The Snooze Bandit Strikes Again

I am one of THOSE people. You know the ones. The people who set their alarms to go off almost a full hour before they have to actually get up. The people who hit the snooze button over and over and over again. That's me. It's a problem, I know. But admitting that I have a problem is the first step, right?

If you have ever lived (or spent the night) with one of these people, you know how annoying this can be. I have had roommates come from the opposite side of an apartment to tell me that my alarm was going off. I don't hear it. Why? Because I don't want to. My bed, as uncomfortable as my mattress can be, is my refuge from the world - my warm, cozy safe haven from all the worries of the day. And Smelly the Beast Dog loves it too. In fact she contributes to my daily reluctance to get up because as soon as she hears the alarm, she moves closer to me and snuggles close.

When I was a kid, my mom would call upstairs on the intercom to wake my brother and me up in the morning. Each of us would dangle a leg out of the bed and pound our heel on the floor to indicate that we were "up and at 'em," but that was rarely the case. I'm surprised I didn't get in more trouble because I was ALWAYS late to school.

I'm a night person, you see, and mornings are my mortal enemy. I love to sleep and always have, but since I went off to college 14 (yikes!) years ago, I've been running at a deficit. Because I am a night owl, I have a hard time getting to bed before midnight or 1 AM, so when the alarm goes off at 5:45, I'm not a happy camper. Logic would dictate that I should try to get to bed earlier. My internal clock, however, does not run on logic.

I have tried though. All those silly little tricks they say work: going to bed by 10 PM; sleeping with the blinds open so the sun can wake you gradually and naturally in the morning; setting your clock for the actual time that you need to get up; not eating or drinking caffeinated drinks before bed. None of that works for me.

So, to all my former and current roommates and overnight guests, please forgive me and try to understand that I don't push the snooze button to annoy you. I do it because I HAVE to.

Why Women go to the Bathroom Together . . .

Men have always wanted to know the answer to one of the greatest mysteries of human kind: Why do women go to the bathroom together? And, despite the possible repercussions for divulging the answer to this well-kept secret, I will now explain to all of you guys out there why we women feel the need to travel to the bathroom in packs.

It's to make out. Not really. (But you know that's what you were thinking!) It's not as simple as that though. There are actually several reasons why we do it.

1. TO TALK ABOUT YOU (GUYS): The bathroom is where we can freely express our opinions about your personality, hygiene, sense of humor, fashion sense (or lack thereof), and other traits. Our friends are our sounding boards, and the bathroom is a safe haven for free and uncensored feedback.
2. FOR SECOND OPINIONS: This one isn't about you guys. It's about us. Is our skirt tucked into our pantyhose? Does our lipstick look whorish? Does our hair look better up or down? You know, girly stuff.
3. THOSE PESKY FEMALE ISSUES: We know anything related to menstrual cycles freaks you out, so we bring our girlfriends with us to the bathroom so that we can ask if they have a tampon/ maxi pad/ or Midol out of your ear shot.
4. FOR SECURITY: There is safety in numbers. If we are in a sketchy place, we feel safer if we have someone with us. Also, it could be that we are afraid to leave our friend alone with you. (Bet you hadn't thought of that!)
5. TO RUN INTERFERENCE: If you've ever been to a bar or sporting event or concert, you know what I'm talking about. There is a line for the women's bathroom that is 45 girls deep. The men are walking in and out with no line. So, putting our mental and physical well-being aside (because, quite frankly, you guys are nasty), we commandeer the men's room. This requires at least two women: one to pee and one to stand guard. (But it works better when there are more women to handle the belligerent drunk guys who try to push past).
6. TO DO DRUGS OR PUKE: These are not the kind of girls you want to get involved with. If your date and her friend make repeated trips to the bathroom and come back talking a mile a minute and constantly sniffing and wiping their noses, you should call it a night (without her). And if she eats six bites of her dinner and then rushes off to the bathroom, emerging 15 minutes later looking a little worse for the wear, she is probably a "friend of Ana" and that usually means she's got all kinds of other issues to deal with. (And she has taken her friend with her to hold her hair or to make sure that she doesn't have up-chuck on her clothes.)
7. TO MAKE OUT: Yes. Sometimes that REALLY is the reason why we go to the bathroom with a friend in tow. But don't get too excited. If the girl you are with is in the bathroom making out with her friend, she is intentionally leaving you out for a reason.
   

I hope this has helped clear up any confusion.

What A Way to Start the Day!

Picture this . . . it's 4 AM and Helen is snuggled beneath the covers, happily dreaming about this and that. She rolls over, reaching for Smelly the Beast Dog, and instead encounters . . . a puddle on the other side of the bed.

Yup. That's what I awoke to this morning. So I got up, stripped and remade the bed, hand-washed my coverlet (because it's too big for the machine), and showered. After all that, I can safely say that I was WIDE awake, so I just went to work. At 6 AM. Ugh.

Some people think I should be furious with her, because this isn't the first time this has happened. (Far from it.) But, you see, Smelly has a bit of a urinary incontinence issue. And it's not her fault. When she was "fixed" at the ripe old age of 6 months, they messed up her plumbing, and now, about every 3 months, she gets a bladder infection and she "leaks" in her sleep. She also has to take medicine every day. As you can imagine, this is a costly proposition.

The last time we went, the vet (not the one who fixed her . . . we stopped going there when they insisted her wetting was a behavioral issue!) suggested that I put her on some super-duper hardcore broad-spectrum antibiotics to see if we could kill whatever was in her system that kept coming back. I was all for it . . . until I found out that the $20 antibiotics I normally got for her were being replaced by $360 antibiotics.

For those of you who have pets and live on a budget, you have probably encountered "the look" from your vet. This is the look that says: "I cannot believe that you would deprive your pet of every possible treatment method to extend and improve its quality of life. You should sell your ass on the corner so that you can afford this ten thousand dollar surgery. Your kids can pay for their own college." Whenever I see this look, I feel these ravenous pangs of guilt ripping through my gut. Then I get over it.

There is not much that I wouldn't do for my dog. I will love her until her dying breath (or mine) and if there is something that I can do that will improve her life, I am all over it. But does sedating her so that they can jam a needle in her bladder and then pump her full of so many chemicals that she can't properly digest her food (pssst . . . that's code for "she gets the runs") for a month really improving her life? I'm doubtful.

What I really want to know is if there are any holistic remedies for these types of issues in dogs. Does cranberry juice work on dogs like it does on people? And how do you get a dog to drink cranberry juice? I'm going to have to do some research.

The Most Excellent of Ideas*

As I sat here on this beautiful day staring out my office window, thinking of all the weekend trips and adventures I have planned over the next few months, I came up with the most excellent of ideas: 4-DAY WEEKENDS. And not just every once in a while. All the time.

Now, there are those of you who think this is just a pipe dream. You are thinking "no one can get paid the same salary and only work three days a week! That's poppy cock!" But really, it isn't such a hair-brained scheme!

Think about it. How much of your time at work do you spend goofing off? If you're like most people, it's a lot. There are the legitimate excuses for being away from your desk, such as bathroom and meal breaks. But how many times a day do you get up and wander around the office to say hello to your friends, get refills of coffee (or some other equally caffeinated beverage), or smoke a cigarette? How much time do you spend checking web sites for the latest international news (or gossip), or the weather, or your friends' blogs? And what about online shopping!

My point is this . . . we could get just as much REAL WORK done in a 30 hour week. I mean, seriously, most of the people I work with goof off for a minimum of 2 hours a day, and some goof off for at least half of the day! Then we could work 3 ten-hour days and be done with it. Of course, there will be those who don't like the idea of a 10 hour day, but they can have the option of working 4 days a week if they really want to.

Now who is with me on this? We need a revolution! Workers of America UNITE!

(*I am in serious need of a vacation. Please take all of this as a desperate cry for help.)

Sometimes Virginia's Totally Unpredictable Weather is a Good Thing!

So, it's Sunday, and much to my surprise, it is what can only be described as a GLORIOUS day outside. I had been prepared for the worst (with this week's earlier forecast of yuckiness), but I woke to chirping birds and sunshine. The sky reminded me of the an elementary school art project - stretched out cotton balls glued to bright blue construction paper.

I just had an extended brunch with my new friend Yogi. I met Yogi through mutual friends, and she is also a part of the screenwriting group in which I am involved. We sat on the patio enjoying the perfect weather and chatting about a little bit of everything. What a perfect way to spend the day.

I hope everyone else is enjoying this day as much as I am! And if you're reading this today, get off the computer, go outside, and enjoy the sunshine!!

Camping Season Is Almost Upon Us!

It's almost time to pull out the camping gear and trek off into the woods for a few days of rest and relaxation.

I love to camp. I think it's my inner tomboy crying out to be freed from the bonds of pantyhose and eyeliner. And there is nothing better than getting away from it all by cooking over an open fire, sleeping on the hard ground, and drinking way too much.

Anyway, I hope to have some really interesting camping stories to share with you before long. In the meantime, wander over to Puntabulous and read about his exciting "camping" trip. By "camping" he really means staying in a fully furnished lake house. Bear with him . . . he's a city slicker from NYC.

DC Bloggers, Unite!

Please visit Sour 'n' Sweet to read this heartbreaking story . . .

That's a Slight Improvement . . .

So when I posted last night about the weather being crappy this weekend, it called for showers all weekend. Today, there is a slight improvement in the forecast . . . mostly sunny on Sunday. I'll take it!

I wish I had been a weather man. (Weather girl? Weather lady? Weather person?) How many professions do you know of where you can be wrong SO MUCH of the time and still have a job?! And they are pretty well paid, especially when you take into consideration the fact that they don't ever REALLY know what is going to happen!!

I think I missed my calling.

Some Call Them Annoying. I Call Them Endearing.

Yes, folks. I'm talking about my personality quirks. Just so you know that Helen Skor is a real, live, flesh-and-blood human being, I thought I would share with you a few of my idiosyncratic behaviors.

1. Laundry - I hate doing laundry, but I hate having dirty clothes even more. If I take something out of the closet to wear and I decide I'm either not in the mood for it or I look like an Orca with it on, off it goes into the laundry basket. Yes, I had it on for 30 seconds, but it has now officially been worn.
2. Ironing - I despise ironing. Not because the actual act of ironing is terrible. But because the whole process of getting out the ironing board and iron, filling the iron, draining the water from the iron, and putting the ironing board away when you're done is a big old pain in the butt. How do I solve this problem? About once a month, I sit down with a big old pile of clean laundry on a Sunday afternoon and iron for about 4 or 5 hours straight.
3. Closet Space - I need a lot of it, and luckily I have plenty in my place. I have two closets in my room. The left closet is neatly arranged from left to right: formal dresses, casual dresses, sweaters that need to hang, skooters, short skirts, capris, dress pants, long skirts. Naturally, these are subdivided by color. My right-hand closet is tops: button-ups for work, going out shirts, casual shirts, camisoles, dressy tanks. Again organized by color. (ROY G. BIV is a close personal friend of mine!).
4. My Underwear Drawers - I have two drawers in my dresser for underwear. The top drawer is for bras, and the next drawer down is for underwear. If you need proof of my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you need look no further than these two drawers. I admit it . . . I fold my underwear. The good stuff goes in the front. The not-so-good stuff goes in the back. And if it's really not good, it goes in the trash, no matter how comfortable it is.

And these are just the weird things I do with my clothes. I think it has to do with the fact that I never really had a lot growing up. My parents weren't rich, but we also were never lacking anything that we needed. I wore my brother's hand-me-downs for years and years, so I always dressed like a boy . . . t-shirts and jeans all the time. But even then, my t-shirts were always ironed with military precision and carefully hung in the closet (but NEVER with wire hangers!).

These days, I am much more girly in my choice of attire. And, finally, I have "expendable income" to waste (I mean "invest") on my wardrobe. And I do a LOT of investing. Just ask Jo! But those old lessons die hard. So, in reality, I'm not OCD . . . just meticulous.

How to Make Kick-Ass-Paragus

I've decided that I'm going to share some of my favorite recipes from time to time, starting now. I would love to be able to do nothing but cook for a living. The grocery shopping and dish washing, however, is another story!

I've been told that I'm pretty good in the kitchen, so when I make something that goes over particularly well, I will post the recipe here.

Kick-Ass-Paragus:

• On a baking sheet, spread out 1 lb. of asparagus with the base ends cut off about 1 1/2 inches from the bottom.
• Drizzle generously with extra virgin olive oil.
• Sprinkle with garlic salt, onion flakes, and a small amount of Montreal Steak seasoning.
• If you have them, add some pine nuts. Baby Portabello mushrooms also make a nice addition.
• Bake in the oven uncovered at 350 degrees until they reach the preferred level of doneness.

Some people like theirs still crispy, while others prefer it to be the same consistency as the stuff you get in the cans (yuck!). It's really just a matter of taste. You can also use this same recipe on the grill by wrapping the ingredients in aluminum foil and cooking over medium heat. Asparagus is great, because it can be served hot or cold, and is always delicious. This recipe is quick, easy, and healthy. And, as most people know, it makes your pee smell funny!

Color Me Annoyed . . .

What the hell happened to the weekend weather forecast? Earlier this week (um, yesterday!) the weather guy said it was going to be in the sixties and sunny all weekend. I just checked weather.com and saw this! I'm so annoyed. I have a big birthday bash for Beaver's mom on Saturday night, and the rain is totally going to ruin my hair. (Trust me . . . naturally fine, extremely curly hair and humidity do not a happy combination make!)

Come. Sit. Stay a While.

Spring has finally sprung here in the Metro DC area, and I couldn’t be any happier to welcome it back. And I hope it sticks this time! Winter was a bummer this year . . . it was warm during Christmas, and although it eventually got really cold, we never did get very much snow around here. And seriously, what good is cold weather without snow?!

Spring is my favorite season. Mostly, because it reminds me of my time at JMU (Go Dukes!!). My friends and I used to always go get lunch at PC Dukes and then go sit out in the grass near our dorm, eat lunch, and catch a few rays (and maybe a nap). Of course, reminiscing about days long gone makes me want to find an excuse to call out of work tomorrow and sit on my back patio, read a good book, and grill out. That’s out of the question though, so I guess I’ll have to wait until Sunday for that!

Anyway, I hope you are all enjoying these beautiful days as much as I. The weather is supposed to be beautiful all weekend, so try to make the most of it!

Why I Wish I Had More Gay Friends . . .

I used to have a best friend who was gay, and he was perfect. He eventually started dating someone seriously and then disappeared into the dark underworld of "life partnership," never to be seen at a cool place ever again. I miss him.

There are certain things that you can do with a gay friend that you can't do with a straight guy or even with your girlfriends. That's why I wish I had more gay friends.

Some examples of why I love gay men:

1. They take you out to awesome dance clubs and dirty dance with you all night like you are the hottest piece of ass in the place, but you don't have to worry about late-night expectations.
2. They will spoon with you if need someone to cuddle with.
3. They will be honest when you wear something that you shouldn't, but in a way that won't totally destroy your self-esteem. (e.g.- "Honey, that's not for you . . . why don't you try this top instead?!")
4. When you wear a new outfit or do your hair in a new way, they always notice and tell you how fierce you look.
5. Unlike girlfriends, you don't have to compete with them for men. (Unless the guy you're interested in is bi.)
6. They will sit around with you and watch Lifetime Movie Network for 10 hours straight on a Sunday afternoon while completely hung over.
7. They will go get a mani /pedi with you.
8. They don't bitch about how long it takes you to get ready to go out.
9. Even though most of the time they seem like "just one of the girls," they are still very much men, so they can open stuck lids and kill bugs.
10. They provide very useful insight into the male psyche.

I guess it all goes back to something my mom once told me: "There's nothing like a good fag for a friend." Alas, she was right. Although I'm not so sure I'm comfortable with her choice of words.

Combative

I have recently been told that I can come across as combative. I know, I know. It's shocking that someone would say that about me. The context in which I was informed of this went a little something like this: "Rick is attracted to you, but he's afraid to ask you out because he said you can be a little combative." So how did I respond to this revelation? I immediately went on MySpace and changed my screen name to "Combative" to be ironic. Well, the irony of that is that it was the single most combative thing I could have done besides calling Rick and telling him to eff off. (Especially since Rick is on my friends list.) So I'm starting to think there might be some truth to it, and it's a hard thing to accept. But acceptance is the first step.

Last night, I was out with Jo, Bergle, and another friend, and we got into a discussion about tipping. It quickly deteriorated from a discussion to a heated debate between Jo and me. (Bergle, wise man that he is, opted to stay out of it!)

I found myself getting really ticked with Jo because she wouldn't admit that she might be wrong about how much the average tipper leaves. She claimed that it was 12 - 14%, and I argued that it was 18%. She was making the point that when she was a server, she usually made about 14%. I was arguing that, when I was serving, I used to pull in about 18 - 20%. This "discussion" went on and on and on with no resolution.

But how could there be? Here I was getting pissed because Jo wouldn't concede that I was right, but at the same time, I wasn't even considering the possibility that maybe SHE was right. Or that we were both right, and it really just depends on where you work. She had worked in places that catered to teenagers and a much more "mature" crowd (read as: OLD FARTS) here in Northern Virginia, while I had worked at places that catered to a 40-something crowd of regulars in a small town (and many of my customers knew my parents). If you've ever worked in the restaurant business, you probably already know that teenagers and people over 65, in general, aren't very good tippers. And people who know your parents are NOT going to stiff you. So really, we were both right.

This begs a question, however. What is REALLY the average amount that people tip on a restaurant meal? For me, the server starts out with a 20% tip. If they do a decent job of keeping my drink full, bringing me the things that I need, and keeping me informed if the kitchen is running behind, the will get 20%. If I have to chase them down for a drink refill or a bottle of ketchup, their tip will go down. If the service is really fantastic, I've been known to leave a 30 or 40% tip. And if the service is so bad that I feel inclined to leave less than 15%, I am probably going to end up talking to the manager before the meal is over . . . but I will still tip. And Jo pretty much has the same attitude about tipping as me.

But what do YOU consider the average tip? Most restaurants charge 18% gratuity on parties of 8 or more . . . is that the standard tipping rate?

And Jo . . . I'm sorry for being so combative. :-)

On a Love Lost . . .

Jo is in a bit of a panic this morning worrying about the "what if's" in life because of a post on I Now Pronounce You. It has gotten me thinking about what happens when you lose someone, especially if that someone is THE One.

I'm going to lay bare the "Story of Helen" for you folks who don't know me. I come from a good home in a small town. I have wonderful (if overprotective) parents who are still married, and a brother who has always been my best friend, even if I don't get to see him that often. All in all, I have lived a charmed life. My biggest problems through the years have been my insecurity and poor decision-making skills.

When I was in college, I met and fell in love with a guy named Mark. (And no, this is one name that I haven't changed.) Mark was a transfer to JMU from New York, and was just what I needed in my life.

When I was at JMU, I spent my first year wanting to transfer because I was miserable and lonely. My sophomore year, I started making more friends, but I also started drinking a lot, and doing things that I am not particularly proud of. I did quite a lot of those things, got myself in some bad situations, and I'm pretty lucky that I came out of it all relatively unscathed. As my junior year started, I met Mark, and it didn't take me long to realize that this guy was something special. But, like so many of the good things in life, you can't really appreciate them until they are gone.

To say that I was an emotional mess in college (and the few years that followed) is pretty much the understatement of the century. I was so insecure about losing Mark to another girl that I was utterly psychotic about it. I went through some pretty dark times, and despite the fact that everyone else our age was out having a good time, he stayed with me while I cried for days on end. And when I wasn't crying, I was in a rage about one thing or another. Quite frankly, I made his life a living hell. In all fairness though, when things were good, they were really good. I guess that's why he put up with me for so long.

Mark, however, realized something that took me a long time to figure out: As long as I was with him, no matter what he did, I wasn't going to change. So he walked away. I was devastated, because when he left that last time I knew I wasn't going to see him again. And a little part of me died.

But don't worry kids . . . despite its rocky start, this isn't a tragedy I'm sharing with you. Because that little part of me that died was the weak part. Think of it as natural selection for the soul. For the first time in my life, I was truly alone. For the first time, I had to stand on my own two feet and make it. And I did. I wasn't necessarily tap dancing through my days, but I was getting up, going to work, hanging out with friends, and laughing from time to time.

Then I met Mikey. Yes, the famous "Tall Glass of Crazy" guy whose name has been changed to protect his identity. Do you know the best way to cure you of your past psychotic/ needy/ annoying/ cunty behavior? A little role reversal, my friend. This time around, I was filling the role played by Mark, and Mikey was playing me. All of the crap that I had put Mark through the first time around was suddenly painfully clear to me. But I tried to make it work. And I failed (well, "failed" isn't exactly the right word). I realized the same thing that Mark had: you can't change other people, they have to change themselves.

I'm 31 years old now. I'm single. There is no house with a white picket fence, no husband, no kids. (I do have a dog though, so there is that small victory!) But you know what? Despite the occasional bad day, I like my life. I'm happy. I laugh far more than I cry, I have great friends, and I'm independent. And when the Next One comes around, I'll be ready for him in a way that I was never ready for him when I was younger.

And to Mark, if you ever happen to stumble across this blog . . . Thank you. You saved my life. And although you have no place in my future, there will always be a place for you in my heart.