A sign

A sign

Friday, November 22, 2013

I Joined a Book Club

Just to answer your question, no, I'm not 48 and rediscovering my purpose in life. I just wanted to make friends! I just moved to a new city (if you could call it that) and I know NO ONE. Literally (this may have also contributed to my developing insanity (noted in 1st post)). I told my family about it. They laughed at me. My father said to my mother

"Wait. Becky joined a book club?"


"There are such things as real book clubs?"


"Oh, I thought that was just something a husband would say 
to his wife if he was having an affair."

"I guess they really are a real thing."

I'm blowing their minds.

Anyway, last night was an interesting meeting to say the least.  It was one of the "social events" that run in between the book discussions. These are usually held at a restaurant, and a few people come out and get to know each other- without a book getting in the way of deep conversations (like potential nicknames for each other and the fact that disliking cilantro is genetic).

So, we met at a "tex-mex" restaurant (which sounds like it could be terrible(especially the next day)but it wasn't). The girl that recommended the place (who is now formally known as "Jen Garden Center") explained the menu and that it was vegetarian/vegan friendly. This prompted another member to say "I don't believe in vegetarians." Now, I didn't get offended by this comment (I'm sort of vegan, it's a long story, whatever) I just got confused. In middle school I met a girl who didn't believe in dinosaurs, she said that they weren't in the Bible and that they were made up by scientists that hated Christians. I wondered if the anti vegetarian girl was like that. Like, she didn't believe that vegetarians exist, maybe she thought that they were made up by hipsters that hated rednecks. 

Well, I was so preoccupied with this thought process that I didn't get a chance to ask her. I just sat there silently thinking about hipsters and scientists and all of their creatively expressed hate, and missed out on any conversation they may have had about it. I moved on. Also, five out of the seven people ordered tofu- so, they probably talked about it and I missed it. 

After eating we still wanted to hang out. We went to a wine bar a block or so away and talked about racism, social demographics, and child birth...obviously. The anti-vegetarian was bored with the conversation and left to talk about skiing or beer. The cop/antique dealer (I know!) had to leave for work, so it was just me, Jen Garden Center, Stefani Super Cunt (she is not a super cunt, but she said (after putting up rules on the book club wall) "great, now people will think that I'm a super cunt" and I thought that was hilarious and that she should get a cape with that on it. People will either think that she is real mean, or that her cunt is actually super"), and Elissa my sister wife (her husband's name is Myles with a "y" (I guess I don't have to say that if I wrote the name...woops). So it was just us four. We decided to wrap it up, we left the wine bar and exchanged numbers.

As we kept trying to say goodbye something else would come up and our conversation would spiral out of control again- leaving us standing on the sidewalk for 30 minutes unable to walk away.  We were standing in (what we thought was )an impenetrable circle. All four of us were listening to Jen Garden Center tell us something (I can't remember now) when she froze and said that she was distracted. 

What happened next has bonded us four for eternity.

We were confused at why she was distracted. We looked around. We screamed and jumped into each others arms. Stefani Super Cunt Saved my life.   She really is super.

Directly behind my Sister Wife and I was a very tall, very large, (very quiet) man. about an inch away from our faces. I don't know how we didn't see him- but holy shit. Stealthiest man ever. Now that I think of it, he might be a ninja.

Elissa Sister Wife thought that he was a clown (...obviously). Once she realized that it was just some guy, her fears were put to rest. The rest of us thought that it was A MAN STANDING AN INCH AWAY FROM US SILENTLY STARING. We were not comforted by the fact that he wasn't a clown. I yelled at him. I asked him if he was wearing slippers because he was so effectivly silent in his approach. He was not.

He ended up asking for money (surprise, surprise) and stating that he wasn't a "cracked head, is that how you say it?" We gave him what we had (One dollar and lots of change) and he left, thanking us. 

We decided that it was time to leave, lest any other "cracked heads" sneak up behind us looking for money. 

Luckily it wasn't a clown though. 

So, join a book club. You don't have to have an affair on your significant other, you can meet real people that don't believe in things that obviously exist,  and you can get startled by a "cracked head" or "method head" (depending on where you live).

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

My Husband Doesn't Like My "writing Style"

Whenever I ask Miles what he thinks about my work he makes a sour face and sits silently for a while.  With anyone else in my life I would immediately think "IT'S TERRIBLE!! BURN IT DOWN!!!!!"  But Miles is very bad at expressing himself (even though he loves N.W.A.).  So I ask him what his face means.  He then said "IT'S TERRIBLE!!BURN IT DOWN!!!!!"...just kidding (but not really).  He said that my writing style is very blunt, like reading a manual. I asked him "If you weren't part of the story and didn't know what was happening, do you think that you would find it funny?" this is when he paused and finally said


So I am ignoring him and carrying on as if he never said that. I'm going to pretend he said "obviously!" and told me that I was the best, most beautiful, amazing person that he has ever seen in his life. This is what I do. (He is actually critiquing this post as I type.) How do I manage this, you ask? 

Honestly, I don't know. My strength shocks even me. 

Footnote: Miles isn't mean or lame or terrible. He is a crazy skateboarding Chemist that hates attention and doesn't know why I internet/write/invite people over for dinner/do anything.

A walk with my dog

My dog's name is Chicken. This is her:

She is really cute and makes me feel okay about being so weird. One thing that you should know about me is that I talk a lot. Even when no one is there. I just talk to my clothes or my computer or (now) my dog.  She is not an inanimate object, so I feel like it is perfectly normal for me to talk, sing, serenade, or dance to her. I do this all the time.

 My husband knows that I do this, but he isn't fully aware of how extreme it has become (he was surprised the other day when he walked in on me dancing to her and singing "Chicken what you think about it" over and over.  When he asked me in a confused tone what I was doing, I said (obviously*) "I'm asking her what she thinks about it.")  

Due to his constant shock over realizing how weird I really am, I don't tell him about my day to day embarrassments over my talks with Chicken. 

This week I was walking her around my neighborhood. It is a cute little suberb-y area.  There tends to be people out in their yard or walking their own dogs (whom I'm sure they talk to as well), I just usually notice them.  Not today. I was walking with Chicken through a huge leaf pile on the side walk.  I was kicking the leaves at her and she was fighting off their attacks. I thought that this was hilarious and proclaimed 


I did not see the man washing his car in the next driveway (isn't washing your car a summer thing?). I laughed, he looked away, clearly afraid of my fierce, leaf killing dog.

I didn't tell Miles (my husband) about this. Until yesterday.

Yesterday I went on a walk with both Miles and Chicken.  This is when I feel most at ease.  These two know me, they have accepted me, I'm going full on crazy. So instead of saying "good girl" after Chicken sat at the crosswalk- like a normal person, I decide to sing.  I sang:

"Good work Chicken, How'd you get get to be the BEST BEST BEST?"

I sang it pretty loud, like a yell, maybe. Miles laughed and quietly told me that the jogger across the street enjoyed my song.  I looked up and saw a man running faster now, away from the drunk girl (I wasn't drunk).

A few minutes later, after I had forgotten about said embarrassment.  Chicken had to poop (this was the whole point of our walk). She was circling around a spot, and I sang, again.


Miles laughed even harder, and told me that I was crazy.  It was then that I told him about the "LEAF SLAYER" incident. He was impressed with how far my crazy had come.  

In short: It's all Chicken's fault that I am crazy. 

*Parenthesis in parenthesis are cool