Cheese Products

Recently, somebody told me that between the ages of 23-25, I would experience more of my emotionally depressed learning experiences.  Although the entire Generation X and any liberal arts college graduate in this economy might agree, I would like to believe that any portion of your life could be depressing.

Yesterday, I read (most of) “Who Moved The Cheese?” at work during my lunch break.  I know, I didn’t take the time to finish reading a book that could easily be as thin as one of those childhood Goldenbooks with the black etching that scratches off the cheap golden spine, but I was able to learn (in a non-depressing way) that in order to be successful, I can’t go around wondering where dairy products are all day (they could be anywhere!). 

But in all seriousness, the book puts forth a simple, but healthy idea that people cannot dwell on what they have lost or what they do not have, but continue to search for what they want.  It also sets up the idea that change is inevitable and if we do not adapt to it, we will never get what we want (from what I gathered from the pages I read).

That is why life appears to be depressing to those in their 20s…so much change, so little understanding of where to find what we want.

Where should you go? What should you do?  Who are you now? Who were you then?  Who will you be?

And if you don’t know the answer to any of these questions, you’re just stuck thinking about cheese all day.  And no one wants to spend time with someone who only thinks and talks about cheese (excluding goat farmers, I imagine).

People want to be around people who appear to be discovering something, searching, staying in motion–saying, “I’m not sure what the meaning is, but I’m sure I’ll find it.”

So here we all are, obsessed with our cheese until we learn how to search.

I say screw cheese.  Let’s go find some ketchup.

And so I applied to grad school.

Word Aneurysm

Over the last few weeks, I’ve had about a million and one blog post ideas…but then I didn’t write any of them.

This is also due to the fact that several of my ideas were rather boring.

But here are some “highlights”:

1. McDonald’s: Lately, my lunch has taken a turn to revolve around McDonald’s…mainly because I keep forgetting to make a lunch.   Like the other day, I was so preoccupied with work that when the window attendant gave me my drink first, I took the drink and drove off without the rest of my food. 

Embarrassingly when I came to my senses, I swung around, got the bag from window attendant who was laughingly holding out my meal for me and yelled as we passed, “Sorry!  Long Day!”

2.  I started the application process for the Master’s in Library Science and Information Technology this weekend.   If everything goes as planned, I will be taking classes to be a librarian by January.

3. My cat keeps attacking my leg.  I gave him a stuffed teddy bear to divert him from thinking my leg was his next victim, but he still appears to like live bait better.

4.  Lauren just thought I said “alcoholic rodent” instead of “an alcoholic wrote it.”  Who knows why we were talking about either?

5.  All day, I have been craving a candy bar espresso–the best drink one can buy.  Mostly, I have been craving this drink because I have an addiction to coffee, and without it, I am nothing.  Very focused to get my fix, I was asked by the barista, “What kind of candy bar would you like?” 

So I said, “What kinds do you have?” 

“Peanut Butter Cups.” 

“Oh, okay.  I’ll have that.”  …I think I would have seen the humor in this barista had he not been standing in the way of my happiness. 

 

…I dare you to make logic of all this.

The Body

For some reason, I woke up this morning and started thinking about infectious mononucleosis.  Yes, mono (the glandular fever).  I’m not sure why I thought about it since I got it years back and there was no reason to think of it now–but what struck me is that any skilled person could easily take a sample of my blood, look at it, and know I had mono at one point in my life.

My dead body would be characterized by mono.  But then I began to think what else scientists could discover about me if they found me centuries from now, perfectly preserved by whatever ice cap I fell into (that’s legit–they’re everywhere).

In my imagination*, here is what they would find:

Specimen #0303 aka Sarah, the female human, found April 6, 2910 near the Manhattan dig site.

Sarah was born approximately 900 years ago in a temperate climate not far from where Genora City now lies.  Her light features and bone structure identify her to be part of the Anglo-American tribe that came over from the Northwestern part of the globe 1000 to 2000 years ago after various political and religious persecution. 

It appears her diet consisted mostly of carbohydrates which were typical of the time.  The radius of her bone density signifies an inherited predisposition to scoliosis, which Sarah’s spine shows evidence of.  Judging by her small build and lack of muscle mass, Sarah was not athletic or part of the manual labor class.  Her bone sample pin points her age to be late teens to early adult.  And her iron content suggests she remained childless.  The fact that her well-preserved body remains so intact with a limited amount of scar or bone breakage links  Sarah to leading a fairly leisurely and peaceful life. Except for the lingering remnants of mononucleosis, a disease found in most young people, Sarah never had chicken pox or cancer, suggesting had she not died from the massive ice age, she would have lived approximately sixty more years.

*Because my imagination doesn’t know carbon-dating and science very well, most of this will be incorrect, I’m sure.

What would scientists find about YOU?

This Is Your Brain On Knowledge

I think my brain has been gaining quite a bit of information lately, but at the same time, losing quite a bit of information in the process.  This is not to say that my brain isn’t always learning new information, but when you have significant changes constantly coming your way, there’s bound to be a little something more in it for the brain.

(I think my brain’s hoping for a new bike, but I’m pretty sure it will be disappointed with another wrinkle.)

For instance, I can now usually assess a social situation and understand who needs what in the situation, but increasingly, I’m doubting my own ability to spell!  In college, I never had to ask myself, “Are there two Ps in that or one?”  But in college, I was also never asked to lead or manage other people as I am now.  I feel fairly certain understanding the inner-works of interpersonal skills is much harder to ascertain that relearning how to spell, so I’m confident this is a step up.  Then again, you may one day find me writing grahmaticle chainjazz tha do knot mayk since, all the while brilliantly assessing social situations.

I remember those old anti-drug commercials for young kids like myself, mindlessly trying to watch cartoons on a Saturday morning, when–BAM–this is your brain on drugs!

I think my brain on knowledge looks something like this:

Yes, all brains on knowledge translate to an empowered person climbing a mountain.  If you are not learning, you will never climb a mountain.  Don’t even think of going to Colorado.    You will be stuck in the flat plains scrambling eggs.

-The Leftovers

Dunzo

For those of you who still read this, what’s wrong with you?!

I’ve decided to pursue some writing in the book form more so lately, so I believe I will bid this blog adieu…for now.

I’m proud this blog started out a little over a year ago by two young women graduating college with degrees in English, wondering how the hell we were going to get jobs.  I never expected other people to enjoy the blog as much as it appears people have in the past.  This goes to show that life after college tribulations are fairly universal.

Thanks for the memories (and readership)!  It’s been fun.

-The Leftovers

A Week In The Life Of A Mover And A Shaker

This week, I:

• Learned how to drive a stick-shift (kind of)
• Rode a motorcycle for the first time
• Started my application to graduate school
• Fulfilled a request made three years ago
• Bought a GRE book
• Accidentally typed ‘GED’ book instead of ‘GRE’ (same thing, right?!)
• Began moving into my new apartment
• Watched two little dogs shiver next to their owners (little dogs shiver a lot)
• Planted grapevines
• Was asked to be a godmother
• Accidentally typed ‘grandmother’ instead of ‘godmother’ (same thing, right?!)
• Started planning on how to lead my new godchild astray
• Wondered why ants seem to enjoy traveling in cement cracks
• Listened to drunk crack addicts at the Dollar Store talk about how much they love amarretto flavoring (they just love it)
• Wondered what termites look like….THIS:

On a more important note:In addition to not being very delicious, Laffy Taffy candies are not very funny.  Or maybe I need to be thinking on a higher plane of thought in order to fully understand the humor of “What did the noodle say to the butter?” Don’t Try And Butter Me Up. 

I don’t get it.  I’m not sure why a noodle would even be talking to butter.  Do people typically use butter on their noodles?  Or is that the point of why the noodle is asking not to be buttered?  Because it’s health and cholesterol conscious?  Why couldn’t a roll be talking to butter?  They seem cool.  Rolls know how to take a joke. 

-The Leftovers

Please Don’t Eat The Daisies*

This post was going to be a very deep, insightful piece on life and living, perhaps even revealing the meaning of life to those with sunshine and rainbows in their heart and a sparkle in their eye.  Instead Wikipedia has turned my attention to far more significant things–Doris Day.

I’ve never had the pleasure of Doris Day’s acquaintance.  In fact, up until today, I thought I probably missed out on that opportunity years ago seeing as death has a funny way of picking on the elderly.  But, what?!  Doris Day still alive at 87?  Doris Day living in California and going by the alias Clara Kappelhoff?! 

This could be the beginning of a new “Sunset Boulevard” !  I could be Joe Gillis and Doris Day could be Norma Desmond–both of us living creepily together in her Hollywood mansion like some mixed-up relationship between a live-in writer and a washed-up sugar mamma.

I imagine me parading around her house every day singing her signature song “Que Sera Sera (Whatever Will Be Will Be)” while she pours herself another drink and pets one of her fifty little dogs, wishing I would shut up for once. 

What a time-honored classic.

 

*http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0054188/

Closet Sticks: The Technical Term

Right now I’m trying to contemplate the purpose of why someone would choose to take a closet stick with them…and by closet stick, I mean that bar you hang all your clothes on in a bedroom closet so as not to go around naked or wrinkled all day. 

I can’t imagine why someone would take that out of an apartment unless they were going to another apartment that was completely void of closet sticks.  Or perhaps this old roommate had an affinity for closet sticks…so much so that she could not part with it when she left?

I picture her passively aggressively disarming her closet, hoping I would notice how inconvenient she has now made my life from hanging clothes.  Well think again, taker of (not so) pointless objects! 

I will just go to a closet stick store to buy another (what a pointless purchase).  Or maybe I’ll just hang all my clothes on the new raccoon I am also planning on finding and keeping as a pet in this new apartment.  I’m sure either will work just as well.

Don’t Tell PETA

Worst. Day. Ever.

Driving back from a very fine walk through a sea of drunken bar crawl individuals, I was listening to music & contemplating what a great day it had been….

When BAM!  A pair of birds fly in front of me–one must have been hanging out with the drunks because it flew right into my windshield, spun several times in the air with feathers flying everywhere, and landed in the street.

I had hoped it would quickly recover and fly off with its friend, but alas, there it lay in the middle of the road, unable to arise.  I considered going back and checking to see if I could still save it, but the road was a fairly busy one, and I fear the bird’s prospects were slim.

I killed a fucking bird!  Worst. Day. Ever.

To Wear Pink or Not to Wear Pink

Let me preface this entry with a bit of my own bias.  I was once told by a reader of a previous blog that I was an entertaining writer, but I tended to put people in categories.  Which is fair.  No one is ever certain if their own observations match the observations of others.  While I may think I am merely identifying what is already there, others may see me putting labels on what is not…or oversimplifying what is.  With this entry, I let the reader decide.

Last night, I went to a bar for a friend’s birthday.  Which wouldn’t be newsworthy at all had it not been for the fact that I don’t go to bars often.  And I don’t typically respond well to strangers trying to flirt with me.  This unfortunate combination typically creates some interesting events and observations–today I focus on the “type of guys” one finds hitting on you at a bar.

I haven’t been to enough bars throughout the country to know if these people are everywhere, but my guess is they are…and I have assembled a short list of some possible ways to spot them:

1. They will only talk to you about the here and the now (example: “Do you like that drink?  “How you doin’ tonight?” “Can I buy you a beer?”)

2. With this comes their hope for instant gratification, a hope that poisons everything they do (deconstruction of their thoughts: I will buy this North face jacket in hopes of gaining status.  I will dress like I just came from work, so “ladies” will think I’m successful.  I will buy my clothes from generically cool clothing stores and use terms like “bumper sticker liberal” incorrectly so I will gain status with my “bros.”)

3. They have a fondness to pretentiously show how un-pretentious they are. (example: “I will only drink American beers because I don’t need to drink that expensive import shit.”)

4.  They frequently talk about how they’re “living the dream”…yet they can be found every Friday and Saturday night at the same bars, mass-produced and nondescript.  The American dream, folks.

I understand most people can be guilty of some of the same cultural group-think…the hipster identity, the ever growing blue collar/”red neck” identity, the coffee-drinking intellectual identity, and so forth…but don’t each of these crowds merely represent a bunch of unsatisfied human beings trying to make their entire self fit a certain quintessential mold?

And ironically, each of these groups never get along because they’re each so hung up on their own causes of “only drinking green tea on Thursdays” or “only listening to Bright Eyes in the car” or “only watching sports and drinking Bud Light when it rains.” 

These people are boring.  Why are they boring, you ask?  Because their system is predictable.  And why is this even a bad thing?  Because predictability and comfort hinders progress and growth to become better people.  If you are not exploring, you are not learning.  And if you aren’t learning new things or finding new ways to become a better, more worthy individual, you might as well be dead.*

Therefore, I would like to start a new identity called identity where we all just have one that we can make as we please.

And these ”types” would say to each other: “My name is Bob and sometimes I eat potato chips, but other days I like a nice salad.  Occasionally I listen to Neil Diamond in my footy pajamas, but I also consider myself a professional wrestler.”

And we’d all go around thinking I’m not quite sure what to think of Bob.  Because we aren’t accustomed to not being able to read the symbolic clues we give each other to distinguish where we stand on these hot button issues of to gel or not to gel.  Or to tuck or not to tuck.  To wear pink or not to wear pink.

I think I’ll wear pink.  But like green better.  And be done with it.

-The Leftovers

*Of course, this is especially my mindset since I am a young, healthy individual with, potentially, quite a few years to become a complacent, predictable person with two kids and a mini-van.