Not This Again!

My Darling Fellow Long Islanders.


It is December. Granted, winter does not officially begin until the 21st, but for all intents and purposes, it's winter. I'd say look at all the Christmas lights, but they've been up since August, so instead: witness the absence of Indian corn and leaf garland.

Because it is winter time.

That means it might snow.

OKAY??? It's not like "Amends" in "Buffy," where yes, snow in southern California = unexpected.

We are in New York.

Every. Single. Year. It snows. So please! Please. I'm not talking about it any more as like, a topic of urgent conversation. At a certain point, if you are still shocked beyond belief by the snow, well, pull out a map. Look at where you live. The Northeastern United States? Well that is where the snow happens, often times. Deal with it or don't, but for heaven's sake, can we stop acting like frogs are falling from the sky?

Thank you so much.



Sincerely,
Judi


P.S. If you can't drive like a human being in the snow, then don't drive. Or I will shoot your tires with a B.B. gun so you are no longer a danger to society.









One of my favorite songs EVER







©2008

Goodbye, and Thank You, Levittown

So you know that scene in "Father of the Bride," where Annie is despondent and doesn't know how to go to sleep because she is all nostalgic and at a loss? And like, she knows that it's all for the best, and that she's going somewhere better, but she just feels uprooted and sad? That is kind of how I feel tonight.

On the one hand, I know that I should ostensibly go to bed, because I have a lot of work ahead of me. I'm moving out on Wednesday, and there is a lot to do. On the other hand, I'm very filled with emotion and nostalgia. See, it's my last "night" here in Levittown. In my apartment. By myself. Tomorrow, Javier will be here with me, because he is awesome, and helping me hardcore with the move, but tonight was the last night that I made the drive home from Boulder Creek to a place that I could call my own.

That is one of the weirdest things for me, I think. I've had several important-to-my-life jobs over the years, but Boulder Creek is the only job that I got while living in my Levittown apartment. It's ten minutes away. When I got a break at work, I could go home and watch "Boy Meets World," or take a nap, or just feel re-energized because my home was so close by and meandering through the freak show that is the Best Yet Supermarket fed my curious nature with unsettling fuel.

When I left work, it was only a moment before I was re-immersed in my territory. Sometimes that meant stopping at my 7-11s for beer, cat food, and/or Stouffers® frozen dinners. Sometimes that meant stopping home real quick to get ready to go to Sidelines or some other 10-minutes-away gathering place with my co-worker friends.

Levittown was the first place since 1988 that I felt I was "home." I grew up in Merrick, and not only did I know my neighbors, but I knew ALL my neighbors, and when we weren't swimming in the Warnos' pool, we were playing SPUD and Kick the Can for as long as we could until it got too dark and our parents made us come inside.

I liked that. I missed that. In Baldwin, where we moved to in July '88, I didn't have that anymore. Granted, our house was nicer, and Lord knows that I was mad psyched to live within walking distance of a book store.

But the book store closed down, as did the TCBY, and at the end of the day, as much as I love my family, I deeply missed that sense of community that you see on TV and that I had come to take for granted in Merrick, where the community was doing well, what with the home ownership and all, but also in Merrick, a lot of my friends' parent(s) rented the houses, and despite all the snottiness that did exist in the schools, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that when we got home from school, we could all bond together on our block and play games, and best of all, "cut through yards" and not only did no one get pissed, but they were happy. Even if they didn't have children, it was like, "Oh, the kids are playing, carry on, kids!" The adults with kids welcomed us with open arms. The adults without kids knew our families and asked us about our lives. It was awesome.

The first night I spent in Levittown, it was the July 4th weekend of 2006. And I'd come from an apartment in Merrick, which was nice for the nostalgia aspect, but the community was pretty closed and stand-offish. My new apartment on Coachman Lane was different. There was a big biker block party, and the whole street just erupted into this fantastic, loud chaos, and I knew I was home.

Because at the end of the day, as much as I do dream of at some point having lots of money? I like living in a community. The first six years of my life were spent in an apartment building on Front Street in Hempstead, and that was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Race meant nothing. Financial status meant nothing. BULLshit meant nothing. What meant SOMEthing was how well you treated the people you lived around.

Those are my roots, and that is why I have loved living in Levittown. Yes, there is the horrifying turn onto Hempstead Turnpike from Jerusalem where everyone just loses their minds and all you can do is try your best to not get killed by old ladies and teenagers playing "Pole Position" with their second-hand Jeeps.

But there is also a setup that no one talks about, wherein you can do what you need to do to pay your bills and buy your essentials, and everything is just there and nobody makes a big deal about it. When I first discovered the wonder of The Bus while living in Baldwin, I was SO CONFUSED and so annoyed by the fact that the nearest bus was almost a mile away. When I asked why this was, and was told that basically, the more self-important the neighborhood, the harder it is to get to anywhere practical because the more money you have, the more you don't want to be tainted by people just trying to work and buy toilet paper and send their kids to school? I was only 15, but I was incredibly indignant. If people didn't have enough money for a car, why should they have to walk so far just to get on a bus? And also, what I didn't realize at the time but felt from my own perspective, what is that saying to the kids? Either you need to develop your own tenacity, or you need to get your parents to buy you a car, or you need to give up and realize the only place that your town wants you to get to is The Spot so you can drink 40s and smoke blunts, because society doesn't want you anyway.

(I'd feel like I was being more hyperbolic if I hadn't witnessed these mentalities firsthand.)

So I was very happy when I moved to Levittown, to live on a road where I had to slow down every day because kids were playing hockey in the street. That is AWESOME. Kids SHOULD be playing hockey in the street. Older people SHOULD be sitting out on their porches/front yards every day. Neighbors SHOULD be talking to each other, and giving a crap about their neighborhoods.

And there SHOULD be parks. I live -- for another 36 hours -- next to a park that has a playground, and grass, and hosts multiple Little League games. THAT is great. THAT is awesome. THAT -- if you're lucky -- is life.

It's not my life yet. I hope yet. Because if I am ever blessed with a family and children, I want it to be in a place where my kids learn to be humble while experiencing the greatest joy and the fullest childhood experiences they could possibly have. I want them to play in the street, and make friends in their neighborhood, and sure, play videogames and reap all the benefits of the life I want to give them, but all while knowing that what's most important is learning to be good, kind, loving people.

I'm getting ahead of myself, but this is all within the emotions I have about leaving Levittown. I am going to miss being ten minutes from work. I am going to miss being five minutes away from A.C. Moore and the movie theater, and my old school that doesn't exist anymore, because South Shore Christian School has my heart, and is right next to Shannon's old house. I felt good holding down the fort in spirit for her.

I am going to miss being in a community.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am extraordinarily blessed and loved to be welcomed back into my family's house, and I love them and can't wait to be with them again. This past year, I've been struggling so hard financially that I've barely gotten to see them. Same with my friends, who have been patient with me and understanding of my AWOL status with remarkable aplomb.

And I am VERY psyched to be living around the block from Javier, who has been incredible in every way as I've struggled hardcore just to stay afloat.

There are definitely great things about moving back home, or I wouldn't be doing it. I know that moving back with my parents is the right thing to do now. On paper, is it embarrassing? Sure! I'm almost 32! But one thing that the past 32 years has taught me is that some people play the game of life straightforward and end up in a great place for it.

Sometimes, life presents itself as a seemingly impossible challenge, like one of those maddening plastic, shift-pieces-around one by one till you get it right puzzles. I've always adored puzzles, but HATED those kinds of puzzles. But at the end of the day, I have to remember the three Biggest Life Goals I have always reiterated to my mother: 1) I want to be a good person. 2) I want to be a good wife. 3) I want to be a good mother.

What I've learned is that 2) and 3) are nothing without 1), and that really, 1) is the ultimate goal each of us is left with at the end of the day, all things being equal. And no matter what, what I REALLY want is to make other people's lives better, especially kids'. I'm going back to school to teach kindergarten, and I'm glad that it took me this long to decide on that, because kids deserve teachers who really care about them. And on that note, I want to keep writing, and ideally give back to kids what I got when I was younger -- survival through joy, and invigoration through creativity.

I am glad to be working towards that. I am grateful to Levittown and its community for reminding me of its importance.

I'll miss you, Levittown purple-walled apartment. Try and calm the ghosts down for the future tenant(s).





©2007

North Of The Border

Can someone please tell me what self-respecting Taco Bell doesn't have a drive-thru? Never mind, I'll tell YOU. The one on Old Country Road in Hicksville (I think), that's what...one...doesn't. You know what I mean. Either way, that is the Taco Bell responsible for tonight's version of "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle," as done by David Lynch.

See, I am broke, but still need dinner, and decided to get Taco Bell tonight, 'cause it's cheap, and 'cause I'd already had Burger King earlier today. Don't judge me.

Anyway, I pull into the parking lot, and much to my dismay, realize that there is no drive-thru! Travesty! Out of principle alone, I obviously could not support that Taco Bell. So I decided that I'll just find another one. And this is what led to my taking the Cross Island Parkway home.

What happened was that I decided to take Old Country Road down a ways, and somehow ended up on 107, which at some point apparently stops being so much a "road" as a "gateway to hell." I realized quickly that I was in a Bad Neighborhood -- the North Shore. I realized this due to the combination of twisty roads and mailboxes seven miles from the houses. OH NO! I hate the North Shore! But whatever, soon I would hit a major road. Or at least a Taco Bell!

Nope.

Adding insult to injury was the fact that I couldn't turn around! And for people who spend a lot of effort keeping people out of their world, the North Shore folks sure do make it hard to leave! The roads were so curvy that turning around would have been mad dangerous, especially since it was raining. So, since I had no desire to re-enact "Creepshow 2," I had to keep going.

Finally, I saw Route 25A, which seemed safe to me, because during the summer of '96, I got lost in Suffolk every single time I went to an audition, and Route 25A always helped me find my way home, if not to the audition. So 25A it was!

The only problem is that in an unprecedented moment of locational clarity, I realized that I needed to go west. So I did. Meaning, I would not be hitting Suffolk. But I WOULD be hitting the scariest bridge in the world. I have no idea what bridge this was, but all of a sudden, I was in a work zone, and the road was covered with 7,800 neon-orange kegs! And there was like, NO space. And it was raining! I was terrified! It didn't help that my iPod was on shuffle, and currently playing "18 and Life." I finally turned down the volume, and breathed like a lady in labor on TV.

Finally, it was over, and I was not dead. Also, signs of life! A Mobil station! I went in to get gas, but not to ask for directions, since I didn't want to be all, "Ummm, WHERE THE HELL am I?" So I just paid for my gas, while thinking how crazy it was that I would probably never lay eyes on this gas attendant again, unless of course I was trapped forever in the North Shore like "The Blair Witch Project" or that new Luke Wilson movie.

Obviously, I turned around after getting gas. Surely that way, I'd find my way home -- retrace my steps! Only I couldn't, because no WAY was I pressing my luck on that fluorescent bridge again! I had no choice but to keep going forward.

Then all of a sudden I realized I was in Queens. Bad, because I live in Levittown; good, because I knew that if I could manage to not end up in Manhattan or the Bronx (it's happened), that I'd hit the Cross Island, which is omnipresent in Queens. And sure enough!

Happy though I was to be definitely heading back to my apartment, I was very not happy to be driving on the Cross Island in the rain, because it was all shiny and hologrammy, like one of those folders from 1991. Not the Lisa Frank folders, the other ones. And that is not a good way for a parkway to look, you know? I really was just guessing as to what constituted a "lane," because the white lines were lost under the shininess.

Also my iPod was being a dick. Obviously, I did not want to hear "Lose Control" while driving in the rain on the parkway where basically everyone I know has been in an accident. Obviously, I also did not want to hear "Into Dust," or "Accidntal Deth" (real spelling), or "Stop Breathin'." Finally, "One Moment in Time" came on, so I sang along, to celebrate my triumphant return home.

What I realized while on the Southern State Parkway was that I still had no Taco Bell! And no way could I go back home without it! Problem was, I only knew the exact location of one Taco Bell for sure, and that is in South Merrick. Time for another detour!

Man, was I happy to be back on land. Merrick has never been lovelier to me. But THEN some bimbo in an SUV is all riding my ass, and I chuckled to myself, because she had no idea what I'd been through that night. Hologram roads, tiny orange bridges...I was not intimidated by her stupid big car! Not to mention the fact that I'm sorry, but bitchy South Shore girls are just kind of desperate and sad. Bitchy North Shore girls are like, trained in school on how to be obnoxious. So I was not impressed by this chick, and showed her this by slowing my speed to 20 miles per hour.

Laaaaaa! At long last, I got my Taco Bell! For a moment, I was conflicted. Should I try the new Zesty! nachos? But then I realized that tonight hadn't really been my *night,* and I did not come this far to risk an inferior nacho. I stuck with my tried and true Nachos Bell Grande, and got some tacos.

The Gulf station where I turn on Hempstead Turnpike has never looked more beautiful. So much that I barely minded the 27-minute wait at the light. While I was waiting, I realized that the volume on my stereo was still down from when I was at Taco Bell. I decided to see if it was still being cute. Sure enough, "Cemetery" by Architecture in Helsinki was playing! From "In Case We Die." Lovely!

I didn't die though (TONIGHT), and I did eat my Taco Bell. Of course, I got full after a few nachos, so I'm saving the rest. I'll eat it tomorrow. That is of course, if I don't decide to go to South Carolina for some Checkers.





©2007

Salisbury Stakes

Okay, yes. I am in a mood -- true story! But I am frustrated! It's all encapsulated in my lunchtime adventures. See, I went to see an apartment during my lunch hour. It's in my price range, and there was a balcony! A balcony! I loved that. And skylights! So there was this part of me that got all -- well I can't think of a fitting analogy right now because I am lightheaded (more on that later), but I've been so poor for so long. You know, working hard, two jobs every day, just like Thea, but at least she had a house! I live in the hatch! Which is fine, but now I have to move out by August.

So yay, more moving. U-Haul, how I missed you so. But did you know that it's next to impossible to find an apartment for $900? That's crazy! That's how much I am paying now, and struggling to do so! WTF!

Anyway, I found an ad for this apartment, and though it was in Salisbury, which I had no idea was a town, and though it was not on my beloved Babylon line, it was supposedly close to my job and also, see above, re: skylights and balconies! I used my lunch hour to see it, and first of all, it took a LONG TIME to get there; it was not close to my job at all!

Strike one.

But I got there with no real problems aside from the fact that everything on the radio sucked the whole way, and driving at lunchtime in the sun with some good music is one of my timeless pleasures in life. I know, CD player. But, a) I dont have one, and b) I'm driving my mom's minivan this week (more on that later).

Once at the house, I see that the landlords have a big, huge, barking dog!

Strike two.

Sorry, I do like dogs, but I am afraid of them, due to my nightmares. I have nightmares about airplanes and dogs, mainly, with the occasional whale thrown in for good measure, and while I have yet to experience any whale catastrophes (knock on wood, and BTW, Sea World, please cut it out with your terrifying new commercial, like, I do not wish to see killer whales flying all around the world), my plane dreams are eerily prescient, and I have no desire to tempt fate by shacking up with a big scary dog who has no loyalty to me.

Where was I? Oh okay, so then the lady led me upstairs. Very cute, wooden stairs. Very windy (as in wine-dy, not breezy) and narrow.

Strike three.

Dont get me wrong, I was quite charmed by this. I love wood (yeah yeah, ha ha, stay with me here!) but I've experienced enough couch drama to last a lifetime without actually MOCKING fate by acting like I'm getting my big-ass couch up this Statue of Liberty staircase!

But hey. Maybe I could give my parents my couch and get something from Babz's church, also known as IKEA. Especially after seeing the balcony, which was adorable and lovely! I don't really do the morning thing, but I was having Taster's Choice-esque visions of coffee with my mother on the weekends.

What's the opposite of strike? Oh, a hit! Hit one!

We went inside, and there was a ton of sun! And it was very pretty and homey, with slanted ceilings -- not for everyone, but I love them!

Hit two!

Unfortunately, the stove was very little. It reminded me of my magnet of a stove. Oh, have I ever mentioned that my beloved magnet collection was a casualty of The Non-Storage Incident Of 2004? This seems like the place to do it. RIP, "Wake up little sushi" magnet of awesomeness. But I do have a tiny tiny stove on my refrigerator, and this looked like it.

Strike four!

I really love to cook and bake. I don't do it super often (see above, re: my Thea existence), but this was just too small.

But still...maybe things would balance out. The bathroom was small, with no tub. No strike, no hit, because that's what I'm used to.

There was mad storage everywhere, like I think the guy was preparing for Y2K or something, I mean, there was a stunning amount of shelves, drawers, you name it, built into every single wall!

Hit three!

You can't underestimate storage space in an apartment. Especially for a packrat like myself.

Then there was the bedroom. VERY big, very beautiful. Yay!

Hit four!

Wait.

Wait!

There was no living room. Oh no!

Strike five!

It was so weird! I mean, I've done the whole living room/kitchen combo thing. That's fine. But there was no combo to the kitchen. It was just...a kitchen. And yes, the bedroom was big. Big enough for my couch, even, assuming my telekinetic powers finally kicked in over the next few weeks, and I could get my couch up the wooden stairs. But it -- nooo. Maybe for a hundred less. But man -- the skylights...that balcony...okay, maybe.

"We need a tenant in the next two weeks, June 1st at the very latest."

Strike six!

I actually knew this. But now that I was going to have to get rid of and/or levitate my couch, as well as figure out where in the world to put my computer, this felt overwhelming to me.

Still...MAD storage space

There remained one final, deciding, make-or-break factor. I had to feel out the "Will you be a warden" situation. I very gingerly approached the subject of having people over, using the words "now and then" and "not big parties." She (I say "she" because she never told me her name) --

-- Oops! Strike seven!

I mean, she knew MY name.

But so anyway, she started talking about how they were old (they weren't, I mean they werent going to be going to any raves or anything, but they were MAYBE in their early sixties), and they didn't want loud music, that they "didn't tolerate it from their kids, so (they) definitely wouldn't now."

Strike eight!

Dude, I don't even look like the loud music type! But I'll be damned if I can't bust out some Carrie Underwood et al. while doing my Sing CD in the shower on a Saturday afternoon!

Then she made mention of her current tenant. "Her boyfriend comes up from Georgia now and then..."

"Georgia"?

"...and he stays over, so we don't mind the occasional visitor in moderation, but of course, nothing --"

-- Okay, I honestly don't remember the word she used here, but it carried with it the strong implications of "9 ½ Weeks" being reenacted above her head, but like, "9 ½ Weeks" with, I don't even know. Chain mail or something.

And I don't actually own any chain mail (though I still really would like a sword and also some fencing equipment), I don't need to feel like I'm sneaking boys into my room if I have people over, regardless of who they are. If I can't have sex in my apartment, I might as well live with my parents for free!

I mean, I'm just saying. In theory.

So, yeah. It was all over. Two many strikes. Eight, in fact. Nine, if you include the fact that the directions were not great, and I of course had to get back to work in the most ridiculous way imaginable, due to my previously discussed directional disability. Like, the Meadowbrook Parkway was involved. You don't know all the logistics of this, but trust me, the Meadowbrook Parkway should not have been involved.

Ten, if you count the fact that my mother called on my way back to tell me my inspection bills totaled $778.00. (This was why I had her car -- she took mine in for me, God bless her soul.) Okay, that has nothing to do with the apartment. But I was late getting back to work. So that can be ten.

Eleven, if you count the fact that I still have had nothing to eat today, since I'm low carbing it to sexify (TM Peter Griffin) myself for the cruise and could not stop for salad.

So now I'm hungry, sad, and docked a half hour's pay. And homeless! Not literally, but still. I really, really dont want to move back home again. Not because of my family at all, just out of principle and also because the idea of having a POD in my yard freaks me out a little. Like, something about all my worldly possessions living in a black steel box on the side of my house is a bit unnerving.

And really, all this stopping and starting is taking a bit of a toll on me. I know, such is life, and I am blessed in so many ways...but still. The idea of spending two Christmases in a row at the same place is nice. I'd like to feel like I have a home. And even though my apartment is currently a basement, it was starting to feel a bit like home, what with rounding the corner to my year anniversary there. Oh, well. Maybe my parents can build a balcony outside the computer room.


©2006