I have a doctor’s appointment today. Actually, because of our lovely health care system, I wasn’t able to get a “doctor” to see me until the end of September so I had to settle on a nurse practitioner. I stand corrected, I have a nurse practitioner’s appointment today. Damn HMOs. At this point I would rather pay full price to see a doctor if I were assured she’d take me more seriously. I’m tired of the Wal Mart style in practicing medicine. I have little faith.

There are some work things I must catch up on in order for me to leave for a few hours this afternoon. I’ll post more shortly.

I’m walking home from work, it’s a Thursday. I have 5 videos in a bag dangling from my arm, it’s one of the perks about working there, free movies and Swedish Fish. The snow started falling at 9 a.m. It’s now 5. People are climbing out from their corners, headed for the bars, headed for houses, headed for snow shovels, cocktails, conversations and nights which end in sloppy kisses.

(I think of White Russians, fire places, Adam’s Apple and how most people look best under firelight and how the northeast is really the only place for me, nature must wear winter).

Winter.

My headphones introduce me to daily, music videos. To and from class and work, I write new versions for MTV and VH1. They’ll never be seen, I know this, but they’re amusing and pass the time. In this video there are people shoveling into a new snow fall and it’s still falling. And I am watching and laughing, knowing full-well I have to do the same once I reach home. But that’s ok because classes have been cancelled and I have 5 videos to see me into Friday. People seem happy when they allow life to live them for a bit. And the sudden blizzard has done this. I watch my feet fumble on uneven snow mounds, I watch them sink into sudden, slushy puddles. Someone throws a snowball at a stranger, arms flail, it’s suddenly whiter. There is so much laughter. I pause this. I listen to life for a bit.

(I remember hot cocoa as a kid and sledding. I know I just missed cracking my head open about 301 times off of 303 trees. Reckless, we were as kids. There was a profound forgiveness for our self-proclaimed invincibility. It came from somewhere, it grew from something. There was much more hope it seemed, and as with every new, white blanket of snow before the cars come by and muck it up, things are right now and right here and untouched and suddenly entirely possible).

Here is a snapshot.

(4.3 mgs) Love Spit Love

This day, last year.

This is something new I’m trying for the “In Retrospects”. This is a link to exactly one year ago, today.

Pictures and proof. Oh my.

1). Girls who in the morning have wet hair.

2). That after the 3rd time something small sets off a highly sensitive car alarm, the situation is moved into highly amusing and they are forced to laugh.

3). Their ability to overlook the embarrassing.

4). That the cops who sit on our corner trying to deter the selling of crack, have set up lawn furniture.

5). That some people let you merge.

6). They notice you’re there.

7). They notice you’re not there.

8). They notice things aren’t well, empathize, and react even before you pass out on public transportation.

9). The asking of questions, especially if they can’t stop staring.

10). The puffy, fresh, vulnerable look everyone has in the morning. You just want to fluff ‘em up like pillows.

And you? What do you like about people?

To whomever it may concern: (A letter I sent to Starbucks).

I generally don’t give negative feedback, however, the people who work at the store on 7th and Pennsylvania in Washington, D.C. (which is across the street from where I work) are infamously rude to their patrons.

Usually, it’s just a blatant disregard for common courtesy. However, lately it’s been worse. For starters, they like to yell across the counter, making people feel like barnyard animals. And they will not take twenties. I understand this happening from time to time due to lack of change, however it happens often, perhaps planning better to avoid this would be a better technique? Another problem, which happened today as a matter of fact, was that they ran out of iced coffee. And the absurdity of this was nearly laughable. They had coffee, they had ice, but we were not able to order iced coffee. (I felt like Jack Nicholson in Five Easy Pieces). When I asked the cashier why they were out of iced coffee she merely answered,

I do not know. I am only a cashier.

I could go on an on about the rudeness spewing from this location, really. But I won’t bore you with the details. I will say this, however, that particular location is in a highly reputable area. They serve senators, congressmen, businessmen, tourists, people from all over the world. I should hope that a location with such a hi-level exposure would be a shining example of how a Starbucks would like to be recognized, and quite frankly, it is not. Contrary to the desired relaxation coupled with coffee shops, I leave there stressed out and annoyed. And lately, I have wondered why it is I keep returning.

Finally, I like Starbucks. I like their fair trade. I hear that Starbucks treats their employees fairly well, unlike many large franchises today. I hope something is done to fix this problem, because I rather enjoy the convenience and the coffee.

Thank you for reading,

Michele H__

(Either I don’t have enough to do, or I’m just a big bitch today. But I could resist, given the iced coffee and all).

Photos from last evening.

Time for a question! It’s simple. I’m mihow. I currently sit at a gray desk in Washington, D.C., U.S.A. To the fine folks who leave comments here regularly and bring me daily fits of joy and laughter, I was thinking it’d be nice to know where it is you write from. So, where? Just a curiosity, really. I don’t want to scare anyone. And the lurkers? I guess you fine folks can just do what it is you’re good at, and say nothing.

Edited to add: Where do you write from? Help me improve my geography.

(I was trying for a map of the world but instead I’ll just appear entirely nationalistic and put up the U.S.A! [and Canada, who is apparently shrinking]).

I once had a date with a redheaded boy named Keith (who turned out to be quite boring and rather strange-in that I’m too touchy feely and talk too soft sort of way-but that’s not the point of this story). On our first date, which I thought would consist of sitting on his front porch, sipping wine he bought from a winery, and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, he (I guess) decided this was not “romantic” enough and suggested we take a late-evening stroll through the park. I really didn’t see the need, and was sort of annoyed by the suggestion, but went along anyway.
A bit later, after returning to his house to use the restroom, I looked down at my sandal-covered feet and noticed about 30 or so slugs of all different shapes and sizes crawling in and out of my toes, sliding along my ankles and calves. Horrified, I tore off my shoes, grabbed my bag, and blurted something like

Slugs! Feet! GOD! Gotta go! Slugs! LOOK at your TOES! GROSS! Bad slug idea. DUH!

We hosed off my feet out front and I headed home. Much later, I realized they were on my skirt and legs as well. It took days to get them off me mentally.