Clean Up in Aisle Four!

Originally posted 22.January.2007

Collecting my mail this evening I noted a new sign tacked on the community board. "S & M Cleaning" it said. Despite an initial outburst of laughter, I composed myself and looked at it more closely and they're serious. That's the name they have apparently chosen to go by. So two options then:

Option 1:

S&M really can get so messy that you need to bring in cleaners post copulation and apparently these specially trained cleaners know the secret to removing blood and other questionable fluids from fabric and such. Where were they when Monica Lewinsky had that frightful stain on her dress? If such a thing exists, it is further evidence that S&M isn't for me... I hate a messy house.

Option 2:

And regrettably the more likely scenario, some newly arrived entrepreneur still not all that familiar with the language upon opening his 1^st business has yet to realize that if his name starts with 'S' and his partner's starts with 'M', they may not want to refer to themselves as "S&M Cleaning"...for no other reason that even the amused and satisfied customer will stop using them when it occurs to them that some desk jockey at the bank is updating their account and commenting to their co-workers and friends about the crazy customer who has to pay specialized S&M cleaners to come in once a week like clock work.

______________________________________________

Follow up from friends suggestion other potential alternatives (thanks guys)...

MB offers: Here's how it works.
The cleaners come in dressed in black leather, and fit you with a ball gag. Then, they proceed to clean your house and tell you what a dirty pig you are. Sounds like a business that would do well in D.C.

BG offers: Imagine being this newly arrived entrepreneur, and showing up at homes where the lady or man of the house opens the door... already dressed in leather, a ball gag, mask, and holding a dildo/whip.

From around the ball gag, the "host" manages to convey the words "please come in..." and our entrepreneur is just standing there on the threshold...

I'd rather be decapitated.

There can be no doubt that one of the most painful things that can happen to you as a human being is to have an eye lash in your eye. This ranks ahead of paper cuts in my book.

Mock me if you will but just you wait until there's one in your eye which has fallen in at an odd angle resulting in repeated sharp stabbing motions into your cornea. I may start carrying around a box of eye lashes as a weapon (plain eyelashes = stun; mascaraed eyelashes = kill) and if anybody gets in my face I can whip 'em out, blow them into their eyes, hoping to land several and thereby rendering them immobile so I can start kicking them... or running away as they case may be. 

It hurts, that's all I'm sayin'.

The Importance of Being a Tastebud

Originally posted 3.January.2007

If you're sick in a coughy-heady-coldy-flu type of way and as such unable to taste anything but nonetheless feel the need to eat fruit, avoid bananas. When you can't taste anything at all, you realise that banana texture is actually rather unpleasant and by its very nature becomes a disconcerting sort of thing to eat.

RMV Performs Miracle Sex Change

I am no longer a man. Why? Simple. The RMV (Registry of Motor Vehicles) has finally deemed it so. About a year ago when I moved to a new state, I was issued a new driver's license. Lovely. Check it over for mistakes they said. I did. My address was wrong, I pointed out casually. No problem, we'll fix it, they said. And they did. And thus I trundled off with new license, plates and registration in hand. And everything was fine… for about a week. For about a week later, the woman at the video rental place called me 'miss….ter' in a very confused sort of way. I dismissed it. A few days after that, the same thing happened with the bank manager. "Here you go, Miss….ter." I confess at this point I began to wonder what exactly was going on and discovered (to my horror) that my new identification, courtesy of the state of Florida, displayed that I was in fact not a woman…so much as a man. 'Sex' it said and then it was following by a very large 'M' and not, in fact, the 'F' that I had been accustomed to my entire life.

Naturally, this was some thing of a point of entertainment among my friends. The identification in question was handed around at bars like part of a get-to-know-your-neighbour party game. It was by far one of the most bizarre pick up lines any of my friends have used: "Hey, wanna see something funny? Look at my friend's license! Isn't that a riot? Let me see your ID..."  

By and large it was not a problem. When I traveled through airport security I simply used my passport, even on domestic flights, to avoid any confusion. I'm not generally asked for ID to buy alcohol so I wasn't having to drag it out very often. And though I was not, in fact, keen to have anyone who didn't know me see my ID, I really managed to deal with it. Finally, finally I have made time to get it corrected. I fully expected a battle at the RMV for nothing is ever easy in that foreign place, especially for me. I seem to have had nothing but aggravation where it is concerned and thus we have reached the amicable solution that they will continue to make me miserable and, in return, I will do my utmost to inflict the same misery upon their clerks when I am required to visit every so often. It's not fair exactly but there you go, sometimes all you can hope for is to go down swinging!

The RMV are an authority unto themselves. They follow no laws of logic that are known to me. As an example I once had to pay for a duplicate title to a car I owned because the Massachusetts RMV claimed they had already posted it to me despite my claim that it had never been received. "Here," they pointed to the screen, "it was mailed in October 2000." Feeling the battle was won now, I said "yes, but I didn't own the car in October 2000. This letter from the bank," I said holding it up, "clearly says that as of last month (January 2002) they no longer have an interest in the car as the loan is paid off!"  "Doesn't matter," they said, "we mailed it to you." Then you didn't mail it to the right place, I reasoned patiently, because I didn't own the car then someone else did!  "We understand that," they said, "but the fact remains that the one free ownership title which you are in fact entitled to has been mailed already so you'll need to buy a duplicate."   Forty dollars in duplicate title fees later I had my first and only copy of the ownership title for said car.

Knowing then the sort of twisted nonsensical sort of logic I'd be forced to face at the RMV, I came armed to the teeth with evidence of my sex. No red tape would stand in the way of my quest to be re-categorized back in to the female population. My weapons were as follows:

1. Birth Certificate: indicating birth of GIRL driver.
2. British Passport: indicating FEMALE driver and citizen under protection of British High Consul.
3. US Passport: indicating travel of WOMAN driver to various exotic locales in last few years.
4. Photos of me wearing swim suit: thus showing proof of girly bits in question.
5. Sworn affidavits from various ex-boyfriends testifying to my ownership of other girly bits not allowed to be shown in above mentioned photos.

I felt confident that with such compelling evidence, the RMV could do nothing but apologize for their error and restore my status. Here then, my progress in the face of RMV denial of said error:

RMV Receptionist (no authority): Oh, I see! That is quite a mistake we've made. Here's your ticket, they'll be no charge for us to correct this for you.

RMV Counter Clerk (general decisions): Have you had a sex change?

Me: No.

Counter Clerk: Are you about to have a sex change?

Me: No.

CC: May I see your other identification please?

Me: {slides across US passport}.

CC {inspecting passport}: Is this correct?

Me: Uh…yeah.

CC: Did you change your sex after the passport was issued?

Me: No, I've never changed it. This passport was issued seven years ago. My license was issued eleven months ago.

CC: Well this is obviously wrong. Didn't you check your license for errors when it was issued?

Me: Yes, I checked all the general information, some of which was wrong but it never occurred to me to check whether or not my gender was accurate.

CC: You should always check it, these things change you know. [sighes] It'll be $5 for a replacement, I need to speak to my supervisor.

She wanders away and I'm left wondering how exactly 'these' things change. Is the RMV changing our political party affiliations while we're not looking as well and rigging elections?

RMV Supervisor (the decision maker): Do you have another form of ID?

Me: You mean besides my license and passport?

S: Yes.

Me: Here's my birth certificate.

S: Do you have anything else with your picture on it?

Me: I have another passport {handing it over}.

S: This is a foreign passport. Do you have your green card?

Me: No, I'm an American citizen. I have two passports because I was born overseas.

S: Do you have any other form of ID?

Me: I have more ID's than most people. What else do you expect me to have with my picture and sex on it besides my license and multiple passports?

S: We'll you'll need to pay $25 for a replacement license since you failed to correct it at the time of issuance.

Me: What? A minute ago it was $5. When I first got here it was free. Does the fee increase every time you need to consult a new person? I have more ID's that anyone else I know and I'm supposed to pay because some knob at a desk either can't type or doesn't know a pair of boobs when they're standing across a counter from him?

Ten engaging minutes later…

RMV Counter Clerk (again): That'll be $5 for the replacement.

Me: Fine. Excellent. Here you go.

CC: Are you addicted to any drugs?

Me: What?

CC: I have to ask you these questions. Are you addicted to any drugs?

Me: No. Do people actually answer that honestly?

CC: Has your license to operate been revoked or suspended in any other state?

Me: No.

A bundle of inane questions later…

Me (thinking to myself): {I won! I finally won a battle with the RMV! Hahahaha!}

CC: You'll need to step over there to take a new picture.

Me: Wha... Why?

CC: We're issuing you a duplicate license and we're required to take an up to date picture of you.

Me: It is up to date. It's me, only eleven months younger. I looked good that day. That is by far the best license picture I've ever taken.

CC: I'm sorry, it's procedure.

Me: I just got out of bed. I'm not ready to take a picture.

CC: Would you like to come back to correct this another day?

Me: Where do I stand?

The RMV always have their revenge. Now I look like a Nick Nolte mug shot on my ID photo...

The News

Originally posted 3.October.2006

Typically Americans are given grief for not knowing what's going on outside their borders and in general being pretty abysmal at geography. The jokes are pretty standard and cemented in the minds of those abroad. If you watch the local news, it's pretty apparent what they're on about. I'm mean the news here is pretty, er, localised shall we say? " School children in Pine Hills are assembling the largest noodle picture on construction paper in the history of modern education. Weighing in at 3 tons and requiring enough pasta to feed a small army, they've been hard at work for weeks..."

Being hyper conscious of this, I've always made it a policy to try to catch headlines for international news at the very least. Since I studied Political Science at university it was a requirement, since graduation I am at bare minimum a skimmer of global news.

The trouble is that I've just about stopped watching local news. As such the typical American 'localised news malady' if not in effect with me. My particular affliction seems to manifest itself in reverse. The result is that I'm happy to update you on the 'local' news of the military coup in Thailand, give you an opinion on the Israel/Lebanon conflict or brief you on what I glimpsed about a dengue fever outbreak in India. The part which now plagues my mother's already fragile internal maternal alarm is that I have no idea what is actually happening in my own part of the world. When I say my own part of the world, I'm talking less about America and more about say Florida or western Florida or if you want to get technical the towns I work and live in.

Let me demonstrate the scope of this by saying the last storm alert we had for a hurricane, people were gearing up as is their wont and I strolled into work one morning, cool as a cucumber, not a worry in my head beyond work. Everyone asks about my plans for the predicted storm. It's rather disturbing to have to look at a small number of concerned faces and answer "what storm?"

"The storm that's all over the news!" People and Amanda in particular exclaim to me.

"I didn't hear about it..." I say defensively.

"Well, what the hell are you watching?" they ask.

"BBC World News...did you know Israel sent ground troops into Lebanon yesterday?"

So Amanda has, I believe, (much to my mother's relief not doubt) taken on the responsibility of ensuring that should we have a major storm that I'm verbally alerted in person and relocated to a safe place.. as opposed to still sitting in my living room glued to the latest middle eastern conflict on BBC while the entire state evacuates around me.

In my defense, this is probably why I missed the thing about the spinach too. My mother rang and said "I wanted to make sure you knew about the spinach."

"What about spinach?" I asked.

"You're not to eat it if it's bagged, there's been an Ecoli breakout!" she warned.

"What before lunch?" I asked.

"What? Days ago. What lunch? What did you have for lunch?"

"Salad.... with a bit of spinach"

"Well how much spinach is that?'

"I dunno," I answer "enough for a full plate of salad. Like a half bag or something."

"A half a bag? Bagged spinach? You ate bagged spinach? Why would you do that?" she asked as if I'd just told her I'd taken a bath with the hairdryer plugged in as a dare.

"No reason not to." I answered reasonably.

"IT'S ALL OVER THE NEWS! HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW, CHILD?" You can tell she's getting exasperated when she calls me 'child.'

"I was watching BBC....hey, did you hear about China?"

It is a testament to my mother's concern for her children, despite our advancing ages, that she will call me later that night to ensure I haven't some how become infected with the bacteria since lunch that day. It is a testament to her penchant for worrying that will lead her to leave a message saying that she's now even more worried because I haven't answered the phone and would I please call her back as soon as possible so she knows I'm not bacteria ridden.

It's unclear if my calling her back the second I got the message, is a testament to my wanting to reassure her I was okay or that I was too impatient to wait an extra day to make fun of her for the latest worry-wart-mum tale which I'm adding to my collection. We'll just go with the dutiful daughter theory, shall we?

Boarding and TSA Security

I've been spending quite a bit of extra time in airports recently. Yesterday, bad. Arrive airport 3pm, depart airport 11pm... yeah. Long time. Having finally come through my door at 2:25am this morning and needing leave now to go pick my boss up, I leave you with these thoughts. Please take notes and pass them along to other people you know who are traveling, maybe then one day we'll all get on a plane more quickly. Maybe...

Why can't people board airplanes in an orderly fashion? It doesn't matter what order you tell us all to get on in, there's still going to 50% of the people repacking in the aisle to slow everything down. Stand aside! There is absolutely no need to adjust yourself and all your worldly possessions whilst standing in the middle of an aisle. Same goes for airport security. You're in a line, there are signs every three feet telling you to remove your laptop from your bag, people with TSA uniforms are repeating "take your shoes and belts off, remove your cell phones, check your pockets" every ten seconds. Why, WHY, must you wait until its your turn to go through security to do all these things and thus slow us all down? You've just spent the last fifteen minutes either standing in line with a bored look on your face or complaining about how long it's taking. THIS IS WHY! Everyone else is just like you!

You're standing there doing nothing while you wait; get yourself organized for God's sake. The procedure isn't going to miraculously change before you get to the front of the queue. There, you can keep your nail clippers, happy? Now take your shoes off!

And children [*audible sigh*]. They have nothing to speak of that will set off metal detectors. No jewelry, cell phones, laptops, belts, steel toed shoes, maybe a game boy, maybe. Put the game boy in the Sponge Bob back pack, place on x-ray machine, end of story. NO! This class of air traveler which should be quickest are in fact the slowest because they don't listen. They're strangling themselves with the straps of their back packs, kicking their shoes off in all directions, running to go fetch far flung shoes, taking off their coats off in reverse, all while trying to keep poking their sibling to retain a semblance of familial annoyance. New plan: allow child to keep game boy, Sponge Bob back pack, coat, shoes and finger in sibling's ear. Pick child up, put child on x-ray machine. *Ding!* Security cleared, new land speed record set. If they can survive all the x-rays for baseball, football, bicycles and general running/tripping/falling/climbing accidents, I'm sure a few seconds twice a year when you go to visit the grandparents out of state won't adversely affect them. They're young, they'll bounce right back.

Check In

Originally posted 22.August.2006

I have this tendency to get stuck behind odd people in queues at the airport. Frankly its annoying because no matter where I choose to stand it ends up being the place with the person hidden a few people ahead who is just mere minutes away from bringing everything to a screeching halt. Its always the loon who cant see the objection to packing fireworks in his luggage or has trouble understanding why an antique machete poses a security risk. I once missed a flight out of Ohio because an individual with a license to carry a concealed weapon forgot to pack it in his checked luggage and when an automatic hand gun goes through an airport x-ray machine, bad things happen. Everything shuts down. Literally, the metal gates were dropped from the ceiling and that was that, I stood there with several others on my flight for the next 30 minutes until our flight left, at which point they felt it safe for us to go through to the departure gate.

If its not a complete pratt like that then its the person whose been standing in line to check in for 10 minutes and finally gets up to the counter and cant find their photo ID or reservations and have to search every pocket in every article clothing and every bag before proclaiming that it was in their coat pocket the whole time.

So today I was waiting to check in at e-ticket counter at Logan. I'm stressed out. If you've ever used Logan International Airport on a regular basis you understand why I'm stressed out. The airline's on-line check in hadn't apparently been working all morning so there's a medium sized army of us waiting to use the e-ticket self check in machines. An over crowded check in area at an airport, two weeks after an upgrade in airport security levels, is not the time to show your 6 year old how to use the e-ticket self check in machine. I mean I applaud the initiative, I really do but there's a 3 mile line behind you of people waiting to check in. I, myself, am slowly turning into a ball of rage Incredible Hulk style. Have you no sense of the urgency which is almost visibly pulsing through those of us surrounding you as we look at our watches every 26 seconds and each time mentally recalculate how much time is left to get to our gate?

So I applaud you for the right idea but this is the wrong time. Now, even though, I think you're swell progressive parents and all, I'm deriving twisted pleasure from thinking that at least when your child decides to runaway from home for the first time at the age of 10, she'll get considerably further than the postbox at the end of the road. AND, if shes stumbled across any of my blogs shell probably even be able to clear security in a quick, no nonsense fashion, and be through it before you can reach her.