"Excuse Me, I Do Not Wear Polyester Hair, Okay?"

So I was driving back to work from lunch, minding my own business today, when what do I see in the middle of the street on the double yellow line? A hair extension. It wasn't a small strand, either. It was a big old clump. If I didn't know better, I'd think some woman ripped her hair out at the scalp and threw it in the street. Ick.

I only point all this out because I feel sorry for the woman with a patchy hole in her head now. That shit's expensive.

Oh, the Humanity...

I am completely disgusted by the situation going on with the guy who was diagnosed with a particularly dangerous strain of TB and the CDC's efforts to quarantine him. Whether or not the CDC communicated effectively this guy's need not to travel, he should have known better. That is an understatement. What this guy did, in my opinion, is knowlingly and recklessly endanger the lives of people because he was too selfish to postpone his plans. So the guy's wedding and honeymoon were over in Europe. He could have put those plans off, given the fact that he has a life-threatening, CONTAGIOUS illness that could endanger the lives of fellow passengers aboard the two flights he was on. Not to mention the fact that he was possibly spreading disease in more than one foreign country...isn't that frowned upon? Even if he didn't know the severity of his situation before boarding his first flight to Paris, when the CDC caught up with him by cell phone in Rome and told him they would figure out a way to get him home safely BUT TOLD HIM NOT TO BOARD HIS FLIGHT, this genius decided that being 'stuck' in Italy was too much for him and 'snuck' on board. Those are his words. Asshole.

Yes, the CDC should have done a better job of flagging this person, there is no question. But this guy is a selfish prick, even if the risk of other passengers contracting TB are pretty low. I am thoroughly disgusted. I think I already said that.

But karma is a bitch.

If I Had a Dime...

Every morning I wake up with the best of intentions. I'm going to get to work early, I'm going to take care of business, I'm going to eat a lunch packed with nutrients that is easy on the pocketbook, I'm going to go to the gym after work, I'm going to cook up some healthy grub for dinner, I'm going to hang out with my husband but I'm still going to go to bed at a reasonable hour.

Let's just say I'm lucky if I get to work on time. It goes downhill from there.

I think my biggest struggle every day, though, is the struggle I have with myself about going to the gym after work. If I've gone to the gym the day before, I am so pumped to get there again. I feel energized, I feel like I'm doing something good for myself - and I am DEFINITELY going to go.

By 3:00 I'm fighting with myself. I want to go, but then again I don't. I don't like the cardio machines, I hate running, etc, etc, etc. I know I'll feel so much better if I go, but all I want to do is go home and do nothing.

This entry is really just an extension of me fighting with myself. But I think I've won - so what does that mean? I'm going to the freaking gym.

What's a Meme Anyway? Doesn't It Mean 'Same' in French?

So I've been tagged by the Ranting Radish to do one of these Meme things in which I divulge all kinds of secrets about myself. By all kinds of secrets, I mean 10 things that might seem a little quirky to the average person.

1. I watch my odometer obsessively. No, not because I'm watching to see how many miles I get to the gallon or some such dorky thing. I watch because if the miles reach a number with all the same digits, such as 888 or 2222, in my weird little superstitious mind, something good will happen. It's like I've won the jackpot in Vegas every time I catch it happening.

2. I am constantly giving people the finger when I drive. People are idiots, and they deserve to know how I feel about them, even if all they've done is take an extra second too long at the stop sign. My husband gets so mad at me because not only will I flip people off when I drive, but I do it when he's driving too.

3. I have absolutely no idea what to be when I grow up. My job aspirations change daily, and sometimes more often than that. In the past week alone, I wanted to be a pharmacist, an aromatherapist, the great American novel writer, a Saturday Night Live writer and a makeup artist. Funny, not one of those things is even remotely close to what I'm currently doing with my life.

4. I wore the same pants to work twice this week. It's only Wednesday.

5. I absolutely cannot, ever ever ever, have anything sweet for dinner. I am not one of those people who gets off on the fact that they ate ice cream as the main portion of their meal. Nor will I ever eat a PB & J and be satisfied for the night. I am more a savory girl, not sweet.

6. I am scared to be home alone at night. Especially if my husband isn't coming home and I have to sleep alone. I am convinced that a serial killer knows I'm by myself and is plotting to kill me. I never have these thoughts during the day.

7. I am not a phone person. Which really sucks because my phone number at work is posted on our Web site, and I get misdirected calls all day long from people who need a new insurance card or are looking for information on their dental benefit. Consequently, I don't answer my work phone a lot. Voicemail is my best friend.

8. I have a thing for ugly old men with big lips. I am obsessed with Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler. I do good impressions of both of them. You should ask me to demonstrate.

9. While we're on the subject of impressions, I also do a good one of Oprah and one of any contestant on Deal or No Deal. Feel free to ask about them for your next party.

10. I love the beach, love everything about it, but I get really skeeved when staying in beach hotels/motels/rented houses. I hate to walk around barefoot in them, because you just know a lot of gnarly shit went down in every single hotel/motel/rented house in every single beach town in the entire world. I love blanket statements.

11. I'll throw in an extra one for good measure. I think it's bad luck to knock on wood. I actually prefer rubbing the wood for good luck. If someone knocks on wood in my presence, I will rub it right after. Yes, I know how perverted this sounds.

I don't know too many bloggers (although I would like to) so I'm going to tag Wassygirl. Maybe she'll do it, maybe she won't. Stay tuned!!

Maybe Barb Knocked 'Em Off

I walked into the (empty!) bathroom at work a few minutes ago. I scouted out all the stalls to see which one was least offensive. In the very last stall - the handicapped one - I saw a strange sight.

A pair of black socks on the floor.

They weren't balled up, or in a heap as if they had fallen out of someone's bag - they looked like they were laid neatly on the ground. It just makes me wonder who on my floor is walking around sockless. And why.

But it's not the first time I've seen really odd things in the bathroom. I worked in an office in Georgetown back in the late 90s. A woman named Barb worked there too. She was really sweet, really obese and really really strange. She was a genius with numbers, though, so no matter what kind of shenanigans she would pull - you could often find Barb snoring in her cube - the powers that be let her keep her job.

It is worth noting, at least to me, that as weird as Barb was, she had a husband and a daughter, whose name is May. That made me feel better and less sorry for her. I was glad she wasn't lonely. Although said husband and daughter would wait for Barb half the day in their beat-up brown Chevy Whatever parked in front of the building. I often wondered why little May wasn't in school. She used to wander into the office and ask my coworkers for food. It broke my heart a little, but she was a sweet girl. My point is, Barb had a family, a strange family that fit her quite well.

Back to Barb and the bathroom. My first Barb/bathroom experience happened when I walked in one day to find Barb in her bra and panties, and nothing else. She was standing by the sink washing her dress. She sort of yelled and covered herself with the dress when I walked in. "Don't look at me, Heather!" she said. I didn't think to point out the fact that she was standing in the communal bathroom - it wasn't like I walked into her private bathroom where she could walk around freely with no worry of anyone catching her in undies. Instead, I think I turned on my heels and walked right back out. When I walked back into the office, my friend told me I looked like I had seen a ghost. After explaining what I had just seen, she understood why I looked the way I did.

Another time I walked into the bathroom and there was Barb, again at the sink, only this time she was washing a rather long, rectangular table with its legs folded under itself. Where she got the table, I have no idea. And why the bathroom sink, I can't even begin to guess. In fact, I don't want to know. But obviously, all these years later, I still think about it.

Finally, I was walking to the bathroom one day (wow, it seems like all I did was go to the bathroom!), and to do that you had to walk past the kitchen. Barb popped out of the kitchen, crunching away on an apple. "Hello, Heather!" she trilled in a fake British accent. She followed me straight to the bathroom, where she proceeded to take a dump while still chowing down. I told a coworker what I had just witnessed, and she just remarked how good Barb was at multitasking.

It was all so exciting with Barb around. And her exploits really make for good stories to tell, even now, even to tell to people who don't know her. I really wonder what happened to her, but I hope she's working somewhere her numbers skills are appreciated and her bathroom eccentricities are overlooked.

In the meantime, I have no more good coworker/bathroom stories to tell, so I have to resort to talking about black socks in the handicapped stall.

When Accordians Attack

I was out with my sister and my friend Erin over the weekend. Admittedly, I was a bit tipsy, but the three of us saw the exact same thing that I'm about the describe. Well, they were tipsy too, but whatever.

This young woman, most likely in her early 20s, walked by us. She was wearing a halter top that was pleated. I looked for a photo to post along with this blog so I could further illustrate my point. But just know that this halter top was silk and was completely pleated. And it had bright flowers all over it, which is to say that it had a flowery print.

She had these ginormous boobs under that halter top, and there was no mistaking the fact that she had no bra on. Those puppies were flopping. It was a little unsettling to see.

But those breasts of hers were swinging back and forth in opposite directions. Like if one was swinging right, the other was swinging left. Then they'd swing in the opposite direction, coming together to meet in the middle.

Because of the pleats in her top and because of the direction in which her boobies were flying, it looked like she was an accordian. A blonde, tan, promiscuous, flowery accordian.

(I made up the part about the promiscuity. I don't actually know that for a fact.)

My Boss Has No Shot

I saw the strangest thing as I was waiting for the elevator at my office this morning There were a handful of people waiting with me. A woman breezed in from the garage and walked over to one of the women waiting to go upstairs.

"You look gorgeous!" she said as she swished her hips (I'm not kidding).

"So do you!" the other one cried (again, there really was this much enthusiasm between the two).

And then they air kissed.

Um...never in my 4 1/2 years here have I ever seen anyone do anything remotely close to this. Usually people have to hide their disgust for one another, and usually that's pretty transparent. Good for them, I say. But you won't catch me greeting any of my coworkers this way.

In other news, I just spilled some of the milk I bought for my cereal. But there was no use crying.

Shaving or Eyeshadow?

Sometimes while in the shower in the morning, I have to make a quick decision. Because I give myself just enough time to wake up, check the morning papers online and get ready for work, I can either shave my legs or wear eyeshadow - but not both. That would require an extra five minutes that I just can't spare.

Sure, I could spend a little less time online in the morning. I don't necessarily have to check MySpace - but since it's banned at work, I won't be able to look all day. And I really need to read those bulletins. They're full of great tidbits such as how many times my friends have eaten cereal in the past week or which of them pees in the shower.

I'm digressing, but that's what I do. And maybe that's why I don't have time each day to have both silky-smooth legs AND beautifully made-up eyes (because I am THAT good at putting on eye makeup).

I guess the lesson here is that I really don't need to hit the snooze button 3 times - what's an extra 9 minutes of sleep getting me anyway? It's just another reminder of the depressing fact that I actually can't stay in bed all day. Better to just get up and get on with it, right?

Okay, lesson learned. I'll let you know tomorrow if I actually follow through and get up earlier.

Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, today I chose shaving.

Bathroom Antics

I know I like to think my shit don't stink, but I lean a little bit closer...oh, whatever, you know the rest.

I think I need to learn not to go to the communal bathroom on my floor right after lunch. Because it's a fucking free-for-all of crapping going on in there. Sometimes I am seriously shocked at the smells. Hasn't anyone ever heard of a courtesy flush?? Do these women have no shame? I am seriously embarrassed to do my business at work - I wait till no one else is around OR I go to a seldom-occupied bathroom on another floor. And I ALWAYS do the courtesy flush. What's so hard about it?

The concept of the communal bathroom is sort of lost on me anyway. Going to the bathroom - at least in my mind- is one of the most intimate things you can do. I really really don't need for other people to hear me do it. Can't they build little walls in between the stalls so no one can hear each other? And while they're at it, can they place some air freshener up in that mofo so if your business smells less than fresh, at least you can mask it with Spring Bouquet?

And whatever, before anyone (does anyone read this thing anyway??) calls me out, I know I am anything but ladylike. But at least I have class enough to be embarrassed by my bodily functions. At least some of them. Farts don't count.

Pledge

There was a guy my friends and I met sophmore year of college. His name was Chris, but the guys I hung out with named him 'Pledge'. He was sort of their mascot for awhile. These guys weren't in a fraternity, but sometimes they acted like they were, and they recruited Chris, aka Pledge, to do stuff for them just like a pledge in a fraternity would.

He was really fun and funny and totally insane. We learned that he hacked into his high school's computer system to change his friends' grades. So not only was he a little crazy, but also brilliant. He could really hold his liquor, too. I could tell a lot of stories about Pledge, but there are just too many to tell.

Pledge was around all through college. He was a huge part of our group of friends. I could always count on seeing Pledge any time of day, mainly because I think he skipped a lot of class. One night we were all hanging out at someone's apartment and Pledge said to me, "I've always had a crush on you." I told him to shut up and he passed me the bong.

Things went downhill when Pledge started dating this girl "D". She was cool at first, but eventually turned Pledge against all his friends. By the time we all graduated, we had lost touch with him. It makes me sad. She was a complete bitch and I really hope he didn't marry her. She was his only serious girlfriend in college.

I miss that goofy bastard.

If anyone out there knows a guy who was nicknamed Pledge in college but whose real name is Chris, please tell him that I'm looking for him.

You Take WHAT to the Cleaners?

I went to the cleaners on my lunch break today to pick up some clothes. I always watch the most interesting people while waiting in line. Today was no different - the guy paying for his stuff had his cleaned clothes hanging on that metal hangy thing that you hang dry cleaning on while you pay. I took stock of what he had.
Suit - check
Work shirts - check
Black long-sleeved cotton Lionel Richie top - wha??

Once again, I was laughing by myself. This is a constant in my life. But this guy brought to the cleaners his long-sleeve t-shirt with Lionel Richie circa 1982 on the front. It seriously looked like a velvet Elvis painting, only with Lionel Richie.

I really had to contain myself and wait till I got to my car, and when I did, I could NOT STOP LAUGHING. Normally I feel bad laughing at people, but this was just too much. I am probably going to hell.

Light Up the Stage and Wax a Chump Like a Candle

BodyPump is my favorite class at the gym. Strength training for all major muscle groups in one hour - you can't beat that. Each muscle group gets its own song, and every few weeks or so, new songs come out so that no one gets too bored.

Last night was especially fun. After a really fun squat track of a song I can't remember at this very moment (but at the time I liked), and good chest and back songs, I was pumped when I heard the first strains of 'Sexyback' for triceps. (Although when you think about it, it might have been a more appropriate song for the back exercises.) Justin Timberlake made those tricep kickbacks and pushups fly by.

Well, it got better. Because next was biceps. Imagine my excitement when I hear this - Din din din din din din din. Din din din din din din din- you know what I'm getting at, right? You don't? You can't hear the din dins in your mind??

It was, yes, Ice Ice Baby. Oh my G-d. I was beside myself . I looked around the studio at my Pump classmates, and no one looked phased at all. In fact, they looked like robots at that moment. Here I was, cracking up, but I was apparently laughing alone. It was the most fun bicep song ever ever ever.

And here's the best part (or most embarrassing part) - I knew every single word to that song.

I Am Hilarious

It's been a couple of weeks since I've blogged. I actually have something to blog about, but I'll do that later. For now, I want to share how funny I am. And modest. Definitely modest.

Anyway, a coworker approached me, saying that another of our coworkers - I'll call her JJ - told him that I'd be able to give him some information that he asked JJ for. Clearly JJ was just pawning work off on me, as I had no information to give my poor associate.

So I said, "She is such a fucking pig. Just like Alec Baldwin's daughter."

And we laughed and laughed.