women, Humor, Health, shopping, introvert, aging, comedy, work, environment

Keep it All to Yourself

Everyone is sick and frankly, I’m sick of it. All I hear when I’m out and about is coughing, sneezing, blowing, and snot sucking.  While I want to live inside a bubble for the next couple of months away from all of it, there are places I need to go and things I need to do.  Besides, I’m the one who should be going out and about.  All the sickies should be keeping it to themselves.

I went to a meeting last week. I noticed a co-worker posted up at the head of the table with a stack of tissues, some used and some not, and a box of cough drops. I knew I wasn’t sitting anywhere near her. In fact, I wanted to ask what the hell she was doing at work while sick.  Before I had a chance to she proclaimed she was ‘getting over a cold’ and was ‘not contagious’.  Come on now, you can’t fool me.  ‘Getting over a cold’ and ‘not contagious’ are code for ‘I am sick and I couldn’t miss work so I’m going to pretend everything is fine so that you won’t think badly of me for coming to work and sharing my sickness.’  Too late. I probably thought badly of you before this but now, I really do. You don’t even want to know what I’ll think of you if I get sick because you didn’t keep it to yourself.

Sick people are everywhere. I smelled a sick person at the store the other day. No, I don’t go around sniffing people-I don’t have to.  I can smell mentho-lyptus a mile away.  It’s like a beacon warning me that sickness is in vapor range. I don’t like the smell.  Well, I’m not sure if it’s the actual smell or what the smell means.  It means that I’ve been contaminated. Once that smell is in my nose so are the germs of the person who made the smell.  What the hell did you need so badly that you had to come to the store and share your sickness? If you’re sick, stay home and keep it to yourself.

I have one more important point to make about germs and being a sickie. It’s actually about post-sickie-ness. Once fully recovered, nobody wants to hear about the 72 hours you couldn’t move. Well, I don’t, anyway. A guy at work who rarely speaks, which is why we get along so well, told me every little detail about his flu sickness. I even walked away once and when I returned he picked up right where he left off.  I heard about his fever, appetite, aches, pains, and what he coughed up before turning the corner. Listen, after hearing all that, I wanted to turn the corner…and jump out the window.  I’m sorry you were sick, but nobody wants to the hear the gory details. Just keep it to yourself.

If you need tissues, are using cough drops, and/or emit mentho-lyptus vapors, it means something is up.  Don’t go to work, the store, or anywhere else, including a Miranda Lambert concert. Yes, I smelled you there last night. And when you’re all better, pretend like everything was fine just like you did in the meeting that you came to when you were sick. When it comes to sickness, just do us all a favor and keep it all to yourself.

Thanks for reading and remember, a laugh a day keeps the doctor away! That’s not true but what the heck, just #sharethelaughter !

Eliza G.


aging, comedy, Community, Humor, religion, women

Bless Me, Big, Big Guy

I’m not an angel, but I do remember to keep holy the Sabbath day.  Mass itself certainly isn’t funny, although some of the things that happen there sure are. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking I shouldn’t go there and I get it. But I have quite a collection and in the best interest of my neighbors I gotta confess what I know.

I’m sure that funny things happen at many religious events.  People are there and people do funny things-even when they don’t mean to.  Watching people struggle to find a seat when there are at least 10 open pews is as funny as it is perplexing.  Just pick a seat a get in it.  Oh, and once you pick seat, stay there for the entire service.  Moving up one row and across the aisle won’t change a thing. You can give the same thanks and receive the same blessings regardless of the seat.  And if you can’t find your seat after returning from communion, learn to mark your spot with your sunglasses or coat so you can find where you belong.  These things are funny, but the funny things I have to confess go above and beyond the usual.

When I go to see a band, they always do a ‘check, check’ of the microphone before they start playing just to make sure it works. Sometimes it’s a ‘check 1-2’ but there’s always a check.  Well, there’s never a check at church and I’m not talking about a check of the musician’s microphone. I’m talking about a check of the big guy’s mic.  No, not the big, big guy-he doesn’t need a microphone-just the big guy.  You’d think that after 4  years of monthly mic failures during mass someone would do a ‘check, check’ while the big guy is putting on his vestment.  Every time he starts to speak during mass I’m on the edge of my seat waiting to hear if his mic will work. Well, that’s a lie.  I’m on the edge of my seat because I want to win the friendly ‘will it/won’t it work wager’ I made with my husband on the way to church. I know, there’s a special place for me.

I almost feel like I should hold this second confession for another time, but it’s not Lent yet so we don’t have to fast and abstain. Let’s dig in.  It was a bright and sunny morning and all the microphones worked for the first and second readings so everything seemed to be in order.  Then the not-so-big guy, known as the Deacon, approached the pulpit to read the Gospel.  I slid to the edge of my seat because I had the under that week and was hoping no sound would come out of the speakers when he started to talk.  Instead, he never started to talk.  He flipped and flipped and then he flipped some more. Pages in the big red book moved forward and backward and forward and backward.  After a lot of flipping, he looked back at the big guy and then back at the book.  He flipped again and then looked back once more.  The big guy sauntered up to the pulpit and he too started flipping. They seemed to exchange words, but I couldn’t hear what was said. Probably because the mic didn’t work-so yes, I won that week with a ‘won’t it work’ wager. After he pointed at several pages on the pulpit, the big guy sat back down and not-so-big started reading…the wrong reading.  I knew it was wrong because I had the little paper book with all the readings in it as did a couple hundred other people in the church. He must not be allowed to read from the little paper books because he kept on reading the wrong reading from the big red book.  When he finished, he gave a sermon…about the right reading…to the children he had assembled on the steps of the alter.  How did that happen?  Did the reader at the earlier mass rip out the right reading and take it home for future reference?  Did those kids have any idea what was going on, because I didn’t?

Like I said, people do funny things even when they don’t mean to…and even when they shouldn’t.  I’m just sorry they did them at church because now I had to confess what I saw for the benefit of my neighbors.  Bless me big, big guy, for I have….

Make someone laugh today!

Eliza G.

aging, comedy, family, holiday, home, Humor, Travel, women


Christmas celebrations have ended and a new year is already underway.  A feeling of anticipation led me into all of the celebrations while old-blue-borrowed-new are dragging me out.  Yes, I know those are out of order, but I don’t want to end on blue.

A lot of same old, same old happened for Christmas.  It’s been over 30 years and certain family members still can’t decide if they are in or out for parts of the celebration. Last minute calls trying to disrupt the schedule, people getting sick, and others busting a hemorrhoid right before the dinner I worked so hard to make are nothing new to me. I’ve come to expect same old, same old. Oh and by the way, it wasn’t my ‘roid that ruptured.

I have to admit I’m feeling a little blue now that it’s all over. Not the hemorrhoid rupture but the holiday season.  It was a lot of work and I spent 45 hours in the car over the last 3 weeks traveling to visit family members in three different states, but it was well worth it.  All that action came to a screeching halt this past Tuesday and it’s taking a little time for me to adjust.  Actually, since I have some time on my hands I could send out the Christmas cards I bought but never wrote. Eh, maybe next year.

Traditions are things borrowed from previous years and earlier generations.  My family has borrowed a lot.  We make pirohy and mushroom soup on Christmas Eve and drink gawdawful-come on now, I can’t use the real spelling because this is about Christmas-grappa at midnight.  Grappa was made from whatever was left over after the real wine was made.  Enough said on that borrow.

Last but not least is the ‘new’ and it’s always good to end on something new.  It’s a new year and a time when many people make resolutions for change.  My big change was spending New Year’s Eve in Nashville.  It was frickin’ freezing, Mr. Bigglesworth, but it was well worth it. Sure, I missed watching balls drop with the people I always watch the balls drop with, but a bucket list is a bucket list and Nashville was on it.  After all, I’m not getting any younger. The day is coming when I won’t be able to listen to Cheap Trick and Keith Urban while standing in 7 degree weather. Well, Cheap Trick anyway.

You can tell that I have a lot to work through as a result of all the celebrations. Regret over not sending greeting cards, drinking something that tastes like how witch hazel smells-and she smells, and taking action on my bucket list are all dragging me down a bit. So is the fact that the celebrations are over and I’m not sure when everyone will be together again. On the other hand, aside from five fingers and a thumb, it was a fabulous holiday filled with old, new, borrowed, and now, a little blue and I can’t wait to do it all again in another 354 days.

Happy New Year!

Eliza G

aging, comedy, family, holiday, Humor, kindness, women

Do It Automatically

I babysat 6-week-old Baby the other day.  It has been a long time since I took care of a baby given that my own babies are in their late 20s.  I managed to keep everything under control for the short time I was in charge and when it ended, something beyond the beauty of Baby stuck with me.

It went like this…I smiled at Baby while making a goofy face and talking to her in baby talk and she smiled back.  Yes, I know she’s advanced for her age but nobody should be surprised given her lineage.  Anyway, I was goofy and Baby smiled a few more times, and when she got tired of looking at me, I gave her a break from all the fun.

Later in the babysit I saw a small Minnie Mouse rattle inside the diaper bag so I took it out and shook it a few times for Baby. She smiled.  I shook it again and she smiled again. When I moved the rattle out of Baby’s sight, she stopped smiling only to start again when I moved it back.  I know, big deal, all babies smile at people and toys, including things with Minnie Mouse. But what stuck with me is why she smiled. I always assumed that smiling involved some behind-the-scene processing where the smiler sees, hears, tastes, or touches something, decides if it’s smile worthy and if it is, smiles.  How can 6-week old Baby process a middle-aged lady making a goofy face at her or Minnie Mouse rattling around in front of her and in split second decide to smile?

So it might seem like I’m making too much of a few smiles made by beautiful Baby, but perhaps there is something to make too much of.  Maybe when we see something like a face the natural, automatic response is to smile and for whatever reason we’ve shut off that response so that a smile becomes something we choose to do rather than something that happens on its own. That’s a messy sentence but it comes down to this…Based on my first babysit in a very long time, Baby automatically smiled in response to other faces.  And based on the world in which I live and work, people don’t.  Imagine a world where people automatically smile every time they see another person’s face…even if that other person looks like Minnie Mouse.

I think we could all take a lesson from beautiful 6-week Baby this Christmas and make that imaginary world a reality. Simply smile at other faces, regardless of who they belong to and do it…automatically.

Merry 1st Christmas, Baby.  Merry Christmas and all the holiday greetings, Everyone!

Eliza G.

aging, comedy, Friends, holiday, Humor, introvert, women

Takeover Talkers

I’ve heard people complain about some people who talk on their cell phone in the presence of other people.  Did you get that?  I’m asking because there were a lot of people in that sentence.  People complained, some talked, and still others were simply in the presence of those who talked…on a cell phone.  Truth be told, this story isn’t about talking on a cell phone. It’s about the act of talking in the presence of people to whom you are not talking.

My husband and I were at a Christmas tree lighting ceremony a few weeks ago.  We arrived early and not surprisingly, chose seats away from the crowd. As we waited for someone to flip the switch to turn on 100,000 tiny white lights, people started coming into our territory. At first, it was fine. They picked their seats and chattered quietly as they sipped really hot hot chocolate that was topped with tiny marshmallows.  It was festive and peaceful.

Then things changed from fine to wasn’t fine. A couple of people came and sat right next to us and guess what?  They were talkers.  Actually, they weren’t just talkers, they were takeover talkers…and they cackled.  All the quiet chatter ceased because nobody could hear quiet chatter while the talkover was in progress. It was worse than listening to someone talking on a cell phone in the presence of people to whom they are not talking because we could hear both sides of the conversation and two cackles. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, two of their friends showed up. That’s when things went from wasn’t fine to really wasn’t fine.  We heard about how the lights would look when they finally turn them on, where they all had recently traveled, and that one of them spilled a box of wine on her crotch-her words, not mine-on her way to the lighting ceremony and that her fake leather pants-my words, not hers-were all wet. Let’s face it, no amount of very hot hot chocolate was gonna make that feel better on a cold wintry night. The wine could explain some of the talking except that she spilled it rather than drank it.  Just how do you spill wine from a box on yourself?  Doesn’t the box have a spout that you turn on to fill your glass and turn off to stop filling?  And what was the spout doing down there anyway?

Let’s just say at that point, things were no longer festive and peaceful.  Everyone in our area who came to quietly enjoy the tree lighting wanted it to be over so that the takeover talking would stop and they could spend the rest of the evening trying to unhear what they’d heard. Well, at least I did.  Truth be told, you can’t unhear things you’ve heard-it’s impossible.  You just have to live with it. And there was a lot to live with simply because of the act of talking in the presence of people to whom you are not talking. Cackle-cackle.

aging, comedy, holiday, Humor, Hygge, shopping, women

Something Fishy

I wanted to wrap up my Christmas shopping with a stop at a Bath & Body Works.  I don’t buy their stuff when it’s full price because I can’t see spending $12 on a bottle of lotion so I can “put the lotion on the skin.”  That’s a quote from the movie Joe Dirt.  Yes, I know, I have low standards, but it’s a funny movie and the quotes live on at my house.  Anyway, I will splurge on sale items at B&BW such as 3-wick candles for $8.95 and an additional 20% off with the coupon. The candles smell good, but on ‘wrap up day,’ something was fishy.

It seemed that everyone in the neighborhood wanted in on the candle special. The store was filled with people carrying bags and boxes that overflowed with smelly candles.  Shoppers sniffed and snorted everything in sight as they decided which scent was the best for their secret Santa.  One lady was so excited she dropped a candle and broken glass went everywhere. While she probably was embarrassed, it was an ingenious way to clear an area so she could shop without other customers grabbing her stuff and crowding her out.  I’ll have to remember to drop it like it’s hot the next time I want to shop in peace at the candle store.  That’s a shout out to my buddy Snoop Dog. No, not you Martha, just Snoop.

I know, about now you’re starting to wonder about the fishy part. Well, it happened when it was time to check out. There were four lanes, four cash registers, and four candle ringer-uppers.  I looked down and noticed that a wise person had placed tape on the floor to mark the lanes. Each lane was numbered and aligned with a register and a ringer-upper. I picked lane 3, which was right next to lane 4, and got in it. As the line moved up, I noticed the lady in front of me wouldn’t commit to a single lane. She hung out between lanes 3 and 4.  As each shopper checked out and left to go burn their candles, the line moved up and so did she…in lane 3.5. “What’s this?” I thought. “Something fishy is going on. You’re either in lane 3 or 4. Lane 3.5 doesn’t exist. The tape on the floor says so. So, make a decision and go with it.”  But she didn’t.  She rode lane 3.5 long enough to see which line, the one in lane 3 or lane 4, reached a ringer-upper first. Now I’ve seen people in the grocery store move from one lane to the other because they thought the other moved faster, but after a few stutter steps they eventually committed.  Not this lady.  And, she messed up the lines behind her because people didn’t know whether to follow the taped off lanes or line up behind something fishy.

I don’t know why one person caused something fishy while I was wrapping up my Christmas shopping with a stop at B&BW.  It rubbed me the wrong way. All she had to do was pick a lane and stay in it.  Instead, she was more concerned about being first and getting out ahead of everyone else.  I think she’s gonna find a special candle in her stocking on Christmas morning-a fishy one.

aging, education, Humor, introvert, school, women, work

You’re Not that Special

When people speak, I listen.  Okay, sometimes I pretend to listen.  While I’m listening or pretending, I’m definitely not talking.  As I’ve said before, I think it is high schoolerish to talk when someone else has the floor. I’m starting to think I’m in the minority on this issue because over the past week, there has been way too much talking going on.

The first talker talked while a colleague was graciously giving a group tour of his work area.  I found his work area interesting, but the talker must have felt differently.  He walked across the room, stopped in front of me, and asked me a question about an unrelated topic.  I gave a one-word answer, looked away, and hoped to shoo the walker-talker away; but he kept talking.  I took a few steps away from him, but he followed and so did his questions.  “Dude,” I thought, “I know you think you’re something special and the world is all about you but come on, show some respect.  And better yet, don’t pull me into your rudeness. I’m not a talker.”

Fast-forward a few days to a meeting where people were seated around a large rectangular table in a conference room.  One person told everyone what she thought and what everyone else should think.  Sure, not my kind of gig, but I tolerated it, kept quiet, and let her think she was winning me over.  Truth be told, I am never gonna think like she wanted me to.  And then, out-of-the-blue, the person who sat next to me leaned over and told me her thoughts.  “Ah, hold up lady. What made you think that I wanted to hear your two cents and that I wanted to hear them while ‘one person’ was still talking? We don’t need double talkers,” I said to myself while flashing my best resting bitch face. She never saw it, which was surprising given I’m pretty good at it; she just kept talking. “Dudette,” I thought, “I know you think you’re something special and the world is all about you but come on, show some respect.  And better yet, don’t pull me into your rudeness.  I’m not a talker.”

The terd, I mean third, talker talked at the same time the teacher was teaching.  She sat in the seat in front of me and when the teacher said something she didn’t agree with, she turned around in her seat and told me about it.  I tried to ignore her, but it didn’t work; she kept talking. The teacher responded like a high school teacher, even though were weren’t in high school, and glared…at me. “Excuse me, Ms. High schoolerish who is getting me in trouble with the teacher,” I thought, “I know you think you’re something special and the world is all about you but come on, show some respect.  And better yet, don’t pull me into your rudeness.  I’m not a talker.”

I’m not sure what happened over the past week that led to way too much talking going on. Better yet, I’m not sure why people decided to talk to me at a time when they shouldn’t have been talking to anybody. I gave short answers, walked away, and flashed the RBF; all are signs that I’m not a talker. And when someone has the floor, you shouldn’t be either, because you’re not that special…nobody is.