Bathroom Etiquette #6

Please do not talk on your cell phone while peeing in the office bathroom. What are you thinking?! Who are you talking to? Don’t you think they can hear you PEEING? And if you answered no to that, then don’t you think they might wonder why you’re standing by a waterfall?

Just please, oh, please tell me that you were on a personal call and NOT a business call. But wait, what service do you use because I can't get cell service in there...

How to make me weep uncontrollably

On Friday Train Guy and I are headed back down to the Beach to stay with some friends of mine. As we are going in June and not in April, like last time, actually going into the ocean, the pool and on the boat are options. As these activities include water, I decided that it was time for me to suck it up and buy a swimming suit.

I’m not deathly afraid of trying on swimming suits. I have come to terms with my body shape and feel pretty good in a pair of jeans or pants and a tank top. The last time I went swimming suit shopping was about 7 years ago when 11 friends and I rented a beach house for the summer and I therefore spent two days out of every week in a, GASP, bikini. At age 32 there is no way in hell I’d suck myself into a bikini (or subject the general public to me in a bikini) and so I decided some shopping was in order. The first place I went to was Land’s End. Everyone has told me that they have great suits for all shapes and sizes so I bought a very plain spaghetti strap tank in the size I usually wear. Then, just to be sure, and because we are leaving on Friday, I thought it best to buy one in the size up as well. Well, they came in the mail yesterday.

This morning I tried on the suit in my regular jeans/tops size. Oh.My.God. Enough said. Then I tried on the larger size. Holy fucking Shit. Are they trying to kill me?! Even with the suit made of 100 % spandex I could barely squeeze my hips into it.

And let the weeping commence….

Up until a few minutes I LIKED the way I look. I think I look pretty damn good for 32. I only weigh 5 pounds more than I did in high school for Christ’s sake. I even like the way I look naked and have no problem taking it all off in front of Train Guy, 7 years my junior whose last girlfriend was all of 21. Until now. I actually started tearing up. Suffice it to say me in that swimming suit was not pretty. From the waist up I looked fabulous (if I do say so myself) but from the waist down I looked like the 10 story high StayPuff marshmallow man from Ghostbusters in a size 0 petite bikini bottom.

Needless to say I will not be bringing a suit with me and will instead wear shorts and a tank top on the boat and beach. I wouldn’t have gotten into the pool anyway but for the love of God, I did not need that ego blow today. Or hell, any other day for that matter. I wonder if my friend that we’re visiting has an old maternity suit lying around that I could borrow. I may be able to squeeze my hips into that.

I Judge

It’s 10:30 on a Monday and I just passed a woman in the hall I’ve passed a million times before. She’s pretty ordinary. I think she’s pretty high up in this company too, probably in her early 40s and wears a wedding band. She’s always pleasant, always smiles. However in all those times passing her I never noticed that she REEKS of booze. She said “hi” to me just now and I swear that had I been holding a flame (you know, recreating the Olympic torch run or something) she would have spewed forth a ball of fire that surely would have taken out the entire fourth floor.

But, who am I to judge?

You know what? I type that into my blog a lot, “Who am I to judge?” when clearly I am judging. As a single woman with no real stresses in life except the usual paying the mortgage, worrying for my family’s well-being and getting fired for blogging all day, who AM I to judge this woman?

Maybe she had a “working” breakfast and her clients drink Jack Daniels straight so she did too. Or maybe she had some awful traumatic event happen to her last night and so she decided to drown her sorrows. Or hell, maybe she finds that her morning cup of coffee tastes better and wakes her up perkier with a snort of whiskey. Of course maybe she
has a hard life or is really stressed out at work or having problems in her marriage or is living in the closet. But you want to know the real reason I judge? Because I have nothing else to do.