nice to meet you crazy, i'm dumbass

i used to think that crazy found me no matter where i was. after some healthy reflection, i think i've decided that i have a tendency to not only invite crazy, but also to perpetuate crazy.

often times, i find myself taking conversations so literally that i can get lost in details and miss out on the big picture. please allow me to share the following example: the story of crazy at the dog park.

the setting was a neighborhood dog park in the level opening at the base of a hiking trail. it was february and the snow was deep enough to require some serious footwear, yet not too deep as to trouble the dogs.

an older woman, dressed in a long sleeved tie-dyed shirt, sans jacket but equipped with a pretty hefty scarf, approached my perch on the picnic table. her pen-on-a-string swayed to and fro as her long legs marched deliberately through the snow.

polite chit chat ensued, nice nice blah blah.

then she says 'the good thing about all this snow is how it freezes the biems in the ground, even when they're still hot.'

trying not to show my confusion, i attempt to process this statement. did she just tell me she freezes bagels in the ground? does she reheat them or just eat them frozen? is there some sort of 'end of days' bagel stash outside her house?

you see, when she said biem, i heard bialy, somehow mispronounced. for those of you who might not know, this is a bialy:



a weird bagel with no hole. completely unacceptable if you ask me, but that's not the issue.

only after days of pondering the strange conversation, did i realize that she mean bm, not biem. bm for bowel movement.

she was talking about how nice it was that the snow freezes her dog's poo, thus making it easier to pick up. i, however, was completely unaware of this at the time. i asked her questions about how rapid the freezing process was, depending on the size and other factors. i even went so far as to ask how often she tried that method, and with any other things.

we had this parallel conversation in which we talked about two very different things for close to ten minutes. she was happy to oblige my inquiries and seemed to get more excited the longer we talked.

if my clever little monster hadn't chosen the perfect moment to attack her poor, ragged looking mutt, i might still be there now discussing the energy efficient option of using snow as a freezer.

this is one badass ode to the laundromat

the final installment of my guest blogger extravaganza comes to you directly from one of the most talented writers out there in blogland. he calls himself the badass geek, and his witty and sophisticated style quickly made him one of my favorites. his words seem effortlessly complex as they create such imagery that refuses to be ignored. i rarely use my blog as a platform to tell other people what to do/read/like, etc., but today i have to just stop the gushing and ga-ga-ing over badass and say trust me, you'll be happy you went to check out his spot. do it. now. i mean, after you read this guest post.

thanks again to all of my wonderful guest bloggers and i'll be back monday! happy weekend!





My dresser drawers are empty and barren -
there are no clean pairs of underwear to be found.
A week’s worth (or more) of dirty laundry has collected
in a massive pile on the ground.

All I’ve got are some mismatched socks
(their mates lost long ago in the dryer),
and a ratty t-shirt with holes in the pits
that my wife threatens to destroy with fire.

To avoid being arrested for walking ‘round nude
(I don’t know if I’d live that one down),
I threw all my clothes into a plastic basket
and make my way to the Laundromat downtown.

It smells of lint and bleach and filth,
and it’s louder than a NASCAR racetrack.
I scout out a washer, put my clothes inside,
set it to wash, and find a seat in the back.

My neighbor to the right is friendly enough,
but he smells like he bathes in cheese.
My neighbor to the left looks like she’s running a short fuse,
balancing a screaming toddler on each of her knees.

There’s the obligatory senior-aged woman,
equipped with a crossword puzzle and a glare.
Her husband (presumably) sits slouched over, asleep,
and farts periodically, completely unaware.

I tried to focus on the book I brought,
and to ignore the noise and the smell.
I came here to quietly wash my laundry,
not knowing this was a portal to Hell.

I thought the worst was all behind me
as I fetched my clothes from the dryer,
but it wasn’t until I began to fold them
when the situation became suddenly dire.

I had a pair of my boxers in hand
when some motion caught my eye.
I looked up to see Geriatric Crossword Lady
smiling at me and looking sly.

She winked and waggled her eyebrows at me,
and my stomach fell to the floor.
This can’t be happening to me again,
not after what happened before!

No longer caring about wrinkles
(that’s what irons were invented for),
I gathered by the handful my clothes into the basket
and high-tailed it for the door.

I thought after I’d been propositioned the last time,
the odds of it happening again had to be small.
Turns out I was wrong, but how could that be?
It didn’t make any sense to me at all.

What is it with me and Laundromats?
How is it that I attract the freaks?
All I know is that I’m going to put off
washing my clothes for a couple of weeks.

life can be easier to take if you pretend it's a game

hello kiddies! and welcome to this monday afternoon edition of waiting room hell! the producers and i hope you'll enjoy the show. now if you'll sit back, stretch out, and grab something handy to break in sheer frustration, preferably glassware, we can begin.

our first contestant is mr. snots-a-lot. as he moves in for his initial approach, clearing his phlegmy throat with a loud ugh-hhhhuugghhh, i (your host/judge) have begun to shift in my chair to face the opposite direction.

mr. snots-a-lot barks in his deep, gravel pitch, 'boy or girl?!'

i challenge him by turning farther to the side, giving him more of my back and less of my profile.

'hhhmmmmuugggnnngghhh!! BOY or GIRL?!'

his persistence is setting the bar high for our other competitors.

'meeeeessss, the baby, is BOY or GIRL?!?!'

dingdingding! we have our first winner folks. yes, that is a baby that i'm shielding from your superfluous snot display. congratulations pal, you officially win the title of grossest waiting room attendee.

not to be outdone, our next contestant, mrs. i'm-so-old-i-can't-find-my-grave, quickly enters the game with a gnarled finger pointing toward the golf ball-esque growth on her neck screaming 'it huuuurrrts!' she follows up with a friendly, albeit warbley, 'good morning' announced to no one in particular at 1:30pm.

bonus points for making herself heard across the room and down the hall. what a strategist, that one.

but today was not the old gal's day. she was soon to be crushed in a battle for the title of most randomly annoying waiting room attendee but our third and final contestant, mr. chatterbox.

mr. chatterbox is one stiff competitor. if you see him approaching, you'd do well to up and leave whatever waiting room you're in and forget about whatever business brought you there in the first place. he pulls no punches in his game. his disguise of a lightweight suit with co-ordinating tie and pocket square might lead you to underestimate his abilities.

without any prompt whatsoever, he will sit so close to you that you will be able to inhale his toupee glue. but before you even get a chance to enjoy the high from his noxious hair chemicals, he will proceed to talk loudly into his outdated cell phone about his last physical, nodding and winking at you all the while, just to make sure you're getting every last word pounded into your cerebrum.

his blatent disregard of the written no-cell-phone rule, as well as the unwritten get-the-fuck-out-of-my-personal-space rule, earns very high marks. to ensure a win though, he's got to bring everything in his repertoire for the finale.

he does not disappoint.

mr. chatterbox assumes the tone of voice that he thinks resembles andrew dice clay, and begs the crowd for a little forgiveness. only he's trying to be rodney dangerfield. his misuse of two of the most eternally obnoxious 'comedians' is enough to guarantee a landslide victory. if only he'd added a little carrot top to the mix, he could have broken the world record.

on that note, we'd like to thank you for tuning in, and we'll see you next time here on waiting room hell!

(this program brought to you by our sponsors, toyota and frosty paws doggie ice cream treats.)

not me, no way, no how, not ever

last night b and i went to a reception dinner to welcome the new regional managing co-operative district chief financial directing big boss. so what i made up that title, not like anyone ever really knows what those guys do anyway. the guy seems nice enough though, despite what i initially thought of him based purely on a picture.

the funny part was that the dinner was held at the estate where i work. so there we were, all dressed up in a room of 200 plus white collar, conservative, finance people, and i was busy bullshitting with the waitstaff. although i have to say that many of them didn't recognize me with my hair down and no chef whites on, so i had to have that awkward 'oh yeah it's me, i showered' conversation a few times.

but more importantly, i have to say that last night taught me a very, very valuable lesson. i learned exactly what type of old lady i do not want to become.

to be fair, this lesson actually started on tuesday morning when i was in traffic court. the sweet little old gal sitting next to me, someone's grandmother, seemed so helpless and scared about how to talk to the officer about her ticket. she kept leaning in to ask me what to do next, because i look like the kind of criminal who's seen the inside of a courtroom a few times yet is still reasonably approachable.

maybe she's psychic, but i was happy to answer her questions, hoping to make her experience a little less intimidating.

that is, until she began her relentless onslaught of fart bombs. i think she may have been having flashbacks to the first world war, and her subconscious released her own version of lethal gas to protect herself from any possible attackers.

she shrouded me with her clouds of stink, and still looked me in the eye to ask about when to stand up and talk to the cop.

devious as a black widow, masterful in her craft of luring you in just to poison you while you innocently offer advice, she was a rattlesnake in the grass, coiled and ready to strike. no granny, i do not want to be like you when i get old. it seems you have cornered the market on sweet and deadly, i could never dream of following in your footsteps.

she wasn't even the worst of the old lady gang.

last night i had the pleasure of sitting next to old secretary lady, who's biggest offense was the pearl-sized orange ball of ear wax perilously nestled inside her ear, ready to make its escape at the very slightest of head turns.

i tried not to stare.

it was incredibly hard to make small talk with b's other co-workers while at the same time keeping one eye on the crystallized ball of nasty just waiting to roll out onto my miso glazed chilean sea bass and blend right in with the papaya chutney. it was a cruel game. i knew if i wasn't vigilant i would end up eating the wax and be none the wiser.

so naturally i shoveled my food into my gaping mouth as fast as i possibly could so that i could retreat to the ladies room and wrestle with my spanx for about twenty minutes. i figured in that time old secretary lady would have finished her dinner and maybe gotten up to mingle.

i didn't know what i had inadvertently set myself up for.

in the bathroom stall next to me, as i struggled to get my spandexy undies back in place, i had to listen to oversharing old lady making vag farts and ugghhhhh noises. as i barely managed to keep my dinner in my stomach, she proclaimed 'that's how you know the food was goooood!!'

i tried to wash up and exit the restroom before she emerged from the stall, but alas, that was not my fate. no, oversharing lady had to reach right in front of my face to grab a hand towel while i retched silently.

'even these towels are nice here!!' she said with a grin.

i hung my head and ran out the door, never looking back.

and so, with these fine examples laid before my feet, i now know that i will make the effort to become a very different type of old lady. i will smell perpetually of fresh mint leaves and sit in a rocking chair knitting ceaselessly, even in the summers. i will not threaten innocent people with my bodily excretions in any state of matter.

i hereby do declare that i will be a truly harmless old lady. unless of course you try to talk shit about my driving, then i'll be forced to beat you with my cane.