is it just me?

23 02 2010

Every time I am driving under an overpass and there is someone walking or standing on the overpass above me, I gulp, hit the gas, mutter “please don’t please don’t” — and try to get out from under them as quickly as possible.

I’m always worried the person is a Jumper and is going to leap to their demise right in front of – or on top of – my car.

Because I’m not really sure if my insurance would cover that and yeesh, what a hassle that would be.  Also?  Messy.  Oh, and sad, because tragedy etcetera etcetera, but yeah.  Messy hassle.

Two questions:  A.)  Exactly how bad of a person does this make me?  and 2.)  Anyone else have this (or another) somewhat-irrational worry?


homesick. send plane tickets or at least Hot Bagels.

22 02 2010

I think I’ve been a good sport about this winter. I’ve shoveled snow and shoveled snow and shoveled snow and did it with a smile on my numb face. But I’ve had it. I want it to go away. I am throwing a temper tantrum about the toy I want that I can’t have, and that toy is called “Phoenix”.

I can’t look at this gray and white world anymore. I don’t want my fingers to go numb from the cold when I have to pump gas. I’m sick of the kids having runny noses and colds and pnuemonia (thirty days of pnuemonia!). And if I have to shovel out a driveway one more time…

I want a week or two on vacation forgetting about shivering and slipping on ice and salting sidewalks.

I want to be in Phoenix, enjoying the balmy 109° weather and scrambling my eggs on the sidewalk. I want my friends and my family and Orange Table Cafe and Hot Bagels and driving to my starry spot and spending a spring afternoon asleep at the park in Fountain Hills. I want to be able to wear tank tops and flip flops. I want some color in my drive to work, even if those colors are only different shades of brown (dust and Mexicans).

wherein i pointlessly share a true story and also reveal a little bit of how weird i am and why

18 02 2010

Hop on.  My magic carpet and I want to take you back in time…  back to 1989…  in Glendale, Arizona.  As we hover over the intersection of 59th Avenue and Greenway, we see a large Ford pickup headed west.  Flying in closer, we can hear a grandmother chiding her three toe-headed grandchildren, who are bickering about having to sit next to each other on the bench seat on the way to school.

“Quit yer bitchin’, put your seatbelt on and sit there!  If you don’t put that seatbelt on ya’ll, the door will pop open and you will FALL OUT!”

The grandmother offers this as a threat, not something she’s really afraid will happen.  The kids keep arguing.

Right then, another truck makes a quick left turn in front of them.  As it veers into the left lane, the passenger door pops open and two young women tumble out of the truck and onto the pavement, rolling into the far right lane, stopping when their bodies hit the curb.

In the Ford pickup, the grandmother looks over at the children, mouths finally shut, eyes wide, watching traffic (including them) dodge the girls.  “I told you,” Grandma Shirley says, smooth and smug.  “Now.  Put your seatbelts on.”  They did.


My friends, that was the exact moment I began questioning, began thinking there was more to this world, this universe, this cosmic energy– whatever you want to call it.  Not God, because I never have believed in the Christian “God”, but… something.

A point?  No.

A purpose?  Eh, not really.

A mystical force watching over us all, a master of puppets?  Not so much.

A universe, albeit it one with a twisted sense of humor, listening?  Paying attention?  Maybe.

Is my Grandma Shirley a witch of some sort, or is the universe listening?  Maybe the old saying, “You get back what you put out” is true…  But in this case, it was sent back to the wrong address– The unsuspecting young women sitting sans seatbelts in their brother’s pickup truck.

Perhaps it was just a coincidence — a really crazy coincidence– and I’ve built it up in my head to be this defining  moment in my life where at six years old I was warned by the universe:

“Put on your damn seatbelt.  This is gonna be a crazy ride.”

fully loaded plate. can’t decide what to eat first.

3 02 2010

Dudes, where can I purchase more time?  I need to add about five hours to every day.

Since I lost my “real” job– A job I absolutely loved and would probably never have left–  I have found a sort of freedom that I didn’t have before.  Not financial freedom or free time (actually, the amount of both of those has gone WAY down) but a mental freedom in that now my career options are fairly unlimited.  I can choose whatever path I want now.  Sure, I have to start from scratch, which sucks, but I get to choose this time.

Surely, this freedom was always actually there.  I didn’t put much thought into it because I thought I’d be there forever and was fine with that.  I knew I wanted to do other things, but I wanted to do them as hobbies, and I didn’t really think about how I could make a living doing those other things.

But now!  Now I am all ideas!  Every day, a new idea about how I can take this thing I love doing or this thing that I’m really knowledgeable about and turn it into success! And I cannot be talked out of it.  I am so sure that it can be done, and that it will be marketable and FULL OF AWESOMESAUCE.  I can sell other people on the yumminess of my ideas, too.  Billy Mays would be proud.

Alas, now I have a problem in that I have started ALL. THESE. PROJECTS. And there is not enough time in the day to put enough effort into all of them and while trying to choose which one to focus on, the whole day passes me by.  The enthusiastic, lovely people who I’ve brought on board for these projects are all, “WTF?  Can you please stop being such a spaz and… *CLAP CLAP* Over here, Bri.  I was talking to you and you started licking the wall.”

Related:  I spent four minutes today taking an adult attention-deficit-disorder quiz.

I want to do so many things but I just can’t keep track of them all or pick one (or three).  I need to hire some Oompa-Loompas.  For my brain.