Superpower Fail

My apologies, dear readers, for the radio silence. Contrary to what you may have heard, I did not fall into a volcano (I swear, that wasn’t me). Although, you know, that might not be a bad thing compared to a week of team building. You see, I’ve spent the last week at a company retreat. And while there will be more on this in the coming days (lucky you!), for now, I just wanted to share with you that my talent for choosing the wrong line extends to airports. Oh yeah, it’s most definitely my superpower.

said no-one ever.

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My Introvert Life – Log Entry 57816

Stardate 20220705 – Time: Limbo

Yesterday began like any other day off from work.  I got up, fixed my coffee, and plopped down to read my book. Before I could finish a chapter, I was interrupted by the neighbor’s dog barking at the mailman. How cliché right? But every day like clockwork. Same time, rain or shine, hail or snow.

I ordered myself a personal cheese pizza from the new restaurant in town but just like last week, it was 20 minutes late, cold, and stuck to the roof of the box. Talk about déjà vu. It was kind of tasty though. I mean, hey, I’m not going to waste pizza.

In the afternoon, I had the displeasure of running a few errands. Where the people are. I didn’t want to. I had to. It was one of those, out of everything situations. It was as awful as I imagined it would be.  I hit every single red light on the way back home and as I sat there thinking about it, I realized that I don’t think I’ve ever not hit every red light coming back home. No matter where I’ve been or what time of day it might be. It’s just a talent I have. Like picking the wrong line.

I pulled into my driveway too many hours later.  Okay, fine, it probably wasn’t hours. But it was entirely too long, I’ll tell you that much. Ugh. My neighbor’s dog is at it again. Give it a rest Bruno, mail came like 5 hours ago. The mail carrier can’t hear you. Although… maybe they can. You’re certainly loud enough. Sheesh. That’s why we don’t talk about Bruno. Cause he’s an annoying little shit who won’t shut up.

In the evening, a light salad for dinner, favorite TV show at 8:00 p.m., followed by a bubble bath with a glass of wine. Oh, who am I kidding… I had leftover pizza and a sleeve of Oreos. A shower and Bailey’s on the rocks while flipping through the channels looking for The Nanny. It’s a routine!  I can’t break up a perfectly good routine.

The next thing I remembered was becoming entranced by late-night infomercials. No kidding, at 1:00 a.m. someone was trying to sell me grip tape for a boat that I do not have. And I almost went for it. It’s not like I couldn’t reach the remote, either. I’m just easily entertained by infomercials and alien documentaries.

At 1:30 a.m., I learned that with this small device that looked like a cross between a coffee mug and one of those Scrubbing Bubbles guys, I could easily dice veggies for my nightly salads with nothing more than a few slaps and bops. If I ate nightly salads, that is. I don’t think it works on pizza. Does it? No!  No, I mean, come on, who on Earth pays $24.99 shipping? Do they think I’m a fool!?

At 2:00 a.m., I was offered all my favorite love songs from the 70s and 80s on 10 complete CDs. What a bargain! Which made me wonder where the hell my portable CD player got to. Couldn’t find it. But that’s okay. I think I know where it is and I’ll look again tomorrow. In the meantime, I did come across a very cool Mad Libs book that was in a box in the back of the closet, only half done! I need to put that somewhere where I’ll remember it for when company comes over. Who doesn’t love Mad Libs?

By the time I was done rummaging around, the infomercials were over and a new show was on. Oh, hey, would you look at that… the aliens really did build the pyramids. Because of course they did. What other explanation could there be!?

A Case of Premature Excitement

As we all know, Facebook and other social media count on algorithms to present ads to their audience. I have no idea what the hell I’ve been looking at for this product ad to come up in my social media feed… BUT I was excited for a minute thinking I had my people problem solved. Disappointing to say the least. False advertising if you ask me.

 

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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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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.