The Woman Lie Detector

When the good LAWD all-mighty was making men I am sure when He was done, He had an entire bag of left over parts and no idea what to do with them.  I know for a fact that one of the parts in that bag was the "Woman Lie Detector" part.  Not the part that can tell when a woman is flat out lying about something.  For example:  "Honey, I have NO idea how that three foot scratch down the entire side of your beloved 1968 Shelby Mustang got there." LIAR!!! She knows.  Hell, she probably put it there in retaliation for some trivial thing the guy did.  But here's where that missing "Woman Lie Detector" part comes into play.  Had the man had this missing part installed, he would have been able to safely navigate through the Man/Woman mine field therefore completely avoiding the possible destruction of his most precious automobile.


The scene possibly started like so:  A conversation about plans.  Plans with the guys.  Plans without the woman.


Him: "Honey, I am going to (insert name of sports bar or best guy-pal's house) to watch the (insert sporting event name here) with the guys.  I'll probably be gone all afternoon/evening, so don't wait for me."


Her: "Now?"


Him: "Uh, yeah now."


Her:  (in a slightly pouty, but semi normal voice) "But I thought we were going to (insert some form of chick based activity - i.e. watching The Notebook for the 100th time)."


Him: "Honey, this is a really important game.  If (insert name of fantasy football quarterback pick) gets 3 TD's my fantasy football team moves into the league championships and I could totally kick a$$ this year."


Her: (in a more pouty, but still normal tone) "So you would rather sit in a room with a bunch of guys, drinking beer and watching a game instead of spending the afternoon with me?"

*****DANGER****** Men, this is the most critical moment of your life!  I guarantee you that every instinct in your body is going to be crying out for the beer, buds, and ball you so richly want.  Don't do it!  Those four hours are not worth what is coming next.  And here is where that missing part could help save you hours of misery.


Him: "Baby, you know I love you.  I'll be back right after the game and then we can spend all night together. (Insert promises of movie, roses, back rubs, whatever you think you will have to give, in order to get the h*ll out of the house in the next ten minutes)"


Her:  "O.K. Fine."


DING!!! DING!!!! DING!!!! And men, with those two words, she has just sealed your fate in the world of payback-is-a-b*tch.  Because everything is most definitely NOT fine and you are blissfully unaware that your fate has now been sealed.  All this could have been avoided had you just had the "Woman Lie Detector" installed.  She would have said "Fine" and you would have been beeping like a blinged out rap artist in a metal detector at that lie.  Thereby allowing you the time to find a successful comeback that would have allowed you to watch the game and still make the little woman happy.  As to what that comeback might be, heaven only knows.

Who Ya Gonna Call?--

Once again it is back-to-school.  And once again, teachers everywhere are schlepping back to the classroom with their dreams of summer vacation slowly fading from memory.  OK, not so slowly fading as I found myself daydreaming about lounging by the pool, eating ho-ho's, drinking umbrella garnished vodka drinks, and a certain cabana boy named Paco who will forever hold a special place in my heart.... uhm, when I was supposed to be engaged in professional development training.  By the way, teachers are WORSE than students when it comes to our behavior during "class".  

During the back to school flurry of fun we teachers get to have, there are tons of forms, schedules, and spreadsheets to complete.  My favorite form is the "Personal Information and Emergency Contact" form.  What kills me about this form is that it is the EXACT same form I filled out when I was hired by the district years ago.  And the same form I completed last year, and the year before, and the year before, and the year before.......  Why they just don't keep the form I completed last year and tell me to let them know if anything changes, I don't know.  Maybe they just enjoy seeing me realize how pathetic my life really is as I answer questions about my marital status and interests.  "Single, two cats, knits."  Yep, it's pretty pathetic.  

Since we all know I don't do well with things I find to be slightly irritating, I like to have a little fun with the form.  (Not to mention slightly redundant.)  I like to express myself and answer with the truest of all Ms. Tastrophie answers.  Things like when it asks me for my name and what I want to be called, I answer:  Well, I want to be addressed as "The High Empress of All Things Chocolate, Princess of the Starbucks and Masterful Queen of the Sarcasm" but if that's too much you can just call me Ms. Tastrophie.  The form asks me for my address - which I give.  You never know when someone would want to send moi flowers or shower me with gifts and I would hate for them not to be able to send them to the right place.  My phone number - again I give it.  Just in case they need to call and tell me to take the next week off with pay and not to worry about a sub because they have it all covered.  And my date of birth.  Which is totally rude and none of their business unless they are going to be sending expensive birthday gifts.  In which case see the question regarding address.  Not to mention I lie on that one anyway, because a lady never tells and I refuse to admit to being a day over 25. Even though I graduated high school in 1987 and college in 1993 and 1999.  GAWD bless the miracle of botox.

Then it gets to the part about emergency information.  This is where I just can't help myself.  I have to answer these questions with all the do seriousness these questions are just screaming for:

1.  Any medical conditions that would prohibit you from doing your job?  Well, I am allergic to work and break I out in hives when I am required to do any physical labor.  Plus, I don't do mornings very well, so I would appreciate it if you could schedule the classes I have to teach in the afternoons. 

2. Are you currently taking any medications?  Not right now, but I intend to go to lunch and self medicate with my daily ho-ho with xanax and vodka chaser.  I will probably change the times for these self medication rituals once school officially starts, but I'm waiting to see what the semester brings.

3.  Do you have any special needs?  Oh sweet mother-of-pearl YES!  I need a job where I get paid to look good and not one that requires me to get up before 9 a.m.  But if you can't arrange that, could you please get me a room with an ocean view, a masseuse named Sven to help work out the stress knots I have in my shoulders and a T.A. who can actually work the copy machine without screwing up a two sided copy?

And my ALL time favorite question

4.  Who do you want us to call in case of an emergency?  My answer:  9-1-1!!!!

Seriously, what do you think my sister could do for me?  She's a flight attendant not a doctor.  If I ever need to safely exit a 747 during a freak air incident; she's the person I'm gonna call, but if I'm having a stroke at school because a 7th grader actually DID their homework and turned it in on time, I want you to call the paramedics!  What do you think my dad's going to do?  He lives three states away.  I'm thinking it might take him a while to get there.  Don't call my family, call someone who can competently administer high dosages of xanax and ho-ho's.  Preferably one of these guys:

OR

Family Time And Other Time Warps

I love my family.  Don't get me wrong, I really do, but they can push my sense of "come on people, let's go" to the end of all reason.  As I understand it we have 4 time zones here in America. So why is it that my family operates in it's own little time warp continuum that prohibits them from getting anywhere together in a reasonable timely manner?  I'm not joking.  Herding cats is easier than getting my family to the church on time, if ya know what I mean.  At least with cats, you can get everyone headed in the general direction.


A few weeks ago, Ms. Tastrophie was visiting most of her time-delayed family and after much discussion, we decided to head out for dinner.  The decision was to go to Jack Stack's for BBQ.  And for those of you who don't know, let Ms. Tastrophie educate you:  Kansas City has THE BEST BBQ in the world.  Hands down.  Even when KC BBQ is bad, it's still better than any other BBQ in the world.  I know many of you may think them there are fightin' words, but bring it. 'Cause brown sugar and molasses kick some pork rib @$$!  


Now the where to eat discussion alone took us the better part of an hour, so once the decision was made, Ms. Tastrophie thought it was a fait de compli.  Why I don't know better by now, I can't tell you because this was not the first time I have made this mistake.  And here is where the time-warp-continuum begins:

Oh look, the family's all here.

6:00 p.m. - Grand announcement that we have "made a decision and are leaving" is made.  This is the announcement that signals everyone should get their stuff together and make any needed restroom breaks.  


6:15 p.m. - My aunt, step-mom, and I start looking for car keys, purses, cell phones and discussing who will be riding with whom in which car.  The men haven't moved from their respective positions since the Grand Announcement was made. 


6:30 p.m. - The women are walking out the door.  I decide I have to go back to the bathroom...again.  My family knows I have the world's smallest bladder and why they think I can make it out the door with only one potty break, is beyond moi.  My dad can't find his cell phone and has to have it because it's the one he uses for business.  My uncle is still standing in front of the t.v. watching sports center and it hasn't been determined whether or not he actually heard the "grand announcement".


6:45 p.m. - One person has decided that the outfit currently worn doesn't match the shoes currently worn and has returned to the bedroom to change.  (To protect the innocent, no names will be mentioned here...LISA.)  There are now two guys in front of the t.v. watching sport center.  Someone has discovered the sports section from yesterday's paper and is re-reading it to see if anything has changed since it was printed.  My aunt is on her cell phone talking to a friend back home and has poured herself a glass of wine.


7:00 p.m. - Someone has stuck their head in the refrigerator and is rooting around for something to eat.  The kids have returned to the den and the previously started video game.  I am texting and two people suddenly have gin & tonics in their hands.


7:15 p.m. - Step-mom (bless her heart, she is trying to get us out the door) re-announces the "Grand Announcement" to which the fluttering of car keys, cell phones and potty breaks begins anew.


7:30 p.m. - All family members are actually OUT of the house and standing halfway between the door and the cars.  Someone notices the inside only cat is now standing outside.  Cat herding for real has begun.


7:35 p.m. - Cat is much faster than the rotund body shape would imply.


7:45 p.m. - Grown people are circling a car attempting to coax rotund feline out from under the front axle.  Neighbors are gathering to watch the show.


8:00 p.m. - Long pole is used to "gently" herd cat to back end of car where rest of family is waiting to pounce and procure said feline.


8:05 p.m. - Neighbors start taking bets.  Odds listed at 80:1 in feline favor.


8:08 p.m. - Cat has outsmarted the entire family and is now up a tree and hissing.  Debates about calling the fire department vs. leaving feline up a tree.  One person has returned to the house to watch sports center and finish his gin & tonic.


8:25 p.m. - After much cat calling and fresh tuna enticement, the feline is out of the tree and safely inside the home.  Antiseptic, bandages and another gin & tonic have been applied.  All members are out of the house and half way to the car.


8:30 p.m. - Final head count is taken and all members are in assigned cars.  Assurances that a hospital visit is not necessary as enough gin & tonic has been consumed to kill toxoplasmosis, thypoid, and the common cold.


8:35 p.m. - Someone announces they have to go to the bathroom.  To which the reply "tough noogies" is actually heard out of a grown woman's mouth (O.K. it was my mouth) and the procession of cars pulls away.

8:55 p.m. Arrive at Jack Stacks "on time" for THE BEST DAMN BBQ EVER!!! 

And Thank You For Flying "I QUIT" Airlines

Now you know Miss Tastrophie could NOT pass this one up. Seriously, if you thought I wouldn't have something to say about a flight attendant losing his bacon on a flight, telling everyone to suck it because he quits, then grabs two beers, pops the chute, and makes the best exit from a plane in all airplanedom? Baby, you obviously do not know Lisatastrophie very well. Cause this guy is my new hero.

I mean, who wouldn't love to quit their day job in a larger than life manner? Oh Lawdy, I know I have. And you know Ms. Tastrophie would have to give her two cents worth as she was walkin' out the door. Trust me there have been days when the only thing that got me through that day, was dreaming of how I would quit my job - provided I won a few million dollars in the lottery and I wouldn't go to jail for doing it. Because I don't do the poor thing and I just do NOT look good in orange. I don't care what my color wheel says.

So I thought I would share a couple of my favorite "This job sucks lemons and I ain't making lemon aid out of this cr*p anymore" quitting fantasies with you.

I did have one job quitting fantasy that involved naked pictures of my boss, photoshop, and some barn animals. Needless to say I bordered on using them for revenge or blackmail in my fantasies, but could never decide which would work best to my advantage. They were defiantly fun to think about. Plus, I'm not really sure if you could get any self respecting farm animal to come within a fifty mile radius of my disgusting (at that time) boss. Good thing I never really learned how to work photoshop all that well.

Then there was the one where I am stuck in a life-sucking-mind-numbing meeting from h*ll and just at the moment when I realize I have won the lottery and no longer need to be a sycophant on my bosses rear, I stand up and announce: "Excuse me. I have a few things I would like to get off my chest. You're "Golden Boy" Robert has been padding his expense report to cover his topless bar and drinking problems. Sara is the refrigerator bandit who has been pillaging our lunches by taking bites out of peoples sandwiches and then putting them back. Personally, I think Sara's got bigger issues. With her using the copier as her own personal porn reproducing machine. Sara, next time take off the wedding ring before you hit copy. And Boss-man, your wife know you are having an affair. Because really? The only reason a 50 year old man get contacts, joins a gym, and suddenly develops a sense of style is so he can impress his half-his-age-botoxed mistress. Buddy, you're not fooling anyone, let alone the people who work for you. Especially since the bimbo you hired as your new "secretary" can't even fill out a phone message form, but does manage to fill out that $300 Anna Sui cardigan quite nicely. Which, by the way, I couldn't afford on MY salary and I KNOW I bank more than she does. Oh yeah, AND I QUIT!" While I might not have enjoyed working at that office, it did make for some really good better-than-Days-of-Our-Lives daytime drama.

Since I am no longer in the corporate world, my fantasies of quitting involve hyping 7th grade juvenile delinquent wannabes on pure chocolate, Jolt cola, and Tupac videos right before I call the front office to tell them I am walking out the door. They can keep my my Hello Kitty wall clock, pink post-it notes and the candy bar stash I have in my desk drawer. I'm taking the xanax and Ho-ho's with me because I do have my priorities people.

Even with my job ending fantasies, Steven Slater is my new "I quit" Hero. Nobody has done it better when telling the masses just what he thinks before sticking it to "The Man" by pulling a several thousand dollar get-a-way on an emergency exit slide. Not to mention he got free beer out of it- BONUS! What I do find slightly ironic is that there hasn't been any mention of the passenger who felt she was above the FAA rules and could get her bags whenever SHE wanted. (And, no, it was not Ms. Tastrophie.) I wonder if Miss-I-don't-have-to-follow-flight-attendant-instructions-like-everyone-else-even-though-they-tell-us-in-the-flight-briefing-that-it-is-a-federal-offense-not-to has gotten into any trouble or if she is blissfully unaware that her being a royal assha*t has given America a new "I Hate My Job And Want To Quit Hero"?

Hot Enough For You?

Miss Tastrophie is not one for idol small talk. I mean, she can chit chat with the best of them while standing in line at the liquor store, but she has no patience for the stupid. So asking her if it's hot enough for her while the mercury is pegged at triple digits and she is sweating in places Gawd NEVER intended for her to sweat, is just stupid and might get you a free can of the smack down. Just sayin'....

Anyway, Miss Tastrophie was on her way home a few weeks ago from a nice little visit with the fam. (GAWD love them - they are a hoot, but couldn't get their collective rears to the church on time for their own funeral if it killed them) when she found herself sitting in the airport waiting lounge. First off, this was a new experience for our heroine as she previously existed only in a world of the Admiral's Club, Elite check-in, and First Class. Now she finds herself sitting in coach, using the kiosk, and flying Southwest. It's sad, but we hope she will be able to adjust to this new found life style without going all Wynonna Rider five finger discount at Nordstroms.

While sitting and knitting I got the grand pleasure of listening to three passengers talk about how hot it was (close to triple digits) and how the media was reporting how horrible it was that the members of a certain pro-football team were being made to practice in this gawd-awful heat. What with them being in tee shirts and shorts and blasted by oversized industrial fans equipped with water misting equipment. The indignity of having to wear their pads and run drills that required fancy footwork, tires, and a lot of throwing and catching while sweating like a virgin on prom night. (Somebody call Amnesty International on this travesty.) All this while collecting a paycheck that at the VERY LEAST has one comma and six digits BEFORE the decimal. Some having two commas and seven digits before the decimal. Now, I'm not innocent in this little discussion. I agreed with them that it was hotter than bejesus out there and I thank GAWD for the genius who invented central air 'cause I don't do sweat, but then again I also don't have a paycheck with six digits before the decimal. Nor I don't go a b*tchin' to the media about how awful my job is. I am very grateful to even have a job in the suck economy. (I just do my moanin' and groanin' to you fine people).

After fifteen minutes of listening to the heat-index trio, I had reached my max on the whinny. So ever so sweetly, I had to butt into their conversation to put things into a little perspective - Miss Tastrophie Style!

Miss T (said in my sweetest southern belle style equipped with just enough sarcasm to be my oh-so-subtle self): Excuse me, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation - because apparently after the third beer in the airport lounge, you'all forgot that normal human beings have good hearing and whining at the top of your lungs is almost as annoying as your conversation topic. I am sure the fine folks at gate 38 -(we were at gate 30) - have enjoyed hearing you as well. Anyhoo, I think it's nice that you care for our fabulous members of KC's finest, yet constantly choking it, football team and are worried that the heat is just too much for a bunch of spoiled-over-paid-should-have-majored-in-something-useful-as-a-back-up-plan-football players. I think we need a little perspective here.

Right now, this country has service men and women who are fighting in countries that regularly peg the triple digit mark on the mercury scale.

They sport 60 plus pounds of protective gear that could barely stop a hot rock let alone a piece of shrapnel from an IED. Which they have to wear regardless of whether or not they are going outside their tent to patrol or to use the head (toilet for all you non-military types). And I know for a fact that not one of them is touting a six digit paycheck to the bank. More like a three digit paycheck that will barely cover the rent on my luxury apartment. So before you go all flower power on me; no I am not making a statement about whether I do or don't support the wars. What I am saying is I DO support my military families. And while your complaining about some hot-shot pro player who entertains you for four hours on Sunday and the suffering he must go through, I think your concern would be better placed on the poor Private First Class who stands ready to give his life for your ability to watch the freakin game on your HD flat screen in your air conditioned living room. Don't you?

After which I smiled my best "love ya, mean it" smile and went right back to my knit 2, purl 2 ribbing on the oh so fabulous scarf I have on my bamboo needles. Funny thing was, it got a lot quieter in the lounge and a I swear I heard the distinctive sound of hands clapping from gate 38.