Detroit Basketball... NOT!

Working at a stupid job five minutes from your home is a lot better than working at a stupid job 45 minutes from your house. This doesn't mean I'm happy at Starbucks, though (she said defensively). I just means it doesn't suck as much.

Also, the co-workers are different. The people I used to work with were, on average, 19 and continuously stoned. These folks are nice, mature (usually) and considerably less influenced; they also don't seem to think I'm weird (but maybe I should say "yet".)


Last night we went to a Knicks game and sat next to Barbara. Barbara is a nice black lady in her mid-50's who has one season ticket for herself. Her seat is right next to mine when we go, so now I go to games and look forward to seeing her. Being that the Knicks generally suck, and I find basketball generally boring, Barbara is the highlight of my game. Last night, though, the Knicks won! It's a really cool moment when thousands of fans thrust their arms up into the air at the same time. It reminds me of a deodorant commercial. ("Yes! We're all SURE!")

One enthusiastic fan shouted as he exited the building, "Detroit Basketball...NOT!" over and over (and over) again. I wanted to slug him, because when I fell asleep on the train much, much later, his stupid voice kept playing over and over in my head, the way you get songs stuck.

Since Rob has friends in in the city and we were already there for the game, we went out with them afterwards. It was St. Patrick's day, so where were we? At the Brazil Grill, of course, where an Asian waitress with a shamrock on her face and pink thong peaking out of the top of her pants (right over the fuzzy bunny tail she had pinned onto her jeans) tried to get us to do shots. I love Manhattan.


My mom had dinner for me for my birthday on Thursday, and Monica was there. (My dad had two daughters from a previous marriage; Danielle is a year older than I and lives in Boston, but her boyfriend is here in Connecticut, so she's around a lot. Monica is 28 and lives in Ohio with her husband, so I hadn't seen her in ages and was very excited). I gave her a hug and then patted and said hello to her midsection where my very first niece or nephew is floating around, blissfully unaware of the insanity into which he or she is about to be born. Are ears developed at four and a half months in utero? If they are, kiddo in there heard us all singing "Happy Birthday", and is probably scared.

The way you sing Happy Birthday in my family is you pick a note, maybe two or three, but no more than that, and sing the lyrics loudly and flatly. You're welcome to lengthen any words you like particularly ("Haaaaaaaapy Birthday tooooooooooo yooooo!..."), vary the order of your two or three notes, and sing in whatever beats you'd like. If there's three names to sing (which there were; Monica is on the 10th, I was the 13th and Gus is on the 25th) you can pick any order you'd like them to go in, harmony be damned. It all ends in ruckus applause, and you're invited to whistle.