Clareified

Those days are gone forever; I should just let 'em go but…

Archive for December, 2005

I’M NOT IN JAIL, BUT…

Saturday, December 31st, 2005 by Dawn Summers

I’M NOT IN JAIL, BUT…

Officer briefly interrupting his conversation with an inappropriately clothed for 30 degree weather chick speaking in a weird accent which Dawn likes to assume is Swedish:

“Ma’am, you can’t come through here with a box.”

Me, smiling sweetly and being totally respectful and polite as I carried my Christmas gift over to the party: Okay, but how far North do I have to go to be able to walk across to ninth.

Officer annoyed that I have once again interrupted his conversation with the Swede: No boxes through here.

Me, no longer smiling, but still respectful and polite: Yes, but how far North do I —

Officer: NO BOXES

Me, no longer smiling, no longer respectful, no longer polite: Yeah, I got that. I speak English. And yes, even though I’m black, I actually live in this city and pay taxes (voice in head: Dawn don’t say the ‘which pays your salary’ part) that pay your salary (voice in head: well, ok, you’re mad and I guess we did send out the plea for bail money in advance, just don’t call him any names.) Now, I don’t understand why I have to become a complete bitch for you to answer my simple question, but I guess bitch is the only language an asshole understands. NOW, how far up does this blockade go?

Officer, now fully paying attention: Umm..you could try 57th, but they’re not going to let you through.

Me: Thank You.

Officer and completely horrified Swede stare at me as I cross the street and promptly hail a cab to take me across Times Square.

Fucking brilliant impenetrable security system they have going there.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Saturday, December 31st, 2005 by Dawn Summers

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Here’s the surest fire sign of a true New Yorker. Agreeing to attend a friend’s gamenight in Midtown on New Year’s Eve — completely forgetting that there’s this little matter of the entirety of Manhattan being shut down for some…”ball dropping.”

Well…here’s goes nothing. If no one hears from me in the next few days I am most certainly in jail for uttering the phrase “do I look like I’m trying to see some lightbulbs descend to a rooftop in 30 degree weather or do I look like I’m pissed cause I totally forgot about this stupid annoyance?” to one or more police officers.

Paypal bail money.

BLAH BLAH “STUPIDEST STRIKE EVER” BLAH BLAH

Thursday, December 29th, 2005 by Dawn Summers

BLAH BLAH “STUPIDEST STRIKE EVER” BLAH BLAH

[A] day after details of an agreement between the transit workers and the Metropolitan Transportation Authority were spelled out, Roger Toussaint, the union’s president, seems to have emerged in a far better position than seemed likely just a few days ago.

Mr. Toussaint, whose back appeared to be against the wall last week, can boast of a tentative 37-month contract that meets most of his goals, including raises above the inflation rate and no concessions on pensions. Indeed, several fiscal and labor experts said yesterday that Mr. Toussaint and his union appeared to have bested the transit authority in their contract dispute.

Union wins.

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? YES!

Thursday, December 29th, 2005 by Dawn Summers

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? YES!

It’s 4:52 A.M.
Why is Dawn, that is to say, me, still awake?
Well.
And I haven’t had time to do a long meandering post through my nonsensical life in quite some time, so please indulge me.
As has become the Dawn Summers last week of the year tradition, the past few days have been riddled with doctor’s appointments. You’ll be happy to know that I don’t need glasses and have perfect hearing.
Although, my ear doctor should really reconsider his choice of an audiologist who mumbles. After ten minutes of “what?” and “excuse me”-ing through her preliminary questionnaire, I was certain that I’d be immediately fitted for hearing aids at the end of the test.
Even the audiologist seemed a tad surprised when the results came back normal.
“Well,” she seemed to say with her raised eyebrows, “I guess you’re just retarded.”
(Of course, her sense of surprise paled in comparison to the desk clerk who wanted to know if the “attorney” entry under occupation was correct.
“Yes.”
Hard stare. Glance back to clipboard.
“What kind of attorney are you?”
“Corporate litigator.”
Stare. Glance.
“Is that the same as a regular lawyer?”
“No. We’re the super lawyers. I can sue you, garnish your wages and repossess your house with a single flick of my pen.”
“Alright. Have a seat.” Her face silently added an “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Lucky me it was “kid’s day” at the doctor’s office.
One boy, whose name I deduced was “Ryan Stop That!” made great sport out of covering the carpet in the doctor’s office with magazines.
“No, Ryan Stop That, magazines are to read, not play.” his mother cried, running after him picking up magazines.
Ryan Stop That then decided he wanted to color. And see, this is why it’s awesome to be a toddler, he promptly walked over to the runny nose girl coloring in the corner and snatched the crayon out of her hand and set about coloring the wall.
“Ryan Stop That, you have your own crayons at home!”
Duh. Crayons at home do not equal coloring at the doctor’s office.
And then – he wanted to play cars…oh you wacky Ryan Stop That and your wacky antics, you wouldn’t have lasted a single day under the Joyce Summers regime.
Afterwards, I decided to tie up loose ends with “You’ll Hate It and want to slit your wrists at Levitz.”
1. They still haven’t delivered the coffee table I purchased in AUGUST.
2. They never credited me back the money I paid for tax and delivery on a recliner that they no longer had in stock.
After confirming that – for the ninth time in five months — my table would definitely be ready in two weeks – I was then informed that Levitz could not refund any money due to bankruptcy.
“Well, you can fill out this form to file a claim in the bankruptcy case…” and no, you don’t have to clerk for a bankruptcy judge in the bankruptcy capital of world to hear the snickering in his voice as he slid the paperwork across the counter to me.
“WHAT? I AM NOT –”
“—Or…you can purchase something else here for that amount.”
Which, of course, I promptly did…except for it was slightly – and by slightly, I mean, immensely, more than the seventy dollar credit I was owed.
But it’s cool; I got deferred billing on the thousand dollar leather chair and ottoman, so who’s the sucker now.
Never mind. Point is I got my seventy dollars back. Sort of.
Shut up.
You know, looking back on that thousand dollar for seventy deal I made – I probably should have taken that as a sign *not* to drive down to Atlantic City for the night…but I didn’t.
And an hour later, Alceste and I were on the Turnpike making what has become an all too familiar run.
It was time for some serious soul searching.
“Are we insane?”
“Nah.”
“Good…Just checking.”
Nothing like validation from the other inmates in the asylum to set a mind at ease.
Without F “Borgata has the juiciest action” –Train to lead us astray, we actually played at the Tropicana. Ahhh…the Tropicana, aka Dawn Summers ATM without the card.
Even before I really knew what the heck I was doing, I could win at poker in the Tropicana.
But, that was then.
You ever have one of those nights?
(And yeah, we’ve managed to meander ourselves right into a poker post…)
You know the ones?
Pocket Aces, Pocket Kings, Pocket Jacks, Pocket Nines, Pocket Sevens, Pocket Eights, and Pocket Threes!
Only to have each one in succession taken out in one unimaginably horrifying way, until the ATM machine without the card becomes a damp, rat infested sink hole with no end?
Yeah that was my night.
I get five callers on my raise with red AA UTG.
The flop comes Kc7c9s – all black.
I raise the first bet, four callers.
The turn is the 4c.
I simply call, with that sickening feeling in my stomach.
Three people see the river which is the Ks.
I call a raise, but want to throw up.
Of course, the SB had A6c for the nut flush and the jackass in third position had K7 OFF for the full house.
After having turned over the losing jacks two hands previously, the whole table sympathetically shook their heads with me as that jackass took all the chips.
I went pretty much card dead after that and started playing garbage hands, under the theory that poker karma should let me win with k7o or j9o or 57s since I had lost so much with quality hands.
Yeah, not so much with the poker karma.
Alceste was at a different table, but with similar results, and about an hour after my cracked aces, he came over to say he’d had enough and was ready to go home.
But….but…the…karma…and…the…poker…I couldn’t leave Trop down?!!!! I had to win it back. He agreed to let me play around till my next blind.
OK…poker…karma…let’s go!
A9o. Missed the flop completely.
KJo. Strike two.
THEN.
MY LAST HAND.
KING KONG BABY!!
I smooth call on the button.
The small blind raises.
YESS!!!
Big blind calls.
So do all the other seven people in between. Yikes.
I reraise.
SB caps.
Ultimately seven people see the flop: A 4 4.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuudge.
I call the bet.
The turn is a harmless deuce.
I call a raise from the BB, SB folds and it’s just the two of us to the river: J
BB bets, I call.
I turn over my Kings.
He turns over 24. HE CALLED FOUR BETS PRE FLOP WITH A DEUCE AND A FOUR. (And as I said to Alceste on the drive back, the first person who asks if they were suited is getting punched in the face.)
And that’s all she wrote folks. I left Tropicana DOWN for the first time in my life and don’t know if I’m ever going back.
In fact, no more AC for the rest of the year.
Damn donkeys.
The drive back was a rather somber experience of fist shaking, swearing and “accidentally” changing songs on Alceste’s ipod.
“Oops, my bad — did the Jesus and Mary Experience go away? Crazy potholes.”
Given my repeated idiotic posts mocking the idea that the East Coco Beach has become all gentrified, Alceste was too scared to take me back to my mom’s house, so we made the run through the Lincoln Tunnel up to Whiteyville.
At 3 in the morning, the streets were pretty much empty, so I was surprised that Alceste stopped at the yellow turning light, rather than making the turn through the park.
“Duuude….make the light!! You’re worse than I am,” said the girl that has prompted more than one passenger to utter the phrase “Dawn, you either drive through the yellow light or I kill you.”
“No way, man” Alceste protested, “I’m not risking my baby,” he said patting his dashboard lovingly.
“Well, no…my second baby,” he added so abruptly I was certain this was about to be a sickeningly sweet “my girlfriend is my first baby” moment.
But no.
“Cause my TV is my first baby.”
Take that Dawn 2!
We made it back to Whiteyville in record time, I piled out of the car — too many dollars poorer, but one Christmas present richer (that’s right Trop, I’ll see you after I finish my Supersystem 2! Thanks Alceste and Dawn 2!). Four days in the ECB – with its food and elevator, ill prepared me for the long walk up to my fourth floor apartment.
But as I settled in, it was good to be home, in my own bed , watching the many WPT events that I’d DVRd in the past four days…but I couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw fours full of twos.
So to the computer I went, blog surf, check emails, maybe blog…It was there I found an email from Ari saying that Amazon (which has been sooo disappointing this holiday season…actually, I say that, but the truth is, Amazon totally delivered the stuff, it was the recipients of the stuff and their non leaving their apartment for eighteen days who just never bothered to pick the stuff up…) claimed it already delivered my X-mas present, even though I hadn’t gotten yet.
Still pissed about my 0/15 pocket pairs winning streak, I decided what better way to spend my insomnia than yelling at Amazon customer service.
However, I am happy to report that no violence or threats thereof were necessary to get the very agreeable woman in Delhi to say that Amazon would resend me the Chappelle Show Season 1 DVDs! Woo hoo…
So, all in all, today has been way a win-loss-win-loss-win day for Dawn.
I’m Dawn Summers, bitch.

DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS EVE

Monday, December 26th, 2005 by Dawn Summers

DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS EVE

Still sleepy. Very, very sleepy. But now that Karol has shamed me with the blogging from international waters, I figured I’d wish all of y’all Happy Holidays.

Thanks in particular to Esther, Jake, pearatty and Ari for their lovely gifts, thanks too to everyone who sent cards. During my administration, you will enjoy untold privileges.

IS IT A SIN TO THINK THE POPE IS SCARY?

Saturday, December 24th, 2005 by Dawn Summers

IS IT A SIN TO THINK THE POPE IS SCARY?

Like, really, really scary.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Saturday, December 24th, 2005 by Dawn Summers

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Stupid MTA.

OOPS, OUR BAD

Friday, December 23rd, 2005 by Dawn Summers

OOPS, OUR BAD

A man was jailed for more than a year without seeing a lawyer as he waited for a repeatedly postponed court hearing, gaining release only after a cellmate told an attorney about the case.

Man forgotten in jail.

GOD SO HATES THE BOY SCOUTS

Friday, December 23rd, 2005 by Dawn Summers

GOD SO HATES THE BOY SCOUTS

Ouch.

WHHAAAA—-?

Friday, December 23rd, 2005 by Dawn Summers

WHHAAAA—-?

President Bush has authorized a reduction in U.S. combat troops in Iraq, Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld said Friday, talking before troops at Camp Falluja, Iraq.

I’m thinking of a phrase…rhymes with mut and mun.