Sunday, July 28, 2013

The Eggs Are Expired But I Have No More Hair Clips Left

I was walking to the Path train the other day and when I was almost to the track, these two guys passed me and one of them said "You missed the train but you're pretty."

I said, "No it's not."

My nonsensical and somewhat panicked response is not the point.  This is my post so I can make the point about something other than inability to think of quick comebacks that, when combined with a strategically placed hair flip, would make my opponents fall to their knees in deference to such wit and coolish-ness (instead I say things like "No it's not.")

The point is that this guy presented me with a new way of thinking.  In my day to day life before this exchange my logic went something like "The peanut butter jar is empty but I can use Nutella"and "My light bulb is out but I can think really hard about maybe getting a new one" and "I can't find a clean shirt but I have nowhere to go today so I can look for one when the chance of a human interaction eventually presents itself to me."

But this random stranger has given me an amazing gift.  He has presented me with a specific kind of freedom that only a man making unwanted contact with you in an underground station can make.  That is the freedom from correlation.

Now my days are like "The car smells kind of weird but I have tiny pockets today" and "I cut my leg shaving but five pennies are better than no pennies" and "I missed the train but I think Ben Franklin had a lot of sex."

So thank you, Path train guy.  You graciously provided me an opportunity to change up my world, my language and my logic, even though you probably just wanted to show your Path train friend how straight you are.

Thursday, July 11, 2013

There's No Crying in Baseball But I Don't Play Baseball So...

No! No, no no. Please, do not unwrap that Snickers bar in front of me.  Because you're using your hands to do that and it reminds me that some people don't have hands also Snickers has sugar in it and it reminds me that some people have diabetes and can't enjoy that Snickers also Snickers has a wrapper on it and it reminds me that some people have to wrap Snickers bars for a living. So, quite understandably, if you unwrap that Snickers bar in front of me, I will start to cry faster than I would eat that Snickers bar.

In short, I am quickly turning into a basket case.  A case with 5 baskets in it.  A Titanic size case full of ribbon-less baskets. (Hm. A lot of people died in the Titanic sinking. Sorry, I need to go cry in front of my confused dog and a bunch of unopened pistachio nuts that I accidentally bought [I thought they were salted])

I am back.  

The Snickers bar anecdote was a bit of an exaggeration. (Cause I wouldn't even need to think about the diabetes thing. I'd start crying at the no hands thing) But it's probably the best way I can describe my current state for the past month.  And I think it's the best way to attract others who are maybe feeling similarly.

It's not that it's just inconvenient to reenact that scene from Sleepless in Seattle where that lady describes the plot from An Affair to Remember every time I come across something that could be construed as maybe sad.
It's that my crying is so ridiculously excessive that I want to laugh at it, but I can't because that fly has a really short life span, guys. HE ONLY GETS TO ENJOY THE WORLD FOR SO LONG AND IT IS KIND OF DEVASTATING. 

Basically, every time I start to cry at something that anyone else in the world can acknowledge, feel a little sad but then understandably move on from, I am torn between the sadness that is causing the crying and HUGE frustration at the comedy that I am missing.  To explain it better, I want to watch myself cry at the duck who looks like he has no friends. The duck who just looks like he has no friends.

But I cannot. And that's probably the worst part of all this emotion that's been renting my body for the past month. (Emotion throws a lot of P.S. I Love You themed parties.  On Tuesdays they host a "That Part When Heath Ledger Cries At The End of Brokeback Mountain" keg race.)  

So I need...something. I need a video camera attached to my forehead but turned towards me? I need to pay people to photograph me when I am at my most emotionally vulnerable?  (coming to CBS this fall)  I need to sit in my room quietly to avoid stimuli?  I need to find some fuckin' perspective?  Is this a problem of perspective?  Because it seems more like a problem of emotional instability.  Hm...problem of perspective makes me sound more approachable.  Let's go with problem of perspective. 

No...maybe, maybe! maybe I don't need to do anything because it's the world's fault for being so sad. You know?  Why blame my mere mortal self when I can blame the very planet that my existence depends upon? Eh. Too broad. I can blame society.  That's very "in" and I blame it for everything else.  Why not add "crying too much for reasons that range from the idea of death to watching a squirrel digging for an acorn"  to the list.  It can go right under "I can't be shirtless anywhere that isn't my room or a provocative music video but no one would ever ask me to be in a provocative music video."

But I guess it's not really society's fault because no one has ever told me that as a woman/person/gleelisternersometimes that I need to cry at everything that happens.  So there's no real logic there. (Because if you've read any of my other blogs, logic is very, VERY important to me.)  

Or maybe it's okay for me to be feeling like this.  Maybe it's just a phase or we all exist on different parts of the emotional spectrum.  Maybe it will lead me to discover more about myself.

Or maybe... it's....Obama's...fault...?

No. No...Gaaah. This is too hard to figure out. Let's just go back to no one unwrapping a Snickers bar in front of me. 

Milky Ways are fine.