The Powerful Double Edged Sword of Boobies

Last Thursday rushing to get ready for work I looked through my closet and grabbed one of the new, inexpensive, summer dresses I bought the week prior.

It was clean and it fit, so off to the bus I booted, late as always, headphones blaring Waltham.

When I got into the office and bumped into a fro-worker the first words out of her mouth were "WOAH!!! Who you trying to impress today?" I figured it was because I typically wear a potato sack to work and thought nothing of it. Later in the morning I met with my boss and noticed as I sat across from him he was looking everywhere but directly at me. Paranoid as I am, I simply assumed I unwittingly effed something up big time and would be fired later in the day accordingly.

But then I went into the bathroom, and in the mirror before me was the most abundant cleavage I believe I have ever pulled off. So much so in fact that the possibilities of accidental nipple exposure was at 50%. Couple this dress with a bad choice in bra it would certainly raise to 80%.

Since it was a Thursday before the Friday before a long weekend (No. 182 of my 198,654 reasons to celebrate), there was no better time to go out for a few cocktails after work with the girls. So after COB we sauntered over to the Legal Seafood outside bar at the Charles' courtyard.

You can't beat this bar for people watching and atmosphere. It is so great that it makes up for the fact that it is wicked expensive, you have to walk a mile to get to a bathroom (not a good thing for a woman with a bladder the size of an eye lash), and it is always horribly over-crowded. You can pretty much count on never getting a seat, and worse than that - it takes forever to get a drink.

Since of course there were no tables available, the four of us boldly and discreetly gathered some loose chairs and formed a close circle. Most likely due to my impatience and love of alcohol, I am invariably nominated to go up to the bar and get the drinks. I had my work cut out for me, the crowd was deep. While flashing the green to ensure they knew I was interested, I busied myself with checking out the masses and mentally buckled myself down for the long haul.

I wasn't there but two seconds when a sheer miracle occured - the bartender yelled to me over the heads of the crowd and took my order. As I made my way back to our makeshift untable my friends were astonished. How? Why? Who the hell cares? Second round - I'll fly! Again, quick service, others looked over. I am a frigin super hero at this point. An hour later again, same thing. When I got back to our circle, they made me swear I would wear the dress every time we went there. And it dawned on me - it wasn't experience, tact or skill that got me those drinks - it was my boobs....hmmmm.....I may be on to something here....

Saturday night rolls around and I have plans to meet my friend Sandy and her husband at the hands-down diviest dive bar in Waltham. What to wear? What..to...wear? Considering this bar is very small, and quite popular despite the fact your feet will stick to the floor, I figured my best bet would be the freshly laundered beer getting dress - my coat of armor, my super power cape if you will.

I was a bit early and my friend weren't there yet, so I took a seat at the bar.

ID! A raspy voice demands.

Shit, it is a woman bartender. This may not work. I hand over my ID.

This doesn't look like you!

Oh it's me alright. I have several other items with my name on it to prove so.

She reluctantly filled my order and then started in on me with 101 questions. What brings me there? Who am I meeting? Am I driving? During all of this a scuffle breaks out at the other end of the bar. She goes over the kicks someone out then makes a beeline back to me and tells the other patrons around me "he is a good guy, he just gets a little pushy after a few drinks". Frigin great. Thank god my friends showed up minutes later, and then more friends later than that, so we pretty much dominated the place so I wasn't worried. My friend Sand told me when I went to the bathroom the bartender took her aside and asked her pretty much the same questions about me that she had asked to me. I ordered another beer.

You better slow down, we don't need trouble.

Huh? This is my second drink! I already told you I am not driving.

For crying out loud I can be the biggest troublemaker that you have EVER dealt with after a few beers but I am quietly sitting with friends, not to mention you seem to have a heart of gold for people who get PUSHY (this outburst was in my head of course).

You just better watch it, she says.

So there it was, my super cleavage obviously worked, it got her attention, but not exactly the kind I was looking for. I realized that by being rude she was strangely expressing concern over my safety. It was obviously not the nicest of places, she knew it, and I knew it. She eventually loosened up, and I had a great time with my friends.

There is of course no moral to this story, it's been a long slow week in Scotchland.

Happy Thursday!

Fears that Disable Me No. 2 (No. 1 is Pigeons)

Those who know me are well aware of my street crossing phobia (and yes I am constantly ridiculed for it). I more than likely picked this up as a small child. Since my best friend (to this day!) Regina lived two houses down from me my mother would often let me walk over to her backyard by myself but never without the warning of horrors that could happen if I went near the street let alone attempt to cross it.

The phobia doesn’t prohibit me from getting from Point A to Point B - it just takes me a bit longer to get there considering I need to seek out the safest route humanly possible to cross. Also, I can often be found on a sidewalk pretending to look for something in my bag when in reality I am just trying to look normal while I stress about whether or not to cross at that particular point. Oh, and I’m also a big fan of adopting a “big brother or sister” (i.e. a complete stranger who just happens to be at the same crosswalk as me) to tag along with while crossing (and I’ve come pretty damn close to grabbing my “guide’s” hand on more than one occasion).

From that we can conclude two things – one, I am a total freak who’s sanity is hanging on by a thread (but you already knew that now didn’t you) and two, I’m pretty frigin safe about crossing the street.

That said, you think I’d be delighted by the Boston Police’s “Operation Crosswalk”. Not so, and here’s why:

On FOX 25 this morning they were interviewing a cop who was explaining how this operation was going to work, then he went on to say that not stopping for pedestrians in a crosswalk, even if there is a green light, is against the law.

This stresses me out because if people are wanting to cross, even if there is a green light for traffic and the signal is flashing “don’t walk”, does this mean that vehicles are going to stop and let pedestrians go?

What worries me is that one car in a four lane street is going to stop, the person is going to start to cross, and the people to the right of the car who stopped are not going to realize what is going on (or more likely the car behind the stopped car will get impatient and go around) and BLAMO! jogger on windshield.

Oh well…I guess personally I don’t have to worry about this because of my disabling fear of being run over by a car.

Ah the shit I worry about…..Happy Thursday and I hope you are all luckier than me and have tomorrow off!

Random Thought No. 894

Is it just me or do you notice that every time you are taking a left turn onto on-coming traffic and there is a car just far enough away to make it that they jump on their gas to kill your chances?

Or on the flip side, if there is a car coming with no one behind them and you realize there is no chance you can make it they then slow down to a snail like pace?

Angry Blog. Angry Angry Blog.

Premonition?

My last blog entry was a real knee-slapper, wasn't it?

How funny would it be if my debit card was stolen?
Not to mention my credit card as well?

How about if they over withdrew me apparently filling up every piece of shit car in their neighborhood? What if they bought themselves a new cell phone and did a $400 food order at Stop and Shop? *

How frigin hilarious would it be?

Turns out not very comical at all.

In the words of Meredith Brooks - I hate the world today.

*Ironic in a way – now that I have no access to cash or credit that two major things I am suffering for at the moment is food and gas for my car. Assholes. On a lighter note – I dug through my work bag for change and realized I had almost $15 in those one dollar coins. I wonder how many other people let them collect at the bottom of their purses as well?

Identity thieves beware

Identity thieves beware – unless you know were I was partying like it was 1999 (because it was in fact 1999) you are not going to be able to hack into my checking and savings web account.

For the past few days, every time I have tried to log onto my bank website (to check and see if I’ve gained any interest on the $13.85 that is in my checking account) I’ve been prompted to up the ante of security by submitting answers to some questions that could only be answered by me (actually, hardly even me). Of course, busy as I am (I’ve got blogging to do and street people to harass) I kept hitting the “fill out later button” until this morning. Imagine my surprise when I looked at some of these great questions (yes I was tempted to pen in some snappy answers):


What city were you in at the turn of the millennium?

Who is your favorite person from history?

What is the name of your favorite culinary ingredient?

What year in history is the most important to you (historical or personal)?

How old was your father when you were born?

What is the last name of your first girlfriend/boyfriend?

Could you frigin imagine answering these questions when you call up in a panic about your debit card being stolen?

Slacker

I have been a total slacker this week - the house is a wreck (note to Nickels - feel lucky that you are eating, never you mind about a clean litter box, thats for fancy cats), they are putting an APB out for me at the gym, and in total sloth-like fashion, have been driving to work pretty much all week (and getting my masshole on big time, folks - frigin Harvard Square construction, will you ever go away!??!) . Oh, and beer is back - in a big way. I even attempted to order chinese food last night. Well I did actually order it - they never showed up and when the horror finally hit me that they lost my order I assumed it divine intervention and simply let the lord have his way.

But all good things must come to an end, and I feel as though heathful life is beckoning me back into society.

I think this is the dreariest blog I've ever written. Sorry, don't mean to dump on you.

Happy Almost Thursday.

Fed-Exiety

Readers who I talk to on a daily basis have seen the title of this blog entry and pointed their mouses directly to the X in the top right corner. I have talked so much about fed-ex since Monday that I noticed as of yesterday Regina has been sending me right to voicemail, Lady hasn’t been responding to my emails, Amy seems to be too busy to talk during work, and even Jude told me that if I mention the goddamn package one more time she is going to call Dr. Kevorkian to put her out of her misery.

I’ll make this short and sweet (as if!) – on Monday I worked on a very important, very time sensitive document that needed to be in a far away country by a certain time or I would be..hmm, what is the proper business term…oh yeah, totally frigin screwed. Monday night I took it to Federal Express and even took a moment to ask the busy clerk if the package looked alright. He glanced at it and said it looked fine (in his defense - I didn’t exactly define what “alright” meant, he could have thought I was asking “does this box make this package look fat?”).

So all was good, my package was scheduled to be delivered to the far away country ahead of schedule (I won’t say what country, but my previous blog, the one down under you may say, will give a hint. Mate.) and I could resume my normal daily activities of obsessively counting rolls of toilet paper and doling out my opinions of subjects that are truly none of my business.

Tuesday morning I get into work and the first words out of Amy’s mouth were “I don’t want you to panic”. A message was left overnight from Fed Ex. Apparently there was a issue scanning the package and I needed to call back right away. Instead of calling I sprinted down there (of course my definition of sprint is a slow, tortoise like walk with plenty of breaks).

Huffing and puffing I explained the message to the clerk, who in turn called over the manager, who then told me that the package wouldn't scan but no worries, they punched it in. Same tracking number? Yup. So really nothing changes from last night? Nope.

Okay then. Everything is alright. And I was free to go back to the office and begin my workday activities of stuttering and avoiding eye contact with my boss. But I couldn’t shake the feeling, something wasn’t right. All of a sudden I felt as though I had developed some sort of psychic ability – I could hear the package crying out to me – “Scotch!! Help! Help!! I am not where they say I am!! I am being delayed!! Help!” So psychic ability, and the whole thing where you can check the status of your package on fedex.com pushed me to go check one last time by the end of the day.

The night clerk was now on. Hi, explained my situation, here to double check. Oh, you, I called you he said. Thanks for that, I came in this morning and…..HOLY SHIT HE JUST PULLED OUT MY PARCEL!

Now, I had worked in retail and customer service for years through highschool and college – so I am not one of those people who flip out in stores and give shit to sales people. I took a breath, explained to the clerk that I appreciated his call last night, it was the right thing to do and I appreciate it.

BUT.
W
T
F
?????

I could lose my job. Oh my god I could lose my job over this. Look at my face, I said lose my job. Yes I know it wasn’t you who told me it was fine. Yes I understand what happened. Yes, again, thank you for calling me last night, thank you again for calling me last night. BUT WTF????

At that point Amy, who is my hero and was with me by the way, was all but chanting, lighting candles and giving me a deep tissue massage to try to calm me down. Holding me back like a boxing kagaroo you might say. I pulled my shit together for a moment to ensure that goddamn package was going on the next flight out of this one-horse town (okay so it’s Cambridge), never to return. But the best they could do was estimate a delivery of 3 hours after my deadline.

So there was nothing I could do but worry. Worry and pray.

I chose to pray to Judas the Apostle. You know, the one who ended up turning Jesus into Pontius Pilate's soldiers?

I chose him for a few reasons, the first being that Jesus seems to be wicked busy these days and he gets BULLSHIT when I bother him with minor stuff like this, and also I figured that Judas was the one who delivered the kiss that put Jesus away, and although the bible doesn’t come right out and say it I can interpret that he was pretty prompt about it. There was nothing in there about guards checking their sun dials and saying “he better hurry his ass up, I’ve got a stoning to attend tonight.”

So the past few days I did nothing but worry sick about this, checking fedex.com every few seconds, memorizing flight patterns and time zones. I even hired a package delivery expert to analyze the situation - my brother, who is now a firefighter but was once a driver for UPS, took the job for the fee of one can of diet coke.

But all’s well that ends well.

I am happy to report that on Thursday, 9:48 PM Eastern Standard Time (Friday, 11:48 AM Far Way Country Time), a bouncing, beautiful, package was delivered, weighing in at 1.8 pounds.

I celebrated with a can of Fosters.

And I promise friends, I will never speak of this again. Not even if you ask me about it. Okay maybe if you ask me specific questions I will give brief answers or give a presentation of some sort.

Happy Friday.

Hump Day Blog

I've been thinking alot about kangaroos lately. Don't ask, just enjoy. Happy Humpday.

Blinded by the light

On Friday night after work I had several drinks with the gang at Redline followed by even more drinks at my favorite local dancing dive near my house. Two things that are very funny after a few cocktails - one, letting people try on your glasses and two, demanding the DJ play back to back ABBA and then proceeding to dance like an idiot, all by your lonesome, on the dancefloor.

But, guess what isn't so knee slappingly, belly bustingly hilarious?

Waking up the next morning realizing you lost your glasses and the only thing you can see clearly is the vision of yourself from the night before doing high kicks to "Take A Chance on Me". Needless to say I am still free because no one in the right mind would have dared to take a chance on me at that point.

Considering I had ran out of contacts and I wouldn't be able to get any for a week and my old, crappy, spare specs were at the office and far be it from me to be responsible enough to locate my key card, I was pretty much screwed for the weekend. Fortunately, I didn't have any major commitments on Saturday and even relished in my handicap for awhile - I couldn't do laundry, dishes, or anything that I usually dread doing on the weekends.

Sunday, however, I needed to attend another wedding shower (along with my mother, Jude) so I had to get my shit together at least as much to dress myself somewhat decently. Late as usual, I ran around the house trying to get ready.

As I made my way down my hardwood stairs in only my nylons, a flash of black, presumably Nickels the cat, caught the corner of my eye. I shifted quickly to avoid stepping on her and ended up slipping then sliding and eventually crashing into a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Nickels, more than likely never in danger to begin with, immediately ran to me and began purring then kneading at my back as she curled up in a comfortable ball despite my cries of “go get help, girl!”.

I indulged myself in self pity for a moment, but then carried on despite the sharp pain in my side, because I was now running even later. I made my way to Jude’s apartment, directly below mine, and told her:

“I fell down the stairs and almost died….”

“Wow”, she said, “I thought I heard a big crash. But then I heard crying….is Nickels okay? You didn’t land on her did you?”

“No, the crying you heard was me. Because I fell down the stairs and almost died….”

“Oh”, she said, “is that what you’re wearing?”

I realized at that moment that Jude was never going to shine in the the role of “Elderly Mother of a Handicap Adult Child”. It was obvious that I was just going to be an embarrassment to her at the shower and that she’d probably spend the day gazing at all the normal adult daughters wishing she didn’t have to accompany me to the bathroom because if she didn’t I would more than likely walk into the men’s room or take a shit in an elevator.

But we went, and everything was fine. Jude hung by my side and didn’t even flinch when I took the hands of people I have known for years and introduced myself as if we had not lived next door to each other for 20 years or went to school together for 10 or we gave them a ride to the shower that morning.

Happy Tuesday everyone.

Trials of Tanning

Lordy it’s been awhile! So much has happened this week – I made soup, I kept on getting shooting pains in my ear due to allergies, I went to the supermarket. All truly, earth shattering exciting stuff. God it’s great to be me! Sarcasm really isn’t my strong suit, is it?

In any case, last week in one of my thirty blog entries I promised to write a review on some of the self tanning products I have used to add some color to my scarily white Casper-like appearance. Never one to back out of a promise (unless of course I promised to help you move or feed your dog or not drink before your wedding), without further ado I present to you the top three products I have had fairly good experiences with over the past four years or so.

No. 3 – Sally Hanson Airbrush Legs

I fell in love with this product when Amy discovered it about two years ago.

Pros: Went on evenly, has a natural look – not orangey or yellowy.

Cons: When you are applying it, it gets on everything. My sink, my shower, my floor, my cat, my glasses. Everywhere. Seriously. Everywhere.

Since I wasn’t about to stand out in my backyard buck naked (now that’s a mistake you only make once in your life), I had to give up on my beloved Sally, which was okay because I was getting the vibe she needed her space anyhow. I can be needy sometimes.

No. 2 – Mystic Tan

Who doesn’t like to strip down naked, go into a strange looking booth and spin, all while donning a sexy shower cap on their head? I’m certainly not raising my hand. Besides the anxiety of someone accidentally walking in on me (and this never ever went away), I became addicted to mystic tanning when it was popularized in 2003.

Pros: The first few times – no streaking, perfect coloring.

Cons: Pretty expensive for something that only last three or days. After a few times I had some bad experiences, detailed below.

One time, the tanning stuff pooled in my cleavage – it looked like a less severe form of the disease Michael Jackson is suffering from. At a business meeting, a woman (who no longer works with me thank god) looked at me and loudly proclaimed “oh, I know what that is – it’s a bacterial infection.” Then she lowered her voice and whispered that she had one once too, she got it in a pool. I announced that it was from mystic tanning – but it was too late, my other co-workers now thought I had bacteria on my boobies. The upside of this was I got my own special bathroom for a few weeks. Swanky.

Last summer for my friend Lady’s wedding I got a mystic tan. The morning of we were sitting on her front steps having coffee when all of a sudden she spits hers out in fit of laughter. “your feet! The bottom of your feet!! They are tanned!! You look like a freak!!” She was right, I guess I didn’t apply the lotion they give you for parts that you don’t want tanned correctly, the bottom of my feet were tanned and I did indeed look like a freak. The worst part is, after a few drinks at the reception, we found this absolutely hilarious and now Lady has several wedding pictures with me showing the bottom of my feet to friends and strangers alike. Again, swanky.

All in all, Mystic may be worth another shot, but I’m too nervous to do it again for a special occasion in fear of the boob pool or freaky feet.

No. 1
Jergens Natural Glow Daily Moisturizer

Another Amy discovery! Once I tried this I have never gone back to anything else. It ROCKS!! It is perfect for my really light skin – it gradually gives you just a bit of color.

Pros: Natural looking, does not streak, affordable, moisturizes (and they even have a “firming” kind now!), not fake looking.

Cons: If you are looking for a dark tan quickly, this is not the product for you. It’s a gradual process and the more you use it, the darker you get.

So that’s it folks! Happy Almost Friday! Hopefully I’ll have some more exciting shit to blog about soon, life is pretty dull lately – but that isn’t so much a bad thing.