The Arab Boy At The Corner Store

I see him almost every day.

I run into the corner store to buy a coke, bread, a six pack of beer, something.  Jamal always makes it a point to wait on me.  I'm a good customer and I'm friendly.  In return, Jamal is friendly too.

He goes so far as to comment on my appearance in rather flattering terms.  But Jamal usually makes a big deal over my jewelry too.  I'd love to think it's because I'm so damned darling that he seems to favor me.  Alas, I'm not good at self deception.

I dropped by the store yesterday and Jamal stopped stocking shelves and came over to ring up my purchases although another young man was already at the next register.

The two men were bantering back and forth about Jamal's girlfriend.  Jamal responded that he didn't have a girlfriend.  He followed that up by saying "Right now, I'm single."

I said "What a coincidence!  Right now I'm single too!"  Jamal and his friend responded to me with a whoop!  Jamal said to me "You should invite me over to visit you!  We could have a glass of wine."  I then explained that while I would enjoy that tremendously, my husband would disapprove.

Jamal said "I thought you said you were single!"  I replied "I'm only single right now, Jamal.  My husband is on a business trip." 

Jamal rang up my purchases and said "So am I invited?"  I told him "Of course, Jamal. You are always invited."

I felt his eyes on my ruby bracelet as I left the store.

Money, Honey!

These are hard times in America. 

A lot of people are out of work.  A lot of people can't keep up with their house payments.  A lot of people don't have health insurance.

I get it.  And, I don't like it.  Nobody likes it.  Or do they? 

Are people "playing politics" to keep the Job's Numbers bad until after the Presidential election?  Would there be a point to doing that?  Would politicians actually hurt their own constituents just to make a political point?  I really don't know the answer to that question.

Maybe private companies are just afraid to hire new employees.  Maybe business is just slow across the board.  If the American economy is in such bad shape, I do have a question.  How is it possible that the Romney Presidential Campaign raised $100 Million Dollars in the month of June alone?  That is a staggering amount of money to raise in a bad economy.  It is much more than anybody donates to cancer research.  It is much more than anybody donates to their church.  It is a mind boggling amount of money to donate to a Presidential Campaign in the course of one month.

Who are these people making such outrageously large contributions?  Oh wait, it's not individual contributors in a lot of cases. It's corporations and special interests groups.  We are being bombarded with ads promoting various "energy" schemes and hearing a lot about a proposed pipeline to bring oil down from the far north.  (Whether this is at huge environmental detriment is not a consideration.)

If these corporations and special interest groups put that money into helping to protect the environment and/or grow the economy, it seems to me it would have some amazing results. 

I really hope this does not turn into a country where the candidate who can afford the most ads on television wins the election.  Seems that might not be in our best interests.

Crazy Busy? Not So Much

You know those people who tell you all the time "I've just been crazy busy!"

Well, I'm at the opposite end of the spectrum.  I am "crazy lazy".  Afternoons are frequently spent resting in Harry's apartment while we watch television.  Or reading in the backyard while I'm watching the pond fish swim back in forth.   

It seems normal to me.  But then I talk to people all the time who tell me how "crazy busy" they are.  They have club meetings, golf lessons, yoga, board of directors meetings, pottery at the studio, cooking classes, flower arranging workshops, and book club meetings.  They also volunteer as candy stripers at the local hospital.

I don't like clubs.  For that matter I don't like meetings either.  I know how to cook.  I know how to read books and stick flowers in a vase.  And I hate hospitals because there are sick people in hospitals.

I mainly do what I like to do.  That's how I like to live my life.  I see friends, but only if I want to see friends.  I play with my dogs, but then I also ignore them sometimes.  I cook up a storm if I'm in the mood, and if not I go out or order in.  I keep my house in order but I'm no fanatic about it.  It's a slow leisurely way to live.  I take hour long bubble baths because they soothe me.  Some days, I don't feel like it so I don't do it.  In other words, I'm not "crazy busy".  I don't think I ever have been.  I've been tired when I was working 8 to 10 hours a day, and commuting an hour each way.  Coming home and making dinner was sort of a chore, but I did it.  I don't think it made me "crazy busy" though.  It just made me tired.


People I know will call me and ask me "What does your schedule look like?".  Say what?  I don't have a schedule.  I do things on the fly.  Call me up at 10 AM and ask me if I want to join you in going to a ballgame in the afternoon.  I will probably say yes.  Call me at noon and ask me if I want to come over and drink margaritas with you and I'll probably say yes.  Call me anytime and ask me if I want to take a walk with you and exercise the dogs.  I'll say yes.

A lot of what people do that makes them "crazy busy" is self imposed.  Don't make all those plans and commitments.  If you want to stay in bed all day on a Saturday, do it.  Don't join all those clubs and make all those plans.

Learn to be "crazy lazy".  You just might like it.

It Could Have Been Worse - Day 30

This 30 day writing gig has kicked my ass.

It made me tired.  It made me feel panicked.  It made me feel inadequate.  It made me feel blue. 

There is only one thing I can say about "It could have been worse", and that is, yeah, it could be a month with 31 days. 

To celebrate finishing the exercise, I awarded myself with a pair of summer shoes.  They are so much celebration shoes that I can't even talk about them.  I have them on and plan to have a gin and tonic to show how thrilled I am to have this competition over and done with.

It's like when you quit banging your head against the wall.  It just feels so good!  Don't get me wrong, it's been real!  And it's been fun!

But it hasn't been real fun! 

Is There A Statute of Limitations That Applies Here?

This is my next to last post on the "30 Days of Writing" challenge hosted by Nicky and Mike of "We Work For Cheese".  It's been fun, but now I've decided to do a little serious confessing to a crime I committed a few years ago.

Today's prompt is "Outside the Rules", but perhaps this would be more under the heading of "Outside the Law".



I don't know what made me do it.

I've asked myself over and over "What were you thinking?"  I guess the answer was I wasn't thinking.

My husband and I were awaiting our new court date, since Ron, (the landlord from hell), had filed an appeal on the first court's decision that was in our favor.

One evening, we may or may not have had a couple of margaritas.  Then we may or may not have discussed what a butt head Ron was for putting us through all this court stuff to get our security and cleaning deposit back from him. We were upset and annoyed.  Sometimes those emotions are worse after a little tequila.  After having a little more tequila, I had a brain storm. That's always a bit scary.

I suggested that we vandalize the house we had rented from Ron.  At first my husband was not at all sold on my idea.  But I did my best "Eve with the apple" routine on him and he finally came around to my way of thinking.  It was nearly 10 PM and late enough I thought we could take a run over to Ron's house and nobody would be the wiser.  I suggested that we both dress in black and wear black watch caps to disguise ourselves a bit.  (Of course, we did have the bright red Miata, but that was something I really didn't worry about.)

On the way to the house, I had my husband stop at a 7-11 and I bought a dozen eggs.   Giggling to ourselves, we pulled the car up in front of Ron's house and saw that there was nobody looking out any windows in the nearby houses.  Now, keep in mind, we had lived in this house for 5 years so neighbors might recognize us and our car should they peek out a window.

We quietly sneaked up the front stairs and violently tossed the eggs at the house.  We were snorting with barely controlled laughter.  All at once, we saw headlights approaching and we froze in our tracks.  The car slowed down in front of a house two doors away.  We both lay flat on our bellies and waited.  We heard someone get out of the car and disappear into the night.

By this time, it wasn't so fun anymore.  We were terrified. We left the remaining eggs on the front landing and quietly got into our car and raced home.  For numerous days we waited for the police to show up and arrest us.  (I was convinced the cops would be able to track our fingerprints on the egg shells and the egg carton.)  The guilt I felt was incredible.  And I made Alex a nervous wreck by constantly talking about the possible charges that I knew would be coming.

I shoplifted a can of Aqua Net hairspray when I was 13.  That was terrifying and I never did such a thing again.  This was worse.

Days passed and nothing happened.  Weeks passed.  No visits from the police.  No calls from Ron accusing us of egging his house.  I still wasn't sure we were out of the woods.

We went to the 2nd court date and I felt so guilty I didn't even care if we lost our security deposit.  I just didn't want to be exposed as a vandal.

I wasn't.  Whew!

Let me tell you folks, crime doesn't pay.  Or sometimes it might.  But in this case, it really wasn't worth it. (Ron, if you are reading this, "You had it coming, Sucker!")

The Turning Point

Is That A Spider Or A Yellow Labrador Retriever? 

I've always been sort of an easygoing woman.

Generally, it takes a lot to get me riled up.  Oh, don't mess with my kids or my pets, but other than that, we'll get along fine.

I'm not inclined to fight over the small stuff.  In fact, the small stuff may irritate me but I won't let it get me in an uproar and take action to make my point.  I let things slide.  It's easier that way.

In 1989, Alex and I were renting a house in San Francisco.  Our landlord, (I'll call him "Ron" because that was his name), was a weirdo.  Ron came over to check the house about once a week.  He had some excuse that he needed to check the paint, the plumbing, the electrical, the back yard or some excuse.  He complained bitterly about former tenants to us as well.  He had rented the house previously to 5 young men who were in college.   He said they had nearly destroyed the house in the 2 years they had rented from him.  He sued them for damages and was awaiting trial when he told us about having to clean, make repairs, and so on.

(Probably, a house full of college guys is not my first choice of a tenant, but I'm a simple Mexican woman, so what do I know?)  Ron had planted an idea in my head that he was not going to be like every other landlord I had ever had.  I had never had even a portion of a security or cleaning deposit withheld after I moved out.  I left places I rented as clean, or cleaner, and as good a shape, or better, than they had been when I moved in.

A few years passed, and Alex and I were considering buying a house in Alameda across the Bay from San Francisco.  We found a nice place and turned in our notice to Ron that we would be moving.  Ron told us he had plans to sell the house after we moved.  He even brought over paint and carpet samples for me to look at so that I could tell him what would look best.  (The house had not been painted before we moved in, by the way.  It seems the college guys had not messed up the walls.  Just everything else.)

We had lived in this house for 5 years.  And we had paid Ron $1,500 per month in rent over a 5 year period.  We had also given him a $3,000 security and cleaning deposit.  When you do the math, we had paid Ron $90,000 in rent.  That is a chunk of change.

Alex and I came back to clean the rental house after we had moved.  I told Alex we didn't need to concern ourselves too much with the carpets and the walls because he was planning to paint and re-carpet.  There were no holes in the walls, but they obviously needed a paint job, and the carpet was fine with a good vacuuming.  On impulse, I took our little camera and took photos of each room as we completed the cleaning.  I also took photos of the inside of the oven, the top of the range and the interior of the refrigerator.    (Because we were thinking of buying a house, we really wanted our $3,000 deposit back.)

A couple of weeks after we moved, we got a letter in the mail from Ron.  There was an itemized list detailing why he was charging us the entire deposit of $3,000 so we would be getting no refund on the deposit.  Further, he was charging us another $75.68 for his costs.  Ron enclosed a self addressed stamped envelope for us to remit the check to him for $75.68.

Alex and I were both in shock.  The house had been left in perfect order and we had the photos to prove it.  Ron had included charges for burned out light bulbs and his time to replace them.  He also charged $1.00 per wire hanger and his time to remove 4 of them that had inadvertently been left in closets.  Further, there was the matter of a small plant that had obviously been run over by a car's tires on the side of the driveway.

There was no choice.  We took him to small claims court and we won, not once, but twice, as he appealed the first decision.  Our photos were proof of the state the house was surrendered in.  Ron had photos of his own.  One of his photos showed a dirty corner of a room from the floor view.  Fortunately, there was a spider in the photo that looked the size of a Labrador Retriever.   I think he was using a 500 to 1 zoom lens on his camera.

The judges ruled in our favor and we did get our money back.  That's the first time I've ever said "Oh hell no!" about something related to just me.  The funny thing is, if Ron had just given us back $1000, we probably would have not bothered at all.

That's actually not the complete end of this sage.  There is more, including an act of vandalism which will be confessed to tomorrow.

By The Side Of The Road - Day 27

You have to keep in mind, I'm not a well woman.

Oh, I'm well enough, but with a whack back, I'm going to make this quick, true, and dirty.


When I was a child, if my Dad saw a dead animal on the side of the road, he taught us kids to roll down our window, spit out the window, and say "Not my family!"

Growing up with that, it's surprising I didn't end up ritually killing little animals  by the age of 9 and later being a serial killer.

My Dad actually didn't think doing little routine was a bad thing.  Somebody taught it to him I'm sure.

The things you do as a kid (and as a parent)!