Am I the Only One?

Sometimes I walk through the office, so preoccupied with my thoughts that I have to stop and think, "I have pants on, right?!"

I also often sit down to pee and after a few seconds I'll think, "I really hope I'm in the bathroom right now". 

Um..not good. Not good at all. 

Shine Up that 'Gine!

Who doesn't love going to the spa? After a few minutes in the steam room you wrap yourself in a luxuriously soft robe, sip on turmeric infused green tea while soft lights accent bubbling water features, and drink in the scent of eucalyptus and bergamot essential oils. You eagerly anticipate the immense relaxation you're sure to enjoy while the esthetician rejuvenates your face and neck with freshening cleansers, exfoliants, and moisturizers.

Now imagine a trip to the spa to get a facial...for your vagina. Technically, it's called a Vagacial. And apparently, it's sweeping the nation. 

To say that I'm horrified is an understatement. I can barely handle getting waxed, so death would be imminent if someone tried to give the little lady a Vagacial. 

Not only that, imagine the poor people who have to perform this service. Talk about drawing the short straw!

I think it's safe to say that I'll be triple checking the service I select when booking my next spa or wax appointment. 

Wanted: Cabana Boy

Must be able to fix cars, computers, and anything in the house that breaks. 

Must not be afraid of yard work. 

Must love animals. 

Must know how to make the perfect gin & tonic. 

Must insist on being the breadwinner. 

Must not judge when I binge watch Netflix occasionally. 

Must love rubbing my shoulders, neck, and feet. 

Must put the trash and recycling out every Wednesday morning. 

Must buy me sparkly things. 

Must be willing to relocate any animal that doesn't belong in the house. 

Must look awesome in a baseball cap or cowboy hat. 

Must be able to pay someone to handle any of the above if he is unwilling or unable. 



(a girl can dream, right?) 

Second Floor: Hardware, Children's Wear, Ladies Lingerie

Every day, millions of people across the globe step in to an elevator. If I had to guess, I'd say less than half know what to do after stepping in. The pressure of locating the correct button for the floor you want is overwhelming to most and it instantly creates an awkwardness that is felt by everyone. 

Don't get me wrong, I realize how unnerving it is to step in to an elevator with which you're unfamiliar. First you have to decide how you're going to react if the doors open and there are people already there (smile? grimace? completely ignore them?). Then you quickly profile to see who is the least offensive to stand next to for the duration of your ride. But you also have to factor in where the buttons are - and this is where it starts to get tricky. If they are only on one side of the door, and someone is already standing in front of them, you have to somehow gain access and then make your selection while everyone looks on. But then you also have to make a split second decision about where to stand after you select your floor. And most people screw this up. It's eerily similar to the concept of urinal/stall separation in that there are social protocols to be followed. 

For example, if someone is standing in the SE corner of the elevator, you should choose the SW or the NW corner, never the NE. The same side should only be chosen if all other corners are already taken. And if all corners are already taken, then remain in the middle until someone gets on after you. Only at that point should you move to the middle spot along an outside edge. And the process should continue in this logical fashion until the elevator is full. 

The second half to this equation is movement as people reach their destination. For years, I've tried to understand why people don't spread back out as the elevator empties. If there is a vacated corner, don't be afraid to move if you're now on a first name basis with your neighbor's dandruff. Trust me, you won't personally offend them by moving away because they're probably going to think you're creepy if you don't. 

Respect everyone's personal space. 

Speaking of respect, if I happen to be standing in front of the panel of buttons don't just stand there with the expectation that I am going to hit the button for the floor you need. I am not a mind reader nor your personal elevator attendant. I will only help old people or someone whose hands are full. Everyone else is on their own. 

A few other protocols to always follow in an elevator:

- DO NOT FART because either your fellow passengers will choke to death or the person who gets in as you leave will not only have to endure the stench but will have to suffer through the embarrassment that everyone else after that will think it was them. 

- Avoid using your phone. Most likely the call will be cut off anyway, and your fellow passengers don't want/need to hear both sides of your conversation. 

- Be a covert spectator.

- Only going to/coming from the 2nd or 3rd floor? Take the stairs. Seriously. 

Use Caution When Opening the Following Link

Valentine's Day is just around the corner. For those still looking for the perfect gift, this might just do the trick:

http://www.thisiswhyimbroke.com/edible-chocolate-anus

(As fair warning to anyone who is easily offended, please remember that what you are about to see cannot be unseen. There isn't enough bleach in the world to remove the image from your brain.)

Eight Down, One Hundred Eighty Eight To Go

There are 196 Countries in the world (yes, I had to Google that). 

And I've had people from 8 of those countries read my blog: Venezuela, United States, Germany, France, Poland, Russia, United Kingdom, and Turkey. 


Technology is amazing. Look out world, here I come! 


Who will be next? My money is on Australia. (What can I say? I'm a sucker for the accent!)

It Can't be THAT Humiliating...

A few years ago, my sister got Wii Zumba for Christmas. She promptly changed into the appropriate attire (even donning the headband that came with the disc), poured a glass of wine, and we all went into my parent's basement to try it out. 

Holy shit. 

I honestly have never laughed that hard. Ever. 

A few weeks ago, I decided to try the Zumba classes offered at the gym I recently joined. After strapping myself in (those who know me know what I mean), I walked into the studio where classes are held. I was terrified, but I was determined to do it. Thankfully, I secured a spot in the back of the class. Not only did I not want to see myself shakin'/movin'/groovin', I sure as hell didn't want anyone else subject to that. 

The instructor walked in and, of course, she was gorgeous. She had on these cute little pink pants that made her ass look perfect. Bitch. 

The music started and off we went. I was so focused on mimicking what the instructor did that I wasn't even aware of the wall of mirrors we all faced. Until about 10 minutes in. And then I caught a glimpse of myself. 

I can recall only one other time in my life when I wanted to shrink away into absolute nothingness, and that was when I split my pants open in the weight room at another gym. 

So there I was, trying to do my best latin dance impression while NOT looking in the mirror. But you can't look away from a train wreck. So I laughed and danced my way through the rest of the hour. I even went back the following week. And I intend to keep going. 

J Lo and Beyonce - you've been warned!!!

Tinder 2.0: Shit Just Got Real

I had to break up with Tinder. I just couldn't handle the freaks anymore. 

Then, while waiting for a set change at a concert in September, my friend convinced me to download the app again so we could 'play'. 

I haven't decided how to repay her. Yet. 

When I mentioned that having a selection of men like this was the equivalent of winning the lottery, her response was "Yeah, the Serial Killer Lottery!" And then I laughed so hard I choked on my drink. 

Merhaba Türkiye

Turns out I have quite a following in Turkey. 

Which is ironic because I'm a vegetarian. 



(Yes, that was a total groaner. And yes, I'm still laughing)

My Lawn Mower Has a First Name, it's S-N-A-K-E

My lawn mower has a second name, it's K-I-L-L-E-R...........

You know that startlingly awful sound the garbage disposal makes when a spoon or a fork slips in by accident? Interestingly, that's the exact sound a lawn mower makes when it runs over a snake. 

I know, because I've done it. More than once. 

When it happened the other day, I was horrified because that poor little snake was just out for a slither, seeing what tasty morsel might be in the neighborhood and then BAM!!!!....chopped in half.  

After I was past the shock of such a violent murder I realized two things:

1. The head was still moving and 

2. I only had a vague idea of where the rest of the body wound up

While I forced myself to look for parts, I noticed the head was still moving. A lot. I was completely grossed out. Poor little snake.