Once when I was a kid, a radio DJ was asking listeners if they'd rather have good looks or a good singing voice. I was a savvy, worldly child, so I decided I'd rather have the good looks because then I could make a successful singing career for myself anyway, just by sleeping with a few Lou Pearlmans.
[I spent all of November writing a terrible, navel-gazing "novel" for
National Novel Writing Month. The "novel" itself is basically a pile of
crap, but I'll be sharing select excerpts on the blog.]
Every kid goes through phases. That’s how you learn about the world/yourself, at least according to motivational posters and Psychology Today. But when I was a kid, I took phases to the next level. I put my back into whatever my current phase was. I went big or went home.
I won’t bother telling you about my standard Spice Girls phase or my requisite obsession with Titanic. I won’t tell you about the time I fancied myself a serious athlete after accidentally catching a fly ball in a park district softball game (It was quite poignant. I even wrote a poem about it in junior high).
The other day I posted about embarrassing things that don't embarrass me, aka things I pretend to be embarrassed about when they happen, so people don't think I'm weird. Today, I'm going to talk about annoying things that don't annoy me (but you can bet your billy balls I pretend to be annoyed when they happen, ya know, just to fit in).
Up first is leaving the toilet seat up. Chris left the toilet seat up the other day and I was like "I should be absolutely appalled! I should yell at him, possibly whilst waving a rolling pin!" And then I was like "Why do I care, though?" I couldn't think of a reason to be mad. How is this any different from leaving a drawer open or a fly unzipped? Is this one of those marriage woes dreamed up by the likes of Everybody Loves Raymond? Is this part of the sit-com wife's plight that all men are bumbling idiots befuddled by yogurt and all women are under-appreciated and in desperate need of some yogurt-filled "me time?" I've already decided that yogurt will not play a role in my womanly diet since it's made out of spoiled milk and bacteria and other disgusting things. So maybe I can get out of being annoyed at my husband leaving the seat up too?
[I spent all of November writing a terrible, navel-gazing "novel" for National Novel Writing Month. The "novel" itself is basically a pile of crap, but I'll be sharing select excerpts on the blog.]
Babysitting was my ticket to wealth back in high school. I had all the neighborhood moms in my figurative rolodex, and made sure they knew I had no life to speak of that didn’t involve supervising the shit out of their kids (sometimes literally, if they were potty training). In addition to my lack of a social life, I also friggin’ loved playing with kids’ toys.