If I Ever Complain About People Eating on the Bus Again.....

About three times a week I have the pleasure of taking the bus with a fellow passenger I call Big Crazy Red. The name should say it all. I first realized she was a bit off when she sat next to me, put her arm around me, and told me her boyfriend took off with all her money and now she can't afford to pay her electricity bill. Tears streaming down her face, she told me she worried that NSTAR would shut off her electricity. I told her not to worry and try to work something out with them. Since then I've noticed that her damaged crazy dyed red mane has been blown fairly straight so I take it they never did shut her off.

Well today Big Crazy Red ("BCR") was on the bus and I sat down across from her because there were no other seats on the bus. BCR takes up one entire three seater with her various bags, etc. I silently prayed that she would not strike up a conversation with me but I must of done something to piss God off because three minutes into the trip I learned her cat ate her earring. I nodded politely and looked away not wanting to be engaged in a conversation for the entire trip to Harvard Square.

Bored with my lack of interest, she began rummaging through her bag. I assumed she was pulling out a package of drakes donuts as I have seen her done so many many times. No such luck - out comes a hair brush.

For the next twenty minutes she proceeds to brush and style her hair with barrettes I suppose will wind up in her cat's belly in the near future.

I spent the rest of the bus ride trying to ignore BCR but couldn't help but admire her inappropriate grooming in a way - I don't think that my co-workers have seen my hair out of a lazy pony-tail since Clinton was in office.

Ah well, Happy Hump Day everyone.

Trying to Make a Whole Lotta Changes....

I just finished reading the book "The Whole Truth" by Andrea Beaman. If you are a Top Chef (Bravo) fan, Andrea was a competitor on the first season bringing a healthy flair to the show.

I liked the book, which was half resource/half recipes, it was well written with a comical voice. Andrea promotes, without preaching, the benefits of eating whole, un-refined, unprocessed foods. Of course, a chronic dieter knows this already but I especially enjoyed that she explained the effects that certain foods have on the body and mind.

For instance, spinach boosts your mood. Since my winter blahs have gotten kind of out of hand over the past two weeks I decided to add spinach to at least two of my meals. I honestly do feel better. Also, I am able to kick my nemesis’ asses with ease, ala Popeye - so watch out DMV phone system! Bastards! Why can’t I just talk to a PERSON!?!? Okay, enough rage.

So I started to give up some stuff. The hardest of all has been Diet Coke. I have become quite the tea drinker and am seriously considering picking up a faux-British accent just to drive the point home. The downside is I am constantly burning my tongue, the upside is I had the opportunity to loudly demand an explanation of "tea-bagging" to Kerry in a crowded room when she made a quiet joke of my new found sophisticated ardor of tea. That’ll teach her!

Andrea claims that once you are eating healthier, your body starts to crave good foods and if you listen to your body, it will tell you what it needs. I tried this last night, the conversation went something like this:

Auntie Scotch: Okay body, what’s yer poisin? What can I fix ya?

Auntie Scotch Body: Hmmm...well....let's see...that oatmeal you made the other morning was great...but...um...oh, and the grilled chicken? Never cooked better! Great job. But, if I have to choose - I'll go for a Captain and diet coke with a side of menthol tobacco. Ah hell, just put the tobacco right into the rum.

Oh, by the way - that accent? LOSE IT! You are causing me embarrassment. Stop looking at my love handles you judgmental bitch!

Although I appreciate when my temperamental inner monologue is honest, I had to deny her. I guess it will take some time before I start craving kale and buckwheat. Hopefully I’ll learn what the two are before that happens.

Wish me luck, folks.

Opposite Sex Woes

I just got off the phone with Regina.

A little bit of back story if I will - Regina and I have been friends for 27 years. Considering the fact that I am (wince) 30, that is a fairly impressive amount of time.

To say we've been through it all together is an understatement.

One thing I love about my friendship with Reg is that we typically go through mini-midlife crisis together. Even if one of us is over-the-moon happy, if one of us is down and out, the other will follow suit without hesitation. Because, if nothing else, it is usually an adventure when we get into our "let's change our lives" mode.

Since we are both guilty of being typical gals, emotionally anyhow, our breaking points typically come in the form of some guy or another. Or better yet, when we try to improve our situation, it involves "getting out there" and finding someone new, or often enough, someone at all.

Our quests have brought us on some wonderful vacations, seedy bars, countless community ed courses, and once it even brought us to church. These adventures historically turn up fruitless, but we have a great time and there is always, always, always something to write home about.

Last week Reg and I were trying to come up with a way to find meaning and happiness and fulfillment. She hit on something and forwarded it to me in a form of an email. My boss was sitting next to me as I was showing him how to turn on his "Out of Office Assistant" because the lucky fella is going on vacation, when the subject "Scrabbilicious" pops up. We both almost choked and he simply said "I do not even want to know."

Well, Regina had the idea that we should go down to the B-Side in Cambridge on Monday nights to play scrabble. I was so all over it when I saw it and we were both pretty excited. Then reality set in -

I speak for myself, but Reg totally agreed, that vocabulary is not our strong suit. Better yet, the words we do know we cannot spell. Can you see it now - Reg and I will be spelling out words like "GOAT" and "DOG" and referencing a dictionary for words like "SURGEON" and "AUTUMN" all the while Harvard kids will be spelling the latest species found in the Amazon or diseases I have never heard of but probably have. So Scrabble night is out for now I guess.

Anyhow, I just got off the phone with Reg and of course our conversation turned to finding someone and it struck me as funny:

Reg: I'd love to meet someone who'd take my breath away, ya know?

Scotch: I know what you mean... I want to find someone that takes my breath away too...and not only because he lives on the top floor of a 5-story building without an elevator."

Searching for Mr. Goodflu

A lot of people in my office were sick with a stomach flu last week. My boss, my boss' boss, her boss and so on and so on, right up the corporate ladder. Oddly, I did not pick up the bug but I figured for the sake of my career, I better start cracking on getting infected with this monster. The small talk value alone would last me through 2007 at least.

Despite my attempts to weaken my immune system to the point of non-existence, Friday rolled around and I was as healthy as a horse. I wasn't too tearful, it was a long weekend and I had a lot to do that required time spent outside of the confines of my bathroom.

Sunday night I broke open a bottle of champagne to celebrate the fact that I had a bottle of champagne in my fridge. My friend D was coming over after the Pat's game so I busied myself with putting together what I hope is the very last piece of furniture for my dining room. Jerry, my elusive and fearful, yet curious, shelter cat watched me from the top of the stairs, eyes bugging out of his head. With an allen wrench in one hand and a champagne flute in the other, I imagine he thought I constructing something to cause him sudden and certain death. How pleasantly surprised he was when an accent chair, just low enough for him to hide undetected (or so he thinks) emerged from the stray parts! Now he can conduct his staring bonanzas at a closer range!

So the Pat's won and my friend came over. I offered him food before embarrassingly realizing I only have triscuts, sherbet, and an impressive variety of dips in stock (no idea why I've started to stock pile dips).

It was the time call upon an owed favor. 30 minutes later Papa John arrived at the door.

After hanging out for a bit and a healthy dose of Celebreality on VH1, I dozed off.

About 3AM I woke up in severe pain -

Here it is!! The stomach bug I've been waiting for!!

In all honesty, I wasn't so thrilled considering the fact I felt as though I was being stabbed in the stomach. I curled into fetal position and waited for it to worsen. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jerry, right in the middle of the floor, staring at me harder than ever, realizing I was in pain and in no condition to attempt to murder and/or pet him.

A staring contest ensued and before I knew it, the pain was gone.

I am not a doctor (although the 90's were kind of a blur so it's a possibility) but I have come up with this medical conclusion that I will share with you - eating four slices of pizza and drinking a bottle of champagne may induce symptoms of a severe illness. So next time you wake up with bruises, blindness, pierced nipple, midget in your bed, etc. etc., think back to what you ate and drank the evening before, it may save you a trip to the ER.

Two Weeks Into 2007...(subtitled No Tell Hotel)

Two weeks into 2007 and I'm still hanging in there with the whole resolution to get fit thing. Of course I had a set back or two....

For example, last Saturday night I went to the corporate holiday party at the Langham Hotel downtown. I've been to a party or two there in the past, but I must say that this time Ames and I took the time to snoop around the other rooms and we were quite impressed by the place. I by no means fancy myself, well, fancy, in any way, shape or form, but there is something about older Boston hotels that I find captivating. The Boston Harbor hotel has to be my all time favorite. As my father used to say "for such a poor girl you've got some rich taste.."

The food was great, as was the service. I consider any waiters and bartenders who put up with the likes of the intoxicated me to be saints. I have this habit of openly, and overly, flirting with waitstaff and bartenders after a few drinks. This is no where near the line of sexual harassment, I mean I'm not grabbing asses, but I do find myself calling everyone "sweetie" or "honey", and sometimes when the drinks are REALLY flowing I may throw in a "sexy" ala Paris and Nicole.

All innocent fun, really, but a year or so ago when I was staying overnight at the (deleted) hotel after a bash, I got a call in the wee hours of the morning from a bartender asking me if I cared to "party" with him.

You can really define the verb "party" several ways. I would like to think he was inviting me out to do lines and have group sex with other members of the hotel staff.

I was extremely flattered but I was much too tired to run the risk of seeing the concierge whipping the bell boy while wearing a leather mask.

Of course, the probable truth is he wanted to go out for a drink after his shift ended and maybe split a pizza or something.

Ah, the boring reality of Auntie Scotch....

Have a great weekend, everyone!

O' The Bus Went Over the Island, The Bus Went Over the Island...

ANOTHER bus blog, you ask? Bear with me, please.

Heading to the bus I felt as though I was on top of the world.

I had a wonderful crazy cat lady evening last night - Jerry my absentee shelter cat not only came near me he actually sat on my lap! After ten minutes he went directly back under the couch to stare at me but dammit that is progress! I also tried out my new Richard Simmons "Steam Heat" contraption and I think it's going to revolutionize how I cook. I absolutely love it. I got up early this morning and headed to the gym. To top it all off, I lost 1.5 pounds from last week which is a miracle considering the tons of drinks I had at the party on Saturday followed by a Sunday of Comatose-Couch Olympics - I won the gold in the steak and cheese sub eating competition by the way.

Anyhow, my mood torpedoed after the first 15 minutes of waiting at the bus stop. By the time it got there, about ten or so minutes later, I was about to have a full blown Tanxiety attack (new word for stress caused by MBTA). Of course, there were two buses in a row and the one that was packed with folks butt-cheek to butt-cheek pulled up at my stop. The love affair that I have having with the bus was officially over and it was back on top of the shit list - knocking crowded super-markets to second place.

I wasn't the only one who was pissed, several people were jabber-jawing on their cell phones about how late they were, etc. etc.

We are making our way down Western Avenue, aggravated and late, and just as we should be taking the turn onto North Harvard Street....we do not. He goes straight past it.

I suppose if the bus was hijacked (god forbid) it would cause less of a reaction from the crowd of passengers.

"Oh my god!! What is happening?!!"
"WHY?!? WHY!?!? WHY!??!"

Suddenly my mood picked up, this could be interesting.

The bus driver kept his cool as he tried to make a left onto the little passageway designated for cars getting onto North Harvard from the right. Finally he got over there but next thing I know half of the bus is on top of the island. We nearly took out the fire box pole.

“They don’t show you this in training!!” he laughed.

I finally made it to work, late, but in one piece. I can always count on the bus to give me something to blog about when my brain is too pre-occupied with real life stuff!

Happy Hump Day!

The Gospel According to the Bus Driver, Psalm 86 - Bus Transfers

I have to admit, the whole Charlie Card transition, at least as far as I can see on the local bus to Harvard Square, has gone pretty smoothly. Despite yours truly trying to insert the card where dollar bills should go not once, but twice, I haven't had any or witnessed any truly bad experiences since the 1st of the year.

One thing I do note is that there seems to be some confusion when it comes to bus transfers. If one person doesn't ask, then at least five do. The drivers have been pretty patient for the most part, explaining to each person that they will need to get a Charlie Card in order to get transfers. T execs must be handing out stress balls left and right or hopefully plying the drivers with liquor at the end of their shift - they deserve it.

In any case, today on the way to work the driver must have had one more question too many about the transfers. Over the very low volume of my ipod (very low because I was listening to "Eye of the Tiger" - hey, we all have our problems) I heard:

"Ladies and Gentlemen - I'd like to tell you all right now about bus transfers".

He then proceeded to tell the entire bus how they work. Get a Charlie Card, and you automatically get a bus transfer, good up to three hours. That's it.

So now the entire bus is educated on bus transfers and I for one am compelled to spread the word. Even if only to my two readers, who probably don't take the bus anyhow.

Happy Tuesday.

Riding the Dog

I've done it many times, and I am guessing you may have done it a time or two yourself.

The term "riding the dog" was born out of the story of my friend Lady who went to dinner at her boyfriend’s boss’ house and got so drunk that she attempted to ride his Collie around his living room.

So the true definition is:

Riding the Dog
Pronunciation: 'rI-di[ng]/ the 'dog, ('däg)
Function verb
1 : to make an ass out of oneself in front of someone to be respected due to consuming copious amounts of alcohol.

Riding the dog has been on my mind today because Saturday my company holiday party. Company parties can provide vast oppurtunties for riding the dog.

One of my favorite dog memories, one that I share over and over with friends when they are beating themselves up about making a fool out of themselves, happened when I was in my early twenties.

I was up for a semi-big promotion (semi-big to me anyhow). I spent the day at work interviewing with my potential boss, the president of a large firm, and was quite confident that I aced the meeting and would be offered the job.

That night was a retirement party for one of the more beloved executives in the upstairs room at Three Cheers on Congress Street. I wasn’t exactly invited, but I was bolder then and an open bar made me not hesitate at taking the risk of crashing.

Crash I did. I sat at the bar with my fro-worker Linda and consumed one captain and coke after another. Three or so hours into the soirée we decided for safety’s sake it may be best to get out of there and retreat to a bar where no one knows your name. I reached in my bag for my wallet and surprise, surprise – no wallet.

Let the scene begin.

In the matter of five minutes the entire party was hunting around the place for my wallet. My potential boss led the pack in the hunt. After about ten minutes we gave up, I figured that I must of left it at the office and I would stop in and grab it on my home.

As I headed to the stairs, I noticed that potential boss was standing right near the exit and thought there was no time like the present to really drive in my appreciation for not only taking the time to interview me but also help me look for my wallet.

“I just need to say this…” I slurred as a look of fright began to creep over his face.
“You are, a very, very, very”….at this point I am grabbing his hand…. “nice, nice man.”
Then I went for the full on hug, which, in hindsight, I appreciated that he accepted.

As I let the inappropriate embrace loose, I suddenly felt a little woozy. I stumbled a bit and eventually lost my footing…and then, proceeded to roll down the stairs.

Not trip.
Not fall.
Rolled down the stairs.

When I hit the ground I immediately dismounted out of the fetal position (my brother, as a fire fighter, has always been impressed with how well I fall - “you tuck and roll, just like a professional”) onto my feet, dusted myself off, and gave one last wave to my potential boss as if nothing even happened. I heard him calling behind Linda to “make sure I was okay” as we both roared with laughter toward the exit.

After hitting another bar we eventually headed back to the office where I found my wallet. Just put a cherry on top of the beautiful evening I decided that the right thing to do was leave potential boss a long-winded, drunken message about how I found my wallet and how nice it was of him to help me look for it. “Hope I didn’t cause too much trouble with the wallet business…” I remember saying. As if after the stairs he could even remember the wallet.

It took all the emotional strength I had to do the walk of shame into work on Monday morning.

But I did, and potential boss called me into his office and got up to shut the door when I sat down.

The panicked thoughts that went through my mind in the five seconds I was waiting nearly made my head explode:

great, I’m being fired, or worse, they are sending me to rehab to dry out....

He sat down, extended his hand out, and said “Congratulations.....on your new job…and oh… finding your wallet.” I shook his hand and briefly contemplated going in for the full on hug….nah….

I Try to Get Out….. but Papa keeps dragging me back in….

Yesterday I spent most of the day watching "The Biggest Loser" marathon on Bravo. At first I tuned in because I thought it was a show comprised of all my exes battling it out to see who screwed me up more -

Ex-Boyfriend A: "I contributed to her binge eating disorder!"
Ex-Boyfriend B: "Oh yeah, well I stole her credit card!"

But, it was actually a show about people losing weight. I watched episode after episode, while they huffed and puffed and lost amazing amounts of weight, I ordered a pizza and ate an ice cream cone. Really, is there anything sicker than that?!?!

But food-wise, I officially start today. My intense exercise regimen starts tomorrow because I stayed up so late watching The Biggest Loser that I couldn't drag myself out of bed this morning to get to the gym. Oh yeah, the Papa John's food coma didn't help either.

Speaking of Papa Johns - it took about two and a half hours for the pizza to be delivered. The guy told me on the phone it would take awhile and I wasn't really all that hungry since I just ate an ice cream cone so I was fine with it. Well, about five minutes ago I picked up my messages and Papa John himself called (okay, so it was a lady who works there) and told me that I get a free pizza next time I call because my it took so long last night.

I’m certain this is some kind of conspiracy that Papa John (HIMSELF!) has orchestrated to keep me overweight. He's playing on my top two resolutions - to lose weight and save money, and pitting them mano de mano. That bastard.

So, if you are reading this, Papa John, be warned that I cannot be swayed so easily.

That is unless you throw in some hot wings............and maybe some of that dipping sauce....cheese not garlic..... see you in an hour.......