Donna says relax.

The following is an excerpt from an ebay exchange:

Hi there. Thanks for you kind reply. I will send her back by US parcel
post tomorrow and it should take a week or so because of the holidays.
Trust your Thanksgiving will be a wonderful occasion as we remember and
thank the Lord for His bountiful blessings. Sounds like you are working
too hard. Take care of yourself and take time to smell the roses. God
bless you. Thanks again. Donna

Restoring my faith in the ebay community after a shitty day of customer service and broken camera. Why are the god-loving people always the nicest ones?

Football, Faith, Facebook. Fear, Follies and Freaking Out.

I dont know if you had heard, but me and football had a falling out. I have devoted myself to a much nobler cause: shoe shopping. Now thats something that deserves my most reverent respect.

To me, Ohio State football is like being jewish on christmas. Being inundated with spirited festivites, and I just do not believe in the fundamental tenets.

If I don't believe in football, why should I have to walk down the street being heckled with an O-H, be forced to take a detour getting back to my home on campus, and be a party to the grocery store cheers as tedd whatshisname throws a touchdown. I mean, I don't shove a menorah up your ass and make you say mazel tov. ....I'm also not jewish so i dont know if that metaphor works...or perhaps is borderline antisemitic...

So in conclusion....if I don't believe in santa, I'm not a small child, if I don't believe in god I'm simply a minority , and if I live in columbus and don't believe in ohio state football, I'm completely mental.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am convinced that social media becky is a much better version than the real thing. This is why parents should not allow their children to get a facebook account until they are 30. They turn out socially retarded and incapable of face to face interaction. ...I need a drink.

With the advent of the tv there were concerns that it would turn ones brain to mush. Now that people use facebook more than they talk face to face....do you think there will come a day when ALL communication is via text messaging? We live in an age of terse and impersonal amusing one liners that present only our best sides. .....at least, thats what oprah says.

One day we will be like the people on WallE who just talked solely through their technology. And as an awkward spastic socially anxious person, I don't know if I am totally opposed to that.

Back in the days when women were subservient to men, there were rules of courtship to which one was to strictly adhere. Pick up, buy things, kiss good night, get to know, wed, babies, old age, death. It was simple.

The rules of engagement have changed.

Are we equals now? Does 'come over and hang out' really mean, lets go hump like bunnies? Do people get to know eachother anymore? Should he still buy you things? Should you treat him to some adult beverages? Because he buys you things do you owe him a lap dance?

I watched the worst movie I have ever sat through ever in my entire life last night. It was called south pacific and because it was a musical I thought it would be tolerable to quite agreeable. But it was atrocious. Because he was french and old she liked him, because she was not polynesian he liked her. He killed a man, she was okay with it. He had had a 'colored' wife who mothered his two children, she ran away. Moral of the story: its okay to kill people if he was being 'a bully' andyou have a dreadful french accent, but if you marry someone who doesn't have skinny white legs and curly blonde hair, then we have a problem.

Prejudice is something that is taught. Fear is something that is ubiquitous. Do you think we will have gender roles in 100 years? 200? All this talk about equality and we have come a long way. But women still want to be taken care of, and white men still have the power.

Even in occupation, humans are not reagarded as equals. Doctors are regarded in high esteem, photographers or worse house keeping are regarded as the dregs of society. Respect is something that should be bestowed on all human life until they prove that they do not deserve it because they are hateful and petty....or maybe it is all human life. period.

I dont know the answers. I just see the problems.

~~~~~~

Remember in third grade when it was exciting because this was the first year you would be assigned homework! And then you get to school and the first day they give you nothing. And that whole week you wait because you are so excited to be growing up and getting things like real assignments. And what's all they give you that first week: cover your books. And you feel gipped. Because covering ones books teaches you nothing.

But really. Thats the most practical lesson you got all year. No one uses long division, they just grab a calculator. If you wanted to know the specific date the vikings landed in north america, you would just google it. When you reach adulthood, no one dots their i's and crosses their t's with the proper cursive/script techniques, you are just lucky if its legible.

But covering your books: that teaches responsibility.

We all forget the knowledge we obtained in our youth. And so do we forget the lessons in joy. Snow days: taking time off to appreciate mother nature. Friendships: I make time for you because I want to, not because i feel obligated, or worse because I need a favor. Politics: what are those? Love: I love my mommy, daddy, my siblings, and my golden retreiver and that is all i need.

Life is so complex and we ought to simplify.

Our life is frittered away by detail... Simplify, simplify, simplify! ... Simplicity of life and elevation of purpose.

One must decide what is necessary to freak out about: usually it is nothing. Choices. Responsibilties. Whats important? Its not feeling this uptight and crazy over a stupid job.

~~~~~~~~~

Dating is supposed to be fun. You are supposed to want to see him. Spend time, get to know, etc. To me, its nervewracking and painful. To me its akin to climbing to the top of the highest building and being told to balance on a railing several thousand stories in the air. And you have to fight to hold your balance. He asks you out, you waver. He takes you to dinner, you stumble. At the end of the night he makes his move, hang on tight its a long way down. And then every word you speak or every decision you make is like a step and scoot on that railing you take to regain your balance. But not all words are coherent and not all decisions prudent. And so sometimes you stumble a little, or worse fall completely off. And then you die.

~~~~~~

Really, thats pretty much how I feel in most social interactions. I guess thats what I get for being born human. Flawed and freaking crazy.

My dog doesn't worry about saying the wrong thing at a party: he can't speak. My fish doesn't care if his scales dont match his eyes, hes alone in a bowl with only me to judge. My dead cat used to freak out a lot...but it was only when I came within arms length of her.

Animals fear when it is appropriate.

Humans have developed inappropriate fear. Fear of change. Fear of the unknown. Fear of people of different race, background or culture. Fear of large spaces. Tight spaces. Spiders. Fear of social interaction.

There is chemical fear and there is logical fear. And my logical fear is that someone will pull a gun on me and I will feel no fear at all because my fear neurons are broken or maxed out from fearing stupid things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wonder what they call the fear of people who fear spiders? Arachnaphobiaphobia?

They Shoot Becky's, Don't They?

Dear Diary,

Today I felt the true wrath of Satan as I waited for admittance into the seventh layer of hell. All around me the people were clammy with sweat, as they stood for hours on the hard concrete in a tortuous winding queue. Bones creaked as the people inched their way forward at a rate no faster than a physically handicapped snail crawling backwards on a conveyor belt. Demon spawn everywhere were up to no good. Screaming, running, terrorizing. Everywhere the midget hellions spread their bedlam and confusion among the masses as we stood there waiting like cattle on their way to the slaughter. High decibel voices pierced the air as parents attempted to buy off their progeny with storybooks, French fries, and threats to make him wear his puke-stained shirt for the duration of the evening should his woeful tantrum stimulate his gagging reflect. Moms chasing teetering infants through the snaking orange pylons and yellow crime scene tape, I admittedly watched several fall flat on their faces with no regard for their well-being. Kids are resilient, evil fiends are immortal. Attempting a bit of light reading amidst the din of hellfire, the hours ticked by and I inevitably came to the conclusion that the most boring book in the world could get no drearier.

It got drearier. My ipod died. The satellite child spinning around his father bumped into me for the 42nd time. I persevered. I inched forward some more. I reached the curtain. The triage area. The nurse. She shot me. Inoculation administered. Freedom at last.

And then I sprinted into oncoming traffic crossing the street and nearly collided with a semi on the on-ramp. Perhaps I was being careless, perhaps I was just tempted to see if hell really is as bad as were the preceding three hours.

Time will tell.

Cut it Out

I stare blankly through unfocused eyes as the babbling vacuous chatter washes unpleasantly over me. I am drowning in a sea of another’s misguided self-importance, suffocating in the violent throes of frivolity as one dim-witted anecdote collapses into the next chronicle of the inconsequential. So, you grew up in Cowtownville, well congratulations. So, mom and pop were supportive of your dream to become a hair stylist, how delightful. You have adorable friends who throw super cool Halloween parties with ironic themes, please wait while I phone the Times.

This is exactly why it takes me several months to drag myself back to the salon. I prefer to let my ends split and to flirt with unibomber status locks just so I am not forced to pay to sit and listen to some absurd lady detail how her boyfriend once challenged her to a hair growing contest and won.

And as the latest inane story lapses into another transitory hush, I am given to hope that maybe this time the quiet will remain. Perhaps she is not as dense as she seems and has learned that silence is not only golden, but also favored. Yet not even before my forced polite smile fades back to a grimace, another cacophony ransacks my eardrums.

As if the fleshed-out autobiography was not enough, she hits me with the third degree interrogation. What do you do, where do you live, did you grow up here, are you doing anything today, any big parties this weekend you are attending. On and on and on.

Listen, if I wanted to talk about my job, my background, or my social life with a complete stranger, I would get a therapist. If I wanted companionship, I would get a dog. I do not ask you questions about your pointless existence. Take a hint, don’t ask me about mine.

I am here for expressly one purpose and one purpose alone: for you to render a service. Wait what’s that? You are telling me that cows were literally wandering around in the supermarket parking lot in the town where you grew up… No. Freaking. Way.

Hey lady, please just shut up and cut my hair!!!