Trick - or - (Low Calorie) Treat

Maybe I'm bitter about handing out candy while I eat a Weight Watchers 2 point dessert bar, but this whole holiday has really gone south since my childhood. 

1)  Parents made costumes back then.  My mother transformed me into more of an angel than I already was by altering a gorgeous silver vintage dress from her younger days.  I appreciated her effort so much that 17 years later I took the hem down (sort of) and wore it to a freshman year college Halloween party.  Sorry dad, I'm sure you don't love that story but I was broke.  And mom worked so hard.

2)  Since when is it okay to ask "how many can I take"?  I guess I can appreciate that question since most of my other visitors tonight thought 5 was the bare minimum.

2a) Not surprising since PARENTS dipped their grubby hands in my bowl.  One of my neighbors used to give out pencils and, despite the overwhelming urge to get as many free writing implements as possible, I only took one.  Have some manners.

3)  Speaking of manners, I heard my baby nephew say "thank you" about 15 times yesterday and he doesn't really know what it means yet (well in fairness he's brilliant so maybe he does).  I heard "thank you" today from less than 10%, and they were definitely the ones whose parents beat them on a regular basis.  In a good way, of course. 

4)  I'm all about efficiency, but having a mini van full of kids dropped off in your townhome complex while their parents double park along your street is some major bullshit.  I should probably call the wahmbulance right now for all the township residents whose homes are too large and lawns much too sprawling to have their precious children do something called walking. 

5)  Putting antlers on, or some type of antennae looking headgear is not a legitimate costume.  Neither is a head bandage with a bloody pencil sticking out of your forehead.  That kid who just smiled adorably at me will surely shoot up his high school in a few years.

6)  I really love Twix and think I wear that on my sleeve.  Good kids would take the 3 Musketeers,  shut up and like it. 

7)  I like Starburst second best and they apply to the Twix rule.

8)  If you wear a terrible Harry Potter of the Caribbean hybrid movie looking costume, don't try coming back for more candy after only 10 minutes.  It was unforgettable.

9) A very mismatched parent/child combo just ran my doorbell.  He smiled at me in a way that screamed "I'm going to ring your doorbell myself in a few days just to, um, say hello....oh, and I just abducted this kid from down the block to try picking up women".

10)  A TV commentator at the parade in NY just called Superman and Edward Scissorhands a "crime fighting duo". 

PS - 9pm is my limit.  When some stoned 22 year old Nicki Minaj costume wearer with loose morals and low self esteem considers ringing my bell in two hours with her pillowcase, she better keep walking and hit up the McDonald's a block down the highway.

Howdy Readers!

It's been quite some time since my last post.  I've been pretty busy trying to get a few fun things in before summer's end.  So last weekend, I attended my very first country music concert.

Who knew so many people in the Northeast were fans?  I'm sure a lot of true cowboys would be mortified by the scene in my local football stadium but only out of complete jealousy. While they spend lots of money on their fancy hats, I got a perfectly cute and authentic one at Target.  Okay maybe not authentic but it was cute.

 

At least I didn't look like a member of some traveling twirling troop.  Red hats, really?

But even if my hat was made of human skin and covered in blinking Christmas lights, I would not have competed with some of my fellow concert goers. 

We had the patriotic......

A great way to pay tribute to your country is to remove your super tight tank top, stand on the roof of your SUV in a parking lot and waive your flag.  Oh, and be sure to wear jean shorts.  ALWAYS wear your jorts.

Or better yet, get all your friends together and dress in flag outfits.  Even if your friend is the girl on the right who wore the British flag shirt. At least she stands for something. God bless, um, everyone?

the lame......

This prepster and her husband got hit in the head with beach balls at least 15 times.  Probably because they appeared to be having no fun and brought a zip lock bag of what I can only guess was homemade Chex mix.

those who traveled in style...



99% certain their yellow Hummer got lost en route to a Snookie appearance.  Bummer.

I will never make fun of anyone who drives a pickup.  In fact, they're pretty sexy.  Unless you turn the bed into your very own portable cesspool.  I mean, swimming pool.

the trend setters.....

Alcohol can create the most unlikely of pairs.  But I'd be really interested in knowing how Boat Shoes got together with Half Jean/Half Fake Leather Boots Lady.  Maybe on the fried butter line at a county fair...or she was just a hooker. 

Even if my foot was run over by a car 10 minutes before the concert, I would smash that thing into an actual shoe.  There is nothing cute or funny about tiger shaped slippers in public.  Or anywhere really unless you're a toddler.

and finally, the fans of more than just country music....

A true fan would display that work of art somewhere more visible.  Unless, of course,  he freely removed his pants for strangers on a regular basis. 




 Best Dressed Award goes to this guy, hands down. He is my hero.



Born on the Fourth of July

One of my besties delivered her first little guy on Cinco de Mayo of this year.  There are photos of him, sleeping soundly, wearing a stick-on mustache and sombrero to prove it.  I totally supported the idea - how cute!  Plus as the victim of a holiday birthday, I feel all of us should suffer through that type of experience at least once.

Today is my birthday - the Fourth of July.  And while I have some great memories of this day, there's a few that I can only appreciate years later. 

When I was a kid, my father told me the fireworks were for me.  I spent a few too many years thinking he paid off some guy to shoot them in the air to celebrate the birth of an angel.  (If you've ever met my dad, he looks like someone who "knows a guy" so it was entirely possible.)   Thankfully I kept that to myself  - it would have been social suicide.  Like those kids who believed in Santa until they were 16. 

My mother put sparklers on my cake even thought I was scared of them.  I have such vivid memories of her telling me they weren't dangerous and swishing her hand right through the sparkly fire.  Today on the news I heard they're 2000˚ (which sounds impossible - the sun is 10,000˚) so that was probably a bad idea.  Mom, don't be mad that I told that story.   I'm way too old for DYFUS to track you down.  Plus I looked through every childhood album and there is no photographic evidence.  Smart move.

But better than those two, was the absolute childhood trama that was the Spring of 1986 when I was dressed up like a makeshift Statue of Liberty in front of my entire school.

First time I've left my face in a photo - the facial expression is too priceless to ruin. 

I'm all about developing our youth with creative subliminal learning, but it would have been fine to have me recite parts of the Declaration of Independence. I can only assume my hair was cut that way to really get me into the role.

That is a towel from our guest bathroom and thankfully I have clothes on underneath it.  The 80s were a very loose time in American history so it could have been worse.

Interestingly enough, that torch is buried in the lawn of our grammar school in the form of a time capsule.  At least once a year, I tell my childhood pals that I plan to serve as the Master of Ceremonies when they dig it up.  And you bet your ass I'll be wearing a one shoulder towel dress.

The Desk

Nothing like starting a Monday with absolutely no access to your computer.  Especially when you need to call The Desk.  I decided to drop the prefix "Help" some time in 2005 because they're helpful about 0% of the time.

I'm not sure what type of fancy PR consultant chose their hold music, but it actually gives the impression they'll solve your problem.  It's a very energetic piano ballad - a cross between the theme songs from Family Ties and a Lifetime Original Movie about a child who overcomes blindness, dyslexia and homelessness.  It almost makes you  feel like skipping through a field of sunflowers.....until it becomes apparent that same tune played about 19 times while you were waiting on hold.

At first I was enthusiastic because my situation was "escalated" to Level 2 support.  That means they really care.  Much to my chagrin, they sound exactly the same as Level 1 and there is no clear distinction between their skill levels.  Jesus Christ himself is probably somewhere around Level 53 - maybe one day I'll have a problem bad enough to achieve that level of support.   But for today it was the guy who put me on hold and forgot to put the music back on.  I was no longer inspired to skip through a field.

For those of you who never experienced the joy of having someone "remote" into your computer, you might want to try it one day.  Especially if you enjoy staring at a screen while people click around and do the same things you tried 482 times before calling.  It's similar to when my husband has too many drinks, sneaks up behind me and operates my arms like I'm a puppet to amuse party guests.  You just stand there lifeless and pray it's over quickly.

And by they way, they get very angry when you try regaining control of your computer while they're troubleshooting.  Today I saw this -

One time I clicked on a similar message and pornographic images installed all over my desktop...at work.  But this time I was willing to take the chance.

So I clicked and followed directions.  Level 2 was very pissed.  Apparently I was supposed to sit quietly and stop touching things.  And good thing I did, because he was a technical expert. After asking for my password (which I do believe is the equivalent of pulling up in a van outside an elementary school and asking me to jump in to help find your lost puppy), I unwillingly handed it over.  He then actually had the nerve to simply type my password into the log in screen about 30 times.  I guess he didn't think I was smart enough to understand how the keyboard on my laptop works.  Nor did he think I tried that before.  This coming from a man who actually asked if I wanted "access to my entire computer".

Yes sir, yes I do.  And telling me that you'll email me when my access is reinstated is not helpful because my f*cking email doesn't work. 

After 4 hours of intermittent access, the issue was resolved.  This evening I received 4 surveys from The Desk. And they all contained this nifty image -

Well guess what, Desk?  I'll fill out all your surveys, no squandering here.  But the fact that I got 4 surveys to match the 4 times I had to call in one day will probably bring your customer service stats down.

Bloggerazzi

Yes, I realize it's completely obnoxious to take pictures of unsuspecting people.  It's the worst when I make friends and family pretend to pose while I secretly photograph things going on behind them.

But on my recent vacation to the Hard Rock in Punta Cana, I felt I was entitled.  Vacation should be all about me, and it was.   Plus, let's be honest - America is bad enough, but some things you experience outside our borders require a permanent record.  Here's a few of my favorites -

 

No, you are not seeing double. Two women (neither of which should be wearing horizontal stripes), in matching dresses at the airport.  My husband's "OMG, I got the BEST dress at Burlington Coat Factory.  OMG, I ALSO got the BEST dress at Burlington Coat Factory" comment was very amusing.

The archery instructor was absolutely the same person who served me a steak and performed in the center of a bad ass dance circle the prior night .  It's entirely possible he's skilled at all things vacation, but drunk people should not be shooting arrows unless they've been trained  by a professional.  One of the pools was not far away from that target.  (If someone was hit in the face with an arrow, I'd be all over it with my Canon Powershot.)

She's 60 - I know for sure because my husband befriended someone in her vacation brigade who mentioned it.  I felt stupid when he told me the same story moments after my capturing her Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover shoot.  She looked great for her age but what exactly was the plan for these pictures?  Oh, my blog?  Awesome, thanks for that.

There are two things wrong with this picture -

1- That guy actually videotaped the entire Hibachi-style meal preparation, all 982 courses they cook on that grill.  Where has it been all his life?  We all love the onion volcano but I do not love it enough to watch the footage ever again.

2- His video camera was probably the reason airlines require you to pay for luggage now.  I think it was bigger than my suitcase. 

It's bad enough when adults get their hair braided by beach drifters, (if you're one of those people, please stop doing that) but there's no need for island themed jewelry to show co-workers you went on a trip.  Just get tan like the other normal members of society.  But if you insist, it's probably not wise to wear your giant starfish necklace in the sun.  Having that image reverse burned into your skin might be worse than discovering you became pregnant with the breakfast buffet omelette chef's baby after 8 margaritas.

It was a lovely trip, I swear.  Although I did miss some great photo opportunities seeing as there wasn't massive world destruction on the 21st of May.  Imagine if a tsunami ripped the bathing suits off some of those pool dwellers?  They were holding on for dear life already - strings and spandex can only take so much before they give up.

Suck It Up

I misplace everything.  My wedding vows should have included him accepting that, at any given moment, his possessions might go missing.  Forever.

I don't like admitting it, but there is zero logic behind my frequent relocation of items.  Not long ago, I found a handset to our home telephone, face down in the kitchen sink. After laughing at myself and taking this picture, I accidentally left it there for another hour.  Why promptly remove electronic devices from sources of water?

Do not judge me - I clean that sink regularly.  A few noodles never killed anyone.

Two weeks ago,  the vacuum went missing.  Since the lovely women who clean our house on a bi-weekly basis purchased my same vacuum as a backup, I figured they took it home in error. After checking all the usual places (not the sink, that would just be ridiculous - or would it?), I gave up.  So on cleaning day, I left them a note.  And here was their response -

Easter would've been nicer with freshly cleaned carpets.  Just saying.

So I call them, assuming they misunderstood my VERY clear note.  Not the stick vacuum, but the full-sized one. Keep up, people...we are losing time.  I have (zero) vacuuming to do.

Before their next visit,  I sent an email to my husband with detailed instructions on how to address this issue in person.  He was working from home that day.  I said -

(Good luck having that conversation - remember, they bought the same one as a backup which is why I thought they might have taken it accidentally)

So for the second time, they are approached about taking my vacuum. And for the second time they confirm this did not happen. Now I'm just perplexed and fairly annoyed. 

Fast forward about 3 hours.  I am driving home from work, 90 minutes of terrible traffic. I'm tired and starving.  Husband is in a rush and calls asking if I've seen his car keys.  At first, I said no. Then knowing me, I looked around and realized I took them to work with me.  Along with my own keys.  No clue why.

(Insert fighting and texting.  He was mad that I was "inconsiderate".  I was mad that he called me inconsiderate - maybe irresponsibly scattered and a kidnapper of his stuff, but not inconsiderate!)

After running into the house and avoiding him, I basically walk directly into the missing vacuum.  Someone apparently put it in the middle of our dining room. I pretended like I didn't see it.  (It's red, and it's a vacuum.  Impossible to miss.)


Fast forward again, this time 1 hour.  Text appears on my phone - "Was that the missing vacuum in the dining room?"  Such a smart ass, I was so tempted to say "No, I've never seen that one in my life".  He found it in the garage (or so he says).

I should probably apologize to the people I accused (twice) of stealing my vacuum.  But honestly, I just don't feel like it.   I tried to apologize to my husband this week - a general one targeted at years of stolen/misplaced items.  Then I found out I borrowed something of his and left it in a completely stupid place again.  I tried.

Bad Hare Day

Earlier this week I had a dream that a hot pink Easter Bunny strangled me on my front lawn while my mom photographed it.  This is not surprising since the concept is totally weird.

I stole this picture from a Facebook friend and cropped out her kids. (I did ask her first although she had no choice regardless.)

Not bad.   That costume is good enough to ignore the likelihood of him being a pedophile

Here's the only picture I have of my childhood with me and the Easter Bunny -

I'm surprised I didn't try canceling the entire holiday after this.

WTF is that?  I understand things modernize but I'm sure people knew what a rabbit looked like 25 years ago.  The sad thing is that my parents probably paid for me to attend this event.  I'm actually wearing a party dress. Sorry Mom and Dad but you dropped the ball on this one.  I think you missed the invitation's fine print where it clearly stated they would not guarantee a legitimate bunny.  (I'm 99% certain this guy made an appearance on "To Catch a Predator" since then.)

Maybe I just don't remember, but does the Easter Bunny even have a story?  The Santa logistics are solid (if you are good parent, capable of answering any question a child has) but what is this guy's deal?  At least Santa asks what you want for Christmas.  I highly doubt the Easter Bunny asks what you want in your basket. Does he even speak?  Truthfully, I'm not sure what would be more traumatic - a conversation with a giant talking rabbit or an uncomfortably silent 3 minutes in the clutches of a filthy theme park character?

Parents, give your kids a break if they run screaming through the mall to avoid spending time with him.  And if they question his authenticity, just hand them some jelly beans and pretend you didn't hear the question.

Courage...Confidence...Character?

Enough with the bullshit, Girl Scouts of America.  Do I really need your inspirational words on my cookie boxes?  Just say what you really mean....cash...cash....cash.  Or maybe just cardio, calories and cellulite in my case.

The cookie selling badge.  That image should be replaced with a giant dollar sign.  Or a pig on a treadmill.

I never felt confident or courageous in my horrible scout outfit, especially since it was the 80's and my mom cut my hair super short.  (It's shocking how much a 6 year old can look like David Bowie given the right amount of hairspray.)

Boy, things have changed in the world of developing America's youth.  Being a girl scout back in my day was like training for an Ironman Competition.  We didn't just sit in front of the grocery store selling cookies to people who just bought other cookies five minutes prior. I remember hustling around the neighborhood for weeks selling to neighbors.  My family didn't buy 400 boxes while I sat at home on my ass.  I actually SOLD cookies.  Apparently I sold enough to still remember not one but 2 former names of Samoas (Caramel Delites and Jubilee).  And nobody was afraid of  kidnapping or child molesters.   As long as I made money for their organization, they were totally comfortable having me ring doorbells in a skirt and thigh high socks.  

Yes, that's me.  A trend setter at the tender age of 6.  Only girl with brown socks.

Why was I walking over a wooden bridge while 5 other people watched?   Probably part of a giant obstacle course.  I bet that leader was using a stopwatch to time us all.  Slowest ones kicked out of the troop - can't risk losing out on cookie sales during peak season by sending out a fat kid or one with asthma.  

According to their website -

Q: Who can sell Girl Scout Cookies?
A: All girl members, including Girl Scout Daisies, may participate in the Girl Scout Cookie Activity. Although parents and Girl Scout adults may assist girls, it is the girl who closes the sale, sets learning and sales goals, and learns the entrepreneurial skills that are part of the program.

Really? I bought mine off a colleague's desk.  Her kids didn't even show up to hand them out and thank me for my contribution. 

Apparently each "Girl Scout troop will earn $.55 for every box of cookies the troop sells."   Troops decide together how to best use their proceeds from completing a community service project to taking a trip.

If I am ever a troop leader, it's not a group decision.  Top seller decides. Everyone else either comes along for the ride or stays home.  Bad enough every kid who plays tee ball these days gets a trophy, even if they suck and their team comes in last.


I will continue to support their cause simply because toasted coconut + chocolate + caramel = heaven
But they might be forced to hear stories about my days at Girl Scout camp before it had Wi-Fi.

To All the Girls I've Loved Before....

(No, I was never a lesbian.  Sorry to disappoint readers who assumed this would be a confession about my secret former life.)

I just realized Administrative Professionals Week is nearing.  Great time to reflect on the fact that my track record with coordinators/administrative assistants has been worse than Murphy Brown's.  And yes, I'm dating myself by mentioning a TV show from the 90s but it was one of my favorites.  And for those of you who are too young or lame (sorry to my UK friends who have no clue what the hell I'm talking about) to get the reference - Pee Wee Herman was her 76th secretary and turned out to be the best one.  Get my point?

If Pee Wee ever rode into my office on his big red bike and reported for duty, I'd probably be thrilled. Chances are it would have been a serious improvement from what I was dealing with. 

Frankly, I might even settle for this version of him.  Everybody makes mistakes.

I am not a snob nor do I currently have someone in that capacity.  But there have been times that my job required some coordination behind the scenes.  And when it has, I've typically shared that resource with a number of people equally as unfortunate as I was.

My last coordinator supported a fairly large group of people.  After she had a near mental breakdown in the office, I confiscated her badge and computer and sent her home (with instructions not to come back).  I had absolutely no authority to do this but figured I was doing the company a service.  Nobody ever thanked me but they probably just forgot to. She has not answered any of my texts since that week.  I hope she's okay.

The one before her was, shall I say seasoned?  Is that the politically correct term for someone too old to understand how voicemail works?  She told me it was too complicated to record an outgoing greeting "through the computer".  I'm not even sure what type of logic led her down that path but I guess it was no surprise.  Technology was not her best friend.  She had a folder in her email inbox titled "email".  Aren't they all emails?

This is the actual phone.  Not very confusing in my opinion.

During a conversation about my codeine cough medicine, she actually asked if I had ever been under the influence of a controlled substance.  At least she was thoughtful enough to suggest that I buy prunes because it might cause constipation.  Real bonding moment.

One thing about the two I just described - very nice people.  And I can usually tolerate nice and crazy.  It's the bitchy/crazy ones that I have no time for.  A while back someone told me she was not doing anything that didn't directly affect her life.  If that doesn't scream team player, I don't know what does.  I was bullied into nominating her for awards just for doing her normal day-to-day job.  It's not much different than giving my dog treats when she shits outside.

Another refused to pay any bills.  And her job was to pay bills, by the way.  Anything she was disinterested in dealing with was my responsibility because I made more money than her.  And that is not an assumption I am making.  She used those exact words once when I asked for her help.  I know my boss is reading this so it's a good time to point out that I agree with her logic.  (Hey, worth a shot.)

So to all you people with more than "adequate" level support staff - buy them a present or bake cookies between April 24-30 at the absolute minimum. And if they, like a special person I remember fondly, say they're above receiving a gift on that day,  just offer to buy lunch.  Then spit in it.

The Devil Wears Shoulder Pads

About three weeks ago, I got an email asking for a story submission about a time "you knew you had to quit your job".   Well, I could not type fast enough.   But after uncovering the fine print (requiring I provide a photo, my name and the company name), I was out.  If my story was published with that level of detail, the person I am about to describe would somehow find out.  And she'd surely kill me.  And probably all of you for (kind of) knowing me.
 
But since I hate wasting a good story.....

"People are crying" is how I described our office environment to my boss.  Poor guy went on unexpected medical leave only a few weeks after my arrival and I tried to be sympathetic. After all, he did bring me there with a level of positivity that few people ever have about a job.  And I actually do like him (oddly enough I work for him again now).  But I was at the end of a very short ledge and, unless I left, I'd surely make the news for doing something drastic.  If I recall correctly, one of my dearest friends gave him a friendly "FUCK YOU" when they met at my wedding. It was hard on everyone.

My torture at this mid-sized Insurance Company lasted 6 long months.  In his absence, I was left in the death grip of a woman who had the chemical makeup of a serial killer. Allow me to paint a quick picture for you - she was a terrorist disguised as an early 90s daytime soap opera star.  Even if someone is brilliant, it's hard to take them seriously with shoulder pads sewn into every one of their outfits. She wore bright red lipstick and was that scary pale only a woman with poison flowing through her veins could be.

So yeah, kind of like this - but she was 10x as horrible of a person. 

And I mean horrible like razor blades in Halloween candy horrible.  In my time spent there, one position turned over 3 times.  3 TIMES.  I don't remember most names/faces after blocking out the memories but at least 10 people quit our department while I was there.  One of which was my friend who left in about 6 weeks.  It was not for the faint of heart.

Sometimes grown women would break down crying in my office.   I'd probably laugh a little at them if didn't also cry myself.   Once after crashing into another driver on my way to work.  The woman I hit screamed at me for taking a second to look at the damage on my own car (probably a friend or relative of the soulless Nazi in my office).    Then once when I had to return to the building at 10pm in my pajamas on Halloween to make sure I locked the door after being the last one out.   With my luck a stapler would have gotten stolen and she'd revoke my bathroom privileges to teach me a lesson.  Not worth the risk.

A few other highlights included being asked to verify my coordinator was pregnant (this was an HR department), being whispered to in meetings with the appropriate things to say out loud, direction on the best font to use on my spreadsheets.  This was not my first job nor did I ever agree with the crap she was feeding me.  But it wasn't worth the energy of fighting back, especially since she typically loved to make you look dumb in a room full of colleagues. One of her victims sent anonymous hate mail to the office highlighting the irony in her ability to judge people while her son's name appeared in the local police blotter.

Always imagined it looking  like one of these scary ransom notes.  Wishful thinking.

The breaking point came when she verbally assaulted me because I was unable to dislodge one of her documents from my printer. I will never know why I was personally responsible for her printing needs but clearly I was the worst possible choice.  I resigned a few weeks later and nobody really asked why.  And it was especially comfortable when she suggested an exit interview in her office.  I sat there sweating for about 45 minutes, confirming her suggestions as to why I was leaving while she wrote down every word.  Being on trial for murder would probably be less stressful.  I swear it probably said I loved it there and was just relocating to another country.

The best part of the entire story is that, years later, someone reported the department as a "hostile work environment" through the Whistleblower Hotline. This led to investigation and ultimately a forced resignation by our fearless leader.  

Last I heard she was employed by an alcoholic beverages distributor.  Since she is not at all fun (drunk or otherwise) I will make the assumption that decision makers were tipping the bottle during her interview process.

Up In the Air

Over the years, I’ve been very fortunate in the airplane neighbor department.   (A quick nod to my electrician – a blog follower and lovely person who I met on a flight around 2008.  He and his friend saved my life while we were trapped on the runway for 3 hours with no food. Well, they had no food after I ate their entire bag of mini Oreos without technically asking.)

I know, "golden Oreos" sound gross. But beggars can't be choosers. 

This week, however, my luck changed.  My airplane neighbor was horrendous.  Zero chance of the trip ending in an exchange of contact information and misty eyes/sad hearts while passing through customs.  Sometimes you just know things won't go well, and I knew right away.

We were on flight to Heathrow in seats facing one other.  Our introduction started when he proceeded to remove his shoes in my section then throw all his items through my seating area into his.  A simple solution would probably include walking to his own seat and just placing them down. He told me "I feel like I'm in a prison" - this was funny because he had an empty seat to his right and also apparently had ample room to stretch body parts into my comfort zone to the left.

As long as you cough when the shutter goes off, they can't tell.

Just in case you are wondering, there is no better time to unbutton your shirt and scratch yourself for at least ten minutes, freeing mountains of chest hair (sans undershirt of course). The next logical step is to recline the seat and relax, making sure to fully expose your sweaty pit stains.  Then when you enter your Zen-like state, you should use the hot towel to wipe your sweaty face dramatically and enjoy a quick snort/cough combination into it. Then promptly place it on top of our divider so I can hope it will fall and grace me with traces of your DNA.

Did I mention he smelled?  And not even of body odor but like cologne that is only applied before a Middle School Dance.  And not by the kids.  By the janitor who is trying to pick up a single mom in the parking lot.  My nephews wouldn’t even wear that crap. But hey, at least he got his moneys' worth because that scent lingered for a solid 7 hours.

I'm glad there was something stuck in his beard, deep on the bottom under his chin, because at that angle I could see it clearly from my seat.  I really had to flex my mental muscles to try guessing what it could be.   For you wrestling fans, picture Captain Lou Albano…but this was not an elastic band.  It was definitely a crumb from breakfast or some type of soap-like residue that has been forming a ball for a few weeks.

When this guy's beard is more manicured than yours, it's time to take a hard look at your life.

The suffering stopped as soon as I got the green light to raise the partition separating our faces.  Until, of course, the damn thing wouldn’t stay up.  So not only did I tell this guy he was gross by way of opaque shield but I had to hold it up for 10 minutes figuring out what was wrong with it.  He finally reached over and pulled it into lock position himself.  And yes, it’s slightly uncomfortable when you require help with the hiding process from the person you are trying to hide from.  It’s sort of like asking a guy during a bad date to please delete your phone number/email promptly and not to try finding you on Facebook.

Luckily I made it home with no grossness in the adjacent seats.  But be certain that if he was even in my row, I would have screamed "rape".

"Where's the Rest of Ya?"

56.

My boss believes it's the age when people are allowed to say/do whatever they want.

Interesting answer since I always reserved that type of behavior for 80+.  After 8 decades of life, I want the option to be complete insane and wear tacky clothing if I so choose.   But 56?  Last time I checked, that isn't even old (although as a kid I actually thought most people died in their 50s).

I asked him the question based purely on the fact that, more and more, I am encountering ballsy old people.  Maybe I'm less tolerant from having no living grandparents since 2nd grade.  But there is clearly a point where all socially accepted behavior becomes a thing of the past.  (We all got temporary exemptions on Spring Break trips, in case you were wondering.)

Apparently the writers of Family Guy agree with me.

A few years back I actually had to switch rows on an airplane because a old woman said "she really needed" my seat.  She just decided that being old gave her the right to claim it and refused to get up.  Saying she'd consider switching later in the flight did not make up for my new spot in the middle seat, by the way.  (Although I really didn't need to sit near my husband en route to an island trip for our anniversary.  Good thing I was not at all supported by the flight crew.)

I'm sure there are things they don't fully understand - for example, the concept of therapy dogs. Back in the day, nobody offered you a Golden Retriever for support during difficult times.  You were either beaten into normalcy with a wooden spoon or sent away to "summer camp".  So why was I surprised watching an old dude in a velour sweatsuit and sunglasses (inside the mall) point and stare at a lady and her dog? Eventually he approached her and I cringed.  I can't imagine how the conversation went since it was awkward enough to watch from 20 feet away.  Probably something like "What is wrong with you?  Are you blind?  I'm 93 and can walk without a dog.  He shouldn't be near the food court."  

Unless you are no longer capable of making rational decisions (as determined by your doctor and/or children).

Since the transformation from perky boobs to wrinkled skin bags is so gradual, do they not notice the difference in their physical appearance? Unlikely since they are typically the first people to point out things that are wrong with everyone else.  A total stranger in Nordstrom (982 years old at the absolute youngest) asked me how I was able to wear the heels I was trying on "with that bunion". Until that point, I thought my feet were fine.

I know we're all not getting any younger and will be the same way eventually.  But please, when appropriate, keep your old people on leashes and don't let them out after dark unattended.

**While writing this post, I got an email about a grandmother who attempted to smuggle a butcher knife onto an airplane.  The excuse was that she uses it to sharpen her eyebrow pencil.  (She gets a lifetime pass in my book because that is actually awesome.)

Attention Perverts and Pedophiles!

If you are interested in confiscating a complete stranger's photos and online albums, it's quite simple. 

Yesterday, I tried to access an online photograph storage account I've had for many years.  The email address is not something I use anymore and I forgot the password.  Match made in hell.

To log me in, they asked online validation questions I could not answer.  The nickname of my oldest child?   Is that a joke?  They actually claimed I added that as a security question on June 3, 2009. Um, I doubt it since I have no children and my dog has 9000 nicknames I would be embarrassed to admit out loud other than to her.

 @#$()*&#@$@#(*$&)@#$&

I emailed their Customer Support team and here's part of the response I got -

"We will invite you to contact us via telephone so we can ask security questions about the account and determine that you are the owner, once we have reviewed that you are the owner of the account we will gladly update the E-mail address of your account so you can access it."

Great! More complicated trivia questions!  Metric conversions?  Periodical table of the elements?  Or maybe they should just ask why I have no nickname for my oldest child or why I have no children yet period. 

I assumed this would not go well but called anyway.

I was on hold for over 30 long minutes after selecting the "questions about the website" option. Apparently lots of other people forgot the town where their grandmother's neighbor was born (or something equally as ridiculous).  When I finally got a representative,  the pictures were transferred from my old email address to my new one in under 5 minutes.   He then (shockingly) validated my lack of confidence in Customer Service Reps by asking that I log in with my new email address and old password.  Hey, remember when I called because I LOST MY EFFING PASSWORD?  Pay attention or you won't get that promotion to Sr. Customer Service Rep you've been telling all your friends about.

I will admit, the process was fairly painless.  So I should be thrilled, right?
  
Not so much.  This was done with absolutely NO validation of my identity.  Comforting to know that pictures from my bachelorette party and birth of my nephew could easily be the property of, well, basically anyone.  Hopefully this guy wasn't trained at some giant school for budding Customer Service Professionals.  If he was, someone out there might actually own my car.  Or my house.  Or my body after I die.

Way to go, (rhymes with Adirondack) ______ Gallery! 




Yes, please give this guy unlimited access to the last 10 years of my life in easy-to-download images.



Mirror, Mirror Near the Stall

I'm sure some very important people selected the Seven Wonders of the World as we know them today.  Unfortunately, the ball was dropped with their omission of one critical location -

The women's bathroom on the 1st floor of Building A at my place of employment.

For starters, I walked in last week to find a magnifying mirror adhered to the regular old full length mirror.  Men, I hate to creep you out here but women use those things in the privacy of their own homes to extract stubborn pimples and pluck hairs that could not possibly be seen by the naked eye.  You do not need 10x magnification to put on lipstick in the office.  If you do, go visit a doctor because you are legally blind.  If I see someone using that mirror for something disgusting, I will rip it off the God damn wall and smash it on the floor.   I mean it.

Why find out how ugly you really are up close at work?  Save it for your own house.  And bring wine.

The funny thing is that I doubt facilities came up with this brilliant idea.  So who had the balls to customize the workplace restroom?  I'm certain a random employee thought they were entitled to make this personal accommodation and stuck it up there.  And good thing they did....clearly it will come up under the "initiative" category in their performance review.

I would not be surprised if the woman who made eye contact with me, said hello, then sat down NEXT to me (there are 9 stalls and they were all empty) and explosively farted 10 times in a row will be found retiling the floors next week.  Hell, why not change the fixtures to suit her needs?  Make it your happy place.  You are already comfortable enough to let it all out while people are just trying to peacefully pee and run.

I didn't stick around for longer than I had to, but I suspect it looked something like this.

But most interesting, and what is unfortunately becoming a nationwide epidemic....cell phone conversations on the toilet.  In the office?  Really?  Play a game of Angry Birds on the bowl in your own house but do not schedule doctors appointments from in there.  You have a desk phone, feel free to use it.  I insist.  And if the call is so damn personal, why call from the toilet?  We can all see your shoes, it's not like there's a big mystery if you hide in a stall.

We have several phone offenders...the one who throws her pants all the way to the floor so they are lying on the tile (and according to a very special episode of the Oprah Winfrey Show, bathroom floors are actually dirtier than toilet seats) and chats away regularly. 

But my personal favorite is The Pregnant Girl with the Bluetooth Headset. 

Not only does she roam around with it in her ear all hours of the day, but she wears it into the bathroom.  She frequents the private handicapped stall and has extended conversations with family and friends.   And, without making myself look like a total weirdo, I often wonder what's going on in there since I witness this regularly.

Yes, this is the actual bathroom.  Nothing says inviting quite like a sign indicating the toilet doesn't flush automatically.

So here's my question....where exactly are you having the 30 minute conversions on your cell phone?  There is no chair in there other than the one with the big watery hole.  I like to think she stands next to the paper towel dispenser and uses the safety bar as an armrest.  If she sits on the floor (vomit), she should definitely be fired.  And immediately after delivery, the hospital should confiscate her baby because she makes very poor decisions.  (Although she spends so much time in there, chances are he/she will be born in that very bathroom.) 

Feel free to share your stories............

Shitake Happens

For a girl who hates costumes and Halloween, I sure do like event-inspired tee shirts for certain occasions.  To celebrate the NYC Marathon two years ago, I ironed clever phrases on 3 shirts. Why not embarrass my friends right along with me?

And yes, matching undershirts were also in attendance.

When I was 26, I actually made myself a tee shirt in marker to wear the day I got my wisdom teeth pulled.  I was terrified and thought it would be inspirational and make me laugh when the panic set in. Totally backfired -

1) The marker fumes were so bad I probably didn't even need anesthesia to knock me out
2) I wore it under a zipped sweatshirt because, after all, it really was only for me
3) My mother, finding this funny, tried to show the doctor when I was half passed out. 
4) Unrelated point but I was so out of it that I took the teeth home and told my now husband he should wear them on a necklace to our wedding.  (And yes, I realize how weird that is.  Surprising he still showed up at the church...sans tooth necklace.)

So for a recent trip to Napa with The Redhead (her first and she was SUPER excited), I figured shirts were in order. And I knew the EXACT place to order from.   A cute website with food/drink themed gifts and clothes, owned by the mother of a reality TV casting director I once met at a taping  (Not exactly my claim to fame but that's a story for another day).  When I met her she was was wearing a shirt that said....

I knew that day I'd order something eventually.  I love intelligent humor.

I ordered two shirts -

(her current living arrangement)

(part of my mantra for  2011)

Both were offered in only Maroon (as validated by the drop-down menu) and I went with our typical sizes.  I received confirmation my order was processed.  I then sent a response email about how I'd heard of them and how cute the website was.  I am actually thoughtful, believe it or not.

I waited by the mail like a kid looking for college acceptance letters.  Every day, no shirts.  Day before trip, no shirts.  After unsuccessfully trying the phone number (which was temporarily disconnected), I fired off my first email to customer service -

to          info@wearable____,com date      Fri, Jan 28, 2011 at 11:32 AM subject  my order

Hi,

I placed an order over a week ago. I planned on bringing two shirts on a trip this weekend and they're not here.  I tried calling your phone number and it has been temporarily disconnected.  I'm pretty disappointed.  Any update?

 

Three more days, nothing.  Second email -

to          info@wearable____,com date      Fri, February 4, 2011 at 5:14 PM subject my order (and my SECOND email)

Hi Wearable ____________,

Not sure what's going on over there but it's been 2 weeks, no tee shirts and your number is now permanently disconnected.  The vacation I ordered these shirts for was last week so I'm not sure what to do.  Plus you already charged my credit card.

Is anyone planning on answering?  I sure hope so since your website is very much open to taking orders.

Third email -

to          info@wearable____,com date      Tues, Feb 8, 2011 at 7:18 PM subject  Your ______ are NOT wearable

Three weeks, three emails, zero responses - good thing I have all sorts of free time to dispute the charge on my credit card.

I see other people have been posting Internet complaints about never receiving their products.  This makes me very confident I'll be receiving mine. I'd like to turn off my phone and stop responding to emails but we all know that's an asshole thing to do.  I guess you see no issue with it.

I was ready to call Citicards when I  received a package in my mailbox.  Well thankfully these shirts did NOT arrive on time and I packed an alternate outfit.  Not only are they so ugly (and randomly PINK with burgundy shoulders/trim - they look like little league uniforms) but they're SO SMALL and basically sleeveless.   I would not consider myself blessed in the boob category and the letters still stretched out the minute I put it on.  Plus, while the weather was lovely, it would surely be frowned upon if half my stomach was exposed any time I raised my arm to toast at the wineries.

Shitake does happen.  But I did not deserve this level of shitake for being nice enough to support a small business.  Next time I get my lazy ass back to the ironing board and make them myself. 

These Boots are Made for Stalking

I should have steered clear of celebrity nonsense after my very first star sighting.  I met Championship Boxer Joe Frazier about 25 years ago on a vacation at the Jersey Shore.  If someone is important enough to autograph my restaurant menu, they should really promote literacy by being able to spelling "boxer" correctly. It is probably embarrassing when an impatient 6 year old has no issue correcting you.

He totally got a pass on my name, but there is no "C" or "Z" in the spelling of his occupation.

Two and a half decades later, I'd consider myself a lukewarm follower of most things celebrity.  I watch Access Hollywood and read the occasional trash magazine.  I've been excited by having my picture taken with them and have even joined several Facebook pages honoring the rich and famous.  But what separates me from the (crazy) masses is my disinterest in stalking them or writing notes on their pages hoping they will respond and have Christmas dinner with my family. 

Today, however,  I thought it might be fun to briefly enter the world of obsessed fans.  I logged onto Facebook and pulled up one of my "liked" fan pages -

Reality TV Star status update - (453,888 page followers)

Praying for snow so I can wear my new snowboots! 

Over 400 comments and 602 "likes".  What are we liking, people?  Her boots?  Not possible since I wasted an unsuccessful 10 minutes searching for a picture of them. Maybe her status update?  It would get just as much approval if she said  "I am about to take a giant shit on your face".   Nobody seemed to realize their idol was NOT responding, even after hundreds of people begged her to do so.  "Show us your boots, we're dying to see them!"  (sigh) 

So I jumped in and posted lucky number 434 -   

Me - I find it absolutely fascinating that a comment about celebrity snow boots has 433 people interested enough to talk about it. (This will likely be followed by hate mail and my removal from  the (celebrity name) fan page but it's just mind blowing).2 minutes ago 1 

And yes, I "liked" my own comment.  Someone had to!

Immediately followed by -

K. Sanchez - NoooooNoooo! Lol 3 minutes ago ·1 

I also "liked" her comment because she was the only one who seemed to appreciate mine.

The best part?  I basically told these people they were crazy and it went unnoticed.  They just continued to talk about the weather and her boots.....

K. L. King - Come to Lees Summit Missouri, we have plenty of snow and I would love to see your new snowboots!  

(Sure you would...then you'll murder her and put them in a glass case in your living room along with her mittens and scarf.)

The nonsense went on and on.  So, purely for my own amusement, I decided to take it to a new level -

Me - If we're still talking about snow and/or snow boots, I love mine. Check them out!  

(And I posted a link to a photo of my own boots.)

Over an hour and not one person "liked" my boots. Whatever, I know they're adorable.

 
I got bored and switched to another page where a pregnant celebrity posted that she was in Hawaii.  And, to my utter amazement, she provided her actual location.  Not someone big enough for a giant entourage of security, plus she was on a romantic vacation with her husband.

The thread had a whopping 500+ responses.  If I were her, I'd do my best to place the one person who said "OMG, I'm actually heading to that exact place this week!" on some sort of terrorist no-fly list.   Selena's Fan Club President shot her outside her own apartment building - a secluded beach is probably way more risky.

This very apartment, actually. Not that she was asking for it but I'd avoid spending time there if I was unarmed.

If you are one of these people, it might be a good idea to dial it back just a little.   I walked in their shoes for at least 2 hours and it's not fun.  In fact, it's sort of creepy.  Losing sleep waiting for responses to postings like "I just NEED to know if this show is real" is ridiculous.  Let me help you out...it's not.  Time for a new hobby.

Flurry Worry

Once again, there will be snow.  Kill me.

If you look closely, you can actually see the millions of Americans flooding grocery stores to buy every available loaf of bread.  Don't they know Chinese food delivery guys will risk their lives for an order over 15 bucks? 

Bad weather makes people crazy.  And since everyone is already a little bit crazy, it just brings out the worst in them.   I hate being trapped indoors (which we say is fun with kids and spouses but it definitely makes people drink).  Some of us curse airlines for canceling flights.   My husband is off to Toronto for the night...I'll probably see him again at some point in March. 

Along with the crazy behavior is a systemic, cultural inability to shut up about it all.  And unfortunately, the cold also dulls creativity.   Today I saw what appeared to be an impromptu competition of car thermometer pictures on Facebook.  I'd venture to guess that at least half of them felt safe taking the photo then uploading while driving.  Meanwhile, 14 flakes later they'll be unable to drive because that's much too dangerous.  I'm not sure who won the eventual award for lowest temperature, but I guess congratulations are in order.  I'm sure your 3º felt WAY colder than his 7º.

Upon further review of super-exciting weather chit-chat, I saw the word "balmy" used by 7 people. I have to point out that 1) I'm perfectly fine knowing I've never used the term before in my life and 2) everyone who did just probably saw it on some else's page, did a dictionary.com validation, then stole it. In the spirit of Facebook cohesiveness, I'm shocked nobody has used their thermometer photo as a profile picture to promote solidarity in this difficult time.

They left out the tiny blue sliver representing me.  I disappointingly browse Facebook for interesting status updates to comment on. There are never any!

I guess Facebook nonsense is better than the weather commentary on the news during our last storm.  I saw a woman being interviewed who recently moved from Phoenix to Manhattan.  She actually said, on national television, that she was "terrified of the snow."  She looked like she might cry, standing on the street in every conceivable winter accessory, talking to a reporter.  I felt bad for her.  Not that she's afraid of snow (that is just a RIDICULOUS thing to say, it's not nuclear fallout) but that she admitted it TV.  So much for her dating life in the new city. "Everyone, I'd like you all to meet my new girlfriend.  She's afraid of snow."  I know my mother would have fully endorsed my brother taking a trip down the aisle with that girl.

24 hours left until the East Coast is paralyzed again.  For my sake, and the sake of others, please stock up on booze and creative discussion topics.   It's fine to post pictures of your kids in the snow, but you don't need to label them "Johnny in the snow." (We get it, promise.)  And don't forget shovels and gloves.....although I did fully enjoy watching people stomp out of Target after complaining  there were none left during a blizzard in mid January.  Clearly their fault, nothing to do with your lack of proactivity.

Safe travels!