My Life on the L list

I usually don’t rip pages so directly from my life and blog them here but this little  doozy just happened to me about 10 minutes ago so if I’m on page 457 right this moment, this incident happened right around page 456.

So I’m walking down the street to the store (I work in a downtown area) on my lunch break. The wind is at my back, the sun on my face, ear buds are in and I’m jammin to some Amir Sulaiman.  Revelry.

All of a sudden something (someone?)  initiates contact with my person (yall are gonna hafta tolerate the legalese verbiage but for some reason I feel like I’m dictating for a police report).  At first I think it’s my imagination but no, there is someone in my periphery.  A tall, hulking figure.  I turn around to fully take in the situation and simultaneously the expletive laced inner narrative that is usually relegated to my head and doesn’t escape my lips liberates itself and flies out full force…The f*%@?!?!  I was truly startled yall.

I pulled out my earbuds and stared at the gentleman with a look of disgust mingled with a little fear.  It wasn’t a deserted area but there really weren’t many people around and we were close to an alley.  The long and short of it is that the guy was apparently a patron in our library and recognized me from there.

Me:  But dude, you can’t just do that!

Him: I was calling you but you ain’t hear me.

Me:  Calling me? You know me?

Him (looking thoroughly hurt and confused):  I’m sorry you don’t have to worry ’bout me bothering you ever again.

Me (still feeling violated but also like I was too harsh):  Yeah!  Not cool!

I then hurried on my way, looked back and he was gone.  This got me to thinking about working with the public.  I guess they really do feel like they know you and should have some kind of special access to you.   I work at the public library so my adoring public includes wino’s, ex-cons and folks who are one pickled pepper short of a full peck.  The cuckoo’s nest aint got nothin on us.  Did I owe it to the institution that I represent to be more  understanding to that personal space invading, groove interrupting, patron?

I dunno.  But I think I will cut celebs a little more slack.  Can we honestly expect them to be gracious and benevolent every single time they’re approached?  They have the most public job and we always expect them to be ‘on’.  On the other hand their perks are waaaaaaaaay better than that of a Librarian.  They get to jet set,  have ‘the help’ do everything they don’t wanna do, eat the best food AND get free stuff thrown at them.  What do I get? Access to a dazzling array of bookmarks and 1st dibs on the good broken down cardboard boxes?

So what have we learned today? Celebs DO owe it to us to appear to be happy as clams when we accost them in public.  Librarians, on the other hand, have the right to be surly and sassy.  Especially when we’re accosted in public.  I was jammin to Amir Sulaiman man.  Amir Sulaiman!

It's my pleasure to serve you. Can't you tell?


It’s Tuesday somewhere in the world

Two Kinds of People Tuesday

1.) Those who know that a mirror accent wall should have been left in the 70’s to die a lonely smudgy death

2.) The geniuses who built my house

photo from

Dear geniuses,

Windex thanks you, my pirouetting 7 year old thanks you, I do not.



photo from

The portal to the rabbit hole is in my purse

Anchal*, this really old Indian woman who works in my building gave me this “special breed” tangerine.  We we’re on the elevator .  “Happy Holidays” she said with (was it? yes it was) an almost imperceptible conspiratorial nod and a mirthful twinkle in her eye.   She also gave me a mini Hershey bar.  I ate the Hershey right away.  Who doesn’t eat a Hershey’s right away?

The orange, on the other hand,  gave me pause; which is why it’s still in the vast wasteland otherwise known as my purse.  I mean what kinda trip was Anchal tryina send me on with this “special” orange?  While I pondered whether I should enjoy the pulpy holiday gift I did a photo shoot of it.  It was a a slow day at work and I have lots of construction paper at my job.  I’m a Librarian. Construction paper is par for the course in La vie en Bibliotheque.

it really is a lovely orange...

but I see your 'true' colors too. mmm hmm.

*Names have been changed to protect the enchanted Indian woman who’s been working at the Library for centuries.

Can I have a word with you my friend?

Hey ubiquitous ‘They’! ; the ‘They’ that trolls the web to punish innocent people who may indulge in Torrent-ial affairs every now and then.  I know you’re out there.  The same ‘They’ that spys on me through my cellular phone.  Yes,  I occasionally text my husband a grocery list.  Scandalous.   Yes, I obsessively check my stats on my WordPress  app.  Salacious.  Yes, I occasionally use my banking app to transfer obscene amounts of money into anonymous offshore  accounts.  Nothing to see here.

Anyway, ‘They’, I’ve got a job for you.   Ok so everyone knows somebody who knows somebody who plays word games on their phone (Scrabble,  Words With Friends, Hanging With Friends etc.)  or they themselves play said games.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to develop a system that will slap the snot out of folks who insist on cheating while playing said games.  This system can be analog (this would probably involve a network of people—slappers—who would do the deed where ever cheating reared its ugly head) or it can be digital (this would probably involve creating software that would deliver an electrical shock/slap to the offender),  I’ll leave the hashing out of the dirty details to you.

Now you KNOW you wrong!!

You see the honor system is implied in games such as these.  No one is there to see if you use a cheat app or Google a word to stump your opponent  but Slap-a-Swindler will know.

I promise it’s not sour grapes.  I regularly play these games and I win some and I lose some.  My Spidey senses just get set a-tingle when I’m playing with an opponent who, prior to me whoopin’ them, played words like ‘sing’ and ‘nail’ and post whoopin’ they start throwing down words like ‘wyte’ and ‘sweven’.  C’mon son.

I know that sometimes a player will wishfully/hopefully/fingers crossed-fully throw some letter tiles down and they happen to make a word.  I’m not mad at the fluke stroke of genius.  That’s a harmless bit of luck.  I’ve done that myself a few times.  But what I’ve never done is resort to sources outside of my own head to procure words to put the Scrabble smack down on anyone! Scouts honor!

Hey ‘They’!,  while you’re working on the slap software, why don’t you develop some kind of non-cheater stamp of approval authenticating systemy thingy  so that cheaters can play with their ilk and non-cheaters with theirs.   It’s supposed to be a match of wits oui or non?

Ok, ‘They’, you have your orders.  Make it happen!


Oh yes I did Miss Thang!

You can get with this, Or you can get with that

Welcome to the 1st installation of what will be my themed-day-of-the-week-post. Whats a themed-day-of-the-week-post?*  Its when bloggers pick a day; Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, you know the rest, and get cutesy with it by assigning it a theme which they will riff on every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, you know the rest.

I must say I see Wednesday done most often.  So the non-conformist in me screamed  “hey! lets go wild and choose…Tuesday!”  Plus I’m off on Tuesday’s so there you have it.  Themes run the gamut from Mama Always Said Mondays to Things That Make You Say ‘Hmmm’…Thursdays.  Those gems are hypothetical by the way.  If someone is writing a Mama Always Said Mondays post give me the deets and I’m there!

So for those who weren’t paying attention my day of the week= Tuesday, fitting right?  And after the careful deliberation that these things require, I’ve decided that my theme= There are two kinds of people in the world.
Congrats ladies and gents you have witnessed the  birth (slime-less and goo-less but maybe a tad orgasmic) of  Two Kinds of People Tuesday!!!

What two kinds are under the microscope today?

1. People who like The Tonight Show With Jay Leno AKA people with Doritos taste

2. People who like the Late Show With David Letterman AKA People with Camembert taste any taste

This dude wears suspenders, and pin stripes! Why does anyone else bother? Letterman's swag is on deck!

*There’s probably some concise little phrase that bloggers have invented as a moniker for this phenomenon but I don’t know it so you’re stuck with my unwieldy, hyphen laden term 😀

Inspired by Alice Walker’s daughter Rebecca

I had been meaning to craft a post centered on motherhood and the things that, well things that Mama never told you about motherhood.  Call to mind those clever bits that circulate the web via Facebook posts or e-chain letters that list various and seemingly disparate jobs—psychologist, referee, super hero, cab driver— and then (betcha didn’t see this coming!) attributes them to being all in a days work for The Momster.

In my post I was gonna add some not so obvious jobs to the lineup like mom mower.  Yes, mom mower. This is when the materfamilias, as she advances through the domicile,  picks up what ever item lays in her path;  haphazardly thrown t-shirts, chip bags, drawings of villains called Dr. 5 brains, you get the idea.  Mom’s must mow down the clutter lest the whole lot of her family be overcome by it.

Another job that I planned to debut was that of undertaker.  Don’t immediately go to the macabre!  Lay off the Law and Criminal SCVILMNOP would ya!  But as a mom you will undertake.  There won’t be blood, but there will be dismembered Batman legs and Bratz heads.  While mom mowing you will come across these items and it will be your duty to inter them.  Wherever you choose to entomb them (trashcan or back yard for ambitious moms) bury them deep or your child will catch a glimpse of that green Power Ranger boot or detached Kung-fu grip and exhume it.  And they won’t wash their hands after.

Now that I’ve got that out of my system I’ll move on to the titular substance.  I recently read an open letter from Rebecca Walker to her mother Alice.  It detailed Rebecca’s upbringing at the hands of the famously feminist author.  I honestly mean no disrespect and I don’t wish to diminish Rebecca’s feelings but I’m not sure that I disagree entirely with the elder Walker.  According to her daughter, Mrs. Walker was of the opinion that “children enslave women”.   See definition of mom mower as further proof that this is true.

We are their slaves and they are ruthless Masters.  It seems that Rebecca’s problem stems from the ‘fact’ that her mom was so vocal about this view.  See, most moms feel this way but we try our best not to let our kids know that they may have arrested our dreams of being a tight rope walker or a snake milker.  Rebecca goes on to say that her mother, in a poem, referred to her as a “delightful distraction”.  I’ve called my children worse (no judgement zone)  and I love them with every fiber of my heart.

Mother’s were once people with aspirations that didn’t include the word potty or play date.  Then bundles of joy come into our lives and distract us from those aspirations.  At this point some devote themselves wholly to their idea of motherhood, some re-route their trajectory and some “take off to Greece for two months in the summer” all in an attempt to keep themselves alive.  Were some aspects of Rebecca’s upbringing extreme?  Yes I think so.  And maybe some day her parents will atone for that.  But I would just like to offer Rebecca this, for all her faults, your mother did find you delightful.   I hope its not presumptuous of me to say that that is evidence of her love.