Let me start by saying, I LOVE the holidays.  All of them.  I enjoy learning about why that day became a holiday, and I enjoy sharing that with my kids.  However. . . (you knew that was coming), they're becoming more and more of a pain in my backside than I care to deal with. 

Ladies I must admit, I was a hater. I wouldn’t watch, think about or participate in any sports. Period. I hated Sundays for taking my husband from me. I figured I could fight it, “make” him stop watching and playing fantasy football, but what good would that do?

elizabeth: When the East Village was my home, I lived with a boyfriend who was so handsome and sultry eyed sexy. Man, I just liked looking at him. And I know he liked looking at himself also. If I was him, I would have been doing the same damn thing. We lived on St. Mark’s Place and whenever we walked to the West Village men’s eyes would be undressing and bedding him down. That cracked me up something fierce. Because it could be -37 degrees and he would be breaking out in a sweat because the young (and old) gay men thought he was hot.  I had very good taste.

I'm still trying to decide, in my quest to find a new place to live, whether I should live by myself or try to save money by moving in with another roommate. One of the big reasons living by myself is high on my list -- in addition to the obvious reasons, like not having to consider when that person would or wouldn't be around, who they might bring over, and how well we'd get along -- is that I'm really looking forward to having a place that I could decorate any way I please.

That's right, hang up the damn phone! You're hurtling in 2 tons of machine down the street, weaving in and out of your lane, slowing down, speeding up, cutting people off. And you, backing out of your driveway, cutting me off (and fortunately not running over a child): I'm sorry, but I just don't get what is so damned important than you have to be yakking on the phone right after you got into your car. Couldn't you make the call, then drive? Oh, you weren't talking, you were texting? What are you, stupid? You're a hazard. A menace!