Poison

I read your blog for a while. I looked at your pictures, giggled at your funny stories about other people and then I GOT INTO IT.  You had really great things to say and a lot of ideas that were thought-provoking. You spurred a lot of people on to try new things in their own writing styles on their own blogs; you pushed the envelope, except not really. You pushed it in the not-so-gentle way people do when they aren’t familiar with how to do it, like making new friends by handing out your grandmother’s leftover Oxycodone and then your friends are hooked and you’re in trouble and you’re lying and stealing your way out of this make-new-friends scenario.

Yup. That’s about how it went.

I’m a joiner most of the time. I like to get on a bandwagon but – a BIG BUT right here – I’m pretty good at jumping off at just the right time. Just before it gets superbad on the wagon, just before there’s mutiny and starvation, I jump off and congratulate myself for avoiding catastrophe.

And so now we have a bandwagon and some Oxy. TRY TO KEEP UP.

I’m disappointed in the blogosphere this year, to be quite frank. I was so pumped to head to Blissdom in February, BlogHer in August, and The Blathering in October. I really had it all set up in my mind for how it would go: I would finally FINALLY meet IN PERSON all these great people I’ve known for a while  and we would realize that we were twins unfortunately separated at birth but who have prospered and thrived in our own ways and have now come back together to create this unstoppable team of writing and design.

So yeah. Maybe I set the bar a little high.

Anyway, I’m disappointed that I didn’t get to go to any of these events this past year, but I’m more upset at the relationships that have gone sour among bloggers and writers and designers I respect. I’m embarrassed that the wagon I jumped upon had an underlying message of, mostly, hate. I hate that I lost some time I could have spent reading and researching more things I’m interested in rather than analyzing and discussing situations and relationships I have no business knowing about.

In short: I’m mad that I trusted and respected a writer who does some low-down, dirty stuff to other people.

 

 

 

Caution: Accent vlog. View at your own risk.

This is the accent vlog that’s going around amongst those Blatherers that leave for Austin next weekend. I did it, I’m not especially proud of it since it’s my first foray into the world of the webcam and I’m doing this weird stage whisper thing because Brian’s asleep. And…full disclosure: I had already taken my Ambien before I started this which accounts for the slightly groggy, Valley Girl-esque vibe. Although upon further review, this is boring as ALL HELL. I feel so much sorrier for the students in my classes now. Plus, the video is super grainy and why? I’ll be damned if I know. I gotta say: watching yourself on camera is JUST SO DISTURBING.

The notes for what I’m talking about are below. Apparently I forgot the part where I’m supposed to talk about where I’m from and why I pronounce things the way I do. I’m from right outside of Raleigh, NC, have lived in North Carolina mostly all my life, and that accounts for everything that comes out of my mouth, I’m afraid.

Say the following words:
Aunt, route, wash, oil, theatre, iron, salmon, caramel, fire, water, sure, data, ruin, crayon, toilet, New Orleans, pecan, both, again, probably, spitting image, Alabama, lawyer, coupon, mayonnaise, syrup, pajamas, caught
And answer these questions:
What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
What is the bug that curls into a ball when you touch it?
What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
What do you call gym shoes?
What do you say to address a group of people?
What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?
What do you call your grandparents?
What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
What is the thing you use to change the TV channel?

Here goes. Maybe just laugh quietly to yourself, ok?

Elusive Sleep, Part II

For the past few weeks, maybe longer, I’ve been lying awake for HOURS trying to get to sleep. I’ve been taking Ambien for quite a while – not a secret – and it helps me stay asleep like a charm. But getting there, Y’ALL. It’s like…something really hard. I can’t think of anything right now.

Some nights I turn on Pandora and try to choose something soothing, but inevitably I either sing along to the songs, get annoyed with Pandora’s choices or just get annoyed in general that I’m having to listen to something. Other nights I try to meditate, but my mind OH HOW IT WANDERS. There have to be ways to quiet my mind at bedtime. Just before writing this I made a list of all the things I’m worried about or that weigh heavily on my thoughts. The plan, you see, is that this would take all those thoughts out of my head and deposit them somewhere else for safekeeping until tomorrow.

Not so much. That list has 19 things on it. NINETEEN. Granted, some of them I listed twice. Some of them are weirdo health things that are most likely anxiety induced but worry me just the same. Some of them are work related and some are holiday stuff. Yes, YES I AM ALREADY WORRIED ABOUT THE HOLIDAYS. Where will we spend Christmas? What am I getting everyone? Will there be enough money to go around for the entire family? What if there isn’t? What if I can’t convince family members that we should skip gifts this year and do something good for the planet and/or its people?

And then there’s the weird paranoia that I’m not supposed to talk about on the Internet but that has to do with…a word that rhymes with jerk. But not spelled that way, IF YOU GET MY CRAZY SUBTLE CLUES. Which leads me to think about my list of things I need to do tomorrow, and why not just worry about them now instead of waiting until the morning? If I think hard enough about it now surely the answer will come to me, yes? And if I consult my Google calendar 42 times in the next 15 minutes than surely I’ll be prepared for all my appointments tomorrow, yes?

Help me stop the madness, y’all. There’s a yoga class I want to join this week but I am the opposite of flexible, and I don’t have a mat and is it okay to wear pajamas to yoga? Because that’s not so much relaxing sounding in my head. And then I could take a hot shower but wet head in the bed? No way. Milk? I’ll just have to pee more. All the lights out for quiet time? Obviously you’re not listening.

And yes, before you ask, I consume caffeine. Two Coke Zeroes a day at max, and I try really hard to quit at noon. So the solution for tonight is to write it all down right here and hope for the best.

Wish me luck, y’all.

How to make me cry on my day off

Car man: Mrs. Baker, I need to see you back here in the garage, please.

Me: TOTALLY DIDN’T DO IT WHATEVER IT IS.

Him: Yes ma’am, that’s right. We’ll just peek right here under the [something technical that didn’t make sense].

Me: I don’t know what any of this is.

Him: All you really need to know, ma’am, is that these are moving parts that don’t work anymore.

Me: Fucking European cars.

Him: That’ll be $1000. Well, $967 with the discount.

Me: Sure thing, buckaroo. I’ll schedule that repair RIGHT AWAY.

How about some tact? Would it kill you?

Do you ever feel like you’re walking around with a “Kick Me” sign on your back, or perhaps  “Sensitive Idiot Here!” tattooed across your forehead? No? READ ELSEWHERE, then. You have no business being here.

Anyway, something about these last few weeks has prompted people in my life to raise my Sensitive Meter level sky fucking high. On most days I can laugh and joke about myself just as well as I can about other people, but on those other days I become a papier-mâché bubble that’s easy to crush.

I don’t really know how to thicken my skin up, or how to ignore people who wander around tactlessly yammering all day. I also don’t know how to politely tell someone they’re an ass, or at least do it without crying and looking like a fool.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be that person who can tell someone they’re an ass? I tried the other day when, as I was walking out to my car at lunch, my boss looked out the window and turned to our intern and said, “Look at her. I’ve seen parked cars move faster than her.” They both thought that was hilarious and told me so when I got back. I told them it wasn’t funny.

It would’ve been nice not to have gotten my feelings hurt yesterday on the phone, when my mother says to me, “Of course I’m still here; I’m just listening to you ramble on.” Lesson learned: stop calling my mother until I have something real and important to say.

I wish I didn’t want to go home and change clothes now, after my co-worker told me this morning that I looked cute in my dress, but “one of those shaper things would probably keep you from looking like you’re pregnant. Which isn’t bad! I would love it if you were pregnant!” (I’m not. And this dress is going straight in the burn pile.)

And my doctor surely meant well yesterday when she told me that she thought it was high time I started going back to therapy. I must have looked at her funny because she said, “Well, you’re fine of course, but talking to a qualified person might do you some good.” Sounds to me like my mother got to her, oui?

Maybe it’s the stressful start of the new school year that has everyone on edge. Maybe it’s the economy making everybody grumpy. Or maybe I just need to find some new people to hang out with. Either way, the moral of this story is to a) quit being sensitive if you’re like me and b) quit being a jerk if you’re like the other people.  OR, and this is my favorite option, change those signs on your back to a giant, 100-point Times New Roman FUCK YOU.