Category: Things I Think are Funny

Free Ice Cream!

I like to give blood. And not just because they give you free ice cream.

Much like me, my blood is basic. There’s literally nothing cool about it. I’m not like Brian with his “everybody wants some” O+. With just basic blood, you have to wonder if they’re just being polite when they take yours. Like, maybe they don’t want to hurt feelings or deter positive behavior so they just go through the motions of sticking me and then put the blood in the blood fridge in that space where the un-helpful blood goes. I used to envision my poor little blood bags having a fate similar to boxes of lettuce that live in the vegetable drawer in the fridge only to be thrown out when it gets slimy.

I’m thinking I’m not the only person who wondered about things like this since a couple years ago the blood people have switched up their business model to include something I really like. If history is any indicator, here in the next couple of weeks I’ll get a text letting me know that someone is getting my blood. When that text comes, I have a moment of “Man! I hope they’re alright” followed by a moment of “eesh,…I hope they don’t get the part of my blood that’s responsible for me being a werido.” I know that’s not how weirdness works, but it still makes me nervous for them. I also have the moment that I can only compare to when you have unexpected company at house, that sense of dread like “I should have cleaned better.” My blood is much cleaner than my house, but I still feel nervousness hoping it meets standards (yes,…I’m aware I overthink things. Thank you for your concern 😊)

The actual task of giving blood is really no big deal. Despite that, I still refuse to look when I’m getting stuck to check my iron and getting stuck with the blood taking needle. The latter hurts less than the first. Since I’ve never watched that part, I decided to feel brave and watch a YouTube of the process. Can confirm, it’s really not a big deal. I doubt I’ll watch in my own arm, but I now know that there’s no need for me to petition for my own medal of valor for the “bravery” needed to have a needle but in a vein.

There’s a million questions all of which confirm my basicness. No, I didn’t live in the UK for period of time greater than five years. No, I haven’t spent more than 72 consecutive hours in a detention facility in the last 4 months. No, I haven’t had a tattoo or piercing in the last 4 months (boo!) But fun fact, you still can donate if you have. Some of the naughty questions read way more complex than an SAT question or math word problem. I have to read them a couple times to make sure I’m answering correctly. “A person left Boston on a train traveling at 64 miles per hour, did you have sex with them?” “Was it in the Falkland Islands?” (these jokes only have a chance at being funny to people who’ve given blood. Go jokes! Find your audience!)

On my donation days, I like to back in to my parking spot. Not as a flex, but because I don’t back up well in general and really don’t want the blood people to have to watch my seamless backing and wonder if I’m too low on fluids to drive away. I also like to make sure that I sit in the blood couch for a while after they take the needle out. Turns out that it only takes once of me feeling woozy when I stood for me to be forever worried it’ll happen again. I feel like my dogs when they limp around not using a foot even after there’s no more sticker in their paw. And finally, I like to make sure that I take bloody pictures and virtual signal about my task. Mostly because I post way too much, but also because I want people to know it’s an easy way to help others.

If you’re looking for a way to help people, maybe give it a go. They’ll happily take your blood in trade for Hagen Daz (or whatever your brand is). If you go, not that it’s a competition, but I can bleed in just over 6 minutes.

Thanks for reading!

Tags blood donation

Things I Think are Funny

Some Unicorns are Real

I made a cute little narwhal the other day. He was a part of a bigger, uh…art installation (?) from the Elf movie. Somehow dolphins got mentioned in my 6 am workout. Me, ever being full of social grace, declared “I made a narwhal last night.” All my attempts to engage in human interaction are awkward. This one was no different.

“A narwhal?”

“Yea. Those whales with that big spike on their heads.”

Several faces looked back at me in complete disbelief. “Like a unicorn?”

“…uh…yah…”

“Are you sure that’s real?”

I’m often good at convincing myself that unreal things exist, but I was pretty sure narwhals weren’t just cartoons in movies. But I’d never seen one. I’d never written an elementary school paper on one. I really was just taking it for granted that they are real. Much like how I believe that that moon landing happened. Not a question for me at all. But my workout buddies were so convinced that such a weird animal couldn’t possibly be.

Time froze as I wondered if I’d been duped. I don’t think bigfoot is real. I also don’t think there’s such a thing as chupacabre (though it’s one my favorite words to say.) But there I was in the middle of a 6 am impasse. Their conviction that I was wrong caused me to doubt. Hard.

Luckily in today’s modern times, all the information or misinformation you could ever want is right there at your fingertips. There was a quick google followed by “Oh my GAWD!”

The workout was derailed for just a moment as we reviewed pictures of whales who, in fact, do have spikes on their heads.

“Look at this picture of them fighting…!” “Can you imagine how scary it would be to see one of these in the ocean?!”

I can not express enough the amount of relief I felt. Whilst that search was occurring, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end. What other things would I believe that aren’t true? Maybe those phone calls are accurate and there is a warrant for my arrest that I can clear up by pressing 1 and sharing my financial information?! Or maybe I do need to talk to someone about my car’s extended warranty?!

The thought of me possibly being so wrong about reality amused me, so I shared the story throughout the day. Turns out here’s a lot of people who didn’t know narwhals existed. My search algorithms have been forever altered. I’m informed that one can complete a virtual narwhal adoption for $60. I also learned about a violent crime carried out by way of narwhal tusk attach. It was an educational experience all around.

I know that I’m not super street saavy. And I know that my increased narwhal knowledge doesn’t bump up my street cred. Also, I’m sure that I’m going to fall for something today. Maybe I’ll believe that I’ll be totally ready for Christmas by the end of the day or some other misguided beliefs. But, at least I know confidently where I stand on the question of the existence of narwhals. And somedays, that all the victory a girl could hope for.

Thanks for reading!

Tags narwhal humor

I'm Broken Things I Think are Funny

Bitches Be Tripping

I’ve been walking upright for over 49 years. I should have it pretty dialed in by now. Yesterday makes me question that.

The first incident happened before 7 am. I was at the gym walking towards the Smith machine. I was worried I was going to forget to take the weights off like some sort of caveman with no social skills. Leaving the weights out is like leaving your dirty dish in the sink and NEVER addressing it again. They should both be punishable by severe legal actions.

The repeat loop played in my head, “Don’t forget your weights. Don’t forget your weights.” I stared at them so intently that I failed to, you know…., WATCH WHERE I WAS GOING. The electrical cord to the fan that’s been there the entire time tried to take me down. Polite gym owners apologized and said that maybe they should illuminate the cord. I pointed out that it seems everyone can navigate it just fine, so the issue really could be isolated to me.

I made it about 30 minutes before my next failure. The pavement is uneven next to the work building I shower in between the gym and my work day. It didn’t just become uneven, it’s been like that the entire time I’ve walked that stretch. But, I was in my usual mode of trying to do more than one thing at a time, and pretty hopped up on post workout endorphins. Half-assed walking, half-assed on my phone, full-assed not paying attention to my surroundings.

I was sporting the Danksos, the official shoe of social work. They’re clogs with an elevated heel, skilled at their ability to roll an ankle when the urge strikes them. When it happened, I flailed about a hard as a little person can. Leg joints crumbled me into a human sized push puppet. I carry with me all the things a lady needs to get ready for a work day, from hair dryer, to towel, to lady facial war paint. I’m not sure what gods smiled upon me to grant me the ninja move to prevent myself from becoming a upended turtle right there on the road, but I’m thankful for their intervention. Upon recovery, I immediately looked around hoping beyond all hopes that someone saw it and got a great laugh. No dice.

I was then able to walk safely for a couple of hours. I was growing comfortable in my ability to stride.

But then the master of my universe probably decided I needed to be humbled. A quick smack to remind me of the importance of staying focused.

Part of my job includes reviewing stacks of documents. There’s a LOT of them because people in my office work very hard. This makes my desk untidy. As a result, when I’m done with a stack, I theatrically drop it on the floor so I can 1) feel rewarded by the thud it makes and 2) keep it separate from the other stacks. I don’t know if you’re aware; but between sheets of paper, there is not a lot of friction. They slide easily against each other. Therefore; if you have them on your floor, you should be mindful of their location. Otherwise you may step on them and take a brief skate resulting in your 3^rd (!!!) near fall of the day.

At this point, it would seem the universe was just messing with me. As I left work, those same Danskos sought out a very rolly twig that sent me unexpectedly gliding again. I stopped and looked down at it with my best “Really?” face.

Obviously, this much ineptitude in one day demands it be dinner chat. After dinner, we when to the gym for a gathering/Chad Bushnell private show. As I headed towards the bathroom, Brian thought he was joking when he told me “Don’t trip.” *eyeroll

But I did! I did trip again!

This time also because I wasn’t watching where I was going so I didn’t see the mats that where right there the entire time.

Someone may read this and wonder if I’m okay. Yes (mom), I am okay. And, no (mom) I don’t need to see a doctor or have Web MD tell me I’m nearly out of time. I just need to pay attention to where I’m going and maybe try doing more things full-assed than 1/2 assed or 1/3 assed.

Thanks for reading!

Blogolicious Stories about my fam Things I Think are Funny

Absorbent Heirloom

The year is 2061. A handsome, yet humble, young man sits at a table across from the show star. A well-heeled gentleman, sporting round tortoise shell glasses and a bow tie. He’s hoping to look “different” (just like everybody else). He carefully adds pristine white gloves to complete his quirky outfit. He takes out his official “Antiques Road Show” pointer and leans in to my great grandson as he grandly gestures to the item carefully hung above the table, “Let’s talk about your great grandma’s robe.”

Roughly a million years ago, my robe and I became entwined. It’s been so long that I don’t even recall how the robe came in to my possession. I may have bought it myself. It may have been the classic husband Christmas gift. I could’ve stolen it from my neighbor’s clothes line for all I know. Carbon dating would likely be required to determine it’s actual age, but I know that I can remember exactly how it fit during my pregnancies; the long broad belt barely connected in front of my distended belly. As a reminder, my BABY is 19. That means that every day I don a garment that is at least old enough buy alcohol.

It should probably be replaced, but we’ve been through so much together, it’s hard to consider letting go. It’s the robe I’ve worn to the Christmas morning “Santa came!” chaos. The robe I threw on when someone threw up. “Mommy, my stomach h….” you know the rest.

It’s been a part of my morning routine every single work day. Jobs changed, robe didn’t. It weighs roughly 15 pounds making it feel like the special apron the dentist makes you wear to get your teeth x-rayed. Is it way heavier than I need on hot Nor-Cal mornings. But I don’t care. I wear it and just accept the fact that my nose will sweat as I’m getting ready.

It hardly makes me a terry cloth temptress, but I’ll be still trying to justify my ownership of it.

“You can see this is by the maker ‘Delicates’ out of China,” the appraiser continues. “The tag is frayed, but you can still make out ‘mediano.’”

“GGMA was svelte but mighty” answers the boy (it’s my fake story. I’ll tell it how I want…Bwah!)

“It’s minty color maintains a lot of lot original luster. When she procured it, mint was a popular color. And then for a couple decades it wasn’t. And then it was again. She must have been very willful to hang on to it through all those significant robe fashion changes.”

Appraiser man furrows his brow, “However, we do have some condition issues. Here you can see that some of the terry cloth loops seem to have been ripped out.”

Handsome boy interjects, “I’ve been told that my great grandma spilled hot eyebrow wax on it.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Some of the people of those days were indeed too cheap and lazy to get their eyebrows done professionally.”

“Also, did she use to put out a fire? It’s difficult to determine the cause of these marks.”

“She didn’t know. She doesn’t even know how she got the robe.”

The two nod at each other with reverence thinking about the olden days when things came from places they’ve heard of but never seen such as JC Penney.

The appraiser goes on discuss how rare “a piece” it is. He speculates at what it would bring at auction in today’s market. Great grandson graciously thanks him for the information, but tells him he thinks they will just keep in in the family. Perhaps one day it can used to soak up an oil spill or as housing insulation.

My mom calls me a minimalist. That’s not as accurate as I’d like it to be, but I do try to limit the things I hang on to, making sure that those things that stick continue to add genuine value to my life. I do have a few clothing items that fall in this category; this robe definitely is one.

Thank you robe for your diligent service. You’ve brought me great happiness, be it on your best day or on the “whatever, I tried” days. My future generations and I are sincerely grateful.

Thanks for reading!

Tags antiques road show humor