Sometimes when people notice that I’ve lost weight, I tell them it’s not that hard to lose weight. That’s a huge lie. It’s like when someone says, “Oh, I like that sweater,” and you reply with, “this old thing?” rather than just accept the compliment. I do this. Routinely. I diminish my successes. When alone, trying on clothes that were one too small, I think I rock and I’m proud of my hard work. But when someone wants to know how I’m doing it, what I eat, and how I look thinner, I tell them, “it’s not that hard. I don’t really miss any foods I used to eat. If I can do it, you can too. It’s easy!” Liar, liar, pants on fire!
January 17, 2009
August 3, 2008
Inevitably in a class or seminar there is always one annoying person who asks the most questions, makes the most comments and generally slows down the pace of the class or seminar. Always there is this person. Why is that? Is there a club of these people and they sign up to sit in each of these classes or seminars? Every single day? Seriously. There is always just one. So they all must call each other to make sure that specific course is covered.
And at concerts there is always at least one person in the general vicinity who stands out. Whether they’re flailing about in an attempt to dance, or whistling loudly, or singing off-key, they’re there. And last night they were right there. Sitting next to me.
Oh, she was excited to see Lyle Lovett. It must be noted that the venue where Lyle plays is quite…sedate. Well, not sedate, but it’s not the type of place that lends itself to crowd surfing or even standing up until encore time when the place gets jumping. The Mountain Winery in Saratoga is a lovely, intimate place to see a concert, and most people are polite and mellow don’t cause a ruckus. But this woman in the seat next to mine was quite
annoying as hell the character. She was dressed in all denim. Denim capris, denim (chambray really) short sleeved shirt with buttons down the front and some applique of some sort, and a denim baseball cap. Oh, and on her feet? Cowboy boots of course, because, duh. Lyle Lovett! But cowboy boots? With capris? Really?
I knew I was in trouble as soon as I took my seat. In a sea of concert goers, she was the only one with her arms up. I think her eyes were closed as she tipped her head back and swayed, as if in a religious trance of some sort. Fine, Lyle had a gospel choir backing him up, but this was Lyle Lovett and His Large Band, not the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. She was so into her swaying, that a couple of times her arms smacked my head. So Matte gently tapped her arm so she’d sway back to the right, away from my skull. There was a lapse of time, and she said (finally), “Oh, sorry…next time I do that, just elbow me in the ribs.” Uhm, yeah. I wouldn’t be doing that, but thanks for snapping out of your hypnosis to realize there are people next to you whose personal space you are invading.
I can appreciate someone being into the music, but her reaction was just so odd for the tunes Lyle plays. The swaying stopped soon afterwards, but it was replaced by laughter. She laughed loudly at every lyric, even those that were not funny. And she’d laugh loudly, and look at me to see if I thought it was funny too. Usually it was not, but she looked for my approval at each guffaw, coming up empty every time.
After every song, she yelled “YAAAAAAAY!” and clapped and “YAAAAAAAY!” and said “Mighty fine. Mighty fine.” Adding, “that’s what we say in the Bluegrass country. Mighty fine.” Great. Thanks for that.
Oh, and the singing. She didn’t sing well. I preferred the laughter to the singing actually. But at least it kept her from talking to Lyle. We were not sitting close to the stage at all, but when Lyle spoke of performing since the 70’s and how a lot has happened since then, my seat neighbor reminded him, “Yeah, you’ve been married and divorced since then!” referring to Julia Roberts, of course.
My seat neighbor seemed drunk and smelled of Lancers and stale Pall Malls.
It wasn’t just me, either. She was quite noticeable to the rest of the crowd. People in front of us kept turning around to see who was being so loud. She didn’t seem to notice or care. She just kept up her conversations with herself (and Lyle although she could not hear). Her reactions were always delayed and awkward and she was driving me nuts. Lyle started one of his more famous hits, one that every Lyle fan recognizes at the first 2 notes or so. She didn’t react until he began to sing, when she again said, “Yaaaay!” and “That tickles my fancy!”
Her husband was sitting next to her the entire time, and not once did he say, “Calm down maude.* You’re making a scene.” I would hope, that if I were being that annoying, someone would tell me.
*That may or may not have been her name. But it probably was.
March 23, 2008
One of my biggest pet peeves when driving is seeing people who change lanes, turn into a driveway or slow down to turn without using their turn signal. Matte hates it more than I do, so should you encounter either of us on the road, here are reasons why you should use your signal and avoid pissing us off:
- From the California Department of Motor Vehicles, this is how you change lanes: “Before changing lanes, signal, look in all your mirrors, and…”
- Only buttfaces don’t use their turn signal. And I know you’re not a buttface.
- Why else is there a turn signal in your car if not for you to use it?
- Using your signal is good carma. (See what I did there?)
- Because all the cool kids are doing it.
- It burns one thousand calories (probably it really does, over your lifetime).
- It doesn’t make your ass look big or give you double chins.
- It adds years to your life because people won’t crash into you.
- It’s the courteous thing to do and Mr. Rogers taught us to always be courteous. Also courtesy is contagious so if you use your signal, soon, everyone else will too.
- If you don’t, and you’re driving in Los Angeles, someone might shoot you.
- Barack Obama likes it when you use your turn signal.
- It narrowly missed being included on the list of new sins recently put out by the Vatican. BUT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ON THERE!
- Keyser Söze, Hannibal Lecter and Dexter will come and get you if you don’t.
- If you don’t signal, the terrorists win.
- Real men use their turn signals (and real women do too).
- 4 out of 5 dentists surveyed recommend using your turn signal.
- Safety. For you and your passengers and for every other driver you meet on the road.
- Because you don’t want this to happen to you. (Note: language NSFW unless you work in a mafia office.)
December 11, 2007
In honor of Festivus, I hereby present my very own airing of (workplace) grievances:
- Popping your gum so loudly I can hear it from four cubicles away.
- Nail clipping in your cubicle. I mean, come ON!
- Using the word “right” used when it doesn’t belong. (“I left him a message, right? And he never called me back, right? And I’m still playing phone tag with him, right?”) It has reached epidemic proportions at my company.
- Lack of articles before nouns (“customer wants a meeting tomorrow”). Unless someone has the extreme misfortune to have the first name “Customer,” use a freaking article when referring to them.
- Making phone calls using your speaker phone, in your cubicle. Unless you are performing a bris or something, pick up the damn receiver.
- Discussions that take place between two cubicles, when my cubicle separates the two cubicles housing the people having the discussion.
- Cubicles. Suck.
- Reheated fish in the microwave. Just…EW.
- Singing in the stall in the restroom. Really? Singing? Are you just so happy to be evacuating your bladder that you cannot contain yourself? At least you’re not singing about the actual act. I guess I should cut you a break.
- Also? People who answer the phone while in the stall. Every time someone does that, I flush. Even if I don’t have to at the time. Because folks on the other end of the line need to know that they are talking to someone while they are sitting on the commode.
So, in the spirit of all things Festivus, please air your own grievances (workplace or other) in the comments.
Next up, Feats of Strength!