For Christmas last year, Mommy Dearest and The Dude (this is Dad's new Blog moniker....or Blogiker if you will) gifted Husband and I with a mystery weekend away.
Seeing as we'd have limited funds to do anything more than eat, pay rent, fill cars with gas and stash away every stray penny to our savings account for our future home, they thought we might eventually need a vacation.
Now, it being a little over four months in, they thought right!
We leave tomorrow for.....somewhere (isn't that the point of a Mystery Vacation?)
My coworkers don't seem to grasp this concept. In fact, they can't get past THEIR OWN confusion to see the thrill of it all.
My conversations at work have gone a little something like this:
Me: "I'll need that by Wednesday afternoon at the latest, otherwise it'll have to wait until Monday because i'm on Vacation for the rest of the week."
Them: "Oh you're going on a vacation? That's nice! Where are you going?"
Me: "I don't know"
Them: "You don't know?? How don't you know? Didn't you plan something? Oh! Are you staying home? is it a Stay-cation?" (I hate this term by the way....Stay-cations are bullshit. It negates the point of a vacation, the root word of which is to VACATE- you can thank my gramma for that lesson in root words)
Me: "No, I mean I really don't know. I know I'm going somewhere, I just don't know where. My parents planned it as a Christmas present, we'll find out where we're going just before we leave and then other surprises will unfold while we're there."
Them: "But what will you pack? What will you do? Are you flying or driving? What if you need a jacket? What kind of shoes? Do you need a fancy dress? Where will you eat? What will you eat? Do you need reservations? What if you don't like it? What if you're hiking and you don't have the right shoes?"
This is usually the point where I run for cover before their heads explode.
Seriously people, chill...I'm sure my parent's won't send me into the bear infested wilderness without a fancy dress or proper footwear....right? RIGHT?!
Classic. Timeless. Perfect With Pearls
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
The more you know...
Things I learned today this week (see my complaint with blogger below):
- Turning 26 has little impact on the age you act when hungry, tired or cranky. I still act like an ill-adjusted 3-year-old with anger management issues. Give me a granola bar or some crackers and BAM! Back to being 26....well, sorta
- Contrary to my belief, Butter Lover's popcorn has fewer calories and saturated fat than the light buttered popcorn I had been buying because I thought it was "healthier." What a Crock!
- On another popcorn-related note, unpopped microwave popcorn has 130 calories. Popped microwave popcorn has only 70. Which begs the question, what nut job is eating a brick of coagulated microwave popcorn butter and popcorn kernals?? Why not just eat suet you Whack-a-Doodle?!
- I can beat Sudoku on my nook in 10 minutes or less....on the easy mode. With hints.
- In Realtor's terms, an open house from 1-3 really means starts at 1, ends at 3 or when I have two offers that are good enough for me, whichever comes first. In our case, when we arrived at 2:45, the realtor was just pulling out of the driveway. She made sure to reprimand us first for being "late" then, after we mentioned the time, admitted she'd gotten two offers already so -shrug-.
- That if you schedule a post to go "live" on Monday morning, it'll wait until Tuesday evening to send you an e-mail alert that you have "un published blog drafts, would you like to publish them now?" Wasn't that the point of scheduling it to publish? So that I wouldn't have to log back in to click the damn publish button??
- Also? Apparently my nook believes that a spa is a place for losers....no wonder I had such a hard time on that crossword puzzle. I have to disagree with the nook on that one:
- Turning 26 has little impact on the age you act when hungry, tired or cranky. I still act like an ill-adjusted 3-year-old with anger management issues. Give me a granola bar or some crackers and BAM! Back to being 26....well, sorta
- Contrary to my belief, Butter Lover's popcorn has fewer calories and saturated fat than the light buttered popcorn I had been buying because I thought it was "healthier." What a Crock!
- On another popcorn-related note, unpopped microwave popcorn has 130 calories. Popped microwave popcorn has only 70. Which begs the question, what nut job is eating a brick of coagulated microwave popcorn butter and popcorn kernals?? Why not just eat suet you Whack-a-Doodle?!
- I can beat Sudoku on my nook in 10 minutes or less....on the easy mode. With hints.
- In Realtor's terms, an open house from 1-3 really means starts at 1, ends at 3 or when I have two offers that are good enough for me, whichever comes first. In our case, when we arrived at 2:45, the realtor was just pulling out of the driveway. She made sure to reprimand us first for being "late" then, after we mentioned the time, admitted she'd gotten two offers already so -shrug-.
- That if you schedule a post to go "live" on Monday morning, it'll wait until Tuesday evening to send you an e-mail alert that you have "un published blog drafts, would you like to publish them now?" Wasn't that the point of scheduling it to publish? So that I wouldn't have to log back in to click the damn publish button??
- Also? Apparently my nook believes that a spa is a place for losers....no wonder I had such a hard time on that crossword puzzle. I have to disagree with the nook on that one:
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
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.
Nope. Not a mistake, there it is right there in black and white: Order for: short lady.
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Wordless Wednesday:
"Grey is the new chic and pink is the new joy"
*~ Stolen from a friend who took the words right from my mouth ~*
Friday, March 25, 2011
You look like a baby!
The other day I was walking over to the Capitol to take pictures of a bill hearing. I do this quite frequently during the week and as I've posted before (**apparently I haven't! Ok, well I will**), there's always something new to look at or people to watch.
This day was no exception.
As I approached the Capitol, I noticed an older man walking his bike, our eyes met and I politely smiled as we crossed paths.
No sooner had I taken two paces past him, he calls out to me, "C'mere a minute!"
I, thinking he's lost or needs help, stop and turn to the man.
He walks up to me and, well beyond the social norm of personal space, gets thisclose to my face and squints into my eyes.
"How old are you?" He interrogates.
"26" I say with an obvious question mark at the end of the statement.
He bolts back from my face and exclaims "You look like a baby! You're just a baby!"
"I thought you were one ah them kindey-gartners here on a school trip! I was gonna call security and have them find yer mommy cuz you're just a baby!"
"Nope, I'm a grown up. I'm here for my job! Ok, see you later!" (God, I hope not..)
He takes up his bike again and continues on his way muttering loudly and dotting his sentences with "she's a baby!"
First this and now this?
What am I, fly paper for crazy old people?
This day was no exception.
As I approached the Capitol, I noticed an older man walking his bike, our eyes met and I politely smiled as we crossed paths.
No sooner had I taken two paces past him, he calls out to me, "C'mere a minute!"
I, thinking he's lost or needs help, stop and turn to the man.
He walks up to me and, well beyond the social norm of personal space, gets thisclose to my face and squints into my eyes.
"How old are you?" He interrogates.
"26" I say with an obvious question mark at the end of the statement.
He bolts back from my face and exclaims "You look like a baby! You're just a baby!"
"I thought you were one ah them kindey-gartners here on a school trip! I was gonna call security and have them find yer mommy cuz you're just a baby!"
"Nope, I'm a grown up. I'm here for my job! Ok, see you later!" (God, I hope not..)
He takes up his bike again and continues on his way muttering loudly and dotting his sentences with "she's a baby!"
First this and now this?
What am I, fly paper for crazy old people?
What the Tub Threw Up
**This post is a week late…deal with it**
Last Monday was the day that just Would.Not.Die.
Long story short, it was the horrible, awful, no good, very bad day that got better (!) before it turned black, ugly and smelly.
The bright spot of the day was when I learned Mommy Dearest was in town shopping with Monster. After a particularly rotten day at work, Husband and I decided I needed a hug and some sympathy from MD .
We met up with them at Sam's before heading to Wal-Mart before MD decided to treat us to dinner at Red Robin (where we surprised her by having the wait staff sing Happy Birthday to her 4 days early…she was totally out of the loop and it was HY-sterical!)
I’m getting to the ugly part, don’t you start thinking I’m a drama queen….
Husband dropped me off at home around 9 before driving Monster back to her apartment. I decided to treat myself to a nice warm bath to relax before heading to bed but, when I started to drain the tub, I heard a bubbling, gurgling noise coming from our second bathroom down the hall. Wrapped in a towel I sprinted down the hall and found this in the second bathtub:
Well that can’t be good.
You can’t tell in the pictures but there were leaves, bark and what appeared to be seaweed in the muck. Last time I checked I wasn’t bathing trees in that tub and I certainly wasn’t using the second bathroom as a makeshift sushi bar so this was all really quite interesting to me.
And it smelled like dirt, mixed with standing water mixed with poo-filled pond. It was like the thing from the black lagoon had a tummy ache and exploded in my bathtub.
Being the smart girl that I am, I grabbed the plunger and got to work (yes, still in a towel with my hair in a turbie-twist. I looked like a white Aunt Jemima churning black, stinky butter, not my best look).
When 10 minutes of plunging did squat, I got myself presentable and waited for Husband to come home, I’m sure he was really sorry to miss the Aunt Jemima Butter Churning show.
Another 15 minutes of plunging had reaped no reward so we called our afterhours emergency maintenance team to come give it a shot.
Grumpy McDouchey (not his real name, obviously) showed up about 20 minutes after we called and explained the problem and that 20 minutes of plunging the crap out of our bathtub had done nada and what does he do? Gets a plunger and starts going to town on our bathtub.
Right. Cuz we hadn’t tried that.
-30 minutes later- Estimated time 10:30
“It seems to be clogged.”
Oh, really?
“We’ll have to call a plumber in the morning, because plunging doesn’t seem to be working.”
Yeah! We Know! That’s why we called you! And no, we can’t wait until morning because we have jobs.
No, for real. We. Have. JOBS.
“We have to work in the morning and I really don’t feel comfortable sleeping with this just standing in my bathtubs (by this point the sludge had begun to come up in our master bathtub..you know, the one I shower in?) it's a health hazard so I’d appreciate it if you’d call a 24-hour plumber or else I’ll go to a hotel and see that the apartment manager reimburses us for the expense.”
“I can’t do that, it’s not my authority and if you’ll have to take it up with the manager. What time can the plumber be here in the morning?”
“Well, like I said, we have to go to work so can he be here by 6?”
“Oh that’s not going to happen. He can be here between 11-2."
It was at this point that Husband stepped in because I was quite literally about to lose my shit on this guy.
Husband was able to sweet-talk Grumpy McDouche into getting his manager to come investigate the problem.
CrabApple McJerkface (also probably not his real name) knocked on our door with a vaccumy tool at around 11 and began trying to suck out whatever was clogging our drain. Thirty minutes go by and:
“It’s not working; we’ll have to have a plumber come by in the morning.”
He basically has a repeat of the conversation I had just had with Grumpy McDouche, with Husband.
Now Husband is about to read these guys the riot act (notice his version of losing his temper is a lot more dignified than my ‘losing of the shit’??) When Grumpy McDouche dawdles out of the hall bathroom and says “It’s stuck (referring to their vaccumy tool) we’ll have to call a plumber.”
FREAKING FINALLY!
The plumber is called and CrabApple McJerkface informs us that he will be arriving by 2 a.m., at this point it is midnight and we have spent 3 hours fighting to get them to call a plumber so we agree.
Husband brews a pot of coffee, I settle in with a book, Grumpy McDouche goes home (presumably) and CrabApple McJerkface leaves and tells us to call him when the plumber arrives and he’ll come back to sign the work order.
At 1:30 the plumber arrives with a bigger vaccumy thingamajig, followed closely by CrabApple McJerkface who is giving a recap of the issue heavy on the emphasis that we refused to wait until morning thus the reason why his dinky tool is stuck in our tub drain.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER(!!)
I hear the drain sucking and slurping down the muck that the bathtub threw up. The plumber emerges from the secondary bathroom holding the biggest dreadlock I’ve ever seen like the winning trout in a fishing competition.
“That’s not mine!” were the first words out of my mouth.
The plumber explained the hair was probably built up over years and because our two tubs share a drain pipe, the blockage got lodged in the pipe between the two bathtubs and thus caused the black muck to back up into both bathtubs.
“It was a quick fix! You guys shouldn’t have any problems.”
!!!!! - yeah, we were ticked. We had just spent 4 hours fighting with the circus troupe our apartment complex calls a maintenance team for what a plumber called a quick fix.
As the plumber left, CrabApple McJerkface practically had his tail between his legs as he followed the plumber out of our apartment mumbling something about being right back.
He returned 10 minutes later…armed with some 409 and a sponge.
And that is how I got my bathtubs cleaned for free by my apartment maintenance manager.
And yes, I might have been doing a little victory dance while whispering “Scrub my tub, sucka” in the living room while he cleaned out the bathtubs. That’s just how I roll…
**P.S. He did a really crappy job so it technically wasn’t a victory, but still, you gotta take what you can get**
Last Monday was the day that just Would.Not.Die.
Long story short, it was the horrible, awful, no good, very bad day that got better (!) before it turned black, ugly and smelly.
The bright spot of the day was when I learned Mommy Dearest was in town shopping with Monster. After a particularly rotten day at work, Husband and I decided I needed a hug and some sympathy from MD .
We met up with them at Sam's before heading to Wal-Mart before MD decided to treat us to dinner at Red Robin (where we surprised her by having the wait staff sing Happy Birthday to her 4 days early…she was totally out of the loop and it was HY-sterical!)
I’m getting to the ugly part, don’t you start thinking I’m a drama queen….
Husband dropped me off at home around 9 before driving Monster back to her apartment. I decided to treat myself to a nice warm bath to relax before heading to bed but, when I started to drain the tub, I heard a bubbling, gurgling noise coming from our second bathroom down the hall. Wrapped in a towel I sprinted down the hall and found this in the second bathtub:
Well that can’t be good.
You can’t tell in the pictures but there were leaves, bark and what appeared to be seaweed in the muck. Last time I checked I wasn’t bathing trees in that tub and I certainly wasn’t using the second bathroom as a makeshift sushi bar so this was all really quite interesting to me.
And it smelled like dirt, mixed with standing water mixed with poo-filled pond. It was like the thing from the black lagoon had a tummy ache and exploded in my bathtub.
Being the smart girl that I am, I grabbed the plunger and got to work (yes, still in a towel with my hair in a turbie-twist. I looked like a white Aunt Jemima churning black, stinky butter, not my best look).
When 10 minutes of plunging did squat, I got myself presentable and waited for Husband to come home, I’m sure he was really sorry to miss the Aunt Jemima Butter Churning show.
Another 15 minutes of plunging had reaped no reward so we called our afterhours emergency maintenance team to come give it a shot.
Grumpy McDouchey (not his real name, obviously) showed up about 20 minutes after we called and explained the problem and that 20 minutes of plunging the crap out of our bathtub had done nada and what does he do? Gets a plunger and starts going to town on our bathtub.
Right. Cuz we hadn’t tried that.
-30 minutes later- Estimated time 10:30
“It seems to be clogged.”
Oh, really?
“We’ll have to call a plumber in the morning, because plunging doesn’t seem to be working.”
Yeah! We Know! That’s why we called you! And no, we can’t wait until morning because we have jobs.
No, for real. We. Have. JOBS.
“We have to work in the morning and I really don’t feel comfortable sleeping with this just standing in my bathtubs (by this point the sludge had begun to come up in our master bathtub..you know, the one I shower in?) it's a health hazard so I’d appreciate it if you’d call a 24-hour plumber or else I’ll go to a hotel and see that the apartment manager reimburses us for the expense.”
“I can’t do that, it’s not my authority and if you’ll have to take it up with the manager. What time can the plumber be here in the morning?”
“Well, like I said, we have to go to work so can he be here by 6?”
“Oh that’s not going to happen. He can be here between 11-2."
It was at this point that Husband stepped in because I was quite literally about to lose my shit on this guy.
Husband was able to sweet-talk Grumpy McDouche into getting his manager to come investigate the problem.
CrabApple McJerkface (also probably not his real name) knocked on our door with a vaccumy tool at around 11 and began trying to suck out whatever was clogging our drain. Thirty minutes go by and:
“It’s not working; we’ll have to have a plumber come by in the morning.”
He basically has a repeat of the conversation I had just had with Grumpy McDouche, with Husband.
Now Husband is about to read these guys the riot act (notice his version of losing his temper is a lot more dignified than my ‘losing of the shit’??) When Grumpy McDouche dawdles out of the hall bathroom and says “It’s stuck (referring to their vaccumy tool) we’ll have to call a plumber.”
FREAKING FINALLY!
The plumber is called and CrabApple McJerkface informs us that he will be arriving by 2 a.m., at this point it is midnight and we have spent 3 hours fighting to get them to call a plumber so we agree.
Husband brews a pot of coffee, I settle in with a book, Grumpy McDouche goes home (presumably) and CrabApple McJerkface leaves and tells us to call him when the plumber arrives and he’ll come back to sign the work order.
At 1:30 the plumber arrives with a bigger vaccumy thingamajig, followed closely by CrabApple McJerkface who is giving a recap of the issue heavy on the emphasis that we refused to wait until morning thus the reason why his dinky tool is stuck in our tub drain.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER(!!)
I hear the drain sucking and slurping down the muck that the bathtub threw up. The plumber emerges from the secondary bathroom holding the biggest dreadlock I’ve ever seen like the winning trout in a fishing competition.
“That’s not mine!” were the first words out of my mouth.
The plumber explained the hair was probably built up over years and because our two tubs share a drain pipe, the blockage got lodged in the pipe between the two bathtubs and thus caused the black muck to back up into both bathtubs.
“It was a quick fix! You guys shouldn’t have any problems.”
!!!!! - yeah, we were ticked. We had just spent 4 hours fighting with the circus troupe our apartment complex calls a maintenance team for what a plumber called a quick fix.
As the plumber left, CrabApple McJerkface practically had his tail between his legs as he followed the plumber out of our apartment mumbling something about being right back.
He returned 10 minutes later…armed with some 409 and a sponge.
And that is how I got my bathtubs cleaned for free by my apartment maintenance manager.
And yes, I might have been doing a little victory dance while whispering “Scrub my tub, sucka” in the living room while he cleaned out the bathtubs. That’s just how I roll…
**P.S. He did a really crappy job so it technically wasn’t a victory, but still, you gotta take what you can get**
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Like Taking Candy From a Baby...
Last week I was asked to photograph a lunch function for work. A bigwig was in town and lots of people were coming to our offfice to have lunch and hear him speak.
On the day of the event, a few people had canceled and, to make the room appear full, I was asked to sit in on one of the tables and partake in the free, catered lunch.
I know. Major Imposition, right? I lead a hard life, indeed.
I sat at a table next to an older lady who immediately congratulated me on having a job after college (yay!), and on being smart enough to take pictures (double yay!?).
Judging by her age, I can only assume that to have your photograph taken when she was young meant holding the same pose for an hour. Regardless, I was polite and made small talk while I nibbled on my salad.
When the caterers brought out our real lunch, I was only a few bites in when the bigwig took the stage and the part I was supposed to be photographing started.
Although I was still hungry, I politely excused myself, jumped up and started snapping away.
About halfway through the hour-long presentation, I noticed the caterers were serving dessert; a little sampler plate of tiny cookies, a brownie bite covered in ganache, a creme brulee fruit tart and some strawberries drizzled with chocolate. How could you not notice, right? YUM!
Still hungry, I glanced at the clock and saw that I could blow this popsicle stand in 10 minutes and cozy up to my dessert plate. Who NEEDS lunch?
As I walked back by the table, the little old lady grabbed my arm and thrust her glass into my hand, "be a dear and get me some iced tea, would you?" Slightly confused, I smiled and said sure. Maybe she forgot that I was not, in fact, one of the catering staff, but an attendee of the luncheon who was *just* sitting and having a conversation with her and who happens to take photos. Whatever, Alzheimers is a bitch, right?
I returned with her glass of tea and positioned myself near her side of the table to take a few more pictures as the presentation was beginning to wind down.
As I walked behind the lady again to cross to the other side of the room, she once again grabbed my arm and asked if I might bring her a paper napkin. Again, trying to be nice I agreed and quickly returned with the napkin before rushing off to snap my last photos of the event that was rapidly coming to a halt.
I was waiting for the perfect shot when, out of the corner of my eye I saw the little old lady slide my dessert plate over to her, now empty, plate and watched as she began to delicately arrange my dessert into the napkin I had just delivered to her.
I noticed the caterers were beginning to clear plates and my first thought was 'aww, how nice! she wanted to make sure I at least got to enjoy my dessert!' The little old lady caught me watching her and I gave her a smile to thank her for her thoughtfulness. She returned my smile and then promptly placed the napkin of goodies inside her purse, stood from the table and shuffled towards the door.
Me, still smiling like an idiot as she left the conference room, took a few seconds before it dawned on me, "Hey! That bitch stole my cookies!"
On the day of the event, a few people had canceled and, to make the room appear full, I was asked to sit in on one of the tables and partake in the free, catered lunch.
I know. Major Imposition, right? I lead a hard life, indeed.
I sat at a table next to an older lady who immediately congratulated me on having a job after college (yay!), and on being smart enough to take pictures (double yay!?).
Judging by her age, I can only assume that to have your photograph taken when she was young meant holding the same pose for an hour. Regardless, I was polite and made small talk while I nibbled on my salad.
When the caterers brought out our real lunch, I was only a few bites in when the bigwig took the stage and the part I was supposed to be photographing started.
Although I was still hungry, I politely excused myself, jumped up and started snapping away.
About halfway through the hour-long presentation, I noticed the caterers were serving dessert; a little sampler plate of tiny cookies, a brownie bite covered in ganache, a creme brulee fruit tart and some strawberries drizzled with chocolate. How could you not notice, right? YUM!
Still hungry, I glanced at the clock and saw that I could blow this popsicle stand in 10 minutes and cozy up to my dessert plate. Who NEEDS lunch?
As I walked back by the table, the little old lady grabbed my arm and thrust her glass into my hand, "be a dear and get me some iced tea, would you?" Slightly confused, I smiled and said sure. Maybe she forgot that I was not, in fact, one of the catering staff, but an attendee of the luncheon who was *just* sitting and having a conversation with her and who happens to take photos. Whatever, Alzheimers is a bitch, right?
I returned with her glass of tea and positioned myself near her side of the table to take a few more pictures as the presentation was beginning to wind down.
As I walked behind the lady again to cross to the other side of the room, she once again grabbed my arm and asked if I might bring her a paper napkin. Again, trying to be nice I agreed and quickly returned with the napkin before rushing off to snap my last photos of the event that was rapidly coming to a halt.
I was waiting for the perfect shot when, out of the corner of my eye I saw the little old lady slide my dessert plate over to her, now empty, plate and watched as she began to delicately arrange my dessert into the napkin I had just delivered to her.
I noticed the caterers were beginning to clear plates and my first thought was 'aww, how nice! she wanted to make sure I at least got to enjoy my dessert!' The little old lady caught me watching her and I gave her a smile to thank her for her thoughtfulness. She returned my smile and then promptly placed the napkin of goodies inside her purse, stood from the table and shuffled towards the door.
Me, still smiling like an idiot as she left the conference room, took a few seconds before it dawned on me, "Hey! That bitch stole my cookies!"
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