toes!

every other friday, Leticia comes to clean my apartment. even while unemployed, i dare not cancel my maid service, because it's the only thing standing between me and 670 square feet of stinky garbage. besides, it's a pretty minor expense, and cheap at the price considering the peace of mind it provides.

anyway, since i don't have work to go to, i have to find some way to occupy myself friday afternoons so i'm not in her way. today, i went to Elizabeth's to get my hair cut and then off to a couple of outlet stores looking for good interview clothes. i got two fabulous pairs of slacks and a knit top that goes with one of them for $59 at Marshall's, which made me very happy indeed,

after a quick lunch at Spanky's, where i got the older bleached-blonde waitress with the two-pack-a-day voice instead of the younger one with the shitty attitude, i headed over to Pro Nail for the cheapest pedicure in town, figuring $18 wasn't going to break me and i deserved a little pampering (plus that foot spa and massage seemed like a good idea after all that hiking around yesterday).

i'd brought in my own polish, some turquoise stuff with bits of glitter, and the woman who did my nails was so inspired by its goofy summeriness that she offered to add a little design for extra amusement value. she gave me little white flowers with tiny blue-green rhinestones in the middles on my big toes, and now i have the cutest toes in town.

i ran into my neighbor Shirley in the garage (the one with the hot husband) and we chatted a little about the job situation. she said she'd be happy to take care of my cats while i'm out of town if i get the Macromedia contract, and even offered to take care of my plants too. she's so nice. and i figure anyone who has a 21 year old cat must be good with animals. i occasionally hear that distinctive ancient cat yowl on the other side of the wall. it must be a female; no male cat could sound that bitchy.

also, i found one of the best examples of "meet cute" i've ever seen in the Nero Wolfe novella i just read. in a little while, i'll transcribe the scene, because it's so wonderful i must share it with the world.

excerpt

from "Frame-Up for Murder" by Rex Stout:

I was tailing a man named Jonas Putz. You can forget Putz. I mention him only to explain how I happened to be standing, at five o'clock that Monday afternoon, in a doorway on the uptown side of 38th Street around the corner from Lexington Avenue. After spending an hour or so at the Tulip Bar of the Churchill, with an eye on Putz at a proper distance, I had followed him out to the street and then downtown, on foot; and after a few blocks I got the notion that someone else was also interested in his movements. When he stopped a couple of times to look at shop windows, I stopped, too, naturally, and so did someone else, about twenty paces back of me. I had first noticed her in the lobby of the Churchill, because she rated a glance as a matter of principle -- the principle that a man owes it to his eyes to let them rest on attractive objects when there are any around.

She was still tagging along when I turned the corner at 38th Street, and I was wondering whether her interest in Putz had any connection with the simple little problem Nero Wolfe had been hired to solve; and, if so, what. When Putz crossed Madison Avenue and went on to the entrance of the building he lived in, and entered, I was through with him for the day, since he hadn't gone to a certain address, and it was only out of curiosity, to see what the female stalker would do, that I kept going and posted myself in a doorway across the street from Putz's entrance. My curiosity was soon satisfied.

She came right along straight to my post, stopped, faced me at arm's length, and spoke. "You are Archie Goodwin."

I raised my brows. "Prove it."

She smiled a little. "Oh, I have seen you once, at the Flamingo, and I have seen your picture in the paper. Are you detecting somebody?"

She looked about as foreign as she sounded -- enough to suggest a different flavor, which can broaden a man, but not enough to make it seem too complicated. Her chin was slightly more pointed than I would have specified if I had had her made to order, but everybody makes mistakes. Her floppy-brimmed hat and the shoulder spread of her mink stole made her face look smaller than it probably was.

She wasn't an operative, that was sure. Her interest in Putz must be personal, but still it might be connected with our client's problem.

I smiled back at her. "Apparently we both are. Unless you're Putz's bodyguard?"

"Putz? Who is that?"

"Now, really. You spoke first. Jonas Putz. You ought to know his name, since you tailed him all the way here from the Churchill."

She shook her head. "Not him. I was after you. This is a pickup. I am picking you up." She didn't say 'picking,' but neither did she say 'peecking.' It was in between.

"I am honored," I assured her. "I am flattered. I like the way you do it. Usually girls who pick me up beat around the bush. Look, if you'll tell me why you're interested in Putz, I'll tell you why I am, and then we'll see. We might--"

"But I'm not! I never heard of him. Truly!" She started a hand out to touch my arm, but decided not to. "It is you I am interested in! When I saw you at the Churchill I wanted to speak, but you were going, and I followed, and all the way I was bringing up my courage. To pick you up." That time it was 'peeck.'

"O.K." I decided to table Putz temporarily. "Now that you've picked me up, what are you going to do with me?"

She smiled. "Oh, no. You are the man. What we do, that is for you to say."

If she had been something commonplace like a glamorous movie star, I would have shown her what I thought of her passing the buck like that by marching off. If I had been busy I might have asked her for her phone number. As it was, I merely cocked my head at her.

"Typical," I said. "Invade a man's privacy and then put the burden on him. Let's see. Surely we can kill time together somehow. Are you any good at pool?"

"Poule? The chicken?"

"No, the game. Balls on a table and you poke them with a stick."

"Oh, the billiards. No."

"How about shoplifting? There's a shop nearby and I need some socks. There's room for a dozen pairs in that pocketbook, and I'll cover the clerk."

She didn't bat an eye. "Wool or cotton?"

"Cotton. No synthetics."

"What colors?"

"Mauve. Pinkish mauve." If I have given the impression that her chin was pointed enough to be objectionable, I exaggerated. "But we ought to plan it properly. For instance, if I have to shoot the clerk, we should separate, you can pick me up later. Let's go around the corner to Martucci's and discuss it."

She approved of that. Walking beside her, I noticed that the top of the floppy-brimmed hat was at my ear level. With it off, her hair would have grazed my chin if she had been close enough. At Martucci's the crowd wouldn't be showing for another quarter of an hour, and there was an empty table in a rear corner. She asked for vermouth frappé, which was wholesome, but not very appropriate for a shoplifting moll. I told her so.

"Also," I added, "since I don't know your name, we'll have to give you one. Slickeroo Sal? Too hissy, maybe. Fanny the Finger? That has character."

"Or it could be Flora the Finger," she suggested. "That would be better because my name is Flora. Flora Gallant. Miss Flora Gallant."

*swoon*

the internet is a million pages about somebody's cat

http://www.merde.org/gallery/contortionist.jpg

busted!

iceberg, captured on film in the act of his famous open-all-the-cabinets-in-the-kitchen routine.