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At least you’re not responsible for the Zombie Holocaust. April 26, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — bookwormdaisy @ 4:39 pm
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Oh hey! Sometimes, it’s fun to play a game I like to call “Best Case/Worst Case.” I know that sounds a lot like Best Day/Worst Day from Looking For Alaska, but I assure you, it’s nothing like that.

Whenever I was worried/nervous/excited about something, Mum would always ask me, “Well, what’s the worst that could happen?” I appreciate that this was supposed to make me feel better, but I have a very vivid imagination so it would always end with me sobbing something incoherent about homelessness. Thusly, I invented Best Case/Worst Case, because it makes me laugh and laughing always helps.

First, I imagine the worst that could happen. Then, I imagine the absolute best thing that could happen. Then, I imagine what would probably happen. Here’s an example.

I’m pretty nervous about the play I’m in on Wednesday. Best Case/Worst Case time!

Worst Case Scenario: The day of the play, I’m asked to fill in for a role because someone couldn’t show up, and  I forget all my lines and then I get distracted because I’m forgetting all my lines, and then I fall on my face and I start crying and everyone laughs at me and my reputation is forever ruined and then I go crazy because everyone hates me and I decide to kill all of humanity by inventing a zombie disease that turns everyone into zombies and everyone turns into zombies and I realize that I killed everyone and I’m depressed and then I kill myself.

Best Case Scenario: I’m totally freaking awesome and I don’t forget any of my lines and then my teacher Kelby says that a college called her and offered me a full-ride scholarship and then in a few years, I go to the college and I’m absolutely awesome and I have a boyfriend who invents a jetpack and then woohoo! Jetpack! And I fly into the sky on my jetpack and then I write an awesome book and also I’m a really awesome actress, and then yeah.

Probably what will happen: I might forget one or two of my lines, but it’s okay because all the lines I have are lines I say with other people, so no one will notice, and I might trip and fall, but it would probably be funny, ’cause one time my friend Rhea was in a play and she bowed and her wig fell off and it was hilarious and after the play was over, she was all, “Oh my God, did you see that? That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Only it totally looked like it was supposed to happen because the play was funny anyway and it totally looked awesome. So maybe I fall, but it would be funny, and then I finish the play and get all happy and glowy on the inside and there are group hugs all around and yaaaaaay!

After I play Best Case/Worst Case, I realize that I don’t even want the best case one to happen, because I’d rather have the life I have than have a genius jetpacking boyfriend. I suppose the moral should be “Be happy the way you are,” but really it’s “At least you’re not responsible for the Zombie Holocaust.” Or maybe it’s both. According to An Abundance of Katherines, it’s fine to have two morals in a story, so yes. Be happy the way you are and you could always be responsible for the Zombie Holocaust.

Awesome: Thea created a new blog, which you can find at msinsanity.wordpress.com. She’s still editing the layout and stuff, but you should check it out ’cause she rules.

Unawesome: The number of run-on sentences in this post. C’est la vie.


I am neurotic, but at least I get in singing practice. April 23, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — bookwormdaisy @ 10:14 pm
Tags: , , , , , ,

Oh hey!

I believe I’ve previously mentioned the horrors of the bathroom at Nemo’s office building. However, I’ve never gone into the full terror of simply having to pee.

First, I must come to terms that I really really need to go the the bathroom. This is a burden in and of itself, being as I generally dislike visiting this particular bathroom. After I decide I need to pee, I tell Nemo I’m going to be in his evil bathroom. The ulterior motive for this is so he doesn’t think I ran away or something, but mostly it’s because if I get eaten by zombies I want someone to find my body.

I then put on my shoes if they aren’t on already (I don’t really like shoes, but bathrooms are generally filthy), and make the trek out of his room and down the office, past the main receptionist desk, and out the door.

Nemo’s company’s office is one of many in a large building, but fortunately, their office is close to the women’s bathroom. So I walk to the bathroom and tentatively open the door. Once I’ve made sure there are no robots/zombies/serial killers/Death Eaters/Cylons in any of the stalls, I go in the second stall from the right. I don’t know why I always go in this one, but I do.

I lock the door and sit down on the toilet. Well, I mean, I pull down my pants and stuff, but let’s not get into the details. I then proceed to pee, hoping against hope the demon toilet won’t automatically flush while I’m still sitting on it.

Lately, I’ve started singing while I pee in that particular bathroom because it makes the whole place seem a lot less scary. You might think that I’d be worried someone would walk in while I was singing a robot love song, but no one ever uses the bathroom. Despite the large number of women in the entire building, I hardly ever see anyone in there, which is partly what makes is so creepy. Why am I the only one ever in there? It’s one of the mysteries of life, I’m pretty sure.

So I finish peeing, pull up my pants, and almost have an an aneurysm when the demon toilet auto-flushes. It makes this creepy whirring, screaming, whooshing noise right before it flushes, which always makes it sound like some sort of robot axe-murdering assassin is jumping over the side of the stall to murder me. I get over my heart attack and shakily open the door. I glance around to secure my safety and bolt over to the sink. I end up kind of wedged by the wall, because I don’t want to turn my back on the openness of the bathroom. I mean, of course there’s a mirror, but you can’t see vampires in the mirror. Yeah.

I then, back against the wall, wash my hands in the automatic sink and get a squirt of automatically dispensing soap. The auto-soap dispenser makes a freaky noise at the back of the bathroom by the toilets, which logically leads me to believe a basilisk is coming out of the toilet. I turn around, back still to the wall, and contort myself to get a towel from the automatic frakking paper towel dispenser. Chances are you’ve encountered one of these, and you’ll know that they make pretty scary noises too. I towel off my hands quickly and edge my way over to the door, still singing.

I use the old paper towels to open the door, because seriously? Do you know all the freaking germs that are on those handles? I prop the door up with my butt and try to toss the paper towels into the trash can. I usually miss, which means that I have to go pick them up and put them in the trash can, which solves the littering problem but doesn’t help the germ problem.

By now, I’m so freaked out that I just open the door with my bare hands and freaking sprint back to the office in case any invisible zombies followed me. Usually, this is the end of my adventure, but today I got locked out of the office, which means that I have to pound on the heavy wooden door and yell desperately until some savior comes and lets me into the office, because I’ve forgotten the password for the weird alarm thingy again, although I’m pretty sure it has a five and a three in it.

I get rescued and learn that the code doesn’t have a three in it, and then I blog about it.

Awesome: Not getting eaten by bathroom monsters!

Unawesome: Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors, I’m in a hurry and I don’t have any time to look over this post.