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Oct
31 |
My Little Goblin, Waiting for Trick-R-Treat
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Oct
29 |
 Hola! Bonjour! Hallo! Ciao!
It's a beautiful day in Boston, absolutely refulgent if you're a Red Sox fan. Viva Curt Schilling and all the other boys of summer. Lifetimes were spent waiting for just one Red Sox World Series win, I've now seen and cheered-on two, and the trend started the very month I moved into town. A lucky boy I am I'll say.
The last few weeks have been long, anxiety-filled ones. My mother gave us a scare with a heart/health episode but I'm convinced she's just testing our response time. RJ is good about calling but I've been aloof for the last couple of years. Thank God for Danny and Danielle. They're at the homestead watching over our little matriarch and providing us updates and feedback. Sometimes I wonder if returning south to keep a watchful eye is something I'll need to do eventually. Then I get drunk and forget all about it.
JS is hounding me about a rendezvous, sending my blood pressure into the stratosphere at the thought; not his fault but he'll not keep letting me push things out the way I like to do. He's muscley, handsome and has the demeanor of a happy Labrador, but even he'll wise-up to me before it's over with. How's the weather up there today Rochey? See, I'm thinking of you.
Realizing my waist isn't where it was recently I had to get myself a 'fat suit' just last year for things like funerals, meetings and the occasional Federal subpoena to appear as a witness in a Federally-prosecuted trial involving the FBI, a former employer and the U.S. attorney's office, but more about that in a minute. Of all the suits in my closet, it's the most recent one I've worn lately which isn't quite as, 'snug' as all the others. Imagine my anguish when I realized, looking over my flight reservations for tomorrow that the last time I wore that suit, IT TOO has also become, well, 'snug'...and that was June. My fear of wearing an ill-fitting pinstripe suit, silk blue tie holding the shirt collar together on a knot and a prayer while jettisoning a button or three into the face of a cross-examining, high-paid defense attorney with a very Italian-sounding last night is reaching critical mass, and all the chamomile tea in Italy isn't going to help.
About that that trial stuff; if you know me well, you know about it already. If not, trust me, it isn't interesting enough; But if no one hears from me by Thursday, please send a search party, and a seamstress.
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Oct
9 |
 Some things will never change, like my hate for Joy Behar with the searing heat of a million suns. Others are more fluid like my on-again, off-again romance with jalapenos.
I've been known to put them on anything and everything, a fairly new dietary psychosis the origin of which I do not understand. The craving hit one day, and I found myself at Shaw's Market looking for the hottest jalapenos they sell. Since then, I've fluctuated between gorging on the vinegary hot little buggers to cursing them as vile devil food once nature began to take its vengeful course. I've eventually crawled back like a horse-whipped lover garnishing everything from Wheat Thins to dried Cinnamon Toast Crunch with my jalapenos. Yes, even cereal; and I'm both ashamed and proud to admit it.
I thought about that this morning as I contemplated throwing yet another half-used jar in with the recycling trash, thinking this time, yes, THIS TIME I really am over them. I think the idea of craving such an odd thing is more frustrating to me than actually ingesting it. I leaned forward into the refrigerator attempting to justify why I'd keep such an, at times tempting treat, at other times restless night and painful post-coffee mornings. It has become my own little masochism and it reminds me of seeing my sister go through a strange BBQ pork rinds and cream-cheese phase. She claimed it was called for in the Atkins diet, but I didn't necessarily buy it. And the tales about pregnant girls craving ice cream and pickles for no apparent reason I now respect and believe. Can YOU say you enjoy the taste of a few fresh jalapenos with a dab of ranch dressing? If so, you know where I'm coming from; if not, I won't hold it against you.
My point in this? There is none; but until you know the joy of a top-shelf vanilla bean ice cream with three extra-large jalapeno slices on the side, reserve your judgment for things like double-parked cars and snotty waiters. I have a lunch date with my half-used jar of peppers.
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Oct
1 |
CRAZY NYC SOCCER MOM ACCIDENTALLY KILLS HERSELF IN AIRPORT HISSY FIT - Will this be a cause celeb among the mommy culturatti? Carol Gotbaum of Manhattan apparently spent too much time at an airport cocktail bar having a few to many 'mommy's little helpers' and rushed back in an attempt to board her fligh at the Phoenic airport on Friday. The case is drawing national attention (surprise!) in part because Gotbaum is the stepdaughter of New York City's public advocate Betsy Gotbaum (why should that matter you ask? Beats the shit out of me.)
According to Phoenix cobs, Gotbaum became agitated and disruptive at the Sky Harbor International Airport after missing her 2:58 p.m. U.S. Airways Express flight to Tucson. Reports on Monday say she was headed to an alcohol treatment program.
Police reported Gotbaum became "very loud, yelling and screaming, running around the concourse area." After officers were unable to calm down the irate New Yorker, the cuffed her and sent her off to the local pokey and placed in a holding cell with her hands cuffed behind her back.
According to press reports and local police, detainees are checked-on at least once every 15 minutes. Gotbaum had been in the room 5-10 minutes before she finally stopped screaming and when officers went to check on her, found her unconscious, with her cuffed hands close to her neck. Attempts to revived her failed.
Read the full story here..>
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Thanks for your support!
-JD
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