Scritch, scritch, scritchscritchscritchscritch. The flimsy little pretend credit card I found in my purse is doing little to put a dent in the frost on the window. I had lucked out. When we drew names for who sat where, I got my first pick: way in the back on the right side by the window. It was my favorite spot in the whole big van; a safely enclosed little corner of my world, where I was content to stare out the window and daydream, speculate, ponder. Things flew into my mind with seemingly no trigger whatsoever. What did they do with all that water while they tried to build a dam? Who first figured that broccoli was actually a food and not just a fuzzy cactus?
I press my fist against the window and let the frost melt, warmth sapped from my clenched hand. I can see out the window for just a moment, just a glimpse of sparkling snow in the fading late afternoon haze, and then frost rapidly reforms in a new pattern, this one more like crystals. Why does frost form again? Weird that they haven't invented windows that wouldn't frost.
The heat didn't always reach the back of the van very well. It was a huge van. I could stand up in it without hunching my shoulders at all. I had a big red crate at my feet with stacks of books, mostly Archie comics, but a couple of Incognito Mosquito books that I had checked out from the library too. I don't feel like reading right now. I'm content to let my mind wander.
Up at the front of the van, Mom says something to tease Dad. I don't hear it over the loud vents, but I know Mom must have said something sassy because Dad pokes at Mom's ribs in return as she laughs and swats his hand away. I smile and look back out the window. I realize how lucky I am to have parents so happy and content in their marriage. I start to make a mental list of all the qualities that are required in my future mate.
BDDDRRD. BDDRRRDD.
"What WAS that?" I holler from my spot in the back. With two rows of captain seats in front of me, I can't see the road at all. I feel a growing sense of alarm as the van comes to a stop. Dad lifts up his head in his signature way that he does when he wants us to hear what he's saying without having to take his eyes off the road. I'm leaning way forward, straining to hear. Dad glances to his left, and the van slowly makes a right turn as he turns the heat down so we can hear. "Just rumble strips!" he says, and then turns the defroster back on to max. We can hardly turn it off for a second before the windows are too frosty to see through again, even up front.
I sit back in my chair, satisfied only that there isn't something wrong with the van. Rumble strips. I don't know what they are. It bugs me that I can't figure it out. I try to go back to thinking about the perfect mate, but my mind is stuck on rumble strips. We're almost to the little town where Dad sometimes pulls over to get us each a can of pop from the vending machine. Not very often though. I plan to ask what rumble strips are when we get there. I resume staring out into the now complete darkness.
Many long minutes later, the van slows again as we start to make the familiar left turn. I can't remember the name of the town, and that bugs me too. I know it starts with a C, but it isn't Cooperstown and that's the only C town stuck in my mind.
"Dad! What's this town again?"
He turns the fan all the way down. "Courtnay."
"Oh yeah."
Dad lifts his head up again, kinda like the way he does when he's about to say something loud so we can hear, but this time he sorta turns his head to the right a little so it seems like he's just trying to make sure I'm done talking before he turns the fan back up. So I ask, "So... what are rumble strips exactly?".
Dad laughs a little. Just a small laugh. He was chewing on something. Probably sunseeds. I can see that spot near his temple that moves when he chews. After a few seconds he swallows and then explains, "Rumble strips tell a car that a stop sign is coming up so you can slow down. They kind of stand up a little bit from the road."
He looks up at the rear view mirror again, kind of like he's looking to make sure I understand what he's saying. A chill seeps in without the heat on full blast, so I simply say "Oh." I sit back in my chair, and after a few seconds, Dad turns the heat back up to high and resumes looking straight out the front window. Mom says something to him and he glances at her and then furrows his brow a little like he's thinking and then shakes his head. Then he looks back out at the road. I guess it's popcorn he's eating. I watch as he tosses another small handful into his mouth, and then his temple starts to move in and out while he chews.
I look at my older sister Kristi. She's reading a book. Her reading lamp is on, and that's what's casting the yellow glow throughout the whole van so that I can see. I like it when someone else reads. I like to sit in the dark, but I like having a little warm glow elsewhere in the van. Kristi seems to get what rumble strips are, which doesn't surprise me. She always seems to understand what the grown ups are talking about. Plus when I search her face, I don't find any of the same confusion I feel. Her brow is furrowed only because of the shadows being cast on the page every time we hit a bump.
I look at Scott and Brooke and Marcy. They don't seem to care what rumble strips are. I guess I'm the only one. I stare back out the window. Using the tip of my finger, I put five little dots over the top of my fistprint from earlier. It looks exactly like a baby's foot. I use my other fist to "walk" little baby footprints up the window. It looks real.
I wonder if they can somehow sense that a car is there and it triggers something to reach up and scrape the bottom of the van. I know the bottom of the van got scraped, of that I am sure. I felt it. I suppose it could work.. a car hits a little line on the road and then up pops a rumble strip to scrape the bottom of the car and let you know that a stop sign is coming up. Sort of like Pop Goes the Weasel. But that doesn't quite feel right. Roads aren't mechanical. That would be really expensive to make, wouldn't it? If they could make something like that, surely they could fix all the bumps in the road, no problem. And what if a motorcycle went over a rumble strip? That could be dangerous to shoot one up at the bottom of a motorcycle. They don't mess around with motorcycles. My uncle Craig was in a bad motorcycle accident, not because of rumble strips I don't think, but he was in a coma for a long time. But when he woke up out of his coma, he knew it was Sunday. My future mate will NEVER ride a motorcycle. Ever.
But if Dad said that's what rumble strips do, then I guess that's what they do.
I just can't quite figure it out.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Vanity plates. Ughh.
Wow, over two months since my last post. I've been a lazy pile! Well, I don't think it's that so much as I just have nothing interesting to share, and today is no exception.
Have you ever noticed that every single VW Beetle has vanity plates that have something to do with the car itself? You've seen them. "SLUGBUG", "MY BUG", "BUGGIE", "LIMABUG", "BETLJUS", "IBBUGN"..
I swear that the VW Beetle is the only car whose collective owners are under the false impression that they must have a vanity plate as a condition of owning that particular car. Amirite??!?
And honestly, it's really just a glorified form of snobbery. You've seen the Bugs that don't have vanity plates. They slink around town all sheepish, knowing that their vanity-plate-donned peers are looking down on them in disdain, that normally obnoxiously cheerful front fender twisted into a pompous sneer..
I gotta quit watching Cars.
Growing up I used to daydream of the best vanity plates. I had settled on buying a monster truck and putting FRAGILE on the plates. Now I'm just annoyed by vanity plates. Not that I care if people have special plates, I'm just annoyed by the ones I can't figure out. It eats at me, because I don't have the luxury of popping on over to the neighbor car on interstate to chat them up about what their stupid license plate means! But you gotta love the snobbish sort that purposely get an obscure message put on their plates, but then get irritated when they are repeatedly asked, even by strangers, what it means. You asked for it, buddy! That's what you get for putting something stupid like "MIYY4U" on your plates, you dolt! (Am I too wise for you) I call that karma: you demonstrate your intellectual superiority by coming up with some plate that's so clever that these dunces you have nothing but contempt for flock to you to ask what it means. muhaha. BAHAHAA. Keep spending 14 hours a week trying to come up with a genius license plate, you wise aleck!
Not sure where all that pent-up angst came from. Yikes.
Have you ever noticed that every single VW Beetle has vanity plates that have something to do with the car itself? You've seen them. "SLUGBUG", "MY BUG", "BUGGIE", "LIMABUG", "BETLJUS", "IBBUGN"..
I swear that the VW Beetle is the only car whose collective owners are under the false impression that they must have a vanity plate as a condition of owning that particular car. Amirite??!?
And honestly, it's really just a glorified form of snobbery. You've seen the Bugs that don't have vanity plates. They slink around town all sheepish, knowing that their vanity-plate-donned peers are looking down on them in disdain, that normally obnoxiously cheerful front fender twisted into a pompous sneer..
I gotta quit watching Cars.
Growing up I used to daydream of the best vanity plates. I had settled on buying a monster truck and putting FRAGILE on the plates. Now I'm just annoyed by vanity plates. Not that I care if people have special plates, I'm just annoyed by the ones I can't figure out. It eats at me, because I don't have the luxury of popping on over to the neighbor car on interstate to chat them up about what their stupid license plate means! But you gotta love the snobbish sort that purposely get an obscure message put on their plates, but then get irritated when they are repeatedly asked, even by strangers, what it means. You asked for it, buddy! That's what you get for putting something stupid like "MIYY4U" on your plates, you dolt! (Am I too wise for you) I call that karma: you demonstrate your intellectual superiority by coming up with some plate that's so clever that these dunces you have nothing but contempt for flock to you to ask what it means. muhaha. BAHAHAA. Keep spending 14 hours a week trying to come up with a genius license plate, you wise aleck!
Not sure where all that pent-up angst came from. Yikes.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The new posts are old posts.
The three posts below are actually old ones I wrote long ago and posted on Facebook. I just wanted to keep all my musings together in one page. Off to eat some more spaghetti.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Mishmash Hodge-Podge of Flim Flam
It is never okay to sport a mullet, unless you are a two-year-old with unfortunate hair and/or my niece Sophie.
I strongly believe that roughly 69.732% of all health problems and chronic diseases would be eradicated if people faithfully took enough magnesium, essential fatty acids, B vitamins, and probiotics.
Earlier I could not think of the word for someone who constantly believes they are sick; I just knew it started with an M. Turns out the word is hypochondriac.
Thousands of potentially curable cases of mercury poisoning are misdiagnosed as Alzheimer’s in this country every year. I recently learned that of a sampling of random fresh- and salt-water fish, 100% contained some level of mercury. How ironic is it that fish has always been touted as brain food?
I am a supremely indignant driver. If I learn that you text while driving, I will give you a stern and overly sanctimonious lecture.
Being in a car is sort of like being online. Other drivers become one-dimensional, and you behave in ways that you never would normally if you met these people outside the confines of your vehicle. I have raucously honked at people for cutting me off in traffic, but if the same thing happens in the toothpaste aisle at Target, I graciously smile and offer a pleasant “Oops, I’m sorry, am I in your way?”
I have plenty of will power. It’s won’t power that I need more of.
At work if I wash my hands and only quickly dry them so they are still slightly damp, it is that point at which I will run into my boss’s boss and he will greet me and extend his hand. There is no discreet way to finish drying my hands, but there is also no appropriate way to work into the conversation that my palms are really not sweating profusely either.
One of the bathrooms at work has a toilet with such low water pressure that you invariably have to flush twice. I hate using this bathroom. I just know that whoever is waiting outside the door is broadcasting to the rest of my coworkers that I’m a Repeat Flusher.
When my boss uses the number keypad on her keyboard, it looks like a tarantula trying to do DDR in slow motion. It makes me decidedly uncomfortable.
If I was stranded on a desert island and a genie granted me three items, I would choose the following:
• Google. Is there anything more annoying than trying to think of something and being unable to look it up? How am I supposed to build a shelter and find food when I’m preoccupied with trying to remember where the 'i' goes in the word palliative?
• My iPod. Nothing drives me crazy faster than an annoying song stuck in my head, and it's not going away if I don't have something else to listen to!
• Floss, because let’s face it- there is no good substitute for floss. And I had popcorn and peanuts during the in-flight movie shortly before the plane crashed.
I missed a connecting flight by one minute in the Houston airport. They had just shut the door when I came screaming up to the gate. Of course it was the last flight of the day and I had to spend the night in a hotel. I always pride myself on flying light, so I only had my wallet, which contained my Visa, ID, iPod, chapstick, eye drops, and about $7.. almost enough for a pop at the hotel where I stayed. I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed myself at that hotel. I was roughing it, and surviving to boot. That's when I knew I would have made a good boy scout.
There are certain words that just sound outlandish after being rapidly repeated ten times. Included in this list: ‘each’, ‘discuss’, and the name Lois.
Try to tell me that you haven’t ever once struggled to spell the word ‘of’.
Every time I go to the grocery store, I push my full, squeaking cart all the way down an aisle, fighting to keep it from perpetually veering to the right, when I come upon a Label Reader. Although her cart is parked on the right side of the aisle and she is standing equidistant from her cart and the shelves opposite, she thinks that shifting her weight from one leg to the other will leave me enough room to pass. I usually hover passive-aggressively for a good ten seconds, then I push my cart forward just slightly, hoping a loud squeak from one of my wheels will get her to look up. She somehow fails to notice that I have not passed by yet, and I end up having to do a five-point turn to get my cart turned around. All I want is a quick glance, a muttered apology, and wide enough berth to pass. ARGH.
I was the perfect parent until I had a kid.
People who like country music hate rap music, and people who like rap music hate country music. People who like anything else hate both country and rap.
Why is it so hard to write a thank you? If someone came up to me and said “Hey, I’ll give you $5 if you write a thank-you,” I would jump at the chance. The gifts I have received in my life have been worth far more than $5, and yet I struggle. Once I start writing it, I find that it comes easily, and I certainly don’t have trouble addressing and stamping the envelope.. so why is it so hard to start??
I love the smell of a wet garage. It’s hard to explain. I also love the smell of a car wash. Other smells I love: bleach, burning ditches, and, unknowably, the smell of a certain brand of cigarettes. I don’t know which brand, but I know it when I smell it.
I used to have a fascination with straws. I’m not exactly sure why, but I think I equated a straw with being out to eat or something. One time at Valley Fair I saw a straw laying on a table, and I grabbed it. I was probably ten years old. For whatever reason, I inhaled to clear the straw rather than blowing out. I tasted what I knew could only be beer. I got a little nauseous on a couple of the rides, which made me realize I was drunk, and I was so scared that my mom and dad would get mad at me. Needless to say, my interest in straws subsequently waned.
A wise philosopher once asked, “How can someone’s favorite Starburst flavor NOT be pink?” And while I think this is a legitimate question, I think it’s important to note that some of the time my favorite flavor is orange.
Starting a sentence with “I’m going to be honest with you” not only has the opposite effect you are intending, it also makes you sound like a corporate blowhard.
We used to tease Dad for being a slow driver. He was actually just a very cautious driver respectful of posted limits, which, now that I have a child of my own, I appreciate. I sure didn’t back then. We would crab loudly that we were the only vehicle on the highway that had bugs splattered all over the back.
If you ask my brother Scott for a limerick, this is the one he’ll give:
There once was a man from Calcutta
Who had a most horrible stutta.
He said, “Pass the h-ham,
And the j-j-j-jam,
And the b-b-b-b-b-b-buttah.”
My favorite thing to do in the whole world is put a puzzle together while drinking coffee with a multitude of cream and sugar and listen to a book on tape narrated by Michael Beck. Marcy and I did this all the time in high school.
**UPDATE** Marcy did not always do this. She also played Snood.
**MORE IMPORTANT UPDATE** I agonized over whether to use the word listen or listening. I still don't know which would be right. It's an awkwardly worded sentence. Forget you saw it.
At the risk of some pretty serious eye-rolling, I have to admit that the funniest people I know are my four siblings. When we all get together, at least one, if not all, of us will laugh until we squeal and cry uncontrollably. It scares small children, and even Scott a little.
If you want to see me vomit, all you have to do is brush your teeth in front of me and let the foam drip down your chin. When it has warmed to the temperature of your skin, suck it back in your mouth and swish it around. *SHUDDER* Scott has effectively scarred me for life.
I read in a magazine once that if you don't have chapstick and you are getting windburned lips while skiing, you just have to swipe the outside of your nose and rub it on your lips. Ready-made lip balm. Of course I made the mistake of telling this to everyone in front of my rotten, no-good brother-in-law Travis, and he has never let me forget it.
If you provoke my mom, she will affectionately say to you: "Oh, you're so dumb and ugly." My husband's eyes were the size of saucers the first time she said this to him.
If I am obeying the speed limit and you crowd me from behind, I will drive so impossibly slow that you will be convinced I am breaking all laws of physics. I have to go that slow; I'm so busy delivering a look that will turn you into a pillar of salt that I'm not watching the road.
Mom told me once that when they were growing up, Grandma Aggie told them that hitting each other causes cancer, so they never did it. I think that's a bit harsh. I'm going to tell my kids it causes acne. Then if that doesn't work, I'll graduate to cancer.
I can't help but grit my teeth every time someone says "I could care less," when they really mean to say they could NOT care less.
I strongly believe that roughly 69.732% of all health problems and chronic diseases would be eradicated if people faithfully took enough magnesium, essential fatty acids, B vitamins, and probiotics.
Earlier I could not think of the word for someone who constantly believes they are sick; I just knew it started with an M. Turns out the word is hypochondriac.
Thousands of potentially curable cases of mercury poisoning are misdiagnosed as Alzheimer’s in this country every year. I recently learned that of a sampling of random fresh- and salt-water fish, 100% contained some level of mercury. How ironic is it that fish has always been touted as brain food?
I am a supremely indignant driver. If I learn that you text while driving, I will give you a stern and overly sanctimonious lecture.
Being in a car is sort of like being online. Other drivers become one-dimensional, and you behave in ways that you never would normally if you met these people outside the confines of your vehicle. I have raucously honked at people for cutting me off in traffic, but if the same thing happens in the toothpaste aisle at Target, I graciously smile and offer a pleasant “Oops, I’m sorry, am I in your way?”
I have plenty of will power. It’s won’t power that I need more of.
At work if I wash my hands and only quickly dry them so they are still slightly damp, it is that point at which I will run into my boss’s boss and he will greet me and extend his hand. There is no discreet way to finish drying my hands, but there is also no appropriate way to work into the conversation that my palms are really not sweating profusely either.
One of the bathrooms at work has a toilet with such low water pressure that you invariably have to flush twice. I hate using this bathroom. I just know that whoever is waiting outside the door is broadcasting to the rest of my coworkers that I’m a Repeat Flusher.
When my boss uses the number keypad on her keyboard, it looks like a tarantula trying to do DDR in slow motion. It makes me decidedly uncomfortable.
If I was stranded on a desert island and a genie granted me three items, I would choose the following:
• Google. Is there anything more annoying than trying to think of something and being unable to look it up? How am I supposed to build a shelter and find food when I’m preoccupied with trying to remember where the 'i' goes in the word palliative?
• My iPod. Nothing drives me crazy faster than an annoying song stuck in my head, and it's not going away if I don't have something else to listen to!
• Floss, because let’s face it- there is no good substitute for floss. And I had popcorn and peanuts during the in-flight movie shortly before the plane crashed.
I missed a connecting flight by one minute in the Houston airport. They had just shut the door when I came screaming up to the gate. Of course it was the last flight of the day and I had to spend the night in a hotel. I always pride myself on flying light, so I only had my wallet, which contained my Visa, ID, iPod, chapstick, eye drops, and about $7.. almost enough for a pop at the hotel where I stayed. I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed myself at that hotel. I was roughing it, and surviving to boot. That's when I knew I would have made a good boy scout.
There are certain words that just sound outlandish after being rapidly repeated ten times. Included in this list: ‘each’, ‘discuss’, and the name Lois.
Try to tell me that you haven’t ever once struggled to spell the word ‘of’.
Every time I go to the grocery store, I push my full, squeaking cart all the way down an aisle, fighting to keep it from perpetually veering to the right, when I come upon a Label Reader. Although her cart is parked on the right side of the aisle and she is standing equidistant from her cart and the shelves opposite, she thinks that shifting her weight from one leg to the other will leave me enough room to pass. I usually hover passive-aggressively for a good ten seconds, then I push my cart forward just slightly, hoping a loud squeak from one of my wheels will get her to look up. She somehow fails to notice that I have not passed by yet, and I end up having to do a five-point turn to get my cart turned around. All I want is a quick glance, a muttered apology, and wide enough berth to pass. ARGH.
I was the perfect parent until I had a kid.
People who like country music hate rap music, and people who like rap music hate country music. People who like anything else hate both country and rap.
Why is it so hard to write a thank you? If someone came up to me and said “Hey, I’ll give you $5 if you write a thank-you,” I would jump at the chance. The gifts I have received in my life have been worth far more than $5, and yet I struggle. Once I start writing it, I find that it comes easily, and I certainly don’t have trouble addressing and stamping the envelope.. so why is it so hard to start??
I love the smell of a wet garage. It’s hard to explain. I also love the smell of a car wash. Other smells I love: bleach, burning ditches, and, unknowably, the smell of a certain brand of cigarettes. I don’t know which brand, but I know it when I smell it.
I used to have a fascination with straws. I’m not exactly sure why, but I think I equated a straw with being out to eat or something. One time at Valley Fair I saw a straw laying on a table, and I grabbed it. I was probably ten years old. For whatever reason, I inhaled to clear the straw rather than blowing out. I tasted what I knew could only be beer. I got a little nauseous on a couple of the rides, which made me realize I was drunk, and I was so scared that my mom and dad would get mad at me. Needless to say, my interest in straws subsequently waned.
A wise philosopher once asked, “How can someone’s favorite Starburst flavor NOT be pink?” And while I think this is a legitimate question, I think it’s important to note that some of the time my favorite flavor is orange.
Starting a sentence with “I’m going to be honest with you” not only has the opposite effect you are intending, it also makes you sound like a corporate blowhard.
We used to tease Dad for being a slow driver. He was actually just a very cautious driver respectful of posted limits, which, now that I have a child of my own, I appreciate. I sure didn’t back then. We would crab loudly that we were the only vehicle on the highway that had bugs splattered all over the back.
If you ask my brother Scott for a limerick, this is the one he’ll give:
There once was a man from Calcutta
Who had a most horrible stutta.
He said, “Pass the h-ham,
And the j-j-j-jam,
And the b-b-b-b-b-b-buttah.”
My favorite thing to do in the whole world is put a puzzle together while drinking coffee with a multitude of cream and sugar and listen to a book on tape narrated by Michael Beck. Marcy and I did this all the time in high school.
**UPDATE** Marcy did not always do this. She also played Snood.
**MORE IMPORTANT UPDATE** I agonized over whether to use the word listen or listening. I still don't know which would be right. It's an awkwardly worded sentence. Forget you saw it.
At the risk of some pretty serious eye-rolling, I have to admit that the funniest people I know are my four siblings. When we all get together, at least one, if not all, of us will laugh until we squeal and cry uncontrollably. It scares small children, and even Scott a little.
If you want to see me vomit, all you have to do is brush your teeth in front of me and let the foam drip down your chin. When it has warmed to the temperature of your skin, suck it back in your mouth and swish it around. *SHUDDER* Scott has effectively scarred me for life.
I read in a magazine once that if you don't have chapstick and you are getting windburned lips while skiing, you just have to swipe the outside of your nose and rub it on your lips. Ready-made lip balm. Of course I made the mistake of telling this to everyone in front of my rotten, no-good brother-in-law Travis, and he has never let me forget it.
If you provoke my mom, she will affectionately say to you: "Oh, you're so dumb and ugly." My husband's eyes were the size of saucers the first time she said this to him.
If I am obeying the speed limit and you crowd me from behind, I will drive so impossibly slow that you will be convinced I am breaking all laws of physics. I have to go that slow; I'm so busy delivering a look that will turn you into a pillar of salt that I'm not watching the road.
Mom told me once that when they were growing up, Grandma Aggie told them that hitting each other causes cancer, so they never did it. I think that's a bit harsh. I'm going to tell my kids it causes acne. Then if that doesn't work, I'll graduate to cancer.
I can't help but grit my teeth every time someone says "I could care less," when they really mean to say they could NOT care less.
Basic Life Truths I learned from Archie and the Gang
Girls all look identical except for their hair color. All they have to do to fool people into believing they are someone else is wear a wig. Every girl keeps several wigs on hand for this purpose.
Wealthy people are self-centered and patronizing and very easily stressed out.
Smart people wear glasses; athletic people are dumb.
Girls will allow any guy to kiss them, even if they have a boyfriend. A sound thumping of the offending male will restore order to the relationship. These situations never cause the boyfriend to question his girlfriend’s devotion.
Everyone “plays the field” until you agree to “go steady”. There is nothing wrong with dating two different girls in the same weekend, or even on the same date.
Periods do not exist! Only exclamation points! (With the exception of the occasional question mark or two largely displayed over someone’s head when they are confused!)
The majority of teens have no siblings. If they do, they come home to visit once every sixteen years.
Dogs and cats hate each other. Dogs particularly hate mailmen.
Elaborate plans and well-laid schemes never backfire, unless perpetrated by the bad guy, in which case they always do.
Teachers are all old and crotchety.
Even though they are always broke, teenagers don’t work except to do odd jobs when they desperately need money.
Being broke causes pockets to turn inside out.
Girls can wear impossibly short skirts and no one will bat an eye.
Poor girls who don’t even own a car make pretty decent mechanics.
The person you fall for in first grade is the person you will love your whole life.
Garbage cans make excellent hiding places.
Everyone walks to school.
Nobody drinks or does drugs. Nobody goes to church. Everybody who's anybody goes to the dance.
In the summer, there is nothing wrong with wearing a bathing suit everywhere you go.
If you go out walking alone, you will inevitably run into all of your friends.
Everyone owns a metal detector. When using it at the beach, you will always find something valuable to sell. However, if you instead decide to track down the rightful owner, you will most certainly meet a beautiful woman and she will shower you with kisses.
The best looking girls will make a boy spontaneously shout "va-va-voom!".
The most romantic dates involve you and your sweetheart sharing one soda with two straws.
Scrawny, pale guys with bad hair have no problems getting dates, but sweet, pretty girls who can cook, clean, sew, play every sport, and look good in a bikini will probably be home alone every Saturday night.
Wealthy people are self-centered and patronizing and very easily stressed out.
Smart people wear glasses; athletic people are dumb.
Girls will allow any guy to kiss them, even if they have a boyfriend. A sound thumping of the offending male will restore order to the relationship. These situations never cause the boyfriend to question his girlfriend’s devotion.
Everyone “plays the field” until you agree to “go steady”. There is nothing wrong with dating two different girls in the same weekend, or even on the same date.
Periods do not exist! Only exclamation points! (With the exception of the occasional question mark or two largely displayed over someone’s head when they are confused!)
The majority of teens have no siblings. If they do, they come home to visit once every sixteen years.
Dogs and cats hate each other. Dogs particularly hate mailmen.
Elaborate plans and well-laid schemes never backfire, unless perpetrated by the bad guy, in which case they always do.
Teachers are all old and crotchety.
Even though they are always broke, teenagers don’t work except to do odd jobs when they desperately need money.
Being broke causes pockets to turn inside out.
Girls can wear impossibly short skirts and no one will bat an eye.
Poor girls who don’t even own a car make pretty decent mechanics.
The person you fall for in first grade is the person you will love your whole life.
Garbage cans make excellent hiding places.
Everyone walks to school.
Nobody drinks or does drugs. Nobody goes to church. Everybody who's anybody goes to the dance.
In the summer, there is nothing wrong with wearing a bathing suit everywhere you go.
If you go out walking alone, you will inevitably run into all of your friends.
Everyone owns a metal detector. When using it at the beach, you will always find something valuable to sell. However, if you instead decide to track down the rightful owner, you will most certainly meet a beautiful woman and she will shower you with kisses.
The best looking girls will make a boy spontaneously shout "va-va-voom!".
The most romantic dates involve you and your sweetheart sharing one soda with two straws.
Scrawny, pale guys with bad hair have no problems getting dates, but sweet, pretty girls who can cook, clean, sew, play every sport, and look good in a bikini will probably be home alone every Saturday night.
Disgusting words that are... disgusting.
I posted this long ago on Facebook, but thought I would bring it and a few other posts over.
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm obsessively opposed to bad grammar. So here you go- a list of words/pronunciations that I wish were banned from everyday use:
Ginormous: ARGH. Do people who use this word actually like it? I imagine they are filled with self-loathing every time they say it.
Anyways: Fluff. Filler. Annoying.
Guesstimate: Is it that hard to simply say estimate? I hate it enough when two words are combined in cutesy wordplay; all the worse when that word becomes a permanent fixture in the English language.
Orientate: Next we'll be organizating and calculatizing and documentating.
Heighth: Why the tagalong 'h'? It's pronounced 'hite', even when lumped in with width, breadth and length.
Acrossed: It's "across"! You go across the road, not acrossed it!
Athalete: Sloppy.
Excetera: It's spelled with a 't', not an 'x'. See also 'expresso'.
Fermiliar: When people see the word 'familiar', do they not realize that there's no 'r' there??
Irregardless: Apparently 'regardless' doesn't sound important enough.
Libary: This one drives me crazy. It's only cute when a 3-year-old says it. I want to crawl out of my skin when an adult says it.
Methodology: Am I just lazy, or does it seem easier to say 'method'?
Nother: As in "That's a whole nother issue". It's an awkward phrase to be avoided at all times.
Overexaggerate: This is the mother of all redundancies. The 'over' is implied in the word exaggerate. How big does an exaggeration have to be before it is more than just an exaggeration and falls into the realm of overexaggeration?
Realator: I have a thing about extra syllables.
Seen: As in "I seen them out in the field." Cringe!
Dab or smidgen: Nothing grammatically wrong with these words, I just hate them. They conjure up images of someone pinching her fingers together and making a squirrel face.
Supposably: Disgusting!
Random: I don't mind the word in and of itself, but I hate it when it is used as a synonym for funny.
Utilize: Just plain obnoxious, Corporate America.
Paradigm: It's a squishy term so grossly overused that no one really knows what it means anymore.
Verbage: Pretentious AND misspelled!
Finally, contenders for the most repulsive word in the English language:
Chortle: Ugh. Who came up with this word? Chuckle and snicker are right on chortle's heels. Laughing is such a great sound, so why describe it with words that make it sound like a horrid bodily function?
Fecund: Blechh.
Gravitas: Pompous and horribly awkward to say aloud.
Kismet: The use of this word is just a poorly veiled request to be kicked in the money-maker.
Moist: *shudder*
Nugget: I can't even bring myself to say it when I'm ordering at McDonald's. It's a good thing they don't have a 6-piece anything else.
Ubiquitous: How can a word that means "existing or being everywhere" be so scarcely used? Because people tend to avoid saying words that they can't pronounce without gleeking.
Beverage: Particularly obscene when preceded with 'tasty'.
Brunch: Right after tennis at the club with the other WAGs.
Smear: Admit it. You just shuddered when you read it.
Yummy. Yucky. Pew. Curds. Squirm. Corpuscle. Snog. Sandwich. Cheesy.
Any I've forgotten?
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm obsessively opposed to bad grammar. So here you go- a list of words/pronunciations that I wish were banned from everyday use:
Ginormous: ARGH. Do people who use this word actually like it? I imagine they are filled with self-loathing every time they say it.
Anyways: Fluff. Filler. Annoying.
Guesstimate: Is it that hard to simply say estimate? I hate it enough when two words are combined in cutesy wordplay; all the worse when that word becomes a permanent fixture in the English language.
Orientate: Next we'll be organizating and calculatizing and documentating.
Heighth: Why the tagalong 'h'? It's pronounced 'hite', even when lumped in with width, breadth and length.
Acrossed: It's "across"! You go across the road, not acrossed it!
Athalete: Sloppy.
Excetera: It's spelled with a 't', not an 'x'. See also 'expresso'.
Fermiliar: When people see the word 'familiar', do they not realize that there's no 'r' there??
Irregardless: Apparently 'regardless' doesn't sound important enough.
Libary: This one drives me crazy. It's only cute when a 3-year-old says it. I want to crawl out of my skin when an adult says it.
Methodology: Am I just lazy, or does it seem easier to say 'method'?
Nother: As in "That's a whole nother issue". It's an awkward phrase to be avoided at all times.
Overexaggerate: This is the mother of all redundancies. The 'over' is implied in the word exaggerate. How big does an exaggeration have to be before it is more than just an exaggeration and falls into the realm of overexaggeration?
Realator: I have a thing about extra syllables.
Seen: As in "I seen them out in the field." Cringe!
Dab or smidgen: Nothing grammatically wrong with these words, I just hate them. They conjure up images of someone pinching her fingers together and making a squirrel face.
Supposably: Disgusting!
Random: I don't mind the word in and of itself, but I hate it when it is used as a synonym for funny.
Utilize: Just plain obnoxious, Corporate America.
Paradigm: It's a squishy term so grossly overused that no one really knows what it means anymore.
Verbage: Pretentious AND misspelled!
Finally, contenders for the most repulsive word in the English language:
Chortle: Ugh. Who came up with this word? Chuckle and snicker are right on chortle's heels. Laughing is such a great sound, so why describe it with words that make it sound like a horrid bodily function?
Fecund: Blechh.
Gravitas: Pompous and horribly awkward to say aloud.
Kismet: The use of this word is just a poorly veiled request to be kicked in the money-maker.
Moist: *shudder*
Nugget: I can't even bring myself to say it when I'm ordering at McDonald's. It's a good thing they don't have a 6-piece anything else.
Ubiquitous: How can a word that means "existing or being everywhere" be so scarcely used? Because people tend to avoid saying words that they can't pronounce without gleeking.
Beverage: Particularly obscene when preceded with 'tasty'.
Brunch: Right after tennis at the club with the other WAGs.
Smear: Admit it. You just shuddered when you read it.
Yummy. Yucky. Pew. Curds. Squirm. Corpuscle. Snog. Sandwich. Cheesy.
Any I've forgotten?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Inner views
If someone walked up to me on the street and offered me $200 to write a cover letter, they'd get a straight up "NOPE" followed by a hasty "Good day." but I'd only add that part because that's just polite. Is there anything worse than writing one of those things? Unless you just said "having someone toss a bit of moldy cheese in your mouth every time you sneeze", the answer is no; there is nothing worse than writing one of those things.
I'm from the upper midwest, where people are highly sensitive to bragging. Modesty is not just a trait, it's mandatory for citizenship. In fact, my cousin used to finish up every sentence with "no bragging" for fear of being perceived as too full of herself. "I think this skirt is a little too long, no bragging."
Actually, that was Heather who did that. I want to say she was just being a dolt. But I'm not sure.. we ARE extremely sensitive to bragging up in these parts.
This makes resumes and cover letters and job interviews very tricky.
We can't just be straightforward about what we're good at. We might be an expert in our field, but if a potential employer gets wind that we're bragging about it (i.e. putting it on our resume), there's a chance that the bragging and the expertise will wash, and then we have nothing to show for ourselves. The humility of which might actually make us an attractive candidate. See? Very tricky indeed.
So, me? I just shoot for middle of the road. Here's a sneak peek at my noteworthy skills/abilities:
-highly mediocre in demonstrating leadership
-Occasionally called upon to resolve medium to averagely hard problems
-detail-oriented, but I make mistakes too
-prepare documentation that may or may not be helpful to anyone else
-self-sufficient, but humble about it
Ughh, interviews are brutal. I have never been in a confessional, but I imagine that it's a similar feeling. I feel transparent, hollow, filled with self-loathing.. and I'm supposed to convince someone that I'm remotely qualified to work for them in that condition? Every person who has ever hired me has told me that they were on the fence about me based on how they perceived me in the interview. I'm always too reserved, too withdrawn, too difficult to engage... gimme a break, it's an interview! I'm in my dark place!
In all seriousness, interviews do tend to fill me with self-loathing. I find myself in a post-interview funk for days. It's hard to explain, especially to someone like my brother who goes on interviews for fun. Some people actually enjoy them. I can hardly fathom that. After an interview, my mind relentlessly regurgitates all of my painfully awkward answers to questions I didn't fully understand, and the more I re-think it, the more syrupy and pretentious those answers start to sound in my head. My perception of their reaction to those answers shifts and I start to remember slightly sinister signs, a faint sneer, a subtle scoff, a shifty glance at the clock, an overly cheerful "Well, thanks for coming in!" followed by a hasty eye-roll to the co-interviewer probably not intended for me to notice. Or was there anything to really notice at all? Am I imagining all of it??
I'm not kidding when I say that interviews are my dark place.
In other news, I'm currently working on my resume. Tomorrow is the deadline to apply for a job that I think I'm at least halfway qualified for, but I have yet to finish my resume or my cover letter. I haven't quite convinced myself that they would even grant me an interview, so I'm finding it difficult to want to stay up late and rack my brain for the perfect phrases to touch up my resume and finish this cover letter.
And that's precisely why I feel like I never have any open doors, career-wise.
Insert short but meaningful and effective pep talk to self here. Follow up with cute token phrase that seems like it means something really profound, doesn't really mean anything at all, but uplifts and encourages nonetheless.
Well, I feel so much better now. Guess I better get back to that cover letter, now that I have a brighter outlook on it and life, among other things.
Groan.
I'm from the upper midwest, where people are highly sensitive to bragging. Modesty is not just a trait, it's mandatory for citizenship. In fact, my cousin used to finish up every sentence with "no bragging" for fear of being perceived as too full of herself. "I think this skirt is a little too long, no bragging."
Actually, that was Heather who did that. I want to say she was just being a dolt. But I'm not sure.. we ARE extremely sensitive to bragging up in these parts.
This makes resumes and cover letters and job interviews very tricky.
We can't just be straightforward about what we're good at. We might be an expert in our field, but if a potential employer gets wind that we're bragging about it (i.e. putting it on our resume), there's a chance that the bragging and the expertise will wash, and then we have nothing to show for ourselves. The humility of which might actually make us an attractive candidate. See? Very tricky indeed.
So, me? I just shoot for middle of the road. Here's a sneak peek at my noteworthy skills/abilities:
-highly mediocre in demonstrating leadership
-Occasionally called upon to resolve medium to averagely hard problems
-detail-oriented, but I make mistakes too
-prepare documentation that may or may not be helpful to anyone else
-self-sufficient, but humble about it
Ughh, interviews are brutal. I have never been in a confessional, but I imagine that it's a similar feeling. I feel transparent, hollow, filled with self-loathing.. and I'm supposed to convince someone that I'm remotely qualified to work for them in that condition? Every person who has ever hired me has told me that they were on the fence about me based on how they perceived me in the interview. I'm always too reserved, too withdrawn, too difficult to engage... gimme a break, it's an interview! I'm in my dark place!
In all seriousness, interviews do tend to fill me with self-loathing. I find myself in a post-interview funk for days. It's hard to explain, especially to someone like my brother who goes on interviews for fun. Some people actually enjoy them. I can hardly fathom that. After an interview, my mind relentlessly regurgitates all of my painfully awkward answers to questions I didn't fully understand, and the more I re-think it, the more syrupy and pretentious those answers start to sound in my head. My perception of their reaction to those answers shifts and I start to remember slightly sinister signs, a faint sneer, a subtle scoff, a shifty glance at the clock, an overly cheerful "Well, thanks for coming in!" followed by a hasty eye-roll to the co-interviewer probably not intended for me to notice. Or was there anything to really notice at all? Am I imagining all of it??
I'm not kidding when I say that interviews are my dark place.
In other news, I'm currently working on my resume. Tomorrow is the deadline to apply for a job that I think I'm at least halfway qualified for, but I have yet to finish my resume or my cover letter. I haven't quite convinced myself that they would even grant me an interview, so I'm finding it difficult to want to stay up late and rack my brain for the perfect phrases to touch up my resume and finish this cover letter.
And that's precisely why I feel like I never have any open doors, career-wise.
Insert short but meaningful and effective pep talk to self here. Follow up with cute token phrase that seems like it means something really profound, doesn't really mean anything at all, but uplifts and encourages nonetheless.
Well, I feel so much better now. Guess I better get back to that cover letter, now that I have a brighter outlook on it and life, among other things.
Groan.
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