Blog entries tagged "home"
Parents didn't belong at school. They're not allowed to go to Parent-Teacher Conferences or to the Open House. Kramer (of Seinfeld origin) was one messed up character, but of his many bits of wisdom, I couldn't agree more with his theory about "colliding worlds" (Episode #118 - The Pool Guy). The point is, there are two separate worlds in which most of us live. During elementary-high school, there is the school world, and the home world. They both generally serve as the sanctuary from the other. When the two worlds come in contact - it's "gunna be trouble."
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You're childish. That's just how it is. I could come up with a bunch of reasons why I would draw/write on myself:
- I couldn't find any paper
- I got bored
- It was accidental at first, but then I just kept going
- I like to do it
- Etc…
It seemed that the explanation wouldn't matter as far as my mother was concerned. She'd just give me one of those looks like, "You know what I want to say, but I don't need to say it because you can see this essentially evil and fairly intimidating look I'm giving you."
In some circles the look is called "The Hairy Eyeball". The look probably deserves its own entry, and could be so extensive and have so many authors as to take up several pages.
I digress. The point is, that even now as an adult I can't bring myself to write on myself. If I do write on myself, I feel some sort of obligation to get to the nearest sink and try to wash it off. The only thing I can think while it's still on there is, "That's just really childish." What if I still want to be child? Can't I write on myself, wet my pants, and smear food all over myself – then just wait for somebody else to clean me up? Although the convenience of one of those sounds enticing, I must admit that my views have probably shifted to be more in line with my mother's. I'll look for the smallest piece of paper on which to write before I resort to memorizing whatever it is. But write on myself? Now, now… that's just childish.
On the smallest of side notes, I'd like to congratulate myself on my 200th entry on this blog. There's plenty more where that came from.
A month or so ago I re-took a personality test for work. They like to use these things to fit us into different groups and so they can “know” how to better work with us. The test that my employer prefers is the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator ®. It's the second time I've taken this same test. The officiators claim that it isn't likely to change very drastically between tests. Although the results weren't anything astounding to me, one of the most intriguing items was that it pegged me as an introvert.
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Last year at some point I ranted about bad birthday presents, some real, some fake. This year, I want to take back everything that I said. Because this year was so much worse than receiving any/all of those gifts, with/without asking for them.
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There isn't much more which shows you need drop a few pounds than when you break your toilet seat. It snapped right on one of the rims I was sitting on. Sure, I could claim that it was old, that it was bound to happen, that the broken plastic holders underneath it caused uneven weight distribution… but it's all B.S. Apparently certain previously received birthday gifts (the scale) weren't clue enough.
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