Squatters ruin it for Sitters

I've been having a lot of bathroom thoughts as of late.

There is NOTHING I hate more than to go into a bathroom stall that looks relatively clean, drop my drawers (jeans, tights, leggings...skirt...whatever) and take a seat only to find myself seconds later cringing at the fact that I am now sitting in someones pee and/or splashed toilet bowl water. To be honest, I'm not sure which of those is worse.

A little drop of water I understand. But it's those days when the WHOLE damn toilet seat is COVERED with whatever looming liquid that I begin to suspect it is the workings of none other than a squatter.

Personally, I am a sitter. I'm a high danger squatter... but primarily a sitter. For those of you who don't know, "high danger squatter" means that only in the worst, dirtiest, scariest, darkest, "townie" bathrooms will I give in to the terrible experience of squatting. To squat means to engage thigh muscles I don't typically use, hold on to whatever is nearest, and hover over the toilet seat hoping that you don't piss the floor and praying that it is going to be a quick pee... and discovering that you never really knew how long you took to pee until you stood awkwardly shaking over a toilet bowl, trying to "aim," relieving yourself.

I just don't see the point of squatting over a perfectly clean toilet at my work in a building that I am at every day. Besides, I don't remember the last time I heard of someone's upper thighs giving off or receiving any STDs or infections. I'm pretty sure it isn't a place where most people sweat, bleed or do anything else that would be gross to share. The only crime an upper-back-thigh commits is cellulite. Last time I checked, that isn't contagious.

So for all you squatters out there... think about your fellow sitters. My only solution is that we respect our kind and leave the seat ready for the next user.

And yet... if we were men, this point would be moot... but would we really want to pee into urinals?

I hate when my hair smells like an everything bagel

Yesterday, I decided to dye my hair. Like full on, single process with foils, change every color in my hair.

I was coaxed into a bad hair decision not too long ago that left me with bleach blonde highlights on my dark brown hair... which just looked wrong. So I then got a glaze to soften the harsh contrast of day and night which lived on my head. So I guess once you dye... you just have to keep going. Like the energizer bunny... or pringles.

Prior to hell hair, I had a full head of natural dark brown hair. I'm pretty sure every bad hair decision is made over a guy. Either to please him or after a break up when you just "need a new look to make a new start." Alas - the hair decision I made yesterday was fully my own, with no male influence except the opinion of my best guy friend.

I opted for a single process of a richer brown than my current natural color with deep red highlights. The catch was that I was going to a beauty school because I just moved and have no money and can't afford the ridiculous ca$h required to go to a nice salon. or just any salon period.

To be honest, she did a fantastic job. It took 4 hours, but it looks great. I'm very pleased.

When she was washing my hair, she was giving me instructions on how to care for red hair. Apparently red is the color that fades the most because of the size of the molecules in the dye... or something. She then asked how often I wash my hair. Every day. (or every other... but I don't like people to know that sometimes I don't shower every day, so I lie). She frowned.

"You should go as long as you can without washing your hair. It's really bad for your hair, especially colored hair, to wash it every day. You can wet it and rinse it, but don't use shampoo."

Personally, I have an issue getting my hair wet... or getting in the shower period, and not washing it. I feel like I'm cheating my hair.

But I do want the color to last longer. But I just like my hair to smell amazing. The thought of my hair being taken to work. On the Subway. Into restaurtants, bodegas, subway sandwiches... taxi cabs... and smelling like all of that instead of my delicious Biolage Moisture Lock scented tresses.... well... that just won't do.

I wonder if they make hair perfume?

P is for Philanthropist

Working as a personal assistant, I spend a good amount of my time on the phone. I'm speaking with clients, travel agents, hotels, restaurants..etc.. which means that I must have a professional phone demeanor. I typically am a smooth talker aside from the handful of messages I have left that end in disaster (i.e. half way through I forget what I was trying to say, or use a word that I am not quite sure is correct, leaving me both stunned that I used the word and fearful that I sound like a wannabe... so I then end in a closing line that goes something like: "So... if you could call me back... um... soo.. yeah."). 

The one thing that trips me up is spelling... but not in the way you'd think. I can spell very well, it's when letters sound the same and the person on the other end of the line asks to clarify which letter I mean. B or D? P or T? 

Lets say I am trying to spell the name Priscilla. Any normal person would do:

P as in Pat

R as in Ray

I as in In

S as in Sun

C as in Cat

I as in In

L 

L

A as in Apple

For me... I have such a hard time (I even had a hard time coming up with the above list) that I end up doing something like this:

P .....as in Philanthropist

R as in Radiant

I as in ... Intermediate

S as in Sanctuary

C... as in... C..Corporate

I as in.. Intermediate

L as in L..

L

A.. Agressive

So much thinking. So much over thinking.

I guess that's why we have email....

Peasants vs. Queens

I had to pick up our lease for our new apartment today. In queens. Which takes an hour to get to from Canada. So..I haven't packed yet, I got in at 12pm last night after a 6 hour commute from Chicago and my roommate for one reason or another decided to not pick up the lease during the 6 days she was here when I wasn't, so naturally it is my responsibility.

Stupid things our realtor did:
1. Opened an office in queens.
2. Opened an office in Queens when they have apartments in the West Village.
3. Requires us to show the lease to our super in order to get keys.
4. Will not fax lease.
5. Only way to get lease is to go to Queens and pick it up.

Stupid things FedEx Kinkos did:
1. Hired idiots to work there.
2. Have broken fax machines
3. Hired idiots who will not help me use fax machine OR copier.
4. Charged me $ when nothing I did actually worked.

Stupid things I do:
Let all of this upset me, raise my blood pressure and give me anxiety.

So. We decided that I would pick up said lease from the office in Peasants (I refuse to call it queens) and fax it to her so she could get keys. I walked in the slush puddles for 6 blocks to get to kinkos. I requested help with the fax machine.

When I asked:
"Excuse me, Miss? Will it scan all the pages in my document or do I have to do it one by one?"

Her response:
"No."

My response: blank stare. Deep breath. Attempt to speak but then annoyed slight shake no of head.

Me: "No I can't scan more than one page? Or No I don't have to do it one by one"

Her: "You don't have to."

Again..not a fully informative sentence, but whatever.

After photo copying the entire backside of the lease, putting it through the fax machine twice on two separate machines...I think I successfully faxed 4 of the 20 pages and spent $15.

Do I like FedEx Kinkos or will I ever go to the one in Peasants again?

Me: "No."

I like to blame other people

For some reason, I have this "it isn't going to happen to me" attitude about most things...even when it is happening to everyone else. For example... this whole "snow storm in NYC" thing. Flights were cancelled left and right, the airport was a zoo, delays...etc... so when my mom told me to start looking at other options on Monday night for my Tuesday pm flight, I rolled my eyes. I didn't even know if my flight was cancelled, why would I make new travel plans? Good news -- not cancelled. 

I reluctantly arrive at the airport at 3;45 for a 6pm flight. I guess that's what they have airport bars for. So the lines are actually horrendous, so I get through Security at about 5pm which still gives me at least 35-40 minutes for 2-3 beers. I was banking on the fact that my flight would be delayed and I would receive more time for drinking alone in a crowded bar with all the other carry-ons. Nope. My flight was right on time. Did you know you could get a beer to-go cup? You can. I didn't... which I regret now. 

So blah blah... we fly... we land. On time. I am really lucky as I could have had my flight cancelled and rescheduled for Jan 1st. 

So... what happens next? Besides the fact that at every turn, I am running in to people or people are talking to me, I successfully retrieve my bag from baggage claim and start making my way to the taxi line. The long taxi line. The LONGEST taxi line I have ever seen. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. So I get in line where I usually do. But really... what am I going to do? 

Funny you should ask. No sooner did I get in line, I hear "Morgan?" I turn around and am face to face with this kid I met when I flew home for thanksgiving. Seems sort of serendipitous or whatever... minus the part that he facebook messaged me at least 3 times and I didn't respond to one of them. Awk. Ward. Then I let facebook boy convince me that it will be faster to take the M60 Bus. So I walk over there and wait for 20 minutes or so before getting mad. If I take the  M60 Bus, it will take me to a subway in QUEENS. Then I have to either get on the subway and travel for an hour + or get in a cab. All of which will take the same time anyways. So I leave facebook boy and get back in taxi line. 

So... my aunt made me check my bag which took off at least 15 minutes of taxi waiting time. Facebook boy made me get out of my first taxi line, wait for the bus for 20 minutes and then get in the WORST taxi line. I waited for another hour and a half before I got a taxi. My feet were frozen and I am pretty sure I started some beef with a large black woman. 

Side note:

After my hour wait, this stupid family decided they didn't have to wait in line... so they were trying to weasel in in front of me. Um. HELL NO. So I proceeded to make really nasty looks at this kid and keep myself plastered to the person in front of me. He got the idea and tried to move in behind me. 3 people did the same as I did until some girl let him in. Come on New York! I had higher hopes for you. Part of me wanted to make a scene and start yelling, "Who do you think you are? We have all been waiting in this fucking line for god knows how long. Go to the end of the line! NO CUTTING! YOU CUTTER!" then perhaps I would start flailing my arms and pointing and yelling to the taxi line people. But... how could I prove it? Bitches. 

Anyways, she knew I was mad. She kept looking at me in a scary "i'm going to beat you up" way... so I pretended to not see her and averted eye contact at all costs. 

I guess this could have all been avoided if I would have listened to my friend Ryan who had landed 5 hours earlier, explaining that it took him 2 hours to leave the airport. I could have booked a car. 

I guess I have no one to blame but myself.... And facebook boy. 

Customer Service

So I'm home for Christmas, but need to arrange a move for December 30th when I return to NYC. I had sent a detailed list of everything I needed moved yesterday but hadn't heard back, so I called "FlatRate Movers" back this morning after having my coffee and making sure I was awake enough to make decisions and speak in proper english to a human being.

Cut To:

"Ok Morgan, I'll transfer you to one of our consultants that can give you an over the phone quote for your move"

Thanks.

A very low voice picks up a minute later, grumbling:

"Hi Morgan, my name is Damon. I will be taking care of you today. How are you doing?"
"Hi! I'm good. Thank you, how are you?"
"Bad."

Great. I don't say anything...

"I'm here working on Christmas Eve which I am not happy about but of course we have to be open and someone needs to be available to help you with your move... so. How can I assist you?"

I. Love. Damon. If I were able to say whatever I wanted to people when they called, I'm sure I would be a much happier person. Someone calls me at work and says: "I can't work out at 3pm with John today. Can he do 5:30?" Instead of saying: "Hi Chris, let me see what I can do about getting John to come in later for you today. What is the best way to reach you?"... I would like to say: "Fuck off." But... I'd be fired...

Anyways...he quoted me $1190 for a 2 bedroom move. I'm so sorry for wasting your time Damon... Merry Christmas!

Carry On...

The airport stresses me out. I always have this awkward sense of urgency to be as efficient as possible when going through security. So as I am unzipping computer cases, taking off my shoes and jacket while balancing two bins, whipping them all into their proper places on the rolling counter, Suzy two left feet and her best friend Georgia cross-eyed are bumping into each other, going through the metal detector with their belts and watches on, and forgetting to take their shoes off. My efficiency is not only worthless as I wait impatiently behind them; it’s just down right stupid. By the way, I didn’t put my bottle of perfume in a clear plastic bag and I didn’t get stopped… hmmm….

So today I smoothly walked through security, looking down at my mismatched socks cursing whatever fool decided to use their shoes for explosives. At least it wasn’t in their shirt. Or Bra. Imagine all the women having to take off their bras. 

So then after redressing myself in sweatshirt, coat, cowboy boots… putting my computer into it’s computer case and getting it inside of my bag which needs to then be secured onto my carryon, I’m sweating. 

Then I’m bored.

Then I call everyone I know. No one’s answering. I should have stayed at the bar longer. Going through security drunk is much better than going through it sober. I take my time, I don’t care if Suzy and Georgia set off the metal detector 18 times… much more peaceful.

So recently I purchased the largest carryon bag with the excitement of not ever having to check a bag again because it will hold everything I could ever need. MISTAKE. This bag has caused me more anxiety than I wish to admit. Being in group 3 or 4 to board means less overhead room. Less overhead room means a smaller chance of my BIG ASS FUCKING BAG fitting anywhere. So I get on the plane, roll the bag as best I can without hitting too many people… and find a spot overhead. Yay. But I need to put down my other bag because it’s too heavy and I won’t be able to lift my carry on. So I put my bag down in 23B and walk back… start getting embarrassed that it might not fit and start VERY awkwardly hoisting the heavy load of bricks up without any help. So I did it… but I’m bright red. I turn to thank the flight attendant who did virtually nothing. She confirms this by saying: “I didn’t do anything.” It is at that moment I notice that she is wearing a red apron and reindeer antlers. Great.

I settle into my seat, put on my iPod, and send a few texts. All the stress is behind me. I am then confronted by a smiling reindeer that asks me if I am in the right seat. It is at that point that I realize I didn’t even look at the letters. I just picked the middle seat in the place I pictured my seat to be. My ticket said 23B. Apparently I was in 23E. How do I manage to do this? More embarrassment. Clearly the letters E and B are not the same… and I literally have no excuse. I’m not even drunk. Ah well.

On top of all of this, I am not very good at flying. I get scared every time we hit turbulence, or when we take off or land… but don’t worry. I have Dancer and Prancer the magical flying reindeer attendants to make me feel safe.

Thank you United. These really are the friendly skies.