Monday, April 14, 2014

Hooters for Hair


Ever heard of a hair salon called Lady Jane's Haircuts for Men
  • The stylists are all (shapely) women
  • The clients are all (desperate) men
  • The theme is all (boring) sports
  • And I'm all (gag me), "Give me a break."  

Women go to the salon to look better. 
Apparently men go to the salon just to look.


I'm all for free enterprise, but this place is just a little too on the nose.




It's like Hooters dressing up their waitresses as Calendar Girls and claiming that the male clientele dines there for the food.  


Lady Jane's is simply Hooters - but for hair.

 

Monday, April 7, 2014

Golfers Be Crazy


Going after golfers again.  It's because I just don't quite understand the point of golfing.   Take that tiny, pocked white ball and drop it on a stick crammed into the grass where it sits immobile (unless there is a strong wind).  Next, spend a half-hour practice swinging, digging cleats into the grass pretending to be a baseball player - which every golfer secretly wants to be, otherwise they wouldn't wear shoes with spikes when all they are doing is standing in one place.  I mean, how hard can it be to stand in one place for crying out loud?  But I digress.  

Finally, after the wait, the anticipation and the windup, the swing is taken, contact is made and (if the golfer is any good), the ball goes flying!  Mission accomplished. 

But then uncertainty and confusion enters the golfer's mind.  Maybe I shouldn't have done that.  What if I need that ball again? Everyone else on the course has one.  I'll be the only one without a ball.  They'll all laugh at me in the clubhouse.  So, said golfer hops into a cart and at a speed that can only be described as "I'm 90 years old and even I can walk faster than that," the golfer takes off in search of the ball.  Should I mention that the carts are electric because a golf course is the only place in the world that a 100% electric vehicle will EVER be accepted by mainstream society?  No?  Okay, I won't mention it.  But it's true.

The panic-stricken and insecure golfer finds the innocent ball lying in the emerald grass.  Joy fills the golfer's heart.  Yay, I found the ball! I'm one of them again!  But you know what? I don't need to be like everyone else.  I don't need this ball to be cool. How dare they pressure me into being like them! I'm just as cool without it.  Said golfer channels that anger into the iron club he carries with him at all times (which only shows their latent hostilities, because I don't personally know anyone else who walks around with an iron club, do you?).   WHACK!  And the little white ball goes flying again.  

But I did like joking around in the clubhouse over a drink of Arnold Palmer iced tea/lemonade.  That sure was a swell time.   Maybe I do want to be part of the club.  Hmm, I'd better go get the ball.  And so the pointless process continues.  Hit the ball, chase after it, hit it again, chase after it, hit it again, chase after it. 

I guess the game of golf puts into action the phrase, "You don't know what you've got until it's gone."

 I don't know.  Maybe it's just me.  

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Golfers Are Coddled

Why do golfers need it quiet when the rest of the world's athletes play before screaming crowds and those athletes manage to focus and concentrate?

Picture the World Series of MLB: Game 7, bottom of the 9th, score is tied, 2 outs.   The batter walks up to the plate.   All the pressure on that batter. The fate of the game, the fate of BOTH teams, the fate of the entire season rests on his shoulders.  Teammates, sponsors, agents, millions of fans - all screaming at the top of their lungs:  "You suck!", "You can do it!", "Your contract is almost up!"    

He digs his shoe into the dirt, he swings his bat back and forth a couple times, he centers himself and manages to tune everything out and focus on a ball that is about to come hurling toward his head at the same rate of speed as a car on a freeway.  

And then there is the pro golfer.  All dressed up in pastel plaids, he strolls out onto the green.  He casually drops a tiny white ball down on the tee.  Choosing a club from a bag, he takes his sweet time lining up the ball and practicing his swing.  He decides when he will hit the immobile little ball. It isn't decided for him at 90 miles an hour.  He alone decides.  And this decision apparently demands absolute silence.

Just as he is starting his swing, someone in the crowd farts!  Gasp!  Security rushes over with guns drawn!  The fan is promptly arrested and escorted off the green.  

Golfers are babies.


Monday, March 24, 2014

Relaxation can be stressful

I've had reason enough to be tense lately.  So I thought I would look into the mysterious world of meditation.  Wanting to try something for free first, I hopped onto the website for the local library.  It took me to the Lakeland Cooperative website search screen.   I looked up 'meditation DVD' and it returned a few hits, displaying that none of the copies were located close by.  I would have to request that they be transferred to my library.  Instant gratification - denied.

I clicked on one that said it was in Idaho or Pluto or something of equal distance.  It said, "on shelf."  I clicked on "Place Hold."  A message was returned, "We don't have any copies."  Huh?  I just saw one!

Thinking I did it wrong (but knowing deep in my heart that I didn't), I tried it all over again.  KDL.org, 48 digit library card number, Lakeland Cooperative, MetCal (whatever that is), look up the DVD and again got rejected. 

I ended up trying three different ways and almost dissolved in to tears, swearing at my laptop and yelling, "it's there! it's there!"

I thought of the irony and just started laughing.  I was about to have a stroke caused by the sheer anger of trying to locate a DVD that would relax me.  Laughing about it made me feel better and that is when I realized that laughter - not meditation - is the best medicine. 

Friday, February 21, 2014

My Pearls Are Where?!

Pearls are incredible. They are the result of the oyster's way of protecting itself from substances that do not belong inside of it.  The oyster combats the substance and in doing so creates the indelible pearl.  

Pearls come in many sizes, colors, and prices.  Despite these variations, they always convey grace and beauty, their soft and circular edges in contrast to the jagged harshness of today's world.

So why would anyone associate such nature-generated brilliance that hangs around the neck of royalty with something that catches the monthly excretion of a uterine wall?

Seems tacky.  But maybe its just me.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Diet gone wrong

I don't think I'm handling my diet very well.  

 

I was at a stoplight the other day and a pizza delivery car pulled up next to me.  

 

I considered carjacking him just to get to the hot gooey cheese!

Monday, August 13, 2012

Captain Obvious

I was driving along today and passed a sign I've seen a bajillion times in my travels.  Today, I felt the need to say something.  



I was driving up a hill and saw this ridiculous sign.   Someone spent money to craft a sign that tells me what I am looking at?   I can see that I can't see much past the hill!  I don't need a yellow sign to remind me of it.  And actually, the sign poses a danger by making me take my eyes off the road (with its faulty visability) to read this stupid sign.    

They should have signs at the bottom of stairways pointing up with the word "Up".    Or how about a sign that says "You Are Reading This".  

I mean, really.  Duh.  

 


Friday, June 8, 2012

What does SOS really stand for?



It could mean Help or it could mean Secretary of State.     In this case, it means both.

     My birthday is in a few days and being the detail oriented person that I am, I JUST noticed (on the paperwork that the Secretary of State sends six weeks in advance of the birth date) that I have to renew my license in person!  Oops. 

So I went down there yesterday.  And the SOS did not disappoint!  They were as rude and bored as I expected them to be.   First of all, the first lady I talked to, who gave me my number, talked super fast.  It was like three beats between what she said and my actually processing it.  I understand they say the same things every single day, but I don’t hear those things every single day.    
 Oh, and the number she gave me?   Zero-Zero.  I think karma is trying to tell  me something .  Twice.

     After about 15 minutes, the counter-help lady called my number.  But to me, it sounded like someone just said “Hey” really loud so I dismissed it.   She called it again, this time I actually heard “zero.”  I grabbed my absolutely adorable purse from 31, stood up and before I could take two steps, she called One.  I trotted up and said, “hold it, I'm zero.”  She said, "Are you zero or one?" (didn’t we just go through this??)  I said, "I'm zero."  She said, "Well I called it twice."  I felt like saying , "and your point would be...?"  
     I will admit that the rest of the transaction went smoothly, aside from the fact that her words were really flat, “sign this”, “pay this”, etc.   What cracked me up was when she took my picture for my license.  She told me to smile.  I thought, take your own advice lady.  
      Wow, can I have the part of my tax dollars back that went to pay her salary?   

     And while I was getting said photo taken, there was a very short and very thin Hispanic man at the counter next to me, literally with hat in hand.   His counter-lady was a very large black woman who looked like she just found out she was getting audited by the IRS.  The contrast between the two was like the gigantic power chair behind a large desk and the kiddie chair on the other side to make the  visitor feel small and weak.  
"Come in lad! Don't let my enormous

chair intimidate you!"


     Anyway, I heard her say to him, “Is it an 0-2 Honda?  Which is it?  (dramatic sigh) Gimmie your license, I’m gonna have to look ALL this up.  (another dramatic sigh)  if I can even find any of it.”    I thought to myself, “Wow, you mean you are going to have do your job?  You are going to have to perform the tasks that the state pays you to perform?  On a job, which you have, unlike a hefty bunch of people in our state?  (who you can find over at another government office, the Unemployment Office.  They actually smile over there.)  Were we supposed to feel sorry for this woman?  Whatever.


 
Oh, and I am proud to announce that my new drivers license photo looks like a "before" picture.  (Before rehab, before Weight Watchers, before hair coloring was invented, before Prozac was covered by insurance, etc.  Pick one, any of them will do).

Sunday, May 27, 2012


I was driving yesterday and there was a billboard showing a woman running.   Next to her were the words 

"Sun Can Prevent Breast Cancer?"  
 
(I didn't understand why there was a question mark either). 
At the bottom it said something like, "So get out there and prevent cancer." 

Anyway, the first thing I thought was, "yeah, but they're always telling us that the sun causes skin cancer."

So women are once again presented with an easy choice in life: 


1.  Go outside and save your breasts but damage your skin or
2.  Stay inside and lose your breasts but have the silky pale skin of a super model.  

Huh? 


Sunday, April 8, 2012

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Beauty Tip of the Day

Do not use lotion on your hands prior to flossing your teeth.      


Think about it.









Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Emily Post Missed This One

Many eons ago, back in high school, my friend Beth and I were driving somewhere.  During our uneventful journey, we passed a cemetery.  Beth pointed to it and said, "My grandmother is buried there."

How are you supposed to respond to that?  
"Oh, well she makes nice fertilizer, the lawn is lovely."

I'm thinking no, but maybe it's just me.


Thursday, November 3, 2011

Who Says Romance Is Dead?

Hubby and I were driving somewhere the other day.   The car is a stick-shift, and I was the driver.  As we are humming along down the street, out of the corner of my eye I see him sliding his hand toward me. 

His hand landed softly atop mine and I thought to myself, "How sweet!  17 years of marriage and he still does romantic things like holding my hand while driving!"

But then, I realized he was lifting my hand up and moving it to the shifter.  He dropped my hand onto the shifter knob and said, "You're in the wrong gear."  

Pretty much let the air out of my balloon.

For any men who happen to be reading this, THIS is why women are forced to read romance novels!

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Am I dreaming?



Have you ever been peeing and suddenly think, 

"Am I just dreaming that I am peeing but I am 
really still sleeping and am actually wetting my bed?"




Me either.


Monday, October 24, 2011

Have you ever been driving around and you see one of those signs posted to the light post or a telephone pole that says, 

"Queen Mattress $170  
Call 555-1212" 

I always wonder who these people are that are selling the mattresses.   Why are they advertising on street corners in that way?  I have to assume that it isn't Art Van or Sealy running around trying to sell their overstock.   It just doesn't seem legitimate. 

Queen Mattress Sale - Everything must go!


But then I also have to wonder about the consumers who are buying the mattresses from these people.  I wouldn't trust even calling the telephone number, let alone actually driving to a dark alley to climb into the back of the abandoned semi trailer to see their stock.   This isn't a fruit stand or those velvet paintings being sold out of the back of a van on a Sunday afternoon.  This is a mattress.  You have it for 10 years, it is as large as the car you intend to strap it to in order to get it home, weighs 400 pounds.  You know - a mattress.  Yet all they could use to advertise their product in order to get the buyer's attention was a yellow piece of plastic and a Sharpie marker?   

Buyer Beware!

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

What's Your GPA?

My husband and I were driving to the Detroit area last weekend.   I was bored so I passed the time reading all the billboards.   Several of the them were promoting an area university.  The advertising money was so well spent that I can’t even remember which college it was (Lansing Community, Michigan State, I don't know).   

Anyway, the ad showed a picture of a smiling high school graduate and their corresponding fantabulous grade point average that apparently helped get them into the mystery college.
 
What caught my attention was that several of these GPAs were over 4.00.   One of the ads said the girl graduated with a 4.75.  Not having a grade point that high, I didn’t realize they could go over 4.00.  I thought a 4.00 was like 100% or like bowling a perfect game. 

So to me, telling someone you graduated school with a 4.75 grade point average is like telling someone you bowled a game that scored 315 points.  

I don't know, maybe its just me.  




Friday, September 16, 2011

Things You Don't Hear Every Day

 I said to a friend yesterday, "I just found a can of crabmeat and a dead butterfly in the backseat of my car."

Then I thought to myself, Now there is something you don't hear every day.


Friday, August 26, 2011

No moulah

I was driving around the other day and noticed the construction of a new building.  As I passed the site, I read the sign that said the building was going to be The First National Something Or Other Bank."  

I thought to myself, "If no one has any money, why are we still building banks?"

I dunno.  Maybe it's just me.

  

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Convenience at the Pump

I was at the gas station the other day.   I decided to just use my debit card and save the trip into the gas station building.   Why talk to someone if I don't have to, right?

So I slid my card into and out of the slot at lightening speed.  I do this because that little machine doesn't like me and we usually get into an argument every time I use it. 
"Can't read the card, dumbo."   So I slide it again. 
"Do it again, it wasn't fast enough."  So I do it again.  
"Now you did it too slow, dumb butt."  And so on. 
Going to the gas station is like going to the dentist.  You are paying someone to be mean to you.

But I digress.  I know that is unusual for me, but I also know you will forgive my transgression.  Whoops, I digressed again.

Um, oh yeah.  So I was standing at the pump, listening to my adjunct bank account click, click, clicking all my money into the tank.   Then I was done and turned my attention to fighting with getting the gas cap back on.   It is attached to the car by a short plastic cord thoughtfully placed there by the manufacturer for my convenience.  I inevitably manage to get this convenience tangled up every time.   It's the thought that counts, though, right? 

After cursing the thoughtful manufacturer, I finished fighting with the gas cap.  I looked at the display.  It said $35.62.  I like to stop at weird amounts just to bug my husband.  He is the type that stands next to the car, bracing his body against a horizontal-blowing snow so he can click--click his way to an even amount like $42, but then clicks 2 cents past and stands there swearing while he then tries to click his way to another even number.   

I seem to have digressed again.  So I was standing there with my debit card, my odd amount for gas and a successfully closed gas cap.   I looked at the display screen and it said, “Cashier has the receipt inside.”   The one thing I was trying to avoid.  

I thought, “Well that totally negates the convenience of Paying at the Pump, now doesn’t it?!”