A few weeks ago we met some other couple friends for dinner. They were new friends, so we wanted to make a good impression and not do anything stupid. So of course, I (almost) did something stupid.
It was on a weekend, so TB and I were running around doing errands during the day before our dinner date. In an effort to put my best foot forward, I took a rinser before we were supposed to meet our friends. I'm normally a once a day showerer. But I went out on a limb this time. Although I took a rinser, I decided I'd throw on my same jeans and change shirts and shoes. As I'm selecting my outfit, TB is yelling, "Hurry, hurrrrrrrrrrrry, huryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!". Keep in mind, we're not late. He just likes to stress me out. For some reason, he enjoys this. And it works every time.
I threw on clothes, slapped on some makeup, half buckled my shoes, hurried out the door and into the car. The drive was only about 2 minutes away, so as I was still arranging things in my purse, we hopped out at the valet and into the bar to wait for our friends and my heart was still beating fast from all that action. AND, we did have to wait at the bar.... because we WERE NOT late. We were the first ones there. By a long shot. TB just likes to play this little prank.
As I was settling into my first drink, our friends arrived. At that very moment of saying hello and making small talk, I realized something was not right. Something with my outfit. I'm going through the typical hellos on the surface, but I'm just trying to figure out what was wrong, without a look of sheer panic on my face.
I slowly figured out what was wrong. There was something wrong with my jeans. Inside the left pant leg, just behind my knee, there was something lodged between my knee and my jeans. I quickly did a run-through of my getting ready process and realized it must be my old underwear. Yes. I changed underwear during my rinser and when I hurriedly put the same jeans back on, the old pair must have been stuck in the jeans. And I didn't notice they were there the whole time I was getting ready. And they were still there. And I'm in public. With people that I didn't know very well. What was wrong with me!!!
As I'm coming to the conclusion that I have a dirty pair of underwear stuck in my pant legs, I can feel the underwear slowing start to slip down my pant legs. I'm trying to hold a conversation with someone about a wedding or honeymoon, or something - I really couldn't concentrate on the conversation and could only nod and smile at the appropriate time, while trying to hold my leg in a position that would stop the underwear from sliding down my leg, to the floor of the bar and have everyone look down to see a pair of purple underwear laying on my foot. Talk about never going to dinner with this couple again.
It finally reached the point of no return and I had to abruptly excuse myself to the restroom- while getting a weird look from TB for my odd behavior. I looked around frantically for the restroom sign, only to see it on the other side of the restaurant. Crap. I began to dodge my way around tables, waiters and slippery floors all while keeping my left leg bent enough to keep the underwear trapped behind my knee. But still needing my left leg to walk. It made for an awkward and very nervous trek across the restaurant.
As I pushed open the door to the restroom, I immediately locked myself in a stall and grabbed the underwear. I think any sane person would have just thrown away the underwear and cut their loses. But those were good underwear, and I couldn't stand the thought of giving them up. So. I stuffed them in my purse. And hoped I wouldn't need my purse.
The night ended on a normal note - without needing my purse - and we still have those friends. Thanks to my quick thinking and a bit of good luck, the night ended up being my (almost) most embarrassing moment and not my most embarrassing moment.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Worse than a Crying Baby
The only thing worse than sitting next to a crying baby on the plane is....
Sitting next to unaccompanied minors. Two unaccompanied minors. Brother and sister. Roughly aged 8 and 6.
I endured an entire flight of pinching, biting, nose picking, 10 minutes of "Ilovejustinbieberilovejustinbieber", singing, yelling, drink spilling, peanut throwing, seat shaking and tray slamming. It was absolute torture. Torture. But perhaps the best part of the flight was the conversation regarding backwash. Yep. Backwash. See the rough transcription below.....
Bieber Lover: (Yelling) "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!! You have backwash in your water bottle! Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!"
Nose Picker: "It's just backwash. You know what backwash is, right?"
Bieber Lover: "No. I just know backwash is gross"
Nose Picker: "It's just pieces of my sandwich. They were in my mouth when I took a sip of water and then fell to the bottom of the bottle. Look, you can see pieces of bread and cheese floating the bottle."
(Bieber Lover and Nose Picker both intently stare at the backwash in the VASA water bottle)
Bieber Lover: "Oh. OK. It's not that gross."
Nose Picker: "Yeah, backwash is cool."
Ahhhhh. More adventures from the road.
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Sitting next to unaccompanied minors. Two unaccompanied minors. Brother and sister. Roughly aged 8 and 6.
I endured an entire flight of pinching, biting, nose picking, 10 minutes of "Ilovejustinbieberilovejustinbieber", singing, yelling, drink spilling, peanut throwing, seat shaking and tray slamming. It was absolute torture. Torture. But perhaps the best part of the flight was the conversation regarding backwash. Yep. Backwash. See the rough transcription below.....
Bieber Lover: (Yelling) "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!! You have backwash in your water bottle! Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!"
Nose Picker: "It's just backwash. You know what backwash is, right?"
Bieber Lover: "No. I just know backwash is gross"
Nose Picker: "It's just pieces of my sandwich. They were in my mouth when I took a sip of water and then fell to the bottom of the bottle. Look, you can see pieces of bread and cheese floating the bottle."
(Bieber Lover and Nose Picker both intently stare at the backwash in the VASA water bottle)
Bieber Lover: "Oh. OK. It's not that gross."
Nose Picker: "Yeah, backwash is cool."
Ahhhhh. More adventures from the road.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Vegas: According to Your Ears
No, that wasn't some lame audiology joke. Vegas is one of those places that appeals to your senses. Sight, taste, and especially sound. Even if you've never been to Vegas, everyone has a mental idea of the sounds you will experience. Particularly the casino sounds.
I've been to Vegas a few times, but this most recent trip was my first since college and at the risk of sounding like an old person, things just weren't the same as they used to be - at least the same according to my ears. On the college trip, I distinctly remember a few things that were missing on this adventure. Some auditory distinctions to be exact.
A few years ago you went into the casino, sat at a slot machine, pulled the side handle and (hopefully) won a little coin. As soon as those lights started flashing, you immediately heard the distinct "dink dink dink dink" sound of the coins hitting the tray as they fell out of the machine. Then you grabbed one of those plastic buckets on top of the machine, gathered your spoils and jingled the bucket onto the next machine. It all went down a little something like this:
Really a glorious experience all around. Until some genius decided to change it.
Now a days, you sit at a slot machine, pull the side handle and when you get lucky, the lights still flash, but there is no sound of coins falling. Nope. The metal tray to catch the coins is still there, but nothing falls out. If you listen closely, you hear a different sound. A receipt printing. No kidding. A receipt. They did away with the coins and spit you out a receipt stating your exact winnings.
I almost felt like I was at the gas pump pressing "Yes I want a Receipt" on the key pad.
And even worse than the absence of coin, there are no more plastic buckets. I guess that makes sense. Walking around jingling your receipts in a bucket just doesn't seem to have the same effect.
If Vegas had a suggestion box, I would drop a note saying we should bring back the coins. And the buckets.
I've been to Vegas a few times, but this most recent trip was my first since college and at the risk of sounding like an old person, things just weren't the same as they used to be - at least the same according to my ears. On the college trip, I distinctly remember a few things that were missing on this adventure. Some auditory distinctions to be exact.
A few years ago you went into the casino, sat at a slot machine, pulled the side handle and (hopefully) won a little coin. As soon as those lights started flashing, you immediately heard the distinct "dink dink dink dink" sound of the coins hitting the tray as they fell out of the machine. Then you grabbed one of those plastic buckets on top of the machine, gathered your spoils and jingled the bucket onto the next machine. It all went down a little something like this:
Really a glorious experience all around. Until some genius decided to change it.
Now a days, you sit at a slot machine, pull the side handle and when you get lucky, the lights still flash, but there is no sound of coins falling. Nope. The metal tray to catch the coins is still there, but nothing falls out. If you listen closely, you hear a different sound. A receipt printing. No kidding. A receipt. They did away with the coins and spit you out a receipt stating your exact winnings.
I almost felt like I was at the gas pump pressing "Yes I want a Receipt" on the key pad.
And even worse than the absence of coin, there are no more plastic buckets. I guess that makes sense. Walking around jingling your receipts in a bucket just doesn't seem to have the same effect.
If Vegas had a suggestion box, I would drop a note saying we should bring back the coins. And the buckets.
Monday, June 6, 2011
A Retainer is Never Cool
Remember back to the middle school days, when there was some lucky kid that got to have a retainer? That kid had already graduated from the old metal braces with rubber bands and corn on the cob stuck in the teeth to the seemingly cool retainer. The dead give away that you were one of the lucky ones was that distinct lisp the retainer gave you. If you were super lucky, your orthodontist would make your retainer in a bright color and you got to show it off at lunch time when you removed it to eat. You then put it in the plastic retainer box and got to show it off once again when lunch was over and you had to put it back in. And then inevitably one day, you would throw the retainer away and have to dig through the trash to find the retainer to keep your mom from yelling at you about how much your braces cost. Anyone else remember this?
Well, I did actually go through the ugly braces stage and I eventually got a retainer. Although my retainer didn't come until high school. Which meant it was no longer cool. But I wasn't really a cool kid anyway, so I did diligently wear that sucker until sometime in college and then I fell off the wagon. A few years ago, I realized that darn retainer really did make a difference and without it my bottom teeth had started to move. My vanity eventually won out and I started looking into some options for fixing my bottom teeth. I quickly found out there was no need to go back to the full on braces stage (sigh of relief), which meant that my option was a retainer! But it wasn't that old retainer that I remembered from middle school. It now looked a little something like this:
No cool colors, but at this point in my life - I'm OK with that. It's actually quite invisible and doesn't give you that tell tell lisp when you talk (which is definitely not cool now). The one thing that inherently can't be fixed, is that it does have to be removed when eating. Unfortunately, there is no way to do this without being totally disgusting. You really have two choices when it comes to retainer removal:
1. Reach to the back teeth, pry it up and then pull it out of your mouth - along with a long line of spit.
2. Reach to the back teeth, while prying it up, slurp the spit and then pull the retainer out.
Neither option is what I would call appropriate for the dinner table. Or around any other people for that matter. And it doesn't matter which option I choose, TB always makes a barfing sound when I remove the retainer.
Unfortunately, I didn't get the necessary retainer holder box this go around. So when I remove the retainer for meals, I often slip it in my pocket or purse. When I'm cooking at home, I do often set the retainer off to the side on the counter, so I can taste my food. The only problem with this process is that the retainer is clear and can blend into the counter. Not a big deal, unless you have company coming over for dinner and you suddenly can't find the retainer minutes before your guests are about to arrive and you just KNOW that you set it down on the counter just where the plates are set. It would be just horrible to find someone else's retainer sitting beside your dinner plate. After a few panicked moments of frantically searching for the missing retainer, it was found just before our guests arrived. Phew. I really need to get a retainer carrying case.
Although the middle school me thought that a retainer was cool, I was so very wrong. What was I thinking back then? The spit lines, slurping noises, losing the retainer and the thought of searching through the trash for it...... something that causes all of these things could never be cool. Never.
Well, I did actually go through the ugly braces stage and I eventually got a retainer. Although my retainer didn't come until high school. Which meant it was no longer cool. But I wasn't really a cool kid anyway, so I did diligently wear that sucker until sometime in college and then I fell off the wagon. A few years ago, I realized that darn retainer really did make a difference and without it my bottom teeth had started to move. My vanity eventually won out and I started looking into some options for fixing my bottom teeth. I quickly found out there was no need to go back to the full on braces stage (sigh of relief), which meant that my option was a retainer! But it wasn't that old retainer that I remembered from middle school. It now looked a little something like this:
1. Reach to the back teeth, pry it up and then pull it out of your mouth - along with a long line of spit.
2. Reach to the back teeth, while prying it up, slurp the spit and then pull the retainer out.
Neither option is what I would call appropriate for the dinner table. Or around any other people for that matter. And it doesn't matter which option I choose, TB always makes a barfing sound when I remove the retainer.
Unfortunately, I didn't get the necessary retainer holder box this go around. So when I remove the retainer for meals, I often slip it in my pocket or purse. When I'm cooking at home, I do often set the retainer off to the side on the counter, so I can taste my food. The only problem with this process is that the retainer is clear and can blend into the counter. Not a big deal, unless you have company coming over for dinner and you suddenly can't find the retainer minutes before your guests are about to arrive and you just KNOW that you set it down on the counter just where the plates are set. It would be just horrible to find someone else's retainer sitting beside your dinner plate. After a few panicked moments of frantically searching for the missing retainer, it was found just before our guests arrived. Phew. I really need to get a retainer carrying case.
Although the middle school me thought that a retainer was cool, I was so very wrong. What was I thinking back then? The spit lines, slurping noises, losing the retainer and the thought of searching through the trash for it...... something that causes all of these things could never be cool. Never.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Someone Else's Sweat... On Me
In an effort to branch out my fitness abilities, I will occasionally try something different from my usual running (as seen in the previous post). On several occasions, I've tried yoga or pilates and have determined that I am entirely too wound up to do these activities. I like the middle portion of the class, but the beginning and the end with all the breathing and relaxing mumbo jumbo - I tend to find myself thinking about my grocery list, what I'm going to watch on the DVR and what I'm getting for dinner. Maybe that's a sign that I need to keep going back to these classes to relax, but I typically ignore that sign.
It's been a while since my last attempt at yoga but Groupon made me attempt it again. Groupon was offering a great deal on this newfangled thing called Hot Yoga. It's similar to yoga, with the small exception of the temperature of the room. The thermostat is cranked up to a mere 105 degrees while you're doing the yoga. It was a good price and good location, so I bought my Groupon and headed down to the studio.
Before class, the room was a typical yoga studio with everyone laying down on their mat and meditating - while I stared at my toes and wondered if I liked my current polish color. Then it started. These little machines in the corners of the room starting pumping hot air into the room and I started sweating.... and the class had not even started. Uh-Oh.
The class consisted of a full 90 minutes of profuse sweating, with a bit of yoga mixed in. I'm not really sure how much yoga, because I was in awe of the amount of sweat dripping off not only me - but all the strangers packed into the room, so I couldn't really concentrate on what I was supposed to concentrating on. I'm talking about sweating to the degree of dripping in your eyes, running down your legs and puddling in pools on your mat. It sure is hard to hold a downward dog when your palms and feet keep slipping out from under you. I think I spent more time wiping the sweat off my body in the attempt to hold a pose than actually holding the pose. 30 minutes into the class, I was insanely exhausted - not to mention nauseous.
One shining light in the process was the instructor. She mingled throughout the room and gave tips on how to hold poses or adjust your body to get the most out of the class. But a small problem.
She was sweating too. And leaning over people. Which meant she was dripping her sweat on someone else. Including me.
YUCK.
You never EVER want a stranger dripping sweat on you. It's pretty gross.
After a very long 90 minutes, the class finally ended and we all filed into the locker room to rehydrate and try our best not to pass out. I was struggling to stay alive by this point and was one of the last people to trudge in the locker room. I was so tired and barely hanging in there, in fact I starting trudging through this long trail of water on the floor.....weird. Someone must have dropped their water bottle.
Wait. That wasn't water - it was a pool of sweat, running from the yoga room to the locker room. A collection of the entire class' sweat. UGGG.
The saddest part of this whole story is that I didn't realize the co-mingling of sweat until after I got home and started to thinking about the class. The class made me so tired, that at the time I didn't care about other people's sweat. I was swimming in other people's germs and I didn't even know it.
They say you eventually get used to the Hot Yoga and tend to like the hot room..... but do I really want to spend a day a week mingling with stranger sweat? Not so sure about that.
It's been a while since my last attempt at yoga but Groupon made me attempt it again. Groupon was offering a great deal on this newfangled thing called Hot Yoga. It's similar to yoga, with the small exception of the temperature of the room. The thermostat is cranked up to a mere 105 degrees while you're doing the yoga. It was a good price and good location, so I bought my Groupon and headed down to the studio.
Before class, the room was a typical yoga studio with everyone laying down on their mat and meditating - while I stared at my toes and wondered if I liked my current polish color. Then it started. These little machines in the corners of the room starting pumping hot air into the room and I started sweating.... and the class had not even started. Uh-Oh.
 |
| Obviously not me. But you get the point. |
The class consisted of a full 90 minutes of profuse sweating, with a bit of yoga mixed in. I'm not really sure how much yoga, because I was in awe of the amount of sweat dripping off not only me - but all the strangers packed into the room, so I couldn't really concentrate on what I was supposed to concentrating on. I'm talking about sweating to the degree of dripping in your eyes, running down your legs and puddling in pools on your mat. It sure is hard to hold a downward dog when your palms and feet keep slipping out from under you. I think I spent more time wiping the sweat off my body in the attempt to hold a pose than actually holding the pose. 30 minutes into the class, I was insanely exhausted - not to mention nauseous.
One shining light in the process was the instructor. She mingled throughout the room and gave tips on how to hold poses or adjust your body to get the most out of the class. But a small problem.
She was sweating too. And leaning over people. Which meant she was dripping her sweat on someone else. Including me.
YUCK.
You never EVER want a stranger dripping sweat on you. It's pretty gross.
After a very long 90 minutes, the class finally ended and we all filed into the locker room to rehydrate and try our best not to pass out. I was struggling to stay alive by this point and was one of the last people to trudge in the locker room. I was so tired and barely hanging in there, in fact I starting trudging through this long trail of water on the floor.....weird. Someone must have dropped their water bottle.
Wait. That wasn't water - it was a pool of sweat, running from the yoga room to the locker room. A collection of the entire class' sweat. UGGG.
The saddest part of this whole story is that I didn't realize the co-mingling of sweat until after I got home and started to thinking about the class. The class made me so tired, that at the time I didn't care about other people's sweat. I was swimming in other people's germs and I didn't even know it.
They say you eventually get used to the Hot Yoga and tend to like the hot room..... but do I really want to spend a day a week mingling with stranger sweat? Not so sure about that.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Fast Girls Have Good Times
I am not a serious runner. You know - a serious runner, like those people with the crazy belts that hold water, eating that weird energy gel and keeping their pace on the GPS watch. I am not built to run long distances. My knees turn in and I don't look like one of those marathon runners on TV. I have a serious objection to exercising more than 2 hours a day. And I refuse to change my diet of cereal and chocolate just to run a race.
I like to plug in my Ipod and go running around a cool neighborhood on a nice afternoon. I may have a distance in mind, but no specific pace in mind. I like races. I think they're fun and you usually get good food and a cool t-shirt. I'm the kind of runner that likes the large races with tons of people. Yes, you may have to dodge people everywhere, but I like the motivation all those people provide and all the spectators on the side of the road cheering you on. Honestly, I really need all those people to keep me going toward the end of the race.
Although I sound like a terrible runner, I somehow got this crazy idea that I wanted to train for a 1/2 marathon................................. OK, so maybe the idea came from watching several seasons of the Biggest Loser contestants run a marathon (don't judge me please).
All in all the race was a great experience. Completing the race was one of the most difficult things I've ever done, but also great fun at the same time. I'm not really sure how that worked, but it did. While crossing the finish line I kind of wanted to collapse, drink a gallon of water and cry - but at the same time it was one of my prouder moments. It was something I never thought I could do, but I did it all on my own. Even with cereal and chocolate.
After the race, all the serious runners were talking about the course, the hills, their time... blah, blah. My non-serious runner favorite part of race day was all the homemade signs that are put up for the thousands of runners. They kept me entertained and almost kept me from asking myself for the entire race why in the world I decided to run this far... Almost.
A few of my personal fav signs seen in Nashville:
"May the course be with you"
"Kick Assphalt"
"Sorry, I've Got To Run"
"Staying up all night making this sign was hard too"
And of course, my all time favorite:
"Fast girls have good times"
I like to plug in my Ipod and go running around a cool neighborhood on a nice afternoon. I may have a distance in mind, but no specific pace in mind. I like races. I think they're fun and you usually get good food and a cool t-shirt. I'm the kind of runner that likes the large races with tons of people. Yes, you may have to dodge people everywhere, but I like the motivation all those people provide and all the spectators on the side of the road cheering you on. Honestly, I really need all those people to keep me going toward the end of the race.
Although I sound like a terrible runner, I somehow got this crazy idea that I wanted to train for a 1/2 marathon................................. OK, so maybe the idea came from watching several seasons of the Biggest Loser contestants run a marathon (don't judge me please).
All in all the race was a great experience. Completing the race was one of the most difficult things I've ever done, but also great fun at the same time. I'm not really sure how that worked, but it did. While crossing the finish line I kind of wanted to collapse, drink a gallon of water and cry - but at the same time it was one of my prouder moments. It was something I never thought I could do, but I did it all on my own. Even with cereal and chocolate.
After the race, all the serious runners were talking about the course, the hills, their time... blah, blah. My non-serious runner favorite part of race day was all the homemade signs that are put up for the thousands of runners. They kept me entertained and almost kept me from asking myself for the entire race why in the world I decided to run this far... Almost.
A few of my personal fav signs seen in Nashville:
"May the course be with you"
"Kick Assphalt"
"Sorry, I've Got To Run"
"Staying up all night making this sign was hard too"
And of course, my all time favorite:
"Fast girls have good times"
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Right is Right
I do a great deal of teaching and training in my every day job. The challenge with this task is making something that could be complex seem like a snap.
A big part of what I'm teaching people to do is to put a device together. A device with many moving pieces and parts that has to fit together in a very specific order. Among all the moving pieces, there is one very important part of this system that has to fit onto the right side of the device. It's tricky, because it can go on the left side, but it should go on the right side. Have I confused you yet?
If you're still with me.... One of my co-workers always uses the saying, "Right is Right", when referring to this very important part of our system. She means that the right side (as in the direction left or right) is the right (as in the correct) side. See, right is right.
Right is right, isn't just applicable to correctly putting a cochlear implant speech processor together, it also applies to TB's recent back surgery. He's been teetering on the edge of being an invalid for the past few months. He hasn't been able to sleep, drive or even sit - all due to bringing that sweet 65" TV into our living room. Totally worth it. But we still had to do something about his back.
After several months and quite a few doctor's appointments, he ended up getting a shot in his back. The right side of the spine to be specific. And wouldn't you know it, the back doctor uses the same saying, "Right is Right." See, they even marked TB, just to make sure that no one forgot that right was right.
And right was indeed right in this case. I'm happy to report that TB is feeling much better!
A big part of what I'm teaching people to do is to put a device together. A device with many moving pieces and parts that has to fit together in a very specific order. Among all the moving pieces, there is one very important part of this system that has to fit onto the right side of the device. It's tricky, because it can go on the left side, but it should go on the right side. Have I confused you yet?
If you're still with me.... One of my co-workers always uses the saying, "Right is Right", when referring to this very important part of our system. She means that the right side (as in the direction left or right) is the right (as in the correct) side. See, right is right.
Right is right, isn't just applicable to correctly putting a cochlear implant speech processor together, it also applies to TB's recent back surgery. He's been teetering on the edge of being an invalid for the past few months. He hasn't been able to sleep, drive or even sit - all due to bringing that sweet 65" TV into our living room. Totally worth it. But we still had to do something about his back.
After several months and quite a few doctor's appointments, he ended up getting a shot in his back. The right side of the spine to be specific. And wouldn't you know it, the back doctor uses the same saying, "Right is Right." See, they even marked TB, just to make sure that no one forgot that right was right.
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| Our sheets are even stamped with the confirmation. |
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