Let It Go to Voicemail

I'm not a super shy person. I was a professional dancer at an early age and have work in the theatre for the past 14 years. I'm used to changing in a room full of people, or in the wings, or backstage by a set of dressers. But one thing I can't get over is people who answer their cell phones in public restrooms.

My "day job" is at a major national airport. Lots of people come though, about 42,000 people per day. Aside from the frustration of being surrounded by tons of people at all times, when I go on break, normally to deal with a human matter, I never escape overhearing this :

"Hey, we are at the airport...Yeah, our flight was delayed, so we are about an hour late...Hold on, I have to flush."

The only thing that makes this situation worse is when the call in question is on speakerphone.

I shiver in disgust for the person on the phone, but I feel embarrassed for... me. I don't know this person on the phone (I don't like to get cozy with stallmates), and I don't know the person on the other end of the line, and I really don't want either of them to hear me peeing. Is that weird? In a world where public restrooms have doors that don't fit the frames and one has to deal with people peeking thru the cracks and children flipping upside down to peer at you from under the door, must one also guard themselves from the cell phone satellites. Is too much to ask, or expect, that making a call or taking a call in a public restroom is a tacky, disgusting thing to do? Where's the respect? If not for you then for the person on the phone. Must you share everything? Do you answer the phone during sex? I ask that, and I bet, there are some people who do. (Ah, I just freaked myself out.)

Next time you are out in a public place and you find yourself "relieving" yourself when your phone rings, do everyone a favor (and I mean everyone): Let it go to voicemail. Call them back in the two minutes it takes to finish and wash your hands. And please! Wash your hands! (We, the people, notice when you don't, and yes! We Are Judging!)

In Search Of

My fantastic email provider provided me with an interesting internet link: a dating site for the wealthy. It claims that its members are CEOs, athletes, former beauty queens, and fitness moguls. I admit I was curious so I navigated my way up the internet river to the website. I was surprised to see that it offered "Free" membership*. I didn't sign up but after I had a nice chuckle to myself**, I started thinking about the proliferation of dating websites. I got curious so I started a random search. These are a few of the criteria I searched for: Sci Fi Fans (heavily biased toward Star Trek and Star Wars), Food/Chef Lovers (with support sites for people dating chefs),Space Lovers (including the chance to date a Space Sim, virtually, of course), Gay Loggers (I assume you can opt for a straight logger if that is your preference), and Cloggers (straight and gay options available).

Its a short list. I was running out things to type into my search engine without dipping into the realm of pervy internet queries. So, I assume that whatever hobby a person is into there is another person out there who is interested in it, too. I just wonder if there are any wealthy loggers who enjoy clogging and are looking for a Space Sim chef. That would be one hell of a personal ad.

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* cheap wealthy bastards. I would think the site would charge $1,000,000 just to prove how wealthy the members are. Are there no standards in business anymore?

**and a sense of exclusion. I mean, I'm not looking for anyone as I have someone, but I would like to have the option. It's not my fault I'm not wealthy. These student loans don't pay themselves (as my student loan providers have repeatedly informed me).

So Remiss

I've been remiss. It's true. I am a Re-misser. When I set up this blog, I told myself it would be the perfect format to revitalize my creative juices having just spent the last few years writing nothing but analytical and academic papers. Unexpectedly, I began to suffer from MLA flashbacks and I froze. Not that I ceased to love writing, but I was burnt out. Burnt! Fried and crisped in duck fat with a side of pork belly. (Sorry, just watched the finale of Top Chef)

But now...I hang up my hat and cloak* as The Remisser and become the Misser? No, that can't be right. Well, whatever the opposite of the aforementioned is, I will now become. The UnMisser. **

It's been an interesting bit of time since the last and only time I posted a blog entry. I feared that a blog would become an online journal, but I have been fortunate that I have a good friend who has a blog that has become a mental amuse bouche (again, Top Chef, I'm sorry, I can't help it) or to be a bit more precise an amuse intellectuelle. Ms. Lewis Infers is the title of the blog and the blogger herself is amazing.

So, I will start posting and I will do my best to woo you into reading. Shall we try this again? Please, take me back.




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*I don't really have a cloak but I wish it were fashionable to wander (or walk purposefully) around in a big ol' blanket hooked at the throat with the way the weather has insisted on being such a cold freaking jerk.

**Except when it comes to remembering important dates: birthdays, anniversary (esp. my own), holidays, graduations, weddings, Arbor Day, and when it's my turn to pick up the dry cleaning. I can't help it. Its genetic. Ask my father, he'll tell you.