tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43533785193796450332024-03-05T01:50:03.146-08:00Indecisive DecisivenessKelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-53332041768571148242020-03-24T18:23:00.000-07:002020-03-24T18:23:13.888-07:00A Side of Autoimmune with your Corona<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;">The following post is centered on diabetes and coronavirus.
If you’re suffering from either and can’t take the mental trauma right now,
please don’t read. P.S. – I’m
considering starting a second blog that either simply looks better than the piece
of garbage I have now, or is centered around my chronic illness and my family
life, so people know what’s up. Because hey, who doesn’t enjoy serious, soul
sucking insight? Am I right?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></o:p><span style="color: #351c75;">Right?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;">.............</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;">..........</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;">......</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span><o:p><span style="color: #351c75;"> </span></o:p><span style="color: #351c75;"> Bueller?</span><o:p><span style="color: #351c75;"> </span></o:p><span style="color: #351c75;">Here we go.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif4EPwtruKzHyI5Dn7JtsD5H-HfRqlQ81jKEU9b9X4i5ED3DFurBHI2pjvhNw7UIV9R5AWatwPYRDo_GZXI06hOlJA2nLvB_qqQFByhN5OJ7-U-xmWmydOZcptF7xOi-5nbOC7dBm-3fuy/s1600/corona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif4EPwtruKzHyI5Dn7JtsD5H-HfRqlQ81jKEU9b9X4i5ED3DFurBHI2pjvhNw7UIV9R5AWatwPYRDo_GZXI06hOlJA2nLvB_qqQFByhN5OJ7-U-xmWmydOZcptF7xOi-5nbOC7dBm-3fuy/s200/corona.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span><o:p><span style="color: #351c75;"> </span></o:p><span style="color: #351c75;">I know we’re all being bombarded with COVID-19 in our lives,
but in this post I want to address the crowd (because you are a crowd, and that’s
the problem) who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">isn’t</i> worried about
getting the virus or passing it to others, and has decided not to practice
social distancing. Now, I’m not trying to make you care about other people
because honestly? That’s just not going to happen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it is evident you care a lot about YOU.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span><span style="color: #351c75;">And, because you care so much about you, yourself, and…I?
(that didn’t work the way I planned) allow me to give you an important piece of
information that could change your nonchalant attitude about your asymptomatic,
Typhoid Mary self:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span><span style="color: #351c75;">Even if you just get the “sniffles” from the virus, you
could still walk away with a permanent AUTOIMMUNE DISEASE. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welcome to Type 1 diabetes, my friends! (Or
lupus, or Sjögren's syndrome, etc.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span><span style="color: #351c75;">Viral infections, even when they aren’t serious, have the
rare potential of giving you an autoimmune disease because your body gets
confused when fighting a virus and your overzealous cells go rogue and start to
attack your body instead. That’s an autoimmune disease – your immune system
attacking you, typically a specific organ or type of cell. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t “fix” it, and genetic history doesn’t
necessarily matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one in your
family has an autoimmune disease? Surprise, you still can.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span><span style="color: #351c75;">There’s still a lot of unknowns about coronavirus and which types
of viruses trigger autoimmune diseases. Maybe coronavirus can’t trigger this type
of response (my belief is that any virus can). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, do you really want to take that chance?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span><span style="color: #351c75;">I believe this is how I developed diabetes and no, it doesn’t
matter how healthy you are or how many reps you do a day, bro. Congrats! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></span>
<h2>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: #351c75;">If you continue being
careless and entitled, here are all the things you could be looking forward to the
rest of your life, Mr. Florida Spring Breaker:</span></u></b></h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZmm8Ze9d44X_1K-0ooTmjDBQJdKHHhZPgX22IJlFEHwqiaOumsZ8r32GEZxHGu0onUPvb_Zv0hq9HpMFfcmBxnREzG2E6WWmZKUhx7DGm8yBdiT7AQi9tLkjdiqluGppGc0KjdFvBFjW/s1600/corona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="992" data-original-width="686" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZmm8Ze9d44X_1K-0ooTmjDBQJdKHHhZPgX22IJlFEHwqiaOumsZ8r32GEZxHGu0onUPvb_Zv0hq9HpMFfcmBxnREzG2E6WWmZKUhx7DGm8yBdiT7AQi9tLkjdiqluGppGc0KjdFvBFjW/s200/corona.jpg" width="138" /></a></div>
<div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>--Sticking yourself
with needles multiple times a day in various places (fingers, arms, side, back,
stomach, hands, butt, anywhere else you can get creative with). Yep, the butt.
It’s a grand place to attach an insulin pump.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Taking medicine forever. Yay.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Getting some killer bruises, man! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Waking up in the middle of the night disoriented,
confused, shaking, and vomiting<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Being rushed to the hospital for catching the “sniffles”
because of how a virus messes with your blood sugars.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Being at an increased risk for heart attack, neuropathy,
blindness, sudden death, skin problems, infections (go figure), a UTI, kidney
failure, stroke, high blood pressure, and more wonderful diseases.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Taking insulin when you eat and when you don’t, then
correcting because you didn’t take enough, and finally, correcting your correction
because you took too much.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Leaving important work meetings, family functions,
graduations, weddings, funerals, etc. in the most inappropriate moment because
your blood sugar suddenly dropped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Spending all your paycheck and going into debt just to buy
a drug you need to not die<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Counting the carbs in literally every single.thing.you.eat.and.drink.always.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Getting made fun of by a carbon copy of yourself one year
ago. My, how the tables have turned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
<u><span style="color: #351c75;">Having people
accuse you of:</span></u></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisKntC6oRlFUmwQMOBw8wtQoyXpnFr44a1Q-Pqg8HIPmWM93fKxhdmu7Q6QJzJCNfVWd3FrfoJ0XpST11BH4eHl4lVDrd4N47GYBLiLOsMJs0TRp9rRjhS7WNUjwNtZhhBvH8ihQgjPJU/s1600/corona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisKntC6oRlFUmwQMOBw8wtQoyXpnFr44a1Q-Pqg8HIPmWM93fKxhdmu7Q6QJzJCNfVWd3FrfoJ0XpST11BH4eHl4lVDrd4N47GYBLiLOsMJs0TRp9rRjhS7WNUjwNtZhhBvH8ihQgjPJU/s200/corona.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div>
<u><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div>
<u><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">- being a drug user</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">-</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Gasp,
needles!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">- being lazy and fat</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">- even if you’re skinny</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">- eating too much sugar - why do
people even think this?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">- being weak - survival of the
fittest , even though there are athletes with diabetes</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">- being gross</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">- “Ewww, can you not like, do that here? We’re in a public place.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">-lying - “Type 1 is for kids!” No,
and children do grow up. Also, no, it’s not. This isn’t Trix cereal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">-Not trying hard enough - “If you
wanted to get rid of your diabetes, you could.” HAHAHAHA. No.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But wait, there’s more! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
<u><b><span style="color: #351c75;">You’ll also:</span></b></u></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsC0PGmpuloiqLtM-pSAB9MUSpqD01dBLaeDJehMuYkVJVl3XkmWVFLiL_qBmezVAgmmcAqyPthWqOqzn9vJiSdDR0GtbE-XVO1a8pUTNnjCSm8KHr8coPUf2yEBwlGZSg8uWgrYg5VQBH/s1600/corona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="236" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsC0PGmpuloiqLtM-pSAB9MUSpqD01dBLaeDJehMuYkVJVl3XkmWVFLiL_qBmezVAgmmcAqyPthWqOqzn9vJiSdDR0GtbE-XVO1a8pUTNnjCSm8KHr8coPUf2yEBwlGZSg8uWgrYg5VQBH/s200/corona.jpg" width="166" /></a></div>
<div>
<u><b><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></b></u></div>
<div>
<u><b><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></b></u></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">- Hear everyone and their dog
giving you advice on how you can cure your incurable disease with a fad diet or
like, essential oils and stuff. “Did you
know the keto diet can cure you? My grandma drank mushroom water and she doesn’t
have diabetes anymore. If you don’t eat meat, your pancreas will come back to
life. Stand on your head and hold your breath for ten seconds twice a day for a
week. Here’s a magic bean stock. Eat the beans.”</span><br />
<br />
- You don’t understand how annoying this one
is. Completely unsolicited advice. You’re never safe from pamphlets, your
inbox, a phone call, text messages, in-person meetings, being yelled at from
across the hall. They’ll find you, and they’ll tell you their uninformed
opinion.<br />
<br />
- Be the butt of every outdated,
ill-informed, bad joke on the planet. “Candy
Land? More like Diabetes Land!” No. Eating sugar is not how it works. That’s
not how ANY OF THIS WORKS, KAREN.<br />
<br />
- Get told there will be a cure for
diabetes in five years, every year, for the rest of your existence. It’s only
been going on since what, 1950?<br />
<br />
- Have your “friends” and
colleagues actively fight against you in your efforts not to be bankrupt by
coming up with ridiculous excuses on behalf of the pharmaceutical companies and
why they charge 300% more for insulin than it costs them to make. “Thanks
Sally, I’m sure glad I have a friend like you! Wanna have a picnic tomorrow? Oh
wait, I’m sorry I can’t. I forgot I GAVE UP EATING BECAUSE I CAN’T PAY FOR MY
INSULIN. I subsist on water, air, and dust particles now.”<br />
<br />
- Listen to this: “Uhhhhh, are you
SURE you should be eating that?” Every time you take a bite of something that
isn’t a celery stick.<br />
<br />
- Be accused of whining when you
could go get “insulin” at Walmart for a couple bucks without insurance.
NOOOOOOO. No. No. No. No. No. I mean, I
could also drink Drano, but I DON’T.<br />
<br />
- Exist as the occasional doctor’s
guinea pig. There are good doctors, and there are bad doctors, just like any
other profession in life. Unfortunately, when you have to see doctors as much
as you do with a chronic illness, you’re going to be a guinea pig at some point.
Buckle up.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: #351c75;">Things doctors
will misinform you about:</span></u></b></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwE7csOkRaK6J6bkxKn-VVJf9Pq-qCYK8fyWGxZ6DRXdWuT2s8n-VCNZ3Pz8yN8lihTqsU1yOAq_BWdzf65feUVg-KwXKfEW4oYTmgB3hi4BCIj_H3mG_rO7MAGFugoGDTDD1cUD8w49Z/s1600/corona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="540" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwE7csOkRaK6J6bkxKn-VVJf9Pq-qCYK8fyWGxZ6DRXdWuT2s8n-VCNZ3Pz8yN8lihTqsU1yOAq_BWdzf65feUVg-KwXKfEW4oYTmgB3hi4BCIj_H3mG_rO7MAGFugoGDTDD1cUD8w49Z/s200/corona.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- What type of diabetes you have. If you’re an adult at
diagnosis, there’s a good chance they won’t give you the blood test to check
for autoantibodies and they’ll say you have Type 2. And if you’re overweight
like me? Oh yeah, you don’t stand a chance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s really, really, really dangerous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why? Because Type 2 is not an autoimmune
disease, and most don’t need insulin to survive. But as we already established,
you sure frickin’ do!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- The different types of diabetes, and how there are more
than two. Whaaaat? I’m technically a LADA Type 1.5 (but we say Type 1, because
nobody knows what we’re talking about otherwise). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Essentially, it means anyone who gets Type 1
diabetes as an adult instead of when they’re an adolescent. It’s progressive,
meaning you don’t always need insulin starting out, but you will eventually progress
to it and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Even many nurses will look at
you like you’re crazy (you’re a type what, now?). Google it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Basic care and how to not accidentally kill yourself.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha………no. I’m serious. They forget to tell you things like what
ketones are, and why a high amount of them will kill you. So. Yeah. Cool.
Google it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Your weight and lifestyle choices, and how it’s your fault
that you’re a diabetic even though we’ve already established it’s not. And this
is a doctor. A DOCTOR. A DOCTOR! Good grief, for crying out loud. Pro tip: Go
to an endocrinologist that specializes in diabetes, not a primary care physician.
They’re not all like that, I know, but save yourself the trouble. Type 1
diabetics have to see an endocrinologist anyway. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- How Type 2 diabetics are lucky because they can cure
themselves. Whoa. Holy cow, there are doctors going around saying this? You
bet. They’re oversimplifying it and telling Type 2’s they can cure themselves
with diet and exercise. They don’t think there’s anything inappropriate about
using this incorrect terminology. Wrong. You can, if you have enough b cells
left to properly coordinate glucose, get off all medication for a while with
healthy choices. But you’re still diabetic. Period. In fact, I have my own diabetic
joke: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How can you tell if your doctor is a crackpot? ….They tell
you that your diabetes is cured!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAHAAHAHAAHAAHAHA. Good one, crackpot.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Was this an excuse to complain about stupid people?
Sure. Why else do you think I’d be
addressing some of the most foolish people on our planet, who are going around
blatantly infecting others because they’re selfish and think themselves
invincible? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;">But it’s also true. You CAN get an autoimmune disease like
Type 1.5 diabetes from a viral infection. </span></span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;">So when you walk into a crowded party
tonight and ask for some corona, make sure you ask for a side of autoimmune
disease to go.</span></span></h4>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTiwA0tCHxCbhQflPVAjK5S-msM0AQvHKFf_xxe-0KOlrFyizy8wNNoBXnutH1DLKVxmNRmsSGdvi83KzIqcwwEMQsjqA17noI-vKx8NnwER9fJAdOe1L6qyaK4oNQFJtHT6XXHZElfQO/s1600/corona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="680" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTiwA0tCHxCbhQflPVAjK5S-msM0AQvHKFf_xxe-0KOlrFyizy8wNNoBXnutH1DLKVxmNRmsSGdvi83KzIqcwwEMQsjqA17noI-vKx8NnwER9fJAdOe1L6qyaK4oNQFJtHT6XXHZElfQO/s200/corona.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: x-small;">*Photo credit to their creators. Except you, Diabetes Land. You're a jerk.</span></span></div>
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<br />Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-35505759558462950142019-06-18T15:46:00.004-07:002020-03-24T16:40:21.945-07:00My "Literal" Definitions of 2019 Slang<br />
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Let me know if I missed any by writing in the comments <span style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😊</span>
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Literally:</b> Still being used to describe anything that isn’t
literal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Extra:</b> A contradictory word that calls something or somebody
over-the-top, while the use of the word in the first place ends up being extra.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Ignorant: </b>Liberal word for anyone who has a different
viewpoint from you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Snowflake:</b> Republican word for anyone who has a different
viewpoint than you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Spill the tea:</b> An adorably old-fashioned way of telling
someone to give you the news or the gossip.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Sus:</b> A word for monks who are only allowed to speak five
syllables a year and don’t want to say the full word “suspect”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Get Educated:</b> A phrase used by people who never finished school,
used on PH.D graduates and professionals because they didn’t agree with them on
something they read on the internet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Arrogant:</b> Another word for someone who doesn’t have the same
viewpoint as your mom.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Lit:</b> Something exciting or cool, but is definitely not
intoxicated, which was the original meaning of the slang word for the past
century. See also: A word that already existed but was turned into slang, which
became slang that was turned into new slang. Slang slang.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Slang Slang: </b>A word I just made up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Racial slurs:</b> Evil words used by people who are evidence
against the theory of evolution.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Ghosting: </b>When mean people refuse to respond to phone calls
and text messages to their last date because they can’t handle confrontation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Triggered:</b> To explain to people that you can’t handle the
realities of life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>All Mood/Big Mood:</b> When people are trying to sound extra so
they add additional words to the word “mood” without changing the meaning at
all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Fake News:</b> When Trump supporters don’t like news programs
calling out the president for his policies, and when news programs don’t
actually report the truth. Also used any time you don’t enjoy what someone
says. Like, “It looks like it’s raining outside.” “What? Fake news!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Femi Nazi:</b> Used to describe pretty much any woman with an
opinion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Feminism: </b>A word that can only be used if you promise to use
it incorrectly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Woke: </b>A word that was once powerful that has now been
watered down to drivel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Thanks Obama:</b> A phrase dating back to when Obama was
president and blamed for everything bad that happened to a person throughout
their day. Some of us millennials like to use it just to remind ourselves we’re
getting old.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Basic: </b>Use this word to insult another person when you want
everyone to know how much of a jerk you are without having to show them
multiple examples of it.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Shook:</b> Like triggered, but a happy or surprised version.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Girl Boss:</b> When women try to show female empowerment by
calling another woman a girl boss, and accidentally end up promoting gender
inequality because people don’t say male boss, so why do we need to
say girl boss?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Mansplaining:</b> Often misused to describe any man who simply
has an opinion about anything. The original definition was used to define a very
real problem when men explain things to women that they already know,
especially in the workplace. Now used with angry devil emojis to come after anything
male.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Anti-vaxxers:</b> Often surrounded by words of befuddlement of
why these people still exist in 2019.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Slay: </b>When you want to compliment someone for being strong,
so you use a word that means to murder someone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Keyboard Warriors:</b> Possibly the best slang of the year, it’s
used to describe people who fight with everyone on the internet and purposely
incite them with controversial opinions, from the safety of their parent’s
basement. Statistically proven to be incapable of engaging in confrontation in
actual, real-life scenarios.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Keyboard Activists:</b> A slang term I think I just made up to
describe someone similar to a keyboard warrior, but is someone who supports
every social cause under the sun online. They will come after people with cyber
pitchforks, but can never make it to the town council meeting to promote actual
change. I am a partial keyboard activist.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Me:</b> Someone who tells it like it is and offends a lot of
people. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I literally can’t believe you read this entire post. I’m
sure you think I’m basic, but I think this list was pretty lit. Thanks Obama.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-33213687608014010102019-05-14T09:39:00.003-07:002019-05-14T09:39:53.345-07:00Why Aren't People Polite Anymore?<br />
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There’s the old saying “you reap what you sow”. It’s not
always true, but more often than not, it’s the answer to most of life’s
problems. I’ve found this to be case when I hear someone complaining that young
people just aren’t polite anymore.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, to a teenager I may be old, but in general, people
would call me young, and I can’t tell you whether people were politer in the 50’s,
or the 60’s, or even the 80’s. I wasn’t there, so I have to go off what other people
tell me, which is…they were, apparently. It’s a challenge for me to imagine adolescences
truly being any more respectful then, but we’ll roll with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Okay, so what changed? <o:p></o:p></div>
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The more I think about politeness in the context of today’s
culture in America, the greater one particular word resonates with me: offense.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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This isn’t a blog post about politics, but there does seem
to be a correlation between offense and politeness; that is, as people become
more mindful of an increasingly diverse culture and want to avoid offending
people, traditionally viewed forms of politeness decline. <o:p></o:p></div>
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People do not want to risk offending others for the sake of
being traditionally polite. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As an example, I used to call people “sir” and “ma’am”. I
stopped, because the response I received was negative. I had some people say, “I’m
not ma’am, ma’am is my mother.” They could be five years older than me, or
forty. It didn’t matter, but they still took offense. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The other dilemma is trying to guess someone’s gender over
the phone, which is always a risk. Especially if that person does not identify
as the gender you’re addressing them by.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So no more “sir” and “ma’am”. What about men holding open
doors?<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are still plenty of men who hold the door open for
women and children, my spouse included, but that courtesy has declined as well.
I’ve heard of well-intentioned men being told off by women, claiming “they
could open their own door”. On the flip side, some women get angry when a man
doesn’t offer to hold the door open for them. What else can one do except
attempt to gentrify this traditional form of politeness, so people stop expecting
it, and they can stop getting yelled at for it?<o:p></o:p></div>
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No holding open doors. What else?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Standing up when a woman enters the room, pushing her chair
in for her, or paying for a woman’s meal on a date all receive the same
treatment: madam guillotine. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I can’t tell you the number of people I’ve had conversations
with who say they not only dislike getting telephone calls, but it makes them
angry. If someone can convey the same information to you through a text
message, why would they call, interrupt what you are doing, and take up
valuable time? It’s the same with stopping by their house unannounced. This is
one of those elements of politeness that doesn’t have to do with offense, and
more with an increasingly technological world. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But back to offense. Do you remember thank you notes and
Christmas cards? They were thoughtful gestures, but now you must consider those
who would feel your cards were distasteful. They prefer e-cards, because they
don’t waste paper and hurt the environment, and they never check the mail. Perhaps
the joke you made was culturally insensitive to penguins. People don’t want to
pour their time into sending out cards if they aren’t appreciated.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do you remember when people used to have debates, rather
than arguments? Individuals could have differentiating opinions about something
without recessing to hurling insults or even fists. It was socially acceptable
to see another person’s point of view, even if their viewpoint was unpopular.
In fact, it was a sign of wisdom and good etiquette. But now seeing someone
else’s viewpoint is synonymous with agreeing with them. As an example, if
someone goes to jail for hitting another person and it’s in the news, you are
not permitted to question their motives for hitting that person, or sympathize
with them in any way. You could consider their actions despicable while still
seeing their reasoning, but your understanding is no longer viewed as polite.
Instead, your willingness to try to understand someone who is considered
socially unacceptable is either sexist, racist, perverted, or all of the above.
You must agree with the masses and verbally skewer this stranger.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are other comparisons I could make, but I believe
these are the most-widely known as standards of American etiquette. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, to answer the question that seems to come to many minds
of the Baby Boomer generation, people aren’t as polite anymore because they’re
afraid to offend someone. And, in this day and age, the fear seems valid. Plus,
when your gesture of respect could end up as someone’s scouring Reddit story,
is being polite to one person still worth it? I think the answer to that
question is different for everyone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the end, I believe politeness has a way of falling in and
out of trend, and transforms over time. I’m sure society will come up with new
and clever ways to convey the same meaning. It may just not include “yes sir”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, this is merely my opinion. I certainly hope I
didn’t offend you <span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😊</span> <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-79279367854867864132019-01-15T13:12:00.000-08:002019-01-15T13:12:20.295-08:00With Beaded Breath<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXyLSCh_3PrUdKE6FOyoJdPsTTvPzWzMcz4SqPLYNDfVuBlusIhmd5RmcXQYtu1j61WnBBv9sHOi-zeolZGqV6qp6SSa19AzW_C6EWodEaBQh4UeBRx8GjHaeBxFJE2YwsYlsTYfkSKzR/s1600/necklace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXyLSCh_3PrUdKE6FOyoJdPsTTvPzWzMcz4SqPLYNDfVuBlusIhmd5RmcXQYtu1j61WnBBv9sHOi-zeolZGqV6qp6SSa19AzW_C6EWodEaBQh4UeBRx8GjHaeBxFJE2YwsYlsTYfkSKzR/s200/necklace.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
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In my previous blog post, I wrote about scarves and their predilection
for choking me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And since we’re on the topic of things you wear around your
neck…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have a black, beaded necklace that I like to wear. It’s
professional but pretty, and the beads are large and wrap together in thick
strands up to the clasp. It looked vaguely similar to the necklace in the picture above.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I really should say I HAD a black, beaded necklace that
I liked to wear. Recently, that necklace died in a less-than-subtle fashion. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It exploded. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe it didn’t spontaneously combust into flames, but it
did burst into a shower of beads as I sat innocently at my work desk. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I didn’t play with it, I wasn’t chewing it or tugging at the
threads – I didn’t even touch it. That thing just blew up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Also, to paint a wonderful mental image for you, the beads went
into every nook and crevice on my person. You’re welcome.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After my initial, “What
the heck just happened?” moment passed, I grabbed the broken strands and tried
to undo the clasp to contain the continuous spillage, but of course, it wouldn’t
budge. For the first time ever, I couldn’t get the necklace off, so I ran to
the bathroom down the hall, a trail of black beads behind me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I felt like Hansel and Gretel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Into the bathroom I went, where I leaned over the counter
and tried to aim for the trash can as the beads continued to pour down my back,
my front, onto the countertop, onto the floor…basically, everywhere. There was
nothing I could do to stop the dam. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Naturally, once the beads had finished um, dispersing, I was
suddenly able to undo the necklace clasp without any problems. A couple more
beads fell down my shirt. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And that’s when I finally noticed there was someone in the
middle stall.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Silence. Throughout the entire ordeal, they said nothing to
me. Maybe the door was shut by accident? But no, I saw little shoes underneath.
They were there, and instead of acknowledging the fiasco from the other side,
they pretended not to exist.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Awkward.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Now, I still had a job to do. I needed to loosen my clothes
to get the rest of the beads off my person. The problem was, there are only
three stalls in my work bathroom, so whether I chose the left or right stall,
it made no difference. When I went inside, I was right next to the mystery
person. I tried to be quiet, but as I adjusted my clothes, a flood of beads
fell onto the tiled floor, bouncing off their shoes and legs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I froze. I gasped, and then I laughed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Nothing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I think I saw a slight wiggle of a shoe, but that was it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Sorry,” I whispered. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it was Casper? But it couldn’t be. Casper was a
friendly ghost. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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There were beads all over the floor now. I couldn’t clean
them up because I didn’t have a broom. I would have to leave it like this for
the custodial crew that night.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not. A. Single. Word.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nervous chuckled once more before slinking out of the
bathroom and escaping to my desk. I never found out who mystery shoes was, but
I’ll give them a 10/10 for awkwardness!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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For the rest of the day as I moved about the office, a
random trail of black beads fell out the bottom of my pant legs, like I was a
vending machine with a leak. I pretended not to notice. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I found more beads later that night when I showered. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still finding the beads at work, by the
way, even though it’s been more than a month since the “incident”. There’s some
in the carpet by my desk, and they’re nicely dispersed around the corners of
the bathroom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And although I’ve been paying a lot closer attention to
people’s shoes at work lately, I’ve never found my victim.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Maybe they <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">were</b> a
ghost.<o:p></o:p></div>
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*Image to respective owner</div>
<br />Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-72805661561330489702019-01-15T12:35:00.000-08:002019-01-15T12:35:05.030-08:00What the Scarf?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3Zc81pMjDgof_uXCgAe68vp-FDWKEq2-9VFQtmphb7H4f0ax_eV6-6wa2n71mwlMcoVKDdq_Ult1x_ODkmDbJ5yW8KMl4qbTXPAetqefvRy-Heu24lFKjykBiVUV54M2n2SFH6PowVNB/s1600/scarves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="1300" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3Zc81pMjDgof_uXCgAe68vp-FDWKEq2-9VFQtmphb7H4f0ax_eV6-6wa2n71mwlMcoVKDdq_Ult1x_ODkmDbJ5yW8KMl4qbTXPAetqefvRy-Heu24lFKjykBiVUV54M2n2SFH6PowVNB/s200/scarves.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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There are a lot of things in my life I never thought I would
say but have, like: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Does anyone have a glow stick I can borrow?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“How could someone completely dispose of a body without a
trace? Theoretically speaking.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And even<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“No, China’s not a continent.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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But do you know what I’ve never said? “Man, I wish I had a
scarf right now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Because other than being a fashion accessory, scarves are a
useless creation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I present to you instead: The turtleneck, the high collared
jacket, the hoodie. Or nothing around your neck at all, because your neck was
fine in the first place.</div>
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<br /></div>
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A scarf really is the equivalent of a turtle neck, except
you just spent an extra ten to twenty dollars buying one more article of
clothing. If you don’t feel like you’re slowly being strangled to death every
time something’s wrapped around your throat, just stick to the turtle neck.
Same difference. Plus, it’s easier to wash a shirt than it is a scarf. You
don’t have to worry about putting each individual turtleneck you own into its
own wash cycle to “preserve the integrity of the garment”. It’s a SCARF.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the other hand, scarves are adorable and come in a
variety of styles and colors. If your main purpose in wearing it is for fashion
and not for warmth, then you’re doing it right.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I always worry I’m going to lose the small but awkward piece
of clothing someplace, or it’s going to get stuck in a revolving door and I’m
going to be the idiot they have to call the fire department for. I have no idea
how that’s possible, but as I’ve said before, I’m clumsy. How about the
escalators? The bus doors? Your own feet? So many opportunities to face plant
or hang yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet in my dresser I still have a drawer stuffed to the brim with
scarves. All pretty, all colorful, and all begging to be worn. I keep them, so
that one day when I decide I’m suddenly fashion forward, I’ll have a hundred
thousand scarves to choose from.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And to anyone who has bought me a scarf as a gift before, I
love it. Please don’t hate me. In fact, I used scarves for a while to cover up
my thyroid scar. There are a lot of creative reasons I could come up with to
wear my scarves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But it sure won’t be because I’m cold. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-42789758255342771762018-09-11T15:54:00.000-07:002018-09-11T15:54:02.758-07:00Sleep Talking and T-Rex Advocacy<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6Pqmvo92uVOt7ieDEosyS4_lr3-uC_KESkFn9Kp-GO8RNKeP5yX-gqGMIdBliWAW8iD-Qvt-1lOrcfPa6h38W_wHiehM6b9ocYuE0TpcC3JHwlJSvQk25GNJWuMMl0fZ2EYNmd60BtMr/s1600/trex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="540" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6Pqmvo92uVOt7ieDEosyS4_lr3-uC_KESkFn9Kp-GO8RNKeP5yX-gqGMIdBliWAW8iD-Qvt-1lOrcfPa6h38W_wHiehM6b9ocYuE0TpcC3JHwlJSvQk25GNJWuMMl0fZ2EYNmd60BtMr/s200/trex.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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My husband talks in his sleep, but only when he’s dog-tired.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Typically, it’s the kind of unintelligible drabble that
dissipates in a minute or two, followed by soft snoring (I’m sorry honey, did I
say snoring? I meant “breathing”). I’ve been known to talk in my sleep before,
but it hasn’t happened in quite a while (that we know of).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Recently I’ve discovered his subconscious has decided to
take this one-way conversation to the next level. The outcome of this hilarious
turn of events is my newfound appreciation for my husband’s surprisingly
tender-hearted advocacy for fantasy creatures, great and small. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One night when we were out of town, my husband fell asleep
while watching a movie. I tried to get some sleep myself, but mere moments
after turning out the lights, I heard the quiet, concerned murmurings of my
husband lying next to me: <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Humpty Dumpty….”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Why can’t they put him back together?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I opened my eyes, wondering if he was awake. I had my back
turned to him, so it was hard to tell. He repeated the same question, a slur in
his voice:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Why can’t they fix Humpty Dumpty?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Send all the knights and horses…”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I snorted, grabbing the pillow under my head to stifle it.
There was no doubt about it, he was sleep talking. There was a long silence
after that, and I thought it might be the end of it. But then I heard a
sorrowful sigh, and then a voice that dropped an octave to deliver a serious
accusation:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“It was the king.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I sat up a little, intrigued by this turn of events. It was
like a soap opera in his sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I think Humpty forgot to bring something to his party, so
that’s why he did it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“…the king murdered him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I stuffed the entire corner of the pillow into my mouth to
prevent myself from laughing, probably more out of amusement than actual
consideration, if I’m being honest. My body shook, and even though my husband
isn’t a light sleeper, I was surprised it didn’t wake him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I choked on the pillow Then I laughed again. I
choke-laughed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do you think they’ll serve Humpty at his funeral?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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-Pause-<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Because I think that would be inappropriate.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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My whole body wracked with laughter. I began rolling around
on the bed in an absolute fit. I only wished my phone was nearby so I could
record it. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do you like egg salad?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“I don’t really like it, but you should eat it soon because
he’ll go bad quickly.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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That was it; my poor lungs – not to mention my heart –
couldn’t take it anymore. I ran over to the light and turned it on as my
laughter rang unabashedly throughout the room. Hopping on the bed, I shook my
husband awake. He stared at me with a sleepy expression, probably wondering why
I had just interrupted a good sleep. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I had a hard time repeating what he’d said through my fits
of giggles, but afterward, he told me I should write it down so I wouldn’t
forget. I did just that, transposing his little story of intrigue, espionage,
and betrayal on my phone. I told him his conversation reminded me of the Five
Stages of Grief, except there was apparently a sixth stage, called “Eating your
Loved One” at the end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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If that were the end of it, I’d find it funny enough, but a
week and a half later – this time, in our own apartment – he did it again. And
as I stated before, I didn’t forget my phone this time and recorded it: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“T-Rex…mwfgsjhfdkl….”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“T-Rex’s have a bad
rap…”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“It’s not fair.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Why do they always make them bad guys?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Maybe they don’t want to be meat eaters. Maybe they’d be
nice if they ate plants.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Are they bullies? Are they bullied? I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Does anyone know?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I think long necks are the real bad guys; they’re too
peaceful.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m saddened to say that there was more, but I couldn’t make
out the words. On the one hand, I hope he continues to talk in his sleep,
because who couldn’t use another laugh or two? On the other hand…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d like to actually sleep too, and I don’t think laughter
is the best medicine for THAT.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-13872518270918406502018-05-15T13:38:00.003-07:002019-01-15T11:25:52.802-08:00"It's just a Flesh Wound!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDYpOKAW2_tXHDV3sHZsVLMdCNEke10JYH8yRNAPaAucxa5O2pIGf4fv0HT3rBSeP0o4muk3KNmbJdb-PaZVQ1xzLLS4MgZgcCVdpoIyQ_0n74sqGUcheQs3t7po7fTA1gpfwzfXIK-ZZ/s1600/lunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDYpOKAW2_tXHDV3sHZsVLMdCNEke10JYH8yRNAPaAucxa5O2pIGf4fv0HT3rBSeP0o4muk3KNmbJdb-PaZVQ1xzLLS4MgZgcCVdpoIyQ_0n74sqGUcheQs3t7po7fTA1gpfwzfXIK-ZZ/s200/lunch.jpg" width="181" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Have you ever had one of those days where everything is
going according to plan, nothing is out of the ordinary, and then, out of
nowhere, you suddenly have a knife protruding from your leg and you’re bleeding
in the parking lot?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Oh, so just me then?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Cool, cool.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My clumsiness knows no bounds. I once slammed my finger in
the kitchen cupboard, turned around and tripped over the family dog, stood up, and
finally stubbed my toe on the base of the banister. It’s a miracle I didn’t
fall down the stairs while I was at it – really go for the gold, you know?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And, despite my predisposition to break in every door and
baseboard in the house by running directly into them, I have never broken a
bone (not officially, anyway). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not even
as a small child, when I ran circles around my family in the living room,
screaming at the top of my lungs, and slipped and ran headfirst into the metal
fireplace holder. I did get a very stylish butterfly bandage, though. Nor the
time when I fell (twice!) out of the van because I missed a step and bit
through my bottom lip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Let’s not forget the innate toddler curiosity that spurred
me to place my hand squarely on the stovetop burner. I still have the scars to
show for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And so, it’s not terribly surprisingly that I would end up,
at some point, with a kitchen knife in my leg – not when you really think about
it. I didn’t get the normal injuries other kids had – broken bones and sprained
ankles from playing sports. No, I go for the spectacular, the kind that make
doctors cock their head to the side and say, “How did you manage to do that?”</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m kind of exciting to doctors. I’m much more interesting
than your standard common cold. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">About a year and a half ago, I was dog sitting for my
parents while they were out of town. My husband and I brought this spunky,
Yorkie-Schnauzer mix named Stuart to our apartment to stay overnight, and we
planned to drop him off the next morning at my parents’ so he would be comfortable
while we were at work. On this morning, I decided to pack a lunch. I wanted one
of the best staples there is for lunch food – a classic tomato sandwich. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">However, trying to be clever, I decided instead of slicing
the tomatoes at home and risking the mayonnaise on the sandwich turning them
into a mushy disaster, I would take the whole tomato with me and pack one of
our kitchen knives, so I could slice it fresh at work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You know where this is going. I decided to pack a razor-sharp
kitchen knife in my lunchbox. Which was nylon fabric, by wrapping it in paper
towels as “protection”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Nothing penetrates paper towels! Nothing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Everything was peachy keen as I brought Stuart down to the
car in our parking lot. I pushed his hyper, wriggly body over into the
passenger seat and set the lunchbox down on the driver’s seat so I could do so.
Momentarily forgetting about the existence of the knife (if I only remembered
one thing that morning, it should have been the knife), I leaned over the
lunchbox to get the dog settled. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And that’s when it happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It felt like a schoolyard bully pinching me as hard as they
could. I couldn’t figure out what it was – at first. Did I just kneel on the
seatbelt buckle? Was there something on the sea-</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><em>Oh.</em> </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yes, there <em>was </em>something on the seat.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Remember my tomato sandwich? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">For a few seconds, I didn’t do anything. I thought, “maybe I
can just stay here in this position, and never find out what I’ve just done.
Maybe if I don’t move, I can rewind time. I’ll just turn to stone, here in the
parking lot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s not that I’m super squeamish about blood, it’s the
injury that comes with it. I don’t like gaping wounds, or legs that bend
unnaturally, or puke. Wait until I become a mother, won’t that be fun?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I closed my eyes and gently sat up. As I did so, the knife
that had gone through layers of paper towels as well as my nylon lunchbox, slid
out of my leg. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now, before I tell you what happened next, let me preface by
coming to my own defense. I couldn’t feel any pain, and Hollywood has taught me
that if you can’t feel pain when you sustain an injury, you’re basically dead. So,
there I was standing in the parking lot, basically dead. I watched in horror as
my jeans went from a dark blue to red, blood pooling around me. I was in shock
for the first couple of minutes because, you know, I was BLEEDING, so I pressed
my hand against the wound. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Meanwhile, the dog panted in the passenger seat, completely
oblivious of my imminent demise. He smiled at me. I wished for Lassie, or Old
Yeller, or the dog from the Cesar Savory Delights commercial.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Nooo, instead I had Stuart the Wonder Dog, as in, it’s a
wonder he can be so clueless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I saw an older man walking on the other side of the parking
lot, and I called to him – once, twice, three times you’re out. I know what you’re
thinking – maybe he just didn’t hear you? Well, this was a small parking lot
and my yells scared away the birds; he wasn’t THAT old. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was impossible to tell, as I couldn’t feel any pain
(remember, I was on my deathbed) how deep the knife had gone, or where exactly
the injury was. I saw a hole in my jeans and plenty of blood, and that’s about
it. In my confusion, I even used my jacket to tie a tourniquet just in case it
was worse than I thought.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Of course, a tourniquet would have been better if I tied it
ABOVE the wound and not BELOW it, but hey, hindsight’s twenty-twenty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I called my husband to let him know I had been stabbed, and
to please come get me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I know, I know. That came out wrong. Again, hindsight. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A few minutes passed and my neighbor came into view, heading
toward her car, which was conveniently parked next to mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a polite, <strong>“Excuse me?”</strong> She looked up and
I watched as her eyes widened to saucers. I asked if she could put Stuart back
in the apartment, as I was a little…preoccupied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sometimes you meet people under the strangest of
circumstances. We became friends. We bring her the family chocolates that we
make at Christmas time, and she allows me to pet her temperamental bird. I
learned that the strange screaming noise we randomly here when watching t.v. is
not, in fact, a dying puppy, but a very vocal Aves. The more you know. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My husband and my mother-in-law arrived a few minutes after
my neighbor had helped Stuart into the house, and we got a good look at the
knife wound. It was minor. It was embarrassingly so. I guess I wasn’t dying
after all. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">While my husband drove Stuart home, my mother-in-law took me
to InstaCare. I walked in, in a pair of very oversized shorts (my husband’s),
limping up to the front desk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>“Hello, I’m here for InstaCare.”</strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The lady in glasses reluctantly pried herself from her phone
screen and looked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>“Please fill out
the tablet. What are you seeing us for?”</strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>“Oh, right. I stabbed myself.”<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There were several other people waiting for InstaCare, but
for some reason, I was the next person called.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Remember how I told you I made doctors’ days more exciting? This
was no exception. He didn’t try to hide the look of glee as he came into the
room to do my stitches. <strong>“This breaks up the day, between all the coughs and
upset stomachs.”</strong> I’m sure it did.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was glad to be of service. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Maybe next time I can up the ante and come in with an axe in
the back of my head?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span> *Update: I went axe throwing. I did not get an axe in the back of my head. Poor doctor.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">*Image Credit to Respective Owner.</span></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-83685847481749085292018-05-09T13:19:00.001-07:002018-05-15T13:39:09.232-07:00Dear John
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHsPN5lgtBeGqFcy4UP1SFOAMRPlOz_bjgkPNDmJ2V37qKbWCgl_QSvLUoESv3EKXCHkLa-Vpk13tyvST-VRdEjs3OONu_4k3DupqYAC_yNuuE1g4pux1NrC78lg9XWHUiaB1aa2qs9ZJJ/s1600/pizza.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHsPN5lgtBeGqFcy4UP1SFOAMRPlOz_bjgkPNDmJ2V37qKbWCgl_QSvLUoESv3EKXCHkLa-Vpk13tyvST-VRdEjs3OONu_4k3DupqYAC_yNuuE1g4pux1NrC78lg9XWHUiaB1aa2qs9ZJJ/s200/pizza.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dear John,</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am not a stalker, we’ve never met before, and I certainly
don’t know what color of socks you’re wearing (although if you have tennis
shoes on, I sincerely hope you ARE wearing socks). However, over the course of
the last two years, I feel like I’ve come to know you...on a personal level.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Intimately. One could say we’re even best friends.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For example, today the Dominos pizza guy called to tell you
that he was ten minutes away from the Air Force base, and to please send someone
to let him into the facility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You are a lover of pizza.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few realtors have texted, reminding you about open houses
and asking for you to contact them for pricing. This has happened for years –
you must like to dabble in the great housing adventure. In other words, you
live on the wild side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of your friends wanted to make sure you were still “down”
for game night at his house, because he had the Xbox ready to go.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another friend sent a verbose inquiry as to your state of
mind and physical wellbeing with a “What’s up?” text message. When I informed
him I was not John, he tried to initiate the animal mating ritual of flirting,
and was disappointed when he discovered someone had already put a ring on it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Your grandmother would still like you to visit, as she has a
permanent place set for you for dinners on Friday. You should really let her
know where you live, John. THIS IS YOUR GRANDMOTHER, JOHN. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The salon would like you to confirm your haircut
appointment, which I assume you never did. I wonder if you walked around with
shaggy hair for the next week because you forgot. It was a cheap place, so you
must be a “no mess, no fuss” kind of a guy. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Various – and I do mean various – political campaigns have
been trying to reach you to secure their next donation for the cause. I’m
actually unclear if this one was you, or if some random mischief maker gave my
details out to multiple political parties for the fun of it. Feel free to make
the donation directly through me this year instead. I’ll make Sure it gets to
someone who really needs it. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’re a young, politically minded, pizza loving, video gaming,
real estate dabbling, forgetful employee of the Air Force who might be a bit of
a cheapskate. Yes, you may use this as your blurb for Match.com. All those are
nice and well, John, but what my friend really wanted to know when I mentioned
you was whether you were single. If you wouldn’t mind getting back to us on
that, we would appreciate it. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think it’s fair to say that given enough time, you can
really get to know a person by the type of phone calls and text messages they
get. I appreciate that your acquaintances are much less vexing than the person
who used to have my last phone number. I was getting awfully tired of the
Collections department of various agencies ringing me around the clock. Gina
must have been a real shady character.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nevertheless, I suggest that next time -unless you want a
total stranger knowing the inner workings of your life – please remember to
update your phone number. Otherwise, I might have to tell the next Dominos
employee who calls me that I accidentally messed up the address and I’ll have a
nice, cheesy lunch on you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> *Image credit to their respective owner.</span></span></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-56230996153668030752018-04-30T15:33:00.002-07:002018-05-15T13:47:15.648-07:00Response: Gaines Family and USA Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP5q4O-T8o0_tnWZxEzAM1jL37L7Xna2VHGEF5VI4ySlTVWRC9Ut6WEbdUMXwo5U3W6gbnJ2L_huzPppx5ML8FbDU8nGewzcnzrbM6gNjvFgwVcrvcVY5MmIOPnlZKVg0BMQ588DRShhO/s1600/fixer+upper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP5q4O-T8o0_tnWZxEzAM1jL37L7Xna2VHGEF5VI4ySlTVWRC9Ut6WEbdUMXwo5U3W6gbnJ2L_huzPppx5ML8FbDU8nGewzcnzrbM6gNjvFgwVcrvcVY5MmIOPnlZKVg0BMQ588DRShhO/s200/fixer+upper.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">An Orem, Utah resident named Darryl (I'm excluding his last name for privacy)was featured in a USA Today
opinion piece, where he criticized the HGTV “Fixer Upper” stars, Joanna and
Chip Gaines. In his comments, he stated that he thought they were not spending
enough time with their children and focusing too much on their work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, Chip responded to this article, emphasizing
how important his family is to him, and if his job were in any way negatively
influencing that, they would quit immediately.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This struck a chord with me for a few reasons. One, I felt
it reflected badly on other Utahns (such as myself) and made it seem that, as a
very family oriented state, we are quick to judge others in how they raise
their own families. Two, I enjoy the Fixer Upper show for the very reason that
Chip and Joanna Gaines are, by all appearances, a good and stable family who
have their priorities straight. Thirdly, that people in our society feel that
they have the right to criticize parents if they parent differently than
themselves, and that it’s acceptable to publicly reprimand them. Finally, the
idea that someone cannot be successful in their profession unless they are
somehow neglecting their children is highly archaic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See also: Backwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Let’s not forget that these are real people behind their tv
personalities, and making a judgment on someone’s parenting without personally
knowing them is one of the harshest statements you can make. A good parent can
be profoundly hurt by anyone insinuating that they’re a bad parent in some way.
It’s further insulting when, as Darryl suggested, he somehow knows the
inner workings of the Gaines family – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">from
watching them on television</i>. I would hope that most people can understand
that “reality television” is anything but, and what may appear on screen as two
people doing all the backbreaking labor to renovate a home is probably due in
great part to a huge team behind them. In other words – it’s highly probable
that the Gaines have more time to devote to their children than their tv show
makes it appear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Beyond the television show, Darryl states that they must
be too busy to spend time with their children because they run a ranch, have a
real estate business, a restaurant, etc. Again, most “celebrities” have their
name used as a marketing point, but are not personally running these ventures
themselves. And, as I can attest, having a blog does not take up a great deal
of time. Appearances and reality are usually two distinctly different things.
He states that the Gaines are doing a disservice to all other families by
making it seem like you can have such success and still have time for your
family. I don’t believe this is a disservice at all. I think adults are
intelligent enough and logical enough to understand what their own personal
limitations are, and discern fact from fiction. If not, that’s really a
personal problem, isn’t it?</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I can’t go into every point that Darryl brings up in his
opinion piece, because I don’t want my blog response to be as lengthy as the
article. However, to view the entire opinion piece, please follow this link: </span><a href="https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2018/04/27/chip-gaines-joanna-gaines-fixer-upper-family-first-column/554044002/"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "calibri";">https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2018/04/27/chip-gaines-joanna-gaines-fixer-upper-family-first-column/554044002/</span></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Why am I defending the Gaines family? Because I think
everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, because I have enjoyed watching
their show, and because I think it’s not only judgmental but rather callous to
make such a serious accusation. As Darryl said that he was a parent himself,
I am further flummoxed as to why he would try to degrade another family. I don’t
know if he believes himself the crusader of family values or if it’s for a
different reason. I’m going to try not to presume. I simply do not know why he
feels this way, but I can say, I think the only disservice here is the one Darryl
provided to the Gaines family.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Someone’s level of fame should not make it socially
acceptable to publicly blast their parenting skills without adequate
justification. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is an important
difference between “I personally know the Gaines family and have seen their
neglect of their children” and “I have watched the Gaines family on tv and
think they must be bad parents.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">First cast out the beam out of thine own eye.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">*Photo Credit to respective owner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-26412993088806618112018-01-12T12:55:00.005-08:002019-01-15T12:05:17.961-08:00Immigrants did WHAT?!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdaZw_DmP6fzqgqDUY71DyyBeY8jxvJJjoH_SNo06YL8KRPhQVvT4FN-w6NV2yp2F4Ug6XrgFyDzrOyejr4PiPwD7HRVJ4Pv55_eqIXdgl8vpiv3UNi7mHZ-lUeIPuXspeG_1hCwx-smx/s1600/country.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="583" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdaZw_DmP6fzqgqDUY71DyyBeY8jxvJJjoH_SNo06YL8KRPhQVvT4FN-w6NV2yp2F4Ug6XrgFyDzrOyejr4PiPwD7HRVJ4Pv55_eqIXdgl8vpiv3UNi7mHZ-lUeIPuXspeG_1hCwx-smx/s320/country.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the newest round of insults are being flung between the two
major political parties in this country - not unlike monkeys flinging their sh –
I mean “poop” at one another, I find myself wanting to stop talking to people altogether. It amazes me when people don’t
know that they’re covered in poop themselves, before throwing a handful at
somebody else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But poop aside, I can’t resist commenting on a certain topic
that was touched upon by the (currently) most famous politician in our country.
The reason why is because of how morally reprehensible it was, but more than
that, it wasn’t factual in the least. I can’t in good conscience not
acknowledge the cruel and inaccurate message that the leader of our country
tried to instill into the hearts of immigrants who came to our country for a
better life. Most of them don’t have expectations of grandeur, they simply want
to live in a place that has access to clean water, healthcare, and where they
don’t have to constantly worry about a violent end to their lives and the lives
of their children. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Immigrants are not a blight on this country – in fact, they
are quite the opposite. And you don’t even have to take my word for it! After
all, who am I? I’m not a scholar, I don’t have a position of power. I’m your
friend from across the hall, your cousin that you see every few years, that one
coworker addicted to caffeine. I’m an average American with average opinions.
So, if you’re looking for facts to support my claim, there are numerous
academic articles from college professors, politicians, business owners, research
market analysists, and more on the topic. I think that’s the primary problem
with our opinions today – a lot of our opinions are just that: they have no
facts to back it up with. Your brother’s best friend’s cousin works for ICE and
they say immigrants are bad, and they obviously know what they’re talking
about.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just the other day I was reading a book called “The
Millionaire Next door”, by Thomas J. Stanley. It was published in the 1990’s,
which means that there are more updated resource materials you could look at.
However, the reason I bring this particular book up is because it is so well
supported by research. Stanley and a group of other well-educated analysists
were hired by a corporation to interview millionaires in the United States.
They wanted to know what millionaires were actually like, outside of how the
media portrays them. They interviewed a wide selection of millionaires and
found out some surprising information. For example, did you know that the
majority of millionaires are first generation? Most of them come from a
background of poverty, and they built themselves up from nothing. They also
never spend money on flashy cars, a huge house, a fancy suit. Very, very few
millionaires today received their money from inheritance, because most inheritance
millionaires are from decades past. Most of those prestigious families already
spent all the money they had, because they never had to understand the value of
a dollar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why am I talking about this? Because another interesting fact
is that a high ratio of millionaires in America (at least in the 90’s), are
immigrants. That’s right – those “lazy” immigrants the president is referring
to started with no money in their pockets and built a future for their
children, and their children’s children. And do you know how they did it?
Through hard, honest work. By getting up at five am and coming home at seven pm
every day. They are entrepreneurs, owning gas stations and sheet metal scrap
businesses. When it comes down to the number of people in this country whose
ancestors came over on the Mayflower, there’s a lot. But when you calculate how
many hundreds of thousands of non-immigrants there are by the percent of those
non-immigrants who are millionaires, guess what? The immigrants have it. They
are hard-working, they are industrious, they are our future.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, if you want to prevent immigrants from coming to our
country, just remember that a lot of the businesses that are the backbone of our
society are a result of their hard work, not yours. Immigration is not a “pick
and choose” program. Let’s just see how this plan works out for us, huh?<o:p></o:p></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-35847613190829804322017-09-28T10:53:00.001-07:002018-05-15T13:39:45.915-07:00Respecting the Flag Verses Respecting Yourself<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49MOIU7BGlEzC2nQDHO7UvSouaD9wvBosTtAziIk6bHGqwqxU3cFAUq3qKw1qXho8brO5d9TF2MJRQ4J9_pltCxQCus0PP8U_4IekZeGDrGYqBD8cUrJGxpve4k3FapHz5D9AzUOMnYTD/s1600/flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49MOIU7BGlEzC2nQDHO7UvSouaD9wvBosTtAziIk6bHGqwqxU3cFAUq3qKw1qXho8brO5d9TF2MJRQ4J9_pltCxQCus0PP8U_4IekZeGDrGYqBD8cUrJGxpve4k3FapHz5D9AzUOMnYTD/s320/flag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
(big breath) Here it goes:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is political. I may be unfriended by a few people for
this, and that’s alright by me. If someone unfriends another person for
expressing a difference of opinion that is not blatantly malicious or hostile,
the problem is with themselves, and not with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is someone’s right in this country to express their
discontent with a small part or a large part of our government and society. It
is also their right to express this without fear or threat against their life,
their livelihood (their job), or the lives and well-being of their family. That
means that we also have the right to express our disagreement with their form
of protest, but our right to express ourselves ends at threatening their lives
and their careers. It is also corrupt for someone in public office to use their
power to incite anger and violence against other citizens in this country. If
it were not this way, it would be stunning to see how quickly we dissolved into
an authoritarian society like North Korea. Every day I am so grateful for the
freedom that I and everyone else has – even when I don’t agree with them – in
the United States to say how I feel even when it is unpopular. These initial statements
aren’t my opinion but rather statements, my opinion follows next.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When that freedom is threatened, I must speak up and defend
it, or risk one day losing it through complacency. It’s probably clear that I
am referencing a specific hot topic today, which is the controversy surrounding
some athletes taking a knee during the National Anthem instead of standing with
their hand over their heart. Let me be clear: Take my words exactly as they
are. I have no hidden meaning or agenda behind them, so please don’t twist
them. I mean exactly what I say. No implication necessary. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I believe these athletes – like anyone else in this country
– have the right to peacefully protest. This is on the assumption that they
themselves consider what they are doing as protesting. We do not get to pick
and choose which causes and which people get to have freedom of speech. I have
seen far too many people already who are very vocal about their opinions on
things, completely shut these athletes down and say they should be fired or
worse. No. You have the right to protest in return or in retaliation. You can
choose to no longer watch or attend the sporting events that these athletes
play in – you can boycott. However, your right ends when you demand that they
be fired for it. Why? Because it is not
a law to stand and have one’s hand over their heart. Maybe there are specific state
rules that sanction such – I’m not going to pretend to be privy to every law in
this country – but it cannot be a legally enforceable law. If it were so, our
country would not stand out as a shining beacon. Being forced to show respect
and kneel before a symbol of government is what they do in socially repressive
societies like North Korea. I don’t believe anyone’s intentions are for the
U.S. to become an example for repression. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The point of holding our hand over our heart and standing in
front of our flag is beautiful because we choose to do so. Without that conscientious
decision, it’s mechanical and it loses all meaning. If someone is forced to
respect the flag, then they aren’t really respecting it at all but are
motivated by fear to their life, liberty, and personal property. There is
nothing beautiful about forcing your will onto someone else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Society has already established that other forms of protest
are often dangerous, uninspiring, and do not bring about long-term change.
Gathering a large group of angry people in a public place has often been
catastrophic because anger feeds on anger, and people begin to act irrationally.
It has caused thousands of dollars in damages to public and private buildings,
physical injury and chaos, and sometimes even death – and that’s just in 2017. Holding
protests on social media purportedly promotes the spread of fake news and
misinformation because it is so easily shared, edited, and twisted for people’s
own uses. People say social media is not the place to be political. Attempts to
bring about actual change through our court systems have so far proved rather
futile when it comes to race relations and discrimination. And of course, not
exercising your freedom of speech and doing nothing is the most guaranteed change
of never getting someone changed that your heart and soul believes in. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So how does one protest? It depends. If you’re white and you
are already in favor of something that is socially acceptable to our society,
you can protest by any means. Your true intentions will generally be seen for
exactly what they are. If you are an ethnic or religious minority, things get
tricky. Any form of protest will see strong backlash and viewed by white
America as an excuse to re-enforce racial stereotypes. For example, an assembly
of people of color in a public place that, due to the misguided, malicious
intent of a very small few, takes a violent turn. Now America puts blame on the
group as a whole and those with racist frames of mind will say that black
people are naturally violent, and this is why they are not, and cannot, be
treated equally. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that doesn’t work. So how do you express the pain and
agony you feel and try to promote change, if none of these are options? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This brings us back to the subject at hand – black athletes
taking a knee at football games. This is silent, peaceful protest. Are they
using their “star power” to bring an issue to light? Certainly, but anyone with
a brain would use the tools and resources they have at hand to create the
biggest impact possible for what they believe in. They are not using
intimidation or trying to coerce others to start a riot or get someone fired.
They are not burning our flag, giving people and the United States the bird,
shouting obscenities and racial slurs, damaging property, or betraying our
country by providing top secret information to our enemies. They are kneeling. Their
kneeling is a form of objection and protest, but kneeling in itself is also a
form of reverence and respect. They are still respecting the flag and our
country at the same time as they are objecting to something they do not agree
with.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The flag is not something to be worshiped, at least not in
my opinion. My own personal religion asks me not to worship any image or symbol,
simply to respect what I feel needs to be respected. Being offended is also a
choice. We as a society choose to be offended by this. Some people say they
might as well be spitting on their family member’s grave, who dedicated their
life serving in the armed forces to defend this country. But part of that
defense was also defending the right of people that they do not agree with, and
that’s exactly what they are doing. They are using the rights that these amazing
heroes have defended for them. Most Americans think Nationalism and Patriotism
are good things. Many other countries throughout history have shown great
nationalism as well, which caused an ethnocentric mindset and led to horrible,
unthinkable consequences. I believe Nationalism and Patriotism are a choice –
not everyone has to have it, especially if they feel their country is or has
failed them in some way. We don’t get to decide how someone else feels, and it
serves no good for anyone to disregard their feelings while promoting our own. We
cannot pick and choose. Some people say: Well, these people are millionaires,
they are not experiencing hardship. No, but I’m sure they have family members,
friends, acquaintances, former neighbors that are. Perhaps they feel an
obligation to these people Because they are millionaires and have so many
opportunities to use that influence to help those who do not.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I support the right of anyone to express their discontent. I
support the right of anyone to not salute our flag. It does not mean that I
will not respect the flag, but that’s my own choice. We are not the same
people, I have not experienced their lives, their hardships, or their pain. I
do not share a racial community with them and cannot understand the unique pain
of seeing others who share my skin color be hurt and made to feel obsolete. I’ll
never understand that – I’ll try, but it won’t be 100 percent.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please note: I am not here to argue or debate. I am here to
share my opinion simply because most of you have already shared yours. I allowed
you to share your opinions with complete respect for you, and have not
attempted to start a flame war on your wall. I expect the same in return. As I
have control over the content on my own Facebook wall, I am letting everyone
know beforehand that I will remove any derogatory, inflammatory, and racist
comments put here or on my blog. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-15150069542057006222017-08-25T09:32:00.001-07:002018-05-15T13:39:53.970-07:00Debate: Chair Reclining Monsters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63uTKkXFf1W9KtcPFbznzzeZIDfT01h0z-uz3NUzPZxaWIY-HysbEQuDsX5QtWLpMwGIUhWmV-O0JFZt0_VuZcyKQ8wyy-072-K8lGsDCsWbP2tBHJK_Iz_re_eMTM7Rk31ZmgkppqYbm/s1600/airplane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63uTKkXFf1W9KtcPFbznzzeZIDfT01h0z-uz3NUzPZxaWIY-HysbEQuDsX5QtWLpMwGIUhWmV-O0JFZt0_VuZcyKQ8wyy-072-K8lGsDCsWbP2tBHJK_Iz_re_eMTM7Rk31ZmgkppqYbm/s320/airplane.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone has at least one pet peeve. Even if they can’t name
it off the top of their heads, as soon as they encounter that “thing”, their
blood begins to boil. My biggest pet peeve ever? People reclining their seats
into my lap on an airplane.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Airline seats should come with a little warning attached to
them: “Recline At Your Own Peril”. Because really, you are risking a lot just to
get a small extra bit of “comfort”. If
you notice someone small and short behind you, it will probably cause zero harm
to recline your seat back a bit, especially on an overnight flight. That is
understandable. I’m only five feet tall myself, so a little reclining doesn’t
bother me. That being said…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People who recline their seats all the way back into another
person’s knees causing pain and injury are the most selfish human beings on the
planet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yep, I said it. THE MOST SELFISH HUMAN BEINGS ON THE PLANET.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve heard every counter-complaint there is. “Why should I
limit my comfort for yours?” Well for one, not being able to recline your seat
all the way back does not cause you physical injury. Do you realize that
ramming your seat into someone’s knees is assault? Oops. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not tall, and I can only imagine how difficult this is
for someone who is. My husband has a bad knee that he has had surgery on. The
last flight I took, the person in front of him hit his knees while reclining,
and thought their chair was stuck. So, they sat forward and then rammed their
back into the chair to try and get it to go down further. It took them awhile
and a grunt from my pained husband to turn around and realize, with an
irritated look on their face, that it was physically impossible for them to
recline further because my husband HAS knees. Yes, ladies and gentleman, he has
knees.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was not holding their chair, mind you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another counter-complaint I hear is, “well tall people
should just pay extra for first class or the seats with extra leg space.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Really? Then why don’t we just have a little section on the
plane for people who want to recline all the way back, that they have to pay
extra for? It seems only fair that someone who wants an extra luxury should
have to pay more for it, rather than someone who just doesn’t want to be
physically assaulted sitting in their chair.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a perfect world, the logical resolution for both types of
passengers would be airlines increasing leg room, or “pitch” between seats.
Unfortunately, airlines have no interest in doing this. They also have no
interest, according to studies, in removing the reclining feature or limiting
it. Apparently, they like their overworked flight attendants having to get
involved in disputes between passengers over leg room day in and day out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So again I say this: “Recline At Your Own Peril.” Because if
you’re crushing my knees, you are not just “using the space that you paid for.”
In fact, the space you paid for ends the second it comes in contact with the
knees of the person behind you. Did you know that? I thought not.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why don’t we all just try to be a little more courteous? If
the person in front of you is reclining and it’s not hurting you, let them be.
Maybe you’ll have to adjust the screen on the back of the chair a little bit to
see it. Likewise, if the person behind you has long legs, realize that you didn’t
luck out on this trip and keep your chair upright.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Otherwise, prepare for the kickiest ride of your life. I
promise you, sitting upright would be a lot less uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-5808977949159318912017-08-17T12:54:00.000-07:002018-05-15T13:40:02.390-07:00All in a Day's Work Edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YF9WGf1ZfjL7FGbyy3XVKXTz4CinAY12PXa4FALZB3S4ydWm5mpvIJUCNhVt9QkQZO0LGJ1PdZH5BHwhXHHy8lkkQ-U_3pIZ3Xj7fLbb_JDROZN68DdVGGQrylloFt5F9UY2gntmnqzi/s1600/what.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="630" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YF9WGf1ZfjL7FGbyy3XVKXTz4CinAY12PXa4FALZB3S4ydWm5mpvIJUCNhVt9QkQZO0LGJ1PdZH5BHwhXHHy8lkkQ-U_3pIZ3Xj7fLbb_JDROZN68DdVGGQrylloFt5F9UY2gntmnqzi/s320/what.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Scenario One:</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “I’m sorry I cannot provide you with that information.
However, the individual who owns the account can log in and give it to you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Customer: “I don’t want them to have to do it. How can I get
that information?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “You can get it from them, but there’s no way for you to
look it up on your own because it’s not public. They will need to log in to
give it to you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Customer: “Can you
provide it to me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “Again I’m sorry,
but it would be illegal for me to do so.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Customer: “But it’s only a few, and I NEED IT.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “Umm…still illegal?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is this the same kind of person who shoplifts and says, “but
it was only a few so it doesn’t count”? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQyqWA1_q8cDBLXwZANfRBMqqc2i8uTTXUFYlB_S2mwdYiEE60NEy7Mj2pHP_9on4rYXtUIQwmfWyFhNL7KcQ7eewUrwGVHIWP3sj4eI7PIQzOGMW9ZpeIT3mtYhkG0AOuu7DfIaETdTz/s1600/funny.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQyqWA1_q8cDBLXwZANfRBMqqc2i8uTTXUFYlB_S2mwdYiEE60NEy7Mj2pHP_9on4rYXtUIQwmfWyFhNL7KcQ7eewUrwGVHIWP3sj4eI7PIQzOGMW9ZpeIT3mtYhkG0AOuu7DfIaETdTz/s320/funny.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Scenario Two: <o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “Sure, I can look up your log in information for you. In
order to do that, could you give me your first and last name?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also Me: “Perfect, and to narrow down the search results,
can you also tell me what state you are in?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Young Customer: “United States”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “Oh uh, okay yes, but which state?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Young Customer: “Huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “……….?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Young Customer “………………….”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “The United States is your country…..not your state……”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Young Customer: “Uh…Florida I think?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “That’ll work”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are the weakest link, goodbye! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4eJ1UPnP1hoEeTeNQ3aU1nNzIYIHgmRpU0oABpRU0Q6bXnKHMJeFVRRCzpYlNn7Fwi9Qo1Wf0cgs4o2a4Wopz_QdnDTGilESyqkUJ-PPj9Ic-7dknRaZNWA1nKrRX9rveqwoRmSNQFWVt/s1600/map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="415" data-original-width="625" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4eJ1UPnP1hoEeTeNQ3aU1nNzIYIHgmRpU0oABpRU0Q6bXnKHMJeFVRRCzpYlNn7Fwi9Qo1Wf0cgs4o2a4Wopz_QdnDTGilESyqkUJ-PPj9Ic-7dknRaZNWA1nKrRX9rveqwoRmSNQFWVt/s320/map.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Scenario Three<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “I apologize, we are not the right department for that.
Let me get you over to the department that can help you. One moment please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-A few minutes later, the same person calls me back – <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you get disconnected when I
transferr-“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Customer: “No there’s a recording that’s telling me that you
are going to take my information and sell it overseas if I continue the conversation
and I’m not (swears) going to do that!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: “Uh, there is a recording that is for security purposes,
that states if you end up providing us with your information and we need to
speak to our partner whose product you are using, you will allow us to share
your name with them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Customer: “NO, it SAYS it will sell my information overseas.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: ‘I’m sorry, there must be a misunderstanding. I have
listened to this recording many times and although it may sound like that, that
is not what it means. The recording ends after a minute and then it will allow
you to talk to our Customer services department, who can assist you. Unfortunately as I am a completely different
department, I have no way of assisting you with your question.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Customer: “Are you telling me I’m lying? That what I heard
on the recording is NOT what I heard?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: (rolls eyes) “Nope, I am not telling you that you are
lying. I’m stating that I am aware of the message and we are not going to sell
your information. You can choose to hang up but unfortunately, that recording
is required for legal purposes and there is no way to skip it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Customer: “I don’t want you tracking me. The NSA is already
tracking me and they track my house and my phone calls and I don’t want to be
tracked. I’ll just take my business elsewhere!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: (smiles to myself) “Okay, you are certainly within your
right to do so. I apologize for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, we are the only
company who sells this product. Have a nice day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I get a lot of people calling me who have Paranoia – and I
mean they actually have paranoia. The recording at my work? Yeah, it just says
some legal jargon about how what we sell and what our partners sell are
copyrighted and your call may be recorded for quality assurance, and that IF
you are using a product that we sell through a third party and we have to
contact the third party to help you (if they are located overseas), you will
give consent to us to provide your name. It’s weird I know, but if you want a
refund, the company has to KNOW WHO THE HECK YOU ACTUALLY ARE. Crazy, right? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLGwfcQ21RzLDjUeV9ULxrO4bOBiJL8e0XjC0Ud2gPwrxE7GMxP2FIabvqqnoza3Pm9NjDbNrRKZgnRk8daRDx3TOs8DhI9fPOrjvV5jCBq1oBWoLjP5BsMVw0_yK8bIK8oJy6SHW5qhP/s1600/paranoia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="750" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLGwfcQ21RzLDjUeV9ULxrO4bOBiJL8e0XjC0Ud2gPwrxE7GMxP2FIabvqqnoza3Pm9NjDbNrRKZgnRk8daRDx3TOs8DhI9fPOrjvV5jCBq1oBWoLjP5BsMVw0_yK8bIK8oJy6SHW5qhP/s320/paranoia.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Scenario Four<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “I
want a refund or I want a new product!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “Okay,
we would be happy to help you. I am an internal department that works on
software, so I would be happy to send you to the Customer Services department
who can assist.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “Nah
I already talked to ‘em and I don’t want to be transferred again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “I’m
sorry, I understand the frustrations. I apologize that you were incorrectly transferred.
I promise I will get you to the right place to have your situation resolved.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “Naaaah
don’t you transfer me or I’ll take legal action and I’ll sue ya’ll and” -mumbles incoherently- <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “Um, I
mean if I don’t transfer you, you won’t be helped. All I can do is make
something up but I won’t actually know what I’m talking about or how to assist
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer:
-complains about her issue more and ignores what I said, goes on for five
minutes-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “………………….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “Okay, I haven’t done this before but let me
see if I know how to send you a new product by fiddling around on the website.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “No!
I want you to send me the product!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: ‘That’s…exactly
what I just said? I’m trying right now to see how I can send it to you, but it
may take a bit because as I said, I’m not even the correct department.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “No
no no, I want you to send it to me.” -mumbles incoherently-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “……………..” (drugs?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “Alsoooo,
are these calls recorded? Because I just want to say that when I went to use my
product at one of your locations there was a man working there and he lives in
my same building, and I’m concerned for my safety – and so I just want it to be
recorded that he lives in my apartment building and I’m concerned for my
safety.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “Oh!
Okay, did something happen? Is this something that needs to be brought to the
police?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “Nah
I’m just – I’m just concerned for my safety and I want it recorded.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “Okay ma’am,
yes these calls are recorded. But did something happen that would cause you to
be concerned for your safety? If there was a confrontation please let us know
so we can look into it for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “Nah
but he works at the location I went to and he lives in my apartment building.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “…….uh,
okay.” (what??)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer:
-goes on for several more minutes about unrelated things and the product- “I’m
just suspicious, I’m suspicious of your stuff. I’m also suspicious of Comcast,
and I’m suspicious of Dell, and I’m-“<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">-those two
companies are not connected to where I work in any way, shape, or form, it was
totally random- <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: -finally
gets the issue resolved even though it had nothing to do with me-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer: “Alright
I’m gonna trust you this one time. If that product don’t come I’m going to call
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “Okay,
here’s my phone number” - gives her the
line to the CORRECT department, not mine-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">People are
just crazy, for many reasons, but one thing that is ridiculous is when they
demand that you help them and not someone else, when you, quite literally,
cannot help them. What, you just want me to make something up? Old McDonald had
a farm, ee-i- ee-i-oh?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYoHIliNWdEGEBfcq3Z97GnXoew4O2eTrF4KJAGYnwAWE8zmuMGVL7jbEdkzUzflB4cLIg7nK4bKGXAy-m09psEWwp9YkaL0L9-1yt2SrXz-L1nEpP0mmtvOaz1gw1kvZA5_wPpHoP3iB/s1600/mcdonald.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYoHIliNWdEGEBfcq3Z97GnXoew4O2eTrF4KJAGYnwAWE8zmuMGVL7jbEdkzUzflB4cLIg7nK4bKGXAy-m09psEWwp9YkaL0L9-1yt2SrXz-L1nEpP0mmtvOaz1gw1kvZA5_wPpHoP3iB/s320/mcdonald.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Scenario Five<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer
Email: “I passed a test you offer so I
feel I should get the entire program for free now. How do I get it for free?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Me: “We
apologize, but while passing the test is a great accomplishment, it does not
mean you get the program for free. The point of the test IS to pass. Passing this test will give you a
certification which you can use to show you have succeeded. We sell the test
which is what you bought, not the software program. The program is sold by a
third party and it is not free.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Customer
Email: “Well, I feel like because I did such a good job I should get it for
free.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I didn’t
respond, ha-ha. I feel like I should get a convertible for getting out of bed
each morning, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen </span><span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😉</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88dO-Pa2ZMlG6hOEMFc-MIhF_8cmvrxgWtlRGgWGv1AdcOPKtVFjqX_3Dyx7UxtkhYQTc28kWpa82fdWXFnHaI_w9R1RC2paxKky0MGwNNM88aExVrCpqtTMBYlzCbTaxtNTi6WDKhY0H/s1600/twain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88dO-Pa2ZMlG6hOEMFc-MIhF_8cmvrxgWtlRGgWGv1AdcOPKtVFjqX_3Dyx7UxtkhYQTc28kWpa82fdWXFnHaI_w9R1RC2paxKky0MGwNNM88aExVrCpqtTMBYlzCbTaxtNTi6WDKhY0H/s320/twain.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-48124622405270746882017-06-05T15:33:00.002-07:002017-06-05T15:42:02.076-07:00Awkward Moment of the Week - Two<div class="MsoNormal">
I bring to you.....<b>“I CAN HAS SPELLZ CHAMP TIDLES?”</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According to CBS News, Google’s researchers set out to
gather and compile a list of the most misspelled words in the country, by
state. They did this by finding out which word in each state had the most
google searches for the correct spelling. What they came up with is more than a
little awkward….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While some states’ top words were understandable, such as
Texas’s “Maintenance” and Delaware's “Hallelujah”, which are at least LONG, other states
have no excuse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhA553IkPsONct1w4MgDjL6ZCyQIVqzhwjAfI_KJkaQVywq6bVVlOKV7YsHJtc__NqZtd0kpmrtELy-_1FPP4YGNpplYt6QUx40TO6hH5ee1Zun_A-eOmLTRx8UQCuJX_TLqo3ZEQwGvh/s1600/hallelujah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="432" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhA553IkPsONct1w4MgDjL6ZCyQIVqzhwjAfI_KJkaQVywq6bVVlOKV7YsHJtc__NqZtd0kpmrtELy-_1FPP4YGNpplYt6QUx40TO6hH5ee1Zun_A-eOmLTRx8UQCuJX_TLqo3ZEQwGvh/s200/hallelujah.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Out of all the goodies (and there were several), nothing was
quite as awkward as discovering that Wisconsin’s top misspelled word was “Wisconsin.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People IN Wisconsin cannot SPELL Wisconsin. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SVQMnvAq67d63bSklqMOCNRdoWVhWPLoaVCDo4SVo9nKlhWLoDc-34T3Xg45Saa3sDxgnAzq9R0e3XvOXby0sTiagjpZyGkJagPjBUNY9j79Yj5vdZ-isGrySkPHYRAPtoX1QyMaRzjz/s1600/cow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="320" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SVQMnvAq67d63bSklqMOCNRdoWVhWPLoaVCDo4SVo9nKlhWLoDc-34T3Xg45Saa3sDxgnAzq9R0e3XvOXby0sTiagjpZyGkJagPjBUNY9j79Yj5vdZ-isGrySkPHYRAPtoX1QyMaRzjz/s200/cow.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If they can’t spell it, what hope is there for the rest of
us?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A closer runner-up has to be South Dakota, where citizens
cannot spell the word “college.” This one hurts me to the very core.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are so bad, they almost make Rhode Island and Georgia
look good, and those people can’t even spell “liar” and “gray”. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-44167870548019879692017-06-05T14:39:00.000-07:002017-06-05T14:39:44.772-07:00I'm on the Phone!<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSb7F3w6OZxmU-fE_JFx8NYunaPbWMG8zOAypnrQdTgaMj5zJe_XfqoaaMj-_Zo0V6oUgM8WAlEmnDcmpxHfY7lUxe1LuLHgUXLoCOhtrt4MthQngBqA09cwjdrsnAw51Fj_3O5viswpIk/s1600/phone.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="598" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSb7F3w6OZxmU-fE_JFx8NYunaPbWMG8zOAypnrQdTgaMj5zJe_XfqoaaMj-_Zo0V6oUgM8WAlEmnDcmpxHfY7lUxe1LuLHgUXLoCOhtrt4MthQngBqA09cwjdrsnAw51Fj_3O5viswpIk/s320/phone.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve all witnessed it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That moment when your teacher has “Had It.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know what “Had It” looks like. Most of us have probably
been on the receiving end once or twice. It’s when your teacher’s face starts
out as a tight-lipped smile when a student makes the same stupid joke for the
twenty-seventh time that week. It happens when they make it for the
twenty-eighth time and your teacher’s sanity has decided that it’s had enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, Michael is getting dragged out in the hallway by
his one-hundred pounds soaking wet teacher, and Cassandra’s got it all on
video. An overnight YouTube sensation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it’s not that drastic, but if a teacher flips every
now and then, and can we really blame them?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This is what they have to work with every single day:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKox6GTzF7SSPm34CRbZx6Ni82GYoUYkEY3RvNtQk7XClD01Nz16U5_ABa8M5sApDrJaoVuMNEfPBuChgrO2S6ncfZtHIc2bPqiY9oVtbFmaZV62_YMj6rDcFN80_hYGUxZ14lw2uPBEH/s1600/note.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKox6GTzF7SSPm34CRbZx6Ni82GYoUYkEY3RvNtQk7XClD01Nz16U5_ABa8M5sApDrJaoVuMNEfPBuChgrO2S6ncfZtHIc2bPqiY9oVtbFmaZV62_YMj6rDcFN80_hYGUxZ14lw2uPBEH/s320/note.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<br /></div>
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Whoever said, “there is no such thing as a stupid question”
made a very stupid statement.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I work with both the new, bubbling teachers and the experienced,
at their wit’s end teachers. My job is to assist them on the phone with our
testing software, so they can administer computer exams to their students. This is generally at the end of the semester
or school year. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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End of school year = STRESS.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I try not to judge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Here are some interesting observations I’ve made over the
last couple of years:</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">1. </span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Every troubled child is named Jamal. Every.
Single. One. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->To get your students to be quiet, scream “I AM
ON THE PHONE!” As loud as you can into the speaker of the phone. Not only will
I hear it with ear-shattering clarity, but so will the class.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Jamal does not care that you are on the phone,
because he is Jamal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Teachers are often forced to instruct classes in
areas they have no experience in, due to low budgets and/or being short
staffed. This results in questions like: “How do I know if I am on a MAC or a
PC?” and “What is an internet browser?” From computer class teachers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Jamal will laugh at you to look cool in front of
his classmates when you tell him he better sit on his butt and do his work, or
he will get “turnt”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Teachers are so overloaded with all the work
they have to do, that they will try to get every class they teach tested in ONE
day, and they will have “Had It” when it doesn’t work out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Jamal will shut up and say “yes ma’am,” when you
tell him you’re going to call his momma. Jamal is afraid of his momma.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->8.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--> Most
teachers also cannot spell.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->9.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Jesus will pick up the banner of Class Clown
once Jamal drops it. The legacy continues.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->10.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Teachers are interrupted every three seconds by
an obsolete announcement over the loudspeaker. They are interrupted every other
day by the fire alarm. They are interrupted ten times a day by Jamal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And finally, despite it all, many teachers will come back and do it all over
again the next year. <o:p></o:p></div>
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SO BE NICE TO TEACHERS.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Because it’s the only chance I have that they’ll start being
nice to me ;) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-81288156589993699212017-01-26T15:32:00.000-08:002017-01-26T15:32:25.517-08:00Public Transportation and the Art of Avoidance<div class="MsoNormal">
Public Transportation and the Art of Avoidance -<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi34Q7rwv5YKVVU50cF2QDpDd6y65ReuPH41BQ08xPvaMZGkQEscvG8hHjF44XMnnvxmUqvOZ2gYn7Oj0y6Oy6oBngeh2b_m54U3SZDuWmEWTT8-J6g0ZMCClHJFzehx-mFY6vVxazBNOrh/s1600/bus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi34Q7rwv5YKVVU50cF2QDpDd6y65ReuPH41BQ08xPvaMZGkQEscvG8hHjF44XMnnvxmUqvOZ2gYn7Oj0y6Oy6oBngeh2b_m54U3SZDuWmEWTT8-J6g0ZMCClHJFzehx-mFY6vVxazBNOrh/s200/bus.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Many moons ago (or not), I went to a University that was
located about thirty minutes from my home town and where I worked. Because of
the typical, “poor” college student, first-world problems that so woefully
beset me, I did not have my own car to take me back and forth from school to
work in the afternoons, so I sometimes took the public bus instead.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Little did I know that the buses in our area seemed to have
more than their fair share of oddities and “special snowflakes” riding on them.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8Fm_6bsrdVzS5FttOVdbkBfJZTaCzbVGwXloAY4WMAIJzjjQkq1CjGSORaSzgf2BRVIrny8Twv050dcioLK1oHNmP8WIJrml3YphA5Td6PT9LCA85CjPYL82bsUqC8ms4sLknDNpbctD/s1600/snowflake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8Fm_6bsrdVzS5FttOVdbkBfJZTaCzbVGwXloAY4WMAIJzjjQkq1CjGSORaSzgf2BRVIrny8Twv050dcioLK1oHNmP8WIJrml3YphA5Td6PT9LCA85CjPYL82bsUqC8ms4sLknDNpbctD/s200/snowflake.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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After witnessing a few verbal shouting matches that reached
a decibel louder than an Italian family reunion, people arguing with themselves
in the corner, and someone vomiting on a chair and watching it drip down the
aisle, I decided it would be better for everyone – okay, just better for me –
if I did everything possible to keep to myself. As such, I incorporated into my
bus-riding ritual several brilliant tactics for convincing other people that it
just wasn’t worth trying to talk to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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All of them failed miserably.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I even went so far as to try to use all of the tactics
simultaneously:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Headphones on, listening to music<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Book open and avidly flipping the pages<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Body drawn inward and turned towards the window<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Large backpack taking over the chair next to me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Chewing gum loudly with my mouth open <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Avoiding eye contact with every single person
who got onto the bus <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Occasional, unattractive coughing<o:p></o:p></div>
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I did all of these – AT THE SAME TIME. Feel free to marvel over my multitasking capabilities
for a moment, if you’d like. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I still ended up as one of the only people on that bus with
a seat mate, who spent the entire ride to my work begging me for my phone
number. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I mean, I get it. I’m like, super cool. But seriously?<o:p></o:p></div>
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In my naïve state, I actually gave the poor fellow my number
before hopping off the bus in front of my work just to get him out of my hair.
After all, I could just ignore his phone calls, right? He must not have
understood the practice of subtlety, because in the three minutes it took me to
walk to the back room of my department and put on my work apron, I had already
gained two missed calls from him, as well as a text message.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Frowning, I sent him a quick text reminding him I just got
off the bus for work and could not use my phone during this time. A couple
hours into my shift I went on break, and lo and behold, due to my astounding good
luck, I now had four missed phones calls from him, and additional text messages
that were essentially nothing more than a series of “hey, hi, how ya doin” and
smiley faces.<o:p></o:p></div>
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William Wordsworth, he was not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He wasn’t even a Tupac.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqO0YQxGqhRLigSdlaV25f2bVWIc3FBzm6Tia4_-1GnK_wAbYBJM6ppZpIh40JkJIM0Y-9hF4ql4v5y9LPFngfP_aqzVVS5Dz9xMfzU0KzckQ2ya3fDUagNhUYNCxPeOHFjtLGEBI_yUug/s1600/tupac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqO0YQxGqhRLigSdlaV25f2bVWIc3FBzm6Tia4_-1GnK_wAbYBJM6ppZpIh40JkJIM0Y-9hF4ql4v5y9LPFngfP_aqzVVS5Dz9xMfzU0KzckQ2ya3fDUagNhUYNCxPeOHFjtLGEBI_yUug/s200/tupac.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Now, I’ve regretted many things in life, but I have never
had a regret so instantaneous as the moment after I gave him my phone number. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I can’t recall just how many times he called and sent me
text messages in the days that followed, but I do know the number was, like, A
LOT. I would have responded to him out of politeness after the first couple of
texts, but he sent me so, so many before I had even checked my phone the first
time at work that my spidey senses were tingling, and I decided to ultimately ignore
them and wait it out. After all, he had to give up eventually, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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….right?<o:p></o:p></div>
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WRONG. Very wrong indeed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My phone soon reminded me of that scene in Harry Potter and
the Sorcerer’s Stone when Harry starts getting letters sent to him at the
Dursley’s home, and when they are thrown away initially by his mean uncle, chaos
ensues, and pretty soon, we’ve got letters sticking out of the front door,
coming down from the sky, under our feet, in our ears and out the wahzoo. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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My phone blew up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMDDjKZ0VAFoq6_8iI5zHzmkOZnlG2c_D2NxdEoJhCBu_OD4eFvqaiMezDRF4U3J3KXtMTeTOqEQRiYPBZ5AY0vJNuCPdqiagj1Z55ma6mw4dGr2OjscDq0Cfthmci25kKAedeQgj36cB/s1600/phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMDDjKZ0VAFoq6_8iI5zHzmkOZnlG2c_D2NxdEoJhCBu_OD4eFvqaiMezDRF4U3J3KXtMTeTOqEQRiYPBZ5AY0vJNuCPdqiagj1Z55ma6mw4dGr2OjscDq0Cfthmci25kKAedeQgj36cB/s200/phone.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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One day, I’d finally had it with this boy’s stalker-ish
tendencies and I finally did what any self-confident, responsible, mature
twenty-something would do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I texted him and told him that while I appreciated his
interest, I had just gotten a new boyfriend, like, yesterday, and this
boyfriend did not want me to text other guys, so our almost-friendship would unfortunately
be unable to continue. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wanted to know my boyfriend’s name.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake, I said, because why not? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why didn’t my boyfriend want me talking to other guys?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because he gets jealous, obviously. My made-up new boyfriend
is a very jealous sort. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is he tall?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Yes, he is very tall. He is six foot five.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We could still talk in secret, he said. It’s okay if I’m
interested in other guys since I’m not married to him yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s the strangest thing, but at that exact moment, my phone
suddenly experienced an unexpected malfunction that caused it to break and
prevented me from sending any more messages. Even stranger still, he was the
ONLY person I couldn’t send the messages to.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine that. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-58089241468905939252017-01-04T13:34:00.000-08:002017-01-04T13:34:41.005-08:00Seen on Google Earth: Part 2<div style="text-align: center;">
Today Google Earth taught me that people in Dallas, Texas.....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfuk3tb8fk4r2LWLGAnJwiDgwiDYX8qHYhKTkNDyoHMMnGsbMVps6J6LsGp5cvMBwTWoyWJVm6Brvt7G13spiGjPzBxZPzCSASG0_VLRjhbll0FMGt9zbTjG2TcXIXNBSm_l5czmh5xrD/s1600/dallas%252C+texas+don%2527t+believe+in+trashcans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfuk3tb8fk4r2LWLGAnJwiDgwiDYX8qHYhKTkNDyoHMMnGsbMVps6J6LsGp5cvMBwTWoyWJVm6Brvt7G13spiGjPzBxZPzCSASG0_VLRjhbll0FMGt9zbTjG2TcXIXNBSm_l5czmh5xrD/s320/dallas%252C+texas+don%2527t+believe+in+trashcans.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Do not have garbage cans.</div>
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No, really.</div>
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See? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnaG8DIcm-y5Ifxzb0sE6JhXnyoSdt-lxkBeBnrbqwR_dZGEZMCmeijxfjcPLr-mL-0Gyo8TTbNAZnl7rmlqo7mupgmoDupn0KYlhXRw_Dfqy2uTqswKTcurXVWJS_4-M2zApvFfS6BfQy/s1600/dallas%252C+texas+trash+can+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnaG8DIcm-y5Ifxzb0sE6JhXnyoSdt-lxkBeBnrbqwR_dZGEZMCmeijxfjcPLr-mL-0Gyo8TTbNAZnl7rmlqo7mupgmoDupn0KYlhXRw_Dfqy2uTqswKTcurXVWJS_4-M2zApvFfS6BfQy/s320/dallas%252C+texas+trash+can+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Garbage, garbage EVERYWHERE.</div>
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It makes me sad that there are so many people there who can't afford a garbage can, just like there are so many people here in Utah who can't afford a car blinker.</div>
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WAIT!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6_qIDp9_AWhYWI3NHQi4J5d6vERN8seiNz6M9S-4qFZn1oQYrbP1ZQzSQyByQ6GexXq-X_-nOk2X8zs0pCF82L8l_qr2geYEOxkrdlG_6XY-gDTsWxThDCovAbTNYJWqnHAzyzclfzeE/s1600/dallas%252C+texas+I+found+one%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6_qIDp9_AWhYWI3NHQi4J5d6vERN8seiNz6M9S-4qFZn1oQYrbP1ZQzSQyByQ6GexXq-X_-nOk2X8zs0pCF82L8l_qr2geYEOxkrdlG_6XY-gDTsWxThDCovAbTNYJWqnHAzyzclfzeE/s320/dallas%252C+texas+I+found+one%2521.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Phew. False alarm.</div>
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Now if they could only figure out how traffic lights are supposed to work....</div>
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<br />Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-61869585186011918902016-11-28T15:53:00.004-08:002018-05-15T13:40:17.827-07:00Things that Make Me Oscar the Grouch<b>1. </b>When I'm reading a work memo or newsletter that has been sent to numerous individuals, and they've used the wrong version of "your". Likewise, when they have clearly forgotten to use a spell checker. Bonus points when it creates a sense of suspicion or ambiguity in the sentence, such as, "Stop by the break room at 1:00 pm today. We're going to be having "sushi" for lunch."<br />
<br />
"Sushi." No thanks, I'd prefer eating food that doesn't require quotation marks. This is only slightly better than "meat" listed on a fast food menu. Tacos, 2 for $2 - beef, chicken, or "meat". Yum.<br />
<br />
<b>2. </b>When someone I know passes my way and says, "How are you?" and I reply, "I'm doing great, thanks! How are you today?" And then THEY DON'T SAY ANYTHING.<br />
No, you don't understand, I asked you a QUESTION. Questions warrant answers. This isn't just me, you guys, this is simply how verbal communication is done.<br />
<br />
<b>3. </b>Buying a bunch of junk food for a party (or for myself) and all the self checkouts are closed for the night. Great, now I'm going to babble out a series of excuses to the cashier in the vain hope that they won't silently judge me for my nutritional choices. I then wonder afterward if they were silently judging me for my babbling. I can't win this one.<br />
<br />
<b>4. </b> Upstairs neighbors that like to bowl in their apartment at 2:00 in the morning. Enough said.<br />
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<b>5. </b> When I'm at a social gathering and people won't take no for an answer when I say, "Oh, no thanks, I'm terrible at [insert any sport or artistic hobby here]." I don't say it out of a sense of humility, but out of regard for my own ego. I really, really don't want you to watch me get hit in the face with the volleyball three times in one match. I already determined to leave that kind of humiliation behind in High School (where it rightfully belongs!).<br />
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<b>6. </b>The "complisult." This is a combination of a compliment and an insult all rolled into one. It's genius in design, because the receiver has to accept it lest they be considered rude and abrupt, but if they accept it, they have to accept ALL of it, including the insult attached to it. For example: "You look great today, you should wear makeup to work every day." I DO WEAR MAKEUP TO WORK EVERY DAY.<br />
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<b>7. </b>Cats at my apartment complex who ignore me.<br />
<br />
<b>8. </b>Dogs at my apartment complex that ignore me.<br />
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<b>9. </b>Kids at my apartment complex who Don't ignore me.<br />
<br />
<b>10. </b>Olives.<br />
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<br />Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-85740672831251858032016-09-23T14:10:00.000-07:002016-09-23T14:10:22.683-07:00That one Time that I was Jack Nicholson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do any of you recall the 70’s classic, <i>One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest</i>? Well, I was <b>THAT</b> Jack Nicholson – only I was never a criminal. I couldn’t be a
criminal if I tried. One time, as a kid, I thought about what it would be like
to take a Butterfingers from the grocery store without asking, and I got so
worked up over the sheer <i>possibility</i>
of stealing it that I almost cried. I felt guilty for thinking about the act,
not for actually doing it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But everything else was the same – I met some really nutty
people in the Psych ward of the hospital.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wait a minute, you say, I didn’t know Kelsey was a crazy
person. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Well I’m not! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Eccentric, odd, sarcastic, over emotional, under emotional,
and weird, yes, but not <i>crazy</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I also live with a condition called: Depression. Ever heard
of it? I’m NOT depressed, I HAVE depression. There’s a difference, you know,
and the way you look at it says a lot about how well you handle it. I also have
anxiety, clearly, if you didn’t crack the nut on that obvious mystery through
the URL of my blog. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But I’m doing okay, I’m doing wonderful in fact, and that
really isn’t what this story is about. This story is about my week long
experience locked in a small area with people constantly reminding me just how
normal and sane I really am. Because, to be honest, a lot of things that
happened while I was there were pretty funny.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was in there completely voluntarily, mind you, after the
biggest mistake of my life – just to get that out of the way for all my curious
readers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve just been checked in and someone points lazily in the
direction of my room. My parents and I sit on what we perceive to be an
unoccupied bed in the room, and we wait. No one comes to greet us. It starts to
feel like an episode of the <i>Twilight Zone</i>,
before finally, a smiling young woman comes in and starts to chat with us. While
certainly friendly, she’s not actually giving us any direction, and my poor
father, who’s been put through the ringer for the last several hours, somewhat abruptly
asks her when someone is going to give me something to eat. She looked a bit
startled, mumbled something along the lines of, “I’m not sure I can go check?”
and tottered off.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We realized a couple minutes later when a nurse came over
that the friendly woman had been a patient. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Oops.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My dad is an incredibly nice man, and I think he felt
genuinely bad for assuming what we all had. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dad, have yourself a cookie. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So now that we’ve successfully scared off one of my fellow
prisoners, I have something to eat and go to sleep for the rest of the night.
What I did not expect when going to sleep in my private room was to wake up
with someone standing next to me, staring down at my face.<o:p></o:p></div>
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RIGHT AT THE SIDE OF MY BED.</div>
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“Hey,” she said, nonchalantly. “I’m pissed. I can’t even
have my mascara in this place. What do they think I’m going to do with mascara,
stab you in the eye with it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Holy, sweet son of a biscuit. This was not a great way to
start off my morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As it turns out, she wanted to my friend because she was
also my roommate, and when she wasn’t having an episode of swearing and
screaming at the nurses as they threatened to “give” her something if she didn’t
settle down, she was…nice.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yeah, we’ll go with that. She was nice, but only to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And, to prove to you how nice she could be, the second day I
was there I sat down at a table in the common room, prepared to work on a
puzzle that was laid out. My fingers hovered over a piece, but before I could
pick it up in a sore attempt to amuse myself, my roommate yelled “STOP!” right
next to my ear.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I jumped in my seat. I’m glad it’s the only thing I did.</div>
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“You don’t want to touch that. You know that other lady who’s
always sitting here? Her?” She pointed across the room to an unkempt,
fifty-something woman with grey hair. “She never washes her hands, and she
constantly puts her hands into her pants.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh my gosh, I had almost touched the “Urine Puzzle.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Needless to say, I avoided that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The same lady who I shall call <i>Judy</i>, also did not appreciate the fine art of bath taking. I couldn’t
say how long it had been since she last had a bath, only that everyone was
immediately aware of it after walking past her. I witnessed a showdown in the
doorway of her room as a couple of nurses threatened to throw her into the
shower themselves if she didn’t do it on her own.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Judy had the mouth of a sailor. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Having semi-befriended some of the nursing staff (it wasn’t
difficult. I simply smiled nicely, said “thank you”, and never yelled at them),
I usually got first dibs on snack time.
Yes, I had snack time, like a toddler still in Kindergarten.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now looking back on it, I feel like I should have milked
this. I could have had nap time, arts and crafts time, play time…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh wait, that’s right, I had all of those too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not only this, but other than a random group session where
we watched motivating “Discovery Channel” videos to lift our spirits, it was
really quite dull in there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Good thing I had my fellow patients to amuse me. One girl
was sitting at the table for breakfast one morning whom I didn’t recognize, who
must have slipped into the facility in the dead of night. She was possibly even
younger than myself, and came across, at first glance, as immensely normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It wasn’t until she explained why she was in there that it
all started to make perfect sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I don’t have anything wrong with me, I’m just in here because
of the Saudis.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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My brows knitted together as I looked at her over my
pancakes. “Sorry?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“For my protection, from the Saudi Arabians,” she said
matter-of-factly. “I ran in a bad group with them for a while. They kidnapped
me, they made me take drugs too. It wasn’t my fault. So I’m in here for my
personal safety until the police know where to hide me. I’m only going to be
here for like, a day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Since we lived in a state that had more white people in it than
just about anywhere else, my bull crap sensor was tingling. Though I’m sure
there are some people living here who happen to be from Saudi Arabia, I was
almost certain there was not an entire gang of them, running around, forcing people
to take their expensive drugs for free.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimuAnGJEqbokXqYz_bXQvseZbk2ThtuPBS-iv14VIxAwC2bFVVLHWeLYF-g_7pYzn5N_TaGtez0Wq1I2pRd_F1uukVpPPCavd0tjYEzVvcDWafk8SKh-NuxTcL-XYzt0ifv_wUg2xJa_iZ/s1600/crime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimuAnGJEqbokXqYz_bXQvseZbk2ThtuPBS-iv14VIxAwC2bFVVLHWeLYF-g_7pYzn5N_TaGtez0Wq1I2pRd_F1uukVpPPCavd0tjYEzVvcDWafk8SKh-NuxTcL-XYzt0ifv_wUg2xJa_iZ/s320/crime.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The girl stood up suddenly, turned around to face a
decorative plant, and started coughing before she spat a whole bunch of nasty
into it. This wouldn’t have been as shocking to me considering where I was, if
it wasn’t for the fact that this girl was a dainty blonde, ninety pounds
soaking wet, who had just hawked a loogie into a fern. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wiping off her mouth with the back of her hand, she smiled
as if nothing had happened and returned to her seat. Despite all the food
placed in front of her, I never once saw her actually eat, well, anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t until I was leaving the hospital that I saw how
Saudi girl’s attitude changed. I was waiting in the commons to be picked up,
and the Saudi girl’s sister had come to visit her. The girl was livid, and the
sister was calmly if not somewhat apprehensively trying to dodge her questions.
“I don’t understand why I’m still in here! Why can’t the arrest them or find
somewhere for me to go? SHE gets to leave” she hissed, looking at me with
murderous eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gulped, looked back up at the clock, and pretended not to
notice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her sister averted her eyes, picking at a spot on the chair.
“They’re not looking for anywhere for you to go…don’t be mad…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My roommate came to say goodbye to me and complained about
being left alone with all the crazy people. She said she was going to try to
see if she could move into Saudi girl’s room, at least. I wished her luck with
that. I reminded her to be nice to the nurses because they were the ones in
control of the snacks. J<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Judy walked out of her room with her sneakers on her hands
instead of her feet, and left. She had been released. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shuddered. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I was gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I for one, had a much better ending than Jack Nicholson did. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*pictures to their respective owners.</div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-77274792768270330832016-09-22T11:36:00.000-07:002018-09-12T07:15:16.637-07:00I Can Computer, too<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The daily drudgery of customer service can make you feel old
before your time, but occasionally, you’re offered one of these rare gems that
promises a good story for years to come. I call it: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>“When you want to tell
someone to just Give Up, but you’re contractually obligated not to.” <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t make this stuff up – it’s simply too stupid to
fabricate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In order to avoid this getting back to my workplace and receiving
a solid reprimand, I have developed a very surreptitious, fool-proof method of identity
protection. Prepare to be amazed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I work in a setting that is certainly not customer service, training what are the opposite of teachers
in how to use our non-product.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(How am I doing so far?)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this completely fabricated position, I received a phone
call from one such individual that went something as follows:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> “Thank you
for calling, how may I help you today?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Yes
I need help.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> (didn’t I
just…?) What can I help you with?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “I’m
trying to register on your site and it’s just not wor –sit down! (brief
silence) All of ya’ll sit down, I’m on the phone…..sit! Good golly….” (more silence
before addressing moi). “I’m sorry, I’m trying to register but I can’t figure
this out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me, relieved that she
wasn’t yelling at me to sit down:</b> “That’s alright. To register a personal
account, please go to (names website) and click on the “Register” button in the
right hand corner of the page. It should open up another page that will ask you
some questions, including your name, address, etc.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Should
I put my real name here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> “Um, yes.
That would be helpful.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Because
I’m not taking the test I’m just doing it for my (non) class.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: </b>“No worries,
but we’ll still need you to create an account with your actual name.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “I
don’t see a register button anywhere.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> “It’s going
to be in the top right hand corner of the page, in large green letters.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Which
page?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> “The webpage.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Which
page of the webpage?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> “The main
page, after you type the url address in….do you see the Announcements? Now look
up a little…okay, now you see Support section? Lift your eyes up the page a
little more until you can’t go any further.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>-Ten minutes later –<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Ooooooh, I see it. Do I just click on it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>A few
minutes into the call –<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “There’s this little thing at the bottom of the page
with numbers.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me:</b> “(pause) Are you referring to the security code?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “I don’t know what the thing is there’s just a bunch
of blurry numbers.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me: </b>“Does it say Security Code above it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Yes, it does.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me</b>: “Okay, so…it’s the security code. All you need to do is type
those numbers into the white box below exactly as you see them. It’s to help
the computer know you aren’t a robot.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “A robot? Now why would I be a robot?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me:</b> “I don’t know, ma’am.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDedFR068TVrHskOOMcVMsJF1dMOs8p05XtTtnyonI4Rr7S8c0a4yLnVubO97m57v4s9hLKIzgXz-gbjMJ_Kwdr07ys5qAQkgZ0PP0ux6dr3d0mZ9DwjwMnXfoyK6uazD9qgT6e6PzUmN/s1600/code.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDedFR068TVrHskOOMcVMsJF1dMOs8p05XtTtnyonI4Rr7S8c0a4yLnVubO97m57v4s9hLKIzgXz-gbjMJ_Kwdr07ys5qAQkgZ0PP0ux6dr3d0mZ9DwjwMnXfoyK6uazD9qgT6e6PzUmN/s400/code.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Well how do I get some of the numbers to be up and
the others to be down? – sit down! I AM ON THE PHONE! Hush, ya’ll are gonna
have me rip my hair out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me:</b> “You can just type it exactly how you see it into the little white
box.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Am I supposed to have the number five be above the
letter Q all zig-zaggy like that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me: </b>“No, it’s just shown that way because it would confuse a robot.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Why would I be a robot?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me: </b>“……….”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “I typed it and nothing happened.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me:</b> “Did you happen to capitalize some of the letters? It is
case-sensitive.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Oh I know what I did. I didn’t need the little
spaces.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me:</b> (???)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Now what. It’s stuck on the page.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me:</b> “You can press “enter”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Non-Teacher:</b> “Alright I am registered. Now, how do I download your
software?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b>Me:</b> (crying inside)<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6fto-H813xd4FsURwYV9-yQdwbyB0EjXmDg7XI-ZaeG2WIlP6iWZQTOoDBIC5XlGdxCZyV6r1i_Ndy55ljMB1xySD6wZknBi2a2vE55AAeLcjVC-HiOJLaOxijQXTybfmWCTO98dsYVbD/s1600/head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6fto-H813xd4FsURwYV9-yQdwbyB0EjXmDg7XI-ZaeG2WIlP6iWZQTOoDBIC5XlGdxCZyV6r1i_Ndy55ljMB1xySD6wZknBi2a2vE55AAeLcjVC-HiOJLaOxijQXTybfmWCTO98dsYVbD/s320/head.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"*images to their respective owners.</div>
<br /></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-90912967630450856322016-09-21T14:28:00.001-07:002016-09-22T15:35:35.404-07:00The Awkward moment of the WeekFor our very first "Awkward Moment of the Week" on the blog, I present to you:<br />
<br />
<h2>
<b>"Lil' Miss Porta Potty" </b></h2>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHq0URo_kVA2JvPvugFPUvsneuCmUcboLA9Z68TWZ3KJlBjziFJmuAGIU007nGBv7IqbxsWoHAgjkt2RZyen3bRZ4qdhE0pm6KttwzNvnSyS-EQEQ46-0wV8s7PKOTe49Gj1vG8wOxKGH/s1600/potty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHq0URo_kVA2JvPvugFPUvsneuCmUcboLA9Z68TWZ3KJlBjziFJmuAGIU007nGBv7IqbxsWoHAgjkt2RZyen3bRZ4qdhE0pm6KttwzNvnSyS-EQEQ46-0wV8s7PKOTe49Gj1vG8wOxKGH/s400/potty.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
According to the U.K. based online news site <i>Mirror</i>, a very unfortunate woman attending a beer festival in England found herself in deep doo-doo (I had to) this week, when she was trapped in a portable bathroom. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Talk about getting caught with your pants down. I, for one, come up empty when trying to fathom a more vulnerable situation to be in. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A security team apparently forgot to check the bathroom before raising it up to cart away on a truck with the other "loos", in an attempt to clear the area for an emergency vehicle to pass through. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The woman started screaming (understandably) when she realized her John was in mid-flight, alerting the crew to her presence. I am happy to report that the woman was uninjured and found the whole thing quite funny - or maybe she was just laughing so nobody else would laugh at <i>her. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
And if you're all wondering the same horrific thing I am - what state did they find her and her clothes in? I guess we'll be forever left in suspense, as no further information was given about this stinky near-disaster.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-33976146408790579972016-09-21T13:13:00.002-07:002016-09-22T15:35:20.904-07:00'Twas a Carriage Ride of Horrors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfqmMKB0Sdtmn1UxYUent31i-Zk-YdgwRswcddSSrTHH6sMPrPb8yEdffM3r6KKtqHis_uzYrf-aNfdkos5F4icUHTd8BxQlfHtzGETo5fBsAKvzAranasNltoUnBVsQUCckFTCL9-NS3u/s1600/carriage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfqmMKB0Sdtmn1UxYUent31i-Zk-YdgwRswcddSSrTHH6sMPrPb8yEdffM3r6KKtqHis_uzYrf-aNfdkos5F4icUHTd8BxQlfHtzGETo5fBsAKvzAranasNltoUnBVsQUCckFTCL9-NS3u/s400/carriage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gather round, friends and family dear, as I speak of a tale
that may (not) be worth reading….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My hubby, who hath requested to be henceforth referred to in
this monologue as “The Gallant Knight”, drove our carriage through the
mountainside known as “Alpine Loop”, for an evening of scenic merriment and
tasteful frivolity. Twas Wednesday Eve when we set out, but the horrors we
encountered on the road were unlike anything we had expected. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hark!” The Gallant Knight proclaimed, “Another carriage
approaches.” My eyes widened against it came, galloping around the corner at a
frightening speed. “Anon!” I screamed, assailed by the driver who, overtaking
both sides of the path, nearly sent our carriage toppling over a scraggily
cliff. “The Knave hath nearly colored my trousers,” I growled, a delicate hand
upon my breast. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No sooner had determination fitted his brow before two more
carriages came, brazenly towing the line, nearly dispatching the mirror of
reflection on the side of our transport as they blew past. “What base creatures
are these, tempting our deaths on the narrow road? Large carriage or naught,
such daring is a folly,” my muttering mouth decreed, as I cursed the rogues
under my breath. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Knight of Gallantry remained absolute in his cause,
braving our perilous journey until we reached civilization and, what I hoped
would be good manners. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite the near spillage of our innards among the
cobblestone, we gleaned happiness from the fine sights of colored leaves and fanciful
animals, even producing high quality images from a contraption given the name
of a “Camera”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyways. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you ever had the burning desire to follow behind a
serious bicyclist on a mountain road and play some theme music for them?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Apparently my husband The Andrew does. I think it’s a marvelous
idea. As they climb a steep hill on the final stretch, their faces red from
exertion, their breath pushing out of exhausted lungs in gasping puffs, the
serene sound of the running river filling their ears, and all of a sudden…..<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“IT’S THE EYE OF THE TIGER IT’S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT, RISING
UP TO THE CHALLENGE OF OUR RIVALS!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And of course, if you don’t just <i>happen </i>to have this inspiring tune on your IPod, you can just sing
it at the top of your lungs while your head lolls out the window. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“AND THE LAST KNOWN SURVIVOR STALKS HIS PREY IN THE NIGHT
(that’s us, the car), AND HE’S WATCHING US ALL WITH THE EYE OF THE TIIIIIIIIGER.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On second that, those lyrics are kind of creepy,
considering. But you get the general idea. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who wouldn’t want their own personal cheerleading team
stalking them up the hill when they’re looking and feeling their absolute worst?
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Exactly. A crazy person, that’s who. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So the next time you come across a bicyclist all on their
own, be kind, have charity in your heart, and crank up the stereo system to
full power.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(For the kill with the skill to suuuuurvive!)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eye of the tiger. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABmttA2hkcsJk2Yq7GjgJS7F5okaY22OX0qzqz4J9-rGxzslGjFWJEWWaT94HWc3K_RO1sLfXZV5mD5UJ49Dc7sKvmsHMq7v7vijTuRzriu0mWyl7rCdlLZ2Q785gbdlajm0TSudKq1C3/s1600/tiger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABmttA2hkcsJk2Yq7GjgJS7F5okaY22OX0qzqz4J9-rGxzslGjFWJEWWaT94HWc3K_RO1sLfXZV5mD5UJ49Dc7sKvmsHMq7v7vijTuRzriu0mWyl7rCdlLZ2Q785gbdlajm0TSudKq1C3/s640/tiger.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-90359073161834878942016-09-20T10:13:00.000-07:002016-09-20T10:13:21.707-07:00Stranger Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUyhNEs1pv8RvyshyD6UYjOvKiStbhgBBeJ0XDjMx4GO0DCfEEj4-4Lx6N-qwDWWpV-_ZyZlwz9iycDhJUbY0aWOcQPv9pKWYDw7FeuvGhI8u3MvVOqAfF-VruQ8HIFlr_bo_5jdjnuBD/s1600/funnyclick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUyhNEs1pv8RvyshyD6UYjOvKiStbhgBBeJ0XDjMx4GO0DCfEEj4-4Lx6N-qwDWWpV-_ZyZlwz9iycDhJUbY0aWOcQPv9pKWYDw7FeuvGhI8u3MvVOqAfF-VruQ8HIFlr_bo_5jdjnuBD/s400/funnyclick.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You thought this was about the Netflix original t.v. series,
didn’t you? Don’t lie, I know it’s true.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did I just click bait you?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, yes I did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Moving on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everybody does strange things – or so our therapists like to
tell us. If I am being perfectly, selfishly honest, I don’t care if anyone else
is weird, I just care if I’M weird or not. Something about the universe
revolving around me, etc, etc…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m already aware of some of the peculiar habits many
members of the human race share. For example, checking to make sure the front
door is really locked three times before you can leave for the day, or having
the tempting, hair-pulling desire to push anything that explicitly states “DO
NOT PUSH.” I guess we all have that dangerous, innate sense of curiosity that
wants to know if the world really end in bloodshed and chaos if we press that
innocent appearing button. It seems worth it, at the time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then, so does eating that second donut.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What’s important to me – I mean really, truly excruciatingly
important, is whether or not the strange things I do are done by anyone else.
So, shall we? If any of these apply to you, be a pal and post a comment below,
so I don’t feel so alone in this sad, cruel world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>1. While riding shotgun in the car</b>, I count the
number of words on billboards and can’t stop until one billboard ends in an
even number of words. This could take a long, long, long time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>2. Sometimes, if I touch something with one hand</b>, I
simply have to touch it with the other, too. I haven’t tested it, but I think I
might drop dead if I resist.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">3. </span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>I’m visiting a friend’s house,</b> and I notice the
painting on the wall is slightly askew. Excuse me, I just I have to – wait,
wait – there. That’s better. Now, what were you saying?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>4. I need to eat an even number of M&M’s. </b>I’ll
throw away the last one in the bottom of the bag, if necessary, to achieve my
goal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">5. </span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>I generally hate when people poke me. </b>If they
simply must do it, and they poke me in the shoulder, then they need to poke me
on the other shoulder too. Otherwise, you might hurt the other shoulder’s
feelings by making it feel left out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b> </b></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>6. I obstinately refer to myself as a “Cat
Whisperer.”</b> They follow me wherever I go. Even though I’ve never had a pet cat,
and sometimes they scratch and hiss at me, somehow, I refuse to let go of this
self-bestowed title from my childhood. I AM the Cat Whisperer. Fight me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<o:p> <b>7. </b></o:p><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>I get embarrassed for movie characters,</b> to the
point where I can’t even watch some movies because I feel so embarrassed on
their behalf. For example – Elf. The humiliation, it’s just too much.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<o:p><b> 8. </b></o:p><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>If someone I don’t know very well leaves me a
message</b> and asks me to call them back, I’ll still text them. I’m not going to
socially interact with you, I don’t know you like that!</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<b><span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">9. </span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>Along the same vein, if I have to call a
business for a repair, </b>sometimes I’ll write myself a script beforehand, just so
I can get out everything I need to say in a timely manner. When the employee on
the other end of the line veers off this script, I stumble all over myself. Stick
to the script, Stan. Stop asking me how the weather is over here, Stan. I just
need to fix my water heater, Stan.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So, are there other extra-terrestrials out there like me, or
am I the only one?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-27874055341089621422016-09-19T11:10:00.000-07:002016-09-19T14:51:31.689-07:00I'm Chubby, and You're Chubby Too<div class="MsoNormal">
While working at a temp agency a year or so ago, I came
across the most glamorous of temporary job opportunities. It had everything I had
ever wanted: Warehouse? Check. No air conditioning? Yes. The possibility of having my job terminated at
any moment? Check (I liked living on the edge). An all-male environment of coworkers with criminal
backgrounds? Check! Heavy, backbreaking labor? You betcha. Low wages? Always.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew I had to act fast before my spot was filled. I
scooped that position up like a cheesesteak in Jersey and never looked back. After all,
I love sweating myself a shower. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPA0_bmU3idlwztWGIHZ0FVlIuhAWU-Rjs91WLLC9ir6QCxNH6X_M2qHQPgH5YGDc8WxvZEVlx1XAAOtWlih6kqIpxR5lO7hamh2Jw8WOKZdAljFGnewEV6P1AtDKmZEw7_DkvnRRvj9Mg/s1600/sweat.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPA0_bmU3idlwztWGIHZ0FVlIuhAWU-Rjs91WLLC9ir6QCxNH6X_M2qHQPgH5YGDc8WxvZEVlx1XAAOtWlih6kqIpxR5lO7hamh2Jw8WOKZdAljFGnewEV6P1AtDKmZEw7_DkvnRRvj9Mg/s320/sweat.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The work was simple and straightforward – take all the heavy
boxes off of the pallet that was sent, arrange them in numerical order by
shipping code on the floor, and put them back up on a new pallet in order.
Seems mundane? Counter-productive? My friends, you simply do not understand the
sheer <i>genius</i> of this design. Why
should the shippers put the boxes in numerical order in the first place, when
the receivers could hire a bunch of people to redo it all for them? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Exactly. It makes perfect sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day Two: The only floor fan we had to blow warm air across
our slave-driven backs has broken. No plans of bringing in a new one. The
foreman refuses to open the windows or doors for ventilation. Morale is low.
The crew grumbles, but to no avail. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The work must go on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few hours in, we receive a fresh recruit. A short, rounded
male, possibly younger than myself. I smile at him in a half-grimace as I lug a
box more than half my weight over to a pallet. I wanted to offer a polite
gesture of comradery, nothing more. After all, we were in an inhospitable land.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He smiled back, and I carried on. As we past one another
back and forth from one pallet to the next, he tried to start up some small
chat. I did my best to follow, but since we only walked by one another for a
couple seconds at a time, it made for difficult conversation. He didn’t talk to
anyone else, but then, no one else was very forthcoming. They just didn’t operate
that way, my merry band of criminals.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite all the other luxuries of the job, we were still offered
a half an hour lunch break on top of it. Once the words “Break!” came
screeching out of the foreman’s hoarse, smoke-riddled lungs, I promptly scooped
up my lunch bag and headed for the door. On my way out, I was intercepted by
the new guy – named Ted (why not?). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Man, I wish I had packed a lunch, I’m starving. I thought
this place was going to be closer to fast food.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at him, and nodded sympathetically as I made my way
to Clifford, the Big Red Truck, whom I drove to work. Ted followed, like a lost
puppy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I rode my bike, so I can’t even go get anything….” He sighed
dramatically, staring with envious eyes at my vehicle, his possible salvation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh crap. I so looked forward to eating my lunch in
air-conditioned silence, but that nagging Good Samaritan in the back of my head
wouldn’t let up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I could…drive you to get something,” I offered hesitantly,
not meeting him in the eye. Ted did not need to be asked twice. He hopped into
the passenger seat and stated that he wanted some Kentucky Fried Chicken - KFC.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I blinked a few times at the request. I wasn’t sure if he was messing with me and
was about to tell me not to be so prejudiced, that he was just kidding and that
whole thing is a stereotype. After seeing he was perfectly serious, I got more
comfortable and drove off for the land of chicken-y goodness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqDy-Haxl7E607h4xl2P0sMU516JE5kvUFWsGDsBTH5iaOdYADGAh0xqLZTKb0GV7zwuexgo_0TLjuT3-ScqSwtJOl3HNfZBzUev8fTEP8Q10LvusSjp-HfwUgEq3DfnYtz9Giqn_SdwG/s1600/kfc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqDy-Haxl7E607h4xl2P0sMU516JE5kvUFWsGDsBTH5iaOdYADGAh0xqLZTKb0GV7zwuexgo_0TLjuT3-ScqSwtJOl3HNfZBzUev8fTEP8Q10LvusSjp-HfwUgEq3DfnYtz9Giqn_SdwG/s320/kfc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After picking up some food and returning to our warehouse
parking lot, I parked and we sat in awkward silence for a moment or two. Was he
going to get out of my car? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nope, he liked the air conditioning too. Okay, fair enough.
He was still a stranger but at least he was friendly. We both starting eating
our respective lunches, enjoying a little casual conversation. I had already
mentioned I had a boyfriend at the time, but it didn’t dissuade him from what
he would say next.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I was kind of drawn to you when we first met.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two hours ago??<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I squirmed in my chair. “Oh, yeah?” Maybe he wasn’t getting
at what I <i>thought </i>he was getting at.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Y’know your smile, and you’re the only girl. Plus, I’m
chubby, and you’re chubby too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Zai8fPJg9whREuwzfehuJpUfZeN2UCKpjD1ZFWIu4FTeDfXYLx3AkrpRd_fHaf8IDKO7GUwv1MlKyYP7TKqFnoGeq-yLQ6B00mvAgl_aH0C7VmYn61fXG4g7yJFvAP-SVF82XqJei405/s1600/really.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Zai8fPJg9whREuwzfehuJpUfZeN2UCKpjD1ZFWIu4FTeDfXYLx3AkrpRd_fHaf8IDKO7GUwv1MlKyYP7TKqFnoGeq-yLQ6B00mvAgl_aH0C7VmYn61fXG4g7yJFvAP-SVF82XqJei405/s320/really.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I almost choked on my Doritos. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not sure what to say?” I mumbled awkwardly, still
trying to appear nice. I had this problem, I’m going to call it “Nice Girl
Syndrome”, where I was still kind to someone after they directly insulted me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He chuckled as he bit into another piece of chicken. “Usually
I don’t like girls like you who seem really preppy, like that bratty (I’m
editing that) cheerleader type. But you’re so down to earth, I think because
you’re a little fat and it makes you more relatable.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GTFO. If I had the kind of self-respect that I have today, I
would have drop kicked him in the face and knocked him out of the side of the
truck, then backed up and run over him twice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead, I nodded my head and returned to my Doritos, which
I promptly stuffed into my lunchbox. For some super weird and totally unrelated
reason, I wasn’t hungry anymore. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day, and the day after that, he tried to eat lunch
with me again, but I evaded Ted for the most part. Although, he did come up to
my truck window and smack his hands against it while I sat quietly eating,
almost making me spit apple juice across my windshield in a “World of Colors”
moment, Disney style. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite his declaration that he “also had a girlfriend”,
somehow, I wasn’t buying it. Maybe because, when carrying boxes around the
warehouse, he kept coming up behind me and flirtatiously poking me in the
sides. I didn’t encourage it, but then, I didn’t exactly stop it either. I wasn’t
sure WHAT I was supposed to do in this situation. I could have reported him,
sure, but this place didn’t exactly have an HR Department set up in it. I
appeased myself with the knowledge that this job would soon come to an end, and
spent most of my focus on thinking up ways to avoid Ted altogether. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I may or may not have hit the all-time low of eating my
lunch in an abandoned, cobwebbed filled part of the warehouse to hide like a
little girl. Maybe, but I’m not on trial here. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ted still tried asking me for rides home, since I had a
truck and he could theoretically put his bike in the back of it. You know, if I
didn’t hate his guts. I made up a plethora of excuses as to why I couldn’t help
him, including that I was going in the opposite direction, or was headed
straight for an appointment, etc. You know the drill, ladies. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Finally, after poking my stomach like I was the Pillsbury
Doughboy one too many times, I snapped at him (in a nice way, naturally). I
told him, somewhat jokingly, that pointing out a woman’s weight was not doing
him any favors, while I made certain he could see the warning look in my eyes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ted finally got some sort of hint, because he at least
started to let me eat my lunch in peace. He still had his moments, but I smirked
smugly when he asked how old I was, and he looked appalled when I said
twenty-three. He was eighteen. I was too old for him….or was I? I could see the
words “sugar momma” forming in the clouds of his eyes before I quickly scurried
off.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Half-way through the work day on a Friday, we were told that
our job was finished, and we would need to return to the temp agency to find a
new position. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Trumpets blew, a chorus sang merrily, Hallelujah
reverberated against the walls! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8kx6bjs6jdGXZziuYt0bZPF_La9l1W_T-g-Y9P1esuhj1LTgo9F1D8IimjZibmUP_0SwJyYXf1xTbSLAM59CqXjri31MWuZ6An4jinjorwA85KsrR1lARlD3yFOAZN9Y1b7Q33bwIQFB/s1600/choir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8kx6bjs6jdGXZziuYt0bZPF_La9l1W_T-g-Y9P1esuhj1LTgo9F1D8IimjZibmUP_0SwJyYXf1xTbSLAM59CqXjri31MWuZ6An4jinjorwA85KsrR1lARlD3yFOAZN9Y1b7Q33bwIQFB/s400/choir.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Chelsey (he couldn’t quite get my name figured out), the
spinster, flabby cheerleader of old, was free.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until next week, when I started a new temp job and Ted waved
at me from the end of the assembly line.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh, I am fortune’s fool. <o:p></o:p></div>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4353378519379645033.post-29505495187079556062016-09-19T08:21:00.002-07:002016-09-19T14:51:31.691-07:00Seen on Google Earth....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">While exploring Google Earth in South Korea, I came upon....</span></b></h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOHHr5waBFJmqVvzdmLFhHM7HITMpjOLyeub3pJXa39WVhQdvyfEWf9r-IpheUHBpoWaPwP2MuyfnNw1wjZXFdi_B84LEl6mlcruKVBd5cSlfJZjA74c4LeWsVqPQ2WMCItaSnqg_mL3x/s1600/seoul%252C+south+korea+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOHHr5waBFJmqVvzdmLFhHM7HITMpjOLyeub3pJXa39WVhQdvyfEWf9r-IpheUHBpoWaPwP2MuyfnNw1wjZXFdi_B84LEl6mlcruKVBd5cSlfJZjA74c4LeWsVqPQ2WMCItaSnqg_mL3x/s640/seoul%252C+south+korea+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Happy monks enjoying a leisurely walk. Nothing out of the ordinary, here.</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6eUxUWa_O0gpKVkwlVBPLV_euR0yVqrIgxxL2rgxsUYjM19surkTNcmGGAPAHya6qFGojVLxUo0GVhhNZ-VlmcUoxXw5MLOA4OEYOaUSDU6QJ0y3w-mkQf7Y7jD1jb7dRf_8HueO-muu/s1600/seoul%252C+south+korea+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6eUxUWa_O0gpKVkwlVBPLV_euR0yVqrIgxxL2rgxsUYjM19surkTNcmGGAPAHya6qFGojVLxUo0GVhhNZ-VlmcUoxXw5MLOA4OEYOaUSDU6QJ0y3w-mkQf7Y7jD1jb7dRf_8HueO-muu/s640/seoul%252C+south+korea+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Uh-oh, they've spotted Godzilla.</h3>
Kelseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16993868098352493974noreply@blogger.com0