Your Girlfriend is Ugly

Notes from the Path train

Now that I live in Hoboken and commute into Manhattan twice a week I've become a slave to public transportation. I even take (gasp) the bus sometimes. I'm no stranger to using the NYC subway it's just that I haven't had to do it in a while and living in Boston and the 'burbs of Boston you drive everywhere.

So the Path trainhas become my new best friend. I honestly don't know why everyone hems and haws about living in Hoboken. My commute to work is 40 minutes door to door. Even when the trains are packed and you're standing in someone's armpit I still get to 57th and Madison in exactly 40 minutes. Take THAT B line! (If you're from Boston you totally get that reference.)

The one thing I will never understand though is people who stand right in front of the doors. For example this morning I get off the 126 bus and make my way down to the train. It was already brimming with people. I selected the car I wanted to ride in and noticed that there was a girl standing with her back to the open door.

"Excuse me."

Naturally she was wearing an iPod.

"EXCUSE ME!"

She shimmied over a little and I took my place next to her but away from the door.

About three minutes went by and people kept filing into this car. Everyone had to say excuse me to this dumb bitch standing in the door way. And every time someone say excuse me she's huff, give a sideways glance and move a little to allow them in, but then she'd go right back to standing in front of the door.

Ok fine. You want to stand in front of the door whatever. I could give a shit. But don't be a bitch about it! Don't huff at the fat guy with the backpack who is trying to make the train just because you have some weird need to stand in front of the Path door.

I was telling LK about this and she explained that the same thing happens on the F train. Apparently there is a stop where everyone gets out to connect to the A train and the train basically empties out but there is always one person standing in front of the doors who will not move.

Is it like a sense of entitlement thing? Are people just being bad-asses?

Why do I care?

Shopping spree here I come!

You know how people always say that if your palm is itchy it means you have money coming your way? Well I never understood this because my palms are itchy all the time and all that comes my way in the form of money is a ten cent Euro coin laying at the bottom of my bra drawer.

But last night I was trying to suppress an itch in my left hand when I came across a mint green pouch in my DVD basket. Inside contained about 10 gift cards given to me back in Christmas of 2007. The first thing that came to my mind was "Wow, I'm such a gracious gift recipient." The second thing was "I hope these puppies have some moola left on them!"

So this morning (at work) I called up the 1-800 numbers on the back of my cards and punched in all of the account numbers. Turns out I had $50 on a Shaw's card, $100 on a Macy's card , $7 left on an H&M card and $15 on a gas card.

This is fantastic. My shopping these days consists of the essentials: tampons, deodorant, gum. You know, the usual stuff a girl needs to get by when she's on a budget. Now I can go to Shaw's and get the expensive cereal I love and not break down on the way because my car has been running on E for the past five days.

It's almost like hitting Mega-millions.

Eye trauma

I'm convinced that the years of mascara wearing has done something horrible to my eyelashes.

I've stated before that I am the girl that wears mascara everywhere. Even if I'm going to the gym or grocery shopping I make sure to at last have a swipe of it on. Why? Because I look scary and sickly without it.

Anyway recently I've been having issues with foreign objects being lodged in my eye balls. Eye lashes are, by definition, there to protect the eye from such debris. However, last Friday I spent about five minutes trying to fish a piece of red string out of my eye balls. That's right, a long red string was swimming around in my left ocular area. When I finally grabbed a hold of the string it was so long that for a second I thought I'd caught a vein and then had visions of my eye popping out and landing on my Blackberry.

Mer.

Two weekends ago I was exfoliating my face with a products who's exfoliating scrubbies are really big and rough. Just how I like it. After I was done with my scrubbing I grabbed a towel and patted my mug dry only to be met with a feeling that gravel was geing poured into my right eye. A piece of the exfoliator had gotten in there and wasn't going anywhere. I actually started to freak out. I submerged my entire face in a sink full of water and opened up my eyes hoping to flush the intruder out. After about forty-five minutes the gravelly feelingfinally went away. Either the exfoliant shrunk to nothing or just admitted defeat and fell out. Either way it was brutal.

Between string, exfoliant and my own long eye lashes it seems that every day I am complaining about something being in my eye! And I hate complainers and whiners so you can imagine how much this eye situation is bugging me out.

As I write this blog I am being harassed by a medium sized blob of black mascara that is doing kart-wheels in my left eye.

My history of rent-a-dogs.

When I was a kid growing up I always wanted a dog. Every year for Christmas and for my birthday I'd beg my parents to let my sister and I get a dog. And every year my mother would reply, "HELL TO THE NO. THREE KIDS AND A HUSBAND ARE ENOUGH." My dad always wanted a dog but my mother was CONVINCED that she'd be the one to have to walk it and clean up after it and there was no way to persuade her otherwise.

But I still wouldn't take no for an answer. Every day the paper came I'd scour the classified sections and look for breeders selling puppies. Then I'd clip out the ads and leave them on the counter for my mother to see when she got home from work. She either didn't see them or did and just threw the clippings in the trash because she never said anything.

Sick of hearing me whine about a dog my mother finally came through. Kinda.

It was Christmas morning 1990. I tip-toed downstairs to view my assortment of presents and there in the front was a big box with holes poked in the top.

"NO. WAY."

After my parents and sister joined me downstairs I tore through the wrapping paper hoping to meet my new puppy. Instead I was met with the L.L. Bean logo. I opened up the box and there inside was a stuffed black lab.

I looked up quizzically at my mom. Perhaps they couldn't get the dog in time for Christmas so this was serving as a place holder?

Instead my mother spoke, "There's your dog. Merry Christmas."

After that I stopped asking for one every single day. I'd just put a request in off the cuff around my birthday or Christmas but I knew I'd never get the pooch I pined for.

Instead my family became something of a hotel for dogs. Our neighbors down the street, the Callahans grew up with every animal on the planet; dogs, cats, parakeets, cockatails, fish, salamanders, gerbils, iguanas. You name it they had it.

No matter how many animals the Callahans went through they always had a dog. First was Rocky, the black Schnauzer. Then Daisy the black Cocker Spaniel and now they have a Boxer, Sasha. Their youngest daughter, Katie and I were BFF's growing up. She'd come over to my house and we'd have sleepovers and recite The Little Mermaid songs and she'd always bring the dog with her. My mother was totally fine with this as long as it wasn't a permanent situation and it knew to shit outside.

When the Callahans went on vacation I'd take care of getting their mail and making sure that all of the animals were fed and not rolling around in their own poop. I was able to convince my family to let the dog stay at our house and for two weeks it was like we actually owned a dog!

Now, all these years later I'm recently back home, living in a dog-less house.

Two weeks ago I was talking to my boss and I asked her when I could watch Latte again. Latte is her dog and he is literally the most amazing canine on the planet. When I was living in the city I'd watch him and use him as a dude magnet. You know, walk around Castle Island and try to get him to bump into guys walk their dogs. It only worked once and I think the dude was annoyed because the encounter had messed up his run.  

Anyway I practically begged my boss to let me have him while she was in Asia. I had already cleared it with my mother so this past Friday I took him to the burbs. Let me tell you something, I need a dog just for the sheer workout advantage.

Today is my last day with him and as I was packing up his stuff this morning to bring him back to his rightful owner I actually got choked up.

I could still make a run for the boarder. Just me and Latte exploring the world. Every so often a postcard would surface with a message detailing the beauty of the last place we'd just visited. And it would be signed Love Lisa and a little paw print.

No tweets for me.

I've sort of become obsessed with Twitter. I find myself tweeting every half hour. One of my friends told me yesterday that she has me on her mobile Twitter updates and that I had apparently tweeted so much over the Christmas holiday that I filled her SIM card.

Someone needs a hobby.

So today I'm not going to be tweeting or even updating a Facebook status for that matter. My last FB status update was this morning at 12:48am when I couldn't sleep because I had a suspicious pain at the base of my skull. Honestly. Who wants to wake up to a neurotic update like that?! (Even though I'm petrified it's a tumor.) 

In unrelated Twitter or Facebook news, this morning I made my way to the Dunkin' Donuts drive through and ordered myself a medium iced coffee with cream and no sugar. Pretty harmless I'd say.

What was handed to me through the window was a medium cup of ice and cream. And no, for the record I do not order my coffee to be "EXTRAH EXTRAH LIGHT!" like some people.

I'm thinking of taking a weekend job at my local DD just so I can prove that it really shouldn't be that difficult to get someone's coffee order right.

Local sayings

A couple of weeks ago I was hanging out with LK and my sister. We had just finished our delicious dinner of cheap Mexican food and were washing it down with a nice bottle of Riesling when the topic of teeth came up. I'm sure I mentioned something about how petrified I get when I go to the dentist and my sister regaled us with the tale of how she broke her tooth when she was a teenager.

"I was divin' into my friends below ground pool and I came up too close to the edge and cracked my front tooth. They had to bond it but then that shit the bed."

I leaned back in my chair, laced my hands behind my head and breathed, "Shit the bed. Such a good term."

"Right? It is SUCH a good saying!"

"Is it a Boston thing though? I remember saying it to one of my New York friends and they were like 'huh? shit the what?' So I think it might be Boston only."

"Maybe. But it's funny because it's not like something actually shits the bed. Like it's not like there is shit anywhere."

"Right. And you have to use the term in very specific situations. For example, when your car dies. You say to your coworker, 'Yeah I was late to work today because my car shit the bed.' And your coworker totally gets it!"

"Or my watch shit the bed."

"My Cell phone shit the bed!"

"This chair just shit the bed!"

It is at this point that I realize I need my own reality show.

Effing the Flu Shot.

'Tis the season for dripping noses, whopping coughs and using up those sick days. Flu Season is upon us. It's looming on the horizon like a cumulonimbus cloud. And with Flu Season comes the Flu Shot.

I myself have never had a flu shot in my adult life. Sure I was pinned down and injected when I was a small child but since I've been old enough to make my own decisions I've declined the flu shot every time. Why? I've never had the flu.

I know. Apparently the idea that getting the flu shot gives you the flu is bogus. But I will tell you that neither my father or myself have had flu shots recently and we've never been sick -knock on wood-.

I was checking out Slut's brother's Facebook page and his update was "had a bad reaction to the flu shot." Then I learned yesterday that HLP had to go home on Monday because she had a bad reaction to this seasons flu shot.

I'm seeing a trend that I'm not quite comfortable with. Like boyfriend jeans.

Two years ago I went to the doctor for a Sarcoidosis check up -in remission *woot*- and the lung specialist was telling me how important it is for me to get the flu shot.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Why don't you want it?"

"I've never had the flu."

"You know that's just an old wives tale. It's not true. You don't get the flu from a flu shot."

"Ok. I'll take my chances. Everyone I know gets sick after."

"But it's not true!" He was starting to get pissed. His stethoscope was all shaky. Maybe he had to meet a flu shot quota for the day? Who knows!

All I know is that currently I know two people who have had really bad reactions to the shot and no matter how badly I may need a day off, I'm not going to risk it. If it's going to happen I'll let it come naturally.

Bring it Flu!

Not letting go.

The weather in Boston is a brisk 50+ degrees today. This makes Lisa unhappy. Forget about the fact that my tan faded at Mach speed this summer but I'm not prepared for the fall shoes at all. I can't even imagine putting my tootsies into boots, heels or anything with closed toes.  

Sure I like fall clothes. Who doesn't love a nice wrap sweater or a vest over a long sleeve thermal in the hottest colors? But I like summer more. Plus I have no idea where any of my fall clothes are. They are somewhere between the three closets in my apartment, my parents Norton house and my parents Cape house. I have some hardcore rummaging to do.

And since the brrrrtastic weather came out of no where, totally sideswiping me like an avalanche on K2, I'm forced to wear jeans with tank tops and random Granpa-style sweaters to keep warm. I'm still wearing my flip flops though. When I eventually do have to part with them it will be a teary separation reminiscent of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

But I'll be wearing flips until the first snow fall. Yes I intend to be that girl.

Like being in a Meg Ryan movie.

I was in New York yesterday for work and I gotta tell you. Schlepping around that city can be a bitch. There's nothing quite like being on the M31 with my suitcase and two bags at 8am. Brutal.

Anyway, I left the office around 3pm to catch my 4pm Acela Express out of Penn Station. Naturally the train was 45  mins late taking off. I sat in the Acela waiting area and started to people watch and day dream. A father and son strolled over and sat a couple of seats away from me. The dad tapped away on his Blackberry while the son, who was maybe 10 chattered on and on about how excited he was for the game tonight and how they had the best seats in Fenway.

Little shit. It's always the little kids who luck out and get tickets to these big games.

I leaned over and said to him, "You going to the game tonight?"

"YEAH! I'm so excited. I can't wait."

"Are you a Red Sox fan?"

"YEAH! I love the Red Sox!"

"Me too!"

At this point the father looked over at me to see who was striking up a conversation with his pre-pubescent son.

"You a fan too?" he asked with his hands clutched firmly around his berry.

"Yes. I'm from Boston."

At the mention of Boston the son started to get animated and squirmed excitedly in his chair.

"Oh wowwowwow! I can't wait. Our seats are so great too!"

"Where are you sitting?" I asked the son. The father was staring at me, probably wondering why I was chatting up his kid, but I noticed a ring on dads finger and I was just innocently trying to make a young kids day by talking about the game since his father was too interested in his Blackberry.

"We have box seats right behind the Sox dug out."

I let out a low whistle, "Niiiiiiiiiiice! Who's your favorite player?"

"Weeeell it was Manny but now it's probably Pedroia, or Ellsbury, or Youk."

"All good choices. I like Varitek."

"SUPERMAN!" He shouted probably in reference to the song that plays when Tek and his thighs get up to bat.

The boy bounded off like a cocker spaniel to go check the status of our train, dad went back to his berry and I went back to my In Touch magazine. Jen had lipo. So?

A few minutes later I looked up and the kid was standing in front of me staring at me.

"Hii...?"

He just smiled and walked back to his seat.

"Dad....Dad?!..."

"Mmmmm?"

"Dad, you should ask her to sit with us on the train."

"Well maybe she has her own seat."

"Yeah but dad, she's pretty AND she likes the Red Sox. She could be my new mom!"

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.

"You already have a mom."

"Enjoy the game boys!" I grabbed my stuff and headed out of the waiting area before the kid suggested we meet at the Empire State Building on Valentine's Day.

* * *

Sidebar Blog: 

Also, while I was in New York I walked down to the front desk to pick up my sushi and there was Rachel Zoe. She was waiting to get her visitors badge assigned to her and after I signed the bill for my order waited next to her at the elevator. She was too preoccupied with her iPhone to realize the elevator doors had opened so I had to say to her, "Do you want to get on this elevator?" To which she responded, "Oh yes."

She was wearing her huge bug sunglasses (it was raining, and we were inside), a white coat and had her scraggly hair down which covered like her entire upper body. As my mother would say, "Do something with that hair!"

She's totally as tiny as she looks on TV and could use a cake.

A fine state I'm in.

Today has been just one of those days. A day where no matter how much time you put into something at work, when you come up for air after blacking out at your computer for four hours, you're still in the weeds. (Weeds. I love that show!) You feel like you've accomplished nothing. If you're me you begin to get shifty eyed and look around your office, fiddle with your iPod, light a candle, go to the bathroom, apply lip gloss, get a coffee, get a water.

In other words: Procrastinate.

My office has been a mess for some time now. What with coming back from vacation, then turning around a day later and traveling for a trade show, then being in NYC all week last week, I just can't get my shit together. Plus I've got a lot of balls up in the air at work. You know how that is, when your balls are all floating up there waiting for someone to give you an answer so you can grab a ball and roll it towards a final destination. My balls have no destination. My balls are in purgatory.

Add to the fact that it's Doggy Day Care at the office today. Now I like me a dog. I do. Out of all of the animals that boarded that Ark, pooches are my favorite. I never had one as a small child ("Three kids and a husband are enough Leee-SAH!" was what The Donna would always say when I asked for one) but I've always had an affinity towards them. It's just that the constant yapping, barking, Oooohing and aaaaahing (myself included) is a bit of a distraction.

With all of this noise around me I've decided to clean said unorganized office. Below is a tour of my work space. Sit back, relax and be thankful that you're not me right now!  

 

Side table disaster area complete with non-alphabetized (is it non or un alphabetized...?)  hanging folders, Post-Its with L's on them, tissues and three vessels in which I keep Pens, Highlighters and Pencils (for when I have to do math).

Actual desk disaster area. This part of ground zero includes pamphlets from the trade show I went to one month ago, non-camera phone Black Berry, a binder that holds everything important that I do, empty plastic tubes and a vase full of fake shells that I purchased at The Christmas Tree Shoppe down the Cape.

 My view when sitting at my actual desk. These shelves contain makeup bags that we sell in our store. They are styles that represent the current season and if one more person walks in here and asks if they can have one I'm going to throw my SIGG bottle at them. Also that other desk and desk chair are extras. It's where my boss's daughter sits and draws pictures of me when she comes into the office. It's fun...

The Wall of Packaging (dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuun). It has three shelves. Shelf #1 holds formerly alphabetized, now extremely non/un-alphabetized projects in progress. Shelf #2 holds various plastic and glass packaging that used to be organized by size and vendor. Now all of the packs just kind of hold their own while twisting in the breeze. Shelf #3 is a shmorghasborg of shoes, bags of tubes, photo albums and a used paper towel...ew.

At least I'm going green! Well at least the sticker on the lamp pictured above is made out of corn based materials. It reads, "Think Green, Save Green!"  If you're wondering what that window leads to, you can rest easy knowing that it's my own personal drive through window. It looks into my boss's office so when I need time off or an order of fries I just slide it to the left, call our my request, question etc and we're good to go.

"Prune..."   I've got some work to do wouldn't you say? Are you digging my head set or what? I use it for long conference calls, barking at vendors or for calling JSlutt in the other room because frankly I can't be bothered with physically exhausting myself to cradle the phone. But how telemarketer is it?  "Hellooooooo 1-800-MATTRES??" (leave off that last S for savings!)

At least I've got my candles and iPod for ambiance while I rifle through this shit. Let's seeeeeeeeeee DJ Girl Talk or some new Madonna...? Thoughts? Suggestions?