Beep Beep Beep Mwahaha

This is my alarm clock.

That's how it looks in the afternoon, here's a more accurate portrayal of it during morning hours.

 For obvious reasons, such as the creepy eyebrows, I don't get along well with my evil morning, Dr. Hyde loving alarm clock. Besides that, it is clear to see that my alarm clock has no vested interest in my well being or punctuality. Instead of encouraging me to wake up and explore the world, it plays mean, childish tricks on me. See for yourself.   

For example, evil alarm clock has the ability to embed it's beeping sound into my very subconscious! As I lay there, innocently dreaming of an awesome new robot friend, evil alarm clock mocks me. The insistent beeping is mutated into a cheerful conversation about circuits and waffles, and I do not second guess it's nature.  He knows that in the near future, I will wake up panicked, spill hot coffee, wear mismatched socks, and trip up the stairs due to his mind altering powers of dream hijacking, and he DOES NOT CARE. 

Sometimes evil alarm clock doesn't insert beeping into my dreams. Sometimes he doesn't make beeping noises at all! He silently watches over me as I sleep, maliciously laughing to himself. This cruel setup almost always results in tears and profanity.

Other times, evil alarm clock jolts me out of my rem cycle instantaneously with shrieking noises that send my mind into a disconcerting frenzy. "Fire?" "Aliens?" "GIANT LIZARDS CRUSHING MY HOUSE??" "WHAT IS HAPPENING???!!!" This is very painful trick, and increases my heart rate exponentially.

As you can see, I am in very real danger each morning by using this device. My vulnerable, lethargic body is at the mercy of this barbaric contraption. To be honest, you might be in jeopardy too! I expose you to these truths only so that you can be aware. I urge you to take whatever precautions that you feel are necessary, and save your inner soul. It can get a bit ugly, but I have faith that you can do the right thing.

How I Know We're Not Friends

Usually when a person receives flowers, it's a great thing. It means that someone knows you, and cares about you, and wants you to be happy. When I receive flowers, however, it sends me a slightly different message. It lets me know beyond any doubt that the giver of said flowers, doesn't know me at all, doesn't care about my emotional well-being, and would like to see me fail. If you think this sounds extreme, I'll bet you have never seen me with flowers.

Whenever I get flowers, I put them in the exact center of my kitchen table. I try to memorize their color, their vibrancy, I tell them how pretty they are, and get really excited. I welcome them into my home, promptly introducing them to a couple kitchen appliances, should they need company when I'm at work. In the beginning of my flower owning days, I even gave each of them names, which I forgot within the hour, which allowed me to rename them. I felt like the flowers were a metaphorical mirror, and that I somehow resembled their beauty.

Days later, I begin to sense trouble. Walking by, I notice one of them drooping a little. I immediately get a concerned look on my face, inspecting the state of my floral collection. I add in an extra smidgeon of plant food, that I had found haphazardly rubber banded around their stems, and try to nurse the lone flower back to health.  

It is of no use. The center of my table becomes the site of a full blown flower wilting epidemic. I'm checking water temperatures, and repositioning stems, nothing seems to help. I start to panic, realizing that if for some reason the person that gave me this gift dropped by for any reason, they would see that I was no better than a murderer. When it becomes clear that nothing I am doing is helping, I enter the seven stages of grief.

Shock/Denial: Looking good, flowers! Never looked better! Hmm...that's an odd decaying smell, I thought I just took out the garbage...oh, don't be silly Flower, it couldn't possibly be you, you're supposed to smell good!

Pain/Guilt: What have I done! I've destroyed something innocent and beautiful! Someone trusted me enough to give me these, and what do I go on and do? RUIN! DECIMATE! I knew I should have placed you in better light! Talked to you more! I'm a terrible person! I FAIL at being a compassionate human being!

Anger/Bargaining: You know, while I do take full responsibility for my crappy green thumbness, I would like to point out that in almost all cases of gifting flowers, the plants are ripped from the dirt and roots are removed, so they are already half dead when I receive them, they just don't look like it. No, instead they look beautiful, untarnished, oh! Floooowwwerrrrsss!!! Please be pretty again, I'll buy you a new vase, I'll move you to the living room, I'll create a special device that I can wear and attach you to it so that I can always be with you, just please, please, pleeeeease don't die!

Depression/Reflection/Loneliness: My life is dark. Your petals have been drained of all life, as has my soul. I sit at the table, and talk to the remains. "Hey, do you remember that time when I had to change the tablecloth? I moved you to the counter. That was really neat. Sure do wish I could move you to the counter again, but you'd probably crumble apart!" (Jagged breaths between sobs)

The Upward Turn: At least I was able to enjoy your pretty aliveness for a little while, until I killed you, that is. But really, we built some great memories together!

Reconstruction/Working Through: Not everyone is good with plants. That's okay; I'm good at other things. I need to recognize that my strengths are not in the area of nature related things. I loved those flowers, and I was sad to see them deteriorate into mush, and become an eyesore, and watch their beauty dissipate, but I must move ahead with my life.

Acceptance/Hope: Putting the flowers in the garbage was really hard, but I am strong. I now know that I am not a proper care taker of such a gift. My table is cleared, and I'm ready to begin my life after flowers.

And then, just as I'm diving into my new life, I do something. Somebody, somewhere for some reason, feels the need to thank me. And instead of getting me something sturdy, like a rock or a lamp, they get me...flowers. I get so excited! "I'm going to take such good care of you!" The person feels like they’ve made a good choice.  They have no idea the personal trauma they have just unleashed within my state of mind. That’s how I know that if I get flowers from you, we must not be that great of friends. If you are one of the few people that have gotten me flowers, I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but it’s for the best.

Notice of Overdue Books

I don't handle deadlines very well. Any type of deadline, I generally have a mild to severe negative reaction to. It's like a disease, except one that people don't sympathize with. They do, however, get irritated and their face can turn many shades of various pretty colors. Pretty fascinating to watch as long as you’re not trapped in a small room with them at the same time.  Let me start by saying that I mean well. If you need tips on having good intentions, I'm pretty much an expert; I just don't have much follow through. Let me explain...

Library books: People who go to the library look smart, ergo; I want to go to the library too! I like books, and have the ability to read, and live about a ten minute train ride away from a library. All good, except for pesky due dates! A due date is a deadline. 'You must be finished with your text selections by THIS DATE!' I never am.

 I take care of the books, I never spill staining liquids on the title page, future readers never need to pry open two pages glued together with a mysteriously sticky substance, and if you were to read a book after me, you wouldn't get to the last chapter and find half of it torn out or chewed. Nope, instead of that, you just won't see the book at all, in any of its well-kept glory.

 Renewing books only gives me a false sense of security. 'Sure, I'll make to the library during this month. What type of person doesn't visit the library that often? Man, I’d be so embarrassed if I only went there sometimes, in fact, it’s my mission to be a ‘regular’ at the library from now on!’ (One month later) "Shit. Uhh, how much do I owe you? "

You see, I'm so bad with deadlines, I have turned the free book system into another bill. I have paid more than I care to admit in order to appease the literary powers that be. My money probably goes to help fix the books the rest of the people return all gross, but on time. Really, I could just stop going altogether, but I like the idea of being an upstanding citizen.  Like if I win some huge award at the Mayor's office, and the news anchor was introducing me, he could be all "So and so is a fine example of responsibility and character in our society." And then his co-anchor would chime in, "That’s right Chuck, she even goes to the LIBRARY!" The studio audience would ‘ooh’ and ‘aahh’, and everyone at home would soften their glances, tear up a little, and believe in good again.

So, you see, I can't just NOT go. I mean, the fate of the world sort of depends on it. So, as I shuffle my feet up to the checkout desk, (Once you have an abundance of fees, the privilege of self-checkout is removed temporarily; I have a sinking feeling it comes down to the fact they don't trust you after a while.) I mumble to the 19 year old girl manning the desk who looks like she’s never had a fine during her entire span of life, “I, umm, hi! Uh, how are you? Gooood, sooooo, I'm going to hand you my card, but… just....don't judge me okay? Like, okay, you can judge me, but can you do it only in your head? And can you think quiet thoughts, so I can't hear them? I may have a fee, little, of course. Or big, actually. But, uhh, (speaking lightning speed now) IneedtoknowhowmuchIactuallyhavetohavepaidofthatcatastrophicamount, so you'll let me use the self-checkout again. Because, let's face it, this is just awkward and I do much better when talking to a machine and not a human, and I don't even know if your computer has numbers that big, and yeah, okay, just, here." (I hand over the card.)

 I don't even look to see their judgment, as the weight of shame pulls my gaze downward, to the counter, to my hands, to the floor. I slide over my debit card, mentally apologizing to my checking account. But, hey, wait a minute; you know, really, I'm donating all this money to spread knowledge and goodwill to my city. At this thought, I perk up a bit, 'yeah, I'm doing something pretty, well, good! Helping out my community, inspiring children, removing soda soaked pages off of shelves! You're welcome, fellow patrons, you're welcome!'

 I take back my card, look the teller/cashier/checker outter of books right in the eye, and smile. "Have a great day!" I tell her, and I turn to leave. I don't look back to see how they are recovering from being my financial liaison into the world of library fines, but I've never had the same person help me twice. Can't imagine why.

Blankets

     Today is Saturday. It is winter, and freezing. I tell you this so that you'll understand my attire as I loaded the dishwasher this morning. While standard pajamas would have been acceptable all on their own for such a task, I decided that this being a Saturday morning, and so cold that my poor thermometer needle could literally not move any lower than it physically was, that I would jazz it up a bit. I added a cape. Well fine, it was a blanket to be precise, but honestly, you'd hardly know it from the way I pulled it off. Just tie two ends together into a makeshift knot, run around really fast, and you've got yourself a cozy crime fighting (and household chore) accessory!
     It got me thinking about how delightful blankets really are. If an item such as this is so willing to so gracefully abandon its identity to become, even momentarily, something as significant as a cape, it must be full of equally wonderful uses. I've decided to list some of them here, so that these uses can be appreciated by the multitudes. Or, at least, by myself if I ever (heaven forbid) ever forget how amazing blankets are. The very thought gives me shivers, which reminds me that I'm cold, and need a blanket. So let's cuddle up together and explore the world that is...the blanket!

  A Cape: As previously discussed, the blanket can be used as a cape. The wide variety of patterns available lend themselves to your unique crime fighting needs. Beware the length of blanket you choose though. Even blanket wielding crime fighters have their kryptonite, and it comes in the form of stairs and human uncoordination.

A Tent/Fort: If you are fortunate enough to have access to a blanket as well as two chairs, then you have the makings for a secluded personal hideaway. Get away from your worries by spreading the blanket across the high backs of these two sitting devices, and begin the relaxation process. Some additional items that may come in helpful are: a working flashlight, cookies, and a pillow.

A Castle: See the instructions for "Tent/Fort" and multiply it by a thousand. Try it, you'll thank me later.

A Game: 'Snug as a Bug' can be played using only a large size blanket, and an open floor space. Here's how you play:

1. Spread blanket out across floor space.
2. Lie down along one end of the blanket.
3. Grab edge of blanket and hold on tight!
4. Begin rolling towards middle of blanket, keeping a firm grip on the edge being held in step 3.
5. Keep rolling until blanket has been wound around your body mass several times.
6. Now you're 'Snug as a Bug'!

Note: To extricate yourself from this position, simply roll yourself in the opposite direction, until you've reached the edge noted in step 2. This game can be repeated as often as necessary. If you crave a more socially interactive version of this game, perhaps you may choose to upload a video of you playing it onto YouTube, so that friends and loved ones, and even total strangers may mock you at their hearts content.

Well, I think you have enough ideas to get you started, so I'm going to finish this up and retreat to my Fort. Don't judge me, just go build one yourself. Go do it right...NOW!