Cones of eccentricity

I had a birthday this week. It was lovely, thanks. But it got me to wondering... At what age, exactly, can one be called "eccentric"? 'Cause that's what I'm going for. I'm 44 now. How much longer do I need to wait? You can get away with so much more when people think you're eccentric.

The other day, I went to Costco with my family. As we were walking in from the parking lot, I spotted an elderly woman pushing her full cart out to her car. But wait, there's more. When she left the store, she ran into one of those giant orange cones that they have in the front to try to keep people from driving into the store. And yes, the cone led they way out to her car. No, she didn't seem to realize that she was pushing an orange cone with her cart. At least, not until she got to her car. Of course, she left the cone out there in the parking lot. In back of someone else's car. Probably made that person wonder when they got to their car... But do you see? That can be chalked up to eccentricity.

I want to push a giant orange cone around in front of my shopping cart.

Maybe even carry a cone around with me as a warning to others. "Caution: You don't know what this person will do next."

It's not like I'm asking to be able to shuffle around with my knee high hose bunched up around my ankles. Not unless they're paired with slippers, anyway.

So really? How long do I have to wait? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller...? Bueller...?

I'm perfectly normal

So Duane Scott has decided to bring back Pleasantly Disturbed Thursdays. Last night on the Twitter, he was pestering me to write something for it. Like I'm the poster child for Disturbed. Frankly, I think he's crazy. I'm perfectly normal. Perfectly. Normal. What could I possibly write about? Yeah, I've got nothin'. But I suppose I could humor him and wing it.

I've been sick for almost two weeks now with an evil virus. EVIL! Let me tell ya, it's been kickin' my butt. And really? One person should never have to contend with so much phlegm. Yes, I'm phlegmish.

I wonder if the Flemish are especially phlegmish. And do they appreciate being compared to phlegm?

Phlegm. It's one of those words that sounds exactly like what it is. Phlegm. Yeah, that's pretty disgusting. Know what else sounds like what it is? Bounce. Go on, say it. Bounce! Ooo! And boing! Boingy! Boingy! Boingy!

Aw man! That makes me think of Animaniacs. I loved that show. Especially Pinky and the Brain. Why did they have to go and cancel it?

I'll tell you why they cancelled it: Because the networks are out to get me. It's true. If there's a show that I love and I happen to mention it out loud, it's the kiss of death for the show. Clearly, the networks have spies tracking me closely. Wonderful shows get taken off after a season or two, yet shows like Alf go on forever? Really people? Alf?!

I think Costco is in cahoots with the networks, too. Probably splitting the bill for the spies. Hey, times are tough now. Costco lures you in with all those wonderful free samples. Gets you hooked on something completely yummy. Makes you dependent on it. Craving it. And when you go back to get more? BAM! It's gone. They've stopped selling it. Why Costco, why?! Oh yeah, I know why. They're out to get me.

Anyway, I'm sorry that I couldn't come up with anything for your little carnival, Duane. Maybe given time, I can come up with something. It'll be tough though, since I'm perfectly normal. And content. We all have our burdens to bear.

Space aliens have stolen my brain

Last night, while on the twitter, I saw that Duane was (finally) bringing back Pleasantly Disturbed Thursday. Okay, really Duane? A horrible car accident is no reason to not be Pleasantly Disturbed. Anyway, I was thinking I should probably write a post for it.

By this morning, I'd forgotten about it.

Because space aliens have stolen my brain. I should have never taken off my tin foil hat. And yes, I have written a tin foil hat post. You can read it here. But it goes over the line from Pleasantly Disturbed to Clearly Disturbed. Read with caution. And no eating or drinking while reading please. It's for your own good.

Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, a post.

Here's the problem. I forget things. Often. My husband says I should write things down so I won't forget them. And I try. I really do. But I've usually forgotten them by the time I find a piece of paper and a writing instrument. And then I wonder what I'm doing with a pencil in my hand. In the kitchen. And did I really pick out this outfit today?

After many episodes of remembering and then forgetting about trying to figure out a post, I took a much needed nap. It was lovely, thank you. And wouldn't you know it? I had a dream about doing a Pleasantly Disturbed post! I even wrote down the topic on a piece of paper in my dream, just so I could remember what it was. I was doing really well.

And then I woke up.

Yeah, I can't remember what I wrote on that paper in my dream.

I am so Pleasantly Disturbed.

Medical tests make me disturbed

Am I disturbed? You betcha! Is it pleasant? Meh, I'm used to it.

I had to go in and get a medical test done yesterday. Yes, yes. My life is very exciting. Anyway, I had to eat an egg salad sandwich (blech.) that contained a radioactive liquid so that they could watch it move through my system. I got to watch it on the MRI screen and boy was it glow-y! And radioactive-y. Yeah.

Did you know that many police officers now carry Gieger counters to measure for radioactivity out there? Yep, apparently they do. So the hospitals around here are now required to give you a note explaining that you've had a medical test that includes radioactive material and that's why you're setting off their Gieger counters. People actually get pulled over for setting off Gieger counters. So I had my note to prove that no, I'm not a terrorist, just a person with a strange stomach disorder.

Of course, the story doesn't end here. My mind wanders...

So this radioactivity is still running through me. And what goes in, must come out. See where I'm heading with this? Anyway, I'm not sure what exactly caused the gaseousness, but visions of mushroom cloud flatulence came to me with every eruption.

And I began to wonder if radioactive poop would glow. Would my toilet now be considered a toxic waste dump? These are the things that make me think...

So if you hear any weird news stories about terrorists digging up septic tanks, now you'll know why. You're welcome.

It's snot funny

I spent yesterday being disturbed. And no, not pleasantly. What could possibly disturb mild mannered little me? Allergies. Bad ones. Ones that make me don my protective headgear.

I had to go to Target yesteday to get reinforcements - another multi-pack of tissue (with lotion in it, of course). I thought I was walking in there totally prepared, having filled my pockets with tissues, but there wasn't enough preparation in the world enough to cover these allergies.

As my daughter and I worked our way through the store, I was quickly using up my tissue supply. I was a sight to behold with my red, chapped nose and my watering eyes. But clearly, that wasn't enough for me, because by the time we'd reached the back of the store, I was on my last tissue. Last tissue. In the back of the store. Far away from the restrooms where I could get a toilet paper backup.

Ya ever have so much snot in your nose that when you blow your nose it shoots out of the bottom of the tissue and down inside the v-neck of your t-shirt, sliming you completely? Uh, yeah, that never happened to me, either.

Target has all those scanning stations all over the store that also have a phone and a trash can attached. Well, they USED to have paper towels in them, too. Yeah. Used to. Stupid budget cuts.

I finally made it to the bathroom. It was a big cleanup job. I guess I should feel bad for whoever got that cart after me... And now I can't help but wonder, were the security guards having a good laugh while watching me on the monitors yesteday? Or are they now as disturbed as I am?

Sacrifices

I went on a little outing yesterday. I went to the garden section of Home Depot to hit their clearance racks and hit 'em hard. So I guess you could say that Home Depot is to blame. Well, I like to blame them anyway. Oh sure, that orange sign of theirs makes them look all innocent...

But don't be fooled! They suck you in and then force you to do evil things... Or is that just me?

At this point you may be thinking, "Wendy, what in the world are you talking about?"

Well, I'll tell ya.

Plant sacrifices.

Oh, yeah. I get sucked in and see all these lovely plants, greatly discounted, and can't help myself. I must buy them and take them home.

Then kill them.

It's not that I try to kill them. I just have two black thumbs. And I hate gardening. Oh, I like the idea of having a lovely garden, I just don't want to be the one maintaining it. Or even planting it. Yes, many of the flowers never even make it out of the pots I've bought them in before they meet their doom. But really? They'd die whether I put them in the ground or not.

Do the plants know what's going to happen to them? I can't be completely sure, but as I left the garden center, I felt a great disturbance in the nursery, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. Yeah, kinda like that.

Pondering the lack of kitsch in my life

I'll have you know that this is my 3rd(ish) post this week. And I'm planning on posting tomorrow and Saturday, too. Truly, it is the end of days. That being said, I wasn't sure what I should write about today, so I went to the fount of all knowledge: Twitter. And after taking requests for post topics, the answers came: Frogstranglers and cheesy monuments.

Frogstranglers? Yeah, had to ask what that was. I have to say that I was a bit disappointed with the answer: A heavy rain. And here I was thinking about some crazy people going around strangling frogs. I may or may not have had a whole CSI episode playing in my mind. I admit to nothing.

Cheesy monuments. Oh, how they elude me! First, I should tell you that I'm all about the cheese. The tackier, the better. I love me a good factory tour, especially if there are free samples at the end. The Jelly Belly factory tour? Cheesetastic! And don't get me started on the Hershey tour. It even has it's own ride through it! But giant rubberband balls and an enormous Jolly Green Giant are out there and I'm missing them! Okay, I have seen a giant Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, but that's hardly enough for me! I need my picture taken next to a giant yarn ball or typewriter! Surely there must be a monument to belly button lint somewhere that's calling to me. And the place in the Pee Wee's Big Adventure movie with the giant dinosaurs? What about that? These things need to be a part of my cheese repertoire. Okay, I could probably skip out on the enema monument. Then again...

What was not suggested but probably should have been? The Old Spice Man. I heart him. And when I found the following video clip, I hearted him even more.

Silverfish hand catch! If ever there was a trend just waiting to happen, it's that one.

Now I think the disturbedness has gone on long enough here. Okay, it totally goes on in my mind, but you don't need to know about that. Why don't you toddle off to Duane's blog and see who else is pleasantly disturbed?

A Touched Story

I was sent this story a little while back. And while I did forward it on to a handful of people, I felt it needed to be shared with the world. And really? What better forum than on the Pleasantly Disturbed carnival?

In 1986, Peter Davies was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University. On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Peter approached it very carefully. He got down on one knee, inspected the elephant’s foot, and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Peter worked the wood out with his knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Peter stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Peter never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Peter was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Peter and his son Cameron were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Peter, lifted its front foot off the ground, and then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man. Remembering the encounter in 1986, Peter could not help wondering if this was the same elephant. Peter summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing, and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Peter legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn't the same elephant...