World Book Night (Feed Your Head)

(The book pictured, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, is not one of the books to be given away. This year. Just FYI.)
Today is World Book Night. People sign up to be book givers (before February, I missed the cutoff date but fear not I'm doing it next year and you should too.) and then get 20 books to give out to the masses (of 20... obviously) to encourage literacy among adults.
The books are meant for people who aren't avid readers.
One of my new life goals is to be one of the authors whose book is being giving away.
There's no charge to the givers, no charge to the receivers, and no royalties to the authors.
Just people sharing the gift of literature. And it makes me stupid-happy.
Plus, when I interview at the library in May, having this knowledge and being a giver next year, is going to make me look awesome. In your face other applicants! This one's mine!

Connecting With Others and How To Stop It

Spent a good deal of the afternoon talking with my brother and his wife, via texts, about job opportunities and moving and stuff and I was all excited about the future and then I talk to Jeremy about it, he who has previously also shown interest in moving and more opportunities, and he basically shot it down entirely.

Awesome. Stuck here forever.

Completely unrelated is this brief list I came up with: Things People Should Stop Doing

Yelling when you're on the phone in public. If you're that sure that the person on the other end can't hear you, just hang up or go outside. You make me hate you.

Ignoring your crying child in public. If you don't do something about it, I effing will, and you and your child will both be scarred for the rest of your unnatural lives. Seriously. Shut that kid up. You're embarrassing yourself and your entire genealogy.

Making brief, but obvious, eye contact when in the restroom. Look, I get it. We're both women, we're both in the restroom at the same time. Maybe I'm just leaving a stall and you're going in one, maybe it's reversed. Maybe we're both going to the sink at the same time. That does not mean we are now, nor have ever been, in a secret society of special people who are in the same room at the same time. That would be a totally pointless secret society. What would their purpose even be? Just to meet, accidentally/on purpose, in rooms? Any room too, or specific room? Does the room determine how long you maintain eye contact, or if you share a glimpse of a smile in passing? Shit, maybe there should be a society. Ladies, let's discuss in the restroom. But only briefly.

People walking their dog, nodding and saying hey to other people walking their dog. Or people walking and saying hey to other people walking. People on foot, at any time, passing another person on foot, and saying hey because of any similarity whatsoever. When I'm driving somewhere, I don't nod what's up to another driver next to me at the red light just because we're both driving. If I'm checking out at the grocery store and I notice the guy behind me putting a can of green beans on the conveyor, exactly like the one the cashier just rang up for you guys!, I don't even make eye contact. You know why? Because that does not make us friends! In any damn way. Stop trying to connect yourself with others in completely asinine ways, entire human race!

Updated Glasses Prescription!

Had my pupils dilated for the first time ever this morning. It was ... different. That seems like an appropriate word for it. Apparently- wait, first: I had an eye exam this morning because of the breaking-my-glasses thing that occurred like two weeks ago. I finally made an appointment. Okay, back: apparently the doctor saw a super teeny tiny freckle at the back of my eye. Then he asked if I've ever had my pupils dilated before. I was like, certainly not! Wait, why is something wrong?

It's no big deal, the freckle I mean (literally the smallest one he's ever seen (that's what she said)), but my eyes are still sore and it's been like, since 9:45-ish this morning. So... those many hours. I wore shades inside the drugstore and library, and then my house. My actual house. Where the dog sees me and I watch TV and sometimes do the dishes. Of all the humiliations.

Anyway, the pupils are still enormous but not the level of cartoon-drug-trip they were earlier. The doctor told me I wouldn't be able to read for about two hours afterwards, then asked if that would be a problem. I said no, but internally I was trying not to punch him the face. Two hours! Eff you pupils and tiny freckle! Eff, you!

My brother's wife was texting me before the exam so after, when she sent another text, I responded again because my vision hadn't gotten blurry and sort of painful. This continued for like 15 minutes. Then she sent me one that said: Sorry I am texting you Scotty just told me you had your eyes diluted!

I thought about it for a moment, and didn't correct her auto-correct. (I assume it was auto correct. She's like, anti-social smart so she obviously knows the difference between the two words.) Because my vision had been diluted. So she was technically correct.

Then Jeremy told me pistachios were on sale on deals.woot.com, $5 for a pound. And I was like, you buy the hell out of those right this minute. And I think he did. I stopped reading texts for a while after that. Ya know. Cause of the eye thing. The diluted eyes. The dilated eyes. That stuff.

So I basically spent my morning and early afternoon wearing sunglasses in my house, cause I'm a bad motha, and not reading, cause I was rendered intermediate blind.

Intermediate blind is not a thing. I totes made that up.

Also, my eyes are pretty much the same except the 'script is written differently because the nearsightedness changed in one eye, but so did the Astigmatism. So it balanced out, sort of.

Thoughts While Evaluating My Thighs in Shorty-Shorts

Yeah these are a real smooth fit over the thighs.

This is the waist? Seriously?

Sweet muffin top, girl.

How do girls get these to button?

And there's a zipper. Like, a legit zipper.

Oh god, really?

Ugh.

Why did I even put these on?

I looked at them, knew they would be awful, yet I brought them to the fitting room anyway.

Why are my legs so pasty?

They're actually pasty. Like, if you held glue next to my legs, they would be the exact same shade. This is worse than pale.

Pale could be sexy.

But this is pasty.

Are those my stretch marks?

They look so angry.

Why are they angry?

I should be angry. They are making it impossible to compete with other women.

That's the point of clothes this small, right? Just to know you look better in them than other women? Even that size 2 who won't quit bragging about her charity walks?

Shut up bitch, no one's interested.

Do these effectively hide my thunder?

Try jogging in place.

Now try it and ignore the disturbing way your stomach jiggles.

That's not too bad.

What about from the side-OH GOD NO!

Fuck these shorts.

Glasses Are Stupid

I broke my glasses yesterday, while they were on my face. By running into a door frame. It was the most idiotic thing I remember doing ever. I had clothes hanging up to dry on hangers, the hangers were on the top of the door frame to our closet, and they took up the entire entrance.

To get into my closet, I duck under the clothes. I did this yesterday, except I was getting a shoe box from the shelf, and I guess I thought I was being cool cause when I ducked in I went in one swift motion, reached for the box, retrieved it, and ducked back out without moving my feet. I did this for two other boxes prior to the fatal box and I thought it was bad ass (because I'm a loser and also have low standards). So naturally, just when I think I've got a groove going and I'm feeling like Daisy handing the coat check girl everyone's coats, crack! I hit my glasses right on the edge of the frame. They smashed into my face, which felt awesome, and then clattered to the floor. They actually clattered, and that needs to be mentioned twice because our apartment is carpeted. The impact was so severe that my glasses clattered onto a soft surface.

I hate things about my life.

The good news is I can still wear them. The bad news is that the way I had to adjust them makes the right side of my head hurt, like it's being pinched. Which it probably is. Also, I keep adjusting them like they're crooked. They actually aren't. So good job on my part on the fixing thing.

Oh, also glasses are super expensive even with insurance. I was going to Wal-Mart before and it was pricey, but I really hoped insurance would make a difference. Not so much. So until I can find an affordable doctor, I'm alternating between my busted glasses (which pinch my head and make it feel explodey) and my contacts (which I'm positive will one day make my eyes explode).

Yay.

The Daisy bit should be around like 2:24 I think.

A Wee Little Storm OR You're Welcome, World

I don't think there are any pictures of me from the age of Born to the age of Five where I am not trying to put things in my mouth. Seriously. My mom has a bunch of pictures of me where I'm either stuffing my face, about to stuff my face, hovering over my food like an animal, or trying to put toys in my mouth. In a very few, I appear to be offering food, but I know that can only be a cruel trick I'm about to play on someone because Storm does not offer her food to anyone.

Around the time mom was finding all these awesome pictures of me my parents remembered a fun game they used to love to play when they were drunk-slash-high-slash-both where they would put my pacifier in upside down and I would flip it right side up in my mouth without using my hands. Apparently they thought it was the neatest thing ever and they would entertain themselves and their friends for long periods of time. They would show me off like a dog who's just discovered a laser pointer and chases it relentlessly in circles. "No seriously, check this out. She does it every time!"


This is the environment I grew up in folks. Praise and attention for doing things with my mouth. It's lucky I turned out as awesome and psychologically stable as I did. (Side note: My parents are amazing, and this is me joking.)

So here's a little sampling of adorable tiny Storm, and her oral fixation (I so wish I had a copy of the one where I'm walking out of a public restroom in Alabama, toddling after mom, in my cut-off jean shorts and messy hair, a toy in each hand cause I fucking can, and no shoes. It's priceless.):

 This one is called "Linoleum and Bread Crumbs"

P.S. check that stance.

This is the trick I mentioned. Look how pleased my face is. Someone is clearly going to fall for this. 

The action figure Sleeping Storm now comes with pacifier accessory and safety harness. 

This is my very personal favorite. I call it: Sleepy Old Man Storm... with pacifier.

There's a picture of my mom's parents on their 25th wedding anniversary, where they both look like they're trying to reach California from Oklahoma (that's a Grapes of Wrath joke for you well-read types, and consequently a Depression Era/Dust Bowl joke). They look absolutely miserable, and nobody knows why. Anyway, I look exactly like my grandfather in the last picture here, except a little sleepy. And I have a pacifier. Not even kidding.

Written Word

I've recently been informed that I've offended/upset some people with a few of my posts. My intention of keeping this blog in particular was never to offend or insult anyone. It's basically a train of thought, or a few trains, whatever happens to be on my mind at the time, and I stop only to fix a punctuation or spelling error. Then I hit the Publish button. And I don't go back to it again.

I don't write drafts, or proof-read (aside from the punctuation or spelling, which are errors that I see as I go), or have someone else tell me if they think I should change anything here or there. I just write it.

So I absolutely guarantee that I've said some things that are rude, inconsiderate, impolite, crass, insulting, completely offensive, etc., etc., etc., about family, friends, people I don't know at all, family, people I do know but not that well, family, that asshole who passed me on my way home from work and laid on the horn because I guess the speed limit just isn't fucking good enough (I will cut his face if I ever see him again. Straight up. His face.), family.

There are many things I could say to excuse my behavior. I won't say those things. I could easily just start filtering what I say, and plan out my posts so as not to offend people. I won't start doing that. I could apologize for the things I've written, but to do that feels hollow to me. It feels insincere. These are my thoughts and opinions, and it's important to remember that they are constantly changing. My opinion of you as a person doesn't stay the same from one moment to the next. I never completely make up my mind about a person. (ED NOTE: I just went back to put in the word 'say' in the first sentence of this paragraph, and in the time it took me to do that, I got distracted by the TV for like, ever. (I just did it again.) )

I will say that, since I'm not apologizing for my thoughts or opinions, I would like to apologize for the way in which I expressed those thoughts or opinions. Maybe I could have been more direct, and discussed the issue personally, or maybe I could have been more polite, because I'm often quite bitchy. But I didn't. And unless the issue is something that is sincerely bothering me, I probably won't in the future.

The above paragraph also pertains to this post, and all future posts.