Macy's = The Devil

Don't ever buy anything from them. I had a HORRIBLE customer service experience with them. It lasted 2 hours on the phone to buy bedding. We signed up for a card so we'd save 15%. Oh hell I am so frustrated it's not even worth it to write about the mundane, mind-numbing details of the entire ordeal. Just do yourself a favor - never go to that zoo of a store on 34th at Herald Square, and don't allow your fingers to ever type www.macy.....

A Quiet Sunday Morning

My husband has noticed that, during the week, I usually wake up much later than he (his alarm is set at 6am and I'm out of bed around 7:30AM). On the weekends, something odd happens - I'm up no later than 7am. My only alarm is internal - so it must be my body telling me to get up and enjoy the peacefulness of a Saturday or Sunday morning in NYC.

I'm not talking about in Central Park or a coffeeshop - this peacefulness happens in my own apartment. When you live facing the West Side Highway and have a building of hundreds of apartments, here's what you get during the week:

There's a constant hum of cars, sirens, NYC busses, and delivery trucks buzzing by or droning their "I'm picking up speed in bumper to bumper traffic" sounds.

There's "I-can't-let-go-of-college" neighbor 11 apartments away who feels a constant need to yell at whomever he's speaking with down the hall.

There's the barking dog, left home alone each day, who must have vocal chords of steel to make that much noise each day.

There's the smoking neighbor - thanks to our cheaply built structure of an apartment, the smell of smoke seeps into our home office each day through the door jam in a bathroom. You can literally put your hand in front of the jam and feel the wind from an apartment above, or next to us, sucking the clean air out of our place and depositing nicotine-filled smoke back in.

There's the elevator ding. 7 elevators on our floor - 4 within auditory range of our front door.

There's the door slams. After all, everyone's door is on one of those hydraulic arms that makes it close automatically behind you - and imagine if people actually closed the doors instead of letting them close on their own.

It's not that these sounds particularly annoy me that much during the week - it's that I can sense their absence at 7am on a Sunday morning like today. This morning I hear the humming of my refrigerator, the humming of my computer, and can isolate 2-3 cars' wheels whirring by on the highway. Maybe that's why my internal clock gets me up so early on weekends.

Rollerskating in NYC

I never knew there was a place to go rollerskating in NYC (other than Central Park), until another member of my a cappella group told me about it a few weeks ago. The Roxy has rollerskating every Wednesday night, and she invited all of us on a group outing (something we all complain about not doing often enough). Well after all the complaining, a whopping 2 of us showed up (nice job ladies) and Beth was the gracious host from our group.

Beth, Dana and I had such a good time. Dana and I went together, knowing that getting there early would mean less people to crash into and more room for moves like "crack the whip". Despite being 6 1/2 years older than Dana, I felt young again to know that skating was an 'in' thing to do when she was a kid as well. Unfortunately - we never got to try crack the whip, but man - there were some characters there. A window into who we saw:

Spandex Ass Man: we chose a seating area right along side the rink (aka "dance floor"). You literally stood up from our couch and took a step down onto the rink. Ass Man, every time he went by us, managed to turn around and thrust out his hips to stick his ass in our face. Oh yeah - he was dressed in black spandex from head to toe.

The Doublemint Twins: Two adorable women, in their 50s, dressed in black cotton pants and a plain black t-shirt with identical haircuts; short, grey, cropped to the ears. They held hands in an arm-crossed fashion. Twins, sisters who looked alike but weren't twins, lesbians or a combination of them? We didn't know.

Dana's Rollerboyfriend: White afro hair, white heavy t-shirt, white knee socks, and rollerskates with wheels that flashed. So hot in a "I raided Mr. Rogers' wardrobe" kinda way.

Couch Crashers: Two girls who pretended to "not notice" our jackets at our table and chairs and sat there until I asked them to move. One was wearing a yellow "I Love the 80s!" t-shirt. I think she was 2 years old in 1989. They made me feel good because they were the worst skaters in the place (I was probably in the top 10 worst even though I never fell and never bumped anyone - I just didn't have 'moves' like everyone else).

There were over 20 people there who had "moves" - who could either go backwards, dance on skates (literally dance in couples formation) or could do moves like crossing your legs and putting one skate out and one underneath you with your body balled up inches from the floor. It was impossible to describe and more impossible to execute, I'm sure.

The nice thing about the evening was there was no hidden agenda - no pick-up lines, no girls in groups scowling at each other as to who was dressed sluttier... I guess it just wasn't like your typical NYC bar that I hate so much. Ok - maybe Dana, Beth and I were making fun of so many people, but hey - we amused ourselves and offended no one

There's a fungus among us

Bagel's test results came back. Not only did she not have a tumor, there's no cancer. She has some kind of fungal infection that caused her to lick her arm. We probably didn't have to do the surgery but we wouldn't really have known unless we waited it out for about a month... so I'm glad we did it.

All we have to do now is keep this silly collar on her, wait 2-3 weeks to bathe her (eew), and put some cream on her little scar. I felt like I took my first deep breath today and I've been unable to for the last 10 days. I'm so relieved - I want to send flowers to the vet, but I figured "She already has about $750 of our money from this ordeal" so a thank you note will be just fine.

5 Random Thoughts This Morning

1) I love when it snows and it's a holiday - streets are empty and I can get my errands done in 30 minutes.

2) My dog still hasn't gotten results back from her mass removal. I hope it's benign.

3) Cab drivers have great stories. Talk to them.

4) It will be extremely difficult to write in this blog once a day.

5) Chubby Hubby ice cream is the best flavor. Ever.

What goes around comes around.

A few years ago I found a cell phone (note: a nice cell phone) in a cab on my way home. I left it on, waited for someone to call me, and when the owner found me and his phone, I arranged for him to get it back. How nice.

Today, apparently I put my wallet back in my bag on the LIRR on my way home from a doctor's appointment. It didn't really make it into my bag. I hopped in a cab, and in front of my building panicked that my wallet was gone. I assumed the worst - it was stolen - and proceeded to dump the contents of my bag on my dining table while calling 2 of the 3 credit card companies to cancel my cards.

The phone rings. A Maryann Consiglio calls to tell me she tried calling after me on the train when she saw my wallet sitting on the seat. She looked me up (I'm SO glad I finally changed my license to the NY license after quasi-illegally having a Florida one for the last 12 years) and I got my wallet back tonight. I didn't even care about the money or credit cards or license. My wallet is one of those Filofax wallets with my entire life schedule written down. THAT's what mattered to me. Yippee!

A Cappella

I have a healthy obsession with contemporary a cappella. I just got the unmixed files for my group's recording that we did in January, and I am SO excited to hear the tracks. Even with no mixing, we're pretty damn good, and it's a great feeling to lead the group and hear the product of my efforts. Ok - a little self-absorbed, it's everyone's effort because everyone sings, but who teaches it?

Can't wait to work on this album, and I get to record my vocal percussion separately since I was too sick to do it the weekend we recorded. Big bonus. Ed - our engineer - said that we will record it differently from how I'd sing it live, because we'll lay down each instrument (bass, high hat, snare, etc) and it will rock out. Hee hee - I'll actually sound like I know what I'm doing with VP instead of sounding like I'm just spitting on myself.

Goodbye, Smokey

Last night, our family cockatiel, Smokey, died after living for almost 22 years. 22 years! We got him when I was 6 years old, so it's hard to remember what live was like without him. He lived with my parents, then with my sister, and she's had him for about 9 years. It's hit her the hardest because she's been so used to his squawking, cleaning his water dish every day... my 2 1/2 year old nephew Benjamin has gotten accustomed to waking up each morning, walking downstairs, and saying "Hi Mokey" (no "S") and loved to use the Dustbuster to clean up his seeds that he threw out on the ground.

When I was talking to my sister and she told me what happened, I didn't cry. I just listened to her through tearful sobs and reminded her how amazing it was he lived for so long. With her two children, it was pretty incredible that Smokey died when he did. It wasn't overnight alone, it wasn't when the kids were awake to witness it; it was during the small window of time after Benjamin was asleep and his sister didn't need a feeding and before my sister and her husband went to sleep. They were holding him, comforting him and petting him when he took his final breath.

I hung up the phone, then the tears started. I cried, felt better - then at midnight, after Dave was asleep and tv was extremely boring, I was alone with my thoughts and lost it again. As lucky as it sounds, Smokey is the first close 'being' to me that has died where I can feel the pain of death. I lost both of my grandfathers but was too young to fully understand it. We taught him to say "Pretty bird" and one of my grandfathers taught him his unique whistle pattern (a whistle my grandfather and my mom used all the time - my mom in particular - to locate me in a store and I'd have to shout "here I am!" as a little girl). Smokey also knew how to kiss - you just had to put your lips near his face and make a kissing sound, and he'd kiss back every time. We'd take him out of his cage using the wooden stick of a plunger as a make-shift perch, and sometimes he'd huff and peck when he sat on top of his cage and didn't want to come down. You could always pet him, get him to whistle, and he was a healthy bird every second of his life until he left last night.

Goodbye Smokey. I love you and will miss you.

Perfect Procrastinator

The motto "why do today what you can put off until tomorrow" is too-often my mantra. Dave and I were married last June. We haven't ordered wedding photos yet. The parents are teeming with frustration.

I just started a new job - no immediate deadlines, just lots of documentation/guidelines to create, and again - I put them off.

Even showering. Sometimes don't you think a shower isn't necessary if you just stay inside all day during the winter? Cmon - how sweaty can you get?

Fondue? Fondon't?

After two crappy days of dealing with Bagel and her health problems, we found out that the test results are inconclusive. So glad we shelled out $85 for a test that either has to be re-done or now do a biopsy. They ruled out a bacterial infection, which means either a good tumor or a bad tumor are the options that are left. Oh yeah - and today's her birthday.

For Valentine's Day my husband Dave and I were supposed to go out to dinner. He looked into reservations oh, last week, which meant in NYC we were either eating in the 'burbs or on the 13th. So we opted for the 13th. Then with everything with Bagel and basically not being able to leave her alone (because she's SO sneaky about getting this thing off her that prevents her from biting/scratching the mass), we're stuck inside. Then we decided to buy fondue ingredients. Our favorite. Shocking that it's a favorite since Dave - at the ripe old age of 18 - practically blew up his parents' house by waiting for oil to boil while making fondue for his then-girlfriend. Needless to say, the kitchen was destroyed as a flame literally rolled through the room, and his little white bichon had premature grey - as in her entire body was covered in soot and smoke.

Fondue is so evil. So tasty, yet so terrible for you. One ounce of swiss cheese (yes I researched this specifically for the blog, and if you knew me - I never obsess too much about what I eat since I love food) has about 8 grams of fat. We cooked about 16 ounces of cheese, each ate half of it and dipped in bread to boot. That means I consumed about 68 grams of fat at one meal. Holy crap - my wedding dress would never fit me now. So I probably put on a pound just from tonight. That means 3500 calories have got to go. Oh and since I suck ass at exercising, it means I'll have to walk to run errands and count stairs up and down the subway as burning it off. I'll lose the pound in about 2 months.

Aural Torture

Listening to a dog cry has to be one of the worst sounds imaginable. My dog isn't hurt, she's not in any pain, so that should be comforting, right? Wrong. She has this stupid cone on her head (I call it "funnel face" because it looks just like that) so she doesn't scratch or bite at this mass on her leg, and apparently she thinks this cone has magical powers to paralyze her. She refuses to walk with the cone on. I can put cream cheese (doggie heaven for her) on my finger in front of her face, try to lure her towards me, and she won't move.

It's so frustrating to try and get work done. Each whimper is a "hey Mom look how sad I am get this freakin' thing off me" or "look how big and sad I can make my eyes! I can even make my bottom lip tremble for you." I even put smooth jazz music on (yes we're dorks, we put that music on for her when she's home alone to soothe her - she told us it's better than rap or that pop rock kids put out today), and nothing helps. Oh wait - she just sat up, that's a good sign, she DOES realize she can move.

Working from home has it's ups and downs. It's certainly an 'up' to be able to be with Bagel (oh yes - that's her name) but a down to listen to this whining. It's nice to be able to make your own hours, but so easy to get distracted. It gets lonely. Makes you feel like the world is going by, doing its own thing, and you're at a bit of a stand-still.

The waiting game...

I just brought my dog into the vet this morning. She had a red mark on her arm, and from what my father-in-law said he sees on his dog all the time, it sounded like a "hot spot". Just some red irritation on the skin that the dog causes herself. So - I go to the vet, find out she needs to lose 2 pounds (I can't resist giving the treats to her - if you saw her you'd understand why), and then the doctor says she's going to just shave the hair around it and put some topical solution on.

Ten minutes go by. Then twenty. Then she comes out, and if she was saying "your table is ready" at a restaurant - that casually, I hear the word cancer. "We don't know yet..." her voice drifted off in my head and the word cancer just blinked on and off in my head like a flashing red traffic light. My dog either has a bacterial infection (good - caused by stress or being lonely, and she was home for a week with my friend Molly while we were out of town), a histiocytoma (not as good but still ok) where it will probably go away on its own and is a benign type of cancer, or a mast cell tumor (MCT) where further tests are needed to see if it's spread, what 'grade' level it is, and the best way to remove it. I can't even write what grade 3 would mean, but the 'lower' grades are treatable.

I'm totally beside myself. Thinking back to all the times when my dog would vomit a little after running around too much, or eating a treat too quickly, and we always say "yeah she just has a sensitive stomach". If I ever find out that was part of it, even after the other vet said she's just sensitive, and I could've treated it earlier, I couldn't live with that guilt. It would tug at my heartstrings forever.

So now we wait until Sunday to hear the results. What the fuck am I supposed to do until Sunday? Maybe I can lure friends to come over and visit me to take my mind off it. My dog would have to wear one of these 'funnel face' collars if I'm not around so she can't scratch at it, and I don't want her to deal with that. Yes - in a great city like NYC I'll be sitting inside until I hear the results. This is absolute agony.

What's in a name?

My friend Sara briefly mentioned on the phone last night that she keeps a blog, and it reminded me for the first time in 5 months, "Oh yeah - I started one of those". Right. One entry in September does not make me a blogger.

The story behind the naming of the blog. Perfect pitch was taken. A musical term to describe people who can hear any note and name it, listen to a song and instantly know what key it's in... here's a good site that links to a bunch of other good sites about perfect pitch. If you're on the main site, they sell you a product to learn perfect pitch. Bullshit. I really don't think you can learn it. And - my perfect pitch isn't always so perfect, hence, the name. In writing you also pitch stories, and since I'm not yet a famous author I guess those pitches are a bit imperfect as well (all none of them that I've actually submitted). Then I wondered how much in life is really perfect.

So - inspired by Sara, I'm making a desperate attempt to start this up again. I'm horrible at simply "letting it flow" and find myself editing each sentence as soon as it comes out. Let's keep this a short entry until I get back up to speed with this thing.