Blog Life 5 Years Running

Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com!

WordPress is so thoughtful….

especially when it asks for its annual 29 bucks, as they put it, to be part of the team.  Team this, I always say, as I haul out AmEx.

I think they should at least send fruit.

I can’t imagine life without my blog since it feels like a marriage having gotten used to one another.  It puts up with my erratic sleeping patterns, I its low days when no one reads it.

Sigh…we both say, as I, with tunnel vision, scrape together another piece.

When it was sired 5 years ago, I wrote 7 essays a week, like a kid with a new toy. Then changed to 5, taking weekends off though I still write every day.  Now I’m thinking 3, and if feel the urge, can always add another, but think, Thingirl might be losing her charm, like Oh Calcutta after 1,382  performances with the same cast.

I’m so grateful to my faithful readers who know who they are, my humility knowing no bounds.  I’d rather have 10 people who truly like my writing, than 100 who only stop by if I visit them.

When I participated in Friday Fictioneers and read many of the essays others wrote in 500 words or less, they all came a’callin.  Since then, not one ever came again.

Sigh…

But who wants 30 LIKES on their page if they’re not authentic?  Not me, that’s for sure.

The blog is a place where I can do what I love most and that’s to write.  Oh my, he’s the love of my life, the written word, and for under 30 bucks I am divinely graced.

So here’s to another season its reason being love, and I thank you all for your continued warmth and constancy.

It truly means the world.

Susannah

Posted in Books, Gratitude, humor, words, writing | Tagged , , , | 16 Comments

Hill And Don

I wish it were, Phil and Don, as in the Everly Brothers.  Oh come on, you remember them, they sang Wake Up Little Susie and Birddog?

The truth is, I’m stunned by both of our presidential nominees, like a lamb on her way to the slaughter, I mean voting booth.

Whoever thought we’d have the compelling choice between Captain Bligh and Bonnie Parker.  I keep seeing Hillary with an eye patch and Trump, a peg leg.  Will he scream, “batten down the hatches,” as he enters the Situation Room, while she hands out coupons in front of the Lincoln Bedroom?

“Step right up for a magical night in the same room our 16th President signed The Emancipation Proclamation for the modest rate of 300 thousand dollars towards the Bill and Hillary Dog and Pony Show disguised as, The William Jefferson Clinton Presidential Library, The Clinton Foundation or our next Carribean vacation.

We will be happy to take it in Doubloons and Pieces of Eight.”

Yes, my humor, though held together by epoxy in this regard, is drunk on its ass.

When I think of FDR’s theme song, Happy Days Are Here Again, I wonder what Hill and Don’s inspirational tune will be, and the only one that comes to mind is…

Taps.

God help us all…

Matey.        images-1

SB

Posted in alcohol, History, humor, media, Politics, readng, violence, war, words, writing | Tagged , , , , | 16 Comments

Cruel Or Just Clueless

Or to be or not to be, an asshole, in layman’s terms.

Wouldn’t it be great if every mouth came with a 15 second delay?  Imagine the feelings that would be spared.  Coming from a Cancerian Italian girl from Connecticut, it could possibly save the world, or at least me from jumping out a window.

I dodge insensitive remarks like bullets aimed at my head, making me wonder if Tourette’s syndrome comes in different strains, like smallpox, or herpes.

Some examples:

Look at you…don’t you eat?  It’s a miracle you can walk.

Aren’t you tired of looking like a paperboy?  Let your hair grow for godssake.

Isn’t it time you found someone to be with?  Let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger Susannah.

And my own personal favorite…ARE  YOU FUCKING DEAF?

I personally would choke before an utterance of this sort leapt from my mouth.  You could smell like a porpoise with your pants around your ankles and I’d never say a word.

As far as that 15 second delay goes, maybe I’ll write to NASA to see what they think.  Hey, it’s worth a try.

But for now you’ll have to excuse me while I remove the latest thorn from my side.

SB

Posted in Connecticut, humor, New York City, words | Tagged , , , , | 10 Comments

The Two Frenchmen

There are two new men in my life, Felipe and Pascal.

Pascal is very tall, Felipe, extremely short.

I’m not known to like shorties, but Felipe is an exception due to his chronic charm.  He’s quieter than Pascal, more poised and polite, even rising when you enter the room.

He could be the nicest Frenchman I’ve ever met.  Pascal, on the other hand, is much more aggressive, even though he lives with a girl called Fredericka who works on the Stock Exchange.

This doesn’t stop him, however, from preening, demanding your attention.

Felipe, from what I know, isn’t involved with anyone, so when I shyly asked, if he was single, his big brown eyes lit up before putting his head in my lap.

I know that may seem a bit forward, but the girl in me shot up for the first time in months, so I’m hoping, we’ll see each other more intimately in the future.

Did I mention he’s black?   images-1

SB

Posted in animals, humor, men, New York City, sex, Women and men | Tagged , , , | 14 Comments

Things I Love

images-1I was sitting on the sofa thinking of all things in my life I love, compiling quite a list, one I’d like to share.

What I find interesting is how each one led to another to another to another.

Writing at the top of the list.  A new notebook. The midnight blue of my computer screen when it first goes on.

Men who smell good, one in a well cut suit, one who willingly looks into your eyes.

Kissing, holding hands, laughing, legs wrapped together like yarn.  New socks.  Sex and the City reruns.  images-4

Cary Grant, William Holden and all that’s Audrey Hepburn.

Little black dresses, Capezio flats.  A scarf tied round your head get-attachment-1.aspxJackie style.

Jackie, big sunglasses, Jack Roger Sandals, horse posters, including one with her, gracing my many walls.

The Carlyle in the afternoon, ice cold vodka over ice, extra lime in a chilled crystal glass.

Potato chips.

American history, The Smithsonian, my heart thumping at the Vietnam Wall.

James Cagney tap-dancing down the White House steps in Yankee Doodle Dandy.

The Sting, Chinatown, Godfathers 1 and 2, when Michael says, “Nothing happens to my brother while my mother’s still alive.”

Rereading Movable Feast, Pride and Prejudice and Why Sinatra Matters once a year.

Essays by wonderful women: Mitford, Kerr, Ephron and Vowell, to name a few.

A pale pink rose by my bed, the pastels of Easter and Richard Diebenkorn’s, Ocean Park series. images-3

Watching Bill Hicks on YouTube images-2 almost forgetting he’s gone.  My late friends Jackie, Nancy, Phil and my grandfather who taught me kindness.

Carmela, the basset hound, especially her ears.  images-2

The film Funny Face, vanilla Madeleines, Patti Smith singing, I Love Paris in the Springtime.

The French Impressionists at The Met, a stroll up their grand staircase. The main Library where the lions live…imagestheir gift shop when they put out all their Xmas ornaments early.

Walking across Brooklyn Bridge, seeing Lady Liberty from the Staten Island Ferry.

The smell of salt water, fresh paint and gasoline, pipe tobacco and chicken roasting on an outdoor grill.

Anything on all fours that doesn’t bite, images-96 and little kids with a point of view.  images-1

Spaghetti, wine, bread and cheese, black olives, pickles, hummus and ham.

My friend Joan, who always comes when you need her.

Bill, Ed and Rob gently correcting my grammar.  Winston Churchill, who also wrote by ear.

Doris Kearns, David McCullough, Shelby Foote and all historians contributing to my love of history.

Teddy and Bobby, Lincoln and FDR, U.S Grant and Robert E. Lee, every film Ken Burns ever made.

Those few who read me daily, just because they like how I write.

Patrick, the cat down the hall, scratching at my door.  The smile Al the doorman has when at 3 a.m., the elevator opens and I appear with tea and cookies.

Wow, did I pop a file.

So, what are a few of the things that you love.

Tell me.

I’d really like to know.

Stay tuned for, Things I Hate, coming soon.  images

SB

Posted in animals, Gratitude, History, humor, Love, New York City, words | Tagged , , , , | 16 Comments

Out In The Open

You know the expression, I can’t believe my eyes?

Well here it is in Technicolor.

An elderly man in a wheelchair, while his caregiver blabs on her phone, is flashing people as they go by, me included.

He’s just bringing it out like a toy cannon giggling as if he were 6.

I’m now at the corner watching reactions.  One little boy says,”Mommy, that man has his peewee out.”  “Don’t look,” she answers, dragging him along.

Another well dressed lady stares at it like she knows it personally, and just keeps on going. See, even an impromptu peek at a surprise pecker is not about to make a New Yorker late.

If the whole dementia thing wasn’t so sad, it would be funny, especially in all the attendant’s oblivious glory.

What to do, what to do? I ask myself.  I’ve been trying to quell my tendency to save the world, even if it means losing good material, but decide, this time just might be a worthy exception.

I waltz over, and like everyone else, is met by peewee who should be pretty exhausted by now.

“We’ve met,” I say, alas, my humor lost on our neighborhood porn star.  Turning to the woman, still talking, I point to her charge since, words can never outweigh one glance, and she says,”Hold on,” to whomever she’s speaking to, before adding, “put that thing away, I’m not gonna tell ya again.”

Only in New York folks, only in New York.

SB

Posted in Health, humor, New York City | Tagged , , , , | 18 Comments

Birthday Recap

Well, for someone who truly didn’t want to celebrate, I was feted like a queen, all with things I love: books, flowers, a Panera card, Oreos and money along with a mezuzah for my front door. Yes, a shiksa with her very own mezuzah.

Mimi, my former neighbor, sent me 62 dollars in singles…to celebrate every year of your precious life, the card said.  They tumbled from the envelope like Monopoly money, all new bills, having to sit down, I was laughing so hard, not to mention, quite touched.

My friend Bill, though it was understood it was not a birthday celebration, came for dinner bringing me two books of essays, along with cookies and the spiffiest photo of Ulysses S. Grant a girl could ever wish for.

Casper, a canary I know from Jersey, sent me a check, with a note saying, go out and buy yourself a little something Cupcake.  Now is that a classy bird or what?  It came right alongside Cooper, the Golden Retriever’s, Starbucks card that said…next one’s on me…woof.

But what really got to me were the three people, blog readers I’ve never met, who sent me their good wishes.  Bright pink Azaleas from England, a book on writing and handmade placemats and napkins with my initials. All of Connecticut cheered.

For someone who wasn’t celebrating, I had a helluva day.

SB

Posted in Books, friendship, Gratitude, humor, Love, writing | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

An Eagle In Captivity

It’s been two months since my next door neighbor, Mimi, moved, and I really miss her.

The good news is, we speak almost every day, like best girlfriends, just at different colleges.  She leaves me funny messages like, I’ll bet you’re out paintin the town navy blue, your favorite color.  My message to her…okay, who is he?  Did he pay at least?  You’d never know there’s over 25 years between us while we chirp and giggle like 12 year-old girls.

I also write to her at least once a week so she knows she’s not forgotten, while one of her chief worries about me is, am I eating enough.

She thinks I’m too thin, so I’ll fib when she’ll ask, “What did you have for dinner?”

“Uh, a pork chop?”

“That’s great,” she’ll say, “and what else?”

“Rice?”.

“Excellent.”  Well, can’t have Mimi worrying about me and my calorie intake, not with her chronic trials.  Here’s a woman who’s been independent her whole life and now, for the first time, has to depend on others.

It’s as if her wings have been clipped.

Imagine an eagle in captivity.  That’s how I see my friend.

She’s very magnanimous about it all, but I still hear and feel her pain.

Her apartment sits like an altar to her, empty, but still hers.  “I’m not selling it,” she says, “till I’m sure I’m staying.”

Wow, wouldn’t that be something if she came back, and she could with an extra bedroom, having a helper if she needed one.  My big question is, why in hell didn’t they try that first, her slippery relatives wanting her moved and out of the way quick and easily.

Alright, I’m being judgmental, but New York is her home where she can venture out at will, rather than wait for someone in the suburbs to come pick her up.

She’s used to Central Park and The Metropolitan,Whole Foods and Elios, her favorite restaurant a few blocks away.

Once you’ve lived here, you’re truly a fish out of water when you leave.

Have you ever seen a trout flopping helplessly on a pier?

Mimi, come home…

fly home, where you belong.  images

SB

https://athingirl.com/2016/05/13/…No More Mimi

https://athingirl.com/2016/04/21/missing-mimi/

https://athingirl.com/2016/02/24/…Cheese With Mimi

Posted in friendship, Health, Home, humor, Love, nature, New York City, Women and men | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments

Fear In A Venti Cup

It’s dawned on me, as I sit in Starbucks early in the morning, my eyes dart up every time someone walks through the door wondering if they have a gun or explosives hidden in their laptop bag or knapsack.

I’ve always had senses like a cat, nothing unusual growing up in an alcoholic home, but now they’re sharpened even more.  To say I’m annoyed at myself is putting it mildly, but after all that’s happened in the past month…Orlando, Nice, Dallas…you can almost see it, like a slow train coming.  And what better place to shoot-em up, but the coffee capital of the world.

After expressing this to a friend, he said, “Just don’t go anymore…buy a coffee pot, its cheaper anyway.”  Boy, was that not the response I was looking for.

Now Camille, who when I told this to, heating up like a Bunsen burner, said…

“Oh get the fuck off of it Susannah.  Who the hell is coming into Starbucks at 5 in the morning with you, a bitchy barista and the window washer to mow you all down?

WHO???. “

Did I feel better after that.

Stop being an asshole is exactly what I wanted, not to mention, needed to hear.

SB

Posted in Faith, friendship, humor, New York City, violence, war | Tagged , , , , | 10 Comments

Rained Out

I  Just got caught in a gigantic rainstorm having to run home drenched, looking like Olive Oyl in my vintage Diane von Furstenberg  little sundress, when I came blasting through the front door.

Michael, the doorman, hid his eyes from my nipples front and center murmuring, “Hi there sailor, what time do ya get off?”

As quickly as those skies opened, the sun shot its way through, like a gunslnger fighting the clouds.  By the time I got back upstairs, I had practically drip-dried, a testament to Diane’s fabric that may be a polyester blend, but can also be folded up like a napkin and shoved in your purse.  Of course a girl is then fashionably flammable, but such a small price to pay for convenience and style.

And it certainly gives hot all new meaning.

SB

Posted in Beauty, Fashion, humor, New York City, shopping, Women and men | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments