Did you know that if you type too fast, GOT IT becomes GO TIT? I've had more than a few near misses - wouldn't want to send the big boss the wrong signal.
Speaking of which... single digits out there today, so smartly wore a big cashmere cardigan. But stupidly wore a camisole underneath. My chest is cold.
Triumphs of observation that leak out of my brain and need a place to crash land before they vaporize.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Invisaligns Take a Bite Out of My Lifestyle
No coffee. No red wine. NO RED LIPSTICK!! This is the stuff they don't tell you before they show you the gorgeous computer projection of the gorgeous smile you will have when it's all over. A year from now!!
Sunday, February 9, 2014
What's up with people that only shovel from the curb to their own front doors or clear their driveways but ignore the rest of the sidewalk? The heck with the rest of us, I guess. At least until someone slips and falls on the ice and files suit, or gets their baby stroller or wheelchair stuck and is stranded until spring.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
More Store
I'm going to start using more store credit cards instead of Master, Visa or Amex at retail. This way, if the credit card gets hacked, my exposure will be limited to one store. Plus, I'll get more coupons.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Homeland Insecurity
I had an out-of-body experience at SFO today.
After checking my bags curbside at the United terminal, I got on the security line and moved quickly to the checkpoint. Just as I was getting ready to strip down my carry ons and my unmentionables for the usual indignities, the security agent agitated in my direction and said my boarding pass didn't match my driver's license. WHAT???!!!
Yup. I was now Mr. Remy Gross, and my bags were en route to Santa Ana. This despite the fact that the curbside agent had my drivers license in his hand and confirmed my destination (Newport Beach) verbally. So much for Homeland Security.
It took a New York minute for me to grab the nearest senior official and get a corrected boarding pass, and of course to demand an escort to the front of the next security line. I actually ended up with more VIP treatment than I asked for. When I got to the screening part, I was exempted from removing my shoes and submitting to Xray scanning.
For all the TSA knew, I could have been smuggling explosives in my wedges and a detonator in my bra (not that there is any extra room in there). Lucky for them, the only thing incendiary at that point was my temper.
Mr. Remy Gross was surely in for a rude awakening when he arrived at SFO for his flight to Santa Ana and found out that along with his seat, I also got his United Airlines Premier Access privileges.
When I finally got to the gate, I found a sympathetic agent who managed to track down my bags and have them transferred to my flight before take off. And against all odds, they arrived on the baggage carousel at John Wayne Airport as if nothing untoward had happened. Kudos to United Airlines baggage handling, which, it turns out, has won industry awards for superior service for three consecutive quarters. Their curbside check-in has a role model.
Insult to near injury: Car rental was the next adventure. Long story short: NO, I DO NOT WANT A MINI VAN. Three rental counters and 40 minutes later, I ended up with a Mitsubishi Galante (how sexy can you get?) and a Garmin that swore I was in Chicago. It took me 30 minutes and a mini meltdown at a Mercedes Benz dealer to get the stupid Garmin working properly so I could get to my office 2 miles from the airport.
Ah, the joys of business travel.
Footnote:
The Fairmont Hotel in Newport Beach can't hold a candle to the Fairmont in SF. It's more like your basic Hilton. Plus, the spa closed way before I got back from dinner with the Firm's partners and I REALLY NEED A MASSAGE. Do I sound tense?
After checking my bags curbside at the United terminal, I got on the security line and moved quickly to the checkpoint. Just as I was getting ready to strip down my carry ons and my unmentionables for the usual indignities, the security agent agitated in my direction and said my boarding pass didn't match my driver's license. WHAT???!!!
Yup. I was now Mr. Remy Gross, and my bags were en route to Santa Ana. This despite the fact that the curbside agent had my drivers license in his hand and confirmed my destination (Newport Beach) verbally. So much for Homeland Security.
It took a New York minute for me to grab the nearest senior official and get a corrected boarding pass, and of course to demand an escort to the front of the next security line. I actually ended up with more VIP treatment than I asked for. When I got to the screening part, I was exempted from removing my shoes and submitting to Xray scanning.
For all the TSA knew, I could have been smuggling explosives in my wedges and a detonator in my bra (not that there is any extra room in there). Lucky for them, the only thing incendiary at that point was my temper.
Mr. Remy Gross was surely in for a rude awakening when he arrived at SFO for his flight to Santa Ana and found out that along with his seat, I also got his United Airlines Premier Access privileges.
When I finally got to the gate, I found a sympathetic agent who managed to track down my bags and have them transferred to my flight before take off. And against all odds, they arrived on the baggage carousel at John Wayne Airport as if nothing untoward had happened. Kudos to United Airlines baggage handling, which, it turns out, has won industry awards for superior service for three consecutive quarters. Their curbside check-in has a role model.
Insult to near injury: Car rental was the next adventure. Long story short: NO, I DO NOT WANT A MINI VAN. Three rental counters and 40 minutes later, I ended up with a Mitsubishi Galante (how sexy can you get?) and a Garmin that swore I was in Chicago. It took me 30 minutes and a mini meltdown at a Mercedes Benz dealer to get the stupid Garmin working properly so I could get to my office 2 miles from the airport.
Ah, the joys of business travel.
Footnote:
The Fairmont Hotel in Newport Beach can't hold a candle to the Fairmont in SF. It's more like your basic Hilton. Plus, the spa closed way before I got back from dinner with the Firm's partners and I REALLY NEED A MASSAGE. Do I sound tense?
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Whose Bright Idea Was That?
- Whichever genius invented those blinding white headlights should be treated to his own personal brand of water torture: a perennial parade of nighttime traffic following him through purgatory (or the LIE. Oh wait - they're one and the same).
- Can someone please tell me... what is the f'ing secret that has Christina Aguilera looking so awesome?! I will sell my firstborn for a single bottle of that elixir - sorry, Jake!
- SUNY is in need of a new major: road signage. Two campuses, two nightmares trying to find the gym. Hansel and Gretel have nothing on the LB varsity volleyball parents - and we didn't have a trail of crumbs.
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