She’s Lost Her Sheep…

This girl. That girl. Dressed like Little Bo Peep.
Strange, and wrong. On forty different levels.
Blue, ruffle-skirted dress with a white, strappy top.
Add a pair of sky-high cork wedge strappy sandals to match.
All that is missing is a bonnet and a sheep.

Definitely makes the perfect ensemble to wear at the art fair.

Even better. She was with her mom. My mom would not have allowed that. Or much less would want to be seen with me wearing that ridiculous costume for an outfit.

Or she would just have told me how awful I looked. She always tells it like she sees it. No messing around.

But sadly, that girl was not so lucky. And therefore, looked like a nursery rhyme character.

However, Bo Peep was not the only strange character seen at the art fair.
There were more than enough inappropriately dressed “beach-goers” roaming around the booths in their ill-fitting bathing suits. Ew.
And let’s not forget the nerds. Not your typical nerds. Rather, the couple that tries to dress preppy and cool, but cannot hide the nerdiness. The guy wearing preppy khakis and a polo, but let’s face it, he still just looked geeky. And the girl… well, she had a semi-dressy sundress, with platform, black-and-pink, lacy, peep-toe stilettos. Stripper shoes to the max. So sadly, she looked like a nerdy stripper. Sigh.

Some people just confuse me. Some amuse me. Some accomplish both. An amazing feat. But they don’t even know.

But, either way, those are just a few of the slightly memorable crazies witnessed at the art fair. I’m sure there will be plenty more of these occurrences throughout the summer. And commenting on them all is what I do for fun. Even if they are secretly commenting about me. But hey, I have a sense of humor.

• • •

Crazy Trucker

I don’t really like semis to begin with. They may be handy for transport, but they are intimidating and often move a little too swiftly for their size.

Today I had a super encounter with said crazy trucker. I was trolling along in the middle lane on the highway, minding my own business, traveling at the speed limit, when lo and behold a semi is steadily moving closer behind me, not backing down. Now it was obvious he was exceeding his speed limit, but he was also passing mine. After a mile or so he did not back off, and proceeded to move into the third lane behind another vehicle (and it really ticks me off whenever any trucker does that, as there is no need to be in that lane, aside from it not being allowed). So, being a bit annoyed at this point, I sped up a couple miles-per-hour just so the third lane driver was slower than I was, ensuring he did not pass me in that way.

But even after I passed the other vehicle, the truck remained in the third lane back behind me for about 5 miles.
I began to feel a bit paranoid by this action. As if he was following me. Tracking me down just to make me mad. As if I didn’t already despise his presence. I felt like I was in the movie “Duel”, being chased down by some madman trucker for no apparent reason. Only I’m not Dennis Weaver. And we were on the highway instead of the middle-of-nowhere. However, Weaver did drive a Valiant in that movie (which is completely awesome), and since that was my first car, we have a special connection.
And although the guy didn’t try to run me off the road and kill me, he still pushed my buttons. And I know that is what he was doing. Because that’s what people do. I’m pretty sure people are out to get me. Just in general.
He did move back into the middle lane after that whole ordeal, right about the time I headed for the off-ramp. And I swear he had his arm in the air as he passed by, either a friendly wave or an obscene gesture, but I guess I will never know.

• • •

This is Not the Complaint Department

People complain too much. That’s not to say that I never complain, because I do. In fact, I’m complaining right now about people who complain too much. Ironic, huh? Not really. Because this is a different form of complaint. (Really, it’s not the same.)

I do complain about things, but generally I try to within the confines of my home, or to my husband, and leave it at that. I’d rather not make a spectacle of myself to other people.

It is fine if people want to complain every day of their lives about their houses, jobs, lack of jobs, illnesses, bad days, school, etc. They can go right ahead. I just am tired of seeing the same people complain nonstop about ever little not-so-terrible thing that may happen to them. I have so many frustrating things that I have to deal with on a daily basis, but I don’t go around looking for sympathy from people, and don’t expect anyone to care, so why should I complain? Things could always be worse, yet it seems people choose the most minute things to go on about, and quite frankly it irks me to no end.

I wish people would not complain about things for sympathy from the rest of the world. So as for my complaining right now, it’s not for sympathy. It’s for the sheer enjoyment of complaining about people. People irritate me. But some people will never stop, so I just have to remind them that their daily occurrences are not as important as they are believed to be.

I know this is a bit of a downer post compared to my others, and it has been a while, but the madness has got to stop!

• • •

Ye Olde Rain Boot

These dandy rubber rain boots have just become ever more prominent over the past couple of years, and went from the occasional occurrence to everyday sightings. Bright colors, crazy patterns, ugly ones, uglier ones, there’s no end to the madness!

Yet, as “fashionable” as they supposedly are (I don’t buy it, because to me they still just look like abominations), they just don’t seem to me like they would do the trick. Most people wear these giant floppy over-sized boots with their skinny jeans tucked in just so. But it seems to me that the extra two-inch area surrounding the leg would just invite that sudden downpour right in, creating a nice bath for your feet, and defeating the whole purpose of these rubber, Paddington Bear specials.

Not to mention it just looks downright goofy.

I did see one person this weekend (out of 100) who wore her boots underneath her jeans, and just rolled the jeans up a couple of times. It also looked a bit strange — not any more-so than the tucked-in jeans — but I deemed it slightly more acceptable in terms of logicality.

Yet sadly, I refuse to pay a minimum of $30 for some squeaky, rubber, super-high tops that will make me look like a little kid ready to go just in the rain puddles. Not to mention I really would look like that, since my legs are about two feet long. However you won’t see me jumping in any puddles anytime soon, as I can’t exactly even walk at the moment. But that’s another story.

• • •

I Gots Me Some Learnin’ To Do

I am currently taking two online classes. One of them is largely related to other business classes I’ve taken which I don’t need. The other is just completely and utterly unnecessary.

It’s called The Adult Learner. Well, first off, I am 23. An adult, I suppose, but hardly the “adult” they are probably looking for. I’ve been in school non-stop since Preschool. I think I’ve got it down pat.

So far in this class:
1. I’ve determined my learning style and written a paper on it.
2. I’ve read Tuesdays With Morrie and written a paper on it.
3. I’ve examined a fairy tale (Rumpelstiltskin, to be exact), analyzed it, and written a paper on it.

Currently, I:
1. Need to go to an ethnic restaurant, and write a paper on it.
2. Need to choose a “hot button” topic, and write a paper on it.
3. Need to examine what I’ve learned about myself from this class, and write a paper on it.

I’m pretty sure after over 5 years of college, I know how to write a paper. Heck, my blog writing is probably more “correct” than half of the papers students submit for these classes. And when will I ever need to determine a critical evaluation of a fairy tale?? Never.

And I’m sorry, but there is no way I can determine what Morrie would think about any restaurant I eat at. Yes, that is part of the paper I am to write this coming week. Ridiculous.

I’m quite sure this class is meant for adults who have had no schooling since high school, and are deciding to return for college, yet somehow it has become a requirement for graduation.

I know how to write. I know the difference between to, too, and two. I don’t want to be treated like a 5-year-old in my college course. I don’t want to be forced to “discuss” random topics with people I will never meet, and have to post a certain number of responses. I don’t want to go on a “field trip” by myself for my online class.

For an 8-week course, I will have written 6 papers. Papers about nothing. So far I have received no corrections or critiques on these papers, because there were no problems; obviously writing is not my problem. So why do I have to write a paper about everything unimportant in the world? I might as well write a paper about that last annoying sheet of toilet paper on the roll that NEVER pulls off completely. It’s such a waste, that unusable shredded bit of paper.

Maybe school is my problem. I feel so unmotivated with such unnecessary classes. But I can’t put in six years of good, sometimes useless work and not finish the job. Stupid degree requirements.

• • •

Must You Yell At Me?

Some people never grow up.

I get a little bit irritated when we try to ride our bikes down to the beach, and almost every time some lazy bum in their SUV decides to yell something out the window at us. Seriously? You’re driving, so you must be older than twelve, but you sure don’t act like it.

Not only is it immature, but it makes me want to hunt you down just to blow an air horn in your ear at an inopportune time. If for nothing else than to ruin your day.

I almost lost control on a bridge once because of people like this. Hence, I possibly could have died, but you know, it’s okay, for the sake of some poor soul’s laughter and enjoyment. If someone slashes their tires, it wasn’t me. Seriously, it wasn’t. But I might laugh.

And furthermore, should I apologize for trying to exercise and better myself, while you sad window-shouters just keep getting fatter to the point you can’t even fit in your car? I would feel no sympathy for you.

I’m going to enjoy my nice, warm days outside, enjoying the weather and taking a nice ride to the beach. You can go cry yourself to sleep because you haven’t exercised in three years and have never seen a bike.

• • •

Magical Bunnies

I just absolutely LOVE overhearing people say things that make NO sense of any kind, all the while knowing that those people are 100% confident in what they said, and believe there is true meaning behind it.

Recently, after seeing a girl get her photo taken down near the beach, I overheard her say, “I hate it when, like, the camera gets behind your head and it looks like bunny ears.”

???

Can anybody, in a right state of mind, tell me what that could possibly mean..?

First of all, when you are having your photo taken, the camera is generally in front of your head. It’s just common knowledge, if you want your face in the picture, that is.

Secondly, what do bunny ears have to do with anything? Cameras don’t look like furry woodland creatures. Nor do they resemble antennae that you might use to catch your favorite nightly sitcoms. (I guess that would “technically” be “rabbit ears”; but bunny, rabbit, same thing.)

I just can’t figure it out. I have taken thousands of pictures, and never have bunny ears magically appeared behind someone’s head because of something my camera conjured up while I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe my camera just isn’t sneaky enough. Or maybe I just don’t take pictures of people that crazy.

People have “bunny ears” if someone puts their fingers behind their head in a picture. Bunnies have bunny ears. TVs have rabbit ears. But cameras don’t get behind your head and create giant fuzzy ears of wonder.

I do like bunnies, though. Although, they don’t just appear, either.

• • •

What’s that? That’s not good at all.

It has come to my attention that I have not posted anything lately, because, quite frankly, I cannot come up with anything to say. So this is my attempt at throwing some thoughts into the air.

Here’s something. The conversation I just had with my husband:

Me- “Why are you eating that right now? Are you hungry?”
Mike- “I wanted to eat some because it sounded tasty.”
Me- “What in your right mind would make you think that cottage cheese sounds good right now??”
Mike- “It just sounded good.”
Me- “Why would you like cottage cheese?”
Mike- “There was a six-year span that I didn’t even eat it… It tastes great now!”
Me- “Well you should have just stayed there..”

And then he put the cottage cheese away while continuing to sing Journey songs at an annoyingly loud level. He was singing to the dog, mind you. And changing the words so that they related to the dog. Until I said to stop. And that’s about as far as that went. For the time being, anyway.

This is basically a day-to-day occurrence, only with varying foods. One day it’s sauerkraut, the next it’s artichoke hearts, or garlic (yes, straight garlic from a jar), or crazy tuna creations that look sadder than cat food. I’m not even sure the cat would eat that tuna. That’s how gross it looks.

I don’t have much else to say right now. My husband eats some weird, nasty food. And there’s not a whole lot I can do about it, except plug my nose and make something else for me to eat.

Oh, and he has a weird obsession with potato pancakes. Just saying.

• • •

Roxy Dog

This is our dog, Roxy. Pit bull and shepherd mix. She’s one of the most timid, anxious, paranoid dogs ever, yet the most loving and friendly dog I know. She’s nervous when there is no one home, and occasionally chews up random items that she’s not supposed to have, but always tells us when we come home with her scared behavior that she knows she’s done something wrong. I think she just freaks herself out during the day, wondering if we are ever coming home, and not realizing that we will always be home after work. She loves to run, even in our less-than-desirable-sized back yard. But I am pretty sure she may be the fastest dog alive. She’s not very tall, but she could take on a greyhound any day.

She listens well, gets scared easily by raised voices, and has a very expressive face. And she looks bored out of her mind when we are sitting around at home. Roxy is the greatest dog anyone could ask for.

I love taking pictures of her, it’s always so easy.

I love our dog.

• • •

Mystery of Spandex

Whoever determined that this was a desirable exercise outfit?

Nothing says “I’m getting in shape” like spandex and leg warmers. And don’t forget the leotard or the optional baggy, cut-up sweatshirt. Is it really more beneficial to wear these types of clothing while breaking a sweat, or did someone just decide at one point that it was an amazing way to dress and everyone should look as fabulous as they did. Maybe the fitness instructors used these outfits as a way of saying, “Hey! You could one day look as thin and ridiculous as we do, but until then, you will just look fat wearing this!” That doesn’t seem very nice, though, does it? No, it’s quite mean, really. Why would they say that..?

I was just a little tyke when people trotted around in such attire, so I have never had the pleasure of adorning any such thing, but it still makes me wonder. A sweatband won’t help much with a can of hairspray in gigantic, puffed-out hair. And I will never quite understand the point of a leotard over a pair of shorts or pants, when shorts and a shirt or tank is just as useful and maybe even easier to put on.

I guess I will never fully know or understand why this was the appropriate workout dress, but as far as I am concerned, spandex is definitely not for everyone, and I’m glad I do not have to dress that way.

• • •