Warning - another of Heather's disjointed travel stories. Kinda like this one.

So I'm flying out of Lambert this morning, and an old lady (who's wearing salmon-colored slacks and has six great-grandchildren she's never met but is about to) says to me while gesturing to CNN broadcasting from above:

"They say they got him, that Saddam Hussein. But I don't think they did." "Hmm" I say - very noncomittal, and much more interested in my imminent breakfast. "He has so many that look like him, you know," she continues.

And I think - wow, what a fun conspiracy that would be. Double #247, come on down! You're the next contestant in the DNA is Gonna Be Right!

Naaa.

So I fly into New Hampshire to rent a car and drive into Massachusetts (did I spell that right?). And in the airport, I notice a Dunkin' Donuts. "Got to make the donuts." Yeah, that. St. Louis has driven them outta town with Donut King taking over the previous locations. Also, of course, there's Krispy Kreme, and some of the groceries make their own. I shouldn't discount the local donutteries (like University City Donuts). But Dunkin' Donuts - maker of the best apple fritter ever. I noted it.

I drove 40 some odd miles to get to my destination, and, I kid you not, I must've seen EIGHT to TEN freakin' roadside free-standing Dunkin' Donuts shops. It's amazing. I saw more Dunkin' Donuts than I saw Subways. Than McDonald's. How do they survive?

Walgreen's is kinda like that in Missouri. My mother has this theory that the stores are just pods sent from outer space. Phoom! A new Walgreen's. "Hey, wait, Bob, was that drugstore there last week?" Me, I have a sound effect for it. If you've ever played Civilization III, the sound effect is the noise that's made when you turn your settler into a city. If you haven't played, get thee to Best Buy, spend $10, and get the game. At least then you'll have a point of reference for this silly post.

I'm sitting in the business center of my hotel, not having connectivity in my room. Because of this, posting will be sporadic or nonexistent for the next few days.

And if you don't hear from me by Friday, assume one of those Dunkin' Donuts stores ate me to feed its profits. Or something.

hln

Posted by: hln at 06:45 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Brian and I both work full time. We sometimes talk about the not-too-distant future when perhaps this will not be necessary. I'm not sure who started it, but the euphemism for the non-worker is the one who "sits" (or lies) "on the couch and eats bon-bons all day."

Of course, in recent years, that's been amended (if the person of reference is me) to "sit on the couch and eat bon-bons for 10% of the day and spend the rest of the day working 'em off." Yeah.

At any rate, last evening, we had the bon-bon discussion for some reason. And I said, "what is a bon-bon?"

And Brian intimated that he thinks it's a little individual ice cream treat. Later, of course, after I'd looked up the definition, he CLAIMED that this was not the ONLY kind of bon-bon, but rather it was HIS mental bon-bon. Or something.

To me, a bon-bon is a chocolate-covered cherry candy or something like that. And, realistically, I could probably down six or so without feeling sick, but, OY, that seventh one might just do me in.

In a non-related discussion that I referred to today while conversing with Hans, I had a joke with a friend that overeating different foods led to said non-burned calories appearing en masse as attached to one body part. Like, y'know, fudge goes to your nose. He said that the Nutri-Grain billboards have helped him avoid Cinnabons and their Siren calls at airports. Not bad, eh? (And in a non-related note direct to Hans, gotta love this good software design.) Someone call in [suspenseful music] The Tester.

Wow, I'm all over the place tonight. Blogging overdose. So, back on topic. Now YOU know what a bon-bon is. And you know what it signifies in the Noggle household. And how to keep it off your middle finger? Good-good.

hln

Posted by: hln at 07:03 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Yes, this week I'm starting early, hoping to post a script on the wall of the Champagne Room.

It was a cool October day in 1994. Yes, really, it was, but I was still wearing a really, really short dress (which I still have and wear). I was casually dating a young man - this being my senior year of college - and I had taken him out for his, heh, 19th birthday earlier that day. I was also wearing rather high heels (because said young man was 6'5"...like 'em tall).

I normally had class that lasted up until almost 4:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I'm certain this was a Tuesday or a Thursday. But, no, not this day. For some reason my late class was cancelled, so I was walking across the street (which was done using an underpass) and into the "nicest" parking lot on campus. It cost $65 a year to park there, and I had splurged, seeing as this was my last semester of college, fall of '94.

My car was near the back of the lot, which faced Elm Street, so this perhaps can be filed under Nightmare on, but it's just too damned funny.

I approached the car, and I was on the same row as it but walking west. Heels slow a woman down, so when I heard a car behind me, I figured I was in its way and stepped to the right.

The car did not pass.

I have this uncanny sense sometimes. Do you? Do you just KNOW when something's not quite right? Or when someone is watching you a bit too intently for your comfort?

I turned my head to the left, and driving slowly alongside me was a bearded man (dark hair, dark beard). His automobile was a current (at that time) tan coupe, a Camry or something. He was smiling...oh was he smiling. And he was in motion, even if his car was really, well, not.

And y'know what? He wasn't wearing any pants. And that wasn't the stick shift and a moving "OK" sign. Yeah - he's grinning pretty madly - as if it's normal for a dark-bearded man to be lying (driving) in wait to stun me with his original rendition of air penis. I mean, WHAT THE HELL!

Well, what's a girl to do? Original reaction was just shock, I said "Oh Shit!" There was no one around to hear me, but I didn't feel like I was in any immediate danger, so I did a logical thing (besides laughing hysterically) - I walked toward other people instead of tipping this guy off as to which car was mine.

And I didn't look back.

I went to work - American National Property and Casual Insurance. ANPAC. I mentioned to the girls and ladies there what had just happened, and they all said, "report the guy!" That hadn't even come across my mind, but, yeah, I could've been a 16 year-old or something, or easily shocked. That could really have bothered me instead of eliciting the "Oh Shit!" response.

So, I'm living with my parents that semester. I come home, and they've got some company - can't remember who. I tell my story, crack my mother up, and she agrees I should report the guy. So I do on the next day, and campus' police system has had other complaints for a man fitting a similar description.

Some time passes, probably a year. I've actually moved to Columbia, MO at this point and am enrolled in grad school and working as a legal secretary. My mother calls me at work. Campus police gave her a ring trying to find me to see if I can come on down and look at some mug shots, attempt to identify the guy. I tell her, "sure." She said the officer explained who he was and why he was calling, and she said, "oh, you mean the grinning masturbator?" At which point he tried to keep his composure but let slip a few chuckles.

So, call me they did - at work. And the officer said, "do you think you could identify him? And I said, "clothed or unclothed?"

Turns out, the pictures that they offered me a few weeks later when I went home for a weekend were not the guy. But, hey, great story, no?

And I really don't like dark beards. I think all dark-beareded men must own some stashed away, uh, stained? 1994 tan coupe or 10. Sorry Harvey, but now you have the whole story why Heather doesn't like bearded dudes.

hln

Posted by: hln at 09:41 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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