Internet ADD, Disney Songs, and Little Kids

I have really been lagging on writing blog posts and I recognize that I need to step up my game.  Partly this is because I have been out socializing and doing things, so I don’t have much time, which is actually good for my blog in the long run because now I have more exciting things to blog about as opposed to “so today on Pinterest”. 

But partly it’s because I have the growing suspicion that I’m developing ADD.  The internet is fucking with my ability to concentrate on one thing for more than 5 minutes at a time because there’s so many goddamn notifications andupdates and stupid news articles that some unknown force compels me to click on, and it’s actually a serious problem because I can’t get anything done at work either, not just blog posts which wouldn’t be as bad.  That’s partly why I got a blog in the first place- so I could re-learn how to concentrate on something for more than five minutes at a time. 

(No, I don’t actually have real ADD, and I know this because I took Adderall once to get rid of a hangover -advice from my sometimes shady subletter at the time- and instead of making me function like a normal person, it GAVE ME SUPERPOWERS.  It felt exactly like how Harry felt when he took Felix Felicis in the 6th HP book or how Bradley Cooper felt when he took that pill in the movieLimitless, like every possibility in the world was suddenly open to me.  I was suddenly smarter, wittier, friendlier, and more awesome.  In fact, I almost got fired from my internship that day for being too awesome, but that’s a story for another time.)

Anyway, now to the actual post. 

So last weekend I decided to put on a swimsuit and lay on a blanket in the sun in the hopes of soaking up the last bit of fading summer for myself (it ends so much sooner up here!). 

I was innocently playing with my iPhone and minding my own business when suddenly a person lied down right next to me in the grass and said, “What are you doing?” 

My immediate instinct was to feel threatened, because usually when strangers intrude on my personal space and ask me blunt questions like that they are usually drunk creepy men on the BART at 12AM. 

But this wasn’t a beer-stained Cheetos-consuming douchebag dude - it was a little girl with pigtails and overalls with flowers on them.  Not exactly the epitome of a threatening image. 

I said, “I’m…. listening to music and lying in the grass?”, feeling a little foolish for giving such an obvious answer but I figured she probably wasn’t old enough to figure out how to judge people yet. 

"What you listening to?" She stuck her face right above my iPhone and peered at the screen.  Normally, this question causes me a lot of anxiety, because usually I am listening to either Nsync or Disney songs (it’s gotten worse with the whole Spotify thing, where now everyone on Facebook can see that I am listening to Nsync and Disney instead of some cool underground alternative band shit), but it so happens that this genre is a perfect fit for a pre-schooler. 

"Disney," I said.  "Wanna listen with me?"

She grabbed the phone and to my surprise, deftly hit the back button, scrolled down the list of songs, picked one, and turned up the volume.  Jesus.  My dad can’t even figure out how to do that with a smartphone yet. 

Her friend came over at this point (they were part of some playgroup organized by a few middle aged mommies and college students a few feet away).

"How old are you two?"

"Four and a half," they chimed in unison.  (I remember when I would always include the "half" when saying my age.  Sometimes "three quarters" too.  I should try it out now, and say "22 and a quarter" to the next person that asks, just to see how they react.)

"And how old do you think I am?"

"Fourteen!" they exclaimed.  Very confidently, I might add.  Great for my self esteem.

"Not quite.. a little bit older."  "Fifteen! Sixteen! Seventeen…" They had a while to go.  Finally.. "Twenty two!"

"Yeah! Do I look twenty two to you?" I said.  "Yes!!!" These were very agreeable four year olds.  

At that point, we all put our heads close to the phone speakers and sang along to “Honor to us All” and “Part of Your World”.  It was pretty freakin’ fun and I was having a great time, until one of the middle aged mommies came over and tried to convince them to join the rest of the group in what looked like a very boring game of the Human knot (I hate that game).  They flatly refused, saying they would rather stay with me.  I worked hard to keep the smug look off my face (Yeah, I’m more entertaining than an organized playgroup; Baby Sitters Club ain’t got nothing on this). 

"The girl doesn’t want to play with you," the lady said (yes I did).

"It looks like she is about to leave anyway," she tried again (no I wasn’t). 

She half-dragged the little girls away, the group started up a game of duck-duck goose, and all memory of me was quickly forgotten as duck-duck goose is the trump card for fun among preschoolers.

But my memory was untarnished, and I sat there on the grass for a while with a nice, warm feeling of happiness.  We waste so much time worrying about what other people think of us, when really it doesn’t have to be that way.  Little kids don’t care what anyone thinks of them.  It’s a long-forgotten freedom we once had that is exhilarating to experience now (like when we go to bars by ourselves!) 

So my conclusion?  I guess I just have to hang out with more four year olds.  Can I rent a child?  Is that a thing? 

I'm Sorry

for that last post I wrote.  Wow, I think that was a low point in my life.  I decided to just keep it up there, because we all need reminders of our mistakes, right? Like, if there was a picture of the Japanese American internment camps on Bush’s desk when he was deciding to sign the Patriot Act after 9/11, maybe he would have at least paused for a little and thought to himself, "Funny, something about this is so deja vu!  ….Ah well, fuck it."   And then promptly proceeded to repeat the mistakes of the past.  Anyway….

Shortly after writing that post and running around the office talking/hallucinating at as many unsuspecting people as I could find, I stopped being drunk and started being severely hung over.  I feebly oozed out of the office and to the nearest Asian restaurant. 

I heard somewhere that pho cures hangovers.  Too bad this was a Thai place.  That didn’t really register with me, the sledgehammers to my brain meant there was no room left for “comprehension”. 

I asked the lady at the counter for soup.  She asked what kind.  I said the closest thing they had to pho.  She looked really annoyed, like I probably breached some form of cultural etiquette, which I’m 100% sure I did along with the thousands of ignorant white people before me. 

I almost broke down at this point because clearly I wasn’t getting pho, my head was being repeatedly slammed by Death itself, and in the process I managed to insult an entire peoples’ culture.  I said helplessly, “I just have a really bad hangover, what is the best soup for that?”

At this, she instantly became enthusiastic and beamed, “Our Tom Yum is perfect for hangover!”

Yes, a miracle.

Then she frowned and said, “But… why you hungover on a Wednesday? You were drinking on Tuesday night???” She said it that incredulously, like she was unable to believe someone would be that stupid and irresponsible to party at the beginning of the work week.

Therefore making me feel even more ashamed of myself than I was before.

Anyway, lesson re-learned.  After that, I went back home and attempted to scrape the dirt out of my carpet.  Who says college years are the craziest?

I Hate Alcohol

First it made me knock over my plant.  Face first onto the floor.  Face first?  Do plants have faces?  I tried scraping the dirt off the carpet, like cupping it in my hands, and transferring it to the pot but who the fuck is successful at that even when they’re sober.

Then it completely fucked me by making me set my alarm for 7:30PM instead of 7:30AM so I was an hour late to work but HONESTLY it didn’t matter because I would never be able to wake up at 7:30AM anyway.  Like, that wasn’t happening.

It’s 9:43AM and I’m still drunk.

I don’t even have enough energy to pull the lid off my yogurt, let alone go to a 10AM meeting.

I’m completely obsessed with our communications director but he is 36 and married, and I don’t think I can compete with his wife, and also he isn’t cute.  But if he looked like Justin Timberlake who knows what I might do.

I’m still drunk at 9:45AM.  Who the fuck am I

Tumblr is the only thing holding me to my sanity.  What does that mean? I don’t know.  All I know is that I am not puking or dying or sleeping at my desk because of Tumblr so thank you Tumblr and maybe you should use that in your next advertisement.

So, I’m sorry everyone.  I haven’t updated this thing for weeks and weeks and now after waiting for forever you guys get a shitty drunk post about absolutely nothing.  I guess we can’t be perfect, you know?

I’m such a loser.  Do real adults do this?  Do they get recklessly drunk on a Tuesday night and come to work drunk and consequently are unable to do anything but type a blog post about how drunk they are?  No. I will NEVER be an adult, ever.

I will delete this the moment I become sober.  Which isn’t yet, so enjoy.  Happy Wednesday!