PMS + UCB = 1 Bad Day

Today I worked a few minutes later than usual. I raced from work to a 6:00 pm UCB make-up class. Keep in mind, every step was still excruciating pain from my gym snafu.

I walked in UCB at 6:12 pm, ran to the bathroom to change, then to the class. The entire class watches me walk in as the teacher scoffs, “Can I help you?” I explain that I’m doing a make-up class and was told to come to his class. His voice dripped with disdain as he informed me, “I’m sorry, uh, but you’re over fifteen minutes late, so I’m not allowed to let you in my class.”

I paused, debating about whether I should point out that technically I’m already ‘in’ the class or just surrender to the UCB warlords. So I sputtered out an “Uh…um…okay,” as I realized that all of the people previously staring at me are now staring at the ground. No one is making eye-contact and you could have heard a mouse fart as the teacher continued, “You’ll have to call Shannon to reschedule…”

I might have squeaked out another “okay” as the cry valve shut my throat off. I made it out without crying. I made it to the train with no tears.

On the train I began to do what every wounded person does – plot my fantasy revenge. In my specific scenario, I’m casting for my movie and the nameless jackass comes in to audition. He opens his mouth to read his first line and I stop him and say, “I’m sorry, that’s not really what we’re looking for." He is stunned. I turn and say, “Right, Tina?” Tina Fey calmly nods for security and two beefy models carry him out as he stutters “But, but…but.” Tina sips her coffee and laughs so hard that latte shoots out her nose. It doesn’t even matter that this ficticious scenario is completely absurd, it’s a powerful coping mechanism.

Right smack dab in the middle of my fantasy revenge plot, the train screeched to a halt and the power went out.

It’s rare in New York City, that twice in less than twenty minutes, you experience breath-holding silence. My first thought was, “Great. I’m about to be gassed by terrorists and my last minutes on this earth were spent with a bad attitude.” Or worse, I’d survive the horrific ordeal and get off the train bawling as reporters ask me what happened. With gurneys carrying people in the background, I’d explain, “It was awful, I walked in and everyone was staring, then the teacher asked me to leave and they stopped staring…”

Then the power came back on and everyone exhaled.

I got home. I was looking forward to changing clothes then going to the gym and boxing my frustrations out. Only after all of the contents of my purse were strewn in front of my front door, after every pocket was empty, after all that is good in the world was gone, did I realize that I was locked out. 19 degrees outside and locked the hell out.

This is not the bottom of my dark abyss. No…

Then I call my husband from my cell. I’m cold and venting. Sometimes no matter how wrong you are, you want to hear a familiar voice say, “Awe, that stinks!” or “I know the feeling,” or “It’s freezing out, I’ll rush home now!” Instead I got, “Well, I kind of understand…if I had a class, I wouldn’t want my students coming in late….”

I don’t know if it was the steam coming out of my ears or the gods of telecommunications that dropped the call. He then proceeded to call back and check on “Captain Happy.” He thought this new moniker was hilarious. I, however, did not.

If the Thai restaurant nearby hadn’t been open, Captain Happy would have kicked in the front door to get out of the cold.

Moral of the Story: Don’t play devil’s advocate unless you want to play with the devil.

Taxidermy to Taxi

This very well could have been a figment of my imagination, but I’m almost positive the elevator TV at work had a news-bulletin about a new trend of taxidermy decor in urban dwellings.

I read this and I thought, “Everyone in my hometown in Georgia is about to strike it rich on eBay!” My mom is coming up next week and I considered calling to see if she’s ready to part with her armadillo bread basket or the stuffed otter over the mantle.

I envisioned the per capita income going up in my little hometown, and it becoming like Greenwich, CT or Naples, FL. I could see people being impressed saying, "Wow, you're from Thomasville, Georgia! Was your family involved in the taxidermy boom of 2007?"

But then I googled it and can’t find any other articles to support my elevator news. You know what that means...it’s so new and hip and cool that no one even knows about it yet! First the camouflage pants trend, now this!

Proudly Brew?

I have a problem buying coffee from places that say they "Proudly Brew Starbucks." I think it's like going to Canal St. to buy knock-off desinger coffee. The disgruntled people selling the brew are usually more bitter than the coffee.

If I'm paying $4 for a coffee, I don't care is the brew is Starbucks brand or not. When I buy coffee at Starbucks, I'm not paying for the beans, I'm paying for the experience. I want at least 2 people to be involved in my coffee-making process and I want to hear my order repeated a few times, like it's important. I want to be treated with smiles by people who proudly have health insurance. I want to hear smooth jazz and have the opion of a Damian Rice point-of-purchase CD. And I want additional spice options before I leave. Why? Because that's what I pay for.

So, if you're a store owner, don't advertise that you "proudly brew" it, are indeed proudly brewing it.

Double or Nothing

I love double-standards. I love that I work for a company that blocks lottery websites because it's considered "gambling" yet me and my boss are in the same SuperBowl pool.

Ouch! Ouch! Ouuwwwwwhhh!

A new gym opened up near my apt. It was perfect. A new year, a new gym. It's brand new, clean, a few blocks away, so there's no excuses. Things were going great with me and my new gym, until today. I decided to go the a strength training class. There were only 4 people in it, so we got individualized attention.

There is a very real chance that I won't be able to walk tomorrow. My poor muscles are on high alert. They don't trust me any more after what I put them through today. Every time I move, my muscles tense up in terror, shaking, whispering, "Oh no, what's she doing?" I try to reassure my quivering legs by saying things like, "It's okay, we're just going to the kitchen."

My upper thighs hurt so bad that I had to walk all the way home without bending my knees. I considered getting a cab, but I didn't want the driver to have to help me out when I got home. Luckily we focused on leg work, so I still had the arm strenth to pull my body up two flights of stairs when I got home.

I'm still stunned by the fact that as I was leaving the class, two people had the audacity to say to me, "See ya next week!" I was thinking, "Are you out of your damn mind? If I could bend my knees, I'd kick your butt right now!"

Smoky the Bear

I saw a statistic that a high percentage of pet owners are smokers. So if you own a pet, you’re more likely to smoke. I was wondering why this is so.

Is it the stress of the litter box or early morning pee walks that drives people over the edge? Or is it rebellion that causes the smoker to act out. Or is it the increasingly smoke-free world that makes smokers drawn to animals that won’t judge them.

I envision a bitter woman with an inch long ash hanging off of her Winston as she says, “You don't complain about my smoking, or smoky house, do you, Fluffy?”

And a more curious question is, do the owners stop smoking when the pet dies? And if they do abruptly stop smoking post-loss, do cravings overtake them? Do they spend the next several weeks annoyed, walking around nervously shaking and saying things like, “What I wouldn’t give for another cat.”

Life's a Trip

My dream was to be a travel writer. I settled on being a travel junkie. I actually leave tomorrow for Mexico with a friend because I was probably the only person she could call and say, “Do you want to go to Mexico this weekend?” knowing that I would be finished packing before the end of the conversation.

Although, truth be told, if I were constantly traveling for work, I'd be bitter. Complaining about the five star hotels and how my massage could have been a little firmer.

But if I were a humor travel writer, that would be write up my alley. (Write..ha, ha, I crack myself up.) So my writing would be chock full of silly puns, but more importantly, useless travel information. My first crack at travel comedy writing is below.

Travel Tips by Bev
Journey Shaman and Travel Planner Extraordinaire
(I forgot to mention that I'd have a bogus title too)

-> Be weary of hotels offering free underwear with a night's stay. Often this is a scam.

-> If you are checking in to a hotel that is currently on fire, know your rights and ask for a refund. If the manager is still alive, have him double-check that you weren't pre-charged on your credit card. If you have already checked into the hotel prior to it catching on fire, you might still be able to receive a partial refund.

-> When going through airport security, be cautious of security officials who need to make copies of your credit cards. This can sometimes lead to fraud.

-> When traveling abroad, know your rights! Ask for airport security to wear latex gloves while doing your cavity search.

-> Before or during a flight, refrain from referring to the airline staff with profanity such as f***heads or ass-munches. Often this may get you arrested. Instead save these comments for when you are exiting the plane at your final destination, then put the bitches in their place.

These simple tips can put more joy in your journey.

Happy Travels!
Bev