Wednesday, April 19, 2017

So, Oops I Did It Again, Again? Discovering World's Most Trivial Problems is Becoming A Thing, by Allison

A new World's Most Trivial Problem! 

I have become an expert in this field , 
which I guess is another new World's Most Trivial Problem. 

I wish I had a slightly less specific skill set , 
but anyway .

So, it's not actually tragic to leave one's Fitbit

 ( Which?  Isn't even cute.
I hate informative jewelry.
It isn't  even jewelry anyway ) 
at home when one is at the gym .

Unless you are me. 

Then it becomes existential tree falling unheard in the "but I did two really hard gym classes and have no proof of it!" forest . 

And I take photos , 
to I guess show my Fitbit later ?

And then am alarmed by myself .

Not that alarmed , but still. 

Being taunted by my youngest daughter
  ( who wore her Fitbit all day and it was gym and orchestra day,
 so she was impressing her Fitbit )
 happily : "how many steps did you get really? I beat you by lunchtime!"

And by my oldest, with deadpan sarcasm : " mom, if you didn't wear your Fitbit , 
how do we even know you went to the gym? 
We can't really know."

Only underscored the height ( depth ) of my nonsensical nonsense.

And this is waayyy too short to be a proper post . 

Am thinking I might need to get an intern . 

Monday, May 2, 2016

The War Of The Roses, But Worse. My Fit Bit and my Kindle Hate Each Other, It's Exhausting. Anthropomorphization, by Allison

So, I totally need an intern.

Not only because I never have any time to write down the myriad Very Important And Random Tangents And Opinions that are on a shuffle mix in my head.

I also need some help mediating the York versus Lancaster,
Montague versus Capulet level rivalry between my required electronic thingys.

I have decided -
as I anthropomorphize and assign feelings to inanimate objects?
(Note: It's a lifelong habit, whether it wants to be or not.)

My Fit Bit is totally jealous of my Kindle.

And my Kindle hates my Fit Bit.

It's understandable.
In my daily life, their roles are kind of diametrically opposed.

And it wouldn't be a Sophie's Choice level Sophie's Choice,
if forced to pick one over the other.

Please, take the ugly plastic bracelet that tells the time!
I don't want to know the time,
and I have other people telling me what time it is and how late I am,

Please take the the thing that totally shows I am not currently in an exercise class or wholesomely participating in an outdoor sport,
because I am busy reading on my Kindle.

Otherwise known as, my magic, endless stream of books.
The one I love the most.
(Addendum: As long as it doesn't break.)

My Fit Bit is like a mosquito,
or a demon's curse,
holding a clipboard.
It's like a cruise ship director for Boot Camp Cruise.
Nobody takes Boot Camp Cruise,
for this very reason:

Get Up, Lazy!!!!
I don't want to have to harass you with buzzes and beeps and nagging texts,
reminding you to go to spin class.
Your Kindle will be right there where you left it,
you can have it back when you finish your 10,000 steps.

Your Kindle is not going anywhere,
it's even lazier than you are!
Though in fairness,
your Kindle does not have legs,
and it cannot run off and hide from you,
even if you think that happens five times a day.

It's too lazy to play hide and seek!

That's actually me,
 your Fit Bit, orchestrating the Kindle disappearances.

How else am I going to get you to put down the Kindle and go to the gym?

And my Kindle is all,
She likes me better.

And my Fit Bit is all,
Oh, really?
Because I am a hideous,
plastic, electronic thing that TELLS THE TIME-
and worse!
I am totally not a bracelet,
or jewelry at all.
And I get taken more places than you do, Kindle.
Your clock doesn't even work,
you think we are in Newfoundland.

And my Kindle is all,
She finds that charming!
And you're just lucky,
Fit Bit, that she has a tortoise shell bracelet that covers you.
Otherwise, you would so be living in the Appliance Hell Of Pluggy In Things Allison Banished Because Don't Give Her  Appliances As Gifts!

I rest my case.

Clearly, I need an intern.

How am I supposed to do ballet carpool when I can't get my Fit Bit and my Kindle to peacefully co-exist??

They are both totally mad at my phone right now,
It takes pictures,
and they are jealous.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Want To Get Out Of Carving Pumpkins And Cleaning Up? I Can Help! Whatever You Have In Your House, Plus Pumpkin Seeds, A Non-Recipe, by Allison

So, get this?
I am still in a state of autumnal bliss or something.

Lack of oppressive heat, leaves turning all pretty?

My reverse seasonal affective disorder has kicked in.
I am like, getting things done and stuff.

Things such as:
Acquiring and displaying pumpkins festively,
Using my wily tricks to get out of carving said pumpkins,
via pumpkin seed roasting job.

This is a job I assign myself,
so that I don't have to carve pumpkins.

(Shh! Secret! Don't tell anyone,
 but I am quite skilled at assigning myself jobs that I invent,
 so that I can avoid stuff I cannot,
 or really do not  want to do.)

I am terrible at carving pumpkins.
It's a known fact I cannot craft,
at all.

I can't draw a straight line, or cut with scissors effectively.
I totally use the fact that I am left-handed as an excuse,
and maybe I am right.

I mean, I am totally right.

So pumpkin-carving is completely outside of my skill set.

Growing up?
At some point I gave up even trying,
and drew an attempted glamorous face on my designated pumpkin with a Sharpie.

(By the way, I was not just inept.
I was like,
ahead of the curve on pumpkin art,
because I think drawing on pumpkins with Sharpies is a thing now.)

It wasn't pretty.
But whatever.
I was not going to magically develop pumpkin carving skills,
and if I could choose skills to magically develop,
that would not be my first,
or tenth, or one millionth choice anyway.

So I kind of assigned myself pumpkin seed roasting job instead.
Because it is autumn!
I am way nicer, and more willing to cook and stuff.

I have escaped pumpkin carving for years,
with this clever diversion.

Or, nobody wants to see my sad, badly carved pumpkin.
Or listen to me complain about how much I do not want to be carving pumpkins.

But I do make up for my pumpkin carving ineptitude,
by making very excellent roasted pumpkin seeds.

I have confirmation on their excellence from totally unbiased sources,
such as Matt and my daughters.
Matt might be kind to spare my feelings,
but the girls totally would not.

And so?
Since I am all autumnal bliss and all?

I am sharing my mostly whatever is in my house at the time,
non-recipe for roasted pumpkin seeds.

In case you want to get out of gourd gutting,
or be an overachiever,
and both carve and cook?

Plus, look how festive they are!

Displaying FullSizeRender.jpg

Whatever You Have In Your House, Plus Pumpkin Seeds, Non-Recipe, by Allison:

1. Get pumpkins.

You can be very photo-op wholesome and go on a hayride and pick out pumpkins,
if that is your thing.

Or, you can have horrible morning with squabbling children,
and then decide to buy pumpkins you see on your way to the gym after school drop-off,
in the vague hope that aforementioned squabbling children will be chastened by festive pumpkins when they get home from school,
and behave like civilized, non-squabblers.

Guilt pumpkins?

That's how I rolled this year.
But this is a non-recipe. Get your pumpkins however you want.

2. Get other people to carve pumpkins.

This is helpful if you are terrible at carving pumpkins,
or just don't want to.
It seems like most people -
(for example, everyone in my house but me)
actually like carving pumpkins, so you should be able to find somebody.

3. Get those people to scoop out the pumpkin guts.
They should do that, they are carving them, it's part of the job.

4. Get them to also separate the seeds from the rest of the gourd goop.
Bribe them with delicious roasted pumpkin seeds for their labor,
or whatever works.
This is a non-recipe, and I haven't even gotten to the part with ingredients yet.

5. Run into your house with the de-gooped pumpkin seeds,
 so you don't have to clean up the rest of the pumpkin carving stuff,
because that is gross,
 and to be avoided if you time it right.

6. Get a cookie sheet or baking tray or something, and mist it with olive oil,
or somehow make it nonsticky with spray stuff or whatnot.
This is a non-recipe, I do not judge.

7. Go look in your spice drawer.
If you don't have a spice drawer,
go look on the shelf where you keep random spices.

8. Sprinkle whatever you have onto the pumpkin seeds.
Seriously, this is a non-recipe.
And I use different stuff each year,
because I never remember what I used the previous year,
 and who knows what is in my spice drawer at any given time?

Not me, that's for sure.
This year, it was nutmeg, garlic powder, dark chili powder, sea salt.

I added cayenne pepper to the ones I ate,
because I was in the mood and also happened to have cayenne pepper in my spice drawer.

9. Put the tray of seasoned with whatever seeds in your oven.
Set your oven at 425, or something like that.
I can never remember what temperature for what,
so mostly things I cook are at 425.
If you know a better way, do that.

10. Cook them until they are done.
Before they burn, but make sure they are crunchy.
You can tell by poking at them.
(That pretty much works for anything, honestly.)

11. Put more stuff on them if you want.
Or not.
This is a non-recipe, you do whatever you like.

12. Take photos of your delightfully roasted seeds,
feed them to the people that have carved and cleaned up the pumpkins,
and yourself, of course.

Remember to feel smug and pleased with yourself.
They taste better that way.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Cotton Candy Should Not Exist, It Is Neither Cotton Nor Candy, And Probably Made Out Of Clowns Or Unicorn Fur: A Diatribe, by Allison

So,  I am in a state of autumnal bliss.

1.It's not hot outside.
Like, at all.

2. Therefore, I am probably,
at least sometimes,
way nicer than when I am in chronic "It's too sunny,
I don't like popsicles or outdoor sports" mood,
otherwise known as May Through Whenever It Ends,
 Please Don't Ruin Back To School Outfits,
I Am Tired Of Summer mood.

3. I get to initiate the ceremonial Changing Of  The Closets!
My favorite closet-related ceremony ever!

4. And last but not least?
No more Cotton Candy grapes!

I wish I didn't know Cotton Candy grapes were a thing.
Because they totally should not be a thing.

I would not have even known they were a thing,
except last year I accidentally bought some at the grocery.

The girls were all "Yay!
You bought the Cotton Candy grapes!"
And I was all, "What are you talking about?"
Because, honestly.
 I bought green grapes because there was a display,
and I was buying produce,
because I am saintly, fruits and vegetables procuring mother,
give me a gold star.

I didn't know I had to scrutinize the fruits and vegetables for corrupted,
Willy Wonka infected flavors.

The girls were all, "Didn't you notice the big pink label saying Cotton Candy?"
And I was all, "Obviously not!
What did they do to those poor grapes?
You know my stance on Cotton Candy,
do you think I would ever,
ever on purpose buy anything with Cotton Candy in the name?"

The girls are like, "Please give us the grapes,
 please do not start talking about Cotton Candy being sugary fur."

And I was like, "Have you met me?'

Because Cotton Candy is just one of my mortal enemies.
And I have my reasons.

What reasons, you may ask?
(You know you want to know my reasons.
They are totally real, valid, and true.)

And I may answer, "Short version or long version?
(Trick question! There is no short version, ever.)

Cotton Candy Should Not Exist, It Is Neither Cotton Nor Candy,
And Probably Made Out Of Clowns Or Unicorns: A Diatribe, by Allison

So, it is a known fact that circuses are bad and wrong,
there are sad elephants,
and bad outfits,
and clowns,
and bad people roaming around,
 trying to make you buy Cotton Candy.

Encased in plastic,
where it has lingered,
for at least ten years.
Most likely in some weird circus person's mom's basement.

There is nothing good that can come of that.

But it's a high pressure sale,
this fuzzy, pastel stuff on a cone.
Good luck avoiding the giant,
Dickensian orphan eyes of a child wanting Cotton Candy from the bad circus man.
This description applies to fairs, carnivals,
and other places featured in the opening scenes of horror movies.)

So, for two seconds,
there is a happy, totally non-Dickensian orphan child,
holding a cone of furry mystery.

If you are lucky,
and I am not there,
you might avoid an immediate,
pastel color commentary litany against the wretched mess.

For the unlucky?

"That is not Cotton.
That is not Candy.
You can't chew it.
It dissolves, inadequately.
It will ruin your outfit, your hair,
and anything within arm's reach.
It smells like tacky fake perfume.
And I am pretty sure it's made of either a clown's wig,
or unicorn fur."

I have always felt this way.

As a kid, I was thinking,
"This isn't candy.
I am kind of afraid it is unicorn fur. 
Should I say that out loud, or will that be weird?
Maybe it's not unicorn fur.
Maybe it's a clown wig.
Either way, I am not eating it.
You can't eat it anyway.
I am not dissolving it,
and have it ruin my specially chosen to avoid attention from clowns outfit."

I don't look good in pastels anyway.

I have only acquired more reasons to loathe,
and less of a taste for Cotton Candy, as time goes by.

Time goes by really slowly, FYI, when Cotton Candy is involved.

Whether you are trying to not have to buy it at creepy carnivals or sad circuses?

Or trying to find some way to unstick your belongings,
 after your child has abandoned the wig-fur cone,
 two seconds after begging and pleading for one from the bad circus hawker?

Or getting stuck running the Cotton Candy machine,
 at your kids' preschool Spring Carnival?
That is one of my Worst Volunteering Jobs Ever.
And that is saying a lot.
I wreck stuff all the time.

That Cotton Candy machine debacle is memorable.
First of all, I hate Cotton Candy.
I can't remember how I got stuck being in charge of that terrible carnival machine.
I am sure I did not sign up for it.
I actively avoid signing up for carnival machine volunteering,
it is one of my lifelong what-not-to-do's.

Second, have you ever tried to work one of those things?
There aren't like, instructions.
There are stacks of paper cones,
large cartons of pastel sticky crystals,
and large lines of children waiting for the magic to happen.

(Spoiler!!!! Not much magic was happening.)

I kind of figured it out, I had no choice.
Those kids were not messing around,
I had to produce something Cotton Candy-ish,
and there weren't any clown wigs nearby.

In fact, for maybe one minute,
I was Best Cotton Candy Carnival Machine Unwilling Volunteer Ever.

The sticky stuff swirls around,
and you have to really lean in to make the Totally Not Cotton Or Candy adhere to the cone.

The first few kids got what could be considered Cotton Candy on a cone.
After that, it's a blur.
Mostly because I was covered in blue sticky crystals,
even my eyelashes.
They stuck together.
I couldn't see, and again,
I did not sign up for this.

By the end,
I was kind of handing out globs of blue fuzz,
and actively telling myself not to refer to it as Cookie Monster's fur.

So, clearly,
I would never on purpose buy grapes infected with weird Cotton Candy flavoring.

It is bogus that I have to now check the produce section,
so I don't accidentally buy something horrifying,
resulting in PTSD carnival flashbacks.

Which is yet another reason I am in autumnal bliss.
Cotton Candy grapes only exist in the hazy, sticky, end-of-days late Summer.

Like expired sunscreen, I am throwing it out and moving on.

Red grapes match my fall outfits better, anyway.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Pop Quiz, Hotshot! What Bizarre Thing Impaled My Shoe, And How Did I Not Notice It? , by Allison

So, as I was (reluctantly) tying my gym shoes on this morning,
I think I am hallucinating?

Or still asleep,
and somebody else got the kids to swim team and dance?

Or someone is trying to kill me,
in some sort of ironic noir scenario,
by skewering my gym shoes with an impaling instrument of some sort?

Note: That would be very clever strategy.
I hate wearing gym shoes,
and try to avoid looking at my feet when I am wearing them.

 So if someone is diabolical,
 and knows my weird thing about not liking gym shoes?

 That would be a good place to catch me off guard,
since I am not really looking at my stupid shoes,
 and cause a ridiculous injury or death,
via gym shoes.

Would never be investigated by the police,
because it is completely plausible,
to believe my gym shoes killed me.
I mean, it could happen.
I was almost done in by a fizzy vitamin at the airport once.


So I guess most pop quizzes don't have that much of a lead-up?
But how could you take the quiz if you didn't know the story, right?

For those of you still reading?

Pop Quiz, Hotshot!
What Bizarre Thing Impaled My Shoe,  And How Did I Not Notice It? , by Allison

So like I was saying way up there,
as I was tying my gym shoes this morning -

With my feet already in them.
I put them on without being skewered,
or even seeing there was a weapon stuck through my shoe.

Embarrassing, yes.
But weird enough that I am compelled to take photos,
and write a quiz-ish thing about it!

Because, honestly.

What is this????

It totally was not there yesterday, I swear.

I saw this sharp, pointy thing,
 when I was tying my shoe,
so I almost had an eyeball kabob situation going on as well.

Is it:

1. A splinter?
Can shoes get splinters?

2. Did my inherently evil gym shoes grow devil horns?

3. Maybe a humongous nail or whatever,
that was holding something important together,
and I don't know exactly what,
but am guessing I will find out,
when something falls apart,
 any minute?

4. Medieval torture device?
Possibly a souvenir,
from the Tower of London,
 that I forgot?
I am pretty sure we avoided those at the gift shop,
but I could be wrong.

5. Do I even want to know? 

6. None of the above?

If you chose answer 6, you get an A plus and a gold star!

I mean, I don't know if shoes can get splinters,
but it wasn't a splinter.

I would totally believe my gym shoes could grow devil horns,
but they didn't today. Yet.

It's not used to hold together anything currently in my house,
that thing got dropped off at dance,
30 minutes before impaling implement discovery.

But if you asked that thing,
which would be Thing Two,
my daughter, E?

She would probably pick medieval torture device.
Didn't come from Tower of London, though.

It came from the dance store.
It is one of those giant,
metal skull-scraping hairpins -
that she has to use to keep her bun in proper ballet bun order,
every day at dance.

So maybe partial credit if you guessed medieval torture device.

And, really, I didn't want to know what it was when I saw it looming at me,
so I guess if you chose answer 5 you are right, too.
Bronze medal, maybe?

Note: This is not for an actual grade.
Unless you want it to be!
I could totally give quizzes and essay tests,
I do that to my girls all the time!

And great grades would look fabulous on college or grad school applications!
almost as fabulous as internships!

I still don't know how the hairpin managed to impale my shoe.
I have mysteries to solve!
Which is Reason 1593428203292 Why I Really, Really Want An Intern.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Breaking News, It Is Hot Out!, or Yet Another Reason I Was Terrible Intern, by Allison

So I am headed to the girls' swim meet in a minute, and Breaking News!
It is the hottest day of the year, ever.

This is exactly the weather forecast from last Tuesday, swim meet, hottest day of the year, ever.

I am sensing a trend.

Like gauchos, or clogs, I do not like this trend.

But I am familiar with the stupid It Is Hot Outside Trend.

Behold! A story of maybe last summer?
I don't know.
It was hot.
I try to block it out.

Breaking News, It Is Hot Out!, or Yet Another Reason I Was Terrible Intern, by Allison:

So as I am doing my regular thing, care packages for camping children,
tea acquiring, gym, and such,
many conversations with various people all over the place go something like this:

Every Person:  "It's hot outside."

Me: "Sure is, it is very hot out."

Repeat one trillion times.

I am pretty sure the underlying message in all of these conversatons is actually
 "It is horrible that it is so hot outside,
it has caused my brain to melt,
so now all I can do is talk about how hot it is, to every person I see."

I may be putting my own spin on it,
because I hate the hot.

Super hate if it is hot AND sunny,
that is misery to me.

It means that I will be gross all day,
 and lifelong social conditioning and mean commercials make me feel like I am sluglike creature if I do not put on visor and go play tennis,
 and I also HATE tennis
(Balls come at you! Fast!
Also I look foolish in tennis clothes)
or put sprinklers on and give the kids popsicles,
while whimsically frolicking outside.
(It may not need to be said,
but I do not do whimsy or frolicking.)

No, thank you.

May I order some rain and fog and mist and trees?
 And more rain and also maybe a moor?
And include Mr. Darcy and Heathcliff,
 and possible sparkly vampires who like forest areas instead?

I choose that.

Trip to Ireland in which all of those above conditions were happening convinced me that is my ideal climate -- I was in heaven and TOTALLY have the wardrobe for it.

All of the conditions listed above were there except no awesome dudes from books, that would have been extra great and also would mean I would be even more deranged about the sun and the hot)

(Proof: Picture of Me in Ireland, very happy with the non-heat and non-sun.)

But I can't say that whole thing whenever anyone says "It's hot outside."

I will drive away even more people than usual,
 with my very long opinion on whatever it is that they innocuously bring up,
not realizing who they were dealing with,
 and they better pull up a chair.

Also, the "It's hot" conversations remind me of one of the very ridiculous things I did when I was an intern at a local TV station one summer during college.

I've already shared in previous post that I was Terrible Intern,
as evidenced by my wicked glee in mailing a recipe that was gross
(Note: But not poisonous! Am not evil)
that I made up out of random things and called Corn Fancy,
I would mail this to people who wrote in to the syndicated chef we aired asking for recipes and sometimes I would send that recipe out if the recipe-requester was a lunatic
(Note: There were a lot of lunatics, and I don't mean the fun ones, I mean the tape your cat's hair to the letter type),
I detailed that crime in another post a while ago (, this is different awful thing.

As intern, I did a whole bunch of stuff at the station,
which was actually very cool unless it involved something lame I did not want to do,
that part was NOT cool.

But still.

Sometimes if there was time to fill on the show that day,
I would get assigned a very ludicrous nonsense story,
 and go off with totally sad cameraman to tape it.
(Note: Because I was unpaid intern,
I was not allowed to be on camera,
only my voice and hand holding microphone would be seen,
which now that I think of it, that could have been total lie and they just did not want me on camera,
in which case I am glad they lied,
 because that would have been very disheartening to hear)

(Also note: Was excellent for me anyway that I was not on camera,
 because now there is no proof of any of the ridiculousness I got myself up to,
 unless I willingly write about it)

This station had plenty of actual news to cover,
we were not in small tiny town where not a thing is going on,
and you have to make up nonsense stories.


Here's the part where I go off on a tangent,
but it is relevant and also awesome,
so bear with me.

Speaking of nonsense news stories,
the town in which we have lived for over a decade is also not tiny no-stoplight town,
things go on here,
plus also there is national and international news as well.

But the day we moved here,
 the newspaper front cover,
above the fold front page story was:
"Buzz The Cat Survives Arrow Attack."

 Is insane and also awesome,
but slightly troubling because we now live in a town where not only is this front page news -

But it means people shoot arrows at cats here?
Which seems kind of Daniel Boone-ish or Serial Killer In Training.
Neither are appealing to me.

Also Matt saw that headline and was all,
 "Um, Allison, told you we should have moved up North."

So I get all,
"You don't know that, there are probably tons of people shooting cats with arrows in Baltimore or wherever further up you tried to drag me. 
It is just not in the paper in those places because people are also shooting other people,
with or without arrows,
and that is more important than the cat attacks,
which I am sure are happening there too."

And he is all, "Ug."

But we already live here so point is moot,
other than the point I was originally making which was:

 Buzz Arrow Attack is a very non-news story,
 that does not need to be in the newspaper,
except for entertainment purposes,
 to horrify newcomers into thinking they have moved into Deliverance 2: Now We Are After The Animals! Town.

Totally worked, evil geniuses behind Buzz The Cat Survives Arrow Attack.

Well played.


I am back to my Terrible Intern story now,
if you can harken back to the time in which you were reading about that,
 and not freaking out about what is going on in my town.

So I would get assigned these silly non-stories to fill time,
 and it usually meant very bored and sad cameraman and I would go out and do some story,
which was always a variation of:

Please Fill Three Minutes Of Time, We Don't Care What It Is About.

This particular assignment came to mind today when having many conversations with people that boiled down to, "It's hot out."

(Remember when I was talking about that a long time ago before I went off-topic several times?
That was fun.)

So the non-news segment bitter and sad cameraman and I were tasked with was, "It's hot outside."

Seriously, that was the assignment:
It is hot out,
do something on that for three minutes.

So I am already grumpy because it is hot and I have established that makes me automatically total grump,
but also now this is ridiculous assignment and cameraman is all,
"Yeah, you figure it out and tell me where to drive."
(Note: cameraman always had to drive me to nonsense stories,
for some legal or otherwise very smart reason they did not let me drive giant news truck,
I giggle thinking about all the havoc I could have wreaked as Terrible Intern if I had gotten ahold of a news truck)

So my idea for non-news story is not,
children in sprinklers, something something cheerful,
because remember I am grumpy and hate hot.

My idea was,
what is the worst job you could possibly have when it is hot outside?

Because if I have to do a story on "It's hot out,"
it is going to be "It's HOT out, and hot SUCKS,
and here's how it totally sucks."

So I decide?
(Note:  that was the fun part about these non-stories,
 and really much of what I got up to as Terrible Intern,
I was left to my own devices,
which is clearly NOT a good call on their part)

The worst job in the HOT is the dudes who are laying tar
(Query? Is that what it is called still?
I think that may be colloquialism,
there may be actual term like "putting down asphalt on a road with big truck rolly thing" or such,
no idea,
I was told at young age the thing they were doing was "laying tar,"
so that is what I call it,
let me know if I am totally off)
in big rolly thing truck wearing hat and full tar-layer man outfit.

Not sure why I decided that was worst job,
except for the fact that it seems like a very un-fun thing to do when it is boiling hot out,
so that was that.

Cameraman is super sad as he drives me around,
while we look for someone doing this bad job in the HOT,
because I do not know if there is anyone actually doing that job right now.

Cameraman is about to kill me,
 but finally we find giant rolly thing and tar appliers in big yellow suits.

And then I have to convince them that I am not crazy person
(Note: Am crazy person,
but in this instance in this task,
was not being crazy, or maybe was,
but was allowed to be doing the crazy anyway)
and we really did want to interview them about how much their job sucked because it was hot out.

 But guess what?

I am GENIUS Terrible Intern!!

They TOTALLY thought their job sucked because it was hot,
and had lots of different reasons why,
and I got my non-news story!

And I have no idea what the News Director thought,
because I did not want to know.

It did get aired, though.

And one of the tar-layers asked me for my autograph,
which was hysterical,
and the cameraman laughed so hard camera shook, but still.

Am famous now.

So Lessons For Today:

1. Do not hire me as intern, I am Terrible Intern.

2. Do not engage me in "It's hot" conversation because I will either be super grumpy because it is hot,
 or force you to listen to the above story,
thus causing all the groceries in your car to spoil and you to question my sanity.

3. Do not get tar-applier job in the summer.

4. Do not shoot cats with arrows,
or anything with arrows, unless you are learning archery for next Hunger Games movie or in Olympics,
and if you are doing that,
shoot at the target thing with the bulls-eye,
not cats.

Buzz has been through enough already.

5. And I have to pack up for swim now, so it goes without saying, I could really, really use an intern.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

No Rest For The Wicked, No Respite For The Weary. Please Send Intern And Sunblock, by Allison

So, Summer is upon us.
I know this,
for sure.

Even without the stupid sun and hot weather torturing me?
Melting my brain and lip balm?

I know it's Summer.


1. There are no more end of year recitals,
dance productions,
concerts, graduations,
and other things I may have totally missed?

Because that aforementioned list of things?
Signifies the end of the school year.

2. Also?
Before that aforementioned list of things,
signifying end of school year?

There were rehearsals.

Lots of rehearsals.
For all of the aforementioned list of things.
Some (most) involving costumes.

And now?
All of those things are done.
(Or are they???
I don't know.
My brain is melting from the heat, already.)

3. But the brief respite from these events?

There is no actual respite,
brief or not.

These things overlap,
 like Venn  Diagram Of There Is No Way I Can Do All Of This.
I make the executive decision -
Since I cannot clone myself?
Or alter the space/time continuum?

Though that could be helpful around this time of year?

There must be a respite.

Or there will be blood -
or other ominous movie title type thing,
indicating mayhem and madness.

Respite, please?

4. No such luck.


Or blink away tears of despair?
And you miss it.


Totally immediately interrupted.


Meet your mortal enemy:
Swim Team.

Which started practice two weeks ago,
back up there,
 in the blur of End of the Year stuff we were doing.



Ruined by the following delightful sisterly exchanges,
scented with chlorine and sunblock:

-"Where are my goggles?"

-"You stole my goggles"

-"Those are my goggles!"

-"Where is my bathing suit?
Not that one, the other one!"

-"You stole my bathing suit!"

-"Where are all the towels???"

-"MOOOOM, all the towels are dirty!"

5. And my responses:

-"You have got to be kidding me.
We own 100000 pairs of goggles.

You all have 3000 bathing suits.

And the towels are in the laundry pile,
because you all refuse to hang them up,
and they are now making all of your orchestra,
and dance costumes,
and end of year concert clothes all gross.

Because I haven't had time to wash the End Of School stuff.
Never mind the ten thousand dance things,
 stained with stage makeup.

And seriously?
Two zoo field trip bags, and field day?

Camp forms, already?

I have had NO RESPITE!

No respite at all.

And now I am thinking I am spelling respite incorrectly.
But I am too lazy
Worn out from the lack of any sort of respite)
to Google check myself.

And though I am having a No Respite Rant?

All of the above End of Year festivities were cool.

Not in any way possible to absorb, and flew past in a blur of Really?
Third thing today?????

But cool.

And swim team is great,
and fabulous team and cool sport.

So if I don't melt from the heat,
 or go deranged from Chronic Hunt For Goggles?

Yay, Go Blue Dolphins!

And if I do melt
/go deranged/

I can always divert myself by staging a flash mob at the swim banquet.


No telling what I will do,
when deprived of my well-earned respite.

For the sake of humanity,
or at least anyone having to deal with me?

If I can't get a respite?

I really, really could use an intern.