09.28.09
Observations, Trots, And A Party In The U.S.A.
Ok, so, I’m not typically one to complain. Really. I don’t do it…unless it’s absolutely necessary. I like to take life in stride, turn lemons into a martini, and challenge bad days with a good attitude. However, I think it’s totally ok to make “observations” about life in general. You know, not being negative, but just simply observing. And if those observations just happen to be from a critical standpoint, well, it’s only natural. All our lives, from report cards and parent-teacher conferences at school, to performance evaluations at work, people complain—I mean, make observations about us. That being said, why shouldn’t I have the opportunity to give my two cents as well? By the way, I’ll need those two cents back after you’re done reading. After all, we are in a recession.
The other day, I was at Kohl’s, minding my own business, trying on clothes in the dressing room, when a father brought two little girls into the stall next to mine. Hearing those shrill little voices brought a smile to my face—initially. But after two minutes of hearing them scream, I was ready to call my doctor to set up an appointment for me to be both spayed and neutered. However, before I could make that call, a leg began poking underneath the stall. Eventually, that leg was replaced by an arm and followed by a comment about my socks. As I waited patiently for the father to make the little girls get up off the floor—which was so dirty I’m surprised we all didn’t catch swine flu just from looking at it—I then saw two sets of blue eyes staring up at me. Let’s just say I’m glad that I’m one of those guys who always wear underwear. Although I totally appreciated the second opinions they gave on my outfit choices, the situation made me wonder about leash laws and the parents who don’t obey them. Usually, I like to undress in private. But if I’m going to be watched, I want to be paid and called “Chocolate Thunder” or “Cinnabon” just like everyone else. No freebies!!! Not even for kids!!! As I mentioned, we’re in a recession.
The next item on my agenda is writers who claim they will do an article or update their blog every week, getting you all wrapped in their little lives, but then a month goes by and…oh…wait a minute…my last piece was…hmm…maybe I shouldn’t speak on that. Let’s just forget I brought it up.
Anyway, my last article/blog had to do with my turning 30. Well, besides the fact that I can now be a spokesperson for Ben Gay and orthopedic shoes, I’m actually ok with getting older. What I’m not ok with is all of the changes one has to make when embarking on that journey. Now, as opposed to being able to order anything off the menu, I have to worry about calorie and salt content and whether my food choices will give me the trots. Instead of the menu reading “fries,” it reads “heart attack” and “hypertension” with a side of “indigestion.” And sure, I can have that piece of cake if I want to; but if I do, there’s a chance that I won’t be able to fit into my khakis—or my front door—later.
Moving right along, as you know, many people are all up in arms about the spreading of germs and bacteria. People who have never washed their hands before are now thrilled by the many wonders of soap and water. In fact, my job delivered bottles of hand sanitizer and alcohol wipes to all employees just the other day. I thanked them for their concern and asked for a gift card instead—they turned me down. But I digress. The problem with all of this extra precaution is that everyone hasn’t gotten the memo. This includes some of my favorite eating spots where the cashiers actually put on gloves before taking money and wear those same gloves to make food. Now, I have a heart. Of course, I’d hate to expose the non-friendly cashiers at the bowling alley to whatever fungi are romping around and playing hopscotch on my dollar bills, but I don’t really care to have those critters spread across my sandwich for extra flavor. I mean, it’s not relish. And all that time I was wondering why my fries tasted like old nickels. But, hey, maybe it’s not their fault. Maybe some sort of class or degree should be offered in proper glove usage. I certainly hope Obama looks into this.
Next, I’d like to make an observation about school and how it’s totally cutting into my quality TV-watching time. How am I supposed to keep up with current events—like Grey’s Anatomy—if I’m bogged down with homework? I realize that this is partly my fault for wanting to do something with my life and make some sort of contribution to the world, but don’t teachers realize the importance of our knowing whether Paula will show up and push Ellen out of her judge chair on American Idol? I mean, the study of Shakespeare and the Elizabethan Renaissance has its place in society, I’m sure, but that was like twenty years ago and no one is ever going to ask me a question about that during a job interview. However, knowing who got voted off Dancing With The Stars may be a good conversation starter and could help me to explain why I’m two hours late because I overslept due to watching it. And just to clarify, I’m not complaining. I’m just stating facts.
Lastly, I’d like to complain—make an observation—about my alleged “friends” on Facebook. A week or so ago, I made an innocent confession about my liking “Party In The U.S.A.” by Miley Cyrus and it was as if I’d announced that I’d gotten a Hannah Montana tattoo or something…which I haven’t…yet. Now, I’ll admit that there are some weeks where I’d like to vote the somehow-still-16 Miley Cyrus off the island, but I can appreciate a catchy hook when I hear one. I think what hurts the most is that no one would support me at what was obviously a very low point in my life. Don’t people know a cry for help when they see one? Well, anyway, it’s good to know who my real friends are. And between you and me, I know that YOU like it too. It’s ok. I’m not here to judge. You no longer have to hide your true feelings and whisper the lyrics from the darkest corners of your closet. After all, sing it with me, “It’s A Party In The U.S.A.”
Michael Rochelle
Access my full blog: www.justmichael.net/blog
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