Black & White & Fuschia (Oh, My!)

Soap dispensers or instruments of torture? You decide!

Soap dispensers or instruments of torture? You decide!

Fang is on vacation this week and I, too, took a few days off. I figured that we could spend some time together and I could get some things accomplished. We did a little antiquing the other day — I managed to score some very cool old hooks for the bathroom. We even managed to have a nice lunch, a brief stroll by the Hudson, and an ice cream cone. That was a nice day.

Yesterday? Not so much.

To say that I got up on the wrong side of the bed yesterday would be an understatement! No amount of coffee or Candy Crush Saga or (gasp!) even writing would break the mood. Everyone and everything annoyed me. Thank God I didn’t have to go to work. Fang might feel differently about that, though. I’ll bet if you ask him he’d tell you that he wished I had gone to work instead of spending the day with him.

Part of the problem was that I had an agenda AND Fang had an agenda. Sadly, we were of two VERY different minds regarding our plans for yesterday. He wanted to putter around. I wanted to go to the fabric store. I needed to get my hands on some more black Waverly toile to complete yet another project. I had recently realized that I had employed some faulty math when I purchased the original cut of the fabric, which meant that I would only be able to cover one-and-a-half seat cushions, instead of the two that need covering. (Half a seat is one of those units of measurement — kind of like 2.4 children — that doesn’t actually exist in the real world!)

He said that he wanted to come with me — to talk me out of the toile, I’m sure. And so I waited. And I waited. And I waited. While he passive-aggressively sipped his coffee — like an 18th Century lady during a social call. He was either purposely dawdling or awaiting the arrival of Mr. Darcy.

I think what irritated me most was that I knew that once we got to the fabric store that he was going to point out any number of fabric choices that were NOT toile. Because he’s always going on about how much he hates toile. Seriously. He hates it. Except that he doesn’t. He wouldn’t even notice its existence if it weren’t for the fact that I love it. It’s a passive-aggressive thing. Like the ladylike coffee-sipping. It’s also an annoying thing.

The black and white Waverly toile is absolutely perfect for my makeshift window seat. And, really, that’s all there is to it. Nothing more to see here, folks!

We finally set off on our little adventure. I got (more of) the fabric that I needed. I made sure that he had no time to wander the aisles. I picked the black and white toile off the shelf, had it cut, paid for it, and got out of Dodge.

From there we were planning to visit Bed, Bath, and Beyond. We were still sans a soap dispenser for the newly redecorated bathroom. We had looked high and low for something that we liked to no avail. Somehow, though, we had managed NOT to include the BATHROOM store in our search — obviously this had to be rectified.

I’m happy to report that we were successful there. We purchased not just one, but TWO, soap dispensers. One black, one white; one for soap, one for hand sanitizer. Perfect. Who would think that this concept would require any kind of conversation AT ALL? Yeah. Me neither. Except that it did. Of course it did.

I had to spend the next twenty minutes, or more — it felt like more — weighing the pros and cons of labeling the dispensers. Did I mention that I was ALREADY in a bad mood? Do I even need to tell you that I wouldn’t want to entertain this nonsense in the best of moods?

For the record, I don’t think it’s necessary — the labeling. I am of the opinion that if someone — mainly we are speaking about Fangette here, the 17-year-old girl-child who is the only other person who resides with us. (Outside of the cat, who, as far as I know has no idea how to operate a soap dispenser, how to read a label, or is overly concerned with either hand-washing or hand-sanitization!) For the sake of argument, let’s just say that she were to mistakenly sanitize instead of soaping or if she were to soap instead of sanitize, would the world, do you think, stop spinning on its axis? I don’t think so either. Not only am I confident that she can grasp the concept of white = sanitizer; black = soap, I am also fairly certain that if she were to become confused, it would not be a mistake of epic proportions.

What I really think worried him was not that Fangette would get it wrong, but that he would. I figure he’ll eventually catch on, too.

The other stumbling block in my madcap plan to leave the bottles unlabeled, as far as Fang is concerned, has to do with guests. I promised him that I would personally and verbally alert guests to the crazy system that I have going on in the hand-washing area. I assured him that I would, if we were expecting an onslaught of guests, make little notecards and place them in front of the bottles — I think that’s more personal than a computer-generated note taped to the bathroom mirror or, God forbid!, a post-it stuck to the bottles, don’t you? What I didn’t say was that I’d like to think that we associate with the type of people who wouldn’t be stymied by the whole soap/sanitizer controversy. They’d use whatever they squirted out — they wouldn’t judge. Who he thinks we hob-nob with, I’ll never know.

When I decide to finally drive my husband round the bend, I know exactly how I’ll do it. I’ll simply purchase a black AND white pump dispenser, possibly something in a toile pattern, load it with hand lotion, and make it part of the trio. I think that’ll about do him in, don’t you?

For those of you who have been along for the bathroom redo — here are some pics! Whaddya think? Not bad, right?

My Exciting Thursday

moodfabriclogoSomewhat guiltily, I shoved aside hovel purging and did a few more interesting things yesterday — not, perhaps, as necessary as hovel purging, but, still in all, far less mundane and back-breaking than filling more bags and boxes with the detritus of my life. Following what turned out to be a bus ride that had it’s equivalent in the expression “slow boat to China”, I went to Mood Fabrics in NYC and drooled over toiles, velvets, and the hundreds of other beautiful fabrics they have to offer. For a fabric hound such as myself, there is no better place to while away a few hours than on West 37th Street in Manhattan. Maybe they have more toile at, say, The Palace at Versailles, but I suspect that they would frown upon my clipping a swatch. Mood and the other fabric stores in the area actually encourage the swatching that will, no doubt, land you in a French prison. (I wonder if they still use The Bastille?). Also, I can’t just hop on the 163 Local to gaze at the toiles enjoyed by Louis XIV and his ilk. Sampling the Versailles toiles and enjoying three hots and a cot on the French government would require airline travel and a passport. I’m adventurous, but I’m not THAT adventurous. Frankly, I was antsy on the OVER ONE HOUR bus ride to the city (see “slow boat to China” reference above) — it normally takes about 45 minutes midday — a seven-hour plane ride would be out of the question.

I spent an hour trying to find the Joe Fresh location that was supposed to be on 34th and Fifth. They were supposed to be having a sale on sweaters. And they don’t sell online. (Can you even imagine?) There was no Joe Fresh on 34th Street or anywhere in the surrounding area. No one that I asked had ever heard of such a store. I did, however, manage to stumble upon a place called The Manhattan Mall. I only ventured in because I thought that Joe Fresh might be tucked away inside of it. It wasn’t. Don’t worry, though, I didn’t come home empty-handed. I still managed to feed my cashmere addiction at, of all places, JC Penney. (You all need to check out what they’ve done to JC Penney — it’s not just Worthington anymore, boys and girls!) I managed to leave the store with a cashmere sweater for myself and one for my daughter. And, GET THIS, it only cost me $40 total. Forty bucks for TWO cashmere sweaters. Unheard of.

I downed a delicious and much needed vanilla latte at Starbuck’s on 33rd Street (the one thatstarbuckslogo is literally in the shadow of The Empire State Building). I even managed to have a moment of self-awareness and a mini-adventure in the bathroom line. In a city known for its dearth of public restrooms, Starbuck’s should be commended for the fact that they have at least one in all of their locations (at least the one’s that I’ve been in). Also, there is no need to ask a barrista for a key nor have I ever seen a sign indicating that only Starbuck’s customers are welcome to use the facilities. This appeals to my sense of fairness and democracy. While I applaud the Starbuck’s bathroom policy in theory, the reality, as is often the case, is somewhat different, especially when this reality has a direct and deleterious effect on me. (Communism looks great on paper until you’re the one subjected to a lifetime of potato peeling based solely on your inability to read as well as some of your classmates in the first grade!) So, there I was. About to break out into the “pee-pee” dance in the shadow of one of the greatest architectural wonders of the Western world when it hit me that I am not as egalitarian as I like to think I am. As excellent corporate policies tend to do (Rite-Aid takes back opened/used cosmetics — no questions asked!) word has gotten out regarding Starbuck’s lax lavatory regulations. And not just to the folks that work in the area. No. Word has spread to those folks that live in the area. More specifically, word has gotten around to the local homeless population.

I have nothing against the homeless. In fact I think it’s shameless that there are homeless and hungry people living in this country at all. That being said, I must tell you that yesterday at Starbuck’s I harbored a fair amount of ill will against a few homeless people who had managed to scooch in front of me on the restroom line. And scooch they did. One minute I was alone and next in line for the W.C., the next minute they were in front of me. I honestly have no idea how this happened. Perhaps I was daydreaming or looking at The Empire State Building. Maybe I had a small seizure. I really couldn’t tell you. All I know is that they had somehow taken up residence ahead of me. Sure, I could have said something. I could have made a scene. But I’m a middle-class, middle-aged suburban white woman who has never even considered voting for a Republican. Tangling with homeless people in a public place istheempirestatebuilding just not my style.

I should have taken it as a bad sign when I watched as the two women went into the loo together. I should add that they did so with all of their goods and wares in tow. This, as you might imagine, took some time and maneuvering. Oh, and there was still one more poor soul with his cartful of supplies ahead of me. I weighed my choices. I could stay where I was or I could make the mad dash across Fifth Avenue to the Starbuck’s across the street. It was a classic case of choosing the known versus the unknown. I opted for the former. At the end of the day, I don’t know whether or not I made the right decision, having no knowledge of the goings on across Fifth Avenue. Though I imagined, as I stood there with a nearly exploding bladder (why? why? why? did I order a Venti? A less gluttonous person would have gone for the Breve!) that there was no line for their, more likely, swanky and sumptuous facility. I had, by this time, reached the point of no return. It was too late to get across the street in anything resembling a dry state. Having already shopped for sweaters and been successful, I could not imagine that I would have the same luck procuring new jeans and underwear (and, God forbid!, socks), but don’t think I didn’t consider it.

I stayed put and counted the minutes (13!) that the pair spent in what I was beginning to think was a mirage of a lavatory. I assumed that they were showering and doing some laundry. I cannot tell you how disappointed I was when they finally emerged (only to have their bedraggled compatriot go in behind them) looking much the same as when they had entered. For whatever reason, this annoyed me. I expected to see that they had at least made some minor improvements to their appearances. So, there I was, judging the homeless, tapping my foot, doing some kegel exercises, and, I am sure, rolling my eyes when one of the fine folks who is employed by Starbuck’s actually took notice of my discomfort and allowed me to use the employee bathroom. He was not wearing a name tag and I plum forgot to ask him his name. Whoever he was, I would just like to say that he is a fine human being who, in addition to rescuing a soon-to-be covered in urine person from her latte excesses, also has excellent taste in footwear. His patent leather kicks were to die for! Also, he wouldn’t even hear of taking the tip I proffered after emerging from the restroom. Who says New Yorkers don’t have a heart?

On most days this young man and the kindness that he showed me would have been the highlight of my day. But not yesterday. No. Yesterday I had the pleasure of being surrounded by exciting people. You see, the reason that I went to the city at all was to have dinner with a group of women from GenFab. GenFab is a Facebook group of (mostly) women of my generation. We’re not Boomers. We’re not Gen-Xers. We’re the ones that fall in between. I came to be a part of this group a few months ago at the urging of my friend and fellow blogger, Amanda Fox, over at The Fur Files. (Thanks, Fern!) They are a great group of supportive, talented, and wonderful women. Over the last few months they have been working on launching a website dedicated to issues that are pertinent to our age group. (Don’t worry, I’ll promote the launch!) They asked for contributions and have agreed to publish one of mine. This is not what drove me to join them for dinner last night, though. No. I really just wanted to be in the company of these dynamic women. (I’m hoping some of it will rub off on me!) They were all so welcoming and, given their accomplishments, not the least bit pretentious. Usually at 8 o’clock on a Thursday evening I am apologizing to some moron for bringing him what he ordered and/or dealing with my immature co-workers while covered in the barbecue sauce that I had spilled on my shirt during the lunch shift. Do I need to tell you what a nice departure this was from that? I didn’t think so.

genfabdinnernyc2713This was first “in real life” meeting with folks that I have met through blogging. I won’t lie, the idea of this was a little daunting. More daunting, though, was knowing that I was going to meet virtual strangers, most of whom I admired. For a couple of weeks prior to the dinner I was both excited and a little bit worried. I thought about dying my hair, getting my nails done, wearing better clothes, whitening my teeth, and making other adjustments to my appearance. Basically, I wondered if I should change who I ultimately am. In the end I decided to just be myself, warts and all. I’m happy to report that it went well. I don’t think anyone cared that my hair was in need of a dye job and that my nails were in need of a manicure. If my teeth weren’t white enough, no one mentioned it. And my attire? It was fine. Here’s the thing: these women were more interested in WHO I was than in what I was wearing. Many of them seemed genuinely interested. And some of them had even read my blog. And they admitted not just to reading it, but to actually liking it. Wow!

So, now comes the hard part. I really want to mention, by way of a “thank you”, everyone that I met last night. I want to encourage you to read their blogs and their books, subscribe to their web magazines, watch their movies, and, just generally, get to know them, but I fear that I will leave someone out. I’ve decided to put that fear aside and not squander this opportunity to promote them and GenFab. I’ll do the best I can and list everyone that I can remember. If I forget any of you, please remind me who you are and what your blog/website is and I will update my list. I promise you that my intention is not to exclude anyone! For those of you who fall into this “fabulous” generation, consider joining GenFab. You won’t regret it.

Better After 50
Grown and Flown
An Empowered Spirit
The Chloe Chronicles
stylesubstancesoul
Connect with your teens through technology
The Louise Log
Relocation: The Blog
100 Sleepless Nights
Books is Wonderful
Second Lives Club
Oh Boy Mom
Boomer Wizdom

photo credits: starbucks logo (starbucks.com), The Empire State Building , GenFab dinner pic (Cathy Chester), Mood Fabric logo (fashion how-to.com)