I was working today. I know. Famous sketchy words right. I should change the name of the blog to: "My Work Place Is Sketchy (And So Is Yours)". Except not really.
Anyways. I was standing at the entrance podium being gracious and hostly, when an old woman walks past me to use the restroom. She's classically elderly, white, permed hair, yellow grandma shirt, grandma shoes, grandma voice. (I apologize for my lack of adjectives but there isn't really any other way to describe her). So she goes in, five minutes later she comes out, and I'm standing with my back to her facing the door. And I hear her say "Tight squeeze". A statement I assume is referring to the lack of space outside of the bathroom. (You know what the say about assuming...). I am a little bit confused for approximately two milliseconds, because she is the only person back there. There should be plenty of room, she shouldn't be "tight squeezing" anything! But my confusion is put to rest and everything makes sense when.... She squeezes my left butt cheek.
What. What just happened. At first I thought it was an accident. Like an accidental boob graze or something. Nope. That was a three-finger minimum butt squeeze there. My suspicions were confirmed after I turned to look at her and she's cackling. Like a witch or something. Proud of her achievement.
No worries Grandma, it's real.
Oh my goodness.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Don't worry, bee happy. (Or attacked by a swarm of killer bees).
I was driving to work Thursday on the highway, blasting Adele, and making a fool of myself per usual. When I noticed a sharp pain on my left arm, so I swiped it with my other hand, and the pain just transferred to my hand. It was like a magical Satanic joke. By the time I looked at my hand and saw the stingers, I came to the accurate conclusion, that once again I had been attacked by the stupid, crazy, kamikaze, bee. So naturally, I worked with a numb arm, and a useless right hand. At one point I tried to pick things up with my elbows. Not advisable.
That night, my face swelled up, so I took a couple Benedryl and passed out. And I was out man. Like a baby... after it takes benedryl (great babysitting trick though, when you want the kids to sleep. Just stick a Big B in their spaghetti). In my slumber I didn't realize the itchiness on my face the allergic reaction was causing. Nor did I realize that I was subconsciously scratching my face. So, I wake up, stumble into the bathroom, wash my face, look up into the mirror and scream bloody murder at the gashes I've caused on my jaw. My mom comes in, not to see what the screaming was about, but to dump all of my laundry on my bed.
I look like Scarface.
That night, my face swelled up, so I took a couple Benedryl and passed out. And I was out man. Like a baby... after it takes benedryl (great babysitting trick though, when you want the kids to sleep. Just stick a Big B in their spaghetti). In my slumber I didn't realize the itchiness on my face the allergic reaction was causing. Nor did I realize that I was subconsciously scratching my face. So, I wake up, stumble into the bathroom, wash my face, look up into the mirror and scream bloody murder at the gashes I've caused on my jaw. My mom comes in, not to see what the screaming was about, but to dump all of my laundry on my bed.
I look like Scarface.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Babysketchin' (Play on words. I wasn't really sketching a baby)
It started out as a normal Babysitting job...
Actually no. It didn't. I was recruited to sit two kids I'd never met before from San Francisco, at the Westin Hotel Resort. (In a hotel room). I should have seen a couple red flags there. Random people, random hotel, going to a 40th birthday party... But I decided that I should be grateful I wasn't babysitting in some back room of a motel, and helped a sistah out.
When I arrived at the door the mom answered it in her party dress and heels. She seemed nice enough: blonde, around 38, normal, introduced me to the kids, all that jazz. Then the dad pokes his head through the bedroom door and says, "Hun....will you pass me my pants...". Awkward.
Then they left, not easily though, with the sobbing of the six year old. But I cheered her up as soon as they left with my charisma and dance moves. The night went on, I killed them at Bocce Ball, we ordered room service, had a dance party, watched Everybody Hates Chris, and then they passed out after the sugar high. A pretty standard night.
It wasn't until about 12:30 when the parents came home, that things got weird.
I get a call on my cell phone, and it's the dad asking if I'll open the door for them, because "uh, the key has been misplaced..." So I go over to the door, and I open it to see the two of them standing, her completely soaking wet, with no shoes, and her dress pretty much completely unzipped. She RUNS past me to the bathroom. And he, smelling strongly of alcohol, looks super pissed off. I go into the other room to get my shoes and purse, and the mom hasn't closed the door and is hunched over peeing on the toilet. Classy. He explains to me, that after a few drinks too many, she ripped off her dress and jumped into the pool in her bra and thong. Classy. The dad only has 23 dollars in his wallet, so we venture to the lobby to find a cash machine.
We get into the elevator, and apologizes to me for seeing his wife in such a state. He says, that is one of the disadvantages of their marriage, her being a partier...and 12 years younger than him. Awkward. Then we get to the lobby. It's almost one in the morning. I'm with an old man, trying to find a cash machine. In a hotel. The whole staff thought I was a prostitute. We are sent to this awkwardly placed cash machine at the back of the hotel. It doesn't work. We go to a super sketch back room ATM and it's out of order too. So we walk across the street to the Umpqua ATM and he falls down some stairs. And finally we get the money. And he pays me twice as much as he should have. Probably because I saw his wife shitfaced and peeing. Or because he was completely wasted himself.
As I walk out to my car, now past one in the morning, the doorman says to me, "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Probably because he thought I was a hooker. Jesus Christ.
Actually no. It didn't. I was recruited to sit two kids I'd never met before from San Francisco, at the Westin Hotel Resort. (In a hotel room). I should have seen a couple red flags there. Random people, random hotel, going to a 40th birthday party... But I decided that I should be grateful I wasn't babysitting in some back room of a motel, and helped a sistah out.
When I arrived at the door the mom answered it in her party dress and heels. She seemed nice enough: blonde, around 38, normal, introduced me to the kids, all that jazz. Then the dad pokes his head through the bedroom door and says, "Hun....will you pass me my pants...". Awkward.
Then they left, not easily though, with the sobbing of the six year old. But I cheered her up as soon as they left with my charisma and dance moves. The night went on, I killed them at Bocce Ball, we ordered room service, had a dance party, watched Everybody Hates Chris, and then they passed out after the sugar high. A pretty standard night.
It wasn't until about 12:30 when the parents came home, that things got weird.
I get a call on my cell phone, and it's the dad asking if I'll open the door for them, because "uh, the key has been misplaced..." So I go over to the door, and I open it to see the two of them standing, her completely soaking wet, with no shoes, and her dress pretty much completely unzipped. She RUNS past me to the bathroom. And he, smelling strongly of alcohol, looks super pissed off. I go into the other room to get my shoes and purse, and the mom hasn't closed the door and is hunched over peeing on the toilet. Classy. He explains to me, that after a few drinks too many, she ripped off her dress and jumped into the pool in her bra and thong. Classy. The dad only has 23 dollars in his wallet, so we venture to the lobby to find a cash machine.
We get into the elevator, and apologizes to me for seeing his wife in such a state. He says, that is one of the disadvantages of their marriage, her being a partier...and 12 years younger than him. Awkward. Then we get to the lobby. It's almost one in the morning. I'm with an old man, trying to find a cash machine. In a hotel. The whole staff thought I was a prostitute. We are sent to this awkwardly placed cash machine at the back of the hotel. It doesn't work. We go to a super sketch back room ATM and it's out of order too. So we walk across the street to the Umpqua ATM and he falls down some stairs. And finally we get the money. And he pays me twice as much as he should have. Probably because I saw his wife shitfaced and peeing. Or because he was completely wasted himself.
As I walk out to my car, now past one in the morning, the doorman says to me, "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Probably because he thought I was a hooker. Jesus Christ.
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