Words of Wisdom

A friend and I were recently in a wedding of mutual friend from college. The ceremony was romantic, the food was great, and the cake was delicious. (I may have used my bridesmaid card to get three pieces of cake- but that's better than any alternative I may have used to get three pieces of cake). All in all, it was a picture perfect wedding.

Except for this picture.... but you can't win them all.

I've been to a lot of weddings, and most of them fit the description above so you can imagine my surprise when an unhappy bride and groom (from another wedding) got on the elevator with my friend and me at the end of the night.

We saw them approaching the elevator and held the doors with big smiles and a few congratulations.

"Yeah.... thanks..." the bride responded.

The groom fumbled with the room key and let out a long sigh when he finally got it to make the elevator work and pushed the button for the third floor.

The bride looked--- "We just had an "oh shit" moment in the car."

I asked what she meant.

"Like we just realized we actually did this. It just hit us that we are married."

They both looked at us with eyes that screamed for help and I tried to make the best "Are you dumb?" face I could in return.

The elevator opened on the third floor and my friend, always the optimist, wished them a good night.

The groom clenched his teeth and said "Yeah- I may go jump out of the window now."

As the door started to close, I processed what he said, and immediately let him know that he may want to take the elevator to the top floor because jumping from the third floor wasn't going to do much.

The doors closed and my friend looked at me.

I looked back. "What?"

"Leila, you do realize you just gave that groom advice on how to kill himself."

"Well- he needed it. Jumping from the third floor is only going to break a leg or make him sore. It's not going to do much damage. And then he would have to deal with his bride after. And with all of these Halloween parties going on tonight- the EMS does not need to deal with some dumb groom with a broken leg."

My friend shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, "well at least you're thinking at a macro level here...."

Flat Stanley ain't got nothing on me...

One of the perks of traveling for your job is sometimes you get to go really awesome places. One of the downsides of those trips is you are usually by yourself. I always find myself wishing I could share the experience with a friend or family member and, while I can't, I can always take selfies to prove to others just how cool it was. #whowouldntwanttolookatadozenselfiesofmeinfrontofthings

I recently got to enjoy this perk by squeezing in a trip to Niagara Falls. I drove about an hour and a half from Toronto to see the landmark and was totally impressed.

It was a beautiful day, with the high in the mid 60s. I could hear the waterfalls before I saw them. The air felt  clean and the town smelled fresh. I made my way to the waterfront and sucked in a sharp breath when I saw them. They were unbelievable. The experience reminded me of the first time I saw mountains; it was invigorating and humbling all at the same time. It reminded me of the power of nature and that we are, after all, only human. Our lives are but a blink of the eye.

Enough of the seriousness. YOLO, right!?

While I did have an emotional reaction to the Falls, they weren't the only thing I was reacting to. Let me guide you through my day at Niagara Falls through a photo blog.

Enjoy!

Here I am nearing the waterfront.

OMG- There they are!

I CAN SEE JIM AND PAM FROM HERE!

 And just to prove I was actually there....

  

So then I paid to go behind the Falls. I know, I'm a risk taker- what can I say? Aren't the ponchos adorable? They remind me of the shitty yellow ponchos from Disney. Except these were free. And you had to give them back at the end. That's kind of gross now that I think about it. 

Other idiots tourists in their ponchos.

Another selfie. You know what they say about selfies- you can never have too many.

Perfect shot.

There are some informational signs posted in the small tunnels behind the Falls. I stopped to read a few but then I got a little claustrophobic. I don't know if it was the idea that there were hundreds of thousands of gallons of water rushing over me at that moment or the pushy tourists that all smelled slightly of dankness and B.O. wrapped in yellow saran wrap that didn't give a shit about the idea of personal space that made me panic, but I didn't take the time to read all of the info. I did look at two of them, though.

The first outlined famous people that have been there.

Harry is unimpressed. "But Mummy, you said we would get to see boobs."

The second outlined people who have gone over the Falls. The first was a woman in 1901. She made the journey in a barrel with her cat. I immediately pictured doing this with Sophie and knew how the story would end. "Autopsy shows that woman was unharmed by actual trip over Falls, but clawed to death by the cat after they made the journey and were waiting for the rescue boat."

Annie Edson Taylor, the original cat lady.

Before I went, I did some research on Niagara Falls. Did you know that it's one of the top honeymoon destinations in the world!? Wow-wee. I was expecting to see some young lovers, but nothing could have prepared me for this:

This is just like a sex scene from gossip girls. A nice little clothes on romp in the grass.

I also bumped into a group of nuns who were nunning it up. I walked close to them for a while hoping for a bar or two of "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" but instead I just got to watch other people stare at them. Come on, y'all, it's just a bunch of nuns. It's not like you need to follow them and take pictures... 

On my way out, I had to check out the gift shop. It was packed full with all sorts of Canadian wildlife stuff- toy beavers, wood cut into the shape of wolves, moose things, and all of that nonsense. It also had banks for children that fit the "Niagara Falls Dinosaur Theme." Naturally.

I got excited when I saw the clever banks. EVERYONE CAN BE A SAVEASAURUS! EVEN ME, DINOBANK!? Wrong....

Screw you, then. I didn't want to save money anyway.

I left the gift shop disappointed in my non purchase and made my way back to my car. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the best part about Niagara Falls. It's a total Disneyworld/Vegas/beachinthesummer HAVETOENTERTAINTHEKIDS shit hole. The entire strip down to the beautiful natural wonder is covered with arcades, pizza joints, bowling alleys, and other places designed to be black holes for parents wallets. You literally had to kick the screaming kids out of the way.

Oh, you didn't have to kick them? My bad.

That boy has "I'm going to jail before the age of 23" written all over his face.

Before I made my grand exit, I stopped in one last shop hoping for a souvenir from the day (beyond the amazing selfies, of course). I was forced to leave empty handed because I couldn't choose between the clever t-shirts that epitomized Niagara Falls.

BUH-BYE NOW!!

He's Making a List, He's Checking It Twice, He's Going To...

Scare the crap out of me.

As a child, I was absolutely TERRIFIED of Santa. I hated everything about him. I didn't want to sit in his lap. I didn't want to tell him what I wanted for Christmas and I didn't want to bump into him when he was dropping off my gifts.

You can imagine my fear when I would go shopping with my mom around Christmas. One of the department stores in Baton Rouge, Maison Blanche, would set up larger than life moving Santas along the roof that laughed jollily and slowly moved their heads from side to side. They still haunt my dreams. During these shopping trips, my anxiety would start to build as we turned into the parking lot. I could see the red donning bastards above the rows of cars. I would avert my eyes as we made our way in but ignoring the real Santa set up in the middle of the store was a different story. He was situated perfectly in the middle of the aisle. I knew he was there before I saw his bearded face or his black boots. I felt him. He was inevitable. As we would make our way from one end of the store to the other, my anxiety would pique as we approached the line of idiot children waiting to meet him. I never understood it. I would position myself so that my Mom would block my view and, with my head down, would push by the crowd. I always feared that he would look out amongst the kids and call me out of the crowd. "Little girl- you- the one who is trying to pretend I'm not here... you- yes- you, come tell me what you want for Christmas."

It still gives me chills.

Unfortunately, my yearly encounters with Santa extended beyond just seeing him. He would call me, too.

My Mom's family got a kick out of the Uncles calling the nieces and nephews on Christmas Eve and pretending to be Santa. During our meal, I would tensely sit and wait for the phone to ring. I would hope that I would be in the bathroom the moment he called or that he would just forget about me for a year. It went on for a while but ended the year I hung up and, a little confused, looked at my parents and said "Santa sounds a lot like Uncle John."

While I hated being on the receiving in, I think my Dad enjoyed being on the giving end (of this and more practical jokes--- you can find them all in my parent's book Funny Things to do to Your Kids When You are Slightly Buzzed--- all proceeds go toward my therapy).

One year, my Dad busted my cousin. The conversation went something like this:

Dad (Santa): Have you been a good girl this year?
Cousin: Oh, yeah Santa.
Dad: Are you sure? I think I see something on my list here.
Cousin: No, I was good.
Dad: Wait a minute- I see a note here that you kicked your dog, is that true?
Cousin:............................no
Dad: So you never kicked your dog, Latke?
Cousin: Here Momma, I'm done talking to Santa.

Another year, my Dad messed with the adults more than the kids. I think he had enough of playing Santa and decided to put in a special request. When he made the call to the family in Pensacola, he let them know that instead of milk and cookies he would need Dixie beer and white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies. Yep.

Who knew Santa had such fine taste?

Much to my Uncle's chagrin, he acquiesced to the cries of his children and went on a Christmas Eve hunt for Dixie beer and white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies.

I think they got another Uncle to make the call the next year. 


Moral of the story? You should never get a Jew to play Santa.

The blog's namesake

I am opinionated and I have a name that people don't quite understand.

And I think that the person who took my lunch order needs to be fired.

 Love,

Leila

The New Cat Call

You know what gets old? Getting whistled at from vehicles. Yes- I realize I am complaining about receiving "compliments;" but- honestly- if a compliment were a body, the drive by whistle/honk would be the pale under belly. Lame and something no one wants any part of.

Most of the time, I receive the cat calls as I make my way to or from work. And I can't imagine my facial expressions at any of these points warrant a shout out. Apparently the men who are brave enough to hit on someone from a moving vehicle are also the same guys who would hit on someone with RBF (resting bitch face). I guess they are thinking "that girl I just sped by could be cute if she didn't look like she just smell a fart. At least she can't slap me from the side of the road."

A few weeks ago, though, someone was clever enough to win my heart over from a moving vehicle. I was standing at the light waiting to cross when a BMW made its way down the street. The driver started honking and some guys whistled out of the back seat. As I rolled my eyes, I caught a quick glimpse of the car. Then I did a double take. Someone was hanging their entire ass out of the front window. It was spectacular.

As I crossed the street, my phone vibrated. It was my Dad. "Guess what?" I asked as I picked up. "Guess what just happened to me?"

"What?"

"Someone just mooned me from a car."

"Like full moon?"

"Yep."

"But it's a Wednesday..."

God bless America

A few years ago we were visiting my Aunt over the 4th of July. She lives a few blocks from a country club that celebrates the 4th appropriately- with a pyrotechnical display of America's unyielding pride.


They shoot off fireworks.

We were planning on grilling and eating dinner outside so that we could enjoy the show.

There were other people coming over and we wanted to get an idea of the schedule, so my Aunt called the country club to ask when the fireworks would start.

Her question was met with a pregnant pause.

"After the dinner is served," the employee sighed as he rolled his eyes at the idea of a freeloading American plebeian.

My Aunt held back a laugh as she hung up the phone.

While we didn't have a set schedule, our 4th still played out perfectly: burgers, family, and fireworks (without having to wait in line at the bar or for the valet to get our car).

Can't hold us back. We've got style and big ass sunflowers.

Momma Wasabi

A few months ago my parents were in town for a weekend and I decided that we should have dinner at a sushi place that they had never been to. My mom isn't a huge sushi fan but always finds other things on the menu to whet her appetite.

While she is not a big sushi fan, she is consistently a fan of wrapping up the meal when she is done eating. And "meal" here applies to everyone's meal- not just hers. And this dinner was no exception. As is typical, she ate light and fast and was done way before my Dad and me. My Dad and I also tend to talk and eat a lot more than her, so that could be part of the unaligned feast lengths. Nevertheless, Momma-san had no use to draw out dinner at the sushi restaurant and, when she was done eating and done listening to us talk, she politely started combining the leftovers onto one plate to make it easier for the waiter. (She's nothing if not thoughtful).

The minute I saw her reach for my sushi roll in order to organize and combine, I made a snotty comment that probably made her wistfully muse about what life would have been like if she and my father had used a prophylactic about 30 years ago. (Sorry Momma--- I heart you!).

But- alas- the deed had been done. With ninja like speed, my Mom had cleared all of the remaining sushi pieces from the big plate to a smaller, more condensed one and had officially declared the meal over. Her hand motions were reminiscent to Jerry Lee Lewis banging out rock and roll and my Dad and I tried to focus as we watched her make a fatal error. As her right hand moved the final roll, her left hand swooped down for a nugget of wasabi and then popped it into her mouth. She was on autopilot. I heard my Dad try to get out a warning but it was too late. Our eyes widened as my Dad and I watched my Mom accidentally pull a "Jackass" like stunt. We were anticipating a Roger Rabbit moment, one in which her eyes bugged out and smoke billowed from her ears. Time at our table slowed to almost a stop and then suddenly accelerated as my Mom spit the green orb out with a large "PEHHHHHHUGHHHHHHHH."

I lost it. I couldn't contain the snorts or the tears and didn't even try to be respectful of the fact that other diners were sitting close enough to touch. I banged on the table and howled.

UUUHHHHH-----HUUHHHHHHH---- THAT'S WHAT YOU GET!!!! WRAPPING UP MY MEAL. TOUCHING  MY SUSHI!!!! AHAHAHAHAH.

Momma, in between gulps of water, retorted: "I thought it was--- glug glug glug--- avocado!!!"

My Dad had tried to do the right thing by stopping her but still did not lose sight of the humor of the situation. He had the giggles too. "I tried to tell you- but you were too fast- and then that was it. We just had to see how long it would take you."

I recapped the scene no less than a dozen times that night to my parents. And it made me laugh every time.

I would wrap up with a life lesson, but none were learned. My Mom continues to end meals when she is ready but sometimes the abrupt ending is blog worthy. Thank you, Momma-san!