Tuesday, February 7, 2012

1 year rule.

I bought John an iHome awhile ago as a gift. He doesn't open presents until a year later, as a rule. Or at least that's the way it's gone so far.

John: (Approxiately 1 year later...) Hey, My iHome works, just so you know.

Me: Well I didn't buy you the "iCasa".

Who DOESN'T want a capybara...really.

No, seriously.
Who wouldn't want one of these guys? I want one.

Actually, I never really thought about Capybaras before, but then I had a conversation with John that went like this:

John: What do you want for dinner?

Me: Capybara eggs.

John: ..What?

Me: Capybara eggs. Well, actually I think they're mammals. They have live births. I don't want a baby capybara.


John: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?


Me: Here I'll show you on Wikipedia.

John: Oh. You're talking about an animal?

Me: Yes.


--
I think I give John headaches. Mostly because he tells me that I do. Oh well!

--

In other news, I just spent a week in Chicago. I am officially unemployed, and need to start seriously looking for a job.
Seriously.
That is incredibly overwhelming.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Scene: Board Meeting

Backstory: I work with an evil, pure evil, woman.. If I saw that she was being accused of murdering puppies on the 5:00 news, I would only be able to nod, knowingly.


Me: [Reading a book quietly to myself before the meeting.]
Evil Bitch (E.B.): What, am I already boring you?
Me: No, I just wanted to read my book..
E.B.: Well, I guess I should come up with a funny story.
Me: ...[waiting for the story]
E.B.: [making noises that must mean she's thinking, because I don't believe I've heard them before]
Me: Great story.
E.B.: Well I guess nothing funny happened this week.


Maybe the puppies died from boredom induced by her storytelling. Perhaps it was involuntary puppy-slaughter. Perhaps.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Voicemail, Please.

[Answering the phone at work.]
Me: *Company Name*, this is Amanda.
Lady: Oh, is this a recording?  
Me: ...No, this is Amanda.
Lady: Oh, I thought it was going to go to voicemail. I wanted to leave a message.


...I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience. You have a live person, would you like to leave a message with me?

John

My boyfriend's name is John. We have been dating for three years, and friends for around 7 years. He says that my humor is so dry that half the time he can't tell if I'm joking. 


Ergo, he is very fun to tease. 


One of my favorites:
Backstory: My hair is very, very curly.


John: Your hair looks so pretty.
Me: Thank you.
John: It's so straight!  [I had straightened it that morning.]
Me: I know, it didn't curl today.
John: ...Really!? That's so funny. 


Yes. That happened.


I love John. He is actually very smart. 
Wasn't his best moment. But one of my favorites.

Heffalumps

I'm 24. I live in Ohio.

I feel like I'm carrying around a .... heffalump. On my shoulders. Pretty much all of the time. 
Is that normal? 

I'm a blogging newbie. My decision to become a "blogger" in a sea of bloggers... is, I believe, some type of attempt to be heard. I have a miserable job and lack of motivation to improve my situation. This makes me wonder - how prevalent was mental illness, depression in particular, during the more "survivalist" time of the world? When your concerns are finding food in the forest, as opposed to my habit of looking in the pantry stocked full of food and seeing nothing I want, I just bet you have less time to be mopey.

Let's be real here. It can seem silly and ridiculous to be unhappy in a world of so much good. 

I've recently discovered "The Bloggess", a very popular online blogger who struggles with her own depression and anxiety. That blog, combined with the Postsecret project (which I've followed for about 7 years) has really opened my eyes to the prevalence of mental illness. There are so many people struggling with similar battles. Even when they seem "normal".

I am hoping that I can write funny anecdotes most of the time. I used to write a lot, and always enjoyed it. My boyfriend tells me how funny I am almost every day (although he is the only one...). This post is not funny, but I will not apologize. Probably won't. My confidence is slightly below sea level at the moment. I am struggling. But I am not struggling alone. 

I am not struggling alone. 


Fortune Cookies

Screw introductions, let's begin.


Have you ever been at a Chinese restaurant and felt like you just really needed the positive reinforcement of a great fortune? It seems as though every time I frequent my favorite hole-in-the wall I am anticipate what my fortune will say more than if my meal will be delicious. I put quite a bit of weight on that little strangely-fake cookie. 
Strange, I know.


But, really. For those people who have problems and are prone to bouts of depression (um, losers) these tiny little slips hold the potential equivalent of a one hour session with a therapist. What will it say?!? 


Well, anyways, that's why yesterday after I finished my sweet and sour chicken (um, freaking delicious) and I tore into my fortune cookie (which, by the way, I don't even really like) and read this fortune:


"You will win success in whatever calling you adopt."

...I was like, WTF, universe?


That "fortune cookie" was made IN CHICAGO. Who writes these fortunes? Why is that like the third one in a row that has clearly not been edited? 


Is that somebody's job, to edit fortune cookies? (Well, obviously not. Or they suck.)


And at the bottom of the little fortune it read:


"Want more? Visit: www.myfreefortune.com"


Well, no, Mr. Fortune Cookie. I do not want more soul-crushing totally unhelpful bits of fake-fortune. Thank you for the offer.