Rules for Restaurants…

Ok, folks… so I went to a restaurant not too long ago (Mother’s Day) with my family. There. I said it. I feel better now. No. Kidding. But really, I’ve realized that I have a problem. (Seriously!?!?! Another one?) Yes. Another one. You see, we all went in, and the hostess sat us at our table. All is good. Right? No. You have to remember this is me, my family doesn’t let me forget it. After we were given our menus and we had ample time to read them, I openly asked a question: “So what is everyone getting?” I get some responses, and then someone asks me what I chose… I told them I didn’t know yet, and this conversation sprung up:

• Me: Ummm… I don’t know what I want yet…
• My family (in unison): Oh God! Here we go again!
• Me: What?
• Sister: Who chose your dish?

Damn. They caught me. They know me too well. I have a quirks, SURPRISE! No? No one? Ok… so everyone knows, but I have particularly debilitating ones when it comes to dining out. I hate, with every fiber of my being, ordering the same dish as someone else at my table. It is probably one of the most ridiculous compulsions I have, but I really can’t help it, and have decided to live with it and let it run my life. I mean, if I’m going to have a bad habit it might as well be this one… along with all the other ones that I have. In fact, it has gotten to the point where I go through a process when I go out to eat:

1. Sit down and give everyone ample time to read menus.
2. While the other members of the table are picking; sneakily listen to any side conversations people are having to determine what they may choose from their menu.
3. Size up the people sitting at the table and try to determine from past experiences what they may pick and ignore those items on the menu.
4. Pick out an item from the menu that I am fairly certain no one will pick, but I am content with.
5. Then pick out two more options as back-up plans… just in case someone says you’re first choice during the survey.
6. Survey the members of the table… asking them what they are getting from the menu to make sure no one’s orders match up with mine.
7. If I do match up with someone… go with one of the back-up plans or if there is ample time, pick something else from the menu quietly.
8. Avoid answering the question: “What are you having?” So I don’t convince someone else to get the same thing.
9. When the waitress comes by, let everyone else go first making it seem like I’m being nice when I’m just making sure no one else has selected the same thing.

Seriously, this has gotten out of control… and now both my family and friends have caught on to my little scheme. So for fun, they’ll force me into ordering first, or tease me by coaxing the answer to “what are you having?” out of me. The first time when two of my close friends caught on, they made me go first and then ordered the same exact thing. I’m pretty there isn’t counseling for this particular problem… but if they did I would consider going… maybe… not… I don’t know. =/

Till later, Turtle

Guess my age!

Heh. So yeah. If there is one thing that I’ve learned in life, its that no one has ever successfully guessed my age correctly. I mean really. Some of the suggestions concern me. Whenever people guess my age, one of two things happen.

1. They completely over-estimate my age.
or 2. They go well under.

Both kind of bother me slightly. I mean, if you’re close, like +/- five years, I can see that, but really? Anything higher will frighten me. I’m sure I’ll appreciate number two as I become older and I’m looking for that, but right now, I like to feel mature *puffs out chest.* Haha! Oh dear. So I take to the older comments better. Sooooo… as a little experiment, here’s my picture:

http://i179.photobucket.com/albums/w285/Turtlesprojects/MeandPuppet.jpg

It’s a link to photobucket. Just incase someone out there really wanted my image to reamin a secret. I can’t balme you, I’d be dissappointed too. But for the good of this post I thought it would be fun to show myself. I know I said I wanted to be anonymous, but then I thought, who cares?

Anyway, I know I have a puppet. The picture was taken for a project someone was doing and she wanted people to take a picture of themselves holding a puppet. Its one of the few recent pictures I have that I’m not blinking. I swear, I’m not one of those people who only talk through puppets… although, would you like me less if I was? Hmmmm? Yeah, I’m a horrible picture-taker. What can I tell you?

So there you go. What do you think my age is? I’m just curious.

Till later, Turtle

25 Things About Me…

1. I really want a ukulele, I won’t know how to play it, but the prospect of saying I’m a ukulele owner is too enticing.
2. I think that the smell of coffee is much more appetizing than the actual taste.
3. I don’t trust electric toothbrushes… I’ll stick to my manual dental cleaning devices.
4. I had trouble spelling the word “electric” just then.
5. I sometimes question my ability to formulate questions…
6. I really like school.
7. I have a feeling that I’ll be in Norway at some point in my life.
8. The “Reading Rainbow” theme song when I was younger always made me feel uneasy.
9. If I were a farmer, I’d grow corn.
10. I’m pretty sure that the staple remover is not nearly utilized enough in today’s society.
11. I’m not sure if this is true, but I think that the candy “whoppers” are made by the devil.
12. I have a pet turtle, I’m proud of her… I think she’ll grow up to be a doctor.
13. If I don’t have a deadline, I won’t do it… which is why I waited 3 years to get my driver’s license.
14. When I do well in school and start to become impressed with myself, I just look at my $500 bill for schoolbooks and realize that I’m really an idiot.
15. I’ve never been to Taco Bell.
16. I’ve never seen Star Wars… or Star Trek… really anything with Star in the title, I probably haven’t seen.
17. I’m sometimes awkward in every situation.
18. My phone sometimes forgets to ring.
19. I’m really curious about what will happen to my summer… I know what I want to happen… but I don’t know what WILL happen.
20. I’m easily impressed with bad joke or awful puns…
21. I sometimes wish I could go back in time to my childhood and actually follow a trend… like pogs, pokemon, or furbies.
22… is my favorite number.
23. If all of my plans fail, my backup idea is to make a coffee table book about the lighthouses in Norway that will eventually become a New York Times bestseller.
24. I can be repetitive at times.
25. I really want a ukulele…

Till later, Turtle

I got bored… so I wrote a children’s story… Isn’t that what everyone does?

 

Once upon a time, there lived a circle. His name was Circle. He was just white. No color. Just white. Circle had big eyes and a small mouth. Because his mouth was so small, he had trouble speaking, but he was happy with himself.

Circle lived in a cloud, because where else would a circle live? It was big, blue, and fluffy. While sitting way up in the sky, he liked to glance down at the land below him. Sometimes he would see his good friend Square.

Square was orange. She was also a girl. She had tiny eyes and a very big mouth. She liked Circle because they were opposites. Circle had very big eyes, and could see very well. Because her eyes were small she could not see very well.

Square lived in the lake on top of a large purple fish, because where else would a square live? She liked living in the lake, and she liked the big purple fish. But what she liked the most about the lake was that she could look up at the sky and sometimes she could see her friend Circle.

Circle and Square often played together in the park. They were the only two shapes around, and they soon became close friends. Although Circle could not speak very loud, Square still loved to play with him because Circle could see much better than she could. Circle would sometimes read to her when she wanted to hear a story.

One day, when Circle was reading to Square, a fisherman went sailing on the lake. It was a small boat and a small man. The fisherman cast his line out and stood at the edge of the boat. Square was not worried. Fishermen often used her lake. Purple Fish was smart. Fishermen never caught him.

But that day was different. This particular fisherman was using purple jellybeans as bait for his fish. And if you knew anything about purple fish, then you would know that they can’t resist purple jellybeans. Purple Fish could not resist.

The fisherman was very excited to see that he had caught a purple fish! Purple fish are the hardest to find in the world. And the fisherman found one. He was not going to let this one go. No. He would keep Purple Fish as a pet.

Another thing that the fisherman knew about purple fish was that these fish are very crafty. He did not want Purple Fish to escape. So, to keep Purple Fish in his bowl, he put a lid on it and locked it up. Nothing was getting in… or out.

When Square heard that Purple Fish had been captured, she was very sad. She needed to get him back. She asked Circle for his help. That night, Square and Circle snuck on to the boat that Purple fish was on to help him escape.

When Square and Circle got on, they saw a small hole in the floor, and squeezed through. They fell into a very dark room, with a light bulb hanging in the middle of the room; lighting up Purple Fish’s locked up bowl.

Square and Circle were very surprised to see the bowl had been locked up. Purple Fish was very sad, it was cramped in the small bowl, and all purple fish need a lot of room to swim. Circle knew that he had to get Purple Fish out.

There was one problem. The Bowl was locked. Not only was the bowl locked, but the lock was voice activated. The only way that the lock would open was if they said the secret password into the microphone. They had to find out what the secret password was.

Circle used his keen eyesight to scan the room for clues. Suddenly, he saw that there were many flowers in the room. He did not notice them before. The fisherman was a florist, because, well, what else would a fisherman’s hobby be? Circle knew the password.

When Circle reached the microphone, he tried to shout the password into the microphone, but because his mouth was so small, the microphone could not hear him. He needed someone louder to say the password. He knew that someone.

Square went up to the microphone and looked at it carefully; she knew she had only one chance. She knew that she would wake up the fisherman, this was it. Square put her mouth close to the microphone and shouted the password, “FLOWER.”

The lock rumbled for a second. The suddenly, the lid flew open. Purple Fish was free. He was so happy that he flew out of the bowl to meet with Square and Circle. They heard the fisherman get up. The three rushed out of the boat.

After Purple Fish and Square became settled into the lake once again, they lived happily ever after. Circle went back to his cloud. The fisherman went away, and Circle and Square went on to play with one another.

From that day on, fishing with purple jellybeans was made to be against the law so Purple Fish would be safe from then on.

The End.

Till later, Turtle

 

I know, I know, the illustrations are really bad, but still… they add something to the story… I’m not quitting my day job… haha!

My Facebook Complex…

I have a problem. Yes, another one. I know. I have about 150 contacts on my facebook account. This isn’t a problem. At least not in my head. Yet. No. The problem is that out of that 150, I’ve began the contact once. Yep. I’m not saying this to impress. Trust me. I’m not an impressive person. Hmmm… That sounded bad. Anyway, the point is every time I go to add someone, I panic. I think it’s because Facebook asks if I want to be friends with each person I want to add. Friend is a strong word. Too much commitment. What if the person on the other end just sees me as an acquaintance? Then what? I think it’s the rejection. I’m trying to analyze here, but I’ve always wondered if other people felt the same way?

Gah! My brain is fried. I’m nearing the end of the semester, but I’m starting to die from studying and writing papers. Did you know you can die from writing too many papers? I didn’t know that. Granted, I’m still not sure if I really do know that. I just made it up. But at the pace I’m going I’m sure it can be a true statement… grrr… My fingers are getting to the point where they’re plotting a strike. That’s right; they’re forming a union and hopping over to the picketing line, near my computer. I can just see them now, gripping little signs that say, “No Typing, We’re Griping.” Heh. You know what, if my fingers really did that I would be impressed. I would also meet their demands. But I’m not going to tell them.

Thanks for reading!

Till later, Turtle

Fool me once… umm… go to hell… WTF?

So I’m pretty sure that I’m plagued with having to deal with the know-it-all in every class I ever take for the rest of my life. It’s my destiny; I like to think of it as penance. Yes, penance, for anything I may do from now until I die. I can’t avoid my penance, it will just happen whether I like it or not. These people are just attracted to me, as if I have “ignorance” proverbially scripted across my forehead, a calling card for all weirdoes who think they have the secret to life to interrupt mine with their nonsense. Yes. I accept it. I just know this is my fate. It always happens.

For example, one of my Literature classes, our professors have the class break up into pairs (I knew this was a bad idea from the start). As I look to ask the friendly looking girl in front of me to be my partner, the douche-y guy next to me with his thick black frame glasses turns around to me and declares that because we sit next to each other that we must pair up. Shit. This guy had been that one in every class (you know him) that thinks he is an expert on everything and debated everything the professor says throughout the semester. I’ve been trying to avoid this weirdo for some time now and so far have been successful, until today.

Well, ok, so the objective of breaking up into pairs was to discuss works of literature that we have found to be striking in our perception of human nature. Which, I actually thought was a pretty kick-ass assignment considering we’ve been sitting in lecture-format class so far, but now I had this killjoy of a partner intercept my fun. Anyway, he lunges into some monologue about The Power and the Glory by Graham Green, and some nonsense about being so highly developed, that he “inhaled Green’s work like it was oxygen.” Yeah, ok, you’re not special. I’ve read Graham Green before myself in my senior year of high school, and so I proceeded to inform him of this fact only to be met with a blank stare and the following statement, “Well it must have been a watered down version from the raw and gritty tale of his. Surely you couldn’t have understood it.” WHAT!?!?! WHAT!?!?! It’s a F***ING BOOK. I read it before, I understood it. Die.

After I allowed the bright read that plagued my vision dissipate so I could see clearly again, I began to tell him about one of my favorite works, Antigone. I explained to him pride (something I assumed he would have known about), family, and loyalty. Then I simply summed up with some general statement like, “I would suggest reading it.” Yeah. So this was the conversation that followed:

• Jerk: Oh did you know that Antigone was actually gay?
• Me: What? I’m pretty sure she wasn’t.
• Jerk: No, she was, I read it in the New York Times. It was an article speculating about Antigone’s orientation.
• Me: Yeah, ok, whatever.
• Jerk: HAHA! No, I never read an article about that. There was no such thing, I lied. You’re so gullible.
• Me: What, no, I just thought I could believe you; shit.
• Jerk: What are you talking about? You know, you should really question people’s sources more often, or else you’ll never get anywhere in the world of literature.
• Me: What the hell are you talking about!?!?! You fed me some nonsense about something you read in the New York Times. I believed you, Lord knows why, and I am sorry for it. F***OFF.

Yes, I really dropped the F-Bomb (I rarely swear, even when writing too). I feel a bit badly about it now, but it was a long time coming. He would always interrupt class, with his mindless arguments. I’m paying to learn from my professor, not learn about how you feel morally obligated to object to everything you interpret differently. I’m up for a good class debate every once in a while, but really, if we did stop as a class for every time this tool wanted to debate something, I would learn nothing.

Thanks for reading…

Till later, Turtle 

Vanity Plates…

Ok… here’s the deal. Yes. The deal. I just recently came to a revelation. I associate people who happen to have vanity plates with Narcissism. I do. I mean, really, do you really think that it’s a coincidence that this novelty happens to have “vanity” in its name? Hmmm. No. I don’t think so. I’m on to something here. Seriously, I’ve never seen a vanity plate that just happens to have a modest slogan on it. Nope. Never once have I seen a car that proclaimed: DONATE, or UR AWSME. No. Usually vanity plates say some kind of nonsense like: HOTSTFF, or RICHGUY. I don’t know, but the vanity kills me.

True story. Every day, while I wait for my usual bus, there is always, at the same time, three Hummers that pass by me: one after the other. One is red; the second is blue, and the last black. Each Hummer has only one passenger: the driver. Jerks. Everyday like clockwork. Really. Once they pass, I know its 3PM. Who needs a watch when you have Hummers? Anyway, I happened to look at one of the plates on the car and guess what kind of plate it was… *gasp*… you guessed it… a vanity plate. Guess what the plate name happened to be? Actually, I just want to tell you… HUM DIDY.

I’m not sure if there are vanity plates in other parts of the world. This is probably one of those things that I should look up in Google… ok… I’ll check…*five minutes of Google*…Yes… but just considered personalized plates…

I don’t know where this is going but I just really wanted to rant about vanity plates. I feel better. But I’m making a pact with myself right now… if I am ever possessed enough to actually order a vanity plate… it’s going to be something interactive… like… WAVE2ME. Then everyone will feel the obligation.

Till later, Turtle

Why I love my job…

Why I love my job, an essay by Turtle…

1) I get to do as many mailings as I’d like. I mean now I can use as much paper as I need to fill the void in my soul that was apparently missing.

2) I get to improve my phone skills after calling random strangers for publicity purposes, and receive lectures about the corporate title the person on the other line happens to have and how they are too important to field calls like mine.

3) Speaking of self-importance, I also get to experience the wonderful world of egos. All I have to do is make it through a secretary on a power trip having me do their bidding.

4) If the whole office assistant thing doesn’t work out, I’ll have a shot at working for the Western Union with the entire message running I do. Can that go on a resume?

5) I get to gear up for future philosophy classes while experiencing first-hand, Murphy’s Law of Photocopiers and Fax Machines.

6) The small sharp pains of the paper cuts allow me to feel alive.

7) Oh I almost all of the interior decorating experience I receive whenever I have the opportunity to prepare a conference room. Well… ok… so I may not get to take creative license, but I can surely arrange water pitchers very well.

8 ) The politics. Oh no, not the Obama… Sara Palin kind, but the kind I get to take part in when I have to sit a listen to a disgruntle employee complaining about her boss. It gives me that warm fuzzy feeling inside.

9) Let’s not forget the lovely so-sarcastic-that-if-comments-could-kill-you-would-be-dead-yesterday messages that I must carry between the office building and the mailroom because both think that their job does not consist of a certain task. (They proverbially shoot the messenger.)

10) The random pizza guys that come throughout the day looking for his customer, and my having to grope around with the phone calling everyone trying to figure out who ordered.

11) I’ve now realized the importance of the paperclip.

Till later, Turtle

This is how it works…

Heh… ok. Yes. So let me tell you about what happened this summer. You see, my university has a few other campuses located in various ares. In the middle of the summer, I received a letter from my school explaining to me that two of the classes I had signed up for the fall had been relocated to another campus. Yes. Another campus. How exactly do they expect me to get there? I don’t have access to car during my school hours. And here’s the clincher: The classes aren’t even on the same day. Nope. One class I have on Mondays and Wednesday, the other Tuesdays and Thursdays. So this is where I’m at:

1. I’m supposed to be at both campuses for different classes.

2. I have to commute between the two campuses 8 times a day.

3. I don’t have a car to do this with.

4. I can’t take public transportation as one of the campuses is outside of city lines.

Ok. Well then. This will be interesting. But thankfully my friend who happens to have the same major as me also has the same classes and happens to have a car. So now she and I ride together in between classes. Its been an interesting experience, however, its really putting a strain on my mental health. For instance, obviously all of this travelling really reduces my observational skills. Take for intstance my classroom. Both classes that are at the other campus are in the same room too (strange… right?) Anyway, each day that my friend and I would show up for class, we would be profoundly confused as the classroom would change. Yes change. The tables and chairs would be set up differently each day:

Mondays and Tuesdays:

Same classroom: Tuesdays and Thursdays:

They change the set up everyday! Why? Sometimes my school scares me…

Till later, Turtle

How I transport myself…

I use public transportation. That’s right. The bus, train, trolley, and subway. I don’t discriminate. I share the love. I thrive off the hustle and bustle, I live for the metro passes, the smell of randomly empty seats, and that odd person that although the rest of the bus is completely empty, he/she will sit next to you regardless. I enjoy it. I like to think of myself as a very savvy person… having the city at my fingertips… ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Ok… I may have exaggerated a bit… public transportation my not be giving me the eternal happiness that I crave for, but it does what I need… usually. I like to think I’m saving a tree whenever I take the bus, train, or subway…

• Did someone just shove me into one of corners of the seats? That’s ok… I’m saving a tree…
• Did I just miss my stop because the bus is too crowded? The environment will thank me later…
• What that lady’s huge handbag (that I’m pretty sure only contains bricks) smacked me in the head? I’m pretty sure I’m the next Captain Planet…

It gets me through the day.

Seriously though, I deal with it… and I enjoy the thought that I’m taking a somewhat Eco-friendly approach to my daily activities. Another fun game to play while waiting for the bus is to guess who’s honking at you… As you see here a typical bus stop here, it’s located on the corner of the sidewalk… exposed to traffic as buses use the road to drive too…

However, as I stand there, I like to gaze and people watch. I know, I know, but I enjoy it. Anyway, while I’m staring into space (so it may seem to the unsuspecting bystander) someone passing by in a car that I happen to know drives by honking their horn to say hello. It sounds like a normal occurrence… right?

Heh… no. This is me you’re honking at. Obviously I won’t react in the appropriate fashion. Instead of looking around for a couple of seconds, spot the person in the car who is waving to me and smile and wave back, I spaz out. You see, loud noises, especially if I’m not expecting them, frighten me. I’m big enough to admit it. I panic. As if I’ve never heard a car honk before. Then after, when I realize that the end of the world isn’t coming, I quickly (and frantically) scan the street ahead of me to see who had honked. If I can’t find them in the first two seconds, I just wave. Recklessly might I add, and keep searching. Finally, when I do manage to find the person I know, I rarely have time to make direct eye contact and I end up looking like a lunatic to the surrounding cars and fellow passengers… I’m sure they feel comfortable that they’re about to enter a confined space with me….

Later, as I meet the person in the car a few days later, he/she greets me and asks me if I am OK, to which I must explain my little game…

Yep.

Thanks for reading this!

Till later, Turtle