Don't speak... Just B Pretty: New York...my kind of town..

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: New York...my kind of town..: A little over eleven years ago my sister-in-laws sister Andrea asked me if I wanted to go to New York City with her. Free room, free board...

New York...my kind of town..

A little over eleven years ago my sister-in-laws sister Andrea asked me if I wanted to go to New York City with her. Free room, free board, free broadway shows and all I really had to pay for was my plane ticket and whatever I wanted to buy when I was in the city. Who turns this down?? Not I say the country mouse... or city mouse... very confusing.  It was an awesome trip we saw like eight broadways shows, I went to some of my favorite museums, and picked out my ultimate ring at Tiffany's (princess cut solitaire diamond on white gold... I will let the man chose the size because he should have some say right? but note to him, bigger is always better in this situation) I was convinced at the time that I was in love with a man named Steve who was a firefighter... I am sucker for a boy in uniform...I felt he would be the one to buy me the Tiffany diamond.

Side note: I admired the firefighter from afar and told others often of my infatuation. I cut his hair and he took me out to dinner. He drove a huge truck that I had to take a running jump to get into... but alas, one day he stood me up... so I did what every normal girl would do, I taunted him and told him that his favorite hair gel was found at the local Walmart...three Walmart's later he was unable to find the hair gel and I was forced to admit 'oops my bad' not available for purchase for non hairdressers. After that he was less attractive and I was not his favorite hair girl anymore. There were a couple of other things I did but I am not prepared to admit them to the general public.
Anyways back to the city of the apple. Andrea and I had a great time up until someone decided it was a good idea to fly planes into the buildings connected to our hotel.
Another side note: Apparently these men flew the plane into buildings so they could be with 72 virgins. I have to agree with Dennis Miller that probably somewhere around the 14th or 15th virgin you are looking for a professional.  But my only thought is why 72?  Why not more? If you are going to mess me up emotionally and physically shouldn't you be aiming for a higher purpose than a few virgins??
One more side note: I have heard of some statistic which is out in the world saying you are more likely to be in a terrorist attack then get married after 35, my question to that is; what are the statistics to someone who has been in a terrorist and is single over 35? Do my odds go up or down on landing a man? I can tell you this I am not looking for 72 virgin men... one seems like a lot of work let alone entering the double digits of men. What I would really not like is for more than one man to ask me the question "Can you cook at all?" the answer will always be no, leave me alone.
Ok so Andrea and I survived the attack and each of us have our own idioms because of our adventure. But a decade later we have learned to cope and so when Andrea asked me if I wanted to take a trip to New York this September I said what anyone would say... when do we fly out?

Pizza Squares

Luckily we broke the terrorist streak and had a good time in New York. We got pizza at some sicilian pizzeria in Brooklyn where you have to ask for it a certain way or you get yelled at.. kind of like Seinfeld's soup nazi... Andrea walked me through the procedure to ask for a square not a slice... but I froze under the pressure and said the wrong thing. I have never been yelled at before because I  ordered wrong.. I wanted to take a picture of the guy but I was kind of afraid of the words I would hear if I asked him to pose for my blog. So I took a picture of the pizza instead.
We stayed at a no-tell motel called the best western president's or something... it is right off of 48th and 8th... but note to self do not stay here. The hallways look like a cross between a brothel and the Shinning. I kept waiting to see a kid on a bicycle screaming "Redrum Redrum".  Luckily no one came at us with a knife or a proposition so we survived the weirdest motel in the world.
We saw a bunch of broadway shows and a few off broadway shows. The first night we went to a musical called "Silence!" It was a spoof on the movie Silence of the Lambs... my only thought is that I wish it had been a silent musical because that would have been an improvement on what we heard and saw. It was an hour and a half of my life I will never get back.

The shinning hotel hallway

It was an adventure that did not entail taking extra sleeping pills for the rest of my life which is a big plus. And even though I did not get a chance to visit my Tiffany's diamond I know it is still there patiently waiting for me. So now all I have to do is find a man to buy it for me...on second thought, I think I will just visit it often... good excuse to go back to my city.

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Home Bonding or Bondage?

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Home Bonding or Bondage?: In case you are wondering, and I know that you are, nothing in your life is going well if you have to move home to live with your parents. T...

Home Bonding or Bondage?

In case you are wondering, and I know that you are, nothing in your life is going well if you have to move home to live with your parents. This is what my older brother told me the day I moved home to live with my mom. Apparently, it is a quote from Seinfeld when George has to move back in with his folks. It was kind of him to point out the obvious and though I would never say it to his face that did nominate him for MOTO (Master of the Obvious). That said for the past two months I have been living with my mom. Which to be honest has not been bad for me and I would like to say it has not been bad for my mom but I think it is best to let her speak for herself.  Too bad she does not have a blog.
There have been a few ups and downs so far, I have to remember to close the cupboard doors and silverware drawers. This is tricky because for the last some odd years I have not really been concerned with the open and shut case of kitchen cabinets. Honestly, I have not even been good at putting away the silverware in the correct slots.
Let me tell you the story. A few years back I was doing the weekly dishes and I was putting the silverware (or more like the Walmart version of silverware) away in the drawers. It was then that I realized; why be a silverware separatist. Let the silverware meet up and party before they are going to be used and abused again. It was then I decided to simply dump all silverware in the drawer and sift to find a specific utensil when needed. This made complete sense to me and because I was living by myself I am the only one that mattered, ergo this was what I did. Every once and a while my boyfriend at the time could be talked into cooking for me (begged more like it.. he was a very good cook, my mom and I still try to make this spinach salad that he made but we really aren't too sure of the recipe and I don't want to call up and be like I know you are a loser but can I have the recipe?) and he would separate my partying forks and spoons. Do not worry I would put them back together when I did the clean up.  But living with my mom I have to separate the utensils and also shut the drawers.
Add to that I have learned that when using a sponge in the kitchen sink it is important to rinse it out in cold water. This will alleviate a future smell in the rag or sponge. When I first moved in I was given a demonstration and I attempted to put this into practice. Attempted is a strong word let's say I did gave it the ole' college try. But apparently to no avail because the rags started to smell and I was then brought back to another demonstration added upon a practice run through to make sure not only were the rags rinsed with cold water but all potential suds and soap was rinsed out.  Apparently, partying utensils and smelly rags and sponges are not acceptable kitchen etiquette.
But this is not what I have come to blog about today. Today it is time to tell you of a funny conversation I have had with my mom while being her roommate.
Last night my mom and I were talking about the DNC removing God and then attempting a vote to put Him back in their platform. This conversation was done while watching the O'Reilly factor. Here is how this conversation went:
Mom: What were we talking about
Me: The DNC and their vote on putting God back into their platform
Mom: No, it was something else
Me: No, that is pretty much all we had talked about
Mom: No, I think I moved on to a different subject in my head
Me: Oh, I wasn't invited to that conversation
I think there are a lot of conversations occurring in my mom's head that I am not invited to. I can tell this by the sighing that occur at random intervals. This usually happens when I mention I want to change something in the house or more specifically my room. When I first moved in there was a treadmill in the middle of the room so I suggested we put the treadmill in the corner. By the deep sigh that accompanied my moms answer, I knew this was a suggestion that warranted a lot of thought. But alas, my mother caved and the treadmill got moved.
So I guess I am  not the only one who has to be retrained. Kitchen utensils unable to party and mold not allowed to grow must not come close to the frustration of having someone move in on your territory.  I suppose my mother will continue her deep breathing exercises and I will slowly learn to shut the cupboard doors and we will get used to each other. Up until the point it will be time to move out and though we will say differently to others, that point will come just in the nick of time.

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Open up Mouth insert Foot Feast...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Open up Mouth insert Foot Feast...: There are times in life when you open your mouth only to insert your foot and start to eat the feast of regret. This has happened to me many...

Open up Mouth insert Foot Feast...

There are times in life when you open your mouth only to insert your foot and start to eat the feast of regret. This has happened to me many times because I tend to have a very small filter on what I think and what I say. This filter tends to thin depending on my mood, the time of the month, or who I am dealing with... so lets just say the filter is very arbitrary.  I come by this rightfully, I am not the only person in my family that has a tendency to say what we think without actually involving the act of thinking.
For example, my older sister likes say things to people with a good intent but when the words come out the positive meaning is completely lost.  I can distinctly remember years ago going to a wedding with Steph we were in line congratulating the bride and groom on their recent marriage.  I think Steph had her oldest daughter with her and the bride was saying how pretty Sammy was.  It was at this moment that Stephanie said, 'two plain looking people usually make the prettiest babies (pause) your babies are going to be super pretty'.  Now a good sister would get Steph out of the situation as fast as possible. But as you can imagine I am not a good sister. So instead, I started laughing and said 'you just told her she was plain looking on her wedding day, how rude are you?' Steph sputtered yet continued to hold her ground, 'yes but they will have pretty babies'.
Side note: In my family we are loud (already been established) but we are also wicked opinionated. If you are to get us around a table the volume of the conversation goes up in direct proportion to the argument taking place. I can remember one time my brother Dave convinced Steph and I to run a half marathon in Moab, Utah. He said it was all down hill through the canyon. As I was running up the hill in the canyon I thought 'down in my butt'. Fast forward to a Sunday dinner where I told Dave it was all up hill. Back and forth we went getting louder and louder.  The argument never ceased but we both walked away thinking we had one the debate. To this day Dave claims it to be down hill and I know it to be uphill.
I share this side note so you can understand why Stephanie did not back track out of her statement. To her it was a true statement and a blessing to have pretty babies. Regardless of the fact that on the most important day of a girls life (or so I have been told) a random friend called the bride plain looking.
But do not think that Steph is the only random one among my family. I have been caught asking the not pregnant girl when she is due. Or upon hearing that one of my friends is married saying out loud 'how is this possible she got married and I do not even have a date?' This would not have been so bad but the friend was right next to me.  One of the worst times was when I said to a guy 'You need to stop talking, I am really bored right now and want to talk about me'. This would not have been so bad if it hadn't been a date. Also if he hadn't continued to talk about whatever he was talking about... yeah, I know I did not even get a word in edgewise if you can believe it. I know you can't believe it but you should, it is true.
So fast forward to Saturday morning. So I can share with you the most mortifying moment of my life. Ok that is overtly dramatic but it stung my pride so I can allow for a little literary license. My nephew Lucas and his dad (my younger brother Dave) had decided to participate in a mini-triathlon last Saturday morning. Lucas had done the swimming part and had moved on to the bicycle portion for he race. But Dave was about to get into the water. I was standing there with my five year old nephew Tobin waiting to cheer on Dave. When a nice lady walked up to me, here is how the conversation went:

My mom laughing at me being called a Grandma

Her: Oh you must be Tobin's Grandma
Me: Uh No
Her: Oh you aren't his Grandma?
Me: No I am his Aunt, Dave's sister
Her: Really? It's just that Dave is so young
Me: Huh
Her: Oh I guess that is not a compliment to be called his Grandma
Me: (nothing I just looked at the woman what do you say to that? I am only 20 months older than my younger brother, if he is so young what am I??  I think I am going to get more Botox because apparently I am looking like his mother)
This is when my sister-in-law Natalie was kind enough to jump in and introduce me and point out the real Grandma in the situation. A few minutes later I told the story to my mom and while she and I laughed about it she said the following 'well, you don't have any make up on and your hair is pulled back so I can see where she is coming from' My response was 'seriously, you are going to say that to me? Do you like to kick me when I am down?' Back and forth my mom and I went laughing and getting louder this is prime joke opportunity and in my family we don't pass that up.
So next time you hear someone say something that just should have been kept in the space between their ears. Do not think it to be tough love or just an honest answer. Recognize it for what it really is someone who opened up their mouth to have the pleasure of gnawing on their foot. That is a tasty treat in my family.

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Self Aware or Simply Stupid???

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Self Aware or Simply Stupid???: I am going to say this for those that can't. I am going to say this because it needs to be said. I am going to say this because I am sick an...

Self Aware or Simply Stupid???

I am going to say this for those that can't. I am going to say this because it needs to be said. I am going to say this because I am sick and tired of it. I am going to say that it sucks to deal with stupid people and truth be told you can't fix stupid. Yeah, I said it.
Everyday I am required to do the walk of poo in the back yard to pick up the droppings of my doggie. This is not a pretty job and somedays it makes me gag. But this walk of poo is nothing compared to the shoveling of poo that takes place daily in the work environment. That's right everyday people have to deal with bosses who are stupid, rules that make no sense and micromanagement that is just downright dumb.
Today because I am in the mood I would like to share with you stories of people who I have dealt with who were no longer just embracing stupid but were in a full on make out session with it.
Recently, I had a job interview with a man who was a mid level executive at a small private company. Now in a job interview both the interviewer and the interviewee work to determine whether they are a good fit for each other. My boy here showed up ten minutes late and seemed to only be able to ask me one question:  if I was self aware. Here is how this conversation went:
Him: I need to employ people who are self aware
Me: I believe I am aware of what I can and cannot do
Him: Are you self aware?
Me: Yes
Him How self aware are you?
Me: In what context do you mean?
Him: Just how self aware you are in your self?
Me: Do you mean in the work environment?
Him: I need to employ people who are self aware
Do you get the gist of this painful twenty minute conversation?  I asked him in between the discussion of self awareness what he saw as the plan for the company in the next five years. His answer was to make more sales. After hearing his mediocre sales pitch by a man who professes a special awareness of himself.  I was pretty much over the interview. So here is the following answer to his self awareness question:
I am self aware enough to know that working for you would be painful. I am self aware enough to know that I am probably smarter than you and the opportunity to move up in the company would be hindered by your insecurities. I am self aware enough to know that if you are not willing to sell me on your company you are not planning to stay there in the long term yourself. I am self aware enough to know that a director with no long terms plans to stay does not make for a stable company. I am self aware enough to know that dealing with your version stupid is just not within my patience meter. I am self aware enough to know that the best I can do will not be brought out by someone who consistently thinks they are better than me.  Lastly, I am self aware enough to know that my flaws are minimal compared to my strengths and if you want to know what they are ask me an actual question.
I used to work for a manager who did not believe me when I told her information regarding my book of business. So she would bring in a co-worker, who was straight out of college, to determine if what I was doing was good or bad. The irony of this moment is not lost on me.  Unfortunately, this co-worker liked to keep information from her and so when I told the truth it was usually determined to be bad. One time it took a whole week and fourteen meetings (twice a day) for the co-worker to confess that the way they were creating a spreadsheet was incorrect and the solution I had come up with would work.  My answer to the problem was never used, they did not invent it so they were not going to implement it.

This picture has nothing to do with the content of this blog it is just pretty

When I was a hairdresser I used to have to fill out evaluations of my bosses. Initially, I thought this was a good thing and wrote the truth only to have nothing change or managers who read my evaluation get mad at me. So towards the end I started to write out fairy tales, that's right a fictional story about a hairdresser who falls in love with a handsome yet debonaire prince. Each evaluation continued the story through their romance, their trials and tribulations until the crowning evaluation paper (and my last one for the company) where the hairdresser realizes she can do better and dumps the prince on his butt. (This could be reason number 409 of why I am single)
I had determined from that moment on that you could not fix stupid, you could try but why beat your head against that headboard. If you are going to get screwed you should probably enjoy it and embracing mediocrity has never given anyone a happy ending.  Yeah, I said it.

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Freshman Twelve...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Freshman Twelve...: It happens every year around this time, a group of young students enters a university or college to begin the long journey to a degree. Coul...

Freshman Twelve...

It happens every year around this time, a group of young students enters a university or college to begin the long journey to a degree. Could be a bachelor, associate, masters or the great PHD but it all starts with being a freshman. Gaining those 10 pounds, realizing you are supposed to be a responsible adult, and learning that no one is there to cook you dinner. This last point has always been a crack in my heart, I yearn for, no long for, someone who will cook me dinner. But since you have read previous posts about my cooking skills you can understand why this is a dream and not a reality.
Today I had lunch with my roommates from my freshman year in college and it brought me back to those days when we were all looking forward in life. My first year of college was at a school called Southern Utah University. I will admit to you that is was not the most academically challenging schools but it was wicked fun. I lived in the dorm room on the basement floor in an apartment with five other girls. The apartment next too us had six girls and the twelve of us became friends. I would like to tell you that there were no fights but we are girls.. are you kidding? I would also like to falsify to you that I was not the cause of some of those fights, but some day I have to meet my maker and I cannot tell that big of a lie.
What I want to share with you is some of the stories of my freshman year in college. This was before caller ID and smart phones, before everyone had a computer to start school with, and when tanning beds were not considered dangerous to your health.
There was a tanning bed that we went to regularly in the town.  The top part of the tanning bed did not have plexiglass anymore it only had wire to hold the lights in.  This could not have been a good tanning bed by any stretch of the imagination. But we went there because was cheap and we were stupid. One of my roommates was driving up to tan when the car she was driving decided to start on fire. This car was the thirteenth roommate.
It was a Hyundai Excel, red, hatchback. We drove up to Salt Lake and down to Cedar city in this car and it was a tank. I sat in the back seat on our journeys and remember waking up one time to a car that was swerving in and out of the lane. My roommates up front had decided it would be funny to wipe boogers on each other. You would think this would scare me but I just went back to sleep. (This was back in the day when I could sleep through anything) On one trip we decided to make a sign saying "Learn how to drive Dumb@#$" and flashed it to people who we considered slow or bad drivers. Yep the same girls who swerved around because of booger wars were judging other drivers. The irony is not lost on me.
For some reason we thought it was funny to prank phone call people. I am not sure how it got started but it took on a life of its own. This became a nightly ritual.  One of the favorite things to say was "I have a yeast infection" and then hang up.  We would laugh until you would have thought we had lost our minds. We borrowed clothes, we wore undergarments on top of clothes, we stole bra's and hid them, we put ice in people's beds, and we played every imaginable trick on each other. If you have not noticed already, that would be every imaginable trick... the idea of holding back did not exist at that moment in time.  This even included putting maxi pads on every car during a Christmas dance. To add insult to injury we added ketchup to our prank... I will let you figure the rest out.
One time a roommate brought home a huge bag of bubble gum and we decided we should make a bubble gum castle. So we stayed awake until 3 AM chewing mounds of bubble gum to make our castle. It was gross, it did not stay up and it consisted of bubble gum and spit. We were convinced, however, that if we let it "set" it would turn into a great castle. My jaw hurt for a week. I am not sure what happened to the castle.
My favorite prank was when I hid blue cheese under the bed of one of my roommates for a pay back. (I still think this is funny) Only I did not really get away with it because I hid the blue cheese in my own sock. Note to self, when playing a prank on someone do not use your own clothing.  Plus I was not very sly when I went to hide the blue cheese, I am going to say I have gotten better but we all know that truth.
Now you are saying to yourself, who does stuff like that. I will say it is and always will be the fresh crop of college students who are on their own for the first time in their lives. Yep, they are going to steal the christmas lights from the frat house and then let everyone blame the sorority. Yep, the are going to move around orange cones on the road. Yep, they are going to moon people and karaoke into the wee hours of the morning. And yes, they are going to date boys who rename themselves Ceasar Snobie, I wish I were making this one up.  It is the price you have to pay to transition over to adulthood. These women who I respect and love to this day brought me some of the weirdest moments of my life (which is saying something) and I will always owe them because it was with them that I began to understand who I was and the potential of what I could become.  Now it is just a matter of time to achieve that potential and stop having the sense of humor of a twelve year old. That time is coming, any day now.... possibly... maybe... well, probably not.

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Middle aged Motorcycle Man

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Middle aged Motorcycle Man: It happens every year when the sun comes up and the winter is no more...it is not the spring equinox or the sunbirds going north for the win...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Imaginary World of Online Dating

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Imaginary World of Online Dating: I would like to pretend I have never gone out with someone from an online dating site. I would like to pretend that I was never fooled into ...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Air Kicking in Business Casual Attire

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Air Kicking in Business Casual Attire: Whenever I am in a serious situation where decorum is needed, I like to do a karate air kick just to spice up the moment. This has always p...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Funniest Person I know...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Funniest Person I know...: Writing this blog has brought to surface in my family one of the great questions of the universe. I know what you are thinking, but it is no...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Beauty School Mathematician

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Beauty School Mathematician: Everything I learned about geometry I learned in beauty school. I would like to justify this statement in some way but unfortunately it is c...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Focus Becky...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Focus Becky...: For better or worse, I have left the land of Ohio to return home to Utah. I figured out Victoria's Secret and decided it was not a secret wo...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Cleveland Rocks...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Cleveland Rocks...: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame I consider myself to be a rock legend in my own mind. I can sing at the top of my lungs until my...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Fine Art of Football

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Fine Art of Football: I am not what one might say athletically inclined. I think I failed to get in line for those genes, I was busy doubling down on my conver...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Cheesecake to Go...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Cheesecake to Go...: I'll tell you what I like about cheesecake, while we are on the subject.  It is tasty and creamy and yummy as a late night treat.   It is al...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Chicken BiG PooPoo

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Chicken BiG PooPoo: I have never had a talent for cooking. Let me step back and say I have also never had a desire to learn how to cook.  I am the middle child ...

Chicken BiG PooPoo

I have never had a talent for cooking. Let me step back and say I have also never had a desire to learn how to cook.  I am the middle child in all sense of the word. I have two sisters on older and one younger. Both of which can create masterpieces in the kitchen. (I love it when they cook!) Now I would like you to believe that my mother taught my older sister to cook but was too busy to teach me. And then she then realized her mistake of not teaching me and schooled my little sister.  Secretly this is what I think happened... but that is probably wrong.
Which leads to my story about this week's Sunday night dinner. My mom and I had decided that it we would have roast beef and mashed potatoes and gravy.
Side note: I learned how to make roast beef in the crock pot to impress a guy. The twist of that is I never really made him roast beef but just bragged about how yummy it was in my tummy. This might be reason number 849 of why I am single, to impress the man you actually may have to cook for him... note to self.
My mother makes wonderful mash potatoes and gravy. I do not know how to make either of those things. Once I was asked to make mash potatoes for a dinner party. I had to confess the truth, I was unsure what happened after the peeling portion of the project was done. My assignment was quickly changed to bringing a salad.  I love being rewarded for my ignorance, bagged salad is a wicked easy assignment.  So Sunday night I was reading a book, while my mom was cooking (pot roast does not need a lot of tending, or maybe it does and I just am not aware of it.) Anyway, I let it spill that I did not know how to make gravy. My mom offered to teach me, but I said maybe next time. And I think a silent sigh of relief escaped from my mom. You might say to yourself no sigh came but that is because I haven't shared the following story.
Picture it, a high school debate nerd such as myself who could not cook. Her older sister could make casseroles and cookies, her younger sister could make other dreamy concoctions. But the middle child lacked skill and a desire to learn. It was somewhere around my junior year that my mother threw down the ultimatum.  One Sunday a month it was going to be my assignment to cook Sunday dinner for my family. The first dinner went off rather well, I made chicken enchiladas and my family was really pleased with my cooking. But honestly, it was a lot of work and the reward was hollow to my weary soul. It was then that I realized if I kept cooking well for my family my assignment would never go away and that was simply not a good option and then I remembered eating a cajun dish at my father's house called Chicken Big Mamoo. It called for three different peppers, red, white, and black. If made correctly it was really good and spicy. If made incorrectly it was really hot and gave everyone the bad tummy bubbles. You know the kind that speak to you right before they want to show up for visit with a rumbling pain that says it is not an option at that moment to ignore your stomach.  Yep Chicken Big Mamoo was renamed to Chicken big poopoo.

Now I will go down to my grave saying I really meant to cook a cajun dish that the whole family could enjoy. I was not trying to inflict a 24 hour lifestyle restriction to the bathroom on my family.  But having declared will all conviction I am innocent of purposely inflicting bodily harm upon those who partook of my meal. I will quietly say as a secret between you and me, nope I never had to cook Sunday dinner again.  Is that rewarding bad behavior or simply a protection mechanism against a bad cook? If you would like deciding, I would be more than happy to cook a cajun dish for you?  Ahh, there is the answer.

Cheesecake to Go...

I'll tell you what I like about cheesecake, while we are on the subject.  It is tasty and creamy and yummy as a late night treat.   It is also taken on a mythical life of its own in my life. Back in the day, longer than I want to admit, I decided that I was going to go on a quest for double digit dating. What is double digit dating you may ask? Well, let me tell you. It was getting more than 10 dates in one year. This might not see like a lot but to me it was huge.  I had determined it was time I put some effort into dating or at least getting my "numbers" higher.
Side Note: I think that my attempt at working the numbers took precedent over the idea of actually making a commitment. If you must know I am afraid of commitment. Making the big purchase of marriage has not come easy or more truthfully has not come at all. I blame continuously shopping in the discount store of love and my lack of flirting techniques. One time my mom told me that a guy was checking me out and very quickly I said where, where and started to look around to find the guy. It was then that my mother said, 'How are you my daughter and don't know the subtle art of flirting'.  When I am attempting to flirt it is painful to watch, root canal kind of pain. My skills have gotten better with time, but they really had no where to go but up.
Ok back to the original quest of double digit dating. There were rules to this game, first the guy had to call me and ask me out. Second, he had to pay for the meal. Third, I had to try to listen to my date when he spoke. (The last one was the trickiest I will not lie.)
This lead to a series of very interesting dates. One date I ended up eating pizza with weird/eclectic toppings and then western dancing. The burps I tried to hide on that date were not pretty.  Luckily I could blame someone else on the dance floor and I did.
Another guy asked me out to play tennis, it was summer and hot and the middle of the afternoon. To add insult to injury I am not athletically inclined. So I spent the date hitting the balls like I was playing baseball and watching him run to pick them up all over the court. Ironically, I was able to get two more dates out of him. One where we played racket ball and I spent the time trying to actually hit the ball without hitting him. I accomplished that about fifty percent of the time. The other we went hiking and I realized that he was outdoorsy and I like to view nature from behind a window.
What you should know is that I was not quiet about my quest for double digit dates. Instead, I published the information with my closest and even not so close friends.  I kept a running total and told anyone who asked for the information.

Along the way I determined that the dates were fun but when they dropped me off kissing did not seem to be part of the program. I can't give you a good reason why on that one. Since I got no team action I wanted a sweet treat to satisfy my cravings. So I told my friends it would be funny to order 'cheesecake to go' on one of my dates. Only I would not share it with my date but take it home and enjoy it alone where that kind of love belongs. Everyone decided this was a good idea. I determined to go forward with my 'cheesecake to go' crusade on my next date.  Only one problem. The person I was dating at the time was friends with my friends. So the cheesecake to go was mentioned to him. So there I was on my date, it was an italian restaurant that has super yummy carmel cheesecake. I had been paying attention to computer jargon with numbers of zeros or something.  When my date turns to me and says 'You can even order cheesecake to go'. My quest was deflated, my precious treat was foiled.  Alas, I would go home with no cheesecake.  The idea did not work if my date was complicit in the adventure.
The good news is I did manage to pull off 'cheesecake to go' but on that date I also got a few kisses so I was more inclined to share. I guess the magic to sharing cheesecake is not the word please but a couple kisses. (don't tell my mom)

The Fine Art of Football

I am not what one might say athletically inclined. I think I failed to get in line for those genes, I was busy doubling down on my conversation skills.  But others must have gotten into the sports line because to some individuals is given to be ability to hit a ball with a bat, to others to be skill in spiking the volleyball, and yet to the few and the great the strength put on shoulder pads and run face first into another human being.  Yes that is right folks it is almost time, if not already here for the great American game named football. I have never been a fan of football but working around men you learn to pick up on the language enough to be more or less annoying, depending on my mood. The only thing I know to say is "sucks to be the kicker" because honestly that would be the worst.  To be the guy who only has to kick the ball to score the winning points but then fails and destroys the hearts of fanatics for years to come.
When I was in college this happened to a kicker at the University of Utah. They were playing the rivals of BYU and it came down to a field goal. If the kicker was able to get the ball between the posts then victory and bragging rights to the U fans. But alas, it was not meant to be, he missed the kick. The story would end here only it doesn't.  Six months later I was cutting this guys hair who played football for the U. And here is how the conversation went:
Him: I play football for the U
Me: Sucks to be the kicker, did you see how that one guy missed the kick on the BYU game
Him: Uh yeah, that was me
Me: Oh, sucks to be you
I don't think I got a tip on that haircut, my bad. I would like to say this is the only time I have put my foot in my mouth but we all know that would be a lie. Because a few years later I had another U football player in my chair, a quarterback and here is how that conversation went:
Me: Did you see Rudy
Him: Yes
Me: That was a really good movie
Him: Uh ok
Me: I would never run the ball, running the ball is stupid always throw...
Him: Some explanation about why to run that ball that I did not listen to, because honestly listening is a lot of work and I was attempting to cut his hair at the time
So here is where the story becomes ironic. At the next game this quarterback decided run the ball and got hit and broke his shoulder. Should've listened to his hairdresser, even if she did sound like she belonged on the short bus.

So with a definite lack of football knowledge,  I recently decided to venture out to the Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. I thought it would be wicked funny to tell people I went there because I know nothing about football.  My lack of ignorance of the game showed.  In this museum is a room that is filled with heads, not real heads but sculptures of every man's head that has been inducted into this Hall of Fame. Only I did not know any one and so I wandered aimlessly looking at heads and once you've seen one head you've seen them all. So I started to people watch and that is when it hit me. I did not blend in, I did not have on my teams jersey, I don't even have a favorite team, I did not know the dark art of football language, numbers and stats were flying around me but I had no interpreter. I was a woman in a foreign country wandering aimlessly.  Until I found the room that showed video clips. It was then that I realized with relief I did have a place in football, maybe I could not understand the intricacies of the sport, nor could I talk in the full language of the game. But what I could do is watch men in very tight pants beat each other up. Call it what you will but that is a good time.

Cleveland Rocks...

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

I consider myself to be a rock legend in my own mind. I can sing at the top of my lungs until my voice cracks and I can dance like it is going out of style. But unfortunately, I was never found by an agent and given record contract. This will be regret number 76 in my life. That being said, I rock with the best of them. Only without the drugs and booze and sex.  But even with those 'limitations' I am a super star, a rock star diva, the greatest non famous rocker in the world.  So when I got the chance to go to the Rock and Roll Hall of fame in Cleveland Ohio I said to hell with playing it safe I need to get my rock on.
I decided that before I made the trek home to the great salt city I needed to explore the land of Ohio. Which meant taking a road trip to Cleveland, because when people want to travel and explore Cleveland is at the top of their list.
Ok first side note: Cleveland Ohio is surprisingly a pretty cool city. It is right off of Lake Erie and has a pretty fun downtown. They did have a casino that everyone lined up to get into but I just thought that was silly. Get a real life and go to Vegas.
Anyways, my first night there I went to an italian restaurant. It was recommended by the concierge, listening to him was my first mistake. The restaurant menu starred liver and tongue and other parts that I normally don't think should go into my mouth. So when the waitress came over and asked what I wanted, I basically said what I did not want to eat and then went with her suggestion.
Second side note: I have learned to eat alone at restaurants because of my single entity status. This is really not hard as long as you have a book. However, I try to avoid eating out on Friday or Saturday date night because who wants to see all those date interviews. What do you do? what do you like? Place unwarranted giggling in between questions. Ugh.
At the restaurant a group was put in the table next to me. Though I do not like to watch the dating game, this one screamed 'let me entertain you' and who am I to turn that down?  The gentlemen (I use that word liberally) was trying to impress his group by his great knowledge of wine. I am not a wine drinker but I know a whiner when I see him. First he complained about the poor selection, then he moaned that the waiter did not know what he was talking about, throughout his tirade he repeatedly bragged about how smart he was about wine. (Really? wine? I know a lot about chocolate but I don't hold my dinner guests hostage with my big brain) At some point I stopped pretending to read and just stared at him. Who turns down fee entertainment? Not me.  At last the waiter brought forward good wine, or what I can only assume is a great wine because they guy told the waiter he had turned him on in that special no no way. Both the waiter and the date looked disturbed with that statement and thus did the uncomfortable date laugh. I did not realize the right wine could change your date preference from female to male.  After finishing my unknown meat meal,  I happily paid my bill for food and entertainment.

The next day I headed off to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was awesome. There was a thirteen part documentary on the Beatles which I watched all of and made random comments to whoever was sitting next to me at that moment.  I wandered this place for six hours looking at everything I found interesting.  But towards the end of my journey I realized that no one came up to me to ask for my autograph.  And as I was singing my lungs out to 99 red balloons no one came into the booth wanting to create music with me. And that is when it hit me, my rock and roll is just too far into the future. But their grandkids are going to love it.

View from my room

Downtown Cleveland

Unknown Meat Meal

Lake Erie

Focus Becky...

For better or worse, I have left the land of Ohio to return home to Utah. I figured out Victoria's Secret and decided it was not a secret worth keeping.  Lucky for me I had some great friends who were going out to deliver furniture to a family member in DC and said they would swing around and pick up me, my stuff and fluffy puppy and take us home. Who turns down a free ride?? Not me. Not Fluffy puppy.
That being said, I have to take a side note to let you in on a little information about my driving skills. I am bad.  I get bored and cannot concentrate. This is one reason why I drive a stick shift. I learned long ago I needed something to do when driving so I could remember I was actually driving. If I am driving long distances I need a timeframe to get there or else it is anyones guess when I will roll in. The time I moved out to Ohio from Kansas it took me two days of slightly concentrated driving. It would have taken me longer but I was following the same path as the trucker who wanted me to get to some town in Illinois. So I meandered my way down the road while he called me up and told me to focus a million times.  (Side note: Focus seems to be the motto that people like to tell me in my life.. when playing sports as a child my mother would scream from the stands "Focus Becky" to which I would think focus on what??) When I got to the little town in Illinois I was told the reason for the focus badgering,  he wanted to go to a specific truck stop buffet.  I hate buffets. I don't care what anyone says, the person in front of you picked his nose then used the same spoon you getting your food from, yeah I said it. Hindsight being what it is I should have told him to forget it I was not a cheap date... but I guess I was a cheap date because I went to the buffet with the brown purple onions and did not say anything.  Ok I will focus back to original topic of me being a bad and slow cross country driver.
So when MaryAnna the girl who always gets me into adventures (see boy scout camp story) showed up with her family I was let in on the secret of their driving. Here is how the conversation went:
MaryAnna's Mom: Are you ok with sleeping in your car in a rest stop
Me: Uh no
MaryAnna's Mom: That is how we travel, so you will have to get used to it for this trip
Me: Huh?
MaryAnna's Mom: We drive straight through with no stopping and sleep in the rest stops for a few hours and keep driving till we get there
Me: Uh Ok

This is what I thought when I said ok... I don't think I am going to survive this trip. There are weird people in rest stops. Granted there were a lot of truckers so potential dates galore. But still.. no showering, no comfy beds, no stops along the way to see the worlds biggest ball of twine?  This was going to be a trip the likes of which I had never experienced.
So how did it all go? Well, in less than 48 hours we drove from Columbus, Ohio to Salt Lake City, Utah. No showers, couple of teeth brushings, sleeping in cars in rest stops with no air conditioning. We showed up dirty and ripe to my mother's house and not once did anyone have to tell me to focus. That my friends is a successful road trip.

Kidney Stones are Not my Friend....

About seven years ago I woke up on a Sunday at my mom's house with the most unbearable pain I have ever experienced. About fifteen minutes into the pain I had my mom take me to the emergency room where I spent the next few hours throwing up and being diagnosed with kidney stones. The doctor told me that it is as painful as having a baby and that next time I should try just having a baby. Incidentally, they did find a dermoid tumor on my ovary that had to be removed. Most of my family calls it the harry, toothy tumor, Lizzy calls it the fifteenth grandchild.  Anyways, the pain I experienced was one I never wanted to repeat ever in my entire life. 

Only I got to experience it one more time this last Monday. I woke up, had breakfast, and soon after experienced a horrible pain in my side. I went to my doctors office and he said it was either kidney stones or a bladder infection and sent me home with some painkillers. Only I kept throwing up the pain killers so they did not have time to dilute the pain. With nothing left to lose, I decided to go to the emergency room.  At least they have the pain killers injected into your system so you can forget the excruciating pain of having to birth a kidney stone. Unfortunately, I was not the only one who decided to make a trip to the emergency room. There were a number of swollen legs and a few bleeding heads, in an effort to get my mind off of the pain I tried to figure out what was wrong with everyone in the room. After quickly assessing that I did not really want to know that information on more than a few individuals. I went on relived the many times I had been to the emergency room.  I would like to say it has only been a few but that would be a false statement. Here is the more interesting of all of the stories.

The one and only time I was in an ambulance (knock on wood) occurred right after graduating from beauty school. I had just finished my state boards where you have to do pin curls and waves on a mannequin head. I passed the test and threw my work of art in the back seat of my car. Flash forward a few weeks later when I am side swiped by another car.  Imagine the surprise of the fireman who opened my back door only to see a floating head. Here is how that conversation went:

Him: "There is a head back here, there is a head back here"

Me: "Its alright I am a hair dresser"

I am not sure how me being a hairdresser would justify a decapitated head.  But I think he figured out that it was a mannequin because I heard some laughter and jibs towards the poor unsuspecting fireman. 

This little story got me through about fifteen minutes in my three hour wait to be seen by the ER doctor, that an complaining to anyone who would listen to me. I really enjoy complaining on a good day... find me on a  bad day and I can perform a cacophony of complaints to rival any symphony. Eight hours later, after drugs, cat scan, blood and urine tests and one catheter I left the hospital and passed a bouncing baby kidney stone. I think next time I will just go for having a baby...

Beauty School Mathematician

Everything I learned about geometry I learned in beauty school. I would like to justify this statement in some way but unfortunately it is completely true. When I was in high school I took geometry my sophomore year. I remember my teachers name was Mr. Miller and I sat next to the dumbest girl ever. Of course this is coming from the girl who learned geometry as a beautician so take this with the grain of salt that belongs to it.  This is going to date me a bit but I was a sophomore when the first Iraqi war occurred and the dumb girl and her mother went shopping the night before the war broke out because they knew that the price of clothing was going to go through the roof the next day and they would be forced to wear the same clothes for years or at least past one fashion season. This is really all I remember about this class.  I passed the class with a C or maybe it was a B either way I cannot tell you how to figure out the circumference of a triangle or the length of a rectangle.  I realize those examples are wrong but they give you a hint of the blindness I have where geometry is concerned. I left that class thinking I will never worry about these types of things again.
Only I decided to drop out of college after my first year and go to beauty school. This is where my hair turned every color under the rainbow and my family continuously sang 'Beauty School Dropout ' to me. As a child one of my favorite movies was Grease but I always thought of myself more as a Sandy. Anyways, what you may or may not know is that geometry plays a huge role in hairdressing. The angle you hold the hair when you cut it will determine how the hair stacks up or flips out.  Or the angle of a curling iron or hot roller will determine how curly or wavy your hair will be. Because the geometry was dumbed down that even a blond like me understood it, I thought I was an Einstein of hair angles but mostly I was just smarter than the other bleach blonds in my beauty class. By the way,  I also think I am a chemist genius because of all the chemicals I played in while doing hair. Only a few people came away with bald spots during my learning curve but that is a story for another day.

Roll forward to today. Recently my mother told me to put my money where my mouth is and try for my phd. Only problem is I have to pass this test called the GRE. Now I think the writing and reading portion of the project should be doable but the math required or mainly the geometry is from hell, yeah I said it. Apparently you need to know how to figure out a right triangle from a left in order to score high enough to get into a political science program. I am not sure how the two correlate but it is a hoop that I am going to attempt to jump through.  Luckily the local libraries has tutorial online courses to brush up on your math skills. I went to the college graduate level for geometry only to learn nope don't belong there, I went to the college level and they were not my friends either. I had to go to the high school level tutorial to begin the process of understanding those mysterious formulas and angles. Beauty school circles and triangles be damned. I might actually have to learn what I slept through in High School; geometry.

The Funniest Person I know...

Writing this blog has brought to surface in my family one of the great questions of the universe. I know what you are thinking, but it is not about politics, religion, or even the imaginary stirrings of global warming... sorry hippies. Those topics pale in comparison. No this question is one of such importance that the verbalization of it could prove catastrophic. But today I am going to answer the question; who is the funniest person in my family.
Now I know you all think I am wicked funny and good news is so do I... but I mostly think my comedy comes from situations that I find myself in and my ability to embrace the crazy.  But my whole family is slightly off kilter making each one of us unique in our hilariousness. Let me tell you a little bit about my family and my reasoning for who is the funniest amongst us.
My mother has always been and will always be a woman in search of a fun. The question in my moms mind was never if something was good to do or smart to do but whether it would be fun to do.  One Sunday afternoon my mom came home and hollered at us to hurry up and get in the van.  She was excited and laughing so we knew it would be a good time. It had been raining earlier and there was a huge river of water in the street and she thought it was super fun to drive through the water and making a splash and hydroplaning the van. I think we did this three times until the water hurt the engine and we walked home laughing.  Explains a lot doesn't it?
My two oldest siblings are funny in their own way, but less likely to sacrifice life or limb in an effort to create a comedic situation.  My younger brother and I are in a tie... and I only say that to be kind to him because we all know I am funnier.  Though Dave may not experience the crazy situations I find myself in, he is a lot like my mom willing to spend his life in search of a good time. Side note: Dave and I are twenty months apart and when we were young I would speak for him. The saddest day of my life is when Dave learned to speak for himself.  I think he has made up for his not talking in spades, but that does not make him the funniest in the family.
The funniest person in our family is the baby of the family. It is like the funny trickled down slowly from not funny to the ultimate in comedy. When Lizzy is funny she is the funniest person I know. Sometimes I will call her up to tell her a story just because I know she will laugh and add hilarity to the situation. There is only one draw back and she doesn't like it when I say this but truth is truth. When Lizzy is funny there is no one, not even me, funnier... but... when Lizzy is in a not funny mood there is no one not even my oldest brother who is more unfunny then she. This is why when I call Lizzy and I want a laugh I ask her if she is funny today. Here are the two responses I get, 'what do you mean funny?' this is code for I am not funny and now you are in trouble for asking or 'hehehe' which is code for I am uber funny bring it on. If Lizzy calls me up with a funny story, I drop everything to hear this story. Once she called me while I was driving in the mountains,  I pulled over before I lost cell phone coverage because when she is in full comedy swing I want to be on that train.
So there is the answer to the controversial question in my family. It is documented for future generations and the next time my mom says your blogs are funny, but I am funnier. My answer will be maybe, but your still not as funny as Lizzy.

Air Kicking in Business Casual Attire

Whenever I am in a serious situation where decorum is needed, I like to do a karate air kick just to spice up the moment. This has always proved to be a bad decision but one that makes me laugh so I keep doing it. For example, when I was an intern at the Supreme Court in Washington DC we were given strict instructions to act with dignity and respect whenever we were to meet foreign dignitaries and visiting guests.  I honestly tried but unfortunately it is hard to change your spots and sometimes I would show them my cool karate moves. This is one reason there is a picture of me in a courthouse in Kazakhstan. They thought I was funny and wanted me in their picture.... this seems to be the theme of my life. When I was a kid I went to a birthday party and I remember the dad thought I was super funny and took a picture of me. Apparently my sense of humor needs to be documented because no one is going to believe a girl that nutty actually exists.

I come by this crazy rightfully. When I was a kid we were cleaning the house and I was on my way to hang out in the bathroom when my mother said 'Becky there is something in this vacuum hose, I can't seem to see it, come look'... any other person would have picked up on the future joke heading my way and though I consider myself wicked smart, I have to admit that I am ditzy as a box of rocks. So I went over to the vacuum hose and look in, only to have my mom flip the switch. I got to keep my eye and no damage done... but this joke provided great laughs in my family for years.  This is the same mom who thought it was fun to drive up to a persons house, honk the horn and when they came outside wave and drive away.  Actually that was funny... so you see the apple does not fall far from the tree.
This brings me to my story for the day, last year I worked with individuals who not only understood but took part in my sense of humor. It started one day after a big meeting with the president of the company, he wanted more from everyone. I am not exactly sure what he meant because I was not fully paying attention to him. He tended to ramble a lot. But after the meeting everyone walked back to the cubby room feeling the weight of the arbitrary scolding. I walked into the room and felt the need to produce a couple of karate air kicks. I tried to hold it in... but this habit was hard to break. I few people stared at me, some laughed... but others took part in the joy of air kicking.  From that moment on when someone would walk through the office after dealing with stupid... they produced an air kick. It came to a point where we would judge the kicks and see who could kick the highest or produce the most movement. This culminated to the video you have before you... Air Kicking in Business Casual Attire. So next time you feel stress or you think you should behave a certain way throw in an air kick and embrace the crazy.

The Imaginary World of Online Dating

I would like to pretend I have never gone out with someone from an online dating site. I would like to pretend that I was never fooled into believing some huge lie that a person concocted on the internet. I would like to believe that I was always up front about who I was or what I looked like. Unfortunately, what I like to pretend is real and what is actually real are always two very different things.
This brings me to my topic for today; the imaginary world of online dating.
One of my first online dating "boyfriends" was a guy named Chris, I am not hiding his name to protect sources because quite frankly I am not convinced this was his real name. I was living in Nebraska at the time and attempting to scurry up a date in the middle of nowhere. Chris was from Oklahoma and according to him a very high powered IT executive. This should have been my first clue... my second clue came when he told me that he was flown in a corporate jet all the way out to Chicago on New Years Eve and given a huge promotion where he would be making millions of dollars.  The online relationship fizzled but and every now and then I would touch base with him to hear the new and unique things he was making up. For example,  he had too much money and needed to invest in a second house, oops didn't buy it but bought a condo instead, nope didn't buy the condo but went to law school, graduated law school but decided not to practice law, instead became the CEO of his own company in Arkansas.  My favorite one is that he was offered a position to teach law at Harvard law but turned it down. I mean who doesn't believe that Harvard recruits law professors from Oklahoma.
Side note: what does a divorce in Oklahoma and a tornado have in common; either way someone is going to lose a trailer house.... too much? oops my bad...
I would like to tell you that Chris was my only online mistake, but then I would miss telling you about the guy in Montana that I met online who had solved the dilemma about chewing tobacco. Apparently there is no need to worry about spitting it out and being gross when you can swallow it. After a while you stomach gets used to the chew and stops cramping.  Just to defend myself I did not learn this talent until we went out our one and only date.

Fluffy Puppy

So now I have to admit that I am scared of online dating. Last year I watched a friend take out a girl from the internet only to have her tell him at dinner of her psychotic episodes, arrests, and current outstanding warrants.  She offered him the sex only to send out the same offer to other men via text when he most emphatically declined. Don't worry the guy that responded yes to her text was considerate enough to send a cab to pick her up at the restaurant.
If this is what is out there, I am going to have to embrace being the crazy single lady with lots of cats or maybe just one really weird fluffy dog.

Middle aged Motorcycle Man

It happens every year when the sun comes up and the winter is no more...it is not the spring equinox or the sunbirds going north for the winter. It is the attack of the middle aged motorcycle man. Every year you hope, nay you pray that this year the crop of fresh recruits or old riders will think better of their decision and just stay home. But they won't. They will come out in groups or just ride alone. Shirts are optional, helmets are frowned upon. It is the beauty pageant for men having a mid-life crisis.When the sports car just simply isn't enough to show that you are still a mans man. Forget the swimsuit competition. These men are willing to show you everything, tummy (flat or round you get to see all of it in its glory), biceps with our without muscles, hair maybe on the head, mostly on the back. You will also get to look at their motorbikes which they have named hogs or cows or some other euphemism depending on the type of bike they purchased. These men come out in droves on a bright sunny day, if only to add spice to the scenic beauty around them.
I ran into one of these men yesterday at a stop light... no shirt, no helmet, just shorts and bicycle glory. I had to laugh, I had to take a picture, and I had to admit that I in the not so distant past I had taken part in this motorcycle mania. I had just moved to Kansas, don't ask... I don't want to have to admit why. But it involved a man and he had a motorcycle. For years I had told him that I would not wear leather and ride on the back of a motorcycle. I insisted that was a princess and should be driven around in a mercedes. Note to self, probably not going to be driven around in a mercedes by a man who thought I should be more country. Not that I know what that means, but I think it involves bbq's around the trailer park and cutting coupons. Nevertheless, in an effort to prove my love I rode on the back of his motorcycle.
I would like to say I was a good motorcycle partner, but I wasn't. I couldn't breathe, I was afraid of becoming close friends with the asphalt, and the seat hurt my butt.
Side note: I got no junk in my trunk... it is flat back there. So flat that the one time I was brave enough to moon someone (this was back in college) they said "Holy crap your butt is so flat"....Try to live that one down.... it is almost as bad as when my mother showed me an ad for panties that had butt pads in them.
Pain and panic aside, I persevered in my motorcycle riding until I realized, I have no tattoos, I am not middle age, I own no leather clothing, I do not blend in with this motor cycle crowd. I will motorcycle no more... well all that and he dumped me.... but nevertheless, with no dignity in tact I came to the conclusion that middle aged motorcycle men are not for me. Now where is the guy with the mercedes??

Held Hostage by a Cell Phone

The scariest words you will ever hear in the bathroom is the person in the stall next to you saying "Hello" especially if your stomach is not feeling well and you want to pretend that you are alone. This is what happened to me yesterday. I had been at the library attempting to study for the GRE but mostly emailing friends, reading blogs, and creating playlists for when I actually start the studying process.  But before I get into this story let me tell you a few things...
A couple of weeks ago I had my gall bladder removed, the recovery has not been bad and I have not even missed the organ. That being said, it takes about two months before your digestive system is in tip top working order. This means that at any point in your day you may get hit with the bubble. Nobody dislikes the bubble more than I do. Keep this next informations secret, but I have bathroom issues. I do not like using public bathrooms and if I can avoid it I will.  When I was in high school I used to beg my older sister to take me home so I could use the bathroom in the comfort of my own home. The last few years I have worked in an office building which means no going home when you feel the bubble start to rumble.  I would try to time it right so that the bathroom would be empty, but if it wasn't I had perfected the courtesy flush, to sound out the noise and minimize the air pollution. Now I know you are thinking you need to read another potty story like you need a hole in the head but keep reading because yesterday my stall associate broke all unwritten bathroom rules.

The hostage bathroom

I went into the library bathroom where there were only two stalls and a person was in the one of them. I went into my stall and thought, can I wait this woman out?? Tummy said I couldn't, so I faced the facts that I would have to try for the courtesy flush. No sooner had a finished the first  flush when I heard the words "Hello" from the woman in the other stall. My heart stopped, my mind went all over the place... did this woman just acknowledge my courtesy flush? was she going to try to have a conversation with me? I thought the rule was don't speak and pretend it isn't happening? And then... I heard her start a conversation on the toilet in a public restroom. She was not acknowledging my flushing capabilities, she was answering her cell phone.
Side note: I am not all that sure talking on the phone while on the toilet is a good idea. That being said in a public restroom I am absolutely, one hundred percent against it. You are not that important, hang up the phone.
Once I realized that this woman had decided to catch up with an old friend while on the toilet, I was faced with the an issue I never thought imaginable. Do I continue with my flushing ways? Or wait for her to get off the phone and out of the bathroom. Three minutes of waiting later, I did another flush. My tummy wasn't waiting to find out if cousin Rhonda solved her issues with her man and is going to come to the family party. Yes I listened in... wouldn't you?  Two minutes after that, she flushed, left the stall, and washed her hands. I thought my hostage situation was over. Oh how wrong I was! She continued to talk on her cell phone right there in the bathroom., she was not going to leave.  It was then I knew I had to take drastic measures to free myself from my captor. I am not sure if it was the noise or the air pollution but she finally left the bathroom.... I was relieved, I was happy, I had privacy... but then I was a little sad, how was I ever going to find out what happened with cousin Rhonda? Maybe I shouldn't have bombed her out so soon...
I think I might have stockholm syndrome.