A letter to the customers of TRAX:

To the woman who tries to bum a cigarette off me everyday:
I didn’t have a cigarette two weeks ago, last week, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. Why would you assume that I had one today? Just in case I decided to take up smoking since yesterday?

To the angry adolescent who insists on turning his ipod up to share his music with everyone despite the fact that he is wearing ear bud head phones:
You are a douche and you have terrible taste in music.

To the teenage boys who have recently discovered swear words and therefore play the game “Who can insert the most profanity into one sentence?”:
Children, grow up. You look stupid. You sound stupid. Therefore, you must be stupid. Good luck in life.

To the psycho who finds in necessary to scream obscenities, jump from the platform onto the train tracks, and spin around in circles until you fall down:
I just don’t even know.

To the woman who reeks like cigarette smoke and the unwashed college boy with offensive body odor and greasy hair:
Please take into consideration that you will be in very close proximity to people who take pride in their appearance and actually get ready in the morning. They do not wish to stink like a chimney and/or pubescent boy.

To the man who stands on the platform and hocks loogies every 45 seconds:
That is just disgusting. What makes you think it is appropriate behavior to cover the tracks with your sinus content? Also, if you need to spit so often, there is probably something wrong with you. I suggest you see a doctor.

To the dude who solves the Rubix cube over and over during his ride to wherever:
I am super impressed. So is everyone else.

To the inconsiderate miscreants who won’t give up his/her seat for elderly, pregnant women, handicapped people, or families:
Karma. It will come back to you. And it will bite you.

What the hell?

Have you ever had one of those 'what the hell' moments? I am sure you have. I feel like I have a 'what the hell' moment at least once a day.

So, New Year's Day I met my friend at Barnes and Noble. After we had our fill of wedding talk and tea, we parted ways and I made my way south on 1300 East. I was singing along to whatever Boston song was playing on 103.5 when I looked up and noticed a man walking down the street. The man was dirty looking (possibly partying too hard to ring in the new year), sporting a short sweatshirt and baggy pants. But wait a minute. Usually when a man wears baggy pants, you would see boxers sticking out. The man was missing boxers. Rather, his junk was flapping in the wind.

I drove by and had to check my rearview mirror to make sure I had really seen what I saw. Sure enough, my rearview mirror was filled with a hairy butt.

Now, I don't know if 1. this fellow was on a walk of shame, was 2. so drunk that he didn't realize that he had forgotten his underpants or 3. was a pervert. I just don't know.

Therefore, What the hell?

Klassy.

Disclaimer: Because of the strong language used during this story, the 'F' word will be substituted with 'potato chips'. Thanks to Levi for the choice of substitute.

So, on the flight from Denver to Northwest Regional Arkansas, we had the pleasure of flying with the klassiest of people. This debutante was no doubt reared in the bustling metropolis of Pineville, Missouri and had obviously never been on a plane before.

As Denver will sometimes get cold, we had to wait for a little while to de-ice the plane. Any one who has traveled during winter knows the drill. We waited for about an hour to de-ice and get on our way. During this process, the pilot made the following announcement:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be getting on our way as soon as possible. Because of the de-icing process, we will need to shut down the plane's cooling system, but we'll have that up and running as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience."

Not five minutes later, we heard a loud voice scream "AIR.....AIR!!!" from somewhere in the back of the plane. If the general bellow wasn't enough to shock and embarrass everyone on the plane, this peach decided it was necessary to go proceed with an impressive knowledge of the sailor's dictionary. Example:

"Why is there no 'potato chips' air on this 'potato chips' plane? If I don't get some mother 'potato chips' air I am going to have a 'potato chips' fit! What is the 'potato chips' deal? Is it so 'potato chips' hard to get some air on this 'potato chips' plane?

Klassy. Nuff said.

Vicks on your feet.

So, with my latest cold came many possible ‘remedy’ ideas from various people. Now, I tend to be horribly skeptical about cold remedies as a cold is a virus and there is no way to ‘cure’ it. It must run its course. The possible remedies ranged from Airborne (ugh) to acupuncture. Though all of these things were quasi-tempting (colds are just the worst!) I think my favorite was the remedy of lathering the soles of my feet with Vicks Vaporub and putting socks over it. This came from my mother and was then confirmed by several of my coworkers as well as Snopes.com (http://www.snopes.com/medical/homecure/vaporub.asp).

After listening to all of the stories I decided that I would give it a try. What could it hurt anyway? So I stopped at Smith’s, purchased a large tub of Vicks and headed home. At 8:30 pm, I washed my feet thoroughly, lathered the bottoms with Vicks, put on a pair of thick socks, and climbed into bed for what I hoped would be a cough-free night.

My feet had a very pleasant tingling sensation and I did feel extra warm. It was a cozy feeling of being in a cocoon. Fifteen minutes later I had a coughing attack. I coughed four or five painful, chest-wrenching, phlegm-ful, pit of my stomach coughs. Bummer.

I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. The study quoted on snopes.com was performed on children…perhaps the effects took longer for adults. I decided that it hadn’t been long enough to work properly. Again, I snuggled back into my down comforter and comfy pillow. Not three minutes later, I sat up with another coughing fit. Ugh.

My night continued in this fashion until around 4:30 am, when I drifted into pleasant, coughless sleep.

I came to work the next day to much curiosity as to whether the Vicks really worked. Sleep deprived and awfully grumpy, I announced that Vicks on your feet didn’t work and I was not happy about it! My coworker (who is also suffering from a cold) danced back to my desk and asked if I was so pleased about the remedy! She used it and slept like a baby! Between you and me, I wanted to hit her in the face.

So here is my conclusion: Vicks on your feet works if you think it will work. As I am a skeptical creature, it would not work on me. There you have it. Give it a try. If nothing else, it makes the soles of your feet awfully smooth.

My Super Skirt!

I finally decided to give in to the skinny jean fad. I called my sister (the ultimate in all things fashion) and asked where I could obtain the cheapest pair of skinny jeans. I had come across a few pair that were upwards of $30 but quickly decided that no one should spend that much on a fad. After a frightening experience at Forever 21, April suggested that I give Target a whirl. With her guidance, I set off for Target in search of a pair of cheap skinny jeans.

Trusty Target has never failed me yet. I walked into the juniors department (ugh) and found many styles, fabrics, and fades. I chose a few different styles and quickly made my decision. However, seeing as how I was in Target and seeing as how I am me, I could not simply walk into Target with a purpose and leave with only that item. No. Target is a place to browse and pick up other items on clearance.

While browsing the colorful racks I happened upon a skirt: The Super Skirt. It is a loose pencil skirt that is blue and white print with large black flowers. It is stretchy, it swings, and has a really thick waist band (toward which women everywhere over the size of 6 are inevitably drawn). I decided against trying it on as I had already been through that circus with the skinny jeans and didn’t want to relive it. I found my size, gathered a few long sleeve t-shirts, my skinny jeans, and checked out.

The next day, I had reason to get dressed up. What better time to debut my cute new skirt? I put on my under things and black turtle neck. I grabbed the skirt and put one leg in. As my right leg entered the skirt I felt a very odd sensation. The lining of the skirt was hugging my right leg. In great panic I looked at the size to make sure I had the correct size. Sure enough, it was a medium. I was just about to be mortified by the circumference of my thighs when I looked down and saw that the creature forming to my leg was not the lining at all. The skirt had a built in pair of spanx.

A new wave of horror struck me. Has my life come to this!?! Am I now the type of woman who has to wear a pair of spanx with my skirts? Grumbling and depressed, I hoisted my left leg into the other side of the biker shorts. I pulled the skirt on and instantly felt the itchy spandex material form me into unnatural shapes. With hesitation, I looked into the mirror. It didn’t look bad at all! I might have felt like a granny, but the skirt was just as cute as I thought it was on the hanger.

So there you have it. I own a skirt with a built in pair of spanx. It is not humiliating; I think of it as my Super Skirt!!

The Cretin

In the heart of the Cottonwood apartments lurks a creature so foul, he has come to be known as ‘The Cretin.’ The Cretin stalks around the complex frightening women and stray cats with his hairy shape and fetid stench. He grunts maniacally and struts like a body builder…only lacking muscle mass.

The Cretin, as it turns out, dwells primarily in moderately lit places that smell of sweat and metal, such as a gym. The Cottonwood Cretin can be viewed in his natural habitat at the Cottonwood apartment’s fitness center. He tends to be most active around 5:15 am.

While usually harmless, The Cretin will wait until an unsuspecting gym goer enters the Cottonwood apartment’s fitness center; that is when he strikes. He is courteous enough to allow the gym goer to warm up, begin his or her morning run, and get into the overall grove of the work out. 15 minutes into his/her gym experience, The Cretin opens the door with great ferocity and manliness, slams it with the equal amount of testosterone, and heads straight for the TV. He reaches up and turns on the LG TV and proceeds to turn it to the Spike channel (where ultimate fighter is inevitably on). Just to add icing to the cake, he feels it necessary to turn the volume all the way up, no doubt to intimidate his prey who you can find cowering on the treadmill.

After this awe-inspiring spectacle, The Cretin struts his way to the weight lifting machine. Interestingly, this creature doesn’t seem to require stretching, cardio, or anything to loosen up his muscles before lifting. He immediately moves the weight setting as high as he can stand and begins lifting while perspiring like a pig and screaming/grunting like an angry gorilla. After lifting the weights 2-3 times, he drops the weights, causing them to make a huge crashing noise and sighs/pants for a few minutes. After an adequate rest period, he moves on to the next type of weight lifting. He continues in this fashion for 30 minutes or so. He really ends up resting and panting for the majority of the time, to allow the prey ample time to admire the sweat glistening down his hairy back creating a decent sized puddle on the floor.

Eventually, The Cretin will cause his prey to run away, whether in fear or disgust, no one really knows. There are days when he allows those unsuspecting gym goers to exercise in peace; however, not this week. Perhaps it’s due to the new moon. Perhaps it is due to the meteor shower.

Should you choose to use the Cottonwood apartment’s fitness center, beware The Cottonwood Cretin.

Just an update...

My bumper is fixed.

My window is up.

My Brake light is on.

Go figure.