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Showing posts with the label assholes

Well now . . .

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Fair warning, you can scroll down to the pictures if you must. At this point I have to wonder if Mood Fabrics even wants my business, or well anyone's business.  Seriously. Case in point, I have 150 bucks to spend.  Twas a birthday present.  I intended on depositing the check tomorrow, on the way to campus.  Well . . . since I really am on a tight budget I would like to order the material (as A) I know what I want and B) well I'm on a budget).  I want to get about 5 yards of silk (two different prints) and four yards of lining.  There is enough to get some knit for a top and a sweatshirt. My silk ain't cheap, but let's face it . . . we all must be creative when it comes to laying out pieces on high end fabric. Yet, whenever I put something in my cart and go to find the lining, a second print, the cost of a fucking needle the contents of my cart disappear.  Then, then . . . I say hey, ya know, maybe I'll set up my online account now.  Perhap...

Dear UPS, you suck...or should I just say please stay away from my purchases and building.

Here's a little story of UPS. A handful of months ago I got married...my UPS guy was nice, and lovely, and polite. There was a handful of packages from wedding gifts, there was stuff I ordered to make wedding hoopla with, there were random purchases along the way. None– the– less, the man was friendly. He buzzed the building's buzzer and waited 45 seconds to a minute before buzzing again. We chatted about dogs, his kids, his wife...random banter along the way. Then...then...the holiday season came, with holiday trainees showing up on this block. Then...then...the delivery hell began. Early purchase packages...one showed up last week. The delivery person was new, clueless, and not wholly friendly. Then, last night stupidity turned into moronic behavior. When I got home around 2:30 there was no UPS delivery. My husband got home around 6:30...still no package. For the rest of the evening we were home, someone always here. Around 8 pm we were on the stoop. Still, no delivery no...

Organic Meanderings

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Today, being Friday, I made my weekly trek to my NYC Mecca for local, organic, and groceries du jour.  Per usual, I went to Union Square to bedazzle my fridge with fresh greens and vegetation of many colors.  Or, as the husband says, make the fridge look like a "weed garden exploded in there." As I wandered the stalls in the blazing heat, long before a half second monsoon hit, I eyed my favorite vendors, bought a bottle of Eve's Cidery wine, and meandered my way through another day of organic scents and delights.*  Though, on the far side of the square I spotted a basket of seemingly misshapen carrots.    Today, upon seeing these, my mind traveled to a memory a few years old of a grad school professor and I discussing the taste of produce on the American market.  Color, shape, and quantity surpass desires for rich, robust flavor.  In many ways it is a tragedy.  The taste of unaltered food--as in those grown or...

Karma, round two.

Thursday . . . a day filled with intense drama television of the Bones, CSI, Grey's Anatomy , and Private Practice kind.  And, of course, The Big Bang Theory .  I'll save you the my ruckus humor of laughing out loud at TBBT.  Instead, how about we revisit my fucked up karma. Way back when the sun was hot and bright (July, I think) I ran into a former something-or-the-other on the LIE.  I was filling out paperwork at Old Westbury and heading back into my beloved 'hood.  Well, he was sitting with his now wife in his shiny car, and as we paused next to one another he clutched his chest while his eyes bugged out at me.  My mouth came open, and I felt my heart stop for a moment . . . maybe more.  He sped away, and I can only imagine what the conversation was as he tried to explain his response to his Mrs.  Me . . . I'm single.  I didn't have to explain it to anyone but me. Well . . . Now that we are deep into the season of snow, about six mo...

Mondays and My Name

In 1981 I was a kindergartner, in all my glory.  Back then, my family and I lived in Tacoma, Washington and I went to a school with oodles of other military and working class kids.  None-the-less, there was one day I particularly remember a glimpse of in the forefront of my mind.  I was in the front office, rather ill, and the secretary needed my name to look up my contact info.  I gave her my name, and she promptly told me that I could not be correct.  She added a V to the first name, while subtracting a N, and added a K to the last.  My name is NOT Vanessa Babick.  My name is Annessa Babic, and it always has been.  Needless to say, she yelled at me.  She also refused to believe the phone numbers I gave her.  Mind you, my parents had gotten me an ID bracelet with my address and phone number on it (we lived on A Street, thank-you very much).  My father had made me memorize his work number by the time I was three or so.  Clearly...

One Week

Last week was a shitter. Here are the accounts . . . 1. A friend who had made plans with me months ago, and canceled them just days before I got to NY, sent a text message asking if I wanted to go camping last weekend. I was a little rebuffed, but I initially said okay. Then her boyfriend started with comments, and I got uncomfortable. Mostly, I was uncomfortable because I could already see that their weekend was based on two people, and I would only be a third wheel. Perhaps things wouldn't have gone so badly if he hadn't posted two messages on FB that I have "no sense of adventure" and "no sense of humor." Also, note that he misspelled my name. Anyone who knows me knows I hate that shit. I know better than to ask a friend to choose, I don't do that, and I no longer allow people to treat me like that. I have no beefs with her, and I'm a bit upset that I can't talk to her anymore. The problem is I never know if her boyfriend is reading ...