The Day I Caved to a Panhandler

Harvard Square has quite the growing population of homeless people. Now, there's a whole social-political conversation to be had about the whys, hows, and what to do about it, but that's not why I'm here.  There is really something far more interesting than the quantity of homeless people in that particular space.

Now, I've been walking through that area for over five years and there have always been two constants: two men who panhandle independently, in their own designated areas in a simple, but typical way.  One of the men is very polite in his request for change and will wish you a good day regardless of your response (to give or not to give).  The other man is equally unobtrusive and saves his schtick for the holidays when he'll belt out Christmas carols to the passersby.

But the spring and summer bring out what I like to call the Creatives.  These are people who have developed a personae, a talent or a gimmick they think will convince the tourists and the commuters to spare some change.  There's the people with their dogs, usually a pit bull mix of some kind (who I'm always impressed with how well trained and well behaved the dogs are--much moreso than the people).  There's the woman with her plastic tote full of supplies so she can busy herself with cross-stitch all day.  The one-man band.  The artist.  The handful of young twenty-somethings with ironic handwritten signs that make me wonder if they are actually hipster Harvard students (or drop-outs) doing their own social experiment about what it's like to be homeless or to ask strangers for change because while they panhandle, they just don't "look" homeless.  (Judgy?  Yes, but it's an odd group amongst the others who are clearly having hard times.)

But the other day, I noticed a new couple on my way into work.  They had placed their belongings up against the building, but were seated across the sidewalk on a bench.  I barely noticed them until I saw a little fluffy thing next to their packs and bags.  I did a double take before I realized that it was a bunny, no bigger than a kitten.  He was facing the wall, like he was in time out, but I certainly was confused by the sight of him in general.  I kept walking, but overall, it just exited my mind as I went about my day.

Until yesterday.  I was walking through in the afternoon, on my way to the train station, when I saw the couple again, siting on a different bench.  This time their belongings were closer to them, but they had a milk crate set up almost in the walking path on the sidewalk.  The crate was tilted on it side, with a little dish of water and rabbit food (Dave and I used to have a hamster and this food was definitely the mix of seeds and bits you could get at a pet store for general pocket pets).  The little bunny was on a leash and harness(seriously, I couldn't make this up) and was manning (bunnying?) his post with a handwritten cardboard sign that read, "Homeless Bunny Seeking Human Kindness" upon which sat the requisite paper cup for change.

I'm going to pause to let that sink in because I couldn't take a picture.

Not due to a lack of camera, but because of what I did next.

But first, let's talk about this bunny.  This wasn't your typical brown field bunny that we have running around campus.  This was actually a pet bunny that you might find at a pet store.  He was fluffy and tiny and looked so soft that you'd just want to snuggle him.  He was strawberry blonde (okay, more strawberry than blond) and the fur around his face and ears was all fluffed up and wild, like a little ewok.  If ewoks were bunnies.

Now, I'm a generally healthy eater and typically take fresh cut veggies to work to munch on during the day.  That day I had a bag of baby carrots, but didn't finish them.  When I packed up my bag to go home, I tossed the zip-top bag into my backpack, thinking I'd nibble on the train.  And then I saw this bunny and his sign.  Between the fluffy face and the sign (who knew bunnies had such good penmanship), I was done.

And for the first time in five years, I donated to a panhandler.

I reached into my backpack, pulled out the little zip top bag containing 4 baby carrots and placed them in his food bowl.

Then I walked away because I didn't want to hear the cursing from the couple.  Although I did manage to catch a few tittering giggles from others walking through the area.  What can I say, I rescue animals.

The Day Manners and Common Decency Don't Matter

Today the sun is shining, the skies are a vibrant blue and the birds are singing in the trees. Truly the picturesque beauty that could only be ordered up by an institution like Harvard University could request for its massive commencement ceremonies which largely take place outside.  Since the weather has the decency to compliment the stature and eloquence of the Ivy League school, one would assume the people involved in or attending said events would be equally poised and appropriately behaved as they usher themselves to the festivities.

One would be wrong.

In each of the last six May's, I have literally battled my way through Harvard Square, hours before the activities were to begin, only to feel like a bruised warrior, battling my way like a fish going upstream, just to get to work on time.  It's futile.  Among this most joyous of days in the life of a University, everyone involved in the activities tends to forget that outside of graduation, there are other jobs to be done and it's business as usual in the area, and some people just want to do their jobs.

I know you're proud of your son or daughter, your brilliant, genius baby who's graduating from Harvard (HARVARD!!) today.  And I know that you just want to get there early (2 hours early...or more) in the hopes of getting a seat close enough to see (even though the morning ceremonies do not include moment your intellectually superior spawn will walk across the stage).  And I know that you don't know exactly where you are going, so you may be looking up at all the buildings and signs, and not ahead where you about to walk into me.  You may not even be from this country, so there may be a bit of a delay as you catch on to customs such as which side of the sidewalk to walk on.

But.

But I assume that as you had the intellectual gifts to pass onto your child--who I hope one day cures AIDS or reinvents where we get our energy--you also passed on your pedigree of high society, or at least upper-class, with some refinement and knowledge of general decency and manners.  And by passed on, I mean taught your child, not give him or her all your knowledge and then delete it from your own mind.  Because what else could be your excuse for walking 4 people across on a tree- and lamppost-lined sidewalk that only has enough room for 2.65 people to walk abreast, despite the fact that other people are travelling towards you and if you don't move over a bit one of two things will happen.  Either a) said pedestrian walking towards you will be forced to walk in the street into oncoming traffic; or b) said pedestrian walking towards you will WALK RIGHT INTO YOU.

Now, which do you think I did when faced with this dilemma.  Hint: I didn't jump in front of moving cars.

And please don't get all snooty with me because I walked into you.  You gave me no choice, because as happy as I am for you that your young prodigy is graduating and will go on to do wonderful things, I do not think it's necessary for me to sacrifice myself by playing in traffic while I grant you the full access rights to the public sidewalk.  As I said, some people still need to work on this celebration day.

It's manners, people, and on a day of celebration, I would think in your teetering high heels not meant to be worn to walk though the crowded brick sidewalks of Cambridge and your designer dresser for ladies who lunch or men in their well-fitted suits (or the two men in top hats and tails), you would feel that this is a day that deserves a level of refinement and appropriate behavior.  General manners.

I promise, you won't be late for the ceremony nor would it kill you, to yield a bit of the sidewalk to those of us trying to get to work (you know, to do the things behind the scenes that help make it so your child could receive his or her education).

Besides, karma's a bitch.

Open Letter to the Drivers of Boston & Cambridge

Dear "Drivers,"

Boston likes to say it's a walking-friendly city, and since the city is only 2 square miles, it sort of is.  I mean, you can walk anywhere.  But you shouldn't.  And you drivers are the reason why.  Because you fail to acknowledge anyone that isn't in a car.  Hell, you barely acknowledge that there are other drivers on the road. 

Unless you decide to pull my favorite trick: the non-moving violation.

Or as I like to put it, stopping in the middle of the damn road to let someone else make an illegal move.  Like, I don't know, pulling out into a crosswalk WHILE SOMEONE IS IN IT.

Maybe it's guilt from being stupid, rude and generally douchy, but at random moments a driver will decide to be "nice" and let another drive turn/pull out in front of them.  On a busy street.  During rush hour. Resulting in traffic backed up in the even busier intersection behind them.

This morning I was walking along the sidewalk, approaching a driveway to the delivery entrance of a college dining hall.  I walk this path every day and often see delivery trucks backing in and pulling out and appreciate the patience these drivers must have to wait for traffic in order to pull back out onto the busy street.  But that driveway, which actually has a crosswalk, is midway between two traffic signals, so it's never too long before the driver can get where he wants to go.

I was approaching from the right.  The delivery driver wanted to make a right hand turn. Clearly, this meant he didn't need to look to his right, only his left, to gauge his ability to pull out into traffic.  As I approached the driveway and stepped from the sidewalk to the "street," I was shocked and amazed to see a cab driver (of ALL people) stop and wave the delivery driver on. 

Let me reiterate: the cab driver, who had the right of way, a green light ahead and about a half dozen cars behind him, stopped in the middle of the road for no reason other than to let this driver out of the driveway.

WHILE I WAS IN THE CROSSWALK.

The delivery driver, excited and happy at the kindness of this stranger, started to pull out into the road.  Until I smack my hand on his hood and started yelling at him to remember to look both ways before he pulled out.  (Actually, no, I didn't curse.  Yes, I kind of regret it now.)

The good news is that this was a delivery van and not an 18 wheeler that often delivers to this location. The better news is that I think the driver was more scared than I was. (Serves him right.  Seriously, looking both ways is something you learn in kindergarten only to be reiterated in Driver's Ed 101.)

Morals of the story: Look both ways before pulling out into traffic.  Don't stop in the middle of the road to be "nice." (It's illegal; seriously, non-moving violation--look it up.) And for goodness sake don't get your panties in a bunch because a pedestrian is following their right of way in what is proudly boasted as a "walking" city. 

So, Drivers, be warned.  I will take my right of way and I will yell at you if you violate my right.  If you really piss me off, I might hit your car.  And if you keep it up, one of these days I swear I might need to rip you out of your car, GTA-style.  And if you can't see why I'm right, then you seriously need to go back to Driver's Ed.

XOXO,
Colleen

It's Funny Cause It's True

Last week GQ announced that of 38 ranked US cities, Boston came out on top as the Worst-Dressed Place in America.  Which of course got a lot of cranky Bostonians mad.  My favorite part about the article is calling out the women of the area, reminding them that leggings aren't pants.  I think I've heard that before.  Is someone at GQ reading my blog?  Probably not.  It's just the prominence of leggings that's the problem.

Full story here, but this is the bit about Boston, from MSN Lifestyle/GQ, complete with photo of Boston frat boys who won't know why them being exciting about being #1 is funny:

1. Boston

Boston is like America's Bad-Taste Storm Sewer: all the worst fashion ideas from across the country flow there, stagnate, and putrefy. To be fair, it's hard to be a fashion capital when half of your population is made up of undergraduate hoodie monsters, including those unfortunate coeds who don't realize that leggings-as-pants were supposed to be paired with tops large enough to conceal their cameltoes. Yet when they graduate, they can wear their Uggs and still fit in at the country's largest frat party on Lansdowne behind Fenway, where they can take breaks between body shots to admire just how long boot-cut jeans can stay in style in one place. And any classy lady from Beantown is bound to be impressed by formal sportswear. "But Boston is the epicenter of prep style!," you say? That's true, but it's with a little extra that ends up ruining everything: Khakis!—with pleats. Boat shoes!—with socks. Knit ties!—actually, no one in Boston seems to have ever seen one of these. For the more proletarian-minded, there are the modest little burgs of Cambridge and Somerville, where everyone dresses like the proprietor of his or her very own meth lab. If you wonder how a people can live like this, well, it's Jurassic Park for fashion troglodytes: life finds a way.—John B. Thompson

Crazy Stuff I See

Last week I was walking to the train station after work.  Since it's spring and occasionally the weather wants to pretend it's nice outside, there have been a lot more people walking along Mass Ave in Cambridge lately.  Particularly people with dogs, which typically puts a smile on my face. 

Last summer I enjoyed walking past a shoe store that frequently left the door open so the "Watch Corgi" could see the people going up and down the street.  He would sometimes bring his tennis ball to the door and once he lost it, helplessly watching it roll away from him.  So of course I had to collect it and roll it back to him.

But last week I had to do a double take.  In the distance I saw a guy walking what I thought were two medium sized white dogs.  I could quite tell the breed so I kept looking as I got closer.

They weren't dogs.

They were lambs.

On leashes.

Walking toward Harvard Square.

I apologize because by the time I realized what was happening, I was ill-prepared to take a good photo from the front and ended up with a shot of the sidewalk.  But I was able to procure the following:

Enhance:

Enhance:

I know the picture quality from my phone sucks, but I promise you, they were lambs.

When I shared this with Dave and asked, "Who walks lambs down Mass Ave?," his response was, "Well, you have to exercise them.  And it's illegal to let your livestock wander on Boston Common now."

And now I've spent the last few days wondering and coming up with more questions.  Does the guy have a house or apartment?  Why lambs?  Does he use them for wool?  What other livestock might he have?  How do you train a lamb to walk on a leash?  Why doesn't he live on a farm?  It' all very confusing, but I must say, there is never a lack of interesting things on my walks through the city.

Sunday Night Football

This weekend Dave and I visited my parents in Pittsburgh. While we were there, we went to a Sunday night football game at Heinz Field between my beloved Steelers and (one of) my favorite team to despise, the New England Patriots.

So disappointing.

Heading into the game, we were stoked and ready for a great match-up.  The crowd wasn't as into it as I'd hoped, but I figured they'd come around. Some of them probably weren't regulars since it was a night game, and maybe they just need a few good plays to get rowdy.

But alas, the Steelers had some terrible flaws.  I won't dwell on the lack of first downs or how the wide receivers couldn't hold onto the ball.  Or how Troy Polamalu read nearly every single play opposite and was never on the correct side of the field.  Or how the defense forgot to put coverage on any of New England's wide receivers.  We will discuss none of that.

Instead, we will discuss the six jagoff New England fans that had the seats in front of us.  Oh. My. God.  Completely obnoxious.  And they weren't even drinking. 

Now I've been to a lot of games (my dad has been to a lot more), and it's not uncommon for someone rooting for the opposing team to be sitting nearby.  And 98% of the time, it's a cordial environment where they recognize they are in the opponent's home, and while they can be excited for the team, they should be respectful.  Even Cleveland Browns fans understand that.

But these guys were so obnoxious, disrespectful, and just plain irritating.  Well, except for one.  He wasn't bad.  The guy in front of me, however, was President of the I'm a Jerk 20-Something Guy from New England club.  The type of Patriot fan who thinks Tom Brady is the second coming, and only likes football because New England is doing well.  Once the Patriots lose a few games, all sports energy will be focused on the Red Sox, Celtics or Bruins (in that order).  He reminded me of every guy I see in Harvard Square who will walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk, run into you, and they yell at you for being in the way.  Cocky, over-confident and needing to be taken down a peg.  (By the way, this was my opinion even before the scoring started, so trust me when I say these observations are not because I'm bitter at the loss.  I'll be the first one to tell you the Steelers played terrible football on Sunday night.)

So Captain Jagoff and his cronies are starting to tick me off. My reaction was to shut them up by rendering them inaudible.  So I cheered.  And yelled.  And screamed for my team.  Yes, I'm hoarse, but I don't care.  I was louder than them and at least I can say I cheered for my team regardless of how they played.  Dave told me later that apparently they were laughing at my cheers and even recorded them.  Frankly, I don't care, but it does illustrate my point--how much can you be focused on the game and cheer for your team when you're allowing yourself to be entertained by a chick in a pink coat and hat?

The worst was when my dad practically had to hold me back from completely ripping them a new one.  They committed the cardinal sin of standing up while play was going one and then not sitting down when asked (politely). 

Me:  Sit down, I want to see the play.

Captain Jagoff (still standing): It was a fair catch, it's ok.

Me: No it's not ok, sit down so I can watch the game.

Captain Jagoff: What? It's a football game, I can stand.

Me: No, I paid as much for my seats as you did for yours, so when I ask you to sit down, please do it.

Then another one of the charter members for jerkiness chimed in.  And then, before I stood up to give him a real piece of my mind, my dad stepped in.

Dad: Sit down, turn around and watch the game, or I'll have you thrown out.

Jagoff Junior: Why?  What I do?

Dad: Just turn around or I'll have you thrown out.

Captain Jagoff (Best line ever): Dude, he knows someone in security, chill out.

This was good, since I was one step away from going to get a security guard.  Although Dad's comeback line would have been, "Yeah, my son's the Head of Security."  A total lie, but these jerks would've bought it.

They continued to be jerks and Captain Jagoff tried to get a rise out of me when we left by calling after me, rubbing in the pain from the loss, but I didn't give them the satisfaction.  If only because it would have cost my parents' their season tickets when I punched him in the throat.  At least I had the dignity to not stoop to their level.

But does drive me crazy that even at Heinz Field, I couldn't shake the plague of the jerks riddled throughout New England.

Open Letter to the Women of Boston & Cambridge

Dear budding fashionistas,

No.

No one wants to see that. No matter how skinny you are.

Last spring on TLC's What Not To Wear, Stacy London and Clinton Kelly did no less than 3 shows featuring women from the Boston area. I was surprised that they had devoted so many episodes to one region, but for these women, it was necessary.

Clearly, however, not enough of you were watching.

Each spring and each fall, the trends hit the stores and being that Boston has an inferiority complex to New York, the trends hit the streets in an attempt for the locals to feel relevant and just as hip as their Manhattan counterparts. Regardless of whether or not it makes sense. Would I prefer to wear a cute wool coat in the winter with a fun hat and fluffy scarf? Yes. But I live in reality and since I don't want to freeze my fanny off, I don a ski parka with a hood and more layers than anyone should reasonably be expected to stack on.

Speaking of fannies, that brings me to my issue for this fall: leggings.

I am not opposed to leggings, per say. I am however opposed to leggings when worn in place of pants. Leggings are similar to tights in that they are warm and adorable with the right outfit. And in that if you don't cover your hiney, you'll look like your forgot something. And that something is PANTS!

I'm not alone here. In an unofficial informal poll of friends, it was unanimous that leggings require some sort of upper body clothing with enough length to cover your derriere. Further, In Style magazine, in a recent article titled Wardrobe Transformations posted on MSN.com, noted the same thing.

It's hard for anyone to get away with flashing this much behind. You'll end up looking as though you forgot your skirt.--In Style

So, to the young woman working at the Aveda Salon in Harvard Square and the student walking across campus: Stop. Return home, put on a skirt or a longer top, and then go about your business. Because the next time I see this:


I'm going to stop you and say, "Excuse me, but I think you left your pants at home because I can see your cheeks."

Did That Really Just Happen?

I've taken public transportation for a long time. In high school, I took a public bus to school. While working in Washington, D.C., for a semester in college, most of my time was spent on the bus and Metro. While working my first job out of college, I took the bus until I bought my first car. And ever since I started working in Boston, I've taken the commuter rail and subway nearly every day.

So I've come to learn the ways of "train people." There are normal people, like me, who take public transportation. And then there are people who I believe exist solely to ride public transportation to make the normal people uncomfortable. For the most part, I'm able to disengage. I wear my headphones (the international symbol for "I don't want to talk to you") and am always engaged in one of the following activities:

• sleeping
• reading a book or magazine
• doing a sudoku puzzle
• crocheting

I am lucky that these behaviors have led to a fairly good track record of being left alone. But the other day I was forced to reevaluate my skills. Or just be perplexed at the new tactics of "train people."

Lately, since I have extra time, I've been walking to the train station instead of taking the subway one stop. However, it was raining when I left work and I was afraid it would begin to really storm again, so I decided to pop onto the T (subway). I was standing at the platform in standard form (headphones, working on a sudoku puzzle paperclipped to the cover of my novel), minding my own business and in my zone. Then the strangest thing happened.

Because I'm risking some of you judging me in this post, I must preface: I love the gays. I can honestly say that I have had the pleasure of being friends and working with some funny, sarcastic and genuinely nice gay men, albeit some have a stereotypical effeminate-sounding voice. Good guys, even if they don't particularly like girls--that's ok. So what happened next was weird.

I'm standing on the platform, in my zone, and this guy walks up to me. He's tall, light-skinned with "pretty" eyes, a few nondescript piercings and is reasonably dressed for what I assume is a undergrad. Nothing screamed homosexual to me, but if I were sitting on a bench playing gay or straight, I might have said bi. And then he started speaking.

Strange Guy: Um, excuse me? (yes, there was a lilt to his voice)

Me: Yes? (Taking out one headphone. WHY? WHY??? Damn me and my willingness to give directions to someone who looks lost.)

SG: Um, yeah, hi. So I saw you, um, standing here, and um, I just wanted to come over here, um and say hi...because you're, um, kinda cute. So I just wanted to say hi. Sorry.

Me (completely and utterly flabbergasted and confused): Oh. Ok. Thanks. Hi.

And then he just disappeared. For real. I don't remember seeing which direction he walked in, but when I came out of my confused haze, I looked around the platform and he wasn't there. There was a staircase nearby, so he may have gone to the lower platform, but that made it all the more random for me. So why was I so confused? Most women would be flattered to have a guy approach them. This is what was going through my mind while he spoke.

• Oh, he's so cute! He doesn't know he's gay.
• Wait--kinda cute?
  
• Maybe he does know he's gay and doesn't want to be, so someone told him he should just go up and talk to random women because then he might like girls.
• Oh no, he wants me to say something back.

And then when he left:

• Yeah, that was a training exercise, because who stops to talk to someone when they are on there way to catch a train on another platform?

I think I'll keep walking up to the train station.

How to Get in a Car Accident

Friday evening, I headed out of work to Logan Airport in Boston to pick up my close friends from college, K and M. Coming from two different cities, they planned their flight perfectly to land in Boston within 15 minutes of each other. I don't really drive around Boston much (see other posts describing my hatred of the self-identified Massholes), so I really have to pay attention and utilize the GPS at all costs. My director had told me about the Cell Phone Lot at Logan Airport and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to use it.

Logan's Cell Phone Lot is such a great idea. It might be the one smart thing anyone from the former MassPort (now MassDOT--new name, same idiots) ever thought of. About a quarter mile from the terminal, they have an open (read: free) lot where you can sit and wait for your friends and loved ones to call and tell you they are at the terminal, waiting for you to pick them up. No circling the airport necessary and no getting arrested for idling outside JetBlue (no this never happened to me; but I could see it being a possibility).

So I'm waiting in the lot, it's a nice evening, the windows are down a bit and I'm reading my book. Suddenly, a woman is standing outside my driver door, talking to me.

Cell Phone Lot Lady: I'm sorry, but my phone just died. Does your phone have unlimited local calls? Can I use your phone to call my house and see if my daughter called there?

I was a little surprised at the sudden conversation, but sympathetic to the need, so I handed her my phone, helped her dial and listened awkwardly to her try to get her husband to shut up and just answer the question of her daughter making contact. She finally told him she'd just keep going back to the terminal to scour for her, mentioning Terminal C (hey, that's where my friends will be).

She thanked me profusely and handed me back the phone. When she did, I noticed that I'd received a text message from K, telling me she and M would be at Terminal C. I replied, started the car, and left the lot.

Again, allow me to reiterate that I do not drive in Boston.

I noticed that Cell Phone Lot Lady was pulling out as well, so when I got to the road and couldn't figure out which lane to be in, I decided to use my resources. She said she was going to C and I was going to follow her (I'm smart and resourceful, not a stalker). Sure enough, she pulls into Terminal C, and lo and behold, there are my friends. Unfortunately, there is not a spot for me to pull in and park. Cell Phone Lot Lady pulled in behind another car and left a significant gap (right where my friends were standing) but not enough for me to pull in and park. So I double parked and quickly jumped out (my keys in hand--I would not lock them in again). We hugged quickly and said hello, then I popped the trunk and loaded their suitcases.

As we're getting in the car, Cell Phone Lot Lady calls over: Thanks again. I found her!

Me: Oh, good. I'll hurry up and get out of your way now! (seeing as how she really couldn't move her vehicle)

So I start the car, excitedly great my friends, remember that I'm still driving in Boston and need to tell the GPS where I want to go and still drive away from the terminal. Apparently I'm multi-talented because this is not the situation by which I almost wrecked my car. That happened during the following exchange.

K (sitting in the back seat, directly behind me): So C, do I look fatter? (K is teeny-tiny and often complains of her "fatness" so on the surface this question is not bizarre.)

Me (immediately thinking "She's pregnant. No, that's not it. We're always complaining about how we're 30 and everyone is asking us when we're going to get pregnant. And looking in the rearview mirror--not the road--at her): Should you look fatter, K?

K: Maybe.

Me(with more insistence): Should you look fatter, K?

K: Maybe a little in my tummy.

Me (I'm pretty sure the click in my mind was audible when I made the connection): SQUEE!!!!!! Oh my God! Yea! You're gonna have a baby!!! (Oh, and the looking at the road thing it still intermittent.)

M (from the front passenger seat): Yeah. Me too.

Me (and here is where I'm consciously trying to stay on the bridge, but pretty sure I changed lanes, swerved and generally pissed off other drivers): SQUEE!!! That's so exciting.

So conversation regarding the whens and whats (not the hows; I know the hows) ensued. So they are due 4 days apart and tribute the babies to the snow storms in February (K lives in North Carolina, M in Maryland). It's all very exciting and it gave us yet another reason to celebrate over the weekend (although I did have more alcohol in the trunk than we needed as a result of being down two drinking buddies). And it was very cool to wish them a Happy Mother's Day on Sunday.

Both M and K are entering in their second trimester. K's bump is a little more pronounced than M's, but of course for posterity, we needed to commemorate the bumpage.


We'll get another look next month when we get together for L's wedding. I'm hoping for more cute baby bellies! (By the way, the moral of the story is: when your friends are going to tell you they are pregnant, stay double parked and piss off the other drivers waiting to pull out of the airport before getting back in your car.)

Displaced, Part 1

Because I have a feeling there will be more on this topic...

There's this thing about being from Pittsburgh that makes you really proud of where you're from and really annoys other people when you infiltrate their perimeter. I'm not sure why it is, but most of the people I know who are born and raised in Pittsburgh, tend to be more nostalgic about where they are from and are either happy to stay where they have roots or very eager to get back. Not everyone, mind you, but many. And maybe that depends on where else you go and the demeanor of most people in your new town.

I'm not exactly thrilled to be living in Massachusetts. The weather is fickle and the winter's general stink (ok, so this year when dodged snowmageddon, but you just wait, I'll probably be reporting ice and snow in April). My family is pretty far away--serious planning is necessary to visit, rather than deciding on a Friday evening that I was going to see my parents that weekend when I lived in Central PA. But the worst part for me is that by and large, the people up here suck.

Ok, I'll admit, there are exceptions (and that is why I am friends with you), but generally speaking they suck. For reals. Now, it's definitely worse in Boston (where I work) than in Central Mass (where I live), but it really bothers me that people have such a disregard for other people around here. There is very much a "me-first" and mind over matter attitude (as in, I don't mind and you don't matter) with many people in this area. For example, today I was walking to work and a woman who had been behind me sped up, was walking next to me, and then passed me. So, you want to walk in front of me. Ok, no bigs. But then she cut in front of me and slowed down so that I tripped on her heels. Really? You are walking on a wide sidewalk. Is it really necessary to walk like you drive? And there was no apparent reason for it either. I hadn't passed her earlier and cut her off. No one was suddenly coming towards us and would have knocked her down had she not moved in front of me. She just wanted to be first. ??? WTH is wrong with people? And this is pretty typical behavior on a walk to work.

I work in a department with quite a few imports from all over the country. One of my close friends and coworkers is also from a Mid-Atlantic state and has commented on the same thing--that people in and around Boston are nothing like the people where we grew up. We both grew up saying hi to someone you passed on the sidewalk, even if you didn't know them. It might sound a little Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, but did the majority of Bostonians grow up without manners? It's not all about you, people!

Maybe it's because it's been raining for 2 days and yesterday we lost power before I left for work. Or maybe it's because some jerk woke me up on the train this morning and I have on my crankypants. But more likely, people in this area of the country are just asshats. Regardless, Boston, this one's for you:

(PS: Yes, I am disappointed at not being able to find an appropriate LOLcat. Thank you for noticing. And for that, I shall reward you):

(PPS: Yes, I know it's not a cat. So what? Please see yesterday's post regarding who does the judging. That also applied to who makes the rules around here.)