A really long post in which I either prove my sanity or convince you all that I'm insane. But hopefully amusing.
Ask the iPod was right! My future love IS in New York.
From “Overheard in New York”
Suit: Do you have any headache medication?
Production assistant pulling random stuff out of pockets: Yeah, sure. Do you have a headache?
Suit: No, but I might later... Oooh! Band-Aids!
How can you not love a man like this? I think I may have found my future husband. He’s planning ahead which means that he is probably logical (and let’s face it, if I am ever going to marry, it should be a logical person) BUT he also appreciates the fun that is Band-Aids and would understand my ability to be distracted by all that is bright and/or shiny (or, you know, plastic with some gauze). This indicates that he would probably be fun enough so I wouldn’t end up killing him, which I’m sure you all realize is the foundation of a successful marriage.
Do not panic. I’m okay. Really.
I’ve been forgetting to take my Effexor lately. I don’t know why. I put it in the medicine cabinet. It’s right next to the Seraquel. It’s not invisible. But I don’t remember to take it. I don’t forget the Seraquel, of course, if I don’t take that I can’t sleep for hours and then I have these horrible images that flash through my head (oh, such as faces melting and blood and random torn off limbs and evil witch like creatures that cackle at me (Yes, I’m a ton of fun at parties). You would think I would look and say “Oh. Look. Here is my Effexor. I should probably take it.” But I don’t. You would think that I would realize how important it is because I can tell when I’m starting to mess up my dosage. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m exhausted all the time. I don’t want to do anything except sleep and read and eat (because no, I can’t be one of those people that doesn’t eat when they’re depressed (although I do a pretty good job of not eating when I’m depressed, I am not so good at saying “Hey, Dana. You have just devoured a full portion of food. STOP eating now!”). I know everything will be okay; I just have to get into the habit of taking my pills again. Oh, and my iron pills. Because maybe one of the reasons I’ve been feeling so dizzy and weak lately is because I’m somewhat anemic and I’m supposed to take the damn pills. And I should take vitamins. I have vitamins. Somewhere. It’s kind of like the ginkgo bilboa I bought to help with my memory. I just forgot to take them.
Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I know what the problem is and I know how to solve it. I’m not finding myself staring out windows and wanting to jump which is a good thing, considering I’m on the 27th floor.
Okay. Back to the funny portion of my post (aka: where I ramble about signs and commercials and never actually make a point (and quite possibly scare you all)).
Today on the ride in, I was listening to the radio. Part of my lovable charm is my irritation with certain signs or commercials. I’m not sure exactly what it is but there are some things that just set me off. For example, Beth has been witness to my irrational hatred of a business next to her apartment. For some reason, the idea of a graphic arts business named “Let’s Get Graphic!” just irritates the heck out of me. Beth has asked me why. I don’t know what it is. It’s just wrong. That’s all I know (she was telling her Dad about this and his response was “I think she may be the weirdest person you know. Oh, wait, you hung out at that pool hall for awhile”). I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know that the name tells you what they do. But still it makes me so irritated.
DM: Let’s get graphic. I’ll get graphic! I hate your stupid name!
B: Why? Why do you hate them so much?
DM (after struggling to formulate the perfect answer that will reveal all and cause the sky to open and a group of angels sing “Hallelujah” while the world suddenly corrects all of its problems): Because!
Yes. Because. That’s a great reason, isn’t it?
Last Sunday or the Sunday before, John observed me drawing on a piece of paper. When I am bored (or, in this case, not bored but annoyed with both him and Craig because Beth and I have so much fun at karaoke by either scrapbooking (well, drawing layouts, actually) or playing Trivial Pursuit (not easy to do when they are there because they act as if they know everything and can get pretty condescending and not understand that half of the fun of Trivial Pursuit is the incredibly wrong answers. Rat bastards) and can’t think of anything to write (or, in this case, can’t write what I want to write which is something along the lines of “Oh for the love of God, can you please go away? Please? Craig. Under no circumstances is Beth ever going to find you attractive. You repulse her. And you wear too much cologne. And your accent is so very fake and not at all sexy. Desmond from LOST has a sexy Scottish accent. You do not. Also, Desmond doesn’t just have a sexy Scottish accent. He is also tall and pretty to look at. You are not. And John, while you are less annoying than Craig because we can talk about boys with you, you are one of the most cynical people I know. And yes, I can be pretty cynical myself (we discovered that we share the same favorite poster from Despair.com) but damn it, there is only so much I can take of your constant bitching about how the world is out to get you and yet another person called you racist because you wouldn’t sell them beer on Sunday (which, hello, stupid people, against the law!) and whatever your complaint du Jour is)…you know, I’m going to start this sentence over.
When I am bored or can’t think of anything to write, I will find myself doodling. My doodling pretty much consists of drawing a box. I then divide the box into sections and then fill in the sections in an alternating manner. Nothing major. I just like it. It relaxes me and keeps me from stabbing people with forks (not that I’ve ever actually stabbed someone with a fork. I just make vague stabbing motions and then Beth or Keem take the fork away from me). Anyway, John was somewhat fascinated with my need to make sure that there was a proper balance of filled in and blank sections. Apparently this makes me somewhat OCD. Since John doesn’t know me that well, he has no clue that I am quite possibly the most extreme opposite of OCD – I would be, as I mentioned earlier, an example of someone who suffers from bright, shiny object syndrome. In other words, I get distracted easily; I’m somewhat hyper & have the attention span of a gnat.
John: Oh my God. You should marry James and have neurotic babies.
Later, when Beth was driving me home, we had the following conversation (of course, I also don’t remember things well so who knows if this is even close).
DM: I’d think that if James and I had babies, we’d have a chance of having a somewhat normal baby. I’m not neurotic.
B (she may have laughed hysterically at this point): If you and James had babies, you’d end up with a kid who feared all condiments or was obsessed with mustard*, lettuce & would yell at random business signs (there was probably more. I so need to start recording our conversations).
DM: But “Let’s Get Graphic” is so stupid!
*Just because I refuse to live in a mustard free household & think the Mustard Museum in Mount Horeb is quite possibly the coolest place ever & suddenly I’m obsessed? Sheesh (although Beth may not have been the one that said I was obsessed. It might have been me. Who knows? Again, reason why I need to start taping conversations).
There was also the series of commercials perpetrated on society by a local grocery store. Not only did they have these really annoying radio commercials where they did this sort of beatnik jazzy number about all the things you can get at Rainbow (including a freaking headache from their commercials) but they also decided “Hey, let’s take a bunch of different foods and dress them up like little people. That will be fun.” No. No, stupid ad people, this is not fun. It is stupid and wrong. Because not only does it cause me to go into a five minute tirade about the French Bread wearing little berets and then looking very phallic, it also means that you’re going to present us with a carrot wearing a little dress and earrings and a necklace made out of peas. Peas. So not only is Rainbow saying “Hey, it’s really cool to dress up food like people, it’s also okay to cannibalize other vegetables for jewelry.” This would be like me saying “Hey, I really like so-and-so’s face. Maybe I’ll make a necklace out of it.” Which would result in me being arrested, rightfully so. Shouldn’t the carrot lady be arrested?
Okay, anyway, the whole point to this was that I was listening to this commercial on the radio today which consists of some loud, obnoxious guy trying to say the tagline but failing miserably. And the guy who is supposedly the man in the sound booth keeps saying “Oh, just say this in a relaxed tone.” So you hear, over and over and over, “Corona Light. It’s the only light beer that’s also a Corona.”
DM: That is so stupid. Obviously it’s the only light beer that’s a Corona because the name is Corona Light!
Keem: Can you think of a better tagline for Corona Light?
DM: Yes. Beer sucks. Don’t drink it.
Keem: And again I ask, can you think of a better tagline for Corona Light?
DM: Yeah, I’m blogging this.
Next to come? A post in which I write about how I, as a non-driver, do not need to worry about being overcome by road rage. However, I apparently suffer from karaoke rage. Or, you know, I should just take my damn pills already.
Apparently my blog is rated G. There are no bad words on it. Anywhere. Obviously I'm not as hardcore as I thought.
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