Monthly Archives: June 2011

Kamikaze Ladybugs


I am not scared to eat weird things. I once ate a mopani worm in the middle of Zimbabwe just to prove that I could. I also took the stage in front of several hundred grossed out 13 year olds in order to eat a cockroach. I ate wildebeest and still swear it was awesome. I, in fact, revel in eating in weird things.

I am not scared to speak in public. I have delivered grand speeches to hundreds of people at a time – in costume no less! I have competed in both impromptu speaking and debate. I have WON those competitions with poise.

I am not scared of the dark.

According to the internet thing some people are afraid of peanut butter getting stuck to the roof of their mouth. I am not even scared of that!

I am however terrified – terrified – of flying things. I don’t like them at all.

Like really. Flying has to be the worst thing an animal could possibly do! They are right next to you one minute, and that’s all cool and everything. But then BAM! They could be ANYWHERE the next second. I hate that so much! I think this might be due to my love of planning.

I plan everything.

Like my iCal goes all the way to August of 2012 already. Did I mention I plan everything? My iCal has blibs of “go here” for everything from class to teaching to work to phone calls to nail salon trips. I really like to know what is about to happen. No surprises, please. They are not okay. Surprises mean I might go into an involuntary coronary (because there are voluntary coronaries?), poop my pants, and become something vaguely resembling a retarded slug.

(BTW – it is undeniably difficult to illustrate a “retarded slug” owning differentiating features from most slugs, for all slugs look somewhat retarded)

So when a bird, for example, has the audacity to feel like it can flutter away whenever it darn well pleases, it sends my heart into arrhythmias, and I resort to my evolutionary instincts much like any other time I am scared (Please see post “BOOM!”). I get LOW!

I flatten out on the ground and hope that whatever it is that is threatening my sanity (or my current hairdo) will go away quickly without touching me.

And this reaction really gets in the way of life.

Walking with my friend in down-town University-town from an awesome comedy club – pigeon flies at me? I immediately go from a happy, upright human to a flailing mass going into a full on dive to the beloved ground.

Walking to class and birds flutter out of the trees all at once? I give it such a wide girth that I am positive I am miles away, and in the confusion I lose the very little sense of direction I have. (Birds, in case you were wondering, are not an appropriate excuse for tardiness.)

But really these birds on campus and even the buzzing flies in this apartment that I am currently glaring at do not sum up next to possibly one of the worst experiences of my young life. No, my parents’ lives were not threatened by charging rhinos… and I wasn’t diagnosed with not debilitating illness… Our house became infested one summer with those horrible, evil, blind, dumb japanese ladybugs.

I KNOW! (Kids, you may want to stop reading. This is about to get gruesome.)

These things look like ladybugs but instead of being cute and awesome (at least in cartoons) they have defense mechanisms that are GROSS and line up in grotesque masses of nastiness anywhere they can.The ceiling. The floor boards. The tables. The windows. THEY GET INTO EVERYTHING! ….and they fly. I also learned they are blind, so they fly into things.

Really… they are just grumpy ladybugs.

So keeping all this in mind there was a night where I was eating food while watching TV, sitting on the floor. I was a young lass at the time, so I’m sure I was watching the 42nd episode of Sponge Bob that day or something of the like, and the stupid ladybug-wannabes kept flying INTO MY HEAD!

No joke. They were flying at me. LIKE KAMIKAZE LADYBUGS FROM HELL!

I began to cower.

I began to wave my arms wildly and scream for them to go away.

Finally I was reduced to a flattened, hysterical, crying child – demanding our family move away from this certain hell on earth.

Eventually summer ended, but I was forever scarred by all my fears about flying things coming true. Flying at me. Touching me. Somewhere one second. My head the next.

Like I said… I don’t like flying things.

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The Devil’s Hour


I have decided all hours of day have personalities, for you see all the hours of the day in different stages of happiness and awakeness.

But I tell you… no matter how you look at it, 4AM is the Devil’s Hour. I swear you can see it from both sides and you will still look like this:

So a few years ago I was what is known as a “freshman university student” – yes we all know these students as spectacles of hilarity and confusion, but like many of you I was once one of those whacky children, as well.

As I prowled the land of the university attempting to look anything but lost and always hot and ready to meet a man, I heard a legend. I remember busting into my room to exclaim to my unsuspecting roommate about the rumored “all-nighter.” Could this really happen? Could people really do that?

Then I began to realize the fear…. WHY would people have to do that?

I soon found out what real work was like when all 5 professors looked at me as if they were the only homework-assigners in the world. They say – “homework for tomorrow???…”

And I made my decision… I would pull this blessed “all-nighter.”

I whizzed by 11PM knowing that it would be a long night. I had even equipped myself with our tiny coffee maker, and I was set.

and then BAM!

Yep… 4AM is just a ridiculous wall of wounded nature and nastiness no matter what.

Now let’s think about 4AM from the OTHER way. Unfortunately I experienced that just last week getting ready for a red-eye flight back to The Man from The Parents.

Just a few days prior on my way to The Parents I woke up at 5AM. No problem.

Waking up at 4?

I rest my case.

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The Hiccups


Considering the holiday this weekend and all, I found it fitting to write a tribute to my father.

He gave me his nose. His face. His dry sense of humor.

And! He gave me his hideous hiccups.

No joke. My hiccups may sound like a baby, fragile prehistoric bird next to his papa prehistoric bird shrieks -but they are shrieks nonetheless. For me – getting the hiccups is a dramatic process.

I’m just sitting there and BAM – transformation into my bird self. I then have no choice but to attempt and fail at ALL old wives’ tales of how to rid oneself of the dreaded “hiccoughs.” (I have always wondered who those wives were and why they had so much freakin’ time… NOT THE POINT) Anyway it looks something like this.

So the other day whilst driving home from purchasing an oven that function on microwaves with The Man, I began to shriek in my baby-bird shrieks and panicked.

Would The Man still love me if he knew I was part-prehistoric bird????

His reaction said everything:

An hour of drinking water, holding my breath, and taking down a few gulps of peanut butter… and I was cured!

Anyway – that’s a part of me! And I have my dad to thank. 🙂

Hope you have a Happy Fathers’ Day!

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BOOM!


This is my cat.

Sylvia is a HUGE cat – in that bulky body builder sort of way – not the fat way. She is quite intimidating, known to have forced large labradors to cower in corners.

Yet she has a weakness – storms.

At the first sign of a storm she becomes a blubbering, mewing mess of a feline that refuses to be comforted but wants all to know of her discomfort.

She resorts to getting as flat and low as possible on the ground, and she must do this in your company – why die alone? I then get down low with her and cower in empathy.

I’m good like that.

And here’s the secret: with or without the cat… I still cower. I know – I know – I appear so great and strong. In fact, I am not brave. The cat has always been my guise.

There have been a lot of storms lately. Not cute summer storms – no – like SMITE THEE WITH THIS WRATH OF THE GODS kind of storms.

Just last week I was putzing around the apartment (Sylvia now lives with my parents, mind you), and 3pm began to look more like 2am. The world went dark! Completely dark. I froze.

From there the winds started picking up, and the windows began to whistle…….and The Man was still at work. I was all alone.

And then I sprung into action – an action trained only by a childhood in the land of tornadoes.

Then all hell hit. The thunder rolled in, the lightening cracked, and I was fairly certain my time had come to die a horrible death! And worse… the internet went down.

The internet thing! My distraction! My love! My friend…

I really was….. all…. alone.

In the end I survived. I know you were worried.

And yes The Man discovered I am actually quite the pansy when it comes to a bit of lightning and thunder, but you know what?

We have plans to get a cat next year.

Let it begin again!

*********************************

Greetings from the great state of Indiana, btw! 

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Did You Know?


…that you could “like” mypleonasticlife on Facebook?

You totally can!

You just click on this link.

You hit “like.”

And voila!

This is what the internet folk call “facebook cred.” Tell yo wife, tell yo kids, tell yo husband because they be likin’ everybody out there.

Hope you are enjoying your Friday!

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Meta-Blog (and news!)


A little less than two weeks ago I went on a creative rampage. I do this from time to time (the summery times) in rebellion of all researchy scholarly happenings.

I updated The Scarlet Sound. I created new elements to publication. I even chatted up a few of my artists for the thing.

With all this newfound time I moved, I organized things, I even started to cook half-way decently!

I also decided to write more – hence “mypleonasticlife.”

So yeah – the grand open community of the internet voiced a response to these ridiculous ramblings, which I did not expect at all.

Which then led to…

It always takes a while for reality to set in for me. I am a go-go-go-never-stop kind of person.

For instance – –

In my senior year in high school I decided that I needed to do everything that I had not done in my previous three years. I tried marching band, the fall play, the spring musical, black box theater, a few classes that I otherwise would have said “BAH no” to earlier.

I also recruited, by the cloak of darkness, a coach in order to learn how to spin a guard rifle because I decided that my high school’s color guard seemed like a “fun hobby.” A lover of surprise and awe – I aimed for a secret education in rifle and flag spinning and then a final woo of the judges at the tryouts. This only stopped when my mother admitted that I might be slightly insane and made me stay home. (Who knows… I could have been amazing!!!!)

This also continued in college.

I do believe I attempted every single major the University offered to its students. Like really… I’m certain I have half a minor in underwater basket weaving. That’s BESIDE THE POINT! (but you know if you ask me… I could probably tell you the process of a “twill weave” in Cusqueñan Quechua — and you know that’s important knowledge!)

…In order to shed some light on how “mypleonasticlife” comes to be let me illustrate the process for you:

My point is these freakin’ things take FOREVER (basically eternity – you know… 5 hours or so), and believe it or not I am a working woman. (See the above nature of doing everything)

So in order to stay sane and happy and still entertain you with my faults, memories, and happy-wow times… a CHANGE!

mypleonasticlife shall now update once a week at an entirely arbitrary day and time:

Tuesdays at 9:17PM.

Weeellll maybe a few exceptions for holidays and ridiculously happy moments, but at least you know when you count on a post!

So here’s to more fun! And to scheduled fun!

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Showered in Brilliance?


Everyone has their place where their best thinking occurs. These are the places where great ideas happen. Where revelations occur. Where global movements begin!

There are quite noble places for these things to happen.

While driving.

While walking.


While discussing things with a close friend.

I have these moments in the shower. Yes – THIS is the place where I have all my bright moments. (warning: this causes a lot of questions as to whether or not one has washed hair already or not. I run out of shampoo rather quickly in streaks of brilliance.)

Anyway I had one of those moments today while washing my hair (for the first time).

My grand thought? Wedding Planning is really Modern Day Slave Trade.

Yes.

The Man and I have been engaged (horrible pun intended) in wedding plans for a little less than a month now, and themes are already coming up.

Common Utterances:

“That really costs that much???”

“But I don’t even like that person!”

“I thought this day was supposed to be about us…”

Little did we know that engagement meant entering into an experience that was not about us at all but everybody else. In fact! By even beginning to compile a guest list for the occasion we traveled through time… to a land of social cast — and slave trading.

EACH person sits in a venue, sits in a reception, insists on eating receptiony food, and even has the nerve to drink receptiony drinks. Yep. Each person has a price over their head.

Now that would be all be unfortunate, BUT the couple of the day are judged. All the time. Judged by their decisions. Judged by how the day looks. But most of all — judged by how many people they can afford to buy for the day.

So now all these wedding guests are like modern day slaves – no wages – just paying for them to take up space and eat all this expensive food all in the name of social cast and acceptance.

Yeah… I just went there.

Now here’s the deal. The Man and I vow today to usher in a GREAT EMANCIPATION!

We shall get the tiniest venue possible and invite only a few people! Less wedding slaves!

🙂 Isn’t this the kind of thing you think about while in the shower?

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