All My Friends Are In My Head

Well, not really. At least, not in the Kirk Cobain way.

I mean the TV show “Friends”. Yes, that’s right, I like that show. I binge watch reruns on Netflix. I reference the characters. I love the TV show “Friends”. I even took an online quiz to find out which “Friend” I was most like when it hit me, I have a little piece of each one.

Monica: Monica is an over bearing, OCD, mama bear type. She wants everything in it’s place, everyone to do what she says, and to protect all of her friends. If it came down to a fight, my money’s on Monica. She squirrely and oddly strong for such a little person. I may not be able to take someone out in a fight, but I can sure as hell be OCD! Case in point: A couple months ago, I asked Hubby to clean the bathroom. Actually, it took a few weeks of nagging and outright threats to get him to finally ‘clean’ the bathroom. By ‘clean’ I mean empty the trash and wipe the swiffer gingerly over the floor a bit. Not clean.
So, I e-mailed him a document that explained how to properly clean the bathroom. He thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. I am not making a binder that explains how to properly clean every single room. Yes, I am that crazy.

And yet, I am probably more like “Fat” Monica than anything else. I actually think her “fat” portrayal looks more like a normal woman, but this is T.V. we’re talking about..
monicafat.gif

 

Rachel: I know that I do not share Rachel’s fashion sense. In fact, people often make assumptions about my sexuality because of the way I dress. If it’s not comfortable, why bother wearing it? I do, however, share in her air-headedness. Some might argue that Phoebe is far more scatter-brained, but she’s just more eccentric. No, Rachel is the airhead. It’s not because she’s stupid or doesn’t care. I think Rachel just gets caught up in her own little world and kind of forgets about other people. I do the same thing. I have often found myself on the receiving end of some unpleasant behavior from others because they thought I was being mean. I wasn’t. I’m just clueless about things like that.

rachelnotlike.gif

 

Phoebe: As I said before, Phoebe is eccentric. She’s experienced a harsher life than the other Friends, so I think her coping mechanism employs blurring some lines of reality. She’s mystical, crazy like a fox, and has her own style. Unfortunately, I think I just possess the eccentric part.. though I do like to mess with people, sometimes.

phoebe.gif

 

Ross: Ah, the geek. Ross is a true geek. He doesn’t just share the interest in Star Wars. No, he is also completely obsessed with science. Not just any science, Paleontology. I can get Ross because I, too, become obsessed with specific sciences. I was obsessed with computer sciences, biology, and mechanics. It’s all just so fascinating and it can be difficult to find a group of people that are also intrigued by it.

ross.gif

 

Chandler: He really means well but Chandler has issues. We all know about his parents and his super crappy childhood. The thing is, he’s coped pretty well via his sense of humor. I have a similarly awkward sense of humor that often does more harm than good, though it’s nothing as rampant as others’.

chandler.gif

 

Joey: Food. The only thing I have in common with Joey is that we both love food. I am not a slut, I do not get into my looks a whole lot, and acting has never appealed to me. But food? Yeah, I’m right there with ya.

joeyfood.gif

 

I think that pretty well sums it up.

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Quirks

So we all have our own little quirks. Some of us can’t stand to hear words mispronounced, some of us have to make sure the pillows on the couch are arranged just right, and some of us have no quirks (which is quirky in and of itself).

Me? I have social issues. Yes, that’s right, it’s quirky!  I swear.. Anyways.

Let’s start off with the most obvious one – I have facial recognition issues. Actually, I just have memory issues. It all stems from that time I hit my head, yadda yadda yadda. Long story short, I have memory issues. There are many times that I stare at someone and my brain goes, “Hey, you know that person,” but I go, “Are you sure?” This leads to me staring at someone I’ve met before as I pass by them and then, when their back is to me, going, “Hey So-And-So! Nice to see you!” At which point they turn and look at me like I’m a freak. Well, that part might be somewhat accurate, but it’s not done on purpose.

In a similar vein, I can also forget what I’m talking about and who I’m talking to mid conversation. That’s right. I will suddenly hold my hand up and say, “Wait, who are you? What are we talking about?” Awkward pause as my brain tries to figure it out and the other person weighs whether I’m crazy or just rude. “Oh yeah, I remember now. Continue.” This has led to a lot of people just not wanting to talk to me and, let’s be honest, that’s fine with me.

Another social “quirk” I have is not really caring to take the time or expend the energy to piddle-paddle around other people’s emotions. I know, I know. Many people say I’m callous or uncaring. The fact of the matter is that I just don’t get it. If you want something, ask for it. Say so. Don’t allude to it in a vague sense and then say I’m rude for not giving you what you wanted or “asked” for. You didn’t ask, you made passive comments. Don’t do that. ASK!

I also don’t like to put up with the some people’s attitudes that they should be treated differently for whatever reason. We all have things to deal with. Anxiety, Depression, physical pain, stressful situations. I could go on and on. We all have these things. They are not an excuse to demand that other people ask, “How high?” when someone says, “JUMP!” So stop. Seriously, just stop.

I am nice. I swear. I go out of my way to help people and I try to be polite. There are times people mistake this for weakness, flirting, or (for some strange reason) they think I’m mocking them. I’m not. I’m trying to be nice. As a result of this, people can start to get pretty shitty. They can take for granted the things I’m doing and then get upset when I stop doing them. Let’s face it. If any of us are going out of our way to do nice things on a regular basis and someone starts to take it for granted, we’re gonna stop doing those things. I will also start to be curt with people that I was formerly nice to if I find out they are: talking about me behind my back, continually being rude to my face, or ignoring me. I tried to be polite, you were rude, no more need to try and be polite.

Last, but not least, my voice. I tend to have a softer voice. People can have a hard time hearing me. Don’t make fun of it. Don’t ignore me because you’re tired of asking, “What?” I will speak up. My volume and vulgarity will increase 10 fold in a matter of milliseconds. Just don’t do it.

 

Okay, I think I’m done complaining for one morning. I hope you all are having a great first day to your weekend. (See, I can be nice.) I think I need to get all of this printed on a t-shirt as a disclaimer for interacting with me. Meh, that wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

Trans Trains

So, I’ve been absent from here as of late due to health issues (big shocker) and because I discovered Tumblr. Yes, I am now addicted to all the Tumbling goodness.  As a result, I come across some very ineteresting posts. One  suggested that a person stop using the word “transparent” because it had the word “trans” in it and was offensive to Trans people (as in Transgendered or Transsexual).

Lesson of the Day? I accept such challenges and raise your absurd request to absurd levels of offensiveness.

In response, I wrote the following. You may need a dictionary, I surely did.

Kiya was a young woman living in Transylvania. She had never come across any vampires or werewolves. She found the talk of such creatures to be boring and she transcended all of the recent books and movies on the subject. She was of the opinion that works of fiction based on transmogrification were annoying. Except for Harry Potter. There was always room for Harry Potter. Instead of reading, she found joy in the outlying countryside. She often took holidays through European countries and, today, she was riding on the Trans Siberian Railroad. It was a transcontinental railroad, and she looked forward to immersing herself in the various cultures it transversed. She liked to travel with as few modern amenities as possible. It gave her the feeling of sloughing off her current woes and slipping into a time when such things did not exist. All transgressions and worries of life were forgotten. On this note, she travelled with a simple radio; a transceiver that could both receive and transmit radio waves. It was basic and did not have any bells or whisltes. She took delight in listening in on the local radio stations as the train transected the countryside. She did not often use the radio to transmit anything, but it was good to know she had it in case of an emergency.

Along with the countryside, travelling by train had other enjoyments. There was the delicious food full of trans fats, the time echoed décor, and the interesting company. Kiya had met people from the four corners of the world, in all walks of life, and made some wonderful friends. Not everyone aboard was willing to take part in this aspect of travelling by train, however. There was a younger university student sitting to the right of Kiya who had spent the entire trip rolled up on her seat, completely transfixed with her schoolwork. Kiya glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw that the young woman was currently transcribing something about the “Trans Effect”. It looked as if it had something to do with chemistry, but Kiya could not be certain. She was just about to take another glance but her eye began to twitch. She held her hand up to her right eye and silently cursed her health. She must have louder than she thought because the student looked up briefly from her transcription with a sly smile. Kiya thought to explain, but the student went back to her work.

Since her transient ischemic attack, her eyes liked to go into involuntary twitches. It caused some confusion if it happened as she was being introduced to new people. It looked as though she were having a tic attack of some sort. One man even took it as an invitation for a sexual encounter. When Kiya refused, his behavior transitioned into hostility at a transsonic speed. She remembers the venom of his words, clearly. She was amazed that people still walked around holding such primitive beliefs and wondered if she could create some kind of transponder to warn her of these people.

Kiya sighed and then smiled. She usually met much more jovial people and she wouldn’t be on this lovely train if she hadn’t had the ministroke to begin with. Her doctor told her it was a warning that a full-fledged stroke was going to occur. He chided her for living a stressful life and convinced her that she needed to learn to take time off and destress. She took his advice and began taking these wonderful holiday trips.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by two men arguing behind her. “No, no,” began a man in a Russian accent, “If we use transdermal medication than we will forgo the risk of infection at the site.” “Oh good goods,” responded someone in an English accent, “the risk of getting an infection at the site of a transcutaneous implant is minimal and the benefits far outweigh it!” “I will not allow my patient to receive their medication this way, their immune system is already weakened and any risk could be deadly.” The next man scoffed and continued the verbal transfer of disagreement. It was painfully transparent that the Englishman thought his knowledge superior to the Russian man’s. Kiya figured that they must be doctors headed to some transcultural medical assembly by the sounds of their accents. She was thankful they both found a common language. Can you imagine a translator in the middle of that argument? She laughed and looked around at all of the passengers and began trying to determine where each person was going to or had come from.

A few rows down from her sat a man who could pass for being transient, or homeless. His beard was long, full, and unkempt. He had on several layers of clothing, most of them looking beat up and holey. His big toe stuck out from one of his shoes and the hat he wore to cover his mess of hair did not match his clothing in any way. It was neon and had a strange logo plastered across the front. He was reading a newspaper and mumbling to himself about trans regional sports. Kiya assumed he must be a drifter. By the looks of it, a transpolar one. She quickly wondered if anyone would transvalue his appearance or simply treat him as something to ignore.

The woman sitting one row closer looked as though she had just stepped off the Trans Saharan Trade Highway, her dress transposed from another time. She wore fabrics of black and shimmery golds. She had large, golden hoop earrings and was dressed in the traditional African sense. The only thing that brought her to this century was the iPhone in her hands. She transuded severe annoyance and it seemed to be aimed at whomever was sending the messages. As she burrowed her eyebrows deeper into a frown, her large jaw bones and high cheeks, matched with a liberal application of shimmery make up, almost made her look like a transvestite.

Kiya’s thoughts drifted back to her own phone. She wondered if it was wise to leave it behind. She might need it. Did Mark from accounting need her help? Would her mother be able to go two days without calling to see if she was alright? She sighed and looked out the window through the translucent, lace curtains. The transformation was amazing. Her worries melted away as she watched the scenery pass by. The argument behind her erupted again. They were now “discussing” transthoracic transplants and policy or procedures. She laid her head back on her seat rest and closed her eyes, smiling. “Oh yes,” she thought to herself, “it was goin to be a fun holiday.”

It’s that time again!

No, it’s not Tool Time. It’s sick-o time. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen.  For a limited time only (one can hope) you can have all of the symptoms and troubles of the flu. But wait! There’s more! You can also miss work, leading to a smaller paycheck because America doesn’t do paid sick days.

On top of all of this, you will have to hold out for as long as possible before going to the doctor. Why? Well, I’ll tell you. They make sure to ask if this has been going on longer than a week (as if a couple of days of misery is not enough) and that’s only if you have insurance to pay for the visit! Gee America, what a great job you’re doing.

As an added perk, you won’t be able to sleep! Nope, no sleep for you. Your heart will pound, you will pass out a few times, and your day will be spent fighting a throbbing headache. But no sleep! That would just be too gosh-darned simple.

Ah ha ha Influenza, we love you.

 

*This post is not trademarked in any way, shape or form. Please be sure to contact your doctor if you are experiencing flu-like symptoms. As always, we cannot be held responsible for your actions with our product. This product may cause the same exact symptoms you are already experiencing and we just can’t figure out why you’re still buying it.

Just another day in the life..

..of Ye Olde Timey Towne.

Today was supposed to be jammie day. Hubby and I were supposed to sit in the air conditioning, in our jammies, on the couch, and binge watch Netflix all day. That didn’t happen.

It’s partly my fault because I forgot that we had an appointment at 2pm. Oops. Hubby had family over to help out with some online stuff, which ended up not working out, but I got the house clean. As Hubby said, “Nothing cleans a house faster than having company over.” Yay! Clean house.

I was also able to work on some of my artsy/crafty projects. I tried two more attempts at the neighbor’s baby blanket but have yet to find a pattern that will suit my needs. I’m being too picky, I know, but it’s supposed to be cute dammit!
I also did some drawing for a short story I wrote a few weeks ago and did some more research on writing novels in general. I swear that one of these days I will sit down and write. I promise. No, my fingers are not crossed behind my back. Okay, maybe a little.

Hubby and I decided that we had sat around too much and so we went for a walk. This is where things got interesting.
We were taking our usual walk down past the Court House when a young lady approached us. (Hubby has informed me that “lady” is too strong of a word.) Anyways, she asked us if we knew a bar that had the name “pickle” in it or something like that. We looked at eachother and then pointed .. at .. the bar. It was across the block. It was right there. I told her it was between the chiropractor’s office and the jail, as I was pointing across the street at said office. Hubby told her that if she hit the jail, she’d walked too far. She said okay and the proceeded to walk in the wrong direction.
Hubby and I took the cue and sat on the bench on the sidewalk. We watched her walk around the block, past the jail, and then we waited. She came back around the same corner, looked around a little bit, and slowly meandered her way into the Greasy Pickle bar. We watched and waited..
She came out of the bar, flagged down a truck in the middle of the road, and started talking to him and pointing in various directions. This whole time, we were sitting on a bench, diagonally from said bar. She saw us, we saw her, and she never came up and asked us anymore questions. Maybe she was offended by our laughter. When we decided to leave and head back for home, she was still walking around, in front of the bar, looking for the bar.
I wonder if people inside were telling her it was the wrong bar, just to mess with her. Oh the fun we have with tourists during the Tri-State Tractor and Gas Engine Show.

After that, it’s pretty much been winding down til bedtime. Let’s hope tonight is a good one for sleep, we have a dog to groom in the morning.

It’s not mean if it’s funny…

..right? Right.

I can be mean funny, sometimes. This is nothing new, I’ve always been this way. It’s gotten better over the years. Hubby is far more mean funny than me.  Why am I telling you this? Because of this:

A comic about shaving whales

They’re getting too hairy!

This reminded me of a particular time when I was mean funny:

I used to work at a factory that made corn taco shells. It was pretty boring. We basically just stood there and packed tacos all day. I’m sure there’s a joke in there somewhere.. Anyways, we usually passed the time by joking around with one another, singing songs (especially around Christmas), and just chatting. It wasn’t a bad job, but the HR sucked. That’s a different story.

So anyways.. There was this very gullible girl that worked on my team a lot of the time. We usually had fun with her in good humor and didn’t put her down for being.. more simply minded.  Afterall, it provided us with endless hours of amusement. One example came on a particularly boring night.

We were doing our usual jobs, humming songs.  Suddenly, I got the Menards jingle stuck in my head. If you don’t know what Menards is, it’s a hardware/home improvement store. HERE’s a link to their website. Anyways, they have a catchy jingle that goes, “Save Big Money at Menards”.  I was taken back to the time when I was hanging out with some friends and that jingle came on the radio. We all started laughing and singing, “Shave big monkeys at Menards”. Hmmm.. an idea was forming.

I know, I shouldn’t.. but it’s just too good! So.. I told Ms.Gullible that Menard’s jingle used to be “Shave big monkeys” because they got their start making their giant area rugs out of gorilla hair. Yes, I went there. She looked at me with an eyebrow arched. Hmm.. maybe she was learning. I continued on explaining that they took the gorilla hair from the local zoo and wove it into rugs. That’s why they had the jingle. It looked like she was thinking about this being a possibility. I just needed to seal the deal.

They had to stop because the animal rights groups got in a tizzy, so they branched out into other home improvement stuff. BUT! They still make their rugs at each facility. In fact, if you go to Menards, just go up to the customer service desk and ask to see the rug making seamstresses. They give free tours, but hardly anyone knows about it. You even get a free welcome mat at the end of it. I swear!

I know.. I know. But I couldn’t help myself.

I’m not sure if she ever took me up on it, but every now and again, I like to imagine her going up to the service desk and what the reaction of the people working there would be. Ah, meanness humor.

Oddball

My skills of conversing with others has always been somewhat challenged. When I was younger, I was withdrawn and shy to the point of not even wanting to look people in the eye. It was a severe handicap, one that I have slowly overcome over the years.

On top of this, I’ve become more of a skeptic as the years have passed. This combination has made me an outspoken person with an odd idea of what things should be talked about. It’s almost as hazardous as my husband’s tendency to spout out snarky puns that he thinks are funny. Almost.

A great example would be my trip to my mother’s bank this week. Mom had to have outpatient surgery this week and I volunteered to take care of her while she recovered at home.  I did her housework, helped her care for her drainage thing-a-ma-jig, and fed us. I also ran some errands for her that were, oddly enough, scheduled the day of her surgery. No big deal, I was happy to help and get out of the house.

One of these errands involved going to the bank. Not my bank, but my mother’s bank. I had never, ever, been to this bank before so the tellers didn’t know me at all. I was also dressed very casually because of running errands in the heat (read that as I was wearing capri jeans, a large t-shirt, and sandals). This bank is more upscale and most people going in and out were dressed for business.

teller

As soon as I walked through the glass doors, all of the tellers got on tip toe to watch me walk across the bank lobby. You see, their station is surrounded by high walls, so they couldn’t see over it too well. I started the transaction giggling and told them how funny they all looked trying to peer over the wall at me as I walked in.

The teller bristled. “Well, we just weren’t sure who you were.” Her lips persed shut as she clickity clacked on her computer. I guess I looked more menacing than I had realized. I tried to break up the tension with a comical observation. “You just all look like little meerkats sticking your heads up like that.” Nadda. She handed me my stuff and ended the transaction with, “Well we do have a job to do.” I guess having a sense of humor is not apart of that job.

meerkats

And most interactions are pretty much like that. I make an oddball observation that I think is funny (not that I think I’m being funny, but rather, the thing I”m talking about is funny). People misunderstand and become defensive. I try a little humor to break the tension. They want to stab me.

I guess this is how Hubby feels when he makes a “funny” observation and I get offended. I guess I should work on that one.