I used to work in a factory...

Today, I got in my car to go pick up my nephew at the airport. When I got in, I saw a silver paperclip on the seat. So, I did what I normally do with every paperclip I find - I put it in my mouth.

I've been putting paperclips in my mouth for as long as I can remember. I would unfold the paperclip and then bend it into a horse shoe shape. Then, insert in my mouth on my upper teeth - pretending I wore braces. I would also take a pair of sunglasses and pop out the lenses - like I had real glasses. I don't know why I wanted glasses and braces so badly - because eventually I did get both - at the same time - and look how well that worked for me.


**It's hard to see, but trust me - I have braces, glasses (so big my cheeks had 20/20 vision), and a perm (just on top) -- Sexy!)

Anyway, I get in my car and I put the paperclip in my mouth. As soon as I do - a little voice in my head says "Don't put that paperclip in your mouth. I used to work at a paperclip factory - and while all the boxes of paperclips would lay open in the factory before they would get shipped out - you could see cockroaches and mice running all over them." Direct quote from my dear, sweet, nolongerwithus grandmother.

It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling to know that even 6 years after she passed away - Mommom is still with me - protecting me from bug and rodent feces in my mouth. And as I drove, another memory of Mommom entered my mind.

One afternoon, many many moons ago, I sat on the porch with Mommom and her friend Rusty (who's hair and lipstick matched her name). Before Rusty left - she caught a smoke in the driveway of Mommom's house. After our goodbyes, Mommom went inside and Rusty chucked her butt in the driveway. I was curious - so I went out into the driveway - made sure the coast was clear - grabbed the (still lit) butt and put it to my lips. Shiiiit burned. And right as my lips were stinging from the hot remnants of Rusty's Virginia Slim - Mommom walked out and barked at me "put that down". I obliged and walked back in with my head hung low. Mommom then imparted this advice on me "I once worked in a cigarette factory - at the end of the day we would sweep the floors and use the piles of fallen tobacco and dirt - to make up the last batch of cigarettes."

While reminiscing about life's little factory lessons - I recalled another moment. I took a can of Pepsi out of Mommom's closet - cracked it open - and started to pour it in my face (well not actually in my face - I poured it in my mouth - but I like to say face better - i.e. I want to make out with your face). Mommom catches me doing so and whips around to grab the can out of my hands. She proceeds to tell me "Never drink out of the can and if you do, make sure you rinse the top of the can first. I used to work in a Pepsi factory and the tops of those cans are disgusting - trust me."

These were all tidbits of sage advice - and I really appreciate Mommom looking out for what goes in my mouth - but I'm confused was she the ultimate factory girl - or was she just yanking my chain.

I guess we will never know. (I mean that's not true at all - I'll just ask my dad if his mom worked in every factory east of the Mississippi.)

Which reminds me of this one summer when I used to work in a factory....

UPDATE to Acne

First re-read Acne

"So, I just called Proactive to cancel my subscription because I've decided that I'm done with acne. Mind over matter. (I'll let you know how it works and if acne is done with me.)"

It pains me to say Sheena was right. I'm so pissed. I went crawling back to Proactive with my tail between my legs. 10 YEARS!!! 10 years after Acne is suppose to stop. But I guess the bright-side of still looking like a greasy puberty teen is - wait I haven't found the bright-side yet. I'll let you know when I do.

The Extra Mile Ends Here.

I'd like to think I go the extra mile. I'll hold a door open for just about anyone...well not people in wheel chairs, the elderly, or women with strollers because I think it's entertaining to watch them struggle.

Seriously though, I hold doors open (and normally get stuck holding the door for as long as it takes for the entire population of Rhode Island to egress the building)...I say 'bless you' when complete strangers sneeze...I only spit my gum in trash cans because I think about how much it would suck if someone got it stuck on their shoe...just the other day I let a girl use the bathroom before me at a bar (but I had ulterior motives...she was a 10 that made Megan Fox look like a 4)

I'm generally on the look out for good Karma. Love to 'pay it forward'. Always try to treat others like I would want to be treated....blah blah blah.

Recently, I realized that I have a flaw. I know I know - it was a shocking realization for me too.

On my ride to and from work I pass exactly 2 McDonalds and 1 Burger King. They are very busy. The McDonald's in the Andorra shopping center is exceptionally busy. You know the one...across from the massive fitness club.

Well, I've realized I am incapable of letting anyone out of those parking lots. Normally, I always let people merge into traffic in front of me. But for these Fast-Foodies...I just can't do it. I get so angry that they are dining at these deathstaurants and throwing caution to the wind with their health...that I don't think they deserve to be let out. They should have to sit that extra 5 minutes as everyone passes by and stairs at them, pointing, laughing, shaking their heads in disapproval. My extra mile ends right before the exit lane of the drive-thru.

Don't get me wrong...this isn't a size thing...I'm not hating on the BBW's or BBM's. It's a health thang. I wouldn't let myself out...and I wouldn't want you to let me out either...if/when I was careless enough to put that crap in my mouth.

I'm not the picture of health (well maybe I am, but its a facade) and I certainly like to indulge in a french fry here or there. At least once a year, I admit, I dine at the afore mentioned deathstaurants...but that's why the 'late night' window was created, people...so that you can sneak in and out of these Scarlet Letter Diners veiled in the black of night.

There's a few new social mores that I think people need to add to the list: 

1. Smoking. Its not cool. Catch your butts in private.

2. Texting while driving. Too dangerous. (btw I sent/received 3,481 texts in April, about 116 a day.)

3. Letting the water run while you brush your teeth. Sooo not green.

4. Being caught at an Adult Bookstore when you're a dad. Kinda creepy...sorry, but it is.

5. Eating at a fast food restaurant. Late Night, do it Late Night.

Don't Be This Guy! And if you are...don't expect me to let you out into traffic.

 

P.s. After watching the movie 'Super Size Me'...I immediately left the house...and went to the closest McDonald's drive-thru. That's a true story.

I Am My Biggest Fan. And Sometimes It Hurts.

If you know me...you know that I'm a pretty huge fan of...me.

I was just in the bathroom at work. And due to my over-the-top vanity...I ended up jamming my finger and getting my pants wet right at that curious um-did-she-just-pee-her-pants spot.

I have been working out a fair bit, lately. So...while I was in the bathroom I looked in the mirror to fix my hair a bit and I ended up catching a glance of some new definition in my bicep. Naturally, I roll my sleeves up and begin to flex...while adoring myself in the mirror.

About 30 seconds in, my little self admiration session was abruptly drawn to a close. The handle on the door turned...someone was walking in!!! I had a mere millisecond to bring my arms down to a normal height, unroll my sleeves, and begin to wash my hands...before the woman rounding the corner of the door saw me being a complete narcissistic whore.

I dove for the sink...and as I dove my flip flops began to fight with one another. To avoid tripping and smashing my face on the faux marble counter top...resulting in the loss of my two front teeth...all because of my obsessive love affair with myself...I extended my left arm to catch myself.

Unfortunately, all my fingers weren't in agreement at the time and I ended up jamming my index finger. Then my body slammed against the counter...which had a puddle of water right at the lip of the sink left from the slovenly women that share the restroom on my floor,  which is how my jeans got wet in the afore mentioned "curious" spot.

(Speaking of the slovenly women...now this is material enough for a whole separate post...but seriously ladies...if you sprinkle when you tinkle be a sweety and wipe the damn seaty.)

Then, so flustered from the whole ordeal, I pumped some soap into my hand and grabbed a paper towel (no water involved) and left the bathroom...leaving a slimy liquid soap residue on the door handle.

I'm pretty sure I resembled this lady (tell 'em Lahg Mahg sent cha).

I probably would have been better off if I had just been caught flexing.

That Finger Was Meant For You, Buddy!

I think that there should be a flashing light....or a smoke machine....or a big neon blinking arrow that is activated when you honk your horn. Something, anything that would allow other drivers to determine where a honk originated.

I'm sick of being second in line at a stop light/intersection...the light changes and the car in front of me doesn't slam on the gas like we are in the Daytona 500, or the car in front of me isn't far enough into the intersection for making a left hand turn, or the car in front of me isn't turning right on red (despite the No Turn On Red sign)...and the car behind me starts to honk so feverishly its as if their gargantuan SUV has Tourettes. And now I'm stuck between these two road ragers. Inevitably the driver in front of me looks in the rear view mirror, locks eyes with me, and with a swift upper cut in the air...delivers me the extended middle finger. I look in my rear view mirror to see that driver avoiding eye contact and staring out the window...all innocent like.

Asshole. If you have the balls to honk your horn in disapproval of someone following the traffic laws...then your balls better be big enough to own up to your honk!

I'm sensitive. I get so hurt when I receive "the finger", unwarranted.

Tears of Joy

Sometimes, I wonder if I REALLY like anything. That sounds weird, I know. But I don't jump up and down, I don't cry, I don't scream, I don't faint, I don't even pee a little when I am really excited about something. Sucks.

(Day After Stupids)

I was just watching a dvr-ed episode of Ellen. She flew 3 college kids from New Zealand to her show. She surprised them by having them actually ON the show. They came out on stage, one of the girls started crying when she saw Ellen.

I was happy for her and SO jealous. I'm glad she got to meet Ellen. If there's one person I'd like to meet (besides Khloe Kardashian) its Ellen...but I just don't think I could summon up the water works to show how much I like her.

I covet that display of emotion. I remember, when I was 13, watching footage of a Michael Jackson concert in Japan. The fans were trampling each other and in hysterics - crying, screaming, fainting.

Ever since that day...I've wanted to be a young Asian girl.

Baby's First Holiday