And the Search Begins

I think I’m over being single. Not that I would want to be married again. No thank you. Not that I mind having the choice to do whatever I want whenever I want.  The only person who has to agree with me is me. And not that I mind never worrying about upsetting someone and getting into an argument. I’m not confrontational so it’s nice not to have to confront; especially when it’s over the most insignificant, ridiculous topics and half the time you are arguing just because you somehow ended up there and can’t find your way out. I don’t mind not being accountable to anyone as to where I am going or what I am doing. Being single can be quite liberating.

With that said…what I do mind…is being frickin’ bored.  Living in the middle of suburbia where the median age is 38 and 95% of the males even close to my age are married, and the other 5% are not married for very obvious reasons, makes for a difficult social life. The few single friends I have live in other states; some on the other coast, but those that live in California, may as well live in other states since they are too far to commute to anyway.

I’m not the type to go exploring by myself, for various reasons. One…I get lost in my own house. Two…it’s more fun with someone else. Three…I get lost. And four…I get lost. I tend to have slight panic attacks when I get lost. Yes…even with my talking GPS. I will go to the movies by myself, as long as I know how to get to the theater. Luckily there are a few close by so at least I can be current on my films. I’m not one to join clubs and organizations by myself. I’m basically pretty shy. I know…hard to believe…but I am. So when I have to go to a function where I don’t know anyone, those panic attacks tend to rear up again.  So where does one go when one is shy and living in some god forsaken-out of the city lights-Stepford wives community?

MATCH.COM baby! Here I come. [Again.] I was on Match about 3 or 4 years ago and unfortunately, so were many of the men I am seeing on there now. There is a small, new crop, but the ripe ones are few and far between. Needless to say, I happened upon many who made me stop and say… “Are you f**king kidding me?” Who would write this shit? And some of the pictures…’YOU think that this is your BEST picture you could post?’ If that’s their best, I can only imagine what they look like in person. And why would someone post as his profile picture, one of himself with his head in a fake shark’s mouth with the stupidest looking expression he could make? That’s the first impression he wants to make?

I would love to put their pictures on here so you could see exactly what I’m talking about…but you never know who knows who and I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. At least not to their face. I would rather just talk about them anonymously and write about them hoping it’s no one who reads this. And if it is…maybe this will be a helpful guide to a good match.com profile.

I love when they post one not-so-great pic of themselves and 8 different shots of their pet. Wow…that’s one good looking dog…I think I’ll send him a ‘Wink’. I sure hope he brings his owner with him on our date.

Then there are those who post landscapes. Why? I don’t need to see where you’ve been on vacation and where I probably won’t go if we start dating since you’ve already been there. How is that going to impress me?  Now…10 pictures of your cars and motorcycles? THAT impresses me. I need to know just what options I will have for transportation once we start dating. And if there’s a bike amongst them that I don’t like…well…that’s a deal breaker. I mean…a Honda, not a Harley? Forget you. And there better be tattoos to go along with that bike.

One of my favorites is always the one who poses with his shirt off in the majority of his pictures. A little impressed with yourself, are ya? Well...that is the one thing that does NOT impress me. I will move right along because most likely they look in the mirror way too much for my liking. I don’t care how great a body you have…keep it dressed for the Match site, wouldya? There is a guy I know at my gym who has gained quite a bit of weight but his profile pic is from when he was buff. I would hate to be the date who finds out exactly what he now looks like. Keep the pics current. I wouldn’t want some guy to think he was meeting me the way I looked ten years ago. I may not have gained any weight, but I sure had gravity make its mark. I think the look of disappointment would be worse than him passing me by on the website. I don’t get why guys do that. We are going to notice that there’s a 60 pound surplus once we see you in person guys!  

There was a man who was posing in a Speedo. A 60 something guy, and he wasn’t European. Granted, for his age…he looked good. But who would go out with someone who wears a Speedo if he isn’t swimming for an Olympic Gold Medal.  

Another turn off for me is when I see guys my age who are ‘seeking’ women 25-40. Twenty-five? Are you f**king kidding me? What could you possibly have in common with a 25 year old besides the fact that she may be friends with your daughter? What will you talk about…what she has planned now that she graduated college? And do you think she will be into your sagging you know what, or do you think it may be your inflated bank account? I don’t know…what do you think? I’m sure it will be the hanging skin that turns her on.

One guy wrote in his profile ‘You must have great legs and wear short dresses. That is a requirement.’ WHAT? Do you think he may be a little shallow and a tad hypercritical if your body isn’t perfect? And if someone in her 50’s is wearing a mini-skirt…I don’t care how great her body is…she should have a ‘Glamour NO’ tattooed on her back. There are just some things certain people shouldn’t do. But hey…there is someone for everyone. It’s what makes us all individuals…good taste or not. And what woman would actually read that and say…”That guy is for me”?

I got an email from a not-so-great-looking guy yesterday. The subject line said “Would love to start a conversation with you.” I thought…good opening line. Then I saw his picture. That blew it for me because he was just not my type. The Larry Fine hairdo (of Moe, Larry, and Curly fame) and Andy Rooney eyebrows just didn’t cut it for me. But if that wasn’t enough on its own (not to sound shallow myself, but there does have to be some chemistry)…the body of the email said, “You MUST call me. I don’t do email” and he gave me his number. Really? I MUST call you? Oh, sure I will, Master. You just sit by that phone and wait for my call. I’ll be right on that.  

I don’t mind when they say that if you do or don’t believe in something, or want something they don’t have, move on to the next person. When you say it in a nice way…it’s letting someone know not to waste either person’s time. I happen to appreciate that. What I don’t appreciate is when it’s someone that I would love to meet, but there’s that one stipulation that prohibits it. Ya know…like being a good Catholic girl. Well…I can’t fake that. Or being 5’9” or taller. Can’t fake that either.  Or having no children. Nope…can't fake that. Or being sexual. Now THAT I can fake.

Wheelin' and Dealin'

In December of this year it will be my 10 year anniversary that I’m with my company. I can’t believe how fast 10 years has passed. It’s been a great decade working with all the people who have come and gone over the years. It was a company I had always wanted to work with because of their great reputation, honesty and integrity, and my dream came true.

In December of this year it will also be my 10 year anniversary that I have been making car payments for my 2003 GMC Envoy. WHAT???? Yes…that’s right…I believe I am now going to be inducted into the Guinness Book of World Records for the longest pay off on a car. Or maybe I am going to make a world record for the stupidest loan documents ever signed by one of the stupidest customers who ever bought a car. Those sales people must have been laughing their asses off when I walked out of that showroom. Maybe that’s why I had 5 salesmen helping me by the time I left. One by one they kept coming over…I’m sure because they couldn’t believe someone would actually pay the price I paid, and wanted to share it with each salesman. They wanted to witness the dumbest deal ever made by a car buyer.

I believe as I drove off the lot, my car depreciated over 50% because I’m quite confident I paid double what I really needed to pay. I probably paid the equivalent 10 years ago for a mid range SUV that someone today would pay for a small Learjet. Yup…35 years I’ve been in the negotiating business and a fine job I’ve been doing.

Why is it I can negotiate the rate down to where I need it to be for my job (albeit fair), but when it comes to negotiating for my own personal needs…rarely do I hold out. In fact…I don’t even wait to hear the starting price…I just offer up a rate and go from there. And I’m pretty sure the sellers absolutely adore me because I start way higher than they even were expecting to get. Yup…35 years as a negotiator. I would fire me if I wasn’t me.

My daughter’s lease was up on her car a couple of weeks ago. Over the last few months she’s been talking about what car she wanted to get, but the problem was she was way over her miles; there was a ding in the bumper; and the interior had some blemishes. I told her as long as you turn it in and lease another…it shouldn’t matter. They can roll the excess cost into the new lease. We weren’t sure if we could turn in her Mazda to a Honda dealer, since she wanted a new Honda, or if we had to turn it into Mazda. But we decided to go to Mazda first to see if there was a car she may want there, assuming we would get a better deal. Can I please tell you who my most hated negotiations are with? I was angry at the salesman for trying to rip me off before I even got on the lot. I had already conjured up in my head what he was going to do and say, while I was on the ride over there. By the time we drove up and the vultures were upon us, froth was coming out of my mouth. I was seething, ready to pounce......and up strolls the nicest car salesman I would ever have the pleasure of dealing with. At least that’s how he appeared. Not too pushy, not too scuzzy, almost normal. And almost normal for a car salesman, in my book, is like dealing with Mother Teresa.

I had warned my daughter not to act excited if she saw a car she really wanted. If they think they have you hooked, they’ll never negotiate. I also told her not to question anything I say, even if she knew it to be untrue. It was all part of the negotiation. Just let me do most of the talking and it should work out great. I know what I’m doing. I had 10 years to rectify my mistake. You can tell him what you’re looking for but nothing about price. Leave that up to me. And if we have to walk away, we will. They’re desperate. We would get a call later from them offering a better price.

"Hello ladies…how can I help you?" After I got done being creeped out, I contained my hiss, pulled in my claws and went through the whole spiel about the terms of the lease and if we had to, we would simply convert it into a loan so there won’t be any penalties, unless we could get a good deal on a new car and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Great way to start off our venture into sleaze-dom because he then knew he wasn’t dealing with a couple of ditzy ‘broads’ who didn’t know anything.

‘What size engine are you looking for?’ Huh? ‘Do you want a 4 cylinder or 6 cylinder?’ Huh? ‘Do you need 4-wheel drive?’ Huh? ‘Do you want automatic or manual?’ Automatic please (whew…knew that answer.) ‘What size wheels do you want?’ Huh? [Aren’t they pretty much all the same?] ‘What color would you like?’ NOW we’re talkin’. White, preferably.

After approximately an hour or so spent with the Mazda guy, we asked him, sheepishly, if we were able to go to Honda to turn in our car. He amazingly was honest and told us we could go anywhere we wanted to and turn it in. He didn’t act upset after spending the last 60+ minutes showing us the new models, going for a test drive, then losing the business. I was quite impressed. I have to admit…our local Mazda dealers have been nothing but gracious and very uncarsalesmanlike. Good for them! Unfortunately for them, they still didn’t get our business.

Thank God it was too late to head over to Honda. Even though it wasn’t a totally unpleasant experience at Mazda, it was still draining. Any time you have to deal with salespeople, it’s ad nauseam. But I had the next evening to look forward to with our Honda dealer. If they’re anything like the latest commercials…I probably will puke. They need a new ad agency.

The anticipation of doing that all over again pretty much ruined my next day. But hey…what are moms for? And since I AM a negotiator by trade…who better than good ol’ mom to work the deal? After a day of hard negotiating with my TV ad salespeople, why wouldn’t I look forward to a whole evening of it with the car sleaze-people, too?

"Hello ladies…what can I sell you today that you can’t afford?" Once again…the whole explanation of the lease, and turning it into a loan, etc. But this time we knew what we wanted. It was the car she had wanted so badly for the last couple of years, and there it was...exactly the one she was looking for; right model, right color, right everything. Now it was a matter of whether they could meet the monthly payment my daughter could afford. I was ready to haggle. I was ready to spar. I couldn't have been more prepared to break this guy down and get everything we wanted and then some. I gave my daughter the look of ‘remember what I told you. Don't say a word.’

"What kind of payment are you looking for?" And without hesitation, I opened my big mouth and said "We’ll take it!" And that was the last time I will EVER be allowed to go with anyone to buy a car again.

Grills Will Be Grills

As summer approaches, so does barbeque season. I love barbeque season, but I lost my Triton Grill in the divorce. I got the house…he got the Triton. I wonder who came out of that one the winner? [Although I paid him off for the house, he didn’t pay me for the barbeque.]

But I digress. I thought it was time to splurge for a new one. I didn’t want to go gas for fear of setting my house on fire with some gas explosion. I didn't want to go with another Triton because, well...it's just too expensive and let's be honest, way too much work. So I set out on a search for a simple user friendly one to serve enough family and friends during each get together. You know, one that uses charcoal and matches, so I can light my house on fire that way, instead.

Off to Target I went since I had a gift card I could apply to the cost. As soon as I got to the outdoor section I spotted the perfect one for my needs: easy to use, good size, great price and in stock. The only downside was I had to assemble it myself. But…no problema! I’m a pro when it comes to handy work. I can pretty much assemble anything. I’m a jack of all trades. I can snake a drain, change out a faucet, hang anything on the wall without it falling off, set up computers, TV’s. You name it…I can make it work. So a barbeque? Piece of cake. And it came in one compact box so no problem getting it in the car to come home. Looked simple enough.

I was so excited to have a barbeque again. I couldn’t wait to get it out of the box and set it up in time for our friends to come over later that day. After about eight minutes of wrestling with the packing tape that must’ve been super-glued to the box to hold it together, I finally got the box open and attempted to pull out all the contents, which seemed never ending. It was about another 8 minutes until I could loosen that first piece to get it out since it was so tightly packed in there. I grabbed 2 sides of the box with my hands, and took my foot to push the other side loose. It only took about 4 attempts until I finally got one piece free. Then it was clear sailing. We won’t talk about the bruises I got on my ass from losing my balance and falling over while trying to extract the pieces that were shoved in there like sardines cemented to the sides.

There were so many teeny bags filled with screws and washers and toggle bolts, and they kept coming and coming. Where the hell were these all going? It didn’t look that complex that I was going to need 500 pieces of hardware to put that thing together. There were leg bolts and handle bolts and damper bolts and winged nuts and lock nuts…and so many other nuts. Are you f**king kidding me? I wanted SIMPLE…but by the time I was done…I was a little nuts.

I planted myself cross-legged on the kitchen floor, surrounded by all those parts and pieces. I started reading the directions and was immediately lost. I lined up the bags numerically, since they each had a number with their parts inside that corresponded to various diagrams. And when I say ‘various’ diagrams…we’re talking about 20 different steps. Staying organized lasted just about until I opened the first bag and then the contents ended up all smushed together in one pile. The bags were so tiny with zip-locked closures, it took me about 4 minutes to get each one open trying to separate the top flaps and another two minutes to get each piece out of its teeny, tiny frickin’ bag. My pinkie couldn’t fit inside any of these bags and they expected each piece to come out the pinhead opening? I had no clue I would be in a wrestling match with barbeque parts.

The first step was to attach the legs to the bottom bowl. Seemed easy enough (yeah…sure it did) until I realized I couldn’t hold up the bottom bowl, put the leg through a leg bowl, then through the bowl hole while trying to screw a bolt with two washers to a winged nut. Huh? First of all…how do you balance a bowl that you’re trying to attach the first leg to if there are no other legs to balance it to begin with? I couldn’t turn it upside down because I couldn’t get my hand underneath it without scratching the shit out of my arm to grab the bolt through the hole on the other side. So I sat there with my legs bent up to my chest, trying to hold the leg of the barbeque between my knees and balance the bowl on top. The bowl leg kept slipping out from between my knees and the bowl was starting to get a little heavy. Trying to hold up the bowl while feeling around for the dropped leg and bolts, was a feat in itself. I felt sweat dripping down my face and neck, and my back was killing me from trying to balance myself while balancing the barbeque. I didn’t think to maybe lean against the wall to help balance my own body. I’m not sure how many times or how long it took to attach each leg, but I worked it out. I’m a genius. Or an idiot, depending on how you look at it. Probably would have been smarter to work on it with another person. 

Attaching the cover to the bottom bowl was no easier. Another balancing act except this time, you had to try to attach two moving hinges from the bottom to the top. They kept bending one way when you needed them to bend another way, and at one point, they were so loose the whole thing came apart. Again…patience and perseverance prevailed! Not to mention the dents and scratches that now are a permanent part of my wood floors.

About two and a half hours later (yes…that’s right…two and a half f**king hours later)…TAA- DAAA. Finito! It’s amazing how incredible you feel when you succeed at such a difficult undertaking. And it was truly beautiful. I was so proud. I'm sure everyone will be quite impressed.

Me not being the cook, as most people know…I left the chicken prep to my daughter. I had bought a couple of packages of breasts and as I showered (since I had worked up such a sweat putting that f**king thing together) she prepped them and I paid no attention to what she was doing.

Once our friends arrived, I lit the grill in anticipation of a yummy dinner: Chicken, hamburgers and hotdogs, along with various sides. We were about 10 people and everyone was starving. The coals only took about 20 minutes to get hot and then she brought out the chicken. Who the hell bought chicken breasts the size of Jupiter?

OMG, seriously? I could only fit 3 on the grill at a time. The barbeque was just a tad smaller than I realized. The breasts were so thick…they took about 45 minutes to cook the first batch. I was able to stick a couple of hot dogs on there, too, balancing them on the rim of the grill hoping they wouldn’t fall off. Fortunately, nobody saw me pick them up off the ground when that didn’t work out and put them back on the grill. [The 5 second rule, right?]

By 10PM, [about 3 hours later], we finally finished dinner. The people who ate first were already hungry for another meal by the time we wrapped it up. But my barbeque DOES looks pretty impressive…dontcha think?

Maybe next time I'll invite fewer people...or buy smaller breasts. But there's no f**king way I'm getting a bigger barbeque…especially one that says ‘Assembly Required.’

Dirty Laundry

It was frightening. It was one of the biggest things I had ever seen. I didn't know what to do or how to protect myself without being overpowered and engulfed. So I took a deep breath and decided to go for it. I was so proud of myself for being so brave. I hadn't tested my fears in a long time…but it was time. And that's why I decided the day had arrived; for I was now entering......the Wal-Mart zone.

Yes, that's right. I was a Wal-Mart virgin. And now I know why. They always say ‘Try something once.’ [Whoever ‘they’ are?] And ‘Don't knock it til you try it.’ Well....I can honestly say…once was one time too many. That was the first and only time I will ever show my face in there. Everything they say about it; all the fun they poke at the Wal-Mart people....could never begin to really show the enormity of the sideshow you actually witness. It really is like entering the Twilight Zone. I had no idea what I would encounter. I had assumed it would be like Target. A mish-mosh of lots of stuff, but clean, organized, and easy to navigate. But when I walked into Wal-Mart, I was completely overwhelmed. I had never seen so much crap piled into one store in my entire life; with so many narrow aisles, you’d have to be the size of toothpick to fit through them. Costco couldn’t hold a candle to the inventory at Wal-Mart. Costco is like a Caribbean vacation compared to that. And the amount of people inside…I felt like I was in a crowded subway in New York at rush hour. Except maybe in another universe. I walked around for close to an hour looking for what I went there for. Actually I was pushed and shoved as I attempted to walk around on my quest to find what I was looking for. Finally I found a salesperson after about 40 minutes of searching through a sea of circus freaks.

“Excuse me. Do you sell washing machines?” "¿Como?" “Do you sell washers?” "¿Qué?"   "¿Habla Inglés?" “No. Lo siento.” "¿Dondé esta el washingó machinó?” “No sé.” Oh brother.** My search continued.

I believe it was 'wear your clothes ten sizes too small' day at Wal-Mart. Do they not sell sizes over a 4 there? Are there fun house mirrors in the dressing rooms so they can't tell what they actually look like? Or for that matter, are there mirrors at all? Do they not see what we see? Glamour and Weight Watchers should have had booths set up. They would have had a field day. It’s definitely a place to go to see the ‘Before’ people. Quite enjoyable for those of us who are avid people watchers.

After spending almost an hour searching for a washing machine, I finally found an English speaking salesperson who informed me that they don’t carry large appliances. Are you f**king kidding me? Although, I have to say she was quite helpful suggesting other stores where I could find them, not too far from there. It was unfortunate I didn’t know that prior to entering that sardine like claustrophobic nightmare. I’m just thankful I made it out alive. My Spanish is much improved, though.

Next stop…Best Buy. The used car salesman-like vultures swooped in on me like they hadn’t seen a customer or had a sale in a decade. Which…with the economy the way it is…maybe they hadn’t. Three of them lunged at me all at once. I’m not sure how they decided who would be lucky enough to help me, but two of them backed off while the third creepy looking guy decided to help. “Welcome to Best Buy. How may I swindle you today?”

Have you ever spontaneously gone out and bought a washing machine? I would have never believed there were so many options on something that you simply are using to get your clothes clean. I’m not buying a rocket ship here. I just wanted a f**king washing machine. I didn’t investigate the options before I went out to buy one. Big mistake. Mine went kaput after 26 years and I just wanted to replace it. I didn’t realize I needed to study up and research this prior to purchase.

1      Top load or front load? – Who gives a shit? I guess top load so I don’t break my back bending down to front load. Does it really make a difference?

2      How many wash and spin cycles? – Huh? I couldn't care less how many cycles...How about enough to get them clean?

3      Drum Capacity – Um…bongos or steel?

4      Spin speed? – Fast enough to spin out the water…that will work. Why would there even be more than one speed? I'd prefer not to have to twist and wring them out myself so as fast as it can go please.

5      Delay start? – Delay start? Why would I need to set it to start at a later time? Who’s going to be there to put the clothes in the dryer if I wait til later when I'm not home? Do you have that option, too? Someone to do the laundry for me? A personal laundress, maybe? Yes...thank you. I'll take the laundress option.

6      Balance system? – Well of course I want it balanced…I would prefer it didn’t bounce across the house into another room. Unless it plans on picking up the other dirty clothes still left all over the floor from my kids, while it’s making the rounds of the house.

7      Noise reduction? – That would be nice. I would appreciate not having to scream over the sound of my washing machine. That may be somewhat annoying.

8      Hoses included? Don't you kinda need the hoses to deliver the water into the tub to wash the clothes? Of course I want the f**king hoses. Who wouldn't? Is there such a thing as washers that don’t utilize H₂O?

9      Agitator? – Uh…yes, yes I am. I won’t be once you stop asking me a million questions.

10   What color? - Do you still have that avocado green we had back in the 70’s? That was an interior designers dream. I'll take that one please.

11   Price? - Oh...that. How about 'buy one item, get the second one free?' If I buy a laundry basket, could you throw in the washer? NO? Okay then...Let's keep it cheap…under $500. I don't think I need the drum thrown in. I can just listen to my iPod.  

I guess $500 is not a realistic price for a washing machine if you actually want it to wash your clothes. The salesman looked at me like I was crazy and steered me in the direction of the computer. "Well, ma'am...This is what you can get for under $500...

                                                  "I wish you the best of luck."

**Please note…I have no problem with people moving to the U.S. from other countries. My problem is…if you are living in this country, and working in this country, please speak the language of this country. That language is English.

Halo or Hell-No

I know I am an extremely sensitive person. I can’t help it. I get upset when I see someone eating a meal by themselves at a restaurant. I’ve been known to tear up when I see an elderly person having dinner all alone. I rarely think it’s by choice. I don’t even like seeing one of my kids sitting downstairs in the kitchen eating by herself. Sometimes I’ll just go downstairs to keep her company. I don’t know why I get like that, but I do. I’m so overly sensitive that I find some commercials to be real tearjerkers.

I think it’s mean to train animals. We don’t know that they actually want to be doing whatever it is you’re teaching them to do. People think it’s cute, but the animal itself may not like it. I think we should train them to be safe…but not to do tricks just for human amusement. On the Today Show last week, they were showing the world’s smallest puppy that was born a couple of weeks ago. They were holding her up and she was adorable. But as I sat there watching, I had tears in my eyes because the poor little thing was shaking uncontrollably. Then they decided it would be cute to put her in a coffee mug. I didn’t think that was cute at all. I think cuddling her would have been much sweeter and not so insensitive.

When I have taken trips up north, while driving through farming areas, all I can think about when I see the thousands of cattle grazing, is that they have no clue that they are next in line to be someone's dinner. How sad is that? If they knew...they'd be running towards the freeway for a ride. And if I had the means, I would think about picking up a couple and taking them to safety.

When I was a kid and my grandparents would come to visit, my grandfather, who spoke hardly any English, would go sit by himself in the family room. Not being able to verbally communicate with him, I would go sit next to him on the couch, take his hand, and keep him company. In silence.

I like helping people whenever I can…especially the elderly and children. I know I’m not alone when it comes to doing and feeling this way…thank God. But I do get overly upset when I see any kind of suffering or bad behavior towards others. And I end up dwelling on it. That’s why I could never work in a nursing home or children’s hospital. I would be boo-hooing the entire time, not being helpful to anyone. I would be sad 24 hours a day. If I could, I would adopt every abandoned animal out there; but that's obviously not realistic…I'm just giving you an idea of my depth of compassion.

But here’s the thing…as caring and loving as I am towards people and animals…especially those in need…I can tell you this for sure. If I’m sitting in the emergency exit row of an airplane, and there is an actual emergency…there’s no f**king way I’m helping anyone else off that plane before I bail. I don't give a shit how in need they are. Sure…c’mon people. You all exit before me. Let me help you deplane first and hopefully there will still be time for me to get off before we go spiraling down or blow up and burn. Or maybe we won't really crash that hard, so I'll just stand at the exit and make sure YOU are all safe. Are you f**king kidding me? I'm going to be the first one to grab that flotation device from under the seat, strap it on and jump. I didn't sit through 18,000 hours of flight attendants boring us to death on what to do in case of an emergency, all for nothing. I'm not waiting for any person, baby or animal to go before me. My own kids will have to push me aside to get there first. Ok...maybe I would shove my own kids and dog out the exit door before me; [and hopefully they'll have on their flotation devices that I’m sure will lighten the blow of any major fall from 30,000 feet in the air…IF we are flying over a body of water]...but that's about it. Everyone else...they're on their own! I'd love to say I'm that benevolent, but who would I be kidding? It just ain't gonna happen.

Do airlines actually think if someone is sitting in the emergency exit row they are going to wait for everyone else to get off? I don’t think so. It's almost laughable. The only reason anyone sits in that row is for the leg room. I have never sat there because I'm just that altruistic and want to be sure everyone is safe. Geez...if I didn’t have long legs I wouldn’t be sitting there at all. And the other thing…if we’re on our way down…does anyone actually believe I’m better qualified to help people than the flight attendant or pilot, just because I’m sitting in the emergency exit row? And do we actually believe if we ARE on our way down…other than a miracle…that there is a point to the emergency exit anyway? And one more thing…why are there not parachutes under our seats instead of flotation devices? Wouldn’t that make more sense?

I used to work for one of the largest advertising agencies in the world. Our offices were so big that we elected fire marshals in various sections of the hallways on each floor of our building. I was one of those ‘lucky’ enough to be appointed. Each fire marshal had to get CPR and First Aid certifications before we could take on this very important responsibility. I felt honored that my group elected me. Yeah…sure I did. I’m no idiot…I realized they did that because they didn't want to have that weight on their own shoulders. I find it hard to believe that any of them thought I would actually wait for them to all exit the building before I bee-lined for the exit myself. Little did they know that I was quite the sprinter and although I knew how to save lives after getting certified, I also knew where to direct everyone in case of fire or earthquake, and could get there faster than anyone else. If there was an emergency...they would probably see me flying by them out those exits thinking to themselves…"Who was that speed racer?" Screw getting them out of there first. If I wanted to be that hero...I would've become a firefighter or police officer. But I'm an ad exec...who's quite the chicken. And who wants to live a long life.

Living in suburbia for so many years now, and being one of the lucky few who works from home, I had been chosen by my neighbors as the ‘look out’ person. Like I’m actually going to sit lurking out the window all day spying on the gas and electric company personnel, or the landscapers, to be sure they are legit. First of all…that would mean moving my office to the front of the house. Secondly, I do actually work when I’m supposed to be working. Thirdly, I have the attention span of a gnat. And lastly…if there was someone taking furniture, electronic equipment or anything, for that matter…I would look up at them, put my head back down, and go back to work. Kinda like hearing a car alarm…who knows if it’s actually a break in…and frankly…who gives a shit? They didn't really pick the right person for the job.

So there you have it. I'm quite the contradiction. I have that little Devil on one shoulder and little Angel on the other, sparring back and forth, "Save 'em" "F**k 'em", "Save 'em", "F**k 'em". And all I have to say is...it would behoove you to stay on my good side. Well...in the event you ever need my flotation device.

I know emergency exits are only used once on the ground…but a little artistic license necessary

Baby, It's Cold Inside

I am so over winter. I know it’s spring, although you couldn’t tell from the weather. I know I live in southern California, but this week has been extremely cold here and as luck would have it, on the rare occasion when we do need to use our heat, mine is on the fritz. I know you’re saying, ‘big deal…it’s southern California,’ but let me tell you…37 degrees is 37 degrees, no matter where you live. When you’re blowing ‘steam’ out of your mouth INSIDE your house…you’ve got major problems.

Have you ever sat on your toilet seat in 37 degree weather when the heat wasn’t blasting? It’s no day in the park. Well…maybe in Gorky Park. I jumped up so fast my pee almost came shooting out of my nose. My buns are frostbitten. Just the thought of baring any of my body parts in this igloo is devastating. I’m afraid what would happen if I did start peeing…could be painful. I'd probably be the first woman ever with icicles coming out of her WooWoo.

Within 5 minutes of pouring my coffee, I have to re-heat it in the microwave or dump it. I am going through a pot of coffee an hour. And quite a good workout on the stairs. I’m surprised I’m not drinking iced coffee by the time I get from the kitchen upstairs to my office. I’m basically using my coffee mug as a hand warmer for the 3 minutes it’s piping hot.

I would wear gloves but since I’m working, I can’t use the keyboard with gloves on. Well, I guess I could, but nothing I would type would make any sense. Not that it does half the time anyway. A space heater would probably be helpful, but since we don’t normally need one, I don’t have one hanging around the house. I am using a heating pad as a thermal blanket across my lap to keep my body temperature from going into hypothermia. I think they should make body suits out of heating pads. That would solve my problem. [I believe I hear “Shark Tank” calling my name.]  

I don’t need ice in my water to keep it cold…it’s pretty much icing over as we speak. My nose is running, forming icicles as it drips down my face. I just suck on those instead of taking my hands out from under the blanket to lift the iced water to my mouth; which if my lips weren’t frozen shut; maybe I would be able to sip from the cup. I have so many blankets wrapped around me I can barely lift my arms anyway. I swaddled myself so tightly into the blankets; I have to wait for my daughter to get home to unravel me.

My eyelashes have frost on them. I tried doing my make up earlier but the liquid mascara is now a solid. I sure hope I don’t have to cry for any reason…or those tears are going to be a bitch to get off my face.

I could probably take my blow dryer and melt them off. Actually…I should probably just get my blow dryer [or two or three], hook them up on the wall near my desk and let the heat blast at me. Hmmmm….that’s a thought…maybe after I invent the heating pad body suit.

My dog looks like a taxidermist got a hold of her and stuffed her. She is planted on the rug with all four legs pointing up, not moving [except for the periodic violent shaking from having doggiethermia.] Her coat of fur isn’t doing the trick for her, either. She started to lick herself and her tongue got stuck to her HooHoo.

The water doesn’t come out of the faucet anymore. Just stops mid stream like an ice sculpture. The bristles on my toothbrush have hardened like the wires in the brush you clean a barbeque with. That was pleasant to discover AFTER I started brushing my teeth. Frozen bristles and tooth enamel don’t do well together. It’s a little rough and gritty when I run my tongue over my teeth.

I use a step ladder now to get onto my bed. I put on so many additional comforters; I’ve added 18 inches to the height. Sometimes, when I want a little more exercise, I actually get a running start at the other end of the hallway, run down into my bedroom, and then fling myself onto the bed. Of course, when you’re dressed in as much ski gear as possible, looking like you're in a sumo wrestling suit, your flexibility is somewhat limited. So each time I do that, I hope I don’t keep rolling over and off the other end of the bed.

Of course with all the covers I temporarily have on my bed, I’m lucky I wake up in the morning and don’t suffocate during the night. I’m surprised the weight hasn’t pressed on my chest so hard and that I can actually breathe. I honestly don’t understand how I survived growing up on the east coast in cold weather. I’m a cold weather wimp. I freeze when the temperature is in the 60’s, let alone the 30’s and 40’s.  

Do you think I’ve lived in sunny, southern California too long? Do you think that as I’m sitting here, I’m wondering just why I haven’t called in a heating and ventilation technician to find out WTF is wrong? Gotta go make a call. Thanks for letting me ‘Vent.’

What Did You Call Me?

I have never been one who calls people by a nickname. I rarely even shorten someone’s name unless I am introduced to them using that name.  If your name is Michael, I will call you Michael. I won’t call you Mike, or Mikey, or any other form used, unless you go by that name full time. For instance, my first husband is Lawrence, but he goes by Larry, and that’s how I met him and it’s the only name I ever called him. The only time I used Lawrence was when I filed my divorce papers.

But that’s not what bugs me. What bugs me are all the terms of endearment that people use for their spouses, family and friends. It’s just not sincere. It wouldn’t bother me if they only used them for that one particular person…but they don’t. They will call others they hardly know by the same nickname.  So you’re going to call me ‘sweetheart’ but then call the waitress at Jerry’s Deli ‘sweetheart’, too? I don’t think so. And please don’t call me by a name you used to call your ex-wife or girlfriend. That would really make me feel so very special. Seriously?

It’s the same thing with people telling people ‘I love you’ way too easily now, to people they really don’t love. The kids say it to all their friends, and some they aren’t close to. It’s way overused and loses its meaning for the people you really do love. I remember my daughter asking me to tell one of her friends that I love her. I said, “But I don’t” and she said, “Say it anyway…everyone does.” I wouldn’t do it. Saying I love you is reserved for those who I really do love. That’s not a compromise I will ever make and I don’t understand why others do.

I remember when I met my first husband and he started calling me ‘honey’. It was so odd to me because no one in my family had ever used terms of endearment. My parents only used their respective given names when they spoke to each other and our given names when they spoke to us kids. Both my sisters’ names were one syllable, so you couldn’t even shorten theirs. Actually, in our family, syllables were added, instead of shortened. I think it was a Yiddish/Jewish thing my grandparents did. I was Jaimala, my sister Beth was Betāmela and my sister Pam was Pamela; although Pamela was actually her real name. But being young and naïve, or just plain stupid, and only knowing her as Pam, I didn’t realize her given name had an –ela at the end. She ‘changed’ it to her real full name about 15 years ago...from Pam to Pamela. I still call her Pam. After 40+ years it’s kinda hard to start calling someone by a whole new name. Well...new to me, and not gonna happen.

But back to the endearing terms…and my husband calling me ‘honey’. It took me quite a while to get used to that. And I just couldn’t find a word I wanted to call him. Well…at least not while I was in love. I would practice saying words in front of the mirror. “Hi honey.” “Hi sweetheart.” “Hi sweetie.” Nothing felt like it would just flow out of my mouth naturally. It just wasn’t for me. I felt so ridiculous saying words like that. I guess it’s all how you are raised? I’m not sure, but since I never heard it in my house growing up, it wasn’t ‘normal’ for it to pour out. I just wasn’t feeling it. I did get used to him calling me ‘honey’ and he never called anyone else ‘honey’ besides me, so it was ok.  But I don’t remember ever having a nickname for him. I believe it just remained ‘Larry’.  At least out loud.

My second husband had 80 gazillion names for me.  And every single one of those…he used for others, too. It bugged the shit out of me. You may not call me ‘honey’ if you’re going to call Mildred, the 70 year old dry cleaner lady, ‘honey’, too. You may not call me ‘dear’.  We are not in our 80’s yet. Do not call me ‘darling’. I’m not Doris Day and you’re definitely not James Garner and we are not living in 1963.  And one of my most despised names of all…’Babe’. Do not ever call me ‘babe’. You’re not a construction worker whistling at me as I walk by…”Yo, Babe.” I am not a pig from a movie, nor am I some 20 something starring in a big screen feature film or a baseball player from the roaring 20's. Everyone uses ‘babe’ and it means nothing when everyone is using it. And I find it kind of demeaning for some reason. I want to feel special when someone calls me by a name other then my given name. It should mean something. I don’t want to be mixed in with everyone else you’re calling by that name. You may as well just call me Shirley. (“And don’t call me Shirley”).   

I did start calling him ‘honey’ for some reason, and I kept saying it until it felt normal. Or as normal as it was going to feel for me, which still was more abnormal than normal; never natural. I do remember the term ‘shithead’ being used quite a bit. That felt natural. Would you consider that a term of endearment? Probably not, huh? Over the years there were a few other names, but nothing I would post here. But they did flow out just fine at the time.

I had a boyfriend for a while, who I called ‘Weenie’. Don’t ask me why, but that felt natural. He didn’t take to it too easily at first, but when I pointed out that it actually was MY term of endearment for him only, he grew accustomed to it. It had nothing to do with his little pecker…if that’s what you’re wondering. It had nothing to do with him being a pansy. It just felt right and it was indigenous to him only. How special would that make a person feel? Weenie...so cute. 

There are only two people I have nicknames for…my daughters. And it’s the same for both and I never call anyone else by those names…’Sweetie’ or ‘Sweetie-pie’. I don’t know why those feel right but they do. Maybe because most of the time they are sweeties and my love is so deep. Although there are times I’d like to call them by other names…not so endearing…but I refrain because I’m supposed to set a good example. Aren’t I and do I have to? My girls know there are a couple of names I will not answer to. I will not answer to Mama. We are not in Little House on the Prairie nor are we in Tara. Actually, I think Mama is the only one I don’t like. I still love being called ‘Mommy’ no matter how old they get. It will always make me feel warm and fuzzy and that’s exactly what terms of endearment should do.

People have quite a few names for me that are variations of my given name. So that’s ok and kind of sweet. I will answer to Hymie (phonetically spelled for those of you who don’t speak Spanish and who obviously don’t live in L.A. then), Jai, Jaimala, Jame…and most forms thereof. I will also answer to ‘Love of my life’, ‘Woman of my dreams’, ’20 Million Dollar Winner of Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes’.  Or…Jaime, Jaime bo bamey, banana fanna fo famie, fee fy mo mamie…Jaime. 

And that’s the name of the game……Babe.