In a New York State of Mind

Whenever I have to get up exceptionally early for anything work related, I’m always so damn paranoid that the alarm clock is suddenly going to break in the middle of the night, or that I didn’t set the wake-up time correctly, so I usually sleep with one eye open staring at the clock; barely getting any rest.

Such as it was on Wednesday evening, before I had to be in NYC the following morning for a 10:00 meeting.

But I’m happy to report that the alarm clock DID go off as set - 5AM.

(and I am so NOT a morning person)

I was driving in with my boss that day, and she left more than enough time to get to NYC as scheduled. In fact, we left so early, I think we could have driven to Miami Beach and back, and still had time left over to arrive in NYC for a knish with mustard before our meeting.

However, the turnpike was not cooperating with us that day, because as we got closer to the Lincoln Tunnel, we suddenly bottlenecked and then sat in bumper to bumper traffic for over an hour. And even though I DETEST cell phones, this was one of those times when that little instrument of torture came in handy. Thank god my boss was able to contact the NY office and explain our dilemma. They told her it was no big deal and that they would push the meeting back thirty minutes. We got into the city just before 10:30.

After we parked the car, we had to speed-walk several blocks to get to office, and the whole time we’re walking, I was looking around the city like a wide-eyed child; reminded of how much I missed it.

There’s something about NYC that has always felt akin to my soul. Maybe it’s the manic energy or the bigger-than-life visuals, but I LOVE that city. And even though I was slightly tired that morning, just being there filled me with a magical power.

Just before we got to the office, we walked past the famous Plaza Hotel, and of course being the drama queen that I am…I said to my boss, “ooooh, let’s go stand infront and reenact the final scene from the movie "The Way We Were." You can be Robert Redford and I’ll be Barbra Streisand.”

She responded, “Um, I don‘t think so Barbra…keep walking”

Anyway, our company meeting went very well, so my boss and I were really jazzed as it concluded around 6:30. We said our goodbyes (kiss, hug, kiss, hug) and then left the office. When we got to the street level, we discovered that it was pouring rain and yet neither one of us had an umbrella, so we RAN back to the parking lot. However, I asked my boss if she wouldn’t mind making a quick stop into Bergdorf Goodman, because in all the years I lived in NYC, I had never been inside.




I know that some of my readers are originally from the city, so am I NOT overly exaggerating about Bergdorf’s when I say, “HOLY SHIT and MAMA MIA?” It didn’t even feel like I was walking through a store, it felt like I was visiting the Queen of England for some Earl Grey and finger sandwiches. I got so excited that I actually produced a hard-on.

If you ever visit NYC please don’t miss a trip into Bergdorf’s. I mean, not that you’ll be tempted to max out your Platinum Visa card or anything, but just the experience of walking through the store will make your blood turn into liquid gold.

We arrived back in Philly at about 9:00, tired and hungry, so the minute I got into my apartment I ate everything in my refrigerator, took a shower and then crashed into a coma.

Within the next few months I will be going into NYC frequently for work, and I am so looking forward to it.

Lately, I’ve been sensing a change coming on in my life.

So, who knows what the future will bring….

…I may even get a laptop and start blogging from the Big Apple!

My New Wine Glasses

About a week ago, I broke my last wine glass while I was washing it.

So for the past seven evenings, I was drinking my half a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon out of an orange juice glass.

I’m sorry, it’s not that I’m a wine connoisseur or anything, but drinking vino from an orange juice glass doesn’t quite do it. It’s like trying to cut a steak, using two spoons. It didn’t even taste like wine. It tasted more like petrol.

I also noticed that I had a tendency to gulp it like water, rather than sip it.

The whole experience seemed schizophrenic, and it totally antagonized my OCD tendencies.

Anyway, I finally made the time to go shopping for some new wine glasses. And I was ecstatic to find them on sale, so I stocked up on them.

Now the only thing that wasn’t great about the glasses, was that they were the size of a goldfish bowl - they were HUGE. I prefer using a smaller wine glass, because I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. And if you can believe this, I’ve never been drunk in my life - tipsy - but never falling down on my ass-face drunk. It usually takes me a good hour to sip a half a glass of wine. And since the glasses were on sale I wasn’t about to pass them up. So I nabbed them, and just figured that I’d fill the glass BELOW the halfway mark.

I was all excited that evening, because I had just purchased a brand new bottle of Cabernet and was going to enjoy it, using a REAL glass.

So about 9:30 I uncorked the bottle and poured.

And poured. And poured. And poured.

It seemed like it took me 10 minutes to fill up half the glass.

But I checked…and yup!…it was only half full.

So I took my glass of red wine and some delicious munchies over to my desk, and then proceeded to go online; answering emails and searching the Internet for future blog post photos.

I guess maybe an hour and half had passed before I noticed that the glass still had good deal of wine in it, but I was having such a SLAP HAPPY time online, while listening to Mary J. Blige singing, “Just Fine”… I just kept sipping and sipping until it was all gone.

It must have been a little after midnight, when I began to notice that I was quietly staring at the computer monitor and not doing anything except staring at it, and smiling.

And slowly blinking.

The google search page had suddenly become enthralling for me to watch. And I really don’t know why, because I wasn’t even searching for anything…I was just starting at it and watching the white pixels dance.

I have no idea how long I was staring like this, but I did notice that my eyes began to lose focus and it took tremendous effort to keep my eyelids open, so I used the palms of hands to hold my head up; preventing it from falling into the computer monitor.

But I must have been having fun though, because I was still smiling.

However, you better believe that the next time I had my evening glass of Cabernet…

I filled the glass below, below, below the halfway mark.

Yet, I did learn something from this experience…

….the google search page looks so much more interesting with wine.

Please Note: I will be driving into NYC tomorrow on a business trip and the day will VERY long, therefore, I will not be posting on Friday. I will resume posting again on Monday, and who knows…it may be about my trip to NYC!? I haven’t been there in awhile, so I’m very excited. Thank you for your patience and understanding, folks! X

Defrosting an Iceberg

I love my little studio apartment, truly I do.

But one of the drawbacks, is that my kitchen is very small, therefore, it has a dwarf-size refrigerator with a NON frost-free freezer.

I usually defrost the freezer compartment once a month, but last month I kept putting it off, until eventually it looked like I had an iceberg the size of the one that sank the S.S. Titanic.

It was so damn BIG that I could no longer close the refrigerator door because the ice was sticking out so far, it actually kept the refrigerator light on.

It was the first time since I was 4 years old, that I felt like I was sleeping with a Cinderella nightlight.

Friday afternoon I decided it was time to perform a serious meltdown.

It was my day to go grocery shopping, so I cleaned out everything in the fridge that had been growing green fuzzy hair, then turned it off; allowing the freezer to defrost for a few hours.

Well…a few hours turned into six and half hours.

I started defrosting about 11:00AM and then went shopping around 2:00PM. When I got home three hours later, I noticed that there was still a HUGE amount of ice still left in the freezer. So there I stood, with a grocery bag filled with frozen food, that was slowly turning into mush.

I thought about quickly melting the remainder of the ice by using my hair dryer, but I wasn’t too keen on experiencing electric shock therapy that day.

So I had no other choice, than to take a hammer and a screw driver, and begin CHISELING.

I felt like Michelangelo carving an ice sculpture of David.

Ice was flying everywhere. And at one point, I thought I needed a pair of plastic eye goggles, because ice chips were hitting me in the face.

Periodically, I pulled out loose chunks with my blue frost-bitten fingers; placing them into the kitchen sink. And when I stood up 20 minutes later, and saw all the ice floating in the sink…it looked like the Arctic Sea.

Finally, at 5:30 PM I had completed the hideous task.

Oh hell, I don’t know…

… I think it’s time I moved to an apartment with a frost-free refrigerator.

Because this iceberg-look is VERY unattractive.

I Love to Eavesdrop

Ok, I admit it…I love to eavesdrop on people’s conversations.

But I really don’t like to call it eavesdropping.

I prefer to think of it as “investigative reporting.”

How else do you think I get my blog posts?

And I especially don’t consider it eavesdropping, when I’m listening to a woman who’s standing 100 feet away from me in the post office, SCREAMING at the top of her lungs on a cell phone, “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO CHEAT ON ME, YOU BASTARD? AND WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE WITH MY SISTER?!?!”

No…that’s not eavesdropping. That’s called hearing.

One of my favorite things about eavesdropping, is trying to make it look like I’m NOT eavesdropping. I mean, if I’m going to be nosey….I want to at least be clever about it.

One of the greatest places for me to eavesdrop is at Starbucks.

Maybe it’s all the caffeine that people are drinking that makes their lips flap so freely, but I always hear some of the most interesting conversations there.

Like the other day, when I stopped in for my afternoon grande’ coffee and a cinnamon chip scone.

I was sitting all alone at a table, listening to these two guys talking at the table next to me. And the whole time I was eavesdropping, I pretended that I was going through my wallet sorting out debit slips, yet my ears were glued to their every word. And after I finished sorting out my wallet, I then pretended to write a grocery list in my little notebook, but what I was really doing, was writing down their conversation. I decided not to post it though, because what started out as a very good conversation, ended up being about what color they were going to paint their bedroom walls in their new apartment.

“Do you think we should paint the walls in that Ralph Lauren khaki color? The Laura Ashley periwinkle? Or eggshell?”

And in my mind I’m thinking, “How about FUCHSIA with a CHARTREUSE border, ladies??”

I especially love Starbucks in the morning, because the place is always filled with tons of office people bitching and moaning about their co-workers. And I always feel so much better after listening to them, because it reminds me that we all have at least one asshole at our job. Now when I eavesdrop standing in line, I usually just pretend to be looking at all the pastries in the case. Sometimes I even pretend to be listening to the music that’s playing in the store; making it look like I’m really getting into it, by bopping my head and moving my hips a little. It’s the perfect cover-up, because no one ever suspects that I’m listening. They just think I have really great rhythm.

I think I’ve missed my life’s vocation.

I should have gone to college to become a nosey television journalist.

And can you imagine….?

“Hi…this is eavesdropping NBC news reporter, Ron Carnavil, coming to you LIVE from Starbucks.”

Have a wonderful eavesdropping weekend, everyone!

My Hand, a Pen, and Paper

This was perhaps one of the most challenging posts I’ve ever attempted to write.

Yesterday, because the weather was absolutely gorgeous, I spent the afternoon outside sitting in the grass, eating my granola yogurt, and putting myself through a little test.

I wanted to see if I could compose this blog post, by writing it out in longhand instead of using a computer keyboard. I was curious to see if I could still use my hand, a pen, and piece of paper.

Well let me tell you…about halfway through, I was getting ready to lose it.

It was the most annoying thing I think I’ve ever experienced.

I felt like a mentally challenged caveman trying to write his first essay; using a piece of slate and a river rock.

Normally my penmanship is very legible (I went to catholic school), but when I went back to read the first two paragraphs I had written, it looked like it was the handwriting of a serial killer.

I honestly had trouble reading some of my own words.

And it’s interesting, because as I wrote, I found myself getting impatient because I couldn’t write the words as fast as I could, using a keyboard. I was holding onto the pen so tight, that it caused a tension in my arm, which traveled up to my shoulder and neck. It was like my computer brain was saying, “Come on hand…get a move on!!”

The process of writing something by hand seemed almost foreign to me.

I also forgot how to spell the most simplest of words. Words such as: tension, experience and piece, caused me to go, “Duh…what’s up doc?!”

And the whole time I’m sitting there, all I kept thinking about was how I couldn’t WAIT to get home and get my fingers on that keyboard and spellcheck, so I could write this post.

This little test caused me to think about the last time I ever sat down and wrote a letter to someone.

(like, maybe 1998?)

And lately, I even find myself sending people e-cards instead of writing inside a paper greeting card.

I love computers, don’t get me wrong - there’s definitely a lot of positives to them. But it appears to me, that this consistant use of a computer has caused me to forget how to actually hand write, other than filling in a couple of lines on my rent check each month.

So I think the first thing I’m going to do, is buy myself one of those old-fashion composition books, and then see if I can hire a nice, sweet catholic school nun to re-teach me the Palmer Method of Writing….so I can get my hand flowing again.

And I cannot lie Sister, I composed this entire post by using a keyboard…GODAMN IT!

On Women Wearing Suits

To me, there’s something so sexy about a woman wearing a suit.

Whether it be a tailored business suit or something more casual and loose fitting, I think a woman looks absolutely stunning.

It’s a beautiful blend of both femininity and masculinity.

There’s a softness, and yet a strength to it.

It almost seems androgynous.

I first began my appreciating of women wearing suits, when I was working for the cosmetic division of Chanel, where both the gentlemen AND the ladies were required to wear an all-black pant suit. The gentleman wore it with a white dress shirt and a Chanel tie, and the ladies wore it with a white open-neck dress shirt, and a white camellia on the lapel of the jacket. It was simple, basic…yet totally striking.

Just the other day, I was walking down the street and spotted a woman coming out of a building wearing a sharp-looking suit and carrying a brief case, and I immediately thought to myself, “WOW…how beautiful.”

Now…my only question is this.

How come it doesn’t work the other way around?

I mean, is it just me?

But why is it that when a man puts on a dress…

…it doesn’t quite have the same effect....?

I Love My Debit Card

Along with my Buzz Lightyear toothbrush, I don’t think there has ever been anything invented that has made me more happy, than my debit card.

I seriously don’t think I could live without it.

Especially because I live in a city, I’m not one for carrying around a lot of cash with me, so being able to whip out a piece of plastic in an emergency situation, such as purchasing a York Peppermint Patty…gives me tremendous inner peace.

And I love being able to just walk up to an ATM machine, and grab a quick twenty if I’m going to lunch with someone.

Now there are also a few drawbacks in using a debit card.

Such as remembering to deduct my ATM withdraws and store purchases from my checking account.

However, I haven’t forgotten to do that in many, many years because it happened to me once, which caused three of my checks to bounce; being charged $125.00 in overdrawn fees.

And for those of you who have NEVER bounced a series of checks before, let me just say that I feel very sorry for you, because you’ll never know true human PAIN, until you do.

So now, whenever I make a purchase or withdraw, I IMMEDIATELY take out my checkbook and write it down, like the anal retentive and neurotic person that I am.

And people who have watched me do this always say, “Oh, you’re so good about doing that, because I NEVER remember.”

And my response is, “ Yea, well…just wait until the day it causes an avalanche in your account, and then I guarantee you’ll start remembering.”

Another thing about using a debit card, are the bumper crop of debit slips that I accrue in my wallet. In just three days, my wallet ends up looking like one of those floating balloons in the Macy’s Day Parade. Which makes butt look like I have some sort of large growth on my right ass cheek.

I look like the Hunch-Ass of Notre Dame.

And I can’t tell you how many rude cat-calls that arouses, while I'm walking down the city streets.

Like, “Woo, woo, dude…nice rump roast!!”

But hey, with the positive, there always comes the negative. Yet I still wouldn’t trade having a debit card for anything.

They’re quick, easy, and VERY convenient…..

Have a very convenient weekend, everyone!

X

Being Tom Brokaws' Makeup Artist

I was living in Orlando, Florida at the time and working as a freelance makeup artist.

I mostly did weddings and photo shoots, but would occasionally do some film and video work.

One day, a makeup artist friend of mine called, and asked if I would be interested in taking her place on a job she could no longer do. It was a two day gig out at Cape Canaveral for the John Glenn 50th Anniversary television broadcast.

I said, “Sure!”

She informed me that I would be working for NBC, and most likely be doing the hair and makeup for anchorman, Tom Brokaw.

Now to be honest, I had never worked on a celebrity before, so I was extremely nervous.

But a few days later, I drove out to the Cape with all my hair and makeup gear in the hatchback of my Hyundai. I also brought along a few books and some food snacks, because so much of working in video or film involves waiting tedious hours between set ups.

Once I got to the Cape, I was given a security pass and then shown where I could set up my makeup chair and supplies. I got there sometime around noon, even though I knew the first broadcast wouldn’t be aired until the 6 o’clock evening news.

So I sat and sat, and read and read, until finally one of the tech people walked in and told me that Tom Brokaw had arrived, and was ready for me on the set.

(I think it was at that moment, I took a poop in my undergarments)

So I grabbed my makeup case and was escorted to the roof of the NBC building.

I’ll never forget this moment for as long as I live, because it felt surreal…

As we got to the rooftop, I saw Mr. Brokaw sitting in a chair, working on his laptop. The technician pointed, and said to me, “Well, there he is…just go over and introduce yourself to him.”

OMG…I thought I was going to pass-out from celebrity jitters and then hit the cement floor.

As I walked over to him, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion.

When I got directly in front of him, I stuck my hand out and said, “Hi Mr. Brokaw, I’m Ron Carnavil and I’ll be doing your hair and makeup.”

He quickly looked up at me and said (with that voice), “Hi…you’ll have to work around me, because I’m busy, ok?”

I responded, “Sure…not a problem.” So I took out my stuff and began prepping him.

And need I tell you how much my hands were shaking?

(thank god I didn’t have to put lip liner on him)

Once the broadcast began, my job was to stand off-camera and watch Mr. Brokaw closely; making sure his appearance looked perfect. And on the commercial breaks, I would run in front of the camera; powder his face and re-comb his hair. I had been warned by one of the producers, that he had an annoying habit of running his fingers though his hair after a stylist would get it combed. So I spent two days, combing and then re-combing his hair.

The following day was rather intense, because the camera crew was constantly moving; shooting live footage in various locations, both indoors and out. So there I was, running behind everyone, trying to squeeze myself into where I needed to be, and then getting the hell out of the cameras view.

It was very windy that day, so Mr. Brokaws’ hair was flying all over the place. And just as I would get it all plastered down, he would run his hands through it, so I would quickly run behind him with a can of hair spray and twirl-spritz his head.

(I felt like the hair spray fairy)

And it’s funny, because during the whole two days of working with him, he never actually spoke to me. I honestly knew that it wasn’t because he was being rude, but rather that he had a million things he was thinking about, and the reality, was that I was just another makeup person.

However, when he was getting ready to leave at the end of the second day, he made a point of walking up to me and shook my hand, saying, “Thank you for your help, Ron”

And many years later, when I was walking into a bookstore, I happened to see his latest book sitting on a shelf.

And the first silly thing I thought of was….

“Shit…I powdered that man’s face!”

And didn't I do a lovely job?

A Strange Weekend

I had a very strange weekend….

It all started on Saturday morning, when I woke up with a case of butter-fingers. I swear to god, every single object I tried to pick up…I dropped. And not only did I drop things, but my body coordination had about a 30 second delay to my brain coordination.

You should have seen me making coffee with my French press.

Every time I tried to add a scoop of coffee into the beaker, the scooper hit the rim of the glass; sending coffee grounds flying all over the kitchen. My entire kitchen-nook looked like it had snowed java.

And lets not even talk about shaving my face.

I dropped the razor twice, and nicked my face at least four times.

I had blood dripping from my chin, cheek, adam's apple, and the side of my nostril.

By the time I had finished, it looked like I had tried to commit suicide one feature at time.

And it didn’t stop there, because all day at work I was like a human tornado. While walking past one of the fragrance counters, my right shoulder hit a stack of gifts sets, which caused an avalanche of falling boxes. Then around midday, while talking to a customer, I accidentally backed into a glass display table; making all the perfume bottles hit the floor. Luckily, not one of them broke.

But I think there must have been something in the air this weekend, because I noticed that a lot of people at work were having this same issue.

At certain points throughout the day, you could hear the sounds of things crashing all over the department. Every half hour or so, you would hear SMASH! CRASH! BAM! SCREAM!…SMASH! CRASH! BAM! SCREAM!

And then all the employees would look at one another and say, “oops…not another one?!?”

I also noticed that there were more than the usual percentage of mentally insane customers walking through the store. Several times when I would approach a customer and say, “Hi, can I assist you?” They acted like I was saying, “Hi, I have herpes…can I kiss you?”

Another thing that made me feel strange this weekend, was the time change.

I know it’s only one hour, but for some reason, every time the clocks spring forward…I feel like I’m experiencing a six hour European jet lag.

All day at work yesterday, it felt as though my brain was filled with cotton balls. I felt tired, sluggish, cranky, and found myself acting like Joan Crawford whenever she saw a wire hanger.

In fact, there was a point when I had to put my hands in my pockets, because I seriously wanted to slap someone.

Gee…I wonder if part of this strange weekend had anything to do with experiencing what I like to refer to as the male version of P.M.S.

I.M.S.

Irritable Male Syndrome

oops....sorry Mr. Potato Head!?

All this week, it seems like I’ve been having flashback memories of my childhood, so I would like to end this weeks posts with yet another Little Ronnie memorabilia.

I was surfing the Internet the other night, looking for some graphics, when I suddenly spotted an image of the fabulous….Mr. Potato Head.

I FREAKED!

You see, Mr. Potato Head use to be one of my favorite toys.

However, when I was kiddo, Mr. Potato Head didn't come with a plastic head. You actually had to use a REAL potato.

And it was so much fun, because I could use various potato sizes; making his head big or small.

And sometimes when my mother didn’t have any potato’s, I would get creative and use an apple or a banana instead.

*please note: whenever I used a banana…he resembled a Mr. Dick Head.

Now the only drawback about using a real potato, was that I would end up getting potato juice everywhere, from poking his head with so many holes.

You see, I’m a Libra with OCD…so I could never make up my mind about how I wanted to arrange his face.

Over and over again I would create-a-look and then change my mind, because his lips were a little too high or his ears were a little too low.

So by the time I got finished with him…he ended up looking like someone shot him with a BB gun.

I’ll never forget the time when I finished playing with Mr. Potato Head, and instead of leaving him out, I placed him back in the box, and then put the box into the toy chest in our playroom.

I guess it must have been about five or six days before I ever played with him again, so there he sat inside in a dark box, slowly rotting and fermenting.

Little by little, the playroom started permeating with a funky odor. And one day my mother walked in while I was playing my Petula Clark records and said, “What’s that odor, Ronnie? It smells like something died in here.”

I smelled it too, but it never dawned on me about Mr. Potato Head.

My mother sniffed and sniffed around, until she got close to the toy chest and said, “I think it’s coming from in here.” So she opened it and began searching through everything. And when she got to the Mr. Potato Head box, she finally discovered where the odor was coming from.

My eyes widen in horror, as poor Mr. Potato Head lay there…with his eyes, nose, ears, mouth and little plastic body all protruding from his head, which was now the size of a raisin.

Oh. My. God.

I was devistated.

I had accidentally killed my favorite spud-bud!

Have a spudtacular weekend, everyone!

X

Easter and Black Jelly Beans

Yesterday, while I was standing in the check out line at Rite Aid, I noticed an area by the register that was already stocked with a plethora of Easter items.

Bright colored baskets, plastic grass, chocolate hallowed bunnies, marshmallow peeps, and my absolute favorite…..bags and bags of jelly beans.

I love jelly beans.

Especially the black ones.

I’ve noticed something about black jelly beans though, people seem to either love or abhorred them.

I happen to worship them.

And when I eat them, I can’t just put one or two in my mouth, no, I like to throw in four or five or ten, so that my tongue, teeth, and lips turn permanently black from the food coloring. I usually end up looking like someone from the movie, The Night of the Living Dead.

Anyway…seeing all the Easter stuff, reminded me of something that I used to do as a kid during the Easter Holidays.

Just like on Christmas Eve, my parents would wait until my siblings and I went to bed, and then they would decorate the dining room table, as if the Easter Bunny had just visited. We each got a big basket, stuffed with green plastic grass and an array of fabulous candy. And in those days, there was such a thing as a REAL coconut cream Easter egg, which would literally melt in your mouth - we each got one of those too.

After my parents finished, and went to bed…I would creep downstairs and go through my sister and brothers’ baskets; taking all but one or two black jelly beans, and then hiding them under the grass in my own basket. I would also switch the different flavored jelly beans around; making sure I got more of the pink and white ones, while my siblings were left with more of the red, green and orange ones. And since I hated peeps, I would give them half of mine, but swapped them for a few of their malted speckled eggs.

This rearranging probably took me a good 30 minutes, so sometimes I would just start eating candy from everyone else’s basket.

But I had a special camouflaging trick that I used, so it never looked like anything was missing.

I would fluff-out the plastic grass in their baskets, so it actually looked like they had more candy.

*This trick later helped me when I attended beauty school and was learning how to tease hair.

So after I finally got my Easter basket filled with exactly what I wanted, I crept back upstairs and slid into my bed like a snake.

And as I fell asleep, I couldn’t help but wonder if my parents ever noticed what I was doing each year.

Naaah…I don’t think so….

Irritating Wiggly Food Court Tables

This is one of those irritating life experiences, that feels as those someone just took a hot curling iron and inserted it into my rectum….

I’m sure this happens to everyone, and I’m sure it irritates you as much as it does me, so let me just vent for all of us, but please feel free to personally vent within your comment.

Tell me something…

Why is it that about 98% of all mall food court tables WIGGLE?

Do you know what I mean by wiggling?

It’s when you sit down and place your elbows on the table; it suddenly shifts from side to side like a see-saw.

So then what do you do?

You usually pick up your food tray and move to another table, only to find that THAT table wiggles. Then you pick up your food tray again, and move to another table; finding that THAT table wiggles.

So round and round you go through the food court, getting more and more pissed off, because your lunch hour is being eaten away by playing merry-go-round-musical-tables.

And then what most of us end up doing, is taking either a folded paper napkin or two sweet & low packets and SHOVING them under one of the table legs to help balance it, whereupon, your food tray sides off the table and comes crashing onto the floor.

End. Of. Lunch.

When this happens to me…

…it makes me want to SCREAM like a caveman and PULL MY HAIR OUT!