Telepathetic

I was thinking the other day about super powers.  
As in, if I could have any super power, which one would I choose?

I decided that the power of flight would best suit me, but only because I always have dreams that I can fly and I find it quite exhilarating. Alright, well it's not really flying in my dreams, per say... it's more like I have an invisible wheelchair that I'm sitting in, and I'm in the air, looking down on everyone else from it and if I need to get anywhere, I just start pushing my invisible wheelchair wheels. The harder I push, the faster I fly. And for all of that invisible wheeling I do, my biceps still maintain a perfectly feminine shape. Although, when I wake up, I always want to rub on a good glob of icey-hot, to use as a precaution against that day-after-work-out burn.

Anywho...

Before I made this ever-so-important executive life decision, I kept on debating the concept of telepathy. At first, I thought it would be the greatest super-power to be endowed with. This could be because, at the time, I was standing in small, confined area next to someone with a bad case of body odor and the only thought that was streaming through my pea-brain was, "Dude, that extra swipe of Old Spice definitely would not have been a bad idea." Of course, if I had telepathy at that point, I could have told him this remark somewhat politely, via my inner-most thoughts.

As you can only imagine, there are other times when telepathy would be a great tool to carry in your super-belt.

Exhibit A: Meeting members of the opposite sex while out with a group of friends.

My group of friends likes to go out, have a few drinks, and bust out a few dance moves every now and then. There are pros and cons to situations like this. The pro is that it always presents you with an opportunity to meet new interesting people. The con is that these new people might not be the kind that you are really interested in meeting, aka creepy men who think it's ok to sneak up behind you and start dancing while you are completely unaware of their presence.

Now, here's where telepathy would play a key role in the lives of females across the globe...

The guy dancing behind you is normally one of two options... 

1) He is a cute med student who rarely gets a chance to go out and cut loose, since his main focus is studying up on the craft of saving human lives, and has a weird but endearing obsession with dance songs from the early 90's including Snap's "I've Got The Power"
... or ... 
2) He's a 36 year old bachelor who still lives in his mothers basement, plays halo 15 hours out of the day and had a little too much liquid courage for the evening.

Now, if I had telepathy and one of my girls was in this situation with guy #1, I would think to myself, "Yeaaaaa, that's my girl. Get it, get it, just don't go overkill on the Michael Jackson grabs." And with guy #2, I would just shoot her a quick mind message saying,  "S.O.S.", and we would race to the bathroom, claiming her bladder is two thirds the size of an average adult's.

Telepathy would be completely useful in my daily life.

But given the choice, we all know I would obviously go with the invisible flying wheelchair. Which actually, is more of an instrument, than a super power.

Technicalities.

Lap Dances

After hanging out tonight with some girls from my mom's side of my family, a few epiphanies have popped into my brain...


1) If you ever play a board game with my mother, be aware that she uses it as an outlet for all inappropriate or R-rated comments that have been lingering in the depths of her mind. Cover your eyes and ears as you feel necessary.
2) If you ever play with my sister, her ultimate goal is to scavenge your house to find the perfect prop during guessing games... so make sure you clean up before hand, and relocate any and all unmentionables to a cupboard at least 6 feet off the ground.
3) We have this thing in my family that some like to call "Pulling a Lang." It's a stare that you do when you  feel like spacing out, and I'd say that 90% of people with genetics from my mothers side do this stare at least 7 times daily. I tell people that I'm sleeping with my eyes open, and they kinda look at me like I'm insane, but I'm telling you it feels so good. The next time you see me, ask me about it and I will be happy to demonstrate.
4) No one in the world will ever cook better than my father. Try to prove me wrong. I dare you. So, to all of you fellas out there trying to romance me (all negative 4 of you), you better know how to cook... because my dad's inexplicable talents have left me with the equivalent cooking skills of a spoiled 6 year old.
5) Because of statement #1, I am boycotting family board games, until I get the name of a good therapist.
6) I have the musical knowledge of a 57 year old woman. Which, I have always thought was sort of cool and unique, but it actually leaves me feeling under-stimulated when playing "Singing Bee" with my 16 year old cousin and 18 year old sister. Games like "Singing Bee", if you are unfamiliar, have just about one too many Dionne Warwick sing-a-longs and not quite enough Katy Perry trivia.
7) In regards to the title of my post... we were playing a game that required the players to shout out activities that you do in a pool which start with the letter L. My mom's first response was lap dances. I think you now understand statement #5.


...


On a side-note... I have been tested by many people recently, who chose to make unnecessary snide remarks in attempts to make themselves appear more intelligent and intellectual to others. And since I am witty, but not quite as quick as I'd like, please consider the following statement my universal comeback... 


No one wants to be around someone who is constantly searching for and pointing out the flaws in others, in order to distract people from seeing the flaws in themselves.


Just FYI, it's a little bit cuter to poke fun at how stupid YOU can seem and how silly YOU can sometimes sound. If you try this, people might find you endearing and sincere, which are both qualities that form companionship and friendship and tend to humble you into becoming all-around nice person. 


Now, that's all the "Dear Abby" advice I have for now. Until next time...




"Promise yourself to be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear and too happy to permit the presence of trouble."

The Ultimate Wipe Out

As a kid, I vividly remember that about once I week, I would prance around the edge of the playground during recess, making up songs in my head and singing them outloud while the other kids broke their arms on the monkey bars. Yes... I was that kid. My parents say I was "creative". You may feel free to call me weird, I'm used to it.

Too cool, even back then.

The reason why I'm telling you this, is to give you somewhat of an explanation for that video I made in a previous post... I'm glad you all found it so entertaining. I see that the majority of you haven't changed since 2nd grade. It's ok, I thrive off being ridiculed.

...


For some reason, I was thinking about my childhood today and the memory of my first pogo stick experience came to mind. Let me tell you, it's a very painful memory. I actually think my tailbone is still jacked up from the fall. It was the first time I had the wind knocked out of myself. I don't really know why it happened... but I tend to be the kind of person who sees something cool that someone else is doing, and automatically assume that I can do it better. I'm sure that had something to do with it. Anyways... my friend had a pogo stick sitting in her garage and one day I looked at it and thought I'd give it a whirl.

Boing.
Boing.
Boing.
Hello concrete floor.

The next thing I knew, I had tears in my eyes that wouldn't go anywhere because I was too focused on getting more oxygen to my brain so that I wouldn't pass completely out. My tailbone felt like someone had literally ripped my tail (if I had a tail) off. The funniest thing about this memory is that the feeling of embarrassment surpassed the physical pain I was feeling at the time. I think it took me a good two weeks to get over the fact that I choked trying to impress the neighborhood kids with what I thought was cat-like agility. And gosh it hurt. It hurt so freaking bad. Now-a-days, if I trip over a shoelace and people are around, I immediately reach my hand out for their help. I don't give a crap if they are homeless bums begging for my change. Granted, now I'm about 80 lbs heavier, so the process of "getting up" is not quite as simplistic as it used to be.

Darn it. I just got so depressed. I was a kid back then! I should have been able to get on a pogo stick without breaking my face! I'm 22 years old. There is no way in hell that I could do that now. I'm done writing. I'm going to go look for a pogo stick in the garage. I must redeem myself.

How To Shu The Flu Bug Away

Before the last two days, I avoided the upcoming flu-season like... well... the plague?

I've never had the flu before, I normally just get a runny nose and sometimes an irritating cough, both of which aren't anything that I can't handle. Occasionally, I'll catch strep throat, but that's nothing that a good dose of antibiotics can't take care of.

Well, Monday night, I noticed a slight tickle in my throat, which Tuesday morning had turned into tonsils the size of golf balls, with a hint of bursting eardrums. I went to the doctor at noon and after what I like to call an "I'm really hungry and want to get to lunch" examination, he concluded that I had a simple virus. I HATE going to the doctor when you feel just awful and all they tell you to do is to drink fluids and take Advil. Of course... because if they had not told me that, I would have stopped drinking completely, since sometimes that just slips my mind. And don't they know that I take Advil when I have a bad hangnail? I was frustrated and in misery to say the least...

And since he was no help to me, I was forced to complete my own wellness regimen for flu-season. After 48 hours of torture, I'm actually beginning to feel better. So, in case you happen to encounter a nonchalant doctors visit much like the one I previously explained, please take the following tips into consideration...

1.) Be sure to keep plenty of throat lozenges handy... aka 19 bowls of ice cream.

2.) Pain relief is good... don't try to tough it out or rub some dirt on it. I tried that; it really irritated my throat.

3.) Continue drinking water and fluids like you normally do. I'm not going to treat you like you're a 2 month old infant.

4.) Be sure to have the remote control within arms reach. I'm living proof that while you are on the road to recovery, you could easily catch cabin fever and go plum crazy.

5.) Make sure you also keep a strong, burly man handy... to be at your beckon call for more ice cream, pain relief, water, and to switch to the next season of Friends DVDs. (I'm only using my teddy bear as a prop... my strong burly man is currently busy driving to the store to restock on Popsicles. Duh.)

6.) When all else fails, Grandpa's good ole' cough medicine never hurt... until you wake up with a killer hangover the next morning.

Rinse and repeat.

... and good luck.



***UPDATE***

I feel worse than ever. I think my butt has permanently adhered itself to my couch cushions. Do not follow any of my previous instructions.

Scary Things Scare Me.

After reading my last post, you now understand that I enjoy Halloween, but I guess I should have been a little more specific. I like the fun parts of Halloween. The dressing up, the candy, the entire idea of getting into character (it's the performer in me). But, will someone please explain to me why people enjoy being scared? I don't get it... at all. Fear is a basic instinct, built into each one of us to keep us away from danger. So, I'd like to inform the people who pay money to go into haunted houses and to see scary movies, that you are lacking something very important in your biological make-up and may want to consult a physician. Trust me, I get the whole "high-off-adrenaline" thing, but being scared poop-less is just not fun. If your body is trying to tell you to stay away from something or someone, you should probably listen to it! Thank me for this advice after you watch the news one day and see that a crazy axe murderer was kind enough to take his kids to a haunted house and then decided to show the "actors" how it's really done.

Anyways, now that Halloween is over, it's time to embrace the fact that I'm going to have to start gathering all my nuts and berries, since I basically hibernate for the 4 months of cold that Ohio never fails to bring us. In my book, cold weather coincides with being scared, both being things in life that I don't particularly enjoy. And here is why...

Nicole's List of Reason Why Cold Weather Sucks

• I'm not as coordinated as I once thought I was. Ice is evil.
• I bruise like a peach, so when I fall on ice, I arrive at my destination looking like a severely battered woman.
• I am well-known for choosing to opt out of a shower in the morning so that I can sleep for 20 more minutes (unless I'm stinky, don't worry), but you can't really opt out of scraping your car windows. Or you can, but then you have to suffer through the pain of explaining to your mother why you were launched through your windshield because you didn't realize you were merging into oncoming-freeway traffic, instead of onto your exit ramp.
• I don't like shoes. I'm a flip-flop wear-er. And socks add so much extra laundry into the mix.
• I freak out when the bottoms of my pants get wet. Don't ask me why, but it's always been a pet-peeve of mine. It's hard to avoid this in two and half feet of frozen tundra.
• As people get older, appropriate Christmas gifts for their age group get more pricey. Whatever happened to being happy with getting a box of legos for Christmas? I'm sorry, I can't afford Gucci penny-loafers, Pops. (This is a lie, my dad asks for socks and underwear every year, but he never gets his wish.)
• If you want to dress practically for cold weather, you are forced into looking like the kid from "A Christmas Story". I'm a single gal, and this look is in no way, shape, or form helping the cause.

(I guess I shouldn't be complaining, since my mom is very thrifty and has found that keeping the temperature of the house at a brisk 62 degrees saves major cash... I'll be burning plenty of calories with all the shivering I'll be doing this winter. Just kidding, love you Mom. Please don't smack me.)


...


As most of you have probably already noticed, I like to change the subject a lot. This is partially because I suffer from severe A.D.D. (which backwards I've decided stands for Damn, I Dont want to pay Attention), but mostly because this is my blog and thus, I can do what I want.


Originally, I had planned on making this blog about random things I want to talk about, when and how I want to talk about them. This still stands true, except I recently considered doing a more inspiration post, since there is more to me than just plain goofiness, and I want everyone reading this to understand that. So, I chose to make a heart-warming video to share with you all and I hope it lifts you up to the place of inner peace that I found while making it.

Please, don't judge me.

Boots with the fur.

Sorry for the delay in posting. Here's some preposterous random-ness for your blog-reading pleasure...

• Last week sucked. Not going into details. However, the end of this week brings lots of candy and ridiculous apparel that I wish would be acceptable in everyday fashion, so I'm thinking this week should be much better.
• I always admired my Great Grandma Lang, who passed away when I was about 14 or 15. She loved owls and had an entire collection of owl trinkets. So, although I loathe birds entirely and believe that one day, all the birds sitting on telephone wires are going to swoop down and attack me (leaving me pecked at and blinded)... I smile whenever I see an owl. Anyway, I just started working at a different branch of my job to make some more money on the side. When I took my first potty-break there, I noticed an advertisement hanging on ladies room wall for a hot-line helping woman who suffer from domestic violence. The ad had four pictures of different women on it, one of which was my Great Grandma. No folks, she was not abused... she had her hip replaced at the same hospital I work at, and I'm guessing she agreed to let them take her picture to help with the cause. My point is, every time I go to take a leak, I am reminded of how sweet and smart she was, and I almost feel like it wasn't coincidental that her picture is there. Life is crazy that way.
• Speaking of my job, I have officially met someone who is, without a doubt, more of an oddball than yours truly. I'll just give you one anecdote and you may decide for yourself. As I was trying to maneuver around him, in an already extremely confined area, he swiftly attempted to use his invisible nun chucks to prevent me from having access to my destination. Please try to envision my facial expression.

• Although, the previously stated altercation was quite disturbing, I have a sick and twisted amount of respect for people who publicly make fools out of themselves. I have always been a person who most would consider outgoing and extroverted and I think that we need more people in the world who are comfortable enough with themselves to outwardly express that, yes,  they are a little off-beat. So, here is one of my favorite youtube videos of all time, which gets right to the essence of all goofy-ness. Enjoy. (Focus most of your attention on the Red-Head.)

Now, can we please all just try to get low like that kid? Be sure to stretch properly beforehand.

The hills are alive...

The weirdest thing happened to me this morning.

I woke up, yawned, and Julie Andrews’ voice came out instead of my own.

What if stuff like that really happened? I think it would bring about something close to world peace, but that’s just my opinion.

Today, I’m going to enlighten you all on a topic that I like to call “Work-Boyfriends”.

“What on earth are work-boyfriends?” you ask? Well, let me explain…

You know that guy at your work that you find simply irresistible? It’s the guy that makes you blush whenever he flashes you his pearly whites. The one who you secretly fantasize about riding horses bare back on the beach with. He’s the guy who you tell to have a nice night at 9:47 a.m. in the morning, and then don’t realize what a babbling moron you must’ve sounded like until mid-afternoon, then vowing never to show your face in his presence again. His voice always reverberates through your inner ear, as if he were singing you Lionel Ritchie when he says… “Helloooo.” (“Is it me you’re looking for?”)

“Why yes,” I would reply in harmony with him, “it most certainly is.”

Alright, so that last part is probably just be me. Anyways…

That’s your work-boyfriend!

Work-boyfriends are the best kind to have, really. They trump real boyfriends 90% of the time. The reason for this is mainly that he has no idea he is your boyfriend, or even an acquaintance for that matter. So, you can basically make up stories in your mind about the life you would lead together… and whenever he makes an act of kindness towards you, (one that any other warm-blooded mammal would do under nearly any circumstance), you can brag to your work-friends about how sweet and thoughtful your work-boyfriend is.

Another perk that I’ve discovered which makes this man better than any real-life beau is this… In “Fairytale Work-Romance World” you are always permitted an endless amount of work-boyfriends. No man need go uncharted in your work-love life. And I bet you’re thinking, “Man, no one has ever made polygamy sound so right.”

So, here’s to work-boyfriends! Thank you for remaining naïve to the minds of questionably senile women like me, and thank you also for always looking mighty fine as you pass me in the hallway.

Now, I’ll bet you men wish you knew who you were? Well, I will never reveal my secrets, only because it would bring me more embarrassment than the time I peed my pants in left field during T-ball, and the fact that it’s your mystery that lures me in. 

However, I will tell you this... I bet your little woman at home wouldn’t like that you have a work-girlfriend on the side. Shame on you, you dirty dog.

I'm feelin' good.

I have my entrance dance to my wedding reception choreographed.


Am I engaged? No. Do I have a boyfriend? Negative ghost rider. Are there even any possible prospects? Not currently. Yet, I still have my entrance dance choreographed and if "The Future Mr. Nicole Marie" doesn't comply with this... well then, it looks like he'll have to stick with his own boring name and won't get the privilege of taking mine.

You all just wait until the day that this amazing man, who does cooperate, comes along. When this happens, if you are nice enough to me and find your very own personalized invite in the mail, my routine will completely blow your mind... guaranteed. To give you an idea, this is something like what I envision my bridesmaids changing into, to prepare for the reception.

I wish I was kidding.

Since, some of you may find me completely ridiculous for antics like these, which, yes... I do snatch from deep left field, I've decided to formulate a Pro's and Con's list for the entrance dance "Situation" (Just call me, Mike).

Pro's

• On the big day, I won't miss out on my daily aerobics and calisthenics.
• With the racy dance moves I've developed, Dancing with the Stars might pitch me an offer for next season, once they receive word of my raw talent.
• All of my ex-loves from the past will obviously hear word of the performance and become green with envy, pouting because they could not take part in the event of the decade.
• Hopefully, it will shock and excite my audience enough, that those attending from the elderly generation will decide not to test out their narcolepsy condition in the macaroni salad bowl. (Do you like how I renamed my wedding guests, my "audience"?)
• I won't have to budget in wedding souvenirs for guests, I'll just sign autographs.

Cons

• A move I've decided would be appropriate during the 3rd verse, could tear my ACL.
• Speaking of appropriateness, this dance probably doesn't qualify.
• I'd have to find a grand piano, 14 Fedora hats, and possibly some machine guns for props... which could pose a bit of a problem.
• All of my ex-loves from the past would hear word of how I ripped my wedding dress from the train to the waist as I sauntered down the stairway, and imagine all the cellulite exposed to the general public, which would then cause them a horrible gag reflex for the rest of their lives.
• No one would ask for my autograph, which would be very depressing, considering that I've been planning this dance and preparing for the fame it will bring me for close to 14 years.

Love in an elevator

I got stuck in an elevator while I was at work today. And... there was no love to be found. That song makes it seem like an elevator is such a pleasant place to be.  It's quite misleading. Steven Tyler is a jerk.

Moving on...

Inside my twisted little brain, I've been comparing myself to Carrie from Sex and the City. Clearly, we have a lot of similarities. For instance, she writes about everyday life, friends, and love... and that's what I aim to do in this blog. She lives in a busy New York city and I live in Ohio, by some really exciting cornfields. She has mounds upon mounds of the latest fashions in her dresser drawers and mine are filled with mounds upon mounds of thrift store t-shirts. Since I've found SO many similarities between us, I'm thinking that soon I'm going to find my own version of Mr. Big. And when I say my own version, I mean someone much better looking than hers. He was the strangest looking leading man of a show geared toward female audiences that I have ever seen. Oh, and by the way... I don't really watch Sex and the City and I only just recently realized the significance of it's title. I got HBO for the first time last year. Now I understand.

To close, I think I have a real problem. I'm a chocoholic. I know that term is used quite loosely these days, but by definition, it truly does apply to my lifestyle. Even my health is effected.

To put this into perspective, imagine seeing a piece of chocolate on the passenger side floor board of your vehicle, reaching over (while still in drive) to see if it's in any way, shape, or form salvageable, only to be disappointed when you recognize it as a dried piece of mud that fell off of your softball cleats. This is the life that I live.

In the dark...

... this title could be used as a metaphor for my current positioning in life. But that's beside the point.


I thoroughly despise driving to work in the dark. I loath the fact that 5:30 a.m. feels like an absolute joke when I wake up. I want to chuck my cell phone at the nearest boulder when I hear it's alarm sound for the seventh consecutive time (My average snooze number is 13). My entire life, I've never been a morning person. I come from a long line of nappers, sleep-er in-ers, and folks who enjoy nothing more than a little shut-eye. It's a trait I've inevitably inherited and I wear my "Sleep is good" badge proudly on my chest. 


Which brings me to my next point of discussion... 
My arch nemisis.


It's the "I'm only tired between the hours of 10 p.m. and 8 a.m." kind of people. 
You know who you are. What is it with you guys and the need to know the exact cause of my fatigue? I'm just tired. I don't know why. I can't magically become more alert just because you think I'm weird. So, I've decided that I need to come up with an answer for you all. And I will let you know tomorrow morning, after I sleep on it.

And away we go...

For those who are curious, I'm going to begin blogging some of my random thoughts throughout the week. This is mostly because I like the sound of my own voice, but I've heard from multiple parties that I tend to be a little loud and obnoxious in person (a quality which I utterly resent), so I figure this might be easier on your eardrums.

Well... for starters, let's go with this...

I don't understand why skinny people don't sweat. Doctors and scientists around the world, please correct me if I am mistaken, but from what I have learned in basic biology, human beings and mammals alike sweat to cool down our bodies so that we don't overheat. It's a form of temperature regulation. Thus, I don't get why when I see skinny people running down the street, they are not sweating. Are they bionic humans? Are they aliens? Am I really that out of shape, that I need a shower after I run a mile and a half? I think the last time this thought crossed my mind, it was because a thin woman ran past me on the street and the smell of Downy fabric softener was what she left me with. Are you kidding me?

Thought numero dos...

I got very depressed a few days ago. The reasoning behind this was that I realized I am getting old. And the reasoning behind that was that I caught myself saying that "all music made now-a-days is complete crap."... a phrase I distinctly recall "old people" using when I was obsessed with the Hanson brothers and N'Sync and found myself defending their honor, to the point that I felt I was participating in teenage debate-warfare. But really, current music playing on the radio is horrible.

Last but not least (For now, anyway)...

I watched Last of the Mohicans today with my dear old pops. It made me want to live off of the earth and run around with nothing more than a loin cloth and a tomahawk. So, if I'm not on here posting for awhile, it's because I've decided to leave society as I know it and live in the woods about a mile down from my parent's house.

That is all for now, more weird ideas of mine are to follow. Hopefully.