Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Attention Deficit In Order

Attention Deficit In Order


I see you. YES, I see you again. There you are waving emphatically. There is a handmade sign you have flashing in and out of my peripheral vision to where I can't ignore you. You HAVE to have something better to do with your morning than to pop up and down begging for attention as you stand behind the glass studio wall for NBC's TODAY SHOW while I try to finish my breakfast.

I'm so glad you are proud of your Alma Mater and feel a loyalty to make a homemade sign for attention. I'm thrilled that you are celebrating your 50th birthday with your friends on a trip to NYC and happen to stroll by 30 Rock at 7:00 in the morning. But no one else cares other than the four other ladies with you who EVEN Al Roker is trying to avoid.

We truly just want you to move to the next tourist stop on your day trip so we can watch the news, weather, sports and how many more times the police were called into Charlie Sheen's house last week. (THE important, critical news of the day only please)

Standing on someone's shoulders at a rock concert is annoying itself, but DOING it just to be situated above Matt Lauer as he talks about airline security is tacky at best, aggravating at its worse.

Seriously, even if I did KNOW you and you came from my hometown, I would never admit I did. I truly would have even disowned you if you were my Mom holding a sign that said, "Hi Erik, look at me and Aunty Em". When they talk about the 15 minutes of fame for each of us, I truly hope those 15 seconds I'll never get back count towards YOUR ENTIRE TIMELINE of fame for at least MY lifetime.

Perhaps I am envious. Yes, maybe I would love to have Kathy Lee Gifford turn and wink at me. (is that a wink or a astigmatism?) But I would never, ever, clap like a seal in front of 40 million people so I can see myself clap on the TV monitor facing me and OH wait! HEY..wait, that is my college friend standing right there next to Meredith Viera. HI ..HI can you see me?....WOW. How cool is that.. He is so lucky. Wink

Tuesday, December 22, 2009




Sounds like the best idea yet. Eliminate the cashier and let me scan and pay for my "STUFF" with a swipe of a card. Ahh, the EZ PASS for the pedestrian of the shopping lanes. What a concept...right?

NO! The biggest issue isn't that innovative idea, but the fact, the self checkout line at a Home Depot or a Walmart is ONLY AS FAST as the neophytes shopping before you .

OMG, LADY!!! the machine has it spelled out for you in not only BLACK AND WHITE, but in BRAILLE, it TALKS to you, it has a HELP button and it even has the bags OPEN there for you to put your 50 pack of batteries in.

PULEASE Mister, It's a scanner, not a MRI machine, swipe the freaking bar code, but don't hold it there until the new year.

YEAH YEAH. The Bar code...that thing that has attached itself to every item since 1972. OK, now repeat after me, each time it "BEEPS" you get charged. So right now you owe $450.00 for that pack of gum you keep swiping as your OCD kicks in at just the wrong time of the checkout process and MY life. It is paid for. I promise you and if not, I'll buy you a pack of gum for MOVING YOUR HUSH PUPPY shoes a little further down the line and leaving the premises without hitting that "help" button again.

Barcode you ask again? "Yeah yeah, the Morse code THINGY that is on the side of your paint can. YO, Norman, do you really need to use that much EGGSHELL paint at your age anyway? TRY white, your eyes can't be that sharp, you just hit the ASSISTANCE button five times to ask if your credit card will work in this type of machine. No, of course YOURS won't work. You have the only credit card out of the 400 million Americans who has a Visa that won't swipe in a VISA branded slot.

Seriously, if you don't move your corduroy brushing self out of the way, I am going to break down and yell "THIEF" because you forget to scan the two bags of SALT in your cart because its bigger than the glass you would have to lay it on."

Three steps is all it takes My Dear Hindrance of the Shopping Highway.

1) scan the item

2) place in bag

3) swipe your card and approve.

Any more steps than that and you can join those drivers in the EZ PASS lane that didn't read those two miles of signs ahead of time in NEON LIGHTS that said, "EZ PASS HOLDER ONLY" lanes to the left.

There is truly another world for you to shop in and it doesn't include me. I would tell you to stay home and shop online, but you would be waiting impatiently for the purchased items to be expulsed out of your printer paper slot.

Next time a store wants to make my life easier, don't try to AUTOMATE, TRY ELIMINATE......By IQ.

Anyone who can't figure out how to check out should be required to pay a premium for a personal shopper and stay to the rear of the store until the rest of us leave.

Now that I'm finally ready to check out........um...does anyone know what "ITEM NOT RECOGNIZED MEAN?" As there is no way I'm hitting that 'assistance needed' button after that long rant. ;)

Friday, December 18, 2009

Predictive Analytics of the Day

Predictive Analytics of the Day


"promising 3 inches...guaranteeing 6 inches....predicting 12 inches" In my conservative opinion, I think it's time we regulate the meteorologist industry to rethink their vernacular before they go on TV and forecast a big blizzard or better yet, they should keep their excited opinions about their personal depth perception to themselves.

Is there any other career where you can miss 7 out of 10 times at your craft and still excel at your job (not including baseball)? Please, please!! In my next life, pay me to be a weatherman for Phoenix or San Diego or Bora Bora where I stand there for 10 minutes a day and go. "It's going to be a pretty nice day. There were worries about seeing a cloud or two, but that was only a heat spot on the Doppler radar. Tomorrow should be more of the same and the weekend looks ...well...um...pretty darn good too."

I TOO, want to stand in front of you and point to a digital map which only, I, interpret as good, bad or indifferent based on some "neat charts". I want to wear bad blazers, flashy ties and bonded teeth to tell you what you already know, "It is COLD, WARM, HOT" or the all time favorite as they point, "if you are HERE...you should be feeling some rain in your area about now."

Yes, sign me up to have 'some good ole banter' with the sports guy next to me who is reading the old news and scores off the internet with a clip-on tie and my co-anchors who are excellent ..I MEAN..excellent at reading scrolling copy at 45 wpm. But please correct yourself when read, "Afghanistan Militia" when hyphenated. It's sounds so wrong when you say, "Afgan and Stan licious".

My next life, I promise to pay more attention to air pressure, barometer readings and jet streams as I will ask my future parents to name me Storm, Chilly, or Rain to ensure my career as a futurist of precipitation does not go unnoticed, unrewarded and to guarantee I get a cool red jacket with blow dry hair to wear on the air to tell you to "HAVE A ____ DAY", depending on the inches of course.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Feeling Helpless with the Help Desk

Feeling Helpless with the Help Desk


For my vacation day, I decided to not travel to far away places, read a good novel, or sleep past 7 am. No, that would be smart. For my day off, I decided to be productive, get up early and clear up some bills, tasks and paperwork from my last month’s trip to my doctor.

All morning, I’ve been on the phone with a helpdesk “automated” operator. How do I know she is a machine? Because she can’t be rattled, insulted or verbally abused. I know, I’ve tried. No matter what words I throw at her, enunciate, spell-out or scream; she stays calm in her monotone metallic response mode and calmly makes me spend hours on a phone which would be solved with a 5 minute live operator just saying “YES, you owe the whole bill thingy, no partial payments allowed. Pay it or we’ll confiscate your house.”

REALLY? Isn’t that all we want, resolution, closure and some truly LIVE person we can curse at afterwards and thank them for abusing you in real time? Is that asking for too much in my time of disgust? I can’t curse at R2D2 with a voice.

I have repeated my option “BILLING ISSUES STILL” and she has politely asked me if I’m approving my “LIVING TISSUE WILL?”

She keeps asking me for my “PASSWORD” as I told her that she erred with the "LAST WORD” I constantly repeat my “RECENT ADDRESS” but she keeps referring back to my diagnosis of “DECENT STRESS”. Stress?...Oh, maybe just a little right now…Keep talking JUDY Freakin’ JETSON.

So now I’m completely lost, I can’t reset my password, I had no idea my 2nd dog had a middle name. I am only 50% sure of my state of birth or my password reminder 7-digit code that includes upper/lower letters and numbers.

I inhale and try to breathe; I can only ponder if it’s a felon to kill a computerized voice that doesn’t listen to me either phonetically or literally. As I have now decided, if I want to be ignored to this extent, I’ll just go back to work.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

The Flight of the Wannabe

Sometimes the in-flight movie isn’t the most entertaining event on an airplane. On my way back from the Miami, I observed a lady, who has been sighing and “tsk tsking” with disgust ever since she was overlooked for a first class upgrade, and had to sit in the first row of coach.

She began her flight of disappointment before we even were airborne by arguing with the flight attendant that because she USUALLY sits in first class, she should be allowed to use the 1st class lavatories.

As she was denied repeatedly access to the port-a-john in air, she turned around in a huff and marched loudly to the restroom in the rear of the plane while the rest of us (content with our peanuts) continued to watch My Best Friend’s Wedding for the 12th time shown on a the 4-inch screen. Ahh, but I digress.

Reference for non-travelers: All restrooms on planes are the same, there are no rose scented walls and silk toilet paper in 1st class facilities, trust me, it’s only an urban legend.

After the disappointed lady of Debutantes’ past came out of the “steerage” facility, she hoofed past the rest of us returning to her seat. However, this time with more than she left; as row after row; crowded aisle after aisle; all the winged bus inhabitants witnessed her shirt tucked into her pantyhose and 15 feet of toilet paper dragging behind her.

Excuse me for a second while I reminisce and laugh again. …..one more second…

Ok, I’m fine now.

As she passed me, I nicely pointed out her trail of embarrassment, “Don’t you just miss those first class bathrooms where the toilet tissue is perforated and the dressing room mirrors actually reflect the rear disposition of the past?”

Monday, September 28, 2009




Yes, my perception is tainted. My travels for work spoil me with lovely hotels in great cities. However, some hotels should not be occupied, but donated to prisons for overcrowding. It's supposed to be a home away from home, not the equivalent of doing 10-15 hours in a state penitentiary.

I should have known better as even my GPS couldn't find this "Four Seasons" of solitary confinement in rural New York state. My loyal gadget of the directionally disabled not only couldn't locate it, it never even heard of the road or worse yet, the crime district it was in.


Too late. When you walk into a BATES HOTEL room and there are SIGNS all over to help you with the obvious, you know it's going to be a night to remember..or one you try to forget.

There is a direct correlation to the number of "DON'T" signs and the stars in hotel rating system. A four star hotel will have only one sign, "THANK YOU". However, a Minus four-star hotel with security cameras will have 20 signs within a 20 square foot space.

-Don't hang anything here (it's a freakin' sprinkler on the ceiling..what am I going to hang? a PiƱata?

-Don't use blow dryer near water (Thanks, but I like saving time to wash and dry hair at same time)

-Don't turn lights on after midnight (Does this mean the toilet is non-working after midnight too?)

-Don't touch A/C. (Why would I? I'm going to be perfectly comfortable all night in "lock down", one small window, with no lights after midnight to read more "Don't do anything" signs.

Alcatraz had more amenities, but it at least had a view of the San Francisco Bay. I'm just staring at a flashing hotel street sign that says. WE HAVE CABLE. ...Cable?..wow...Now all is good in Whoville.

After hours driving, I just want to sleep at night and shower in the morning. No need for breakfast in bed or strawberries at night. I'm easy like that.

But what I can't cope with is only ONE pillow and a quilted sheet/blanket/bed spread combo to sleep with. What is that?...A QUILTANKET? I didn't know if I was suppose to lay under it, in it, over it or put helium in it and escape from this prison yard of discomfort.

If the next morning, the shower would be my saving grace, All would be forgotten. Too bad I would have been cleaner if a prison guard hosed me down in CELL BLOCK TWO before this luxury bathroom suite of cleanliness got the job done.

I'm over 6'3" and the shower head was 3'6" off the floor. It took me over an hour to wash with a soap wafer the size of a CHEEZ-IT. It is sad when you have to negotiate which parts of my body needed the soap more and the rest can wait for tomorrow. Worse yet, it took me 90 minutes to dry off as I reached to grab a towel . No, let me rephrase that. NO towel, just a SHAMWOW to squeegee myself off. YES, I felt like an Olympic diver as I used this 6-inch yellow faux chamois to rid my body of moisture.

I finally checked out, (or depending on how you look at it-released) and the front desk/security asked me how was my stay. I just took a deep breath now that I've been broken and said. "THANK YOU SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER?"

I did tell him I truly only wanted to see ONE more sign before I left this hotel/prison combo. He said, "What would that be?" I responded, "You've been Punk'd".

Sadly, it was real and I only felt slighted the lights went out last night right before I finished giving myself a tattoo. Yes, I got to get Inked or I would have no proof of doing my time. Peace out.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Play Crazy 8's Anyone?


Play Crazy 8's Anyone?

On Acela train to Boston this week. I peered out the window contemplating why an Express Train makes 8 stops and slows down to about 8 mph in so many areas, when I caught eight (8) Department Of Transportation workers studying ONE spot on the road near the tracks.

All eight had a white Ford F-350 truck, white hardhats and matching bright shirts. As I thought maybe I came upon the DOT world headquarters, I realized it was more the redundancy department of redundancy. Eight men with eight coffee mugs staring at the same area of a road equivalent to a size "8" work boot.

If only I could have opened my window and overheard their value and accurate assessment, strategy and implementation of why all eight of them need to be standing around eight inches of erosion somewhere near the Connecticut border, I would have heard:

“Ed, I see the crack.”
“Bob, that is not a crack. That is a crevice, a crack is much smaller.”
“Both of you are wrong, that is a beginning of a pothole which will cause collateral punishment to 18 wheel vehicles within eight months.”
“Speaking of punishment, did anyone see the Patriots game last week?
“OH YES! We had the best tailgating party ever. I realized our company trucks hold more beer than the utility company trucks my brother-in-law usually drives to the game.”
“Is that the brother who always brings a six of beer, but drinks a case?”
“No, that is my sister-in-law on my wife’s side. He is the one who put the hole in my pool table while we were playing 8-ball.”
Speaking of holes, I guess we should all go back to the IHOP and write up a report on this crack.”
“You mean, crevice?”
“I’m hungry now!”
“I said Pothole..not Pot roast”

As my train picked up speed, I left the Ed and the seven dorfs to plan how they are going to fix this formidable fissure of the ages in eight months, with 800 men and $800,000. (includes lunch at IHOP)

Friday, September 11, 2009

No Sense of Urgency


No Sense of Urgency

I know we don’t CHOOSE to go to an Emergency Room. If we did it, it would be called the “eh…it’s not so bad yet” room. But having the privilege of walking into an Emergency Room just before midnight, incurs motivation to never, ever get sick, get in a accident or run with scissors after 11 pm because the words, “urgent care” truly means take a 3 digit number and don’t bleed on the waiting room couch.

At that time of the night, when you are competing against Methadone withdrawals, guys who try to pimp out their car without lights and children who have objects stuck up their noses, your opinion of what is critical quickly dissipates.

But at least next time I visit an E.R., I’ll know what to wear to the event. I’m going to dress up in 80’s gym shorts with a button down shirt and work boots to ensure I fit in. I truly wasn’t thinking fashion when I arrived through the automatic doors as I looked like I was wearing Garanimals matching my shirt with a pair of jeans before heading out.

However, I think the “medi-tease” is the worse part of the waiting. When you walk in and they instantly take your ID, credit card and blood pressure as you describe your situation; you assume they are prepping you for the immediate attention you have been paying insurance premiums for all these years.

What they don’t tell you is that your deductible has now been withdrawn faster than a Bernie Madoff cash deposit and you are delayed and expendable until the lady who is hallucinating and the man who forgot his pants are treated for exhaustion, sleep deprivation and stress.

“HELLO, EXCUSE ME, I have those three symptoms every day, but to me, that isn’t an emergency, that’s a Tuesday.”

After two hours, I am asked to wear the “gown” of exposure and sit in the Hall of Purell because all the double occupancy exam rooms are filled with people who are STILL one pulse ahead of me in life AND death.

The only people passing me in this cold corridor of numbness are spouses and significant others of the patients who are taking my spot on the human conveyor belt. …and their only goal is to get outside to smoke every 10 minutes because their loved ones are causing them stress….and these were the NON-smokers.

Finally the doctor on-call stops by to ask me the same questions the receptionist asked me two hours ago and literally says, “So, what do you think it is?”

“Mmmm. Well Doc, based on my years of watching St. Elsewhere, General Hospital, ER, Chicago Hope and Family Guy, I think I am already dead and you need to call CSI and Homicide because I’m ready to kill someone.”

But I don’t feel any pain now that I got that off my chest. Thank goodness my deductible is only $100.00 or I would feel I REALLY wasted my money.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Neighbor Can You Spare Some Time

My favorite elderly neighbors asked me to come over yesterday to help them with some new FANGLED technology. I gratefully ran over salivating hoping to assist Mavis and Eddie with perhaps a Bluetooth music system or HDTV linked to their netbooks.

As they graciously opened their door like their long lost son just returned from the war (I saw their furniture..we’re talking the Civil War), I see a box holding a—cassette loading refurbished answering machine and a VCR on a TV which was YES, you guessed it, still flashing 12:01 12:01 12:01 12:01 12:01.

My current age must not have resonated with them as they offered me cookies and milk as I set up their answering machine, even know I could swear I smelled their afternoon ritual of whiskey sours seeping through the air.

I tried to simplify the process of them recording their message into the machine even testing it with them a few times before I felt confident they could handle it.

Before I left, I adjusted their MAGNAVOX VCR clock and set the timer so they can tape their GUIDING LIGHT soap opera but I just didn’t have the heart to tell them it’s being cancelled in a few weeks.

That evening, I felt obligated to call to see the technical progress of my “greatest generation” and their giant step into the 19.5th century as the answering machine kicked on.

Then….the love I felt knowing they followed my directions to the every detail was just overwhelming.

“HI…YOU HAVE….REACHED THE CIRELLI’S…." “It’s not working Eddie..the light isn’t on..” MAVIS, SSHHH….ERIK TOLD ME THAT IT ONLY NEEDS TO FLASH ONCE,…IT IS ON………PLEASE LEAVE A MESS---" “Eddie…I don’t think that is the light he was talking about.. He was talking about the VCR light” "MAVIS.. I KNOW WHAT I’M DO---.BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP”

Mmm…the only message I could leave was. “Your answering machine sounds perfect. I hope you enjoy your PROGRAM tonight” as I rushed to send their phone number to everyone on my twitter account because no one is going to believe this message unless they hear it for themselves.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Averting Disaster

The merging lane was a disaster ready to implode. The intersection itself was already packed while the space was narrow and obstructed. I just avoided a rear end collision a few moments before as I diverted my eyes to see what was passing me on the side that smelled familiar. I returned my focus to the impossible task at hand and decided I had to either stop completely to avoid adding to the trouble ahead or shoot the gap.

I didn’t hesitate. I accelerated to bypass the slower drivers and the undeciders. I shot through the lane and looked back to see two old ladies, a man with a Bluetooth headset and a family with twins scarcely miss the crash of a lifetime.

But as I moved down to the cereal aisle, I noticed my challenges had just begun and I knew right then, I was going to have to take a quick detour to grab a cold chocolate milk and just endure what was going to be another Sunday crowd at the food store. I relent that some pain is unavoidable as I hear echoing over the lanes, “NUMBER 24, your Deli order is now ready”. --- I need more than chocolate. I’m Number 275.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Driving Me Up A Wall

I had the displeasure to be in the passenger side of a newly licensed 17-year-old driver. To put it in perspective, I could have taken two busses, a horse and a refugee boat from North Korea faster than this kid would get out of the driveway.

Ok, maybe US experienced drivers take this for granted. We get in, we turn car on and we GO. Including the seatbelt, I’m counting maybe five steps before I’m cruizin’ down the boulevard looking for some road rage to make my day.

But this young Mario Andretti apprentice with “especially bought for the occasion new sunglasses” took the Art Carney art of driving and adjusted everything except his attitude. I sat with little control watching his seat move -up.back.down.forward. and back again-.lumbar support stiff-lumbar support normal-lumbar support recessed. The moon roof open…shut..open…shut…halfway open, tilted and then up again for venting.

By the time the car even was started, the battery in the car was drained from finding the right song on the radio station to match his driving experience (think: repetitive and without talent). I truly felt like a dog walker who is watching the canine sniff for hours determining the right spot to relieve himself…as I screamed with controlled determination. “JUST GO!!!!….We are only driving to QUIKCHEK, not preparing for the INDY 500.”

Seriously, does anyone really need to sniff the TREE air freshener before you back up? NO! If it isn’t working, you would know if you got the car moving. I’m not asking for much, I just want to be going faster than A/C that he is now adjusting … for each…and…every…..vent angle … “Dude, it’s AIR, not chocolate or beer coming through those vents…what are we waiting for…the new model to come out?”

I understand the over caution, the newness and the fear of young drivers. I even appreciate the fact they focus their hands on the 10 and the 2, align proper mirror adjustment, etc.. , but I will bet NASA has less check points than this kid and three shuttles were launched and returned to Earth before I ever moved away from the curb.

After cup holders were checked for proper alignment and the trip odometer was set at -0.0000….AGAIN, I lost all patience and decided to do what any adult would do in my situation. I bribed him. “Get me to the store within FIVE minutes and I will pay any speeding ticket, plus buy you a BIG GULP of Mountain Dew and a Snickers bar. However, if you don’t move this ½ ton piece of aluminum and glass in 10 seconds, your next adjustment will be prying your body off the pavement as I will push the one part of this car you haven’t touched yet….. the EJECTOR BUTTON.”

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Lesson in Time



Early one morning, I thought I was the only one in the office. I witnessed three noisy maintenance men with their hands full carrying big analog clocks to exchange and hang throughout my building. Because just changing the batteries would be too much for just ONE person.

These diligent walkers of the hallways, (Think Flavor Flav with work boots & tool belts) stomped down past my work area not quite respecting my personal work space or need to concentrate.

With my focus gone and my Adult ADD kicking in..Did I mention I just saw a birdie?

I couldn’t resist being the smart a-- and ask, “Hey, any of you have the time?” All three of them in complete synchronization, switched their armful of Big Bens to their other hand to check their generic wrist watches. As the realization of my remark set in their heads, the skinniest one of the three turned and said with both his big and small hands not moving, "Yes, I'ts SUNDAY, next time look at the calendar and maybe you won't worry about the time."

Doesn’t matter now, but I'm sure it is too late for church.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Feeling Used at a Used Car Lot

Been to a Car Dealer lately? In this economy, walk into a new or used parking lot and experience what it is like to be the hot chick at a night club. Laugh if you may, but they swarm around you with shiny gifts, gold chains and smiles. And they move in so close you know what they had for dinner three nights ago. I kept hearing….“HOW YOUUU DOIN?” echoed across the tiled showroom as I browse for my next mode of transportation.

OK, the gifts are more like stale donuts sold by men with OLD SPICE and yellow teeth, but I’M getting attention and that is what matters the most.

There is a new policy with car salesmen; they will be literally fired if they allow you to leave the facility without buying a car while on site. I know, as I saw the ‘memo’ pinned on top of his 1968, 1969 and 1971 salesmen of the month awards. (1970 was the year of the Ford Pinto…’nuff said)

This isn’t a joke. I gave my car keys for them to evaluate a trade in and no matter how many times I tried to leave, my sales rep said he would be back with my keys but he conveniently ‘forgot’ and came back with a new offer instead…”a better solution to get me to decrease my payments”.

Please don’t ask me what I WANT to pay a month (its always $29.99 of course) and THEN think I will be happy if you add 172 months to the length of the loan to get the payments down. To me, THAT isn’t a “solution” but more of a rolling mortgage I’ll never pay off. I’m buying a car, not protection from organized crime.

However, to be fair, I did walk in and tease them by slipping a comment of how I’m willing to pay in full…WITH CASH… just to watch their Leisure Suit Larry eyes bulge and the hidden cameras all go on alert as their manager, Jabba the Hut, tries to figure out how to get me to buy two cars and then agree to add LO/JACK and safety sealant to make back his profit margin after I leave.

Seriously though, PAY CASH? I don’t even buy gum anymore with cash but Dwight Schrute’s twin sure got excited when I said, “I didn’t know Ben Franklin was on EVERY $100 bill, did you?”

The ad on the internet said the car I want is available today for the unprecedented low price of $10.00 over bluebook. Who’s blue book? The one on your desk that says, How to lie to your customer and still look in the mirror? I repeatedly told you that I didn’t want the lime green Taurus no matter what deal you can give me…AND more importantly, I like my interior to match or compliment the outside paint job, not look like the salt water taffy assortment pack I got at the shore last week.

As I negotiate the price down to three Denny’s Grand Slam breakfasts and a gift card to 7/11, I left listening to him whine how he is now going to get fired for selling that car for so low.

Too bad, I just want to drive away feeling like the new car smell is going to overtake any Old Spice that has lingered by my senses and not wake up in a cold sweat tonight wondering if I could have got a better deal if I wouldn’t have asked to add SiriusXM radio, moon roof, blue tooth enabled phone and a personal driver three days a week.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Karma for the Day

You can tell a great deal about people in a long line. At 2:00 pm, I watched a sharp dressed man go through security excusing himself all the way through-asking each person rudely if he could move up in front of them as he was “late” for his flight. Being the good person I (think) am, I allowed him to pass me to only catch a glimpse of his ticket and departure time of 4:18 pm.

I tried not to show my disgust as I wouldn’t call out a complete stranger, but I thought I’d at least shoot a shot over his snobbish brow.

Assuming he was only anxious to spend time in the First Class Lounge, I sort of mentioned to him as he passed, “Please go ahead and I hope you make your flight, but at least you NOW don’t have to be disappointed the Continental President’s Club is closed for renovations”.

He quickly reversed his path past all the same people and excused himself mumbling about how he forgot something in his car and left the security area. Ironically, minutes later, I walked past the President’s Club and it WAS “close until further notice”. So, did I do the right thing because of the outcome or was my intent still the driving factor of my karma for the day?

Friday, June 12, 2009

Sleeping with the Fishes

In boardroom when a potential vendor came in to pitch an innovative idea. One of their female partners who sat across from me fell asleep on and off for 30 minutes during her associates' presentation.

I tried to ignore the silent disruption and focus on the material but if you know me at all you knew this wasn't going to help their case as my attention was observing the slumping executive drooling on the table.

I turned to the female Rip Van Winkle and asked her during one of her conscious moments, "Would you like someone to get you some coffee or a soda?" She replied like an early wake up call from a hotel operator, "No, no..I'm so sorry, I'll be fine but I have to tell you that I happen to suffer from Necrophilia."

GULP!! As the other 10 people struggled not to gasp for whatever oxygen still remained in the room, I, BEING the calm ocean of reason during this shocking admission replied with a straight face, "YOU ARE TELLING US YOU SLEEP WITH DEAD PEOPLE?"

"NO, OH MY GOD, NO!, I meant to say I have Narcolepsy..Narcolepsy..not Necrophilia."

Now that the whole room was finally AWAKE, I proceeded to jump on this like a wild dog with raw meat as I just couldn't allow a moment like this to pass me without savoring the moment.

"First," I blurted out while holding back my tears of laughter, "If I had your misfortune to suffer from such a debilitating disorder, I would learn how NOT to confuse it with a class 2 felony. Secondly, I might even tattoo Webster's definition on the names of sleep disorders on my hand to forever preclude this ever happening again."

The apologies were abundant from both Sleeping nonBeauty and her fellow Knights of Boredom. But I wasn't finished. "Perhaps you all should go back to your funeral home, I mean office and figure out a better way to sell your ideas on exciting, innovating programs as I too, was starting to fall asleep after seeing your one slide of 250 words without a graphic being read to me. As I forgot to tell you, I suffer from 'TIREDOFSEEINGSAMECRAPOLEPSY'." However NOW, I will never fall asleep in a meeting that I am aware someone like YOU might mistaken me for a corpse and I'd come out of my slumber being violated by an awakening Narcoleptic who doesn't even know her own diagnosis."

I thanked them for an eye opening presentation that had no equal as I had to move quickly on to my next vendor presentation on newly discovered orgasms...I MEAN, organisms.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

A Fight of 20 Questions

NOTE: I do love kids, all children..TRULY. just not THIS one particular child.

On a long flight home, I had the privilege to be seated next to a precocious 7 year old boy (although he kept telling me he was 7 ½, but I’m not giving him even ONE extra day) while his parents-BOTH of them sat behind and on the other side of the plane from us.

I like to be social and I don’t mind answering questions, but how many times can I tell a HOME ALONE misfit, “I don’t want to hear the alphabet again while you hold your nose.”

This child who DYFS wouldn’t even bother to register wouldn’t stop asking untactful questions about anyone on the flight…”UM, I just don’t know why that big sweaty guy keeps going to the bathroom every 10 minutes, but I am sure he doesn’t appreciate you announcing to the entire flight by saying, ‘Did you wash your hands mister?’”

Yes I’m traveling with Andy Dick’s MiniMe without the rap sheet.

“ONE more time kid, the orange button brings the nasty flight attendant who thinks I’m your daddy and the yellow one is the light that you pushed so many times I feel like I’m at a strobe light concert of the Snow White's long lost dwarf, Chucky.”

“No, I truly don’t want to see what it looks like to have 10 pieces of bubble gum in your mouth.”

“Seriously, didn’t your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?...NO?...then I will..Don’t talk to me. My first and last name is Stranger.

After having quite enough adventure for a lifetime on a flight to nowhere, I decided the best way to stifle this inquisitive flight to a playground hell was:

First, get my money back from my BOSE noise cancellation headset that didn’t silence the grade school Beavis one decibel and second, turn the questions back on little Bobby Brady and entertain myself as I can’t read, listen to my music or sleep with a SpongeBob Tshirt talking in my ear.

“Hey kid, how come your parents don’t love you enough to have asked me to SWITCH SEATS?” I mean, they either sleeping or watching a movie while I baby-sit for free. Little boy, can you spell abandonment?”

“Why do they dress you like that? Were you a ‘surprise’ child and were they expecting a hamster?”

“Did you know that orange button is the plane’s ejection button and if you hit it one more time, I’ll have to tell your parents to start looking for you somewhere over South Carolina”. OK OK..you are right. I didn’t say that one out loud.

Amazing how quiet a child can become when they fear asking questions and more importantly, don’t even care for the one critical question that every child asks. However, I repeatedly asked it ever since I heard the pilot say, prepare to take off….”ARE WE THERE YET?..HUH?...NOW? ARE WE THERE NOW? PLEASE!

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Sounding Off on Taking Off

The white noise of the engine, air and oxygen floating freely through the cabin. Nothing more relaxing on a small propeller plane headed back from the islands until one of your newly seated neighbors acts like he is in his family room with NO family around within 1000 miles.

What is he thinking? I'll tell you exactly what is going through his head. "Ahh, hours of nobody around who loves me or cares what I touch while I sit here and act like my name is Donald Rump. Yes, after I remove my workboots, my dark socks that are older than the pilot and undo my belt one notch in case I have two of those yummy steamed burgers they serve, I'll be able to recline back faster than a flight attendant can say Buh-Bye".

Any male over the age of 3, shouldn't be allowed to remove any stitch of clothing or shoe in public unless he is on his way to a quadruple bypass and has to be carted into O.R. on his back.
There is a reason sardines STINK, They are stuck in a miniature plane without wings with strangers who are all just going to the same destination.

We truly don't want to know you are on the same flight as us. This is why we all pretend to look out the window while we listened to you on the runway scream into your 1st generation cell phone telling your wife and/or girlfriend to kiss your ASPirations if they don't like how you fixed the back window with duct tape.

Please don't think you fooled us by bringing BOTH a duffle bag with STYX concert labels and a backpack of dirty laundry that you think counts as ONE Carry-On. We truly mind that you took up four of the above bins with your red leather jacket, giftshop bag with cheap airport chocolate and a mailing tube with a map of the Biggest Ball of Yarn museum.

I have a ticket for your next trip. Its called a laundry ticket, use it to get some new shirts as your current one is melting into the tweed finish of this prop plane to the septic pool of destinations

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Sleepless For All the Wrong Reasons

You've been there. Unless you are 9 months old and your only concern in life is NOT if you will be changed in the morning, but how often-Then you have been THERE.

Where? In that world where you are WIDE AWAKE and no place to go.

Are you concerned you haven't watched enough Reality TV and your favorite Idol just didn't get enough text messages from your cheap 30 messages max-a-month plan to make to next week or the late night talk circuit didn't give you enough stupid people tricks with people who think they actually have a talent (sorry, but I can make disturbing noises with my body too, but I don't go on Letterman to prove it to my pals back at Costco.)

Or were you stuck flipping channels and couldn't turn off one of the 50 Meg Ryan movies playing after midnight where she..um..yes...CRIES. (I guarantee she get paid by the teardrop)

What keeps us up? Truly, we have to understand that nothing can or will be done until the morning, where that alarm you set clearly to music the night before goes off playing static white noise which is not what you perceived it would sound like 8 hours before.

It must be that you are trying to even out the duration of how long you slept on the left side versus the right versus the lying flat on the back position.

Did you spend enough time on your stomach with a tempur-pedic pillow perpetually punched or did you exercise your right to submit to the fetal-tucked position with all the blankets wrapped around you?

Perhaps what is keeping you awake is your good heart where you ponder your existence with in regards to the devastation of global warming, the pummeling economy or worse yet, if A-ROD really, truly chose VOGUE as his favorite Madonna song.

How silly of me. It's probably every ache and pain that never existed in your body 10 years ago that exists today just for the sole reason to prove you are aging.

It could be the anxiety of retiring before you hit 100. But then again, if you sleep walk until then, you will just have more time to lay awake wondering did I just waste one of my last nights on Earth ..SLEEPING?

Some of us may even dream of the next time they visit a mattress store and no one will be in there to help them to pick out the SERTA PERFECT SLEEPER?

I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and think you may be completely unselfish and are just worrying for others.

Yes, you could be concerned about your children, parents, friends, co-workers or just that damn neighbor next door who plays the 80's music NO one admits playing. (Who on this earth remembers Marillion and Sly Fox?)

Are you just methodically going through your todo list for tomorrow?Are you thinking, "I didn't call you, write him, remind her, drop off this one, pick up that one, schedule, meet, eat or finish the list from yesterday. Honestly, I haven't even touched the list from the last millennium, let alone yesterday and I wasn't sleeping much then either but I had a legitimate cold so the extra dose of Sudafed helped."

I would hate to think its an over stimulus as my mind still hauntingly echos T.I and Justin Timberlake's song DEAD AND GONE.

I turn my body to the north.....I turn my body to the east .....

Now it can't be MY reason..Perhaps yours? And if it was mine, Do you think I'd put it in writing?

I think most of us don't sleep because it just feels like deja vu all over again. But I would expect the number one reason we are having trouble sleeping is not for lack of effort, no warm milk, or temperature variances in our homes. I think it has to do more with the fact I need to ..um...let's see...where was i? zzzzzz zzzzzz zzzzz.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Centering on the Middle Seat

I've been lucky in travel. A majority of my seats whether they are domestic or international have provided me an aisle seat for my 6'4" frame and I only had to be concerned on how many flight attendants I would trip as my foot hung out into the traffic lane during each flight.

However this last flight, I had to endure the dreaded middle seat syndrome with a man who overstepped all etiquette when it comes to the laws of traveling.

I always understood if I was lucky enough to get an aisle seat, I would be forfeiting the arm rests for most of the flight and defer to my cramped neighbor giving adequate space for them to function.

It's the unwritten air travel law. I just happen to find one of the biggest violators of this air rule and I decided to be the new Sheriff in town.

There I was, sitting with a Justin Timberlake wannabe with a fanny pack. He not only was already in his seat before even 1st class was seated (He boarded early perhaps as he tried to pass as a young child who needed assistance for seating).

I knew from seeing his over sized carry on bag, extra stuffed notebook computer case (which he thinks doesn't count as a bag) and a half dozen music magazines on his lap that this was going to be a "special" trip for me.

He couldn't have been 5'7" but he still wouldn't even get up or maneuver to allow me to get by his temporary domain. Five hours with EMIMEM was going to test my mettle above and beyond the Golden Rule...OH I plan on treating him how I want to be treated..trust me.

For you to understand, I only have to describe one example. The dude with the frosted tips and a Napoleon Dynamite T-shirt wasn't going to MOVE his right arm from the armrest the entire 5 hours

1) Not to eat-He only used his outside hand for both cutting, eating and sorting.

2) Not to read-Hell, he was only looking at pictures of babes with guitars on motorcycles anyway

3) Not to reach for his drink, napkin or peanuts from the flight attendants. -He would actually grab, place, grab again, place and then continue with the only free arm I couldn't negotiate with

4) Not even to scratch his pathetic effort of hair growth under his chin.

The bottom line is he acted as though his right arm was permanently glued to the arm rest and as I responded with the only way a well traveled person would do in this situation...I played the "wedge" game with him and enjoyed every minute of his frustration.

I leaned my left arm back and slid my elbow to the back of the armrest behind his and coughed as I pushed his arm forward with a wedge of my arm.

Sorry, but listening to him for the rest of the flight sigh out loud, moaning, grunting and trying to push his arm back onto mine for the next few hours was more enjoyable than watching the latest High School Musical 3 on the little screen in front of me. He truly thought his Gilligan sized body frame was going to have enough leverage to move my arm even an inch. Doesn't he know I can use the other arm rest as a base to ensure I don't falter from my defensive position. (YES, YES, I have thought too much of this issue)

With my noise cancellation headsets and the satisfaction of knowing I won the battle as well as the airline war of armrest positioning, I sung along to the teenage crazed videos and most likely drove him to finally get up and visit the restroom. He should thank ME, as I know he was holding it in with the fear of losing his arm's position as I counted him downing 8 diet cokes and I was worried he was going to pull out an empty Gatorade bottle and forget he was on a public airline for the moment.

Don't worry, when he returned, I was polite enough to give him his arm rest back as the intercom interrupted, "Please prepare for landing and bring all seats to an upright position."

The least I can do is give him the armrest for the last 10 minutes of the flight as even I have a little air travel compassion. Plus, I had to use both of my hands to cover my face of my overly excited expressions of winning this Olympic travel event.

When it comes to airline etiquette, I'm just too happy to play with the rookies.

The best part is I slipped the blog address in his bag as he exited the plane for him to find later. The issue is I'm left handed so I had to write it with my free hand so he might not be able to read it clearly but there is only one thing better than winning the armrest challenge. It's letting them know you won it.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Paying for Pain, Not Pleasure

There must be a reason I don't get massages that often. I have only had a few in my life, but the ones I have had were surprisingly pleasant....until this weekend in Las Vegas.

When I was asked at this beautiful spa overlooking an amazing hotel what type of massage would I prefer this lovely warm morning.

I was very honest and expressed the fact I'm not that familiar with categories of relaxation and anything to remove this little twinge in my back after my five hour flight to Las Vegas would be the most desirable.

DESIRABLE? After 45 minutes with this little lady with hands of steel, I can't even spell masssage anymore. Yes, the first 15 seconds were bliss with her teasing me with the delightful sounds, aromas and low lights.

Then for the rest of my conscious session, I felt as thought I was in a slow motion car wreck without air bags.

Little did I know until after I paid for this "massage", they chose a deep tissue, fusion therapy for me --which in Las Vegas, stands for


I truly haven't experienced that much pain since I had multiple root canals years ago and the dentists has a Polaroid of how I left my fingernails embedded in his chair for all the future patients to be forewarned.

As I grunted with each elbow jarring pressure point on my back and shoulders, I was praying for my time to end both in the room and on this earth. My masseuse, Max, which was short for Maxine or perhaps she couldn't afford to legally change her name after the OPERATION, tried to ensure me that all is well in the city that never sleeps, nor can they after spending time with her.

"Are you COMFORTABLE?" crackled her words through a five pack a day voice box. "SURE, I always like discovering new muscles and bones in my body that have been dormant since the 5th grade." Yes, I literally had Joe Pesci with breasts asking me, "I'm funny? I'm funny how? DO I AMUSE YOU?" as she snapped my body with each roll of her knuckle and I swear she hit my belly button....FROM my back.

I don't know which was worse, when she started to crush the left side of my body not knowing what part of me was going to break first--or anticipating the right side KNOWING what she was going to do with the only part of me not ready for traction.

A short pause for her to reload her hands (and for me to plan my escape) she continued this Spanish inquisition by pouring hot blistering oil on me from above like I was trying to raid her King's castle. I am here trying to enjoy my time in Las Vegas and I end up having my own personal MASSAGE NAZI screaming as she punished me to oblivion, "NO PLEASURE FOR YOU".

I'm only speaking for myself, but If I'm going to be laid out on a nice leather bed all vulnerable in the state of Nevada, I at least want to know why I'm being labeled as a "bad boy"...Y'know what I'm saying?

At the end of the the Jack Bauer (24) interrogation of my body and mind, she left me helpless in the room alone to pick up my robe, slippers and strength, but my innocence was left on that table for others to again be forewarned as my next therapy session will take place on a leather couch and prescription drugs.

They say what happens in Vegas stays there. But that shouldn't include my dignity, $175.00 and the ability to speak in full sentences just to cry Uncle repeatedly until they find me a new legal guardian to remove me from the premises.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Conformity at its Worse

I've tried. I have held my ground as long as I can hoping it would just go away during the next season of America's Top Model.

I have faithfully hesitated to touch upon this sensitive issue. One that touches millions and is both politically incorrect and teeters on cruelty but....

WHAT on earth possesses anyone to think that wearing jeans tucked in UGGS with the same soft touch North Face Jacket every other 15 year old is wearing is a style you want to emulate?

OH OH..I know. Everyone keeps telling me they are incredibly comfortable. They feel as if you stepped into a sheep pen without the smell. But comfort is not a style. There are men who define comfort with baggy boxers and a AC/DC t-shirt but even THEY don't walk around the mall looking like they broke their leg in a ski mishap.

Casual wear at its finest. Warm, easy to get on and off and based on every 12-28 year old, they go with everything from Pre-game warm ups to PJ's. Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks these over sized elephant mitts look as though they fell out of the ugly tree and hit every other branch. Why would you want to walk around with your legs aspiring to be short tree stumps?

Let's define it as a fad and soon enough I can rant about Hollister sweatshirts that smell like the beach.

I'll stop, I'll let it go....but when I see a middle aged man wearing the same thing trying to look like he FITS in with the teen scene, I am sorry. I just want to stop the world and get off. These kids are suppose to conform no matter what we think, but you look like a bad sequel of HARRY and LLOYD of DUMB AND DUMBER on their way to ASPEN to get a fake tan.

Let the conformity teen scene enjoy their sheep skin boots and fluffy jackets. YOU need to stick to boxers and AC/DC shirts..It is what makes the world right again.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

My food...My choice

Don't ask me why I read labels on my food and drinks. I haven't a clue. Maybe I think I'll find something good in the bad or discover that one special ingredient I'm missing from my USDA vitamin list.

Total Cereal has a great label. They are telling you that you have no reason to read their label. In huge letters, it says, 100% of what you need today. Quick, easy and allows me to finish my comics instead of looking up what the heck Niacin is.

I'm wincing at the makers of anything "fruity" in their drinks. I keep seeing,"This contains 2% REAL fruit juice. TWO percent? I get more juice chewing on my watermelon flavored Hubba Bubba gum than when I drink 8 ounces of their liquid. (Hubba Bubba..ANYONE?...ANYONE?)

Enough of this labeling. Let's just call it what it is. If you order a Double Whopper with cheese, don't expect anything but a big label in block letters stating,

"Eat more than 10 of these in a month will lower your life expectancy by five years less than if you ordered the single Whopper. Order the large fries along with it and you will live one day less than if you went to Wendy's and ordered a Double Baconator."

It is that simple.

Forget marketing the healthy and non-healthy labels to us. We are smarter than that I hope. Just tell us our life expectancy on each thing we eat and let us choose our own path. If I want to know the carbs/protein ratio of a energy bar, then so be it. What I truly want to know is this peanut butter and chocolate equivalent of a Milky Way will give me enough energy until I can have another salty nut energy bar with chocolate and peanut butter. I'm kinda easy like that.

At Denny's: The equivalent of a Grand Slam Breakfast or a Fruit bowl with yogurt. Hmmmm, I don't even care of the price, (they are both $3.99) I just want to know does one allow me to live to see my grandkids graduate high school or long enough to see another election year.

My decision: So leave me be with the nutritional labels.

This is not about eating right. This is about wanting to know what choices I am making before I make them. The irony is that WE ALL know what is good and bad before we choose. We always have.

We just use their labels to help US help ourselves. Low fat doesn't mean it isn't inundated with sugar. Cholesterol free doesn't mean it doesn't have fat. High in Protein doesn't mean its not high in sodium. There is a reason there are millions of blogs, books and articles about eating right...NO one can tell you what you already know.

We choose the Whopper cause it tastes good. We choose the salad because we had the whopper yesterday. We choose the "NUTRITION" bar cause it looks like a Snickers Bar. We choose the Vitamin Water cause it says, VITAMINS, not cane sugar, crystalline fructose, citric acid, caffeine and ester gum extract as its label.

....and I? I choose to write early in the morning because Wendy's isn't open until 11am.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Taking the wrong way on the right-a-way

Love my gadgets. If it's digital or has an LCD screen, I'm thrilled. If it can complicate my life with the promise of cleansing my frustrations, I buy it without remorse. Early adopter? HA. I buy the gadgets before they go on sale and pay 50% more than if I waited 24 hours.
The current GPS (Gentleman's Perception System) in my car has helped me many times navigate through the trials and tribulations of NYC and beyond. I've used it to find restaurants, gas stations and the nearest bookstore.
However, I recently used it to find a office address and ended up going down the wrong way on the one way street.
No, I'm not blind nor am I ambivalent to paying attention to HUGE SIGNS that say WRONG WAY, I just paid a hell of a lot of money for this thing and DARN IT, if it says to turn LEFT with a convincing voice, I'm going to do it without hesitation and get my money's worth.
Sadly, the sign was posted to ensure traffic in a SCHOOL ZONE would be flowing accordingly to the children crossing the busy road during that time of day.
As scores of middle school children watched in dismay that my vehicle was passing them in the opposite direction of the buses, A young adolescent screams out,
"HEY, IT'S A ONE WAY YOU %*$(#*@."
Aww, the intelligence of our youth so aptly expressed in such a succinct way. I continued to pass him (cause my GPS still told me I still have 400 ft to go before turning right on Elm Street) so I responded back in the only way a shameful, embarrassed mature man would respond.
"HEY SMART *$$, I'm only going ONE WAY."

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Sleep Walking Through a Business Case

Whether it is the Mattress Cowboys, 1-800Mattress or Sleepy's, after driving by strip mall after shopping plaza and see endless discount mattress and bedding outlets and stores, I'm lost..Someone find me a bed to nap in and explain to me how these places makes money?

We all love to sleep and personally, I have bought a few mattresses in my lifetime but we aren't talking about an investment in cars or houses. SOOO, how do they stay in business?

DO you ever think each weekend, "HONEY, It's Saturday, lets go get ANOTHER mattress because we haven't got one in like..um...5 weeks and the old one has crumbs in it."


"Sweetheart, do you have your old mattresses ready to go? I'll stop by the Serta outlet and pick up your new ones before I go to the dry cleaners."

Now don't get me wrong. I wake up every day with a stiff back and numb legs thinking maybe I need a new mattress.

But I don't actually GO BUY ONE. Do you? My next one is going to be either a Tempur-Pedic or Craft-o-Matic roll with the heated pads but I only have to call the 800 number from Ed McMahon to have that one delivered because NO one would get caught BUYING one of those in a STORE without a doctor's prescription. (wink)

POP QUIZ: When was the last time you went into a mattress discounter? Really..unless Party City was next door and you saw a fake brass bed that reminded you of your grandparent's bedroom set or because it was adjacent to an TGIF's and you had 30 minutes to kill before your vibrating paging coaster went off so you can get your THREE FOR ALL appetizer smothered in Jack's sauce.

But even if you and your significant other decided to digress to 1950's TV sleeping arrangements (DICK VAN DYKE, LUCY AND DESI.. et al) and move to separate rooms on the same floor with your own beds...THAT is still only TWO beds bought over a few years.

Yes, I could be thinking too much about this dilemma in a world where economic struggles run much deeper than box springs and bed skirts. But it IS these things that keep me up at night.....

or perhaps it is my insomnia caused by the fact I just need a new mattress from DISCOUNT BOB's?

Saturday, January 24, 2009

A Think-Over for the MakeOver

As you non-chalantly walk down the street with your friends, family or hopefully alone, a stranger walks up to you and to your surprise.....decides that YOU are the lucky recipient of an AMBUSH Makeover.

OK...why are you thrilled with the idea that out of the millions of inhabitants of your wonderful city, you were chosen to need the most HELP. Run now before we all watch your life's most embarrasing moment since you wore the same prom dress as YOUR date.

Excuse me, but isn't this as thrilling as after a few weeks of not seeing someone and they start off greeting you with, "You look good. Have you lost some weight?" Whether you did or not, it meant you needed to drop some poundage anyway. No, no matter how you try to justify it, this wasn't a compliment.

Is it me or do you think the prospect that YOU are the one who needs help with your style, hair, make up and frumpy outfits should offend you, not elate you? Are you screaming and jumping up and down because you finally got your 15 minutes of fame or because you think they are paying you for this comedy they are producing.

This is not a way to start your day after you have spent the last few years thinking you got your life in order. A makeover means only one thing. Everyone within an earshot of you is laughing at you in public daily. You don't need a makeover, you need a strong drink and some new friends if they never had the courage to tell you NOT to wear matching outfits with the office UPS man.

Watching a makeover show to see the transformation from an ugly duckling to a golden swan is enjoyable to the viewer..um that is me. But what could be going through your mind when you thought you were ALL THAT in the first place.

Perhaps that explains the multiple boyfriends who used that "ITS ME, NOT YOU" excuse over and over as they kept asking if you were a mechanic.

Realize for your own good, there are millions of dollars spent every day publishing style and hair magazines. (At least that is what I have heard)
Read just one or ALL of them and then look at your SOMETHING ABOUT MARY hair flip style combined with anything Janeane Garofalo wears anytime and do something about it before these two obnoxious style mavens ambush you and ask you if you have an hour to change your life.

Yeah, tell them you have all the time in the world, to hide from the general public until bright colored overalls and bad perms that make Roseanne Barr cringe come back into style.

Better yet, go back to bed and wake up again. Tomorrow, bedhead might be the next NEW look.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Key Master of Suburbia

Excuse me. I see you trying to find your wallet and all I can say as you sort through your faux Coach bag is, "Where you going with that tool belt of metal and plastic?"

Schneider from "One Day at a Time" only had 5 keys and he was the building superintendent for that whole building.

Please, I'm listening. What do you need other than a house key, a car key and your HEALTH FITNESS plastic mini membership card? Serious, I saw your grocery cart, I know that COSTCO card is used way more than that ExerWISE tab and your key chain on a leash is equivalent to one average size dumbbell as it is.

Let me help. Keep your garage door opener in the car: Dump the female version of a Swiss Army knife as it has no purpose other than to create havoc at security in the department stores.
Remove those souvenir items along with your rabbit's tail and your car will get another 10 mpg per tank of gas. Seriously, how often do you really open a beer bottle while you are driving anyway?
Those other keys. What are they good for? Absolutely nothing. There is just no possible way anyone in this world gave you access to anything other than your souped up 1999 Honda Prelude.
I truly thought when you pulled it out, you were setting up a Coleman Family Tent for six and your keys were the support poles. I haven't seen that much junk hooked together since MacGyver went off the air back in '92.
Go home, unload that knapsack with anything other than the key to the car you are actually driving and perhaps you won't spend the next few minutes in front of me complaining that your have lower back problems.
Better yet. Here's $25.00. Buy your self the Clapper for every electronic item you own and begin your new healthy new year's resolution by working on your upper body. Blog On...Blog Off.

Friday, January 9, 2009

I'm resolved to a new resolution

Why do we use the end of one year or the beginning of another to make changes in our lives?

Do we need an event to make promises? Do we need to drink champagne and stuff our face before we decide to eat and drink responsibly? Everyday should be a resolution for the day’s past. You shouldn't need to plan a date to start your procrastination. It should be as natural as waking up…..tomorrow for today’s appointment.

Here are the top ten resolutions listed each year since Adam said he was cutting back on apples. Maybe that should be a resolution in itself.

1. Spend More Time with Family. Depending on your family, this could be more of a punishment than a resolution. It isn't a resolution. It is something we wish for daily and hope for the best.

CynicalBuzz suggests:

1. Spend more Time with the family you want and hope the rest spend more time with THEIRS while you are having quality time.

2. Get Fit. Doncha love the record number of the world that get in line for a treadmill on January 2nd, buy a treadmill on January 3rd and use it as a clothing rack on January 4th.

2. How about Get less Fat. Let's be honest, it’s the little things in life we hope for, not miracles from Tony Little.

3. Tame the Bulge: If they just combined this with number 2, they could add a resolution that might actually be worth waiting for when the big ball drops and Dick Clark recites his name clearly. (sorry..that was a little over the top. I'll make a resolution to be less cynical)

3. Instead, let's Tame number of Oreos that go from packaging into your mouth. I heard they now have a new 100 calorie Oreo package. It’s called a Crumb.

4. Quit Smoking. I don’t smoke but if you didn’t quit on March 3rd, July 10th or December 11th, What does January 1st got to offer.

4. You could try to Quit Smoking the next time the Tobacco Tax goes up and you can’t afford a 7/11 Big Gulp at the same time.

5. Try to Enjoy Life More. Perhaps if you stopped trying to make impossible resolutions you would enjoy the life you are in.

5. Enjoy Life always. More, less, it is about enjoying, not TRYING to enjoy

6. Quit Drinking. HELLOOO!! I thought you just said you wanted to "enjoy life more?"

6. Instead, try to Quit wondering where you were and why you drank lime vodka and did shots without the family you wanted to spend time with in the first place.

7. Get Out of Debt. I'm sorry, but have you seen how much it costs to resolve the list 1-6? Not going to happen in this year without a personal bailout.

7. Lets work towards getting out of lending money to family you want to spend more time with and borrow money from the family you are going to spend less time with and its a win-win situation.

8. Learn Something New. I learned that learning something new costs money and doesn't help me with the GETTING OUT OF DEBT.

8. Learn something Old that feels new this year like using a treadmill as a non-dry cleaning apparatus.

9. Get Organized. It's the clutter that keeps us alive. If my life was an IKEA showroom, I couldn't find all the interesting things I've been missing all these years.

9. The more realistic solution is to Get the clutter from the basement to the garage. The garage to the storage shed. The storage shed to the basement. ..and anything that seems out of place at that moment goes in that one closet where all the hat and gloves disappear.

10. Help Others. I need help keeping my own resolutions, but now you want me to decide to help others.

10. I’d rather Help others understand that if they want to be helped to make sure they got resolutions 1-8 down pat so I can help them with this one while drinking, smoking and eating oreos on my treadmill.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Time is up for the New Year Cheer

Hello. It is January 8th people.

Enough with the Happy New Year. Yes, my holiday break was relaxing. If it wasn't, did you really want to hear about it? There has to be a statute of limitations on well wishes for holidays. If you are within two weeks of either the President's birthday or Ground Hog's Day, the New Year is too old to celebrate.

I understand the etiquette of manners and if I haven't seen you since 2008, I may spend a little more time inquiring about your time with family and friends. But seriously, one more week of this false caring of stranger's holidays and I'll be Jonesing for "Can't wait for the weekend eh Bob? It seems like this is the longest week of the year, huh Ted? Is it Friday yet Alice? It feels like a Monday doesn't it Lorraine? Do we really have to work on Monday Burt?"

It's over people. January...long days and longer cold weeks ahead. If you want to wish me anything, wish me a happy July 4th cause what I need today, is warmth, barbecue and a few outside celebrations to drown out the holiday clingers mantra of "The holiday went kinda fast didn't it?" The holiday went fast but your time/date perception is about as accurate as sun dial on a cloudy day.

This Blog says it all today

The next time you ask yourself, "I sure hope no one is watching me at this moment". ...then watch this. Thanks to Paul Hauber at Eatmoreair.com for this.