In a city like NYC...

..if you have the means, you virtually never have to leave your apartment. Food and all other sundries are delivered to your door, your laundry and/or dry cleaning are picked up and delivered upon completion, people walk your pets, etc, etc etc.

So this past week I nearly entered the frustration zone when it literally took me four days to procure something as mundane as a cell phone battery. I understand that we live in a disposable society, but not every one wants to be or can afford to be so frivolous. The mentality being that, it's easier to get a new phone than a new battery is indicative of how selfish we are as a society.

I have finally figured out how people stay so busy doing nothing at all.

Did you know that...

...revolving doors are NOT idiot proof?

AND:

...judging by the dress of the sidewalk denizens, there is a clown school conveniently located in each of Manhattan's neighborhoods?

Have a nice weekend.

Some of my readers...

..opt to email me personally or visit their feedback in person. I've decided to share some of it. In response to my "unnecessary noise" post, I received an email about unnecessary body movements. You know, the foot shaking and the knee bopping. I've been guilty as charged on both counts in the past but have reformed mightily, although I catch myself from time to time.

Another email indicated that my choices for all time rock bands left a little to be desired. Donna Fargo and The Carpenters don't count.

The last response was a little more disconcerting. Someone I know fairly well indicated that my blog was becoming very personal upon the posting of "I am not a morning person". I was saddened that my attempt at emulating Erma Bombeck fell so miserably short that someone who knows me failed to recognize my attempt at sarcasm.

It has never happened before that I have failed in an attempt at being sarcastic. I must be getting old.

Sorry Sgt. Joe Friday, I crack me up.

In a recent conversation...

... a friend of mine indicated that one of her pet peeves is something she has termed "unnecessary noise". I was amused as she indicated that drumming fingers, tapping fingernails, clicking pens, humming and whistling all drive her crazy.

That was until I was exposed to the spoon clinker. This individual is convinced that the only way she can dissolve sugar in her coffee is by stirring it a minimum of one thousand times making sure that her spoon clinks her cup every single stir.

This unnecessary noise is in no way melodic, it is not akin to the tintinnabulation of wind chimes. It does evoke the homicidal maniac in me.

Spooners, beware!

I am in no way....

...shape or form a morning person. I do not jump out of bed flitting merrily about humming while I prepare for my day. More often than not, I hit the floor, not running, but with a heavy thud; thereby shuffling blindly into the kitchen to prepare the only life sustaining substance I actually stock, which, of course, is coffee.

Once I am in possession of this highly coveted nectar, the steam generally loosens the crust on my eyes enough that I am able to pry them apart (sometimes this requires a special tool which I keep in my nightstand). This does not automatically mean I am focused, quite the contrary. I do not stop seeing double until after the second cup of miracle juice.

Generally, at this point I am able to bear the deafening noise of a pin dropping. Once I have adjusted to the noise level, I can bend over to pick up the pin without spiraling into vertigo thereby falling face first into the floor speeding up at me faster than a Formula 1 driver.

Having gained my balance I am now poised to actually think, not in terms of a human being mind you; simply think. It is usually a long and arduous process which is why I am unable to do much else for hours on end. I'm not sure why it seems to take me longer to become human than most other people, but once I arrive I certainly try to give it my all.

Tinkerbell must die.

Some people truly love...

...the sound of their own voice. They talk to you when you are trying to read. They talk to you when you are trying to watch TV. They talk to you when you are trying to sleep. They talk themselves to sleep, they talk in their sleep, and they wake up talking. I have never known anyone who has that much to say that is worth listening to.

Silence is golden.

There are people who...

...hate the heat and people who hate the cold. I fall into the later category. Normally I would be frolicking about this time of year, working on my tan, relishing the sun's rays. For what ever reason, this year I seem to be feeling lethargic and am spending most of my days indoors.

Last year nearly every weekend was spent at the Jersey shore, this year my vacation tan is fading fast. I do not agree with the naysayers who claim the heat is oppressive. Quite the opposite, I will reserve my complaints for the winter months, when it hurts your lungs to breathe. When the snot freezes half way out of your nose to form really ugly snotcicles. When thirty layers of clothes makes waddling any where a chore within itself. When 75% of our waking hours are spent in cave dwelling darkness.

Nope, it must be the humidity.