Pet Peeve Friday
Photo by Flickr's bigtexhex
A pet peeve (or pet hate) is a minor annoyance that can instill great frustration in a very small group of people, yet is experienced by everyone. It also must be insignificant, so people insulting you is not a pet peeve. It meets all three criteria if: insignificant, experienced by all, and only you and a few others are annoyed by it. ~ Wikipedia
We all have at least one thing that makes us scream silently inside our head, or sometimes out loud.
I admit some of my pet peeves are out there, I’m trying to be more tolerant and play nice in the sandbox, but some are hard to ignore. So I’ll just name a few:
- Dripping or running water, unnecessarily. It annoys the crap out of me.
- Vehicles that are not parked within the white lines.
- People who have no opinion, can’t make a decision and have no preference.
- Wrappers that are left on the counter or inches away from the garbage can.1
Share your pet peeve and let’s chuckle (or be mad) together.
- This happens at work [↩]
In: Rants, WTH · Tagged with: Annoyances, Pet Peeve
Answer: A River Runs Through It
Q. What is Natural’s urinary tract system? Surprisingly that has never been an actual question on Jeopardy. I guess even Jeopardy has criteria.
Anywho, if you are a regular reader of my craziness blog, then you know that forever for the past several weeks months I’ve sporadically written about trying to lose weight. Just a few pounds, 20 to be exact.
Before I continue, I’m not obsessive about my appearance, “I’m [just] trying to keep the drywall intact and the rooms neat and tidy.” Side story: A coworker noticed1 that I was wearing my pedometers2 and she said, “What is that?”
I told her.
She said, “Don’t you think you’re getting a little too carried away with this sh*t. Everything is about how you look.” Now this is coming from a woman who won’t take out the trash unless she is wearing make-up, but I’m vain because there’s a tire growing out of my waist that I need to deflate. I said, “That’s not true, I don’t wear make-up.” She concurred when I put it that way.
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| From Blog Photos |
I’m not on a diet, but I do exercise 5-7 times a week, I made a few minor food changes and I’m drinking more water. Herein lies the problem. My stomach is comparable to a cow’s stomach, it has four compartments that need filling. So what are we told to do? Drink. More. Water.
Well that’s the least I could do. Easy enough. Heck, if I go to work everyday, the water is free. I think I can handle 8 to 10 cups of free water.
I really don’t care about the health benefits of drinking water either, I’m trying to drown food and stave off cravings! Come what may.
So I thought.
One day last week, after cup number 5, my bladder turned on me. In a 15 minute time frame I went to the ladies room three times; water was passing through my urinary tract system like a defective and hollow Baby Alive.
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| From Blog Photos |
The urge to go was ever persistent and I had to share the going ons with someone. Every time I walked past my co-worker’s office, I would shout my number of trips to the bathroom. Four! Five! Sometimes I just held up a number using my fingers.
For some reason my body suddenly increased production in the Water Department, informed my kidneys to “speed it up,”3 pissed off my bladder and caused a tsunami!
Some time that afternoon, production finally came to a halt, the Union was called in and everybody calmed down. On one of my trips to the bathroom, I seriously thought it would be easier to just pour 8 cups of water into the toilet, bypass the middle man and call it a truce. I can’t go through this again. I haven’t had 8 cups of water since, but I have come pretty darn close, fortunately, without repercussion.
*******
This post is true, but only meant to be funny. I have since stopped using the bathroom like a Betsy Wetsy doll, honestly. Please don’t tell me I’m dying. I’d like to believe that I will live to the ripe old age of 204 and a half and if that dubious hallucination is all in my mind, then let’s leave it there.
Jeopardy Logo by Someone on Flickr TBA
Cow picture by Clover
Angry Watermelon by Sebastian Niedlich
In: Humor · Tagged with: Bloated, Fitness, Urinary Tract, Water
Incognito
“Blogs are great. You get to express yourself. Friends read it. Family read it. Strangers read it, and that’s okay with you. The catch is, when you blog, you create an identity but you can’t always say what’s really on your mind”,1 without repercussion.
At the risk of sharing too much personal information via our blogs do you think it’s better to blog anonymously or at least set up an online identity, but not under your real name? I always felt like having two identities was living a double life, but now I see it as a small measure of protection.
My identity is no secret, I am Valerie Morrison, but sometimes I wish I had blogged under the cloak of anonymity. I try to keep my personal life separate from my online life, but it’s challenging and in some ways, limiting.
Now, I’m not blogging about anything here I wouldn’t want my mother to read, but my alter ego likes to write too and she has no home training. If I blogged incognito this would be a slightly different blog. I’m not sure I would like that either. Maybe because my identity is known serves as a restraint; I have to think twice before I hit submit or publish.
While blogging can be a great outlet for keeping people up to date, receiving support from our online friends and sharing our experiences – even our secrets – we need to be careful what we put out there.
I came across this post from Judy called, I Have A Secret. Immediately I had to stop what I was doing and read it, who doesn’t have a secret? Judy writes:
I have lived a “fantasy” life for over 50 years. I have portrayed a life that I wanted people to know, not what actually was. I have kept secrets inside that I have been afraid to let out. I have struggled from day to day to not trip over the “baggage” that is my memory. I have a story to tell. It’s not pretty. It would be about my life. It would be about control, brutality, incest. I have wanted to write this story, but could never leave a hard copy around (or even in my computer) for fear someone would find it. I write it daily in my mind with tears flowing profusely. I feel a need to “let it go” by telling it. I thought my blog could be the avenue to final peace but am uncertain whether or not it would be the proper venue. I would need to do it in short, weekly segments…serial form, if you will. My family, my humor and my faith are the only things that have kept me sane. I don’t want to scare you into thinking that I am unstable; I don’t believe I am…I just have a terrible secret and I’m tired of holding it inside. I was hoping you, my readers, could help me to dissect the pros and cons of such a venture.
I tried to contact Judy to ask if I could use her post here, but I couldn’t find any contact information on her blog, so I hope she doesn’t mind. Writing is very therapeutic, especially for me, I don’t like to share, much. I keep my true feelings bottled up and I know that’s not healthy. Like Judy, I could never have a hard copy of any journal or diary, but I still need to let it go.
Sharing too much information online can be risky. I opted for a private blog, one that I only share with a few individuals, but I also have blogs that I don’t share with ANYONE. They fulfill a need.
If you blog under your real name do you regret it or find it limiting as to what you can share? And if you blog under a pseudonym or anonymously, what tips can you offer someone thinking of going in this direction?
Helpful Sites:
FearlessBlogging.com – Lets you post anonymously.
Hushmail – Provides private, secure free email accounts.
photo: by fatboygotsick
In: Blogging · Tagged with: Anonymous Blogging
Roll Call
Maybe you haven’t noticed, well of course you haven’t noticed, who looks at the address bar anymore, besides me. My blog has moved to its new domain name, ThinkingOutLoudBlog.com. It’s true, I posted a public service announcement about it last night. If you clicked over, did you notice the name, it’s different. Please let me know that you made the transition over here safely by commenting “present” when your name is called. (That means leave me a comment).
So on my closed blog, I said I had a very important question to ask. Here goes: “What’s your favorite word?” I stumbled upon a website that said everybody has a favorite word and I thought hey that’s true, but who ever asks that question. Well I’m asking, what’s your favorite word. My favorite word, well I have more than one, is loquacious. I also fancy verbose, incognito, enigmatic, inconsequential, just to name a few. I don’t use any one of those words daily when a simpler word will do, I use them on special occasion. I like their pronunciation.
Anywho, if you subscribe to my blog, please update your RSS feed information. If you don’t subscribe to my blog, you can do so now or by email, if you prefer. Thank you.
In: Blogging, Rambling · Tagged with: Blog Move, Favorite Word
My Other First Time, Part II
I tried to keep it short. If you missed Part I then you can read it here. The comments in bold and italics are the conversations I have with myself – you get to listen in.
“Please come in.”
Valerie pressed her back against the wall allowing T to pass through the narrow door frame and into the living room. Lifting the strap off his shoulder, he placed his bag on the floor next to the portable CD player and removed his coat.
“Can I get you anything, like an open fire to warm your hands?”
Amused by her dead serious delivery, he replied, “Oh no, I’m going to wash and warm them before we start, don’t worry.”
“Okay, I’ll let you get unpacked and I’ll um…I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before, what should I wear?”
“Some people wear shorts or underwear and I drape a sheet over them, but you can wear whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
Valerie decided she felt comfortable in a pair of shorts and would remove her top once on the table. If she had to take off any more than that, he was going to pay her.
“Take your jewelry off too,” he shouted, as Valerie disappeared into the back room. Making a choice of what to wear was easy because she only had one pair of shorts and returned as quickly as she left.
T glanced up at Valerie with an inquisitive expression on his face and without hesitation asked, “Are you an athlete?”
Valerie thought his query was just as strange as when her chiropractor had asked. She always had a shapely upper body, like a swimmer, and slender legs, like a runner and the mid-section of a person who loved cookies and chocolate. Maybe she was an athlete, of some sort. Rather than delve into his inquiry, it’s obvious he has a cataract, she simply replied, “No.”
Valerie showed T where he could plug in his CD player and assumed she would be listening to the sounds of streaming water or babbling brook, not her preferred jazz. Good thing she went to the bathroom. Perched on the table, she turned to T and said, “I’m ready to take my shirt off now.”
Oh gosh, you sound like a virgin. I’m ready to take my shirt off now. Why are you announcing it?
Using the sheet as a shield, T held it between the two of them as Valerie removed her shirt and tried to find a comfortable position on the table. She could hear T in the background rubbing his hands together and satisfied that they were warm enough, he pulled back the sheet.
Surprisingly, Valerie did not flinch when he touched her. Maybe because his hands were better than warm, it was as if he brought his own open flame. Coming in for a perfect landing at the base of the runway, T worked his way up and down the right side of her back expelling pain and stress one knot at a time.
“Is this too much pressure?” he asked.
“No.” Valerie lied. It was a lot pressure, more than she was used to, but she wasn’t about to cry uncle. She preferred having too much, over too little pressure. Next time she would “cry uncle.” After he finished the right side of her back he did the same to the left side, applying more oil each time.
Cool! Not only am I no longer ashy, I’m waterproof.
Standing at the head of the table, T used his forearms to massage Valerie, who was only occasionally aware of the sound of the music and his breathing, into a motion-induced coma. The rhythm was so intoxicating, the last words she remembered saying was, “Oh gosh.”
****
“You can turn over now.”
Valerie felt disoriented and lost, like she was waking up from local anesthesia. She couldn’t remember how to turn over but somehow managed to roll over onto her back. T massaged the rest of her body and said he would conclude with a scalp and facial massage.
[insert the sound. of a needle. being dragged across a vinyl record.]
Did I hear that correctly, did he just say he was going to mess up my hair?
The massage was going great until he gripped Valerie’s head in between his large hands and messed up her hair! Her scalp didn’t need a massage, her scalp was fine, maybe a little dandruff, but stress free.
Didn’t anyone ever tell you never to touch a woman’s hair without 2 days notice?
Now fully awake and slightly annoyed Valerie could no longer concentrate, the massage was over. He massaged her cheeks, her eyebrows, her lips and even stuck his fingers in her ears.
Okay, if you’re looking for loose change or a generous tip, I got nothing. You were doing a much better job when I was on my stomach!
“Do you want me to massage your stomach?”
[insert the sound of another needle being dragged across a vinyl record.]
You don’t have access to that area. That’s a no-touch, no-massage zone.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay then you can just lie there and relax.”
I was very relaxed until you messed up my hair.
After the massage was over, T packed a few of his things and made small talk. Partially naked and chatting, Valerie felt a little weird, besides she wanted to get dressed and was getting cold.
“Are we done?”
“Yes, but you can rest a little while longer.”
“Nope, I’m okay!” Grabbing the sheet and holding it up against her chest, Valerie went to get dressed. She thanked T, paid his fee, but before showing him the door, he handed her a few business cards. Business cards that read TSG, Attorney-at-Law.
Wall Street address. Phone number. No email.
Valerie vaguely remembered her girlfriend telling her that he was an attorney and had seen him coming from court a few times on the train, but had forgotten.
Upon returning to work on Monday, Valerie found a New York Lawyers Diary in one of the offices. If he was a practicing attorney, he would be listed in this book. There could only be a few reasons why he would not be listed, like a recent move to the area, or maybe he just passed the bar or maybe he really is a killer and that was a body bag.
Not that it was a conflict of interest for her, he was very professional, kept her covered at all times and he didn’t try anything, it’s a matter of curiosity. She knew several attorneys personally, as well as a judge, and most of them played golf as a hobby, not gave fantastic massages and messed up women’s hair.
Valerie opened the Lawyers Diary to the letter G and scrolled down the list of names. She hoped he was listed, that would make her feel better. Maybe she missed it. She checked the spelling of his last name against what was printed on the card and looked one more time. Nothing. A little disappointed and confused, she closed the book.
Maybe having D come sit and watch wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. She would hate to lose a good massage therapist just because he wasn’t listed in the Lawyers Diary. Valerie returned the book to the shelf and called her friend.
In: Massage · Tagged with: Massage, Storytelling
