When something funny is equally sad.
When you realize you are working full-time and going to school full-time, with absolutely no expectation or hope of retaining your sanity.
When a friend laughs at you for being excited to take a day off of work in order to study all day for an exam.
When the magnitude of how pathetic your life is becomes entertaining.
That is the essence of two legged cat.
HOW CU- wait....
I am become meme.
Oh President’s Day. For some, today is a holiday, which means these lucky people get the day off work and don’t have to go to school.
For others, it’s just another day when you can’t get a customer service representative on the phone because their offices are conveniently closed like the punks in the previous sentence. Unfortunately, I am one of these “others”. Oh woe is me.
<According to my buddies at Wikipedia, today technically started off as celebrating Washington’s birthday… but he’s the father of all presidents, isn’t he? Aren’t they all related in some sort of political gene pool fiasco? Therefore: His birthday is their birthday. Done.>
What sort of country are we if only half of our people are allowed to take off in order to celebrate this great day? We ignore the birthdate of our grand forefathers but party hard for some dirty foreigner wearing a green leprachaun costume?
He's probably illegal anyway
This national schism must be put to an end! As a concerned citizen, I want the right to celebrate a day of our dead presidents via non-productivity and ridiculous prices! Let us all join hands as brothers and sisters of the greatest country on earth and unite in our festivities~
Honestly though, what else are we supposed to do on President’s Day? Fourth of July already took the cool stuff, like fireworks and red/white/blue paraphernalia and American flag cakes. The only thing we have left is the holiday catch-all: sales.
Not a paid advertisement
There is absolutely no better way to celebrate our presidents than to be the lavish consumers we Americans are expected to be. We have a civic duty to show the rest of the world that we’re still going strong with the ol’ American way. But alas, how am I supposed to show my patriotism if I can’t go on a poorly executed shopping binge? This bottle of toothpaste is 50% off??? TIME TO MAKE FDR PROUD!
‘Merica!
Today, my friends, has been a test of our true patriots: our consumers. Thus, we must fight for the right to have the day off across the board in order to rise to their example, as the cash-throwing, credit card-wielding, debt-defying citizens who show the true face of USA. I’m quite positive that George Washington wished for nothing more than the image of fiscal irresponsibility coupled with inflated market growth to be linked with his birthday.
Yeah. Precisely that. What else could he have possibly wanted?
Tis the time of year once again where little children trace their stubby, disproportional hands and fill them in with colors of fall they’ve probably only seen on TV. ‘Cause like, really, who goes outside anymore?
E-mail inboxes are filled to the brim with cheesy holiday e-cards, sentimental powerpoints and seasonally appropriate jpegs. It’s the official beginning of the season of cheer, family, and graciousness. So we post about it on our blogs and facebooks and twitter, citing happy holidays, delicious turkey day, and a generous seasoning of “I am thankful for ___” lists. Because no first world country would be complete without the smug sense of humility that comes from verbally expressing thanks for concepts as everyday to us as running water and sterile turkeys.
What sort of person would I be, then, if I didn’t continue the tradition? There must be something I’m thankful for, and it shall be publicized to show just how grateful of a spoiled brat I am!
After tedious minutes of deliberation, and notching off the regulars (family, friends, internet) I realized that ultimately there is one thing that we as an entire species should be thankful for.
Weakness.
As a member of the modern homo genus, I am thankful for the absolute pitiful nature of our human condition. We are some of the neediest, most inept, frailest creatures on this planet, and for that we have reached awesomeness.
On the top of the food chain, predators are judged only by their abilities. Their strength, their cunning, their natural weapons such as claws or teeth or poison. They tend to live alone, or at most in small groups with single leaders and intra-pack competition. On the other hand, there exist the prey, the swarm animals who live as one humongous organism, like ants or flocks of birds and schools of fish. Each individual only does their part, and if the path of the group causes that individual to die, so be it. The horde lives on. They have strength in sheer numbers, and each member is simply a piece of the bigger picture.
I AM SUCH A MEMBER OF THE FOOD CHAIN
But humans have neither the abilities of the predator nor the hive mentality of the prey. We have no sharp fangs or long talons or toxic barbs. We can’t run very quickly, or jump very high, and we have no chance at flying or surviving in the water with our flaccid limbs and sensitive skin. We can’t be proper hive animals either. Each one of us demands to be noticed, to stand out in some way to somebody, and no sort of hive can survive with such selfish individuals.
The only thing that saved us as a species, the one key component that no other animal can even try to compare with, is our desperate need. Physical needs to be part of a group that can stand a chance against the stronger predators. Emotional needs to be wanted and supported by someone. Too weak to be predators, too selfish to be prey, we latch onto each other because we physically can’t survive alone, and emotionally can’t stand to lose one who cares about us. All of our innovation, successes, and world domination have come from the existence of our grand collection of countries filled with people living together. Which grew from cities of people working and interacting with each other. Which grew from villages with families and trading. Which grew from two humans meeting up and realizing they had to do everything in their power to keep each other alive, so that they could live together, hunt together, and share emotional 140 character tweets with each other.
Cheers to being pathetic.
NaNoWriMo is, once again, kicking my ass, and I am now 5,000 words behind where I should be. Cue tears of panic.
Then I recall that today is the first day of Fall Break, and besides work my only scheduled obligation is roaming through the house in my pajamas and fluffy slippers, munching on a lemon cream cheese tartelette and playing video games. Glorious. Time for a word sprint!
:: word sprint \pronouncation: effffff\: n. 1. an allocated period of time in which an individual attempts to make up a nauseating amount of words in NaNoWriMo by furiously hashing away at his/her keyboard like Shakespeare’s monkey. “Goodness, I’m so behind in my novel I better have a good word sprint tonight” 2. a mad mental dash to the writing goal finish line immediately followed by a stiff drink and/or period of comatose. “Boy I sure hope this word sprint comes with scotch.” 3. v. a cruel method of torture used by the ancient Greeks to punish young children that didn’t use proper grammar. “You’re going to word sprint today or it’s the end of your life as you know it!“
Overall, a grand old time. However, there is a bit of an issue. Let us display the problem with a fitting image.
As exciting as it is to finish up a “novel” and gripe with fellow writing peers, it’s always a bit of an uncomfortable experience to spew out on paper what really goes on in your mind. Maybe it’s not a direct verbalization of your innermost thoughts, and it might not even be the darkest of desires and secrets.
But it’s you. Every word that is typed/jotted/scribbled/scratched out is something that comes from the dusty mess upstairs, and once you put two and two together it doesn’t always turn out pretty. Often times, it’s downright disturbing. By living vicariously through your characters in the world that you’ve created, at the end of the day there’s a whole lot of space in between the lines, and it’s all full of you.
And truthfully, it’s not all that flattering.
It’s like looking at those mirrors specifically designed to magnify your pores. Have you ever seen yourself in one of those? You think that your skin is creamy clear and baby butt soft, but one look at those concave mirrors has you running for the hills. Might as well scream Bloody Mary in the bathroom at night to bring out the deformed and twisted reflection you didn’t even know existed.
Of course it’s not all that bad. Writing brings out the whimsy in me that my not-five-year-old-self has forgotten. It allows me to twist and adjust parts of this world into something coherent and understandable, rather than overwhelming and jumbled. There are heroes and living myths and magic and triumphs for the good and honorable who beat down the evil doers and monsters.
Slightly jarring though, when the monster turns out to be part of you.
Ah well. C’est la vie. Time for a matcha latte and more sprinting!
Remember how way back when on my last post I talked about how busy I had become? Made excuses about not blogging because of how much stuff I do? Implied that the world around me would implode if I added anything else to my to-do list?
So I started NaNoWriMo again.
Only my second year taking on this daunting challenge, and I’m already behind. It makes me sort of glad the word count widget isn’t running yet, because then the whole internet could see just how much I’m not writing. I don’t know which one is more shameful: complaining about how busy one is and then adding more onto that pile, or voluntarily adding to the pile with things you end up not doing in the end.
All in a day's not-worked
But no! I refuse to sit down and be lazy! This novel will get written~! (And maybe even shared this time around. Who knows. I may find some bravery in me yet.)
If I schedule things correctly, I should be able to complete my grown-up-person obligations (school, work, teaching) and then somehow cram in enough time for the symptoms of my peter-pan-syndrome (dallying in novel writing and making rubber cement balls). Pumping myself full of caffeinated tea to fulfill this schedule can only bring positive consequences. And build character!
This brings me to a surprisingly obvious fact about insomnia I just learned: if you act busy enough to forget the fact you can’t sleep, it’s basically as if you tore down the walls that divide the week and have one huge 150 hour work day with an 18 hour sleep marathon at the end. You’ve ignored sleep for so long that it comes crawling back to you like a neglected spouse who just wants to cuddle. That, my friends, is productivity.
It is also why I need to buy a new tea pot and restock my Earl Grey. Donations will be accepted with a mad grin.
Well well well. Here I am again. Mostly not dead and still kicking. Thanks to some random, obnoxious, meddling acquaintance – I have yet again taken up the (digital) pen…
Only to realize I forgot the password to my account. Good God it’s been too long. The freaking WordPress layout even got revised. How is a person supposed to take a nice break from her beautiful, innocent blog if all that awaits on her return is some drunken hooker with a sex change?
Scott?! Is... is that you?
Not much has happened since my last post. Lost some weight. Started tutoring. Built a computer. Road tripped to the East Coast. Entered graduate school. Became a teacher at church. Joined a book club full of weirdos not unlike myself. Re-ignited my long lost insomnia.
Erm. I guess if I put it that way it sounds like I did indeed do quite a bit. What’ya know ^_^
You may not believe me, oh distrustful internet, but I really have been trying to get back into blogging. I still journal, but the thoughts never make their way to the Webz. It’s always been in the back of my mind though, nibbling at my conscience one teeny morsel at a time. But no more, I say!
It won’t be regular, it won’t always be pretty, and it sure as hell won’t always be coherent, but dammit all I intend to continue writing here and spill forth brain juices onto my computer!
Totally not in a zombie way or anything. Totally.
If you only have hope during the good times, that hope is worse than worthless.
Would you believe me if I said that I’m not even in a cynical mood today? ^_^
Not having anything near good eye sight is an odd thing. Sure there’s the normal lack of of peripheral vision, the tendency to wake up in the morning unable to see what time it is, mixing up the shampoo and conditioner in the shower, and etcetera, but these are all common side effects of being visually impaired. Every now and then though, not being able to see worth a damn can be quite amusing.
Take for example: hair dryers. I’m a die hard fan of letting hair air dry, but sometimes you just have to suck it up and kill your hair for the sake of vanity and time constraints. Or if it’s during the winter and walking outside with wet hair is basically a death wish.
I'm smiling because my hair is as brittle as my soul!
Yesterday was one of those days (time constraint, not winter), so I pull out my handy dandy blow dryer, wipe off the dust, and take off my glasses.
Why the glasses?
They’re made of metal. I don’t want superheated air anywhere near metal that is touching my skin; what if it burns? Or I get some sinister glasses frame branding? You can call me paranoid, but I’m really just very very sensitive. That’s right, I’m the wimp that winces when the hair stylist pulls out the curling iron. Ohhhh the fear~!
So off go the glasses, on revs the blow dryer, and I stand in front of the mirror as if it will help me optimize air coverage. I’m wearing a black shirt so to my weak eyes the black cord of the dryer is lost: I can however quite clearly see the blurry white square that is the label. This gets me thinking “Oh ho, tee hee, I have a label on me. I wonder what it says? Aren’t I being so witty?”
Let me just say that it’s a bit sad when you end up doing what you’re making fun of, since I did end up wondering what it would say. Here’s a few that I remember:
Fate would have it that I be gifted with a 3 month free membership to our local gym via class action settlement (gotta love em lawsuits. Am I right, or am I right?). So, of course, I put it off. For almost an entire year. At this point I’ve forgotten all about my free card and simply go on with my sedentary lifestyle in mildly guilty ease.
Until about a month ago when I rediscover said card, hidden away in the confines of my closet next to my physics book.
Oh. Haha. I wonder how that got in such a hidden and obscure place…
Well now, it would be such a waste for me to stumble upon this gift twice and still not use it, so I stroll on over to the gym, slap the card on the counter like some VIP and say “Membership me!” I am confident. I am ready. I am in control, and I am Gym Member Extraordinaire!
Thirty minutes later I’m suckered into signing up for the basic personal trainer package. So much for being in control.
After a few sessions though, I find myself enjoying the training. Not only do I feel great afterwards (until the soreness kicks in. God have mercy on my weak pathetic body), but the set schedule gets me in the groove for motion/energy/etc. It’s actually pretty friggin nice. Besides the hurting part. Yeah, we can just keep ignoring that.
Other than the basics of gym etiquette and health/fitness (ie: don’t hang on the machines, don’t try to sprint on the treadmill when you’re clearly not able to walk a mile, etc) I’ve learned a few things during my brief month. A few are as follows:
1. There are 150 lbs. dumbells in existence.
2. There is a man at my gym that can use said dumbells.
3. His biceps are larger than my thighs twice over (and my thighs are no light matter).
4. Personal trainers can must be excellent liars:
“Just a few more, come on.”
“I can’t, it’s too much, I’m gonne diiieeee”
“You got this, you can do it!”
“Oh, yeah, ok, yeah I can do it. I can do it!”
<wake up next day unable to roll out of bed> I couldn’t do it… *cries*
5. Driving requires the use of abs. You only notice when you have absolutely no more power in your core left even for breathing.
6. The older people get, the less embarrassed they are of walking around completely naked in the locker room; as proud, jiggling sacks of maturity.
If only...
7. Even personal trainers eat bags of cheetos with no shame.
8. Army brats who grow up be army brat managers are pretty awesome. Especially if they understand the amazing combination of steak and rice (screw you, potato!)
9. No one actually looks at you in the gym or cares how out of breath you are. They’re too busy being FIT. If their attention is wandering, they’re probably just as much of a pansy as you are. Feel free to judge.
10. It is absolutely possible to be tired to the point of being unable to lift your car keys. I would be lying if I didn’t admit to a moment of panic setting in as I sit on that locker room bench my first day.
All right, time go lie down before today’s session kills me twice over.
