Quote of the day:

Sister Mary Fitzpatrick

 while attempting to read an email 

from a high school student:
"JK??  What does that mean?

 ...Jesus knows?"

Life lesson of the day:

When a middle-aged homeless man named "Jesus" asks permission to "bless you," 

ask a few follow-up questions before you consent.

Life lessons learned at Institute...

•            You really should stick to pots and pans when choosing a receptacle in which to boil water.  There may come a time when you really need boiling water to soften your mouth guard and you may briefly consider pulling two empty glass beer bottles out of the recycling bin, filling them with water, and placing them on your electric stove.  Resist. This. Urge.   Apparently glass beer bottles aren’t exactly “multipurpose” containers… something about being unable to withstand intense heat.  Anyway…. If you’re not careful, you may have to duck down behind your kitchen counter to avoid the shards of glass flying toward you after beer bottle #1 has exploded only to later set your bath towel on fire while frenetically attempting to save beer bottle #2 from a similar fate.  Hypothetically.
•            Your body, like a beer bottle, also expands in the heat.   This is why you shouldn’t assume that a roll of heavy-duty duct tape that fits easily above your elbow in an air-conditioned room will slide off just as easily after you have been moving loads of chart paper in the heat for several minutes.  As a matter of fact, you may not even realize just how much larger that part of your body  has become until you look down and see that said roll of tape is actually cutting off all circulation to your forearm.  It will require 30 minutes, scissors, soap, water, and at least one person with strong fingernails to free you at that point – but you will walk away from the situation with all extremities intact.
•       Organic deodorant does not work.  Not even a little bit.  After you have spent several days marching around a predominantly un-air conditioned Philadelphia public school smelling like a particularly foul type of apricot, you will revert back to whatever cancer-causing, environment-destroying brand name deodorant the masses use.
•       5 Hour Energy drinks have not been approved by the FDA.  Ingesting two of them per day everyday for 5 weeks is risky at best.  That being said, if you don’t mind potentially giving birth to flipper children or glowing in the dark by the age of 45, there really is no better way to fight off crippling exhaustion when a half-hour nap is simply not feasible.

Quote of the day:

Woman screaming at her husband 

as they enter a parking lot:

"Just because the ambulances go by at high speeds 

does NOT mean they want to race you!"

Quote of the day:

This morning on my way to work,

my Middle Eastern cab driver 
got stuck behind a 

slow-driving, constantly-braking SUV.

In frustration, he raised his fist in the air and shouted,

"He's killing me!

He's killing me softly with his stops!"

Best imaginable start to the day.

Life lesson of the day:

When Outlook spell check pops up, be careful what you click.

Otherwise, when emailing a client named Evangelia, 

you might accidentally change her name to Evangelical... and call her that...

 multiple times... 

in the same email.

Life lesson of the day:

If you want to capture a photo of a strange-looking man on the bus with your camera phone, try to look like you're texting when you're actually taking his picture.

...unfortunately, forgetting to turn the flash off of your phone will ruin this little ruse and lead to an awkward encounter with the aforementioned strange-looking man instead.

Quote of the day:

"I used to think it was 'Hey Jew' like the song was just for 

our people.  

Especially that one line where it's like, 

'Hey Jew, don't be afraid.'  

Always thought it was referring to the Holocaust..."

- Liz recounting her childhood interpretation 

of a popular Beatles song

Life lesson of the day:

Don't ask the person interviewing you for a job

if they're pregnant because they're 

"wearing a pregnant girl dress."

Quote of the day:

"You're probably still sleeping now since I received a voicemail from you at 4am. 

You were playing the harmonica." 

- Message from my manager at noon

Quote of the day:

Overheard on 14th St:
"Dude, I'm going to an Ambien party.  What should I bring?"

Telemarketers: Part One

What’s worse than a chatty seatmate when you're taking the red-eye?  Discovering that telemarketers have somehow acquired your cell phone number.  They call.  Constantly.  Making so many different offers that you can’t even keep them straight.  I’m starting to feel like Tiger Woods.  (Rimshot! Anyone?)  Anyway, I’m not really sure how I became such a hot item for these companies.  What about “nonprofit worker” and “public school teacher” screams high-roller?  Maybe the economy is just so bad that the $237.42 in my checking account makes me a modern-day Diddy. Who’s to say?  All I know is that I am longing to reclaim my anonymity.

Well... I was.  That was before today.  You see, this morning I realized something: as miserable as I feel on the receiving end of their calls, they must feel even more miserable making them.  I mean, imagine sitting in a cubicle for 8 hours a day calling strangers who will, more often than not, cut you off, hang you up, or curse you out.  It must be so… boring.  So predictable.

But not anymore.  Not on my watch.  There’s a new sheriff in town, ladies and gentlemen, and while she won’t be giving you the commission you so desperately crave, she will be giving you the next best thing: a story.  A story so ridiculously crazy that it will earn you your five minutes of fame at happy hour (because if anybody needs a stiff drink at the end of the day, it's telemarketers) and temporarily remove you from the eye-gouging misery that is your bland and purposeless life.

You. Are. Welcome.

Updates to come…

Life lesson of the day:

When the delivery man consistently

includes two sets of chopsticks

in your order for one,

it's time to reconsider

your sushi consumption.

A modern-day Anne Frank

I was a big Anne Frank fan back in the day.  I read her diary.  I admired her courage.  I identified with many of her thoughts and questions.  I did not, however, expect to find myself sharing in her experiences many years down the road...

You see, there is nothing worse than an irritating roommate.  Coming home at the end of a long, hard day and finding yourself face-to-face with a person whose mere presence makes your face tick... well, it's not quite like being hunted by Nazis, but it may compel you to change your name and move to another country.  Some flee these horrid living situations by emigrating to libraries or friends' couches - and some, like Anne, just hide and pray they won't be found.

I was a hider in college.  After class, I would rejoice upon realizing that I had come home to an empty house... but I knew it wouldn't last.  At some point - maybe in five minutes, maybe in five hours - I would hear that familiar jangling of keys in the lock, followed by the creaking of floorboards outside by bedroom door, and, finally, the knock-knock-knocking of a narcissist with between one and  five painfully detailed stories that she could not wait to share with me.

Unless, of course, the door to my room happened to be closed.  And it happened to be dark underneath the door.  And the darkness happened to be completely silent.  On these occasions, those creaking floorboards would lead her to her own room and the soft murmur of inane cell phone chatter that followed signaled my freedom.  I had been spared the misery of hearing about her day.

Granted, I only know these things, because I happened to be in my room the entire time... in the dark... motionless... silent.  With my phone off and my headphones in, I'd watch movies on my laptop, avoiding anything too funny or too scary - one muffled giggle or quiet gasp could have brought down the entire operation.  I also single-handedly disproved Maslow's "hierarchy of needs" theory as I would wait until 10:30pm to creep into the kitchen and snatch my dinner.  Even then, I chose stealthy foods - like pudding and oatmeal.  Chips and carrots drew far too much attention to themselves.  Years from now, you will find me in adult diapers since I have inevitably damaged my intestinal tract by "holding it" for hours upon hours - afraid to tiptop across the house until I was completely sure the coast was clear.  I don't care what Maslow says: no physiological need could trump my desire to be left the hell alone.

So, to all you modern-day Anne Franks out there: stay strong.  I may not understand what it's like to be hiding from someone who wants to kill you... but I know all-too-well what it's like to hide from someone who makes you want to kill yourself.

Life lesson of the day:

If you do not own a toaster and want to cook a Poptart,

you should not set the aforementioned tart on foil

and the oven on broil

and assume it will be safe to touch with your bare hands

in a mere three minutes.

On the other hand,

if you want to develop 
an enormous blister

on the tip of your pointer finger,

follow those exact steps.

And be sure to touch the frosting.

Quote(s) of the day:

A postal worker to me:

"You can't put a UPS sticker

on a FedEx bag

and drop it off

at the Post Office."

A co-worker to me:

"I want to kidnap you and keep you in a glass box in my room

all the time so I can just watch you."


(Side note: Am doing my best to laugh about this last one... because, well, it is actually quite terrifying.)

Quote of the day:

Overheard: "What do you mean you hate the Glee kids?!  That's like saying you hate world peace.  Or puppies."

An open letter to hair stylists

To whom it may concern:

I understand that hair is your thing.  As a tattooed hipster and/or gay man, those follicles that sprout from the top of your head are more than a biological feature - they're an extension of your personality... an art form... an expression of "you."  Not all of us feel this way.  Some of us, with less time and more responsibility on our hands, just need a way to cover our ears and/or feel feminine when we sprint out of the house without makeup.

Now that we're clear on this, I'd really appreciate a moratorium on the holier-than-thou, judgmental stylist commentary.  From the moment I sit in your chair and you start raking your fingers through my tangled mess of a ponytail, it begins.  First, you cock your head to the side and bite your lip - pensively diagnosing the problem.  Then, you frown - as if the worst of your fears had been confirmed.   After a few moments, you lean over to show me my own hair (like I hadn't seen it before) and say, "Umm... you have a lot of split ends."

Thanks for the insight, Dr. Phil.  Do you think I came to you because I wanted all of my healthy, perfectly moisturized hair removed?  I mean, what if doctors treated us that way?  Imagine: walking into a clinic, tissue in hand, violently ill, only to have your physician look at you with disgust and say, "Um... you have a really gross cough."  It would be one thing if you saw me elsewhere, but I'm here!  I clearly know that the split ends have gotten out of hand... isn't admitting it the first stage of recovery?

Soon after, in a tone of mock innocence, you lay your trap:

"Which products do you use?" 

At this point, I know it doesn't matter how I answer.  What you actually said, masked in question form, was "Whatever you are putting in your hair isn't cutting it... and I can think of a few paralyzingly expensive products that just may do the trick."  I prepare myself to sit through the lecture.  Oh, my hair is coarse and frizzy?!  Really?!  Do you think I made it through middle school without figuring that out?  Oh, I should be spending approx. 1 hour per day pre-rinsing, rinsing, moisturizing, deep moisturizing, and creme cooling?  Never.  Gonna.  Happen.

If you decide that you'd like to go into the business of making people feel bad about themselves, join the clergy.  Or PETA.  However, if you decide that you want to brighten the day of a hard-working, average person with more on her mind than Paul Mitchell and the depth of her artistic angst, ask me how I manage to keep my hair so voluminous in the rain.

Suavely yours,
Rachel

Life lesson of the day:

If the Chinatown bus you are riding is named 
"Double Happiness", 

you shouldn't expect happiness - 

even in its singular form.  

As a matter of fact, you may just find yourself 

double crowded 

by a doubled over snoring man

with a double chin

who should have purchased

a double seat.

Next time, you should just pay double fare and ride the Amtrak.

Quote(s) of the day:

Indrina:

This is how accidents happen -

mimosas and dares and backflips.

Alice:

I used to gnaw on Barbie's feet.

It was my grossest childhood habit.