Andy: (putting vacuum cleaner away in closet adjacent to room) …
Me: Okay, this isn’t as weird as it looks.
Andy: It looks like you’re playing Words with Friends in the nude.
Me: Well, I am, but I’m playing against my cousin.
Andy: Okay, that’s actually weirder than it looks.
Me: No, see, I was getting in the shower and I heard Words with Friends chime so I came in here to mute it so it wouldn’t be annoying but then I decided to go ahead and take my turn and then I saw on facebook that my friend’s wife had a baby and I was like “awesome! I didn’t even know they were expecting” and … well … I was getting ready to get in the shower.
Andy: I’m pretty sure you crossed all sorts of weird lines right there.
Me: Well it’s not like I have a webcam.
Andy: Sigh … (wanders away)
This is why people with A.D.H.D. shouldn’t multitask.
In addition to becoming part owner of a retail business recently, I also opened a general practice law firm. I know, right? So in doing all of the tons of set up stuff I got a business credit card for the purchasing of the office supplies and whatnot.
My first purchase!
My second purchase: a printer. Seriously.
It gets better though. When I got to the counter to pay for my red Swingline stapler (and yes, it’s full size despite looking oddly small in this picture) the clerk informed me that I got this little guy for free!
“The Legendary Red Stapler Ornament”
So now I have a little family of red Swingline staplers!
When I got it home and started to open the packaging, I discovered this subtle marketing gem.
Well played, Swingline. Well played.
Earlier today I was thinking about how it sucks that I have to work so much harder than Andy does to make less money than he does all because my vagina is being penalized. It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds.
Speaking of being screwed by your vagina (aka gender inequality) today when I came home from work and immediately cooked dinner like I always do not because anyone asks me to but because there’s a societal expectation that as a woman I am supposed to take care of the house and family and … WHOA! Sorry about that. I sent my daughter to a liberal arts school and clearly I’ve spent way too much time talking to her lately. I’m all for feminism, don’t get me wrong, but this is a post about co-dependent fat people.
What I was trying to say was, tonight I made a batch of Red Lobster cheddar bay biscuits for dinner because Andy loves them and I love cooking things that make him happy. But he wants me to be happy too so he does things like eat way too many and then tell me I should eat more because he feels bad for eating too many and then I eat more because I feel like he has given me some permission I needed or something and then the next thing you know, we seriously ate an entire batch of cheese and butter filled dough. 14 biscuits, you guys. I am not even exaggerating. I’m fairly certain we aren’t going to make it until morning. I think I can actually feel my arteries congealing as I type this.
The sad thing is, we do this crap all the time. Not just with food either, but with being lazy. Andy is very sedentary and constantly talks me into joining him in sedentary activities. I do it easily because I like spending time with him and the things we do together are fun. The thing is though, when Andy and I got together 7 years ago, I was strictly watching what I ate and exercising every day and he was controlling his portions and trying to make a point to be less sedentary. We have become locked in a co-dependent relationship where we are each dependent on the other to allow us to be fat.
Andy and me in 2006.
Andy and me in 2012.
So I guess the first step is admitting we have a problem. The second step is making the rest of the cheddar bay biscuits and taking them to the pot luck I’m going to on Saturday.
Also, even though they’re mine, I’ll say it. Boobs. That’s not a step, that’s pointing out the white elephant in the room. Literally, in this case.
Yeah, that happened.
When I was getting in the shower this morning there was either a dead centipede or a wad of dog hair on the mat. I couldn’t determine which and I didn’t want to look closer for fear of lapsing into some Lovecraftian monster induced madness, so I threw a towel over it and tried to pretend it wasn’t there.
I took my shower, put on Andy’s giant robe and went to let the dogs out. As soon as I got outside though, it felt like something bit me so I squealed “Ahhh centipede” flung my robe open and began jumping, swatting, and shooing simultaneously before remembering I was in my yard wearing nothing but the robe I had just flung open. Yeah.
Luckily it was 6:00 AM so most of my neighbors were probably asleep. Less luckily I saw the neighbor directly behind me let her dogs out just before I let mine out so I knew she was up. Also her lights were on. So I fixed my robe, stood on my back porch and squinted into my neighbor’s house to see if I could see her within seeing distance of me. I’m not sure what I planned to do if she was though.
Then I realized that if she could see me, what she saw was me stand facing her place, rip my robe open, act all crazy, and then stare at her. I’m hoping she doesn’t call the police. This will be pretty hard to explain.
in a world of surprisingly little imagination.
This will (hopefully) come as a surprise to many of you, but I am severely challenged in the suspension of belief / imagination department. I suppose you could say I’m creative. I like to do things with my hands. I used to draw pretty well. I kind of sculpt a little and am good at thinking of things to sculpt. I can jury rig just about anything. I’m good at stuff like that. I can’t enjoy fiction like most people though. Most books won’t hold my attention. Sad movies never make me cry. I get overly distracted by plot holes and predictability in scripts. OMG, I do not understand pen and paper RPG’s. People who refer to playing video games like they’re actually in them baffle me. I just completely and utterly lack the ability to pretend I am someone else or to get immersed in a story I know didn’t really / isn’t really happening. All of my witticisms are simply twists on existing things. Puns, parodies, satirical jabs, and sarcasm. Even my “art” if you can call it that, is reproduction or combining existing things in new ways. This doesn’t really bother me or anything. I’m just baffled by how others seem to do it so easily.
My daughter wears a fairy costume at renaissance festivals. Her fairy has props and a back story, heck, she has a whole fairy world where different types of fairies live in different places and whatnot. For example, she lives in a sunflower and drinks an elixir that makes her people sized so she can interact with humans when she wants to. Flower fairies and tree fairies have bad blood between them. They’re easy to tell apart though because tree fairies have pointy ears. There aren’t really any rock fairies but it’s considered very posh to live in a geode. She thinks they’re really too flashy and quite uncomfortable though, so she doesn’t really see what all the fuss is about.
I’ve worked at Ren faires for 7 years and I can’t even maintain the same accent all day, let alone come up with a back story.
It’s the same with Andy and his gamers. They’ll play a game and then stand around and reminisce about it like it not only actually happened but like they weren’t all just there. Or Andy will tell some story about gaming or airsoft or whatever and his friends all play along like he just got back from a tour overseas and is telling legit war stories.
I contemplated playing the Dresden Files RPG until I discovered I couldn’t just say I was Molly would have to create a character and then try to think and act like that character. What?!?! I totally can’t do that.
The ability to think in stories like that is just so weird and foreign to me. Heck, even as a kid when we played Barbies I really just wanted to dress them up and fix their hair. I never cared about whatever little scenario we were supposed to be playing out.
I’m not really sure what the point of any of this is other than it occurred to me to find it odd that the lifelong weird girl who wanted to grow up to be an artist utterly lacks an imagination. I guess it’s a good thing I’m smart and a good technical writer or I guess I’d be screwed. Also, I always did suck at ending things that I write so, um, the end.
My dog is so fragging weird! I put a bra on her head and she liked it. She wore it all day until I finally took it off of her myself.
I don’t even know what else to say about this other than …
Plastic tubes and pots and pans
Bits and pieces and
Magic from the hand
Things I’ve never seen before
Behind bolted doors
Talent and imagination