Happy as a Lark

I probably shouldn't talk so much about disrespecting old people because my dad will no doubt disown me, but a funny thing happened the other day at Trader Joe's:

I was pushing a cart around when I saw a little old man riding one of those store-provided electrical motor scooters. It was obviously the kind of thing where he could walk, but he just chose to ride the scooter and wouldn't you do the same thing if you were him? (I can't wait for the day when I'm gray enough to get away with it.)

So of course I felt like by making that choice he was publicly stating: "I'm up for a bit of teasing." Plus: Old people LOVE me.

I pulled up next to him and matched his slow scooter-y pace with my cart. "WANNA RACE?" I hollered over at him. He appeared not to hear me, even though I yelled it pretty loud and he was not two feet away. He kept on scooting and so I said, "OH..HAHA! I MADE A JOKE! MAYBE YOU DIDN'T HEAR ME?"

"I heard you." He said, quietly, not looking at me and never stopping his scoot.

But I kept following him. "OH! HAHA!" And I patted his shoulder. "BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T LAUGH, SO I THOUGHT MAYBE YOU DIDN'T HEAR ME!" And then he didn't say anything more and joined his wife in the produce section and they got away.

And then he threw the tomato at me.

Hal-isms, Vol. 51

"If your mother gets much older, you're going to have to move in with us to protect me."

"Everything you do I did it 30 years earlier."

"Your mother? She could sing tambourine for hours."

"I love you, and I love talking to you. But talk to your mom. My back hurts."

To my mom: "I'm on the phone with the Kady...our beloved daughter...our favorite daughter."

Elevators

In my office tower, I have deduced that there must be some kind of old people eye doctor on the third floor. This makes for lots of awkward elevator conversations. (Remember when I worked in the same building as that hair restoration company?)

So how do I know about this old people eye clinic on third floor? My main clue is the droves of old people getting on the elevator and taking their sweet sweet time to locate and then push the number 3. The second clue is that when they go back down the elevator they always have an eye patch on. Anyway, remember I'm always late, so I can't tolerate this inability to locate the number 3 in a series of numbers from L-14. This drives me to near insanity. I've taken to just pushing it for them in most cases and then they look at me like, "are you some kind of a magician?" "how'd you know?" and then I'm like, "I'M IN MENSA." 

Yesterday a little old lady was on the elevator already when I ran for the door and barely made it on. She was staring at the numbers and so I pushed 10 for me and 3 for her. She looked at me SO CONFUSED and she said, "I couldn't see the numbers" (um...how the HECK did she DRIVE to my building then???) and so I said,

"Maybe you should tell that to the eye doctor."

And Just Like That, It's Spring

It snowed three inches on Wednesday of last week. And everybody in Minneapolis is like, SO over snow let me tell you. So when I woke up Sunday morning to the view of my across-the-street neighbors having coffee and reading magazines on their front porch and the sun was out and even their indoor cats were outside, I thought I might still be dreaming. I made a cup and joined them and that started the most glorious outside day ever. Seventy degrees!

I peeped the party and invited myself. What a stalker.

Sal's a little fat. Don't judge.

Barefoot Skateboarding!? Well of course! It's Spring!

Summer and Shash and I went for a lovely walk in our Old Lady hats (the sun was out, and, you know). All of the neighbors in the whole neighborhood were outside! And they all waved back when I waved at them! It was so wonderful! We met another (unfortunately we forgot to memo her on the hat rule) friend at The Blue Door on 35th and 42nd. Our entire bill was $14.12 for an order of cajun tots and six pints of beer. Best Happy Hour in Minneapolis.

After that I got a massage and then we all met back at the across-the-street neighbors for the first of many, many backyard fires of the year. Good LORD that was a long winter.

The end. 

They're Fake

Some of you have asked -- and no, these are not my real eyelashes:

Duh.

Here's what they actually look like (although those three on the very right are obviously fake):

My friend Roxie tells me I shouldn't tell people they're fake. I should just smile and say "thank you" when complimented. I can't handle the stress. What if somebody found out somehow that they aren't real and I wasn't the one who told them? This is why I can never get boob implants. 

I go to a place in Edina where I bought a membership for $60 a month to get them "filled". A lady named Doua dims the lights, puts on some very relaxing music and proceeds to glue an individual fake eyelash to each of my invisible ones while I sleep. Of course I sleep. There's relaxing music! I made her take this next photo. As you can see, at the end of three weeks most of them have fallen out and it's time to get them "filled" and I procrastinated just a bit too long. Those white things separate my bottom lashes so she doesn't glue my eyes shut. 

I know that I fall asleep because I frequently wake myself up mid-snore. The way that I snore is so funny too it's like a "PAAAAAAA" [breathe in]...."PAAAAA"...[breathe in]..."PAAAAAA". I begged Doua to take a video of the snoring but I think she was too embarrassed because she didn't do it.

I think they're worth every penny. If not just for the opportunity once a month to take that delicious snore-nap.

National Record Store Day

It's National Record Store Day again, folks! That magical day in Spring where we walk four blocks on down to Hymie's and stand in the street drinking PBR and listening to up-and-coming local bands.

Two years ago, we went fishing for hipsters and last year I turned into a bully and whitewashed a good friend.

Here's a photo of us from last year. (That cute tall guy facing the other direction in the background asked me for my phone number and I panicked and told him I would give it to him but..."it's too long".)

More Personal Ad

Summer-isms, Vol. 64

"I'm working on it cuz I cut out grains."

"All I can do is cry."

"I asked Modest Mouse for a baked potato bar."

"You're ashamed? You know what you're wearing, yeah?"

"They're prostitute-beggar-priests."

Happy National Sibling Day

Apparently, it's National Sibling Day*. Across America. I know this because I subscribe to something called the Internet.

Left to Right: Kasey, Kady, Pete, Kelly, Keri and Kim

So. I'd like to celebrate my siblings. In one sentence or more:

KIM:

Kim is the oldest. Mom to Hanna and Skeeter. Has the wonderful pond. She knew the private and basic love of being an only child, if but for one short year and resents all of us for the loss of that pretty much every day. She was really into picking my boogers and I had to let her because she was the boss of me and so I spent many an awful minute bent backwards over her lap while she sat on the toilet and picked and picked and picked them.

SCOTTY:

He was just a little baby when he died of complications from Spinal Myelo Meningocele. There were only a few pictures of him and my mom is pretty sure one of us dang kids took them to school one day and lost them and so now we don't have any. They say he had red hair. I never know if I should say I have seven kids in my family or six. What a cute name though, huh?

KERI:

Keri is married to Marc and lives in Hutchinson. They have 178 dogs and love every of them one like it was their own. I love Keri because she used to be SO UPTIGHT and now she is as loose as a goose. (This was a girl who used to line my toilet with toilet paper right in front of me...and now...she at least waits until I've turned my back.) They once found a worm in her underwear after she had been playing in the pigpen. My mom freaked out, thinking she had some terrible pig disease, but they finally realized it probably just crawled in there.

KELLY:

She is married to Mike and stepmom to Karley and David. Lived in Ohio for seven years but moved back to St. Paul finally and lives five minutes up the road. Mean as mean can be but gives the best advice. I call her whenever I have a problem or a question about life in general. She drove over a bicycle the day she got her driver's license and couldn't go to the movies with her friends like she hoped. 

PETE:

Pete is married to Tanya. Lives in Wisconsin. Most folks know him as Cowboy Pete. He's the only boy, and the only one without a 'K' name. (Rumor has it that my mom named him Pete after my great-grandpa Pete paid her $50 to do so). Most people feel sorry for him, being the only boy in a family of five girls. Let me tell you there is no reason to feel sorry for him. He got his own room. We had three bedrooms growing up and he got his own. Do the math on that one. Also: all new clothes. No hand-me-downs. However one day he did have to go to school with a mini pad taped to his face because we were out of band-aids one day.

KADY:

Definitely the favorite. Rightly so. Gorgeous.

KASEY:

Mom to Miles, Murphy and Miyo. We were basically attached at the hip our entire childhoods. Once we had a boy come over to the house and I knew Kasey was in love with him. We were all standing on the back porch talking to him. We were like seven and five. She was wearing my dad's yellow "Equal Opportunity Kitchen" apron and that's about it. I was standing behind her and I thought it would be hilarious to push her off the back porch while she was talking to him and so I did. She landed face down on the grass and just laid there. Arms out. The cute boy and I looked on. All you could see was the apron string and her undies. She was really mad at me and I couldn't really understand why? I mean, it was so funny to push her! I finally figured out it was the underwear. Sorry, Kasey.

*I did not confirm that it's actually National Sibling Day.

Favorite Things

Well I very optimistically bought two tickets to St. Vincent's concert months ago -- and I still don't have a boy date, SURPRISE SURPRISE. I'm taking Hobo Siren instead. If you get stuck in an Internet wormhole watching St. Vincent videos all afternoon as a result of this post, YOU'RE WELCOME.

Personal Ad

Doing a little research...

Broomball and Bonfires

I recently took Hanna AND HER BOYFRIEND up to meet Hanna's parents. They made a broom ball party out of the weekend on their fantastic pond. The night prior it snowed 10 inches and so in order to make it possible to play my brother-in-law John and my nephew Skeeter had to plow and shovel and it took them 12 HOURS. They said it was worth it. But look at all that snow.

The cool thing about playing broom ball at Kim and John's is that everybody plays together, kids and adults and everybody is on the same level playing field because the ice is so slippery that nobody can get going very fast and therefore everybody gets a chance at the ball. I couldn't play of course because I'm terrified of slipping and hurting my back and as Hanna said I'm totally an old grandma now. But I did go out there and take some photos. 

It was such a nice day for it too!

Go, Hanna, Go!

Really, I mean look at all that snow!!!!

Two goalies...and two girls from the opposing team just hanging out by the goal. Anything goes.

Indonesian on Ice

Gorgeous day

My favorite quote of the whole day was one that I overheard while hanging out by the entrance to the pond. There was a shortage of brooms and so some people had to wait to play until other people came off the ice. I heard a guy say, "oh man if I ever come into some money..." (and at that point I thought he was going to talk about the sweet snowmobile or motorcycle or hunting rifle or car he was going to buy, but nope) Instead he said, "...I'm gonna get me like 15 brooms!"

After dark we had a bonfire. I couldn't believe that a) Skeeter was able to get it started in the first place and b) how the snow around the pile never really melted and c) that fire burned and burned for hours. 

My Favorite Things, Vol. 2

I shared a complete list of my favorite things last November, but unfortunately I could only think of one thing (Old Dutch dill pickle chips). Well tonight I thought of another thing to add to my list of favorite things! And here it is!

Free tampons in public restrooms!

They just put them out! Anybody can have one!

Twitter Fail

Here's another in a new series I like to call "Tweets I wrote that should have been retweeted a million times but weren't because I don't think I'm doing Twitter right and not because they weren't wildly hilarious".

Follow my tweets here. 

Summer-isms, Vol. 63

"What's 'young' nowadays?"

"Edie's never been to New York."

"I know what my naked body looks like."

"OMG my Cuddl-Duds are totally stretched out."

"I feel like most American people don't own white clothes."

She's so good at Photoshop.

Unrealistic Ideal

Recently, a Target ad for a bikini revealed the secret photoshopping of the impossible and unrealistic "thigh gap", (which I have always known isn't a real thing).

Can you see the hilarious mistake somebody made??:

Seriously, who let this go to print?

I guess that's what we women are supposed to look like. However, my legs literally rub together from about one inch above my knees all the way up to my crotch. And in the summertime chaffing is a real problem. But this is what women's legs do in the magazines and now I find out I'm right and it's totally NOT REAL!

But I mean, can we really blame "Target" or "fashion industry photoshoppers" when this trend has been around since I was a little kid. I mean, just LOOK at the posters they hang up at the DOCTOR'S OFFICE, for goodness sake!

Talk about an unrealistic ideal!

Summer and I Had a Hilarious Misunderstanding Today

We do that sometimes.

Today, I was wearing my favorite scarf while buddying around with my friends Bea and Summer and I was just bein' silly and so, you know, I flipped the scarf up over my head as if you would if you were going into a mosque and wanted to be respectful:

The Blue Mosque, Istanbul

I began to feel nostalgic about last year's trip to Istanbul (pictured above) (because that is exactly how I put that exact scarf in that moment) and asked "Hey Summer, does this remind you of..."

She got into it and interrupted to say, with a look on her face and the excited tone of a person who knows exactly to what you're referring: 

"the Cracker Barrel"?!?!

and I was like "HUH?" because of course the end of my sentence was "...the Blue Mosque in Istanbul?"

I guess I can see where she got it wrong:

Cracker Barrel. Iowa, USA

Twitster Fail

I'd like to start a new series entitled "Tweets I wrote that should have been retweeted a million times but weren't because I don't think I'm doing Twitter right and not because they weren't wildly hilarious".

Follow my twits here.

Personal Ad

I decided it's about dang time I landed a man. Here are a series of videos I plan to use on several popular dating websites to help in this endeavor. Your feedback is appreciated (too pretty?) 

Thanks!

A Letter to Pete, Part Three

I used to write letters and sometimes even poems to my brother Pete when he first moved out of the house. He saved some and showed me this one last weekend. It seems I've always been destined for Mensa. Pay attention to my brilliant use of the word "worser" and the misspelling of the word "school". Also, I can see now that my whole life I've always written written written even when I don't have anything to say and even though nobody is writing back. I guess it makes sense I ended up writing a blog.

DO YOU LIKE THIS PAPER? ITS FREE FROM BOISE. DAD GETS IT LIKE TWO REAMS PER DAY. BLAH BLAH BLAH. IM RUNNING OUT OF THINGS TO SAY. WILL YOU PLEASE WRITE ME BACK? IVE WRITTEN YOU THREE TIMES NOW AND I HAVENT HEARD FROM YOU. I NEVER GET ANY MAIL. I WRITE TO MAIJA, TAWNY, YOU MAYBE TWO TIMESA MONTH AND NOBODY WRITES ME BACK. BOO HOO. SO WRITE BACK OK? OH GUESS WHAT? I GOT A 4.0 ON MY GRADE POINT AVERAGE. THATS SIX A'S AND AN A+. WHAT A NERD HUH? I CANT BELIEVE IT CUZ I WAS TRYING TO GET WORSER GRADES THAN I DID BEFORE (3.85) AND EVERY TIME I TRY TO GET BAD GRADES I GET BETTER THAN BEFORE. I DID THAT LAST YEAR. THE LAST QUARTER I DID THE WORST IN SCHOLL AND I GOT THE BEST GRADES. I DONT KNOW WHATS GOING ON. PETER THATS A 4.0!!! YOUR SISTER IS A NERD.

Sunday Favorites: When Stealing is OK

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. This story originally appeared on September 4, 2010.

One day I was shopping at a particularly disgusting grocery store in a particularly sketchy part of St. Paul. Suddenly I had to go pee but my cart was completely full and I realized I couldn't wait for the bathroom at home and I would have to go in their bathroom. ICK!

Careful to not touch anything, I sideways-ed it into the stall and hovered over the seat. Like I said, I was in a hurry, and so I didn't notice until it was too late that there was no toilet paper in the stall. AACK! As you know, I don't like getting wet and part of that aversion means that I am not the kind of woman who can just NOT WIPE. I started to cry. Nay, hyperventilate. 

Panicked, my eyes darted through the stall. Like some sort of weird amazing miracle, I found a stray roll of toilet paper on the flood, under the back corner of the toilet. EW, but YAY! I would simply have to bite the bullet and unroll a few layers, toss those, and then use the inside part for my purposes.

Question for the reader: How do you hold a loose toilet paper roll for dispensing paper? You stick two fingers inside the roll, grab the end and start pulling, right? Right. So that's what I did. But it felt wet. And so I yanked my fingers back out. And looked at them. And saw poop.

Then it was time to cry AND hyperventilate AND flap my clean hand while I simultaneously held the poop hand as far from my body as possible. Finally I somehow managed to use the clean hand for the original task of unrolling the few layers and then wiping. I RAN to the sink to scrub my contaminated hand. You guessed it, NO SOAP. I one-hand washed those fingers as best I could with the hottest water I could get. Then I ran back into the store. The closest aisle was the cleaning supplies aisle. I squirted 409 into my fingers, but didn't feel like that did anything at all. Frantic, I searched every product, continuing to cry and flap and hyperventilate. Duh! "Soap", I thought. I felt justified in stealing a SoftSoap Antibacterial from the soap aisle, and went back into the bathroom to properly wash my hand.

I collected myself, held my head high, paid for my groceries, went home, cut my hand off, poured bleach in the bloody stump and then took a full shower.

The moral of the story: Never EVER stick your finger(s) into an unknown stray roll of toilet paper without at least looking first.  Also, stealing is OK, but ONLY in an emergency and as long as you give the soap right back to the bathroom of the store you stole it from.

Shash-age Links

Video links edition!

Let's start off with the super depressing:

This might be the most tragic movie you watch ever.

Why didn't I have this kind of wise counsel back when I was a wide-eyed and bushy-tailed high school student?

Didn't like that? OK! How about some uplifting videos of kids doing good things?:

A tiny baby 3-year-old explains why she's getting a haircut. (video)

Kids in the Bronx gardening!? This one is so good it's worth another link! (video)


Or what about a hilarious glimpse into my future with ol' Summer Grimes?

HoboSiren and ALadyRevealsNothing in 70 years? (Thanks Melinda)






And this? This is too good. How do they do it??

A Letter to Pete, Part Two

I used to write letters and sometimes even poems to my brother Pete when he first moved out of the house. He saved some and showed me this one last weekend and it had my crying laughing. I hope the hilarity translates. Just try to put yourself in the shoes of a 14-year-old girl at a wedding dance where the only prospective dance partners happen to be two old men in their 70's:

"WHY DONT YOU COME AND VISIT ME SOMETIME SOON I REALLY MISS YOU AND I WAS SAD THAT YOU DIDN'T COME TO LORIS WEDDING. I HAD TO DANCE WITH DAVE A AND BOB F [name is too unique] TWICE. IT WAS SO FUNNY PETE WE WERE DANCING TO A SLOW SONG AND TALKING ABOUT VOYAGERS NATL PARK AND ALL THE SUDDEN IT TURNED INTO A FAST SONG AND WE KEPT DANCING ONLY HE STARTED BOUNCING CUZ IT WAS A FAST SONG AND I HAD TO DO IT TOO. I WAS SO EMBARRASSED. BOB [edited again sorry] NOW. DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO HE IS? HES THE ONE WHO GAVE YOU ALL THOSE AWESOME SUITCOATS AND TIES THAT DAVE A GAVE TO HIM. HES REALLY NICE. KNOW WHAT? CHARLI TAYLOR WAS AT THE WEDDING AND BOB ASKED HER TO DANCE, AND IT WAS A FAST SONG. I WOULD HAVE SAVED HER BUT I WAS DANCING WITH DAVE A AT THE TIME."

Hahahahahahahahahahaaaahaahah!!! I would have saved her but I was dancing with Dave A at the time."

A Letter to Pete, Part One

I used to write letters and sometimes even poems to my brother Pete when he first moved out of the house. He showed me this one last weekend and I have to say, not a lot has changed in my life in the past 21 years (aside from having given up both caps lock and the word 'caughten'). I think you'll see what I mean:

PETE,

HI HOW ARE YOU DOING? IT'S ME KADY. WE DONT HAVE SCHOOL FOR AWHILE BECAUSE OF THE TEACHERS STRIKE AND RIGHT NOW IM AT HOME. I SLEPT IN UNTIL 11:00 TODAY AND I HAVENT TAKEN MY PJS OFF FOR THREE DAYS. THIS IS GREAT. ON SATURDAY I SLEPT UNTIL 2:00 IVE CAUGHTEN UP ON SO MUCH SLEEP SINCE FRIDAY ITS PITIFUL IVE ALSO WATCHED ABOUT TEN MOVIES. THE ONLY TIME I HAVE LEFT THIS HOUSE IS TO GO TO MR. MOVIES. (IWAS WEARING MY PJS THEN TOO). "HOOK" FINALLY GOT HERE SO IM GONNA GO TO THAT SOON, BUT NOT TONIGHT BECAUSE FRESH PRINCE IS ON. ON THURSDAY A BUNCHA KIDS WALKED OUT OF SCHOOL TO PROTEST THE TEACHERS STRIKE. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? ABOUT A HUNDRED PEOPLE WERE WALKING AROUND TOWN SCREAMIN AND YELLING. I THINK THAT WAS SO STUPID BECAUSE I WANT THE TEACHERS TO STRIKE FOR AS LONG AS THEY WANT TO. BUT THE SCHOOL BOARD WANTS ALL THE KIDS BACK IN SCHOOL BY TOMORRO, ONLY THING IS, THEY HAVENT REACHED A NEGOTIATION YET SO YAY WE WONT HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL FOR A LONG TIME. OH, GUESS WHAT THE NORTHSITE BURNED DOWN. IM DEAD SERIOUS. THEY CLOSED OFF THE HIGHWAY AND EVERYTHING. THE FLAMES WERE SHOOTING FORTY FEET IN THE SKY. I MIGHT GET TO GO TO NEW YORK WITH TANYA IN JUNE. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? MY IS ACTUALLY CONSIDERING IT! BUT I HAVE TO PAY FOR IT ALL...

This letter was written in 1992 based on three clues: the International Falls teachers' strike, Northsite burning down, and...(Haahaahaahahahahaha!!!)  "but not tonight because Fresh Prince is on".

Conversations with Miyo

"Playing is like the most activest thing you can do."

Sunday Favorites: Gettin' a Big Head for No Reason at All

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. This story originally appeared on February 4, 2011.

A weekend trip to San Jose, Costa Rica offered my beach-town friends and I a rare opportunity to get fancy and go out for Indian food.  And by "fancy", I mean that since San Jose's climate is so much cooler than Huacas, we could take showers and NOT be immediately drenched in sweat from the humidity -- making it possible for makeup and long sleeves and pants.  Fancy!

I had been living out of a backpack for several months and didn't really have anything I wanted to wear "out".  My roommate Nicole came to the rescue and lent me a few things.  It felt so nice to get dressed up!  I was quite happy with the result.  I might have even held my head high and strutted a bit.  I must have projected my inner monologue onto one of our male friends who had been patiently waiting for all of us to get ready.  I was almost certain that I heard him say to me:

"Wow, you look SO good."

I responded with a surprised, "thanks!"

He looked totally confused, so I rewound the scenario in my head. He wasn't looking at me. He had a candy bar in his hand. His mouth was full. I recalled my sense memory of his voice and replayed it. I was horrified. Here's what he really said:

"Wow, that is SO good."

The outfit

The candy-bar-eater-unintentional-feelings-hurter

Shash-age Links

HAHA Pharell's hat on Tumblr.

I'm pretty obsessed with this song. It's either because I'm dying for a garden this summer or because she uses the word "emphysemin'", I'm not sure.

NPR's timeline of Minnesota winter snow rage is pretty accurate and cute.

OMG what an idiot. Dad, I've never done anything this dumb as a daughter have I?

And: Dad. I certainly haven't ever done anything THIS DUMB as a daughter, have I? P.S. If she wins this case it sets a precedent and that makes it possible for me to come after you and mom. It seems you owe me a college education! Also, I feel entitled to an expensive juicer. I'll send you the link.

Haha. Travoltify your name. Some people are saying "leave him alone! he has dyslexia!" (which is unconfirmed) I still think it would behoove him and his responsibility as a presenter in front of a billion people to memorize the name of the one woman he had to introduce. What a silly! Anyway, please just call me "Kirsty Hazeems" from now on. 

Baby Blues. Cured.

I think I've been pretty open about my hormones and being 36 and how logically my brain wants no babies but emotionally my uterus wants all of the babies right now! It keeps getting worse the closer I get to menopause (which my three older sisters keep lovingly reminding me is just a few years away).

Recently, my nephew Miles accidentally got two months behind on his homework in five of his classes. I volunteered to help him catch up. Remember I'm the Auntie who is mean mean mean and makes kids do their homework for hours and hours and hours and hours?? Miles and I so far have put in about 13 hours on this project over the course of three weeks. He's done most of the work while I just sort of keep him on task (except I really love Algebra so I accidentally kept doing the problems before he got them done instead of teaching him how to do them, but that's neither here nor there).

Anyway, one of our five-hour homework sessions happened on a rare warm day in Minnesota February and everybody got to go outside and play in the snow except for me and Miles. Because I am a responsible adult who knows when to skip the fun and help the kid. Which means I can never have any babies. Because babies grow up to be kids who have homework and I never ever want to skip the fun ever again! I'm 100% cured. 

Ask me anything you ever wanted to know about Copernicus.

Well I Guess It Was Bound to Happen Sooner or Later...

I have attended the same Pilates class with the same instructor off-and-on for something like the past 14 years. More "off" than "on", but that's neither here nor there. The gym and the class is directly across from my old office building, which isn't far from my new office building and these days I'm under Doctor's orders to do Pilates as often as possible to strengthen my core and back muscles since that dumb PIZZA MAN rear-ended me, so I've gotten regular about going again. 

My point in telling you all of that is that after all this time, I just sort of assumed that the instructor recognized me in some way. I always sit near the front and we always make lots of eye contact and stuff...you know how you have to face each other while you're in a birthing position or some such embarrassing thing and you try not to make eye contact but you can't help it because the only other place to look is her boobs or crotch and God help you if you're busted doing that!

Anyway the other day, I was facing away from her and laying on my stomach doing the breast stroke prep. When she called out "how ya doin' up there?" it totally sounded like she was aiming her voice at me and so I said, "good" and then right away she said, "and how's baby?" and then I felt SO embarrassed because obviously she was talking to somebody else. 

I forgot about it until class was over and I was getting up to leave and she looked right into my eyes and asked how it was going for me. To let her know if anything was too strenuous. For the baby.

I wanted to just say "FINE!" and get the heck out of there, but I knew if I did I was going to have to endure questions about my pregnancy for the next several months. I had no choice. So instead I said the most awful thing I have ever had to say to a woman, an old friend (or so I thought), so happy for me, so willing to offer up prenatal Pilates advice:

"I'm not pregnant." 

I mean...do I look pregnant to you?

*Please tell me your "somebody asked if I was pregnant and I totally wasn't" story. Somehow it will make me feel better.




Photo Credit

Move Over Bette Midler, I've Seen Beaches One Million TIMES

Move over Bette Midler!

Literally. Move over. You're in my scene.

The Worst Kind of Turd is an Honest One

Miyo and a girl in her class had a disagreement. The girl ended it with, "Well at least I don't have to have glasses!" 

Miyo's response? "Well at least my last name isn't Domunguz."

The glasses are cute. I would have gone for the dirt beard and Kool-aid mustache myself.

Sunday Favorites: The Ugly Ones

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. This story originally appeared on May 24, 2010.

Back in New Zealand, I was walking down the street when I witnessed an exchange between a scraggly-haired older gentleman and a crazy no teeth crackhead lady. She was waiving a ticket of some sort in the air, yelling something at him as she walked towards him. I couldn't make it all out, but from what I gathered, she had won like $20 on her lottery ticket. She turned around and walked the other direction, presumably to cash it in. When she rounded the corner, he threw up his arms, turned to me and yelled from across the street:

"SEE? EVEN THE UGLY ONES ARE HAPPY!"