* doesn't look too short when you cross your legs
* doesn't bunch
* doesn't itch
* doesn't shrink
* doesn't look raggedy after one washing
* will make you look svelte
* will make you look taller
* will enhance or detract from whatever you have that is lacking or abundant
* will not be useless if your body weight changes 6 ounces one way or the other
* will not be out of style tomorrow
* can not be found on the 13-year-olds standing at the bus stop
* does not have something written across the booty
* does not cost three times its value because of the name on the tag
* can go from the grocery store to the club
* makes you feel like a million bucks.

what? am i asking too much?

long ride home

it's like this world series hoopla puts my office and all of its work-doing on pause. people standing around tvs, making choruses of awwws and OOOOOOOOOOOOHs. time stops for baseball, i guess.

as happy as i am for the white sox, (which i am, YAY!) world series = late nights for this dungeon girl.

late last night, as i waited at a red light at the entrance to the highway, an older homeless gentleman, who sometimes stands on the corner with a sign, came up to my car. i gently shook my head no at him, but he stopped about three feet away and motioned for me to roll down the window. i rolled it down a crack and he said, 'hey there young lady. now i just want you to know that when the white sox with the series tomorrow, it's going to be mayhem out here on the street. you'd best stay inside, and not too late.' i shook my head in agreement like a little girl and told him to take care as i drove off.

i have no idea why, but even as he was talking, tears were sliding down my face. now sometimes i tear up when i'm nervous, but the sight of that poor old guy, nose running from the cold, holding his sign under his arm with just 'meless' showing and not even asking me for any money made me incredibly sad. it is a sad situation, but what's sadder is that my time in the city has deadened me to it. i'm not sure if that's a bad thing, but from the stutter in his voice and the concern in his eyes, i'm pretty sure the guy wasn't completely mentally stable. a lot of people on the streets aren't, and they don't get the care they need.

last time he spoke to me was a few months ago when he asked, 'what is a little girl like you doing out so late?' (it was 4 a.m. when i was getting off work). i told him i was working and he told me to be careful because there are a lot of bad people out there. granted, i was very careful, knowing that he could very well be one of those bad people, but i just got the feeling that maybe he was remembering some girl in his life or his past when he was talking to me.

where is she now? why isn't she taking care of him?

by the time i got it together and made my way home, not one, but TWO animals ran into the street. the possum i managed to avoid, but i think i clipped the raccoon with the edge of my bumper because i looked and there was no body. tears again.

and then when i got home, the dvd du jour was about how the heroine finds her mother lifeless and slack-jawed on the couch, dead. the way it was shot, with no background music, really got to me.

lemme tell you, there never really is any kleenex around when you need it.

dodged a charging bull

as you may have guessed, i'm a pretty chatty girl.

one of the things about working this dungeon shift is that i start at 6 pm. and that pretty much locks me out of the free night minutes i get on my cell phone plan, because for its duration, i am a) working b) sleeping c) sad that my friends with 9-5s are all sleeping. so i end up using a good chunk of daytime minutes (though many are saved because a certain springtime diva converted us all to tmobile and we have tmobile-to-tmobile for free). however i check in with some nearly every day, like my roommates -- with whom communication otherwise is limited to post-it notes and halfasleep goodbyes -- and my brother, who broke his tmobile phone. so the minutes can add up.

normally this isn't too much of a problem, but i seem to be almost rid of the antisocial hermit virus i contracted last year around this time, so i'm near fullstrength talk mode. on monday i checked my minute usage and remarked to myself: 'self, what are the odds that you'd check at exactly 600 minutes! good thing you still have 400 daytime minutes left, because you still have a solid four days left in this month's billing cycle.'

yeah, except i didn't. i happen to only have a 600-minute plan.

so today when i checked my minutes, it said 802 daytime minutes used. and in a moment of clarity and panic i said to myself: 'dammit self, something just reminded me that you switched your plan from 1,000 daytime minutes to 600 daytime minutes when you got free tmob-to-tmob... which would mean you're about 200 minutes over... which would mean you're going to have to pay about $80-some bucks in charges... which probably doesn't include this last conversation you had with your mother that lasted about 30 minutes -- 18 of which you spent on hold, listening to some scraggly-voiced guy talk about adding more fruits like pluots to your diet to be healthier, like 20 times... oh shit, self, i think you're screwed.'

i looked through my old bills and found out that, indeed, last year i had downgraded to only 600 minutes a month. shit shit shit.

usually i'd have kicked myself, paid the fee and just watched my minutes next month, but something told me to call up Tmobile. (and i'm pretty sure it wasn't self.)

i talked to a real schmoozer named jamie, who hooked me up with a retroactive planchange to 1,000 minutes and i upped my free text messages (i sent about 800 of those last month, too -- it's my No. 1 form of communication to the outside world, you know) and only extended my contract for a year (which i was going to do anyway next month when it was up.) jamie (who i'm sure, as you guys had commented earlier on the ticketbi*ch post, was nicer to me than a woman would have been) made it happen and was sweet (even though he called me susan) and advised me to wait till april to upgrade my phone. thanks, dawg.

so basically, i am going to be paying about $10 extra this month (before you count however much i'll be over b/c of the extra textmessages) instead of what would probably be $100 or so extra. that was a close one!

the incredible sinking seat

guess who's back?

well, it's not psychoblueeye, but me. back in the dungeon, baby. i'm pretty okay with it right now, but i think my attitude might change after a few days.

however today i was so annoyed because i had to choose a chair that was

s


i



n


k





i
n


g

all night.

and not even smoothly, either; it was all herky-herky about it. irritating!

by the end of the shift i was so sick of lifting myself up every two minutes, i just sort of crossed my legs under myself and sat indian-style practically to the floor, with my arms up near my head and my chin at desk level. i was hoping some bigwig would walk by, think i was pathetic and order some NEW DAMN CHAIRS!

no such luck.

don't like the look of them

'you gotta see those players. one looks like a monkey, one looks like a guy who just killed somebody and landed in jail, one looks like a drug dealer...'

'for the Astros?'

'yeah. you don't believe me? just ask your father. they look weird, like they're a bunch of guys who just came out of prison like they haven't eaten any food for a long time.'

'so do you think the White Sox are going to win?'

'they just did.'

'no, i mean the whole thing.'

'definitely.'

ticketbi*ch

'hi, i'd like two tickets to the show.'

'sorry, can't do it.' [adjusts 1-800-DENTIST headset]

'you're sold out!? no way.' [kicks self for waiting so long]

'nope, don't have any pairs left. [smirks and points with pen] but i can offer you these two, in front and back of each other...'

'no no no, that's no good. are you sure you don't have two together? not even in the way back?

[snorts] 'that is the way back'

'not at all?'

'NO. not possible.'

'hold on a second.' [steps outside office to leave several phone messages. comes back.]

'fine. how about three?'

'now three i can do. how about balcony?'

'but wait, you have no pairs left? can i just get two of the three?'

'I TOLD YOU, i can't do that.'

'hang on, so you're telling me that you can't leave an empty seat hanging to give me two of the three, but you're offering me those two random seats, which obviously were left hanging from before?'

'they're not RANDOM. they're in front and back of each other.'

'argh. fine! just gimme the three, then!'

'will that be visa or mastercard?'

ticketbast*rd -- redemption

i feel guilty using this title again, considering, but it's the only way you guys will know what i'm referencing.

lately the ticket guy has been very kind, even making a point to come up to me at an extracurricular function to explain again how it was a mistake on the ballclub's part and how he couldn't understand it. he even brought over another coworker (who had no problems using tickets he bought from the guy) to testify for him. i guess all that time i had been giving him my skeptical look, which i'm pretty sure translates as 'bitchy' to the layperson. i was like it's okay. it's cool. whatever. he's been nice to me, and i think he genuinely felt really bad about the situation, especially since the organization hadn't gotten back to him with any answers.

until today. he comes over to my desk and says they finally responded to his calls and e-mails, blaming a new teller for the error. they have offered him two bleacher seats to any homegame except opening day next season and he in turn has offered them to me. for free. very nice of him; i was pretty happy with the offer of first pick and paying, so this is pretty sweet. in fact, my brother is thinking about contacting him about getting tickets for other games, too. so maybe i'll be having my peanuts and crackerjack (code for hotdogs and beer) afterall.

but i'm not getting excited till i actually get into the Friendly Confines.

no idea what i'm talking about? catch up:
ticketbast*rd
ticketbast*rd: update
ticketbast*rd: update on the update
ticketbast*rd: reformed

are you ready for some ramble?

psst -- for those of you who are sick of the snippety posts as of late, good news: i'm back on dungeon duty into the unforseeable future, starting monday. be prepared for blathering, bitching and angst.

oh and by the way, i'm taking requests.

step off, i'm the red-orange power ranger

I'm a sucker for these things. Naturally, when i saw it over at Ale's, i had to give it a whirl. normally that'd be it, but considering a couple conversations i've had lately, it was pretty on target so i thought i'd share -- besides, it's much better than one of those fortune cookie messages that isn't even a prediction.

Your Power Color Is Red-Orange

At Your Highest: You are warm, sensitive, and focused on your personal growth. At Your Lowest: You become defensive and critical if you feel attacked. In Love: You are loyal - but you demand the respect you deserve. How You're Attractive: You are very affectionate and inspire trust. Your Eternal Question: "Am I Respected?"

What's Your Power Color?

that's right; you'd better watch it, suckers. because if you disrespect a power ranger, she'll have to throw down.

why i love sportsfans

my brother is a man of few words. and despite his 24hour internet access, he isn't big on e-mail. so recently when his phone broke, i was surprised to get a note from him, until i saw it Sunday:

'pissed off Notre dame lost'

and then:

'now to top it off the f*cking white sox are in the worldseries'
(he's a cubs fan)

sportsfans. they care enough to send the very best.

stylish gamble

a couple of years ago, someone who came to illinois for business and wanted to take a sidetrip to chicago told me he bid 40 dollars a night for a room at the Raphael and got it. on priceline.com, i guess. tell me internet, is that really possible?

day off

what i did on my vacation day:

*wake up even earlier than usual
*get out of bed even later
*talk on the phone, IM, chat on e-mail with three people at work and try and watch a movie. simultaneously
*put off getting out of my pajamas till nearly dinner
*have breakfast at 4 p.m.
*glance at piles of laundry but avoid actually doing any
*decline going to a party because i'm just that tired
*watch the people's court

yeah, i'm bushed. i think i need another day off to recover.

back to rita and her big 'ol butt

i just want it be known, for the record, that at least one person a day -- and usually more -- stumble onto this site searching for the lyrics to 'dangerous on the dance floor.' i obviously am not the only one.

STEP IT UP, INTERNET.

j.w.

when i was young, my parents thought they were doing me a favor by moving during summer vacation so i wouldn't have to miss any school. i didn't know anyone on the first day of fourth grade.

this snotty girl was supposed to show me around. she had a perm and some fake-tooth/denture/metal retainer thing because she was missing the incisors up front. you'd think this'd make her uncool, but everyone thought it was rad how she could take her teeth out like a grandma. i guess this girl felt sacrificing ten minutes out of her day to show me the school was akin to having the rest of her rotting teeth yanked, so basically she pointed in the direction of the bathroom and went off to flash her new hardware at people. bitch.

i was pretty lost. everyone was busy catching up with friends they hadn't seen in three months, so it was easy to get lost in the shuffle. i sat down and doodled in my snoopy spiral notebook. by the end of the day, i realized the kid sitting next to me was rolling his eyes at the same things i was and got through the spelling exercises early, too. he complimented me on my drawings and later showed me where the library was. i had a good feeling about him.

we spent a lot of class time talking. sometimes too much -- once i was forced to suffer the humilation of being moved to a carrel desk that had walls. he was softspoken and much more sly than i was, and kept leaning over and making faces at me, getting me in even more trouble. but i couldn't be mad. even at age 9, the kid had those sparkly kind of eyes that sort of crinkled when he smiled. that's what i remember liking the most. the crinkliness.

i happened to get partnered with him again many years later in high school chemistry class. it's weird, but even though we ran in completely different circles, i still caught him rolling his eyes at the teacher and it went right back to how it was back in the day, especially when we were supposed to be conducting scientific-quality experiments. we were also in the same Spanish class. every day i'd eat my lunch during ejercicios and the senora let it slide because i tutored during lunch. i carried my food in a blue Aladdin lunchbox. i know it's juvenile, but it was convenient and i love that movie. besides, obviously i wasn't that weird, because one day someone stole it. and i was pissed because they had stopped selling them by then.

right before winter vacations, the senora had us do a Secret Santa gift exchange. i can't tell you whose name i picked or what i gave them, but i do have to say that when i opened my present and saw a brand new Aladdin lunchbox, i knew that i had received the best gift in the whole class, both in quality and quantity (it probably exceeded the price cap). but it was perfect. when i asked him where he found it, he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled, crinkling his eyes.

now, this is where the story gets sad.

after high school, he and i happened to go to the same university. granted, with 36,000 people on campus, i didn't really think i'd ever see him. come to think of it, i don't think i even knew he had gone there. so imagine my surprise when, on the first day of final exams after i spent the whole night pointlessly trying to learn the entire textbook, i pull on some jeans over my pajamas along with crooked, outdated glasses and a baseball cap with barely enough time to brush my teeth (i was just going to go home and sleep after the test anyway), i run into him.

'cadiz! i didn't know you went here! how are you?'

'uh, er, i'm good. you?'

'pretty good. i just had an anthropology final, but it wasn't too bad. how about you? what's new?'

'uh, well, yeah, i have spanish final. like now. gotta go. bye.'

'um, nice seeing you...?'

'yeah, later.'

ugh, how embarassing. on any other day i would have stopped and chatted with him for a good 15 minutes, but i was at the pinnacle of my hideousness and just mortified to be recognized by anyone, let alone old crinklyeyes himself. it was a dumb move. and costly. because at the end of college, i was walking down Green street and happened to look up into those eyes again. except this time they weren't so crinkly. he didn't smile. we walked right past each other, averting our eyes and hiding recognition.

hot Rod

'so exactly how fast were you going?'

'pretty fast. i had to drive all the way across Indiana, it was flat and straight and boring. i wanted to see how far i could push my little car.'

'how'd it do?'

'125.'

'man. what's your governor?'

'um... blagojevich?'

the problem with parking -- vol. 8

the problem with parking is that the city uses only the finest of glue to affix tickets to your windshield. not only do you have two furry lines from the ticket you just got, but they are perfectly aligned with the two lines of goo still stuck there from the ticket you got back in April. it's so obtrusive that when you go back home, your father feels compelled to warn you multiple times about the perils of parking in the city, not once forgetting to mention that the big yellow thing they're sure to clamp onto your car is called a 'Denver Boot,' as if you had blocked out the previous 10,000,000 times he's ignored the fact that you pay your fines to lecture you about it.

the problem with parking -- vol. 7

the problem with parking is when you change up the routine and aren't used to moving your car in the middle of your shift but then do that again after a long time, it's possible to simultaneously give yourself a stroke and a broken ankle when you get off work in the middle of the night and realize you left the car at a meter paid up only till 5 p.m., and there's no one around to even take you to the ATM and the pound to get it out if it's been towed. And then when you miraculously find the car still on the street, you realize that had you been one spot farther back, the ticket you got would have been 20$ cheaper.

call me clark

i was walking off the shuttle with this guy who works on a different floor. i have met this guy on at least five occasions, the first of which was a meetandgreet at a conference where i talked to him for about fifteen minutes about his job and myself. today, after a few comments about the weather, he turns to me, sticks out his hand and says, 'i'm chris, by the way.'

i shook it and told him my name and where i worked. but it felt so fake because i've formally met this guy so many times already and he comes by and talks to the guy i sit by on occasion, too. however, i'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt, because a) you meet a lot of people at conferences, b) he might want to play it safe and not come off like he equates all little brown girls as being the same and c) i was wearing my glasses that day, so maybe i looked like a totally different person.

yeah, so i'm going to go with the glasses thing.

okay, okay. it's not just to give him the benefit of the doubt, it's because i secretly believe i have superpowers.

good as an abacus, if you ask me

i was trying to figure out how many days there were in September but was in a hurry and too lazy to look it up.

so i put my closed fists fingers-down and looked at the up/down of my knuckles:

JAN feb MAR apr MAY june JULY
AUG sept OCT nov DEC

(caps: 31 days, non-caps: fewer)

no idea where i heard this, but i think it was sometime in the '80s.

pretty handy.

m.i.a.

to everyone wondering where the heck i've been, i am not dying or ill or sad or anything, contrary to what you may have interpreted from saturday's post -- that was something i had to get rid of for eternity. but i always welcome good vibes and hugs with open arms, so feel free to throw those out there at any time and know that they're always reciprocated.

truth be told, i'm working a day-ish shift as of late (hey, anytime i have to be out of the house before noon is a dayshift for me). the getting up early is really cutting into my sleeping in time, which is REALLY cutting into my staying-up-all-night time and generally just putting a cramp in my nocturnal style. and the walking 20 blocks one way sort of leaves me pooped. on top of that, i'm entranced by an extracurricular project that there seems to never be enough quality time for, so i'm swamped, but for those of you who knew me in my prime, you know i wouldn't rather live any other way but sleepless and stressed out.

but don't you worry, this job is like the earth, unpredictable and ever rotating, so i'm sure i'll be cycled right out of this and back to dungeon duty soon enough.

i'm still faithfully trying to read your stuff, and laughing, even if i don't always get a chance to put in my two cents. i'm sad that i haven't been able to comment much, especially about my girl Ale's foray into the world of international radio and Omar's new photothingy (both of which i haven't even been properly able to investigate as of yet).

i miss all of you guys.

p.s.: congratulations to all my beloved sox fans! in this city, i have to claim neutrality, and i love it when any of our teams are doing well. you can thank the celebration of that as well as technical issues for the reprieve i got for this post as well as the heart attack i will have later because we have to do an insane amount of work in even less time.

unwrapped

few things bring more joy than looking into a gift bag and seeing the very thing you ogled all those months ago, but forgot to remember that you wanted.

yours was the only life raft that didn't have a leak.

thank you.

Immutable, impossible, incalculable, insufferable

many times you told me of your favorite song
but i never heard it
even after i replaced the cd that was stolen

something struck me to look it up today
and even after all this time has passed
i can hear you speaking the lyrics
which you never did -- out loud

i imagine you saying them to me then
the thought blurs my vision
if only you'd have known
it would have made all the difference

how the Internet broke my heart

**disclaimer** this is a true story. it may prompt you to take action. which may lead to frustration. continue reading at your own risk.

two years ago, a coworker and i were talking about old-school dance songs we secretly loved. after the obvious ice ice babys and bell biv devoe, i brought up a song that has always made me smile -- one that i rarely hear. i believe it's called 'dangerous on the dance floor,' by Musto & Bones. we reminisced about Rita and her remarkable moves, and i even admitted that back when i was 11, it took me a minute to figure out which article of clothing the 'over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder' was referring to (what can i say? i was slower then).

we agreed that those lyrics were pretty funny, and i wanted to check out the rest. i turned to my rock, my reliable, bet-settling, go-to pal: Google. it was a tricky search, so i put in phrases that included the title and what i could remember, the name of the album:'The Future is Ours,' Musto & Bones, and even their first names, one of which i think is Tony. i found the cd for sale, reviews, people referencing the song and lots and lots of message board comments.

but no lyrics.

'this cannot be!' i exclaimed. 'why, the Internet knows no bounds; it has EVERYTHING! you just have to know how to find it. i must be doing something wrong.'

i considered it a challenge. for two days only the bare minimum as far as actual work was done in my cubicle, where a legendary quest had begun. i tried different search engines, databases -- blogs, even -- but couldn't seem to find the gd words. i mean, the lyrics are compelling, they're fast and the song has a pretty good beat, from what i remember. why wouldn't some mope want to archive it for all eternity on the world wide web? But as the search continued in its fruitless state, i started to look for the why. all i could come up with was 1990. that's when it was made. and by the time the Internet was taking off, that was too soon to be considered 'old' but too old to be considered 'current.' besides, fans of that song would be way past that moony teenage window of excitement and devotion wherein people invest hundreds of hours posting lyrics when they first discover online publishing. plus, i'm pretty sure it was a one-hit wonder.

so, putting the fear of my own ineptitude aside, i picked up the phone to dial the second most reliable source of information: my local library.

'this is the library, can i help you?'

'hello, um, i have sort of an odd question. you see, i'm trying to find the lyrics to this, er, song from the '90s.'

'well, do you have the artist and title?

'yes. dangerous on the dance floor by Musto & Bones, off the 1990 album, the future is ours.'

'i totally remember that song! man, when we were in college, we'd always dance to that one! ha ha! i haven't thought of that song in years. 'she's dangerous on the daance floooor, dangerous!' '

'yep. that's the one. i just can't seem to find the lyrics.'

'oh, don't you worry; i'll find them. it should be easy. is there a number i can reach you at this afternoon? oh, this will be the most fun thing i've had to research all day.'


yeah, so she called back. to say she'd had no luck.

i still persevered for a couple weeks after that, but never did find the lyrics. it was a difficult moment in my life. you see, the two most reliable sources of information had failed me. my foundation was shaken. and it took a good long while before i could trust google again, however, i can't complain; it hasn't failed me once since. but now i know it's not omnipotent. it was a little like that time when i was 15 when it started to sink that my dad doesn't know everything, afterall. it was a crushing blow.

i had tucked this away in my memory until just recently, when i was talking to a very savvy computer person. i casually mentioned how google had failed me, and he immediately scoffed. so i challenged him to find the answer, even promising to be his best friend-- a reward i don't just throw around. he came back just as frustrated and jaded as i am. if you're reading this, my friend, i know you haven't totally given up on the web. i'm sorry, buddy.

it's a bitter pill to swallow, but sadly, i have learned: even The Internet has its limits.

vocal showboating

so last week at the office i overheard some coworkers talking. there was a story in the newspaper about the ridiculously long line of contestants aspiring to make the cut at the American Idol tryouts. one woman started asking people who walked by which song they would choose to sing as a competitor.

one guy my age said 'old man river.' the woman sort of scoffed at that and thought it silly that he'd pick such a dated song. but dude has a thick baritone speaking voice, it seemed a natural choice. he followed that up by saying he doesn't really sing. yeah, sure he doesn't -- he just had an answer ready? check his back pocket for the sheet music. regardless, it was smart move; you never want to arm a coworker with the idea that you sing (very bad in cases of christmas parties, especially). everyone else said they had no idea. smart answers, but also LIES. c'mon, people. i refuse to believe that even those who claim inability to carry a tune can't come up with something. then again, i even sing along with commercials. bad ones. and let's not even get started on my rap-along skills ('mumblemumblemumble, uh, um... WOW HOW NOW, WOWHOWNOWBROWNCOW!')

god bless those who put up with me.

the first thing that came to mind for me was that old standby, 'killing me softly' in the style of lauryn hill. i love that one. and my heart leaps at stevie wonder's 'if you really love me.' mariah carey's always fun, too, but i can't always hang with accuracy on the superdupermelismas, so i probably would have to go with something much more straightforward, karen carpenter-style, like 'merry christmas darling' or 'superstar,' but ole boy rueben already covered that one. then there's pretty much anything by sarah mclachlan or la oreja de van gogh and hundreds others i adore bellowing along to.

the more i thought about it, the more reality started to settle in -- i pretty much should keep the singing to small enclosed spaces like cars and showers. but hey, the brainstorming made dungeon duty move along a little more quicky.

as if the long stretches of uncomfortable silence weren't bad enough

i swear to God, if one more person who swings by the dungeon office with the intention of 'keeping me company' asks if i'm single, i'm going to amass the horde of fictitious boyfriends and husbands i have been telling them about all these months to seriously kick. some. ass.

c urse of the spotted tongue

(thanks to DCveR, who brought up the topic; i got to thinking. i happen to be very superstitious, but it's definitely a cultural thing. i know it's crazy, but at the end of the day, i need as much luck as i can get.)

When I was younger, I remember my ethnic parents arguing and my father warning my mother not to c urse him with her tongue. It sounds ridiculous, but it fits the bill of most superstitions. Somewhere up the line in the motherland it is believed that people who have what looks like freckles on their tongues are capable of cursing people.

Mom doesn't put much stock in it, but she admits to predicting things in the heat of annoyance. Like when my Dad was overly babying his new car, she said, 'Just watch, you're going to get a big dent in that thing.' And soon enough, a runaway grocery cart hit its mark.

I have a spotted tongue, too, as did my grandmother. Once a doctor told me it's a discoloration of tastebuds and completely harmless. I never thought much about it after that until a vacation with friends to a sleepy island off the coast of Italy.

It was a dream trip come true; a friend had hooked us up with a gorgeous villa on the beach and the latest Jaguar to roll around the island in for an obscene deal. On our last night we went to a club to celebrate in style. Only I felt like a pack mule because person number four had asked me to hold gum/cigarettes/wallet/keys in my purse -- the burden that came with taking the wheel of such a fancy car. But by then the ride was over and I was irritated about hauling around all that stuff. I said, 'You'll see. You'll regret making me carry all this crap when someone takes this bag!'

I guess the thieves kept a better eye on it than I did, because that's exactly what happened. who knew that someone could reach under the table you were dancing on and completely gank your stuff?

We spent the entire night scouring the edge of the weedy roadside for possible discarded items, breaking the Jag's window to get our passports from the glovebox, having it towed away because the spare key was on the mainland and spending the night on the curb because we had no key to the villa. I went home with no money, no camera, few souvenirs (most were in the trunk, which we couldn't open without the high-tech key), and a little voice in my head that kept saying, 'you did this to yourself.'

Moral of the story? Don't scoff at superstition. And don't cross me.

conclusions you jump when you're in third grade

i went into the bathroom at the office and noticed that the seat was up in the stall. for a split second, i was transported back to the beige and concrete bathroom of my grade school where i had first seen a public commode just after a cleaning crew had been through. my thought: 'eiw. boys must have been in here because the seat is up. gross.' i checked; all of the stalls were like that.

i was so disgusted that i held it for the rest of the day.

this was odd because the men in my family have always been good at never leaving the seat up; i have no idea where i could have gotten such a theory, except maybe television. and seat up/down doesn't even affect me anyway, because i have been indoctrinated with the hovering technique since the day i hung up my huggies. nevertheless, it's odd what goes through your mind when nature calls.

i've been quiet, but WTF

it's bad enough gobbling up every latest detail about the aftermath of hurricane Katrina. it was definitely hard to fully enjoy vacation knowing that thousands of others don't even know when their next meal may be and didn't have a place to sleep. and it's personally terrifying to imagine that the baby brother would have been in the area had he not transferred to a new school. his new city was also affected, but they managed to get to a friend's house in florida during the brunt of the storm. not everyone was so blessed.

so many sides of this situation are absolutely mind boggling. especially the monsters that desperation has turned people into. it reminds me of Blindness by Jose Saramago -- well written and captivating, however during the time i read it, i was jumpy, sullen and distressed by what the characters were capable of. and that was fiction.

the relief efforts are wonderful; it's awesome that people are coming together to help. but shouldn't that kind of unity be expected? Homer mentions a comment the mother of the president made about the situation. Barbara Bush is pleased about the help people who have come to her state have been getting, but her way of saying it just makes it all the more apparent that people of privilege really don't understand much about how the other classes live. maybe those comments were blown out of proportion, but here's a woman married to and mothering leaders and used to being in the spotlight.

maybe if people put more effort into doing instead of saying, it'd make more of a difference.

'WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE, BABY'

what a way to kick off a vacay! friday i flew out for an extended weekend of Sempre Primavera-style raucous relaxation. though that may sound like an oxymoron, i can't think of a better way to describe such a fabulous time. this is what i learned:

day 1: welcome to the jungle, we got what you need

* lack of sleep cannot stand in the way of a grand vacay
* the best hostesses know the first thing to get for a guest is a drink
* a crowded intersection off Times Square is peoplewatching paradise
* it pays to have friends with a good sense of direction
* there are few places in the world where you can: have a beer in a down-home openwindow joint, walk a ways for shi-shi wine at a marbletopped bar, stop a little farther for a chardonnay by a fountain venus, stuff your face with tapas (excellente) sangria (no tan buena) and find yourself at nostalgic, delicious dinner in good company followed by an evening of bootyshaking to some seriously rocking old skool beats. all by way of walking.
* rolling luggage is not so fun in subways plentiful with stairways
* most people's gut reaction to seeing the statue of liberty from a boat: 'that's it? it's so tiny!' no exceptions here
* real friends don't mind driving while their passenger is sleeping with her head back and her mouth open

day 2: it's like sand in your shorts

* cadiz brings good luck in the state of n.y. (but sadly, not to the workplace)
* kindness toward strangers can lead to discounts (!)
* bringing a book to the beach only results in getting pages wrinkly and gritty
* seafood tastes infinitely better when you're not landlocked
* there are surprisingly many places sand can hide in a bikini
* spicy pineapple in rice can be very tasty
* there are swans at the brooklyn boardwalk
* a neighborhood becomes amazingly interesting when a native is your guide
* almond and pistachio gelati = yum
* leaving brooklyn? fuhggedaboutit
* cruising home on a curvy road with minimal traffic, singing to old favorites at the top of your lungs ROCKS
* it is physically possible for the nocturnal to be asleep on her feet at 8 p.m., given the right kind of itinerary

day 3: blackened catfish -- but on the beach, not the bayou

* waking up isn't so hard when you know you're going somewhere fun
* even if you get up and haul your booty out to a tourist spot at the dawn's early light, 500 people will have already beaten you to all the parking spots
* you can judge the caliber of a town by the number of coffeeshops it has (according to sempreprimavera rules, that is)
* sleepy diners often offer the best in food and atmosphere; plus you feel like you're in 'Gilmore Girls' but without that alien sense of conversational timing
* ferries are fun
* women in relationships take up their deathrays (often for no reason at all) when a certain iceblue-eyed, ringleted primavera girl enters the room. happened before my eyes-- twice
* everything's more fun on an island
* in the quest for fun and beach umbrellas, do not settle for the first overpriced specimen in the window; continue on and you will find a deal -- in the back corner of the hardware store
* a good way to make culture junkies trip in the sand is when the beach volleybolistas happen to mention Bra-siylll as they pass by
* pretending to be statuesque and confident is all good -- that is until you find yourself directly under a breaking wave, unable to avoid the impending wholloping that will leave you facefirst in the pebbles, limbs askew, hair plastered to cheeks, clutching your suit and praying it hasn't malfunctioned
* after such a thrashing occurs twice, it is time to adjust your gear, gather what's left of your dignity and stride back to the sand to lick your wounds
* nothing beats a good multipurpose pareo
* the first time you eat lobster, it should be with an ice bucket for the wine and a glorious view of the ocean -- even if it's only reflected in someone's sunglasses
* no matter how much you hide under an umbrella and slather on spf 60, you will emerge from two days on the beach thoroughly charred
* motorcycle boys sometimes have powwows at the little triangle between the highway and the turn off. one can only imagine they're discussing the latest in fashion and politics, but the question is how
* staten island is peaceful
* interest in watching 'short circuit' has nothing to do with ability to stay awake

day 4: dim sum, a-dim sum, shoobeedoowaaaah

* even jaded newyorkers can be shocked and awed by the sheer lack of human beings in the city the morning of a national holiday; tumbleweed may even have been spotted on broome street
* the asian lady on the corner may look sweet, but she's really propositioning you to come purchase some scandalously priced designer knockoff bags
* its possible to have a lot in common with someone save for your taste in diamond settings
* you can feel like a princess sitting at a palatial pink table and choosing items on a whim off a rolling menu -- until you realize you're so full they'll have to roll you out the door
* the day you come armed with plenty of credit and cash is precisely the day that nothing in the store will look even remotely appealing for purchase
* graffiti is wrong -- but it looks damn cool
* sipping pop out of a glass bottle while sitting at a counter facing the street, commentating on couples, cars, culottes, cuties and the like is the perfect way to relax your toes and bring a vacay to a close
* the last few hours are always the most bittersweet
* especially the journey to the airport
* the plane ride home is exactly the perfect time to start plotting your next excursion

much love and appreciation to the hostess with the mostest. Ale, you are golden, girl.

maxxin on the chillaxin

sigh. weekend is over. i reached such a state of repose that all i want to do now is lie around and only move to change the channel or dial the phone. i have much to say about the activities of the last few days, but i don't want to ripple ale's flow, so i'll wait until the end of her installments to put in my say. (i'm a little fuzzy on the chronology, anyhow.) besides, it's going to take me several hours to drag myself out of the house and go to work tonight.

i hope you all had a lovely weekend.

time to cut off the supply

before a night on the town, a normal person might turn to her friend and say something like:

'you cannot, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, allow me to call xyz person AT ANY TIME after this moment in the evening. the SECOND i start to reminisce and/or begin to think that calling them is a good idea is exactly when you are to REMOVE my phone from sight and throw it into the nearest and deepest body of water you can find. got it?'

yeah, we've all been there.

however, i have a different kind of problem. you see, i got up at the bootycrack of dawn today, got on a train, walked 25 blocks with a heavy bag, ate lunch in the park and went to class. all this was before the start of my shift. so of course, 2 hours into it, i started to fade, and fast.

i reached for the cureall of the modern era: coffee.

as it turns out, that wasn't such a hot idea, as most of my starbucks fixes consist of steamed milk with a shot of something sweet, like almond. i save the big guns -- the mochas, the espressos, the macchiatos -- for special occasions like big late-night projects or ensuring i have enough energy not to fall asleep in my friend's birthday cake because i'm nocturnal.

today i figured i had an excuse because i have to leave for the airport at 6:30 and i get home from work after midnight and i still haven't done laundry. what i didn't bargain for is that a little cup of starbucks love can make me certifiably insane.

i twiddled. i fidgeted. i tapped. i bounced. i crossed the room at breakneck speed. i got a little bit of a stomachache that was only comforted by a box of animal crackers and a bottle of water. i panicked. i sweated. i made lists. i surfed the internet. but overall, i was completely consumed by an overwhelming sense of urgency. more than usual, that is.

so next time you happen to hear me say, 'dude, i really could use some caffeine,' i think you should stand in front of me, put your hands on my shoulders, look me straight in the eye and, in a firm and clear voice, yell at the top of your lungs, 'NO FREAKING WAY.'

believe me, i'll thank you for it later.

itinerary

i just received a very classy, personalized and jam-packed itinerary for a minibreak i have planned to the big apple this weekend. you may hear from me before tuesday, but i'm positive i'll have much to say after that. enjoy the weekend!

7s

so i got tagged by guyana gyal. the general consensus is bad on these things, but i'm willing to come out and admit that i secretly enjoy them. especially when the questions are specific. this one was tricky because i had to work a bit to make sure i'm not repeating a lot from my other meme answers or The hundred. and although i know everyone loves reading them, i'm aware that everyone hates doing them. i would have tagged a bunch of people, like andy or lou and most definitely jon to get back at him for being m.i.a., but i don't want to piss anyone off and i'm getting used to chilling in his hall of fame, so i don't want to do anything that would get me blacklisted, so i'll restrain myself.

before i die i plan to:

1) have a job that doesn't feel like work
2) look back on my life without regret
3) be proud of my children
4) be able to read literature in my mother tongue (not just kindergarten workbooks)
5) successfully do a headspin
6) cook as well as my mother
7) put some of the paintings i see in my head actually down on canvas

i can:

1) do cartwheels, a badass L kick and a halfass backspin
2) analyze an evening/conversation/glance/songlyrics/movie to excess
3) waste time like nobody's business -- the more i'm putting off, the better i am at procrastinating
4) dance till five in the morning in four-inch heels
5) make chapatis that actually puff up
6) throw down if necessary
7) drive like a very skilled maniac

i can't:

1) respect those who don't own up to their actions
2) openly admit that although i profess to hate bananas, sometimes i have a taste for them (my pride won't allow me to indulge)
3) take my own advice
4) stay up all night and not behave as though i'm intoxicated the next day
5) make a decision easily
6) tear myself away from a good book
7) enjoy life when someone i love is really hurting

say most:

1) dude
2) thank you
3) no, really, i'm awake
4) sorry, i have to work that day
5) ohmygod
6) how do i get to (asking directions)
7) jiggawhat?

attract me to someone:

1) eyes i think i can look into for the rest of my life
2) warmth of smile
3) sense of humor
4) sense of respect
5) endearing quirkiness
6) willingness to do dishes

celeb crushes:

*i can't say that i don't have celebrity crushes, but i've recently discovered that whoever i happen to like in real life i tend to equate with a celebrity who might not necessarily look like the person in most people's eyes, but somehow still reminds me of them.

so in the spirit of that, let me say that some of mine have been:

1) tom cruise (but not so much now that he's certifiably nuts)
2) grant hill
3) arjun rampal
4) the bass player from Lucky Boys Confusion
5) david gahan (depeche mode; no one can work a crowd like this guy)
6) kermit the frog (he was always so laid back and sweet)
7) paul mccartney (my cello teacher was a dead ringer for him and i swear it made me practice more)

don't make me have to smack you

'ohmygod you won't believe what just happened! that guy over there just slapped my ass!'

'WHAT? who!? where is he? you just show me which one. the one in the stripedy shirt? uh-uh, because he's not going to get away with that shit without hearing a thing or two.'

'excuse me, did you just happen to slap my friend over here on the ass?'

'um, yeah. but i apologized RIGHT afterward!'

'you're lucky mister! that i've been drinking! or else i'd really have to f you up! yeah! you heard me!'

'hang on, honey, let me just talk to him. where the hell did you get the idea to do that?'

'well, she was shaking it... and it was just so... tempting. so i thought i'd give it a little smack. i thought she'd like it! really!'

'where the hell do you get off!? what, do you think you can walk around and put your hands on any person within ten feet of you? who the hell do you think you are!?'

'i didn't know she'd get mad! i said i apologized right after!'

'let me tell you something, guy. NO girl likes being touched by a strange man, especially in that manner! what a crock of crap, 'i thought she'd like it.' you know, you give [shared ethnicity] a bad name! keep your damn hands to yourself!'

'I ALREADY APOLOGIZED! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?'

'yeah, that's right, you take your grabby friend and get him out of here! AND MAYBE TEACH HIM A FEW MANNERS WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!'

'did you tell him? i wasn't even dancing by him! i was dancing over there! i can't believe he did that! you know, i could really have f-ed him up. i would have, too.'

'i know sweetie. but it was pretty funny how you were all up in his face yelling. it was kind of cute, actually.'

'what!? i wasn't trying to be cute! i was trying to be menacing! menacing, i tell you!'

'don't worry; i think i saw fear in his eyes.'

'damn right.'