If you have ever been in a relationship, I do not pity you.
I am in a relationship (it's a love thing), but when it comes to social interaction and dating faux pas, I am queen.
For one, I don't know how to obtain a man. I am very silly and I really am the strangest person when it comes to flirting. Bears are probably more gracious and subtle. The problem is patience. I don't have it. Some do. I do not.
No patience here.
Another thing is that when I am in a relationship, I always say or do the wrong thing.
For one, the golden rule of dating and relationships is: Do not mention the M or the P words.
I am here to help everyone learn from my mistakes:
Sure, you love him. Sure, he's probably the best thing that has ever happened to you. But, for god's sake: Don't mention weddings, marriage and babies. Nothing turns a guy off of sex like settling down and popping out screaming infants. No sex fo' you: no babies fo' you.
Seriously. I don't know what it is about people, but some are really into ruining relationships (mostly me). This is the time where you can feel sorry for the Englishman. He puts up with a lot.
Also, have you ever met one of those people who are born to settle down.
Like, one of those people who are really smart, stay in on Friday nights, have already done their taxes for this year (it's mid-January), think teachers are really hot and have purchased baby clothes for their future children....they are born to settle down. At first, I pitied them. But, then I realized that it is so much better than the opposite extreme: Falling for a guy on a broken down Harley, sporting a cash-only job, living off of the streets with an awesome mullet and some homemade "tea."
But seriously: back to social problems. Don't talk about M and P. Also, don't talk about your ex lovers. Unless you still love said person, leave the talk in your head, your diary or your amazing blog at blogspot.com.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Monday, January 18, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
In case of emergency
If there is ever a fire, flood, storm, tornado or earthquake (or all of those terrorist attacks we seem to have and are worried about) I will be the first to go.
For one, there are so many procedures that I would probably duck and cover under my desk for the earthquake instead of filing out of the building in case of a fire.
Then, there is the instance of me being bored. I can't stand it when I have to sit and wait to be shot. I would probably just gather my things and then peacefully (and hopefully sneakily) head out the back door. I am just too bored and too anxious to wait around in the dark for some teenage boy with daddy issues to come and empty his hunting rifle. I am sorry if this sounds crude, but this is just how it is. Also, I probably would be the first to get a cramp in my leg, stretch it out and then piss the terrorist off or alert the enemy to my/our position.
Lo siento, victims, I got a leg cramp.
I feel like when it comes to everyday life situations, I am like a 74 year old man. I'm stubborn, I don't care that much, I hurt people's feelings when I don't mean to do so, I'm very loud, my voice carries, I complain about the government, how things were better in the good ol' days, I can't sit still, I listen to old timey music and I like to eat my dinner early. I also have this quality where I do not like to do extra work unless it actually needs to be done. Like, I don't like to straighten my closet until I can't close it any more. Another trait is my fondness for Bingo, although that is crossing over into my grandmotherly traits.
Anyway, after hearing about the Haiti situation, I realized that I would be the first to go. I wouldn't want to take cover, I wouldn't lay low to the ground, I wouldn't be responsible or help other young fellows. I would be pissed off because the electric was off and I couldn't watch the news. I am a 74 year old man.
For one, there are so many procedures that I would probably duck and cover under my desk for the earthquake instead of filing out of the building in case of a fire.
Then, there is the instance of me being bored. I can't stand it when I have to sit and wait to be shot. I would probably just gather my things and then peacefully (and hopefully sneakily) head out the back door. I am just too bored and too anxious to wait around in the dark for some teenage boy with daddy issues to come and empty his hunting rifle. I am sorry if this sounds crude, but this is just how it is. Also, I probably would be the first to get a cramp in my leg, stretch it out and then piss the terrorist off or alert the enemy to my/our position.
Lo siento, victims, I got a leg cramp.
I feel like when it comes to everyday life situations, I am like a 74 year old man. I'm stubborn, I don't care that much, I hurt people's feelings when I don't mean to do so, I'm very loud, my voice carries, I complain about the government, how things were better in the good ol' days, I can't sit still, I listen to old timey music and I like to eat my dinner early. I also have this quality where I do not like to do extra work unless it actually needs to be done. Like, I don't like to straighten my closet until I can't close it any more. Another trait is my fondness for Bingo, although that is crossing over into my grandmotherly traits.
Anyway, after hearing about the Haiti situation, I realized that I would be the first to go. I wouldn't want to take cover, I wouldn't lay low to the ground, I wouldn't be responsible or help other young fellows. I would be pissed off because the electric was off and I couldn't watch the news. I am a 74 year old man.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Dumb questions
Don't you hate being asked dumb questions?
I hate the question, "What are you doing?" when someone is looking RIGHT at the act which you are completing.
For instance:
I hate when I am reading a book and then someone comes over and asks, "What are you doing?"
This question BEGS for a sarcastic response. No matter if it is your best friend for life or your boss, you must respond with, "Ummm. I'm frying eggs."
Seriously, what does it look like I'm doing?
I hate questions. I hate criticism and I hate when criticism and questions are rolled into one.
For instance, "Why are you watching THAT movie?"
1. it's judgy. Stop criticising my movie taste. Just because I wanna watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (again) should not include chocolate with a side of judgy. No gracias.
2. Sarcasm time. "Ummm. I'm watching this movie because terrorists are forcing me to."
Duh. I'm watching WWandTChocoFac (pronounced "waatchocofac") because I want to. Stop asking dumb questions.
P.S. I think sarcasm is underrated. I met some friends of the Englishman who did not understand sarcasm/my sarcasm. It was so disappointing, for me, not to enjoy the sarcasm aftermath. I live for the twinge of guilt, sadness and anger that is felt by the victims of the sarcasm quake. I live for it.
I hate the question, "What are you doing?" when someone is looking RIGHT at the act which you are completing.
For instance:
I hate when I am reading a book and then someone comes over and asks, "What are you doing?"
This question BEGS for a sarcastic response. No matter if it is your best friend for life or your boss, you must respond with, "Ummm. I'm frying eggs."
Seriously, what does it look like I'm doing?
I hate questions. I hate criticism and I hate when criticism and questions are rolled into one.
For instance, "Why are you watching THAT movie?"
1. it's judgy. Stop criticising my movie taste. Just because I wanna watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (again) should not include chocolate with a side of judgy. No gracias.
2. Sarcasm time. "Ummm. I'm watching this movie because terrorists are forcing me to."
Duh. I'm watching WWandTChocoFac (pronounced "waatchocofac") because I want to. Stop asking dumb questions.
P.S. I think sarcasm is underrated. I met some friends of the Englishman who did not understand sarcasm/my sarcasm. It was so disappointing, for me, not to enjoy the sarcasm aftermath. I live for the twinge of guilt, sadness and anger that is felt by the victims of the sarcasm quake. I live for it.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Judgy much?
Have you ever been the blameless victim of a JA? What is a JA, you ask.....well it is a Judgment Attack. I, Erica Wiley, writer/victim have been judged. This goes along with my previous post about haters.
But, judgy pants is a different form. They judge on the basis that they have never participated in the kind of activities that I do. They think the kind of things I do is socially unacceptable, lower class, trashy or what have you.
dictionary.com claims that to judge is to decide upon critically, to guess about, estimate, or a person qualified to pass critical judgment.
For one, these people/person is not qualified to pass critical judgment.
Secondly, they are clearly only guessing; they are in the wrong.
Thirdly, stop being so critical.
Fourthly, they don't knooooow me. (insert a sassy snap)
What are they judging me on:
1. Food habits. A nameless roommate of mine, who is perfect in every single way, no stone unturned, all I's dotted, all T's crossed, whatever the hell that means, persnickety, always judges me for my food choice. And I don't blame her. It's silly, my food choices. What's funny is, she thinks people judge HER. No way, Jose. Step back in line....the judgy train is full speed ahead....We have a nonstop flight to Judgytown, U.S.A.
Sure, I eat more cookies in a month than most people do in a year. Sure, I like to eat carbohydrates like it's my last day on Earth. Sure, if I am bored, sad, angry, stressed, happy, lonesome, not lonesome, I pound out some munchies. Is that a reason to judge? I don't think so.
Just because you happen to have excellent teeth, bone structure, blue eyes and throw off the metric scale for weight doesn't mean you can criticize me: a brown eyed, brown haired, sloppy, clumsy, Baptist-bred, curvy, over-eater roommate. She's not the only one either. One time, at Wal-mart, I was with a nameless roommate, we were shopping together, which was hilarious. We are funny shoppers. We had a good ol' time, screwing around at the local Wal-mart supercenter.
When we were done making lewd gestures, joking around, causing chaos in every aisle, the best time of my life, we decided to check out. She went first, putting her yogurt, low-cal drinks, cereal, tomatoes, canned vegetables, celery, wheat bread, eggs, cranberry juice, bananas, wheat thins, light mayonnaise and oatmeal on the counter. Then, she grabbed a candy bar. One candy bar. The cashier, making small talk says, "Ahhh, I see someone (my roommate and loyal patron to Wal-Mart) has a sweet tooth."
My nameless roommate, politely smiles and says, "Ha, yeah, I guess so."
Then comes my turn. Here's the rundown of my shopping cart: eggs, orange juice, brown sugar, white granulated sugar, Chips Ahoy Chunky, chocolate chips, walnuts, meat, red meat, extra-fatty pizzas, Reese's miniature peanut butter cups, a loaf of bread, French bread, and three candy bars from the aisle. He then turns to my roommate, gives her a look, turns to another cashier, gives her a frightened, appalled look, then turns back to me and says, "Someone here really has a sweet tooth."
Then, not-as-politely, I shout, "INCORRECT, MY GOOD MAN. I have THE sweet tooth. THE. SWEET. TOOTH."
If this was a Baptist church, in the St. Louis area, on a Sunday afternoon, I wouldn't be getting this kind of treatment. They would take one look at my basket of sweets and ask if I was on a diet.
That's the other thing, being raised Baptist, most of the stereotypes are actually true. Especially in regards to food. If there is more than 1 person at the house, a casserole is in order. Fried chicken is an every day occurrence and if there is a party, there must be a separate table for desserts. In fact, keeping it light, means only having one table of desserts. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
2. Clothing.
This is probably going to be a repeat theme in my awesome blog. Seriously, I don't read Vogue, I don't shop in "Size 3" (A fictional clothing store for thin white girls) and I don't have money to buy, wear once then discard, all of the new trends available.
It took me years (and I mean years) to buy and wear skinny jeans (which are probably going out of style now that squares like me are actually wearing them).
So, listen up: Stop judging me on the basis of my turquoise jewelry, classic, yet not trendy, slightly worn, but ok, sweaters, faded, flared jeans, etc, etc. I am an okay person, I just don't care enough to peruse the internet looking for the new trends abroad.
Don't bring up that the shoes I am wearing are not only out of style, but years old. They still work. They were cute 3 years ago, I think they are ok now. Don't even get me started on Sales. I would prefer not to thrown into the lion's den or buried alive for.....
yes....it's true....
I do this....
thrift shopping.
Yes, other people have worn these clothes. Yes. Strangers.
I bought them for a dollar. Full price: one dollar. And I am not going to Fashion Hell for it. Suck it.
But, judgy pants is a different form. They judge on the basis that they have never participated in the kind of activities that I do. They think the kind of things I do is socially unacceptable, lower class, trashy or what have you.
dictionary.com claims that to judge is to decide upon critically, to guess about, estimate, or a person qualified to pass critical judgment.
For one, these people/person is not qualified to pass critical judgment.
Secondly, they are clearly only guessing; they are in the wrong.
Thirdly, stop being so critical.
Fourthly, they don't knooooow me. (insert a sassy snap)
What are they judging me on:
1. Food habits. A nameless roommate of mine, who is perfect in every single way, no stone unturned, all I's dotted, all T's crossed, whatever the hell that means, persnickety, always judges me for my food choice. And I don't blame her. It's silly, my food choices. What's funny is, she thinks people judge HER. No way, Jose. Step back in line....the judgy train is full speed ahead....We have a nonstop flight to Judgytown, U.S.A.
Sure, I eat more cookies in a month than most people do in a year. Sure, I like to eat carbohydrates like it's my last day on Earth. Sure, if I am bored, sad, angry, stressed, happy, lonesome, not lonesome, I pound out some munchies. Is that a reason to judge? I don't think so.
Just because you happen to have excellent teeth, bone structure, blue eyes and throw off the metric scale for weight doesn't mean you can criticize me: a brown eyed, brown haired, sloppy, clumsy, Baptist-bred, curvy, over-eater roommate. She's not the only one either. One time, at Wal-mart, I was with a nameless roommate, we were shopping together, which was hilarious. We are funny shoppers. We had a good ol' time, screwing around at the local Wal-mart supercenter.
When we were done making lewd gestures, joking around, causing chaos in every aisle, the best time of my life, we decided to check out. She went first, putting her yogurt, low-cal drinks, cereal, tomatoes, canned vegetables, celery, wheat bread, eggs, cranberry juice, bananas, wheat thins, light mayonnaise and oatmeal on the counter. Then, she grabbed a candy bar. One candy bar. The cashier, making small talk says, "Ahhh, I see someone (my roommate and loyal patron to Wal-Mart) has a sweet tooth."
My nameless roommate, politely smiles and says, "Ha, yeah, I guess so."
Then comes my turn. Here's the rundown of my shopping cart: eggs, orange juice, brown sugar, white granulated sugar, Chips Ahoy Chunky, chocolate chips, walnuts, meat, red meat, extra-fatty pizzas, Reese's miniature peanut butter cups, a loaf of bread, French bread, and three candy bars from the aisle. He then turns to my roommate, gives her a look, turns to another cashier, gives her a frightened, appalled look, then turns back to me and says, "Someone here really has a sweet tooth."
Then, not-as-politely, I shout, "INCORRECT, MY GOOD MAN. I have THE sweet tooth. THE. SWEET. TOOTH."
If this was a Baptist church, in the St. Louis area, on a Sunday afternoon, I wouldn't be getting this kind of treatment. They would take one look at my basket of sweets and ask if I was on a diet.
That's the other thing, being raised Baptist, most of the stereotypes are actually true. Especially in regards to food. If there is more than 1 person at the house, a casserole is in order. Fried chicken is an every day occurrence and if there is a party, there must be a separate table for desserts. In fact, keeping it light, means only having one table of desserts. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
2. Clothing.
This is probably going to be a repeat theme in my awesome blog. Seriously, I don't read Vogue, I don't shop in "Size 3" (A fictional clothing store for thin white girls) and I don't have money to buy, wear once then discard, all of the new trends available.
It took me years (and I mean years) to buy and wear skinny jeans (which are probably going out of style now that squares like me are actually wearing them).
So, listen up: Stop judging me on the basis of my turquoise jewelry, classic, yet not trendy, slightly worn, but ok, sweaters, faded, flared jeans, etc, etc. I am an okay person, I just don't care enough to peruse the internet looking for the new trends abroad.
Don't bring up that the shoes I am wearing are not only out of style, but years old. They still work. They were cute 3 years ago, I think they are ok now. Don't even get me started on Sales. I would prefer not to thrown into the lion's den or buried alive for.....
yes....it's true....
I do this....
thrift shopping.
Yes, other people have worn these clothes. Yes. Strangers.
I bought them for a dollar. Full price: one dollar. And I am not going to Fashion Hell for it. Suck it.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Technology
Does anyone own a piece of technology?
I do. I admit it. I own a piece of metal and wires and chips and whatever the hell goes into electronics. I like to think magic and spells goes into each piece. We'll never know.
In other news, I have NO IDEA how those things work. Muchas cosas en the United States. I blame Asia. Asians are always creating some top-of-the-line mechanical or electronic device that is teeny tiny and can slide out of my hand on its own accord (having nothing to do with my clumsiness).
You know how some people are phobic of certain events, material things, situations or ailments? For instance, some people are agoraphobic (afraid of spiders). Some people are germaphobic (afraid of germs). Some people are xenophobic (afraid of sexyhottness). Well, para mi, I am afraid of technology. I have, and probably always will be, afraid of technology.
Anytime anyone comes over and whips out their new gadget, I make myself scarce. I become like a 14 year old boy from the Bible belt at a sorority house. I start sweating, my palms itch, I have trouble swallowing, I can't think straight, my voice becomes coarse---all the usual ailments that come with phobias. I just gotta get out of there. Clearly, this is the normal response to technology.
The biggest problem is APPLE. The Mac/Apple company is always inventing some new, tiny, expensive, pretty and white machine to buy.
For one, I am like a bull in a china shop. I am a 5' 2" lumberjack on roller skates, who doesn't do lumberjack outdoorsy activities. As this lumberjack, I am going to DROP any small tiny thing that requires handheld attention. Secondly, white? Really. Could they pick a more dirt-attracting color? I am messy. At any point-in-time, I have ketchup on my hands and dirt on my palms. I understand some of their toys are black, or pink, whatever. But, mostly, they are white.
I am actually quite jealous of all of these new toys. But, I don't need them and I definitely can't afford them. I wouldn't know what to do with all of these new toys, except parade them around in a Ziploc bag, unused.
I'm sure that I deleted Itunes off of my computer a year or two ago. I am a Windows Media Player aficionado. No street rep there, but definite accessibility. All I am saying, PC USERS UNITE. Also, MP3 player users unite. Macs can have their cool club, we as PC users need to develop a club, that is all I'm sayin'.
Imagine what would go on at THOSE meetings.
Call to Order
Singing of PC song:
(Hail to thee, Oh dear P.C, Hail to thee Oh Hail. Ease and Honor you have brought us, Hail to Thee, Oh Hail).
New Business
Old Business
Discussion
Departure....including holding and praising and bowing of the personal computer of choice.
I do. I admit it. I own a piece of metal and wires and chips and whatever the hell goes into electronics. I like to think magic and spells goes into each piece. We'll never know.
In other news, I have NO IDEA how those things work. Muchas cosas en the United States. I blame Asia. Asians are always creating some top-of-the-line mechanical or electronic device that is teeny tiny and can slide out of my hand on its own accord (having nothing to do with my clumsiness).
You know how some people are phobic of certain events, material things, situations or ailments? For instance, some people are agoraphobic (afraid of spiders). Some people are germaphobic (afraid of germs). Some people are xenophobic (afraid of sexyhottness). Well, para mi, I am afraid of technology. I have, and probably always will be, afraid of technology.
Anytime anyone comes over and whips out their new gadget, I make myself scarce. I become like a 14 year old boy from the Bible belt at a sorority house. I start sweating, my palms itch, I have trouble swallowing, I can't think straight, my voice becomes coarse---all the usual ailments that come with phobias. I just gotta get out of there. Clearly, this is the normal response to technology.
The biggest problem is APPLE. The Mac/Apple company is always inventing some new, tiny, expensive, pretty and white machine to buy.
For one, I am like a bull in a china shop. I am a 5' 2" lumberjack on roller skates, who doesn't do lumberjack outdoorsy activities. As this lumberjack, I am going to DROP any small tiny thing that requires handheld attention. Secondly, white? Really. Could they pick a more dirt-attracting color? I am messy. At any point-in-time, I have ketchup on my hands and dirt on my palms. I understand some of their toys are black, or pink, whatever. But, mostly, they are white.
I am actually quite jealous of all of these new toys. But, I don't need them and I definitely can't afford them. I wouldn't know what to do with all of these new toys, except parade them around in a Ziploc bag, unused.
I'm sure that I deleted Itunes off of my computer a year or two ago. I am a Windows Media Player aficionado. No street rep there, but definite accessibility. All I am saying, PC USERS UNITE. Also, MP3 player users unite. Macs can have their cool club, we as PC users need to develop a club, that is all I'm sayin'.
Imagine what would go on at THOSE meetings.
Call to Order
Singing of PC song:
(Hail to thee, Oh dear P.C, Hail to thee Oh Hail. Ease and Honor you have brought us, Hail to Thee, Oh Hail).
New Business
Old Business
Discussion
Departure....including holding and praising and bowing of the personal computer of choice.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Shame, Shame, Shaaaaame
Any loyal readers of mine ever do the Walk of Shame? If not, you're missing out on one of the time honored traditions in America. I'm sure people do the Walk of Shame in Europe and Africa and Asia and the Americas, but we, as Americans have perfected it. I would even go as far as saying that the Midwesterners have perfected it for the rest of the United States. Here's the theory: Northerners never get caught doing the WoS because it's too cold that no one ever gets caught. For one, everyone (probably) wears North Face and ski gear, so people could be doing the WoS, and no one would notice because the clothing doesn't change. Here, an essential element to the WoS is the clothing. If you are in stilettos, thigh-high tights, black halter top and you mirror a football player with their smudges to keep the sun away (or whatever they do that smudging for).....all on a Sunday morning, you have just been initiated into the Walk of Shame. The point is: your makeup has seen better days and so have you.
Anyway, Northerners are not frequent WoShamers. Too cold.
Southerners: too classy. Or rich.
The coasts: to rich. Plus, I feel like the West Coast is so wealthy, everyone has a personal servant to run around picking them up at all hours of the night. The East Coast, people would probably just catch a cab. Or they would buy new clothes and throw them on. Plus, in busy places, no one would recognize you anyway, so thus, it is not the WoS.
Lastly, I have been the NYC (the only place I've ever been), where there are some SCARY people. These people look like aliens who just caught the stomach flu. Pretty frightening. If they can deal with that sickness, I am sure the WoS wouldn't faze them.
Midwesterners: people know you, you see people, rarely are there cabs, we don't have loads of clothes lying around, perfect conditions for the WoS.
I am a regular participant of the WoS. Even though it is with the Englishman, it is still the WoS when you meet your boyfriend's friends while heading out the door at oh six hundred hours on a Sunday. Why is it you never meet your boyfriend's friends or former lovers when you are in a formal gown? God, karma, Santa Claus (whoever controls things) et al has a funny, funny way of screwing around with our lives.
I love when you cross paths with someone else doing the WoS. Both of you know what's going on, both agree that it is best to give a small nod, then look down whilst walking. It isn't glorious, but it is an unmistakable bond.
The worst is when you are a regular WoShamer and then others, who apparently have a routine too, catch you on a weekly basis. I have bumped into a building mate of the Englishman for weeks now. At first, it was awkward. But then, as the weeks progressed, the mate of the Englishman would say, "Hey....Walk of Shame??"
Me: "You know it."
I am so classy.
Anyway, Northerners are not frequent WoShamers. Too cold.
Southerners: too classy. Or rich.
The coasts: to rich. Plus, I feel like the West Coast is so wealthy, everyone has a personal servant to run around picking them up at all hours of the night. The East Coast, people would probably just catch a cab. Or they would buy new clothes and throw them on. Plus, in busy places, no one would recognize you anyway, so thus, it is not the WoS.
Lastly, I have been the NYC (the only place I've ever been), where there are some SCARY people. These people look like aliens who just caught the stomach flu. Pretty frightening. If they can deal with that sickness, I am sure the WoS wouldn't faze them.
Midwesterners: people know you, you see people, rarely are there cabs, we don't have loads of clothes lying around, perfect conditions for the WoS.
I am a regular participant of the WoS. Even though it is with the Englishman, it is still the WoS when you meet your boyfriend's friends while heading out the door at oh six hundred hours on a Sunday. Why is it you never meet your boyfriend's friends or former lovers when you are in a formal gown? God, karma, Santa Claus (whoever controls things) et al has a funny, funny way of screwing around with our lives.
I love when you cross paths with someone else doing the WoS. Both of you know what's going on, both agree that it is best to give a small nod, then look down whilst walking. It isn't glorious, but it is an unmistakable bond.
The worst is when you are a regular WoShamer and then others, who apparently have a routine too, catch you on a weekly basis. I have bumped into a building mate of the Englishman for weeks now. At first, it was awkward. But then, as the weeks progressed, the mate of the Englishman would say, "Hey....Walk of Shame??"
Me: "You know it."
I am so classy.
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