Hot Dog

This week I had the brilliant idea that Wonderlick and I should take advantage of this beautiful weather and go for a walk. What I didn't realize is that 92 degrees is a lot hotter when you're walking in it rather than just sitting on you couch thinking about walking in it. But I discovered this too late. We both hopped into the car, cranked down the windows (literally cranked them they aren't automatic), and were off with excitement. The excitement withered within about three minutes. Even with the windows down it was freakin' hot! We made it to the park albeit a little grumpy but determined none the less. Within the first 30 seconds of being there Wonderlick felt that he needed to defaecate just to let other dogs know that he was there. Awesome. Carrying a little bag of poo in the middle of a hot summer day is one of the grossest things on earth. I'm pretty sure that as it festered it got even hotter than when it came out of his body. Seeing a trash can was like finding gold. We moved on. When we were in the shade things weren't terrible. But when we were in the open spaces and the burning eye of Ra was beating down on us I thought we would die. If something ever happened to cause us to be stranded in the dessert I don't think we would even try to get out. We would just give up and try to die quickly. Wonderlick pulled at the leash with urgency until we once again found shade. I'm pretty sure his feet were burning on the pavement but he wouldn't admit it because I had told him to wear shoes. His stubbornness would cost him sore feet. In a two mile stretch we had to stop and take three water breaks. Nobody is claiming to be an athlete here. When we finally got back to the parkinglot we were quickly reminded that, oh yeah it's even hotter in the car. We felt utterly defeated but we had no choice. In the car we went. I tried to drive as fast as I could, with in reason, to keep the air flowing and take right turns so I didn't really have to stop. Stop lights were the worst. I started taking it personally when they would turn red. “What the?! Can't you stay green for two more !@#$% seconds???” An eternity would past. We almost blacked out and then suddenly from heaven – GREEN. I threw that baby into gear and peeled outta there. Then I would see it. The next stop like. “Come on, come on, come on, Yes!!!” Made it. This lively dance lasted the whole drive home. By the time we had reached our destination I looked like I had been swimming and Wonderlick wasn't speaking to me. I didn't blame him, I just handed him his water bowl.

Zit Faced

I just celebrated my birthday this past weekend.  In my opinion getting older is sort of nice.  I don't miss my younger days at all so I say bring it on life!  However, I did have an unwelcome guest at my birthday this year.  A zit.  A giant, bulbous pimple located on my eyelid.  Yes it is as painful and obnoxious as it sounds.  My teenage years are well behind me so I'm guessing that this is my body playing a sick joke on me.  In my head I have began referring to this face bolder as Grendel because no mater what I do to it the thing doesn't go away.  In fact the more I try the more I seem to anger it and then it gets bigger.  Yesterday Grendel began seeping.  Now I have experienced a lot of nasty things in my life but having an overfull pustule seeping into one's eye is pretty darn gross.  The only comforting thought that I had was that this letting of fluid might cause the swelling to go down and it would finally start healing.  Much to my distress it has seemed only to anger the beast and now the thing is bright red.  It looks as if Mars has found a new home.


*sigh*

So much for the perks of getting older. 

Vroom, vroom

In case any of my readers doubt that I am actually 82 year-old trapped in a 28 year-old's body this post will convince you that it is true.

My view of cars is quite different than most peoples.  To the general public a car is a way to transport your body from one location to another with relative efficiency and comfort.  To me a car is a speeding fuselage of death, screaming down a glorified footpath dodging any number of unmovable obstacles in the effort to be the first person in line at the next stop light.  Everyday that I am on the road I am shocked and thankful to make it to my destination alive.  How can anyone survive with so many mechanical beast roaming the streets?

What scares me even more than these killing machines are the grim-reapers behind the wheel.  Why do people feel like driving is a competition? I MUST GET TO TARGET BEFORE ALL OF YOU!!!!!!
 Really?  Congratulations, you got to the store a whole 45 seconds before anyone else in our line of traffic.  You must be so proud.  If you try really hard maybe you can beat the old lady with the walker to the express checkout lane.  Get over yourself. The only time it is acceptable to speed like a maniac is if you are on your way to the ER or you are a pregnant lady who has to pee.  If you don't fit into one of those categories then I'm sorry you are just going to have to respect other people.  Trust me you aren't that important. Which also means that no, you don't have to answer that text message this very instance.  If you were that important you would have a driver and be sitting in the back seat of a fancy car with both hands free to text/take pics/update status.  But you're not.  You are just some regular joe who has to drive yourself around because you can't afford to pay anyone to do it.  So to compensate for your unimportance you pretend that everyone in your social media circle needs to know exactly what you're doing  right now.  Sadly what you are doing is endangering the lives of countless other idiots who also are trying to pretend that they too are important.  Also you're not foolin' anyone with those hubcaps.

And don't even get me started with teenagers being allowed to drive.........

Clap on, Clap off

Anyone who knows me knows how I love lists.  Lists are everywhere in my house and at my cubical.  They are on sticky notes, white boards, old napkins, receipts, my hand, my phone........ I make lists of anything and everything that pops into my ridiculous and cluttered brain.  Today I am going to share with you a list of things that make me feel old.

1. Kids that I babysat are now getting married.  Nothin' like reality smacking me in the face.

2. Songs I listened to growing up are now on the classic rock station.

3. Boy Bands are considered "old school".

4. Technology frustrates me.  Seriously I don't get apps, what is the point?  Though I will say I do like texting, but I think it's causing arthritis in my thumbs.

5. Everything in my body hurts.

6. I have a set bedtime and it's before midnight.

7. Cellulite.

8. I worry about the light bill going up.

9. Not only am I on several different medications but it's hard for me to remember which ones I have already taken for the day.

10. Now days I opt for staying in rather than going out.

11. Everything gives me indigestion.

12. I complain about how kids dress these days and have no respect or sense of responsibility. 

13. I don't "get" hipsters.

14. Consuming caffeine after 4pm will keep me up all night. 

15. I read Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, Narnia, and Ender's Game before they were movies.

Oh Sh**!

I'm back.  Well at least for one post.  What, you ask, could be so inspiring as to cause me to break my 14 months of silence? Poop. That's right fices.  It's gross and socially unacceptable to talk about but I must.  For all of you who have had close-calls, embarrassing moments, and/or have been stuck on a bus for 8 hours in the middle of the Costa Rican jungle this one's for you.

My story begins with the typical but unpleasant task of taking a drug test.  Now I'm sure most of us have taken drug tests before for various reasons but this one, for me, was because I was starting a new job.  After wasting a considerable amount of time driving around I finally found the actual location of where I was supposed to take the test. By the time I made my way into the building I was definitely ready to relieve myself.  I was also pretty sure that whatever type of cup they gave me was not going to be big enough.  I found a seat in the waiting room and....well...waited. And waited. And waited. My only form of distraction was trying to guess who in the room did or did not have angle bracelets on.  Finally my name was called and I stood up and made my way to the bathroom.  It was only after standing that I realize by this point not only did I have to pee like a race horse but I also had to go #2.  I didn't think much of it, after all I was already on my way to the potty.  Before getting comfortable I liberally applied several layers of toilet tissue to the seat.  My bottom had no sooner touch the crown of the toilet when my body, to it's extensive relief, let go of everything.  And I really do mean everything.  It was almost unnatural the amount of wast that exited my being. While I was still reeling from the shock of what my body had just done I heard a knock at the door.

"Ma'am", the nurse called to me.
"Yes?" I answered ashamed of what I had just transpired.
"Ma'am I forgot to tell you don't flush the toilet when you are done.  By law we have to check it before you leave."

Dear God in heaven what have I done?  A rush of panic raced through my recently emptied body.  Check? CHECK? She is going to SEE MY POO???  I don't know how long I stayed in there, but I'm pretty sure it was too long.  Between the panic and the fumes my head was swimming.  My only option was to run for it.  I frantically washed my hands and went over my escape plan in my head.  I was pretty sure I just needed to hook a right, bust through the double doors, turn left and then race to the parking lot.  I would be gone before the poor nurse even knew what hit her.  There was only one glitch - my purse.  I had to leave it at the nurses station.  For a moment I contemplated leaving it behind but it had my car keys. Crap! "Ok." I though, "I'll just snatch it really fast and then proceed with the plan.  If anything goes awry I'll blame someone with an ankle bracelet." I took a deep breath...oh, oh bad mistake the fumes. With ape like reflexes I swung the door open, snatched my purse, and flew down the hallway.  As I was running I heard the poor nurse gag.

When life gives you lemons...well at least you won't get scurvy

I have recently found myself in the world of Internet Dating.  Due to my busy schedule and somewhat lackadaisical view on dating I thought I give it a try.  Plus its much easier and less time consuming to reject men from my pc than in real life.  The bonus is being able do said rejecting while in sweat pants, eating popcorn, and listening to Pink and still feel good about myself.  So far I have tried two different sites.  One I paid money for (lame!) and the other is free. Something I underestimated was the amount of creepers who were also perusing strangers profiles whilst in their sweat pants (or no pants), eating junk food, and listening to Cher. Also, I was unaware of the many different kinds of creepers.  Here is a list of some that I have encountered:

1. The Old Man:  This man probably has children (or grandchildren) my age and a whole string of ex-wives.  No he is not as caring and intelligent as he claims to be, because if he was he would not be trying to chat it up with someone who does not remember life before cell phones and the Internet.

2. The Poet:  Just because he rhymes his words and uses a lot of adjectives does not make him an artist. If he would have taken the time that he spent creating a profile that was composed of couplets and quatrains on actual human interaction then he might be more interesting.  But instead he is weird.

3.  The Possessor: He seems nice enough at first, but after an email or two he considers you his precious.  Then he starts to track when you are online and offline.  If you don't email him back with in 24 hours he wants to know whats wrong.  When he is further ignored the emails will become more frequent and more desperate until he works himself into a frenzy and "breaks things off".  Things? What things?  Clearly this fellow does not understand the concept of Internet Dating sites and should pick up his women at carnivals and flee markets.

4. The Slob:  Now I'm a little on the lazy side, but this dude won't even brush his hair or get off the couch for his profile picture.  His interests include video games, beer, and chips.  After spending hours combing through pictures of pretty girls he might get up the gumption to compose an email - yo ur hot. wanna hang out?
What kind of response does he expect? One look at you in your stained hoodie and now must have you! Ick.

5.The Ol' Fashion:  Now here is your good, old fashioned creeper.  He is the guy that smells of mothballs and lives in his mom's basement. Which he plans to move out of - once she dies and he buries her body down there. There is no need to even communicate with this individual to know he's a creeper.  The Olan Mills picture of him in his Christmas sweater says it all.  The "Block" button is for people like him.

Of course is not an exhausted list, but the one's that I have personally come in contact with. Now I'm not throwing the proverbial baby out with the bath water.  There are plenty of "normal" folks out there who are just trying to meet someone.  This is more of an observation/cautionary post.  If you have had your own dating site experience I would love to hear about it!  Now I must go.  I need to look for my night vision goggles.  I must have dropped them when I was.......never mind the details aren't important.

Up, Up and Away

A few days ago one of my dear friends invited me over for dinner.  She graciously extended the invitation to Wonderlick (my neurotic dog). Having two dogs herself she thought it might be nice for them to play together.  When we arrived there was, of course, a lot of barking, sniffing, and licking..........on the dogs' part, not my friend and I. Dinner was lovely and we enjoyed catching up.  We were however interrupted several times by panting and...well...humping.  Apparently, in spite of the fact that all three dogs were male, they really enjoyed each other company.  Both my friend and I equipped ourselves with spray bottles.  Things between the dogs got weirder and grosser as the night went on.  When I finally had had enough of dealing with their *ahem* interactions we said good night.  By the time we got home Wonderlick was exhausted and went straight to bed.  The next morning he was still sleeping when I left for work.  My roommate and I crossed paths in the parking lot when I got home that evening.  She was on her way to the grocery store and asked her to pick up a few things for me.  As I turned to leave she said, in her sweet southern accent,"There is something I should mention. Well Wonderlick, bless his heart, his little 'thing' has been out all day."
"All day!?", I said shock and trying not to giggle.
"Yea, he seemed odd and a little embarrassed.  You might want to check on him."
I walk in the house and sure enough there he was with all his glory hanging out.  I began to laugh hysterically and then did the only logical thing I could do:  Google search - My dog has an erection that won't go away.
There is a surprising amount of information on this subject.  I began to read about the home remedies.
"Place your dog in a lukewarm bath.  Get him wet and then gently begin to..."  And we're going to the vet!  I love my dog but not that much.  We head to our local walk-in clinic.  A chipper receptionist greets us, "What seems to be the problem today."
"Well", I reply awkwardly, "The good times just don't end for my dog." She snicker but recovers before it becomes rude.  We are escorted to a exam room.  More awkwardness follows as I have to describe in detail the activities of the evening before and the nature of said erection. Wonderlick is a little proud of himself as I recount the passed 24 hours.  The vet explain to me the treatment and I agree.  He is taken to the back room.  I sit in the waiting room ashamed and praying that no one asks me why I am there.  About twenty minutes later dog and vet emerge.  Wonderlick is smoking a cigarette and has a smirk on his face. The most painful part of the evening for me was a check out - forty-five dollars!!! I just paid $45 for my dumb dog to get a hand job, Ugh!!!  We avoided eye contact on the drive home.

It's Not All Pillow-Fights and Painted Nails

Most of us have heard of the shows The Bachelor and The Bachelorette.  If you have not heard of them then I'm surprised that you were even able to utilize the Internet.  Welcome to the twenty-first century.  I've never watched either show but the commercials make bachelor(ette) life seem full of glamor, sex, and drama.  Non of these things do I experience in my daily life and thus I began to ponder bachelorhood......
It's this nice little stage in life where you are actually a grown-up and do adult things yet your bedroom often looks as though you haven't progressed past the age of fourteen.  Really there is no reason to clean.  Who are you trying to impress?  That daddy-long-leg that has been living in the corner for the past three weeks?  So one continues the cycle of peeling off dirty close and throwing them on the floor and picking up clean ones and putting them on.  This seems effortless but it really isn't.  You do have to find ways of identifying which is clean and which is dirty.  Some things, like large coffee stains, are easy so see.  Those defiantly go in the dirty pile. But what about that shirt that's been there for a couple of days?  It's the subtle clues you learn to pick up on.  Does the fabric move when you push it with your foot or is it stiff?  Are the armpits moist?  If all else fails give it the ol' sniff test.  Also keep in mind that jeans never get really get dirty.  You can wear them until one of two things happens:  they stretch out so much that washing to shrink them is the only way they are going to stay on your body. Or the legs get so stiff you walk like a cowboy.
Laundry is not the only thing that goes unattended to for vast periods of time.  I currently have a carton of eggs that has probably been in the refrigerator for ten weeks (give or take).  At this point I hate to throw them out as I am now counting it as my "longest relationship".  *Sigh*  Yeah, I should probably stop talking to them... Moving on. The milk has been with me for quite some time as well.  Though, unlike the eggs, we are not on speaking terms.  And then there is that weird fuzzy thing that hangs out in my crisper.  I haven't moved it because I don't really know what a crisper is for and said fuzzy thing might have a right to be there.  It's best just to keep the drawer closed.  Now that I have a dog I don't have to worry about spilled food.  He is happy to take care of that department. Done and done!
Being sick when living alone is the worst.  No one is around to help you or get you anything.  One time I was so hungry that I shuffled into the kitchen, grabbed a box of cereal, and headed back to bed.  For the next two days I would wake up from my feverish stupor, eat dry cereal from the box, and go back to sleep.  Another time I answered the door in my sleep.  But that wasn't the worst part.  When I finally realized that it was real and not a dream I also remembered what I had been wearing: shorts, stripped knee high socks, and a white wife-beater.  Things have been awkward between my neighbor and I ever since.  
Baching-it-up isn't all bad.  But there are definitely some things to keep in mind.
1.  Keep the pet to person ratio one to one.  Otherwise you risk being a "crazy pet person". 
2. Always keep your entryway and common area clean.  That way if you have the door or window open and a passerby looks in they don't call Hoarders.   
3. Put your leftovers away.  Food sitting on the counter can attract unwanted creatures.  Like the baby opossum I had under my bed that time.
The exception to #3 is pizza.  No matter what anybody says pizza can live on the counter indefinitely.  And it can eaten at every meal.  

The Morning After, Without the Night Before

A dear friend of mine had his birthday party this passed weekend. It was a ton of fun but paid for it for days. We were out until 2am and I thought I was going to die. In my delirium I had visions of my heart stopping from exhaustion, and then having to get pure adrenaline shot into my chest like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. The worst part? I was the DD!!! There was no alcohol in my system just a variety of fried goodness. I began mutter things like, “Do they have to turn the music up so loud?” and “Man every place is so crowded!” How is it that none of my peers noticed these annoyances? And then it hit me; I am old. It wasn't that I was sober (there were other non-drinkers there) but that the essence of who I am is an elderly curmudgeon. There comes a time in every woman's life when she realizes that staying home in her pjs at 8:00 at night is the best thing ever. It's just that for me this happened about fifty years early. As our group was gallivanting down the street birthday boy got himself a funnel cake. When it was offered to me I respectfully declined. My reasons? I can't have that much sugar and fat before bed, I'll never sleep. Plus I could already feel the flames of heartburn licking my esophagus from my previously mentioned fried food. By the time I made it home and in bed my entire body ached, I didn't even bother to take my contacts out. The next morning I texed my friend to see how he was doing. I begrudgingly drank a cup of black coffee as he told me how wonderful and energized he felt after such a great night. Oh youth you are but fleeting!

Baby, it's 3am and I must be...... really, really tired

The passed four weeks have been crazy.....even more so than my usual crazy. Normal crazy is just me doing dumb things and/or dumb things happening to me. But lately the dumbness has increased as well as general busyness. I find myself acting more and more like my dog, Wonderlick, just staring off into space, running into walls, and being confused by windows. You can see through them but not walk through them, what’s that about? Thankfully I have not had the urge to dig through the trash or eat spoiled food. Wonderlick on the other hand can’t get enough of it. I had to put a childproof lock on my cabinet door so that he wouldn’t get into the kitchen trashcan. But somehow in that inbreed, pea brain of his he figured out that if he bounced the door hard enough eventually the latch would release and all things rotten and putrid were his for the taking. This is the dog that can’t find his way out from under a blanket and yet the boy genius can finagle his way to garbage heaven. The worst part is that he does it while I am home. He isn’t even smart enough to sneak! I’ll be sitting on the couch when I hear “thump, thump, thump.”

“Hey, cut it out!” I yell.

Click, click, click go his little toe nails on the tile floor. Five minutes later I hear it again, “thump, thump, thump.”

“Really? Bad dog, stop it!”

About seven minutes later, “thump, thump, thump.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” I get up and walk to the kitchen. Wonderlick tries to act casual. I walk him to the cabinet and point to it.

“No, no. Bad dog.”

He begins to wag his tail. I sigh and shake my head. He licks my hand. Despair creeps into my soul.

That night around 3am I hear Wonderlick begin to stir. Now what? I find out all to soon. The miserable creature begins to wretch. No, no, no, no, no! Half asleep I jump out of bed, eye mask still on, and run to the back door. The barfing pooch is at my heals. With shaking hands I unlatch the door, slide it open, and throw the puker outside. He runs off into the bushes. By now I am fully awake and my eye mask is hanging around my neck. I turn around and head back to the bed. Two steps in and I feel an unholy sensation under my foot. A wave of horror washes over my body as I look down. There between my bare foot and the floor is a warm pile of partially digested chicken.
So there I find myself at 3am, hopping on one foot to the bathroom, gagging and thinking, “yep, this is my life.”

When it rains it pours until flashfloods sweep away your sanity

This week was a bit of a train wreck. No, maybe not so quick as a train wreck, more like a termite infestation. Slowly my sanity was eaten away by "life" issues until the beams of my emotional stability were little more than toothpicks. It started with a car accident. I had ventured outside of my zip code to attend a sporting event. Nothing makes one feel like an old curmudgeon more than traversing a college campus. When did I become so old? And when did 18-22 year-olds become so annoying? But that is neither here nor there (its hard for aged people like myself to stay on track ;) The car accident. I was driving through a residential area when someone thought that it would be a good idea to make a left hand turn directly in front of me. Now I can appreciate being in a hurry, I'm late for a lot of things, but if you're going to rush you should do it effectively. This incident only slowed us all down. My first thought was that it was some stupid co-ed who had been texting her bff. To my surprise a very apologetic middle-aged man stepped out of the battered sedan. We exchanged information and both cars were well enough to drive away. And thus my week started. Valentine's Day rolled round and I had my traditional Valentine's date planned with my two favorite guys: Ben & Jerry. But before I settled in for the night with my creamy lovers I went to get a hair cut and pick up a few things at the grocery store. On my way out of the store I ran into a guy whom I have a bit of a history with (I won't go into all the awkward details). Not wanting to be a jerk I said hey, and we chatted about nothing for what seemed like an eternity. I finally excused myself when my face had become so hot and flushed that I thought my bangs were going to catch on fire. As I turned to leave he wished me a happy Valentine's. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to steal one of Cupid's arrows and drive it through his stupid little head! Copious amounts of chocolate were eaten that night. The next day, nursing a candy hangover, I found out that an elderly friend of mine had passed away in the night. He was a wonderful man who touched a lot of lives and will be deeply missed. I breathed a sigh of relief when the weekend came and I could stay in my pj's, sit on the couch, and just stare at the wall. If only. While cleaning I found a silent creeper in my storage unit: black mold! I could practically hear the hateful little spores laughing at me as I threw away my damaged property. But I had the last laugh as I doused the Stachybotrys bastards with bleach. Booyah!!! After conquering the Fungi Kingdom I began preparations for another battle. This battle was with Big Brother a.k.a. Taxes. Due to my bureaucratic nature I actually don't hate doing my taxes, and yes I do know that I'm a freak. That being said I am always angry at how much of my income goes to the government (Ron Paul 2012). However the government does not care about my opinion so it has to be done. This year my friends and I decided to all get together and do them at the same time. It was a late night with a lot of number crunching, popcorn eating, random groans, and a lot of exclamations like "what the what!?" and "are you kidding me!?" But in the end we muddled through. Around 12:30 a.m. I dragged myself out to the car only to find that one of my tires was completely and utterly flat. Sure, why not? I was too tired to even get angry, I just stood in the cold and whimpered. The worst part was that this wasn't even my car. If you will recall I was in an accident at the beginning of the week and the car I had driven that night was a friend's. Not about to deal with the flat right then and there I bummed another friend's car for the night and called AAA the next morning. Today I decided to stay in doors. In fact after I finish this post I think I'm going to go do some wall staring. Hmm......nothingness sounds nice.

I can't tell, butt I'm sure it's fine

Working in retail is always interesting. One holiday I picked up a part time job in a store geared towards teens and early 20 somethings. All the clothing was tight, had sparkles of some kind, and the music was way too loud. One particular day I was stationed at the fitting rooms, and spent countless hours knocking on doors, asking people how they were doing, because I cared oh so much. Occasionally a client would ask for my opinion on how they looked. Of course I would tell them that they were fabulous and they should by it in at least three colors (now stop fixing your lip gloss and get the heck out so I can put someone else in your fitting room!). One customer that day was, shall we say, older than our usual cliental, by about 40 years. When she first came in I though she was shopping for a grandchild. I was grossly mistaken. She informed me that she was seeking a pair of jeans for herself. Since she was petite she thought maybe a “younger” style would fit her better. I grimaced; no one wants to see grandma in bedazzled skinny jeans. She was, however, a paying customer and I treated her as such. Grandma tried on every style of jeans that our store carried but to no avail. At the end of an hour-long runway session she determined that the problem was her butt. None of the jeans fit her derriere quite right (perhaps because she was no longer 18). I assured her that this was a problem that pledged many women, and that she was not alone in her distress. That was no comfort her. Frustrated she swung open the fitting room door sporting nothing but her T-shirt and white granny-panties. I was mortified to say the least. A wave of panic flowed over my body. Frantically I ran over to shut the door before any innocent passersby were eclipsed by her moon. “I think my butt is different than everyone else’s!”, She desperately exclaimed. Then, to my horror, she bent over and asked me if her butt look any different than other butts. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or curl up in the fetal position and pretend this was all a dream. I managed to stutter something about not being an expert on the subject, and told her that everything looked ok from my point of view. Unbeknownst to her I was staring at anything accept her age-ridden buttocks. Eventually she got cold or something because she put her original pants back on. She thanked me for my time, and I said it was no problem (even though I would probably have nightmares for weeks and need psycho therapy for a very long time). As she was leaving I suggested a more age appropriate store to her (thinking that there would be significantly less rhinestones on their garments). In hindsight I probably should have called and warned the other store’s sales associates. Butt what are you gonna’ do?

Keep Your Pants On!

My pants are currently being held up by a binder clip. This morning I lost the top button on my pants while at work. I gingerly made my way down the hall trying to act super casual with my hand on my hip, secretly holding my britches until I could make it to the supply closet. From my previous post one would think that I would learn to keep safety pins in my possession, but I’m a slow learner. Especially considering that I had a button issue a few weeks ago at an office meeting. We all know that office meetings are not the most exciting things in the world. The interest level lies somewhere between getting one’s teeth cleaned and watching a Parakeet groom itself. But I found a way to keep everyone bright eyed and bushy tailed! This particular meeting started the same way they always do, everyone trying desperately to stay awake, drooling into their coffee cups while someone runs through a list of updates and new procedures. Then my turn to speak came and everyone suddenly came to attention. I of course thought it was my dynamic personality and ebullient speaking abilities that held everyone engrossed. I was sorely mistaken. It wasn’t until I was walking out of the meeting that I noticed things were a bit breezier near my chestular region. Ah ha, it was not the security topic I had presented that everyone was so interested in, but something else that I had unwittingly shared with the entire office. The first button on my blouse had managed to undo itself leaving me exposed to everyone. The wide eyes and smiles of my co-workers were not for me, but for my two lady friends who had decided to make this meeting a party! The best part is no one said a word about it. I redressed myself and we all went on with life as thought nothing ever happened.

"All Things Bright and Beautiful"

About once a month I sing with the worship team at my church. This is both exciting and nerve racking for me. I always try to look my best, as I will be standing in from of the congregation. One particular morning I wore an adorable polka-dot pencil skirt (guys that basically means it was straight and to the knees). As usual I was running just a bit late. In my haste I over stepped getting out of the car and hear a gut-wrenching rip. I froze, my heart palpitated, and then my fingers gingerly crept to the back of my skirt to feel the damage. No, oh no! Really?! Yep. The slit in my skirt had ripped all the way up to…..ahem…..an essential area. I couldn’t have the whole church seeing “All That I Am”. So I did what any rational adult would do, ran to the bathroom and panicked. Standing in front of the mirror I survey the devastation; hopped up and down flapping my hands as if I were about to take off. All the while muttering pathetically, “no, no, no, no, no…..” and praying that God would perform a miracle. I understand that “He Hidith My Soul” but right then I needed Him to hidith a few other things too. My friend walked in, and I spewed out my sad tale and asked her for a safety pin. She told me that had she not lost her keys to her office then she would have had access to all kinds fastening devices. Alas, this was not a good day for either of us. As we were talking she accidentally bumped her hand spilling her coffee all over her white blouse. Fail. Now there were two adult women panicking in the bathroom. After a good twenty-minute-freak-out session I finally procured a safety pin. The largest safety pin I had ever seen in my life! My eyes filled with tears of joy. Then I suddenly realized what time it was. What the what!!! I should have been on stage 10 minutes ago. Running up the stairs, careful to not loose my pin, I burst into the sanctuary just in time to grab my mic and start the first song. Which sounded not so good since I had missed the sound check completely and was out of breath. But I guess people will have learned to take me “Just As I Am”.

Warning Explosion Imminent

I believe in staying well caffeinated at work. Thus I occasionally drink Coke (for you southerners when I say "Coke" I mean the brand not the generic term for soda). So I keep a little stash of cans in our mini fridge at work. For two years this has never been a problem. Today I receive the following email: Could the person who kept the can of Coke Zero in the mini fridge please clean it up as there has been an explosion. "Hahaha, now who's being overly dramatic?", I thought. I could not have been more wrong. Explosion is the only way to describe the travesty that was my can of soda. Apparently the mini fridge having had enough of being at "normal" temperature decided it was time to get a little chilly. Slowly and steadily my fizzy drink was locked into ice crystals. When the pressure was too much the entire top (keep in mind this is a can) burst off gushing the sugary goodness all over the fuselage. The carnage was great. Not only was the beverage wasted but the collateral damage included a tub of hummus, two expired yogurts, and a half eaten biscuit. Saddened and still in shock I began to clean up the wreckage. I cried a little when I found the remnants of the can's top in a crumbled ball at the back of the refrigerator. With in minutes the mayhem was cleaned and nearly forgotten, the only sign of the tragedy is a small crack on the side of the door. May we never forget the loss of the Coke Explosion.

And here we go!

I am starting this blog because very strange and wonderful things happen in my life and I feel that they should be shared. People should know that no matter how weird or disjointed their day is there is someone out there experiencing the exact same thing.....me. Not a day goes by when I don't have a wardrobe malfunction, pet crisis, freakeshly odd customers, major breakdown of something I didn't know existed but is essential in my house, etc. All the world's a stage and my life is a farce. So sit back and enjoy life with me!