And they’re all perfectly valid.
Category Archives: My Stupid Life
First, of course, you need to be breastfeeding a 2-year-old. Hang in there; this might take a minute…
1. Yeah, these pants still fit.
2. Probably no one else can smell me right now.
3. I’ll take care of that later.
4. I’m smart enough to figure this out.
5. Symmetrical eyebrows aren’t everything.
I saw a headline not long ago that was something like, “How Married Couples Text Each Other.” And even though I am married and I text my husband — so, like, I already know how married couples text? — I almost clicked on the headline! I mean, it was basically about my life. VERY compelling. VERY algorithmically targeted toward my interests.
So while I stopped short of actually clicking the link, this incident did open my eyes to the fact that readers are clamoring to read about married couples texting. Would you like to read that kind of article? Maybe a list of things my husband and I text about, you think?
OK, here it is:
1. The time I walked through a sudden patch of cold air as I was going upstairs from the lower level.*
2. The time my son’s musical “Thomas & Friends” book started playing in the other room late at night, while everyone else was in bed.**
3. The time my newborn was looking at something over my shoulder and crying, but I couldn’t tell what it was.***
4. This one time.****
5. All those times I was lying in bed at night, about to fall asleep, and it felt like someone (OR SOMETHING?!?!?) was applying gentle pressure to my ear with one finger.***** Continue reading
Most of my life choices and daily activities are informed by my all-consuming fear of death. If I’m not worried about dying myself, I’m probably worried about one of my loved ones dying — or, if I need an occasional change of pace, whether or not those girls over there are laughing at me.
(If you don’t spend the majority of your time thinking about death, what do you even think about? Baseball stats? The glycemic index? The collected works of Andrea Dworkin? I can’t even imagine.)
As you might reasonably assume, I’ve spent a lot of time envisioning the various scenarios that might ultimately lead to my demise. Genetics — and regular old statistics — suggest I’m most likely to succumb to heart disease or cancer. But I have a number of other weaknesses, failings, proclivities, and quirks that leave me vulnerable to all kinds of accidental-death situations.
So, how am I most likely to experience an unnatural death? I’d say the odds are stacked in favor of one of these hilarious mishaps/grievous tragedies. (Vote for your favorite in the comments, and — no promises! — but I’ll see what I can do.)
I’m a woman, which means I’ve been groomed from birth to believe that my two primary functions in society are (1) to please others and (2) to be pleasing to others. So it’s basically a miracle that every work email I send is not a helter-skelter concatenation of apologies, exclamation points, lols, and smiley faces.
As I age, though, I’m trying harder and harder not to apologize just for (1) existing and (2) completing the functions outlined in my job description. But it’s hard to overwrite years of psychological conditioning. So now I’m at a point where I review each message carefully before I send it, and I usually end up editing out (and then re-adding, and then cutting again, and then sometimes compromising on) about five apologies a week. Based on my hourly rate, I would estimate that my company pays me nearly $200 every week to carefully consider my usage of the phrase “I’m sorry” via email.
This is a pretty short list, but it’s actually a prequel to a longer post I have in the works. So, please read this and know that it’s part of my larger manifesto on passive-aggressive emailing at work. (Trust me: I’ve spent the past eleven years of my life embedded in cubicle culture, like Jane Goodall amongst the chimps, and I can sling mud via Outlook with the bitchiest of primates.) Continue reading
- It’s very late at night.
- I’m the only one awake in the house.
- I’m watching my husband and son, who are both sleeping on our bed, over the video monitor.
- I watched Paranormal Activity 4 today. (It wasn’t bad. Easily the fourth-best Paranormal Activity I’ve seen.)
- So my husband and son are both motionless, but my cat is also on the bed and licking herself in a very ordinary way, so I know the feed is live and hasn’t gotten stuck.
- I’m sitting at my laptop, maybe fifteen yards away — close enough to the bedroom that I can hear the white-noise machine both through the door and over the monitor.
- There’s a weird knocking sound I can hear over the monitor, but not through the door.
- I totally believe in ghosts. (I’m undecided about demons, because they always seem very religious to me, and I’m not a religious person. But anyway.)
- I’ve been watching this feed with the unexplained video-only knocking for a few otherwise-quiet minutes, and this is exactly the point in a Paranormal Activity movie where something loud/fast/scary would happen.
- OH MY GOD, THE BABY JUST STARTED CRYING RIGHT WHEN I TYPED “LOUD.”
- OK, he’s fine now. But that was terrible timing.
- Almost the kind of jump-scare fake-out you would find in a Paranormal Activity movie… that’s it. I’m totally shitting my pants.
- (Probably doesn’t help that I had huevos rancheros for brunch.)
I’m turning 33 at the end of this month — the same age as Jesus when he died. Not to mention John Belushi, Chris Farley, Eva Peron, and Eva Braun. Of that group, I would say I’m like 30% Farley (minus the coke), 25% Peron (the Madonna version), and 45% Christ (more for the hair than anything else).
It’s a total cliché for a woman over 30, so I hate to admit that I kind of hate my birthday. I don’t dislike getting older, necessarily, but I spend every birthday thinking about everything I haven’t yet accomplished in my life. I mean, honestly — if you have any idea what the fuck I was doing the whole time I was in my 20s, please contact me with the details. I know I had about a decade’s worth of free time, and I can’t remember doing a single constructive thing.
In an effort to circumvent my annual shame spiral, I decided to create a list of things I haven’t yet failed to accomplish — one for each year of my life. Granted, the odds are pretty high that I’ll end up having failed at a good chunk of these by the time the ultimate tally is taken … but not yet, guys.