Thursday, June 30, 2011

And now I compare the flu shot to venereal disease

What do venereal disease and the flu vaccine have in common?
You can get both of them at Walmart, most health care facilities, and the back of a touring bus.

So why do I not get a flu shot each year?

Okay, that's not the only reason but I'm not going to get into the medicine of it (if you want to give your kids autism vaccinations that's your business) but once you recognize how THEE ENTIRE NATION is trying to get you vaccinated from the flu, you become a little paranoid. Like, when was the last time the entire nation tried to give me a scoop of ice cream? Or when was the last time the entire nation tried to help me get my car tuned up? Hmm? Yeah, that's because the nation isn't just this helpful selfless entity trying to keep everyone healthy and happy. But the nation might try to give everyone venereal disease.

And I'll admit it, I typically get the flu every year. For about a week in February I get sweaty and whiny and I venture to my local grocery store in my pajamas for my annual overdose of Zicam. This is the lot that I've accepted in life. One week of the flu in exchange for avoiding the nation's venereal disease.

But this year, this year, I got duped. Since I do in fact work in a place, the place, that people are going to go if they contract the flu, all employees are strongly encouraged to get the flu shot. And by encouraged I mean harassed. Which is how I ended up getting vaccinated this year. So sure enough February rolled around, I ate my humble pie, and I didn't get the flu.

Way to go flu shot, right? Like, way to do your job. I guess there is something to be said for not getting the flu as long as I can ignore the imagery of horrible things being injected into my body, right?

Which brings us to June 30th. JUNE. FREAKING. 30TH. As in almost July.
(Please pause and consider all of the wonderful things that you would like to do in July. Such as: enjoy the sun, go swimming, have a picnic, NOT GET ROMANTIC WITH A BOX OF KLEENEX AND A NETI POT.)

Which also brings us to Why. The hell. Do I have the flu. IN JUNE?!
It's like giving someone venereal disease and then breaking their heart just for kicks. On their birthday.

Next year America, I'll take the flu. And I hope you get a herpes outbreak.

(P.s. That bit about autism was a joke, please don't try to beat me up.)

Friday, June 24, 2011

Etiquette Shmetiquette

Because of all the times I've heard ambiguous, or even back handed, comments about my attire or sense of style, I've sincerely begun to wonder if some people would even be able to recognize a compliment if it included the words "I like". And adversely, if they could recognize an insult of it came out of their mouth, bounced off of me and then hit them in the face, leaving marks that might resemble my left fist.

So I've come up with a few simple guidelines to determine if what you're about to say is a compliment (and thus, if you should say it).

Rule #1 
If you are making a comparison (i.e. "that reminds me of [actor/actress, movie, decade]) make sure that you find (and specify that you find!) the object of comparison agreeable. For instance "Hey, that reminds me of Madonna. And I really liked when she did that!". You see, if you don't specify that the comparison is good I'm forced to say things like "Oh, well. . .I guess I will just chose to take that as a compliment" because I'm not quite sure that the fact that my haircut reminds you of a ten year old is a compliment. And if it isn't a compliment, I'm not sure how to respond. Because I don't know why anyone would walk around giving their unwarranted and unflattering opinion to persons who don't care. But that's just me. . .

As a side note, if your compliment ends up sounding like "Hey, your haircut reminds me of a ten year old, and I really like ten year olds!" you should know that I'm inclined to protect children. Particularly with dumb bells to the groin.

Rule #2 
If your intention is to say something flattering to someone, it helps if you say it to them and not just near them. Because if I walk into a room and you look at me and say to someone else "Don't you wish that we could play dress-up at work?" I might not know if you're just being a BITCH of if you really think I've dressed up nicely. And confusion is what we're trying to avoid here. (We are also trying to avoid you getting punched in the face).

Rule #3
I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating- if at any point you question whether or not what you are about to say is a compliment- it isn't.

*In conjunction with Rule #1 make sure that your point of reference is positive as well. In other words, if you ask me if my tattoos were a result of drunken decision-making, I would like to thank you for helping me determine that I would not like to ever be your friend.

Monday, June 20, 2011

I know things

When I first started this blog I would keep little notes on my phone of topics I wanted to write about. I pretty much forgot about those notes (turns out having too many posts drafted actually creates anxiety) but I recently rediscovered them and found one titled "Things Men Need to Know About Women".

I opened it, and it was completely blank. Which I found hilarious.  I just imagine myself coming up with the post title and thinking ha! Where do I start?! Then the next second getting a little nauseous, looking confused, and thinking Uhh, maybe I'll come back to this one later. Not only that, but the fact that I had arrogance enough for at least half a second to think that I could compile an adequate list of all the note-worthy differences between men and women is kind of charming, right? I mean sure, having embarrassing amounts of estrogen for all these years should have taught me a thing or two about us vagina-card carriers, and wouldn't I be sweet to give helpful tips to the other gender, but if you've been reading this blog for any length of time you've probably already guessed that said tips would be less helpful and more STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE, FUCKER. Which. . .come to think of it, is something men need to know, and since I do know so much about the things men need to know I probably should write a post on that.

Other upcoming blog entries on topics I also know a lot about:

Feline HIV
Everything New Mothers Need to Know
Polygamy; it Teaches Sharing! 
How to Have a Happy Divorce
How to Tell if Your Kids Will Be Serial Killers
Life Without Shopping
Transgender and Dating

Please stay tuned.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

College degrees are awesome

Had this conversation at work today:

Co-worker: So when is your last day of work?

Me: July 1st.

Co-worker: That's in July.

* * *
Oh, I have a new most favorite outfit? WEIRD.

-The Monster Queen

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Where the lilies always bloom

I don't know how many homes most people grow up in. Two? Three? Half a dozen? I can recall nine places that at one point in my youth I called "home". And because most of those places don't conjure up the warmest of memories, I'm adding an honorary tenth home. I was there often enough in my earliest years to establish many memories, all of which I recently discovered, I treasure.

Do you see this apartment complex? It was never one of my homes. But now it is a home to many, and what I have a painfully difficult time wrapping my head around is the fact that NONE of the people who live here know that where their home now is, one of my homes once was. Where this pavement is now, where these apartments are- there used to be two houses. On the same stretch of property, only separated by a small paved walkway. That walkway had handprints in it. The handprints of my cousins, my siblings, and myself. About ten hands in all. Next to that walkway there was a clothes line between to concrete posts. Next to that, there was a plum tree where you could almost always find half a dozen bicycles lined up. There was a pomegranate tree that, unless you wanted to get in trouble with Great Grandma, you didn't ever touch. Besides, pomegranates are a lot of work for little pay off- especially for a five year old. Next to the houses there was a rusty old swing set, and a cage that one of my uncles kept pigeons in. Behind the houses the was a chicken coop and a fig tree, and large garden that I'm not really sure we were allowed to eat from, but if you've ever had fresh strawberries, you know we did.

This home- both houses- is one of the places I hold dear. I remember getting ready for church and grandma combing the cowlicks out of my hair at the kitchen sink. I remember her peach cobbler, and the iced tea that could always be found in the fridge during summer. I remember the time my siblings and I rode bicycles up a hill near the creek, I hit a large rock at the bottom, and wondered for a long time afterward if all the freckles on my shoulder were caused by that accident. A few years later I remember going back to that home in the summer with my older sister, and watching movies on repeat; Driving Miss Daisy and Robin Hood: Men in Tights. I really don't know if we ever watched any other movies, those are the only two I've preserved in my memory for all these years. I remember dinner always being an open invitation and never knowing who to expect, but the evenings I loved most were the crowded ones.

It's an odd thing, recalling this home, validating my memories, when there is nothing tangible left of them. It could be a lie. Or just an error in my recollection. Maybe the hand prints were never there. Maybe the pigeons weren't either. Something about those houses not being there, about none of it being there, feels eerily like someone is grasping at my memories, trying to tear them down as well. Threatening to take them, lest I bury them somewhere untouchable. Maybe that's why this is so painful. I'm worried that I won't be able to bury them securely enough. That one day someone or something, or maybe just time itself, will come along and pull up my memories, and build something on top of them as if the ground had never before belonged to anyone else.

If these memories are not always going to linger, then I pray that whatever one day replaces them will be even sweeter.

My great grandmother used to have the most beautiful array of lilies lining the dirt driveway. Every time that I have smelled lilies since my early childhood, I immediately picture her garden.

-The Monster Queen

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Vanity, all is vanity

Obviously I've signed my mom up for taking my vacation outfit photos because what has this women ever done for me before? I mean, stretch marks and five hours of hard labor? PA-LEEZ.

However, this genius had the camera set to video instead, so now I have a dozen videos of myself trying to look sultry while directing photos under my breath. They are a treasure.

YouTube Video

-The Monster Queen

Monday, June 6, 2011

You will be fortuitous in your closet this month

I decided to take a page from B. Jones' book and prepare entire outfits for each day of my vacation.

Which, on the one hand seems super efficient and thus, something I would totally dig. But on the other hand, my daily attire is typically assembled each morning (read: late afternoon) by playing Yanni's Greatest Hits, standing in front of my closet, closing my eyes, and listening with my heart to which items are most presently in sync with my aura. So- what if, come any certain vacation day, I go to put on an already prepared outfit and IT TOTALLY CLASHES WITH MY SOUL? I really don't know how to prepare for that kind of travesty. So I'm going to pack some valium a couple extra outfits and hope that increases my chances of not dying and/or killing someone (I'm pretty sure that's what would happen if I wear the wrong outfit). Normally I would just read my daily horoscope and look out for advice like "be wary if you are not in tune with your spirit today, you may hurt a loved one" and then I would lock myself indoors and not get dressed. But after the whole OH BY THE WAY, WE'VE BEEN WRONG ABOUT ASTROLOGY FOR THE LAST CENTURY, SO HERE- WE FIXED IT, I don't know what my sign is any more! Am I a crab now? After I thought I was a lion all these years?! That is a big adjustment people.

So, someone should probably warn my mom that for the next seven days the Lion-Crab Woman is going to be living in her guest room and if she appears to remain naked for any length of time, give her equal amounts of compliments and dark chocolate. Or lock the door and back away slowly.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Even if he hadn't been chewing tobacco. . .

Favorite part of being single: determining that a guy is a douche approximately 7.5 seconds into conversation.

Me: "So do you like it here?"

Him: "I miss Phoenix. There is this one area of town where there are like, 13 bars and clubs all lined up on one strip. It's really nice."

Aaaaand I'm gonna go ahead and pass on being the next recipient of his venereal disease.