So I started a new blog, but I want to keep this one going...
The angle of this blog is "the lighter side" and at this time in my life, I keep forgetting a lighter side exists... so I am bringing it back so I don't go absolutely insane (if I am not already there).
My thoughts on the lighter side of life today:
1. Wine is great. I am glad it was invented. I think I am going to study up on wines and become somewhat of an "expert." I will drink a bottle of wine (ehem, I mean at least a glass) each day and learn about it.
2. If my career totally fails, I am going to start my own version of "Taxi Cab Confessions." I could totally provoke people to spill their guts and sign a waiver.
3. 2009 is my year. I will make it my year. 2008 was an accident and I learned 2931809234890134 lessons... maybe I will blog about them.
4. It is exhausting trying to be someone you aren't, so just be you.
5. I am going to give up my french fry addiction; it is spiraling out of control.
6. Next year I am running a full marathon--26 miles for 26 years of living.
Thank you for reading... I will blog again in the near future :)
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Thanks to Jeff...
So we had a good idea...
Anyone who knows me well enough, knows that everything in my life is random. Nothing ever works out the way I intend and you never know where I will be or what I will be doing. My lack of control, that drives me completely insane, is exactly what keeps me on my toes. I want everything to be planned, organized and figured out... but it never is so that is where this idea came from...
The idea is a reality show. Seriously, I mean I am young, poor and completely random so why wouldn't people want to follow my daily antics that lead me to unfortunate messes and predicaments? I am not rich living off my parents wealth, but struggling like a normal person facing the tribulations of an economy in flux and feeling the effects as if I am on the front line.
On any given day I can be doing anything from hanging out, to meeting ridiculous people to being hit on by bums on the street (which by the way can be an uplifting experience contrary to popular belief).
I can be found spending absurd amounts of money on things I can't afford to hustling to make some cash to pay my bills. I talk to just about everyone and I go on interviews as if they are my actual job (of which is something I do not have right now). Sometimes things happen and I seriously look around wishing someone was there to witness the unbelievable occurrences.
For instance, imagine a small incident where I repeatedly drove a shopping cart into a pole because "I didn't see it" and "I thought it was a ditch in the sidewalk." Yup, that is a true story.
Or the time I decided my trunk was impossible to open because the keyless entry button (which I formally knew as the "key to the century" because I misunderstood the name) didn't work and neither did the button from inside the car. I forgot the actual key in the hole would also do the trick... then once the trunk was open, it closed on my head because the hydraulic malfunctioned (and this was just one of a series of ten events that were unfortunate and happened before 10 a.m.).
Only me.
Where is my camera crew?
Anyone who knows me well enough, knows that everything in my life is random. Nothing ever works out the way I intend and you never know where I will be or what I will be doing. My lack of control, that drives me completely insane, is exactly what keeps me on my toes. I want everything to be planned, organized and figured out... but it never is so that is where this idea came from...
The idea is a reality show. Seriously, I mean I am young, poor and completely random so why wouldn't people want to follow my daily antics that lead me to unfortunate messes and predicaments? I am not rich living off my parents wealth, but struggling like a normal person facing the tribulations of an economy in flux and feeling the effects as if I am on the front line.
On any given day I can be doing anything from hanging out, to meeting ridiculous people to being hit on by bums on the street (which by the way can be an uplifting experience contrary to popular belief).
I can be found spending absurd amounts of money on things I can't afford to hustling to make some cash to pay my bills. I talk to just about everyone and I go on interviews as if they are my actual job (of which is something I do not have right now). Sometimes things happen and I seriously look around wishing someone was there to witness the unbelievable occurrences.
For instance, imagine a small incident where I repeatedly drove a shopping cart into a pole because "I didn't see it" and "I thought it was a ditch in the sidewalk." Yup, that is a true story.
Or the time I decided my trunk was impossible to open because the keyless entry button (which I formally knew as the "key to the century" because I misunderstood the name) didn't work and neither did the button from inside the car. I forgot the actual key in the hole would also do the trick... then once the trunk was open, it closed on my head because the hydraulic malfunctioned (and this was just one of a series of ten events that were unfortunate and happened before 10 a.m.).
Only me.
Where is my camera crew?
Thursday, May 22, 2008
NEW post... let's see if I can keep this up...
To begin, my apologies for not blogging before. I momentarily stopped due to some compromising circumstances forcing me to channel my energy into other, not-so-fun activities. No fear, here I am! I have a bunch of back posts that I never actually posted so I will try to get them up here soon... stick with me, much like the economy, I am in a state of flux...
How interesting is the phrase “I am sorry, but I?”
Think about it… It is an apology, followed by an excuse that is relevant to the apologizer. Let’s use a real-life example. “I am sorry I didn’t call, but I was out late.” Or “I am sorry I didn’t come over, but I forgot.” How many times can you hear “I am sorry, but I…” before you stop to wonder how selfish the phrase might be…
If every time you hear a SBI comment from a significant other it is a selfish excuse, then how many times can you put up with it before you realize that person has no regard for you or who you are…
It is funny how when someone gives a SBI we are quick to defend him/her due to our personal interests. When they use the phrase “but I” we often overlook the “I,” go straight to the excuse, rationalize then spin it so it sounds sensible to those whom with we discuss the situation. The simple word “I” put in the middle of the sentence changes the entire meaning to express an action of selfishness and not of sincere concern or apologetic nuances.
Ok, in some cases it is understandable. “I am sorry I forgot your birthday, but I fell down and experienced amnesia and frankly, have no idea who you are so how could I know your birthday?” is a medical excuse that cannot be frowned upon. Or maybe “I am sorry I slammed your car into the wall, but a bee stung my eye causing instant swelling and I damn near went blind instantly and was too stunned to take my foot off the gas and hit the break.” Clearly something uncontrollable and therefore, should be barred from punishment.
So you see, SBI is about 95% selfish and 5% other. That means for every 100 excuses, only 5 are legitimate (and you can reduce the fraction to figure out other patterns, but I only do simple math) and those are terrible statistics. Next time you try to defend a “Sorry, but I..,” be sure the clause after the “I” is sensible…and DO NOT overlook the “I.”
How interesting is the phrase “I am sorry, but I?”
Think about it… It is an apology, followed by an excuse that is relevant to the apologizer. Let’s use a real-life example. “I am sorry I didn’t call, but I was out late.” Or “I am sorry I didn’t come over, but I forgot.” How many times can you hear “I am sorry, but I…” before you stop to wonder how selfish the phrase might be…
If every time you hear a SBI comment from a significant other it is a selfish excuse, then how many times can you put up with it before you realize that person has no regard for you or who you are…
It is funny how when someone gives a SBI we are quick to defend him/her due to our personal interests. When they use the phrase “but I” we often overlook the “I,” go straight to the excuse, rationalize then spin it so it sounds sensible to those whom with we discuss the situation. The simple word “I” put in the middle of the sentence changes the entire meaning to express an action of selfishness and not of sincere concern or apologetic nuances.
Ok, in some cases it is understandable. “I am sorry I forgot your birthday, but I fell down and experienced amnesia and frankly, have no idea who you are so how could I know your birthday?” is a medical excuse that cannot be frowned upon. Or maybe “I am sorry I slammed your car into the wall, but a bee stung my eye causing instant swelling and I damn near went blind instantly and was too stunned to take my foot off the gas and hit the break.” Clearly something uncontrollable and therefore, should be barred from punishment.
So you see, SBI is about 95% selfish and 5% other. That means for every 100 excuses, only 5 are legitimate (and you can reduce the fraction to figure out other patterns, but I only do simple math) and those are terrible statistics. Next time you try to defend a “Sorry, but I..,” be sure the clause after the “I” is sensible…and DO NOT overlook the “I.”
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Apology.
For my loyal readers I would like to apologize for the following:
1. The four spelling errors I detected
2. The redundancy of particular phrases
3. The lack of recent posts
I will improve on these issues in the near future.
Thanks for reading :)
1. The four spelling errors I detected
2. The redundancy of particular phrases
3. The lack of recent posts
I will improve on these issues in the near future.
Thanks for reading :)
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
All stories need titles.
After encountering what I like to call "the boring story" one too many times, a long night of drinking and listening to too much bullshit fostered the creation of the idea of using titles during conversations.
What do I mean? Well, think about it. Think about a time when someone told you the most boring story ever and at the end you want to ask if they could return the 5 to 15 minutes of your life they wasted telling you something ridiculous. For instance, after hearing a story about the sauce in a lasagna dinner for about 3 minutes when the simple question of "how is the lasagna?" occurred, I thought that a simple "yes" would have sufficed and then I could have use that extra two minutes and 58 seconds of my life to do something more productive such as eat another piece of bread or sit in silence enjoying the scenery. I felt dumber after hearing the answer to the lasagna question and disappointed that I even wasted my time listening. In this case Mr. "I con you into buying crabcakes instead of the cheaper tomato pizza" Waiter could have stated that the title of his story was, "Overly elongated response to simple question—a short novel on why I like the lasagna," and I would have got my answer, passed on the storytelling and continued my life as a smarter person.
Using titles for stories allows the listener to actually listen when an appropriate story is being told. From a listening standpoint, sometimes I would rather poke my ears with over-sized drumsticks and listen to elevator music than hear another word of the boring story that has no point and will only result in the loss of brain cells by the time the story commences. Seriously, give me a title and I will give you an answer. I will try to use my passes sparingly and hopefully not have to do so more than three times a conversation. If you go over the three story pass limit you have to a) find a new friend, b) become more interesting, or c) make up something funny in an effort to both entertain me and save our friendship. I do not think this is too much to ask.
For those of you who do not get this or do not understand where I am coming from, you are probably the ones who tell the boring stories and drive me insane. If you find yourself in the position that you are telling a story and you begin to realize no one is listening or everyone seems uninterested, please stop the story and apologize. Something such as “you guys aren’t even listening to me,” or “I don’t know where I was going with this,” are the perfect bail-out phrases that will make you the savior of the day (or at least for those few minutes). Do not just keep storytelling because you want to get to an eventual point (fast forward and get to it then) or feel bad stopping (trust me, we will be okay). Also, if you start to become bored with your own story, please note that everyone else feels the same times 20.
Moral of the story: Title your stories, not just for your sake, but for the sake of those listening…or not listening.
What do I mean? Well, think about it. Think about a time when someone told you the most boring story ever and at the end you want to ask if they could return the 5 to 15 minutes of your life they wasted telling you something ridiculous. For instance, after hearing a story about the sauce in a lasagna dinner for about 3 minutes when the simple question of "how is the lasagna?" occurred, I thought that a simple "yes" would have sufficed and then I could have use that extra two minutes and 58 seconds of my life to do something more productive such as eat another piece of bread or sit in silence enjoying the scenery. I felt dumber after hearing the answer to the lasagna question and disappointed that I even wasted my time listening. In this case Mr. "I con you into buying crabcakes instead of the cheaper tomato pizza" Waiter could have stated that the title of his story was, "Overly elongated response to simple question—a short novel on why I like the lasagna," and I would have got my answer, passed on the storytelling and continued my life as a smarter person.
Using titles for stories allows the listener to actually listen when an appropriate story is being told. From a listening standpoint, sometimes I would rather poke my ears with over-sized drumsticks and listen to elevator music than hear another word of the boring story that has no point and will only result in the loss of brain cells by the time the story commences. Seriously, give me a title and I will give you an answer. I will try to use my passes sparingly and hopefully not have to do so more than three times a conversation. If you go over the three story pass limit you have to a) find a new friend, b) become more interesting, or c) make up something funny in an effort to both entertain me and save our friendship. I do not think this is too much to ask.
For those of you who do not get this or do not understand where I am coming from, you are probably the ones who tell the boring stories and drive me insane. If you find yourself in the position that you are telling a story and you begin to realize no one is listening or everyone seems uninterested, please stop the story and apologize. Something such as “you guys aren’t even listening to me,” or “I don’t know where I was going with this,” are the perfect bail-out phrases that will make you the savior of the day (or at least for those few minutes). Do not just keep storytelling because you want to get to an eventual point (fast forward and get to it then) or feel bad stopping (trust me, we will be okay). Also, if you start to become bored with your own story, please note that everyone else feels the same times 20.
Moral of the story: Title your stories, not just for your sake, but for the sake of those listening…or not listening.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Four Types of People Everyone Knows.
There are few things that totally make me tick. Overall, I am a happy person who could not care less what others think and could not care even less what they think of me if their goal is to change me or my behaviors (although I must admit that I am somewhat intrigued of other’s first impressions and molded perceptions as to who they think I am, but that is besides the point).
Anyway, few things totally get under my skin, but if you are one of my close friends you can probably identify at least one of them and had the pleasure (or displeasure) of watching me react to one of those catalysts.
Case in point, some things make me tick and I outwardly lose it while others only make me lose it internally and I am able to maintain my composure—to a point. Most often I weigh my options as to which reaction will make most sense and keep me out of trouble (and I have to factor in my influences—alcohol, my company, environment, etc.).
In the past few weeks, I experienced four things I would like to mention.
The “catalyst,” my gut reaction and my actual reaction are included—in no particular order.
1. The woman on the train who sits on the end.
No matter how many elderly, handicapped, stupid, tired or drunk people make their way to the train in search of the coveted place to rest their booty, this woman totally sticks to her twisted morals of bring the world’s most inconsiderate person by refusing to move and let someone share her piece of real estate. I am not going to lie and say I love sharing my seat. I mean I enjoy the extra room of riding solo and do not love sitting next to the smelly, heavy-breathing dude, but I have a conscious and a heart and will suck it up and hold my breath for 16 minutes to provide a ride of comfort for my friendly co-riders. Gut reaction: Kick super bitch in the face and tell her she sucks while sitting on her lap obnoxiously burping in her face and rubbing my armpits on her snotty nose. Actual reaction: Look away in disgust. It is too early in the morning for confrontation and frankly, if I have a seat, who cares. The people who want seats should kick her themselves.
2. The biggest baby ever.
This is the person who constantly complains—about everything! The usual complaints include having no money, being cold, sucking at life, and having an unhappy life, no friends and a shitty job. Seriously, I am not listening after the first 29958309450 complaints (mind you, I did listen to the first 29958309450 complaints and offered my advice, but now it is just too much). I have lost my capacity to care/listen to your crap so seriously, just stop talking to me. If you do not like something, then change it! If you smell like shit and hate your boyfriend, shower and dump him and move on. Stop burdening others with your crap because we cannot change it, nor do we care to listen to you tell us how you do not know how to change it. Our time would be better spent solving global warming and confirming life on other planets. Complain to yourself and then realize how ridiculous you sound. Gut reaction: Put my hand over my ears and shout “I am not listening! I am not listening! I do not care!” until they shut the hell up and never talk to me again. Actual reaction: Listen, say “uh-huh, that is too bad” and then change the conversation over to me. I am more interesting anyway and I am probably not complaining, just sharing stories of my adventurous life trying to make you jealous that yours sucks.
3. The offensive comment-maker, who was not intentionally trying to be offensive, but managed to do it anyway.
Apparently this person is more prevalent in my life than anyone else’s. Reason being is that apparently I am an “open” person who makes others feel comfortable enough to say whatever they want—or at least that is what I was told. Comments such as “You look like you have the body of an 18-year-old,” “Your hands are big,” “Sometimes you do sound like a man,” “You legs make me want to go work out. I want mine to look like that (said by a man)” and the best, “Of course he would give you his number, he is ugly.” To those of you who made these comments, I do not hate you. I actually think it is hilarious and makes me laugh—so good for you for being mildly humorous at my expense. Gut reaction: Pause in awe attempting to collect my thoughts, what actually just happened and if I should be offended or not. Actual reaction: Pause in awe attempting to collect my thoughts, what actually just happened and if I should be offended or not.
4. The offensive comment-maker from random dude who thinks he is cool—definitely a comment intended to be offensive.
Okay, here is the situation. It usually involves me drinking with my friends having a good time and minding my own business. The random dude who thinks he is cool (usually by himself or with an unattractive side-kick) decides he should speak aloud without thinking about what he is saying and to whom he is speaking. He is unaware that I have consumed alcoholic beverages, therefore making me extremely honest and lacking inhibitions and sometimes, manners. Comments such as “Thunder thighs!” or “If you had a huge rack you could get into the club. I mean, you have nice little boobs, but if you had a rack…” are spewed in my direction. Gut reaction: Chase him down an alley telling him to say it to my face so I can punch him because “a real man says something like that to a woman’s face (actual quote).” Actual reaction: Chase him down an alley telling him to say it to my face so I can punch him because “a real man says something like that to a woman’s face.” In the second instance, walk away in fear of getting kicked out of Vegas and ruining the rest of my night. Good for me for making one good decision—must have not been that drunk yet.
That is all I have for now, but I am sure more will come as others continually make me think “is this really happening?” or “is (s)he for real?”
Anyway, few things totally get under my skin, but if you are one of my close friends you can probably identify at least one of them and had the pleasure (or displeasure) of watching me react to one of those catalysts.
Case in point, some things make me tick and I outwardly lose it while others only make me lose it internally and I am able to maintain my composure—to a point. Most often I weigh my options as to which reaction will make most sense and keep me out of trouble (and I have to factor in my influences—alcohol, my company, environment, etc.).
In the past few weeks, I experienced four things I would like to mention.
The “catalyst,” my gut reaction and my actual reaction are included—in no particular order.
1. The woman on the train who sits on the end.
No matter how many elderly, handicapped, stupid, tired or drunk people make their way to the train in search of the coveted place to rest their booty, this woman totally sticks to her twisted morals of bring the world’s most inconsiderate person by refusing to move and let someone share her piece of real estate. I am not going to lie and say I love sharing my seat. I mean I enjoy the extra room of riding solo and do not love sitting next to the smelly, heavy-breathing dude, but I have a conscious and a heart and will suck it up and hold my breath for 16 minutes to provide a ride of comfort for my friendly co-riders. Gut reaction: Kick super bitch in the face and tell her she sucks while sitting on her lap obnoxiously burping in her face and rubbing my armpits on her snotty nose. Actual reaction: Look away in disgust. It is too early in the morning for confrontation and frankly, if I have a seat, who cares. The people who want seats should kick her themselves.
2. The biggest baby ever.
This is the person who constantly complains—about everything! The usual complaints include having no money, being cold, sucking at life, and having an unhappy life, no friends and a shitty job. Seriously, I am not listening after the first 29958309450 complaints (mind you, I did listen to the first 29958309450 complaints and offered my advice, but now it is just too much). I have lost my capacity to care/listen to your crap so seriously, just stop talking to me. If you do not like something, then change it! If you smell like shit and hate your boyfriend, shower and dump him and move on. Stop burdening others with your crap because we cannot change it, nor do we care to listen to you tell us how you do not know how to change it. Our time would be better spent solving global warming and confirming life on other planets. Complain to yourself and then realize how ridiculous you sound. Gut reaction: Put my hand over my ears and shout “I am not listening! I am not listening! I do not care!” until they shut the hell up and never talk to me again. Actual reaction: Listen, say “uh-huh, that is too bad” and then change the conversation over to me. I am more interesting anyway and I am probably not complaining, just sharing stories of my adventurous life trying to make you jealous that yours sucks.
3. The offensive comment-maker, who was not intentionally trying to be offensive, but managed to do it anyway.
Apparently this person is more prevalent in my life than anyone else’s. Reason being is that apparently I am an “open” person who makes others feel comfortable enough to say whatever they want—or at least that is what I was told. Comments such as “You look like you have the body of an 18-year-old,” “Your hands are big,” “Sometimes you do sound like a man,” “You legs make me want to go work out. I want mine to look like that (said by a man)” and the best, “Of course he would give you his number, he is ugly.” To those of you who made these comments, I do not hate you. I actually think it is hilarious and makes me laugh—so good for you for being mildly humorous at my expense. Gut reaction: Pause in awe attempting to collect my thoughts, what actually just happened and if I should be offended or not. Actual reaction: Pause in awe attempting to collect my thoughts, what actually just happened and if I should be offended or not.
4. The offensive comment-maker from random dude who thinks he is cool—definitely a comment intended to be offensive.
Okay, here is the situation. It usually involves me drinking with my friends having a good time and minding my own business. The random dude who thinks he is cool (usually by himself or with an unattractive side-kick) decides he should speak aloud without thinking about what he is saying and to whom he is speaking. He is unaware that I have consumed alcoholic beverages, therefore making me extremely honest and lacking inhibitions and sometimes, manners. Comments such as “Thunder thighs!” or “If you had a huge rack you could get into the club. I mean, you have nice little boobs, but if you had a rack…” are spewed in my direction. Gut reaction: Chase him down an alley telling him to say it to my face so I can punch him because “a real man says something like that to a woman’s face (actual quote).” Actual reaction: Chase him down an alley telling him to say it to my face so I can punch him because “a real man says something like that to a woman’s face.” In the second instance, walk away in fear of getting kicked out of Vegas and ruining the rest of my night. Good for me for making one good decision—must have not been that drunk yet.
That is all I have for now, but I am sure more will come as others continually make me think “is this really happening?” or “is (s)he for real?”
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Monday Stories--Warning: Make them interesting.
When you wake up Monday morning, whether you feel refreshed, have a hangover or simply want to roll back over and go to sleep, start thinking of your Monday story. A Monday story is defined as the one super story you want to share with your friends/family/co-workers that defines the tone of your weekend and how much fun you had not concerning yourself with work issues. When prompted by the question, "How was your weekend?" your Monday story should be rehearsed and ready to roll off your tongue as if it just happened. It should be funny, witty and support that fact that you do not waste your weekends doing ridiculously boring things. (Side note: If no one ever asks how your weekend was, you most likely tell bad stories or never have any good ones to share--probably because you actually do ridiculously boring things to fill the mere 55 hours of freedom we are allotted--loser. I, for instance, will avoid asking about your weekend if I know the answer will yield something boring and I will automatically regret the decision to engage in conversation with you. Solution: Be more interesting or learn how to tell a better story.)
I am always ready for the "How was your weekend?" question. If I respond with "fine, thanks," it is probably because I would rather stick pins in my ears and listen to Phil Collins (the solo years) rather than ask you the question in return. I always have an interesting story and am ready to share mainly for entertainment purposes (and so I can laugh at myself one more time). I wake up Monday, usually refresh my memory of the weekend by looking through my camera at the hundreds of pictures I take (mostly to document the events that I would not otherwise remember in my blacked out state) and laugh hysterically. Once arriving at work, I go straight to my office to wait for questions from co-workers. I have responses ready for each person based on the extent in which I wish to engage in conversation. If you are fortunate enough to hear my Monday story, you may find yourself shocked, confused, surprised I am still alive or peeing your pants like the kid in Home Alone with which Kevin refuses to share a bed. Sometimes I might blow you off. It is not always personal if I blow you off with a "fine, thanks." I mean I might be busy, still hungover or just have too many stories to tell and cannot sort through them at the current moment. It is usually a direct result of my Sunday activities, which can include anything from exercising and being productive to drinking all day and becoming a mumbling, staggering, obliterate drunk.
So where am I going with this? I am simply offering advice to those who wake up Monday morning and say "Shit, I have to go to work." From now on, live it up on the weekends and come Monday, be ready to wake up, pop some Advil and think "Oh man, I have a great Monday story!" You only live once.
I am always ready for the "How was your weekend?" question. If I respond with "fine, thanks," it is probably because I would rather stick pins in my ears and listen to Phil Collins (the solo years) rather than ask you the question in return. I always have an interesting story and am ready to share mainly for entertainment purposes (and so I can laugh at myself one more time). I wake up Monday, usually refresh my memory of the weekend by looking through my camera at the hundreds of pictures I take (mostly to document the events that I would not otherwise remember in my blacked out state) and laugh hysterically. Once arriving at work, I go straight to my office to wait for questions from co-workers. I have responses ready for each person based on the extent in which I wish to engage in conversation. If you are fortunate enough to hear my Monday story, you may find yourself shocked, confused, surprised I am still alive or peeing your pants like the kid in Home Alone with which Kevin refuses to share a bed. Sometimes I might blow you off. It is not always personal if I blow you off with a "fine, thanks." I mean I might be busy, still hungover or just have too many stories to tell and cannot sort through them at the current moment. It is usually a direct result of my Sunday activities, which can include anything from exercising and being productive to drinking all day and becoming a mumbling, staggering, obliterate drunk.
So where am I going with this? I am simply offering advice to those who wake up Monday morning and say "Shit, I have to go to work." From now on, live it up on the weekends and come Monday, be ready to wake up, pop some Advil and think "Oh man, I have a great Monday story!" You only live once.
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