Category Archives: public

Would You Rather….Nope.

Everyone.  And I do mean everyone, has something that makes their stomach roll.

Something that really gets your goose.

Makes your stomach lurch.

Lord have mercy, I’ll do anything but that….

It’s your, “Would you rather….” kind of moment.

When people have this discussion, the talk can turn into the ridiculous and gross.  You know what I am talking about, we’ve all been in those drunken bar talks….”Would you rather eat shit or drink piss?”  or the typical “Would you rather bungee jump or play chicken with a train?”  or the oh so dull, “Would you rather eat a cricket or a roach?”

What I’m referring to are the oddities in our lives, that to others are absolutely normal.

Example number 1: Down the street from our house are two large Asian grocery stores.  We ventured through the first one and after wandering up and down the aisles purchased a large amount of fruits and veggies.  Next we went across the street to the competition, to check out their set up and see if they had anything different.

While we checked out the produce section, my better half motions for me to come over to the fresh fish counter to see something.  I head his direction and he points to something in a large basket.  I look down and there are about 7 enormous bull frogs sitting there looking up at me.

I don’t know.  There could have been 4 frogs.  There could have been 12 frogs.  There could have been one frog.  Doesn’t matter.  I’m terrified of frogs. All I know is they were huge, like the size of basketballs.  They were dark green.  And they were ready to jump.  Of course, I would too, if I was in a basket for sale in a market…

I ran away so fast, my feet didn’t touch the ground.   I ran straight across the produce department.  Down past the paper products.  Down past the noodles.  Stopping in hot sauce.

Frogs scare me.  Big frogs.  Little frogs.  Green frogs.  Yellow frogs.  All frogs.

I haven’t been back to the store since.

Example number 2:  Every day walking into the office I pull open the front door to the building and the handle is sticky.  Why?  I’m going to come down there with my Clorox wipe and clean off the handle, but in the meantime….how did the handle get sticky exactly?

And when did it become a public disgust to touch the public bathroom door handle to exit?  Did Ralph Nadar do a report on handle germs?  Now there’s usually a trash can immediately next to the bathroom door to capture the paper towels that may or may not make it to the can upon doing their final duty of being a door grip.

And if there isn’t a trash can, people just throw the towel on the floor anyway.

Here’s the thing though…how many people are using toilet paper to actually OPEN THE STALL DOOR?  You want to talk dirty handle?  There’s the dirty handle, people!

SIDE NOTE:  If you didn’t know already, women’s restrooms are disgusting. Filthy.  I’m not kidding.  Don’t let women fool you.

Example number 3:  Traveling or hanging around in packs of people leads to one thing.  Sharing things.  I’m not good with sharing things.  There’s a reason I opted to come into this world as an Only Child.  I don’t play well with others.  Unfortunately, sometimes things get shared whether you want to or not.  It starts at a young age and continues through life.

Two words.

Lice.

Scabies.

Count my lucky stars I’ve had neither.

Although, I am pretty certain if I had either, I’d be trying to figure out how to apply said banishing cream with wood spoons while administering vast amounts of Vodka.

When you’re a kid and someone gets lice, everyone puts their coats and book bags in trash bags at school before putting them into the coat closet.  Not sure if that how it works today.  But in the “olden” days that’s what we did.  Then you go home and have your parents check your head for the lice and pray to the heavens you don’t have any.

When you get older, you can get scabies.  So here’s the thing.  You can’t put your coat in a trash bag in the coat closet, cause you own the coat closet.  And the living room.  And the bedroom.  And the kitchen.  And the bathroom.  What the hell?  The only thing I can think is one of two things.

  1. Torch the place and start over.
  2. Seal it up and bomb it with a scabby bomb.

I mean really, what are your options?  I don’t know where you get scabies.  I don’t want to know but it sounds like an version of Aliens and well, that movie scared me.  When we went to Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights, that was the one haunted house that scared the hell out of me.  Damn aliens.

Another group shareable….pink eye.  I have had Pink Eye, in both eyes at the same time, and that was about one of the most disgusting things ever.  Crusty, slimy, yellow, oozing, sticky and blurry experiences ever.  Nasty.  Nasty.  Nasty.  Sick.  Not to mention, it was one of my “more un-cute” weeks at work.

I don’t like sharing.

Example number 4:  Moving ahead, there are definite things where it may not turn your stomach, but it does for others.  Like Mothers can wipe their baby’s butt no problem.

I have a 20 pound fat cat, who sometimes has fat flaps on her ass, if we don’t monitor her diet.  Yes.  She has these little peanut sized fat flaps on her ass, where shit accumulates.  Her ass needs to be cleaned.  I can clean her ass.  If I don’t, she gets cat diaper rash.  Some folks may have an issue with that.  Not me.  Time to wipe your butt, Wiggly.

Mucking out farm animal barn stalls….I got that.  Cow, pig, goat, sheep, chicken, turkey manure….check…got that covered.  No problem.  There are days when there is nothing I’d rather do more than shovel poop.

Bodily fluids aren’t fun. Even your own.  If you have ever had the Norwalk virus, AKA Norovirus you know what I mean.  Tends to hit large packs of people.  Schools get it, the traveling public get it.  I got it.  The problem with it is you can’t keep anything down – not a sip of water, for days.  One sip of water and you’re in the bathroom going in circles trying to decide if its coming out your ass or your throat first.  In the end you’re on the toilet holding the trash can on your lap.

Example number 5:  A friend of ours was house sitting, which is very common in Alaska.  The house came with a cat named Simon.  Apparently, while Simon loved his owner, he was not a fan of anyone else.  Simon, from the photos I had seen, was a lovely long haired ginger.  Just lovely except his eyes were glowing, but I chalked that up to the camera and reflection of the flash.

His house sitter thought otherwise as Simon had her cornered on the stairs on day and made her late for work, by several hours if I’m not mistaken.

Long story short….it was known Simon had a few matts of hair that needed to come out.

It was a challenge.  I accepted the challenge.

Enter….the Cat Whisperer.

With brush in hand.  I walked the house looking for Simon.  Everyone was certain I would be wearing an eye patch by the end of the evening, like Captain Sparrow, if not a peg leg to boot.

Upstairs under the bed – no Simon.

Behind the couch – no Simon.

Curtains – no Simon.

Tension, filled the house as you could hear him growling from his mysterious hiding location.

I sat on the floor in the living room and ever so slowly….here came Simon from across the room.  Lured by the international cat sign for “come here kitty.”  He climbed into my lap and after a few moments, I brought out the brush.  Shocking to everyone, brushed out the two large mats around his neck and happily Simon continued on his way.

Same with our wild turkeys.  Many say, “they’ll kill you!”  And I simply say, “It’s all in how you present yourself.”  If you put out you’re terrified, they know.  We’ve have a group of 40 wild turkeys surround us and they’ve been nothing but gentle and kind.

However, put me next to a lama and I will go the other way!  Shifty eyes…and they’re taller than me.  Not to mention they seemingly like to follow me.

Example number 6: Thank god for doctors and nurses.  Now there’s a bunch of jobs I couldn’t do.  Maybe it’s because you have to be a touchy person and I’m not touchy.  Maybe it’s because you have to like body parts and well, I don’t need to be about your feet or your ya-ya or bend you into various shapes to fix your spine, or continue to ask if A is clearer or B?  One word – dentist.  Nope.

Being a doctor is a special breed of person.  Patience, lots of patience.  Apparently when I saw the line in heaven for patience, because I have bad eyesight, I thought it said PATENTS and didn’t get in line for any.  Therefore, I have none.  Hence, being a doctor or nurse was not an option for me.  But I’m very thankful for all of those folks who saw the sign and got in line.

So you see, everyone has something they think twice about and would rather not encounter.  Think about all the possibilities.  Here’s just a short list to get you started:

  • eating off of public utensils.
  • trying on bathing suits – really how many others have tried on that same one
  • rotten fruit
  • bird loose in your house
  • limp, lame, sweaty handshakes
  • pop a zit
  • greasy head prints on the subway windows
  • green snot
  • food spitters, and I’m not talking babies
  • hair in your food (pet hair, your hair, stranger hair, any hair)
  • spider on your toilet paper roll – surprise
  • someone sneezes into their hand then extends it for a handshake
  • a dentist with bad breath
  • the constant cougher next to you on the plane
  • when your better half asks, “does this make me look fat?”

Yet there are folks every day that go out and face our fears head on, challenge our stomach rolling, rather not do that moments and attack them with a gleeful smile.  To them, it’s normal.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  It’s life.  Go forward brave souls, we all have our moments.

 

 

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Disneyland + The Mother = Long Shot

You ever get asked to participate in something and think to yourself, “Sure. Sounds fun. I’ll do it.”  Knowing all along it isn’t going to work?

Obviously, it’s a sign, the second you hang up the phone the Vegas bookies start running the numbers and setting the odds on the various outcomes of said adventure.  You and the bookies are fairly certain the event will have a dubious ending.  You proceed, caution flag raised proudly, you’re already wearing  hip waders.  No stopping now.  What the hell.

Yep, that about covers the trip to Disneyland with The Mother.

A few weeks ago, I had a business trip that took me from east to west coast and I worked in a quick visit to see The Mother in between meetings.  I was looking forward to exchanging cold weather for hot sunshine.  Little did I realize, I was trading snow for the “storm of the century” listening to the weather forecasters of LA.  Although, having the opportunity to drive in torrential downpours was something I haven’t had the chance to experience since I left Miami.  It was a pleasant reminder of Mother Nature’s many talents.

During my visit to southern California, The Mother  had one thing on her mind.  In the past, usually she wanted to go to a particular restaurant or a local venue of some sort.  Nope.  Not this time.  Determination was set on a new target.

Disneyland.

Apparently, unbeknownst to her, having lived in the desert for over three years, Disneyland is basically  a stone’s throw away from her door step.  Relatively speaking.

To verify, this accuracy, The Mother checked with MapQuest, AAA, the neighbors Tim & Susie across the street who frequently drive the highways and as well as with the local grocery checker at Albertson’s supermarket.

So.

If you’re a rolling stone.

In good weather.

With a decent tail wind.

Jump on the I-10 and head west out to the wild west…to the land of the Great Mouse.

Throughout my trip, The Mother had a mantra… “don’t do anything that would hamper missing the day’s adventure to Disney.”  Roger that….going to see The Mouse….got it.

Our plan was to depart first thing Sunday morning.  Day trip only.

My only request was we MUST depart early, because The Mother would definitely need an electric scooter due to all the walking.  On a previous visit we went to the local zoo.  Unfortunately, they don’t have motorized scooters thus we rented their version of a standard wheelchair.

Not quite a normal wheelchair.

Not quite a a wheelbarrow.

It was more like an adult bucket seat push cart.

I nearly killed myself trying to push that plastic contraption in the desert heat.  There’s a reason wheelchairs are made from fabric, not plastic! Mind you, I am all of 5 foot 1 an a sip of water on a good day.  I was sweating like a sumo wrestling champion sitting in a sauna.   I probably left a sweat trail like a slug leaves a slime trail.

Gazelles? Missed those.  I was laying under the tree over here, panting like a cheetah trying not to let the sweat sting my eyeballs and turn my mascara into a ghoulish creep fest. But hey, let me in to see those dwarf goats.  I’m just going to sit with them for a while and communicate with them baaaaccccck to the mothership.  I digress…..

We needed a motorized scooter for Disneyland.  If I had to elbow my way through the crowd to get a scooter, by God we were getting a scooter.

Before bed, The Mother looks up the weather for Anaheim and it’s to be cool with an 11% chance of rain.  I figure that’s a high percentage of rain for California.  I say if she doesn’t want to go, I’m okay with that.  Best not to be miserable and we can go next time.

The Mother hesitates for a moment.  Nope.  We’re going.

I go to bed, knowing….you know how you just know?  You just know in the pit of your stomach.  This isn’t going to go well.  Trust the gut.

You know you can’t talk someone out of something.

No matter what you say.

You could tell them they’re going to throw up on their shoes.

They want to go.

You could tell them they’re going to be miserable.

They want to go.

You could say 400,000 people will be there.

They want to go.

You could say it isn’t really what they will want to do.

They want to go.

You could say, this is going to make my /your eyes bleed.

They want to go.

You could say, this is going to be a disaster.

They want to go.

Why fight the process.  It’s easier in the long run.

To just go.

The day of our big adventure arrives and our plan was to depart at 7:00AM.  I am awake early due to stupid jet lag and do not hear The Mother stirring.  Silently, I think, maybe we aren’t going…..

At 5:50AM I hear The Mother yelling through the door, “Donna, are you getting up?”

 

Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines.

I get into the shower and proceed with the morning routine.  When I get myself pulled together, I go out to the living room….there’s heavy fog outside the window and grey skies.

As I am putting my shoes on, I say to The Mother “You know, this is your last chance to back out. The weather doesn’t look so good with the fog today.”

She is surprised I suggested we not go.  What do you mean?  Of course we’re going!  After all, there’s only an 11% chance of rain.

Alright then.  Coats, sunglasses, jackets, lip balm, purses etc…..let’s go.

Two hours on the road in and out of rain showers and sun spots, we arrive to Disneyland.  The mecca of fun, happiness, laughter and of dreams that come true with the sprinkle of magical fairy dust with Mickey Mouse leading the way.

It’s starting to drizzle again.  But over that way, the skies look clearer and certainly it will clear up.  We agree, the shower will pass.  It just isn’t supposed to rain at Disney right.

Of course.

The first parking lot’s ADA area is filled, so we  traverse the lot like a drunken snake towards the exit with a neon pink exit sign flapping like a flamingo under our wiper.  This indicates to the Disney parking attendants we’re aiming to exit like mice in a maze looking for cheese….so they don’t continue to point us into a parking spot.

As we’re making our way through parking area,  a family is literally walking down the middle of the aisle.  Not a care in the world.  Why should they – it’s Disneyland!  Their minds are filled with memories from the last time they were here, where they threw up,  where they lost Billy, how Mary got ejected from the water ride because she thought it was a wet t-shirt contest and how they can’t wait to see their favorite characters.  They’re excited.  It’s Disney.

Did I mention?

Patience is a virtue.

Three.

Two.

One.

“You think these people would get a clue and move over.”  Advises The Mother.

 

Yep….as I continue to creep along behind the family.  “Well, this is how it’s going to be today.  Lots of people.  Lots of lines.  This is Disney.  You know, it’s not too late to head home.  Now’s the time. Last chance.”

Nope.  Not changing our mind.  We’re going to the other parking lot.  We’re going to Disneyland.

About 15 minutes later, we make our way to the Toy Story lot, park and make our way aboard the shuttle bus to the entrance.

NOTE: For those that have experienced any Disney park, you know what it’s like….the shuttle buses, security screening, ticket purchase and entrance lines…..all within the main entry area.  This is where we’re located.

By 10:00AM we’re through security and head over to the far side of the entrance gate to get in line for the electric scooter.

It continues to drizzle.

We get The Mother signed off on an electric scooter for $70 and head back to the ticket line, where she decided to wait off to the side while I venture into the serpentine line for our day passes.  Not long after being in line I start to hear, “DONNA!” (Can’t be for me,   right?  Ignore.  Ignore.) More people begin shouting, “DONNA!”  I look up and at the front of the line….there’s an arm flailing above the crowd with a flapping hand attached.

The Mother.

The Mother waving at me.

…..along with the crowd shouting my name, “DONNA!”

Good lord.

I start to duck under the rope barrier.  Excusing myself  along the way…

“Sorry, that’s me….I’m Donna.”

I get up front to The Mother….” What’s going on?”  I’m thinking maybe she played the ADA card and got our day passes some magical easy way without waiting. I mean this is Disney, anything is possible.  Right? The Mother says, “Let’s go.  I’m not waiting in line for this.  There’s too many people.  It’s raining and I’m not paying this price. It’s so disorganized.  Do you want to stay for this?”

Nope. I nodded my head.  Looked at my watch 10:37AM.  Knew it. Okay, let’s go…..

On the way back to the car in the shuttle, The Mother asked if I was mad….as she pinched my cheek, no less. I told her sometimes you can’t talk people out of things they want to do, but I knew we’d end up going home.   It’s kinda like going to the dentist and getting a shot of Novocain, which you don’t want to do in the first place.  But you take the shot and as an added bonus….you get to talk funny afterwards!

 

Alright then. Who placed the bet for: 37 minutes at Disneyland’s entrance?

 

And yes,  I was able to get a full refund on the electric scooter.

 

 

 

 

 

Standing Room Only.

I’m not going to lie.
When we left Alaska, it was exciting to be going to Miami.

Daily sunshine.
Palm trees.
The beach less than a mile away.
Warm weather.
Rocking thunderstorms.
Eating outside.
Not having to wear a winter coat 8 months out of the year.
Disney was a short drive away.
Fresh coconuts.

Delightful.

After about a year, the novelty wore off.

For us Alaskans, it was always hotter than Hades.
The humidity was so thick even the cats’ fur was frizzy.
Christmas wasn’t the same without snow.
We didn’t speak Spanish.
The insanity of the drivers on I95.
Honking is relentless.

Enough already. So we started to look north to New England.

We landed just south of Plymouth Rock this February and couldn’t be happier.

Of course, we arrived in the middle of winter. And for anyone who is familiar with the legends of the 2015 Boston winter….you can only imagine what we faced. Of course, we were likely the ONLY people in the Boston – New England area that was THRILLED to see snow.

Need someone to help shovel? We’re on it.
No, it’s not too cold to go out for a walk.
Forgot something at the store? We can go.

Laying in bed at night, we were like little kids, “do you think it’s snowing yet?”

With the first snow storm coming down, the schools quickly started to broadcast on the TV who was going to be closed. Okay, when I was a kid you had to listen to the radio (1060AM) the morning of school to know whether or not you were making the trek into school. Things have progressed in the school districts!

Image

At any rate, we went over the public transportation again and reviewed how I would get to work on my first day. (Actually, earlier in the week we did the entire route just to be certain I knew where I was going on my first day.) I was ready to go.

Buzz-buzz-guess what?

The recruiter who had been along with me for the entire hiring ride, emailed me on Sunday night… “Work is cancelled for tomorrow. It’s a snow day.”

Really?

Huh. Okay. Well, this is definitely different than Alaska.

The next morning we awoke to multiple feet of snow. So exciting!

That night, the Mayor of Boston was on tv and says, “Due to the blizzard, all non-essential employees should stay home tomorrow.”

Well.

Am I non-essential?

I feel pretty damn essential.

How do you know if you haven’t been told if you’re essential?

Excuse me, could you tell me if I am a non-essential worker?

You see, I now work for the city, so yes…I could be essential or non-essential.

Buzz-buzz-guess-who?

My recruiter emails and tells me officially, “Day two snow day. No work.”

Apparently, I am non-essential. (Well, they haven’t seen my tiara yet…so just wait! Think that is what makes one essential. It’s really good when I bring out the confetti cannon.)

Day two snow day! Whoop! Whoop! Of course, at the end of the blizzard, approaching Wednesday. I’m suddenly filled with, like a little kid, “but I don’t want to go to work tomorrow!”

I wait in front of the TV to watch school closings. Few come.
I check my email for a note from my recruiter. Silence.

Okay, I’m going in.

Image 8

Fast forward about two weeks. Boston has been hit again, again, again and again with snow. People’s cars are buried until Spring.

You can’t see around the corner at stop signs. Wild animals are being brought to animal shelters cause they can’t find food. Even birds!

It was my goal all along to take public transportation in to the office however, lucky for me and thousands of other commuters…the snow storms have wrecked havoc on the public transportation system.

Multiple lines of the “T” are closed cause the crews can’t clear the tracks. People are left stranded. It has become a disaster. I would arrive to the T-stop in the morning along with 50+ of my closest stranger friends and everyone would stand together – looking down the tracks – waiting for the train.

We were like a bunch of penguins out there. Hands in coat pockets. Breathing into our coat collars. All positioned looking due east….anticipating the train.

If we’re freezing out on the platform, it’s okay because due to the snow levels and route cancellations….the train has become:

Standing
Room
Only

Seriously.

Image 3
NOTE: These aren’t my arms. These aren’t my body!

We all know how I like to snuggle up next to strangers. I might prefer to have lunch with a leper.

But the roads are bad enough that I don’t want to drive the 16 miles – so commute I must.

Going into the city, I NEVER got a seat. Since some routes were cancelled, hundreds of additional people crowded on the available trains.

Image 2

(NOTE: This is just the stop before mine – hundreds got off.)

After a week of riding out of the city, I figured out a system and I GOT a seat. It was euphoria when I figured this out. At the main station, my train always came into the same track. Although it was to arrive at 5:40PM, with the weather, sometimes it didn’t show up until 6:15PM.

I would wait calmly, well bundled up, close to the area where my track was outside. As soon as I saw the headlight make the turn towards that track, I started walking.

Excuse me.
Pardon me.

Sneak around this guy and that woman.

By the time I got towards the front of the pack, a few people…usually men…would start to walk down to the track. (Technically you’re supposed to wait for the train to come all the way into the gate and stop…) Nope, not happening for a select few. I was in the front herd. Those that don’t listen to the directions. I joined them.

The result? When the train came to a complete stop, I was usually by one of the doors!

Yahoo! I beat the system!

Why wait for the pack of hundreds?

When you’re small and sharpen your elbows, you can get anywhere.

Now, I too could get a seat. Not just any seat. No. I had MY CHOICE of seat as I got on.

Yeah me!

No more bumping and grinding with strangers.

Image 4

Then someone told me about the ferry. I can take a ferry from close to my home, right into Boston.

REALLY!? I checked the schedule and sure enough….it was operating.

I took the ferry into work. It was delightful.

That night, I took the 5:40PM ferry home. It left on time. But we hit a small bump.

Multiple small bumps.

Actually, some weren’t so small.

The harbor had iced over. We were hitting sheets of ice. All I could think of was the Titanic.

Image 6

No, we didn’t spend the night on the ferry, we spent an extra hour on the ferry waiting for the US Coast Guard Ice Cutter to come and free us.

This is when I discovered….there’s two bars on this ferry.

Case closed, this is how I’m traveling henceforth.

(Note: I’ve been trying to figure out how to use the word, “henceforth” so there.)

Now, the ferry isn’t what you would imagine, or maybe it is. It’s a sightseeing boat in the summer time. Some times I get the GIANT vessel that seats several hundred. Sometimes I get the cute little one. Both offer a decent selection of beer and for me…a chardonnay please… $6.

Image 10

Now I leave the driving to someone else!
I catch up on some reading.
Enjoy a great boat ride.
Have myself a chardonnay and relax on the way home!

So much easier than bringing my airplane bottles of vodka on the train. In those ass bumping moments, sometimes you need to self-medicate and it’s pitiful when you run out and haven’t even left the station yet.

Image 9

Your Fingers In My Hair

One of the hardest things about moving to Miami is finding a hair stylist.    In Juneau, I had the same stylist for ten years and then he moved.  I was horrified.  It was as if suddenly God shouted there would be no more coffee or cheese on earth.

W H A T ?

Then I found a great new hair stylist who I used until my final day in Juneau.

Whew.

Fast forward to Miami and 40,000 salons, spas, hair cutters and strip malls offering quick cut services.  What to do?  Only one thing.  Try.  Try.  Try again.

So far, I’ve tried three salons.  The first was nice but too far away after a few visits.  The second was….honestly…..the stylist just didn’t listen.  I’d sit in the chair, tell her what I wanted and I swear she barely cut anything off my head.  Not to mention the color never stayed.  Lastly, it’s never a good thing when it looks like you’ve tried to behead me with the electric shaver.  Oh, I’m not kidding!  Big giant red cut across the the back of my neck.

In Juneau, my hair was my glory.  In Miami, it’s my struggle.

Needing to get another cut.  I was dreading having to go back to salon #2.

puffy dog

The stylist, I knew would cut off the equivalent of a gnat’s leg hair width of an amount and the end result would be my head would look like a giant q-tip.  

Yeah me – cause that’s the latest hot style!  Everyone loves that look!

Finally, due to my simple exasperation, my better half searched and found a place on line and I gave it a look.  My initial response was “are you kidding me?  Have you seen the pricing?”  A few visits and I could buy a new car…and we all know what kind of car I want.

As my hair continued to get pouffier, yes that’s a word, thank you.  I cancelled my standing appointment at the salon that doesn’t listen to me and made an appointment at the next salon attempt.  We’ll call this place, “Salon Oh La La.”

I walked in the front door and nearly turned around as I thought: oh no, this is not for me.  No.  No. No. No.  This can’t be right.  I’ve never been in such a salon.

No.  It’s not the mix of 4 different languages that make an impact on me:  Spanish, Russian, Jewish and Muslim.  That’s just a common, regular day in Aventura.  What stuns me is the 3 tiered, enormous, bigger than a VW Beetle, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling….over a circular couch that could very well be in a porn film or posh advertisement with nearly naked men lounging on it.  Wait, in fact, I think there might be nearly naked people lounging on it.

Every square inch of space has someone in some form of processing.   There’s no waiting area, so I continue to stand in the middle of the chaos.

Well, this is awkward, as I wait to be attended to by the front desk.

My uncomfortableness is compounded as I don’t know where to look as there are people everywhere.  And, by the way….why do they have a money machine in here?

I have to yell my arrival to the woman at the front desk.  Yell.  Over.  The.  Noise.

I can only yell my name and appointment time to her as, unfortunately I have no idea who my appointment is with.  When they called me back to tell me my time (as I requested my appointment via their online system) the background noise from the salon was so loud I couldn’t hear who the name was of the stylist.

OH yes!  You’re with Suyera.

Great!  (WTF? I think silently to myself…what name did she say?)

A few minutes go by and this young guy comes up and introduces himself to me:  Hello.  I am Stoerj.  Nice to meet you.  Please, this way.

He is so quiet and I have barely understood anything of what he said.  Not that he has an accent but he is quiet.  OH MY.

We go to his station and he asks what I want to do.  I tell him I need his help.  That he is my third stylist and I am looking for someone to just do what needs to be done.  He says, “not to worry.”  Then he starts to look at my hair, which I wear naturally curly.

He looks at the back and says, “WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?”  No mistaking his dislike of my shortened buzzed cut at the nape of my neck.  “WHO DID THIS?”  He’s obviously quite upset.  “TERRIBLE!”  I continued to just let him go on and he continued to run his fingers through my giant mass of hair.

A few minutes later another gentleman joins us and my stylist introduces him as Joseph.  He and Joseph start to consult together over my hair – in Russian.  Joseph calls my stylist Sam.

Eureka!

I have a name!  Mental note to self.  SAM.

The two of them push my head to the left, to the right and to the front.  All of the sudden…. Sam’s voice goes up four octaves and his sentences start running together.  The only word I could understand was:

FUCK!

Again, he’s not happy about the shaved nape of my neck.

I’m thinking, it’s a good thing I didn’t ask him to do this again.

Joseph walks away and Sam says to me, “don’t worry, I will fix this mess in the back.  It will take a few visits, but it can be fixed.  They should have never done this.”  Little did he know, I wanted it like that.

We did color and high lights, low lights, mid lights, rough lights, sweet lights, edgy lights and I even had a cappuccino while I lighted and processed.

It was time for the wash out and he leads me over to the sinks.   A Russian girl comes out to shampoo me.  All I could think to myself was two things….

1.  Please, don’t wash off my eyebrows, I have to go to the store after this.

2.  I don’t think you need to shampoo down my neck.

No, I am not kidding.  She would hold my head up by placing her palm on the crown of my head and then shampoo down my neck.

DOWN

MY

NECK.

I wasn’t just a bird in a bird bath, I was a raccoon in a bird bath.  Water was going everywhere.  I thought at one point….if I start to squirt water of my mouth we’re going to be in trouble here.

My thought process went something like this for the shampoo session:

marilyn

Please don’t wash off my eyebrows.  Oh my god, is my mascara waterproof?

I bet I look like Marilyn Manson by now.  How is this water NOT going in my ears?  Is it necessary to wash my forehead?  Oh wait, time for the neck again.  Please don’t wash off my eyebrows.

Note to self:  Thank god I invested in the clear eyebrow sealer, thank you Bobbi Brown.

Back to Sam, we’re down to business.  He uses his index finger to push my head this way and that way.  The cutting starts normally enough.  It’s your typical hair cut.  Comb and cut.  Comb and cut.  He dries my hair and uses the flat iron.  It looks fantastic.  I love it.

Little did I know the best was yet to come.

Cue Edward Scissorhands.

images-2

I’m not kidding.

It starts with Sam pulling up sections of my hair with one hand……while he cuts wildly….as gravity pulls my hair back into place.

This occurs all over my entire head.

Step two:  He takes sections of my hair and twirls it around his finger.  These large twists of basically hair rope are cut into with his ridiculously fast scissors.   Again, all over my head.

Step three:  Get out the hair dryer.  Tilting my head to one side and then the other, with the hair dryer on….causing my hair to blow wildly….he cuts madly into the forced wind.

All I can do is keep my eyes closed and hope the scissors don’t nip my eyeballs or my ears.  He moves so fast and the sound of those scissors makes my upper lip break out into a sweat.  Talk about scaredy cat ….. I’m on the verge of scaredy cut.

Witcha….witcha….witcha….witcha….witcha…witcha…witcha… (sound of his scissors)

Not to meRollercoasterntion he leans into the chair while doing all of this so I’m also vibrating at the same time.  It’s like a getting a little massage.  No, actually, it’s like you’re going up that first big hill on a roller coaster.  That chug, chug, chug feeling, but at 100mph.

Or, I’m riding along in a POS car and it’s stuck between 2nd and 3rd gear and can’t get over it.  Goodness.

I’m somewhere between getting my hair cut and a Siegfried and Roy act.

The other thing is, when I open my eyes, it amazes me…his cutting draws an audience.

It truly is a performance.  I’ve never had people watch me with such jaw dropping (literally) anticipation.  Perhaps they too are worried about my eyes and ears.  Today when he threw back my hair and I opened my eyes there were four people standing around his station.

FOUR!

They said, “SAM! Beautiful work!”

He said, “Oh no!  She is beautiful!”

Even the woman and stylist in the station across from me yell over how great it looks.

A lady, his next client can’t stop exclaiming how wonderful it looks and wants to know if this is my natural color.  Seriously?  

Ok – who doesn’t want to go to a stylist that says this?  Who doesn’t want to go to a stylist that gets an audience when he cuts?  Is this what it’s like to be a rock star?

Joseph came back over and told Sam he did a great job.  They spoke more in Russian about my FUCKED UP area but we’ll be okay they reassured me.  HA!

hughes

I get the 360 review in the mirror and Sam walks me over to the reception counter so I can make my next appointment.  The receptionist hands me my bill and I realize I won’t be making my first car payment …. instead, I will upgrading to Hughes 500 helicopter payment.  Well shit.  But you know what.  It’s SO WORTH IT.

Now, I also see why they have the money machine in the lobby – tips are cash only.

Sam gives me a kiss and hands me his card with my next appointment on it.

Guess what.  His name is Assaf.

Apparently, I need to get my hearing checked.

Suck on This!

Oral fixations.

Babies have them.  They’ll put anything into their mouth.

Dogs have them.  They’ll chew on anything.

Turkey vultures have them.  They’ll eat anything rubber off your car.

I have an oral fixation.

Boys, get your mind out of the gutter.  It’s not that kind of oral fixation.  Although for you, that’s a oral visual stimulation fixation.  Yes, I agree. Some woman do look better when they have something in their mouth – mainly because it shuts them up.  But, I won’t go down that road right now.

It’s the NOISE that comes out of that orifice that irritates the shit out of me.

Please. Don’t even start with your tsk, tsk, tsk and tell me to be more patient and understanding of those around me – you can just sit down and listen up.  There are people in this world who are ignorant of their personal noise levels and their disruption to my peace and quiet.

I’m talking about those cheeky little fuckers who give no thought to their mouthy acoustics.  There are no words strong enough to describe the annoyance.  They’re simply being:

Insensitive.

Obnoxious.

Barbaric.

Impolite.

Cheeky Little Fucker Case #1:  

Decible Level 70

funny ostrich

Were these people raised by hyenas?

Nope, must have been ostriches.

Let’s see how much food you can stuff into that hole and then  try and carry on a conversation…shall we?

1….2…..3…..GO!

Fail.

I enjoy nothing more than someone stuffing their mouth full of food and THEN talking to me.   Could you not wait two minutes to come and speak to me?  After you swallowed  whatever that is you have crammed into your hole?  Apparently, not.  That’s just great.  Cause you know not only do I understand everything perfectly, but I also really enjoy when the bits and pieces of soggy whatever the hell that is….. come flying out of  your mouth.

It’s even better when you have SO MUCH crammed in there – you have to actually move it from side to side in order to talk.  Looking at you, you’d think you’re working on a giant wad of chew in your jaw.  Nope, that’s just your fucking tuna sandwich.

Are you kidding me?

It happened the other day and it was all I could do to dig my hands into my chair – to keep my own trap shut.  I was on the verge of saying:  “You sound like you have a mouth full of sweat socks.  Can you please finish your danish and then talk to me.”

We’re adults people – use your common sense.

Cheeky Little Fucker Case #2:

Decibel Level 110

fingers down chalkboark

What is worse than the stuffed mouth full of food issues?  Combine it with a nasally voice.  Add an accent.  Include VOLUME.  Oh and for giggles, let’s just as a cherry on top.  This voice is like nails down a chalkboard.

On a regular day her voice, to me, could unscrew lightbulbs  out of the socket.

Combine it with her eating, what I can only imagine as Andre the Giant sized bites and then talking loudly to her co-workers.  It’s enough to make me pack up and leave my cubicle.  Enough.  I’m done.

It’s that or I’m going to start shouting SHUT UP!  SHUT UP!  SHUT UP!

This woman constantly, constantly, constantly…..sends me over the edge.  I could leap the Eiffel Tower in a single bound when it starts.  My one remaining nerve gets such a workout with her that it packs up and leaves before I can even get my headphones out of the drawer.

When I do get the headphones out, I don’t know which music to listen to….something calming like Enya?  Spa relaxation channel?  Give the spa three minutes.  Click.  Not feeling it.  I switch over to something with a little more edge….to match my burned out nerve.  Eminem does the trick. UFC music channel….excellent.

Cheeky Little Fucker Case #3:  

Decibel Level 90

false teeth

False teeth?

No teeth?

Something in your teeth?

For the love of humanity far and wide, do us all a favor – excuse yourself and go brush your fucking teeth and remove whatever god awful boulder is in your cavity that is causing you to suck and slurp like a hooker trying to suck a golf ball through a garden hose.

ENOUGH ALREADY!

The sucking noises have got to stop immediately.  

IMMEDIATELY.

Rule #23 in life: When you have people in your office don’t suck your teeth.  And while I can’t see….I am going to gamble a bet that this person is probably fishing around in their mouth trying to pick out the offending seed of mayhem.

Just.

Stop.

It.

That’s correct, I can only gamble a guess because I never see it.  I only hear it.  Occurs on the other side of the cubicle wall.  God help me.

You’re wondering the same thing I am aren’t you?  If they find the pick – do they eat it?  I don’t know and I don’t care.  It makes me nauseous thinking about it.  I would rather watch guts and gore than see that crap.  Like picking your nose and eating it.

Cheeky Fucker Case #4:  

Decible Level 85

noisy eater

I don’t need to say anything.

You get the picture.

Eating is not supposed to  a recital of your orifice’s abilities to entertain various types of food items and their forms.

Same goes for those of you who moan and groan through your meals.  If you’re going to climax during any course – appetizer to dessert – you need to order room service or go eat in the closet.  They probably have private clubs devoted to food orgies, which I suggest you research but I’m not interested so keep it to yourself, so I too can enjoy my meal.

Those of you who have issues with people who can’t eat in a civilized manner – those who smack their lips, suck their teeth, click their tongues, moan and burp.you have my permission to get up and move away when they sit next to you.

When the offender sits with you, simply choose one of these excuses to move away:

“I’m sorry, my phone is ringing.  Excuse me.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, I’m multitasking today.  Meditating and eating.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m trying to be more in touch with my insensitive side.  Excuse me.”

“The baby is upset today….sorry.”

Then leave.

Enough people.  Just knock it off and respect others.  Get a clue.

Suck on something worth while.

Live Life Like Your Favorite Panties.

I’m one of those people – at the worst possible moment I’m going to be the one that can’t help herself and will burst out laughing.   It won’t be one of those dainty Miss Manner’s kind of laugh either.  We’re talking full on cackle call, tear fueling and breath gasping type of laughter that leads to getting your self into trouble with the nearest authority figure.

I was always in trouble in school for talking….laughing.  Detentions and study halls.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

It……was…..funny!

The worse time, was always church for me.  I grew up Catholic.  I know.  Say no more.  The whole seriousness of the visit got me.  Perhaps it was the lecture we got before even going into the church got me going.  Yes, see I went to a Catholic school, so by default we had regular church services.  Before we even left the classroom and right before we entered the church we’d get the same lecture by the Sister.

“DO NOT embarrass me!”

Anyone that says to me, “DO NOT __________”  Well, that’s not so much an ultimatum as it is a challenge in my book.  I get it and I respect it but my goodness.

I

can’t

help

myself.

Lighten up a bit.  Something would just catch in my crawl and next thing I know I wouldn’t be able to contain myself.  I’d have myself and those either unlucky or lucky enough around me in fits.

No.  My mouth is NOT big enough to stuff my fist inside.  I’ve tried on numerous occasions to stifle the giggles.  Oy.  Once I start I can’t stop.  It’s terrible.

So today when a friend called me and mentioned about a meeting she had to go through at work I suggested she wear these goofy eye glasses I bought her for Christmas.  Everyone needs a lighter moment or two in life.  She thought I was nuts.  I kept telling her the same thing:

THEY PROBABLY WON’T NOTICE!  TRY IT!

We talked later in the day and guess what?

She did it!

Unknown

I was most excited to hear she had actually done the challenge and the best yet – they LAUGHED.  Shut the door!  Good god, people laughed!  The horror and yet they SURVIVED!

So worth the giggles.

We all get so wrapped in being so serious and working.   Lighten the load and take a breath once in a while people.  It’s good for you.

Just like wearing your favorite pair of panties.  You know the pair.  I bet you have several pairs.  I do.  Why be miserable and wear a pair that going to be pinching or chafing you all day long?  It’s not worth it.  Wear the pair that makes you happy.

Like I want to spend 1/3 of my day adjusting my ass?  Panties riding up my butt.  Have to adjust.   Now they’re creeping to the side.   I don’t have the patience or the time for this.  Why be miserable?  And these people, men and women, who think they are casually picking their roos out of their ass – aren’t fooling anyone!

SURPRISE!  I SEE YOU!

It’s like the people who come into each day being miserable.  It’s not worth it.  You create your day from the moment you open your eyes.  Are you wearing grandma panties or a thong?  Be happy, be comfortable – go with what moves you.  Why be miserable all the time?  It’s not worth the aggregation.  Trust me.  It doesn’t do you any good and nobody around you enjoys your negativity either.

Oh wait, let me guess, you’re wearing your underware backwards?  That would explain a lot actually.

Maybe you prefer the granny panties – fine.  Then get rid of those fucking thongs cause you’re attitude sucks when you wear them.

If boy shorts are your thing – excellent.

Boxer or brief – yahoo.

Free balling – that’s fantastic!

However, if you are the kind of person who rips the elastic out of their panties and you know who you are – that isn’t cool.  You have an issue.  We need to get you in touch with some special therapist and get you turned around.

Garter belts with stockings – yes.

Suspenders with panties – no.

NOTE:  Unless you’re PeeWee Herman and have some type of weird fetish happenings then we could discuss with Boy George in Group Sessions.

Go with the flow.  Enjoy the laughter.  Relax a bit and know it’s okay to share a grin or two.  Life is too short to be mean and miserable like the Grinch.  Besides, it’s not good for wrinkles….and nobody wants wrinkles.  Unless you’re a Shar Pei dog….they want wrinkles.

For example….my kinder half is gone starting tomorrow for a week.  Some people would be annoyed and upset.  Not me – I get the entire bed to myself!  I get to eat whatever I want!  Maybe I will go to the movies! AND I may choose to spend all day Saturday on the beach!  Perhaps I will adopt a pygmy goat!  The possibilities are endless.

The point is…..laugh.  Laugh a lot.  Even when it’s not the “right time” to laugh – do it any ways.  There’s a lot of worse things you can do in this life….seriously!  Laughing during inopportune moments truly isn’t one of them.  Take the risk.  Roll the dice.  LAUGH.

Be silly.

Choose to be happy – like your panties!

Women Are Disgusting

I will admit it without any hesitation.

Women are disguisting.

For all the whining and carrying on we do.  Seriously.

Put the windows up! My HAIR!

Don’t kiss me!  I just put on my lipstick!

Don’t sit on the furniture!

Take your shoes off!

Do I have anything on my teeth?

Is my hair out of place?

Did you see her?

Does my ass look fat?

WATCH IT!  I just got my nails done!

.

.

.

.

.

We

Are

Filthy

Creatures.

.

.

.

.

If you don’t believe me.  Walk into any women’s restroom.  Any day of the week.  Any time of the day.  Any where.

Trashed.

What the hell?

I have never seen anything like it.

One should hope the worse thing experienced in a women’s toliet is exiting with paper stuck to your shoe!  Not.  Even.  Close.

First, let me tell you, it’s not a restroom. It’s a room filled with filth, disease, mayhem, absence of any barriers and worse of all ….a lack of common courtesy.  The men’s room is aces above what females exhibit behind public doors here.  Honestly, cleaning crews probably wear hazmat gear at the end of the day.

How do I know the men’s rooms are aces above what is available in ladies rooms?

I’ve been in them.

Come, walk with me.  Put down your cigar.  Put down your chardonnay.  Sorry, reds give me a migraine so I’m white wine only – bear with me here.  Or you can down your shot of Jameson – one of my favorites.  Of course don’t dare me cause I will take you up on the dare as some will attest to.  But, again, I digress.

Come with me as we walk into a public restroom designated for women.

Open the door, ignore the confetti of towels on the floor.  Walk past the sinks.  We’re headed to the stalls.

First stall – you push open the door and they didn’t flush.  Toliet paper clogs the pot, which multiple people have already used…not one flushed.  Or tried to flush. Great.  That’s just great.  NEXT.

Second stall – open the door and there’s piss all over the seat and not just a drop or two… someone turned on The Golden Shower.  Oh hey and there’s plenty of toliet paper all over the floor.  NEXT.

Third stall – there’s someone inside sitting silently…obviously waiting for you to leave so they can finish pooping.  Awkward, but what are you going to do.  HEY!  There’s a book called, “Everyone Poops”  I suggest you buy it and get over it.

Fourth stall –  there’s two empty toliet paper rolls on the floor.  Never a good sign.  Sure enough.  NO paper.

Fifth stall – clean.  You go in, shut the door.  The door doesn’t lock.  But you know, it’s not unusual.  You have a system and get to business.  Then as you’re getting the paper ready to clean up…. several things catch your attention.  It could be the unwrapped sanitary items in the bin – sitting in plain sight like some weird art project by Norman Bates….just nasty and then there’s the disguisting wipes off of someone’s finger of whatever on the stall wall.  Really? Come on ladies!  Just foul, foul, foul people.

As you go to flush the toliet, with your foot – you notice……pee on the floor.  PEE.  ON.  THE.  FLOOR.

Now trying not to touch anything, let us march out to the sinks.

We may or may not wash our hands but by god, I am going to fluff my hair and apply fresh lipstick….before heading out to greet you, my beloved.  Because, I am your Princess.  Your oh so perfect Queen.  Right?  Of course!

Yeah right and monkeys are going to fly out of my ass.

Now, let’s exit the restroom.  The woman has annihilated a stall – single handedly but yet won’t touch the handle to the door upon exiting.  FEAR – she might catch a cold from germs or the Ebola virus.  Let us throw out one last act of defiance – with a paper towel she’ll grab the handle of the door and without a thought, crumple it up and then aimlessly toss it in the general direction of the trash can.  Hence, a mountain of paper towels like Everest that grow with the passing of each hour.

Other things that are ridiculous in ladies rooms?

Being in a stall and little kids climbing under to look at you.

All the moaning and groaning of women pulling up and down their panty hose,  panties and various bodily torture devices designed to keep us looking smooth and svelte.

The sighing of sitting down on the toliet.

At work, women, for some reason and I’ve only ever seen this where I work….put toliet paper down the length of the door to cover the crack so nobody can see them.  Really?  What woman is peeking in between the cracks?  I’m not visiting the bathroom on a tour – I’m going to pee and then get back to work.  If you think your YaHoo is so precious or you’re spending so much time in there posing that someone it going to want to stop and look at you – W O W.

It’s a common, common, common occurance for woman not to flush.  Are they saving water?  The toliet seat cover didn’t flush.  The toliet paper they used to cover the seat didn’t get flushed.  The turd didn’t flush.  All the STUFF didn’t go down.  Why is it woman can’t do a courtesy check and double flush if necessary?  We’re double checking our fucking cleavage, hair and teeth but can’t take a second glance at the toliet to see if our pee and paper have been disposed of properly?

I just don’t get it!

It’s disgusting.

It’s disturbing!

Steven King could make a horror film out of it!

Those ads in Vogue this season are so hot – with the girl leaning against the nasty toliet in her Lucky Brand Jeans, looking all hot and bothered.  I so want those jeans.

OMG and did you see that one ad that Calvin Klein did with the couple making out in that ladies room with pee all over the floor and the trash?  I so want my man to do that….NOT!

And did you see that latest Victoria Secret ad with the wings?  Fantastic, she was seated on the sink with all the trash and toliet seat covers all over – that was so cool.

Nothing about any of this garbage reads sexy, hot, sultry or beautiful.

What woman thinks this is acceptable?  Someone has to clean up after you!

I’m not the first woman to let this cat out of the bag.  It turns my stomach every damn time I go into a public restroom.  It’s not a restroom it’s like the fourth level of Dante’s Inferno.  I’m not kidding.  I spend more time circling his damn Inferno….

All I can say is this…..

MEN…

Listen up…..chances are your woman is pulling the wool over your eyes!

So please, do yourself a favor…. the next time we chastise you for farting in front of us….remember this blog!  Ask her if she does a courtesy flush.