Sorry

Dear Blog,

I'm so sorry I've neglected you. You know when were first started hanging out together a few months ago we were so connected. I spent all my waking hours thinking about you. I couldn't get enough of you. And then, through no fault of yours, we drifted apart.

Oh blog, I've missed you. Please take me back. Please. Don't make me beg. I promise I'll pay more attention to you from now on. Yes...facebook is still in the picture but, you're my first love. Facebook meant nothing to me baby. I was just there for the updates and the occasional poke. Yes...I poked too and I'm sorry for that. And yes...I know I've been watching too many YouTube videos of dancing dogs or insane teenagers but, I'm over it now. Really. Its you that I want.

So Blog, I'm here to apologize and say take me back. I know I can make it work this time. Just give me a chance.

Love,

Me

Sorry, you've got the wrong numnber Part 2: So Predictable

So its been a few days since my friend, who I've renamed Mr. Sweat (thanks ML), has called. Today, just as I predicted, he called me during the day....3 times. After seeing the area code with a different number attached pop up I sort of figured it was him but, he wasn't leaving any juicy messages. By the third call I was pretty annoyed so I answered.
***********************************
*buzz,buzz (I keep my phone on vibrate at work)

Me: Hello
Mr. Sweat: How you doin'?
Me: Fine. Who is this? (as if I wouldn't recognize the voice)
*click
************************************
Like I said before, I still think Mr. Sweat believes I'm Christy and that I'm blowing him off. I might have to get a restraining order. This Christy must be one fine piece of ass for Mr. Sweat to be hounding her/me this much. I think Christy is better off without him anyway. He sounds like a real loser and a half. Christy's husband(I'm assuming she's married) just might have to answer the phone next time and give Mr. Sweat a talking to.

Sorry, you've got the wrong number

The other night I received a phone call around 5 til midnight. I checked the caller ID as I always do and did not recognize the number. So, I just let it ring. I waited for my phone to tell me I had a voicemail so I could hear who was calling me so late. This is what I heard:
******************************************
11:55pm
Keith: Hey baby, this Keith. Ah…uhh… Seems like you don’t got time for me right now….or, uh maybe, you know, you just went back to sleep. I hope I can try to be part of your life. I’m really (long pause) looking forward to it. I don’t know what the future holds but, I know what our future holds nothing. ( I have no idea what this means) I want you to be part of my life. I need something different. I need to do something different and I want to do it with you. Please give me a chance. (exasperated sigh) I want to love you real bad. I want you to love me too. I believe you will want for me. I’m praying that you are. Goodnight baby. *click
***************************************
Obviously, Keith had my number confused with someone else and did not bother to listen to the name on the greeting. I have no idea who this is. So, I sent a text to the number to tell him he had the wrong number. Problem solved.

Shortly after I listened to this message I went to bed. OK. Keith did not appear to get my text because I heard the phone ring again. Now, instead of being amused I was a bit miffed. How dare he interrupt my sleep. I saw that it was the same number and could not even muster the strength to pick up and tell him he had the wrong number. So, I ignored it and fell back asleep. About an hour later *ring, ring (Yes, my cell phone sounds like an old timey rotary phone). Its Keith again. Boy, this guy just doesn't give up! I ignored it again because I wasn't even conscious of my on hands let alone capable of answering a phone call at 2 in the morning.

The next morning, these are the voice mails I heard:
********************************
12:56am
Baby (sounding confused and upset) this is ME calling you back. You’re not answering your phone. (incredulous) So, I’ll try again (sounding a bit dejected). If I don’t get you, I’ll just call you in the morning. I’ll try again in a few minutes. (But I thought you said you weren’t going to call again until the morning) Good bye baby. *click

2:03am
Baby, I’m trying to call you back. (desperation in his voice). You must have went to sleep. I told you I’d hold you in my arms, massage you with my tongue. (ewwww) Anyway…that time will come. So, I just want to say good night to you. I’ll be thinking about you (Yeah….I sure bet you will). Can’t wait to ho-…..can’t wait to see you again. This Keith. (as if we needed another reminder) Goodnight baby. *click
**********************************
I, of course, could not leave this alone. So, I let me co-worker listen to the messages. After a few minutes of laughter, I decided to call Keith and tell him not to call me anymore. I didn't want his words to fall on deaf ears but, I also didn't want him waking me up again in the middle of the night. I called the number and a woman answered. Uh oh!
**********************************
Me: "Hi. Yeah..ahh .....is Keith there?"

Woman: "No."

Me: "Well, can you give him a message for me? Can you just tell him to stop calling me. I think he has the wrong number."

"OK. I'll tell him."
**********************************
Uh oh! I hope that wasn't Keith's wife or, as also affectionately know in parts of Oakland as his "old lady". A few minutes go by and I return to my cubicle to actually start working. *ring, ring
This time its a blocked number. Out of shear curiosity I pick up.
***********************************
Caller: "Why did you tell my mom you didn't want me to call you no more?"

Me: "Is this Keith?" as if I had to ask. I would know that voice anywhere by now.

Keith:"You know who this is."

Me: "No. Actually I don't know you."

Keith: "Of course you do. Don't act like you don't know me."

Me:"I think you have the wrong number."

Keith: "C'mon baby. Don't treat me like that. You know me. We met at Whitney's. I thought we had a connection."

Me: "No. That wasn't me. I don't know you or anyone named Whitney. I told you. You have the wrong number. Just don't call me. Who do you think I am?"

Keith: "You're Christy. We met at Whitney's place."

Me: "Nope. That's not me. You have the wrong number. I don't want you waking me up anymore."

Keith: "Ok. I WON'T call you no more."
*click
********************************
I don't think Keith believed me. He must think this Christy chick is blowin' him off...and she probably has good reason too. This guy sounds like a real piece of work.

I sort of half expected to get another phone call from Keith last night. Maybe I convinced him that I wasn't Christy and that he had the wrong number. Maybe he still thinks I am Christy and she/I want nothing to do with him. I really don't care. I'm just glad I got a full, uninterrupted night of sleep.

1 Down, 1 to Go

Good news.....one of the missing has been found.

http://www.mercurynews.com/topstories/ci_12815416?nclick_check=1

Missing- Update

Apparently Mr. Pretty is still M.I.A. There is now a bounty of $500 for his return. I call it a bounty instead of a reward 'cause I still think he escaped. That's a cat on the lamb. I'd check the border crossings. Its been almost a week. Surely his in Mexico by now.

As for my other missing friend...no sign of him. There are new signs around the neighborhood urging everyone to check in their "garages, tool sheds, behind bushes, and in garbage bins.....". Almost sounds like places Mr. Pretty would hide, not a large, 63 year old retired teacher with dementia. Maybe I should also check under my bed and between the sofa cushions too. I always find stuff there.

I do know one thing...if I ever go missing, I don't want to have some awful picture, like my high school yearbook picture with my high hair and faux fur collar, plastered on signs all over the neighborhood. So for future reference to my friends and family, please use one my my pictures from my facebook profile, preferably the more flattering ones.

MIA

GPS, LoJack, microchips, medic alert bracelets......none of them is as good as an old fashion photo copied sign on a tree. I found these two signs on trees no more than 10 feet from each other.

I feel rather sorry for both these poor lost souls. One answers to "Mr. Pretty" and the other might, depending on if he's taken his medication or not. People with dementia wander off all the time. I'm sure he got disoriented and just couldn't find his way back.

The Berman (type of fancy pants cat) isn't lost at all. I suspect he escaped from his overbearing owner. I don't blame him. With a name like Mr. Pretty, I'm sure its hard to maintain your street cred. Enjoy your freedom Mr. Pretty. I'm rooting for you.

Just a gripe

In no particular order, these are people I try to avoid driving behind:

1. anyone wearing a hat that is not a baseball cap - If you can only see a hat above the back of the car seat and no neck or shoulders, this person is likely as old a automobiles themselves and is on their way to a funeral, bingo game, or to catch the early bird special

2. anyone with more than one stuffed animal in their back windshield- Young, old, or middle age there is no excuse for having enough faded stuffed toys to fill a carnival claw game machine.

3. anyone driving with a small dog on their lap - Really? I'm still baffled by the sight of a woman I saw driving with a cat hanging out of the window doggy-style. (the cat, not the woman)

4. anyone that still has a "Baby on Board" sign in their minivan window- First off, its not 1987. You might as well have a squash Garfield doll up their too.

5. anyone driving a Prius- Sure you're "saving the planet" but, you've got about as much acceleration as a Playskool pedal car ridden by a kid with one leg.

Renaissance Man

My upstairs neighbor is a jack-of-all-trades. He's a handyman, gardener, carpenter, avid recycler, muscle head, and now, as it turns out, he's also a real life Renaissance Man. I've only lived below him and his "lady friend" for 6 months or so but, in that amount of time, I've learned more than I really want to know about him. Iago, as I've named him since I can't for the life of me remember his real name, wakes at 3:30 am everyday to work out. By 7:30, when I'm just becoming aware of the day and my own aging body, he is trudging down the steps to start his day as my apartment complex maintenance man. I know those steps all too well, as do the dogs who no longer waste their barks on him.

This past Saturday morning I stood at my door, eyes still bleary from lack of sleep, and attempted to corral my pups to take them out for their first outing of the day. Still struggling to untangle their leashes, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. These steps were different than usual. My friend was not wearing his trademark generic black sneakers but, some sort of boot or dress shoe. I peered out the window to make sure he was past my door before I went out and that is when I spied Iago in full Renaissance garb: knee high leather boots with criss-crossed lacing, black tights, white blouson shirt, and black velvet tunic with gold piping. "Oh my," I said to myself.

Just as I was about to open the door to get a better look, I heard the "clip-clop" of his boots heading back my way. I guess he had forgotten something. A sword? Maybe a mace? or perhaps his lute? No. Nothing that exciting. Iago trotted back down the stairs, this time at a faster clip. I guess he was late. He returned carrying a foiled covered casserole dish. I'm no history buff or anything but, I'm pretty sure there were no potlucks during the Renaissance Era. I supposed the day's event was BYOGTL (bring your own giant turkey leg). I could be wrong.

Iago mounted his trusty steed, a mostly grey 1994 Mazda Protege, and was off. I'm sure he was in for a full day of plundering, pillaging, and whatever else goes on at the Renaissance Faire. I can honestly say that I do not know.

"Good morrow and fair thee well my good sir," I mumbled to myself. I was intent on staying in the present and that meant getting my dogs out and then going back to sleep.

Arias BellGrande

I was fortunate enough to be invited to see Andrea Bocelli in concert last night. While a night of Italian arias might sound like more of a curse than a blessing for some people, I was truly excited for this show. All dolled up in a new red dress and heels (which I don't wear very often), I was feeling sexy and sophisticated. I met my date and we strolled into the venue, a good looking couple if I do say so myself. 

We ordered drinks, a white wine for me and gin on the rocks for him, and proceeded to our seats. Our seats were, in what some might call, the Nose Bleed section. This is nearly the same section of the arena where I had seen a hockey game a few years back. We had a decent view of the stage and the jumbotron to see all the opera action up close. 

The lights dimmed and the orchestrated started to play. Between the strings and woodwinds all I could hear was "chomp, chomp, chomp". I looked just past my date to see a guy fully immersed in his tray of chili cheese nachos. Really? Nachos? Here? It was more than distracting. Not only was the continuous crunching interrupting my enjoyment of Verdi but, the smell was overpowering.  It was like pears and brie at a NASCAR race, BBQ ribs at a wake, or Jagermeister shots at a baby shower; out of place. 

Random Picture

I wonder what precipitated this warning sign. 

More nature

Still trying to get outside and take more pictures. I took this yesterday on a bike ride after work. That 'date stamp' is certainly killing the mood. I finally figured out how to get rid of it. 

Don't Say on a First Date

In my time navigating the wilds of the online dating world, I've come across quite a few characters. Some men I've met became good friends, a few became boyfriends, a couple fell into the category of "Whoa! I think I've made an awful mistake." , and several were just plain old no-drama first dates, never to be seen again.

First dates can be exhilarating, terrifying, mind numbingly boring, and sometimes just down right entertaining. I've pieced together a list of memorable quotes, some from friends but most from my own experience, of things you should NOT say on a first date.

Men

10. I had to meet you in person to see if you smell better than you look. (said jokingly, I hope)

9. A few months ago I helped my ex home birth her baby.

8. Do you have a policy against sex on the first date?

7. You look a lot younger in your pictures.

6. You look older in person.

5. My cats sleep with me in my bed.

4. So...are you into porn?

3. I think my ex-wife might have given me herpes.

2. Well, we're not divorced just yet.

1. I'm always hungry and horny.

Women

10. Lets go out again Saturday. My period should be over by then.

9. I'm thinking of having my eggs frozen.

8. My dogs sleep in the bed with me.

7. I'm thinking about cutting my hair really short.

6. I can wait for you to meet my parents.

5. Any chance you can spot me $20 for parking?

4. I'm new to the dating scene. I just got out of jail.

3. Maybe we could go see the "Sex and the City" movie together.

2. I'm trying to start my life over after a string of bad relationships.

1. I absolutely love kids. I can't wait to have kids. How many kids do you want? I mean....not with me per se. I'm just speaking hypothetically of course. We're not even exclusive yet. I wouldn't want to rush things or anything but don't you love the names Aidan for a boy or Emily for a girl? Those aren't final. I mean, I'd like to have a boy and a girl but, I'd be happy as long as its healthy. Ideally, I'd like for them to be close together.....

Sunday Monrning Quiz

The person who drives this raised truck is:

a. compensating for his "shortcomings" (read: small penis)

b. a total douche bag

c. one of many mouth breather, knuckle draggers in my apartment complex

d. all of the above

If you guessed "d-all of the above", you knew you were right after choices a. and b.

Bike to Work Day

Tomorrow is national Bike to Work Day. It will be the first time I actually ride my bike to work. I have biked along scenic trails as a wee one,  to school in 6th-8th grades, the store in 10th grade, to class dodging buses in downtown Chicago and on architectural tours along Lake Michigan in my 20s but, I have never biked to work. 

My route is short, a mere 2.5 miles, straight, and flat. Sure, no Mt. Everest but, it will certainly be my Everest. Last year at this time, I was just starting to walk without a cane or crutch. It was the beginning of the end of me being nearly bed (or couch) bound for 3-4 hours a day. I had just begun to enjoy walking the dogs again instead of hobbling along like an old woman while they patiently waited for me to catch up. I could actually sit through movie without being in complete agony. 

So on this, my first Bike to Work Day, I know the distance is short but, I sure have come a long way. 

WWJD?

Today on my way home from work, I saw a car emblazoned with the words “DRIVEN FOR JESUS” in hot pink letters on the back windshield. Now, I’m not sure if they driver is the one driven for Jesus as in “Jesus is the one who motivates me from day to day” or that literally he was driving that actual car for Jesus. I looked at the passenger in the front seat and don’t think he was Jesus. I know I’ve never met him either but, from the children’s Bible stories that I’ve seen he’s not a 19 year old slacker with a black t-shirt. My real concern was not that this person might have been driving the son of God around downtown San Jose but, the choice of car. If I were driving for Jesus I certainly wouldn’t choose an early model Chevy Corisca. Its not an awful car but, not the best one suited for the Messiah. If I were Jesus’ chauffeur, I’d make sure he was not only safe but stylin’. My choice: a white Cadillac Escalade. Nothing says “I died for your sins.” like 12mpg, yards or chrome, and spinning rims.

Fireworks are always cool. 

Its the little things that bring me joy

One of my favorite pastimes is scanning craigslist ads. The "free" section in For Sale and "Etc" in Jobs are usually my first stop. I found this little nugget in the "Etc" seciton tonight.

VOLUNTEERS NEEDED

Jock Itch?
Itchy, scaly groin area?
Researchers in the Department of Dermatology at UCSF are doing a study using an investigational topical treatment for jock itch. Subjects (age 12 and older) who currently have jock itch are needed.
Participants will receive either a medicated cream or a cream without any medication in it to put on their affected groin area.
Payment provided.

I'm not sure who I feel more sorry for, the research assist who has to qualify the subjects or the subjects who get the placebo.

Snippets

I'm always amused when I hear parts of people's conversations out of context. I'm going to share one snippet every week. 

I overheard this while eating fish tacos in an outdoor patio today: "She's had a really tough year. She had to have her leg amputated."  

Of course, not amusing on the surface but, the speaker was referring to her dog that she wheeled onto the patio in a baby stroller. That dog definitely needed a margarita. 

What my shoes (unfortunately) say about me

Most of my shoes say, "Wow! You must have really bad feet." It wasn't always this way. I used to wear cute shoes; cute and painful. I suffered through sprained ankles, crammed toes, and blisters the size of golf balls. And for what? Well, I'm done. I've basically thrown in the towel. All I really need are rubber souls affixed to my bare feet. I'd do just fine.

I took this picture on a short hike (more like a walk on an unpaved trail but, I call it hiking) on the day after Christmas 2008. Not a snow shovel or snow plow in sight. 

Californication

I have been helping out in the the religious education class for Kindergarten through second graders at a Unitarian Universalist church I drop into on occasion. I felt particularly giving and inspired one Sunday and agreed to help out once a month. Well, I thought it would only be for a few months but, lo and behold its almost been a year. Normally I sort of dread going because it interferes with my scheduled Sunday morning loafing but, I drag myself in anyway. 

This Sunday we (and by "we" I mean the head teacher. I only assist by keeping the peace and making sure no one gets glitter glue in their hair.) taught the kids about the Jewish holiday of Shavuot. Its not easy teaching a bunch of squirming and bored kids about a holiday that has nothing to do with them getting toys or candy. But this Sunday particularly rough. We had a group of 4 boys and only one girl. What is it about boys? They can't just sit still.  

So the head teacher had several children's books about Jewish holidays and some brought for explaining the traditions. She tried her best to explain to this rowdy bunch that Shavuot commemorates the time when God  handed down the Ten Commandments to Moses and the Israelites at Mt. Sinai and led them out of Egypt to Palestine. He promised the the land would be "flowing with milk and honey" (which, I guess was good if you like that sort of thing). Symbolic? Sure. Captivating? Not so much. 

Everyone perked up when the props came out, especially when we heard modern day Jews celebrate with cheesecake or other dairy products. Instead of the traditional cheese blintzes or authentic New York cheesecake, our fearless lead teacher brought in a not quite thawed cheesecake from Trader Joe's. OK. And to top it off....Redi-Whip. Hey! Its real dairy. It says so right on the can. She also brought honey (in bear form, of course) and honey flavored pretzels for the lactose intolerant of the group, milk instead of juice, and flavored mineral water (again.....lactose intolerance). It was just like any other celebration in the old neighborhood. 

The kids were happy. I was eating cheesecake for breakfast and no one had a melt down when their Playdoh tablets only had room for 4 out of 10 Commandments. All in all it was a successful class. Looking at the spread on the table I couldn't help but laugh. I definitely know I've found my promised land here in California. It is a land flowing with soy milk and 100% organic, fair trade, raw honey. Even better, I didn't have to cross the desert to get here. 

Not OK

I had dinner with a friend at a local burger joint. This was the kind of place where they make your food to order (no...not BK). So we had plenty of time to wait for our food. In the middle of our chit-chat and scan of the local weekly, I looked up and notice a dude in his black undies just casually walking down the street. No shirt, no shoes, no worries. He was actually not bad looking and you don't often see someone halfway decent in their underwear outside of the bedroom or Calvin Klein billboard. But, here he was, just taking a stroll down a major thoroughfare. Nothing unusual about that, right?

Well, about 20 feet behind him was a slow moving police cruiser. It seemed as if he had been following my unclothed friend for some time and was just waiting for him to do something wrong. After all, its not a crime to walk casually in your underwear in public. If he had been at the beach or pool no one would have even noticed but, he was on a busy street. After watching Mr. Jockey and his police escort for about a minute he had gone out of view but, seconds later 4 more police cruisers roared down the street in his direction. I can only imagine what was happening.  My dinner companion and I got our burgers, loaded them up with toppings, and sat down to eat as if nothing had happened. After all, in my mind, we had already seen the most interesting part of the situation. 

For Cinder

It has taken me quite some time to get this blog going. In my head, I'm blogging constantly. Sometimes, when the mood strikes I put pen to paper and save my thoughts. Originally I titled this blog "Urban Anthropology" but, I was never happy with that title. I wanted my blog (and its title) to convey what essentially this blog would be all about. Finally while taking a shower (where most of my ideas pop up) I came up with "The Naked Chimp". My favorite thing to write about are observations of the everyday and slightly off kilter habits of my favorite subjects: other people. 

As an anthropology major at Emory Univ. I spent countless hours observing and cataloging the behaviors of chimpanzees, low land gorillas, orangutans, and howler monkeys at Zoo Atlanta. I ultimately became a physical therapist...which did require some degree of observation but, it wasn't quite the same. NO...I use my power of observation any and everywhere, mentally noting things I find amusing, strange, or just plain shocking. My brain is getting full. Its about time I get all of my musings out of my head and release them into cyberspace. 

When I checked to see if my new title was already taken, I googled it and several stories popped up about Cinder, an actual naked chimp. What a face! Cinder suffered from alopecia but, I read she lived a relatively normal life in the St. Louis Zoo until she dies in February 2009. 

So, for Cinder and all the other naked chimps.....I'm watching.