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, 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, 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.


aging, family, Friends, holiday, Humor, introvert, women, work

For That, I am Thankful

I’ve heard people say that they like to look at the sunny side of life. I’m not that optimistic.  Instead, I like to laugh so I look at the funny side. The reality is, there are a lot of funny things that happen in everyday life…if you just look. Trust me, I looked a lot over the past 8 months and had many laughs in the process.  In fact, today, I’m sharing my 70th story about the funny things that happened in my life. And just so ya know, I am thankful for every one of them.

By choice, I don’t have a lot of friends.  I believe in quality rather than quantity in most things in life-including roses. I guess you could say the older I get, the wiser I become. My friends and loyal followers read my stories even when they don’t find them funny.  Well, at least they appear to be following and reading them and for that, I am thankful.

Also by choice, I have a job where I make a difference. Well, at least I think I make a difference-even for those who can’t keep up. The downside is that I encounter a lot of people at work who act high schoolerish and others who fuss when Grandma gets run over by a reindeer, but I have a job, and for that, I am thankful.

Partially by choice, I have a family that includes members who murmur, others who read every story, Kristi M. who always has a quick comeback, and my fabulously funny editor who takes the time to share the laughter before anybody else has a chance to do so.  For all of them, I am thankful.

Not by choice, I have the ability to shuffle. Sure, it’s fully by choice that I actually go out and pretend to run while almost falling over Willy, being outpaced by a dog on a jog, and acting tree-huggerish, but I’ve been blessed with good health and for that, I am thankful.

Lastly, and fully by the grace of God, when all the funny stories come together, I have a life that’s good and for that, I am thankful.

Wishing you many fabulously funny stories from around the Thanksgiving table and a life that’s good.  Cheers!

Eliza G.

aging, comedy, Humor, introvert, Travel

Incessant Chit-Chatterer

I wanted to have dinner and drinks the other day in a busy downtown area. Taking the hotel shuttle allowed me to do what I wanted to do while avoiding traffic and parking issues. When the shuttle arrived at the hotel to pick me up, four people and the driver, Larry, were already inside. I got on with little fanfare and away we went. Everyone kept to themselves and all seemed well.

A short distance into our journey downtown, Larry stopped to pick up a lady who told everyone she was going back to the hotel. Unfortunately, that’s not all she told us. She told us about the delicious dinner she had eaten at the Italian restaurant, that her husband-who wasn’t with her-was Italian, that he liked Italian food, that she had three cocktails during dinner, and that she had never been downtown before. She went on and on and on and on, and trust me, I wanted to stop believin’ that I was stuck in the shuttle listening to her for over 20 minutes. And to make matters worse, her voice was loud and unique. I’m not talking about the ‘soothing to the ear’ kind of unique. I’m talking about the ‘nails on a chalkboard’ kind of unique. She clearly didn’t care about the nails or the chalkboard because she just kept on talking. She was an incessant chit-chatterer.

What makes someone who steps onto a quiet shuttle think that the other passengers want to hear their chit-chat; their incessant chit-chat? Why don’t they just get on the shuttle, take a seat, buckle up, and enjoy the ride…quietly? Oh, that’s right, it’s because their extroverts. They like the fanfare and don’t know how to keep to themselves. And the rest of us just have to suffer.



aging, comedy, Community, exercise, fitness, Humor, introvert, Pets, women

Life Throws You a Willy

I was out for a shuffle and realized that sometimes, you just don’t see it coming.

It was early Monday morning when I headed out the door dressed in my shuffle shorts, shoes, and shirt.  That’s a lot of S’s at a time when the only ‘S’ I really wanted was sleep. Shortly into my shuffle I encountered a man with two bulldogs and each was on a leash.  He was the only person I saw during the entire shuffle, which was good.  That meant I didn’t have to bob and weave around cyclists, walkers, or runners or engage in any social interaction.  Yes, I’m an introvert-even when I shuffle.

Things were going along smoothly when I reached my turnaround point and headed back home.  As I got closer to the end of my route I stared down the clear path and felt happy that the shuffle was almost over. But then out of the blue, he reappeared from a driveway-the man with the two bulldogs, each on a leash.  He and the dogs were standing off to the side of the sidewalk looking in my direction.  As I got closer, maybe two cracks away-you know, the ones you’re not supposed to step on because you’ll break your mother’s back-the man bent down and released the leash from one of his bulldogs. In a split second, my path was no longer clear. That damn dog ran over between my feet and slowed my shuffle to a stumble. I was a stumbling shuffler. Luckily, I still have some cat-like prowess because that’s what saved me from being a skinned hands and knee shuffler or worse.

As I dealt with what I didn’t see coming, I could hear the man with two leashes, one of which was dogless, saying “Willy, come here Willy.” Actually, I shouldn’t even use the word, ‘saying’ because it was more like a murmur-like he was afraid he’d wake the neighborhood by yelling at frickin Willy. Meanwhile, I’m stumbling around like a drunken gymnast trying to get Willy the hell out of my way.  After regaining my composure, I paused and restarted the shuffle, and so did Willy. Again, after a few more shuffles, I stopped, and so did Willy. We did the start-stop shuffle a few more times until the man with two leashes and one bulldog finally got hold of Willy.  “Sorry about that,” said the man. I said nothing because I’m an introvert. Instead, I restarted my shuffle and looked towards the clear path home. Sometimes, life throws you a Willy and you just have to deal with it.

Here’s to more clear paths and fewer Willys!


Eliza G.

aging, comedy, exercise, fitness, Health, Humor, introvert, Travel, women

When the Jiggler Jiggles

I was at the airport the other day and while I saw a lot of what makes everyday life funny, I discovered that the little something here and there isn’t as stable as it used to be.

When I arrived at the gate, there were many seats available and very few people in sight. I chose an end seat near the edge of the seating area so that I would remain secluded as long as possible.  As departure time approached the seating area began to fill and people started moving into my area.  My area was no longer my area.

As I sat there staring out the window I began to sense something that I didn’t like.  Someone in my row of hooked-together seats was jiggling.  I hate jiggling.  Yes, I know hate is a strong word and I probably shouldn’t use it, but I am, because I hate jiggling.  Actually, it’s not the act of jiggling that I hate. It’s the jiggling that occurs in response to the act of jiggling that gets to me.  You see, when someone jiggles, I jiggle.  When I jiggle, I’m reminded there is a little extra something here and there because that little extra something here and there jiggles when the jiggler jiggles. You jiggle, I jiggle, we all jiggle together-even when we don’t want to.

So there I sat, like a human seismograph recording seismic waves in the form of jiggles.  At one point I glanced down the row to see who was responsible for the jiggling.  It was a lady about four seats away and her legs were jiggling up and down.  I thought that a long stare in her direction would stop the jiggle, but it didn’t.  In fact, it seemed to increase. On my second glance down the row I saw that a jiggling male, sitting next to the jiggling lady, was also jiggling.  His legs were jiggling side to side.  That couple was like a fine oiled jiggling machine with one set of legs going up and down and the other going side to side.  And my little something here and there? Well, let’s just say, I hate jiggling.