Do you know where you're going to?

Oh. My. God.

The conversation I just had regarding directions.

This chick called because she was really lost getting here for the MBA etiquette class (yes, that is a real thing. Picture a bunch of Pacific Rim MBA students trying to grasp the idea of a demitasse spoon, and an etiquette teacher who ordinarily teaches seventh graders: "Okay, stop everyone. Everyone stop. Does everyone see what Yong Ping Pong just did with his napkin? What should we do?"...but I digress. Because it isn't really germane, because this chick was 100% American, as evidenced by her appalling failure to grasp basic geography.)

VERBATIM (please, bear in mind that I just quit smoking. And that I'm not especially nice to begin with. Dumbasses are in blue.)

Hi, I'm supposed to be there for the MBA class, and I'm so lost.
Okay, where are you?
I don't know. It's a highway.
(Moment) Could you narrow it down?
The Loop?
Okay, are you going north or south?
I don't know.
Well, help me out a little.
It's the Proper Name Parkway.
Okay, can you guess where you are on it?
Its the Proper Name Parkway.
Okay, but that's a parkway. I need you to be more specific.
I don't know where I am!!
What do you see?
I'm at a Marathon station. I had to stop for gas and got turned around.
(Pause) You're at a gas station and you don't know where you are.
No, I'm completely lost!
(Long Pause) Have you considered asking the guy?
He's busy!
What a coincidence. Okay, do you see anything distinctive?
Athens Tech?
Oh, great! I know exactly where you are. Turn back around, get on the Loop North.
I'm on the Loop!
No, you're not. Look for the Loop North.
I'm supposed to be on the Loop!
I know you're supposed to be, but you're not. I promise.
I know I saw a sign that said I was on the Loop.
Dear. You got off to get gas, remember?
Okay. Okay...This sign says 78/10.
Very good! Now, you are coming back to the 10 Loop. You'll want to take the Loop North, the exit before you go under the bridge.
What?
The first exit. Before the bridge.
What bridge? I don't see a bridge!!!
I'm trying to tell you what you're going to see. Before you see it.
But what do you mean, before the bridge?
(Pause) ( Rub forehead) (Slowly, as if to a Pacific Rim student with 6 forks) When you get on a ramp, get on the one before the bridge.
What ramp?
Right. Take the one that goes right!
What does the sign say?
I don't know what the signs say, but its gonna be the only two choices there are.
More than one?
Yes, but Don't Panic. You want the first one. North. Right.
I just don't know what you are talking about. Where's the bridge?
(Loooong pause) I think I have exhausted my helpfulness to you. I'm going to transfer you to someone who can be of more help.

The person I transferred her to was on the phone with her for 12 more minutes. At one point she said "Are you on a divided highway?" and the chick said "I don't mean to sound dumb, but I don't know what that is."

You may not mean to, but...

When she walks in the door I will either a) punch her in the face, or b) say "It's okay; no one really considers an MBA an 'advanced' degree anyway."

Gonna be a long day.

I Kick Butt

Get it?

All I've been doing for the past few days is dicking around on line for inspirational and profoundly disturbing material on quitting smoking.

I gasped and laughed in shock when I saw the pack warning in India. Its the whole front of the pack. It has a skull and crossbones. It has a picture of a tiny little baby with tubes running out of its nose. And it says "YOUR SMOKING KILLS BABIES."

Do you get the feeling that India doesn't have a powerful tobacco lobby?

I'll try not to go on too much about this except to say this: if you are still enjoying smoking and have no real urge to quit, do NOT Google image "diseases of smoking". The World Health Organization has Photoshopped a dude who has all of them, and it is right out of Hieronymous Bosch. Seriously, this creature has cervical cancer, a history of miscarriages and deformed sperm. Unpleasant.

So I don't smoke anymore, and I am fatigued, achy, can't concentrate and want to kill everyone I see.

Or as I call it, Thursday.

Well my goodness...

...so much has happened since I last checked in I hardly know where to begin. These are all the things that I could spend a page on, but instead will just tease you with until I get back to work Wednesday.

• The Braves swept the Mets in four games which seems like ancient history since we got massacred last night. And Bobby Cox turned 67 and signed a contract extension: now there's a guy who's aging exactly the way he wants to.
• My sister and her boyfriend came to town! I was happy to see them but the visit was too, too short, although I am looking forward to taking my bra off the second I get home as is my usual habit when there are no men around the house. Item of note: Boyfriend called me by the name my sister calls me. I thought it was kind of sweet.
• I was diagnosed with some dark and diresome horrific periodontal thing that makes me absolutely disgusted with my own mouth. Very expensive and dreadful which brings me to items three and four.
• I have to get married by July the 30th. Its the only way I can buy into the dental insurance before the first root procedure; otherwise its two grand out of my pocket or wait until January. So talk me up, people; I've got six weeks to nail somebody down and drag him into HR.
• I am quitting smoking forever on Wednesday. You may assume much more to follow as that storyline progresses. But I mean it.

These are the high points, except to add I hate Spellcheck. Its so worthless that it can't tell when a word is spelled correctly but used incorrectly. Apparently the menus I sent out last night advertised a "Skirt Streak", which I agree does not sound appetizing at all.

Spellcheck believes the word most closely related to prosciutto is prostitute, and don't even ask me how that "auto-corrected" menu went over with the kitchen staff. Its been four months and they're still cracking jokes about whore's-radish sauce.

Do you know what makes people insane?

Pool parties.

That's it; that's all there is on that subject. People get way crazier about a pool party for a five year old than they do about a wedding rehearsal dinner. Go figure.

Babe, if I'm the bottom, you're the tops

Last night on What Not To Wear Carmindy the makeup artist was talking about mascara and she said "Always, always do the bottom lashes first". That was it; no further explanation. This morning I've been taking a poll sample that is running 100% in favor of nobody does that. Twenty out of twenty attractive women do their top lashes first, with a small statistical anomaly of women who only do their top lashes.

I was staying up late to watch television because I have been kind of depressed lately. No that's wrong; not so much because I've been depressed but because I feel like I could become depressed so I have to distract myself. That's how I ended up being completely baffled by Carmindy's (who, by the way, could occasionally use a little WNTW consult her own self) enigmatic instruction. Is this yet another thing I got to be 35 years old without knowing?

And from there, oddly enough, I got to feeling better. I kind of got to thinking about all the perfectly ordinary things that I didn't know and hadn't done until I was in my thirties and kind of got excited about what might still be out there. Here are some examples:

• State capitals. Finally buckled down and learned them because I was tired of the sensation of "If that had been my question I just blew Final Jeopardy on something schoolchildren know".
• Finally saw The Godfather and The Godfather Part II at the age of 31. Fought it for years and was just shocked, shocked that they really were as good as everyone says they are.
• Went camping with a guy and, you know, did it, outdoors. Just exactly as uncomfortable as I would have imagined it would be if I had given it any real consideration.
• Football. My right hand to God I was 32 years old before I realized a first down was the original ten yards. How can it be first down, I'd say to myself, if a down is ten yards and he just ran 13. The situation was not helped by the fact that I used to only watch the "big" Georgia games in 2004 and every time I'd look up we were first and 23.
• Thong panties.
• I just last summer got the joke in Monty Python's Holy Grail about the "Silly English ka-nig-it." Seriously, it just clicked for me. Huh.

So it helps me with my mid life crisis to think that there are still things to come. Not the big things you have to consciously attack, like apparently I am going to get old and die with out ever learning to play an F chord on the guitar, but small things like I don't know the names of trees and its probably not too late to pick that up.

Side Note: Also helping me with my mid life crisis: Chipper Jones, who at 7 weeks my senior is kicking butt all over the league, and if he is a juicer I am a ring-tailed monkey with the chicken pox. Cooperstown bound.

That mascara thing is just crazy, though.

More word fun

Ever since the mention of capitonyms in the last post, my sister has been randomly calling me at all hours and saying things like "China. You're it."

How's this for a great phrase? Yesterday this guy tripped over his own feet for no reason at all that I could see. He said he must have "walked into a gravity storm." I love it. (When I do that it's usually because of a Terrapin storm. His explanation is much the nicer).

Herb ate an herb

It has been a long time since I have not wanted to finish reading a book. I cannot begin to tell you how much fun The Know It All is. This guy really appeals to my command of esoteric knowledge combined with my need to always be right.

There are so many words I have never heard of in this book. Even types of words. For example, did you know there is such a thing as Capitonyms? These are words where the meaning changes based on whether or not not it is capitalized. The Polish company manufactures shoe polish. This and today's title are the only examples given; maybe that's all there is.

My new favorite thing, which has many common examples, is the miranym. This is the word between two antonyms. I love new words.

• convex/concave: flat
• hot/ cold: room temperature
• acme/ nadir: plateau
• ascending/ descending: level

Fun, huh? Let's play at home!

• a wide, warm circle of loving and supportive friends/ crushing loneliness: monthly poker tournament
• Kate Moss/ Mama Cass: me
• too young to know anything/ too old to change anything: 5 weeks shy of 36th birthday
• Mother Teresa/ Woman I just got of the phone with: Vlad the Impaler

I'd rather steal the pot than turn a trick

I am reading a fantastic book. It's called The Know-It-All: One Man's Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World. It a memoir of the year he spent reading the entire 124 volume Encyclopedia Britannica. It is chock full of trivia and snark, which I have always considered two of my best things. Such my book. You may look forward to many fun facts based on the Encyclopedia Britannica

For example, according to the EB all card games can be classified as one of two types: games based on rank (like bridge) or games based on combinations (like poker). Now I do not believe any of those "there are two kinds of people in the world..." theories, but if I were given to facile explanations for human behavior (especially as seen around the Wountry Wub) it is tempting and easy to develop a complete theory of people based on what kind of card games they like.

I have always hated rank games. Hate bridge, hate spades, hate pinochle. True story: I once made out with I guy I had sworn to myself not to touch because it seemed like the only way to get him to stop trying to teach me euchre. I like poker, rummy, Uno, where a ton of lucky threes can beat royalty. You see how this social theory practically writes itself?

It could certainly explain the Bridge Coven. This is my affectionate name for the women that come out to the Wub every day---every single day---and play Bridge for 4 to 6 hours---daily. Maybe they love bridge so much because they are obsessed with rank. Maybe they are ranking everything, putting a value on everything, including the quality of the free cookies they get and who else gets to come in and play bridge in the same room at the same time. Whereas I roll with the theory that a lucky combination can hit anything or anybody at anytime and that's all that distinguishes anyone from anybody else.

Like I said, a facile and dumb theory, of course, but a healthy attitude to try to adopt, especially this morning when Mrs. Iwsfhcitdwtw finally made her reservation for Mother's Day.

No she isn't Welsh; its an acronym for "I would sooner fellate a hot curling iron than deal with that woman."

Hmmmmmm...Jamocha Almond Fudge...

A moment of silence in honor of Irvine Robbins, co-founder of Baskin-Robbins 31 Flavors, who died this week at the age of 90. One hopes it was quietly in his sleep, and not from Creamy Delicious Hardening of the Arteries. Original Flavors included Rocky Road, Lemon Crisp, Vanilla Burnt Almond, and Cherry Macaroon. My favorite historical specialty: Baseball Nut, designed to commemorate the Dodgers move to LA in 1958. Vanilla, peanuts and raspberries for the umpires.

One of the original 31 was also Egg Nog. Nobody's Perfect.

On one of my young birthdays, five or six I suppose, I got an ice cream cake from Baskin- Robbins that looked like a watermelon; green frosting with with pink cake and mint chocolate chip on the inside. For that reason alone I hope very much that Irvine Robbins receives free samples in the great Ice Cream Parlour in the Sky forever.

ATTENTION SENSITIVE MALE READERS

This is just a warning to my vast male reading audience (of precisely one): today is not for you, so unless you wish to know all together too much about your girlfriend's sister, I suggest you avert your eyes.

Is he gone? Good.

I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! I knew if I wore brand new gabardine slacks I would start my period, never mind three days early. I averted disaster but now will spend the rest of the day consumed with Seersucker Paranoia.

Crap.

Obviously I am not in much of a mood for new material today, so those of you on the edge of your seat wondering what I think about Ken Griffey Junior (hint: pro) will just have to wait for oh, about five days.

I give you instead a verse from the vast collection of Country-Western Songs I Have Almost Written (and wasn't I in a bit of a mood the day I wrote this one):

The Ballad Of Bloaty McPad-Pants

Bloaty McPad-Pants
McQuiet, McSullen
Her temper's McSharp
Her wits are McDull. In
her toilet bowl there are
McClotties McFloatin';
Her back is McAchin',
her belly's McBloatin'.

And that's as far as I got before I decided to curl up fetal and do nothing for oh, about five days.

You like that, Sister's Boyfriend? I told you to go away.

As a side note, I got a massage last night and it was the shortest half hour of my life. It took me about 20 minutes just to loosen up enough that she could work on my shoulders. She was appalled. Apparently I am naturally pretty tight and tense. Who knew?

I mean besides everybody.

Oh, I saw a great bumper sticker this week: Yoga Is For Posers.

Fast Food, Fast Women

I can't decide if I want to talk about Ken Griffey Junior or the new and appalling commercial for Dairy Queen's Waffle Cone Sundae. One subject makes me wistful and joyful and filled with bittersweet admiration, and the other makes me want to walk into Macy's and light the Juniors section on fire.

I guess I'd better do Dairy Queen while I'm still overreacting. Because as we all know, unless you hold an elected office, moral outrage is pretty comical.

Have you seen this commercial? A girl and her Mom go into the DQ; the girl is maybe 12; she's not all tramped out in attire, but a very pretty blond girl. Mom starts to order 2 Waffle Cone Sundaes, but young Miss has caught the eye of a young kid in the next line. The girl says they should only get one sundae. As they are sitting down, Mom says she's surprised that she wanted to share. The girl says she doesn't think they'll have to. Just then, a DQ employee stops by the table with another sundae, "compliments of the young gentleman in the shark t-shirt". The guy gives her a nod, the girl flashes a smile, then turns back to her Mom and says "It's like shooting fish in a barrel." Fade on Mom looking a little taken aback and a little admiring. The New DQ Waffle Cone Sundae.

Two questions:

• WTF? I mean, W. T. F.?
• Why are you not just this second dragging that child out of the restaurant and taking her home to lock her in her bedroom until she's 21?

Are you kidding me? Really, are you kidding me? This twelve year old girl is already so intoxicated with her own Pussy Power that she does not mind behaving like a Brownie Barfly in front of her Mom?

I know, I know, I'm over the top, but something about that commercial makes me want to kill everything I see.

Now, I am not dooming this Dairy Queen girl to a life of trolling for drinks, but come on. Have we so sexualized the culture to the point that even in prepubescence the relationship between the sexes is defined by how much power one wields over the other, based on attractiveness and buying power?

And Mom thinks its cute. Like, "the good old days."

I swear I sat there with my mouth hanging open.

It's not just me, right? There is something distasteful about this commercial, isn't there? Isn't someone out there besides me that thinks the only possible response from Mom is to take the sundae, drop it on Junior Captain Roofies' table, and say "I give my daughter an allowance. Or I used to. Because based on what I just saw, she's babysitting every Friday and Saturday night until she is seventeen fucking years old. Creep."

And from Dairy Queen, of all people. Thanks for murdering childhood, Waffle Cone Sundae.

It's like if the Hamburglar carried a gun.

This is me blogging

...because I said I would several days this week. Just extremely random thoughts:

• I cannot even discuss yesterday's baseball game. Pitiful. I almost got into a punch fight at Loco's about it.
• I am now allowed back at Loco's. You know how sometimes if you meet a person at a certain place and you try to date them and for whatever reason it doesn't go anywhere and then people are sketchy and strange around you if you keep trying to hang out? We're cool now. I guess my failure to fall in love with their friend is overwhelmed by my total fall-in-loveness with Jair Jurrjens.
• April was National Poetry Month and I missed it. Today if someone asks for a private room for 25 people in one half hour with no room rental fee I shall say "It is good that man's reach should exceed his grasp; else what is Heaven for?" Or, "The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!"
• Seriously, you ought to consider checking out Eavan Bolland's New Collected Poems.
• Although entirely morally and economic-theoretically opposed to the stimulus package, I am looking forward to spending the shit out of it on nonessentials.
• Hot Oil Massage and Pedicure are not nonessentials. Between my elbows and my feet I look like I should be swimming off the coast of the Galapagos Islands.
• Regards yesterday's post: the results are in. Lamest. Blackout. Ever.