Image Source: Paul Pomeroy (Fork with Shadow)
Okay people, I have a very important question to ask:
Has anyone else read “The Book Thief”? This post has nothing remotely to do with that novel, except that I wish to say that it’s excellent and you should read it.
Now, the question I meant to ask:
Which of you is stealing all of my forks?!?!
Somebody HAS to be stealing them just to mess with me, because there is literally no other acceptable explanation for how they have all disappeared. And this isn’t even the first time this has happened - I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve found myself in the midst of a fork shortage once before. So, whoever you are, Mr./Ms. Fork Thief, I’ve had enough! It’s time to fess up!
Tangent: Is anyone else disturbed by the fact that men still only have to worry about the pronoun Mr. (or, fine, Dr., if you’re a stuck-up, better-than-the-rest-of-us intellectual snob who either deals with bodily functions or writing long dissertations no one will ever read, we all hate you, go away) while women continue to have to deal with the confusing, messy tangle of Miss/Mrs./the hideous and oddly coy Ms./Dr. (see above)? Can I just be a ME? Can I be a woman who’s an entity of her own right, now that we of the vagina-bearing sex have the right to vote and attend college in greater masses than men and have almost-sort-of-not-really come close to having a female president? “Miss” is what you call a 10 year old precocious girl with sproingy golden curls and a big floofy pink dress (neither of those adjectives are real words). Mrs. is what I call my mother, and your mother, and everybody who’s old. Ms., even though it’s preferable to the juvenile “Miss,” makes it sound like I got secretly married when I was 18 for some dude’s benefits package but I don’t want anyone to know but I also don’t want to lie so I’m just ambiguous. Or maybe that I’m married but I’m sort of tired of having sex with the same man every single time and want to try to venture out and explore adulterous excursions without anyone knowing the truth about who I am. Or maybe that I USED to be married but got a divorce and didn’t know what title to use for myself so now I use Ms. and choke back tears for my failed relationship every time I fill out some stupid governmental form or mailing address box that requires I tell them my marital status even though it drives a knife into my heart to think about those wasted 10 years of my life and the fact that I might never find true love again. Or maybe that I used to be married but the dude died and now I’m all alone and married still in my heart but not in actuality and I just want to die, too.
Here’s the situation: I only have 3 forks left in my kitchen, and I definitely bought a set of 8 a while back to accompany the 4 that I stole from my college cafeteria when I was a poor undergrad. Now, am I’m supposed to believe that somewhere along the line, I, Ms. (damn that pronoun!) Mildly-OCD, just up and LOST ELEVEN FUCKING FORKS? Nope, not going to happen. That pathetic excuse of an explanation is not going to cut it. Here’s what I know for sure: somebody is breaking into my apartment and stealing my forks from me.
I mean, come on. I have searched through all my drawers. I dug through the other utensil slots in the organizational divider I bought from The Container Store. I triple-checked the dishwasher. And still I have NO IDEA where all those forks went.
Yes, this has happened before, which makes this scenario all the more bizarre. I used to have 8 forks, all swiped covertly from the overcrowded college cafeteria years ago (yes, I’m a mild klepto, whatever, blame the OCD). Then, shortly after my then-boyfriend moved in with me, 4 of those forks just up and disappeared. They vanished slowly, one at a time, until finally we kept running into trouble at dinnertime, unable to eat our food because spoons are pretty much useless and our remaining forks were always dirty so we had to continuously hand-wash them to compensate, which, despite taking 10 seconds to accomplish, was an unacceptably inconvenient task.
Naturally, I blamed the boyfriend. Where had he mistakenly put the forks away? Did he not know which dividing slot to stack them in, between the spoons and the knives? He must have accidentally tossed them in the trash! He hated me and was trying to play a devious game on my fragile mind because he wanted out of the relationship and that was the only pathway to freedom that he’d been able to come up with! My accusations ran wild. Of course, he pleaded innocent, and finally I conceded, went to Target, and bought the cheapest box of forks they had available. As I recall, the cheapest box was still far too expensive for a run-of-the-mill utensil I could have easily just swiped en masse from my then-restaurant-serving job, but I forked over the money (PUN!) and made our collection right again, the ethical way.
But now all those forks are gone again. And my fiancé isn’t here to blame. So I’m trapped in a living nightmare.
This time around, I tried blaming the dog. Of course! They’re shiny and chewable and perhaps he wanted to become a hoarder and had a pile of them hidden somewhere, amidst a pile of my shoes or underneath the couch! My dog also played the innocent card, cocking his head and whimpering at me slightly in confusion.
And, this goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: obviously I was not the one to misplace them. I would never be so careless.
SO! Fork thief! Return the forks now, and all sins will be forgiven and forgotten! Please - I don’t want to start to go mad, etching lines into my wall to keep track of the remaining forks while I mumble to myself and scratch at one single point on my scalp until all the hair there falls out.
Just give my forks back to me.
I really don’t want to have to make another trip to Target.
I’m happy to introduce you to this brand-new blog on Tumblr. The subtitle explains, “I draw terrible comics for your amusement!” That’s all we know about the author, but I can tell you right away he/she is a liar - the comics are far from terrible.
God, I love depressing humor. This is a blog to watch, for sure. And hopefully we’ll find out more about the artist eventually… This shit’s too good for her or him to stay hiding in the shadows for long.
Image Source: Trollable (Is this not ALWAYS the case when you’re chatting with someone online?!)
Humans are odd little creatures. We have a lot of quirky little unconscious mannerisms that, for whatever reason, present themselves in nearly every single person, regardless of whatever traits may otherwise differentiate us. Where do we pick up these habits? Are they merely acts we observed frequently in others when we were young that we then absorbed into our own adult behavior? Is there some kind of genetic code that dictates that we be constructed in this manner, in the same curious way that, for no clear reason at all, all corgis’ paws smell like corn chips? (They do. I check my dog’s feet repeatedly to verify this fact. It’s freaky; the smell is uncanny.)
Who knows why we are the way we are? If nothing else, these endearing, funny little acts can remind us that we’re all not so different from each other, which is nice, especially when we’re always trying to kill each other in some capacity. And, of course, these awkward habits are just fucking hilarious to observe, which is their main appeal. Oh humans… we’re so stupid.
Here’s a non-comprehensive list of odd, nonsensical acts that pretty much everyone does.
1. We are oh-so-impatient beings. This means that, while waiting for the “walk” signal to appear at the crosswalk or for the elevator to get to our floor, we will press the necessary button over and over and over again, long after it’s been lit. And if someone else pressed the button, we never trust that they did it properly (again, even if the button is evidently lit up), and must press it again with our own fingers for good measure. And then again and again until we’re allowed to move onwards.
2. I love how we mime acts like texting or typing when we’re recounting doing those things. Like, shit, I forgot what texting is, can you show me? Oh, so you just waggle your thumbs and relay a message to whomever you want? Okay, I understand now. Carry on with your story.
3. You want to end a lunch/dinner/coffee/etc date, because the conversation has lulled and it’s getting awkward and you really just want to go home, but you don’t want to be rude, so what do you do? You reach for your cell phone, turning it on, indicating that whatever messages await you there are so important you must now leave. ”Oh, well, wow, what time is it? I should probably get going… Yeah… it was so nice to see you…”
4. Ohmygodnoooo!!! You’re out running errands in your sweats (Did you brush your teeth this morning? You did not.) and you’re in a shitty mood, but then you see one of your colleagues from work or that cute guy who was in one of your classes at college or one of your mom’s chatty friends. What do you do? Avoid, avoid, avoid. And, if you can’t avoid the person altogether, you walk right past them, head down, feet moving quickly, pretending you don’t see him/her even though it’d be nearly impossible not to. This is, again, an excellent time to pull our your cell phone and appear to be fully absorbed in reading something on it. “Please dear god don’t call out my name…” And if it’s someone like your ex or that bitch who used to mock your unfortunate wardrobe choices? You will run the FUCK out of that joint, shopping be damned.
5. Shit. You just tripped. Quick, look around to make sure no one saw you! Shit. There are definitely people around who saw you. Keep walking! Nothing happened! Maybe they’ll think they imagined it if you pretend to be poised. OR you can stare down at the sidewalk accusatorially, glaring at whatever invisible barrier made you so clumsy. Damn invisible rock! How dare you trip me?!
6. There is no such thing as unawkward small talk. Are we really so afraid of silence? We always have to make chatter when we’re in an enclosed space with someone else, but we refuse to say anything of substance. Instead of asking something meaningful, like, say, “When was the last time you felt truly happy?” (I’m totally going to start asking strangers this), we lamely comment, “Wow, so, looks like it might rain later.” As often as we poke fun about talking about the weather, it really is our favorite point of conversation. Admit it - you’ve mentioned the weather to someone at least once today.
7. When we misplace something, our minds instantly launch into accusatory mode: “My boyfriend must have moved it - that fucker!” “The repairman must have stolen it - that fucker!” “My cat must have eaten it - that fucker!” and we get ourselves all worked up and silently furious until at last we stumble upon whatever it was we lost, shamed by our unwillingness to take responsibility for being unable to keep proper track of our shit. We generally just hate being in the wrong - what kid won’t try to blame the broken window on someone or something else? “A bird just rammed into it and shattered it and then flew away!” “It was the neighbor kid! I saw him!” “It just exploded, for no reason at all!”
8. When circling around a parking garage or lot, we’ll drive around forever trying to find a spot close to the door/elevator/stairs, but in the amount of time we waste space-hunting, we could have easily just parked at the end of the lot and walked a little farther. Also, on the subject of parking: WHY must you hold up the line, waiting for someone who’s slowly putting their kids and bags and shit into their car before leaving, when, if you just drove a little further, you could park in one of the already-open spaces a bit further on? LAZINESS.
9. Oh, dear - you just realized you’re walking the wrong way. You can’t just stop and turn around… you don’t want to look like an idiot. What to do?! Ah, yes - the invention of the cell phone has effectively saved us from all potentially awkward situations. All you have to do is stop, look down at your phone, pretend to read a very important text commanding you to TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW, and then nod seriously and pivot around, like a boss. Really, is there any situation our phones CAN’T save us from, even if they’re completely broken or if the battery is dead? No one can argue with the power of a referenced cell phone. No one.
10. The music’s too loud, the idiot you’re chatting with is speaking in a thin whisper, and you don’t really care enough about what he’s saying to ask him to repeat himself, so what do you do when his lips stop moving? You laugh, and smile, and nod your head, praying that he didn’t just tell you that his mom died last week.
There’s no denying it; you’ve done all of these things. Not so special after all, are ya?