Do you take yoga? I started recently. Bikram yoga, the hot yoga. It's kind of nasty because there are a lot of older, overweight, hairy men contorted in any one of the 26 Bikram poses (poses?) sweating their balls off wearing just Under Armour boxer briefs. Lots of visible tatts, of which I am not a fan. Maybe because I've never been passionate enough about something to want to permanently ink my skin. Jeez, you mean some day I won't want a dolphin emblazoned on my ankle? There are also a lot of cottage-cheesey asses. Maybe less Bikram and more Stairmaster? Just a suggestion.
The room is somewhere between 105-110 degrees and 80% humidity, so even without any exertion one is sweating. Add in some contorting, balance and stretching and the place is dripping in sweat. So it's essential to bring a towel to cover your mat and absorb the sweat pouring off your body and -ick- off your neighbor's body if the studio is crowded. (I won't get into my fear of ringworm.)
After a 90 minute class your towel is soaked in sweat, as is your clothing. I don't like wet towels or clothing languishing in my laundry room so I generally cobble together anything machine washable and wash a combined load when I get home from class. Yes, I know, combining whites with darks and towels with clothing are major laundry no-no's, but in the 3 weeks I have been a yogi I have taken to breaking those rules. Sure, I could wash that single sweat-soaked towel alone, but that would be wasteful. So I combine.
Friday evening I took class, came home and tossed a combined load in the washer and later switched it to the dryer. Saturday I went wine tasting all day. Sunday I woke up and knew a detoxing Bikram class was in order. I went to the dryer, pulled out the clean and dry towel from Friday's class, quickly folded it, grabbed my mat and a bottle of water and headed to class.
Sunday AM's are popular for Bikram yoga. The studio was moderately full when I arrived, around 5 minutes early. I snagged a decent space in the 3rd row (not too crowded, neighbors not too physically repulsive) and rolled out my mat. Standing above my mat among my fellow yogis I unfurled my towel....and the sin of combining loads was revealed. A lovely pair of white Hanky Pankies with a delicate floral print were released from the fold in my towel and fluttered gently to the floor, thankfully landing in neutral territory (ie, not on a neighboring mat). But my undies were out, exposed -- and so was I. Again.
What to do? Nothing but carry on. I scooped up my delicate -and thankfully clean- undies, balled them in my hand and smiled at my shocked and laughing neighbors. I exited the room and went to my jacket, unzipped the pocket and crammed them inside.
Life lesson #1 (from previous post)
Put dirty laundry in the hamper.
Life lesson #2
Never combine loads of laundry. Towels with towels. Sheets with sheets. Delicates with delicates. And always wash with like colors.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Hanky Panky
I don't typically stay out late on "school nights." Beauty rest is vital to a single girl on the prowl so I try to be home by 11 during the week. Plus I'm typically to work by 8 AM, so it's easier to get up after 8 restful hours vs. 4 drunken ones.
Wednesday night I stayed out later than usual (to be detailed in a future post) and upon driving home was sidelined for nearly a full hour by highway construction. I got home at 1 AM instead of 12 AM as intended. I was exhausted and I stripped off my clothes, taking time to hang my jeans in the closet and fold my sweater, but discarded my bra, undies, t-shirt and shoes in a pile on the floor. I slipped into bed and had unusually broken, restless sleep.
Thursday morning I had to drag myself out of bed. I was tired, groggy, cranky...and instead of putting yesterday's laundry in the hamper I left it on the floor. I did expend the effort to make the bed, but didn't bother putting the decorative pillows in place, just left my one "sleeping" pillow on the bed. I added my pj's to the pile of previously mentioned unmentionables, showered, dressed, and headed off to work. I didn't think twice about the pile of laundry on the floor...after all, who was going to be in my unit before me?
At 10:36 AM an email is delivered to my iPhone...it's the builder (for my condo), they are going to have an electrician onsite today who can fix the tricky lightswitch I had complained about in the master bedroom. Would it be okay for them to let the electrician in my unit?
You know exactly what I pictured: the pile of bra, t-shirt, undies, boy shorts and long-sleeve T lazily discarded on the floor in the middle of the room. And a big, fat, totally disgusting electrician ogling my unmentionables. Of course today would be the day they have an electrician available to fix the problem.
I weighed my options:
1. Say no, and hope they can fix it another day.
2. Say yes, then immediately drive home to scoop up the laundry and dump it in the hamper.
3. Say yes, and to hell with the unmentionables. I'm sure he's seen worse.
My desire to avoid an electrical fire ultimately outweighed my desire to protect my panties and my work schedule eliminated option 2, so I said yes. And I spent the next 8 hours agonizing over what was on the floor and what the filthy electrician was seeing.
I rolled into my place at 6:30 PM last night. I didn't even remove my shoes or coat at the door: I walked directly to the master bedroom, flipped on the now-functioning lightswitch and surveyed the scene.
Yep. My most embarrassing dream come true:
-"fully armored" bra (translation: extreme padding), color pink, splayed full-length on the floor like a slingshot
-yesterday's undies, pink Hanky Panky's, also extended in their full (albeit, brief) glory on the floor
-gray boy shorts
-long-sleeve T from a company outing in 2000, that after 10 years is more than showing its age
-one pair of ballet flats, one pair of slippers, one pair of heels and two pairs of flip flops scattered about
The one non-embarrassing item on the floor (besides the shoes; I was only embarrassed by the number of shoes I managed to wear in the course of a day) was yesterday's t-shirt, thankfully relatively new so devoid of holes.
Still wearing my coat and shoes, I gathered the laundry into my arms and immediately deposited it in the hamper (tucked neatly in the linen closet). I gathered all the shoes and lined those up in the closet, adding the pair from my feet and substituting those with the slippers. I didn't actually finish making the bed -- I was so tired that I knew in a matter of hours I would be snuggled in between the sheets.
And I promised myself to never, ever let laziness prevent me from taking the extra 30 seconds to put laundry in the hamper ever again. As you can imagine, when I left home this morning my house looked ready for a photo shoot.
Wednesday night I stayed out later than usual (to be detailed in a future post) and upon driving home was sidelined for nearly a full hour by highway construction. I got home at 1 AM instead of 12 AM as intended. I was exhausted and I stripped off my clothes, taking time to hang my jeans in the closet and fold my sweater, but discarded my bra, undies, t-shirt and shoes in a pile on the floor. I slipped into bed and had unusually broken, restless sleep.
Thursday morning I had to drag myself out of bed. I was tired, groggy, cranky...and instead of putting yesterday's laundry in the hamper I left it on the floor. I did expend the effort to make the bed, but didn't bother putting the decorative pillows in place, just left my one "sleeping" pillow on the bed. I added my pj's to the pile of previously mentioned unmentionables, showered, dressed, and headed off to work. I didn't think twice about the pile of laundry on the floor...after all, who was going to be in my unit before me?
At 10:36 AM an email is delivered to my iPhone...it's the builder (for my condo), they are going to have an electrician onsite today who can fix the tricky lightswitch I had complained about in the master bedroom. Would it be okay for them to let the electrician in my unit?
You know exactly what I pictured: the pile of bra, t-shirt, undies, boy shorts and long-sleeve T lazily discarded on the floor in the middle of the room. And a big, fat, totally disgusting electrician ogling my unmentionables. Of course today would be the day they have an electrician available to fix the problem.
I weighed my options:
1. Say no, and hope they can fix it another day.
2. Say yes, then immediately drive home to scoop up the laundry and dump it in the hamper.
3. Say yes, and to hell with the unmentionables. I'm sure he's seen worse.
My desire to avoid an electrical fire ultimately outweighed my desire to protect my panties and my work schedule eliminated option 2, so I said yes. And I spent the next 8 hours agonizing over what was on the floor and what the filthy electrician was seeing.
I rolled into my place at 6:30 PM last night. I didn't even remove my shoes or coat at the door: I walked directly to the master bedroom, flipped on the now-functioning lightswitch and surveyed the scene.
Yep. My most embarrassing dream come true:
-"fully armored" bra (translation: extreme padding), color pink, splayed full-length on the floor like a slingshot
-yesterday's undies, pink Hanky Panky's, also extended in their full (albeit, brief) glory on the floor
-gray boy shorts
-long-sleeve T from a company outing in 2000, that after 10 years is more than showing its age
-one pair of ballet flats, one pair of slippers, one pair of heels and two pairs of flip flops scattered about
The one non-embarrassing item on the floor (besides the shoes; I was only embarrassed by the number of shoes I managed to wear in the course of a day) was yesterday's t-shirt, thankfully relatively new so devoid of holes.
Still wearing my coat and shoes, I gathered the laundry into my arms and immediately deposited it in the hamper (tucked neatly in the linen closet). I gathered all the shoes and lined those up in the closet, adding the pair from my feet and substituting those with the slippers. I didn't actually finish making the bed -- I was so tired that I knew in a matter of hours I would be snuggled in between the sheets.
And I promised myself to never, ever let laziness prevent me from taking the extra 30 seconds to put laundry in the hamper ever again. As you can imagine, when I left home this morning my house looked ready for a photo shoot.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Down, boy! Down!
Recently I was meeting some friends at my neighborhood watering hole. I was the first to arrive and I settled in at the bar and ordered a glass of wine from the bartender. I have been coming to this bar for years (although I would in no way consider myself a regular) and I did not recognize this bartender. No big deal, he poured my drink promptly and that's what matters.
Shortly after my friend Erin shows up. She is a regular at the bar and was greeted as such, and had to work her way down the bar giving a personal hello to all the other regulars. She finally gets to me and settles in. We begin chatting and she orders a drink from the newbie bartender while greeting him by name: "Hey CJ, what's up?" He goes off to make the pour and she and I settle into conversation. CJ returns with the drink and Erin, the super-friendly gal that she is, introduces me to CJ. Having noticed my iPhone in hand, CJ seizes this opportunity to begin discussing iPhone apps. (Yawn, haven't we been through this with robotics?) I tell him I'm not a huge fan of the iPhone and it's really just a means of communication for me so I don't have "favorite" apps. Meanwhile, Erin is responding to some texts on her phone.
Although CJ asked me about my iPhone, I was getting a very distinct feeling that he was far more interested in me than he was in my apps.
Erin and I finally shake CJ and go back to our chit chatting...at which point Erin shows me the text she was responding to...from CJ...asking "Who is your friend?!?"
Oh great...
Erin had responded "That's my friend Marsha, she's awesome!" before she realized that CJ's interest may have been more than friendly. I think my facial expression when she showed me his text (which can be summed up as "Ewwwww") probably gave it away.
So the night progressed and our circle of friends grew, but I remained in my seat at the bar. I had turned in my seat so I could face those standing near me, but had left my water and glass of wine next to me on the bar so I could reach them when needed.
CJ, however, was clearly distressed by my ignoring [of him]. He interrupted me at one point when I was sending a text to ask, again, about my iPhone apps. He was appalled that I didn't have the "TMZ" app. I blew him off with "I'm really not into celebrity gossip." [A total lie.]
Later, and repeatedly, he would call to me over the bar "Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!" --which I could very well hear but chose to ignore-- until one of my friends would say "I think the bartender wants you." I would turn to the bar and there would be CJ asking:
"Do you need another drink?" [note full wine glass next to me]
"Would you like to order food?" [he knew we were waiting for a table for our group]
"Do you have this iPhone app?" [no explanation necessary]
Down boy, down! Am I wrong, or should bartenders be seen and not heard? He was like an overeager dog...and I had no interest in being his master.
Over all this time, CJ is texting Erin asking about me. She has relayed my disinterest in him....unfortunately a message that reached him but did not get THROUGH to him.
I left after 5 hours, paying for my entire dinner and the 3 glasses of wine and 1 beer I consumed. I was not comped anything.
As I exited the bar and was about to cross the street to my car I heard someone calling out "Marsha! Marsha! Bye!!!" I looked back and, of course, there's CJ. I offer a small wave and a weak "Oh, yeah, bye."
Well, it turns out he was talking to some girl as I left (I hadn't noticed) and he immediately texted Erin: "I hope Marsha doesn't think I have a girlfriend because I was talking to my friend Mary when she left!"
Ugh!!!
So now you can knock my local watering hole off of places to frequent, lest I accidentally encourage CJ's affection. Which is a real shame because they have a terrific Cobb Salad.
Shortly after my friend Erin shows up. She is a regular at the bar and was greeted as such, and had to work her way down the bar giving a personal hello to all the other regulars. She finally gets to me and settles in. We begin chatting and she orders a drink from the newbie bartender while greeting him by name: "Hey CJ, what's up?" He goes off to make the pour and she and I settle into conversation. CJ returns with the drink and Erin, the super-friendly gal that she is, introduces me to CJ. Having noticed my iPhone in hand, CJ seizes this opportunity to begin discussing iPhone apps. (Yawn, haven't we been through this with robotics?) I tell him I'm not a huge fan of the iPhone and it's really just a means of communication for me so I don't have "favorite" apps. Meanwhile, Erin is responding to some texts on her phone.
Although CJ asked me about my iPhone, I was getting a very distinct feeling that he was far more interested in me than he was in my apps.
Erin and I finally shake CJ and go back to our chit chatting...at which point Erin shows me the text she was responding to...from CJ...asking "Who is your friend?!?"
Oh great...
Erin had responded "That's my friend Marsha, she's awesome!" before she realized that CJ's interest may have been more than friendly. I think my facial expression when she showed me his text (which can be summed up as "Ewwwww") probably gave it away.
So the night progressed and our circle of friends grew, but I remained in my seat at the bar. I had turned in my seat so I could face those standing near me, but had left my water and glass of wine next to me on the bar so I could reach them when needed.
CJ, however, was clearly distressed by my ignoring [of him]. He interrupted me at one point when I was sending a text to ask, again, about my iPhone apps. He was appalled that I didn't have the "TMZ" app. I blew him off with "I'm really not into celebrity gossip." [A total lie.]
Later, and repeatedly, he would call to me over the bar "Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!" --which I could very well hear but chose to ignore-- until one of my friends would say "I think the bartender wants you." I would turn to the bar and there would be CJ asking:
"Do you need another drink?" [note full wine glass next to me]
"Would you like to order food?" [he knew we were waiting for a table for our group]
"Do you have this iPhone app?" [no explanation necessary]
Down boy, down! Am I wrong, or should bartenders be seen and not heard? He was like an overeager dog...and I had no interest in being his master.
Over all this time, CJ is texting Erin asking about me. She has relayed my disinterest in him....unfortunately a message that reached him but did not get THROUGH to him.
I left after 5 hours, paying for my entire dinner and the 3 glasses of wine and 1 beer I consumed. I was not comped anything.
As I exited the bar and was about to cross the street to my car I heard someone calling out "Marsha! Marsha! Bye!!!" I looked back and, of course, there's CJ. I offer a small wave and a weak "Oh, yeah, bye."
Well, it turns out he was talking to some girl as I left (I hadn't noticed) and he immediately texted Erin: "I hope Marsha doesn't think I have a girlfriend because I was talking to my friend Mary when she left!"
Ugh!!!
So now you can knock my local watering hole off of places to frequent, lest I accidentally encourage CJ's affection. Which is a real shame because they have a terrific Cobb Salad.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Who needs JCrew when you've got L.L. Bean?
And don't forget Land's End!
L.L. Bean is launching a new "Signature" line that is inspired by their classics but with modern styling:
http://www.llbeansignature.com/index.html
Land's End "Canvas" line (launched last November) focuses is their vintage-styled canvas and sailing heritage:
http://canvas.landsend.com/canvas/index.html
I'm looking forward to seeing more of the L.L. Bean line when it launches in full on March 15th. Somehow I doubt they will have $300 Levis jeans...
L.L. Bean is launching a new "Signature" line that is inspired by their classics but with modern styling:
http://www.llbeansignature.com/index.html
Land's End "Canvas" line (launched last November) focuses is their vintage-styled canvas and sailing heritage:
http://canvas.landsend.com/canvas/index.html
I'm looking forward to seeing more of the L.L. Bean line when it launches in full on March 15th. Somehow I doubt they will have $300 Levis jeans...
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Restroom
It seems like I often find myself in unusual circumstances. Someone once told me that nothing particularly unusual happens to me, it's just that I choose to tell others about it. I disagree, and only partly because that comment came from a boring person who never has anything of interest to say.
Restrooms are particularly prone to "incidents", and I know I am not the only person who has been subjected to a restroom incident...or have caused one myself.
Cause of an incident:
On a recent workday I was busy from the moment I arrived at the office, although I did have time to grab a glass of water and cup of tea before settling in. But it was hours before I had a moment to heed nature's call. At my first available chance I dashed to the ladies' room and although I had company in there, my favorite stall was available.
With bladder bursting, I hiked my skirt to my waist and I tried to pull my tights down...only to discover they would not budge. I did some twisting and neck craning and discovered that the hook from the hook and eye at the back of my skirt had hooked itself into my tights and was holding fast. The tights were not going down without a fight.
Mind you, my bladder is urgently telling me to hurry, hurry, hurry! I do the pee pee dance to buy some time.
I try to unhook the tiny little hook, but it's not just caught, it's twisted in my fancy open-weave tights. I try to pull my skirt down with the tights, but only manage to bust a giant hole in the crotch of the tights. Don't ask how, I could not tell you. I will tell you they were expensive tights and I was angry that they were now ruined.
Finally, in I'm-going-to-wet-myself panic, I reach deep within me and with super-human strength I ripped the hook off my skirt, yanked the skirt up while simultaneously yanking my tights down and enjoy a long and wonderful pee. Yes, you know the kind I'm talking about. When I was done (after a comically-long length of time) I untwisted the hook from my tights and re-dressed.
So how was I the cause of an incident? It seems more like I was the victim given the debacle with the hook on my skirt. Well, the entire time I was battling my clothing someone was in the stall next to me, listening and most certainly wondering what was going on. The muttering, the tapping shoes during my pee pee dance, the ripping sound of the tights, and finally the popping sound of the hook being released from its resistant thread anchors on my skirt...whomever was in the stall next to me certainly had a restroom incident to tell their friends later. Although I'm pretty sure my 5 minute pee summed it all up.
Subject of an Incident:
I went to the carwash early one day a few weeks ago. It's the fancy car wash where you get out and they vacuum the interior, drive the car through for you and then you get it back on the other side all sparkly clean and dry.
I went into the lobby to pay and I realized "Gee, I have to pee" so I go to the restroom (a onesie that is gender neutral) and open the door.
Dear god. There's a carwash guy sitting on the can taking a dump! Jeans at his ankles, tighty-whitey's at his knees. "Excusa me! Excusa me," he's saying.
WTF, dude, lock the fucking door!!! Now two of us are traumatized.
I paid as quickly as I could and went outside to wait for my car, lest I be subject to any further embarrassment - like having to see the carwash dude using a towel to buff my car dry after I just saw him...you know.
Restrooms are particularly prone to "incidents", and I know I am not the only person who has been subjected to a restroom incident...or have caused one myself.
Cause of an incident:
On a recent workday I was busy from the moment I arrived at the office, although I did have time to grab a glass of water and cup of tea before settling in. But it was hours before I had a moment to heed nature's call. At my first available chance I dashed to the ladies' room and although I had company in there, my favorite stall was available.
With bladder bursting, I hiked my skirt to my waist and I tried to pull my tights down...only to discover they would not budge. I did some twisting and neck craning and discovered that the hook from the hook and eye at the back of my skirt had hooked itself into my tights and was holding fast. The tights were not going down without a fight.
Mind you, my bladder is urgently telling me to hurry, hurry, hurry! I do the pee pee dance to buy some time.
I try to unhook the tiny little hook, but it's not just caught, it's twisted in my fancy open-weave tights. I try to pull my skirt down with the tights, but only manage to bust a giant hole in the crotch of the tights. Don't ask how, I could not tell you. I will tell you they were expensive tights and I was angry that they were now ruined.
Finally, in I'm-going-to-wet-myself panic, I reach deep within me and with super-human strength I ripped the hook off my skirt, yanked the skirt up while simultaneously yanking my tights down and enjoy a long and wonderful pee. Yes, you know the kind I'm talking about. When I was done (after a comically-long length of time) I untwisted the hook from my tights and re-dressed.
So how was I the cause of an incident? It seems more like I was the victim given the debacle with the hook on my skirt. Well, the entire time I was battling my clothing someone was in the stall next to me, listening and most certainly wondering what was going on. The muttering, the tapping shoes during my pee pee dance, the ripping sound of the tights, and finally the popping sound of the hook being released from its resistant thread anchors on my skirt...whomever was in the stall next to me certainly had a restroom incident to tell their friends later. Although I'm pretty sure my 5 minute pee summed it all up.
Subject of an Incident:
I went to the carwash early one day a few weeks ago. It's the fancy car wash where you get out and they vacuum the interior, drive the car through for you and then you get it back on the other side all sparkly clean and dry.
I went into the lobby to pay and I realized "Gee, I have to pee" so I go to the restroom (a onesie that is gender neutral) and open the door.
Dear god. There's a carwash guy sitting on the can taking a dump! Jeans at his ankles, tighty-whitey's at his knees. "Excusa me! Excusa me," he's saying.
WTF, dude, lock the fucking door!!! Now two of us are traumatized.
I paid as quickly as I could and went outside to wait for my car, lest I be subject to any further embarrassment - like having to see the carwash dude using a towel to buff my car dry after I just saw him...you know.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Really, J Crew, Really?
I'm a fan of J.Crew. Those of you who see my clothing (or have dug through my hand-me-down bags) know that. And you b-tches who inspected the labels in my closet can confirm as well. (BTW, I'm over the American Eagle jeans - I just acquired the Stella "barely boot" jeans from Express and those rock even more...esp when they costs just $42!)
But my J.Crew fan-dom may have reached its limit.
I hit the mall last night to buy a new iPhone cover and I decided to stroll through the really bad mall J.Crew. Some J.Crews are good, this one is not. But I saw a sign in the window announcing a partnership between J.Crew and Levis 501 jeans. That's cool, I thought, I'll bet the prices are moderate and the styling is classic. I went in search of the jeans but had no luck: apparently it is just a men's collaboration. All J.Crew had for women was an uninspired pale-hued spring clothing line and their usual mediocre, overpriced denim. I happily left empty handed.
This morning, I'm driving to work listening to Bloomberg Radio (keep your comments to yourself) and there's an advertisement...for all Levis jeans...on sale this weekend at JCPenney...25% off original prices...
My curiosity had been peaked.
Hmm, I thought, I wonder what the price differential is between the J.Crew/Levis branded jeans versus the straight-up Levis jeans available at JCPenney.
You know where this is going.
J.Crew Levis jeans = $98 - $325
JCPenney Levis jeans = $32.99 - $46.99 (original $44 - $64)
Sure, J.Crew has a few different washes...but they also had identical washes available at JCPenney! In the same styles!!! Is it really worth paying 3x more for the same product just because you're buying it at J.Crew? Oh wait, my mistake: some of the J.Crew jeans have "Made exclusively for J.Crew" printed on an interior pocket -- not quite the same product after all.
Who is going to buy overpriced J.Crew/Levis 501 jeans? Is anyone that into the J.Crew brand that s/he is willing to pay at least 3x as much for a product you can buy at your local JCPenney? Who are these undisciplined consumers that are making our favorite retailers think they can get away with these types of mark-ups?
THINK BEFORE YOU BUY!
But my J.Crew fan-dom may have reached its limit.
I hit the mall last night to buy a new iPhone cover and I decided to stroll through the really bad mall J.Crew. Some J.Crews are good, this one is not. But I saw a sign in the window announcing a partnership between J.Crew and Levis 501 jeans. That's cool, I thought, I'll bet the prices are moderate and the styling is classic. I went in search of the jeans but had no luck: apparently it is just a men's collaboration. All J.Crew had for women was an uninspired pale-hued spring clothing line and their usual mediocre, overpriced denim. I happily left empty handed.
This morning, I'm driving to work listening to Bloomberg Radio (keep your comments to yourself) and there's an advertisement...for all Levis jeans...on sale this weekend at JCPenney...25% off original prices...
My curiosity had been peaked.
Hmm, I thought, I wonder what the price differential is between the J.Crew/Levis branded jeans versus the straight-up Levis jeans available at JCPenney.
You know where this is going.
J.Crew Levis jeans = $98 - $325
JCPenney Levis jeans = $32.99 - $46.99 (original $44 - $64)
Sure, J.Crew has a few different washes...but they also had identical washes available at JCPenney! In the same styles!!! Is it really worth paying 3x more for the same product just because you're buying it at J.Crew? Oh wait, my mistake: some of the J.Crew jeans have "Made exclusively for J.Crew" printed on an interior pocket -- not quite the same product after all.
Who is going to buy overpriced J.Crew/Levis 501 jeans? Is anyone that into the J.Crew brand that s/he is willing to pay at least 3x as much for a product you can buy at your local JCPenney? Who are these undisciplined consumers that are making our favorite retailers think they can get away with these types of mark-ups?
THINK BEFORE YOU BUY!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
I'm baaaaaaaaaaack!
Hey all! Thanks for waiting for me. I was...resting.
"Resting hungover? Resting fired? Help me out here!"
I was resting up after my breast augmentation surgery. No, definitely NOT for me. But I was the victim of an office breast assault - on my eyes, not my breasts. Here's the scoop:
There's a girl in my office who is unmarried, early to mid-20's and has a 3 yr old kid. She's very trashy: from day one I pegged her as a stripper and among my friends at work we refer to her as "the Stripper". She has a child-like body: very tiny and straight. She's barely 5' tall, if that. She wears heavy make-up and has chunky white/blond highlights in dark hair. She smokes. I won't get into her completely unprofessional office attire.
About a year ago she first cornered me in the ladies' room and told me some deeply personal things. Like how her baby's daddy manages a "gentlemen's club" in Rhode Island. That she struggles with anorexia. She's had tons of Botox done in her face (she's not even 25!!!) and she really wants a boob job but can't afford one. How she wants her Baby Daddy back but he's "cheating" on her with 2 or more dancers at the club...I could go on and on.
I usually listen politely, offer some benign advice ("things will get better!" "you don't need him!" "just do the best for your daughter!") and run away from her. Well, recently she cornered me again:
"oh hey marcia"
"hi Strip, how are you?"
"I'm good"
I'm about to ask if she's ready for Christmas when she RIPS OFF HER SWEATER and reveals the most monstrously hideous fake boobs I have ever seen in real life. She's wearing a yucky but supportive "mom bra" over them, but they are enormous and are still quite new, as evidenced by the surgical tape covering most of them. Then she takes the bra off!
WTF, are we in a locker room or the office restroom??? Go in a stall!!!
Thankfully the surgical tape spared me from experiencing all the visual "delights" of her newly acquired assets. However, two very perky nipples were obvious under that tape. As previously mentioned - she's a tiny person. She has a child's body. And yet she has 2 enormous MINIMUM C-cup implants stuffed under her skin.
I don't know what to say...but I try anyway: "wow Strip, I thought you just had on a really good bra. when did you have your breasts done?"
As she answers me she removes a white band from her bag. It is 2" wide and made of canvas. While she's telling me about the surgery and her doctor in Rhode Island (no surprise there: his office is probably next to a certain "gentlemen's club") she begins wrapping the strap around her upper chest. I'm still nearly mute with horror, but totally curious and I WANT to ask if I can touch them...but I don't ask because I don't need to get fired for creating a hostile work environment even though it is SHE who is assaulting my good sensibilities with her bad boob job. And in the office restroom!! Not even in a stall.
Anyway, back to the strap. She sees my look of horror, mistakes it for interest, and says "my right implant dropped but the left one hasn't yet so I have to wrap this strap around my boob to try and force it down." Is this a legit medical practice? Who knows. She tells me the dr expects the implant will drop eventually so until then she wears this strap a few hours a day to encourage it.
With the squeezing strap in place she begins to dress herself, putting the granny-bra back on and slipping her sweater over her head. I am thanking god that no one else came into the bathroom during this exchange, I would have been mortified. Locker room at the "club" or financial services firm public restroom - it's all the same to her!
I hope her enormous fake boobs help her win back her baby's daddy and maybe her job on the pole, as clearly they are doing nothing for her sense of decency in the workplace. She looks like a cartoon character: tiny body with enormous breasts. And of course I have about a million questions to ask her but I never will ask them because I don't want to encourage her. But i'm not worried about it: she will most certainly over-share all the details with me in due time.
Interestingly, last week news broke that an employee of Brides magazine was fired for showing several of her close female colleagues her new implants in her office (ie, behind a closed door) and that she never even removed the sports bra she was wearing. If only I had been so lucky! I'm not saying I want the Stripper fired...I do wish she had a sports bra on to prevent the image of her destroyed breasts from being permanently seared into my brain.
"Resting hungover? Resting fired? Help me out here!"
I was resting up after my breast augmentation surgery. No, definitely NOT for me. But I was the victim of an office breast assault - on my eyes, not my breasts. Here's the scoop:
There's a girl in my office who is unmarried, early to mid-20's and has a 3 yr old kid. She's very trashy: from day one I pegged her as a stripper and among my friends at work we refer to her as "the Stripper". She has a child-like body: very tiny and straight. She's barely 5' tall, if that. She wears heavy make-up and has chunky white/blond highlights in dark hair. She smokes. I won't get into her completely unprofessional office attire.
About a year ago she first cornered me in the ladies' room and told me some deeply personal things. Like how her baby's daddy manages a "gentlemen's club" in Rhode Island. That she struggles with anorexia. She's had tons of Botox done in her face (she's not even 25!!!) and she really wants a boob job but can't afford one. How she wants her Baby Daddy back but he's "cheating" on her with 2 or more dancers at the club...I could go on and on.
I usually listen politely, offer some benign advice ("things will get better!" "you don't need him!" "just do the best for your daughter!") and run away from her. Well, recently she cornered me again:
"oh hey marcia"
"hi Strip, how are you?"
"I'm good"
I'm about to ask if she's ready for Christmas when she RIPS OFF HER SWEATER and reveals the most monstrously hideous fake boobs I have ever seen in real life. She's wearing a yucky but supportive "mom bra" over them, but they are enormous and are still quite new, as evidenced by the surgical tape covering most of them. Then she takes the bra off!
WTF, are we in a locker room or the office restroom??? Go in a stall!!!
Thankfully the surgical tape spared me from experiencing all the visual "delights" of her newly acquired assets. However, two very perky nipples were obvious under that tape. As previously mentioned - she's a tiny person. She has a child's body. And yet she has 2 enormous MINIMUM C-cup implants stuffed under her skin.
I don't know what to say...but I try anyway: "wow Strip, I thought you just had on a really good bra. when did you have your breasts done?"
As she answers me she removes a white band from her bag. It is 2" wide and made of canvas. While she's telling me about the surgery and her doctor in Rhode Island (no surprise there: his office is probably next to a certain "gentlemen's club") she begins wrapping the strap around her upper chest. I'm still nearly mute with horror, but totally curious and I WANT to ask if I can touch them...but I don't ask because I don't need to get fired for creating a hostile work environment even though it is SHE who is assaulting my good sensibilities with her bad boob job. And in the office restroom!! Not even in a stall.
Anyway, back to the strap. She sees my look of horror, mistakes it for interest, and says "my right implant dropped but the left one hasn't yet so I have to wrap this strap around my boob to try and force it down." Is this a legit medical practice? Who knows. She tells me the dr expects the implant will drop eventually so until then she wears this strap a few hours a day to encourage it.
With the squeezing strap in place she begins to dress herself, putting the granny-bra back on and slipping her sweater over her head. I am thanking god that no one else came into the bathroom during this exchange, I would have been mortified. Locker room at the "club" or financial services firm public restroom - it's all the same to her!
I hope her enormous fake boobs help her win back her baby's daddy and maybe her job on the pole, as clearly they are doing nothing for her sense of decency in the workplace. She looks like a cartoon character: tiny body with enormous breasts. And of course I have about a million questions to ask her but I never will ask them because I don't want to encourage her. But i'm not worried about it: she will most certainly over-share all the details with me in due time.
Interestingly, last week news broke that an employee of Brides magazine was fired for showing several of her close female colleagues her new implants in her office (ie, behind a closed door) and that she never even removed the sports bra she was wearing. If only I had been so lucky! I'm not saying I want the Stripper fired...I do wish she had a sports bra on to prevent the image of her destroyed breasts from being permanently seared into my brain.
Monday, November 9, 2009
My feet are on fire!
One of the symptoms I had with Lyme Disease was excruciating itching on the bottom of my feet. It came on suddenly and I spent about 3 days fidgeting like crazy because my feet were tingling SO BADLY but there was nothing I could do and nothing my doctor would do until the Lyme test came positive. There was nothing physically wrong with my feet: they looked fine, they just itched. Nerve tingling is common with Lyme so I called Sissy (an N.P.) and asked her what I could do. She suggested I get capsaicin and apply it to the bottom of my feet. Capsaicin is a derivative of the cayenne pepper and it’s in a lot of arthritis medications. She told me it has a cumulative effect so if you apply it over a series of days (or weeks) it ultimately dulls the nerve endings.
So I swing by Walgreens on my way home from work, buy the stuff (it’s a liquid), brush it on the bottom of my feet and I did this twice: once that night and once the next morning. And miraculously, the next day the tingling stopped. I was feeling better so I decided to run the next day. I got up the following morning around 5:30 AM and headed out. I was about a mile from my house and I thought, “Gee, my feet are really hot.” I was 2 miles from my house when I thought, “Gee, my feet are on f-ing fire.” I was at the furthest point from my house with only the deserted town beach, the deserted dog park, and the deserted golf course nearby when I realized that my feet HAD TO BE bleeding. They were burning up, they were blistered, every footfall was agonizing. But there was nothing around, no one around, and who would I call to come help me at that hour anyway? So I kept running just so I would get home faster. And I ran all the way back to my house and as soon as I limped into the lobby I sat down and starting to take off my sneakers, convinced that my feet were soaked in blood and covered in blisters.
I pull my sneakers off…and there’s nothing there. I rip off my sweaty socks, expecting to see bright red feet covered in heat blisters…and there’s nothing there. My feet look perfectly normal, they aren’t even red they are just sweaty (ick) and normal foot color. But my feet are still on fire! I limp up to my condo, take all the ice out of the freezer and dump it in the sink and sit on the counter and put my feet in the ice. Finally the burning starts to subside. I reached over the counter for the “indications” paper I had discarded there a few days prior and guess what I read. Something along the lines of “Avoid heat, sun exposure and prolonged and heavy exercise before, during or after use of this product.”
Oh great – wouldn’t that have been helpful to know before going out for a 5 mile run in July. Even more helpful would have been if Nurse Sissy had mentioned that little tidbit to me! I never used the capsaicin after that and it was DAYS before I was able to run without my feet feeling as if they were on fire.
So take it from me: always read the indications…and don’t always trust Sissy!
So I swing by Walgreens on my way home from work, buy the stuff (it’s a liquid), brush it on the bottom of my feet and I did this twice: once that night and once the next morning. And miraculously, the next day the tingling stopped. I was feeling better so I decided to run the next day. I got up the following morning around 5:30 AM and headed out. I was about a mile from my house and I thought, “Gee, my feet are really hot.” I was 2 miles from my house when I thought, “Gee, my feet are on f-ing fire.” I was at the furthest point from my house with only the deserted town beach, the deserted dog park, and the deserted golf course nearby when I realized that my feet HAD TO BE bleeding. They were burning up, they were blistered, every footfall was agonizing. But there was nothing around, no one around, and who would I call to come help me at that hour anyway? So I kept running just so I would get home faster. And I ran all the way back to my house and as soon as I limped into the lobby I sat down and starting to take off my sneakers, convinced that my feet were soaked in blood and covered in blisters.
I pull my sneakers off…and there’s nothing there. I rip off my sweaty socks, expecting to see bright red feet covered in heat blisters…and there’s nothing there. My feet look perfectly normal, they aren’t even red they are just sweaty (ick) and normal foot color. But my feet are still on fire! I limp up to my condo, take all the ice out of the freezer and dump it in the sink and sit on the counter and put my feet in the ice. Finally the burning starts to subside. I reached over the counter for the “indications” paper I had discarded there a few days prior and guess what I read. Something along the lines of “Avoid heat, sun exposure and prolonged and heavy exercise before, during or after use of this product.”
Oh great – wouldn’t that have been helpful to know before going out for a 5 mile run in July. Even more helpful would have been if Nurse Sissy had mentioned that little tidbit to me! I never used the capsaicin after that and it was DAYS before I was able to run without my feet feeling as if they were on fire.
So take it from me: always read the indications…and don’t always trust Sissy!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Are you really LOL?
Match.com creep #20,017 sent me an email this week. The first thing I see is his profile name: cu2knight. Nice, dude. In your dreams, and I don't mean that kind of dream.
His obnoxious user ID wasn't the only signal that a major douchebag was about to be revealed. Next up was the subject line of the email, which was strongly reminiscent of one quarter of the spam in my junk mail folder (the remainder of my spam folder is dedicated to my prescription drug needs related to my erectile dysfunction and mental illness):
Subject: CONGRATS! YOU GOTTA READ THIS...
And finally, he sealed his fate with the following email message:
Your match of the week! How's everything??
I just assume you're gettin tired of all these stupid emails from guys, so this is my attempt NOT to write you a corney email. ;-) Hope it works for ya!
so what's goin on?? Ummm...
Your profile DID catch my attention though, and I wanted to find out more about you!
I see by your pictures, you have more than ONE source of income.
LOL! It's cool! (who's money is that?)
A little about me...I'm 32, a firefighter/EMT. I'm attractive, spontaneous, funny, and fun to be around!
How about yourself?? Tell me...
What is something that you're REALLY attracted to in a man?
What's is a major 'turnoff' for you?
What are you most passionate about in life? Yoga pant's, huh?
I just hope you REALLY are a cool, attractive, sarcastic woman, and not some 400 pound toothless old man pretending to be one, ya know?
ENOUGH OF THAT! LOL!
Anyway...I'm sure you're here to meet someone.
So, why don't you reach out to me...we'll have a drink sometime.
And if nothing else...you'll make a cool friend!
CHRIS
My immediate thoughts:
-Enough with the LOL-ing. I highly doubt you are Laughing Out Loud, and if you are...you're an idiot because what you are LOL at isn't even funny.
-Your attempt to not write me a corny email was far and away one of the corniest emails I have received. However, you do get points for actually reading my profile. (No points awarded for looking at my pictures, as that is a given.)
-It's fantastic that you think you're attractive and what's even more attractive about you is the fact that you felt compelled to tell me you're attractive. [For those of you who saw his profile picture, it was agreed he is scary-looking and not attractive. Think old-school Arnold Schwarzenegger....shudder!]
-In addition to your self-appointed stunning good looks, I appreciate the fact that you informed me that if it doesn't work out between us, at least I'll make a cool friend. Now do you mean I would make a cool friend for you to have, or that you would be a cool friend for me to have? Given your egotistical message I'm going to assume you mean I get to make the cool friend. Thanks!
-Grammar check: this guy is a huge fan of the "apostrophe s" - particularly when it is not applicable. And is your caps lock key stuck down? For a dude you're a big fan of the "!!!" and the emphasis implied by capitalization. STOP SHOUTING AT ME!!!
-You're sure I'm here to meet someone...don't be so sure! So far all Match.com has been good for is some fun anecdotes to keep my friends (attached and otherwise) laughing. "Ya know?" No, I don't know - LOL!!!
And so the search continues...
His obnoxious user ID wasn't the only signal that a major douchebag was about to be revealed. Next up was the subject line of the email, which was strongly reminiscent of one quarter of the spam in my junk mail folder (the remainder of my spam folder is dedicated to my prescription drug needs related to my erectile dysfunction and mental illness):
Subject: CONGRATS! YOU GOTTA READ THIS...
And finally, he sealed his fate with the following email message:
Your match of the week! How's everything??
I just assume you're gettin tired of all these stupid emails from guys, so this is my attempt NOT to write you a corney email. ;-) Hope it works for ya!
so what's goin on?? Ummm...
Your profile DID catch my attention though, and I wanted to find out more about you!
I see by your pictures, you have more than ONE source of income.
LOL! It's cool! (who's money is that?)
A little about me...I'm 32, a firefighter/EMT. I'm attractive, spontaneous, funny, and fun to be around!
How about yourself?? Tell me...
What is something that you're REALLY attracted to in a man?
What's is a major 'turnoff' for you?
What are you most passionate about in life? Yoga pant's, huh?
I just hope you REALLY are a cool, attractive, sarcastic woman, and not some 400 pound toothless old man pretending to be one, ya know?
ENOUGH OF THAT! LOL!
Anyway...I'm sure you're here to meet someone.
So, why don't you reach out to me...we'll have a drink sometime.
And if nothing else...you'll make a cool friend!
CHRIS
My immediate thoughts:
-Enough with the LOL-ing. I highly doubt you are Laughing Out Loud, and if you are...you're an idiot because what you are LOL at isn't even funny.
-Your attempt to not write me a corny email was far and away one of the corniest emails I have received. However, you do get points for actually reading my profile. (No points awarded for looking at my pictures, as that is a given.)
-It's fantastic that you think you're attractive and what's even more attractive about you is the fact that you felt compelled to tell me you're attractive. [For those of you who saw his profile picture, it was agreed he is scary-looking and not attractive. Think old-school Arnold Schwarzenegger....shudder!]
-In addition to your self-appointed stunning good looks, I appreciate the fact that you informed me that if it doesn't work out between us, at least I'll make a cool friend. Now do you mean I would make a cool friend for you to have, or that you would be a cool friend for me to have? Given your egotistical message I'm going to assume you mean I get to make the cool friend. Thanks!
-Grammar check: this guy is a huge fan of the "apostrophe s" - particularly when it is not applicable. And is your caps lock key stuck down? For a dude you're a big fan of the "!!!" and the emphasis implied by capitalization. STOP SHOUTING AT ME!!!
-You're sure I'm here to meet someone...don't be so sure! So far all Match.com has been good for is some fun anecdotes to keep my friends (attached and otherwise) laughing. "Ya know?" No, I don't know - LOL!!!
And so the search continues...
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
"Intellectual Petting"
Another Match.com weirdo comes out of the woodwork. Here is the original email I received:
_____________________
From: real_deal123
Date received: October 07, 2009
Subject: hang w/ the boys huh?? hmmm..
Well, that pic of the 100 dollar bill is hilarious.... and you look like you know exactly how to have a good time.. I don't write to many on here, but I loved your profile.. .and I'm thinking the sense of humor is probably fantastic... hope to chat soon...
David
_____________________
I have to admit, I was flattered. I mean, Real_Deal_Davie doesn't email many on Match.com but he chose ME!!! Despite his obnoxious user ID I take a look at his profile. As a rule of thumb, when looking at someone's profile you always start with their pictures first that way you don't waste valuable moments of your life reading a profile that ultimately won't ever matter. I'm flipping through his pics and they are all relatively normal, a smiling "husky-ish" fellow who likes beaches and restaurants and seems to have a social life. He cropped out all friends, but he was with other people.
Then I get to the last picture...and it's a self portrait taken in what is CLEARLY a laundry room, but the fact that there's a broad mirror tells me it's a laundry room/bathroom. There wasn't even an attempt to disguise the fact that it was a self portrait in a bathroom mirror, he was holding his blackberry up and out to get the best angle and lighting for the photo.
I'm intrigued at this total lapse in good picture judgment and I read his profile.
_____________________
Headline:
Anybody else a flip-flop fanatic?? Looking to find my other 1/2 to the flip-flop gang.. LOL.. I do wear appropriate footwear when it matters
Profile:
Just to clear up something: I have tons of flexibility in my schedule so location is not that important within reason.
Must be able to really laugh at yourself at times... This world is too serious!!!
First of all, I must say rock solid in terms of my loyalty and character, just making that clear, and secondly, I am really looking for someone with whom I engage in "intellectual petting" if you know what I'm talking about you probably would get along well with me....Wow..what a tough thing to try and sum up in 4000 characters.. Get to know me and I am a very trustworthy, generous, loving, loyal person who really enjoys life to the fullest. I've travelled all over the US and enjoy taking many trips/year even if those trips are only 2 to 3 days. I enjoy intellectual stimulation with someone as I love to learn new things and love to be constantly challenged.. My ideal person (NOT a must) would be intelligent, possibly athletic, maybe a former high school or collegiate athlete and I do get along with teachers, nurses, and those from the business community best but I am totally open to other options.. I have typically been attracted to tall women, but that does not rule out anyone, though I do draw the line at 5' 1", LOL.. There is so much more to me than 4000 characters and I think I am really looking for someone with a GREAT sense of humor that meshes well with mine, someone who loves the water/beach, trustworthy and loyal are big factors as well. Many things are open for discussion and I only have a few deal breakers, smoking being one of them.
_____________________
My immediate thoughts:
-Douchebag
-Here we go with the LOYALTY again - and three references to it!!
-Intellectual petting - WTF?
-I like how his ideal woman does not have to be intelligent. It's good he specifies that because he doesn't have a chance with an actual intelligent woman.
-Teachers and Nurses = Fetish
I'm annoyed that he wrote to me and stated that not many woman receive the honor of an email from him, yet he has obviously contacted enough women on Match who live some distance away that he offers the disclaimer about his schedule flexibility. So I write him an email pointing out in a subtle way that I think he, and his bathroom self portrait, are lame.
_____________________
To: real_deal123
Date received: October 11, 2009
Subject: RE: hang w/ the boys huh?? hmmm..
Hi David,
Thanks for your email. I looked at your profile and to be honest I have no idea what intellectual petting is. I did Google the term and the first result was a blog "confessions of an intellectual Barbie." The second result was a biography on Pope John Paul II. The third result was a band "Heavy Petting" and the fourth, "Petting Zoo Gifts." Eclectic mix there.
Is one of your profile pics REALLY a self-portrait taken in a what appears to be a laundry room...if not a bathroom?
_____________________
And the response comes back...
_____________________
From: real_deal123
Date received: October 12, 2009
Subject: RE: hang w/ the boys huh?? hmmm..
so you are sarcastic..!!! Fantastic..., and yes, that pic was in the bathroom/laundry room.. it's my self-portrait room... I can't wait to hear some things that border on inappropriate.. .haha... that comment was hilarious!!...
Need to know more about you!!
David
_____________________
Douchebag status: Confirmed. (As if there were any doubts.) A self-portrait room....how many self portraits does a moderately unattractive man need? I can only begin to wonder how many pics he snapped of himself in the bathroom the night he took the pic that actually made it online. I had no intentions of replying to his email, as my single question ("did you really take a pic in the bathroom?") had been answered. But Real_Deal_Davie has fallen for me...and I suspect he kept thinking about me and re-reading my email again and again and again...because one day later he writes back. For a second time.
_____________________
From: real_deal123
Date received: October 13, 2009
Subject: RE: hang w/ the boys huh?? hmmm..
Intellectual petting is that feeling when you are turned on by a conversation w/ someone... but more in depth than that... Any interest in chatting on the phone?
David
_____________________
Ah, so intellectual petting = talking dirty. Creepy, weird and way too much information way too soon. Is he really asking me for phone sex? Do I have to pretend I'm either a nurse or a teacher? Or does he want to have a stimulating conversation with me about the notional value of options contracts on an equity portfolio. Yeah, that will definitely turn him on.
Sorry Real_Deal_Davie, I have no interest in giving you the intellectual petting you crave. If I'm going to talk dirty it's going to be for a 1-900 number so I get paid. Because as you know, I only give freebies to the guys at work: [in sexy, sultry voice] So guys, who's Justin Beaver?
_____________________
From: real_deal123
Date received: October 07, 2009
Subject: hang w/ the boys huh?? hmmm..
Well, that pic of the 100 dollar bill is hilarious.... and you look like you know exactly how to have a good time.. I don't write to many on here, but I loved your profile.. .and I'm thinking the sense of humor is probably fantastic... hope to chat soon...
David
_____________________
I have to admit, I was flattered. I mean, Real_Deal_Davie doesn't email many on Match.com but he chose ME!!! Despite his obnoxious user ID I take a look at his profile. As a rule of thumb, when looking at someone's profile you always start with their pictures first that way you don't waste valuable moments of your life reading a profile that ultimately won't ever matter. I'm flipping through his pics and they are all relatively normal, a smiling "husky-ish" fellow who likes beaches and restaurants and seems to have a social life. He cropped out all friends, but he was with other people.
Then I get to the last picture...and it's a self portrait taken in what is CLEARLY a laundry room, but the fact that there's a broad mirror tells me it's a laundry room/bathroom. There wasn't even an attempt to disguise the fact that it was a self portrait in a bathroom mirror, he was holding his blackberry up and out to get the best angle and lighting for the photo.
I'm intrigued at this total lapse in good picture judgment and I read his profile.
_____________________
Headline:
Anybody else a flip-flop fanatic?? Looking to find my other 1/2 to the flip-flop gang.. LOL.. I do wear appropriate footwear when it matters
Profile:
Just to clear up something: I have tons of flexibility in my schedule so location is not that important within reason.
Must be able to really laugh at yourself at times... This world is too serious!!!
First of all, I must say rock solid in terms of my loyalty and character, just making that clear, and secondly, I am really looking for someone with whom I engage in "intellectual petting" if you know what I'm talking about you probably would get along well with me....Wow..what a tough thing to try and sum up in 4000 characters.. Get to know me and I am a very trustworthy, generous, loving, loyal person who really enjoys life to the fullest. I've travelled all over the US and enjoy taking many trips/year even if those trips are only 2 to 3 days. I enjoy intellectual stimulation with someone as I love to learn new things and love to be constantly challenged.. My ideal person (NOT a must) would be intelligent, possibly athletic, maybe a former high school or collegiate athlete and I do get along with teachers, nurses, and those from the business community best but I am totally open to other options.. I have typically been attracted to tall women, but that does not rule out anyone, though I do draw the line at 5' 1", LOL.. There is so much more to me than 4000 characters and I think I am really looking for someone with a GREAT sense of humor that meshes well with mine, someone who loves the water/beach, trustworthy and loyal are big factors as well. Many things are open for discussion and I only have a few deal breakers, smoking being one of them.
_____________________
My immediate thoughts:
-Douchebag
-Here we go with the LOYALTY again - and three references to it!!
-Intellectual petting - WTF?
-I like how his ideal woman does not have to be intelligent. It's good he specifies that because he doesn't have a chance with an actual intelligent woman.
-Teachers and Nurses = Fetish
I'm annoyed that he wrote to me and stated that not many woman receive the honor of an email from him, yet he has obviously contacted enough women on Match who live some distance away that he offers the disclaimer about his schedule flexibility. So I write him an email pointing out in a subtle way that I think he, and his bathroom self portrait, are lame.
_____________________
To: real_deal123
Date received: October 11, 2009
Subject: RE: hang w/ the boys huh?? hmmm..
Hi David,
Thanks for your email. I looked at your profile and to be honest I have no idea what intellectual petting is. I did Google the term and the first result was a blog "confessions of an intellectual Barbie." The second result was a biography on Pope John Paul II. The third result was a band "Heavy Petting" and the fourth, "Petting Zoo Gifts." Eclectic mix there.
Is one of your profile pics REALLY a self-portrait taken in a what appears to be a laundry room...if not a bathroom?
_____________________
And the response comes back...
_____________________
From: real_deal123
Date received: October 12, 2009
Subject: RE: hang w/ the boys huh?? hmmm..
so you are sarcastic..!!! Fantastic..., and yes, that pic was in the bathroom/laundry room.. it's my self-portrait room... I can't wait to hear some things that border on inappropriate.. .haha... that comment was hilarious!!...
Need to know more about you!!
David
_____________________
Douchebag status: Confirmed. (As if there were any doubts.) A self-portrait room....how many self portraits does a moderately unattractive man need? I can only begin to wonder how many pics he snapped of himself in the bathroom the night he took the pic that actually made it online. I had no intentions of replying to his email, as my single question ("did you really take a pic in the bathroom?") had been answered. But Real_Deal_Davie has fallen for me...and I suspect he kept thinking about me and re-reading my email again and again and again...because one day later he writes back. For a second time.
_____________________
From: real_deal123
Date received: October 13, 2009
Subject: RE: hang w/ the boys huh?? hmmm..
Intellectual petting is that feeling when you are turned on by a conversation w/ someone... but more in depth than that... Any interest in chatting on the phone?
David
_____________________
Ah, so intellectual petting = talking dirty. Creepy, weird and way too much information way too soon. Is he really asking me for phone sex? Do I have to pretend I'm either a nurse or a teacher? Or does he want to have a stimulating conversation with me about the notional value of options contracts on an equity portfolio. Yeah, that will definitely turn him on.
Sorry Real_Deal_Davie, I have no interest in giving you the intellectual petting you crave. If I'm going to talk dirty it's going to be for a 1-900 number so I get paid. Because as you know, I only give freebies to the guys at work: [in sexy, sultry voice] So guys, who's Justin Beaver?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Match - a celebration of codependency
One thing that seems to be common among the men of Match: their extreme loyalty. Nearly every prospect sites his undying loyalty in his profile...and his insistence that his Match be loyal in return.
Why loyalty? It is fairly simply to spell: l-o-y-a-l-t-y...hmm, actually not that easy. Trust me, these guys can mess that up in a heartbeat. Another thought: there's some online automated profile writer (kind of like Mad Libs for Love) that gives a baseline story and you fill in the obvious details: I enjoy {noun}, and {verb}, and I'm {adverb} into {verb}. (This could be a very fun future post, stay tuned!)
No, I believe that these guys are being honest about their codependency. Because isn't that the key "strength" of a codependent: extreme loyalty to the point that it becomes enabling?
Loyalty in a relationship should be a given. I don't want to read about how loyal you are in your profile, that's something you show me over time. And if extreme loyalty is all you've got to tell me about yourself, well then we don't have much to build on here. You may as well write "I'm extremely damaged. Can you handle that?"
So guys, lose the "loyalty" and tell me something about you that I would not already assume. Do you like to BBQ? Tell me. Are you one of those guys who "yell at the TV" when sports is on? Tell me. What are you passionate about? Tell me. If we weren't all looking for loyalty then we'd be on Adult Friend Finder, not Match.com.
Why loyalty? It is fairly simply to spell: l-o-y-a-l-t-y...hmm, actually not that easy. Trust me, these guys can mess that up in a heartbeat. Another thought: there's some online automated profile writer (kind of like Mad Libs for Love) that gives a baseline story and you fill in the obvious details: I enjoy {noun}, and {verb}, and I'm {adverb} into {verb}. (This could be a very fun future post, stay tuned!)
No, I believe that these guys are being honest about their codependency. Because isn't that the key "strength" of a codependent: extreme loyalty to the point that it becomes enabling?
Loyalty in a relationship should be a given. I don't want to read about how loyal you are in your profile, that's something you show me over time. And if extreme loyalty is all you've got to tell me about yourself, well then we don't have much to build on here. You may as well write "I'm extremely damaged. Can you handle that?"
So guys, lose the "loyalty" and tell me something about you that I would not already assume. Do you like to BBQ? Tell me. Are you one of those guys who "yell at the TV" when sports is on? Tell me. What are you passionate about? Tell me. If we weren't all looking for loyalty then we'd be on Adult Friend Finder, not Match.com.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
She sure likes her juice!
On occasion, I have a glass of wine with dinner. Not every night, and usually not at all during the week. But if I do open a bottle to accompany my flat iron steak (a delicious cut of meat, highly recommended) I have a tendency to have a glass of "juice" several nights in a row simply to not let the bottle go to waste. After all, who wants to be wasteful?
Why am I calling it juice? The joke is that I drink the wine out of a juice glass. An Ikea juice glass, the best $0.60/each I ever spent.
Why a juice glass? Two reasons.
1. Washing and drying a single wine glass is a huge pain: my Reidels are quite delicate and require TLC.
2. The dishwasher: as a single female living alone my dishwasher is run about once every three weeks. I all but wash each dish before placing it inside. However, I have an extremely active imagination and I have managed to dream up every horrible demise that could possibly befall me. This, despite being a revoltingly optimistic person. Following to my premature death I see my heartbroken parents coming to my home to clear out my belongings. [Let's be honest, it would be more of a looting situation.] My mother opens the dishwasher...and finds it full of wine glasses.
Trust me, I am not worried in the least about either of my parents questioning my drinking -they of ALL people should not question an other's drinking- but I would simply hate for anyone to think I was home alone sucking down wine and hiding bottles in the garbage.
Because part of my overactive imagination is envisioning the scenario that would play out in their minds upon discovering a dishwasher full of wine glasses: Tish, in sweats and glasses, quietly opens the door to the hallway late at night. She pauses, listening intently to ensure no one is coming, then tip-toes out and heads for the stairs, quietly lugging a Hefty bag bulging in numerous places with empty wine bottles and the occasional wine box. The bottles in the bag clink together and Tish cringes, fearful of what the neighbors would think if they saw her toting the garbage bag of shame down to the recycling bins...
Rather, it comforts me to think that when the dishwasher is opened by my family they will see plates, bowls, forks, knives, spoons...and a whole lot of juice glasses. Which will prompt them to say "Wow, she sure liked her juice!"
Indeed, I do.
Why am I calling it juice? The joke is that I drink the wine out of a juice glass. An Ikea juice glass, the best $0.60/each I ever spent.
Why a juice glass? Two reasons.
1. Washing and drying a single wine glass is a huge pain: my Reidels are quite delicate and require TLC.
2. The dishwasher: as a single female living alone my dishwasher is run about once every three weeks. I all but wash each dish before placing it inside. However, I have an extremely active imagination and I have managed to dream up every horrible demise that could possibly befall me. This, despite being a revoltingly optimistic person. Following to my premature death I see my heartbroken parents coming to my home to clear out my belongings. [Let's be honest, it would be more of a looting situation.] My mother opens the dishwasher...and finds it full of wine glasses.
Trust me, I am not worried in the least about either of my parents questioning my drinking -they of ALL people should not question an other's drinking- but I would simply hate for anyone to think I was home alone sucking down wine and hiding bottles in the garbage.
Because part of my overactive imagination is envisioning the scenario that would play out in their minds upon discovering a dishwasher full of wine glasses: Tish, in sweats and glasses, quietly opens the door to the hallway late at night. She pauses, listening intently to ensure no one is coming, then tip-toes out and heads for the stairs, quietly lugging a Hefty bag bulging in numerous places with empty wine bottles and the occasional wine box. The bottles in the bag clink together and Tish cringes, fearful of what the neighbors would think if they saw her toting the garbage bag of shame down to the recycling bins...
Rather, it comforts me to think that when the dishwasher is opened by my family they will see plates, bowls, forks, knives, spoons...and a whole lot of juice glasses. Which will prompt them to say "Wow, she sure liked her juice!"
Indeed, I do.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Gr8_Guy_4U
There's a whole lot of great guys on match. Nice guys too. And a few good guys, but definitely more great guys than anything else. How do I know?
Is it from the success stories I hear from my friends regarding their positive Match.com experiences? Is it from my own experience dating guys from Match? Is it from perusing their online photos that show them surrounded by lots of friends and family? [He must be normal, someone let him hold their baby!]
Nope, I know this because of their user IDs.
For some reason, many guys on Match feel compelled to make their user ID containing 'great guy', 'gr8 guy', 'nice guy'...and about a million variations of these. I guess the rationale is "She'll overlook my hideous appearance and inability to use spell check when she sees my user ID says I'm a great guy!"
But that's the problem with these so called 'great guys': nothing in their written profile ever indicates greatness. Well, aside from the standard opening line in their summary: "My friends and family all say I'm a great guy."
Let's be honest here...if you were really that great, you would have already been snatched up by an equally great woman and you would be living out the American dream. You know, the dream that includes 2.5 kids, no savings, maxed out credit cards, a mortgage that's under water and a dried up line of credit tied to said mortgage.
You're not selling yourself with that user ID...in fact, "Gr8_Guy_4U", you're selling yourself short with it. If you're really a decent guy prove it in a meaningful way: write a great summary of who you are, what you like, and what you're looking for.
If the only thing that makes you great is your user ID and some generic testimonial attributed to friends and family...well, you best sign up for the extended plan at Match.com because that simply is not going to work. On a great gal like me, anyway.
Is it from the success stories I hear from my friends regarding their positive Match.com experiences? Is it from my own experience dating guys from Match? Is it from perusing their online photos that show them surrounded by lots of friends and family? [He must be normal, someone let him hold their baby!]
Nope, I know this because of their user IDs.
For some reason, many guys on Match feel compelled to make their user ID containing 'great guy', 'gr8 guy', 'nice guy'...and about a million variations of these. I guess the rationale is "She'll overlook my hideous appearance and inability to use spell check when she sees my user ID says I'm a great guy!"
But that's the problem with these so called 'great guys': nothing in their written profile ever indicates greatness. Well, aside from the standard opening line in their summary: "My friends and family all say I'm a great guy."
Let's be honest here...if you were really that great, you would have already been snatched up by an equally great woman and you would be living out the American dream. You know, the dream that includes 2.5 kids, no savings, maxed out credit cards, a mortgage that's under water and a dried up line of credit tied to said mortgage.
You're not selling yourself with that user ID...in fact, "Gr8_Guy_4U", you're selling yourself short with it. If you're really a decent guy prove it in a meaningful way: write a great summary of who you are, what you like, and what you're looking for.
If the only thing that makes you great is your user ID and some generic testimonial attributed to friends and family...well, you best sign up for the extended plan at Match.com because that simply is not going to work. On a great gal like me, anyway.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
I was "Justin Beaver" last night!
The 4 guys who make up my team and I were at our usual lunch place in Manhattan (Lenny's, 9th and 43rd). The guys are all older than I am, married, with 9 kids among them ranging in age from 16 months to 16 years. So I figured one of them would be able to answer my question:
Who's Justin Beaver?
I should have known by the way one of my colleagues reacted that I best drop my line of questioning...but I didn't get it. Yet. But I would get it later and the pain still lingers as I type these words.
My colleague, someone I consider a dear friend who tells it like it is with no BS and who has a filthier mind and mouth than yours truly, practically has an aneurysm. I can see him starting to lose his sh!t, I can see he is just barely clinging to the edges of his sanity and that he is bursting with a joke so vile, yet so funny (to him) that he can hardly contain himself. And that only the presence of our boss, a 50-something executive seated between us, is keeping him from saying what he is clearly dying to say.
But I ignored him, I ignored what I thought was his childish reaction to my use of the word "beaver" and its somewhat ridiculous association with a vagina. I ignore the looks and the snickering passing among the 3 guys at the far end of the table and I blazed ahead:
Yeah, Justin Beaver. I keep hearing ads on the radio to meet Justin Beaver and I thought maybe you guys with kids would know about Justin Beaver. I think Justin Beaver is a musician, or maybe an actor. It seems like teenagers are all about Justin Beaver...any thoughts? Anyone know Justin Beaver?
The awkwardness at the table was becoming physical. Even I was squirming now, but not from repressed laughter. No one could swallow their food because chewing the same mouthful was all that was keeping them from either saying something they would regret or breaking down in hysterical laughter. And I still didn't get it. Is "beaver" really that ridiculous of a word? It's a legititmate last name, I once knew a guy from the U.K. whose last name was Beavor. "Seriously," I'm thinking. "Grow up."
I even go so far as to google Justin Beaver on my iPhone...and sadly, no hits. I look like a lunatic.
So I drop Justin Beaver. And I'm annoyed at their reaction: WTF, we can't use the word beaver anymore? What if it were in reference to woodland creatures? You know, the dam builders?
Lunch goes on, only marginally less awkward now that I'm not asking "who's Justin Beaver?" And so Justin Beaver is forgotten...until we leave lunch and are walking back to the office. My colleague whose head nearly blew up from trying to contain his hysteria pulls me aside and says "Do you WANT to get me fired?"
"I swear, there's an ad on the radio...!!!"
"Yeah, well it was all I could do to NOT say 'I was just in beaver last night!'"
Oh. My. God.
I thought it was the "beaver" part they were laughing at. No - it was the Simpsons' style phone prank name innuendo: JUST IN BEAVER. I was mortified. This was no Amanda Huginkiss, this wasn't Oliver Clothesoff...no, this was Justin Beaver. And I must have said "Who's Justin Beaver" about 50 times over the course of that lunch, completely oblivious to what my colleagues were hearing. No wonder that was so uncomfortable and awkward.
But I still could not let it go. I did not make this person up: Justin Beaver exists, even if his name is ridiculous. Back at the office I google "Justin Beaver" and "musician"...and I get a hit:
Justin Bieber.
A shaggy-haired 15 year old Canadian singing sensation with an enormous teen following. He will soon be performing in the area and the radio stations are lining up plenty of "beaver" to lust after him in person. Bieber. With a B, not V.
Of course I send an email to the guys with a link to his MTV fan page to prove I am not insane (just deaf) and to cover my ass in the eventual HR intervention relating to Beavergate.
My boss responds to the email "Still haven't heard of him."
And so "Who's just in beaver?" goes down in history. But hopefully not in my annual performance review.
Who's Justin Beaver?
I should have known by the way one of my colleagues reacted that I best drop my line of questioning...but I didn't get it. Yet. But I would get it later and the pain still lingers as I type these words.
My colleague, someone I consider a dear friend who tells it like it is with no BS and who has a filthier mind and mouth than yours truly, practically has an aneurysm. I can see him starting to lose his sh!t, I can see he is just barely clinging to the edges of his sanity and that he is bursting with a joke so vile, yet so funny (to him) that he can hardly contain himself. And that only the presence of our boss, a 50-something executive seated between us, is keeping him from saying what he is clearly dying to say.
But I ignored him, I ignored what I thought was his childish reaction to my use of the word "beaver" and its somewhat ridiculous association with a vagina. I ignore the looks and the snickering passing among the 3 guys at the far end of the table and I blazed ahead:
Yeah, Justin Beaver. I keep hearing ads on the radio to meet Justin Beaver and I thought maybe you guys with kids would know about Justin Beaver. I think Justin Beaver is a musician, or maybe an actor. It seems like teenagers are all about Justin Beaver...any thoughts? Anyone know Justin Beaver?
The awkwardness at the table was becoming physical. Even I was squirming now, but not from repressed laughter. No one could swallow their food because chewing the same mouthful was all that was keeping them from either saying something they would regret or breaking down in hysterical laughter. And I still didn't get it. Is "beaver" really that ridiculous of a word? It's a legititmate last name, I once knew a guy from the U.K. whose last name was Beavor. "Seriously," I'm thinking. "Grow up."
I even go so far as to google Justin Beaver on my iPhone...and sadly, no hits. I look like a lunatic.
So I drop Justin Beaver. And I'm annoyed at their reaction: WTF, we can't use the word beaver anymore? What if it were in reference to woodland creatures? You know, the dam builders?
Lunch goes on, only marginally less awkward now that I'm not asking "who's Justin Beaver?" And so Justin Beaver is forgotten...until we leave lunch and are walking back to the office. My colleague whose head nearly blew up from trying to contain his hysteria pulls me aside and says "Do you WANT to get me fired?"
"I swear, there's an ad on the radio...!!!"
"Yeah, well it was all I could do to NOT say 'I was just in beaver last night!'"
Oh. My. God.
I thought it was the "beaver" part they were laughing at. No - it was the Simpsons' style phone prank name innuendo: JUST IN BEAVER. I was mortified. This was no Amanda Huginkiss, this wasn't Oliver Clothesoff...no, this was Justin Beaver. And I must have said "Who's Justin Beaver" about 50 times over the course of that lunch, completely oblivious to what my colleagues were hearing. No wonder that was so uncomfortable and awkward.
But I still could not let it go. I did not make this person up: Justin Beaver exists, even if his name is ridiculous. Back at the office I google "Justin Beaver" and "musician"...and I get a hit:
Justin Bieber.
A shaggy-haired 15 year old Canadian singing sensation with an enormous teen following. He will soon be performing in the area and the radio stations are lining up plenty of "beaver" to lust after him in person. Bieber. With a B, not V.
Of course I send an email to the guys with a link to his MTV fan page to prove I am not insane (just deaf) and to cover my ass in the eventual HR intervention relating to Beavergate.
My boss responds to the email "Still haven't heard of him."
And so "Who's just in beaver?" goes down in history. But hopefully not in my annual performance review.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Robo-Date
Another Match.com date last night. His profile was interesting, his emails were humorous and not completely self-indulgent: i.e., he did not say "I have a boat and a jet ski and a borrowed race car, you will like me because of all that, right?" He's an engineer, but as previously discussed that's typical of Match. His pics indicated he was from a lower "caste" than yours truly, but hoping he was just unphotogenic I accepted the date. His looks weren't my biggest concern, I was hopeful that his wit and personality on email would translate to his in-person personality.
{side note: when i first typed "translate" above I did some spastic typing and translate came out as "strangler"...}
I knew from his profile that he's a casual guy: most of his pics were of him camping and drinking beer with other dudes. But for our first date he showed up in jeans, a t-shirt and a zip-up hoodie. Very casual indeed. No golf shirt, no button down, a t-shirt. And not a crisp pocket T...no, a worn in (and likely comfy) faded navy blue t-shirt, similar to the ones I occasionally wear to the gym or while scrubbing the bathtub at home. He either has serious 5 o'clock shadow or he hadn't shaved for a few days.
He was skinny: the kind of thin frame that an über nerd would have, compounded by his love of running and cycling. Bad hair: short, dark and wiry, no product used or any attempt to style his Super-Cuts $14.95 special. He wasn't totally unattractive, but certainly no heart-throb either. On the bright side he did have straight teeth.
The voices in my head were laughing and shouting at me "You should have trusted the photos. TRUST THE PHOTOS!!!"
Shut up, brain! He could be a really great guy.
Well, to summarize the 2 hour meet-and-greet session...he wasn't great. He was rather immature for a 36 year old. Everything was "Awesome!" Enthusiasm is good, but this had the feel of a conversation with a 10 year old. He dropped many F-bombs. Many. He referred to several people as "fags." Completely inappropriate when you don't know the person you are speaking with...and it just indicated to me he could not be left unattended in mixed company. [I have a policy against babysitting adults.]
The 10 year old personality manifested itself further when I asked about his work. As a software engineer he once worked at a robotics firm...and with great passion he described the practical implications of robots in military, health care and commercial use. Then he said "There's a video of the robot I built on YouTube, look it up on your iPhone!!!" So I looked up the video...and we watched the entire 3:26 segment as as he described his contributions to the project and the contributions of all the other nerds and fags. He also referred to a radar-blocking program he worked on for a military contract as "gay-dar blocking."
Dude...I don't even know you and you're comments are a bit offensive for us being strangers and in a crowded bar. There was no doubt in my mind: his wit and personality on email did not translate to his in-person personality. No, his in-person personality strangled any wit to death and was survived by off-color humor.
I managed to get out of there without spending any money or with any physical contact beside a handshake. Now I'm contemplating what to email to Robo-Date. My feeling is that his efforts are best spent constructing himself a Fem-bot with advanced gay-dar to keep the f-ing fags away....
{side note: when i first typed "translate" above I did some spastic typing and translate came out as "strangler"...}
I knew from his profile that he's a casual guy: most of his pics were of him camping and drinking beer with other dudes. But for our first date he showed up in jeans, a t-shirt and a zip-up hoodie. Very casual indeed. No golf shirt, no button down, a t-shirt. And not a crisp pocket T...no, a worn in (and likely comfy) faded navy blue t-shirt, similar to the ones I occasionally wear to the gym or while scrubbing the bathtub at home. He either has serious 5 o'clock shadow or he hadn't shaved for a few days.
He was skinny: the kind of thin frame that an über nerd would have, compounded by his love of running and cycling. Bad hair: short, dark and wiry, no product used or any attempt to style his Super-Cuts $14.95 special. He wasn't totally unattractive, but certainly no heart-throb either. On the bright side he did have straight teeth.
The voices in my head were laughing and shouting at me "You should have trusted the photos. TRUST THE PHOTOS!!!"
Shut up, brain! He could be a really great guy.
Well, to summarize the 2 hour meet-and-greet session...he wasn't great. He was rather immature for a 36 year old. Everything was "Awesome!" Enthusiasm is good, but this had the feel of a conversation with a 10 year old. He dropped many F-bombs. Many. He referred to several people as "fags." Completely inappropriate when you don't know the person you are speaking with...and it just indicated to me he could not be left unattended in mixed company. [I have a policy against babysitting adults.]
The 10 year old personality manifested itself further when I asked about his work. As a software engineer he once worked at a robotics firm...and with great passion he described the practical implications of robots in military, health care and commercial use. Then he said "There's a video of the robot I built on YouTube, look it up on your iPhone!!!" So I looked up the video...and we watched the entire 3:26 segment as as he described his contributions to the project and the contributions of all the other nerds and fags. He also referred to a radar-blocking program he worked on for a military contract as "gay-dar blocking."
Dude...I don't even know you and you're comments are a bit offensive for us being strangers and in a crowded bar. There was no doubt in my mind: his wit and personality on email did not translate to his in-person personality. No, his in-person personality strangled any wit to death and was survived by off-color humor.
I managed to get out of there without spending any money or with any physical contact beside a handshake. Now I'm contemplating what to email to Robo-Date. My feeling is that his efforts are best spent constructing himself a Fem-bot with advanced gay-dar to keep the f-ing fags away....
Study Break
I'm supposed to be studying. I’m taking a (voluntary) finance certification exam. I’d ditch it were it not for the $1000 of my own money paying for the test.
And yet, despite the substantial amount of skin I have in the game I cannot seem to focus. Every time I sit down with the books I come up with something far more interesting to do.
The problem is when I study I suddenly become a huge procrastinator. Usually I don’t put off anything, but once there’s a pile of materials in front of me that needs learning/memorizing I unexpectedly have ALL the time in the world for special projects.
Allow me to break down a typical study session:
10:00 AM
Sit down with books.
10:03 AM
Pick at cuticles.
10:05 AM
Oh my god - the floors haven’t been scrubbed in a while. I better get on that!
[Side note: I’m a single female lives alone and does not wear shoes in the house. You could eat off my floors prior to any scrubbing.]
10:45 AM
Sit down with books. Got to focus!
11:07 AM
(Fiddling with hair) Oh look, a split end! I better grab some scissors and inspect every single strand on my head and snip off all offenders.
(As I'm snipping away I notice....) Ew, a knuckle hair. I'll show you. I'll go tweeze it.
11:08 AM
(In the bathroom)
See ya later, knuckle hair! Let me inspect my eyebrows…Well there are more than a few stragglers here.
pluck pluck pluck pluck pluck.
Any other stray hairs? Hmm, you better find some or you'll have to study again....
pluck pluck pluck pluck pluck.
Crap, definitely should not have tweezed that one. I better try and even these out.
pluck pluck pluck pluck pluck.
Oh sh!t…definitely need to put the tweezers down or there will be none left. Ok, back to the books. Actually, I should brush and floss again…
11:20 AM
Back with the books. Focus!
11:32 AM
Gee, this button is loose on the old tatty shirt I'm wearing that I never leave the house in....I better mend this shirt with its armpit stains that’s really nothing more than a rag at this point…
And so it goes. I have filled entire days with meaningless distractions simply to avoid studying. In fact, if you look at my blog entries you will notice they have increased in frequency as the test date has creeped closer and closer. But I'm also not one who enjoys admitting defeat so I'll probably buckle down at the 11th hour and focus...while all the cleaning and snippering and plucking and mending pile up.
And yet, despite the substantial amount of skin I have in the game I cannot seem to focus. Every time I sit down with the books I come up with something far more interesting to do.
The problem is when I study I suddenly become a huge procrastinator. Usually I don’t put off anything, but once there’s a pile of materials in front of me that needs learning/memorizing I unexpectedly have ALL the time in the world for special projects.
Allow me to break down a typical study session:
10:00 AM
Sit down with books.
10:03 AM
Pick at cuticles.
10:05 AM
Oh my god - the floors haven’t been scrubbed in a while. I better get on that!
[Side note: I’m a single female lives alone and does not wear shoes in the house. You could eat off my floors prior to any scrubbing.]
10:45 AM
Sit down with books. Got to focus!
11:07 AM
(Fiddling with hair) Oh look, a split end! I better grab some scissors and inspect every single strand on my head and snip off all offenders.
(As I'm snipping away I notice....) Ew, a knuckle hair. I'll show you. I'll go tweeze it.
11:08 AM
(In the bathroom)
See ya later, knuckle hair! Let me inspect my eyebrows…Well there are more than a few stragglers here.
pluck pluck pluck pluck pluck.
Any other stray hairs? Hmm, you better find some or you'll have to study again....
pluck pluck pluck pluck pluck.
Crap, definitely should not have tweezed that one. I better try and even these out.
pluck pluck pluck pluck pluck.
Oh sh!t…definitely need to put the tweezers down or there will be none left. Ok, back to the books. Actually, I should brush and floss again…
11:20 AM
Back with the books. Focus!
11:32 AM
Gee, this button is loose on the old tatty shirt I'm wearing that I never leave the house in....I better mend this shirt with its armpit stains that’s really nothing more than a rag at this point…
And so it goes. I have filled entire days with meaningless distractions simply to avoid studying. In fact, if you look at my blog entries you will notice they have increased in frequency as the test date has creeped closer and closer. But I'm also not one who enjoys admitting defeat so I'll probably buckle down at the 11th hour and focus...while all the cleaning and snippering and plucking and mending pile up.
Cat-sitting
One of the advantages of moving away from home is you escape the obligations of "payback" to your parents. You are not responsible for fixing their computer, picking mom up off the floor after she's fallen and can't get up, or watching your childhood pet while your parents are out of town. My brother has not yet realized that moving away would eliminate a myriad of hassles for him.
Key Players/Playas
Brother: My bro, who lives close to my parents.
Rentals: Ma and Pa, who were driving out to Ohio for a relative visit (hence the stop in Erie, PA).
Orange/Orange Cat/Okie: Our childhood cat (an orange tabby cat who never got named) that is the bane of my parents' (and here, my brother's) existence.
Tootsie: Uncle Tootsie is our mother's demented brother. He will be the subject of future postings.
Sophie and Alberta: Two wacky old women who lived a few houses down from our parents. Our mom always insisted they were just roommates and not lesbians. They had a really creepy house and yard.
Conky, Folks and Ear/Air: My bro's imaginary friends from childhood.
Pete: A neighborhood kid.
Shows: Rock concerts that my bro attends.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Friday, August 11, 2006 9:00 AM
To: Brother
Subject: The rentals are in Erie, PA
No problems so far, mom only pooped in her pants twice. Just kidding, there was no mention of any soilings. Yet.
Mike, mom and dad forgot to mention that Orange gets a tiny little taste of wet cat food every day, so if he seems especially out of sorts just give the fat pig a smidgen of wet food and that might shut him up. Otherwise, just pick him up and give him some lovin', then he'll run and hide for days.
------Original Message------
From: Brother
To: Me
Sent: Aug 11, 2006 9:06 AM
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
He hid upstairs all last night. My laundry took a few hours so I crashed there for the night. And drank all the beer (3 of them.) Orange was crying at the bottom of the stairs so I let him out before he got breakfast. If he's not there when I get home I guess he'll be spending the weekend outside.
He puked in the upstairs hallway last night and I stepped in it. I'm looking up recipes for cat stew.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Monday, August 14, 2006 3:51 PM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
How did the weekend go with "Okie"? Remember when mom tried to get everyone to call him that and the only one who did was Tootsie?
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2006 15:53:07
To: Me
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Orange Cat has been in hiding. I let him out on Friday because he wouldn't stop crying and whenever I go back to let him in he runs away. Today I'm just going to leave the back door open for a while.
I really hate him.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Monday, August 14, 2006 3:57 PM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Oh man, you have at least seen him, right? I think that's why mom and dad said not to let him out - because he's cantankerous.
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2006 16:02:28
To: Me
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Yeah, I've seen him. And he is a brat. But he was also puking around the house so I figured it was only going to get worse if he didn't get out.
I'm gonna leave food out for him.
How I hate him.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Monday, August 14, 2006 4:13 PM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Wait...he's been gone since Friday morning and you haven't put food out for him yet?
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Tue, 15 Aug 2006 08:12:52
To: Me
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
So he kept coming back and eating food and then running away when I'd go to let him in. He hangs out in Sophie and Alberta's yard all day. I have Pete checking every few hours to see if he wants to be let in...
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Tuesday, August 15, 2006 8:43 AM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Who is Pete?
Maybe Orange is afraid of Conky, Folks and Ear.
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Tue, 15 Aug 2006 08:45:49
To: Me
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
It was Air, not Ear!
Pete's a neighborhood kid, lives in that yellow house next to Crawford's old house. I met him through shows first and then found out he lived a few houses down. He helped me move some stuff out and mom kept trying to give him old clothes and Snapple.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Tuesday, August 15, 2006 8:56 AM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
That's funny. It's raining here, I hope Okie isn't getting wet or he'll be even crankier!
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Tue, Aug 15, 2006 at 9:01 AM
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
To: Me
Well if he's smart he'll be there when Pete goes on patrol or when I swing by after work. I gave him 5 hours last night... He's not getting nearly as much tonight.
Key Players/Playas
Brother: My bro, who lives close to my parents.
Rentals: Ma and Pa, who were driving out to Ohio for a relative visit (hence the stop in Erie, PA).
Orange/Orange Cat/Okie: Our childhood cat (an orange tabby cat who never got named) that is the bane of my parents' (and here, my brother's) existence.
Tootsie: Uncle Tootsie is our mother's demented brother. He will be the subject of future postings.
Sophie and Alberta: Two wacky old women who lived a few houses down from our parents. Our mom always insisted they were just roommates and not lesbians. They had a really creepy house and yard.
Conky, Folks and Ear/Air: My bro's imaginary friends from childhood.
Pete: A neighborhood kid.
Shows: Rock concerts that my bro attends.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Friday, August 11, 2006 9:00 AM
To: Brother
Subject: The rentals are in Erie, PA
No problems so far, mom only pooped in her pants twice. Just kidding, there was no mention of any soilings. Yet.
Mike, mom and dad forgot to mention that Orange gets a tiny little taste of wet cat food every day, so if he seems especially out of sorts just give the fat pig a smidgen of wet food and that might shut him up. Otherwise, just pick him up and give him some lovin', then he'll run and hide for days.
------Original Message------
From: Brother
To: Me
Sent: Aug 11, 2006 9:06 AM
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
He hid upstairs all last night. My laundry took a few hours so I crashed there for the night. And drank all the beer (3 of them.) Orange was crying at the bottom of the stairs so I let him out before he got breakfast. If he's not there when I get home I guess he'll be spending the weekend outside.
He puked in the upstairs hallway last night and I stepped in it. I'm looking up recipes for cat stew.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Monday, August 14, 2006 3:51 PM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
How did the weekend go with "Okie"? Remember when mom tried to get everyone to call him that and the only one who did was Tootsie?
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2006 15:53:07
To: Me
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Orange Cat has been in hiding. I let him out on Friday because he wouldn't stop crying and whenever I go back to let him in he runs away. Today I'm just going to leave the back door open for a while.
I really hate him.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Monday, August 14, 2006 3:57 PM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Oh man, you have at least seen him, right? I think that's why mom and dad said not to let him out - because he's cantankerous.
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2006 16:02:28
To: Me
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Yeah, I've seen him. And he is a brat. But he was also puking around the house so I figured it was only going to get worse if he didn't get out.
I'm gonna leave food out for him.
How I hate him.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Monday, August 14, 2006 4:13 PM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Wait...he's been gone since Friday morning and you haven't put food out for him yet?
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Tue, 15 Aug 2006 08:12:52
To: Me
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
So he kept coming back and eating food and then running away when I'd go to let him in. He hangs out in Sophie and Alberta's yard all day. I have Pete checking every few hours to see if he wants to be let in...
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Tuesday, August 15, 2006 8:43 AM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
Who is Pete?
Maybe Orange is afraid of Conky, Folks and Ear.
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Tue, 15 Aug 2006 08:45:49
To: Me
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
It was Air, not Ear!
Pete's a neighborhood kid, lives in that yellow house next to Crawford's old house. I met him through shows first and then found out he lived a few houses down. He helped me move some stuff out and mom kept trying to give him old clothes and Snapple.
-----Original Message-----
From: Me
Sent: Tuesday, August 15, 2006 8:56 AM
To: Brother
Subject: Re: The rentals are in Erie, PA
That's funny. It's raining here, I hope Okie isn't getting wet or he'll be even crankier!
-----Original Message-----
From: Brother
Date: Tue, Aug 15, 2006 at 9:01 AM
Subject: RE: The rentals are in Erie, PA
To: Me
Well if he's smart he'll be there when Pete goes on patrol or when I swing by after work. I gave him 5 hours last night... He's not getting nearly as much tonight.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Suggested improvements for Match.com
This list is a work in progress...
-Scanned photos should not be allowed. If you don't have any acceptable digital photos of yourself...then your problems won't be solved on Match.com.
-No self portraits! That includes photos taken in mirrors, in sparsely furnished bedrooms, or any photo taken with your mobile phone's camera. And really, must you include pictures with your top off?
-Members should be grouped based on their attractiveness. I know this sounds harsh, but let's be honest here: many of the men who have reached out to me simply don't have a chance. I suggest some form of tiering (more like triage!!!) where you are not allowed to seek dates from members above your designated caste. (But by all means, aim lower.)
-All profiles are supposedly screened for content by the Match.com referees. How about screening for egregious spelling and grammar mistakes? Also, please include the spell check option in the Match.com email system.
-Include a translator....an honesty overlay, if you will. This would be used to translate what was written in one's profile to what the prospect actually means. Do you really like to travel...or is driving 2 hours to Giants stadium and tailgating all day your idea of a weekend getaway?
-Remove the "online now" feature. I don't want anyone to know I am looking at my account at 10 PM on a Saturday. (Really, I was just home b/c I was studying!)
-Drinking criteria: what if I drink more than socially but less than an alcoholic?
-Messed up teeth should be listed, just as smoker/non-smoker is. Invisalign should run ads down the side of the page.
-Age screens: this goes back to the beauty tiering/caste system. If I say I'm looking for someone between the ages of 30-39...please don't write me when you're 53, you look like you're 70, and your profile specifies you are seeking someone between the ages of 40-55. It just reeks of desperation.
-Speaking of age: don't put that you're looking for someone ages 20 to 49. Come on, be a little more discriminating than that. "I'll take anyone. ANYONE!!!!"
-What's the deal with all the teachers? You're all the same: moderately unattractive, teach social studies, and post pictures of yourself:
a. in exotic locales
b. as a groomsman in someone's wedding party
c. in groups of equally unattractive people, and NEVER with a drink in hand
You do, however, get extra credit because you can spell and abide by grammar rules.
-Body type: could you be any more vague, Match.com? Am I slender? Or about average? Am I athletic and toned? Does athletic and toned mean I'm beefy? Sissy told me she originally said "about average" and changed to "slender" and got a lot more hits. I noticed a lot of guys say "about average" and then I look at their pictures and think to myself "Hello, husky!"
To be continued...
-Scanned photos should not be allowed. If you don't have any acceptable digital photos of yourself...then your problems won't be solved on Match.com.
-No self portraits! That includes photos taken in mirrors, in sparsely furnished bedrooms, or any photo taken with your mobile phone's camera. And really, must you include pictures with your top off?
-Members should be grouped based on their attractiveness. I know this sounds harsh, but let's be honest here: many of the men who have reached out to me simply don't have a chance. I suggest some form of tiering (more like triage!!!) where you are not allowed to seek dates from members above your designated caste. (But by all means, aim lower.)
-All profiles are supposedly screened for content by the Match.com referees. How about screening for egregious spelling and grammar mistakes? Also, please include the spell check option in the Match.com email system.
-Include a translator....an honesty overlay, if you will. This would be used to translate what was written in one's profile to what the prospect actually means. Do you really like to travel...or is driving 2 hours to Giants stadium and tailgating all day your idea of a weekend getaway?
-Remove the "online now" feature. I don't want anyone to know I am looking at my account at 10 PM on a Saturday. (Really, I was just home b/c I was studying!)
-Drinking criteria: what if I drink more than socially but less than an alcoholic?
-Messed up teeth should be listed, just as smoker/non-smoker is. Invisalign should run ads down the side of the page.
-Age screens: this goes back to the beauty tiering/caste system. If I say I'm looking for someone between the ages of 30-39...please don't write me when you're 53, you look like you're 70, and your profile specifies you are seeking someone between the ages of 40-55. It just reeks of desperation.
-Speaking of age: don't put that you're looking for someone ages 20 to 49. Come on, be a little more discriminating than that. "I'll take anyone. ANYONE!!!!"
-What's the deal with all the teachers? You're all the same: moderately unattractive, teach social studies, and post pictures of yourself:
a. in exotic locales
b. as a groomsman in someone's wedding party
c. in groups of equally unattractive people, and NEVER with a drink in hand
You do, however, get extra credit because you can spell and abide by grammar rules.
-Body type: could you be any more vague, Match.com? Am I slender? Or about average? Am I athletic and toned? Does athletic and toned mean I'm beefy? Sissy told me she originally said "about average" and changed to "slender" and got a lot more hits. I noticed a lot of guys say "about average" and then I look at their pictures and think to myself "Hello, husky!"
To be continued...
September 31st
I was just on a call discussing the upcoming quarter-end and as I was speaking I looked at my desk calendar at the last day of the month: Thursday, September 31st.
Wait...September 31st?
I paused a moment and ran through the rhyme "30 days has September, April, June and November..."
Yes, there in a black-lined square of my glossy print corporate-issued calendar (which has most certainly been sent out to thousands of clients and prospects) was September 31st.
So next Thursday as you go about your ordinary lives on what I hope will be a sunny, warm Fall-like October 1st...I'll be stepping into the worm hole that is September 31st.
I'm excited for the prospects this bonus day holds, my own personal leap year. I should spend the day studying (I know, who else is sick of my complaining about that). Or maybe I'll take Offshore Dave up on his offer for a boat ride. Or maybe I'll start my Christmas shopping that day!
But the reality is October 1st coincidentally falls on the same day (Thursday) as September 31st...making next week an 8-day week. I would much rather have two Saturdays than a sixth weekday, but a bonus day is always good and I'm looking forward to the adventures the day holds!
Wait...September 31st?
I paused a moment and ran through the rhyme "30 days has September, April, June and November..."
Yes, there in a black-lined square of my glossy print corporate-issued calendar (which has most certainly been sent out to thousands of clients and prospects) was September 31st.
So next Thursday as you go about your ordinary lives on what I hope will be a sunny, warm Fall-like October 1st...I'll be stepping into the worm hole that is September 31st.
I'm excited for the prospects this bonus day holds, my own personal leap year. I should spend the day studying (I know, who else is sick of my complaining about that). Or maybe I'll take Offshore Dave up on his offer for a boat ride. Or maybe I'll start my Christmas shopping that day!
But the reality is October 1st coincidentally falls on the same day (Thursday) as September 31st...making next week an 8-day week. I would much rather have two Saturdays than a sixth weekday, but a bonus day is always good and I'm looking forward to the adventures the day holds!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Junior Mints vs. Thin Mints
What adult woman shops in the junior’s department? Sometimes it’s a mom shopping for her pre-teen or teenage daughter. Sometimes it’s a tiny woman who can only fit in junior-sized clothing. Sometimes it’s a hip and stylish woman, looking for the latest trend in print t-shirts. [Ed Hardy, go away already!!] And sometimes it’s an adult woman…shopping for a bra that may actually fit her.
Despite what Judy Bloom instilled in all our minds 20 years ago, “We must, we must, we must increase our bust” did not work for some of us the way it did for Margaret. Some of us managed to grow into adults without moving into a full cup size. And no, that’s not “I’m a big B, nearly a C.” Sadly, some of us remain entrenched in the AA camp.
I’ve never worn a shirt with darts that fit correctly. Or a dress that was not baggy on top. Or a bikini top where I did not have to pray it would stay down versus riding up over my “mosquito bites.” I have always worried more that my broad shoulders will fit into a blouse than an ample bosom. Recently, as a bridesmaid in a wedding I wore 2 strapless bras to fill out the fitted top of the halter-neck dress. Diamonds can go to hell: my chicken cutlets and my (soon-to-be-retired) Nubra are my real best friends.
On the bright side: I’ve always jogged comfortably. I sleep flat on my stomach. J Crew shelf bra tanks are more than enough support. Men address me to my face, not to my chest. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like something was missing. I got hips, why not tits?
Recently I was at a party and my friend Samantha’s button up shirt was gaping. “Samantha,” I said jokingly, “You’re being indecent.” Her boyfriend was nearby and happily invited himself into our conversation. “Samantha has nothing up top,” he informed me. “Don’t talk to me about nothing on top,” I said. “All I’ve got is Junior Mints.”
He took one look at me and said “No, Samantha has Junior Mints. You…you’ve got Thin Mints.”
And the rest is history.
Despite what Judy Bloom instilled in all our minds 20 years ago, “We must, we must, we must increase our bust” did not work for some of us the way it did for Margaret. Some of us managed to grow into adults without moving into a full cup size. And no, that’s not “I’m a big B, nearly a C.” Sadly, some of us remain entrenched in the AA camp.
I’ve never worn a shirt with darts that fit correctly. Or a dress that was not baggy on top. Or a bikini top where I did not have to pray it would stay down versus riding up over my “mosquito bites.” I have always worried more that my broad shoulders will fit into a blouse than an ample bosom. Recently, as a bridesmaid in a wedding I wore 2 strapless bras to fill out the fitted top of the halter-neck dress. Diamonds can go to hell: my chicken cutlets and my (soon-to-be-retired) Nubra are my real best friends.
On the bright side: I’ve always jogged comfortably. I sleep flat on my stomach. J Crew shelf bra tanks are more than enough support. Men address me to my face, not to my chest. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like something was missing. I got hips, why not tits?
Recently I was at a party and my friend Samantha’s button up shirt was gaping. “Samantha,” I said jokingly, “You’re being indecent.” Her boyfriend was nearby and happily invited himself into our conversation. “Samantha has nothing up top,” he informed me. “Don’t talk to me about nothing on top,” I said. “All I’ve got is Junior Mints.”
He took one look at me and said “No, Samantha has Junior Mints. You…you’ve got Thin Mints.”
And the rest is history.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)