Category: crazy

Sometimes Words Just Don’t Get It

This morning, I sat quietly at my desk thinking about an appropriate blog post for this warm Friday.

A post that would wrap up all that went down this week, the highs, the lows, the heat, the headaches.

I found that I just didn’t have all the words to put together in a nice clean way that would properly explain it all.

So I had a bright idea. I would get my camera out and I would take a photo.

One photo that would explain it all. A visual metaphor for the week.

So I got my gear and I polished up the lens, checked battery levels, and figured I’d go outside to take the snap.

As I worked, I thought about potential shots in my head…

A wilted red rose on a drooping bush, weary in the heat?

A great macro photo of the beat up stop sign at the end of the road?

You know…something arty like that.

With camera ready, I turned and aimed the lens out my window to be sure it was working.

That’s when I saw the perfect image.

The image that properly describes everything that went by this week. A week that a former coworker would refer to as “being pulled through the knothole.”

Yup.

Here it is. I had to go no further than the table in front of the window to find my muse.

Yes, she’s awake. No, I don’t know why she’s laying there like that. She held that position for quite some time.

Right before rolling over and falling off the table, then getting stuck behind it.

If that’s not a metaphor, I don’t know what is.

My diphenhydramine reality

Whoa, man.

I mean, really.

Whoa.

So I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Don’t know why. I got stuff on my mind, but no more than the usual suspects.

It’s not waking up and worrying or thinking or whatever.

It’s just waking up. And then not going back to sleep.

Exhausted, looking for some help, I decided I’d try some of that over the counter Tylenol PM.

Well, The Good Man astutely pointed out that Tylenol PM is just a mix of Tylenol and diphenhydramine, you know…Benedryl?

I already have Tylenol, so I bought a generic bottle of Benedryl.

Hoping for some quality rest, I followed the exact same doses from the Tylenol PM bottle, mixed up the recipe, swallowed it, then lay down in my bed.

It didn’t take long before my head felt kind of thick and my eyes got heavy.

Awesome! Sleep is on the way!

Did I sleep? Yes, actually pretty well.

But the dreams. Oh the dreams!

Wild, vivid, lucid, long involved dreams.

In one dream, a carload of my friends and I drove over the Golden Gate Bride, but on the OUTSIDE of the asphalt roadway. We sort of floated alongside the bridge, over the water, as we cruised. I was in the passenger seat and I could see the bridge up close. It was the most amazing way to see the entire bridge.

In another I shook hands with Jesse Jackson because he saw me across the room and rushed over to meet me. Said he was a big fan. (not sure what corner of my psyche that came from. I’m not much of a Jesse Jackson person, but ok.)

In several I could run really fast and it felt so good.

In the best dream, turns out The Good Man could fly. If I held tight to his hand, I could fly too. He flew *fast*, we zipped all over, and the wind tugged at my shoes! It was awesome!

Wowowowowow maaaaaaahn. That is some freaky sh–! I had good sleep! Fabulous dreams! And clear sinuses!

Diphenhydramine! You can’t beat this stuff!

So you know what I did, right?

I took it again the next night.

More wild, fabulous and fun dreams. Vivid, happy, trippy stuff.

Once again, I woke up feeling great. No residual antihistamine hangover, just calm and happy and best of all, rested.

So then, of course, owing to my Catholic upbringing or something, I realized that anything that feels that good can’t possibly be good for me, right?

So I put the happy dreams away and tried to sleep on my own last night.

It worked. I actually slept pretty well.

You know, I had a few dreams. Nothing special. Very dull. No flying or anything.

*sigh*

Literal girl takes things literally

Ok, so there we were on a day of running errands, The Good Man and me.

We pull into a crowded parking lot behind the store where we’ve taken our bicycles to get tuned up.

Fabulous. All good.

TGM parks the car and heads inside while I get out change to go see about the meter.

Muliti-tasking couple, that’s us. Efficiency!

Ok, so we parked in one of those lots where you have to “note your space number and pay at the machine.”

Sure. Ok. I’m in!

So I note “space number 6” and then I swivel my head around to find the pay’er machine.

I see a sign that says, “pay here” and I go toward it like a moth after a 60-watt bulb on a hot summer’s night.

I literally walk right to the “pay here” sign. Seeing ONLY the “pay here sign.”

I arrive at the “pay here” sign to find that there is ONLY a “pay here” sign and no sort of payin’ machine.

What. The. Heck?

Ok. A photo will probably explain this better.

It actually took me several moments to turn around and actually figure out how to get my parking fare paid.

The sign says, “pay here.” It DOES NOT say, “pay over there, like eight feet away.”

Pay here with an arrow means pay there! At the end of the arrow.

Very, very literal girl was really perturbed by this whole setup.

So perturbed I took a dang photo of it!

I totally need to take up yoga.

Or meditation.

Or something with plinky-plunky music that will help lower my blood pressure.

Literal girl is *tense* sometimes…..

Here’s to the Firsties

Didja ever really take a look at an avocado hanging off of a tree (or in a pile at the grocery), with that pebbly green skin, and ponder why that fruit looks exactly like it’s made outta frogs? Did you hold one in your hand and wonder who, exactly was the first person ever who took a look at that green pear-shaped fruit and said to themselves, “hey, that looks tasty!”

And what was that first experiment like? Did they bite into it like an apple, only to ptoo-ptoo out that ucky skin? “I rather dislike the outside, but the innards, oh sweet delicious surrender!”

What about the first person to sample a lemon? What musta been going through their minds? Hmm, looks pretty and yellow. Smells divine. Nibble, nibble, ZOWEEEEE! *ting at the back of the jaw*

And then, after that horrifying experience, what was the thought chain that led to, “you know…if I add some water and something sweet to that, it could be very refreshing!”

How about…Which of our early ancestors plucked the berries from a juniper bush, fermented them, distilled the whole mess and figured out how to make gin? I mean, who was the utter genius with that idea? Because I don’t look at random berries on bushes and think, “hmm, martini!”

And what about coconuts? I mean, that’s a two-step process to get one of them sumnabitches open. First someone has to shimmy up a palm tree, a rather uncomfortable proposition, I’d think, then hack down one of those bad boys. AND THEN the two-steps to first peel off the thick outer later and then knock that thing on a rock to get it open.

Who had that kind of patience?

I’m glad they did because oh how tasty is coconut?

What about aloe? Or cactus fruit? Artichokes? Or those god awful stinky yet tasty durian fruits you find in Malaysia?

Who are these people who gave them the first try?

And what about the downsides of being first? For example…

Who, exactly, was our test subject to sample a handful of those pretty red little holly berries? Hey, the birds eat them, must be good right? According to Wikipedia (so you know it must be true), it only takes about twenty berries to be fatal for an adult. Whooops.

Who went there so that we’d all know not to?

I’m pretty grateful to that person, and all the other firsties.

Thanks for wandering through my strange random thought for the day. It has a genesis in something I saw in a movie and was a long strange trip in my brain from there….

Anyhoo. Happy Friday!

Romeo, Romeo, I’m calling 911

So there you are, at home alone in your second story apartment doing whatever it is single ladies do at home at night. (I’m thinking eating raw chocolate chip cookie dough, but that’s just me.)

You hear a rattle, rattle outside on your fire escape and realize someone is climbing onto your balcony.

What do you do?

Well you call the damn police, that’s what.

And that’s what a German woman did in this situation.

Problem was, the assumed burglar was her boyfriend, bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine in hand, trying to do something romantic.

Ah, ok, no harm no foul, right?

The police all have a good laugh and let the young lovers have their peace.

Whoops, seems the boyfriend had an outstanding warrant.

So when the police arrived, he jumped down from the balcony and tried to flee, only to be tackled by the officers on the scene.

Star crossed lovers, or something….

Bonus points to the guy for giving the arresting officers the bottle of wine.

Hopefully his Juliet has a good sense of humor.

I’m thinking chocolate chip cookie dough and a Netflix movie is one heck of a lot nicer way to spend the night than bailing your boyfriend out of jail…but that’s just me.

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