Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Kids these days...they keep comparing me to their moms

On my way home from work I stopped at the store for groceries, which naturally included a bottle of wine. The sacker boy told the cashier girl "you better check her ID." To which the cashier looked at me, then looked back at the sacker and said, "REALLY?" 

My heart broke a little. 

And then the sacker, who had clearly just been looking for a reason to talk to the cashier, who was undeniably pretty (but maybe not so smart) said, "I was just kidding. She's obviously way old enough to buy wine." Then to me, "Bet you're about my mom's age, huh?" 

I said, "I'm probably older. I just look THAT good." That shut them both up. 

After I pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, a little white car full of teenage kids passed me. I noticed their left tail light was out, so being the Good Samaritan that I am (don't laugh), I caught up, got beside them and gave the unofficial-but-practically-official international sign language motion for "ROLL YOUR WINDOW DOWN." We went nearly two blocks before they realized what I wanted them to do. Right about the time I had decided I should call a cop because these kids weren't intelligent enough to handle driving, I realized they were so young that they had probably NEVER RIDDEN IN A CAR WITH MANUAL WINDOWS. They probably had never listened to a cassette tape before, either. How do you get through high school and college without mixtapes? Anyway, I delivered the tail light message and the driver yelled, "Thanks! I'll go get it fixed. If I got a ticket my mom would kill me."

At that point, my heart broke the rest of the way; some for all the kids who haven't learned to properly flirt (which involves a good mixtape), and some for me. Then I got the heck on home to have a glass of that wine that some guy's mom is also old enough to buy. 

Monday, February 16, 2015

Do's and don'ts for when I die

If you didn't figure it out from the title, this post is about death. Specifically, how I want things done in the event of my death. Now, if you're one of those people who thinks that talking about death is sad or morbid, then this post isn't for you. But, if you're one of those folks who thinks talking about death is just part of life and/or is curious about just how I want to be sent into the afterlife, then please, do read on. 

This post has actually been written for awhile. I was getting ready to post it when a friend from work passed away, and despite all evidence to the contrary, I do have enough manners to not post about death on the same day I go to a funeral. I decided to go ahead and share my madness on the subject today after hearing my cubicle ninja ladies talking about how the latest thing in the funeral industry is to have the carbon in your body turned into a diamond. It's a thing. Human bodies have a high carbon content. So that song my dad used to sing all the time about "I'm just an old chunk of coal, but I'm going to be a diamond some day" could really happen...with the right planning and approximately $3K.

Believe it or not, after hearing about the awesomeness of the death-to-diamonds thing, my plans haven't changed. The things that I've had in mind for years are still the things I want to happen (or in some cases not happen). Every time I get into a "if I die before you and Dad rant" to my Mom, my list of demands gets a little longer. Finally, the list got so long that Mom told me to write them down for her, so here we are. I have determined the categories that I consider important and given each a DO and a DON'T.  


*****

In the case that I die in some kind of auto accident:

DON'T erect any kind of roadside memorial. Seriously. Those irritate me for reasons even I don't exactly understand. Just don't do it. Or I will haunt you forever.

DO make an effort to be a safer driver in your own life. Put away the phone. Buckle the seat belt. Slow the hell down.

Dealing with my remains:

DON'T have a viewing or put me in a coffin. Personally, I think viewings are creepy. And so is picking a fancy coffin. People are so freaked out by the idea of dying that even in our deaths we try to "win" by being embalmed and having a big, heavy expensive box that will slow down the decaying process. I'm no tree hugger by any means, but I believe our bodies should decay and go back into the Earth. Circle of life and all that hippie mumbo jumbo.

DO donate as many of my organs as possible. I've researched it a little, and sadly, I can't pass on my sense of humor, so my pancreas will have to do. After my organs have been harvested (which sounds wonderfully sci-fi), cremate what's left of my body and spread the ashes. It doesn't really even matter where the ashes get dispersed...it's not like I could complain even if it DID matter.

Sending a "death plant":

DON'T send a death plant. Those funeral arrangement bouquets/wreaths/whatchamacallits shrivel up and die and add to the sadness of death. The potted kind just remind the survivors of the fact their loved one is gone. Plus, I've never been very good with plants, so when it comes to MY death, sending a plant somehow seems inappropriate.

DO make a donation to a charitable organization in my memory. I'm pretty fond of Alpha Phi Omega National Service Fraternity, Xi Delta Chapter, but you can choose your own favorite. And if you don't have money to donate, go donate an hour or two of your time (something I should be doing more of).

Planning a memorial service:

DON'T plan a memorial service. I'd rather you had a party or a wake over a sappy memorial.

DO plan a memorial if it will make you feel better. Serve wine.

If you decide you need a memorial service to make you feel better (quotes):

DON'T have people recite a bunch of Bible verses to make me appear to have been more religious than I really was. We all know better. Plus, there are only, like, three verses I would recognize and you don't want me feeling stupid at my own memorial. *

DO celebrate my love of reading with quotes from my favorite books and/or authors. (Harry Potter series, Jane Austen, Molly Harper's stuff...) Bonus points if you quote my own blog. 

If you decide you need a memorial service to make you feel better (music):

DON'T play a bunch of religious music. See above. *

DO play some of my all-time favorites, even if you think they're cheesy. Living On a Prayer by Bon Jovi should play as people are being seated. And if it looks like everyone's about to start crying,  have the DJ sling some U Can't Touch This by MC Hammer. For the end when everyone starts to leave, I expect to hear Jessie's Girl by Rick Springfield. JESSIE'S GIRL IS NON-NEGOTIABLE.

I think that pretty much covers it. Now I have to go clean up my apartment because all this thinking about death has me thinking about someone going through all my stuff when I'm gone. And right now, my place is so messy that if I weren't already dead, I'd die of embarrassment.

Monday, February 9, 2015

Going to the gym is no laughing matter. Except to me. And maybe Christian Grey.

I have re-joined the gym. Again. 

Hate is a strong word, but it's safe to say that I hate working out. Every minute of it. Every millisecond of it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

But after I work out? I feel wonderful. I feel accomplished. I feel SUPERIOR to all the schmucks who aren't awesome enough to work out. (Apparently all those workout endorphins cloud my memory because after I work out I conveniently forget that I have worked out exactly TWICE in the last two years or so.)

Anyway, I have learned the only path to the Obnoxious Endorphin Power Ranger stage of post-workout bliss involves actually working out. Specifically, actually working out for at least 30 minutes. Any less than that and I just get to the "sweaty and cranky" stage. And to make myself do more than 30 minutes at a time, I pretty much have to distract myself. So I close my eyes and think of England. Wait, no. (Sorry, I have been reading alot of Brit Lit lately....) So I take my tablet and headphones with me to the gym and watch a TV show on Hulu or listen to an audiobook. Today I went the audiobook route. Audible had some book recommendations for me, but I went rogue and searched through the Romance genre, picking a title I'd never heard of before.

When I listen to an audiobook, I prefer to close my eyes and really get a good mental picture of the story being told. (Unless I'm listening to an audiobook while I'm driving. Then I just close my eyes to freak out my passengers.) Listening at the gym is no different. I get on the treadmill, start the audiobook, close my eyes and start walking. 

Today, I picked a chick lit book and got going, and I was not doing it half way. I had my headphones on,  eyes closed and was working up a pretty good boob sweat. (You ladies out there know what I'm talking about.)  And the book was turning out to be pretty funny. Not Molly Harper (my favorite chick lit author) funny, but definitely good for some hearty chuckles. 

I was really enjoying myself. (As much as one who hates to work out can enjoy herself in the gym, anyway.) And was really patting myself on the back for making such a great choice, particularly when a chapter ended right as I was starting to get tired. It was like the book was made to go with my workout. So before the next chapter started, I stopped the treadmill, opened my eyes, grabbed the towel to wipe off the face sweat and glanced to the right to make sure I wasn't about to run into to someone as I stepped off the treadmill. What I saw was a dude grinning at me from ear to ear. A dude who said "I gotta know what you've been listening to. You were really laughing." So yeah. I had had an audience. An audience that I hadn't noticed because my eyes were closed. Great. 

Now normally, as an only child, having an audience is a good thing. But when it's unintentional and I'm ugly sweating? Not so much. And having a dude talk to me? Sounds good, except that when I told him about the book, he said he'd have to recommend it TO HIS MOM. Young people are so rude these days.

Anyway, I have plans after work tomorrow, so my legs and my ego get an evening off from the gym. I'm not sure that when I go back on Wednesday I'll keep listening to the same story or not, but if I do, I'm secure in the thought that at least I'll just be laughing to myself. It could have been so much worse. How could it possibly be worse, you ask? Well, because the first audiobook in the list of Audible's recommendations for me was 50 Shades of Grey.

OH. HELL. NO.