07.23.08
Toolbag Wednesday #9: The Bathroom Troll
It’s been a while since I’ve celebrated toolbaggery in the world, and this one’s long overdue. I give you: the Bathroom Troll.
Like that cartoon troll who hides under a bridge in some cracked out fairy tale, requesting a fee to cross and tricking princesses into all sorts of terribleness, this woman is more often than not a bathroom stall away from jumping out and locking you into conversations you don’t want to have.
Conversations about her daughter, her daughter’s boyfriend, her daughter’s boyfriend’s cocker spaniel named Fred who went to the vet last month to get his “glands” squeezed. Conversations about her weekend watching a sport that no one in this country gives a hoot about. Conversations about the right hand ring you’re wearing. Seriously lady, it’s ON MY RIGHT HAND and obviously not an engagement ring, so don’t grab at my hand and invite yourself into my private life!
This habit is especially egregious in my world. I am very opinionated about bathroom etiquette. In particular, I regard it as bad form to take the stall next to an occupied one when there are three other perfectly good ones available. I also can’t believe that it needs saying, but apparently it does; always wash your freaking hands (I’ll spy through the crack to see who you are and then refuse to buy your cookies at the next bake sale), and never wash your feet in the toilet (a woman in line for the ladies room at Navy Pier actually said she was going to do this last weekend- for real). And last, but by no means least, do not for any reason “hang out” in there like it’s a god damned lounge or something. Get in, conduct your business, and get out. It’s that simple.
Which brings me back to our Toolbag of the week. The Troll loves the bathroom. Loves, loves, loves it. It’s like she thinks it’s play time and that because all women go to the bathroom eventually, she instantly has SO MUCH in common with you and you’re suddenly life-long friends.
My most recent run in with the Troll involved me hiding out in the stall to avoid her while she took her sweet ass time; 1) washing her hands, 2) drying her hands, 3) fixing her hair, 4) brushing her teeth, 5) flossing her teeth, 6) wiping dry the entire counter top, 7) washing her hands again, 
drying her hands again, and 9) stopping by the mirror one last time before leaving. No joke. I was marooned in there for 15 minutes.
At which point, some other woman (probably one of the Troll’s minions) came in to, get this……..do her dishes. WTF?
07.22.08
What’s Up Down Under, Indeed
While bonding with my new couch over a marathon of Run’s House one lackadaisical Sunday, I found myself rewinding this commercial no less than 8 times in shocked glee to figure out just what the hell was going on there. I even slow-moed it, finally deciphering that it is in fact a pouch and not…something else altogether.
Apparently, I’m not alone in my appreciation for the bizarre turn the Aussie Hair Care team has taken their mass marketing. Last week, the commercial earned the austere recognition of VH1’s Best Week Ever.
Just think, someone actually approved this TV spot. Someone actually thought it was a good idea. But really, when you think about it, when isn’t it a good idea to have a money shot of your brand’s mascot expel your product from a nondescript anatomical location? Everything about that says “awesome,” no?
07.21.08
It’s a Science Really
Sheepishly, I admit I haven’t been posting much lately. That damn high school reunion came up (wore a deep blue-purple draped tube dress and bronzed sling-backs), I lost and somehow recovered my wallet and all the cash that was in it (!!!!), went to Charleston for the Fourth of July holiday (which proved ever so slightly different as they played “Dixie”), and fainted on the bus home from work one night, (i.e. my worst fucking nightmare about being single in the city- that and the whole choking to death in my apartment thing).
This last and most recent development has turned into a two-week odyssey to figure out just what the fuck is wrong with me. Which is why they made WebMD, right? Accordingly, and in combination with my other lower back symptoms, here are some of their potential diagnoses:
Vasovagal syncope (fancy “doctor” speak for “you fainted, yo”)
Hypotension
Snake or spider bite
Anemia
Carpal tunnel syndrome
Vitamin B12 deficiency
Lyme disease
Sweet. Why not?
07.17.08
When Reading Pisses Me Off
So I’m reading this new book, Emily Giffin’s “Love the One You’re With,” and it makes me want to kick the main character, Ellen, in the head. For real.
Instead, each time I read a page (one page!) and Ellen mentions how she’s so happy with her husband, Andy, but can’t help thinking about the way that Leo’s hand brushed her own that day in the diner after bumping into one another, my first impulse is to fling the blasphemous diatribe at the door on the Metra, all the while shaking my head at her sheer stupidity.
That said, I’ve really caught myself off guard with this one. I had no idea I’d have such a reaction to a plotline that circles around the premise that there’s always that one guy that holds a certain power over your heart. No matter how long it’s been or how happy you may be. I should have known better than to assume there’d be no repercussions to my reading such prose.
