Things I Never Understood About Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood

This morning, of all things, I awoke with the “Ana, Prince & Daniel” song stuck in my head.

Anyone? Anyone?

Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood?

It went a little something like this:

Ana, Prince, and Daniel
Ana, Prince, and Daniel
Daniel, Prince, and Ana are near
Ana, Prince, and Daniel
Ana, Prince, and Daniel
Daniel, Prince, and Ana are here.

Brilliant, right? I thought so. (I really wish I could find a YouTube video of it, but alas, it was not meant to be.)

ANYhoodles, for some weird reason, that song was stuck in my head this morning. I know… I had the same reaction.

Oh, Jack…

It was weird because…

A. Why Mr. Rogers?

B. Why that song?

C. Why, after not having heard that song for some 25 years, would it be stuck in my head?

My brain is sometimes a frightening and unsettling place, my friends.

Anyway, it got me thinking about Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood and his Neighborhood of Make-Believe, and all the things I found so strange about it as a child.  Things like…

  • Mr. McFeely. Really? That’s the name you’re going to go with? For a children’s television show? Umm… I think maybe revisiting that decision might be a good idea.
  • King Friday XIII, Queen Sara Saturday and Prince Tuesday: Why those days? Why not Monday, Wednesday, Thursday or Sunday? I really would like an explanation for this, because even as a child, I wished they would introduce a whole gaggle of prince and princesses that had the names of the other days of the week.
  • Purple Panda: That thing was just weird. Like… really, really weird. I felt like I was on an acid trip every time that thing came on the show.

See what I mean?

  • Lady Elaine: First of all, where is all of this aristocratic, blue-blooded, mumbo-jumbo coming from, Mr. Rogers? This here’s ‘Merica. Anyway, that puppet truly freaked me out. She looked like a witchy school marm. Whenever she was on, I always thought, “Ugh. Lady Elaine. That b****.” Only, in my child-like innocence it was more like, “Big Meanie Head.”
  • Daniel Striped Tiger: First of all, I could never figure out why they pronounced his middle name as “Stripe-Ed”. Dudes, it’s “striped”, one syllable. Get it straight. Secondly, why was he so freakin’ shy?! He was afraid of everything! I remember even as a child thinking, “Oh, for crying out loud, Daniel. GET OVER IT!”
  • Bob Dog: Seriously. Don’t even get me started on that dude.

Seriously, Bob Dog? Seriously?! You stupid animal…

Apparently, I was quite the snarky, cynical child. I bet my siblings loved watching TV with me. What can I say? I guess I’m a realist. OOH! Maybe this is where my disdain for all Fantasy/Sci Fi started! YESSSS… Let’s go with that. (Thanks, Mr. Rogers…) Because honestly, I loved the opening and closing sequences when Mr. Rogers would talk about “real-life” and have heart to heart discussions with the kiddos, but once that trolley left his house, I was all, “Aw, crap. Now I have to sit through this? MER.”

Clearly, I was the weirdest child ever.

Did you guys ever have TV shows that just bewildered you? Or things about the shows you loved that you just didn’t understand? I demand to hear all about these things forthwith.

And…..GO.

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Things I do not understand about Europe

Hold on tight, because I’m about to show my “Stupid American” roots here. Not that we’re stupid. Just confused. We’re confused, okay? Not stupid. Definitely not stupid. Maybe if your continent could KEEP IT TOGETHER and stop getting all up in each others’ bidness (not NOW… I’m talking in centuries past, people) we wouldn’t be so confused…

ANYhoodles, here’s what I don’t understand:

  • What the heck is up with Holland? What the hell IS Holland anyway? I just had a conversation with a friend about how Holland was the same thing as the Netherlands. And she was like, “Nooo… Denmark is the same thing as the Netherlands.” And then I was like, “Wait, is Holland even a country?” So, then I had to look it up because I am a stupid American who knows nothing about Europe and how it works. Turns out, Holland is just part of the Netherlands. Like, a province. Apparently, it kind of works like the whole “UK vs. Britain” thing. But then I was left with the question of, “So… Denmark and the Netherlands… Totally separate countries, right?” CORRECT. The people of Denmark are Danish, the people of the Netherlands are Dutch… NOT to be confused with Deutschland, which is really just the German word for Germany. Got all that? Yeah, me neither.
  • THE Royal Family. Why do all Americans think that THE Royal Family refers to the British Royal Family? There are royal families all over Europe, people. Why should the Brits get all the attention? The other royal families are just as special as the British Royal Family.  When you refer to THE Royal Family, please designate WHICH Royal Family you are referring to.

Why should the British Royal Family just get to stomp around like a giant while the rest of us try not to get smushed under their big feet? The other royal families are just as cute as the British Royal Family, right? The other royal families are just as smart as the British Royal Family, people totally like the other royal families just as much as they like the British Royal Family, and when did it become okay for one royal family to be the boss of everybody because that’s not what Europe is about!

(Mean Girls? Anyone? ANYONE? You people are hopeless…)

  • Speaking of the British Royal Family… what’s up with the titles? Why the Queen of England, but the Prince of Wales? What about Scotland and Northern Ireland? Do they not count? How did they decide on Prince of Wales? What’s the significance there? Also… why Duke of Cambridge or Duchess of Cornwall? Cambridge and Cornwall? Are these places? What is the significance of Cambridge and Cornwall? WHY ALL THE AMBIGUITY! If you’re going to hand out titles, could you please EXPLAIN yourselves? BECAUSE I DO NOT UNDERSTAND!
  • Slovenia, Slovakia, Yugoslavia, Czech Republic, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia… and all the other ones I may have missed. Um… how do I put this… WHAT THE WHAT?! I’m sure it has something to do with the whole “Eastern Bloc”, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” thingy… but I’m at a loss. They’re all separate now… but did they used to be squished together into one identity? I should figure this out. I should brush up on my history. (Is it bad that I’m partially Slovenian, and I don’t even understand the how or where or why of my mother-land? Would it be my mother-land? Or my father-land? Or since I wasn’t born there does it really have no bearing on anything what-so-ever? I’m so confused. See? This is why I could never be president…)
  • I DO know this: Switzerland is NOT Sweden and neither one of those is Denmark! Why do Americans confuse these three?! Why would Sweden EVER be confused with Switzerland? Is it the “S” in the name? C’mon, people. Really? Also, IKEA… NOT a Danish company! Stop being all like, “Oh, the Danish IKEA company.” WHAT? NO. IKEA is Swedish, dammit! LEGOS is Danish. Get it straight. Why is that so confusing? Ugh… stupid Americans. (What? I’m including myself in that insult…)
  • Russia. Nevermind. I don’t have the energy. Don’t get me started on Russia…

So, my European friends… you ‘splain yourselves? Kay. Awesome. Thanks.

Things that made me go, “Hmm…” – Week 23

Last week, I said it was week 23, when really, it was only week 22. I realize such a misstep probably screwed up all of your weeks, so I apologize for the inconvenience. But really, am I the “week keeper” now? C’mon, peeps. C’MON.

You see what I just did there? I attempted to divert your attention from the fact that I have literally nothing to write about today. (And when I say, “literally”, I literally mean literally. Not figuratively-literally, but literally-literally. You pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?) It’s been one of those weeks. Between self-diagnosed panic attacks disguised as vertigo, to babysitting the 2nd grade class from hell… it’s just been one of those weeks.

But… I know you’re all super excited so I’ll just pull things out of thin air as I go along. Let’s get started, shall we?

*crickets*

Hang on… let me check Twitter. Maybe there’s something there…

  • Hillary Clinton announced her candidacy for president today. After which, everyone yawned and spent the next hour surfing the internet for “real news”.

Okay, BuzzFeed… let’s see what you have… and I swear to GAWD, it better be more interesting than what Twitter had to offer…

NOPE. NOTHING.

Facebook? Pinterest? No. You know what? I’m not even going to bother with you two. You’re already on my “suck” list.

Okay, Annie. C’mon. There’s gotta be something you can talk about. ANYTHING. FOR THE LOVE OF GAWD, WOMAN. THINK OF SOMETHING.

  • Ooh! Selfies took a huge hit this week. Everyone was all, “Selfies bad!” And then everyone was like, “Ooh! I agree!” And then some people were like, “Psh. Selfies are SO passe`.” But still others were like, “Well, I dislike them so much I’m going to dedicate an entire newspaper editorial to them!” And the Kardashians were all…

And I’m just sitting here thinking, “Duh. Double chins, anyone? How is this news?”

*sigh*

People are dumb.

  • Ladies! I came across THIS brilliant website this week:  www.rosegal.com  Um, vintage-inspired looks? Crazy low (and when I say low I mean, “Holy crappers! What is with these prices?!) prices? FREE shipping worldwide? Um… just go. Go there now. Guys, you can go too… if you’re into women’s clothing. Otherwise, stay here.
  • Gwyneth Paltrow is going to live off $29.00 in food stamps for a week. In case you’re curious as to how that will work out for her, let me let you down easy: She’ll probably craft some healthy, vegan, gourmet meals for her two adorable, perfectly coiffed children while using the leftovers to fertilize her naturally sustainable garden, thereby discovering a new species of plant that is not only high in anti-oxidants but also stops the aging process. Because she is Gwyneth Paltrow, and she is still better than you.

And….

Nope. That’s it. I’m out. I’m done. I’m spent. (See? I told you it was a particularly uneventful week. This is why I need your help, peeps! If you see something funny, amazing, and cool… TELL ME, dammit! Don’t make me beg… jerks.)

Okay, so then… over n’ out, good buddies. I’ll catch you on the flip side.

Oh, Awkward Day

Oh my GAWD, Blogosphere. Simmer down. I’m gone for a couple of days and you inexplicably explode, leaving me with looming fears that I will never catch up on my reading and miss out on some of the funniest and most worthwhile posts ever.

Life is HARRRRRRRDDDDDDD.

In other news, it turns out that one of the kindergarteners is the son of my high school civics teacher. My adorable high school civics teacher. The high school civics teacher every girl had a crush on because he was so adorable. The adorable high school civics teacher that I formerly avoided like the plague out of fear of being all…

You know… all awkward like? (Like I am around every man to walk the face of the earth?) The adorable high school civics teacher who is still adorable and came into the classroom today to talk to his son. The adorable high school civics teacher that I acted perfectly normal around and friendly to without falling apart. (I’d call that progress, peeps.)

In still other news… whoever came up with the idea of showing a TWO HOUR MOVIE as a reward to the students for good behavior RIGHT BEFORE EASTER BREAK needs to be taken out back and… dealt with harshly. Especially when that person was like, “Yeah! And we’ll do it for the WHOLE SCHOOL! Even the KINDERGARTENERS! It. Will. Be. AWESOME!”

Do you know what it’s like when kindergartners try to sit in an auditorium, in seats that are 5 times too big for them, and try to be still and quiet for 2 HOURS?!

Just to give you an idea…

Oh, it’s all fun and games until the 20 minute mark when EVERYONE STARTS TO FALL APART.

HAPPY EASTER, KIDS!

Seriously?

ANYhoodles… that was my day. How was yours?

Gif Sources:

www.gifbay.com, d0ntgiveupl0ve.tumblr.com, 4gifs.tumblr.com, www.tumblr.com,

Meeting Grizzly Adams

I met Grizzly Adams today.

At church.

On Palm Sunday.

He smelled.

Being the only female under the age of 70 without a small child attached to her ankle, he naturally made a beeline for me. I don’t think he realized I was almost 10 years older than he was, but then again, who could possibly tell that based on my flawless complexion and hot body? (Okay, that last part was totally for my benefit. The rest of you can disregard that. I’m working on developing a healthy self image, so occasionally I give myself pep talks to make up for the fact that my husband left me for a much less attractive mother of three. See? I told you that pep talk was necessary. ANYhoodles…)

Grizzly lives in the woods without electricity. I’m guessing there’s a lack of running water where he lives too. And maybe a mirror. There’s definitely not a beard trimmer nearby, so there’s probably a lack of scissors too. I don’t think he has a brush… or a comb. And soap might be a scarcity. Actually, I’m just going to go out on a limb and guess that Grizzly lives in a tent. With a backpack. In which he carries all of his belongings. Which are very few.

Most people would have guessed Grizzly was homeless. This is not the case. Actually… it probably is, but you see, when you live where I live, people consciously choose to live in tents without electricity and running water in order to become one with nature. Grizzly is probably just one of many, MANY Grizzlies (the people, not the bears) who live in the forest around town. It’s what people do here. Is it totally weird? Yes, yes it is. Is it pretty commonplace? Yes, yes it is.

Anyway, so Grizzly was pretty much homeless. By choice. He told me he spent his days practicing Tai Chi for 2 or 3 hours, and the rest of the time enjoying nature. He talked a lot about hunting, but based on the platefuls of food he was devouring, I couldn’t tell if he killed and ate his critter-like friends or just “communed” with them. He ate dried jalepeno peppers on a daily basis, mainly for the purpose of inflicting pain on himself. He found that the more pain he endured, the more connected to nature he felt… and he felt less hungry. (Honestly, I think he tried eating one of the palm leaves when no one was looking. Either that, or he was just enjoying the smell. Or he was using it to comb his beard. Who could tell?) I would have felt bad for him if I knew it wasn’t of his own choosing. He was choosing to practice his Tai Chi rather than work since work would take him away from his Tai Chi. I got the distinct feeling he wanted to be discovered as the next great survivalist… or at least be a contestant on “Naked and Afraid”. Either way, you couldn’t feel too badly for the guy. He had a cell phone on which he watched Tai Chi videos on YouTube.

So, that’s how my Palm Sunday was. How was yours? Meet any new and interesting people? Or do these kinds of things only happen to me?

Fun at a funeral.

I have a funeral to go to tomorrow.

Funerals are always a good time, right? I love me a good funeral. I mean, who doesn’t love a good funeral?

The last funeral I attended was my father’s and even that was a good time. (Okay. I’m lying. That’s not true. Actually, it was the farthest thing from a good time. It was pretty much the worst thing ever.)

I’m not very good with funerals. Then again, who is? The whole “death” thing used to really get to me. And by “get to me” I mean I’d have full-blown panic attacks which resulted in me curled up in the fetal position on the floor at the mere thought of it. But, then when I actually had to face it for the first time as an adult and not some young child or adolescent who had never really processed the whole thing, it got a little easier. You know, as easy as death can get.

Still, I’m not a big fan of funerals, and tomorrow I have to go to one. Alone.

Friends have offered to bring me with them, but the only thing worse than going alone is going as a third wheel. (Seriously. Is there anything worse than a third wheel? I don’t think so. Not only are you relegated to the back seat of the car like a small child, but you’re also tagging along with the couple like a small child and it’s… just… awkward.) So, I’m going alone. I’m gonna be all brave-like. I mean, how hard can it actually be? You go, you sit there, you give a few hugs, you leave… right? I mean… it’s not some complicated process. Uncomfortable? Sure. Complicated? Not so much. I mean, if I can handle 3rd grade hoodlums for 8 hours I can handle sitting by myself during a funeral for 1 hour… right?

I mean, RIGHT?!

(Okay, here’s where you give me a pep talk and tell me everything is going to be okay. And….. GO!)

Dorks will be offended by this post. Consider yourselves warned.

The other day, while out for coffee, my friend uttered a sentence that should never have been uttered.

“Ooh! The new Hobbit movie is coming out on DVD!”

I think the look I shot her was akin to the following:

Um… What?

Just… NO.

What about my personality suggests I would have any interest what-so-ever in the new Hobbit movie?

I then told her I had only seen the first Hobbit movie, and I only went because it procured me a bag of buttered popcorn. I even slept through a good portion of it.

To which she responded with an excited, “Oh! Did you see it with your brother?”

Um… no. Because my brother is awesome and not a complete and utter dork.

It’s possible that I hate all sci-fi and fantasy more than I hate both awkward conversational transitions and bar soap. So… basically, my hatred for all types of sci-fi and fantasy is so intense that it results in physical manifestations. Like… shaking uncontrollably, screaming obscenities, and throwing any and all items in the immediate vicinity. (Occasionally, I spew vomit and my head rotates a full 360 degrees, but hopefully my handlers have managed to calm me down before I get to that point.)

I literally can’t stand it. Sci-Fi and fantasy are loved by dorks around the world. Me? I abhor it. And by abhor, I mean I wish to abolish it from the face of the earth so it can no longer plague our fair society with its rubbish.

Lord of the Rings. (Seen all three. Hated all three. Poked an eye out for each one I had to watch, and then ran out of eyes so I shot myself in the foot instead. I am now blind and feeble thanks to those stupid movies.) The Hobbit. (See above.) Star Wars. (I tried to watch one once. I got 15 minutes into it and fled the room in tears because it was THAT STUPID.) Star Trek. (Couldn’t watch the originals, and only got through half of the remake before shooting myself in the other foot.) LARPing. Comic-Con. Cosplay. Any and all RENAISSANCE FAIRS.

Something about watching actors tromp around on film in costume and pretend to be other-worldly beings enrages me. Watching otherwise normal adults play dress-up themselves and pretend to other-worldly beings also enrages me. Why I can’t just shrug it off and be like, “That’s cool” is a wonder to me. It just drives me crazy. We are grown-ass adults, people! Are we not past the “dress up and play pretend” phase???

The thing is… I don’t have a problem with dorks in general. We’re all dorks about certain things. Take me, for instance. I’m a total book dork. Dorks are awesome. I’m pretty sure it says somewhere in the Bible that dorks shall inherit the earth. I mean, if it weren’t for dorks, we wouldn’t be as technologically advanced as we are today. Dorks kind of run the world. But when that dorkiness seeps over into sci-fi and fantasty? No. Not acceptable. Basically, you lose all your credibility as a dork, and you just become a weirdo in my mind. (I’m sorry… that was harsh. I still love you. You are allowed to love as many LOTR and Hobbit and Star-type-thingys as you want. But I cannot and will not condone the behavior.) The problem is… all of my friends are dorks. Which, because of numbers alone, makes them normal and me the outcast. And it’s not as much fun to mock the rest of the group when you’re the outcast of the group. *sigh* Such is my life. I literally can’t escape the dorkiness… it’s all around me… and it’s making me crazy.

Certainly, I can’t be the only one who feels this way. Or maybe I am. Maybe I just enraged all the dorks of the world to such an extent that they now feel the same way about me as I do about their hobbies…

Sorry, dorks.

You’ll get over it.

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