Everything but what I set out to write…
A woman was attacked two blocks away from my house last night. When I got home this evening, I was carrying three bags and hastening to get my keys out. Unfortunately, the bag I dropped on the sidewalk was the one containing my poor, now-pulverized bottle of Kindzmarauli. I bought it at this Brighton Beach liquor store* while on my Andrew Zimmern-inspired gastronomic mini-tour of the area. Click here to see my photos!
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Last night, it’s entirely possible that I might have been around on the street to be victimized, but instead of having a lengthy, solo train ride, I was lucky enough to get a ride home. I’d been at a barbecue in Farmingdale, Long Island, since about 2:30 PM. It was organized by one of my coworkers, and her brother and his family felt that driving me home was a better choice than dropping me off for a three-train trip home. The party was a very Long Island-type of celebration**, reminiscent of barbecues I’ve attended with my own cousins who live out there. The conversations are pleasant, but completely apolitical; people compliment each other on their expensive (whether authentic or not) jewelry/watches/leather goods/home electronics; everyone eats until digestive consequences are *imminent.* There were definitely a few people there who didn’t listen to a word I said, as well as incredibly spoiled children (since when does a 12-year-old need his own cellphone? Or get to use the word "shit" multiple times in conversation with his parents, aunts, and uncles?). However, I have to acknowledge that nobody made me feel the least bit unwelcome; no one was pretentious or affected; certainly no one above the age of 13 acted like you’re an idiot if you don’t like the same bands as they do. There’s something about people who are just simple and genuine, no matter how different their individual tastes/politics/background may be from your own, that can be refreshing…especially compared to the often tiresome experience of trying to meet new people my own age in this big damn city who don’t need to feel superior in some way.
That said, I still felt the need to recount my surreal ride home last night. After they were essentially volunteered to give me a ride back to NYC, my coworker’s brother C. and his wife M. talked right through my awkward attempts at conversation, in between yelling at their kids in the back of the SUV.*** Mercifully, M. cranked up the radio, sparing me from any further inclination toward small talk…I was grateful despite her choice of KTU (even her daughter objected, though her request for Z100 would not have made much of a difference). M. was basically on edge for almost the entire car ride, although she chilled out a bit when quizzing us on trivia gleaned from one of those spam emails that’s been going around for about a million years (e.g., a pregnant goldfish is called a twit…). But once again, I really did overlook the social awkwardness of the atmosphere in appreciation for the goodhearted and sincere offer of a ride home: to my door, in fact. All differences aside, some people are prepared to offer kindness and help someone who needs it; I’ve certainly encountered others with politics or education more similar to my own, who would have been much more reluctant to go out of their way to help.
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Speaking of my home, I’ve continued to have somewhat frustrating interactions with my landlady. I no longer find her quite as alluring as Little Orphan Annie (remember that?) ; in fact, I’m still trying to figure out whether the issue is that she’s ditzy (as I’d presumed), or duplicitous, or both. I have definitely noticed that communication with her is much more effective in person than over the phone (much less, laughable attempts to convey information to her via notes that she almost certainly does not read). She did indicate awareness of my question (via voicemail) about when someone is coming to measure the windows…however, she feigned total ignorance regarding installing a new electrical outlet (something SHE originally mentioned to ME!), among other issues. And a week or two ago, she tried to convince me that the "waterbugs" I’ve observed are due to the fact that we live near the park (yet not as close as I lived to Prospect Park for approximately 24 years of my life).**** On the other hand, she is genuinely ditzy- she left her phone up here today, for example.
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I still haven’t told you about my trips to DC and Chicago. Thursday, I leave for California. This post is long already. I don’t know how many of you honestly care that much about what happened on my trips, but then again, you’ve read this far. ;) I’ll try to post an amusing anecdote or two, unadulterated by talk of SUVs, roaches great and small, or Landlady. Coming soon.
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Notes:
*Check out their sign: 
If you look at the photos, you’ll see more pics from the liquor store, including booze bottles shaped like Santa. 
**before any Long Island people get insulted, notice that I compared the partygoers to MY OWN RELATIVES. And I am perfectly aware that not everyone from Long Island is like that!
***Why do Americans need to purchase 7-seater, gas-guzzling cars for a family of four? When my parents got a new car in late 1985, I remember finding it luxurious due to the fact that it had four doors, back windows that could actually roll down, and plush seating instead of the vinyl that burns your ass in the summertime. Not to mention the fact that today’s children are too unimaginative to even look out the window on cartrips anymore; instead, they all need their own personal DVD players, handheld game systems, or what-have-you.
****The situation continues to be traumatic. Tonight there was one crawling around by my showerhead. It escaped my frantic spraying of household cleansers by crawling behind the sink. I sprayed around the whole area and emptied out the cabinet down there…I’ve been resisting buying Raid, or any other truly poisonous materials (the nontoxic choice is mint oil, but I don’t know where to get it), but when you’re at the point of spraying ammonia-based glass cleanser in the same vicinity as your toothbrush, what difference does it make? Either that, or I have to buy that giant box of Borax I saw in the supermarket, I suppose…
Worst of all: last week, I got out of bed one morning, sent off a quick message to my carpool buddy, and walked over to the dresser…where I felt something WARM and CRUNCHY underfoot. Horror of horrors! The bug flipped over onto its back and waved frantically. I ran for the orange-clean spray and Oust, and sprayed it, suppressing my screams. It continued to wiggle. I got into the shower and scrubbed my foot three times or so. The damned thing was still alive when I got out! In the end, I got a handful of paper towels, squished it, scooped it up, and threw it in the trash (then scrubbed the floor). I don’t know how I deal with this, other than having to recount it to as many people as possible. Taste my pain!
