Archive for the ‘Thoughts’ Category

Recollections

So it has come to my attention that I think often about past events, and maybe it might behoove me to take note of some of the more interesting occurrences in my life. Not that all of them are all that entertaining, but maybe at some point in time they were fun for someone, and maybe at some point they may be worth remembering. So I might as well take a shot at it.

High school brought the most memorable moments that I can recall at the moment. The first item that comes to mind is the small group of cheerleaders that formed our special little “clan” to sneak around on the weekends and TP random people. Always people we knew. Not even always people we disliked entirely. It was just fun to do. We cruised around in the station wagon with piles of toilet paper in the back. We tried to avoid the white vans that drove around the town at night seeking out people like us. Trying to destroy our fun. A couple of us mastered the art of unlocking the school’s toilet paper holders with a bobby pin to get the giant rolls. However we could only do this during half-time at the football games when no one was around. And as it turns out, these rolls are only useful on bushes, since throwing them through the air does not end well. There was even a case where tuna came into play. This lucky person was actually a friend of one of the girls. Surprise! But I cannot reveal any of the houses where these events occurred. All I can say is that this is what we cheerleaders resorted to for fun on the weekends when we did not have games. We were not bad kids, we were just occasionally motivated to ruin people’s days. It happens.

At the moment I’ve drawn a blank to any other events. My life has just been that eventful.

I do have to point out, however, that I just witnessed a commercial that stated, “If you are between the ages of 0 and 85, call [insert phone number].” Seriously? Age 0?? That would mean that you either do not exist, or you are still in the womb. And that would definitely be something everyone would be amazed to see. A fetus with a cell phone calling the phone number from the television. Or even a toddler that is over the age of “0″. Why would a child be expected to pick up the phone to call about senior life insurance? Honestly people will do anything with these dang commercials to make everyone feel like it is urgent that they call NOW! When chances are, most people don’t need to call them at all. We would just like to be left alone. To watch our midnight programming. And terrible movies that they allow on television. Got to love terrible scripts mixed with terrible acting. Makes for a good show.

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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.

• • •

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!

• • •

In Perfect Pessimism

People… I know, it’s amazing that I might consider complaining about people. All kinds of people. But the truth is, people frustrate me to the end of all ends. Not intentionally, but they just do. It is a continually worsening cycle of annoyance with people that will probably turn me into one of those little old ladies that all the kids hate, because I just sit on my porch all day and yell at them for being potty-mouthed hooligans. But that will be me, and I’m sure there will plenty of kids like that as well.

First of all, it would be nice if people would stop voicing their opinions or beliefs on political matters when they are completely ignorant of facts about the matters in which they are speaking. Also, it would be appreciated if they would not assume that everyone around them shares their same views. If you are going to rant about something, have true information to back up what you are saying about the opposing side, not just what you wish was true. And don’t assume that I automatically agree with you, because after the thoughts I’ve encountered this past week, chances are I will not.

I’m also tired of the masses of rude people everywhere I go. I may write in this cynical tone, but in reality I’m quite friendly to others. I just have a lot of pent up thoughts, due to the negativeness I witness everyday, along with my inability to be rude or hateful to any person’s face. But there is really no reason for anyone out in public to be so hateful or inconsiderate to anyone else. I do what I can to be polite to other people in public. I try not to offend anyone, and I help the elderly people in wheelchairs at the grocery store when they have trouble reaching something. It’s just who I am.

But just like everyone else, I go to work for eight hours (sometimes more) a day, and I never have one complaint about what I do. (That’s not saying I’ve never complained, because I used to abhor my job, until I started a different one, now it’s glorious.) But I’m still exhausted by the end of the day and want to collapse. I pull parts for orders, and lift mufflers and exhaust pipes and gas tanks, and push carts around all day. I’m on my feet all day doing manual labor, and yet I still have nothing bad to say about my job. But no matter where else I go during the day, rarely do I ever see  an employee that actually looks like they don’t mind being at work. Or I guess I should say I rarely see someone that doesn’t look like they are mad at the world.

I understand not wanting to physically be at work all the time, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make the best of it while you are there. I never feel like getting up in the morning to go to work, but that does not make me act like a jerk to everyone around me, and I still work hard so that I can feel like I’ve accomplished something for the day. Everyone is always so hateful for no apparent reason. I know some people are going through rough situations and whatnot that I have no idea about, but I know every single person in the world is not having a personal crisis all the time.

I’m tired of all the narcissism I encounter all the time. It’s almost impossible to have conversations with people sometimes, or comment on something someone says, without the other person bringing their own circumstance into the picture. Occasionally I may feel like telling someone about something that happened to me, or something I am going through, without them taking it as an opportunity to tell me about a similar situation of their own, or something they are going through. Maybe that makes me self-centered as well, but considering I rarely get to make those statements about myself because of the egocentrism of everyone else, I’d say that hardly makes me full of myself.

I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired. Physically and mentally. I’m sorry to anyone who misinterprets anything I write here, as it’s already happened at least once, but chances are people are looking for something deeper than what is actually here. I am exhausted from working, and frustrated by the things people do.

So, my friends, or acquaintances, go ahead, misinterpret things I say. I will continue on, writing my random thoughts about whatever I feel like, because I am a writer. I do not write to keep a journal, I write to write, hopefully well, and after my rampage of frustration is over I will come up with something more interesting to write.

• • •

Mmm… Cheese dip.

If you go to most any restaurant and look on the appetizer section of the menu, you are bound to see some form of “queso” dip listed. Literal translation of this simply means “cheese” dip. So why is it that people seem to assume that by simply saying “queso” they actually mean “cheese with something else in it”? If you go to someone’s house, and they get out or make queso, they generally mean cheese with salsa mixed in. However, when you buy this food at the store in a jar, you will notice that the jar specifically states, “salsa con queso”, or “salsa with cheese”, not just “cheese”.

Queso cheese (cheese cheese) and queso dip are both just melted cheese, nothing more.

I tend to think of things in more literal translations, and this is what I think of.

• • •

Merciful Goodness, I Am Losing Weight!

No, I haven’t actually lost any. But wouldn’t that just be exciting?!?

Apparently some people tend to think that makes them important, and other people seem to think they are important. Well, kudos to you folk, for losing weight. I, on the other hand, will continue to probably stay the same size despite any efforts I make, and not feel as excited for you as you wish I would.

I can sense my own pessimism, can you? I bet you can.

Here’s the next step in my weight-loss program: Take a shower, and go to bed. Work off those calories in my dreams.

• • •

Bloggers

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I am not quite the usual “blogging” type. I have a lot that I could say, but not as much that I would actually prefer to share.

The typical bloggers that I notice most often are the same folk that tend to contribute their five-times-a-day Twitter and Facebook updates, all regarding topics that further profess how self-centered they really are. And for some odd reason people actually pay attention to these self-important ramblings. I could write a paragraph or two or five pages on how I stubbed my big toe on the door and it hurt like hell (maybe it’s even broken!), or my entire meal plan for the day to act like I’m being healthy when in fact I’m actually going to have a cheeseburger, or any of the other thousands of problems I deal with each and every day that no one may know about. But, in reality, who in their right mind is truly going to care? Are other random blog-writers that I have never met and probably never will meet actually going to care about the trivial things that I encounter on a day-to-day basis? Probably not. They just read for something to do, and comment to show that they are a nice person and that you should read their writings.

I know I tend to be a bit pessimistic at times, as anyone who knows me well would say the same, but the way I see it, I’m not here to toot my own horn when it’s not meant to be, or to boost anyone else up when it’s not deserved. If I go to read someone’s writings, and all it is is someone complaining that they put on five pounds, or celebrating themselves because they started a “diet”, and it goes on for about 4 paragraphs, I cannot honestly say that I would enjoy what I was reading, or even care. It would just be a waste of space where something creative could possibly go.

I’m afraid I will just have to continue wondering what the draw is to these certain types of blogs. What is so intriguing? Why does a complete stranger even care? And why do they decide to post comments as if they have known the writer for years? I will never understand, and will continue to be annoyed by the whole thing.

• • •

How to Shoot Yourself in the Face and Make a Profit

I discovered the greatness of being sick one morning. Along with being quite a bit out-of-it, and barely being able to breathe without the feeling that my head might implode, I tend to be a little more creative in an odd way, and maybe even quicker to respond. Feeling this awful while walking to a Business/Marketing class with a friend one morning, I determined a few things.
If we were to ever have to write a paper for the class, maybe about what we have learned over the course of the class, I would have to choose a topic of how we can make a profit doing just about anything, using the correct business and marketing techniques.

How to Shoot Yourself in the Face and Make a Profit
That’s the name of an A+ paper if I do say so myself. Or rather, maybe even a novel of sorts. But it’s true. I am quite positive that there are some demented people in this world who would pay to see someone point a gun at their face and shoot, as grotesque and gruesome as that may be. But, as mentioned before, it’s true. People are sick. But that’s beside the point. Now, once again, I realize that if you shoot yourself in the face, obviously you are not making any profit at all, because chances are you will die, and although that is a sad thing, you would not be around to keep your face-shooting profits. But someone else would be. So to make and keep those profits, it would be wise to create a will-type document beforehand, stating who your face-shooting profits would go to, in the event that you do not survive. Now in my case, my profits would have to go to the friend I was walking with at the time, because he witnessed the birth of this idea, and I have to pay him back somehow, because obviously since he walked to class with me, he is going to get sick from my deathly cold/flu rays that I am spreading all over the campus. So since there is no hope for him, I’ve got to make it up in some other form, on top of dying.

Following these slightly morbid yet slightly amusing thoughts, I also discovered the joys of following people. Now I’m definitely not saying that I literally followed someone, but it would be fun.
You just have to imagine yourself in such a situation:
You are walking down the sidewalk, and are passed up by a guy. You don’t pay much attention to him, but realize he seems a little strange, carrying a bag with a cup and something else in it, and mostly walking in the grass when there’s an entire sidewalk next to him. So he passes by, and you keep tramping along like you have half a clue. You happen to look up again while he’s maybe about 40 feet ahead of you, and you see him looking over his shoulder back at you, paranoid, as if you are following him. So what do you do? Walk along, thinking in your head, “Yeah I’m following you, buddy… YOU passed ME!! That is definitely reason enough for me to be a stalker. Maybe I will follow you. You are making me become a stalker because you’re paranoid and that bothers me.” Now maybe you wouldn’t think that, but I sure did, and as much as I would have enjoyed actually starting to follow him, I’m too nice for that… no, maybe I’m not, but I figured it wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe another time, though.

• • •

Previous Thoughts on Gravity

My thoughts on the subject all began on a lovely walk back from Accounting class one morning. It was raining for the entire ten-minute walk, so of course it was a fun walk. But I actually enjoy walking in the rain, so it just took me a few minutes to get used to the mix of rain and being 50-something degrees outside. Not too bad, but definitely not warm..

When I got to the slanted sidewalk, down a little past Sangren Hall, I started to think. It seems like it would be a lot easier if gravity worked a little differently. I would feel much more comfortable if my whole body was able to turn on a slight slant as I walked down an off-balance sidewalk. The whole ‘walking with one leg bent funny while the other is dragged along for the ride’ thing is really a bit irritating at times, but it’s the only way to do it, since you have to keep your body standing straight or you’ll fall over. So I just thought it’d be fantastic if gravity shifted with you when you walked. Whatever angle the ground happens to be on is the angle gravity works.

Now I know that would destroy many other laws, but since it will never happen, I just thought I’d throw the idea out there so maybe I would stop thinking about it.

• • •