August 15, 2009

Our Day At The Airport

Last Sunday, I drove my one and only to the airport. I had a beer with him, walked him to the security checkpoint and gave him a kiss goodbye. It really wasn’t a kiss worthy of him being gone for two weeks, but neither of us is young enough or pretty enough to engage in extended periods of P.D.A. (public display of affection) without drawing objections.

After a pouty little cry in the parking garage I headed home. I hadn’t yet reached the freeway when my phone rang; he had been bumped. Great; he got a free round-trip ticket and I got a few more hours with my… (Insert here a term of affection that you find really nauseating. I guarantee you it is not as saccharin as the one I use for my husband.)

So; killing time in the airport; it went something like this.


At a bar inside of a chain type restaurant, a handsome distinguished couple order appetizers and a beer for the lady, from a prepubescent bar-keep.

A sign in the background reads - We card EVERYONE even our own Mothers.

(A slight squeak in his
Can I see your I.D. please Ma'am?

The woman not having seen the sign, is surprised by this, but obliges with a slight blush and a smile.

Oh! Alright.

She proceeds to drag her formidable purse onto the bar. She opens it and removes what appears to be a stone tablet. She turns it to the bar-keep, and we see that the carvings on the tablet very much resemble that of a drivers license. The bar-keep leans in a bit to read the date of birth which says, April 27, B.C.


A sports bar in the same airport. A server places beers in front of same couple as before, while the woman is shoving the stone tablet back in her purse.

The Man indicates a TV suspended behind his wife.

Burger King has the strangest

The wife turns to look at the TV, speaking as she turns
and spilling a little beer on her shirt.

Is this the one where the guy wakes
up to find the King standing over
him in bed?

No, but that one's even worse; The
King gives me the creeps!


Two young men stand on a playing field across the street from a Burger King restaurant.

Let's go to B.K. and get a

Let's go to McDonalds.

Why? B.K. is right there.

I have these tiny hands and the
B.K. cheeseburger is so big it
makes them look even smaller.

Young man #2 pulls his hands from his hoody revealing that he does indeed have tiny hands.

What if I held it for you?


The man is looking at the TV as he shakes his head.

That is so gay.

Our best friends are gay dear, and
they don't go around holding each
other's cheeseburgers.

The server delivers the wife another beer.

What if Burger King sold cheese


Then the guy could offer to hold his
buddy's cheesestick for him!

OK, that would be kinda gay.


The man peruses political books while the woman, who is a little buzzed, follows him around, pen perched over her red leather note pad.

What are you doing?

Waiting for you drop a couple of
pearls so I can write them down.

He gives her a quizzical look.

Beer makes you say some pretty
funny stuff.

So you're going to follow me around
with a pen?

Beer makes me forget what you said.

Let's get some coffee.

The couple starts to exit the bookstore when a stunning blonde amazon strides in. She is wearing a polo shirt with an emblem on the front and the words K-9 Unit on the back.

Her cargo pants are tucked into army boots and she silently commands a large German Shepherd gracefully around the aisles.

Her long blonde ponytail sways across her back and she is smoking hot in a Sarah Connor sorta' way.

The woman sees her right away and pulls herself up straight; like a cat when another cat walks by. She follows this amazing amazon with her eyes, watching her every move. The woman runs into the back of her husband.

The husbands turns to face his wife and notices her staring at the amazon.

Whatchya doin?

(Still staring)
I want to be just like her when I
grow up.

She's like 20 years younger than

The woman now turns and glares at her husband.


He begins to correct her grammar, then thinks better of it. The woman continues her visual assessment of the officer as she and her dog glide around the store in complete command, silently gaining every one's respectful distance.

I bet she could kick everybody in
here's ass twice, just by spinning
around and using that pony tail
like a saffron Nunchuck.

The woman turns to her husband.

What do you think?

That's not what most men would like to use
that pony tail for.

The woman looks pissed at first, but then takes her pen and begins to write down what her husband just said.

(As she writes)
Don't say anything else I'm out of


The woman exits the ladies room and takes a seat on a bench next to her husband who hands her a coffee.

Note to self - Beer plus Beer plus
Beer plus venti mocha, divided by
trips to the bathroom, equals me
pretty much just wanting to throw
these shoes away.

Is is that bad in there?

Pretty bad.

The couple settles in to people watch and are treated to quite a parade of characters, tourists, harried travelers.

An older woman comes into view, they notice her but do not stare. She is approximately four feet tall and about that in diameter. She is wearing pink and lots of it, and because of the brevity of her stride it takes her some time to pass by.

Good thing Randy Newman is not

The man grins despite himself.

Don't write that down!

August 11, 2009

Regarding the Weather

It is August. I am in Florida. I have a job that requires clothing.

Yesterday was dress up day at work. (Seriously!) They wanted everyone to wear formal business attire and exude a “dress for success” attitude.

Ok. I’m a TEAM player; I will participate in dress up day. Unfortunately the only the thing that fits right now is my black polyester going to a funeral suit that must be worn with my too tight church shoes that I normally only wear on Christmas and Easter.

It is August. I am in Florida. Can you say bad hair day?

I made an effort, I really did. I wanted to dress up and look pretty, but by the time I got to work, the AC had just begun to get the truck cooled off. The “feels like a hundred with the humidity heat index” had done quite a number on me and by the time I got into the building I looked like Little Orphan Annie after a couple of bad divorces.

It is August. I am in Florida.

August 10, 2009

A Few Words Regarding My New Job

First of all, I know that I am lucky to have a new job right now. I know that I need to take the company Vision Statement and have it tattooed backwards on my forehead so I can read it every time I go the bathroom, (which is a lot these days). I hear you when you’re telling me I have authority issues that border on arrested development. You’re singing my life with your words, I get it, but I think the following is legit.

The training class I am in has been indoctrinating us since day one with what is “HR.Appropriate” in the Work place. Basically everyone has the right to be offended. Well almost everyone, the rest of you know who you are. And everyone has the right to decide what is offensive, so you better be a freakin' mind reader before you open your mouth.

I have already been informed that I need to “filter” because I mentioned that I think I might have been a drag queen in a former life. I was asked my favorite movie; Connie and Carla. I gave a brief synopsis of the film and said I think I may have been a drag queen in in a past life. I left it at that, I made no mention of my penchant for sequins and boob glitter, and for this I was told I need to filter. In hind sight I would have thought people who were offended by Drag Queens would have been some of the people who were not allowed to be offended.

My new favorite movie is whatever training video we are being shown that day.

However, there is something that is offending me. I am not sure if it is permissible for me to be offended but I think I am covered in at least two categories so here goes.

The offending actions surround the policy regarding badges. We are required to wear badges with our picture on it, that when swiped by the door grants you access to the building, and again to various departments in the building. You know, if the door doesn’t open after you swipe your badge, you are not allowed in that department. It is clearly posted at most doors that badges must be worn where they can be seen and that you must not let anyone “piggy back” into a department with you. This means even if the door is open for you, the guy behind you must swipe his badge too. We are instructed to look at people’s badges and their faces and make sure the badge belongs to them.

Well, this is where I become offended.

Policy says badges must be worn where they can be clearly seen. I wear mine clipped onto my collar, right next to my face. The picture the security guard took of me is pretty offensive but you don’t get a second shot at it. You can see my face, move your eyes one inch and see my badge and easily see that I am who I am, despite that fact that the picture looks like it was taken during the throes of a seizure.

But I am the exception.

Most choose to wear their badges clipped to their belt. Current fashion dictates that most belts are at or below hip level versus the formerly practical waist level. The look is cute; I am not offended by that. Although some of you muffin toppers out there might want to rethink your choices, but who am I to judge.

And therein lies the rub. In order for me to be a good little worker bee and follow policy that is clearly stated backwards on my forehead, I am forced to bend over, and get a little too close to crotch level for my own comfort, so I can make sure you are not going to gain access to my department with someone else’s badge and go all postal.

Granted a lot of said badge wearers have faces that probably look a lot like their downstairs unit but, frankly I don’t want to know.

So, should I, the offensive past life Drag Queen, protest the lower level badge display? (Or for some of you should I say bargain basement badge display, you know who you are.) Should I take just a cursory glance south of the border and let anyone with a badge piggy back me into the bathroom. (Damn, now that did sound offensive!) Should I worry that someone may take offence that I lingered too long in my inspection of their badge? (This only happened one time and it was because my back was stiff and I had a hard time standing back up.)

I don’t know; conformist, rebel, who am I? Who are you? Do you wear your badge by your face, so that security may be preserved? Do you wear your badge on your belt as a proclamation to the world, “look at me I can tuck my shirt in, that makes me better than you.” Or, do you get your jollys by having co-workers go eye level with your button fly?

Tell you what. If you put your badge somewhere near your face, I will keep my boob glitter to myself.

PS. Regarding the upstairs fashions at work; I don't really want to see your boobs, but if it means I don't have to bend over, go ahead and stuff that badge right in between them, I won't be offended.

August 5, 2009


I received news yesterday that a mentor had passed away. Blake Snyder died of a pulmonary embolism in Los Angeles on Tuesday August 4. Although we never met, Blake had a profound effect on how I view the world and my expression of those observations.

Wendy and I are aspiring screenwriters and have been working on a feature length family drama for nearly a full year. As we near completion on the project, we realize that our ability to tell the story ties into lessons we have learned in life. Some scenes are hard earned, some are based on sudden inspiration, and some rely on tried and true formulas that have been around as long as people have been telling stories.

That is where Blake comes in. Back in 2005, Blake Snyder wrote a wonderful book titled “Save the Cat”, a definitive guide to screenwriting which contained pearls of wisdom that apply not only to the writing process, but the thinking behind the writing and in many ways, life itself. We devoured the book and in a leap of faith often found only in the novice, we e-mailed Blake Snyder and shared some story ideas. His response back was timely, thoughtful and very caring. Obviously, in the business of Hollywood, he was someone who truly wanted to make a difference and he cared enough to nurture a couple of dreaming writers. Wendy and Blake corresponded several times and he was always gracious and helpful in his advice.

One of the key components that a successful story depends on is CHANGE. And Blake had a very clear understanding of the need for change and how it impacts the story, life itself and the concept of character.

What follows are Blake’s words:

"In a sense, stories are about change. And the measuring stick that tells us who succeeds and who doesn’t is seen in the ability to change. Good guys are those who willingly accept change and see it as a positive force. Bad guys are those who refuse to change, who will curl up and die in their own juices, unable to move out of the rut their lives represent. To succeed in life is to be able to transform. That’s why it’s the basis not only of good storytelling but also the world’s best known religions. Change is good because it represents re-birth, the promise of a fresh start…And don’t we all want to believe that?”

Think about the movies! As Blake points out in his book, doesn’t a good movie make you want to jump into life? Don’t we all want to get out of a rut, try something new, and be open to the power of change after experiencing a movie in which everybody changes?

As we progress in our journey of life, continuing to learn and grow; expanding upon the lessons learned by experience, I hope we will all ask ourselves; are we good guys or bad guys?

August 2, 2009

Things That Make You Go OOOOOOO

This may turn into a recurring post, but for today, let’s just focus on long nails. And I think we’ll start with long toe nails on anyone. Gawd they are gross; a toe jam petri dish of nasty fungal podiatric jock ich, crammed under superfluous nail protruding past the rightful end of the toe, and collecting that which is harbored at ground level.

Long fingernails on men; words cannot express my revulsion. Speaking in generalities, think about what all men do with their hands… And all that is getting caught under their finger nails. The thought is too much for me to bear so I shall move on.

Long fingernails on women... Speaking in generalities, women are cleaner than men, and I still think long fingernails are gross. Especially those Frito Lay Scoops some women have glued onto their hands and then airbrushed with tacky designs. Now I know that I am probably pissing a few of you off right now, but I have seen some of you dig the remains of lunch out from under those acrylic talons and feast on it.

Pardon me while I barf.

Ok, I am back. So as I was saying; if you use your hands for just about anything, such as pumping gas, handling money, opening a door, or shaking hands with others, and then proceed to bulldoze food onto your fork using your pink and white backhoe, or lick a finger that has one of these germ catching shovels attached to the end of it, you may as well pick the next construction worker you see exiting the honey pot and lick his ass crack.

Now, if your fingers nails are short because you chew them off, regardless of whether or not you use your tongue to launch the gnawed off keratin projectile into the general public, you’re still gross.

August 1, 2009

No Sleep For You

Remember when you were a kid and you couldn’t wait for Friday night so you could stay up late and watch The Partridge Family and Love American Style?

OOOH David Cassidy…(Lead singer, Rolling Stone.)

OOOOH Shaun Cassidy (Hardy Boy, Nancy Drew marauder.)

A few years later you were working for the weekend, just so you could stay out late at the Disco, Danceteria, or clubbing. Well, those days are gone for me; at least for now.

I have a new job. This is a good thing. I have to work until 2am. That’s a bad thing. I get 15% shift differential for working past midnight. That’s a really good thing.

I have been there three weeks and my manager keeps telling all us newbies, “Don’t worry, it gets easier, just stay on your regular schedule over the weekend and then Monday night won’t be so hard on you.”

Does that sound familiar to you? Remember when you were a kid and your mom was always telling to you go to bed or you would be tired the next day. Even on Friday and Saturday nights she wouldn’t let you stay up too late.

Well, I ain’t a kid no more and it’s Saturday night and I am going to bed at 10 o’clock if I want to. I might even go to bed at 9, what are you gonna do about it?