Welcome Back!

After my initial welcome back to New Zealand by an idiot machine/person combo (story below), I tried; I really did. I hid out in my house. I barely talked to anyone, afraid that because I was sad, one insensitive New Zealander could send me right over the edge into raving lunatic, insane, mean and cold hearted. But after the construction crews woke me at 0615 this morning with their friendly hammering and the alarm clock from hell (the beeping of a TINY little digger going backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, back, no… forw, no… back, no.. for…) I had plenty of time to think and I began to justify my bad behavior (lack of sleep often has this effect). Let me explain:

It all started when Amelia and I stumbled off the last plane of our 30 hour trip and had to wait an hour and a half for Alan to get off work to pick us up. We wandered, we peed, we talked to the very rude lady at the information desk, who has apparently let the authority of the information desk go to her head. I am not sure if she has always hated foreigners or if she just hates foreigners at the airport (someone should really have told her in her interview that the airport has a surprising number of foreigners) or if she is just filling in for her information and foreigner loving friend who went on her own vacation via the airport. Either way, you should know not to ask her, in your sleep deprived stupor, if there used to be a door behind her (there was about 6 months ago). This will make her angry and she will have a temper tantrum about you needing to go out door eight, even though you don’t actually want to go out any doors because you are waiting for someone. Which is why you were asking about the door, because you were trying to figure out the best place to wait for someone who forgot their cell phone and therefore you have no way of actually connecting. (She will admit to there being a door in the middle of the tirade but a “LONG TIME AGO”.)

Then Al came. I greeted him with a glare reserved for kidnappers (because clearly that is what he has done, kidnapped me, otherwise why would I be in the country with the mean information lady). He says “do you feel ok to drive?” To which I respond by stopping in the middle of the parking lot and gaping at him “…be…be…because I need to go pay for parking so maybe you could just drive up and pick me up so it doesn’t charge us more because it took us so long to get out after I paid.” He tries. To which I respond somewhere in the vocal range of my nine year old “YOU HAVEN’T PAID???? JUST GO PAY!!!” He starts running away from me now. I am not sure why. Then a man comes over to me and says Al is going the wrong way; he has to pay back at the airport to which I respond by screaming Al’s name. Then this guy suddenly looks frightened and runs away from me too, for some reason, shouting over his shoulder “Oh I think I see a pay sign over there too! I think he is ok! I think he is ok! I think he is ok!” I do not say thank you.

Al makes it back to the car and we pull out and suddenly find ourselves in a 6 way traffic jam in the parking lot with one exit. Now this parking lot charges 4 dollars per ten minutes. And after you pay you have like 30 seconds to get out of the parking lot (which is why AL wanted me to get him in the first place) He is freaking out. I tell him, “Cut it out! They can clearly see we are trapped in the parking lot and will make adjustments accordingly!” Of course it gets worse. People keep pulling up to the little box and sitting there for ten minutes each. Some of them actually back up and re park (we assume they forgot to pay). When we get to the thingy it says we can’t get out until we pay 6 dollars. Alan pushes the intercom where we are privileged to overhear the conversation of the intercom person with someone else. Al keeps saying, “Hello… HELLO?” she keeps talking to someone else. Then he starts yelling “JUST LET US OUT!” To which she responds “You have to pay.” To which he responds “I HAVE paid!” We have all PAID we have just been stuck in your parking lot SINCE we paid!” Now a lovely lady who is about 75 comes to check on us and decides to try and manually lift the arm: she is unsuccessful.  Now other people are out of their cars and we are all screaming at the intercom lady, who finally lets us out.

I have some time to think on the drive home about my behavior and I decide I should really just stay away from all people until I can control myself and not scream in parking lots. But… it was Al’s birthday, so we had to do something… since I didn’t get him a gift or anything (I did try but not very hard). We go to this place that is trying to be American (but is not) and it is fine, although, apparently joking with the waiter is frowned upon. And then it happens. I ask if they will be showing the Super Bowl and he says “Yes! On that huge screen over there.” Alan’s and my eyes grow big with the shininess of the screen and we debate about whether it would be worth it to come and watch it there. Then the other waiter has the audacity to say that it is not a real sport because of the, I don’t know, short playing time or something. Alan wisely laughs loudly to cover my “Oh THAT’S how it’s GONNA BE?” and steers me out of the café before I break something on his face. But I have the blog so I will have my say now. I live in this country. I see how crazy you go for sport and, just to be clear, playing longer doesn’t make it a real sport either. I mean just because a game lasts five days and they stand around for most of it, does not make it a sport. And really, if someone brings you a cup of tea and sliced oranges in THE MIDDLE OF THE GAME you have to wonder. Am I playing a professional sport? And I TRIED to watch cricket; I really did, but NOTHING HAPPENED. So my body kept thinking I had dragged it outside to nap in the sun, in the country with no ozone layer, which it thought was stupid so it started moaning.

However, I manage to keep this little annoyance to myself when people around me talk about cricket. I nod and smile and look excited for them or sad if their team somehow lost (I still don’t know how that happens after days of playing they just stop and someone loses…???) Anyway, I manage to keep my mouth shut and then this yahoo has the gall to tell me that football is not a real sport. Look, I am not the biggest football fan in the world but the last time the Broncos went to the Superbowl was 1999. And football is home, endless Sundays sitting on my parent’s couch while my dad freaks out (actually wringing his hands!!! I love it!) all the while cheating on our eternal diets.  It is a ritual. It is tradition. And the Superbowl is the funnest of it all. Even the commercials are fun to watch. So why … why can’t you just let us have our fun? We never claimed it was the greatest sport in the world. So why can’t you just leave me alone. I am homesick and trying to have a little piece of home with me half way around the world. Why do you all have to be so mean? As punishment I was going to have a big Superbowl party at my house and invite everybody but instead we are only having people who can appreciate the game or at least respect how much the game means to us… So yes… the only people coming are my cousin and her kids… BUT we will wear our shirts with pride, scream at every first down and yell IN-COM-PLETE when the Seahawks drop the ball and we will eat yummy food without you haters and let me tell you, I can make some yummy food!

So thanks for the warm welcome back New Zealand and GO BRONCOS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(p.s. sorry… I told you I was mean when I get back…)

Lessons learned 2013. Not, you know, deep meaningful lessons ( I learned those too) but blog lessons...

PART THREE or the slightly whiny edition...

1.      People enjoy taking your money, especially when it doesn’t belong to them. And when you tell them it doesn’t belong to them they like to say “Sorry, the computer took it. We can’t do anything to help you.” Which begs the question: Why have computers started attacking us? I mean, we were supposed to be way further along in technological advances before the machines attack, right? That is what the movies keep telling us. First we reach unimaginable heights of human invention and intelligence and THEN the machines attack. So why, when the computers take my money, are we completely powerless against them? I would understand if I was already flying my own car but I am still driving on roads, so machines definitely should not be taking my money. We can renegotiate when cancer is cured. 
          As a side note, the last time this happened to me, the man who told me the computer took my money and there was nothing he could do about it, then told me I could file a complaint via email and "graciously" gave me the email address. I am suspicious that this guy could be a double agent. Because why would I complain using the enemy technology. I mean telling the computer it took your money seems counter productive. Won't the computer get my email and then just laugh manically as it spends my money on, I don't know, a new disk drive or something. I would think it would be more wise to speak with someone over the phone (which is what I tried first of course, until he told me he was powerless) or even perhaps pen a letter. Maybe the guy was being held hostage by the computers and  even though his title says "customer service" he is really tied to a chair in some warehouse or something. AND they have threatened his family if he involves the cops OR gives me my money back. In which case I totally understand but then we all should really be getting ready to fight the machines not using them everyday. So sir, if you can read this (because you are surrounded by computers threatening you and keeping you tied to chairs) try to send a signal next time so we can all be ready. Also, try to insert code word: "Elephant Rush" so that we know your family is in danger if you help me. Then we will find your family and put them in protective custody right away. Stay strong we will get you out!!

2.  You need sisters. They understand you and you can tell them how you really feel and they get it. They believe in you and that makes you achieve things you never thought possible. I do not know where they get this super power but they got it and I love them.

3.    Always be ready for a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. I find it is best to skip all meals or eat the bare minimum if there is even a remote chance that you will be given a giant freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. Because if you eat your normal healthy food, when someone offers you a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie (or you pass one in the mall) you have to decide whether you can afford the calories. If you chose not to eat all day,  then you can just happily accept the freshly baked chocolate chip cookie let the chocolate drip down your face and lick it off at your leisure. If you are not sure you will get the chance to eat a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie and you eat normally and then you do find yourself in the position of dancing from foot to foot in indecision over one. Make sure your mom is with you (this is a good general rule, just make sure your mom is always near by) because she will share it and love it with you and then the calories are almost zero. Because you danced around in circles and jumped a little while trying to decide which burns calories. AND you  are sharing, which not only reduces calories but gives you credit calories because you were nice. Calories are good like that.
4.      I live too far away from family; like way too far. But you can’t have happy hellos without painful goodbyes. But this is like saying “Hang in there!!” to someone dangling from the edge of a cliff. It is true they should “hang in there” but it is not helping. So as I say another good bye today I will leave another little piece of my heart on the DIA security check point floor. I will make the TSA agents a little edgy as I sob through the line taking off my shoes. And because, for a while, I will only be operating with a partial heart, you may notice that my blog will get a little hateful against a certain country or person who MADE me live in this country. While my criticism may be true it will come out all wrong and I will appear to be a mean person. And... AND I will once again be in a foreign country while the Broncos fight in the Super Bowl, not sitting in a room full of family screaming our heads off, which is just dumb. (I realize this is coming dangerously close to whining which is firmly against policy but... the Broncos are going to the Super Bowl I mean like... Right!?!? I should be able to enjoy the game AND watch my dad freak out!) So if I happen to run into you over the next few days and I tell you where I am going and you say “Oh you are so lucky!” and I burst into tears, don’t be alarmed I know I am blessed (I won’t say lucky because I am surprisingly clumsy and thus a bit unlucky sometimes) but it just doesn’t feel like it when saying good bye to my family… again.

Lessons learned 2013. Not, you know, deep meaningful lessons ( I learned those too) but blog lessons...

PART TWO or The Gym Edition

 

1.      Avoid the Stairmaster. Now the first time I saw the Stairmaster at the gym, I thought it looked a bit above my skill level. It is huge and seems to be mounted on some sort of stage, maybe not, but it towers above the other gym equipment so I passed it by, thinking, “that looks like certain failure and if I am going to fail at the gym, I would rather not be suspended from the ceiling where everyone can see me”. So I went about my normal workout on the super-cool-compete-against-everyone-bike and strange let’s-pretend-we-are-cross-country-skiing-devices. I worked hard on these apparatuses and began to think that I was getting back in shape finally (after recovering from my body’s latest attempt at sabotage).  

Then I had the pleasure (that’s not sarcastic it is always friendlier with sisters) of going to the gym with my sisters who let’s be honest already look amazing in their work out clothes and are quite the little gym professionals. As I got on the bike, I watched in the mirror as my oldest sister ascended the Stairmaster. She killed it! She was keeping a fast steady pace for a good half an hour, 40 minutes.

A few days later, my sisters left L (because, you know, they have jobs or some other such nonsense) and I was back at the gym on my own. My bike and slidy thingy were busy (because it is the New Year and now everybody is back at the gym). I eyed the Stairmaster and I think to myself, “If Michelle can do it so can I!” Common last words of the third born child… I awkwardly try and make my way to the top of this contraption so I can reach the buttons to make it start. What I didn’t realize is once you step on it, it starts moving so you have to keep stepping while trying to punch in all the numbers it is demanding  you enter. What I also did not realize is how often I look at my feet when climbing stairs. I was unaware of this until the Stairmaster is flashing lights demanding the input of various numbers while I trip up the steps that are now moving. I finally get it going and begin.

I try for slower pace just so I can get used to it and avoid falling on my face. (Let’s remember I am in the center of the gym on some sort of platform. There may have even been a spotlight on me. I have no idea why we must worship the Stairmaster but none-the-less this gym REALLY likes it or maybe the Stairmaster is just really tall?? I don’t know, either way I am center stage.) I have been going for about a minute but my pace is not matching my running music, which annoys me, so I increase the speed. Now I am flailing trying desperately to stay on the damn thing and my legs have gone from burning to jelly. I look at the timer it says, 4 minutes. As the steps fling me closer and closer to the ground, I desperately slap at the machines large red stop button and it comes to a screeching halt. And then, of course, it starts moving again even though the large screen is flashing PUSH START TO CONTINUE!! PUSH START TO CONTINUE!!  I have now drawn the attention of half the gym so I try and look relaxed, as I gulp in air and force the vomit to stay in my stomach, while continuing to trip up the escalator from hell. I look at the nonexistent watch on my wrist and mouth numbers to make it look like I am calculating something. Hoping the staring gymers will all think I intended to only do 4 minutes on the Stairmaster. I then must try and extricate myself from the death machine while having lost all feeling in both legs (picture Bridget Jones getting off the bike at her gym). I stagger around the gym while I wait for my vision to clear from the strange dancing spots and spinning. Simultaneously,  I avoid the concerned looks of seasoned gym goers wondering if they should call an ambulance. So the lesson here is: my sister is a kickass Stairmaster champion and she will never be beaten.

2.      This is not really a lesson but a desperate plea for 2014. To the skinny perfect girls at the gym. Umm could you stop coming? Why are you coming in the first place? Why would you spend money to get on MY bikes, put them on the lowest gear and then chat so loud that the entire gym can hear your conversation? Just to let you know if you are able to carry on a conversation that loud for that long you are NOT getting a workout. So why must I be subjected to the dangers of the Stairmaster AND your ridiculous conversation about fattening foods and “OMG I ate so much yesterday!!!” while your bony ass sits on MY bike that I sweat blood on, when you could have gotten just as much accomplished at your local coffee shop? And as a bonus, you would have saved your voice because you wouldn’t have had to shout over the whir of the machines. Sorry, I am sure you are really nice? And I have no problem with skinny people sweating and running their asses off (literally). But don’t come to my gym in your cute little outfits, stay for an hour and never even break a sweat or get out of breath. It’s really insulting. Thank you for your attention now go about your perfect skinny lives.

 

Lessons learned 2013. Not, you know, deep meaningful lessons ( I learned those too) but blog lessons... PART ONE

1.      Bad stuff happens. It sucks but it makes the precious moments in our lives more sparkly! Which is always a good thing.

2.       Your body sometimes decides it knows better. It doesn’t. If it needs to be corrected, first, try talking to it calmly to share the error of its ways. If that fails, try throwing it against the wall to reset it. (This should only be done by you. Never get help from others as this is violence and I don’t like it.) If these fail, try drugs. Feel free to skip straight to drugs if you think your body will ignore the first two options.

3.      People tend to be judgmental and mean sometimes but this is just because they are stupid or just acting stupid or feeling stupid or maybe tired or possibly hungry. So just ignore them. Or you could picture them as Gollum as this may provide endless laughter. Or even better, sympathy, if you lean that way. Because you know, Gollum used to be Sméagol and the ring made him all naked and Gollum-y and you might want to ponder what “ring” caused the person standing in front of you to turn into a monster. I find, though, that it makes me giggle so it is probably best to wait till you are in your car before picturing them as Gollum, because laughing at mean, judgmental people in front of them only makes their face more Gollum-esque.

4.      I do not ever want to see the reality series The Bachelor. I mean what the heck is happening with that show!? Do people really think we want to watch pretty people being fake to fall in fake love with a weird giving of the roses? What is that? Just stop it! It’s creepy.

5.      Don’t try to write blog posts while everyone in the room is watching TV because you will write a lesson like “I don’t want to watch The Bachelor” because the commercial came on and you could not tear your eyes away from that train wreck.

6.      Being a little overweight is okay, not great, but okay.  I would like to weigh less than the maximum weight that a firefighter can carry down a flight of stairs, you know, just in case… but we can’t have everything and sometimes I just want a damn piece of chocolate. (Plus, really body, I will throw you against the wall again if you don’t sort yourself out. I should be able to replace the calories from a meal with the calories in chocolate and you should not freak out. I mean, calm down, it is the same calories! You need to understand that I care about you and I will give you the nutrients you need. But if I want a double-shot mocha with whipped cream on top and I choose not to eat lunch you should be able to cope just fine. I looked up the calories: it is the same as the healthy sandwich! So calm down for fudge sake! Also, if you are hungry could you just snack on my ass or my belly or my arms or my thighs first THEN send the signal that I need to eat because really, it is all there, buffet style, so just fix it. Plus, you know you hate going to the gym so if you can’t sort yourself out I will drag you back there. You know I will, so watch it!)

7.        Traveling can be annoying but getting there is __________. I thought this should be a fill in the blank one. Because it is interactive and fun and you might come up with better describing words than I could. Plus then you can contribute!! And now my blog is like for thinking and a forum and stuff! I will start us off. If I could, I would insert a choir singing a high C. But this is incredibly hard to type. So, getting there is Jump up and down nearly pee my pants excited. Although, this could be because I have had to pee for the last two and a half hours of the flight and when I got off the plane the line for the bathroom was a mile long so I thought I should just hold it for another couple of hours while we fight with the carousel to negotiate the release of our bags and then realize what a mistake we have made because straining to lift a heavy bag off something determined to pull it away from you makes your body think it is free to pee. It could be that. Or I am so excited to see my family I nearly pee my pants!

8.      People are on their phones A LOT, looking down, only half hearing your sentences. They look up occasionally but it is only because they feel like they have to, not because they think you are interesting. Now, to be fair, if I had a phone like they do I would probably be staring at it as well. Unfortunately, MY smart phone only went to kindergarten. So I don’t really care what it is doing and usually I glare at it with a look of disdain that an optimist/nice person, such as me, should be ashamed of.  However this does have a bonus: because no one is ever really looking at anyone else, my lesson number 6 doesn’t matter so much.

9.      Advertising is lying. What they are selling will not make us prettier, happier or spend more time with family driving off road. And besides, is that really what we want? Driving off the roads jarring your back and neck, killing local plant life and you’re smiling because you’re supposed to be so you bite your tongue as you go over a huge rock. Now you are bleeding but still “havin’ a great time!” And if scientists had really worked out how to make us all thin wouldn’t we all be thin? I love how it is always “as part of a healthy diet and exercise program!” Really? Your pill combined with a healthy diet and exercise program “Burns the fat away!” but not just the diet and exercise. And it’s “scientifically tested” Really? Amazing! I just ran my own scientific test. All the results aren’t in yet but initial data reveals you think we are all stupid and you want our money. So drawing from these incomplete facts this researcher feels that by projecting the estimated figures she can with 85% confidence state: you are evil.

10.  Stop trying to write blog posts while everyone around you is watching TV.

11.  Raising a kid is the most fun you will ever have in your life. It is amazing and funny and challenging. They will teach you so much and you will learn just how capable and amazing and strong you are.

12.  Raising a kid is hard. I consider myself an intelligent person (you know, I get straight A’s in university and such) but often I find myself standing in front of my 9-year old unable to speak because I have no idea what is going on, how to respond or how to make it stop. So I just stand there looking stupid. It keeps happening (what ever it is), swirling around me like a dust storm and I demand “Say something! Do something!” and then my expensive, intelligent mind responds “I got nothing. You are on your own. I am not sure that thing is even human. I suggest you run very far and very fast: you never know what these things could do to you.”

13.  Raising a kid requires a certain amount of healthy insanity. To live everyday somewhere between lesson 11 and 12. To experience the most love and the most frustration simultaneously. To doubt your ability and embrace your inner super hero all in the same moment.

Stay Tuned for PART TWO! If you want or not...

 

 

 

How "Santa" Saved me from my "Line of Weird"

Now, I don’t know if all of you know, but I am a nurse. I loved it and was proud to be a nurse. Eventually I had some grumbling, not ‘optimistic/nice person’ issues when I worked as a nurse in New Zealand but that is a story for another time. What I would like to discuss here is one of the hazards of being a nurse.

See, to become a nurse you have to learn stuff about the human body. All about how it is supposed to work and all about the horrors of when your body goes rogue and unfortunately, even when you take a break from being a nurse, that stays with you. You end up raising a slightly hypochondriacally-leaning daughter who always smells faintly of Purell. Also, you tend to over-react when a family member is sick demanding they go to the hospital immediately, without caring that you have just made them freak out that they are going to die. Furthermore, when something goes wrong in your own body, you are pretty sure it is cancer. Not that you are morbid or anything; you just spent four years in school hearing horror stories of people who were stupid and could have been saved but ignored symptoms and left it too late and now they are dead.

Fast forward a few years and I find a lump in my breast. Now to be honest, “lump” is not really the right word, more like a “line of weird”. Plus, I also have a weird stabbing pain there, so that is another box ticked. (Picture me sticking my tongue out at you and saying, “so there!” Because I am sure before I explained this you were rolling your eyes at my paranoia.)

After umming and ahhing with Al we both think I am fine. But we are leaving to a country where, if you are dying, it will cost lots of money and because I refuse to die of stupidity I decide to go to the doctor. My usual doctor doesn’t have any appointments till next week (after we leave for the expensive dying country) so I must see the drop-in doctor. After waiting 45 minutes (well, it didn’t feel that long because I kept ducking into the bathroom to make sure the “line of weird” is still there. It is, but it seems to be shrinking. This is not surprising because you find often when you are a hypochondriac just going into the doctor’s office cures you.) I consider escaping but I have already paid to see the doctor. I am standing in the corner because I have had to take over daily operations of my immune system and it is probably more dangerous for me to stand in the cesspool that is the local doctor’s office than for me to just deal with my “line of weird”. I try to act nonchalant because it looks a bit strange to see a woman standing in a room full of empty chairs, reading her Kindle. The other patients are trying to be polite but keep looking me up and down wondering if there is something wrong with me or if they should be keeping an escape route handy or if I know something they don’t know, like if you stand you get called in sooner.

A more fit, redheaded version of Santa (really this is an exaggeration as the only similarities are that he has a beard and is jolly) comes around the corner and finally calls my name. I follow along behind, head hung low in embarrassment because I know cancer doesn’t grow overnight as my line of weirdness has and I know that he will tell me that as soon as I sit in his office. But, because I am a nurse, I have also been drilled with horror stories of all those strange cases, those “exceptions to the rule” and I am now convinced that I have a new form of cancer that grows overnight. As we enter his office I find that he is not a doctor but a PA who is over from the States. I also find that I am pretty sure he is gay. This puts me instantly at ease. Now don’t judge me; it was a momentary lapse. I know I should not discriminate against heterosexual doctors who can be just as professional as the homosexual PA (or can they?) And people should not be labeled; they should just be people. But I like him better than most of the heterosexual doctors and not just because he might be gay but because he is REALLY nice and calm. And again, he may not be gay but he puts me at ease and, gay or not, I am happy now for him to touch my breasts.  He asks me what is going on and I explain. He does the exam and crinkles up his endearing face and says “but you have it on this side too…”, feeling both sides together. I say “No I don’t!” (And to be fair to me it was a smaller “line of weird” on the left than the right.) Then he says “I think that is a rib.”

At this I respond professionally, choosing my words carefully to ensure understanding: “Shut up! Do not tell me I went to the doctor because I have ribs!”  He was sooo nice and proceeded to explain that as I have recently started running again (because I have finally managed to make my immune system bow to the almighty drug) he thinks I have inflammation in the cartilage between my ribs, causing the slight swelling and pain. Now he even drew me a picture (because clearly I was not a healthcare professional who had spent years studying the human body, because what kind of healthcare professional needs to be told that she has a functioning body part?) and sent me on my way.

So, just in case anyone is wondering, I have had confirmation from another healthcare professional that I do in fact have ribs.

Rule number 7 – PART 2: How to assist those around you to continue being an optimist/nice person even if you are not: At the Movies.

I realize I have mentioned this before but after a recent experience at the movies I feel it needs to be explored in much greater depth. I found myself in a movie theater with carefully chosen friends who don't talk but sitting next to a row of 7 teenage boys. They apparently thought they were at a public film forum. Otherwise, I am not sure how it is possible to have THAT much to say during a film. In order to remain an optimist/nice person, I tried to imagine all of the reasons someone would be compelled to speak through an entire movie. I thought maybe the constant stream of words was because someone did not speak English and had brought their own personal interpreter. But then I picked up enough words to realized they were all English speaking (clearly I did not try very hard as this was my only idea but to be fair, I was trying to actually watch a film at the time). Next, I tried a few sighs and mean glaring (which is surprisingly ineffective in a dark movie theater); nothing worked and the words continued to flow unimpeded from the teenage mouths.
Then, just to make sure I reached another level of insanity, they decided to text their other friends (the ones not at the movies) to tell them what a great time they were having. I can't imagine they were having a good time because I am pretty sure to this day they will have no idea what actually happened during this particular film.
After spending WAY too much time pondering the reason behind talking in theaters and just how close I had come to standing up, running to the front and screaming "SHUT UP!"  Thus putting my days of being an optimist/nice person behind me, I decided intervention was necessary. Therefore, I have developed a fool proof series of questions to help anyone who may still be confused about the subject. I am also available for seminars given for the very discounted rate of the cost of a movie ticket.  Or,  you could just casually post this, perhaps on Facebook, (This is particularly effective if you have a friend who you love but just can’t help themselves.) and be like "HA! isn't this funny? LOL!" (even if you don't think it is funny, saying it is funny might get them to read it). Then hopefully you will have a reformed talker that you are  free to take to the cinema anytime you want.

So, in summation, there are very few reasons to speak in a movie. (None that I can think of but there could be something. Like maybe, "Close your eyes! If you watch this scene you will never sleep again and forever be an angry bitter cynic who believes everyone will eventually just kill each other." But this would be a one time emergency situation because I am unlikely to have gone to see a film requiring this sort of intervention.) The trip to the movies is supposed to be an all encompassing absorbing experience. To be explored in much depth AFTER the credits roll, when you are free to explore its profound meaning, criticize its idiot director, writer or actor, or just say "That was amazing!" over and over. Feel free to quote line after line or explain the six degrees of separation between you and Steven Spielberg. The floor is yours! However, if you want to talk to me in a movie theater, while the movie is rolling, your opinion is immediately invalid because you can't possibly have acquired all of the information needed to have formed an opinion worth me missing any part of the movie. Plus, I would like to continue being a nice person and sitting there mulling over your words tends to make me think not nice thoughts while I miss even more of the film I paid to see. For instance how ridiculous your opinion is and how you may or may not have brain cells.

I will say that the rented movie has slightly more lax rules. This is because I either did not feel the movie would be worth a full price ticket, or I have already seen it in the theater. Also, the rented movie provides ample opportunity for witty banter which I am fully in favor of especially for the absolutely ridiculous film that should be mocked mercilessly. But remember, NOT in the theater! It is dark for a reason people!!

Rule number 7  -  How to assist those around you to continue being an optimist/nice person even if you are not. PART ONE.

Now I may be breaking one of my rules here slightly but if you recall in the little sidebar thingy to the right -> I reserved the right to be bossy. SO here it goes …

When making any decision, please take just a few minutes of your overall decision making time to determine just how big your contribution will be to someone's overall level of annoyance or possible insanity.

Questions you could ask yourself:

 

 

Because here is how it affects me when I am writing. It often ends up looking like this:

I am not sure how I got here. I have just experienced the terrible feeling  that I have not been awake for the last Gotta git dat   twenty minutes of the drive. git dat   I chastise myself, turn the music up a little louder and roll the window down. 

Gotta git dat boom boom pow

The bitter cold annoys me sufficiently to wake me up. As  I am following a long bend, I suddenly have to hit the brakes, hard. A small blue hatchback has boom boom pow  stopped just ahead, not quite off the road, lights on and its door is open.  I pull up behind it,

You’re the reason all those cute girls havin babies

trying inconspicuously to press down the lock on my door. cute girls havin babies Now what? Clearly this is not a good situation for a woman by herself but what if someone needs help? Cause baby you o o o o o o o make me feel alright. Cause baby you o o o o o o make me feeeeel alright. I reach for my cell phone; no signal, of course.  I roll down the window, just slightly, to see if  you o o o o o o make me feeeeel alright I can hear anyone. Nothing, just an owl in the distance. Great! Why does there have to be an owl?  I decide it is time to act. As I exit the safety of my vehicle.

Bubble yum bum bad um bam bad um. Bubble yum bum ba dum bum be dum.

“Hello?” I say, too softly for Bubble yum bum anyone to hear. “Hello!?” I try, a little louder. I peer into the darkness but the lights  Bubble yum from both cars have made it impossible to see.  I start edging down the embankment when I hear another car pull up. I peer back over the road’s edge and see a man,  Bubble yum bum ba dum bum be dum about my age, getting out of his truck as cautiously as I did. His face mirrors my fear and I cover my mouth to avoid giggling. yum bum  Someone this scared can’t be a threat. I raise myself up and give him a wave – he jumps so far he  Ummm ummm Bubble yum bum ba dum bum be dum. Oh  never mind.

If you have decided that you don't care how your music choice is affecting everyone around you, when I pull back the curtain angrily, could you at least give me the satisfaction of a well placed glare? I mean, I stand there for like ten minutes glaring at you. So, could you at least look up and pretend to be afraid of me?
Thanks