Went out last night with an old friend to a new hangout.  In spite of that nagging little voice in the back of my head we were NOT the oldest ones there.

The above drawing is of us dancing.  The way we saw it in our heads.  The actual act was neither so graceful OR rhythmic.  We drew a lot of concerned stares from the other patrons but dammit, we had a good time.

I woke up this morning with "dart arm". 

Mecha Fly

 I admit it, I killed a fly yesterday.

I didn't just kill it, I systematically stalked that little bastard after his many attempts to fly up my nose.  He was no match for the fly swatter.

Fast forward a couple of hours to dinnertime.  The spouse and I were sitting down enjoying a lovely dinner when I was attacked again.

Me: OMG that &%$*# fly is back from the grave!!

Spouse: Oh come on, you know that's not possible.

Me: This is the same fly!

Spouse: I never said it wasn't.  But see, all of his little fly brethren put him back together using bio-mechanical engineering.

Me: (long pause) ...you're telling me there is a bio-mechanical fly engineering plant somewhere in this house?

Spouse: Yes.

Me: And that it can build ultra-intelligent Mecha Flies?

Spouse: Basically.

Me: We're moving.


How many times have we all been cut off or pissed off by this driver?!

Personal Helicopters: Pros and Cons

Every morning my husband wakes up, goes downstairs, and begins reading the news on his computer.  The more obscure, the better.  Once he spent twenty minutes educating me on the Serial Cop-a-Feeler, a man who rode a bicycle and randomly grabbed at women as he rode past.  So when he announced that, for just $20,000, we could be the owners of our own personal helicopter I was not really surprised.  I was, however, able to quickly rattle off the reasons why we shouldn’t own one and how our cars were perfectly serviceable.  Of course for every con I gave he threw back a pro.  So I decided to look at this logically.

First stop, morning coffee.  Many of us are useless without it.  My husband gets horrible headaches without his daily pot’s worth.  Me, I just get stupid without enough caffeine.  I trip over nothing at a greatly increased rate.  He tried to convince me that his helicopter would result in faster coffee fetching.  I begged to differ.
When shown this photo he raised an eyebrow and said, “And?  I never said THEY would get their coffee faster.”  Touché.

Aside from the fact that we don’t have $20,000 to spend on anything, let alone a helicopter (I’ve never paid more than 3k for a car), the debate continued.  After the coffee comes the commute.  He works about thirty miles from our home across a sprawling metropolis filled with bad drivers, obscene gestures, and seemingly constant construction.  When I tried to argue in favor of the extended drive allowing time for personal reflection and the chance to catch up on our favorite podcasts he laughed.  “You?” he quipped.  “By the time you get to where you’re going you’re practically bald from pulling your own hair out!”
Yeah, he won this one. 

Next came the “Cool Factor”.  He tried to argue that his personal helicopter would be a chick magnet.  I disagree.  In fact, the first thing I thought of was that episode of the Cosby Show where Theo and Cockroach decided that a limo just wasn’t going to make a big enough impression at prom and instead rented a helicopter.  It didn’t go quite according to plan. 
Justine and Sylvia, Cockroach’s date (how he got a date with a name like Cockroach is beyond me), showed up back at the Huxtable house with hair that would make Dee Snyder circa 1988 jealous.  I think I won this round.

We argued our views on parking.  He claimed that there would always be a space available since so few people have personal helicopters.  I countered with the long walk from the top of a city skyscraper.  He praised better access to government facilities.  I stated firmly that I didn’t want to be accosted by FBI agents for taking over a government helicopter pad.

Then came the topic of drive-in movies.  We were sort of neck and neck on this one.  At the time he drove a Mustang Coupe and I drove an Oldsmobile Cutlass Calais.  Neither is roomy.  The helicopter however would make it impossible to hear the movie.  “For other people,” he was quick to point out.  “We could wear ear buds.” 

Finally, after countless rounds of pros and cons, I brought out my trump card.  I am terrified of aircraft.


Public Restrooms

You try to avoid them like the plague.  You’d subject yourself to hours of discomfort rather than set foot in one.  Public restrooms.  We’ve all used them, usually as a last resort to avoid an accident.  I really have a hard time understanding how people can be so inconsiderate when it comes time to use one. 

First off we visit one of the most annoying situations, as well as one of the most critical, that you’ll encounter in a public washroom.  Picture, if you will; you’ve gotten up from your table at the restaurant and made a beeline for the facilities, convinced that you won’t be able to hold it until after not only dinner but the drive home as well.  After breathing a sigh of relief at finding an empty stall you plunk yourself down, do your business, and reach for the toilet paper.  But what is this?  The roll is empty!  It’s past the point where you can just move to another, adequately equipped, stall (should such a thing exist).  At this point you have two options. 

If you have the fortune of a neighbor in the next stall you can ask them to pass reinforcements under the wall.  They will usually oblige, having been in the situation themselves at some point.

If you are alone with your embarrassment you have the option of venturing out of the safety of your stall to forage for paper products.  Obvious targets are the stall next door or the paper towel dispenser.  This method is not for the faint of heart as it carries with it the danger of being caught in the middle of your quest, pants around your ankles.  Then you have to stammer an excuse and scurry back to your stall.  Dinner is usually over at this point because you don’t want to risk running into this person.  Ever, ever again.
 Who in the world thought it would be a good idea to install hair dryers in public bathrooms as a means of drying your hands?  Wait, I just looked it up.  George Clemens.  I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve seen women wash their hands and dry them on the seat of their pants rather than use those things.  I can’t speak for the men's room as I’ve never been in one while there were men in there.  Also I suspect men don’t often wash their hands. 
 Bathrooms in public parks carry their own brand of peculiarity.  Graffiti.  It’s everywhere.  Usually nothing of interest (Molly + Jake 4eva! or Here I sit all broken hearted…) but seeing all of those writings from all of those people makes me wonder why the hell anyone would want to attain immortality next to where complete strangers poo. 
Something I never thought I would encounter in a public restroom.  Someone taking a photo of themselves in the mirror.  In a public restroom?  Really?  I hope these people are proficient with Photoshop since I can’t imagine why they would want a picture of themselves in such a setting.  Maybe they got tired of taking photos in their own bathroom at home? 
 And let us not forget the burden that falls to your shoulders when you enter a bathroom and are greeted with a wall of stench graciously left behind by the previous occupant.  Not only do you have to suffer through it yourself but it always seems that there is a line waiting when you come out to whom you are forced to try to explain away the odor.

Yes, dear readers, there are worse things that occur in public restrooms.  Wee on the seats, people engaging in immoral acts, that jerk who just HAS to make those unsettling grunting noises in the stall next to you.  But really, I couldn’t bring myself to draw those.  And would you really want to see them?

Why, Oh Why?

Why does it seem that when you are faxing or printing something that no one but you could give a crap about everything goes smoothly?

It's when you are working with an irreplaceable document or something on an insane time crunch that everything goes wrong...

Damn you, technology.  I've done everything I could to embrace you...and you treat my important papers like this...


Freezer's Revenge

Have you ever put a soda or an energy drink in the freezer, thinking that you'll grab it back out in about half hour and enjoy a frosty beverage?
This is why I don't do that anymore.  Talk about a mess to clean up!

Crappy Hair Genes

I’m not sure what I may have done in a past life to be cursed with my hair.  Maybe I was a peasant wench who had songs written about her soft, smooth tresses and because of it I was sinfully vain.  Either that or I stole the Sorceress’ man and she couldn’t curse me right then without blowing her cover so she post-dated the curse to be opened in 1979. 

Or maybe I just have crappy hair genes.  But to have crappy hair genes as the result of a century-old curse is a lot more exciting than the plain old “she got her father’s crappy hair genes.” 

A typical day in the life of my hair begins by me stumbling to the bathroom and passing the large mirror above the sink on the way to the potty.  My eyes widen and I blink rapidly, trying to chase away what my sleep-hazed brain can only decipher as the lingering result of a nightmare that I don’t remember having.  But, alas, this is no dream.  My hair really does look like a scouring pad.

Every morning I do this and every morning it pisses me off.  I grab a comb in one hand and the bulk of my hair in the other.  After the first tooth of the comb breaks off while fighting a war way beyond its maturity level I usually end up throwing it against the mirror.

 Occasionally the comb will ricochet back and smack me, resulting in flying hair rage but usually it bounces around the counter a few times before settling in the sink with a dull thud.  I glare at the mass on my head before reaching under the sink for weapons more suitable to my hair’s caliber.

When my hair was short (and when I say short, I mean it.  I once shaved my head bald in an attempt to shake this Sorceress’ curse) I didn’t have to worry about knots that boy scouts couldn’t duplicate or entire paycheck’s worth of products piled up around my bathroom.  But now that it’s very long (and holds four pounds of water) it tangles easily.  Plus I have to use like a half bottle of mousse to get it all.

But once the battle is over I can take a deep breath and look in the mirror without the worry that bats or the Tooth Fairy will come flying out of my hair.  Now is the prime opportunity to have my photo taken as well.


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Au Naturale

This is precisely why I don't use artificial tanner.  Well maybe not precisely.  I don't know anyone named Kevin.  And I have red hair, not blonde.

Four Pounds

I couldn't believe it.  I was absolutely amazed (and a little bit offended).  Last Sunday I went upstairs to wash my hair and while the water was warming I stepped on the scale.  It was about what I expected.  No miraculous feats of weight loss or anything.

I assumed the position and bent over the tub, cramming my head under the faucet and washing my hair.  Any of you who follow this blog know that my hair is long, thick, and curly.  Washing it takes about six to ten minutes and drying it can take days if I let it air dry.

So I finished my task and returned to the vanity, twisting the towel around my head, trying absorb as much moisture as I could.  When no more would come out I pulled the towel off.  In so doing, my eyes caught the scale again.

Just out of curiosity I stepped aboard.

My hair, wrung out, held FOUR POUNDS OF WATER!!  Four pounds!  I looked it up, that's just under a half gallon.  Of water.  Being held in my hair!!  Picture a two liter of soda.  That and MORE was in my hair!!

If my hair can hold this capacity while dry I'll have to change my last name to Simpson and carry pencils, lobster claws, and xerox machines in it.

Someone Has to Say It

It’s not easy keeping a clean conscience.  I know, you’re thinking “Just don’t tell lies!” or “Quit stealing urine sample cups from the doctor’s office!”.  It’s not that simple.  Sometimes doing the right thing means that YOU have to be the one to tell someone something that no one else has the gamecock* to say.  And in so doing it happens often that you become known as the jerk that pointed it out.

But really, I ask you, how many times can you catch a whiff of someone’s rancid body odor before you say something?  Especially if it’s someone you see on a daily basis who is just simply lacking personal hygiene skills.  Like in a work setting.  If your desk or cubicle is next to Captain Stinkpits then you have to make a choice.  Either say something or live with it.  And I personally could not just live with it.  The smell of B.O. is right up there with the stale cat pee smell.  You can’t ignore it, you can’t cover it up with spray or air freshener.  It’s going to penetrate every one of your defenses until you get rid of its source.

How does this person NOT smell themselves?  And they think you’re the jerk for pointing it out? 

Speaking of jerk, sometimes keeping a clean conscience means letting someone know when THEY are being a jerk.  Like when two of your friends are in a heated disagreement and one of them is arguing a point that’s just wrong.  Like saying that socks and underwear go in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

And it’s not limited to just your friends.  Sometimes a complete stranger needs to be made aware of something that will make them uncomfortable. 
 Now it may be tempting to keep your mouth shut and let the entire world know that the grown woman is wearing rainbow underwear but you don’t want that on your conscience.  Ethical dilemma aside, if you don’t say something then the cosmos may very well decide to burden you with the same affliction the next time you leave a public washroom.  But you may not be wearing any underwear at all!

Perhaps worse than the underwear mishap is the people who were never taught how to wear makeup and as such tend to pack it on like they are the love child of The Ultimate Warrior and Cyndi Lauper.  Young girls tend to make this mistake.  They are also excused because they are young girls and as such are still learning application techniques and what works and doesn’t work.  But the thirty year olds you see in line at the grocery store? 
There’s really no way to tell how the person is going to take your opinion.  Either they will laugh and say they are wearing it because they lost a bet or are an eighties pop sensation, or they are going to get really huffy and tell you that your roots are showing.

Once place that nearly always requires me to speak up is at the gas station.  You wouldn’t believe how many times people get into their cars and leave either their gas caps open or their cups on the roof of their cars.  The best one though is when someone gets their receipt, gets into their car, and starts the engine, all the while oblivious to the fact that they haven’t taken the nozzle out of their tank yet.  Speaking up in this situation is more a matter of self-preservation than doing good for the populace.  I don’t want to know what will happen if the person drives off and pulls the nozzle right off of the pump.

Not everyone would feel obligated to say something in these situations.  In fact, I can think of several people right now who would sit back and snicker at the other’s expense.  I won’t name names…

*I was trying to find a term to replace “has the balls” and www.thesaurus.com gave me “gamecock”.  It didn’t seem to fit but I’ll never turn down a chance to use the word “gamecock”.
A Gamecock 
(Artist's Rendition)

We have a tie!!

And the winners are:

Amber and Amber!!

Congratulations you two!  Amber in the Green vigilantly plowed through the entire week while Amber in the Blue saved up and did them all in the last two days.  Way to go guys!!

The Answer Key:
Happy as a Clam!!
Hit the Hay =)

Dead as a Doornail

The Green Eyed Monster
Skeletons in the Closet

You Are What You Eat

Living On Borrowed Time

There you have it, Ladies and Gents!  Thanks for playing along.  Stay tuned for the announcement of the next contest.  Oh yes, there will be others.  Amber in the Blue and Amber in the Green, you'll have to defend your titles!