The Yeti Chair

I stumbled in to work this morning, still half bemused by sleep and lack of caffeine, to find a long (really long), thick (really thick), black hair (really ugly) sitting in front of my monitor. Immediately I controlled the retch impulse and fought back rising panic while I tried to get the hair off my stuff and into the trash.

After I had disposed of it I had a flashback to my first day of work.

It happened like this: I was introduced to coworkers and shown to my cubicle. Only to find the Yeti had been turned into a chair and banished to Edmonton, Alberta, living my cube. Removing the hair required a pair of scissors and a certain amount of company time. It was like shearing a sheep -- every couple of days I'd have to do it again because it seemed to grow out of the stuffing.

Stinky bus people (still bug me)

There's an awful person on the morning bus of a certain ethnicity who seems to have stomach problems. I say -- "it seems" and "awful" only because I'm fairly certain that the occasional smells of putrid gasses seem to emanate from this one person, quite awfully so. By "occasional" I mean regularly frequently, maybe every two minutes or so.

Today this person sat directly behind me and not only proceeded to emit gasses but eat carrots and chew with an open mouth for the entire ride.

I know!!

I mean, really! Carrots for breakfast?? What was this person thinking!?

Not to be too girly or anything, but I bought a lipstick. Never have worn lipstick before. It's not pink and it's quite dramatic.

I happened to have scratched myself under the eye while sleeping. I look like I punched myself in the face. Luckily my hair looks ok.

The average person loses between 100 and 200 hairs from their head every day. And I have started worrying about this.

I gave up my library card a long, long time ago, partially because it disgusted me to be reading a book and to find someone else's hair in the book. Especially if it was a stupid book. The other reasons I gave up my card had something to do with my inability to return books on time and my unwillingness to read a bestseller after 34 people ahead of me on the waiting list had all read it. By the time I get books from the library, someone usually has smeared chocolate cake into the margins, slobbered all over the corners while flipping pages, and dropped it in the bath. (Ok, ok, so I have more issues than just hair... but nobody should ever lick their finger to turn a page. Ever. Especially not with a book for public use.)

Anyhow, back to my hair phobia. Recently, on the bus, a woman with long dark hair sat down in front of me. I noted that she had filthy, greasy, dirty hair. I further noted that one single hair was hanging out a little bit further than the rest... and for the next five minutes I was mesmerized watching this hair grow longer and longer until finally, with a sudden lurch of the bus, it was deposited into my lap. I had to fight an instant gag reflex.

Today, again on the bus, I had my eyes closed and one strand of someone's hair flew into my face. I think the lady next to me thought I was crazy --flapping and waving my arms around and pulling at my nose -- going "pffft! bbbbbffffffffft!! pfffftt!"

The saddest part about still being single and all your good friends marrying is the fact that your secrets will no longer be, well... secret. No matter how intensely private you think a matter is it will eventually come out of your best friend's husband's mouth most likely in an inopportune moment, and invariably in a public place.

Ich bin ein Berliner!

Speaking of identifying persons of ethnicity, today at the bus stop there was a man who was German. Without a doubt.

How, do you ask, do I know he was German? Was it the German-style haircut -- short on the bottom and longer over the thinning top? Was it the funny German-style pull-over-the-head pullover with the stand-up collar? Was it the cream coloured brand-new Levi Red Tab jeans? Was it the fact that his face was so angular that not only his nose came to a point, but his jawbone came to a point and his chin came to even more of a point? His ice-cold light blue eyes? The way he could sleep anywhere, even on a hot, bumpy, smelly bus? The way he wore his backpack?

Anyone of those things may have tipped me off, however all combined it was like wearing a flag, "Jawohl, Ich bin ein German!"

If I see him tomorrow I'll confirm it.

To my faithful reader: Thanks for checking. Feel free to give me that virtual kick in the pants every once in a while.

Tomorrow is the longest day of the year. Somehow with my knees knocking together out at the bus stop in the mornings I don't feel very summery.

On my way back to lunch today, I was lost in a sea of short Japanese tourists in our lobby. What, do you ask, were they doing there? I am not sure. They may have been lost.

How, do you ask, do you know they were Japanese tourists?

floppy hats -- check
funny short pants -- check
white plastic runners -- check
cameras & video equipment -- check, check
grandmother in tow -- check
big white tour bus with tinted windows dropping them off -- dead give away.

Also, they were absolutely in the way of everyone who belonged in the building.

Allergies. The stuff I take for them is putting me to sleep, the coffee I drink to keep me awake at work is making my stomach upset, and I can't seem to focus on my computer screen.

I may be going blind.