TGIT

This happened. #irishgirlproblems.

Daylight Savings Directly Caused Me To Re-Live Middle School

[Disclaimer: this is a story I just have to put out into the universe…but I feel like a cyber bully…]

This morning was odd. For one, getting out of bed post time change has been, well, just plain painful.
I am a morning person, but I am no morning person when the clock says its 6AM, but it is really 5AM. That makes my clock a liar, and we all know how I feel about those.
Daylight savings caused me sleep loss.
At any rate, there I was this morning with an unusual craving for a caffeinated beverage, and knowing what my day had in store, I indulged and stopped. That should have been my first clue that something in my day was to go awry…the last time I stopped for coffee “just because” was about ten minutes before the Great Car Accident of 2010. Click here if you haven’t read that gem yet…
Daylight savings caused me sleep loss which caused me to stop for caffeine.
Immediately after walking into Starbucks, I regretted my decision to stop for coffee. The line was far too long for the caffeine headache I was undoubtedly going to get at 3:00PM because I so rarely drink caffeine. I almost turned around, but I decided to stay. As I am haphazardly catching up on some of my Words With Friends games (which has become a chore in and of itself), I hear a “Oh my god! Is that you Kristin Dacey?!”

That is a line that I never like to hear, but that is a line I am down-right afraid to hear if I am a) in my hometown, b) not wearing any make up, or c) in a hurry. Luckily for me, this morning I hit the trifecta.

I turn around with my best fake sorority smile, not knowing who to expect, and there she was: my middle school bully.

I will be the first to admit that middle school sucks. Period. People who say they liked middle school are one of two things:

1. A bold-face liar
2. One of those mean girls who peaked far too early in their social career.

The middle school bully was not popular or pretty…she was just a girl, who didn’t want a new girl to join her social circle…and I had. Because no one actually wants to hear about my middle school baggage, and frankly, I am not ready to be that transparent, we will just go on record as saying that she was mostly successful re: making my life miserable…I mean, it is only healthy to scrub your name off a bathroom wall so many times before it starts to wear you down.

Back to the Starbucks, I am now make-up-less face-to-face with the bully…and we are both in the same snail’s pace line. I was stuck.
Daylight savings caused me sleep loss which caused me to stop for caffeine which led me to see Bully.
I have to say, we had a very nice conversation and I left with a caffeinated beverage, and a little extra oomph in my step.

Why, you might ask? Because I ran into the middle school bully, and she was ugly and unemployed.

My mom will be thrilled to know that her prediction of 15 years ago has come to fruition. Does it make me a bad person that I am not upset that she was right?

TGIT

I have decided that if I were ever to vacate my desk quickly, this is what I would have left someone else to not only clean up, but also decipher.

This is what I am currently dealing with on my desk.


For those of you who do not have beyond perfect vision, I will highlight some of my favorite "reminders"

• to start, one of them simply says "Friday." Your guess is as good as mine as to what that could possibly be reminding me of. Perhaps I was supposed to do something super important on Friday that I couldn't forget, or maybe I was merely wishing it was Friday. Either way, this sticky proves useless.
• Another good one is the one that reads: "Travel Idea! Do not forget..." Well, thank the lord I wrote that down, never mind leaving myself a hint as to what this amazing travel idea might be. Again, this is another super helpful and descriptive sticky note.
• there is also a sticky note with a library call number that will spit you in the middle of the Celiac Disease section of my library if someone were to actually look it up...as well as a sticky note reminding myself of a rock version of the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" song from the Nutcracker.

....maybe I should think about utilizing the voice memo or reminder option in my iPhone.

Ode to CVS

Because of my ungodly amount of prescription meds [thanks for that, bod] I find myself frequenting CVS far more than any normal person should. It is with that caveat that I explain, CVS is my drug.

For one, the second I walk into CVS, my body releases an unusual amount of Seratonin/Dopamine/every other happy-enducing hormone that my body produces. It’s like I subconsciously know that my every want and need is going to be fulfilled before I leave the very doors I just entered. CVS is like my fix.

Its layout is nearly perfect for the way my brain functions. To start, the shopping baskets are placed in the most obnoxious place - I can’t walk in without tripping over them. To some might be annoying, but to others [like me who attempt to balance all their goods in one arm while trying to grab something on the bottom shelf] it is a blessing. CVS reminds me of my shortcomings.

Immediately, I am spit into the aisle where I actually need something, which is conveniently connected to the aisle containing the things I don’t need, per se, but probably should have, which is conveniently connected to the make-up aisle, which then syncs me up with the nail polish section, which leads me to what I call the “Aleve and Celiac” aisle, which syncs to the “as seen on tv” aisle, followed by the yummy drink and vitamin aisle, which connects me back to the pharmacy where I can get one of my 1345 prescriptions and skip the line at the front of the store, created by the woman trying to pay with all coupons and pennies. Phew.

Before I tip my hat to their corporate store-planners, [bravo, corporate, bravo], I would also like to toot my own horn, as I believe that I not only have perfected the CVS shopping experience, but have also single-handedly employ most of the pharmacists on hand at any given time. This is another reason I simply adore CVS- I can get snacks and anti-anxiety meds in the same place. CVS is created for [just slightly neurotic] twenty-somethings just like me.

Lastly, being on the pharmacy VIP list also has its perks [no pun intended.] For one, I am on a conversational basis with all pharmacists: one of them knows my name and asks how many I am picking up, another one tells me that I haven’t changed since second grade. Secondly, I now have the CVS phone number memorized for when I get automatic refill reminders. I now avoid the call, acting like it’s a bad boyfriend, but always end up at the CVS for my weekly pick-me-up. CVS knows that I forget everything if it isn’t causing me immediate anxiety.

I Am Sorry I am Not Sorry

Frankly, the term “I am sorry” is the most overused word in the English language.

I am sorry, but I am most definitely an apology addict.

I am sorry I got so drunk. I am sorry I got into a better school than you. I am sorry that I am a stickler for grammar. I am sorry that you don’t have a car. I am sorry that I am taller than you. I am sorry I have such neat handwriting. I am sorry you walked into me.

All of these things have come out of my mouth in the last 48 hours, but the one that forced me into writing a blog about it was this one:

I am sorry, I have Celiac.

Recently, this is a sentence that has been word vomiting from my mouth far more frequently than it should be. As if my pre-existing ordering awkwardness wasn’t already weird enough, I now need to explain to all wait staff that I have a dietary limitation. I am now that girl.

So, when I feel like a waitress is judging me for customizing my meal, instead of leaving my [very personal, noneya business] explanation out, I always end up not only over-sharing, but also asking for forgiveness.

I am sorry, I have Celiac.

I stop and think: what exactly am I sorry for?! Well, I profusely apologize that my genetic defect, which has turned my world upside down in less than three months, is now going to inconvenience you. Now, instead of simply writing my carbon-copy order down, you now need to note that I need dressing on the side/no croutons please/ no bread on the side/ need to make sure the sauce has no gluten. Your life must be so hard.*

*Your life is so hard, that is, until you go to eat the free dinner you are provided in the back, and not think once about any of the ingredients in the chicken dish you are shoving into your mouth.

I am so sorry that I need your help in learning about the ingredients in the food you are about to serve to me, only doing so because I am unable to find said ingredients on your website which I most definitely scoured prior to my arriving at your restaurant. I am so sorry that if you don’t do this small custom order for me, that I will spend the next several hours doubled over in pain because it was such an inconvenience to you.

Well, guess what. I am not sorry…so, I am not going to say it anymore.

Fool Me Once: Stop Going To Nightclubs, Fool Me Twice?

Lets, for a brief moment, relive the painful memory that is November 2008, when Plaxico Burress accidently shot himself in the leg.

In avoiding the obvious questions I had as an avid, my-dad-raised-me-as-a-boy-when-it-comes-to-football fan, abridged into the following overly long question: “Um, why was Plaxico Burress packing in the first place… in a bar… the night before a big game against Washington…with other Giants players…with the gun stored in a position that could shoot himself or others…without a safety on?”

I digress.

I actually want to think about the public consequences that came of his poor decision, such as:

• Plaxico’s recuperation process after physically shooting himself in the leg
• being convicted of a felony, and forced to serve time
• Never being able to play football as well as he did pre-shooting self in leg
• The financial burden in paying legal fees and not having the security net of a professional football play salary
• Letting down an entire football team, and its corresponding fans
• His forever tainted public image as the “idiot who actually shot himself in the foot.”
• Crushing a certain 21 year old fan, who was relying on him to pull through as her favorite Giant when Michael Strahan retired. Ahem.

Not to mention the toll it took on me, I mean Giants Nation…as if it isn’t hard enough being Giants fans already. If I had a dollar for each moment of second-hand Plaxico embarrassment I felt, I would most likely be writing this from my private yacht somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean. Ah, a girl can dream. Its fine though, I mean really who doesn’t like having to defend the reasoning behind their team’s wide receiver shooting themselves in the foot in the middle of the season?

Giants Nation Moral Lesson: no more packing whilst in Manhattan nightclubs.

Fine. Easy. We move on…

…or at least we had moved on until Monday night, when four members of the Giants starting line-up were caught in a fatal Manhattan night club shooting. [read the embarressing story here, thanks espn]

Déjà vu, anyone?

Luckily, no one from my beloved NYG franchise was hurt, but it sparks 3 immediate alarming thoughts for me:

1. Did we not learn our lesson the first time? (see above)
2. Can we not find better establishments to hang out at whilst enjoying ourselves? Perhaps places where people aren’t packing might suffice.
3. Is it necessary to start running a nightly program where players need to check in weaponless, and can’t leave until the morning?

Also, Victor Cruz, who was rapidly climbing my “Favorite Giant Player” ladder has been forced to the bottom, as I don’t think I can come to avidly supporting someone who might accidently shoot himself in the leg…again.

[Insert Quote from the Procrastinator A La Nickelodean's 'All That']

So recently, while at a church council meeting [yes, I was asked to join church council…that’s another story in and of itself…] we began talking about the validity of blogs.

Evidently, in order to stay up-to-date [which we know I am currently nowhere near], I need to blog every two to three days.

Panic.

Remember when I used to be such a good little blogger because ohmygodmyreadersneedsomethingtoreadanditismydutyasaselfproclaimedbloggertopost?

Ah yes, the good ole days of having a functioning computer at home, and not having the sleep-inducing side effects of diagnosing Celiac Disease (which by the way I officially now have…)

In the middle of my church meeting, I then had a sudden urge to blog…not just blog, but meaningfully and passionately blog…

…it was an urge that clearly passed, as by the end of the meeting, I had no doubt completely forgotten about blogging and moved onto more important, in-the-moment issues, such as why I had such a deeply rooted headache in the core of my brain.

I almost completely forgot about one little justslightlyneurotic.blogspot.com, until again today JSN was brought up in a conversation.

I again wee-womped at the fact that I have been badly neglecting JSN. I started to feel guilty...

...then after deciding that my website definitely does not have feelings, I realized, more importantly, that I will now need to rely on my unreliable memory to remember what I did throughout the 2011 year, as opposed to being able to flip through my electronically captured inner monologue. Sigh.

So here I am, writing an apology note to the vast space of the world wide web, JSN.blogspot, and well, myself and promise to do a better job of keeping my life somehow logged.

Did I really just write a blog excusing my lack of blogging? Yup.
Do I promise to start blogging more, despite my life with a touch of completelycrazy? Yup.
Think I can procrastinate doing so until tomorrow, when I honest will write about something other than my lack-o-bloggin’? Yup!