Your Girlfriend is Ugly

Happenings at Home: Keep your comps close and your mother closer.

This past weekend my sister was home in Mass visiting. We work for the same company but in different capacities; her office is in New York and I'm in Boston. On Friday she had to attend a photo shoot and some of the products had to be mocked up or "comped" as we creative people say in the industry. The plan was to get the products shot and then my sister would take them with her to the left coast for a really big meeting she has this week with a company that rhymes with Plethora.

Friday evening my sister had plans so I took the comps with me and met my mother for dinner.

"What ah those?" The Donna asked.

"They are comps mom."

She sized the bag up like it was a Stella D'Oro cookie then replied, "Oh."

That was the end of our conversation. We proceeded to do some light shopping that evening and then went home, ate salads and watched Tropic Thunder.

That Saturday morning I woke up at 11:45 (in the six weeks since I have moved back home I have not slept passed 10. Even I was horrified that I slept so late) and heard my sister say to my mother, "Oh, Lisa gave you a pink makeup bag?"  The pink makeup bag was in the bag of comps I brought home.

"Umm...No.." replied my mother hastily.

"Lisa?"

"What?"

My sister came bombing downstairs into my room.

"Where are the comps?"

"They were on the sewing table."

We both looked at the sewing table. No bag of comps.

"Mom. Where are the comps??"

"Oh. Well I threw them away."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Uh. Why would you do that?"

"Well I thought they were freebies so I took the bag and threw the rest of the stuff away." (One thing you have to picture is that the two makeup bags had paper sleeves around them that were part of the presentation. My sister and I later compared notes of what was going through our heads at the time and we were both sure that The Donna had ripped the sleeves to shreds before tossing them into the garbage.)

"Mom! They were comps! Shana needs those for her meeting."

"Yeah. I thought comp meant I could have them."

"No. Comp does not equal free."

"But you said they were mock-ups."

"That doesn't equal free either!"

"Oh," she replied busting into giggles.

The Donna then proceeded to rifle through the downstairs trash until she resurrected every comp/mock-up that had been unceremoniously tossed away. Both of the paper sleeves were still in tact and nothing was damaged. Although one of the tubes did have some Swiffer Wet Jet juice on it but no comps were seriously injured.

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.

My foul ball at the Red Sox game.

So last Wednesday night my cousin Nancy called me up and offered me four Red Sox tickets for the Friday night game. "Its our anniversary," she explained, "And I can think of a number of things I'd rather be doing that don't involve the Red Sox."

*wink*

I snatched up the tickets and on Friday, Plus One, HLP, Tall Dave and myself headed to Fenway for some franks and tap beer.

Oh and a two hour rain delay.

The rain delay didn't bother me so much. Well don't get me wrong, the snotting, sore throat and chills yesterday weren't all they're cracked up to be but at the time we were having fun! Since Plus One and HLP are cheap dates and can only have one drink, Tall Dave and I sustained ourselves on Bud Lite from the tap and various sundries that included nachos and large pretzels.

Since our seats were about 15 rows from the visiting dug out we weren't covered when the rain was coming down. So we shuffled up to the section of Fenway that is covered, right near the bleachers and waited out Mother Nature. Anyone ever been to Fenway during a rain delay? Let me tell you something, the music they play in the interim is pretty amazing. Like we had some Elton John, Billy Joel, Michael Jackson and a host of other tunes that were "shake your booty worthy". In fact, HLP provided the couple behind her with about an hours worth of amusement while she stood up and danced. On her way to the bathroom she did a little jig down the stairs too. It was pretty hilarious.

When the rain finally stopped, we moved back to our seats which were soaked. Twenty-eight billion napkins later we sat and took in Fenway which was glistening after the evenings rainfall. I don't care what you say, rain, snow, intense heat or a light zephyr, I love that park.

Were were in a section where there were four seats, then a bar then four seats on the other side. So it was kind of like you had your own row. The row in front of of us remained empty until a couple looking to be about in their late 20's came plodding along. The girl was mousy and looked like Donna Martin. She needed hair dye and a wardrobe makeover (I can't even get into her purse of choice, it's just too painful). The guy was super cute, tall, big and rocked a worn in Red Sox hat. I noticed he was wearing LEE jeans (hellooo Farmer Jack!) but I tried to ignore that and figure out if these two were a couple or just work friends with sexual tension.

I noticed that Donna Martin was tapping a text message on her RAZR. The tap beer had started to kick in so what else was there to do than to be creepy, lean forward and read what she was writing:

"Bob is sitting right next to me at the game..."

Um...Bob....?

It was at this point that Plus One started to crack up laughing and HLP was hissing at me to sit back. Since there are only six inches separating us, naturally Donna Martin turned around just in time to see me whip back and try to avoid eye contact with her while awkwardly asking Plus One what the score was (like she even knew how to find that out.)

But just to go back to the text message: if you're at a game with your boyfriend why would it be weird that he's sitting right next to you? So why is this even a question? Clearly they are friends who are awkward.

During a commercial break I started to talk to Tall Dave about How I Met Your Mother. He replied that he didn't watch it (blasphemy) but I proceeded to tell him about the funny episode anyway. At this time, the cute guy turned around and goes, "I love that show!" He was all smiles as we recounted the episode where Robin is a Canadian pop singer.

"Oh I didn't used to watch that show but HE got me into it about three months ago." I glanced over at Donna Martin.

"Uh-huh"

Back to the cute guy still smiling.

Donna Martin kept talking, "Did you see Britney Spears on it?"

At this point I was disregarding her existence as a human and trying to make eyes with my new boyfriend.

Thank God for the start of the inning. Donna Martin turned back around and My New Boyfriend gave me a final smile and settled in to his seat. I kept blabbering on about things. I mentioned how Kevin Youkilis looks like a White Supremacist with that beard and HLP and I commented about how half of the Red Sox players were born after 1982 and "MAN DO WE FEEL OLD!!!!!"

Donna Martin and my boyfriend got up and walked to the concession stand. Again I studied their body language: no hand holding and there were at least five feet between them.

I let out an audible sigh and then said in my loudest tap beer voice: "UGH. Just so everyone is AWARE...I SHOULD BE DATING HIM! HE SHOULD LIKE, TOTALLY BE MY BOYFRIEND! WHAT IS HE DOING WITH DONNA MARTIN ANYWAY???"

HLP and Plus Once collapsed into hysterics. As I came up for air I noticed a pair of blue eyes staring at me.

Oh! We had new neighbors! The row next to us was filled in by three guys and one girl and the guy closest to us had heard everything I said. I made eye contact with him and held his gaze, waiting for him to tell me what a mean person I was and "who was I to criticize???" But instead he erupted in laughter, let out a "JESUS CHRIST!" in between his guffaws, then he raised his beer and said "CHEERS! I TOTALLY AGREE!!"

We clinked plastic beer cups and I think maybe even high-fived but then I said all serious like, "Ok but can you like not tell them I said that?"

The "are they or aren't they" couple came back (the guy with the blue eyes gave me an over the shoulder smirk) and still, no hand holding, no making out after every hit/strikeout/home run (trust me, this is what you do when you're at a game with a BF/GF) and at one point I noticed him being lame and pulling her hood over her head.

Um. I used to do that to Jake Mello in 4th grade.

I am apparently obsessed with this guy. Maybe this blog will serve as a MISSED CONNECTION for him. I just don't want scads of guys who wear LEE jeans clogging my inbox.

Oh the horror.

"You pick culah!!!" - How about a nice shade of *poot*?

The other day I was tooling around Newbury Street getting my bangs fixed and I decided to stop in to the Fresh store and give my favorite Ukrainian Princess a little love.

We chit-chatted in front of the store and people watched while taking in the gorgo weather. Then the Ukrainian Princess instructed me to look at her toes. I took in her flawless French pedicure. I was beyond jealous. I looked from her pretty toes to my four week old chipping and scuffed Jelly Apple red toes while a sad little "wah-wah-waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah" played in my head.

I needed a mani/pedi straight away.

I floored it back to Southie in Suzi and came to a screeching halt in front of the Gaelic Nail Spa on West Broadway. Do not be fooled by the Irish name, this joint is run with military like precision by a gaggle of hardcore Koreans.

"Hallooo? Can I hewp yeeeeeeew?"

"Hi. Manicure and pedicure please?"

"Ok you pick culah!"

I sauntered over to the culah wall and started to decorate my unkempt fingernails with various eggplants and blacks and navys. I decided I wanted to go with OPI Something Garnet on my hands and a French on my toes.

The woman who was about to de-cuticle my toes waved me over and I took a seat in the plush black vibrating chair. The thing I love about getting my nails done is that I don't have to do anything. I don't like pawing through three week old magazines that everyone else has already raged. I like to just sit and relax. Maybe every once in a while I'll peer down to see how much cuticle has been accrued but for the most part I keep to myself.

She began the ritual of the pedicure: polish removal, cuticle pushing back, cuticle cutting, filing, buffing and then removal of calluses on the bottom of the feet.

I have to pause for a second and tell you, dear reader, that I am incredibly ticklish on the bottoms of my feet. You can try to tickle me on my side or even my knee but you'll fail and then eventually your fingers will atrophy and I'll say, "Toldja".

So when the woman squirted the lotion stuff on the scrubby sponge like thing and took it to my feet I lost it. I didn't full out giggle but I was jerking my leg around so much I looked like I was suffering from a bout of restless leg syndrome. I was trying so hard to not laugh that my face was turning purple and the veins in my neck were pulsing. The upper half of my body was trying to hard to keep it together. Unfortunately the lower half of my body was on a mission of it's own.

Ladies in gentleman, while trying to not bust out into a full on GUFFAW I let out a fart. I farted in the face of the woman doing my pedicure. It was one of those farts that comes out from the back and then travels up your butt crack and ends with a small *pop* at the start of your crack.

Suffice it to say I was mortified. I peered down at the woman. She gave me a fleeting glance and then continued exfoliating the bottom of my right foot. I bet when she woke up this morning she hadn't expected to be farted on.

*phew* Don't think she heard me.

The second the thought entered my brain she started speaking in her native tongue and the entire place erupted in laughter. I couldn't bring myself to see if they were looking at me but you know they all were.

Flakier than a box of Total

I've never really been someone to pay my bills online. I know. You'd think that someone with my fabulous bangs and keen sense of purses and nail polish would be able to get her act together to engage in some electronic bill paying. But I still go the snail mail route. Meh. Just how I'm wired. I kind of find comfort in gathering up all of my bills, plopping down on my pillowy deliciousness of a bed and banging out checks while watching The Shield on Netflix.

So that's what I this past Sunday night. I had everything ready and raring to go. I stuffed my bills in my notebook and gathered everything up so I could mail them the next day.

Well Monday came and went. I'll remember to do it Tuesday.

Um. Tuesday went by like a flash. (Sidebar: this is important to the blog. So on Tuesday I ran my credit report. That like FICO thing that details your Social Security Number, every single credit card you've ever opened, where you've lived, etc. Yeah so I got that info, the G-damn thing was about as thick as the Kind James Bible, folded it up and shoved it onto my notebook.)

Wednesday rolled around and I finally remembered right when I got into the office to mail my bills. I quickly grabbed the stack that was inside of my notebook, walked through out new office past the quasi-cute/dirty/sexy ugly guy who was fixing our doors and outside to the mail box, opened the little door thing with a rickety creeeeeeeeeeeek and plopped my enormous mound of bills into the blue box abyss.

I headed back to my desk and saw that I had voicemails so I grabbed my notebook, which felt awkwardly light. My heart skipped a beat. I didn't remember taking my FICO thingy out of my notebook but....but...surely I didn't just put it in the mail box. Surely I didn't just toss a document that could get my identity stolen into a public mail box that was spitting distance from the Pine Street Inn.

Oh dear Lord. I think I just did.

Um. Ok. How does one handle this. I mean I had to call the post office but everything you read and hear about, the postal service workers aren't generally the most helpful folks out there. Disgruntled comes to mind.  But I decided to give it a whirl. I mean, dealing with supposedly unhelpful people is better than having your identity stolen.

After some research I found the number for the post office that picks up for that box. A woman answered who sounded like she'd been around the postal block.

I put on my best innocent girl voice, "Hi. I'm wondering if you can help me..." I proceeded to launch into a story about how I mailed something that I "reeeeeeeally shouldn't have" (understatement much???) and I need to get it out of that mail box in front of 477 Harrison Ave.

"Ok. I'm going to go find a supervisor to talk to you."

"Ok..."

I was surprisingly calm. I mean, my heart was skipping beats but I didn't break a sweat. Meh, I thought, this will make a good blog.

"Ok hun, we're a little short staffed right now so he's going to call you back."

"Ok," I breathed, "The next pickup is at 1pm. Do, um, do you need to know what I mailed by accident?"

"Sure. That would be helpful."

"My credit report. With everything on it. My social. My address. Everything."

"OH MY GOD. Ok well then I'll have it get back to you as soon as he can."

I hung up and stewed.

Maaaybe I did take it out of my notebook. I mean I don't remember doing that but I could have. I scanned my room inside of my head. I have a lot of "stuff" so the possibilities of where I place things randomly are endless. Controlled chaos comes to mind.

After emailing with Slut about it and her replying back "Oh that sucks. You could get your identity stolen and that's a headache you don't need," I decided to hop in my car and check at my apartment.

As I came down Savoy street there in front of me, like a beacon of light was a USPS truck. I pulled a hard left, swerved to miss a Pepsi truck and parked in the middle of the road (I had my hazards on).

I sprinted to the mailman. (And it has to be noted...I don't sprint.)

"OH SIR! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY I AM TO SEE YOU! YOU MAKE ME SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW!!!" I huffed.

The short little mailman, 90 pounds soaking wet stood there staring at me clutching a heaping pile of mail.

"Do you pick up mail for this area???"

"No."

GAH. "Ok well I mailed something in that mail box over there that I REEEEEEEEEEEEALLY need to get out. CAN YOU HELP ME?????"

"Uh go wait by the mail box. I'll be right there. I kind of have to (he gestured to his arms full of envelopes) deliver these."

"Sure Sure! NO PROBLEM! OF COURSE!!!"

I clutched the side of the mail box and waited for him to come over.

Finally, after what seemed like days,he strolled down the sidewalk, clutching his mail box opener key. He unlocked the box without a word and right there on top of everything was my folded up FICO credit information.

I gasped, then reached into the open door and grabbed it like I was saving it from some burning inferno.

Then I started to cry.

"THANK YOU SO MUCH! OH MY GOD I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WOULD HAVE DONE IF I HADN'T SEEN YOU!"

"Uh huh. You're welcome."

And off strolled my silent hero. I never got his name but he saved me from one large headache, as Slut put it.

And all this before 10:30a.m.!!

Epilogue:

I have to make mention that the post office which I had called earlier did end up calling me back about twenty minutes after I had rescued myself. I thanked him endlessly for all of his help and for calling me back and informed him that I grabbed a mailman to help me.

"I just can't believe I did that!" I said into the phone.

"Yeah....(you could tell that he could totally believe that I did that **CRAZY**) Ok now have a good day."

Paying homage to a classic.

So I was pimping around my room a couple of days ago. It was Monday I think, one of those hot sticky brutal nights. Anyway, I was putting laundry away (because I'm ALWAYS putting laundry away. No one has more laundry than me. True story) and sweating my ass off. Which is interesting since I was in air conditioning. I decided to take a knee and have a Popsicle.

Again, still pimping around in my room. I unwrapped the cherry treat and went to take a lick, when suddenly I was stuck to the frozen fiend. Literally stuck. My upper lip felt like it was gorilla glued on. I sort of stood there for a little bit, kind of like "uuuh what do I do now." I could still swallow and breathe so I knew that the Popsicle would not get the better of me.

My sister was in the living room watching The Closer. I contemplated walking out there with the Popsicle stuck to my lip but I figured she'd call 911 and I really didn't want to have a hot fireman (in my dreams) prying it loose from my mouth. Honestly.

So I stood there. Sort of like Flick in A Christmas Story when he gets TRIPLE DOGGG DARED to stick his tongue to the pole:

(HA! Effing love that movie)

Anyway so by this time cherry Popsicle juice was dripping onto my chesticle area so I looked around and found some warm seltzer that I had been nursing. I took the can and tipped it onto my face. Finally, with seltzer water streaming down my face and cheeks, the treat had been tamed. The epidermis of my lip was still attached to it, but it's the price you pay for trying to cool down on a swarmy night.

Watch out for those Popsicles. They're scrappy.

**SIDEBAR!**

I'd like to wish a very happy birthday to my mom, The Donna! X number of years ago today she was born(don't worry mom. I'm still telling everyone you're 40). Which is lucky for all of you guys because now you have ME!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! LOVE YOU!! xoxoxoxo

Breakin' the law.

I consider myself a good driver. Do I have a lead foot? Sorta. But I've never gotten in an accident, been pulled over or had my license revoked. The most that's ever happened to me are a few parking tickets here and there.

So imagine my disappointment today when LK and I go to get coffee at the World Trade Center Dunkin' Donuts and I pull an illegal U-turn right in front of a State Trooper.

Damn.

As soon as I reared around his door flew open and out he walked to the middle of the road pointing for me to pull over. I always pictured my first Statie pull over as me tooling down Route 3 on the way to the Cape doing 80 in a 45. Not doing an illegal U-turn. What kind of Mickey Mouse infraction is that??

I idled to the side of the road with little fan fare. He waddled on up to me. I looked at him and kind of gave a little "Ooopsieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" smile and shrug. This guy wasn't having it. You could freeze ice on his ass.

"I need ya registration and license."

"Ok!" I chirped and then flashed a smile. Undoubtedly this pissed him off even more.

Then he said all gruff like, "Didn't ya see all those signs that say NO U-TURN up and down the street?"

I just kind of opened up my eyes really wide and was like "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayt??"

I took out the registration and handed over my license (with my new cute pic!) and he headed back to his cruiser.

So I have a question. What do Staties do in their car while you sit there twiddling your thumbs? I'm certain with the level of sophisticated computers and police like systems that it doesn't take that long to run my information. I mean, I buy shoes. I like to spend $100 at Brooks on mass market cosmetics. It's not like I have a "rap sheet".

Ten minutes later, while LK and I chatted about, he returned to my window.

"Here's a citation. All of the information is on the back."

I looked at it and he'd given me a ticket! Fifty bones for an illegal U-turn!? I don't even have a record. I looked up at him as if to say "Why?! Why meeeeeeeee??"

He just gazed down at me with all of the love an affection of a Nazi Storm Trooper and said, "Didn't you see me sitting there???"

"Uhh...um....erm....."

"Or were ya just too busy chatting??"

Dick. 

Insert foot in mouth here.

This is why my seventy year old aunt always tells me to speak before I think. Wait. Strike that....reverse it....

It was a few years ago when I was working at PUMA North America up in Westford, MA. I was interning in PR and not nearly athletic enough to be on the pay roll at such a place. They used to go out and play soccer during lunch. I mean....it was July. Kind of sweaty no?

Anyway so we had an event at the Cyclorama in the South End. It was to showcase the new PUMA spring line. Or fall line. I don't remember. But it was really hot and I had to drive from Norton to Westford to Boston to help set up. I arrived around noon and my first task was to help a really hot guy blow up balloons. He and I got to talking and he was just so good looking. One of those guys who's so cute and nice that you feel like if you get any closer to him you'll spontaneously combust. He told me that he's from Rhode Island and that he writes poetry and did I want to read some. It was either blow up balloons or read this hot guys poetry.

"Oooh I'd loooooove to read your poetry," I purred. I was batting my eye lashes and setting my lips into a pouty mouth. Who was I??

We talked a little bit more and I asked him what he was up to for the rest of the summer and he was kind of vague. Well to make a long story longer I was chatting with Randy from the Real World San Diego.

H
O
T
!

Well at the time he wasn't Randy from the Real World San Diego. At the time he was just the hot dude helping me blow up balloons. Anyway so the day progressed. It was hot as balls. As I was just about to start tying the balloons I had just filled with helium to the sneakers that were being showcased my boss waved me over to her. She was standing with a stick bug that took on the persona of a model and said, "I need you to run to a store and buy towels."

"Um."

"We need towels for the models. They are going to be running on the treadmills for the entire event and they'll need to wipe the sweat off."

I was trying to calculate the amount of time that they would be on the treadmills. The event was about three hours long soooo times that by...umm...errr......oh never mind.

"Ok. I'll run to Macy's in Down Town Crossing."

I was off. In the middle of July I waited on the steaming sidewalk to hail a cab. Brutal. I finally poured myself into Macy's and picked up the first expensive looking towels I could get my hands on. I hoofed it to the register where there was a semi line. Grrrr....The woman in front of me walked up to get rung in and immediately she started to haggle with the man at the register about the price of her frying pans. Oh this is so annoying. I had the classic inward battle with myself: do I deal with it and listen to this woman in front of me, Chinatown's finest, go on and on about how Macy's is trying to cheat her out of $2.00 or do I try to look around for another register where I may have to wait on line for another half hour?

I decided to stick it out.

This woman went on for a legit ten minutes. I was starting to sweat again. It's a good thing I had the towels to dry myself off. Finally I was next. I paid and was on my way in less than sixty seconds.

I arrived back at the event where my boss asked what took me so long. "Oh! You will never believe this Chinese woman who was in front of me. She went OOOOOOOOOOOON and OOOOOOOOOOOOOOON haggling with the cashier. She was SO ANNOYING!!!" My boss just kind of looked at me sideways and dismissed me.

*Fast-forward about three weeks*

I am back at the office in Westford and my boss had been away attending her sister's wedding. "Hey Lisa, come see the pictures from my sister's wedding."

I ambled over to her office, coffee in hand, and she started to click through the photos. Nice wedding. Smiling faces. Pretty dresses. Asian lady in the bridal party. "Wait. Who's that woman?" I pointed to the lady. "Oh. That's my mom."

F.U.C.K.

"Oh....Wait are you adopted?" Why? Why? Why would I ask that?

"No. My mother is Chinese and my father is white."

"Uuuh....oh..." Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

I looked down at her all sideways like and she was looking at me with a half smile on her face. My boss was many things. Stupid she was not. I know she remembered that conversation from three weeks earlier when I went on about that woman as I flailed the model's cotton towels about.

It was one of those things that we knew went down but both decided not to acknowledge. You know, since it was completely mortifying.

My super mini petite brush with the law.

It's no secret that I drive fast and hard.

Anyway so as I'm driving back from Norton this evening, after a dentist appointment (cavity free *hollerrrrr*) and a short dinner with my dad while watching Modern Marvels, I tooled it back to Southie, grilled chicken and potatos au gratin in tow.

So I'm driving and I'm driving and I had just gotten onto 93 and Justin Timberlake's "What Goes Around Comes Around" song comes on. Alriiiiiiiiiight. Love this jam. So I'm jaming out. You know....bee-bopping and singing at the top of my lungs while simultaneously meandering around slow pokes. Well that song finishes and a little Hinder comes on. I meeeeeeean gotta sing about those lips of an angel right?!?!!?!?! THEN! "Smack That" comes blaring out. And it's becoming blatantly obvious that I have stumbled upon a very rare continuous music slot on Kiss 108. I mean...for those of us plebians who still have regular NON-satellite radio, it's quite the score!

After Akon finishes up "Fergalicious" comes on and well that just does it for me. I start to do my Fergalicious dance naturallly. I glance up at my rear view and see that a car is kind of on my tail. Not like right on my ass but sort of close. I just sped up (sorry mom). The car continued to tail me. "WHATEVER BUDDY!!!!" I hollered and gave the finger. I mean jeeez. Can't he just go around me.

Halfway through "Girl you taste d-e to the c to the l-i-c-i-o-u-s...." I started to get annoyed because Mr. Tailgater Man was being relentless and cramping my Gradielicious style. I slid over to the right and as the car passed me I whipped my head around ready to give my best Lisa glare when I noticed the familiar light blue on dark blue coloring.

I had given a Statie the finger. I mean-A whoops!

I held his gaze for a second and then he lifted his finger and waggled it at me. Like a "naughty naughty" sort of motion. Apparently I was getting off with a warning. I smiled at him and gave a wave and then immediatly broke so he could go flying by me and not have time to memorize my plate.

Good thing I was driving my sisters car!!!!!