Tag Archives: aliens

Stop Talking….. Before I Get Out the Duct Tape.

On my Fridays, I take the ferry to / from work. It’s like a sightseeing trip.
This past week, in the morning, I was able to score a chair out on the deck.
Sitting in the sunshine and watching the world go by.

Sailed right into downtown Boston, calm and relaxed.
Ahhh.
THIS is a civilized commute.

The return home is even better as they have a bar on board.
Usually, I throw my bag into a seat and grab a Chardonnay for $6.
This. Is. Nice.

If I were a guy, I’d have at least two beers on the way back. I watch them and most do. Some buy two beers right off the bat. Smart.

This past end of the work week, I was the third person in line for the ferry. So I was able to get my wine on the way to finding a seat. I decided to sit outside on the return as well. It was lovely. Sunny. Didn’t need a coat. Beautiful. I settled in and prepared for the start of my weekend.

There were 34 people on the outside deck.
3/4 of them were on their smart phones.
1 was reading a book.
Several were enjoying the surroundings, hidden behind their sunglasses and drinking their beers.
1 was politely smiling and nodding his head.

Why?

Because the girl he was sitting next to would not shut the hell up.
She talked.
And talked.
And talked.
And T A L K E D.
And kept on talking.
She never took a breath.
Not to mention she was loud.
Annoyingly loud.
They were right behind my left shoulder.

The point in having a conversation with someone is to say something – then let the talking partner have an opportunity to respond. To talk to the point of vomiting words is not carrying on a conversation. It’s being a selfish conversation hog. When you are a conversational hog, you don’t care what the other person has to say, because all you want to hear is your own voice. Your conversation partner practically has to karate chop you to get you to shut up or they need to fly the white flag and give up.

This, does not a good conversationalist make.

She literally, I don’t think ever….. took a full minute of silence.

These are some of the areas she covered in her 40 minute filibuster:

She just got married.
They bought a house.
Since she is now married, everyone is telling her to go back to school.
She’s not sure she really wants to go back to school.
And why should she go back cause she just got married?
Does that make any sense? No. It’s so odd.
She works at a hospital.
This department is so much better than her previous one because you’re not trying to save lives in this one.
There is a lot less pressure.
But who knows if this is the right department for her.
Oh and there is this doctor who just annoys her.
And the co-workers are really great, especially this one….
Her new husband used to work at an Auto Zone.
Now he is doing referrals.
They are so excited to be back in Boston.
Although she doesn’t like the winters.
She loves this weather though.
Isn’t it nice weather?
Her mother told her to bring her sneakers when she comes to visit.
It was good she told her, cause she wasn’t planning on bringing her sneakers.
There are so many trails.
When she and her mom went on the trail behind the house, there were lots of turkeys.
Her mom is afraid of turkeys.
She takes pictures of all the turkeys.
Oh look! There’s another one, better get a picture.
What do you think this is? Left over and forgotten bridge?
They aren’t doing anything with it.
Wonder what it’s here for.
That is so random.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
40 minutes of this. Relentless babble.
She was early 20’s.
He was in his 50’s.
Obviously he was an old family friend as she was asking him about what so-n-so is doing now a days, how excited her mom will be to know she ran into him, it’s been such a long time. Etc.

Shut up.
Shut up.
Shut up.

What is usually a pleasant 40 minute water journey home, felt like an eternity.
There were no other chairs available on the deck – so I was stuck unless I wanted to go inside.

This.
Is.
A.
Nightmare.

It was like being in a long hallway in a horror movie, trying to get to the end, but the hallway kept getting longer and longer. There was no end in sight. Your anxiety rising like a repeat of Chinese food in the back of your throat.

At any moment, I felt a giant alien may come out of someone’s chest, or a little kid on a red tricycle was going to show up and pedal around the deck. Either would have been better than being pummeled by her voice.

This was pure agony.

I was annoyed.

SHUT UP! STOP TALKING!

Give

It

A

Rest.

For the love of god – put a sock in it!
Here! Use my sock!
You are melting any ear wax I have because of the incessant noise that is your non-stop verbal cacophony.

Yes, the gentleman did get a few words in edgewise. I only know this because I could hear the wind blowing for a change. He was soft-spoken and got to the point. He didn’t pontificate on the pros and cons of going back to school or eating out at the new place around the corner from work. This man understood the etiquette for conversation. It’s only too bad he didn’t educate her on what that entailed.

I’m sure his face was tired of smiling and nodding by the time they got off the boat.

My ears were ringing when I got off and I only had one chardonnay! I should have followed the boys on board and had a second.

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Miss Me Yet?

I get it.

The dryer eats socks.

The refrigerator eats cat toys.

The couch eats change.

The bottom desk drawer eats crap I decided at some point was necessary for my life at work.

Fine.

It.

All.

Makes.

Sense.

What I don’t get are the things you see on the side of the road. Or better yet, along the sidewalk.

Forever lost to someone.

I’m not talking about wads of gum or cigarette butts. Nor am I talking about toothpicks, or more specifically those weird harp on a stick looking ones. Actually, they might be a little tiny guitar for a gnome. I didn’t think anyone actually used those. Boy, am I surprised!

Side note: I would also like to make mention, over the last two weeks, there has been an ungodly increase in the number of bandaids along my walking route to work. It doesn’t matter if I’m coming from my beloved ferry or the newly discovered train route. There are bandaids EVERYWHERE. All stuck to the sidewalk (as opposed to the lamp-posts).

They’re rubber slugs that have given up and collapsed.

Right there.

Between Congress and Seaport.

Done.

Expired.

Small ones, regular ones, circular ones and some that are large enough my cat could wear it as a bonnet. My lizards could use it as a hammock.

Johnson & Johnson must have seen an uptick in their bandaid sales in Boston.

What’s with the bandaids? There’s a hell of a lot of bloody blistered feet in town.

And don’t be telling me it’s from the Boston Marathon. That was April 20th and we’re now in June. (insert buzzer sound here)

But, if you were to look at some of the footwear….it makes sense. I was behind a girl today who was not so elegantly hobbling on 4 inch wedges. She had a swagger like Captain Jack Sparrow.

He, by the way, is adorable. Swagger…..Me Now….Meow.

She, swaggering like a squirrel, who just painted their toenails with silver glitter polish and can’t stop admiring them enough to take a step….not so adorable.

FOCUS! Christ, it’s exhausting to watch!

I’m just saying.

If you can’t walk in the shoes, don’t buy them. They make you look like you have no sense of balance and you’re trying to walk a tight rope with giant marshmallows strapped to your feet. You have no clue where your next step is going to land and you’re all over the sidewalk.

But, I digress.

Thank you for your patience.

What I can’t figure out is all the random shit left behind.

The other day. Route 3. A giant stuffed tiger was on the side of the road. I’m talking a kids toy, not a treasure hunter’s dream from Asia. It’s literally miles between exits. How did it end up out there? Then, of course, my mind begins to wander. Was some small child crying they lost their tiger?

I was sad.

Sad for the kid.

Sad for the tiger.

Will this tiger end up on the front of some trash truck? You know what I’m talking about. Will he be happy? I did once see mannequin heads on the side of a trash truck. I didn’t have a chance to snap a photo but damn…that was creepy yet surprising awesome.

Obviously, I’ve watched Toy Story too many times.

Walking you see all kinds of random things. Random enough that I have thought to myself, more times than I’d like to admit….”If I was homeless, this would be a score.”

I’ve seen baby bottles, blankets, shirts, socks, fleece pull overs and tarps. The tarp would be a score as would the fleece pull over.

But then there are the things I see where I scratch my head and just have to say….WTF?

Earlier this week…on my way to grab a sandwich for lunch I came across a shoe on the sidewalk. A perfectly decent loafer. A left one at that. IMG_1886
HOW DO YOU LOOSE A LOAFER?

I’ve seen shoes along the highway. The only thing I can think is someone gets pissed and throws the other person’s shoe out the window when they’re sleeping. Ha. Ha. Ha. So funny. Fucker. Wait till you go to sleep and I’m going to take a permanent marker to your face. Then we’ll see whose laughing.

I’ve seen a right sneaker and then a mile down the road the matching left sneaker. Okay, they obviously left them on the roof of the car and drove off.

Then there are the random flip-flops. Alright. Well, not a huge loss. It’s a flip and a flop. Meh.

But a brand new left foot loafer? You’re going to miss that. Especially if you are currently wearing the right one. Walking down the side walk. With a limp. Duh. Where’s my shoe?

What the hell is going on here? Aliens. Blame the aliens. Always blame the aliens.

The shoe didn’t even have time to get it’s white parts dirty! It makes no sense. Of course, I took a snap!

The other thing that baffles me are the people who move and randomly leave their belongings along the roadside. Are they leaving breadcrumbs to find their way back? If you don’t want to move, don’t. Shouldn’t be a newsflash.

I feel, one of two things could be happening with these cushions….

1. The owner of the couch wants a new couch. Easiest way to get a new couch. Loose a cushion.
2. It was an accident. In which case, sitting on a bunch of duct taped phone books is going to be unfortunate.

Just saying.

Today is Friday and on the way home, I stop at the grocery. I run in and then when I come out, something catches my eye. I look over one space to the left. IMG_1946

Are you kidding me?

Who looses their PILLOW?

This isn’t a fluffy, throw on the bed as decoration type of pillow vis a vis Marilyn Monroe. This isn’t a porn star’s, I need some lift and support, type of pillow. This is a regular, put your head down and go to sleep type of pillow.

First off, what are you doing with a pillow in the grocery parking lot?

Secondly, why is it in the shopping cart return?

Then I think…..ohhhhh, if I was homeless, that would be a score! (what is wrong with me?)
And next, I snap a picture.
Of course.

The Gym – Always a Story

My goal is to get to the gym four times a week.

When I successfully wrangle my butt out from under the soft and cozy blankets….stumble over the pets to make a cup of coffee….blindly throw on my gym gear…..put my hair up in two pig tails and manage to make it INTO the gym….I give myself a pat on the back, a kiss on the hand and a red star on the calendar.

No, really I do.

Kiss my hand, that is.

If I’m going to spend the wee hours of the morning sweating it out with some of  Juneau’s most interesting residents… then by god someone should be kissing me for the effort.   I’m not referring to the overly furry man with the pony tail and tat-sleeves I see every morning.  Either shave that thing, knit it into a sweater or cover it up – good god man!

Of course getting stars on the calendar is quite the bonus too.   It’s a mental thing.

Yeah me!

Without a doubt, it goes back to my second grade days when Mrs. Boyer would give out stars to the best kids in class at the end of the day.  Yes, please.  Don’t I deserve TWO?  Me, suck up?  Never.  Don’t know what that even means.  Now give me the stars!

Each student received a little handmade book at the start of the school year to collect stars.  My booklet had a gray wallpaper cover.

The two most sought after treats were either getting your face painted during recess or saving up 100 stars.  What did you get for 100 stars?  The best thing ever!

Mrs. Boyer would bring her Collie into school for the whole day.

Okay, I know you were thinking the best thing ever is really an endless vodka iv drip.  Followed by daily  massages by some hunky, half-clothed, man of your choice on a white sand beach.  Better yet, can I have the vodka iv drip while getting the massage from Mr. Bare Chested Sexy Guy?

Funny the things you remember.

That’s why I love my red stars.

When I go to the gym, I’m focused.  I’m not there to be seen.  I’m not there to walk on the treadmill and gossip with friends.  I’m not there to check into a social club.  I really don’t give a flying flip if my exercise pants don’t match my tank top or socks.   I’m there to sweat, lift weights, climb stairs, push weights, sweat, circulate on the elliptical, pull weights, work, sing along to the songs on my iPod and ponder how to solve the world’s problems.

Duh.

Yes, it’s true.  I’ve ignore people I know at the gym.  Thank you tunnel vision.  Honest, it’s not on purpose.  (Okay, I admit, sometimes it is.)   If you cross through my line of sight of course  I will acknowledge you – I’m not rude!  However, if you’re on a treadmill six down and across the room from me, don’t expect me to wave my hands in the air.  I am certainly not going to rush over to inquire how your previous night was.

News flash:  I don’t care.  I am there to work.  Get in.  Get out.

Some of the members of my gym are aliens.  There’s the crazy guy who I swear is going to seriously injure himself on the weight machines.  He’s creepy and he’s dangerous.  Not a good combination.   Above all he drives me absolutely nuts with how he does things. There was the woman who was insistent on providing me full frontal disclosure – awkward.  Just put that away, I’m not interested in your ya-ya.

However, this week, I’ve encountered something completely different and I can’t figure out what the advantage would be for this guy.

The only logical conclusion in my mind:  this guy thought he was in a low-budget porno.

Imagine this scenario:  I’m using a flat bench to do flyes and presses.  A guy comes over – not in the best shape.  Older.  The dumb bell racks are lining the wall in front of me – by my feet.  He walks up and selects one weight – at about 30 pounds.

This puts him about 6 feet away from me.  Immediately to my right.

Holding just one weight.

In his right hand.

Curls commence.

Fine.

Then the weirdness starts.  Sound the appropriate alarm here…

He raises his left leg and puts his left foot up on the rack at a 90 degree bend – sort of.

His foot is on the rack.  Kinda like he’s stretching?  Really?

Did I mention he’s wearing shorts?

Now what is this about?

I’m still perplexed.  Weirdo.  I finish my bench exercises and realize he’s conveniently parked himself where my weights need to be returned.

Stretch….one….bend….two….bend….three….bend.

Really?

I put my weights down next to my bench and decide to walk through the gym for a minute – you know to cool off.  I return a couple of minutes later.  Now he’s attracted a friend.  Both of them are now blocking the rack.  You’ll be glad to know, he’s switched legs.

Bend….one….bend….two…bend…three.

It’s just too early for this kind of stuff.  I’ve only had one cup of coffee.  I’ve just sweated myself silly for an hour.  My chest feels like silly putty and now you want to block my way?

Grabbing my weights, I throw my shoulders back and walk straight up to the guy – nearly hip checking him on the approach.  EXCUSE ME – and slam the weights into their holder.  He obviously thought I was impressed with his pale, fleshy thigh as he gave me a big grin…bend…one…bend…two.

Really?

Freak.

Don’t make me say sorry.

Strobe Lights In My Sleep…They’re Keeping Me Awake!

It’s hard enough to fall asleep, let alone stay asleep. Like the annual arrival of Girl Scout cookies, my sleep pattern is such that if anyone needs a wake up call at 2:30AM – I’m your person. Want to play Scrabble at 2:45AM, I’m in. Need your dog walked at 3:00AM, call me.

Seriously.

Like clock work.

I’m up.

Sunday night friends came over for dinner and we watched Inception. Very interesting movie. I won’t give anything away, in case you haven’t watched it yet. But sure enough 2:30AM and I’m up pondering an entire scene where I should have gotten up to get my calculator to get the answer easier but no….I tried to do math in my head.

My theory on math has always been:
There are number people and there are letter people. I am a letter person.

Had I gotten up to get the calculator, even an abacus would have worked, my mind wouldn’t have still been rolling about at 4:00AM. No, I never did get the answer I was looking for…I needed more than ten fingers and toes.

Monday night, I had my better half download an app on his iPhone for me to try. It was an Inception Dream State thing you listen to with ear buds. Okay, this should be cool. Lights out, ear buds in, cats snuggled in…..one, two, three…sleep. Notta. I’m laying there listening to this music, which is on a short repeat cycle. Deep breathing, calming music….come on sleep!

As I listen to the dream sequence I selected there’s this great sound in the far reaches of the musical notes. Almost a deep drumming sound, hard to explain. I figured it was one of those deep sleep, sonic mind-wave tracks that was playing, lulling my mind to sleep. Amid the tingling waves and gentle notes I focused on the beats of this drum tone.

Veeeerrrrrrmmmmmm.

Veeerrm.

Veeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmm.

Veeeerrrrm.

This went on for about ten minutes and I thought I felt sleepy enough to turn off the music and rid myself of the ear bud cords. (If I hadn’t taken those things off, I’m pretty certain I’d have wrapped myself up like a spider’s snack in a web of torture.)

Relaxing, relaxing, relaxing….and hey, there’s that drum tone again…but louder. For pete’s sake you have to be kidding me! Those weren’t dream inducing sonic mind wave drum beats….that was my better half snoring! The music had drowned the snoring out enough to make it seem like a lullaby. Drum beat my ass!

Last night, I’m exhausted after two nights of crap sleep. After reading 30 pages in my bedside book I finally feel strong enough to attempt sleep. I’m delighted. I’m out like a slowly burning candle.

Until I’m awoken by two Pterodactyl dinosaurs fighting.

I sit bolt upright in the bed. What the hell IS THAT?

Two cats in bed sleeping – check.
The better half in bed snoring – check.
I’m in bed awake – double check.

Certain death is being had on our cul-da-sac. I wonder for a moment if James Cameron is filming a new Aliens movie and forgot to tell the neighborhood. The screeching and rumbling is nearly ear splitting.

Now I’m fully awake and realize what’s happening. It’s the fucking road grater, clearing the snow in our cul-da-sac. Wait, we weren’t supposed to get snow.

Two things come to mind immediately:

1. If we did get a bunch of snow then the grater wouldn’t be making that kind of noise.

2. If we did get snow, our cul-da-sac wouldn’t get plowed for three days.

Which leads me to the conclusion they’re clearing snow at 3:00 in the morning, simply for entertainment. God isn’t even up yet at this hour! I get up and look out the front window. Sure enough, the street has been scraped nearly down to black pavement…..hence the screaming Pterodactyl Dinosaurs.

Apparently, this must be the annual, “Road Snow Beautification Sculpture Contest” for the road crews as our cul-da-sac is perfectly groomed and would make Tiger Woods proud, if placed on Pebble Beach Golf Course.

And the point of this at 3:00AM is what?

Idiocy.

Back to sleep I struggle, now that we have our beautiful snow green out front. I think of what the gentle golf announcers would say on tv:

“Watch out for this one ladies and gentlemen. Looks like the Idiot is going to go for the double birdy on this shot. Hope he sees that white SUV in the rough. Let’s watch.”

Double Idiot.

Finally, at some point I fall back asleep. I only know this due to the beautiful music I hear in my dream. It’s quite lovely, like a 12 piece band playing at an USO dance. Lots of horns and trumpets, quite nice really.

As the music continues, I start to wake up, only to realize it’s that damn road grater AGAIN! Now clearing the snow from the road behind our house.

Really?
Can this not be done by daylight?
Well now, it’s obvious.
Our road crew is made up of vampires.

I flop around in bed and open my eyes only to be greeted by strobe lights from the road grater. Is this all necessary? Only vampires who want to be golf course groomers are up at this hour…let the rest of us sleep! Let’s call more attention to ourselves and turn on the strobe…just in case they can’t hear us already. Like there’s a lot of traffic on roads that aren’t even secondary roads in the middle of the night.

Between the screeching Pterodactyl Dinosaurs, orchestra horns sounding from the backing up beeper and now the added disco strobe light…I can’t stand it any longer. I may as well get up…it’s 4:00AM.

Apparently, my cat FeeBee thought the same. She decided to get up and have a hairball. Lucky for me she managed to projectile aim it off my side of the bed.

Awesome, I’ll go get the paper towels….