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, Dining, Food, Friends, Health, holiday, Humor, women, work

Unwanted Attention

It’s December 1st and opening day for Christmas season, which means getting decorations out of the attic and going to the ‘holiday party’ at work.  At last year’s party, I got a little more attention than I wanted.  No, I didn’t overindulge and tell anybody off, at least I don’t think I did.  But I did have a mishap that caught everyone’s attention at the party.

It was lunchtime on the day of the festive gig.  I found a leftover piece of pizza in the fridge and decided it would hold me over until the germ-infested buffet later that evening.  Buffets?  Who really wants to eat food served with utensils that were touched by every person in the room…especially when a lot of people in the room ‘haven’t been feeling well’?  Sometimes you don’t have a choice and you have to eat it. Save yourself some sickness by using a napkin to handle serving spoons or fill your plate and wash your hands before starting to eat.  Yes, I know, I have issues, but I’m only looking out for you.

Anyway, while eating my pizza I was holding the plate a little too close to my mouth, which I didn’t realize until it was too late.  As I cut a piece of pizza with my fork, the plate flipped up and hit just above my upper lip.  I knew it was bad when I saw red swirls in my ice water after taking a quick sip.  I knew it was even badder when I looked in the mirror and saw my fat, split lip.  I iced it, taped the edges together, and eventually covered it with makeup, but I knew it was gonna get some attention at the party…and I was right.

Some people just outright asked, “What happened to your lip?” while others looked and then looked away like nothing was wrong. You know, how you look and then look away when somebody you’re talking with has something in their nose?  Well, it was like that…they saw it, tried to pretend they didn’t see it, but couldn’t stop looking at it. Some did double takes and others did triple.  I guess it was a low-level accident scene but hey, I wasn’t gonna miss the ‘holiday party’ over an incident with a piece of pizza.

At the height of my unwanted attention, one work colleague decided I had something on my face that she could easily scrape off.  Bless her heart. She came in towards my lip with her little finger extended and said, “You have something on your lip.  Let me get it for you.”  “Well, if you can get that for me, I can go back to being just another ‘holiday party’ attendee instead of the center of attention,” I thought as I swatted her pinky away before it reached my lip, which was now a pretty shade of blue.  No pinky was gonna get that!

So today, I’m not eating any leftover pizza from the fridge to hold me over until the germ-infested buffet.  I wonder where everyone will focus their attention this year.

Thanks for reading and be sure to #ShareTheLaughter !

Eliza G.

aging, clothing, comedy, Health, holiday, Humor, women, work

I’m Not One of Those People

Halloween is the day when people want to feel scared.  I really don’t understand why people actively seek out scary things but given the number of scary movies and haunted houses it seems a lot of people like to be scared.  I’m not one of those people.

My travels took me to a work-related multi-day conference that was attended by a few thousand people from around the world.  I arrived a few days late and left a few hours early and yes, my abbreviated attendance was a clear reflection of my interest in the event.  I went, hung out with the person I wanted to hang out with, did what I had to do, and left. But the sights and sounds continue to haunt me.

Clearly, some mothers didn’t teach their kids to dress for the occasion. Mini skirts that are way too mini, cowboy boots that don’t go with that men’s suit, and bedazzled booties with a tweed dress just don’t fit the professional occasion. What made you put that on, look in the mirror, and say to yourself, “This looks good”? It doesn’t look good.  It won’t look good even after I have a few drinks in the hotel bar once the conference ends for the day, or maybe an hour or so before the conference ends for the day.  Professional means professional. Don’t scare me with this other stuff. I don’t like to be scared-even on Halloween.

Another clearly, is that some teachers didn’t teach their students to avoid reading their notes when speaking in public. The scary part is that those students grew up to be teachers-teachers who read to professionals at a conference. Do you wanna know what I saw everyone doing while the ‘speaker’ read for 20 minutes?  Tapping their pens. It was like a drum line had formed in the audience as listeners of the reader tapped, tapped, tapped their pens to keep time until the end of the reading. The scariness couldn’t be over fast enough….and I mean the reading, not the tapping.  The tapping gave all of us something worthwhile to listen to.

My last clearly is that somebody forgot to teach people the importance of staying home when they’re sick. I’ll blame this one on dad since mom already took some heat.  None of the 40 people crammed into the 80-degree conference room was happy when the first cough was released by cougher #1. Instead, all 40 of them looked around to see who did it so they could estimate their distance from the germ droplets that floated in the air.  They did the same thing when cougher #2 and cougher #3 coughed.  Germs scare me and I don’t like to be scared-on any day of the year.

I don’t actively seek out scary things but clearly, scary things found me this year. Sure, I could have looked away, stopped listening, and held my breath, but what the hell-it’s Halloween.

aging, comedy, Humor, language, women, work

She Left a What?

Over a 3-day period I participated in several meetings with a few people I had just met. Something funny happened during one of those meetings that got me thinking.

We were heavily involved in our first discussion when one attendee leaned forward to rest her arms on the table while she shared her perspective.  The only problem was, I think she shared a little more than she intended. She left a pooker. That’s what we used to call it when I was little-a pooker. I’m not sure I’m spelling it correctly because I searched over 200 synonyms and couldn’t find the word pooker. It sounds like cooker and looker, but it’s pooker.  Perhaps my Slovakian family was the only one to use that word, but you know what I mean when I say, “She left a pooker.” Well, her pooker was clearly heard by everyone in attendance because there was a split second pause in the discussion and people didn’t know where to look. I’m not gonna lie, it was hard to hold in the laughter.  I had to clear my throat a few times and shuffle through some papers just to redirect my attention and gain internal composure. That was one time when I didn’t want to share the laughter.

That was the first time I’ve heard that happen in a business meeting. I’ve heard it at grandma’s house when she shuffle-farted as she moved around the kitchen cleaning up after dinner.  Everyone sitting within earshot snickered because it sounded like she was walking across bubble wrap-the kind with big bubbles. Grandma didn’t miss a pop and never let on anything happened. I know, it was grandma, but come on, it was funny and a snicker was more polite than an outright laugh so I did hold it in.

I also heard a pooker at yoga class. Someone got into a pose and had a little trouble not letting out.  I thought the seam on the lady’s denim yoga pants was giving way, but that wasn’t the case. Trust me, it’s hard to hold a pose and keep your balance when you’re trying to hold in a giggle.  You thought I was gonna write, “fart” but I didn’t because it wasn’t me.  She did it.  Yeah, I know, it was a stress fart, but it still was funny.

Which leads me to what I was stinking. Oops, I mean thinking. Why is it so funny when it happens in some situations, but not in others? Is it the circumstance under which it happens?  The nonchalant nature of the pookerer or the reaction of the pookeree?  I guess it doesn’t really matter because when it’s funny, it’s funny and while someone else let it out, you have to hold it in.


Eliza G.