You know, I have been on this earth a while now and I have come to a conclusion: people are crazy. I used to think there was something wrong with me but now I realize, it’s not me, it’s you.
That may sound kind of harsh, but sometimes the truth hurts. Listen, if you have a mental deficiency, why is that somehow my problem? What was that saying years ago? “Where’s the beef?” No, not that one. Oh yeah, “Stop the insanity!” That saying needs to make a comeback. No really, Stop. The. Insanity.
The craziness is everywhere! Like my grandmother used to say, “You couldn’t swing a dog without hitting a crazy person.” Or maybe it was you couldn’t swing a dog without being a crazy person? Or, you couldn’t swing a crazy person without a dog? Whatever. My point is you people have a serious problem on your hands.
There is a phenomenon out there called stupidity. It causes people to do things that I think are stupid. There is also a phenomenon called stupidity marketing. It convinces stupid people to purchase products that no one on the planet actually needs. When these two phenomenons combine, it creates a powerful siphoning effect on brain cells. Stupidity and stupidity marketing are single-handedly responsible for skinny jeans, pajama jeans, and Mom jeans. Just imagine the worldwide catastrophic destruction on human dignity.
The other day I saw a story on the news about a woman who became a millionaire from making (drum roll please) dog sweaters! A dog sweater does not make any sense. It is the perfect example of the phenomenon described above because; if you were not aware, dogs have fur. Couldn’t that be considered overkill? What about those people that shave their dogs and THEN put sweaters on them? Save yourself some money, DON'T shave the dog and then they won't NEED a sweater! Oh, hairless dogs you say, they need sweaters. No they don’t. Darwin called it survival of the fittest, if you have an animal that cannot go outside because it will die of exposure then maybe it should stay inside.
Everyone says this political party or that political party is killing America, the economy is killing America, laziness is killing America, crime is killing America, poverty is killing America and on and on. You really want to know what is killing America? Crazy is killing America.
I do not know why people do the stupid, inane, crackpot things they do. Not just doing dumb things, but saying dumb things. Oh the commitment they make to their cerebral shortcomings. They will utter ridiculous drivel and then argue with anyone who tries to point out it is ridiculous drivel. And when they cannot get anyone to listen to them in person, they post these same terrible things on social networking sites. It is either: my woman left me for my probation officer, my baby-Daddy won’t pay child-support, my sister finally got paroled, etc. It is like a country music song without those endearing banjos.
I recently saw one of the most horrible posts of my life the other day on Facebook. A “friend” posted an ad for free zucchini. Now let that sink in for a moment—free zucchini. First of all, nothing in life is free folks and if you accept one zucchini from someone, you may come out to your car after a lovely day at the mall, and find it full of zucchini. And you wouldn’t have anyone to blame but yourself. Second, there is a reason no one pays for zucchini. No one goes to the store and asks to be directed to the ‘zucchini section,’ and starts filling their cart with the giant green pods of doom. Doesn’t happen.
You only get zucchini when you have “friends” who grow zucchini and then offer you some. Why do they grow so much? No one can eat that much zucchini! If you love zucchini, plant one seed, in the fall you will have so much zucchini you could use it to build a city. That is what happens. How do you politely turn away “free zucchini?” There is only one sure-fire way; you have to start growing your own zucchini and then torment people who don’t grow zucchini.
But maybe you are thinking you don’t want to grow your own zucchini. In fact, you don’t want zucchini at all. Well, it is kind of how I feel about craziness in America. And although, it is unfair, that is just tough. Tough bananas. What do I mean by that? I mean it is a matter of invoking the tough banana rule.
The tough banana rule is just how it sounds. Sort of. It is like when you go to buy bananas and all they have are the green ones that you know you will have to leave on the counter for three days to get ripe and by then you won’t be in the mood for bananas. Then the bananas will start to get spotty and next thing you know there are fruit flies zipping around your kitchen. Then you will be torn between just throwing them out, or possibly, making them into a smoothie which, if you were honest with yourself, you don’t really care for. But you cannot throw them out, because they are like sixty-eight cents a pound so you decide, what the heck, and make those suckers into banana bread. And just for the thrill of it, you throw some chocolate chips in there. Cuz lord knows any fruit is better with chocolate on it. Then when your bread is done you think Voila! I saved the day. Because banana bread, unlike plain old bananas, can be frozen and used later. So, long story short, take what you get, roll with it. Do the best you can, don’t get sucked into buying a persimmon just because the bananas are green, you do not know a darn thing about persimmons, all you know is bananas. And no one cries at the grocery store over green bananas and you shouldn’t either, because it is crazy.
Showing posts with label Conspiracy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Conspiracy. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Welcome to the Neighborhood
My new neighbors are from Japan. You are probably thinking ‘so what?’ Well, my neighborhood has been very homogenized for the past few years, made up mostly of elderly California refugees who have stopped speaking to me, so it is fun to have someone new to visit with. I enjoy getting to meet folks from different cultures and backgrounds and getting to see the world from a different perspective. Some neighbors like to keep a low profile and prefer not to intrude on other people’s privacy; I am not one of those kinds of neighbors.
I like to know what is going on around my street. Where are you from, are you gainfully employed, have you spent any time in prison, that sort of thing. If you are a foreigner I will ask you all about it; what was it like growing up abroad, do you miss it, were you ever incarcerated, every little mundane detail will keep me hanging on your every word.
That is why I like to take my sister around in my culturally diverse community because, in addition to English, she speaks Japanese, some Korean, and a little Spanish. So I like to drag her around from place to place and play a little game I like to call “what are those foreign people saying?” It is a simple game; basically it just requires eavesdropping on non-native speakers.
“Are they Korean?”
“No, Chinese.”
“What are they talking about?”
“I don’t know, I don’t speak Chinese.”
“Oh. Well, what about those people?”
“Which ones?”
“By the potatoes.”
“They are Japanese.”
“What are they talking about?”
“Oh, my goodness, you will never believe it!”
“What!? What?!”
“It is so scandalous, I am not sure I should tell you.”
“Tell me! What is it?!”
“They are talking about . . . potatoes.”
I think that people, and by "people," I mean me, tend to assume that if someone is not speaking my language, they must be doing something wrong. It automatically casts suspicion on their behavior because we, ok I, assume that they are trying to hide something. Like people who park in their garage. What have you got to hide if you have to park your car inside every night? Or people who clean their house all the time, what is wrong with them? I have seen CSI, the houses on that show are always spotless and all the evidence is easy to find. If crime shows are to be believed, then violent criminals usually frequent spotless homes and leave clues in the half empty garbage cans, or in the sparkling shower drain or right in plain view on the mess-free kitchen counter. The evidence is practically screaming to be found. One lone hair on the sofa and a single piece of broken glass on the carpet and BAM!, you have found the killer. I could hide a body in my living room and it would take an entire crew of investigators a year to narrow down the evidence. That is because I am normal.
CSI person #1: “What did you find?”
CSI person #2: “Six Lego’s, a pile of hair and lint the size of a cantaloupe, and what appears to be a petrified coco puff. What about you?”
CSI person #1: “I found three puzzle pieces all from different puzzles, two playing cards, a dirty sock, a broken hot wheels car, and some dehydrated macaroni and cheese.”
CSI person #2: “Well, send it to the lab for processing!”
I think most people are suspicious of things that are foreign to them. The unknown can be scary, but we need to remember that not everyone who is different is a threat to society. Like skinny people who work at Baskin Robbins, maybe they just don’t like ice cream.
Now don’t get me wrong, I do try to keep my eyes peeled for distrustful people. I don’t want to be the neighbor who lived next door to an axe murderer for 20 years and when interviewed on the news only says, “Well they were mostly quiet and kept to themselves.” There are some scary people I avoid, below is a brief list:
People who paint their house number on their garbage cans.
People who have two, or more, matching garbage cans.
People whose blinds are always closed. How am I supposed to spy on them if they close the curtains all the time?
People who write every check in the check register. If you have to pay with cash you are definitely on the run from somebody.
Flaggers on construction crews. They hold signs; stop, slow, stop, slow. If that is not suspicious I don’t know what is.
In closing, I would just like to say we don’t need to be suspicious, just vigilant. We have nothing to fear but fear itself. Blah, blah, blah. And if you see my picture in the post office, please disregard it. Maybe you could even take it down, or at least draw over the face part, one of those little mustaches would be great. Oh, and cross out the name portion, I mean, if it is no trouble.
I like to know what is going on around my street. Where are you from, are you gainfully employed, have you spent any time in prison, that sort of thing. If you are a foreigner I will ask you all about it; what was it like growing up abroad, do you miss it, were you ever incarcerated, every little mundane detail will keep me hanging on your every word.
That is why I like to take my sister around in my culturally diverse community because, in addition to English, she speaks Japanese, some Korean, and a little Spanish. So I like to drag her around from place to place and play a little game I like to call “what are those foreign people saying?” It is a simple game; basically it just requires eavesdropping on non-native speakers.
“Are they Korean?”
“No, Chinese.”
“What are they talking about?”
“I don’t know, I don’t speak Chinese.”
“Oh. Well, what about those people?”
“Which ones?”
“By the potatoes.”
“They are Japanese.”
“What are they talking about?”
“Oh, my goodness, you will never believe it!”
“What!? What?!”
“It is so scandalous, I am not sure I should tell you.”
“Tell me! What is it?!”
“They are talking about . . . potatoes.”
I think that people, and by "people," I mean me, tend to assume that if someone is not speaking my language, they must be doing something wrong. It automatically casts suspicion on their behavior because we, ok I, assume that they are trying to hide something. Like people who park in their garage. What have you got to hide if you have to park your car inside every night? Or people who clean their house all the time, what is wrong with them? I have seen CSI, the houses on that show are always spotless and all the evidence is easy to find. If crime shows are to be believed, then violent criminals usually frequent spotless homes and leave clues in the half empty garbage cans, or in the sparkling shower drain or right in plain view on the mess-free kitchen counter. The evidence is practically screaming to be found. One lone hair on the sofa and a single piece of broken glass on the carpet and BAM!, you have found the killer. I could hide a body in my living room and it would take an entire crew of investigators a year to narrow down the evidence. That is because I am normal.
CSI person #1: “What did you find?”
CSI person #2: “Six Lego’s, a pile of hair and lint the size of a cantaloupe, and what appears to be a petrified coco puff. What about you?”
CSI person #1: “I found three puzzle pieces all from different puzzles, two playing cards, a dirty sock, a broken hot wheels car, and some dehydrated macaroni and cheese.”
CSI person #2: “Well, send it to the lab for processing!”
I think most people are suspicious of things that are foreign to them. The unknown can be scary, but we need to remember that not everyone who is different is a threat to society. Like skinny people who work at Baskin Robbins, maybe they just don’t like ice cream.
Now don’t get me wrong, I do try to keep my eyes peeled for distrustful people. I don’t want to be the neighbor who lived next door to an axe murderer for 20 years and when interviewed on the news only says, “Well they were mostly quiet and kept to themselves.” There are some scary people I avoid, below is a brief list:
People who paint their house number on their garbage cans.
People who have two, or more, matching garbage cans.
People whose blinds are always closed. How am I supposed to spy on them if they close the curtains all the time?
People who write every check in the check register. If you have to pay with cash you are definitely on the run from somebody.
Flaggers on construction crews. They hold signs; stop, slow, stop, slow. If that is not suspicious I don’t know what is.
In closing, I would just like to say we don’t need to be suspicious, just vigilant. We have nothing to fear but fear itself. Blah, blah, blah. And if you see my picture in the post office, please disregard it. Maybe you could even take it down, or at least draw over the face part, one of those little mustaches would be great. Oh, and cross out the name portion, I mean, if it is no trouble.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Pottery Barn is Stalking Me
Why is it, when I go shopping, the cashier will not give me the purchased items until I complete a personal questionnaire? I went to the craft store last week and had two items to buy, but before the clerk would let me leave she peppered me with questions.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?”
“No.”
“Oh, that is too bad. Well what did you not find?”
“Just a thing for my sister.”
“Would you like me to special order it for you?”
“No.”
“Ok. Well will this be all then?”
“Yes.”
“Cash or charge?”
“Cash.”
“Would you like a bag?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get your zip code?”
“Um ok.”
“Would you like to be added to our preferred customer list?”
“No.”
“It will only take a second, you just need to fill out a short form. Are you sure?”
“I really don’t want to.”
“Ok, well would like to be added to our email list? We can send you coupons and sales announcements.”
“No thanks.”
“Have you heard about our facebook page? If you visit our FB page you can get $5 off of your next purchase.”
“Ok.”
“Would you like to get one of our credit cards today? If you do you will save 10% on today’s purchase.”
“My total is $4.80 today. I wouldn’t even save two quarters.”
The clerk stares blankly.
“No.”
“Ok, I guess you are all set then. On your receipt you have a chance to win a $500 gift card just for filling out a survey. Would you like the receipt with you or in the bag?”
“In. The. Bag.”
“And . . .”
“Shhhhhh. No more questions.”
“But . . .”
“Zip it. Now here is how this is gonna go down. I am taking my items and I am leaving the store. And there had better not be anyone following me. Now, hand me the bag nice and slow and no one gets hurt.”
I know, I know, I know, it is their job. All these stores are trying to make money and improve the customer experience. Well how about they just sell stuff I need and let bygones-be-bygones? Why is every purchase tracked and monitored and categorized and analyzed and tallied to death? Just because I buy this item, does not mean I will want the other item you suggested and texted, emailed, couponed, cataloged or otherwise notified me about! I am a complex woman! You cannot predict the future based upon my past purchases . . . I don’t think.
Because of this type of salesmanship I am currently on the lam from Pottery Barn. That is right, Pottery Barn is stalking me. The trouble started with one free gift card from the credit card people, “Based on your shopping habits we thought you would enjoy a gift card to Pottery Barn.”
If you are unfamiliar with Pottery Barn, or PB, let me just say. It is like Crack to middle-aged white women. And no matter how much of it I have, it is never enough. First I bought a bench, which was no big thing because I needed one. Then I bought a lamp which was not a problem, because who wouldn’t need more lamps, right? Next it was a blanket and some decorative throw pillows, which concerned me, but I was still of the mind that I ‘could stop anytime I wanted to.’ But one thing led to another and now, I am a full-fledged addict.
I personally blame PB because they pursued me like a rabid-dog. After my first purchase it was a catalog here, a catalog there. Next thing I know it is PB kids, then PB teen, then PB Dorm, then West Elm and Restoration Hardware and Ballard Designs. The list goes on and on. The catalogs have taken over my life and they know how to pinpoint my interests so well that I can’t just throw them away. Why not IKEA? I can resist IKEA.
PB has their grubby little hands in everything. They are like Oprah, only not gender-specific and not on TV. You get my point. I have tried to warn people about this phenomenon but no one will listen. My husband, AKA: the enabler, even takes me shopping at PB.
Me: Oh, how I love the smell of aged hardwood and fine veneers.
Hubs: It looks old.
Me: It is distressed.
Hubs: Me too, about the price of buying new stuff that looks old.
Me: It is artistic.
Hubs: No, its not.
Me: I can’t talk to you.
Hubs: Ok. I am totally fine with that.
It is not just PB though. Other stores are stalking me too. They gather info about me and they use it against me. But that is not the worst part, the most horrific thing is they “tell specially selected third parties” and next thing you know, it is a consumer firestorm.
Hubs: You cannot “go postal” on clerks at the GAP just for asking for your email address.
Me: Did you see how tenacious they were? I didn’t think we would make it out of their alive. I thought I was gonna have to cut them with my credit card!
Hubs: Um, I guess I missed it.
Me: I know you don’t believe me, but it is a conspiracy.
Hubs: Getting emailed coupons is a conspiracy?
Me: Yes! First it is the GAP, next thing you know it is Old Navy, then Macy’s and Banana Republic and Nordstroms. You do not want me to get coupons for Nordstroms.
Hubs: You lost me at the conspiracy thing.
Me: I get an email from Williams-Sonoma every single day! Taunting me with sales and specials and free shipping. The Pro-flowers people called me last week, twice! I cannot handle the pressure.
Hubs: Have you gotten any coupons from the Prozac people? Those might come in handy.
So, I have decided I am the master of my fate and I am going to take action. I am quitting. That is right. Cold-turkey. Those marketers can try all they want, but I am on to them and their sadistic plot to get me to buy more stuff. I am strong and like that one bumper sticker said, “just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t after you.”
“Hey Mom, the mail came.”
“Anything good?”
“Just bills and, like, fifty catalogs.”
“Did you find everything you were looking for?”
“No.”
“Oh, that is too bad. Well what did you not find?”
“Just a thing for my sister.”
“Would you like me to special order it for you?”
“No.”
“Ok. Well will this be all then?”
“Yes.”
“Cash or charge?”
“Cash.”
“Would you like a bag?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get your zip code?”
“Um ok.”
“Would you like to be added to our preferred customer list?”
“No.”
“It will only take a second, you just need to fill out a short form. Are you sure?”
“I really don’t want to.”
“Ok, well would like to be added to our email list? We can send you coupons and sales announcements.”
“No thanks.”
“Have you heard about our facebook page? If you visit our FB page you can get $5 off of your next purchase.”
“Ok.”
“Would you like to get one of our credit cards today? If you do you will save 10% on today’s purchase.”
“My total is $4.80 today. I wouldn’t even save two quarters.”
The clerk stares blankly.
“No.”
“Ok, I guess you are all set then. On your receipt you have a chance to win a $500 gift card just for filling out a survey. Would you like the receipt with you or in the bag?”
“In. The. Bag.”
“And . . .”
“Shhhhhh. No more questions.”
“But . . .”
“Zip it. Now here is how this is gonna go down. I am taking my items and I am leaving the store. And there had better not be anyone following me. Now, hand me the bag nice and slow and no one gets hurt.”
I know, I know, I know, it is their job. All these stores are trying to make money and improve the customer experience. Well how about they just sell stuff I need and let bygones-be-bygones? Why is every purchase tracked and monitored and categorized and analyzed and tallied to death? Just because I buy this item, does not mean I will want the other item you suggested and texted, emailed, couponed, cataloged or otherwise notified me about! I am a complex woman! You cannot predict the future based upon my past purchases . . . I don’t think.
Because of this type of salesmanship I am currently on the lam from Pottery Barn. That is right, Pottery Barn is stalking me. The trouble started with one free gift card from the credit card people, “Based on your shopping habits we thought you would enjoy a gift card to Pottery Barn.”
If you are unfamiliar with Pottery Barn, or PB, let me just say. It is like Crack to middle-aged white women. And no matter how much of it I have, it is never enough. First I bought a bench, which was no big thing because I needed one. Then I bought a lamp which was not a problem, because who wouldn’t need more lamps, right? Next it was a blanket and some decorative throw pillows, which concerned me, but I was still of the mind that I ‘could stop anytime I wanted to.’ But one thing led to another and now, I am a full-fledged addict.
I personally blame PB because they pursued me like a rabid-dog. After my first purchase it was a catalog here, a catalog there. Next thing I know it is PB kids, then PB teen, then PB Dorm, then West Elm and Restoration Hardware and Ballard Designs. The list goes on and on. The catalogs have taken over my life and they know how to pinpoint my interests so well that I can’t just throw them away. Why not IKEA? I can resist IKEA.
PB has their grubby little hands in everything. They are like Oprah, only not gender-specific and not on TV. You get my point. I have tried to warn people about this phenomenon but no one will listen. My husband, AKA: the enabler, even takes me shopping at PB.
Me: Oh, how I love the smell of aged hardwood and fine veneers.
Hubs: It looks old.
Me: It is distressed.
Hubs: Me too, about the price of buying new stuff that looks old.
Me: It is artistic.
Hubs: No, its not.
Me: I can’t talk to you.
Hubs: Ok. I am totally fine with that.
It is not just PB though. Other stores are stalking me too. They gather info about me and they use it against me. But that is not the worst part, the most horrific thing is they “tell specially selected third parties” and next thing you know, it is a consumer firestorm.
Hubs: You cannot “go postal” on clerks at the GAP just for asking for your email address.
Me: Did you see how tenacious they were? I didn’t think we would make it out of their alive. I thought I was gonna have to cut them with my credit card!
Hubs: Um, I guess I missed it.
Me: I know you don’t believe me, but it is a conspiracy.
Hubs: Getting emailed coupons is a conspiracy?
Me: Yes! First it is the GAP, next thing you know it is Old Navy, then Macy’s and Banana Republic and Nordstroms. You do not want me to get coupons for Nordstroms.
Hubs: You lost me at the conspiracy thing.
Me: I get an email from Williams-Sonoma every single day! Taunting me with sales and specials and free shipping. The Pro-flowers people called me last week, twice! I cannot handle the pressure.
Hubs: Have you gotten any coupons from the Prozac people? Those might come in handy.
So, I have decided I am the master of my fate and I am going to take action. I am quitting. That is right. Cold-turkey. Those marketers can try all they want, but I am on to them and their sadistic plot to get me to buy more stuff. I am strong and like that one bumper sticker said, “just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t after you.”
“Hey Mom, the mail came.”
“Anything good?”
“Just bills and, like, fifty catalogs.”
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