Phone Hex

Reading this great post at one of my favorite blogs -- Hair Raising Hell -- reminded me of one of my own pet peeves.  Let me elaborate:

Ring Ring

"Good Afternoon, this is Mary A."

"Hi Mary!  How are you?"

"Doing well, thanks!  How are you?"

"I'm Good."

"Great.  How can I help you?"

"Do you  know who this is?"

Sigh. 
The "guess who I am" game.  At work. 

Do you think this is charming?  It's not.

If you're calling me at home and ask "Do you know who this is?", I will generally hang up.  Because I once got an obscene phone call that started with "Do you know who this is?".  So that question kinda freaks me out anyway.

But if you're calling me at work I will give you the benefit of the doubt.

I don't know who you are, OK?

I have no fucking clue.

I know you aren't my mother.  My mother has been smoking for 63 years.  Her voice is rather distinct.  Plus, she's too much of a lady to jerk me around like that.  And she ALWAYS identifies herself.  I know it's you, Mom, but I appreciate you having enough courtesy to identify yourself anyway.

When I call her, I always identify myself.  She has 2 daughters.  We probably sound similar on the phone. 

When you call me -- at home, at work, or on the cell -- please identify yourself.  Please.

Also, as long as we're on the subject:  if your name is Mary, Mark, Mike, Dave, Joe, Kathy, Lori, Tom, Rick, Jose, Manuel, Cynthia, or Debbie, and if we don't speak on the phone very often, do me a favor and gimme your last name too.  I have lots of Marys, Marks, Mikes, Daves, Joes, Kathys, Loris, Toms, Ricks, Joses, Manuels, Cynthias and Debbies who might call me at work for whatever reason.  I love talking to each of them.  Truly.  But I prefer knowing which one I'm chatting with.

And one more thing:  sign your texts.  I don't know your number by sight (except for Vic & Gabe). I have a cheap phone.  Just gimme some quick initials, 'kay?

Thanks.

Love,

Mary A

Look What I found!

Searching through my e-mail today, I came across a letter I once wrote to our local newspaper.  I wrote it on 5/2/2009.

You can tell by reading the letter that some douche bag named Charles wrote a letter to the paper saying something like:  "Fatties are fat.  They should just not eat so much.  They are stupid fat fatties."

I used to just ignore those mean bullying letters.  But then I started fighting back.  I actually thought that http://www.giftoffat.com/ would be a lot more about providing a voice for fat people and a lot less about pushups and kids.  The fact is, however, I can't keep up the anger 24/7. 

Some of my life is about getting angry at stupid, sanctimonious morons who vilify fat people.

Most of my life is about other things.

When I saw this, however, it rang as true as it did the day I wrote it. 

So now YOU get to read it!

Sent to Caller Times, May 2009:

In response to Charles C_________'s letter of 5/2 regarding obese people should ELF - Eat Less Food:  Duh.

As an obese woman for my entire life, the ELF strategy is used by most of us all the time. With the billion dollar diet industry, ELF takes many forms: the no carb diet, the grapefruit diet, Atkins, Weight Watchers, South Beach, the list gets larger every year. The result: metabolic chaos. I am sorry that Mr. C_________ was "horrified recently" to learn that obesity causes a slew of health problems. Fat people have known this forever. Obesity also causes social and psychological problems -- frequently triggered by ignorant individuals who think that the solution to our medical issues is simple: ELF. The letter is made even more insulting by the tacky cartoon above it which shows the US flag cracking under the weight of an obese person.


Obesity is not a character flaw. It is a medical condition that can sometimes -- but not always -- be controlled by various strategies. When I was a girl, I was the only fat kid in class. Now all the kids are fat. The only upside to this sad situation is that the public is finally waking up to the fact that obesity is a chronic medical condition that needs to be addressed at all levels. Hopefully, the insurance industry will follow suit and begin to pay for reasonable medical intervention before the patient resorts to drastic measures such as gastric bypass or lap band.


It's no fun to be fat. I'll bet it's not fun to have asthma either. Chronic medical conditions don't have simple solutions. Let's stop being so condescending.






Mary A.
Corpus Christi

Uuuummmmm. . . .Thanks?

Hi all --

Back from a four day meeting in Austin! 

SO glad to be home.

I really like this particular group in Austin though.  The people there are SO affirming.  They were nice enough to notice that the white suit I was wearing was really baggy.  (Especially my friend Marta.  She is my favorite!  I mean, she is ONE OF my favorites!  Hi Deb!  Hi Kathy!)

And Gabe e-mailed me a workout I did in my hotel room.  It wasn't like having the REAL Gabe there, but it was better than nothing.

I asked my Austin friends their opinion on a comment made to me a couple of weeks ago.  I want to hear your opinion too.

I was at a meeting I attend every week.  Typically, I order lunch at this meeting.  Sometimes I have soup and a sandwich, but usually I have a cheeseburger and fries.  With a coke.  Yum. 

Yep.  You heard me.  I eat cheeseburgers.

I like 'em.

As many reps as Gabe makes me do every session?  I earned that damn cheeseburger. 

So anyway, I am sitting in the meeting, with my cheeseburger, and chatting with some of the other people. 

As we are chatting, a woman casually says "I was going to compliment you on how much weight you've lost, but then I saw what you are eating for lunch."

Blink. Blink.

What does one say to that?

Do I apologize for eating a cheeseburger in public?  Because people who are losing weight are not supposed to be eating cheeseburgers. 

I am not going to apologize for having lunch.

Do I say "Thanks"?

Do I say "Fuck off"?

I really wanted to say "Thanks.  Fuck off."  But I didn't.

I didn't know what to say.

I just looked at her, stupidly blinking, mouth slightly open, when fortunately, the meeting started and my attention was required elsewhere. 

So. .. if I had the moment to live over again. . .or (which is more likely) the next time she judges me for my choice of lunch. . .what do I say?

What would you say?

No. Oh no. No no no no no no no.

I am totally and unapologetically ripping off Jen Lancaster's post. 

She'll understand. 

Read this. 


So.  Anyway.  What Jen said.

In honor of my wedding anniversary. . . .

This photo was taken on October 10, 1992.

I used to keep it on my desk at my job in a staffing agency.

One day in 1999 an acquaintance came by for help with her resume. 

Her: "Is this YOU?"

Me: "Yep."  (Internal me: uhh. . .Duh.  Of course it's me.)

Her: "Are you still married?"

Me:  "Yes.  We've been married about 7 years already."  (Internal me:  How many divorced people keep their wedding photos on their desks?  Dumbshit.)

Her: "So that's your husband"

Me: "Yes"  (Internal me: No -- that's the waiter. Cheezus.)

Her: "He's very good looking"

Me: "Thank you"  (Internal me: Damn straight!)

Her:  "I mean, he's really good looking"

Me: "Thank you"  (Internal me: yeah -- you said that)

Her: "I mean. . . .I mean, he's SO good looking!"

Me: "Yes, he really is".  (Internal me: WTF?)

Her: "I just can't get over how good looking he is.  Not that your husband wouldn't be good looking.  But he's really good looking"

Me: "Thanks.  Very much.  Now -- about your resume. . ." (Internal me:  You think he's too good looking for me.  OMG.  You think I should be married to someone who looks like Louie Anderson.  You are a real bitch).

I haven't seen her for several years. ..I  kinda doubt she's reading my blog.  But if I ever see her again, know what I'm gonna say?

Me: "After 18 years and 3 children he's still great looking.  We still can't get enough of each other either.  So suck it, bitch!"

If you see her, give her the message, willya?

E-Commerce and finally getting the last word. . .

My first job out of college was working for Enterprise Rent a Car. 

ERAC is a great job for recent grads.  I truly enjoyed it.  I am glad I don't have to do it the rest of my life, but I highly recommend it as a first job for recent grads.  Especially Soc majors.  And Poli Sci.  Marketing.  Psych. History.  Basically, for anybody who isn't an engineer or accountant. 

When I made my trip to Austin, I rented a car for the 3 hour drive so as not to put my poor Saturn through the strain.  I rented from ERAC.

I get a little sentimental about ERAC.  I always lovingly reminisce to the 20-something assigned to me.  I tell my war stories.  I worked for ERAC in Los Angeles in the late 80's.  Most of the people who work there now weren't even born in the late 80's.

Lemme tell ya - I've got stories these kids couldn't imagine.  Like the time we rented a car to a used-to-be-famous actor whose initials are Tatum O'Neill.  She had a shrieking fit in the lobby because we asked for her drivers licence.  We weren't going to keep it Mrs. McEnroe, we just need the number.  Sheesh.  Rude.

Most of the really really rude people were the people in West LA who drove very high end cars and thought they were better than everyone.  Many were from the east coast, which for some reason they expected to impress us.  (Excuse me, sir?  Anyone can live in New York.  You don't have to fill out a membership application or anything.)

When I returned my car this trip, there was a customer in the office who was EXACTLY like those assholes in LA.  He was going over the rental agreement with a fine toothed comb, and every time he didn't like a word, he made the girl re-print it and sign it. 

Rental car contracts are pretty standard.  Basically, you agree to borrow the car, pay the agreed upon fee and don't intentionally damage it.  If you want, you can pay a little extra to have the rental car company cover any accidental damage.  Or not, and if there is an accident, your insurance covers it. 

Is that so hard?

Still - a contract is a contract, and I understand that he wanted to understand the whole thing.  That is not unreasonable. 

What is unreasonable was the way he reacted to every little clause as if the girl behind the counter was trying to personally defraud him. 

"I am NOT signing ANYTHING that states I have to pay extra if the gas isn't full.  I can't control your gas tanks.  There is NO WAY we are doing this deal if that clause is in there."

Patient Rental Girl smiled and reprinted it, then he'd find something ELSE to bitch about.  I swear she reprinted that thing at least four times while I was there.  I was there about five minutes.

As I was leaving, I couldn't help leaving a parting comment.

I said "Jeezes Chryst, dude.  You're renting a car, not buying a house." 
There was an embarrassed silence as Contract man stared blankly after me, as did most of the employees and all of the other customers.

The young man who drove me home was silent until we got on the freeway.

Then he said "That was awesome".

It was.

Trying to B Cool. . .

Remember how when you were a kid & your mom tried to relate to you and you got super embarrassed because she did it in front of your cooler-than-you friend?

Like the time in 6th grade when I was wearing shorts -- complete with contrasting trim thankyou1978!!!! -- and my mom told me they were too short because my balls were hanging out.  She said balls about 10 times.  With emphasis.

"You don't want everyone to see your balls.  I mean do you see anyone else's balls hanging out?  You need to put on a pair of shorts that doesn't show the world your balls."

Umm, mom?  Balls are testicles.  I don't have those.  I think you mean "buns".

Or the time I was in high school and mom told us about a drug bust she reported on that week.  (Mom worked for the Naperville Sun for many years.  She really is cool, despite what I am recounting here).

Mom told my friend and I that the perp was caught red-handed with several kilos of marijuana and cocaine. 

"You know," she said offhandedly, "Grass and Powder?"

Thanks for translating for me mom.  I shoulda corrected her:  "Mooooooom. You mean BLOW, not powder.  Jeezes."   (I didn't think of it.  I was too mortified.)

Once, in the mid 80's, I was visiting my friend Deenie.  Her dad came in the kitchen and said "Eeewww. There's something grody in the sink!"

Her perky mom came chirping in.  "Is there something grody to the max?"

It was nice to know that I'm not the only one.

I am a mom now.  My oldest is 9 already.  Prime embarrassing age.

Quick -- someone give me a hip, trendy phrase that I can screw up in public. 

She Broke The Rule

Fair Warning:  this post is about a very crass subject.  So if you don't want to read it, I understand.  May I recommend Loose Leaf Writing, Annabel Manners or The Bitchy Waiter instead. 

And if you read it anyway, (Mom), I don't want to hear about it. 

I was recently in a ladies room.  I had to pee.

Because in a ladies room, it is acceptable to:

1. Pee
2. Reapply Lipstick
3. Change into gym and/or going out clothes

It is NOT acceptable to

1. Crap
2. Shit
3. Poop
4. Fart.  (unless you are CERTAIN it cannot be heard)

Poop is OK if you are under 6 and your mom is taking you to the ladies room.

Ladies rooms are not for taking a dump. 

If you have to drop one, go home.  YOUR home.  Ladies never ever ever pollute an other's home.

I understand that these rules should be relaxed for certain ladies.  Some visitors from other nations may not know the rules.  Pregnant women are exempt, as are very senior citizens.  (Mom, I know you're still reading.  I mean senior citizens older than you.  You can't go into a public restroom and drop a load).

I know all the women reading know this.  I was just explaining to the men.

On the way home from work tonight, I popped into the ladies' to pee.  A well dressed, 40ish woman was already there.  She was applying lipstick, which, as I explained earlier, is perfectly acceptable.

We exchanged courtesies for a moment.  Then we each headed for our stalls.  We didn't take adjacent stalls, because it is against the rules to sit in adjacent stalls unless the bathroom is full.  (I think even men have this rule).

It wasn't long before I heard a loud, wet squelching sound.  Then a soft grunt.  Then more sounds.  Then water splashing.  

Then I hear her get on her cell phone.  Cell phones are still a grey area.  Personally, I vote against talking on the cell while in the facilities.  Especially when the call sounds like this:

"Hey". . .squelch. ."whatcha -- ungh -- doin'?" . . splash.

OMG.

Oh. Mah. Gaw.

OH MY SWEET JE-AY-SUS- IN HEAVEN!!!!!!!

SHE KNEW I WAS IN THERE. 

How could she not know the rules?  She was clearly a middle income, middle aged AMERICAN woman. She wasn't even middle aged.  She was my age!  She had an i-phone for chrissake!

Could she not have at least waited until I left?  Seriously -- how long would it have taken me?  Pee, zip, wash hands.  Two minutes.  Five minutes tops.  She can't hold it for five minutes before she stinks up the bathroom that I am using too?

What is this country coming to?  We already have a sign in every restroom that says EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS AFTER USING THE TOILET.

It's bad enough to have signs that say DO NOT FLUSH SANITARY PRODUCTS DOWN THE COMMODE.

Sometimes you even see that stupid rhyme:  IF YOU SPRINKLE WHEN YOU TINKLE, PLEASE BE NEAT AND WIPE THE SEAT.

Do we have to post signs saying: LADIES DO NOT TAKE CRAPS IN PUBLIC BATHROOMS ESPECIALLY IF THERE IS SOMEONE ELSE IN HERE.

Sheesh.

Mom -- I'm serious.  Not a word.  I mean it.  I'll call you later.

Madison Avenue, here I come. . .

Ok -- I have an idea, and I need to know what you think.

Sometimes I like to think of new applications for existing products. For example: Depends. Yes, Depends. The adult diapers.

For a long time, I’ve thought that if Depends had a product geared towards professionals, they would make a killing. They could call it Depends Office. Here’s how I envision the commercial:

Scene - a hectic office, people hurrying around looking harried. Zoom in on boss surrounded by panicked lackeys.

BOSS: “We must get that report to the board TODAY or the whole project could be delayed”

LACKEY 1: “Sir, it’s impossible, we just found out about it yesterday!”

LACKEY 2: “Maybe if you called them you could buy us some time!”

Enter a calm collected professionally dressed woman carrying a folder.

WOMAN: “Here’s the report. I had it formulated on this thumb drive for you as well.”

Boss and lackeys look at woman dumbfounded

BOSS: “How did you get it done so quickly?”

WOMAN: “I just worked all night”

Woman turns to the camera and says in a whisper “With a little help from Depends Office! Thanks Depends!”

And SCENE!



Great idea, right? But that’s not the one I wanted to tell you about.


I got the idea for my NEW application when I was doing my workouts this week. This week my workouts were all plenty intense, because I was STUPID enough to post on here that I was getting used to them & they are easier. There was NOTHING easy about my workouts this week. NOTHING!

This week I worked out with Ricky helping me. Ricky is a nice young man who works for Vic. He looks like a fitter version of Leonardo DiCaprio. I think he’s somewhere between 19-23 years old, and he treats me with the same courtesy he would use towards his mother’s old high school chums. (Except he probably never hands one of his Mom's friends a 6 lb ball and tells her to squat. One Hundred and FIFTY times.)

As I am working out next to this handsome, polite young man, I look in the mirror (which are all over that place -- I’m hoping they are there so we can ensure our form is correct. Because otherwise? This place needs an HGTV intervention). (I'm going to pay for that crack next week, You watch!)

In the mirror I can’t help but notice that the more I do my exercises, the more soaking wet with sweat I become. About half way through it looks like someone has poured water down my shirt and I seem to have wet my pants.

The damp t-shirt I can live with, but the peed pants? Next to Ricky DiCaprio? If I wasn’t already so red from all the physical exertion, I would have blushed.

So THAT’S when I came up with my great marketing idea!

Depends Active!

Here’s the ad:

Scene: A busy, tastefully decorated fitness studio with lots of red faced sweaty people.

Camera zooms to two women working out. Both are obviously working hard, but one looks more refreshed than the other.

LINDA: “Leonardo sure has us on a tough circuit today, Amy!”

AMY: “I know, Linda! We will be ready for that marathon in no time!”

LINDA: “I know you will be! I’m just ready for a shower!”

AMY: “ No time for that today, Linda. I have to pick up the kids, then run Don’s clothes to the cleaners, then head to the grocery store before I can even THINK of a nice hot shower!”

LINDA: “You’re lucky -- you still look so fresh!”

AMY: “It’s not me, Linda. It’s Depends Active!”

LINDA: “Depends Active?”

Scene: locker room, where Linda & Amy have towels around their necks.

AMY: “Linda, just put on a pair of Depends Active before your next workout, and you’ll be ready to pick the kids up from soccer practice and then stop at the market before you go home. I never workout without Depends Active!”

Scene: back at the fitness studio. Linda & Amy are wearing different workout outfits.

LINDA: “Amy! Thanks for the tip about Depends Active! After my workout today, I am heading straight to the OB/GYN for my annual!”

AMY & LINDA together: “Thanks Depends Active!”

And SCENE!


Great idea, right? Right? Guys? Anyone?

Granny

When I was a kid, grandmas were sweet, little old ladies.

I am blessed to have known both of my grandmothers. Grandma A, who weighed about 75lbs soaking wet, was the most wonderful, affirming, lovely lady I have ever known. her house always smelled of fresh coffee, Dove soap and bran flakes. There was always a rosary and a prayer book on her bedside table, and in the evenings she could be found enjoying a martini and a few cheese nip crackers.

Grandma C was more robust. She would clean our kitchen while complaining about what slobs we were. She drank beer from a can & used to threaten to beat my cousins with "a board with a nail in it". When we were sick, she'd make us drink 7-up and hot toddies with honey, lemon & whisky. She watched Family Feud every day, but would never admit it. Her house always smelled of Dove soap, Youth Dew cologne and laundry soap.

Both grandmas had beautiful white hair, "done" each week & held in place by a hairnet made of fibers finer than cobwebs. They each had bright blue eyes and wore lipstick and face powder. They lunched with friends every week, and they had handbags to match all of their shoes.

They bragged about their grand kids, although they would never admit it.

They were grandmas.

My own mother and mother-in-law are more modern than my own grandmas -- mom's house smells like Benson & Hedges, coffee and pot pourri. Toshi's house has a more Asian smell - moth balls, seaweed and talcum powder. Both Mom & Toshi have pretty white hair, but they don't bother with hairnets. They each wear stylish casual clothes. Mom gets online and writes freelance articles. Toshi does freelance bookkeeping. Both volunteer at their churches 30+ hours per week. Both brag about their grand kids -- and make fun of themselves for doing so.

They are grandmas.

I want to be like them someday.

Someday, as in 2036. Not today.

I am 44. I had my children a little later in life: my first child was born when I was 35, my last when I was 42. I don't look like a grandma (I don't think). My hair is not a pretty white color, it's a fabulous, expensive red. I don't have many wrinkles despite years of sun damage. (A gift of fat? nice, smooth skin) I never use Dove soap.

So when I take my littles to the grocery store, and the checkout girl tells me my grand kids are cute, I get a little. . . .I dunno.

When it's my husband -- who has salty salt & pepper hair -- I get it. He has WHITE hair for chrissakes. It's an honest mistake. But me????

I have friends who are grandmas that don't come close to the little-old-lady model that I grew up with. One of my friends still gets hit on. She's in her 50's, but she looks like she's 40. Another of my friends had her son young, and now, at 42, she is a grandma. Grandma Diva, she calls herself. She's beautiful. I bet when she takes her grandson to the grocery store, the checkout girl tells her her baby is cute.

So maybe it's not so bad to be confused for grandma.

Then why does it make me feel like I should be buying hairnets?