Friday, June 29, 2007

There is a fine line between insult and flattery

I went for a cleaning yesterday. I only have 21 more days to brighten and whiten this smile the cheap way. I had a different hygenist an Asian/Korean/Japanese/Chinese/Contonese/Taiwonese (I'm sorry but I don't know the difference) womyn who was so gentle with me that I almost forgot she was there.

I wish I were Asian/Korean/Japanese/Chinese/Contonese/Taiwonese because these people don't seem to have a filter on what is appropriate to say and what's not. I'd kill to go through life dissing people in broken Engrish and then smiling and laughing a slight shy laugh that makes the person you dissed wonder if it was a insult or a compliment. A friend of ours married a Korean girl who said to him on their first date, 'You're really fat, you must want to lose weight, huh?" And when he went to Korea to meet her family they mocked him incessantly about being stocky. He told us how her uncle would giggle and say, "fat boy, I bet you want some ice cream, don't you?" if they passed an ice cream place.

So, yesterday, I sat down in the chair and started flipping channels which is always a moot point since I have to take off my glasses when they start the process. It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't have a "fixed volume" and I could at least hear what's going on even if I can't see it. And to add insult to injury, it's permanently on closed caption. I may as well have been Helen Keller. The hygienist kept rolling back and forth looking at me and looking at my chart.

Then she finally said, "I had to look at your chart because I thought you were a teenager."

Wow! A teenager. I am genuinely flattered. I have been mistaken for a college student or in my mid-twenties but never my teens.

"But then I saw the hair and knew you couldn't be a teenager. Not with that."

The "that" she was referring to (and pointing to) was the patch of gray hairs that were starting to break through from my last hair appointment. And she had to have really good vision because they are still so new they're barely noticeable still.

"Well, thanks . . . . I guess," I said. One might think my engagement ring would give away the fact that I was not a teenager (since we don't live in Alabama) not the less than a quarter of an inch of gray roots on a one-inch section of my temple.

"You look really young," she kept saying, "I would have thought you were a teenager if not for that. I didn't think you would get that so young. Your chart has your birth date so that is why I looked."

Ummm.... okay, you wanna stop making me feel really old and just get to the scraping and polishing, lady.

After a few more minutes she asked me if I work. Now, mind you, between the broken Engrish, the mask, the fact she is soft-spoken and dental equipment is whirring she is even more difficult to understand. I explained that I took the day off because my appointment was smack in the middle of the morning for two hours (following the cleaning I had to see the real doctor and get my temporary crown put on) so there was no point in my going to work and telling them they couldn't put me in court when it was my job to be in court. She asks me what kind of court I work in and I tell her I am in every court from family to criminal and she said that my job sounds like fun. I told her it is but her work seems like fun too.

"No, it's not," she said. "It's boring. It's really boring. Like you. You are boring. I'm bored."

I've been called a lot of things in my life including (but not limited to) "Hitler," "black souled" and a "black widow" but I have NEVER been called boring. How do you respond to that? That's even a worse slam than the aforementioned in my book.

"Some people are really boring," she elaborated. "You're boring because there's not much for me to do. Your teeth are pretty clean."

Okay. I felt a little bit better. At least I was boring for a good reason and not because I wasn't entertaining. I pride myself on being entertaining . . . even if I am the only one who thinks that. I wouldn't want to be old AND boring. Heavens no!

After a few more minutes of scraping and awkward silence, she puts the goggles on me signaling its time to administer the baking soda power washing. She turned around to set up and I quickly put my glasses on under the goggles (because scraping dried on baking soda off glasses is a real bitch) just in time for the Breakfast Club to start on one of the channels I landed on.

When she turned around and saw what I did, she laughed. "You so funny and cute," she said.

Hah! I'll show you boring and old.

"So funny. So funny. Do you have kids?"

I told her I did not have kids yet. I had to get through the wedding first and then I'd think about kids.

"I can tell," she said. I was waiting for some sort of backhanded compliment. I was starting to think she should just cut me in half and count my rings (read: scar tissue) so she could know everything about me.

"You're still very . . . " and she made this gesture with her hands and her face (which was half obscured by her mask). It's hard to describe the half that I did see, but she kind of put her hands up by her head and waved them around while bobbing her head. Its the gesture you might make if you found someone to be an airhead or flighty. However, it could also be interpreted as carefree and without worry. Did she just call me immature by way of charades? Her confusing gesture, much like her, was like a fortune cookie. Confucius say what?

"People who have kids are very . . ." and she made stern face and held her arms in a rigid manner. "I don't like them. They very different. Very . . ." and she made the gesture again.

Okay. I get it.

Finally she was done. I couldn't get out of the chair fast enough even if they were at my favorite part in the movie where they're all in the library taking out their lunches and Judd Nelson launches into his "woe is me" routine. Whatever happened to Judd Nelson?

She bid me farewell and wished me good luck and sent me off with a toothbrush and trial of floss. "Thanks," I said muttering "for nothing" under my breath.

I came home and told Stew what transpired between me and my Hyde-gienist. He started complimenting me in a Chinese accent saying he was reversing the days misfortune. 'You so young," he said, "so young and not boring." Later he put it into perspective. "She basically backhanded you for an hour or so and you paid her to do it AND because there was barely anything left to clean, you paid for nothing."

Way to make me feel better.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

B.Y.O.D.C. - Bring Your Own Damn Coffee

It started. The end of my convenience.

I can only function in the morning after a cup of coffee. I reheat some cold coffee from the fridge and chug it before I get in the shower. Then, because I live right next to a bakery, I drop in there to get a cop before going to work because the cafeteria in the courthouse charges $1.50 for about 6 ounces of coffee when I can pay $1.75 for 20 ounces at the bakery. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what is the better deal . . . and better cup of joe. I don't care of the guy at the courthouse has a sign by the exorbitant price that says, "it's not quantity, it's quality" it's bullshit and it sucks either way.

The bakery is stop is not without annoyances because they have the coffee station set up in some half-ass manner. One might think they would put the trash by the station at the end where you stir your coffee and maybe have to use a napkin or two. But now, they have the garbage all the way in the middle of the station where all the coffee is. It's a narrow aisle and it's usually clogged so getting back to the trash is not an easy feat. Everybody that goes in there comments on what a dumb place that is to have the garbage but apparently those complaints have fallen on deaf ears. Other than that, the only other minor annoyance is that they occasionally run out of half and half. Sometimes, it is for a couple of days which blows my mind as to why they would even let this happen because they are next door to a grocery store.

After the third day of having to use milk (I know it doesn't seem like a hardship but i HATE milk) I thought I was going to have tos tart bringing my own cream. I thought of how if I had to bring my own cream, I deserved some sort of discount. But that is when I noticed the sign posted to the empty black holder that housed Splenda stating, "Please ask for Splenda at the counter."

Okay. People steal Splenda. It is completely retarded that people steal Splenda and my mom is one of those people. So, I get their rationale for hiding their Splenda. But, how many people are standing there in that narrow and totally exposed aisle stuffing their pockets with Splenda that you feel the need to hide it. And I go in there every morning (albeit only for a few minutes) and I have never seen anyone hoarding Splenda. Also, if you are charging $1.75 a cup and I see you sell at least $10 worth of coffee in the 5 minutes I am there, I think you can afford some Costco Splenda . . . . and some f-ing Half and Half.

Ask for it at the counter. In theory it seems fine. It seems effortless. But in reality, it's not and here's why:

I have a system for doing my coffee up which goes against the flow of the ass backwards way they have their silly station set up.

Step 1. Grab a cup

Step 2. Walk past all the coffee to the opposite end of the stations to pour in some half and half (if they have it)

Step 3. Walk back to the mid-point to fill my coffee cup. If nobody came in behind me it's easy, if someone did, it's a bob-and-weave maneuver.

Step 4. Go back to where the cream was to add two Splenda packets and stir some in.

Step 5. Bob-and-weave back to the midpoint to throw out my stirrer in the trash slot which is at crotch level with most of the patrons so I have to be careful not to give some stranger a morning thrill.

Step 6. Pay.

But now that i have to ask for Splenda, my flow is ruined.

Step 4 becomes - Go to the counter and wait for other customers to finish up deciding how many scones they want until the girl (because there are usually two girls but one is always busy and the other one is missing) is freed up to get my Splenda. Meanwhile my coffee is getting cold at the end of the counter with the lid off as strangers shuffle around it while they are helping themselves to the real sugar which seems to grow on trees judging from the way they just leave it out for anyone to use.

Step 5 - Go back to the counter to put in the sugar and stir.

Step 6 - throw out my trash.

Step 7 - Pay.

Yes, I am well aware there are ways to avoid the extra step. I have tried waiting patiently to get the Splenda when I first walk in but there is usually a mob of people there. I have also paid for my coffee when I get the Splenda to avoid having to go back.

But honestly, the only way to really save the time is to just bring my Splenda and if I am now bringing my own Splenda and my own cream, I should just get a coffee pot with a timer and a travel mug.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

I liked your cookies, bitches!

Dear Dunkin Donuts,

I have to say that i really dig your new cookies. I dug the old ones at 69 cents a pop but the new, larger and more expensive ones are a pretty good trade up.

However, I couldn't help but notice that you have altered the peanut butter cup recipe. The point of the peanut butter cup cookie is that it was loaded with hunks of melted peanubutter cups. Sweet fancy goodness!!! The last two I got looked like peanut butter cookies with peanutbutter chips and maybe one piece of "cup." Not cool. It's just a peanubutter cookie. It's almost too much a good thing and void of that delicious combo of peanutbutter and chocolate. That is okay if you want to start selling peanutbutter cookies, but then you should advertise them as such and drop the "cup" part completely. Seriously, if it ain't broke, don't try to fix it.

Bring back the original recipe. I don't know a single person who didn't find that cookie to be out of this world.

Both Coke and the Colonel messed with their original recipe and took a lot of heat for it. You know what happened? Original recipe and Coke Classic back on the market. Learn from them.

- Dr Horder

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Hep C and a Wii

As you know I am on a Coke cap quest. My goal is to get enough caps to get a Nintendo Wii. We averaged it out and I have to drink like 5 Cokes a day for the next year in order to get one. Considering I only drink about 1 a month that is quite a jump.

I've started soliciting my friends to send me their reward codes. When I see someone drinking a Coke, I ask for their cap. It's more or less co-workers at this point but I am starting to consider asking strangers. When I see an abandoned bottle on the ground, I unscrew the cap, wrap it in tissue and bring it home like a coveted prize.

Sunday, after feasting on gyros and souvlakis at the Greek Festival, we were walking back to the car when I spotted a crushed Sprite bottle. I pulled my sweatshirt sleeve down over my hand and unscrewed the cap. Stew tried to tell me not to, insisting I was going to get some disease but I did not care.

157 Reward points baby. Less than 6000 to go.

Monday, June 11, 2007

One, extra hot Hoff with whip

I had this rather disturbing dream the other night. I'm not quite sure what to make of it so if anyone is good at deciphering dreams, give this one a crack.

I know there was way more to the drea than this part but this is the only part I can remember. And for good reason.

I was in Walmart shopping for some things quickly before I came home. For soem reason, Walmart had a hopping (and might I add packed) coffee bar. It was Starbucks-like but with Walmart prices. I scanned the menu and decided on a latte. The line was huge but I waited. I gave my order to the Wal-rista and she whipped it up amazingly fast. This was a dream for the simple fact I didn't have to repeat my order ten times. It came time to pay and I asked the Wal-rist how much I owed. She said, "$1.60." I got out my wallet to pay when she snagged the latte back behind the counter and said it was only $1.60 if I saw the episode of Sienfeld where David Hasselhoff played a pizza delivery guy.

Now, I was fucked for two reasons. One, I was never a regular Sienfeld watcher. I mean, i mwatched it but never tuned in every Thursday night. Two, i am 99% sure David Hasselhoff never played a pizza delivery guy on the show but never having watched every episode, I could not be sure.

I told the Wal-rista that i was not familiar with the episode and asked what the non-Hoff price was. She said, "$3,000."

I argued with her about why this episode was so great that it warranted a "2,998.40" price increase. Apparently, i was the only person in the line that never even heard of it because the whole line was aghast at the fact I let this episode slip by. I was offended for two reasons. One, i am a pop culture queen and if i even heard anybody talking about it, I would have done everything in my power to find it somehow and watch it. Two, christ people, it was just one scene in one show.

I paid $3,000 for my latte (I musthave needed coffe somethig fierce) and went to find the manager to tell him that his employees are running the coffee bar any way they choose. I found him berating some younger employee about how if he doesn't pay attention to detail he will never become a Wal-mart manager like his almighty greatness that stands before him. "You'll never be worthy of wearing a blue vest with a gold star if you keep this attitude up, young man."

I interrupted him by saying, "after i am done with you, he won't even want to be the shit on your shoe. Did you know your Wal-rista are charging anything they want for latte? They charged me $3,000 for this latte because I didn't see some lame ass episode of Sienfels thathad David Hasselhoff delivering pizza."

They both recoiled in horror. Even the young employee who I was sure was going to take my side just to give his manager the "what's up, how you like me now, punk" look.

The manager told me it was store policy. I debated what a silly policy it was. I'd like to add that teh scalding hot latte was searing my hands. I guess a hand protector ring was extra. I'm not sure why i accepted this policy and di not empty the contents of my moletn latte on his head but for some reason I didn't.

I swear. I think I am going nuts.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

It's 3 a.m., do you know where my sanity is?

I like sleep.

Actually, let me amend that. I LOVE sleep. If you asked me to describe my perfect day it would surely start off with me sleeping in as long as I possibly could. Sleep it does the body good.

But here I am. Staring at my computer for what will be the fourth consecutive night of having no more than 4 hours. Tonight, it will be around 90 minutes. And all this wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have RAGING cramps and drinking the mass amounts of coffee I need exacerbates the crampage.

Catch 22.

Flow was two days late and she is making me pay. It's not like i didn't have her room all ready for her. She just missed the train.

Among the things keeping me awake tonight other than cramps and my usual amount of bitterness is the phrase, "you're too much?" Can someone tell me what this means and is it a compliment?

I was in court the other day and an attorney who is relatively cool comes in and starts commiserating with the clerk and I about having to "hurry up and wait" in this particular courtroom. She looks down at my foot and asks if that is a tattoo on my toe. I say, "yup" and she laughs and says, "you're too much."

What does that mean and why am I too much because I have a tattoo on my toe? I know it's just a figure of speech but if you think about it, it makes no sense. Is being too much a good thing? Should people be scared? Watch out for her, she's too much. Too much of what?

Too much crazy apparently because any sane person would be sleeping now. I have nothing to really say. No enlightening thoughts, news or otherwise. What I have learned today? There are a ton hymen disorders out there (don't ask). While interesting, this bit of knowledge is virtually useless to me having never had a hymen disorder and not having a hymen for quite some time now.

Why have I taken up a Triscuit addiction and Stew is helping himself to my Red Stripe? And why does he think that I am crazy to think that every place should carry Red Stripe? They looked at me like I was smoking crack when I was at T'Gin last and asked for a Red Stripe. Okay, so it wasn't a Guinness, go ahead and boil me like a freaking potato but don't insult yourself (and me) by offering me a Corona instead because if you're going to turn your nose up at a Jamaican beer don't get all UN on me, Mon. That would be like me saying I want Mexican food and Stew taking me to Taco Bell.

"Not every bar has Red Stripe, Lulu," he says like I'm asking for something so exotic.

Why f-ing not? If almost every bar we go to has Guinness. So I insult Stew's senses and order a Heineken just for spite.

Actually, I am off the sauce. The last time I was out I had 3 pint glasses of Stella and despite the fact I was buzzed after half of glass one I kept swallowing anyway. Stew had to pretty much lead me to the car where he said I quickly became "a mess." I passed out but apparently not before thinking i could have an entire conversation with Stew using a series of gutteral "mmmmms" "nnnnths" and "mhhheemmms" I still can't believe he couldn't understand me. If I have to learn to tell the difference between a witnesses' "uh-uh" and "uh-huh" the least he could do is decode my mumbles and not force me to use words. Anyway, I was hungover so bad the following day that just thinking about it turns me off of drinking despite the fact that I want to.

It's wing night tonight. Salad pizza and wings. Twenty cent wings. Yum. Sad to say the thought will keep me going all day despite the fact I have had no appetite for anything not coated in chocolate for the past three days.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Will you still love me even after a lap dance?

There is something going on around here and I don't like the smell of it. Don't get me wrong. Stew is usually very attentive and wonderful and thoughtful and sweet to the point where I often feel unworthy. But lately, it has been poured on sticky sweet giving you a sugar rush with the first whiff.

It started on Tuesday night.

"I'm not going to poker tomorrow night."

"Why not?' I asked, "Were they not able to get enough people?"

"No, they were but I want to spend time with my Lulu because I am leaving her this weekend."

"Ummmm. Okay." I said before realizing what an ingrate I was. "Thank you. That is very sweet."

"Oh and where do you want to eat on Friday night?"

"It's only Tuesday. I don't even know what I want for dinner yet tonight." Then the ingrate feeling crept in more. "Brasita's" I suggested.

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll make reservations."

"Oh no wait," I said remembering a place we haven't been to in about a year despite it being the most phenomenal food we've had altho' quite pricey. Why not cash in on the niceness? "How about Columbus Park?"

"Anything you want."

And he was on the phone making reservations for two.

But wait, there's more.

"Okay, I may as well tell you."

"There's more?" I asked growing more skeptical by the second.

"I am going to get us tickets to see Knocked Up too after dinner."

This was a big step because we RARELY see movies I want to see altho' it's hardly like I drag him to chick flicks. Knocked up is by the writers of The 40 year-old Virgin. He acts like I ask him to rent Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants or something.

"Cool," I said fully aware of what this was all about but willing to ride it out.

And with that, he quickly jumped online and ordered the tickets. He didn't even want to use our AAA cheapy vouchers or make me wait for the second week to try and use them. This was no hold barred wooing.

Wednesday night after filling my belly with wings and salad pizza we're laying on the couch and he is sucking up a head massage.

"I was going to surprise you . . . . " he starts to say.

Now, keep in mind, Stew often says this and then blames me for spoiling the surprise. Hellooooo .... does that make sense?

"I was going to get you a stuffed baby Shrek so you could sleep with it when I am gone this weekend."

Okay, that was kinda low. I am totally in love with Baby Shrek and now he was holding it over my head yet reminding me I was going to be sleeping alone this weekend while he is off to Atlantic City with his head buried in some stripper's implants partaking in lord knows what else.

"But i couldn't find one like the girl had," he said referring to the little stuffed one I saw some 6 year-old hauling around on Monday afternoon. "The only one I found was like a Cabbage Patch kid with a hard head."

Bitterness starting to fester thinking about titty bars, I stopped massaging and said, "Well, maybe you need to look harder."

So, I helped him look only able to locate stuffed baby Shreks at Build-A-Bear, the enemy of parents everywhere.

"Looks like you're going to the mall tomorrow." And then I danced around giddy with the thought singing, "I'm gonna get a baby Shrek baby Shrek." You'd swear I was less the girl about to be married and more a 5 year-old.

Thursday night, Stew came home defeated. Both Trumbull and Danbury were out of Baby Shreks.

"I feel like the parent who couldn't find the toy my daughter wanted. I feel like a failure."

And rather than offer support and tell him it's okay, I patted his back and said he could order it online which he ended up doing.

All this because he wants to go to Atlantic City with the guys for his bachelor party and he doesn't want me to come unhinged thinking about all the trouble they could get into. And even tho threats were made and wooing was in full effect, I still didn't feel like I could relax about it. So, out came the contract which he said he would not sign but ultimately did.

I, _________ , promise not to do any of the following things during my bachelor party festivities on Saturday, June 2, 2007 and Sunday, June 3, 2007 in Atlantic City, New Jersey or the surrounding areas of New Jersey, Philadelphia, New York and Connecticut.

Breaking of this contract results in the cancellation of my wedding. In the event the wedding is cancelled due to my breaking any of the following rules, _____________ of ______, Stamford, Connecticut is allowed to keep the engagement ring, both wedding bands, my big TV, game systems, games and DVDs so she can pay her parents back what they have spent for the wedding and all articles relating to the wedding. This includes, but is not limited to, invitations, postage, down payments, apparel, and etc.

I, _____ , will not do the following:

- End up in the hospital. Exceptions to the rules are car accidents (as long as I was not driving drunk or a passenger in a car where someone was driving intoxicated), a fire in the hotel/club or restaurant.

- Allow myself to get intoxicated to the point of blacking out.

- Allow my friends to peer pressure me into drinking more than I can handle.

- Get arrested.

- Get in a fight.

- Become injured by my own stupidity. Refer to Mr. Olympus.

- Kiss strippers or strangers in clubs.

- Have any physical contact whatsoever with strangers met in clubs/bars/boardwalk haunts or hotels.

- Gamble more money than I have.

- Take a stripper or stranger home

- Get a stripper’s or stranger’s number

- Touch a stripper’s or stranger’s private parts

- Have sex (oral or otherwise) with a stripper or stranger. This applies to giving and receiving.

- Do body shots off females.

- Go to a filthy massage parlor.

- Meet up with Sweet potato.

- Meet up with Zoobas.

- Not forget to bring Lulu home a magnet.

- Not cast my photo identification or other identification I need on the floors of clubs/hotels and bars.

I, ______, sign this contract in good faith, willingly and fully aware this will hold up in court.