ALIAS - No, Not The Cancelled TV Show

I've been friends with Tim and his wife, Dottie, ever since I moved from my mid-Atlantic roots to New England, 10 years ago. They are one of the many happy couples I would whine to about not finding the right guy. They were also always kind enough to let me be the 3rd wheel many weekends and Tim always helped with the "manly" things around the house (well, at least until my parents moved close by). You know, moving heavy furniture, investigating the foul odor under the sink, fixing a leaky faucet, telling me when it was time to call a plumber and who he would trust - you know - all the stuff Mr. Right (if I had had one) should have been doing.

Anyway, Tim and Dottie have also been supportive of this blog and today, fun but mild manored, fairly conservative, Tim cracked me up. He told me he liked the blog - especially my choice of aliases for people (probably because he knows many of the characters and has been my original audience for most of these life stories) so we get to considering what his alias should be when his time comes. I throw out names like Tom, Tony - classic, solid, strong names - much like Tim, the man. Nope, he doesn't like any of them.

Hand to God, he tells me, "come up with something good like Conquistador de l'Amore. Yea, something cool like that."

Ummm, ok, I will have to check with Dottie on the validity of that one and get back to you.

There's Wrong, and then there's WRONG!

Fresh out of college, I worked with a guy who was a little, "different". He looked like an overgrown, not cute version of Dilbert. His name was Elliott and he said things like, "I like your shirt, and when I say I like your shirt, I mean I like your boobs in that shirt." Or else he one time told a girl she had a nice ass. When she took offense, he proclaimed, "you can't even pay a girl a compliment these days".

I didn't know Elliott was that odd when I first started the job and having been raised right, I tried to be polite and inclusive to everyone I worked with. If I was running for coffee, grabbing a sandwich - whatever...I asked if anyone needed anything - including Elliott.

My fellow co-workers said it was a bad idea to be so nice to him as I would become the target of his affection. Something I didn't want. I routinely ignored my friends, besides, Debbie, my co-worker at the time, was the current object of his affection. It didn't matter that she was married, had 3 kids, was well liked, and funny (all things he wasn't) - Elliott dug her. There was an incident that poor Debbie endured (and we all bore witness to) that made me quickly, stop being friendly toward Elliott.

Every day that we got closer to Christmas, Debbie's anxiety increased as to what Elliott would give her as a gift this year. Debbie had decided that no matter what, she wasn't going to accept a gift from him this year. No way, no how. Of course, the day of the holiday luncheon, Elliott arrives with a small, rectangular, neatly wrapped gift for Debbie. As he approached her, the office got very still as we all leaned in to listen and see what lay beneath the festive wrap.

As he handed it over, Debbie explained that she didn't feel comfortable accepting gift from co-workers (of course, she had a small pile of gifts accumulating on the corner of her desk from all of us but Elliott was too focused on Debbie to notice). He was very persuasive, "I want you to have it. So does my Mom". Did I mention Elliott lives with his Mom?!?!

Again, Debbie declines the gift but he is persistent. "It's hardly even a gift . My Mom had an extra one and we thought you might like it." The rest of the staff can't stand it anymore and a chorus of, "just take it" erupted. Debbie grabbed it from his hand and tossed it on the pile, "I will open it at home with my husband and kids". He doesn't take the hint and insists that she open it right there. The office can't help but egg her on to open it.

She unties the ribbon, peels back the tape, unfurls the wrap from the neat package. It is torture as the office holds their breath. We don't want to be disappointed and we weren't! As the paper falls to the desk, the gift is revealed. A can of FDS - Feminine Deodorant Spray.

Now that's just wrong.

You Say Toh-May-Toh, I Say Toh-Mah-Toh

My fiance*, Alexander and I have always loved going to the movies. Before the show, we run into a nearby grocery store or Target to pick up snacks and sodas to smuggle into the theater. I know that they have a rule saying you can't bring outside food into their theater but that is their rule, not mine. Also, I have a rule that it should be criminal to charge people $6 for a box of candy I just bought for $1.50 at the grocery store down the street.

One snowy, New England evening, Alexander and I decide to brave the roads and go to the movies. We pull into the local Shaws Supermarket to buy Milk Duds, a Coke, and a Milky Way bar - yum! We pay and start to gingerly cross the slipery parking lot toward Alexander's silver Escape SUV. If you know me, you know I walk fast - even when I am trying to walk slowly. If you know Alexander, you know he walks slowly - almost feels like he's standing still. Naturally, I get to our car first. As I shake snow off my hair and hop into the passenger seat, I look around to see just how far ahead I am and Alexander is nowhere to be seen. Not surprising.

I'm sitting in the car annoyed that he is so slow that I will miss the previews. I rip open the Milk Duds and pop one in my mouth. After another minute, I grow concerned that maybe Alexander fell in the parking lot. As I start to get out of the SUV I see that there's a wad of money sticking out of the air vent. Hmm, that's not like him at all. Odd. I hop out of the car, search the parking lot for a man down and see nothing.

I'm starting to panic a little and that's when I see Alexander in an SUV, sipping a coke. He's in the WRONG car. HAAAA! He never does anything wrong like that so I tap on the window to bust him, and he rolls it down - wait, how did he do that? Don't you need to have the car on to do that? He takes another sip of soda and says. "where have you been? We are going to be late". Stupidly, I respond, "I was waiting in the car". We both laugh as we realize I had been sitting in the wrong car! He drives me past the car I had been in. Turns out, it was a Pathfinder. Black. He's laughing and already calling a friend to tell him I got in a car that looks nothing like his silver Escape. I still say they look kind of alike. Right? Same difference in my book.

You say Toh-May-Toh, I Say Toh-Mah-Toh.

You say Escape, I say Pathfinder.

* It should be noted that there were nights I would call my folks so upset that all my friends had dates, boyfriends, husbands and I didn't. It didn't seem fair. I mean really, I was pretty wonderful, why couldn't I find a Mr. Wonderful mate?!?! My Mom and Dad (and brother and sister-in-law, and co-workers, and best friend, and strangers I would lament my problems too) said the right person is worth waiting for. Wow, were people right! Alexander is amazing and came onto the scene when I least expected it. More to come about him and me (I'm sure he's thrilled) but I couldn't let this post go up without commenting on how right people were and how lucky I am.

I've Seen a Spy of the Future, and the Future Looks Bright

Every few weeks, the stars align and my whole family is able to gather at my parents' house. We don't care if we get together for brunch, lunch, dinner, a plate of brownies and milk...we are just happy to be hanging out. Of course, if my Mom makes her fabulous baked french toast with sausage and peaches, or meat loaf and mashed potatoes, or beef stew, or BBQ ribs....all the better!

My nephew, Billy, is only 2 and a half, the youngest of the brood and usually on the run to keep up with his big sisters. Pretty much, the only thing that sidelines him from chasing the girls around is the prospect of "helping" on a home improvement project with Gramps. When it is time to sit around the table for a meal, Billy drags his booster seat to the end of the table - right next to his buddy, Gramps.

After one particular meal, Billy asked to be excused to go play with his stuffed dog. As he hopped off his booster, half of his night's meal fell from his lap and onto the ground. There were bread crusts, pieces of macaroni, half a cucumber slice, lettuce and shredded carrots splayed out all around his chair.

Billy looked down at the mess, up at Gramps. Back down at the mess, back up to Gramps. That's when spy mode kicked in. "Wh-wh-who made that mess?" he asked. Gramps rhetorically replied, "I don't know Billy, what do you think?" Without skipping a beat, Billy responded, "Gramps, you're messy!" and off he ran.

Spy rule #1 - Admit Nothing

Spy rule #2 - Deny Everything

And #3 - Accuse Someone Else.

Brilliant.

If You Enjoy Your Job, Is It Work?

One year on the annual family pilgrimage to Cape Cod for the summer, I asked my Dad what he did for work. Blah, Blah, blah, consulting, blah, blah Exxon, blah, is what I heard. About half way through the drive, we pulled into the gas station to refuel and I asked my Dad which pump was his. I heard him say he worked at Exxon. We were at an Exxon gas station. I assumed he pumped gas. What did I know? I was 5.

My parents always get a kick out of telling people that story and from it, I have learned it's best to boil your job description down to something a 5 year old would understand. So here it is, I get paid to help people. Yea, yea, I know, you should help people whether you get paid or not and I do. Really, I do.

I walked into the Dunkin Donuts near the office one afternoon and there was an 80 year old lady with a small paper cup of hot water and 3 munchkins on a napkin. She was wearing a silver sequined beret and had perfectly applied red lipstick. She had put more time in her appearance that day than I had so as I walked past her I commented to her that I liked her beret (not for me mind you, but she looked cute in in). She beamed and told me it was the last gift her husband, Henry, had given her before he died. For years her kids encouraged her to move out of New England to the warmth of Florida but if she moved out of the cold climate, she couldn't wear the beret which reminded her of dear Henry.

As I ordered my coffee, 3 teenage punk boys walked into the shop. They were rowdy, loud and rude (holy crap, I'm getting old, right?). I watched as they approached the old lady. One of the teenagers took a munchkin off her napkin and popped it in his mouth. "Thanks granny lady" he chuckled. Another one of the trio then smacked the sparkly beret off her head and it fell to the ground. The third punk kicked it. As Henry's last gift to his love slid across the floor, I did what any good citizen who gets paid to help people would do....I called a co-worker.

I relayed the scene to a guy I work with and like a flash, two colleagues burst through the door. Tall, broad, authoritative guys whose job it is to not take crap from people asked the punks what the problem was. The punks bolted out the door hollering an apology as they ran. I picked up the beret, dusted it off and returned it to the old lady. My co-workers asked if there was anything else they could do.

Sparkly hat lady's perfectly red lips curled into a smile and she answered, "actually, it has been a while since 2 good looking men have walked me to the bus stop. What do you say fellas?" Off the three of them went. I don't know who looked happier, her or them.

Paid or unpaid - helping people feels good.

Not Quite Up In The Air

My sister-in-law, Janie and I decided to take my nieces, Ella (age 7) and Jess (age 5) to Sea World for a few days. My brother hurt his ankle a couple of weeks prior to our trip and anyone who knows him, knows that my sister-in-law is a saint. Having my brother unable to easily walk to the bathroom let alone play any sort of sport for the foreseeable future takes a special kind of woman to deal with. So, "the girls" head for the warmth of Florida leaving the injured man with the best kind of nurse possible...his mommy.

The trip starts off on a high note. Ella and Jess think the parking garage is like a roller coaster as we go up and up and up the ramps. They giggle as we get into the airport and ride an escalator to the security checkpoint. In fact, Jess declares the escalator to be, "the best ride she's been on" and Ella follows up with, "so far, this is the funnest vacation of my life!". You may be thinking that these kids need to get out more but who can complain when the little things in life make them so happy?!?!

Anyway, I digress.

Janie and I had agreed to only bring carry on bags for this 5 day trip. Great idea, right? Each of us (including the kids) had a small wheeled piece of luggage, a backpack and we brought 2 booster car seats. We were quite the sight trudging through the airport as we lamented about all of the overhead space we would be needing. I mean, has anyone flown recently? Everyone is bringing baggage on board. Who wants to pay an additional $25 per checked bag. Also, you board by zones. The higher the number, the later you board.

I travel a lot for business, mostly solo and with minimal baggage. I always seem to have boarding zone 4 - last to board - but I never really care because I like to sit towards the front of the plane and it is just me and my meager belongings. However, now, with our motley crew heading to Florida and frankly, enough crap to fill every overhead bin, I care about my boarding zone. Our seats were in the back of the plane so I figured we would be boarding first. No such luck. Zone 4.

I'm a bit of a schmoozer - part of that ability to small talk people - and can usually get what I want with a little effort. I tell Janie not to worry, I will get us bumped up in zone or at least preboard due to having the kids. Standing inline, I chat with the people around me and find out they had been bumped from the earlier flight - weather problems. Uh-oh. There are 56 people on the standby list. One college girl is trying to get to Orlando to visit her sick grandmother. I sympathized with her and then asked her the really important question...where did she get her adorable silver sling backs with the crystal butterflies? She didn't seem to mind the distraction and I now have the same shoes in my closet...see what chit chat will get you?!?!?! Shoes people will covet when I finally preview them in my home state! I digress AGAIN! Sorry.

I finally make it to the front of the line. The woman behind the counter looks frazzled, scarf askew, bun unraveling (the airline would not approve, I'm sure) and who could blame her. The people were getting restless and wanted to get on their way to "the happiest place on earth". I give her a smile, ask what all the confusion is, comment that it seems unreasonable that they have her doing everything. She says, "you're telling me" and then relays a little tale about a co-worker who called out sick but really just stayed home to see her boyfriend for an extra day. We nod in unison about how unfair it is. I figure, my preboard, low zone, oodles of overhead space is all but guaranteed, right? Wrong. I make my request and she nearly laughs in my face. Apparently everyone going to Orlando has kids so they don't preboard anyone. Duh.

I return to Janie and the kids defeated but already hatching a new plan.
Plan B.

As they board Zone 1, Zone 2, Zone 3...Janie, the kids and I move to the boarding area. We are going to be those annoying people who rush to the front of the line when our zone is finally called. If we annoy people, so be it. This is cut throat, serious business. Overhead space is no laughing matter. Our zone is called and Janie takes off...she gets right up front...people start to rush the line and Ella, Jess and I get cut off from Janie, all the way to the back of the line. My sister-in-law looks back and tries to wait put people are shoving. I see Janie shrug her shoulders at me and start to go down the jet-way. What?!?!? Oh no she didn't. I've got 2 kids, 3 bags, a booster, a backpack and a little Jess looking up at me saying, "what happened to Mommy. I don't see Mommy." That's when Plan C was hatched - humiliate people into letting us through.

In my loudest, drippy, Auntie C voice, I say, "girls, I'm sure all of these people didn't mean to cut you off from your Mommy. Who would do that on purpose?" Ella looks up at me and answers, "not nice people, that's who would do that". And just like that, people parted and let us through. Some grumbled apologies, some muttered nasty comments but nobody (including me) made eye contact. We make it to the first class aisle area, waiting to get to our seats (and hopefully overhead space) all the way in the back. The girls ask me if there will be room for everything and I reassure them that there will be plenty - though I have my doubts. A woman in first class, sipping wine decides to tell my 5 and 7 year old nieces that there probably won't be space for their stuff because the overhead bins fill up fast. Gee, thanks. I'm about to say something sarcastic to the lady when Jess booms, "tough crowd". Atta girl!

The first class lady reddens and starts to look really interested in the Sky Mall catalog.

Just when I've started to lose faith in frustrated airport people, a nice man and his adult son (heading to Florida on a father/son golf trip) asks Janie if she needs help getting items in the overhead bin. He offers to take a family photo. Despite shoving, crowds, frustration and limited space - good people emerge and even better shoes can be found!

People Person

You know when you're standing in line at Starbucks and you're thinking, "why doesn't the person ordering in front of me hurry up? How can she not know what she wants?!?! I've been standing in this line for 20 minutes with her. During this tedious wait, couldn't she have used the time wisely and figured out exactly what she wanted?!?!" and then the person in line behind you says OUT LOUD exactly what your thinking.

I'm that girl.

The one who has a comment for everything and is always looking for an opening to start a conversation.

I love people. Old, young, men, women, grumpy, perky, easy-on-the-eyes, quirky, fat, thin, over botoxed, saggy skinned - I don't care, I will talk to you. My "chit chat" in coffee lines, the elevator, with co-workers, criminals, cab drivers, bar rats, sales people, cops, my nieces, have all led to some amusing (and some frustrating) encounters. If listening and observing people is an art, then I am on a mission to perfect it.

Stay tuned old friends and new....you may recognize a story or two.