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, comedy, customer service, Dining, holiday, Humor, vacation, women

There was a lot of Pretending

While traveling for the Thanksgiving holiday, I stayed at a hotel and ate in the dining room. Little did I know there would be a lot of pretending.

Upon arrival in the dining area there was not a soul in sight.  I knew that meant things were not going to go well but I didn’t want to get back in the car after just getting out.  I told myself it would get better, but myself was skeptical and so was my husband who searched for someone to wait on us. When he finally summoned the waitress from the breakroom she pretended she had been watching for customers but that we “snuck through.” Hmmm, there was no snuck through involved. We walked right across the main lobby in plain sight.  Oh and by the way, is it still okay to use the word waitress?  I often hear the hostess tell me who my server will be so I’m thinking waitress might be a no-no. Actually, now that I think about it, hostess also could be a problem.

Anyway, back to the real story.  Following protocol, the waitress brought drinks and asked for our order.  I said, “I’ll have the tomato basil soup and a”…I was immediately cut off. “We are out of soup,” said the waitress. Yes, I know what you’re thinking and you’re right-it fits perfectly here.  So let’s pause for a snicker and move on.

As I sat there with no soup for you and recognized that once again I had found the flaw, I drank all my water and was ready for more. Of course, the waitress was nowhere to be found.  She told us to let her know if we needed anything, which is pretty hard to do when we can’t find her.  I think they teach that in waitress school-make it sound like you’ll be nearby but then go and hide so nobody can ask for anything.  When it’s been awhile and you know the customer is pissed, walk over to the table and pretend you’ve been around the whole time.  Our waitress must have gotten an A in that class because when she finally showed up with the water pitcher she pretended that I had just taken the last sip.  She smiled and told me she was gonna help me out and “feel me up.” Oh, my mistake, “fill me up.”

Next came bill time.  Wanna guess what happened?  Go ahead, you can do it and I know you’ll get it right-She was nowhere to be found. We sat, and sat, and sat, and when she knew we were pissed she walked over to the table pretending she was nearby the whole time.  She put the bill on the table-right in a puddle of salad dressing.  Smiling and knowing full well what she had done, she pretended she didn’t and walked away.

I know, I’m being hard on someone who probably isn’t paid well and has to pretend she cares about serving weary travelers who want soup, expect water refills, and need a bill so they can pay it.  So, the next time I travel, I’m gonna pretend to go to the hotel dining room, but I’m really gonna eat somewhere else.

Thanks for following my #FabulouslyFunny stories and always remember to #ShareTheLaughter

Eliza G.



aging, holiday, Humor, vacation, women

The Day After

After what I ate while giving thanks yesterday I am spending today giving my new activity tracker a workout.  That’s a lie.  I’m not being active today.  I hit a step goal and am willing to incur a few penalties for inactivity over the remainder of the day. I could do a few other things on this, the day after.

The day after Thanksgiving is always a lazy day. A lot of people go shopping but since I’m not a shopper the other 364 days of the year there’s no reason to venture out on the day after.  I could go, but there’s nothing I need that bad.  Shopping on the day after is a pretty, pretty, pretty bad idea.

I could go disobey, which really isn’t a bad idea. I like to disobey. It doesn’t require much effort aside from getting to the place where they permit me to disobey. Lifting a hammered copper Moscow mule mug requires little effort-even if I do it multiple times in an hour. Disobeying on the day after sounds like a pretty, pretty, pretty good idea.

I could also practice a new magic trick that I’m learning. The turkey and stuffing I ate yesterday might make levitating a little more challenging, but I’m willing to give it a try. I’ll just kick back, relax, and let levity do its job as I lift one stein and then another. Levitating on the day after sounds like a pretty, pretty, pretty good idea.

Yes, it’s the day after and I really don’t need to do anything besides incur activity penalties. I’m not going shopping, but I would disobey or levitate. Actually, I could do both, which could make the day after the day after pretty, pretty, pretty interesting.

Thanks for following #MyFruitoftheWomb !

Eliza G.

1980s, comedy, customer service, Dining, Food, Humor, women

Size Matters

I went to Subway the other day and while there, I was thrown for a loop.  As I think about it, ‘thrown for a loop’ is a funny saying.  I wonder who came up with that? I guess it really doesn’t matter who coined the phrase, which is another funny saying, because what does matter is that I was confused and I shouldn’t be when I go to Subway.

I used to live in a very rural area of the country so I didn’t see my first ‘pick your meat’ hoagie shop until I was in my 20s, which was about 20 years after Subway started.  Yes, I was a little behind the times, which is another funny saying, but I didn’t know, so it didn’t bother me.  Sometimes it’s good to be behind because things are less complicated.  Like instead of picking my meat, cheese, toppings, and dressings, I got whatever the cheerleaders put on my hoagie at 6AM that morning when they made it for their fundraiser.  Life was simple then. If you didn’t want cheese, you picked it off and gave it to someone who did. If you didn’t want lettuce, you used your finger to scrape it off into the garbage can.  It was a hoagie unmade to order and that was perfectly fine.

Which brings me to my recent visit to Subway.  I got in line below the correct sign; the one that read “Place order here.”  While waiting, I rehearsed everything I wanted to say.  I do that to help out the worker-the worker who has to ask the same questions over and over again throughout the entire workday.  What kind of sub do you want?  What kind of bread?  What size? Do you want cheese on it?  What kind of cheese do you want?  Do you want it toasted?  What else do you want on it? Do you want any dressings?  Do you want a drink?  Cookies?  Chips?  Is that debit or credit?

Yes, you can tell that I’ve been to Subway a lot because I know the questions and the order they are asked.  Well, that was true until the day when I was thrown for a loop. The sandwich artist didn’t ask, “What kind of sub do you want?” as the first question.  Instead she asked, “What size do you want?” I didn’t know what to do. She messed up my entire Subway litany by asking the wrong question first.  Why does size matter when you don’t yet know my bread choice? EVERY Subway person for the last 40+ years has asked me the same first question, then the bread question, and then the size question. Are you some kind of rebel?  A Subway rebel?

When I finally gained my composure and my bun was toasting in the oven, no-not that bun and not that oven, it was my husband’s turn to order.  And guess what?  He got the same, “What size sub?” question first too.  When we finally made it to our table he asked, “Why did she ask me for sub size first?” Well, she’s the artist and I guess for her, size matters.

aging, comedy, holiday, Humor, shopping, women

You’ll Cut Your Bells

It’s beginning to feel a lot like…what the hell?  It’s early November and it’s already Christmasey everywhere you go.  Yeah, I know, I shouldn’t have used ‘hell’ in that sentence given I’m talking about Christmas, but what the hell?

I was in the grocery store on the second day of November picking up a few essential items.  I was going about my business when something started nagging at me. I tried to ignore it as I filled my cart but when I couldn’t shake it, I turned with a jerk. Then sticking a finger aside of my nose I said to my husband, “Is that Christmas music?” I looked around and saw shoppers pushing their carts around like nothing was wrong. They were probably buying what they needed to do all their Thanksgiving and Christmas baking and there I was, dumbfounded that I was hearing jingle bells over the loud speaker on the second day of November. Why are we jingling bells just a few days after carving pumpkins?   Jingling and carving aren’t meant to be so close together; you’ll cut your bells.

Later that day I was watching television and saw an ad that said I could enjoy the smell of a new car for the holidays.  I started to wonder who really gets a new car with a big red bow on it from Santa Claus. Does anybody look out the window after hearing the prancing and pawing of each little hoof and see a new car in the driveway? Nobody is that good and let’s face it, November is too late to start trying.  Actually, it’s too late to start earning elf points for most of the items being advertised on November 2nd as Christmas specials.

What happened that each year we need more time to get into the Christmas spirit or to complete our Christmas shopping?  Oh that’s right, it’s not that we NEED more time, it’s that merchants want us to think we need more time so we’ll spend more money.  So listen up all you merchants. You can play all the music and advertise all the big fancy presents with big red bows that you want.  You can do it as early as you want, in every store that you want, and on every channel store you want.  But I’m not budging…because Christmas is in December.


comedy, Community, Humor, music, Travel, women

My New Friends

I went to a new venue the other night and listened to some live music. I was the third oldest person in the place but that didn’t matter, because I learned something new about the younger generation and I liked what I learned.

Everyone knows that Nashville is my favorite city to visit.  There is a lot to do there and if you’re open to the possibility you can find music other than country.  Don’t misunderstand, I like country music and will someday sing it in the Recreation Room. But there is more to life than today’s country, last year’s country, and last decade’s country and only listening to it in crowded, drunk-filled honky-tonks on Broadway.  There is non-country and specifically, non-country from the 60s and 70s, and listening to it in a dark basement in East Nashville. Sounds shady, right?

I can’t say I was ever a fan of The Velvet Underground.  I was only one-year-old when they started playing music so I was busy rockin’ out to the hottest nursery rhymes and playing peekaboo.  Yeah, I know, about now you’re asking what happened that I, an almost 54-year-old woman, ended up listening to music by The Velvet Underground in a dark basement in East Nashville.  Well, let’s just say, it happened and I liked it.  I liked everything about it. Most importantly, I liked the people. They were hipsters and while I couldn’t fit one toe into the skinny jeans many of them were wearing, they were the most respectful people I’ve ever encountered at a live music venue in Nashville or any other state.  While there was a funny smell every now and again, there was no swearing, pushing, gyrating, twerking, or drunkenness. If someone bumped into me, they apologized.  If they wanted through to move closer to the stage, they said “excuse me” or “pardon me.” They minded their business and so did I.  After all, I was in dark basement in a neighborhood undergoing gentrification.  That’s a big word, gentrification, and I’ve never used it before so I had to look it up.  Let’s just say that several years ago, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in that neighborhood, or maybe I would have.

I hear a lot about young kids and adults having a sense of entitlement, but there was none of that in my new neighborhood.  I was just there listening to some live music in a venue with a few of my new hipster friends. And I liked it.