Category Archives: humor

The World’s Greatest Nerd

Dr. at the November 29, 2005 meeting of the NA...

Dr. at the November 29, 2005 meeting of the NASA Advisory Council, in Washington, D.C. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m the world’s biggest nerd.

I’m sitting at home excessively watching Cosmo’s with Neil deGrasse Tyson.  It’s already 1 am.

And I just wrote him an email telling him he should try ayahuasca.

“If a guy like you can connect with the spirit realm, having all your questions answered, it will literally change the world!”

“You can go on Ted Talks after your experience with ayahuasca and you’ll no doubt change the world!”

I don’t know how I should feel about myself right now.

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The End is Near

I had a credit card dream two days ago.  I dreamt I bought a new hat, a cowboy hat to be specific.  And it cost me $101,000.

Me – “But it’s just a hat!  A hat can’t possibly cost $101,000.  Someone over-charged me.”

Retail girl – “We’ll look into it.”

Then a cluster of shoppers stood outside the entrance of the store and they were all looking up.  I went over to see what they were all looking at, and that’s when I spotted a tornado.

Me – “Run!  Everybody run!”

I ran back into the store while everyone stood outside completely hypnotized by the swirling colors in the sky.  It was actually beautiful, but I didn’t stick around to see it.

People started getting sucked up to the left and right of me.  I figured that as long as I stayed in motion, it would be harder for the tornado to suck me up.  I was right.  I was safe.

Everything in this dream symbolizes monitory troubles.  Everything except the new hat – new hats symbolize business gains.

I went to work at my new business yesterday after having that dream, and sat down beside my new employee, Holly, behind our one desk.

My employee is great.  She’s young, cute, and came very close to selling a membership the other day.  But…..And this is a huge but….

Now I remember why I love working alone.

We have one large reception desk that I managed to squeeze two chairs behind.  We’re in very close quarters – shoulder to shoulder just about.  And this girl can talk.  Man-o-man can she talk.  Not necessarily crazy garbage talk that makes no sense, but the kind of talk you would expect to hear from a 23 year old fresh face normal everyday lassy.

I was never a normal everyday lassy even at her age.

I couldn’t blog, couldn’t read, I couldn’t fall asleep while listening to an audiobook.  I was stuck there – literally, I couldn’t get out.  Our chairs were jammed that close together.

I wanted to bang my head against the desk listening to her.  I couldn’t pay attention to anything she said – and it’s not that I don’t care or don’t like her, I like her a lot actually.  I just couldn’t do it.  My energy waned and I started looking forward to giving a massage – an escape back into my head.

I officially opened April 18 and today is April 24.  I managed to make almost $1000 ($990 to be exact), since I opened (not counting today).  This is in membership sales, gift certificates, and clients that I massaged during those days, 3 of which I had no clients due to Easter weekend.  So in 3 days, I made $990 (not counting tips).

I know what you’re thinking, “dang girl that’s the shit!”  But to me it doesn’t feel like the shit.  I’m still in freak-out mode.  $990 can’t pay for my rent which is $1250 and due in 6 days.  I’m running out of my personal line of credit, and my employee is there all day today with only two clients on the books.  She is my greatest expense.  Not the rent, not the utilities (I got that bill in the mail today), but it’s her.  Only when she has no clients.

I sold 40 Amazon Local Deals.  I get a check from them May 6 (which I don’t count as earned money until they get redeemed).  I’m also selling 300 Groupons starting May 6.

Groupon upped the amount they pay merchants from $18 a massage, to $20.  My therapists get $12 for massaging Groupon and Amazon Local people.  If they rebook with my therapists, they get $17 for massaging them.

I’m still utilizing my original plan of attack.  Sell Groupons, keep my employee’s fully booked, and wait (pray) for the rebookings.  Once the rebookings start, I won’t have any more dreams about tornado’s.

I’m using Massage Envy’s mode of structure which entails memberships.  If I can sell 60 memberships, I’ll be set for life.  My business will be established and stable with 60 memberships.  I sold 2 in those 3 days I been open.

I’m sitting in my office in Middlefield. I’m here today, tomorrow, and Tuesday is my last day.

There’s no better way to savor the end of an era with a video clip.  My little office may be dying out, but my dream of being a self-made millionaire shall live on.  And okay, I’m a dork with iMovie.

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My Brother’s using my laundry detergent

I’m almost sure he is.  Not only that, but my toothpaste too.

He has the tendency to fall asleep during a movie and the menu screen pops up and plays the same theme music over and over again.  Very loud mind you.

We both live downstairs in my parents split level house.  I have my own enclosed bedroom, while he sleeps on the couch without any real privacy. The place is a sty.

Two nights ago I woke up to the loud repeating theme music playing on the DVD’s title screen.  I couldn’t fall back to sleep with it on.  So I got up, opened my bedroom door and caught him in the act of “cuddling” his girlfriend.  I didn’t care.  I went right over to the TV and shut the damn thing off.

Not to mention there’s never any hot water anymore.

I’m sitting here in my stink hole office feeling thankful that my first client never showed.  My brain is still on autopilot.  I have no time to delve into deep thought.  My cheese is sliding off it’s cracker.

But him using my laundry detergent really irks me.  I need it to wash sheets everyday.  And the other day when I told him I needed to take a shower, he put a load of wash in and set it to warm/cold.

“But there’s no hot water for me!”

“This laundry needs to get done.”

I needed to be at work in an hour.

I switched it on cold/cold the first chance I got.  There was no warm water anyway!

I blocked yesterday off so I could focus on my new office.  I ran around from one store to the next, and stayed at the new office until 8:30 at night – when my stomach could no longer contain its hunger.  And I’m still not done.

I’m so close.  Sheets need to go in the cabinets, lotion bottles need to be filled.  I need to set up my Kuerig, unroll a rug I bought from Ikea, move a bench from my old office into the new.  Mount mirrors in each room, write up a cheat sheet so my employee’s can learn how to book appointments online and oh yeah, hire employee’s.

I can’t do anything while I’m here in this stink hole waiting for clients.

My excitement manifests into frustration whenever I can’t have my way immediately.  I have no patience.

And I’m sick on top of everything.  My phone won’t stop ringing.  Some weird guy just called asking about massages.

My blog will duly suck for the time being.  I must end this post.

 

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Snags

I severed my phone line.  Yes I did.  I chopped it down and threw away the cord.  Why?  Because the last business that occupied my space was a telemarketing company.  There were wires everywhere!  Climbing up the walls and out of mouse holes.  Hanging everywhere like cobwebs.

I went crazy and sliced them all down.  I filled the small dumpster out back with gobs of unused cables.

When I was done, I trudged back into my office like the little soldier that I am and glanced at my office phone.  NO LINE shown on its display.

“Shit.  Oh no come on.  Shit!”

I sat and I pouted.  Too tired and defeated to move.  Too depressed, too overcome with debt, with doubt, with overwhelm.

“What am I even doing here.”

I went home and slept.  I slept until I woke up today at noon.  Still tired, still without energy.  And I called the phone company.  AT&T.

I hate automated answering services.

“This is an automated service.  You can talk to me like a real person.  Please state your problem.”

Me – “I want to talk to a real person.”

“You can talk to me just like a real person.  Please state your problem.”

After about an hour of getting transferred to talk to more robots, and getting hung up on because – “We’re sorry we’re having trouble understanding you.  Please try again later,” I finally been directed to a live person.

Live person – “That number shows up as SNET New England.  It’s different from us.”

Me – “Okay, so I’m not with AT&T then?”

Live person – “It says here you’re with SNET, sorry.  I can’t help you.”

And I was at ground zero again.  This time worse than before.  All the SNET websites out there directed me to AT&T.  They directed me to the same number as before.

And so I called the same number as I did five times previous and got the same talking robot that walked me through the questions I already answered numerous times before.  Only this time, I answered one question differently and was directed to a live person.

“Thank God!”

I told her I severed my phone line.  She told me someone will look at it tomorrow.

“Will I need to be there?”

Her – “No.”

She gave me a ticket number and ended the call.

“But it’s not outside, it’s inside.  Why didn’t she ask me where the phone line was cut?”

Five minutes later another woman from AT&T called and asked me just that.  Where the problem was.  I explained everything.

“This is why we’re here.  Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything.  The same thing happened to me actually.  Someone will be there tomorrow.”

“Would you be able to have them call me before they come?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you thank you thank you.”

She felt like an angel.  An angel that came to rescue me in my darkest hour.

I had one client today at my other office.  I don’t want to work anymore.  I don’t want my life to be taken over with massaging people over and over again.  Who in their right mind likes this?  Who?

It’s 7:45PM and I should head home.  It was so nice out today and I missed it.  I missed it because I was on the phone with AT&T for most of the day, then had to give a massage.

Life is too short for this.  It goes by way too fast.  My client even told me this.  She’s turning 60 and can’t get over how fast life happens.

Client – “This is sad to say, but I would’ve been happier if I never had kids.”

That comment is besides the point, but just thought I’d share.  I mean shit, right?

All I need is a few more months to stabilize and everything will be okay.  Just a few more months.  It’ll be worth it.  I’ve technically been waiting my whole life for something like this.

The thing I haven’t been waiting for?  Having kids.

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The Fickle Mind Of Mel

English: Image is of James Van Der Beek, Ameri...

English: Image is of James Van Der Beek, American television, film, and stage actor. This image was taken in SanSierra Studio, New York, NY, US. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Fickle confabulations.  Disordered, mangled vision.  Trying to see logic and reason amass the torpid sleuth of choices to be made.

I decided not to buy the spa in Cheshire.  I woke up today, and as easily as I chose to buy it yesterday, today was just the contrary.  I slipped from its grasp.

I just got done massaging my first client and WOW.  She let one rip.

I never write about people passing gas while I massage them, it’s silly and trite (and usually it’s me) – but this one is certainly blog worthy.

It was one of those farts that shouldn’t be classified as a fart.  It was dark and had heft, you know what I mean?  The kind that are hot coming out and weigh heavier than breathable air.

It was a sick fart.  That’s what it was.  It didn’t smell healthy.  It was sick.  I smelt it for a good half hour.  A thick sick, dark fart.

Okay, so anyway, yeah…..that happened.

Back to the subject at hand.

I’m going to go on ahead with opening up my own shitty clinic.  It won’t be classy, or trashy, it’ll be me.  It’ll suit me, represent me.  It’ll be a mirror representation of all that I believe and hope for.

Sick, thick dark farts will be welcomed there.

It’s 12:47AM and I’m all hiccupy and shit.  And again, exhausted.

I live in a wealthy suburb of Connecticut.  Maybe not the wealthiest as far as Fairfield county, or Litchfield goes – whatever those places may be, I don’t know.  I live in Cheshire which is in-between those worlds of indulgence.   It’s upper middle-class.  It’s where James Van Der Beek is from and where the Petit murders taken place (yes I know both families).

My parents bought this house in the 70’s when nothing was here.  We added on to our house and made it bigger because we are carpenters, electricians, and plumbers all in one.

I was grandfathered into this town because my parents made the best out of what they already knew.

Me and my family pretty much swing with the punches.  I’m a, “if you can’t beat em’, join em’,” Kind of gal.  And as of now, my town caters to people with money – they leach off it.  It’s how the monopoly of Cheshire feeds and breeds.

But……

I will offer the first affordable massage in Cheshire.  So people like me can afford a monthly massage with no hassle or strings attached.

Online deals are our growing future, and I know how to work them.  This will be my hook.

I’ll take that 18K that I was originally going to use for buying the spa in Cheshire, and invest it instead in a jaw dropping atmosphere that you wouldn’t expect from a hole-in-the-wall clinic.  It’ll touch the soul and the heart.  It’ll be real.  You know what I mean?  Dark fart acceptance kind of real.

Anyway, my next few posts are going to be boring business posts no doubt.  I latch on and fixate, remember?  And this is a life event for me.

And now for your moment of zen:

My Facebook message back to Melissa, the girl wanting to sell me her spa.

This is me trying to sound as logical and rational as my feeble brain will allow.

********

Hey Melissa I keep bouncing back and forth between starting my own business and buying yours. It’s killing my brain! I hate this crap, I really do.

It’s just that if I buy In Touch, I’ll be swamped in debt. That’s the only deterring factor.

The whole reason why I want to hire employee’s is so I can be free, but being in debt is not free. It’s a catch 22, you know?

And I feel like if I start my own business, I’d run it the same way I’d run In Touch. There’s a slight chance that I’d be making the same amount in my start-up (after six months or so) as I would make at In Touch. So why go 20-25k in debt when I could do it for a whole lot less?

My newest plan that I just thought of literally 5 minutes ago, is to start up my own business, give it time to make a steady profit and THEN I’ll buy In Touch. I’ll buy In Touch when I know I can afford it.

Right now I have my car payment, insurance, and cell phone bill totaling $400 a month. If I bought In Touch, I’ll need to take out a loan from the bank for a down payment plus extra money to put in an In Touch bank account, then pay rent, phone & internet, pay you, pay the bank, pay my personal bills ($400), pay the therapists – I’ll be swamped.

I thought A LOT about this and I can’t make up my mind. My brain is horrible. I hate this.

I’ll still meet with you on Sunday, and if it’s possible can you show me how many clients you guys average a week? And how much money you average a month? Oriana or whoever would need to take 40 clients a month just to make rent.

If I buy In Touch for $18,000, what I’m really buying is security in that it will actually make money and be able to pay for itself. I’m just not sure if that security is worth $18,000. You know? I hate this.

Anyway, that’s where I’m at right now. I’m leaning towards first starting my business, and then buying yours once I’m stabilized. It seems to make the most sense to me at the moment. So I’m not crazy swamped in debt.

But I definitely want to meet with you on Sunday! It will help me knowing exactly what I’m buying. I wish $18,000 wasn’t a lot of money for me. It isn’t in the long run, but shit adds up. Plus interest!

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I’ll rule the world someday

My diabolical plan to take over the world

By Melanie Funbags

It all starts with an idea.  An idea that germinates into inevitability.  Inevitability that spikes into destiny.

The path is already laid out for us.

I plan to take over the world with an idea.  The best idea’s are the one’s that feel inevitable – the one’s that feel right.

Inevitable idea’s feel inevitable because they are the ones that evolve you.  If you don’t wish to proceed into the next evolutionary level, you still have some growing to do.  Either grow, or get out.

Taking over the world isn’t exactly what you think it is.  What I mean by “taking over the world” is to not be a slave to it.  It doesn’t take over you, you take over it.

In essence, when you take control of your life, you take control of your world.  You own that shit, you hear me?

I grew up with advantages.  Not so much monetary advantages, but having a great set of parents who let me live with them until I was ready to proceed to the next level, kind of advantages.

Until recently, I had no idea’s that germinated into inevitability.  No idea’s that spiked into destiny.  Thus, no freedom to evolve.  No opportunity for progress.

My inevitable destiny that is just now becoming realized, actualized, materialized, is that of the pursuit of idleness.  I don’t want to do a damn thing.

Ain’t no thang but a chicken wing and that chicken wing ain’t do shit but fill our bellies and put smiles on our faces.  I want to be the wing!

I sound like an idiot, yes, I know.  I’m annihilating what could have been a perfectly good blog post.  See what happens when you put yourself into your work?  Shit gets messy just like dems wings.

Finger kicken’ licken ya’ll.

Anyway back to my story….

I grew up with advantages of not having to pay rent.  Two of my previous cars were handed to me.  This leads me to tell you about my number one advantage:  Perfect credit.

Perfect credit can give you your freedom, or, the opportunity to obtain that freedom is more like it.

I’ll get back to that in just a moment but first, what the hell have I been doing with my life?

As I mentioned above, my true love in life is idleness.  With idleness, you own your god given right which is TIME.  Time is not a privilege, it’s a human right.  I want to own my time, hence, owning my freedom.  Owning my world instead of it owning me.

You may call me lazy, but I call me a realist.  I can’t possibly be the only one who feels this way.  With idleness, you can branch off to any interest that hits your fancy.  You can be a poet in France, or a gravedigger if that’s what you’re into (great workout plus the only way you’d get laid off is when you’re laid to rest.  I don’t recommend necrophiliac’s to take up gravedigging [I wonder if that's a sexual preference you're born with?  I read somewhere that pedophilia is something you're born with, so why not necrophilia?]).

I would like to work at Walmart – yes I would!  I want to see what’s it’s like.  I’m curious, okay?

So, what I’m trying to say is, all this time I’ve been vying to own my freedom by owning my time, but I was missing the most important thing – not having to depend on anyone!

Ayahuasca told me that we shouldn’t depend on anyone.  That we are all here on separate journeys and we are all of equal worth.  When you depend on someone, you’re lowering your worth.  Just as it is with depending on a job – they tell you what you’re worth, and not the other way around.  They end up owning both you and your time.

(I already wrote a whole bunch about depending on your spouse or loved one, so I won’t get into that.  In short, don’t do it.)

Although I claimed to be owning my time, I wasn’t able to fully enjoy it.  It wasn’t exactly my time – I didn’t own it, not really.  It belonged to my parents house and generosity.  It belonged to the hard work of my family, and not me.

I had this Mac Air for over a year now and I just discovered something really cool about it.  Literally, it happened 2 seconds ago.  I have a client coming in any minute so I dimmed the lights in my office, and my keyboard lit up and my screen dimmed automatically.  How does it know?  How’s it do that?

If I didn’t have a client coming in, I’d research it.

Blah humbug….

Okay, so I have an idea.  A sperm, if you will.  This little sperm has X and Y perfect chromosome credit.  It’s been swimming around in her little fishbowl stew lollygagging, eating cheese and chicken nuggets for far too long.  Now comes the next stage in my evolutionary journey.  My little sperm is the next quantum leap in human evolution.

This girls got spunk.  Sperm spunk that is.  Idea’s.  I’m talking about idea’s.

I have to expand my business.  I HAVE to.  It’s the only way I’ll ever get out.  The bigger your world, the more freedom you have.  The bigger your business, the more freedom?  I’m just going to have to say yes to that.  Yes more freedom.

Originally I was going to buy a spa in Cheshire, but the girl selling it (my brother’s ex-fiance), wants 35K for it.  It sounds like a disastrous investment to me.  Besides, I never trusted her (I’m wicked cynical in biblical proportions).

Instead of buying her beat-up ass spa, I can take out 35K and build my own.  Okay, maybe not 35K, I’m thinking more along the lines of 10K.  3 of it will go towards my credit card debt and the rest will be spent on a deposit for a lease.  I need a bigger office.  I need me some little worker bee’s.

I showed my last client how my laptop keyboard lights up automatically and she didn’t seem all that enthused.

One more client to go.

Last client done.  He had a small lump on his forehead.  Not large enough to be an egg and too big for a zit, which leads me to a new understanding about myself – I want to touch  other people’s lumps.

It’s Billy O’s pub night tonight.  Yay!

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A little sour milk with your chocolate

Once out of every six months or so, I experience a stranger lying in bed with me.

This “stranger” isn’t some random guy that I picked up at the bar.  He’s a very real, very solid figment of my imagination.

It happened again last week.  I was sleeping on my stomach when I felt someone laying on top of me caressing my mid-section.  This time around however, it felt more like a dream than it did real.  Usually these dreams feel extremely real.  Picture yourself lying awake in bed with your eyes closed, and you feel a stranger laying next to you touching you (I mean physically touching you as in real-life) who shouldn’t be there – who literally is not there at all.

But this time felt more dream-like.  I can’t explain how or why, it just did.  Perhaps I wasn’t as lucid as the other times?  I don’t know.

It wasn’t sexual and it didn’t make me horny.  I had a lucid dream last night where I grabbed the nearest man I could find so I can have my way with him – I know what those dreams feel like, and this wasn’t one of them.

It was pure love, pure tenderness, without any want or need.  I felt undeniably loved on a scale that I never felt with anyone in real life.  Only in my dreams…

And because it felt more like a dream, I was able to relax and enjoy it.

“This is what it feels like,” I thought to myself, “to be loved.”

I sunk in and soaked up as much of it as I could.  I didn’t want to wake from it.  And just as I have experienced in past dreams, love is inspiration and feeling like you can achieve anything.

A few days later, I went to Newport for a mini-vacation with a few friends.  It turned out with me being the 7th wheel.  All couples, and then there was me – always and forever, the odd one out.  The ugly duck.

I’m not the type of person who care’s about this kind of stuff.  I can hang in both worlds, single and couples alike, it don’t matter none to me.  Although, while I find myself sitting alone, it’s the pity party from others that I don’t care for.  If I don’t feel sorry for myself, why should they?  I happen to like sitting alone.  Writers are weird like that.

Anyway, I do however, suffer from a condition.

Before the trip, I was struggling with low-energy.  I felt like I just didn’t have the energy (or money) for a weekend trip.  I couldn’t get excited about it.

And the more I couldn’t get excited about it, the less energy I had for it.

I couldn’t get stimulated, you know what I mean?  There was no challenge.  Nothing to write home about.

It’s just that, I don’t know….What is it?  What’s my problem?  If the stranger in my bed accompanied me to Newport, I’d want to go – I’d be excited to go.  You know what I mean?

There’s no love for Mel.

No, that’s not true…..my friends all love me.  Well, most of them do anyway.

Maybe it’s just that there’s no inspiration for Mel?  Maybe Mel is tired of drinking?  And that’s what this trip was all about; drinking.  I have to drink to replace true inspiration – true love.  I have to drink to escape not feeling connected or understood by others.  I hear cocaine works for that too…

The less connection I have with people, the more I want to drink.  I was just kidding about the cocaine part, trust me (I’m way too cheap).

I’m tired of drinking.  I’m tired of feeling like the only way I’ll have fun is if I’m drunk, or getting drunk, or have a beer in my hand at least.  And it sucks that I’m tired of it.  Other than writing, beer is the only thing that fills me with that special inspiring love that the stranger in my bed provides.

A freaking stranger in my bed that doesn’t even exist!

I hear my mother upstairs yelling about a pair of underwear she can’t find.

Mom – “Where are they?  Who took them?”

She thinks everyone takes her stuff.

Minutes later I hear my dad shouting for me outside my bedroom door.

Dad – “Mel, you in there?  Can I come in?”

Me – “Yeah.”

Dad – “Neh?”

Me – “Yeah.”

Dad – “Yeah?”

Me – “Yeah.”

He comes in and places an ice scraper on my desk.

Dad – “Here’s your ice scraper.”

Me – “What are you doing with my ice scraper?”

Dad – “It was in my car.”

Me – “Oh, okay.  Hey can you tell mom that my underwear is missing too?”

Dad – “Okay.”

As he leaves my room, he shouts up the stairs to my mother, “hey Mel’s underwear is missing too!”

I went upstairs to find something to eat and I say to my mom, “all my underwear is missing.  They’re all gone from my drawers.  I have no drawers in my drawers.”

Mom – “Yours is missing too?  Check the dryer, or the laundry pile in my bedroom.”

She was completely serious.  My dad however, saw the humor.

Dad – “Maybe Fran (my brother), is wearing them by mistake.”

Me – “Yeah, he takes everything.  MOM!  I want to make chocolate milk!”

I scream this like the kitchen is on fire.

Mom – “You’re going to have to wait until tomorrow.”

Me – “Why?  There’s milk here.”

Mom – “I don’t know how old it is.  Don’t drink it!”

I give it a sniff, look at the date…

Me – “It seems fine to me.”

I fish for a glass in the cupboard as I hear my mom frantically getting up off her recliner shouting warnings at me.

Mom – “Don’t drink it it’s bad!  I don’t know when I bought it.  You’re going to get sick!”

She flew into the kitchen and grabbed the milk out of my hands before I poured it into my cup.  I’m not joking or embellishing any of this, but she was looking at the expiration and making up dates that weren’t there.

Mom – “See, right there it says DO NOT SELL AFTER FEBRUARY FOURTH.  Don’t drink it.”

Me – “It doesn’t say that, are you serious?  It’s only January 27 and the expiration doesn’t say February fourth, it says January 30.”

She takes the carton of milk into the living room to fetch her reading glasses, sloshing its contents as she hobbled on her knee replacement.

She was moving really fast.  She doesn’t even need a cane anymore.

Mom – “Okay, it says January 30, but it still smells bad.”

Me – “Really?  It smelled okay to me.”

Mom – “Than taste it if you don’t believe me.”

She hands me the milk.

Me – “No way I’m not tasting it, you taste it.”

Mom – “My stomach’s already messed up, I’m not tasting it.”

My dad shouts at us from the living room – “I had some yesterday and it tasted fine.”

We ignore him.

Me – “If no one’s going to taste it, I’m pouring it down the sink.”

My mom watched as I tilted the contents of the milk into the sink.  She hates wasting food – even expired food.

Mom – “No wait, don’t waste it.  I’ll take a sip.”

Me – “I don’t want you getting sick.”

Mom – “No, let me taste it.  Stop pouring it out.”

She gets a glass and pours out a sip.  She tastes it.

Mom – “Well, it seems okay….”

Me – “Really?  Here, let me taste.”

I grab her cup and take a sip.

Me – “It’s expired.  It’s definitely expired.”

It was disgusting.  How can she not taste how disgusting it was?  After making all that fuss?!

And that’s what I did in the last 20 minutes of my life before coming down here to write about it.

I wasn’t going to write about it, but I’m pretty much laying everything out on the table tonight what with my stranger in the bed and all.

My life is filled with these episodes.

And in the meantime, my crazy aunt who my father claims as a dependent on his tax forms (along with her 40-year-old son), is ALWAYS lurking behind me.  No matter where I am, she’s there wanting to be where I am.  I’m making eggs in the morning?  Yep, she’s there wanting to use the burner.  I’m making some tea?  She wants to wash dishes so I can’t reach the keurig.

And she talks incessantly.  Whereas I reply in an even monotoned to everything she says “okay, sure, yes, thanks, okay, that’s good.”

And on and on she goes.

This isn’t funny.  This is sad.   I clearly have problems.  Clearly!

“The entire world population can’t be insane, so it has to be me.  It has to.”  According to The Road Less Traveled, I’m a text book neurotic.

And the shitty thing is, until I can find someone who understands me – someone who understands all the shit I write about – I won’t have an anchor.  I won’t have anything that holds me in place and says to me no, you’re not crazy, you’re not alone, and yes, you’re loved.

Okay, I’m going to end this post before I start having an irrational conversation with my rational brain.

“Please don’t involve me in this.”

I’m not!  I just said I’m ending this post.

“Okay good.”

Good.

“You know you’re not the only one with these thoughts, right?  You sound like a damn baby when you complain like this.  Everyone wants to feel loved, not just you.”

Okay got it.  Goodnight.

“Seriously, you have to stop transfixing.  And besides, do you actually feel this way?  Or are you just bored and feel like writing?  Is not feeling loved or having a connection a serious problem for you?”

Yes, I think it is.  I mean, I’m not doing it because I’m bored.  I really think it’s an issue.

“Well, the more attention you bring to this “issue”, the more power you will give to it.”

Yes, I know….

“You’re not special Melanie.  No matter how much you want to believe you are, you’re not.  You’re not any more special or different than anyone else.  That’s the true basis for your “issue”.  You’re grappling with humility.”

I’m too tired to have you write out an explanation to that, so I’ll just have to take your word for it.  This post is already too long as it is.

“Okay, get some sleep.  Maybe we can write about it tomorrow.  And what the hell was your last post about?”

I don’t know, I just felt like writing.

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To wash or not to wash. That is the question.

Me – “How long do you think I can get away with wearing these pajamas without washing them?”

I was referring to my footie pajamas.

Dad – “They’re going to get stinky.”

Me – “I wear clothes underneath them.  It’s like a big jacket and we don’t wash jackets.”

I can rationalize anything.

Today I’m wearing the same outfit I wore for the past three days.

I don’t understand what the big deal is.  If something still smells clean, why wash it?  Americans are all a bunch of self-righteous judgmental obsessive compulsives.

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Melanie’s not so normal life online

An old woman started working in my office building around this time last year.  She wears the same khaki sweater everyday, and the same green felt pants.  The kind that easily attracts lint and fur.  When people greet her good morning, she nods her head and goes about her business without uttering a word.

Well, this woman knocked on my office door shortly after I noticed her working in my building.  I open the door and say, “hello” with an open face smiled.

Without hesitation, or any expression on her part, she starts hitting me repeatedly on top of my head with a rolled up newspaper.

“Hey!  W-what are you doing that for?”

She continued to hit me over the head with the newspaper, ignoring my question.

“What did I do?  Is there a reason why you’re hitting me?”

The woman stopped hitting me and quickly scampered up the stairs and out of site.

“What the hell was that about?”

I hesitantly sat back down at my desk.  “Seriously lady?”  I smoothed my hair after having it disheveled and felt confused for the remainder of the day.

The next day I walked into my office building and the old woman scuttled up to me and started hitting me again on top my head with a rolled up newspaper.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

The receptionist behind the desk shrugs her shoulders.

“Seriously, why are you doing this?”

The woman’s strikes were equally spaced out like a metronome.  Her face looked stern and determined.  At least three minutes went by while I stood there receiving a beating and asking her the same question only in different variations, “why are you doing this?”  Or, “I don’t understand, what did I do?”

The receptionist starts laughing.  I guess from an outsiders view, the situation was comical.  The bashing didn’t hurt, it only messed up my hair and annoyed me.

“If you don’t stop I’m going to call the cops.”

This made the receptionist laugh even louder.  The angrier I became, the more absurd things got.

I ran down the stairs, down the hall, and into my office.  The old woman couldn’t keep up and it looked like she struggled going down the stairs.  I felt sorry for her in a way.  Sorry that she wasn’t able to keep hitting me on the head with a rolled up newspaper.

I heard a knock on my office door minutes later.

“Go away!”  I shout.

“Is this the massage room?  I have a 12 o’clock appointment.”  A meek voice on the other side announced.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”  I opened the door and explained the situation.  She too thought it was funny.

“But I don’t know anything about the woman.  She doesn’t talk or explain herself.  Every time she see’s me, she starts whacking me over the head with a rolled up newspaper.

Again, the client laughs.

Once I completed my work day, I stepped out of my office and the old woman was there waiting for me.  And once again, she beat me over the head with a rolled up newspaper.

It went on like this for months.  She used the same newspaper, which became ratty and papers often flew from it.  There wasn’t much of it left.

I grew angrier with each passing day until I reached a breaking point and I pushed her down outside my office building after work.  She wasn’t surprised, angry, or upset in any way.  She merely accepted it as if it was part of her job of hitting me over the head with a newspaper.

She had trouble getting up.  I felt bad for her.  She was just a mortal old woman after all.  I bent down and helped her up and as soon as she was back on her feet, she started pelting me again with the newspaper.

I ran to my car and the old woman tried to keep up, but slipped on some ice.  She laid on the pavement for a few moments looking like an upturned turtle flailing her arms and legs about.  It was her second spill in less than two minutes.  I walked over to her and helped her up.  I made sure she was okay.  Once she was back on her feet, she started hitting me again with the newspaper.  I didn’t mind her hitting me because that meant she was okay.

As long as she was able to hit me, I knew she was okay, and so I let her hit me.  I grew to gain relief and satisfaction over it.  I resigned myself to it.  And I became increasingly troubled knowing that it would’t last forever.  That this old woman, who went out of her way to whack me over the head with a newspaper every day, would pass on.  Or even worse, the newspaper would lose its last page.

I wondered which would come first; her passing on, or the newspaper losing its last page.  I pondered which would be worse.

If she died before the newspaper lost its last page, she would die happy.  However, if she died after she was no longer able to hit me properly with the same newspaper, she would die miserable.

The thought overwhelms and saddens me.  I try not to think about it.

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How to neurotically shop for a used car

I think I’m a freak or something.

After writing my last post, I searched for cars online.

“Where do I start?  How the hell do I do this?”

My brother – “Just look on consumer reports for reliable cars or something.”

That was the extent of all the help I received.

I did as advised, and ended up on J.D Power.com.  It gives a list of car ratings.  Then I found myself on thecarconnection.com, which also gives ratings.

One site awarded a car, while the other deemed it un-driveable.

Me – “Shit.”

Honda civic received good marks on both sites, so I searched a few websites to see how much they go for.

I looked on autotrader.com, eBay motors, car guru’s, and honda dealerships.  All of which were over my price bracket.

Me – “Maybe I should just buy one on craigs list….”

The thing is, I hate spending money.  I hate gambling money, is more like it.  Craigs list is a gamble.

Buying a used car by owner makes my stomach twist.  My first two cars were sold by owners and both of them were pieces of shit.

The cars people normally sell are either too old, too expensive, or have high mileage (possibly all three).  Spending $3,000 on a 13-year-old car not under warranty with over 80,000 miles on it, won’t last you as long as an $11,000 3-year-old certified car with 40,000 miles and offering free lifetime oil changes.  I mean, right?  Which one makes more sense?  Which is less of a gamble?

These questions sent me into hyperdrive anxiety.  I still have hyperdrive anxiety and it’s nearly 24 hours after writing my last post.

Wow I’m completely neurotic.

I stayed up until 7AM this morning searching for cars.  Twice I had given up and closed my laptop to try to sleep, but I can’t sleep when I need to decide on something.

It’s now 9PM and I found a total of three cars that meet my criteria.  Three.  Only three!

All three are certified vehicles, they’re ranked high in dependability, good on gas, priced below $12,000 (which is a stretch), and in driving range from my house.

2010 Toyota Yaris for $10,900 with 49,310 miles

2011 Nissan Versa for $11,950 with 33,317 miles

2012 Nissan Cube for $10,980 with 39,219 miles

Out of the hundreds of cars I looked at, it comes down to these three.  I’m going to look at the Yaris tomorrow.  The Cube is a much better deal, so I’ll have to check that one out too.

I still can’t believe that these are my only options.  Not my TOP choices, but my only choices.  Am I being neurotic?

Here is my step by step guide on how to shop for a car the neurotic way:

1)  Know your price limit!

2)  Peruse www.thecarconnection.com for the highest ranked cars.

3)  Write them down.

4)  Search auto trader, eBay motors, and car guru’s to see if these cars are in your price range.  Car guru’s is great for this because they tell you if a car is priced too low or too high.

5)  Write everything down.  Take notes!

6) Look at their ratings on www.thecarconnection.com and http://autos.jdpower.com to compare reviews.

7)  Notice how both rating sites give opposing opinions.

8)  Read real costumer reviews and watch YouTube reviews (if available).

9)  Write down (or cross off) the remaining cars that passed with over-all positive marks.

10)  Look on auto trader, eBay motors, and car guru to find these cars in your area.

11)  Notice how none of them are in your area, but you find another car on eBay motors that you might like.

12)  Search for that car on www.thecarconnection.com and compare their rating with http://autos.jdpower.com

13)  Watch YouTube video’s of that car.

14)  Read real owner reviews of that car.

15)  Notice how half of them are bad.

16)  Look on auto trader, eBay motors, and car guru with another $1000 added to your price range.

17)  Find a car that meets your criteria.

18)  Repeat steps 5 – 10.

19)  Oh and try to avoid tunnel vision.  Tunnel vision happens when you fall in love with a car solely on looks or superfluous hype.  If someone should talk against this car, you will get exceedingly angry for no real reason.  That’s how you’ll know if you have tunnel vision.

After 15 hours with no sleep, it’s a universal law that you will end up with approximately three probable cars in your area to choose from.

This is only true if your search depends on these 6 prerequisites:  certified vehicle, ranked high in dependability, good on gas, priced below $12,000, 2010 or younger, and in driving range from your house.

Oh no, I’m looking on craigs list again….

Certified cars are better, right?  I mean logically, I’m spending less over time, right?  I need a valium.

I don’t have valium, so I taken the poor mans valerian root pill.

Holy shit I just realized that this is the first time I’m actually buying a car.

I paid $300 for my first one (my dad knew a guy), and nothing for the following two.

I hope I sleep tonight.

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