Thursday, December 29, 2011
1. The George Costanza AKA the Charity Case: This gift usually comes in the form of small card saying that so and so has donated to a charity in your name. Although charities are great, receiving this so called gift is overwhelmingly disappointing...especially if you've put a lot of time, effort or money into a gift for that individual's gift. But hopefully the charity you've been forced to support is for a good cause and actually exists.
2. The Creed Bratton: Is your gift wrapped in a plastic bag? Is it four sizes too small? Is is smelly or old? This is the type of last minute gift where someone has forgotten all about getting you a present and digs something out of their closet. Receiving nothing would be a better gift...
3. The Martha Stewart: This is a gift not of love, but of labor. The Martha Stewart gift giver is known to distribute projects that require some kind of do-it-yourself component. Often this type of gift giver is overestimating your abilities or in my case my time management skills needed to set apart enough time to make that batch of cookies in a jar...
4.The Overachiever: The overachiever gives gift of guilt: these homemade presents make you feel guilty that you didn't put enough thought into your store bought present.
5. The asked for gift: the gift that you asked for from Santa and finally got. Can sometimes be a bit of a let-down, especially if you've been asking for it for a while. Why is it that anticipation is almost always more fun than actually receiving? Or perhaps anticipation isn't all that great, but we just don't know what to do with something once we actually get it.
6. The Twins aka Doppleganger: Receiving the exact same present as someone else: not a great feeling.
8. The D.I. (thrift store) gift: ever got a present and you immediately knew you hated it but couldn't return it and decided to send it straight to a thrift store?Then you've received a D.I. gift. These are often white elephant presents, but can turn up in deceptively appealing places as well (such as under your tree Christmas morning).
9 Cash: This gift is more ambiguous than it may appear. While cash is a pretty universally appreciated gift, I have some sort of mutated responsibility gene that makes it almost impossible to use Christmas cash for something fun and spontaneous. Rather I feel like I need to use that cash to help build up my stock portfolio or pay off my student loans. Oddly enough, returning a gift and receiving cash in return doesn't seem to inspire this kind of shoulder-Angel bickering as simply receiving cash.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Now this genius is as much a burden as it is a blessing. I had to constantly look over my shoulder in high school because I wrecked the curve on every single test in my psychology class, acing every exam. It got to the point where I was afraid my fellow students were going to be in a "grab your torches and pitchforks" mentality. Lets just say there was a lot more negative attention than positive attention over my achievements.
Fortunately the emotional scars from this high school experience are pretty much healed, which is why I feel it is now safe to air my genius to the public once more. And my ideas are so wonderful that I'm pretty much a shoo-in for a Nobel Prize.
Here are some theories and definitions and ideas that the idea wheels in my head have been turning out:
1. Freshman theory: in singles wards in the LDS culture, guys, no matter their age will go after the freshman girls. It's pretty sickening to see a 28 year old go after an 18 year old, but I've seen it happen quite often.
Now I haven't researched this one out enough, so I'm not sure if this occurs simply because the freshman girls are fresh meat or if there's a protect the little naive girl mentality, or what. Also, this theory is inherently flawed seeing as how I was once a freshman and no guys flocked to me, and also girls of all ages do end up getting guys...but still this theory definitely has some merit.
2. Height Barometer: Some people's arthritis can feel storms blowing in, my height is a social barometer measuring awkwardness. I am 6'1" and usually stand about a head taller than everyone around me. I've discovered that I am not always conscious of this vast height difference though. But I have noticed that when I am aware of my height in social situations, that I am feeling awkward and uneasy. Whereas when I am not aware of my height, I feel comfortable and easy-going.
3. Marital Amnesia: A phenomenon occurring more often in woman than men, but in which a person, after getting married, forgets what its like to be single, and starts saying stupid and insensitive things to their still-single friends.
Also, there's an offshoot of this affliction that I would term as "I don't need to do anything social or to have any friends or because I have a husband" and which is pretty self-explanatory.
4. I've decided to hire a writer to follow me around and come up with snappy comebacks for me.
This is an excellent idea for two reasons. First, I can rarely say what I want to say when I want to say it. About two days later is when a brilliant retort comes to mind. With my writer sidekick I would have access to brilliantly crafted replies at my fingertips.
Secondly, on those rare occasions when I have been able to say what I wanted to say at the exact moment I wanted to say it, I felt about 2 seconds of triumph, which was
subsequently crushed by a disabling sense of guilt. Having a writer, would hopefully dull that sense of guilt--because they are not technically my own words. I have a huge guilt complex so this would be very helpful.
My guilt complex is kicking in right now, so I think that I should point out that I would only use this writer's responses for good. I don't wish to go around cutting people down, but there are definitely times in my life that I wish I had a writer around to help me come up with witty responses.
5.I've invented a new day to celebrate: December 23 is now Kazoo day!!! I will be playing my kazoo all day, announcing my entrances into various rooms in my house, serenading family, and just being awesome...it just might be the best day ever.
It also might be the day I die, because my family might kill me...but it's a chance I'm willing to take. The world needs more kazoo music, and I will not be silenced!
Friday, December 16, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
Which is why I don't understand why she always has the thermostat turned up past 80 degrees. I am not joking. And the heater has been on since last August! And its been an unseasonably warm year!
I really think she is just trying to cook me in my room, and faithful blog readers, if I end up a victim of cannabalism after being roasted alive in my room please direct the police to my roommate and get some justice for me.
Turning down the heat and dressing in sweaters and jackets, and piling my bed with lots of blankets is how I grew up, and how I survived at college: saving money AND keeping warm at the same time, who would have guessed! The gas bill is expensive, but there's also a lot of ways to cut costs in the winter. But H doesn't seem to get it.
Growing up I was always cold. Even in the Summmer I would have at least five blankets on my bed. My mom would always joke that I was cold-blooded (which secretly I've kind of resented because I feel like it puts me in the same category as snakes, which I absolutely loathe, but at the same time I also secretly liked it because it was kind of like a special little joke between me and my mom. Yes, I realize I am insane!).
Growing up, it seemed like I was constantly in a near-frost-bitten state because the thermostat would be at the outrageously low temperature of 72 degrees!
I would dream of cranking the thermostat up to 90 degrees and sit comfortably in my house in shorts.
Well, that dream is now my living nightmare. I'm wearing shorts right now, and have turned the heat off, and I'm still sweating. If I open the window it gets too cold, so I just have to wait for the house to slowly cool off (and hope that my roommate doesn't wake in the middle of the night and crank up the thermostat, as she is prone to do).
But seriously guys, I really think my roommate is trying to kill me, because based on encounters with her throughout the last 4 months, there's no way she would willingly crank up the thermostat at all and have all that money just blow through the vents and out of the bathroom window which my two roommates constantly leave open.
Practically every aisle was an obstacle course filled with pallets of marked down would-be gifts, and with people milling around and stopping right in front of me and then positioning their carts so that they are impossible to move around.
Can anyone say 'fire hazard'?
Granted I'm sure these people don't do it on purpose, but at the same time, its nice to be aware of your fellow shoppers and be courteous to them and let them pass you as you try to decide between two types of Christmas goodies...when you know in your heart that you will get both, and you also know that you should be watching your children instead of debating which item to purchase, so that they don't dart out in front of a fellow shopper's cart when said fellow shopper finally finds a break in the aisle blockage and attempts to make her escape.
So because of all the aisle blockages and human walls, I had to make a lot of detours (and quick stops as I tried to avoid running over the unsupervised children darting in front of my path), and then I got in the slowest moving line...so I went to shorter, more promising line and was reminded of my special talent of getting behind people with food stamps who take approximately, oh, let's see, FOREVER to run 3 different cards and then pay partially with cash. So my quick trip into the store took approximately 10 years...
I still need to figure out a few simple gifts for coworkers and such, but I'm thinking that my sanity is more important than their Christmas gifts. Maybe I should just hold off on the shopping for a bit and they could be the first people ever to receive Presidents day gifts.
Friday, December 2, 2011
My memory is terrible nowadays, but I'm pretty sure I used to be smart. I'm not sure what happened, but apparently stupidity is contagious because lately I've had a hard time coming up with ordinary words like "snow globe" and "validation" and have turned to using primitive hand gestures to try to communicate my point. I feel like I've reverted back to cave man days. Which is a problem as well because its hard to come up with a hand gesture for words like "validation." I guess I should be glad that people are as adept as I am at just smiling and nodding as someone else (in this case me) babbles on making incoherent speech.
Hopefully this trend ends soon because not everyone gets my gestures, and communication is a pretty vital part of society. Also, I liked being smart...emotionally I am not coping well with being this idiotic.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Last night I finally got an email that allowed me to officially sign up for the site. I started pinning all of the crafts and recipes and design ideas I have on my internet browser's bookmark bar. It was really fun!
Then I checked my email...there was an update from Pinterest telling me that my cousin had found out through Facebook (which you have to use to sign up to Pintererst) that I had joined had started following me. The next time I checked my email that night I had probably five emails from Pinterest telling me that people have repinned my pictures. Every time I open my email, my inbox is now filled with several new notifications from Pinterest.
Guess what Pinterest! I DO NOT care about random strangers repinning the stuff I like! i do not need to be informed of it. I don't like having my inbox filled up with useless stuff like that. I haven't even been a member for 24 hours yet and its already driving me crazy!
I thought it was bad enough that Facebook sends out emails when someone else comments or 'likes' the same thing you've already 'liked' or commented on, but I'm not on Facebook all that often, and have limited my comments and use of the like button because of the huge commitment involved in doing so (i.e. having your inbox filled up with a dozen useless emails
I really like Pinterest, but if I had known the level of commitment involved in it, I probably wouldn't have joined. Also, the whole process of requesting an invite, waiting a month to be able to join, and then having to use Facebook (which I've been seriously considering canceling) are all points against it. So put a pin in that Pinterest!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Last night my home teacher called and asked if he could stop by sometime. I was super excited because my home teachers haven't come in probably a year and a half, and even then it was just the one time. I haven't had consistent home teachers for probably about three years now. So of course I said, "yes" and he decided to come by tonight.
As I walked into my front room after work, my roommate H was sitting in the living room doing her homework on her laptop. I told her that I just wanted to give her a heads up, that I would be having a few people from my church over a little later to come visit me. She responded by telling me that I didn't need to ask permission, since I live here too.
um....I fail to see how my trying to give her a heads up about my need for the living room to be unoccupied and cleaned up could be construed as my asking her permission...but as is my policy in most situations I held my tongue to avoid a long, drawn-out, typically pointless conversation.
The good news though is that my home teacher came and the room had been cleaned up, so even though H probably thinks I'm an idiot for 'asking permission' things worked out fine.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
I love children's books. My mom would take my sisters and I on weekly pilgrimages to the city library, and we would come home with out arms laden with books. One of my favorite books was "One Tough Turkey" by Steven Kroll. It's a humorous take on the first Thanksgiving. I remember my Mom reading this book to us...it never got old or boring. I think that that is the ultimate test of a great book: you can read or listen to it a thousand times over and its just as good as the first time you read it. And even though you know what is going to happen, you still experience those moments of anxiety, happiness, sadness, and anger that you felt when you first heard the story. "One Tough Turkey" is definitely such a book.
Thanksgiving doesn't seem to have quite the market on good books, music, and television specials, and movies as Christmas does...but it does have "One Tough Turkey" which is so amazing that it more than makes up for this fact.
I'm grateful for a mother who read to me and fostered a love of reading in me. I still love to listen to my mom read stories to me.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Dressing as in stuffing as in Thanksgiving dinner trimmings is bad though. Its REALLY bad. As in one-of-the-worst-things-that-could-possibly-ever-be-made bad.
I love Thanksgiving. I love the warm, fuzzy feelings it emotes, and the family get-together, and I especially love the food. I love it all...turkey, yams, rolls, mashed potatoes, gravy...yum...although I have two major exceptions: Orange Jell-o with carrots, and dressing. (Also, I'm not the biggest fan of the jellied cranberries, I hate marshmallows on my yams, and then there were the two tragical years when one aunt brought cheese-whiz filled celery, and when another aunt used rancid shortening to make her pies...but these are all beside the point.)
I don't see any redeeming qualities about Thanksgiving dressing. It's soggy bread, soggy celery, and other soggy, unidentifiable items (which being unidentifiable makes it in and of itself undesirable). The taste AND the texture are both vices and unlike the carroty jell-o it isn't funny.
For now I guess its just something nasty that I'll have to keep passing off to the rest of my family.
I do have to say that one of the biggest benefits of being an adult is that you get to load your OWN plate with your own portion sizes and own choices of entrees and thus never get stuck sitting at the table for hours after everyone has left it staring at nasty soggy dressing that your parents want to you eat---don't they realize its even less edible two hours later than it was when it was first placed on the table?! (not that it was ever edible in the first place though...).
Monday, November 21, 2011
Yes, orange jello with carrots. Don't ask me why, I don't have a clue why it shows up at Thanksgiving dinner. I'm not the biggest fan of jell-o, but I'll eat it on occasion. I'll even choke down less desirable flavors like, oh, say orange, if only to promote family harmony. But I draw the line at eating already nasty jell-o when stuff is added to it. Even bananas and other fruits in jell-o, which by all accounts makes more sense to show up in jell-o than carrots or other vegetables, makes jell-o less appealing to me than it already is.
I am not a fan of jell-o, and apparently neither is the rest of my family because year after year my grandmother's infamous Thanksgiving jello goes pretty much untouched.
I really don't understand the carrots and orange jell-o combination. The only thing I can think of is because they are the same color, but that explanation pretty much defies all logic...although at a funeral luncheon in my home ward someone was kind enough to bring in green jell-o with celery and green olives, so that gives some support to my color theory. This story also helps me to feel better about my own family's jell-o quirks, because orange jell-o with carrots is soooooo much better than the green veggie variety.
Its become a little joke in out family about the re-appearing jello. Seriously
Family, stop taking pity servings of the stuff so that Grandma will STOP making it!!
Actually this year we are not going to my grandparents for Thanksgiving and I think that I am going to be sad if there's not any jell-o.
Up Next: Dressing and why it is dis-gust-ing. Blech
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Whew. That feels good to get off my chest...but honestly I probably have bought half of the Chapstick Executives Spanish villas. My old roommate would make fun of me, because I'd always have at least two chapstick tubes under my pillow, and another couple hiding elusively under the bed, only to appear when she was there to laugh at me.
I love chapstick, and its not an exaggeration to say that when I forget my chapstick that I'm in for a bad day (Seriously, why don't they stock vending machines with something useful, like, oh, I don't know...chapstick?)
My love has also been made manifest in blog posts (not including this one) and poetry--both were for school assignments, but I chose the topic.
I've joked about having a chapstick addiction before, but today was the first time that I thought that it might actually be true. You see, my habit has become so bad that I have built up a tolerance to the blue-tubed variety of Chapstick. I'm not joking. I've had to move on to harder stuff because my normal go-to brand of Chapstick is no longer cutting it.
Nivea products are now my drug of choice--but although the relieving 'high' it produces is awesome, I miss my old blue-tubed friends. The Nivea tube is too fat to fit comfortably in the pockets of my pants. Also, the cap is longer, so it's less enjoyable to snap on and off (and I'm beginning to realize that I had a behavioral addiction associated with my Chapstick: I used to snap the cap on and off, on and off, and with my new Nivea product my hands don't know what to do with themselves). Also, the flavor is a bit off--it's just not the same. Sigh.
And now you must excuse me, because during the fifteen minutes it has taken me to write this blog post, my lips have become excruciatingly dry, and I guess its time for my 'fix.'
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Thinking about their television-like lives, I began to wonder where my life would fall in TV Guide. I think that I would classify my life as a sitcom. But not a vulgar one like is so common on TV today, nor one with a cheesy laugh track. I'm thinking my life would be sort of like the 'Cosby Show', but funnier, and less cheesy, and with better wardrobe.
What I really would like the TV show of my life to be like is 'Psych'or 'Scrubs' but I guess I'm not as goofy as Shawn and Gus or Turk and J.D., or perhaps I just haven't found the right companion yet to do goofy, crazy stuff with...
Anyways, my life is like a sitcom because there are problems that arise constantly, but not a lot of drama. Things are usually resolved after a few episodes. I've been really blessed in my life, and although I've had trials, some of which are still not resolved, overall, my drama can be laughed away.
My life is also like a sitcom because there's a lot of humor, and even more failed attempts at humor (that totally fits me!).
Although I don't have a theme song, I love Kronk from 'The Emperor's New Groove' and it has always been on my to-do list to come up with my own theme song. Also, I usually always have a song stuck in my head, and bonus, about .999999% of the time it is the perfect song, fitting perfectly with what is happening. So I think that more than qualifies as a soundtrack.
I also have constant inner dialogue, similar to documentary style interviews conducted on shows like 'The Office.'
Although I think my sitcom is pretty awesome, my sitcom life will probably never win an Emmy, so I'll have to write my speech here:
"I love being a sitcom, and I know that the reason why my life is lacking in serious soap opera type drama is because I've been taught correct principles and have made covenants that keep me safe from the heartache and frustration that those living soap-opera type lives endure.
"There have been so many people who have made my sitcom a success, and many supporting actors who are far funnier than I will ever be, so because there are too many thank, I would just like to unthank a few people: you know who you are."
Monday, November 7, 2011
So despite the fact that I will never own a smartphone because they are overpriced and people who own them are super annoying, and texting is quickly becoming the bane of my existence, if I had a fairly godmother who decided to give me an I-phone paid for my phone bills, then who am I to reject such a generous gift?
As in most cases though, people who deserve special things like I-phones, such as myself, and who would not misuse or abuse the privileges associated with such an item, do not actually own said items. I-phones and other such coveted things seem to only be in the hands of evil people who do not use these things for good.
I've been training in my new position for the past few weeks, and as frustrating as learning a new job is, this experience is even more frustrating because my trainer keeps texting throughout the day! Its unprofessional and rude! She should be training me on how to work, not on how to text.
Every time her phone goes off, my blood starts to boil. Today I was even more perturbed by it than usual and was ready to grab it out of her hands and smash it on the floor and jump on it, two-year old tantrum style.
Fortunately for her (and the I-phone and my wallet) I was able to constrain myself.
I make no guarantees about tomorrow though.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
I love argyle, and when I found a blog with a tutorial on how to make an argyle fleece throw, I knew that I had to make one of my own.
So, today I bought the fabric and spent the better part of the day working on my new argyle fleece throw.
I got a little distracted from my blanket project...and I made a scarf. One of the fabric remnants was the perfect size and length for a scarf, so I grabbed some embroidery floss and made a cute design and now I have an awesome new scarf!
I feel so accomplished having started and finished this today. Its a great feeling to be able to create things and it reminded me of this awesome talk by Elder Uchtdorf, titled 'Happiness, Your Heritage.' I love this talk, it makes me happy.
Hopefully my awesome blanket will be finished soon, but for now I'll leave you with more pictures of my beautiful scarf.
Please note that the pictures are blurry because my photography skills are not as amazing as my embroidery skills (yet).
Friday, November 4, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
Thursday, October 6, 2011
My roommate mentioned how sometimes you need to tread lightly with some short people because they can be sensitive about being short. I felt like she was leaving out another special group of people that are often overlooked in society (although not literally overlooked like short people sometimes are, because tall people stick out like sore thumbs). Yes, the group to which I am referring to, and to which I belong, is tall people. I have issues with my height, but society doesn't deem it necessary to tread lightly when dealing with me, as they do with those individuals with Napoleon complexes.
As a member of this exclusive club which only passes its genes on to their own children (we’re selfish like that…) I can attest that we are indeed looked up to. Which is great in theory, but then the looking up becomes staring and then gawking. Which is just awkward, and let’s face it girl in the public library who gawked at me with your mouth formed in a perfect “O,” just rude. Tall people have feelings too, and being stared at in this manner is a crushing blow to one's already fragile self-esteem.
Also, tall people have a greater chance of bumping our heads, such as when we are entering or exiting cars, or while passing through low doorways, injuries which are easier for short people to avoid. Its a hard life we tall people lead.
We are often asked to retrieve items on tall shelves for vertically challenged people. So, you should just feel sorry for us no matter what, because we are stared at, we are at higher risk of a head injury (probably even more so than a football player because football players get to leave the field, but I’ll never stop being tall) and having to retrieve items for short people is pretty much just the same as telling me that I have only slightly more value and purpose in this life as a chair or step stool.
Also, as the voice for tall single women, you should feel especially sorry for us because A) everyone assumes we played basketball even though it is fairly obvious that some of us can barely walk without causing physical harm to her person, and thus are not coordinated enough to have ever played sports (ahem...not that that bears any resemblance to me, I loved to make all of those touchdowns when I played basketball in high school), and B) apparently tall guys like to feel especially tall as they all seem to go after the girls who are only considered tall enough to ride roller coasters when they are wearing their six inch heels.I like being tall. I just don't like how everyone around me is so much shorter...Personally I attribute my height to being a more evolved person. Some of my former roommates weren't too keen on this scientifically proven fact, but that could just be due to the fact that they are less evolved than me.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
I’m pretty sure that one of the worst pains that can be experienced in this life is when you are trying to catch Skittles in your mouth and they bonk into your teeth.
Granted this is coming from someone who has never borne a child, but I don’t feel like categorizing Skittles-induced pain in this manner is an exaggeration. Perhaps I should contact the candy companies and get a warning label put on the packaging:
Warning!: This product can cause tooth aches in the following ways: 1) cavities 2) extreme pain in the event of you trying to catch the candies thrown at you by your friends or self, and 3) being punched in the mouth by a deranged person trying to steal the product in order to “Taste the Rainbow.”
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Why did this rather rude statement arise? Rent is due on the 5th of the month by 6:00 pm (she probably thinks that this fact is all my doing and my fault). For the month of September, the 5th fell on Labor Day. I had been out of town for the long holiday weekend, during which I remembered that rent was due on Monday. I wrote out a check so that I wouldn’t forget to drop it off at the manager’s apartment when I returned home Monday night. That evening, I arrived home and unpacked and tried to unwind. By a stroke of luck I remembered to go pay my rent. The next day I found out that both my roommates had forgotten to pay, and unfortunately for my roommates, the manager’s decided that this month would be a good month to crack down on late payments (which is really terrible considering that the fifth day of the month fell on a holiday) hence my roommates were hit with a hefty late fee of $75. On hearing this (and also that I had already paid and had avoided the late fee) my roommate H was angry. I felt bad about the late fee, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I escaped to my room. The next morning I got the full story:
She called the managers (way after hours) to complain about the late fee. She was able to talk them out of it (a feat which my other roommate S was not able to do). I was informed that since she didn’t have to pay the late fee, that she didn’t hate me, yet.
H told me that we needed to remind each other about rent being due, and then said that on the 4th that we would put up notes reminding people to pay (my mother offered a brilliant suggestion to this: start a countdown three weeks early and every day say: 25 days till rent is due….24 days till rent is due….)
I felt bad when I learned that they had been given a late fee; I felt even worse the next morning when I had that lovely little roommate discussion. She made me feel ike it was completely my fault—and it’s not! Yes it would have been courteous of me to remind my roommates--but they are in fact adults (even if they don’t act like it) and honestly it didn’t cross my mind because H is so anal and is always bossing me around and telling me what to do and when that I assumed that she had already taken care of it.
Other than taking on the blame which H decided to dump on me, I have some other issues with this morning’s encounter:
1. The wording: She doesn’t hate me, yet. Really? So she’s planning on hating me at some future point? I guess I’ve lasted a whole month without earning her complete and utter loathing, so maybe I can feel good about that fact.
2. The fact that I care that she’s apparently on the road to hating me. Which shouldn’t matter as I find her annoying and blunt and while I don’t hate her (yet) I am leaning past indifference into active dislike.
3. The fact that she was able to talk the manager out of the late fee. That she was able to do this while the pleas of my other roommate fell on deaf ears is a testament to H’s complete and utterly annoying obnoxious personality. Only her incessant whining and complaining could wear down the manager.
4. I understand that money is tight, and that the late fee was expensive, but that should be even more motivation to PAY ON TIME. Learn to be an adult. If it’s hard to remember stuff, write it down! I’ve only lived here a month, but it sounds like paying rent on time is a difficult thing for my new roommates. H needs to grow up, because I don’t want to mother her (especially since if I did my ‘child’ would be older than me).
5. The fact that I didn’t want to mother her and tell her when and how to do grown up things made me question if I could ever be a mother. This one really bothers me and is obviously not my roommate’s fault--but this crazy thought did cross my mind. I honestly had to reassure myself that it would be different when I had my own children (if only because my children will actually be younger than me).
6. It made me feel like a jerk. She made me feel like a terrible person because I didn’t remind her to pay her rent. I think that we are both at fault (with the teeter-totter of blame tilting towards the ground a lot more on her side than on mine). I could have been more courteous and asked if she had paid rent. She could have paid her rent (Problem solved).
7. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if she had actually had to pay her late fee. I really think she might have killed me….
Maybe along with ‘stranger danger’ we should also be teaching the rising generation “roommate danger” i.e. don’t move in with psychos!
Thursday, September 8, 2011
During my first week of institute, one of my fellow students, while introducing himself, decided to go off on a tangent about how he had decided that going to a university wasn’t for him, so he had dropped out of school after two years. He told the class that he believed in self-education and didn’t need a piece of paper to prove that he was intelligent.
Um, excuse me, but I have a diploma and I don’t use it to prove I’m intelligent (I use it to prove that I am hardworking and diligent and can achieve my goals, which are all talents that I used to earn my diploma...). A diploma doesn’t show that you are intelligent, it shows that you are educated (and by his antics, this fellow student showed me that he is neither intelligent or educated).
Perhaps I’m just a little sensitive to this subject since I just recently earned this so-called ‘piece of paper’ but I truly wanted to slap this guy. I’m not putting this guy down because he didn’t get his degree; I’m putting him down because he put down my degree in order to justify his own life. I find the derogatory use of “piece of paper” in place of the word “diploma” highly irritating, if not out-and-out offensive. I worked hard for my degree, and I learned a lot through my courses as well as through self-directed study. My diploma is literally a piece of paper, but it is symbolic of hours of hard work and of the many lessons and principles learned. So, I truly despise when people try to diminish my efforts in achieving my goal of earning my diploma by calling it just a piece of paper, because it truly is so much more than that.
Also, I worked for my degree not to impress other people, but rather to better myself and to grow as a person (impressing other people is just a bonus. And in today’s world a diploma is almost a necessity in getting a decent job).
A college education opens many doors in society, and I highly believe in education so I would encourage everyone to get their education, but I don’t look down on this fellow institute student because he doesn’t have a degree. I don't look down on anyone for not having a degree. Throughout his little tirade I felt that he was protesting too much about formal education, which makes me think that perhaps he is insecure with his decision to drop out of school and is trying to justify it in every public (and probably private) venue where he can find a soapbox to preach from.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
I could go on a vegetarian diet, but it would be completely pointless, because my guilty pleasure foods are lacking meat already: brownies, ice cream, potato chips….
Meat is not my dietary pitfall. In fact, I don’t eat meat that often—especially if I am the one doing the cooking. I am by no means I vegetarian, but I have an aversion to touching raw meat, so I rarely prepare meat entrees for myself (I’m definitely more of a carb girl anyhow).
I guess that I could show off to people that I too am on a vegetarian diet, but then in a few weeks they’ll probably be asking why I’m gaining weight.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Sometimes I don’t know why I even try. Actually most of the time I wonder why I even try. Some people are so dumb, and rude, and so not worth the time or effort it takes to talk to them.
Needless to say I was more than a little taken aback by his comment, wondering why that would be any of his business as well as if he only found people worth associating with if they went to church? I kindly informed my new neighbor that I had just moved in, holding back all my snarky comments about how I’d been to church every week and then asking him why he hadn’t noticed me before (withholding from him that while I had been to church in this ward every week, I had only been there for two weeks…) and also resisting the lie that was forming on my lips about how I was inactive and had only recently begun attending again but after a condescending greeting like that I was thinking of not coming back…ever.
Thankfully, our conversation soon ended. I’m pretty sure though that if he ever does talk to me again, this great missionary will be asking me my name and why I never come to church, because there’s no chance that he will remember meeting me. I hate guys that like. I feel like a lot of guys at church, and other places, only feel its worth their time getting to know a girl if they are attracted to her.
Friday, September 2, 2011
I am no priceless painting. In fact I probably fall closer in the realm to street graffiti. Despite this, if things continue on as they have at work I may have to get myself a personalized museum plaque to wear as necklace warning people, “DO NOT TOUCH.”
I have been at my current job for less than a month and already I have been rubbed on the back by no less than 3 different persons! I can’t believe that this sort of behavior is happening in the workplace. We are all on friendly terms, but I do not like to be touched. Also, the touch sends the message of a superior/insubordinate relationship, with the receiver needing to be comforted. And guess what: the person being given the unwanted back rubs is not the superior…
Don’t get me wrong, I am a closed off person and would not like these types of back rubs from near-strangers ever (some people might argue that my coworkers are not near strangers-but that still does not make the back rubs appropriate, ever. And also, these people would be WRONG, because really how well do you know your coworkers? With my coworkers I know a little about their life and family, but rarely do we get beyond small talk: thus they are near strangers).
Also, because I am a closed off person, if you are trying to be my friend by giving me a friendly backrub then you are approaching this situation all wrong, because it is deeply irritating, not to mention super AWKWARD, thus, not the best approach to becoming my new BFF. Also, if you can’t read the signals that you are making me incredibly uncomfortable such as my shoulders hunching up and me trying to escape into the floor, I question your IQ level and probably don’t want to be friends with you anyways.
So folks, hands off and do not touch. This no touching policy* is not limited to back rubs, but includes pretty much all forms physical contact, and perhaps most especially hugs.
*Policy is not as strictly enforced when it comes to close friends and family and most especially to attractive persons of the opposite sex.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
One woman today tried to cross that line. I was sitting in the break room waiting for my yummy leftovers (fetuucine alfredo) to finish their circular journey inside the microwave when my coworker sat down across the table from me. This was my own fault as I had not prepared myself for an enjoyable lunch hour by spreading out my purse and water bottle and book across the table, marking my territory as I typically do. In fact my book was still in my purse, and once she sat down I felt like too big of a jerk to pull it out and start reading (although I’m not sure she’d get the hint even at that point that I would prefer to be left alone).
Now I am not so anti-social as to never want to eat lunch with anyone, but my lunch hour only lasts 60 precious minutes. Minutes which go by at least three times faster than regular minutes, so really I only have a 20 minute lunch, so I’d rather have it planned out before hand that we are going to eat lunch together. Actually, its not so much the fact that I have no time to prepare for this type of social situation, as it is the fact that the conversation (a word I am using VERY loosely here) was centered solely on her. In fact she just told me stories of her past, with me nodding and “hmming” every once in a while. As she relayed her past without ever once asking me anything about myself, I was nearly to my breaking point, and considered stabbing myself with my fork (which would have been less painful than hearing all of her stories).
Fortunately I didn't have to impale myself with a fork to get her to stop. My unwanted tour down her Memory Lane ended abruptly when she had to get back to work, having started her lunch a half hour earlier than me.
I'm generally a nice person and I will willingly listen to your (probably stupid) stories, for hours on end, but it would be nice if people at least pretended to take some interest in hearing some of of my (most definitely stupid) stories as well. I feel like conversation is about give and take, but most people just focus on the giving (and this is the one case in which giving is not a selfless act). In my coworker's case she not only focused on the giving part by relaying her past experiences , but decided to bestow this gift on me repeatedly by retelling the same stories within the same half hour period in which she hijacked my lunch break.
The art of conversation has truly become a lost art. A fact which I attribute to texting and the rise in narcissitic behavior in society.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
With that said, I have a confession to make: I resent the fact that I have to sleep.
Fun fact: Humans sleep away a third of their lives. Not so fun fact: Humans sleep away a THIRD of their lives. That means that the typical 90 year old will have slept away 30 years of his life! I resent that 1/3 of my time that I could be doing anything else has to be devoted to sleeping. That’s why I delay going to sleep. I love to stay up late, and while I'm typically not the kind of girl who bounces out of bed at 4 am, I also refuse to sleep in too late in the mornings, because I hate wasting my day sleeping.
Its weird that I resent sleep because its not like I have anything pressing or exciting that I need or should be doing during my night time hours, but in a way I guess I feel like having to sleep is making me miss out on something, even if it is probably only late night infomercials (which can be very entertaining…I think I’ve seen the Magic Bullet infomercial about a thousand times and I still find it hilarious).
Some guys are extra chivalrous and if they spot me, even if I am 20 yards away, they will patiently hold the door open while I cross that distance. I appreciate the effort, but I don’t want them to have to wait for me to walk to the door, and so in this situation, I’d prefer it if they would just let me open the door myself.
In high school as I was walking into the building, one young “gentlemen” was walking a few steps ahead of me. I’m not the kind of girl who insists on having the door held open for her, and I certainly don’t expect it (because there are so many guys who don’t even bother) but I was watching this guy to see if he would hold the door open for me. He didn’t disappoint—but not because he opened the door for me, rather because what he did do was so off-putting that it was entertaining. He walked through the door, kicked it, so that it would stay open a little longer and continued on his way without pause. I have never forgotten that. I thought it was funny and wondered why he even bothered. Holding the door open for a girl is a sign of respect and his way of holding the door open was certainly not respectful, so I’m wondering why he even bothered to expend the energy he did to kick open the door for me.
The most common door opening mistakes that I’ve noticed are centered around the car door. I love when guys hold the car door open for me to get into the car—but I hate when guys want to open the car door open for me to get out. Waiting inside the car is just awkward, mmkay?
Speaking of car door opening etiquette (Allison’s version, which means that it is the CORRECT AND ONLY VERSION TO BE FOLLOWED!!), the other day I inadvertently became the third wheel to my roommate and her boyfriend. Usually I am extremely crafty and can avoid and get out of these situations. This particular situation was particularly sticky and I was unable to extricate myself. I survived (barely) and also came away with fodder for this blog (lovely). My roommate’s boyfriend opened the car door for my roommate, walked past me, around the back of the car and got in the driver’s side door. Opening the door should apply to ALL women—not just the ones you are dating or are interested in dating. If I’d been on the other side of the car I probably wouldn’t have cared as much because I could have gotten into the vehicle sooner than having to wait for him to come open the driver’s side passenger door for me, but he was RIGHT THERE by my door and should have opened it for me. I know that I would have been impressed with him, and if I had been in my roommate’s shoes I definitely would have liked my boyfriend to have done that for my friend.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Anyway, if there is anything that I can tolerate LESS than my treacherously messy and uncontrollable locks is when they are no longer attached to my head. Hair grosses me out. Ugh. I think that I’ll have to come up with a new number one thing on my list of qualities my future husband must have. I need someone who is not afraid to snake the drain—because, let’s be honest, I am too afraid and grossed out to do it, and at the current rate I am losing hair I really need a guy who will have the courage to stand up to the sludgy grossness clogging up my tub.
Hair on my head: fine. Hair off my head: gross, hair off of other people’s head: I need to vomit.
I don’t know why hair grosses me out so much but it really does. I also have issues with facial hair. Obviously I dislike it on me, but I am really opposed to almost all facial hair on almost all men. Obviously there are exceptions, but I think that we can all agree on doing away with the full beard. Not attractive on anyone, and I had a psychology professor who shared the horrific tale of how he grew a beard, maintained it really well, but had to shave it off soon after because it had an ODOR. SICK!!!
On the other hand, I find it creepy when people shave EVERYTHING. Exhibit A: Swimmers, more specifically male swimmers (Men should not have smoother legs than me!). Apparently there is a fine line between having too much hair and not having enough, but it’s an issue that is troubling enough for me to write a blog post about it, so obviously it is a fine line that everyone needs to learn how to walk. So I expect all two* of my readers to go out and either get a razor or Rogaine and attempt to walk that line.
*Although the incidents portrayed in this post are 100 percent accurate and truthful, I cannot determine for sure how many readers I have , but would guess that the true number lies at about 0ne, unless it is considered acceptable to count my various personalities, who are all as fastidiously groomed as I am and are as freaked out by hair as me, because we are in fact the same person.
Monday, August 22, 2011
The silent treatment is great in theory. And actually works quite well for some people, who can convey years’ worth of anger and resentment into literally nothing at all (well maybe some glares and other petty behavior). When I was younger I would get really angry over really important issues like global warming and scumbaggy politicians, NOT over minor, unimportant things such as somebody sitting in my spot on the couch after I had specifically proclaimed, before going to the kitchen, “I get my spot back!” My attempts at the silent treatment seem ridiculous now for several reasons including the fact that apparently my sisters are DEAF as my spot was almost always occupied when I returned, as well as for the fact that it is almost impossible for me not to talk. And it’s not that I have that much to say, and I truly do believe that sometimes silence is golden, rather it’s like when you’re told not to think of something and you can’t stop thinking of that particular thing (don’t think of a purple elephant). The same thing happens to me when I attempt to give someone the silent treatment—I suddenly have so much to say to them.
Anyways the reason that I’m writing this is that I’m pretty sure my sister is gi ving me the silent treatment, although its hard to tell for sure since we live in different places and her not responding to my text could just be because she didn’t hear the phone, which is ALWAYS on her person. But I just kind of feel like it’s petty and lame and really stupid if she IS giving me the silent treatment.
I’ve discovered that my compulsive need to talk to someone while I am giving them silent treatment also works in reverse: I really feel the need to talk to her, and mainly just because I believe she is indeed giving me the silent treatment. Ugh. I really am insane.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
So, I am insane and spineless which is how I came to teach my roommate how to drive. My roommates drive me crazy, so it makes sense for me to return the favor and teach them how to drive….a car. My roommate is from India and never learned how to drive. I’ve lived with her for about a week, and we are still getting to know each other. She was talking about how she had her learner’s permit and how hard it was to get people to take her out driving, which is apparently like crack to her: she loves to drive. She told me that her boyfriend and sister refuse to take her out driving (um, excuse me, but that’s a major red flag that you need to ditch that guy who won’t take you out driving because he “likes his car .”) and so she’s been asking pretty much everyone she knows to take her out driving. There was an awkward pause in the conversation at this point, and her not-asking me to take her driving was extremely loud in that silence, so I squeaked out an offer to take her out driving, while at the same time praying silently that she wouldn’t take me up on the offer. Which is how I found myself out on the busy streets around sundown the next night mentally and physically bracing myself as I let this near-stranger and extremely new driver behind the wheel of my car.
Actually, it went very well. My car received no damage, and my nerves will eventually repair themselves (right?). The experience wasn’t too bad. I only “pushed" my imaginary brake pedal three times, attempting to stop the car as I sat petrified in the passenger seat. It was actually kind of fun and a good bonding experience. While it obviously wasn’t a good opportunity to talk, the many near-death experiences which we survived together helped me to feel more comfortable being around her and I feel more optimistic about this new roommate situation.
Friday, August 19, 2011
In the past when I have discussed this with some individuals they have responded with, “but you haven’t met your husband yet.” To which I’ve replied that I’ll just have to sort back through all the jerks in my life and hope “the one” has changed (or hope that I am acquainted with this hypothetical future husband only in passing…because really there are so few people in the recesses of my memory that could even qualify as somewhat acceptable husband material).
To these somewhat (by which I mean totally) negative responses to my complaining about how I am sick of people and never ever ever ever want to meet another human being, I’ve decided to clarify that I am sick of meeting CRAZY people (although experience shows that crazy people make up approximately 99.99999999999% of this world’s population so this correction is really not all that helpful.).
Inarguably, I definitely have my own brand of crazy. Unfortunately my brand of crazy appears to be petty and jealous and doesn’t get along well with most other types of crazy. My crazy, thus, would rather be a hermit than deal with all the other types of crazy out there. Since that’s kind of Unabomber-ish, and unrealistic, (at least until I can save up enough to buy a mountain cabin … whatever, if I was going to survive as a hermit there would definitely have to be some sort of Caribbean beach involved.) I’ve decided to create this blog to document my various run-ins with crazy (my own as well as the craziness of other people and events). Mostly this blog will be about documenting my random thoughts and venting about my strange encounters with human kind… because let’s be honest I am surrounded by crazy.