Uh oh

As I get out of my car this morning, I take my keys out of my purse to lock my car. In slow motion, as I'm taking my keys out, I fumble them and they slam into the ground with this loud, ear piercing sound. They hit the ground, my remote for my car starter shatters into pieces and I let out a long "ffffffffuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh" as I realize I can not get this fixed because James bought this at Circuit City, which is no longer in business. Craptastic. I then bend down and scramble to pick up the pieces as other people are parking their cars and giving me ridiculous looks. It's supposed to snow on Friday morning, so no I have to go outside and physically start my car like every other Bozo.

This pretty much explains my life

The Elevator

I work on the second floor of this building. I have the choice of taking the elevator or the stairs and as much as I loath the elevator I refuse to take the stairs. I do not like to take the stairs for a couple reasons. One, I can not make it up the stairs without needing my inhaler, which means I huff and puff all the way up. Two, I have tripped one too many times in my heels. Three, there is always someone behind me in a hurry and I feel they are so close to me they can see the grey hairs on my head. I feel these reasons are valid enough for me to skip the healthy benefits the stairs offer, such as working off that 16oz Dunkin Donuts coffee with the pumpkin spice creamer, or the cinnamon raisin bagel with regular cream cheese, just because I "forgot" to say low fat cream cheese.

But I have just as much hatred for the elevator as I do the stairs. This is solely because of the people who I have to share this 4' x 4' space with. The elevator is awkward enough due to this enclosed space and riding it with these people makes me want to cut the cords to the elevator. The ride up, which is a matter of 15 seconds, is just half the battle. The standing outside the elevator waiting for it to come back to ground level is just as painful.

For those of you who are forced to take the elevator at work, here are some tips:

1- Do not hold the elevator for me when I am still 25 feet away from the elevator, there is a second elevator, this is not life or death. Especially since I will not be walking any faster than I already am.

2- This goes both ways. If the door is closing while you are walking up to the elevator, it's because I have pushed the "Door Close" button. Do not stick your foot where the large, heavy doors are closing. These are capable of removing your leg from the rest of your body. Are you willing to sacrifice a foot just so you don't have to wait 10 seconds for the next elevator?

3- When I smile and say "Good Morning", do not look at me like I'm speaking gibberish and stay silent.

4- If you are standing in front of the floor buttons and I say "2nd floor, please", this means push the little button has the number 2 on it. Don't make me reach over in front of you after the doors have already closed, this will make me angry and I will end our elevator experience with a smart ass remark.

5- When I am on the second floor waiting for the down elevator and the doors open up, do not push me out of the way to get out, you are on the second floor, not the ground floor. I am getting on the elevator for the same reason. When I stand in the elevator and say "wrong floor" it is because you got off on the wrong floor. Get back on the elevator, do not look around like a stupid ass and ask "Is this the ground floor?". No, it is not. Pay attention to what floor you are on.

6- I feel my time in the elevator should be quiet time. This means no chit-chat with your co-worker about your disgusting cold symptoms, such as coughing up mucus and the color of your snot. Quiet time also excludes sneezing. Not because they are noisy, but because your germs have no where to go but onto me. I will now have to go sanitize my entire body with Lysol.

7- Lastly, my worst pet peeve is an extension of elevator quiet time. Do not talk on your cell phone in the elevator. Are you aware I can hear everything you are saying as well as what the person on the other line is saying? Well, I can. Your conversation can wait 15 seconds until we get out of the elevator. That way I am not forced to hear about what you are having for dinner/what time you need to pick your kids up/what Dr's appointments you have tomorrow.

Please people! Learn some elevator etiquette!

I would jump on Keith Urban given the chance.

I really would. Keith has security because of people like me who are willing to be arrested just to fondle him. But unfortunately I was not able to get close enough to touch him on Friday when we went to see him in concert. I was upset but there is always next time ;)

On a side note, my friends and I were shhh'd by an old bag in front of us. And it wasn't even us being loud! We were on the back row of the Harbour Club level and some loud, annoying girls were shouting at each other because one of them wanted to leave and the others didn't. So instead of looking to see who was being loud, this woman shhh'd the people closest to her. I told her to settle down and that we weren't the ones who were being loud and she didn't do it again. Who shhh's people at a concert?! James was in charge of the camera at this event....

Wheel of Fortune

I entered Tank in the Wheel of Fortune Pet Lover's Photograph Contest. So watch for him on Wheel of Fortune the week of November 30th. I told him he had to start earning some money to pay for the things he's chewed up/pissed/shit on. The list of things that he has chewed up consists of the bottom of my banister, the corner of a wall, some base molding, the bathroom vanity, James's collection of Maxim's, a magazine holder, several rugs, several hangers, and the list goes on. I also told him he needs to pay to have the carpets cleaned since he couldn't control himself in doors and has stained my new carpets. Hopefully this bozo will win this contest so I can get my house back to pre-Tank conditions.

26 going on 75

Last night while lying in bed watching the TEN O'CLOCK news (yes, ten o'clock, I can't even make it to the eleven o'clock news) I realized I am turning into an old woman and here's why. First I can not stay awake past 10:30pm for the life of me. I need my glasses to see 5ft in front of me, otherwise I make this squinty eye face which James tells me is pretty ugly. On my nightstand I have a reading lamp so I can read in bed, my current book (which is The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown, awesome!), a bottle of Tums for my heartburn, a bottle of Advil and a glass of water in case I am thirsty. Not to mention my orthopedic bed cushion and my 4 pillows that my chiropractor told me I should get to help my back. I am a mess and I'm obviously well on my way to the grave. My next birthday is not my 27th but my 75th.

PS I pulled out 3 more grey hairs today. So I'm also well on my way to being bald.

This is me, Eleanor Abernathy from the Simpsons, aka Crazy Cat Lady.

Brooko's Bozos

James gave this picture the title of Brooko's Bozos himself.

Sweating like a pig

I recently switched from Best Fitness to Bally's and since being at Bally's I've been doing a lot more people watching. This could be because at Bally's the only stations allowed on the TV are ESPN and CNN, which normally I can watch, but for a limited amount of time since they both are on repeat every half hour or so. I lose interest in these stations pretty quickly after I've seen a story once, then I am forced to stare at weird people in the gym. I can't help myself, it's like a train wreck, I can't not look.

While at the gym yesterday I counted 4 women/girls "working out" with their hair down. I am using the term "working out" lightly when describing what these people were doing. I don't know about other gym goers, but my work out consists of huffing, puffing and massive amounts of sweat. My preference while I'm profusely sweating is to have my hair out of my face and off my neck. But these girls are either not breaking a sweat (which I find impossible) or running to the bathroom every few minutes to freshen up. Either way I think these girls need to be banned from the gym. Along with the gentleman I saw talking on his phone while using the ab machine and the girl talking on the phone while on the treadmill. Who are these people and why can't they detach themselves from their phone for 30 minutes?

(I'm the pig in this picture, if you couldn't tell)

While these girls make me angry while watching them, I find it really hard not to laugh at the older women and their outfits. Yesterday I saw a woman, maybe around 60-65 years old wearing the exact outfit from Flashdance. Leg warmers, tights, a leotard and a sweatshirt. The worst part of this outfit was the fact that she was lying down on the ab machine so everyone looking that way got a show since they were faced with the area that the leotard and tights meet (you know what area I mean). In addition to the Jennifer Beals outfit, a different older woman was wearing a skirt. It just can't be comfortable.

A Family Tradition?

On my 25th birthday I found two grey hairs on my head, right in the front where everyone could see. I almost broke down, but I kept it together and pulled them out. Since then I have pulled out at least 789 others. Well, maybe not that many, but close. I am now to the point in my life where I can not pull off a dark hair color with out some highlights to hide my unfortunate condition, which scientists call poliosis, the Greek word for grey. Yes, I googled "grey hair". My stylist, Stacy, has instructed me several times to not pull them out, but it's like a sickness that I have where I can't stop myself. I will go bald before I go grey.

This turning of the tides has left me to believe turning grey is a Vincent family tradition. My Grandpa was completely grey and my dad was grey before he turned 30. My dad looks relatively good with grey hair and it works for him, but for me this "family tradition" is more of a curse because I am not a man and I will not look good with grey hair.

Here is a picture of the fam in Hawaii, for a lack of better picture since I am at work and have limited choices.

Desultory Pictorals