Sharing Funny Stories

A long time ago, in a galaxy far away ... a galaxy called London, in a place called Blockbuster in the year 2001, a funny thing happened*....
I was young and still in high school, working part time at a video store to earn some cash to put gas in the family guzzler so I could have some independence get to work (it's a vicious cycle). I had a number of regular customers at the now-defunct-once-rental-giant; I could recognize most by face and some of those faces even sparked a synapse that caused me to remember their names. The particular fella I'm about to tell you about, though, was one of the few that I knew by face but not by name.
He was a blonde, stocky character that would come in to the store on Friday nights and Sunday afternoons. On those visits, he was always either fighting with his girlfriend on his cell phone or fighting with his girlfriend in person as they walked through the doors. She had a ring on an important finger and had told me previously that they were engaged on one of her solo visits to our location. Though they usually started out rocky, by the time they'd toured the New Release Wall and sauntered up to my counter, snacks in hand, they had reconciled.
One sunny, Spring morning I was on my way to school - High School - wearing a favorite outfit that showed off my erm ... shapeliness. It was second period (I had first period spare ... amazing) and there were few people on the road and no one on the sidewalk. I saw a car coming towards me and heard some brutish comments as the driver passed me. Then the car turned around and pulled up alongside me.
"Hey!" the guy inside shouted
"Hi," I turned and smiled, but kept walking. He slowly drove -- the wrong way on the shoulder -- beside me.
"You're pretty fine,"
"And you're pretty white, to be using that expression," I thought to myself.
"Gimme your number," he demanded.
I smirked and shook my head.
"Okay, then take mine, hold on, I'll write it down,"**
I waited patiently and politely. The man was a young twenty something that I thought looked awfully familiar. He had peach-fuzzy, blonde hair and a round face. He was smoking, holding the cigarette between his lips while he wrote his number down on a matchbook. He looked up at me and handed me the matchbook and I realized -- this was the guy from Blockbuster. I waited for him to recognize me, though he did not. I smiled, took the matchbook and continued on my way. I folded the matchbook up and realized that this classy guy - a guy whom I had seen on several occasions with his girlfriend/fiancee - had written his number on a matchbook that he'd picked up the last time he'd been at The Forum -- the most notorious strip club on the West Side.

Elsie P

PS - He came in to the store several times after that day and never once recognized me from that day he stopped me on my way to school.


* Well, actually, lots of funny things happened. This is just one that sprang to mind today when I was walking to work and saw a matchbook on the ground.
** This was, after all, 2001. Not all of us had cell phones and smart phones and bump capabilities.

Growing up

Over time, people change.

We all change.

It's a brilliant and exciting time we live in where all of us are in a constant state of evolution.

We are growing in ways we may not realize right now or ever. 

We are growing in ways that are ... obvious.

Painfully so. 

Having survived my early 20's (a period I define as ages 20-23) and subsequently conquered (with mad skill) my mid twenties (that would be 24-26) I am, in a few short weeks, preparing to embark on my late twenties. (27-29 for those of you playing along at home). As we all know, the late twenties is a march whose end lays in first real milestone of adulthood: Thirty.

Now, when I say that there are ways that we see -- painfully -- that we've changed, I do, in fact, have an example for you. 

It involves a shot glass.

A piece of glassware that has been instrumental in my life over the last 9  years. (Yes, I realize the math on that has me drinking shots before the legal age. Get over it! But don't tell my mum, k??)

So, you ask, what integral part has this 1oz wonder played in my life? 

I shall tell you. 

In my (almost) early twenties, I learned how to do shots. 

And I did lots of 'em. Y'know, For practice...

I would have to say that the shot of choice for me then was Tequila. The reason was that I had been brought in to the world of shots by hard liquor. And for those of you out there who have ever shot hard liquor, you know it doesn't come much harder than Tequila.

The guys I used to hang out with liked to drink it and more so liked to make girls drink it when they were obnoxious at the bar -- obnoxious in the form of asking the boys to buy them drinks.  A girlfriend of mine was behaving in such a manner as to deserve the purchase of said shot and I was merely a by product of this particular night. Subsequent events turned me in to part of the boys' group. Subsequent events meaning that they set the shot in front of me, I'd never done it before, and I just ... shot it. No salt, no lemon.

Straight

Up 

Tequila.
Apparently that was impressive.
Especially considering I thought it was quite tasty and didn't make that nasty "WTF!?" face afterwards. It endeared me to them and I was immediately welcomed as part of the group.

In my early-to-mid-twenties, I took a bartending course and found that I loved to be behind the bar. The boys from my early twenties owned a house that they all lived in together that had - you guessed it - a bar in the basement. One night, after I completed my course, they stocked the bar and threw a huge party. And yours truly was the bartender. At the time, I was using shot glasses to make money, so to speak. Tips for bartenders - especially hot, blonde, twenty-something ones - are pretty good. Usually. In this period of my late-early-twenties-to-early-mid-twenties I also learned the art of the body shot.
Ahhhh the body shot.
I will leave it to you find out the intricate details of the body shot.
Or the hooter shooter.
Ooohh to be a young, twenty-something.

Yesterday, was my birthday. I have officially (in my mind) entered my late twenties.
And you know what I use my shot glass for now?

 Eggs.
A softboiled egg in the morning, and a cup of herbal tea (thanks Tink!)

Oh, how the times have changed.

Elsie P

PS - What do you use your shot glasses for?

Really!?

I just looked at the "stats" page ...

I had been curious if there were people out there that were actually reading this blog.

There are so very many spaces on the internet for you to stop and visit

I was not so vain to think that there were many people reading, except for the two of you for sure that I know about!

But low and behold I have had readers in

Russia, South Korea, Sweden, Malaysia,

Germany, Brazil, France and the Netherlands.

I'm totally blown away!!

So, I am asking you, if you read this, to g'ahead, jump in and follow me on this journey through 2011!

Let's see if I can get more than 2 of you to admit publicly that you read this ...

Elsie P

PS - Where are YOU ??

C'est L'halloween!

I was never good at conjugating French verbs.

I wanted that to say it was Halloween.

Instead, (I think) it says it is Halloween?

Help me out here!!

The funny thing about Halloween is how great it is for the adults

 -- with no children --

when it falls on a Sunday.

Why you ask?

Well, mostly because you an stretch it out for a whoooooole weekend.

For example, my girlfriend Kendall celebrated her 23rd birthday on Friday.

We went to the bar.

(That's another story.)

It was an odd mix of folks in costumes and folks not in costumes.

That was the 29th.

Two days before Halloween.

*    *    *    *    *

Three older British men at the bar were eyeballing the "Girl Guide"

in front of me (who in turn was nervously glancing at me for reassurance) asking if she needed some help procuring any new badges. Once that joke wore off, they turned to me,

not in costume,

and asked what I came dressed as.

I looked myself up ad down and starrd back with a look of

"Isnt it obvious?"

"Um, hot?" I responded, much to their delight.

"Well played!!" came the answer.

*    *    *    *    *

Sunday morning when I went for a walk down thru our bar district, en route to Starbucks.

It looked as though a Hallowen bomb had gone off.

There was a long, red glove here.

A cape there.

A nurse shoe across the street.

Wonder woman's on-top underwear was draped over a fence

and the piece du resistance was defintely

a condom

packed with candy

and tied off at the top.

Happy Halloween.

Elsie P

PS - when did you dress up?

Trick or Treat!

In case you were living in a hole

and didn't know

this weekend was Halloween.

And lots of funny things happened this weekend.

Let's work backwards based on what's freshest in my mind.

Last night, as I was leaving my mum and dad's place after our weekly dinner and Amazing Race evening,

the trick-or-treaters were out in full swing.

As my mum walked me to my car, a threesome of

terrifying twelve year olds left the neighbour's house

and headed across the lawn to our front door.

Right.

Through.

The Garden.

While we were standing

RIGHT THERE.

I mean, c'mon kids!

So of course, mum let's them know that she doesn't want them cutting through the garden!

Please.

As they headed to the door mum also told them that

Uhhh, we're not trick or treating this year.

And away they went on their merry way.

Until they got to the grass between our house and the next neighbour.

Where they promptly mocked my mother by saying,

"Don't walk thruuuuuuu!"

"We have to go ARRRRRROOOOOOUUUND"

To which my mother whispered in my ear

"I EFFING hate kids!"

Hilarious.

Elsie P

PS - I censored the full on F Bomb mum actually dropped....

The only thing that would have made this better would be if I'd seen it on Monday.

Cowboy, Take Me Away...

Last night, I  had the strangest/best dream I have had in a long time.
Apparently, speaking someone's name several days before floats them to the front of your subconscious. Also, it would appear that I have spent a little too much time on this website. But really? What does it matter when in your dream there are three wonderful cowboys, one that wants to 'court' you, a leap from danger into a huge pile of straw and the words "sweetheart" and "darlin" in abundance? Bliss, I tell you, bliss.
So I have to wonder, both to myself and aloud, whatever happened to the first cowboy I knew? His name was Isaac and he lived and worked on a cattle farm. He was really a sweet guy - from what I remember - and one of those boys that doesn't mind taking care of and looking out for his girl.
Cowboy, take me away....

Elsie P

PS - Believe it or not, I always thought that my move out West would net me one of two things...a true Western Cowboy or a high paid Oil Tycoon. It's true, I figured I'd end up with one of the two by now. We all know that that didn't happen...

Boys and their fashion...

So, what do the men in my office talk about? Usually motorcycles, fast cars, modified engines, Tiger Woods, Howard Stern and the NHL.
What are they talking about today?
Who spends the most money on jeans. Seriously. I'm not lying.
The following conversation was overheard just moments ago:

"Are those your $200 jeans?"
"These? No, these are my $60 jeans from Banada Republic"
"Which Banana Republic? I like them"
"The factory store, you been there?"
"I have never owned $200 jeans."
"I owned a pair of $100 jeans once, in ther '90s. They were Levi's"
"Levi's are goooood jeans"
"I love Levi's; they're probably my favorite"
"I think the Wranglers were my favorite jeans ever"
"Where is this Factory store?"

At this point, I stopped listening and started blogging. You have to understand something, I work with engineers in the Oil and Gas industry. They're usually not very concerned about what they're wearing (this is evident if you ever stop by our office on a Wednesday....

Elsie P

ps - I have never owned $200.00 jeans before either...

Tan Lines

So recently, I've been tanning. I know, I know, I know. You think it isn't healthy. The truth of the matter is, if you do your research and look at the type of bed and know the type of bulbs they are using, you wind up getting the positive UVA rays that help replenish your Vitamin D and though they may lead to pre-mature wrinkling they are "better" for you than the more negative UVB rays. Why? Well, UVA penetrates the skin more deeply. It's not the ray that gives you a sunburn. That's its evil brother, UVB. UVB rays are shorter wave lengths and only reach the top layers of your skin. These rays are the ones that give you sunburns and are among the leading contributors to skin cancer, which occurs mostly in the epidermis. (Want know more about UVA and UVB rays? Try looking here) But enough of the science lesson, let's move on to what you really want to know about...my tan lines.
So I was in the shower this morning and I decided to do a quick touch-up shave (normally, I get my legs waxed...that's another story) as I gently grazed the razor over my legs, I started to notice what I would call a "healthy glow" that covered me from head to toe. Hmm. Nice, I thought. That lotion Kendall gave me really does work. (Side note: Kendall works at a tanning salon. She gave me a great lecture about how I was wasting my minutes if I wasn't using a lotion. Apparently, tanning for ten minutes without lotion was only netting me 3 minutes worth of sun-time) As I turned my upper body to get a look at the back of my leg, I saw it. My tan line.
Now, I am not a skinny girl by any means. There are meat on these bones. And, apparently, when I lay down in the tanning bed, my bum creates these two creases, directly below and above each cheek. That area is completely white.
Thank GAWD no one will be seeing me naked anytime soon...!!

Elsie P

PS - There is an easy fix to this, which I will do in the event that I am planning on anyone seeing me naked: Stand up tan.

Couples Counselling

Let’s say that you and your signif are sleeping in separate rooms. He thinks it’s because you are beginning to hate him, is preparing himself for the worst and is expecting you to come home to tell him that you’re leaving him for George Clooney’s butt double. Drama queen. In reality, it’s because you get up for work so much earlier than he does. And, in the throws of winter you find that it is easier to get out of bed at 5am (when it is still very, very dark I might add) when there is no warm, cuddly creature aching to dig his snuggly claws in to your half-asleep body and hold you in his cuddling death grip.


So, he starts thinking, What’s a man to do, right?

Here’s one thing you can try: Find something she’s realllllly afraid of and convince her there is one in “her” room.

Have you seen that movie, Paranormal Activity ? Not one I would recommend, it’s a little … slow and the ending leaves muchmuchmuch to be desired. However, have you thought about the idea that there is or may be something supernatural lurking in your home that is able to do you harm? I will admit, I am 25 years old and I am still afraid of the dark. Or rather, what might be in the dark. So, when Mr. P tells me that I will never believe what happened today and then stops and wonders out loud if he should really tell me, and then answers his question that no, he really shouldn’t, I let myself get a little freaked out.
“I was sitting at the computer and I looked out in to the hallway and this…figure…came up the stairs, it turned at the top, looked at me, pulled the hood back over its face and went in to YOUR ROOM.” I stare at him in disbelief, so he continues. “I’m afraid of that room. I’ve always been afraid of that room.” Okay, seriously, who wouldn’t be freaked out by that description?? As the evening grew darker, I couldn’t even go in to the room without turning on the overhead light; the lamp was just not enough.
So guess where I slept last night? In the snuggly claws of the cuddle monster. Hey, I’ll take that over some paranormal hooded being.
Elsie P.

PS – George, you don’t need a butt double.