Every Saturday morning Mom and her friend either go to the hotel or to a local deli for breakfast. This time they opted for the hotel, so afterward Mom saw the movie Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire with me. It was a tearjerker. Mariah Carey plays a social worker who helps out an overweight teenage girl named Precious (Gabourey Sidibe) at an alternative school in 1980s Harlem.
The film's heroine suffers physical and emotional abuse at the hands of her welfare abusing mother who resents her and accuses her of "taking (her) man" because the girl's father raped their daughter instead of having sex with her. The sexual abuse results in the teen giving birth to two children with her own father. Precious's mother is completely oblivious to the fact that she herself allowed her daughter to be molested. When the movie hits cable, it will be perfect game for a Mothers From Hell marathon on any given movie channel along with a showing of Carrie.
I ordered a small popcorn and an iced tea to sustain me through the two hour film. And what do you know? The former medium size is now a small. Apparently, people must have complained that they were getting ripped off because the former small was more like kiddie size. It wasn't any cheaper though. I paid nine and a quarter for a small popcorn and a drink. As a kid, I remember when Mom paid three bucks each for mine and my brother's movie tickets for The Karate Kid, which they are remaking with Will Smith's son as the star.
After the movie, Mom and I had a late lunch at Bagel Boss. They have the freshest nova lox of any bagel place on Long Island. Mom didn't mind going there because she was at the hotel for breakfast. People were zigzagged on line which didn't help the workers who tried to figure out who was next. The guy came over to serve me, and I had no clue who was next.
And then a lady blasted, "We were next. You cut us off." I didn't see her! She could have said, "Excuse me, we were next," to the clerk. No need to yell at me.
"I didn't see you. No need to be bitchy!" I snapped back. She ignored me. I looked over at Mom and we both rolled our eyes.
This bitch was the typical pushy shrew I've encountered on line at Bloomingdales. One confrontation with someone like her and I'll be shopping online for five months. And wouldn't you know she waved her big ass wedding ring as she yapped away with her friend. The woman's complexion was super pale. She must have had pounds of foundation. Her jet black hair was cut into a bob that didn't match her bone structure. She wore tinted shades and a short brown fur coat.
Actress Pamela Anderson is a radical anti-fur activist known for having refused to board an elevator with a woman who wore a mink. I kept wishing at that moment that the former "Baywatch" beauty and Playboy Playmate were in line with us. She would slap this cow's uppity ass with silicone. May this rude bitch walk the streets of Manhattan wearing that fur and feel a pound of red paint slap her back. Seriously, she can suck it.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Black Friday Shopping Spree Nets New Wardrobe
I know I swore I'd stay in, but I managed to make it to the Roosevelt Field Mall on the most notoriously crowded shopping day of the year. I think it was because my brother called and told me he went shopping at 6 in the morning. He's my inspiration. He was looking for a toy, but by the time he got to the Carle Place Toys R Us they had run out. Rats!
When he got there, the crowds had dispersed. Bro attributes this to everyone shopping in the middle of the night to beat the crowds only to leave the place empty. Toys R Us opened at midnight on Thanksgiving.
It wasn't as bad as I would have thought because I went in the evening. So there I was on Black Friday braving the crowds that remained because I needed a dress for my office's annual Christmas Hanukkah party. Last year I wore a red dress with an A-line skirt. My co-workers raved about how fabulous they thought I looked. They told me I should wear more red because it creates a beautiful contrast against my dark brown hair.
So this time I bought a strapless red Jessica McClintock that comes halfway down my thighs and has a poofy skirt. I love it. It's the kind of dress I would have made fun of as a mid-90s high school student. But now with leggings and large tops coming back, it's adorable. When I looked at photos of my older brother's junior prom in 1988, I noticed that the girls wore dresses just like mine along with big hair and tons of mousse. As a little girl, I used to crimp my hair to get that same look. While I will wear the clothes from that era, I can pass on the hair.
I went to the Awesome 80s Prom in the fall but didn't dress for the occasion. If I go again, I already have a dress to recycle. I was too young to wear one like it back in that era. Incidentally, my friend saw LisaLisa on NBC this morning. He said that she was "no longer the hotness" she once was. We're talking over twenty years, and aging is a bigger bitch to women than it is to men. She's touring again.
Eighties style aside, red is seasonably appropriate for me. I once knew a redhead who complained that her hair color forbade her to wear red. She hated it, although I thought she had beautiful hair. My quest for a dress led to me dropping a few hundred dollars at Macy's for a new wardrobe, two pairs of black pants and a few tops, including a styled green sweater. I've noticed that green looks great on redheads.
The line wasn't long at all by the time I got to the store. A customer ahead of me was bickering with the sales clerk. She tried to gain my sympathy. The clerk had been rude to her the whole time. She expressed to me what she'd been dying to tell the clerk but couldn't bring herself to,"If you've been stressed all day and you're tired, go home." Black Friday understandably drove the clerk off the deep end.
But, I'm so happy I went shopping last night instead of going out. That's for tonight. My friend told me her sister went to a nightmarish speed dating event this Black Friday. I went to one of those once and vowed never to subject myself to that torture and humiliation again. You're practically forced to date someone you'd normally turn down. And there are regulars because the events are doomed to fail.
I've been wary about doing a speed dating event in Huntington. I'm afraid I will run into Lightweight. You might remember that freak from one of my earlier entries. He's the jerk who swore I was once a man.
When he got there, the crowds had dispersed. Bro attributes this to everyone shopping in the middle of the night to beat the crowds only to leave the place empty. Toys R Us opened at midnight on Thanksgiving.
It wasn't as bad as I would have thought because I went in the evening. So there I was on Black Friday braving the crowds that remained because I needed a dress for my office's annual Christmas Hanukkah party. Last year I wore a red dress with an A-line skirt. My co-workers raved about how fabulous they thought I looked. They told me I should wear more red because it creates a beautiful contrast against my dark brown hair.
So this time I bought a strapless red Jessica McClintock that comes halfway down my thighs and has a poofy skirt. I love it. It's the kind of dress I would have made fun of as a mid-90s high school student. But now with leggings and large tops coming back, it's adorable. When I looked at photos of my older brother's junior prom in 1988, I noticed that the girls wore dresses just like mine along with big hair and tons of mousse. As a little girl, I used to crimp my hair to get that same look. While I will wear the clothes from that era, I can pass on the hair.
I went to the Awesome 80s Prom in the fall but didn't dress for the occasion. If I go again, I already have a dress to recycle. I was too young to wear one like it back in that era. Incidentally, my friend saw LisaLisa on NBC this morning. He said that she was "no longer the hotness" she once was. We're talking over twenty years, and aging is a bigger bitch to women than it is to men. She's touring again.
Eighties style aside, red is seasonably appropriate for me. I once knew a redhead who complained that her hair color forbade her to wear red. She hated it, although I thought she had beautiful hair. My quest for a dress led to me dropping a few hundred dollars at Macy's for a new wardrobe, two pairs of black pants and a few tops, including a styled green sweater. I've noticed that green looks great on redheads.
The line wasn't long at all by the time I got to the store. A customer ahead of me was bickering with the sales clerk. She tried to gain my sympathy. The clerk had been rude to her the whole time. She expressed to me what she'd been dying to tell the clerk but couldn't bring herself to,"If you've been stressed all day and you're tired, go home." Black Friday understandably drove the clerk off the deep end.
But, I'm so happy I went shopping last night instead of going out. That's for tonight. My friend told me her sister went to a nightmarish speed dating event this Black Friday. I went to one of those once and vowed never to subject myself to that torture and humiliation again. You're practically forced to date someone you'd normally turn down. And there are regulars because the events are doomed to fail.
I've been wary about doing a speed dating event in Huntington. I'm afraid I will run into Lightweight. You might remember that freak from one of my earlier entries. He's the jerk who swore I was once a man.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Death By Turkey Before Black Friday and a Call for the DA to Crack Down
This year I over did it with the turkey. The night before Thanksgiving my mother made a turkey dinner. We were going somewhere the next day so why not? My family was spending Thanksgiving at the Suffolk County home of this couple we are close to. We were there for Easter, too.
I love eating the neck of the turkey, so Mom saved it for me when I got home from work on Wednesday. And then the next day, it was part of the gravy recipe. At the Suffolk dinner, there was so much food. First we had trays of hor d'ouerves and a clam dip I always look forward to when we go over there. Turkey, of course, and stuffing, the usual. And then she made this acorn squash with butter and brown sugar that I could eat all day and these mashed potatoes from scratch. They prepared virtually all of this food under the direction of the Williams-Sonoma Thanksgiving cookbook that I want to pick up.
I've always wanted to entertain my family for the holidays at my place. I love to cook. I've made delicious meals from my cooking for one collection. I don't think the tiny oven I have at my bachelorette pad provides for a big turkey dinner with trimmings though. I'd need the stove for about five different dishes. And forget about making the many courses I got for Thanksgiving this year. I would have to take the whole week off to cook.
Usually when I cook on a regular weekday I have leftovers for the next two days, lunch to bring to work and then dinner. I should be cooking for a family, but what can you do. My assignment this year was just to bake chocolate chip cookies for dessert. That was easy enough. My family thinks mine are the best.
On an unrelated note, the bridge of my nose is still sore because in her playful state, my dog jumped up on the couch while I was trying to relax and pounced happily on my face before licking me as I cried in agony. She has been contained outside of my living room at last. The electric fence is operating again.
As I came in from walking the canine princess of the pad, I saw a notice posted on the entrance of the apartment building from the co-op board. Earlier in the week someone called the police to report a suspicious person wandering around the complex. The board warned us that with the holiday season among us it's time to watch out for our deliveries. Last year several packages were reported stolen from the lobbies of the buildings.
Those thefts included gifts I purchased for the children in my life. Not only did it make me cry on Christmas morning last year, but it meant a $500 loss in a failing economy where the lucky few of us who kept our jobs did not receive holiday bonuses and the masses became unemployed. I spent a few months saving money to replace the gifts that I didn't have to give to the children right away.
I hope that the crook at least sold the American dolls cheap to a needy child who wouldn't otherwise get one. That being said though I would rather they come from charities as opposed to illegal activity.
This brings me to Kathleen Rice, the Nassau County District Attorney. Petty crime has been an ongoing problem in my neighborhood. I live in Garden City. It's a nice area, but my complex is located not far from the worst part of Hempstead for violent crime, drugs and prostitution - Terrace Avenue.
Rice won re-election this year in a close race against Joy Watson, Clerk for the Honorable Karen Murphy. The District Attorney is a native of Garden City as am I. So, I would hope that these criminal activities that concern myself and my neighbors will catch her eye. A few years ago, just before I purchased my co-op, a woman returning home from grocery shopping was assaulted in the parking lot by three assailants. A law enforcement agent, she carried a gun. As a result of the requisite training she had, the victim provided authorities proper identifications which resulted in the arrest and prosecution of all three.
Nevertheless, crime continues to plague the vicinity. One night when I was walking from the parking lot, I spotted the occasional used condom we residents haven't quite gotten used to finding. The johns drive the prostitutes over to the parking lot there for sex. I've spotted them in broad daylight on a Sunday morning and after work on a Thursday night. The johns almost always drive cars with out of state plates. I guess they rent them thinking they won't be caught that way if someone took down the number.
One Sunday I spotted a frizzy-haired hooker with too much hairspray embracing her clean-cut looking john in his car. I hoped he wasn't a Hofstra student. He wore a baseball cap and didn't look a day over 21. Although recommended to reduce the risk of contracting sexually transmitted diseases, condoms are not 100% effective, son. They were completely oblivious to the possibility of being caught.
But most are aware that they are being watched. When I was driving home one night, a couple I spotted kissing in the parking lot became alarmed upon my arrival. They stopped their sexual rendezvous and watched me get out of my car and walk toward the complex until I disappeared from sight. When they couldn't see me anymore, I called the police.
They are endangering the residents of the complex and the surrounding houses as well as the children who play on the swings by depositing their medical waste where we head out to our cars. It's especially egregious when it's not so difficult for them to drop their rubbers in the trash receptacles. They're already doing something illegal by shooting up and having sex for pay; they can at least not add reckless endangerment to the list that includes theft.
I grew up several blocks northwest of where I live now. Sometimes I would spot suspicious people rounding tons of bikes across the railroad tracks. Nowadays, I find the thieves closer to the final destination of their delivery routes.
My neighborhood itself is generally safe. It would be perfect if the riff-raff that trolls for prostitutes on Terrace Avenue were to stay away from our parking lot.
DA Rice, you've made history by refusing to plea bargain with drunk drivers. Make it one more time by cleaning up this part of your hometown.
This Black Friday I will remain safely at my keyboard. I refuse to brave the crowds like the one that killed that poor man at the Valley Stream WalMart last year. But like my dating life where there is a always a catch when I meet a new guy who seems so perfect until he disappears on me without a trace, I have to brave the package thieves. Mom agreed to serve as custodian of my gift packages this year.
One of Mom's co-workers says she's heading to the mall at 3 in the morning. She will sleep against the wall of the Macy's building as if it were 8 in the morning at Times Square on New Year's Eve.
I love eating the neck of the turkey, so Mom saved it for me when I got home from work on Wednesday. And then the next day, it was part of the gravy recipe. At the Suffolk dinner, there was so much food. First we had trays of hor d'ouerves and a clam dip I always look forward to when we go over there. Turkey, of course, and stuffing, the usual. And then she made this acorn squash with butter and brown sugar that I could eat all day and these mashed potatoes from scratch. They prepared virtually all of this food under the direction of the Williams-Sonoma Thanksgiving cookbook that I want to pick up.
I've always wanted to entertain my family for the holidays at my place. I love to cook. I've made delicious meals from my cooking for one collection. I don't think the tiny oven I have at my bachelorette pad provides for a big turkey dinner with trimmings though. I'd need the stove for about five different dishes. And forget about making the many courses I got for Thanksgiving this year. I would have to take the whole week off to cook.
Usually when I cook on a regular weekday I have leftovers for the next two days, lunch to bring to work and then dinner. I should be cooking for a family, but what can you do. My assignment this year was just to bake chocolate chip cookies for dessert. That was easy enough. My family thinks mine are the best.
On an unrelated note, the bridge of my nose is still sore because in her playful state, my dog jumped up on the couch while I was trying to relax and pounced happily on my face before licking me as I cried in agony. She has been contained outside of my living room at last. The electric fence is operating again.
As I came in from walking the canine princess of the pad, I saw a notice posted on the entrance of the apartment building from the co-op board. Earlier in the week someone called the police to report a suspicious person wandering around the complex. The board warned us that with the holiday season among us it's time to watch out for our deliveries. Last year several packages were reported stolen from the lobbies of the buildings.
Those thefts included gifts I purchased for the children in my life. Not only did it make me cry on Christmas morning last year, but it meant a $500 loss in a failing economy where the lucky few of us who kept our jobs did not receive holiday bonuses and the masses became unemployed. I spent a few months saving money to replace the gifts that I didn't have to give to the children right away.
I hope that the crook at least sold the American dolls cheap to a needy child who wouldn't otherwise get one. That being said though I would rather they come from charities as opposed to illegal activity.
This brings me to Kathleen Rice, the Nassau County District Attorney. Petty crime has been an ongoing problem in my neighborhood. I live in Garden City. It's a nice area, but my complex is located not far from the worst part of Hempstead for violent crime, drugs and prostitution - Terrace Avenue.
Rice won re-election this year in a close race against Joy Watson, Clerk for the Honorable Karen Murphy. The District Attorney is a native of Garden City as am I. So, I would hope that these criminal activities that concern myself and my neighbors will catch her eye. A few years ago, just before I purchased my co-op, a woman returning home from grocery shopping was assaulted in the parking lot by three assailants. A law enforcement agent, she carried a gun. As a result of the requisite training she had, the victim provided authorities proper identifications which resulted in the arrest and prosecution of all three.
Nevertheless, crime continues to plague the vicinity. One night when I was walking from the parking lot, I spotted the occasional used condom we residents haven't quite gotten used to finding. The johns drive the prostitutes over to the parking lot there for sex. I've spotted them in broad daylight on a Sunday morning and after work on a Thursday night. The johns almost always drive cars with out of state plates. I guess they rent them thinking they won't be caught that way if someone took down the number.
One Sunday I spotted a frizzy-haired hooker with too much hairspray embracing her clean-cut looking john in his car. I hoped he wasn't a Hofstra student. He wore a baseball cap and didn't look a day over 21. Although recommended to reduce the risk of contracting sexually transmitted diseases, condoms are not 100% effective, son. They were completely oblivious to the possibility of being caught.
But most are aware that they are being watched. When I was driving home one night, a couple I spotted kissing in the parking lot became alarmed upon my arrival. They stopped their sexual rendezvous and watched me get out of my car and walk toward the complex until I disappeared from sight. When they couldn't see me anymore, I called the police.
They are endangering the residents of the complex and the surrounding houses as well as the children who play on the swings by depositing their medical waste where we head out to our cars. It's especially egregious when it's not so difficult for them to drop their rubbers in the trash receptacles. They're already doing something illegal by shooting up and having sex for pay; they can at least not add reckless endangerment to the list that includes theft.
I grew up several blocks northwest of where I live now. Sometimes I would spot suspicious people rounding tons of bikes across the railroad tracks. Nowadays, I find the thieves closer to the final destination of their delivery routes.
My neighborhood itself is generally safe. It would be perfect if the riff-raff that trolls for prostitutes on Terrace Avenue were to stay away from our parking lot.
DA Rice, you've made history by refusing to plea bargain with drunk drivers. Make it one more time by cleaning up this part of your hometown.
This Black Friday I will remain safely at my keyboard. I refuse to brave the crowds like the one that killed that poor man at the Valley Stream WalMart last year. But like my dating life where there is a always a catch when I meet a new guy who seems so perfect until he disappears on me without a trace, I have to brave the package thieves. Mom agreed to serve as custodian of my gift packages this year.
One of Mom's co-workers says she's heading to the mall at 3 in the morning. She will sleep against the wall of the Macy's building as if it were 8 in the morning at Times Square on New Year's Eve.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Times Square, Small Talk and the Titanic
This past Saturday afternoon I took the train in to Manhattan. I met my singles group near Times Square and visited the Titanic Exhibition. You can meet interesting people on the Long Island Railroad. My friend told me on her LIRR line she met this Asian woman in her 60's. It sounds like my Mom's profile for starters.
According to my friend, she had a hippie look to her. This amazing woman was never married. She's a nurse for the American Red Cross who has lived all over the world as a consequence of her job. On her own, she raised six children, four of whom she adopted in third world countries and two from her deceased brother. All this on her own! Imagine that.
She was taking a train into the city all the way from Suffolk County just to buy special ingredients to make Asian dishes. That's dedication. I don't understand why in light of there being wonderful women like her in this world men are marrying and reproducing with these shrews who make their lives difficult and only want their husbands' paychecks. And then generous women like Nurse Red Cross who are good cooks and manage to raise six kids solo remain spinsters.
Before I embark on another "Why her and not me" war dance, I want to take a moment to express how much this woman's story has inspired me. Someday I do plan to start a family of my own with or without a man. I'm a phenomenal cook, too. My kids will love me. I'd love to be the kind of mother that this nurse is.
As I got off the train at Penn Station, I was tempted to walk up ten blocks but felt pressed for time and decided to hop on the 2. I'm not a human compass or GPS system. I have a complete lack of direction by foot and car. So when I got off the train and exited from the turnstile I saw a sign for NW exit.
I was trying to navigate uptown two blocks. Wouldn't North be a higher number? SOHO is in the southern part of Manhattan whereas Harlem is in the north. Logically if I were going north regardless of whether I'm heading east or west, I would assume the street numbers would go up. Right? Wrong. I end up on West 41st. Rats!
Before I realized I was heading in the wrong direction, a street corner solicitor tried to stop me, waving pamphlets with pizza coupons in my face. I walked past him quickly. I hate soliciting. I did a 180 and turned to find him coughing up a wad of phlegm and spitting it out near the entrance of a restaurant. I thought to myself, I'll pass on that pizza. It made the Fish and Chips I ate later on taste that much better. That's what I love about Irish pubs in Manhattan; I've never tried fish and chips I didn't like.
So, I'm looking at the Titanic artifacts as soon as they give me my mock boarding pass. You're supposed to check at the end of the exhibit to see if your passenger survived. My person did. But one of her children died as did two men who accompanied her. I felt a bit guilty for somebody. Our admission fee is paying someone's salary. It's almost blood money when you consider the thousands who perished.
I remember watching Titanic starring Leonardo DiCaprio with my mother when it came out in 1997. (They had a viewing in the gift shop.) It wasn't the three-hour duration that irked me as much as the fact that Jack didn't survive and that Rose's arrogant ex-fiance did only to blow his brains out when the market crashed in '29. But I promised myself not to sit through it again because it was a reenactment of how people actually died in a real-life tragedy.
As I came to the first artifacts on display at the exhibit - clippings from periodicals, I snapped a photo only to be stopped by a guard. She politely reminded me that the works were copyrighted and that the items were delicate because they were at one time soaked in water and are very old. I immediately placed my camera back in the bag for the remainder of the tour.
This little encounter was reminiscent of my trip to the Vatican. The guards at the Sistine Chapel are notoriously rude. They yell at tourists not to take photographs, but they continue to do so even after being instructed not to. This girl was polite when she told me not to photograph Titanic artifacts. I listened. Compare and contrast with the dudes in Vatican City. People listen when you are nice; they don't if you yell.
The Titanic displays included actual replicas of the furniture in first class cabins and a menu from Cafe Parisien where these upper crust passengers dined. They even saved cooking oil from Parisien. Cooking oil from almost a century ago! Gross! That's one valuable artifact they don't have to worry about being stolen unless someone has a strong stomach.
According to my friend, she had a hippie look to her. This amazing woman was never married. She's a nurse for the American Red Cross who has lived all over the world as a consequence of her job. On her own, she raised six children, four of whom she adopted in third world countries and two from her deceased brother. All this on her own! Imagine that.
She was taking a train into the city all the way from Suffolk County just to buy special ingredients to make Asian dishes. That's dedication. I don't understand why in light of there being wonderful women like her in this world men are marrying and reproducing with these shrews who make their lives difficult and only want their husbands' paychecks. And then generous women like Nurse Red Cross who are good cooks and manage to raise six kids solo remain spinsters.
Before I embark on another "Why her and not me" war dance, I want to take a moment to express how much this woman's story has inspired me. Someday I do plan to start a family of my own with or without a man. I'm a phenomenal cook, too. My kids will love me. I'd love to be the kind of mother that this nurse is.
As I got off the train at Penn Station, I was tempted to walk up ten blocks but felt pressed for time and decided to hop on the 2. I'm not a human compass or GPS system. I have a complete lack of direction by foot and car. So when I got off the train and exited from the turnstile I saw a sign for NW exit.
I was trying to navigate uptown two blocks. Wouldn't North be a higher number? SOHO is in the southern part of Manhattan whereas Harlem is in the north. Logically if I were going north regardless of whether I'm heading east or west, I would assume the street numbers would go up. Right? Wrong. I end up on West 41st. Rats!
Before I realized I was heading in the wrong direction, a street corner solicitor tried to stop me, waving pamphlets with pizza coupons in my face. I walked past him quickly. I hate soliciting. I did a 180 and turned to find him coughing up a wad of phlegm and spitting it out near the entrance of a restaurant. I thought to myself, I'll pass on that pizza. It made the Fish and Chips I ate later on taste that much better. That's what I love about Irish pubs in Manhattan; I've never tried fish and chips I didn't like.
So, I'm looking at the Titanic artifacts as soon as they give me my mock boarding pass. You're supposed to check at the end of the exhibit to see if your passenger survived. My person did. But one of her children died as did two men who accompanied her. I felt a bit guilty for somebody. Our admission fee is paying someone's salary. It's almost blood money when you consider the thousands who perished.
I remember watching Titanic starring Leonardo DiCaprio with my mother when it came out in 1997. (They had a viewing in the gift shop.) It wasn't the three-hour duration that irked me as much as the fact that Jack didn't survive and that Rose's arrogant ex-fiance did only to blow his brains out when the market crashed in '29. But I promised myself not to sit through it again because it was a reenactment of how people actually died in a real-life tragedy.
As I came to the first artifacts on display at the exhibit - clippings from periodicals, I snapped a photo only to be stopped by a guard. She politely reminded me that the works were copyrighted and that the items were delicate because they were at one time soaked in water and are very old. I immediately placed my camera back in the bag for the remainder of the tour.
This little encounter was reminiscent of my trip to the Vatican. The guards at the Sistine Chapel are notoriously rude. They yell at tourists not to take photographs, but they continue to do so even after being instructed not to. This girl was polite when she told me not to photograph Titanic artifacts. I listened. Compare and contrast with the dudes in Vatican City. People listen when you are nice; they don't if you yell.
The Titanic displays included actual replicas of the furniture in first class cabins and a menu from Cafe Parisien where these upper crust passengers dined. They even saved cooking oil from Parisien. Cooking oil from almost a century ago! Gross! That's one valuable artifact they don't have to worry about being stolen unless someone has a strong stomach.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Rainy November Day Observations From a Flu Symptom Sufferer
For a few weeks, I was looking forward to the possibility of attending either of two events in Manhattan tonight. The first was this huge happy hour at Fashion 40 courtesy of a Facebook friend and the other was a screening of the film Indelible with a reception to follow to benefit the Innocence Project. I could use a cocktail and the latter event would have been a great way to network and support a worthy cause.
Unfortunately, it was raining on this Thursday in November. I received a general message on Facebook urging prospective attendees of the happy hour not to let the rain scare us. (The rain stopped later on, but it was still windy.) But I've been couped up in my apartment since Tuesday because I was suffering from flu symptoms. Doc said it wouldn't be a great idea for me to brave the subway crowds with my resistance as low as it is.
This really ticks me off considering my mother, a physician, gave me the standard flu shot back in September. Rats! So much for immunity! My health has placed a damper on my social life.
I was also looking forward to going to Macy's for the Veterans' Day Sale, but I was too sick to step out of my house yesterday. Another unused coupon clipping from Newsday to throw away. So today I checked out the emailed ads for Midnight Madness sales from Smartbargains.com and am in the process of buying Christmas decorations for my dining and living rooms - a Santa centerpiece and a tree skirt - from the safety of my home PC.
Speaking of shopping I turned on News 12 Long Island during my sick time and saw a commercial for WalMart. It featured Christmas music as the camera scanned the aisles at an unidentified WalMart store. The background female voice then said that the retail giant was adding checkouts and extending their hours for the holidays - and I paraphrase - to serve customers better. Don't you love the way people and businesses for that matter sugar coat the underlying reason for their proactive measures?
Newsday's headline more accurately outlines the retailer's motives. "LI Black Friday Death Spurs 24-hour Walmarts." No shit! Last year on Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, an overeager crowd at the WalMart at Green Acres Mall in Valley Stream, NY pushed through the doors and stampeded over people to get into the store for the proverbial holiday bargains. As a result of the chaos, a woman who was eight months pregnant was injured, and 34-year-old Jdimytai Damour, a temporary bodyguard hired by Walmart for the holidays was killed.
Damour stood 6 foot 5 inches tall and weighed 270 pounds. This explains why they planted him at the entrance. They didn't account for the force with which a large, fast crowd could take down a quarterback. Somebody died. They are taking preventive measures after last year's tragedy, which is great, but what I don't like is that in light of a death last year at one of their stores they are marketing it as though it's to make shopping at WalMart more convenient for me so it will be my first and more frequent stop this holiday season.
Unwilling to listen to the repeat round of local news, I switched the TV off and glanced at a basket of books in my living room. I had several cookbooks in the woven container - one for simple, fast dishes (a must for the single cook who lives alone) and my hardcover copy of "The Sopranos" cookbook with a photo of James Gandolfini from my last entry.
I also had my father's copy of Jane Eyre. My dog Fiona, a German shorthair pointer mix I adopted from North Shore Animal League, chewed it up so it's now unreadable. I keep it for sentimental reasons as my father, a wonderful man who gave my cousins gifts on his birthday to show it was "better to give than to receive," is now unfortunately deceased.
I've been forced to take the basket of books to my bedroom so Fiona won't chew them. The invisible fence that once kept her contained outside the living room is broken, so she's pretty much gotten the run of the house. After three days of having Mommy at home to pamper her, Fiona will be furious when I go back to work. I expect her to wreak havoc. I don't want her on the sofa, but she helps herself until I return and order her off.
I'm feeling better now. It's back to the grind as early as tomorrow morning. Here's me being proactive. The doc put me on TamiFlu, a swine flu prevention pill.
I can't wait to go back to work. I've been going stir crazy here. It's depressing because it's also been rainy and I can hear the droplets trickle on the window sill. News12 also reported that dark chocolate relieves stress. Consequently, it would ameliorate symptoms of depression. My personal favorite is dark chocolate almond bark.
In the movie The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, Rebecca DeMornay's character Peyton makes a comment that they say "chocolate is a substitute for sex." I wish they didn't give that line to a homicidal maniac of a player in the film. It's so true. Like dark chocolate, sex is also a stress reliever. The two go hand in hand. And they can compete for my affection. Who needs a guy who will create drama for you when you can savor the flavor of cocoa?
Goodbye, Sertraline! Hello, Godiva! They should offer Black Friday deals. Sell more dark chocolate. It's good for you. I'm going to website right now to order some. No, I think I'm going to head over to the mall and pick some up this weekend. Shipping costs are a bitch for just a little chocolate.
Unfortunately, it was raining on this Thursday in November. I received a general message on Facebook urging prospective attendees of the happy hour not to let the rain scare us. (The rain stopped later on, but it was still windy.) But I've been couped up in my apartment since Tuesday because I was suffering from flu symptoms. Doc said it wouldn't be a great idea for me to brave the subway crowds with my resistance as low as it is.
This really ticks me off considering my mother, a physician, gave me the standard flu shot back in September. Rats! So much for immunity! My health has placed a damper on my social life.
I was also looking forward to going to Macy's for the Veterans' Day Sale, but I was too sick to step out of my house yesterday. Another unused coupon clipping from Newsday to throw away. So today I checked out the emailed ads for Midnight Madness sales from Smartbargains.com and am in the process of buying Christmas decorations for my dining and living rooms - a Santa centerpiece and a tree skirt - from the safety of my home PC.
Speaking of shopping I turned on News 12 Long Island during my sick time and saw a commercial for WalMart. It featured Christmas music as the camera scanned the aisles at an unidentified WalMart store. The background female voice then said that the retail giant was adding checkouts and extending their hours for the holidays - and I paraphrase - to serve customers better. Don't you love the way people and businesses for that matter sugar coat the underlying reason for their proactive measures?
Newsday's headline more accurately outlines the retailer's motives. "LI Black Friday Death Spurs 24-hour Walmarts." No shit! Last year on Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, an overeager crowd at the WalMart at Green Acres Mall in Valley Stream, NY pushed through the doors and stampeded over people to get into the store for the proverbial holiday bargains. As a result of the chaos, a woman who was eight months pregnant was injured, and 34-year-old Jdimytai Damour, a temporary bodyguard hired by Walmart for the holidays was killed.
Damour stood 6 foot 5 inches tall and weighed 270 pounds. This explains why they planted him at the entrance. They didn't account for the force with which a large, fast crowd could take down a quarterback. Somebody died. They are taking preventive measures after last year's tragedy, which is great, but what I don't like is that in light of a death last year at one of their stores they are marketing it as though it's to make shopping at WalMart more convenient for me so it will be my first and more frequent stop this holiday season.
Unwilling to listen to the repeat round of local news, I switched the TV off and glanced at a basket of books in my living room. I had several cookbooks in the woven container - one for simple, fast dishes (a must for the single cook who lives alone) and my hardcover copy of "The Sopranos" cookbook with a photo of James Gandolfini from my last entry.
I also had my father's copy of Jane Eyre. My dog Fiona, a German shorthair pointer mix I adopted from North Shore Animal League, chewed it up so it's now unreadable. I keep it for sentimental reasons as my father, a wonderful man who gave my cousins gifts on his birthday to show it was "better to give than to receive," is now unfortunately deceased.
I've been forced to take the basket of books to my bedroom so Fiona won't chew them. The invisible fence that once kept her contained outside the living room is broken, so she's pretty much gotten the run of the house. After three days of having Mommy at home to pamper her, Fiona will be furious when I go back to work. I expect her to wreak havoc. I don't want her on the sofa, but she helps herself until I return and order her off.
I'm feeling better now. It's back to the grind as early as tomorrow morning. Here's me being proactive. The doc put me on TamiFlu, a swine flu prevention pill.
I can't wait to go back to work. I've been going stir crazy here. It's depressing because it's also been rainy and I can hear the droplets trickle on the window sill. News12 also reported that dark chocolate relieves stress. Consequently, it would ameliorate symptoms of depression. My personal favorite is dark chocolate almond bark.
In the movie The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, Rebecca DeMornay's character Peyton makes a comment that they say "chocolate is a substitute for sex." I wish they didn't give that line to a homicidal maniac of a player in the film. It's so true. Like dark chocolate, sex is also a stress reliever. The two go hand in hand. And they can compete for my affection. Who needs a guy who will create drama for you when you can savor the flavor of cocoa?
Goodbye, Sertraline! Hello, Godiva! They should offer Black Friday deals. Sell more dark chocolate. It's good for you. I'm going to website right now to order some. No, I think I'm going to head over to the mall and pick some up this weekend. Shipping costs are a bitch for just a little chocolate.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Don't Break My Face, James Gandolfini
The New York Post loves the cast of "The Sopranos." Last week Page Six reported that Robert Iler who played A.J. was celebrating the Yankees World Series win at the parade. And before his last curtain call at "God of Carnage," they reported James Gandolfini having a drink at a nearby bar.
On Monday morning I checked out Page Six. A typical woman I have an affinity for gossip. One headline read "Don't Pester James Gandolfini." The Post reported that James Gandolfini was shopping at a boutique with his stepmother in the West Village on Halloween. An amateur camera man was filming him by the entrance from a safe distance away. Gandolfini wasn't pleased.
The Post made the video available online sans the euphemistic beeps on James' words. With firm, flattened lips, the actor most famous for his role as Tony Soprano on the HBO series "The Sopranos," angrily stormed a few doors down from the store to where the camera man had planted himself and hissed, "Get the fuck away from me." As he approached the amateur photographer, who was telling him to calm down, he yelled, "You understand? I'm going to break your fucking face." The livid star then slams the camera down as we can tell by the angles at the conclusion of the clip.
To protect the innocence of a child who might pick up his or her father's morning Post, this fine publication watered James Gandolfini's words down to "I'm going to break your bleeping face." Come on! I hate censorship. Times have changed. Do they expect us to believe that the kids who pick up the paper don't know what he really said or can't go online and find the video and hear it for themselves? The bleep treatment is pointless.
I had my own run-in with James Gandolfini a couple of years ago. No, I don't stalk celebrities with the camera. My friend and I went to a club in Westbury, NY where many of the cast members of "The Sopranos" would be hanging out in a VIP section. Celebrities and cast and crew members as well as their friends and family were spending time with James. The starstruck common people like myself all hovered around the VIP section and gawked like the bundled up crowds before a Christmas light and ornament display.
If any of us peasants should dare get out of hand, there were bodyguards in business suits blocking off the steps and the railed barricade. Every time James Gandolfini wanted to go to the men's room to the right side of the VIP section, an army of guards would shuffle on each side of him like pallbearers at a funeral procession. The sequence played itself out like a choreographed dance number at an awards show.
I used to watch the show religiously up until just before Tony had Adriana (Drea DeMatteo who now plays Angie on my favorite show "Desperate Housewives") whacked for being a snitch. But my schedule prevented me from remaining an avid viewer. I was trying to pass the bar exam and afterwards when "Desperate Housewives" came on the air the chick show took the top spot.
Die-hard fans who wanted to act like Hollywood royalty and hang out with James Gandolfini, Michael Imperioli and Robert Iler in the VIP section while peons like myself looked on could purchase tickets for several thousand dollars. I was tempted to do that, but it would have eaten up all the savings I had as a newly-admitted attorney employed by a Long Island firm. And I had just purchased my home not too long ago and wasn't ready for a refinance.
So my friend and I were reduced to standing around and ogling James from afar. She took some shots with her camera phone and I took out my disposable, but they weren't too good because it was dark and people kept passing by. I wasn't going to snap shots too close to him. Stars are people, too, and they need their space.
I've been in close quarters with celebrities before. Some years earlier I saw Cynthia Nixon in uptown Manhattan when she was pregnant with her son. My then-boyfriend and I approached her and I said, "Excuse me. Are you Cynthia Nixon?" She responded affirmatively, and I told her I watched her show "Sex and the City." She thanked me, and my beau and I walked on, not wanting to intrude on her privacy.
At some point during my ogling of James Gandolfini, I walked around the enclosure and cocked my head to one side in an attempt to get a better glimpse of him. A stern young bodyguard in a business suit stepped in my way. "I can't let you get up here," he hissed. I told him I was only trying to see better.
If only he knew who I was! I'm not a celebrity, but I really cannot afford to harass famous people. I wasn't some 21-year old groupie or a paparazza; I was admitted to practice law in New York. He wasn't going to have to grab me in case I climbed the blockade and forced my mere mortal self into James' arms without his consent. I'm more civilized than that.
I have high standards to uphold. A few months after that club appearance James Gandolfini would attend the overturning of the double murder conviction of Martin Tankleff, his wrongfully convicted personal friend, at the Second Appellate Division in Brooklyn in the same court room where I was sworn in to practice. It was there where I had signed the roll of attorneys from which my name would be stricken should they disbar me for an attack on James.
I can understand James' fury. Who wants someone filming them while they are carrying out daily routines? I don't care if you're a celebrity. You do have some reasonable expectation of privacy. It's not like this kid was running the security cameras at the place. I don't think you have to nab James Gandolfini on film at a store. He's not going to shoplift anything. The guy's got more money to his name than a thousand times the value of all of the merchandise in that store on any given day.
Unfortunately for me, though, I couldn't get away with giving an ass kicking to a nosy videographer who desperately deserved it. There would be serious legal consequences because I'm just an average commoner without star power. Let's analyze the tape for a bit. It shows James Gandolfini approaching the guy and threatening to "break (his) face." Technically, the guy could have had him charged with aggravated harassment. He made specific threats to do physical harm and slammed the camera down. That's what got Michael Lohan arrested in a dispute with his brother-in-law.
But that being said, a friend of James Gandolfini said that the paparazzo had been pestering him for an extended time. He only caught James coming after him on film. We don't know what events prior to him turning on his lens brought Gandolfini to a breaking point such that he would want to "break (the guy's) face."
The NYPD wouldn't have acted on it. Tony Soprano is beloved and no deadbeat like Michael. If it reached that point and James Gandolfini hired me to defend him (yeah, right), I'd argue necessity as a viable defense. These paparazzi have seriously gotten out of hand. One of them accidentally killed Princess Diana and her boyfriend over a decade ago.
This isn't the first time a shutterfly caused James Gandolfini to lose his cool. Jason Ertischek, a Brooklyn born fan, approached him and his wife model Deborah Lin at JFK Airport in early 2008 and asked if he could be a "Sopranos baby." What the fuck! I'd probably whack someone for making such a corny comment. Gandolfini allegedly choked Ertischek and punched him on the right cheek. Afterwards, he reportedly apologized to Ertischek and agreed to take a picture with him.
Too late! Now, Jason Ertischek has filed a lawsuit against the "Sopranos" actor in Kings County Supreme Court. This kid must think he's hit the jackpot. Ertischek loved his fifteen minutes too much and now he's trying to score a million off the star.
What caught my eye is that the judge presiding over Ertischek vs. Gandolfini is the Honorable Arthur M. Schack. I've appeared in Judge Schack's court room. The next appearance date for the Gandolfini case according to the New York State Unified Court System website is November 30, 2009.
On Monday morning I checked out Page Six. A typical woman I have an affinity for gossip. One headline read "Don't Pester James Gandolfini." The Post reported that James Gandolfini was shopping at a boutique with his stepmother in the West Village on Halloween. An amateur camera man was filming him by the entrance from a safe distance away. Gandolfini wasn't pleased.
The Post made the video available online sans the euphemistic beeps on James' words. With firm, flattened lips, the actor most famous for his role as Tony Soprano on the HBO series "The Sopranos," angrily stormed a few doors down from the store to where the camera man had planted himself and hissed, "Get the fuck away from me." As he approached the amateur photographer, who was telling him to calm down, he yelled, "You understand? I'm going to break your fucking face." The livid star then slams the camera down as we can tell by the angles at the conclusion of the clip.
To protect the innocence of a child who might pick up his or her father's morning Post, this fine publication watered James Gandolfini's words down to "I'm going to break your bleeping face." Come on! I hate censorship. Times have changed. Do they expect us to believe that the kids who pick up the paper don't know what he really said or can't go online and find the video and hear it for themselves? The bleep treatment is pointless.
I had my own run-in with James Gandolfini a couple of years ago. No, I don't stalk celebrities with the camera. My friend and I went to a club in Westbury, NY where many of the cast members of "The Sopranos" would be hanging out in a VIP section. Celebrities and cast and crew members as well as their friends and family were spending time with James. The starstruck common people like myself all hovered around the VIP section and gawked like the bundled up crowds before a Christmas light and ornament display.
If any of us peasants should dare get out of hand, there were bodyguards in business suits blocking off the steps and the railed barricade. Every time James Gandolfini wanted to go to the men's room to the right side of the VIP section, an army of guards would shuffle on each side of him like pallbearers at a funeral procession. The sequence played itself out like a choreographed dance number at an awards show.
I used to watch the show religiously up until just before Tony had Adriana (Drea DeMatteo who now plays Angie on my favorite show "Desperate Housewives") whacked for being a snitch. But my schedule prevented me from remaining an avid viewer. I was trying to pass the bar exam and afterwards when "Desperate Housewives" came on the air the chick show took the top spot.
Die-hard fans who wanted to act like Hollywood royalty and hang out with James Gandolfini, Michael Imperioli and Robert Iler in the VIP section while peons like myself looked on could purchase tickets for several thousand dollars. I was tempted to do that, but it would have eaten up all the savings I had as a newly-admitted attorney employed by a Long Island firm. And I had just purchased my home not too long ago and wasn't ready for a refinance.
So my friend and I were reduced to standing around and ogling James from afar. She took some shots with her camera phone and I took out my disposable, but they weren't too good because it was dark and people kept passing by. I wasn't going to snap shots too close to him. Stars are people, too, and they need their space.
I've been in close quarters with celebrities before. Some years earlier I saw Cynthia Nixon in uptown Manhattan when she was pregnant with her son. My then-boyfriend and I approached her and I said, "Excuse me. Are you Cynthia Nixon?" She responded affirmatively, and I told her I watched her show "Sex and the City." She thanked me, and my beau and I walked on, not wanting to intrude on her privacy.
At some point during my ogling of James Gandolfini, I walked around the enclosure and cocked my head to one side in an attempt to get a better glimpse of him. A stern young bodyguard in a business suit stepped in my way. "I can't let you get up here," he hissed. I told him I was only trying to see better.
If only he knew who I was! I'm not a celebrity, but I really cannot afford to harass famous people. I wasn't some 21-year old groupie or a paparazza; I was admitted to practice law in New York. He wasn't going to have to grab me in case I climbed the blockade and forced my mere mortal self into James' arms without his consent. I'm more civilized than that.
I have high standards to uphold. A few months after that club appearance James Gandolfini would attend the overturning of the double murder conviction of Martin Tankleff, his wrongfully convicted personal friend, at the Second Appellate Division in Brooklyn in the same court room where I was sworn in to practice. It was there where I had signed the roll of attorneys from which my name would be stricken should they disbar me for an attack on James.
I can understand James' fury. Who wants someone filming them while they are carrying out daily routines? I don't care if you're a celebrity. You do have some reasonable expectation of privacy. It's not like this kid was running the security cameras at the place. I don't think you have to nab James Gandolfini on film at a store. He's not going to shoplift anything. The guy's got more money to his name than a thousand times the value of all of the merchandise in that store on any given day.
Unfortunately for me, though, I couldn't get away with giving an ass kicking to a nosy videographer who desperately deserved it. There would be serious legal consequences because I'm just an average commoner without star power. Let's analyze the tape for a bit. It shows James Gandolfini approaching the guy and threatening to "break (his) face." Technically, the guy could have had him charged with aggravated harassment. He made specific threats to do physical harm and slammed the camera down. That's what got Michael Lohan arrested in a dispute with his brother-in-law.
But that being said, a friend of James Gandolfini said that the paparazzo had been pestering him for an extended time. He only caught James coming after him on film. We don't know what events prior to him turning on his lens brought Gandolfini to a breaking point such that he would want to "break (the guy's) face."
The NYPD wouldn't have acted on it. Tony Soprano is beloved and no deadbeat like Michael. If it reached that point and James Gandolfini hired me to defend him (yeah, right), I'd argue necessity as a viable defense. These paparazzi have seriously gotten out of hand. One of them accidentally killed Princess Diana and her boyfriend over a decade ago.
This isn't the first time a shutterfly caused James Gandolfini to lose his cool. Jason Ertischek, a Brooklyn born fan, approached him and his wife model Deborah Lin at JFK Airport in early 2008 and asked if he could be a "Sopranos baby." What the fuck! I'd probably whack someone for making such a corny comment. Gandolfini allegedly choked Ertischek and punched him on the right cheek. Afterwards, he reportedly apologized to Ertischek and agreed to take a picture with him.
Too late! Now, Jason Ertischek has filed a lawsuit against the "Sopranos" actor in Kings County Supreme Court. This kid must think he's hit the jackpot. Ertischek loved his fifteen minutes too much and now he's trying to score a million off the star.
What caught my eye is that the judge presiding over Ertischek vs. Gandolfini is the Honorable Arthur M. Schack. I've appeared in Judge Schack's court room. The next appearance date for the Gandolfini case according to the New York State Unified Court System website is November 30, 2009.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
No More Fifteen Minutes for Kevin Federline
When I checked my Facebook home page and looked at a friend's status, she typed ruefully that Kevin Federline's girlfriend Volleyball star Victoria Prince might be pregnant. Good heavens! So I Googled him on my browser to find that it was the ever so reliable National Enquirer sounding a false alarm. Another report dated November 5, 2009 refuted this claim. I also saw a photo of him and Prince each carrying one of his sons with Britney Spears from some time in July.
I pointed out in an earlier entry that Kevin Federline is big as a house. He's apparently been feeding himself well with Britney's tour money. So why would an attractive professional athlete be bothered with someone like him? He has baggage and he's pretty much done now that his marriage to Britney is over as was expected from the day they announced their engagement. Was he ever taken seriously for starters? His rap album tanked upon release during his marriage to the pop superstar.
When he and Britney got married, I was fuming. So many guys find Britney hot as hell, so what the fuck was she doing with him? One woman I know who I will call Cathy claimed that another woman we both know who I will call Jane is such a bitch that Cathy cannot see any reason why Jane's husband stays with her other than that she must be great in bed. Maybe that's the reason why Britney settled for a backup dancer whose resume prior to celebrity includes 9th grade dropout.
This guy also previously dated and fathered two children with an actress Shar Jackson. He didn't do bad. I think that like Zsa Zsa Gabor who had a predilection for wealthy men Kevin leaches on to high-powered women by being a pimp in the sack. He even scores them when he's gotten to the point where he can now model Jabba The Hut's wardrobe.
I hear they signed him on to do "Celebrity Fit Club." Give me a break! His only accomplishment was marrying and impregnating celebrity women. They should let his star fade. I hate how these zeroes who should have stayed in their place because they did nothing independently to better themselves get romantically involved with celebrities. Then, they continue to whore their names out to make a buck long after the romance has gone sour.
He's no better than Jon Gosselin who's only famous because he has 8 kids and got a show with his wife who he mistreated and ditched for a younger pot smoking bimbo. So many couples have many kids and don't have a show or much money and manage to raise well-adjusted children without drama. They aren't frolicking on a beach in Saint Tropez with a mindless bimbo.
Jon Gosselin is taking a break from his girlfriend Hailey Glassman to clean up his image. He should have gotten that idea sooner. And now he's saying that the show endangers his kids. Jon, your antics since you've accidentally found fame are what poison your kids. As part of his attempt to clean up his persona, Jon also downplays his friendship with Lindsay Lohan's deadbeat drunken father Michael Lohan, who terrorizes his ex-wife and kids. Apparently, Jon "only met him once," and Papa Lohan is making it more than what it is. Jon should join a fraternity with Michael and Kevin.
Kevin Federline hit my radar once again when I heard on the radio that his landlord at his upscale apartment complex was evicting him. I just started handling Landlord Tenant matters, specifically the post-foreclosure evictions, so I was curious. Apparently, Kevin wasn't paying his rent and the place was filthy.
That's impossible! He gets $20,000 a month in child support from Britney. That would put him in the $300,000 a year plus earning bracket. Obama's health plan should tax him more than the average American. Is child support even taxable though? I don't make even an eighth of what he gets from Britney and I manage to pay my maintenance and a cleaning lady.
I'm sure not even an eighth of that support actually goes to the boys. He knows Britney has more than enough to afford to spoil them, so he happily spends his money on toys for his lady but mostly on his high-carb, high fat diet. The radio DJ commented that last year Britney was messed up and people started to view Kevin as the better parent. He then pointed out that with her new singles out and a tour Britney is back and Kevin is done. I agree.
Britney would have been just fine if it weren't for Kevin. He's the one who made her lose it that night. And I really don't know why the media dubbed her shaving her head "an antic." To each their own style-wise. Watch her thrive with Kevin out of her life.
I pointed out in an earlier entry that Kevin Federline is big as a house. He's apparently been feeding himself well with Britney's tour money. So why would an attractive professional athlete be bothered with someone like him? He has baggage and he's pretty much done now that his marriage to Britney is over as was expected from the day they announced their engagement. Was he ever taken seriously for starters? His rap album tanked upon release during his marriage to the pop superstar.
When he and Britney got married, I was fuming. So many guys find Britney hot as hell, so what the fuck was she doing with him? One woman I know who I will call Cathy claimed that another woman we both know who I will call Jane is such a bitch that Cathy cannot see any reason why Jane's husband stays with her other than that she must be great in bed. Maybe that's the reason why Britney settled for a backup dancer whose resume prior to celebrity includes 9th grade dropout.
This guy also previously dated and fathered two children with an actress Shar Jackson. He didn't do bad. I think that like Zsa Zsa Gabor who had a predilection for wealthy men Kevin leaches on to high-powered women by being a pimp in the sack. He even scores them when he's gotten to the point where he can now model Jabba The Hut's wardrobe.
I hear they signed him on to do "Celebrity Fit Club." Give me a break! His only accomplishment was marrying and impregnating celebrity women. They should let his star fade. I hate how these zeroes who should have stayed in their place because they did nothing independently to better themselves get romantically involved with celebrities. Then, they continue to whore their names out to make a buck long after the romance has gone sour.
He's no better than Jon Gosselin who's only famous because he has 8 kids and got a show with his wife who he mistreated and ditched for a younger pot smoking bimbo. So many couples have many kids and don't have a show or much money and manage to raise well-adjusted children without drama. They aren't frolicking on a beach in Saint Tropez with a mindless bimbo.
Jon Gosselin is taking a break from his girlfriend Hailey Glassman to clean up his image. He should have gotten that idea sooner. And now he's saying that the show endangers his kids. Jon, your antics since you've accidentally found fame are what poison your kids. As part of his attempt to clean up his persona, Jon also downplays his friendship with Lindsay Lohan's deadbeat drunken father Michael Lohan, who terrorizes his ex-wife and kids. Apparently, Jon "only met him once," and Papa Lohan is making it more than what it is. Jon should join a fraternity with Michael and Kevin.
Kevin Federline hit my radar once again when I heard on the radio that his landlord at his upscale apartment complex was evicting him. I just started handling Landlord Tenant matters, specifically the post-foreclosure evictions, so I was curious. Apparently, Kevin wasn't paying his rent and the place was filthy.
That's impossible! He gets $20,000 a month in child support from Britney. That would put him in the $300,000 a year plus earning bracket. Obama's health plan should tax him more than the average American. Is child support even taxable though? I don't make even an eighth of what he gets from Britney and I manage to pay my maintenance and a cleaning lady.
I'm sure not even an eighth of that support actually goes to the boys. He knows Britney has more than enough to afford to spoil them, so he happily spends his money on toys for his lady but mostly on his high-carb, high fat diet. The radio DJ commented that last year Britney was messed up and people started to view Kevin as the better parent. He then pointed out that with her new singles out and a tour Britney is back and Kevin is done. I agree.
Britney would have been just fine if it weren't for Kevin. He's the one who made her lose it that night. And I really don't know why the media dubbed her shaving her head "an antic." To each their own style-wise. Watch her thrive with Kevin out of her life.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Truck Watching on the Long Island Expressway
Once or twice a week, I have to trek from Nassau to Suffolk County, NY to the Landlord Tenant parts in the municipality's District Courts. I particularly love to go to the 6th District courthouse in Patchogue.
Sometimes the calendar nears one-hundred in count and my cases aren't up for another half hour or so. I always observe someone difficult trying to manipulate the justice system in creative ways by stalling their case with crappy excuses to secure an adjournment - one week someone was too sick to attend court and the next that same woman was "on vacation." She lost her place by default.
But an assignment to 6th District means lunch at a phenomenal pizza place in Holbrook. Mamma Lombardi's makes the freshest Margherita slices - gigantic plum tomatoes and fresh mozzarella that nearly rivals what I remember having in a small village in Italy. That's saying a lot because the fresh mozzarella and tomatoes in that country are organic even at gas station road stops as you leave Rome. They opened up another restaurant in Port Jefferson which 6th District covers in eviction matters. I pick up two slices on the way back to my office in Eastern Nassau and eat one, saving the other for my lunch the following day or dinner that night. It's definitely worth the trek.
On my way back to the office, I usually am taking bites of my Margherita slice and keeping an eye on the Mack trucks in plain view. Trucks and trying to pass them. That's what I hate about 495. (For you non-New Yorkers, that's the Long Island Expressway or LIE for short.)
One day on the drive back, I saw this truck without cargo in front of me. Usually, these huge trucks have signs on their bumpers that read, "Do not pass on the right" and "If you don't see my mirrors, I don't see you." I've always been nervous about gigantic Mack trucks ever since I was a little kid. As a toddler, I told Daddy I didn't like the loud sound of the engine. And yes, I was intimidated by their size, too.
I was also almost hit by a school bus in the school parking lot on the way to my own bus. A little boy walking next to me said, "They shouldn't drive here while children are walking. They could be killed." Have they so quickly forgotten that your children's safety is their business?
They put these warning signs to escape civil liability should someone be seriously injured. Slippery when wet. Dead end. Caution, wet floor. Do not lean on door. In law school, we read cases about people and entities facing lawsuits for a "failure to warn." When I was studying for the bar and viewing some tapes, the lecturer warned, "They don't do it because they like you. They are protecting themselves." So if I am on a scooter and I barrel into a dead end zone they can come back on me and say, "We told you so, stupid!"
But this time a sign on the back of a Mack read, "Please do not hit me." I was hysterically laughing. This sign would encourage some lunatic with nothing to lose and a penchant for criminal mischief. When I was 6 and attending camp, a bus driver deliberately hit the back of our bus to mess with our driver. Stupid college kids!
Anyone with half a brain knows not to hit the metal bumper on the back of a truck. You'll have to pay for damage for rear ending anyone. And I think a car would sustain more damage from such a collision than the truck. Duh. Do they really have to post a sign to remind someone it isn't wise to hit the back of a vehicle?
"Please do not hit me." That's something you hear from a little kid whose mother caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. He's begging for mercy. And the more you beg, the more a sadist will inflict harm. Some wiseass who just got released from a holding cell at the Suffolk police headquarters in Yaphank will want to play bumper cars on the LIE and speed away. They don't care about their car being smashed in by a Mack. They already drive a piece of shit.
I'm heading to 5th District Court in Ronkonkoma this morning. In the spirit of the Yankees 7-3 win last night over Philly, I don't expect too much traffic. People will be staying in to celebrate like they did in 1998.
Sometimes the calendar nears one-hundred in count and my cases aren't up for another half hour or so. I always observe someone difficult trying to manipulate the justice system in creative ways by stalling their case with crappy excuses to secure an adjournment - one week someone was too sick to attend court and the next that same woman was "on vacation." She lost her place by default.
But an assignment to 6th District means lunch at a phenomenal pizza place in Holbrook. Mamma Lombardi's makes the freshest Margherita slices - gigantic plum tomatoes and fresh mozzarella that nearly rivals what I remember having in a small village in Italy. That's saying a lot because the fresh mozzarella and tomatoes in that country are organic even at gas station road stops as you leave Rome. They opened up another restaurant in Port Jefferson which 6th District covers in eviction matters. I pick up two slices on the way back to my office in Eastern Nassau and eat one, saving the other for my lunch the following day or dinner that night. It's definitely worth the trek.
On my way back to the office, I usually am taking bites of my Margherita slice and keeping an eye on the Mack trucks in plain view. Trucks and trying to pass them. That's what I hate about 495. (For you non-New Yorkers, that's the Long Island Expressway or LIE for short.)
One day on the drive back, I saw this truck without cargo in front of me. Usually, these huge trucks have signs on their bumpers that read, "Do not pass on the right" and "If you don't see my mirrors, I don't see you." I've always been nervous about gigantic Mack trucks ever since I was a little kid. As a toddler, I told Daddy I didn't like the loud sound of the engine. And yes, I was intimidated by their size, too.
I was also almost hit by a school bus in the school parking lot on the way to my own bus. A little boy walking next to me said, "They shouldn't drive here while children are walking. They could be killed." Have they so quickly forgotten that your children's safety is their business?
They put these warning signs to escape civil liability should someone be seriously injured. Slippery when wet. Dead end. Caution, wet floor. Do not lean on door. In law school, we read cases about people and entities facing lawsuits for a "failure to warn." When I was studying for the bar and viewing some tapes, the lecturer warned, "They don't do it because they like you. They are protecting themselves." So if I am on a scooter and I barrel into a dead end zone they can come back on me and say, "We told you so, stupid!"
But this time a sign on the back of a Mack read, "Please do not hit me." I was hysterically laughing. This sign would encourage some lunatic with nothing to lose and a penchant for criminal mischief. When I was 6 and attending camp, a bus driver deliberately hit the back of our bus to mess with our driver. Stupid college kids!
Anyone with half a brain knows not to hit the metal bumper on the back of a truck. You'll have to pay for damage for rear ending anyone. And I think a car would sustain more damage from such a collision than the truck. Duh. Do they really have to post a sign to remind someone it isn't wise to hit the back of a vehicle?
"Please do not hit me." That's something you hear from a little kid whose mother caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. He's begging for mercy. And the more you beg, the more a sadist will inflict harm. Some wiseass who just got released from a holding cell at the Suffolk police headquarters in Yaphank will want to play bumper cars on the LIE and speed away. They don't care about their car being smashed in by a Mack. They already drive a piece of shit.
I'm heading to 5th District Court in Ronkonkoma this morning. In the spirit of the Yankees 7-3 win last night over Philly, I don't expect too much traffic. People will be staying in to celebrate like they did in 1998.
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