• Brain, why are we always at odds??? Focus. Please!

    So, I’m working busily a couple of days ago. Busily working. Busy busy busy. Productive as all get out. And I hear someone walking by saying, “When a problem comes along…” And my brain got very very excited and immediately supplied me with “…you must whip it” and insisted that my mouth produce it. So I ran with it. Come on, it’s Devo. And the two of us (plus my brain shouting in my poor, sad head) ran with a couple of the lines of the song, and the normal person returned to his day. I, however, saddled with a brain that poses jauntily beside the word neurotic in the dictionary, spent a few minutes running through the song in its entirety in my head complete with the video visual from back in the day. Which was fun. And nostalgic. Until my brain thought I was on board for three more rounds of this. Which. NO! So, I struggled mightily to return to a place of productivity.

    And then, just as I thought I was getting it back together, my brain went to the place of crazy. The inner dialogue that I was stuck listening to [held hostage listening to, I should say] as I tapped my foot impatiently trying to get back to work, I mean, SERIOUSLY, BRAIN!!! went something like this:

    Weren’t those adorable idiots wearing SLEEVELESS black turtles with Lego-licious, round towers on their heads? Those dudes sure brought the crazy. Wait, Whip It. Wasn’t there another song called Whip It? That’s not possible, right? How did that go? 

    Wanna see you whip it (not right, btw — just looked that up),
    Sure could treat you right
    Give me just a minute
    Of your time tonight

    Oh you sweet, stupid fool! That’s Let It Whip by the Dazz Band. Wait, which one was in Pitch Perfect? Oh right, Let It Whip. Glad I remembered that. Hilarious. Love those Trebles.

    And then, people, my mind went on a tangent so bizarre that I can’t begin to remember where it began or ended because every weird step of that trail was totally unrelated to the piece that preceded and the piece that followed. The trail, she is cold. My brain, she is hopeless.

    January 23, 2015 • I have issues • Views: 26

  • Public bathroom stalls are in need of a design upgrade. Let’s make them bigger. Who’s with me?

    Look, I get that you can’t have stall doors open outward in public bathrooms. At least most of them need to open inward so people don’t get cold-cocked left and right when all they’re trying to do is attend to an errand. You have a bunch of stall doors opening out instead of in, and there’s a bunch of bodies laying there on the tile (EW!!!!) watching little blue birdies twirling ’round their noggin while they try to return their head contents to an unscrambled state. You get your next rush of incoming all stumbling over the inert forms lying here and there. It’s complete madness. I get it. But don’t you think the designers could maybe add an extra foot (or even two), so I don’t have to seriously consider stepping up onto the toilet seat in order to swing the door inward and exit the stall? I’m a germophobe, so I’m already dealing with this  specialty center of germ and bacteria origination and cultivation. In addition to that hurdle, I’m battling a small case of claustrophobia just trying to figure out how to navigate out of the stall. It’s not good is what I’m saying.

    January 19, 2015 • Health, I have issues • Views: 34

  • Dear Summer, I love you. I miss you. Please come back soon.

    I’m cold-natured. If everyone around me is wearing one layer, I’m probably wearing two. OK, sometimes there’s a stealth layer. I’m big enough to admit it. I might add a scarf, too. And gloves. Fingerless. Because I need to be productive at work, yo. If it’s atypically cold and my body hasn’t had time to adjust, I gotta pull out the crazy-cold formula to determine how many layers to apply before venturing out of the house. Recently, people around me have been wearing two layers which, if you do the math, means that I’m wearing four. Oh, I see where you went wrong there. You forgot that stealth layer.  Totally understandable. And totally shows how much you don’t get me.  Which makes sense because I’m all kinds of strange.

    Please don’t diagnose me. It’s not necessary. I’m a hypochondriac, so I’m way ahead of you. One of the more likely reasons for my chill factor is probably that I have the muscle tone of the Pillsbury Doughboy. “Hoo-Hoo.” OR “Hee-Hee.” Look, just because I share the physical characteristics, if not the sparkling charisma, of Poppin’ Fresh doesn’t mean I know what the little pasty fella is saying.

    So here’s the thing. With my typical layer count never falling lower than two layers, and usually settling into a rhythm of three to four daily layers in the January-February timeframe, it’s nearly impossible to be unobtrusive about the amount of clothes I’m wearing. I mean it’s pretty obvious that the woman who looks overly layered is, in fact, overly layered, when she can’t bend her silly elbows or do much more than lurch around the place with the awkward arm swinging and inability to bend her arm any more than a very slight 15 degrees. I’m walking around like an overwrought bodybuilder, so intent on building muscle mass that he/she forgot that arm and shoulder movement can be an asset in everyday situations. [I’ll admit that sometimes my formula lets me down, and my overzealous layering means there’s probably going to be a B.O. situation in my near future because my body will not tolerate being hot anymore than it will tolerate being cold. Neat, huh? Just give me a wide berth when passing me and keep our interactions to an absolute minimum. Or try a clothespin. You know, on your nose? It’ll be ok.]

    Nighttime requires a similar approach to layer calculation to assure a full night’s sleep instead of a night spent wandering the room searching for elusive blankets while mumbling distractedly and bumping into stray objects like a drunk reveler.  The formula is similar to daytime with the nod to an occasional stealth blanket that I hide in the morning whenever possible so Matthew loses an opportunity to mock me mercilessly. Formula: Matthew requires one blanket? Then, it’s clear that I’ll require three. Wait, it’s a really cold night? Better make it four. And don’t forget to get into a long-haul position at the onset, as all that blanket weight is going to pin me for the night.

    I did take important steps to improve the situation recently. I went on a quest for a down jacket. I tried one on in the store that should have been adequate. It wasn’t. I was cold with the jacket on in the store! So I looked around and spotted it. Cue angels singing. I believe there was a spotlight shining straight down from heaven onto that coat. It was the type of coat that people would probably buy for a big ski trip or a terrible winter in Chicago. But not me. I’m sporting that bad boy all around town, and most days I’m even warm. Eureka!!

    January 17, 2015 • Featured, I have issues • Views: 49