Aug 21 2011


Published by under Out and About With Molly

Greeting, Cool Peeps:

Today we’re going to the supermarket. Although we all shop in different stores around the globe, I’m betting we have some of the same peeves. And I’ve no doubt that you, my awesome readers, will have your own delightful peeves to share.

Last night I worked late. I was exhausted, but I was out of everything and anything one can be out of: a trip to the supermarket was inevitable. All I wanted was to run in the store, grab some cat food for Captain Jack and go quickly through my list with no pain. That’s when I saw the sign implying that all products in the store had been rearranged for “the customers’ convenience.” Are you freakin’ kidding me? I had finally memorized the location of almost everything in the store from the last time they shuffled the goods for “the customers’ convenience” and now, once again, I was forced to play undercover detective and search high and low for every last item I needed. Why do they do that? I’d like to go into the homes and offices of the executives who make these decisions, switch everything around when they’re not looking, and see how convenient that is!

I’ll tell you something else I learned, and it isn’t pretty. One day, I saw this woman shopping. I watched as she reached into several bins at the salad bar and picked out things like olives, cherry tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, and cheese cubes, as if they were party hors d’oeuvres. It didn’t seem to faze her that she was touching food that other peeps would be eating. When I mentioned this to my friend who works in the produce department, she told me that the employees had been instructed not to say a word to the loyal customers for fear of upsetting them or losing their business. But nobody seemed to care if they were contaminating food for other “loyal customers.” Yet, if an employee were to catch someone down on their luck doing the same thing, it was okay to have said person physically removed from the store. That’s not right. Nobody should be touching the food. And this is why I’m not keen on salad bars. Or some store policies.

How many of you use the self-checkout? It’s supposed to be quicker, but every time I have tried it, this woman’s voice (the sister of the she-devil in my GPS) tells me that I need to scan some item I’ve already scanned (as if I’m stealing it), or a perishable item is not labeled with a code for weighing, the machine won’t accept my card, and on and on. Why do they call it self-checkout when invariably you have to call the attendant to help you through the muddled mess? Yeah, I know, lots of peeps go through self-checkout with no problems. Yours truly isn’t one of them.

Now, let me just say a few words about the customers. Peeps, please do the world a favor: stay with your freakin’ cart! Do not block aisle 6 with your cart while you run over to aisle 11 for some paper towels, bump into your neighbor, and stand there and discuss your other neighbors. Remember, there are peeps back in aisle 6 (and I’m likely one of them) trying to get by.

While I’d love to rant on, I’m saving space for a huge pet peeves: peeps who do not return their carts leaving them to block parking spaces or roll into someone’s car. This just incenses me! I’m very sure that the shoppers who leave their carts where they can damage another car are the ones who scream the loudest when their cars are damaged.

I’m out of space, though I’ve got lots more to say. So I’m counting on you, cool peeps, to carry on with the writing of this blog. I know you’ve got lots of stories, gripes, wishes, and dishes to share. I’m going to sit back now and let you entertain me. You always do!

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,


22 responses so far

Aug 14 2011


Published by under Out and About With Molly

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

This week I’m talking about faces in strange places. A little odd, yes, but maybe this blog will help us discover just how similar or just how different we are. Indulge me, please.

When I was a child, I loved visiting my grandmother. Her guest bedroom had this beautiful old-fashioned wallpaper with winding vines that boasted exquisite flowers. Before I would turn the light off at night and before I would get up in the morning, I loved to stare at the wallpaper. It was a challenge to find faces in the flowers. Once I found a face, I would play this game where I would turn my head away and then turn back again to see if the face was still there.

But the flowered walls weren’t the only place I saw faces. My favorite part about taking a bath at my grandmother’s was looking at the little man’s face with the big nose that went up and down.

“That’s just a drain, Molly,” she would say. “You move the lever up, the water stays put. You move the lever down, the water drains.”

“It’s a funny man with a big nose,” I would say, laughing, and my grandmother would always give in and say, “You’re absolutely right, Molly. I think it is.”

Every since my childhood, I’ve seen faces. Happy, sad, crazy, perplexed, silly faces.

I see faces in trees and faces on the ground. Look at these three photos I took recently. Do you see faces? Animal or human? I know these are just three random spots, but every day when I pass them on my way to work, I say hello to the faces.

In the first one, with my head to the left, I see a sideways bunny. With my head to the right, I see a horse. In the second one, I see a partial skull. Or maybe a man who’s been buried alive but is rising to the surface. Yes, peeps, my brain does take a vacation from men, work, fashion, straunts, and various pet peeves to go just a little AWOL. And I love it! Yeah, yours truly is a little freakin’ bonkers. But you already knew that.

The third photo is my favorite. Look at the amazing face of a man in profile with his eyelids, nose, and cheeks so pronounced. I see a wise and ancient soul — one who has been asleep for years or perhaps is meditating.

Here’s a house that I pass every day. Tell me you don’t see a guy looking at you in a Big-Brotherish kind of way. Look at those patriotic eyes. And that mail slot you think you see, that’s the dude’s mouth. He doesn’t talk a lot. He just waits for the mail carrier to bring him lunch.

Last week, I was chasing a story in a town I’d never been and saw these ladies in someone’s backyard. I call them the “Mop Sisters.” They haven’t seen a good hair day in a very long time. But they’re looking for someone, maybe some nearby old brooms, to sweep them off their feet. (Oh, wait, they don’t have feet.) Hmmm.

Last week, I was in New York, and looked up in Times Square at these streetlights. Only I saw sad, moping eyes that I wanted to comfort. (Yes, we’ve already established I’m a bit nuts.)

When I got home from my jaunt in the city, I fed Captain Jack, my beautiful orange furball, and lo and behold, I noticed that the cat food lid was smiling at me. See what happens when you take time to really look at things? (You lose your mind!)

And lastly, with a hungry cat fed and a tired me resting in my favorite chair, I looked over at my purse. It was smiling at me, too.

“Thanks for not spending too much of my money today, Molly,” it said. “And thanks for taking me to New York. I always have fun there.”

Tell me, peeps, what do you see when you look beyond the obvious? Do you see faces? Images? Do YOU see faces in strange places?

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,


19 responses so far

Aug 07 2011


Published by under Out and About With Molly

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Last Tuesday, I woke up in a bit of a rush. I had to meet a source for a feature I was doing in Princeton, New Jersey, and that meant that instead of my easy walk to work, I had to catch a train. But I’m a big girl. I could manage that. Or so I thought.

I woke up, fed Captain Jack, and hopped in the shower. No water! Not in the shower, not in the sink. Nowhere.

I ran from the bathroom to get my cell and call the manager of my apartment complex, when I saw a note being slipped under my door. I grabbed the note and read it:

Dear Residents:
This coming Tuesday morning, between 6:30 a.m. and 8:30 a.m., we will be turning off the water to complete some necessary maintenance. We apologize for any inconvenience this might cause.

“ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME?” I screamed, as I picked up the note at 6:55 a.m. on the day of said maintenance. “You’re telling me this NOW!”

I saw Jack looking at me. His eyes were wide, and his tail was puffed out. Believe me, peeps, he has seen me go crazy, but not like this. I barely move at 6:55 a.m., but that day I was running around naked, screaming. (Sorry, no illustrations on this one!)

With no time to spare, I ran to the kitchen sink and began dousing myself with bottles of spring water as I washed myself with dish liquid. Forget my hair — it was a frizzy mess.

Fast forward to 10:00 a.m. I was still feeling the effects of my horrific morning, but I arrived promptly at the office of the attorney I was interviewing in Princeton.

I knew it was all over when her secretary looked at me sheepishly and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Hacker. Ms. Dillywacker (okay, not her real name) had to meet with a new client today. I think I forgot to call you.”

Are you freakin’ kidding me? I screamed silently. Tell me you are freakin’ kidding me!

“I just came here from New York,” I said, resisting the urge to scream. “I braved a drought and battled the rush-hour masses to get here. Can I wait for her?”

“Sorry, she’s in Philadelphia,” came the reply. “I’d offer to reschedule, but she’s leaving on a business trip tomorrow. She might be gone for weeks.”

Peeps, I was infreakincensed. I had bathed in room temperature spring water and dish soap. My hair was not squeaky clean. I was not feeling my best, and the person who was the primary source for my feature article, due in twenty-four hours, was unavailable to me. And I had come all the way to Princeton, New Jersey, to find that out.

At that moment, a delivery guy pushed open the office door with boxes piled so high in his arms he did not see me. The boxes toppled to the floor, and in an effort to avoid the avalanche, I fell to the ground. I wasn’t hurt, but my left Jimmy Choo was decapitated from the heel. I stood looking at it as if my best friend had died.

Perfect time for a call from my boss, you think? When I told him that my New Jersey source was unavailable, he told me he had found an even better source in Connecticut. And he wanted me to go see the guy immediately.

The lawyer’s assistant, who had caused this debacle, offered me some Krazy Glue. Yes, peeps, I had to glue my Choo and make my way on the train to Connecticut.

As I sat there on the train, I looked in front of me. There wasn’t a man in the seat before me. There was an alien. A freakin’ alien. And we were going to Mars.

All that happened before noon, and it only got worse. Please, make me feel better. Tell me some of your “bad daze” stories. Misery loves company.

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,


23 responses so far

Aug 01 2011


Published by under Food

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Do you eat out a lot? For both personal and professional reasons, my crazy life gives me lots of reasons to dine in straunts. For the most part, I love them. But naturally, yours truly has just a few picky pet peeves. Yeah, I know, big surprise.

In this week’s blog, I’m going to present peeves from both sides: the customer side and the straunt side.

First, let me share what tweaks me. Recently, I was out for lunch with my BFF Claudia. I ordered a club sandwich that was presented to me in four quarters, as is traditionally the case. After eating the first two quarters, I stopped to take a breather and listen to what my friend was saying.

Within seconds, a server came rushing to the table and with his hand on my plate said, “Finished here?” No, I was not finished. I was pausing to digest my food in a healthy manner and listen to my friend. I am not a human vacuum cleaner. I neither inhale nor suck up the contents of my plate. I was really angry. Maybe if this had been the first time that such a thing had happened, I would have been more understanding. Who hasn’t been out to eat when a server hasn’t prematurely asked, “Still working on this?” as he hovers in a vulture-like stance near the table?

Another peeve of mine is when dishes are cleared while one person is still eating. However, I can’t blame this on most straunts. It’s considered rude to clear someone’s plate if another person is still eating. However, a lot of peeps don’t know this and if the server leaves doesn’t collect their plates immediately, customers will often get angry that their plates aren’t being cleared in a timely manner. So that’s a tough one for both sides.

Before I present the other side, here’s another peeve. Is it just me, or do you also go freakin’ bonkers when you pay the check and the server says, “Do you need change?” Why not just say, “Is this all for me? Do I get to keep all the money? Do I? Do I? Huh? Huh?” The classy thing to say is “I’ll be right back with your change.” If the customer intends for you to keep it, he or she will let you know.

The manager of one of my favorite straunts, Jen, told me that while her place is happy to accommodate special orders, it makes her staff crazy when people aren’t satisfied with what is served. “Why not stay home and cook it yourself?” she says. “And at home, no one will mind that you’re screaming into your cell phone.”

Another biggie on her list is those customers who extend their hands and snap their fingers rapidly to get someone’s attention. We’re all human beings and that’s just plain freakin’ rude. Really, peeps, who responds well to being snapped at? Especially by a dude who looks like this?

My manager friend particularly delights in peeps who call and ask her how long the wait will be on Saturday night at seven-thirty. As she tells it, “Don’t we all wish we could predict business ahead of time?”

One of my fave servers gets crazed when she asks a customer what she’ll have to drink and is given the response: “Nothing for me. I’ll just have water.”

Well, isn’t water something to drink? Is it a solid? What peeps are really saying is, “No, I’m not going to buy a drink. I’ll just have water.”

Back to what irks me. As my regular readers know, I’m very calorie conscious and watch what I eat. I’ve had to train myself well to keep my girlish figure. Filling up with a big salad for dinner works well for me. It’s not gone in minutes, and I feel satisfied but not stuffed when I’m done. I get twisted big time when I order a meal salad only to have the server say, “Oh, our salads are big. Do you want the full-size one?” Why not just freakin’ say, “Are you really gonna eat all that?” Listen, if I order the salad, bring it to me. Unless I ask, or I’m at a family-style restaurant where salads serve eight people, just take my order.

Tell me your restaurant peeves. Whether you work in a straunt or eat in one, what gets your goat?

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,


25 responses so far

Jul 24 2011


Published by under Lifestyle & Values

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

This week’s blog isn’t about what you do after a fight with your loved one (kiss and make up) but rather about kissing and makeup.

Before I was at the age that I ever kissed anyone (except in my daydreams), I did, of course, ponder the act of kissing from all angles, especially the makeup angle. However, my fantasies came from two sources: by observing my now-thrice-divorced aunt Pauline and by watching TV.

Let me start with Pauline. It is unbelievable that she and my mother are from the same parents. Freakin’ unbelievable. But I digress. Pauline, in her never-ending quest to snare a man, wears copious amounts of makeup, not to mention grotesque fake eyelashes. Pauline had her first divorce when I was ten. As a child, I had a secret suspicion that her marriage failed because no man wanted to kiss the layers of red lipstick that she constantly reapplied.

So peeps, stay with me here. When I was fifteen, my mother, the consummate hostess, had a party to celebrate her friend Susan’s fortieth birthday. An hour into the gala, Susan was alarmed when her boyfriend disappeared. And who disappeared right along with him? Yup. Pauline.

In no time at all, Susan found them — together, in the freakin’ pantry. Susan’s cheating boyfriend was not only red-faced from embarrassment but he was wearing Pauline’s lipstick all over his face. Oh, the clueless cheat also had no idea that one of my aunt’s false eyelashes was stuck to his forehead. You should have seen Pauline’s face when she noticed it! Ah, a moment divine.

Everyone at the party was horrified, but the biggest problem was that most of the peeps were trying not to laugh their asses off in front of poor Susan. Anyway, her cheating b/f ended up being Pauline’s second husband. That blissful union lasted for three years, two of them in divorce court.

Okay, so, as you can see, I had some grotesque early images about kissing that still mess with my mind today. But I think about it. Usually, when I am kissing a man, I haven’t just applied lipstick. However, I can’t help wondering how men feel about that. Anyone out there brave enough to share?

And now, a few words about makeup on TV and in the movies. I cannot tell you how many times makeup issues ruin films and TV shows for me. Did you ever see Girl, Interrupted? It’s a true story about this girl’s stay in a mental institution in the ‘60s. Winona Ryder plays Susanna Kaysen and Angelina Jolie is this off-the-wall chick named Lisa.

So, of course Angelina wore makeup, but they made her up to look crazy and beautiful. The point is, she didn’t look as if she had just “put on her face.” But Winona’s character was always so perfectly made up. I haven’t seen the film since it came out in 1999, but I still remember her lying in bed, with perfect makeup and glistening lip gloss. No way she would have been all glammed up at that point in the film. No freakin’ way. Why does Hollywood spend millions to make movies and then have their women made up so inappropriately? I think I know the answer, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Lastly, I’d like to touch upon the women on soap operas. Haven’t watched in years, but I can’t tell you how many times I saw a character lying in bed with a fully made-up face. Peeps, even my aunt Pauline washes the stuff off at night. Nobody goes to bed with a face full of makeup. Aside from the damage to one’s skin, it’s a great way to ruin your sheets. Even more absurd is a woman waking up with her war paint intact. That’s not quite as bad as a character wearing a bandage after lifesaving brain surgery and having their full head of hair back in a week. But it’s close. And I’m out of space.

Let’s just keep it real, shall we? Please, peeps, tell me your thoughts. You know I love hearing from all of you.

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,


13 responses so far

Jul 17 2011


Published by under Out and About With Molly

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

I love my life in Swansea — most days — but there’s just so much “small town” I can take. That’s when I run off to New York, where I escape from all of the people who make me freakin’ nuts, only to find strangers who do the same. But I don’t know their names, and they don’t know mine. Sometimes being anonymous is just what I need to cope with my crazy life.

I know some of you have visited New York, and some of you have not. So, I thought that I would take a “cool peeps day” in the Big Apple. I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse of New York through my eyes.

First, let’s drive up the West River Drive and into Harlem.

Welcome to Harlem. Isn’t this the coolest elevated train structure? I first saw this as a kid when my parents brought my little sister Hannah and me to New York. As soon as I saw this, I was begging my dad to stop the car so I could climb this monstrosity. He tried explaining to me that this was neither a jungle gym nor a playground, but I didn’t want to hear it. I just wanted to CLIMB!

And here’s the famous Apollo Theater, home to some of the coolest acts ever.

Now, let’s head south and stop in Central Park, one of my very favorite places in New York. I love the vibe here, and walking through the park on a beautiful day is one of the best feelings ever. It calms me down. As you might have guessed, “calm” is a state of being that eludes me most days.

Since I’m playing tour guide, let me take you to the area where most tourists go — to Times Square and the theater district. As you can see, I’m very popular here.

If you want to leave my tour and hop on a bus, here’s one ready to go. But wouldn’t you rather stay here with yours truly?

If any of you are Seinfeld fans, you know all about Jerry and the dude he calls the “Soup Nazi.” No soup for you!

Check this place out, peeps. Somewhere out there roaming the country is a guy named Tex who lived in Swansea for about a year. This guy was so freakin’ into me that he surprised me one day with a “Molly” tat that he got in this joint. I was blown away, but not as much so as when I saw that he had “Jennifer,” “Lisa,” “Susie,” and “Candy” also on his visible body parts. Seriously, who makes their body a human canvas to impress a woman?

As for this place, yeah, I’ve got crazy fantasies, but somehow I don’t think this story carries white picket fences. And if they do, they’re likely used for something that I can’t talk about in this blog.

Want to take in a show? You’re in the right neighborhood. How do you like this electronic billboard? I know, some peeps think it was King Kong who climbed the Empire State Building. Wrong! As you can see, it was really a giant red M&M.

If you want a fab meal before or after the theater, join me here on Restaurant Row on West 46th Street. I love Joe Allen’s. Someone I loved a lot used to take me here. Moving right along…

Do you want to pick up a souvenir before you leave? Here’s one of many shops you can check out. And no, peeps, that’s not Pebbles Flintstone in the window. It’s her New York cousin. She came here to be a model in the stoned age and this is what happened. The city broke her in two.

There’s so much more I want to show you in New York, but our tour is coming to an end as we head down to the Village. Peeps, let me give you some advice: if you see this truck, keep moving. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Do not eat a freakin’ funnel cake! There’s close to eight hundred calories in these things, not to mention forty-four grams of fat. Let’s keep going and say goodbye to Cholesterol on Wheels.

It’s appropriate that I leave you at the famed music spot, The Bitter End, where many musical superstars began their careers. I’m going in for a glass of wine with this gorgeous dark-haired guy I just met. Wish me luck.

Tell me, peeps, for those of you who live in New York or have visited, what are your favorite spots? For those of you who want to visit, what are the places you most want to see? Any crazy New York stories for me?

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,


14 responses so far

Jul 10 2011


Published by under Dating

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Just in case any of you were wondering if I was going to share more dating horror stories, alas, yes. Enough time has passed, I hope, so that I can recall some nightmarish first (and last!) dates without reliving the abject horror of each experience.

Let me start with Rodney. I met him at a July Fourth picnic given by a professional colleague, who, to say the least, was on the uptight, old money side. I was miserable at the get-together, so when I met a happy-go-lucky guy with a Spuds MacKenzie bull terrier (whom everyone but me wished would disappear), I was all too happy to spend time with him. He was such a breath of fresh air that I failed to remember that fresh air can get stale quickly.

Two weeks later, I met him at a local straunt, clueless that I was going not only to have a ghastly evening, but also to suffer public mortification. I had suggested Thai Gardens, but he chose Dick’s Steak House. To put it delicately, Rodney was an “enthusiastic” eater. He ordered Manhattan clam chowder as an appetizer, and three spoonfuls into it, his tie became submerged in the soup. He continued to chat lively, while I sat there frozen-faced, trying to pretend that several customers and most of the servers hadn’t all noticed. Finally, a male server came by and asked Rodney if he would like some more soup with his tie.

Rodney looked down at his soup bowl, looked at me, and said: “Oh, ha ha. I guess I was in the mood for Thai food after all.” I’ll move to the next date. Trust me, peeps, it only went downhill from there.

Looks aren’t everything. I learned that lesson fast the night I agreed to have dinner with Mr. Boring. I have never in my life had a fellow human being fill my head with more useless, mind-numbing, complex pieces of meaningless information in my life. “Conversation” with him was like talking to a brick wall. He wasn’t interested in my stories (which were quite scintillating) and I sure wasn’t interested in his. No, I do not care how you like your shirts laundered. I do not care that your boss and his wife disagreed on the naming of their twin boys. I do not care that your coworker is an advocate for gluten-free living or that your mother has 1500 Hummel statues, all displayed in her living room.

This man was the most insufferable yawn I had ever encountered in my life. As he finished his coffee, drinking slowly as he told me all about his neighbor’s new barbecue grill, I ticked away the seconds until he would take that last sip and I would be set free. When the server came over, I thought she was going to leave the check, and all would be right with the world.

She winked at me and turned to him. “More coffee?” she asked, filling his cup without waiting for a response. I wanted to die right there on the spot. But unfortunately, I lived. Forty-five minutes later, when I told Mister Boring I had a migraine and had to go home, those were the truest words I had ever spoken. Moving right along . . .

Everyone knows someone who is calculator happy at restaurants, right? It can be downright embarrassing when a dinner partner performs a stringent financial breakdown when the check comes, frantically punching numbers until the calculator says, “Stop, you’re hurting me!”

Peeps, I was lucky enough to avoid this humiliation. I met a man who liked to whip it out (his calculator) right after ordering dinner. Oh, yes, having a man stress over the dollar value of your meal really whets your appetite. I ended this nightmare quickly. With a smile on my face, I called over the server, canceled my dinner order, wished him and his number cruncher a lovely dinner, and went home and snuggled up with my favorite boy, my knight in shining fur, Captain Jack.

He actually called me the next day to ask me why I left.

Tell me, peeps, have you had first dates so awful that you’ve had to run from them? Please share; I love hearing your stories.

See you next week. 

Yours in pickiness,


22 responses so far

Jul 03 2011


Published by under Out and About With Molly

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Road rage isn’t the best thing to have. In fact, it’s something we should all try to avoid. But there are these pesky people on the road called “idiots” who sometimes make it impossible to stay calm.

There is one particular curve on a main road in Swansea that makes me nervous. When I am approaching, I always stay several feet to my right because inevitably, someone coming from the opposite direction will ignore the line and drive anywhere from a few inches to a good foot or so over it.

One day I recognized an offending red Alfa Romeo as belonging to a dude who works in my building. The next day, when I saw him, I asked him why he drives over the line like that.

“Oh, Molly, chill out,” he told me. “What’s the big deal? I was only five inches over. At most.”

“Only five inches?” I replied. “Well, let me ask you this: What would happen if I were ‘only five inches’ over the line, too? ‘At most.’ ”

He stared at me.

“We’d have a freakin’ crash, wouldn’t we?”

“Whatever,” he said like a spoiled child and walked off. He knew I had the point of all points, but no, this idiot preferred to risk an accident than take driving advice from a woman. Scary. (Did I mention the guy was my ex? Just kidding!)

On a less dangerous note, but on a highly irritating one, I’d like to say a few words about the peeps who will hold up an entire line of traffic at a mall or shopping center just to get the closest parking space. Listen, if spaces are elusive, then I’ll sit and wait for one, too. But give me a break, if there is a ton of spaces to be had, why would you hold up everyone else to save yourself from having to walk a couple of extra yards? If you’re able-bodied, there’s really no excuse.

Before I finish with parking spaces, how about those situations when empty spaces are at a premium, and a person with the brand-new expensive car purposely takes up two spaces so as not to have anyone close enough to scratch his car? Yours truly is a law-abiding citizen who does not damage property. But doing something like that is just asking for trouble.

I’m really nice about letting people in traffic. People let me in, and I like to pay it forward. I always hope that there will be a ripple effect with even the smallest of kindnesses. But if I’m on a major road or highway, and there’s a slowdown, and if you freakin’ drive on the shoulder past all of the waiting cars just to try to get in front of me, I will never let you in. Don’t even try it. I don’t care how expensive your car is or how good looking you are.

I appreciate having a nice sound system in my car. Music can be very relaxing when I drive, or it can rev me up when I’ve got a ways to go and need a boost. Or maybe at times, I’m in the mood to listen to a news or talk station. Sometimes I like silence so I can think or talk to the passenger in my car. It doesn’t matter. My car; my choice. Peeps, you know where I’m going with this, don’t you? Who are these freakin’ people who decide that their choice of musical entertainment should obliterate every other sound wave vying for space within a ten-block radius? I do not want to hear the pounding bass from someone else’s car. I have turned my music up quite loud at times, and I promise, I’m not drowning anyone out.

Because this is a blog and not a dissertation, I’m going end it here for this week. But you’re all welcome to dissertate as much as you’d like. What makes you absolutely crazy when you drive? Who do you want to see get off the freakin’ road?

See you next week.

And by the way, please, don’t text and drive.

Yours in pickiness,


25 responses so far

Jun 26 2011


Published by under Out and About With Molly

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Let me ask you this: What does your ride say about you?

I know some peeps are just happy to have wheels to take them where they need to go. Let’s face it, we’re in some tough financial times, and having a car to match your personality isn’t at the top of the average person’s list. That being said, when I see certain vehicles, I can’t help but wonder if the owner is male and what he might look like. And sometimes, when I see a particular man of interest, I like to play a game with myself and guess what kind of car he drives.

Wanna play? Please, come along with me for the ride.

I live in Swansea, a town where a lot of men ride golf carts in their spare time. Most of them have big bucks and associate with people like the town’s she-devil, Naomi Hall-Benchley, whom I avoid like moldy fruit. Nothing against golfers, peeps, just sayin’ we probably won’t go clubbin’ together.

Isn’t this DeSoto cute? The last ones were manufactured in 1960. I’m thinking the owner probably isn’t as old as his car, probably has a much newer ride that is cool and sleek (and actually runs), and just might be a hip dude…or not.

My guess is that the driver of this Mini Cooper certainly won’t be anywhere near as tall as Gary Cooper was, and also that this “he” might just be a she. Mini Coopers also make me just a wee bit claustrophobic. Thoughts?

I’m sure this is a beautiful dream in progress (aren’t we all?), but let’s keep moving. In fact, step on it!

Who owns this fab truck? I want to meet him.

Okay, peeps, this is a cute little red-wheeled number, you think? But the freakin’ wheels remind me of a dude I knew who wore clown shirts with big red buttons. I can’t look at this car without expecting that guy to pop out of the trunk like a jack-in-the-box.

When I look at this photo, I’m thinking, “Knock, knock, anyone home?” I’m guessing that the owner of this vehicle also lives here. Might be a rad place to hang for the evening. I’m picturing a dude with long hair who’s probably got a guitar and a “stash” stashed somewhere in here.

This one blows me away. Richard Nixon was president from 1969 until 1974. And this dude voted for him and kept the bumper sticker in mint condition. Looks like the owner of this car spends a lot of time keeping the car in spiffy condition, too. Moving right along…

This snazzy vehicle is shared by a bunch of cool New Yorkers. Really, what an awesome job to taxi tacos around! If you ride over enough potholes, they will come out of their shells for sure and spill their guts.

This one has me curious. I have no idea who might own the truck, but if he is as cute as his dog, it’s a date!

Normally, I’m not digging guys who use chauffeurs. But in this case, I think I could be forgiving.

The guy who owns this truck has a great sense of humor and a loving heart. And he also might have a very large…uh…car alarm.

The guy who owns this car might be a hunk, but why do I think that his dog is going to guard and protect him forever — even from lil’ ol’ me?

Peeps, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that all of the guys who drive this ride are well traveled and look hot in a uniform. I think a woman has to be very secure to date a pilot or any man who’s out of town a lot. Not saying it wouldn’t work, though…

Okay, I’m coming clean. This ride is owned by a woman. A very hip friend. And this sweet dog has the name of all names: Molly. What can I tell you? Just had to share.

Dreams are made of rides like this one. This guy is magical. He eats to his heart’s content, yet he still fits down chimneys and flies through the air. He is the most well-traveled man ever, even though he stays put 364 days a year, and when he rides over Naomi Hall-Benchley’s mansion, he shouts “Ho ho ho” as he makes hoop shots with coal that go right down her chimney and into her stocking. What a guy!

Let me hear your stories. I know you’ve got some.

See you next week,

Yours in pickiness,


19 responses so far

Jun 19 2011


Published by under Lifestyle & Values

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

This week, I’m here to talk about germs. No, not the ones I have dated, but the kind that are ubiquitous and invisible. The kind that make us sick.

I’m not quite OCD crazy like Howie Mandel is, but some days, I come close. Like Howie, I do freak out when I see Jay Leno come out for his monologue and grab all of those hands of all of those people in his audience. Maybe Jay steams his hands clean during the commercial break; I don’t know.

I remember the first time I had a public freak-out about germs. I was in a department store, and I asked the saleswoman where the customer service office was.

“It’s on the third floor, but if you merely have a question about your account, Miss Hacker, save yourself some time by using our red courtesy phone. It’s right over there on the wall.”

I turned to look, saw a woman pick up the phone, sneeze, and then cough into the receiver. I just looked at the saleswoman. Are you freakin’ kidding me?

Let’s just call the saleswoman Oblivia de Havilland, because when she looked at me and said, “I’m sure she’ll only be a moment,” I was Gone With the Wind.

That was all it took. There was no freakin’ way I was ever using a courtesy phone again. Not in a store, not at an airport, not anywhere. I do carry disinfectant wipes with me, but just the image of that woman spewing forth microbes and mucus did me in—for life.

How many of you who use escalators actually touch the handrail? Not me. Do you know how microbe coated that thing is? Just a ride from Men’s Clothing to Housewares can give you the flu. Or worse. I would rather plunge head first down the stairway than intentionally self-infect by clutching a buggy banister.

What really kills me is using my credit card in stores. Every store that has one of these germ-spreading units for paying should have a bottle of hand sanitizer right next to it. Do you know how many germs touch the electronic pen and those buttons? While I applaud the grocery stores that offer wipes for grocery carts, I wonder why they go to all of that trouble only to let their customers become germ ridden at checkout.

Money is another filthy thing we all touch. I guess that we are so happy when we have money, that we don’t think about how many people have touched it and where it has been. New money is beautiful. It’s not worth more than used money, but it’s a lot cleaner.

If you want a demonstration of how quickly germs spread, or if you want to teach a classroom of children why hand washing is so important, you can buy one of those invisible powder kits that come with a black light. Trust me, seeing a demonstration of how germs spread is very motivating. It will also make everyone paranoid, crazy, and germophobic, but you’ll be all the healthier for it.

Shaking hands. Now, there’s a wicky sticket. Unlike Howie, I just can’t bring myself to fist bump in place of a shake. I want to, but it is awkward, at least for me, not to shake someone’s hand. When I go to places where I know I’m going to meet people, I try to wear something with pockets so I can stick my hand in afterward and clutch the disinfectant wipe I have hidden for the occasion.

Let’s face it, there are ways we can be more careful. But we have to live our lives. Kissing handsome men is a part of my life. Holding hands is a part of my life. There are some things I’m just not giving up.

How about you, cool peeps? Are you as germophobic as yours truly? Worse? Some days I get so paranoid I won’t even watch a viral video. ☺ Please, tell me your war stories.

See you next week!

Yours in pickiness,


25 responses so far

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