Your Girlfriend is Ugly

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.  

Oscar fashion recap! Bettah late than nevah.

I'm over at These Lips Are Made for Glossin' discussin' all of the Oscar hits and misses from this past Sunday.

Burn a calorie and click that link above to read what I had to say about Melissa Leo and Natalie Portman. While you're at it check out blogs by Carmindy, Jason, Ted and Rachel.

Remember, we all love comment love!

Xx

Pajama bottom etiquette.

Last night I was driving to Brookline and I rolled up to a stop sign to let some pedestrians cross. Darting across the street was a girl looking to be in her mid-20's wearing UGG slippers, a cropped hoodie and pajama bottoms with rainbows on them.

Why? Why do people think it is OK to wear their pajamas out in public? I posted this as my Facebook status last night and it got quite the response. One person just kept saying "Life is too short to care what people think about you."

Well if you don't mind being thought of as White Trash then OK. You're a better person than I am.

If you have to go outside to pick up a few odds and ends then throw on a pair of jeans, maybe some leggings. Hell even a pair of yoga pants will do the trick. There is no need to be seen traipsing around the supermarket in your Bruins pajama bottoms.

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.

Headlights.

The weather in New England is shitty. There are rivers of slush, sheets of ice and dense fog from the rain fall melting the snow. I feel like I'm in a Harry Potter book when the Dementors come into town.

When the weather is like this do you think people would be smart and put on their headlights? Answer: No.

So when I'm pulling out of the parking lot this morning from getting my Dunkin's and almost collide with a Ford Taurus because I can't see the WHITE CAR through the curtain of FOG due to no headlights being turned on I kind of freak out. Thank God Suzi is reliable in all weather conditions. The Ford screeched to a halt and missed my driver's side door by inches.

After my heart race slowed to normal, I continued down RT 140 and prepared to make my way to I-495. As I passed Great Woods (some of you may know it as Tweeter Center or Comcast Center but it will always be Great Woods to me) the driver of the Taurus sidled alongside me honking their horn and flashing their high-beams.

Crazy.

I glanced to my left and saw the passenger, an old man probably in his 70's giving me the double finger. That's right, not one but two wrinkly, arthritis riddled fingers stared back at me. I looked at the man who was shaking his head and said "Seriously??" to myself.

I don't mind when someone gives me the finger if I do something stupidslashaggressive while driving, like flash someone the brights because they are driving too slow in the left lane, but come on! At least put your headlights on! THEN if I still almost collide into you, give me the finger.

Kooky commute

I've been commuting from the 'burbs now for about a week. It's been OK so far. No real crazy traffic jams to speak of, except today when a Lexus was just parked in the middle lane of the Northern Expressway with its hazards on. Like honestly. If you break down why can't you just mosey on over to the break-down lane?

Anyway, like I said the commute has been pretty low-key, except for yesterday. I was tooling down the SE Expressway when all of a sudden traffic stopped. "It's 3pm. Why the EFF is there traffic??" I said aloud. I dialed 511 to get a traffic update and Lt. Governor Tim Murray was no help ("ALL CLEAR ON BOTH SIDES OF THE EXPRESSWAY FOLKS!!!") so I continued to inch along. Thank God Suzi has heated seats!

Around exit 11 I noticed smoke in the air. Now I know it's bad to say this but whenever there's traffic at a random time of day I think to myself, "There better be a body." Whatever! If I'm going to sit in traffic for two hours it better be because something interesting happened and not because some jackass forgot to fill his gas tank!

As I inched closer to the swirling black clouds of smoke I got a quick glimpse of flames. A car on fire and no fire trucks in sight! This must've just happened...

Finally I was parallel with the accident. The crazy flames were lapping all around the edges and roof of the now crispy car. I fumbled inside my purse for my work camera phone to take a picture but then I realized that it was in a bag in my back seat. (GAH!) I stared a little bit longer until I realized that traffic hadn't moved for a few minutes. This is when I started to have a slight panic attack. I was maybe twenty yards away from a car engulfed in flames. What if the gas tank started leaking and the car exploded? What if flaming debris landed on Suzi? I was just about to ask my self "What Would Jack Bauer Do??" when traffic picked up and I was on my way to the Braintree split and home.

Until the Santa Claus on a motorcycle delayed my commute even further.

I had just gotten on I-95 South when I noticed the flashing lights behind me.

Merrrrr. I maneuvered Suzi from the fast lane to the middle lane to allow for the Statie to pimp by. And pimp by he did, along with a Santa and an elf sharing a motorcycle, three trucks filled with Christmas trees, a few other dudes dressed in leather on motorcycles and about six other State Troopers.

First of all, if you're Santa, wouldn't you want to be in like a Lincoln Navigator with presidential tinted windows? That way you don't get hounded by little kids demanding Wiis and iPhones for Christmas. I wouldn't think Santa would be blowing by on his Harley for everyone to see. And second of all are SIX Staties really necessary? Is this where my suburban tax dollars are now headed? To Santa's police escorts?

Thanks to Santa's pomp and circumstating down 95 S, I'm asking for a couple of extra gas cards in my stocking this Christmas.

Observing men who groom

Today I stepped out at lunch to get a manicure. After I picked my cullah (OPI's You Don't Know Jacques) I settled into the chair and the manicurist began cutting away at my dry cuticles.

About 10 minutes went by and I heard a male voice ask, "Can I get a pedakewah?" (That's pedicure btw. Remember, we're in Boston.)

I glanced behind me and saw a typical Southie dude: Adidas workout pants, hoodie with a beater underneath and a worn Red Sox hat

Good for him! I thought to myself. I have seen my share of dude feet and let me tell you something; guys need to get pedis just as much as women. There is nothing worse than a guy who walks around with Velociraptor toes.

 

Ouch.

The dude's pedicure progressed and I went back to inspecting my newly shorn cuticles. "Umm...you missed my thumb."

"Oh sorry."

*ring ring ring* It was dude's cell phone. I looked over and he was right in the middle of having the dead skin on the bottom of his feet sloughed off (bar-none the most ticklish part of the pedicure).

"Hello?"

.............

"Nothing dude what ah you doing?"

...............

"Dude I'm just hanging out what ah you doing?"

.................

Sounds like Dude on the other end of the phone is super curious to know what Pedicure Dude is up to. At this point the lady conducting the dude's pedicure started to speak very loudly in her native tongue. Then the rest of the salon chimed in and it was almost like I was back in China! Phone dude must've asked where the EFF Dude was because Pedicure dude replied, "Dude I'm just hanging out....No I'm not in Chinatown!"

Phone Dude finally gave up and the conversation progressed into plans for later tonight ("We're going to the Hahp dude") and game time on Sunday ("I don't know dude. Ask ya motha she always knows that shit.")

I felt bad that Pedicure dude just couldn't tell Phone Dude what he was really doing. What was he afraid of? That Phone Dude would mock him on the playground? Slight grooming is the least guys can do after what us women go through. I get my lip waxed every week so that I don't look like Tom Selleck yet I have to hear a story from my friend who was dating a guy who was so hairy that when she put her arm around his waist she could feel the tufts of his back hair through his shirt. She said it was like a little springy cushion separating his skin from the actually clothing.

EFFING NASTY. Get a razor. Here you can have mine, it's pink.

Guys need to not be afraid to groom. Don't worry about that stupid metro-sexual label. No one pays attention to that anyway. Just be afraid of what your girlfriend will with-hold if you decide that trimming down your ball hair really isn't your "thing."

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.

Yo Yo Yoga

I say all the time that I need a hobby. My dad thinks I should join some sort of South Boston softball team to relive my glory days as High school captain. That to me is just too intimidating. I talk to Brennon all the time about needing a hobby. He actually blogged about it on Look Back In Anger.  

What would I do for a hobby? Join a book club? I'm so wishy washy with my books. Knitting club? I'd feel more secure doing that if I had a boyfriend. And forget about getting a pet. I can't even take care of plants. I needed something that would be good for my mind and body. The thought of utilizing my gym membership that I pay $75/month crossed my mind but I just hate going to the gym after work. It's such a struggle.

I was talking to JSutt  about doing Yoga and she enthusiastically encouraged me to come to a lunch-time class with her and Alyssa. So today was the day. Ladies and gentlemen I have discovered Yoga. Yeah I know. I'm a little late with this trend. Yoga was so popular like 15 years ago that it's actually come, gone, been replaced by Pilates and is now "in" again.

I loved it! I mean forget about the fact that I was totally unprepared, rolling into the studio in flowy gaucho pants, a large Dunkin's iced tea and no hair tie to tame my wild locks, but even though I had those strikes against me, I really enjoyed myself. It was my first time EVER doing Yoga so even though it was a beginners class I was slightly snervvy.

• Five minutes into the warm ups my bobby pins slid out of my bun and my hair was all in my face.
• Five and a half minutes into the class I started to rain sweat profusely.
• Ten minutes into the class I had to pause every few seconds due to the insane amount of downward facing dogs we were doing. My lack of arms strength made it extremely difficult to move from plank to DFD.
• Fifteen minutes into class I got complimented by the instructor. *woot*
• In through the nose, out through the nose
• Twenty minutes into the class I started to get a muscle spasm in my right hip. When the instructor asked if I was OK I just said "Oh yeah I just have a cramp" and continued to lift my leg, wincing. She then gently informed me that if it hurts I should stop. Dir.
• Still sweating.
• But loving it!
• Don't forget to breathe!
• With fifteen minutes left in the glass I was so drenched that when I went to grab my ankle for a Quad stretch it kept slipping from my grip.

My favorite part was the cool down. Every time the instructor told us to relax a body part (neck, eyes, tongue, face, stomach, knees) a little bit of stress melted away. I was totally into myself and feeling all Yoga-esque when all of a sudden the upstairs tenant arrived home and started to stomp around in her heels up and down the hardwood floors. The Goose-stepping made it hard to meditate and get centered and all that jazz but I'll just have to work on tuning that out for the next class in the event that Mussolini is home when I'm trying to get my Yoga on.

I'm totally picking up a yoga mat this weekend and I promise it will not lay unused in a corner like my now deflated Pilates ball.

Check-ing out

I grew up right at the beginning of the ATM and cell phones. I still remember as a teenager, going to Bay Bank with my bank bookand depositing my check from CVS and doing "less cash" of about $50 to buy my Beanie Babies. And I also remember using a Pay Phone to call my parents collect one night when I needed a ride home from the mall. (Shortly after that they invested in a bag car phone).

My stories aren't quite, "When I was your age I walked up hill both ways IN THE SNOW with no shoes!" caliber, but they are relevant because I think everyone who was a child of the 70's and 80's remembers those good old times.

So when I'm waiting in line to purchase something, whether it be at Macy's or Stop & Shop or Rite Aid and I see someone writing a check, I want to blow their brains out first and then mine.

WHY DO PEOPLE STILL WRITE CHECKS?! We've had ATM cards for, like, EVER! And I'm pretty sure that now all banks offer your ATM card with the VISA logo so you can pay for things with it at the register. I mean do folks know that their ATM card links to their checking or savings account? Do they know that the money that the check comes from is the same place that the money from the ATM card comes from?

What really kills me is when I'm behind someone and I see them whip out their check book. After the initial "UGH!" and various eye rolls, I stare at them to observe their check writing behavior. It's established that people who write checks irk me. They are irksome. But at least there are some people who will speed up the process. They'll be making out the check while their merchandise is getting scanned or there are even some people who come with their check already made out and all they have to do is fill out the amount. Bless their hearts.

But what really chaps my ass? The folks who lean on the counter and stare at the clerk who is scanning and bagging their merchandise. The customers eyes follow the item in the clerks hand, to the scanner then glance up at the screen to make sure that the item rings in properly and for the price that it says in the circular. The clerk will then place the filled bags with the merchandise on the counter and say the total. THEN AND ONLY THEN will the customer be revealed as a check writer. Once they hear the total they reach into their back pocket, purse, messenger bag, what have you, for their check book and start the tedious writing process. Then they rip out the check but instead of handing the offense to the cashier so they can move the transaction along, the writer will cling onto it for dear life as they then register the check and balance the amount left in their account.

GET. SOME. PLASTIC.

I understand writing checks from the comfort of your own home. I admit that I haven't fully transitioned to online banking. And it's not because I don't understand what to do, it's because I sort of like the check writing ritual for my bills. I pay my bills while I'm in bed watching David Letterman and then Craig Ferguson and I do not subject other people to the tedious task.

I was at Macy's yesterday buying a couple of things for my trip to China - did you guys know I was going?- and there was a guy in front of me babbling on and on about needing a pen so he could write a check. He had papers and folders flying everywhere and I think he might have been sweating. I was fiddling on my non-camera phone Blackberry so I didn't really pay that much attention to him. I just knew he was writing a check and that I'd probably be there for a while. I was.

Finally the woman came from behind the counter to hand the guy his bags. He turned around to walk away and I made eye contact with him. He was definitely my age. I couldn't believe it. He said to me, "Sorry for the wait."

I replied that it's good to build credit and that he should look into getting a credit card.

He gave me a confused look and just walked away.