There was a box of animal-shaped cookies sitting on the counter. The front had a picture of a cartoon dog and the back of the box had silly word games. It was a disappointingly small box, but I figured some cookies were better than none and I popped one in my mouth. It was delicous! Thick texture and rich in vanilla flavoring. I threw some more in my mouth, grabbed the box, and headed for the stairs.
"What are you doing?" my mom asked.
"Eating," I replied through a mouthful of cookies.
She blinked at me and said, "Those are dog treats."
Sure enough, they were animal shaped, vanilla flavored dog treats. I blame the misleading packaging. Word puzzles on a dog treat box? What dog unscrambles letters while they snack away? But they were good cookies, I'll have you know. If my mom hadn't been watching I'd have finished the box and no one, not even me, would've been the wiser.
This isn't the first time I've misread a label and lived to regret it. One day I grabbed what I thought was a tube of Vagisil. Two minutes later I realized it was actually a tube of IcyHot. I'm sorry to say it took a while for me to put two and two together. My first thoughts were ones of panic, as I was deadly certain the California public bathrooms had given me an STD. I sat there, in pain, wondering how I was going to explain an STD to my family and imagining all sorts of other horrible things before I thought to check the label. I would've thought the minty-fresh smell would've tipped me off, but apparently not.
It reminds me of a story I was once told about my grandma. While using the bathroom after a particularily spicy Mexican meal, she spit on the toilet paper before using it for its specified purpose. I understand your pain, grandma.
I consider these geneticly acquired Lucy Moments, as we call them, a mark of hidden and untapped genius and I'm not alone in this belief. I've heard people read, for example, the warning label of cortisone cream stating that the contents are not to be ingested and they wonder what sort of GENIUS sticks cortisone in their mouth. I am that genius. Is it my fault that the cortisone container is the exact size, shape and color of my toothpaste?
I believe it was Einstien (possibly not) who said, "There is a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased that line." What he failed to mention was that he erased the line because he was tired of misreading the labels.
And erasing lines and labels opens up a whole world of ways to spice up your life, some, perhaps, more embarassing than others.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The computer camera is staring at me
Well, here I am updating my blog after heaven only knows how long since my last post. Interesting, this compulsion to update, despite the obvious lack of blogowers. As I'm not entirely sure when my last post was, and I certainly don't care enough to check, I can't update the void on the comings and goings of my jejune life. So why not begin where everyone else does? Somewhere in the middle.
I've reached 52 applications (in two different states) in my ongoing quest for gainful employment. It's a painful process, really, on so many levels. At times you wonder why you bother being a good employee to build an inspiring resume when it does squat to get you a job at the eternally-hiring Walmart. Michael said not too long ago that he has a new coworker who used to be a carnie. Maybe that's where I've gone wrong. I became a store manager supervising six employees. I should have dropped out of school and hit the road with the Bearded Lady and Elephant Man.
I'm back in Rexburg, as of Saturday. My comparison with The Burg and black holes is depressingly accurate. I can't seem to get out of this place! I'm dreadfully aware of the look people give me when I mention how much I dislike it here. It's a look similar to the one they wear when they're emptying the litter box. Why do heads shake and tongues tisk when I say "I hate Rexburg" but it's perfectly normal for the head waggers to say "I hate California?" or "I hate New York?" So what if Rexburg is 99.99999% Mormon? No where does it say I have to like it simply because of the religious convictions of a majority of the population and because my religious views match theirs. It doesn't fit me, never has, but I took the step back into the Twilight Zone with a great deal of faith....and because I pretty much had no other option.
I cannot tell you how difficult it is going to be for me here. Aside from the Pavlovian response to Rexburg in general and BYUI specifically, I'll be living with my mom. When you're used to being on your own, moving back in with parents is a bit like a kick in the crotch. Much as a person cares for their family, they don't want to be nit-picked all the time, especially after the year I've been having, and the relationship/friendship/whatever between my mom and her ex-husband is beyond the bounds of awkward for me. But when your mom has only one friend, you bite your tongue about awkwardness.
At any rate, I'm holding onto the memories of my friends in Bozeman with a bonafide death grip. It makes me sick to think I may never see some people again, to think that life will move on and whatever part I played in their lives and memories will disappear. I like change, I embrace it (most of the time), but the idea of being forgotten, or of forgetting, is difficult. As is moving forward into the darkness (as usual) without their constant support (not as usual). A great deal in my life has been sacrificed, or taken, these past 13 months, but the idea of Bozeman and the people there kept me holding on. I stuck it out for them, so now that I've been put in a situation without them I'm at a loss.
And so as I struggle to hold onto the scrap of faith I'm hoping I still have that things will work out and that the Lord led me here for a reason and that I'll have the blessings to balance out the pain, I'll, with any luck, keep updating this blog for the benefit of posterity and the security of the nation. To wrap it up, I'll leave you with a quote from Dale on King of the Hill: "That is the worst smelling feces I've ever smelled."
Wise words, my friends...
I've reached 52 applications (in two different states) in my ongoing quest for gainful employment. It's a painful process, really, on so many levels. At times you wonder why you bother being a good employee to build an inspiring resume when it does squat to get you a job at the eternally-hiring Walmart. Michael said not too long ago that he has a new coworker who used to be a carnie. Maybe that's where I've gone wrong. I became a store manager supervising six employees. I should have dropped out of school and hit the road with the Bearded Lady and Elephant Man.
I'm back in Rexburg, as of Saturday. My comparison with The Burg and black holes is depressingly accurate. I can't seem to get out of this place! I'm dreadfully aware of the look people give me when I mention how much I dislike it here. It's a look similar to the one they wear when they're emptying the litter box. Why do heads shake and tongues tisk when I say "I hate Rexburg" but it's perfectly normal for the head waggers to say "I hate California?" or "I hate New York?" So what if Rexburg is 99.99999% Mormon? No where does it say I have to like it simply because of the religious convictions of a majority of the population and because my religious views match theirs. It doesn't fit me, never has, but I took the step back into the Twilight Zone with a great deal of faith....and because I pretty much had no other option.
I cannot tell you how difficult it is going to be for me here. Aside from the Pavlovian response to Rexburg in general and BYUI specifically, I'll be living with my mom. When you're used to being on your own, moving back in with parents is a bit like a kick in the crotch. Much as a person cares for their family, they don't want to be nit-picked all the time, especially after the year I've been having, and the relationship/friendship/whatever between my mom and her ex-husband is beyond the bounds of awkward for me. But when your mom has only one friend, you bite your tongue about awkwardness.
At any rate, I'm holding onto the memories of my friends in Bozeman with a bonafide death grip. It makes me sick to think I may never see some people again, to think that life will move on and whatever part I played in their lives and memories will disappear. I like change, I embrace it (most of the time), but the idea of being forgotten, or of forgetting, is difficult. As is moving forward into the darkness (as usual) without their constant support (not as usual). A great deal in my life has been sacrificed, or taken, these past 13 months, but the idea of Bozeman and the people there kept me holding on. I stuck it out for them, so now that I've been put in a situation without them I'm at a loss.
And so as I struggle to hold onto the scrap of faith I'm hoping I still have that things will work out and that the Lord led me here for a reason and that I'll have the blessings to balance out the pain, I'll, with any luck, keep updating this blog for the benefit of posterity and the security of the nation. To wrap it up, I'll leave you with a quote from Dale on King of the Hill: "That is the worst smelling feces I've ever smelled."
Wise words, my friends...
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