I was just listening to Flight of the Conchords, “I Told You I Was Freaky” and laughing my ass off. Why am I not following them on Twitter? Fixing that right now…Fixed.
Freaky, in one fashion or another, has been the Theme of the Day.
Before work, something freaky did happen-I got tweets favorited by a dead cartoon character in Archer. I told you Archer was awesome. I also totally called it that the character would die. I will not spoil it for you if you haven’t seen it yet. I never knew I always wanted to be interacting with a dead cartoon character until that happened.
On the way to work, I watched a couch slide off the bed of a pickup truck, fly through the air, and land Right. In. Front. Of. Me. Brakes kept me from hitting it by a very narrow margin. So I threw on my hazards and waited, because I couldn’t go anywhere, because: COUCH IN FRONT OF ME, and the other lanes were full. I’m so thankful no one was behind me. It would have been a pileup.
The guys driving the pickup truck just calmly hopped out and picked that couch up like it was made of feathers, (well, no, that would actually be kind of heavy…styrofoam, then,) and tossed it right back into the truck, the same way it had been before. They did not apologize, or nod, or even acknowledge something totally fucking freaky had just happened. It was like, “Oh, we have the World’s Lightest Couch, and we don’t tie it down, even on windy days, and we do this shit All the Time. We’re practicing for the Lightweight Couch Tossing Olympics.” To be somewhat fair, I don’t think they spoke English, but even Me, the Whitest Girl you’ve ever met, (For real you guys, I glow in the dark a little bit,) knows how to speak Spanish. And some Brazilian Portuguese. And some Mandarin. I am trying to learn how to say, “My hovercraft is full of eels” in as many languages as possible, because I think that no matter what, if I say that in a foreign country, people will assume I am crazy and just help me out, by allowing me to point to things. Not totally unlike the David Sedaris Method of learning how to say all the most screwed up things in French before he learned normal things. To paraphrase, I think he said, “I sounded like a possessed toddler.” I’m not even being that ambitious. I’m just going for the one sentence. For now. I actually love languages and would like to speak as many as possible.
So on arriving at work…I saw and heard various “freaky” things, but none of that is ever too unusual. That’s part of my job-to hear that stuff, and help people gauge how freaky it really is-and it’s generally A LOT lower on the Freak Meter than they think. People worry about what they’re thinking and doing so much that it really takes away from their happiness. I tell them to get out of their heads a little bit once in awhile and just BE ok with themselves.
A question I ask people fairly often is, “Would you speak to a 5-year-old the way you speak to yourself and about yourself?” Always they say, “Well, no!” And I say, “Why not?” And they say, “Because…it’s mean. It’s inappropriate. It’s unkind. It’s not something that they would need to hear.” And I say, “You are every age you’ve ever been. So why are you treating yourself so unkindly?” I really love it when the lightbulb goes on after that. I never get tired of it. Then we have a really good discussion about reprogramming negative scripts, and correcting thinking errors.
I hope that helps anyone who is reading this. I have to remind myself to do it some days.
I went to dinner with my friend Cathy and she was drinking a freaky Martini when I arrived, made of chocolate and marshmallow liqueur, and I had one, and it was good, but I wished I’d waited until dessert for it, because it was like trying to eat S’Mores with a salad. I thought it would be more covertly chocolate flavored, rather than overt. I momentarily wished I had ordered a regular Martini until I remembered that no one has made me an excellent one since I lived in Las Vegas. I like them filthy, not just dirty, and with 3 olives, for future reference.
I got a piece of news that is so freaky, I’m not even ready to share it yet, and no, I’m not pregnant. It’s nothing like that. It’s more a…”this will come to pass” type message from someone I trust. I cannot even begin to imagine how it will come to pass. I’m just going to go with it for now.
Sometimes, amid the hustle, the freakiness, the flying couches, and the passing strange martinis, you just have to trust that it’s all coming together, just fine.
I can keep that up today.
(C) Kelly Krings 2014