Archive for the ‘things that make me gag’ Category

Last night we attended the annual Christmas party for Hubby’s workplace (I used to work there too).  We don’t get invited to many parties and this one is usually really fun so I was excited to get out.  People seem to really let loose at this party and usually I am right there with them, dancing like a fool, spilling drinks on people, and yakking it up with people I haven’t seen in a while. 

<Insert reminder that I am 30 weeks pregnant>

It was still a good time but last night it became very clear to me how much of a social lubrication alcohol is for me.  This was certainly a different experience than it has been in past years. 

See, watching drunk people is all fine and good.  We laughed at dance styles, raised our eyebrows at the antics of the reeeally drunk, and commented on women bouncing up and down in dresses that were either way too short or way too low, threatening to reveal bits of themselves in Janet style.  Yes, we had some good laughs at other people’s expenses (oh come on… you do it too). 

Yes, watching drunkenness seems to be fine; it’s when the drunkenness comes to your table to chat you up that you really notice the difference between being lubed up (socially, I mean) and not.  Being 30 weeks pregnant is a magnet on the best of days but when you add copious amounts of alcohol and, in some cases, other stimulants, the pregnant belly seems to be a beacon that calls to the drunk like bad TV calls to Rosie O’Donnell. 

Numerous people touched my belly (I’ve found that I can be a little flexible with this and make exceptions for some but I’m talking about people that I barely know).  I was spit on by people leaning in close to talk to me over the blaring music.  When I wasn’t being spit on, hot little puffs of air travelled from people’s mouths and landed on my cheek with what seemed like a thud.  I was hugged by my husband’s boss just after he spit on me and just before he awkwardly offered me a job.  I even had someone cup my chin with their hand and squeeze my cheeks.  Yes, I’m serious… could I make that shit up? 

Anyway, I do realize that these things happen every year and that I am just lubed up enough to not notice them.  And overall it was a fine time because I enjoy catching up with people.  But I do find myself already looking forward to next year’s party when I will once again be self-lubed and a little more forgiving of (or oblivious to) the spitty-talking, hugging, dance-on-the-table masses. 

But for now, hand me that glass of ice water, would you?


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Today at the office, for my listening pleasure …

The honker.  Yes, he’s still at it and this week he’s recovering from a cold so the honking is definitely at its peak.  I’m still at a loss as to how that sound comes out of someone’s head.  It’s so loud that I can’t hear the guy next to me and actually have to stop conversations until he’s done. 


The saliva guy.  Nice as can be but the coworker in the adjacent cubicle is one of those people who seems to be drowning in saliva all the time.  You know the ones… every word spoken is through a puddle of spit that just hangs out at the back of his mouth around his teeth all the time.  I haven’t been spit on yet but it’s only a matter of time, really. 

He is also recovering from a cold this week so ‘saliva guy’ has temporarily turned into ‘very snotty saliva guy’:  the regular saliva still applies (but in grosser -pun intended- quantities) and is accompanied by phlegm-filled coughing and sneezing that you swear will require a mop to clean up.  I find myself wondering how that one little tissue does it!  And how he sleeps. 


The spreader.  You know the knob in every crowd that often doesn’t cover his mouth when he coughs or sneezes?  Yeah… gross, right?  This is another coworker that also seems to be more phlegmy than usual this week.  Not only is he not conscientious toward his fellow co-workers, but he is also the type that makes a big loud sneeze then turns completely silent afterward and you know he’s assessing the “damage”.  The other day he sneezed while on the phone with his woman and I actually heard him exclaim where it all ended up.  I’ll say again … gross, right? 


So yeah… these are the people in my neighborhood this week.  Once, yesterday, they all got going at once and it was like some really wet, sickening sonata that filled the room with sounds of snot and visions of germs dancing above our heads. 

All I have to say (after all the words above on the topic, obviously) is that these people better not make my pregnant ass sick.  I’m fine with a cold when I can take some NyQuil and wake up three days later feeling better and wondering where that new birthmark came from but suffering drugless through a cold is just no fun at all. 

Photo from http://www.canada.com/topics/bodyandhealth/gallery/germs.html?g=0

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On this topic I can stay quiet no longer. 

I will alienate the die-hards in the crowd.  My words will fuel the debaters hanging on the edge of their seats, just waiting for something to argue about.  I may even infuriate some of you… the adamant among you.  Of all this I am aware and yet I feel I have held my tongue long enough.  For too long.  I must wage on. 

I seriously hate Crocs.  I loathe them, detest them, dislike them. 



There.  I said it. 

But it didn’t stop at Crocs, did it?  No.  My circle of hatred widened a little more with every style… the sandals, the boots, the sandals, the slippers.  And then all of those little decorations they stick in the holes. 

I mean, how many other ways can they reincarnate ugly? 

And then, as if the million-and-one true blue Croc styles weren’t enough, the million-and-one companies creating knock-offs and selling them at every dollar store and corner store would make sure that there was a style, a color, and a price for everyone. 

Great.  Lucky us. 

I may have been able to jump on the Croc bandwagon if people had bought sensible colors.  But no, what have people gravitated toward?  Not the neutral colors that might actually have a chance in hell at matching an outfit in your closet.  No, people would rather match sunshine yellow Crocs with purple shirts, pylon orange with hot pink shirts, and Barney purple with those red shorts.  Because people buy one pair and wear them with everything they own

My god, I cringe everytime I see someone walking down the street with feet that could be lighthouse beacons. 

And that is my biggest problem with Crocs.,, the fashion aspect.  Day in and day out we are exposed to TV commercials, magazine ads, website pop-ups, and countless other methods of advertising that tell us we need to be on the cutting edge of fashion.  Now, I’m not saying that we should fall for all of that crap but what is it about these flimsy, rubber, hole-filled monstrosities that make people okay with throwing out even the basics of fashion sense? 

Oh, and for the record… just because you fashion them like mary janes, does NOT make them fashionable. 

Is it geography?  Is it because I live in rural, backwoods New Brunswick?  Surely not, because I see them even more often when visiting the nearest cities.  Do you see these things in the bigger city centers as much as I do around here?  I’m dying to know … and a little bit afraid at the same time. 

So there.  Despite how comfortable you say they are, I still think they’re f’ugly. 

And then there’s the social aspect.  Every time a craze like this sweeps our pathetic nations I find myself a little less amazed and a lot more disgusted at how quickly people stick their tongues out to “baaa” and lick at the asses of the sheep in front of them.  I guess some people are content with that but I don’t think I get it.  I don’t think I ever will.  I don’t think I want to. 

And to close?  The clincher:  one of the greatest … ha ha … ahem, and most powerful men … he he… of our time, seen here with his nose smelling like sheep arse. 


‘Nuff said, right? 

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You’re 64.  You are returning from a trip that has you bringing home vodka as a souvenir. 

What would possess you to chug that two pints of vodka?  What possible explanation could there be for such behavior? 

  • A gun to the head?
  • A tightening vice to the scrotum? 
  • Being forced to watch a 12-hour Rosie O’Donnell marathon? 

What about a pesky airport fee for checking a carry-on bag? 

“… he was told at a security check that he would have to either throw out the bottle of vodka or pay a fee to have his carry-on bag checked.  Instead, he chugged the vodka, and was quickly unable to stand or otherwise function, police said.”

Well… yeah. 

That would have to be one heck of an airport fee to make me risk getting extremely ill and spending a few days in the hospital.  (Putting the risk of death aside for a moment of course… )

How do you get to be 64 years old and not realize that chugging two pints of vodka is going to f&#* you up?  Anyone? 

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Dear co-worker across the aisle, 

I appreciate cleanliness and neatness of appearance and feel that everyone around us does, or at least should, as well.  After all, if no one took the care or time to keep themselves neat and tidy, we would look like a bunch of dishevelled cavemen and women.  Or perhaps frenchmen * (no offense to the Geico caveman). 

However, while I appreciate that the instinct to keep oneself neatly groomed is just that … instinct … I feel I must disagree with one task in particular that can be overheard, and occasionally felt, from my cubicle. 

If you are having a difficult time completing your grooming duties at home, I do know several lovely women that would be willing to babysit your children and I would be happy to introduce you.  If it is boredom that compels you, I would gladly speak to our manager and ask that he assign more work to you.  If you do not have the appropriate implements or grooming tools at home, consider this my offer to venture to the dollar store to purchase some for you.  Hell, I would even splurge and go to Walmart for a good pair if it makes the offer more attractive. 

With those offers on the table, I beseech you… urgently and with every fiber of my being… please cut your fingernails at home. 

If I have to listen to the *clip!*, *clip!*, *clip!* sound of your fingernails again, the possibility that I will jump the two walls separating our cubicles is very great indeed.  If ever again I have to imagine where the fragments of your fingernails are landing, I will quietly raise out of my chair, walk to your cubicle, and throw up in your lap.  In either case, I can not be responsible for where the clippers are upon my exit of your cubicle.  This is my disclaimer. 

Please consider this a friendly plea from one co-worker to another. 

Your co-worker,


* Relax.  It is a joke.  C’est drole. 

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It seems today there are many reasons why a person’s outlook on society would waver towards the negative… war, kids and gun violence, corrupt politics, and that’s just to name a few.  Well, friends, today my outlook is feeling very wobbly indeed. 

And it was this article that did it. 

I don’t claim to understand the world’s fascination with celebrity in general but there are a handful of celebrities whose goings-on just seem to stick in my craw, wherever on my anatomy that may be. 

I have never been a fan of Rosie O’Donnell.  She’s loud, obnoxious, narcissistic, and just way too in-your-face for my liking.  I mean, look at the picture for this article… does that not scream mental trouble?  From the days of her talk show to the recent feud that got her kicked off of The View, I’ve just never understood the attraction that so many people seem to have to her. 

Sure… she donates a bunch of money to charity.  Good for her.  Couldn’t she do it more quietly though? 

Sure… she came out as a big snuggly lesbian that gave her a personal and human quality.  But hadn’t that already been done, a bunch of times, and with far more … er, grace? 

Sure… she flung stuff at the audience with elastics.  I guess I should look on facebook for the ‘love being pelted by elastics’ group.  Maybe I will gain some insight there. 

So what is the root of that fascination, people?  I’d really like to know.  Really. 

The “Oh.  My.  God.” moments for me in this article: 

  • $2 million to write a 209-page book about infantile celebrity feuds you’ve had?  Let’s not forget the equally-as-childish “support  me, Barbara Walters” whining.  Geez, send some of that my way.  No, really … give me a topic, any topic, and I’ll scratch out 209 pages on it. 
  • Five emmies for outstanding talk show?  And six emmies for outstanding talk show host?  The “Oh.  My.  God.” moment there sticks out like a sore thumb that I might just have to stick in my craw to avoid shoving it in your eye.  Or worse. 
  • She’s still talking about that feud with Donald Trump?  Get over it!  A mature adult would have known when to stop with the back-and-forth of that fight while it was happening and yet here you are still talking about it?! 
  • The View won an award for Outstanding Achievement in Hairstyl… wait, let me start over.  There is an award for outstanding achievement in hairstyling?!  Well that clinches it:  They really do give awards for every facet of the entertainment industry!  (By the way, I’m still waiting for my Outstanding Achievement in Cubicle-sitting” award.  I would also accept the Outstanding Achievement in Looking Busy award.  I have my acceptance speech all ready, if you’re wondering). 

A random point to ponder… does the fact that “public pooping” is mentioned in this book speak more to Rosie’s level of sophistication or to the type of people buying this book?   Hmm … it really makes you think, doesn’t it? 

In reality, I realize that the reason she show up on so many tv screens, books, articles etc. is a combination of the fact that yes, she generates money and that yes, there are people out there who like her, regardless of how inconceivable any of that seems to me.  Does it shake my faith in society giving attention where it is due and not to some raving lunatic washed-up tv host?  Yes, it does.  Maybe I need to visit my local trailer park and have a sit-down over a box of wine to truly understand it all. 

If you can explain it to me, let me know … I might just put you in my acceptance speech. 

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