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There are work-relationships, friend-relationships, family-relationship, hell even an acquaintance is a type of relationship. So why is the word, “relationship” so goddamn spooky to so many people. Well, just like how UC Berkeley thinks of itself as the main Public University of California… romantic relationships seems to be perceived as the main type of relationship out there. More people seem to put a higher value to UC Berkeley, and this is also the case with romantic relationships. Why? Well for Cal, I dunno, but for romance it’s probably because it’s the basis for procreation and blah blah blah. That’s pretty spooky. Also, if it doesn’t work out, a lot of the time this person you have become incredibly close to, falls back into the crowd only to once again become a stranger. That’s pretty damn spooky, too.

Needless to say, the end of a romantic relationship is a burn- a pretty bad one, but because we have the option to turn our backs on the other person who was involved- we can easily turn our back on romance as a whole, and the more you get burned the easier this becomes.

I’ve been burned by just about every single type of relationships out there- but I simply can’t turn my back on work relationships (paycheck please!), friendships (drinking wine and watching Rock of Love: Love Bus cannot sustain me for the rest of my life), or family (that’s just bad karma). But romance- I can poo-poo on that as much as I like, and Blam! I’ve got a bunch of new friends who also like to poo-poo on hearts, butterflies, and all feelings of gooshy-ness. Just look at Valentine’s day- There are droves of people who would love to smash all heart shaped boxes of chocolate with a wrecking ball. If anyone had such a crazy out pour of hatred for say, Mother’s Day, I’m sure many of the people standing next to said person would move to the other side of the street.

I wish romantic relationships weren’t so easy to turn the other cheek on, and more people were willing to actually feel fully and deeply towards each other, but fall out of love in a softer gentler manner making it harder to dismiss your once loved one. I also wish that there was world peace, free gas, and I owned a hot tub… so for now I’m just going to appreciate the other relationships in my life and wash a box of conversation hearts down with a nice glass of Cabernet.

1. We don’t gather pleasure from saying ”shhhh”.

2. Though the bun is an easy no hassle hair do, very few of us actually sport them on a day to day basis.

3. Not all of us are avid readers.

4. None of us have had sex in the stacks… unless they were looking to get fired.

5. Many of us find the librarian fetish to be degrading.

6. Only the librarians with poor eye sight wear glasses.

7. We don’t know everything… though many like to pretend they do so.

8. Some of us are under the age of 60.

9. Despite knowing how to catalog books, many of us are messy people.

10. Yes, you need a Master’s Degree.

11. We are not all stuffy uptight people- many of us are the most radical, free-minded folks around. Hello? Patriot Act anyone? http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature/2008/09/exit-strategy-americas-most-dangerous-librarians.html

12. A lot of us have lives outside of the library… we are artist, musicians, writers, and more.

13. Talk to a librarian, it makes us happy.

14. Some of us don’t like cats.

15. The pencil skirt doesn’t not look good on all of us, especially the men.

16. Many of us may not have a passion for books, but we all have a passion for knowledge.

17. Not only do we provide reference and information services we are counselors, social workers, study buddies, advisers, and tutors.

18. Dewey Decimal jokes aren’t funny.

19. Yes, many of us are loud people.

The librarian stereotype is old… come on people, it’s just a job.

Why are farts so funny?

Is it because they stink? Bums stink, but they aren’t funny.

Is it the noise? Probably, because a fart with noise is ten times more hilarious than a “silent, but deadly”. Those are just gross.

Who ultimately decided that farts are gross? Well, I’m guessing that it was an organic development. Rotting things smell disgusting, so we don’t eat them… therefore farts are gross by default.

I wonder if there was ever a culture that believed farts were the release of demons from the body. Probably during the Elizabethan period when families were slapping leeches on their babies and dressing little boys like girls so they wouldn’t be snatched by Sprites or some shit like that. What the hell would a Sprite do with a baby once it snatched one? Eat it? I thought Sprites were small. If you’re gonna make up some freak ass lie- at least make it make sound sorta believable. If I existed during that time, I probably would be one of the jerks that made up crap like that. Like that Demon fart business- that makes sorta sense, if you already believe in demons.

Went to the museum today in the attempts to gain some much needed culture in my life.

I can’t really place all that happened in a cohesive essay, so I’ll just write little vignettes of the events that tickled the pickles out of me.

Sunday Equals Baby Day at the Museum

Strollers galore filled with chubby angry faced cherubs who could give a damn if Georgia O’ Keefe’s brush strokes defined a generation. Not that I mind well behaved babies in a museum, what truly urks me is the smug look of satisfaction these parents have plastered all over their art appreciating faces… almost to say, “Oh, I’m such a good parent, exposing my brilliant child to such classic at an early age.” Lady, I think Madison would rather you change her diaper because it’s starting to stink.

When trying to enjoy the lawn art in the courtyard I stumbled upon a baby feeding. A circle of 8 or 10 smug mothers flopping out boobs and attaching their waiting eating machines. I quickly noted to never come to a museum on a Sunday ever again.

A Day Out with Dad Means You Get to Dress Like a Crazy Hippie Circus Hobo

In the third grade my father got me ready for class portraits. My hair was fuzzy, part of my collar was out, and I sported a smile that might suggest that I was mildly retarded. The smile wasn’t my dad’s fault, but the lack of my normally overly primped appearance was a mild irritant to my mother. In fact, I think this issue might still be in the hot button pile for her. I can’t say I blame my dad though… we as women have been trained to primp and dress our dolls from early babyhood- so when we finally get a living doll they must at the very least look semi-put together. Men on the other hand… don’t find pleasure in picking out a cute outfit and dressing their child. Are you clean? Are you covered? Okay, lets go, and thus “Dress in what you want day” is born. Walking through the throngs of children I couldn’t help but notice which kids were having a day out with dad. There were blue sequin shoes with pink and white striped socks, a black pea-coat with gold buttons and pink floral pj type pants, I even saw a girl in a Tutu. I may not be a mother, but the instinct kicked in as I felt my head involuntarily shaking at the lack of child fashion savvy.

Desert Fork

Randomly, there was a display of fancy pants cutlery- located in the permanent collection. Being from a family who has always had a hodge-podge of silverware- I gazed upon this display as if it were an rare artifact extracted from South Africa. It was bizarre just how many different types if forks one could use- and what a bitch it would have been to wash the dishes after one meal. The ice cream fork looked like a spork- and they misspelled “dessert”, but with the amount of shiny utensils on display- it could have been a frickn’ desert fork… for eating souffle on the Sahara… I don’t know…

CarbonDating.com

When in the African Art collection, I couldn’t help but notice how jacked up the the estimated time period was for each object. Many read something like this: 1650- 1895 (95.4%). Meaning, we’ve determined through our cutting edge scientific technology of Carbon Dating that this artifact was creating between the times of 1650 and 1895, BUT were only 95 percent sure about that. Why bother… I would have appreciated an “I’m old” sign under the art, than some bullshit I could have made up.

 Which Came First the Coconut or the Skull?

Still wandering though the African Art Collection I happened upon the mask gallery, each one perched in a case with a direct spotlight. After looking at a multitude of different types of masks I begun to enjoy looking at what things were involved in making these artifact. I had come across the expected: feathers, plants, mud (yea yea yea…). The creepy: Bones, hair, teeth (eeek!). As well as the incredibly bizarre: sacrificial material (what the fuck is that?!?!). I soon stumbled upon a small ritual mask adorned with feathers, human hair, and some nuts and berries, I thought, “Hey this mask has it all… I wonder what’s listed?” Amongst the more predictable ingredients read this: Human skull or Coconut shell.

WHAT THE FUCK.

How in heaven’s name do you not know the difference between a skull and a coconut.

Skull

coconut

Really?!

Obviously, I haven’t written in a really long time.

Strangely, it’s been incredibly hard to get back into the habit of writing or even enjoying the act of writing. I’ve logged on many a time to attempt to construct some semblance of a witty post, but instead was faced with a blank screen staring back at me- as if I were a hopeless douche bag trying to hit on a vapid girl in a dark bar. Nothing seemed to work, and the more I tried, the more annoyed the blank blog screen seemed to become.

With every written and erased sentence, the blog’s tiny personified voice would scream, “just spit it out already!!!” Not wanting to disappoint the blog (well actually me…) any further I would simply log off and move on to other activities.

Through my hiatus I came up with several topics I would have loved to write about: Drunk Ladies at Bars, Dirty Children, Nose Picking, and How I Complain About Everything. Maybe someday I’ll return to those topics- but in the wake of Obama, Bart Shootings, and the Economic Crisis- it seemed incredibly petty to complain about getting shoved at a club by a drunk chick.

During my incredibly long almost daily drives to work I usually come up with the various topics I choose to discuss- a lot of the time I gather information from what surrounds me. Lately these drives have been somber. If everything is made out of energy- I wonder if certain types of thoughts weigh more than others? Relationship and money thoughts seems to have a lot more girth.

A couple days a go I was sitting at a light pondering a weighty subject and noticed a mother and her son waiting at the cross walk. The son had to be one or two- one of those types of kids who probably had a sticky face- rambunctious. He would have been in the street if he wasn’t tethered to a child leash. Normally I hate child leashes- either teach your kid to walk next to you or pick ‘em up- but this one… oh, this one was special. Fastened to the wild child’s back was a very cute plush monkey, and the actual leash was it’s tail. Now this child leash seems reasonable in theory, but in practice… well, it looked like the mother was holding on to a very long erection of a very pleased chimp- which, you know, is kind of a vulgar thing to attach to your kid’s back, but incredibly hilarious all the same.

Needless to say, this lightened my mood. I think even in drastic times- it might be good to goof off a bit and think about the silly and absurd. So, hopefully, I’ll be able to keep up the writing- because now and then we all need a little brain candy to lighten the load.