Your Girlfriend is Ugly

Donde estan mis pantelones?

In case you hadn't heard I moved to the tri-state area. My company relocated me so I'm living in Hoboken which is awesome (and also where they hide all of the hot men) and working out of our office in the Jersey suburbs as well as the office in Manhattan. Here's the thing; when I was working in the office in Boston it was super casual. I'm talking like wife beaters and lululemon yoga pants to work. Now it's all business casual. This includes no jeans.

Even on Fridays. I have two dresser drawers filled with jeans so you can imagine how annoying this is.

My dilemma is that I don't own any dress pants. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii know! Like dress pants to me are a foreign concept. Plenty of dresses sure? cute little baby doll tops to wear with leggins? You got it. But no dress pants. And with the weather being so craptastic and rainy lately getting dressed in the morning causes me to have severe agida.

Thus far I've spent about $500 shopping online for pants. I could save myself the returning headache and just go to a mall to shop but 1.) I'm new to the area and have no idea where anything is and 2.) I'm so paranoid about driving when I don't have to because finding parking in my neighborhood blows (see this blogto read all about it.) At present time I loathe all of the pants I've received from J.Crew.com, Anntaylorloft.com and Gap.com.

So what am I doing? Wearing a pair of former fat pants from the Gap. These were purchased long before I joined Weight Watchers and lost 35 pounds. Right now they are falling off me. Plus it makes me look like I have an extra stomach because the waist has stretched out and causing the illusion of a paunch.

I am a mess. And I need pants.

Overheard in the 'burbs: Easter Weekend Edition

Friday: "But I gave birth to you for Christ's sake!"

On Friday evening around 7:50pm I walked into the family room where my parents were to alert The Donna that we should probably saddle up and hit the road to go pick up my sister Shana who was arriving at Rt. 128 station from New York.

My dad was watching some sort of program on the History Channel and The Donna was sitting on the couch snapping the ends off of 78 pounds of raw green beans. In between beheading the beans she was popping jelly beans into her mouth. Earlier that day I was putzing around CVS and decided to buy my mom some of her favorite candy.

"Mum we should probably get going."

"Leeeee-SAH these jelly beans suck."

"Um. Sorry...?"

"No thea wicked hahd."

I grabbed one and chewed on it. No unusual consistency to be found.

"Mum they're fine. If you want something soft to chew on eat one of these." I chucked the Swedish Fish bag at her and gestured that we needed to make a move.

"No Leee-SAH seriously. Hea..."

I then watched as my mother removed the half masticated jelly bean from her mouth and waved it in my face.

"Hea try this."

"I am NOT eating that!"

"Fa God's sake I gave birth to you!"

"And.."

"Hea eat it. Tell me it's not wicked hahd."

"Mum get outta here! Would you eat the jelly bean in my mouth???" I grabbed the half eaten green one and pressed it between my fingers.

To my surprise The Donna went for it!

"MUM!!! GROSS!!!" I shoved the bean back in my mouth. "Can we go please."

"Fine. But I don't know what you're freaking out about. I gave birth to you."

"Yes you said that. Come on we're going to be late."

Sunday afternoon: "I only like Wheel of Fortune."

For Easter we had my cousin Pam and Charles over with two of their three boys, Ben and Matt and my dad's older sister Aunt Nancy.

We were all sitting around the table drinking coffee and having pound cake when Pam (who is no stranger to my tales of waxing) asked what we all did last night

"Shana and I just hung out and watched a movie."

"Yeah," my dad grumbled, "Donna and I watched a movie too. Slumdog Millionaire. It SUCKED."

"Dad! How can you say that? It was soooo good! And it won like every award so at the very least you can appreciate it."

"I haven't seen it yet," said Pam.

"It flashes back a lot and Donna and I were just kind of confused."

"You have to pay attention," I explained to him. "Maybe you should watch it again."

"No. Oooooooh no."

"I don't think it was the right movie for mom and dad," said my sister. (What would be the right movie for my parents??)

My dad continued, "Plus it was about a game show. And I hate game shows."

"It was not about a game show dad."

"Well it sort of was. I'm not big on game shows. I mean I like a good episode of Wheel of Fortune but that's about it"

Sunday late afternoon before dinner: And the brutality just keeps on comin'

There are a handful of topics that are off limits for discussion during family functions. Two of the main ones are politics and the Massachusetts school system. My mother is very active in my towns school committee and talking about it boils her blood. And she has high blood-pressure. So we put these restrictions in place to keep The Donna alive.

Well somewhere in between the cheese ball and the Mets game the topic of schools came up. Pam is a math teacher in Mass so she and my mom were talking. Then I hear Pam tell my mom that they are going to start putting the BMI of kids on their report cards.

"Ah you serious Pam?" said The Donna.

"Yup. Now the school is responsible if your kid is fat," replied Pam.

My Aunt Nancy then turned to me and said, "Lisa you must be glad you're not in school any more huh?"

When the left I took my sister to the train, came home and immediately did my Tank Top Arms and Boy Short Bottom work out DVD.

How did you spend your Easter evening?

* * *

When's the next holiday?

My worst nightmare.

This past weekend I spent time at our Cape house with my family relaxing, eating great food and doing some major shopping damage. My sister was home for the weekend so it was a nice opportunity to recharge our batteries.

On Saturday evening we went to our favorite restaurant in Osterville called Wimpy's. It's family owned and we've been going there for years. Plus we've become good friends with two of the waitresses Catherine and Tricia.

That particular evening  we were lucky enough to have Catherine as our server. She's Irish and can take a joke. Plus she always makes sure there's a nice big healthy pour in my wine glass.

Three-quarters of the way through the meal and three rounds of drinks in, a family seated a few tables down started to sing. I spotted four children; three girls and a boy. One of the girls was of toddler looking age. She had a pacifier in her mouth and didn't look like she could pee in the bathroom yet. That's a toddler right? Anyway this supposed toddler was having a hissy fit so the family was serenading "The Wheels On The Bus" to her.

This is my worst nightmare come to life. I don't like children. They make me nervous and they are dirty and they are so chatty. Like Jesus! The sky is just blue OK?!

Right in the middle of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" Catherine came over to see how we were doing.

I gestured my head towards the singing family and said to her, "Think they'll sing us a song?"

"Well let's see about that." And off Catherine went...to the table where the singing family was seated. To ask them if they'd sing to us.

You've got to be kidding me.

I heard her say, "That nice lady right there wants to hear a song from you." Catherine was talking to the little boy who had chocolate caked on his face and her finger was aimed right at me.

Oh God.

After some hemming and hawing the mother wrangled her brood and brought them over to where we were sitting.

I was horrified.

"Ok guys. Ya ready???"

I glanced at my phone. It was 8:15. Shouldn't children be in bed by now? Not out singing to strangers?! 

"The Wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The Wheels on the bus go round and round. All through town. The windows on the bus go up and down, up and down, up and down. The windows on the bus go up and down all though towwwwwn."

Ok fine it was cute. I decided to give them a standing O "YAAAAAAAAAY! Oh how wonder-"

"The driver on the bus goes sit right down. Sit right down. Sit right down. The driver on the bus..."

"....ful...UGH!!!!"

"....goes sit right down. Aaaaaal throooooooooough tooooooooooooooooooooown."

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP. "Great job you guys!"

"The mother on the bus shoes shhh shhh shhhh, shhh shhh shhh...."

You've. Got. To. Be. Shitting. Me. Who else is on this Gdamn bus!!!??? If there is a field trip on this bus I'm killing myself with this butter knife.

"....The mother on the bus goes shhh shh shhhh alll through tooooooooown."

I held my breath, pleading to the baby Jesus that there would be no more verses of The Wheels on the Bus. He answered my prayers. But then we had to clap and catch the air kisses given to us by the little toddler child.

If Jack Bauer ever needs to resort to extreme torture to get information out of someone I recommend The Wheels on the Bus.  

Southern hospitality with a side of yankee attitude.

I was in Georgia for the first time last week and I loved it. I want to move there. I can totally see myself opening up a little Bed & Breakfast and pimping around the downtown areas, buying cute things from the various mom and pop stores. 

It was love at first "Ya'll."  (Actually I'm not going to lie. I've had an affinity for Georgia ever since I saw Steel Magnolias for the fist time.) That and the speed limit is 75.

We stayed at a little B & B in Madison, GA called the Brady Inn. Peter and Karen who run the inn were totally adorable. If he weren't already married I'd proposition Peter myself. Seriously, you didn't taste his breakfast. The cheese grits were to DIE for.

Now, I'm not a big antiquer. I don't have the patience and usually everything I see is junk. However, we happened to walk by this one store and the Civil War-era rifles kind of caught my eye. So we popped into this shop located in downtown Madison. I was perusing the estate jewelry when I heard one of my fellow travelers exclaim, "Ask to see the Nazi drawer?!?! Where's the Nazi drawer? I wanna see it." 

"Well sugar it's right there in front of you." That was the voice of the little plump southern woman with silver hair and way too much blush who ran the antique shop. She was totally adorable but there was something strange about her plopping down a drawer full of "authentic" framed Hitler pictures and arm-bands supposedly worn by people in concentration camps and stating, "Now this here is neat."  

For the record she also had a drawer full of KKK paraphernalia; pictures of rallies and someone's membership card. This particular drawer was right next to the fossil of a dinosaur head. It was all kind of mind-blowing.

The rest of the trip was strictly work related. On the trip home I was waiting at my gate at the Atlanta airport, next to the Loudest Man in the entire airport.

Apparently he was from Honduras and visiting Miami, missed his flight to Boston so he had to fly to Atlanta and get on my flight to Boston. Lucky me.

He was flying stand-by. How do I know this? Because the was SHOUTINGinto his phone. Finally my flight boarded and I made my way to aisle 32. I was happily buckling my seat belt when I heard, "Escuse me. I sitting here."

Oh you've got to be kidding me. The Loudest Guy in the airport was now the Loudest Guy on the plane and sitting in the middle seat of my aisle:

Loudest Guy on the plane: "Yeah I'm on da flight back to Boston...No I'm in Atlanta...Yeah I saw my friend. Yeah I showed him a good time. Yeah I got him a woman. I got him lots of woman...No I didn't get myself any woman. Oh don't worry about me. I take care of myself."

Ew.

I put on my iPod and began flipping through my Us Weekly. Next thing I know there's a tapping on my shoulder. It was the Loudest Guy.

"Mmmm?"

"Escuse me. Can I borrow jer magazine?"

"Uuuuh...Er...sure..." I handed him over my already flipped through In Touch. I mean what was I going to say? I'd already read it and he couldn't use his phone for two hours. Plus anything to get him to not talk. Plus it was almost Christmas.

When we landed the Loudest Guy picked up right where he left off. But he got my suitcase down for me so I suppose he redeemed himself.

I'm definitely East Coast but I'm 83% sure that living in Georgia and planting Magnolia trees could knock some of the Yankee right out of me.

Toe-tal Karma

Well, I know all of you were wondering when my karma was going to come around and bite me in the ass for -ACCIDENTALLY- ripping off Dunkin' Donuts. Well the wait is over. I'm pretty sure I got my fill of what-goes-around-comes-around yesterday.

After meeting with a friendly vendor downtown last night I hopped in a cab with my sister and headed back to our office on 57th and Madison. I arrived in NYC yesterday morning so I had all of my luggage with me. I decided to just leave the luggage at the office instead of trucking downtown with a suitcase and I'd just pick it up on the way back to Shana's apartment. We hopped in the cab and told the cabbie of our plan and how it would take just three minutes for me to grab my stuff so would he mind just circling the block.

"Why would I circle the block? That's stupid. I'll just park outside and wait."

"Oh...well ok then!" Perfect!

Our cab sidled up to the left near corner of 57th and Madison, right across from the IBM building. It was spitting rain all day yesterday. I hopped out of the cab and stepped right into a puddle.

"AH FUCK!" I didn't realize that my nice black pashmina was on my lap so when I looked down at my shoe to assess the water damage I saw that I was also submerging my pash in the puddle.

"UGH!" I picked up my soggy scarf and chucked it into the backseat on top of my sister.

Finally on the sidewalk I started to walk quickly to the office. I only had three minutes! It was still spitting rain and I was wearing heels. All of a sudden my right heel got caught in the sidewalk, but my foot kept walking forward. My foot landed on the slippery cement and I couldn't catch my footing so I did a split right there on Madison Avenue in front of the IBM building and God.

After I peeled myself and my dignity up off the ground I hobbled back to where my shoe was stuck in the sidewalk. This was when I noticed that the top of my right big toe was gushing blood. Apparently when my foot came flying out of my heel so did the top portion of my big toe. The flap of skin was still attached to the edge of the shoe.

"Awesome," I muttered to myself. "This sucks!"

I made it to the office and back to the taxi in one piece. And I think bodily damage more than makes up for the $1.57 that I owe my neighborhood Dunkin' Donuts.

The Iced Tea Bandit

This morning I made my way to my Dunkin' Donuts on Old Colony Ave. The drive-thru was line free *woot!* so I maneuvered Suzi right up to the little speaker box.

"How can I help you?"

"Hi. Can I get a medium iced tea with lemon and NO SUGAR."

"Medium iced tea, lemon no sugar."

"Yes."

"$2.35. Please drive up."

I know you're all wondering, "Why in God's name is Lisa ordering iced tea??!" Basically, when I was in China there was the whole melamine in the milk scare. No one was drinking milk or cream and black coffee in China is like drinking jet fuel. So I started drinking tea everywhere I went -I can take my tea black, I cannot take my milk without a splash of cream or milk- and when I got back to the US it just stuck. Now I'll have just one cup of coffee in the morning as opposed to my 6 cups throughout the course of a day.

Back to present day. So I pulled up to the drive-thru window and said hello to the girls that I see every morning working the window. I put my car in park and immediately had a sneezing fit. I sneezed like 6 times in a row. I sneezed to much a line of cars had materialized behind me.

"GAH!"

"It's OK honey. Take your time!" That was one of the nice drive-thru window girls.

But I was frazzled. I took out my gift card and glanced at the total amount of money left on the card.

"Hey there's $2.60 left on this. Keep the change!"

"Thanks!" She handed me my iced tea and I drove off.

As I was crossing the Herald Street Bridge I grabbed the various receipts and went to put them in my purse for further disposal when something caught my eye. It was the receipt that I'd glanced at earlier to figure out how much was left on my Dunkins gift card. There listed at the bottom was TOTAL REMAINING BALANCE: $ 0.78

Wait...what? Where did the $2.60 come from???

The $2.60 was the cost of the beverage I'd paid for with the card before, resulting in the $0.78 remaining balance.

Oh great. I'd just gipped my go-to Dunkin' Donuts! I go there every morning! Every single morning I drive up, order the same thing and go on my merry way. I realize I can go back there an apologize for my mistake but I won't be making a trip back there until Wednesday next week because I'm traveling starting tomorrow!

It's a good thing I'm moving.

A yo yo yoga update.

As you all know I'm into Yoga. I started going in early October and I absolutely love it. It's quite possibly the best thing I've done for myself. Well that and therapy.

I purchased a monthly membership at O2 in South End and I attend the lunch time classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays and the 9:30am class on Saturdays. It's basic with a lot of sun salutations but I sweat my ass off and for me it's a better work out than cardio. I was talking to JSutt about it - she's super happy I'm into Yoga. She didn't think I'd like it. Truthfully I'm shocked I like it myself- and she was telling me about this restorative Yoga class that she attended in Brookline and how amazing it is.

"Lees, It's amazing."

"How amazing is it JSutt?"

"It's just a really good way to end your week. And you sweat. A. LOT."

Never one to shy away from trying something new -except the duck necks! I wouldn't try the duck necks in China- we made a date to attend the Basic restorative yoga class at Baptiste Yogain Brookline this past Sunday.

I'm not going to lie. I was totally intimidated by the people in this class. They were all super hard core looking and none of them seemed to have any sort of basic yoga needs. And no one was really smiley. At O2 everyone smiles at you and is quiet and breathy. This place had some mickey mouse beams holding up the ceiling.

We entered the room and I immediately began to sweat. It was like stepping into a sauna that had gone to plaid and I loved it. People were in their various warm up positions, downward facing dog, upward facing dog, happy baby. I laid on my back and stretched from side to side.

The instructor finally came in.

"Hi I'm Jamie. I'm gonna be your instructa fa the class."

Her Boston accent was totally bumping.

"We're gonna do some wahm up poses and it's gonna be a great class guys."

The class was pretty great. Besides the fact that she didn't shut the fuck up the entire time. While I was trying to get all restorative and zen like with my bad yoga self she was walking around the class talking talk talking. Telling stories about her brother and how he was diagnosed with ADD when he was younger and how he took that ADD and turned it into something that helps him be creative in his work.

Don't care! Trying to thread the needleover here! We can chat about your brother over some bean sprouts and jasmine tea.

Now, I understand yoga is all about release, but what is the deal with the people who have to grunt like their on their third orgasm during a class? This one guy who was on the other side of the room -shirtless and wearing fancy man yoga pants- was grunting like a cave man the entire time. And it didn't matter what pose we were in. We could be lying on our backs in a resting position and out of no where you'd hear:

"OOOOOOOOOOooooooUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAHHH..."

During a downward facing dog he let out a grunt so intense the walls shook. I busted out into a giggle and looked around. No one else was laughing. No one else was looking around to see who was giving birth in the corner. That's fine. Maybe these folks are more mature than I am. But the first time someone farts in a yoga class I'm taking I'll have to leave the room. There is no way I'll be able to keep my composure after an event like that.

Fart-free, we emerged from the class, restored and sweating so much it looked like I peed my pants. Honestly, I can't get over the sweat. I have never in my life sweat that much. And that includes sex, going to the beach during a heat-wave, and the one time I tried to go running.

I'm in love with O2 yoga but I'd give Restorative yoga another whirl. Mainly because I have a free class pass. But I think I might have to get the Instructa Jamie a muzzle. Maybe a cute lululemon one??

The one about my date with a guy possessing a massive foot fetish.

As I mentioned in the blog below, I was out with my lovely friend Jenski Hillski on Friday. We shared some squid and downed some vodka at the fabulous bar at Eastern Standard.Somehow during the course of our evening I began to tell her the story of how I went on a date with a guy who had a foot fetish. I think I blacked out because after a few minutes I looked up and Jen was looking at me with a sort of horrified expression on her face, clutching her vodka and just saying "OOOOH. MYYYY. GOOODDDD."

I thought about it for a moment and then said to the bar, "Wait. Why haven't I bogged about this yet?"

"I don't know. But you need to."

So here we go.

It was the year 2000 and I had just moved back to Boston. I transfered from the Fashion Institute of Technology in Manhattan to Emerson College and was commuting from my parents house into the city for class until I could secure housing. Well, since all of my friends were away having their own college experiences and I was starting at a new school,  I didn't have too much of a social life.

This was back when AOL chat rooms were still popular. (I know what you're thinking). Anyway I found this one room that catered to new people in Boston. Just a friendly chat room where one could get ideas of where to go if you were new to the area. I wasn't new per se, since I grew up going into Boston all the time but I just wanted to meet new people.

I started talking to this one guy over IM. I don't remember if he was new to the area but he seemed normal and by the looks of his picture he was cute. Our IM chats progressed into phone chats and during one particular conversation he asked me how my feet were.

"How my feet are?"

"Yeah. What do your feet look like?"

"Oh. Uuhmm...They are painted pink...and..."

"Did you just get a pedicure?"

"No."

"So are your toe nails a little long?"

"Um...I actually looked at my toe nails...I guess..."

"Mmmmm....."

Ooh you'd think I got a clue. Nope.

At one point he asked me to walk on the hardwood floor and scrape my toes against the wood.

I let his request process in my brain and took a pregnant pause.  It wasn't so much that I was weirded out that he was into feet. I happen to like my feet very much. I just needed more information. "So are you, like, into feet?"

"Yeah. I love women's feet. The look of the arch, the painted toe nails. Even the smell."

I liked Nomar and everyone thought he was ugly so who was I to judge. (That picture still makes me randy btw.).

So we agreed to meet up one night after my class. We met at a sushi place inside of the Copely Mall. I was wearing open toed shoes, per his request. We had some recently acquired fish, talked about some feet and then headed into the movie. We saw Final Destination. I have no idea why I remember that. Maybe it's because Devon Sawa's face was bearing down on me as my footie date grabbed my leg and started to rub his fingers around my toes.

He leaned towards me and whispered, "You have great feet, you know that?"

"Thanks...hehe." The circular motions he was doing on the balls of my feet were starting to tickle!

I didn't mind a little make out session in the movie. I mean shoot, I'm not one to shy away from some theater thumping, but it just caught me so off guard when he grabbed my crossed leg and started to massage my foot. It was also super awkward because of the position I was in. I was leaning to the right as my leg was all the way across my body and in his lap to the left. And naturally since the movie was pretty much empty, the only other couple sitting in the theater were right next to us. 

He basically just made out with my foot through the entire movie. There was no kissing, no mouth on foot action, just him tracing circle patterns on my foot resting in his lap.

I went with the flow. Some part of me felt that I was just being used for my pretty feet but I was fine with it. 

After the movie we went to his car and made out. I'm not going to go into details because my mom reads this but let's just say that I learned a different kind of job that night. Things never did end up progressing with the Foot Fetish Guy. I think that my feet weren't that into it. They were a little shy and not used to being the center of all of that attention.

And I mean really, when you think of all the other fun things you can do with the body, why focus solely on the feet?

The One-Upper.

I'm pretty sure we've all been there. You're on a date and your date asks you a seemingly harmless question, "Oh you were on vacation? Where did you go on vacation?"

You (or let's be honest it's me because this blog is always about me): "Oh I just got back from California. I went with two of my best girlfriends."

The date replies with a long pause and then, "Yeah I went to Hawaii for my last vacation. It was amazing."

Then it his you. You're on a date with a One-Upper. God so painful. The One-Upper is the person who asks you a question and then after you answer offers no follow up, but instead comes back with a better answer to their own question. It's annoying and once it happens, totally kills my hard on.

I dated a guy who LITERALLY one-upped me during every conversation

"Oh you drive a Jetta? I like convertibles."

"Yeah I was just in India. That was interesting."

"I've never been to the Cape. I go the the Jersey Shore."

"Halloween's the best holiday ever." (What is it with guys and Halloween?) 

He'd ask me questions and then just go off on a tangent, clearly trying to impress himself because I could've cared less. Once the one-upping begins I lose all interest. I like to think it's a nervous habit but usually it's just an obnoxious character trait.

This happened to me the other night with a different guy:

"So what are you up to right now?"

"I'm sitting on my couch watching Project Runway, waiting for my China conference call to start."

Long pause, "Yeeeeahhh..I hate my conference calls with Bangalore."

GAH!

See here's the thing about the One-Upper. They put you in an awkward position. They are the one to ask the question and then they throw their information at you like a slab of beef. It's all on you to provide the follow-up. I mean what am I supposed to do with "hates Bangalore conference calls?" Because quite frankly, I don't care enough just yet to listen to a more detailed explanation as to why in fact this person hates Bangalore conference calls so as a result I just end up replying, "Oh. Cool." The conversation stops dead in its tracks and I'm left looking like a beast.

I may or may not have dinner plans with a potential one-upper tonight. I'll let you know how that goes.

Where's my Whitney sweat rag at?

I enjoy the heat when I am on the beach, in a bathing suit oiled down with Hawaiian Tropic SPF 4 and having the option to cool off in the Atlantic if I start to melt.

I do not enjoy the heat when I have to pimp around. I don't like sweating the second I walk out of my door and having my eye shadow crease and run down to my chin.

Not. Cute.

I attended a trade show at the Javits in NYC today. But first I had to head to the Chinese Consulate in the morning to secure my visa -btdubbs my trip got pushed back one week so I don't leave until the 17th. Guest bloggers anyone?-. Along with my coworker I squished into the consulate and waited for my number to be called. Thirteen seconds into waiting the sweat began to trickle down my back.

Oh boy. I was also wearing dark denim with a light yellow shirt. Horray for back sweat stains!

After dealing with the Chinese woman taking my info and paper work - she actually told me that she couldn't understand me because my Engrish wasn't good?!- I walked from 42nd and 12th to the Javits on 38th and 11th. Not far, but I was drenched by the time I got there.

It's so nasty! I like don't even sweat, I rain! I have my own climate for crying out loud! I didn't want to scare any vendors with my mutant like pit stains so I wore my hoodie until I could feel myself actually drying out. And it has to be said that it's not even hot out. It's sunny but a nice 75 degrees. It's not as if it's 90 with 100% humidity. There's a nice zephyr for crying out loud. Half way through the show the coolness of my shirt touched my back, sending a shiver up my spine and I knew I was in the clear.

It's one thing to pit out when you're at the gym, it is quite another when you're in a professional environment reaming someone out about pricing as a rivulet of sweat trickles from your elbow crease.

The other night, I had my friends from LA staying at my apartment. True to the random nature of New England weather it was humid and perfect for swamp ass. We were sitting at my apartment having over sized hamburgers when I took a napkin and wiped a sweat droplet from my face. Vanessa looked at me and said, "Are you crying?"

Not wanting to tell her that I was in fact perspiring in place, I passed it off as a joke and said, with mock sadness, "I'm just so happy you guys are here!!!" She laughed and I excused myself to go and blot my face.

I'm ready to become a snow bunny.