Archives for the month of: October, 2012

In the city—apartment buildings abound.  Upwards of eight hundred or more people live on one city block.  These urban dormitories compete against each other by the amenities they offer.  Depending on the amenities you want will dictate the building you choose.  I was no different in choosing a place to call home.  My building boasted a great gym, outdoor patio space,  an onsite doggie daycare and a huge staff of superintendents to handle any and all repairs needed.  These superintendents are nicknamed as “supers”.

 Please allow me to digress for one second and introduce you to my ultra pampered pup.  He is an 80 pound, mixed breed ball of love.   His favorite things to do are snuggle, get scratches and play with his toys.  In his mind, he is a “people” and would rather be with people.  He doesn’t bark or growl—is very mellow and well behaved.  He also lives for treats.  In short—the puplet is the best dog ever.  No bias here.

 Yesterday, while adjusting the thermostat, I noticed it was flashing “filter”.  This indicates the filter needs replacing.  Luckily, in a building full of supers—a filter is just a phone call away. 

 I made the call and took the trash out.  Coming back from the rubbish room—I met one of the supers in the hallway.  He had a new filter in hand and was headed towards my door.

 We exchanged hellos as I opened my door and walked into my living room.  My dog was lying on the living room floor, eating a treat.  He was content and in his own world.  Very similar to how I am while eating chocolate. 

 The super walked in behind me.  As he rounded the corner and approached the living room—he noticed there was a dog in the apartment—as he whispered “I’m afraid of dogs!”  His knees were noticeably shaking.  Before I could say a word, the super’s eyes rolled into the back of his head—his knees buckled— and he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.  What just happened? 

 My dog was focused on eating his treat completely unaware of the super.  I was standing in amazement at the body collapsed on my floor.

 With a dog lying on one side of my living room floor and a super lying on the other—I called downstairs to ask for some assistance.

 Before anyone arrived at my apartment, the super came alive again.  As I helped him to sit up—my dog trotted over to say hello.  The super took one look at the jovial puppy face—his eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp again. 

 I had a man terrified of dogs and a dog wanting attention from the man.  I found it to be a great combination! 

 In what seemed like forever—help arrived at my door.  Another super and paramedics.  I put the pampered pup in the bedroom as the paramedics took care of the body on the floor.

 Before long the super was awake and speaking.  “I’m very afraid of dogs”, he said.  In case we happened to have missed that fact.

 They rolled the man on a gurney out of my apartment as my dog sat at the bedroom door watching.  As they rolled by, one of the paramedics noticed him sitting—smiling— and wagging his tail —he gave him a pat on the head and said “Yeah—I’d be afraid of this little muffin too!” 

 Life is all about perspective!


Have you ever been in a warped universe and not sure how you managed to get there?  As you know from the previous post, I’m traveling for a friend’s wedding. 

 The flight was uneventful after the woman in my previous post.  I landed—took the shuttle to grab my rental car—carefully spread my dress bag across the back seat so as not to wrinkle my gown—tossed the luggage in the trunk and hit the highway.  I had 9 hours of desolate highway waiting for me in order to reach the scene of the wedding. 

 Since it was already late after going through the rental car’s security detail—it only took 4 hours of driving before I was bobbing my head at the wheel and decided it was time to secure a hotel for the night.

 Living in the city—It was nice waking up in quiet farm country.   After my morning run, back to the highway it was.  Still plenty of pavement to cover.

 The bride was checking in throughout my drive — my ETA was on track for lunchtime.  Everything was going perfect to plan. 

 78 miles from my destination—in a caffeine coma from my third Mountain Dew of  the day— a state trooper passed me—then slowed back down—pulled behind me and lit up like a firecracker.

 Immediately my stomach went into mush—then started to convulse—Was I speeding?  Tail light out? Wait—my cruise is on and it’s day light.  Why was I being pulled over?

 The trooper walked up —asked me to follow him back to his vehicle—in a matter of seconds I was sitting on needles in the back seat.  At that moment it hit me that I hoped he was a “real” officer as we’ve all heard of poser officers kidnapping women—wait—he had the badge—the equipment —he was a cop.

 The trooper climbed in to his front seat and said, “Ma’am you are under arrest for grand theft auto.”

 WAIT A TODDLER MINUTE!  It took my brain a second to register— then like a teenager that just found out the Jonas Brothers had entered the room, I screamed, “What! That car! I can assure you if I was going to steal a vehicle I would be smart enough to steal a much better vehicle!” 

 Apparently, the rental car company had 6 vehicles stolen the night before and had listed my vehicle plate as one of the stolen.  When the trooper came on duty earlier in the day he was briefed on the theft and given a list of stolen plates.  The first three digits of my plate resonated with him from a life experience he’d had—which when driving by my vehicle later in the day caused the plate to get his attention.  It was a perfect storm.

 I began to ask open ended questions to the trooper as my fingers curled into the metal fence between the seats.  If the vehicle was stolen—why would I have a gown draped across the backseat?  Why would I have a rental contract with my name on it?  Why would the name on the contract match all of my identification in my pocketbook?  If I was smart enough to steal a vehicle out of the Fort Knox rental facility at the airport—then wouldn’t I be smart enough to have other plates to change to?

 The trooper sat thinking and rationalizing as the tow truck pulled in front of my rental.  This was getting real now! 

 I begged him to look at the lease—my confirmation of reservation—and all of my identification.  He walked to my rental—retrieved my pocketbook and lease agreement —studied the back seat—then climbed back into the law enforcement vehicle.

 As I directed him verbally through my pocketbook—he retrieved my reservation paperwork and identification.  I sat somewhat relieved as he dialed his cell phone and asked to be transferred to my original rental location.  The trooper was a gem! 

 Within moments he was speaking to a manager, “I need to confirm a vehicle you listed as stolen—there seems to be a mistake.”  He believed me!  Yes! 

 While the trooper sat patiently on the phone—my cell phone sitting in my pocketbook rang—went to voicemail—text sounded—rang again—then another text—rang again—

 The trooper looked at me and said, “Someone must want to find you.”  I responded, “That would be the bride.”  “How do you know without looking?” was his next question.  “I know…”

 The trooper verified the vehicle was listed stolen by mistake.  Dismissed the tow truck and released me from the back seat.  As I began to walk back to my vehicle I heard him say, “You’re not going to leave me hanging are you?  Was it the bride?” 

 I looked at my phone.  Two texts—the first “where are you?”—the second “where in the hell are you?” —and a voicemail that sounded like a frantic banshee that had been caged.  With good cause as I it was now 3:00—I was detained 3 1/2 hours. 

 ”Are you sure you don’t want me to arrest you until after the weekend?” The trooper asked.  “I’m very sure.” I spoke while walking back to my vehicle. 

 My life as a criminal was short lived—Off to the wedding I drove.

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Traveling has become an interesting experience at best.  If you can manage to check your bags—get through security without being scrutinized by the TSA—and get to your gate without being run over by a lunatic with a roller board, then consider yourself lucky!

 Today I’m traveling to a friend’s wedding.  I apparently wasn’t thinking clearly when I agreed to fly half way across the country to primp up—wear uncomfortable shoes for an entire day —in the middle of nowhere—all while smiling for pictures.  The bride is a childhood friend, so the positive spin is that I get to see her as well as my family. 

I managed to get my bag checked and get through security without any delays.  Score!  My flight was delayed about 45 minutes, which gave me time to peruse the essential travel necessities—magazines and chocolate.

I made my selections and headed to my gate.  Everything was going great!  Closing the distance to my gate, I noticed a Starbucks directly adjacent with no line!  Another score!  Immediately my favorite caffeinated beverage was in hand!  Now off to the gate!

 Boarding started to commence.  Everyone fell in single file into formation to board the plane.  It has always amazed me what people carry on to a plane.  Have you ever noticed?  With the new charges for checked bags—the carry ons are even more entertaining. 

 As I awaited my turn to give my boarding pass, an agitated woman was attempting to stuff a roller board into the pre-fabricated “this is the size your carry on can be” metal frame.  If you have flown, then you’ve seen these mock-up frames before.  If your bag doesn’t fit —you have to check it. 

 The woman was frantically attempting to stuff the taller board into the frame.  It wasn’t working.  She pulled out a hair dryer and several other things—then snapped at the gate agent.  “It fits now!”  She barked.  “No it does not!” The agent barked back. 

 Every sane person knows the power of an airline employee these days.  Argue with any of them and you may find yourself unable to fly—for life.  This woman apparently missed that memo.  She wedged the roller board out of the metal mock-up — barked “it fits!” at the gate attendant and proceeded onto the jet bridge behind me in line. 

 That’s when security became involved.  As they tackled the woman—she grabbed my arm screaming—the security guards, the woman and myself all hit the wall then the floor of the jet bridge.  How did I become a part of this? 

 Immediately the woman had a security tie on her wrists and ankles.  She was hog tied.  They picked her up like a package from the feet and wrists—off she went screaming.  The agent following behind with her roller board.

 I continued onto the plane—my bridesmaid dress hanging on one arm.  It gave great cushion when I hit the floor of the jet bridge.  I found my seat—the chocolate was in hand.  This was going to be an interesting trip.

 You have to love the “friendly” skies!  Wheels up!