Homonym

I flew to Philadelphia today for work. My carry-on suitcase weighed about 50 pounds because I got to hand carry all of the handouts for the event. (They weren’t printed in time to ship.) My boyfriend kindly dragged my bag down the 3-flights of stairs from our condo to the car, and while wincing under the weight, asked if I was even going to be able to hoist the bag into the overhead bin on the plane.

Since I was walking away at the time, I yelled back to him, across the entire length of our condo complex,

"Have you seen my snatch? I think I can handle it!”

My boyfriend froze for about 5 seconds and then lost it.

Based on the reaction of our neighbors who were around at the time, I’m guessing they didn’t realize that I was referencing my proven ability to complete the weight-lifting move known as a snatch as evidence of my ability to lift a heavy suitcase above my head.

Things like this are why our neighbors hustle their kids past our door on Halloween. (Come back! I promise our candy doesn't contain razor blades!)

Imprudent

Dear Self-from-last-night,

You needed to drink an entire bottle of wine? Really? And basically skip dinner?

Just because Self-from-this-morning inexplicably woke up without a hangover doesn’t mean that was a good life choice. (Actually, I’m pretty sure it means that Self-from-this-morning is just still drunk.)

Sincerely,
Self-from-this-morning

Update: Self-from-this-afternoon can confirm that, yes, self-from-this-morning was definitely still drunk.

Vociferate

I would have woken up screaming last night, but when I clawed my way out of sleep the air was congealed in my lungs. This is uncommon, but not unprecedented. I have a ridiculously overactive imagination and a rich inner landscape, which often spill over into my dreams.

Only I don’t dream, I embark on epic quests. I have dreams so detailed and nuanced that they should be full-length feature films. I’m often fighting and running. I frequently battle evil. Sometimes I fall in love. Sometimes I revel in solitude. Sometimes I triumph. Sometimes I die. I dream almost every night and usually, when I wake up, I remember my dreams in all their Technicolor glory.

I also usually recognize that it was just a dream. Sometimes, however, it takes me a while to get to that point. Sometimes even when I realize it was a dream it was so deeply disturbing that I still can’t shake it off. Last night was one of those nights.

Embattled

I had a dream last night that I was kneeling up in bed, a war cry on my lips while I brandished a pillow to fend off the hoard of mechanical spiders spilling up and over my headboard. (No clue why they were mechanical. But they totally were little tiny robot arachnids.)

That’s when my boyfriend woke me up.

Because, apparently, I really was kneeling up in bed, while yelling, and brandishing a pillow.

No spiders though, which was actually kind of a letdown. But I think the fact that I was actually shouting and swinging a pillow in real life, just like in my dream, is kind of awesome.

Side note: Is it weird that I was bummed to discover that I wasn’t actually battling tiny robot arachnids? I’m not really fond of spiders, and I certainly wasn’t disappointed that my bed wasn’t full of a swarm of them. I think I’m just looking for the epic in life.

And, while I’m pondering, why robot spiders? Were regular spiders not exciting enough? My dream interpretation books agree that spiders signify change, but there’s no mention of what robot spiders indicate. Perhaps there’s a new computer in my future or something?

Scholarly

This came up during conversation today and it's always amused me, so I thought I'd share. (The fact that it does amuse me is probably a sign of just how twisted I am, but oh well.)

In grade school, I used to skip recess to shelve books in the library.

Why?

Impetus

So in my eternal quest to keep "The Man" happy (a.k.a. remain gainfully employed), I'm sometimes (regularly) asked to do things I don't really like. What kinds of things, you may ask? (Or more likely not, but you've read this far, don't stop now!) Well, I work in marketing, so my job is to find ways to invade your life and convince you it would be better if you picked XYZ. In my case, XYZ is a financial related product.

Who likes thinking about this kind of financial stuff?

No one.

I'm not into the sexy financial stuff like stocks, I'm into the stuff where people cringe and back away slowly when you mention it.

So my job is to sell you something that you probably need but don't want to think about.

Neophyte

I hate first posts. It's like admitting your inexperience and saying, "Look at me! I have no idea what I'm doing."

On the other hand, maybe by admitting you're clueless people will judge you less harshly. Then again, probably not.

And to top it all off, does the concept of writing your life story and publishing it for an anonymous world to read strike anyone else as very strange? And rather egotistic? Not that that's stopping me or anything... :o)