OLGA BOINGO-Lost In Translation

 

Olga Boingo---Lost in Translation

I'm divorced now, but I was married for 13 years to an Irishman, a real one, straight off the boat from Dublin. With a whiskey in hand, and a song in his heart. The best part about him was the Ireland factor. The only real bad thing was the bar fights he'd get into in our garage, with me. Oh, he never touched me, but the stupid things he'd say would make me want to break a chair over my own head.

One time he took me to Ireland to meet each and every one of his relatives. My favorite was his Grandpa Kevin. We knocked, and this ENORMOUS old man comes to the door. He hugs his grandson, and over his shoulder sees me. He throws Peter to the side, grabs me by my face and says

" Oh, Peter, ye cute hoor, she's GORgeous. Where'd ye ever find her?"

Cute What?! Hmmm. Wow. Didn’t know how to take that.....Turns out it means "You lucky bastard." I would soon learn plenty more Irish-isms... If something’s fantastic, it's not the bee’s knees, or the cat’s meow...no its the "Dog’s Bollocks" This confused me in later years when my mother in law told me I was a "Pathetic Excuse for a Wife."

Oh, how lovely, I thought! She noticed I've lost weight. Silly Irish people!

ON THE GO WITH BOINGO - Flawed Perfection

Jellyfish Bar Perdido Key, FL

This young lady was competing in the Bikini Contest they had at the Jellyfish Martini Festival today.
I know what you're thinking.  Skinny waif in a bikini.  Look how thin she is, bet she doesn't eat, she probably doesn't even have any organs.  And funny enough, you'd be closer than you thought.   I was chosen to be one of the judges for the event, and thought I'd talk to the girls before I judged them on the superficial.  Her story was my favorite.  24 years old and going to school to study sonography-an admirable profession. Very sweet disposition. Full of hope and life and none of the jaded disdain we older broads acquire through our experiences.  If you look closely at the photo, you'll see a scar right down the middle of her stomach.  I asked her what had happened.  She told me she'd been in a horrible car accident when she was 16 years old.  She'd broken three ribs, and damaged a number of her internal organs.  She had to be life flighted out of the accident to the trauma center.  "I died once, and they had to bring me back." she told me.  Clearly, that experience hadn't hindered her joie de vivre!  This girl has this enormous scar practically dividing the two halves of her body, and what does she do?  BIKINI CONTESTS!  So next time you see a skinny girl in a teeny little bathing suit, and your first instinct is to try and drown her, or shove a cheeseburger down her throat, stop for a sec, and just talk to her. She may give you the straight skinny on embracing your awesomeness in spite of your flaws!

ON THE GO WITH BOINGO----Loves Gas Station Exit 44 Biloxi MISSISSIPPI.

Standing in line at Subway getting ready to order my sandwich, I saw a black man about my age slowly walk up and get in line. He was carrying a backpack ,had a down look on his face, and was staring off into space. I looked at him and said 

"C'mon man! Smile. Life is good." 

His face lit up, and he said in a VERY strong foreign accent "Oh. EET EES GOOD. I am jest very TIe-AHD." 

"You have an accent! Where are you from?" I asked.

"I'm from Africa. I drive a truck here."

"Africa? Vous parlez francais?"

"A LEETEL BEET." he smiled.

"Where in Africa?"

"South Africa."

"Afrikaans then?"

'n bietjie" (a little bit in Afrikaans)

"What is your mother language?"

"(CLICK) Khoisan!" The FREAKIN' CLICKY LANGUAGE from AFRICA! So I spent the next five minutes trying to click, while he stood there just laughing at me.

"What's your name?" 

"Steve"

I reached out my hand to shake his. "Steve, I'm Olga, it was a pleasure to meet you!" 

"And also you, Olga."

He paid for his sandwich, and headed off out the door with a wave goodbye and a new spring in his step. I grabbed my sandwich and pulled out my card to pay. The girl at the counter said "He already got yours." I smiled, pleasantly surprised, and looked out the window to see if I could see him. He was just pulling out of the parking lot, in a COCA-COLA truck! 

The Gods MUST be Crazy!

On the Go with Boingo

Everyone always says you shouldn't talk to strangers. I adamantly disagree. If you don't, you miss out on meeting some of the COOLEST PEOPLE who will ever enter into your world. One of the things that gets me excited over almost anything else is a room full of people I don't know. Every single one of them has a story. And some of their stories will blow your mind.

I will be chronicling my encounters with the newest members of my life's walk here, to share with you. Perhaps I'll inspire some of you to take that leap of faith and reach out to someone you don't know. It may be the best decision you'll ever make.

A Very Pressing Matter.

Six years ago today, at the age of 58, my mother died of breast cancer .  She never got checked, and refused to go to the doctor. I firmly believe that had she done just that, she would still be here telling me where to go, what to do, and who to do it to.

I was 30 years old when she passed, and have gotten a mammogram every year since.  I am, to put it very mildly, quite top heavy.  As you can imagine, such an annual event is no small feat for me.  (Speaking of feet, do my shoes match?)

Let me just 'splain something to you.  When I go in for a breast cancer screening, it's a serious expedition.    The folks from the Bronx Zoo are called in to utilize their elephant xray.  When I behave myself, and hold really still, they even throw me peanuts.

For those of you who've never had a mammogram, it's a piece of cake! Please allow me to serve you a slice...

SCENE--- Doctor's office.

Nurse asks me to undress from waist up.  Hands me two circular bandaids with BB's in the middle of them.  These are to be placed directly on the nipple.  Apparently the BB's are meant to protect the milk factory from being nuked.

Then I pull on the completely pointless front opening hospital johnny.  Don't tie it, cause that would ruin all the fun.

Next they lead me over to what looks like a robotic bench vice.   I am then meant to place one of the old girls (with the help of three attendants) on the platform, and hold very still while they bring the top down. I visualize it squeezing until that BB shoots off the end of my nipple and puts someone's eye out.  Fortunately, that doesn't happen.  I just exhale, hold still, and click, they take a pic.

After it releases, they whip the machine around vertically, and squish her this time like a fat kid stuck in an elevator door.  Very similar situation, only more gravitational challenges.  Again, just as I think I can't take anymore pressure--- breathe, hold it, click, release.  No big whoop.

Repeat this scenario for the other side, and hallelujah, I'm done!

NO. SUCH. LUCK.  After reviewing the films, they come to the horrifying realization that due to my mammorific magnitude, they have to redo the whole thing. Only this time, in QUADRANTS...yes, you heard me right ladies and gentlemen...  That means, I have to have the equivalent of FOUR complete mammograms.  EVERY YEAR.

So, ladies?? All the ladies!  No excuses.  If I can endure this torture four times, you can go in there and get your piddly little 15 minutes of annual boob squashing taken care of.

What a small price to pay to be able to stick around and make sure everyone's doing what they're told!

Hostage negotiations.

After acquiring my license this summer, I was given the opportunity to interview for a full time job, and got it.  

I work in a professional environment. Always considered a gregarious person, my entire existence consisted of shock and awe tactics deployed at the most inopportune times. The quiet, low key setting of the office presented itself as a challenge. I would have great ideas for jokes, but I couldn't let them out, so the actual words would bang themselves against the inside of my skull, trying to escape. Then there's my filter, or lack thereof.  When it's on the fritz, I worry that I'm going to say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person.  (It's been known to happen...I know you're all saying "What? You? Never!")

I was still training in my new position, and on this particular day, it seemed everything I touched turned into a soup sandwich. It was a mess. I couldn't focus. Everyone wondered where I was, and who this imposter was in my stead. 4:55 finally came along, and I slid into the bathroom for a quick trip before heading home. 

I went about my business, and then over to the sink to wash my hands. As I was standing in the mirror feeling sorry for myself, I heard the other stall door open. My co-worker, Sarah, took one look at the back of me, and said "GIRL!!!! PULL that dress down!" Apparently my panties were holding my dress hostage, and if she hadn't come along to handle negotiations, I might've had a real shake down. I thanked her, slightly embarrassed, and we laughed til we had tears running down our cheeks. 

My bad day was a mere memory at that point. It's amazing how the simplest thing can completely change your mood.  It was just what I'd needed. 


That, and the realization that there's more than one way to show my ass at work.

Nibble Nibble little mouse......

I'm 36.  I'm single (not legally yet, but close enough).  I'm intelligent, reasonably good looking, a decent cook, and a pretty good mother to my kids.  Why on EARTH is it that I'm constantly being asked out by married men and the barely shaving crowd?

I have to wonder what these married guys are attracted to?  Do I have that newly single smell?  What exactly does that smell like?  Ramen noodles, and beer? Freedom...it's the liberating scent of freedom! They like it, and they want some of it! Don't these guys realize I have so much baggage, I have to pay a surcharge just to walk THROUGH the airport?  Uh, not to mention...they're MARRIED?!

  

I tell these fellas to stay away.  I don't do well with married men. I've already had a relationship with one, and it hasn't ended well.  Now, we both have lawyers, and separate bank accounts.

And the young ones....this one I truly can't fathom.  Do they want me to cook them dinner, and do their laundry? Read them a bedtime story? Do I remind them of their mother? 

Do I smell like gingerbread?!!

I am actually flattered by all this, but the reality of my life at the moment is this... I am becoming an independent woman.  I will stand on my own two feet, for my own sake, and for the sake of my three monkeys.  I have a potentially fantastic career ahead of me, and a wonderful family to raise.  I don't need any unnecessary distractions.

I've come to realize how important it is to become your best YOU before you can ever share yourself with someone else. 

I'm not ready to share yet.