A Morning in the Suburbs of Baaaahflo

I love where I live. So does everyone else because as a single female of limited means I'm outpriced when it comes to buying property. Unless a miracle happens but those are few and far between. For the time being, I enjoy where I live because it's fairly quiet and very idyllic. I recently left Sally Maxipad Fitness Centers, aka Bally Matrix (old name) now Bally Total Fitness. Click here for my review. Anyway, I joined a gym near my place and it is great! The equipment is nothing fancy but the locker room is spotless, the clientele is nice and doesn't bother you, and I get there more often since it's close by.
I started off this morning with a weightlifting work out. I had to head over to Slops Communist Supermarkets for cat treats, pomegranate juice, and unbeknownst to me organic cookies (pseudo oreos) from the healthy market section. I knew I was entering a "war zone" i.e. the Farmer's Market on Saturday morning after 9 a.m. Mid-morning 'til mid day is when the potpourri of the white 'burbs materialize. Senior citizens, families with their crotchfruit and strollers in tow, kids, teens, etc. etc. Recently, Slops placed signs in the fire lanes indicating that they should remain clear, no pick ups or drop offs. A BMW in front of me pulls into the fire lane forcing me to drive around his vehicle, which is sticking out. I drive by and resist the temptation to beep and instead shake my head. I find a spot and Mr. BMW drives by and I shake my head again and give him some stink eye with sunglasses. I resent people of any socioeconomic status who insist that their needs trump the flow of traffic but I really hate it when some well-moneyed jerk off does this. There are plenty of these people in my neck of the woods.

I went into the store and ran into Mr. BMW who recognized me as the girl who dared to give him stink eye. This time I gave it to him without my sunnies. He didn't say a word but I was ready for him. I don't know if it even registered that he shouldn't drop off in a fire lane. I thought that maybe whoever he dropped off had health problems but then immediately thought that if they did, it's time to get a handicapped permit. Pride be demanded. If you can afford the car, you can obtain the permit. He was a short, little, older man who looked like he wasn't used to be called on anything. For future reference, maybe the signs should be more explicit:

No fat people drop off--walk a little, you might lose some weight.
No elderly drop off--get a proper permit that allows you to park closer or at least a license plate indicating your status so others can be forgiving of your circumstances.

I grabbed my items and strolled toward the Farmer's Market to get in the fray for some quality produce. I stopped at a table that was dedicated to conserving open space. The gentleman at the table was busy talking so I asked the lady if this effort was to prevent more subdivisions and new builds. The gentleman quickly jumped in to say this wasn't a prevention effort per se but...we agreed that ultimately protection of open space would prevent this suburban sprawl. I signed on. Granted, I probably won't live here too much longer but this area is quaint and shouldn't be ruined by nouveau riche trash. I purchased some beautiful Roma tomatoes, a sunflower, a "storage" onion--the flavor is very pungent but diminishes the longer you keep it or when it is cooked, and some Yukon Gold potatoes. I also indulged in some homemade chocolate/peanut butter fudge and peanut brittle. Mmmm-mmm.

My suburban morning has quickly turned into an afternoon. I'll leave you with a lovely photo of an unruly Bills fan being hauled out of the audience. Bloodied and full of Genesee Screamers or Bud Light and wondering where he'll find the money to pay his fine...Da Bills!!!







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Now playing: Armed & Hammered - Beer
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Random Musings

Thanks to the Obamas for instituting the "Terrorist Bump" (pictured above w/Zan and Jayna, Gleek couldn't make the photo op). As a librarian, I'm often offered a handshake from grateful patrons, and I usually wonder where that hand has been. A former Attica inmate gave me the option for the bump so I took it. His fingernails were on the long side and he smelled boozy, which made his hands' whereabouts questionable.

Buffalo sports fans are mostly slovenly. I realize every city has its guilty parties but ours are egregiously so.

Thanks to the lady who was walking near the Lake Erie waterfront. The circumfrence of each of her thighs equaled that of my torso, which made my thighs feel half way presentable in shorts.

Scream at the Librarian: Sketches of Our Patrons in Downtown Los Angeles by Joel J. Rane is an entertaining read of the dark side of librarianship. I'd love to give this to starry-eyed recent M.L.S. graduates. I never thought I'd relate to Rane's rants but I do and I'm a member of his cheering section. People's manners deteriorate over time and as public servants we're expected to put up with a lot. I've been to the Los Angeles Public Library in downtown L.A. Lots of eccentrics, homeless people, or both. Rane's angst is accurately portrayed as annoying patrons know no geographical boundaries.

I've sworn off Craigslist. I became overly involved in pointless debates. You can't educate people in a Craigslist forum. I already knew that but boredom elicits hope.



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Now playing: Muslimgauze - Jackal The Invizibl
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