My cat likes spinach*

On the drive home tonight I was trying to think of entertaining blog topics, but work has been crazy and I've been blue... neither of which are interesting to write about. I stopped at the grocery store and bought a bunch of packaged food and mindlessly arrived at my building. What should I write about? Is there anything interesting about what I bought at the grocery store other than I'm too lazy to cook which is never a good sign because I love to cook? What about my new coat? I really love it, but can I squeeze out a witty or deep thought?

The elevator opened at my floor and the cat on a leash tried to escape as I exited.


I've lived in my building for 10 years now. That deserves pause. 10 years. (Fuck.)

I love my building. It is populated with a weird array of retirees, middle-aged gay men, and 20-something renters who don't stay longer than a year. It's wonderful. Other than the smell of weed that greets me as I leave my condo at 7 a.m. and welcomes me back home at 7 p.m. (see "retirees," NOT 20-somethings), it's got all the perks of a retirement community (quiet, easy access to ambulances) with all the perks of the city (walking distance to everything, my new hair-dresser/stylist/whatever-you-call-the-neighbor-who-does-your-hair/Mitch).

Other perks:

1. My thighs have never been so firm. There's a tiny gym on the top floor with 2 treadmills, an elliptical, a stationary bike and a Bowflex for when I'm too lazy to go the fancy gym. It also has a Thighmaster. Remember the Thighmaster? That wonderful invention of the 90s that just begged for Susan Sommers to put on some neon spandex and squeeze away the flab while watching 90210? Or something like that... I haven't used it.

2. Seasonal greetings. Every 3 months or so the neighbor to the north of me empties the wreath that hangs on her door and over the coming months other neighbors (presumably) add their seasonal interpretations. Christmas is standard, but it seems this year we're celebrating Mardi Gras with a wreath covered in beads, the Mexican flag, and a weird baby-doll. Many guests have asked me what the hell is going on and I can only respond that she's festive and to mind their own business.

3. Hilda. Hilda is probably 110 (or 80), is German, knows everyone in the building and hates the building manager because he's a fascist. "And I KNOW what it's like to live under a fascist." When I run into her walking the park I will always slow my pace to walk with her because she's amazing and full of wisdom (see comment re: fascism).

One day I found her reaching for a penny while carrying groceries home from the store. I took the bag of groceries from her and she said the penny had obviously brought her luck because she really didn't feel like having her bags of canned goods hit her in the shins anymore.

Another day I found her arguing in the hallway with a gentleman who lives in the building who happens to be a priest and exclaiming that there's no way in hell she is going to pray for George Bush. (The hair-dress/stylist/whatever/Mitch mentioned above told me that the priest actually used to be a cross-dresser and would sit in his car at 3 a.m. all dressed up and ready to go out. Oh! The scandal!)

4. Free cutlery. And then one night I came home to a knife outside the door of my super creepy neighbor, right across the hall from me. So I took a picture of it and posted it on Facebook.

It's weird what people on Facebook think you should do when you find a paring knife in the hallway. Someone suggested I call the police. If there had been blood on the knife, maybe, but the existence of a knife isn't indicative of a crime. It's just a knife.

And sure, it was pointing at my door, but I had no reason to suspect my neighbor was threatening me since it was still in front of HIS door and not mine. It's possible he'd just been peeling an apple in the hallway and forgotten his knife there. But I didn't touch it anyway because I didn't want my DNA mingling with the evidence.

When I checked the next morning the knife was gone and there were no reports of small-knife murders in the building so I'm pretty sure he just dropped it while carrying in the stacks of junkmail he always seems to have.

5. For real. Free cutlery. (Not pictured). Beside the elevator on the first floor is a door to the garage. Just inside the door is a table where people donate junk they don't want anymore. It's a fucking goldmine. I've picked up a lamp, christmas decorations, books, purses.... I've given away a television, a microwave, and cat food. So while you wait for the elevator, you sort of peek through the window to see if there's anything worth taking. The other night as we were leaving, I mentioned to WC that I needed a new omelet pan (yeah, we're at that point in our dating-conversation) and he says "There's a pan in your free-area. Wanna go get it?" I love him.** 

Sometimes when friends are coming to pick me up, I will grab whatever is in the free area as a gift to them for their kindness. They don't always appreciate the sentiment.

*For real, he does. He was stealing spinach from my salad tonight. Raw. No dressing. 

**And by "love" I mean that I only like-him like-him. Like: 

"Do you like him?" 

"Sure I like him."

"But do you like-him like-him?"

Like-him like-him comes right before the break-up, usually.***

*** Oh my, that was pessimistic. I'm annoying myself.

Outside the door of the pot-smoking 

octogenarians... (maybe septuagenarians...)