Fear of God

When I was a little kid and got hurt due to running around the house or goofing off as kids do, my parents would always say the same thing when I ran to them in tears:

"See, this is God's way of punishing you..."

To this very day, every time I have some sort of accident, my first thought, even through the shock of pain, is always - shit, what did I do to deserve this??

For example, the other day I was sneakily trying to take a peek at my new cat who has taken to hiding behind the couch. Quietly, careful not to startle him, I swung my head over the back, completely forgetting I have a monstrous room-dividing bookcase behind my couch as well, and BLAM - forehead to shelf. The cat ran as if it was his own personal 9/11 and I was left head in hand on the couch regretting laughing at the guy who tripped over the curb in front of Au Bon Pain last week.

Who's laughing now, God asked.
Certainly not me.

In any case, last Christmas my niece, Kay, four now, three then, took delight in my mother's nativity scene and in-particular the little Baby Jesus figurine. As she held him in her hand, marveling, I took the opportunity to use this beautiful moment as leverage, and comic value of course, by telling her:

"You know, every time you misbehave, the Baby Jesus cries ..."

Now, this may seem cruel to tell a child such a thing but you have to understand - Kay does not take anything I say to her seriously, even when I'm stone faced, anxiety-attack, swallow my tounge serious (i.e. on Sunday - "I SAID PUT THAT HAMMER DOWN NOW!!! REALLY!!! STOP LAUGHING AT ME!! I'M TELLING SANTA").

I gave up on being any type of disciplinarian with her years ago, it's just too much work not to give into every tiny little whim that she may have. I am only her Aunt after all and telling her no is what Mommies and Daddies and Nanas are for. But on the other hand, sometimes she wants to do things such as swing a hammer around or sled down the stairs in a cardboard box, that even I cannot condone, so that is when folks like Santa and Baby Jesus come in handy.

So anyhow, I commented about the Baby Jesus crying on Bink's Myspace today and got a renewed chuckle out of it so I had to share it with Amy. Amy in turn came up with the ultimate twist to the crying Baby Jesus:

Aunt to Child: Oh, it's raining, you know what that means....
Child: What??
Aunt: It means the Baby Jesus is crying in heaven, you must of done something real bad....

Happy Holidays Y'all!

Whether you are drunkenly about to burn down your apartment lighting the menorah for Hanukkah , or the Kinara for Kwanzaa for that matter...whether you wake up tomorrow entangled in lights under your Christmas tree....whether you are sacrificing a cow for Eid-al-Adha, (soberly of course because it's against your religion to drink), - HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

And if you happen to be sacraficing a cow, please oh please invite me over. I need something other than the bus and my cats to blog about.

Auntie Scotch

Disclaimer: No animals were hurt during the writing of this blog.

Blunderous Birthday Wishes

Although I try not to blog about work, I just couldn't pass up sharing this story. It's been a hell of a week here.

Today is my boss' birthday. I usually recognize such occasions with a card or a simple "Happy Birthday" but today I was full of good spirits and cheeriness and decided to surprise him with a birthday cake.

Before I left to go buy him a cake at Finale I checked his calendar and picked a time to do this and then emailed an appointment to others on our work team.

When I got back, I double checked my calendar to see if everyone could make it. Oddly enough, the appointment wasn't there, as if I didn't send it at all.

Hmm..what gives. Head scratch. Tap fingers on desk.

Then Ellen (my fro-worker) came around the corner...

"Um, you may want to check Boss' calendar again..."

I almost fainted when I opened it up. It turns out I sent the birthday cake invitation from his calendar meaning:

1. he was well aware of what was going down and worse -

2. to everyone else who was invited it looked as though he was coordinating a birthday cake surprise for HIMSELF!!

Thank god he has a great sense of humor. I think I'll stick to the hallmarks from now on.

Death By Gouda

Last night was the annual Yankee Swap with the gals from work at Legal Seafoods in the Charles Hotel in Cambridge. I was going to write a detailed description of what a Yankee Swap is for those who don't know, but I found myself nodding off as I did, so I will spare you the details.

Anyhow, this is a polite, professional Yankee Swap by most standards. For the most part, people did not "steal" gifts from others or exchange the gifts they opened.

One year, Amy ended up with a cheese cutting board. For those who know Amy, it's not a surprise to you that she pretty much didn't know what it was when she opened it. This is a woman who uses her kitchen as a clothes closet, after all. I love my Amy.

After a great dinner accompanied by several drinks at Legals, a few of us moved on to Noir, also in the Charles. Noir is a funky, dark little hotel bar. As Amy put it "this would be a great place to have an affair."

As you can imagine, after a few more drinks we all started to get silly and decided to call it a night considering we all had to work in the morning. Amy and I left and decided to make a pit stop in the hotel lobby bathroom.

As we emerged Amy decided that she could not lug the cheese board all the way home and looked around the lobby for some place to ditch it. At the same time, we both noticed a little old lady, probably about 85 or so, reading in the lobby library.

We immediately made a bee-line for her. What a wonderful thing to do during the holiday season! Old ladies like to cut cheese, right? (snicker, snicker)

"Miss, would you like this?" Amy asked.

The old lady looked at us as if we were about to abduct her. Sheer fright I tell you. We were both displaying drunken, polite, shit-eating grins so who can blame her?

Amy moved toward her and gently placed the cheese board next to her chair, face still frozen in crazy smile, and slowly backed away.

We both walked toward the main exit of the hotel.

"IS THIS A BOMB?" we hear her bellowing behind us.

"No, it's a cheese board" Amy calls back.

We noticed that we were starting to get attention from the folks at the front desk so we picked up our pace as we headed out. As we made it outside we both burst into a fit of laughter.

"Let's get the hell out of here," she said, "before we get arrested for planting a Cheese Board Bomb in the lobby of the Charles Hotel."

Getting Sloshed on Holiday Spirits

Around this time every year many people find themselves hustling, panicking, freaking out, running, rushing, pushing, pleading and finally begging for this season to finally be over. And when it is, when you can finally breathe that sigh of relief, you did it, it’s over, thank god – it’s then that you get that sinking pit in your stomach of disappointment.

It’s over. That’s it?

It doesn’t have to be.

Rummies, drunks, alkies, booze-bags, lushes – call them, or me, or yourself, what you will – but there is no time like the holiday season to thank your lucky stars to be one, be related to one, or know one.

Because it is them, and possibly them alone, that will have you talking about this holiday season for years to come.

Think about it, you may not remember how fabulous Aunt Ginger’s Christmas ham was or what you got Cousin Edgar in 2005 but you sure as shit remember when Uncle Frank got looped on egg nog and fell asleep on the bathroom floor.

This blog was inspired by an email from a friend who admitted to having too much holiday cheer over the weekend and ended up accidentally knocking over her friend’s Christmas tree. It’s this type of heart-warming holiday story that we will be talking about all year round. Because, if you knock over a Christmas tree, the chances are great that it will still be brought up on the 4th of July.

And let us not forget the company holiday party. I have so many fond memories such as riding the lion statues in Copley Square, hugging my boss for a little too long, being dropped off on the highway because a fight ensued between me and several fro-workers (my new made-up word for friends who are also co-workers), tripping, drink spilling, telling too many people how I really feel – the list can go on and on.

But enough about me, there is always that one person in the company, quiet by most standards, who does something totally outrageous and is forever and ever branded by their behavior of the night. Sure he may have developed a new business model that saved the company millions last year, but he will forever be introduced as the guy who pulled the CEO’s wife onto his lap and asked her if she’d been naughty or nice.

So when the holiday season gets you down, pour yourself a glass of wine or six, make an inappropriate advance at a co-worker, pull at your Aunt Jenny’s hair fueled by suspicion that she is wearing a wig, sit in a corner by yourself and break into a loud, weepy rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy" and get angry when no one else participates - you too may find yourself a holiday legend to be celebrated for years to come.

Ahem, Mememe

I am still fairly new to this whole world of blogging so some of the lingo that is used on other's blogs still leaves me scratching my anxiety induced welted arm in confusion forcing me to pop a Benedryl. But, I think I figured out what a "meme" is. If I am correct, it is like a survey like you see on MySpace that lets people know if you drank or have done drugs in the past month, what you're favorite color is, what you look for in a man/woman, etc., etc. That's just an example, I hope you know what I'm talking about.

Anyhow, I am posting my first Meme entitled "Six Things You Should Know About Me" that I saw on another blog yesterday. You know the drill, if you read this, you must too blog six things about yourself and leave your URL on my comments section.

SIX THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT AUNTIE SCOTCH

1. I am moved to tears easily for all the wrong reasons.
For example, if you tell me my pet died I would probably keep a stone face for the most part, but when Matt Roloff of "Little People Big World" returned from a business trip to find his porch had been completed while he was away, I went through a box of tissues. It was indeed a good day, my happy little friend.

I also sometimes cry at work. Yeah, yeah, I know it's not a good thing, but I've come to accept it as part of who I am. Some people do crafts, some people sky dive - I cry at work. My friend Kerry, who used to work with me and who I miss so much, and I would often break out into an accopello rendition of "Don't Cry Out Loud" just to crack ourselves up at the absurdity of it all when these bouts would hit me. I must say that I am good at covering up my work tears from most people, I either take a smoke break or pretend I'm having an allergy attack if someone should approach me. They probably know I'm crying, but jimmy crack corn, it doesn't affect my work.

2. My dreams often include Fraggle Rock (you know, that Jim Henson show that aired on HBO in the 80's )
Either the dreams take place in Fraggle Rock, it is on a TV in the background, someone mentions it, or I am about to embrace the cute Fed-ex guy when Wembley or Mokey open the door thinking it’s the bathroom. Damn those Fraggles.

3. I often dispense bad advice to the younger generation
Such as to my cousin “Hey, the E on the gas tank is just a guideline, you’ve got plenty of driving left to do, young man."

4. I am afraid of pigeons.
Seriously. And of course I have a story to desmonstrate.

Throughout my four years of high school, I worked at the local supermarket, the last two years in the bakery. At one point a pigeon got into the store and was hanging out in the rafters. Every once in a while he would swoop on into the bakery and peck at crumbs on the floor. I told the store manager I couldn’t work in these conditions. He laughed it off. I immediately quit without notice. That is really how much I hate pigeons. Four years at a place and I quit abruptly over a pigeon. Although, if I saw that pigeon today I’d thank him for making me quit a deadend job - but from very, very, very far away. Alaska even. Depending on where he was. Okay if he was in Alaska then I would thank him from Florida. My passport expired last month so I obviously can't thank him from New Zealand.

5. I can't spell for shit and my grammar is horrendous. But you already knew that, didn't you, you judgmental bastard.

6. I am often hypocritical and live by double standards. Hey, I'm only human - but if you do it then you are a truly bad person and should seek some help.

Bus Junk

There was a gentleman sitting across from me on the bus to work this morning. He was professionally dressed and seem quite normal by bus standards.

One of the many golden rules of the bus is try never to make eye contact with anyone. If someone is looking you directly in the eye they are obviously crazy or looking for trouble, in that case you need to deem their behavior suspicious and report them to the bus driver.

So there I was, playing the no eye contact game, looking at the ceiling, out the window, studying my hands and fiddling with my mp3, soon they drifted down to the floor but immediately popped back up a few inches. Because there, low and behold, was a birds eye view of the gentleman sitting across from me's testicles, popping out of a hole in his pants for all the world, or at least everyone sitting on the three seater across from him on the front of the bus, to marvel at.

I immediately looked away, then back, away again, back, away..... I just couldn't believe it. He was engrossed in the "Metro" and I truly believe he had no clue whatsoever. He just made the wrong choice to go commando in the wrong pants.

Now, I don't have testicles, literally or figuratively, but I would imagine that if I did, and they were exposed, that they would catch some sort of draft, don'tcha think? When I'm bending down and exposing my plumbers crack, I know it. I'm not going to do anything about it, but dammit I know it.

And because of that, the thought of letting him know he was exposing himself left my mind as soon as it had entered it. In the past year I've unknowingly walked around with a hole in my pants exposing my ass and went through an entire meeting with my boss with my bra fully exposed without anyone letting me know, so I feel as though I've paid my dues and don't need to tell every Joe with fly down or junk swinging in the breeze to zip it up or tuck it in.

Aside from that, I don't think that is what they mean when they ask you to report any unattended packages to the bus driver. But just for fun, maybe I should have. I've always wanted to report an unattended package just to see how ol' grumpy bus driver would respond.

Take A Good Look Now....

I woke up and decided that I would attempt two changes in my life today - first of all, I was going to get my ass up and go to the gym and at least attempt to eat healthy. Secondly, almost as an afterthought, I decided there was no time like the present to try and train my cat Nickels to use the toilet. These ideas usually come to me before day-break, so there is mostly no rhyme or reason to them whatsoever.

I learned a valuable lesson the hard way about Nickels likes and dislikes -

Nickels likes to be fed and petted and talked to and played with.
Nickels does not like to be picked up and dangled over a toilet bowl.

I also learned that when relaxed she may give a nip or a quick scratch to my hand without any apparent provocation, but when she is in fear she goes for the face and neck, hissing violently all the while.

So that was the end of that.

I did somehow succeed in getting to the gym. I truly hate going back there after being absent for a week or two - everyone makes a big deal by hooting and hollering (do people still hoot and holler? well these ladies do) and asking where I've been all their lives, etc. etc. I can see their eyes peering at the expanded waist roll and my third chin that has popped up since they had seen me last.

Typically I fire off a round of excuses - sinuses, knee and/or shoulder pain, work woes, yada yada yada. But today I simply responded, quite truthfully, that I wasn't quite sure where I had been or why I had been away so long. I just woke up one day after another and decided that I didn't want to go there. I woke up this morning and decided to go. That's it.

I had a protein shake for breakfast and that coupled with the gym visit got me on the path to cockiness about how I was really going to do it this time. It surprised me how quickly this attitude popped up, it usually takes two to three days.

When I got into the office I began my "I'm On A Diet" ritual by going into my boss' office, as I always do, and warning him to "take a good look now, you won't recognize me soon, I'm on a diet." This is usually followed by a silent, awkward moment that makes me wonder if I just broke some sort of sexual harassment rule by insisting he take a good look at me.

Then I go around to various research analysts exclaiming how they "won't have my fat ass to kick around for long". No matter how many times we've been through this it always confuses and frightens them - most get worried that I think they kick my ass around and apologize for doing so.

Throughout the day I've done well and hope to continue on this path. I think I've hit rock bottom as far as my unhealthly lifestyle, but then again I never cease to amaze myself – who knows what the evening will bring.