Tag Archives: humor

Elevate Your Shenenigans

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A few months ago in the early fall, I get on the elevator at my office one morning and press the button for my floor. A colleague who works on a different floor presses the button for his floor and we nod at each other in greeting. Others enter the elevator and press the buttons for their respective floors. I noticed a pattern emerging on the panel as buttons were pushed and smiled to myself at the coincidence. At this point it needed only one more button pushed to complete the array. The doors were slowly closing and I had mentally brushed off the disappointment of the pattern being left undone, when a hand thrusts in to bounce the doors open. One more person gets in the elevator.  Silly bird that I am, my thoughts quickly race.

Is it going to happen? Is it going to happen?!

My eyes widen in anticipation as his finger reaches towards the panel.

Yes, he’s really going to do it!

I start to smile as the finger draws nearer to the goal only to suddenly shift and press a different button than hoped for.

Noooooooooooooo!

“Aw man! You messed it all up!” Yes, I said that out loud.

“What?” The gentleman quickly withdrew his finger nervously laughing, and totally confused.

“Look! Look at what you’ve done! You’ve ruined it! You’ve ruined it all! Even you can see the tragedy of this now! Even you! Even!” I mock cry dramatically, putting heavy emphasis on the word even while gesturing to the button panel where numbers 2, 4, 6, 8 and 10 were lit in an orderly line waiting for 12 to join them.  Had he pressed the button for the twelfth floor it would have worked out that all the of even floors and only the even floors would have been lit by pure chance, but noooooooooo! What could have been a moment of pure serendipitous perfection is now trashed by the glaring light of 11.  There are tiny titters of laughter as the other riders start to get it.  Two of them know me well and quickly become a Greek chorus bemoaning the poor man’s fate.

“Oh no, not the odd floor!”
“Oh, you done done it now man.”
“It was nice knowing you.”

“Oh, no! Oh my! Egads! Such an undignified transgression! I shall remove myself from here immediately!” He played right into the scene.

“Oh why bother, the damage is done, you unthinking cad!” I wailed, while quickly fanning my eyes with my fingers to deter the tears that would never fall. “You sir are a scoundrel! A scoundrel I say!”

All of this to the bemusement of the captive audience of the other riders forced to endure this elevated melodrama. The lucky worker on the second floor already escaping before the bloodshed.

“Oh dear lady, however can one so lowly as I make this right!”

The next floor is mine and as the doors begin to open there was only one thing that could be said in the face of such an onslaught.

“How you ask?! By having a nice day, sir! That is what I wholly wish for the likes of you! A nice day!” I say this with all the teeming passion of a Fake-sperian actor casting a pox upon one’s house. Turning with a dramatic huff, I fling my non-existent fur stole over my shoulder as I exit all Norma Desmond style to full-out laughter as the doors close behind me.

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Now let’s fast-forward to today as I get on the elevator this morning  and a gentlemen follows immediately after. I press the button for my floor and step aside so he can press the button for his. He reaches out an extended finger almost about to push the button, but withdraws it quickly.

“Is it okay if I push it this time?” He inquires of me.

I presume my expression spoke volumes along the fortunately un-uttered lines of why the fuck are you asking me?  for he quickly added “The last time we rode an elevator together you called me unthinking cad so I’m just checking first.” His smile makes me actually look at him this time and I take a moment to scan through the various elevator shenanigans of which I’ve always only been a mere bystander to – as you can tell by the encounter above – until recognition dawns and I press the button for the eleventh floor for him.

“Thanks! You remember!” He laughs.

“Why yes I do, you scoundrel!” and then proceed to press every button between his floor and mine, finishing just as the doors to my floor open.

“No, you did not just do that!” If he was even mildly irked, it is totally swallowed by his hoot of laughter at my antics as I exit.

“Have a nice day!” I grin and wave my fingers as the doors close on his continued laughter.

Yes, I have many issues, and clearly no damn sense, and still no idea who he is.

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Tagged

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WordPress recently reminded me that I have passed the five-year benchmark. Sometimes I think I feel every single day of it, but most times it still feels as though I’m just getting starting. It’s also March, time for renewal and re-awakenings as well. I figure it’s a good as time as any to participate in  the 8th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge which is to post everyday for the month of March. Along with other writing challenges of which I am a part of I think I can finally ace this thing. (I failed miserably my last couple of attempts at this.) It’s day five and so far so good – yay! And sometimes, when blogging, you have to take things easy and back to basics…

So let’s start with why “Raivenne-lations”?

The name is just me being cute, a portmanteau of Raivenne and revelations, from back when I thought this blog would be less about me revealing things in my life and more about how the things in life reveal themselves to me. It has instead morphed into something part semi-stream of conscious and part the abject randomness of my mind as I relate to things within my oh so small microcosm of this world-at-large.

And the tag line? “Doing what you like is freedom; liking what you do is happiness.” That is there to remind me that one -doing what I like- is just as important the other -liking what I do- and to constantly strive for a balance of both within my life.

See? No lofty goals here.

I post – some of you read, some of you comment, every now and then I strike a nerve or a smile, and hopefully all of you enjoy.  I, the Gods, and likely a handful or so of you must be crazy, to paraphrase the classic line. Thus, I am very appreciative of those of you who arrived, read and have chosen to follow along this ever winding trail with me.

Thank  you!

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Last Laugh

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When I first scanned Facebook earlier today. I saw that various friends had already changed their cover photos (large banner type image seen behind a person’s profile picture – for non-Facebook users), to pastel colors or shades of green to herald in the coming of spring. I cannot say that I blamed them. I’ve posted my share of snark to Gaea, Demeter and crew bemoaning -okay bitching about- the weather, much to the amusement of my Facebook friends. While this winter was not a truly bad winter, at least not compared to last winter – which was brutal by NYC standards, it still was not a pleasant one. I, for one, am very glad we are in the final stages of this cold dreadfulness. I have to admit seeing the changing covers and the general relief of yes, it’s almost over! among us Northern-Hemisphere dwellers was catching. That was my mistake. I really should have known better.

When I have no plans to go for the weekend, I pay no heed to the weather forecast from Friday night until Monday morning. Thus it took me by surprise to look out of my window and see snow falling. Not just falling, but falling heavily – there was no question this stuff was sticking. Oddly enough instead of being upset, I was highly amused. After all, I have witnessed it snow in April several times through out my life and here it is only March 1st. As I said, I really should have known better. I know in the morning as I look at the forecast for the week, so I can plan my wardrobe, a part of me cannot help but imagine Jack Frost chuckling to himself about this.

NYC: It’s March 1st! It’s almost spring, *breaks out pastels in hopes of sunshine* yay!

Jack Frost: “Almost spring” means it’s still winter, *dumps 5 inches of snow* put the parkas back on bitches!!

Yeah, Ol’ Jack is having a good giggle on this one – bastard!
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Sweet Thing

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In of one of my fave breakfast places near my job I am standing next to a woman giving her order to the new guy. The cashier starts to instruct the new guy on the particular way this customer likes her tea.

Woman: Make sure it’s the sweet, now. If it’s not you know what you have to do right?

New Guy: No, what?

The woman pantomimes licking her index finger and then sticking it in a cup of coffee and stirring. The guy blushes and starts laughing explaining how he’s not allowed to do that. The cashier who is definitely quite familiar with the woman, just shakes her head and starts laughing.

Cashier: Stop torturing him.

In the interim one of grill guys, and another guy walk up with trays laden with goodies to be placed in the display. The cookie tray stops in front of the woman, pastries stop in front of me as they wait for the new guy and cashier to move.

Woman and I (in unison): Oh! For me? Why thank you!

She is definitely a kindred spirit as we all laugh.

Grill guy (not missing a beat): You are already sweet enough, adding this much sugar to you is overkill!

Me: Flatterer!

Woman: But I have to taste one! You know, to make sure they’re good enough to serve to people.

Grill guy laughs rolling his eyes in amusement and hands her a chocolate chip cookie. She takes the cookie and has a bite.

Me: Hey, you know you always need a second opinion on these things.

Clearly knowing some comment from me was forthcoming, a chocolate chip cookie is in my hand before I can finish the sentence. I thank him in English, Spanish and German.

New Guy (handing the woman her tea): There you go just the way you like it.

Woman: Did you use you finger?

Cashier (still laughing): Will you stop! Aren’t you married?

Woman (points at Grill Guy): He’s my husband as long as he is feeding me cookies.

Me (pointing at New Guy): And he’s her boyfriend as long as he gets the tea sweet.

Cashier (faux groans): The two of you are bad on your own, I can’t take on both of you together.

Woman and I (not missing a beat): That’s not what you said last night!

Like I said, kindred spirits.

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Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life Weekly Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

Train Pain

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Took the uptown #2 Local one stop uptown to catch the express because nothing was stopping on the downtown local stations due to signal malfunction.

Get put off the express #2 after a couple of stops because the train itself was malfunctioning.

Get on the #5 Express into lower Manhattan to transfer to the A train that places me less than a block from my job site.

Get to the A train platform only to learn there are no A or C trains running downtown because of a problem at Canal Street.

Play Human Triplanner.MTA.info Guide to about five different lost and clueless commuters in the interim.

Go back to the 4/5 Express train to get into Brooklyn and walk the five blocks I was trying to avoid in the first place.

Mama Mary gets her and her temporary Lost Little Lambs into Brooklyn and part ways.

Finally reach work and what is the very first email I see? “MTA Unlimited Ride MetroCard Fare Increase…”

Dear Universe, apparently, you got jokes this morning!
HA HA very funny muthafugga!

The Teeth The Whole Teeth And I Got Nothing…

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Because I had a yen for mediocre barbecue, a friend and I were dining at the epitome of NYC eatery, Dallas BBQ (metro NYC dwellers familiar with the chain are giggling at that statement right now, if that’s any hint). A woman, who looked to be my physical age, but may have been older given allowance for the “crack factor” was sitting at nearby table with her dining companion. As he went to go feed the meter, she had a sudden outburst of several panicked “Oh no!”s, while frantically searching her purse, her coat pockets and the table for something clearly important. After a few moments she points at a busboy with an accusatory “He took it! I know he took it!”.

Was it a ring, her wallet, credit/debit cards or even cash? No, it was her teeth.

Yes, you read that correctly. Her teeth.

As her decibel and tear levels increase, it is learned that it was her birthday and she had removed her teeth while she dined, placing them on the table beside her plate, wrapped up in paper napkins. Personally, I never quite understood the point of removing one’s dentures, bridgework et cetera in order to eat. I mean, isn’t the point of most dentistry is to provide the wearer the ability to masticate one’s food, but I digress. According to her, while waiting for “doggie bags” (and as my dinner companion asked “Who says that anymore?”), the busboy cleared the remaining refuse on the table, thereby trashing the at first valued at $500, but by event’s end increased to $700 in orthodontics.

Clearly when being taught Table Clean-Up 101, the busboys missed the section that states they must carefully inspect every single piece of balled-up tissue or napkin discarded at a dinner table for possible teeth, because the owners of said teeth are not responsible for their belongings. Essentially, she accused the man of doing his job – that bastard! She was in turns having a pouting, table pounding, smack condiments to the floor in frustration, foot stomping, with intermittent outcries of “My teeth!” hissy fit.

Her dinner companion addressed her as “Ma”, as in a poignant, earnest, but definitely loud request to “Chill the fuck out Ma!” as her wailing increased. Attempting to gauge his age in comparison to hers, in order to determine whether “Ma” was a title or a term of endearment was never established. The woman was just short of keening for her lost teeth, much to the amusement of a table of four twenty-mid-twenty-somethings, all of whom pulled out their respective cell phones to record the proceedings as managers and other wait staff were pulled into the melodrama.

All this time I was facing the events, doing my best to not start outright laughing in the woman’s presence, even if I could barely keep a straight face of my own. Some forty-five minutes later, the birthday girl and her dinner companion leave the restaurant, still distraught over the loss, but with their meal comped for their troubles. It was the general consensus of my dining companion that the point of the entire production was getting the meal comped. While I not necessarily agree to that in regard to the lost teeth, it was clearly the intent of a woman who sat a table over from the going-ons, claiming the event upset her so, she suffered loss of appetite and she and her dinner companion should be compensated for such. The beleaguered manager, understandably flustered from the craziness, was not hearing it.

My friend looked me dead in the eye and proclaimed she did not care how desperate I wanted ribs, we were never stepping foot in that place again. Can’t say that I blamed her. After all, if hjbvl c this was a simple rainy Wednesday evening, early dinner crowd can you imagine the shenanigans on a Friday? During Happy Hour?

On the second thought, don’t.

Wash. Sip. Repeat.

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Enter Subway Pet Peeve Number One: Eating or drinking on the subway when you are standing above someone.

I am seated reading a book on my Tab when I smell coffee. A woman is standing in front of me sipping from a paper cup. Not a thermos, a paper cup; a large paper cup. I can clearly see the torn tab opening when moves the cup from her lips. I can tell by the angle in which she holds it while sipping, it is still a relatively full cup.

“Good Morning.” I smile, garnering her attention and she returns my greeting.

“I’m asking, could you not do that please?” I ask pointing to the cup.

“Not do what? Drink my coffee?”

“Yes. Could you not do that please?”

“Why?”

“This is a crowded train during rush hour. You could be jostled at any moment that results in spillage and I do not want me or my electronics to get wet.”

“There’s no law that says I can’t drink coffee on the train.”

“You are correct, there is no explicit law denying anyone the right to eat and drink on the subway. However, it is considered common courtesy to refrain from doing so when seated, it is especially so if you are standing above someone.”

“I’m not going to spill anything.”

“Not intentionally, I hope, but the word accident exists for a reason. However profusely stated and honestly felt, “I’m sorry” does not negate any potential damage done. It especially does negate the callousness of your actions when I am asking you nicely, not to. If you don’t want to stop, can I then ask you to stand elsewhere? Maybe other passengers are not as bothered by it as I.”

From the looks of my fellow passengers seated on either side of me, it was clear they would not be indifferent to her rudeness either and she knew it.

“Oh please. Fuck you.”

I look up to the through the subway car roof to the heavens above and mentally ask the Powers-that-Be why they chose a day when I am in a dress and heels, in other words in no way dressed for a potential fight, to test me so.

“Not a problem.”

I do not say anything else to her knowing she will be off the train before I will. I simply hoped she does not spill anything on me in the interim. The best I can do is put my Tab and cellphone out of harm’s way. Seeing my house keys in a side pocket, I take them out and hold them in my fist. I think better of it and put them away, carefully placing my bag on the floor between my feet. I know she saw what I did and moved the cup from her face. There is slight mumbling around us by those witnessing the exchange, none of it in her favor, but nothing else. All the while she is standing there holding the coffee in her hand, not sipping it, but with the open notch it’s still a potential for spillage.

The train reaches her stop and she turns to leave, giving me the side eye over her shoulder as she does. Bitch is stated in her eyes, if not spoken with her mouth. A guy seated across, but closer to the door, from me wakes up with a start. He looks around dazed for a split second and must have realized he either missed his stop or was about to when he stood up quickly. He stood right into the hand holding the coffee that was on its way to her lips again for a defiant sip as she glared at me.

Want to guess what happened next?

Yup, the guy accidentally knocks the coffee into her, causing it to spill on her blouse and his elbow that made contact before she can right it. The man apologizes profusely, but he is also intent on getting off the train. She has moved enough away that none of it drips on me. A woman sitting to my left, who witnessed the exchange between the woman and I snorts a heartfelt “Good for her!”. Because this is morning rush hour there is confusion at the door as people are rushing to get in and out while avoiding the coffee spill on the floor. Another woman somehow stepped right in it and nearly slipped, grabbing the handhold just in time. Ms. Coffee immediately turns around, clearly about to apologize, when the woman, cuts her off.

“”The word accident exists for a reason.” Next time, don’t drink the damn coffee. Now get out of the way!” The woman who nearly fell snarls at Ms. Coffee, pushing past her evidently pissed.

I know it is coming, so I wait for it. Sure enough Ms. Coffee shoots me one last look. I salute her with the bird as she hustles to get off the train before the door closes. Two men in suits who entered from a different door and witnessed only  the last minute or so of the events, look around as they make their way in.

I am reaching for my bag to get my iPod when the woman next to me bursts out laughing, making me look up.

“What was that all commotion at the other door about?” One suit asks his friend while sipping a cup of coffee. In a paper cup.

I groan as the woman laughs harder and the two suits look on confused.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

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Update: Guess who I saw on the train this morning? Yup, Ms. Coffee herself, sans coffee this time. She was not standing near me, but we saw each other.

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

You Better Be Glad I Like You

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Yawning before she can open to the first page of Glass Houses, the new book she downloaded the night before, Sabrina gives up and closes her Tab. Already familiar with the author’s mesmerizing writing style, she knows the successive yawns that have overtaken her are hardly portent to the reading material. Sparing the fellow commuter sitting directly across from being able to count her fillings even from that distance should she allow free rein to pandiculation, she presses her lips tightly together stifling yet another yawn. Dear sweet Insomnia, the sonavabitch, in its perverse sense of humor, takes the sleep she was denied in the dead of night when it was needed and uses the rhythmic movements of the subway train to bring it to her in the morning light of her commute to work.

Glancing at the time piece on her wrist as an afterthought, she muses why she even bothers wearing a watch anymore as she checks the time on her cell phone anyway, 06:47am. There is still a solid forty-five minutes or so of her ride to work, barring the expected unexpected delays inherit to morning rush hour. Knowing a losing battle when she feels it, she stores the Tab in her handbag, and like the true City commuter she is, she then zips it and wraps the straps around her wrists for safe keeping before pulling her sunglasses over her eyes and gives in to slumber.

Taking a late breakfast break nearly four hours later, she sits at her desk, her second extra-large coffee of the morning well in hand, curious antici-pation, not letting her wait until the evening commute to begin reading the book. She opens the reader on her PC figuring she can get at least the first chapter in as she takes a bite of the bacon, eggs and cheese on a toasted bialy. The cheese oh so perfectly warm and gooey as she likes it suddenly feeling repulsively mucoid as she reads the opening sentence:

NED POWELL AWOKE FRIDAY morning at eight and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, rolling a viscous, snot-like clump between his fingers like it was putty.

Damn you Andrew Wilmot, you better be glad I like you!

(PS: I finished eating the sandwich anyway.)

Glass Houses by Andrew Wilmot

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Look That Up

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I went out to dinner with a few folks the weekend before last. As normal among us as there were ribald shenanigans aplenty. It was all fun and games, a fantastic get together to catch up. Somewhere in the midst of the silliness I noted Crisp (don’t ask/can’t tell), had stopped short for a moment to look at me queerly, but then he continued on with the conversation and I promptly dismissed whatever it was I thought I saw.

We ran into each other on the train this morning. After a moment of general salutations he looks at me saying there’s something he wanted to ask that’s been on his mind since dinner the weekend before. Aha I thought, I did see something, it was not my imagination after all.

“Sure Crisp what’s on your mind” I ask mentally preparing for a serious conversation.

“I know this is stupid,” He starts “but when we were joking around you called me a C.A.D.”

“A C.A.D.?”

“Yeah, usually I can figure out how your convoluted mind jumps and follow your sense of humor, but for the life of me I cannot fathom how you jumped from the archaic to computer-aided design.” He laughs self deprecatingly.

Now, I am mentally scratching my head trying to fathom where we were in the midst of the various topics of conversation that included computer aided design and drew a complete blank.  I am literally thinking to myself who the hell, but Crisp would call it computer-aided design when everyone else who even knows the term calls it by its acro… And that’s when the light bulb lit.

“I called you a cad?” It took everything I had to look in his face and not snort in laughter.

“Yes, a CAD.” He nodded, becoming somewhat perturbed by my barely suppressed mirth.

“By god for a man presumed reasonably adroit, betimes your mind is naught but fandangle. I called you a cad, you dimwit!” I snickered.

The conversation he referred to was a hodgepodge of history that segued into archaic or near archaic words.  I adore Crisp, but at that moment in the conversation clearly his comprehension of archaic  fared not much past the immediate computer age. What was also clear was that he proving the point why such words were near archaic as he still did not get it.  We were nearing his stop and he stood.

“Since you sat for over a week and did not bother ascertain for yourself whether there were possible alternate meanings, especially given the conversation at the time, I shant make it easy and do the work by simply telling you.” I shook my head smiling as he edged towards the door. “Go look that up in your Funk and Wagnalls.“

“My fucking what?” Crisp turned at the door completely confused

A gentleman sitting across from me, who clearly got the reference, started laughing as I put my head down groaned.

It’s been a while since I actually felt my age, thanks Crisp.

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Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Never Been Told

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Chatting with an acquaintance on the subway this morning, she and I are politely, but nonetheless giggling at shared memories and the fact that I have clearly caught the eye of the male sitting across from me. I’m wearing mirrored sunglasses and one of the things I love most about them is that while my head can be facing you, you have no way of knowing with certainty if I am in fact looking at you. It comes in handy for ignoring the guy who is using every non-verbal attempt short of semaphores to subtly garner.

Knowing he’s being ignored, I give him moxie points for getting out of his seat to stand directly in front and say “Hello.” My acquaintance grins broadly as even I cannot ignore what’s less than three feet in front of me. Thus I look up and return the greeting.

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re very beautiful?” He smiles almost bashfully, and damn it all to hell, the Grand Canyon of dimples craters his cheeks. Because who adores cute guys with deep dimples?-This gal.

“Why thank you.” I smile beguilingly in return. “But honestly, look at me. Do you really think I’ve never been told that before?”

To his credit he grins undeterred and the canyon gets deeper. He fixes me with a brown doe-eyed stare as he gathers the gumption to continue. “Fair enough” He nods sheepishly at last, “I’m almost to my stop, I’d still like to ask you out to dinner.”

“You can ask, but the answer will be no.”

I know age is just a number and all that hoo-hah, but the thought of this going down the presumed natural procession and my one-day having to introduce him to the Baal and Beelzebub tag-team duo known as my sons gives me just pause. It takes everything I have to not guffaw in his earnest face at the thought of the scenario of my grown sons giving me the side-eye for dating someone likely ten years their junior. The train pulls into the next station and I can tell by his rueful expression, this is his stop. He starts to speak, but I quickly cut him off.

“Look, I’ve got acne scars from my teens older than you.  Thank you, really, but no. You better hurry before you miss your stop.” I say dismissively. Peripherally I can see my acquaintance’s jaw come slightly unhinged at my words. I ignore her, fixing the would-be Lothario with a pointed stare that I know he can glean, even with my sunglasses on. He nods once, turns and exits the train. I exhale not even realizing I had held my breath until it came rushing out of me.

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re a bitch?” She shakes her head at me laughing, watching as the doors close quickly behind him.

“Why thank you.” I smile. “But honestly, look at me. Do you really think I’ve never been told that before?”