Weird Things Happen

I love when weird things happen. I could sit and read stories about synchronicity and serendipitous moments until my head explodes.

This week in “My Life is a Whirlwind I Can’t Make Sense of, but That’s Cool I Guess”, I’ve heard The Doors’ song “People are Strange” about four times. The Doors remind me of my dad, who LOVED them, and after hours being forced to listen to them, I find that that song is the one I didn’t hate the most. Even today I heard it and turned to my friend to tell her I’ve heard it more times this week than I think they’re allowed to play on the radio anymore.

Flash forward to this evening when I was locked inside my room, following in my father’s footsteps to the recliner in front of the TV. I just started watching season one of the Sopranos, a show he watched from beginning to disappointing end. I turn in on, about 15 minutes goes by, and a character says “I keep hearing this song in my head, ‘People are Strange.’ You know, by the Doors.”

I had to pause it and try not crap my pants. Out of every episode, I watched that one today. A show shot in 1999. By golly.

In other news, I bought a K-Cup rack on sale for $4.77. They retail $25-35. I nearly spiked it in the middle of Kohl’s, I was so excited.

In even more spike worthy news, I got to interact with the lovely Mara Wilson via Twitter today. I’ve seen her in a couple interviews lately, mostly being prodded with questions about her growing up as a child-star. She seems like an incredibly intelligent, articulate, and funny woman, so I was very excited that she responded to my comment. I take any opportunity to talk or make a joke about The Wire. She even followed me back. I don’t care if it’s petty, that’s pretty friggen great to me.

I hope you guys enjoyed Daylight Savings. I’ll take a 6:44pm sunset after this winter. 50° weather calls for shorts and sunscreen in New England.

I missed Throwback Thursday, so enjoy this picture of my cat who really loves me.

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Goodnight!

Love,

Lolo von Ishovedmyretainersontomyjaggedteethowsteinberson

The End (but not really)

Hey Lint-lickers!

I DID IT. I FINALLY DID IT.  (Obligatory sex joke.)

Day 31. The final question of the Blog Challenge that I’ve managed to drag on since May. Whoops.

The Question: Why do you blog?

As I mention in every waking breath, in every medium, to every person I’ve met, I love comedy AND I love talking about things that other people feel uncomfortable talking about. Not controversial stuff (I mean, if you want!) but having conversations about emotional things that people stuff down inside them. Not necessarily a therapy session, but I appreciate talking passionately, whether about that goofy music you loved when you were 10 or that time your uncle died. Most people, when getting to know me, throw a “you’re weird” out there. But hey, I’m not going to pretend I’m a placid movie character. I over-share and reveal personal information about myself.  Just because you may not understand me, doesn’t mean you won’t, and doesn’t mean I don’t understand you.  I realized my “weird” is what a lot of people connect to on a deeper level. Several of my friendships have evolved from conversations that started with a “you’re weird” but closed with “I feel like I can be myself around you.” I don’t think I could dream up a more touching compliment.

In regards to blogging, I can reach people who might think the way I do, or who maybe are unconsciously searching for someone they can kick their shoes off with. We can toss around a few dick jokes too (because, y’know, comedy).

That being said, there are so many mediums available to throw your comedy onto. Naturally, I’m on all of them, but each outlet has it’s own crowd and it’s own set of strengths and weaknesses. Twitter is great for quick jokes, but blogging is a great place for rich storytelling. AND I GOT STORIES, KIDS.

It’s also a place I like to go to when I remember I went to college for writing and need to fill the void by writing reflective essays about myself.

Well. There it is. All done.

Thank you all who have kept tabs on ZE BLERG SHULERNGE. I think I lost the challenge in regards to the “31 Days” thing, but I answered all the questions, so there.

Until next time, my shining stars!

Things Are Good

Hey bing-bongs!

This week has been stupendous. I thrive on inexplicable happenings and this week they have been raining down on me like I was Andy Dufresne when he’s all “PEACE Shawshankz, Imma GTFO.*”

(*Paraphrasing.)

My brother had the great fortune of being asked to open with his band Guillermo Sexo for Sky Ferreira/Smith Western at the Paradise Rock Club in Boston. It’s been a dream of his to play there and I was so honored and proud and oh god make the tears stop. But to be able to experience such an important moment in his life was incredible, to say the least.

NOW. This day was going to be special even if nothing else happened except for my brother giving his drums hell.  (Which he did, his bad was phenomenal.)

To list all the synchronicities would take 600 hours, 8 cups of coffee, and 3 bags of Funyuns to get through.

SO, here is my favorite moment of the day:

I’ve been going to the same coffee shop, every day, for the past 2 years. Every so often, when I’m in the drive-thru, I like to pay for the person behind me. I enjoy the anonymity of it, as I screw in and out of there like Darkwing Duck, but I always secretly hope it makes someone’s day.

From what I hear from the lovely ladies behind the counter- some people enjoy it, some get confused. And that’s okay! Either way I hope there is some shred of happiness brought to them.

The day of my brother’s show, I was in the drive-thru, screeching to Celine Dion as usual. I looked in my mirror and noticed an old pickup truck behind me, and fell in love with the three buck/deer bobbleheads sitting on the dashboard. That is, until I fell in love with the 70-year-old man petting and tending to their furry little heads as he waited behind me. Knowing we were kindred spirits, I paid for my order and his, and drove off to work.

I got to work, parked, and got my things together. When I stepped out, I was met with a pickup truck blocking-in my car. My panic mode stuck full force with my inner monologue coming to terms with my inevitable death. Welp, here’s where I get killed by a raging, murderous, psychopath who looks for sweet, innocent, iced-coffee-drinking girls in their work parking lot at 8am on Wednesdays.” Thankfully, I saw my 3 bobblehead friends on the dash before I started throwing elbows. I was wearing my tight jacket from last year and that puppy would’ve split clean in half if I did any jerky movements, so I mean, thank God, right?!

Delighted to see my new buddy, he thanked me for his coffee, we talked, and before he backed away, he looked me dead in the eye and threw  a peace sign. Normally, that would just be adorable, but it was so jarring the way he did it, I could feel my face drop. I swear on Tasty Burger, there was something about the look in his eyes and the way he threw his hand up, it made me feel like I was staring at my dad (died in2012).

I went into work, peeled the coat off my body, and turned on the radio. I sat for a second processing the little moment I just had. Then I realized one of my dad’s favorite songs was playing, and I was wearing a shirt with the yellow peanut m&m guy on it. My dad worked for Mars for a while, and as kids my brother got the red m&m memorabilia and I got the yellow guy. WEIRD, right?

No?

Well I think it’s weird.

I also think it’s weird how many run-on sentences I used for a grown woman. Hmmm.

But my point again, that was just one small chunk of the day leading up to my brothers show. I am so thankful and elated. No doubt in my mind that my dad was watching.

***

In other news, I have ONE MORE DAY of the Blog Challenge. Thank you guys who have been it! I love your comments and appreciate you sticking with me since I turned the 30 Day Blog Challenge into my 3-Month-Answer-At My-Leisure-Questionnaire. I appreciate it.

OKAY! It’s nap time. Do you have your fleece sheets out?

Until next time, my little Henry Rat-Finklers!

I Hope I Don’t Steal That Genie’s Notebook

I’ve said it before, but I feel the need to preface this post with, I don’t roll around in granola, chanting mantras, and making tea from the dung of a pack mule.

BUT I am very interested in the idea of following coincidence and synchronicity. I don’t know too much about it, but I know enough to recognize that a lot of kooky stuff has happened  to me and the more you notice coincidences, the more they will pop up.

WELL FRIENDS, today I was farting around on my library’s website, and since their website is worth farting on, I went to the Barnes and Noble website to search through books on synchronicity and bleeblahblarf. I typed in “synchronicity” and the only book that popped up was “Synchronicity: The Art of Coincidence, Choice, and Unlocking Your Mind.” Oh perfect! Just wanted I wanted!

Huh, the author’s name is Dr. Kirby Surprise.

My middle name is Kirby…

Surprise! 

What a coincidence that I was looking up a book on coincidences and that was the name of the author. Innerestin’ right?

I keep a journal (well, 4, since I have a compulsion when buying notebooks) of all the weird coincidences that pop up for me. The phrase “you’re wish is my command” pops up a lot, as does the number 68. This, which goes without saying, obviously means I’m going to meet a genie and he’s going to grant me 68 wishes but only if I don’t steal all his notebooks. You have to set barriers, you know.

I’m going to read through the book within the next couple days and report back if anything more unusual pops up, like maybe the author is really my twin that got separated from me that one time at that KMart and grants wishes!

Until next time, kids.

Cats

As I’m waiting for my hair straightener to reach white dwarf temperature levels, I’ll tell you a tale about how me and my cat were handcuffed together. This is our story.

Okay, so we weren’t “handcuffed” per say, but let me paint this rolling landscape for you. When I got home from work today, I wanted nothing more than to face plant onto my couch and recover from the last 9 hours spent without break (and without feeding my kitty faces). I walked in, turned off the alarm, and  saw Litty, my 14 year-old princess tabby, sitting like an angel from Kitten Heaven. Before I even had time to dive underneath the couch cushions, I was distracted by her soft fur, her big whiskers, and her cute meow-face. Naturally, I cooed at her and slung her over my left shoulder. She gripped her furry fingers into my shoulder blade as I scooped her bum in my hand. I was Rafiki and she was my Simba. That went on for about 30 seconds until the music stopped and  I hunched forward so she could help herself down.

Then disaster struck. One of her  jagged little claws snagged  in my H&M nine dollar pullover. A familiar tale that has only ended in peril.

I set my elbow on the arm of the couch, so she didn’t have to dangle from my shoulder, like Rose on the back of the Titanic. I knelt, she sat, staring at each other like arm wrestlers do before the match starts. Now normally, a stuck claw can be relieved by simply holding the kitty’s paw and pulling the shirt away from it. But your cat isn’t Litty. What should have been a quick fix was a seven minute foray in a Chinese finger trap hell. She pulled, I pulled, she pulled, I pulled. An intense tug-of-war. The minutes passed and I began to wonder who would die first. Would my mom come home to me laying lifeless on the floor, Litty sitting on my dead face?  I tried desperately to grab her paw to release us, but when I touched her tangled foot, she slapped me with the other one.

I contemplated taking my shirt off and  letting her keep it, but we were in front of a open window and my neighbor was out standing by his mailbox.

Then came the moment of clarity, I draped myself on the arm of the chair. Litty sat staring at me like it was somehow all my fault. I looked up at the clock, 7 minutes. “We can’t stay here forever, Litty. One of us has to make a sacrifice.”

She looked at me as if to say “Whatever, bitch” and turned to look out the window.

It was my only chance. She had looked away, and I took things into my own hands.

I grabbed her paw and ripped my shirt away and screeched, “WE’RE FREE!”

Her ears went flat and she whipped her head around, staring at me wide-eyed. I did a few victory kicks and said “What? No ‘thank you’?”

She stared at me, farted, and jumped down.

So there you have it. My straightener is sufficiently hot enough to murder curls and you’ve now heard my tale of woe for the day. Did you learn anything from it? Hopefully that love conquers all,the good guy always wins in the end, and that cat farts are the worst.