I haven't griped about parking in Southie for a pretty long time....

(since November 2009, actually)

.....which makes it OK to point out today the existence of this sign taped to all markers running on both sides of the length of the street that runs past my apartment:

And, point out the existence of this sign on the closest cross street next to my apartment.

(And I'm not even getting into these signs being posted starting the very week that street cleaning rules go into effect.  I'm not showing you the signs that abut the (not 1 or 2 or 3 but) 4 multi-unit condominium construction projects in a 3-block radius around me that also have "no parking" signs taking up 5-6 parking spots per site, with indefinite end-dates in 2013.)

Let's sum up:  for 6 weeks I cannot park my car on the street during the day on any street within reasonable vicinity of my apartment.  This also means the 40 or so other cars that might park on those streets also need to find other places for these 6 weeks.  And they can't park in front of any condo construction sites until 2013, just like me.

So (score) last week I came across a spot just in front of this sign and put down stakes.  Woo-hoo!

So, naturally on Friday morning I head out to find this slid under my windshield wiper.

Which tells me I'm parked in a "No Parking 3/17 to 4/15" spot.  Which clearly tells me the City of Boston wants me to pay $55 for their failure to correctly update a sign.

Damn straight this one is getting appealed.  Damn straight.

Lucky Friday?

Yesterday a colleague who, like me, works in client service for our finance firm incited a lively workplace discussion by suggesting a work pool for the $540 million (and counting) MegaMillions Jackpot:  chip in 1 to 5 dollars apiece and he'll buy as many tickets as he has cash for by 1 p.m. today.

"Regardless if you put in $1 or $5 the winnings will be divided amongst everyone evenly."

This is finance: we're all about return on investment.  One of the Investment Managers naturally replied: "Good idea! However, the line highlighted is a bit troubling for us investment minded folks. Shouldn’t the winnings be proportional to your contribution?"

Client Service: "I figured the investment people would have questions..."

Investment Manager: "Someone has to keep the sales/marketing folks in check!!"

Client Service: "You can trust us Client Service folks, we are known for our GREAT ETHICS!!!"

Compliance Rep: "I thought that was what compliance was here for. :-)"

Operations Rep: "If it was proportional rather than equal would you put more in the pool? If the answer is yes, then go proportional and buy more tickets. If we win, I’ll put together the spreadsheet to divvy it up ;)"

At the end of it all, the pool was my CS colleague's baby, so he kept the (in the words of another colleague) "quasi-socialist" equal-share rule despite the protests of others.  About 25 of us have put in....which means about $27 million pre-tax apiece.  He's getting the tickets this afternoon and will give everyone copies so we can follow the 11 p.m. drawing tonight, ourselves. 

The last couple hours we've been klatching informally about the future of our lives and our firm should the odds fall in our favor....the joke being that if we win, will anyone remain at the firm at all, or will we all put the winnings into accounts that could be managed by each other.

Me?  I might just buy a new car.  And a cabin in the hills of Vermont.  And a condo in Seattle.  And a grand piano and a 'cello and the services of Yo-Yo Ma to teach me to make it sing. And unlimited airfare to Minneapolis from anywhere else in the country so I can see my grandma and play with my nephews more than 3 times a year.  And a guru to meditate with me every morning and lead me through 2 hours of power yoga every night.   And all the Pretty Things Baby Tree Quadruple in stock in Greater Boston, with which I would throw a block party to rival that of the Southie St. Paddy's Day parade.

Crossing fingers, y'all.  Crossing fingers.

Oh! (for some luck)

So the car's back in the shop again.  The gear shift seized up while I was in the parking lot at Target on Saturday -- I was in an exit lane and couldn't shift out of Park -- facilitating a tow back to the good men of Emerson Auto.  They're still looking into it.  Something with the solenoid valve malfunctioning.... but for still unknown reasons.  They'll call me when they figure it out and when they know what it's going to cost.

Meanwhile, I found a stray penny on the ground in the office kitchen today.   I have very few supersitions in life, but one is that one should never walk past a stray penny on the ground without risking bad luck.   So I picked it up.  And discovered that the date on the penny is the year of my birth. 

What are the odds of a 1973 sitting in my path on a day where luck is sorely needed? 

Woo-hoo!

When It Won't Start: A drama in 3 days and 2 nights (and/or beyond)

Saturday, Dec. 17

1:48 p.m.  (Scene: West First Street, Southie)
Very cold.  Rehearsal starts at 2 at church (2.3 miles away).  Car does not start in kind  ... key turn produces wan vroom followed by ticking clicks, successive key turns produce even wan-er vrooms and fewer ticking clicks.  Abort driving mission.  Return to apartment, add sweatshirt, hat with ear-flaps and backpack to current outfit, pump up flat-tire on bike, pedal on down the road to be late (yet again) for rehearsal.

4:30 p.m. (Scene: Rehearsal, happy Advent music)
Still very cold.  Hands still numb from bike ride with $2 gloves.  Friends Brian and Chris listen to vocal imitation of wan vroom and clicks, assess it "might be" the starter.  Sympathies professed.  Mentally calcuate cost of new starter to be more than value of all remaining current parts of car. Recall insurance renewal is mid-January and could be not-renewed.  Brainstorm scenarios for junkyard transport and/or zipcar membership and/or investment in sub-zero biking gloves.

6:46 p.m.  (Scene: Red Line Subway Car)
Very cold and (now) very dark.  Enroute to cookie-swap party in Teele Square in Somerville, 7-dozen gingersnaps in backpack, bike propped on knees.  Text MSF to gripe; replies I should attempt complimentary battery jump from mechanic on Monday before assuming worst.  Reminded via loudspeaker of Red Line partial suspension on winter weekends and there are no trains to Davis.  Curse and question choice of high-heeled dress shoes and skirt.  Brainstorm  fastest route between Harvard and Teele Squares.

7:10 p.m.  (Scene:  "Up" Escalator, Harvard Station)
Yoga abs-of-steel engaged to counter backwards torque from bike slanting diagonally over 3 stairs, front tire jamming on one wall, back tire jamming on the opposite.  Brief view of possible death or mortal injury.  Mental note:  escalators + bike + high-heeled dress shoes = pretty dumb idea.

7:15 p.m.  (Scene: Mass Ave, Cambridge)
Twenty-mph headwind? Check.  Spongy, low-pressured back tire? Check.  Crunchy glass sound underfoot? Check. High-heeled dress shoes?  Still on.  Sub-zero biking gloves?  Not yet.

11:30 p.m. (Scene: Southie Apartment, kitchen)
Home to rehearsal (2.3 miles x 2) + Harvard to Teele Square (2.5 miles x 2) +  Broadway Station to home (1.2 miles x 2) + Temps in single digits + Still-spongy back tire + Still inappropriate shoes and gloves = f***ing cold fingers and toes.  Commence Maker's Mark cocktail.


Sunday, December 18

All Day (Scene: Back Bay and Surrounds) 
Very, very, very cold.  Very, very, very underdressed (see:  Scene: Red Line) and required to be out all day for church, shopping, concert and dinner.   (Author's Note:  Audience is allowed to smack Yours Truly upside head for not picking up parka from the drycleaner on Stuart Street, where it has been since May.)


Monday, December 19

7:15 a.m. (Scene: Southie Apartment, Interior)
Very, very cold.  Lying under 3 layers of covers, picturing moment of truth when mechanic declares car total loss.  Close eyes, hit Snooze.

8:45 a.m.  (Scene: Emerson Auto, Southie)
Mechanic hands over a portable hand-held battery charger (yes!), explaining that it should be used to start car to drive back in for the check, in one swoop eliminating tow truck fees.  Briefly want to marry mechanic.  Car indeed starts.

9:00 a.m.  (Scene: Same)
Battery deemed low-ampage and unsuitable for cold-weather starts.  Replacement suggested.  Car left with said mechanic for replacement, oil change, nervous laugh and edict:  "Call me if anything more serious shows up". 

9:30 a.m.  (Scene:  Office Chair)
Gulp extra-strength coffee and check savings account balance. Try to work.  Await call.

2:09 p.m.  (Scene: Same)
Mechanic to call any minute.  Or will he?

3:27 p.m.  (Scene: Same)
Auto shop closes at 5 p.m.  Mild ulcer forming.

4:50 p.m.  (Scene: Same)
Borderline sadistic.

5:12 p.m. (Scene: Same, Only More Sanguine)
Mechanic calls:  battery, windshield wiper, oil change,  with labor- $215.   Ask:  "Anything else?"  Hear:  "Well, it holds fluids well."  Reply: "Yeah, so about the carriage rocking [from the ostensible 3-inch layer of rust on the undercarriage from stem to stern] ....?"   Reply:  "Yeah. Well.  It's just an old car."    Proud to be the owner of a sparkling new battery in the oldest car in Southie -- which is saying something.

Fini.

Impermanence of objects

I last saw C-2 in June.  I last sought him via text in August, when running by Spy Pond late one night and feeling nostalgic.  He last sought me via text late one night in September, in Boston for a candidate's primary election, but it was a highly inopportune time for me and I declined.  He then e-mailed in October, also at an inopportune time, (nervily) asking me to volunteer on said candidates's general election campaign.  I declined.   Last week while in town for the general, on a night I couldn't sleep, he messaged at 2:45 to say, "Hey, you're already up, we should get coffee?"  I again declined.

Please tell me you all are pleased with my behavior. 

I'm pleased with my behavior. Especially since all denials were made without hesitation.

Funny then, my reaction when C-2 showed up in my Facebook feed this weekend -- a new profile photo, because he had gotten new eye glasses "after 8.5 years."  I found myself the tiniest bit depressed.  One thing I enjoyed about kissing him was that moment, after our respective lenses began creating a mild bonfire from scraping together, when he would stop and quite deliberately take my glasses off for me, set them on the dashboard, then take his off and do the same, at which point we'd quite get down to business.

Now those glasses have changed -- they'll never be the ones he took off to kiss me in -- and it's as if a link has expired.

Take that along with my growing conviction that (dictated by deterioration and expense) my car's registration and insurance should not be renewed in 2012, and that perhaps I should donate it for a tax deduction before Christmas.

The memories of that car ... full of so much more than kissing.

Oy.  I'm forecasting un-tiny depression, soon.

Sunday numbers

Proof 

that I rose from the dead at 

6 a.m. 

and drove to Gloucester to 

(alongside Anne and Chris)

complete a

7-mile road race at

8 a.m. in

62 minutes flat and in

80 degrees and 81% humidity,

that produced approximately 

8 liters of sweat

(from me alone).

Pretend fisher(wo)men

Then,

as I dodged the
100s of tourists
to get out of town for
the 43-mile drive home,
my car stereo quit.
One minute on,
one minute off.
Forever.

Should have seen it coming:
for 2 weeks
I couldn't switch stations;
( WUMB 91.9 Folk Radio,
all the time, baby!)
it was original to the car,
and the car is 20.

I can't decide why I'm
10 times more upset
over this loss than
the impending demise of
the rest of the vehicle.

Progress

The Wednesday-night class I'm taking this summer at the MGH Benson-Henry Institute is called the "Relaxation Response Resilency Program."  As I've mentioned in the past, a main component has been learning to use meditation and patterned breathing techniques in coping with stress, anxiety, insomnia and general lack of focus.

So far, so beneficial. Stopping to breathe and relax when I'd rather tell someone to f#$% off has been surprisingly revelatory; after a couple of weeks of forcing myself to think about doing it, like any learned behavior it now comes almost naturally. Indecisive driver in front of me? No middle finger extension .... if I were new to Boston, I wouldn't know where to go either. Piano Man pushing me away after inviting me to his room?  Well, of course, he's just eccentric and he can't help that and he's still a nice guy and, truth be told, I know it was best for me not to stay long anway.  Twenty-year-old OKC'r misspelling dirty chat requests? Ha, ha, ha, ha ... good for him, reaching out to others in such bold fashion!

As our facilitator Peg likes to say, "appreciate the role of positive thoughts and beliefs in support of mind body healing." A negative thought can easily be turned around with a deep breath and some forced empathy.

This way of thinking came in handy over the weekend when, coming out to my car for a Target run, I discovered one of my Southie neighbors had nothing better to do but destroy my driver-side side mirror with what appears to be a couple swift kicks.

I seriously did stop, breathe deeply, take a photo, collect the shattered glass off the street, and didn't at all even think the word F#$*. Honest.

A couple-hundred dollars in unanticipated expenses thanks to some lowest-common-denominators of the human race? 

Well, they could have smashed a windshield or slashed the tires, which would have been markedly more expensive. And even lowest-common-denominators have mothers who love them.

An expensive Tuesday

I was in bad shape last week, what with rogue illness and 6 consecutive nights of rehearsal.  Then Friday came and was good, and Saturday I did yoga for the first time in forever and slept a lot, and Sunday was cool. Which means I started this week with a calmness I haven't felt in forever. Didn't silently curse one person yesterday. Or gripe about either another rehearsal or the $20 for 5 gallons of gas last night. And didn't get cranky when 5 men I went out with or otherwise planned to date in the last year used the holiday weekend to say hello again, per the routine. (Boredom, nostalgia, latent desire .... how the urge to reconnct always strikes simultaneously.) It's calm. Which came in handy this morning when my mechanic called to say, "Well, we've got your car up and you need upwards of $1000 in repairs before you can renew your inspection sticker and you wouldn't dare drive this without them," and I paused and then replied, "Oh, well, OK, I guess I expected it, so go ahead," and thanked him as I hung up and logged-on to Citizens Bank to raid my savings account. Don't know who, or what, to thank for the calm. Probably won't try to analyze it, because it does feel good for a change. Might just focus on continuing to stay so.

Day 25 of 30: 3.31 miles

April Total: 50.41

2011 Total: 204.4

Mohawk!

Time for a haircut, ya think?

Day 28 of 31: 2.3 miles

January Total: 44.66

BBC 9: Friendly neighborhood

Some days the streets in Southie after a blizzard are very much like this:

"Last year in South Boston, a woman chased trash collector Vladimir Diaz down Old Colony Avenue with a knife after he took the chair she was using to reserve her shoveled-out parking spot. On N Street, a guy tried to drag him out of his garbage truck, he said. Then there was the group of men who surrounded the truck. 'They just kept kicking it,’ he said."

And some days (like this morning, for me, on my way to work) they're like this:

1)   Leave apartment, climbing up and over and down waist-high piles of crust to get to the sidewalk across the street.

2)   Encounter my mechanic, standing on said sidewalk, having a smoke.

3)   Greet one another in passing.

4)   Get a block further away and remember leaving my lunch at home.

5)   Return home via same route.

6)   Leave apartment and climb up and over and down the same waist-high piles of crustiness to get to the sidewalk across the street.

7)   Encounter the same mechanic ... who, seeing me return and re-emerge, went back into his garage and re-emerged himself, dangling my spare Mazda 626 keys gone missing since its last service call  ... from that Thursday morning in September when he  fixed my flat tire for free.

Yeah.  Since September. And yeah.  For free.

Sometimes it's a good hood.

Weekend observations

1) Don't buy cheap cat litter in bulk.

2) Whoever (yeah you, Joshua) said Brett Favre will either take you to the mountaintop or to the pit of despair and nowhere in between should be hailed as a great sage, especially if he grew up as a cheesehead.

3) A flat tire on a bike is markedly less expensive to fix than a flat tire on the car, so it might be considered irresponsible to have driven the car with the leaky tires around town a half-dozen times while the bike with the already flat tire remained parked, upside-down, on the living room rug.

4) It's official:  chocolate chip cookie dough tastes better raw than cooked.

4b) It admittedly might be considered irresponsible to buy a 32-ounce bag of chocolate chips the night before baking the cookies, rather than the night of, when the baker has a documented ability to eat at least half a bag of chocolate chips in a single setting.

4c) Fifteen spoonfuls of raw chocolate chip cookie dough a half bag of chocolate chips do not constitute adequate nutrition either before or after an 11-mile run.

5) Saturday morning's 11-mile run was lots and lots of fun!

Sock

A gym sock has been in the back window of my car since June 19.

That morning, I wore 2 gym socks, under brown Skechers, as I headed out for a Guinness at 2 a.m. and ended up instead making out with C-2 at Spy Pond.

While we were still in the front seat,  C-2 removed these Skechers and socks with unusual energy.  He tossed both shoes up and out the open moon roof; one landed on the hood below a windshield wiper, the other (to be discovered later) on the parking lot asphalt.  A few hours later, as I gathered myself, I found Sock #1 under the accelerator.  A glancing search did not produce Sock #2.

I think I drove home in my bare feet.

One Sunday evening in July, returning to Boston from Cape Ann, I was thrilled to find an open service station in Beverly, since I was running on fumes.  Zoning out while filling up, I noticed it.

Arriving home, I e-mailed C-2.

Me:  So I was filling my car with gas tonight.   And I saw one of my socks in the back driver's side window.   I think you put it there. Just saying.
Him:   :)
Me:  Indeed.

It's not exaggerating to note that's one of the longer conversations we have had since July 18.  I have looked at that sock many times.

Tonight, while pulling groceries out of my back seat, it seemed the moment to pull the damn thing from the window, and it's already in the washing machine.

Originally, I planned to more acidly parse this Sock #2 removal for the metaphor it could be.

Don't know if I quite have the stomach for it yet.

The more things change...

This I can live with.

December 20, 2008

December 20, 2009

The good news, though,

is this year I'm flying out on

December 22 instead of December 24,

possibly precluding the normal

travel hell deja-vu / Christmas Eve in Logan affair?

One can hope.

December Firsts

.... first day the Mazda 626 will have a bonafide, legal South Boston Resident Parking Permit Sticker.

.... first day of Facebook life after getting over the incredulity that my 67-y-old father, who doesn't even have his own e-mail account, has friend-requested me and, now that I've accepted said friendship, have to think twice about any future status updates.

.... first day wearing the BCBG Paris Braden Platform Leather Mary Janes I scored at DSW in my first (yes, first) shopping spree of 2009 a few days ago. Which was also the first time I have willingly entered a department store on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

.... first date tonight (beers and eats in Harvard Square) with the first guy who, responding in a discussion of my 5'2" stature, said, "Don't feel the need to wear heels. I like short girls."

I mean, really.

City of Boston. Really.

Are you getting back at me for mocking the Southie Christmas tree stand?

I registered my car to Southie nearly 2 years ago. I have a resident parking sticker from the former car owner that is valid through November 2009. I've parked in resident parking in Southie for nearly 2 years.

When you first gave me a parking ticket last March for parking in resident parking when I didn't "technically" have a resident parking sticker, I paid that ticket. And I didn't want to get another, so I went in to get my own sticker.

But I was in the middle of contesting the infamous St. Patrick's Day no parking zone violation. According to the rules of resident parking stickers, you told me, a resident cannot procure a parking sticker with outstanding tickets. It took until October for you to schedule a hearing on the St. Patty's tickets.

So I was unable to get a new parking sticker. In the meantime, in June, you handed out another groundless ticket: for parking in the median of Columbus Ave on a Sunday afternoon, even with no signs that say "no parking". Again, 5 months to get an appeal hearing, which is coming uip on Friday.

Meaning that I still haven't replaced the sticker ....since I have outstanding tickets.

So, since I have been parking in Southie resident parking, with the borrowed sticker, since December 2007 (I'm guessing about 500 days and nights) and only incurred that one March 2009 ticket -- imagine my surprise that, last night, you would see fit to assign me a No Resident Parking Sticker ticket. Even though the car was on the same spot it had been for the last week ... ay, much of the last year ... without a ticket.

I mean, really, City of Boston. Feeling stingy? Needing that $40 pretty badly?

Are you trying to MAKE me not want to live here anymore?

The cliché of a Monday

Having a hard time getting going this morning. Reasons why, at least in theory, although none very compelling, are:

1) Fatigue. (Don't call me predictable for nothing.)

2) A to-do list from the weekend left primarily unaccomplished. Meaning I've doubled the number of items on the list for the week ahead -- such as booking a Christmas plane ticket as prices flow ever upward (today's cheapest = $428), gathering appropriate evidence to appeal yet another 2 parking tickets and think about what reason I can give for appealing a 3rd, emptying the dishwasher, disassembling the (still blooming!) pots of impatiens on the patio before freeze and my parents' arrival on Saturday, and hand-scrubbing-down the hardwood floors to remove the spots left from the occasional regurgitated cat food stain.

(Actually, that last one is left over from a to-do list of about 2 months ago. Although it will get done this week. Having remnants of regurgitated cat food on one's floor when one's mother is visiting is about as viable as leaving condoms in the nightstand drawer in the bedroom where she is to sleep. So even with rehearsal the next 4 nights until 11 p.m., it will get done, even if I'm on hands and knees at 6 a.m. the next 4 mornings.)

3) Overwhelming guilt at the realization that despite being busy and allowing undone tasks to pile up, I'm hardly busier than almost anyone else I know (i.e. friends that are composing symphonies, running restaurants, raising children) and they aren't griping to me about it, and I want to know why my act is so hard to get together.

So, speaking of getting its act together on a Monday morning, I must shout-out to the City of Boston, no matter the number of parking tickets they foist upon my vehicle. Seems November 9 is the ideal day to pull the neighborhood Christmas tree stand out of storage, pictured here as I stood waiting for the #9 near Perkins Square.

It makes me feel better, despite the proactive get-aheadness of this action, that last year's tree stump is still screwed in place, and that to get rid of it has probably been on someone's to-do list since last December 26.

D'oh!

I'm convinced that this blog would not exist if I wasn't such a general f@#$-up, on occasion.

Yesterday, I scheduled an 8-mile run in the hours between the conclusion of church (12:30) and the beginning of rehearsal (2:30). Since my rehearsal was in Davis Square, near Tufts University, I decided to drive up and park near the rehearsal site and run in that neighborhood, grateful for the change of scenery.

Important: I had to leave all my belongings in my locked car. Since my bundle-o-keys is substantial, and I didn't want to have that bulkiness in my hand for 8 miles, I removed the Mazda key from the ring, better to carry in pocket. And off I went to enjoy the Mystic Valley Parkway, Arlington Heights, Mass Ave through Cambridge and lower Somerville on a sunny, cool afternoon -- thusly:



This was all well and good. It was a good run. Nine-minute miles, even, which I'll certainly take.

So, I chugged back into my start point and checked in at rehearsal, pulling iPod out of shorts pocket to turn it off, only to realize that my car key, supposedly in same pocket, was no longer in same pocket, or on my person at all.

Dropped somewhere along those 8 miles.

Shit.

Must. Be. Found. Now.

Go.

So I left my start point and backtracked. For 6 miles and 2 hours, thusly:



At least it was a lovely afternoon. I mean, it isn't nearly as enjoyable when walking slowly with head down, scouring among the acorns and leaves and cigarette butts and pebbles, trying to remember if I ran on the sidewalk or the street and if so, which side of the street, and when I crossed Highland Ave not at the crosswalk, exactly where was that?, and what about that moment I took my iPod out to replay a song, exactly where was that?, and wondering if the kid on the trike I passed on Cherry Street maybe saw the key and thought it would be fun to play with .... and on and on.

By the time I re-hit the Alewife Brook Parkway my feet were swelling out of my shoe tops, I hadn't had food or water since breakfast, and losses had to be cut. I walked 2 more miles back to rehearsal, asked a cast-mate for $5 to take the Red Line back to Southie to pick up my spare keys .... so I could take the Red Line from Southie back up to Davis and drive the car home.

The time was now 7:30 p.m. And it was time for a beer.

Here's the best part of the whole sordid tale: back at 2:30, at the moment I first realized the key was lost, our rehearsal's stage manager informed me that, due to a late change in the schedule, I didn't have to be at rehearsal ... at all. There was zero reason I needed to be up by Tufts or in Davis or changing clothes out of my car ... at all.

Hmm. I had not known this.

To this the stage manager replied: "Didn't you get my message? I called you earlier today to tell you not to come."

No, I hadn't gotten the message. I had forgotten my cell phone at home.

D'oh! Indeed.

Deep Thought: Go on a Date

The Young Scientist and I used to IM frequently, yet haven't done much since May, caught up in our respective dating lives and other lives.

Our gap wasn't due to anger or repellence, and we had had good chats, so I knew we'd reconnect eventually. Thus, not a surprise to log onto g-mail yesterday to find:

Young Scientist: hmm no dating news in your blog since the disaster date?

Karin: I'm not that swift on the turnaround...

K: I have to revamp and recoup...

YS: the readers demand a sacrifice

K: Such as? (example?)

YS: well not a literal sacrifice

YS: but perhaps you'll have to take one for the team and go on a date

Good point.

I know that one can only take so many stories of post-grad sex chats and old cars (with, BTW, a set of $300 ball-joint repairs my mechanic strongly recommended just this morning) and photos of either a) Henry or b) my toenails.

Young Scientist and I chatted for awhile. We reviewed my months-long experience with Saturday Date Meltdown man, concluding that in this fallout, what I really want rather than a Casual Boyfriend is a Boyfriend Boyfriend.

Meanwhile, YS just ended a relationship and is in the mood to casually date.

Acknowledging that in 7 months we have never made it onto the same dating page at the same time .... we could agree on the refreshment of fresh starts, and that we each should go forth boldly.

OKC may err on the slimy side. But it has, without peer, provided me with copious dating opportunities. I haven't updated my profile from the strong-hands "I'm a cynic" theme since mid-June. And if I want to go for a Boyfriend Boyfriend, I need to say that and stop being so coy.

So that's next on the agenda. The profile rewrite. When I re-do it (this weekend, perhaps?), you'll know about it.

Hint: you're allowed to hold me to this.

Top 10 reasons to not lose my shit ...

.... just because my car spent the weekend in a tow lot.

10. Because Kanye West, Serena Williams, Dick Armey, and about 20,000 fellow Americans I hope never to meet in a dark alley all lost their shit this weekend. It was roundly unattractive. And no need to pile on.

9. Because I didn't have a car when grocery shopping last night, I burned a mountain of calories hauling bags up the steps of multiple T stations. Yes.

8. There is no longer a justifiable reason for me not to drive to work for the sake of curbing pollution. I did not drive my car to work Friday morning, which is why I did not see the fresh "don't park from 7-5 today" signs, which caused a police cruiser to have to drive 2 miles round trip to ticket it, followed by a diesel-engine truck to make a 6.2-mile round trip to tow it, and then me to add 4 more miles this morning in picking it up, most of that idling through standstill traffic in Roxbury during rush hour ... totalling 12.2 miles of environmental waste.

7. After having to repeat it multiple times, I have finally memorized my license-plate number. Will be handy the next time I'm standing on a street corner looking at where I thought my car was parked, and perhaps I won't sound so brainless talking to the towing dispatcher.

6. I got to see the inside of a Boston Police Precinct for the first time and it wasn't in handcuffs!

5. For the first time in ages, I got to ride the Ashmont train south to my old hood, Fields Corner ... still as grimy and shady and covered with slow-moving pedestrians as I remember.

4. The $156.78 charge to the towing company in Dorchester achieved 2 goals at once: stimulating that neighborhood's economy, while also earning my Priceline.com Visa crucial dollars towards my next flight. Score!

3. While watching the agreeable, young, bearded A & B Towing rep charge my Visa, I realized I didn't actually mind that my cluelessness was helping pay his salary.

2. The zen from that realization lasted through the Roxbury slow-down (see #8) and into my office, where I found myself unexpectedly drawn to The Police's "So Lonely" when it came on the radio, happy that a song that uses the word "lonely" 40 times is actually pretty danceable, and then even happier to find that the version on YouTube features the band riding the subway. Riding the subway.

1. Writing a blog entry about a car gives me an excuse to print this photo of a car.

Saturday night in the city

It's amazing how short the day feels when it doesn't start until 12:45.

That's what time I finally heeded my cats' cries for food and rolled out from under the comforter this afternoon. This followed a midnight bedtime so, despite a couple abortive attempts to get up around 10 and head to yoga, I'll call that 12.5 hours of sleep that was probably totally necessary.

Since I usually only sleep 6 and many of today's waking hours were accompanied by coffee, I estimate I'll be up now until at least 3 or 4 a.m., burning off that excess rest.

Hmm.

It's 11:05 and I've got a whole evening in front of me .... and I've been reviewing recent blog entries, albeit with some nausea. I find myself wishing I wanted to shed self-pity and write a bravura pitch of female empowerment and enthusiasm.

How I love (instead of merely like) everything I'm doing at the moment, including 4 weekly 3-hour rehearsals for the next 3 months.

How I most definitely don't need a man and how I should have apologized last Saturday even in the face of irrationality.

How I can't wait to rewrite my OKC profile to ditch the sexy cynicism and reference to "strong hands," searching for some approach that will stop getting me treated like a smart, witty-yet-disposable sex object while attracting something besides vanilla cuddlers in their late 40s.

How I can't wait to do something for my dating life besides looking online, even though I've taken up 3 hobbies that only offer social opportunities with married, or gay, or much older gay and married men.

How I don't really get laid low by my time of the month like I said I did.

(Although I know full well once you admit that you can never take it back.)

Kind of wish I felt that way.

Instead, today I just wished I had someone to take care of me. It was the moment at 5 p.m. I walked out to find my car only to not find it .... which could only mean that the City of Boston had gotten its meathooks into it.

Sure enough. The spot on Dorchester Street I legally parked in Wednesday night turned illegal Friday from 9 a.m.-5 p.m. to make room for a moving truck. The parking spot was not in my walk-to-bus route, so I didn't see these signs. Several phone calls yielded, helpfully, that the parking department is closed both Saturday afternoons and Sundays and that it will cost $15 per day in storage fees, in addition to the towing costs and the parking citation.

Which means that it is Saturday night, my car is chilling in the city tow-lot and costing me several hundred dollars to do so, and I am sitting in my running shorts, alone next to the espresso machine at Trident Booksellers on Newbury, fending off 21-y-olds wanting to chat on OKC, blogging about my lack of a date, and trying to concentrate as the undergrad next to me tries to impress the bartender by asking her ceaseless questions about the Italian Ice syrup bottles.

It's a scintillating life, although I'm not complaining about it.

I just kind of wish I had someone to come give me a ride home.