Clarification.

As the beautiful and talented Jennifer pointed out, I was a little too vague in my last post. Let me clarify. When I speak about Brooklyn, I mean my own little slice of hell. Thanks to the technology of match.com I'm able to search in my own backyard, and believe it or not there must be a shortage of slightly chubby, but completely doable blond girls in my postal code. Who knew? So I'm directing it to those dudes. Brooklyn is wonderful, everywhere except MY particular square block. Just lucky, I guess. Park Slope is nicer then most parts of the city. Williamsburg is always a treat when visiting Ash, Chris or Kevin. Even where Ruben lives on the Q is way better then my personal hell. But I was on my own while picking the place, and I don't know Brooklyn too well. So I'm dumb. To all the Brooklynites I might have offended, I'm sorry - you know I love you, baby.

A naked child wouldn't let me down the elevator last night. He kept holding the door open, and screaming "bye!" I didn't want to touch him because I was scared, so I stayed like that for ten minutes until a sibling pried him off the door.

I was so exhausted last night from working with the Alzheimer patients, and I was totally feeling sorry for myself - even though I was working with Rose a wonderful woman who couldn't remember her birthday - but I looked so pitiful that she kept telling me I should move to Savannah. It's like a message from God!

There were five police officers in my hallways last night. They made jokes about my dogs, and seemed happy to see me. I think someone screamed out one of the doors that somehow they were there on my request? I didn't call them, but was more then willing to be their friend anyway.

Cute boy did in fact move in next door. Getting nightie ready...