Here's One Way To Tackle That Embarrassing Feminine Itch...

Years ago, I worked in an office with a nice guy who happened to have one glass eye. Whenever the artifical orb caused him discomfort, he would pop it out and leave it on our shared workspace. Lovely, right? Workplace etiquette manuals simply failed to address the issue of co-workers with fake eyes or limbs, and while I didn't want to report a perfectly decent man to the human resource director, it was difficult to work with someone sporting a huge, gaping hole on his face.


I only mention this, because sometimes it's unbelievable what some people think is proper workplace behavior, what they assume they'll be able to get away with, whether others are watching or not.



My Dentist is also a dear friend of mine. She has a large, mostly femaly staff, and if you ask any of her employees, they will attest that she is the best boss they've ever had. She's generous to a fault, with trips to dental conventions, and staff cruises to the Bahamas. In return, she expects the best from her people; professionalism, courtesy, and loyalty. Oh, and one more thing, please don't waste her hard-earned money.


The other day we met for lunch and she shared a somewhat disturbing tale with me. Someone on her staff was blatantly wasting dental supplies.


"You know those Oral B toothbrushes I give to patients," she said. "How much do you think those cost me?"


"I have absolutely no idea," I admitted. "But I do like getting a new toothbrush everytime I visit you!"



Actually, every visit I walk out with a nifty little plastic bag containing not only a new Oral B, but toothpaste, floss, and some pointy brushlike device meant to stimulate my middle-aged receding gumline.



"Those toothbrushes run me about $1.42 each," she said. "Last week, I found a half dozen used brushes in the trash in the staff bathroom."



"Well, at least they're practicing what you preach," I said. "But you'd think they'd know to hang on to their brushes, put em in a toothbrush holder, or something."


Turns out, they weren't being used on teeth.


After much questioning and prodding, and more questioning, the culprit finally broke down and confessed. Turns out the woman at hand (who is no longer employed with my friend for other job-related concerns) was suffering from a nasty infection of the nether regions and the only thing that eased her chronic itching was the soft bristles of the Oral B's.

Maybe a fake eyeball every now and then between co-workers isn't so bad, afterall...

Random Thoughts On A Lovely Tuesday...

Roseanne Barr woke me up this morning. She'd invaded my dreams with both her fat and frumpy, and skinnier,surgically altered versions. For whatever reason, I was in her sitcom playing with finger puppets.
I blame it on the spicy meatballs we had  for dinner last night.

I'm about this close to kicking the finely formed ass of my 20-something neighbor across the street. We live on a narrow alley way, and he keeps insisting on parking illegally on the curb, making it almost impossible for me to get out of my garage each morning. I will either key the side of his truck or call the police.

Why does my husband keep up his relentless complaining about the most lame ass issues?
"WHY???Why do we have so many boxes of lemon jello mix?" He bitched and moaned the other night. "Wwhhhyyyy...?"
"I don't know." I said. "Why is the downstairs toilet still refusing to flush properly after I've asked to have it fixed for six months? Why do I still not have a door on my bathroom after fourteen years? Why do you refuse to join the rest of the twenty-first century and get a cell phone so I can reach you during an emergency?"
I don't think I'll be hearing about my surplus lemon jello supply anytime soon...

When my teenage daughter started high school, I bought her a cell phone for safety issues. She wanted to upgrade to a Blackberry for status issues and I refused. One day she presented me with a huge wad of cash, babysitting and birthday money she'd saved. It covered the cost of the phone and the year of service to go along with it. It's a good thing she sprang for the unlimited texting. More than 21,000 texts on the latest bill. The child is developing over-sized thumbs and I fear arthritis is in her future.
But still, it's nice to get a text message every now and then stating, Hey Mom, I Luv U.

A Year Or Two From Now, I'm Sure We'll All Have A Good Laugh...

I swear to God, this whole driver's ed thing is going to kill me. I will die of a stroke, or a massive heart attack, but before my little darling gets her official license, something will kill me.
On the suggestion of her instructor, we hit the hilly back roads of suburbia today. Teenzilla needs practice on how to maintain speed behind the wheel.
"You're biggest problem is that you live in the city," said her driving teacher. "Too much stop and go, too many traffic lights. You need to get her on the open road."
"You need to get me a prescription for Valium," I said.
The male parental unit in this whole scenario is doing just fine, thank you. That's because he hasn't taken the child out once to sharpen her driving skills. He figures one shotgun riding parent is enough, apparently. But he tries to offer his own bizarre shot at support.
"You really should thank your mom for helping you learn to drive," he recently told the child. "She's putting her life on the line every time she goes out with you."
Yep, this truly makes me feel so much better...
So, we hit the country roads thinking it would be so much more relaxing than dealing with those crazy city drivers. Not really. Out in the burbs, pretty hills and all, the posted speed limit signs are merely a suggestion. My poor kid followed the rules and became the magnet for every rude horse's ass sharing the road with her. We had one guy who followed us for about a mile or so, right on our tail, because there was no place where he could pass us. At a stop sign, my daughter came to a full and complete stop, as she'd learned in class, and in the rear view mirror could see the idiot saluting her with a variety of lovely hand gestures and single digit salutes.
First of all, my daughter may be inexperienced, but she's totally at ease behind the wheel. And while she is a safe and conscientious student driver, she also thinks she knows everything there is to know about driving, which of course, scares the hell out of me. She's been driving since the end of January, for crying out loud, so why wouldn't she know everything?!
And as I've repeatedly told her, it's really not her driving that leaves my heart wedged in my esophagus, it's the other crazies on the road.

Maybe I Should Just Leave God's Creatures Alone

When I was twelve years old I contracted the chicken pox and like a good big sister, passed it along to my two younger brothers. After a week trapped in the house with three bored children (oozy, crusty, and plain revolting in appearance) mom opted to bypass the local bar and instead, drove herself to the nearest shopping center and found a pet store.
She returned with a pregnant mouse on the verge of delivering tiny offspring.
"Kids, very soon, you will witness the beauty of childbirth," she said. "You will never forget this experience."
Mom was right, we didn't.
Mere hours after bringing home the glass aquarium containing the furry little mom-to-be, we sat with our mother and watched the labor and delivery process. Mama mouse gave birth to ten of the ugliest babies I'd ever seen; hairless, gray, and blind, they were about the size of garden grubs.
"What happens now?" asked my youngest brother. "Are they hungry?"
"Wait and see," said Mom. "Nature has a way of taking care of everything. The mother will do everything by instinct."
It's been thirty-eight years, but what happened next still haunts my dreams to this very day. I can still hear the shrill screams of my brother.
"MOM! MOM! SHE'S KILLING HER BABIES!"
It was infanticide, plain and simple. The tiny, wormlike creatures never stood a chance.
My frantic mother called the pet store and was told in times of stress or fear, mother mice will sometimes kill and eat their young.
It would have been nice if someone had mentioned  that before she left the store.

But I'm getting off track...
Let's fast forward to present day Tamara world.
Several weeks ago,  I noticed lots of birds hanging out on my deck; doves, little red-headed finch like creatures, starlings, blackbirds, etc.
My first mistake was buying the birdseed and the birdfeeder. Remember that Fabrege Organic shampoo commerical from years and years ago? I told two friends, and they told two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on...
That's how it rolls in the bird world. I looked out on my deck one day and it was like an avian convention. Birds and bird poop everywhere.
And then the doves decided they not only wanted to eat from the birdfeeder, they wanted to live in the birdfeeder! The weight from their round bodies actually tilted the base of the feeder off kilter, thrilling the other birds because all of the birdseed spilled over onto the deck. Fortunately, some massive winds blew through last week, sweeping the birdfeeder off the deck and onto my neighbor's roof.
I thought this would be the end of my feathered buddies. No food, no reason to show up anymore...no more bird poop.
They won't leave. However, I've gained an ally who may convince them to find a new deck...a hawk. He/she is an absolutely regal creature, about a foot and a half in height, and apparently new to the neighborhood.
So far, no casualties, but the doves better watch their backs...