Smushmusements

And… we’re back

gracenmichelle — Tue, 06 May 2008 18:16:00 +0000

Today my boss found out that someone has been fraudulently using his credit card for online purchases.

How?

They sent one of their purchases to our office.

Women’s Size 7 Sperry Sandals in “Chocolate”

Busted.

I’m a violent drunk

gracenmichelle — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 19:54:42 +0000

I woke up (after a long crazy night that involved rollerskating while drinking) and found this on my desk:

Awkward Cat Calls

gracenmichelle — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 20:41:11 +0000

As a lady in New York City, you deal with a number of different trials and tribulations. Finding a bathroom immediately when it’s your lady time of the month, negotiating walking over subway grates while wearing lady high heels, enduring graphic comments from grimy men on the street that make you wish you weren’t a lady…

I’ve experienced and dealt with all of these things on a semi-regular basis with varying degrees of difficulty since I’ve been working/living here. I’ve mastered balancing on the balls of my feet over grates, have a personal map (in my head) of all clean and accessible bathrooms in the vicinity of my usual stomping ground, and I generally blast my ipod and then invent different things that the guys passing by might be saying for my own amusement.

Today I was in a rush getting to work and didn’t have a chance to take out my ipod. A man walking toward me hocked a nice big loogey as he approached me. I went into robot lady mode where I pretend not to see anyone or anything around me. As he passed, I saw him look me up and down. His eyes rested on my shoes and he simply said. “Pretty feet.” (But with a strong gangsta-thug attitude) Like… it was an assertion, not a comment. “Pretty FEET!”

I was sort of intrigued. What happened in his head in the ten seconds he had me in his sights that made him say that? Are there a lot of bums/street thugs who go around critiquing lady’s shoes?

“Damn. Them Jimmy Choos is so last season, gurl.” …for example?

It’s probably just wishful thinking on my part.

…but I really hope not.

Homeless guys have feelings, too.

gracenmichelle — Sun, 02 Mar 2008 02:17:50 +0000

I was getting on the subway the other day, and this homeless guy (whose resemblance to Santa Claus was uncanny, btw) was sleeping on the long dark blue subway seat/bench. It was one of those moments when you walk on and then realize that you have definitely chosen the wrong car. His smell was amazingly potent.

When he saw that many people were getting on, he sat up and moved his crushed miller lite can and paper bag so that someone could sit next to him. Very considerate, I thought.

Shockingly, no one took notice of this gesture and the seat remained empty. One woman chose to stand next to him. The man who sat closest to him immediately regretted his decision to do so, as evidenced by his not-so-subtle body language. (see photo)

I guess this upset him, because his next move was to take the blanket he had with him and put it over his head.

That’s all.

Something’s Fishy at the Thrift-o-Wash

gracenmichelle — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 18:28:52 +0000

Today I was sitting in my laundromat reading… waiting for my clothes to be dry of course. No, I don’t just go to the laundromat to sit and read and watch people. Though, after today, I might just start.

A middle aged guy came in and began loading his washers. It was at this point that I noticed a fishy sort of smell beginning to fill the room. I didn’t really mind it though. It was very faint and I was pretty engrossed in the book I was reading.

The man then made a noise that I can only describe as a “Harumph.” This caused me to look up from my book. He was standing in front of the two washers he had loaded, arms folded, glaring at the machines. His stance was similar to that of a military officer watching soldiers doing push ups. I considered trying to take a picture of him with my new cell phone, but before I could decide, he sprung forward and seized his bottle of “All” detergent.

Suddenly he began mumbling “gotta kill the fish smell. gotta kill the fish smell.” He proceeded to pour what I could only assume was about 2 more cups of detergent into the machine. Then he opened his bottle of bleach and started pouring that in too. Mind you, his laundry was not a load of whites, it was a mix of colors.

Then he spilled bleach on himself and began shouting obscenities. Mind you again, he was RIGHT in front of me and there was no one else in the place. It was very hard to ignore him, but I somehow accomplished it. He capped his bleach and ran out… probably to go home and clean the bleach off of himself before sustaining a nasty series of chemical burns.

My dryer finished. I loaded my stuff into a bag and got the hell out of there before the guy came back… but not before taking a picture of his now SUD FILLED washing machine.

That’s all folks

I have no words

gracenmichelle — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 02:24:40 +0000



His name was Loco. He was a goldfish.
gracenmichelle — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 12:01:09 +0000
I am, of course, NOT alluding to Manilow’s “Copacabana” …but to Weird Al’s fabulous parody song “Star Wars Cantina”
Now that that is clear… I have a fish.
After coming home to a begging, barking, needy dog for a good number of years, I find it strange to walk in the door and not be greeted very enthusiastically by some other living thing. As I miss my dog who I had to leave with my parents in NJ, my building does not allow pets, and I do not currently have a boyfriend to keep chained in my bedroom, I resorted to this:

Now, you may be fooled, but this is not an actual picture of my fish. Thank you Google images.
Anyway, that’s what he looks like. Also, he is CRAZY. I chose him because he was the only fish of his kind that was acting like a total nut job. Hence the clever name, Loco. I’m Puerto Rican. I am not fluent in Spanish and I can barely speak it, but for some reason, giving my fish a Spanish name makes me feel more connected to my heritage.
So my fish, -who I apparently designated as a male in order for him to better serve as my protector/companion in this cold, scary, lonely, Brooklyn apartment- was acting like a COMPLETE maniac in the Petco tank. He was doing a kind of fish freak out dance that involved swimming up and down with his fish nose pressed against the glass. He saw me and knew that we were meant to spend the rest of his life together.
Side note: I like how I assigned the male sex to this fish when, for all I know, SHE could have a fish vag.
I called over a Petco worker and asked for assistance in buying a fish. A kindly gentleman came over. I motioned to the tank and very eloquently stated, “I want that.” The guy couldn’t have been confused about which one I was motioning to, as Loco was the only fish of his kind in this tank. Apparently, he jumped out of his original tank next door, which was filled to the brim with other shubunkins. (That’s the kind of goldfish he is, a shubunkin. I couldn’t be happier upon finding out the breed. heh… shubunkin) So the guy scooped him out, which was an arduous task at best. Loco was playing hard to get. I instantly wanted him even more. Oh, human nature.
At first he couldn’t catch him and asked me if I wanted one from the tank next to it. I said “no!” a bit too forcefully, I now realize. I didn’t care. I was on a mission. So he scooped him out and looked at him.
“You sure you want this one? His tail looks all bit up,” the Petco employee said to me. “Them other fish musta been beatin up on him, that’s why he jumped into this tank”
My very fast response was: “No I want that one. He’s a fighter!”
The Petco employee made NO reaction to this, but proceeded to bag my fish and hand him to me. He never cracked a smile.
Loco and I rode the subway home from Union Square. This is when I realized that perhaps I’m crazy too because I found myself talking to him during the ride. Not like… long conversations, just idle comments here and there, that everyone on the train with me could and DID overhear.
Dogs and owners begin to look alike? True:

Much like my dog and I share the wide eyed yet adorable in a freaky sort of way commonality, my fish and I share the “crazy person on subway” commonality.
That is all.

         


They’re hangin’ tough…
gracenmichelle — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 04:43:08 +0000
The New Kids On The Block are releasing a brand new song soon.
That is all.

         


It’s fun to stay at the YMC… O?
gracenmichelle — Sat, 26 Jan 2008 14:20:04 +0000
Yet another subway story…
On this particular day I’m not listening to my ipod, for once, but just reading a book.
(Specifically I’m reading “Eat, Pray, Love” and I generally refuse to read any book that one can find on that pretentious rack in Borders where they basically put up a sign saying “these are GOOD, read THESE!!!!” but my roommate Grace told me it was great and I should read it. So, while I will not listen to the opinion of the fortune 500, second largest book selling chain in America -behind Barnes and Noble, and I ask you, what the hell is the difference besides the fact that one sells Starbucks and the other Seattle’s Best?- I WILL listen to whatever Grace tells me to do)
That was an unnecessary tangent.
So I’m reading and this man gets on the train with his daughter, who looks to be about 9 years old. There are no seats so they both stand at the same pole. She is humming quietly to herself. At the next stop the woman next to me gets off and the little girl says in a sing-song voice “Oh look, a lovely seat just for me” and saunters over to sit down. I wish I viewed the subway in such a magical/fancy way.
Suddenly the little girl starts singing.
“It’s fun to stay at the YMCA! It’s fun to stay at the YMCA-aaaaa”
I was pretending to read my book and stifling a giggle.
The she laughed and said, “Dad… what if it was YMCO?”
Barely hesitating, her Dad responded, “Young Men’s Christian… Ostriches?”
Then they both laughed…. a LOT. Like… A LOT.
They proceeded to discuss how the YMCA would be different if it were for Ostriches.
Their stop came and they both walked off, still discussing this topic quite seriously.
It was a great start to my morning.
That is all.

         


Random acts of… strangeness
gracenmichelle — Fri, 18 Jan 2008 21:53:14 +0000
I have witnessed three  random acts of kindness in the past day and a half. This is uncommon in New York any day… but 3 times in less than 2 days?
1. I am on the subway at night – diligently ignoring everyone around me and listening to all REM albums on shuffle (can’t go wrong) – when an older, cracked out woman limps her way onto the R train and sits across from me. I can see from her exaggerated body movements that her ankle is in pain. The girl next to me immediately whips out her purse and produces a bottle of Tylenol. “You want an asprin?” she asks loudly. The cracked out lady says “Yea. Thanks.” The exchange is made. I am dumbfounded.
2. This morning a big sort of scary lookin dude gets on the train (did I just use dude seriously?) and he has a bike with him. He tries to balance the bike on the pole in front of his 3 seater. The train jolts forward and his bike starts wheeling away. He grabs it. “Phew, that was a close one huh?” he tries to say to me with his eyes. I look away. I’m still scarred from my last incident with trying to relate to strangers. Hypocritical of me? Absolutely. Then he takes out a sandwich, and I’m mostly staring out the window at the passing patterns of concrete, but when I do glance over he is always having some sort of trouble. He is dropping a piece of lettuce, or a section of newspaper, etc. Eventually a girl sits next to me. I glance over at the scary dude and he has just spilled some of his coffee on the seat. With lightning fast reflexes, girl next to me produces a napkin as if from nowhere and lunges forward to come to the man’s aide. “Thanks!” he says. And begins mopping up the mess.  What is this world coming to?
3. I am exiting the local McDonalds (I had a moment of weakness today that I scarcely allow myself to have. Sue me.) and as I’m leaving I see that there is a bit of a confused little shuffle going on at the door between about 4 different people, all trying to decide who is holding the door to let someone in or out and who is accepting the gesture. There are 2 sets of doors. The innermost ones have to be opened, but one of the outer doors is propped. I wait for the shufflers to move away. I see the clear path. I open the inner door for myself and as I approach the outer door, a guy comes from the outside, and upon seeing me there, about to walk out, he does a little panicky dance and proceeds to hold the open door open for me. Chivalry isn’t dead, but it’s not too bright either.
I’m such a bitch.
That is all…