I'm blogging once again from the Chelsea Market because I don't feel like going to my self-esteem class, but my parents will get pissed off if I come home early and they think I didn't go. I note how this class had the odor of disaster from day one. There I was, feeling like an ass on icebreaker day, so I don't show up for the second class. And then I actually sort of feel like going to the third class, but I can't go cause someone will inevitably ask me why I wasn't at the second class. You can pretty much figure out how it'll snowball from there.

It's kind of annoying that I'm confined to this one spot in the Chelsea Market — it's the only electric outlet I can find. There's this mother sitting next to me, trying to feed her toddler, and this would usually piss me off, but not today. The kid would rather play with a plastic bag and cry and slump out of her stroller than eat — and looking at what this woman's trying to shove down her throat, who can blame her — and the mother's getting all frustrated and flustered and every now and then she just snaps and yells at the kid or slaps her or shakes her, like that's gonna calm her down. I'm like six inches away from them and finding the whole scene much more amusing than anything that could possibly happen in the confidence class.

Seriously, I'm twenty-three and if someone's beating me, it just sort of makes me a bit more aggravated. This little kid can't possibly have any idea why Mom's bitching at her... or maybe at the age of two she already realizes that her mother's totally insufferable.

Oh, that reminds me, the other day I was at the train station enjoying myself while I listened to this lady bitch and moan about my towns-kin. We weren't even outside, and she's all but yelling into her cell phone about how she's been sick for a week and the doctor's office won't give her an appointment and she can't get any of her neighbors to help out with the kids even though she's helped all of them out — you gotta appreciate, too, that this whole diatribe is in one of those awwful Lawwng Oyyland accents — and the realtor sold them a house that's falling apart and she can't make any friends (I totally sympathize) let alone any Jewish friends and none of this happened back when she lived back in West Orange and no one's being nice to her and.... Holy crap, Lady, no wonder! I've only known you five minutes and I already hate your guts. Your poor neighbors...

No, that's not very nice. In my experience, the townsfolk are pretty callous. But you get my point: let's please do our private toddler slapping and talking about our neighbors behind their backs in private for once.