Monday, July 31, 2006
Fibular and/or tibia-tastic
My health insurance starts tomorrow. I'm going to celebrate by breaking my leg.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Nailing World Peace
I met an Israeli at the mall this past weekend. He was selling nail products at one of those kiosks in the middle of the mall and he immediately picked me out as a sucker.
I was strolling by and I realized he was watching me, mentally measuring what was in my bags (shoes) and deciding how much disposable income I have (not much). He walked towards me and said, "Excuse me, can I ask you a question?"
There was no escaping now. "Shit," I thought.
"Sure," I said.
He then asked to see my hand and looked at my nails. His own were beautifully manicured and so shiney I had to shield my eyes. Mine are thin, lopsided, and otherwise nondescript. I was intimidated and a little scared, I won't lie.
He led me by the hand closer to his kiosk and I looked around for help. I was alone, hoping for a stranger to save me. But they were all averting their eyes, pretending to be engrossed in the sock sale at the nearby Payless Shoes. It's OK though. They'll get theirs....
The Israeli salesman proceeded to tell me about his fancy nail products and showed me a little rectangular nail buffer thing that would change my life. He asked if he could give me a demonstration and I agreed. I had long since accepted my fate.
So he grabbed my thumb, undoubtedly the ugliest of my digits, and proceeded to file, buff and otherwise abuse my thumbnail. He chit-chatted with me, asking where I was from, asking if I was Italian because apparently I look Italian, and all that sort of small talk.
"How old are you?" he asked. "When I saw you walking I thought you looked quite young."
"How young?" I asked, suspicious. Young is a relative term. It could mean 15, it could mean 30. He was probably no more than 25.
"Well, seeing the way you are dressed, I thought about 20," he said. I chose to take that as a compliment.
"I'm 26," I said. "You're an excellent salesman."
"No, really! I thought you were 20," he said. That's when I decided I liked him.
"You are married?" he asked while still buffing my thumb.
"No."
"You have children?"
I gave him a confused look and said, "No."
"Well you never know!" he said smiling. "This is America! You can tell from my accent, I'm not from around here. And you can tell from my hair." He pulled at his slicked-back, chin-length black hair and I wondered what the hell that meant.
"Where are you from?"
His smile faded a bit and he hesitated. But the buffing never stopped.
"Well, I was born here, but I am from Israel." He said some other stuff that I couldn't understand because, while his English was perfect, his accent was pretty thick, which confused me because he said he was born here. I would have thought he'd have no accent if he grew up here. Then again, he might have said something about living in Israel and then coming back here again which would account for his accent, but of course I have no idea.
"Oh yeah?" I said. "So you're probably paying pretty close attention to the news lately, huh?"
After I asked it, I realized that I probably shouldn't have. He was trying to sell me nail products and I was ready to dive head-long into a political discussion on the recent Israel-Lebanon conflict. What can I say? I never met an Israeli before.
He kept buffing and nodded. He didn't look at me.
"Yes, I've been watching it." Then he shook his head in a sad sort of way and finally looked me in the eye. I noticed he had bright blue eyes, like a blue highlighter. He made a face that said he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the right words that would allow him to express his opinion without letting me know what his opinion was. Then he found them:
"You know...it will never end."
Deep.
I nodded slowly, feeling sorry for us both, and mumbled, "Yeah."
He continued buffing. Then he perked up.
"You have a boyfriend? Surely you have a boyfriend."
I smiled because I always smile when I think of my boyfriend.
"Is he here, in the mall? Is he Italian?" No and no.
"Good," he said, relieved. "Italians are mean. I didn't want him to see me holding your hand; he would come after me later." He laughed. So did I. I considered telling him that I once had a boyfriend who would have gone after him, but that boyfriend wasn't Italian either. I didn't say anything though.
Then he started talking about marriage again and told me that I shouldn't worry, my "time will come." I assume he meant my time for marriage.
"Are you ready?" he asked. He stopped buffing and waited. I shrugged.
"Well, I found a good man," I said. "Yeah, I'd marry him someday." An awkward pause.
"Are you ready to see your new nail?" he asked.
"Oh," I said. "Yes."
He took away his hand with a flourish and presented my new immaculately shined thumbnail. It was indeed life-changing. I squinted at the light reflecting from my beautifully buffed nail.
He immediately starting spouting out some sales speech about other all-natural stuff and gave me some hand lotion to try and told me that this particular package is normally $50, but today, it is on sale for $30. I told him it sounded like a good deal, but no thank you.
"OK." He sort of shrugged and held out his hand. I shook it and said, "Thank you. It was nice talking to you."
He smiled politely and said it was nice for him too. Then he turned around and started to clean his kiosk.
I walked away, feeling silly. Mostly because I was now completely obsessed with my shiney new thumbnail. I couldn't stop running my fingers over it, it was so smooth!
Yesterday, I bought a similar rectangular nail buffer thing at CVS for about $3. Now, all my nails are shiney and smooth.
I've since decided that shiney nails are the pathway to peace. Shiney nails are what introduced me to my first Israeli friend (I wish I knew his name. I'll call him Gary. He looked like a Gary...more or less). Now when I see anything to do with Israel, I think of the pleasant conversation I had with Gary. I can put a face to what was once a shapeless country. And that, my friends, is the key to world peace.
That is also how far I am willing to go to justify buying stupid stuff.
I was strolling by and I realized he was watching me, mentally measuring what was in my bags (shoes) and deciding how much disposable income I have (not much). He walked towards me and said, "Excuse me, can I ask you a question?"
There was no escaping now. "Shit," I thought.
"Sure," I said.
He then asked to see my hand and looked at my nails. His own were beautifully manicured and so shiney I had to shield my eyes. Mine are thin, lopsided, and otherwise nondescript. I was intimidated and a little scared, I won't lie.
He led me by the hand closer to his kiosk and I looked around for help. I was alone, hoping for a stranger to save me. But they were all averting their eyes, pretending to be engrossed in the sock sale at the nearby Payless Shoes. It's OK though. They'll get theirs....
The Israeli salesman proceeded to tell me about his fancy nail products and showed me a little rectangular nail buffer thing that would change my life. He asked if he could give me a demonstration and I agreed. I had long since accepted my fate.
So he grabbed my thumb, undoubtedly the ugliest of my digits, and proceeded to file, buff and otherwise abuse my thumbnail. He chit-chatted with me, asking where I was from, asking if I was Italian because apparently I look Italian, and all that sort of small talk.
"How old are you?" he asked. "When I saw you walking I thought you looked quite young."
"How young?" I asked, suspicious. Young is a relative term. It could mean 15, it could mean 30. He was probably no more than 25.
"Well, seeing the way you are dressed, I thought about 20," he said. I chose to take that as a compliment.
"I'm 26," I said. "You're an excellent salesman."
"No, really! I thought you were 20," he said. That's when I decided I liked him.
"You are married?" he asked while still buffing my thumb.
"No."
"You have children?"
I gave him a confused look and said, "No."
"Well you never know!" he said smiling. "This is America! You can tell from my accent, I'm not from around here. And you can tell from my hair." He pulled at his slicked-back, chin-length black hair and I wondered what the hell that meant.
"Where are you from?"
His smile faded a bit and he hesitated. But the buffing never stopped.
"Well, I was born here, but I am from Israel." He said some other stuff that I couldn't understand because, while his English was perfect, his accent was pretty thick, which confused me because he said he was born here. I would have thought he'd have no accent if he grew up here. Then again, he might have said something about living in Israel and then coming back here again which would account for his accent, but of course I have no idea.
"Oh yeah?" I said. "So you're probably paying pretty close attention to the news lately, huh?"
After I asked it, I realized that I probably shouldn't have. He was trying to sell me nail products and I was ready to dive head-long into a political discussion on the recent Israel-Lebanon conflict. What can I say? I never met an Israeli before.
He kept buffing and nodded. He didn't look at me.
"Yes, I've been watching it." Then he shook his head in a sad sort of way and finally looked me in the eye. I noticed he had bright blue eyes, like a blue highlighter. He made a face that said he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the right words that would allow him to express his opinion without letting me know what his opinion was. Then he found them:
"You know...it will never end."
Deep.
I nodded slowly, feeling sorry for us both, and mumbled, "Yeah."
He continued buffing. Then he perked up.
"You have a boyfriend? Surely you have a boyfriend."
I smiled because I always smile when I think of my boyfriend.
"Is he here, in the mall? Is he Italian?" No and no.
"Good," he said, relieved. "Italians are mean. I didn't want him to see me holding your hand; he would come after me later." He laughed. So did I. I considered telling him that I once had a boyfriend who would have gone after him, but that boyfriend wasn't Italian either. I didn't say anything though.
Then he started talking about marriage again and told me that I shouldn't worry, my "time will come." I assume he meant my time for marriage.
"Are you ready?" he asked. He stopped buffing and waited. I shrugged.
"Well, I found a good man," I said. "Yeah, I'd marry him someday." An awkward pause.
"Are you ready to see your new nail?" he asked.
"Oh," I said. "Yes."
He took away his hand with a flourish and presented my new immaculately shined thumbnail. It was indeed life-changing. I squinted at the light reflecting from my beautifully buffed nail.
He immediately starting spouting out some sales speech about other all-natural stuff and gave me some hand lotion to try and told me that this particular package is normally $50, but today, it is on sale for $30. I told him it sounded like a good deal, but no thank you.
"OK." He sort of shrugged and held out his hand. I shook it and said, "Thank you. It was nice talking to you."
He smiled politely and said it was nice for him too. Then he turned around and started to clean his kiosk.
I walked away, feeling silly. Mostly because I was now completely obsessed with my shiney new thumbnail. I couldn't stop running my fingers over it, it was so smooth!
Yesterday, I bought a similar rectangular nail buffer thing at CVS for about $3. Now, all my nails are shiney and smooth.
I've since decided that shiney nails are the pathway to peace. Shiney nails are what introduced me to my first Israeli friend (I wish I knew his name. I'll call him Gary. He looked like a Gary...more or less). Now when I see anything to do with Israel, I think of the pleasant conversation I had with Gary. I can put a face to what was once a shapeless country. And that, my friends, is the key to world peace.
That is also how far I am willing to go to justify buying stupid stuff.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Local goon begins blog
I have joined the blogging world. This is my first post ever. I need to make it worthwhile, so I'll talk about toilets.
Toilet paper randomly appears in the ladies room at work. It's a god-send. Like today, we were dangerously close to running out. I started to panic because I didn't know when the mysterious cleaning people would be back to bring us more. I was sweating profusely and hyperventilation was not far behind.
But then toilet paper magically appeared. I went to the bathroom one minute and then the next time I went in, it was there, resting happily on the back of the toilet. I swear I heard angels singing. "We have a toilet paper fairy," I thought.
But then I found out we don't. Turns out, my co-worker Kim knows where the secret stash is. She gets us more when she sees we're close to running out.
I was disappointed. It's a little like learning the secret behind a magic trick. The magic's gone.
Anyway, that's my first post. I'll have more interesting things to say in the future. Maybe.
Toilet paper randomly appears in the ladies room at work. It's a god-send. Like today, we were dangerously close to running out. I started to panic because I didn't know when the mysterious cleaning people would be back to bring us more. I was sweating profusely and hyperventilation was not far behind.
But then toilet paper magically appeared. I went to the bathroom one minute and then the next time I went in, it was there, resting happily on the back of the toilet. I swear I heard angels singing. "We have a toilet paper fairy," I thought.
But then I found out we don't. Turns out, my co-worker Kim knows where the secret stash is. She gets us more when she sees we're close to running out.
I was disappointed. It's a little like learning the secret behind a magic trick. The magic's gone.
Anyway, that's my first post. I'll have more interesting things to say in the future. Maybe.
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