Things I Would Not Have if Not for Blogging
A List, by TJ

1. Noah
2. Aetherial Circle
3. A crippling case of paranoia and insecurity
4. Boomer
5. An audience
6. Ninjas
7. People to do my work for me
8. Fake internet boyfriend
9. Several tantrums a week
10. A continual stream of comment-driven entertainment throughout my work day
11. A constant worry of being perceived as a distant, stuck up, “I have no time to answer your petty comment, peasant” asshole
12. A place to tell the whole world what a total asshole I am.
13. Doomilias

DON’T FORGET! The contest ends tonight at 7pm EST, at which time, I will gather all the entries, narrow them down, place the best of the best in front of a panel of impartial, scholarly judges, provide them with lengthy score sheets and even lengthier rules, regulations, qualifications and guidelines, put them all through a lie detector test, a blood test, an IQ test and a foot race, and then buy myself (and you!) whatever I want.

I like… interesting stuff. I like buying myself presents. I like having ninjas, and my handcuff bracelet, and my shark-shaped ceramic cup named Bruce.

I like a lot of the things I found on a link someone left me yesterday, Not Couture.com. I like yellow shoes, t-shirts that say things that don’t make sense, earrings in the shape of animals, and my life-sized Elvis cut out.

I really want a megaphone. And an adult-sized bigwheel.

It has been a while since I bought myself a present, and I am due. I do it maybe once every month or so, buy myself something completely ridiculous and/or useless, that doesn’t cost a lot of money but makes me ridiculously happy for a day or two. Dinosaur sandwich cutters, thigh high purple striped socks, arm warmers, fake hair, tiny bow hair clips, a big blue purse, and on and on. I like buying myself things. I like buying myself things that amuse me.

Finding the mystery present, though, is half the fun. First I decide I’m going to buy me a present. Then I decide how much money I want to spend on said present. Then I spend hours, days, or even a week at a time finding the perfect present for me.

So, having had a pretty difficult couple of weeks for a lot of reasons, it is one again present time. But I am stumped. I do not know what I want. A ring shaped like a tiny fork? Maybe I really do want that megaphone… or what about a t-shirt that says “Up Yours!!”? I dunno. Like I said, I am stumped.

So here is where having a blog comes in handy.

Contest: Find Me a Present for Me

Rules: It should be under $25, including shipping if necessary. It should be something (and here is where I get vague) that will greatly amuse and/or entertain and/or tickle and/or just already please me to own. Bonus points for actually functionable/useable/wearable/etc. It can’t be illegal.

Prize: Whatever the chosen item is, you get one, too. As in, I will buy two - one for me and one for you.

Other Stuff: To play, leave a comment with a link to the mystery present on this post. You can just leave the link, but I think it would also be entertaining to know why you picked it. Comment by 7pm EST tomorrow (Friday) night. Winner will be chosen by me, with criteria that will make sense to no one but me. Oh, and one comment/link/item per person, please.

Wheee! I’m buying me a present!

So, every time I have tried to make an amusing post lately, it has come out all backwards and wrong and everyone gets all serious and my e-mail blows up with people having stern words with me, and I think I better just clear all the air and stuff.

1. I know, I KNOW my mother saves this stuff because she’s a mother and I’m her kid and it’s what mothers do. And I’m not a total ingrate, I do appreciate my mother. And I call her regularly. And I remember her birthday and Mother’s Day and such. And I totally appreciate the sentiment behind saving my childhood stuff. I do still think 16 years is too long to hang on to a rodent skeleton, especially when her reasoning is that she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Don’t worry though. I am nice to my mother. I promise. I PROMISE.

2. I am not telling you how I eat my dinosaur sandwiches. A girl has to have some secrets, stop prying into my private life!!

3. I didn’t pick any of them. I didn’t go.

4. The final point on the judgey posts: If normal, average, every day people did not judge by such “shallow” things every single day, all the time, whether they intend to or not, but just as a natural part of their day to day existence, I would not have to wear lady-suits to job interviews.

RAWR!!!, originally uploaded by TemerityJane.

Things that are awesome: dinosaur sandwiches in my lunch.

So on Sunday, I was taking a nap - all that laying around and doing nothing really wears a girl out, you know?

So I’m sleeping, and I’m sleeping, and right next to my head, my cellphone rings. I took at look at the caller ID and it said “Home” so I figure I’m safe from sister harassment (she has a cell and doesn’t live at my parents’ house) and answer. It was my mom.

TJ: mmrrgh?
Mom: Are you sick?
TJ: No, sleeping.
Mom: Why are you sleeping?
TJ: I’m tired.
Mom: Are you sick?
TJ: No!
Mom: Ok, I was just CHECKING. I’m a mother.
TJ: Mmhm.
Mom: Anyway, I’m cleaning my room and I was wondering if your feelings would be hurt if I put away [something I was sure I didn’t hear correctly]?
TJ: What?
Mom: The skeleton, you know, that you made on the cardboard?
TJ: THE WHAT?
Mom: You remember, the little -
TJ: YES, I REMEMBER. MOM! GROSS!

Now, here we break for some background information. I was in a program in my elementary school years and we had separate little classes, and in one of them, a partner and I were provided with an owl pellet, a piece of poster board, glue, and a book for identifying the parts we found within said pellet. Results: a small piece of poster with a carefully reconstructed rodent skeleton laid out and labeled in 4th grade handwriting, which has been displayed dead center, on my mother’s dresser, for 16 years.)

Mom: What?
TJ: Throw it away! Throw it away! Why do you still HAVE THAT?
Mom: Well, you made it and…
TJ: MOM! RODENT SKELETON!
Mom: So you wouldn’t mind if I put it away somewhere? Every time I clean my room I think about it, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings…
TJ: Go ahead! Please! Mom! Gross!
Mom: So do you want me to put it in a box?
TJ: A box in the TRASH, maybe!
Mom: You mean you don’t want it?
TJ: MOTHER!! RODENT SKELETON FROM OWL VOMIT! NO! GOSH! TRASH! PLEASE!
Mom: Ok, ok, ok. You sound a little froggy. Are you sick?
TJ: Gaaaahhhh.

Anyway. That’s right, for 16 YEARS my mother has kept the skeleton of a dead rodent displayed on the middle of her dresser, right in front of the mirror, between the one picture that exists of my sister and I hugging and her jewlery box.

And that’s not all. I mean, it’s definitely the most … interesting … but my parents have a very nice home. It’s not super… stylish, but it’s done up in things they like, it’s pleasant and pretty except for a few things. In the kitchen, a framed painting. Not just any framed painting. A watercolor, on yellowed newsprint-type paper, made by a kindergarten me flinging a paintbrush at an easel. In the dining room, a weird DAY GLO YELLOW cardboard elephant/snuffalupagus creation with coffee filter ears and a weird flared cylinder shaped clay nose, courtesy of my 7 year old sister. On the kitchen windowsill, a display of terribly painted clay animals with no legs, made by my 4 year old brother in Sunday school. We are now 26, 24, and 18. And please, don’t get me started on the little box full of baby teeth.

I guess, I GUESS I can understand saving some of the “artwork” though why it is still displayed all over the charmingly decorated house that they are a mere few months from ejecting the last child from, I don’t know. But the rodent skeleton? Seriously? This is the kind of stuff you parent-types hold to be sentimental?

GROSS!

So I did indeed attempt to cut myself a break this weekend, and I think I mostly succeeded. Lemme tell you why.

So, tax season ended and I kind of thought, “Woo, I’m getting a break now!”

Except, I eventually realized that wasn’t the case. Tax season was busy from February on, and towards the end there, I worked 22 days straight. We got one day after the deadline off, where I did all the “Holy crap I haven’t done jack shit around the house for 2 months” type of stuff. Back to work for Thursday and Friday. I then babysat both Saturday and Sunday. Back to work for a full week, part of which I was down with a migraine. Babysat again on Thursday, and spent the whole weekend driving around the east coast, in North Carolina and Virginia Beach and such. I got home a bit after midnight Sunday night, and up at 5:30 to work Monday. Worked Monday, Tuesday was work and BlogTV, Wednesday was work and dinner/shoe shopping with a friend.

Now here’s when the cheese starts to totally slip off my cracker. I worked and babysat Thursday, and agreed to babysit Friday as well (this takes us up to this past Friday, if you’re not keeping track). I was leaving work on Friday, and since I get up so early in the morning for work, I was dressed a little more warmly than was required - a long sleeved black shirt and underneath, a plain tube top to cover the cleavage. Now a note about the tube top - I know they are traditionally considered to be trashy. However, the ones I wear cover up everything - every hint of cleavage, etc. There’s nothing wrong with them, if you’re not offended by bare shoulders. I mostly wear them under my lower cut tops to make them work acceptable. ANYway. I was leaving work on Friday and it was so hot, I decided to just drive home in the tube top. Like I said, I was more than decently covered, if you can get over the bare shoulders thing. I drove home, got to 7-11 to pick up some diet soda for the night, and before I went in, I went to the back of my car to grab a t-shirt to throw over the tube top - no, it’s not trashy and I DO, at times, wear them alone when it is ridiculously hot and nothing else is bearable, but eh. You know, 7-11.

So I’m getting my t-shirt from the back of the car when this van goes by, and the man in it turns in his seat, stares out the window and it and gives me one of those really gross, really leering up-and-down looks.

Before I knew what I was doing, in the middle of this crowded parking lot, I found myself shoving my head through my t-shirt, hair sticking up all over, and yelling after this van, “DON’T YOU LOOK AT ME IN THAT… TONE… OF FACE!!”

So that’s when I decided to do absolutely nothing this past weekend. And it was nice.

Ok, so, yesterday’s post got a lot of responses and I’m glad we’re all just assholey enough that we can admit that yeah, there are some people out there that we feel superior to. I understand that I was not saying anything good about myself with that list, but it is what it is, right? And I totally believe that everyone, EVERYONE, has at least one little thing that makes them look at another person and mentally turn up their nose. So I admitted it. Well, I admitted some of them.

Anyway, a little more clairification on my points - keep in mind that I KNOW that these things make me an asshole, and I KNOW that you all are totally assholes about certain things, too. Everyone has a little asshole in them. And I know that these things might not even be logical, or make any kind of sense. And I would never go out of my way to be rude, or hurtful or evil or mean about any of these things to an actual offender, it’s all inside my head and stays there. I promise. Now that I’ve finished making excuses for myself, how about I go in reverse order?

5. People who carry mid-level designer knock off bags. Not the really GOOD fakes, and not the really BAD fakes. The middle ones.

How I feel about it - People who own or are familiar with designer bags are going to know if you have a fake one. They just are. If you like the style of a certain kind of expensive bag but you can’t afford the brand name, go on and get yourself an obvious knock off. So what? Who cares? You get what you like without spending money you can’t afford to spend. But if you can’t afford the designer bag and don’t have the balls to walk around with a glaring fake, then just don’t even bother. Seriously.

What it makes me think - desperate to fit in and poor.

4. Feathered hairstyles.

How I feel about it - Look, it’s very dangerously borderline mullet. And we all know the mullet stereotype - it’s nothing good. Feathered hair is just! so! uncalled for! I am not a trendy-type person. I buy and do what I like, when I like. But how can you NOT KNOW that your hairstyle, the one you carry around on your head every single day, is so outdated as to be comical?

What it makes me think - someone’s tragically uncool mom who probably wears high-waisted stonewashed jeans.

3. Jean shorts on any male over infant age.

How I feel about it - I can’t even believe these are made in adult sizes. There is no excuse for this.

What it makes me think - A male desperately clinging to youth, having no idea that even the “youth” doesn’t wear that shit anymore.

2. Couples with a small budget trying, and failing miserably, to have all the components of a much more expensive wedding.

How I feel about it - I have absolutely nothing, nothing at all, against small budget weddings. I’m pretty convinced you can have a lovely wedding at just about any price range. And I’m also not one of those people who roll their eyes at lavish, expensive weddings. Hey, if you can afford it, more power to you. Now, if you go insanely into debt for it, that’s a completely different story… But anyway. If you have a minimal budget then work with what you have - use someone’s backyard, cut back on the flowers, etc. When you have a small budget and in order to fit every single weddingy thing into it, you don’t cut back on anything but go obviously cheap on everything, well then it’s just tacky.

What it makes me think - Woman can’t let go of her childhood “dream wedding,” refuses to face reality, probably a total bitch who uttered the phrase “But it’s MY DAAAAY!” about 874 times throughout the planning, and an absolutely clueless husband.

1. Parents who set out to name their children in a manner specifically designed so that their child will be the only one with that name.

How I feel about it - This is not about your kid having a different name. The ones mentioned in the comments - I’d have nothing against those, probably. If you hear a name, and you like it, give it to your kid. It’s when you hear a name, like it a lot, but RULE IT OUT COMPLETELY because “Oh, there’s SO MANY Tylers” or whatever that I start to roll my eyes. Or when you spend months and months and months looking not for a name that sounds good to you and the co-parent, but a name you’re positive no other child on earth has had, ever - and that’s your goal - that’s insane. If your specific goal is wanting your kid to be different through their name or the spelling of their name, you are a moron.

What it makes me think - Parents who deliberately seek out unique names or spellings in order for their kid to be different - wow, it makes me think a lot of things. It makes me think the mother is probably going to be a control freak - I mean, you’re trying to determine the kid’s personality before birth. Or it makes me think that the parent is less concerned with the actual having of a child than they are with the having of a little doll they can name! and dress! and play with! Oh and I also think your kid will probably be a great big brat and that it will be your fault. But anyway, that’s just crazy - naming your kid so they will be “different?” I promise you! PROMISE! That your kid, no matter what you name him or her, is going to be different from any other kid you’ve ever met. There will be no kid like your kid, whether you name it Mike or AirforceOne. And you will like your kid. And your kid will develop their own personality. Having nothing to do whatsoever with their name. So get over your damn self, pick a name you like, and don’t break down in hysterical tears if the next door neighbors happen to like the same name.

Right. Well. There you go. Yet more clairification on how I am a huge asshole.