The day before yesterday, I switched my primary care physician and went to see my new one for a check-up. To briefly go over my medical history, he asked me a checklist of questions, “Any problems? stomach? headache? muscle pain?” To which I enthusiastically answered:
“No, but I’m vitamin B12 and D deficient!”
As I cared to elaborate, I added, proudly:
“My doctor in New York told me it’s normal for New Yorkers
to be vitamin D deficient! Because all the tall buildings block
out direct sunlight."
To which my doctor responded:
"No, it's not NORMAL. It's common, but not normal."
* * *
2 months ago...
One month ago...
(after taking my first bite of a bad French fry at a Red Sox game
Last night, at a party...
It has taken me almost 3 months to finally reach acceptance. But I will not cheer for Boston sports. And if I want to stay put at acceptance, I can't cheer for New York sports either.
GOOOO MINNESOTA WILD!
One of my BFFs is working on a remote farm for 2 months. I promised him I'd visit. The promised visit was supposed to be today. Instead, when I woke up this morning, I thought about how I didn't feel like driving for 5 hours. And then I didn’t do it.
I have been known to say things like, "I'm a good friend," "She's a bad friend," and "Of course I'm going to visit you! Why would you think otherwise?” Which makes me a bad friend and a hypocrite because I broke my promise.
But, in lieu of feeling bad about this, I’m going to celebrate hypocrisy!
We all know dairy is uncool.
Anything that makes you fat is
even more uncool.
The most uncool is simply being uncool.
* * *
The fancy cars, the women and the caviar, you know who we are,
'cause we hypocritin' all over the world.
Well, not anymore!
PET PEEVE: You can never seem to remember which cabinet stores the bowls and which one stores the cups. You hate that you end up opening and slamming every cabinet door whenever you want to use a bowl or a cup.
SOLUTION: Leave the cabinet doors open. Don't shut them, ever. Even if you get creeped out like in the movie The Sixth Sense*. That way, you'll be able to find your bowl or cup right away.
PET PEEVE: You love to catch up with your friends on your cell phone while surrounded by objects made from trees, but you can't stand the rude people who make faces at you while you're trying to chit-chat.
SOLUTION: Go somewhere with real trees and no people.
PET PEEVE: You have a passion for patting yourself on the back, but you need a new reason to pat.
SOLUTION: Let everyone know you've gone green. And do it quickly; you'll only be able to pat while enough people still believe global warming is a real problem.
Recycle 'cause it's cool - not because the Earth might matter.
*Even if you get creeped out.
6 year-old cousin: Winny, do you know what happens to poor people?
6 year-old cousin: They lose an arm.
She really said that.
But I’m not her mother. So I changed the subject to pizza.
* * *
Seeing that we’re on the subject of poor people, I’d like to further address this topic. Do people with money problems really exist? I’m asking because I’ve recently come across several blogs with a post asking the readers for monetary donations. And I’m not referring to blogs that have a PayPal donation button with a caption that reads, ‘Donate if you want to.’ I’m referring to actual posts where the blogger explains why the readers should donate money. In these posts, the bloggers reveal that they have a family to financially support and, that, since their readers are all rich because they can afford to use the internet, the bloggers are entitled to money from the readers.
Everyone I know can afford to use the internet which, we just learned, means that they're all rich. So tell me, do people with money problems really exist? Because, apparently, I don't know anyone who isn't rich. I also don't happen to know anyone who's missing an arm...
I'd provide you, my readers, with a link to the blog comment I left, but then you'd be unfairly reading my comment for free.
fter I turned in my employment resignation letter
, my final 2 weeks at the office were horrible. I felt frustrated, excited, regretful, anxious, and relieved during my remaining time there. Other emotions displayed not-by-me in the office as a result of my 2 weeks notice were jealousy, bitterness, and sadness. That’s EIGHT emotions flying around in a fairly small communal space for ten 8-hour days. Like I said, my last weeks were horrible.
One of my unexcellent girlfriends
handed in her letter of resignation this past Friday. Considering how ill-natured some office coworkers can be when someone decides to quit his/her job (most likely because of the shitty coworkers in the first place), I sent her a card expressing my sympathy and support. I didn’t want her to feel how I felt during those 2 weeks. Her response: “Thanks! But I am having so much fun!”
She explained to me that she’s in the process of disposing all of her work, as she deems her work to be intellectual property. “They’re going to suffer so badly without me!”
Now I feel like a loser. I was so busy feeling bad about leaving my office that I worked even harder during the 2 weeks. How my unexcellent girlfriend is handling this is exceptionally cooler.
I am a fool.
I popped out.
"Where's Whitney's Soup?" was born.
I quit my job, moved out of New York, and created Where's Whitney's Soup?.
(the original template)
ince I last posted about how I'm a bad person
, I have spent a considerable amount of time self-reflecting. What I discovered through my self-reflection is that the space between my top lip and my nose is too much. There could be less of that space. But while I was looking in the mirror, I also came to the realization that I'm actually a deeply caring person. It looks like I'm just your typical goody two-shoes living an ordinary life.
I leave myself reminder notes on my nightstand so I'm reminded both
when I retire to bed for the night and when I rise in the morning.
I keep framed photographs of my loved ones in my bedroom so I never forget
that they are what's most important to me and that I'm doing this for them.
I don't have a baby per se, but I do have a baby bank. It's filled with pennies (approximately 700 of them, which is approximately 7 dollars! and a heavy baby!).
And, if I don't say so myself, in addition to being a dutiful money saver, I take
excellent care of my baby bank.
Spending time with old people is, generally speaking, uneventful and unfun. You may get a word of wisdom or two out of it, but that doesn’t usually happen during most interactions with them. My grandfather asked me to drive him to the public transportation office to renew his expired senior ID. When we got there, the office was packed – with smelly old people.
While I was waiting in line with my grandfather, my face alternating between wincing and pouting, an old man that was waiting behind me tapped me on my arm with his cane to get my attention.
“Too bad I don’t have a seat. Otherwise, I’d offer it to you. You’re nice to look at.”
We parked in an unfree parking garage. When I pulled up to the booth to pay, the booth personnel (not old) released the bar gate and told me how much my fare was.
“Because you’re beautiful, it’s free.”
I shouldn’t be so repulsed by these men who hit on me. After all, one's running out of time; the other works alone in a 3’ x 6’ booth all day. I must keep in mind that desperate times call for desperate measures.
Two years ago, I was in a similar position of desperation. For the first time in my life, I was without a female BFF. Accordingly, I sought out to fix that. On the market for a new BFF, I hit the bars. I met a girl who had cute shoes on. We got to talking and, I complimented her on her shoes, among the other things I said to her…
She and I did not become best frosting friends.
Someone (who lives in the same house that I live in) hired A Man to remove the rest of our tree and branches that fell down during that hurricane. About halfway through the tree and branches removal, A Man called Someone to renegotiate the terms of their deal. The renegotiation turned into an argument. Someone accused A Man of trying to squeeze more money out of the agreement; A Man felt he deserved more pay because he didn’t realize how much work was involved in chopping up and chainsawing thick pieces of wood and then having to load them into a truck and then have to take them somewhere to properly dispose of them.
After their phone conversation, A Man approached me about their dispute, hoping that I could mediate. He really wanted me to understand so that I could relay the message to Someone that A Man has a good heart. He looked me sternly in the eye and explained.
“I didn't mean to cause any kind of trouble. I'm Catholic, you know.”
Well, by Jove!
No further explanation was provided. And no message was relayed. I did not want to get involved; this was between Someone and A Catholic Man.
Some other one-liner consolations that are lodged in my head:
They all started off with either ‘I think we should stop sleeping together...’ or ‘I don’t feel the same way about you anymore, but…’
"I still think you're very attractive."
I agree, it’s important that you walk away knowing that I know you still think I’m very attractive.
"You’ve got the best personality of anyone I know."
That’s the way to do it – kill 2 birds with one stone. Confirm that you noticed my out-of-shapeness while you end things between us.
"You’re still my closest friend."
It makes me SO happy to hear you say that.
My 8 year-old cousin received his 23rd Good Behavior Ticket from his teacher at school yesterday.
8 year-old cousin: I got 23 tickets! For good behavior.
Me: They’re still doing that? Teaching you guys things like “tooth fairies” and “good behavior?”
8 year-old cousin: Yeah.
I remember when I was in 2nd grade. It was supposed to be an awesome year of my life, but it was awful. The unsatisfactory box under conduct was checked on my report card! I was being discriminated against for having early-onset humor.
* * *
The Tale of the Little Girl with Early-Onset Humor
The teacher with skin made of leather was teaching a lesson to her class. Bored was the Little Girl. Her attention landed on a white mechanical pencil that did not have an eraser end.
The Little Girl thought that end of the pencil loosely resembled a toilet bowl and shared her observation with the other little girl in her group (the students sat in clusters of 4). The other little girl burst out with laughter. The teacher with skin made of leather demanded to know why the other little girl was disrupting the classroom. The other little girl answered, “It was Whitney! She was the one talking and made me laugh.” While pointing outward in an ambiguous direction, the teacher with skin made of leather roared, “Whitney, that was your last strike! Pick up your desk, and get out of the group!” The Little Girl picked up her desk and proceeded to exit the classroom for she misheard ‘group’ as ‘room’ and because the direction of pointing was not made obvious. The teacher with skin made of leather roared again, “Where are you going?” The Little Girl replied, “You told me to get out of the room.” The teacher with skin made of leather corrected the Little Girl and had her move her desk to the back of the classroom and face the wall.
(Like this. Except, the desk wasn't cute.) (It was one of these.)
The Little Girl was sentenced to solitary confinement for the remainder of the school year (5 months). All because someone laughed out loud at her pencil-toilet joke.
* * *
I believe the comment that was left under conduct was along the lines of, ‘Whitney is quite the chatterbox.’ Luckily, my English-as-a-second-language parents had no effing clue what that meant.
Here is a letter from my 8 year-old cousin's teacher who administers the Good Behavior Tickets.
This teacher is a big fat liar. He doesn’t even read his own letter about the importance of reading. See? These teachers make up "good behavior."