It's a well-established fact, like God creating the universe and Baked Doritos, that at times I am not the brightest. Most moments, as my therapist heartily encourages me to repeat, I am a capable, capable, and very capable young woman with an overflowing tool box of life skills, but the moments in which I am not are as plentiful as really, really bad similes in any given episode of City Confidential.*
Take Saturday morning, when I took Cricket to the vet, distracted only by the expectation that I'd be financially assaulted as I was during earlier visits in which I found out that I am, indeed, mother to the smallest asthmatic on Earth. I arrived early. I was not flustered. I had consumed one Diet Coke and even clocked a decent sleep the night before. So imagine my surprise at my own hesitation when the receptionist simply asked, "Last name?"
Wait, does she want my last name or the cat's last name?
Of course, Kris. Of course you'd have different last names, because Cricket, your four-year-old Felis silvestris, who actually came with the lame, gaggy first name Flower until you renamed her, retained her father's surname when your divorce was final. You should probably think about changing it to match your last name so the cooler cats at school don't start making jokes about what her mom did while in heat. Asshat.
Because of the glory that is internal dialogue and the principles of reinforcement, brought into play at the vet via a flashback to the third grade in which I thankfully did not yelp that the state name was Ar-KANSAS, I didn't actually utter my rhetorical question. I did, however, take another 15 seconds to remember my last name.
* (e.g., "The escaped rapist was as belligerent as a University of Georgia football fan after a last-minute loss to Florida" OR "In Backwardsville, South Carolina, prostitutes littered Main Street just like beer cans in a Walmart parking lot." That kind of thing.)
Take Saturday morning, when I took Cricket to the vet, distracted only by the expectation that I'd be financially assaulted as I was during earlier visits in which I found out that I am, indeed, mother to the smallest asthmatic on Earth. I arrived early. I was not flustered. I had consumed one Diet Coke and even clocked a decent sleep the night before. So imagine my surprise at my own hesitation when the receptionist simply asked, "Last name?"
Wait, does she want my last name or the cat's last name?
Of course, Kris. Of course you'd have different last names, because Cricket, your four-year-old Felis silvestris, who actually came with the lame, gaggy first name Flower until you renamed her, retained her father's surname when your divorce was final. You should probably think about changing it to match your last name so the cooler cats at school don't start making jokes about what her mom did while in heat. Asshat.
Because of the glory that is internal dialogue and the principles of reinforcement, brought into play at the vet via a flashback to the third grade in which I thankfully did not yelp that the state name was Ar-KANSAS, I didn't actually utter my rhetorical question. I did, however, take another 15 seconds to remember my last name.
* (e.g., "The escaped rapist was as belligerent as a University of Georgia football fan after a last-minute loss to Florida" OR "In Backwardsville, South Carolina, prostitutes littered Main Street just like beer cans in a Walmart parking lot." That kind of thing.)
Labels: Stuff that's wrong with me
31 Comments:
I don't know you well, yet, via blogs, but I love you. No, wait, I heart you. I really really heart you. When I say "I heart you" to someone, I mean it. I don't throw those words around carelessly like some others might. It really means something.
Furthermore, in reading your last two posts, it's as if I'm reading my own life, only in much better verbiage. For I am a fellow mindless tool sometimes. Ok, you are a not a mindless tool, that would be me. But you share in the occasional and complete absence of mind, as do I.
Teehee! That reminds me of the time I brought my dog to the vet, and when he asked "Birthday?", I replied, "Oh, um, 29th of ... wait, you mean HIS birthday, right?" Doi!
"Florid and disconnected" are words I would never apply to you, kris :) "Smart and funny, in a warped way I can totally relate to", definitely. And I'd rather read all your archived blogs than another CDT novel!
before my recent name change I too had to take my kitties to the vet with thier dad's last name. apparently the patriarchy even applies to cats. I definitely felt a little weird about it.
You make me laugh!
Confessing I would do similar.. (Quick brain think!! Is Josh Dog registered under my married or single last name?!) Duh.. as receptionist wonders about me...
Pfft.
Everyone knows your last name is Likey, Mama.
:)
I've done the same. exact. thing.
Except the vet tech looked at me funny when I finally asked, "How do I go about changing my cat's last name?".
Besides, it's not beer cans in walmart parking lots.
It's empty 40s.
I heart you because you make me snort out loud!!!!
I thought your cat was old enough to drive already. You need to teach them so you can sleep in on Saturday instead.
Our vet misspelled our old dog's name (read "Nigel" as "Wigel," for some reason) on his first visit, and we had to check him in as the wrong name for twelve years after that.
Seriously, why would anyone name a dog Wigel?
Lol that's so cute.
Things like that happen to me all the time, too. I always seem to forget how to spell my first name (g-e-n-e-v-i-e-v-e) and when my birthday is, as well. : /
hahaha....Don't be so hard on yourself. I guarantee you people have done worse at the vet. Plus, it made for a funny self-deprecating post. That has to count for something....
The Diet Coke haters would probably say it's due to the Aspartame eating away at your brain. :)
If it makes you feel better:
1) I called someone that I've known for 1-1/2 years now by the wrong name the other day. For some reason I called him Jeffrey. That is not his name. I don't know a Jeffrey.
2)I can't remember my wedding anniversary, my husband's birthday or my own age on a regular basis. I chalk this up to PTSD or early-onset dementia.
3) If I have a cocktail or ten, I will inevitably "lose" my purse or wallet. Both will turn up hanging off of my arm, along with my cell phone I thought I lost, which mysteriously turned up in my hand.
Thanks for cheering up my cold, snowy Wednesday morning. :)
Don't worry, we all have these moments when we think how on earth, can I possibly be alive?
My own furry friend cost me $357 for her annual checkup, shots and medication last Friday. When the vet tech called out Bella Luna, I ignored it. Bella Luna, you see, has always been just Bella to me. Only after the THIRD call, did I realize it was us. You're not alone, Kris!
I LOVE that I'm not the only dunce!
That wasn't nice, was it.
It would have been even worse had you waited for Cricket to answer.
haha?
i can never recall my age. Somehow, 31 just doesn't seem like the correct hollaback to that question.
Perhaps she thought the animal may have had an alias at one point? I hear ya.
i am so laughing in public. great post.
I don't know if this will make you feel better or just showcase my insanity, but my dear, departed cat had a hyphenated last name. I'm sure the vet thought I was nuts.
Ha! Love it.
I would have went with, "One name. Like Cher."
First, I thought it was Ar-KANSAS until I was fourteen.
Second, City Confidential is frickin' awesome. The narrator is just the cheesiest of cheese who uses metaphors such as "She was drawn to that world like an SUV to a gas pump" or "The media pounced on her like a pack of rabid raccoons on a suburbian dumpster".
Third, I have those type of moments all the time. It's so sad. I got a 1420 on my SATs but I'm dumb as a rock.
El alcohol es una puerta cerrada, las drogas son una ventana abierta.
That is the most complex simple title I have ever read. I had to read it three times and I still need to flow chart this out to be sure I ultimately figure this out.
Maybe you need to go the Einstein route in making the mundane rote, so that you can better use your mental powers on writing stuff to confound us little brain folks?
Fun post!
I agree with maethane boy, you lost me at the title. I reread it multiple times and finally had to read it aloud to my husband before I felt that I finally got it. I think.
I walk into screen doors. And glass doors. Frequently. I've injured myself doing this.
I forget what city I am in if it has a polysyllabic name.
Worse case of stupidity was when I did up my fly vigorously while forgetting I was not wearing underwear. I'm told the screams were also heard on your side of the U.S./Canada border.
Brain farts is what I call it. Either that or I've drowned the important brain cells in the alcohol of the moment (beer, wine, vodka or some bizarre permutation of the sort).
ooof. I felt (hell, still feel) that post-divorce what-name-to-use? pain. I'm currently battling the issue of professional licensing due to the fact that my degree was earned with the (asshat's) ex's name. But I digress....
I've pondered the name thing extensively (aka: compulsive-, obsessive- and insane-ly) and although I've made many a fist-wielded statement that I shall.never.change.my.name.again, I wonder.
because I'm a damn romantic, just too ashamed to admit it.
Maybe I'll just go by TallGlass, one name, like Cher.
I took Killian to the groomer last week and where it said name I put his because that's how these pet places usually are, but then, near the bottom, it asked for Pet's name so I had to cross out "Killian" at the top and put my name because i didn't want the woman to think my name was Killian and I named my male dog after myself.
Did that make sense? I'm really tired.
Um, so one time, I went to the doctor, and they asked me my age... and I had to think for like 15 seconds. After thinking about it, I decided I was 24. Which I'm sure they had a good laugh about, since they have by DOB and a calculator and I was actually 25 and 7 months.
Oh, and also: my cats have a different last name than me. It causes much confusion at the vet and even more hushed gossip about who their baby daddies might be. (The first time they went to the vet, my boyfriend had to take them in for an emergency visit when I was out of town, and so they are registered under his name. I meant to change it, and then... uh, I forgot. And then I forgot to do it again before I got them microchipped, and now I can't without paying the microchip company money to update their databse)
S-M-R-T!
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