Wednesday, May 27, 2015

She Works Hard For The Money

I try to keep my work life and my personal life separate. If you ever come in and see me at work, you may notice I look like a deer in headlights and our conversation will be very short. It's not that I don't like you or that I don't want to talk to you, sometimes I just feel like I am being watched and my every move is being monitored. You know, just your everyday, run of the mill, non-paranoid thoughts. No biggie.*Puts on tinfoil hat*

Same thing goes if I see regulars outside of work. Most of the time they don't really recognize me out of context but once in awhile I get someone really hellbent on figuring it out. A couple weekends ago I stopped by to watch my sister do karaoke and I sang a couple songs with her. Throughout the maybe hour or two I was there, this guy kept coming up to me saying, " I know you! How do I know you?! Hey guys, how do I know her?" I kept telling him I didn't know what he was talking about and he was confusing me with someone else. I was literally seconds away from putting on a fake (and unconvincingly terrible) Russian accent and yelling random words at him in an attempt to hid my true identity. What I thought this would accomplish, I have no idea. It was definitely one of those "It's so crazy, it might just work!" moments.

Eventually my personal life does tend to seep into my work life. Sometimes I meet people at work who I think are really cool and I talk to them about my real life. Or I'll talk about my weekend shenanigans. I just don't want people to walk in and and start running their mouths in front of my bosses like "HEY! Nice snapchat of you peeing on a gravel road!" or "HEY! Remember that time I saw you at that concert screaming World Star Hip Hop while that guy was being arrested!?" or "HEY! Was that you making out with a cardboard stand up of Zachary Quinto? You know he's gay in real life right?" Yeah I do know. How about you worry about your own life and leave me and Sylar alone in our forbidden love!

Quit calling me out in front of my work peeps, yo. Respect the code! Being told my every personal thought and action, such as adventures in anal suppositories, passing out on New Year's before 11:00pm in my friend's bathroom and my part-time dressing up like a man by the name of Dick Cockburn, even when you don't want to know and you never asked for this life.. is a PRIVILEGE! One I will not revoke but if you come in talking that shit, I will tp your house. Me, cardboard Sylar and all my awkward papercuts.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Kids - Tiny Jerks in Cute Packaging

Kids are assholes. Ok or maybe adults are just overly sensitive to the innocent questions children sometime ask. Or remarks they make because they just don't realize it might be hurtful. Even their compliments can come off as rude. But they're kids, they don't understand. To kids, adults seem like superheros. They can do everything and are strong & smart.  Basically they are invincible. They don't understand that adults have feelings can be hurt just as easily as their own. Eventually kids grow up and believe me, once they realize their mistake, they feel like total dicks.
Like the time I was super, really sure I hated meatloaf. Probably because whenever my mom made it, she overloaded it with onions and I REALLY hated onions. Naturally I didn't want anything to do with it but my aunt made it for us and I asked over and over to just try it. So finally I caved and surprisingly, I really liked it! I was so pleased with this wonderful meatloaf and how it didn't taste like ass onions, I exclaimed, "Hey!! I like this! It just tastes like hamburger but with lots of ketchup!" I don't remember exactly what occurred next but my years of crushing guilt tell me it wasn't pleasant. To a kid, that statement makes completely sense, I thought it was going to be bad but it wasn't so I likened to something that tasted good. According to my underdeveloped palate, hamburger and ketchup was fucking awesome and out of the maybe 25 flavor combinations I was aware of at that point in life, one of them being dog shit, it seemed like the most accurate description.

I can think of a hundred asshole things I did and said as a kid and apparently it all came back ten fold in my niece. I can handle the occasionally "Why do your legs have all those bumps?" or "AUNTIE! You and her have the same eyebrows!" As she points to the TV showing Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest.
Touché child, touché

But nothing, NOTHING had prepared me for the talk my sister had with me the other day. She sat me down and said, "I have to tell you something. The other day, we were playing the Wii and Ellie said she wanted to change her character name. Because she doesn't want to be Squid anymore. And she said she doesn't want you to call her that anymore either."

I could literally feel my heart breaking in my chest. I don't know if I have ever felt that level of devastation in my entire life. She has been my Squid forever. My Squid, my little bug, ripped out my heart and stomped on it. I know she has no idea but it still hurts. Damn kids.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Conversations with Rob: Butt What?

We were in the car the other evening having a conversation about dinner. I can't remember exactly the conversation but I think I said something about mashed potatoes and he replied with singing the phrase, "Put a potato, in your butt..." I gave him a look of "WTF" and he says, "What? It's an Eddie Murphy song..." Being the annoyance I am I told him, "No. That's Butters' song." This threw Rob into a frenzy and after a short rant he began feverishly searching on YouTube for the recording while I tried to hurry and get home so I could jump out of the car before he could prove me wrong. He finally gets it pulled up on his phone as we hit the driveway but alas, it's a super long intro. We are now in a sitoff in the car, I slowly turn off the car and undo my seat belt. All the while he is saying "NO..NO.....NO... YOU STAY. YOU LISTEN." I slowly reach back, grab my purse and pull my hand on the door handle. Right as I open the door, the lyrics kick in. I run to the front door, while he is celebrating his victory to the soundtrack of "Boogie in Your Butt" by Eddie Murphy. Also, we just got new phones and they play music super, SUPER loud. He is essentially walking towards me with a tiny, super sonic bombox held up to the heavens blasting the lyrics "Put a c-lock, in your butt..put a big rock, in your butt!" Anyone within a block radius is enjoying the sweet sounds of Donkey from Shrek singing about putting everyday objects in butts.
To make it more awkward, while I'm trying to unlock the front door, which is suddenly impossible to do, he decides to announce to the neighborhood, "THIS IS THE KIND OF MUSIC SHE LISTENS TO. SHE'S A FREAK!" All while pointing at me and giving me a disapproving look.