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Results tagged “crazy”

I often find myself watching my brain at work, puzzling over its various quirks. Note that I say *it*. Julia Sweeney mentioned something of the kind in Letting Go Of God, that we seem perversely incapable of viewing these innerworkings as being ourselves. My brain is a little machine, it isn't me. Except that it is. And I am afraid that I am not possessed of a sleek and efficient device like my MacBook laptop. No, my brain unfortunately more closely resembles a particularly badly-designed Rube Goldberg contraption, clicking away with little marbles and dominoes flying every which way. Kinda interesting if you are into the whole steampunk world, but not terribly useful if you are trying to take an exam on Etruscan politics or recall all the Roman emperors in order.

One of the things that most amuses me is my word recall. I have a pretty extensive vocabulary due to the many, many books I have read over the years. But it's not very accessible, as each word requires a tiny brain hamster to crawl through a maze, down a zigzag ramp, ride an elevator up, and then swing through the air to the correct elevated platform and ring the red bell. The yellow bell means the hamster gets flattened by a large Monty Python foot, and - alas - my brain hamsters are not too bright and I have lost many of them to the foot, resulting in me standing slack-jawed in the middle of a conversation and completely at a loss for words.

SteamPunk Brains...

But, thankfully (I guess), I can usually manage to retrieve a word from this process. Most often not the right word, but a word nonetheless. And it's generally a word that is pretty close to almost being what I wanted, so if I send the hamster back a few times more I can sometimes find the RIGHT ONE. I wrote down some examples from today.

Searching...
1) dog-tagged. NO
2) dog-earred. NO
3) ear-marked. YES!

Searching...
1) black list. NO
2) white wash. NO
3) blackmailed. YES!

As I'm sure you can see, this means that most conversations with me can be quite entertaining as I dance around (sometimes quite literally) trying to find the right word. And then a hamster dies and it all comes to a painful, stuttering halt.

This is why I prefer to use email. And why I never answer my phone (sorry, Mom and Dad!).

I hate shopping. I am only subjecting myself to the torture this month because I really need a Nice Dinner Dress. I don't have a nice dinner dress already because, well, I am not the sort of person you invite over for a nice dinner. Not unless you really want dear Auntie Margaret to start screaming across the table in the middle of the soup course that human race is - as a whole - going straight to hell and that soulless whore with blue hair is the one leading the way.

This is not my Nice Dinner Dress

I bought my one and only formal dress on eBay seven years ago (because I mean it - I *really* hate shopping). And when I was invited to a wedding a few months back, I realized how ghastly inappropriate it was for nice events. I really didn't mean to upstage the bride. She was lovely. But the complete train wreck that was my outfit was hard to look away from. I don't have a photo, but to give you some idea, I really gravitate toward dresses like this and this. But the dress I wore was much more scant and revealing. Sharon Stone would have been ashamed.

So I need a new dress. There are company parties to go to, parties where I don't want to embarrass my Significant Other, or at least not more than he's used to. And I am not really that picky. I'd like something comfortable. Something that fits both formal events and the less-than-formal parties common in Seattle (where a t-shirt is still acceptable attire at a five-star restaurant). Something that doesn't scream slutty tasteless teenager *or* dowdy old grandmother. Something in a nice color. Something I can wear with a bra.

But after walking through the entire mall and looking in EVERY store, I realized that fashion was not in my favor this year. Pretty much all of them violated one of the rules above. Especially because strapless appears to be the big style indicator this season.

I mean, I've seen those stupid fashion shows on TV with the bitchy british blondes or Tim Gunn, offering all this advice to girls about what they should wear and how fashion is your friend. Fashion is *not* your friend. Not unless your friends are catty debutantes who talk about you behind your back and deliberately suggest outfits that make your butt look fat, just so they will look nicer by comparison. Fashion is about conformity. Conformity in color, body shape, height, quality (or lack thereof). Fashion is about buying that $500 dress at Nordstrom because everyone knows where you got it and how much it cost, and no one cares that it was made in a third-world country by sewing-challenged four-year-olds. It won't fit you nicely. It won't be a pretty color. But it will cost a lot of money. And it will probably fall apart after wearing it once, which is - let's face it - exactly what it's supposed to do.

And I am just ranting to properly express how much I hate this entire shopping industry. It's not just the act of shopping, you see, but the advertising, the sales staff, the restricted yearly color palette, the shabby end product. It's all crap. My favorite pieces of clothing have - universally - been the ones I made myself. And I am not so great with a sewing machine.

But in all my miserable search for a half-decent dress I did manage to stumble across something online the other day. In fact, this was not just a dress that I could settle on because I am tired of shopping - this was my dream dress. I loved the color. I loved the style. With minimal tinkering I could make it work with a bra. And it was a even a little quirky and playful, but dignified enough to meet a VP or two. But it's a fucking Gaultier. And it's $500.

I can't spend $500 on a dress. That is more than my entire wardrobe combined. Including shoes. It's not that I don't have $500; this is a moral dilemma thing. I am not that girl. That Sex-In-The-City girl who spends more on shoes than rent. But what if this is the only dress I like? What if there is an ocean of crap out there at the acceptable $200 and this is the only shining star? Or will this be the start of an avalanch of irresponsible spending? Will I follow this purchase with the $1500 bookcase that I've been drooling over? Will I run up my credit cards and burn down my house and find myself exactly where I was seven years ago: homeless, recklessly in debt, with no one to turn to.

*sigh*

I think there's a fine line between frugal and psychotically paranoid.

Everyday when I go home southbound on 405, I am alarmed by the sight - out of the corner of my eye - of a man standing by the freeway wall.  Since I am usually driving 60 MPH... okay, 70 MPH, and I have little desire to vear into other lanes while twisting my head to take a second look, I had never quite seen the man closely.  But I could tell you that he was fairly tall, wore faded blue jeans and a white shirt, and was standing, watching the traffic pass.

Well, the other day, after many months of passing the man, traffic was a bit congested from the rain and I was going slow enough that I decided to take a good look at the man as I went by.  Turns out it was a gray-blue access door with a little white stick-figure man symbol painted at the top.

I find it amusing that I was able to subconsciously (or even below the subconscious), process this figure in the second it flashed past, identify it as man, in blue and white, and then hand the data to my conscious brain which then added all the rest.  And it's even more amusing that even now - when I know perfectly well it is just a door with a tiny white man symbol - I continue to see the man every day when I drive past.  I'm waiting for someone else to see him and swerve in alarm.  Or maybe it's just me.

Addendum 02-16-2006: Okay, so I was behind some really slow bastard yesterday and I got another look at the man.  Turns out the man on the sign is RED with a white background.  So I am just crazy.  More on that later...