The soda is flat and the bread has mold.

Expiration Dates.

They're kind of like guidelines right?

Christine and I. We're clean girls. We've been roommates since January now, and our apartment, has for the most part stayed very clean. I mean, we have the Costco sized "Household Surface Wipes" in the bathroom and in the kitchen, and we use them. We also co - purchased the Dirt Devil "Broom Vac" with the portable charger. I have a Windex "multi surface cleaner" addiction, and am probably responsible for the over windexing of the household mirrors (not to mention the ones at work.)

I guess this all brings me to our refrigerator. It's a typical fridge, freezer on the top, decorated in various magnets. Newsday, USAA important numbers, Albert's pizza, Little Vincent's, Costco and a giant heart shaped magnet all which dutifully hold more than their fair share of postcard weight.

It's what's in the fridge, that startles me.

Christine asked me this morning how long ham stays good for. "Gosh Sierra, I wish you ate ham, we have so much of it left over." and yes- this is ham left over from Easter. We tried to give the majority of it away. "I'm not sure if it's even still edible" Christine quipped. " I was thinking of making a ham and cheese and broccoli casserole." My thoughts here were - you know Christine - you do that, and then you eat it, or you know, donate it, maybe we could even meet our neighbors that way. The ham conversation is disturbed by the phone ringing, and I escaped to work.

I come home, and turn on the burner and make myself a quesadilla. I opened the sour cream and noticed the expiration date glaring menacingly at me. APRIL 25TH. Oh good, I thought to myself, I just made it. However, the closeness of this expiration date, sent me on an expiration date expedition through the refrigerator.

The findings are startling:

1% milk : APRIL 21ST. My stomach turned, I had that milk in my tea this morning.

Crumbled Feta Cheese: APRIL 12TH. I'm pretty sure Christine used that in her lunch salad today.

Old El Paso Salsa: MARCH 23RD. March 23rd, that's been more than a month- and then I realized it was 2008, missed the bullet on that one.

The Sprite and Cola liters both have expiration dates in June, but I tossed them anyways, because we're not big soda drinkers anyways, and they had both gone flat.

Okay, so two things were expired, and by the time I post this the sour cream will have expired. But the fridge expedition led onto other things, and it was then I discovered the cappuccino muffins expired three days ago, and the heel of the loaf of bread was growing mold.

So maybe we're not as clean as we thought we were, but the apartment has now been thoroughly purged of expired foods, and the counters have been wiped down, and I changed the trash bag (It should be noted here that we use vanilla scented trash bags) and just for an extra touch I lit the vanilla scented tea lights. Then I sat and pondered expiration dates, as I poured myself some tea, sans milk.

They're more like guidelines anyways, right?

Starbucks Cup Quotes

It was a special treat. A special Starbucks treat for a bad day.

I convinced myself I deserved that Grande Caramel Machiatto with Soy Milk.

So I grabbed my jacket- told the girls to hold down the store while I stepped out for a moment, and then I walked down the street to that green happy haven.

Waiting for my cup of joy, I adjusted my sunglasses, checked the time on my cell phone and subtracted the $4.55 from my checking account.

Then - "Sierra- this one's yours."

I pressed on a recycled cardboard hand protector and then I noticed the quote on the back of my starbucks cup.

"Let go your sorrow

let go your blues

'Cause tomorrow is yesterday's news.

Let go your sadness

give up the fight

Follow your madness

and take flight...

take flight."

-Seal

Very nice. My mind and my tummy now soothed. I took my time as I walked back to my store, and then shared the happy little poem with my associates.

They smiled,

they love me.

I loved my special Starbucks treat.

I miss my dog.

When I left California with two suitcases and a very large carry-on, I didn't think I would miss anything more than all the wonderful pairs of shoes, drawerfuls of pictures, and of course those closest to me. What I didn't factor in was my furry friend. And I'm not talking about my childhood stuffed animal. I'm talking about Trapper, my over active, always loving, golden retriever.

We had grown especially close this last summer, as I took him to the beach often, and we enjoyed morning bike rides together. It's been a little more than 9 months since I've been back to California and I am realizing more and more that I miss having a dog in my life, and slobbering older men don't count. (See previous entry "sbro")

every time someone comes into my downtown store with a dog I instantly attack it with love. On Friday night I hosted a home party at a woman's house in Huntington. She had a beautiful dog named Topher, who was so friendly and smelled curiously like Garnier Fructis. (I think we use the same shampoo.) I told Kari I wanted a dog- and she reminded me that the little friends are an expensive commitment. Not to mention illegal. Well, at least in my apartment complex.

However, Christine and I are looking at apartments to move into, and as I scanned the classifieds I highlighted a place that said "pets allowed." Then I looked up and said "Christine- I want a puppy." It was then, when I saw the look of not happening flash across her face, that I remembered that Christine doesn't like dogs.
Maybe I will add "dog walker" to my online resume. I need some canine loving.

The sbro

I was recently told by a dear friend " Sierra, it sounds like you're giving up on men your own age"

I replied, "That's because men my own age don't hit on me." It's true. (Well, ever since I moved to New York.)

The men that do hit on me, are 1. short, 2. bald or balding, 3. rich and 4. old.

This may sound like someones dream guy. However, I would rather taller and long(er) hair, the money and age factors are up for debate.

My roommate considered the short, bald, rich and old ( henceforth abbreviated "sbro") man thing a myth. She was certain that I had to be exaggerating.

(There had already been multiple sbro stories, including one man, who obviously dyed his silver moustache black and referred to himself as "Pan" because he never gets older. for real.)

March Madness. Duke Loses. Christine and I are at the Huntington, NY. TGIF's. A sbro, to my left, moves a little closer and then strikes up a brilliant conversation after I returned from the restroom, "That was the fastest piss on planet Earth, if that's even what you were doing."

Insert interesting small talk. Including our various travels, basketball picks and choice of music. You like the Beatles, hey me too.

The night wanes and the number question pops. I enter the apt # onto his shiny new slim phone. I'm never there, and I still am foggy on the voicemail passcode, frankly, I don't care enough to defog it either.

We return home, Christine now a believer. Missed call from original sbro. A month long caller from an Irish bar in Wantagh. His message says something to the tune of he has tickets to a hockey game (again)

Christine says I need to start giving a fake number.

Last night, "The Patriot" New York City, NY.

Sbro to my right, "Can I get you a drink" me - turning to the bar maid- "Amstel light, please." Insert more conversation, regarding 70's cinema, his business, and his home on Staten Island. Also insert two more Amstel Lights. Conversation turns to his live viewings of the Ramones. Night wanes, and I take Christine's advice and give a fake number.

TODAY.

Huntington, NY.

Aerosoles Shoes.

It's getting toward closing and I'm the only one in the store.

I look up. and notice a sbro x 100. (meaning, shorter, balder, richer and older) This man is tales from the crypt. He's also loaded. (Note the armani suit and frames, shiny shoes, and plethora of tasteful jewelry) He also is barely making it over the counter. He asks how I like working in a predominantly glass building on Main street, illuminated by lights. I say I enjoy the view, and I enjoy the people. Conversation continues, he somehow drops that he's a lawyer. (oh. i see.) Name of law firm. Nope, not familiar. I really haven't lived here for long.

insert conversation about various moves across and out of the country.

He's interesting, I'm interesting, he tells me this several times.

Writes his e-mail on a receipt. funfunfunjerry at wherever dot com. He says it's because he's "triple the fun" and yes. He really did say this.

...

What about me screams gold digger? Is it my moccasins? My worn torn jeans? Is it my Birkenstock tote bag or my ziplock with Cheerios?

Am I destined to end up with a short, bald or balding, rich older man?

Is this tattooed on my forehead as my fate, and only those it applies to can read it?

Does it include a line that says stay away if tall, have healthy follicles, poor and or young?

I'll keep you posted.

AMERICA.
New York State.
Long Island.
West Babylon.

SUBURBIA.
I've re located. This is where I reside. This is where I do my living.
Welcome. to my new blog.

Today. Pay Day. My Day Off.

So I drove to work after school to grab my pay check. Aerosoles- I can't get enough of you.
The other day at work - a woman asked about my accent- She asked what country I was from. I said - oh no- it may seem like another country- but it's only California. However, I did spend six months living in London, and you may be picking some of that up.

And that's me.

Gilroy, Northern California. ( Childhood - 2003)
La Mirada, Southern California. (2003-2005)
London, England. (August 2005- January 2006)
West Babylon, New York. ( January 2006 - Present)

My locations inspire me. They create me.

Apparently there exist language specialists who can tell just from speaking to you where you've lived. I can hear it in my own speech. A little Nor Cal- a little So Cal. some London terminology. *cheers* *lovely* and a little bit of New York happening right now.

Where to next?
For now. Tomorrow. Huntington, New York. Work. and life!