Clean shirt, new shoes
And I dont know where I am goin to.
Silk suit, black tie,I dont need a reason why.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Gold watch, diamond ring,
I aint missin a single thing.
And cufflinks, stick pin,
When I step out Im gonna do you in.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Top coat, top hat,
I dont worry coz my wallets fat.
Black shades, white gloves,
Lookin sharp and lookin for love.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl grazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Billy Gibbons and the band ZZ Top may not have known what they were speaking about in the hair dept., but I have to agree with their thoughts involving the clothes dept. There really isn't anything sexier then a man who is well dressed.
You know where this going, I ran into someone who wasn't.
Standing on the Metro and scopin' the joint out I came across a guy with a cute mug. (I couldn't check out my Merriam Webster's word-of-the-day because for some reason it didn't get emailed to me at 4-thirty in the morning like it normally does.) So this guy is catching my eye. Nice hair cut, (at least there was hair to cut, right?), good features, brown eyes and that's all I could make out. From the collar down was a mystery because the train was jammed with rush hour DC'ers. For a moment I'm hopeful, could there be a cute guys on the red line after all?
After bobbing and ducking and trying to reposition my stance through the Woodley Park stop, we finally arrive at my destination, Dupont Circle. It's like a cattle call getting off at this stop. All of us vying for the same resources-the one escalator to get us up out of there and back to street level. Alas, I find cute guy and jockey my way past girls walking too slow in their 4" heels to get smack dab behind him. I look to the left as he places his south paw on the railing, no ring. So far so good. We ride the escalator to the top and I look DOWN, to his feet that it is, and what a sight I see. 4 Words: Faded Wrinkled Short Khakis.
Gross.
Wrinkled clothes drive me nuts, but old khakis, too? The only thing that could have possibly brought this outfit any further embarrassment would have been a pair of white socks and Doc Martins. Memorized by the shortness of his pants I realized that they were a good 1.5" away from the top of shoes, in other words they didn't break. I remember learning that expression at the tailor's once when getting some jeans hemmed. He pointed out that I needed them brought up just a tad so that they would still "break" even when I wore heels. Every Mom should teach their boys, (and girls), that lesson, "pants break Junior and if they're not breaking, then they must be shorts."
Just the thought of a guy wearing khaki pants reminds me of late 90's GAP associate. Even they don't wear them anymore. Grant it, in Italy guys wear capris and they don't break. But Italians are the fashion rulers of the world and they can get away with it. American guys in capris? Not sure many can pull it off or should even attempt such a feat.
This is just further reinforcement to all men out there who do not have a woman to QC their outfits prior to heading out the door:
Invest in a Full Length Mirror. Next to an iron, it will be the best $10 you spend on your wardrobe maintenance.
Enjoy the weekend!
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Drinking Wine & Killing Time
Obama is on the tube and I'm getting a little restless sitting here doing nothing. Just sitting and watching the constant clapping is making me fidget so hopefully the wine will kick in soon....
I was asked today by my sister Donna what was the significance of my blog title, or as I like to say to my friends at work, " 'Sup w/dat?" (It's sounds funnier coming out of my mouth.)
"Trains Move" is an homage to my mantra. You probably didn't know I even had one, but I do and I tell it to myself on a daily basis. The phrase Trains Move means- Be in the Moment.
Let me explain when this started. One day when I was living in Boston and riding the "T", (that's their version of the Metro fellow DC'ers), I started observing the people on the train. Now I don't know about any of you guys but I have a system when I get on the train. I get on and I look around. My ideal spot depending on if it's rush hour or not is right against the door. Why not, right? I'm only on the metro for 2 stops. This of course was a system I developed after analyzing what side the doors open and riding the train for a bit to get a feel for the DC riders. I can't always do this though, especially in the mornings when we're packed in their like sardines. However, I always maintain the same requirements. I need something to hang onto no matter where I stand; I need a pole. I would think most people would require the same accessory, but alas I watch in amazement as they are proved wrong EVERY time.
On this particular night in Boston I was standing and hanging onto my pole and a group of tourists and BU students hop on and stand right in the middle of the train and not a one is hangin' on. For those of you that have never been on the T you should know one thing, it's old and it's makes lots and lots of turns and jolts. The metro feels like its being guided by angels in comparison.
So this group hops and oddly enough the TRAIN MOVED. Do you know what happened? They all got knocked the 'eff over. I kid you not. Some of them had head phones on, some of them were texting, some were just staring off into space. The point of this story is simple: They were all so busy being in their own little world that they didn't take their head's out of their asses long enough to realize they just stepped on a train. As one of them picked themself off of the woman she landed on I looked at her and said without even thinking, "trains move". I have no idea where it came from but I was compelled to express the obvious because clearly none of them knew what the hell just hit them.
Be in the moment.
The train will move.
The light will change.
The elevator door will close....unless of course you're standing their holding the button.
I took from this experience to always tell myself, I can stay in my own crazy little hemisphere when I'm in the comforts of my own home. But the minute I step foot outside I'm in a public space and it's totally up for grabs what could possibly happen at any moment. That's why you need to be aware, you need to have your head up and you need to be in the moment.
It's amazing how easy it is to forget this simple mantra. Believe me, I still do from time to time. And after I screw up I'm reminded of that tricked out scene on the T and visualize the sea of legs and arms scrambling on the floor. Then I quietly repeat my mantra to myself.
Trains move, so you better hold on tight.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
I was asked today by my sister Donna what was the significance of my blog title, or as I like to say to my friends at work, " 'Sup w/dat?" (It's sounds funnier coming out of my mouth.)
"Trains Move" is an homage to my mantra. You probably didn't know I even had one, but I do and I tell it to myself on a daily basis. The phrase Trains Move means- Be in the Moment.
Let me explain when this started. One day when I was living in Boston and riding the "T", (that's their version of the Metro fellow DC'ers), I started observing the people on the train. Now I don't know about any of you guys but I have a system when I get on the train. I get on and I look around. My ideal spot depending on if it's rush hour or not is right against the door. Why not, right? I'm only on the metro for 2 stops. This of course was a system I developed after analyzing what side the doors open and riding the train for a bit to get a feel for the DC riders. I can't always do this though, especially in the mornings when we're packed in their like sardines. However, I always maintain the same requirements. I need something to hang onto no matter where I stand; I need a pole. I would think most people would require the same accessory, but alas I watch in amazement as they are proved wrong EVERY time.
On this particular night in Boston I was standing and hanging onto my pole and a group of tourists and BU students hop on and stand right in the middle of the train and not a one is hangin' on. For those of you that have never been on the T you should know one thing, it's old and it's makes lots and lots of turns and jolts. The metro feels like its being guided by angels in comparison.
So this group hops and oddly enough the TRAIN MOVED. Do you know what happened? They all got knocked the 'eff over. I kid you not. Some of them had head phones on, some of them were texting, some were just staring off into space. The point of this story is simple: They were all so busy being in their own little world that they didn't take their head's out of their asses long enough to realize they just stepped on a train. As one of them picked themself off of the woman she landed on I looked at her and said without even thinking, "trains move". I have no idea where it came from but I was compelled to express the obvious because clearly none of them knew what the hell just hit them.
Be in the moment.
The train will move.
The light will change.
The elevator door will close....unless of course you're standing their holding the button.
I took from this experience to always tell myself, I can stay in my own crazy little hemisphere when I'm in the comforts of my own home. But the minute I step foot outside I'm in a public space and it's totally up for grabs what could possibly happen at any moment. That's why you need to be aware, you need to have your head up and you need to be in the moment.
It's amazing how easy it is to forget this simple mantra. Believe me, I still do from time to time. And after I screw up I'm reminded of that tricked out scene on the T and visualize the sea of legs and arms scrambling on the floor. Then I quietly repeat my mantra to myself.
Trains move, so you better hold on tight.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Truth Will Set You Free, But Does It?
I admit it, sometimes I can be blunt. We all can. I think we are the most blunt about subjects we are passionate about, for me that is a lot. We are most outspoken and the least fearful of objection about issues that matter the most in our lives.
Take for instance my constant quest for people to get the respect they deserve at work. Just today I watched a co-worker modestly explain that she had taken care of a large portion of work on a Saturday to her team captain. The team captain heard her say the words, "I finished that on Saturday", and didn't even miss a beat he just kept talking over her. I had to interrupt; it was rude but I did it.
Mw: I hope you know she was in here ALL DAY on Saturday working on this project.
TC: Yeah, that's nice.
Mw: Aren't you the job captain for this project?
TC: Yes, why?
Mw: Because you should be thanking your team mate for giving up her personal time to come in on a Saturday and work on this project. You didn't even acknowledge her hard work!
TC: (To my friend) Thanks for coming in, so what are you working on right now?
? Serioulsy?
I feel my blood boiling when I hear conversations like that one. No one should ever expect someone to work on the weekend and if they do it should be verbally expressed, "Hey thanks for giving up one of the two days we give you a week to come in here and do some more work." Is that asking too much?
I don't like to see people taken advantage of, I don't care who it is, but when it's a friend or a family member then I'm even more heated about it, and yes I can be blunt about it.
But is being blunt bad? To me being blunt is being honest: This is how I feel about xyz. All of us search for the truth, but do we really want to hear it? A former professor once told me after a studio crit where I gave a classmate some constructive criticism the following anecdote:
"Marianne there are front door people and there are back door people. You are a front door person. You want people to be direct and not beat around the bush. Now "Natalie" here is not a front door person, she is a back door person. She wants you to approach indirectly, you know, to spare her feelings?" I had my "Aha" moment.
I try to analyze my friends and I'm pretty sure most of them are back door people, too. Tailoring my vocabulary to accommodate them is sometimes challenging and I slip up from time to time and then feel bad for being a jack ass. Deep down we all want to think we are front door people but sometimes, the truth hurts. In the end we have to ask ourselves as the conveyor of the communication, are we a better friend for telling the truth? Or are we only doing ourselves the favor and not considering our friend's feelings when we speak honestly?
Everyone has heard themselves say the phrase, "Tell me honestly, do I....."
We want to be the strong person that can handle it, but we all have feelings and when they get hurt our ego crumbles. Do we really want to know if we have a big nose? Or how our butt really looks in those jeans? Are we asking the question in hopes of getting the confidence boost we really want or the valuable opinion of a friend that we really need?
A few years ago I was in a rough relationship. During one of the many talks to repair the relationship I decided to ask some hard core questions. I demanded hard core answers and you know what, I got them. It was more then I had imagined I would have gotten for an answer. To this day I will never forget asking the questions I asked and hearing the responses I received. They will always be en grained in my memory. I learned from this a valuable lesson: When you're down you're down and there is no reason to try to dig even further. Though I had been given the truth it really only served to further hurt my feelings, crush my self esteem and question my trust in people.
I believe everyone deserves the truth, but sometimes we just don't want to hear it nor should we.
So, the next time someone asks your "honest opinion" remember this and respond wisely with both your conscience and your heart. And most importantly know if your friend is a front door or a back door person.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Take for instance my constant quest for people to get the respect they deserve at work. Just today I watched a co-worker modestly explain that she had taken care of a large portion of work on a Saturday to her team captain. The team captain heard her say the words, "I finished that on Saturday", and didn't even miss a beat he just kept talking over her. I had to interrupt; it was rude but I did it.
Mw: I hope you know she was in here ALL DAY on Saturday working on this project.
TC: Yeah, that's nice.
Mw: Aren't you the job captain for this project?
TC: Yes, why?
Mw: Because you should be thanking your team mate for giving up her personal time to come in on a Saturday and work on this project. You didn't even acknowledge her hard work!
TC: (To my friend) Thanks for coming in, so what are you working on right now?
? Serioulsy?
I feel my blood boiling when I hear conversations like that one. No one should ever expect someone to work on the weekend and if they do it should be verbally expressed, "Hey thanks for giving up one of the two days we give you a week to come in here and do some more work." Is that asking too much?
I don't like to see people taken advantage of, I don't care who it is, but when it's a friend or a family member then I'm even more heated about it, and yes I can be blunt about it.
But is being blunt bad? To me being blunt is being honest: This is how I feel about xyz. All of us search for the truth, but do we really want to hear it? A former professor once told me after a studio crit where I gave a classmate some constructive criticism the following anecdote:
"Marianne there are front door people and there are back door people. You are a front door person. You want people to be direct and not beat around the bush. Now "Natalie" here is not a front door person, she is a back door person. She wants you to approach indirectly, you know, to spare her feelings?" I had my "Aha" moment.
I try to analyze my friends and I'm pretty sure most of them are back door people, too. Tailoring my vocabulary to accommodate them is sometimes challenging and I slip up from time to time and then feel bad for being a jack ass. Deep down we all want to think we are front door people but sometimes, the truth hurts. In the end we have to ask ourselves as the conveyor of the communication, are we a better friend for telling the truth? Or are we only doing ourselves the favor and not considering our friend's feelings when we speak honestly?
Everyone has heard themselves say the phrase, "Tell me honestly, do I....."
We want to be the strong person that can handle it, but we all have feelings and when they get hurt our ego crumbles. Do we really want to know if we have a big nose? Or how our butt really looks in those jeans? Are we asking the question in hopes of getting the confidence boost we really want or the valuable opinion of a friend that we really need?
A few years ago I was in a rough relationship. During one of the many talks to repair the relationship I decided to ask some hard core questions. I demanded hard core answers and you know what, I got them. It was more then I had imagined I would have gotten for an answer. To this day I will never forget asking the questions I asked and hearing the responses I received. They will always be en grained in my memory. I learned from this a valuable lesson: When you're down you're down and there is no reason to try to dig even further. Though I had been given the truth it really only served to further hurt my feelings, crush my self esteem and question my trust in people.
I believe everyone deserves the truth, but sometimes we just don't want to hear it nor should we.
So, the next time someone asks your "honest opinion" remember this and respond wisely with both your conscience and your heart. And most importantly know if your friend is a front door or a back door person.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Saturday, February 21, 2009
In Pursuit of the Fountain of Youth
For all of the women out there who sometimes find themselves thinking, "Man, I wish I was single again", let me just say these three little words:
NO YOU DON'T
Dating in DC, or going out rather is hard work. I mean hard work like you have to put in a 120% effort in hopes of getting a 20% return. It's slim pickins out there ladies. Guys with stonewashed jeans, indoor soccer shoes and tucked in button downs from Lands End. It's bad.
Last night I went out with my sister to a swanky happy hour benefit at the Ritz. It wasn't a good night for me from the beginning. When it comes to clothing selections I'm as indecisive as they come. I realized, (twice actually), that I'm old. I do not like being cold and the fact that I put warmth ahead of fashion tells me one thing, I'm turning into my mother. Gone are the days where I would go out for the night and not bring a coat, or the days where I would bring a coat and still have something fun underneath. I've now entered the stage where a turtleneck is an acceptable going out top with another layer over that in addition to my coat. It was cold last night and I wanted no part of it.
The second time I realized I was old came at the Ritz bar. One of my sister's friends was out and I had never met him before. He asked, "how close in age are you guys?" My sister replied, "2 and a half years." He turned around immediately and said, "And you're the older one", to me.
Seriously? What kind of guy guesses at your age anyway? Maybe next up we can play, "What's my weight?" or "Who's butt looks better in their jeans?" For the love!
The last guy to ask me for my number had an AARP membership. Maybe this is a sign, I am looking older. His idea of a date was "taking me for a drive" because that's what old folks do, they drive the countryside on a Sunday afternoon. I know I just need to keep going out and meeting more people because I'm sure as hell not going to meet anyone on my sofa, at my office or at yoga class.
Maybe I need to start analyzing the men on my metro rides more closely? Prince Charming could be standing next to me every morning and I probably wouldn't know because I'm too busy reading my Merriam Webster's word of the day and trying to create a sentence to use it. Yeah, that's what I do every morning for the 6 minutes I'm on the train.
I'm sure that's probably what old people do, too.
Maybe next Friday I should skip Happy Hour and go to Bingo.
Work Hard/Play Harder/Laugh the Hardest
NO YOU DON'T
Dating in DC, or going out rather is hard work. I mean hard work like you have to put in a 120% effort in hopes of getting a 20% return. It's slim pickins out there ladies. Guys with stonewashed jeans, indoor soccer shoes and tucked in button downs from Lands End. It's bad.
Last night I went out with my sister to a swanky happy hour benefit at the Ritz. It wasn't a good night for me from the beginning. When it comes to clothing selections I'm as indecisive as they come. I realized, (twice actually), that I'm old. I do not like being cold and the fact that I put warmth ahead of fashion tells me one thing, I'm turning into my mother. Gone are the days where I would go out for the night and not bring a coat, or the days where I would bring a coat and still have something fun underneath. I've now entered the stage where a turtleneck is an acceptable going out top with another layer over that in addition to my coat. It was cold last night and I wanted no part of it.
The second time I realized I was old came at the Ritz bar. One of my sister's friends was out and I had never met him before. He asked, "how close in age are you guys?" My sister replied, "2 and a half years." He turned around immediately and said, "And you're the older one", to me.
Seriously? What kind of guy guesses at your age anyway? Maybe next up we can play, "What's my weight?" or "Who's butt looks better in their jeans?" For the love!
The last guy to ask me for my number had an AARP membership. Maybe this is a sign, I am looking older. His idea of a date was "taking me for a drive" because that's what old folks do, they drive the countryside on a Sunday afternoon. I know I just need to keep going out and meeting more people because I'm sure as hell not going to meet anyone on my sofa, at my office or at yoga class.
Maybe I need to start analyzing the men on my metro rides more closely? Prince Charming could be standing next to me every morning and I probably wouldn't know because I'm too busy reading my Merriam Webster's word of the day and trying to create a sentence to use it. Yeah, that's what I do every morning for the 6 minutes I'm on the train.
I'm sure that's probably what old people do, too.
Maybe next Friday I should skip Happy Hour and go to Bingo.
Work Hard/Play Harder/Laugh the Hardest
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Cupid Just Can't Compete
So it's the 15th of February and Valentine's Day has come and gone. How quickly the red and pink go from so chic to so lame. I observe this day as the end of the 3 Romance Months of the Year. It begins with December with the exchanging of gifts with your sigO, then it moves to January with New Year's and exchanging kisses at midnight with your sigO until it finally culminates on Valentine's with an exchange of gifts, kisses and dinner with our sigO. It was a tough one this year, but somehow, somehow I managed to escape the big 3 without any of the above mentioned shenanigans. Probably because I'm single.
I realized something last night though. As long as you're surrounded by someone who can make you laugh and you're out doing something fun, it really doesn't matter if you celebrate a holiday in the traditional sense. (Why do we put this pressure on ourselves?)
I spent the day with my sis. I headed out to her 'hood which requires taking the metro and doing that transfer thing that most of you know drives me insane. It really isn't as bad as I make it out to be, but inevitably I find myself witnessing some spectacle. Yesterday's incidence didn't wait for me to transfer to the orange line, (that's where the craziness usually goes down), it happened right at Cleveland Park.
I realize it's a day to be affectionate and all, but still the rules of the metro still apply. Repeat after me everyone: Walk on the Left/Stand on the Right. I don't care if Cupid's arrow hit you and your sweetie and you want to stand next to each other on the escalator swinging your hands as to create a human barricade, there's a train comin' and I wanna get on.
That was just the beginning though. I saw plenty of hand holding, smooching, back rubbing (my least favorite of them all), and other types of PDA that really should be reserved to spaces that have doors and locks. The best was the couple that played the fake kicking game. (I had to text my friend Karen about this b/c I knew she could visualize what I was watching.) These two young 20-somethings were doing this karate/self defense maneuver where they took turns side kicking each other in the butt. Only they never made contact, they would stop short with the kick but keep the rest of the drama going with the upper body. It was extremely awkward, especially since she was wearing a skirt. I think they thought they were being super cute or a new age rebel Romeo and Juliet. It didn't have that effect on me. The only time kicking is cute is when it involves children under the age of 7 at a soccer game.
Oh, to be young and in love again. Though my evening would not involve kicking matches or back rubs, I was looking forward to it.
My sister and I went to a movie, (I picked), and then we went to dinner, (she picked). There was no obsessing over time schedules, romantic destinations or even outfits. We went out to have fun and we successfully accomplished our mission. We saw, "He's Just Not That In To You", that has more celebrities then I can name. It was excellent advice for any women who are in the dating world. It made me laugh, cry and most importantly it just made me happy. Afterwards we went to dinner at a great restaurant near the theatre, Jackson's. Was it swarming with couples, yes; was it decked out in pink and red balloons, yes; did it feel any different from a normal Saturday night, not at all.
The food was excellent, the conversation was engaging and humorous, and there was no wondering, who's going to pay. Sometimes not living up to the standard of what is expected for a holiday is the best thing we can do for ourselves. Good bye Cupid and Hello St. Patrick!
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest.
I realized something last night though. As long as you're surrounded by someone who can make you laugh and you're out doing something fun, it really doesn't matter if you celebrate a holiday in the traditional sense. (Why do we put this pressure on ourselves?)
I spent the day with my sis. I headed out to her 'hood which requires taking the metro and doing that transfer thing that most of you know drives me insane. It really isn't as bad as I make it out to be, but inevitably I find myself witnessing some spectacle. Yesterday's incidence didn't wait for me to transfer to the orange line, (that's where the craziness usually goes down), it happened right at Cleveland Park.
I realize it's a day to be affectionate and all, but still the rules of the metro still apply. Repeat after me everyone: Walk on the Left/Stand on the Right. I don't care if Cupid's arrow hit you and your sweetie and you want to stand next to each other on the escalator swinging your hands as to create a human barricade, there's a train comin' and I wanna get on.
That was just the beginning though. I saw plenty of hand holding, smooching, back rubbing (my least favorite of them all), and other types of PDA that really should be reserved to spaces that have doors and locks. The best was the couple that played the fake kicking game. (I had to text my friend Karen about this b/c I knew she could visualize what I was watching.) These two young 20-somethings were doing this karate/self defense maneuver where they took turns side kicking each other in the butt. Only they never made contact, they would stop short with the kick but keep the rest of the drama going with the upper body. It was extremely awkward, especially since she was wearing a skirt. I think they thought they were being super cute or a new age rebel Romeo and Juliet. It didn't have that effect on me. The only time kicking is cute is when it involves children under the age of 7 at a soccer game.
Oh, to be young and in love again. Though my evening would not involve kicking matches or back rubs, I was looking forward to it.
My sister and I went to a movie, (I picked), and then we went to dinner, (she picked). There was no obsessing over time schedules, romantic destinations or even outfits. We went out to have fun and we successfully accomplished our mission. We saw, "He's Just Not That In To You", that has more celebrities then I can name. It was excellent advice for any women who are in the dating world. It made me laugh, cry and most importantly it just made me happy. Afterwards we went to dinner at a great restaurant near the theatre, Jackson's. Was it swarming with couples, yes; was it decked out in pink and red balloons, yes; did it feel any different from a normal Saturday night, not at all.
The food was excellent, the conversation was engaging and humorous, and there was no wondering, who's going to pay. Sometimes not living up to the standard of what is expected for a holiday is the best thing we can do for ourselves. Good bye Cupid and Hello St. Patrick!
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Colds Blow, Literally.
If you're reading this then consider yourself one of the people that I am close to in life. I've joked around with most of you throwing out random threats of writing my own blog. Well, after spending 2 days at home on my sofa I've crossed off a lot on my To Do list. It was either this or start copying all of my cds on to my hard drive so I can finally update my iPod. Writing just seemed more interesting.
Having a cold really blows.
I got one on Monday and of course it festered until Wednesday night and then it hit me full force. I made two trips to CVS for necessary supplies. I have gone through 3 boxes of tissues in the past 48 hours. But finally, finally I purchased the miracle drug: Aleve D. This shit kicks ass!
The transaction was a little shady by Cleveland Park standards I must say. Prior to going back to the pharmacy counter to get the advice from a pro, I stood in the cold medicine aisle eyeing up my choices. Brand Name vs. Generic; Pills vs. Liquids. So many options. Knowing that I'm not good at making quick purchases I planted extra tissues in the front pocket of my hoodie. (Yes, I actually wore a hoodie to the store.) Low and behold I go into sneezing fit number 675 of the day right there in the middle of the aisle. I admit, it was gross. When you have a cold and you get one of those powerful sneezes you have no idea what could come out of your head. Unfortunately for the lady standing next to me she saw a bit too much. Before I could grab my tissue I heard her mutter, "Oh, gross!" But what could I do and at that point in my cold state I was in no shape to try to make excuses. I blew my nose loud enough for her and the rest of the store to hear and I really didn't care.
I stumble up to the Pharmacist, of course he's on the phone. He gives me that look everyone does when they are trying to multi-task while on the phone but they don't want the person on the line to know. You know the body language, you raise your eyebrows and head simultaneously as if to say to me, "What's up?" I push in front of him my generic selection of Nyquil and a coupon I have for Aleve D which I couldn't find on the shelf. He pushes aside the generic and eyes up my red nose and crumpled up tissue in my hand. "You need this" and he points to the coupon. "But where can I find it it's not on the shelf?" "Oh, we only carry that stuff behind the counter, not here but up front." He goes back to talking on the phone and I head to the snack aisle. I grab Combos, Kraft Easy Mac and 4 bottles of Gatorade.
When I get to the front I hand my coupon to the cashier. I felt like I was performing some illicit transaction. I say, "I hear you guys only carry this stuff up front?" He turns around and asks me what kind I want, apparently there more options. I point to a box, he scans it and suddenly the register starts making those beeps that mean more information needed. He looks at me and asks, "You over the age of 18?" I laugh and say, "Of course, look at me but why do you need to know?" He says they can't sell that stuff to people under 18. I reply, "Wow this must be good shit!" He just kindly smiled and pointed to the key pad in front of me. You know where you usually sign for your debit card, only it had this huge WARNING on the screen. Cash register guy says, "you need to show ID and sign." He take my ID and scans it and another screen appears where I have to sign. I'm very intrigued with what I'm about to purchase. Lots of steps, secret location, plus an age requirement, this stuff has to work!
I grab my goods, secret drugs, Kraft Mac and all, and get the hell out of dodge. Once home I take my first Aleve D. Within 2 hours something spectacular happened I could breathe out of one nostril and then an hour later I could breathe out of the other, too. Breathing has never felt so good. My head feels normal again and I've actually been able to move from room to room without a tissue supply in hand.
Tonight I'm going to sleep good.
So remember, you've got a cold, go to the front of the store, not the cold medicine aisle, and ask for Aleve D. And don't forget your ID.
Having a cold really blows.
I got one on Monday and of course it festered until Wednesday night and then it hit me full force. I made two trips to CVS for necessary supplies. I have gone through 3 boxes of tissues in the past 48 hours. But finally, finally I purchased the miracle drug: Aleve D. This shit kicks ass!
The transaction was a little shady by Cleveland Park standards I must say. Prior to going back to the pharmacy counter to get the advice from a pro, I stood in the cold medicine aisle eyeing up my choices. Brand Name vs. Generic; Pills vs. Liquids. So many options. Knowing that I'm not good at making quick purchases I planted extra tissues in the front pocket of my hoodie. (Yes, I actually wore a hoodie to the store.) Low and behold I go into sneezing fit number 675 of the day right there in the middle of the aisle. I admit, it was gross. When you have a cold and you get one of those powerful sneezes you have no idea what could come out of your head. Unfortunately for the lady standing next to me she saw a bit too much. Before I could grab my tissue I heard her mutter, "Oh, gross!" But what could I do and at that point in my cold state I was in no shape to try to make excuses. I blew my nose loud enough for her and the rest of the store to hear and I really didn't care.
I stumble up to the Pharmacist, of course he's on the phone. He gives me that look everyone does when they are trying to multi-task while on the phone but they don't want the person on the line to know. You know the body language, you raise your eyebrows and head simultaneously as if to say to me, "What's up?" I push in front of him my generic selection of Nyquil and a coupon I have for Aleve D which I couldn't find on the shelf. He pushes aside the generic and eyes up my red nose and crumpled up tissue in my hand. "You need this" and he points to the coupon. "But where can I find it it's not on the shelf?" "Oh, we only carry that stuff behind the counter, not here but up front." He goes back to talking on the phone and I head to the snack aisle. I grab Combos, Kraft Easy Mac and 4 bottles of Gatorade.
When I get to the front I hand my coupon to the cashier. I felt like I was performing some illicit transaction. I say, "I hear you guys only carry this stuff up front?" He turns around and asks me what kind I want, apparently there more options. I point to a box, he scans it and suddenly the register starts making those beeps that mean more information needed. He looks at me and asks, "You over the age of 18?" I laugh and say, "Of course, look at me but why do you need to know?" He says they can't sell that stuff to people under 18. I reply, "Wow this must be good shit!" He just kindly smiled and pointed to the key pad in front of me. You know where you usually sign for your debit card, only it had this huge WARNING on the screen. Cash register guy says, "you need to show ID and sign." He take my ID and scans it and another screen appears where I have to sign. I'm very intrigued with what I'm about to purchase. Lots of steps, secret location, plus an age requirement, this stuff has to work!
I grab my goods, secret drugs, Kraft Mac and all, and get the hell out of dodge. Once home I take my first Aleve D. Within 2 hours something spectacular happened I could breathe out of one nostril and then an hour later I could breathe out of the other, too. Breathing has never felt so good. My head feels normal again and I've actually been able to move from room to room without a tissue supply in hand.
Tonight I'm going to sleep good.
So remember, you've got a cold, go to the front of the store, not the cold medicine aisle, and ask for Aleve D. And don't forget your ID.
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