I Don't Have a Lisp, But I'd Like One

A lisp is the kind of thing you can fake for a few minutes. Or each time you do a specific thing, like answering the phone. Although there's not much lisping you can do when saying, "Hello." But maybe you work somewhere and have to answer the phone saying, "Hello, so glad you've called Sam's Swing Shop. I'm ready to assist with all your sex questions as they pertain to swings. How may I best assist you this morning?" But yeah, so I love lisps. Lisps and stutters really, but you're so much more likely to find someone with a lisp than a good stutter these days. I guess lisps are more popular.

Anyway, one of the few things I love more than a good lisp is a trip-and-fall story. Many of you know this, and are so kind as to alert me by e-mail when you've found a trip-and-fall online, which I greatly appreciate.

I happen to have excellent balance generally, but every so often even I trip. Just as I would laugh at someone on the street tripping, I will also laugh at my own trips. On Thursday, I tripped. It was extra stupid of me, and here's why:

For the last two days, I've temped in Union Square, and on my lunch hour this past Thursday, wandered into a small clothing shop wedged between a North Face store and an H&M. When you walk into this store, there are about two meters of space, then one step up, then the clothes the store sells. They put a fluorescent orange tape border around the step, which I noticed and appreciated. I stepped up. I walked around, talked to the owner, and laughed quietly to myself at how pretentious he was. When he told me he makes all the clothes in the back, I asked if he was the designer. He answered that he hates the word designer, and when I asked what word he prefers, he said, "Artist and constructionist." Alrighty then.

So I wandered around the store, and to be frank, my jaw dropped. The clothes were fucking amazing. Outrageously expensive (a t-shirt that I could tell would significantly shrink even in a cold water wash cost over $100), but also outrageously creative. They made my brain explode, and I was strolling from rack to rack with a smile on my face. There was an A-line dress in a dark purple velvet, with a white lace underlay on the sleeves, and a big lacey pouf at the front. I can't say it was pretty or my style, but definitely appreciated the creativity of the design. And it wasn't just a store filled with velvet dresses. Everything was super-creative in wildly different ways. It really made me think, and I meandered towards the front door with my brain racing.

I forgot about that damn step and tripped down it, despite that orange tape. Giggled all the way back to work.

Failed Dinners

I was reading the Slack Mistress's blog post about last night's dinner, and it reminded me of something from long ago. In the olden days, we Yogurts used to host one of the two Passover seders each spring. My mother would start cooking at least a week before Passover started, freezing cooked dishes in the basement freezer.

Back in my high school years, one night I passed through the kitchen to say good night to my mother before heading to bed. She'd been cooking all day, and would be cooking long into the evening. When I arrived in the kitchen my mother was just about to put two apple-maztah kugels in the oven before going to pee. These kugels are so good that we always had two - one to put on the table for the seder, and one for our immediate family to enjoy throughout Passover.

As my mom went to slide one tin into the oven, she somehow dropped it, and it flipped upside-down before landing all over the floor. We looked at each other in horrified shock. My poor mother burst into tears at the stress of having to clean up a huge mess so late at night while also having to desperately pee.

I decided to postpone bed and told my mom I'd start cleaning up and she should go to the bathroom. When she came back, she thanked me. As my mother handed me more wet paper towels to clean the floor she said to me, "We just won't put a kugel on the table this year."

This was so unlike my mother - to save the remaining one for us, but speaks to how much we all loved that kugel. I still usually make it at least once a year.

Please, join me by sharing your biggest dinner disaster in the comments.

Not the Discussion I Was Expecting

You guys know I'm a real bitch. You know how much I laugh at people when they trip. Or fall. Or both! You know that sometimes when I'm bored I amuse myself of thinking of past trips and falls seen days or weeks ago.

But I try to be a nice bitch, if there can be such a thing. I try to make sure that when I direct my bitchiness at someone it is deserved. Nothing makes you feel worse than giving an accidental bitching.

It was past 9pm when I finally sat down to dinner this evening. I was eating in my bedroom, because 9am was home and if I sit in front of the tv he has a habit of coming over and standing in front of me silently, waiting for me to acknowledge him. He then talks about whatever his issue is. I spend a lot of time with movies paused. It pisses me off.

Tonight, while eating dinner there was a knock on my door. I did not want to acknowledge 9am, because I am outrageously tired (I haven't been able to sleep during this heatwave) and stressed and, and, and. But I did the mature thing and went to say hi and see what 9am wanted to discuss this time.

Somewhat nervously, 9am asked if he has done something to hurt my feelings or offend me in some way, because if he has, he wants to fix it and apologize. He feels I've been angry at him.

This was my moment to tell him all the things he does that annoy me. How he leaves wet, used paper towels on the kitchen counters, that he never cleans out the toaster despite using it daily, that black dress socks don't go with white sneakers especially when you're going to work out at the gym. But the thing is, we're moving out in a week. I will not be here for the majority of that time. 9am is moving way out to the suburbs. The likelihood of ever seeing him again is quite small. So I decided there was no point. It doesn't matter that his moving out before the lease is up causes me problems. Why? Because he's not going to decide to stay due to that.

I told 9am that what I was about to say might not come out too sincerely because I've been rushing around so much today that my adrenaline was in overdrive. However. I have a lot going on right now and am very stressed, but I'm not angry with him. That we're both moving, and moving is stressful. That I'm going out of the country the weekend before my move. I could not stress the stress enough.

9am then confessed that normally he falls asleep five seconds after laying down, but the last few nights it's taken him hours, because he's been worried he did something wrong or offended me. I asked how long 9am has been feeling this way. "About a week," he admitted.

I felt awful. Spent a few minutes talking about how hard it is to find a replacement roommate to fill a spot on your lease when you have two weeks to do it (9am admitted to now understanding why those 30 days I kept bringing up were important). He seriously looked like a huge weight was off his shoulders. I asked 9am why he carried this around for so long, why he didn't say something sooner.

"I was scared it would be something awful, something too big to fix," he told me. We hugged, and I reiterated that we're cool, said he has to live his life for himself and that I totally understand that. Because he does, and I do. 9am told me that if there's anything he can do to help with all this to please let him know. In fact, he said it two or three times.

So I decided to toss it out there. "Think about if you want to help me move a week from this Saturday. You can let me know if you can do it next week, you don't have to give me an answer right now." 9am's eyes got wide. I think that was a little more than he was expecting, but he said okay to thinking about it. I won't be offended if he doesn't help.

The entire conversation was very weird. For some reason I thought 9am would be angry at ME, because I wouldn't sign the form he wanted that would take away his financial obligations here. Funny how things work.

In Which I Rage Against the Wrong Kind of Cheap

Each morning I babysit for a friend's daughter. It's too far to walk, so I either take the bus or the train. Taking the train is faster. It means I can sleep late if I want. Taking the train is a nicer experience. The seats are softer. The other passengers are more pleasant.

However. When you take the train you have to pay for each time you ride on it. There and back. If I take the bus yes it takes a lot longer, and I have to sit on a very crowded bus in close contact with homeless people who smell, but you get a transfer when you get on the bus, and it's good for a certain amount of time. Which means I can use it when babysitting is over and it's time to come home.

So if I take the train it costs $3, but if I take the bus it only costs $1.50. I am cheap enough that I deal with the bus to save that money. Even if I were working (never mind that if I were working I wouldn't be able to babysit each morning) I'd still probably take the bus if I had the time. I always like saving money.

I feel it's acceptable to be cheap in certain ways. Nothing wrong with walking into a clothing store and immediately going straight to the clearance or sale racks first. Nothing wrong with being upset if you don't get enough coupons in the Sunday newspaper to justify the cost of the newspaper.

However (oh yes, here we go)! There is most definitely a line that should not be crossed when it comes to cheapness. I saw that crossing this past Sunday. Here's the story.

I went to meet a friend at the local skating rink. We sat in the bleachers while her daughter took an ice skating lesson and participated in the "free skate" session. We chatted and watched the kid. Okay and I laughed at the people who fell. Because you know, it's me, and that's what I do.

We were sitting on these bleachers with bags and umbrellas all around us. A man kept picking things up and asking if they were ours. He and his people kept banging into me, standing in front of us (blocking our view of the ice). Then we figured out what was going on. The guy's son was having a birthday party at the ice skating rink. But instead of going to the office and scheduling a birthday party through the rink, they just had all the kids do the free skate, and then light candles on cupcakes and open birthday presents right there in the bleachers.

They did not pay to rent out the birthday room. This seems to take cheap to a whole new level. An unacceptable level. My friend and I did not tell on these birthday people, but I am sure if the ice rink knew what was going on, they would not have been pleased at all. And I say this as someone who worked at a sports place that hosted birthday parties on weekends.

I hope that kid enjoyed his party. No I don't. That's a lie. That little fucker stepped on my foot multiple times and he was like ten, old enough to know better.

Look, I know firsthand that times are tough right now. Money is tight all over, and I understand parents still want their children to be able to have fun things, like birthday parties. I get that. Really. But this. Takes cheap to an unacceptable level.

Grinding Halt

Despite having a post in Draft, I have no desire to write lately. Not blogs, not e-mails, not even signing my name. I'd much rather call these days, or hang out in person. If I owe you an e-mail, this is why you haven't gotten one. If I sent you a one-line email that seems rushed, this is why. I refuse to force myself to write, because the whole point is gone if I do that.

Instead, I will wait for myself. Wait until I want to catalog all the ways the universe is sending me signs of the new year. Wait until I want to detail for you the two (two!) people who fell on the bus this weekend. Wait until I have the patience to post the first part of the story about the partner who got fired.

Don't wait for me to write about things like the bail-out though, because I'm waiting until I can ask Golden Boy to explain it to me. He is one of the very few people who instinctively knows how to explain things in ways I'll understand, which is why he gets the hard questions.

Estate Trust Asset Recovery

Disclaimer: This is not legal advice. I am not a lawyer. Nothing I say should be taken as legal advice. I will laugh when you trip.

Now for a little housekeeping. About once a week I check some of my stats. Every single month multiple people are finding my blog by googling about estate trust asset recovery. Because I blogged about it once.

Here's what happened. You are owed money for something. In my case, it was car insurance that I canceled. You did not collect the money you were owed for whatever reason. The company that owed you the money somehow neglected to get it to you for whatever reason. That money then gets turned over to the state. In my case, the state was Florida. The state keeps lists of who is owed money, and how much they are owed.

Some companies (also known as law firms) acquire (buy? steal? probably buy) these lists. They then contact the people who are owed money and offer to get the money to them. That's the letter you're getting from a company or law firm that you don't recognize, saying it wants to give you money.

Legal? Yes. The catch? Yes, there is one. For this service, of getting your money from the state and getting it to you, this company or law firm is going to take a fee. A percentage of that money.

Legal? Yes.

I am cheap in that way though, so I decided to bypass the law firms (oh yes, more than one company or law firm can buy the same lists and more than one contacted me) and try to get my money myself. And I did. You can too.

You're welcome. This has not been legal advice. I am still not a lawyer. I look forward to you tripping, and welcome stories from you about people you saw trip.

What I Left Out

There's something I didn't tell you about in the whole Frank story. I wanted to put it in originally because it was funny, but then took it out because it didn't pertain to the story at all.

But you need to know this. Because you know how much I love seeing people trip. Or fall. Or trip AND fall. And I know you know, because you guys email me any time you do either, or see someone else take a spill. Which, by the way, totally makes my day. Sometimes it even makes the next day too. So keep those emails coming.

We'd moved into our first new office. The one where Frank was beyond angry at not having gotten an office. Remy of course, had an office. Remy was fat. He wore pants that didn't fit properly, without a belt. They were always sliding down his ass each time he'd lean over, and not in a gangsta kind of way that could pass for cool in certain areas. But in the "I can see what color panties you're wearing and your fat ass crack too" kind of way.

It was terrible. I was grossed out by the ass crack shots. But Remy didn't seem to care that he was showing everyone his crack. Anyway.

During this whole thing with Frank after we'd moved the first time, Remy decided to go on a liquid diet. For about three weeks. If you're considering doing that, please listen to me and don't do it. It's not healthy. Any diet that makes you actually WEAK is not a healthy diet for you. Plus, it makes you irritable and you'll be bitchy to your secretary who will then almost be driven to tears at her desk because she will internalize her inability to read your mind after you've yelled at her and wonder if maybe she really was supposed to have been able to figure out what you meant even though you hadn't said it.

One day, I was in Remy's office and he was giving me work to do. He'd pick something up off the floor, hand it to me, talk to me about it, and then go on to the next file. It was towards the end of week two of the liquid diet, and Remy was definitely not well. He leaned over to pick up a file. I looked away to avoid seeing panties and ass crack.

And then Remy's chair flipped forward and dumped him on the floor. I did the only thing I possibly could - got up, said, "Excuse me," and ran out of Remy's office down the hall to avoid laughing in front of him!

Not exactly the most professional move I've made in my career, but it was seriously the most professional thing I was capable of doing in that moment. You know, rather than staying and laughing right in front of him.

The whole chair tipping forward / Remy falling thing kept replaying in my head. And so I had to talk about it. Which is why I told the other secretary. Who promptly felt the need to re-inact the scene, complete with fake, "Whoaaaaaa!" noises mixed in. Multiple times.

It was the highlight of my time working there.