Going Up, In or Pee?

I am going to go out on a limb and say that we, as humans, all want to have one big ol' original idea. Something that we think of that nobody before us has had the mental capacity to conceive. Something so big, so bold and soooo inventive that minds all over the hemisphere will be blown. (east or west, north or south depending completely on where you are at said conception of idea). (and yes, I give parenthetical thoughts their own sentence space. equality guys.)

But in my experience, most of the big, problem solving solutions I have witnessed have been exactly the same. So to you my dear readers, I pose a question:

Why is it, that when you walk up to an elevator, and see two or more people waiting for it, why do 85% of you push the button? Do you think that in the past 30plus seconds I have been waiting, that it honestly has not occurred to me to press the 'up' or 'down' button? If I could read your mind in the moments leading up to the unnecessary second push, would I hear--

 Heya...why uh, why are all these people standin' here? Huh. Seems weird. I wonder if they're waiting to leave the ground floor. Why are they just staring at the elevator door like that? Its not here. Don't they know you have to summon the lifting machine? Fools. Lemme give them a hand.--

and then the sound of a button being pressed? Would I??? You are not inventing the wheel here. No one is going to lift you onto their shoulders and carry you onto the elevator and chant your name for the next eight floors. Well, probably not...

Its even worse when you are waiting outside a locked classroom, or conference room, or a locked meeting place of any sort. Because chances are you know the asshole who walks up and greets you, and then proceeds to try and open the door. Which is really just a personal slap in the face. I mean, its one thing if its an impersonal slap from a stranger, but another thing altogether when its a person you know. Because then you have to assume that that person thinks, on some level, that you are in idiot. That maybe all these years you have gone through life not knowing what those shiny, silver, twisty things on doors are. Or maybe they think you aren't physically strong enough to push the door open. And that makes you feel sad on the inside and pissed off on the outside.

The one exception to the rule is when you're waiting in line for a stall in the bathroom. Girls are stupid about that for whatever reason. All the doors close on their own ladies. I promise you that a ghost is not using the toilet. Haunting it, maybe, but they can't pee. Thats a fact. So don't be offended when I bypass the line and walk down the stall isle, pushing open door after door, while playing theme music in my head to make a point. And don't think I'm rude when I shout "TA DA" when I throw open the last door and take a bow before going inside. Its just charming theatrics and I think I earned it.

Snacks on a Plane

The concept of an airport is pretty simple. There is this big building where a bunch of planes are parked. At certain times everyday, those planes will hoist themselves up into the air, and by some scientifically sound magic, the metal bird will hurl itself to its destination, where it will then smoothly (more or less) return to the ground and park at another huge building. We, as people needing to go someplace, throw down a couple hundred dollars to reserve a spot on the metal tube at a said time and place. The object of the game is to be inside the metal contraption before it departs. Easy right?

Now just hold on. There are rules. No game is fun if its too easy. You have to pass a test first, you know, to prove you really want it. You must pass through a gate. Its a lot like a combination of 'operation' and 'don't wake daddy'. You cannot touch the sides of the portal and you also cannot set the alarm off by having any metal on your person, or any shoes on. You must also send your bag through the Cave of Wonders. The bag cannot contain weapons, liquids over 3oz, or... no, thats about it. THOSE ARE THE ONLY RULES. But, a lot of people lose.

Flying is the worst. For me. Wait... okay, this is what I mean: Other people flying is the worst. For me.

Yeah, thats it. I hate people who don't know how to travel like competent human beings. If you're reading this and thinking to yourself, "I've never been on an airplane... Maybe I should go?" No. Stay where you are forever. Spare us all. Or, at the very least, give me a heads up to stay home whilst you attempt to go away. I have had my fair share of terrible airport experiences that are unrelated to other people:
1) The time I spent 16 hours in the Dallas airport trying to get on a flight.
2) The time I got a flight out of the Dallas airport and had to sit with a Rotwieler.
3) The time I spent 21 hours in the Seattle airport.
4) The time 'Battlestar Galactica' wouldn't load in the Seattle airport.

So when I went home last month, I had one of the most trying experiences to date.

I am in no way a pleasant person at 5am. I am even less of a gem when I am running on two hours of sleep. And I have NO patience for women who find it necessary to wear strappy, lace up, espadrille-esque shoes from hell through security. If they take 10min to put on, chances are they will take 10min to take off, so plan ahead lassies. So finally, after three strollers, a suitcase full of haircare products and a woman with a titanium hip, I got to my gate. As many of you know, SouthWest Airlines likes to take your travel as an opportunity to practice grade school procedures involving lines and numbers. So the gate becomes a mob of people attempting to achieve some sort of order. But no one wants to directly communicate with anyone and no one wants to be last. So one unlucky person becomes the line leader of a parade of incompetence. No, it wasn't me. I was busy shaking my head at the mother who allowed her six year old a glass snapple bottle that she then dropped and shattered, sending the contents splattering across the already sticky floor. Ugh.

Now I am on the plane. And theres and empty row! Oh joy of joys! So I settle in by the window and prepare for my well deserved nap. Suddenly, I feel some pressure all along my left side. I look over and what do I see? Nothing. Just navy blue. When I gather my wits I realize it is in fact a very large woman who wants to share my seat. I didn't pay for half of a seat, and I KNOW she did not pay for a seat and a half. But what could I say? "Excuse me ma'am, but is there any way you could get your excess body mass out of my seat and off of my thigh?" I am pretty sure that would be rude. Also she snored. And all I could think about was if this plane went all 'LOST' on us, I would still have the great misfortune of being on the same side of the island as this woman. yeesh.

I think perhaps I would prefer to share my plane with snakes and not humans. Sammy L. J, hook me up? At least SouthWest has snacks. I want some "mother f****** snacks on this mother f****** plane!" (get it? nailed it.)

Stop me if I'm rambling...

Some people view crawling back into bed at 4:00 in the afternoon as an admittance of defeat. Like the day beat you, so you have no choice but to give up and get your sorry ass back into bed. I disagree. I see the return to the best place ever as a sign that the day is going well and the only thing that could possible make it better is some attempted nap time. Taking a swing at a nap is shouting to the world 'Hey! I have great time management skills and the confidence that I'm not forgetting anything important.'

So I'm taking a victory nap. Okay, I'm not. I don't nap. I just can't do it. It's probably because I am not a very evolved human. The more I think about it the more it becomes clear that evolutionarily speaking I am not doing too well. I'm short, just like the humans of yore. The whole trend of people getting bigger is not affecting me. At all. I have no tolerance for the sun, which I feel is something we should have all developed by now. It has been around forever. I am pretty sure I only have 'flight' instincts. Most people can now fight their instincts and enjoy scary movies or haunted houses and power through the fear, but my body is so stuck in the cave-man days that if I sense any danger I am sooooo outta there. My body is physically incapable of learning the proper way to type on a keyboard because on I primal level I reject technology. I think my appendix is useful and pulling its weight as far as being a functioning organ goes. And then, of course, theres the whole 'I can only sleep in the nighttime' thing. Because my inner self knows I should be up farming, or gathering things, or whatever, while the sun is out. In pokemon terms, maybe I need a firestone or moonstone or something to evolve? But if pokemon taught me anything, its that if you are happy being a pleasant little charmander, don't try to evolve into a charmeleon or charizard because then you will become really rude and no one will like you.

But thats not what I wanted to talk about. I want to talk about the new bed I got, and how I think it is too firm. Is it? I really don't know. I am doubting all I know to be true. Its comfy, and I slept fine on it, but I am so used to my super old, worn in the middle, mushy gushy mattress I can't tell. Its not a pillowtop, so maybe thats the problem? Are we supposed to know what makes a good bed and what doesn't? Am I at an age where I should be worrying about my back? Can I get a focus group over here and everyone take a turn testing the bed and let me know? Will it get softer over time? The cat likes it, but he also sleeps in the bathtub, so he doesn't get an opinion. Taking it back or exchanging it would be a big decision. I'll sleep on it. (see what I did there? good one right?)

This is the biggest stressor in my life right now. Guys, it is SO hard being me.

Guys, for real, I'm suuuuuuper busy.

So, as I am sure all of you (and by all of you I mean very few of you) have noticed, I haven't posted anything in quite some time. And I have a really good reason for that. I've been busy. 

Were you aware that when you get super stressed out and have a whole lot going on, only the really important things in your life get priority. And when i say 'important', i really mean to say, all the things you hate doing, but still have to do. It's true. Look it up. So amidst all the working two jobs, and the apartment hunting, and the packing, and the moving, and the unpacking, and the drinking, and the general merriment of the past two months, my writing has been on the back burner. The back burner has still been lit, but its been on more of a 'simmer' setting to keep from burning. But I'm back guys! Full force! Contain yourselves. 

Moving, am I right?!   

But for real. It's the worst. Especially when the place your moving into doesn't have an expiration date because you're preeeeety sure you are where you want to be for the foreseeable future. So all of a sudden this place you wanna live is actually going to be your real life, grown up home. So now location is an issue. Proximity to work seems to matter. Where do all my friends live again? Living next to them might be nice. So there are all the things that matter to take into consideration. Then, thee are the things that don't matter, but you have decided they do.

"Oh, I don't know. I mean its nice, but that's a Chase Bank on the corner?"

"Is there a lot of natural light? I'm used to living under an open sky."

"Yeah, I see the Chrysler Building and the Freedom Tower, but there's nothing we can do about the high rise that blocks the Empire State? Because if I don't know what color lights it's sporting tonight, how do I know what holiday it is??"

I'm kidding. About one of those. The biggest problems that will face you and your Caleb when you move are going to be closet space, counter space, cabinet height and shelves. In our new place, I have a great closet, no counter space and I can't reach any of the cabinets. I feel like the last one Caleb intentionally chose because he doesn't like me playing hunter and gatherer with his groceries. Which I just don't understand. 

Then there's the packing. Which seems fine before you actually start doing it. Then it becomes like this really long winded magic trick that no one is sure you're going to be able to pull off. Including you. You discover stuff you never knew you had, as well as things you will never know what you kept. The best way to avoid cleaning your apartment is to move out of it. Somehow, we made it work and paid two hipsters a bajillion dollars to move all our stuff. Because if I have learned one thing from my cherished and brief time lived as a privileged princess, 'don't do anything you can pay someone to do for you.' So that was my last big hurrah, seeing as now I'm back to being Cinderella pre-ball. Or I guess, post-ball, pre-wedding. When she's poor guys, get it?

But we persevered! We are in a great apartment in Long Island City, right off of 4 trains and within walking distance to culture and eating. No one is killing chickens on our street, or partying to latin techno at 3 in the morning. Our super even speaks english. The smell of latin food has been replaced by the permeating smell of curry. And we are finally moved in! After three trips to ikea in 10 days, we are also unpacked.  We made our first big, grown up, long term roommate relationship purchase of a couch, and here we are! We even bought Barry a new litter box. He didn't know how to thank us, so he peed on a pillow. How sweet. 

So that's where I am right now in life. Getting settled, watching Sherlock, working my butt off, doing improv and sometimes getting to have some semblance of a social life. 

Don't Take Advice from 'Queen'.

There are few things in life I really hate. Well, thats not true. There are a lot of things in life I really hate. But most things I get to hate from afar, so it's really not that big of a deal for me. I hate fish, but they live in the ocean, so it's fine. I hate mimes, but they live in France, so it's not really a daily concern. I hate 'Ugg Boots', but winter is rumored to be ending, so I guess I can deal. I hate bicyclists, but... but they're everywhere, so it is a big deal. It's a HUGE deal! It is the biggest deal of my day to day existence.

Now, I want to clarify, as I usually do. I don't hate bikes. Nah. Bikes? Bikes are fine. I enjoy a leisurely bike ride every now and again. You know, on a bike path. Like, on a path that's only purpose is to be trodden upon by bikes. It's a path specifically constructed for people to use as a route when a bike is their means of transportation. It's funny actually. There are signs and things that designate it as a bike trail.

You know whats not a bike trail? The sidewalks of New York. You know what else is not a bike trail? The subway. You know what else? Hallways. Also, Starbucks. Elevators. These are all places for humans, sans bike, to use.

I almost get hit by a bicyclist every single day. And as much as I wish that was a gross exaggeration, it isn't. And it wouldn't be an issue if I knew how to avoid the bike people. But, this is what I have discovered since living in New York and I am gonna let you in on a little secret: there is no place you are safe from bikes. There is no escape. They are in the street and then BAM! They are on the sidewalk. They are being ridden on the subway platform and then BAM! They are being carries down the stairs. Every corner you round? BAM! Bike.

People who ride their bikes on the street: Fine. I'm okay with you. But here's the deal. If you are going to choose to be a 'StreetRider', guess what? THE RULES OF THE ROAD APPLY TO YOU! They do. I know, its crazy. Makes no sense, right? Geez. But you people cannot just ride against the traffic! You can't go through red lights! You can't go the other way down a one way street! The 'walking man' sign means I do not have to wait for you to pass. AND you cannot make the switch to being a 'SideRider' at the drop of a hat!

People who ride their bikes on the sidewalk: I'm less okay with you. And here is why. First, if you are speeding towards me as I'm a'walkin', you can't expect me to get out of your way. Where am I supposed to go!? Do you want me to jump gleefully into traffic? Because all thats going to happen is that I am probably going to get hit by some other mo'fo on a bike! Second, you are not a 10 year old in a midwestern suburb, so either get in the street and mean business, or buy a metrocard like an adult.  That also goes for you 1990's throwback skateboarding punks who always clip me as you go by. Its 2013. Skateboards are no longer a thing. I took a poll. Sorry.

Also, if you have a bike, don't bring it on the subway. You're just cheating yourself out of that extra exercise that you clearly thought you needed when you bought the bike. If you are a delivery man on a bike, I don't speak your language, so yelling at me to get out of your way does nothing. Sorry. I am about two near death experiences away from carrying a sack of bricks to knock you all off your bikes with. I just wanted to give you a heads up.

Give me Taxes or Give me Death!

Sometime after Valentines Day and before Easter, but right around St. Patty's day is one of my favorite holidays: Tax Day. Well, it's really more of a Tax Season, but I am campaigning to get it the full holiday status that it deserves. Needless to say, it is not going too well.

What? You think its weird that I like paying may taxes? Oh! You think the only reason I like it is for the tax return? The answer to those questions is yes. Yes I do. I love the tax return when I get one. And now that I make something that resembles "grown up money," I actually do get one. But the paying of the taxes is the part I like best. And I get to do it ALL YEAR!

I can explain this one. Its not as strange as you like to think it is. Lets look at this in a rational way, shall we? I, being the princess I am, never choose to do anything myself that I can pay others to do for me. Am I right? Yeah, you know I'm right.

Things I never wanna have to do:

-Arrest Bad Guys
-Clean trash off the street
-be a member of Congress
-or the House
-give White House tours
-Mow the lawn of parks
-clean fountains
-paint benches
-fix sidewalks
-decide to declare war
-know how checks and balances work
-teach kids
-serve kids food
-help people cross the street
-put out fires
-be the President
-guard prisons
-be in the army

And so many more! I am so relieved that it is not up to me to do any of that. I gladly pay taxes to take care of that shit!**

Someone asked me the other day how I felt about paying social security, when I will probably never see any of the money that I paid into it. Right. Yeah, I mean, that kind of sucks. But I say its still worth it! I like old people. They're cute! Whats more, is I'm okay with old people not working for a few reasons.

1) They probably worked longer, and definitely harder than most of us will.
2) Without them, we wouldn't be here
 and on a less adorable note
3) They are too old to efficiently do things now. Have you ever had a really old person serve you or help you? Its not fun. They can't hear you most of the time, they are kind of slow and you spend the whole time feeling really bad that you are getting suuuuuper inpatient and annoyed. They did their time! Let them drink tea and watch re-runs of 'Murder She Wrote'!

I am also really hoping that when I get reals old, some young, starry-eyed girl with skewed notions of how things should be, takes me under her youthful wing and helps me retire to a life of luxury. I figure I have 70 more years to figure that one out.

So thats why I love paying taxes. I like the standard of living that I have come to expect. I like feeling safe in my city, and clean and happy. I like knowing that there are, presumably, smarter people than most people I know running the country. I like knowing if my cat gets his tail in the candle again, and the house happens to catch fire, people will come take care of that crap. Its great. I'm so glad that we Americans got over that whole "we don't wanna pay taxes so we're gonna steep tea in the ocean!" phase.

**if this isn't how my tax dollars are used, please let me live in ignorant bliss.

I Am, what I Ham

As a species, we have a lot of things that connect us. It's really nice actually. There are so many things that we all have in common that allow us to bond and feel a real sense of camaraderie. We all have to breath, we all have to sleep, we want to feel loved, we need at least two hours of tv a day, we like to own lesser species as pets to feel powerful and we are all fat.

Yeah. You. You are fat. You soooo are. I know, its really hard to hear isn't it? But it's true. Okay, maybe thats a little harsh. I'm gonna rephrase that. We all think we are fat. Is that better? Is that a statement we can all get on board with?

I'm certain that all of us have, at one point or another, called ourselves fat. I have. My friends have. My cat has (in his case though its crazy true). But I'm not fat. You're not fat. Barry still is though...

So maybe some of you out there are like "Carly, thats real sweet and everything and I know we should all love ourselves, but I really am fat." And to that I say: "Says who?" What if its not fat. What if its just you? And what if its the best part?

To quote Woody Allen:

"For when we lose twenty pounds dear reader (and I am assuming you are not as large as I), we may be losing the best twenty pounds we have! We may be losing the pounds that contain our genius, our humanity, our love and honesty or, in the case of one inspector general I knew, put some unsightly flab around the hips."

                                                  -Notes from the Overfed

It really got me thinking. And the more I thought, and frankly snacked, the more I realized its true. Every pound makes us who we are. The pound I gained last week? That pound was caused by a great few days spent with friends and cupcakes. That pound is a pound full of laughs. The pound I lost this week was clearly a pound that aided with my ability to wake up on time, which I am now not able to do. So next time you look at your fat, whether or not you really are fat, remember that each five pounds are chock full of experiences and lessons and the little chunks that make you, you. Winston Churchill had productive fat. Think of what a fat Gandhi could have accomplished!  

Also, if you are considering lipo-suction, ask yourself "where does that fat go, and who is using it and to what ends?" Maybe there is a secret underground army of discarded fat full of genius cells and crafty sneak cells and war savvy! Lipo aside, where does all the fat we lose go to? Where is it lying in wait? What is it planning? When will it strike?? Has it left us with only weak and unimaginative fat and taken all the good fat with it? Oh no. Oh dear, this is terrible. I think I liked life better when I just thought I was fat. Now I am enlightened and I'm scarred.

So in order to stop what can only be the beginnings of a massive fat overhaul and uprising, we must give the fat less power. We have to stop obsessing about that weight flux that has taken over our lives. I am grossly aware that this entry turned a little sappy and self-lovey, which is frankly... well, gross. But I have alternative motives. I really just want everyone to stop being so touchy about their weight, because I want to be able to make fat jokes and not offend people. So if you care about my comedic well being, you will stop thinking you are all fat. Because I have lots of jokes waiting about, gathering dust and itching to only be mildly, and not wildly, offensive.  

***Side note: If you happen to have excess amounts of fat filled personality, its still not okay to take up three seats on the subway. I just wanna clear that up.