Etc.

Don't Even Try to Fool Jersey

The only people who can get away with it are people who are already in the government machine, and that includes the teachers.

This is a sad story.

In North Jersey this weekend, a Pakistani couple was shot. They were just walking around in the neighborhood at around 11:30 at night and then, boom, the young wife was dead and the older husband had two wounds, both to his leg, I think.

Well, the first thing I thought when I heard that was, gee, it's kind of funny that whoever was shooting managed to get a couple of shots into the wife to kill her dead, but only gave hubby a flesh wound.

Then other news came out. It was an arranged marriage. (This is a big secret about arranged marriages - there is a lot of physical abuse in them. A lot. This is the big ugly secret of arranged marriages.) The man had been seen up close and personal with a woman who was not Mrs. Hubby. He told people that he had some hotshot business in Boston but it turns out, not so much.

Today, Hubby and Not Mrs. Hubby were arrested for murder.

And a little boy has lost his mother.

But seriously. Hubby should have known better. Doesn't he read any Anne Rule books? Doesn't he read all those books by FBI profilers?

What do we know anytime a spouse dies in mysterious circumstances? Check out the surviving spouse.

Seriously. (Eye roll.)

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Drugs

I did not get my new upsy-downsy script filled today. I will this weekend, but I'll take the first one Monday at work. This is because I read the terrifying side effects and I decided if I was going to have my head spin around on my neck while convulsing and shooting out blood from all orifices, I'd rather do it at work so they can deal with the clean-up.

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What do you say to that?

An acquaintance popped back up in my life this week. It's probably about two years or more since I've seen her. The last time I saw her, it was to give her my old bike, which she received with great joy. She had just greatly simplified her life and the bike was perfect for after-work trips to the grocery store. Someone had recently given me something very useful, so I decided it was time for me not to have two bicycles anymore.

We had also met at an Indian restaurant. It turned out she was married to a Muslim guy from India. They hadn't lived together for many years, but she had not sought a divorce. She knew enough Hindi to order well and impress the staff.

The voice mail message I got from her was quavery. She asked me if I still have a Hav-a-Hart trap and so I do. When I called her back, I asked her how she was and she said in a gusty voice, "Well, I just found out I have leukemia."

Since I no long employ dramatics when told such things ("Oh my God! What's the survival rate? Who's you're oncologist? You are going to Sloan Kettering, right? I'll drive you if you need someone to take you to chemo..." ad nauseum.), I was quiet for a second and said, "Oh. How did you find out?"

But first, she told me about Indian Hubby. He had gone back home to visit his relatives. His sister is a doctor. She looked at him and said, "You look terrible!" And because she is a kidney specialist, ran tests on his kidneys and found out he was down to 10% kidney function. It took my acquaintance a long time to get around to telling me about her illness.

So. Anytime my life sucks, I just need to consider my acquaintance and the absolute crap she is going through right now and will likely be going through for a while to come.

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Ecco, Lucia!

I work with an Italian guy, Lorenzo. He's a nice guy. He's very much a papa and a hubby and seems pretty darn nice.

One morning I greeted him with "Lorenzo, paisan! Com 'stai!" Which I think basically means howdy pardner, how's it going?

Since then I have peppered him with my phony-Bologna Italian.

And today I realize I was working myself into a Lucia moment, minus Georgie.

Now I must stop myself from doing something which I don't know how to do.