Learning to Love Me More

In honor of Valentine's Day, one of my most favorite of all holidays, I am going to start loving me more and start loving you less. Ha! Kind of.

I had a lengthy pep talk with Team yesterday, during which I repeated the mantra "I am inherently good and likable without any type of servitude to bizardclaws." What this means is that, per my New Year's resolution (you knew I would get back around to them, didn't you?), I am going to cut out the bizards. But for serious, unlike my fake efforts of past. People who are rude get the ax first.

Second, I will be cutting out non-bizards who are simply occupying my think zone. WHAA? Yes, the easy translation of this is that I am going to start deleting people from my facebook friend list and deleting various social networking accounts. I know too many intimate details about people I don't care about intimately. Similarly, they have no business seeing my vacation photos. While not private exactly, this is not a live nudie show. (I guess that is what this blog is for. The irony does not escape me, but F-R has been around for 7 years. Ease up; it's a dinosaur. No, it's an Internet Legend.) I lost touch with some people for a reason and that reason is that I did not care to show them my vacation photos. Also, I cannot spend time thinking about friends I actually do want to know about if the girl I knew from girl scouts in first grade is sending lines and lines of info to my newsfeed about a recent anecdote at the optometrist's office.

I know, I know. How I suffer, right? Matt and I were watching a tv show on Hulu the other night and one of the sponsor ads was a PSA about Cyberbullying. "This is a different time than our youth," commented Matt. And thank God digital cameras didn't exist on a large scale until I was in my 20s, is all I have to say to that.

In summary I'd just like to say: this Valentine's Day, let's not be friends.

Goodbye Baby! Hello Wheel!

You know those doucheful expressions that people love to toss around in business meetings: "Well, we don't want/need to reinvent the wheel here." or "Let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater." ? I have no use for such sayings and I typically want to slap the sayer of them. Unlike most people, I do prefer to reinvent the wheel and I have no use for someone else's baby in someone else's dirty bathwater.

You: Go on please, Crazy.

Yes I will, thank you. Consider if you will,those OTHER inspirational sayings you see on bookmarks, greeting cards, graduation announcements, etc. that proclaim that it's not about the destination, it's about the journey. [interlude for vomiting]While I think there is not one crappier thing to say to someone who has a newly-minted degree in hand, I have to partially agree on these grounds. Having the wheel is a wonderful thing, as is fire, (as is a diploma!) but I would not liken the end result to most peoples' thinking processes as world-altering tools. Therefore, I must dispense with them immediately. That said, having a diploma is more like having a ticket punched (let's admit it, people), so it actually IS about the destination in that case, IMHO.

I just think the world would be a lot better off if we spent less time trying to copy and paste others' folly and spent more time designing our own. That's all.

Vindication! Re: Eating Off the Floor

Matt and I were recently watching The 1940s House on dvd, which is meant to cause the participants to feel as though they're in WW2-era London, when no resource, especially food, can be taken for granted. At one point, the peops drop or spill a whole recipe of something or the other on the floor and then lament their loss of their butter ration. The whole time, I, the home viewer, am saying "What's wrong with eating that? I would eat that and I am not on rations. You need to pick that up! These are war times and that was a fully-realized casserole!" Matt had to pause it and tell me to simmer down, that not everyone is so laid back about eating poop.

Let me state that I do not eat poop. Matt often scolds me for looking at foreign smears on my clothes and what not and eating them to discover their origin. I confess, I do this, but seriously: it is not necessary for Matt to always exclaim "What if it had been poop?" He is especially zealous in this scolding if it is smeared chocolate or chocolate frosting (this comes up more than you might think). He must enjoy the drama of these attempts to rile me because I know I might be a little bit dotty, but what is the likelihood I have actual poop smeared on the front of my fleece jacket? This is not the L.A. County jail.

But let's focus: vindication. I was just informed by a self-proclaimed Gloaty Bizardclaw that eating dirt is good for you and stimulates a healthy immune system. Yes, it's true. Read it here you hyper-sanitized nutters. And quit scolding me for eating poop!