Thursday, June 30, 2011

I hate EVERYTHING in the world, but most of all, I HATE....

(name that play for the prize)

that I want to go on a walk but I feel too gross to get up. So here I am, blogging again.
(And no one comments. I can track your pageviews, I know someone is reading!)

Now to go contrary to the title, there are three things that I really like. And now I am going to vent about it. Buckle up.

1. swears. People say that swears do not make you feel better. To that, I say bull honky. Or, you know, bull whatever. Also, I do not necessarily mind other people's swears. Here's the catch. I know with the rational part of my brain that swearing is bad. I should not like to swear. I should not. With the emotional half of my brain, I really like the dopamine my brain releases when I swear, but I feel slightly guilty for not feeling guilty about it. Problem? Yes. That, my friends, is what you call complicated internal conflict. Girl style.

2. diet coke. I want an IV.

3. Mail. I like getting it, and I like sending it. But sometimes I am a scatterbrained person. and I lose things. And I have lost my stamps. They have fallen off the planet. they must have, because I have looked everywhere but in that black hole that makes my socks disappear. Black hole, I would like my stamps back. I have missionaries to write! Step off, jerk!

I don't really hate everything in the world, I just really like The Curious Savage, and I am feeling dramatic like Miss Paddy. Tomorrow I'll be Fairy Mae and write a blog begging for attention and approval.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Sometimes I think insanity is more sane than society. And so I choose to embrace oddities of character.

My best friend, a good human named Justin Banks, told me once that one of the things he likes best about me is my quirks. Apparently, I am amusing. Since that point, I have felt oddly justified in the fact that my quirks are some of the things I like best about myself as well.

Quirks that I like about myself, including but not limited to:

1. I feel that things are more valuable, lovable, and worthwhile if they are slightly broken. Like that hair brush that hasn't had a handle for three years or the  mp3 player with the broken screen so that I am the only one who can use it, or those cars who make funky noises whilst accelerating. Even people. People, like objects, are sometimes less interesting the closer they get to perfection and consistency.

2. I can't stand it when people put their faces near my neck. It doesn't make sense. But sense or no, if you put your face near my neck I will either:
   a) drop to the floor, maybe taking you with me
   b) quit hugging you and rub my neck to get rid of the sensation, even if this is offensive
        (or, if I like you a lot)
   c) put my ear on my shoulder so as to form a barrier without offending you

3. I have a whole list of life dreams which is filled with mostly nonsensical things like eating from a hotdog stand in a big city, walking all the way around an island, tailing someone in a taxi, going dancing, planting a flower garden to match a floral patterned outfit so that I can lay in the middle of it, owning a prada bag, you know...

4. I love taking walks in the middle of the night, preferably in a cemetery. Logan has a nice cemetery, and also a nice big empty road on the way home that basically screams "WALK DOWN THE MIDDLE OF ME!"  I generally obey.

5. I can sleep anywhere, and I do. I feel that hard surfaces are so much more nap-worthy than the world gives credit for. I've taken naps on the auditorium floor, on top of the steel countertop and the grill at Brighton, and on the sidewalk in front of the house. Also on the kitchen counter on days when the parental units are absent.

6. I am a very Mormon girl. Some would say prudish and closeminded. But I love Metallica. A lot. Lullabyes are great, and Orion is better. Thank you, Alex.

7. I very rarely wear matching socks. (Taylorsvillians. Mr. Schmid once made fun of me for color coding my feet so I could remember left and right. This coming from the man who wears one shoe.) I also wear holey sock, usually until my mom throws them away. I feel fine about both these facts. I also feel fine, and generally amused, that it drives my family crazy.

8. I name stuff. Mostly cars. But I also have a tree named Henderson, and a saga of phones whose names all started with J. Jedediah is saved for my first car. My textbook for AP World History was named Jeruzabel. I have this theory called: If you ackowledge an object's personality, it will serve you better and more faithfully. (It is quite possible that I have read too much harry potter. next I'll be bonding with my wand)

9. I really, really, like canned peas. Also spinach.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

On a scale from "mildly annoying" to "I'm gonna maim you with your own credit card"

Most people who buy pizza fall somewhere to the less extreme side, but there is the occasional customer who scores up on the less pleasant but far more interesting side. The stories I could tell! (and I'm going to. brace yourselves.)

- There is the family who regularly comes in and argues about which pizzas to buy. During this process, they yell, let kids loose behind the make lines while we chase them out again, block the counter where everyone else is trying to order pizza, and interrupt at least three other people in mid sentence so they can ask me if I have more coupons for them*. On a good day, it takes them ten minutes. On a bad day, well, let's not talk about it. 

- The woman who flirts with Kevin. Good thing he is married and also oblivious.
" She was flirting with me? what?"
"Uhh, she was rubbing your arm."

- That one guy who who puts out his cigarette on the brick outside the door and then orders pizza with his still slightly smoking cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Only when the old lady with the oxygen tank came in and I turned my eye daggers* up from simmer to scorching level did he take a hint and get out. 

- The ones who don't know how EBT cards work.
"My husband took the card, but I have the pin number. Is that okay?"
"I have to have the card to charge it to the card."
"Why? I have the pin number."
" Sorry, I have to swipe the card or the pin doesn't do anything."
Sweeping out angrily. "Fine. If you won't do it."
I wonder, does she really think it's a matter of "won't"?
If you don't have the card, I. can't. charge it to the card.

- The woman who pays with money she retrieves from between her boobs every time. Be it cash, card, or coupon, her method of payment is unfailingly warm and moist. She thinks she is all sneaky about it, too. Even if you turn around and pretend to be looking at the menu, it's hard to hide that you're fishing around in there. And if your cup size is double E, I'd say it is impossible.  But I've learned to keep my gloves on when she pays for pizza, so it's okay.

*Collectively, all the people who try to get you to discount their pizza without coupons, or yell at me because I don't have coupons to give out at the register, I can't stand.  You wouldn't believe how many people have asked me if they can use my employee discount. Seriously.

*while I am required to speak politely and act accommodatingly to all customers, there are, thankfully, no guidelines on eye daggers. 

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Contemplative

Ahem. As most of you probably don't remember, I have a cousin whose name is also Amy. This is a situation which, over the years, has led to huge piles of confusion and, in turn, huge piles of nicknames whose sole purpose is to differentiate between "the amys". Thus, Little Amy. Thus, the blog title.

So my twin Amy Robinson got married last week. Which means that I am now the only Amy Robinson. She deserted me and defected to Trent land, the twitterpated traitor. In the land of Robinson, I stand alone, which is a new feeling. But the wierd feeling isn't the sudden sole ownership of my name, I suppose. I am the only girl in the family left who has not yet ventured into the land of marriage and stuff. Which is fine. I'm alright with a few more years before taking my turn at making my family puke with my newlywed bliss. But they all seem to have left me and crossed a threshold I can't really approach quite yet. It seems to throw emphasis on the whole situation where I am sort of free to do anything I want in this wide world, and no one really gets to tell me yes or no. It's my own show, no co-anchors demanding a part in the decision making.

This is a scary prospect. When I was younger, I would make insane plans for things I would do and see when I reached the very spot I am in now. And now I'm there. And I am pretty sure that I underestimated the level of difficulty to be overcome if one wants to go adventuring across the country. And the whole 'amy getting married' thing probably makes no sense to anyone else. But it seems like that small occurence just smacked me in the face and said, " You are the only Amy Robinson. Go do something with your name. Surprise everyone, including you."

My response is mostly just a loud gulp as I contemplate the terror that comes with absolute freedom. Three a.m. is really a terrifying time. Midnight the witching hour? bull honky. Three a.m. finds me awake and clueless, the possibilities soaring ahead of me. Does anyone else feel like all your plans for the future, those things you fantasized about when  you were nine years old, suddenly taunt you with their unreachableness? But still, the future keeps coming, good and yet filled with nothing you planned.

Is it good enough? Or do you keep going until it includes some of those nine-year-old dreams? That terror that comes with freedom- is it terror at the prospect of  not getting the future I wanted, or is it getting it that I am afraid of?I don't know. It's something to think about at three a.m.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Good advice from a Frenchman

I keep telling Matthew, during those times when he gets frustrated and hits himself and makes that squeaky noise (that I secretly think is adorable, although it is an inappropriate coping mechanism), that he needs to be patient, take a deep breath, and count to three. And then he counts to three, hits himself some more, and says, "Aunty, it didn't work!"

Nevertheless, I persist in calmly telling him to be patient and not freak out over teensy things. And then today, I was folding laundry and Matthew was playing with some Pilates circle in my room. And by playing, I mean 'slamming against the floor or flinging against my bed, repeatedly, until I wanted to gouge my ear drums out of my head.'

And I had that odd sensation where you can feel your blood pressure rising. And I felt with every irrationally angsty fiber of my being like hitting myself and making angry squeaky noises, or something self-indulgent and useless of the sort. And I realized that, although I am one of many people who try to teach him good coping mechanisms, I am not sure that mine are any better.

I wonder sometimes if I expect more of a child than I do of myself. I am an involved Aunty in my own family circle, and I deal often with normally lovable and adorable well behaved children who sometimes are exhausted and angry and frustrated and unreasonable. And I tell them things like,
"You need to be patient. Getting angry won't help anything."
" I know you want to dig up worms but you have to come inside and take a nap instead."
- and the ever-annoying-
"Because I said so. Mind me."
I am (supposedly) an adult (ish). I graduated from the ranks of the babysat long ago, but I still feel all these emotions, and sometimes I wonder if I would do as well as they do if I had someone telling me what to do. Wasn't I supposed to learn some control and emotional maturity as a child? Isn't that what we are trying to teach them? I guess all I am trying to say is that sometimes I think I am too hard on the wee ones often left in my care, and not hard enough on myself. Like today when I was taking a post-church nap. My sweet mother gently woke me and told me that dinner would be ready and would I come help set the table? I said sure, and then didn't get out of bed for another five or ten minutes. How often do I tell a kid that they need to "mind now, now ten minutes from now"?

The answer is pretty dang often.

I don't really know what my point is except that I think maybe I need to practice what I preach a little more and have reasonable expectations a little more, especially when I am responsible for a child who is depending on me to love them and put their interests in line ahead of my own.

We are all aware, I hope, of my deep and abiding love for Victor Hugo. To quote this literary giant,
"The little people must be sacred to the big ones, and it is from the rights of the weak that the duty of the strong is comprised."

My little people, although they aren't really mine so much as borrowed from my siblings, are my favorite people, hands down and  no reservations. They are sacred to me. But still, I am not a perfect example of this. Sometimes I feel ashamed and selfish for small instances when I put my own agenda above their comfort. But I can keep practicing, and eventually I will have little ones of my own and they will be sacred as well. And maybe someday, all the little people will be sacred to the big ones. It's a goal worthy of some good effort.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Dear World

I have this problem called "I miss everyone in life who is not my family. A lot. Like, I am dying of missing people because all my best friends don't live in the same city, or state, or country"

So today I was reminiscing. And I was thinking how great high school was. And college. And also how the teensy awesome things are what makes life worth living. Like:


- Pink sock Thursday, which I observed all of Junior year with my friend Jessica. It was the only time I ever wore those pink socks. ( which I was just reminded of when my dear dad bought me a pack of socks. they know how to keep me happy)


- Fridays. Not the day, but the dessert which the Liz's invented and passed on to me, which I then passed on to Daniel and Aurora. Fridays (thus named because they are as good as a Friday, though I think they were invented on a Tuesday) consist of school cake with the frosting scraped off and reapplied over a layer of peanut butter. Because Liz and I both consistently kept a jar of peanut butter in our lockers at school at all times, so we had some handy.

- playing sardines in the theatre department and hide and seek in the pitch black auditorium. also, dodging around that hole and the several weak spots in the catwalks. If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space, right?


- being regularly threatened with ejection by Leatherby's employees. Multiple car collisions with that one pole that sticks out too far in the Leatherby's parking lot.


-The four square we drew outside my apartment with a bar of soap because we couldn't find chalk. Said four square was still there after an entire Logan winter and rainy, slushy spring. If it stays on concrete that long, I am never using Dial soap on my body ever again.


- Laughing while Eli yells at the Mormons outside the student center every day. It cannot be a bad day if Eli is outside the TSC.


Okay, memory lane can be closed now. Life is good. May we all remember that the small joyful details are what makes life worth living, and continue to slide down long railing accordingly.









-

Call for feedback (please?)

Mostly cause I am curious. Someone in Malaysia is reading my blog. Someone in Germany is also reading my blog. I also get the occasional Russian and every once in a while some awesome person in Denmark.

So here's my question. How the heck did you guys find me? The internet is a big place. Utah is very far away from all said locations not only in actual distance but in a great many facets of culture and social experience as well. Did you all one day sit down and decide you wanted to read about the life and times of  a spastic teenager over here in Mormonland?

All I really know is that I am glad someone is reading it. But I would like to know how you ended up reading it, if anyone feels inclined to tell me. Or don't. Whichever. In the meantime, I'll keep blogging and I will try to stop whining about caffeine. I am sick of myself whining, so I'm sure you guys are sick of me whining too.

To the good life. La Chaim.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

I learned this thing about myself.

Turns out, caffeine withdrawals make me feel like a shrew. I have never felt more like ripping people's heads off for inadequate reasons. Like the kid on Trax who sang Niel Diamond songs, loud, and off key, all the way from Abravanel Hall to Meadowbrook. It is a miracle, and also a sign that I was extremely tired, that he escaped with his jugular intact. Seriously. He danced.

Or the guy who cut people off three people in a row on the freeway yesterday, unneccesarily. Really. He cut me off and then zigzagged back into the other lane, cutting off car number two, then again into my lane right in front of the guy in front of me. There was no point except to purposely provoke road rage! I bet the evil demon on his shoulder was in a really good mood, egging on that jerk fest. On a scale of "annoyed" to "seriously angsty and prone to swearing", my blood pressure is somewhere in the range of  "gonna maim the next person who has the audacity to speak to me".

Long story short, that diet coke relapse last week has left me feeling shrewish and witchy once more. I have been humming calming songs to myself to keep from acting on the shrewish witchy urges, and I may actually make it through the week without getting fired for yelling at the rude, loud, aggravating people who order pizza from me. But if one more person gets mad at me for taking half off the cheaper pizza, it's gonna be close. (Am I allowed to blog about customers if I don't say names? hmm)
 
Conclusion. I'm never drinking diet coke again. I thought we could have a healthy, controlled relationship. But it's just not gonna happen, because I have an astonishingly small amount of self control in this area of life. So here's to getting back on the wagon, and in a good mood.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

ummm... still a teenager, which means that I am excited about my birthday in a truly childlike fashion

yep. nineteen counts. But in celebration of my last year of teenagerness, some cool things happpenned, aka it is the best day ever. (which probably means nothing by now because I say it so much, but whatever. life's good.)

- Justin sent his little brother on a scouting mission to find out what I wanted for my birthday. I was supremely unhelpful, but he did a good job left to his own devices. I really love my necklace, and also the birthday card that shouts at me, and also him.

- Mom went all out and got me the Emily books and new moccasins, which I have never done because I am still mourning the last pair I had to throw away because I wore them so much the toe ripped wide open. Internet, did you take my advice and read that slice of heaven in literature form that is the Emily series? You should, and I am going to re read whilst wearing my new moccasins, so we can just have a reading party, which I am always a fan of.

- Sarah woke me at Five o something this morning with a text message instructing me to look outside. I was greeted with a freshly streamered and ballooned yard, and welcoming me into the birthday wonderland was a pathway of bubble wrap. Also, she left a huge bouncy ball and a 2 liter of diet coke on my porch, and wrote on my sidewalk that I am not a cat lady. It was worth being woken up at five a.m., no question.

So today, on this anniversary of my birth, I demonstrated my still-a-teenagerness by dancing to Crazy Frog, jumping on my bed while listening to Outkast, and making up a dance routine while I was in the shower. The day is not over yet, and I fully intend to dance to the radio at work, and maybe even sing if Daxx is there.

Also, a few years ago I adopted  Jessica Wright's theory that one cannot gain weight on their birthday, and I ate ice cream for breakfast accordingly. It's a good day.