"Girl, if you can do better than me, go" --Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

We went here:


for two weeks.

Okay, now that you hate me*, we can get on with today's post.

I am not the most open-minded person. I could give you some nonsense about how I'm working on it and we're all in development and awareness is the first step. Sure. Or, I can embrace my inner-snark because, truthfully, often I have uncharitable thoughts. They come, unbidden and unwelcome, much like The Examiner.

While we were at this place (Sandals Halcyon in St. Lucia), we saw every manner of couple. And it was shocking. And disturbing. I almost had to put down my fancy rum drinks.**

I'm not talking about the mixed race couples. (yawn) Nor the homosexual couples. (also yawn) I'm talking about the shocking number of pretty/ugly pairings we saw.

It wasn't just a game of "look who married up". We'd see the most astounding mixes of buff-gorgeous-model with flabby-ugly-gargoyle. To the point of thinking, How? How do these people get together? HOW??

Is the icky one rich? Are they extraordinarily good in bed? Are they powerful? Are they someone famous I just don't recognize? Did they hire this exquisite escort to hang all over their hideous body for two weeks? HOW??!? Why is this 10 here with this 2? WHY?!!!

(Picture this times a million.)

I don't mind seeing unattractive people. Or attractive people.


And we saw plenty of both types. But when they're mixed together it just seems... against nature.

Question du jour: Does the mixing of leagues bother you?



* No worries. I even hate myself at this point.

** Almost.

"Don't go changing to try to please me" --Billy Joel

[Sometimes it's hard to find the right way to connect.]



Hello.

*blink*

I've been feeling a little disconnected with this here blog lately.

Which, unfortunately, means I'm feeling a little disconnected from you.

Because, as you know, *leans in and whispers* it's all about you. Yes, there are one or two other readers but you and I both know that it's YOU that's important. So, I thought I'd write you a personal message so you understand how much you mean to me, even if I haven't posted anything for your consumption lately. Yeah, a personal message through the blog. That's always a good idea. What better way to keep a personal connection than with a public but oh-so-specific note, right?

But, just so other people don't feel ostracized and icky (nobody wants that, right?), just pick the choice in the parentheses that you know is intended for you.

Dear You,

I like what you're doing with your [ear/chest/toe/special] hair these days. It really suits you. And I've always thought your [smile/smell of chickpeas/left eyelid] was unusually compelling. Plus, I've been meaning to tell you for what seems like years that when you said what you said about [Lindsay Lohan/chitlins/commodity based derivatives] I felt like: FINALLY! Someone really gets it! But that's just how you are. You cut through all the nonsense and let people know what's on your [mind/emergency preparedness plan/anti-itch shelf]. You're special. I know people say that all the time but I really mean it. Nobody else has your [peanut butter licking skills/1930s style/way with a ball peen hammer].

Never change.

Hoping to hear back from you soon!

Yours in [friendship/inappropriate looks/class action settlement partnering],

L. A. Cochran

Assorted Flotsam

• Hey! I think I may have discovered what ever happened to Jimmie "J.J." Walker.

Apparently, whatever he's doing involves driving a minivan in Virginia. Dy-no-sad!

• Saw this at an airport during some recent travels:

Yeah, shorts, flip-flops, and a classic blue blazer. I'm thinking: semi-formal clam bake?

• In other news, I've been on Sensa for the last 5 weeks and lost 7.5 pounds.

I am LOVING it. No work at all, all natural, and I'm losing weight. It's nothing short of revolutionary. It really does curb my appetite. Freaky! And best of all for the people around me, I am not a huge crank-monster like I usually am when trying to lose weight. Huzzah!

• Finally, I am seeing this ad for McDonald's which takes place in someone's home. It is a person calling a family together for dinner and then providing McNuggets. And you see them gathering excitedly and opening the tiny boxes and dipping sauces. Now, I have eaten a lot of McDonald's in my time but I can't remember ever taking it home. Either I ate it in the McDonald's or I ate it in the car. Let's face it, that stuff congeals pretty quickly. For me, fast food only works while it's hot. Once things start to cool... ugh.
  Am I wrong? Am I missing an important bonding experience with my family?
  

"Say my name, say my name" --Destiny's Child

So, yeah, Sean Combs has changed his name again. This time for just one week. Do I care? Aside from the general absurdity of changing your name for one week, mmmnotsomuch.

On a more personal note, I know people that have changed their names for various reasons. Some of them legal even.


I have a distant relative who, in his 50s, decided that he no longer wanted to be known by his given name: Sol. He changed his name to David because he said it was a name people trusted. Forget that multiple heads already swiveled when the name David was called in our family. Most everyone made the effort to call him David. But I know one relative, let's call him Joe, who insisted on continuing to call this guy Sol or Sol-David.


I have another distant relative who changed her name in her twenties from something very ordinary to something truly strange sounding. I won't tell you what because even though there's probably still three or four Sols in the world, I'm pretty sure there's only one of these. Suffice to say it went from something like "Sue" to something like "Elbownee" because it translated to "unique form" in Urdu. Joe insists that this woman is Sue and will always be Sue no matter what she wants to be called.

Now, if someone wants to change their name to Butthead, maybe I have a problem with it. But these changes? I can honor. Am I wrong? Is Joe wrong?

Which leads us to the question du jour: If someone asks you to call them something else besides what you've always known them as, what do you do?

"If you steal my sunshine" --Len

Congrats on not ascending. You heathen, you. Maybe we all didn't ascend because of this woman...

I was at a nail salon this weekend. I was led to a pedicure chair (sans fish) and noticed the woman next to me because: A) she had her knock-off designer purse on the little table part attached to MY chair and it was sticking out over MY arm rest, B) she was muttering into her cell phone the entire hour she was there and C) she had arrived in three inch, leopard print pumps.

On A): you know I pushed that sucker way over to her side and off my arm rest without even making eye contact.

On B): Eh. I think it's rude to the technician but I guess it's no worse than reading a magazine. Plus, muttering is preferable to shouting.

On C): I have nothing against leopard print pumps but time and place, People. Who goes to get a pedicure in pumps? You go in sandals and shorts! This is widely known. But, apparently, not to this woman.

So, as luck would have it, when my mani/pedi (which always sounds like "maxipad" to me) was done, I was guided to a drying station chair right next to this woman. The dryers ran. Then her technician came over and sprayed her toes with drying spray and walked away. I heard her say into the phone "I'm not going to put on my shoes because I don't think the polish is dry yet." With that, she got up, carrying her pumps, paid at the counter and walked out IN THE FLIP-FLOPS THE SALON PUT ON HER FEET!

I looked around to see if anyone else had watched this theft transpire besides me... nope. I considered calling to one of the technicians. But... I did nothing. After all, maybe you're allowed to take those minipad (hey, we're working a theme here)-thin flip-flops even though there's a return bin for them at the drying station. Maybe she's worked out a deal to bring them back next time. Or... maybe she's just a selfish bitch.

Which leads us to multiple questions du jour: Are those flip-flops yours to take? Should I have said something? If so, to whom? Am I an accessory? Don't tase me, Bro!