Yes, My Glasses Left an Indentation in my Head, Move On Already!

Just Wanted to Say Hey!

Mea Culpa

Just wanted to apologize for all of my profanity.  Whoops!

525,600 Minutes to Remember You're Getting Old

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

The Secret Word is....Skinny Jeans!

Boring Sober and Still Thinking About Going Under the Knife

This Kitty has Claws

So while I have an innate tendency to be wound very tight (there's a line in an old Concrete Blonde song that says something about being "wound as tight as a goddamn piano wire"; that is me), I also try to be a very considerate and accommodating person (my mama taught me manners, thank you very much). However, there are times when I am anything but kind and considerate. Rudeness (and poor driving, which, let's face it, could be considered rude behavior) tend to bring out my darker side and make me very...rude. I've been known to fly into fits of road rage (minor, I promise) when someone cuts me off or almost plows into my car. You'll get some swearing and a middle finger (or two if you're a complete asshat) but I'm not going to follow you or anything (at least I hope I never reach that point -- if I do, it's time for Prozac). In person, I try to refrain from being a complete dick.

Most of the time.

I work at one of my company's satellite offices, which is housed in a building with another company or two. A lot of the folks from the other companies like to overfill the elevator (there are three others and two flights of stairs folks and only six floors) rather than being considerate and waiting or walking. Normally, I don't say anything. Sometimes I may roll my eyes, but i refrain from bad behavior. Until recently that is, when I thought my lunch was going to be smashed all over my shirt. The elevator was packed super full (seriously, I am very familiar with others now). We stopped and one person got off (yay!) and three started to get on. (I should probably mention that I was trapped in the back corner).

It was at this moment that my ears went back like an angry cat's.

You know how people say they felt like they left their body and were watching from above? That's how I felt when I started to yell that the elevator was already full and no one else needed to get on. The guy getting on thought I was joking and started to laugh; until he saw my face, at which point he made one of his co-workers get off. (You could have joined too, it would have been a big help).

Silence.

He wouldn't look at me, for good reason, as I had become "Crazy Elevator Guy".

I've seen him and he won't get on the elevator with me. Smart decision.

So what's the lesson (other than I can go a little nuts)? Don't crowd the elevator (at least with me in it). Imagine how I would have reacted had the elevator gotten stuck?

I'm going to go hang my head in shame now.

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@Timbrelacroix

Enough is Enough

I hope everyone caught the title reference to the Donna Summer/Barbra Streisand song; if not, sorry for that, but it plays into the topic for this post. For those who don't know, the song is subtitled No More Tears. Yup, this is a post about crying.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I enjoy a good cry. In fact, there are certain films that I know I can turn to for a good cry. Steel Magnolias and My Girl are two good examples of movies that make my eyes clean and I love them for that. Brokeback Mountain is another guaranteed tearjerker. In fact, the first time I saw it, I cried in the cinema. I cried in the lobby on the way out of the cinema. Then, stopped crying long enough to get in my car, before starting again. At this point I started laughing, because I found it humor in the fact that I was on 3rd Street in Harrisburg, crying. Yeah I know, it's not really funny, but sometimes my humor is, uh, a little different.

Another movie that makes me cry is Elizabethtown. I saw it about two weeks after my father passed away five years ago (my birth father, not my step-father....that Homer Simpson look-alike is still going strong) and it affected me deeply. For those who don't know, the main character travels to his father's hometown for his funeral. In the process, he reconnects with his father through one kick-ass soundtrack, finds himself and falls in love (that part could have been left out). On the same general topic, I recently started re-watching the most excellent HBO series Six Feet Under. The pilot is like watching a master class in acting AND it is guaranteed to get me in touch with my inner emotions (more so it would seem since my father died -- that's another story, but is seriously a club that really sucks to be a member of. Sorry for ending with a preposition, by the way).

While I admit that there are movies that I will watch to bring on the tears, I have found myself encountering situations that bring on unexpected sobs. Most recently, I was reading the memoir It's All Relative by Wade Rouse. This is a nice humorous observation of various holidays. So, I have spent a good deal of the time reading the book and also laughing. Imagine my surprise to encounter the chapter where an injured dog is found and (sorry to spoil it) must be put to sleep (I refuse to say put down....that's just fucked; it's not like you are setting a cup down). I felt the tears begin to well up. As soon as I finished the chapter, I put my Nook down, jumped up from the sofa and ran to the bathroom. Arne looked up at me and asked why I was crying. I had to explain the situation and then began laughing, because his mother would be arriving shortly. I was terrified and amused that she might show up to find me bawling over a book. Of course, I do tend to embarrass myself frequently (see previous post on that topic).

Now, this is not the only book to elicit this type of reaction. I had a similar thing happen about a year ago. I started to read the book The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. I assumed that this would be a nice novel about a man and his dog. Um, no. Well, maybe it is, I'm not really sure. You see, this book is about a dog who is dying, but must make sure that his human is going to be okay, before he can allow himself to die. I'm sorry, what?!? I read the first chapter, erupted into tears and proceeded to put the book back on the bookshelf, where it has remained ever since. You see the beautiful dog in the picture above? That's CJ, who was an awesome and very sweet dog, who we lost just a few months before I picked up that evil book. I was still feeling very raw and couldn't subject myself to reading about a dying dog. Unfortunately, I am apparently still not ready. Or I am and this is just proof that I do have a heart and am not always a complete jerk.

So there you have it. If you ever want to make me cry, tell me a story about a dying dog. Be warned though, if you do this to me, I may be forced to act the part of a dog and either bite you or pee on your leg to make you stop.