The People That Time Forgot

"The People That Time Forgot" is one of my favorite descriptors for human anomalies. These are the people on subways, in DMV lobbies, on jury duty, and in line at the post office. However, while getting some noodles at one of my favorite restaurants tonight, I was mystified to see a new addition to this group: a couple (not one, but TWO people) ordering at the counter, BAREFOOT! Who are these people?? Heads up: shoes are available at every local Wally World, guys. Stop being gross and at least cough up the $5 for a pair of flip-flops or something!

Don't we have rules against this type of distressing presence in dining establishments? I'm sure the cashiers didn't even notice...after all, who walks around amongst the petri-dish-that-is-the-outside-world sans standard pieces of clothing? What if these two walked around with no pants? I think going shoeless is just as disturbing, but I'm certain they wouldn't agree.

I'm lumping these two irreversibly-screwed-up individuals in with the people who pick their nose in public, the ones who don't wash their hands after using the bathroom, and those who pierce areas of their body that were only meant to be treated nicely.

Un-be-lievable.

A powerful reminder

Last night, I saw the new movie, "Flags of Our Fathers." It tells the stories of the men who raised the U.S. flag at the battle of Iwo Jima and returned home as war heroes. It is a powerful and thought-provoking movie, but I am most impressed by the fact that I have never filed out of a theatre when the movie was over in almost total, reverent silence until now.

Like most good war movies, there is no holding back when it comes to showing the raw, gritty, and gory nature of war. However, it also tells the stories of the men who fought and went on to tell the country about the battle and the other heroes who died on that island. I spent half the movie in tears, awed by the bravery of the guys who stepped up to sacrifice all for our freedom.

Perhaps often necessary, it is senseless that such violent wars are fought over petty things like land, money, oil, and power. Yet, I am amazed that we continue to have dedicated and proud individuals who willingly sign up to fight and protect human life, freedom, and democracy. I have always had great respect for our military, but I think so many people forget that whether or not we agree with the reasons they are fighting, we must wholeheartedly support the ones who step into the most dangerous and scary situations and fight for our freedom and the freedom of people around the world.

God bless our troops. We are right behind you guys!

Given that little girl's shelf or my bed...I'd take the shelf

I hate my bed. And since it's currently after 1 am here in Happy Valley and I'm still awake, apparently it hates me too.

My bed is a hand-me-down from my grandparents, given to me when I moved to my first unfurnished apartment. It's at least 30 years old, and since mattresses usually only have a good ten years, I am long overdue for a replacement. I un-affectionately refer to it as "the taco" because you can only sleep in the middle. The memory foam pad I bought last year helped (as in, I no longer feel springs or coils in my shoulders), but it is still quite possibly the most uncomfortable sleep entity on Earth.

This presents a problem tonight because I have been fighting a nasty bug for over two weeks, and my particularly violent coughing a few nights ago strained a muscle in my ribs. It hurts to cough, laugh, bend....basically any actual movement is uncomfortable at best. I was instructed to suck down Tylenol by the bottle, nuke a heating pad, and lay around for a few days to cure it. Normal people get pneumonia or something and take an antibiotic....not me........

Ironically enough, I could barely hold my eyes open around 7 pm, but now that I have an uncomfortable body, a busy head, and an unnaturally early meeting...I am wide awake.

I blame the bed.

This is how my kids are going to get sleep...

For the past few months, I have often joked to my mom that, due to my unsuccessful dating status, I am going to be the thirty-something single aunt/spinster with cats. (Mom now calls me "the cat lady.") I despise cats and would never own one, but I read a book about a girl turning 30 who feared this exact thing, so i too adopted the idea. I have even wondered if the reason I don't have children is because I have a high likelihood of screwing them up. I'm neurotic, obsessive, unnaturally paranoid, and easily panicked. I usually combat this notion by telling myself that, evidenced my ancestors, these traits get progressively less by generation, so my kids may actually be normal.

However, tonight I was given proof as to why I am not yet a parent....

While telling my mom about a baby shower for a girl at work, I described one of the presents she received as "walkie-talkies." Not once, but twice. On the second misspeak, Mom said, "Well, it's obvious you don't have a baby...they are not walkie-talkies." Baby-mommas don't use walkie-talkies; they use baby monitors, which in fact are technically one-way devices.

My kids are screwed.......

Impeccable Timing: Part II

Being horribly ill all week, it's something of a small miracle that I woke up at an unnatural hour today to attend a business networking meeting that I'm not especially keen on attending on a good day. However, I obediently went, hopeful to stay quiet and unnoticed in the corner (like that's possible).

What are the odds that I went quiet and unnoticed? Zilch... Nada... I could cover up with an invisibility cloak and still guarantee something would give me away (can't hide the laugh i guess ;) . Not only did I not go unnoticed, I immediately got attacked, I mean, approached, upon arrival by the newly inducted president of this group to be his new "visitor host." This means I smile pretty and greet the unsuspecting newbies before they enter the lions' den, I mean, banquet room, to be sucked of cash, soul, and client referrals.

Am I wearing a sign I'm not aware of that says, "Please pick me!! I would love to be asked to provide considerably more-than-minimal effort!" Now, because of this apparent attraction pheromone I seem to be giving off, I'm now committed to obediently attending these abhorrent meetings AND generating warm, welcoming smiles and glad tidings...something I am shockingly short on in the wee small hours of the morning.

To top off this decidedly unjust turn of events (though not surprising...I told you I'm unshockable...of course, my sick butt was gonna be asked to do something today...I should have skipped), while announcing his newly appointed leaders, our president couldn't seem to REMEMBER MY NAME!!! As about six people correct him, I shake my head in disbelief (now I'm mystified) that this cat asked me to be a leader in his group and can't even come up with my name! What is that about??

Sidenote - Further proof that it takes a woman to get anything done: I watched 7 or 8 guys standing around the breakfast buffet this morning, dumbfounded, because there was an absence of plates on the table. Hello?? What do you think waitresses are for? If it hadn't been for me tracking one down to retrieve some, I'm convinced none of us would have eaten. Un-be-lievable....

Lake KitchenFloor

Some things are never good. For example, it's never good when you hear ripping sounds coming from anything attached to you. It's never good to follow directions when you hear the phrase, "Heads up!" I wouldn't advise eating anything you don't recognize or that smells highly suspect. And you never, ever want to call me during Prison Break. Never good...

I started thinking about this a few hours ago, when I was the victim of a "never-good" situation. While standing at my kitchen sink, fighting the need to engage in the most vile activity of doing dishes, I began to feel warm liquid swirling around my bare feet. Lesson #437: Sudden swirling of warm liquid is never good. This means either someone is peeing on you, you have sprung a leak yourself, or you are now subject to something (or someone) else springing a leak. Anyway, it turns out that the pipes beneath my sink separated and water was just flowing from the faucet to the bottom of my cabinets.

I'm adding "Mopping up the lake otherwise known as my kitchen floor" to my list of decidedly un-fun activities...although at least it wasn't toilet water.