Monday, June 29, 2009

I am a banana

It's true. I am a banana. I'm yellow and frankly kind of weird looking. My outside is gross and odd, and really does nothing of interest. My insides, however, are delicious, and perfect for smoothies and banana bread. (but not banana muffins because muffins are really creepy)

Okay, fruity metaphor aside. So many people are focused on just how entertaining someone is outside of themselves. You've got to do interesting things, be seen in interesting places full of other interesting people.


Nonsense, I cry! Those poor people of action never slow down and work on all the mad excitement that should be going on inside their brains! Thinking is nearly a lost art!

I think one of the more fantastic past times is just thinking. It develops your mind. You can just sit there and think, or you can read or listen, and think about what you've read or heard.

Maybe I'm just making this complaint because I'm a really boring person, and my only excuse for my deplorable state is that I'm thinking. Maybe I'm bitter because the only interesting thing that the outside of me does is get slipped on in cartoons. (back to the fruit metaphor)

But maybe if you'd talk to me, you'd see how interesting I am on the inside. Ask anyone, we all think the inside matters more than the outside, in the long run.

Now how do you find out what's going on inside their head? Talk to them. Speak up! I would be a prominent citizen in the city of Dictionopolis. There's nothing more important than words and the thoughts that create them!

I implore you, think! And I beg of you, speak! More interesting than all that you will do is all that you will think, if only you will tell me all about it.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009


It had traveled some time since it was bought for cheap in a distant, unknown store in the swimming section. It likely was bought just at the beginning of the summer, not but a month or two ago.

Perhaps it was carried by a group, and in their flurry and excitement, it was left. Maybe it was the same group that bought it to begin with. I rather hope not. I'd like to think otherwise.

Perhaps this particular bright green foam pool noodle has thus far had a long and rather adventurous life, for a child's pool toy. It had of course been received by a delighted youngster, probably as a cheap birthday gift. What better gift for a summer birthday at the pool?

The little child had probably ignored the momentary angry flash in his mother's eyes, a bitter dart shot toward the frugal mother that had been so cheap as to buy the birthday boy a pool noodle. The kid didn't care. he had a tool, a weapon, a pet sea monster. He had something that he could hit his friends with that didn't seem to anger any of the parents.

He'd struck gold, as far as he was concerned.

but on their trip back from the pool an argument broke out. Somebody had received enough noodle welts to last him a lifetime and finally tore the noodle privileges from the noodle king by force. A struggle ensued, and the noodle was dropped into the wash of no return, lost to it's barely new owner forever.

Perhaps a few days later a team of rowdy teenagers playing with airsoft guns happened across this lost treasure. Of course teenage boys aren't so different from little boys when it comes to flexible, foam clubs. The main difference is that they probably hit harder.

I'm sure that at some point these teens realized that carrying a neon green noodle about displayed their position quite accurately to their friends with the airsoft guns. So of course it ended up back at camp, where they might harass each other with it later.

But that harassment was never to be. A strong wind kicked up and swept the mysterious noodle away, across a highway and into a sheltered neighborhood. Adventures abounded, but this magical noodle never stayed in one place for too long. A pair of college students going for a lazy Sunday bike ride would find it in a week or two.

The college boy (not being too unlike his close cousins, the small boy and the teen-aged boy) picked it up and bothered his companion with it, poking and prodding with his new-found toy. His companion was vaguely amused, as were any other bicyclists or motorists whom happened to catch an eyeful of a grown man on a bike toting a bright green pool noodle.

At length the ride was over and the pair parted ways. He kept his little memento though. Left it in the back of his open truck bed. Too bad he forgot it was there when he drove some distance on a hot, dusty highway. It leaped from the truck bed and took flight, away to the desert unknown.

Who knows. It's probably still out there. Wandering the wasteland. Waiting for its next adventure. I almost envy it.

Long story short, we found a pool noodle. And then we lost it. Its time with us was fleeting. (I made up the rest)

I HAD to publish this post JUST so I could post this freakin amazing LINK OF THE DAY!! It's INSANE. Which is kind of the point.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

If only, If only

Have you ever had something you wanted and thought about often enough that it started popping up in your dreams?

Dreams are funny like that. If you think about it a lot, be it good or bad, it's bound to show up. Worry about school ALL the time and you WILL dream of showing up to the final naked. Or some other school related nightmare. Always thinking about that boy/girl? Yeah, he/she is definitely going to make an appearance in your dreams.

Not that there won't be lots and lots of really random, unnecessary dreams about evil construction cones and the dark side of the floating Bermuda triangle that rear-ended you in traffic the other week. But the occasional bit of what you really want is bound to make an appearance sooner or later.

I myself have had a topic to which I have been giving a great deal of thought for some time now. It just made it's first premier in my dreams this last week.

First a nightmare of high school past. Last came an unusual bit where Darth Vader made an attempt to keep children all over the globe from having fun, only to discover that he was in fact my father after he drew a beard on my face in crayon. In the middle of these two dreams was another, in which I was given a perfect slice of exactly what I wanted.

It felt so very, very real that I was convinced halfway through the next dream that it really did happen. At last! It really happened! I can't wait to wake up and tell everybody-- wait. Wake up? Oh NOES!!

Only after I had convinced Vader to leave the public library and he had introduced me to my long lost and much older brother (ironically a coworker of mine) and we'd gone to a family outing at Justin's Water World did the truth set in.

This was a dream. And so was that. The thing that I had most wanted, that I had been walking on air (sleeping on air?) because I'd finally gotten, it wasn't real. My subconscious had lied to me.

No, I AM your father!!
No. NO. That's not true. That's impossible!
Search your feelings. You know it to be true.

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This game is addictive. This game is ridiculous. This game is... Perfect!! check it out!
(I know, I know, my second tossing game in two posts.... but could YOU resist?)

Thursday, June 11, 2009

The last stand

Recently I found myself on the couch, embroiled in the last half of the last movie of the Lord of the Rings series, which was being shown on some obscure satellite movie channel. An army of men on horses faced what appeared to be an unbeatable foe: A massive army of angry looking bald men with painted faces and giant war elephants that were larger than your typical 2 story building.

At first there's a glimmer of hope as the courageous men on horses charge the evil elephants. Then they're brutally trampled to death.

You know what that massive elephant army reminds me of? Hint: one of my greatest fears of all time. (There's about nine of those now. Zombies, roaches, the dark, the thing, fear itself, failure, guitar strings (that's new) and that which I will reveal to you presently.)


Don't get me wrong. I like guys. Just like any other woman I enjoy/bitterly hate a good crush, but I'm terrified of the whole dating scene. I feel just like what those poor dudes on horses must have felt. I'm facing something strange and unknown (a guy who's actually interested in me), and if I fail here I'll be promptly trampled to death (crushed).

Whilst comparing my love life to Lord of the Rings (dear lord what have I DONE!?) I might as well remember that the dudes on horses actually WON that battle. But I suspect they were the first to do so. I'm sure the evil elephant men trampled a lot of undeserving armies before they got to our courageous little horsemen.

So if this isn't the battle that I'm meant to win, then I certainly hope I won't be so trampled that I can't pick myself up, put myself back together and fight another day.

DISCLAIMER: to anyone of interest who may in fact read my blog: No worries. I'm exaggerating.

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so much better than the real thing.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Let them eat Cake! (or some OTHER kind of comfort food!)

Ah, comfort food, comfort items, rituals and things and places and feelings that put us in the comfort zone.

I know that almost every motivational speaker tells you to get out of your comfort zone. But where there's a comfort zone, there's a zone right outside of it that's called a war zone. Heck, if you stay out of your comfort zone for too long, it's likely to get hit by a stray anti-aircraft missile.

BOOM! No more comfort zone. Sh**! Now what? Are we doomed to wander the war zone for the remainder of our zone occupation? Nooooo! I won't stand for it!!

There must be some semblance of comfort out here in the war zone!

And then there was pudding. And comfort objects such as the ratty old bunny that was presented to me at birth (*but* that I assuredly do *not* sleep with *anymore*). And best of all, comfort tv shows! Like scrubs, smallville and any form of animated batman (the best of said being the originals from the sixties, Batman the animated series, and The Batman).

On days when I eat pudding, I display it loudly and happily in all my status updates as a glorious time of pudding eating. But in reality, it means I had a bad day. And so pudding I must eat.

(what better comfort food is there? The sugar free is JUST as delicious as the regular, it's instant, and it's really, REALLY delicious!)

And then there was batman. Do I really need to explain why batman is so comforting? He's a man. ONLY a man. He uses his exceptional (but entirely normal and human) mind to uncover mysteries and predict people's actions, and to keep a large, successful company on its feet so that he can afford all his wicked awesome gear. He in turn keeps his body strong and tuned so he's ready for any bad guy. Human or otherwise. And his tv shows have ALL the best theme songs. Case in point.

As for that bunny that I *don't* sleep with, that's none of your business.

The take away of all this is that although it's good to get outside your comfort zone, it's good to take a little bit of it with you, out into the war zone. No soldier leaves his camp and goes out into the war zone without taking something to protect himself with. (hopefully)

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

The curious incident of the dog who knew too much

I find myself talking more often and more in depth and more at ease with my dog than with anybody else. Ridiculous! You say. Well. . . Maybe. Then again, why not?

Talking to my dog gives me a chance to speak freely without fear of misspeaking or offending. She won't think less of me if I say something that doesn't quite add up. She'll even listen intently when I don't make sense and have to repeat myself three times to get it right.

At one time I cared for two poodles who lived in a large lonely house. To qualm my fears at night (for my alone time in the large dark space gave my imagination far too much free time) I would banter happily with the dogs until I could not keep myself awake any longer. It was a comfort to speak so freely then.

Really it's just an inner monologue, spoken.

And I think everyone has those, on some level. Some people talk to themselves. Some just sort of think to themselves. Others choose inanimate objects as their hapless victims. It's good for you, I'm sure.

When you talk to yourself, or to your dog, or to your dashboard, you're practicing a real life social skill. You're learning how to better string your own words together out loud to say what's on your mind.

Plus it kind of helps that the dog is sweet and encouraging. She won't think less of me later. I suppose on rare occasion you'll find yourself a person that you can talk to.

There's somebody out there with whom you can be completely honest. You needn't fear what they'll think of you later. They admire you entirely based on who you are. You or I only might be lucky enough to find that person.

Until then my dog must suffice.

DISCLAIMER: I'm really not crazy. really. And I CAN talk to people. If I want.

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