We all have moments when we would wish ourselves out of our lives if we could. For me, this most often occurs between the hours of 8AM and 5PM on weekdays, or in other instances, such as trying to pick up my mother on a busy street corner in heavy traffic. She sees someone she knows and instead of saying, "lovely to see you! My daughter is waiting so we'll have to chat later!" she engages in a full blown conversation. Twenty minutes, three trips around the block and numerous angry horn-honkings later, she is still chatting away, oblivious to the fact that I am about to become the victim of murderous road rage because there is nowhere to park without blocking traffic. At this point I snap and shriek, "MOTHER! GET IN THE CAR!" which is clearly audible to everyone in a 500 yard radius except the one person I am actually talking to.
But I digress. My point is that we all have these moments. And if we did actually wish ourselves out of our lives, maybe an angel would come visit and we would have a heartwarming, Jimmy-Stewart-esque moment where we realize how much we mean to the people in our lives, how much they mean to us, and how important we really are. The problem with this theory is timing.
Even if said angel were to appear and closely resemble Mark Wahlberg, you can't count on these things to happen when you really need them, as I have learned from waiting for the money tree in my backyard to bloom. So why not take the bull by the horns and figure the answers out on my own? I took it upon myself to execute a highly professional and accurate study using the very exact sciences of Guesstimation and Makingitup.
Here are the results:
My mom would be a whole lot more crazy - 317% to be exact - without my calming presence and constant voice of reason. (You may think it wouldn't be so hard to get a person to see reason if you haven't met my mother, who maintains that potato peels are toxic because some whack job proclaimed them to be so on a radio show in Milwaukee in 1957.) Her increased craziness would have far reaching effects. For Example:
There is a 71.8% chance that my dad would have faked his own death within the past two years and taken refuge in the Brazilian jungle.
My brother would be 67% more passive aggressive, driving my sister-in-law to be 209% more aggressive. As a result, 20% of their children would grow up to be criminal masterminds and/or megalomaniacs (I'm looking at you, Michael).
My sister is a tossup: There is a 43% chance that she would have run off and joined the circus, a 40% chance she would have become a blousy alcoholic, and a 17% chance she would have gone catatonic in 1984 and never recovered.
If I didn't exist, it is likely that my husband and I wouldn't have met. As a result, he would have forgotten every single parent-teacher conference ever and No. 2 would never have learned how to properly read. No. 3 would be a career criminal, specializing in forgery and identity theft, and would be featured in the "Stupid Criminals" column after trying to convince a bank teller she was Oprah.
No. 1 would have been born to a less conscientious mother who didn't think twice about pimping her out to the "agents" who wanted to put her in commercials when she was a baby. She would have shot to stardom and had her own show on the Disney Channel, sinking in to a crippling depression after its cancellation and the end of her high-profile romance with Chace Crawford. After three trips through rehab, she would spend the rest of her career making dreadful Lifetime movies with titles like, "Love Me, Love My Hip Displaysia: The Shirley Snively Story."
The disastrous consequences of my non-existence would stretch far beyond my family. Without my hard core Diet Coke addiction, the Coca-Cola company would have smaller profits and none of their employees would have gotten raises last year. Their entire production staff would have gone on strike and a worldwide shortage of Diet Coke would ensue, leading to a 91% drop in worker productivity at A Plus Benefits and any other place where employees get free Coke products. Thousands of businesses would go under, unemployment and homelessness would increase exponentially, and the USA would become classified as a third world country. Maybe fourth.
So, I'm pretty much the glue that holds the universe together.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Caught Red-Handed
We have previously discussed how sometimes things that seem like good ideas, like making your own potato chips, are really not very good ideas at all. I am a parent and although my children are perfect angels, they will occasionally try to get away with things they know they should not do, like watch "Jersey Shore" or wear ridiculously short shorts. The combination of these two thoughts reminded me of why I never rebelled: I always got caught.
Example #1
My friend Mary lived about an hour away and would come to my house on the weekends for a variety of reasons, the two most obvious being my extreme coolness and the fact that my parents let us do pretty much whatever we wanted. During one of our many escapades Mary met Derrick, and she was instantly attracted to him the way you are always instantly attracted to things that are bad for you, like chocolate mousse pie and chili cheese fries. Mary's parents were dead-set against her dating so theirs was a forbidden love. Things went pretty well for quite a while until my dad met Derrick and (rightfully) deemed him to be questionable. Dad forbade me - well, us - from associating with Derrick and his friends.
But Mary and I weren't going to let that stop us. We came up with a plan - a perfect and excellent plan - for her to spend an extended amount of time with Derrick. I would tell my parents I was going to Mary's house for the day and come home that evening. In reality, I would pick up Derrick and his friend Scott, go get Mary, and we would go to Watkins Glen for the day where we would have a highly romantic picnic. I would return home in the evening and no one would have a clue.
To be honest, I don't remember a thing about what we did that day. All I know is we drove home listening to AC DC and to this day I know all the words to "You Shook Me All Night Long." I dropped off Derrick and Scott and headed home, satisfied that we had not aroused any suspicions. When I got upstairs, my dad put down his book, stared at me meaningfully, and said, "Derrick's mom called looking for him."
Oops.
Example #2
My senior year I had French class the last period of the day. Our teacher was hugely pregnant and missed our class every Thursday to go to her doctor's appointment. We had the same sub every time, a clueless old lady who would collect our homework and did not take attendance. As a resourceful young person with top-notch forgery skills, I saw this as an opportunity. I would provide some friends in class with notes from their mothers excusing them for dentist's appointments at times of their choosing, and they would hand in homework for me and my friend Heather while we skipped class. It was the perfect plan.
Thursday came and Heather and I turned over our homework to our partners in crime. My parking spot in the Student Government lot allowed us to escape from school grounds without being confronted by one of the Teacher's Aides. We hopped in my Toyota Tercel and headed out on the Parkway. We had done it. We had pulled off the impossible, skipping class and leaving the school without getting caught. We were so cool. We knew we were cool because someone was honking and waving at us at a stoplight. It was our French teacher.
Example #3
Sometimes, when you are highly skilled like me, you can get caught and publicly blamed even when you aren't the one doing anything wrong. The summer I graduated from High School one of my friends came up with the brilliant idea for us to take an overnight camping trip before we all left for college. I'm not one for the outdoors or any other activity that involves insects, sweat, and/or dirt, so I was not too jazzed about the idea. I'd rather have a root canal and invasive abdominal surgery than go camping; at least the hospital has cable and a flushing toilet. Naturally, this activity was supposed to be free of adult supervision and full of the type of hijinks one would normally expect from marginally nerdy high schoolers who think they are rebels (i.e., three cans of beer and making out). We were all supposed to tell our parents we were sleeping over at each other's houses and they would never know.
Everyone was looking forward to the trip and thought it was going to be the best thing ever. Except me. I really did not want to go and was conflicted about how to broach the subject with my boyfriend, who I assumed was just as excited as everyone else. I agonized for a few days over what to say, and then we had this deep conversation:
Me, with angst: About that camping trip -
Boyfriend, interrupting : I don't think its a good idea.
Me, surprised: So you don't want to go?
Boyfriend, with decisiveness: No.
Me, relieved: Cool.
Thus, we removed ourselves from the process and the flurry of preparations went on without us. The night of the fateful trip arrived and I was working a shift at the grocery store when my friend Jen's mom came through my line buying a pound of butter. Jen and I had been friends since 7th grade, I had spent a lot of time at her house, and I knew Mrs. G well. Well enough to know that she, normally a kind and sweet tempered lady, was not at all happy. I could practically see rage emanating from her in waves.
Mrs G, in her scariest mean-mother voice, yelled,"I know what you are up to. And you are not going to get away with it!" By this point, everyone in the front end of the store was staring at me. "But I'm not going!" I protested. Mrs G. narrowed her eyes and hissed, "well, if you see Jennifer, you tell her if she doesn't come home by ten o'clock she will never leave the house again!" She then stomped off without her butter, and the bag boys fought over who had to chase her down because they were all terrified.
So you see why I didn't bother trying to get away with anything.
Example #1
My friend Mary lived about an hour away and would come to my house on the weekends for a variety of reasons, the two most obvious being my extreme coolness and the fact that my parents let us do pretty much whatever we wanted. During one of our many escapades Mary met Derrick, and she was instantly attracted to him the way you are always instantly attracted to things that are bad for you, like chocolate mousse pie and chili cheese fries. Mary's parents were dead-set against her dating so theirs was a forbidden love. Things went pretty well for quite a while until my dad met Derrick and (rightfully) deemed him to be questionable. Dad forbade me - well, us - from associating with Derrick and his friends.
But Mary and I weren't going to let that stop us. We came up with a plan - a perfect and excellent plan - for her to spend an extended amount of time with Derrick. I would tell my parents I was going to Mary's house for the day and come home that evening. In reality, I would pick up Derrick and his friend Scott, go get Mary, and we would go to Watkins Glen for the day where we would have a highly romantic picnic. I would return home in the evening and no one would have a clue.
To be honest, I don't remember a thing about what we did that day. All I know is we drove home listening to AC DC and to this day I know all the words to "You Shook Me All Night Long." I dropped off Derrick and Scott and headed home, satisfied that we had not aroused any suspicions. When I got upstairs, my dad put down his book, stared at me meaningfully, and said, "Derrick's mom called looking for him."
Oops.
Example #2
My senior year I had French class the last period of the day. Our teacher was hugely pregnant and missed our class every Thursday to go to her doctor's appointment. We had the same sub every time, a clueless old lady who would collect our homework and did not take attendance. As a resourceful young person with top-notch forgery skills, I saw this as an opportunity. I would provide some friends in class with notes from their mothers excusing them for dentist's appointments at times of their choosing, and they would hand in homework for me and my friend Heather while we skipped class. It was the perfect plan.
Thursday came and Heather and I turned over our homework to our partners in crime. My parking spot in the Student Government lot allowed us to escape from school grounds without being confronted by one of the Teacher's Aides. We hopped in my Toyota Tercel and headed out on the Parkway. We had done it. We had pulled off the impossible, skipping class and leaving the school without getting caught. We were so cool. We knew we were cool because someone was honking and waving at us at a stoplight. It was our French teacher.
Example #3
Sometimes, when you are highly skilled like me, you can get caught and publicly blamed even when you aren't the one doing anything wrong. The summer I graduated from High School one of my friends came up with the brilliant idea for us to take an overnight camping trip before we all left for college. I'm not one for the outdoors or any other activity that involves insects, sweat, and/or dirt, so I was not too jazzed about the idea. I'd rather have a root canal and invasive abdominal surgery than go camping; at least the hospital has cable and a flushing toilet. Naturally, this activity was supposed to be free of adult supervision and full of the type of hijinks one would normally expect from marginally nerdy high schoolers who think they are rebels (i.e., three cans of beer and making out). We were all supposed to tell our parents we were sleeping over at each other's houses and they would never know.
Everyone was looking forward to the trip and thought it was going to be the best thing ever. Except me. I really did not want to go and was conflicted about how to broach the subject with my boyfriend, who I assumed was just as excited as everyone else. I agonized for a few days over what to say, and then we had this deep conversation:
Me, with angst: About that camping trip -
Boyfriend, interrupting : I don't think its a good idea.
Me, surprised: So you don't want to go?
Boyfriend, with decisiveness: No.
Me, relieved: Cool.
Thus, we removed ourselves from the process and the flurry of preparations went on without us. The night of the fateful trip arrived and I was working a shift at the grocery store when my friend Jen's mom came through my line buying a pound of butter. Jen and I had been friends since 7th grade, I had spent a lot of time at her house, and I knew Mrs. G well. Well enough to know that she, normally a kind and sweet tempered lady, was not at all happy. I could practically see rage emanating from her in waves.
Mrs G, in her scariest mean-mother voice, yelled,"I know what you are up to. And you are not going to get away with it!" By this point, everyone in the front end of the store was staring at me. "But I'm not going!" I protested. Mrs G. narrowed her eyes and hissed, "well, if you see Jennifer, you tell her if she doesn't come home by ten o'clock she will never leave the house again!" She then stomped off without her butter, and the bag boys fought over who had to chase her down because they were all terrified.
So you see why I didn't bother trying to get away with anything.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Irrational Hatred
Do you ever find yourself utterly hating, loathing, or despising something - or someone - for no good reason? Do you feel guilty for having these strongly negative feelings about persons, places, or things that have done nothing to wrong you other than exist? Do you try really hard to like this person/place/thing and fail utterly? No? Maybe its just me.
Paulo
Let me introduce Paulo. I CAN'T STAND PAULO!!!! Let me list the reasons why:
1) His name is Paulo
2) He has a stupid accent
3) Every time he calls me, which is a few times a month due to our unfortunate professional association, he introduces himself to me as if we have never spoken to each other before. "Hello, my name is Paulo and I am calling from my stupid company and checking status on..."
Its not his fault his name is Paulo. Its also not his fault that English is not his native language and that even though he speaks it quite well he still has a slight accent. And he has to earn a living, so its not his fault that earning said living involves communication with me, and he is probably just trying to be polite and exercise good phone manners. Paulo is probably a really good person who does a lot of charity work and nurses injured animals back to health. No matter how many times I remind myself of these things, I still hate Paulo. I hate him so much I want to reach through the phone and whack him with a stapler. I want to meet him in person so I can punch him in the face and kick him in the knee. And I am not a violent person.
Birds, And More Specifically, Pet Birds
Birds are evil, wicked creatures who live only to poop on my car. And my house. And my driveway. And the fondest wish of their little black hearts is to poop on my person. I know this, because I can see it in their beady little eyes. Who in their right mind would want such a creature as a pet? People say how smart and cute birds are, but why are they utterly unable to be housebroken, hmmm? And why is it every time I have approached someone's "friendly" and "totally tame" pet bird out of a sense of obligation said bird has bitten me with its sharp little beak? And why are they so stupid that if you cover their cage they think you magically made it night time? You could never get a dog to fall for that. Plus, when you get close, birds are kind of ugly and creepy.
You may classify my feelings for birds as an irrational fear. I will cop to having an irrational fear of horses. I like to look at horses, but I won't go near them because I am afraid they will step on me or bite me. Also because they can smell fear, which makes me worry that if they can sense my fear they are more likely to step on me or bite me, which makes me more afraid, which makes them even more likely to step on me or bite me. That, my friends, is an irrational fear. And I really, really hate birds.
Mom + Carrots + Celery
For some reason, my mother was genetically gifted with a jaw which magnifies the sound of whatever she is eating by 300 times. When she eats carrots and celery, I am fairly confident they can hear her in the next county. She might even be breaking the sound barrier, its that loud. And my mom LOVES carrots and celery. She eats them, literally, all day every day. Again, its not Mom's fault that she has an amplifying mandible; its not her fault she was born with an innate love for carrots and celery. Yet every time she eats them, I feel like baby kittens are dying and Santa Claus isn't real. I have to leave the room before my irrational rage takes over and I yank the offending veggies from her hands shrieking, "WOULD YOU JUST EAT SOME FREAKING APPLESAUCE!!"
People Who Don't Love My Dog
It stands to reason that not everyone is a dog person, or a cat person, or even a bird person (ha!). It also stands to reason that even if you like dogs, you will not like every dog you meet, much like you don't like every person you know. I don't even like every dog I meet. But Sam is the greatest dog ever. Better than Snoopy and Benji combined. He is sweet, friendly, smart, cute, and all kinds of awesome. I may devote an entire blog entry to his greatness. I know it is totally illogical, but when people fail to be impressed by my little buddy, or worse, express open disdain for him, it makes me crazy with rage. Crazy, I tell you.
How can you not love this face?
People Who Promise Me Cheesecake And Don't Deliver
. . . Never mind. I am completely justified in my hatred of these people.
Paulo
Let me introduce Paulo. I CAN'T STAND PAULO!!!! Let me list the reasons why:
1) His name is Paulo
2) He has a stupid accent
3) Every time he calls me, which is a few times a month due to our unfortunate professional association, he introduces himself to me as if we have never spoken to each other before. "Hello, my name is Paulo and I am calling from my stupid company and checking status on..."
Its not his fault his name is Paulo. Its also not his fault that English is not his native language and that even though he speaks it quite well he still has a slight accent. And he has to earn a living, so its not his fault that earning said living involves communication with me, and he is probably just trying to be polite and exercise good phone manners. Paulo is probably a really good person who does a lot of charity work and nurses injured animals back to health. No matter how many times I remind myself of these things, I still hate Paulo. I hate him so much I want to reach through the phone and whack him with a stapler. I want to meet him in person so I can punch him in the face and kick him in the knee. And I am not a violent person.
Birds, And More Specifically, Pet Birds
Birds are evil, wicked creatures who live only to poop on my car. And my house. And my driveway. And the fondest wish of their little black hearts is to poop on my person. I know this, because I can see it in their beady little eyes. Who in their right mind would want such a creature as a pet? People say how smart and cute birds are, but why are they utterly unable to be housebroken, hmmm? And why is it every time I have approached someone's "friendly" and "totally tame" pet bird out of a sense of obligation said bird has bitten me with its sharp little beak? And why are they so stupid that if you cover their cage they think you magically made it night time? You could never get a dog to fall for that. Plus, when you get close, birds are kind of ugly and creepy.
You may classify my feelings for birds as an irrational fear. I will cop to having an irrational fear of horses. I like to look at horses, but I won't go near them because I am afraid they will step on me or bite me. Also because they can smell fear, which makes me worry that if they can sense my fear they are more likely to step on me or bite me, which makes me more afraid, which makes them even more likely to step on me or bite me. That, my friends, is an irrational fear. And I really, really hate birds.
Mom + Carrots + Celery
For some reason, my mother was genetically gifted with a jaw which magnifies the sound of whatever she is eating by 300 times. When she eats carrots and celery, I am fairly confident they can hear her in the next county. She might even be breaking the sound barrier, its that loud. And my mom LOVES carrots and celery. She eats them, literally, all day every day. Again, its not Mom's fault that she has an amplifying mandible; its not her fault she was born with an innate love for carrots and celery. Yet every time she eats them, I feel like baby kittens are dying and Santa Claus isn't real. I have to leave the room before my irrational rage takes over and I yank the offending veggies from her hands shrieking, "WOULD YOU JUST EAT SOME FREAKING APPLESAUCE!!"
People Who Don't Love My Dog
It stands to reason that not everyone is a dog person, or a cat person, or even a bird person (ha!). It also stands to reason that even if you like dogs, you will not like every dog you meet, much like you don't like every person you know. I don't even like every dog I meet. But Sam is the greatest dog ever. Better than Snoopy and Benji combined. He is sweet, friendly, smart, cute, and all kinds of awesome. I may devote an entire blog entry to his greatness. I know it is totally illogical, but when people fail to be impressed by my little buddy, or worse, express open disdain for him, it makes me crazy with rage. Crazy, I tell you.
How can you not love this face?
People Who Promise Me Cheesecake And Don't Deliver
. . . Never mind. I am completely justified in my hatred of these people.
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