Yellow Jacket To The Rescue

Yesterday afternoon, I drove to downtown Providence to pick up a Christmas gift for a family member.

I was lucky enough to find on-street, metered parking right out front without a problem. My only "problem" was that I did not have any quarters or other change on me.

Luckily for me, Providence parking meters take credit cards. I tried to finagle the meter for a bit to pay for only 15 minutes, knowing that my errand would not take very long. I could not get the duration to change from the two-hour maximum.

I asked a passerby if it was a requirement to pay for the full two hours while using a credit card. He seemed to be from out of town and did not know the answer. I thanked him anyway as he shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way.

I messed around with the meter a bit more, and was just about to bite the bullet and pay for the two hours, which would have cost me a whopping $2.50, when a gentleman in a Providence Street Team yellow jacket came walking towards me.

(Not actual man I saw.)

I asked him the question of the hour, the same question that I asked the initial passerby. He said that the meters in the city assumed the maximum time duration when dealing with cards.

That's when he completely shocked me. He pulled out a quarter from his pocket and put it in the machine for me. 12 minutes for free.

I realize that this is such a small gesture, but it really meant a lot to me. He could have just said "too bad, lady" and walked away. Instead, he went above and beyond to be kind and generous to a complete stranger.

Thank you, Mr. Yellow Jacket for your good deed.

Scallops And A Side Eye

A recent dining experience got me thinking about at what age parents or caretakers should bring young children into restaurants...or public, in general.

As a single woman, a lover of children but mother to none, I smile at kids on the street, wave to them in stores and restaurants, and enjoy being silly with them. That being said, I think there are some places and in some situations where it's better to keep them at home.

I recently went to a local restaurant with my father. We were seated at the front of the restaurant with a great view of the quaint street and the passers-by. It was an Indian summer night so the windows were open. It was lovely.

Unfortunately, our conversation about work, recent travel, and the upcoming holiday season was interrupted by the sound of plastic toys hitting the wood floor and sliding across the room into the legs of other tables. I couldn't understand why the mother would get up, pick up the toys, and hand them right back to the young boy...without any reprimand. Her doing that, obviously, turned this into a game.

For several minutes, this went on with a side of childlike, bloody-murder screams. At one point, I turned and gave a side eye to the mother.

Once they finally left the restaurant...many toy tosses later, I said to my dad that that type of behavior NEVER would've been tolerated in our family in the early eighties. I grew up with a healthy amount of fear of my parents. My parents never would've allowed me to behave that way in a nice, softly-lit, quiet restaurant.

I can understand how hard it must be to marry parenthood and being a human who enjoys leaving the house. I sympathize with you...really.

On behalf of singles and parents on a rare date night country-wide, if you bring the youngsters out and they are not well behaved or well trained, we'll gladly accept a free round (or more) of drinks as an apology.

Into A Million Pieces

Something happened to me this week that has changed the course of my life forever. Everything that I have ever known about myself and what makes me tick has been turned on its head. I have one person to thank for this revelation. Let me explain.

I've always been a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup super fan. I remember even convincing my younger new-to-trick-or-treating brother that chocolate was different from candy, and that he liked candy. I did him the favor of switching out Reese's and Milky Ways for Smarties and Mike & Ikes.

Peanut Butter Cups are my ice cream topping of choice and I stock up at the holiday egg and tree times. (The ratio of chocolate and peanut butter is ideal at the holidays.)

This was a truth in my life until Monday.

I was reintroduced to Reese's Pieces by a colleague. They blew my mind. I loved the crunchy candy shell more than I thought I would.

Have they changed over the years or have they always been life changing?

12 Gnarly Stitches: A Cautionary Tale

My last name ends with a vowel. Because of that fact, one might think, without meeting me, that I am Italian with flawless, olive-toned skin.

They would be wrong.

I am 75% Irish with pale, freckled skin to match.

From a very young age, I learned not to play with the Sun. I am far too fragile and delicate for that. In fact, some of my most vivid childhood memories involve peeling layers of skin and the scent of aloe.

A bottle of green aloe remained in my childhood refrigerator for as long as I can remember. I am willing to bet that my mother has one in the door of her refrigerator at this very moment.

In middle school, I got an undiagnosed case of sun poisoning. Luckily, it was in a discreet location...just above my upper lip. Always the way, right?

I have never really been a beach bum. I enjoy the beach, but the aftermath has always trumped the actual experience. I don't enjoy the sand and crashing waves enough to willingly make it difficult to move around or sleep.

I never really considered the thought that these adorable freckles of mine would morph into something more serious. That happened to older people...careless people who went to tanning salons or went to the beach armed with coconut oil.

I was careful. I would always be the suntan lotion wielding friend. You know, the annoying one asking, "can you get my back?" The one that would, after 10 or 15 minutes, get too hot, reapply and reapply, and lay the rest the day under an umbrella or hiding underneath long sleeves and long pants.

It wasn't until 2014 that I went to the dermatologist for the first time. She took photos of two freckles and advised that I monitor them. A very difficult task when they are on your back.

In late April 2016, I developed a small bump on the back of my neck. I shrugged it off as nothing to worry about. After a few weeks, it started to grow and became a bit more tender to touch. I made an appointment with the dermatologist. I was in and out of that office in 20 minutes, but not before they emptied the cyst. Painless!

Two weeks later, I went back for my follow-up appointment. At that time, they did a full body scan of my skin. They checked the size of the two freckles from 2014 and those had no significant changes. Phew!

Not so fast! What is that?

The staffer pointed out a small freckle on the back side of my left arm. She took photos and then ask another nurse for a second opinion.

She confirmed that it looked suspicious, and they immediately did a biopsy on the area.

A few weeks later, I was sitting at work during a ridiculously awful day, and my cell phone rang. A phone number that I recognized...the dermatologist office.

The woman on the other end of the phone said the phrases "pre-cancerous cells", "moderate-to-severe", and "plastic surgeon". Oh great! Cue the tears. 

A week or so later, a local plastic surgeon's office staff gave me a call to schedule a consultation. Once I met with the doctor, he confirmed that it was, indeed, pre-cancerous cells and explained the procedure that I was to have at the end of July. He explained that the incision would be in the shape of a football so that when stitching me back up, I wouldn't have an unruly scar.

On Friday, July 22nd, my friend and emergency contact picked me up at my condo and brought me to my appointment. I told her many times that it was not necessary, but that's what friends do.

My procedure was relatively quick and painless. The size of the incision, however, surprised me a little bit. I had no idea that it would be as large as it was. Especially because the size of the biopsy area seemed so much smaller.

The following days were very low key. I stayed in the air conditioning, and propped up my arm. It was a day or two before I felt comfortable enough to change my bandages on my own.

Having a medical procedure on your arm in the dead heat of summer may not have been the best idea, but I did not want to put this off. So, there I was, the only chucklehead at work or in Providence, really, that was wearing long sleeves the last week of July and first week of August. Had I not, hundreds of people would have asked about why I had a huge bandage and a large bruise on the back of my arm.

On Friday, July 29th, I went back to the doctor and my stitches were removed. He confirmed that the initial procedure had wiped out all of the precancerous cells from the area, and I was good to go.

I am still covering the area because the bruising is still there a bit and I am helping secure the stitches with butterfly bandages. I am thinking a couple more days will do it.

I realize this was a really long narrative about something relatively minor. Luckily, my story ends there...just a few checkups later this year to make sure that all is well.

My reasoning for sharing this story now is that, as things were happening, I did not tell many...just my family and closest friends. Because I didn't know what I was looking at, if I had told people what I knew, they would be asking for the results. That was a conversation that I was not ready to have, if I had needed to.

Luckily, this is simply a cautionary tale. Be sure to wear your sunscreen, and make sure you go to the doctor and dermatologist on a regular basis.

Taxi Cab Lottery

About a month ago, I flew from Las Vegas to TF Green Airport. After an unexpected delay in Las Vegas and a scheduled layover in Chicago, I did not land in Rhode Island until after 11 p.m.

I took my carry-on and swiftly made my way to the taxi line. I was fourth in line, which was pretty good positioning to get out and home at a decent hour. Unfortunately, there were no cabs waiting.

After several minutes, I called the cab company that had driven me to the airport earlier that week. When I told them about how many people were in line...many people lined up behind me...they stated that they would be sending some of their drivers. It was a Saturday night so it was fairly busy.

Slowly but surely, the taxis started to arrive. When I approached the front of the line, finally, a yellow cab pulled up to the curb, assisted me with my luggage, and proceeded to ask the people lined up behind me if they were going in the same direction. This process took way longer than I would've liked.

A couple from the complete other side of town got in the cab, apologized to me, and buckled their safety belts. The taxi driver notified us that he would be dropping the couple off first.

I immediately turned into a raging bitch.

Excuse me? This was my cab! It's freakin' late and I want to go home. The last thing I want to do right now is take a tour of the city (in which I reside) in the middle of the night, see the outline of Mary and Steve's new house, and listen to you try to calm me down, sir.

Also, I don't appreciate you trying to distract me by forcing small talk or by saying that it'll be worth my while, charging me just $10 for the tour. I should already be in bed! I hate you.

It wasn't poor Mary and Steve's fault. Hell, I don't even know if those are their actual names. Probably not.

That being said, I can't help but resent them for winning the taxi cab lottery.

And, you, sir, if I ever lay eyes on you again and actually recognize that it is you, you're in big trouble. Big. Huge.

Forever Overpriced

I thought that the price of stamps was the price of stamps. Regardless of where you purchased them - the post office, the supermarket, some other retailer - they were just the price of stamps.

Apparently, I was incorrect.

I was desperate for a stamp and it was a Sunday, so I stopped at the local Rite Aid to purchase a book of stamps.

I have done this several times before so it caught me by surprise when I was told by the cashier that they sold them in packages of four and that there was, essentially, a service fee. I, basically, paid for six stamps, but only received four.

Since when is this a thing? Money-hungry, stamp-price hijackers!

Attaboy, Chip!

I went to the nail salon this afternoon for an emergency fix. Goodbye, busted up Tropical Teal. Hello, Lucy Diamond.

While I was having services done, I was distracted by two TVs. The television to my left was playing Keeping Up with the Kardashians, while the TV to my right was playing Fixer Upper.

I felt like there was a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.

In my opinion, the Kardashians are known for their self-involved, money-hungry, over-the-top lifestyle. Chip and Joanna Gaines, on the other hand, are known for being a charming, family-oriented, and genuine Waco-loving couple.

I am happy to say that good prevailed. The patrons of the nail salon were facing right. All of them.

Forever 413

So much for being on the ball and being efficient.

I took this afternoon off from work to proactively get some car maintenance done - oil change, 71,250-mile service check up, fix the air conditioning for the summer months, and check the tires because of low tire pressure.

Instead, what I actually did was drop my car off at the dealership, risk my life walking across Route 2 twice, and waste a perfectly good PTO day by sitting on my couch for three-plus hours waiting for a phone call.

Let me rewind a bit. (Sorry if this is a bit erratic. I am still heated.)

Last week, I made an car service appointment for 1 p.m. this afternoon for a list of reasons...all minor. Today, I show up 30 minutes early and was told that someone would contact me within the hour regarding some of the questions that I had.

Because the dealership is within view from my deck, I decided to walk home by way of Papa Gino's for lunch. I figured that by the time I got home and changed, someone would call me and I would have a better idea of the time I would be without a car and the upcoming damage to my checking account. That is not what happened. Not at all.

Instead, I walked to Papa Gino's, got myself a sandwich, risked my life crossing Route 2, watched three and a half hours of television on my couch, called the dealership for a status update, and, when not hearing back as promised, decided to just walk back and figure out what the heck was going on.

"Someone will check on your car and will get back to you right away" actually means "They are never going to call you at the number that you provided. Good luck, sister!"

At quarter of 5 p.m., I walk into the dealership and approach the service office. I say "I'm just checking on the status of my car" to which the girl who helped me at 1 p.m. simply looks at her associate and lets him flounder.

He responds with "I called you hours ago and left you a message." I respond with "no, I got no message from you." He says "well, I called you at your 401 number." Please keep in mind that my 401 telephone number is at my desk at work, and it is not listed as my primary telephone number on any paperwork, anywhere.

At that point, the girl comes over to his side of the office, points at the number that I have listed as my primary contact number and advises that he should've called the cell phone number. I'm not sure why it was his responsibility to call me after I dealt with her earlier that afternoon and I requested that she call me back at 3 p.m.

"Oh, the 413 threw me off," meaning my cell phone area code. Ugh.

When I called the dealership and spoke to the receptionist at approximately 3 p.m., she advised that someone would get right back to me and even confirmed which telephone number they should call back. I'm not quite sure why this was a question or an issue.

He begins to list off what they completed on my car and what still needs fixing. It was the same list that I had given to them to check out for me. Unfortunately, because they weren't able to get ahold of me, they fixed none of those outstanding issues causing me to need to schedule another appointment. What a mess.

Does no one else have a cell phone number with an area code different from where they live currently? I can't believe that I'm the only one.

Long live 413.

NYC Sidewalks

While visiting New York City last weekend, it really hit home for me that there are two types of people in this world - those that are "get out of my way" people and those that move to the side to let others pass.

I understand that dealing with New York City crowds on a daily basis probably isn't all that fun, and, to get anywhere in a timely fashion, you need to put your head down and just walk. "Move it, tourists!"

That being said, I can't help but wonder if polite people tend to move to the side to let the more aggressive people just walk right through...on sidewalks and in life, in general.

I, for one, am a self-admitted pushover. I know it. They know it. We all know it. I'd rather take the responsibility for "budging" than have a conflict about saying "no, I was walking here". I have self awareness, but, unfortunately, this trait is not possessed by everyone. I don't completely remember where I obtained said trait, but I am very thankful that I picked it up along the way.

I am, by no means, picking on New York City. This happens in every mall, on every city sidewalk, every day while behind the wheel of a car, and in every office cafeteria in America. There are people who feel entitled everywhere you turn. There are people who are so caught up in their own life, conversation, or phone to realize that someone else might actually be trying to walk by.

What happened to our manners? When did holding a door for a stranger or stepping aside to let another pass turn into a romantic gesture?

Fruit Bowl Antics

I've been trying to eat better. Instead of eating a muffin or sugary cereal for breakfast, I've been eating fruit or granola bars. I'm trying to make better choices, and, hopefully, that will contribute to my remarkable weight loss and impending supermodel contract. 

The other day at work, I bought a banana in the store on the ground floor and brought it back to my desk. I took the top handle and attempted to peel it. Instead of peeling it down, it simply cracked the peel on the backside so I had to unzip it with my thumb and extract my breakfast from it's shell.

This silly little moment made me smile and brought back a childhood memory. 

I specifically remember a day where I selected a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, and the same thing happened.

My silly, perhaps immature, 11 (?) year old self extracted the contents, taped up the back of the peel with scotch tape, and strategically placed it back in the bowl.

Don't ask me why. I just thought it would be funny for someone else in the house to grab a banana and have it fold in their hand because it was hollow.

It was. 

2015: A Retrospective

2015 was a busy year...like most of them are.

That being said, not too much has changed. I am still the same girl, living in the same place, under the same circumstances.

Before moving on to 2016,  here are some things I have done this past year (in no particular order):

• Celebrated the life of my aunt Carol; the weddings of Jackie and Dan, Mindy and Bob, and Matt and Jess; and the births of Violet, Clara and Kasey
• Discovered my love for chocolate cherry martinis
• Indulged in Kate's Superbowl chili, and Taco Tuesdays and a food truck festival with Christine and friends
• Burst a pipe in my condo, which, no doubt, caused my downstairs neighbors to hate me
• Helped my father for the first time
• Went to bingo at Foxwoods, listened to grown adults read their middle school diaries on stage in Cambridge, watched a soccer game at Gillette Stadium in Foxboro, caught air going down the big yellow slide at the Big E in West Springfield, watched a hockey game in Providence, and drove to Hingham for a cheeseburger and tater tots
• Ate a grilled peanut butter and fluff sandwich while drinking cans of beer in a trailer park
• Walked for Cystic Fibrosis and heart disease awareness, volunteered at Pridefest and the New England Family Fun Festival, co-captained a volunteer day at work stuffing almost 2,600 flu fighter kits for the local community, and raised money for breast cancer awareness
• Sang karaoke while at a work conference, and was recognized in the hotel lobby the next day for my efforts
• Camped in a cabin in Maine for four days, and saw three moose
• Watched Jaws for the first time while sitting in a backyard in a fold up chair
• Was confronted by a middle-aged bully at a charity event
• Escaped a few potential long term relationships, and even more extremely short term ones
• Made tremendous efforts to pay off all of my debt

I'm hoping a few things change in 2016, but, for the most part, I am very happy with the way things are going.

Here's to a happy, healthy, and prosperous 2016! Cheers!