1) The Gynecologist, the one I was so worried about, was Romanian. Not Serbian, or Croation, or Bosnian, or any of the new, tinier countries Yugoslavia has dissolved into. All that fretting was for naught. But, see, this is the problem inherent in the American view of Eastern Europe. The former Yugoslavia and Romania, Russia, The Czech Republic, and Poland – for instance – are all, apparently, interchangeable. Like, when someone asks me where my family is from, the conversation typically goes like this:
“Your mom has such a cute little accent.”
“Oh? Really? She has an accent? I don’t even notice it.” It’s true. I don’t.
“Where’s she from?”
“Serbia?” Confused look.
“Yeah. It’s part of the former Yugoslavia.”
“Yugoslavia?” Another confused look. And then, a moment of enlightenment. “Oh! Russia!”
“Noooo. Yugoslavia. It’s on the Mediterranean.”
“Well, that’s not there anymore, either. It’s the Czech Republic now. But no. Not the Czech Republic. Yugoslavia.”
Sure, all the accents are similar, and even the languages resemble one another. But they are not one-in-the-same. It’s like you telling somebody you’re from America and they say “Mexico?” And you say, “No, The USA.” And they say “Costa Rica?” And you say “NO! NORTH AMERICA! NOT CENTRAL AMERICA!” And they say “Oh! Canada!” Sure, a majority of the aforementioned countries understand each other when speaking, but saying you're from Pennsylvania does not equate you saying you're from Guatemala. It irritates me.
2) My little brother, Chase, was working here for some extra money last week. His task was to be outside, raking thick red mulch into the appropriate places around the front of my building. It was obscenely hot out last week, so, halfway through the day, he started raking without his shirt on.
In the afternoon, we got our daily UPS delivery. The UPS man is a tall, skinny, 50-ish, borderline-creepy guy who comes in every day and compliments me in one way or another. He’s told me I’m always “Dressed to kill,” and has admitted his fondness for summer because I wear skirts on the hotter days. This, to me, is all just harmless flirtation and flattery. Sure, he’s a little weird, and gets a little too excited to see me (When I’m not around, he tells whomever must sign for the package that now his day is ruined because I’m not here), but it’s all in good fun. Right?
Well, Chase is out there raking, UPS man is delivering, and as the UPS man heads back to his truck, he says to Chase, “I sure wish it was Laurie out here raking without her shirt on,” figuring, I suppose, that Chase is a new guy around here and probably has a mild obsession with me, too. He probably sought camaraderie from this new guy.
Chase, of course, stops raking, and rests the rake against his massive frame. He crosses his arms in front of his 20 year old, Military Academy student, former-football player body, and looks at the guy. “Man, that’s my sister.”
UPS man goes all apologetic and scoots his way back into the truck and takes off. Chase tells my coworkers and me the story, and we all get a good laugh.
The next day, UPS comes again, and I’m chosen to go downstairs to sign for the day’s package.
“Did your brother tell you what I said to him yesterday?” UPS man asks, handing me the magic pen with which I’m supposed to sign.
I decide to play dumb, wondering how much he’ll admit to. “No, no. He didn’t mention anything,” I say, scrawling my name on his electronic book.
“I told him,” he says, leaning in to me, “that I’d rather see you out there raking with your shirt off.”
I finished my signature at the exact moment he finished his sentence. I held the pen in mid air and just looked at him. “Riiiight. That’s not creepy at all,” I say, recoiling a bit. I hand him back his pen like he has leprosy.
“Well,” he says, taking the pen back and not noticing how skeeved out I am, “I didn’t know he was your brother.”
“That doesn’t make it any better,” I say, disgusted.
“Yeah, I know! Have a good weekend!” he says, all smiles and laughter.
Should I be worried about this guy?
3) Seriously, I have the most amazing boyfriend ever.
4) It’s been raining here since Thursday of last week. It’s been hard at times, thundering, windy…Then it’ll break, go soft, the sun will come out and birds will sing for about thirty minutes, then the rain will start again.
Thing is, all of this on-and-off raining has tricked us into believing that it’s not that much rain. But it is.
In fact, Matamoras, a town just miles away from Milford, flooded. This happened two years ago. And it’s happening again. They’re evacuating homes. They’re warning against the same flood – if not worse – happening by tomorrow.
They said that the 2005 flood was a freak accident; A combination of Hurricane Ivan, melting snow, a released dam, and hard steady rainfall. They said it would never happen again.
I just feel so bad for the people who are about to go through the same trauma of just two years ago again.
5) I want to go to the gym tonight, but I don’t want to for a few reasons:
The Flood (which can be an excuse for many things for many months to come).
My stomach muscles are sore due to Monday’s workout.
Billy’s supposed to bring me home sushi tonight. I don’t want to WAIT for the sushi. It’s been too long since I’ve had it. So I'll want to eat it as soon as he walks in the door.
6) I really do have to get to work. But I can't stop monitoring the height/depth of the Delaware. It's become an obsession.