To the French woman, with love.

So I work with this French woman, and one time in the kitchen, while we were both getting coffee we parléd a little Français. Or for my part, I made a terrible attempt at it. The thing is, I was already scared of this woman because she’s that strong and silent type that gives NOTHING away about what she thinks about you, and I personally am way too insecure for that sort of nonsense. So anyway, I’m nervous and as a result my French was pretty bad. To cover for myself, I try to say “I don’t speak French as well as I would like these days” but instead I said something like “I speak not as soon as French as I would like recently.” The thing is, my French is actually good enough where I cringe as the words come out because I know they are wrong. Instead of correcting myself though, I stare at her, and instead of asking me to repeat myself, or joking with me that ‘hey wow your French IS bad!” she smiles politely and walks out of the kitchen leaving me mortified and beginning several months now wherein I feel like I need to avoid her because of my shame.

We were both walking from the parking lot together this morning, for example, and I sent imaginary text messages as I walked 30 feet behind her until we got to the building and she let me in with her key.

Anyway.

I guess I just hope that one day, she reads my blog for some crazy reason because this is for her: “Je ne parle pas Français aussi bien que je voudrais.”

Stress child

I found my Lisa Frank stationary when I was home recently. This is a letter I wrote to Hannah but never sent. Not that this is any reflection of my being a guilty, anxious little person, but the entire thing is me apologizing for not writing sooner. I’m really sorry, Hannah. Fourth grade was just a really busy year for me. You understand, right? I’m sorry.

Self Sabotage

Have you ever made the security questions on an online account too hard to answer? They’re about MY life and I just got locked out of my own account because I COULDN’T ANSWER THEM. One of them was “What is the name of your first pet?” and I got it WRONG because I was like “Well I mean technically it was that puppy my parents got for me when I was 2… but then really, they had a dog already when I was born so was that dog my pet? I mean really… I was more ITS pet because it was around first and I didn’t take care of it… but then if you are qualifying ‘pet’ by who takes care of it, maybe my first pet was that cat I got when I was 8… What was I thinking when I wrote this question?!”

Directions

Insert foot directly into mouth. Do not pass Go. Do not say anything else because clearly you are incapable of filtering out the inappropriate things you’re thinking.

Oscar, meet Truman

We dog-sat for Truman a few weeks ago. Oscar wasn't exacly a fan and spent a good deal of the time sitting on the floor behind the toilet. Truman mostly wanted to make friends but his very presence terrified and repulsed Oscar. Eventually they worked it out. Truman agreed to stop trying to schnuffle Oscar and to give him a 3-4 foot bubble. We even all shared my bed although you will notice the 3-4 foot rule was still in place.

A handful? Maybe.

"maybe he'll realize that I am the Lucille Ball to his Ricky Ricardo. Sure I bring most of the comedy and plot, but we have a great time! Sigh."

Seriously considering therapy today.

This was my weird dream last night:

I let Hannibal Lector, as played by Anthony Hopkins, borrow my pickup truck (because I had one and he needed it) with some other guy. I was driving back from some version of my highschool graduation where my mother showed up wearing overalls like a farmer, and I saw Hannibal and the other guy in the truck. And I remember thinking to myself- why did I let him borrow that? He’s probably going to make a mess in it. And then, as I am watching him, I see him kill the other guy and I’m like I knew it! You just can’t trust that guy! But then I was also totally freaked out and so I called 911 and was trying to explain what I just saw and that the killer was on his way to my house- because apparently he was. And the dispatcher goes- “So the other guy is dead right?” And I’m like- “oh yeah- I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” And then the dispatcher goes, “ok, well we’ll send someone in the morning then- it’s really late and we’re all really tired. I mean the guy is already dead anyway.” And I go “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Because OH MY GOD- Hannibal Lector is on the loose and there is a dead body in my pickup truck!

So, even though I know Hannibal Lector is at home, I keep driving there. When I get home, I find that Hannibal has removed the now headless body from my truck and deposited it at my front door. At this point I have begun to think of Hannibal as my zany brother who kills people and it’s like so inconvenient but what are you going to do about it, he can’t help himself- but of whom I am also terrified. So I shout ‘OH MAN COME ON!’ Because why the heck should I have to clean up after him? I call 911 again and I say “Look GET OUT HERE because A)Hannibal is still lurking around and he’s probably going to kill me and B) I am not keeping a dead body overnight!” And they are still carrying on like I am asking them to bring me a pizza in the middle of the night! So basically I spent the hours I was supposed to be resting last night trying to convince the reluctant police to come rescue me from a cannibalistic serial killer. Seriously considering therapy today.