The Next Show is All in the Bag

I love handbags. I love shopping. I hate handbag shopping. I can't do it online. I have to do it in store. I've got to touch the merchandise. My requirements are specific but today I tried to be open to what's in fashion. I really did. But I just can't do these open-top handbags. No zipper, no magnetic closure or no closure at all? The internal contents of your handbag all on display for anyone who wants to peek in? Nah, I think not. And as Anne Rice so aptly described in her novel "Interview with the Vampire" I realize how marked I am by my era. 

When You Want to Hug a Stranger in Dunkin Donuts

In Dunkin Donuts there was a Young Woman sitting at the table next to me. She was talking on her cell phone and upset because another girl had deliberately shoved her out-of-the-way to get on the bus. And in an I-can’t-take-it-anymore moment she shoved the girl back and they got into a fight. Tearfully she said, “This happens all the time. I don’t want to fight. This is not who I am. I’m sorry. This doesn’t happen when I’m with you. I feel safer with you.”

And How Are You Today? A Tale of Reverse Customer Service

First of all I had no business being in Macy’s, especially the 34^th Street Mothership. But I was in the neighborhood, I needed a bra, and so there I was strolling through the lingerie department like I had money and boobs.

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It’s Always the Year of the Asshole

At a recent comedy show there was a table of disruptive people. They weren’t heckling the comedians directly, just talking animatedly amongst themselves. This seemed odd since this wasn’t a random bar show. It was a fundraiser with tickets sold in advance. These people had chosen to be there and yet their incessant chatter created a distracting undercurrent of noise that lasted the entire show... 

At the Cleaners: How the Everyday Can Just Flat Out Get Away From You

I went to the cleaners the other day and as I pulled out my last item of clothing I saw a crumpled claim ticket in the bottom of the tote bag. I used to put my cleaners tickets on the refrigerator so I’d remember them, so of course I didn’t.  My refrigerator is a jumbled graveyard of baby pictures of grown people, save the date wedding invitations for divorced couples, calendars from the turn of the century, and business cards for defunct companies. I know. My refrigerator really needs to get its shit together. So I decided to put my cleaners ticket in the bottom of the bag of clothes to be taken out. Makes sense right? A good plan predicated on going to the cleaners on a fairly regular basis.

 

Bitch, Am I Boring You?

And the Search for a Therapist Continues

After our second session I fired my therapist. Two meetings are what it took for me to see we weren’t going to work out. And I’d really hoped we would.

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