Here we are, the weekend! How are things, good? Good, good. Want to ramble a little today? Great, because I have a headache like you wouldn’t believe and I can NOT stay on task. Like, I’ve tried, I’ll be honest, but it’s not happening. I was all, I should do something themey today! But I couldn’t even concentrate hard enough on FINDING a topic, let alone WRITING about it. Waking up with a headache is the worst. You open your eyes and you’re all, EFF, you KNOW this day’s going to be just a total joy with the ouchiness, you know? Eesh.
Let’s see. This is a theater weekend for me. Tonight I’m seeing Hair (well, it’ll be “last night” by the time you read this, so here’s hoping there was ALL THE NUDITY WHOO!), and Sunday I’m seeing Hairspray. So it’s a tonsorial-themed theater weekend, won’t that be fun? Sure it will.
(Update: saw Hair. It was fine. I’ve seen better. I’ve seen worse. There was a man with a beard, which you know is my kryptonite, but then I think maybe he was like 20 so that felt creepy so I had to stop looking at him. Also, the actors all looked really young, so when the nude scene happened it was about 86 flavors of awkward. And there were old people near me who kept saying, “Oh, my. OH MY” whenever anything racy would happen. It was…odd.)
When I told my dad what shows I was seeing this weekend, he said in this total sarcastic teeny-bopper voice, “Oh, how I WISH I lived there so I could go WITH you!” He hates musicals. It made me laugh. Dad’s theory on theater goes thusly: musicals are annoying because IN REAL LIFE PEOPLE DON’T BREAK OUT INTO SONG DAMMIT (I know they should, but he doesn’t share that feeling, what is WRONG with him?), and straight shows are scary because someone in the show might come into the audience, choose him, and force him to get up on stage and act. I’ve mentioned this before, but seriously, after snakes, which, like Indiana Jones, are my Dad’s major fear in life (although it’s not like he runs away like a child when he sees one, he just gets a shovel and chops it up or something, and he gets SO MAD when I’m all, “UGH DAD, you couldn’t shoo that into the FIELD or whatever? That poor snake”), his second-most fear seems to be this baseless fear of going to a play and being dragged onstage to perform all improv-like.
I’ve asked him if this ever happened to him or anyone he knows, or if he saw it on television or something, and he WILL NOT TALK ABOUT IT. So I don’t know if there’s some deep-seated phobia there or he’s making it all up. I’ve tried to explain that in regular plays, they’re rehearsed, and they don’t ask for volunteers from the audience much. Dinner theater, sometimes. Those Complete History of the World-type plays. But not regular dramas. The odds are slim to none. But he is NOT HAVING IT. We went to a play once at a theater near my parents’ home, and (as happens sometimes) one of the characters entered through the audience. My dad was FURIOUS. He GLARED at that actor throughout the play. When intermission happened, I asked him what was wrong. “I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT,” he said. “What?” I asked. “HE TRICKED ME,” he said. “He just showed up! And walked through the aisle! LIKE A REGULAR PERSON! What if I’d talked to him? I’d have been in the play!” I said, “Dad, why would you have started a conversation in the middle of Act I? That would have been rude of you. You know better than that. Also, he wouldn’t have started a conversation with you, probably. I know this play. All he does is walk in and then start acting. I would have warned you if there was audience participation. We wouldn’t have come. I promise.” But NO NO NO, Act II, he KEPT GLARING at the guy. Like the guy PERSONALLY AFFRONTED HIM. Then we went out for ice cream after the show and he wouldn’t even get out of the car. He was SO UPSET. We don’t go to plays any more now. Just in case someone enters through the house and OH NO OH NO HEAVENS FORFEND.
Today is Jim’s charity-walk day! Good luck, Jim! I can’t wait to hear all about it and how you totally crushed the competition using the POWER OF THE INTERWEBS. We’re trying to plan a charity walk here in the office, and it is NO EASY TASK. See, we used to do the Komen Walk, but because I didn’t like the way they handled that whole Planned Parenthood thing, I was very firm on “let’s look into other options” this year. See, I’m in charge of the team that does these things. NO, not because I’m a good person. Because I don’t have a CHOICE. (Also? Is it worrisome I’m apparently the only liberal AND the only person who’d even HEARD about the Komen kerfuffle in the office? Yes. Yes, it is.) We have all these teams that are supposed to bring us together as an OFFICE and make us all LOVEY LOVEY and such and whatever, mostly they’re just totally the most annoying. (Also, stop trying to make us lovey-lovey. We just want to work, get paid, and go home. We don’t want to put flowers in our hair and smoke weed together, you damn dirty hippies.) But the first year we started, I got put in charge of the community service team, and fine, whatever, I rocked it, I’m very good at organizing and planning and scheming and being a bossy bitch. But I hated it, because everyone made me do all the work because that’s what happens here? So the following year, I put another person on the team in charge. Only he didn’t do anything and the team fell all into disarray. So the year after THAT the lady in charge of all the teams sat me down at my annual evaluation and was all, “You’re the team leader IN PERPETUITY NOW” and that was that. Now I run this team until I DIE or maybe the office closes because of a gas leak or something, I don’t know. Anyway, so after I was all, “KOMEN SUCKS” they made me find other charity walk opportunities and I found one that benefited a local SPCA, which is awesome, right? Not ONLY does your money go to sad-face orphan animals, but you can bring your DOGS to the walk! You can walk WITH YOUR DOGS! But one of the other team members was all, “I don’t know if I’m down with that, I know ALL THE THINGS ABOUT ALL THE ANIMAL ORGANIZATIONS IN THE WHOLE AREA I WANT TO RESEARCH THIS FURTHER” and so we’re not allowed to move forward with it until she makes a report on her findings because bureaucratic nonsense is bureaucratic and it’s been like a week and she hasn’t even moved on it. And this is why teams are stupid and I am bad at them because I have both control and anger-management issues, love, Amy.
This is really random. It’s random-crap Saturday, only even without HEADINGS. My head is really aching, no joke. This is what comes out of me when I have a headache.
I saw this on the news yesterday and it was both exciting AND terrifying:
VOLKSWAGEN SIZED TURTLES YOU GUYS!!!
At first, I was all, “THIS IS AWESOME! I COULD TOTALLY RIDE THOSE TURTLES!” but then I read the article and this sentence struck my eye: “the turtle would have been equipped with massive, powerful jaws, meaning it could’ve eaten just about anything in its range, from mollusks (a group that includes snails) to smaller turtles and even crocodiles, the researchers noted. Its all-encompassing appetite as well as its need for a large range to satiate its food requirements may explain why no other turtle of this size has been found at the site.”
It was a GIGANTIC SNAPPING TURTLE. The size of a CAR. “All-encompassing appetite.” ZOMG, that’s kind of horrifying. When we were children, my Dad knew I loved turtles, so one day he was out hunting and found a turtle and brought it home for me. And it was this big old snapping turtle. “Don’t you touch that,” he said. “That’s just for looking at.” So we kept it for a while in a big bucket. That turtle HATED me and my brother. Whenever we came near, it would HISS AND HISS. So of course we named it Mister Hisster. I mean, who wouldn’t? That was his NAME.
Also, if you put a stick near his powerful jaws he would SNAP THAT STICK IN HALF. And then hiss. Cruelly. Mister Hisster was only our friend (oh, sorry, that needs air quotes, because of the hatred he bore toward us: our “friend”) for a couple of days before my mom was all, “Um, that damn turtle is going to snap Amy’s fingers right off because she is bound and determined to make it be her friend and it really just wants revenge or something, can we let it go maybe? When she grows up, she’s going to want those fingers, and it’s going to be awfully embarrassing for her to explain she lost them in a freak snapping-turtle incident WE ARE NOT HILLBILLIES” and then when we woke up one morning Mister Hisster was gone. Dad let it go in the water in the woods. I know this is true because we didn’t eat any mystery meat in the days after the Mister Hisster incident, like the time he told me I was eating chicken but I found pieces of bullet in it and then come to find out it was the pretty quail* that were in our backyard a couple of mornings before that and ever since I’ve been very wary whenever I go to visit and he’s all, “if you’re hungry, there’s chicken in the fridge” but if I’m really hungry I will ask him, “chicken? Or ‘chicken’ with buckshot in it?” and then he’s all GRUMP GRUMP GRUMP THAT WAS ONLY ONE TIME AMY. (*note from my dad: “They were NOT QUAIL. They were PARTRIDGES. But not really. That’s just what we call them up here. Really they were RUFFED GROUSE. Don’t tell your blog people we shoot quail. They will LAUGH at you. THERE ARE NO QUAIL HERE. Also, IT WAS ONLY ONE TIME AMY.”)
These turtles (we WERE talking about mega-turtles, before the specter of Mister Hisster raised his scary head) had shells that were 5’7 in diameter, and could double as kiddy-pools, apparently. WHOA NELLY. That is one monster turtle. If that turtle hissed at you, you would MOST DEFINITELY KNOW IT. Also, there’s very little doubt it would eat your face right off, I mean, yikes, am I right?
Oh, ok, one more randomness, and then I’m going to swan off and finish my book that I’m reading, which means I’m going to weep in the lunchroom today. It’s so, so good. I’ll be reviewing it over at Insatiable Booksluts soon so I don’t want to spoil. But I was reading it in the car yesterday at lunch and I realized what some foreshadowing was pointing to and I was all, “OH NO OH NO” and then I started crying IN PREPARATION for something that wasn’t even going to happen for PAGES. This is a good book. A very, very good book. Well, if you like crying. I like crying a lot, so I’m down with it. Also, there is ALL THE GERMAN in it. You all KNOW I love all the German. It is making me very happy, this book. (UPDATE: the review is up! You can go read it if you want. I geek out and actually QUOTE the German poetry because it’s so damn pretty.)
Oh, this is a little randomness, not even a big one. I totally just went online and bought an additional cellphone battery so I’d have a backup for when I go to New York City so my phone doesn’t die when I’m having my epic adventure day with Susie because the phone battery life of that thing is the suck. I’m totally being planning-aheady about this adventure. Are you so excited right now? What? No? Just me? TOO BAD SLAPPY.
So, around Christmas, Andreas (you all know Andreas! He is my SCIENCE FELLOW! He moved to FINLAND!) was having a problem. His stove stopped working. And therefore, his family was not going to be able to make Christmas dinner. And that was the worst. He was seriously planning on making microwave meals for Christmas dinner. No one wants Lean Cuisines for Christmas. Well, or whatever the Isle of Man-ian version of Lean Cuisines is. So I tweeted him something like, “I am sending all the good vibes. I want you to be able to have real food!” and not ten minutes later, he was all, “The repairman came! He wasn’t supposed to come for DAYS! The stove is FIXED!” and that was magical, right? But kind of a coincidence, whatever.
Well, now he’s in Finland, and he hasn’t had any internet at home since he got there. Which is upsetting. He is MISSED. By ME. And also others, but I’m the one living in my head so I’m the loudest complainer all up in here. So I told him I was VERY UPSET with ALL OF FINLAND for not getting him internet, and who would I address a very strongly worded letter of complaint to ALL OF FINLAND to? And then I said, “FINLAND! I AM VERY ANGRY WITH YOU.” And then he tweeted me that they’d just hooked up his internet.
I AM MADE OF MAGIC. (Also, I think Finland is scared of me. I SCARED A WHOLE COUNTRY.)
I was sending good vibes for stove repair? STOVE REPAIR HAPPENED. I was angry at Finland? INTERNET HAPPENED. This is a newfound superpower for me. I’m pretty sure I’m an empath. I’m pretty stoked about this, to tell you the truth. The only drawbacks that I can see is that it only seems to work for Andreas, and only sometimes, and only for things that, in the long run, are kind of inconsequential? But probably with practice it will get totally targeted and better, right? RIGHT.
So what should I do with my new magic powers of vibes-sending? Can I use this to make enough money to go on my tour of Europe? How about to buy my animal-rescue farm in the woods where I will rescue all the three-legged goats and one-eyed pit bulls? Wait, we’re not sure if this can be used for personal gain, are we. Hmm. Well, I’m happy to use it to make the lives of the people I love better. I’m not stingy with my new empathy powers. I’ll empathy it up for you, if I love you enough. You just let me know and I will ZAP YOU SOME EMPATHINESS. Then if YOU happen to make a million because of my empathy skills, well, if you want to throw a little my way for various things like world travel and three-legged-goat-rescue, I’d take that. I’d be all, “Aw, you shouldn’t have I DON’T DESERVE THIS” but yes, I’d take it. Those goats need me.
OK. Happy Saturday, internet people. Hope you’re enjoying. Listen, I know it’s only May, but it’s summer now, right? So hot! Whoo! I think it’s almost air conditioning time! Too soon, air conditioning! Too soon!