and to think i paid $10.75 for THIS

going out to see my babies. she's off the junk, so i'm told, and he's still chilling out twice a day. perhaps tomorrow, as we'll be in a heat wave, we can all go for a walk, me and the elderlies. i imagine i'll be walking, they'll be shuffling, but that's fine. not that there is a countdown to the end, but any time i can spend with them, i will. he's on something called 'clomiCALM', and the bottle has this placid-looking golden retreiver looking just. so. perfect. they should show my needy sheepdog staring blankly, more true to life.

and any entry to ye olde longe islande isn't complete without a countdown of the cast of characters. we have the power! broker! to my left, the window seat of a three seater. about five years my senior, very good looking, uber-straight guy who felt the need to extend his scarf from his seat to the aisle seat. well, dear, i don't take such sanctimony lightheartedly. it was a seat going in the direction i like, it wasn't next to a crazy-looking lady as in aisles 1, 2, and 3, and, yeah, well, that's enough. i stopped in my tracks, throwing him the, 'i am sure as hell not sitting with her' look and he moved his scarf to reveal a seat that may have had coffee dripped upon its unfortunate self at some point in the past few weeks. certainly not posing a threat to today's casual friday khakis. ok, i could, could have gone to seat five, but it was the principle involved. i mean, the whole, 'but are you paying for two seats' thing is almost obsolete, this smug little twat had his SCARF extended, scarf, i mean, come now! and that he's clearly this power broker, it was even more fun to get MY way. check. mate.

called marge to tell her that i missed the express, again, by one fucking minute. ONE MINUTE. this time, not me dicking around me flophouse, but the a-train wouldn't cooperate. why wouldn't the a cooperate? simple reason: people in new york city won't take criticism. anywhere. coffee too hot? fuck you, your parameters are too narrow. coffee too much? fuck you, get your coffee from another street vendor. coffee too strong? deal, this is new york, after all. and so the same dream, different pajamas drama ensued. none of the blue trains were at west fourth for clearly quite a bit (about 5 long new york minutes, i'd infer...) when the a-train shows up. several people from the local track side cross over, and everyone from the express side get ready to move. it's when i get next to (i'll call her esther, she just looks like an) esther. and esther is clearly mad: she piles onto the train just as the doors open, not to be outdone by a woman who, well, wouldn't be outdone. 'let us the HELL off the train. bitch.' 'bitch who you call BITCH. me no BITCH, you BITCH. YOU BITCH WITH FAT ASS BITCH' and me not having any part of 'my train leaves in four minutes so move it along' (not a problem usually....) start in, 'cmon cmon cmon cmon, move it along sister.' 'you bitch too.' 'yes, and you're making this bitch late, move it, sweets.'

and she did.

the woman on the other side of the aisle, one seat up, is frou-frou to the n-th degree. her perfume? pungent. (and expensive...) her jewelry? she's not playing. her wardrobe? yeah, i've seen that suit set once or twice already this season, but it IS signature chanel... and the pashmina? well, it's the real deal, but it's half on her and half on the floor. i don't get it. she's so put together otherwise, i almost want to tap her and tell her, but she doesn't seem to be the tapping 'excusemeyou'renotdoingsomethingright' kind of person. i imagine her to be this ball busting corporate exec who has gotten where she is by being a ball busting corporate exec. and with the completion of that last sentence, she itched her head with her left hand and the ring finger was naked. surprise, surprise... she's also hugging a clear liquid in a clear plastic cup from the little platform vendors. poor dear is a mess...

and then came the battle o' the scarves with my seat neighbor. he folded his scarf, from that store with the plaid you know so well (augh) just. so. perfectly. i scrunched my drycleanonlybutiwasstonedandthrewitinthewashingmachine scarf in a bunched ball next to me. he folds his again, with longer sections between the folds and it hits mine. he smoothes it out to straighten it, and pushes mine just *that* much toward me. i throw him a look. 'is there a problem?' 'just straightening out my scarf.' 'watch the coffee stains.'

augh, and now the ball buster is giggling and talking with the guy directly across the aisle from her, the guy in the seat directly in front of me. this won't end well.

ok, this is just disturbing

what is it with the mystery smell that has molested new york for the third time last night? and why isn't it in the papers? and NO ONE has any ideas in government?

what is it with sudoku sweeping the city? never heard of it before last week, and i can count on at least one person in close proximity to me on the subway doing one of these puzzles.

i feel so clueless lately... (lately, lol)

and what is in tom's shopping basket today?

like tina to ike, i return far, far too often to ye olde gristedes. far too often. they have a deeeeelightful 'savings' card-- yet one more card to carry in my wallet-- but the catch with this card is that they advertise five lucky products each week. five. just five. and if you are just. so. lucky. to need those five, during that week, you can just go to town and save $.25. whooptie do, don't ask me to stand up. now, they don't like to scan the card if the item isn't on sale. or they don't *think* it's on sale. illustrated by a choice encounter i had a few months back, it can be a battle of wills:

me with diet coke (sorry, pjdownunder...): 'hi. happy tuesday.' [handing over my card.]
delightfully inspired cashier: 'it ain't on sale.'
'but we won't know unless you scan the card.'
'i already said it ain't on sale.'
'you make me carry the fucking card, scan the fucking card.'
[bleep]

and let me tell you, i STILL get looks from her.

but i digress. what's in tom's shopping basket?

1. i iron every morning. it's my thing. dead of winter, dead of summer, i play this game while listening to npr and drinking coffee in-between chatting with my friends from far away places, in different time zones, online. i love mornings, i really do. over the past, oh, ten years, my iron has gotten funky, bad funky, with these hard-as-hell brown deposits that just-do-not-want-to-be-flaked-off developing. iron-ically, today they were nicely dislodging themselves whilst baking into my blue shirt, and we even had a talk about why tom looks like a mendicant at a 'welcome to hell!' bagel 'party!' for two newbies. 'well, that's why i send out my laundry.' 'but it never smells clean. and they touch your undies. i can't get past that.' 'but i'd rather be relaxing. that's why i have a cleaning person, too.' 'you send out your laundry and have a cleaning person because your husband gave you a black amex.' [silence.] and yet i digress again. so tonight, what to my wandering eyes should appear but THIS little slice of pie (product 814, by the way.) don't think for a second i didn't follow the directions to the letter when i got home. yeah baby... i don't think marge knows about said product and she's the QUEEN of household gadgets. i simply must call and wake her up when i finish this.

2. marion barry has a berry named after him? does anyone else find that bizarre? is it infused with crack? i suppose i'll let you know mancat's feedback. just when i got him off the junk, geesh.

3. i love frozen pizza rectangles, you know the kind, the 'good ones' are made by ellio's, but i like the cheapie white rose variety. my good morning pizza is the best thing to happen to mornings since coffee, npr, and number one above. (and won't someone PLEASE buy me a toaster oven? please? it's just not as good via microwave. ok, it's gross.) throw a couple of eggs on top GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!

4. FiEStaBLeNd frozen vegetables. it's like a fiesta in my mouth, and you're all invited, ole! what the hell makes kidney beans and broccoli a goddamn fiesta? gassy, perhaps, but a fiesta is definitely pushing the envelope a tad. marketers, go back to the boardroom on this one.

of course i forgot pumpernickel bread (mmmm) and honey nut cheerios, but i guess that means tomorrow will be yet another steaming plateful of gristede's. lovely.

today's lesson on corporate newspeak

at today's uber-delightful 2p weekly 'cross-functional' staff meeting, my ears were molested a little more than usual with said internal vernacular. some highlights, i know we've been down this road before, but today included a pungent bunch:

*that is a dialogue i am not confident has happened. facilitate the meeting and get on my calendar in outlook and we can touch base with them.
(that's a $500 sentence, ladies and gentlemen.)

*'in the event of a rush, we all need to partner together and bring our strengths as team members to the table.'

*'i'll put together a recap so this is all crystal clear and to make sure we're on the same page.'

*'you'll have to forgive me, i'm medicated.'

ok, the last one wasn't an example of corporate newspeak, but it IS an example of the warped standards of corporate america. if i were to have said it, my dears, i'd be in hr with a member from security. perhaps even on speakerphone with a representative from the 24-hour cuckoo telephone support line, 'because sometimes it's best to talk it out with a friend' my company has bought access to using. an entry for another time, but do you think it says something that MY COMPANY HAS BOUGHT ACCESS TO A 24-HOUR CUCKOO LINE? i think it does.

but it's all good, and i play the game. i think bosslady (and a few other departments) wanted to hug me when the below happened:

medicated lady: directed toward a division that supports us, 'i think that is a situation that your group [another expression i hate: group] needs to partner together and handle.'

me: 'actually, no, that's my job as the project manager to get them such information. they're only as good as the information i get them.'

'so you do all the research to find weights, measurements, acceptable tolerances, and all that?'

'yes. it's my job. it's why they pay me.'

--- a painful hour later ---

'actually, tom, that should fall in within our group. i don't know how it got passed to you, but it's really for us.'

'oh, it's fiiiiiiiine. it's really not all that different from my regular duties, and i'm happy to do it. happy. to. do. it.' at this point i should have put my finger on my cheek and tilted my head and flashed an angelic grin. it would have completed the package.

i mean, burned out, sure, but reviews are coming up and daddy needs some more buckage...