Elvis of the Week
I can’t believe someone would suggest NOT giving this as a gift. My kindergarten classroom had one of these, and my best friend and I spent hours pretending to make food but really just discussing the finer points in life.
Even though I’m new to blogging, I can already feel that this blog is bringing the weak sauce.
Fear not! This situation will change soon, I promise. At the end of December, I leave my current job for grad school. So not only will I be able to supply you with endless reams of meaningless insurance gossip, I can also tell you about my explorations in the armpit of South Carolina! HOW EXCITING.
Until then, though, it’s going to be low key, out of respect for my coworkers and their relatively strange lives.
On a completely different note, I still have not accomplished my New Year’s Resolution for this year — riding a motorcycle. I have roughly two weeks to make this happen. Advice is appreciated. I would hate to be another statistic related to unfulfulled resolutions.
Elvis of the Week.
It’s hard to explain to a cat the whole concept of being an “indoor” cat. It’s probably even more difficult when the other household cats are in fact “outdoor” cats. Poor indoor Elvis goes outside because everyone else does, only to be confronted by giant potted plants, leaves, and other debris that he finds frightening. So he body slams the door to come back in. The sliding screen at the back door no longer has a screen because one day he decided to bust through it, only to be greeted by glass.
This video was created by students at BYU, which is why I feel okay watching it. It also intrigues me because I have a lot of Mormon friends (incongruent with stereotypical South Carolina) and this video is accurate.
All of my Mormon friends are married. I go to their receptions and I am the only unmarried person over the age of 18. So not only am I temporarily depressed, I am also lacking in booze. No caffeine, either. Or chocolate. However, for some reason Converse shoes are always present.
I’m a cat lover. You need to know this before you keep reading. You were warned.
Elvis is my darling, 35-pound black cat. He was the runt of the litter, fyi. He’s ten years old, severely obese, and a drama queen. (He pukes for attention, not a joke).
I hope most people are familiar with memes/meme generators. If not, example below:
In the spirit of memes, I am using the basic format, only including Elvis and his strange/evil habits in the captions. Mostly because he is a minion of Satan and seeks to ruin my life every single day that I am breathing. Sometimes he attempts to do this by sitting on me and causing blood flow to stop completely, rendering me unmovable.
Elvis of this week:
I used to be a master (and commander) of spelling. I still am, to an extent, but back in elementary school, I dominated.
Third grade was the first year Lynn Haven Elementary had a grade-level spelling bee. Every individual class had their top five spellers compete in front of parents in the cafeteria. Conveniently, the cafeteria also housed the only stage in the school, along with a metric fuckload of chairs. This is prior to the nice upgraded, all-in-one-fold-it-up tables that arrived in 1998.
I, as grand champion overachiever, participated in said spelling bee. My downfall was the word “sweet.” Seems relatively simple, right? Well, the e’s are what threw me off. I added two exra e’s. Hey, I was nervous, people were staring at me, there was a microphone and an uncomfortable dress involved. You can’t blame me for that.
Fourth grade was a blur in itself, and then fifth grade arrived. Each class for grades 3-5 sent their class winner to the spelling bee. I won Ms. Cooley’s class, so I preceded to the school spelling bee and won. All I could tell you about it is that my mom was flipping her shit in the audience to the point the air could actually break. If I were Ali from Hyperbole and a Half, I would draw that. But I suck at Paint because I am left-handed.
The big follow-up was the county spelling bee. I was a nervous wreck. The school provided this giant-ass list of practice words, and no joke, it was probably at least 100 pages. Day and night my parents quizzed me on spelling.
I did not win that county spelling bee. In fact, I missed the word ‘egotistical.’ Instead, this boy looking girl (or girl looking boy) named Tony took the trophy. His winning word was ‘babushka.’ WTF? Also, he/she was wearing jeans, a denim shirt, and has curly blond hair to his/her shoulders. True gender has still not been determined to date.
Now, I did compete the following year as well, but that’s a whole additional blog post. The point is, people in spelling bees are egotistical, even if they can’t spell it. And the reason I have had a hard time with blogging in the past is I hate talking about myself. I’m not that important. But, my New Year’s Resolution is to never fucking shut up about myself so I can hold this shit down.
Side note: That spelling list? Used to burn fire ants out of this weird plant a week after the spelling bee. My mom discovered and ant hill and has a thing for fire. I provided the tools, she burned down a plant in the middle of the day. Bad. Ass.