Shhh, just go with it.

I don't make a lot of sense.

This is something I know and like about myself.  Naturally, it annoys the flaming piss out of me when someone tries to point this out to me like it is a failing.

I find most people do a lot better with me if rather than trying to understand this mess, they just go with it.

This is why I liked my college freshman roommate so much.

For the purpose of anonymity, I will refer to her as Princess Sparkle Jewel Fairy.  Plus, I'm pretty sure she would love that.

Princess Sparkle Jewel Fairy is a character and I learned her mannerisms, likes, dislikes, pet peeves and health conditions pretty damn fast.

First of all, she looks like Barbie.  Because of this, most people underestimate her when they first meet and are then blindsided when she slaps them with knowledge.  Or her ample bosom.  Either way.

 

This is kind of what she looks like.

She likes fans, but does not appreciate it when they blow on her as she sleeps (particularly the oscillating fan).

She didn't really like to shower.  So when she did, I would hang out in the bathroom and talk to her so she didn't get bored.

If she came to a concert or recital of a floormate, she could not sit still unless I gave her hard candy.

She hated when I watched the Weather Channel in the morning.

Before class, she would take an item of clothing out of her closet, throw it at me and say, "This would look pretty on you." 

She was (and still is) so very odd.  I really liked this about her, so I opted to accept it and embrace the crap out of it.

In return, she did the same for me.

She knew I couldn't sleep unless the bathroom door was shut AND locked.

She knew I couldn't go to sleep at night until I cracked every bone in my body.

When I came back from class having failed yet another music theory quiz, she would put on her shoes, pick up her keys and say, "Starbucks?"

If I wanted someone to leave our room, without batting an eye she would say, "My roommate is getting a migraine.  Everyone needs to leave."


She didn't judge my lack of political knowledge. 

PSJF: Name a former president.
Sara: Uhh, Reagan?
PSJF: Good!  Okay, now what did he do?
Sara: Reaganomics.
PSJF: Excellent!  So, what is Reaganomics?
Sara: Small business?
PSJF:  Sort of!

What I'm saying is she and I did pretty well together because we are both wicked idiosyncratic and we chose to gather all those idiosyncrasies to our respective bosoms and cherish them like tiny, quirky chinchillas.

For the most part, I find people are pretty happy to just go along with my ridiculousness.  But every now and then, there's that one person.

You know who I'm talking about.  We'll call her Sharon.

Sharon insists on pointing out how weird it is every single time you say "pop" instead of "soda." 

Sharon is also really bothered by how much TV you watch. She only watches CNN and The Hallmark Channel (of course she does).

Sharon thinks it's really irresponsible that you've never had an MRI despite your persistent 10-year run with hiccups.

Sharon thinks it's really strange how worked up you get about Walmart.  It is just a store, after all.

Sharon can't believe you haven't been on a hike, skiing, rock climbing or camping since you've been here.  It's like you're not even trying.

Sharon, if you haven't figured it out, is a hateful shrew.

The moral of this story is that we all need to embrace the wacky within each other.

So, if your co-worker hates olives because she thinks they're looking at her, help her out!  Get rid of the filthy bastards!

If your roommate can't form coherent sentences until he's had his 3rd cup of coffee, then shut your mouth and let him caffeinate. 

If your neighbor makes his dog drink urine instead of water because it's sterile and he fears parasites... okay, well call PETA because that shit is wrong.

But you get the point, right?

Trick question... or am I?

It snows in the mountains: true or false?

True!  Wait, false?  No... yes... uhh, purple?  Forty-three.  Gerald Ford!

Since I first moved here, I have been warned that Winter is long and bitchy, often giving us snow as late as May.  And yet, the residents of this little town seem to forget all that the second the weather predictions turn itchy.

I swear, every time snow, sleet, ice or all of the above are forecast for the High Country, people here flip their biscuits (a-thank you, Lisa!).


Suddenly, the parking lot at Harris Teeter is a freaking zoo, all the baskets (both big and small) are taken and hoarded, and Lucy Logic has officially taken a backseat to Annie Alarmist.


What really amuses me are the things people deem as "essentials."

So, for the most part you see baskets teeming with milk, pasta, cereal, bread, bottled water, etc.  These are the traditional items on which people choose to stock up when they think they're going to die.

On the other hand, you'll also see a couple college-age guys walking out of the grocery store with two cases of Coors and a 12-pack of toilet paper, looking pretty proud of themselves I might add.

What did I get at the grocery store, you wonder?

Thank you for asking.

I stopped off at The Teet for only the most basic items any woman may find indispensable when bombarded with the seven plagues of the apocalypse.

I got a wheel of brie and a copy of US Weekly.

Boo-yah.

Video killed the radio star

Call me a raging nutbag, but I listen to the radio for the music.

Granted, I don't mind a little NPR now and again, but 9 times out of 10, I want some tunes!

This gets particularly obnoxious when I'm driving home from class at night.

I start surfing my station presets (because you only get so many options up here in the mountains that aren't country). I will find a song I deem worthy of 3 min. of my attention.

When the song ends and I'm preparing myself for the next, I am suddenly bombarded with Tina from Squaw Lake, Minnesota whining about how her ex-hairdresser's step-son's "roommate"'s second cousin twice removed just had serious bunion surgery and she would like to request Salt N Pepa's "Let's Talk About Sex" to show her support.

There's only one show on the radio that provides this kind of aural assault.

F**king Delilah.

Not only does she provide an open forum for every loon to come out of the woodwork to talk about his or her iguana's chronic heartburn, but she's sneaky about it.

Every now and again, someone requests a song I happen to enjoy. So, I'm sitting there, pouring my heart and soul into "In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins (shut up, you know you love it) when I'm ripped from my appreciation of a strategically placed drum machine and personally violated with that syrupy, patronizing voice that makes me want to chuck on my parka.

The only way it could be worse is if at the same time, someone force-fed me Miracle Whip while holding my eyes open with toothpicks so I could read cartoon after cartoon of Family Circus.

Thank you, Tina. I hope your moment was worth the blood pooling in my ears.

Why a box of steaks?

Does anyone feel like this when they start a new relationship?

Just me?

Fair enough.

October: Years in Review

This time last year, I was living in the Netherlands as an au pair and hating my life.

The year before, I was in Denver, getting a certificate to teach English abroad and planning a move to Poland (never happened).

The year before that, I was in my senior year of undergrad at Indiana and trying to convince my parents to let me switch majors from music to religious studies.

Now, I'm in North Carolina, in grad school for marriage and family therapy.

I'm pretty sure that this time next year, I'll be living on a commune in Duluth, hugging raccoons and harvesting the last of my swiss chard so I can sell it at the local farmers' market and have enough money to finish weaving my hemp wedding dress when I get married to my fiance, Wingspan.

It could happen.

Get your freak on

Sometimes people are weird.

They have odd habits. They dress poorly. Maybe they have hidden quirks or idiosyncrasies. Perhaps they say whatever comes out of their mouths without thinking or filtering. Other times, they're just funny looking.

Unfortunately, every single one of these glorious characteristics is sadly lacking from the majority of the other students in my program.

I went to class today and was bombarded with regularity.

They get to class on time. The girls wear blouses and the guys wear polo shirts. They have standard notebook paper with #2 pencils. In their spare time, I'll bet several of them go to football games and mixers sponsored by the university!

Today's class was a 2 1/2 hour onslaught of normal.

I've never felt so dirty in my life.

So, this is a shout-out to all the nut-jobs out there.

I miss you, flamboyantly gay gentleman, wearing your itty bitty tees, designer sunglasses and Juicy Couture sweatpants!

I miss you, funky alternative girl, sharing every spiritual thought and feeling you have with every single person in the classroom, hoping to convince us all to do the same!

I miss you, super nerdy guy, wearing your Bugle Boy denim shorts and Everclear tee, because you think it might still be cool (not that it ever was)!

I miss you, incredibly attractive Asian girl, with your sideswept bangs, designer shoes and ridiculous power to make all the guys idolize you and make all the girls a little gay for you!

Never stop being off-beat and remarkable.

NEVER!

B*tch, I don't know your life!

So, you know how sometimes when you're trying to blog, all you can think about is how you need more area rugs?

Clearly, I'm having trouble putting cohesive thoughts together.

Wait, that's not it.

Okay, you know how sometimes you're really tired and you say to yourself (or your cat), "Man, I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep so well tonight!"

Four hours later, as you stare at the ceiling, you wonder what went wrong.

Usually, I just can't turn my brain off and every single thought I've ever had suddenly rushes into my mind and becomes very important.

I think that's where my head is right now because it's all I can do to complete some of these sentences.

Here is a sample of a smattering of the many thoughts churning in my melon:

What color is puce?
I should learn to sew.
Sewing should be easier.
I'm cold.
Do I own too many scarves?
I definitely own too many hats.
Should I donate them?
If I donate a couple, that means I could buy some more.
I don't want to learn to cook.
I'm hot.
I wish green grapes were healthier than red grapes.
Daisy, Daisy, sour cream...
I guess I would've been Sporty Spice by default.
Did she turn out to be a lesbian?
I would've picked Reid.
Who doesn't like fondue?
Do a dollop, do, do a dollop of Daisy...
I hate it how when I want fried eggs, I break the yolk but when I want scrambled eggs, the yolks come out perfectly.
David Hyde Pierce.

Sell your crazy somewhere else because we're all full here!

I don't want to have to make sense today.

In fact, I'm resenting the hell out of the fact that I'm even trying to write coherent, sequential thoughts right now.

I am hyper aware of all the stuff on my desk. Most of it is clutter (the plastic bag in which I packed my sandwich, the Post-it I haven't thrown away yet, the keys I apparently refuse to put in my purse, etc.).

I just figured out my fidgety attitude. It is GORGEOUS outside today and well above 50 degrees. That mess doesn't happen very often in pre-Spring Indiana, so when it does, I want to frolic.

You heard me. I want to frolic and frolic good!

And I want a puppy! And fresh cut flowers! And a banana-chocolate chip muffin the size of a small child's head!

I'm feeling very impulsive which is bad for me. That's when I will go to Dick's Sporting Goods and purchase a pair of top-of-the-line canoeing shoes in day-glo orange to match my new, chemically altered gecko. Neither of these are good ideas.

I should be churning butter or reupholstering my sofa. I don't know how to do either of those things, but damned if I shouldn't be doing both of them at the same time!

Oh my gosh, I just figured out who I am at this precise moment. I am the little girl in church that runs to the front of the sanctuary and lifts her dress over her head. At this moment, I totally know where that child is coming from.

Well, if Bambi has taught us anything, Spring will soon be here and we will all be twitterpated to the nth degree.

Looking forward to it!

Brain hurt. Words hard. Pictures pretty.

Because of this...


...my mind is like this...



I feel like this...

...but because I don't get enough of this...




...and my boss frowns on this...




...I end up looking like this...



...Also, because of this...

...I have been on this...



...which means, I can't eat this...



...this...

...or this...


...but I can eat this...




...this...



...and this...

...not because I want to look like this...



...but because I don't want to look like this...




...so while I want to do this...




...I usually end up doing this...





...even though, on the inside, I'm thinking this...





...so, by the last one of these...




...if you see me doing this...





...simply do this...

Lessons from Stephen Schwartz

As some of you may know, I'm currently in a musical with Lafayette Civic Theater called Children of Eden.

I like Boston. The band, not the city.

Being in a musical can seriously make you crazy, and I don't mean it will "drive you crazy" (although it might). I mean, it will make you drive to work with one shoe, put the remote in the microwave, brush your teeth three times before noon crazy.

Why does Ruby Tuesday have the most delicious croutons?

You won't see or talk to your friends or family for 3 to 5 weeks, depending on how involved you are.

Seriously, what is in those croutons?!

Your coworkers may start to think you are a crackhead because you look like you haven't slept in days.

I wish I could hug my head.

You'll actually gain weight, rather than lose it. This is mostly due to outings after rehearsals with your castmates to grab some food or a drink. You'll tell yourself it's okay to have the monte christo sandwich and two beers at 11pm (even though you have to get up at 6am tomorrow) because it's in the name of bonding.

Poodle, poodle, poodle, poodle, poodle, poodle, poodle, poodle...

You have dreams about the show. However, instead of performing the musical, you and your castmates will be performing elective surgery on your 11th grade English teacher (not that you liked her anyway) but not before your boss informs you that you will be required to breakdance in order to gain access to the space-time continuum from now on.

If Wall Street is in the toilet right now, then why do they still have a journal?

Family member/friend/coworker: How are rehearsals?
You: Ugh, I start grieving for my dead son too soon, God nearly offed himself last night, poor Noah doesn't know what to do with his stick and I can never remember if I'm pregnant or not! (While this makes complete sense to you, your unsuspecting acquaintance who thinks it's all part of your new recreational drug habit, politely smiles and nods, but backs away slowly, being sure to not make any sudden movements.)

Ground control to Major Tom...

You will sing the entire score of the show in your head. The seventh or eighth time you catch yourself doing this, you will intentionally try to sing another catchy, but far more obnoxious song. However, you won't even get half-way through "How To Save a Life" before you'll beg your brain to go back to the musical.

I'm naming my dog Taskforce.

There will be days when you will be so tired that you will constantly fidget just so you won't put your head down on your desk and immediately start drooling.

I'll bet prison isn't that bad.

It comes down to this: you will lose your mind. Your motor skills will suffer. Your alarm clock will taunt you. Your bathroom scale will mock you endlessly. Your equilibrium will become all sorts of wacky.

I have to pee again. Didn't I just pee yesterday or something?

You will, however, enjoy every moment.

My desk does NOT smell of rich mahogany!