What they should really teach atEvery fall, millions of high school graduates pack up their things and head off to college to increase their knowledge and decrease their bank accounts. It’s an exciting time but a scary one too. There are so many unanswered questions college newbies have, but most of them are too scared to ask.

Most schools require some form of orientation for the new students, although those are about as useless as the salad bar in the cafeteria. I know when I went to college I didn’t know who to turn to for answers.

Unfortunately, I had to learn many of these things the hard way. But in an effort to save other college students from making the same mistakes I did, I’m offering tips for what they didn’t teach you in college orientation, but should have.

  • Never ask “What’s that smell?”  You don’t want to know the answer. Ever.
  • Beer bottles will clink together when you’re trying to sneak beer into the dorm in your backpack. Get cans instead.
  • You will never fit all of your clothes in the dorm room’s closet. Buy some storage bins.
  • Someone will steal your shampoo at least once. It will happen.
  • You will learn to drink bottom-shelf liquor, but you will still hate it. You will also learn that it’s kept on the bottom shelf so it’s easier to grab when you’re laying on the floor “resting your eyes.”
  • You actually have to read the assigned reading. It’s totally a bummer.
  • There’s a difference between cheap and expensive toilet paper and it isn’t just price.
  • Your professor can still see you sleeping even though you’re in the back row.
  • There are some really weird people in the world. One of them will probably be your roommate.
  • Foot fungus. It’s a thing. Wear sandals.
  • That sound you hear through the wall? That’s snoring. You’ll hear that for the next four years.
  • Don’t be a hero and schedule an 8:00 a.m. class. Anything before 10:00 is going to be skipped regularly.
  • The washing machine costs more than just a quarter to run. You might have to get a job just to be able to wash your delicates.

Facts they didn't teach you at college orientation

  • The food in the dorms is all-you-can eat. That’s not  a challenge. Leave while you’re ahead, and while your pants still fit.
  • Make sure you have an internet connection before you move in. Being disconnected is not an option.
  • Spend a little extra time with your parents before saying goodbye. There’s probably an extra $20 in it for you.
  • You can buy nearly anything at the school bookstore, and it only shows up as “bookstore charge” on your school account. Skittles for everybody!
  • You can sell your books back at the end of the semester and get cash back. You can also neglect to tell your parents this important fact.
  • Your dorm room will always be either too hot or too cold, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
  • Your friends won’t go out to the bars until most people are in bed. Take a nap and set your alarm for 9:00 p.m.
  • Some organization somewhere on campus is giving out pizza at any given time.
  • Your rain boots might be cute but they don’t do crap to keep your feet dry.
  • If you find a parking spot close to your dorm, take it.  And then never leave again.
  • It’s perfectly acceptable to raid your roommate’s care package from home before he gets back from class. Those homemade cookies will go to waste otherwise.
  • Opening five different credit cards just to get the free gifts is never a good idea.

Opening 5 different credit cards just to

  • No matter which dorm you get, you’ll wish you were in a different one.
  • No one understands economics. Just remember that supply and demand are related and you should be fine.
  • Night classes go on exponentially longer than regular classes.

Hopefully these tips are useful to college freshmen everywhere.  And hey, if any of you are still reading this, can you grab me some Skittles from the bookstore?


Other places you can find me on the internet this week

I Sleep With Teenage Boys

Goodbye Summer

photo credit: idogcow via photopin cc

photo credit: idogcow via photopin cc

Anyone who has ever worked in a place where idiots have access to email knows the ridiculous emails sent  in a given day.

I’m often amazed that people take the time to type an email telling others the freezer is out of ice.

Granted, I’m usually the one who takes the last of the ice, so it’s no newsflash to me.

I despise the people who “reply all” and believe they’re the worst email offenders.  The especially heinous ones are those who respond to everyone with  “ha ha ha.”

From time to time my readers send me things.  It can be stories about their lives or comments on how they’ve had similar experiences.  (It can also be photos of cats in bathing suits.   I enjoy those the best.)

Recently I was made aware of an email sent to everyone in an office about a missing plant.  Yes.  A missing plant.

Since I don’t have the original email, I’ve decided to draft my own.  I’ve received a lot of idiotic emails over the years so I feel confident I can draft one similar to the original.


Re:  Missing Plant

TO:  allstaff

From:  Trudy Photosynthesis



Stop what you’re doin’ cuz I’m about to ruin your day.  (Thank you Digital Underground for those inspiring words.  They’ve never rang more true.)

There’s no way to prepare you for the news I have, so I’m not going to beat around the bush.  <sob…sob…I wish I had a bush to beat around>

There’s been a kidnapping!  Or should I say a plantnapping.  Either way, a living, breathing, thing has been snatched away from his loving mom.

I’m talking about the large plant in my office.  It has been stolen.  Yes, stolen, or dare I say “Taken.”  I now know how Liam Neeson felt in those horrible movies.

missing plantI’m not sure who the culprits are but am launching a full investigation to find out.

Everyone will be questioned and no one is safe…just like my plant isn’t safe until he’s returned.

This isn’t something to just leaf alone.  <sob…sob…he has the most beautiful leaves>

If you want to come forward now and confess, allow this email to serve as my olive branch to you.  <sob…sob….I miss his branches.>

If you do not come forward, I will find you, and I will beat you with a stick.  Hopefully a stick from my plant…if he’s still alive.

I’m worried about his safety.  I can’t help but imagine the worst; him in a closet gasping for light and water.  The horror of it all!  (The Little Shop of Horrors)

How does this affect you?  It affects all of you.  He’s responsible for turning carbon dioxide into oxygen, so we all depend on him to breathe.  I will die if he’s not found.  Literally.  We will all die.  He’s really the lifeblood of this office.

drawn sunHe also needs to be returned by Friday, as he needs to take his medicine that day.  Miracle Grow is key to his functional development and I don’t want him falling behind the other plants in the building.

There is a growing need to find him.  <sob…sob…growing…>

I fear for his safety, mostly because there was no ransom note left.  I’m not sure what the plantnappers demands are so I don’t know how to proceed.

Are you looking for additional pens?  Multi-colored Post-its?  Name your price.  I have an extra stapler I’m willing to part with.  It’s designer brand so it’s a high value item.  It’s a Swingline.

There was no trail of dirt so we have no leads at this time.  Please remember he is a green fern, about 2 feet wide and 2 feet tall.

He is in a red pot, which makes his leaves pop and accentuates his roots nicely.

Please stop everything you’re doing and help me find this precious and delicate little flower.  (But he doesn’t actually have flowers.)  No one is safe until he’s found.  This should be your top priority




Wanna find me other places on the web this week?

Top 9 Ways Preschool is Like a Winery

I'm not sure that this photo has anything to do with bosses, but I thought it was awesome.  Enjoy. photo credit: danielhedrick via photopin cc

I’m not sure this photo has anything to do with bosses, but I thought it was awesome. Enjoy.
photo credit: danielhedrick via photopin cc

For some reason, Nickelodeon hasn’t fired me yet.

If only I could say as much for my first job in high school at the grocery store.

<to that boss, let me just say that no one specifically told me I couldn’t comment on people’s groceries as I rang them up.  Perhaps that’s something you should put in the handbook.> 

As of now, NickMom is still publishing me, which is ridiculously awesome.  Today I’m on their site with a fancy decoder chart of what your boss says and what he actually means.

You all know what I’m talking about.  He says one thing and means something completely different.

Fortunately for you, this fancy chart lets you decode those messages.  I’m so good to you.

Yes, you have to go to NickMom to see it.  They need to see that at least 2 people read my piece so I don’t get fired and go the way of Marc Summers.

Ohhh…do you think he’d have a job for me at “Unwrapped?”  I can unwrap food with the best of them.

Some would say I’m even a pro.  Call me, Marc!

Here’s the link to read my fancy decoder.  You know you need to read it now.




arrows up

Not one unread emailI have an iPhone.  Yeah, I know.  I’m in an elite group.  Me and everyone else.  I’m like a fricking unique snowflake that isn’t unique at all.

However, with my lovely iPhone comes a myriad of issues, mostly caused by me because I’m technologically illiterate.

Seriously, I’m a moron when it comes to anything that has a memory card or is considered “smart.”

I have no idea how to work most things, including my TV.  If it isn’t a TV/VCR combo, I don’t know how to use it.

I’ll just stick to watching my VHS tapes of Romey and Michelle’s High School Reunion, The Office, and Ever After.

Yes, I really have all of those on VHS.  If you want to borrow them, I require a deposit.  Laffy Taffy is acceptable payment.

Since I can’t operate my DVR,  it’s not wonder I’m clueless about my phone.  (On a side note, I also have Clueless on VHS.)

These were the good old days.  You risked breaking a finger, but it didn't tell you there were unread emails.

These were the good old days. You risked breaking a finger, but it didn’t tell you there were unread emails.

I know how to check my email and how to make calls, but that’s about it.  I don’t have Suri on my phone, so I’m completely lost.

No, literally. I get physically lost because the map on the phone is super confusing.  (Don’t tell me to go northeast. I don’t know which way is northeast as I don’t have a fricking good look at the sun. RIGHT OR LEFT, A-HOLE?)

I suspect it may be a good thing that I don’t have Suri, as I think she may be a spoiled rotten little brat who carries purses that cost more than my monthly mortgage payment.

This could be because (1) she’s a materialistic b*tch, or (2) my property value is $hit.

It’s probably both.

What was I talking about again?

Oh, my super glamorous iPhone, that has food randomly stuck in the “home” button.  I think it’s peanut butter.

Sometime in the last few days, my iPhone started saying I have one unread email message.

Um, no I don’t.

No, I fricking don't!

No, I fricking don’t!

I’ve gone to my email online and it says I have no unread messages, so I don’t know why my iPhone insists on being a know-it-all.

Maybe I do have Suri after all.  It’s totally something she would pull.  Her and her $1,000 shoes.

I’ve done everything I can think of to MAKE IT STOP SAYING I HAVE ONE UNREAD EMAIL!

Nothing works.  Nothing.  I’ve turned it off and turned it back on.  I’ve scrolled through to find said unread email.

I’ve also tried bashing it against the wall.  Surprisingly, that didn’t work either.

Author’s note:  When I refer to “unread” emails, I simply mean those I haven’t opened.  Just because I open an email doesn’t mean I’ve read it.  

That would be a ridiculous assumption to make.  I just seriously hate the little red number telling me I have to open an email.  It’s like it’s judging me and telling me to get some work done.  BACK OFF APPLE!

It’s not like the iPhone is a work horse.  He/she shuts down randomly, freezes up, and just acts like a snot frequently.

I guarantee these old geezers know more than I do about technology.  I've named then Gene and Fran.

I guarantee these old geezers know more than I do about technology. I’ve named then Gene and Fran.

I think these are all indicators that Suri is just jacking with me, even though she isn’t on my phone.

Or at least I don’t think she is…<insert paranoid face here>

So I’m going insane about this one red notice that says I have an unread email.  NO I DON’T!

So if I go all Amanda Bynes in the next few days, you’ll know why.  She does have excellent taste in wigs.

Come to think of it, maybe that’s what led to her demise.  Just sayin’…

Wind can be an a-holeSometimes you have a day when you feel like the whole world’s against you.  For me, it was when I found out Justin Timberlake married Jessica Biel and he was off the market.

Obviously, he’s never seen my dance moves, as I’m sure I could have mesmerized him with my movements (of belly fat.)  I know they say the hips don’t lie, and mine definitely say “I love cheese dip!”

But now I’m getting off topic, although I really do love cheese dip.

angry catI recently had one of those days where everything seemed to be going wrong.  It was a work day, which was an automatic strike  against me and my mood.

Perhaps if that day I was able to be at home in bed watching episodes of Arrested Development, things would have been better.

But alas, that pesky mortgage company requires me to pay them monthly, and my totally unreasonable employer actually expects me to work for my paycheck.  Humf!

Recently I drove out of town for work.  The trip was long and boring and Technotronic and TuPac could only keep me awake for so long.

I decided to stop at McDonald’s for a fountain Diet Coke, because McDonald’s adds a little bit of crack goodness to each cup.

Armed with my fix soda, I headed to my settings.

It was a windy day and I had several files with me.  Since I hate lugging around a briefcase on wheels, I decided to carry my files instead.

Of course, my precious addiction Diet Coke had to come as well, as I couldn’t be expected to work without it.

dog with mouth openI grabbed the files, my purse, and my drink, and headed inside.  I got a few steps away from my car and disaster struck.

No, I didn’t fall down, although that’s a totally valid guess.

A gust of wind came along and blew a few papers from one of my files.

Fortunately for me, it didn’t blow my dress up this time.  I think it learned its lesson last time when it blew up my dress and displayed my lady parts to the city of Hannibal.

resized photo of car with files scattered

Yes, I really did stop in the chaos to snap a photo for you, because I know you guys are needy and demand this kind of thing. Look at how sad Deiter looks.

(Again, Hannibal, I’m sorry, but don’t you think the restraining order is a bit of an overreaction?)

I hurried back to my car, put the stack of files on the roof of Deiter (my car) and took a sip of Diet Coke to give me strength for my 30-foot walk.

I  placed the Diet Coke on top of the files to keep them from blowing away.

I patted myself on the back for this genius move as I walked to pick up the escaped paper.

At that moment, evil wind struck again, but stronger than ever.  Before I knew it, my papers and files were strewn about the street, dancing in the wind and collectively flipping me off.

I didn’t know which papers to rescue first, so I started to run down the street to capture those furthest away, and work my way back.

Okay, I didn’t run.  I walked briskly.

As I walked, the wind continued to blow and I yelled “Stop it!” repeatedly, as if mother nature would heed my request.

I continued to yell things like “Balls!” and “Knock that off!” as I chased paper down the street.


Out of the corner of my eye I saw a truck turn the corner onto the street.  He approached slowly, being cautious of my situation.  I quickly thanked mother nature for throwing me a bone in my time of need.  Or in this case, a red Ford pickup truck.

I smiled at my knight in shining metal and then realized the truck wasn’t stopping at all. It was just slowing down to avoid a manslaughter charge for running me over.

I watched it drive by, simultaneously running over a few papers as he did so, crushing my pride in the process.

Don’t worry.  I watch enough Tru TV to know about how to collect evidence.  I took a photo of the culprit tire print and sent it to a lab to be analyzed.

I’m offering a reward to anyone who can provide the identity of the vehicle and tire.  the reward will be a fountain soda from McDonald’s.  So yeah, the stakes are high.

Fortunately, I was able to apprehend all the documents, despite my disappointment in mankind and all red Ford trucks.  However, when I got back to the car, I discovered the worst casualty of all.


RIP Diet Coke.  You left us too soon.



Getty Images

Yeah, like I need to give reasons for why Ryan should dump Eva.  It’s a no-brainer.  But don’t worry, I’ll spell out the reasons for you.

Maybe Ry-Ry will read this blog post and come to his senses and realize Eva isn’t the one for him.  I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s an avid reader of my blog.  Granted, he’s never reached out to me, but that’s just because he’s intimidated.  He’s also never filed a restraining order against me, which clearly means Ry-Ry hasn’t given up hope on us.


Dear Ryan,

Please break up with Eva.  Here are a few reasons why.

1. Patriotism  

I’m not saying she’s a communist, but there’s no proof she isn’t.   Remember the red scare? Don’t put our nation in danger. Ry-Ry.

Don’t you love America?  I know you do, even though you’re Canadian.  Don’t all Canadians love America?  Of course they do.  So break up with her for America.

Do you want to make this girl cry?  Don’t make this girl cry, Ryan.  She loves red, white and blue.  She’s also deaf…and dying of cancer…and she has one arm.

Girl Pledging Allegiance to the Flag

<cut to shot of flag blowing in the breeze and “America the Beautiful” playing in the background>

2. Does Eva really love animals?

She’s beautiful, sure.  Her make-up is always impeccable, but do we know for sure if it’s tested on animals?  There’s no way to know that for sure, but she’s been a spokesperson for Revlon.  As a PETA supporter, you know what Revlon does to animals.

You love your dog, George, right?   Basically, she’s spitting in his face and rubbing lotion in his eyes every time she uses eyeliner.

True Story.

photo credit: poldberg via photopin cc

photo credit: poldberg via photopin cc

3. You guys met on the set of a movie.

Is that really the foundation of a long lasting relationship? I don’t know, maybe you should ask your former co-star and ex lover Rachel McAdams.   How did that turn out?

And what about Sandra Bullock?  Don’t you know that mixing business and pleasure isn’t a good idea?  (That is, unless “business” and “pleasure” are alternate words for our naughty parts…then yes…they totally mix.)

One word: Gili

4. She kicks George when you’re not around.

It’s true.  It’s why she gets so mad when the paparazzi follow her.  She doesn’t want proof of her dirty deeds.

Okay, so I don’t technically have anything to support this claim, but if it were true, wouldn’t it be a really bad thing?  And aren’t we taught to assume the worst?  Yeah, it’s called preparation, Ryan.

5.  She’s a really bad driver.

Don’t you remember in 2007 when she had four accidents in one day?   You read that right…four.

You were the star of a film called Drive.  It’s practically a slap in the face to your career to be with someone who isn’t a good driver.  I mean,  you don’t want someone who can’t operate machinery …ahem…operating your machinery.

No.  Instead, you need someone with an impeccable driving record and a reduction in insurance premiums due to limited claim filings.  You know, hypothetically…

self portrait right side up

I could go on and on about this Ryan, but I’m sure I’ve already convinced you.  I mean, sure, Eva seems really nice and charitable.  Sure, she’s also beautiful, and she’s never been accused of assaulting anyone, but is that the standard?   Is not assaulting someone the standard you’re using?  If so, then I’m your girl.

Just don’t pull up those recent charges when I encountered some Girl Scouts and they were out of Somoas and Thin Mints.  Those allegations are erroneous!

****NOTE:  I didn’t really assault any Girl Scouts.  (They had it coming.)

Better job options-Recently I’ve started considering alternate jobs and careers where I would excel.  Do I currently have a job and career?  Yes, but there are certainly other things I could do that would bring me joy and happiness (and that wouldn’t require me to wear suits….or depending on the career….bras).

So I’ve decided to make a list of possible career moves and why I would or wouldn’t be a good match for each.  Feel free to suggest other options, but just know I refuse to work anywhere that requires me to wear a visor.

This is non-negotiable.

1.  Snake charmer

I frequently hear people describe me as charming, which may be a backhanded compliment.  I’m not sure, but since I think I’m delightfully charming, I go with it.  Naturally, I thought perhaps a job with the word “charm” in it would be a great option, since I already possess the requisite skill.

However, the only job I could think of with that word is a snake charmer, and since snakes are one of the few things in life that leave me speechless, I don’t think this is a good career move.  I suspect my haters would disagree.

2.  Professional wake-up-caller

Now here’s a job where I wouldn’t have to wear pants.  Score!  I could work from the comfort of my home, making calls to people to wake them up.  This would be a great job because I love yelling “Wake up, people, the light is green!” or “Wake up people, hipsters really do want to take over the world!”  (They really do.)

Wait.  I would have to make calls to literally wake people up from sleep?  I couldn’t just wake them up from their delusions?  Um, this suddenly doesn’t sound so appealing.  I’ll hit the snooze button on this one.

3.  Mime

Perhaps I could become a mime.  I have a pale face and I look awesome in black. This is right up my alley…unless I would have to perform in an alley, which wouldn’t be cool.  I would have to be a professional mime for this to work.

You know what?  This won’t work for me because it requires me to stay silent, and I have far too many brilliant things to say to do this job.  The world needs to benefit from my comments, so I will pass on this one.  You’re welcome for that.

4.  Haberdasher

I don’t have any desire to do this job, but I do have a desire to say this word repeatedly, so that’s why it’s number four.  Haberdasher.

5.  Mortician

Since people often annoy me, perhaps this would be a great job for me.  It’s perfect because it combines my irritation with people and my love of applying makeup.  Maybe we have a winner here.

One teeny weeny little problem.  (Hee hee. Weeny).  I am horrible with makeup.  Seriously.  I can’t apply eyeliner and I’ve injured myself with an eyelash curler one too many times.  Assuming people want to remember their Aunt Sally as she was, this might not be a great career move.  But, if people want to remember Aunt Sally as a member of Kiss, then I’ve got them covered.  (I will literally cover her in makeup).

I’m sure you’re sick of reading this, and I’m sick of typing, so I will stop for now.  I guess I will continue in my current profession; that is, until I come up with something completely brilliant to do.

I know every day you all sit with baited breath awaiting each of my posts.  You ask yourselves “Will there be a post today?  I just need more Lisa Newlin!”  I totally understand.  I would be the same way if I wasn’t around me constantly.  I’m lucky that way.

So grab a breath mint for your baited breath and get ready to read.  I don’t know what baited breath is, but I assume it smells like fish bait, which I assume smells bad.  So I guess what I’m saying, in a way, is that all of you have bad breath.  Errr……any….way……

Back on topic…I am here to make your dreams come true! (Or as my husband says almost everyday when he goes to work, “I’m headed to work where I’m MDCT.”  (Making Dreams Come True.)  My husband can be a real douche, but I, on the other hand am clearly awesome and ready to hand out some serious prizes.  I feel like Oprah with all this wish granting.

As you can see from my fantastico blog headers, I’ve added a new tab for links to some of my published columns.  Yeah, that’s right, there’s lots more stuff to read!  So look at the top of the blog and click on the hilariously titled header “I’m Legit!  Mah Published Works” and get to reading.

Okay, okay, I didn’t so much add the tab, as my friend at www.driedonmilk.com did.  I don’t know what I’m doing with this blog.  I can barely type coherently let alone be involved with web design. Come on, now.  You know me better than that.

So, back to the header.  You really need to focus.  Clicking on the new header will take you to a page with links to different places where my columns are published.  As you know, I write a syndicated column that’s published in  various newspapers and magazines across the U.S.  Why someone publishes my work remains a mystery, but I go with it. (And if you don’t know about  my columns, then you haven’t read all my blog posts and you should be punished.  Your punishment shall be to read all my blog posts.)

Get excited, because now you have several new installments of my antics and musings to read.  Don’t worry, they are still mostly nonsensical and just because they’re published in fancy periodicals doesn’t mean I talk in a sophisticated voice and use big words.  I don’t.  However, since I’m a lawyer in real life, I typically write columns about being a lawyer and being all professional and stuff.  Hence, when I say I’m legit.

I think we all know I’m not really that professional, but please go with it.  Someone from my work might actually read this blog and we don’t want to burst that bubble.

The locations attached to the links are not the only places where my columns are published, but these are the only places I could find on line that had links you didn’t have to pay for.  Because I care about my readers and know you’d rather spend your money on links that result in something more exciting than me complaining about spandex, I’ve included links to the free stuff.  You’re welcome.

So enjoy some new posts free of charge, because that’s how I like to do.  And if you know of any newspaper, web page, magazine or journal that is crazy enough to want to pick up my column, let me know.  Sorry, I had to do a shameless plug.  It’s pathetic, but it’s the least you could do since I didn’t make you pay for any of the links.


work photo

Because my life is super glamorous, I often have to go out of town for work.  I like to think it’s because my company wants to send the best man (er…woman) for the job, but I’m pretty sure they send me because it’s an excuse to get me out of the office for a day or two.

Apparently some people don’t like my afternoon reggae party and the smell of Indian food makes others nauseous.  Whatever. (If they think the food smells bad, they should come into my office a few hours after I’ve eaten it…)

Today I was in the Windy City of Chicago, which is a far nicer city than the ones I’ve been to lately. (However, I didn’t see a single restaurant offering bags o’ burgers, which made me a bit sad).  I arrived in Chicago the night before my meeting because I’m not a morning person and didn’t want to take a red eye flight in the morning.

I also wanted to partake in room service and the complimentary robes the hotel provides.  (I also secretly wanted a bed to myself without having to share it with 3 dogs and a husband, but don’t repeat that.)

This morning I met a coworker and we headed out on foot to the location of our meeting.  When it comes to Chicago, I only have a slight idea where I am at any given time and even less of an idea where I’m going.  (Come to think of it, that’s typically how I am no matter what city I’m in.)  When it comes to New York, I can get anywhere in no time, which subway line to take, and which homeless men to avoid.  When it comes to Chicago, I can barely hail a cab.

I’m not sure why we decided to walk to the meeting.  It certainly wasn’t my idea, as I have a strict “no exercise” policy.  However, my coworker started walking and I didn’t want to not be a team player, so I joined him.  I think you know where this story ends up…we got lost.

My phone couldn’t figure out where we were or where we were going and the trail of crumbs from my Fiber One bar was long gone, eaten by a combination of pigeons and homeless people.  (Please note the trail of crumbs was inadvertent…but then again, you totally knew that.)  We were screwed.

I was in heels and didn’t want to walk anymore, so I decided to hail a cab.  (Okay, so maybe the fact I was in heels had nothing to do with my desire to sit down, but let’s go with that, as it’s a reasonable excuse.)  I hailed a cab, got in, and cursed Michael Kors for making such uncomfortable shoes.

Before I go any further, I must point out that my coworker had never been to a city like Chicago.  He’d never taken a cab in a big city and had no idea what he was in for.  Okay, calm down, I’m getting back to the story.

We told the cabbie our destination and he sped off down the road, leaving skid marks and a pile of smoke in his wake (which, strangely enough, is the same result I get when eating Indian food, but that’s another story).  As we were just settling in to our wheelchair accessible cab, we were shaken from our thoughts by our cabbie dropping f-bombs at every-single-person on the road.  Seriously.  Every. One.

But then it escalated.  A woman in her twenties was riding her bike IN THE BIKE LANE when he came up on her in his cab, going approximately 100 miles per hour.  She rode right next to his cab, unaffected, although she came dangerously close to hitting him (BECAUSE HE WAS DRIVING IN THE BIKE LANE.)  And then it was on.

“That b&%^$ thinks she can f#$# with me today?” he yelled at the two of us, as if we were supposed to do anything other than shit our pants and text our loved ones a good bye message.

Before we could answer, he pulled around her, barely missing her, and then pulled in front of her to cut her off, all the while calling her mother a whore.  I looked at my coworker, who was petrified and I’m pretty sure I saw him praying the rosary, although I can’t be sure.

When the cabbie nearly struck the biker, he then yelled that he hoped the bi$#@ was struck by another car and seriously hurt because she was being so stupid (IN THE BIKE LANE.  RIDING HER BIKE IN THE BIKE LANE.)

“Who does she think she is?” he asked my coworker, as if he could say anything other than a few dozen Hail Marys.  “If she got hit it would be her fault and then where would she be?  I’m fully insured, Mother F@#$$.”

He then proceeded to cut off another vehicle who he just referred to as “Tennessee,” almost clipped two pedestrians, dropped a few racial slurs, and then dropped us off right in front of our destination.

My coworker gathered the things that spilled out of his bag when it went tumbling upon the first near homicide.  As he did that, I paid the cabbie.  I only had a $10 bill for the $5 fare, but I feared he would pop a cap in my face if I asked him for change.  Instead, I gave him the $10 and told him the extra money was for his troubles.  That actually seemed to make smile, which was good, as I wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t run me over when I exited the vehicle.

He sped away as quickly as he arrived, and I looked to my coworker to see how he enjoyed his first big city cab ride.  He said he enjoyed it just fine, and then immediately asked if there was a drug store close by.  He needed to buy Pepto Bismol, although I’m sure it wasn’t related at all to the roller coaster ride of death we just experienced.  Fortunately for us, the cab got us there early, so we had plenty of time to buy medicine to calm our stomachs, and caffeine to calm our nerves.

LASTINGFor my job, I’m supposed to appear somewhat put together.  I do my best to comply, but for those of you who know me, you realize this is nothing but a facade.  If you look at the man behind the curtain, you will find me in Pajama Jeans without a bra eating Chipotle and ordering random items from QVC

Even though I try to keep up appearances at work, I’m basically just a bunch of smoke and mirrors in an attempt to keep people from knowing the real me.  (P.S.  I think they know…)  Come to think of it, if I glanced in the mirror every so often, I probably would do a better job of keeping the lies going.

We recently hired a new employee in another city and last week I met with him and a few other employees from out of town.  We had a client dinner that night and wanted to meet before dinner to have a few beers.  The beers were partly to recover from a long day at work, and partly to numb my feet from the pain my shoes would cause from a night attempting to look professional.  (It didn’t work…the numbing of the feet or my looking professional.)

We met at the executive suite at a ritzy hotel where my coworkers were staying.  (We’re a pretty big deal….and they found a great bargain on Orbitz.)  I felt fancy because I had to be buzzed into the special suite even though I had a mysterious stain on the right boob of my dress.

This remains an unsolved mystery but I will continue to wear the dress and pretend like it just happened and I didn’t know about it.

When I say I had to be buzzed in, I don’t mean I had to be buzzed to get in, although my regular readers wouldn’t be wrong to make that assumption.  Rather, I had to prove I was important enough to be in the executive suite (the hotel staff clearly didn’t read my blog and didn’t know what a big deal I am).

I met my coworkers and we immediately began chatting and drinking our beers.  I tried to come off to the new employee as put together and professional.  He didn’t need to find out about me…at least not yet.  As we talked, I felt something poking me in the back of my neck.  Since I was sitting on a couch that probably cost a year of my mortgage payments, I knew it wasn’t the sofa.  I felt my neck and realized there was something large poking me.  What kind of irritant was it?

I grabbed the object and pulled it around to further investigate.  Because I can’t do anything quietly, my coworkers (and a couple other lucky suite-goers) watched in anticipation as I pulled the phantom item out from behind my neck.  And there it was…the large price tag to my necklace…the necklace I’d been wearing all day.

Seriously?!  I wore the necklace all day with the price tag on it?  And it wasn’t just a small tag with only the price and bar code.  Of course not.  It was one of those large tags that has a hangy thing to hang the necklace from a rack.  (That’s the technical term…”hangy thing.”)

I would like to say I was mortified, but I wasn’t.  I was actually pretty impressed that I went an entire work day without noticing my Minnie Pearl fashion statement, or the fact that something was digging into my neck all day.  I ripped off the tag and put it on the table for all the executive suiters to see.

I couldn’t have been prouder…because I bought the necklace at Kohl’s and the price tag suggested the necklace was expensive.  (They didn’t need to know I bought it with coupons and Kohl’s cash.)

As I stared at the price tag that had become part of my outfit for the day, I thought about what my new coworker must think of me.  Did he think I was an idiot?  Did he think I was crazy?  And then I realized something: of course he didn’t.  He thought I was a high roller because I bought a sassy necklace at Kohl’s.  Win!