Hmmmmm....what to write what to write what to write....all work and no play makes jack a dull boy...ha! You know, anyone could play an insane person now by typing that once and just cutting and pasting. The days of ye olde typewriter and white out are long gone. AND that's what I can write about. Technology.
Ten years ago I was freaking genius when it came to technology. Remember when no one knew how to set the time on their VCRs? Haha, I could always figure it out. Well, ok so maybe that was 20 years ago. Anyway, I prided myself in the fact that I could figure out how to connect anything to anything else and make it work. When I got my first computer, I was 19 and in college. I still have the thing in the basement. It is a Packard Bell. It had a 14.4 modem which I upgraded to a 28.8 and added memory too, all by myself. I set up wav files for every notification. I had that thing pimped out. I'm not sure exactly when it all got away from me, but it definitely did.
My problem is I have absolutely no patience whatsoever. I CANNOT read directions. I need to be able to figure stuff out by doing it. When putting together my baby's stuff (namely her stroller and pack and play) I was literally brought to tears each time. You HAVE to read the damn directions to put that shit together. And whatever 5 year old they hire to draw the pictures on those pamphlets should seriously be put through more art classes first.
It's so unfair. My husband is a tech guru. It's what he does for a living. He is a wiz at reading and following directions. So, I am left with a house full of techy crap that I can literally not even figure out how to turn on most of the time.
So, in our family room entertainment system, we have: a very large flat tv, a wii, xbox 360, playstation, some connection for that that plays hd dvds, a directv receiver, speakers, some other speaker like thing that is just for base or something, and a receiver that connects to all of it, plus his computer which is set up to play music. Here's what I can do: I can turn on the tv, change channels, and change the volume. I cannot watch payperview, I cannot play any sort of dvd like substances, I can not play video games. I hate it. I used to be able to do all of those things. Now there are just too many wires. Toooo maaaaany wiiiiires.
Speaking of wires, I bought a nice pretty chest just so I could shove all the loose wires in there, because I don't know what any of them are for and they are not connected to anything. Behind the TV it looks like a fireman's wet dream. Wires connected to other wires, connected to electric things, plugged into surge protectors, plugged into other surge protectors, wrapped around wires that aren't connected to anything (dammit I told him I bought a freaking chest for that shit.)
I used to listen to music. I loved buying cds and records. Alas, after a decade of trying I have given up on all my ipods. I can't seem to get any of them to turn off, and they just die eventually. I can't upload any music onto anything. Actually, I can't even download music onto my computer. I seriously don't know how. I really miss music I could actually touch.Thank Jah I can still read books. I refuse to get one of them there new fangled nook things. I just hope I'm not eventually forced to. Or I'll be like those people in Fahrenheit 451 who memorize books.
My cell phone has one of the rings that just comes with it when you buy it. No fancy music for me. I can't figure out how to get it onto my phone.
My husband tries to get me into stuff. He bought me an ipod dock alarm clock for a birthday or something. It's in his drawer. I never used it. He tried to give me his ipod touch when he got an iphone. I brought it on vacation after fully charging it and it died on the plane. Apparently, I didn't turn it off correctly after charging it. Come on, apple, is it really that difficult to make something that plays music that you can just, oh I don't know, switch off with a button?? Like people have for a century or so? Anyway, I never used it again after that. He got a Xoom, and tried to explain to me the many benefits of having one, how I need one for while I am wandering my house. I can look up recipes and bring it into the kitchen! What's wrong with index cards? Oh and PS, Angry Birds is stupid.
I am aware I sound like a grandma. But I honestly don't have enough time to deal with the crap.
Sadly, my little web-book that I am on right now is dying. Hubs says the flerpityderp is on the fritz or something like that. I had brought it to his attention yesterday that it would go into some dos thing when I tried to load my windows screen thingy and he looked at it and said, "What do you want, a laptop or desktop?" I burst into tears. I seriously did. I don't want anything! I know how this thing works and besides, all my stuff is on it.
Luckily, I can still look like a total technological genius by heading over to my parent's who finally broke down and bought their first computer like THREE MONTHS AGO! Yeah, they think I'm cool. My mom hands me her phone and says, "I don't know why but it won't ring anymore." And I go, "Yep, that's a volume issue you got there. Let's just push this button three times and viola! Sound!"
Monday, August 1, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
Let your Freak Flag Fly....Freak
I've been told I was weird for as long as I can remember. I was so painfully unpopular in grade school it pains me to think of it. I was a total dork. My mom was a model and dressed me a little too fashion forward...and I was too smart for my own good. My father's sense of humor, which seemed totally normal at home, and which is obviously where I got my sense of humor, did not fly in a public school full of young children. In 4th grade, Ben Cashwell started a rumor that I ate toilet paper and it was really all downhill from there. (For the record, I DO NOT eat toilet paper.) Ben Cashwell also took to calling me "dog" which became my nickname for the last few years of grade school before I thankfully entered middle school and got lost in the crowd a bit, although I was still painfully dorky. I remember a teacher telling me my sweater was weird in 6th grade. That is really so not cool. My mom picked it out, and she made me wear it. Fuck you, lady. You weren't exactly a damn fashion plate.
I was painfully unpopular until 7th grade, when I came back to school with boobs, a perm, and eye makeup. Then, the 8th grade boys started noticing me and I was pushed into semi-cooldom. I tried very hard to suppress my odd sense of humor and the fact that I was smarter than all of them. It worked. In 8th grade, Ben Cashwell wanted to make out with me. I said no, due to the fact that he was a short slimy little lying fuck that ruined two years of my life. So he told DR that I was talking smack about her. One last jab before he was left back and I moved on to high school.
In high school, I barely passed 9th grade. I was trying so goddamn hard to be cool, nothing else mattered. It backfired, and I was grounded most of the year for my grades. So my sophomore year, I dropped all my college prep courses. Showing up to class was enough to earn me an A, so I was free to continue to act cool.
My high school was pretty big. There were about 2000 kids there. I never reached the level of coolness that I wanted to, but at least I wasn't a total nerd. I was lost in one of the many subcategories of kids in the school. Still, I needed some outlet for my weirdness, so I made friends with the skinhead/skater/death metal guys. They were all in one big group at that time. I managed to be friends with them while still maintaining my semi-coolness and not looking like them or dating any of them. Still, looking back, I really wish I had their courage to be totally freaky and not give a shit what anyone thought.
After high school, I came to realize quickly that it really is true what your parents say. Those kids who were the coolest in high school are usually the biggest losers after school. No one gives a shit about you, and no one did. My closest and most awesome friends were made after high school, with the exception of a few of those skinhead/skater/death metal guys which I still consider some of my best friends of all time. Now that I am free to let my freak flag fly, now that I am free to be the biggest dork on the planet if I so desire, I am friends with people who appreciate it. Or, in the case of my husband, at least put up with it on a daily basis.
I was painfully unpopular until 7th grade, when I came back to school with boobs, a perm, and eye makeup. Then, the 8th grade boys started noticing me and I was pushed into semi-cooldom. I tried very hard to suppress my odd sense of humor and the fact that I was smarter than all of them. It worked. In 8th grade, Ben Cashwell wanted to make out with me. I said no, due to the fact that he was a short slimy little lying fuck that ruined two years of my life. So he told DR that I was talking smack about her. One last jab before he was left back and I moved on to high school.
In high school, I barely passed 9th grade. I was trying so goddamn hard to be cool, nothing else mattered. It backfired, and I was grounded most of the year for my grades. So my sophomore year, I dropped all my college prep courses. Showing up to class was enough to earn me an A, so I was free to continue to act cool.
My high school was pretty big. There were about 2000 kids there. I never reached the level of coolness that I wanted to, but at least I wasn't a total nerd. I was lost in one of the many subcategories of kids in the school. Still, I needed some outlet for my weirdness, so I made friends with the skinhead/skater/death metal guys. They were all in one big group at that time. I managed to be friends with them while still maintaining my semi-coolness and not looking like them or dating any of them. Still, looking back, I really wish I had their courage to be totally freaky and not give a shit what anyone thought.
After high school, I came to realize quickly that it really is true what your parents say. Those kids who were the coolest in high school are usually the biggest losers after school. No one gives a shit about you, and no one did. My closest and most awesome friends were made after high school, with the exception of a few of those skinhead/skater/death metal guys which I still consider some of my best friends of all time. Now that I am free to let my freak flag fly, now that I am free to be the biggest dork on the planet if I so desire, I am friends with people who appreciate it. Or, in the case of my husband, at least put up with it on a daily basis.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Runner's high? I think not...
I run....like, every single day. I started running at 13 and have run on and off since then. That said, I would never call myself a runner. I am terrible at it. I mean, I really fucking suck. Always have. I can't run more than 3 miles at a time. No matter how many years I run for, 3 miles is my limit. And I walk at least a quarter of it. My form is terrible. Ever see that episode of Friends when Phoebe ran? Yeah, that's me but less famous. A quarter mile in, I look like a 90 year old on her 10th mile through the Sahara. I'm slow, and I really have no interest in being any faster.
I hate it. It's no fun at all. I rarely look forward to it, and if I do, it's because I've been cooped up in the house all day taking care of an infant and it's the only half hour I get to myself. And anyone who has ever experienced a "runner's high" has clearly never done blow. I hate it even more with the jogging stroller. The front wheel shimmies and I have to pop a wheelie every time I hit a bump or my poor kid will get shaken baby syndrome. You're supposed to lock the wheel, but then I can't turn. The only thing I like about running with the stroller is the end, when I stop at Dunkin Donuts to get my iced coffee reward and walk the rest of the way home.
I feel like a disgusting sweaty mess when I'm done, and can think of nothing but a shower the second I walk in the door. I spend the whole day in my yoga pants and sneakers just procrastinating until I can't anymore.
The one thing running has done for me is that it has made me lose 46, count 'em, pounds of baby weight in 12 weeks. I have 4 more to go. And every time I lace up my damn sneakers, I just tell myself that in a few weeks I will be back in my damn pre-pregnancy jeans finally.
I also like ice cream. And at 35, there is no way I can justify eating it unless I "run it off." So that's what I do. I put on my stupid ugly sneakers, pull my hair up, strap the kid in, and go. I walk when I have to walk. I bend over and stop when I get a cramp. I don't worry about what other people think because, hey, they aren't running at all so who are they to judge, right? And every morning, I weigh myself, and try on my favorite jeans, which I can just button now, but with serious muffin going on.
Until they come up with a way to lose weight while drinking wine and watching TV, I have no choice.
I hate it. It's no fun at all. I rarely look forward to it, and if I do, it's because I've been cooped up in the house all day taking care of an infant and it's the only half hour I get to myself. And anyone who has ever experienced a "runner's high" has clearly never done blow. I hate it even more with the jogging stroller. The front wheel shimmies and I have to pop a wheelie every time I hit a bump or my poor kid will get shaken baby syndrome. You're supposed to lock the wheel, but then I can't turn. The only thing I like about running with the stroller is the end, when I stop at Dunkin Donuts to get my iced coffee reward and walk the rest of the way home.
I feel like a disgusting sweaty mess when I'm done, and can think of nothing but a shower the second I walk in the door. I spend the whole day in my yoga pants and sneakers just procrastinating until I can't anymore.
The one thing running has done for me is that it has made me lose 46, count 'em, pounds of baby weight in 12 weeks. I have 4 more to go. And every time I lace up my damn sneakers, I just tell myself that in a few weeks I will be back in my damn pre-pregnancy jeans finally.
I also like ice cream. And at 35, there is no way I can justify eating it unless I "run it off." So that's what I do. I put on my stupid ugly sneakers, pull my hair up, strap the kid in, and go. I walk when I have to walk. I bend over and stop when I get a cramp. I don't worry about what other people think because, hey, they aren't running at all so who are they to judge, right? And every morning, I weigh myself, and try on my favorite jeans, which I can just button now, but with serious muffin going on.
Until they come up with a way to lose weight while drinking wine and watching TV, I have no choice.
Et tu, Facebook?
Yes, I am a total facebook junkie. Especially now that I am not working. And just for you people who think we stay-at-homes do nothing all day, I am not usually even on the computer, but on my phone checking it while feeding my baby for the 100th time. The kid eats 50 times a day; it gets boring after a while. But I digress.
As in "real life," I am always very proud of myself when I come up with a real zinger to someone's status or comment. I expect to immediately see notifications of "likes" and virtual pats on the back. Just like in real life, when I expect guffaws and thumbs up and knee slapping. I rarely get it in either world, which just adds to my theory that I am completely and totally misunderstood by almost everyone.
Example A: a friend says something along the lines of, "I went to blah blah such and such today. I feel like an 18 year old again. Unfortunately, I no longer have the body of an 18 year old." I say, "So, you finally cleaned out your freezer?" Crickets.
A friend says, "Screw fake people. Say what you mean. People may not like you, but yadda yadda yadda..." and I say, "I agree. I don't like you at all." Nothing. Although I do give him props for offering to kick me in the face in response to my status a few minutes later.
Here I am offering pure genious, for free, and I get no appreciation.
Then there are the pages I have liked. Oh please, forget those. Somehow, I liked one page, which pimped out another page, which pimped out another page, and so on and so on and so on. I liked all of them. Then I got to this page where I amused myself by asking this stupid twat if she was secretly a fat bald middle aged man. This is what happened https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10150343622621217&set=a.10150095295181217.303566.590056216&type=1&theater
I thought it was funny....I finally realized that all these stupid pages I "liked" were all cliquey and all seemed to know each other, at least in the cyber world. And somehow liking a cool page (Moms who drink and swear which led me to Little White Lion which is also funny) Somehow led me to a woman who named herself and her husband after a candy bar, and also a page called, It's human to cry, let the tears flow, which had been taken over by coup, and was calling everyone on it whiney bitches. They were actually, but still, not the point. Anyway, the point is, I would make comments and instantly be called a cunt, twat, bitch, asshole, the whole nine yards, by these annonymous people who I'm sure would never say these things to my face, but feel safe by the shield of the internet to type it at me. It reminded me of those AOL chat rooms in the mid 90s. It was always like that in there. People are not that confrontational in real life. (That is, in fact, the reason I stopped watching Larry David.) So, I decided, after little reflection, to unlike all of those pages, except for the afforementioned first two. I figure, if I am going to offend someone, it might as well be someone I know.
While I am complaining, I also would like for everyone to please heed my advice when you are graced with an actual serious attempt at help. Case in point, a friend asks today what color polish would go with a royal blue dress and silver shoes. I immediately say metallic hot pink or just plain red or burgandy. After that, someone tells her pastel pink with sparkles, which makes me cringe. Then she gets a like, and then someone else agreeing! HELLO PEOPLE, IF YOU AREN'T GOING TO WATCH WHAT NOT TO WEAR, THEN DON'T OFFER FASHION ADVICE. Get real, in what universe does a pastel go with a primary color?? Now, this poor thing, who wanted real help, is going to show up somewhere with sparkly pastel nails to go with her royal blue dress because everyone told her to. I just hope she doesn't post pictures, because I already know what my comment will be.
As in "real life," I am always very proud of myself when I come up with a real zinger to someone's status or comment. I expect to immediately see notifications of "likes" and virtual pats on the back. Just like in real life, when I expect guffaws and thumbs up and knee slapping. I rarely get it in either world, which just adds to my theory that I am completely and totally misunderstood by almost everyone.
Example A: a friend says something along the lines of, "I went to blah blah such and such today. I feel like an 18 year old again. Unfortunately, I no longer have the body of an 18 year old." I say, "So, you finally cleaned out your freezer?" Crickets.
A friend says, "Screw fake people. Say what you mean. People may not like you, but yadda yadda yadda..." and I say, "I agree. I don't like you at all." Nothing. Although I do give him props for offering to kick me in the face in response to my status a few minutes later.
Here I am offering pure genious, for free, and I get no appreciation.
Then there are the pages I have liked. Oh please, forget those. Somehow, I liked one page, which pimped out another page, which pimped out another page, and so on and so on and so on. I liked all of them. Then I got to this page where I amused myself by asking this stupid twat if she was secretly a fat bald middle aged man. This is what happened https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10150343622621217&set=a.10150095295181217.303566.590056216&type=1&theater
I thought it was funny....I finally realized that all these stupid pages I "liked" were all cliquey and all seemed to know each other, at least in the cyber world. And somehow liking a cool page (Moms who drink and swear which led me to Little White Lion which is also funny) Somehow led me to a woman who named herself and her husband after a candy bar, and also a page called, It's human to cry, let the tears flow, which had been taken over by coup, and was calling everyone on it whiney bitches. They were actually, but still, not the point. Anyway, the point is, I would make comments and instantly be called a cunt, twat, bitch, asshole, the whole nine yards, by these annonymous people who I'm sure would never say these things to my face, but feel safe by the shield of the internet to type it at me. It reminded me of those AOL chat rooms in the mid 90s. It was always like that in there. People are not that confrontational in real life. (That is, in fact, the reason I stopped watching Larry David.) So, I decided, after little reflection, to unlike all of those pages, except for the afforementioned first two. I figure, if I am going to offend someone, it might as well be someone I know.
While I am complaining, I also would like for everyone to please heed my advice when you are graced with an actual serious attempt at help. Case in point, a friend asks today what color polish would go with a royal blue dress and silver shoes. I immediately say metallic hot pink or just plain red or burgandy. After that, someone tells her pastel pink with sparkles, which makes me cringe. Then she gets a like, and then someone else agreeing! HELLO PEOPLE, IF YOU AREN'T GOING TO WATCH WHAT NOT TO WEAR, THEN DON'T OFFER FASHION ADVICE. Get real, in what universe does a pastel go with a primary color?? Now, this poor thing, who wanted real help, is going to show up somewhere with sparkly pastel nails to go with her royal blue dress because everyone told her to. I just hope she doesn't post pictures, because I already know what my comment will be.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
OK so I will have at least two entries
It's the OCD in me. I walked away for five minutes, possibly less, and realized it was going to kill me until I at least had another entry. So I decided to write about my adventures in retail a bit, which I'm sure I'll do again in the future, because there is soo much material there. Seriously.
I have worked retail since before I was legally allowed to work. I got hired at 15 years and 50 weeks by a drug store owner who just didn't put me on the books for two weeks, and I continued in retail for 19 and a half years, until I had this new little peanut, who I am trying the stay-at-home thing with for a while.
I don't plan on going back to retail. The main reason is because the hours suck, and at 35 years of age, I am tired of working nights and weekends. I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do next, but it will hopefully involve a desk and a daily rush hour commute.
The drug store was an interesting place to work. They had this God-forsaken cassette tape they would play over and over that played horrible random bad songs, mostly from the 70's, and every few songs these girls would sing, "Thriiiiift, raaaadiooooo." I always pictured them in the studio together, the three of them, harmonizing, while one did that hand thing where it goes up up down, along with the harmony. There was one good song on the tape, In My Life by the Beatles, which I looked forward to hearing the entire shift. The manager, who was also the head pharmacist, was named Wayne, and he smelled of vegetable soup. I hated the old people that shopped there. One time, I got yelled at by some old lady who was angry that we charged sales tax on greeting cards....um, not a necessity lady. One time, I got yelled at by an old guy who wanted his prescription delivered and got annoyed half way through my question asking. I hung up on the old fuck. I hope it wasn't heart medication...
There was a long period of time where I loved retail. It started because it was the late 80's and I was in high school and my short term goal was to work in the mall, where the cool kids worked. After I worked at the drug store, I got a job at a store called No Name. It's long since out of business, but think of Wet Seal, but set in the 80's. It was cheap, disposable, trendy clothing. Remember Traffic stretchy jeans in every color of the rainbow? Yeah, we had them. My favorite was sidewalk sales, because I got to stand out front of the store by the table of cheap crap and socialize.
When No Name started doing poorly, my hours got cut down to like 2 days a week, so I picked up a second job next door at Stride Rite. I freaking LOVED that place. I don't know why, either. I just really liked that job. I kept it throughout college and well after No Name went out of business.
I worked at PacSun for a while after that. It was so long ago, all they had was men's clothes...which they made the girl's wear too. They also made us tuck our tees into our jeans, which was silly. But it was my first job as an assistant manager, so I tucked my damn shirt in and I liked it.
Then Hot Topic opened upstairs, and I was in love. I stalked the district manager there until he hired me for a store that was 2 1/2 hours away, and I moved to North Jersey to work there. I also LOVED that job. I stayed with HT for 9 years. And I will surely talk more about that in years to come.
After I sadly left the old HOTT, I worked for H&M. Wow, is that a terrible company. Freaky Swedish bastards. If you have shopped there, and wonder why everyone there is such a miserable rude fuck, it's because they hate life and are probably close to suicide. Unless they are Swedish, because then they are jolly and happy and think the Swedish god Sphen smiles upon them.
After 2 1/2 long years with them, I moved on to Armani Exchange, where I stayed until Spawn#2 was born. And here I am. Now, when I talk about my jobs you can look back at my resume here and know what I am talking about.
I have worked retail since before I was legally allowed to work. I got hired at 15 years and 50 weeks by a drug store owner who just didn't put me on the books for two weeks, and I continued in retail for 19 and a half years, until I had this new little peanut, who I am trying the stay-at-home thing with for a while.
I don't plan on going back to retail. The main reason is because the hours suck, and at 35 years of age, I am tired of working nights and weekends. I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do next, but it will hopefully involve a desk and a daily rush hour commute.
The drug store was an interesting place to work. They had this God-forsaken cassette tape they would play over and over that played horrible random bad songs, mostly from the 70's, and every few songs these girls would sing, "Thriiiiift, raaaadiooooo." I always pictured them in the studio together, the three of them, harmonizing, while one did that hand thing where it goes up up down, along with the harmony. There was one good song on the tape, In My Life by the Beatles, which I looked forward to hearing the entire shift. The manager, who was also the head pharmacist, was named Wayne, and he smelled of vegetable soup. I hated the old people that shopped there. One time, I got yelled at by some old lady who was angry that we charged sales tax on greeting cards....um, not a necessity lady. One time, I got yelled at by an old guy who wanted his prescription delivered and got annoyed half way through my question asking. I hung up on the old fuck. I hope it wasn't heart medication...
There was a long period of time where I loved retail. It started because it was the late 80's and I was in high school and my short term goal was to work in the mall, where the cool kids worked. After I worked at the drug store, I got a job at a store called No Name. It's long since out of business, but think of Wet Seal, but set in the 80's. It was cheap, disposable, trendy clothing. Remember Traffic stretchy jeans in every color of the rainbow? Yeah, we had them. My favorite was sidewalk sales, because I got to stand out front of the store by the table of cheap crap and socialize.
When No Name started doing poorly, my hours got cut down to like 2 days a week, so I picked up a second job next door at Stride Rite. I freaking LOVED that place. I don't know why, either. I just really liked that job. I kept it throughout college and well after No Name went out of business.
I worked at PacSun for a while after that. It was so long ago, all they had was men's clothes...which they made the girl's wear too. They also made us tuck our tees into our jeans, which was silly. But it was my first job as an assistant manager, so I tucked my damn shirt in and I liked it.
Then Hot Topic opened upstairs, and I was in love. I stalked the district manager there until he hired me for a store that was 2 1/2 hours away, and I moved to North Jersey to work there. I also LOVED that job. I stayed with HT for 9 years. And I will surely talk more about that in years to come.
After I sadly left the old HOTT, I worked for H&M. Wow, is that a terrible company. Freaky Swedish bastards. If you have shopped there, and wonder why everyone there is such a miserable rude fuck, it's because they hate life and are probably close to suicide. Unless they are Swedish, because then they are jolly and happy and think the Swedish god Sphen smiles upon them.
After 2 1/2 long years with them, I moved on to Armani Exchange, where I stayed until Spawn#2 was born. And here I am. Now, when I talk about my jobs you can look back at my resume here and know what I am talking about.
Drumroll Please....
Welp, here it is folks. The incessant ramblings of yours truly. Let me start by allowing myself to introduce...myself. That is, if you don't already know me and love me.
I find humor in, oh I'd say about 99% of everything I witness in life. I wouldn't have it any other way. I love to laugh and will do so, often, at the expense of others. I wish I could do stand-up, but I offend people so often, I am petrified of getting booed off stage. I take every possible opportunity to make a joke. It's all free game to me. My grandmother's funeral, that was a laugh riot. My mother's breast cancer, (maybe the birthday card with the stripping cow showing her udders was too much.) If it's there for me, it's free game to make fun of. That said, please don't get me wrong. I am one of the most empathetic people you will ever meet. My heart breaks daily for people and animals that I don't even know, as well as the people and animals closest to me whom I know and love. I just think humor makes everything better, more bearable. I have gotten all types of reactions to my unfiltered thoughts. Utter shock and silence, anger, laughter of course. I've lost friends, and I've made awesome friends. And the funny thing is, I hate offending people. I have a serious need to be liked by people. I am the epitome of putting the foot in the mouth. Why do I do what I do? I don't know. Let's explore my psyche together, shall we?
I have tried to write a few books. One was semi-autobiographical fiction. (Is that a genre? Because that's what it was) I was sort of writing a blog in book form. But then my life got really boring all of a sudden and I had nothing else to write about. Then I started writing a fiction book. I had all these great ideas in my head, but about 50 pages in, I realized I had used all the ideas up and couldn't think of anything else to write. So, I've decided my best bet may be blogging my observations as they happen. And so here we are.
Real quick, the boring stuff. It is boring now, because you don't know these people. But they are the co-stars in the movie of my life, so they are worth mentioning. I have a husband who doesn't find me amusing in the least, a daughter who is about to turn 12 who sadly attempts jokes every chance she gets and fails miserably (but I do give her props for trying. I hope she gets funnier), and a baby girl who is my best audience. This kid is 12 weeks old and laughs, nonstop. She can listen to me for hoooooouuuuurs. I also have a neurotic dog (don't we all) and two cats, one of which is also neurotic. I also must mention that I do have a few close friends that would be mad if I didn't mention they existed so there you go.
I don't know when I'll blog again. Maybe in a few hours, maybe never. It depends on what happens that I feel is worth blogging about. This blog could very well just float around in cyberspace with the rest of the abandoned blogs on the inter-web. Hopefully I will have some discipline, though.
I find humor in, oh I'd say about 99% of everything I witness in life. I wouldn't have it any other way. I love to laugh and will do so, often, at the expense of others. I wish I could do stand-up, but I offend people so often, I am petrified of getting booed off stage. I take every possible opportunity to make a joke. It's all free game to me. My grandmother's funeral, that was a laugh riot. My mother's breast cancer, (maybe the birthday card with the stripping cow showing her udders was too much.) If it's there for me, it's free game to make fun of. That said, please don't get me wrong. I am one of the most empathetic people you will ever meet. My heart breaks daily for people and animals that I don't even know, as well as the people and animals closest to me whom I know and love. I just think humor makes everything better, more bearable. I have gotten all types of reactions to my unfiltered thoughts. Utter shock and silence, anger, laughter of course. I've lost friends, and I've made awesome friends. And the funny thing is, I hate offending people. I have a serious need to be liked by people. I am the epitome of putting the foot in the mouth. Why do I do what I do? I don't know. Let's explore my psyche together, shall we?
I have tried to write a few books. One was semi-autobiographical fiction. (Is that a genre? Because that's what it was) I was sort of writing a blog in book form. But then my life got really boring all of a sudden and I had nothing else to write about. Then I started writing a fiction book. I had all these great ideas in my head, but about 50 pages in, I realized I had used all the ideas up and couldn't think of anything else to write. So, I've decided my best bet may be blogging my observations as they happen. And so here we are.
Real quick, the boring stuff. It is boring now, because you don't know these people. But they are the co-stars in the movie of my life, so they are worth mentioning. I have a husband who doesn't find me amusing in the least, a daughter who is about to turn 12 who sadly attempts jokes every chance she gets and fails miserably (but I do give her props for trying. I hope she gets funnier), and a baby girl who is my best audience. This kid is 12 weeks old and laughs, nonstop. She can listen to me for hoooooouuuuurs. I also have a neurotic dog (don't we all) and two cats, one of which is also neurotic. I also must mention that I do have a few close friends that would be mad if I didn't mention they existed so there you go.
I don't know when I'll blog again. Maybe in a few hours, maybe never. It depends on what happens that I feel is worth blogging about. This blog could very well just float around in cyberspace with the rest of the abandoned blogs on the inter-web. Hopefully I will have some discipline, though.
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