Quiet

I need to go to bed, but I know I haven't blogged in a while and I feel like I should get something up. It's funny, though--I don't really have anything to write about. I mean, I do--in fact, just today I had a nice chat with the owner of Bears Like Us while I was waiting for the Broadway bus outside his store. And the other night I had the friendliest nicest taxi driver, who was, yet again, Nigerian, which just goes to show you--most African taxi drivers I've met are Nigerian, and ALL of the friendly African drivers have been Nigerian. The numbers are like 5 out of 5 or something. Seriously, I'll start chatting to the driver, notice he has an African accent, and say, "Hey, you're really friendly! I have a theory abot friendly African taxi drivers. Where are you from exactly?" And they ALWAYS say Nigeria. Makes me want to go there. There and Tanzania, cause I hear they're nice there too. Oh, actually, the other night I met a guy who'd lived in Tanzania for a month.

Anyway. But I just feel sort of quiet today. Like if everything is settled down inside in a nice comfortable position, why stir it up with words?

Mr. Rogers would back me up on this. Sounds like something he would say: "Sometimes you just feel like being _quiet_ (or fill-in-the-blank), and that's okay too." "And that's okay too" was a big thing for him. If he had some cheesy keychain or mug or visor (which I like to imagine he did, 'cause he was so endearingly unfashionable that way), I bet it would have said "And that's okay too" on it.

Mr. Rogers was a pretty Zenny guy. Which is weird 'cause he was a Christian minister. (Side note: This guy's making a documentary about Mr. Rogers. Yay!)

Question: Who is the most interesting random person you've met (or seen) in the last... I dunno... week?

Big Event of the Day (tomorrow): Oh crap. Forgot to make plans.
Percent Chance: of being pudly and doing nothing (often more enjoyable on a Friday, honestly, than making the effort to go out after a long work week): 84%

Sparkly

Oh my god I have to blog about this.

First of all, I have to let you know I'm listing to Cher's "Song for the Lonely," which I cannot help but dance to so that may add to my exuberance.... okay, it ended. I am more focused now.

So I went to Best Buy the other day and bought all the records I keep telling myself I should own and I bought them. Of course, out of all of them, when I got home the first one I put in was "The Very Best of Cher."

And I started noticing that all the songs I really loved on her album had two people in common: Paul Barry and Mark Taylor.

Just for fun I googled them. And guess who wrote several Enrique Iglesias songs, AND my favorite Lionel Richie song, Angel? That's right.

AH, the universe makes sense.

I'm off to find out more stuff they wrote.

*****


Hmmm. Well, except for one other song by Laura Fabian (who I'll have to look up), I didn't see any other hits from them. And, shock, they didn't have anything to do with my favorite Enrique Iglesias song, "Escape" (or its Spanish version, "Escapar"). That was Kara DioGuardi, Enrique Iglesias, Steve Morales, and David Siegel.

Anyway, like you care, right?

Actually, speaking of my musical taste, Lionel Richie was on Jimmy Kimmel last night. Now there is a classy guy. Despite an unfortunate history of awful mirrored jumpsuits and gigantic hair, he is now quite fashionably dressed. And even after 30 years of show business, he's completely down-to-earth and friendly, like someone you'd like to have over for cookies. Also, instead of saying freaking, bloody, f-ing or any other swear substitute in sentences such as, "I didn't have any ___ idea what they were talking about," he says blessed. Cute. I like the little turnaround there. If I was more religious I'd like to take that word out for a spin myself. But I think I'll just leave it to him.

Previously Unmet Person Type

I talked to a real live transvestite today at the store. Didn't mean to--not like I spotted him from across the room, went up to him randomly and said, "Hey, so what's with the women's clothing?" (Although I wouldn't have put it past me.) No, I was minding my own business in the store and asked these two employees for help. One was a guy in his late 30s and black, and the other was a woman in her 50s and white. As I started talking to the white woman, I noticed something didn't quite match up. Besides the fact that she had too much eyeliner, her eyes didn't look right, and her voice was gravelly even for a gravelly-voiced woman. Ah, the light bulb went on--I was speaking to a man dressed in drag. Yes, that would explain the eyes and the voice. And come to think of it, I mused, her hair did seem to be oddly smooth and bouncy (really a wig), and her boobs were riding way too high for 20-year-old, let alone a 50-year-old.

She (he?) was cool, though. I talked to him a little about working in retail, and he said, "Yeah, I'm new here myself. I'm retired, and this is my new life." Interesting he didn't say "new job"--he said "new life." I wonder if there was meaning in that. Like maybe he dressed as a man before at his old job. I dunno.

Talking to him was like talking to a guy, not a girl--so much that you can tell it feels strange for me to use "she". (I wonder which pronoun he/she prefers? I bet it's different for everyone.) I even sort of got the feeling he was flirting with me. Maybe not though... It was weird. But in a good way. Hey, it was about the only interesting thing that happened to me today anyway. That and I found out I can make a quick and yummy milkshake by mixing ice cream, milk, and Oreos in a bowl with the back of my spoon. Mmmmmmm.

Time for bed. More blogginess soon.

Question: What's your favorite ice cream flavor or type (milkshakes, blizzards, etc. included)?

Big Event of the Day (tomorrow): Maybe go to some sort of performance of the World Music Festival which begins tomorrow
Percent Chance: 31%, since most of them are free and a few are within walking distance from work

Within Danger's Reach

I woke up yesterday morning to policemen going through my apartment with flashlights, talking to each other and calling out, "Hello? Hello? Police!"

It was about 1 pm. I had been sleeping in, my room dark and quiet and blissfully (until that moment) undisturbed. Half thinking I was just dreaming, I unglued one eyeball and peered out through the open bedroom door to see a tag team of officers investigating a crime scene.... my apartment.

"Hello? Miss? Are you okay?"

"Wha-?"

[Walky-talky static] "Yeah miss? Can you come out here?"

...?

"We think someone may have tried to break in. We need to make sure you're alright."

"Uh... oh!" "Okay. It's just...ummm... I'm sort of... not dressed."

"That's okay... you kin wrap your sheet around ya'--we just need to make sure you're alone in there."

Not scared so much as thoroughly bewildered, embarrassed at my dirty apartment, and also, it should be noted, kind of weirded out that there were people walking around my apartment where I usually make no effort to sleep fully clothed because it's hot and--hello!--no one's going to come in unless I let them in... or so I thought. Hmm. Hadn't considered the police. (Side note: Parallel to this, I made a rule for myself to always be respectably clothed when I'm cooking, 'cause what if I start a fire and then have to run out of the house? Anyway.)

Sigh. I yanked the freshly washed sheets (dangit!) out of bed, wrapped them around me, and waddled out to greet them. Yes, safe and sound, as they could see.

One of the policemen went into my room, swept it with the flashlight, nodded his approval, and continued on to investigate closets, the shower stall, and behind furniture.

"I don't understand. Wha--What makes you think someone tried to break in?"

"Neighbor saw your door open. Called the police."

I went around to the back door. No signs of forced entry, they said, but the door was wide open and it definitely wasn't wide open when I'd gone to bed that night.

"Looks like somebody came up from downstairs, because the outside door was open too."

"You know, I TOLD that landlord WEEKS ago that that downstairs door is getting left open, but they didn't--

"You use this deadbolt, miss? You lock this door?"

"Yeah! Um, I mean, I guess maybe I could have left it unlocked the last time I took the garbage out... I must've, right? How else could they have gotten in?"

I guess that must have been what happened - I'd left it unlocked - so I can partly blame myself*. But that door didn't open by itself--someone definitely came up from downstairs, turned my doorknob, heaved the door open (and it's a heavy door, too), and then, apparently, and we hope, turned around and left.

*I hesistated to tell you this story, 'cause it's most likely (and by all evidence) at least half my fault. But I told Laura what happened and she said she's forgotten to lock the door a time or two and just gotten lucky nothing's happened. So I offer my stupid mistake up for your workday reading and consideration - please use it kindly.

Later that day, after the police left, I was pretty creeped out. The police had been searching every nook and cranny because the intruder could have come in and lurked in my apartment, waiting to attack. I started to think of other ways the story could have ended. They could have easily taken my computer, my camera, my TV, my purse...

Someone could have come in, sat 6 inches from my face and studied me while I slept. Or, hell, I could have woken up to a guy straddling me, duct-taping my mouth closed.

Ulghghh. I shuddered at the thought. Then, I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear, I looked in the shower stall, closets, and behind all the furniture again. Also in places that are way too small for a grown man to fit, but, you know, logic was not commanding the ship that day.

Anyway, then about 8:30 that night I went for a walk 'cause I just needed to get out of the house. Turns out that did nothing to help my vulnerable feeling. It was dark out and I was all alone, and even though I wanted to walk to the lake (I still have never been after all this time in the city), there was a huge dark menacing park I had to pass through to get there, so I didn't. I turned around and headed back home, but on the way, this guy rode his bike past me at a distance of, oh, about a foot from my left shoulder, going reeeaaaally really slowly, you know, like the bums do when they have noplace to go, or perhaps predators when they're sniffing out prey. Me, defenseless. 8:30 and I'm scared shitless. Okay, well not shitless. 6 out of 10. Maybe 7.

Me no likey. Bad bad.

But, plus side, my embarrassment at having the policemen see my dirty apartment has inspired 2 days of cleaning.

Question: Tell me a stupid mistake you made that could have ended badly but, by a stroke of luck, didn't.

Big Event of the Day (tomorrow): Oh so many things to finish at work.
Percent Chance: of finishing everything: psh. 0%.