can you speak up?

I’m on my train today, listening to my iPod, when some older gent sits next to me.

The first thing I notice is his overwhelming body heat. But never mind, my temp runs a little warm, too. A few minutes into staring out the window I realize this dude is talking to me.

Apparently he doesn’t need an audience, because I’m clearly not listening. So I turn, take out my headphones, and listen to how he made his train and walked 28 blocks in 32 minutes!

Congrats, kiddo. Then we had that awkward pause where I didn’t really want to engage the conversation…and he didn’t know what to do….so I yawned and feigned narcolepsy.

facewho?

about a week ago, I read an article about people who do annoying things on Facebook, and what some of them are: minute by minute breakdown of their day, overabundance of CAPS and EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!, awkward status updates about why they’re miserable, and – one of my biggest pet peeves – misuse of words that are similar – their/they’re/there, red/read, your/you’re.

It was one of those articles that is so funny because what the author is saying is so true, pointing out that girls will take a picture of their feet in a circle and upload it, and then tag all the people they’re with.  Or someone will put something on their Facebook status that makes the readers uncomfortable, mostly about their personal business that people you’re acquainted with have no business knowing (my husband just gave me a black eye!  But he’s SORRY!!!!!).

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am on Facebook.  And when it first came out, or the days I’m bored, I am all up in Facebook.  All over it.  All over my friends walls, looking at their pictures, researching people I don’t know (Facebook stalking – a much-loved pass-time of mine), poking people.  The good stuff.  God forbid there’s a day that Facebook creates a “who’s looked at your page” application that wasn’t SPAM or a hacker, I’d have a lot of explaining to do.  I use Facebook as a social medium.  I think it’s there so you can connect to other people, not so you can hide from reality. 

While we have the creepers that are vicariously living through Facebook, we also have the total opposite – people who don’t have Facebook.  Not because I think they are out of touch, but because its my way of keeping on top of what people are doing without actually talking to them.  I don’t want to call you, I want to see the picture of your new baby (not the ultrasound, that creeps me out.  And not when it’s wrinkly and gross newborn, when its got something cute to comment on.  I can’t even tell someone I don’t want to be their Facebook friend (you’ll see), how in the World will I be able to tell them their baby is ugly?).  And then I want to tell you by “liking” the picture, I don’t want to go pretend to want to hold it.

While there isn’t anything I love more than a good Facebook argument, I get very easily annoyed on Facebook.  I hate when people will send me a comment or something, and then say “hey, did you see my comment?”  Sure did, Ace.  Problem is, it wasn’t very funny, so I couldn’t write anything back.  Similar to when people ask me if I got their email.   You sent a read receipt.  If I had something to say back to you, I would have, now get off my phone, you’re interrupting Pandora.

I block people like its going out of style.  I used to “unfriend” people, but I got called out on that a few times.  After the initial shock that some actually realized I “unfriend-ed them” (I’d have no idea if I was un-friended.  Unless it was by like, my father – and don’t you do it Dad or I’ll tell Mom on you!); I’d sheepishly make an excuse that I must’ve done it by accident or because there was a glitch.  For some reason, I feel guilty telling someone “you and I met 15 years ago, and I honestly don’t know you” or “truth be told, I don’t find you very interesting” or, even worse “I don’t like you in person, why do I have to like you on Facebook?”

So, I wind up “re-friending” these creeps (is that even a word?).  And then block you.  Sometimes, if I really want to punish them, they won’t be allowed to see any of my pictures.  Trust me, that’s a huge loss.  What I’m really doing is saving myself from having to read your mind-numbingly boring updates about your doggie making a poo, or your broken finger nail.  How arrogant are you, that you’d think anyone truly cares you filled your car up with gas? 

Hint: we don’t.  And the people who DO care or comment on those mundane things are just as bizarrely socially awkward as you.

One of my favorite unfriending stories was my exboyfriend – who I dated when I was in college, and we broke up years and years ago.  I didn’t want to be his friend in the first place, so when he friend requested me, I begrudgedly accepted, waited the traditional three days, and deleted him.  Well, his mom emailed me on Facebook, asking me why I didn’t want to be his friend anymore, and why I thought he was still single.  They must’ve caught me on a good day because I had no qualms telling them what I thought:

“He and I aren’t friends in real life.  And he’s a douche-bag.  Do you really want to ask his ex girlfriend why he is single?  I can give you a list, but I think there’s a limit as to how many words this email can contain”

Strangely enough, I think she defriended me afterwards.  B-tch.

Keep the Christ in Christmas, B!tch.

One of my favorite things to say to people.

Its funny, you always hear about how the holidays are coming earlier and earlier.  We see Halloween decorations at Labor Day, Thanksgiving decorations at Halloween and ::gasp:: Christmas decorations BEFORE Thanksgiving.

no kidding.  Christmas in the city is like Christmas on f*cking steroids, there’s holiday cheer everywhere –

with the exception of the people in the city.

People are AWFUL when they shop.  Awful.  Holiday’s truly bring out the best in people.  When they’re not complaining about people saying “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays!” they’re knocking down a kid for the last stocking.

Now me? I’m going to say “Merry Christmas” – because that’s what I celebrate.  If I know that you’re Jewish, and you celebrate Hanukkah, I’m more than happy to say “Happy Hanukkah“, but don’t tell me that I need to be politically correct for the sake of others.  If you don’t like what I have to say about my faith, belief, or holiday, then just don’t ask me.  Cause I’m not asking you about yours.

While we’re on THAT particular soapbox, if I say the Pledge of Allegiance, I’m damn well going to say “Under God“.  That’s what I learned.  If you don’t want to say “under God” just mumble something.

Anyway, the other day I was at the store picking up some wrapping paper and what not, and the line was LONG.  But it’s the last shopping weekend before Christmas…so a rational person would assume that’s the reason why, and the lines would be long.

Not the person behind me, apparently.  Literally, the second she got on-line she started sighing and complaining (loudly) about how long the line was.  Honestly, if she only said it once, I probably would have let her get in front of me, but she started crowding me.  Which I love (love when strangers touch me.  really.)

Sometimes I have some holiday luck.  As we round the first turn, my buddy calls me – who’s pretty close on the obnoxious scale to me:

Buddy: whacha doin?

Me: just running an errand, picking up some stuff

Buddy: cool, are you gona be back in town for football?

Me: yea, the lines are long ::cough cough, slight pause:: No, of course its expected, its the week before the holiday.  It would be weird if I didn’t have to wait in line

Buddy: You’re making a point, aren’t you?

Me: I’ll be back in a little bit, this is my last stop and the cashiers are going as fast as they can.

Rest of my wait was in silence.

grandpa’s getting a goodie this year

 

The other day I had to get a tooth fixed, so on my way back I swung by my Grandpa’s to visit for a while.

After commiserating about the usual stuff, we started chatting and he mentioned he loves tomatoes.  That’s about all that stuck from the conversation (other than I noticed he was writing his Christmas cards out – which is great, my Grandpa always sends out the funniest cards.  Unintentionally, but they’re absolutely hilarious).

On my way home I stopped by the store to pick up some tape and I saw these little tomato savers.  They LOOK like tomatoes, but you take your tomato, and put it in the little holder, and they don’t get bruised or busted and they stay fresher, longer.

Now, I wasn’t going to get gifts for anyone outside my immediately family but this is just too good to pass up.  Grand daughter of the year, right here bitches.

subway? Not the store

I cycle whenever I can – distance cycling, not mountain biking, and I do it with a group of people who look to raise money for a charity.

These people are great, and I’ve made some wonderful friends through the organization that I probably would never have met otherwise.

So aside from the team cycling we do, occasionally we would sign up for different rides and get a group together for fun, not sponsored.

One of the rides I wanted to do was the NYC century. 100 miles (there are shorter versions, but eff that, we’re bad asses) that starts in Central Park and goes through the 5 different boros.
Oh! I lied. We signed up for 75 because a friend who had done the ride previously said “the Bronx was hilly and boring, you should skip that part”.

My friend offered to pick me up the morning of the ride and drive us both into the city. I, in turn, offered to pick up bagels and coffee for the morning ride from my favorite bagel spot in town.

So we all meet up and start riding and are immediately disappointed the roads weren’t fully closed like they are for the MS 5 boro ride. But hey, getting honked at and yelled at by NYC cabbies at 7am is a kind of fun way to start a Sunday off. Also gave us a chance to hone our “Staying Alive Skills”.

We get through Manhattan and cross into Brooklyn when it starts to rain. My dear friend VO had gotten about 4 flat tires already, and my bike shorts were full of grit (side note: riding over the Brooklyn Bridge and through prospect park was a tremendous experience I won’t likely soon forget).

We’re cruisin through Bay Ridge at a SLOW pace. I’m talking rain, mud, head wind, all sorts of crap and we get to Coney Island when I start to get queasy.

What’s this now? Yes. Queasy. I chalked it up, at first, to it being a result of one of the most miserable bike rides of my life, thus far, but it started to get worse.

My other friend, AndyPants and Suebee were equally miserable, so when we got to Nathans we all kind of looked at each other and said “Subway?”

In sheer confusion, VO says “eh? There’s a Nathans over there!”

No, officer, not THAT Subway.

In any event, we hop the subway and start our ride back to the city.

And it gets worse. My queasy-ness is developing into full blown nausea. We get to one of the hubs to swap trains, and picture this, if you can:

6 people in soggy bike shorts with helmets, bike shoes, carrying road bikes.

A bum walks up to me and starts asking me about our shoes, bikes, etc. Little does he know, I’m about to blow. Not able to speak, I rush past the bum, drop my bike and beeline for a garbage can, vomiting a straight stream of cream cheese. Like soft serve ice cream, Andypants later told me.

Horrified, the bum takes off. Andypants and VO check in on me, out of concern, which later turns to laughter.

I was sick for two days and couldn’t eat ice cream or cream cheese for about 6 months.

salt mines?

I had my poochie out a little early today and ran into one of my neighbors.

Pooch is a nosey lil bugger, so she stared at him, and I tried to convince her to follow me, but she insisted on stopping and saying “hello” (whilst attempting to take his banana). We talked for a few minutes, she got her scratches in, and he goes “well! Gotta get off to the salt mines!”

Is that a real thing, or is it a saying? I didn’t know there were any salt mines in my ‘hood.

Huh. Too much thinking before coffee. Off to the gym!

Hey Commuters!

I know that there’s always some confusion as to “who has the right of way on the sidewalk”

Let me clear this up for you: Me.

If I’m walking with a cup of hot coffee, opening facing out, its my suggestion that you stay out of my way.  If you get in my way, cut me off, or bump into me on purpose, I WILL spill my coffee on you.

I get a large for a reason.

There’s always mayhem on the corners in Gotham for some reason.  And people don’t flinch, they’ll walk straight without even looking, across a crowd.  I have respect for people like that – I’m one of them – and if you don’t get out of my way, or waffle, I’m taking you down.

Don’t get mad, that’s life in the big City, Kid.  Put your big boy pants on, dust off your bottom, and learn to walk like the rest of us.  Pissed Off.

passiveagressivenotes.com

There was a website that I’d check in on every so often, www.PassiveAgressiveNotes.com.  It was basically a place that you could email some notes people annoyed with you left on your car (I’ve been parking in this spot for 30 years and would like to keep on parking here, can you move your car next time) on your door at home (while I am sure your dog is cute, the barking is not, please do something to make it stop) or in the office (I know someone is stealing my food from the fridge, but I work hard and I’m hungry too, so please stop).

My office is ALL ABOUT passive aggressive notes.  I was in the lady’s room (and I use that term loosely, the chics in my office are vile pigs that can’t clean up after themselves) and it was riddled with notes. 

For example:

  1. Please make sure you rinse the sink after brushing your teeth, the rest of us don’t want to see the contents of your mouth (on the mirror).
  2. Please make sure you throw out your paper towels in the waste basket.  If you miss, please pick them up.  We don’t want to see your mess (on the paper towel dispenser).
  3. Please make sure to dispose of your toilet paper and seat covers.  Its disgusting.  Keep the Bathroom clean for your coworkers (on the garbage can).
  4. Please Be Considerate of Your Co-workers and Do Not Leave Toilet Paper On the Seat (this one is my personal favorite – eye level, in the stall).

What I find strange is, that last sign is only in one stall.  So that’s clearly the stall the offender and offendee use.  Maybe one can switch?  Or maybe, just maybe, the women in my office can start to act like women and not animals, and clean up after themselves?

I mean, I see the sign leaver’s point, I don’t want to see your toothpaste in the sink (this drives me INSANE at my apartment, if anyone brushes their teeth there, they had better rinse the damn sink out and DO NOT squeeze my toothpaste from the middle.  That is enough to get your a$$ banned from my home), and I don’t want to step over your toilet paper and paper towels and urine.  But that’s commonly known.  Can you imagine what their house looks like if they’re that disgusting in public?

this is a mirror image of seat-pee-ers home bathroom.

I hate public bathrooms.  Whats worse is, it’s clearly someone on our floor because we’re the only occupants of this floor, and the door is locked.  Before, they could just blame it on the other people in the other offices.

pubic transportation.

No – that’s not a typo.  I’m lumping commuters into one, nasty bunch.

I take two forms of public transportation on a daily basis, and occasionally will hop on a subway (when I want to see how the other peeps live).

People are nassssty.  This morning, a woman was sitting next to me shoveling a cinnamon toasted sandwich, with what I can only assume was a pound of butter on it, down her gullet – followed with an iced coffee.

When she got up, there was a little pile of crumbs where she sat.  What did she do?  Well, what any commuter would do.  She left it there.

She got b-tchface.

Couple weeks ago, I was taking the train in on the weekend to see a friend, and there was a woman eating a plate of food.  With her fingers.  And it consisted of rice, peppers and onions and hunks of some kind of meat on a bone she was chewing on.

How in the hell do people not realize that they’re disgusting when they eat like that on the train?  Or the bus?  Do they honestly think I want to see their nasty eating habits on display?

Lemme clear it up: I don’t.  Actually, people’s eating habits in general gross me out.  I’m not the most refined person, and I’m all for chowing down on a plate of wings with my fingers – however – my napkin is in my lap and if I’m not in the company of people I know well, I’ll excuse myself to the bathroom to pick my teeth (my family gets a show, though, sometimes I’ll do it with a butter knife, at the dinner table.  I’m a laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaady).

Maybe the people you eat with want you to see how much they’re enjoying their food by chewing with their mouths open?  Maybe they want you to view the hunk of meat they have lodged in their molars (saving it for later!)

It’s not just chics that eat stinky food on the train, fellas are just as bad, but I’ve noticed that guys tend to gravitate more towards McDonalds, Taco Bell or pizza.  Let me tell you, if someone is getting in the seat next to me with a bag of popcorn, you can rest assured I’m sneezing into that bag or sighing loudly and often enough that they’ll get the hint they’re p-ssing off the whole car and leave.

I propose a quiet car – no food, no talking.  And no people who can’t sit still.  And everyone has to file in and out like civilized human beings.  You can have a bottle of water and coffee, unless you complain about the heat of the coffee.  And you can drink beer, but once you get drunk and rowdy, you go to the Animal car.  If you talk on your phone, or your iPad or Kindle or whatever you’re playing on makes noise – I’m confiscating it.  No questions, and you’re not getting it back.

Unless you try to take it from me.  And succeed.  Remember, I’m strapped.

Don’t even get me started on public restrooms.

you can pick your nose

But you can’t pick your family!

Ain’t that the truth.

I got pretty lucky, in the family lottery though. My parents are the elite, my sister and I are close, and I’ve got some cute friggin nephews.

And I’m not just saying that because we’re blood – they’re friggin cute. I’d put pictures up but you creeps might try to steal them, then I’d have to put a boot in everyone’s a$$ – it just wouldn’t end well.

I’ve been trying to figure out a way to diplomatically write about the rift in my extended family without offending anyone or disregarding other people’s point of view, but I think that might be almost impossible. Especially because when you see things one way, it’s nearly impossible to see another person’s point of view. It makes it increasingly difficult to know what’s on someone’s mind when they ignore the proverbial “Elephant in the Room”, and doesn’t talk about their “issues”.

In a nutshell, I don’t like a member of my extended family. Rather than just leaving it alone, other members of my family pressed the issue so much the dislike turned into venom. After that, existing grievances came to light, etc, etc, etc.

In my experience, you have to love your family – but you don’t have to like them. And when you take a “Type A” personality like mine, and try to force me to do something….you’re basically shutting the valve to any reasoning.

If the situation simply stayed between me and the actual parties, there wouldn’t be so much of a problem. God Forbid adults act like adults – that’s just crazy talk (again, I’m not saying I’m the most mature person in the world, but sometimes enough is enough).

Instead, it has festered and gotten bigger, to a point where the only thing I can equate it to is a big, disgusting boil that grows and grows. And you touch it. You know you’re not supposed to, but you do.

One day that boil is going to blow the f-ck up. And who’s going to get covered in the vile pus when it does?

Everyone.

The thing about words is, you can’t take them back. Once I say something mean, even if I apologize – I still said it. And you’re going to remember the day I called you a mean name, or said your dog was ugly or something. Things said out of anger are said with the intention of hurting someone, even if we don’t want to admit that, and the nicest people are cruel when pushed enough.

With family, you know the insecurities that your relatives have. And you know how to hurt them. My father and I have the uncanny ability to see someone’s vulnerability shortly after meeting them, so imagine what years of research can do.

Hopefully no one says or does anything they regret, there’s nothing more tragic than not telling someone you love them, even if they’re being a d!ck, and then not having the opportunity to do so.

My mom said to me the other day that there’s no way I can judge or draw a conclusion on someone else’s relationship because I’m not in the mix (ok, she didn’t say “in the mix”, she’s a little more eloquent than that), I can just draw an opinion. And opinions are like a$$holes, right? We’ve all got one, most stink, yaddi yaddi yada.

Eff that. I’m right. Everyone else is wrong. And if they disagree, they can pound sand (I LOVE that expression. Pound sand. Hilarious)