Death and Taxes

Driving down the freeway with a friend on our way to do a little shopping, we passed a rather large sign that read in bold letters: TAXIDERMY.

I shook my head clear of the heebie-jeebies.  "Eck, I still can't believe that people make a living pulling the insides out of animals and stuffing them for their customers."

"What are you talking about?"  The stunning blonde sitting next to me asked.

I pointed at the sign.  "The Taxidermist."

"What about them?"

"Just how they can work with dead animals all day."

She stared out the window for a bit.  "Oh...I thought they did taxes."

Well, at least she's pretty.

Blind Admiration

Saw a picture of Andrea Bocelli recently that reminded me of a conversation that happened a few years back:

I was super excited about the tickets I had just purchased to the see the then rising star, Andrea Bocelli.  This classically trained, yet modern tenor born of Italy with the amazing voice that seemed to eradicate his lack of sight, would be venturing to my neck of the woods and allowing my crush-filled senses to take in the glorious experience.

Speaking with a co-worker on the event, who knew of him as well, I excitedly recanted that I'd managed to land third row seating for my mom, aunt and daughter to join me (we were all huge fans).

"Wow, that's fabulous."  She responded in all sincerity.

"I know!"  I gushed.  "I just wish there was a way for me to tell him that I'm his future wife."

"You're in the third row, right?"

"Yep."

She smiled brightly.  "Well, just make a sign and hold it up when he comes out."

I was speechless for a moment.  "And do what?  Rush the stage and hit him with it?  He's blind."

The Concept of Confidential

The other day we stumbled across some very important documents, including a checkbook for a young lady, lying in the road.  We picked them up and looked for some contact information, but only found the address on the checks.  However, one of the documents had the contact info listed for a local government-funded agency that the young lady was apparently a part of.

The following morning, in an effort to return the papers, I contacted the person at the agency.  Getting her voicemail, I explained the situation ending the message by providing my phone number for the young lady to get in touch with me.

A few minutes later I received a call back.

"Hi, Tracie.  This is Barbara with the ABC Agency.  I received your message and thank you for taking such good care of my client's belongings; however, due to confidentiality issues, I cannot have her call you."

Wait...what?  "You mean you can't allow me to call her."  I tried to sound polite as I corrected what I assumed to be a very confused individual.  "That's why I left you my number to give to her."

"I understand, ma'am.  However, I cannot give your number to her due to confidentiality issues.  But if you're close by our location, maybe you could..."

I rudely cut her off.  "Are you serious?  I am giving you permission to have her contact me, but it's a confidentiality issue to do so?"

My brain started whirling away at possible explanations - maybe the girl was unfamiliar with using a number blocker so a direct line wasn't published on someone's caller id?  Maybe since it was my cell phone I was dealing with a government agency there were legal complications...?  But, no...that didn't make any sense either.

"No...I'm trying to do the right thing here by returning what looks to be very important and private papers to someone and I'm not going to be held liable to continue to make additional effort just to be a Good Samaritan.  I will attempt to have my postman get the stuff to the address listed but that's all the additional effort I'm going to make.  And shame on you for failing your client."

I hung up completely flabbergasted by what I had just been told.

Cracks in the Sidewalks

Walking out to run a quick errand, I noticed a young lady sitting on the curb just outside the office.  What caught my eye first and foremost (and my sense for that matter) was the large portion of her ass displayed in the space left bare between her too-small babydoll tee and her too-low, too-tight trashy jeans.  To make matters way, way worse, baby girl was sporting a large, bright purple thong hitched up higher than her waist.  She was not a well put together girl, if you know what I mean, and the bright purple against her skin accentuated not only the plethora of stretch marks about her hips (fully exposed) but also her crack (again, because the undies were sheer, also fully exposed).

As I drove past her trying not to display my best Calvin and Hobbes grossed out face, I wondered: Is it really possible to not know your ass is literally hanging out all over your jeans?  Can you really manage to be so confused as to put your underwear above your waist and your jeans below your pelvic bone?  Does anyone know that this is never attractive, no matter your body type?

I guess I will just be proud that while big hair and acid-wash jeans should never have been allowed, I'm certainly thankful every day that "muffin top", "crack view", and "low-riding" weren't trends in my day.

Rude Disability

Topping off my water bottle at the gym before beginning my meager routine, I was interrupted by a loud, high-pitched barking noise directly behind me.  Startled, I turned around, glaring at the little man standing behind me.

Unaffected, he waved as though to shoo me away.  Apparently my derriere was blocking his ability to use the water fountain next to me.  Appalled, I moved away only because my bottle was already filled and got on the treadmill convincing myself I could let it go.  I was wrong.

Once re-dressed, I marched directly up to the counter and complained, describing the perpetrator as short, in a wife-beater ('cause those are HOTTTTT), with small headphones on that wrapped around the back of his head.  I politely informed them that it was inappropriate and even if he had some kind of impediment or problem, waiting for one person to finish did not take that long, and besides, there was another bank of water fountains located along the other wall.

The next day, as I was walking in, the front desk hostess stopped me and informed me that she'd been able to follow up with the man about the situation.

"Yeah, Ms. G., he's deaf."  She announced with that please-understand-and-feel-sorry-for-him expression.

I stood for a moment trying to understand this statement.  "Yeah," I responded, quite aware I was mocking her.  "Except for two things: one, impatience isn't a handicap.  If it were, the government would owe me a lot of money.  And two, if he's so deaf, why is he listening to music?"

As though by divine intervention, the culprit mounted a treadmill directly to my left.  I pointed to drive my observation home.  There he was, trekking along with his iPod perched on the machine, happily texting away.

Yeah, that's called 'dick' not 'deaf', sister.

Literally Kickin' Ass

Taking the dogs for our nightly walk, we passed by one of our favorite neighbors out chatting with a girl I hadn't seen before.  The guest brandished a brand new cast and crutches and was sitting on the porch leisurely sipping at a beer.

After exchanging hellos with my neighbor, I looked at her.  "My goodness!  What happened?"

Assuming I would hear some generic response such as "broke my foot" or "hurt my leg" as justified when someone is not familiar, I was ill prepared for her answer.

"Oh, I got in a fight."

My face went blank.  Was this supposed to be a subtle warning for me not to mess with the Brawlin' Beauty or a bragger's right?  I wasn't sure.  Being tugged along by the dogs fortunately gave me an easy out.

The automatic response dying to come out was, "Aren't you supposed to use your hands for that?".  But judging by her announcement, I didn't want this young lady to risk another dangerous encounter.

"Well, good luck with that."  I replied, thankful I could walk off.

iFail

Excitedly arriving at the Apple store to pick up my much-anticipated MacBook Pro, I practically bounced with energy over at the Set Up bar.  The place was packed - a children's camp going on at a table behind me and along with all the other patrons milling about, another Set Up bar directly at my back.  A quick speaking, tall young man introduced himself but was immediately absconded by a member of the blue-hair squad brandishing an iPhone.

I turned back to my own computer still sitting in the box; however, because of their close proximity, I couldn't help but catch snippets of their conversation.

"I need some help with this new phone."  Her shaky voice informed the Genius.

"Certainly.  What can I help you with?"

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of her phone.  "Hello?"  She answered.  A pause.  "Hello?"  A bit longer of a pause.  "Hello?"

"Ma'am, you have to turn the phone around."  The Genius offered, pulling the phone away from her ear just long enough to flip it around so that the face of the iPhone now pointed towards her.  "You may want to consider returning to your mobile provider and asking for a different phone."

Under the circumstances, I couldn't help but agree.

Trash Teachin'

On my way home, passing through a green light, I noticed an SUV pulling in to the turn lane on my right to merge in to traffic.  It was obvious that her light had been red as mine was green and still, as I came up on her left side, she attempted to pull in to the lane space I was currently occupying.  I did not move; just drove past her, taking note of her quick swerve back in to her own lane.

Several lights farther up the road and I happened to look over to my left while rolling to a stop.  Lo and behold the same army green SUV had pulled up alongside me, the passenger windows rolled down.  Two children accompanied the driver, the oldest in the front seat and the youngest - a boy of about 9 or 10 years old - sat in the back flipping me the bird, a huge grin on his face.  His mom, proudly grinning at me from the front seat.

I just shook my head at them, thinking: Nice, lady - you've managed to train your kids how to never earn respect in their lives.  Nice.

Sub-stantial?

Thinking myself starving, I left work in the late morning and jetted down the street to the nearest Subway.  The creaking door echoed as I stepped in to the deserted restaurant.  A young girl peered around the edge of the back room and held up a quick finger.  I waited patiently in the silence.

Soon, she was out and helping me build a delicious breakfast flatbread sandwich.  While the ingredients heated up, I attempted to strike up some small talk.

"A bit dead while you wait on the lunch rush to begin, huh?"

She shrugged, looking up directly at me as she responded: "Oh no.  I'm always busy with a pretty heavy breakfast crowd straight through to lunchtime."

Uh...I looked around me, certain I had not been mistaken on the emptiness of the dining area.

"Will that be all for you ma'am?"

"Yes."  Yep.  That's all.