Halloween and I don't get along.
For starters, I've had many a piss-poor Halloween in many a different location.
England - When I was 6 years old, I went as a cheerleader. Wait, it gets worse. I think I got a little too excited as we left my house, so I started skipping across the lawn. Three seconds later I had face planted and was eating dirt. I had ripped my tights, skinned my knees and was making quite a fuss. I went back home with one of my parents and I'm pretty sure I stayed there for the rest of the night.
Germany - When I was 8 years old, I got pneumonia the day before Halloween. I wasn't allowed to go trick-or-treating the following evening. I stayed home with my mom and watched movies.
Indiana - When I was 9, my best friend's birthday was the day before Halloween. To celebrate her birthday, she liked to go to the haunted mansion that was put together by the local high school. I hate shit like this. This pattern continued until I was 13 and finally cried hard enough to show her I didn't want to go anymore.
North Carolina - Last year, I had plans to go to my first Halloween party in years, and to dress up for the first time in years. I was actually quite excited. In the end, I got a particularly foul migraine and stayed at home in my room while my boyfriend at the time went to the party.
On top of all that, I'm quite lazy. Thinking up a costume, putting it together and then actually getting dressed up in it is like, hard and stuff.
Plus, I just don't do slutty well. I think it goes against nature. I tried to convince myself I could pull it off last year but nature got back at me with shooting pains behind my eyes and debilitating waves of nausea.
I really do hate nature.
Showing posts with label Epiphany. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Epiphany. Show all posts
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.
Lately, I've had a lot on my mind.
I've been thinking about poop.
What about it?
Um, only everything.
I'll just come out and say it. I am a person who fancies a good #2, and if you say any differently, I will call you a liar and a giant squirrel licker.
After the deed is done, you always feel better and you are then free to go about your daily tasks. However, before you've rocked your morning deuce, you are probably far more tightly wound and focused on what you don't do, rather than what you do... do.
Now, I understand that not everyone is a morning pooper. Some people aren't moved until the afternoon and others don't feel the spirit until late in the evening. Regardless, this is an important part of everyone's daily life.
Personally, I like to toss some nickels in the fountain first thing in the morning before I go to class/work/internship/acupuncture. If I am not allowed this opportunity, then my brief window of system cleansing is closed and I'm backed up for the rest of the day.
Why am I telling you this? Well, because I love an overshare. And so do many of you. And because I'm a 15-year old boy on the inside and I always think bodily functions are interesting and entertaining.
Mostly, I'm talking about this because I think of poop as the great equalizer. I may or may not have spoken of this before (I'm too lazy to look), but pooping is one of the few things that EVERYBODY DOES.
It doesn't matter if you're an accountant, a drug addict, a soccer mom or Shannon Doherty. You poop.
I wish it was considered polite in every culture to discuss it in great detail. I mean, how awesome would it be to show up to work 2 hours late only to run into your boss and say, "Hey, I'm sorry I'm late but I was waiting for last night's curry to work it's way through," and to have your boss respond with, "Ugh, I know what you mean. I've been backed up for days. I'm so jealous!"
This is the utopian society I've created in my head.
Some may call me a dreamer. Others may call me disgusting.
You may call me...
...regular.
I've been thinking about poop.
What about it?
Um, only everything.
I'll just come out and say it. I am a person who fancies a good #2, and if you say any differently, I will call you a liar and a giant squirrel licker.
After the deed is done, you always feel better and you are then free to go about your daily tasks. However, before you've rocked your morning deuce, you are probably far more tightly wound and focused on what you don't do, rather than what you do... do.
Now, I understand that not everyone is a morning pooper. Some people aren't moved until the afternoon and others don't feel the spirit until late in the evening. Regardless, this is an important part of everyone's daily life.
Personally, I like to toss some nickels in the fountain first thing in the morning before I go to class/work/internship/acupuncture. If I am not allowed this opportunity, then my brief window of system cleansing is closed and I'm backed up for the rest of the day.
Why am I telling you this? Well, because I love an overshare. And so do many of you. And because I'm a 15-year old boy on the inside and I always think bodily functions are interesting and entertaining.
Mostly, I'm talking about this because I think of poop as the great equalizer. I may or may not have spoken of this before (I'm too lazy to look), but pooping is one of the few things that EVERYBODY DOES.
It doesn't matter if you're an accountant, a drug addict, a soccer mom or Shannon Doherty. You poop.
I wish it was considered polite in every culture to discuss it in great detail. I mean, how awesome would it be to show up to work 2 hours late only to run into your boss and say, "Hey, I'm sorry I'm late but I was waiting for last night's curry to work it's way through," and to have your boss respond with, "Ugh, I know what you mean. I've been backed up for days. I'm so jealous!"
This is the utopian society I've created in my head.
Some may call me a dreamer. Others may call me disgusting.
You may call me...
...regular.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
I've seen my future... and it's slutty
It would appear that I'm getting old.
Mind you, I've always fancied a cup of tea, I enjoy knitting and I'm often in my pajamas before 10pm, but that's my choice.
I've had knee problems for a while. Given that I wasn't a highly active or athletic adolescent, I never attributed my knee pain to any one thing.
My mom has always said she thinks it's largely due to the fact that I was "jumping up and down in hooker boots for two years."
I was in show choir. Just go with it.
Either way, my knees are creaky and crotchety like a chain-smoking old biddy who gets cold in 87 degree weather. I accepted it and I got used to it.
This past Tuesday, I was sitting on the couch, eating my lunch, watching my stories (CSI Las Vegas) and thinking, "Damn, sure is humid," when I noticed an ache. In my left hip.
While this is uncommon, it wasn't completely out of left field. I shifted my position and went back to my lunch.
The ache didn't go away. In fact, it intensified. Pretty soon, my entire left leg was aching and depending on my position, sharp pains were shooting into my hip. Swell.
I went about my business for the rest of the afternoon. Depending on what I was doing, I had to get up every 15 minutes to stretch and relieve the pressure in my hip while listening to thunder rumble outside.
Later, I went to a friend's house for pizza and a movie. Sometime during the movie, the heavens opened up and it poured for a good half hour.
When the movie ended, I started to stand up and expected that same pain to be there. But it wasn't.
Oh dear God.
It all clicked.
Humidity = joint pain.
Torrential downpour = relief.
So, it seems I'm only a step or two away from buying a house in the Styx, adopting an overweight basset hound named Sanchez and sitting on my front porch in a rocking chair while mumbling things like, "Looks like a storms a-brewin'. My hip here tells me we'll get 3-4 inches before sunset. Good thing, too. Tobacco crop could use a good soakin'..."
If that's the case, I'm putting my hooker boots back on.
Mind you, I've always fancied a cup of tea, I enjoy knitting and I'm often in my pajamas before 10pm, but that's my choice.
I've had knee problems for a while. Given that I wasn't a highly active or athletic adolescent, I never attributed my knee pain to any one thing.
My mom has always said she thinks it's largely due to the fact that I was "jumping up and down in hooker boots for two years."
I was in show choir. Just go with it.
Either way, my knees are creaky and crotchety like a chain-smoking old biddy who gets cold in 87 degree weather. I accepted it and I got used to it.
This past Tuesday, I was sitting on the couch, eating my lunch, watching my stories (CSI Las Vegas) and thinking, "Damn, sure is humid," when I noticed an ache. In my left hip.
While this is uncommon, it wasn't completely out of left field. I shifted my position and went back to my lunch.
The ache didn't go away. In fact, it intensified. Pretty soon, my entire left leg was aching and depending on my position, sharp pains were shooting into my hip. Swell.
I went about my business for the rest of the afternoon. Depending on what I was doing, I had to get up every 15 minutes to stretch and relieve the pressure in my hip while listening to thunder rumble outside.
Later, I went to a friend's house for pizza and a movie. Sometime during the movie, the heavens opened up and it poured for a good half hour.
When the movie ended, I started to stand up and expected that same pain to be there. But it wasn't.
Oh dear God.
It all clicked.
Humidity = joint pain.
Torrential downpour = relief.
So, it seems I'm only a step or two away from buying a house in the Styx, adopting an overweight basset hound named Sanchez and sitting on my front porch in a rocking chair while mumbling things like, "Looks like a storms a-brewin'. My hip here tells me we'll get 3-4 inches before sunset. Good thing, too. Tobacco crop could use a good soakin'..."
If that's the case, I'm putting my hooker boots back on.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Validation - Mother's Day Style
I'm not sure if this has ever come across in my blog but I don't have the babies.
(And my father rejoiced...)
However, I do have a mother! And a super neat one at that.
I get fantastic e-mails from her that say things like this:
"Are you sure you want to come back here? They may be hicks in NC but I bet they don’t crap on the floor at Harris-Teeter."
Other times, I get cards in the mail saying things like this:
"I don't remember ordering hot pink note cards with my name on them. Maybe there were a gift, or I've had a stroke."
And on this very special Mother's Day, I have an extra-special present for her.
Friday morning, I received a phone call from one of my professors, who also happens to be the head of the Marriage and Family Therapy department where I study.
He was calling me regarding an e-mail I had sent him, asking for help finding an internship. By the end of the discussion, my professor said, "This is really quite easy, but you're actually making it a lot harder than it has to be."
My mom has been saying that to me for years. And now, Mom, you've heard it from a mental health professional.
You were right. I was wrong.
I love you! Happy Mother's Day!
Friday, February 20, 2009
Personal revelation
This morning, while scraping the ever-loving snot out of my car windshield, I had an epiphany:
I am my father's daughter.
That may not sound like much to you (unless you had paternity issues when you were younger), but this really made me take pause.
What caused this moment of personal clarity, you ask? Fabulous query. Allow me to answer with an anecdote, followed by some examples.
This particular morning, I had to be at work at 7:30am to help set up for a conference. Knowing this, I woke up at 6am, thinking this would be enough time for me to have my coffee and get dressed. (Isn't it cute how I still don't understand this particular part about myself?)
Now, I was completely dressed and caffeinated by 7am. I was ahead of schedule, for crying out loud. So, rather than go outside and warm up my car to ensure prompt departure, I decided it was the perfect time to write and address two cards, naturally.
...but first, I couldn't find my address book, so I had to locate that. Then, I couldn't remember what I'd done with the stamps, so I had to retrace my steps to pinpoint their exact location. Last of all, I remembered I had cute return address labels, so I had to rifle through my room to figure out what I'd done with them. Finally, the cards were ready to go, so I put them outside for the mailman. And hey, by that time, it was 7:15am!
Given that it takes me about 10 minutes to warm up my car and scrape off all the ice, and about 10-15 minutes to get to work depending on traffic (and how many cop cars I see), leaving right at 7:15am would have been just fine. Unfortunately, I didn't start the defrosting process until 7:16am, which means I didn't leave the house until 7:24am, and then did not get to work until 7:37am.
This could have been so easily avoided had I merely tried to be early, rather than on time. I do this almost every day and yet I learn nothing from it. What's that called? There's a word for that... oh yeah! Stupid.
It hit me whilst scraping ice as fast as humanly possible that this is almost exactly the kind of thing my dad does. He'll have to go somewhere, perhaps meeting someone for dinner, and will remember as he starts walking out the door that he needs to a) get his hat b) grab a bill to take to the post office c) take his pills d) write down a word in Chinese or e) all of the above.
It always amused me before, but now that I'm seeing the parallels in our behavior, it's a little scary. I used to be pretty punctual and now, I'm not terribly late, but it's usually about 5 minutes past the designated time.
I figured out part of the reason for my tardiness. I've decided that the time of departure and the time of arrival are pretty much interchangeable. I'm not sure when that happened or why, because I also don't like to rush things. I'd rather have an easy morning where I get to wake up, drink my coffee and read the paper for about ten minutes, take a shower, have plenty of time to choose what I wear, have a second cup of coffee and then leave with plenty of time to get to work.
I also don't think this problem could be fixed if I woke up earlier. As it is, my alarm is set for 6:30am. I snooze (5 min.) at least twice on a good day. It goes downhill from there. If I set my alarm to go off fifteen minutes earlier, I will remember this when I wake up and just hit snooze three more times than I normally would. PLUS, if I did manage to get up fifteen minutes earlier, I would manage to fill that time with more crap. I'm sure I'd suddenly decide to start a compost pile or go through my clothes to figure out what doesn't fit anymore.
The point of all of this is that it's always something. When I'm late, despite the fact that it is my fault, there's still a reason (usually someone that insists on going the exact speed limit and no more). To add to that, I've got the "late gene" passed down from my father. And hey, you really can't beat science.
"Sorry I'm late, but I left late."
(-I do not remember where I heard this, but I thought it was fantastic. If anyone knows, drop me a line so I can give proper credit where credit is due.)
I am my father's daughter.
That may not sound like much to you (unless you had paternity issues when you were younger), but this really made me take pause.
What caused this moment of personal clarity, you ask? Fabulous query. Allow me to answer with an anecdote, followed by some examples.
This particular morning, I had to be at work at 7:30am to help set up for a conference. Knowing this, I woke up at 6am, thinking this would be enough time for me to have my coffee and get dressed. (Isn't it cute how I still don't understand this particular part about myself?)
Now, I was completely dressed and caffeinated by 7am. I was ahead of schedule, for crying out loud. So, rather than go outside and warm up my car to ensure prompt departure, I decided it was the perfect time to write and address two cards, naturally.
...but first, I couldn't find my address book, so I had to locate that. Then, I couldn't remember what I'd done with the stamps, so I had to retrace my steps to pinpoint their exact location. Last of all, I remembered I had cute return address labels, so I had to rifle through my room to figure out what I'd done with them. Finally, the cards were ready to go, so I put them outside for the mailman. And hey, by that time, it was 7:15am!
Given that it takes me about 10 minutes to warm up my car and scrape off all the ice, and about 10-15 minutes to get to work depending on traffic (and how many cop cars I see), leaving right at 7:15am would have been just fine. Unfortunately, I didn't start the defrosting process until 7:16am, which means I didn't leave the house until 7:24am, and then did not get to work until 7:37am.
This could have been so easily avoided had I merely tried to be early, rather than on time. I do this almost every day and yet I learn nothing from it. What's that called? There's a word for that... oh yeah! Stupid.
It hit me whilst scraping ice as fast as humanly possible that this is almost exactly the kind of thing my dad does. He'll have to go somewhere, perhaps meeting someone for dinner, and will remember as he starts walking out the door that he needs to a) get his hat b) grab a bill to take to the post office c) take his pills d) write down a word in Chinese or e) all of the above.
It always amused me before, but now that I'm seeing the parallels in our behavior, it's a little scary. I used to be pretty punctual and now, I'm not terribly late, but it's usually about 5 minutes past the designated time.
I figured out part of the reason for my tardiness. I've decided that the time of departure and the time of arrival are pretty much interchangeable. I'm not sure when that happened or why, because I also don't like to rush things. I'd rather have an easy morning where I get to wake up, drink my coffee and read the paper for about ten minutes, take a shower, have plenty of time to choose what I wear, have a second cup of coffee and then leave with plenty of time to get to work.
I also don't think this problem could be fixed if I woke up earlier. As it is, my alarm is set for 6:30am. I snooze (5 min.) at least twice on a good day. It goes downhill from there. If I set my alarm to go off fifteen minutes earlier, I will remember this when I wake up and just hit snooze three more times than I normally would. PLUS, if I did manage to get up fifteen minutes earlier, I would manage to fill that time with more crap. I'm sure I'd suddenly decide to start a compost pile or go through my clothes to figure out what doesn't fit anymore.
The point of all of this is that it's always something. When I'm late, despite the fact that it is my fault, there's still a reason (usually someone that insists on going the exact speed limit and no more). To add to that, I've got the "late gene" passed down from my father. And hey, you really can't beat science.
"Sorry I'm late, but I left late."
(-I do not remember where I heard this, but I thought it was fantastic. If anyone knows, drop me a line so I can give proper credit where credit is due.)
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