Random Question Archive #1

Do you believe that forks are evolved from spoons?

No. I believe sporks are evolved from spoons. Actually, they may even be some kind of genetic engineering project from an underground government project that was a spin-off of the group that was trying to cross-breed us with aliens.

Ok, seriously.

Question: What is the difference between VANILLA and WHITE CHOCOLATE?


Answer: Marketing, my dear people. Mar-ket-ing.

Kismet? Coincidence? Wha?

Many, many times in my life I have met people that have impacted or influenced my life at the same time I had been wanting or needing the affect they deliver. Sometimes these folks drifted in and drifted back out, bringing in a wash of experience; other times they've stuck around like strays I've fed. And there are even some that disappear and reappear at just the right time, as if they're spying on me and know exactly when I need to hear from them.

Yeah, I read Celestine Prophecy. Yeah, I got all goose-bumpy. Do I believe it? Meh, not really. Not to the weirdo extent of the book. Synchronicity? Sure, I can buy that. Divine intervention? Why would a supreme being orchestrate at such a microscopic level? I so would have outsourced that kind of junk to another country.

Laugh and the World Laughs With You

http://videos.humpingfrog.com/17178/2007/01/funniest-laugh-ever-seen-on-tv.html

Choice Rhymes With Voice. (Choose Rhymes With Booze.)

Psycho-Babble Alert! REPEAT- Psycho-Babble Alert!

Babble Alert ORANGE: Proceed with extreme caution!!!

I have taken loads of personality batteries, indicators ("It's positive! I DO have a personality!"), tests, etc. over my lifetime and I don't know if this is just a universal feeling, but none of them really seem to capture the Real Me. I can see where they are coming from in what they summarize in their conclusions/scoring sections, but I don't feel like I could put what it says there on a business card to hand out as a pocket-guide to Kari.

I realize that the point of these tests is to lend insight, not to be a one-stop shop for self-actualization. I get that (what with being a psych major and all). They have the feel of a vertical vivisection of the human body- there’s different stuff in each slice, you can’t see the whole from assumptions made by observing them (especially if you get one of the middle pieces with no legs- ooh, or and end piece that’s just all arm!), and man, they can be really icky.

The one test that I feel came the closest to putting the Real Me on paper was the Birkman profile I took 2 years ago. It's a combination of a tests like the MMPI, the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator or Kiersey Temperament Sorter and a sprinkle of the Strong Interest Inventory. Total black-sheep test of the hard-core psych community- it has an enormous database they compare and calculate against, loads of metrics, algorithms and zany generators that basically create a clinical summary. No clinician required.

What I found the most impressive was that Birkman hid no weaknesses when it came to categorizing me - I am VERY a lot of things. I have the pre-disposition for what it takes to excel in the Arts, but also Science, Medical Professions and strangely enough Administration. Among the career recommendations (of which there are six pages) are Psychologist, Career Counselor (oh, irony), College Professor, Controller, Nurse, Software Sales, Bank Manager, Bookkeeper, Fire/EMS, Geologist, Computer Programmer, Agriculture, Craftsman. Basically, my mom was right - I can be anything I want to. Categorically, I am uncategorizable. Call me your friendly neighborhood Renaissance Woman.

I keep my Birkman results with me in my planner because I read that strange auto-biography every few weeks. I don't look to the words on the page to tell me who I am- I have a respectable sense of self. I'm not reading to fuel my ego, even though it is like mirror-gazing to an extent. I read it mostly to marvel in how complex people are in general, so much so that it takes 35 pages just to scratch the surface. I also read to remind me that no matter how much it can measure, compare, compute, analyze and trend, it is missing one very important element - that squirmy, slippery, evasive little spark that makes us who we are inside.

I chose at will and sometimes at whim what I am and what defines me- IT Professional? Sure. Maybe today. But, some days I'm off to save civilization, one person at a time. Other days I am that photographer that yearns to show her eye for the world. Sometimes I throw myself to the other side of that camera, too, just for grins (no pun intended). When inspired, I have been known to sell frozen water to Alaskan Natives, or baby slings to frazzled moms. Then there are the days that I am completely content and even driven to do abso-freaking-lutely nothing at all, whatsoever, thankyouverymuch.

I celebrate choice. I just HATE to choose.

Besides, who says we have to choose, anyway? Them? Bah, what do they know.

Misc. Rant o' the Day

The ladies room here at work has this air freshener thing that sprays out a burst of "freshness" at some interval that I cannot determine (it seems to be almost directly related with me opening the door, or going to wash my hands at the sink right below it). For the longest time I assumed that someone on my floor wore some kind of strange fruit-smelling lotion, or put on said fruit-smelling lotion while in the bathroom. When I switched to nights, same smell, and I discovered the strange freshener apparatus on the wall about a foot from the ceiling, right by the bathroom door.

The scent that this thing puts out is odd- it reminds me of some kind of melon, but with a sickening artificial edge. For those of you who might remember a weird melon-cucumber lotion that Victoria's Secret had in it's line around 1994 or so, it's that, but more melon-y. With all that setup, here's my gripe:

That bathroom always smells like someone pooped in a half-a-cantaloupe.

On the weirdness of young children:

In the last 7 days I have lost count of the number of times I have called Megan "Weirdo."

"What?" you say. “But, she is such a sweet child. You really shouldn’t call her names. That’s not setting a good example.” Whatevs, Goody-Two-Shoes.

Yes, I have resorted to name-calling. For example, Megan has been licking things when she is taking a shower. The shower wall, shampoo bottle, my leg, etc. With the shampoo bottle and the wall, that’s easy enough to nip in the bud. “Ewww, gross- the walls/that shampoo bottle isn’t clean.” But when she licks ME, well, she gets the reaction that anyone else would deliver- a shriek, a jump, and a “Stop it, Weirdo!” which sends her collapsing into a pile of giggles on the floor of the shower. Mostly the reaction on my part is so extreme due to her timing- she waits until I am eyes-closed, rinsing my hair or something, then… LICK! And I lose it.

She has also started an anti-anything-but-dresses campaign, down to how she wants to be dressed at bedtime. No pajamas with shorts or pants anymore- she wants to wear DRESS pajamas to sleep! Now, fortunately I had a parental lightbulb go-off over my head, and I offered her my t-shirt collection to choose her evening dresses from. Why is this weird? It’s not- the fact that she can go from completely clothed to stark naked in the blink of an eye, and she does, is what makes me chuckle “Weirdo.” “Megan? What would you like for breakfast?” says this mom to a clothed child. “Umm, I would like oatmeal- REGULAR oatmeal, mamma- with honey. Please.” Says a nightgowned Megan. “Okay- REGULAR oatmeal with honey. Coming right up!” I say as I turn to the cabinet and grab the oatmeal box, and when I turn around- presto-chango! – naked, beaming Megan is standing there.

(Oh, that last post's picture was taken right after the events described above.)