....but i'm not

Friday, August 20, 2010

Curse You El Goop

I was in a war this morning. It was an ugly, mind-twisting, clusterf*ck of a war...and I lost. It will probably go down in history as the "The Battle of Mystery El Juice at the Quincy Brown Line."

What is this mystery fluid you ask? No one really knows if it's pigeon pee, human pee, nuclear waste, or condensation from the humidity. The optimistic side of me wants to say there's a decent chance it could be kryptonite.

The goop drips consistently into an approximate 12-inch wide oval, five steps down from the spinney gate in the outer Loop platform (which in itself is an obstacle course). It takes a little shimmy, a little shake, some bumpin' and grindin', a dip to and fro, but once you've got it down you're golden. For the past 10 months I have successfully done the dance-of-el-goo-avoidance. Hopefully my strategy doesn't turn too many people on at 8am.

It takes skill - you've got to be able to precisely pinpoint the exact location and velocity of the next drip. I like to think I'm the only one who has figured out this strategy. The evil side of me takes some pleasure in thinking that my resourcefulness has caused major nausea for the poor schmuck behind me who gets the fatal splat on the face.

Well this morning I found out what it's like to be that schmuck.

It all happened so fast. I saw the initial drop, thought I had enough time to maneuver to the right a few inches, when all of a sudden in slow-motion I saw it lurking toward me...the giant drop slowly encroaching on my right shoulder. In my head, I cried out in horror "curse you el gooooooooooo!"(picture arms flailing, fist pumping toward the ceiling, frantically padding my hair to make sure I didn't have a bald spot). In reality, I just prayed that nobody saw it happen because let me tell you, the moment that drop hits your forehead, it sounds like a freakin' jackhammer.

Why not take a different exit route you ask? That's like asking me to stop eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Absurd.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

The Dog Ate My Homework and Then Devoured Me...So That's Why I Couldn't Hang Out With You.

While showering this morning, I noticed that my bathtub is in need of a good caulking, which logically reminded me of the most magnificent blow off excuse I heard back in '09.

I mean this excuse is the motherload of all excuses to get out of a date. If they gave out Teen Choice Awards for "Best Ditch Your Girl On Super Bowl Sunday Excuses," this one would kick some serious Jonas Brother ass. It's like if you took Tupac, Biggie Smalls, and Jay-Z and put them in a room, then they ask me to come and sing Big Pimpin', that's how awkward this excuse was.

Picture this...

It's year 2009, Super Bowl Sunday and I'm supposed to go watch the game with the guy I had recently started seeing. Things were going pretty well, he was cute and smart and funny and he didn't wear sweatpants with elastic bottoms, so he pretty much fell into the dreamboat category. That morning he sends me a text asking what I'm up to later in the day and requesting my presence at a game watch get together. Being a sports lover, in addition to a commercial lover, I respond with a cheery "affirmative" and set off to find an outfit that says "hey look at me, I'd make a good girlfriend because I can watch sports, eat nachos, drink beer and still look adorable."

About an hour later I get this message:
"Hey, so I'm not sure I can hang out to watch the game. I have to caulk my bathtub and make sure it dries before I can do anything. I'll let you know when it's dry."

My response: "Hahahaha seriously? You're a hoot."

He was serious.

Immediately I set off in search of statistics to prove that the recaulking of a bathtub does not take an entire afternoon and does not require undivided attention. In fact, I'm pretty sure the side of the caulking tube reads "WARNING: Should you decide to caulk your bathtub on Super Bowl Sunday and use this as an excuse to blow off a girl...Ace Hardware is not responsible for any damages incurred."

I apologize to all the guys out there who have been using this excuse for years and I've now destroyed all credibility, but it is a tale that must be told.

The best part is that we continued to hang out off and on after "the incident" and obviously I tried to drop the word "caulk" into every sentence possible but he acted as though it never happened!

"Where should we go eat? I'm in the mood for a caulk dog, oh I mean hot dog." He wouldn't even acknowledge my awesome hints like, "What did I do last night? Ate dinner then caulked my tub. And that's no sexual innuendo my friend." No response.

Moral of the story, unless you want to be referred to as a "mother caulker" for the rest of your life, think of a better excuse.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

I Got 99 Problems

To that ONE PERSON who refuses to check their Facebook Page Invitations leaving me with an unbearable OCD-inducing NINETY-NINE followers of this blog, know this:

My eye won't stop twitching.
I've been breaking out in night sweats.
Pretty sure I have hives on my stomach.
I've never eaten so many Twinkies in my life.

Thanks. Thanks a lot.