And I thought Britney going barefoot was bad.
I have noticed with alarming frequency the growing trend of eating in bathrooms. Although the words restroom and restaurant do bear noticeable similarities, I refuse to believe that anyone could confuse one for the other. Ever. That leads me to conclude that this is a deliberate movement.
I didn’t start to notice this new phenomenon until a friend regaled me with the tale of an urban legend circulating at his office. There is a woman who actually ate a Snickers while doing the business. An eyewitness confirmed that she exited the stall carrying only the wrapper.
Once this was on the brain, I started looking around and noticed that this wasn’t as out of the ordinary as I may have once thought. Just today I saw an empty potato chip bag in the bathroom garbage. I find it hard to believe that someone carried it all the way into the bathroom solely to dispose of the bag. Therefore, I have no choice but to conclude that they ate the chips in there.
After I finished my lunch (in the café like the rest of the civilized world) I saw a lady in the bathroom who brought her sandwich in with her and left it on the counter while she used the facilities. The wrap has been red flagged. Maybe I am weird but I try to plan my trips to the bathroom around my lunch so I will never be caught in front of the door sandwich in hand, doing the pee dance and contemplating “to enter or not to enter.” This should be an easy situation to avoid.
What could possibly be the reason for this noticeable outbreak of Bathroom Dining? I have two theories on how our society may be to blame because, let’s face it…when struggling to make sense of something, blame society:
THEORY ONE: It is an attempt to interject a little culture into American dining. As a society, we have no defining customs like using chopsticks or sitting barefoot on the floor to consume our food. “Bathroom Eaters” are just trying to change the perception of American dining by associating something other than McDonalds to it.
OR
THEORY TWO: We have become overly efficient at multi-tasking. Taking bathroom breaks and lunch/snack breaks are a waste of time separately. But if we put them together, the break time is cut in half. GENIUS! (I believe that this could be an evil plot by workplace management to keep the man down.)
Either way, I am still at a loss as to how and why this is becoming an acceptable occurrence which is seemingly spreading to epidemic proportions. Even if I subscribed to either of the two theories above, I still would not be compelled to pull up a toilet and gorge on a steak in the john. It is just plain gross.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
The Unprofessional
I have been working hard for the past month at establishing my “Professional Barbie” demeanor at my new job only to have it tarnished. A few moments ago, my manager walked into my cube to pick up some things I have been working on and caught me red handed.
We were having a discussion about work related topics when she stopped suddenly and sniffed. Then she took a closer look at me.
“What the hell are you eating?” she asked me.
Sheepishly, I looked down and mumbled “A fruit roll-up.”
“Seriously?” she asked me.
“Yep,” I said. “I am twelve.”
At this point, she laughed and said “You know, would get along very well with my son. He loves them too.” NOTE TO MOM: Her son is 3 and not a potential date for the wedding.
So there it is. I can no longer be looked upon as a professional after being caught eating a strawberry Scooby Doo fruit roll-up with tattoos. I'm done.
We were having a discussion about work related topics when she stopped suddenly and sniffed. Then she took a closer look at me.
“What the hell are you eating?” she asked me.
Sheepishly, I looked down and mumbled “A fruit roll-up.”
“Seriously?” she asked me.
“Yep,” I said. “I am twelve.”
At this point, she laughed and said “You know, would get along very well with my son. He loves them too.” NOTE TO MOM: Her son is 3 and not a potential date for the wedding.
So there it is. I can no longer be looked upon as a professional after being caught eating a strawberry Scooby Doo fruit roll-up with tattoos. I'm done.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Random Acts of Kindness
Despite the fact that my head is pounding, my throat is raw and I feel like I got smacked repeatedly with a bat, I am in an inexplicable good mood. Maybe it is the drugs in the Affrin nasal spray or the mountain of caffeine I have just consumed. Whatever the reason, Pollyanna is still alive and kicking. What the hell has come over me? Who is this ridiculously positive person and what did she do with my cynical alter ego?
Perhaps it is the weather. The arrival of spring seems to bring out the best in everyone. Maybe the impending wedding? The fact that I get to party with my family and friends for days on end. Although my nightmare about showing up sans date seems to support to the contrary. How about the fresh flowers all over my condo? They tend to be more inspiring then the fake plants I normally have because I can’t be trusted not to kill real ones.
Could it be as simple as believing that people are inherently good? After some of the things I had gone through in the past few months, that belief had started to wan. But all it takes is one random act of kindness from a stranger to restore it.
The first time I fully realized the power of a random act of kindness was on Valentine’s Day, Boston 2000. It was my first year in the city and I was miserable. Sad, lonely, broke, and pathetic. This must have registered all over my face as I walked down the street on my way to the Arlington T station. A homeless man sitting on the street corner stopped me to wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day. I thanked him and repeated the sentiment with much less enthusiasm. He jumped up and followed me to the station where he handed me a single red rose. “You look like you could use a smile.” He said and walked away.
That made my day and 6 years later I still think of it and smile. To have no ulterior motives and to just do something without expecting anything is return is special. And it doesn’t happen everyday.
Yesterday’s occurrence was on a much smaller scale. The guy making my sandwich at the deli gave me two pickles. Wow, earth shattering, right? What you have to understand is that around here pickles are a hot commodity. You don’t get one unless you ask for it. I didn’t ask and got two. The ironic part is that I hate pickles. They gross me out to no end…the smell, the taste, even the juice that soaks into my bread and ruins my whole sandwich. Despite my intense dislike for pickles, I found this gesture to be very sweet. Maybe it was because I was feeling even crappier then I do today. Whatever the reason, this little thing made me smile.
I don’t know if I am just super sensitive, easy to please or just plain weird. Whatever the case may be, the little things can often mean as much to someone as the big things…especially when things aren’t going your way. What may seem like a small thing to you could make someone else’s day or at the very least, can make them smile.
I know, I know…Pollyanna is rearing her ugly head again. Don’t worry guys; it is creepy for me too.
Perhaps it is the weather. The arrival of spring seems to bring out the best in everyone. Maybe the impending wedding? The fact that I get to party with my family and friends for days on end. Although my nightmare about showing up sans date seems to support to the contrary. How about the fresh flowers all over my condo? They tend to be more inspiring then the fake plants I normally have because I can’t be trusted not to kill real ones.
Could it be as simple as believing that people are inherently good? After some of the things I had gone through in the past few months, that belief had started to wan. But all it takes is one random act of kindness from a stranger to restore it.
The first time I fully realized the power of a random act of kindness was on Valentine’s Day, Boston 2000. It was my first year in the city and I was miserable. Sad, lonely, broke, and pathetic. This must have registered all over my face as I walked down the street on my way to the Arlington T station. A homeless man sitting on the street corner stopped me to wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day. I thanked him and repeated the sentiment with much less enthusiasm. He jumped up and followed me to the station where he handed me a single red rose. “You look like you could use a smile.” He said and walked away.
That made my day and 6 years later I still think of it and smile. To have no ulterior motives and to just do something without expecting anything is return is special. And it doesn’t happen everyday.
Yesterday’s occurrence was on a much smaller scale. The guy making my sandwich at the deli gave me two pickles. Wow, earth shattering, right? What you have to understand is that around here pickles are a hot commodity. You don’t get one unless you ask for it. I didn’t ask and got two. The ironic part is that I hate pickles. They gross me out to no end…the smell, the taste, even the juice that soaks into my bread and ruins my whole sandwich. Despite my intense dislike for pickles, I found this gesture to be very sweet. Maybe it was because I was feeling even crappier then I do today. Whatever the reason, this little thing made me smile.
I don’t know if I am just super sensitive, easy to please or just plain weird. Whatever the case may be, the little things can often mean as much to someone as the big things…especially when things aren’t going your way. What may seem like a small thing to you could make someone else’s day or at the very least, can make them smile.
I know, I know…Pollyanna is rearing her ugly head again. Don’t worry guys; it is creepy for me too.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Shortcomings
I am short. Not petite, not height challenged, just short. I never experienced a growth spurt, settling instead for eking out a mere inch over the summer while other kids I knew grew five. I have always been little. My nicknames, past and present represent this: Sprite, Little McDougall, Little Girl, McDougall Girl or any other variation of the former.
This has bothered me all my life particularly since this is not an inherent trait. Both of my sisters stand at a regal 5’7 whereas I am a measly 5’3. With shoes on.
I do believe that my parents bear some responsibility for my predicament. My conspiracy theory is that they stunted my grown as a child by allowing me to sleep in the “way back” of our Pontiac T1000 hatchback during our annual 18 hour trek to Hilton Head. In addition, any time we stayed at a hotel “T” and Gail slept in one double bed while Eboogie and Pooh got the other. Where did little McDougall sleep? That would be between two upholstered chairs pushed together to make a bed (or the loveseat at Ma B’s lake house) My theory is that this systematic abuse of my muscles due to my inability to stretch out over the years is the reason for my slight stature.
Shortness is a serious disease; a physical and emotional ailment and should be treated as such. It is the root of my crowd anxiety and the reason for my preoccupation with shoes, among other things. There is also a very negative connotation associated with being short. In an effort to further prove my point, please look at the list of synonyms below:
Short - Tall
Little - Big
Petite - Giant
Dumpy - Lofty
Tiny - Elevated
Squat - Soaring
Diminutive - Large
Undersized - Prominent
Stunted - Grand
Hmmm…would I rather be dumpy or prominent? Tough call.
As with any shortcoming, one often finds themselves trying to overcompensate. Wearing leg lengthening pants and skirts, the most ridiculously tall shoes I can manage without breaking my leg, dating really tall guys, loading the top shelves in the kitchen with the things I rarely use (climbing on top of the counter gets old after awhile) This is me lashing out and reacting against being short.
You may be wondering what brought on this little tirade. After all, I have never been tall; shouldn’t I have made peace with this by now? Things have recently come to a head because my new routine of walking in heels from the parking lot to my building has caused serious strain on my already crappy knees. I have been forced to wear…no, I can’t even say it…FLATS (insert appropriate taken aback reaction here) more often than I’d like in an effort to relieve the pain. The response has been comments like: “I never realized you were so little!”
I am trying, as with any flaw to learn to accept the things I cannot change with grace and dignity. I’ll probably be forced to pass this genetic mutation on to my children so I apologize in advance for the years of torment. I will make vigorous attempts to move them up in the alphabet, but that is another issue completely…
This has bothered me all my life particularly since this is not an inherent trait. Both of my sisters stand at a regal 5’7 whereas I am a measly 5’3. With shoes on.
I do believe that my parents bear some responsibility for my predicament. My conspiracy theory is that they stunted my grown as a child by allowing me to sleep in the “way back” of our Pontiac T1000 hatchback during our annual 18 hour trek to Hilton Head. In addition, any time we stayed at a hotel “T” and Gail slept in one double bed while Eboogie and Pooh got the other. Where did little McDougall sleep? That would be between two upholstered chairs pushed together to make a bed (or the loveseat at Ma B’s lake house) My theory is that this systematic abuse of my muscles due to my inability to stretch out over the years is the reason for my slight stature.
Shortness is a serious disease; a physical and emotional ailment and should be treated as such. It is the root of my crowd anxiety and the reason for my preoccupation with shoes, among other things. There is also a very negative connotation associated with being short. In an effort to further prove my point, please look at the list of synonyms below:
Short - Tall
Little - Big
Petite - Giant
Dumpy - Lofty
Tiny - Elevated
Squat - Soaring
Diminutive - Large
Undersized - Prominent
Stunted - Grand
Hmmm…would I rather be dumpy or prominent? Tough call.
As with any shortcoming, one often finds themselves trying to overcompensate. Wearing leg lengthening pants and skirts, the most ridiculously tall shoes I can manage without breaking my leg, dating really tall guys, loading the top shelves in the kitchen with the things I rarely use (climbing on top of the counter gets old after awhile) This is me lashing out and reacting against being short.
You may be wondering what brought on this little tirade. After all, I have never been tall; shouldn’t I have made peace with this by now? Things have recently come to a head because my new routine of walking in heels from the parking lot to my building has caused serious strain on my already crappy knees. I have been forced to wear…no, I can’t even say it…FLATS (insert appropriate taken aback reaction here) more often than I’d like in an effort to relieve the pain. The response has been comments like: “I never realized you were so little!”
I am trying, as with any flaw to learn to accept the things I cannot change with grace and dignity. I’ll probably be forced to pass this genetic mutation on to my children so I apologize in advance for the years of torment. I will make vigorous attempts to move them up in the alphabet, but that is another issue completely…
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
The Bachlorette's Limerick
With Eboogie’s nuptials just one month away,
We decided to go out in celebration of her day.
So Saturday night, we piled into the car
And found ourselves at Vaughn’s Public House Bar.
Red’s tender age threw a wrench in our plans.
Her entrance to the bar laying in her fake ID’s hands.
Thankfully, no problems ensued and we entered to room
Hoping liquor would drown out talk of missing the groom.
We settled ourselves at a dark corner table
And started ordering as soon as we were able.
Drinking beer, wine and shots, among other things
Out of our very fancy diamond shot glass rings
Midge, Durk and Meghan showed up not long after.
Our party was complete; we commenced with laughter.
There was another bachlorette party trying to steal our thunder
While drinks were bought by a gentleman from down under.
Lemon drop shots, on our table we found
Sent from a guy from Kansas who bought us a round.
After drinking and toasting, we invited him to sit
Never knowing how much we would soon regret it.
While the Midge was wishing this poor guy dead,
Eboogie and Pooh left the early and headed to bed
Without warning a contingent of familiars walked in
People from high school, we noted with chagrin.
From the Midge’s ex-boyfriend with the crazy red hair
To the cutie in English class who used to warrant my stare.
The guy who made me cry way back in 8th grade
When he threw on the floor the Valentine that I had made.
We bid adieu to the bar at the one o’clock hour.
After all, I couldn’t be hung over for Eboogie’s shower!
Gail B. would have killed me if had I had a bad headache
And I wouldn’t have enjoyed that ridiculously expensive cake.
In closing, I say best of luck to Eboogie and Moose
It is inspiring to see the amount of love you two produce.
I am glad that we got to party for a wee little while
Before you embark on that long walk down the aisle.
We decided to go out in celebration of her day.
So Saturday night, we piled into the car
And found ourselves at Vaughn’s Public House Bar.
Red’s tender age threw a wrench in our plans.
Her entrance to the bar laying in her fake ID’s hands.
Thankfully, no problems ensued and we entered to room
Hoping liquor would drown out talk of missing the groom.
We settled ourselves at a dark corner table
And started ordering as soon as we were able.
Drinking beer, wine and shots, among other things
Out of our very fancy diamond shot glass rings
Midge, Durk and Meghan showed up not long after.
Our party was complete; we commenced with laughter.
There was another bachlorette party trying to steal our thunder
While drinks were bought by a gentleman from down under.
Lemon drop shots, on our table we found
Sent from a guy from Kansas who bought us a round.
After drinking and toasting, we invited him to sit
Never knowing how much we would soon regret it.
While the Midge was wishing this poor guy dead,
Eboogie and Pooh left the early and headed to bed
Without warning a contingent of familiars walked in
People from high school, we noted with chagrin.
From the Midge’s ex-boyfriend with the crazy red hair
To the cutie in English class who used to warrant my stare.
The guy who made me cry way back in 8th grade
When he threw on the floor the Valentine that I had made.
We bid adieu to the bar at the one o’clock hour.
After all, I couldn’t be hung over for Eboogie’s shower!
Gail B. would have killed me if had I had a bad headache
And I wouldn’t have enjoyed that ridiculously expensive cake.
In closing, I say best of luck to Eboogie and Moose
It is inspiring to see the amount of love you two produce.
I am glad that we got to party for a wee little while
Before you embark on that long walk down the aisle.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Changes
I’ve been thinking about change a lot lately. Ever since I was a little kid, I was under the impression that change is bad. The fear of the unknown, leaving the familiar behind. It was just so stressful that I choose to avoid change at all costs.
My life has changed immeasurably as I have been forced to make some very difficult choices over the past 18 months or so. I ended a very serious long-term relationship with someone that I was still in love with. I bought property and moved out on my own, fully supporting myself (FYI…I now even get my own cell phone bill) My career veered wildly off the path I assumed it would take.
Each of these incidents caused me to be a mess for varying amounts of time. But in the end, I survived them and in retrospect, have been grateful that they occurred. It helped me to be stronger and to define what it is that makes me happy. I assumed most of the things in my life were making me happy. But the truth is, I was content. Things were comfortable...there was no change. But I wasn’t happy.
Since I have been forced against my will to confront change at most every juncture, I have learned to embrace it. You get the opportunity to spin off in a new direction, maybe to a place you never thought of before. And it’s not scary, it’s exciting. It is something new, different and not at all safe. And that’s what makes life interesting.
I am done playing it safe. I may have to face more hurt, stress and heartache but consider the exciting challenges and new beginnings that could also be in store for me. I am willing to take those odds. At least I’ll feel like I am alive.
***SPECIAL NOTE: To those of you who had to deal with me through one or all of my ordeals, I apologize! I know I was a psychotic pain in the ass. Thankfully, I have been back to my normal, charming self over the past few weeks and have (hopefully!) left all of the drama behind me.
My life has changed immeasurably as I have been forced to make some very difficult choices over the past 18 months or so. I ended a very serious long-term relationship with someone that I was still in love with. I bought property and moved out on my own, fully supporting myself (FYI…I now even get my own cell phone bill) My career veered wildly off the path I assumed it would take.
Each of these incidents caused me to be a mess for varying amounts of time. But in the end, I survived them and in retrospect, have been grateful that they occurred. It helped me to be stronger and to define what it is that makes me happy. I assumed most of the things in my life were making me happy. But the truth is, I was content. Things were comfortable...there was no change. But I wasn’t happy.
Since I have been forced against my will to confront change at most every juncture, I have learned to embrace it. You get the opportunity to spin off in a new direction, maybe to a place you never thought of before. And it’s not scary, it’s exciting. It is something new, different and not at all safe. And that’s what makes life interesting.
I am done playing it safe. I may have to face more hurt, stress and heartache but consider the exciting challenges and new beginnings that could also be in store for me. I am willing to take those odds. At least I’ll feel like I am alive.
***SPECIAL NOTE: To those of you who had to deal with me through one or all of my ordeals, I apologize! I know I was a psychotic pain in the ass. Thankfully, I have been back to my normal, charming self over the past few weeks and have (hopefully!) left all of the drama behind me.
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