Nonsense

Nonsense covers random thoughts and ramblings.

Let’s Get Ready to Rummmmblllleee…*

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24

Or: I Swear I Watched the Super Bowl and This Post Has Almost Nothing to Do with Sports

* Wait, is that not a football thing?

By nature, I am a bookish introvert. One of my favorite ways to spend an evening is wrapped up in a blanket, tucked up on my couch with a book**.
**And marshmallows. And wine.  

But not many adventures happen when you’re safely enjoying the company of your couch cushions, and I am a big fan of adventures. There is a happy, malicious part of my brain that has rebelled from my quiet reclusiveness, and makes regular, extroverted demands on the rest of me.*** And last Monday, that part of my brain decided that it was time for a party.
***I also blame this part of my brain for all bad decisions ever made.

At least she's adorable

The bad decision devil is personally responsible for that one time I decided to…uh, nevermind. That’s a completely different story that you should forget about immediately.

I tried to argue with her using logic and sensibility.

It only looks like I'm talking to myself. She's totally there

You only think I do not have these conversations with myself out loud. At work.

But I’m not very good at it, because logic and sensibility sound very boring and not at all like “Let’s drag a bunch of our friends over to eat junk food and pretend we know all the rules of sportsball. Uh, I mean, football.”

They also think I'm a lesbian

Facebook is really determined to figure out what ads are most effective for selling things to me. They have yet to try to use dinosaurs or explosions, so they still haven’t outsmarted me.

And so that’s how I decided to throw a Super Bowl**** party. I invited many people through the magic of technology and the Internet. I reveled in the joy of party planning like an adult and the impending fun of unhealthy food and friends.
****Superb Owl. Sportsball. Can you tell I am clearly the best and most logical choice for hostess of a football party?

To the tune of "Na na na na naaaa na"

Yes. This is a song. I encourage you to sing it next time you throw a party.

And then yesterday morning arrived.

Yes. This is how I sit up in Bed

It’s like waking up the morning of the middle school science fair and realizing you never actually MADE the paper mache volcano.

I woke up to the realization that I had less than 8 hours to clean my living space and make snacks and pretend to be a cool, collected, organized human being***** instead of a girl who periodically builds blanket forts and lives on boxed macaroni and cheese.
*****Just in case I might suddenly be able to fool my friends into thinking I have my life together.

Totally effective. Definitely

Because two-handed cleaning is always effective.

Just when I decided I had clearly mastered adulthood and was definitely going to be prepared by the time people came over, disaster struck.

AND I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE CAME FROM.

IT WAS THE BIGGEST BUG IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND HE WAS LOOKING RIGHT AT ME.

I may be just slightly mortally terrified of bugs.

But I also was perpetually aware that, in addition to a bunch of friends, I had invited over a guy I like. And he was coming over early to help me make proper football snacks.

I had no time to cower from the bug.****** So it was time to get tough.
****** I named him Maximus, Destroyer of Productivity.

This actually happened

Because if you tip toe up to bugs, they won’t notice your intentions to murder them horribly. It’s also harder to run away on your tip toes.

We circled each other for a good three minutes. But I was motivated.

Probably.

Technically, that book is biodegradable and so probably not littering.

And that’s how my copy of Moby Dick ended up in the bushes outside my apartment. I am educating nature.

Confidence Is a Trap

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24

Or: Why I’m Grateful My Parents Didn’t Give Me to Carnival Folk When I Was a Child

When I was a little girl, I was, to put it politely, pesky.* To help keep my parents on their toes, I balanced out my charming, well-behaved, thoughtful older brother by instigating mischievous mayhem and bringing home all sorts of tiny wild animals.
*I have yet to grow out of this phase.

Because bugs are more evil than snakes are snuggley

AND I LOVED HIM FOREVER AND ALWAYS UNTIL I FOUND OUT HE ATE BUGS.
And then I put him back.

By the time I was 10, we lived in a little bungalow house in California.

In the middle of my street....

Everything was “mine” when I was 10. And also now.

The house was so little, there was no proper entrance to the attic. Instead, there was a conspicuous strange opening, covered with a plank of wood, in the roof of my closet.

There be monsters inside

See? All the things are mine.

Like many other suburban Bay Area homes, our house had a drop-tile attic entrance that you needed a ladder to access. We kept our ladder permanently in place, because we went up to the attic a lot.

It was a good attic

Even people who read my blog are mine. My readers. Hi, Mine Reader-Person!

Like any child with immediate, constant access to a very tall and dangerous ladder, I played on it as much as humanly possible. I sat on the rungs and read books. I climbed up it to get to my Barbies. I staged elaborate imaginary sea-battles from the top of the ladder, because, well, that was safe.

If I know you, I will draw a stick figure of you

My mom always has cool hair. This was her cool hair when we lived in California.

My mother would warn me to be careful and bribe me to stay off the ladder. But I was confident.

This is foolish confidence

I was definitely not born on a ladder. I’m sure that would have been super awkward for my mom. In hindsight, telling your mother you were “born” on or around anything other than a hospital is generally pretty dumb.

But I had a tendency to climb the ladder in socks. And, as it happens, parents tend to be right about a lot more things than 10-year-olds.

Dangerous confidence is dangerous

Oops.

And one day I fell off of the top of the ladder. I smacked into the floor at terminal 10-year-old velocity. It wasn’t a very high fall, but it was enough that I thought I was paralyzed. As I lay on the ground squeaking out pathetic noises, my parents came rushing in.

I totally was not dead or hurt

I am perhaps translating what I think my father was thinking, instead of actually transcribing the thoughtful things he said to comfort my mother after making sure I wasn’t dead or really damaged.

This happened more than one time**. But it never once deterred my mental stance of confidence. I was filled with a strange survival-detrimental confidence that I was really good at being on ladders.
**At least sixteen before I even hit high school.

I totally am the Pirate Empress, though

It was probably all of the times I smacked my head on the floor that proves my father right here.

If I were my parents, I probably would have sold me to the circus.

I Am the Last Single Girl in My Pride* of Ladyfriends

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Or: Change Happens and Sometimes Makes It Weird to Talk about Dating

*Yes. Girls roam in prides, like lion(esse)s.

I’m not the fastest at making female friends, but the ones I have are pretty out-freakin’-standing. (Note: Earlier, autocorrect decided I wanted to say my ladyfriends were “commonplace.” This is not true. Autocorrect is a hurtful liar who does not want you to know the truth. My friends are AH-MAY-ZING.) And when we were younger, the vast majority of us were single at the same time.

Meeee-yow. Riiigghtt?

I think I should mention very few of these stick figures look anything like my friends

Over time, things began to change. Some friends began to get married.

Duuuun-dun-dun-dun-duuuunnn-dun. Dun, dah-dah-dah-duuuunnn.

Yes. I do picture all brides in princess dresses and tiaras. Because tiaras.

Others began to pair off into unified “we” relationships.

Prepare for a hell of joint apartment hunting!

I am going to lose “serious boyfriend doodling” privileges, I just know it.

And if you move around a lot, like I do, you also get to meet all new friends that are already couples.** It’s two friends for the price of one!
**Bonus life fact: If you make friends with people who are already married, you never have to buy them a wedding present!

But you also may just discover, quite suddenly, that you are the only single person you know.

Hellllooo...elllooo...ello....

This pose just looks silly without other people around. And, well, with other people around.

One by one, my ladyfriends became coupled. I am ecstatic that they’ve found such incredible partners, and have moved into the exciting, couple-y phase of life. But it’s weird to be the last single one. For one thing, my dating problems become “cute.”

Awful. Just...awful.

And awkward. It was also awkward. Because this really happened. He told me I should “give them out to my friends.”

And sometimes it is hard to understand couple-ed person problems, because it’s been a long time since I’ve been part of a serious couple.

This is a valid problem

Not that I would ever leave dishes in the sink, or anything. My life is super clean and organized. Definitely. Just, uh. Call before you come over.

We’re friends, but we’re in different phases of life. Like flowers. Or bananas. Or people.

Or upside down. I possibly watched a special on bananas so I could understand banana spiders, and am playing dumb here.

I clearly have no idea what banana tree-bushes look like. That’s how those grow, right? Also, I am not implying that “splotchy and gross” or “missing petals” is the couple/married phase of life. It’s just as likely to be the single phase because people are not bananas or flowers, but they are fun to draw,

I love my pride of ladyfriends as much as always. They’re awesome. But it’s super hard to gossip about the ridiculous issues of being single in your (mid) late 20s…when you’re the only one being single in your (mid) late 20s. Because, well, they can be pretty ridiculous issues.

Honesty is the best medicine. Also, fight-starter

At least we can all talk about how silly we are.

But they’re also kind of important issues, too. So just remember: Let your friends rant. Whether they’re single, or they’re couple-ed. Because that’s what it means to be a pride***.
***I know, I know. If ladies form prides, what are groups of guyfriends?
Wolfpacks. Duh.

My Cat Does Not Understand Going to Bed Early

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Or: The Story of the Adorable Demon That Lives with Me

This weekend I was very busy and adventurous*, which resulted in a remarkable number of hijinks, but a very minimal amount of sleep.
*preening and flash-dancing because my blog got Freshly Pressed and that makes me so happy it was distracting.

So by the time Sunday night rolled around, it was time to throw on my onsie pajamas and hit the sack. At 8:00 o’clock at night. Because I am practicing for senior citizenship.**
**I just want to be really, really good at it already when the time comes. You know, already have all the early bird specials memorized at restaurants and be outraged by those meddlesome kids who won’t get off my lawn? I like to set attainable life goals.

They are so warm and so comfy and I love them so much.

Yes, I did perform my flash-dances in these pajamas.

My cat did not agree with this life choice.

This is the only stick figure cat I have ever drawn

I do not know how to draw stick figure cats.

So, at bedtime (still 8:00 o’clock), I scooped up my cat and carted her off to bed with me. Normal people allow their cats to explore and figure out sleeping space on their own. My cat prefers to be specially invited and then hand-carried to bed, or she will sulk on the floor all night.

She is like carrying a fuzzy sack of potatoes. I love her so much.

***Yes. This is what I call my cat. This is not her name.

I snuggled into bed with her at my feet, and started to fall into the blissful slumber of someone who has collectively managed to have less than eight hours of sleep in two and a half days.

At 8:15 p.m., my feline companion became concerned about whether or not I was alive. To express her concern and check my vital signs, she licked my ear, and then stuck her face into my face to check if I was breathing.****
****For those who are curious, cat-faces directly impair breathing.

Sleep is for the weak and the dead

I told you I do not know how to draw stick figure cats.

Once satisfied that I was clearly still alive – a fact established my hacking struggles to breathe around her affection – she decided it was time to go exploring. She quietly explored for a time, and then determined that my apartment was in need of redecoration.

Admit it. Your cat redecorates too

Because all things – most especially palettes full of wet paint – look better on the floor. Most especially beige carpet.

She put all her efforts into redecorating until I finally went and reorganized all of the things capable of being knocked over. This left her frustrated; clearly I was not appreciating all of her hard work.

By this time, it was 10:00 o’clock at night. A strange peace fell over the house as she fell into a sulk and vanished from my sleeping space.

And then, at 11:47 p.m., she began to sing the song of her people.

I mean, this isn't even cute anymore

I’m so serious. Drawing stick figure cats is something I hope to never do again. I wonder if there are specific art classes for this.

In the bathtub. For optimal echoing. Of course.

This continued, despite repeated interruptions by me (picking her up and putting her in bed; staying up and petting her; playing with her with the laser pointer; locking the &%^$! bathroom so tub singing was impossible; unlocking the #%$!@ bathroom so she would stop crying about the closed door) until about 2:13 in the morning.

When I woke up for work at 6:15 this morning, she was fast asleep, on the bed at my feet, purring happily.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - you can hear it in your head, can't you?

Yes. I still own an alarm clock that beeps at 100,000,000 decibels. It’s the only one I have not broken.

She protested with annoyance when I moved and woke her up.

And that is why I am never going to bed early again.

It’s Probably Time We Talked about Baby Showers

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Or: It’s Probably Better if My Pregnant Friends Don’t Read This One.*

*But if you do, just remember – your pregnancy is super special and like no one else’s and I love you and you deserve a thousand baby showers.

Guys. Guys.
**Also, ladies. Ladies. Because generally, you’re all a little more involved in this.

We need to sit down and have a rational discussion here. A rational discussion about office baby showers.

Nope. Definitely awkward.

Because this is just a really awkward conference for everyone involved.
Click for source, which I’m sure wasn’t awkward and was amazing and thank you for letting me use your picture.

I think it’s cool when people make babies. Awhile back, we discussed the fact that I clearly love babies because I am a sane***, non-sociopathic human being. And I think we should, in fact, celebrate the fact that women are going to produce entirely new people through the magic of science and reproduction.
***Ish. Sane-ish.

AAAAAHHH-ZEEE-VAIN-YAAAHHH

In my head, all new babies are shown off in Lion King fashion.

That’s cool stuff, guys. That’s science.

And, in the right context, I support the baby shower. Because every woman-in-the-process-of-making-more-people needs stuff. Babies require a lot of stuff. Diapers, blankets, cribs, various carrying devices, clothes…A LOT of stuff.****
****I have not made any people, so I base this list entirely on the gigantic registry lists I have hunted through for baby shower presents. I know I’ve left things out.

Since bankrupting new mothers is usually frowned upon, a baby shower is in order. One baby shower. One baby shower that your friends and family come together to throw.  This should result in a giant present fort of supplies and adorable things for new parents to use to take care of their future tiny person.

Not quite as good as a Christmas present fort

One giant present fort. From one baby shower. From people who love you and do not feel oddly obligated to buy you awkward things when they’ve never even met your family.

But then there is the now-longstanding tradition of the office baby shower. The office baby shower is frequently thrown during the work day – during a lunch break or squashed between meetings when everyone is already frazzled. Sometimes, they are thrown immediately after the work day ends, so you are obligated to stay late or look like a cold, evil baby-hater.

Honestly. I may need spinal surgery

No excuse is acceptable for missing the office baby shower.
(But getting accused of baby hating will apparently make your stick figure body disconnect from your stick figure arms)

Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes, you’re friends with your coworkers. Sometimes you’re even the really good kind of friends that see each other outside of work and actually hang out on weekends. That’s cool. Then you should get an invitation to the real baby shower, which should be an actual event showering love and affection on the expectant mother*****
*****This is my favorite phase. She’s “expecting.” Expecting a baby, but, you know, it really could be anything. “The expectant mother was expecting a human baby, but was really surprised when she had a litter of robots instead.”

In most offices, however, the office baby shower is a strange combination of awkward discussions avoiding the topic of how the baby will actually come out, and people milling around waiting for enough time to elapse that they can politely leave. In case you were wondering, the time you have to stay increases exponentially if there’s cake. Cake means you have to stay longer, otherwise you look like a glutton who uses babies as an excuse to cram sugar in your mouth and run away.

People are frustrated with the last-minute panics of remembering to bring gifts, and the mental debates of how much they were required to spend. In general, even the mother feels awkward.

So can we all just agree to cancel these?

…No? Well then can we all just agree that the cake should never, ever, ever look like this?

Nightmares. So many nightmares

This little terror is courtesy of Cake Wrecks. Click for source and hours of entertainment!

Because if not, I’m bringing this cake to your next office baby shower.