Target

I am being harassed. I don’t know why. And I am sick of it. It started with me giving someone the right of way. There I was feeling good post chiropractic adjustment on my way to pick up the little girl. While rolling down the street, up ahead I saw the light was red and that a car was waiting to make a left off a side street. Recalling the rules of the road, I knew I could not block the side road, and considering there was a red light anyway, I had no reason to rush by. So, I stop. Side road guy makes a left. Light up ahead is still red. And I am called old hag. A girl in a jeep pulls up next to me, questioning my pause in momentum and proceeds to call me an old hag. Maybe in her warped, self serving and invincible mind of the twenty first century, as well as the NO NEWSDAY sticker in my back windshield, a rather old kind of sticker to have compared to her sorority sticker (she WAS NOT my sister), I was old. Yet, she was clearly the asshole; for an old hag, my memory of driver’s etiquette was a lot better than hers. NOT TO MENTION SHE WAS PULLING UP TO THE LEFT TURNING LANE AND THE LIGHT WAS STILL RED!! Caught off guard, in my attempt to respond, I STUTTERED. Now this was a rather inopportune time to develop an articulation disorder, so this same girl imitates whatever I was trying to say and comments that I’m old hag with a stutter. The light then turns green and this girl drives away. Wow-she is sooooo cool. BOTTOM LINE: I would rather be an old hag with an occasional stutter than a young idiot who thinks her shit doesn’t stink. While I might not remember her face, I will remember the sound of her voice. Don’t mess with this old lady. My memory is long, This next case of “Let’s harass the stranger for no reason” took place just the other day. I usually drive down a rather busy residential street on my way to work. There is a high school, so traffic is heavy with drop off. Couple that with garbage collection day, and you have a real cluster %^@$ of congestion. I would like to note that these sanitation men are no joke; they are running through yards in neon vests, motoring like they are competitors on the Amazing Race (I have never watched a full episode). No surprise that all of this rushing might cause some garbage to be left behind in the street. But yes to the surprise that the Litter Vigilante of Merrick (LGM) would roll up with his entire family in a minivan, catch my eye through the passenger window and proceed to say; “Did you throw that garbage out of your car back there?” What the hell? Me: Excuse me? LGM: Did you throw that garbage out of your car back there? Me: You mean the big bag in the middle of the street? NO! DID YOU NOT SEE THE GARBAGE MEN? LGM: Oh, I’m sorry. Then the tough guy quickly rolls up his window before I could say that if he was that concerned with the growing litter problem (sarcasm), why not get out of the car and clean it up rather than assume another motorist threw it there? AND, if the LVM had any interest in the kind of person I am, he should have asked me if I was in Part of the Solution (POTS) in high school, where I helped, along with my good friend Jess, to clean up the town of Rockville Centre. Our pictures even made it into the Herald, you idiot! How about contacting the Department of Sanitation and suggesting that the guys slow down during their weekly garbage collections to avoid such a terrible offense??? Sorry about that. I was just playing out an imaginary scenario. BOTTOM LINE: There’s a vigilante on the loose and he is watching your habits on the road. Make sure to hit his windshield, and not the street, with that old cup of coffee or milk shake you are dumping out while en route. (Kidding. Artistic license) My final brush with harassment took place last night. A few weeks ago I bought a shirt from the Lauren Conrad collection at Kohl’s. I thought I liked it and I took the tags off to wear it to work only to look in the mirror and decide I actually hated it. Along with another LC shirt, I went to make the return. Of course, I couldn’t find the receipt and paid cash. Kohl’s boasts that they will take anything back, no questions asked, but that is a downright lie. The Customer Care associate begins looking for the tag on the shirt I hated and I tell her I took them off. I proceed to tell her the reason. She then says; “Wasn’t there a camisole with this shirt?” WHOA!!! I thought this was no questions asked policy? And for your information, Customer Care rep who moonlights as an expert on every piece of inventory in the store, there was no camisole with this shirt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I get it. People wear clothes and then return them. I am not that person and as a consumer, I unfortunately must bear the brunt of other people’s indiscretions. However, I would also not buy a shirt and keep the cheap tank that is usually attached to it underneath only to return the top layer. Customer Care then inspects the other shirt which has a built in layer underneath and I swear she wasn’t buying my story. BOTTOM LINE: Kohl’s is a liar. Don’t always expect great things. You might think they are great, remove the tags, lose the receipt and then get a what for when returning it. To summarize, it would be nice if people would stop making assumptions and throwing accusations at me. Maybe you need to look inside yourselves and confront the deeper issues. Maybe you fear growing old? Maybe the sight of garbage actually excites you and you secretly hoard it in a strip of storage units. Perhaps you stole camisoles that were attached to shirts and knowing it was wrong, a fully recovered you is trying to help those with the same problem. Whatever your issue, leave me out of it, please.

Oh, Brother!

1994-1998, were all about the Brother; The Brother word processor. Mine had a keyboard and a screen. I can still see the orange glow of the letters on the screen. I can still hear the sound of a ten page paper printing for an hour and a half. Who did I know that had a computer in their dorm room? No one!! I believe I encountered three people who owned computers down the road, including one of my roommates. I also recall trying to use it and having no freaking clue as to what I was doing. Internet? Email? I know some of my friends emailed, but I was not about to sit in the computer lab and nerd off like that! So crazy!!!! No kidding; we took classes about the Internet back then. Who knew how valuable they were! My two interactions with the internet were both inappropriate and dumb. First, during a winter intersession, my friend Rachel and I took a class for about two hours a day. It gave us plenty of time to rest up so we could go to Pizzeria Uno most nights out of the week and eat pizza potato skins. It was the winter and we needed to bulk up just in time to get ready for the summer. Acting like seventh graders in heat, we wondered, if we typed in certain words, what would we find? Let’s just say I don’t think there was much of a Firewall back then considering a huge male aspect of the anatomy appeared on the screen. AND THEN FROZE. Our fits of laughter suddenly turned to fear. We had not yet learned about the Control-Alt-Delete!!!!!! Like a scene from a movie, the male instructor began walking our way. Fortunately, we hit every button combination possible (off) and the image disappeared. Email? What the hell what? We called each other, wrote letters, or just did not communicate at all. Friends who had cell phones had huge biceps; the phones were gigantic. My parents had lent me their phone since I would drive back and forth. It had a carrying case and the Da Vinci Code was needed to even get it to turn on. There were still pay phones, but since we did out laundry without the ease of using a card that had money on it, we needed every quarter we could get our hands on. Despite the trick with the clicks and hammer (if you did it you need no explanation), you sometimes just had to pay for a load of wash. Wow. These times have certainly changed.

Memories

I used to pride myself on having a phenomenal memory.  I could tell you what you were wearing at a certain event on such and such a date in 1991.  I could quote the cost of a white, square neck shirt with floral embroidery adorning the neck from Aeropostale in 1995.  Yet, when I was approached this past weekend at an Alpha Phi reunion down in Towson with a few little anecdotes from my past, I could swear I had amnesia.  You could have told me I rode on a Homecoming float wearing only Mardi Gras bead, knee socks and heels, shown me a picture to prove it and I still would not have remembered.  What does this say about my mental condition? Nothing bad…sounds like I had a damn good time as a Towson Tiger/Lady of Alpha Phi.

The most disturbing thing I learned about my own past:

Apparently Mentos and sock are efficient teaching tools.  What do Mentos and a pair of socks have in common? Not what you would expect.  However, both of these items have provided a life lesson that deemed itself beneficial to at least one of my sisters. 

LESSON LEARNED THIS WEEKEND:

Thank the Lord we did not have Facebook and pocket sized cell phones with photo and video capacity back in the mid to late 90’s. 

LESSON RE-LEARED THIS WEEKEND:

Friends are friends, brothers are pals and sisters are soul mates for life.

It's Not You, It's Me

Dear New York Sports Club of Oceanside, 11 years. One pulled hip flexor and a 6 week freeze post baby. You were there for me when I needed to burn off some steam and calories. We have been through two marriages, one divorce, and one pregnancy. You know all of my last names and prior addresses. I fell in love with spin in your midst, pedaling up until 24 hours before my water broke. I cried when that class gave me a round of applause for my dedication and persistence. But now, those applause are just a memory. As I look back on our time together, it's so much easier to romanticize the way we were. Not everything was perfect. I saw jungle bushes not meant for eyes like mine and saggy breasts that I can only hope were not a preview of what my girls could become down the road. Can you tell I have issues with public nudity? Wouldn’t you if you saw a woman wrapped in a towel, lying on a bench with her knees bent and well….you get the picture? There was the time I accidentally pushed the speed up on the Stairmaster to the point where I found myself holding on, legs suspended, while my shins were brutally beaten by the rotating stairs. I had to jump down and pray no one was watching. And that scale! It was always at least five pounds above my actual weight. Could someone with know how in the field of fixing mechanical medical scales get their ass over to you already? You know how I feel about the horrific body odor, (not limited to one but possibly including one or more of the following: pits, scalp, ass, kibbles, bits), bizarre sweat patterns and bad breath I have encountered throughout my travels. Before you remind that you are a gym, let me assure you, I know that. I really believe that I have extra sensitive scent detecting abilities. There is really no need to rehash any of these anecdotes, yet the smells are forever stuck in my nostrils. I would, however, would have liked to get one last whiff on my terms, but a certain bitch named Sandy (pronounced SanDAY in certain circles I hang with) took this option away from me. I barely even got to say goodbye to you, the gym I loved to complain about. Close to four o’clock this afternoon, I received a call from my gym friend, Tom. Tom and I have been spin buddies for about five years. He has saved me a bike, switched one out when it was squeaky, and was well deodorized. In return, I would call up and reserve spots for both of us, guard Tom’s bike when latecomers would try and take it because he was trying to get in one more set of whatever arm thing he was doing. When I had Emily, he brought me a gift and began saving Buy Buy Baby coupons for me. After Sandy, you were closed because the power was out. I had tried calling Tom, but could not get through on his landline. Eventually I heard from him; his first floor was wiped out and because his house had no heat and smelled like gas, Tom was staying with friends on the North Shore. He could not be at spin at the usual time, and neither could I. Life as we had both known it was very much up in the air. So, not surprisingly, Tom wanted to know if I was going to be at the gym tonight because it was going to be his first night back. No. No more of Maria’s Monday night kick your ass who cares if it’s Monday everyone is tired and you are here so just do it class for me. Tom asked me how he was going to spin without me next to him. I told him that this past Saturday I did it without him and it was actually kind of sad. And just an FYI…the spin bikes at Synergy suck. I am pretty sure they were your hand me down bikes from ten years ago. You have spoiled me so…. While you are only a gym, creatures of habit like me would prefer to call the shots. Change is good, but I have to say I am harboring some resentment towards a natural disaster that took my ability to make changes on my own terms away from me. While others absolutely had it worse than we did, we still were victims of what I can only hope was a fluke of nature. I guess when things are already out of hand, it makes sense to keep pushing the envelope and try something out of one’s comfort zone, like moving away from many things familiar. For me, that was moving away from anything along and off of Long Beach Road, which is what led me to end my eleven year relationship with you. It might sound cliché, but this is the truth; it’s not you, it’s me. Love, Lisa P.S.-Tom said I can be his guest if your rules allow it.