There’s a Group for That

If you’re into something specific, like Doctor Who, being a vegan, a thrill-seeker, or surviving off the grid, or a hobby like skydiving, birdwatching, collecting spiders, or yoga, it’s not unusual to seek out a group or groups in order to connect with other likeminded people. You know, to have some folks with whom you can share experiences and such.

But what about introverts? Then again, wouldn’t starting an introvert club goes against one of the foundational rules of being an introvert? What would our motto be? Introverts Unite! (separately… at your own home.)

I can see it now, a bunch of introverts asking each other what they did over the weekend.

Me: “Well my weekend was great. I sat at home and didn’t have to interact with *shudder* people for two whole days.”

Or what are your plans for this weekend?

Me: “I have some awesome stuff planned! I’m going to go here, and do this, and work on that.”

Then exactly five days later, when the weekend finally rolls around, I’m sitting there like, “what on earth was I thinking? There are *shudder* people out there!  I’m just going to stay home and brush my cats.”

Yeah, the more I thought about the whole introvert club thing, the more I turned myself off the idea. That is until I came across a nifty group for self-ascribed introverts on Facebook.

I joined up just to have a look around, cause you know, I’m an introvert… and wouldn’t you know, virtually every member shared at least a dozen pictures of their pets. I tend to agree that animals are much more worthy of my time than most humans I’ve been around, so these were my kind of people.

Hmm. I must say, I feel inspired. Maybe I will start my own club after all. I’ll get on that first thing next weekend! Probably.

It’s Fine… Everything is Fine

I know I haven’t written much lately, but I’m working on a few things to post here for ya’ll (I promise!), while also trying to get my shit together to move.  More on that later.

In the meantime… if my likeness is going to be used on merch, I think I should at least get a few royalty checks thrown my way.

looks just like me, don’t you think?

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Memorial Day Honors

I hope all of my U.S. friends enjoy their Memorial Day celebrations.  Please remember to honor the dedicated men and women of our military who never made it home.  I implore you all to keep the military animals in your thoughts as well. So many brave dogs, horses, and other animals have given their service to this country, including laying down their lives alongside their human servicemen and women. Please remember them all this Memorial Day, human and animal alike.

Photo taken by Petty Officer 2nd Class John F. Looney at the War Dog Cemetery located on Naval Base Guam. 25 Marine War Dogs gave their lives during the Battle of Guam in 1944. They served as sentries, messengers, scouts. They explored caves, detected mines and booby traps. –  SEMPER FIDELIS

 

Paul Bunyan Redux

It’s Friday the 13th and to many, that means a day of bad luck. As for me, it’s one my favorite days of the year. The love of my life is *cough cough* years old today. And I remember him learning how to walk as if it was yesterday.

You see, a carnival mystic once told me that the love of my life would be tall, dark, and handsome.  Somehow, she failed to mention he would arrive on the waves of excruciating labor pains.  Now, my son towers over me and resembles Paul Bunyan… and I could not be more proud. Still, whenever we talk, I oftentimes offer unsolicited advice.  No, really, I do. Other mothers do this too, right?  Right??  Well of course Jake’s response is usually one borne of frustration because, according to him, I’ve not kept up with his birthdays all these years and therefore don’t know just how old he is, and as such, could do without the mother hen flapping around.

My response is one he will never understand until he has kids of his own – he’s always my baby regardless of how old he may be.  Or how tall.  Or how thick a beard he decides to grow for his Paul Bunyan impersonation (I mean really, you do own a razor after all Jake!).

Yes, I do know he’s “all grown up.” But when I look at him, I still see that wide-eyed, precocious boy who stole my heart the day he was born. I still see the same little boy who went out to play with me in the snow when we had a freak midnight storm when he was four, the master Lego architect who could build the most complicated structures using just his mind’s eye, the small child whose laugh was forever a bright spot in my day. He still is and always will be the bright spot in my day – our conversations are always, but always, interesting and spirited with amazingly broad topics. He keeps me on my toes.

Of course, I take credit for his love of Marvel Comics and the MCU even though he knows more about the subject than I do. He has a strong work ethic, integrity, a desire to stand up for the oppressed, and a good heart. In other words, everything a mother could hope for… and more. I could go on and on — but the point is very simple. I love my son. He makes my world a better place just by existing in it.

 

Good Luck Never Smelled So… Bad

I wouldn’t consider myself an extremely superstitious person, but I’d be lying if I didn’t believe in bits and pieces. I don’t know whether walking under a ladder is really bad luck or not, but for some reason I just find myself avoiding it whenever the situation arises. I mean, if Looney Tunes has taught me anything, it’s to avoid ladders. And anvils.

Another famous superstition in regards to luck refers to the misfortune that will befall anyone who breaks a mirror. Not your short term misfortune either. We’re talking 7 years of nothing but bad luck. Just thinking about how expensive mirrors were during the time this superstition was likely conceived can help shed a bit of light on its origins. If I were a mother back then, I’d definitely say things like that to my kids if they were horseplaying around with expensive fragile items.

“Hey, get away from that mirror! If you break that you’ll have 7 years of bad luck, you know!”

Then in my head, “ha, that’ll teach those little whippersnappers to play ball in the house.”

They say that a broken clock or a cracked crystal on a pocket watch or wristwatch is also believed to be a bad sign. Not surprisingly, these are also very expensive items that are as old as the superstitions themselves. The story even goes on to say that a broken watch symbolizes failure to progress in one’s work. Which would make sense… cause you’d be late to work and all sorts of bad luck would no doubt ensue. So again, the origins of such superstitions somewhat make sense. Some superstitions about luck aren’t as easily explained though.

Tell me if you’ve ever heard this one. Originating somewhere in the UK, it’s believed that by saying “rabbit” right after you wake up on the first day of the month, you’ll bring yourself good luck for the next 30 or so days. No matter how you say it; rabbit-rabbit, rabbits, white rabbit, run rabbit run, etc., it’s supposed to work.

What about knocking on wood? Another dumb superstition that I find myself doing from time to time. Okay fine, often. Do I necessarily believe in it? I have no idea, but at risk of jinxing myself, it’s easier to just tap on the table just in case. There are two big theories behind this one. One is that pagans believe spirits live in trees, so it was kind of used as a nod to them, for lack of better words. The other theory comes from Britain and mentions a popular children’s game called “Tiggy-touch-wood,” where the only way you were “safe” from the other children chasing you was when you were touching a piece of wood. Could the whole concept of knocking on wood for luck have really stemmed from a kid’s game? I wouldn’t be surprised. Though I favor the tree spirits myself.

From blowing out birthday candles, lucky horseshoes, throwing salt over your shoulder, breaking wishbones, and even picking up pennies (not tails up, that’s bad luck!), superstitions on luck abound. It’s hard to keep up with them all, and sometimes I just think people are having me on with some of these tales.

A bird pooping on you is supposed to be good luck. I know, I know, but it’s true. Or so I’m told. I don’t believe it. And I’ll tell you why. A bird pooped on my hand the other day. There I was, minding my own business, walking around the neighborhood, trying to get some air and exercise, and a bird decided to just poop on my hand. Cause, you know. That’s what I’m here for. Oh look, my friend said, a bird pooped on your hand! You’ll have good luck! No, Sharon, I have germs. Germs are what I have. You’re so lucky! No, I’m not lucky, I’m disgusted. And for your information, there was no luck to be had here. No luck at all. I mean, I guess it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been my head. Or my face as I turned it upward to see what the hell that freakin’ bird was doing. Maybe the bird just had bad aim. Maybe that’s where the good luck came in.

So, yeah. Superstitions stink.

My Introvert Life – Log Entry 56502

Stardate 20220505 – Time: Thursday Night Hell

I’m not much of a people person and those close to me know this. Even those not so close to me know this. So at the last minute when two of my friends that I made plans with for a random Thursday night said they were bringing some other friends that I never met along, that little anxiety-riddled part of my brain quickly looked for a way out of the ordeal. I seriously considered buying a plane ticket to anywhere that was not here and simply starting a new life under an assumed name.

But alas, moments later I found myself in the back of an SUV that I’d never ridden in before on my way to dinner at a place I had never eaten at before. Oh yes, I said to myself. This is hell. I’m in hell.

Everyone was going on and on and having a great time, and there I was, just trying to survive the outing long enough to get back home to the safety of my tea, favorite book, cheesy TV, and my cats, and wondering what the hell was I thinking to ever go out in the first place. I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But then, doesn’t it always? And it’s not. It’s never a good idea.

Oh, here comes the waiter. “Can I get you ladies anything else this evening?”

Me screaming in my head: “Just the check, thanks.”

My mouth: “oh, that lava cake looks good.”

Me in my head: “Damn my weakness for sweets. Ah the hell with it. What’s 10 more minutes in hell anyway, right? At least there’s cake.”