April 5th, 2002


(no subject)

Good Morning Everyone
Having veggie strips, a croissant, and tea. I'm loving tea more and more. My inner English girl is coming out.
The birds and the squirrels are fighting in the hedge just outside my window. There must be a baby bird nest, yeay.
So many new people have been popping up on my journal. This must be due to the search feature.
Was the birthday feature deactivated? Sniff, sniff.
Seeing my psychiatrist at three and then going to pick up Scotti to see Ice Age with Beauio.
I want to go to the dog park and I need to get the vet over to see Myanmar somehow. How will I fit it all in?

(no subject)

Clearing the Messages Off My Machine, Coco, and My Nude Bar

I'm finally listening to my messages. Nice ones for my birthday from Susan, Maria, and Monique, weird sketchy ones from service people, (uh, I'm lost, I can't reach you, I'm going to go around the block again and if I can't find you you'll have to call back to reschedule,) a nervous one from the president of our neighborhood association, worrying I won't pass out the newsletters in time, sigh, a birthday greeting from my ex, another sigh, one from one of my Mom's elderly friends, these are becoming more frequent as they are all getting so ditzy and forgetful, poor lovely old dears, happy to help them, a wrong number from a broken hearted man, two messages from Selene, and Bally fitness who are trying very hard to get in touch with my housekeeper/pal Esther.

I hate it when people leave wrong messages on my answering machine. I want to make it all right for everyone concerned, but they never leave their numbers so I can call back and tell them they've made a mistake. This one is from a guy who sounds like a cross between Ray Romano and someone much more depressed. He thinks he left a message for some woman who is going out of town and who stood him up. God I wish I could tell him he's made a mistake but on the other hand maybe he's being annoying and she wouldn't take it well and the universe decided to dump it here instead, with someone who would feel some compassion for him. Wrong numbers always reminds me of the time Julia Roberts called my machine and left a message thinking I was her friend/hair stylist.

Oh Lord, Coco's, (my old housekeeper) daughter called twice and left messages for me. This is so hard for me. I cut them all off over a year ago because they were bad for us. Coco lied and took advantage of me, she stole things, encouraged other people to steal things, cheated me out of money, all of this in minor ways that she thought I wouldn't miss but she was unethical and untrustworthy nevertheless. Plus they make really awful choices and then we're subject to the repercussions. I mean if you're going to sell drugs and associate with gangy drug dealers, I don't exactly want them coming by my house to pick up your daughter, ack. Then when I finally had to let her go she tried to blackmail me and threatened to sue me and accused me of all kinds of cruel and untrue things. I had been so kind to her and her entire family. I helped bring her three kids here from Mexico and then put them up and fed them all summer. They were wild and broke everything and beat on each other all the time. It was so rough. I feel bad for Selene though, but she was a user (user user, not drug user) and I'm afraid to respond because I know it means that she needs something. Help??? How do you draw the line between caring for yourself and being kind and compassionate to someone who is reaching out to you?

See why I don't like to listen to my messages, and Esther wants me to call Bally fitness and tell them to leave us alone, say that she's moved back to Mexico. No problem.

I called my tenant, the owner of the nude bar, and asked him why he hadn't paid rent. He told me he just deposited it and then went on to complain about the price of rent. "Christ Jacqui you'll have me paying ten grand for this fucking place in no time at all." Then he told me the lovely news that he had added a pretty little bedroom in the back because he works till four am on the weekends and needs to sleep over, unhunh, yeay, I believe that. There aren't a whole bunch of sleazy Palm Springs cops, fire men, and local politicos, going back there for, ahem, bed dances. It just blows me away that this is the property my very Catholic Grandmother left for me to manage. It's my Mother's fault though because she was managing it for her and she's the most absentee landlord there is. Oh looky honey they've added these long runways and mirrors and a big bar, I wonder what that's all for, oh and a bouncer at the door. Hunh that's kind of funny for a little local lunch place. I guess Art's keeping later hours.