The Friday Song - To my Daddy

As I navigate the world of blogging, trying to find other blogs written by people like myself, I have stumbled upon many themes. Since I am new to the whole regular-blogging thing, I thought that adopting a weekly theme might help me stay motivated to post regularly - and so the search began.

Becky introduced me to an explanation for that 45/365 theme that I see everywhere and I thought of it as very clever and cute but just not me. I have also seen blogs that post pictures on Mondays, post poems over the weekend, or write monthly letters to their children. I thought about trying one of those themes, but alas, I am not a photographer or a poet. I don't have kids to write about, unless you count Mojo, but that post would read something like;

"March 2008

Dear Mojo,

You have gained one pound since my last letter to you. I am beginning to think that your weight gain is more than just a "winter cushion" as the vet suggested. You are my little chunker, and I don't care that you snore like a grown man and drool all over the floor. You are Sexxy and all the bitches want you - fo' realz.

Love, Your Momma"

Let's face it, nobody wants to read that. In fact, a few of you probably just clicked away from this blog in disgust. It's cool. I can take it.

After quite a bit of thought (mostly in the bathroom), I decided that my weekly theme would be "The Friday Song" - wherein I dedicate a song to the person/thing/event of my choosing every Friday.

So without further ado, this week's song is dedicated to my Dad.

My parents divorced when I was two years old and I grew up with my Mother. We moved away from Southern Illinois when I was 6 years old and I saw my father once a month and then spent summers with him. When I was younger, I resented those summers because I would be away from all of my friends and have to socially "start over" every school year. I couldn't be in school plays because weekend visits interfered with time I was able to dedicate to rehearsal. I got my period for the first time while staying with my Dad, when the only person I wanted was my Mom.

As a kid, I always wanted to please my Father, but our relationship was awkward. I don't know that either of us really knew how we were supposed to develop a relationship. Only now, as an adult, do I feel a real connection to my Dad, and I wish I was able to spend more time with him. The time we do have together is still a little weird sometimes, but we have figured out a way to communicate with one another and I really appreciate who he is as a person. I don't know if there is any other thing in this world that can compare to the feeling I get when my Dad tells me he is proud of me.

Sometimes, a song has the ability to capture every feeling and every word that you mean to say, even if you don't know how to say it yourself. This is that song for me and my Dad. I can't listen to it without bawling, but in a good way.

Paul Simon - Father and Daughter

It's not easy being green

When I was in college, I took a class that was popularly referred to as "the drug class," "fun with drugs," or "I wonder if the professor will give us drugs today." I don't remember the actual name of the class, but memory loss in this instance is ironically hilarious – so I refuse to actually look it up. In fact, I don't remember much about the class at all - not because I was on drugs (you guys are assholes) – but because it really wasn't that interesting.

Something that I do recall, however, is the theory that people take drugs because of an inherent desire to alter consciousness. The theory suggests that humans start this altered-state experimentation at a very young age. For example, children spin in circles to make themselves dizzy in an attempt to rework their known sensory realities. The dizziness sensation allows them to experience something outside their typical existence. Interesting concept.

So, similarly, when adults desire to feel that altered state, spinning around in circles just isn't enough anymore and they turn to more sophisticated, manufactured instruments of euphoria.

What is your opinion on the topic? Do you think the theory has merit?


I remember when I was a kid...I was convinced that if I jumped at just the right angle and with just enough momentum, that I could actually fly. I am serious. I recall running around in the yard jumping all over the place. Perhaps after running around like a lunatic and hurling myself upwards, I may have caused myself to get lightheaded, thus allowing me the illusion of flight. I also thoroughly enjoyed making myself dizzy.

As I write this, I found my self wondering if I seek out mind-altering experiences any differently now that I am an adult. Will spinning until I fall down allow me the same joy at 26 as it did when I was 6? If not...will I seek other avenues to adjust my senses?

Nah.

I don't know about you guys…but all this spinning around in circles has made me very thirsty. I'm gonna go get a beer...or 12.




Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Bravoholic

I have a serious problem. I am obsessed with Bravo programming. I was addicted to Project Runway and now that the season has ended, I have adopted Top Chef as my Wednesday night "must see TV." Next to Chef Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares on BBC America, Top Chef has got to be my favorite show EVER. (Are we sensing a food trend here?)

Last night was the Top Chef season premiere. It's a bit too early for me to pick a favorite, but I think that there may be some interesting surprises this year and I am super-pumped.

One thing that may be funny (if not annoying) is contestant Andrew's uncanny similarities to McLovin from Superbad. (The link takes you to an interview on Bravo's website - but you will see what I mean if you watch the show). I will be rooting for him just so I can quote the movie every Wednesday.

Keep the following clip handy for next Wednesday (or re-runs).

Office Commandments Neurosis

This post began as "When using the office restroom, thou shalt not use an open stall next to a stall in use" - then I thought...this has got to be just me.

I have a whole set of bathroom neurosis, including (but not limited to) the fact that I cannot "perform" when surrounded. This particular issue only applies at the office, as I have no problem going to the bathroom at concerts, baseball games (Go Go White Sox) or other public functions. Hell, I drop trou and pee mid conversation with friends whilst on the phone. I pee with Matt in the same room brushing his teeth (sorry baby). It is only at work where I suddenly feel claustrophobic and get stage fright. In my world, urinal rules apply whilst at the office.

That said, I hereby present "KC's bathroom issues" in no particular order;

* I have a favorite stall at places I frequent and at work. This is typically the first stall in the row. I feel put off and more than a little annoyed when someone else occupies "my" stall.

* I spare no expense on toilet paper. Only the best for these buns. In college, I bought my own because I couldn't stand the tree bark they tried to pass off as TP.

* If, upon entering "my stall," I find that the previous occupant did not flush, I will grudgingly move onto the next stall rather than flush before use. If, in the same situation, the toilet is flushed but there are "mystery drops" on the seat, I will wipe them away with a "glove of TP" and proceed to use the stall. How does this even begin to make sense?

* I always wash my hands after using public restrooms and become agitated if I have to open the door inward to get out of the bathroom. If I just washed my hands, the last thing I want to do is touch the door handle. (I usually use a paper towel)

* I rarely wash my hands after using the toilet at home. (I do wash them before I handle food)

* Just the thought of port-a-pottys make me gag, yet I frequent outdoor concerts and festivals with alarming regularity.

* Dried up boy pee on that inner lip of the toilet is one of the nastiest things to clean. This is why I ask Matt to clean our bathroom on cleaning days. Thank God he does this without complaint.

* Similarly, Man whiskers aka beard shavings in the bathroom sink are also a point of contention. Meanwhile, I shed long hair all over the apartment like it's my job.

* Mystery moisture in restrooms is the thing of nightmares. People that put carpet in their bathrooms should be immediately institutionalized.

* Padded toilet seats terrify me, but not as much as fuzzy toilet lid carpets.

It's not easy being nuts.

Meme, youyou

I was tagged for my very first meme (I'm new to the blogosphere - what?) by Aunt Becky.

Directions: Pick up the closest book. Open the book, turn to page 123, count down to the fifth sentence on that page, and then post the next three sentences.

The book is "The Tipping Point" by Malcolm Gladwell.

But Sesame Street just somehow never took that idea and ran with it. They knew that kids did this some of the time, but they never tried to build a show around that idea. Nickelodeon did some pilot shows before Blue's Clues where kids would be explicitly asked to participate, and lo and behold, there was a lot of evidence that they would.

Now that I have typed someone else's words into this space - what am I to do? I'm not sure if what I read is supposed to have some sort of existential meaning. Perhaps I am supposed to reflect upon this passage and determine it's place in the greater scheme of things and this discuss it at length in this post. Luckily, I am just not that deep when it comes to my reading material (or life in general, really) - so you shall be spared the boredom.

I believe I am supposed to tag some more people now. I think only about 5 people read my blog, so I shall tag you all. Special taggage goes out to the Other Lovely Becky for being my only regular commenter that I don't know IRL. Yay for my virtual posse of 1. You are truly a pioneer.

Office Commandments (Part 2)

When exiting the elevator, thou shall move thou fat ass as people exit to make room for thou co-workers.

Amen.

The bonus illustrated version.......

Cast of Characters

Bubble #1: Guy that looks familiar - but I just can't place him

Bubble #2: My old boss

Bubble #3: The HR admin - she smells like cigarettes

Bubble #4: The Girl on 6 that always looks like she is going to the club instead of work

Bubble #5: The skank with the burnt popcorn yesterday

Bubble #6: Some skinny chick

Bubble #7: Me - trying to get to the 10th floor

Bubble #8: Fat Guy from the 17th floor

Bubble #9: Intern

We enter at the lobby, filling the elevator to it's 9(ish) person capacity. We smile dimly at first and then avoid eye contact at all costs.

Several riders exit at their respective floors. Notice how I get pinned in the corner (I am bubble #7 - pay attention!) between fatty #8 and Club-wear chick #4. Smokey the Admin (#3) stays put and Burnt Popcorn (#5) move forward to give Fatty a little breathing room. Meanwhile, Clubwear is texting her bff whilst I attempt to burn holes in the back of her tube top with my eyes.

At my floor, I have to physically move Clubwear out of my way as she has now answered a call on her cell and is ignoring my polite "excuse me." I am met with a dirty look as I stumble out of the elevator after tripping over Fatty's lunch bag. Burnt Popcorn says "Good Morning" as she turns toward her cube carrying a big box of Orville Redenbacher. Smokey in HR coughs and the Elevator door closes.

fin.

Office Commandments (part 1)

Thou shalt not make microwave popcorn during the hours between 8am and 6pm. He who makes popcorn in spite of the commandment shall be shunned and silently cursed by his co-workers.

He who foresaketh the aforementioned commandment and burns microwave popcorn in the office between 8am and 6pm shall be immediately shot. The assasin shall be promoted immediately.

Amen.