How About an Extra Shot of Serotonin???

So I’m going to introduce something new today: quote of the week.  Let me just say, that I have awesome friends, awesomely RANDOM friends who say awesomely RANDOM things at any given time. I’ve decided to incorporate some of these wonderful quotes so the rest of you can enjoy them as much as I do. Without further adieu, the quote of this week goes to one Miss Monica Mercer: 

“I love it when you wake up and your voice sounds like you just gargled a big glass of sex…”

Now, the pleasantries are over and the ranting begins.  WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND STILL WRITES CHECKS???  I’m standing in line at Starbucks this morning and the lady in front of me is ordering her coffee (if you can still attempt to call that coffee).  Aside from her taking five minutes to order her “Venti ristretto, extra-hot, no-whip, half-sweet, sugar-free skinny peppermint white chocolate mocha,” the lady then begins to write a check for $4.72, then proceeds to BALANCE HER CHECKBOOK while still standing in line making the rest of us wait because her prehistoric payment methods involve math that her under-educated brain refuses to perform. Maybe if you didn’t put so much crap in your coffee, your brain would be able to function on the normal day to day level of a six week old gopher.  Do us all a favor and remove yourself from society by any means you see fit.  I suggest adding an extra shot of cyanide…

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Chestnuts Roasting on a Not-So-Well Contained Fire

Let’s talk about the ongoing trend of people failing to grow up shall we?  I’ve been noticing this for a while now.  I thought it was a high school thing.  Everybody knows high school is FULL of drama.  At every turn you never know what is waiting behind the corner just to smack you in the face and then laugh behind your back.  The good thing is, it’s only four years right?  Wrong.  It continues into college.  It even continues into your day to day job as a professional “whatever-you-do”.  It’s the drama that follows constant gossip, rude jokes, continuous flirting, and, in some cases, outright sexism.  Immaturity.  The inability to think about the consequences of what we do BEFORE we do it.  I’ve narrowed the culprit of this growing trend down to the fact that people of this generation have far less responsibility than earlier generations.  We don’t have to remember anything because we have electronic devices to remember for us, they even alert us when we’re about to miss an important date, meeting, birthday, etc.  We don’t have to visit (or going calling on) our family and friends because we can just pick up the phone, or sit down at the computer.  We don’t have the burden of marrying at age 16 and (unless you’re from 19 and Counting) supporting a family of 9 children just so we can have help on the farm.  It starts with a decline in discipline.  Children these days run WILD.  They have no curfews, no bedtimes, no limitations. No EXAMPLE. We’re so scared to physically discipline our children for fear that someone will report it as abuse that we let them run rampant through whatever public venue we happen to be visiting.  Most people these days are having children at such a young age they don’t even know how to train a dog, much less a child, so the responsibility that comes with actually “raising” a child falls backseat to just making sure the kid is eating and still breathing.  With this gradual decrease in responsibility, the age of maturity has definitely gone WAY up. 

Case in point:  My job entails quite a bit of contracted equipment, it requires a fair amount of working alongside contractors. One of these civilians I work with on a regular basis.  To protect the innocent, we’ll call him Ted.  Ted is a married, mid-forties man with two grown children.  Ted also gossips more than a teenage girl running for homecoming queen.  Ted likes to spread hate and discontent wherever he goes and since, at forty-something, with a full time job, the only place you really go is work, you can see what I’m getting at.  Ted has been reprimanded numerous times for sending sarcastic, unprofessional emails, making lewd, suggestive comments, or sheer disrespect for authority.  Ted’s attitude creates so much animosity between the people he works with, that I have had people completely skip talking to him and come straight to me instead, essentially doubling the amount of work that I have to do. 

So here starts the actual rant.  GROW UP!  You are forty plus years old and you are acting like more of a baby than my four year old niece.  High school was so long ago for you that I don’t know how you can still even remember to act that way.  Two-Face was a villain in Batman.  Sexual harassment is NOT something to joke about.  Mean Girls and Bring it On are NOT guide books on how to live your life.  My favorite though?  If you tell me one more time that “women belong in the kitchen” I will personally put my steel-toe boot so hard into your groin, you will be roasting your own “chestnuts” in the heartburn you constantly complain about. Thanks for listening.

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Stick On Those Memories

So I saw a bumper sticker on my way to work this morning that, in big rainbow letters, stated “MY CAT WAS VOTED PET OF THE DAY AT ****** PET DAYCARE”.  I’m going to just come out and say it.  What the hell are these people thinking?  I understand the concept of moving to the GAYborhood and settling down with your Sig Oth.  I even get the concept of starting a happy family, which for the GAYbors who can’t/don’t want children usually this involves a cat or dog.  Let’s be honest though, even for the typical gay family this is taking it a little too far, why don’t you just dress the cat up, give it a backpack and enroll it into Catholic school?

END RANT

While we’re on the topic of neighbors and bumper stickers, let’s talk about my neighbor’s bumper sticker (which I absolutely adore).  It says “Remember what you wanted to be when you grew up” which got me to thinking.  When I think back to my earliest days, I wanted to be an archeologist.  I could think of nothing more exciting than unearthing things that haven’t been seen by human eyes in hundreds of thousands of years.  When I started getting into the world of History and Social Studies however, I realized that I, as a child, loathed all things historical, thus my dinosaur chasing days were numbered.  I quickly moved on to marine biology.  I was always a Discovery Channel®  shark week junkie, even in my pre-teen years.  Then, there was the traumatic jellyfish experience of my 14 year old self and that desire flew out the same open window as archeology.  After marine biology, there was no set of goals to become any one certain thing.  A doctor.  A lawyer.  I went through all of the normal phases, none of which included navigating gigantic ships using a nautical chart and spherical trigonometry.  I had never even heard of sextants or alidades, range finders or amplitudes.  Yet, here I am never staying in one place for any period of time, out to sea more often than on dry land.  When I think about that bumper sticker now and really wonder if I’ve turned out the way I wanted to, I think I have.  What do I really want from life?  I want to help people.  I want to be a good person, a good friend.  I want to love and be loved.  I want to give back to those who have given to me, and even to those who haven’t.  I want to be a turn the other cheek kind of person, but not to the extent to where I’m letting people walk all over me.  When I really take everything into account, I’m still “growing up”.  I’m on my way to being everything I’ve ever wanted to be: Myself.

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The Only Man in my Life

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Welcome to my Head

Apparently my coworkers think my rants are entertaining.  One of them thought they were so entertaining he decided to make me a blogspot.  So let’s start this thing off right shall we?  How about a rant *ahem* blog about how much rude people annoy me?  Yesterday I was walking my more than adorable best friend Lancelot (pictures to come), when out of absolutely nowhere this un-leashed dog ran out into the street and was hit by a car (a black Nissan Maxima with California tags and a male, blond haired driver to be specific).  The driver whom I speak about, drove off like nothing had happened and left this poor dog in the middle of the road whimpering.  Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you view the world) I have an extremely soft spot in my heart for animals.  So I tied Lancelot’s leash to my belt loop, picked up this dog, who weighed about 60 pounds, and whose name was Gracie, and started hiking the seven blocks back to my car so I could take the poor girl to the Emergency Vet.  When I got to the EV, I called the number on Gracie’s collar and left a message on the machine. About three hours later, I get a call from this ridiculously sweet lady who is from Carlsbad. For those of you who don’t know the California geography, that’s 40 miles from San Diego. That’s a LONG way for a dog to go in a couple of days.  I felt like I was part of a “Homeward Bound” sequel when this lady and her grandson walked in to get her dog.  All that said, Mr. Black Nissan driver: you best hope I don’t see your car parked on the street where I run, or Carrie Underwood will have NOTHING on me.

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