One Saturday afternoon, I decided to get my nails done before getting ready for a date. I called ahead to make sure the salon could fit me in. I was assured that they could do my nails in about 20 minutes, which would be about 4:00.
I rushed to the salon and announced that I had an appointment at 4:00. A sweet Vietnamese man came over, inspected my nails, and ushered me into a chair, saying, "We be with you. Twenty minute."
(I need to stop right now and make it clear that I am NOT intending to make fun of the Vietnamese, although I am pretty sure they make fun of us quite often, especially when they hear something like, "Oh my heck!")
After 30 minutes, I got nervous and waved at the sweet Vietnamese man, let's call him Tony. Tony sang out, "Twenty minute!" I noticed five or six contented women getting pedicures and relaxing in big massage chairs. They all seemed to be staring at me, like it was somehow against the rules for me to talk to Tony.
After 3o more minutes, my nervousness changed to annoyance. "Um, Tony!" I said, with a little glance at the shocked-looking pedicure women. "I was told to come at 4:00 and it's 5:00." Tony said, "We busy. Saturday! Just a few more minute." I looked at the pedicure women again and it was clear that they were really hoping I would sit down and be quiet.
Something about those women gawking at me with disapproval suddenly got me mad. Those women obviously had all day long to sit around in massage chairs. None of THEM had to clean their house, or worry about dating. In fact, the only thing on their to-do list all day was apparently "get a pedicure and judge everyone."
You know when your neck gets all hot and you realize that you are just about to say things you shouldn't, but you can't stop? Yeah. So, here is pretty much what came out of me next, directed with fury at sweet Tony,
"NO! YOU EITHER TAKE APPOINMENTS, OR YOU DON'T! WHY DO YOU TELL PEOPLE TO COME HERE WHEN YOU CAN'T HONOR THE APPOINTMENT?! THIS IS BULLSH*T!"
The pedicure women were now in total shock, mouths open, and clearly a bit frightened. For some reason, that just made me angrier. I glared at them with complete hatred and begin formulating a verbal assault that would have gotten me kicked out of Centerville.
Tony came rushing over, clearly well-versed in damage control of crazy banshee clients.
"You see, today Saturday. We so busy. You come tomorrow? Sunday? We no busy Sunday. You come Noon tomorrow? First appointment. No wait. Sunday?"
He was pleading with me. He had the saddest eyes. He was so sweet. It wasn't his fault that Saturday was busy. I went to my car and started to cry. I was a terrible person. I didn't deserve to have Tony do my nails. I was going to have to find a new nail salon, and probably a new town to live in.
On Sunday, I skulked back to the salon, with a box of chocolates for Tony and a rehearsed apology. He wouldn't let me say anything, he just smiled and gestured at the empty salon. "See!? We no busy! Sunday! No busy! You. You come Sunday." I nodded. He continued, "Sunday no busy. You... always come Sunday. You Sunday Girl!" I was so happy. Tony had forgiven me! I was his Sunday Girl! It wasn't until later that day that I realized that I had been effectivey banned from the salon on Saturdays...
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
The One Where the Firemen Never Come
I think of myself as easy-going, which may be wrong, because we all know people who think they are easygoing, but who are decidely NOT easygoing, and I could be one of those. It's like that line from "When Harry Met Sally," when Marie says, "Everyone thinks they have good taste and a sense of humor but they can't all be right."
Anyway, I do try to let the small, stupid stuff float on by me in a small-stupid-stuff cloud, but there are a few things around my neighborhood that should be addressed:
Gnats: Yuck. I was unaware that I had moved to a swamp. I can't walk to the park and back without accidentally swallowing some of these horrid little things. Even if I am sure my mouth is closed, they find a way up my nose because I have to breathe. The only way to scare them away is to wave my arms around in front of me, which causes all the people in cars to honk and wave back because we are just so damn friendly here in the swamp.
Dogs running free: The first time "Pheobe" came bounding across the street toward me and my little dog, I screamed loud enough for the fire department to hear me. This caught the attention of a man watering his lawn (sadly, NOT a firemen) who said, "Oh,that's just Pheobe." Pheobe is a gigantic, red, beastly-looking dog. She does happen to be nice; but that first time, if I'd had a weapon of any kind...well, she would have probably turned it on me, which is why I don't carry weapons. Anyway, we get ambushed by about one freedom-loving dog per week, some of which are not nice like Phoebe. I'm very unhappy about it, because the fire department never comes, no matter how loud I scream.
Babies running free: Last week I came across a toddler, who was teetering along the edge of road wearing only a diaper. I looked around and could see no other toddlers in his gang. The street was strangely quiet, and I wondered for a minute if I was on hidden camera as some kind of reality social experiment, but I wonder that far too much. Anyway, I leaned down and said to the baby, "Where's your mommy?" He stared out me with an open mouth. I realized maybe in this politically-correct day and age I should rephrase, "Where is your legal guardian, who could be a mommy, or a daddy, or two mommies or two daddies?" He closed and opened his mouth a few times, perhaps gathering a few gnats. He reminded me a of a guppy.
I scooped up Guppy and took him to the closest house. I rang the doorbell and a tired looking woman in a bathrobe opened the door. "Is this your baby?" I asked. She stared at me and yelled, "Melanie! You let the baby get out the back door again!" I started to tell her that he was found dangerously close to the road, etc. etc. and she just shut the door. No "Thank you for saving my precious baby," no chocolates, no offers to have the fire department praise me in a little ceremony. Nothing. Rude!
When I got home, as I was pulling my brand-new neon blue recycling bin into the garage, it all became clear. It is obvious that some of the residents of my town have misunderstood our new recyling program. It is only supposed to be newspapers and cardboard, people. I think the flyer said it would be awhile before they can allow metal, plastic, mean dogs, and Guppy babies.
Anyway, I do try to let the small, stupid stuff float on by me in a small-stupid-stuff cloud, but there are a few things around my neighborhood that should be addressed:
Gnats: Yuck. I was unaware that I had moved to a swamp. I can't walk to the park and back without accidentally swallowing some of these horrid little things. Even if I am sure my mouth is closed, they find a way up my nose because I have to breathe. The only way to scare them away is to wave my arms around in front of me, which causes all the people in cars to honk and wave back because we are just so damn friendly here in the swamp.
Dogs running free: The first time "Pheobe" came bounding across the street toward me and my little dog, I screamed loud enough for the fire department to hear me. This caught the attention of a man watering his lawn (sadly, NOT a firemen) who said, "Oh,that's just Pheobe." Pheobe is a gigantic, red, beastly-looking dog. She does happen to be nice; but that first time, if I'd had a weapon of any kind...well, she would have probably turned it on me, which is why I don't carry weapons. Anyway, we get ambushed by about one freedom-loving dog per week, some of which are not nice like Phoebe. I'm very unhappy about it, because the fire department never comes, no matter how loud I scream.
Babies running free: Last week I came across a toddler, who was teetering along the edge of road wearing only a diaper. I looked around and could see no other toddlers in his gang. The street was strangely quiet, and I wondered for a minute if I was on hidden camera as some kind of reality social experiment, but I wonder that far too much. Anyway, I leaned down and said to the baby, "Where's your mommy?" He stared out me with an open mouth. I realized maybe in this politically-correct day and age I should rephrase, "Where is your legal guardian, who could be a mommy, or a daddy, or two mommies or two daddies?" He closed and opened his mouth a few times, perhaps gathering a few gnats. He reminded me a of a guppy.
I scooped up Guppy and took him to the closest house. I rang the doorbell and a tired looking woman in a bathrobe opened the door. "Is this your baby?" I asked. She stared at me and yelled, "Melanie! You let the baby get out the back door again!" I started to tell her that he was found dangerously close to the road, etc. etc. and she just shut the door. No "Thank you for saving my precious baby," no chocolates, no offers to have the fire department praise me in a little ceremony. Nothing. Rude!
When I got home, as I was pulling my brand-new neon blue recycling bin into the garage, it all became clear. It is obvious that some of the residents of my town have misunderstood our new recyling program. It is only supposed to be newspapers and cardboard, people. I think the flyer said it would be awhile before they can allow metal, plastic, mean dogs, and Guppy babies.
Monday, September 14, 2009
The One Where I Explain Facebook to Dummies
My friend Julie recently asked me to help her with Facebook. She had signed up to spy on her kids (which is the same reason I signed up), and was quite confused because Facebook is purposefully designed to scare adults away. I have learned a few things about Facebook; however, and I am happy to share with Julie and other Dummies.
After you sign up, the first thing to do is to collect some "friends." The best place to find friends is high school. Yep, that place you thought you had escaped 20 years ago is baaaack! And guess what? There are people out there who still remember that rude thing you said to them before English class. Don't worry about that. Just have your apologies ready...and it helps if you mention that you are a "totally different person now."
Once you have "friends," you can interact with them in several ways:
Poke: this is like a little cyber- jab in the ribs. You can "poke" anyone. It's great fun. I am a willy-nilly poker. I poke people because they are cute, or because I am annoyed with them, or because they are simply there. The best part is that you don't have to explain why you poked them. I REALLY wish we could do this in real life. I'd like to walk down the hall at work and just poke a few people, some that I like, and some because I fantasize about stapling things to their head.
Sending pretend stuff: you can "send" your friends just about anything, like pretend chocolate, pretend alcohol drinks, and even pretend farm animals. The first time someone sent me a farm animal, I was hugely offended, but now I know it's meant to be a nice gesture.
Chat: my least favorite. Someone will see me online and want to chat instantly, as in right this minute. This only happens when I didn't have time to be messing around online in the first place. Without fail, I am sitting there with wet hair, late for something important, staring with great amounts of guilt at my hair dryer, and simultaneously typing, "Not much, how about you?" because I don't want to seem rude.
Commenting: I love to comment! A friend will post something like, "Nikki is taking a nap," and there is a little space after that for your comment, like, "Wow, Nikki, you took a nap last Thursday too. You are the napping queen!" So much fun! People who dislike Facebook say that there is no need for us to know the minutia of each other's lives; but I think it's great, because I'm nosy. It's socially-acceptable spying!
Unfriending: If someone really annoys you, you can "unfriend" them, but be careful, because once you "unfriend," you can't re-friend without their approval. I have unfriended a couple people I dated because, well, that is a whole other blog...(grumble grumble). I also unfriended Marie Osmond because she was filling up all my space with a lot of benevolent, worthwhile charity information, which was preventing me from seeing who was drinking pretend alcohol and playing with pretend farm animals. It's about priorities.
There is more, but I don't want to overwhelm. Just remember, little grasshoppers: I wish for you to poke with wild abandon, comment on the ridiculously inane until your fingers bleed, and spy without fear of being arrested!
If this was helpful, Julie and the Dummies, I hope you will reward me by sending pretend chocolate and maybe a pretend chicken. Oh, and let me know when you are taking a nap.
After you sign up, the first thing to do is to collect some "friends." The best place to find friends is high school. Yep, that place you thought you had escaped 20 years ago is baaaack! And guess what? There are people out there who still remember that rude thing you said to them before English class. Don't worry about that. Just have your apologies ready...and it helps if you mention that you are a "totally different person now."
Once you have "friends," you can interact with them in several ways:
Poke: this is like a little cyber- jab in the ribs. You can "poke" anyone. It's great fun. I am a willy-nilly poker. I poke people because they are cute, or because I am annoyed with them, or because they are simply there. The best part is that you don't have to explain why you poked them. I REALLY wish we could do this in real life. I'd like to walk down the hall at work and just poke a few people, some that I like, and some because I fantasize about stapling things to their head.
Sending pretend stuff: you can "send" your friends just about anything, like pretend chocolate, pretend alcohol drinks, and even pretend farm animals. The first time someone sent me a farm animal, I was hugely offended, but now I know it's meant to be a nice gesture.
Chat: my least favorite. Someone will see me online and want to chat instantly, as in right this minute. This only happens when I didn't have time to be messing around online in the first place. Without fail, I am sitting there with wet hair, late for something important, staring with great amounts of guilt at my hair dryer, and simultaneously typing, "Not much, how about you?" because I don't want to seem rude.
Commenting: I love to comment! A friend will post something like, "Nikki is taking a nap," and there is a little space after that for your comment, like, "Wow, Nikki, you took a nap last Thursday too. You are the napping queen!" So much fun! People who dislike Facebook say that there is no need for us to know the minutia of each other's lives; but I think it's great, because I'm nosy. It's socially-acceptable spying!
Unfriending: If someone really annoys you, you can "unfriend" them, but be careful, because once you "unfriend," you can't re-friend without their approval. I have unfriended a couple people I dated because, well, that is a whole other blog...(grumble grumble). I also unfriended Marie Osmond because she was filling up all my space with a lot of benevolent, worthwhile charity information, which was preventing me from seeing who was drinking pretend alcohol and playing with pretend farm animals. It's about priorities.
There is more, but I don't want to overwhelm. Just remember, little grasshoppers: I wish for you to poke with wild abandon, comment on the ridiculously inane until your fingers bleed, and spy without fear of being arrested!
If this was helpful, Julie and the Dummies, I hope you will reward me by sending pretend chocolate and maybe a pretend chicken. Oh, and let me know when you are taking a nap.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The One Where Other Dog Owners Bug Me
For a couple of years now, I have been the owner of Moose, the Shih Tzu. Moose is a house dog whose duties include religiously following me from room to room, scouting for exciting new places to nap, and continuously hoping I will accidentally drop cheese.
The highlight of Moose's day, other than accidentally-dropped cheese, is the W-A-L-K. We have to spell this word because when he hears it, he becomes a Tasmanian Devil and spins himself into a frenzy if you take too long to find your shoes. I am serioulsy afraid he is going to smack into the wall. We only say "W-A-L-K" when we are very, very sure we are ready.
I like the W-A-L-K. I'm a little nosy, so use it as an excuse to check out what all the neighbors are up to. Did you know that there are 15 houses within a mile of mine with big red stars hung over their garages? What's the deal? It's probably a secret code.
The other thing I have noticed is that most of the other dog walking people are idiots. I try to avoid them but sometimes, encounters with idiots are unavoidable.
One kind of idiot are the owners who feel the need to demonstrate that their dog is so well trained that it does not need a leash. These people are smug, I tell you. Their dog is so perfect that it does not even flinch when it sees another dog. It just goes calmly around following all their commands like a stupid doggie robot. OK, so Moose may be over there wrapping himself around a tree because he saw a cat, but at least we are law-abiding, you Smug Smuggersons!
My least favorite form of idiot is the one who thinks that because we both have dogs, we are now friends. These people will ask my dog's breed, his name, his age, my name, where I live, and probably what color of underwear I'm wearing, if I'd let them. OFF YOU GO! If we were friends, you would have gotten a Christmas card.
At the other extreme are the people who act like they are much too far above allowing their dog to interact with mine. I ran into a couple of those the other day. Their Yorkie came running right up to Moose, so I stopped briefly to allow Moose to do the doggy-meet-and-greet. They yanked Yorkie back, and I swear I heard them telling it, "Muffy, we do not socialize with Shih Tzus." I stuck my tongue out at them after they walked past and made a note of where they were going. Maybe I will put a red star on their house later.
The highlight of Moose's day, other than accidentally-dropped cheese, is the W-A-L-K. We have to spell this word because when he hears it, he becomes a Tasmanian Devil and spins himself into a frenzy if you take too long to find your shoes. I am serioulsy afraid he is going to smack into the wall. We only say "W-A-L-K" when we are very, very sure we are ready.
I like the W-A-L-K. I'm a little nosy, so use it as an excuse to check out what all the neighbors are up to. Did you know that there are 15 houses within a mile of mine with big red stars hung over their garages? What's the deal? It's probably a secret code.
The other thing I have noticed is that most of the other dog walking people are idiots. I try to avoid them but sometimes, encounters with idiots are unavoidable.
One kind of idiot are the owners who feel the need to demonstrate that their dog is so well trained that it does not need a leash. These people are smug, I tell you. Their dog is so perfect that it does not even flinch when it sees another dog. It just goes calmly around following all their commands like a stupid doggie robot. OK, so Moose may be over there wrapping himself around a tree because he saw a cat, but at least we are law-abiding, you Smug Smuggersons!
My least favorite form of idiot is the one who thinks that because we both have dogs, we are now friends. These people will ask my dog's breed, his name, his age, my name, where I live, and probably what color of underwear I'm wearing, if I'd let them. OFF YOU GO! If we were friends, you would have gotten a Christmas card.
At the other extreme are the people who act like they are much too far above allowing their dog to interact with mine. I ran into a couple of those the other day. Their Yorkie came running right up to Moose, so I stopped briefly to allow Moose to do the doggy-meet-and-greet. They yanked Yorkie back, and I swear I heard them telling it, "Muffy, we do not socialize with Shih Tzus." I stuck my tongue out at them after they walked past and made a note of where they were going. Maybe I will put a red star on their house later.
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