The Pursuits of Triva, Or Trivial Pursuits.

   
    "Trivia Night! Come one, come all, for the most relevant trivia in all the land! Learn only things that you need to know, and absolutely nothing that you don't! Everyone will know, and everyone will win."

     Not a terribly enticing advertisment for a trivia night, hm? That's because it really isn't. The point, I feel, of a trivia night, is to not only see how much you know, but how much you don't. A lot of people are thirsty for knowledge, and school isn't the only place you can pick up things like "As of 1990, what was the recorded population of China?" (1,143.3, according to http://www.chinability.com/Population.htm) or "What was Captain Kathryn Janeway's first name prior to Kate Mulgrew taking on the role?" (Nicole. This is not only something I knew, but according to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Kathryn_Janeway). See? Some of you may not have known that. Refreshing, isn't it, to learn something new?

     I bring this up because I work in a place where we offer up a trivia question every day, with a prize so minor that it really isn't necessarily worth researching. It's nice to know, sure, because you get that ten cents off or whatnot, but it's not really such a worthy prize that people should leave the place frustrated. You'd be surprised, however, at the amount of people who get severely aggrivated at the things they don't know, or who become incredibly defensive at their own lack of knowledge ("Seriously? Why on earth would I know the statute of limitations of medical malpractice in the state of Maine?" (3 years) "Well...maybe you've had bad surgery and may not know you can still sue your doctor."). It's amazing to see the reactions over ten cents off ("That's barely anything!"), and wonder why on earth they even feel the need to try answering if they're downplaying the reward so much.

   So many pubs and bars have trivia. I've never been to any trivia nights, nor do I plan to, but the competive sides much be amplified tenfold when people are in large groups and/or completely schnockered (that's right. Schnockered. You get it.). I mean, put people in groups and they become the most irrational idiots possible, and if you add alcohol to the mix they just forget how to be anything at all except the noisiest of fools. No offense intended, of course, to those who do partake. I myself have been known to, although I like to think I just get silly. But I'm never participating in anything like a trivia night or whatever. I'd like to imagine, however, that people at those trivia nights don't exclaim, "Hey! Why the hell do I need to know what the capital of New Hampshire is?" (I won't even suggest that anyone wouldn't know that, although I'm sure...ok. There are people who don't. There are people who don't know the capital of Maine. Or what an ampersand is. But I'm getting away from myself.). I'd like to think that the people at those trivia nights take the trivia as exactly what it is- good, old fashioned fun.

   Whatever happened to that? Good, old fashioned fun? Did it go the way of the Game Boy? No longer are we satisfied to simply play with a wooden hoop and a stick? No longer are we satisfied with a trivia question unless it comes complete with a reference? Is this world becoming a 'cite your source' kind of world, when most people can't even write a source page for a term paper without the assistance of some sort of program? Maybe we don't need to know what Agent Dana Scully named her only child, fathered by Fox Mulder (William), but it sure makes it fun to try and guess!

 Loosen up. Go to Mainely Brews on a Thursday night (I think between 7-9) and have a blast! Have a burger. Enjoy! And don't get frustrated at yourself if you can't guess the actress who voiced Meg Griffin in season one of 'Family Guy' (Lacey Chabert).

**As you probably noticed, I didn't cite sources for the last few items in parenthesis. The reason for that is...well, I was lazy. I usually take the informaton from wikipedia.com, or my own mind. Google it if you like.**

"Why is it trivia? People call it trivia because they know nothing and they are embarrassed about it."
                                                                                                                         -Robbie Coltrane
 

Adventure Time: Coupon Edition

     Couponing is an art passed down through generations, originating with the ancient Egyptians, who would often utilize couponing to obtain additional concubines in a buy one get one free offer. Granted, they didn't have actual money, but even a shiny pebble saved is a shiny pebble earned, so the more saved the better! Of course, we all know this is crap. Couponing originated some time long after, and I couldn't begin to tell you when- although it's probably not as cool as the origin story I made up, right?

     Well, then. Couponing. Once in a while, years ago, I would see a coupon in my perusal of the Sunday paper (I was looking for the comics. Always.) so I would clip this coupon, and find a fair amount of glee in saving fifty cents (ooooh!) on a package of my favorite string cheese.  I mean, my sister's basement looks like Sam's Club Jr, so obviously the world of couponing is one that takes a sharp and savvy mind capable of crunching numbers like nobody's business. My freezer, on the other hand, possesses an amount of meat capable of rendering a man unconscious (seriously- a pork loin over the head? Goodbye, classic baseball bat, hello natural weapon.). But my finds were the products of good deals- not really coupon clipping.

The couponing I speak of, the kind that makes your basement look like a price club and your cupboards ready for attack by the Legion of Doom? That's the price crunching kind, the mathematician-meets-Indiana Jones-type Bargain Hunter kind. These are the people who have the minds for deals, who can see a stack of paper towels on sale for a dollar and say 'Hm. If those are a dollar each and I have a fifty cent off coupon, but the coupons are doubled- and wait! It's another twenty cents off because it's National Paper Towel day!' Those are the people who can tell you how many paper towels you can get for free.

I had a way better example than that...but I'll save that one for "Adventure Time: Extreme Couponing Edition" (Not to say that's much different than this. In fact, it may be exactly the same. In fact...it is.).

Oh- and that original example? I read it to a friend of mine, and she did it out in her head. Which is pretty awesome.

"Oh! I have a coupon for that!" -My Sister.

Social Media: Extra! Extra!

Hey! What's this? It's social media, this blog. It's media intended to reach out to you, my peeps, and tell you what's up in my world, or what I think of the world, or what have you. Pretty decent, really- it's kind my own newspaper, but without the smell of fresh ink or the sweat and blood involved in putting out a publication of that caliber.

So many people go through phases where they want a break from the social media circus, as it were, and I once upon a time found myself asking why. Why suddenly take a break from Facebook? It's such a lovely way to keep in touch with friends and family. A great way to find people you may have never found. A way to have your voice heard.

Also a great place to be a bully, an insensitive jackass, or to pretend that four years of being a jerk to someone else never happened. "Let's be friends, person I was never friends with in high school!" Sure. I really want to remind myself of the agony you think is no big deal but left me crying in the bathroom during study hall.

The point is: I don't think it's the social media that's the problem. I don't. I think it's the people who use it as a passive aggressive way to simply carry out their agendas, whatever they may currently be. I don't know about anyone else, but when I use Facebook I don't use it to directly attack anyone else. Yes, I've been known to be passive aggressive too- but that's done. I'm done with using my Facebook for anything other than sharing, caring, and funny pictures of cats.

I'd be a hypocrite to say I'm not guilty of abusing Facebook in exactly the way I've mentioned. I'm sure I have more than I think. But Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, and Livejournal are also social media, and I love to use those for sharing pictures and stories of what I love in life.

I'm sure this isn't news. People are always the problem, irrational as they may be. You tell people not to panic: they panic. You tell them they can have it their way: they want it their way in the MOST obnoxious way possible. It's what people do.

You say something on social media for everyone to see: they probably see it. And other people see it. And their other people see it. It's a shame, really- but sometimes a break is necessary, even if you enjoy it. Because one rock can send a ripple through the whole pond, and it can be seen for a while, depending on the size of the rock.

"On Twitter we get excited if someone follows us. In real life we get really scared and run away." ~Unknown via @mozusa

Musty, Dusty and Old: A Trip through Nostalgia Land

   

      Isn't it lucky, really, that a passport isn't required to take a trip down memory lane? And that there's no toll, like in The Phantom Tollbooth? Otherwise we'd all be paying out the nose to take a walk down the aisles of Goodwill, where some of the dishes resemble things my grandmother had in her kitchen cupboard, or on the table masquerading as a candy dish. You know, those cut glass things that have the fun bumps and come in colors like clear (is that really technically a color?), pink and blue? Green, sometimes. I went to Goodwill tonight, and in addition to finding a lovely, sealed copy of Casablanca on VHS (probably worth nothing, but totally awesome), I found Batman on VHS (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na...awesome!), and SO MUCH STAR TREK on VHS (I didn't buy it, as it was 1.99 a tape and I already have at least one series on DVD). The VHS section was like my childhood threw up in there, and I do not regret a second of my squealing like a little girl.

     As I was checking out at the register, the guy in front of me turned to see the box I placed on the counter, containing a VCR (it wasn't really a VCR, but from the same time period...or even prior), and said: "What is that?". Now, I realize that there are countless internet memes showing cassette tapes, #2 pencils, and VHS tapes, all saying 'Like if you remember this', but COME ON. Really. My own niece (thank you, kid) knows what a VCR is. And I'm pretty sure she knows what a cassette tape is. Thankfully so, else I'd have to write her out of the will for not being cool for her age (kidding. In my will all she'd be getting is VHS tapes and DVD's of science fiction shows, so she really isn't missing out).

   I know, I know. Everyone gets to that point where they can't believe the things of their youth are so 'retro now', and are flabbergasted when someone younger doesn't know what "Three's Company" is, or "The Electric Company" or "Square One". Years ago I asked someone if they knew who Vanilla Ice was, and they said no. I suppose that the things of ones youth don't nearly seem as out of date until seen through a younger generation's eyes, so it's just so damn difficult to understand why someone might not realize that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ARE NOT ALIENS, Michael Bay.

   I love nostalgia, though. Love it. I have a piece of fabric printed with the old Ninja Turtles logo from the 90's, I have the DVD set of the first season of JAG, and I have Return to Oz on DVD that I've watched a thousand times. I mean, it's all special because I loved it once and it all got me through some point in my life at one time or another. My DVD set of Star Trek:Voyager got me through my parents divorce, and now every time I watch it I feel like I'm okay for a little while. It's all meaningful in one way or another, and that's what makes it so nice to revisit.

    "Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being."
                                                                                     -Albert Camus 

 
 

All the Pretty Ladies...

So I was watching The Oscars tonight (who wasn't? And side note: anyone read the article on yahoo that talked about removing 'The Blah-Blah Annual' from the Academy Awards this year and slimming it down to simply 'The Oscars'? Yeah.). I was watching, and I won't lie- I primarily watch for the dresses. The colors, Duke! The colors! In my recent decade of life I have become enamored of all things fashion, and it doesn't at all hurt that many of the ladies who wear these dresses are the source of many a fierce girl crush for me.

Lets start with my favorite: Gwyneth Paltrow. Say what you will: I think she's gorgeous. I don't care what you say about her taste, her website, her children's names. I'm talking about how pretty I think she is. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I rather enjoyed her dress she wore to the 2012 Academy Awards (I think). The white one with the cape? I mean, nothing can EVER be as bad as Bjork's swan dress from whenever ago, and there was so much noise about GP's cape that I'd have thought it too had a beak and feathers. Seriously.

I'm going to toss in an observation that has nothing to do with clothes, while I think of it. Mark Ruffalo! WHERE DID YOUR HAIR GO!? He had the most adorably tousled hair in The Avengers. I'd like that back, please.

Ok. Hm. Charlize Theron. I love the woman. Bad memories of Monster (I realize it was accurate, but aaahhh!), but her hair tonight, with that dress? Hi. Marry me, darling. Oy.

Jennifer Lawrence was adorbs, as always. She has that kind of face and sweet young glow that just makes you believe she's still in that stage of acting where it really IS awesome to be recognized still, and not expected. Her dress was sweet, and during the 'boob' song she was so fucking cute when her name came up. It killed me. I'd die for her hair, too- if I wasn't already dead from that pretty, pretty face.

I didn't see many others, as I know myself and how I have to go to bed NOW or I'll stay up until it's over...but I can safely say that there was a lot of pretty. Except Halle Berry's dress...which reminded me of The Night Circus, and made her boobs look really, really pointy.

I look forward to tomorrow and the rash of Oscar red carpet photos on Tumblr. I, of course, will be looking for GP, and possibly Sandra Bullock or Glenn Close.

"It's funny that it all becomes about clothes. It's bizarre. You work your butt off and then you win an award and it's all about your dress. You can't get away from it."
-Reese Witherspoon

"Who, What, Where, When, Why?"

(This one's for you, Alli. Now it's stuck. You're welcome).

I've been told, once or twice in my life, that I should write songs. Now, that sort of thing seems a bit difficult to me, as writing a song isn't at all as simple as writing a poem or a short story. You can't simply take a string of words and put them with music, expecting them to knock out an incredibly awesome musical number. Can you? Hm? Well, as I was recently introduced to a lovely tune by the name of "Malcom McGillikitty", I find that my thoughts on songwriting may indeed prove correct when trying for, say, a song to be sung by Kanye West, but completely incorrect when used to write music for children.

Let's give it a shot, shall we? (Pretend there's a tune. If I could write music, you'd get that too).

"I really wish I drank that brown stuff
Mama loves.
Mama loves.
She seems to need that pretty brown stuff,
Mama does.
Mama does.
It smells like what she cleans the floor with,
and looks like my pee.
But I really wish I drank that brown stuff,
It's called Whiskey!"

"People like to tell me
I'm pretty.
People like to tell me
I'm nice.
My daddy said I was made of sugar,
he said I was made of spice,
but teacher taught us the birds and the bees,
and I now I think that daddy lies."

"Kitty, please come back to me,
I want to pull your tail!
I love you, kitty,
play with me!
I'll put you in my pail.
I love you kitty,
LOVE YOU SO,
I want to squeeze you tight!
I love you, kitty,
LOVE YOU, KITTY!
Every single night!"

      I'm thinking that if there was a market for it, I could write satirical kids music for adults. However...well, there are books like that, but I really don't see the market. It's more fun to just stumble across things like this on the internet and have a snicker or two. Right?

"You must pass your days in song. Let your whole life be a song."
                                                                                                  -Sai Baba 

Wakey, Wakey, Eggs and...what?

I've always wondered as to the origins of that saying (how does one spell 'bakey' when using the word bacon? Bac-ey? Wuh?). Wakey-Wakey already makes me want to shove a plastic straw in my eye, so...well, we don't need me walking around with a straw in my eye, so I shall stop thinking about the spelling of bac...ba...whatever.

We begin our tale on a warm summer morning, the musical sound of birds trickling through my open window as the sun poured its energizing rays upon my tousled bed. The day is warm, the air is fresh, and green grass overtakes the lawn with a burst of color that cheers the soul. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Well...it was really this morning, which was overcast and grey, so the opening sentences are really just a bunch of crap. Would have been nice if it was a dream, but I didn't even dream last night, as far as I'm aware, and if you read on I'll tell you exactly why.

So last night was a relatively slow night at work, and when I was finally released from the drudgery of shoemaking (Ha. Thought I was going to give it away, didn't you? I know I'm not fooling anyone who knows me- you all know where I really work,), I went to Walmart with a friend to pick up a few odds and ends. At that point I was drinking a nice flavored milk, and thinking 'Huh. I'm not really tired' (and no, I hadn't been drinking my usual eight hundred cups of coffee). This continued for some time, and upon reaching home I was able to use that surplus of energy to wash every dirty dish, sweep the kitchen AND living room, and put away said dishes after drying.

Somewhere in there I took two Advil PM.

Now, I can just hear you (especially you, Meredith- you know how it goes when I take sleep aids) saying how that probably wasn't a good idea. TWO of them? That's like letting TWO buses hit you and not getting the number on EITHER license plate! Well, a week ago I tried taking one, and the effectiveness level was zilch, so this time I thought two might be in order. What can go wrong, right? Nothing!

Nothing did go wrong, to be fair. I woke up two hours before my shift, and was dressed and ready to go by eight a.m. Because I was drugged, unfortunately, I had arranged for a ride to work at 6:40, and suffice it to say I missed that chance.

Things worked out, as things do, and I was offered an alternate ride to work. So I made it, and everything was absolutely fine. But this did teach me a valuable lesson: if you're me, it's wise to set more than two alarms when under the influence of any sleeping aid. In fact, setting four (two for each pill) is probably wise. Hell, call a concierge service and ask for a wake up call. Set a smoke bomb under your bed with a timer for maximum effect. Maybe even pay a small child (if one is readily available) to run in and douse you with cold water at wake-up time and in five minute intervals for at least twenty minutes following. Not the most pleasant snooze, but if you consider that waking up early isn't the most pleasant thing to experience, this really makes sense.

"I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?" - Ernest Hemingway

SWF seeks SWM who isn't a KPC.

    Thankfully no one has to worry about a killer psycho clown (KPC) answering their personal ad these days, but with the wide range of crazies, murderers, serial killers and sadists out there- one can never be too careful. And when you manage to not attract any of the above, you're left with several categories, many of which are possibly just as undesirable.

  Case in point: my online dating adventure. Now, my view of online dating is probably just terrible, because I feel like a person shouldn't be corralled into paying copious amounts of money to find someone to love. I mean, I'm not exactly loaded, and given the choice between spending fifty dollars a month (true.com), sixty dollars (!) a month (eharmony.com) or having a square three meals a day, I'd choose the meals. Because what good is online dating if I'm an emaciated corpse? Really. Granted, there are a few free options on all of those sites, but by 'free' they mean "We'll let you see that someone liked your profile, and we'll let you see other people, but we're holding your potential soulmate hostage until you shell out sixty dollars in non-sequentially marked bills."

   So I went with the suggestion of OkCupid.com. Part of me balks at even bothering, because I fall victim to what I feel is the same emotion a lot of people get when they have to take avenues other people don't: embarrassment. I'm embarrassed that I have to go online to look for someone, because I lack the personality, charisma, and/or desire to dress like a hooker in order to attract a person who may want to date me. I also don't go out much, because when I do it's the women/men I list above who seem to draw all of the attention, and I feel like an unattractive fish struggling up the stream while the rest of the salmon just ease their way through. Now, that part of me that said 'What the hell, why not?' went and filled out the profile with as much blatant honesty as I could muster (because you might as well just tell them straight out that you enjoy walking on hot coals as a hobby, else they may be disturbed when you suggest that on the second date).

    E-mails came! Surprisingly, to my poor battered self-esteem, and with actual words written by the individuals who also embarked upon this adventure. Several were rather attractive, and seemed undeterred by my admission that I not only liked Star Trek, but country music (I hear you. Gasp. What?). One even said that he thought I sounded pretty laid back (My profile did indeed say I could be, while I was sure to admit that I occasionally may be high strung. Again, I know what you're saying. Really? Could it be?), and he wanted to know more about me. The nice part about that was his lack of inquiry as to my phone number/e-mail/anything else that might sound as if he was trying to move along quickly.

   There was one, however, that really creeped me out, and was exactly why I avoid this process. I get that online dating requires photos, so I pulled out two from earlier months, each with a different hairstyle. My name isn't listed, nor is my place of employment, as neither really is the best idea when advertising ones singledom to a bunch of strangers. So the photos went up, the pertinent info went up, and before I knew it I was alerted that 'thismanwhowearsahat' (name changed so that we can protect the identity of this creep) gave me four out of five stars and was interested in talking. His picture was available, so I looked...only to find that he's not only a regular patron of the place I currently work, but that I already had formed the opinion that he was kind of unsettling. His profile also told me that he was exactly the opposite of who I would want to date. Man, I wish I'd thought to list in my profile that I had no interest in seeing someone who was 'married, but still looking'. Seriously, what sensible person wouldn't think of including that in their 'desirables' list? Huh.

   Now, I knew that this guy was married before I went on Okcupid, as he occasionally comes through with not only his kids, but his wife. And his disconcerting stare was....well, exactly that. So all I can do now is continue to provide the services I'm paid to do at work (dirty minds, out of the gutter please. The showers are that way), while avoiding him whenever possible. Ugh.

“You picked a lemon, throw it away lemonade is overrated. Freaks should remain at the circus, not in your apartment. You already have one asshole. You don’t need another. Make a space in your life for the glorious things you deserve. Have faith.” 
― Greg Behrendt, He's Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys

Hey, Everyone! I'm SO NOT PREGNANT and NEVER WILL BE.

   The concept of birthing children is one that I can only hope will forever remain entirely foreign to me. I have several friends who recently had children, one of whom experienced the typical full out 'squeeze a really fat meatball sandwich ( and I'm thinking one of those ginormous ones that you only see on tv commercials) down a canal that isn't even as big as a Pringles can'.  Seriously, in the first X-Files movie, "Fight the Future", when all of the bodies are frozen on the spaceship and the aliens are all gushing around in their transparent stomachs? Um. I think I've seen that movie too often, because all I can think of when I see a pregnant belly is huge purple veins creeping their way up until they encompass your face and a squawking, screeching alien with an elongated face bursts out of your vagina with superhuman strength.

    So we've established that I don't want children- and this is a fact well known and vetted by every single person I know. I could be a great mom, I'm sure, with my need to take care of people and deep desire to be a good person. I'd never let the kid starve, never forget to buy them clothes, and probably allow them to start their education of science early by watching countless reruns of the original Star Trek ("No, honey, we don't have biobeds or transporters yet, but if you want to invent them for Mommy, I'd be happy to milk the benefits of your hard work and transport myself to Maui every time you took a nap/went to school/once you were able to be left alone at home.").

   But my views on children as an entity? Well. I love them (you guys, you know that), but as a single person I like to think I have a view that my friends who are parents don't, and I can dredge up these entertaining observations (all entirely satirical, I swear. I could go to Walmart and observe enough there, so I would never use my friends as fodder). But dear god, depending entirely on the direction their parents take them...well, some grow up to be like so many of the men I've dated, and trust me when I say that someone really, really needs to go back in time with a therapist and fix that all now.

   I also realize that I was a child, once upon a time. I know I didn't just pop into existence magically, nor did I come from a stork, a bubble, or a flower pot (Seriously, Anne Geddes? Flowers?). I probably put my mother through a pretty grotesque torture, but I don't feel in any way guilty about that as she had my sister five years before that and she knew pretty damn well what she was getting into with the second one (that being me, of course). So I appreciate that the process is pretty selfless, and gosh, fucking painful (as far as I'm told), so any child should be incredibly grateful to exist after that.  If not, there should be some sort of pill that a person takes to simulate the pain of labor (including the squeezing of the fifty-pound inmate down a narrow escape tunnel) so that anyone who isn't gets to see why they bloody well should be.

     I spent the afternoon with a lovely friend of mine and her little baby, Soylent Green (name was changed to protect the identity of the cute little devil). It was, as always, incredibly enjoyable, because we did things that people my age (I'd say 'our age' but she's younger than I) do, like drinking coffee and clipping coupons. Grocery shopping with her is like an adventure since we use coupons, and I'm always very happy to tag along to stock my cupboards with copious amounts of meat.

    Baby Soylent (Yes, he IS made out of people!) was pretty quiet the entire time, which is fantastic. My friend Shirl (I'm just grabbing the names out of the movie Soylent Green, folks. Watch it.) was able to feed him on the go, pacify him with the shiny new Nuk, and continue to find wonderful bargains at every place we went to. Not every child is like that, so I feel that she (and I by association, as I'm pretty much attached to her hip most days) is very lucky. It's pretty awesome, as her other child is two, and while adorable, can reach decibles that even Ozzy Osborne never could. On those occasions (and Shirl, I love you. You know I love you and little Olga dearly) I feel that surge of gratitude that not only did I not have to squeeze anything out of any canal anywhere, but I also don't have to live day after day wondering when my child will at last scream loud enough to break the sound barrier and bring down a plane passing overhead.

      And as much as I talk, we know my offspring would probably become politicians (*rimshot*), so there's that favor I'm possibly doing for the world. How's that, world?

    They say men can never experience the pain of childbirth. They can...if you hit them in the goolies with a cricketbat for fourteen hours. 
                                                            ~ Jo Brand

Drive Thru my parlor, said no spider ever.

     I'd like to start off by saying that I work for a living. I say this only because I'm sure someone out there is thinking 'this person has an awful lot to say rather frequently for someone who has a job. What can they possibly do?' Well, I do work, and while I won't say what it is I do, I can assure you that it's a fairly normal job. That involves a drive thru window, which could put it in any number of businesses, and you may eventually narrow it down if you don't already know- but I'm not going to give you any obvious hints.

    The drive thru window was first pioneered in the U.S. in the 1930's (see wikipedia.com under drive-thru), meant to provide customers with a way to avoid leaving their vehicles (or dismounting their bicycles, or leaving their horse-drawn carriages) in order to procure food and beverage. While wikipedia provided a lovely page of information educating me as to the creation and history of the drive thru service, wikihow was the place I discovered the best source of drive-thru etiquette (http://www.wikihow.com/Practice-Drive-Thru-Etiquette). Pay close attention to number 9. This is the one item that possibly infuriates me the most (although the others on the list are ALL VERY VALID and should be followed as best as possible), and is the experience that most soured my morning today.

    But that's not what this blog is for. Thou shalt not complain bitterly about inconsiderate dopes who shall grace thy drive thru. Thou shalt instead wish them a very unpleasant experience where their beverage/fries/cup of hot lava splashes their lap and requires them to spend their day in stained and/or moist pants for their miserable behavior. Karma is a bitch, folks, and Karma is possibly the hard working fast-food minion who handed you that beverage. Learn some manners.

   The drive thru is a lovely convenience. Don't get me wrong- I do love them. I can spend an entire day in my car and never have to get out other than to pee, and if I could pee in the car I probably would (no, I really wouldn't), but darn it I have to instead stop at the shady rest area on the highway and hope I'm not mugged for the five dollars in my Hello Kitty wallet and the really fun chapstick holder I got in my Christmas stocking. So I do appreciate the value and ease that a drive thru presents to me.

   I just don't understand how people don't understand the actual point of it. It's somewhat like an express line at the grocery store. Ten/fourteen/fifteen items or less (although I honestly wonder where they plucked a number like fourteen from. Was there some study showing that ten out of fifteen people see the number fourteen as lucky and will be more apt to check out there?), and I'm cruising out of the store while Dennis the Menace reigns supreme two aisles over and his hapless parent wrangles him through the normal checkout with eight two liters of soda, assorted canned goods, and several bulk boxes of cereal. So it stands to reason that you would utilize the drive thru if you wanted to go quickly, and be on your merry way listening to NPR while you enjoy a fresh donut.
But to order six sandwiches and six drinks and six cups of tap water is to tell the person serving you that all you really are is lazy because you can't get out of your car to go inside and place this obnoxious order, preferring instead to hold up a line of other people who may only want a donut and/or coffee and/or a lovely blueberry muffin.

  While it's normal these days to encounter a majority of people to whom consideration is a foreign concept, the lack of such is still incredibly frustrating and just a little bit sad. Convenience is supposed to be for everyone, but so often is experienced by very few due to the incredible rudeness of others.

   "I took a ladies order one time I'll never forget this I go "Mam, that'll be three seventy five, drive around". And there's like this long pause and she goes... "Where do I go?". Where do you go? You follow the one fucking road you're on to me! Where do you... OK "Mam, you're gonna go to the Texaco station and take a right, go five an a half miles south east and you're gonna see a guy in a yellow Poncho, his name is Hank he'll take you to the Whopper later... That's where you go!" And you've got ten minutes to get there or we take your food!" 
 -Dane Cook

Music: Those Embarrassing Choices That You Still Love

Everyone has /that/ song. You know- that one song that you absolutely love more than anything, that you'll sing at the top of your lungs while driving at excessive speeds down the highway, praying that you won't be caught by the ONLY cop who has a deep hatred for Taylor Swift. Or Lionel Ritchie. Or Bon Jovi.

My point is: everyone has a song they just fucking love, or a certain type of music they love but will only admit to under extreme duress. Here, for your amusement (or shame, or horror) are some of MY favorite songs that I scream at the top of my lungs (while safely driving the speed limit at ALL times, mom. Honest.).

-"Everything Has Changed"- Taylor Swift
("All I know is pouring rain..and everything has changed. All I know is a newfound grace, all my days I'll know your face...").
Really, these aren't super cheesy lyrics, and they're sweet. However the mention of Taylor Swift tends to send people into fits of extreme judgement, so I tend to avoid telling anyone but my friends and family that I enjoy it. Now the cat is out of the bag, because as a good friend says, "Why be ashamed of what you listen to of you like it?"

Next Up: "Goodbye", by Miley Cyrus herself. Maybe it's a nostalgic touch because her dad had music that was popular in my childhood (and he isn't ugly), but I first stumbled across the song when perusing fan videos on YouTube (some are amazingly well done), and it went so well with the images that I fell hard for it. But I'm 30 years old, and that coupled with the admission of Miley Cyrus on my iPod seems to garner a fair amount of eye rolling.

"The Heart Won't Lie"- Reba McEntire. This song is old (old is a relative term, sure, but this was, if I recall, in the currier hair Reba days. Reba pretty much has a hair timeline on her album covers).

"Land of a Million Drums"- Outkast. Yes, my friends, Outkast. This song was used when I was in dance class, a million years ago, and was the most FUN MUSIC ever. Also featured in the live action Scooby Doo movie. Seriously the most fun to drive to, and not really something I'm ashamed of, but something that still manages to get one or two giggles, because to most people now it's retro.

I have what I like to think of as a diverse taste in music, with a little bit of everything (you can find opera, classical, and electronic) on my iPod. My tactic is usually to utilize iTunes Genius setting frequently, because it has a fair idea of what I can and cannot tolerate.

All right- off to work! Thankfully, the playlist we have right now actually contains things like "Fast Cars" by Tracy Chapman, and makes me happy.

"One good thing about music. When it hits you, you feel no pain." -Bob Marley

Microwave Madness: What should and Should Not Be Microwaved

I'm relying on my memories of 20+ years ago, so bear with me (as opposed to 'bare' with me, which would imply I wish to cavort naked with others. I do not. Unless they're David Tennant.).

Once upon a time a dear friend of mine was tasked with the science experiment of microwaving a potato chip. This was done in the teachers lounge of my elementary school, and I believe there was either a small explosion or fire. Either way, we determined that microwaving potato chips was not to be done.

Today I microwaved pizza rolls. This act was not well received by some, and they were unceremoniously yanked from my grasp to be taken to parts unknown. I am
currently in negotiations for the return of my pizza rolls, and we shall see if they are returned forthwith (update: they are in the same room with me and finally back in my grasp, although a few are missing).

Pizza rolls, as the moral goes, should not be microwaved.

Popcorn, as some may know, can be microwaved. I'm not talking the pop secret crap, but good old kernels. In paper bags. With nothing added. Tis yummy, and will not blow up unless you overfill the bag. So don't do that. Really. Don't.

And microwaving tinfoil. We all know how that goes. Don't do it.

Brownies are very good microwaved.

Microwaving your shoes to dry them is not a good idea (I never have, but I was woken up one night by drunken men asking my roommate for a hair dryer to dry their clothes, so I can only imagine someone has tried this once).

There is a very lovely Pampered Chef chip maker that utilizes the microwave, avoiding use of grease and whatnot. It's very healthy, and I would like one.

And in closing, I leave you with this wisdom:

"He looks about as happy as a penguin in a microwave."- Sid Waddell

What To Expect When I'm Not Sleeping

So. Sleep. Some people do it, some people /try/ to do it, and some people do a lot of it. I remember an episode of The X-Files where there were some soldiers who had surgery which prevented them from sleeping. As a result they were crazy, and chain smokers, and one of them went on a killing spree. This is not, however, my point. So don't worry: I'm not going on a killing spree when I go through bouts of insomnia.

I do, however, busy myself in a wide variety of ways, none of which involve cutting lines or smoking copious amounts of grass; although many proponents of medical marijuana say that it can help wit quite a few things that may ail you. And I wholeheartedly support doing whatever a person needs to do to cure what ails them...but that's a discussion for another day (unless hitting someone over the head with a blunt object ails stupidity. That's easily discussed as 'go right ahead and do it).

Anyway. So I couldn't sleep Monday night. We're talking full out 'I'm not yawning or feeling remotely tired'. I went to lay in bed around midnight, finally, and the kitten settled in beside me. This idyllic setting did nothing to help me tire, and I eventually plugged in my iPhone to watch only my favorite part in every movie contained on the hard drive.

We start with: "Iron Man", and the dance between Tony and Pepper (Gwyneth Paltrow- love, love, love). Don't judge- I fucking love that dress, and that hair. And the dialogue ("Oh, no...no. I always forget to wear deodorant and dance with my boss in front of everyone that I work with in a dress with no back."). She's snarky, and despite the nerves more than ready to hit back as Tony claims to be perfectly capable of making it a week without her services. And the near kiss on the rooftop hits my poor, sappy single-person heart right where it's soft. Bam, said the writers.

Next up? The semi-ending scene to the 'Castle' season 4 finale, "Always". I won't go too into detail on this, to respect those who may be behind...but the score that plays in that scene, titled "I Just Want You" is gorgeous, as are the variations used in season five. Honestly, look it up on YouTube. I melt, and I think it's in my list of favorite scores (music from"Kate and Leopold" is also on that list).

Neeeeext up: "The Goodbye Girl". Not the Richard Dreyfuss one, admittedly, but Patricia Heaton and Jeff Bridges. The rooftop, as Elliot requests Paula meet him there for dinner ("I said it was formal, kid."). This scene isn't terribly long, but inevitably leaves me warm and fuzzy with a touch of wishful thinking that someone will someday be that sweet and spontaneous with me but not turn around months later and tell me I'm delusional and imply that I'm psycho.

But I digress. We also get a lovely song of the same title, "The Goodbye Girl" by Hootie and the Blowfish. This also makes me happy and warm while stabbing at my heart with little ice picks.

There were more, of course. "Iron Man 2" ("You've taken such good care of me.."), and "The Avengers" ("I thought we were having a moment." "I was having twelve percent of a moment."). I don't care how much I've seen it, when Pepper is on the plane and the phone... Well. Again, I'm a hopeless romantic, and "Sarah, Plain and Tall" makes me stupid with sappiness, so you can imagine how I can find even a spark of it in a SUPERHERO ACTION FILM. A building explodes, and I'm all "Oh my god! Poor Pepper must be a wreck about Tony being in the thick of it."

But I also enjoy the exploding buildings. Amazing how romance and destruction goes hand in hand, isn't it?

Now I'm going to sleep. But only because I took drugs.

"Will she bake for you a pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?"

Man- way back in the time of "Sarah, Plain and Tall", you couldn't really shower every day. I think, honestly, I'd die. Watching the movie now, I think about that as Sarah comes out in the morning and tells Jacob that she'll get up earlier to make the coffee- and is essentially dressed in five minutes.

All I could think was, "Well, she couldn't shower. And that made me think of how they couldn't bathe every day, but has bath nights once a week; filling a great big tub with hot water and dumping it before refilling it again for the next person. No indoor plumbing. Bleh.

Man. Back then. I love the songs ("Will she bake for you a pie, she's the apple of my eye. She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother."), and the cat carrier Sarah brings Seal in when she comes to Kansas from Maine.

And the fact that back then it wasn't so freaky to have a woman answer an ad to be your potential wife. The prairie-days Craigslist, where you place an ad for a wife and wind up with someone who could conceivably murder all of you in your sleep (Come on. Glenn Close played Cruella DeVille. We all know what she's capable of).

And that brings me to Jacob. Christopher Walken. Played the Headless Horseman in "Sleepy Hollow". At the end of "Sarah, Plain and Tall" he kisses Sarah, and I'm always fairly sure he's going to eat her face with teeth that will suddenly erupt out of nowhere.

But I suppose that the Headless Horeseman couldn't shower either, being dead and all- so they had that similarity. Jacob COULD be a killer.

There we go. Lack of bathing is probably what makes you a killer on the prairie. So bathe. Daily.

Out On The Edge

"You could come and save me and try to chase the crazy right out of my head..."-Jason Walker, 'Echo'.

I know I'm not crazy. I mean, not in the clinical sense- more eccentric, I think, than anything.

But the point of this is not that I think crazy, or that anyone is crazy, or about crazy at all. It's that I think this song in particular speaks volumes to me in the sense that it seems to perfectly describe how I feel on a daily basis.

I'm depressed. It's a big deal, although to most people I think it's seen as a cop out of some kind. I was once told to simply 'get over it' when I feel sad, and the only thing I could do was stare at the person saying it.

In my opinion, people treat depression like nothing at all, because it isn't a visible disease. If I were sad and my skin were falling off as a direct result, people would see it a bit differently. But instead they see it only as a sadness, like someone ran over your childhood pet, and given the proper amount of time (whatever that is), you'll just be fine.

No. I will never 'be fine' without hours of therapy or bottles of drugs, all of which can only be acquired for as long as I can pay for them. It is fortunate, of course, as so many things cannot be helped even with drugs and therapy, no matter how many hours are put into it.

There are some days I think I'll never be okay. When I break up with someone I thought I really loved after I swore I never could again, or when I realize how very much my moods are likely the reason I feel so left out all the time. This depression ruins everything, and as I've been on the receiving end of that misery I understand how much it can ruin things.

It creates this void of hopelessness, where you think you're too fat and too sad and too boring for anyone to love. Where someone tearing apart the shreds of your character is enough to have you questioning every single moment that follows. This void can eat you alive, and so many days I feel like I'm being slowly devoured. Like today, and even as I'm sleeping on a friends couch and knowing there's one person nearby who understands, I'm acutely aware that there are so many around me who don't and maybe never will.

Again, I'll go back to Jason Walker, because I think he said it best to describe how I feel.

"I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name like a fool at the top of my lungs. Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm all right, but it's never enough.."

Regular: A Silly Word for the Coffee Shop

The word 'regular' is perhaps the most ridiculous word, aside from 'normal', which essentially means the same thing. It isn't a word that should be used lightly, but if I had a nickel for every time I heard that word in day I'd likely be rich enough to buy a car.

Examples: "Can I have a regular coffee?"

"I'm sorry, sir.  By regular, are you referring to size or flavor? And what, pray tell, do you consider 'regular'? Are you from a place where black coffee is considered 'regular'? Or did you grow up in a family where it was 'regular' to put cream in your coffee? Maybe 'regular' is to have a cup of coffee that was brewed from a stale can of Folgers. Point is, you really have to be a bit more specific if you hope to get exactly what it is you're looking for without my asking a series of questions to narrow it down."

"Regular size."

"Again, sir, I'm sorry. But are you really so lazy that you can't LOOK AT THE MENU to find the size options? Or just...oh, guess. Take a stab, and say 'medium'. If you look in the dictionary I can guarantee you that the definition of 'regular' is NOT medium, although you seem to think as much. And if the coffee shop vernacular is too outrageous a concept to grasp, just use the same terminology you'd use in pretty much EVERY place you go. Repeat after me: 'I'd like a medium coffee. Black.'. Because 'black' in coffee language means 'nothing in it', and I can promise you that we'll understand that more than we'll understand 'regular' coffee.

I realize this entire post essentially became a great big bitch-fest toward those who patronize coffee shops, but honestly- how could it not? This is the setting in which I experience the most use of the word 'regular', and the least use of the resources available (specifically menus). Patrons more often than not will walk up to the counter and order a 'regular' coffee, or ask, 'do you have just a regular size coffee'?

I have half a mind to open a coffee shop of my own some day and just have a 'regular' size. Just one size, and list it as 'regular', to see how many people actually use the word. Chances are they'll come up with another term, avoiding the menu entirely to step up and order 'An average' or 'Something between a small and a large'.

People are irrational in most situations, but sometimes I wonder just what makes them so much more so in the retail world. That, of course, is a study for another day.