Rob and I often get into unjustified spats due to the reason he feels that at times I have a certain, ahem, infliction in the way I speak which makes him think I am copping a cattitude with him. This is completely false. His hearing is just off, so I try to calmly explain to him that if I was mad, he would know it. There would be no question, when I get mad it's like a fog horn. There is no marginal anger with me. Do I get passionate about things? Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I am angry or upset. I'm simply giving 110% to the cause and apparently this can be mistaken for anger, once again I promise that is not the case. In fact, I usually stop caring about the subject halfway through the conversation, but by then I am so caught up in the festivity of it all I just continue arguing for the sake of arguing. One of my favorite things in the world is heated conversation. Even if Rob and I are on the same side of things, I like getting all boisterous and loud. I start using big, flamboyant words that may not be real words but are close enough that they're believable. I spout facts that I heard at some point, that I'm pretty sure are true. I say things with the confidence of a scholar, the passion of a TV evangelist and the hand motions of an air traffic marshaller. It's kind of my thing. I also fully enjoy being right, which is always.
Ok not really but even if I am wrong I will explain it thoroughly enough for you to understand how easily it was to have misspoken. Or I'll just end it with an "Eh, whatever." But if you are the one who is incorrect, look out, I'll have a power point presentation done in 30 minutes showing that you were, in fact, wrong, this is how you were wrong, this is what is happening psychologically that evoked a wrong answer, what you can do to change the pattern of wrong answers, and how observation and attention to details can prevent this from ever happening again. Now you work on that and these brain exercises I have for you here and I'll randomly bring this conversation up again in two weeks and see if you have learned anything.
If I put half the effort into further my education (or really any single productive aspect of my life) that I do my arguments, I would literally be the Donald Trump of the Midwest. Like the hair and everything, full commitment, that's how I roll. But alas, school is expensive and time consuming, I already have a good job with benefits and in the 4 years I have had my "grown up" job I've come to realize that even with a bachelor's degree, I would have the same job title that I have now. I would have to go all the way up to a master's then most likely would have to move to find a job where I only make a few thousand more a year than I do now, starting. That seems like a lot of work and honestly I find it difficult some days just going to the basement to switch my laundry over. I have a feeling getting a master's degree is a lot harder than the intoxicated "thriller-esque" dance I do when moving the whites from the washer to the dryer. God forbid I drop some thing during its 3 foot journey from Point A to Point B.
Do you know how long it takes for me to look at the wet sock on the ground, sigh, close my eyes, take a deep breath, attempt to bend over while avoiding a wardrobe malfunction, I've got one leg sticking out behind me, one arm on the top of the dryer in an attempt to support myself, not to mention the grunt when I finally get upright again? Me neither! Know why? I don't have to time myself because:
A. I only do laundry on my days off and I have no life and
B. I don't have a stack of homework to do because I'm not working on college classes on my days off
In fact, I usually take the time to sing a quick White Stripes parody about a wet sock on the dirty ground when it knows Rob's not around before I pick it up. Or I just leave it there, my house, I do what I want. Yes, college is super important, it really is. Unless you are like me and fall into a really great job, but understand if I ever lose this job I am royally flushed.
I'm not sure what I would do and considering all the horrible ideas I get when I am home alone (I have fully convinced myself I would not be injured if I were to fall from my roof, tuck and roll, I have super human strength and electrocution is easily avoidable as long as you believe in yourself!) it's very likely I would spend a lot of time blogging from a hospital bed, probably from somewhere in Mexico. I have a feeling the doctors down there appreciate bartering more than the ones around here.
Once again, my ramblings have brought us to an interesting stopping place. Moral of the story: I am a terrible role model, don't listen to a thing I say. Also, I'm too tired to keep re-reading this for errors so you get what you get. If you feel the need to point them out, do yourself a favor and go call your mom. Your overwhelming urge to correct my grammar stems from you not getting enough hugs as a child, probably.
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