Category Archives: Laughter

Bigger Boobs Please

nature-heart17

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!

The “Kinder Gentler Side” and I went to dinner tonight at a local fish market.  Now before you get the wrong idea, it was one of those restaurants where you can buy your fresh fish at the front counter and then if you so choose….you can opt to dine in the restaurant in the back.  It was quite nice.  The best part….

They don’t rush you out to get the next couple seated so they can make their next $300.

In January, we celebrated our 9 year anniversary and went to Joe’s Stone Crabs – a hugely popular restaurant up on South Beach.  We had heard wonderful things about it so we decided to go for our special night out.  The food was nice.  The down fall?  From the moment you sit down they’re pushing you out the door.

No good.

If I am going to spend nearly $300 on a meal, I want to enjoy the meal.  This isn’t a Happy Meal.  We won’t go back.  It wasn’t enjoyable.  To be rushed from the moment your ass hits the seat to the time your dessert port comes – they should be embarrassed.  They may turn 600 tables a night but you know what?  If I’m paying that price for a meal, I expect it to take longer the 45 minutes.  I expect the wait staff not to push me through like candies on a Lucille Ball conveyor belt episode.   To me, it was a scam.

Tonight, we went to Fish Fish in Aventura.  It was great from the moment we walked in to the moment we left.  2.5 hours.  Our appetizer didn’t run crashing into our salad, which didn’t slide screaming into our entree.  It was fantastic.  It was a leisurely and enjoyable evening.  I was delighted.

Of course, tonight was also Valentine’s so you can imagine….the spectacle.  I saw it all.

Lots of jeans.

Young ladies in short dresses.

Middle aged ladies in short dresses.

Older ladies in short dresses.  Go Nana.

But you know what?  THIS is Miami.  If you’re a woman and you have a pair of legs, chances are, you’re wearing a dress.  Double chances are you’re wearing a dress that is a little ridiculous for you.

Miami is all about butts, boobs and fake…fake….fake….fake.

Fake what?

Lips.

Butts.

Boobs.

Hair.

Nails.

Cheeks.

Eyelashes.

Yes.  You read it….eyelashes.

You name it…..it’s probably fake.  There’s so much silicone on the escalator at that mall that it actually jiggles as moves towards Earth.  The damdest thing I’ve ever seen.  Woman are fighting the jiggle only to replace it with silicone jiggle – cause it’s so much more effective and “healthier.”

Well…. and you don’t have to do anything to maintain it of course.

Damn, I could have had a V8!

Or by this time a 48GG.

I digress, which is so often my problem.

Tonight, I saw all shapes and sizes.  Lady, please.  Don’t wear grey stretch pants.  Not now.  Not ever.  No.  The oversized black, v-neck tee shirt with flashy cowgirl type belt – DOES NOT HELP YOU.

Same goes for you sister, with the oh so small nylon white tank top.  If it’s cutting off the circulation to the upper extremities – and your neck and face is a permanent purple color….that is a danger signal…..not a mating signal.  It’s not attractive to anyone.  Not to mention having to look at your four rolls of fat.  

Michelin pictire of Michelin Mann by carlfbagge

I thought the makers of the Michelin Man advertising campaign only created the one that came with a penis.  Didn’t realize they also created one with a vagina.

Which leads me to say, men….if you don’t look good with a shaved head – don’t do it on purpose.  There are some guys who can pull it off and they look good.  Others figure, why fight the battle of loosing their hair so they decide to shave off whatever hair they have left.

The problem is… if you don’t look good, you appear like penis looking for it’s body.

Just saying.

(See, I digressed again.)

There are a lot of fake things here in Miami.  I’m sure there are lots of fake things in LA, NYC, Fargo…(ok, maybe not)….and other high profile cities world wide.  Juneau, Alaska – not so much.  Sometimes it’s a bit overwhelming.

Take for example, the other day I was at the Bobby Brown make up counter getting new colors and this young girl goes walking by who was gorgeous.  I admire gorgeous woman just as much as any man does.  I admire gorgeous men just as much so don’t get the wrong idea.

She was Amazon tall, helped by her 5 inch heels.  Long blonde hair.  Beautiful.

Then she turned around

Collagen-Lip-Injection-Freaks-1

WTF?  She needed to use one of those old fashioned phones that had an ear piece and a seperate mouth piece cause those things you call lips have their own zip codes.

It looked like she was wearing a pair of those wax lips you got as a kid.  Apparently her lips doubled as a bird perch while she was out in public.  They were enormous!  Who thinks this is attractive?  They were done up in a frosty pink.   It was ridiculous and she was barely 24.

Of course, my self esteem, all 5’2 of it,  just shot through the roof.  Thank you.

Boobs.  If I were to get something fake.  I’d get bigger boobs.

True.

I’d like to upgrade to grapefruits.

The couple that came into the restaurant last night and sat down at the table next to us – she had a boob job.  She walked past us and I gave Eric the “OMG WTF….look at this” look.  I couldn’t help looking.  Even after they sat down, I couldn’t help looking.

Her chest was so out of proportion to the rest of her body that he had to hold her up under the arm pit.  Mind you, I’m not even talking about a petite girl either.  She was a “big boned” girl to start with.

She wasn’t grapefruits.

She wasn’t watermelons.

She wasn’t even human head size.

She was mamoth.

Little green dress, low cut.  Which I get.  Show those behemoths off.

Trust me, I like to flaunt my oranges as often as I can…I get it!Every good artist knows if you’re going to show off your artwork, you need a good frame.

This girl….thought she was all that and she wasn’t even the olive in her martini. Her bra didn’t even fit right.  The band was so tight that it cut her boobs in half.  So it looked like she had FOUR boobs.  To top this off, there was the neck line of her dress….another line on her boobs.

There was so much silicone and boob bondage going on that she appeared to be a pregnant cat with swollen tits.  Stop it!

Just.

Stop.

It.

All I could think about is the man with her:  Tell me…you honestly think THIS is attractive?  Really?  Honestly?  She has to rest them on the table.

Girl.  Did you look at yourself before you left the house?  Did you get dressed in the dark?  OMG what the hell?

Did you seriously think this was HOT?  What magazine said buy yourself boobs that belong on an elephant and then stuff them into a bra made for a mouse….men like that.

Really?  I’m thinking every issue of Cosmo would advise against that.  If they did, it was in an article referring to bondage and they meant using red silk and satin ropes and ribbon.  Not for dressing up on a night out on the town.

I would much rather see the soft curves of a slightly exposed boob and the bounce and jiggle as a woman walks.  Not some mashed up mess inside the dress with sloppy spillage over the neckline.  It’s so unflattering.  Does 25 gallons of silicone even bounce?

I don’t care if you have treated yourself to a 46GG and think you are the most exotic thing since Marilyn Monroe.  You appear to be a cartoon. They’re disproportionate to the rest of you.  Did you consider that before you bought those missiles?

WAIT maybe that is what they are!  She’s actually a secret weapon of destruction.  25 gallons of liquid nitrogen.  Better yet, maybe they’re bullet proof and she’s a body guard.  Like Wonder Woman but different.

Nope, I bet she’s a fisherwoman and they’re her floatation devices.

She’s obviously not a stomach sleeper.

What would one do with those when you turn 75 and decide you don’t want to carry 20 pounds worth of silicone any longer?  By then your skin has sagged. So what?  You put groceries in there when you go to the store?  Secret hiding place for valuables?  What?

Wait!  I got it.  That’s where you will sneak in snacks to the movie theatre!

It was just absurd.

Don’t even get me stared on eyelash extensions….

Seriously.

Is that a Hose in Your Pocket? The Continuation.

Again:  Names have been changed to protect the guilty.  I still love you and don’t be angry.

 

All good things to me include:

Long walks on the beach.

Drinks at sunset.

Slow dancing in the moonlight.

Dancing on table tops.

And oddly enough….

Poking things with a stick…..that don’t need to be poked.

Sometimes, I can’t help myself….

 

Sound the alarm!  Sound the alarm!

 

URGENT!

 

URGENT!

 

The Nose has returned to the Martini Bar!

 

Yes, boys and girls, get you’re sticks out cause we’re going to go poking around.

Sit down.

Strap in.

Hold on.

Order up two shots cause we’re going for a ride and it’s going to be rough.

M E O W.

(Better make that a double M E OW and get out the hand sanitizer.)

 

THE PREVIOUS evening The Nose and I spoke for a bit and should you need the details, you’ll need to consult my previous blog.

Back in the saddle and looking for love, The Nose was deploying his creepy muskrat of the ocean moves and prowling the throat of one middle aged woman sitting at the bar.  This was off-putting, yet quite intriguing as The Nose was a vile and filthy creature who was very obviously an openly gay man and this was a public place.

Have I fallen down that damn rabbit hole….yet again?  I’m down this hole so often you’d think I’d have frequent flyer privileges at this point.  Upgrades?  Why yes, thank you.

Well, how is this going to turn out?

Popcorn anyone?

Immediately, this little spit-fire (that would be me for those of you who are ADD or ADHDA or whatever and can’t follow along) has sounded the alarm The Nose from last night has returned and he is making out with a woman!

Every single person I alerted had the same response:  WHAT?!  Are you sure?  Where?  How can that be?  Making out with a woman?

All eyes were plastered to what is now a FOURSOME at the end of the bar.  Please, let me introduce to you the players, who will become oh so important for you to know:

The Nose.  The Middle Aged Woman.  The Other Man.  The Younger Girl.

Cue the mystery music….

Time marches on and we’re all having fun.  Of course, this is how it always starts right?  I look down the bar…towards the Fab Four.  The Nose…..is kissing the neck of The Other Man.  Up his neck.  His ear.  Biting his ear lobe.  Back down his neck.  They’re laughing.  Okay.  I can handle this.  It’s fine.  Two lovers.  Okay, they’re together.  Well then, who the hell are these two ladies? The Nose is now all over The Middle Aged Woman again.  The Younger Girl is giggling and laughing.  The Other Man is clearly entertained.  I’m so confused.  Maybe the four of them are traveling together?

I have no idea.

I don’t care.

I’m going back to my drinks and enjoying the evening.  Minding my own business.

Suddenly Bernice motions for me to come and join her and our friend Cece from Alaska.  Both of them look like they’ve been told they’ll have to repeat eighth grade and the teachers only speak Latin.  WTF?  Bernice grabs my arm and tells me in a very German like manner to:    S I T.    SIT   DOWN!

Like an obedient petite Pitbull, cause I’d like to think that’s what I would be if I were to be a dog, if there were such a breed, …with rhinestone studded PINK collar of course – duh – I sit immediately.

WHAT?!  WHAT?!

Bernice and Cece both without saying a word just point to the bar.  I turn my head to the left.

HOLY FUCK!  ARE YOU?!  MOTHER!  *&^%^$  *#&)!  !!!  &^%$^$!!!

Let’s just say, I don’t need to see such things….. at EYE LEVEL.

The Nose…..

I can’t.

My eyeballs have been scorched out of their sockets.

The Nose has….

I mean really….

Eye level.

My tear ducts have shriveled up into twigs.

The Nose.

The Other Man.

At MY eye level.

The Other Man….has his hand down The Nose’s jeans…..fondling his ass!

Now they’re going to switch!  Let me put my hand down the back of your jeans.

R E A L L Y….

It’s porn right in front of my eyes.  (Now if it were a hot couple, okay.  But not this.)

>>>> time out <<<<<<

>>>>> I have to put my head between my knees <<<<<<<

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Okay, so I’m all for going down the front of the pants.  Yes, I said it.  I’ll give you that.  It’s fun for you and me….especially if you can get away with it in public…..There’s all kinds of fun things to be found in the frontal regions.

M E O W to the tenth degree.

But your ass….in public?  Really?  O M G.  Did you smell that?  What was that odor?

Behind closed doors, ride that ass like it’s a fucking bucking bronco boys.   I don’t need to see this display at the bar.

Smelling salts anyone?

Oh for fuck’s sake.

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Immediately, I launch myself out of my seat…..and land about 40 feet away, hyperventilating and leaving Bernice and Cece to deal with this performance which continued for quite some time.  I ordered another martini, downed it and enjoyed yet another.

About ten, fifteen, twenty minutes later…..Bernice and Cece managed to pry themselves away from their seats (I don’t know how they lasted so long in their spectator box seats – ahem) but they eventually joined the rest of us.

This is when I learned another friend of ours, having discovered The Fabulous Foursome….wanted to “push the envelope” with The Nose.

WHAT?  I mean who fucking does that?

Randy.

He can’t help himself.

He decided he wanted to see if he could he convince The Nose to buy him a drink.  Yeah sure and if The Nose says yes, Randy becomes a sex slave for the night.  THEN what the hell do you do – OMG!  The night would have lead to wild acrobatics in front of floor to ceiling mirrors and a swing above the bed.  Double bends and feet behind heads.  Hold this while I bend this over that.

Images gone wild in my head…..one moment please…..

Randy no doubt, sauntered up in his expertly designed and detailed blue suit and asked if The Nose would buy him a drink…..looking oh so cute and batting his baby-blues as only Randy can do…..making your knees go weak.

Survey says:  DENIED.

It’s okay Randy, we still love you and still think you’re cute.

Next drink is on me.

After hearing this story we turn around to see Cece at the bar chatting up The Middle Aged Woman.  Good god people, leave The Fabulous Foursome alone!  Clearly they are only into themselves and do not want our involvement into their torrid love affairs!  I mean really, do we want to be involved?  I don’t and I’ve even had my tetanus shots thank you!

Cece is chatting away, chatting away.  I mean truly, it could be the Alaskan thing.  I spent 18 years in Alaska and we do some weird shit in the winters.  So this may be some kind of weird calling…..on the high seas….but come on…..I HIGHLY doubt it…these are strangers.  We don’t swing with strangers.

Our little group by this time has broken out into a full on Super Bowl sweat.   We’ve ordered another round of martinis and are now actually patting the sweat away from under our armpits and upper lips with the tiny cocktail napkins.  WHAT is she doing?  Our imaginations are clearly getting the best of us.

When it’s gets to this point there is only one thing to do….send in The Minxy.

I march right up to the bar and lean in to hear what she’s saying.  I lean in so close I push her and her hand bag out of the way. All under the guise of trying to get the bartender’s attention.  (Now you know my trick incase I’m listening to your conversation.)

It’s a partial relief that she isn’t asking to join them.  On the other hand…..what is she promoting?  Safe sex?  I’m only catching bits and pieces:

“Just saying.  For your own good.  Of course.”

Staying just long enough to realize she isn’t making a pack to sell herself into an evening of bondage I walk back to the group and give the all clear sign:  SHE’S FINE!

Cece returns to tell us what her conversation was all about.

Apparently, Miss Manners aka Cece felt compelled to share peace and love with The Middle Aged Woman and advise her of the historical antics of The Nose from the prior evening.  Cece told her, “If you’re not careful, THIS could turn into a foursome.”

The Middle Aged Woman greatly appreciated all of Cece’s concerns and took each and every one of them to heart.  This resolved Cece of her resolve for doing the right thing and for sounding the alarm to a complete stranger.  Which by all means is the right thing to do….if you have a conscience. The MIddle Aged Woman told her there was certainly nothing to worry about.  Although they were having a great evening together – THIS is where the buck stops.

There will be NO Foursome, I am traveling with my daughter.

I do believe the next words out of Cece’s mouth were, “Another Fresca Martini Please!”

The rest of us looked at one another.  Nodded and said in unison, “to the disco!”

This was the last we saw of  The Nose

Strangers and Pixie Dust

Please note: All names have been changed to protect the guilty. Don’t worry, I still love you.

Strangers.

They’re everywhere.

We grew up being told not to talk to them and look what happens! We grow up and start talking to them.  Just throw that spray can called CAUTION right out the window.  While you’re at it, you might as well dump COMMON SENSE down the drain and flush SELF PRESERVATION right down the toilette with your daily dump.

I mean really, it’s quite obvious.  Mr. Rodgers kicks the bucket and we’re all going to Hell in a hand basket.  Talking to strangers as if they’re as common as the pickles on our plate.  Really?  Do you know who handled that pickle?  I think not.

The Beaver would be horrified as would Big Bird if they had any inkling the kind of people we were associating with on a daily basis.  Next time you’re on line at the grocery – take a gander at your local strangers.

Creepers.

Yet, we’re addicted.

It’s no different than being told, “don’t touch that!” You simply can’t help yourself so you do it. Just to see what happens. Nine times out of ten – nothing exciting occurs. But that tenth time- yowzers!

They come in all shapes and sizes.

There are ones you wouldn’t touch with a four foot pole, while riding past them on your Orange County Chopper while going to work.

There are others you certainly wouldn’t mind being trapped on a desert island for several days with before help arrived.

Lastly there are others you routinely have to pick your lower mandible up off the floor by and can’t help but think one thing: WTF is wrong with you?!

This past week I was sailing on a cruise liner for work and had such an encounter. Seemed harmless enough at first. Similar to if a mosquito landed on you and you had no clue what it was until it poked it’s giant beak into your virgin skin to suck your blood to give itself life. THEN, you realize….this is a problem.

SMACK…..no, that’s not the sound of you ending the life of the blood-sucking mosquito.  That’s the sound of you thinking….WTF have I gotten myself into and who the hell is going to get me out of this?

Nobody.  Buck up and carry on.  You are in it.  Now get out of it.

It happened at the Martini Bar.

Enter the swaggering Johnny Boy who saunters up to me and begins to chat me up at the bar.

Great.

First thing I notice?

This man has a beak on him that I don’t think he could get inside a coffee mug if he tried.  It may be handy for dialing on iPhones.  Wow.  That’s quite the pointer you got there.  Does it act like a compass as well?  Or wait, do you do search and rescue missions?  That can’t be right, you don’t have a barrel of whiskey under your chin, but then again we aren’t in the Alps.  What the hell do I know, we’re in the Caribbean.

He begins to ask how my evening is going and how lovely I look in my dress.   Did I enjoy dinner.  Was I enjoying the cruise?  Oh the questions of common chat.

Shoot me.

Yatta.  Yatta.  Yatta.  Insert nice comments.

Then he hits me with, “So the guy you’re with….” nodding to the guy to my right…. “is that your husband?”

(Note:  said man in question is large bald man to my right)

I quietly pick up my velvet sledge hammer and casually position it above my head….ready, aim…release:

No, he’s my boss.  And that guy over there…..(and I point to a gentleman across the bar…(another larger muscled man) that’s my VP.  I’m surrounded by men who own me.  Sorry.

Blink.  Blink.  Bambi smile.  Blink.

>>>>  awkward moment goes here <<<<<

Oh, that’s too bad, the pointy nose man says.  Did I forget to mention he was baked to a crispy bacon color?  And wearing a lovely tank top by the way.  Oh yes, he was also a good stiff breeze into his Long Island Teas by now, which made the interaction all the more entertaining as we launched into Act Two:

Blink.  Blink.

He then turns to his other side and asks about the ladies sitting to our left side.

“Who are these lovely ladies?  From Sex in the City?”  Obviously, I am seeing my out approaching as quickly as the Lexington Avenue stop on the NY Metro when you’ve dozed off unexpectedly.  SNAP….got to go.

WHY, yes, aren’t they lovely ladies?  And you know what?  They’re also with me!  Don’t they look FABULOUS?

He had a name for each of the ladies and as he figured who was who, I was gathering my hand bag and martini….positioning my stilettos for lift off and preparing for a pole vault from my seated position.

He was simply amazed and at a loss for words as he approached my friend Bernice.  With the quickness of a forest mouse on crack, I hop from my bar stool and quickly join friends at the back of the bar.  Just a simple three steps away from Bernice, we’re anxiously watching the drama unfold.

From our vantage point, the Pointer was very interested.

From Bernice’s vantage point, it was quite a different engagement.

Pats on her purse.  Comments on her earrings.  Here a pat, there a comment, every where a pat ‘n comment.

Old McNose had a pat ‘n comment….e i e i o……and on this pat he had an drunken comment!  E I E I O.

Alas, we weren’t too concerned.

I, all 5’1 and filled with Pixie glitter was able to survive the brief moments of stranger commentary of The Nose.  The spectator crowd in the back figured Bernice could do the same…..and we were quite enjoying the several minutes of conversational exchange between strangers.   Actually hoping to snap a photo if possible.

Fact or fiction you decide:  It all came to a screeching halt and we were later discovered to our horror…. he wanted to sell her Boy Scout Popcorn but the deal was only good if she could trade with her stash  Ginsu Knives.  You know they cut through cans AND then tomatoes.   The Nose said he didn’t swing that way so the deal was off on the Ginsu Knives.but wait until I tell you about the Pocket Hoses he was ready to deal on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some Things You Should Know About the Most Important Thing…..ME!

The other day I was at work.  For all the challenges I face, I enjoy work.  It’s something new every day and I learn more every week.  There are some days, I can’t wait to get to work.  Honest.  I don’t lie.  I’m terrible at lying….hence, reason #1 I could never be an undercover secret agent.

Sometimes, I think…

No.

Sometimes, I know….

The people I work with think I’m crazy.

That’s okay.  I didn’t suddenly become crazy.  I arrived to this job already crazy.  As one person said to me last week, “You are the only one who could get away with that.”  Yes.  I guess so.  But I was only being honest.  The difference was I said it out loud.

Oh, you want to know what I said?

“Slacker.”  (That’s all I’m saying….to protect the guilty and myself.  The truth would only be revealed under a tickle session.)

Of course, the up side is they know I’m kidding.  I hope.  People are so serious, it’s good to laugh. It releases the toxins you hold deep inside your gut.  Expel that shit like phlegm and be happy for a change.  Of course if you start playing that stupid song, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” I will come by and snap off your music.  Be happy – yes.  Don’t be a pain in the ass.

I would like to get one of those things the gymnasts use to leap up to the high bar, balance beam or vault over the horse.  What are those things called?  The launcher.  I want one.  If anyone knows where I can get a used one please let me know.  That is how I want to come into my next meeting.  L A U N C H myself through the air!  Land with grace and yell out “TAH DUH!”

Besides these things, you should know…..and those who know me well, know this already.

NEWS  FLASH:  I’m not a hugger.

Unless you are a small furry critter of some sort, chances are slim I’m not going to embrace you.  Sorry.  Just the way I roll.

Part of it is because I’m short, almost like a pocket pet, hugs can be awkward for me.  A certain friend describes me as being like a candy bar:  “Fun Size!”

SO….as I was saying.  The other day I was at work and a co-worker came by my cubicle.  I’ve only met this person a few times before but feel like I’ve known them forever.  They come in and start towards me.

IMMEDIATELY there’s a “whoop whoop whoop HUG ALERT whoop whoop whoop HUG ALERT” siren going off in my head.  I don’t move a muscle.  If I’m still they’ll usually stop in their tracks.  It’s only slightly awkward, but we get through it.

Yatta, yatta….nice chat.  Moving on.

Later in the day, I was speaking with a different friend and advised them of the following:

“Yeah, you may want to mention to Pat that I’m not a hugger.  I think they might have been aiming to hug me earlier.”

Fast forward a few days later.  I end up having to stop by the potential hugger’s desk.  I pop in and my friend jumps up from behind the desk.

Immediately, my hands start to sweat.  Seriously?  Really?  OMG.  My heart starts to race and I think, “here we go again with the awkward moment.”  I do the only thing I can think of as my upper lip breaks out into a sweat….

I put my bag down and say, “HEY!  I bet our friend Kerry told you about my hugging thing huh?  Well alright, now that you know…..(gulp)…..I can hug you.”

Nervous laughter.

Ha.

Ha.

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HA. HA. HHHAAA.

Pat, pat, pat.

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I sit down and then look them in the eye and say, ” alright, so now you’re on the approved hugger list.  Don’t be going around telling people though okay.  LOTS of people want to get on it and I can’t permit that.”

They nod their head and reply, “Understood, I can only imagine how difficult the try outs are.”

Although, I will admit.  Some days are bad days and I could use a hug.  Without my better half here at the moment there are times when I think…..would I rather….hug a co-worker or hug a stranger?  Luckily, I haven’t acted on that impulse yet.

Today, I kinda had a personal struggle kind of day.  It was 80% great and 20% poopie.

I decided to go get a quick pedicure at my favorite local place.  They have the massage chairs that even squeeze your butt.  I like having my butt squeezed.

Sorry, was that too much personal information?

Anyway, I got the same guy who I got last time.  I never call ahead, I just go with the luck of the draw.  He does a great job so I was delighted.   Here’s the thing.  He’s Asian.  I’m American.  I’m terrible with accents.  90% of the time I have NO CLUE what this man is saying to me.   Tonight I sat in the chair.  He sits on the little stool and says to me:

“Atoub lkjdai kdi iqp bag? I’agb boie akv right?”

My little brain tries desperately to decipher what he’s just said…..bag…..right?  Bag?  Right?  WTF?  I laugh and say, “You think?”  He laughs and says something more about the bag and women.  I laugh.  Then about 30 seconds later it hits me!

Eureka!  I shout out, as if I am on some type of random B-rated game show, shown only on Wednesday nights on channel 7633 at 2:30AM:

“YES!  Of course I have multiple bags in my tote!  The bigger the bag, the more stuff I can carry!”

Then, because it was a last minute trip to the nail salon, I wasn’t too concerned about not having shaved my legs today.  Small stubble.  Not terrible.  I was wearing pants today and I knew nobody would be touching my legs.  Well, outside of a doctor in case of an emergency, but I wasn’t anticipating an emergency, so I didn’t shave.  My legs were nothing like sand paper.  Honest!  It wasn’t like it was fuzzy and braidable hair and it wouldn’t burn his hand off…so I wasn’t horrified about it until he said:

“Paiobo  aieq shave for me today.”

What the hell?  What?  What?  What?  I missed the first part.  WHAT!?  Did he say I did or didn’t?  I don’t know!  Good grief.  No clue.  Then we proceeded to the mask and the scrub on the legs.  I pretended to lay back and enjoy the chair massage.  With my eyes closed….thank you….to avoid further conversation.

We have two friends, who I really enjoy their company, however they both make me nervous as hell.  Why?  I can’t bloody understand most of what they say.  They are both helicopter pilots.  Why does that make a difference?  Trust me….it does.  That’s another story.

But they BOTH have accents.  I mean really, either one of them could read a cookbook to me and I’d be drooling.  However….me…… trying to carry on a conversation….with one of these guys?  I’ve got nothing.  Nothing.  Notta.  Zip. Zilch.

It’s so bad.  That my better half had to tell them, “you know she only get like every fourth word you say.”  They knew.  Yeah, because of my confused nods and smiles.  OMG I’m an idiot.

The other day at work we had a conference call.  Luckily it was just over the phone and not a video call.  Good lord.  One of the people on the call had not just one accent but TWO accents.  He started off British, which I get.  Check, got it, I’m good.  Following right along until BAM…all of the sudden he has a heavy Indian accent.

I’m not talking Native American accent.  I’m talking from India, India accent.

WHAT?

I went from hearing:

“Yes, it would be easy enough for us to come and visit with you and discuss your process.”

To:

“Tjagjoun   gp’iep”  aoibuo yboiafp   poiqrpjp’ja  ‘a;ojp[i  kaip  qgv.”

Then to:

“You would need to provide us with an accurate schedule as to the time frame.”

Followed by:

“Hkahgoi adyfug ghkb vvaip afihaivoj alboubo a aougo.”

If anyone could see me, they would have literally found me with my eyes squeezed shut, elbows on my knees and my fingers pressing into my temples…..so very seriously trying to concentrate oh so hard on whatever this British Indian man was trying to say.

I had nothing.

I won’t even go into the conversation ON THE PHONE I had today with one of our French  tour operators.  Luckily I was able to get the gist of why he was calling, so I was able to get through the conversation.  Dear Lord.  Instead of inventing “TV Ears” could someone please invent ears for people who can’t get over the accents?  Most of the time all I get is:

LA  LA  LA  PENCIL.

Lastly, I wanted to share with you my first day on the beach here near my house.  It was over the 4th of July.  The beach is literally a 5 minute drive from my front door, to the beach parking lot.  So easy.

I claim a little patch of shady sand……and settle in for my afternoon.  Okay, not really an afternoon because I don’t have the patience but I planned for ONE HOUR.  Which was perfect for me on the first trip.   Over by the lifeguard tower, it is mobbed.  Wall to wall people.  I’m a ways down the beach, in the shade of a high rise.  Perfect for my delicate Alaskan skin.

The first thing that I ponder are the signs not too far away from me that read something like, “Beginning from the front of this sign is 50 feet of private beach property.”  I’m confused.  The sign itself is hammered into the sand about 50 feet from the front of the obvious property line….the green grass.  However, does the sign mean it extends another 50 feet into the ocean?  Or does it mean 50 feet behind the sign is private beach?  So confusing these Floridans.

I’m happy as a clam.  In my bathing suit.  Wearing SPF 75 (thank you Alaskan friends) and watching the parade of people.  OMG.  That’s a whole other blog.  Suddenly, out of the right corner of my eye vision I see a 4WD vehicle fast approaching.  It slams on the breaks …a few car lengths away from me and the guy leaps out (doorless 4WD) and grabs a surf board off the top of the vehicle.  He lunges into the waves, throws himself on top of the board and begins to propel himself into the ocean.

I’m thinking, the Alaskan I am…..on the beach….in the blazing sun……wearing SPF 75….trying not to blind people with my vampire like skin……

Wow..he really wants to catch the waves.  Must be good wave action.   I watch him out in the ocean.  He’s paddling and paddling…..gets out to just where the waves are starting to form.  He’s talking to another group of people.  Yatta….yatta..

Waves are forming and going.

Forming and going.

Forming and going.

The guy on the surf board starts looking back at the beach and he’s patting his head.

?

?

?

?

What the hell does that mean?

He’s obviously not patting his head and rubbing his tummy.  He’s signaling to someone.

Then I take notice he’s talking to a group of kids who are out there on an (this is genius) inflatable mattress.  Not just a raft.

A  QUEEN  SIZE  MATTRESS.

GENIUS.

Winner.  Winner.  Chicken.  Dinner.  I LOVE that idea.  So much better than the little floatie raft things.  I love this.   Last time we were in Maui, I lost half my bathing suit trying to get back in to the beach…..carrying a floatie raft.

Seriously.

Then it suddenly dawns on me.

Duh.

I’m such an Alaskan.

On the beach.

This guy, anxious to get out and catch the waves?

Yeah, he’s a life guard.  Telling these kids they can’t be out there on an inflatable mattress.

I’m such a nerd……on the beach.