Overachieving

Some life lessons courtesy of the "De-motivators", just in case anyone reading this may need some good advice.



AND....

My brother

So, anyone that knows my brother and I knows that we started off a little rocky. He was the center of the universe and then I came along all dirty and whiny and I stole his thunder. For the first 10 years or so we spent our days fighting, manipulating each other, and smacking each other (someone had to sit in between us when we went somewhere in the car, so this meant that we were smacking each other OVER the person in the middle ). One of us would annoy the other, some sort of physical violence would ensue, and then I would implement the whining technique. This happened over and over for years. Our mom even cancelled Mother's Day one year because the two of us couldn't stop fighting long enough to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. There are a ton of pictures of us as kids because the only way we would instantly stop strangling each other was if my Mom pulled out the camera. Most of the pictures you can see James has a tight grip around my neck area.... Anyway, for years I have replayed all of the stories of James trying to kill me. Flinging me off the hammock (claims it was an "accident"), rolling me down the stairs in a suitcase (claims I "volunteered"), and even closing me in the garage door (still haven't actually heard the explanation for that one...). I realized I haven't told the stories about how he became a really great big brother. I was reminded of this because if you read the last blog, I was having a statistics meltdown. James sat on the phone with me for a long time and told me exactly what to do, and if it weren't for him, I don't think I would have gotten my work done in time. It reminded me of a time when I was starting high school. We went to a high school that was the size of a community college and it had a huge campus with many buildings. I had been sick the day my middle school got a tour and I had never stepped foot on the campus until my first day of 9th grade. I was so scared I wouldn't be able to find my classes. So, the night before, James drew me a map and a little course of how to get from one class to another. The next morning, he drove me to school (he was a senior) and I went on my own, terrified. There was one class I was particularly worried about finding. But, I pulled out the map, followed the line, and I found the room. I sat down in the class and I was so anxious because it was high school and there were a million kids everywhere, and I was lost all the time. I looked up and saw James looking through the window of the classroom. He had stopped by to make sure I had gotten there ok.
Even now when I remember that day I get teary because it was just the nicest thing. Following in Salkin tradition, when I looked up and saw him I did start crying a little and I immediately thought, oh this is great. First day of high school and I am going to be known as the girl that cries for no reason....
But anyway the point is that my brother stopped trying to kill me a long time ago, and I am so glad that we are friends. I just look at the first ten years as a hazing ritual...and now i'm in the gang...

I hate doing statistics.

I don't hate statistics- in fact, I like statistics. I like knowing useless information like how much the average human head weighs or how many people can chew gum AND rub their stomachs at the same time. I like that crap. HOWEVER. I do not like doing it. I prefer to read about it in a magazine or the newspaper but certainly not create it myself on my very own Excel spreadsheet. Which brings me to my next topic. My fiery hot hatred for Excel. I am sure it is a brilliant program and I am happy that whomever calculates the average head weight has it in their toolbelt. I however wish I had never heard of it. Like all of the other things that we choose not to learn about. When I flush the toilet, I don't wonder where exactly it goes...just as long as it goes. Same thing with Excel spreadsheets. I don't care how the people who come up with random and important statistics come up with them. That doesn't concern me. They should all be underground using this program in secret.
I have homework due in 24 hours that involves this Excel spread sheet and I actually getting along. Right now, we are not speaking eachothers language. I say something, and then it does something totally opposite of what I thought I was asking (one of my favorites being shutting down completely...love that.) I know it is not the spreadsheet's fault that I am a moron with A.D.D. and can't stand doing this crap on a Sunday afternoon. I know. But it still doesn't get to avoid my fiery hot hatred for it. If I could turn my spreadsheet into a physical thing I would tar and feather it first. Then I would burn it's edges...slowly. Finally, I would tell it that it can either make the elusive "data analysis" option that I CAN'T FIND ON MY FRICKEN COMPUTER appear, or it will be taking a flying leap out of my fourth story window...flaming all the way down. In my little fantasy it caves under the pressure, stops hiding the data analysis option, and I go about my spreadsheet work with uninterrupted cooperation. Oh I hope all of my Excel dreams come true.

19,900 Days

I was forwarded an e-mail yesterday that had a link to a website that calculates your approximate life expectancy. So, I went out of curiosity. I answered all of the questions honestly, and to my surprise, my actual age right now is around 20- instead of almost 25. At the very end, it informed me that I should expect to live around another 19,900 days.
Anyone that knows me well knows that I have a little bit of a death phobia...well actually, not really a phobia because that would suggest it's an irrational fear, and who isn't a little worried about dying? So when I was given this number of days I sat there for a minute and tried to decide if that sounded like a lot of days or not. How do you wrap your brain around almost 20,000 days? I can't really picture it. Even though it's a huge number, my first instinct was to be like, "oh my god. There's a estimate. I am going to die and it will only be in 19,900 days." Then I thought, "would it be cheating if I rounded up to 20,000? I mean that is almost 1/3 of a year...". I really almost flew into a panic about what seemed to be a new countdown that had begun in my head. Then I stopped panicking (don't know how that happened), and started thinking about all of the possible things that can happen in my remaining days. On my birthday in two months I will have been alive for approximately 9,131 days. That means I am around a third of my way through life. To think about all the crazy things I have already done with my "used" days...I can only imagine how exciting the next 20,000 (ok, I AM rounding up) will be. All the places i'll go and people i'll meet...I just hope it doesn't slow down. You know when you're a little kid how you have your hands in everything? you do everything and try everything. If something looks like fun you whine until eventually you get to try it? I hope that curiousity and desire to participate in life never goes away.
On another note...I calculated Isabelle's days...she only has 3,652 days left to vomit on my stuff and eat lint off the floor. I told her but it didn't seem to phase her. She seems ok with it. This also means that my "new, pretty couch" has approximately 3,652 days to avoid being the victim of any number of Isabelle's projectile incidents. Lets keep our fingers crossed.

Here is the link if you want to give yourself a mid-life crisis...

http://www.peterrussell.dreamhosters.com/Odds/RealAge.php

Holy Cow.

Have you ever stopped to think about how many things you are storing inside your 8lb head all at once? There is so much stuff...I need to go to the store, don't forget the milk. I have this, this, this, and this due by Friday. Dinner with Mom on Sunday. Take the dog for a walk. Do the laundry- oh yeah, don't forget detergent at the store. Pay utility bill. I wonder how so and so is doing? I should call her. Why isn't my internet working? maybe I should call the tech support people. What should I wear today?
And that's all the superficial life stuff. That doesn't even count the small traumas that pop up here and there- or the ones that linger around for a while until you feel like you're suffocating in your own skin. Don't worry, i'm not losing it. But, I kind of was this weekend. There is so much piling up. I took off and went with friends up to the mountains. My best friends. And they did a great job. They taught me how to play beer pong and I partied like I was 18 and really immature, but it was fun. However, my brain was still running, running, running. I am the kind of person who can sleep anywhere, anytime. But when I am worried I can't sleep. So by the time I got home yesterday, I was still working on getting rid of a hangover, and I had gotten 6 hours of sleep in 36 hours. And I was still worried. Now, worrying runs in my family like anything else you can get from your parents. We are experts at it. There are generations and generations of worriers that have passed down the perfected technique. Needless to say, I was kind of a mess yesterday. As I was driving down the mountain all I wanted to do was turn around and go right back up, hide a little bit more.
BUT that is not the point to this rambling blog. The point is that I finally fell asleep last night and got a good 7 hours. When I woke up this morning, the weather was cold and grey- just like I like it. I put on make-up for the first time in 4 days. I realized that it is really amazing how much a good nights sleep and some make-up can change your whole perspective on things. I feel rejuvenated and I am going to stop worrying like a crazy person, quiet my head, and do one thing at a time.
It just seems so funny to me that with all of that stupid stuff running through our heads all the time, it would only be right if something equally stupid made it all seem ok- like putting on make-up. I sometimes wonder if life is one big cosmic joke.

Country Fair

I was in Massachusetts and Connecticut this past weekend. I went there for a wedding (which was wonderful, and so fun to see all my family). The day before the wedding I was in Connecticut with my friend from Italy. She took me to a country fair in Woodstock, CT. It was so entertaining. Between the food, the animals, and the people, there was a lot to see. First, I saw some 900 lb, blue ribbon winning pumpkins. These things were amazingly huge. Next, we saw the tractor pull. I don't really understand the draw of this "sport". I mean, I can wrap my brain around men fixing up their tractors and trying to pull irrelevant, heavy crap. That part makes total sense to me, I mean, they're guys. They have to find some way to spend time doing something that involves breaking things with great force or pulling things. But the audience sucked. I mean, there were no hoots, no hollers. Just silence as these old men on tractors pulled a pile of cement rectangles (I'm sure they have a real name). I was standing there with my funnel cake thinking, "we need some audience participation here". I didn't even like the tractor pull and I felt like they needed a mascot or something.
Anyway, it was really fun. It was great to see Michelle and drive around the country towns. It was also great being in Boston and seeing all my family. Overall, it was a good weekend with some interesting events molded into one.