What an odd life I do lead....

Gosh, if you re-read some of my posts it's like a smorgasboard of humiliating tales, weird creepy people and just downright absurdity.

So, in keeping with the trend, file this one away in the WTF file, mmkay?

There's a coffee shop around the corner from work that I walk to with a coworker to sate her penchant for extra-hot Chai Lattes (the gal is a woman after my own heart I tell ya).

One day last November I decided on one of these little outings that I would partake in the lovliness that is an extra-hot Chai Latte.

It should be known that the counter guy knows my coworker not only by order, but by name as well, considering she's a daily patron.

Make sure the record shows that the counterhelp did not ask for my name when I placed the order.

It should also be known that said co-worker is about 5'10". Tall? Yes. Freakishly so? Absolutely not.

Let the record show that I, myself, am 5'6". Tall? Not necessarily. Average? Sure.



I paid the counterhelp, took my receipt and didn't think anything more of it until several weeks later when I was cleaning out my wallet and saw on the reciept that the order identifier was for "short lady."

Stop by again soon...yeah, right



Short Lady?? Short. Lady??

What the hell?



I stared at the offending words incredulously, as if I had imagined them.

I took a second look. 

Nope. Not a mistake, there it is right there in black and white: Order for: short lady.

Although it's crazy to feel offended, I couldn't help but feel a latent embarrasment for myself.  How had I not read the reciept until now? More than that, is that the best identifier the counter guy could come up with? How about (coworker's name)'s friend? Or girl with the blue top?

I don't remember the cafe being all that busy, certainly the counter guy could have been a little more creative and, ahem, nicer?

It should be known that I thought I had thrown the reciept away and it was not until this morning when I was digging through another wallet that I rediscovered it and got to relive the humiliation. Yay for me!

I placed the found reciept in my current wallet this morning before heading out the door, determined to confront the cashier guy should my coworker decide she needed an afternoon Chai.

Sure enough, she popped her head out of her office and, shortly after noon, we made the short trek around the corner to the cafe.

Armed with the offending reciept in my pocket, I felt the butterflies and anxiety begin to create a pit in my stomach.

After she ordered and moved aside to wait for her beverage, I slapped the reciept on the counter and said "So this is my identifier? What are my options in switching to another one in the future when I order my drink?"

The counter guy looked at me as if I was crazy to even be contesting him and said, unflinchingly, "We get to type in whatever we want."

"In that case, I suppose of all the other things the person could have called me I should be glad I got short lady then. Am I right?"

All he did was blink back at me.

Moral of this story? Sometimes the silver lining hurts, folks.

Lions and Tigers and Bears….Oh, MY!

Last week husband and I were having a conversation about….something, and in typical fashion one topic bled into another, which then inspired a tangent that somehow re-routed us to childhood toys and whether or not they were given names.
I recalled one Christmas in particular I was given a stuffed bear that I named Ophelia and used to love to pretend it was my baby because it was filled with pellets that gave it a comforting heft to hold and sleep with.

In trying to further explain the wonder that was my stuffed bear, Husband was puzzled by a teddy bear having “heft” and being “dressed to look kind of like people.” I explained that the bears were really popular and were quite expensive, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember the brand name, suffice to say they were essentially a “designer” teddy bear.

This conversation, that I can assure you dear Husband has forgotten about, has had me cross referencing my brain and memory bank in attempt to recall the name of those elusive bears that have since lost popularity outside a small niche of people.

For the last week, in my few moments of down time at work I’ve conducted a series of Bear-centric Google searches in an attempt to exhaust my own resources before using one of my lifelines.

I stuck with Google Image searches because I knew I’d recognize the bears themselves immediately.

My results were nothing short of colorful.

Of course, searching for any combination of the words ‘designer,’ ‘bear,’ ‘American,’ and ‘teddy bear,’ will bring up photos of all types of teddy bears, people dressed as bears, a teddy bear dressed in a Chanel tweed suit and thousands of pictures of the Grizzly, Panda, Polar and Black Bear variety. But not the beloved toy I was hoping to find.

The search that followed included some permutation of the words “heavy,” “stuffed,” “bear” and “doll” in a combination I won’t soon repeat, as what was retrieved was a collection of images that quickly educated me on the homosexual subculture of Bears.

If you’re curious, I’ll spare you the humiliating task of performing a Google search which subsequently requires catlike reflexes to close the hundreds of X-rated pop ups that follow: Bears are essentially tall, heavy set, hairy gay men that inspire the waif-like gay men or just gay men, period, to cuddle.

Let's leave it at that shall we? Wikipedia it (yes, I used that as a verb) if you're that interested...

I quickly minimized the page and had a brief premonition of me being escorted out of the building, signing termination papers for looking at Gay Porn during work hours and trying to reasonably explain myself to future employers. My co-workers would have been SO confused!

Embarrassed for myself (isn't that the worst kind?!) and still none the wiser on the name of that damn bear company, I surrendered and texted my mom.

Me: Question: remember those expensive teddy bears you bought
us for Christmas one year?? What were they called??

Mom: Boyd's Bears

Me: Yes! It's been driving me crazy for a week!

Mom: And why are we thinking about these bears?

Me: I don't know! You should see my google history though: teddy bears,
designer bears, American bears, bear dolls (which had some porn!?!)

Mom: That figures

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wait, What??

My mom is aware of the gay subculture that is BEARS?? What in God's great world are my parents doing in that big empty house of theirs? And furthermore, in what world should a person EXPECT to find porn when Googling bears.

How you know you're in the sexual slow lane: When your mother knows more about gay subcultures than you do.


(***Edited to add: Mom didn't actually know about Gay Bears, she just figured the porn industry will tag just about anything so it'll pop up in Google searches and Dad assumed it was for those with lower IQs who would spell bare as bear when looking for porn. Wahoo! I'm back to traveling with the flow of traffic on the sexual super highway***)

February can suck it

This has been my mantra for the first two weeks of the month. It’s amazing how an entire month can go to hell in a hand basket in just 11 days, but it can and it has.

Here’s a rundown of the Joys of February thus far:
- A work project sent me down to San Jose for a day. For anyone not paying attention, that’s a round trip of about 6 hours…and that’s if you're traveling at off peak hours and no one of lessened IQ or driving competence is on the road. Seeing as how i'd need to be there by 2:30 and leave to head home at 4 and this is THE BAY we're talking about, I could expect a good long time in the car trying to not go completely ape $#!%

- I learned of this day-long road trip exactly 18 hours before I was due to leave prompting a rush to rearrange schedules to accommodate two people sharing one car, an emergency gathering of batteries, video tapes, lighting gear and camera to prepare for the project and a quick prayer to The Man Upstairs to keep my car (which had recently began shuddering when I accelerated or was stopped at a light) to get me safely down and back.

- Lost equipment that not only induced panic and crying jags, but also a last ditch effort to purchase a new microphone a mere 12 hours before I left for San Jose.

- A court mandated freeze on Husband’s and my bank account, for which we got a “courtesy call” from our bank en route to San Jose. Cue a day of telephone with a bank representative and a paralegal from the law firm working on the case trying to iron out the details only to discover it’s a case of mistaken identity that will take another week and counting to un-FUBAR it.

- A $400 repair on the aforementioned shuddering car (which lasted the entire trip…half of which before the ‘check engine’ light came on. Between that and the call from our bank, husband and I were thisclose to Thelma and Louise-ing it)

- Sore throat, head congestion and a cough that lasted for a week (so far…) that has totally put me off the taste of cherry cough drops, tissues without lotion and the color green. TMI??

There are more, smaller insignificant details and possibly some larger more significant events that I’m probably forgetting but you get the jist.

Actually, seeing it all typed out and in front of my face it may not sound terrible as most of these events happened in a single day, but understand that while they may have only happened on one day, their after effects are taking weeks (or in the case of the car, a month) before they are resolved or the cost ceases to be felt.

Like I said before, if the first two weeks of February are any indication of how the rest of the month is expected to go, February can suck it….

Megan and the Delegates

Earlier this week, I was asked to photograph a luncheon of some of New Job's head honchos meeting with delegates from Japan at a local mansion. I was told lunch would be over at 1:30 so to be on the safe side, I decided to arrive at 1:15 to scope out a decent picture locale and to allow for the trek over (in 90+ degree heat I might add).

Mid-video editing I glanced over at my desk clock and, oh crap, it was 12:52 and the mansion was several blocks over. I jumped up from my desk, grabbed the camera and detachable flash and assembled the camera en-route to the elevator.

I was told there would be a butler (A BUTLER!) expecting me and that he would show me to the room where the luncheon was being held. However, when I arrived at the mansion the front door was merely cracked and there was no butler to be seen.

Keeping calm, I tip toed down the long hallway until I began to hear voices in the room at the end of the hall. 'Perfect, this is it' I thought. Except, upon closer eavesdropping, the voice I heard was giving a history of the mansion and the former governor who'd called the place home.

"Oh great, this is a school tour...I'm supposed to be photographing Japanese delegates and presidents of big companies and I've got the room with the Girl Scout tour....where the F is this thing?"

Apparently my standing outside the barely open door caught the eye of the tourguide who said to his audience "And that will have to do because I think your photographer is here."

Wait, what?!

I looked at my watch, it was only 1:15! I thought I was EARLY but they're finished? That mean's technically....I'm LATE!

I nervously walked into the room where dozens of Japanese business men smiled at me, and I attempted as best I could to avoid eye contact with the Head Honcho's from New Job.

The Tourguide, who wound up being the Butler too, brought me a step ladder and Head Honchos herded the delegates over to a corner of the room for their photo session.

As the room was a touch on the dark side I quickly tested the light and shot a few test photos when I noticed the flash wasn't going off.

And that's when I remembered, per Boss' request, I store the flash sans batteries. My batteries were back at my desk, in the camera bag where I'd stashed them after the last photo assignment.

"Uhm excuse me, sir? You wouldn't happen to have any double A batteries I could borrow....I seem to have left mine," I quitely and quickly asked the Butler.

I nervously turned back to the corner where Head Honchos and Japanese Delegates were all standing, looking at me expectedly like "What kind of photographer is this?! Shouldn't she be taking the D*** picture now? We're hot, we're in suits and WE'RE BORED!"

Butler came back with two boxes of batteries and said "I don't know if these are any good but you're welcome to try."

Gee, thanks....because that doesn't make me look more like a prized idiot.

I quickly jammed the batteries into the flash, silently cursing myself and praying to God that I get a decent shot.

I once again turned back to my group of waiting Suits who were now coughing and chuckling uncomfortably.

Ok, I get it guys you've had your lunch and you're ready to get this picture over with so you can go....I'm sorry, I'm an idiot today.

Holding the camera I climbed up the three steps of the step ladder, careful not to flash too much leg or un-wrap the fold of my conservative black wrap dress. As I stepped up to the third step (a mere 2 1/2 feet of the ground, mind you) the room erupted in a unison "oooohhh" not totally unlike the aliens in Toy Story.

Panicked that I'd had a wardrobe malfunction or missed one of the Suits passing out from heat stroke or dropping dead from the sheer boredom of waiting for the photographer (me), I looked up to see that what they were Ooh-ing at was.....me.

Confused, I gave a few nervous giggles and tugged my dress closed just out of precaution.

"Don't fall" one of the Suits said.

It's not even 3 feet, you're OOOhing for THAT?

And just like that, whooosh, it started at my toes and took off to my head, I felt my face turn an embarrased bright red Hot Pink.

"Alright everyone squeeze in and SMILE" I nervously said.

Click, Click, Click and.... No flash.

Screw it, I thought. You can fix it in photoshop, just take the damn picture and get OUT OF THERE!

"Oh, do you want me to turn up the lights, is it too dark in here" Butler asked.

"Uhm, yeah, that'd be great" ANYTHING to get more light in here and PLEASE God, let me be able to fix this in photoshop, I thought.

A few more clicks of the camera and I was done.

"Ok thank you everyone, that was great," I said, already planning my hasty exit.

But before I could begin my decent from the stepstool that apparently rivals Everest three of the Suits started toward me, arms outstretched with.....Cameras.

"Oh, you want pictures too?" DAMN

"Ok, and you, too? Oh and you Sir? Ok sure"

Back up Everest I went, two cameras in each hand, plus one around my neck.

"Let's see how well I can juggle, shall we?" I said, expecting the room to at least chuckle a little.

YOU COULD HEAR CRICKETS....they stared at me blankly again as if to say "just take the damn picture, lady"

OK...

I quickly hung the cameras off each of my arms like a giant, camera Christmas Tree and snapped the fastest round of pictures I could manage.

"Alright that oughta do it, thank you all, have a wonderful time in Sacramento,"

And with that I hopped down from Everest (to another chorus of Oooohs) and bolted.

I'm pretty sure I left skid-marks.

At least those Japanese Delegates will have a fun story about the dingy, camera juggling California photographer......