Spirits and Spirit Animals

You may recall, all three of you who read this, that I was looking for a spirit animal. Some time ago. I had no real preference, except that it could not, for obvious reasons, be an elephant. Obvs reasons = FAT!

Anyway, the impetus for this was that my Myers Briggs type had changed, and I felt, deeply within my soul, that the prior spirit animal (which I'd never actually gotten around to choosing) was no longer appropriate. I am sure you understand the urgency of this matter. Because, like, I have nothing else to do but navel gaze.

Anyway, somebody posted a link on FB that told me I was a dolphin: so that is decided. I am okay with dolphin. Mainly because they are not usually fat.

A dolphin, lithely leaping from the water. Pls excuse the typo. It is not mine.

Also, a friend of mine posted this link which tells you what kind of wine you are, if you know your Myers Briggs. And if you don't know your Myers Briggs, then what are you doing all day? Clearly not answering silly questions on websites! I have two words for you people: missing out.

I am, of course, champagne, which makes me absurdly happy. I feel a sense of Great Accomplishment that the beverage I would be, were I a beverage, according to my Myers Briggs type, which I discovered through the Completely Objective Scientific Process of answering multiple choice questions on a website, is so deeply aligned with my Whole And Truest Self. 

I also noticed today, as my little children (the ones I teach, not the one I bore) ran the Turkey Trot at school, that I feel a sense of Great Accomplishment when they cross the finish line. It has no sense to it whatsoever. I see Child X (not her real name), whom I taught, run, and I am almost teary with pride. Literally I have to hide my face, or others will see that I'm practically weeping with joy over this dumb thing which I had nothing to do with. Why? Because I am insane. Who's with me?

Maybe it has something to do with the dolphin. Or the champagne.*

Anyway, this all reminds me of one time this friend of mine got a job doing social media marketing for a spiritual business advisor. She (the friend--let's call her Dawn) and the SBA (let's call her Rita) had some kind of email exchange about the position and the terms that went something like this:

Rita: Dearest Luminescence,

I have decided that I would be eternally in your debt if you would please consider being my social media marketing consultant. I know that we have only begun to know each other (and never actually met), but I feel it is not too early to say that I love you. I can feel your remarkable aura pulsating through the universe, and I must say I am deeply moved. Please consider my offer. I will, of course, pay you $25 an hour, but we both know that is beside the point. 

Dawn: Thank you, thank you! I do not know how you managed to do so, but you have inferred my deepest desiring, which is to work for you as your social media marketing consultant. I didn't want to tell you because I, also, felt it was too soon, but I have loved you for as long as I remember--at least since Thursday last. You may not recall because it was such a trifle to you, but on that day you emailed asking me to post a twitter update involving small business taxes and how they relate to the root chakra, and, as I did so, I realized that my own root chakra was misaligned! I went immediately to my accupuncturist, and he cured me of this wrong, which I am certain would have shortly resulted in my death. So, you see, my magnificent empath, that I have had my very life saved by you, and I am sure it was fated that we work cooperatively in this manner. I would do anything to serve you, and please do not degrade it by mentioning pay again! (But $25 an hour is fine.)

Rita: Oh, heavenly rapture! When I recieved your email accepting the role of social media marketing consultant, I wept tears of joy. Words cannot describe how glad I am that we will be able to collaborate symbiotically to sell my shit. 

And so on. I know what you're thinking. These people are all insane, and what is this blog post even about? 

Yes.

The end.

*note: I do not drink at work, no matter the temptation.

No Open Door

Help. B had moment of insanity and offered Ari the choice to sleep with his door open. Insanity! He won't! He can't! But, of course, he will say yes when offered opportunity. As he would say yes if offered chance to sleep with loaded submachine gun, dissected frog, porcupine, wet popsicle, hot burning coal, or other such items. 

WHOLE ENTIRE BEDTIME was made eternal and difficult by door open suggestion. And then! He came out saying she'd promised him he could. And then! She! Continued to entertain the INSANE INSANE INSANE notion of him sleeping with his door open. Which he will not do! Because he has slept with it closed for five years, and we have a cat who will jump on his head. And I want to have sex sometimes, and we have to sleep with our door open because otherwise said cat will yowl at the door to get out (if in) or to get in (if out) at top volume, keeping everyone up. Also, she has claws and will scratch at the door and will stop doing so at intervals just long enough for us all to begin to fall asleep before starting up again, jolting us out of Blissful Slumber. So, since our door must be open, Ari's must be closed or my sex life will be forever ended, which of course we cannot have.

You see why Ari cannot, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, sleep with his door open. I swear if I could I'd perform brain surgery on my only child just to get that idea out of his head. As it is, we threatened withholding allowance. That seems to have worked for the moment. 

Also, look at this:

Is he a cutie, or what?

The end.

Coat.

I have many, many beliefs about fashion. They all contradict each other. This is because I am such A Vast Complexity. My favorite fashion topic is NYC, where people can wear anything they want. Typically, most of them look like Space Aliens, but that is ok because everybody else looks like a Space Alien, too! They do a lot of what I like to call Two Hat Fashion. This involves wearing two hats at the same time. I named it after those hip hop 15 year-olds who wear two trucker hats at once, with the bills turned in different directions, neither one of which is forward. 

In NYC they go beyond even this absurdity. They wear sombreros and tiaras at the same time. They over-accessorize, and it confuses me. They wear couture on the street, and for some reason, no matter the season, all couture has like, built-in accessories, and crazy ones. For instance, there might be a deceased reptile dangling from a sweater. Or like, a keyboard (non-functioning--just for show) attached to the sleeve. So, this is Two Hat Fashion, and NYC has it bad.

I'm not a Two Hat grrl, but I do borrow elements, sometimes. I like a lot of bracelets. Not too many. Like two. I like bright colors. Lately, I like stripes and dots at the same time. Sometimes I wear two scarves. That's like two hats, right?

I have a lot of fashion habits. I usually wear at least two shirt-like garments, even in summer. I get cold. If I wear a t-shirt, it is Very Important that the hem sticks out beneath my sweater. I do not know why this is so.

But let me tell you about my new love, which is not a houseguest and doesn't play ping pong or Ping Pong, but is a coat. I bought this coat as retail therapy, sight unseen. I ordered an XS (men's), and to my astonishment, it fits! Also, it is perfect. It's wool, to which I am kind-of-maybe allergic, but you know. Fashion before comfort. 

 

This doesn't capture the loveliness because pictures cannot do justice, but you get the idea. I like the red. Love the squarish cut of the zipper pulls. Love love love that red piping, and the thousand pockets, and the white striped sleeve lining, and the toggle buttons. I feel like a little girl with a new dress. 

So, I took this picture in the carpool lane, which moves not at all for 15 minutes at a time, and I got honked at because I did not immediately jettison my car forward when the car in front of me moved imperceptibly, creating a two centimeter gap. And I was like:

"Shut. Up. Motherfucker! Do you not see I am TAKING PICTURES OF MY LOVE?"

Luckily, they did not hear me, and then I ran over a cone. It rolled into the little sixth grade safety patrol, and she tripped and fell, so I was Satan. Yeah, generally, it wasn't a good day at the carpool lane. 

But then, during my second 15 minute wait time, I was looking around, and I spotted a piece of lint on my thigh, which I gobbled up. I thought it was chocolate. When I realized it was lint, I thought, "omg, I've eaten lint. Wool lint! To which I am allergic! Will I die? I hope I don't die. But wait! How utterly insensitive of me to be concerned about my own health when I have eaten part of My Love!"

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking the Coat is navy, and thus makes navy lint, and chocolate is brown. And there was no chocolate in that car, anyway. What can I say? Wishful thinking? Bad lighting?

The end.