Love Connection

Awwww, boo, I love you too!  My little chippie whippie … my little tater gator … my little sweet potato crispy wispy …

Okay, so yeah, that’s weird … even for me.

But still… just look at this lovely little heart-shaped chip! Isn’t it adorable? Is it an omen? Whatever it is, it’s gone. Like a thief in the night, my dog snuck up on my table and ate it … so much for a starchy harbinger of love …

Can You Spell That, Please?

Before I get into the heart of today’s rant, I’d like to share a video with you.  Most of you have probably seen this, but it’s still funny every time.  Warning, there is some language in this video.

This brings me around to my thoughts for the day.  Why do some parents feel it is hip to name their children bizarre names?  Never mind that the kids themselves won’t know how to spell them and their teachers can’t pronounce them, the worst part is that they will never find a Coke can with their chosen names on it.

My friend worked as a Paramedic for many years.  She told me the story of a mom who had called 911 for her son, who had a minor cold.  My friend was filling out the paperwork, and asked the child’s name.  When the mother told her the name, she hesitated and asked, very politely, “I’m sorry, could you spell that for me?”  The mother got very flustered and said, “I don’t know how to spell it.  It just sounded good.”  My friend took her best stab at spelling the complicated name, and life went on.  I couldn’t help but wonder what the child’s name was on his birth certificate, and why the mother would choose a name that she didn’t even know how to spell herself.

Celebrities try to outdo themselves with bizarre names for their children every day.  Directions, vehicle models, street names, trees, and celestial bodies are frequently used sources for the monikers they eventually bestow upon their offspring.  At what point does being hip and unique come full circle to the point where it is considered hip and unique to name your child “Mark” or “Sally” again?  Will celebrities run out of hip name sources and start using medications, like “Tylenol” or “Motrin” as baby names?  “And now, hitting the stage, it’s Nyquil and the Insomniacs!”

Names roll in and out of fashion like ever-changing tides.  Some names are forever linked with decades, like “Brittany” or “Madison,” while other stand the test of time, like “David” and “Matthew.”  Other names should just be avoided out of common decency, like the New Jersey parents who named their child Adolf Hitler.

What I find even funnier is the put-upon parent who names their child an old-fashioned name or something that isn’t on the most popular list but still isn’t all that crazy … yet they think they’re being unique. Which isn’t a bad thing, except the “I’m-way-hipper-than-you” parent complains to everyone who will listen how difficult their lives are because no-one pronounces Blaise correctly and little Augustine’s teacher has no idea how to spell his name.

Parents are free to do whatever they want, but if you choose a strange name for your child, you shouldn’t be angry when it is mispronounced or misspelled.  You knew there were risks when you named your child something like “Shabquellitaze” or “Nbtyxkz.”  Whether you were being cute or think you’re being edgy, you have doomed your child to life as a set of initials in class – and as that poor kid who constantly repeats and then spells their name a gazillion times a day. More important, you’ve kept them from the joy of finding their name on a novelty souvenir plastic license plate.

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

As Instagram has evolved from a place to post adorable kitten pictures to a place to proudly display stupid decisions, incidents like this are becoming so common place that even the most avid Instagram followers yawn and keep scrolling.  Well in advance of shark week, a beautiful Instagram model decided to swim with nurse sharks for an impromptu photo-op, and was – surprise, surprise! – summarily bitten and dragged under the water. Apparently, she saw a school (herd?) of sharks milling about and thought, “this is the perfect opportunity for an action shot.”  Now so much is wrong here, from her “Everybody else is doing it” attitude that led her to her predicament to the article’s emphasis that she is due to start nursing school and had been raised around the water.  The former is, as my mother always taught me, no reason to do anything while the latter is completely inconsequential; intelligence is completely useless if it is ignored.  Besides, after being attacked by a nurse shark, maybe she needs to rethink her future choices.

I wonder if the shark posted the pics to his own Instagram account.  “I was so thrilled to meet her, but when I tried to shake her hand, she freaked out.”

Katarina is proof that all the beauty in the world can’t protect you from regrettable decisions.  Or nurse sharks.

From liars to cheaters and all manner of stupidity in between, Instagram takes all that is dumb in the world and displays it for everyone.  Why do people continue to do these things?

I will agree, it never crossed my mind to tell my own daughter not to swim with sharks.  I also never told her she shouldn’t run in front of a speeding train or drive with a blindfold on.  I think there comes a point when some things are as obvious as the sun in the sky on a bright summer day.  There are already incredibly stupid warning signs everywhere, indicating that people have actually done the things listed.

My personal favorite is the one on roller coasters cautioning people not to stand up on the ride.  Is this a common problem in amusement parks?  I saw a fan belt for a car with the cautionary warning to make sure the car isn’t running when the belt is being installed.  I mean, seriously? “No diving,” urges a sign at a two foot deep inflatable kiddie pool.  Have we become so absent-minded that we need to be told to turn off the electricity in the house before installing a light socket? If we’re not there yet, we’re certainly on our way.

Here is a story – with video – of a family who got out of their cars at a Safari park.  Now this went down in several layers of stupidity.  First, the husband opens his car door to get a picture of the cheetahs.  The wife decides this is a great time to put something in the trunk of the car.  A little farther down, they decided that some resting cheetahs would be an amazing photo-op (they’re not wrong, but still …), so they all get out of the car for a family romp amongst the wild cats.  The cheetahs were not amused, frankly, and start to charge the family.  I think the thing that gets me more than anything else is that the article states that the woman “Shooed” the cheetahs while walking back to the car.  Recap:  Your family is being chased by cheetahs.  You scoop up your younger child and casually stroll back to the car.  You wave the cheetahs away with your hand, scolding them with “shoo!”  Heck, “shoo” doesn’t work on the feline demons we invite into our homes to live, why on earth would it work for cheetahs?  Did she think they would stop, reconsider their actions, admit they acted hastily, and offer the family tea and a biscuit?

Now, I’ve been told that walking slowly and not running was the exact right way to deal with that situation as it makes you seem less like “prey.” The only thing she did wrong was turn her back on them … or so say the zoological experts in my circle. I’m not going to say they’re wrong, but I will interject that, in my opinion, had the cheetahs not been so utterly shocked and taken aback at the audacity of this family, the cats might’ve recovered a bit more quickly and the situation would’ve ended differently.

Personally, I don’t think I could forgive the men in my life if they simply took off like bats out of hell and left me to fend with the cheetahs while holding my (and one of theirs?) offspring. But that’s a topic for another day.

For whatever reasons dangerous selfies and stupid photo ops have gained popularity, people need to stop and think before they act.  My friend went on a beautiful road trip along Skyline Drive in the West Virginia mountains, and saw many bears walking along the side of the road or perched along the stone walls lining the drive.  The one encounter that stuck with her was the car full of people in front of her who rolled their windows down about three feet from an admittedly surprised black bear and her two cubs.  The people then half-stood out of their car windows, phones in hand, to get a selfie with the mama bear.  The bear was, my friend believes, too shocked by their stupidity to do anything at all for the entire five minutes they “posed” with her.  My friend isn’t a rocket scientist, but even she knows you don’t mess with mama bear and her cubs.  She had her own phone in hand to video the mauling she fully expected, and maybe to consider calling 911 as Darwinism played itself out in front of her. Sadly though, as has happened too often in the past, it would have been the bears who paid the ultimate price had they reacted to the idiotic tourists, like, you know, bears.

Evolution works to thin out the numbers.  Instagram is just there to record it when it happens.

I sincerely wish Katarina a speedy recovery, but dear Katarina:  We all hope that if you are ever offered a sight-seeing trip in Africa that you politely decline.  Lions don’t like cameras. And they might not be as forgiving as the nurse sharks you encountered.

Big Brother is watching … No, really, he is

I’ve read the memes and I’ve heard the jokes about “big brother” and how he is ever vigilant in watching what everyone does. However, I’ve never really experienced it until this week. Oh, sure, I’ve been known to look at “must haves” on Amazon or Etsy and then suddenly, up pops an ad for the very same thing on my Facebook feed. I think everyone who spends any amount of time online has faced that disturbing scenario.  But … to ramp up the surreal nature of targeted ads, not to mention creep factor, “big brother” upped the ante this week.

My daughter and I were talking … TALKING … about mochi ice-cream (a yummy Japanese ice cream confection made with a traditional mochi outer-layer) in the grocery store as we stood in front of the refrigerated section staring at said product. I’ll admit, we discussed the topic at length, comparing flavors, deciding which was our favorite from past forays into the mochi dessert menus at various Japanese steakhouses, and waffling back and forth as to whether we should buy some now. Not being telepathic, our conversations were verbal. I know that may seem like an odd distinction to make, but it’s important for me that you know that, because I’m convinced it plays into what happened next.

Our phones were off as they dwelled deep within our pockets … there wasn’t a computer to be seen … I didn’t catch sight of a grocery clerk with a clipboard taking notes or a men-in-black representative lurking about, yet the next day, what pops up on my Facebook feed? You guessed it. An ad for mochi ice-cream. And not just ANY mochi ice cream – but the very same brand and two flavors we were looking at in the grocery store.

You tell me. WTF?

 

Steaming up the Shower

Sex has become such a predictable part of novels and movies that it isn’t a matter of if the protagonists are going to get it on, it’s when are they going to get busy.   For me the burning question is, where are our sex-starved lovebirds going to get it on?   It seems no setting is too awkward and no place is off-limits.  I recently watched Jurassic World to familiarize myself with how the movie left off before seeing the next one.  Out of all the special effects, blood, gore, body parts and roaring dinosaurs, one scene struck me as ridiculous.  Towards the end, in a burning street with pterodactyls swooping around them and picking up kids to carry them off for unpleasant pterodactyl things, with dinosaurs thundering towards them while they were covered in dirt, sweat and blood, the protagonists stood atop an overturned car and shared a passionate kiss.  Really?  No matter how much I like the guy, I’m not thinking swallowing tonsils is an appropriate response to rampaging dinosaurs. Maybe that’s why Chris Pratt isn’t knocking down my door.

In staged sex scenes, everything is smooth and perfect.  The bedroom is large enough to house a family of four and their seven cats, three dogs, and parakeet. The participants’ clothes slide off and fold themselves nicely on the chair.  Candles light themselves with no outside help.  The bed is neatly made and no one trips over the comforter.  No one’s head slides between the pillows, and the female never gets her hair stuck under her back or in the male’s armpit.  No one giggles like a child over noises or says “eww.” When it’s over, everyone finds their socks.  Flawless execution, beginning to end.

What really fascinates me are the shower scenes.  Somehow our extraordinarily perfect heroes fit into a perfect shower perfectly.  Where can I find these showers?  I don’t want to have shower sex with anyone, I just want to find a shower that would fit two people in it to begin with. And who the hell has a bathroom the size of my living room? Seriously, I just want their living quarters.

Let’s compare, shall we?

Movie shower scene:

Female is in shower, hair slicked back and sexy with water.  Gentle billows of steam frame her naughty bits as the chiseled male slides back the glass door.  He lifts her effortlessly, pushing her against the wall or pushes her against the glass door for added visual fun for the viewer.  These two are obviously Yoga masters.  They kiss passionately, the deed is done, and suddenly they are having coffee in the kitchen while wearing bathrobes.

Reality:

Female is in the shower with mud mask on her face, shaving her legs while her hair is lathered.  Male pulls aside the shower curtain.  Female protests about the puddles of water now all over the floor.  Male diligently adjusts shower curtain.  He turns to female and attempts to lift her smoothly, but her skin is slippery so…not so much.  They both pretend they meant to stand at the awkward angle in which they now find themselves.  Male reaches around female to lower the temperature of the water.  Female turns it back up.  Both struggle to stay under the spray so no one is left out, shivering in the cold.  Kissing ensues, followed by spitting mouthfuls of water out as sexily as they can.  They turn in the space, about as large as a kitchen cabinet (if you lived in a studio apartment, that is), to find an angle where they can fulfill their shower fantasy.  Bottles of shampoo go flying off shelves, and the shower-caddy is knocked to the floor.  Female ignores it because bending over to pick it up is…not sexy.  She is covertly trying to wipe shampoo from her now burning eyes. Feet are placed in shallow corners of the tub in a vain attempt to balance.  What transpires next depends on the height differences of our heroes, but it probably isn’t pretty.  Afterwards, male plops down in front of TV to watch football while female straightens the bathroom and mops water off the floor.

Couch sex isn’t pretty, either.  Somehow in movies they find couches that are seven feet long and six feet wide.  Our heroes will never know the frustration of sliding pillows, or the victory of finding a Dorito between the cushions.  They won’t hit their shins on the coffee table or knock over the lamp, or know the special joy of a dog trying to get on the couch, too.

Let’s face it, real sex isn’t necessarily pretty.  I honestly don’t want the perfection of movie sex, because the laughter is part of what makes it so enjoyable.  Our heroes never seem to make the mistakes that make sex so fun.

But damn, I would love to have their houses.