The Broad's Side

DIRECTV is one of the best things that have ever happened to me, outside of my daughter’s birth and that time I won 50 bucks on a scratch-off ticket. For some reason, it’s very empowering to pause live TV. Sometimes, I find myself doing it for no valid reason… just because I can. I’m kind of a TV whore, so the fact that I can watch a CSI episode in 42 minutes is really beneficial to my lifestyle. It’s not because I am ultra busy and have so much crap to cram into my schedule. To the contrary, now I’m able to watch MORE CSI! Sometimes I’m able to watch all three cities in one night! How freakin amazing is that? I’m practically a forensic scientist at this point. I can give you the rundown on blunt force trauma and the resulting blood spatter patterns.

I used to keep some strange hours when I worked for Target. There were times when I’d be there until 2am and other times where I’d get up at 4am on Sundays to set up the weekly ad. Lord knows, everyone needs to know which Colgate is on sale for 50 cents off. I hated my job and the only thing that eased my pain after a 15 hour shift dealing with assholes returning blenders was my DIRECTV. I came home one Sunday after signing the Wheat Thins and Beggin Strips at their discounted prices, and all I wanted was a good dose of ‘America’s Next Top Model’. I got comfortable in bed with my remote in hand. I attempted to turn it on and nothing was happening. I tried that trick where you smack the remote against the palm of your hand repeatedly in an effort to revitalize the remaining alkaline in the batteries. No dice. I went downstairs and found some fresh AA’s in the kitchen drawer and trekked back upstairs. Once I realized that the batteries weren’t the issue, I began to investigate further. I started by pressing a bunch of random buttons on the TV, hoping to get lucky. Nothing happened, so I moved on to the DIRECTV receiver box. I was on my knees checking all of the cable connections when the box made a sizzling sound. It smelled terrible as well. I picked it up and turned it upside down. As I did this, about a gallon of urine poured out. There’s nothing quite like the aroma of baking piss. The guy I married was downstairs watching TV using the DIRECTV unit that wasn’t shorted out by pee. I started screaming his name and dropping obscenities until he came upstairs. It turns out that he has a bit of a sleep walking problem. There had been many occasions where I’d awaken in the middle of the night to find him preparing to relieve himself in the closet or his sock drawer. I was always able to divert him towards the bathroom. Of course he had no recollection of the sleep peeing incidents, including this particular one.

He suggested that the dog might be responsible. She’s a 13 inch beagle, and last I checked she’s never peed standing up. I used my strong forensic background to line up the shooting angle and relevant spatter patterns. I demonstrated that the location of the box was curiously Pollack penis height. The crime scene interrogation was not going to fix the problem, so I knew that I had to call DIRECTV for help. They have a menu of problems to choose from, but I wasn’t quite sure which umbrella my particular problem fell under. Troubleshooting? Here’s an idea… don’t pee on the receiver, genius. In all fairness, that tip does not appear anywhere in the manual. How was he to know? I decided to go with ‘other’ as my problem selection and the call rang through to my help desk operator. I started off by advising him that this call was sure to be recording worthy. You might as well gather your buddies around now because this is sure to be a good one. I’ll hold. I told him there was ‘liquid’ inadvertently spilled into the unit through a penis. He said, “Someone urinated on it?” I had to explain that it appeared to be accidental urination. It’s not like he was sick and tired of CSI and decided to piss it out. We came to a mutual decision that a new receiver was definitely in order, although they did make me send the peed on one back. Who knows where that one ended up? Possibly your house!

I had a recent affair with Cox Cable because my landlord wouldn’t allow me to have a satellite dish on the house. I feel guilty about my indiscretion and want DIRECTV to know that I’m back and I truly love them. I will never stray again, and I promise to position all future receivers at a height that makes pissing on them virtually impossible.

It’s really no secret that I’m a complete jackass on occasion. I find that it’s much easier to embrace it than to wage an un-winnable war against it. If something humiliating happens to me, I’m usually telling someone about it in a matter of minutes. I had one of these moments last week at the office that deserves to be re-lived. I’ll have to admit that I was feeling pretty good about myself that day, which is usually my first indication that something horrible is about to happen. I had just prepared myself a delightful cup of Mocha Nut Fudge coffee, which tastes like cake in a cup. I was en-route back to my office on the event level of Quicken Loans Arena with my liquid treat in hand. I was feeling ultra confident in my black skirt and high heeled boots as I strutted down the hallway towards my destination. As I began to take the corner, I slipped on a wet patch of flooring and found myself falling in what felt like slow motion. My left arm instinctively performed a windmill-like motion as my coffee clutching right hand jerked upward towards my head. More than half the contents of the cup went directly into my face and hair… not a god-damned drop in my mouth, I might add! I managed to avoid actually hitting the ground because the arm motion was evidently very effective. I never let go of that cup either. Of course, there were two co-workers that I hadn’t been formally introduced to standing a few feet from the crime scene. OH… and the visiting hockey team was practicing on the ice with a clear view of the entire show. My hair was drenched and my make-up was streaking down my face. I fled into the bathroom wanting to flush myself down the toilet in an effort to escape. I gazed into the mirror wondering how the hell I was going to piece myself back together. I decided to try to paper towel my hair dry, just as one of my employees walked into the restroom. Samantha looked at me and it was evident that she wasn’t quite sure if she was allowed to laugh or not. I had the whole front of my hair sandwiched between two paper towels… kind of like when you de-grease bacon. I had to explain to her how I had just thrown coffee at my own face as I was blotting the mascara off it. The tiny granules of sweet-n-low embedded in my right eyeball were irritating me, so she probably thought I kept winking at her. I eventually found my way back down to my office, where fortunately I have a flat-iron on stand-by at all times. I plugged it in and used it to re-shape my now crunchy hair. As the steam rose off the hot iron, it smelled like someone was baking brownies in my office. I then headed off to fetch a new cup of java…with a tad less face in this one.

One of the more memorable moments in my repertoire happened at a dance club in Syracuse, NY. Yes…I know! What the hell is a dance club? Do they even exist anymore? I was out with a few of my ‘friends’ or so I thought. I’m a Gemini, and we love our attention. On this particular evening, I must have been the hottest girl alive because every guy in the place was sizing me up. I felt like I was in a movie the way people kept sending drinks my way. Damn, I must look GOOOOOD! I was really playing it up with the flirtatious looks and maybe even a wink or two. This went on for hours, and I felt sorry for my non-attention worthy friends. They must have been so jealous of my obvious popularity. I tore myself away from Jenapalooza long enough to hit the ladies room. There were full length mirrors lining the walls in the facilities as you entered. Just then, out of the corner of my eye… I saw it. My dress was tucked into the back of my lady bug thong underwear, revealing my entire ass to the world. Oh my God! I did the ‘Electric Slide’ like that?! Unfortunately, there wasn’t an escape hatch, so I had to eventually leave the way I came in. I regained my composure and exited with what little pride I had left. I was on the second step of the carpeted stairs when my foot slipped out from under me, and I rode down the remaining stairs on my back with my legs up in the air. As I laid flat on my back at the bottom of the steps, once again revealing my drawers to the entire bar, a really hot guy stood over me to offer my shoe back. Turns out, it had hit him full force in the back of the head as it flew off my foot. In hindsight, I should have been more embarrassed by my feathered helmet hairstyle. What was I thinking?

We all do dumb shit. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve rummaged around in my purse searching desperately for something, only to pull out a tampon. It’s usually in front of the hottest guy on the planet or your male boss. When I was first thrust back on to the single scene, I hit the tri-fecta. A very attractive guy asked me for my phone number and I thought it would be super impressive to pull out my business card from my mom purse. Step one was the tampon, which I believe I actually asked him to hold for a minute while I dug further. I then produced a diaper and a bootleg copy of the Lion King on DVD. I was so horrified that I purposely gave him the wrong number just in case he was crazy enough to call. Have you ever let one rip while alone in the car only to discover that the establishment you’re pulling up to has valet parking? Now you’re compelled to drive around the block a few times with the windows down, trying frantically to fan the evidence out the window. Don’t kid yourself; the valet guy has caught this act before. He knows exactly what’s up.

Embarrassing things happen to me every day. I’m actually kind of concerned that at some point I won’t even realize that they’re embarrassing anymore. It’s very likely that’s what happened to my grandmother. My siblings and I used to pretend she had Alzheimer’s as an excuse for the retarded stuff she did on a daily basis. God love her, she was a Gemini too.

Rest in Pieces

Our dresses were candy apple red satin with an empire waist, which evidently is code for fat girl dress. I knew I looked like a complete jackass and I didn’t even care. We arrived at the church approximately 45 minutes late because the bride couldn’t get her act together. She promptly handed me a brush and made me rake her kid’s hair which hadn’t seen a comb in weeks. My next maid of honor responsibility was to make all of the bouquets in the back room of the church an hour after the ceremony was supposed to have begun. My tool kit included a pair of scissors, a roll of ribbon and a garbage can serving as a makeshift 30 gallon vase. As I pulled the calla lilies out of the trash receptacle, the ice cold water dripped down the front of my 1980’s prom style dress. Good thing I wasn’t wearing a bra, because who doesn’t love a spontaneous wet tee shirt imitation at a church? The church was under construction, so there were construction workers in hard hats carrying giant beams and using a jackhammer right outside the stained glass Christ windows. I’m pretty sure one of them winked at me because of my damp, erect nipples. I’m not even sure we had the right to be there. It didn’t appear to me that this particular church should be open at all. The guests were all ripe by this point because they had been sweating it up in this heat box.

Once the ceremony finally started, things went from bad to fucking catastrophic in about two minutes time. That’s the moment when one of the groomsmen took a header down the three little stairs and began rolling around and moaning in front of the altar. Half a dozen people dialed 911 to get the paramedics on the scene. Lucky bastard got to leave in the ambulance while we were all stuck in the stink tank. The dude’s wife was a bridesmaid, so she left as well. Ten minutes in…and we’re down two. The ceremony continued… blah blah blah, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You know the drill. The bride had arranged for a very dramatic and symbolic dove release as we exited the church. The newlyweds launched the doves skyward, and let’s just say the resulting symbolism was not what they were going for. Both doves had been in pet shop boxes with tiny air holes for the duration of the three hour fiasco of a wedding. The bride’s dove didn’t even attempt to fly. It landed lazily on its feet and stumbled away looking like it was participating in a very poor showing of a roadside sobriety test. The groom had some firepower behind his launch. He must have played quarterback for his high school football team. The dove hit the ground with a resounding thud as people shrieked and covered their children’s eyes. The paramedic had already departed, so there was no hope for the dove. One of the groomsmen had to scrape the dove off the pavement and bury it out back. I believe there was actually a crater created by the impact. If a newly married couple sees a pair of cooing doves, it symbolizes a long and happy marriage. So what does it mean if the couple sees a dead dove and a retarded dove on their big day? Doves are a symbol of peace, but I’m pretty sure if one of them is IN PIECES…all bets are off. I wanted to call PETA so they could picket the cocktail hour at the reception.

The untimely passing of the dove ended up bailing me out of a pretty serious jam. When we arrived at the reception hall, the first thing we saw was a decorative birdcage designed to hold wedding cards. I immediately knew that it served a much greater purpose. After some cajoling, we managed to convince a few of the groomsmen to make an emergency run to Target to pick up a CD for me. When the grand entrance occurred, the best man and I walked in carrying the empty birdcage and I gave a very stirring eulogy to the dove. Clearly it was best that we all moved on and tried to enjoy the day regardless of the senseless tragedy. At that point, I introduced the new Mr. and Mrs. Who Cares as they walked in to Prince’s ‘When Doves Cry’. I’m not sure what the original musical selection was, but if their first dance song was any indication, I did everyone a huge favor. Their first dance as a married couple was that awful Starship song ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now’, which much to my pleasure happened to be the theme song to ‘Mannequin’. How could I possibly resist performing a series of mannequin poses with my two ugly dress wearing friends? I’m not even sure whether these two idiots are still married, but if I had to take an educated guess I would say Hell No. The message of this story is really geared for all of you assholes who skip the church and head right for the open bar. There were people that missed this! This should be reason enough for you to never again miss the I-Dos.