Tag Archives: humor

Strike a pose!

30 Mar

Image Source: http://professorqb.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/ProfessorQB-Headshot-with-highlights1.jpg

I received an email from my company’s marketing team, telling me I needed to provide a headshot for the website. Some people might enjoy the thrill of a photo shoot, but I don’t.

Among other things, I’m never sure where to put my hands. Part of me wants to constantly give two cheesy thumbs-up to the photographer, just so they have something to do. Or make jazz hands.

Anyway, I submitted myself to the horror of headshots this week, and I shared the proofs with Alan after, hoping he would help me make a selection. Here’s how our conversation went…

Me: Will you let me know which of these is your favorite?

Alan: Whichever one you choose, you should use it for your LinkedIn photo.

Me: Why? Do you not like my current photo?

Alan: It could just stand to be updated.

Me: That was diplomatic. What don’t you like about it?

Alan: Well, it looks a bit clown-y.

Me (once I finished laughing): Could you be more specific?

Alan: The filter on it makes your lips look really bright and your eyes look crazy.

Me: Oh. Yeah, well, the plan is to use this for LinkedIn, too.

Alan: Good.

Me: So which one do you like?

Alan: Not the one in the jacket.

Me: Why not?

Alan: The jacket doesn’t fit you.

Me: Yes it does.

Alan: Well, I can’t really see where the jacket ends.

Me: So what?

Alan: So I can’t really see where YOU end. For all I know, that could be a velvet mumu.

Me: So it makes me look fat?

Alan (warming to the idea): I’m just saying, it could be a velvet sack.

Me: Thanks for your help.

Sigh.

 

 

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Well, that was refreshing!

23 Mar

At my yoga studio, they wrap up every practice by spritzing us with lavender mist while we are relaxed in savasana (also known as corpse-pose). It’s one of the small touches that makes the studio feel a bit like spa.

Being environmentally-minded, they also provide a natural apple cider vinegar solution to spray on our mats to clean them after class.

So I suppose it was only a matter of time before a substitute teacher got the spritzers mixed up. The other night, I was lying there peacefully in savasana, waiting for my smell-triggered mental image of Provence’s rolling fields of lavender – when suddenly it smelled more like I was in England surrounded  by newspapers of fish and chips doused in vinegar.

Before I could connect the dots, I heard the hushed whispers of the instructor, apologizing to the first two people she had sprayed. Compared to the gentle mist of the lavender pump, I’d have to imagine it felt like they were blasted in the face with a SuperSoaker.

Fortunately, that harsh wake-up call helped her catch her mistake so the rest of us were spared. And those first two people might not have been relaxed – but they sure smelled clean. Namaste? 

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GUILTY! Of being clumsy.

7 Mar

Screen Shot 2016-03-07 at 5.50.31 AM

I had jury duty a couple weeks ago. As it turns out, I wasn’t selected for a jury, so my service was all of eight hours long. On one hand, I’m glad because I had a lot going on at work, so it would have been inconvenient to miss more than a day; on the other hand, if I were on trial, I would hope that the jury would be made up of people like me. And I think I’d find it interesting to serve on a (short!) trial.

Before I go any further, I should knock wood. I can imagine my friend Betsy – who has served on the super-long grand jury twice – wanting to punch me for thinking I’d enjoy “real” jury duty.

Anyway. The exciting part of this story isn’t actually about jury duty (if you can believe that?!). It’s about what happened during my lunch break.

Rain had been pounding the city in waves since I’d woken up and it was still coming down when they released us for lunch. Despite trying to walk carefully, I was fairly drenched by the time I arrived at Cava Mezze for lunch. After grabbing a falafel wrap, I popped my ear buds in so I could continue listening to Stephen King’s latest collection of short stories on my walk back to the courthouse. I raised my umbrella and started walking.

Out of no where, my foot hit the slick sidewalk grate grate and started to slide. The next thing I knew, I was on my butt, rolling around in a puddle like a turtle flipped on its back. My hand and my elbow were screaming as if someone had gone to town on them using some combination of a cheese grater and a hammer. In my ears I heard a woman begging to be slapped, thanks to Stephen King’s twisted imagination.

It was sensory overload, so I combatted it by loudly narrating everything that was happening, thinking (I guess?) that it would help me get my bearings. “Holy shit!” I called out. “How the hell did I just fall? I’m on my butt in Chinatown in the middle of the day! What is going on?”

By this point I was crawling around in a puddle, trying to get my feet under myself. I saw legs approaching and receding. In hindsight, I think people were probably coming to help me – then backing away when they heard my rambling narration of events. I finally righted myself and returned to the courthouse, drenched and disheveled.

I sat there, figuratively licking my wounds as they called the numbers for panel after panel of potential jurists. Yet my number was never once called. I can only assume that they they decided I was too discombobulated to serve.

I was reminded of a previous time I’d been called for jury duty, when I was excused because the courthouse caught on fire. So far I’ve been dismissed due to water and fire… should I assume that my future appearances will be thwarted by an earthquake and a tornado?

Whatever the case, I’ll take it. Proud to serve.

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A Lesson in Confidence

28 Feb

Dog with glasses

The other day while showering, I tried to remember what Alan looked like in glasses. He wore them when we started dating, but then got Lasik our second year together. Although he spent most of his adult life in contacts or glasses, I couldn’t picture him with anything on his face.

“Alan!” I shouted when I got out of the shower. “Do you still have your glasses?”

“No – I threw them out. They were falling apart… Why?”

“I was just trying to picture you in them and I couldn’t. Isn’t it funny – I can’t remember what you looked like in glasses?”

“They looked GOOD on me,” he said, simply.

BOOM. And I’m pretty sure that summarizes 90% of the difference between men and women.

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A Hero Walks Among You. (Hint: It’s me.)

4 Feb

Today, while you were wasting your afternoon tweeting or trying to pretend you were engaged on a conference call, I was off saving a life. Let me set the scene for you…

I was at Pret-A-Manger, catching up with my friend Lynne over a cup of soup, when we were suddenly distracted by a little bird flying around inside the restaurant. To take advantage of the warmer temperatures, someone had propped the door open, and apparently a little sparrow had found its way into the building.

What probably stemmed from a place of curiosity (what IS that place?) or greed (holy shit – look at all that BREAD!) had obviously morphed into sheer panic. The bird kept zooming toward the windows, trying desperately to get out – only to crash into the glass and fall, stunned, to the floor.

As soon as we realized what was happening, I tried to help it. Apparently, however, it didn’t WANT help, because it zoomed away as I approached it. It took another shot at leaving – by way of the corner windows, right above a couple eating lunch. It tumbled to the ground.

I don’t know if the woman half of the couple had seen Hitchcock’s “Birds” one too many times, or if she was worried about getting crapped on, but she slid out of her chair with a haste I previously associated only with grease fires. Her date remained seated, cautiously pulling all their food across the table until it was safely protected by his arms.

Without asking, I took my entry and slid over her seat, finding the little bird sitting dazed on the floor under the table. Before it could get its bearings, I scooped it up, gently closing my hands around it. It began nipping at my hand as I carried it outside. I don’t speak “bird” but I’m pretty sure it was saying, “THANK YOU for getting me away from that crazy broad.”

Within seconds, I had it tucked in a flower planter outside, where it could calm down and catch its little birdie breath before flying away. As I rejoined Lynne, she quipped, “Hmm… I hadn’t realized Pret was expanding their menu.”

Had Alan been there, he would’ve agreed – he always says he’ll eat anything he can catch. I guess if that idea took off, they might want to change their name. Prêt-Attraper DOES have a certain ring to it.

So in summary: Unless you saved an animal this afternoon, you need to try a little harder.

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Hmmm… perhaps I’ve just stumbled upon a new career path? Clearly there’s a need.

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