Priorities

So yesterday for the first time in my adult life I got to experience an actual earthquake. I had previously experienced little tremors that felt more like a garbage truck rolling by. But this was my first experience with an earthquake that actually caused me to evacuate the building. I would just like to take this opportunity to state that even though I have endured countless pretend evacuations during all my years of schooling, I still had no idea what to do. I was more concerned with finishing my food then hightailing it out the door. I also had to find my cell phone because I had no idea how long I was going to be stuck outside and I had to have entertainment.

However the earthquake lasted just long enough to interrupt my snack time and didn’t result in any real missed work time. So not only did I have to go back into the office but now I had to entertain ridiculous theories about the earthquake offered up but anyone who deemed themselves an authority. For example anyone who thinks that just because they own a computer they are an expert on any given topic. The current topic at hand : the cause of the earthquake.

 

Here are a few of my personal favorite explanations. (Most of these are explanations that people posted on facebook.)

1. God  is good. Thank you for showing us your power.

I don’t know about you but I would rather see God show us his power in a way that is a little less threatening. Maybe a little bit more compassionate. He does not literately have to shake the earth to remind us he is in charge.  Just a thought.

2. The earthquake was caused by an unknown fault line : Obama’s fault.

Pretty self explanatory.  Though I don’t think you can blame the earthquake on just one person in government. In my very humble opinion though, the earthquake’s fault line is a result of every single person who works in the government. Bunch of idiots running around trying to make the other person look bad, and stockpile money and benefits for themselves. Now if I participated in that kind of behavior at my job, I would be fired, but up there in Washington it is just par for the course. So naturally good old easy going mother earth got fed up and was so angry she shook. Makes perfect sense to me.

3. The wasn’t an earthquake. That was the effect of a 14 trillion dollar check bouncing when Washington tried to cash it.

I don’t even know what to say here.  I guess I shouldn’t get grumpy when my bank puts a hold on my measly paycheck for a day.  At least the checks I am cashing are so little that if they bounce the tellers actually laugh.

4. The earthquake is a sign of the rapture.

Now I don’t know about you. But it I were Jesus I would want to announce my arrival a little more dramatically. Like maybe literately splitting the earth in two. And have people fall in the crack screaming for mercy. If you want people to follow you, you have to give them a good show.

 

I also like how just like the threat of a good old snow storm (anything about an inch), people flock to the store to stock up on supplies. Because you know you could totally be stuck in the house for weeks. And it is not like you don’t have a couple of pound of fat to live on. So last night Clint goes to Target to stock up on supplies and comes home with Quaker chocolate chip granola bars and pop tarts. So at least if the world is going to end, he is going to end it on a sugar high. All I know is that I do not want to be stuck anywhere with him for any amount of time if that is what he plans to base his survival diet on. A 31 year old man running around like sugar is the new crack is only cute when you can watch it from behind a plexi-glass secured area.

Proof that Clinton enjoys his sweets. 

If I show you a picture of an exotic baby animal that I think looks like you - it means I love you.

Clint and I have been together for five years. That might not be long time for some people, but it almost a quarter of my life. At any rate it is long enough for me to plot ten different ways of revenge for Clint “accidentally” shrinking my favorite pieces of clothing. Not only were these pieces my favorite, but they were also pieces that couldn’t just go grab off the shelf at Target. They were usually items that I found on the sale rack in the last size that could possibly fit me. This makes it impossible for Clint to go out and buy me an exact replacement.  Now I say he shrank them accidently, because I am sure he did not do the laundry with the intent of starting World War III but since the well being on my clothing is not nearly as important to him as it is to me, he didn’t pay as much attention to the various articles of clothing as was necessary. Had he glanced at each piece as it came out of the washer, he would have seen that is belonged on the rack to air dry. But in his logical mind, it was much easier to just cram everything in the dryer and hope for no ill consequences.  Probably nine out of ten times he can get away with it, but it is that one time when he shrinks not just a T-shirt, but one of my prized shirts, that I lose it.  I have a feeling that he thinks if this happens enough times, I will not ask him to do my laundry.  But unfortunately for him that is not the case. I am very persistent and I view this as opportunity for him to get as much practice as possible so he can prevent other episodes of clothing ruining.

Now I still love Clint even though he murders my favorite clothing items, and lord knows I probably give him some grief as well. One of my favorite pastimes is sending him pictures of baby animals that I remind me of him, or that I want to adopt. I am currently filling his AOL account with pictures of baby sloths. I am trying to show Clinton that they bear some resemblance to him, and for that reason we should adopt one. It would be a great outlet for my mother hen skills. For some reason he is not buying this. Something about the illegal ownership of a wild marsupial.  I say it isn’t illegal if they don’t know about it. I think if Clint just turned a blind eye to some of my escapades, my life would be a whole lot easier and his life would be a whole lot more peaceful. 

For instance, I see nothing wrong with biking without a helmet. The helmet makes my head hot and itchy and ruins my hair. It is possibly the most unattractive thing I could possibly wear. It makes me look awkward and clumsy. Clint’s argument is that it would protect my brain if I fell off my bike. But I have two counter-arguments to that point. First of all, I am so clumsy that I am just as likely to hit my head when I stand up from bending over underneath something, and I don’t wear a helmet for that. And second of all, a knock on the head could be argued as something that might actually help me. But he refuses to listen to reason and insists on me wearing that flashing beacon of plastic that signifies the opposite of grace and poise.

Clint also does not agree with the way I handle confrontation. I hate being bothered in the morning when I am trying to get ready for work, and  chances are I am already running late because I have mysteriously lost a piece of outfit in my black hole (aka my closet). So I am probably frazzled and annoyed because as usual my hair is taking forever to straighten. Clint usually decides to bother me during this time frame and this elicits a very territorial response from me. My solution is to chase him with my hair straightener until he leaves me alone.  I feel like if I burn his butt once or twice he will most definitely leave me alone and the order in my universe will be restored. But for some reason, Clint thinks that me chasing him with a very hot hair straightener is an example of boyfriend abuse.  I have tried to explain to him countless times that I would not even be chasing him with a very hot object if he had not been attempting to hijack my personal space while I was in the middle of a very strenuous battle with my hair. So in my point of view, he needs to be burnt a time or two to help him remember to keep his hands to himself while I make my morning preparations.  This would make me a whole lot calmer in the morning which would benefit our relationship.  But I am pretty sure part of the reason he keeps this whole ritual up is that he enjoys seeing my squawking chicken impersonation when I get mad.

 I think this is a perfect representation of our love. 

I am an addict!

“Hello my name is Samantha Severson and I am a facebook addict.” I cannot be the only person who should be attending facebook addiction support. Every time I kill one of my phones I go through withdrawal. I get twitchy, irritable, and my skin itches all over.  A minute seems to take an hour. I managed to occupy myself for a whole three minutes before I began climbing the walls in an effort to calm myself.  I start to worry that I will never be able to access facebook whenever I please.  I can handle the first five minutes without access to facebook, but after then, everything starts to get blurry.

I mean what in the world do I do for amusement if I have to sit through more than one traffic light? Or if the person I am having a conversation with is boring me? Or while I am waiting for a movie to start? Or while I waiting for the waiter to bring my food? Or while I am hold with the customer service representative who sounds like they definitely do not reside in America. So many opportunities for boredom. I need to fill those time sucks with constant updates of my “friends” mundane life events and the hilarious but poor choices of life partners/jobs and their general poor education and economic decisions.

I compulsively check facebook whenever I can. So the first step of addiction is admitting you have a problem. Clearly even Stevie Wonder can see my phones spends so much time on facebook that when my data bill is analyzed, I found out I spend 98.9% of my data package on facebook.  I have a problem. Now someone please help me. I could wean myself off of facebook using twitter, but isn’t  that is just replacing one social network with another? I can’t possibly be the only person who has to know what all 500 of their closest “friends” are doing at all times.

Thank God for facebook mobile.