Long Wharf
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
A Wonderful Town
My vacation plan was to drive from Maryland to Portland, Maine, on the Friday before this holiday weekend. But on Thursday, my girlfriend Jacqui begged me to go up and stay with her in NYC where she was at the Hilton on business. Who could turn down an offer like that? A chance to see some of my closest friends in my favorite city? I rescheduled my first-ever eyebrow waxing for earlier in the day on Thursday, the first day of my much-needed vacation. Then I packed and hit the road around 3:30pm for the 207-mile drive to 53rd and 6th in the Big Apple.Gad. Five hours later I arrived. I was making good time in my little Hybrid SUV until I was 37 lousy miles outside of the city on the Jersey turnpike. (Speaking of my car, I recently discovered a 6-CD player under the passenger seat that I never knew was there. Fancy that! It came in handy for this car trip.)
Anyway, from that point on the turnpike all the way to the hotel traffic was bumper-to-bumper. It took me nearly two hours to go the last 37 miles. Geez! The problem is, after you squeeze through the toll booth outside the Lincoln Tunnel, there are about eight lanes of LA freeway-like traffic merging into the two lanes of the right-hand tube. My god, why don’t they build more tubes for this 79-year-old tunnel???
Once I was inside the city, every east-west road I tried was backed up into the intersections. Nonetheless, I was in NYC!! It felt like home. I was so happy and so energized just being there. Even my old doorman was happy to see me.
Jacqui and I ate dinner with her cool friend Farrah. (Not Fawcett; this Farrah is much more beautiful than that other Farrah.) The three of us walked over to 8th Avenue, my old stomping ground, for a wonderful Italian dinner and lots of laughs. I felt sorry for our waiter. After Farrah spent 15 minutes explaining to the waiter exactly what she wanted on her plate, I chided her, “I’m never eating out with you again.” And then Jacqui started inadvertently putting an “a” on the end of her verbs as if we were Florence itself, and no one could stop laughing. (You speaka da language?) My crazy friends!The next day while Jacqui worked I went shopping on Fifth Avenue. God I miss Fifth Avenue. Tiffany’s is just a short walk from the hotel, and I couldn’t resist getting a little something for myself and a couple of gifts too. (I can only afford to shop on the Silver Floor, but that doesn't make it any less fun.) I also stopped in at the huge Disney store and bought Christmas presents for my nieces Maddie and Katie before going back to meet up with Jacqui.
As much as I hated the thought of setting foot in my old office building again, we walked over to the Microsoft office so I could see an old TAM buddy, Elana. New York’s been good to her – with her long dark hair and eyes, we decided she should quit Microsoft and become a model. She’s not a big fan of the City, but she sure looks the part - a true Miss Madison Avenue.
Jacqui and I couldn’t wait to get down to Canal street to do some designer shopping. I swear it’s a hoot. We looked for our buddy Mohammed at the same corner where we bought purses and sunglasses last year. When we couldn’t find him, we asked another dude (who was selling “Louis Vuitton, Burberry . . .”) if Mohammed was still around. Dude #2 picked up his cell, made a call, and the next thing you know, Mohammed appeared in his oversized ball cap.
Jacqui was looking for a specific LV purse that she’d seen earlier, behind a small hidden door in a 5' x 5' room that had a ladder propped up in the corner leading up to a hole in the ceiling. Jacqui and I were crammed in this back "room" with two other shoppers, plus the Asian "sales" guy, admiring the purses lining the walls. He wanted $38 for the LV purse, but Jacqui thought she could get it for $35 elsewhere, so she turned it down. I offered $25 for a gorgeous Coach. He wanted $60 because "it new design." I laughed and told him forget it. Then, just as we were getting ready to leave he said, "Forty dollar. Final offer."
Anyway, back out on the street, Mohammed went off for a while and came back empty-handed, so Jacqui and I continued our search for The Purse, which she now absolutely had to have since it seemed to be out of reach.
On the next block, I asked a young Asian "sales" girl if she had this LV purse. She took us down the street, around a corner, and through a gray steel door onto a small landing above a darkish cellar. I didn’t think my painful left knee could take the steep walk down the uneven wooden stairs, so Jacqui went down with LV Girl while I stayed upstairs by the door. Moments later, LV Girl appeared on the lower landing, shaking her finger, “No open door! No open door!” I was like, “No, no open door!” Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it.
Unfortunately, LV Girl didn’t have the purse either. When they got back to the top of the stairs, she peeked out through a peep hole in the door and called a buddy on her cell phone to make sure the coast was clear before opening the door to let us out. I swear.
Later, after another guy told her he wanted $180 for the same purse ("I swear it's real - it was stolen"), Jacqui went off alone down Broadway with another sales girl while I shopped for sun glasses on the corner. It took her a while to get back. Just as soon as I sent a text message to her cell, she showed up. This time she had to climb five flights of stairs - and still no purse!
Our friend Peggy (a.k.a. Good Peggy) suggested this [edited] story for the New York Times:
And that’s how it’s done on Canal Street.Girl Almost Turned Prostitute While Frantically Shopping on Canal Street in Pursuit of THE Louis Vuitton Bag.
Girl claims "but you don't understand. . . I GOTTA HAVE this bag." She barely escapes becoming a Canal Street prostitute as she scampers down five flights of stairs out of the building, all the while never losing the grip on her Louis Vuitton bag.
That night it was dinner at Ellen’s Stardust diner with our dear friend and former manager Karthik. That was a blast. The singing entertainment is unbeatable for the price of admission to the restaurant – free. It was too loud in there to talk, so afterward we walked a block up Broadway in the newly falling rain to the nearest Starbucks for coffee and dessert. It was great catching up with Karthik, although I was horrified to hear about how poorly my old Wall Street customer is being treated since my departure.
The next morning I left NYC at about 10:20am for the 300-mile drive to Portland, Maine. What a nightmare of a drive that turned out to be. About 15 toll booths and nearly nine hours later, I finally made it to the Holiday Inn by the Bay, where I was greeted by a rude security guard-wannabe in the parking lot. Imagine driving halfway up the east coast averaging just 35mph in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Not fun. I wasn't in a good mood to begin with, so this asshole was the last thing I needed at the time.
It was rather unfortunate that the first person I met in the state of Maine had to be such a jerk. But thank goodness my first impression was wrong. I told the front desk clerk about his lousy attitude, and she was apologetic - even offered me a free drink in the lounge. (Too bad I don't drink!) That guy was obviously not from Maine. Everyone else I met in my brief 36 hours there was nothing short of polite, nice, helpful, and courteous. Even the dogs I met were nice! And there were lots of dogs - Portland is obviously a pet-friendly town.Stay tuned for some photos of beautiful Maine.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Good Peggy | Bad Peggy & Catnip Kitty
Last week was one whopper of a week.
On Tuesday, June 20th, I came home from work to a pile of lumber in my front yard. Not just in the yard, but on the grass. That was the last straw. I’d had it with National Deck and Patio (NDP). I can’t believe how stupid they could be.This pile consisted of the correct size fence boards that they were supposed to install the previous week – (actually, the previous month, per our contract, but Maryland vendors ignore minor details like delivery dates, end dates, etc.).
So, despite my strict instructions about leaving materials at the curb instead of in my driveway or on the grass, NDP still didn’t get it right. I called the salesman, who said he’d have it taken care of. But he wasn't what I'd call the brightest lightbulb in the chandelier and hadn’t kept one promise yet, so I moved the fence boards off the grass and onto the sidewalk myself – at 6:30 the next morning.
NDP – which really stands for No Damn Productivity - was also aware that my HOA doesn’t allow materials to be left in front of my home for more than 24 hours. So, did they move them in that time period? Heck no. It was a week later that I left the operations manager a voice mail saying to move the materials around to the back of the house. When I came home that evening, the fence boards were gone. I mean gone. Completely. Some NDP delivery guy had actually hauled the boards off. I wondered if I'd ever get my fence.
After that, things just got weirder, and that's not counting the torrential rains, the ear-drum-busting thunder cracks in the middle of the night, the mudslide that appeared in front of my driveway the day the wood disappeared from my sidewalk, and other unexpected acts of nature that occurred last week.
On Wednesday, June 21, I received an email from Madison’s new guardian. Although her name is Peggy, I prefer to call her Miss Piggy, a.k.a, Bad Peggy. You see, Good Peggy lives down in Florida. Good Peggy is a true cat lover and one of my dearest friends, despite her neurotic fear of baby birds. Bad Peggy, on the other hand, is a Marylander. Need I say more?
This email from Bad Peggy, which arrived in my Inbox nine days after I regrettably gave Madison to this woman, simply stated, “What time will you be home this evening?” I replied and told her “After 7:00.” I didn’t know what she was planning. And, believe me, all day long I wondered what was to happen that evening.
Wait, let me back up nine days. There's a history to receiving that email from Miss Piggy.
On June 2, I had a 6:00 appointment with this Peggy woman to come over and pick up my sweet, adorable cat Madison and take her home. (My other beloved kitty, Martin, had grown extremely anxious over Madison's 2-month presence and had resorted to neurotic behavior. Essentially, he was living in fear, so I had to find a new home for Madison, which was sad.)
I'd sent out an email to a bulletin board alias at work that morning, and a co-worker (whom I didn't know) forwarded it to her friend Peggy, who responded with a note about what a "beYOOtiful" cat Madison is. I felt sorry for this woman, because according to her friend she’d lost a cat to cancer a couple of months previous.
To make a really long story not nearly short enough, this Peggy (Bad Peggy) was supposed to arrive “just after 6:00pm” that Friday. But she did not, and the time kept getting later and later – with no phone call from her. This inconsiderate behavior worried me. And I was agonizing over giving up Madison as it was. Every minute that passed was painful.
I wondered, Is this stranger responsible enough to take home and care for this expensive and precious Maine Coon? Why hasn’t she called? Is she going to show? Should I call Shannon like I promised I would if this woman didn't show?
Several other people had expressed interest in adopting Madison (one woman named Shannon, in particular, whom I’d promised I'd call at 7pm if the other woman didn't show). By 7:00PM, she still hadn’t shown, so at 7:10 I put a note on my front door saying that I’m sorry, but I promised Madison to someone else if you didn’t show.
I didn’t have a phone number to call her. In fact, I didn’t even have her address.
Well, BP finally arrived an hour late, at 7:15 and started ringing my doorbell, despite the note that nicely said, Go away you wicked witch. I just wanted her to leave; I was no longer comfortable giving her my precious Madison. I got on the phone with Good Peggy to discuss the situation further. About 10 minutes later, I looked out the window, and BP was still parked in my driveway! I figured she’d be long gone. I hung up from Peggy, and the phone started ringing. I didn’t pick up. This woman left me a long-winded message, begging me to call her and give her Madison. I didn’t call back.
But Bad Peggy stayed outside my house and kept calling. I finally decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and picked up the phone. I decided to "do the right thing," or so I thought at the time. Miss Piggy carried on like a kid in a candy store, begging me to let her have Madison. I told her that not showing and not calling led me to doubt that she was responsible, blah, blah, blah. But she went on and on about how she “drove all the way from Silver Spring,” (a whopping 20-25 miles) and how her friend could vouch for her.
I got sick of the whining and let her and her friend into my house, against my better judgment. She asked to see Madison, and I let her. That was my mistake. She insisted on taking Madison home and did everything in her power to make me feel bad because she drove all the way from Silver Spring. And I did feel badly. And when Miss Piggy insisted on taking Madison’s brand new pretty pink carrier, despite bringing her own cat carrier with her in the car, I even gave in to that. Dang!
I totally caved. I let Madison go with Bad Peggy. When BP put the cat in the car, I said, “You’re going to belt her in, right?” She nodded but didn’t move toward the car to do so. I walked over to hug BP and thank her for taking the cat, but she stood stiff as a board and didn’t respond to my gesture at all. That was weird. She drove off, and I immediately wondered if I’d just made a huge mistake.
This decision ate away at me, day and night. I couldn't sleep. My gut told me that Madison did not belong with this woman. I realized that this woman had never even mentioned her cat that had died. Had that story been true? She never mentioned anything about taking good care of Madison. She never showed one bit of concern about the cat. Everything out of her mouth was “Me, me, me.” It was all about Peggy. Peggy, Peggy, Peggy. Even Good Peggy thought that this woman only wanted the cat because of her looks and the fact that she’s a full-bred Maine Coon (worth about $600).
Several days later, I emailed the woman to ask about Madison. Bad Peggy sent me a flaming email response at my work, stating that I’d been disrespectful to her when she showed up an hour late without calling, and that she’d “held her tongue” when she was at my house and that this is why she didn’t ever want to communicate with me again, and other B.S.
I thought, Oh my GOD, I don’t want this hateful woman to have my cat. The thought of Madison living with this selfish, hateful woman tore me up. At that point, I was bound and determined to get Madison back and give her to Shannon instead. So I devised a plan. A plan that I’m ashamed to say I carried out, but happy to say, worked.
The long and short of it is, starting the next day (Tuesday, June 13th), I emailed Miss Piggy every single day, begging to get this cat back, saying I was sorry, I’d made a huge mistake, I couldn’t live without the cat, I’ll give you as much money as you want, just name your price, etc. Since she’d already played the God card with me once, I threw it right back at her in my emails, with statements like “I think it’s God’s will that you return Madison to me so that you can rescue another cat,” and more crap like that (which was actually partly true). I never got one response from her. Although I had her cell phone number (from my Caller ID), I didn’t call her. I gave her the opportunity to call me. She did not.
Finally, eight days later, out of the blue, I got the email from Miss Piggy asking when I’d be home.
That evening, a few minutes after 7pm, my phone rang. The mousy voice asked, “Susan, are you at home?” I was like, “Yes, who is this?” She said, “This is Peggy; I have your cat.” On the advice of Good Peggy, I gushed with gratitude that she called me to work something out with the cat (blah, blah, blah). Then she said again, “I have your cat. I’m outside.” I said, “You’re at my house??”
Sure enough, I hung up, went outside, and there was Miss Piggy with the ugliest scowl on her face, setting Madison’s carrier down on the driveway and throwing down the bag full of Madison’s stuff next to her. I said, “I am SO SORRY. . . ,” but instead of responding, she gave me an ugly look. (If looks could kill.) She slammed her car doors and drove off.
I was SO HAPPY that I was able to save Madison a second time. I took her up to her room to get her settled in and fed, set up her litter box and food, and brushed her. Poor cat hadn’t been combed in days. A ton of hair came off of her (and the next day she spit up three huge hairballs, so I knew that Miss Piggy hadn't fed her the right hairball management food, as instructed, much less combed her).
As I was digging Madison’s items out of the bag, I saw a stack of multi-colored index cards with handwriting on them. I was on the phone with Good Peggy as I read the first of the yellow cards out loud. It said, “This is not about a cat. You need help. You need to read [such-and-such book.]” We both started howling!! I said, “Man, I could’ve won an academy award for that performance!” (Besides, everyone who knows me knows I need help. That's a no-brainer.)
But Bad Peggy's note hit the nail on the head, as Good Peggy said – “It was never about the cat. It was about her.” There was another yellow card that said, "Indoor cats don't need to wear a bell." I noticed that Madison's pretty pink collar was missing from her stuff. So she'd thrown the collar away. The reason that Miss Madison wore a bell was for Martin's sake. I'd read that it was a good warning method for two cats trying to get to know each other.
She also left another note stating that "Laser lights are bad for cats and dogs." Man, this woman was a real freak. The laser light was gone too. No great loss. Martin didn't play with it anyway.Finally, there was a stack of green index cards, each with a passage from the bible quoted on it. I flipped through them without reading a single quote, then threw the whole pile of index cards in my recycle bin.
I was glad I got Miss Madison away from this religious hypocrite. I called Shannon.Shannon was happy to take in Miss Madison, but there was one problem. Her family was going out of town the next day for four days. Ugh. I was devastated. By this time, Martin had completely gotten over the whole Madison ordeal. Now I’d have to hide Madison from him and keep them separated again for four long, painful days—which was also just enough time to get attached to Madison again. I honestly wasn't sure if I could take any more emotional stress.
But I agreed to keep her those four days for Shannon because the alternative was putting her in a shelter in the interim. After what she’d already been through, I couldn’t bring myself to even consider such punishment for this poor cat who’d been tossed from place to place.
So we did it. Poor Martin. Although he never saw Madison, he suspected she was there behind the closed door of her bedroom. And he started sleeping under the bed again – but only part-time. He didn’t go completely nuts this time. He behaved fairly normally the whole time except when he was upstairs (and except for a couple times when he hissed at the air in the basement and ran off!) Another reason I was worried about taking in Madison because Martin had a vet appointment June 22nd. 
After the way he’d fallen apart at his last vet visit, I thought this was going to ruin it again. But I’ll have to tell you later how that went.Shannon came over Sunday night, June 25th, in a torrential, flooding downpour, and took Madison home with her family. I cried again. But this time I was over it by the next day. Shannon sent me a lovely email telling me all about the ride home and how Madison was doing. She’s stayed in touch ever since, so I know Madison can finally be in a happy, loving home.
And Martin is, once again, back to normal. Today he finally braved a walk into Madison's old room, so I know he's going to be just fine. That's my boy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)