Yesterday, I looked nice. Cute dress. Snazzy jewelry. Nice shoes. Meh hair (My hair was supposed to be all cute, but it refused to cooperate and I had to put it in the "bun of shame." I do not like the bun of shame). I even painted my toenails. It happens occasionally. All of this was because I went to a wedding for two of my friends. Two of my friends got married. To each other (a guy and a girl, FYI). Aww. Good times.
I knew that the bridesmaids were all going to be wearing an autumnal shade of red, so I opted to wear a nice chocolate brown dress. When I got to the wedding, I noticed that the ushers, groomsmen, oh, and also the groom, were all wearing handsome chocolate brown suits. So yeah. I thought I was being clever by not matching the bridesmaids, and I ended up matching the groomsmen.
The ceremony was lovely. I helped serve desserts and cut cakes at the reception. Actually, I think a more descriptive term for what I did to those poor cakes might be "massacre." There's a reason--several reasons really--why people shouldn't let me play with knives.
After the happy couple drove off in their shrink wrapped and whipped cream covered car, I helped clean up the room where the reception was held. Wedding aftermath is ridonkulous, but it went by quickly. The couple who got married are such awesome people that they have a LOT of friends who wanted to help, so it actually took less than an hour. I mean, in the world of cleaning up after weddings, that's like a record.
When we were done cleaning up, I found myself standing in the parking lot, chatting with one of the ushers and one of the wedding guests. Both of them were guys. We stood there for an hour until we realized that our chat could be taken to a better venue--like perhaps some place with food and/or a functional restroom. Since it just so happened to be the usher's birthday, I suggested we go out to eat somewhere. And since we are all poor, he settled on Taco Bell.
We drove separately. I arrived at the same time as the usher, but the other guy apparently didn't know any of our awesome short cuts from the church to Taco Bell. Seriously...who doesn't have a map in their heads that charts the best possible routes (and back up routes) from any given point to the nearest Taco Bell? Anyway, my friend and I entered the restaurant to wait for our friend.
As he opened the door for me, my friend said, "Wow. I'll bet people think we're on a date."
I said, "I got all snazzed up and you took me to Taco Bell. This is the Worst. Date. Ever."
That would have only been mildly funny, but at that exact moment, one of the moms and kids I know from the drop-in center where I work walked by. Since someone I knew well enough to be embarrassed in front of, yet not well enough to be able to just play it off, had heard my "Worst. Date. Ever." comment, it made that comment about 25 gazbillion times funnier. I tried to make some small talk with the mom and the kid, but she kept giving us "the look." If you don't know what "the look" is, let me know and I'll write a blog about it sometime. Then she got her food and said, smiling, "You two have fun." "You two" of course, referred to me and my "date."
When our Taco-Bell-Directionally-Challenged friend finally made it to Taco Bell, we were standing there trying to laugh off the awkwardness. The late arriver offered to pay for my "date's" dinner, since it was his birthday. So, he got a free meal, and I had to pay for mine. Worst. Date. Ever. To make matters worse, there was some kind of inexplicable hold-up at the cash register when I went to place my order (the guys went first--Worst. Date. Ever.). So I stood in line for about five minutes AFTER they'd already gotten their food. I'm not sure what the hold-up was. I'm pretty sure the cashier was on some kind of prescription medication, or perhaps she needed to be on some. At any rate, the guys went and sat down while I stood there. Waiting. My "date" eventually came and stood beside me so I wouldn't have to wait by myself, but I think it was at the other guy's suggestion. Really. Worst. Date. Ever.
After I got my food (because I personally had to go pick it up--Worst. Date. Ever.), we did the typical Taco Bell activities. We rejoiced over the fact that there are approximately 53 different flavors of Mountain Dew available at the soda station. We exulted over the existence of sporks (the world is just a happier place with sporks). We played with the salsa and sauce packets with their pithy sayings. And in all actuality, it wasn't a bad "date" at all.
Then my "date" started singing. Out loud. In a restaurant. Which might sound like a bad thing, but it wasn't like Will Ferrell in "Elf" when he started going, "I'm SINGING! I'm in a store and I'm SINGING!" He was actually singing well. And to me. And I said, "Well, this date just got a little better." Then I went and threw my own trash away and drove myself home, thus ending the Worst. Date. Ever. Aww.
To be honest, I'm the sort of girl who would prefer a Taco Bell date to a fancy dinner. Taco Bell isn't my favorite, but there's always Sonic. You know that Sonic commercial with the guy who's like, "YOU'RE A CHEAP DATE!"? Yeah, that's so me. My idea of a fancy restaurant is Applebee's. My idea of a REALLY fancy restaurant is Olive Garden. I mean, they even have cloth napkins! Not that cloth napkins are a foreign idea to me; I typically spend time with people who think their shirt sleeves make excellent napkins. But I digress...
Sometimes I wonder why a girl like me is still single. I figure most guys would want a girl on whom they didn't have to spend a fortune. But I think most of them expect to have to do that, so girls like me just confuse them. See, when you really get down to it, I'm the sort of girl who's so low-maintenance that I'm high-maintenance. Yeah, I'll just let you think that one out for a while.
Incidentally, I do remember my actual Worst. Date. Ever. I went on a blind date with some guy who almost got us kicked out of the theater because he was throwing Gobstoppers at the screen. Thus ended my short-lived career as a blind-dater.
Hmm. I definitely much prefer the fake Worst. Date. Ever.s to the real Worst. Date. Ever.s. In fact, I highly recommend them.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
SAA Ep# 52: The Social Awkward Network
Dear Facebook:
It was cute. The first thirty-seven and a half times, it was adorable. And by "adorable," I mean "slightly annoying, yet eventually predictable." You'd get us hooked on whatever new format you'd created, and then just when everything had settled down again and become the new norm, you'd shake things up and introduce something wildly different and force us to relearn a new way of using you.
Sure, it was fun playing with all the new applications. It was cool being able to instant message while simultaneously checking out that funny pic (that darn Lolrus and his bukkit gets me every time). It was awesome how you taught us all whole new ways to stalk our friends...and their friends. But now you have once again rocked our worlds by screwing with the system that enables us tosocially network network socially waste time online have an electronic social life.
Not cool, Facebook. Not cool. Do you have any idea what kind of anarchy you have caused by not allowing people to easily separate their "top stories" from their "recent stories"? Do you have any idea how dumb it is to even call them "top stories" to begin with, as if all our lives are nothing but headlines on a neverending news show?
Neverending New-ews Show. Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah.... Sorry. I was having an 80's movie flashback. Let's move on.
Yeah, Facebook. You have pretty much caused a rift in the time-space continuum with your latest antics. Maybe that explains why last night, whilst checking my friends' statuses (stati?), I experienced a shift back to the older, happier days of Facebooking. For a few blissful, fleeting moments, I could separate my "top stories" from my "recent stories" without the use of a gazbillion lists that, quite frankly, I don't think I'll ever use. Then, after giving me (and every other Facebook user who was online at the time) a brief taste of classic Facebook joy, you mercilessly reverted back to the new, evil version of Facebook. You crushed our hopes, Facebook! Is that your newest application? Hope crushing!?
And I have to point out that another one of your glitches caused me muy embarrasmento (I can't actually speak Spanish) a few weeks ago. My power was out, so I proceeded to text my status to Facebook, saying that I was forced to take a candlelight shower. You proceeded to have a glitch. The glitch proceeded to cause the status about my taking a shower to repost at least seven times throughout the course of the next twenty-four hours. I didn't know about it because I didn't have electricity/internet access, but oh, my friends at church all mentioned that I probably shouldn't take so many candlelight showers and then post about it on Facebook. I don't usually. I mean, I do take showers, but I don't usually post about them on Facebook. The one time I did, you had a glitch that let everyone know how clean I am...in the candlelight. So thanks for that. Thanks for all the things you do that make my life more awkward.
Jerkface.
Jerkfacebook.
What's that you say? You say that you are free to use, and therefore I have no right to complain? You say that no one is forcing me to continue to use your service? Of course you would say that. But Facebook isn't free. I don't have to use a credit card in order to virtually "poke" someone, but you know that it costs much more than mere money to use you, don't you, Facebook? You have gotten me hooked on you like a vampire hooked on his own personal brand of heroin blood. I am your slave.
So I'm doomed, Facebook. I can't stop using you. You had me at "sign in." You had me at "sign in."
For the socially awkward people like me, Facebook is the only means to having a semblance of a social life. So the only thing for me to do is to just keep using you, despite the ridiculous changes you've made, despite the other ridiculous changes I hear you're about to make. Seriously, Facebook, I've heard that, pretty soon, you're going to know me better than I know myself. And then what? What changes lie in store for us in the Facebook future? One day, are you just going to start reading our minds and automatically uploading whatever random things that pop into our heads. The annoying scroll bar ticker up at the side that never goes away will say: "Facebook has automatically read Ruth Cambpell's mind and updated their (not her, but their, because you obviously think I'm two or more people) status: I like pie." Yeah. That's totally creepy, Facebook. Not only are you enabling us to stalk others with exponentially greater efficiency, but you're also starting to stalk US. And for the record, I do like pie. But you already knew that, didn't you?
And while I'm at it, Facebook, your name is stupid. A book of faces? You're not a book. You're a website. I guess "Facewebsite" is a little too awkward sounding, but then you're getting to be quite the expert on awkward. And, by the way, everytime I hear the name "Mark Zuckerberg" I start thinking about Zuckerman's Famous Pig from Charlotte's Web. And then I start thinking about the "Zuckerman's Famous Pig" song from the old Charlotte's Web cartoon. And then it gets stuck in my head, which is annoying. And then I remember that Charlotte died. And I cry.
See what you did, Facebook? You made me cry.
Why can't I quit you?
Sincerely,
A. R. Campbell
It was cute. The first thirty-seven and a half times, it was adorable. And by "adorable," I mean "slightly annoying, yet eventually predictable." You'd get us hooked on whatever new format you'd created, and then just when everything had settled down again and become the new norm, you'd shake things up and introduce something wildly different and force us to relearn a new way of using you.
Sure, it was fun playing with all the new applications. It was cool being able to instant message while simultaneously checking out that funny pic (that darn Lolrus and his bukkit gets me every time). It was awesome how you taught us all whole new ways to stalk our friends...and their friends. But now you have once again rocked our worlds by screwing with the system that enables us to
Not cool, Facebook. Not cool. Do you have any idea what kind of anarchy you have caused by not allowing people to easily separate their "top stories" from their "recent stories"? Do you have any idea how dumb it is to even call them "top stories" to begin with, as if all our lives are nothing but headlines on a neverending news show?
Neverending New-ews Show. Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah.... Sorry. I was having an 80's movie flashback. Let's move on.
Yeah, Facebook. You have pretty much caused a rift in the time-space continuum with your latest antics. Maybe that explains why last night, whilst checking my friends' statuses (stati?), I experienced a shift back to the older, happier days of Facebooking. For a few blissful, fleeting moments, I could separate my "top stories" from my "recent stories" without the use of a gazbillion lists that, quite frankly, I don't think I'll ever use. Then, after giving me (and every other Facebook user who was online at the time) a brief taste of classic Facebook joy, you mercilessly reverted back to the new, evil version of Facebook. You crushed our hopes, Facebook! Is that your newest application? Hope crushing!?
And I have to point out that another one of your glitches caused me muy embarrasmento (I can't actually speak Spanish) a few weeks ago. My power was out, so I proceeded to text my status to Facebook, saying that I was forced to take a candlelight shower. You proceeded to have a glitch. The glitch proceeded to cause the status about my taking a shower to repost at least seven times throughout the course of the next twenty-four hours. I didn't know about it because I didn't have electricity/internet access, but oh, my friends at church all mentioned that I probably shouldn't take so many candlelight showers and then post about it on Facebook. I don't usually. I mean, I do take showers, but I don't usually post about them on Facebook. The one time I did, you had a glitch that let everyone know how clean I am...in the candlelight. So thanks for that. Thanks for all the things you do that make my life more awkward.
Jerkface.
Jerkfacebook.
What's that you say? You say that you are free to use, and therefore I have no right to complain? You say that no one is forcing me to continue to use your service? Of course you would say that. But Facebook isn't free. I don't have to use a credit card in order to virtually "poke" someone, but you know that it costs much more than mere money to use you, don't you, Facebook? You have gotten me hooked on you like a vampire hooked on his own personal brand of heroin blood. I am your slave.
So I'm doomed, Facebook. I can't stop using you. You had me at "sign in." You had me at "sign in."
For the socially awkward people like me, Facebook is the only means to having a semblance of a social life. So the only thing for me to do is to just keep using you, despite the ridiculous changes you've made, despite the other ridiculous changes I hear you're about to make. Seriously, Facebook, I've heard that, pretty soon, you're going to know me better than I know myself. And then what? What changes lie in store for us in the Facebook future? One day, are you just going to start reading our minds and automatically uploading whatever random things that pop into our heads. The annoying scroll bar ticker up at the side that never goes away will say: "Facebook has automatically read Ruth Cambpell's mind and updated their (not her, but their, because you obviously think I'm two or more people) status: I like pie." Yeah. That's totally creepy, Facebook. Not only are you enabling us to stalk others with exponentially greater efficiency, but you're also starting to stalk US. And for the record, I do like pie. But you already knew that, didn't you?
And while I'm at it, Facebook, your name is stupid. A book of faces? You're not a book. You're a website. I guess "Facewebsite" is a little too awkward sounding, but then you're getting to be quite the expert on awkward. And, by the way, everytime I hear the name "Mark Zuckerberg" I start thinking about Zuckerman's Famous Pig from Charlotte's Web. And then I start thinking about the "Zuckerman's Famous Pig" song from the old Charlotte's Web cartoon. And then it gets stuck in my head, which is annoying. And then I remember that Charlotte died. And I cry.
See what you did, Facebook? You made me cry.
Why can't I quit you?
Sincerely,
A. R. Campbell
Saturday, October 1, 2011
SAA Ep. 51: Cleverly Disguised as a Responsible Adult
I just watched "Finding Neverland." I watched the entire movie. I've only watched it once before (my roommate owns it), and honestly, I didn't like it very much, which is surprising. I love Johnny Depp. I love Kate Winslet. I love Dustin Hoffman, although it was strange seeing him in something Peter Pan related where he wasn't playing the best Captain Hook EVER. On a related note, I also thought I liked Peter Pan. I actually read the book for the first time a few weeks ago, and I was underwhelmed. It wasn't all bad, of course, but after seeing a gazbillion different adaptations of Peter Pan, the book wasn't very magical anymore. And I suspect J. M. Barrie was a better playwright than he was a novelist.
Playwright? Is thatwright? Shouldn't it be playwrite, since a playwright is someone who, you know, writes plays? ...I'm getting off subject. Actually, I was already off subject to begin with, and I've gotten further off subject.
I liked "Finding Neverland" better the second time, though I still can't say it's one of my favorite movies. So, why on a Saturday evening, would I be watching a movie I don't like? I mean, I'm socially awkward and don't have a swingin' social life or anything, but I could always just go to sleep. The older I get, the more exciting it is to go to sleep. Maybe that's why I don't like "Finding Neverland." Maybe it's because I've grown up too much understand it.
Only, I haven't grown up. And that's what this post is actually supposed to be about. I'm getting there.
See, I watched "Finding Neverland" in its entirety because I was looking for one of the quotes in the film. I couldn't find this particular quote online anywhere, and that bothered me. But I really really wanted to get this quote, so I watched the movie. The quote wasn't in the movie. I flipped back through the scenes, thinking I'd just missed it somehow, or perhaps just forgotten which film it was in. Then I remembered.
The quote wasn't actually in the movie. It was in the deleted scenes.
Fail.
I watched an entire hour-and-a-half long movie that I don't even like when I could have watched a minute long clip from the deleted scenes menu. Fail. Fail. Fail.
No wonder I couldn't find the quote online.
Well, now maybe someone can find the quote online, because I'm going to post it:
Michael (small boy): Why haven't you had any children?
J.M. Barrie: Well, that's a very good question that I'm afraid I don't quite know the answer to, but I suppose it's because only grown-ups can have children.
Michael: Oh. All right.
Though I didn't care too much for the film, I remembered this scene (and sort of wish now that they hadn't edited it out). I can relate to this scene. To the innocent bystander, I look like a responsible adult. But I suspect that one of the reasons why the good Lord has not allowed me to (get married and) have children is because...well...maybe you really do have to be a grown-up to have children. And I'm not really a grown-up.
For example, sometimes, when I see a kid I really like (this typically happens to me about 38 times or more in the course of any given day), I start acting a little silly. Kids like that, see. And then the kid starts acting silly. Then I start acting a little sillier. Then the kid starts acting ridiculously silly, and the parent starts fussing at the kid.
And I exit. Stage left.
Then there was this one time a bunch of people I knew met at a park to walk or run. I ran past a family I know pretty well, and the kids suddenly decided they were gonna start running with Miss Ruth instead of staying with their mom.
I admit, somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice said, "Miss Ruth, maybe you should make sure that the mom knows her kids are with you and that they're safe. That would be the responsible adult sort of thing to do." Then the kid in me said, "Nah! They'll be fine! Let's just RUN!"
And I proceeded to literally run off with her kids.
A few minutes later the kids' dad ran up to his kids and said, "Your mom doesn't know where you are. You're supposed to stay with her."
Oops.
So, I've found myself apologizing to parents a LOT for getting their kids in trouble. The parents always say things like, "Oh, it's not your fault. They know better." But my thought is, "Do they? They're kids. I don't really have that excuse. I'm supposedly a responsible adult. I'm the one who is supposed to know better."
I guess you don't have to move to Neverland in order to stay a kid forever. You just have to be a socially awkward superhero.
And I'dwright write more about that, but I just realized there's an old skool Batman rerun on tv! KAPOW!
Playwright? Is that
I liked "Finding Neverland" better the second time, though I still can't say it's one of my favorite movies. So, why on a Saturday evening, would I be watching a movie I don't like? I mean, I'm socially awkward and don't have a swingin' social life or anything, but I could always just go to sleep. The older I get, the more exciting it is to go to sleep. Maybe that's why I don't like "Finding Neverland." Maybe it's because I've grown up too much understand it.
Only, I haven't grown up. And that's what this post is actually supposed to be about. I'm getting there.
See, I watched "Finding Neverland" in its entirety because I was looking for one of the quotes in the film. I couldn't find this particular quote online anywhere, and that bothered me. But I really really wanted to get this quote, so I watched the movie. The quote wasn't in the movie. I flipped back through the scenes, thinking I'd just missed it somehow, or perhaps just forgotten which film it was in. Then I remembered.
The quote wasn't actually in the movie. It was in the deleted scenes.
Fail.
I watched an entire hour-and-a-half long movie that I don't even like when I could have watched a minute long clip from the deleted scenes menu. Fail. Fail. Fail.
No wonder I couldn't find the quote online.
Well, now maybe someone can find the quote online, because I'm going to post it:
Michael (small boy): Why haven't you had any children?
J.M. Barrie: Well, that's a very good question that I'm afraid I don't quite know the answer to, but I suppose it's because only grown-ups can have children.
Michael: Oh. All right.
Though I didn't care too much for the film, I remembered this scene (and sort of wish now that they hadn't edited it out). I can relate to this scene. To the innocent bystander, I look like a responsible adult. But I suspect that one of the reasons why the good Lord has not allowed me to (get married and) have children is because...well...maybe you really do have to be a grown-up to have children. And I'm not really a grown-up.
For example, sometimes, when I see a kid I really like (this typically happens to me about 38 times or more in the course of any given day), I start acting a little silly. Kids like that, see. And then the kid starts acting silly. Then I start acting a little sillier. Then the kid starts acting ridiculously silly, and the parent starts fussing at the kid.
And I exit. Stage left.
Then there was this one time a bunch of people I knew met at a park to walk or run. I ran past a family I know pretty well, and the kids suddenly decided they were gonna start running with Miss Ruth instead of staying with their mom.
I admit, somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice said, "Miss Ruth, maybe you should make sure that the mom knows her kids are with you and that they're safe. That would be the responsible adult sort of thing to do." Then the kid in me said, "Nah! They'll be fine! Let's just RUN!"
And I proceeded to literally run off with her kids.
A few minutes later the kids' dad ran up to his kids and said, "Your mom doesn't know where you are. You're supposed to stay with her."
Oops.
So, I've found myself apologizing to parents a LOT for getting their kids in trouble. The parents always say things like, "Oh, it's not your fault. They know better." But my thought is, "Do they? They're kids. I don't really have that excuse. I'm supposedly a responsible adult. I'm the one who is supposed to know better."
I guess you don't have to move to Neverland in order to stay a kid forever. You just have to be a socially awkward superhero.
And I'd
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