Wow it's been a long time since I've posted...I will try to be better, I promise!
My latest "are you kidding me" moment:
I am driving down a very busy, very congested 6 lane boulevard...full of restaurants, shops, college kids, and businesses. It's a very happening street in my town. I notice traffic coming to an abrupt halt and I was a little confused, as we were not near an intersection or crossing of any sort. I slow down and stop like the others around me and crane my neck to see what could possibly be going on. I was looking for a puppy, maybe a dog that had escaped it's home (and trust me, I would have leapt from my car and shielded the dog with my own body had that been the case). But no. What else did I see but a woman on a bicycle trying to cross all 6 lanes of traffic. And not at the intersection that was probably 20 yards away.
Then it just got weirder. I saw she actually wasn't on the bike, she was straddling it and walking it with baby steps across the busy street (although it wasn't busy anymore because she had one hand out halting traffic and the other hand on something....was that?....I think that's a....yes, it's a freakin' Sonic drink!
Are you kidding me?!
She is putting her life on the line because heaven forbid she put down the Sonic drink so she can ride swiftly across the road. No, no. She chose to shuffle as slow as possible, all in the name of her keeping her drink intact.
Is Sonic now serving diamonds in their Route 44 cups and I just didn't get the memo???
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Sunday, November 30, 2008
So you say leather doesn't scratch metal...
Ahhh, I love the fall. I love how the air gets crisp and cool. I love going to get my favorite sandwich and cup of hot soup at a local deli to mark the season change.
I am at this deli the other day, enjoying the sights and smells of the season. I excitedly take my to-go bag, pay for my food, and exit the deli toward my car in the parking lot. As soon as I exit the doors of the deli I see a woman, standing at the hood of my car with her obese handbag on my hood and all of it's contents scattered about.
Here we go...Seriously?
Now, my car being an "older gal" doesn't have the neat little door unlock thing where I could give this lady a warning to get the H off my hood. No no, that would be too easy. I actually have to walk up to my driver's door, unlock it by hand and get in. So there is no warning. Only face-to-face being busted. Once she sees me unlocking the car a look of horror comes over her face (yes, I would be embarassed, too, but I would probably never be doing this on someone else's car). She immediately starts dumping her crap back in her bag and mutters something about how she'll go ahead and get out of my way so I can leave.
Seriously?
The best part comes next.
As she turns to go, she grabs the strap of her handbag and drags her purse to her. "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" was the sound that ricoched off the cement parking lot. Apparently, she had forgotten that on the bottom of her purse were those metal "feet" that some purses have. All I could do was stare at this woman. Only me. This could only happen to me. Someone is recording this right now. Someone is taping me and laughing at me.
We both stared at each other in shock because it was obvious what just happened. And, like nothing at all happened, she turned her back, started to walk away and only turned around to say, "Oh, don't worry, it's leather, it can't scratch anything."
What are you kidding me?!
I am at this deli the other day, enjoying the sights and smells of the season. I excitedly take my to-go bag, pay for my food, and exit the deli toward my car in the parking lot. As soon as I exit the doors of the deli I see a woman, standing at the hood of my car with her obese handbag on my hood and all of it's contents scattered about.
Here we go...Seriously?
Now, my car being an "older gal" doesn't have the neat little door unlock thing where I could give this lady a warning to get the H off my hood. No no, that would be too easy. I actually have to walk up to my driver's door, unlock it by hand and get in. So there is no warning. Only face-to-face being busted. Once she sees me unlocking the car a look of horror comes over her face (yes, I would be embarassed, too, but I would probably never be doing this on someone else's car). She immediately starts dumping her crap back in her bag and mutters something about how she'll go ahead and get out of my way so I can leave.
Seriously?
The best part comes next.
As she turns to go, she grabs the strap of her handbag and drags her purse to her. "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" was the sound that ricoched off the cement parking lot. Apparently, she had forgotten that on the bottom of her purse were those metal "feet" that some purses have. All I could do was stare at this woman. Only me. This could only happen to me. Someone is recording this right now. Someone is taping me and laughing at me.
We both stared at each other in shock because it was obvious what just happened. And, like nothing at all happened, she turned her back, started to walk away and only turned around to say, "Oh, don't worry, it's leather, it can't scratch anything."
What are you kidding me?!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The UPS Guy Hates My Guts
The UPS guy and myself have an ongoing battle. It's a silent battle. One where I smile at him sweetly every time my office calls in a pickup and one where he never reveals his eyes to me, as they are hidden behind his reflective sunglasses (which he refuses to take off indoors). I can't help it that by the time I call in a pickup, he has already been in my area. UPS is known for being able to pick up any package, anywhere, as long as you give them an hour's notice. Which I do. But the UPS guy hates my guts for it if it's anywhere near the end of the day when we make "the call." Why would I have an overnight package ready at 9:00 am? I just get to work myself at that time! We play nice but I know deep down he hates my guts and he knows I know he hates my guts. Buck up, young UPS guy. Take off those reflective sunglasses and look me in the face. Maybe it's your turn to look me in the eye and say, "Are you kidding me?!"
Monday, October 6, 2008
I only thought I had good taste...
One of my favorite things in life is the day spa. I adore it. I patiently wait weeks, and sometimes months, to treat myself to the self-indulgence of paying way too much to have a stranger rub, exfoliate, and massage my body for hours on end. Now, I'm not a girl who can just go out and spend all my dollars on days at the spa, so when I do spend this exhorbant amount of money, it really chaps my hide when what happened to me at the spa this weekend actually happens.
Scene:
My best friend and I go to a very nice, new spa known for it's mediterranean architecture and saltwater lap pool. All I needed was a manicure. That's it. That's all. That's too much to ask.
Before continuing, I must let you know that I had recently purchased a new shade of OPI nail color that I was so excited about. You see, I watch a lot of Food Network. And there's a show with Giada de Laurentiis and she's the most adorable thing ever! On her show, the camera man ALWAYS gets closeups of her hands chopping nuts or rolling gnocci or something Italian like that. And her nails are perfect...flawless...naturally exquisitie. So for days I combed the internet trying to find out what nail color Giada uses (yes, obsessive, I know). Long story short, she wears OPI "Bubble Bath" so I rushed out and bought some and have been in love with the color for weeks now.
And return to scene:
So I'm getting my nails done, all the while chatting with the very friendly (so I thought) manicurist. And as she is screwing the top back on the Bubble Bath polish I had brought with me, out of nowhere she says, "You know this shade is all wrong for your skin color."
Huh? Did she really just say that?
"See, your skin is very pale."
Yeah, no crap, I've spent the last 6 years dodging melanoma. But thanks for reminding me.
"You need a color with brightness so it doesn't wash you out like this shade does."
The Manicurist from Hell proceeds to wiggle her fingers at her shelf-o-polish searching for the perfect shade.
"Here, this would be perfect for you." She proceeds to grab the most ghastly, unsighly polish I couldn't have possibly even dreamed up. It was a cross between coral, neon orange, doo doo brown, and hot pink like the neon shorts I had in 4th grade with matching hot pink socks. Atrocious.
So are you kidding me?
"Oh, yeah, that's nice," was all I could muster up to say.
The best part came next. "I guess I shouldn't say anything. I've gotten in trouble for telling people my personal opinion before."
No shit.
Glad the manicure was over, I get up and walk over to my friend's table while she gets the finishing touches on her nails.
The Manicurist from Hell follows me and as she is passing my friend's table (who is getting a gorgeous shade of deep maroon/purple perfect for fall) she lets out a cry of anguish and disgust as she sets her eyes on her hands.
"Oh! That's dark! I'm just not a fan of dark colors."
Seriously?! Not only has she turned my spa experience into a living hell, but now she's going to start on my friend?!
I left the spa in a daze, convinced I would never go back. Instead of being pampered, I was harassed. Instead of feeling beautiful, I felt ashamed. Instead of enjoying the moment, all I could think about was Giada and her amazing nails. So we left the spa and as we drove away I pictured myself taking my perfectly manicured, too-wrong-for-my-skin-tone middle finger and giving that woman the bird.
Scene:
My best friend and I go to a very nice, new spa known for it's mediterranean architecture and saltwater lap pool. All I needed was a manicure. That's it. That's all. That's too much to ask.
Before continuing, I must let you know that I had recently purchased a new shade of OPI nail color that I was so excited about. You see, I watch a lot of Food Network. And there's a show with Giada de Laurentiis and she's the most adorable thing ever! On her show, the camera man ALWAYS gets closeups of her hands chopping nuts or rolling gnocci or something Italian like that. And her nails are perfect...flawless...naturally exquisitie. So for days I combed the internet trying to find out what nail color Giada uses (yes, obsessive, I know). Long story short, she wears OPI "Bubble Bath" so I rushed out and bought some and have been in love with the color for weeks now.
And return to scene:
So I'm getting my nails done, all the while chatting with the very friendly (so I thought) manicurist. And as she is screwing the top back on the Bubble Bath polish I had brought with me, out of nowhere she says, "You know this shade is all wrong for your skin color."
Huh? Did she really just say that?
"See, your skin is very pale."
Yeah, no crap, I've spent the last 6 years dodging melanoma. But thanks for reminding me.
"You need a color with brightness so it doesn't wash you out like this shade does."
The Manicurist from Hell proceeds to wiggle her fingers at her shelf-o-polish searching for the perfect shade.
"Here, this would be perfect for you." She proceeds to grab the most ghastly, unsighly polish I couldn't have possibly even dreamed up. It was a cross between coral, neon orange, doo doo brown, and hot pink like the neon shorts I had in 4th grade with matching hot pink socks. Atrocious.
So are you kidding me?
"Oh, yeah, that's nice," was all I could muster up to say.
The best part came next. "I guess I shouldn't say anything. I've gotten in trouble for telling people my personal opinion before."
No shit.
Glad the manicure was over, I get up and walk over to my friend's table while she gets the finishing touches on her nails.
The Manicurist from Hell follows me and as she is passing my friend's table (who is getting a gorgeous shade of deep maroon/purple perfect for fall) she lets out a cry of anguish and disgust as she sets her eyes on her hands.
"Oh! That's dark! I'm just not a fan of dark colors."
Seriously?! Not only has she turned my spa experience into a living hell, but now she's going to start on my friend?!
I left the spa in a daze, convinced I would never go back. Instead of being pampered, I was harassed. Instead of feeling beautiful, I felt ashamed. Instead of enjoying the moment, all I could think about was Giada and her amazing nails. So we left the spa and as we drove away I pictured myself taking my perfectly manicured, too-wrong-for-my-skin-tone middle finger and giving that woman the bird.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Dog Hair in My Dinner...PLUS a BONUS "Are you kidding me" moment
I have a dog. I have a hairy, furry, amazing Golden Retriever dog. She has a few strange habits but the one that makes me say "are you kidding me?" is the one where she waits until I sit down with my plate of dinner (usually on the sofa) and then she comes over to where I am and shakes (like dogs do when they are hosed down with water and can't wait to get the excess off...but of course she is completely dry). And through the air I see those pale blond strands of hair gravitating toward my plate as if I included magnets in my dinner recipies.
I just don't get it. She never shakes. Ever. Except every night when I sit down with my plate.
Sometimes I gag. Sometimes I completely lose my appetite. Either way, I just get pissed off and look at her and yell "No!" followed by, "SERIOUSLY?!"
Today was a double whammy.
Before the dog hair in my dinner incident, I almost flattened a cyclist on my way to work this morning. Now, I have had my fair share of cycling events so I am pretty familiar with bikes and what-not, but am still amazed at how clueless people can be (this is the understatement of the century). Okay, so the scenario is:
I am driving down a two-lane ONE WAY street people...keep that in mind..ONE WAY. On either side of this street are BIKE LANES. You know, those lanes made for bikes. I am driving down this one way street and, because I had not yet had my morning coffee, I realized something about this street was "off." It took me a moment to realize what, but after processing the "that can't be what I think it is" thought and then realizing it was, indeed, what I thought it was, I most definitely had to slam on the brakes (this is not an easy task on an 11-year old vehicle held together by Superglue). Practically careening into my grill (my literal grill, not my diamond encrusted dental one...I don't wear that to work) was a girl on a bike, doing Mach 3, in the middle of the street, going the opposite way of the one-way traffic.
Seriously?
Not only are you speeding on your bike. Not only are you going the wrong way down a one way street. Not only are you NOT using the bike lanes, but you are LITERALLY in the middle of the street and about to get up close and personal with "the beast." (That's my car, not me). After screeching the brakes, I have to refrain from flipping her off or yelling "Are you kidding me?!" at her because with my luck, the girl would have turned out to be my boss' sister or my preacher's daughter or some other person who has the ability to make my life as awkward as possible.
What are you kidding me?
I just don't get it. She never shakes. Ever. Except every night when I sit down with my plate.
Sometimes I gag. Sometimes I completely lose my appetite. Either way, I just get pissed off and look at her and yell "No!" followed by, "SERIOUSLY?!"
Today was a double whammy.
Before the dog hair in my dinner incident, I almost flattened a cyclist on my way to work this morning. Now, I have had my fair share of cycling events so I am pretty familiar with bikes and what-not, but am still amazed at how clueless people can be (this is the understatement of the century). Okay, so the scenario is:
I am driving down a two-lane ONE WAY street people...keep that in mind..ONE WAY. On either side of this street are BIKE LANES. You know, those lanes made for bikes. I am driving down this one way street and, because I had not yet had my morning coffee, I realized something about this street was "off." It took me a moment to realize what, but after processing the "that can't be what I think it is" thought and then realizing it was, indeed, what I thought it was, I most definitely had to slam on the brakes (this is not an easy task on an 11-year old vehicle held together by Superglue). Practically careening into my grill (my literal grill, not my diamond encrusted dental one...I don't wear that to work) was a girl on a bike, doing Mach 3, in the middle of the street, going the opposite way of the one-way traffic.
Seriously?
Not only are you speeding on your bike. Not only are you going the wrong way down a one way street. Not only are you NOT using the bike lanes, but you are LITERALLY in the middle of the street and about to get up close and personal with "the beast." (That's my car, not me). After screeching the brakes, I have to refrain from flipping her off or yelling "Are you kidding me?!" at her because with my luck, the girl would have turned out to be my boss' sister or my preacher's daughter or some other person who has the ability to make my life as awkward as possible.
What are you kidding me?
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The Saddest Day in Baseball History...
Today is a sad day. Who in their right mind agrees to tear down Yankee Stadium? What sane group of people think it's okay to demolish The House that Ruth Built?
Is Derek Jeter's perfectly brilliant smile the only silver lining to this very dark cloud?
What are you kidding me? Seriously, people.
Is Derek Jeter's perfectly brilliant smile the only silver lining to this very dark cloud?
What are you kidding me? Seriously, people.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Tale of the Telemarketer Gone Sour
I have started this blog because I find myself daily asking the questions, "Really?," "Seriously?," and, my personal favorite, "Are you kidding me?." Encounters with people and situations occur on an almost-daily basis and force me to ask these questions in utter disbelief (though I don't know why I'm still shocked).
*Anything written in italics are my thoughts at the time
Today, for example, I am at work, immersed in the busyness that is my office, and I receive a phone call. Actually the main office line receives a phone call...I am the one to pick it up. A very cheerful telemarketer (that was my first warning sign...the dreaded reading off a script) gushes (and I mean, she is EXCITED) about how she hopes I'm having a great day and then proceeds to tell me I've been thrown in jail and my bail is posted at $1000. Okay, well, interesting marketing technique I guess. She busts out laughing and says, "Oh I'm just messing with you, we're not REALLY going to throw you in jail." Great joke. She proceeds to tell me who she's raising money for and that to get out of jail I have to find people to donate $1000 to her cause.
Feeling like a pro (we deal with telemarketers on a semi-regular basis), I give her my usual schpiel. "That's okay," I said. "I'm going to pass at this time but thank you for your call."
---The wrath of the telemarketer unleashes here---
"Well, do you mind telling me why?"
Okay, is it normal for telemarketers to get so defensive? And wow, she sounds really pissed off at me right now.
"I mean, why don't you want to participate in this? Don't you want to help other people?"
I'm not sure but I think she just called me selfish.
"I didn't even tell you the date of our fundraiser yet and you've already decided you're not going to participate and I'm just wondering why. I mean, can you give me a reason?"
Mayday, mayday, we are going down. Okay, you can't be rude. It is your job to be nice. I have no words right now. No nice words for the sourpuss telemarketer.
The only words coming to mind are...
"Really? Seriously? Are you kidding me?!"
The only reason I can think to give her at this point, being that I have upset her beyond the realms of where telephone communication reaches, is that I was a little uncomfortable being asked such questions.
"But thanks for your call," I made sure to say. "Have a great day."
She slammed the phone down in my face and I sat at my desk for the next 4 minutes without blinking or moving. Just replaying the conversation in my head over and over.
Then I remembered there were brownies in the kitchen and I was over it.
But come on people, really?!
*Anything written in italics are my thoughts at the time
Today, for example, I am at work, immersed in the busyness that is my office, and I receive a phone call. Actually the main office line receives a phone call...I am the one to pick it up. A very cheerful telemarketer (that was my first warning sign...the dreaded reading off a script) gushes (and I mean, she is EXCITED) about how she hopes I'm having a great day and then proceeds to tell me I've been thrown in jail and my bail is posted at $1000. Okay, well, interesting marketing technique I guess. She busts out laughing and says, "Oh I'm just messing with you, we're not REALLY going to throw you in jail." Great joke. She proceeds to tell me who she's raising money for and that to get out of jail I have to find people to donate $1000 to her cause.
Feeling like a pro (we deal with telemarketers on a semi-regular basis), I give her my usual schpiel. "That's okay," I said. "I'm going to pass at this time but thank you for your call."
---The wrath of the telemarketer unleashes here---
"Well, do you mind telling me why?"
Okay, is it normal for telemarketers to get so defensive? And wow, she sounds really pissed off at me right now.
"I mean, why don't you want to participate in this? Don't you want to help other people?"
I'm not sure but I think she just called me selfish.
"I didn't even tell you the date of our fundraiser yet and you've already decided you're not going to participate and I'm just wondering why. I mean, can you give me a reason?"
Mayday, mayday, we are going down. Okay, you can't be rude. It is your job to be nice. I have no words right now. No nice words for the sourpuss telemarketer.
The only words coming to mind are...
"Really? Seriously? Are you kidding me?!"
The only reason I can think to give her at this point, being that I have upset her beyond the realms of where telephone communication reaches, is that I was a little uncomfortable being asked such questions.
"But thanks for your call," I made sure to say. "Have a great day."
She slammed the phone down in my face and I sat at my desk for the next 4 minutes without blinking or moving. Just replaying the conversation in my head over and over.
Then I remembered there were brownies in the kitchen and I was over it.
But come on people, really?!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)