Quidnunc

Happiness is a state of mind. Stupidity is a whole other animal.

I was at the mall the other day and overheard a mother (trashy) calling for her child. It went something like this: "Cameron, get over here! Come HERE! COME HINDER!"

It made me laugh, but it also made me sad. Not only is that woman a moron, but she has at least one child (whom she has legal custody of) who is learning how to be a moron, too. And I have to admit, now that it's tax season, I'm somewhat pissed off that my hard-earned money is going to pay for HER to watch Jerry Springer tomorrow.

But it could always be worse. I mean, I can't stand it when I am dealing with a moron who acts like I'M the idiot. Trust me, I don't need outside help to be stupid; I do that very well on my own...like the time I went to lunch with my parents and ordered Pasta Fagioli -- but pronounced it "Pasta Fa-joe-lee." Or the time I shoved my finger up the family dog's ass; not my smartest move, but it definitely gave new meaning to the phrase, "Man's best friend." In hindsight, it's hard to believe I had my finger up an ass before my first kiss. But I digress...

I would like to think many of you read (and hopefully enjoy) this blog because you can relate. So here is my offer to YOU: I am looking for guest bloggers, people to write about anything they want. I would like to know what YOU are thinking for a change. In fact, I've given a little headstart to the cause with the letter I posted. Men, women, children, centaurs...Drop me a comment. If I get even one interested party, I will post my email and we'll get this party started.

Quidnunc: Look it up.

P.S. It's harder than it looks.

Shallow thoughts, by Me.

To continue from the nipple blog, here's the thing: Don't Google a medical symptom unless you are prepared to die from your mystery condition. Even if you don't have the same exact symptoms, you will once you read about them. I mean, one of the catch-all symptoms is oozing. Let me tell you something about that: If you squeeze ANYTHING hard enough, you will get fluid to ooze out of it. Anything. Try it. ANY-THING.

Now back to other randomness...

I work with a woman who has a dictionary at her desk. An old school, hardback dictionary. Personally, I think it makes her look like an even bigger idiot. In a world of spellcheck and Internet, is a dictionary even necessary? If I could open a non twist-off beer with my teeth, would I carry a bottle opener on my keyring? (note to everyone: I do not have a bottle opener on my keyring) Women with boob jobs don't need bras. Even moderately intelligent people living in the 21st century do not need hard copy dictionaries at their desks at work. It's all the same, people. The only thing that dictionary is good for at this point in time is kindling. Better start with the F's!

And...

I read an article that said a cluttered desk, or a desk that was "perceived" as being unorganized, could lead to your inability to obtain that raise or promotion you've been wanting. Needless to say, I spent this morning cleaning up my desk - I put away random little toys, I consolidated all my sticky notes into a nicely typed Word document...I tightened my shit up. I expect to get that raise/promotion any day now. And if I don't? I'm setting up one of those huge, blow up yard decorations in my cubicle. Maybe the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, maybe something holiday-neutral...? I don't know yet.

Lastly, here's the real reason for this blog: I ran into an exboyfriend over the weekend. I was in my hometown, shopping at the "new" Wal-Mart. There I was, in the dogfood aisle, when I heard, "[WC]?? Is that you?" I looked up, and there he was: M.R. Ugh. We dated about 12 years ago.

(sigh) We dated, we broke up, he joined the Air Force, I moved away, he was discharged and then went on to make babies with several girls all over town. I said Hi and realized he was checking out my cart...which was topped with the biggest pack of toilet paper I could find. Great. Not that I cared, but the last thing I needed was for this guy to think I've grown into a woman with a poop problem. Why else would I need 24 rolls of extra thick, double-ply? Indian name: Ass on Fire. Aisle 5.

So, we went through the "How are you's" and all that, and when I asked what he was up to, he blurted, "I'm-engaged-we're-getting-married-in-October." Then he asked about me ~ was I married, engaged, anything...? And I responded, "Well, I was engaged for about a half-hour..." and he cut me off to say, "I'm not surprised, that seems to be your style." Excuse me? What a jerkoff. AND he was still looking in my cart! So I said, "Yeah, well, you know...(awkward laugh) Don't worry, there's no cat food in there." I was so pissed. I was thrown off my game, and this bonehead was taking cheap shots. It was over a decade ago! Get over it! I had been rendered speechless due to the awkwardness! Life was SO unfair. I was, am, a shitty girlfriend...how could he still hold a grudge? I did the guy a favor!

Well, we stood and 'caught up' for almost an hour. Translation: He talked about himself and made as many digs at me as possible. And the entire time, all I could think was, "I'm so glad I showered before I left the house this morning." It also helped that in between his digs, he spilled that he was a loser mall security guard and he's marrying a chick who has a 13 year old son. His mother still hates his guts and his dad ended up being gay. Okay, so I made up the gay part, but still - there was a 64 oz bottle of ketchup next to the toilet paper. I could only IMAGINE what kind of impression that was making!

We finally went our separate ways, opposite directions, of course. He went towards Automotive, I opted for the cereal aisle. I was so twitchy after that unexpected run-in, I bought cereal I didn't even know they MADE anymore: Grape Nuts? Raisin Bran? Honey Nut Clusters?!?!? Sure, they'll go GREAT with my toilet paper and ketchup. I was happy to get out of there, which for me, is a wasted trip to Wal-Mart. I could linger around there for HOURS.

And so, if you take nothing from this story but one thing, at least take this with you: When shopping, grab the toilet paper first. Put it on the bottom. No one in this world needs to know what you're wiping your ass with. Especially bitter exboyfriends. They are out there, and they will find you.

You are only as strong as your weakest nipple.

Last week, I developed a rash on my nipple. Just the one...one rogue nipple. I know, it's an awkward topic, not one I would normally throw out into the public arena casually. Which is why I called my sister about it - I was sure she'd offer up some sage areola advice. Here's the conversation we had:

Me: Hey, I have a rash on my nipple. It's CRAZY itchy, too.
Sister: Why are you telling me this?
Me: Because I want to know if this has ever happened to you. Ya know, maybe this is genetic or something.
Sister: (silence)
Me: Uh, yeah, I put some aloe on it. Do you think that will help?
Sister: (silence...but I could hear her breathing...) So yeah, I was assigned to a new project at work, but I'm not sure I want to deal with the chick I've been partnered with...
Me: (scratch scratch scratch) Uh, okay, what's the problem with her...?

Note to Sister - See that fancy magnet? Don't think you'll be getting one of those from me anytime soon.

Needless to say, the rash cleared up. I attribute that to the aloe and amazing self control. But let me tell you, it was a stressful few days. After the go-nowhere conversation with my sister, I tried Googling "Nipple Rashes." I thought for sure I would be enlightened with some medical goodness. What a mistake that was. All I can say is, I really hope my Norton Anti-Virus was working, because I saw pictures and websites that only my exboyfriend would masturbate to.

What a crazy week.

Aside from the nipple incident, I was at work the other day and opened a bottle of soda. Let me give you some backstory here: I work with a woman who is a crazed Bless You Nazi. Someone can sneeze from 15 aisles away and if she hears it, she will scream "BLESS YOU!" in their direction. She is an insane pain in the ass with it. Now back to the story...

So, I open a bottle of soda. You know how it makes that "PSSSSHHHH" sound, right? Well, it does that, and the only two people in the department are me and Crazy. As I took my first sip I hear (from over the cubicle wall), "BLESS YOU!!!"

It was definitely a WTF moment. But, never one to resist pointing out another person's shortcomings, I yelled back, "Hey [Crazy], I didn't sneeze, I opened a bottle of Coke. But, you turned my soda into wine, so for that, I thank you." What makes this joke even funnier is the fact that she's half Jewish.

Now onto that Van Gough-quality picture. That is the glorious artwork of my oldest nephew. What I like most about his art is how absolute he is. "ONLY call if..." Yea, you tell 'em! Screw you if you want to call to say Hi. Go to hell if you want to check in to see if we have plans for Sunday. If you're not calling about Chip, the green mouse dog (thank you T.D for that description), we want NOTHING to do with you. Now that's my kind of kid.

And finally, to wrap this show up, I have been hearing recently that some people want to leave comments on my blogs, but are hesitent to do so because no one else is leaving comments. PLEASE! If you have something to say, don't be shy! Write it down! I love comments! And hell, if you leave a cool enough one, it might even give me a blog idea. Give it a shot...in fact, I'll go first...