It’s Just One of Those Days

The past few weeks have been stressful for multiple reasons. By the time today rolled around, I was over it.   I was tired and every little thing seemed to be going wrong. Kind of like when a toddler misses a nap and the world implodes.

The dog woke me up early. Too early. I looked outside, saw it was pouring rain and instantly regretted throwing away my half-broken umbrella in dramatic fashion a couple days prior.

After walking the dog and sleeping a little longer, I sauntered into the kitchen, threw a bagel into the oven and promised myself I wouldn’t burn it this time. Not this time!

Unable to stay focused on not burning food for a whole 60 seconds, I started writing an email with such fervor that the only thing that could snap me out of it was the smell of burnt bagel. Blast!

Normally when I burn my food, I just make more. Unfortunately, somebody forgot to buy more bagels. * Undeterred, I opened the fridge and grabbed some yogurt. About three seconds into my first bite, I realized it had gone bad. The good news is that I didn’t hurl.

Forget breakfast, I thought. I needed to go to the mall and would grab something there.

I headed out, unusually optimistic that I would find exactly what I needed, despite my lifelong frustration with shopping.

When I got to my car, I remembered I might have another umbrella under the passenger seat. Score! I reached down, felt something slimy and exclaimed “Eww!!”

So that's where that went!

So that’s where that went!

About 25 minutes into my drive, I realized this new mall was not where I thought it was. In fact, it was a good 15 minutes in a very different direction. By now, my stomach was hanging on by a thread so I made a beeline for Wendy’s.

When I pulled up to the window, the guy asked me if I would like any condiments. I asked for some honey. He handed me my bag o’ food and said “I gave you honey-mustard, not honey. Have a good day!”  Huh? Why?! Not caring enough to protest, I drove away, scarfed down my food, and fantasized about how much better it would have tasted with honey.

Several hours later, having failed at possessing a normally proportioned body once again, I wanted so badly to give up. Alas, I came for a specific outfit and had to forge ahead. I decided to stop at one more store.

By the time I got into the dressing room, I was exhausted. I tried on a couple things and as I was tidying up, a sales person knocked on the door.  She asked if anyone was there, to which I responded “Yes, someone’s in here.”  She asked again.  I answered again.  She opened the door and I successfully abstained from speaking my feelings.  See below.

Me too, Frank.  Me too.

Me too, Frank. Me too.

When I got home, the dog was being especially whiny. I didn’t hesitate to use my go-to threat. “Bella,” I warned, “do you need to get in your kennel?!” She stared at me from inside her kennel looking as confused as a dog can look. And that’s when I knew I needed a nap.

*It was me.

They call me Curly Oprah

I’ve always thought I would enjoy being a journalist. Not the type that has to weather the elements every morning while trying to look happy, but the type that gets to sit in a comfy chair and ask people shockingly personal questions without seeming nosey. Picture Barbara Walters or Oprah. They both have an amazing ability to pry without offending their interviewees.  It’s magical!  And when’s the last time you saw either of them standing up during an interview?  Talk about a dream job!

Arch enemies or best friends? We may never know.

I recently decided to hold my very first interview.  My main goals for this interview were to help my subject tell his or her story and to practice my looking concerned skills.

My mother was kind enough to be my test subject. Unfortunately for her, she was not aware of this.  The following conversation may or may not have actually taken place.  But probably not.

*****

CC:  Good evening, Patti. Thank you for sitting down with me tonight.

Mom:  You’re welcome, I guess.  I don’t really understand the point of this.  And why are you calling me by my first name?

CC:  Patti, this is a professional interview.  I have to call you that.

Mom:  Professional?! Carly, you’re wearing pajamas and eating a bag of candy. You have half a gummy worm hanging out of your mouth.

CC:  Mother!

Mom:  And why are you wearing glasses?  They don’t even have lenses in them.

CC:  These are my journalist glasses.  Do you even watch TV?!  You know what, fineLet’s just move on.  I’d like to journey back in time for a bit.  30 long years ago, you gave birth to your third child. Can you tell me more about that?

Mom:  As we both know, you are my third child.

CC:  Interesting.  Patti, give me your hands.

Mom:  Why?!

CC:  I can see you’re feeling vulnerable.  It will make you feel more comfortable.

Mom:  I’m not holding your hands.  They’re sweaty.  What is wrong with you?

CC:  I’m now going to stare at you for a moment so that we can have a shared bonding experience.  Then you’ll trust me and be more open to spilling your guts.

Mom:  Ok, like I was saying…your father and I were very happy when you were born.

CC:  I see.  And at what moment did you realize I was your favorite child?

Mom:  We didn’t have favorites. We loved you all equally.

CC:  Patti. You can be honest here. This is a safe place. Perhaps you can tell us about all those times you would rock me, smile and say “third time’s a charm?”

Mom:  I never did anything of the sort! Where do you get this stuff?

CC:  So, how does it feel to have three kids in their 30’s? Do you miss hearing the pitter patter of little feet?

Mom:  I’m ok with it. I have grandchildren now, so I’m happy.

CC:  Um, that’s not really the answer I was looking for.

Mom:  What? You were all great kids, but I’m in a different phase of life now.

CC:  Mom!  I brought a box of tissues!  You’re supposed to cry!

Mom:  Carly, I can’t cry on command. Why do you want me to cry, anyway?

CC:  Because. That’s what makes for a great interview. Now, please tell me how I can get you to cry. What if I let you hold me like a baby, just like old times?

Mom:  No.

CC:  What if I broke your nose again? Ha!

Mom:  Is this over yet? I need to do laundry.

CC:  But I have so many more questions!  And I haven’t even practiced my sympathetic head tilt yet!

(Mom walks out of room)

CC:  Hey, Dad!  On a scale of 1-10, how emotionally fragile are you feeling right now?

(Dad walks out of room)

Throwback Thursday (on a Friday): Home Video Edition

There are few things I treasure more than home videos.  And there are few things I fear more than losing the few my family has from my childhood. That’s assuming we’re not including:

  • wild animals prone to attacking humans or being poisonous
  • Ebola
  • all of my teeth falling out, spontaneously or otherwise
  • falling into a crevasse during an earthquake
  • wild animals with Ebola

Anyway, being the keeper of the family videos, I know I have a responsibility to preserve them as best I can.

As I was getting ready to research online storage options, I decided that was boring and took a bubble bath instead. A few days later, I thought about it again and promptly decided to un-think about it.

Now, here we are today, only a few short months later. Did I ever begin my research? Of course not. I thought it would be much more fun to share one of the videos with you. And, while I didn’t have time to do a quick Google search of “online storage options,” I did take the time to painstakingly add sub-titles. To be fair with myself, I had no idea how long that would take. It was worth finishing though. Not only did I finally learn a very basic video editing skill, I also made the video half-way understandable. And, as they say, a video with poor sound quality and lack of sub-titles might as well be a video with no sound at all.

I don't think that's how the saying goes.

I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.

Ok, the video below was taken not long after I got my hand stuck in a treadmill.  The characters are: Dad, Mom, sister and dog Katy in the background (not even remotely relevant).

A few notes on the video:

  • I’m posting this primarily for the benefit of friends and family. If you’re a stranger, you will probably be bored.
  • My dad isn’t actually a hillbilly. He only spoke incorrectly to be funny.
  • This video shows why I was practically mute for the first three years of my life. My sister was my spokesperson.

This is my first experience using YouTube. Hopefully the video works. If not, here’s the link:  http://youtu.be/dKqjza6jXY4