X-New York Gal

posted by Evi on Oct 31

Well, you would be surprised how many people actually do. If there is one thing that really pisses me off, it’s people who leave their pets locked in the car while they go shopping or out to eat. Oh sure, they left the window open about an inch. Like that’ll bring the temperature down!

Do they have any idea how fast the car heats up to over 100 degrees? These people probably wouldn’t have any compunctions about leaving a baby in the car. And why in the world would they bring a pet to the supermarket or restaurant in the first place?

If one needs to bring his or her pet with them, at least have the decency to leave the air conditioner running. Sure, it might use up some gas but I think that’s preferable to killing your pet.

I’m not normally a confrontational person, but don’t let me catch someone leaving a pet in a hot, closed up car. I’ll have him or her paged in the supermarket or restaurant and I have been known to confront and embarrass these inconsiderate people in public.

Just once, I’d like that pet owner to sit in the car with the windows rolled up while parked in the sun and see how long he can stand it.

So to those pet owners please, please, please put yourself in your defenseless pet’s place and think about how you would like to be locked up in the car.

posted by Evi on Oct 27

My poor husband has had a bad toothache for the last couple of days. He’s been waking up every hour on the hour because of the pain. I made a dental appointment for him and he’s now on antibiotics and painkillers. So, I figured it would be a relatively quiet weekend.

He spent most of Saturday sleeping, either on the sofa in front of the TV or on top of the bed in the bedroom with Smoochie Cat next to him. Okay, so it was quiet to the point of boredom. I ran out of things to occupy myself with, one of which was trying to figure out how to fix this blog’s theme. As you can probably tell, I haven’t succeeded yet.

Sunday dawned bright, breezy and sunny and we opened up the windows and doors to let the cool air in. Not too much of that down here so you take advantage of it when you can. Bill cooked breakfast. So far, so good. Then he started pacing around the house peering in all the rooms.

“What are you doing,” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” he said with a demonic grin.

“Okay what are you up to?”

“I think I’ll put some of my teapots in storage,” he said while pulling them off the tops of the cabinets. “Grab some newspaper and start wrapping them up.” (For the record, he collects all sorts of ceramic teapots and we have become inundated with them.  I collect cats – not the live ones.)

I started wrapping teapots then realized he disappeared into the laundry room and started tearing everything out of there.

“What’s all this shit in here? Do you really need all this?” He called out.

“Oh God, what are you doing now?” I asked.

“Making more room in the laundry room. What‘s all this stuff?”

Now I’m running back and forth between the laundry room, wrapping teapots and stuffing junk from the laundry room into bags. Obviously his tooth was no longer bothering him that much.  When he was done with that (and I have to admit it did look a lot better), he headed to the bedroom.

“Oh no, don’t start moving stuff around in there.” Me

“ I could move the bed against that wall, the dresser over there.” Him.

“No, I like the bed where it is.” Then I followed his eyes to my bookcases. “Oh no you don’t. You leave those books right where they are. I’m not taking them all off the shelves again. They’re all arranged in subject order.

“We could get rid of one of the cases. You’d still have enough room for all your books.”  Him.

“No I don‘t and they’re all in order. Leave them where they are.” Me.

“You have plenty of room for them in your closet.” Him.

“And where am I supposed to put my clothes, under the bed? Get out of my closet!” Me, while pushing him out.

Next stop, the computer room a/k/a the guest bedroom. “What’s all that in the bottom of the computer armoire? Can’t you get rid of some of those boxes the CDs came in?” Him.

“Some of that stuff is so old it probably wouldn’t even run on the computer. You’re the one who wouldn’t let me throw them out.” Me.

“Then get rid of them.” Him. So I started pulling out CDs and throwing them in a garbage bag. Then, he found an old Pac Man CD. “Hmm, let’s see if this’ll run on my computer.” Him.

And next thing I knew, he was sitting there playing the game. Lucky for me. Now I can get back to my normal Sunday of puttering around and doing nothing in general.

posted by Evi on Oct 25

Anyone out there remember Dashing Dan or Dashing Dottie?  If you rode the Long Island Rail Road back in the 1960’s you might.  They were the symbols of us frazzled commuters.  But, let me tell you, those were the good old days.

Commuting to Manhattan back then was one big party.  After work we piled into the bar car, fighting our way through the cigarette smoke-fogged car.   Of course, at that time I was a major pollution contributor taking in about two packs a day.  Smoking was considered sexy and there was always someone around to light my cigarette.   However, I did learn the fine art of lighting a cigarette with a match while using only one hand.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen – one hand.  This I showcased from my spot in the bar car to the throngs of people waiting out on the platform at Jamaica Station, receiving admiring glances from the men staring in the window.

Our group consisted of a bunch of guys and maybe one or two other girls.  It was a fun time of drinks (which we girls never had to pay for, being this was before the days of womens’ lib), Pinochle, Liar’s Poker, Hearts and a bit of grab ass.  Most of the guys were married but that didn’t stop them from participating.   They were the instigators and worse than any single men I knew.  How would you like to have been married to one of them?  Maybe you were; now you know what went on.  And here you had sympathized with them when they complained about the long, hot, crowded commute home.

When I arrived home from work my Mom would be pissed off at me because of my unsteady condition and the alcohol fumes emanating from my person.

 In the morning the bar car became the coffee car and things were normally a bit quieter.  I guess being hungover didn’t help any.  Coffee, juice and doughnuts were served by the same guy who bartended the evening train.  I usually rode with the same group depending on which train I caught.  Sometimes I’d just drink coffee and read the paper with a friend; other times I’d play cards.  If one of us had a birthday we’d celebrate with champagne or Cold Duck which made for an interesting morning at work. 

The commute to and from work was usually the best time of my day.  My big crush rode the same train I did so I would try my damndest not to miss it.  This meant racing to the subway station in high heels, catching the subway from wherever I happened to be working at the time, then changing over to the Seventh Avenue IRT to make my train at Hunter’s Point Avenue.  No wonder I stayed so thin!

I look back at those days with longing and wish I could do it all over again, but at my age I’d probably miss the train more times than make it.  And please, don’t make me wear high heels.

posted by Evi on Oct 23

Have you ever watched the television program “What Not To Wear”? Well, I could be their poster child. My personal style could be summed up as ‘bag lady chic’.

Many years ago when I was a hottie and in my 20’s I always dressed well. Since I worked in New York City, I did most of my clothes shopping at Saks, Bonwits and Lord & Taylor. No, I wasn’t rich. Prices just weren’t what they are today. An expensive pair of shoes (to me, anyway) was anything over $3.00. It’s true I spent almost my entire paycheck on clothes. I lived at home so I didn’t have to fuss with things like rent and bills.

Today, the key word is comfort. Loose dresses, loose pants and shirts. If we had winter down here in Florida I’d probably live in sweats.

Let’s face it. Since everything’s so casual these days there’s no need to get dressed for dinner and an evening out. Shorts and flip flops will do nicely. Gone are the days when people actually took pride in how they presented themselves.

I remember my school years when girls wore dresses and skirts. No slacks and certainly no jeans or belly button baring tops. Boys were always neatly dressed in a pair of slacks not 20 sizes too large and a freshly ironed shirt. Man, is that ever a far cry from today.

When I worked in NYC women never wore pants to the job. Always dresses or skirts. So call me an old fart; I am.

Lately I’ve been making minimal attempts at dressing up for dinner. We usually dine out Friday nights with friends of ours, then later on play cards. (Yes, this is what people in a certain age bracket do for kicks.) I’ve been known to actually wear outfits that match and fit my body and, don’t faint, even wear jewelry and makeup. On a good day, I fix my hair.

For the most part, down here in Southwest Florida it’s summer almost all year round and we don’t have much use for an extensive wardrobe. But I kinda miss dressing up and feeling good about myself. Didn’t you ever notice that when you look and feel good people treat you differently?

So I say, shape up America and learn what not to wear!

posted by Evi on Oct 19

There’s nothing like blissfully driving along, admiring the scenery and window shopping when suddenly the car in front of you stops dead to make a turn. Did that driver signal first? Nope. Just stopped. In the middle of the road. Just like that.

If you’re the type of person who gets his rocks off riding bumpers, one of these days you’re likely to be in for an unpleasant intimate encounter.

Another favorite of mine, is the driver with a cell phone stuck to his or her ear, happily chatting away. These folks really make me nervous. When stopping for a traffic signal I make a bet with myself as to how long it takes them to notice I’m stopped and how close they can get to my bumper before actually hitting my car.

Cell phone drivers also have a tendency to crawl about 30 mph below the speed limit and swerve back and forth from lane to lane. Don’t like driving next to them, no sir.

So, please guys and gals – and you know who you are – show a little consideration when driving. Signal your intent and save the phone calls for when your feet are on the ground

posted by Evi on Oct 18

Later that day, we caught a subway to the tennis stadium in Forest Hills, Queens. We were the proud possessors of tickets to the 1963 Forest Hills Music Festival concert featuring Joan Baez. I just loved Joan; she was one of the greatest folk singers of that time. We were there along with about 14,700 (according to the NY Times) other cheering people. That evening Joan introduced Bob Dylan and they sang both separately and in duets. I remember thinking how Dylan couldn’t sing and I do remember some people booing him. Little did we know he would become a major player in the music industry.

While at the concert, others were smoking cigarettes (at least I think they were cigarettes) around us and Robin and I discussed the pros and cons of taking up smoking. It just seemed so sophisticated and, yes, ‘beat’. (I don’t know if she ever started, but the following year I took up that nasty habit and it took me 23 years before I finally kicked it.)

Later that night her father, an airline pilot, picked us up at the stadium on his way home from work and took us home. To this day, I still treasure these memories. 

Just don’t ask me to move into a cold water flat anytime soon.

posted by Evi on Oct 16

 Robert Louis Stevenson’s Jekyll and Hyde have nothing on our Smoochie Cat. The Smooch is one of the sweetest, most even-tempered cats I know. But now when my Mom comes to visit she respectfully keeps her distance, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. Not that the Smooch ever did anything to her except to flop down in front of her and roll on her feet.

You see, she was with me on a recent trip to the vet for his check-up and shots. Smooch does not like vets. Smooch does not like shots.

Mom and I accompanied him to the examining room. The second I set the cat carrier on the table he began growling. When the vet’s assistant opened the carrier top to lift him out, the growls became hisses and spitting. Drool ran from his bared teeth. When the vet, a young woman, tried to touch him he swiveled his head tracking her every move like something out of The Exorcist, prepared to rip off her hand. She backed off. My Mom just stood there, mouth agape.

There was no way I was going near him because I knew from my husband’s past experience with The Smooch that he WILL bite if frightened. (For your info, don’t ever hold a frantic, struggling cat in front of a running vacuum cleaner to show him it won’t harm him. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization techniques do not work on cats. Yes, there was a lot of blood – my husband’s.)

After unsuccessfully trying to grab Smooch by the scruff of his neck, the vet’s assistant threw a towel over him, hoping to pick him up and place him on the table. Not a good idea. He sprang from her grasp taking the towel with him and landed on a nearby chair. At this point, my mother who had been slowly edging toward the closed examining room door opened it a crack and quickly slid out.

I could tell the vet was nervous and I’m sure The Smooch could smell her fear as he stared defiantly at her with hugely dilated pupils, hissing and drooling. Then she got the bright idea of spraying pheromones around the room in an attempt to calm him. Yeah, that’ll work. The poor guy’s neutered – what does he care about pheromones?

After dancing around the room with Smooch for a half hour or more, the vet finally gave up. There was no way this cat was going to let someone stick needles in him and shove a thermometer up his ass.

He flew from the chair toward the closed door and I placed his carrier on the floor. That was the fastest I ever got him in there. He practically knocked me over on his way in. The vet suggested to me that I find a veterinarian who makes house calls. That’s probably like finding an M.D. who makes house calls. Anyway, I wasn’t charged for the visit.

A few days later, I went with my Mom to check out a veterinarian she had used in Port Charlotte when she still had her little dog. I told the receptionist I needed a vet who could handle The Smooch and was assured that was no problem. I made an appointment and my Mom and I took him there. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a yowling cat in your car for a half hour drive. I was ready to drive my car off the Peace River Bridge.

Once there, I brought him into the examining room and placed him on the table. My Mom decided to stay in the reception area and read a dog magazine instead. Well – were they ever prepared for him. The assistant, wearing a long Kevlar glove opened the carrier from the top and immediately threw a towel over his head. She then picked the hissing ball of fur up out of there and plopped him on the table, holding him down while the vet, another young woman, poked, probed and needled him. The poor cat never knew what hit him. Before either he or I realized it, they were done and we were free to go. Well, not free exactly.

When I got him home and let him loose little Jekyll and Hyde became his sweet self again and all was forgiven and forgotten – until the next time.

posted by Evi on Oct 12

Before you go wrinkling your nose in disgust, I do vacuum and dust – sporadically. And contrary to what you may think, my house is not a breeding ground for bacteria. When company comes, my house is always freshly vacuumed and the bathrooms cleaned.

When I was growing up my Mom did all the cleaning and always cleaned our bedrooms. My brothers and I were not the neatest kids on the block and as soon as we heard the whine of the vacuum cleaner we ran like hell, not to be found until dinner was on the table.

On occasion, I would enter my bedroom and find the jumbled contents of my dresser drawers strewn all over the bed. Sometimes, to emphasize the obvious, my Mom would grab me by my hair and pull me over to the bed to point this out. Of course, if I wanted to go to bed that night I would have to put everything away – and it had better be put away neatly! One night I lay my head on the pillow then immediately sprang out of bed. What the hell??? I picked up the pillow and there I found a forgotten pair of shoes. (Ma, if you’re reading this, please don’t get too pissed off. I forgive you.)

After moving to Florida and getting married, my husband and I were hired as co-managers of the community we lived in (that’s another story altogether.) Since we were pretty much on call all the time, I decided I didn’t have time to clean and hired a woman to come in twice a month. Aah, heaven – coming home to a freshly scrubbed home, the scent of Pine-Sol wafting through the air. Unfortunately, that only lasted until we moved away and I had to settle for a part-time job. No longer could I afford a housekeeper.

So here I am, back to doing my own vacuuming, dusting and supervision of scrubbing. As a matter of fact, I just turned the vacuum cleaner off for a few minutes to write this. I know there are many of you out there who don’t sympathize with me, but just imagine for a moment how wonderful it would be to come home to a clean house without having done all the dirty work.

posted by Evi on Oct 11

Don’t you just love those e-mails you get from well-meaning friends; the ones that bestow blessings and all sorts of wonderful and miraculous things upon you?  They go on and on about true friendship or how God loves you, blessings to come your way and what good luck you’re going to have now and forever.  How nice, you think.  Well that was very thoughtful of (fill in name of friend).  Then you get to the end of the  e-mail. . .

‘Please forward this e-mail to 20 of your closest friends within the next 5 minutes and all your wishes will come true, you’ll find the love of your life, millions of dollars will fall in your lap and . . . as an extra bonus you will spend all eternity in heaven .  If you forward this to only 10 of your closest friends, forget about the money.  What, you only have 5 close friends? Nay to the money and love, and heaven doesn’t appear to be in your near future either.  But . . . if you do not forward this e-mail you are going straight to hell!’

Don’t you just love it?  Makes you wonder about the friends who forward these.  Did they have your best interests at heart or did they just spam everyone and anyone they could think of to save their own skins, leaving us poor recipients of these e-mails desperately searching our data base for people to forward them to. 

It’s taken me years to finally have gotten to the point where I can hit delete.  Okay, so maybe my eyes are closed and my finger is trembling as I’m getting closer  and closer to the button.  So I beg you to please, please, just do me a favor and take me off your list.   I don’t want to go to hell!

posted by Evi on Oct 9

A couple of weeks ago my husband, Bill, and I decided to take a drive up to Mount Dora in our adopted state of Florida.  My brother had stopped there on one of his trips down and told us that Mount Dora was a real town with streets where you could actually walk from shop to shop, to restaurants, and a scenic lake, unlike our strip mall-littered neck of the woods.  So, I made reservations at the Hampton Inn near there (very clean, by the way) and off we went.

Anyway, Bill is a firm believer in GPS systems whereas I love maps.  I like to see how far we’ve come and how much more of the trip is left.  I follow our route town by town, county by county.  I feel naked without a map on my lap.  Not only that but our last experience with GPS (the one on my cell phone) turned a straightforward 10 minute drive using back roads into a 45 minute ordeal on I-95 and a variety of local heavily trafficked roads.

I already had our excursion to Mount Dora more or less planned out on the map while Bill fiddled around with the GPS mounted on his dashboard.  After a couple of swerves off the road I finally said, “Alright, you wanna use the GPS, then use the damn GPS.   Just get your hands off of it and let me do it.”   

The first GPS inspired turn headed us off in a direction totally opposite of where we wanted to go.  After   several miles driving along an endless and deserted country road , I finally snapped.

 “Turn around, already, and get back on the road we were on!” So he did and once again we were merrily headed toward our destination.

Not having learned a lesson from this, Bill decided to try the GPS again and turned off course, this time onto a road that my map showed as having ended at this spot.  Okay, okay, so my map was a few years old and the new portion of the road hadn’t been built yet.  So the GPS picked up the continuation of the road .  But that’s not the point, since I hadn’t planned on going this route anyway.  So here we were on a nice new highway sailing along until. . . toll booth number one.  A dollar later, we were back on our way until. . . toll booth number two.  A dollar later, we were back on our way again until. . . toll booth number three.  A dollar later, we were back on our way again, me now bitching about how we should have just gone as I had originally planned.  Fortunately for my husband, the road ended and there were no more toll booths.  We exited and used the map the rest of the way.  Our trip back from Mount Dora went a bit more smoothly as we put the GPS to rest and did it my way.

Just recently we traded in my car for a new car and guess what freebie came with the car. . . why a GPS system, of course.