There are some weird people in the world. I'm sure most of you have noticed this, but I kind of feel like I need to talk about it today. It's like I have some kind of weird people magnet in my body somewhere that draws these people to me, so I can revel in their weirdness.


Oh, and I do not mean weird in a good way, like me. No, I am referring to those people that you meet that make you want to stab yourself in the face with a fork so you can go to the hospital and escape them.


Today, for instance, I encountered Everyone Needs to Hear My Business Lady. She was all kinds of strange, plus, she smelled like mildew and had horrible breath that she kept blowing into my face. She then proceeded to talk to another lady that she didn't know all about her estrogen gel that she uses for....I don't even want to say what it's for, so let's just say she has a desert in her pants (she used the actual term...I can't go there), as well as her mental and hemorrhoid issues. Why would you say that aloud? Not just aloud, either, but aloud LOUDLY. Come on. When your husband has to hide behind a magazine so people won't know you two are related, maybe your mess has just exploded all over everyone and you need to simmer down a bit.


There was also the lady that we bought two houses from that always did a number two in the bathrooms of the houses she was showing us. She would disappear for like ten minutes and then show up, all happy and proud, and then we'd go look at that bathroom, since we'd already looked over the rest of the house. Who does that? Wouldn't you show the people the bathroom first and then go do your thing, if it was necessary? I understand intestinal issues, but maybe try to have a little consideration for my smell issues.


I also love Erectile Dysfunction Man. He casually mentions that he's taking Viagra and then raises his eyebrows at me like I'm going to think he's more attractive after I know that. Sorry, guy, but 70-year-old men aren't that hot to me at this point. I'm sure that I'll get to where you don't look like my grandpa, but I'm just not there yet. Keep your pants on.


Finally, I can't talk about weird people without mentioning The Lady Who Cries (A LOT). It's not really one lady, it's multiple ladies, mixed together. I encounter them wherever I go and they tell me about how hard their lives are, and then they cry (a lot). It's not that I don't cry a lot, myself, because I do, except I try really hard to only cry in public on those occasions where I just peed my pants or I just got pulled over for speeding and showing the officer my boobs didn't work. I'm probably not a very nice person for saying this, but I kind of just want to look at these people and say, "So?" but I wouldn't because that would be mean. Their stories almost always involve some traumatic childhood event (which isn't nearly as traumatic as the time my Dad smashed a moth in a Kleenex and then pretended to sneeze into the Kleenex and showed me the squished moth, acting like that's what came out of his nose) that has impaired their ability to act normally in public. So I say I'm sorry and then the awkward silence ensues. Yeesh. Kills me.


Yep. There are some weirdos out there. I understand that there are many people out there that might be considered by some to be weirder than the people in my list, but I can't help that. Weirdness is definitely subjective. I'm sure I have a place on some other person's weirdo list. I wonder what my name would be?


I know. It would probably be Weird List-Maker Lady. Kiss my grits.

Yes, this is going to be another page about fashion disasters. The disaster of the day, though, is limited to a certain group of people: Older women who wear loose, short shirts without the necessary undergarments, letting certain parts of their bodies stick out from the bottom of their unfortunate clothing choice.

Yep. The dreaded "boobs coming out the bottom of the shirt" dilemma. What to do? I want to look away, but it's such a train wreck that I can't. I want to say something, but I figure once you get past 70, you've pretty much decided on a look, and I support your choice to just go for it.

I still don't want to see those nips peeking out at me from the bottom of your shirt, though.

For those of you who aren't completely clear on what I'm talking about, or haven't seen it for yourself, here is an example from South Park:

Pretty sure if my mom reads this, she's going to be dying by this point. Anyhow, THAT'S what I mean. Guess how many times I saw that this week? Eight. EIGHT TIMES. I counted. So disturbing.

What can we do about this? I'm afraid the answer is: Nothing. Nada. As long as there are loose crop tops available and no one to force these women to hold those bad boys down, it's going to keep happening. Personally, I'm all for letting yourself be free. I can dig the whole "women's lib" 1960s attitude, and I don't particularly love the wires digging into me, either, but you have to think of the children. Do you want to be responsible for warping their little minds? I think not.

Seriously, though, I feel like I need to market a line of brain bleach to help people like me forget that they've seen this monstrosity. Just, ew.

Hopefully, you'll all have a happy, boob-beneath-the-shirt free weekend!

We really need a National Day like they have in Norway. Where we all wear lederhosen and drink beer and eat lots of cheese and roll cake. (I've been watching Lilyhammer a lot lately and this may have influenced my decision a wee bit.)

Norway looks like it's freaking awesome. The scenery is amazing, everyone's really friendly, they all have pretty bad teeth, so those of us with less-than-perfect chompers don't have to feel self-conscious, AND they have a whole day where everyone's really patriotic and wears old-timey outfits. (Not loving the whole mega-government thing, but let's skip over that whole issue, shall we?)

I know we have the Fourth of July holiday, but I don't see anyone wearing those kinds of outfits. We do have the drinking beer part and firecrackers and maybe, just maybe, a barbecue that may or may not have cheese and/or roll cake, but is it the same? I think not.

Maybe we just need more holidays involving costumes. Like just adding Halloween to every other holiday but not necessarily spooky.

I think I'm going to dress up as an old-west cowboy on the Fourth this year, and I encourage all of you to do the same. It's patriotic, goshdarnit!

Oh, and make me a roll cake. And a cheese plate.

Being aware that I'm kind of ten years old when it comes to the sophisticatedlyness of my sense of humor is a good idea if you're going to read this, or else it may not be funny to you.


I'm going to have a nerve test on my arms today, to get a diagnosis for carpal tunnel syndrome (she says, typing on her teensy keyboard in a not-so-ergonomically-correct position on her desk) and I've had several confirmation calls from the doctor's office. Every time, the lady says, "Also, remember not to apply any lotions or creams to the area, starting 48 hours before your appointment."


It makes me laugh every time. If you haven't seen the movie Nacho Libre, you probably won't get why it's so funny, but there's a scene where he's telling the orphans about the perks of being a luchador and he mentions the "free creams and lotions." 


(See it here, if you want to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoXg7SSmGyk&feature=related )

The lady in that office has an accent that sounds a lot like Nacho's accent, so, every time, I say, "Mmmhmm." Then, I hang up as fast as I politely can so I can giggle. I have no ability to hold my giggle for extended periods of time. Life is rough.


Yesterday, however, she said it again. "No lotions or creams." I guess I forgot to mentally prepare to just shut my mouth, because I laughed right into the phone. Then I stopped and said, "Oh. I'm sorry." This is the point where any intelligent person would've said something like, "I'll see you tomorrow! Thanks!"


I said intelligent. Not so much ME. I decided that it would be even funnier to say, after having laughed into the phone and still being on the verge of laughter, something like, "Was that no lotions or creams? What about suntan lotion?" Mostly, this was funny to me because it involved me saying the word "creams" and it also involved me asking a very stupid question.


I could tell she thought I was hilarious from the tone of her voice, which now sounded like a bent-out-of-shape Nacho Libre. "No, ma'am. No lotions or creams of any kind."


"Thank you."


I then hung up and laughed for about an hour. I just laughed now the whole time I typed this out. Goodness gracious. Lotions and creams. Sometimes it's fun, living in my head.

So I get these ideas where I'm going to be massively creative and make a masterpiece, and then it ends up looking like this:

Yeah, I know. It's my own fault for using that ball of sickly pink scrap yarn that was a completely wrong weight and then not having the right gauge hook and/or a proper bowl to hang it over while the stiffener was drying, but still...I wanted it to be good. Therefore, as of today I have decided that I will not undertake any more projects when I don't have the necessary tools and/or ingredients.


Hahahahaha. Right. That's not going to happen. I craft the way my mom cooks, but without the awesome end results. She throws in a pinch of this, a handful of that, substitutes something if she doesn't have what the recipe calls for, and voilà! A masterpiece. I, on the other hand, have to have a detailed recipe or it ends up tasting like crap. Sometimes it ends up tasting like crap anyway. With crafts, though, I alter measurements and things and, well, sometimes it ends up looking like crap. So I guess that's not like my mom's cooking at all. It's more like mine.


Geez.


Crap.


So I guess for my next project, I should stick with something I know, so it comes out looking like this (yes, I tried it out on my own bed to see if it would be the right size):

Or maybe I should just stop crafting altogether and buy stuff at the store that looks like this:

Hmmm...I could also buy some pants that look like this:

You realize that now I'm just filling space with pictures of things? Things like this:

So I guess the moral of the story is that I should probably not try crafts that I don't have the proper materials for, but that wouldn't be any fun, so I'll probably end up with a houseful of ugly pink baskets. Heck yes.

Going out with a group of people? There's always a risk of someone in your party acting in an embarrassing way. Maybe it's the way your friends drink too much or the way your girlfriend laughs too loudly. For me, it's the way a certain person I know has no social boundaries. None. Personal space? Pshaw. Who needs that? Complimenting someone on weird things (I do mean body parts)? Totally fine.

This is not always a terrible thing. She is the sweetest lady on the planet, but at times she's completely unaware of her faux pas. For instance, she once complimented one of my older sister's friends on the perkiness of her boobs. She also gets really close to people's faces to talk to them. All of these pale to her sometimes creepy attention to servers at restaurants, though. She really loves the servers.

On Friday, we all went to Chili's and happened to get a very friendly waitress (which is not the norm in this particular Chili's). She had a very long ponytail that was sectioned off into several braids. Every time she came to our table, the compliments and questions about the hair increased. Apparently, she was growing it out for Locks of Love, and HER HUSBAND (she kept bringing it up, all caps, because I think she may have thought this person was hitting on her) wanted her to see how long she could get it before chopping it off.

Now, we all know that when one is waiting tables, there is a limited amount of time that can be spent at one table, or it throws off your timing with the kitchen. Unaware of this, my friend kept making conversation with our waitress. Every time we got a tea refill, the waitress got a compliment on the food, or her hair, or her attitude. Every time. If you know me and the iced tea, you know that's a lot.

Finally we got to the end of the meal, with our poor waitress still smiling and being friendly, but obviously trying not to stop at our table any more than she had to. Our table-mate, however, was not discouraged; no, she had one more big compliment in store. She went for the triple-threat: Best service ever, pretty AND nicest hair-grower for Locks of Love. "Tee hee...thank you so much!" said our server, and rushed away from the table as quickly as she could. (Yeah, she did the perky tee hee, but it was a sort of perky/scared tee hee so I won't make fun of her.)

The moral of the story: Be nice to your waitress, but not so nice that she worries about having to stop and get a restraining order on her way home from work.

Today, I would like to warn you all of the doom that is upon us. Summer is approaching and that means the return of the dreaded:

Yes, the jean short that doubles as a panty.


Remember, folks, not everyone should wear the janty. In my humble opinion, no one should wear it, but I could make a few exceptions:


1. People under the age of six
2. People over the age of 80 (when I'm in my golden   
   years, I'm going to do what I want)
3. Really athletic construction workers in a rock video


That's pretty much it. If you fit into any of those categories, rock on. Otherwise, I'm thinking you should consider adding a few inches of length to those janties.


For the rest of us, we can only be vigilant and try to stay prepared. Try to keep your eyes up as you walk down the street in order to avoid any unnecessary crotchal displays. I also find it helpful to keep away from the mall on Saturdays, as I know I'm going to see a massive amount of janty there, and I don't want to burn out my retinas. Sunglasses also help, especially indoors, as they really minimize the visibility of cellulite, which helps keep the ick down to an tolerable level.


For those of you asking yourselves, "Do I have a pair of janties? Should I wear them?" you might want to go through the following checklist:


1. Do you have a muffin top? If yes, no janties.
2. Do you have any cellulite (be honest)? If yes, no janties.
3. Are your legs white enough to burn people's retinas out? If
   yes, no janties.


If you've gotten through this checklist, see my checklist above. If you don't fall into any of the categories I mentioned, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, think of the children.


NO JANTIES.

There's this lady I know, and I'm pretty sure she's a witch. Not a Earth-worshiping person or that sort of thing, because a lot of those kinds of witches are actually just like you and me, except they have a different kind of church, but an actual witch. I'm talking Hansel and Gretel. My husband thinks she's spooky, but I don't think he really believes me that she's got to be a witch because whenever we pass her he always wants me to say something to her, and maybe ask if she's a witch. I guess he didn't get the memo that confronting a witch is always a bad idea. Always.


First off, she smells bad. She doesn't bathe, I guess, and if a person is unlucky enough to have to walk past her on the same side of the street, the stench is overpowering. I mean, I can smell her from the inside of a house if she walks past. I'm not exaggerating, either. Whoa. I don't know if that's a witch thing or not, but the ones on TV always look like they may be having issues in the hygiene department.


Secondly, she always wears a winter coat. Even in the summer. Maybe she's just cold, but I think maybe she has some weird witchy thing going on in there. Maybe witches are always cold when they go outside because they're always brewing up some potion and whatnot in their cauldrons. I realize it's the 21st century, and she probably has a microwave, but those get pretty hot, too.


Third, she's spooky. Like, all kinds of spooky. I shiver when she walks by, and I don't usually do that unless it's a real witch.


I'm totally right on this one. I think by just writing about it, I may get cursed or something, but I'll take my chances. Everybody knows witches don't use computers. Also, she doesn't really wear a pointy hat and I think those are required. Perhaps she feels too conspicuous in it and leaves it at home, but I think the winter coat in summer is conspicuous enough. 


Or maybe she's just sick or something, and I just cemented my status as a bad person. Eesh. That is a distinct possibility. The smell, though....it's got to be an issue when workmen working in a yard, shoveling manure into a flowerbed, comment on the smell. Yep, that really happened.


Conversely, this could be the result of less sleep than usual and me having access to a computer at 5:30 in the morning. I think maybe this blog is my form of drunk dialing.

One of the most fun things to do when I'm bored is to provide alternate dialogue for people while I'm sitting in my car, watching them. Yesterday, for example, I was waiting in my car at the gas station while my husband went in to get something, and I saw a couple who was obviously having an argument. I couldn't hear what they were really saying, but their fake conversation went something like this: "I don't care, BillyJim. You are not going to the dance with your hair like that." "Yes, I am, Shalonda. You can't make me into some kind of Barbie doll. I need to wear gel. Lots and lots of gel."


And so on. One needs to see the subjects' hand motions to tell what they should be talking about, but it was evident from this particular couple that BillyJim (who did, indeed, speak with a very heavy Southern accent, sort of like those people on that show about people who live in swamps) was very much into his gel, and Shalonda wasn't having any of that.


Name selection is very important. Picking names that sound as funny as possible at the time is a good idea. It also helps if there are as many people in the car as there are voice replacement subjects (this is the best place for this activity; if a person does this where other people can hear the dialogue, sometimes the other people get irritated). Men should also have high-pitched, twangy voices or funny accents, and most women should have a funny accent or a nasally "secretary through the intercom"-type voice.


That's really about it. Once names have been chosen, as well as subject matter and voices and/or accents, one is ready to start. Go slowly at first. Start with things like asking the other person what his or her name is, or what they do for a living. There's also the option of having kissy smoochy talk between two people that look like they'd be a very odd couple.


Once a person has mastered that, though, he or she can start with the "crazy internal conversation." That's when there's someone who's by himself and obviously suffering from some sort of inner turmoil (or not...be creative). Those are definitely more challenging, but they can also be the most rewarding, especially if one is willing to go for more edgy subject material; maybe the voice replacement subject is hearing voices in her head or, my favorite, preparing for an oncoming bout of explosive diarrhea.


This can provide a person with minutes of amusement. After that, you're on your own. Just please, for the love of Mike, don't pick your nose. Those windows in your car are see-through from both sides, and everyone else can, indeed, see you. Thanks.

Ugh. I didn't even realize I missed yesterday until just now. Go me. I have a huge pile of work to do, since I slacked off for the whole of March, and now it's time to get on it. First things first, though.


I would like to make a list of all of the things that scare and/or disturb me, mostly because I think a lot of them are hilarious and don't make any sense, and I enjoy making fun of myself. Also because I ran out of regular coffee this morning and am now enjoying some instant Folgers crystals. I can now add that to my list, as well. Yet I still drink it, maybe because I know that if I don't, I will have a headache worse than any instant coffee nastiness this afternoon. However, I don't think it makes me have my usual super brain power, so I have an excuse for my idiocy this morning.


Here it is, just what you've been waiting for...The Top Seven Things That Bug/Scare/Irritate/Terrify/Disgust Me:


1. Clowns - Why do we insist on showing these things to children? They are not cute or fun. They want to eat our faces off. I've seen Scooby-Doo and I know that the clown is always the bad guy in a mask; therefore, all clowns are bad guys in masks. Scooby-Doo wouldn't lie about that sort of thing.


2. Outer Space - This one scares the crap out of me. I don't know why, but if you want to see what true terror is, make me look at a big picture of a planet or a galaxy or something like that. Yikes. I think maybe I was severely beaten at a planetarium as a child.


3. Maps - Not road maps, but really any other sort of map. Why? See the one about outer space. I have no idea. I can look at them, but they make me feel all icky and then I need to throw up. I like to think it's because they usually have a bunch of non-straight lines on them, and that they usually aren't symmetrical, but deep inside I know the truth: I am a weirdo. There's no good reason for it.


4. Meat on the Bone - Not scary, just disturbing. There's something truly gross to me about gnawing on a big old hunk of meat that's still on a bone, complete with tendons and whatnot. I have a little trouble with most meat, but I can usually get past it, unless there's a bone. Case in point: Thanksgiving involves a whole turkey, but at my house it also involves me crying because I feel sad for the turkey that was fed so it got all misshapen and then we killed it. So my mom takes over, a little disgustedly because she is a master and can cook any sort of meat dish you want, and my husband laughs at me, because, well, I'm crying about a turkey. Which I realize is a ridiculous thing to do, since I'm not a vegetarian, but bacon is just so delicious I can't go there.


5. Shaking Hands - I HATE THIS. Now, this one is totally all on my OCD, I know, but come on. It's gross. People do not wash their hands, and then I'm expected to just relieve them of half of the feces that have accumulated on their dirty, sticky, sweaty hands. Yet, I'm too polite to just say no, so I have to go use a quarter of the ginormous bottle of hand sanitizer in my car. I'm not really convinced that it kills poop, though, so I try not to touch anything until I can get somewhere and wash my hands. It's not really a germ thing, people, it's a poop thing.


6. Using Other People's Bathrooms - Okay, I guess while I'm getting this all out there, I better acknowledge this one. I just feel embarrassed, REALLY embarrassed, to use someone's bathroom. So you know if I ask, it's because it was either that or I was going to pee my pants. It's not because I'm afraid of their germs; I just feel like I'm inconveniencing people by peeing in their house.


7. Worms - Yes, the least harmless of all creatures on the planet. I am terrified of worms. Like an "I can't garden because if I see one in the soil, I will explode from the fear" kind of terrified. I'm sure that half of you are sitting there thinking that this is even stupider than maps and planetary junk. The other half, though, are surely with me in thinking that these little mofos are going to rise up one day and take over. I think the whole harmless thing is part of their evil plot. Really, they're a lot like clowns in that they want to chew your face off with their enormous mouths that have rows and rows of piranha teeth (bet you didn't know they have those...they totally do, they just hide them really well). Now you know, and forewarned is forearmed. Your best defense is going to be to scream like a three-year-old girl and run away. That's what I do, and so far it's been a successful plan.


There you have it. Now maybe you'll feel a little better about yourself, since you're not afraid of maps, like a weirdo. It's all good, since this is a public service announcement that I made to encourage all people to come together to rid the world of a more serious foe: Clowns. Or worms. Those are bad, too.
   

Today, I am having to work extra hard to concentrate on anything important because an exciting thing happened: I got tickets to go see BARRY MANILOW!

Let that sink in.

I know that may seem a little weird, but when I hear Manilow, it makes me think of being a little kid and riding in the back of our yellow station wagon, listening to what has become dentist office music (lite 70s rock, which I love).

Of course, this makes me think of the music that's coming out now, and what is going to be dentist office music when I'm old. I'd like to know if the people who are in their 80s feel the same way about music from 40 or 50 years ago that I'm going to feel about the situation when they're adjusting my dentures and I'm being sedated so I don't care that I'm listening to Ke$ha's yodelling. Is that kind of crap ever going to be soothing to people?

That is just not possible. How can you compare the warm fuzziness that happens in my stomach when I hear "I Write the Songs" to the massive vomiting that happens in the car when my husband decides to force me to listen to Lady Gaga because he thinks the look on my face is hilarious?

By the way, that's not funny at all. My ears are being physically assaulted by the soundwaves, and I may press charges. Of course, me saying this means that although I was just barely on the fringes of the line between youngish person and curmudgeon before this blog post, I am now firmly planted on the curmudgeon side.

I think I like it, as long as being a curmudgeon means I can yell at kids to get out of my yard and grumble about the price of Tums, but I can still reference Family Guy and make fart jokes whenever it's humanly possible.

Okay, okay. Enough talking. I have to get started on my outfit for the concert. I may make a homemade Manilow t-shirt, but I'm not sure yet. All I know for sure is that I'm so excited my brain may explode.

Almost forgot to post today. I know, I know...what would all three of you do if I stopped posting? It would be a tragedy and a disaster. I got distracted by a little thing called "work" that seems to take up several hours of every day.

I've decided to look at my job like that. It's just filler, killing time between all the fun things I like to do, like eating and....well...eating.

I don't have a good topic today.

I'm okay with it, though, because I think it's probably so late in the day that anyone who reads my blog regularly is going to just assume I'm not posting at all today, so no one will read this.

Or maybe I'll get 500 hits today. We'll see. It seems like the more crap my post contains, the more people want to read it.

I will leave you with a special thought: Why does my phone always ring just when I get a minute to go to the bathroom? (Oh, and "Just take your phone into the bathroom with you!" is not a feasible suggestion. I don't do that.)

I love the Schwan's man. Okay, well, mostly I love what he has in his truck, but he's also pretty cool, too. That being said, Schwan's day is a source of major turmoil at my house. It seems like we spend hours battling it out between the ice cream sandwiches and the chocolate ice cream bars and the sundae cones. Why not get them all? Because I will eat them, and that's bad.


We usually go through the catalog together while I'm cooking dinner and we're waiting for his truck to arrive. I know it's not good to shop when I'm hungry, but this is different. Everything in the catalog always looks so awesome that even when I'm not hungry, I get hungry. So there's that.


Then, we have a discussion about why we should or shouldn't buy a 50-lb. bag of tater tots or fried cheese bites. I lost yesterday, or, I should say, my good sense lost and we ended up buying the fried cheese bites. Why on earth would anyone who's on a diet buy something called fried cheese bites? Because she's an idiot. That pretty much sums that one up.


I also pick a healthy main dish of some sort, which usually sits for weeks in the freezer before I remember that we have it. Then I'll find it and make it, and we'll both sit there and say, "Mmmm...this is so good...we should totally buy more of this."


We're both lying. We know we're going back for more cheese bites and ice cream, because that's what's really delicious. We do have lots of vegetables in the freezer, too, but you don't see me having a sudden craving for a big old bowl of green beans.


Vegetables are fine, fruit is slightly better, but I think the most important food groups should be ice cream and fried foods. Fried ice cream would, therefore, be the base of my food pyramid. Above that would be fried non-ice cream foods, then above that would be cheese, then above that would be non-fried ice cream. At the very top of my food pyramid would be popcorn. I do love popcorn, so my pyramid isn't really a triangle. It's more of a square.


It's also not really fixed, as it fluctuates depending upon what I feel like eating. Meatball sandwich? It's on there, because it has cheese, so it fits into that group. Cake and cookies also fit into the ice cream section, because ice creams sometimes have cake and/or cookies in them. Coffee has cream in it (well, mine does), so it fits into the cheese section, because cheese is made of milk, and so is cream.


See? One can rationalize anything. That's why I love Schwan's. Not only do they have a catalog with brightly colored, appealing photos of food in it, but they also come right to me. No pesky trips to the store.


Maybe these are the reasons I will forever be on a diet: My inherent laziness and love of all things dairy, fried or popped. Or maybe I'm just a masochist. At any rate, I still have a bag of fried cheese in my freezer, so I guess I'm okay with it.

There's this person I know who's not exactly a friend, really more of an acquaintance, who has this issue that I am constantly wrestling with: She's always got stuff hanging out of her nose. Always. I mean, every time I see her, at some point in our time together, there is an attempt at escape by one of her nasal prisoners.

What to do?

I don't feel like I know her well enough to say, "Hey. Look. Here's some Kleenex. Why don't you give it a whirl?" but on the other hand, I wouldn't want to walk around flashing my nose gold and not have anyone let me know.

She's got to know, though. These aren't those tiny things where it could possibly be just a little flake of skin or maybe a speck of dirt. No, these are ginormous, and definitely the kind where I'm always tempted to ask if she's got a sinus infection or something, but I've known her for long enough that if it's a sickness, it's got to be a perpetual sickness. Not only that, but they're so huge, there's no way she's not feeling that action.

So I just don't ever look her in the eye. The boogers are like tractor beams, and once I see them, I can't look away. I've tried looking at her, then looking at the box of Kleenex, then looking back and her, and so on, but she never takes the hint. I've tried saying things like, "Whoo! My nose gets so stuffy when the juniper's acting up. How about you?" but still, no dice. I've even tried putting the Kleenex by where she's sitting and saying, "Here you go, in case you might need one." Even then, she doesn't do anything.

Then we reach the point where she's talking to me about two feet away from my face, and her hanger-on is moving in and out with her breathing, and it makes me so panicky that I can't think of anything except escaping without getting snotted. 

Does no one else notice this? I can't be the only one; as previously stated, these are large and in charge. Does this woman have no friends that are comfortable enough with her to tell her about her issue? I mean, I only really see her around, I've never actually socialized with her, so I don't feel okay going any further.

Life is so tricky sometimes. Tricky and gross.

New Mexico is a great state. I love the landscape and the skies and the lack of traffic and pollution where I live. However, there is an issue that is making me a wee bit ashamed of my home state: Our news sucks.


There, I said it. It sucks. Sucks sucks sucks. That is the only appropriate description of NM's news outlets. There are a few good newscasters who can pronounce most of the words without stumbling (I love you, Tom Joles), but for the most part, the young newspeople look like idiot refugees from a used-car dealership. Someone should tell them that using a lot of makeup and hairspray won't cover up their stupid.


The worst part of this is the printed/online news. There isn't a decent newspaper in the state, and the online versions of the news stations aren't any better. They're a sort of gossip column, but expanded. Take yesterday, for instance: I'm cooking dinner while my husband is reading the online news from a major TV station in Albuquerque. He starts laughing and says, "Oh my goodness. Did you read the article about the cop who got in trouble for looking at porn on his cell phone?"


Wow. Apparently, that's a major news item. A cop decides to look at porn on his phone, and then have a little...ahem...personal partay in his car WITH THE DASH CAM ON. Okay, so it's hilarious, but it also makes me wonder why the news needed to describe it in such detail. Maybe that guy has a family and kids who don't want to hear about what he does when he's bored at work. Granted, I think they tell the cops that there are dash cams in their cars, and I think the cops know that they record sounds and stuff, but still, it's just tacky.


So why am I talking about it? Well, for one thing, this isn't a newspaper, so there's no guarantee that any of this stuff isn't made up. I could've just invented all of the crap on my blog for kicks. Also, I have no life, and I've never made any secret of that fact. So anytime anything even remotely funny happens, I store it in my ginormous cranium for later use in my blog. Finally, I never said I wasn't tacky. Deal with it.


Maybe I should become a newsperson. Nope, I would giggle anytime I had to report a story like that. "The police officer then...hee hee hee...they heard a zipper noise...hee hee hee...apparently talking to the woman whose picture he was...snort." I guess that wouldn't be too effective. Not that the ones they have now are effective, but really, they're just reporting gossip for the most part, so does it matter?


I think they should just have pictures of puppies and kittens on their websites. And babies. Wait, I think they do have pictures of babies sometimes. Well, anyway, they shouldn't put in details that are gross. Now, every time I pass a police officer on the road, I'm going to think he or she is looking at porn on his or her cellphone (I'm trying not to have gender bias here...maybe some lady cops do that, too, but I like to think they'd be smart enough to have a dash cam "malfunction").


I wonder what the news is like in other states. I'm sure in places like Kansas and Nebraska it's got farming info on it, and in places by the ocean, they probably have oceany types of news. I don't know. Maybe I should've paid attention the last time I was in another state. I do know for sure that Colorado's news isn't much better, so that's comforting. At least, their TV news isn't better. I'm not sure about their print news, since when I'm there I'm usually on vacation so I don't read the papers.


Point? Wait, was this supposed to have a point? Naw. I just like to tell other people what they're doing wrong. Oh, and I needed a story involving our lack of good news along with a cop having way too much fun on the job to round out the subject matter on my blog. Now I need to be on the lookout for a good topic that involves Christmas trees and toothpaste.

Okay, people. Really. Come on.


You know that Tina Turner song, "We Don't Need Another Hero" from that Mad Max movie? Well, it's a lie. We do need a hero. We need a special kind of hero that can edit other people's mistakes out of advertisements and mailers. I think even Tina Turner would agree with me on that one.


Misspellings in things are driving me nuts. Not that I wasn't already halfway there, but this is ridiculous. Yesterday, I got my Premium Shopper's Guide in the mail, and I can't even tell you how many coupons say, "...of equal or lessor value..." Lessor? Really? You sure that's the spelling you want to go with? This is a pretty big mailer, and you'd think they'd at least have some sort of an editor, but I guess not. At least not one that knows that lessor does not mean what the advertisers want it to mean, unless they're giving the value only to people who grant leases.


There was also a huge, 1-page ad for a pizza place that informs us all that they are, "better then the rest!" Yep. Apparently, the better part only applies to their pizza.


Argh.


I realize that in everyday situations, people don't feel that they need to know the difference between their, they're and there, and other common misspellings, but THEY DO. Please learn. For the love of Mike. (Yeah, I went there. It bothers me that much.)


There was one typo I saw yesterday that I loved, though. It wasn't a misspelling; rather, it was a word that snuck in that the typist must not have seen. It was in the mailer that our church sends out and it was the word "tit" where they meant to put "it" and it made my day. Hahahahaha. 


Yes, I am four, and yes, I did laugh about it all day. I'm still laughing about it. That's what makes me so fun.

Since when did being an obnoxious twerp become a requirement for being a receptionist? I mean any kind of receptionist, be it at a doctor's office, in a hotel, or working at a customer service desk in a store.

Silly me, I thought it was part of the job to be helpful to people and try to keep them coming back to your establishment. Apparently, I am very wrong about that. Apparently, the job of a customer service person is to play Angry Birds on her iPhone (with the sound on) and ignore me for five minutes while I'm standing there, waiting to be checked in. Apparently, her job is also to look annoyed every time she has to do anything at all that doesn't involve her phone, and to tell me, "I don't know how to do that" and stare at me blankly until I give up.

I guess I'm not doing my job very well at all, then, because I would never do that to a customer.

This situation was especially annoying because over the weekend, we experienced another case of horrible customer service and were talking about how the customer service is on a cruise, and discussing the possible reasons why it's so much better. Our experience has been that the customer service on a cruise is way better than the service in everyday situations because people seem to actually WANT to be helpful. They don't treat the job like every moment of it is excruciatingly painful and is killing their soul. They seem to be pleased with their job choice.

Imagine that. Not being mad that one has to help out other people because one is being paid to do so.

Maybe it's because there are schools in other countries that teach the hospitality trade, and many of the people working on cruise ships are not from America, or maybe it's just a difference in culture; I don't know. I just think it's really sad when helping another person out is that painful. We all have days where the last thing we want to do is go to work and actually be friendly, but part of having a job is the act we put on when we clock in: Acting like we don't really want to be wearing sweat pants and sitting on our couches, eating Doritos and watching game shows all day. Acting like we actually give a crap and want to make sure the customers we're assisting get what they need to get.

It almost seems like this woman felt as though she was the only person in the world who ever had to do something she didn't want to do. Come on. Who loves their job every minute of every day? I sure don't, but I try to pretend, at least most of the time. I can honestly say that never in my life have I treated a customer the way I've been treated lately. I'm kind of sick of it. I realize that I'm not perfect, and I make mistakes just like everyone else, but the difference is that because I'm being paid money for performing a certain set of tasks, I'm going to do my best at it, regardless of how tired or bored or irritable I am. When I'm the one paying the money I want the service, which, in my opinion, should include looking pretty darn happy for having any job at all and receiving a paycheck for it.

What can we do about this? Honestly? Not much. I'm not in a position to fire these people, even though I totally would if I was their boss, so I just complain, frequently, to the corporate office. I figure if enough people speak up, maybe these people's bosses will take notice and do something about it. Maybe if people feel the threat of being out of work in today's job climate, they'll try a little bit harder. Maybe I'll wait for Ms. Angry Birds in the parking lot and steal her hooker boots and make her apologize for her attitude before I'll give them back. That seems like the responsible, adult thing to do.

Or maybe I'm just cranky because I'd rather be at home in my chair with my trusty Doritos. That's probably it.

I love the box where Facebook asks what's on my mind. Rarely, if ever, does my status reflect what's going on in my brain. Usually, my thoughts run along the lines of, "What did we need to put on the grocery list? I know we ran out of something yesterday but I can't remember what it was, except I know it was really important" or, "Wow. Do I always look that fat in this shirt, or did I suddenly gain about 50 pounds?" and the ever-popular, "What show was that girl on? I remember seeing her on something. It was some kind of action show in the 80s, and I don't think it was Magnum, P.I."


Those are pretty much the same three thoughts I have, all day, every day.


Oh, I forgot:   When I'm learning a new piece, that also takes its turn running through the vast caverns inside my head. Don't you have vast, empty caverns inside your head? Yeah, that's what's in there. Sometimes I shout, "Hellooooooo," just to hear it echo back at me.


So every time I see that box on FB, I think, "Should I be having deep, life-changing thoughts that I could share with others in order to make the world a better place?" but then I can't come up with anything good, and I end up posting something about farts, puppies, and/or cheese. Then I feel like a really shallow person, unlike all my friends who post about their feelings. Then there are the people who post about their kids. I love those posts. I could read about other people's kids all day long (for once, this isn't sarcasm; I totally mean it). When I see pictures of some chubby-cheeked kid running around with messed up hair and paint on his shirt, for about 30 seconds, I forget about all the stupid crap in my brain and I think, "Aawwwwwwwwwwwwww. Look. Aaaaaawwwwwww."


Then it returns to normal in there. My neuroses take over and I'm back to being myself. I start worrying about whether or not I'm over-sharing when I write that if I was a cartoon character I'd be Charlie Brown, or if I posted a non-funny picture that I was being overly emotional.


So I hit delete, of course, but then I worry about whether the computer saves some of the stuff that I write and then delete, because if it did, that could be very embarrassing. Or maybe I didn't delete all of it, or deleted it improperly, so it's still floating around out there.


I forgot....am I supposed to be worrying less? I think I am. I think I made a New Year's Resolution (in capitals) to worry less and be more optimistic.


Maybe that should extend to Facebook. Maybe I should just post whatever pops into my mind and not worry about whether other people like it, because they can always unfriend me. Maybe I should just be like that all of the time, and I should say more when I'm around people and not be so shy, as I stand in the corner over-analyzing my every move. Maybe I should just be myself and be comfortable with that.


Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...like that's going to happen. Of course I'm going to continue making fun of everything in my brain and being a neurotic person. That's just how I roll. Facebook, you will never know what's going on in my mind, and you're just going to have to live with it. I'm content to let my random thoughts float about in the cavernous expanse inside my skull. 


Life is way more hilarious that way.

Today is my mom's 60th birthday. That is a big one. We thought for weeks and weeks about doing something really big for her, but nothing ever seemed to work out, so we decided to do what she likes best: Let her pick her own birthday.


For me, that would suck. I always have to pick my own birthday, because I tend to be the member of the family who plans everything out, but I love surprises. The whole fun part about birthdays and other holidays where you get a present is the part where you know you're getting something, but you don't know what it is. That's almost better than getting the present. Well, for me. Not so much for my mom.


So, I will be spending my morning making my first lemon meringue pie (I'm kind of a master at pie crust, but I've never made this kind of pie before, so we'll see). That's what she wants for her birthday dessert, so that's what she's getting.


I personally want a Baskin-Robbins chocolate peanut butter ice cream cake. With chocolate cake. However, since we don't have a Baskin-Robbins here any more, I guess I'll be out of luck.


Alright, enough stalling. I must go make the pie. Maybe, if it's pretty, I'll take a picture of it. If it's ugly, I won't, but you can imagine it. I can just feel the excitement in the air...

Life is returning to normal, which may or may not be a good thing; I haven't decided yet. This past weekend was one of the most fun AND funniest (the two don't always go together) I've had in ages. My sister came to see the last weekend of my opera and we all stayed in a hotel in Albuquerque. My aunt also came to join in the frivolity, which was great, since we hardly ever get to see her, and she had to come a really long way.


Friday night, I got to go out to dinner with my mom and aunt and some friends from my town, who drove all the way to Albuquerque to come see my show, which was very sweet of them. They got to see my particular brand of bizarre pre-show behaviors, which include: asking for room-temperature tap water (which I got the first time, but the refill was cold water which had just had the ice removed from it, so I had to wait until it warmed up to drink it...argh), and ordering something with no onions or garlic (which is harder than I thought it would be at that particular restaurant), and then having to leave way before everyone else because I had to get to the theater early so I could get into my costume not in front of other people, because, come on, no one wants to see that. Doesn't sound that bizarre, I guess, but when you couple it with the weird noises I make all the way to the theater and the amount of water I drink the morning of a performance, so I have to pee every five minutes, it makes for an interesting experience.


So the opera was on Friday night and Sunday afternoon, leaving all day Saturday free for activities. Now, I don't know about anyone else, but when I'm singing, I can't laugh too much because it makes my throat swell a bit, almost like having an asthma attack would. I don't know if that's weird or not, as I've never thought to ask anyone else about it. So if I'll be spending the whole day with my sister, if I have to sing that night I have to be very careful. We kind of laugh a lot, because other people are hilarious. We, however, are completely normal. I swear.


However, since I didn't sing Saturday night, I didn't have to worry about laughing too much, which turned out to be a good thing. We spent the whole day going around to thrift/antique stores, looking for puppets and purses and plates (well, my mom was looking for plates and my sister was looking for purses, and we were all looking for puppets). It's an incredibly fun way to spend a day, especially because some people sell some pretty ridiculous crap, and it's also free unless you happen to see something you want to buy. We also went to Wendy's and got a Frosty, which is pretty much the best thing man has ever invented, if you don't include cheese. There was a homeless guy who came in and dug through the trash cans and left with an empty cup, which was a little confusing, but I guess he just really needed a Wendy's cup.


I also got a gift from my sister, which consisted of two record albums, one of which is an unopened Muppets/John Denver Christmas album, which is going to be in heavy rotation at my house, a German DVD of a pretty bizarre movie, and the funniest book I've ever read. It's a book of postcards entitled, "Why Is Daddy in a Dress?" Yep. It's as hilarious as it sounds. I highly recommend it.


After our day of thrifting, we spent the evening playing Oh Hell, which is a card game children in our family are taught to play pretty much within ten minutes of being born. It's kind of like Spades but with no partners. Sounds like it would be pretty tame, but my mom got tired about an hour into it and went to bed, and the rest of us stayed up and played another game of it, and the conversation degenerated to a level that I won't even discuss. Let's just say that we were all pretty slap-happy, and I laughed so hard I couldn't stop crying. There were several moments where we all laughed that kind of silent laughing where it hurts your stomach but you can't stop, and then you hear everyone else's silent laughing, which makes it even funnier, and it just keeps getting more and more humorous until everyone's heads explode. It was beautiful.


Sunday morning was a usual hectic pre-show morning. With the show being a matinee, I had to chug massive amounts of water (I live in NM...it's dry here) first thing when I woke up, which involved me pretty much living in the bathroom all morning, and the hotel maid coming to our room while I was in the shower warming up (I think she's in love with me now, because I was making weird cow-like noises at the time, and they're pretty super), and then we had our show (which was amazing, by the way), and then a quick stop at the cast party before we had to head home, since we both had to get back to work this morning.


I hope I get to sing with some of those people again. There was some funny stuff going on backstage, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and I will miss that cast. I also wish my sister lived closer, but then I'd probably throw up a lot more, what with the laughing and all. 


This weekend was so funny, I want to bottle it. Oh, wait, they have that in a bottle already. It's called beer.