Nnekay.com

At what ages does it become ridiculous to carry a backpack?

If it were acceptable, I would sport one right now. It’s the perfect carrying receptacle. Large pouch for big shit, smaller pouches for smaller shit and chatchkis. It’s perfect, I could probably carry enough to survive a nuclear fall out for 5 days in a backpack (after five days… I guess I could fashion it into a a-line skirt… can’t do that with a purse). Plus- have you seen all the new advancements in backpack technology?! They have cell phone nooks, ipod crannies, if you’re parched- some come with water packs, and some of these bastards come with wheels! I hate wheelie backpacks… I tripped over too many to like them or the people who use them. Just because it’s rolling behind you doesn’t mean you get to ignore the feet you’re running over. Jerks.

I must clarify, that the backpacks of my desire are plain and simple. Straight up JanSport, one color, life-time guarantee, hip in the 90s and will never go out of style type of backpack. You can save you’re mini leather backpacks at home or with your tacky Cousin Sheila.

But, unfortunately, I, Nnekay, am too old to wear a backpack on a regular basis- in fact, the only time I can get away with wearing one is… camping. I recently went camping, and I backpacked it up- even though it was for one night, no hiking involved, and I parked my car right on the campsite.

I still brought a backpack, and wore it, dammit!

A friend of mine, who is my age, uses a backpack on a regular basis… unlike me, he somehow can mildly pull it off, because he’s sorta mountain-y. You know- wears sandles, perpetually had a beard of some sort…when he wears his pack, he tends looks like he’s coming from some wooded adventure, whereas I look like I’m ditching 4th period.

So yea, I’m a girl, and I do have the purse option, which I use to maximum capacity- I love purses- but there is a thin line, between “cute bag, Lady” and “Bag Lady”. Too small, you look like a stripper- too large you’re shifting around in the abyss for a Werther’s Original to give to your grandbabies. Not to mention, aside from walking, when you’re carry a purse and engaging in any activity, you look like a goober. Bike riding with a purse, running with a purse, riding a roller coaster with a purse… sheesh, it’s all bad. You’re always forced to clutch it, then you’re that prude lady clutching her purse.

And nobody wants to be that woman.

Unfortunately, there is no quick fix answer to my lament, instead I must indulge in the lopsided world of adult packs- the purse and the messenger bag. Why must all acceptable adult bags be for one shoulder- we are creating a nation of hunchbacks and Igors!

SANCTUARY!

I do know one thing, the creator of the Fanny Pack should be banished to a faraway island.

For the love of God, what the hell happened to common decency? Seriously!

I have smiled at so many people in my teen/adult life and instead of receiving a little of the same- what do I get? A Goddamn icy glare. Is it really that hard to return the favor when they’ve given you a smile?! As much as you and you’re little mean face want to argue, there is no excuse! Let’s say you have horrible snaggly tiny baby rat teeth, smile with your mouth shut! Okay, so you’re having a bad moment, who the hell cares! My smile was to brighten your day and now, I feel like shit because you, with your glare-y pinch face, made me feel like I should be shut in a basement and never given food.

Let’s say I made a leery I’m-gonna-undress-you-with-my-eyes smile. Only then, you have the right to ignore, look away, or even flip me the bird. Why? Because that’s gross and I should know better.

BUT, when I give you an innocent smile in your jerk stranger direction, you better smile back. Is it really that hard?! Are you paralyzed from the nose down? No, because people don’t get paralyzed horizonatally on their faces. And if I’m wrong, or you have crazy Novocain work goin’ on… WAVE, Dammit!

As with “pleases” and “thank yous”- I have a HARD time, not smiling back at someone. It’s almost a knee jerk reaction- oh that lady smiled at me- smile back. Someone gave me something- say thank you. I’m asking for help- say please. Where in the world did all these alien rude people come from? Were they raised in a backwoods cave? Did they just looked at each other stone faced and grunted commands at each other?! Don’t speak English? A smile is pretty universal, but lets say you come from a country where everyone is a jerk with bad teeth, so when a joke is cracked or when you want to look friendly, you look at the ground to show love. Well, on your turf, I won’t smile… I’ll think it’s weird, but I will respect you. So when you’re on my turf respect me by smiling back, and you are more than welcome to think it’s weird.

Call me old fashioned, but in order for me to not say “please”, “thank you” or smile when smiled at…. I have to SUPER, EXTREMELY, UBER, CRAZYTOWN hate you. I have to be so mad that I’m probably restraining from punching you in the face. Even then, I might slip up and say “please” when I want you to leave my presence.

I have never been this mad. Therefore, I smile at everyone who smiles at me, and I always say, “please” and “thank you”.

BUT.

Because I know that I have to be Hulk status mad to not be polite, I feel that when people neglect to smile at me when I’ve smiled at them… they must want to punch me in the face. This is a gut reaction. My rational side knows that these people are just mongoloids who have no sense of the world around their selfish little beings, but that inital inner, deep down feeling is a tiny little pang of being hated for some unknown reason.

That sucks and it gets me mad. So mad, in fact, I might turn green, but even when I’m clobbering small cities in ripped purple pants, I’ll still manage to say “thank you” when people move out of my giant green way.

Earth day.

This year I’ve noticed that a lot more attention has been dedicated towards “greening” our daily lives. I feel like people are finally starting to realize how wasteful they truly are when it comes to energy and garbage.

I myself am a pretty wasteful person, and I’m actually gonna try to cut down on my power usage.

Some things though I could never do without- say toilet paper. I heard that the new MTV Real World house has a component on the toilet that blows air on your ass so you don’t have to use toilet paper.

Nope.

I love the environment, but all I can think about is how badly those hand air dryers work. Something tells me that ass dryers would be cut from the same fabric of hand dryers. Since becoming potty trained, I learned to love the luxury of a dry ass.

It’s nice that this year Earth Day has come with a little bit of a change. I’m glad people are using this day as a way to call attention to our carbon footprints (sheesh, that term is so dumb), the way Earth Day used to be treated was so corny. In years past- people would have either forgotten/ignored the “holiday” or sat around a tree, and hugged it. By the way, hugging a tree is an awful experience, I don’t think trees want to be hugged. Watered. Yes. Hugged. Not so much. It’s like hugging a weirdly awkward long lost relative, who’s really dry and covered in bugs.

Anyway- I hope everyone has a good Earth Day and does at least one thing to help preserve our world- except hugging a tree or blowing hot air on their asses.

I currently live near an elementary school.

So near in fact, I can hear the crossing guard greet each freshly scrubbed kid as they drag they’re feet to class each morning.

On Mondays : “Happy Monday! Everybody!”

On Tuesdays: “Happy Tuesday! hahaha!”

On Wednesday: “Hey! Happy Wednesday!”

Ack! We get it!!!

While I sit and drink my coffee, watch the same four music videos on MTV, and peel my eyelids open… the sound of children playing slowly increases until the soft tonal bell rings and they immediately quite down… I imagine they are filling into neat little lines at this point- I never look because: 1. the unoriginal crossing guard has already irritated me and 2. screeching children in the morning is only pleasant on the ears of other screeching children… why would I want to watch them screech?

By the time I manage to freshly scrub and drag myself to work- the school yard is an abandoned ghost town, while the little gremlins learn long division, cursive, and the capitol of North Dakota. All of which they will forget due to heavy drinking in high school and college.

Today as I fell instep with the same ole Monday routine. Having a hard time getting out of my bed, I starred at the ceiling and started to count each of the time the crossing guard said, “Happy Monday! hahahaha!” Around 103, I decided he must have been mildly retarded. I got up, watched Mariah Carey frolic around on TV. Then commenced the death march to my vehicle.

As I walked by the school, I noticed today was a little different. The school yard was filled with hoards of brightly dressed children (if adults dressed in the colors kids did, I think we’d all be a little bit happier) sitting silent, but happy. Instead of loud demon screeches from the underworld- happy African music tinkled through the yard. I found this site rather peculiar and decided to get a better look. by craning my neck just a little bit i was able to spy four men danced in traditional African clothing. Dancing is an understatement. These gentlemen were flipping, tossing , and rolling to the slack jaw amazement of their 10 and under audience. I, too stood dumbfounded by their acrobatics- but then remembered I had to get the library… there were probably some bums that needed to be wrangled.

As I drove to work, I felt a wave a jealous wash over me. I would much rather be watching an entertainment assembly.

In fact a good portion of the day I sat and remembered all the wonderful entertainment assemblies I enjoyed in my youth. I decided that adults needed Entertainment Assemblies. Then I remembered that festival season was coming up, and well… that’s kinda like one big assembly…. African Dance, Mexican Folk Dance, Takio Drumming, etc. all that can be seen usually on the “world” stage at any given park festival. Yet, the problem with festivals are… they aren’t forced. Children can be persuaded to attend things, while adults stuck in their damn stubborn ways basically have to be forced- only then… we come around and say things like, “yea… I guess that was alright…”

If I was Czar of America, I would instate forced entertainment assemblies.

All this thinking about assemblies, got me wondering about recess as well. That was some fun shit. I was wondering what it would be like if a bunch of grown people were deposited into a yard an told to do whatever for 10-15 minutes. Sadly, I’ve come to realization that there would be no tether ball or tag or four square. Just a lot complaining, smoking, gossip, and sleep. It would probably look like a prison yard full of suits. When does the transition from recess to coffee break occur. Well, I guess I can answer that one myself: puberty. Granted hormones have their perks in adult life, but do they really have to drag down our “play impulses”.

Hand count- How many of you have in the past found yourself breathless and panting after some silly spontaneous childish activity- Laughing till crying? Running through sprinklers? Racing up a flight of stairs? Then saying to yourself, “Man, I haven’t had this fun in years.” It’s hard not to get overwhelmed with responsibilities… and yes, it’s important to not neglect these responsibilities…. but it’s important to relax and have fun too… or we’ll all become wrinkly stress cases with ulcers.

Anyway- I’m gonna get off of my soapbox… I just hope some of you take a break and at least think to yourself, “hey, that wasn’t so bad>”

Great googly moogly I wish I was one of those sports girls.

You know, the ones who wear the jerseys and can “hang” with the boys. Cheering along with whatever the team of the moment is. They can rattle off scores and stats with a cutie little wink in their eye.

Fuckers.

Sports just don’t sink in with me, and I’ve tried so hard. I’ve been to various baseball games… but I always seems to be more fascinated with the uniforms or the fireworks after the game, then the game itself. I’ve been to horse races, but I like the caramel corn they sell more than the stinky horses. Football… forget it, I’d rather punch my face.

It’s not like I don’t understand sports. When, I play I definitely hold my own. I just think I might have sports ADD. Watching it doesn’t interest me as much as I wish it did. Well, it does interest me, just in weird ways.

I like the gossip (oooh, that players hot new pop singer’s girlfriend is ruining his game), the uniforms (that blue does not match with the yellow stripes), the mascots and how racist and idiotic some of them still are, and… well, I hate to say it, but I do spend a majority of the time looking at the players butts.

So here’s the thing, I’ve never noticed how my brain lacks the capacity to watch/talk sports, until recently. Neither of my parents are avid sports fans, and I have no siblings. When my friends start to talk sports I somehow manage to wander away or get distracted by a butterfly or something.

At the library, I can’t get away.

One would think that the library would be filled with cranky old ladies who like to talk about feeding their cats blood pressure medication. Nope- for some unknown reason I’m crammed in a department full of sports lovin’ men. There is always a rattle of stats (48 to go… yea, man hahaha), jokes (go Diamondbacks… yea they’re goin’ somewhere hahahha), player updates (what about that rookie, well he’s shaping up alright hahahaha), and I’m stuck sitting directly in the middle of it, confused and disinterested. I’m not a priss, but being lost in such a manly chatter makes me feel like I should be wearing a tiara, pink tafeta, and sipping tea with my teddy bear.

I’m usually able to fit myself into any conversation, but with something so foreign to my brain I just can’t seem to do it. It used to frustrate me to no end, and I tried… soooo hard to understand sports talk, but I can’t. So I’ve learned to infuse myself into conversation, with out actually knowing what’s going on.

Co workers: “So how did Swisher do against the A’s?”

Me: “Go A’s!”

Sad… but it actually works sometimes.

I’m sitting at the desk, here at the library.

An ancient man with no teeth approaches me.

While he is gingerly working his way to the up to the desk he gums his lacking mouth and squints up in my direction. When he final arrives, he adjusts his light blue leisure jacket, coughs a little then says, “Why do women scratch they’re eyes when they first wake up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because they don’t have any ball to scratch.”

“oh.”

“Tell your boyfriend that one.”

Sometimes working at the library can be tiresome.

I went camping recently.

It was fun- roasting marshmallows, drinking booze, playing sports- I basically transformed into a 15 year old dude. I reached my most “dudely” moment when we drove by a section of the freeway that featured a tractor factory on one side and a private airplane runway on the other. I felt the excitement of possibly catching an airplane take off or watching a tractor destroy something. I have never really been a tomboy, so needless to say, this new interest in things I normally could give a shit about kinda scared and trilled me.

It was fun to celebrate my testosterone, but all the rough and tumble helped me to realized that deep down inside I’m still a weenie girl.

How you may ask? Well for one- when I got home I spent many hours in the mirror dabbing lotion onto my now scaly-flaky forehead. Thanks sunburn! The 15 year old boy in me wanted to peel off the skin and create a gross booby trap for my roommate, while the 25 year old Weenie Puff-Puff wanted to hide in my room and figure out a way to fix my hair to cover my now dandruff-y face.

Weenie Puff-Puff won. I’m sure my roommate is pretty happy about that.

Reason number 2, I finally accepted that I don’t like the dark. Instead of being a rugged cowboy and sleeping on a rock, or in my own tent- I opted to share a tent with my friends- who just happens to be a couple. I didn’t care that I was in the honeymoon tent… at least I didn’t have to face the noises of nature by myself. If I had it my way, I probably would have slept in between them.

One of the things about being a weenie is that I have a large and crazy imagination. This worked to my parents advantage- because I seriously believed that the world was full of fairies, lepricans, elves, and a huge man that lived in the north pole. If I didn’t have a sit down talk with my mom… I probably would still believe in that nonsense today. Sometimes, I wish I still believed, because my life would be more more whimsical… but then I’d be a crazy, a happy crazy…yet still a crazy.

Even though I know full well that there are no such thing as gremlins, or easter bunnies… my mind still flicks over to fantasy when I hear noises I don’t recognize. Leaves crunching- is it a raccoon? Probably, but I’m getting the heebies because I’m imagining a freaky muppet looking creature. Even when I think raccoon, I think muppet raccoon. I like the muppets, but the thought of one sustaining without it’s human counterpart is down right unsettling.

I recognize that this is not normal, and in fact incredibly nerdy, but sometimes I thinks it’s kinda great that I’ve been able to hold on to my vivid imagination. The older I get, the more the world becomes a gloomy place to exist. Rising gas prices, wars without ends, secretive government deals that take advantage of suffering countries, hungry children, the economic gap… its almost too much to bear- and really disgusting to think about, but at least I know that by holding on to some of the things that made being a kid so great, I can make my little adult life a touch more silly and touch more bearable.

I’m on the verge of becoming a germ-a-phob. Seriously.

I know I have at least a couple of years before I become a full blown multiple hand-washing weirdo…but I know if I keep working in the public library (better yet, the public in general), I will one day have a meltdown.

People are nasty. No, I’m not talking about freaks, Normal people are gross. We as a public “forget” to wash our hands after peeing, wipe food on our pants, pick our noses, lick our fingers, and when no one is looking scratch our butts. That’s one thing- but then to realize that I’m touching a door knob that might have been previously touched by a person who was just digging in their ass… that just opens up a new world of nasty.

Now multiply that by 300, because if you’re crazy enough to spend the whole day in the library talking to your drool puddle on the table- you’re probably not thinking about washing your hands after you pee.

I once spent the whole day watching a man scratch his mid section. Then, I had to take his library card from him when he wanted to check out a magazine. Yum.

Sometimes I can put these thought out of my mind and say, “fuck it, this is the reason why I have an immune system” but then I remember that the headphones I just picked up were used by that crazy guy who was looking at porn… no immune system can erase that image.

I’m gonna go wash my hands.

Sheesh.

So apparently, my layout is faulty.  Not on all computers, just jacked ones like my laptop at home. Sooner or later I’m gonna have to change the layout. In the mean time, I’m just going to be lazy and keep this one.

Damnit, I like it-I like it A LOT. Now I have to scour through all the weird layouts that are provided on free web layout sites.

Maybe I should get a Hannah Montana layout. Is it just me or does it seem like Billy Ray Cyrus is doped up. If Miley Cyrus was my daughter, I probably would be doped up as well. Speaking of children, I had an interesting experience this evening.

Went bridesmaid dress shopping with my roommate. I know what you’re thinking, “DRAAAAG.” Well, let me tell you- there is always a pleasant little nugget of story no matter where you go.

Sooooooo David’s Bridal. Yea… was thinking I would feel young and stupid - nope… I looked and felt about the same age as many of the ladies being pushed around by their moms in this tragically bright land of poof. Taffeta, gauze, satin (or what looked like satin) abound and I, unfortunately, flipped into girl mode. As my roommate, completely annoyed with the prospect of wearing, trying on, or even being in close proximity with bridesmaid dresses grimly asked a spaced out sales rep for help, I restrained with all my might from wandering around the headless mannequins and fingering the lace and sequined bodices. Sales rep stood up to fetch more help and we noticed a pony tail that was so long it touched the tops of her calf high shoes. If you can tuck your hair into your shoes… something is wrong with you. What is the point of having hair that long. It’s not cute. It’s like having really long nails… it’s creepy and looks like you’ve been trapped in a cave for 3 years.

Moving on- when some of the dresses were scrounged up we were shuttled to a fun house  mirrored dressing area  and placed next to the most wonderful bridal party around. Oh my, where do I begin. Since I have to interact with the public on a daily basis, I’ve started to act more like a recluse when it comes to dealing with the public on my own time. I avoid eye contact, make mean faces, and stay as far away from children as I can. Yet, I have decided that annoying people and babies are like cats… when you want to play- they can give a shit about you, but if you want nothing to do with them… then they’ll walk all over you and stick their butts in your face (that is my one and only cat joke- because I hate cats). So here I am… sitting across from a lovely bunch of ladies and four kids- three girls and one baby boy. My roommate goes to try on a dress and I’m alone, I bury my face into a catalog of ugly bridesmaid dresses and hold my breath.

Nothing. Thank you, Jesus.

Then my roommie comes out in some ug-town outfit. A stampede of tiny feet, and suddenly they appear, producing as many “ooooooo” and “ahhhhh” three little girls can manage without hyperventilating, the little boy kinda drools and wobbles around. My poor little tired brain tried to kick into gear, and perform what I was there to do, I give some comments on how the dress is ugly- but is over ridden by the peanut gallery, “It’s cute! Its cute!” silently, I wonder what tacky monster brought these munchkins up-

“Git yo ass over here!” One of the ladies starts to yell at the older girl. This lady has a hickey, intense eye-make up, and a shlacked pony tail that concludes in a dyed orange poof. I watch  in amazement as she grumbles to her daughter and text at the same time. Meanwhile, the other two girls have now climbed into my lap and are crawling around me and asking a million questions. They’re cute and sweet, so I don’t mind so much. Turns out the other two girls and the wobbly-drooly boy are the children of the bride, who by the way is about 6 months pregnant. This gets me thinking (in between the constant stream of questions like, “do you like purple?”), what is seriously the point of getting married while pregnant. People always say not to buy expensive baby clothes because they grow so quickly. Well, if you’re pregs…your body is changing just about every day. It seems like a little bit of a waste for THAT MUCH MONEY, to get a dress that might not fit on the day of your wedding. I wouldn’t want to take that chance, and would end up wearing a mu mu.

Even if I was going to have a traditional Hawaiian wedding, I wouldn’t want to get married in a mu mu.

Looking back on the situation, I realized how different the times are, I was most concern with the fact that this woman might be wasting money by getting her dress in such a fluctuating body stage of her life.  I wasn’t offended by her pregnancy, her hickey ridden sister, or even her sticky children who loved to hang off of me. Annoyed by her children, yes… but in no way shocked or appalled. They seemed like nice people who were excited for an upcoming happy event. Granted, they were tacky…but all I could be was happy for them and wish for their children to leave me alone.