Craysee Speshal.

On a pretty frequent basis, I encounter moments that just scream to be memorialized on my blog. It's almost as if fate sends all of the crazies my way just so I'll have something to write about.

I encountered one such 'crazy' earlier this week during a quick Macey's trip. I stopped to grab a few groceries and very quickly realized that I had been holding it all day at work and needed to find a bathroom ASAP.

So I sped-walked to the little ladies room, quick as a jiffy, to take care of business (if you know what I mean...). After choosing the second stall (always the best choice) and settling in, I noticed the entrance of another bathroom occupant.

"Brr. Cold. It's Cold." she mumbled, "Cold. Cold. Cold."

Pretending not to have noticed, I listened as she proceeded to fiddle with the door to the adjoining stall, sliding the lock back and forth and making a general ruckus. Apparently there was a problem, because she relocated to my other side and tried her luck there.

It's wasn't long before there was a knock at my door.
Which I found extremely unsettling considering our location and the purpose for being there.

"Occupied.", I sputtered nervously.

"Oh. Right. Of course." she voiced loudly, "There seems to be a problem with the locks around here. So I'll just wait 'til you're done."

No pressure, right?
It was then I noticed her feet protruding under my door. The woman's nose must have literally been touching the outside of my stall. She may have also had an eye pressed against the crack, I was too stunned to check.

"Okay..." I hesitated, "but I might be a minute."

Now, maybe it's just me, but I usually avoid conversations with strangers from within public restroom stalls. It borders on extremely awkward, and I try to avoid that at all costs.

But apparently, she was fine with it. Because two seconds later she started jabbering again.

"No problem. No problem. Maybe I can get this dang thing to work.", she decided as she tried the locks again. Much to my relief, one miraculously worked.

By this time, I was ready to wash my hands and get the heck out of there, but decided to avoid a face-to-face confrontation at all costs and stay within the safety of my stall. Where I remained during the next five minutes during her continuous stream of brain vomit. (You know, the thoughts most of us keep in our head, but in her case, voiced without filter or reserve.)

It went a little something like this:

"Come on, come on. Let's go!" (I'm scared to think what this was in reference to...)
"Yuck. Gah, Idiot." (Also, ew.)
*sighing impatiently*
"Good thing I got that darn door to lock, huh?" (No response.)
*laughing nervously*
"They should really check on those sorts of things." (I think it was a user error, personally.)
"Geez. It's stuck."
*grunts*
"Phew." (Why me?...)

Pretty sure there was some humming somewhere in there as well, but I could never be sure.

Before long she had made her way to the sinks (after hearing no flush, to my terror) where she proceeded to wash her hands. Well try, at least. Apparently the technology of the world was working against her because nothing seemed to be functioning correctly.

I went to my happy place and pretended I was invisible, seriously considering pulling my legs up to hide my shoes on the off chance that she might recognize them and strike up a potentially disastrous conversation, should I encounter her in the store again.

Naturally, there was additional commentary as she tried to figure out the paper towel dispenser, eventually giving up and exiting wet-handed.

Just to be safe, I waited an additional few minutes before making my escape. She could have come back, you can never be too careful.

Out of curiosity, I checked the offending stall locks.
As I expected, they were fully functioning and quite easy to maneuver. The toilet (which was actually an automatic flush) was also in perfect working condition. And when I washed my hands, guess what? The soap dispensed beautifully and the automatic towel machines easily detected my motion.

Which left me particularly puzzled.
How could one woman be so completely confounded by a multitude of simple machines? Most of them requiring only her motion to produce the desired result.

My only conclusion was that she must have fallen out of the 'special' tree and hit every special branch.

Regardless, it was an experience that I do not hope to repeat.
Friendly bathroom banter included.

Potty-mouthed.

I've noticed that I sometimes get strange looks. Crazy, I know, but most often, these looks occur after I've called someone a name.

I never knew it before, but I apparently choose strange words when taunting people. All throughout high school, I got flack from a friend who maintained that calling someone a 'silly goose' was highly unorthodox.

I don't know about you, but to me, using your own special language when mocking others leads to some highly entertaining name calling.

My favorites of late are:
1) turd
2) lard
3) skank
4) hoe
5) butt-head

I know, I know. You probably haven't been called a butt-head since fifth grade, but that's what makes it fun. :D

Lacy-Hacy also has some creative nicknames. For some reason, hearing her call her nieces and nephews 'shit-lits' brings immense joy to my heart.

I'm sure you're all aware of my recent obsession with swearing. At least, my mom is. She informs me daily that she is concerned for my immortal soul.

Okay. Maybe not daily but on a regular basis.

What you don't know is that I rarely actually SAY any of the commonly accepted obscenities. I'll go down to check my laundry and, for a split second, think I've forgotten to push start on the dryer, leaving me to believe that I will not -- in fact -- have any clean underwear tomorrow. Which leads me to loudly exclaim 'SON-OF-A' before realizing I actually did push start and the dryer was just speedy and finished its cycle before I expected it would.

Commence happy laundry folding. Suspect nothing.

So, naturally, I was confused when I came upstairs and Mom asked me what was wrong. "Uhh... nothing. That I know of?", I stammered.
"I just heard some pretty choice words a few minutes ago.", she responded with her well-known and frequently used disapproving look.
"Choice words?..." I chuckled, "Was it 'son' that offended you? Or are you easily insulted by prepositions?"

See what I mean? I have been unduly judged. Because saying 'frick' and 'son of a biscuit eating bulldog' shouldn't make me a bad person.

Other fun phraseologies:
"What's the word, hummingbird?", "What's up, buttercup?" and, my personal favorite, "What's the gist, physicist?".

Granted, they're not particularly accusatory, but I still like 'em.

So if I happen to call you a 'meanie-head' during one of our future exchanges, don't take it to heart. I say it with love. Always.

Because, according to my mother, you'd know if it wasn't.

My Lips Hurt Real Bad...

I'm having a crisis at the moment. Read my lips. (wah, wah, wah...)
The gloss Lacy-Hacy gave me a few weeks ago is practically gone.

Do you know what this means??...
Soon, very soon, I may go into a dry lips coma.

Which can only end with a new tube of lip-smackin' Bonne Bell VitaGloss O2.

Some of you claim that I am addicted to the stuff.
But I just keep a stiff upper lip and say, "Don't give me any of yo lip!"
Ba Dum Dum.

I can't help it if my lips are drier than the Sahara Desert.
Like two pieces of shriveled jerky, they are.

The way I see it, lips shouldn't stick together when they're momentarily united. (I'm talking top lip and bottom lip, you sicko.)

And don't be fooled into thinking licking your lips will do the job. That only exacerbates the problem. I know this from experience.

Instead, show 'em a little love and use some product.
Balm, gloss, stick. It don't matter!

In fact, should you choose to use all three simultaneously, no one needs know. I promise. My lips are sealed.