Category Archives: men and women

Fun With International Symbols

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I work long hours. My office is in the basement and every once in awhile you can find me laughing out loud down here. You know my motto, it is always good to find little things to amuse yourself.

Last night I was doing an image search for an infographic project and I needed to weed through pages of stock icon art. I almost passed this one by, but (no pun intended) the yellow struck me and I stopped. Then I tilted my head a bit and took another look. Was this what I thought it was? Um… yeh. The search term field had it spelled out loud and clear:

Rectal exam.

International symbol for rectal exam?! Well, I suppose this would come in handy in a foreign country. You know, when you are having some intestinal distress and taking over the counter meds doesn’t make as much sense as having a friggin’ rectal by someone who does not speak your language. Would this be off the street signage? Exactly where would we find this symbol?

I also came across this series:

stock-illustration-16750656-toilet-bathroom-pregnant-handicap-public-sign-icon

 

Not sure why mom/baby, wheel chair guy and trash man find their way to same page as pee boy and squatting pee boy (what the hell is that?) BTW, I believe the little squatter is wearing a shirt and no pants… wrong on all sorts of level. I love the legs up on the toilet guy. That would come in handy when illustrating a piece about perverts that hide in ladies rooms. Or my fave – the kneeling pucker, AKA the international symbol for  college freshman.

Anyone want to take a crack at the one next to pukey boy? Does that illustrate the pain one feels when trying to flush one’s foot down the toilet?

OK, I admit it. Sometimes my job is more fun than recreation. Sometimes my job IS recreation.

And seriously, who can pass up a little bathroom humor.

Thanks istockphoto, for an entertaining evening.

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Filed under absurdities, design, humor, men, men and women, work

What we say vs. what they hear

Today I was having a lovely conversation with my brother. We have been phone tagging most of the week and it was nice to finally catch up.

Somewhere towards the end of the conversation I said that I had to get going because ‘I had to go food shopping.’

He hesitated and then said, “What did you say?!”, with a bit of surprise in his voice. I told him that I had to go food shopping and thought, jeez, his life must be mighty dull for him to ask me to repeat that.

“Oh!”, he said, “I thought you said you had to give a blow job.”

Really?! I mean this was my friggin’ brother, mind you, not my husband who I would expect this response from.

Not sure if this was a hearing issue, like yoga vs. yogurt, or simply my theory of the answer to every question being, “a little head would be nice” still holding up.

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Time to Cry Tuesday – 25 years

May 11th, 1985.

Hottest day of the year and a NYC loft with no AC; rough combo.

If you were a guest at our wedding you are still trying to cool down from that one. I will never lose the vision of our best man sweating as if he were running a marathon. I will spare the rest of the details of that day and hope the rest of you will be kind enough to do so as well.

But as in most situations that spin out of our control, we made lemonade, had an amazing time and started our life together with the full knowledge that things were never going to get boring around here. And they surely have not.

We have done the better.

And sadly some of the worse.

We have unfortunately known some very scary sickness.

Yet happily we have known more extended periods of good health.

(I would like to personally thank Gary here for not crapping out on me 10 years ago to fulfill the death do us part piece)

Marriage is hard work. But it is also the person you come home to at the end of the day who you share some kids and a dog with. Who holds your hand when you are about to cry and makes you laugh, especially at the most inappropriate times. Who holds up the hose when you have a leak in the basement and shouts ‘where is this water coming from?’ and makes you care more about how funny that is than where the water is actually coming from. Who will go anywhere, anytime without a thought about if it will be hassle or not.

Life is hard. When you can share it with someone who can do a toddler dance, still wake up every day and push the damn boulder up the hill with you, knows every type of music on the planet and helps to teach your kids to appreciate it all(ish)  AND is a damn good tennis player…

then it all seems a little easier.

Happy 25th G. (and PLEASE, stop telling everyone this has been the happiest 40 years of your life).

More than life itself, baby.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Filed under family, gary, holidays, men and women

Bags under my eyes and the spousal look of terror

I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror and noticed some not so attractive bags under my eyes.

That’s right.

Bags.

Under.

MY.

Eyes.

I stared in that mirror and the first thought that came to my mind was, “Ok, Ms. age gracefully, never consider plastic surgery, stop trying to chase your youth, I would NEVER… how do you like them bags?”

Not to brag, but I have – by no doing of my own – been fortunate to inherit the beautiful skin that both of my grandmothers sported well into their 80s. That coupled with an extra XX lbs on my ass, has left my 50-year-old punim relatively line and bag free(ish). But last night I was having some sinus and ear issues (no doubt from all the flying I witnessed at the movie, Up in the Air) and when I woke up it all settled in those not so endearing bags under said eyes. Luckily they started to disappear as the day wore on.

I was on the couch with my daughter and asked her to take a look at me and see if she noticed them. Then Gary came in the room. He was leaning over the coffee table innocently placing clementines in a bowl when I asked him. “Hon, do you notice bags and dark circles under my eyes?”

Deer.

In.

Headlights.

Poor thing. He stood there half bent over the table, frozen in time. I could hear the inner workings of his mind, “How in hell am I supposed to answer this friggin’ question?” This, my friends, falls into the proverbial ‘does my ass look fat in this…’ question. The way in which the husband answers this question will change the entire architecture of his day, if not his whole weekend. And he is fully aware of that fact. Luckily for him I had mercy on that poor terrified look on his face and started to laugh.

I am happy to report that the bags have ‘resolved’ but left in their wake is a new found terror that I am not as void of vanity as I once believed. And Gary, he is just happy he did not have to answer that question.

(oh, and of course that picture at the top of the post is not ME!)

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Filed under body image, family, gary, humor, men and women, plastic surgery, women

Where there is smoke, there is fire – a study in human nature.

Scenario: Driving to New Jersey with friends to see a concert.

Location: Grand Central Parkway Westbound

Incident: tons of traffic on the Eastbound side, lots of smoke and then we see an SUV smoking and starting to flame on the shoulder.

Conversation:

Husband 1: Wow, looks like that just happened.

Me: We should call 911.

Husband 1: Nah, somebody else will call.

Husband 2: Ah, forget it, that guy is already toast. Looks like it’s gonna blow.

Other wife: (while dialing 911) Are you guys kidding me?!

Scary part is that the 911 operator was so dimwitted there is a good chance that car had blown before she could understand what between exits 5 and 6 meant, had to take my friend’s cell number (more than once) and then asked if she wanted to be connected to the Fire Dept. By then we were already over the Triboro bridge.

Yikes.

So, here is another poll. Are you the someone else will call guy, the he’s already a goner guy or the 911 chick?

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Nesting Like a Crazy Old Hag

nesting

Odd phenomenon, this nesting thing. Three days and counting till my kids come home. Where the hell did the summer go? There sits that list of ‘Things to do while the kids are away’ on my desk and there are certainly not enough check marks next to tasks.

Solution: mommy hyperdrive. Only this year it is more reactive than proactive. For instance we finally replaced the front lamp post because it snapped at the base and fell over in the wind. Hence the electrician was called to re-attach the fixture and while he is here he can fix the stuff that we have ignored for at least five years awhile.

Dinner conversation:

Me: The electrician is coming tomorrow.

Gary: Good, did you buy the timer for the basement.

Me: Oh, yeh, that. Um the hardware store didn’t have one. But I did pick up your hair gel.

Gary: Great (thinking that the electrician probably has no use for his gel, not to mention he could very well be bald).

Me: Oh, he needs to go in the attic to see why all the high hats and fan in the bathroom don’t work.

In Unison: NOT THE ATTIC (picture a horror movie scream here)

Gary: I just had tea (earl gray with honey, of course), I am not going up there in the hot attic.

Me: Fine, I’ll go!

So he went up to the attic (he is not  a fool) and started handing down things I had no intention of parting with tonight. For example: the shopping bag of Danny’s kindergarten Thanksgiving decorations, Jana’s cow lamp from her nursery, bags of old pictures. (yes I am an attic pack rat) STOP! The idea here is to clear a path to the part of the attic above the bathroom, not to actually clean it! Let’s just move the crap around like we always do.

Hey, at least he did not call me a crazy old hag like the last time he went up there.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Sticky Dicky? (they Krazy Glued what?)

crazy-glueForgive me if you are tired of this story by now, but seriously, did you think I could leave this one unmentioned?

This Wisco ‘playah’ was lured to a motel room by one of his handful of lovers and was bound and blindfolded, most probably in hopes of a little action. To his surprise, his wife and two other angry lovers arrived and this poor schnook wound up with his dick stuck to his stomach with crazy glue.

Ouch. And quite creative, I might add. The visual on this one kills me.

(Note: Let’s not feel too bad for this dickhead (or shall I say dickbelly) as he has now been charged with felony child abuse and three other misdemeanors. Could one of them have been nail polish remover theft? Is that a misdemeanor?)

Oddly enough, as innovative as this act might have appeared, it was not original. Apparently back in 2000 a man found himself in a similar bind. Only this guy not only had his penis stuck to his stomach, he also found his testicles glued to his leg and his butt cheeks glued together. All done while he was sleeping! To quote Gary, “Now, that’s tough!”  I know it is cruel but I cannot stop laughing from that one. Do you think the Wisco guy called him to find out what solvent to use?

I am reminded of good old John and Lorena Bobbit. Now there is a guy who would have begged for some crazy glue!

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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