sir, brush your teeth and ee-NUN-cee-ate.

one thing i hate about business travel is the waiting period before you board a flight. the waiting area is way too cramped and you are always disappointed, either because someone sits down next to you, or you have to sit next to someone else. not only are you 2 inches from someone else, you are also facing someone. for me, that person is usually aimlessly staring into space; often times directly right at me in a very unnerving way.

so yday i was on my way to kentucky and i sat next the only person who had two empty seats next to him. as i started thumbing through my magazine, i noticed an odious smell. what IS that? turns out, it was the man to my right's BREATH! that is just FOUL. to have breath so stale that someone sitting next to you can smell it!

i put my nose down to my shirt collar and contemplated leaving but decided against it because i didn't want to be an airport loiterer. you know, the people who don't sit down and muddy up the line process with their constant creeping. the people to whom you want to say, "are you in rows 25 or higher? if not, get out of my way, WOMAN!"

i stuck around, though, because this man's phone conversation was gripping. who was he talking to? his best friend, the pimp? it went like this, "did you see how many BITCHES there were? how many BITCHES did he send YOU? i had at least 1000 BITCHES, it was unbelievable! i don't know how i'm going to organize all those BITCHES, it's going to take me a long time to put them in their right place. so many BITCHES, i don't know what to do with them all...Geez Louise...too many BITCHES."

the thing is, he was a totally normal looking GRANDFATHER. kind, gentle-looking, wearing high waisted pants, hearing aid, and orthopedic shoes. and he was throwing out the word BITCHES at a faster rate than a judge at the Westminster Dog Show.

i wasn't the only person who noticed. parents were stuffing their fingers into the ears of their little children, babies were crying, mouths were agape, people moved away (though it remains unclear whether it was his breath or his language that drove them to flee).

anyway. i was the only person who actually realized what the old man ways saying...he wasn't saying BITCHES, he was saying PICTURES but with an accent. you know, like "Pitchas".

he should really be more careful.

(in a scary voice) "i am the san diego chargeeeerrrrrrr"

I’m kind of scared. There’s a running joke in our little household (and by joke I mean, not a joke because jokes aren’t supposed to make you feel scared…) that we have a ghost. I mean, I don’t reeeeally think we have a ghost and even if we DID have a ghost, I’d be, like, totally cool with that (psst - I’m just writing that just in case the ghost reads my blog and I don’t want it to know that I’m really scared of it). I think this because I hear noises around the house at night...The noises I hear are noises houses make…you know, creaking and cracking and sighing and farting. Oh wait, that’s not the house. I will blame the farting on our non existent dog. MY POINT IS, they are noises that New Yorkers just aren’t used to hearing because no one lives in a house. So maybe, I thought, that's why I'm such a big scaredy-cat sometimes.

But THEN: my charger disappeared. So, I have a ritual. Every night, I charge my phone with the charger that is next to my bed. If I travel, I take ANOTHER charger so as not to be caught chargerless when I’m going to bed because I took it with me traveling and didn't unpack it. Bc there’s nothing worse than getting OUT of bed to get a charger when you're all snugged up IN bed because there’s also nothing worse than having an uncharged phone the entire next day. One night, however, the charger was missing. Except it wasn’t missing. It was in ANOTHER PLUG on the OTHER SIDE OF THE BED.

My hubby swears he doesn’t remember moving it. Which is different than swearing he didn’t move it. But STILL. SCARY!! Who moved it? 10% my husband, 90% the creepy San Diego Charger?

THEN. And this is why I’m cowering behind my computer in fear.

I just went outside to run and errand. Mind you, I had been alone in my office, nay! alone in the HOUSE for the entire day. When I came back from the errand, I saw this:

A FREAKING USED BAND-AID. A USED BAND-AID I SAID!! Obviously, I did a quick bodily once over to see if I had forgotten that I had hurt myself and then forgotten that I put a band-aid on. Then I remembered that I only buy Hello Kitty band-aids and there was NO WAY THAT BAND-AID IS MINE.

I’m so scared!!!!!!