I think I just hate doctors. There’s nothing about the experience that I enjoy. I liked it more when I was a kid and they’d hand you a candy at the end of the visit. Personally, I wish they still continued this practice. I’d do a lot of things for candy. Hell who wouldn’t. Do you remember when you’d eat candy and you wouldn’t feel one iota of guilt? When did the guilt happen? Being an adult really just means that you recognize guilt when you’re feeling it.
I think there should be one day during the week where you’re allowed to feel no guilt about such little things. Maybe a Wednesday. I mean it’s smack dab in the middle of the week and by the time we hit hump day, we really could use a vat of ice cream and a bottle of our favorite alcohol. Going into the grocery aisle and nabbing alla the chocolate we want should be celebrated on this day. Saying phrases like, “That will just head straight to my thighs” should be reserved for those baby carrot sticks and yogurt. It would be a beautiful day where Ben n’ Jerry’s reigned supreme.
What happened to doing things because we enjoyed them? I don’t mean everyday, but what’s wrong with a treat now and then? Why do I feel guilty anytime I feel like making myself feel special? For me... my guilty pleasure is the movies. I love ‘em. I can’t get enough of them. And just as a random fact, I don’t like popcorn. I know... I’m weird. Anyway – I end up wanting to go to one at least once a week. But each time I go I tend to feel a bit guilty. I mean, that’s ten dollars that could have been better spent. Well not really ten. I tend to go to the dollar movies allot. The point is that I seem to find a way to feel guilty about something I enjoy. That’s silly. Everyone needs something... some escape.
So, today’s Wednesday people. It’s guilty day. Go find something that you enjoy... ice cream, pop tarts, chocolate, cheese, movies... whatever. I myself am going to a movie and while there I might just get some gummy candy... and I’m not going to feel so much as a twinge of guilt!
“Guilt is a rope that wears thin.” -- Ayn Rand
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Friday, September 24, 2004
Along came a spider....
Towards the end of the summer and early fall here, the tarantulas are in season... everywhere. I spend about 2 months on high alert just waiting for one of those bastards to try to get in my place. I have this vision of them all huddled together creating a battle plan to breech my defense parameter. I’m convinced they enjoy this little game of scare the human. When I see them, my fear trumps any desire I might have to look sane.
I don’t just scream like a chick from a B horror movie.... No, I can actually be heard in the next time zone. Then I suddenly hop onto the nearest thing. Most often that’s a couch or table, but I’ve been known to jump on some poor fool standing next to me. There’s a lot of arm waving and pointing. It really is rather unattractive. All this happens while it stares at me, mocking me. Don’t let it fool you though; it’s just waiting for its opportunity to pounce.
Then the problem comes in. How do you take care of it while staying at least 30 feet from it? I mean these damn things are so big that if I threw my shoe at it, it would probably throw it right back. I’d think about a brick, but with my aim I’d end up putting holes in the walls. So I toss bowls. Now I know you think I’m insane... but they work. The key is getting to the kitchen without putting even my big toe on the ground. This can be tricky and it requires some skill. I suggest you practice before the invaders are attacking. If all else fails, just skirt alongside the wall and then sprint into the kitchen.
Eventually you can cover the thing with a lucky bowl shot. Then you have to put a book over it to hold it down. That’s really important. I found out the hard way. One instance of a moving bowl or an escapee, was enough to teach me that lesson. Then I call someone in to remove it. I don’t care if they kill it really.... I just don’t wanna get close enough to do it myself. Yes that makes me a horrible non-friend to spider kind, but I can’t help it. I’ve tried to reason with them, but they never listen. If the poor fool I call wants to shoo that creature out, then by all means... but just don’t let it escape behind a bookcase. Last time that happened I didn’t sleep for a week
So about a week ago, my puppy thought she’d bring me a huge tarantula (about the size of my whole freaking hand) as a present. I was touched... how sweet. Then I squirted her with the hose till she dropped the thing. What, you think I’d let her near me like that? God no. Poor thing was a tad confused... She ate the hose 3 days later so I think we’re even.
"I discovered I scream the same way whether I'm about to be devoured by a great white or if a piece of seaweed touches my foot." -- Kevin James
I don’t just scream like a chick from a B horror movie.... No, I can actually be heard in the next time zone. Then I suddenly hop onto the nearest thing. Most often that’s a couch or table, but I’ve been known to jump on some poor fool standing next to me. There’s a lot of arm waving and pointing. It really is rather unattractive. All this happens while it stares at me, mocking me. Don’t let it fool you though; it’s just waiting for its opportunity to pounce.
Then the problem comes in. How do you take care of it while staying at least 30 feet from it? I mean these damn things are so big that if I threw my shoe at it, it would probably throw it right back. I’d think about a brick, but with my aim I’d end up putting holes in the walls. So I toss bowls. Now I know you think I’m insane... but they work. The key is getting to the kitchen without putting even my big toe on the ground. This can be tricky and it requires some skill. I suggest you practice before the invaders are attacking. If all else fails, just skirt alongside the wall and then sprint into the kitchen.
Eventually you can cover the thing with a lucky bowl shot. Then you have to put a book over it to hold it down. That’s really important. I found out the hard way. One instance of a moving bowl or an escapee, was enough to teach me that lesson. Then I call someone in to remove it. I don’t care if they kill it really.... I just don’t wanna get close enough to do it myself. Yes that makes me a horrible non-friend to spider kind, but I can’t help it. I’ve tried to reason with them, but they never listen. If the poor fool I call wants to shoo that creature out, then by all means... but just don’t let it escape behind a bookcase. Last time that happened I didn’t sleep for a week
So about a week ago, my puppy thought she’d bring me a huge tarantula (about the size of my whole freaking hand) as a present. I was touched... how sweet. Then I squirted her with the hose till she dropped the thing. What, you think I’d let her near me like that? God no. Poor thing was a tad confused... She ate the hose 3 days later so I think we’re even.
"I discovered I scream the same way whether I'm about to be devoured by a great white or if a piece of seaweed touches my foot." -- Kevin James
Friday, September 10, 2004
Sanity...
Have you ever been driving around talking to yourself in the car? I do this. Don’t try to hide it, because I know you do it too. We all do. Often times I’m running over a conversation I just had. I’m always about ten times cleverer when in conversations with myself. I can even think of the one thing I wanted to say but it wouldn’t come. Finally I can think of exactly what I would say to the woman that scooted in front of me for the last parking spot, or the guy who cut in line at the grocery store while commenting on my current weight and parentage. In the car alone, I’m a genius. I can solve any problem, and I’m always right.
So today I was chattering to myself about what I had to do for the day. It was a laundry list of things that I’d probably never get around to. I could’ve been doing a few of them, but by making the list I was allowing myself to procrastinate on actually doing what was on it. It’s a clever trick that all of us procrastinators know. At the stop light I looked over and stopped in mid sentence. Someone was watching me from another car and looking at me as if I’d gone insane. I went insane long ago so that look wasn’t exactly foreign to me, but I fell silent regardless. Then in order to not appear like I was a half a step away from the padded room, I started acting as if I was singing to the radio. That’s more sane right? That should fool them. They didn’t know that I was talking and not singing. How could they know the radio wasn’t even on? Yes, that could be a good plan. So I started bobbing my head and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. For a little bit of added realism I made sure to have no rhythm whatsoever. Not exactly something I had to work at in the least.
I’d done it! I managed to fend off being embarrassed in front of a total stranger I’d never see again. It shouldn’t matter, but embarrassment doesn’t always care if you’ll ever see the person again. I was almost smug that I’d hidden my quirks from the eyes of the general public. That’s when something started nagging at me. As the stranger drove away I realized just what it was.... my windows were down and so was hers. So not only did this person know I was talking to myself, but she knew of my pathetic attempt to cover it up and *fake* sing. Now she thought I talked to myself, sung silently to songs that aren’t there, and had horrible rhythm to boot. Great! Now I was embarrassed. I tried to fight off the impending embarrassment and really only made sure that I’d end up being it anyway. Embarrassment can’t be fought... it’s far too sneaky.
So as I was mentally kicking myself for both my blunder and allowing myself to care what this person thought, I heard her while she drove away. She was laughing and talking to herself about me and my blundering. Ha! I felt better. Did I care that she was laughing at me or telling herself that I was a lunatic? Not one bit. Why you ask? Well because she too was talking to herself. Like I said, we all do it. Sadly I think we all will get embarrassed over something that someone else is sure to do. With that in mind I went back to my procrastination checklist, not bothering to roll up the window or care who heard me.
“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every 4 Americans are suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you.” -- Rita Mae Brown
So today I was chattering to myself about what I had to do for the day. It was a laundry list of things that I’d probably never get around to. I could’ve been doing a few of them, but by making the list I was allowing myself to procrastinate on actually doing what was on it. It’s a clever trick that all of us procrastinators know. At the stop light I looked over and stopped in mid sentence. Someone was watching me from another car and looking at me as if I’d gone insane. I went insane long ago so that look wasn’t exactly foreign to me, but I fell silent regardless. Then in order to not appear like I was a half a step away from the padded room, I started acting as if I was singing to the radio. That’s more sane right? That should fool them. They didn’t know that I was talking and not singing. How could they know the radio wasn’t even on? Yes, that could be a good plan. So I started bobbing my head and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. For a little bit of added realism I made sure to have no rhythm whatsoever. Not exactly something I had to work at in the least.
I’d done it! I managed to fend off being embarrassed in front of a total stranger I’d never see again. It shouldn’t matter, but embarrassment doesn’t always care if you’ll ever see the person again. I was almost smug that I’d hidden my quirks from the eyes of the general public. That’s when something started nagging at me. As the stranger drove away I realized just what it was.... my windows were down and so was hers. So not only did this person know I was talking to myself, but she knew of my pathetic attempt to cover it up and *fake* sing. Now she thought I talked to myself, sung silently to songs that aren’t there, and had horrible rhythm to boot. Great! Now I was embarrassed. I tried to fight off the impending embarrassment and really only made sure that I’d end up being it anyway. Embarrassment can’t be fought... it’s far too sneaky.
So as I was mentally kicking myself for both my blunder and allowing myself to care what this person thought, I heard her while she drove away. She was laughing and talking to herself about me and my blundering. Ha! I felt better. Did I care that she was laughing at me or telling herself that I was a lunatic? Not one bit. Why you ask? Well because she too was talking to herself. Like I said, we all do it. Sadly I think we all will get embarrassed over something that someone else is sure to do. With that in mind I went back to my procrastination checklist, not bothering to roll up the window or care who heard me.
“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every 4 Americans are suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you.” -- Rita Mae Brown
Tuesday, September 7, 2004
Pool Fiction.
I just read this book today. T’was rather nice and is what I call “fluff you read by the pool”. So that’s exactly what I did. Yes, it was a productive day of reading by the pool and drinking enough ice tea and pop to drown an elephant. It’s my favorite kind of day... that in and of itself amazes me because I used to be rather active and uninterested in books. Then when life happened and I was forced to sit still for a while; I realized just how much I love to read... to fall into a story. So I plowed through online fiction years ago and now I’m even hunting down new things to read. Too bad I’m too cheap to buy a book, and our local library has more books involving drunken rhinos going duck hunting while singing incorrect lyrics to “Louie Louie”, than they do ones involving *gasp* two women in love.... in other words... none.
I’m not sure why reading by the pool is an important part of the whole process. Probably because I can feel like I got out of the house without actually having to get off my duff. It’s not like I was sunning myself or even self-consciously squeezing into a swimsuit... parish the thought. Because really... the more skin I show the more likelihood that I blind some poor passersby with my glaring lack of a tan. Really, I just like the background noise. It was even better because I was alone and didn’t have to worry about children splashing me, or me having to pretend like I’m an adult and say something like, “no running...”
I even took the time to go to Circle K (A local convenience store) to by a pop the size of a small Midwestern city. While there I had to wait in line, not something I normally mind. What did annoy me was the total moron that was holding up the line. He went to the cooler, took a 12-pack of pop, opened it to take out one can, and then proceeded to berate the clerk because she couldn’t ring him up. It’s bee a long time since I’ve seen our stores sell a can of pop. She wouldn’t even know how much to charge. This whole concept seemed way over his head. I, being annoyed and misguided, decided to just politely offer to buy the man a bottle of pop.... Anything to get him moving and me closer to poolside reading pleasures. This wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had. I should’ve known better.
He took me up on my offer. Hooray! One step closer to fluffy fiction....Not quite. He came storming back in after placing the bottle in his truck (a $50,000 truck I might add) ranting about how the price for bottles of pop would lead to the downfall of man... down with government! This was all just a nefarious way for Circle K to gouge customers into parting with their hard earned money. He then pointed to me. Oh goodie. It seemed I was a corporate plant sent in to move the process of Circle K’s world dominance along. Granted I am just summarizing and trying to put together what exactly he was saying, it’s hard to tell with alla that spittle flying at me and the arms waving franticly in the air. Now in steps the hero of the story. Well you wouldn’t know she was a hero by looking at her, but she was.
She had ripped jeans, a little purple streak in her hair, a few tattoos, and strangely not a bit of spandex normally associated with a hero. She slammed the case of beer she was holding on the counter, placing the change she had hunted around in her car to pay for it on top, and squared off with the lunatic. They then got in a verbal battle that the lunatic was severely outmatched for. Everyone else was sitting idly by while the man yelled at me and the clerk. Everything we were saying was doing no good, but they watched in fascination. She wasn’t interested in hearing this any longer. She talked rather calmly to him and just charmed him into stopping his tirade for the most part. Unfortunately, at one point when he saw he was losing ground, he grabbed the condiment tray for the hot dogs and flung it at me. Of course it hit me. I thought about ducking, but never quite got around to it. Next thing I know the woman had escorted him out and I was sporting a lovely ensemble of ketchup, relish, and onions. The color really matched my eyes if I do say so myself.
Anyway, to make a long story a tad shorter, the woman left with a hardy thank you and some free beer courtesy of evil institution set on world domination, better knowing as Circle K. I left a little more fragrant and a lot more eager to enjoy my quiet pool time. So what I remember about the day really isn’t the lunatic, but a person that didn’t have to get involved but chose to. She didn’t stoop to his level, but she talked him down. What I was saying back only made the man more enraged, and really in this day and age something like this could have turned out a lot worse. Only the pickles were harmed here. I’m not saying I was scared, because I really wasn’t. But then again you never really know. So often now people won’t get involved for whatever reason. They just don’t care anymore... but then sometimes they do. I’m glad for those who do... even if it getting involved is as simple as showing common courtesy or voting in elections. The point is that the people that are willing are a hero, if for only a moment.
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” -- Oscar Wilde (Lady Windermere's Fan, 1892)
I’m not sure why reading by the pool is an important part of the whole process. Probably because I can feel like I got out of the house without actually having to get off my duff. It’s not like I was sunning myself or even self-consciously squeezing into a swimsuit... parish the thought. Because really... the more skin I show the more likelihood that I blind some poor passersby with my glaring lack of a tan. Really, I just like the background noise. It was even better because I was alone and didn’t have to worry about children splashing me, or me having to pretend like I’m an adult and say something like, “no running...”
I even took the time to go to Circle K (A local convenience store) to by a pop the size of a small Midwestern city. While there I had to wait in line, not something I normally mind. What did annoy me was the total moron that was holding up the line. He went to the cooler, took a 12-pack of pop, opened it to take out one can, and then proceeded to berate the clerk because she couldn’t ring him up. It’s bee a long time since I’ve seen our stores sell a can of pop. She wouldn’t even know how much to charge. This whole concept seemed way over his head. I, being annoyed and misguided, decided to just politely offer to buy the man a bottle of pop.... Anything to get him moving and me closer to poolside reading pleasures. This wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had. I should’ve known better.
He took me up on my offer. Hooray! One step closer to fluffy fiction....Not quite. He came storming back in after placing the bottle in his truck (a $50,000 truck I might add) ranting about how the price for bottles of pop would lead to the downfall of man... down with government! This was all just a nefarious way for Circle K to gouge customers into parting with their hard earned money. He then pointed to me. Oh goodie. It seemed I was a corporate plant sent in to move the process of Circle K’s world dominance along. Granted I am just summarizing and trying to put together what exactly he was saying, it’s hard to tell with alla that spittle flying at me and the arms waving franticly in the air. Now in steps the hero of the story. Well you wouldn’t know she was a hero by looking at her, but she was.
She had ripped jeans, a little purple streak in her hair, a few tattoos, and strangely not a bit of spandex normally associated with a hero. She slammed the case of beer she was holding on the counter, placing the change she had hunted around in her car to pay for it on top, and squared off with the lunatic. They then got in a verbal battle that the lunatic was severely outmatched for. Everyone else was sitting idly by while the man yelled at me and the clerk. Everything we were saying was doing no good, but they watched in fascination. She wasn’t interested in hearing this any longer. She talked rather calmly to him and just charmed him into stopping his tirade for the most part. Unfortunately, at one point when he saw he was losing ground, he grabbed the condiment tray for the hot dogs and flung it at me. Of course it hit me. I thought about ducking, but never quite got around to it. Next thing I know the woman had escorted him out and I was sporting a lovely ensemble of ketchup, relish, and onions. The color really matched my eyes if I do say so myself.
Anyway, to make a long story a tad shorter, the woman left with a hardy thank you and some free beer courtesy of evil institution set on world domination, better knowing as Circle K. I left a little more fragrant and a lot more eager to enjoy my quiet pool time. So what I remember about the day really isn’t the lunatic, but a person that didn’t have to get involved but chose to. She didn’t stoop to his level, but she talked him down. What I was saying back only made the man more enraged, and really in this day and age something like this could have turned out a lot worse. Only the pickles were harmed here. I’m not saying I was scared, because I really wasn’t. But then again you never really know. So often now people won’t get involved for whatever reason. They just don’t care anymore... but then sometimes they do. I’m glad for those who do... even if it getting involved is as simple as showing common courtesy or voting in elections. The point is that the people that are willing are a hero, if for only a moment.
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” -- Oscar Wilde (Lady Windermere's Fan, 1892)
Thursday, September 2, 2004
Fix me!
I wonder if it’s possible for me to walk into an auto repair shop and not have "sucker" written across my forehead in permanent marker. They see me coming... they know that I’ll probably sell my first born (assuming one day I have one) in order to get my tires rotated. I’m their dream come true and I don’t even know it. They could tell me that the fluxcapacitor in the walla walla bing bang joint was broken and I’d nod and pretend that I had a clue as to what they were talking about. I hate when my walla walla bing bang is acting up. I go in there to describe the problem with descriptive terms like, "clunk" and "ting ting ting blop". Their diagnosis is always the same... They can bleed me dry.
I’m not saying they’re all like this... I just have the eerie skill of finding the one bad seed in the bunch. As an aside that’s just the reason people refuse to let me set them up on a blind date. However, I have found that women seem to make better mechanics... well at least from my prospective. For some reason they know that when I make an embarrassingly loud squeak in the lobby of their shop as a demonstration, it means I need a new belt... not a new engine. A good mechanic should win the Nobel Prize in engineering. They should have their picture in the paper and be put on the news as a local hero.
A good mechanic probably doesn’t know how much I’d appreciate them. They rank right up there with a good plumber. I love them... I’m more than willing to fall to my knees in gratitude to anyone of them that crosses my path. The point is that regardless of what job you are doing right now... there is always someone somewhere willing to hand you the shirt off their back in appreciation if you do it well.
"Always drink upstream from the herd." -- Will Rogers
I’m not saying they’re all like this... I just have the eerie skill of finding the one bad seed in the bunch. As an aside that’s just the reason people refuse to let me set them up on a blind date. However, I have found that women seem to make better mechanics... well at least from my prospective. For some reason they know that when I make an embarrassingly loud squeak in the lobby of their shop as a demonstration, it means I need a new belt... not a new engine. A good mechanic should win the Nobel Prize in engineering. They should have their picture in the paper and be put on the news as a local hero.
A good mechanic probably doesn’t know how much I’d appreciate them. They rank right up there with a good plumber. I love them... I’m more than willing to fall to my knees in gratitude to anyone of them that crosses my path. The point is that regardless of what job you are doing right now... there is always someone somewhere willing to hand you the shirt off their back in appreciation if you do it well.
"Always drink upstream from the herd." -- Will Rogers
Wednesday, September 1, 2004
Movin' on Up.
I guess it’s been a long time since I was here and filling people in on the inane details of my life. I’m not sure that I have a reason. The world didn’t crash down around me, I didn’t win the lotto and head to Aruba, I didn’t get fed up with hearing about the election and start shouting on a street corner with a sandwich board draped over my body.... Nope I was just here not feeling like writing a whole lot.
I live in one of those places that aren’t really small but they always have that feel. I didn’t feel the need to write about this place that I live in. It’s like living in a steam room... sometimes it’s pleasant and comforting, other you feel like you are suffocating. There are always too many people in the room and you can never quite find the exit. Right now I'm desperately looking for an exit.
Why? Along with the familiarity of this town I also know that there are shadows lurking around every corner. There’re always memories best left forgotten ready and willing to tackle me when I least expect it. I see the people that haunt my nightmares, I see the places that make me shiver, and those that thought nothing of me. Sometimes you want to escape so that you can’t prove some of the people right nor disappoint those who believed in you. Either way you want a fresh start.
Why am I still here? Simple. A lot of the reasons that make you want to leave are also what make you stay. It’s so easy to sit back with the easy answer and tell me to just pick up and move. If only. It’s not like I could afford it... and finding a job someplace else wouldn’t help me get there in the first place. It’s all part of that quicksand feeling. So really it’s all a waiting game.
Isn’t it funny how much of our lives we spend waiting? I am waiting for god knows how long to be able to move. People wait all week for the weekend. They end up waiting 71.43% of their lives. Yes I did the math if you can believe it – and I didn’t even factor the time spent waiting for vacations or sleeping. The bottom line is that waiting is a part of life. So I will have to wait for what I want like everyone else. I guess I just have to remember not to stop living while I wait.
“We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.” -- Helen Keller
I live in one of those places that aren’t really small but they always have that feel. I didn’t feel the need to write about this place that I live in. It’s like living in a steam room... sometimes it’s pleasant and comforting, other you feel like you are suffocating. There are always too many people in the room and you can never quite find the exit. Right now I'm desperately looking for an exit.
Why? Along with the familiarity of this town I also know that there are shadows lurking around every corner. There’re always memories best left forgotten ready and willing to tackle me when I least expect it. I see the people that haunt my nightmares, I see the places that make me shiver, and those that thought nothing of me. Sometimes you want to escape so that you can’t prove some of the people right nor disappoint those who believed in you. Either way you want a fresh start.
Why am I still here? Simple. A lot of the reasons that make you want to leave are also what make you stay. It’s so easy to sit back with the easy answer and tell me to just pick up and move. If only. It’s not like I could afford it... and finding a job someplace else wouldn’t help me get there in the first place. It’s all part of that quicksand feeling. So really it’s all a waiting game.
Isn’t it funny how much of our lives we spend waiting? I am waiting for god knows how long to be able to move. People wait all week for the weekend. They end up waiting 71.43% of their lives. Yes I did the math if you can believe it – and I didn’t even factor the time spent waiting for vacations or sleeping. The bottom line is that waiting is a part of life. So I will have to wait for what I want like everyone else. I guess I just have to remember not to stop living while I wait.
“We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.” -- Helen Keller
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