Today is my mother's birthday. She lives in a different state (I won't even touch that one) - I mean State, so I plan very thoroughly to get her birthday gift and card to her on the right day. I was feeling pretty proud of myself this morning knowing her card was on time. I dialed their number and when my mother answered, I cheerfully chirped "Happy Birthday, Mum". To which she responded "Today isn't my birthday". I quickly looked at my calendar, my birthday book and today's date and all the stars lined up - it was her birthday. But, I was a bit puzzled and wanted to hear her explanation, so I responded "What do you mean, today isn't your birthday. This has always been your birthday. I always remember because your birthday is the day before April Fool's Day."
As if talking to a small child who doesn't understand long sentences, she emphasized "Today is not my birthday. My birthday was yesterday". I could feel myself starting to use the "argument tone" but stopped and quietly said "really? When did that happen"? Now, my mother is in her 80's and I've never had to erase her birthday date in all of those years. I mean, I was pretty confident I could write it in ink in my birthday book. Now, I'm questioning myself. My mother continued "My birthday has always been on the 30th. It's on my birth certificate. The doctor or my mother made a mistake when they filled out the birth certificate. I was born on the 31st but they wrote the 30th on the certificate." OK, I'm thinking, her birthday is on the 31st but I decided to hear her out. "So, why have we always celebrated on the 31st - until now?". "Oh, what's a day difference make"? (It now makes me a day late in calling her to wish her a happy birthday, that's what a day's difference makes!)
My mother went on to say that when she applied for Social Security (almost 20 years ago) they wouldn't pay any of her bills until she said she was born on the 30th, which is the date on her birth certificate. I'm still confused because I have talked to my mother a few times over the past 20 years and I would have thought that this would have come up in the conversation - but no, not once.
I continued small talking with her while I rummaged through my desk looking for the white out when she hit me with another zinger. "And your sister's birthday isn't the 15th, it's the 16th. " (what in the heck??) "There was a mistake on the date on her birth certificate, too. She was born on the 15th, but they wrote the 16th and I never changed it". "So, does my sister know this"? I wondered aloud. I think my mother responded "ah huh" so I'm assuming she did.
What is with my family? If they had gotten their horoscopes done they would have been making all of the wrong decisions all of their lives. And when am I supposed to call to wish them a happy birthday? Should I call 2 days in a row so I hit the right one? Why did it take so long for me to find this out? I believe I'm in the only family that has been celebrating 2 people's birthdays on the wrong day for their whole lives.
I need to find my birth certificate!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
What's With Women's Shoe Designers?
I think I've hit my limit for shoes - at least for the next 6 months or so. I know it's not just me who has an excess of shoes and I know it's not all my fault. I regularly watch "House Hunters" on TV where people are looking to buy a new house and inevitably the real estate agent says "is this closet big enough" and the snarly response by the husband is "maybe for her shoes!". How funny can that line be - when it's said in just about every show? You can tell that this is one reality show that isn't scripted or if it is, the writers have severe memory problems. ("I've got a good idea, after you close your wife in the closet, mention that the closet might just hold her shoes. I'll bet you'll get a good chuckle over that line".)
But the show has educated me in the ways of most women - and shoes. And I don't think we are to blame for our shoe problems. Think about it. Most men have no more than 4 pairs of shoes; dress shoes, casual shoes, sneakers and sandals. Why is that? Because their shoes don't change from decade to decade. I've been with men when their shoes finally wore out and they couldn't re-sole or re-heel them anymore. They go to the shoe store and ask for the same style of shoe - and they still have it! How interesting it is to buy more shoes that look just like the rest in your closet?
Womens shoes are a different matter. Designers tweak the styles constantly. We buy a nice pair of black, low-heeled shoes and the next week we see a nice pair of black, low-heeled shoes with cool patent leather piping running across the toe. Then we find some lower heeled black shoes to wear with our slacks. Just as we're leaving the shoe store, we see some very stylish black high-heeled shoes with a peek-a-boo toe and an ankle strap. This continues with our brown shoes, tan shoes, red shoes, navy shoes, etc. When summer comes, the array of sandals takes up half of the shoe department and none look alike. We can't just have one pair of sandals.
OK, so I don't necessarily fall into the "stylish" shoe category. I can have just as many shoes as the next woman but mine fall into the description of funky and comfortable. If I can get funky and comfortable in the same shoe, I'm in heaven. Unfortunately, I have a closet full of funky - not comfortable shoes, and comfortable - not funky shoes.
Why are there so many celebrities designing womens shoes and not mens shoes? My guess is that most men don't think about their feet once they are in a shoe. You don't see men say to other men "Hey, I like your shoes. They are like mine, but in brown. I think I might get another pair. Cool". Their whole shoe budget - for their life is probably $200 and they get change back. There's no money to make in men's shoes.
I think that women are being pushed into buying more shoes not just by designers but by other women. You know that when you're out in public, women look you up and down - and especially check out your shoes. It's a competition as to who has the best shoes. I still haven't figured out why most women do this but it's a fact.
I once had the heel on my shoe break at the airport and I didn't have another pair with me. I was on my way to give a presentation in Oklahoma. Quickly looking around the airport, I found 2 pairs of shoes in my size that I could buy. One was a pair of the University of Texas basketball shoes and one was a pair of Crocs. I was wearing a black suit and had no choice but to go with the Crocs - the blue Crocs. I felt there was a spotlight on my feet the rest of the day. This is when I noticed that women look at other women's shoes. I saw more women almost snap their necks in a vertical whip lash when they casually looked from my suit to my shoes and then abruptly flicked their neck up to look at my face. You could see how shocking my lack of shoe-outfit coordination was to them. I think they had to see if I was hunched over and drooling because that would be the only explanation for my lack of style.
I wish that some day I could be vindicated by having Posh Spice or Katie Holmes photographed in yellow Crocs and a business suit. Comfort and style - what a concept. Maybe if they made women's shoes with that in mind, we wouldn't have to buy so many different pairs - or maybe not.
But the show has educated me in the ways of most women - and shoes. And I don't think we are to blame for our shoe problems. Think about it. Most men have no more than 4 pairs of shoes; dress shoes, casual shoes, sneakers and sandals. Why is that? Because their shoes don't change from decade to decade. I've been with men when their shoes finally wore out and they couldn't re-sole or re-heel them anymore. They go to the shoe store and ask for the same style of shoe - and they still have it! How interesting it is to buy more shoes that look just like the rest in your closet?
Womens shoes are a different matter. Designers tweak the styles constantly. We buy a nice pair of black, low-heeled shoes and the next week we see a nice pair of black, low-heeled shoes with cool patent leather piping running across the toe. Then we find some lower heeled black shoes to wear with our slacks. Just as we're leaving the shoe store, we see some very stylish black high-heeled shoes with a peek-a-boo toe and an ankle strap. This continues with our brown shoes, tan shoes, red shoes, navy shoes, etc. When summer comes, the array of sandals takes up half of the shoe department and none look alike. We can't just have one pair of sandals.
OK, so I don't necessarily fall into the "stylish" shoe category. I can have just as many shoes as the next woman but mine fall into the description of funky and comfortable. If I can get funky and comfortable in the same shoe, I'm in heaven. Unfortunately, I have a closet full of funky - not comfortable shoes, and comfortable - not funky shoes.
Why are there so many celebrities designing womens shoes and not mens shoes? My guess is that most men don't think about their feet once they are in a shoe. You don't see men say to other men "Hey, I like your shoes. They are like mine, but in brown. I think I might get another pair. Cool". Their whole shoe budget - for their life is probably $200 and they get change back. There's no money to make in men's shoes.
I think that women are being pushed into buying more shoes not just by designers but by other women. You know that when you're out in public, women look you up and down - and especially check out your shoes. It's a competition as to who has the best shoes. I still haven't figured out why most women do this but it's a fact.
I once had the heel on my shoe break at the airport and I didn't have another pair with me. I was on my way to give a presentation in Oklahoma. Quickly looking around the airport, I found 2 pairs of shoes in my size that I could buy. One was a pair of the University of Texas basketball shoes and one was a pair of Crocs. I was wearing a black suit and had no choice but to go with the Crocs - the blue Crocs. I felt there was a spotlight on my feet the rest of the day. This is when I noticed that women look at other women's shoes. I saw more women almost snap their necks in a vertical whip lash when they casually looked from my suit to my shoes and then abruptly flicked their neck up to look at my face. You could see how shocking my lack of shoe-outfit coordination was to them. I think they had to see if I was hunched over and drooling because that would be the only explanation for my lack of style.
I wish that some day I could be vindicated by having Posh Spice or Katie Holmes photographed in yellow Crocs and a business suit. Comfort and style - what a concept. Maybe if they made women's shoes with that in mind, we wouldn't have to buy so many different pairs - or maybe not.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Never Sleep in a Turtleneck
I love that I live in a town where people are comfortable going to the gas station or grocery store in their pajamas. You can tell that they are pj's because usually the pants have little clouds or piggies on them. Sometimes they are even shuffling around in their slippers (or house shoes as some people call them). I give them a lot of credit for being so uninhibited.
I like to think of myself as a free spirit but have to admit that I still have some inhibitions that I need to work on. I want one day to walk my dog in my pajamas. I'm not saying that I don't go out in clothes that I've slept in. I'm just saying that the clothes I've slept in aren't regular sleepwear.
It started many years ago when I was in my early teens. I used to love to go to Easter Sunrise Service at the big dome-shaped center in Pittsburgh. There was nothing like being in that dome as they rolled the roof back and people were singing the Hallelujah chorus to the rising sun. I went ever year throughout my teens. But, being a teen this gig started early in the morning - before sunrise obviously. The center was about 45 minutes from my house so you can start to figure out that I had to get up way too early to get there on time. After my first year of setting the alarm by 4 am, getting dressed, schlepping my way to the trolley to meet my friend and walking about a mile from the trolley stop to the center, I was not looking, or feeling very festive.
The next year I decided that I needed a little more sleep so the best way to shave time off of my trip was to get dressed the night before and sleep in my clothes. That way I could sleep an extra 30 minutes. I tried very hard not to roll over too much in my Easter dress but I always woke up a little wrinkled. That was a small price to pay for extra sleep. I decided I was on to something.
Since then I have found that there are occasions where sleep is more important than wrinkled clothes. I can roll out of bed, brush my teeth and start my morning activities before most people have found a clean shirt to put on . For example, it takes me 5 minutes - tops - to get out of bed and out of the house to walk my dog. If I need to go to the grocery store, I just slip on my shoes, brush my teeth (if I think I might be in close proximity to anyone I know at the store) and jump in my car. Sometimes if I'm feeling like I want to be more "put together", I'll run a brush through my hair. Other times, a quick finger-comb on the way out of the door is all I need. I know that there are times when I look like I should be pushing a shopping cart filled with aluminum cans instead of holding my dog's leash (who by the way, is dressed in a cute t-shirt that says "what happens in the dog park, stays in the dog park" that he also slept in), but at least we're getting our exercise.
The thing is, I don't do these things in my pajamas. I'm still too inhibited to do that. Instead
I shop for comfortable clothes that can be used for dual-purpose sleeping and day wear. I some times work at home so it's easy to just get up in the morning - in my sleep /work clothes and get busy. Easy is the name of the game. I know I'm lacking that "dress-up" gene that some women have. They won't leave their houses without full make-up and clean clothes. What's with that??
I recently realized that I have limits when it comes to sleeping in my clothes. (Just so that my friends aren't appalled reading this new information about me and decide they need to bring Lysol and a breath mint when we meet for breakfast, remember I said "occasionally"). Anyway, when I travel for work, I often don't get back to my house until 1 or 2 am in the morning. Being exhausted (this is my excuse), I will sometimes take off my pants or jeans and just sleep in my shirt. One morning, after one of these late nights, I woke up and my heart was pounding from the scary dream I remembered. I was being kidnapped, dragged by my neck out of my house, chocked, and I was having trouble breathing. I couldn't figure out why I had such a terrifying dream. I did a mental checklist of reasons this might have happened. I hadn't recently seen any scary movies, read any horror stories in the newspaper, driven in rush hour traffic or found a hair in my food. After a moment, it finally came to me. I got out my list of "do's and don'ts" and added "at least once, walk the dog in your pajamas" and "never sleep in a turtleneck". See, I do have my limits.
I like to think of myself as a free spirit but have to admit that I still have some inhibitions that I need to work on. I want one day to walk my dog in my pajamas. I'm not saying that I don't go out in clothes that I've slept in. I'm just saying that the clothes I've slept in aren't regular sleepwear.
It started many years ago when I was in my early teens. I used to love to go to Easter Sunrise Service at the big dome-shaped center in Pittsburgh. There was nothing like being in that dome as they rolled the roof back and people were singing the Hallelujah chorus to the rising sun. I went ever year throughout my teens. But, being a teen this gig started early in the morning - before sunrise obviously. The center was about 45 minutes from my house so you can start to figure out that I had to get up way too early to get there on time. After my first year of setting the alarm by 4 am, getting dressed, schlepping my way to the trolley to meet my friend and walking about a mile from the trolley stop to the center, I was not looking, or feeling very festive.
The next year I decided that I needed a little more sleep so the best way to shave time off of my trip was to get dressed the night before and sleep in my clothes. That way I could sleep an extra 30 minutes. I tried very hard not to roll over too much in my Easter dress but I always woke up a little wrinkled. That was a small price to pay for extra sleep. I decided I was on to something.
Since then I have found that there are occasions where sleep is more important than wrinkled clothes. I can roll out of bed, brush my teeth and start my morning activities before most people have found a clean shirt to put on . For example, it takes me 5 minutes - tops - to get out of bed and out of the house to walk my dog. If I need to go to the grocery store, I just slip on my shoes, brush my teeth (if I think I might be in close proximity to anyone I know at the store) and jump in my car. Sometimes if I'm feeling like I want to be more "put together", I'll run a brush through my hair. Other times, a quick finger-comb on the way out of the door is all I need. I know that there are times when I look like I should be pushing a shopping cart filled with aluminum cans instead of holding my dog's leash (who by the way, is dressed in a cute t-shirt that says "what happens in the dog park, stays in the dog park" that he also slept in), but at least we're getting our exercise.
The thing is, I don't do these things in my pajamas. I'm still too inhibited to do that. Instead
I shop for comfortable clothes that can be used for dual-purpose sleeping and day wear. I some times work at home so it's easy to just get up in the morning - in my sleep /work clothes and get busy. Easy is the name of the game. I know I'm lacking that "dress-up" gene that some women have. They won't leave their houses without full make-up and clean clothes. What's with that??
I recently realized that I have limits when it comes to sleeping in my clothes. (Just so that my friends aren't appalled reading this new information about me and decide they need to bring Lysol and a breath mint when we meet for breakfast, remember I said "occasionally"). Anyway, when I travel for work, I often don't get back to my house until 1 or 2 am in the morning. Being exhausted (this is my excuse), I will sometimes take off my pants or jeans and just sleep in my shirt. One morning, after one of these late nights, I woke up and my heart was pounding from the scary dream I remembered. I was being kidnapped, dragged by my neck out of my house, chocked, and I was having trouble breathing. I couldn't figure out why I had such a terrifying dream. I did a mental checklist of reasons this might have happened. I hadn't recently seen any scary movies, read any horror stories in the newspaper, driven in rush hour traffic or found a hair in my food. After a moment, it finally came to me. I got out my list of "do's and don'ts" and added "at least once, walk the dog in your pajamas" and "never sleep in a turtleneck". See, I do have my limits.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
When in Doubt, Speak English
I love to visit non-English speaking countries. The people seem to be saying more important things than I hear in English. I want to know what they're saying. So I prepare to learn the language. My trips usually go like this:
1. Pick a country.
2. Buy books or CDs on how to speak that country's language.
3. Spend most of my prep time - not learning the language.
4. Bring my CDs or electronic translator on the plane to learn as much as I can on the trip to that county.
5. Mostly watch movies on the plane.
6. Listen to language CD's on the plane when I am sleepy because they say you learn more through your subconscious.
7. Arrive in the county wide-eyed and confused. I have no idea what the signs say or what the people are saying.
8. Get used to not knowing what is going on around me 75% of the time. The rest of the time, people are speaking English to me.
9. Get back on the plane vowing to learn the language.
10. Come home and rave about the county and that I'm going to go back the next year knowing the language.
11. Buy better language learning tools.
12. Put them on my shelf.
13. Go to a different county the next year (repeat steps 2 through 13)
I now have learning tools for Spanish, French and Italian. I do try to learn the languages - especially while driving in my car. I have basic Italian and Spanish CDs in my car right now - yet I still know limited words.
When I was in Costa Rica a few years ago doing some volunteer work, I had a small electronic translator with me. Unfortunately, my work included digging rocks out from along a road, building a wall around a cemetery and painting a kitchen. I found little on the translator that I could use. I did the usual "Ola'", "necessito cafe", and "bueno". After almost a week, I decided to expand my conversations and practiced a new phrase. When one of the Costa Ricans asked me how I was doing, I replied " Yo caliente" since it was very hot there. There was usually no response but that didn't stop me. The rest of the week when the workers were all sitting around pouring water on themselves because of the heat, I would walk up to them and say "Yo caliente", and again they would just look at me. Finally, the day before we were going home, one of the bi-lingual women came over to me and whispered, "did you know that you are telling them that you are horny"? Everyone was so polite there that for days no one told me that I was going around to all of the men making an inappropriate sexual come-on. I was glad to be going home before someone decided that if I was that horny they should help me out!
I do want to go back to Costa Rica and this time, I want to speak the language. (see numbers 2 through 13 above).
1. Pick a country.
2. Buy books or CDs on how to speak that country's language.
3. Spend most of my prep time - not learning the language.
4. Bring my CDs or electronic translator on the plane to learn as much as I can on the trip to that county.
5. Mostly watch movies on the plane.
6. Listen to language CD's on the plane when I am sleepy because they say you learn more through your subconscious.
7. Arrive in the county wide-eyed and confused. I have no idea what the signs say or what the people are saying.
8. Get used to not knowing what is going on around me 75% of the time. The rest of the time, people are speaking English to me.
9. Get back on the plane vowing to learn the language.
10. Come home and rave about the county and that I'm going to go back the next year knowing the language.
11. Buy better language learning tools.
12. Put them on my shelf.
13. Go to a different county the next year (repeat steps 2 through 13)
I now have learning tools for Spanish, French and Italian. I do try to learn the languages - especially while driving in my car. I have basic Italian and Spanish CDs in my car right now - yet I still know limited words.
When I was in Costa Rica a few years ago doing some volunteer work, I had a small electronic translator with me. Unfortunately, my work included digging rocks out from along a road, building a wall around a cemetery and painting a kitchen. I found little on the translator that I could use. I did the usual "Ola'", "necessito cafe", and "bueno". After almost a week, I decided to expand my conversations and practiced a new phrase. When one of the Costa Ricans asked me how I was doing, I replied " Yo caliente" since it was very hot there. There was usually no response but that didn't stop me. The rest of the week when the workers were all sitting around pouring water on themselves because of the heat, I would walk up to them and say "Yo caliente", and again they would just look at me. Finally, the day before we were going home, one of the bi-lingual women came over to me and whispered, "did you know that you are telling them that you are horny"? Everyone was so polite there that for days no one told me that I was going around to all of the men making an inappropriate sexual come-on. I was glad to be going home before someone decided that if I was that horny they should help me out!
I do want to go back to Costa Rica and this time, I want to speak the language. (see numbers 2 through 13 above).
Thursday, March 19, 2009
A Good Haircut is Hard to Find
Why is it that we (me) seem to inherit all of the bad traits of our parents? I have my mother to thank for my hair- thin, wispy and I hate to even think about the current natural color under my many coats of brown hues. The last hair dresser I visited said that she understood why I colored my hair because her mother's hair was like mine - she hardly had any either. (This is someone who obviously doesn't consider her tip when she talks) She didn't do a bad job on my hair but I did come out looking like I should be on the show Dallas. My hair was so big that I automatically ducked when I went out the door.
Most of my hair cutting and styling experiences go the same way. They ask how I would like my hair cut and of course I have no idea so I tell them to decide. One look at my fly-away thin hair and they quickly cut, blow dry and mound "product" on my head and send me out the door. They all but give me a hat to wear home. I think there is a picture of me by their cash register with a line through my head.
I once spent a lot of money (for me) on a stylist that advertised his cut would be wash and wear - easy, breezy and stylish. That is just what I was hoping for. I sat in the chair watching my hair being snipped away at a quick, confident pace. Then he slowed down and started tweak-cutting all around my head. Finally he stopped and said "you'll just need to put a few curlers in it"? What happened to easy, breezy and stylish? I'm sure he would have given me a babushka if he had one - instead I went home - through the back door, with bobby pins holding my hair in place.
Impossible hair made me finally decide that I was better off cutting my own than seeing the "I give up" look in the eyes of the so-called professional stylists. I usually gave myself the basic bowl cut but when I was feeling inventive, I'd try to go for the Liza Minnelli look - those jagged bangs were cool - on her. I looked liked my head had been cut with the dull razor I just used to shave my legs.
Eventually, I would always give up and try to find another beauty shop I'd never been in. I was running out of new places to go that were within a 50 mile radius of my house. I would have to expand my search. The worst part about going for a haircut after you had butchered it was when they would invariably ask "who cut your hair last". With only a slight twinge of guilt I'd always say "my neighbor". It made me feel better when the "tsks" and head shakes were due to my neighbor's poor skills. I really should move.
The interesting thing is that I have had a couple of good hair cuts. There were both spur of the moment and both in Europe. The first occurred when I was traveling in France with friends. I had not had a haircut in awhile and it was windy there. We were touring a place where they took spontaneous pictures that you could purchase. When I saw my picture, my head looked like "the flying nun" but I didn't need the habit to give me the wide wings- they were all mine and attached to my head! I was surprised that the wind hadn't lifted me off of the ground. (Well, maybe not surprised in that it would have had to be a pretty hefty wind)
We all had a good laugh - and I wouldn't let my friends buy the picture. The next day we were getting ready to do a church tour but my friend needed to stop in a camera shop first. As I was waiting, I noticed that above the camera shop was something that looked like a beauty salon - or beauty school - it didn't matter to me. I walked in and pointed to my head (luckily it was a beauty salon and not a psychiatrist's office). They spoke no English and I spoke no French but they got the idea. By the time my friends found me, I had a light, breezy and stylish "do"- a very expensive light, breezy and stylish "do". For almost the first time, I liked my hair.
My second - and last - good haircut was obtained the same way. This time I was in Venice Italy and found a salon. Again, we didn't speak the same language but the male stylist knew what I wanted. He began to massage my head, cut and stroke my hair over and over until he abruptly said "finit" and walked away. I have to say that I almost needed a cigarette after that experience - and I don't smoke. His assistant took over and dried and styled my hair. I loved it. I felt like running outside singing opera and twirling around. The haircut was fantastic - as was his "chair-side manner". I was happy as were all of the people in Venice that day - since I didn't know any opera to sing.
I've come to the conclusion that I must have come from a European heritage and most stylists in the USA don't understand pedigree - or maybe more women are going bald in Europe. I prefer to believe the former.
Most of my hair cutting and styling experiences go the same way. They ask how I would like my hair cut and of course I have no idea so I tell them to decide. One look at my fly-away thin hair and they quickly cut, blow dry and mound "product" on my head and send me out the door. They all but give me a hat to wear home. I think there is a picture of me by their cash register with a line through my head.
I once spent a lot of money (for me) on a stylist that advertised his cut would be wash and wear - easy, breezy and stylish. That is just what I was hoping for. I sat in the chair watching my hair being snipped away at a quick, confident pace. Then he slowed down and started tweak-cutting all around my head. Finally he stopped and said "you'll just need to put a few curlers in it"? What happened to easy, breezy and stylish? I'm sure he would have given me a babushka if he had one - instead I went home - through the back door, with bobby pins holding my hair in place.
Impossible hair made me finally decide that I was better off cutting my own than seeing the "I give up" look in the eyes of the so-called professional stylists. I usually gave myself the basic bowl cut but when I was feeling inventive, I'd try to go for the Liza Minnelli look - those jagged bangs were cool - on her. I looked liked my head had been cut with the dull razor I just used to shave my legs.
Eventually, I would always give up and try to find another beauty shop I'd never been in. I was running out of new places to go that were within a 50 mile radius of my house. I would have to expand my search. The worst part about going for a haircut after you had butchered it was when they would invariably ask "who cut your hair last". With only a slight twinge of guilt I'd always say "my neighbor". It made me feel better when the "tsks" and head shakes were due to my neighbor's poor skills. I really should move.
The interesting thing is that I have had a couple of good hair cuts. There were both spur of the moment and both in Europe. The first occurred when I was traveling in France with friends. I had not had a haircut in awhile and it was windy there. We were touring a place where they took spontaneous pictures that you could purchase. When I saw my picture, my head looked like "the flying nun" but I didn't need the habit to give me the wide wings- they were all mine and attached to my head! I was surprised that the wind hadn't lifted me off of the ground. (Well, maybe not surprised in that it would have had to be a pretty hefty wind)
We all had a good laugh - and I wouldn't let my friends buy the picture. The next day we were getting ready to do a church tour but my friend needed to stop in a camera shop first. As I was waiting, I noticed that above the camera shop was something that looked like a beauty salon - or beauty school - it didn't matter to me. I walked in and pointed to my head (luckily it was a beauty salon and not a psychiatrist's office). They spoke no English and I spoke no French but they got the idea. By the time my friends found me, I had a light, breezy and stylish "do"- a very expensive light, breezy and stylish "do". For almost the first time, I liked my hair.
My second - and last - good haircut was obtained the same way. This time I was in Venice Italy and found a salon. Again, we didn't speak the same language but the male stylist knew what I wanted. He began to massage my head, cut and stroke my hair over and over until he abruptly said "finit" and walked away. I have to say that I almost needed a cigarette after that experience - and I don't smoke. His assistant took over and dried and styled my hair. I loved it. I felt like running outside singing opera and twirling around. The haircut was fantastic - as was his "chair-side manner". I was happy as were all of the people in Venice that day - since I didn't know any opera to sing.
I've come to the conclusion that I must have come from a European heritage and most stylists in the USA don't understand pedigree - or maybe more women are going bald in Europe. I prefer to believe the former.
Monday, March 16, 2009
No Dogs Allowed!
I have spent time in different parts of Europe and the thing I like most (beside the train system, being able to walk everywhere, the old buildings, the food, etc.) is how they allowed dogs in all shops. I took a picture of a dog in a meat market (and he wasn't in the display case) so I could show people back home that dog-friendly travel is possible. I got my hair cut in France (another story for later that some of my friends are still shaking their heads over) and there were 2 large dogs roaming the salon. I liked that.
The USA has such an aversion to dogs in public places that one would think dogs all had contagious diseases. I know I'm not the only one who has done this, but sometimes I have no choice but to sneak my dog (7 pound brute that he is) into establishments that don't cater to animals (unless they are cooked medium well).
I drove across country, Texas to the east coast, with my chihuahua-mix Seymour and all I can say is that if I had invested in companies that make "no dogs allowed" signs, I'd be wealthy. There has been no downturn in that industry.
Even most state-run rest stops take up more space with their "no dog" signs than they put aside for the place dogs could walk. In one state, I was literally directed to walk my dog along the freeway! And what does one do when it is 105 degrees out and a person(me) needs to use the rest room - but no dogs are allowed? I have tried to park close to the rest room, crack the car windows, race like I was going to a 10 minute shoe sale, will myself to quickly do what I need to do (and wash my hands of course) and hope to get back to the car before my dog turned red with heat exhaustion. That wasn't very fun and it didn't make my digestive system very happy.
I finally decided to buy a large purse-like doggie carrier. I stealthily would place him in the carrier and zip his head down into the bowels of the plastic bottom. ThenI would hold the bag close on the side of my body furthest from people and hope that no one noticed the mesh opening on the side of the bag where Seymour's nose was plastered against it. Usually it works ok. I have been asked to leave some places when they notice my purse moving on it's own (and barking). It's a little embarrassing when someone comes up to me (always in front of other customers) and says tersely "I have to ask you to leave". I know that other customers don't know what awful thing I did to be escorted out of a store. I can just imagine what they are thinking-theft, distruction? I mark those businesses off of my list and won't even go back if I don't have an animal stashed somewhere on my body.
I admit that I do sneak my dog into some fast food restaurants. Most of the time I just order food to go, but on one occasion I decided to eat on site. I was with my daughter and grandson and we were all needing to take a break from driving. It was a warm day and I didn't want to leave Seymour in the car so into the carrier he went and into the restaurant we all went. We managed to order our food and get to our table without detection. I had purchased an extra cheeseburger for Seymour and periodically during our meal, I would tear off a piece of meat and drop it into my purse. Everything was going as planned. We were all relaxed and happy. As I was dropping the last piece of meat into Seymour's hiding place, his head suddenly shot up so hard that the top of the purse partially unzipped. The next thing I saw was Seymour's head sticking out with a look of indignation on his face.
For some reason he wasn't happy. I looked around to see if anyone saw us and either we got lucky or people were intentionally ignoring us. I tried to push his head back into the carrier but he wanted no part of it. I knew that it wouldn't be long before I was asked to leave - again, so I grabbed the first thing I could find which was my grandson's blanket. I threw it over Seymour's head and bolted toward the door. Of course we were nowhere near the exit so I was weaving between people with a blanket that was now making my purse look like it was glad to see me!
I was out of breath by the time I got back to the car and a little frustrated with my normally calm dog. When I took him out of the carrier, I noticed that the bottom was filled with little pieces of hamburger. He hadn't eaten any of it. It was like he finally got so disgusted with being hammered on the head with gross "food-like" stuff that he finally decided "enough is enough". If he could talk I'm sure he would have said "it's one thing to be hidden away in a plastic purse so that no one can admire me and pet me but it's a totally different thing to be pelleted with little brown disgusting things while I'm locked in that hell hole you call a "doggie carrier".
I guess it was kind of like making a big bowl of food and then sitting him it in - not too appetizing! Lesson learned. But as long as there are "no dog allowed" signs, I will be toting Seymour in his doggie carrier-minus the unwanted"in purse" buffet.
The USA has such an aversion to dogs in public places that one would think dogs all had contagious diseases. I know I'm not the only one who has done this, but sometimes I have no choice but to sneak my dog (7 pound brute that he is) into establishments that don't cater to animals (unless they are cooked medium well).
I drove across country, Texas to the east coast, with my chihuahua-mix Seymour and all I can say is that if I had invested in companies that make "no dogs allowed" signs, I'd be wealthy. There has been no downturn in that industry.
Even most state-run rest stops take up more space with their "no dog" signs than they put aside for the place dogs could walk. In one state, I was literally directed to walk my dog along the freeway! And what does one do when it is 105 degrees out and a person(me) needs to use the rest room - but no dogs are allowed? I have tried to park close to the rest room, crack the car windows, race like I was going to a 10 minute shoe sale, will myself to quickly do what I need to do (and wash my hands of course) and hope to get back to the car before my dog turned red with heat exhaustion. That wasn't very fun and it didn't make my digestive system very happy.
I finally decided to buy a large purse-like doggie carrier. I stealthily would place him in the carrier and zip his head down into the bowels of the plastic bottom. ThenI would hold the bag close on the side of my body furthest from people and hope that no one noticed the mesh opening on the side of the bag where Seymour's nose was plastered against it. Usually it works ok. I have been asked to leave some places when they notice my purse moving on it's own (and barking). It's a little embarrassing when someone comes up to me (always in front of other customers) and says tersely "I have to ask you to leave". I know that other customers don't know what awful thing I did to be escorted out of a store. I can just imagine what they are thinking-theft, distruction? I mark those businesses off of my list and won't even go back if I don't have an animal stashed somewhere on my body.
I admit that I do sneak my dog into some fast food restaurants. Most of the time I just order food to go, but on one occasion I decided to eat on site. I was with my daughter and grandson and we were all needing to take a break from driving. It was a warm day and I didn't want to leave Seymour in the car so into the carrier he went and into the restaurant we all went. We managed to order our food and get to our table without detection. I had purchased an extra cheeseburger for Seymour and periodically during our meal, I would tear off a piece of meat and drop it into my purse. Everything was going as planned. We were all relaxed and happy. As I was dropping the last piece of meat into Seymour's hiding place, his head suddenly shot up so hard that the top of the purse partially unzipped. The next thing I saw was Seymour's head sticking out with a look of indignation on his face.
For some reason he wasn't happy. I looked around to see if anyone saw us and either we got lucky or people were intentionally ignoring us. I tried to push his head back into the carrier but he wanted no part of it. I knew that it wouldn't be long before I was asked to leave - again, so I grabbed the first thing I could find which was my grandson's blanket. I threw it over Seymour's head and bolted toward the door. Of course we were nowhere near the exit so I was weaving between people with a blanket that was now making my purse look like it was glad to see me!
I was out of breath by the time I got back to the car and a little frustrated with my normally calm dog. When I took him out of the carrier, I noticed that the bottom was filled with little pieces of hamburger. He hadn't eaten any of it. It was like he finally got so disgusted with being hammered on the head with gross "food-like" stuff that he finally decided "enough is enough". If he could talk I'm sure he would have said "it's one thing to be hidden away in a plastic purse so that no one can admire me and pet me but it's a totally different thing to be pelleted with little brown disgusting things while I'm locked in that hell hole you call a "doggie carrier".
I guess it was kind of like making a big bowl of food and then sitting him it in - not too appetizing! Lesson learned. But as long as there are "no dog allowed" signs, I will be toting Seymour in his doggie carrier-minus the unwanted"in purse" buffet.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Driving While Directionally Impaired
I'm just glad that there is not a big warning stamped across our driver's licenses that state "directionally challenged". It's bad enough that people who know me or even see me driving find that out pretty quickly. I really try hard to appear normal.
Confession time - I am a well-grown woman who still has to look down at her wrists (to see which arm holds my watch) to double check a left or right turn. My watch is always on my left hand so I can look down quickly and confidently turn the right way. Unfortunately, when I don't know where I'm going I constantly guess wrong when I come to a T in the road. Since I recognize that I always choose the wrong direction, I try to psych myself out and say, "OK my first choice was right but I know I'm always wrong, so I'm going to save myself from another U-turn and turn left". And of course, that is wrong. I can feel my head tightening or my brain swelling because I'm making it work so hard to make that decision - left or right?
I can deal with left and right when people give me directions. What I can't deal with are people who say "turn west, then go north" - what does that mean? How am I supposed to know "west". Or the ones I want to strangle who say "go to the east entrance of the building". Of course, most building don't have "east" or "west" written above the door so I just circle the building (usually the wrong, long way around) until I find an unlocked door. I would have so much time left in my day if I didn't have this impairment. My house would be clean, I'd finally learn Spanish, I'd finish my first novel - but I can't do any of those things due to my impairment.
Long before GPS', when I took my kids out in the car, I would just tell them that we're going on an "adventure" since often I didn't know where we would end up. I knew where we were supposed to end up but that didn't always happen. They would happily go along with the adventure bit until they got tall enough to see my facial gyrations in the mirror, hear me mutter bad words and start to get a crick in their neck from all of the U-turns. They finally learned the truth about their mother's directional problem. We did what most families do - we all pretended everything was all right and didn't talk about it.
I felt sorry for people who would drive up to me while I was walking and ask for directions. When someone asks for something I like to try to help so, with authority I would give them directions - and hope I could get home before they could find me again. I didn't try to give bad directions, but I really had no other choice. Those are the only kind that I knew.
I thought my directional life would finally get better after I purchased my GPS. What a great idea! It was relatively easy to learn. I put the address into the machine and then I waited - and waited - and waited. First it had trouble finding the satellites, then it found the satellites but wouldn't tell me anything. "So, which way do I go, come on, give me a word - left or right?" I said to the air. Nothing. I finally gave up and turned the way I thought I was supposed to go - and the first thing that prissy female voice said to me was "make the first legal U-turn". Eeeeggghhhhh! I've had two different GPS' and neither will give me that first important direction - left or right. To make matters worse, the company that makes the GPS gives the lady a sarcastic, belittling voice when she slowly drips "re-calculating". You're waiting for her to add "dummy" and I think she does it under her breath. I already feel bad and am trying hard to make the most of my life with this impairment. I don't need a computer lady's mean-spirited reprimand to add to my insecurities. Why don't they program her to say "Oh my, your sweet person, you accidentally turned the wrong way. Just turn around when you get a chance". I feel better about myself just writing that.
It feels good to finally admit to my deficit. Maybe someday I'll let you in on my "cooking impairment".
Confession time - I am a well-grown woman who still has to look down at her wrists (to see which arm holds my watch) to double check a left or right turn. My watch is always on my left hand so I can look down quickly and confidently turn the right way. Unfortunately, when I don't know where I'm going I constantly guess wrong when I come to a T in the road. Since I recognize that I always choose the wrong direction, I try to psych myself out and say, "OK my first choice was right but I know I'm always wrong, so I'm going to save myself from another U-turn and turn left". And of course, that is wrong. I can feel my head tightening or my brain swelling because I'm making it work so hard to make that decision - left or right?
I can deal with left and right when people give me directions. What I can't deal with are people who say "turn west, then go north" - what does that mean? How am I supposed to know "west". Or the ones I want to strangle who say "go to the east entrance of the building". Of course, most building don't have "east" or "west" written above the door so I just circle the building (usually the wrong, long way around) until I find an unlocked door. I would have so much time left in my day if I didn't have this impairment. My house would be clean, I'd finally learn Spanish, I'd finish my first novel - but I can't do any of those things due to my impairment.
Long before GPS', when I took my kids out in the car, I would just tell them that we're going on an "adventure" since often I didn't know where we would end up. I knew where we were supposed to end up but that didn't always happen. They would happily go along with the adventure bit until they got tall enough to see my facial gyrations in the mirror, hear me mutter bad words and start to get a crick in their neck from all of the U-turns. They finally learned the truth about their mother's directional problem. We did what most families do - we all pretended everything was all right and didn't talk about it.
I felt sorry for people who would drive up to me while I was walking and ask for directions. When someone asks for something I like to try to help so, with authority I would give them directions - and hope I could get home before they could find me again. I didn't try to give bad directions, but I really had no other choice. Those are the only kind that I knew.
I thought my directional life would finally get better after I purchased my GPS. What a great idea! It was relatively easy to learn. I put the address into the machine and then I waited - and waited - and waited. First it had trouble finding the satellites, then it found the satellites but wouldn't tell me anything. "So, which way do I go, come on, give me a word - left or right?" I said to the air. Nothing. I finally gave up and turned the way I thought I was supposed to go - and the first thing that prissy female voice said to me was "make the first legal U-turn". Eeeeggghhhhh! I've had two different GPS' and neither will give me that first important direction - left or right. To make matters worse, the company that makes the GPS gives the lady a sarcastic, belittling voice when she slowly drips "re-calculating". You're waiting for her to add "dummy" and I think she does it under her breath. I already feel bad and am trying hard to make the most of my life with this impairment. I don't need a computer lady's mean-spirited reprimand to add to my insecurities. Why don't they program her to say "Oh my, your sweet person, you accidentally turned the wrong way. Just turn around when you get a chance". I feel better about myself just writing that.
It feels good to finally admit to my deficit. Maybe someday I'll let you in on my "cooking impairment".
Friday, March 13, 2009
New Dog - New Travel Companion
I never expected to get so attached to a dog, a pip-squeak of a dog, no less, as I have to my Seymour. It may be due to the fact that I live alone, except for the cat that decided to adopt me. But the cat lives his own life and only uses me for food and scratching.
It took me about a month to get used to having a dog around. I felt like I was pet-sitting some one else's dog. I'd look at him and try to think about what would make him happy - and the answer was - "walk me until your legs are about to fall off". That's when I knew that he liked to see more than the inside of my house. Could there be travel in our future? But I needed to learn more about him. I decided that he is one of the quirkiest and smartest dogs I've ever known. I know, I know, everyone says that about their dogs but let me give you some examples:
I tried for months to teach him to "sit". Every once in awhile he would sit but I figured he was just getting tired of my jabbering so he decided to rest a bit. I resolved myself to the fact that Seymour was "slow". Then I discovered his addiction - bacon! Within about 5 minutes of noticing that I had that scrumptious treat in my hand (ready to go into my mouth), he was sitting, giving me his paw, rolling over and touching my hand on request. Without the bacon, he was back to sitting only when he was tired and giving me the "no hablo ingles" look when I asked him do his tricks. So he is smarter than I initially thought since he has trained me to feed him bacon on command.
When we go out, he enjoys wearing clothes. He was 2 1/2 years old when I adopted him so I can't take full blame for his love of clothes. They do say that Chihuahuas (he's a mix) get cold so I'm being a good pet owner when I put a sweater on him. And yes, he does have tee shirts for summer but that's because - ahh, ok, so that's to make him look cute. One thing I will never do is buy matching clothes for me and Seymour. We might coordinate colors but that's as far as I will go.
For a dog that was found on the street, Seymour is a picky eater. I have always bought him the best dog food (meat has to be one of the first ingredients) and he still won't always eat. Again, smart dog that he is, he has trained me to do things such as adding additional meat to his bowl (he will pick out the meat and leave the rest), heating his food in the microwave and feeding him with a spoon. I'm not proud of what I've been trained to do - and I know he's just a dog - but he does have to eat!
My daughter finally found a way to get him food in him. I take him to her house and she puts three bowls of dog food out for her two dogs - and Seymour. As soon as the other dogs finish eating and start heading for his bowl, he gobbles that food down in seconds! So, I'm thinking that if I ate off of the floor (on a plate of course) and then crawled quickly toward his bowl (or at quickly as I can on a bum knee) he might eat at home. Just a thought.
I don't know if it's dogs in general or my dog in particular but he has bad gas at the most inopportune times - like when we're in the car. His emission is like that of a grown person who has had too many bean burritos. And it goes on for a long time. Just when you think he's finally cleared his system - he hasn't. I have to leave the windows down in my car some days just to air it out. And it's embarrassing if I'm going to pick someone up and Seymour has a "silent explosion". I know my friends are too polite to say anything but I'm sure they are thinking it's me because how could a little 7 pound dog make that obnoxious of a smell?
Sometimes I take him into stores and invariably within an aisle or two, he starts. It's soundless so it always takes me by surprise. I immediately look around to see if anyone is walking toward us and then try to beat a path to a more open area - like outside! I don't understand it since it's not like he eats much - except when he gets into the cat food - or Cheetos . I guess the good news is that once my friends finally realized that Seymour does have the ability to stink up the place, I could use that as my cover if I really need to.
Seymour loves to travel. At first he got bored and would jump around the car like he was on a pogo stick. I bought a doggie car seat and seat belted him in beside me. He would twist and twirl around so much on that short leash that I had to stop the car constantly to untwist him otherwise I might have to do doggie CPR. That greatly lengthened the time it took me to get places. I finally gave up on the doggie seat and he did find a place to relax. He would climb up my body and burrow down behind my back. He became a doggie lumbar support. I have no idea how he thought that was comfortable (or if he knew it was irritating) but he would stay there for hours if I let him. Since it wasn't safe and really wasn't comfortable, I decided to bring a doggie crate for him to ride in. Except for the fact that he can unzip the door on the crate faster than a human, it seems to be working - when he wants it to!
This little quirky yet smart guy has become my number one vacation travel companion. He not only is an easy traveler, but he greatly contributes to making my adventures - and stories - more fun.
It took me about a month to get used to having a dog around. I felt like I was pet-sitting some one else's dog. I'd look at him and try to think about what would make him happy - and the answer was - "walk me until your legs are about to fall off". That's when I knew that he liked to see more than the inside of my house. Could there be travel in our future? But I needed to learn more about him. I decided that he is one of the quirkiest and smartest dogs I've ever known. I know, I know, everyone says that about their dogs but let me give you some examples:
I tried for months to teach him to "sit". Every once in awhile he would sit but I figured he was just getting tired of my jabbering so he decided to rest a bit. I resolved myself to the fact that Seymour was "slow". Then I discovered his addiction - bacon! Within about 5 minutes of noticing that I had that scrumptious treat in my hand (ready to go into my mouth), he was sitting, giving me his paw, rolling over and touching my hand on request. Without the bacon, he was back to sitting only when he was tired and giving me the "no hablo ingles" look when I asked him do his tricks. So he is smarter than I initially thought since he has trained me to feed him bacon on command.
When we go out, he enjoys wearing clothes. He was 2 1/2 years old when I adopted him so I can't take full blame for his love of clothes. They do say that Chihuahuas (he's a mix) get cold so I'm being a good pet owner when I put a sweater on him. And yes, he does have tee shirts for summer but that's because - ahh, ok, so that's to make him look cute. One thing I will never do is buy matching clothes for me and Seymour. We might coordinate colors but that's as far as I will go.
For a dog that was found on the street, Seymour is a picky eater. I have always bought him the best dog food (meat has to be one of the first ingredients) and he still won't always eat. Again, smart dog that he is, he has trained me to do things such as adding additional meat to his bowl (he will pick out the meat and leave the rest), heating his food in the microwave and feeding him with a spoon. I'm not proud of what I've been trained to do - and I know he's just a dog - but he does have to eat!
My daughter finally found a way to get him food in him. I take him to her house and she puts three bowls of dog food out for her two dogs - and Seymour. As soon as the other dogs finish eating and start heading for his bowl, he gobbles that food down in seconds! So, I'm thinking that if I ate off of the floor (on a plate of course) and then crawled quickly toward his bowl (or at quickly as I can on a bum knee) he might eat at home. Just a thought.
I don't know if it's dogs in general or my dog in particular but he has bad gas at the most inopportune times - like when we're in the car. His emission is like that of a grown person who has had too many bean burritos. And it goes on for a long time. Just when you think he's finally cleared his system - he hasn't. I have to leave the windows down in my car some days just to air it out. And it's embarrassing if I'm going to pick someone up and Seymour has a "silent explosion". I know my friends are too polite to say anything but I'm sure they are thinking it's me because how could a little 7 pound dog make that obnoxious of a smell?
Sometimes I take him into stores and invariably within an aisle or two, he starts. It's soundless so it always takes me by surprise. I immediately look around to see if anyone is walking toward us and then try to beat a path to a more open area - like outside! I don't understand it since it's not like he eats much - except when he gets into the cat food - or Cheetos . I guess the good news is that once my friends finally realized that Seymour does have the ability to stink up the place, I could use that as my cover if I really need to.
Seymour loves to travel. At first he got bored and would jump around the car like he was on a pogo stick. I bought a doggie car seat and seat belted him in beside me. He would twist and twirl around so much on that short leash that I had to stop the car constantly to untwist him otherwise I might have to do doggie CPR. That greatly lengthened the time it took me to get places. I finally gave up on the doggie seat and he did find a place to relax. He would climb up my body and burrow down behind my back. He became a doggie lumbar support. I have no idea how he thought that was comfortable (or if he knew it was irritating) but he would stay there for hours if I let him. Since it wasn't safe and really wasn't comfortable, I decided to bring a doggie crate for him to ride in. Except for the fact that he can unzip the door on the crate faster than a human, it seems to be working - when he wants it to!
This little quirky yet smart guy has become my number one vacation travel companion. He not only is an easy traveler, but he greatly contributes to making my adventures - and stories - more fun.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Middle Seat Man
Invariably when you fly, either you or someone else needs to take the middle seat on a plane. No one is happy to either be in the middle seat or have that storage space you use for your coat, computer, magazines, newspapers, and carry-on meal taken away. I've been the "middle seat person" many times. The "end seat" people often show you with their rolling eyes, sighs and dramatic gathering of their "middle seat" possessions that they do not want you in their row. It could be the last seat on the plane and they still hold a grudge when you meekly ask, "is that seat taken?".
I have to admit that I do love the civility of people in a row who have an empty middle seat. You can almost feel like you're in first class. You've got arm space, don't need to share an arm rest, can share the middle seat tray table for your drinks and share the middle seat for your "stuff" and overall, life is good. I sometimes buy a lottery ticket the days I am in a row with an empty middle seat.
There are times when you have no choice but to show a tight lipped smile and admit that your coat didn't buy a ticket for that seat and make room for the "middle seat person". Through experience I have to say that a "middle seat woman" is rarely as irritating as the "middle seat man". A "middle seat woman" often tries to take up as little space a possible, shares the arm rest and keeps their arms and legs to themselves. I can fly with a "middle seat woman". I have been a "middle seat woman".
But when I see a man heading toward my middle seat, I can't help but mutter under my breath "not here, not here, please, I'll start going to church, but not here". That usually doesn't work so I move my possessions from the middle seat and resolve to be a good end seat person. I'll tell them that we can share the middle arm rest - that's really the only thing I can think of that makes me show that I want to make this relationship work.
Some "middle seat men" are fine. They share the arm rest, read a book or sleep the whole trip. But many seem to inflate like the Hulk or a balloon in the Macy's Parade. They sit as if they have a basketball between their legs. My knees are primly together directly under my body and their knees are pushing against my legs. I know they have at least a 4 foot span, knee to knee. What's with that?? Then there is no sharing of the arm rests because they have both and then some. Their elbows are jutting into my ribs and they don't seem to notice. "Middle seat man" feels the need to get out his 17" screen computer so now part of my tray table has become their desk. I don't care if the man is only 5 feet tall; when he get into that middle seat, he becomes 6 foot wide. I really don't get it. Doesn't "middle seat man" realize that there are 2 other people in the row or is he just punishing us because he didn't get an end seat?
I have tried my "let's share the armrest" speech but he looks at me as if I'm speaking a foreign language. To make matters worse, some "middle seat men" have a foot tapping problem. As much as I try, I can't help but notice their leg jack hammering beside me. This is one time when peripheral vision is not an asset. It's almost like Chinese water torture to me. Even when I close my eyes, I can feel the vibration of that leg (maybe it's because it's still jammed against my legs). I can put up with most everything except those leg spasms. I finally have to say something - and when I do, I can tell that I've annoyed them. I get the feeling that they are now in charge of the row. I don't want to annoy them any further by asking if I can get out to use the rest room so I refuse all drinks and think of deserts and camels during the rest of the trip.
When "middle seat man" gets up to leave the plane, he becomes a regular person again. If I point him out, irritatingly to a friend, they look at me in disbelief and question whether I've been using too many of my drink coupons on the flight. They say "you're telling me that frail old man was taking up too much space in his seat"? Then I see frail little "middle seat man" glance back at me with a little smirk. How do they do it??
I have to admit that I do love the civility of people in a row who have an empty middle seat. You can almost feel like you're in first class. You've got arm space, don't need to share an arm rest, can share the middle seat tray table for your drinks and share the middle seat for your "stuff" and overall, life is good. I sometimes buy a lottery ticket the days I am in a row with an empty middle seat.
There are times when you have no choice but to show a tight lipped smile and admit that your coat didn't buy a ticket for that seat and make room for the "middle seat person". Through experience I have to say that a "middle seat woman" is rarely as irritating as the "middle seat man". A "middle seat woman" often tries to take up as little space a possible, shares the arm rest and keeps their arms and legs to themselves. I can fly with a "middle seat woman". I have been a "middle seat woman".
But when I see a man heading toward my middle seat, I can't help but mutter under my breath "not here, not here, please, I'll start going to church, but not here". That usually doesn't work so I move my possessions from the middle seat and resolve to be a good end seat person. I'll tell them that we can share the middle arm rest - that's really the only thing I can think of that makes me show that I want to make this relationship work.
Some "middle seat men" are fine. They share the arm rest, read a book or sleep the whole trip. But many seem to inflate like the Hulk or a balloon in the Macy's Parade. They sit as if they have a basketball between their legs. My knees are primly together directly under my body and their knees are pushing against my legs. I know they have at least a 4 foot span, knee to knee. What's with that?? Then there is no sharing of the arm rests because they have both and then some. Their elbows are jutting into my ribs and they don't seem to notice. "Middle seat man" feels the need to get out his 17" screen computer so now part of my tray table has become their desk. I don't care if the man is only 5 feet tall; when he get into that middle seat, he becomes 6 foot wide. I really don't get it. Doesn't "middle seat man" realize that there are 2 other people in the row or is he just punishing us because he didn't get an end seat?
I have tried my "let's share the armrest" speech but he looks at me as if I'm speaking a foreign language. To make matters worse, some "middle seat men" have a foot tapping problem. As much as I try, I can't help but notice their leg jack hammering beside me. This is one time when peripheral vision is not an asset. It's almost like Chinese water torture to me. Even when I close my eyes, I can feel the vibration of that leg (maybe it's because it's still jammed against my legs). I can put up with most everything except those leg spasms. I finally have to say something - and when I do, I can tell that I've annoyed them. I get the feeling that they are now in charge of the row. I don't want to annoy them any further by asking if I can get out to use the rest room so I refuse all drinks and think of deserts and camels during the rest of the trip.
When "middle seat man" gets up to leave the plane, he becomes a regular person again. If I point him out, irritatingly to a friend, they look at me in disbelief and question whether I've been using too many of my drink coupons on the flight. They say "you're telling me that frail old man was taking up too much space in his seat"? Then I see frail little "middle seat man" glance back at me with a little smirk. How do they do it??
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Hotel Freebies - May Be Harmful to Your Ego
As much as I travel, I still enjoy getting to my hotel room and hurrying over to the sink to see what types of freebies I get. I know that the less expensive the hotel the fewer little bottles, soaps and packets you get. When I stay somewhere that " leaves the light on for me", I know they will be off-setting their electric bill by only giving me shampoo and 1 small soap. In a moderate priced hotel, they give you shampoo, body lotion, conditioner and 1 or 2 sizes of soaps. When you get into a higher priced hotel (not luxury since I don't stay in those places) you might get all of the above mentioned things plus mouthwash, a shoe mitt, and a vanity kit (consisting of cotton balls, Q-tips and sometimes a flossing stick). I feel extra lucky when I get a small sewing kit. In fact I sometimes make a wish on my sewing kit because it is so rare.
I am not complaining because I do love getting those samples but I just wonder if we really need 2 kinds of soap. They say one is for your face and one is for your body but I can't tell the difference except that one is small and one is larger. It seems wasteful to open both when I'm only in the hotel for 1-2 nights. And forget trying to open those child-proof soap wrappers without using that free pen they given you. I have to stab and rip at that protective plastic-lined, heavy duty paper to open it. I often only open one soap because I don't want to be wasteful - I do try to be environmental conscious - and anyway, my pen is usually too broken to open the other one.
What do the cleaning people do with all of that used soap? Does anyone re-use it? They have signs all over the room about saving the environment by requesting that they don't change your sheets or wash your towels, yet they waste 2 bars of soap each day. If I didn't have so much trouble with the other bottles, I would recommend that they just put some liquid soap in a bottle, give it a fancy name like "Purity Suds for your Bodily Pleasure" and chuck those other soaps. And could liquid soap come in pink?
My problem with all of the little bottles is that the liquids are all either white or green. White liquids could be conditioner or body lotion and green liquids could be mouthwash or shampoo. Are you starting to get the picture? If you aren't alert you (I) could end up lathering your body with conditioner and lathering your head with body lotion. I can tell you that it is more difficult to get that body lotion out of your hair than to wipe the conditioner off of your body!
I almost confused the shampoo and mouthwash. The only thing that saved me was that when I unscrewed the lid and put the bottle to my mouth, the contents were slow to exit and just in time I realized I again had the wrong bottle. I wonder if the hotel has a direct dial to poison control because of the number of people who make this mistake. I know it's not just me!
I also sometimes wonder if management makes those bottles confusing on purpose and has a camera in the guest rooms for their own entertainment. I think that might be why they always seem to smile (maybe smirk a little) at me when I pass the reception desk in the morning.
But the other freebies I really like are the ones I get because I'm a frequent traveler. I feel special- and proud - when they say "do you want your 2 bottles of water now?" when I check in. How cool is that? And I have to admit to some self-satisfaction when I'm the only one given that bag of water bottles when others are checking in. I do try to look humble by lowering my eyes and trying not to smile.
Then I found out that frequent travelers who have even more travel points than me actually get a whole hotel floor where they can go to relax. They get a special key to use in the elevator to go to "that" floor. It does make me feel a little less special holding my 2 bottles of water while standing in the elevator filled with the "elite key people".
I once had a friend who took me to that "elite" floor and it was fabulous - free liquor, great snacks like cheese and dips and sandwiches and cookies and little stuffed things, as well as newspapers and magazines, comfortable chairs and a big TV. As much as I envied the people with the key, I would not want to travel that many additional trips to get to that elite status. Instead I will try to make friends with "elite key people". I hope they don't notice my polyester pants!
I am not complaining because I do love getting those samples but I just wonder if we really need 2 kinds of soap. They say one is for your face and one is for your body but I can't tell the difference except that one is small and one is larger. It seems wasteful to open both when I'm only in the hotel for 1-2 nights. And forget trying to open those child-proof soap wrappers without using that free pen they given you. I have to stab and rip at that protective plastic-lined, heavy duty paper to open it. I often only open one soap because I don't want to be wasteful - I do try to be environmental conscious - and anyway, my pen is usually too broken to open the other one.
What do the cleaning people do with all of that used soap? Does anyone re-use it? They have signs all over the room about saving the environment by requesting that they don't change your sheets or wash your towels, yet they waste 2 bars of soap each day. If I didn't have so much trouble with the other bottles, I would recommend that they just put some liquid soap in a bottle, give it a fancy name like "Purity Suds for your Bodily Pleasure" and chuck those other soaps. And could liquid soap come in pink?
My problem with all of the little bottles is that the liquids are all either white or green. White liquids could be conditioner or body lotion and green liquids could be mouthwash or shampoo. Are you starting to get the picture? If you aren't alert you (I) could end up lathering your body with conditioner and lathering your head with body lotion. I can tell you that it is more difficult to get that body lotion out of your hair than to wipe the conditioner off of your body!
I almost confused the shampoo and mouthwash. The only thing that saved me was that when I unscrewed the lid and put the bottle to my mouth, the contents were slow to exit and just in time I realized I again had the wrong bottle. I wonder if the hotel has a direct dial to poison control because of the number of people who make this mistake. I know it's not just me!
I also sometimes wonder if management makes those bottles confusing on purpose and has a camera in the guest rooms for their own entertainment. I think that might be why they always seem to smile (maybe smirk a little) at me when I pass the reception desk in the morning.
But the other freebies I really like are the ones I get because I'm a frequent traveler. I feel special- and proud - when they say "do you want your 2 bottles of water now?" when I check in. How cool is that? And I have to admit to some self-satisfaction when I'm the only one given that bag of water bottles when others are checking in. I do try to look humble by lowering my eyes and trying not to smile.
Then I found out that frequent travelers who have even more travel points than me actually get a whole hotel floor where they can go to relax. They get a special key to use in the elevator to go to "that" floor. It does make me feel a little less special holding my 2 bottles of water while standing in the elevator filled with the "elite key people".
I once had a friend who took me to that "elite" floor and it was fabulous - free liquor, great snacks like cheese and dips and sandwiches and cookies and little stuffed things, as well as newspapers and magazines, comfortable chairs and a big TV. As much as I envied the people with the key, I would not want to travel that many additional trips to get to that elite status. Instead I will try to make friends with "elite key people". I hope they don't notice my polyester pants!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Travel Alarm Clock and Other "Electronics"
I know I'm not the only one with this problem or hotels wouldn't have alarm clocks AND a wake up service. I have rarely been able to figure out how to set the alarm in a hotel room. (OK, I admit I can't set the alarm in my home, either. I resorted to getting a wind up clock with real hands, but that's another story) If I do figure out the alarm then I can't tell if I'm setting it for the radio, soothing environmental sounds or an alarm to wake me up. If I do figure all of that out, then in the morning I can't figure out how to turn it off. Usually I hit the snooze button thinking it's off and then 15 minutes later I almost jump out of my clothes (not a pretty sight either) when the alarm goes off again. That's when knowing how to unplug it comes in handy.
I don't know why simple clocks have to be so complicated. Just because chips or whatever is in a clock are getting smaller and can do more things does not mean that a clock (that simple object that is meant to show the time and wake you up when you press an alarm set button) should be pimped out to have 2 alarms, sounds to put you to sleep, shine the time on the ceiling, start your coffee in the morning or record your own voice to wake you up. (How weird is that hearing you tell yourself to get up??) Not to brag, but even if I'm not exactly "electronic woman" I do know my way around many plugged in things-really too numerous to mention here.
So, even though I hate to bother them, I usually call the hotel operator for a wake up call. Of course a wake-up call isn't always a simple feat either because some hotels have 2 lines on the phone going into your room. I have no idea why anyone would need 2 phone lines in their hotel room. Would there ever be 2 people in the room who don't own cell phones and both have to make an emergency (read "expensive") call at the same time? Does that necessitate 2 lines?
The problem with 2 lines is that when you get your wake up call, it is invariably on the line that isn't active and you (me) end up stumbling out of bed trying to remember where you are, what that irritating noise could be, and then trying to figure out how to turn it off. It's a great way to make be sure that you're awake but waking up in that manner doesn't make for a happy non-early morning person. Beware, breakfast bar staff, another cranky person is coming your way - be sure the coffee pot is full!
I don't know why simple clocks have to be so complicated. Just because chips or whatever is in a clock are getting smaller and can do more things does not mean that a clock (that simple object that is meant to show the time and wake you up when you press an alarm set button) should be pimped out to have 2 alarms, sounds to put you to sleep, shine the time on the ceiling, start your coffee in the morning or record your own voice to wake you up. (How weird is that hearing you tell yourself to get up??) Not to brag, but even if I'm not exactly "electronic woman" I do know my way around many plugged in things-really too numerous to mention here.
So, even though I hate to bother them, I usually call the hotel operator for a wake up call. Of course a wake-up call isn't always a simple feat either because some hotels have 2 lines on the phone going into your room. I have no idea why anyone would need 2 phone lines in their hotel room. Would there ever be 2 people in the room who don't own cell phones and both have to make an emergency (read "expensive") call at the same time? Does that necessitate 2 lines?
The problem with 2 lines is that when you get your wake up call, it is invariably on the line that isn't active and you (me) end up stumbling out of bed trying to remember where you are, what that irritating noise could be, and then trying to figure out how to turn it off. It's a great way to make be sure that you're awake but waking up in that manner doesn't make for a happy non-early morning person. Beware, breakfast bar staff, another cranky person is coming your way - be sure the coffee pot is full!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Young at Heart Documentary
I just finished watching the documentary "Young at Heart" and loved it so much that I had to blog about it. Although it was a major tearjerker for me it was also inspirational. The movie, makes one feel that aging should not be the reason for remaining status quo in you life. I used to date a man who always said, when I wanted to do something new "been there, done that". He was satisfied with things as they were and wasn't interesting in branching out very far. I am thankful he is in my past because I believe that it is important to continue experiencing new - and sometimes scary things throughout one's life. That is exactly what the elderly people in the movie did - and what I am trying to do. I think we sometimes quit taking risks in life mostly out of fear. It took me a long time to learn that.
I always have thought of myself as a late bloomer. I followed the rules and didn't color outside of the lines until I got into my 30's and got divorced. For example, when my son was born and he was given to me swaddled in his blanket in the hospital, no one told me that I could unwrap him. So instead I just hoped that he wasn't shaped like a big thumb and that he had all of his fingers and toes. I couldn't wait to get him home to check! Unbelievable, isn't it?
I've enjoyed traveling but didn't do it much because I thought I had to have a traveling partner. I missed out on many trips because I was either with someone who didn't like to travel or was by myself. Yes, I travel for work by myself but it's different and I felt more vulnerable going on vacation alone.
By shear luck (or divine intervention) about 4 years ago I met a woman who inspired me to confront my travel fears. She was on my flight one evening (yes, the story of my life) and was heading to give a workshop about journaling your travels. She told me that she had been traveling alone to Italy for the past 10 years. She enthusiastically explained all of the reasons traveling alone can be fun. By the time we landed, I was buoyed up to plan a solo trip. I decided that I'd ease into this solo traveling idea by choosing a country that spoke English so I planned a trip to England. That almost felt like I was "cheating" on my adventure. Of course I quickly learned that speaking English and England-ish are two different things. I can't count how many times I nodded my head "yes" in the UK when I had no idea what they said and to what I was agreeing. Despite many funny and not so funny mishaps, that trip was such a success that I've continued traveling out of the country once a year since.
Now that I've conquered that goal /fear, I'm ready for more. I bought a small camper van last year and want to camp across the USA with just my dog. I want to write more and learn more, and help people to laugh more. Long before I saw the documentary "Young at Heart", I had decided that you are never too old to take risks. That movie just reinforced my beliefs and showed me that even at 90 plus years, life should continue to be an adventure.
I plan to experience - and write about them all.
I always have thought of myself as a late bloomer. I followed the rules and didn't color outside of the lines until I got into my 30's and got divorced. For example, when my son was born and he was given to me swaddled in his blanket in the hospital, no one told me that I could unwrap him. So instead I just hoped that he wasn't shaped like a big thumb and that he had all of his fingers and toes. I couldn't wait to get him home to check! Unbelievable, isn't it?
I've enjoyed traveling but didn't do it much because I thought I had to have a traveling partner. I missed out on many trips because I was either with someone who didn't like to travel or was by myself. Yes, I travel for work by myself but it's different and I felt more vulnerable going on vacation alone.
By shear luck (or divine intervention) about 4 years ago I met a woman who inspired me to confront my travel fears. She was on my flight one evening (yes, the story of my life) and was heading to give a workshop about journaling your travels. She told me that she had been traveling alone to Italy for the past 10 years. She enthusiastically explained all of the reasons traveling alone can be fun. By the time we landed, I was buoyed up to plan a solo trip. I decided that I'd ease into this solo traveling idea by choosing a country that spoke English so I planned a trip to England. That almost felt like I was "cheating" on my adventure. Of course I quickly learned that speaking English and England-ish are two different things. I can't count how many times I nodded my head "yes" in the UK when I had no idea what they said and to what I was agreeing. Despite many funny and not so funny mishaps, that trip was such a success that I've continued traveling out of the country once a year since.
Now that I've conquered that goal /fear, I'm ready for more. I bought a small camper van last year and want to camp across the USA with just my dog. I want to write more and learn more, and help people to laugh more. Long before I saw the documentary "Young at Heart", I had decided that you are never too old to take risks. That movie just reinforced my beliefs and showed me that even at 90 plus years, life should continue to be an adventure.
I plan to experience - and write about them all.
Pronounciation is important
I was sitting in an airport (story of my life) zoning out and people watching while waiting for a flight. There are always different announcements over the loud speakers - gate changes, boarding notices and paging of people. I usually don't pay much attention to the announcements but I heard one page that make me take notice. In a slightly foreign accent, I heard "Moron - - - - Mr Moron, please come to the information desk." Did I hear that right, I wondered? A minute later I heard the same announcement "Moron - - - - Mr Moron, please come to the information desk".
I looked around me to see if anyone else heard the same thing but no one seemed to be paying attention. I also scanned the area to see if a Mr Moron was hurrying to the information booth but didn't notice any exceptionally fast moving men. I thought about the names we are born with. I realize that we all are stuck with names we might not have chosen for ourselves but I was thinking that if that was my last name, I might consider changing it.
A few minutes later, I heard the same announcement but this time the voice enunciated "MorAN, Mr MorAN, please come to the information booth". I looked around and saw some flight attendants laughing as they were walking and I could tell they had also heard the announcements.
I don't know if that announcer was later given some tips on pronouncing names but for a few minutes she made the airport a bit more interesting and brought a smile to my face. I hope that Mr MorAN could smile as well!
I looked around me to see if anyone else heard the same thing but no one seemed to be paying attention. I also scanned the area to see if a Mr Moron was hurrying to the information booth but didn't notice any exceptionally fast moving men. I thought about the names we are born with. I realize that we all are stuck with names we might not have chosen for ourselves but I was thinking that if that was my last name, I might consider changing it.
A few minutes later, I heard the same announcement but this time the voice enunciated "MorAN, Mr MorAN, please come to the information booth". I looked around and saw some flight attendants laughing as they were walking and I could tell they had also heard the announcements.
I don't know if that announcer was later given some tips on pronouncing names but for a few minutes she made the airport a bit more interesting and brought a smile to my face. I hope that Mr MorAN could smile as well!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
The Traveling Polyester Pants
Did you ever have an article of clothing that you didn't especially like but it fit and it looked OK so you hung on to it? Well, that's how I feel about my black polyester pants. I know, polyester is out - probably since the 70's but you can still buy them if you hunt around the clearance racks. And that is where I found these pants. They fit perfectly as soon as I tried them on. I never try anything on in the store so I was lucky this time. The length was even just right. And I must say that black polyester goes with just about everything in my closet. I do have a "thing" about not buying clothes that have to be dry cleaned. It partially has to do with saving the environment, and partially has to do with me being lazy and cheap, but I like the "saving the environment" reason best and I use it often.
I have to dress what I call "semi-professionally" when I travel for work. To me that means that I dress one step down from a real professional person. I don't believe that a real professional person has polyester pants in their closet. I do know that they usually have clothes that have to be dry cleaned. Remember, I am trying to save the environment here, polyester is dry-clean free.
Now in my years of owning and studying polyester pants I have found that there are good things and bad things one should know . The good things include:
1. They never wrinkle. I can wad them into a ball in my suitcase and forget to hang them up when I get to my hotel. Yet in the morning I open the suitcase, barely shake them out and I can put them on and go.
2. They wash and dry in about 5 minutes. If I don't bring enough clothes on a trip, I can wash them in the sink at night and by morning (or probably sooner but I don't set my alarm for the middle of the night to check) I take them off of the shower rod and again, they are ready to wear with a sharp seam that never goes away.
3. They are indestructible. I have had my current polyester pants for a couple of years and they look the same as the day I bought them. I'm not sure what "polyester" is made from but it is a wonder fake fabric.
The bad things aren't too bad but are a bit annoying. For example:
1. Although polyester doesn't seem to stain, it does seem to hold odors. Without going into detail I should just say that it is best to find a restroom quickly if one is feeling a little gaseous, if you get my drift.
2. This is the most annoying thing about polyester pants. You can not keep anything on your lap for more than a few seconds. I think that "slip and slides" should be made from polyester. I hate it when I'm trying to look and act semi-professional and I take a magazine out of my briefcase to read. I put it on my lap while I get a pen from my purse so I can do a sudoku puzzle and before I can even turn toward my purse, the magazine is on the floor. It's worse when I'm on a plane. I find my seat and then gather all of my entertainment goodies together so I can have things to keep me busy on the flight. You can't put your tray table down until the plane reaches 10,000 feet so you have to balance everything on your lap. I end up looking like I'm either practicing to be a clown or I have a severe jerking problem because I am constantly placing, dropping and retrieving each thing on my lap until the plane finally reaches the correct altitude. Sometimes I give up and just use my feet to hold on to the items that choose to be on the floor so they don't travel too far without me. The last time I flew, I had my DVD player, my headphones, a DVD, a magazine and a pen on my lap. First the pen slid off, then the DVD player and headphones flew off of my lap and ended up 4 rows behind me, and finally the magazine decided to join my wandering "entertainers". I was actually starting to breathe a little heavily from all of the bending and stretching. And I'm not totally certain, but I also think I was starting to annoy the people around me. I was thinking that I should try to explain to the people around me that I am not this clumsy when I'm wearing my jeans but no one seemed to want to look at me, so I choose to keep quiet.
I have to say that I think the good outweighs the bad when it comes to my polyester pants. How can you beat it when you can take something that is basic black out of your closet at a moments notice - forget the iron because it doesn't do any good anyway - that front crease is never going away. I know that my polyester pants have another 5 or 10 years of service left in them so it would be environmentally wrong to get rid of them. So if you see a woman sitting in an airport constantly dropping things from her lap, please try to be understanding. She's trying to save the environment.
I have to dress what I call "semi-professionally" when I travel for work. To me that means that I dress one step down from a real professional person. I don't believe that a real professional person has polyester pants in their closet. I do know that they usually have clothes that have to be dry cleaned. Remember, I am trying to save the environment here, polyester is dry-clean free.
Now in my years of owning and studying polyester pants I have found that there are good things and bad things one should know . The good things include:
1. They never wrinkle. I can wad them into a ball in my suitcase and forget to hang them up when I get to my hotel. Yet in the morning I open the suitcase, barely shake them out and I can put them on and go.
2. They wash and dry in about 5 minutes. If I don't bring enough clothes on a trip, I can wash them in the sink at night and by morning (or probably sooner but I don't set my alarm for the middle of the night to check) I take them off of the shower rod and again, they are ready to wear with a sharp seam that never goes away.
3. They are indestructible. I have had my current polyester pants for a couple of years and they look the same as the day I bought them. I'm not sure what "polyester" is made from but it is a wonder fake fabric.
The bad things aren't too bad but are a bit annoying. For example:
1. Although polyester doesn't seem to stain, it does seem to hold odors. Without going into detail I should just say that it is best to find a restroom quickly if one is feeling a little gaseous, if you get my drift.
2. This is the most annoying thing about polyester pants. You can not keep anything on your lap for more than a few seconds. I think that "slip and slides" should be made from polyester. I hate it when I'm trying to look and act semi-professional and I take a magazine out of my briefcase to read. I put it on my lap while I get a pen from my purse so I can do a sudoku puzzle and before I can even turn toward my purse, the magazine is on the floor. It's worse when I'm on a plane. I find my seat and then gather all of my entertainment goodies together so I can have things to keep me busy on the flight. You can't put your tray table down until the plane reaches 10,000 feet so you have to balance everything on your lap. I end up looking like I'm either practicing to be a clown or I have a severe jerking problem because I am constantly placing, dropping and retrieving each thing on my lap until the plane finally reaches the correct altitude. Sometimes I give up and just use my feet to hold on to the items that choose to be on the floor so they don't travel too far without me. The last time I flew, I had my DVD player, my headphones, a DVD, a magazine and a pen on my lap. First the pen slid off, then the DVD player and headphones flew off of my lap and ended up 4 rows behind me, and finally the magazine decided to join my wandering "entertainers". I was actually starting to breathe a little heavily from all of the bending and stretching. And I'm not totally certain, but I also think I was starting to annoy the people around me. I was thinking that I should try to explain to the people around me that I am not this clumsy when I'm wearing my jeans but no one seemed to want to look at me, so I choose to keep quiet.
I have to say that I think the good outweighs the bad when it comes to my polyester pants. How can you beat it when you can take something that is basic black out of your closet at a moments notice - forget the iron because it doesn't do any good anyway - that front crease is never going away. I know that my polyester pants have another 5 or 10 years of service left in them so it would be environmentally wrong to get rid of them. So if you see a woman sitting in an airport constantly dropping things from her lap, please try to be understanding. She's trying to save the environment.
The Most Laid - Back Traveler Ever
This is a true story.
I was on a flight yesterday and the flight attendant called out a passenger's name and asked them to ring the call button. To my delight (I always wanted to know what they say to that passenger) the woman next to me pressed her light.
I saw the flight attendant coming toward us and before she even reached us she was saying "this has never happened before" - and I got even more interested, covertly of course.
The flight attendant then extended her hand toward the woman and in her hand was a suitcase handle - fully intact but obviously ripped from a bag, a carry strap that was supposed to hold another suitcase and a luggage ID tag. Inwardly, I could feel my eyes widening and was waiting to hear the the woman's response (let 'em have it, lady. I'll support you - again I said in my head) Out loud I did say "that looks bad" as a kind of a "priming the pump" statement. I'm not proud of myself but when you travel a lot something like this does break the monotony. The woman instead said "well, it was an old suitcase". (I'm thinking "how old does a suitcase have to be for the whole handle and part of the bag to come off? Should I start to worry about my luggage? I can just see me running through the airport to catch my flight and when I get to the gate I look down and all I have is my suitcase handle. Obviously I should not have thrown away the instructions with the luggage expiration date! )
You could tell that even the flight attendant was surprised by that response and she stuttered a bit and restated, "this has never happened before" and then added "do you want this (pile of crap in her hand)"? The strap is still good. I love those straps." (Was that supposed to make the woman feel better that the strap had been saved? If my luggage does eventually fall apart will I be lucky enough to be left with the handle and the strap?)
Again, calmly the woman said "no, you can throw it away but will my suitcase make it to Sacramento"? (I'm thinking "yeah, what's left of it" but kept that sarcasm to myself) The flight attendant assured her that her suitcase would be there and that she should file a claim as soon as she landed.
The woman nodded and the flight attendant walked away holding the prized strap. Just when I thought the excitement was over and started back on my sudoku, the woman looked over at me and said, again very calmly " I hope my computer is OK. It was in the bag."
My head was starting to hurt from holding my raised eyebrows inside my forehead, but I tried to respond with some authority "I think you better check it when you get there" (and be prepared to see your computer parts in a large baggie, I thought) Our conversation ended. She spent the remainder of the flight in a zen-like state reading a book. On a side note, they didn't even offer her a free alcoholic beverage on the flight!!
Seriously, I have never experienced anything like it. Did I learn a lesson from her - I wish but probably not. Maybe you will - don't sweat the small or not so small stuff.
I was on a flight yesterday and the flight attendant called out a passenger's name and asked them to ring the call button. To my delight (I always wanted to know what they say to that passenger) the woman next to me pressed her light.
I saw the flight attendant coming toward us and before she even reached us she was saying "this has never happened before" - and I got even more interested, covertly of course.
The flight attendant then extended her hand toward the woman and in her hand was a suitcase handle - fully intact but obviously ripped from a bag, a carry strap that was supposed to hold another suitcase and a luggage ID tag. Inwardly, I could feel my eyes widening and was waiting to hear the the woman's response (let 'em have it, lady. I'll support you - again I said in my head) Out loud I did say "that looks bad" as a kind of a "priming the pump" statement. I'm not proud of myself but when you travel a lot something like this does break the monotony. The woman instead said "well, it was an old suitcase". (I'm thinking "how old does a suitcase have to be for the whole handle and part of the bag to come off? Should I start to worry about my luggage? I can just see me running through the airport to catch my flight and when I get to the gate I look down and all I have is my suitcase handle. Obviously I should not have thrown away the instructions with the luggage expiration date! )
You could tell that even the flight attendant was surprised by that response and she stuttered a bit and restated, "this has never happened before" and then added "do you want this (pile of crap in her hand)"? The strap is still good. I love those straps." (Was that supposed to make the woman feel better that the strap had been saved? If my luggage does eventually fall apart will I be lucky enough to be left with the handle and the strap?)
Again, calmly the woman said "no, you can throw it away but will my suitcase make it to Sacramento"? (I'm thinking "yeah, what's left of it" but kept that sarcasm to myself) The flight attendant assured her that her suitcase would be there and that she should file a claim as soon as she landed.
The woman nodded and the flight attendant walked away holding the prized strap. Just when I thought the excitement was over and started back on my sudoku, the woman looked over at me and said, again very calmly " I hope my computer is OK. It was in the bag."
My head was starting to hurt from holding my raised eyebrows inside my forehead, but I tried to respond with some authority "I think you better check it when you get there" (and be prepared to see your computer parts in a large baggie, I thought) Our conversation ended. She spent the remainder of the flight in a zen-like state reading a book. On a side note, they didn't even offer her a free alcoholic beverage on the flight!!
Seriously, I have never experienced anything like it. Did I learn a lesson from her - I wish but probably not. Maybe you will - don't sweat the small or not so small stuff.
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