More Evidence About (If He Existed) God’s Feelings Towards Me

So, this weekend, felt a little blue because a potential visit from a former paramour did not pan out.   Decided to distract myself by watching some TV. As I was channel surfing, I came across a movie (not going to tell you what it is just in case the paramour-in-question reads this blog) that isn’t shown that often. It also just happens to be the ONLY movie me and the paramour-in-question went to see together. Every time I see it I think of him. But, seriously, god? There I am, feeling down anyway, and you go and schedule an airing of this movie at a time when I channel-surfing. Why? There are issues in Darfur and Detroit that need taking care of, wouldn’t your precious time be better spent looking into that rather than finding ways to torture me?

Sammy, You’re Doing It Wrong

My Life Summed Up In One Photograph

Did some (really late?)(really early?) Spring cleaning this weekend. This is what I found under my bed:

Another chance to cure cancer blown

So when I got home last Friday the parking space hoggers were in my favorite space. Big surprise. But, later that evening, on a rare trash run (Fridays I usually stay in once I am in, but my trash was particularly smelly that night) I saw that they had left and that the space was available. So I ran back to my apartment, got my car keys and moved into the now free space! Tee-hee. On Saturday, when I got back from running errands, they had moved back into the space. That night, this time on a mail run, I saw that the space was free again (they go out a lot - I once saw them go into the casino next door, so I bet (ha!) they go there to take advantage of all the old codgers’ deals). So, despite the couple glasses of wine I’d had, I got my car keys and moved into the space. I am militantly anti-drinking and driving so this was a huge deal for me, but I handled the 200-yard drive just fine. And that is when it hit me – this is my new hobby. I have been looking for a pastime and now I have found it – on the nights I don’t get my space, I will leave my apartment at least once an evening and check to see if the space-hoggers have gone out for their senior-discount dinner and, if they have, I will move my car into the space!!! And what a perfect hobby too - it involves physical activity, is relatively cheap (I won’t use up that much gas), it gets me out of the house and all that extra time in the car will only increase my driving skills and confidence level!

You Wynn Some…

Met an out-of-town visitor at the Wynn last night for dinner and drinks. Unfortunately that was all it was. I had on my sexiest (well, as sexy as it gets in my size) underwear too. Darn it. At first I thought the night would go well because on my way to the bar, in the lobby, some cute foreign guy said good evening to me. At least I think that is what he said. It sounded like “Bonus Nachos” and that is good evening in Spanish, right?

But that turned out to be the only even remotely sexual attention I got all evening. I knew the second my friend showed up nothing was going to happen because he gave me one of those awkward little side hugs; you know the type, I went in for the full-on full-frontal hug and he moved in such a way that only our shoulders touched. I was hoping that little spark of confidence the random foreign guy gave me would be enough to get me inside my friend’s hotel room but it was not to be.  Oh well, my born-again virginity stays intact a little longer…

Now I Am More American Than English

Yesterday was the anniversary of my leaving England and moving to America. I am now double the age I was when I left. So that means I now have lived more of my life in America than I did in England (well, not technically, the exact date is sometime next April (taking into account leap years, etc.)).

In my BS life (Before Sammy) on those extremely rare occasions when I thought about moving back (during Wimbledon. Or when it rains. Or watching Fawlty Towers. Or eating what passes for chips in this godforsaken country.) I often thought I would leave before this “half and half” anniversary so as to retain as much Englishness as possible. Oh well. I guess that moment passed the second I got my American passport and started dropping my aitches (it’s pronounced “herb.” Not “erb.” Because it starts with a fucking aitch.).

My Happy Space

So where I live, huge apartment complex, about 425 units. Each has its own assigned parking space plus there are some open spaces for guest parking and, of course, about a million prime real estate spaces designated for disabled drivers. My favorite open parking space (my assigned one is yucky) is close to the nearest entrance to my unit. It is also close to an elevator. This may explain its popularity because finding it available when I come home was pretty hit or miss but, for the most part, I got it. That was until about two months ago, when this cobalt blue PT Cruiser started parking there ALL THE TIME. Saw the owners once, a couple in their early 60s, maybe. Saw their designated space once too (on a rare occasion they were actually parked in it), not far from this space, which makes this extra annoying because it is not like their space is way over the other side of the building like mine is. To make matters worse, about a month ago, the car shows up with a disabled license plate. Which means they can now park in any of the two million disabled spaces. But do they? No. Fuck that. You can park ANYWHERE and yet you park in my favorite space all the time. Petty, I know, but when your life is as empty as mine, having your favorite parking space taken all the time by a COUPLE who can park ANYWHERE is a big deal. And, boo-hoo, if you do not get your favorite parking space, you still have EACH OTHER. If I don’t get my favorite parking space, not only do I not have my favorite parking space I am also ALONE.