My Perilous Journey

I had a bit of a dilemma yesterday as I was driving home.  It had great potential to become a catastrophe really but before we go too far, let me back up a bit.

 

I have never claimed to be, nor have I ever been accused of being, a “girly” girl.  My entire childhood I spent making mud pies and playing “Cowboys and Indians”.  Don’t get me wrong, I had my moments.  I had an elaborate Barbie house, 20 or so Barbie dolls, and a garage full of cars.  Because of that, I’ve grown into a woman that doesn’t get all upset when she gets mud all over her new shoes or gets fussy if the store doesn’t have the right brand of moisturizer.  This is the type of woman that isn’t fazed by too many things.

 

I’m an outdoors-y type.  I love nature, camping, getting dirty, being out in the elements; all that stuff that the prissy women tend to back away from.  I don’t have a problem with bugs, snakes, spiders, or any other kind of creepy crawlies…

 

Except…

 

Bees!

 

This picture alone terrifies me!
Photo credit: Greensmiths.com

For clarification purposes, let me just explain that for me, the word “bee” is a general term.  When I say bee I’m including anything that remotely resembles one meaning, bees, wasps, hornets, and whatever else may be flying around with a nasty little stinger on its tushy.

 

I have no clue why I’m so terrified of bees, I’ve never been stung by one and I can’t imagine it hurts much worse than anything else I’ve experienced before.  I will willingly get into a car day after day knowing full well that it could crash causing me to break a bone or even worse, but for some reason, the threat of some tiny little insect with a needle on the end of its butt scares the crap out of me.

 

And for some reason people seem to think they are doing me some service by telling me “They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”

 

QUIT TELLING ME THIS!

 

I understand that statement may be true but that’s like telling someone who’s afraid of heights that “It only hurts if you fall” or someone who is afraid of the dark “It’s only scary when you turn the lights out.”  If you are truly afraid of something, no rational explanation will make that fear go away.

 

 

 

Okay, so now that we have that over, let me tell you about my drive home yesterday.

 

Yesterday’s commute was a fairly uneventful one as far as traffic was concerned in fact; it was a pretty darn good traffic day.  Here I was, driving down the road, minding my own business, singing my heart out to something on the radio and then…I heard it.

 

That unmistakable sound that literally sends chills up and down my spine and causes my cheeks to clinch.

 

The high pitched, squealing buzz of tiny little bee wings flittering faster than the speed of light.

 

Seeing as I was going about 85 down the highway at the time (yes, I’m a speed racer) I had to try and compose myself.  I tried to turn the radio up so as not to hear the buzzing but it persisted.  I began concentrating on my breathing, desperately trying to keep myself calm.

 

Finally, I saw it, my exit.

 

I exited from the highway and stopped at a convenience store, rolled all of the windows down, and jumped out.  I began walking around the car in circles on my tip toes, crouching down and peeking through the very bottom of the windows to see if I could find the culprit.  I circled the car about 3 times and finally saw him (or her, aren’t they usually drones you see?  And aren’t’ the drones female?).  She was resting on the inside of the back windshield.

 

I got a little smug at this point because I now realized that I was currently the favorite to win this battle.  Since I have a hatchback, it should be no problem to simply open the hatch and coax the insect out, right?

 

I carefully pulled the hatch up, so as not to disturb the creature and cause her to fly before I was ready. I creeped under it and assessed my current situation.  I found a magazine, rolled it up, and planned my approach for probably ten minutes before deciding to move forward.  In all honesty, I was secretly praying that the bug would just fly off on her own free will, obviously that never happened.

 

I finally mustered up the courage, and slowly and cautiously got closer and closer.  I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck tighten up and my lungs felt like they were shrinking by the minute.  I held my breath, closed my eyes, and swung.  I opened my eyes to see that not only had I completely missed the bee, I missed hitting the car all together.  I tried again.  And again. And again.  Finally I realized that I must look like some crazy woman, out there flapping around, swinging a magazine in the air and jumping back and forth as if I was doing a rain dance.  I came to terms with the fact that I would have to do this with my eyes open.

 

Again, I approached with extreme caution, moving in slowly.  I stretched my arm out as far as I possibly could; making sure that my body was as far away from the bee as humanly possible. I couldn’t quite reach the bug from where I was standing and I wasn’t about to get any closer so I propped myself up on my tip toes and finally was able to just touch the insect.

Pretty sure this is exactly what I looked like
Photo credit: izismile.com

 

She fluttered her wings but remained in the same place.  I didn’t care though; I jumped back like cat that had just had its whiskers ripped out.  Once I regained my composure, I tried again.  Six or seven times we did this, the bee would simply flutter her wings and I would jump ten feet in the air and retreat.  It was at this point that I realized she knew exactly what she was doing and was just playing with me.

 

I finally got frustrated enough that I decided to just go for it.  I swallowed hard, took a deep breath that I never let out, and flung myself forward, swinging the magazine with all my might.  I just barely clipped the insect which caused her to actually take off.  For a brief moment, I celebrated.  This reaction was very short lived because it only took nano-seconds for me to realize that the bee was flying directly towards me.  I squealed in terror, probably a little louder than I would have wanted, and began backing up at a rapid pace, my arms flailing out in front of me and my squeals getting louder and louder.

 

Finally, I stopped.  I stood still for a few moments, trying to catch my breath.  At this point my heart was racing and I was downright terrified.  I didn’t care that my little shenanigan had caused a good crowd of onlookers to stop everything that they were doing and laugh at my antics.  I realized that the bee had flown off and was no longer trying to torment me.  I walked back to the car, put the hatch down and started to get back in, only to see that she had flown BACK into the car and was now resting on the steering wheel.

 

I threw up my hands in disbelief.  What had I done to deserve this?  Had I angered some sort of “Bee God”?  What would it take to please them again?  Did I need to make some sort of honey related sacrifice?  I was willing to do just about anything to get this little bugger (pun fully intended) to leave me alone!

 

At this point I looked up to see that one of the onlookers had finally found it in his heart to assist me.  He came towards me, smiled, took off his baseball cap and with one fell swoop flung the bee out of the car.  She went flying through the air, I’m pretty sure I heard her high pitched bee voice scream “By the power of Greyskull!”, and then she hit the ground with a thud and began twitching.  I almost felt sorry for the old girl.

 

Bet you never knew bees loved Heman huh?
Photo credit: scifimafia.com

Slightly embarrassed, I thanked the gentleman for his assistance, he obliged, laughing while he did so.  I tried to explain myself and my irrational fear of bees.  He merely nodded his head and began to walk off.  As I climbed in the car and began to drive off, I passed my helper.  I waved at him and again thanked him for saving me from my distress and he smiled, tipped his hat, and called out to me…

 

“You know they won’t bother you if you don’t bother them!”

I’m a product of the Saturday Morning Generation

Warning: Danger ahead Photo credit: Tvropes.org

I don’t recall having a terrible childhood. I thought everything was pretty good at the time. Apparently, though, I should be the victim of terrible psychosis with rage issues and be morbidly obese.

My parents allowed me to watch what I called at the time “cartoons,” but what are now called “displayed violence aimed at children.” Every Saturday, I ate my high-fructose corn syrup infused cereal (part of a complete balanced breakfast, as long as you plan on getting your nutrients somewhere else) and plopped myself in front of the television. There, I witnessed animal after animal maimed by bombs, sledge hammers, anvils, and all assortments of falling objects. They were often the objects themselves, hurtling off of the edge of a cliff while the creature they chased somehow managed to escape a fall to their death.

If you’ve seen cartoons now, there are no bombs in sight. No weaponry. No logic defying escapes from death. Just boring characters saying boring things while they participate in boring events.

Yawn.

The reason for this is, of course, due to the likelihood of the violence seen on television being repeated by children. The chances are greatly increased that your kid will sneak into your dynamite and anvil stash and try to destroy his friends if they watch Looney Tunes. If they watch the new cartoons, they’ll probably just gouge out their eyes out of boredom, which is completely victimless.

Black and white Looney Tunes opening title fro…

I have experienced this myself. At the time, it just seemed like innocent fun, but looking back I realize that I was bordering on becoming a public menace.

One Saturday, I experienced my usual cartoon and sugar induced buzz. While I focused on the blurry images on the screen (yes kids, this was BEFORE HD TV), I witnessed one of the greatest physics examples of my young life. A man was swiftly running, his arms and legs pumping while the soundtrack flitted and fluttered in the background. All of a sudden, his running was met with an unexpected impedance.

He hit a banana peel.

As soon as the man hit the ground, it was as if the thud of the body to ground contact shook an idea loose in my head.

I had to know if this would work.

I immediately went to work, a preteen version of Mythbusters. My lab would be my kitchen floor, much to the chagrin of my parents.

I carefully peeled a banana, making sure to leave the peel intact, before placing it, ever so gently, on the floor.

Since I had no siblings on which to test my theories, I quickly came to the realization that I had to be both scientist and guinea pig.

As it turns out, you don’t really fall down like in cartoons. You really just squish banana peel all over the kitchen floor. I’m not sure, but I think my mom would have dropped an anvil on my head that day. Fortunately, we lived in an anvil free household.

So I guess it might be a good thing that cartoons border on torture nowadays. Now all children have to reenact is whatever it is that’s entertaining about modern cartoons.

It, at least, keeps the kitchen floor a little bit cleaner.

In Loving Memory

 

Friends and loved ones, we gather here today to mourn the loss of a very dearly loved friend.

 

I am, of course, speaking of the beloved “Cheap Gas”.

 

I was shocked by the news I received this morning when I was advised that Cheap Gas had finally given up the fight.  His parting will not go unnoticed for he was truly a cherished member of every household in America and around the world.

 

Cheap Gas was born many, many years ago, in fact, so long ago that no one actually knows the exact date of his birth.  He quickly became a household staple and people became so fond of him that they generally learned to take his existence for granted.  As the years rolled on, Cheap found it harder and harder to keep up with the dying economy and his health slowly began to deteriorate.  He is survived by wife, Shell Gas-Station, and two ravenous and greedy children: Crude Oil and Federal Government.

 

Cheap Gas was a firm believer in Good Values, another great friend we lost years ago.  Together, Gas and Values formed a coalition known as the “American Dream”.  The America Dream was a simple idea, it allowed for all citizens to live happy, carefree, and enriching lives without worrying about expenses.  Gas and Values powered America for many years however, when their health began to deteriorate, so did the strength of the American Dream.

 

It is with a heavy heart that I lay to rest our dear friend Cheap Gas, may he rest in peace.  It is my hope that someday his descendants will learn to understand the significance of his impact on this planet and will come to terms with their greed and that we may once more see the rise of the American Dream.

I Finally Got my Trail Ride

 

Warning!  Warning!  The following blog is not funny, sarcastic, or silly in any form or fashion (I don’t think).  I just wanted to talk about my super cool weekend.  No gas station shenanigans occurred, no one tried to force bone-in chicken down my throat, and most importantly, the evil world dominating earthworms have not surfaced and started their diabolical plan.

 

Okay, just wanted to get that out of the way for those of you who come here for comic relief!  Sorry guys, if you want that, go to someone else’s blog today(I promise the next blog will be funny), at least I warned you!  If you want to hear about my super cool, totally awesome weekend with my horse children, then read on!

 

 

 

I’ve had Cheyenne for almost three years now and this past weekend was the first time that I’ve actually taken her somewhere away from the house and done something fun with her.

 

There has always been an excuse of some sort or another.  When I first got her, we didn’t have a trailer, then we got a trailer only for her to decide a few months later that she was ready to (unexpectedly) pop out a baby.  By the time the colt was old enough to be left alone, we had sold the trailer and were in the process of finding one.  Then we got another trailer and my step dad wrecked his truck and something tells me my little 4-cylinder hatchback wouldn’t pull 2000 pounds of horse flesh!

 

It really was one thing after another.

 

A few weeks ago, my step dad started acting like he was interested in the horses again and decided that we would try to load the horses up and start taking them on trail rides, my absolute favorite thing to do with the horses!

 

Wouldn’t you know it, once he finally came around; we had one of our lovely Texas week-long rain storms.  I know we need the rain, and quite honestly, I would be fine with it raining non-stop except for one small problem – mud.

 

Finally, last weekend, everything was a “go”.  That is, until we went to load the horses.

 

The other horse, Tip, has always been a pro at loading; he will hop into just about any trailer you put in front of him, same with Cheyenne.  So what happened last weekend was the least of my worries.

 

We loaded Tip, no problems at all but when it was my girl’s turn, she completely spazzed out and was bound and determined that she was NOT getting in the trailer.  We fought back and forth for six hours and finally convinced her to get in.  By then, it was just too late to go anywhere.  I’m pretty sure she knew what was up and just waited long enough to turn a delay into a cancellation.  Little snot!

 

Anyways, we had something else with the church that we were going to take the horses to on Wednesday night which we thought was going to work out great because I had come over every day prior to work on loading and she had practically jumped in the trailer like it was the coolest thing she had ever done.  I was excited as Wednesday rolled around…until the rain came.

 

Needless to say, Wednesday didn’t happen so I was forced to wait it out again until the weekend.

 

Saturday morning rolled around and I was determined that we were hitting the trail.  I came over super early to load, thinking that we were going to have a repeat of the previous weekend.  I grabbed Cheyenne, walked her to the trailer, opened it up and she almost knocked me over trying to get in!  I was elated; it finally was going to happen!

 

We drove to Lake Whitney, which is about an hour and half drive from where I live.  By the time we got there the horses were ready to be out of the trailer.  The weather was absolutely perfect, good temperature, plenty of sunshine, and just a gentle breeze.

 

We ended up riding for nearly 4 hours.  Poor horses probably felt as though we had cut their throats.  It did some good to sweat them out though.  And even though they were being asked to do more work than they had in a long time, both of them behaved absolutely perfectly.  I was so proud of my girl.

 

I’ve been on trail rides before but I never knew how much more fun it would with my own horse.  I’ve always been appreciative for those how have loaned me horses for rides but I can honestly say now, I don’t think I could ever enjoy another trail ride nearly as much now that I know how my girl handles the course.

 

I just love that girl to pieces.  She’s one of those “Once in a lifetime” horses.  Just being around her makes me feel better.   Anytime I have a bad day, I just grab her out of the pasture and hug her neck or lead her around and she reminds me exactly why it is that I sacrifice the things I do to take care of her.  I can’t imagine my life without her.

 

I thought I would post some pictures from our ride this weekend.  We really did have a great time and if all works out we are going again on Saturday.  I can’t wait!

 

She's just happy to be out of the trailer at this point. I know our trailer is ugly, we just bought this one and haven't had a chance to paint it or anything. It's a great little trailer structurally, just not all that pretty!

 

Saddled and ready to hit the trail!

 

This is an absolutely beautiful ride.

 

I love this picture. We saw several cattle along the way and even though she's never seen one, at least in the 3 years I've had her, she never once acted like an idiot around them.
Again, just a beautiful place to ride. I really wish I had a better camera, these pics just do it no justice.

 

We came across this very protective mama cow and her insanely cute baby. Almost makes me want to get a cow!....but only almost.

 

I was trying to be creative with this shot but she chose this very moment to ruin it by putting her ears back. Little Snot!

I think you’ll see by the next three pics that I was pretty successful at sweating her out.  It was good for her though!

 

Dried her out and finally got some of that horrible winter coat off. Poor thing, I think that's why she was sweating so bad. She's still got a lot to lose and if I had some clippers I would probably just go ahead and sheer it all off. Oh well, daily brushing will get her there eventually!

 

Dear Gas Station Patron

My dearest fellow gas station patron,

 

How have you been?  I know we only saw each other this morning but it seems like it’s been forever. What’s that?  You don’t remember me?  Well, I was the person standing behind you in line this morning, I’m sure you heard several “Umphs” and “Seriously?!?s” and other generally disgusted sighs coming from directly behind you.  Well that was me.  You remember me now?  Great!

I can understand that you probably felt my impatience was slightly unfounded and I just thought I might need to take some time to explain myself.

You see, I drive quite a ways to work every morning and by the time I get there, I’m usually hungry or thirsty, or I just want to get out and walk around.  This morning, my destination of choice was the truck stop right off the highway where I exit.  It’s very convenient for me however, almost always very busy, even at 615 in the morning.

I decided to pull in despite the fact that I know I will always have to wait in line.  After walking around inside for a few minutes I finally grabbed a bottle of water and some Chex mix, probably not the healthiest breakfast I agree, but the decision was made and there was not turning back.

Since I was trying to get to work as soon as possible so as not to lose my favorite parking spot, I was slightly annoyed with myself for choosing a facility with notoriously long lines but, being the nice person that I am, I allowed you to go in front of me.  I briefly thought about wedging you out for that position but the nice person inside me won out.

I made the split decision that you had a far more important mission to complete than I.  Maybe you had run out of gas on the side of the highway, you had left your pregnant wife and two year old twins sitting in the safety of the locked car while you made the treacherous hike along I-35 to obtain replacement fuel.  I don’t know what I would have done had I been responsible for you taking even one more second longer to return to your desperate family.  I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to them.

The burden of your poor family weighed heavy on my heart and I immediately felt better about allowing you to go in front of me in line.

I have to admit, I was quite anxious as you made your way to the counter; I couldn’t wait to hear you recount your perilous tale to the cashier.  The closer and closer we came to the front of the line the more evident it became that you weren’t sweating, nor did you appear fatigued, so I began to rule out the stranded family.  You did seem more and more nervous, however.  Now it became apparent to me that you had been tasked with something far more important than simply saving your family, you had been chosen to save the entire world.

Perhaps you needed a bag of ice to keep the human kidney you were transporting cool so it could save the life of a foreign dignitary.  Maybe you were attempting to buy the tools to create a MacGyver style device that would thwart an evil terrorist attack, all from a lottery scratch-off, a lighter, and a taco flavored taquito.  Someone has to be the hero.

I know now that the award of hero does not go to you, my friend.

You walked up to the counter, looked the cashier squarely in the eye and pulled something out of your pocket.  I have to admit, I was slightly terrified at this moment, seeing how nervous you had been standing in line, and it took everything in me not to hit the floor and scream “Gun!”

“Can you give me a ten dollar bill?”

It was now that I realized you had not produced a gun from your pocket but rather a baggie full of change and you didn’t stop there.  You proceeded to pull change from every pocket on your body.  I stood behind you in disbelief as I watched pocket lint float to the ground.

The cashier behind the counter tried her hardest to keep from turning the color of her red uniform shirt.  She seemed to get more and more flustered as you threw pennies, nickels, and dimes at her

Now, let me just say, I know that it’s annoying being weighed down by a pocket full of change, I can only imagine how frustrated you must have been lugging around all that extra weight however, gas stations are not banks.  If you would like to exchange money, I would think that the more appropriate choice of establishment would be your local bank.

See, banks are well equipped for handling things like money.  I know that may sound shocking but banks deal with money; gas station deal with chips, drinks, dirty restrooms, and of course, gas.

So my dear friend, I am writing you this little message to advise you that you may want to go somewhere other than a gas station to finalize your next money related transaction.  I will forgive you this time but rest assured, when you are at the gas station and actually trying to save your pregnant wife from being eaten by a swarm of hungry lady bugs, I will not be so kind to you.

Yours Truly,

Sam

“Aren’t You a Little Short for a…” Cowboy?

Today’s blog touches on a subject that always seems to make people lose their skittles.  Apparently the threat of me ever getting married and having babies is far more scary than the very real possibility that earthworms will form an impenetrable military and force their way to the surface where they will take human hostages and turn them into slaves and force them to build the worlds largest mud ball.

Watch yourself...they're plotting something! Photo Credit: folkworm.ceri.memphis.edu

Ummm, okay….maybe I got a little carried away there.  I guess peoples’ fear could be due to the fact that I have never been shy about my distaste for children.  Don’t be offended by that, I’m not saying there is anything wrong with having kids and to those of you who do/want them; I have the highest respect for you.  Some of us just aren’t born to love children.

Anyways, the entire idea for this blog stems from a brief text message conversation I had yesterday with the boy (I can call him that now because you all read my blog yesterday and understand my nickname drama).  He had gone to his boss’s house to help move some patio furniture or something and apparently got engaged in a conversation with a five year old girl about Star Wars.  This had be very amusing to him because he, himself, is a Star Wars addict (yes mom, I’m dating a nerd….oh wait…she already knew that).

OKay...I have to admit...this IS pretty cute
Photo Credit: walyou.com

He and I are probably as far apart in interests as one couple can get.  He is the Star Wars, science fiction, audio/visual addicted city boy and I’m the nature loving, mud slinging, horse riding, country girl.  He would rather be out driving his fast car, I’d rather be hitting the trails (though I have to admit I do love riding in the fast car).  We pretty much have nothing in common, though I try really hard (and I think I’m pretty good) at trying to understand and enjoy his interests.  I’ve yet to see him on a horse, however.

Just to give you and idea of how different we are, here is a picture he sent me this morning of something that he just can’t live without…

Who WOULDN'T want one of these in their driveway?

And here’s a random picture that I took last night

Ugh...she's so gross and nasty right now...she could really use a good bath

But at the end of the day we get along pretty well because we are both pretty easy going, have a great sense of humor, and he allows me to make fun of him on my blog!

Okay, back to the task at hand.

This conversation got me to thinking.  I really feel horribly for our child, if we ever have one.  The poor thing will be insanely confused.  Most people worry that their child will grow up to be gay, or want to chase some unfounded dream but our child will never worry about such small issues.

No, our child will be too busy trying to figure out if he/she would rather ride a horse or a rocket ship. They will spend their time trying to understand the difference between a Tie Fighter and a Martingale and will probably be the only kid in their class carrying a Star Wars lunchbox (do they still make cool lunch boxes?) while wearing boots, jeans, and a bandana.

I can guarantee you one thing; my child WILL have a pony.  There’s no debate about this and since I know my boyfriend is reading this, because he is a good boyfriend and reads my blogs, this is fair warning to him.

I just had the funniest image pop into my head of a 4-5 year old girl, trotting through the pasture on her pony, braids flopping under her Darth Vader mask.  Oh this poor child, the more and more I think about this the more I realize I’m doing society a favor by never having children.

Sadly, I'm not shocked by how easy it was to find this
Photo Credit: moddb.com

Hi, My Name is Sam and, Quite Frankly, I’m a Nutcase (Part Two)

In continuation of yesterday’s post, these habits are not food related but equally as disturbing.

 

 

Sticky yicky

 

This problem is such an issue for me, I actually got sick looking up pictures to add Credit: Anewatlantis.com

Gum or anything resembling gum makes my physically nauseous.  I can’t stand chewing the stuff and even worse, I can’t stand to see the stuff after it’s been chewed.

 

I have no idea where this affinity came from, my mom was a huge gum chewer when I was growing up and I even chewed it myself.   At some point in my life I just woke up one morning and decided it was gross.  I’m telling you all right now that if we ever go anywhere and you take your gum out of your mouth and place it on the lid of your cup or on your plate, do not be surprised if you have a little extra flavor added to your dinner because there WILL be vomit involved.

 

 

 

 

 

Sdrawkcab (backwards)

 

Well that's not right! Credit: Vistapeakstaff.org

I will always pick up a magazine and read it from the last page to the first.   A lot of times when I am proofreading something I will start with the last paragraph and work my way up.  This is actually a trick that a professor taught me in college.  It’s actually easier to spot mistakes if you read things in reverse because the way our brains work, we “predict” the rest of a sentence when we are reading something normally because we see a sentence as a picture and can process all the information at once.  If you read something in reverse it’s not quite as easy to do that and you are much more likely to catch mistakes, try it sometime, you never know what you might discover!

 

 

 

 

 

I dub thee “Sir Frank”

 

Credit: Viralswagger.net

I name eveything.  Every single car I’ve ever owned has had a name and to this day, I can still name each of them.  Don’t believe me? Well here you go:

 

  1. 1994 White Chevrolet Camaro “Snow” (I had this one before I turned 16 and it blew up the first time we took it out, I’ve had a slight hatred for Chevrolet ever since)
  2. 1994 Green Ford Tempo “Baby”
  3. 1997 Tan Ford Escort “Trigger”
  4. 2000 Blue Ford Mustang “Thunder” (technically my mom’s car as she traded her mini van in for it but she later gave it to me)
  5. 2002 Blue Ford Escort ZX2 “Ice”
  6. 1994 White Mazda Protégé “Minxi” (Best car I ever had!)
  7. 2005 White KIA Spectra “Cupid” (because I bought it on Valentines Day, alternatively the WORST car I’ve ever had)
  8. 2007 Red Suzuki Reno “Suzie” (for Suzie Suzuki, this is my current car, you know, the one with the bad windshield wiper)

 

I can’t stand that my boyfriend refuses to name his cars.  Therefore I’ve taken the liberty of naming them for him however, due to the fact that I don’t want to completely offend him, I’ve been as un-creative as possible. I’ve given them extremely simple names, his white car is “Whitey” and the black car is “Blackie”.  I don’t think he has accepted that these are their names and just ignores me when I say it because it’s just not worth it to argue with me, I will refer to them as Whitey and Blackie no matter how much he argues.

 

Anyways, the naming thing goes well beyond cars.  I am a stuffed animal fanatic mainly because of another obsession I have (I’m addicted to claw machines).  Each of them has a name and for the most part, I can tell you all of the names pretty quickly.

 

I also give people nicknames.  For whatever reason, I have trouble sometimes calling people by their real name.  I have no clue why this is.  I called my mother “Sparky” for a good year and a half; I have no clue where it came from and why I grew a sudden repulsion to simply calling her “mom”. I even have weird names for people in my phone.  When my mom is calling, my caller ID tells me that “The Mothership” is calling and when my boyfriend calls it’s “The Boy”.

 

 

 

 

 

Shoes?  Who needs ‘Em?

 

Bare feet are happy feet! Credit: Mumsgone2aus.com

If I could have it my way, I would never wear shoes of any kind.  In fact, I don’t even want socks.  I could easily go barefoot for the rest of my life and never think twice about it.  I get this from my father.  He used to go everywhere barefoot, so much so that his feet grew such thick calluses that he could walk through a briar patch and never feel anything.

 

I try not to go to this extreme since I am a girl, though admittedly, not a “girly” girl.  I usually reserve my bare footedness to just around the house and at the office, basically anywhere that is carpeted.  I also try to respect the people I’m with.  I would be more than happy to tear my socks and shoes off my feet in the middle of Olive Garden but I understand that most people might view this as unsanitary (I don’t know why, I regularly walk through a pasture of horse poo, they would probably rather me take my shoes off) so I try to respect that and keep my tootsies covered.

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll just keep my dry skin…thanks!

 

One thing I promise you'll never see me do Credit: Life123.com

When I was little, I was absolutely a “tom boy”.  I played with Ninja Turtles, GI Joe, and Legos and I loved playing outside.  I would, however, become insanely upset if my hands got dirty or even worse, sticky.

 

I’m not as bad about it anymore but I can not stand to use lotion for this reason.  I hate the way it feels on my hands.  It’s greasy and no matter how much you wipe your hands, the residue just doesn’t seem to go away.  It’s quite tragic actually because I have really dry skin on my legs and lotion feels good to them, I just don’t do it nearly as much as I should and will only use it if I have a rag or something that I can apply the lotion to first.  Otherwise, I have just learned to deal with dry skin.

 

 

 

 

 

Have your people call my people and I’ll text you back….maybe

 

So glad we don't have these anymore! Credit: Yiptel.com

You will never, ever, ever hear me claim to be a good communicator or to have good social skills because I’m just not good at those things and I refuse to trick myself into believing it.  It may be hard to believe from the length of my posts but I’m a pretty quiet, shy person and I rarely have much to say.  I think that’ why I took to writing so easily.  It’s not that I don’t have an opinion or lack of will to express myself; I just choose to do those things a little quieter.

 

In grade school, my teachers actually convinced my parents to have me tested because I just wouldn’t talk.  They thought there was something wrong with me mentally that was blocking me from having language skills.  It bothered me that they thought I was off in the head; I knew it had nothing to do with my mental abilities and more with my lack of social desire.  I’ve never been a talker and I honestly see nothing wrong with that, I think the world might be a little better if some people did less talking and more listening.

 

Anyways, my lack of desire to talk leads into issues with communication.  Namely, I do NOT like to talk on the phone.  I will text all day long but something about the actual action of speaking to someone on the phone for more than about 2 minutes just drives me up a wall.

 

Honestly, this little quirk of mine doesn’t bother me, what does bother me is other people’s inability to understand this.  People tend to take it personally that I will not call them or I often ignore phone calls only to return it later with a text message.  I understand that this makes me seem impersonal and it may be aggravating to some people but I’m just not going to change.  I hope that those I know can learn to respect that part of me and try to understand that this is who I am.

 

Additionally, I will not check voicemail.  I really don’t know why this is.  I’ve even gone to the extent to download a voicemail forwarding app on my phone.  I love this app because it sends voicemail directly to a third party and I never even get notification that I have a message.  I know this might be an issue if there is ever an emergency but I guess it’s one of those things that I will just have to deal with when that day comes.  Oh, and don’t ever try to call me from an unknown number and expect me to answer, it ain’t happening!

 

I guess that’s really all I can think of for now, I know more will come up later but until then…Please don’t leave and start calling me a psycho!

Hi, My Name is Sam, and Quite Frankly, I’m a Nutcase (Part One)

I looked at the word count for this and it seems I got a little carried away.  For that reason I’ve decided to break this up into more than one post.  I’m not exactly sure how many there will be, at least two but I know once tomorrow rolls around I will think of something else that I forgot that I just have to tell you all about.  Nothing like airing out your dirty laundry! 

 

I’ve decided to make this first post all about my eating habits, which are probably the most quirky things about me.  Tomorrow we will touch on the non-food related crazy things that I do!

 

 

 

 

 

 

It rained all night last night and into this morning, in fact I walked out a few minutes ago and it was still coming down.  I normally love a good rain shower, there’s nothing quite like sitting on your front porch listening to the rain.  It really is quite calming…until you have to drive to work in it.

 

I don’t know if it’s the rain or the fact that I was 14 minutes late to work (those of you who are regulars here know that what that really means is I was about 30 minutes late by my standards) but I’m just in a weird funk today.  I’m not really tired or in a bad mood, I just feel off.  So much so that I’m actually drinking coffee, something I just don’t do, unless it has about half a cup of ice in it.

 

Yes, I said ice.  For whatever reason, I just can’t stomach hot beverages; I’m just quirky that way.  In fact, I’ve wanted to write a blog about my quirkiness for sometime, I’ve started it a couple times but then something else will trump it and it will get put on the back burner.

 

I would imagine this will be an insanely comical blog to those who know me and have witnessed the weird things I do first hand and I hope those of you who don’t know me on a personal basis won’t get terrified and decide to “un-follow” me.

 

I originally made this an “Amelia” guest post.  She seemed to be a pretty big hit last time she showed up and believe me, she has a darn good time making fun of me, it’s what she does best.  I hit a writer’s block however, and decided to re-write the whole thing so here it is!

 

 

 

Hot or Cold?

 

I'll take that coffee with a little less steam please! Credit: fanpop.com

I’ve already told you that I can’t do hot beverages (I do the same thing with hot chocolate by they way) but it’s pretty much an across the board type thing.  What do I mean by this?  Basically, I do everything backwards.

 

Like most people, my first few years out on my own consisted of a strictly “Ramen Noodle” diet, so much so that I got very burnt out on them and didn’t eat them for years.  I recently started eating them again, just not like most people.  I eat Ramen three different ways:

  • I will cook it according to the package directions for 3 minutes in the microwave, mix my sauce pack and throw some ice in there to cool it off
  • I will make it with cold water and not cook it at all, let it sit for about 10 minutes so the noodles soften a bit and then have at it (this is my favorite way actually)
  • Mix noodles and sauce packet and eat them dry

 

I just don’t like things that are supposed to be hot to be overly hot.  I’m more of a lukewarm type person.  In fact, if I bring leftovers for lunch, very rarely will I heat them up and if I do, it’s only for a few seconds.

 

 

To part or not to part?

 

Everything has it's place... Credit: Healthykidsplate.com

So as if it’s not strange enough that I’m picky about the temperature of my food, probably my strangest habit is the way I eat.

 

I’m just going to put it out there and be blunt; I’m an extreme section eater.  I have no idea if that’s a real thing or not but I do know that there are people out there that call themselves section eaters.  We are not overly popular but also not as rare as you may think, in fact, I’d be willing to bet that someone reading this knows a section eater.

 

Section eaters will only eat one thing at a time.  So if you have a plate of steak, corn, and potatoes, they will eat all of their steak at once, then all of the corn, then all of the potatoes as opposed to taking a bite of each here and there.  I have no idea why we do this, and if I had a penny for every time I’ve heard “it all goes to the same place” you would never be graced with my blogs because I would be so wealthy I would be out traveling the world.

 

The thing is, it doesn’t matter where it all goes, what matters is I don’t want to mix the tastes which, to me, is the more important part of eating.  I’m not nearly as bad as some section eaters though, some people freak out if their food touches, thankfully I can deal with that.

 

So then, why do I call myself and extreme section eater?  Because I take it to another level.

 

Pretend that you and I go somewhere for a burger.  Are you pretending?  I don’t see your eyes closed.  Close them!  NOW!  Okay…we are eating our burgers and this is what you will witness going on on my side of the table.

 

  1. I will eat the entire outside edge of the burger just as a burger is meant to be eaten, all together, but just the outside (imagine just the crust if it were a sandwich)
  2. I will set the burger down, take the top bun and eat it, then eat the bottom bun
  3. I will eat the lettuce, then tomatoes, then pickles
  4. If it is a cheeseburger I will peel the cheese off the meat
  5. Finally, I will eat the meat

 

I pretty much do this for everything that I eat.  If I eat a salad, I will pick through and eat all of one thing at a time, things that come with some sort of breading will have that outer covering removed, and lasagna is eaten in layers.

 

Have I run you all off yet?

 

 

 

No bones about it

 

Do you mind taking those bones out? Credit:Whatscookingamerica.net

If you ever invite me to your house for dinner, let me just save you some trouble right now.  Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT attempt to feed me chicken of any kind unless you have removed all of the bones.  I simply will not eat it.  I have nothing against chicken in fact, I can tear up some chicken strips but there is just something about those tiny little poultry bones that makes my stomach turn.  I assume I would be the same way with other fowl like duck and turkey but I’ve never had duck and I don’t care much for turkey.  Any other meat, I’m fine, I have absolutely no issue gnawing the heck out of some ribs, bone and all.

 

(To Be Continued)

Oh Hi! I Just Called *Flush* to Tell *Flush* You That *Flush Flush*…

I have a very serious matter to discuss with you all today.  This is not to be taken light heartedly, I feel that it is a real issue that needs to be addressed and that we need to spread the word.

 

Have you ever been in the restroom, minding your own business, doing your “thing” and low and behold, from the neighboring stall you hear Mt. T screaming “Pick up yo phone! Sucker!”  As if that isn’t alarming enough, 95% of the time the person actually picks it up!

 

I understand that Mr. T can be quite persuasive but am I really the only person in the world who finds that to be obnoxiously rude, not to mention disgusting?  Can the phone call really not wait 30 seconds for you to finish, flush; wash your hands, and step out of the restroom?  It doesn’t matter if it’s urgent or not, what are you going to do sitting on the toilet that you can’t do easier when you’re not…busy?

 

The only thing that I hate more than being stuck in a restroom with someone who feels they need to carry on an entire one-sided (usually very loud) conversation is being the person on the other end of the line.  Obviously I don’t keep your potty schedule written down in my organizer otherwise I promise you I would never call you when you are  sitting on the toilet.  And if I ever call you and you are, please, please, please don’t answer.  When you call me back just tell me you were busy and I will be more than happy to forgive you.

 

The main problem with talking on the phone in a public restroom is, you have absolutely no control over when someone flushes and I guarantee you that there is someone in there just like me, that is annoyed with you and could care less why “Frank and Jill are getting divorced”.  If there is someone in there with you like me, expect to hear ten to twelve random flushes right after another because I will sit there and hit the button over and over until you get the hint.

 

I was in the restroom at work the other day and over heard the following conversation (only one side of it of course):

 

“Oh yeah, I had gloves, otherwise it would have been such a mess!”

Pause

 “Yeah, I had the Dr take a look at it; I’m waiting for the test results”

I flush the toilet at this point because I’m giving the person benefit of the doubt that they don’t know I’m in there with them

 “No, it wasn’t really hard, it was more squishy”

pause

 “Okay, well do you want to go to the Dr. with me?  They should probably check you out as well”

At this point I’m disgusted and my mind is going in so many different directions that I had to get up and leave.  I have no idea how long this conversation went on but I’m pretty sure it was a good thing I left when I did, conversations like these can only get worse!

 

We’ve established that talking on the phone in the restroom is quite annoying and the only thing that might possibly be more annoying is doing so while standing in line at the checkout counter.  When I was a cashier I used to stop everything I was doing and wait for the person to finish their conversation.  If there were people in line behind them their aggravation would typically force that person to get a clue.

 

It’s pretty clear that people are addicted to their phones and social media.  This is a generation that wants to stay connected with the world.  I understand that and for the most part I belong to this generation as well.  But there’s a difference between belonging to something and letting it consume you.

 

I wonder what it would be like if all forms of communication ceased to exist and we had to go back to things like telegraphs and carriages.  Could you imagine what it would be like to deliver mail to your family via pony express?  During the winter months it could take up to 16 days for them to get that letter, that’s assuming that the rider didn’t get ambushed along the way!

 

The sad thing is, if you were to do something as simple as taking everyone’s cell phone away from them, there would be riots, terrorist threats, and just plain chaos.  Just for taking ONE thing away.  We aren’t talking about taking someone’s first born child; we are talking about a phone, a material possession.

 

But oh how much we adore that material possession.  Again, I can’t say that I’m not guilty; my phone sits within reach just about 24/7.  As we speak it’s sitting 3 inches away from my keyboard.  I even almost had a crazed fit this morning because I made it all the way to work and thought I had accidentally left my phone at home.

 

Just for fun, I looked up a list of the top ring tones people download for their phones.  Though I might try to finish this post off on a positive note!

 

10. Pick up Yo Phone – Mr. T

9. Crazy Frog (You know you’ve got that in your head now!)

8. OMG – Usher

7. Southpark Soundbytes

6. Super Mario Bros Theme

5.  Exorcist Theme (Tubular Bells) – I’ve been guilty of this one at Halloween

4. Get Low – Lil’ John

3.  Original Nokia tune

2.  Star Wars Theme

1.  Vibration (My phone probably spends 98% of its life on silent mode so I can completely understand this)