Author: Stratafied

The Brookstone Catalog Is My Favorite Part of the Middle of November

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It’s that time of year again. That wonderful, wonderful time of year. That amazing, life-changing time of year…when the Brookstone Catalog mysteriously shows up in my mail.

And they're exactly the same!

This year I got TWO of them! Bonus!

I don’t know how I got on this mailing list. I’ve moved a lot since this first started happening, and I have never once told Brookstone I was moving. In fact, I’m fairly positive I have never once told Brookstone where I live.

Because I don’t shop at Brookstone.

Don’t get me wrong. I would swim with sharks for one of those fancy massage chairs.* But I can only commit myself to one catalog for shopping, and I choose SkyMall every time.

*Please, Brookstone? Two dreams in one!!

AHHHHHHH

I’d even swim with this totally terrifying basking shark. No, wait, I’d ESPECIALLY swim with this totally terrifying, toothless filter-feeder shark…
(Image a la the WWF)

It’s not your fault, Brookstone. SkyMall and I have been together for a really long time. When I was a person-in-progress*, my dad worked for a major airline. We flew EVERYWHERE. All the time. SkyMall became more than a way to survive endless “flight safety briefings” – it became an obsession. (A totally HEALTHY obsession. Stop judging. My cat totally needs a ThunderSweater. It can’t be just for dogs, y’all.)

*small child

When you're on a flight is the perfect time to order wedding rings.

SkyMall is a rebel. Their holiday catalog doesn’t even picture the holidays. You show ’em, SkyMall.

The Brookstone Catalog is what happens to SkyMall when it grows up. I mean, it is clearly designed for people who once shopped at SkyMall (hi, friends!), but have since acquired a positively stupid amount of money.

But catalog-versus-catalog philosophical fights aside, Brookstone’s catalog is the ideal place for me to find all the most…astonishing…gift ideas of the season. For example:

Once again: AHHHHHHH

It’s definitely not terrifying at ALL, kids!

Instead of just selling you a robot, Brookstone encourages you to turn your Robot (phone) INTO a robot. Because, you know, Siri just isn’t realistic if she doesn’t have treads.

OR:

Seriously? AHHHHHHHHH

“Really? You want to eat THAT? Using ME? I don’t think so, buddy.”

A fork that criticizes your eating habits and makes you feel fat! The PERFECT gift for anyone you know!*

*And never, ever want to talk to again!

And, of course, Brookstone’s classic selection:

AhhhhhHhHHhHhh

Seriously. Just buy the chair.

Massage tools that look both uncomfortable and awkward, carefully posed with people making even more awkward faces. I’ll take 10.

And last but not least in our feature of delightful gift ideas from Brookstone, I bring you the very best gift of all:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

For WHO, Brookstone? FOR WHO?!

I bet if you get the criticizing fork AND this delightful nose and ear trimmer for someone, you can be sure to never, ever see them again.

So, everyone, get a Brookstone Catalog of your own. Amaze you friends. Make endless enemies. Spend a shocking amount of money. Because in the end, there’s no better way to sabotage yourself through gift giving than to trust the advice of Brookstone.

I can’t wait for next year’s catalogs.

Dating in your 20s Is Completely Awful

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A friend of mine (you know who you are) recently asked me why I don’t blog about my dating experiences. As a single girl in my mid-late-20s, it seems like a natural topic to dive into. Especially since I’ve spent the last eight or so months dating like it was a second job.

There is one simple reason I don’t blog about my dating experiences.

They’re awful.

AHHHHHHH

I’m starting to think I should invent a Life Alert for bad dates.

No, seriously. Over the past eight or so months, I have found myself on dates with people who tell me, in depth, about how they would survive a zombie apocalypse by murdering everyone around them (graphic details were included). I have been on dates with people who gave me stacks of their garish business cards to “distribute to my friends.” (I’m still not sure why I would do that.) I have been on dates with people who legitimately used bad pickup lines in all seriousness. I have been stalked, stood up, proposed to, and propositioned.

At first, the horribleness of mid-late-20s dating was funny. Now it’s just dull, predictable, and sort of sad. So I don’t blog about the chronicles of my romantic life because I am seriously considering getting more cats and eating a chocolate cake.

Here is a picture to brighten your day:

Happier thoughts.

You’re welcome.

In case you think I’m just not putting effort into meeting proper guys, here are the ways I have scoured the world for happy dates:

OKCupid? Tried it. Got stalked.

Plenty of Fish? Tried it. Quit due to my aversion to being murdered.

Match? Tried it. …Ok, this one wasn’t totally hopeless.

Zoosk? Tried it. Hate it.

EHarmony? …Nope. Not doing it.

Totally meeting normal people and agreeing to dates? Nope. This is not something people do in the south. Because everyone is already married.

I Do Not Know Everything

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Or: Why I Will Totally Mess with People Who Constantly Ask Me Questions That Don’t Pertain to My Job

When I first became an official grown up*, I was so excited. I’d conquered college. I’d graduated with honors. I had a cap, a gown, and the world’s most expensive piece of paper proving I was ready to be gainfully employed. I was about to become a professional.

*When I received my very first mildly threatening phone call from the people who own my student loans.

But it came with a hat

Ahhh…the naive enthusiasm of youth. That piece of paper cost $87,000.

I started my career as a Publisher’s Assistant**, which is about as low on the corporate ladder as you can get. EVERY question I was asked pertained to my job. I knew when every meeting was, I knew how to contact printers, and I knew exactly which exotic land (Iowa) was shipping that giant box of fortune cookies we’d ordered. I knew how much it weighed and how many days it was due in transit. I felt like a knowledge guru. It was epic.

**All-purpose office minion.

And it was my job.

Now I am older. I’m probably wiser. But mostly, I’m a more specialized*** asset for my employers.

***expensive

Climbing the corporate ladder means my job no longer includes a lot of the in-office maintenance, and it also involves knowing less about projects I have nothing to do with. Mostly because I’m being paid to deal with completely different projects (which I happen to know lots about. Oodles, even.)

On the one hand, it’s kind of sad to not know about where boxes of fortune cookies are in transit. On the other hand, I know more about things like “Return on Investment” and “market response.” I still try to know as much as possible about what’s going on around me, but some things I just have no reason to know.

(I’d still like to know where the boxes of cookies are, though.)

But that doesn’t stop people from asking me lots and lots of questions about things I’m not involved in. Without providing context. It’s perplexing, and kind of implies they think I know everything.

This is becoming an exciting new game for me, and a dangerous game for them. Because I like making things up. It’s like a science experiment.

I'm serious. People ask me this. A lot. Maybe I'm accidentally dressing like a US Postal Service employee every day?

I’m serious. People ask me this. A lot. Maybe I’m accidentally dressing like a US Postal Service employee every day?

Coworker: “So how much does this box weigh?”

Me: “Three tons. You are amazingly strong.”

Coworker: “No! Seriously. I need to know.”

Me: “Why are you asking me?”

Coworker: “Because I need your help.”

Me: “…What?”

Coworker: “So how much does it weigh?”

Me: “…127 ounces. And be sure to get them to add flammable liquid insurance****. It won’t ship without it, and I heard someone say we need to get it on every package we send.”

Coworker: “Really? Thanks!”

Me: “Have fun at the Post Office.”

****Apparently this box was full of promotional notepads.

This may seem a little harsh. What you need to know, however, is that my job has literally nothing to do with shipping things, or with determining box weights. Our office also has a scale. (Like I said: Everyone is on a diet.) Periodically, I remind people that their guess is as good as mine. In fact, their guess is probably better than mine, because shipping things is part of their job, and they do it all the time. They’re good at it. I am not.

I'm changing my name to Encyclopedia Brown

^ Actual question I have been asked. Verbatim.

Coworker: “So, which form are we sending to the conference?”

Me: “Sorry, but I don’t know. I’m not part of the conference team. If I had to guess, I’d say Form A. But you should probably ask-“

Coworker: “You’re really being unhelpful.”

Me: “…The CEO. You should definitely go ask the CEO. He knows for sure.”

Coworker: “Isn’t he in meetings all day?”

Me: “I thought you said this was important. Probably important enough that he won’t mind if you barge right in and ask him about a conference that has a whole team dedicated to it.”

Generally, these questions occur while I am working on some sort of rapid turn-around project. That limits my ability to commit vengeance beyond bad advice and quick-fire sarcasm.

So, to save everyone’s time, I am confessing this here on the Internet.

I do not know everything.*****

*****Just a lot of things that absolutely no one should know.

Leave Me Alone

Someday, however, I am going to be less busy. Someday, I will get my revenge. 

Public Service Announcement #32

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Watch Out for Earthquakes

Now, contextually, I realize that a girl living in the South seems singularly unqualified to advise anyone about earthquake survival techniques. At this point, I must remind you: I’m a Californian at heart. My schools had earthquake drills while Nebraskanites practiced Tornado dodging and Vermonsters stocked up for future blizzards.

In other words, I am clearly qualified to provide top-notch, totally legitimate advice on how to keep from spontaneously combusting when the earth gets jiggy with it. *

*Sorry. I haven’t gotten to Google anything for anyone in awhile. This seemed like an excellent time to point out that you can Google almost anything and get results. The Internet is a hive mind, y’all.

A Simple Guide To Surviving An Earthquake**

Don't do this.

Really, I’m only transcribing what I remember from earthquake drills in school. Or maybe I was possibly taking a nap at the time and this is what I remember. Anyway: FOLLOW DIRECTIONS, guys.

Step 1: Always work in a defensive, seated posture. On a roll-y chair preferably. For safety.

Step 2: When the ground begins to shake, flail your arms wildly. Be sure to knock over any work-related apparatus that is in easy reach. Roll backwards in your chair and scream loudly, to helpfully warn your coworkers about the earthquake. They may not have noticed.

I think it's the whiteout that sells the level of effort I've invested in this.

Two things: 1) I just noticed that most of the time when I draw stick figures, I make them dance, and 2) Coworkers are _always_ impractical.
(I think it’s the whiteout that sells the level of effort I’ve invested in this.)

Step 3: Notice that the earth has great rhythm, Now is a perfect time to start dancing. This will help your fellow employees remain calm. Nobody wants to cause a panic. When this is over, you will be commended for your heroism.

BONUS! Boogeying helps you avoid dangerous falling objects!

Step 4: STOP. It is time to check your smartphone for other signs of the apocalypse. Be sure not to exit the building. The world outside is probably dangerous. Your coworkers are being impractical. Be sure to log into Facebook: In case of emergencies, it is it the most factual source of information.

I should take an art class

I may have taken the time to modernize this survival approach from original school instruction techniques. You’re welcome.
(You can’t really tell, but that’s totally a karate-kid, end-of-the-world ass-kicking bandananananana that my carefully drawn stick figure is wearing.
You WISH you had my art skills. I should have been an illustrator.)

Note: Be sure to stay away from doors and windows if Facebook and/or Twitter either mention signs of the apocalypse, or if your newsfeed is mysteriously absent of any mentions of a natural disaster.

Step 5: Outfit yourself to handle the impending breakdown of society. Stockpile weapons and food. If time allows, build a desk fort.*

*If building has collapsed in initial ground shaking, disregard steps 2 through 5.

I hope this PSA helps at least some of you survive the next earthquake. Much of this advice was gathered from research performed on how my coworkers here in the south attempted to deal with the planet wobbling. It was a very informative experience.

**Some of you may remember this PSA from a Facebook Album I did. Good job knowing me for so long, but stop stalking me. It’s creepy.***

***Amazing. Totally amazing. It makes me feel like I’m Internet famous!

Today’s Post Is a Terrible Idea Caused by the Internet

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How to Successfully Internet Stalk* Someone Who Makes Chocolate.

I’m not saying I did this personally. I’m also not NOT saying I did this personally. I’m just here to provide helpful instructions, y’all.

Step 1: Google store where the Chocolate is Made.

Step 2: Find the Facebook page of the Store Where the Chocolate Is Made.

Step 3: Realize the stupid store has a separate Facebook page from the People Who Make the Chocolate

Step 4: Find the Facebook page of the Chocolate-Making People

Step 5: Hunt through the photos to find his name

Step 6: Facebook search for the name you deviously and craftily discovered.

Step 7: Be endlessly confused by his profile picture, and be crushed by the factual discovery that obviously you are only attracted to weirdos.

Step 8: Ignore all of that, because mother%$#@!, he makes CHOCOLATE

Step 9: Google therapists, because you’ve obviously gone off the deep end.

Step 10: Buy a candy bar.

Nom Nom Nom

Any one of these will do. Seriously. Chocolate is everywhere. GET OFF THE INTERNET!
(Image via the glorious Cup of Joe http://joannagoddard.blogspot.com/)

Step 11: Tell the Internet about that time you used the Internet for evil. Because you are quietly horrified at all the things the Internet can do.

*Don’t do this. For one thing, it’s totally bananas. For another thing, it’s creepy.**

This is why I don't date

Creepy like this guy. As a side note, this may be a surprisingly similar picture to the Chocolate-Maker’s Facebook picture.

**Seriously? No. Stop Googling people who make chocolate. This is a bad plan. I was having a weak*** moment.

***Hungry. A hungry moment.