I loved high school. I mean hey, I had the world at my feet and a fully deployed umbrella over my head. What wasn’t to love? I had a lot friends, a nice house and a closet chalk full of fabulous stuff. BUT. For as much as it pains me to admit this … there is one particular thing that, whenever I think about it, still carves into my side like a frickin’ knife. A dull painful knife at that. (And no, this isn’t going to be a post about losing my virginity or attending my first kegger – what? Now you don’t want to read? Now that there’s no promise of teenage promiscuity I’ve lost your interest? Oh come on – this is better – really – because it still pisses me off and because after you read it you’ll want to throw something at my stupid little teenage self.)
So, like I said, I had a lot of friends. Which is exactly why, when on that fateful evening in May with the ENTIRE senior class gathered around the stage at one of the local country clubs for the big announcement, I expected to hear my name. Expected it – I did. I mean who the hell else could it have been? Drum roll … WHAT THE #$%@&?!!! Was it a joke? Was it a dream? A God awful nightmare perhaps? No. Sadly, it was real … and our stupid class president didn’t say my name. I wasn’t the one written down on that piece of paper … no … instead it was some other girl (yes, yes, I know I sound caddy but I’m having a true Valley Girl flashback moment here so do me the favor and humor me for a minute).
I remember smiling – or at least I’m pretty sure I did – and clapping and wanting to run and hide in the bathroom. I hadn’t been named prom queen. It was someone else. Someone who, for the record, wasn’t even (dare I say it?) pretty. OK. Fine. She was pretty – but I was prettier (don’t judge me – I’m still in my Valley Girl flashback).
Anyway, I was duped. And yes, I still want my tiara – the prom king? Not so much … WAHHH …
Today’s post inspired by The Daily Prompt: But No Cigar – “Tell us about a time things came this close to working out but didn’t. What happened next? Would you like the chance to try again, or are you happy with how things eventually worked out?”
It’s funny how some people like to talk about themselves and others don’t. I mean just poke around the blogosphere long enough and you’re bound to land on of those blogs where someone’s always complaining about their boss, crowing about some newfangled recipe they made for dinner last night (usually just another way to make some stupid casserole), whining about their weight, or worst of all bragging about how their child pooped on the potty for the first time. What? Do I soundcynical? It’s OK. I’m used to it … hell just yesterday someone reminded me that I’m a cynic (as if I needed reminding).Although come to think of it – I’m really not that cynical … Sarcastic? (So I’ve been told.) Do I mock people? Ummmm … maybe … but it’s all in good fun … and well, IF the lady in the office across from me is going to wear that she has to expect some kind of vexing – am I right? (Please, don’t answer that unless you agree with me – besides, IF you could see her you’d know what I mean.) Continue reading
You ever wonder who (SIDEBAR: Yes, I know, I’m only beginning and there’s already a sidebar – which, in reality doesn’t really make it a sidebar at all, does it? Well, anyway, when someone starts off a post with a question – especially “You ever wonder who” – I generally stop reading right there. So if I lose you, fine. Just know that you’re missing some real thought provoking material here.)
So … you ever wonder who came up, or comes up, with the emojis on our cell phones? I mean I get the smiley face, the sad face, the laughing face and most all the faces for that matter, but some of the others? Not so much. I mean at what point in any conversation does someone need to send someone else a tiny sheep? Or an eggplant? Flamingo dancer? OK. I guess, maybe. But a stone-head replica from Easter Island? Continue reading
So a girl walks into a bathroom (I know, you thought I was going to say bar, didn’t you) … not a swanky powder room, but a restroom – you know, like in an office building that houses roughly 3,000 other people on any given day.Yea. One of those bathrooms. One with twelve stalls, six sinks, a couple of full length mirrors and, for some odd reason or another, a scale.
So the girl wonders, “Why is there a scale in here?” Was it an afterthought of the building super who thought he’d be doing us all a favor by placing it in the far off corner … I mean ‘cause you just never know when you might want to hop on and check your numbers? It’s weird, isn’t it? I mean who does that – who weighs themselves in a public restroom?
Now IF it were one of those scales that also spurted out some magical fortune, well, OK. Then it would make sense. But a plain old silver metal scale? Not so much. Continue reading
Ever notice how many words in the English language are ambiguous? Too many if you ask me – and quite frankly, the equivocal usage has thrown many of my conversations as of late …
Case in point, so I know someone that works in the wood products industry. And the other day, someone else point blank asked me, “What kind of wood does he have?” And I, well, I stumbled a bit. Cocked (no pun intended) my head to the left and contemplated all the ways I could answer that question. I mean really? First of all I don’t have much of a clue what kind of wood he has (or doesn’t for that matter) but secondly, could they not have phrased that question differently?
It’s funny, isn’t it, how certain words can throw you off – even alter your train of thought. I mean did you see all the parodies of Tom Brady discussing the firmness, or lack thereof, of his balls? Continue reading
I like being an American. Really, I do. I am a card carrying member of the red white and blue. But sometimes – I admit – I wouldn’t mind living off the grid for a while. Of course I’d want the rest of the world to go on standby and wait until I got back before making any significant changes, or discoveries for that matter. I mean I wouldn’t have wanted to have been away when Franklin flew his kite, the Wright brothers flew at Kitty Hawk, Neil and Buzz flew to the moon. (Oh, wait – to clarify, I was not alive during any of those moments, I’m only saying that had I been, I wouldn’t have wanted to have been off gallivanting in some far off land.) Continue reading