Oh…. my… lordy. I read this story from a fellow GYNA Gal, Holly, and busted my button laughing… well, the Big Mac for lunch could have helped with that bursting button…. but let’s just fault laughter by request from my gut and ass. This little story brought me back to the days when I first moved to Chicago and I was so poor, I had to cut and color my own hair. When I finally had the money to go to a professional, she blasted me for two hours about how my last stylist was so bad, they shouldn’t have a job. I kept saying .” I know, she was awful, that’s why I came to you.” That statement was not a lie…. the fact I went to a professional was, but, whatever, I didn’t want to do hair anyway!!

For those of you, and I know there are a ton of you out there, including my mom AND my sister, that have tried to cut your child’s hair, you will love Holly’s little hiccup:

I was recently laid off because of the down economy. My husband and I have been cutting costs in every area possible trying to soften the blow of my salary loss. When I realized my four year-old needed a  haircut, I thought, how hard could it be, I’ll do it myself and save $20. It was a disaster. I kept trying to even out his bangs and I ended up cutting them to his scalp!! He has a huge forward like my husband so he looked like Herman Munster, but with much shorter bangs!! I thought about shaving it, but once I spiked his hair, I THOUGHT it looked okay, until, I dropped him off at preschool and his teacher asked if he had gotten hold of my scissors and cut it himself. I was so embarrassed, I just said, “yes.” 

About a week later, my son brought home a gift certificate to a local salon. I called his teacher to ask where it came from, she said Zach (my son) had told one of the mom’s that we didn’t have money for a haircut so I had to do it myself  and messed up his hair.  The mom felt so bad, she went and got a gift certificate so he could get a good haircut!!! I was mortified, especially because I had let the teacher believe my son had done it and I was caught in a lie! I took my son to my hairdresser, had his head shaved and returned the gift certificate with a “thank you,” and an explanation. If I have to give up cable, I will never skip on a haircut for my kids again!

I live in a five story building in Chicago. It takes about a good six minutes to get from the shut of my car door to the shut of my apartment door. It’s often that I leave work and decide to wait for the restroom at home. By the time I actually get to my restroom, I’m crawling and praying to make it to the toilet. It’s quite dramatic actually. You would think I got shot down in the middle of gang battle, dragging my wounded limps to safety and crawling as fast as possible out of dangers way.  It’s like a clip from “Good Fellas,” except my escape vehicle is the toilet. Nope. I just forget I’m an adult sometimes and hold it so freakin long that the pee pee dance can’t sustain my bladder! It’s cute when you’re little, but when you’re over the age of 11, holding yourself and gyrating to the bathroom… it’s a little weird… inappropriate… disturbing really.

When I received the email below, I sympathized with Lisa (and suddenly had to use the restroom.) In a bladder crisis, getting to the actual toilet is the focus, shutting the bathroom door is frivolous.  Here’s Lisa’s story:

I’m not going to lie and say this hasn’t happened before. How many times do we do something inappropriate and don’t learn our lesson until we’re caught? I was at a client’s office enduring a very long meeting. After the first 30 minutes, I had to use the restroom. An hour and half later, once the meeting closed, I was scared out of my mind that if I stood up, my bladder would lose control and run down my leg. I was in pain. We said our good byes. I carefully, without breathing, exited the conference room and asked for the ladies room which felt like a mile away. Once I got to the restroom, I was throwing my things on the floor and unbuckling my belt before the door closed behind me. Oh, and I forgot to mention that this was a public bathroom shared by the east end of the office floor. I ran to the stall, peeled everything off and finally was able to breathe.

Seconds later, I heard the bathroom door shut and footsteps walk toward my stall. Not to be graphic, but no one likes to sit on public toilets these days, so in my suspended position over the seat, I was looking down the entire time. I heard someone yell, “OH, EXCUSE ME!” I looked up to meet eye to eye with my client while in mid-stream. In my frenzy to reach the stall, I forgot to close the door after me. I was embarrassed and extremely uncomfortable. One minute I’m going over court papers and the next minute I’m staring her in the eyes with my pants down. My pants were zipped, hands washed and I was bolting toward the elevators before she could get out of her stall. It gives a whole new meaning to being caught with your pants down.

Everyone who has gone to Las Vegas has a story. It’s the nature of the beast, any place that’s nicknamed Sin City is going to be an adventure for anyone who goes, even my 57 year old mother who went for a nursing convention (even though her “wild” time was having one fruity cocktail in a casino – still, HER adventure.) From the horse’s mouth to third-party, I’ve heard some doozies, but I got a little uncomfortable at my girlfriend’s story. She was so dumbfounded by her encounter that she was still in disbelief two weeks later.

She was on a little trip to Vegas with a few girlfriends and they started talking to these men at a swanky bar. The man she was talking to was very handsome, a lawyer, checked-out well and was super nice. They met up the next night and after a session of cocktail throw-backs they reverted to making-out in public. She was in Vegas, right? Why not let your hair down? Seriously, she’s a conservative person… live a little! They then moved from the bar to the hotel lobby to the elevator to her room. The FREAKY part:

Here’s this hot guy in her hotel room – they’ve been making out in public for hours. As soon as they get to her room… he won’t kiss her, but he licks her ankles, feet and toes. Oh god… I’m going to puke. I’m just not a foot person. GAG!!! GAG!!! AHHHH! Then he turns her over, pulls up her skirt and licks her butt cheeks! WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU FREAK???? So she’s in complete shock – freaking out – so embarrassed and doesn’t know how to take it so she turned around – think Sex in the City moment. Not taking the hint… he trys to prompt her to beat or whip him with something then starts talking like a straight-up masochist – she finally asks him to leave – appalled and shocked, he storms out. Slap me with a flapjack, but DUDE, you just met a complete stranger and licked her in places she’ll only touch with a washcloth and your reaction is shocked? I don’t know if she’ll ever go to Vegas again, but if she does, I know she’ll wear full-on Spanx (for rear protection, not belly control) and forgo sandals.

I have so many questions, but I’m too disturbed to ask them. Listen, I know this guy was in Vegas and I’m guessing his vacation goal was to live out some whacked-out fantasy inspired by Cinemax After Dark, but I know this girl, and she’s not the type to prompt that. You should see me right now… I’m red typing this.

I started Googling about sexual freakiness in Vegas… here’s a good article:

http://www.4hoteliers.com/4hots_fshw.php?mwi=3001

I leave you with this; Girl, I wish you were alone in this situation… but, I’m 100% sure, you’re not!