It's Been Fun Interwebbers

As of this past Thursday morning,, I have no internet connection at home. AT&T thinks it is sending someone out to fix the problem on September 6th between (wait for it) 8am and 8pm. Silly company. They don't realize they'll be here much sooner than that.

Meanwhile, I can only access the internets during the 9-5 shift. Thank goodness I'm temping next week. This will be a long weekend. A long weekend where all magazine-reading will get caught up on, NetFlix movies will be watched, and lots of phone calls will be made.

An apology in advance to my friends, who I will be calling to say, "Hey, can you look up ________" for me?" Apologies to a certain LA couple who I will not be "seeing" this Saturday.

If you need to reach me this weekend, cell phone is the way to go. Granted, only two of you nine readers have the number, but ...

Interesting Twist

So the biracial guy (I'm sick of everyone saying Obama is black, yet equally annoyed at hearing people qualify that he's only half black. He's as white as he is black.) chose a Kennedy-esque (0bviously white) guy instead of the white woman some of us hoped for, while the old white guy chose a woman.

From the little I've read so far of Sarah Palin, she seems like a steamroller. If nothing else, this will be interesting.

Was I just too young to realize it, or did we not care quite as much about elections in the eighties?

Open and Closed

9am was out of town for a week, and returned yesterday. We were catching up with each other for a little while after I got home from work.

When he asked me what he'd missed in the world:
Me: Dr. Dre's son died.
9am: From what? A gang-related shootout?

On telling me about his flight home:
9am: Virgin Atlantic is very metrosexual; their planes have purple.

This last one was the most upsetting. A friend who lives nearby and visits often has a little girl who just started school this week. On her first day, she wrote me a letter and drew a picture which I put up on our fridge, swapping out an older picture she'd drawn a while ago. 9am noticed the change of kiddie pictures in the kitchen, and asked if she'd started kindergarten or first grade.

Me: Kindergarten
9am: She's smart. Why isn't she in first grade?
Me: You have to be six to be in first grade. She won't turn six until there are only three or four months left of the school year.
9am: Well that'll work to her advantage when she's a teenager.
Me: It will?
9am: Sure, she'll be older than the majority of girls in her grade, so she'll develop earlier (here's where the horrified look spread across my face initially) and will get all the boys.
Me: ....!
9am: What?
Me: First of all, you're wrong. Second of all, you can't talk about a five year old that way. Third of all, [my friend] would NEVER raise her daughter to only see her self-worth in what her body, something she has no control over, can get her, in terms of boys. Fourthly, [my friend] has a smart enough kid that she will not like boys who only like her for how her body looks. Fifthly, how do you know she'll grow up and be attracted to boys?
9am: Oh, come on now, why would you say that?
Me: Because it's that attitude that adds to making it so difficult for teenagers to come out - the attitude that everyone expects them to be attracted to members of the opposite sex.

At this point 9am can see he's upset me, and I think he knew he'd done something vaguely wrong, though he didn't understand exactly what. After dinner I was still upset about our talk, and how he managed to express his closed-mindedness so frequently in such a short amount of time, and was chatting with a friend about it.

She used the term misogynistic to describe 9am, after hearing about some of the other gems he's spoken, particularly those regarding the kind of woman he expects to marry. I have a real bug up my ass about people who go running around spouting off about how open-minded they are. Why? Because to me, the real test of open-mindedness is being open-minded to people who are not as open-minded as you are. So I was a bit surprised at the misogynistic title.

I don't think of myself as particularly open-minded at all. A concsious effort is made to see things from other people's points of view, and I feel no need to lable myself as either open or closed-minded. But 9am and I have had numerous talks, many of them ending with us agreeing to disagree, and with a bad taste in my mouth.

I think my friend was right. 9am is misogynistic. Among other things

Floating

I'm not just floating between desks, but also between law firms these days. This week I'm working for three partners, two of whom are gay, while their secretary is off at Burning Man. I haven't been trained here, so attorneys give me things to do and I nod like I understand, but I don't. Yesterday afternoon I emailed the HR woman who coordinates floater placement and asked her whose brain I can pick on conflict reports and submitting new matters. Supposedly there will be a quick training session today.

Today's product that we're unofficially testing is Lubriderm Skin Nourishing Moisturizing Lotion with Shea and Cocoa Butters. I should be honest with you guys - I have naturally soft skin, courtesy of my great-grandma, who was generous enough to pass it on down to my grandpa, who passed it on to my mother, who gave it to me. But, just like some people believe you can never be too thin or rich, I believe you can never have soft enough skin.

This stuff went on really well. I always notice if lotion ('it puts the lotion in the basket') is too watery, and this was not. I am not in love with the smell - it's not at all overpowering, but when I do smell it, I am kind of reminded of babies who just got a bath. Which would be as nice as it sounds, except it's as if that baby's mother sniffed her kid and decided that despite the sweet baby smell, the baby needed a little something extra, and put on some smelly stuff.

You should all come meet me on my lunch hour to pet my hands - that's how soft they are. I will have to investigate at some point whether the regular Lubriderm can achieve this level of softness. Later on I will report back as to how long the softness lasted. I know you're all anxiously awaiting the results of this highly scientific testing.

UPDATE: It worked well, but did not last until lunch time when used after 9:30 a.m. Semi-frequent reapplication needed.

Now That the Olympics Are Over

Was anyone else annoyed by all the commercials that either subtlety or not so subtletly referred to the Olympics? McDonalds, with a commercial involve kiddie soccer games? Johnson & Johnson, with their Mama Phelps commercials?

You may feel moved to leave me a comment at this point reminding me these companies were sponsors of the Olympics. No need, I know. But here's my question: with how disgustingly unhealthy McDonalds is, what Olympic athlete in their right mind would eat that shit?

Prepare to hate me and think I'm way too impressed with myself. Ready? Okay. Look, I know I'm smarter than the average consumer. Having a father who was in sales when you were growing up can do that to a person. So I know that it's not realistic to ask companies to cater to a higher intellect, when that's not the average consumer, their target.

But even so, I'd really seriously appreciate not seeing a commercial and feeling like the company is trying to manipulate me. "I'm watching the Olympics. The Olympics are good. Oh, McDonalds has an Olympics commercial. McDonalds is good. I am hungry. Let me go eat McDonalds. Like Olympians do." Do the Olympic sponsors truly think I'm going to see their involvement and run right out in my Adidas sneakers to buy a Panasonic tv and a Samsung dvd player while sipping a Coke as I pay with my Visa?

How come Trader Joe's isn't sponsoring? I mean, okay I can see how maybe they can't afford to pay for the entire gymnastics team's stay in the Olympic Village, but that doesn't mean they couldn't pay for say... a nice organic fruit basket to be delivered or something? I donate when I am moved by the cause, even when I'm embarrassed about how little I can afford to give.

For years I have said there should be some card or badge you can flash when in stores and restaurants, that indicates, "I know what I want. Do not waste my time and yours trying to upsell." Think about it. You're in a restaurant. You're full. You're taking home half your meal to eat for lunch tomorrow because all restaurants serve way more than one portion. The waitstaff comes over and asks if you'd like dessert. "No thank you, just the check, please." In my mind at that point, the only acceptable thing to do is to go get the check. Not to start quickly rattling off the desserts.

I know. Restaurant managers push the waitstaff to upsell. It's their job, they could get fired if they don't. Hey, I know - I read Waiter Rant. I'm cool with that. I'm happy to blame the managers. Restaurant Managers, it makes me not want to come back to your restaurant when you force your waitstaff to upsell to me. Also, you will never hear me say, "You know, now that you mention it, yes, I do think I'd like a cocktail after all!" So you're forcing your staff to waste their time on me when they could be talking someone else into having some coffee.

A couple of months ago I was in a store and trying on a sweater. It was a beautiful color, and almost fit me. But not quite. And I had nothing to wear it with at home. The saleslady saw me and told me I looked beautiful. I smiled (and did not roll my eyes) and thanked her. Before turning away from the mirror, I knew I was not buying the sweater. The saleswoman, after complimenting me, asked if i was going to get it. No, I told her, and showed her how it didn't lay quite right, and explaining it didn't go with anything I had at home. She waved her hand, "Oh, nobody will notice." I looked her right in the eyes. "I notice." She told me I should buy the sweater anyway, because "that way you'll have it."

In case of ... a fire? A shortage on sweaters? A sweater-bandit sweeping the Bay Area? I walked out of the store without buying anything, and plan on not going back. No, I'm not delusional - I know they won't notice my absence. But I like protesting things I disagree with, and *I* notice what I'm doing, and why. It's a shame - perfectly nice clothing store. While their regularly-priced items are too expensive for me their sale rack is always plentiful and priced within my range. Yes, another reason that store won't care about losing me as a customer - I always check out sale racks first upon entering any clothing store.

Nothing is going to change, I know that. But you can bet if I ever open up my own clothing store (which I named around age 11), the marketing and advertising will be hella tight, and the salespeople will not do pressure sales at all.

Random Things I'd Like to Learn/Do/Try

1. Go to Bi-Rite Creamery. I hear it's good. It's not too far away in the Mission, though I can't figure out exactly how to get there.

2. Figure out how to get to Bi-Rite.

3. Get a job, so I have more money, so I can afford to do all the things I want to do. Because while a lot of them are not expensive, almost everything does cost some amount of money. And being that I hadn't scraped together September's rent until August 20th, I can not afford inexpensive things these days. Probably not in any near-future days either. Hopefully in 2009.

4. Once the above is sorted out, I'd like to explore more restaurants. In the four years I've lived here, my taste in food has changed (exploded?) dramatically and restaurants I wouldn't have been interested in previously now intrigue me.

5. Explore non-food parts of the Bay Area. There's tons of awesomely fun stuff to do around here, even with my whole lack of interest in alcohol thing.

Technorati

For no particular reason, I was inspired to check out what Technorati thinks of my blog. Turns out, not much. Half a million blogs are better than mine according to that site. One entire person has listed my blog as one of their favorites.

I try very hard to not give a shit how "popular" my blog is. Because really, it doesn't matter. My friends, the ones in real life, who I call and who call me, don't read my blog religiously. And that's just fine with me. A lot gets left out of my blog. It has to, not just because my family reads and my father never misses an opportunity to remind me that he gets the majority of his information about me from reading (thanks for the driving last weekend, by the way), but also because if you're writing all day, you're not out busy living, and doing things worthy of being blogged about.

You know what? See that first sentence? I just realized what inspired me to look - I got described as a writer by someone who's a real writer. Like, she's won awards for it and everything. Not blog-awards, but like, the kind of awards we watch on network television that people take home and put on their mantel. It kind of shocked me.

I never think of myself as a writer. I'm just a person who laughs when people trip, and whose heart overflows with love when friends email to tell me they tripped or saw someone else trip and thought of me right away.

But I will try to blog more often.

Too Insane To Make Up

ring, ring

Me: Hello?

Church of Scientology:  Hi, can I speak with [name of family dog]?

Me: Who's calling?

CoS: Melissa from the Church of Scientology, is this [name of family dog]?

Me: No.

Melissa: Well, could I speak with her?

Me: No.

Melissa: Ummm.... may I ask why?

Me: Two reasons.  First, she's a dog, and secondly, she's been dead for over a decade.

Melissa: ...

Me: Okay, so bye.

ring, ring

Me: Hello?

Melissa: Hi, may I speak with [name of family dog]?

Me: Melissa, I already told you no and explained why not.

Melissa: Yes, but why would you say that?

head explodes

Me: Because Jesus instructs me to always tell the truth.  Don't call back. Bye.

Karen Duffy Syndrome

For those of you who were, say, off in India going to high school and not around to know this, Karen Duffy was an MTV VJ in the early 90's. I once saw an interview with Karen Duffy, who explained how she came to be a VJ. Apparently she was simply watching MTV, saw a VJ, and just thought, "I could do that," so she applied and got the job.

I found this quite inspiring at the time. You see, I wanted to be, at age 13, a cashier at the supermarket. A lot of high schoolers worked at the supermarket and it seemed like the coolest job to me. But two things were preventing this dream of mine from coming true. One is that I was not old enough. The other was that I was scared I wouldn't be able to do the math needed to make change. Lucky for me, my older brother worked there, and came home to report that the cash register would do the math for me. I was still nervous, but then I found out some important gossip.

Aileen F. had gotten a job there! She was in my grade, not very smart, and a total bitch. That clinched it for me. I applied what I'd learned from MTV's Karen Duffy (see Dad, MTV teaches important lessons!) - if Aileen could work at Foodtown, I could work there too. That's why less than a week after turning 14, I was at the supermarket asking for an application.

The Karen Duffy approach is helpful when you need to inspire yourself. A lot of people do that with blogs, have you noticed? Huh, I could write about toasting my bagel too! That's what seems to have happened. There are a lot of blogs out there. The more publicity blogging gets, the more blogs pop up. Some people have more than one blog.

What I'm noticing now though, is that certain bloggers have gotten all fired up by seeing other people's successes and are determined to make their blogs that successful as well. They are trotting out topics that used to be kept private, revealing family secrets, and doing whatever they can to get more blog hits. It's as if people are sensationalizing themselves. They are TMZing themselves in an effort to get more readers.

There's something about it that feels impure to me. I think blogging is supposed to be cathartic. It's supposed to be for communicating with people you don't know yet. It's for keeping a record. Not everyone can be Dooce.

My guess for why this is happening? Karen Duffy syndrome. Everyone is looking around at the bloggers they think (because nobody but Dooce will admit how much they are earning) are earning a living off their blogs, and thinking surely they can do that too. But I don't think so. The blog posts written in an effort to draw in readers seem obvious to me, and ring untrue in some way.

Is Anyone Chinese?

I have a question. Is He considered one of those names like Tracey or Madison in that it can be for either a male or female?

Because I just noticed that the Olympic gymnast named He Kexin is female, while the Olympic diver named He Chong is male. Thank you.

Gone Fishing

Okay not really. I don't do things like touch worms. But I have gone to South Florida. I was going to put up a nice picture of the area for you, but pictures of the beach didn't speak to me, nor did the waterways or the setting sun or any of those traditional shots.

So instead, I am going back to basics. Psychology 101. You're going to Florida for the weekend. And how does that make you feel?

Grandpa

This weekend I'm back in Florida, to celebrate my grandpa's 90th birthday.

Some people would take that opportunity to tell you very heartwarming stories about when their grandpa was young or when they were young and spent time as a child with their grandpa. But I'm not one of those people, and if you've been reading here for a long time, you're not surprised.

Instead, I'll just tell you three things about my grandpa:

1. If I am near my grandpa, no matter my age, when we step off the curb, he holds my hand as we walk through the parking lot.

2. When I was 18 and visiting hospitals, one of those times, my grandpa came to visit me. I had an IV in my hand, put in during the middle of the night by an incompetent nurse who'd hit an artery rather than a vein, making it very painful to clench my fist, flex or rotate my wrist, or use my right hand in any way. My grandpa stood on my right side looking down at me, and asked if I needed anything. "Actually ... my ponytail is falling out. Could you please redo it?" And he did. It wasn't pretty, but I wasn't going anywhere. Plus when a nurse's aide came by he asked her to redo his ponytail job.

I was in a lot of pain and scared, and scared on many different levels. My grandma had just died less than a year earlier, and I'd always been closer with her than with my grandpa. He didn't really know what to say to me. But he stood there and talked on and on about nothing and distracted me from my pain, from my fear. He did an imitation for me, of me as a little kid, the way I used to smile. If you know me, ask me to do it for you - it'll crack your shit up.

3. While I lived in Florida, unfortunately just as it is here, I had a hard time keeping a job, and spent a lot of time out of work. Once a week, I think it was Wednesdays, my grandpa wanted to take me out to lunch. To Wendy's. Near his house. I probably spent more money on the gas to drive out to him and go back than he did on the lunch. But he'd hold my hand as we walked through the parking lot.

Sometimes I Need Reminders

1. Got a call from a recruiter that a firm I temped at for a grand total of seven hours wants me to come back for two days.

2. My friend B, who has infinite patience, called me.

3. I got together with someone I hadn't seen in over three years, and she was clearly happy to see me.

This is three more instances of reaching out to me than I sometimes have in an entire week that I had in just one day. So why do I feel so harshly alone that it makes me cry? How many will it take for me to feel loved and wanted? Will anything ever be enough? Why can't I just be content and appreciate what I have?

I Could Panic

Because oh my god i just met up with my very first roommate I ever had when I moved to San Francisco and I was 27 and she was dating like a mofo sometimes two dates in one day and I never saw anyone throw themselves into a project as persistently as she did, complete with hiring a matchmaker and everything and then she moved out because she decided to buy a house with her older sister who is a doctor and was also single and they were going to be two spinster sisters together and we made jokes about rounding up cats for them.

Naturally we found each other again on Facebook because that's where everybody finds everybody else these days and she was listed as married and it turns out she works right near where I live so we agreed to meet today at Starbucks and two hours before meeting all I wanted was to go to sleep and nap because the idea of having to see someone whose life is so clearly marching forward while mine is so pathetic that having to pay for a drink will throw my sparse budget into a tailspin really did not appeal to me but I totally rallied and put on what my friend Beth would call a boobie shirt but what other people would just call a shirt that fits rather than an oversized tshirt which is pretty much part of my normal uniform.

I was running late and so I rushed and then wound up there early and was on the phone with my brother when she came up to me and she was wearing this big white shirt and she is PREGNANT and I got off the phone right quick and we hugged and I don't know why I always get so outrageously uncomfortable and nervous before meeting up with people - she is so nice and warm and easy to talk with and she insisted on buying my hot chocolate which was so happy and unexpected and then we sat down to talk and not only is she happily married and knocked up but so is her older sister the doctor.

The doctor actually gave up on finding someone to marry and went and bought sperm and had IVF or whatever and got knocked up and when she was six months pregnant she met a guy and they got engaged and then her IVF baby was born and then she and the guy had a baby and they are getting married in less than a year and she is happy now and I am so happy for her because she was such an angry person when I last knew her and I wonder if everyone sees me as some sad angry person and if I am in fact a sad angry person and if I am maybe I should get some donated sperm and knock myself up except that I'm not a doctor and can't afford to be a single parent and wouldn't be a good parent without having help anyway so no never mind this is a terrible idea.

My point is while I'm happy, very happy for my former roommate (I did not ever blog about her - she is the roommate I had before Cagney), I wonder if I am destined to be single and without a family forever and when I truly fully think about that it upsets me so much that I need to throw myself on my bed and cry hysterically except I can't do that now because it would freak 9am out and I would be embarrassed but holy shit am I going to really have a life like I say, where I will just be a great aunt to any kids Crazy Girl and Golden Boy wind up having but always be the third wheel to everyone and holy shit should i start collecting cats now to work on becoming a proper Crazy Cat Lady and do I really have to wear floor-length skirts to be a spinster?

Percolating

I hate holding back. I always do it, yet I hate it. You know what pisses me off? That the Chinese are cheating. See, it wouldn't piss me off as much if some less powerful place were cheating. Because I'd understand. You would too. It still wouldn't be right, of course, but we'd understand.

But China is CHINA. They are strong and powerful. They are fucking workhorses. They are motivated and determined and don't need to cheat. But they are. And because of that, while once I was all, ehh, I'm not that impressed with this year's crop of Olympic gymnasts, now I'm all go Shawn Johnson.

You know what else pisses me off? Coinstar. Granted, I'm not the most popular girl around, so yes, you could say I have more time on my hands than most to sit around rolling my coins (which sounds like a euphemism but isn't). But, I used to work like 65 hours a week and even then I found time to sort and roll rather than dumping them into a machine that does it for me and then takes a percentage of that money.

Especially the people who have kids - great way to teach them about money, wouldn't you say? I can't help but wonder - are the people who claim not to have time the same people who are in debt? What did people do before things like coin-counting machines existed? They simply found the time, right?

I wonder about this. What is everyone so busy doing? Is everyone afflicted with fomo? It's all how you prioritize. People think they're so busy, but really ... maybe everyone's just busy making sure they look busy. Yesterday I worked at a desk covering three attorneys. My phone rang just once, and it was the person who signs my timecard. No mail was sent out, no pleadings were filed. Granted, this doesn't mean the attorneys were not busy. A lot gets done via e-mail these days. But they didn't need me there.

When I first started working, I felt really uncomfortable as the 21 year-old in an office full of "real" grownups, especially when they'd talk about holidays. "What are you doing for Labor Day Weekend, Green?" Nothing. "What do you have going on for the three-day weekend?" Same shit I normally have going on for two-day weekends. These people all went into the city or out to the Hamptons and had elaborate plans for meeting up with other people that necessitated shopping trips at Roosevelt Field on their lunch hours.

So much pressure to have something happening. Now when I smile and say, "Just relaxing," people are jealous and tell me about how they have to run here and there and satisfy all the different friends and family members. Though to them "relaxing" probably involves spas and nail salons and massages and wine and eating fancy food. To me "relaxing" just means reading a good library book, going for a walk, sorting the mail, and maybe getting some laundry done.

I was chatting with someone last night and at one point realized I can't remember the last time I had a crush. At some point while living in Florida, I simply stepped back from the rat race of life. I'm no longer competing with society. I stopped competing because I realized I would never win. Sometimes I forget I'm not competing, but then a homeless man will spit at my feet when I walk by and it reminds me of my place.

If You Want to Help, Put On Your Thinking Cap

Situation: I need to get a typing test. Actually, what I need are the results of a typing test. I have to submit that for a job.

Possible Solution: I have a very good relationship with one of my recruiters. They would totally let me go in if I told them I'd like to brush up on my speed. However, the job I need this for is not law-related.

Problem: How do I get the recruiter's office to let me take a typing test, and walk out with the results (after you take the test, a page prints out saying what your WPM is), without lying, yet also, without letting them know it's for a job that they can't make money from?

I was going to post this question on the job forum on Craigslist, but a huge chunk of Craigslist seems to be broken. WTF, Craig?

Even Worse Than the Holiday Season

Tourist season. I wish it were hunting season, so I could shoot tourists. I can overlook your bright white sneakers that you clearly bought special for this exciting trip to San Francisco. I can keep my snickers to a minimum at your fag bag. That overpriced sweatshirt that says San Francisco? The one I *know* you bought at Fisherman's Wharf that you're proudly prancing around wearing? That can also be overlooked.

Some things, however, can not be overlooked. Arriving at the top of the escalator and abruptly stopping? Not okay. Yes, I understand that you are disoriented and are not sure where you are and need to look around and figure that out. However, there are people (like me) who've gotten stuck behind you, and need to get somewhere. Step to the side.

When you need to whip out your handy dandy free map of the city you took from the overpriced hotel and turn in a slow circle? That's okay. Just step over to the side, so you're not blocking the entire sidewalk.

The buses? There are signs on the sides of them as well as on the front. So please stop stepping into the street in front of oncoming traffic to see what bus is approaching. While we're on the topic of public transportation, they don't give change. Let me say that again. HEY TOURISTS! THE PUBLIC BUSES, TROLLEYS and TRAINS DO NOT GIVE CHANGE!

Moving on. Of all people, I understand about being lost. I get lost all the time. Hell, I got on the wrong train just last week going to Golden Boy's house. Asking for directions is a smart thing to do sometimes. It'd be a shame to wind up far from where you meant to be and in a bad neighborhood. I ask for directions when I go to new places too.

However. When I ask someone for directions, it strikes me the same as asking for a favor. And when one wants someone to do them a favor, what is the proper protocol? That's right! Manners! I'm polite. Excuse me, please, and thank you. I use all three when asking for directions.

Do you? No. No you do not. And this is a problem. For you. Know why? Because I am a bitch. Can you guess why these two things are your problem? Because when you ask me for directions and do not say "Excuse me" or "please" I am not inclined to help you. In fact, quite the opposite. I am tempted to do to you what the seniors at my high school did to the freshman when they needed directions, and direct you to the wrong place.

The City of San Francisco would not come to a grinding halt without your little visits. You are not so special and precious that I am inspired by your mere presence to bend over backwards to help you get to your special tourist-trap destination. You can get your damn See's Candies at the freaking airport.

It's not any one specific group of people that lack manners. It's everyone. Everyone seems to have forgotten please and thank you. I'm not a particularly nice person (you may have noticed) but even I have manners and use them. You should too.

I can't remember which book it was, but as a child I read a book where a dad was talking to a child about going to a new place. He explained that the child represented the place they came from, so they should be on their best behavior. Tourists of San Francisco, you are NOT making your hometowns look good. Tourists of San Francisco, you are on thin ice with me.

It's All Her Fault

Wide Lawn's link made me pee my pants. Century Village is an actual old-people community in ... shit, not Lake Worth ... ummm.... well, somewhere. My point is, it's real. (And I think I recognized that lady on the right named Evelyn.)

Excuse me while I go change my pants.

When You're Far You Get Close

Did you ever notice that when you're far from home, if you meet someone also from that same home, you automatically like them due to that common bond, even if had you met them at home the two of you would never have been friends?

No? Just me? Oh, then ... never mind, I guess.

I automatically give anyone from New York a second look. Even if they would have hated me back when we lived there. Even if that's the only thing we seem to have in common. Because I miss New York and love it (and am jealous of the people there, all the people there, even the ones who are miserable being there because they are twitterpated over a guy who's here and are being forced to watch the news all day long).

Will is from New York. Ohmygod, me TOO!
He's even from Long Island. Ohmygod, me TOO!
But he's from the county next to mine. Bummer.
Yeah but he's funny. Ohmygod, me TOO! Wait, I mean, umm...