Jokes and candy

Knock, knock. 

Who's there?

For who?


No, no- for whom. 


That's my most favorite joke ever, people. Just in case there was any question about how much of a nerd I am. Also: http://xkcd.com/971/

Happy Halloween, everybody! I hope nobody's car/house/anything got egged or otherwise ruffianized. It's kind of sweet, actually, being on this (adult) side of Halloween, with the giving out of candy and whatnot. Like, these kids come to the door, and making their day is literally as easy as handing them a piece of candy. Handfuls of delight.

I think tomorrow I'm going to try and figure out a way to make someone's day. I think it's a fascinating idea. Is it a compliment? A gift? A favor? A well-timed joke? (See example above.) I'll let you know how it works. Tomorrow I plan on being the human equivalent to an ice cream truck. Get excited, world.

rkb

Catch Up and Other Nonsense

So, I'm just going to say it; I ignored the fact that I had a blog for awhile.  But now I'm here, and you can't get rid of me.

Every time I go into work on the latter part of the week (Thursday-Saturday), I have this horrible nervousness.  My chest gets tight, heart pounds, you know, the whole enchilada of terror.  I hate going in on these days, not because I care about having my weekend free, but because these are the days I find out what my schedule is the week after next is.  Ugh, I hate finding it out, because half the time I'm not happy with how it's been scheduled.  I'm a pretty lazy person, to be honest, and I don't like it when they treat me like an actual worker.

Which brings me to my next crisis: the day after Thanksgiving, also known as BLACK FRIDAY.  Not only does my retail employer think that it's fine to make us get up at 3 am to get to work at 4 (and some employee's, like our Asset Protection guy has to get there at 2), but then assigns us 10 hour shifts.  Now, I'm stuck between my desire to never work that day ever and my integrity.  Of course I've requested the day off, but I don't know if that will be declined (probably will).  My only option then is just to call in and say, "Can't come, sorry."  Most of my co-workers think that, if I've told them I can't work that day, and I tell them I won't, it's okay because they knew from the start I wouldn't show up.  But isn't that... a bad thing to do?

Anyway, That's a month away, and hopefully it will all be straightened out before then.  My bosses aren't horrible people, and are usually pretty understanding.

Halloween is Monday.  I always used to participate as a kid--as Pinocchio one year, a dalmatian a few years in a row, black cat (without the sexiness) another, etc.  One or both of my parents always used to come with me.  Nothing can replace that feeling when you arrive home, candy sack in hand, and dump out all the glorious candy on the floor with that crisp plastic crinkle noise.  Then comes the sorting; chocolate candies were always keepers, but pixie sticks were out of there like underwear.  Sometimes I would keep the smarties, sometimes not.  But those Bit O'Honeys and Now and Laters, I would give to my mom, with the Tootsie Rolls of course.  I didn't really like chewie candies back then (still don't unless they are fruit flavored).

I'm pretty sure my parents didn't have to ration my candy, but maybe they did have final say on how much I could eat at one time.  There's only a few candies I will absolutely gorge myself on, but most of the time, I forget that I have them.  Christmas candy, for instance, has sat in my closet pretty much untouched for the better part of a year.  Not that I don't want the candy, but because I have this insane need to make it last until next Christmas.

Next time (tomorrow), I will continue my discourse of Halloween.  But now I feel like this may be getting too long if I say all my piece.

See you then.
M&y

Beatles at Shea Stadium

Well, it's Tuesday, everybody.

This week's started off a bit glum for me, and unfortunately the rain predicted for tomorrow and Thursday promise to keep it low. Or at least, to pump enough humidity in the air to make me feel insecure about my hair. I do actually sort of perversely like rainy days when I'm at work, though, because it makes me feel like I've won somehow against all the people who don't have to be at work. Like, the day's already gloomy; I might as well be working inside instead of wandering around outside, wishing my cute jacket was actually waterproof or that I had remembered not to wear my so-comfortable-I-can't-bring-myself-to-throw-them-out flats that have holes in the soles.

I went up to my alma mater, Taylor University, over the weekend for Homecoming, and it was a bittersweet experience. I did enjoy seeing some truly lovely people again, and everyone was so kind and sweet about seeing me. Plus, I didn't have to open a door for myself the entire weekend- something I had forgotten to miss about good ol' TU boys. But being up there made me realize that...that part of my life is truly over. I mean, it's been almost half a year since I graduated, but in my mind I suppose I could've pictured myself quite easily assimilating back into college. Now, not so much.

I think it's this: I knew my life had changed; I didn't know I had changed, too.

It feels kind of major, but to avoid getting all hyperbolic, let me use a homespun analogy that came to me during the second hour of a particularly long staff meeting today: Imagine waking up in the middle of the night. You've been sleeping, which of course has been lovely, and all of a sudden you're not only awake, but rather discomfited by the state in which you find yourself: a bit sweaty, one foot hanging off the end of the bed, sheets tangled around one calf and a feeling of general disorientation in the darkness. Frankly, it's annoying.

But now that you've woken up, it can actually be a bit nice, rearranging yourself, righting the sheets, etc. Especially when you flip your pillow and press your cheek against the cool side. You know that sensation, right? Well, that's what this weekend showed me. Graduating has been like waking up, and realizing that I have all of these "problems" that I was blissfully unaware of just moments before. But getting my life rearranged can be satisfying in its own way. And realizing that part of this change can actually be enjoyable- like flipping a pillow- is a new and welcome sensation.

rkb

As promised

So, my dad told me about this writing contest for Halloween.  This actually just came to my attention last night, so maybe it was meant to be that I would start writing, eh?

It has to be 450 words or less.  Below is what I have so far.  Not sure how I feel about it, but it was the first idea, so I went with it.

Working title:  Rule Number Five.  This is all unedited, or "raw," so save your harshest criticisms.

They had seen me.  I was told never to let them see me.  It was rule number one, and I had blown it.  I leaned against the door, shivering with nerves as I felt the three of them walking on the other side of the door. 

What had he told me?  Rule number one, don’t let them see you.  I had to scratch that one off the list.  Rule two?  My mind wound in on itself, trying to remember while my body shuddered.  Oh, yes, don’t underestimate them. 

Rule three, rule three… I wish I could have delayed my arrival by one night, or all of this wouldn’t have happened.  But I was never one for timing.

Right disappear or misdirect them—that was rule three.  I had tried that one already.  They hadn’t followed me to this room.

I closed my eyes and listened for them in the hallway.  They were talking, laughing roughly and knocking on the old walls.  I felt one give way, and I jumped. 

Suddenly, I remember.  The lock!  Oh my god, I forgot about the lock on the door.  My thumb traced the knob behind my back.  No no, it was too late for that.  They would hear the rusty mechanism and know where I was. 

I gasped like a fish for water, my head blurring with panic.  The rules, the rules.  Rule four?  Rule four, rule four… Don’t lead them back to where you live.

But they had found me where I live—those three wearing their outfits fit for hell.  I was told if I had kept the lights off, none would come.  And now three were in my house.  They spotted me in the window and pointed and gawked.  They forced the feeble front door open and were searching for me, jeering and laughing.

Now they knew where I lived.  I had heard stories of this happening to others, and it was never good.  More of them tended to show up, stomping and yelling, sneaking and lurking around the corner.  They violated you, chased you, like some disturbed game of cat-and-mouse.  Fighting back almost always made it worse—more would show up.  An infestation of them, trying to catch you.

The floor whimpered close to the door, and one of their voices traveled through.  “Hey!  I wonder what’s in this room!”

I was left with no time to react; the door opened and the three came inside.

“Dude, it’s freezing in here!”

“What’d I tell you, this place is haunted!”

I stood, eyes frozen wide. 

Rule number five, if you’re home is declared haunted by the humans, no other spirits may help you.  And you may never leave.

To be continued.

Yes, another one of those "I"m too tired to post" posts.

Unfortunately for me, the last few days have been preoccupied with getting my car up and running, work, and job applications.  Nothing I want to do, but that's life.

But--a blog isn't about making excuses on why I'm not blogging.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm going to post something that has to do with the story I'm apparently writing.  Because if I don't say that "publicly" on this blog, I won't ever actually write anything

See you tomorrow.

M&y

Feminist Friday, Edition #1

Short, and sweet: check out this story. You know what's encouraging? Smart, engaged, American girls who sweep Google's annual science competition, that's what.


rkb

Nothing you can't walk away from in 30 seconds, baby

I've started thinking about moving out of my parent's house. It's going on 5 months now since I graduated and moved back in with them. As you can imagine, there have been some times when we haven't seen eye-to-eye in our expectations of this old/new living arrangement. But, with the idea of moving comes the issue: cleaning everything out.

We've been in this house since I was in high school, and while I wouldn't call myself a hoarder by any means, quite a bit of stuff has managed to claim a place in my little corner of the downstairs. Most of it has some sort of sentimental hold on me, making an essentially worthless item one that I can't seem to get rid of. Like the plastic spurs that I won for placing first in a horsebackriding competition. Or the Cinderella figurine that a friend gave me in junior high (since Cinderella is, of course, my Disney princess counterpart). Or any and all of my cd's, since let's face it, their value really is ephemeral at this point.

Worst of all, though, is the books. I've been an avid- indeed, almost atavistic- book collector as long as I can remember. I never spent too much money as a kid, except on books. Such a weakness. If we're ever near a Barnes & Noble, just watch me for the signs of an addict. Hands will shake. Eyes will roll. Ok, maybe not really, but books will be purchased.

And of course, these bulky, heavy, (dare I say outdated?!) tomes of delight really must be the first to go, for two reasons: one, I have far too many. They more than fill the four and a half bookshelves I have in my room, spilling over in rows along the walls and stacks between furniture. Second, they are unwieldy and impractical. I know I cannot take them with me when I go, and I know I cannot expect my parents to lug them around after I'm gone. Hence begins the Great Book Purge of 2011.

I joke, but I am finding it actually pretty difficult to convince myself to get rid of this stuff that I've just had around for so long. But I do think there's something to be said for simplicity, restraint, and even minimalism. My friend Richard says that you should never love any thing so much that it hurts you to lose it. So I'm going to start cleaning out this stuff; here's hoping it has a good effect on me mentally, too.

rkb

In which courage is mentioned, part 2

You know what's difficult for me? Indecision. Mandy and I chose to name this blog "the art of wavering" because we felt it described how we're living our lives right now... in the margins, wavering between options, basically directionless.

Well, right now I'm on the verge of making a pretty huge decision. And I am going crazy, because I have no way to really anchor my choice. I spoke with my friend Nate about his job search earlier this month, and he brought up a good point that, now that we're out of college, even the criteria for decision making has changed. How we decide has altered just as much as our actual options.

You know, in some ways, I am more free right now than I ever will be again. I am single, (relatively) without financial obligations, and young. What can't I do? And yet, as much as this freedom opens me up, it also paralyzes me. How do you make a choice when there's no one to consider but yourself? I don't owe anyone anything, and it's actually quite frightening.

I mentioned courage in my last post. I think maybe I'm lacking that, a bit. But I also don't know how to make a decision...all by myself. How do I handle not answering to anyone? All of a sudden, this whole thing is on my shoulders. And I don't know if what I'm doing is right.

Sorry if I'm obfuscating this whole thing by being vague; it's just that some discretion is necessary for me right now in terms of how much I can really say. I guess my point is... this whole "freedom" thing can be as terrifying as it is exhilarating. And the toughest moment, I think, is not when you're out there on your own; it's when you take the first step away from home.

rkb