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Behind A Car Window No One Can Hear You Scream

Now that I’ve gotten that exciting title out of the way…

I had to walk back from dance class tonight in an insane downpour. When I got into my car, it looked like I had one swimming. I was just so done with the day that all I could do was break out into song.

So I sang.

“Party in the USA.”

AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS

while driving.

It felt great.

I managed to get through “Oops! I Did It Again,” “Single Ladies,” and “All I Want for Christmas is You” before I made it home. I was still wet wet wet but at least I got to screw up lyrics and basically scream all the way home, knowing no one could hear my screeches through the wind, the windows, and the rain.

What’s your go-to car sing-a-long song?

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A Slightly More Than Expected Day

One of the questions asked at tonight’s APO meeting was about the most interesting thing that happened today.

Normally, I don’t find my days that interesting, especially today, which I spent the better half of in bed. Once I got up, however, the following things happened.

  • I put an earring into a drunk man’s ear.
  • I bought a salad for lunch and left it sitting in a bag on the sidewalk.
  • I admitted publicly to doing both of those things.
  • I was sitting outside and writing a check to send in the mail with my Kohl’s bill, and just as I was finishing, a bird pooped on it.
  • I went to Target, and though I bought plenty of other things, the fruit snacks I bought did not make it home.
  • For a block, I drove down the wrong side of the road. Fortunately, there were no cars coming.
  • My right ear hurts like crazy (not the ear canal, but slightly under the ear) and I hope I don’t have an infection or anything.

It’s been quite a rough 24 hours for the world, but hopefully this post will cheer some of you up.

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Waiter, There’s Gold In My Soup

So, tonight I went out to HopCat with the dance team. I arrived about a half hour into dinner, so everyone had already ordered and was still waiting for their meals. I got a seat on the end, flagged down a waitress, and ordered a cup of veggie chili. I don’t know how it happened, but I got it way before everyone else (about 15 people) and had just about finished it when everyone else finally got their meals. I asked for my check, and the waitress dropped it off. I opened it, and it was.

$99.48.

My eyes almost popped out of my head.

I called the waitress over and obviously there had been a mistake; she accidentally gave me the bill for the entire table. Although I’m generally a generous person, and the chili was delicious, it wasn’t worth that much.

My next reaction was, “was there gold in that soup?” (although a funnier reaction would have been “was there a Kardashian in that soup?”)

I got my real check ($5.28) and paid, telling one of the others at the table as I was leaving.

Her reaction?

“Was there gold in that soup?”

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All About That Bath

Nope, not a post about Meghan Trainor, but about the fact that I finally live in a home with a bathtub after 4 years, and tonight I used it for the first time.

This might not be the most scintillating info ever, but I think it deserves to be recorded for posterity.

  • Start to fill the bathtub with hot water.
  • Go to the next room and pick out clothes.
  • Go into the bathroom, and realize that the water is scalding hot.
  • Let out some water, and put in cold water.
  • Stir thoroughly.
  • Put in Dusty Rose bath bomb.
  • Turn on Seth Meyers.
  • Wonder why bath bomb isn’t working. Realize it’s still wrapped in plastic.
  • Retrieve a pencil and poke holes in bath bomb so that it starts to fizz.
  • Realize that you’re not getting clean, and remember to soap and shampoo up.
  • Fiddle with YouTube and computer screen until the hot water merely becomes tepid.
  • Wash yourself, realizing that you were going to have some wine and cookies but totally forgot.
  • Let out the water, get out of the tub, and dry off, wiping off mostly sweat.
  • Despite the constant getting up and sitting down again, tell yourself it was worth it.
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Holidays That Should Exist

It seems like my blog is turning into a weekly blog rather than a daily blog. Yikes.

Also, I’ve been saying “yikes” a lot for no real reason. Rather than a life update like my last few posts, (all of one in September and four in August, yikes) here’s a real random thoughts post, so get ready for that warm fuzzy feeling.

I’m always having ideas, and today, I just thought of all the things that we have in life that we don’t dedicate a day to. These are either types of people, things, or activities. Let’s you and me take a little walk through my brain and imagine a world where these things are possible:

National Drag Queen Day. Everyone must dress like a drag queen and no one who does (or does not) can be judged. And yes, I know that Halloween is kind of like this – also Gay Pride is kind of like this – but on this day, either you’re a drag queen, or you’re not. No sexy cats, no robots, no half-naked people just in garbage bags. Full drag. COMMIT. That includes having a drag name for the day.

National Go To Therapy Day. I have been to enough types of therapy to know what it’s like (excluding physical therapy) and that people who have either never been or refuse to go to therapy…need to. On this day, there will be no such thing as a need for health insurance because all therapy will be free. Any type will do, but you have to go, you have to pay attention, and if you roll your eyes or look at your phone, you have to do an extra session. If you refuse to go, you have to spend the day in a psych ward. Have you ever met someone who just needs therapy, but you can’t tell them? With this holiday, it’s mandatory, so call up your doctor, I’m-so-normal-and-you’re-not Carol, because the time has come.

National Lampoon Day. You must watch a movie with Chevy Chase in it. Simple as that.

National Bathing Day, or Wash Yourself Week. Seriously. I was walking down the street, and a girl was sitting on a bench with her shoes off, feet up, and her looked like moldy potatoes. I almost puked in my mouth. We need a day where everyone either bathes willingly or gets a bucket of hot soapy water (not soupy water, like I just typed) dumped on their head, West Side Story style.

National Talk Like An Italian Day. National Talk Like a Pirate Day, hit the deck, because once I institute NTLAID, you can say just about anything and it sounds mildly gangster. Or gangsta, if that’s your thing.

National Fart On Someone You Don’t Like Day. Kind of self-explanatory, and I feel like some people do this anyway in their daily lives, but there are some people out there that really need to be farted on. Just once. Bonus points if you cause them to puke and/or poop. Apparently I’m also eight years old.

National Learn A New Dance Move Day. “But I don’t dance.” Yes you do, Tricia, be thankful you HAVE LEGS and USE THEM. On this day, you will have to either attend a dance class or master an actual dance move that requires some level of skill. So no two stepping, macarena, jump around, or disco fingers. If you like dancing, then learn however many new dance moves and styles you want.

National No Clocks Day. Everything is spontaneous, just like in caveman times, or 2017 in some parts of Brazil and Papua New Guinea. Wait…how will we know when it’s over?

Image result for madonna holiday gif

 

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Here’s a Sincere, Heartfelt Apology…Oh, And Something Else

Finally getting back to one of the real reasons I started this blog – collecting and recapping various random memories.

I received some plays the other day via InterLibrary Loan, and I was reading down the cast list of one of them when I noticed a particular name, an unusual name, a last name. The name of someone I went to elementary school with, and around whom this story revolves.

He transferred to my school when we were in fifth grade. I won’t say his name, so let’s just call him…Levi Dungarees, since despite wearing a spiky silver belt to complement his spiky silver-blond hair, his jeans sagged so low you could see exactly which Looney Tunes character was on his boxer shorts every day (it was usually Taz). Remember, this was the nineties, when such things were in. I’m glad that my mom refused to let me wear jeans that sagged like that, otherwise I’d forever remember what underwear I was wearing that day.

Anyway…

I wasn’t popular at all, and Levi, even though he’d only been in school a month or two, was already one of the most popular kids in the class. And of course, he tormented me pretty much every day, making fun of my hair, my clothes, everything about me. Especially my thick glasses. One day, he was chosen to hand out the hot lunch stickers (in my school, when we went to the cafeteria, if you were getting hot lunch you wore a sticker saying which meal you were signed up to get), and instead of peeling it off and handing it to me or sticking it on my shirt like a normal, kind human being, he peeled it and stuck it on my glasses. Right across the bridge of my nose. Of course, he thought it was funny, but I actually couldn’t see. He tried to then peel it off, and it wouldn’t come off, so I had to spend the next 10 minutes blindly chipping away at the residue of the sticker until my teacher let me go to the bathroom and attempt to soak the rest of it off in the sink.

In October, we Jews celebrate Yom Kippur, or the Day of Atonement, when we’re supposed to ask forgiveness from our fellow man and atone for our sins, among other things. In Hebrew class, our teacher gave us an assignment to write an apology note to someone else in the class. Of all people, who did Levi decide to write to, and hand deliver to?

Me.

He gave me the note to read, and it was actually quite nice. In it, he apologized for putting the sticker on my glasses, and for teasing me in front of all the other boys. I thought it was sweet, and I thanked him and accepted the apology.

But with someone like Levi, you know that something else is up.

After I finished reading the note, he said something like…

“I’m really sorry. But look, I just want to tell you three things about yourself that you need to change, if you want people to be nicer to you…”

I don’t remember what those three things were – it was probably about wearing better clothes or stop using big words or something – but I kept thinking, “so this is what he really had in mind to tell me when he wrote that note.” I nodded along with this impromptu lecture, more or less zoning out, and probably responding with something like, “okay, I understand,” or something sheepish. Because the whole time he was talking (and even now, when I think of it) I’m all…

Image result for what a load of crap rachel

Seriously…if you’re that garbage-y of a person that you see an apology note as an excuse to shit all over them, don’t write the note. As a matter of fact, don’t exist at all.

If I could redo that moment, I would have probably done something differently, maybe said…”here’s three things about you that I don’t like” or maybe….”hold that thought”, and then called over a teacher or someone else – anyone else – to listen to what he was saying, and been like “okay, here’s someone you can complain to, because I don’t care” (even though I was 10 years old so I probably kind of did care).

A non-apology apology is chicken shit, and I have another story about that for another time. But a seemingly sincere apology that’s essentially a non-apology apology, and is a cover for backpedaling caveats and side-complaints, that’s worse. It just defeats the whole purpose of apologizing in the first place. So let that be a lesson. When you apologize, be sincere about it, and if you can’t, then don’t. 

And that’s probably the first time I’ve thought about him in about sixteen years.