The ol' "Shifty Eye"

So I'm sitting in the corner of a hotel lobby kneading my sunburn and cursing myself for not using sunscreen earlier today. And for being hopeful that swimming while on your period would be like manna to sharks.

Sigh.

Sitting in the corner of any given crowded room gives you an awesome vantage point.  

"All inclusive" = Free booze and food
wherever you turn.

Case in point: I'm watching this married couple waiting in line to check in to the hotel.  She looks tough. They're like that middle aged WASPy American couple. He works 80 hours a week and tells his wife he's golfing when he's actually cheating on her. She complains about life and cooks meatloaf on Thursdays.

Yeah, that couple.

A slim/blonde/attractive (take your pick...they're all the same, right? #bittermuch) woman walks by.  My eyes dart back to the couple because I'm nosy and I want to read both the husband's and wife's reactions to this ostentatious disruption of reality.   

The wife is busy checking her purse for something, so she's missing all of the action.  The husband, however, is immediately aware that a hottie is in his field of vision. He does a quick glance, and we know what's going to happen next.  He's going to find some way to look again and take in her entire body, then he's going to store all that data...the size of her boobs, the shape of her butt, what she probably looks like naked...and quickly return to whatever he was pretending to do.  But it'll be sooo smooth and quick. 

I love this part. I call this highly-evolved, stylized cognizant method of ogling "The Shifty Eye". It should have it's own theme music, really.

Okay.  It's about to go down. As I'm texting this, he's already turned away from his wife to "check his texts". Now, let's observe how smoothly he pulls the Shifty Eye...

This is awesome. It's like watching a NatGeo promo with the driving background drum beat and the way-too-serious voiceover guy...

Okay, he's "texting"...and "texting"...aaaaaand 

BAM! He pulled it off without a hitch, ladies and gentlemen! He just glanced up very directly at the hottie, practically mentally undressed her, stamped the image and stored it in the appropriate folder in his brain and returned to "texting"...all within like 5 seconds.

I seriously want to put down my phone and write "10" on my napkin and hold it up for him, but I don't want to call him out and disrupt his natural habitat. I wish I'd recorded it.  It's a thing of beauty, really.

Seriously. Men are amazing creatures. Whenever a man pulls the Shifty Eye, it's like watching the marine biologist guys try to catch a whale on camera. You know they're going to surface at some point. But to watch it in action is awesome.

They think they're so slick and shady and entitled. But really, this is proof that they're only as slick as the length of rope their wives give them. In watching the wife, she's busy getting their papers or credit cards or whatever's in her ridiculous giant purse, so she isn't minding the environment. The woman is completely unaware that a private fiasco just went down in his pants. 

Heh..."went down".

Men are great social chameleons. They'll be whatever you want them to be, as long as the room's colors don't change too quickly and give them away. 

People watching at it's finest. Cheers!

Throw Down Thursday

I'm in a mood.

I handled the communication piece for my company's new employee uniforms. Over 2,500 employees will receive new uniforms tomorrow. I set up a photo shoot for a few employees to model the new uniforms and created a wall cling (poster that sticks to the wall) from it. It's gonna be complete mayhem in the wardrobe department tomorrow. But I'm kinda proud of the final outcome, actually.

The photographer used me for test shots without telling me. Each time I looked up into a giant camera lens, I was thinking "Where did I put that damned file?".

But that's not why I'm in a mood.

I can't wear a bra yet because it makes my tattoo burn.

That's not why I'm in a mood.

My period is acting like Satan's bathwater this month.  But that's not why I'm in a mood.

It's that superskank Lisa. 

I had to share a vendor table with her at an event today. She kept telling clients that my side of the table was so cold that they would need a sweater to talk to me.

I'm tired of that bitch calling me an Ice Queen. Just because I don't sleep around like she does.

So I advised them to liberally apply antibacterial gel to every exposed part of their bodies and be sure their prescriptions were up to date before approaching her side.

At which point she happened to cough, which led me into a tirade about sexually transmitted diseases starting the zombie apocalypse.

Why does she continue to force me to humiliate her?

I'm like Zod and she's like Otis.

Just kneel before Zod, bitch.

Ssshhh.  Just take it.

Smh.

I swear imma beat that bitch with a bat.

I'm going to 7-11 to get a slurpee. I swear to God, if they're out of the red pop flavor, imma swing a bitch.

Aww YEAH. Kickin' the Detroit old skool basement house beats, homie!!! 

OMG. Detroit use to have these basement parties on Fridays. This is the real beginning of house music. (Don't argue with me. I have proof.) Everyone would be dancing or eating or laughing or a combination of all three. The neighborhood kids would mingle with the older folks who were usually down there drinking out of those red plastic cups and playing cards or dice together. Usually using one of those folding card tables. And the air would be thick with smoke from the combination of cigarettes and the catfish the homeowner was frying for everyone.

OMG I can still smell it. It was hot and dark and it was always packed wall-to-wall. But people were peaceful and happy and the music was amazing. Even an FOB 10 year old with a stupid bowl haircut who couldn't go anywhere without her chaperon brother could blend in. It was always either really old school like Marvin Gaye or Rufus, or house beats like this one.

Well. That was certainly a rant to end all rants. What was my point?

Ah. yes. I'm still going to beat that bitch with a bat.

#straightouttadetroit

So, I got a tattoo...

I'll take a pic and post it if I get up the nerve.

I went alone and cried like a bitch. I kept my hand clasped over my mouth the whole time because I was sobbing like a baby. The tattoo guy was very nice and massaged my back and gave me a break every few minutes. I'm not a pain wuss. I swear. I think I just need a little meat on my bones. The tattoo is on my rib cage/side boob area, and each little stick felt like the needle was literally punching through my rib cage and out the other side.

The first night was a nightmare. My sheets were soaked from sweating & my entire body was sore (it took a while to walk down the stairs to go pee).

Stuff the cool kids don't tell you.

Right now it sort of feels like a centralized fire. And it itches. And I'm going alone to Punta Cana this weekend solely for swimming. Swimming in salt water.  Great plan.

It feels slimy and gross so the tattoo guy promised to clean/put the cream stuff on it every day after work for me. He's holding up his end of the bargain so far. It was nice of him to offer - should I offer to pay him for the extra care?