one for the home team: karma schmarma

carrying not quite twenty pounds of laundry to the cantankerous laundromat (but if mancat asks, i used the day-glo blue cart...) and i get honked at. thrice. finally i look up and it's this just. so. perfectly coifed older woman with a cigarette in her left hand and the steering wheel in her right, looking more angry than angry. 'hey. HEY. where the f* is bleecker?' 'make a right here and you'll hit it.' drives off without a thanks, grunt, nothing. then i realized, shit, it's the next left, i must have been in my own little laundry-doing world. poor dear: heading off into tribeca. whoops. but she's bright. i mean, only bright people drive land rovers and live in connecticut, right?

yes, yes, i know i just morphed into *that* new yorker, but, well, we just don't honk in my hood. and in my country, we say please and thank you. and most especially, don't curse at me unless we're having sex.

honestly now, exactly what goes on in the suburbs?