Author: Christa Avampato

The short of it: Writer. Health, education, and art advocate. Theater and film producer. Visual artist. Product geek. Proud alumnae of the University of Pennsylvania (BA) and the Darden School of Business at the University of Virginia (MBA). Inspired by ancient wisdom & modern tech. Proliferator of goodness. Opener of doors. Friend to animals. Fan of creative work in all its wondrous forms. I use my business skills to create passion projects that build a better world. I’ve been called the happiest New Yorker, and I try hard to live up to that title every day. The long of it: My career has stretched across Capitol Hill, Broadway theatre, education, nonprofit fundraising, health and wellness, and Fortune 500 companies in retail, media, entertainment, technology, and financial services. I’ve been a product developer and product manager, theater manager, strategic consultant, marketer, voice over artist, , teacher, and fundraiser. I use my business and storytelling to support and sustain passion projects that build a better world. In every experience, I’ve used my sense of and respect for elegant design to develop meaningful products, services, programs, and events. While building a business career, I also built a strong portfolio as a journalist, novelist, freelance writer, interviewer, presenter, and public speaker. My writing has appeared in The Washington Post, The Huffington Post, PBS.org, Boston.com, Royal Media Partners publications, and The Motley Fool on a wide range of topics including business, technology, science, health, education, culture, and lifestyle. I have also been an invited speaker at SXSW, Teach for America, Avon headquarters, Games for Change, NYU, Columbia University, Hunter College, and the Alzheimer’s Foundation of America. The first book in my young adult book series, Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters, was acquired by a publisher and launched in November 2017. I’m currently working on the second book in the series. A recovering multi-tasker, I’m equally at home in front of my Mac, on my yoga mat, walking my rescue dog, Phineas, traveling with a purpose, or practicing the high-art of people watching. I also cut up small bits of paper and put them back together as a collage artist. My company: I’m bringing together all of my business and creative career paths as the Founder of Double or Nothing Media: • I craft products, programs, and projects that make a difference; • I build the business plans that make what I craft financially sustainable; • I tell the stories that matter about the people, places, and products that inspire me. Follow my adventures on Twitter at https://twitter.com/christanyc and Instagram at https://instagram.com/christarosenyc.
Life

Design is everywhere

Christa Avampato

Instead of going into the office today, my wonderful boss, his equally-wonderful wife, and I went to the New York International Gift show at the Javitz Center. We don’t exactly work in the gift industry but we do work in retail and there were a variety of products that could suit our business. I can hardly believe I get paid to do this kind of thing.

We were bowled over by the clever designs and the sheer amount of “stuff”. The colors, the innovation, the reuse of old, found items was almost not-to-be-believed. A woman who owns hundred of thousands of Victorian-era buttons and makes jewelry from them. The handmade artisans who make one unique creation after another – from candy to knitted scarves to license plate art. Just stunning. I am so glad I’m not a buyer – I would have gone bankrupt with all of the fascinating pieces, despite my miserly ways.

It was nothing short of inspiring. I’ll be spending the week going back to the websites of some of the most interesting and germane companies for our business and taking a look at what’s on offer. My boss is sort of a design-freak, and he’s one of those people whose endless curiosity about everything nearly puts me to shame. I thought I was curious – I have nothing on him. He’s like a kid in a candy store when it comes to design. Couple that with his absolute enthusiasm and kindness and he’s every artists dream. I often think he would have made a great actor’s agent for this very reason.

The messages were flowing today. I was commenting on how much retro-inspired stuff there was and my boss’s wife said “well, we have to go back right? It’s all we have.” Very eloquently put. It is all we have. Somehow all of my weirdo experience, and all of the people I’ve met along the way will form into some business idea that truly represents me – a perfect (for me) design.

Life

I’ll see you around

Christa Avampato

On Sunday. I had one of those days that made me gitty about New York. It was gorgeous weather, after some rather frightening rainstorms during the week, and my friend Monika called me to say she was walking across town through the park and wanted to have lunch at the a cafe on the Hudson just down the streets from me. We got a table outside in the shade, ate too-expensive, though delicious sandwiches, and watched the boats go by. I was shocked the place wasn’t packed.

Earlier that day, I bumped into my friend, Steve, who lives a 7 blocks away and took an unexpected field trip to an open house of an apartment only 4 blocks away from me. Once I am settled in, I’d like to make these open houses in my neighborhood a past time – by nature I’m always curious to see how the other half lives, the other half being those who can afford to sell the apartment they currently own in order to upgrade to another, more expensive, bigger apartment. A girl’s gotta dream…

I took a little jaunt over to The Home Depot later on that afternoon to try to find a drill bit for a project I’m working on in my place. In inherited several traits from my mother – 1.) my ability to suspend all belief in reality so I can talk to the TV as I watch a movie or TV show, 2.) my teeth – we both had braces for quite a while to take care of our “vampire-like” alignments, and 3.) our desire to want to be really good at home improvement, though a complete inability to make that dream a reality. Despite a trip to THD and several to my local hardware store, I’m still not quite sure how to pull off this project. Just imagine when I have a whole house to take care of someday!

The greatest thing about that Home Depot trip was that it took me across Central Park to East 59th Street. People were everywhere, enjoying the weather with friends, reading a book or a newspaper, jogging, laughing, driving remote-control boats or paddle boats across the numerous lakes. I was so thrilled to be there that I walked all the way home too. I just couldn’t make myself get into a bus or subway, even though they would have been much faster.

I’ve recently depleted my karma pool – great apartment, great job, dating, seeing old / new friends, an overall pretty fabulous life. This is all making me very nervous. (Those of you who know my life story can understand that too much good fortune makes my deepest neuroses kick in.) In an attempt to replenish my karma, I am opening up my little studio to two friends visiting this week, yes, I said week, as they look for an apartment of their own in New York for the first time. One is a very dear friend and I just couldn’t imagine them paying all of this money for the hotel when over the years so many people have kindly let me sleep on their couches when I’ve visited. I need to pay this forward. So this has lit a fire under me to get my place semi-set up. I went out to try to find a bookcase at a home store to get my small collection out of boxes.

I walk down about 5 blocks from my apartment to a home store, didn’t find a bookcase, though did find a total of 3 Mister Softee trucks. I am an ice cream hound – I will literally starve myself all day if it means I get a chocolate Mr. Softee cone in the afternoon. I’d choose ice cream over a drink any day. And all for $2? It’s the greatest bargain in New York and they’re everywhere. Is this the greatest city in the world or what? Friends and ice cream just around the corner from me – what else could I really ever need?
Life

Ready for the message

Christa Avampato

My friend Anne is my eye opener. I realized this a few years ago as we were having one of our tea times. (We set a time to talk on the phone rather than playing phone tag and have tea together). I was going on about some situation and she just stopped me dead in my tracks to help me connect what I was feeling at that moment about the situation to something that happened to me a very long time ago. It’s in my nature to try to remedy the past with the present, which often ends up altering my future in a way I had not expected, and not necessarily wanted. It’s as if she turns the light on when I am fumbling around in the dark for the switch despite the fact that the switch was in front of me all along. The beauty of honest friendship.

This happened again recently as I was recanting some story to Anne. I was beating myself up over not recognizing the real state of a relationship sooner. Why didn’t I get the message and get out sooner? “Well, Christa, you can’t hear a message until you’re ready for it.” I know all the stock cliches like “we only hear what we want to hear” or “we invent our own truths”. Remarkably it is much harder to really appreciate and understand them and consciously live by them. Anne was right; I hadn’t been ready for the message so I dismissed it.

And this started me down the path to realizing that messages often ask us to change something, to do something different or see our situation in a new way. And they inspire us to action. What are we willing to do with the information we take in and how are we willing act based upon it? I think about this in the context of my dear friends Dan, Steve, and Lisa who are each starting their own business ventures. I am privy to the details and love being able to stand on the sidelines and observe, cheer lead, and more than happily provide any kind of assistance or advice they may want. They’re incredibly talented, bright, energetic people. And they are all taking on risks with these new ventures. Before they embarked on them, they had to be very clear with themselves about what they were willing to do to be successful. How much risk, debt, time, etc. could they afford? They had to really sit down with themselves and say, ‘I know this is what I want, now what do I need to do to get there, and am I willing to do what it takes?”

They’ve inspired me to think about starting my own venture. I haven’t the foggiest idea what that would be or where I would start. Before business school, I didn’t have a lot of tolerance for risk. I already have insomnia – doesn’t having your own business just make that worse? However, those loan notes I signed away did wonders to help me break away from that fear, they helped me trust in myself. I could do this. I could invest in myself and make it pay off.

I’ve got my ears and eyes wide open. And if I can’t find the message on my own, I’ll just ask Anne for a light.

Life

The people under the stairs

Christa Avampato

Living in New York City requires us to be comfortable living in close proximity to others. There’s no way around it. And of course that means that if we live close others we may hear them moving about in their lives from time to time. I am an environmentalist, and I currently rationalize my high rent by noting to myself that I am helping to limit urban sprawl by living in a 400 squ. foot apartment.

My neighbors downstairs, under the stairs, welcomed me to the neighborhood with a note under my door yesterday morning telling me that NYC requires me to have carpets since they live in the basement apartment below me. “We don’t want to hear every move you make.” I am so glad that in light of all of the quality of life issues that New York City has to take care of, that they have required me to have carpets. (I checked into this and it is absolutely not true. However, my lease does mention putting down carpet.)

I was upset about this letter for several reasons: 1) I just moved in and had furniture delivered. 2) I am not a 300 pound gorilla up here jumping around continuously. 3) If someone chooses to live in a basement apartment, there’s going to be noise. 4) I was in my apartment – they couldn’t knock on my door, say hello, and talk about it with me in person?

My first instinct was to begin jumping rope to let them know how noisy it really could be. Then I thought I could go pound on their door and explain to them how rude I thought their message was. (I couldn’t find the door that lead down to the basement. I actually considered that maybe I was dreaming and this note thing never really happened. Where do these people live?) Then I just decided to breathe and call my friend, Ken, so he could make me laugh with a really sarcastic, witty response. And then I called my friend, Lisa, so she could calm me down and give me some advice on being diplomatic.

The reality is that I may be living above these people for several years and I don’t want that bad energy lingering anywhere near me. I was steamed, but showing that anger isn’t going to help anyone, least of all me. Because after I show the anger, I’ll just feel guilty for having expressed it. Below is my response to their note. The letters in bold are what I actually wrote to them and the remaining ones are the ones I said to myself as I was writing it so I could vent my frustration privately. David Sedaris would be proud that I thought of these remarks, and simultaneously disappointed that I took the high road.

“Dear neighbors,
Thank you so much for your kind welcome note to the neighborhood. I was beginning to wonder what all that noise below me was – and now I know that it’s you. I am sure you can understand how hectic it is when moving into a new apartment and working full-time. I just had my furniture delivered yesterday and apologize if setting up my apartment has disturbed you. In my research on the required carpeting you mentioned in your note, I was not able to find any mention of a NYC ordinance to put down carpet so that people who choose to live in a basement have a higher quality of life. How thoughtful of our city’s officials! I suppose that horror movie “The People Under the Stairs” really struck a cord with some NYC government worker. If you have a copy of the ordinance, I’d love to see it. I am aware that in my lease I need to put down some carpets (I did read it and signed it after all) – I have put down one already and will get an additional one in the coming days. I will do my best to be a courteous and friendly neighbor and I know you will do the same. Could you install something on your ceiling so that I would not have to hear you clunking around down there? I really don’t want to hear every move YOU make. Part of living in New York City, particularly in the basement, is that you are going to hear noise. So learn how to deal. While I recognize that the carpet will help (very little), I will not be able to completely eliminate all noise. You’re lucky I only weigh 110 pounds and have a light foot. I hear all of my neighbors from time to time as well as people coming up and down the stairs and using the two front doors so I completely understand your request. Welcome to New York – if you want peace and quiet, please move to the ‘burbs. Wishing you a blessed Sunday.

Your thoughtful neighbor,
Christa

Life

Did you want a real egg?

Christa Avampato

At my job we have a very cheap, very tasty cafeteria open for breakfast and lunch. I head down there most mornings before I begin my day looking for hints of brilliance that may help the company in its turnaround. There’s a terrific grill station that serves my favorite – bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel. Delicious.

I happened over there late last week and the usual grill man was out. When I ordered my sandwich the replacement guy asked me, “Did you want a real egg?” (huh?) “A real egg?” As opposed to? “Yes, a real egg, please.” Later that day I also happened to hear about Dole’s genetically engineered bananas and packaged meat that is “gassed” to extend shelf life. That night I was meeting my friend, Dan, for dinner and I came across a place down the street from my apartment that boasts “natural pizza” right next to the organic dry cleaner.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this desire to be “natural”, to eat and live healthfully. And I wonder if it’s really possible. I wonder if short of growing our own food and living off the land it’s too much to ask for a natural life in this day and age. We’ve gone so far toward engineering everything we eat and every service we receive to get it exactly the way we want it that maybe it’s actually altered the very essence of the thing itself.

Last week there was an enormous toy recall by Fisher Price due to suspected lead-based paint in some toys. My mom said to me, “How could that possibly happen?” Very easily I thought. Do we really have any idea where our food comes from or where our packaged goods are manufactured? Not really. We trust that because we live in a first world nation that what we pay for is safe. We expect the suppliers of the products and services we use to have integrity and have our safety in mind.

I am not suggesting that we all go into a state of hysteria, worrying about the origin of every morsel we eat. I have no desire to become Bill Murray in “What About Bob.” What I will do is be more conscious about supporting businesses that put out there that my safety is part of their strategy. I want to know that these businesses have their customers’ safety and well-being at the top of their minds all of the time. That may not always be easy to discern, though I believe that raising my level of consciousness on these matters may help me live a more “natural” life than I may be able to live otherwise.

Life

New addy

Christa Avampato

Hello from the UWS of Manhattan! I am thrilled to finally be in my new place. Now if only I could have a cell phone that worked in my apartment (I’m switching from AT&T to Verizon for this reason) and get rid of all these boxes, I’d be in fabulous shape!

Some very kind actions were exhibited by (almost) complete strangers. My landlord had a bottle of champagne for me to celebrate my move into the building. My (very handsome) neighbor gave my stepfather and I a helping hand as we carted my belongings out of the U-Haul. I am thankful that there is a fire hydrant right outside my front door – we were easily able to use the space to park the truck. The man at the U-Haul drop off point did not charge me for the extra mileage. I am very grateful for all this luck during the move.

I’ve read that the three most stressful events in life are the death of a loved on, divorce, and moving, respectively. I beg to differ. If moving involves Manhattan, I must say that it trumps the other two. Add to that the fact that it’s practically impossible to get into this city without using a Parkway (where no commercial vehicles are allowed) and that we were forced to drive through East Harlem not once, but twice. My stepfather is a saint for braving this adventure with me; I don’t know what I would have done without him.

Life

Sleepy’s…for the MESS of your life

Christa Avampato

That little guy resting in his red, white, and blue pajamas is just so cute. The people in the showroom and on the phone at customer service are incredibly friendly and they have their catchy theme song playing in several languages and and music genres on their hold music. I should know I’ve spent my entire day today in my either a) waiting for them to show up, b) on hold trying to reach them to update them on the latest delivery fiasco, or c) in the showroom near my house trying to get the billing fixed.

It is only fair to you if I buy you several stiff martinis before recanting the whole story. Since I don’t yet know of a martini delivery service in Manhattan, I will give you the very brief recap:

1.) Delivery man called at 9:am to say he was 5 minutes away. Two hours later, he arrived.

2.) He showed up with the headboard, foot board, slats, and mattress, no rails to put the frame together. “Well, you’ll just have to call customer service. That will be $736 please.”

“I arranged for financing through the store.”

“Sorry, that’s not my problem. You need to pay it and then go back to the showroom.”

3.) At showroom, re: financing- “What went wrong with the financing?”

“Whoops. Must have not gone through. Did you void the order?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well I don’t really have any answers for you so please don’t ask me anymore questions. Just fill out the application again.” (This is after 45 minutes of waiting.)

4.) On phone with customer service, re: delivery of rails – “oh, they didn’t have the rails? It actually comes as a whole set, so you must have just not seen them.”

“No. They weren’t with the set.”

“Well we’ll see if we can get those to you today. It’ll probably be after 3.”

“Okay.”

5.) Rails finally arrive. However, one of the screws doesn’t fit into the main support.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” says the delivery man. “It’s only slightly defective. You’ll just have to live with it.” (He exits after commenting that I’m the first girl he’s seen in all his time with Sleepy’s that owns an electric screw driver. I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered, surprised, or irritated. I went for surprised.

6.) I begin to put my mattress cover over the new mattress and discover that there is a gaping hole in the back of the mattress. I’m not kidding. I go nuts. I call customer service and explain that I’m at the end of my rope with them and that I need to have a significant reduction in the price or they will need to come out here and replace both the “only slightly defective” frame and the mattress for free. After the salesmen has me on hold for 20 minutes, he says he can take $75 off max. I tell him to send someone next Saturday first thing.

So the Sleepy’s saga continues…..to avoid this mess, please shop somewhere, anywhere, else for your next mattress. Tune in next week to find out if I will spend yet another Saturday getting the “rest of my life.”

Life

Where the stress is

Christa Avampato

I’m awake this time because I have a sore throat – the all-too-common ailment that afflicts me when I’m stressed. Tomorrow I am (partially) moving into my new apartment on the glorious upper westside of Manhattan, my favorite neighborhood in the city. Paying too much rent for a too small space but that’s life in the best parts of the Big Apple.

Since I’m up, I thought I’d do some investigating into the nature of stress, or at the very least some thinking on the subject. My very unscientific theory is that our bodies unconsciously choose where to carry the stress by hitting us where it hurts so we pay attention. For example, I love talking to people, being engaged in conversation, learning about people’s interests and experiences. Having a sore throat completely hinders this process. My mind knows that so my body says, “Hey, pay attention, lady. You are stressing yourself out and you need to SLOW down.” So my throat gets a little dry, then a little scratchy, and then engulfed in flames. Aren’t bodies amazing?

Even just writing about this stress helps to calm me down, helps to alleviate some of the soreness in my throat. I’m off to do some yoga, to meditate on how smoothly my partial move will go tomorrow, how marvelous my parents are to help me do my full move on Saturday despite the fact that they have moved me more times than I can count on my two hands. I may be out of commission for the remainder of the week if I can’t find someone’s internet connection to tap in my new ‘hood. Never fear, though, I’ll be posting more often than ever once I am set up with internet in my new digs next week!

Life

Hard-wired for Worry

Christa Avampato

I kept myself awake for half the night last night, worrying. Worrying about things that I have absolutely no justification to worry about. Old issues that I (thought I had) settled long ago. I meditate. I do yoga – I teach yoga! For a long time, I have wanted to be the personification of serenity, of peace, of calm. And in an emergency situation, I am. Somehow when the world around me is spinning out of control, I can find the eye of the storm and ride it out. When all is quiet on the western front, my worry genes kick in. And this leaves me wondering if it’s possible that some of us are programmed for worry the same way we get much of our personality from our DNA. Am I destined to a life of constant concern?

This would not surprise me. My grandmother was the kindest, most loving, compassionate person I have ever known. And she worried more than anyone else on thye planet, about everyone, all the time. She took worrying to an art form. She made it a sport. My mom on the other hand, never worriesAbout anything. Ever. This astonishes me. Situations that send me right over the edge my mother barely notices.

In my constant quest to be a person of profound contradictions, I am an optimistic worrier. There must be an upside to this constant concern, right? I always have a plan B, and in the event that plan B doesn’t work, I have C and D tucked away as well. Contingencies for my contingencies. And I am meticulous about details as well as having a flair for the elaborate. It takes a great deal of time to create 4 separate, complete plans for every scenario of my life and that’s okay. With my frequent insomnia, I have plenty of time to hatch them.

The other upside to being a constant worrier is that I can actually be comfortable with being worried. Most people panic; I just get out my pen and paper and start drawing decision trees. If I happen to be near a computer, I crack open an excel file and begin to furiously input numbers and formulas – very handy since 90% of the time I am considering and re-considering some aspect of my finances.

I have made my peace with being a worrier (which is not the same thing as ending my worry) because I have accepted that even if I solve my current concern, another one is just over the horizon. Because I am always capable of finding something to worry about, I tend to take my time in considering my options for my current worry. Why rush through the stress when you can savor it?

I have become remarkably good at research. So as I was awake last night, I researched worrying. And for my fellow worriers out there, I have collected a few resources to help you get comfortable with worry, too.

http://www.webmd.com/ – sure to have every possible diagnosis for every arcane symptom you may have
http://www.yogajournal.com/ – the pose finder on the left side of the main page allows you to put in the problem that’s ailing you so you can find poses to alleviate it
http://www.suzeorman.com/ – she has all the answers – love life, financial life. She a straight-shooter and she’s entertaining.

And my favorite…
http://www.reallyworried.com/ – this website allows you type in what you’re really worried about – ANYTHING – and you’ll get real advice from real people. When I have some time, I am going to go through it and see if I can answer anyone else’s worries. In Buddhism, there is a tenant that says, “provide for another what it is you seek for yourself”. So if I want to worry less, maybe what I really need to do is help someone else worry less.

You may also enjoy this one: http://www.letitout.com/. This is the guerilla advertising campaign my Kleenex that encourages people to let their emotions show. I’ve fallen so much in love with these commercials and the sentiment behind them that I almost purchased a blue couch of my very for my new apartment.

When all else fails, I look at a quote by Mark Twain that I keep taped up next to my desk. “The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter.” If I can’t make the worry go away, then the least I can do is have a good time with it. I’ll never be the personification of serenity, though I can at least have moments of it.

Life

Just Another Trip to the Public Restroom….

Christa Avampato

I should have known that this was the right business for me long ago. I could be wearing a paper bag during an afternoon of shopping and invariably, a guest will assume that I work in the store and begin a rapid-fire line of questioning. I was recently buying a couch at Jennifer Convertibles, minding my own business, examining the cushions of a floor model. A woman comes out of the restroom (apparently marked “employees only”) and begins to explain that she was given permission to use it so I have no right to yell at her. I said, “Why would I care whose bathroom you use?” “Oh, I thought you worked here.” Literally, I was wearing cut off gym shorts, a yoga top and flip-flops. Not what I would call work attire. I guess I have a natural air of knowledge.

Last week, I spent a day working in one of the stores that my company operates, learning the rope on merchandise offered, stocking shelves, talking to customers. This is the part of retail I love because it is an up-close and personal study of human psychology. Every person who walks is another living, breathing specimen of the human condition. And once you put on anything resembling a uniform, every customer assumes you know the answer to any possible question they may have.

After my lunch break, I headed back to the store and into the restroom when I hear someone calling me from behind. “Excuse me. EXCUSE me.” Gosh, I can’t even use the bathroom without someone flagging me down?

“What’s your name?”

“Christa.”

“Hi. I’m Kennedy.”

“Hi, Kennedy. How can I help you (despite the fact that we’re both about 6 inches from a bathroom stall)?”

“Are you a manager at Domino’s pizza?” (huh?)

“No. I work here (which is not Domino’s – not even close).”

“Well you tell Chen that I’ve got his number.” (huh?)

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know anyone named Chen.”

“Oh sure you don’t. I know what you’re all about. These Italians are ruining this country. And you know what else? The Catholics Church is shit, too.”

How did she know I was Italian? How did she know I was raised Catholic? And incidentally, I love pizza despite the fact that I don’t work at Domino’s. Is this woman psycho or psychic? I decide on the former since I don’t know anyone named Chen and she didn’t know my name. Though, I guess even psychics make a few mistakes now and then.

Now Kennedy is pissed. In my face, spitting. This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with people like Kennedy. It helps that my father was a psychoanalyst and often invited his patients to stay for supper when I was a child. People a little left of center always seemed perfectly normal to me. I thought everyone had schizophrenics, people with multiple-personality disorder, and manic depressives as dinner guests. Some college students spend their work-study hours working in the library. Not me – I spent my freshman year of college working in the psychiatric in-patient unit at my university’s hospital. Some people would ask me how on Earth I could handle it – to me it was just another evening at the Avampato family dinner table.

I slowly backed away from Kennedy and headed for the door without using the bathroom. (If you ever find yourself in close quarters with someone missing all of his or her mental faculties, do not put yourself in the position of being in a bathroom stall with your pants down. Too vulnerable, rendering you incapable of making a run for it.) I went out to find one of the store managers. This could be disastrous if a guest was in the same position I had just been in. We needed to get this woman out of the store, quickly.

The store manager laughed when I told him about the event. I was completely confused. “Oh, you just met one of the crazies.” First off, I was worried that there sounded like there was more than one of them floating around. Next, I was worried that they seemed to make a habit out of frequenting this rest room. We camped out by the restrooms, waiting for Kennedy to emerge. After about 15 minutes later, she did. (I still wonder what took her so long. Maybe an argument with the soap dispenser?)
Kennedy sauntered out the front door, taking her sweet time, shouting a few obscenities here and there. No one, not even the guests, seemed to mind. All this time I thought my upbringing was unique, only to find that I guess more people are having dinner with “the crazies” nowadays. My father always used to say that he was a thinker ahead of his time…