Don't be gross

Apparently this Zen Audreya thing isn't working for you guys. Truth be told, it is kind of boring. Ranting, on the other hand, seems to be a real crowd pleaser. Well, good, because I've got another one. And it's kind of in "stream of consciousness" format, so that should be fun. Okay, here's where it started:

I tried to do a little Twitter venting to get over the infraction, but after 5 minutes a reasonable amount of time, I was still annoyed. And I was afraid people would think I was exaggerating. Not that I ever do that.

So I took a picture as proof. And I labeled it because I think putting unnecessary arrows on pictures is fun for you convenience.

I'm not ranting about how gross I find the idea of dipping. I mean, if you want to put something in your mouth that looks like poop and may cause you to lose half your face to cancer, that is your choice. But, for crying out loud, don't just throw a big wad of spitty tobacco in the middle of the sidewalk. Especially IN FRONT OF A TRASH CAN!!

This is not the first time I've had to side-step chew to walk into my office. I guess it's a hazard of living in the South. But, in the South, aren't we known for being mannerly? Spitting in general isn't very mannerly, but spitting piles of goo onto a public sidewalk? Come on! Unless you are being cared for at a medical facility or are a small child, someone else should not have to clean up anything that has previously been in your body.

Plus, I think we all know that this is part of a larger issue. Somewhere along the way, it seems we forgot other people have to share space with us. It's not just chewing tobacco. It's litter in general. It's the person who can't be bothered to walk 10 feet and put their cart in the cart corral. It's leaving your empty food and drink containers in the movie theater or the stadium because someone else will clean it up. It's not flushing a public toilet. (Okay, yeah, sometimes those things really do have flushing issues. But we can all tell when you didn't even try.)

Sure, I've haphazardly disposed of gum before. I've not chased a paper down after it flew out of my car. No one is perfect. But basically, don't be gross. It's really not that hard. It's common courtesy, not rocket science.

So yeah, if you spit out a wad of dip on a sidewalk, three feet from a trash can, I do think you're one of the ten worst people on the planet.

Probably somewhere between Kim Jong-il and Ke$ha.

Are you freaking kidding me?

Lately I've been on this self-improvement / Zen / not being a raving lunatic / sorting out my dark and twisty-ness kick. But today I'm taking a hiatus from my attempts at peacefulness and I'm ranting again.

What, pray tell, could incite such a riot? And how, pray tell, could something as innocent as this month's issue of Better Homes & Gardens factor in?

Because, as I was leafing through ("leafing" he he... it's a magazine full of gardening pictures...) the pages, I came across this bit of advertising madness:



Actual photo of the magazine. Classy, no?



Yes, madness! Because, surely this is a joke, right? (It's not... at least not according to Hefty's website.)

Not only are black trash bags not revolutionary, but am I to understand that now my TRASH can't even be dirty?!

Along with my self-improvement / Zen / not being a raving lunatic / sorting out my dark and twisty-ness kick, I've also been on a bit of a domestic kick. My house is relatively tidy. This is a huge deal in my world. And, I've been cooking. Like, actual food. Not heating up frozen, pre-made items. Well, not just heating up frozen, pre-made items.

Here I am feeling like I'm getting somewhere. Like I'm not entirely undomesticated. Then Hefty comes along and tells me I suck because my trash bag is spattered with BBQ sauce? Geesh. I'm practically a barnyard animal.

SERIOUSLY, PEOPLE!!!

Let me get this straight: I'm not thin enough, my hair doesn't fall perfectly into place, I don't live in a McMansion but nevertheless should keep my inadequate hovel flawlessly clean at all times, I should be horrified that the jeans I am currently wearing came from Walmart, I am never to admit weakness of any kind or let anyone see me sweat, and now my garbage can't even appear messy? (*read in an increasingly high-pitched, hysterical tone.)

It's no wonder the percentage of Americans on anti-depressants has doubled in the last decade.

The only very slight point of reason I saw on Hefty's website of ridiculousness was that the black bag hid the contents better when trash was put on the curb. And even that is a stretch because A) why aren't you shredding private things already? and B) do I really think a would-be identity thief or other miscreant won't tear open and rifle through a black trash bag? Give me a break.

Sure, this is probably a strange thing to get so worked up over, but come on! No one comes over and thinks "Wow. I thought Sally was a good wife and mother... but then I was throwing something away and... GASP... her trash bag was soiled." Ridiculous.

Now, how should I properly channel my frustration over the unrealistic expectations that have been set forth regarding my refuse disposal? Well, I'm thinking I'm going to rip out that magazine page, slather it in ketchup, then haphazardly fling it into my white trash bag.

Yeah, that'll show 'em.

Arrivederci, Passport

My passport expires this week.

A few days ago, I tweeted that I wished I could use it one last time and travel back to when I looked like I did in my passport photo. You know, back when I cared more about my eyebrows and when my pants were half the size they are not. But c'est la vie, right?

I remember the process of getting my passport very clearly. I had traveled out of the country before, but that was in the 80s and 90s - when you could go places like Canada and the Bahamas with just a birth certificate, as I did. But Europe? Europe took a passport. And that's where I was going.

As I have mentioned before, I spent my last semester of college studying in Florence, Italy. Along with that came the opportunity to travel to various other European locales. I had visions of brightly-colored stamps filling the pages inside my passport. (Imagine how disappointed I was to clear customs in Amsterdam, only to be told that the European Union just required a stamp when you landed and a stamp when you left. Each country wouldn't provide their own stamp unless you went to the police station or something like that and asked for one. Um, what? No Italy stamp? No Greece stamp? No Paris, er, France stamp? What a sham. Oh, wait, I am still going to all those places... so it's probably not that big of a deal.)



Me, circa 2001



Anyway, before I could get any stamps, I had to actually be issued a passport. As I can be a bit OCD tedious detail-oriented, I read the application and accompanying forms 100 times. I filled out the application in March, though I didn't need it until September. I made sure my parents got the certified copy of my birth certificate stamped exactly as the paperwork required. Then I questioned them to make sure they were actually my parents and this application process would not turn up the fact that I was kidnapped at birth and the Federal Government had never heard of me. While my parents might have wanted to deny me, the passport authority saw no reason to and a few weeks later, I had a crisp, blue passport in my hands. Only it was more than a passport. It was a key. To almost anywhere in the world.

The morning before I was due to leave, I drug my luggage out of my bedroom and put it by the door. I carefully arranged my essential travel documents in my fancy passport-wallet-hang this around your neck, under your shirt, and never, ever take it off your person or else someone will steal it and you'll be stranded in another country-holder thingy. Then I turned on the TV. Which would seem like the most normal thing in the world, right? Wrong.

You see, the date on my carefully-arranged essential travel documents was September 12th, 2001. Meaning the day I drug my luggage to the door and sat down to watch TV was September 11th, 2001. We all know what I saw on the screen that day.

After a lot of debate and feedback from parents and school officials, it was determined that we could safely travel to Italy. We were delayed about 2 weeks, but finally I was on my way.

I remember the mixed feelings as I stood there watching the customs officer stamp my brand-new passport. On one hand, the world was my oyster. On the other hand, I literally had no idea what in the world was happening. I had plenty of time to ponder these things during my 13 hour layover at Schiphol Airport. Though, truth be told, I spent the majority of that time fighting with the insipid Multifoon* - just trying to make a phone call and let my mom know I made it over the ocean. (*I think it was called a Multifoon. It was this revolutionary - for 2001 - data center that could call, email, fax, etc. And it sucked.)

I won't get caught up in every detail of my semester abroad. The traveling, the studying, the war in Afghanistan. Instead, I'm going to sit here and ask myself how that was 10 years ago already.

Incidentally, that was the only time I used my passport. I returned home after the semester, graduated, starting working, got married... all that jazz. There is a part of me that wishes I had used it a million more times. There is a part of me that thinks it's awesome that it will go into retirement reflecting just one incredible trip.

And then there is another part of me that wonders if, when I do get around to renewing it, I will be in trouble for it still being in my maiden name. I haven't needed it since and I didn't see the point in paying a name change fee and then paying a renewal fee a few years after that. Let's just hope the passport authority sees my logic, right? But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

For now, farewell, Passport. And grazie mille.

Writer's Workshop: Inspiration

Since I've been in kind of a weird place lately, I thought today's Writer's Workshop was a good opportunity to prove that I'm not actually all dark and twisty.

 

I am inspired by...

Italy. Florence, in particular.

The semester I spent there - exploring, eating, learning, just taking it all in - was beyond words, even for me. It changed the way I look at so many things. I can still close my eyes and summon peace and creativity from my memories. Now, if only I could summon gelato as easily.

(image credit: ShoesOnWires, Creative Commons)

Kids

I know I have a reputation as not being a "kid person". It's true - I don't ooh and aah at every baby I see. I don't do boogers or diapers. And, wow, they are disproportionately loud given how small they are, but I actually do enjoy some kid time. When you can see the wheels turning as they try to figure something out, when they get old enough to enjoy wit, when they think the smallest thing is awesome - definitely inspiring.

My niece and cousins - all of whom have puked on me and I love anyway.

Naps

Sometimes it's out of exhaustion, sometimes it's out of boredom, and sometimes it's because I just need a do-over. I firmly believe there is magic in the ability to rest for a few hours minutes during the day.

Maize takes naps as seriously as I do.

Tragedy

"Tragedy? What? How horrible of you to say!" But yeah, tragedy. Whether it's a global tragedy like Japan is currently experiencing or whether it's a personal loss or strife, tragedy changes things. It opens our eyes. It makes people do for each other the things we should have been doing all along. It moves us to prayer, to service. I certainly don't wish for more tragedy, but the renewal that can come from it is inspiring.

(Image source)

And, because "tragedy" would be a terrible way to end a supposedly-inspiring post, especially when trying to convince you that I'm not dark and twisty, one more thing that inspires me:

Cake

Eating it, obviously. But also decorating it. It's a chance for me to be hands-on and creative. Even though mid-way through almost every cake, I want to throw it in the trash and swear off all future cakes, the end result (almost) always leaves me with a bit of a rush. An inspiring "Hey, I did that!" moment. It's that inspiration I must draw upon in order to clean up the mess that envelopes my kitchen after a cake creation.

And there you have it... a few of the things that inspire me.

~What inspires you?~

The Bachelor: Finale and ATFR

UPDATE: I forgot to include this when I first hit "publish", but this Facebook exchange between my friend Meghan and I CRACKED ME UP!! Enjoy!

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This week is a "Buy one, get two free" post - Women Tell All, the finale, and After the Final Rose. Lucky you. But, because I've watched all of those episodes in the last 48 hours, I'm kind of over it and will do my best to speed through this. (Read: Maybe 30 pages instead of my usual 300.)

The Women Tell All was pretty uneventful, I thought. Mostly it was videos promoting how skanky you have to be to get cast for Bachelor Pad 2, followed by the Michelle Show. Half the girls thought Michelle was evil. Half thought she was just sarcastic and poorly edited. She cried. A lot. And then some more. Chris Harrison got all mad and told the girls to lay off her. She cried some more. Was Brad even there? I don't remember.

Oh, and Ashley H. had a nice makeover. Hey, ever wondered how you can tell who the next Bachelorette will be without reading spoilers? Just look for the woman with the shiniest makeover at the Women Tell All. But, I did like her darker hair. Will I like her as the Bachelorette? Doubtful. It's kind of like when Jillian was cast. I'll watch it because, well, I just will... but I'm not expecting it to be very entertaining.

Alright, the finale...

Brad acted like a complete goon when his family arrived in Cape Town. I'm talking hysterical crying. Look, I'm all for a man being in touch with his emotions. Honestly, I am. I think a guy getting choked up about something is one of the sweetest things ever. But weeping and gasping for air because you got to see your mom and brothers? Hmm. At one point, he even held onto the balcony and cried. Something long-term Bachelor fans know as "The Meznick".

After he gets his period emotions under control, he says it's so important for his family to give their opinions about the girls because they know him better than anyone on the planet. Just a thought, but perhaps if you're about to propose to someone, shouldn't they know you better than anyone on the planet?

Chantal arrives and hugs everyone. Brothers Wes and Chad interrogate her. She gives them the same "I would marry him on the spot" speech she gave Brad. She talks about her divorce. Chad says the fact that she had a marriage that didn't work out the first time and is now so willing to jump in with Brad shows him how strong her feelings are.

REALLY?!

I'm not here to judge Chantal; everyone makes mistakes. But marrying young, cheating on your husband, getting a divorce and then wanting to marry some guy you've known for 6 weeks? That doesn't say "strong feelings" to me. That says "doesn't take marriage as seriously as I think people should".

The rest of the family visit was pretty much the same. Everyone says they like her. Whoo hoo.

Next up, Emily.

Brain Feng Shui

If I had to pick the one thing my grandparents said to me most as a child, it would easily be "Be still." I wasn't a hyper child; I was a fidgety child. I was always bouncing my knee up and down, rattling a paper, clicking a pen, drumming my fingers on the table, twirling my hair, etc. Not surprisingly, I am a fidgety adult. (Minus the pen clicking, because - let's face it - that is one of the most annoying sounds on the planet.)

So, constantly, I remember my grandparents (and probably my parents... or any other adult in my proximity) telling me to be still. Depending on the infraction, it could just be a simple, flat "Be still." Other times, it was "Be still!" with a little more emphasis. And, of course, there was the occasional "BE STILL!!"

In addition to physical fidgeting, my mind is always a whirl of activity. I've read enough about ADHD to feel like that is not the cause. I can focus. I can multitask. I'm not too easily distracted. My thoughts are well-organized and I can almost always follow them back to their origin. The problem is that I over-think everything. EVERY.SINGLE.THING.

My brain doesn't allow for simple questions. (As referenced in a previous post, it also doesn't allow for obvious questions or leading questions, but I suppose that's more of an attitude issue.) A simple "Hey, do you want to meet us at the pizza place for dinner?" goes through my mind something like this:

"What day is it? Because if it's Monday, that annoying guy who makes balloons for the kids will be there. Ugh. What do we have going on tonight? When was the last time we ate at the pizza place? What did I have for lunch? I've lost 20 pounds, you know. We've got enough money in the bank, right? Yeah, I got paid on Friday. Okay, we're good... pizza... yes..."

Luckily, I do this rather quickly and still manage to appear decisive. And who knows, maybe everyone's mind works like that. I just know that it seems like a lot to me. Especially when you repeat that scenario for anything I'm asked during the day.

My brain is never still.

Even when people aren't asking me things, I'm still running thoughts through my head at a rapid-fire pace all day. I play the "What If" game way too much. I never take anything at face value. I have a Plan B, C, and D for pretty much anything that could possibly occur. And even things that can't occur. (See also: zombie attack)

I'm not writing this to brag. I'm not some kind of Temperance Brennan uber-genius. Rather, I'm writing it to answer the question of "Where have you been lately?"

See what I mean? I wrote a bazillion paragraphs just to answer one simple question. My brain also requires an extensive back story for every situation.

Anyway, my lack of blogging, posting on Facebook / Twitter, attending social events, etc. hasn't gone unnoticed by many of you. Which is humbling. I have a wonderful group of friends.

The simple answer, if I were capable of providing one, is that I'm trying to be still.

There's more on my plate than usual right now, it seems. In addition to my job and family and all the "normal" things, I have some things I'm working through and some changes I'm trying to make to myself. I have some issues. Shocking, I know. 

I've decided that my over-analyzing is partly due to my need to control everything. The more I know about the situation, the more I understand every nuance, the more I can make the outcome exactly what I want, right? Except, no. I can't. Though not for lack of effort, I've yet to achieve telepathy. Until then, there will always other people and extenuating circumstances. It's the things I can't control that send my mind into overdrive the most. So it's those things especially I'm trying to breathe through and approach calmly rather than turn my blog into the rambling rants of me not at my best. (Though sometimes ranting is what I do best!)

Basically, I'm trying to find a more quiet way of dealing with life's ups and downs. I'm working to make my mind a positive, less-cluttered place.

Brain feng shui, I guess.

So that's where I've been - and where I may continue to be for a little while - I'm still here, I'm just not fidgeting quite so much.

Image by Jaroslav Novák -  Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike

The Bachleor: I tell nothing at all

This week was the Women Tell All episode of The Bachelor. However, I have nothing to tell about it because I didn't watch it. You see, I'm currently being held against my will at the Ritz-Carlton and forced to choke down things like Morton's Steakhouse. And for those of you who can't detect sarcasm, that last sentence was dripping with it. Once a year, I get to attend a conference for work. Yes, "get to", not "have to". Because, seriously, how else would I get to stay at the Ritz? I'm more of a "Whatever is the cheapest hotel where TripAdvisor says I probably won't be murdered in my sleep" kind of girl. So yeah, after I checked in, I tweeted that I felt like I was in Pretty Woman - minus the hooker part. Unless my credit card is declined.

Anyway, I was too busy pretending to be fancy to watch The Bachelor this week. I do have it on the DVR at home and I'll let you know some brief thoughts on it with next week's post.

For now, aside from the previews and Reality Steve, the only insight I have about the episode comes from Brittney, who said there might have been a record set for the amount of times "Here for the right reasons" was said. So, I'm definitely looking forward to counting those.

If you watched it, what else amused / entertained / terrified you? Make sure and leave me a comment if there's something particularly awesome I need to see. Because, truth be told, I'll probably skip over the flashbacks and anything else that starts to bore me.

And, no worries, next week I'll be back to unfanciness and resume my normal TV-watching schedule. But I will miss the turn-down service and the chocolates on the pillow. I thought that was just something that happened in the movies, but apparently it's real.

Writer's Workshop: Whatchya doin'?

"I don't like chatty. I don't do chatty. I like quiet and mean. Those are my people."

- Nurse Jackie

It's been a while since I did a Writer's Workshop post, but this week's topic seemed right up my alley.

"What is one pet peeve that shouldn't drive you crazy, but does?"

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Here comes another rant about grammar!" Wrong. Disregard for grammar does drive me crazy, but it should! The same goes for hitting "Reply All" and responding to 400 people on an email that only concerns 398 of those people. That should get on my nerves! And don't get me started on how I am a significantly better driver than everyone else sharing the road with me.

The thing that gets on my nerves and shouldn't is leading / obvious questions. You know, when you're engaged in something blatantly obvious - say, eating - and someone says "Hey, whatchya doin'?"

I realize this is just an icebreaker or a way to simply say "hi"... but it always gets under my skin. So I inevitably give them an "Are you kidding me?" look and people think I'm ruder than I actually am. Why not just say "Hey! How are you?" From there, we can begin a pleasant conversation.

The simple fact is that I don't do chatty in non-social situations. If I'm at a get-together or something, that's one thing, but in the course of daily life, small talk riddled with awkward questions annoys me. It's not that I don't care what is going on in my friends' lives, it's just that I like to get to the meat of the conversation instead of first discussing the fact that I'm eating a sandwich. 

That leads me to Part B of my inappropriate pet peeve: leading questions. When someone calls or texts and says "What are you doing Friday?" I can't help but say "What's the question after that?" You see, typically the inquiry is actually "Do you want to go to a movie on Friday?" "Can you help me put stuff in the attic Friday?", etc. Again, it sounds like I'm being anti-social or unwilling to participate in something. That's not the case. I just like my information in a concise manner. Blame Twitter. Ask what you really want to know. Period.

Maybe it comes from working as software trainer and having to constantly respond with 40 more questions before I can get to the heart of the problem. I often get a vague inquiry and have to play connect-the-dots to figure out what the person really needs. If, in the beginning, they would say "I need such and such report so I can do this or that with it", I could easily say "Alright, go here. Do this." Voila! I just saved both of us 45 minutes of our life we could never have gotten back.

Do I have a real leg to stand on here? No. No matter how I explain it, I come off as unfriendly. Hopefully the fact that I know it shouldn't annoy me helps a little. Either way, I do know that character flaws rarely go unnoticed. No matter how much something annoys me, I end up being guilty of it at some point.

For example, the other day David was putting clothes away. I stuck my head in the room and said "Watchya doin'? Putting up some laundry?" He quickly responded "Nope, shaving my legs." Wait, what? That's my default answer to obvious questions.

All I could do at that point was quote Phoebe Buffay: "I have tasted my own medicine. And it is bitter."

Lesson learned. But still annoying.

~What's your pet peeve that shouldn't be? Oh, come on. We all have one. Or five.~

The Bachelor, Week 9: Will this ever end?

Remember how excited I was about Brad returning? Yeah, I'm kind of over that. I mean, he's still super delicious to look at, but this season seems to be crawling by. I actually folded laundry during this episode. Laundry is pretty much the bane of my existence and it was still more entertaining than this episode. But anyway...

First, Brad packed up his NYC hotel room so he could head to South Africa. I noticed he made sure to put his ridiculous newsboy cap on the top of the suitcase. Here's hoping his bag got inspected by TSA and someone tossed that hat in the trash. Anyway, he went on and on about how he was freaking out about the decisions he had to make but how he didn't want to be "that guy" again. Then he took his seat in First Class and started going on and on about the women. Nothing we haven't heard before from him. In fact, I'm pretty sure some of it was the exact same audio clips we'd heard before.

Basically, sparks flew immediately with Chantal but she's a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Ashley is easy to be around and he likes that she's so driven, but he's insecure about their relationship. Emily is one in a million and he feels like a better person around her but her past intimidates him. Brad is starting to seem like a woman to you too, right?

Okay, so he landed in South Africa and went on and on about what a beautiful place it was. Is it really necessary to have this conversation at every locale? I mean, unless it's required by a hometown date, this show is not going to send everyone to Iowa. Of course they are going to pick beautiful, touristy places. Ugh.

Anyway, time for Chantal's date. She arrived in entirely unflattering jean shorts. I've read enough derogatory things about Chantal's size that I feel the need to comment. A) She's not fat. Not even close. B) Yes, she's gained some weight during the season, but she's still not fat. She's just not emaciated. C) Jean shorts are pretty much universally unflattering and if you do happen to have a little meat on your bones - which I applaud - you shouldn't really choose any shorts that hit you at the thickest part of your thigh. Bottom line: She's not fat and you're mean if you say she is... but those shorts didn't do her any favors. And it's not 1993.

Brad arrived to take Chantal on a safari. Right out of the gate, they saw lions and giraffes and elephants and.... and... and...  Okay, hold on. This was clearly a safari park. Let's not make it like they were isolated in the African bush for days. Pretty much they did the exact same thing I did at Disney's Animal Kingdom a few months ago. Only I got to see a rhino charge. But whatever. Brad said he thought the safari was dangerous and that relationships need to experience danger to grow. What the what?!

Chantal apparently agreed with this nonsense. She said she was trusting Brad to keep her safe and that it was a metaphor for their relationship. Yeah, because in hand-to-paw combat with a lion, Brad would totally win. Furthermore, she said she couldn't wait for their overnight date so she could prove to him that she's totally in love. Well, normally I'd make some joke about her dad being so proud, but apparently Chantal's dad and Brad have some sort of bromance, so he's probably more upset that it's Chantal and not him instead of being embarrassed his daughter just told a national TV audience she's going to jump some guy in a few minutes.

During dinner, Brad gave Chantal the card from Chris offering them a key to the fantasy suite. Once again, why is this card from Chris? That just seems pervy. Chantal, of course, accepted and says they should hurry. Classy. They hiked out to the middle of an field and Brad points to a treehouse (except it had no walls... basically just a platform with a bed on it) and tells her that's the suite. At this point, was anyone else wondering why the room key was necessary? Or what kind of wild animal noises they made?