…and I never asked Michelle about anything ever again.

By Friday Puppy

I’ve been playing it a bit safe with my more recent blog entries.  Why?  Two reasons.

One, I’m actually a very sensitive and delicate flower when faced with anonymous strangers who say they hate me because I don’t think/speak/act in a way that meets their approval.  I’m SORRY, I’ll try better, I’m a lapsed Catholic, I promise I feel super guilty for not meeting expectations I didn’t know existed.

Two, I have this obnoxious habit of not wanting to hurt other people’s feelings, even those of complete strangers who will never read anything I write.  Steve Barnes from Table Hopping fascinates me with his ability to critique the work of people he has met and looked in the eye.  He is a brave, brave man.  I am not a brave, brave man.  I am a sensitive and delicate flower.

I basically cause Matt to pound his forehead on his keyboard every time I post up an entry about babies that is 0% snarky, so I asked myself, “Who’s my most explosive friend, so I can pick their brain and have something interesting to write about?”  The answer came to me immediately – Michelle*.

*name has been changed to protect the not-even-close-to-innocent.

My friend Michelle hates everyone and everything and can explain to you in forty filthy words why your grandmother is a whore, and the best/worst part is that the way she does it leaves you pretty convinced that your grandmother is, indeed, a whore.  My grandmother happens to be a great lady and does not fit this description, BUT Michelle puts up a pretty strong argument about the amount of repenting someone must need to do to go to Mass every day for 85 years.  I love/hate Michelle for indelibly etching thoughts like that inside my brain.

I invited her over for a girly date, and as we settled on the couch with two beers, I asked her, “Anything interesting happen today?”

She waited less than a millisecond.  “Yes; I hate Occupy Albany.”  

I hesitated, because Occupy Albany’s office is literally next door to me, and we’ve already had a Facebook breakup (and subsequent makeup) over wake-my-apartment-building-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night noise and other carrying-ons.  Insert my “foot in mouth” expression over where the conversation was turning; however, I had committed to writing whatever spewed out of her brain, so I went with it.

“Why do you hate them?” I asked.  “They all seem super nice.”

I lack the eloquence to capture the “Bitch, please,” look Michelle shot my way.

Not an actual car in front of my apartment, but essentially identical.

“I hate them because I had to park two blocks away on the scary block.” (it is, in fact, a sketchy block)  “I know they’re taking up all the parking spaces, because every car in front of your apartment has wind energy bumper stickers.  When I get back to my car, I’m gonna have a smashed window, some crackhead’s gonna be selling my CDs on the corner of New Scotland, and then I’m gonna have to drive around with a black garbage bag flapping around everywhere I go.  Why don’t they just park in the f*cking park instead of stealing the spots from the residents?”

Me: “………I…don’t…know…?”

She had a point.  It’s hard to fight with Lionheart, The Lark Tavern, El Loco, and now Shogun for parking spots, let alone an office that can have fifty people there at one time, any time of day or night.

Michelle, of course, was not done.

“Also, why do they all dress like they’re about to go on a day hike?  I’ve been to EMS, that shit’s expensive.  They should go buy a suit off the sale rack at Men’s Wearhouse if they want to be taken seriously.  And what’s with the dude with the drum on the sidewalk?  That’s not a drum circle, that’s a drum comma.  They’ve become a f*cking stereotype: ‘Peace, love, one-man drum circle, I hate the government, tax the rich.’  Why don’t they just run for every open government position in Albany?  Some idiot’s gonna hit the wrong button and vote at least one of them into office, and maybe then they can make a goddamn difference in the world instead of taking up all the parking spots on Madison.”

At first my kneejerk Catholic guilt reaction was all, “Mi-CH-elle!!!!!” because, well, harsh.

Give this woman a picket sign, and I'm listening.

Then, I realized a lot of the backlash I’ve heard against the Occupy movements might stop in the face of a more united front and some rebranding (YES!!! Graphic design!!!)  My personal vote: Occupy Albany institutes a dress code where everyone consistently dresses like they’re from the 1940s or the cast of Mad Men.  It would cause a stir, be a lot of fun, and people (named Carlene) would be way more into looking at photos and following what was going on.  Anti-establishment-ism definitely needs more red lipstick, pencil skirts, and 3-piece suits.

Since there are only so many Michelle sound bytes my brain can handle in a day, I steered the conversation to safer topics, like why she hates the guy she’s dating, why her neighbor is an asshole, and other various rants that left me sucking down beers and needing to hug a chipmunk or a baby piglet to reassure myself that happiness does still exist, before we hugged it out and parted for the evening.

To my very nice neighbors at Occupy Albany, now that Michelle and I have gone ahead and solved politics, let’s go thifting together and find you some fantastic new duds.  To the Puppies, I’m sorry we didn’t also solve the parking situation near my place, but there’s only so much a girl can do in a day.

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