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

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!

Please Haunt Me, Greg Giraldo

I’ve had a talent for willing bizarre things in my life. That includes both good and bad.

Some include:

  • Getting my favorite comedians to retweet me or mention me on a podcast.
  • Getting caught in the middle of a shootout.
  • Dancing around as a Van Halen girl on a movie set for 5 hours.
  • Having a homeless guy chase me through a parking lot and jangle his junk around while pointing at me.

All  instances that I followed coincidences to get to.

I like the idea of synchronicity and every time I’ve followed it, I’ve come out the other end with some sort of story to tell about it.

Greg Giraldo, an awesome comedian, keeps popping up.  In conversations, books,  and on TV. More than I’ve ever seen before, especially considering he died three years ago. I can’t turn a corner without someone mentioning him or some outlet referencing his stand-up.

It’s great, but it’s becoming unavoidable.

So I pulled up some video from his tribute special on Comedy Central. There’s a small segment of him describing his stand-up as “puckish.” I instantly thought of Puck from the Real World circa 1994. That and a Midsummer’s Night Dream poster with Michelle Pfeiffer on it, that hung in my 8th grade English class.

My ability to retain information has gone down since a six month stint in college, so I looked up “puckish.”

Essentially: “playful, in mischievous way.”

An adorable way to describe his comedy.

Then I thought to myself, I wish Greg Giraldo would haunt me and be my spirit guide in the world of comedy.

I thought on it for a while and thought of all the fun adventures we’d have.

Then I went and packed my crap up to go gym.

About ten minutes later, I went outside and opened the driver side door of my car and leaned across it. I threw my gym back to the passenger side, my ass is hanging out the door.

PSSST!

I turned around and looked at my house, thinking maybe my mom was trying to get my attention. Nothing was there.I turned back and started to climb into the car, ass still hanging out, I heard it again.

PSSSSST!

I turned around again, embarrassed, thinking someone was making fun of my ass and I hadn’t been sharp enough to catch them the first time. I turned back to the car.

PSST!!!

I looked around again, at the door of the house, the windows, the neighbors houses, behind the cars. I felt like an asshole. Was someone playing a joke on me and my ass?

It wasn’t an animal, there was no one around, and I haven’t smelt burning feathers recently. It sounded like someone was trying to get my attention.

Awfully, PUCKISH, amiright?

I scrambled into the car, locked the doors, and drove on the lawn.

Could this be another stepping stone on the synchronicity trail?

I’m going to meditate more on this and I’ll let you know if I conjure up anything else.

Until next time, fart-ners.

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.