First World Problems: Thanks a lot FB**

Here’s what happened:

Some girlfriends* and I were communicating via the [annoying] facebook emailing system.  We were trying to find a time to meet up for dinner.  Having kids, obtaining Ph.Ds, starting our own businesses, volunteering like crazy, n’at, means getting together in the evening is difficult.

I admit, I lost track of things; I got busy and figured dinner logistics would continue to volley.  Fast forward a few days, I got a text from my friend asking if I would be able to join everyone for dinner–that night–at NaCl.

What?! I thought. When, how? What?! I went back to the facebook email exchange, searched specifically for the girlfriends’ names, and couldn’t even find our exchange.  Leah sent me a screen shot*** of the information I missed: the back and forth continued, a date had been set, everyone was all in, except for me.  Suddenly I was voiceless and continued to be so despite friends emailing and saying, “Regina? You in?”  A trigger was pulled and the dinner date was set.

Apparently facebook tweaked out and excluded me from the conversation completely.  Leah suspects the emailing system was updating and my profile was left out of that particular wave of updates.  Who knows.  All I know is that facebook tried to kill my social life.  And to you, facebook, I say, YES, I did miss that amazing dinner with my girlfriends, and I also say, “I bleed, sir, but not kill’d.”

*Growing up, I never used the term “girlfriends” to describe my female friends.  I always thought it sounded old, I stepped through some door, got old and now I say this term. Eh.

**Take this as if I’m not serious…and serious…and not serious.  Just down slap me or things will get real.  Call it post-hyperbole if you will.

***I give props to friends that know how to do screen shots.

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Ridiculous

Fork in my yogurt

Impractical yet needed

A pain in my side

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First World Problems to the Max

Douglas Coupland writes a lot about middle class experiences and the proclivity of the middle class toward creating or honing in on problems that, when given certain scrutiny, are in fact not really problems at all.  (He’s Canadian by the by.)

When this proclivity toward bemoaning certain mundane problems is part of the main culture of a given country, like the United States, or CANADA (and of course, not everyone participates, sure), this movement can be classified as First World Problems.

First World Problems are ridiculous, funny, humbling.  And honestly, the other thing is, First World Problems actually do suck.  Like the fact that all of my friends have had to deal with me publicly working through my anger and frustrations via Facebook about my technology curse I picked up a few years ago, must really suck for them.  The technology curse sucks for me, so I could only imagine having to hear about it all the time.  Having a technology curse is a First World Problem (and for some other Worlds that are beginning to see the increase in cell phone but not an increase in cell towers, they feel me on this.)

What I love about First World Problems is the space they occupy in our lives.*  They are ipso facto problems; layered problems; Kafka. What I mean is, the very problem stated isn’t of interest, but more, of how the individual categorizes and gives life to each of the problems.

There are many people on the spectrum complaining about First World Problems.  I mean, it’s a spectrum, spectra are wide, and deep and multi-faceted.

Here’s a short example of some folks on the spectrum:

A) People who actually, truly, really complain about particular problems in earnest such as their housekeeper not doing a good job, or flipping out about scratches on their city car.  I recognize those are real problems for some people that cause them great angst.  I probably judge these people.

B) Then there are the folks that complain about scratches on their car, or talk about having a housekeeper, and almost while they are stating their frustration, they simultaneously joke about how ridiculous they sound.  “I know that I’m lucky to even have a car in the city, and scratches will definitely happen, it’s just that this is the first nice car I’ve ever invested in…but, whatever, scratches happen.”  And then they go off and volunteer somewhere.

C) Let’s not forget the folks that complain about nothing and inhabit the end of the spectrum, or, are to the very right on a standard deviation chart.  1) If these folks DO complain, it’s probably in the context of complaining about a problem they are already trying to solve.  “Ugh, I’m so frustrated that I can’t get more people to VOTE.  It’s so important.”  “Yeah, that sucks.  But why are you ignoring saving wild animals?  Don’t you think you should do more for them and quit whining about how you’re failing at getting people to vote?” The original FWP complainer acquiesces and goes and joins the WWF; and 2) The people on this end of the spectrum are probably in the leprechaun family of not existing cause I ain’t never witnessed anyone like this before.

I write all of this for two reasons, well, three:

1) I just feel like enumerating things.  It keeps me linearish.

2) I would love to hear about your thoughts about First World Problems and people on the spectrum, and finally,

3) I have just experienced a First World Problem so horrible, I had to blog about it.  I’ll tell you the story later.  I’m still processing.

*Please refer to my post where I talk about my triggers.  Often, when I hear the words, “I love…” I almost always automatically say it in my mind the way Jay from “Clerks” says it when he says, “I love women!”

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Liberty Paints

I made homemade teriyaki sauce for the first time.
Comprised of soy sauce, mirin and honey.
Combine sake and sugar 3:1 if mirin is unavailable.
I wonder how I can make my own sake.

I poured half of the teriyaki sauce in a bowl,
Admiring, as I did, its dark luster the recipe promised.
To that liquid with so much depth I added honey, garlic powder and ground ginger,
but the terikayi sauce seemed the same.

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I don’t know

I know we all have our triggers, and for all of us, our triggers are different.  (Not to be confused with buttons.)  I wonder sometimes if I’m the only one with my specific kind of triggers.  I have to doubt this, I mean, if there are only six kinds of personalities* in the world, then I surely am not unique in my triggers.

Mostly my triggers are words that I hear that make me want to quote, sometimes at length, or, ad naseum depending on how you feel about the situation, scenes from movies or in this particular case, sing songs.  I sometimes break down in song and dance, but mostly just the former.  I wonder, is this normal? Do other people do these things?  Why is it that many times, if given the right ingredients: a relaxing dinner or a good workout for example, hearing or saying certain words make me want to sing certain songs as opposed to, oh, I don’t know, moving on in the conversation?  How did this trigger get into my brain?  Is it from my childhood or my formidable years that these things took root and so now, as an adult, manifest so that when I hear or say the words, “I don’t know” I feel compelled to sing Jodeci’s “Cry for you”?

*I’m going to warn you now or apologize now: the hyperlink is to a Wikipedia page, and that’s lame.  It is fun, however to think what was more compelling to you to know now: what the hyperlink is, or what the asterisk is trying to say…

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Realities

rainy street of Pittsburgh

 

People caught in rain without umbrellas.  I think, where are you going?

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Elevator Pitch

He asked, “going up?”

She said, “yes.” As I walked past thought, they’ll fall in love.

Elevator Pitch

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Getting on the bus

I would bet money that no one noticed I have yet to define a bus book.  Trees falling in an empty forest.

From a previous post I noted that a bus book, unlike a bed book, is a book one can read for short periods of time, and one that isn’t overly complicated.  That’s all? Terrible.  Bear with me in the forest and we can expound on this topic.  Despite all these falling trees, it will be a nice walk, promise.

Many of us know what the bus is like: crowded, stops a lot, interruptions abound except save ignoring folks around you.  Sometimes we can be really focused (mmph!) on not hearing the things around us.  When we do let in distraction we have the “opportunity” to listen to the craziest one-sided cell phone conversations.  The kind of conversations where you look around (eyes only) to see if anyone else hears what you’re hearing.  While you were in jail you did what? While you were on your lunch break you did what? Oh tell me he did not say that to you about your child.  The folks that talk about such matters on their cell phones on the bus also tend to be the kinds of people that also talk really loudly, so you can be sure others are listening in, maybe some with amusement, horror, others with the sentiment of shared experience; basically you don’t have to dart your eyes around too much.

And in such a technology age, sometimes you are privy to witnessing an actual face-to-face conversation typically sounding like this:

Person that wants to be in a conversation: I like your shirt.

Person that does not want to be in a conversation: Thanks.

Wants: Is it cotton?

Does not want: Um, I’m not sure.

Wants: I had this shirt that I loved. I wore it all the time.

Does not want: oh.

Wants: Yeah, I don’t know what happened to it.  I think my sister probably took it.  She does that. She’s such a rascal, but I love her.  Family is all we got in this world, right?  Hahah, it’s so true.  Hey, are those heels hard to walk in?

You get it.

So, the kind of book you can take into such situations, e.g the bus, is very important.

I will attempt to (sounds like the beginning of a magic trick…) define a bus book, and perhaps redefine a bed book.  I will also attempt to (this is where the real magic comes in) be linear in said attempt.

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I blame the laws of physics

Part I

Once, this bear reindeer’s tummy brimmed with Hershey’s kisses and M&Ms. It took approximately two and a half workdays for the chocolate to disappear in a process for which I blame the laws of physics; the tell-tale heart phenomenon of knowing chocolate is near and being so bothered by this knowledge that the only way to make the heart stop beating is to consume the chocolate into silence.

An opened bag of tortillas, a plate of [normal-sized] chocolate chip cookies; mini snickers bars result in the same overwhelming Turret’s-like desire to act–that cannot be calmed until every last morsel enters your mouth.

Most of us have our own bear reindeer filled with chocolate. For some, it might be nuts; I personally do not feel agitated into consumption by nuts…unless they’re mixed with chocolate. For others cake or, perhaps crackers existing somewhere within walking distance ensures you cannot concentrate, ensures you will ignore a nascent stomachache due to already trying to silence the bear reindeer. Make the bear reindeer stop, and question why you thought you could survive having the tell-tale heart right on your desk—it might as well have been on your lap, and since it’s on your lap, it might as well be in your mouth—because no matter how hard you try…only five kisses and then I’m done…okay, now only five kisses…there is no use in fighting the laws of physics.

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Diversity to inclusion: a journey involving avocados

Here is another diversity and inclusion via food diversity recipe from the Coro Pittsburgh blog. YUM!

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