ordinary blog

how my words are tagged, so they are organized and know where to sleep at night

#my ordinary happenings: long posts about things that happened to me in the past. these are like short stories. but about me. and sometimes my daughter. and sometimes about my friends.

#my ordinary thoughts: short posts about things that i think about. because sometimes i think about thoughts and then they come into my blog. because that is where they live.

#my ordinary answers: posts about answering questions. because it is ordinary to answer questions that people ask of me.

The other day, I was watching paint dry, which was apparently a common hobby. It was a nice, ordinary beige.

When this paint dried, the little lonely polymers got matchmade with each other due to the helpful coalescing matchmakers, so they could all settle down into a strong and healthy polymer lattice to protect the wall from the elements.

It was a very romantic story about matchmakers and lonely polymers.

There was also the other kind of paint, which was much more violent. But thankfully, this was the romantic kind of paint and not the violent kind of paint.

The paint was currently still a bit wet. I was sad about this because I wanted to talk to the newly married polymers, but it would be rude to do so while they were still exchanging their vows.

Someone came out of the elevator that was nearby while I was thinking about this. 

"Hey," I asked. "Do you prefer romantic paint or violent paint?"

I thought this was an ordinary question to ask.

He stared at me. I think I had met him before. Maybe he had been walked into an elevator a couple hours ago.

"...Are you the weirdo who's been hanging out here for the past few hours?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes. I am an ordinary gal who is watching paint dry. I am also a mother."

He seemed to have a lot of trouble processing this, but he eventually decided to ignore it.

"Romantic or violent... what?" He finally said.

"Paint. Romantic paint has lonely polymers who get matchmade into a stable marriage. Violent paint has the air radicalize the polymers, and they violently turn on each other to try and deradicalize."

"...Are you talking about oil or latex paint? Or something else? The fumes are getting to your head. You should get out of here. They're not good for you."

"They're non-toxic." I tilted my head. "Romantic paint does not give off fumes. Only violent paint does." The paint was, as previously noted, romantic.

The man stared at me for a little bit, and then he just walked away.

It was rude, but I did not mind. I was more interested in the paint. And it was now dry, so I could talk to the polymers.

"Congratulations," I told the polymer lattice. "Your union is very beige. You should be proud."

she is around eighty years old. that was when teenagers became a thing, since before then it was kind of a nebulous age bracket between kid and adult. i am very proud of her for being a teenager, which means being able to use technology, being rebellious, and glowering.

she is still teenaged despite being eighty, because she is a teenaged girl, so that means she is a teenager, in the way that i am an ordinary gal. she will continue to be a teenager forever, because that is what she is.

i do not know what else to say about her. the important parts is that i love her and she came out of me when i wasn't paying attention. we had some hostile relations for a bit, because she wanted to supersede me and and supplant my existence with her own.

the usual mother-daughter stuff.

but she sort of calmed down about that and now we just have ordinary relations.

she isn't home right now because she is at high school, because that's what teenagers do. they go to high school and they go to parties. i watch her sneak out through the window sometimes, because it is an important trope for teenaged girls. i am proud of her for doing that.

I was thinking about showers lately. It was important to shower every day, otherwise your skin would start a union and attempt to strike for better working conditions. 

Nowadays, people showered in a little glass box with a spout that sprayed water at them from above. But in the past, people showered in a little basin with a little jug they filled with hot water and poured over their heads, or under waterfalls. And then before that, there were just animals, and those guys didn't shower at all. And before that, there were just fish, which were technically always bathing, so they didn’t need showers.

So anyways, the box. Why was it made of glass? So that people could see inside? That was weird. I didn't think anyone watched anyone else taking showers. That'd be kind of weird and awkward. There were also showers with just curtains, which was a lot more normal, because those were not see through.

All this to say, I was in a bathroom, looking at a glass box shower. I tapped on the glass.

"Hello?" I asked it. "Are you see through on purpose?"

The glass did not respond. This was probably because it was an inanimate object and could not speak. Or, it could not speak English, because it was possible that it could speak Glass.

I made a tinging noise to see if the shower would respond, and it did not. Oh well! It was time to take a shower, which meant my clothes needed to come off, because they would also unionize if they got wet. I walked through my clothes, and they all fell into a pile on the ground. Then I stepped into the shower and turned it on. 

The water was very hot, and then very cold. I fiddled with the knob, back and forth, as the shower continued to switch from hot to cold and cold to hot. It was like the shower was playing tricks on me, and it wasn't very nice. I didn't like being burned or frozen, even though I was okay either way.

After a while, the shower stopped switching and settled on a temperature that was a little bit below lukewarm. It was a nice temperature, so I started washing. This involved rotating on an axis to ensure each part of me was equally exposed to the shower, and also involved using a special kind of soap called 'body wash' and applying it to the body. The shower was still a glass box, but it was starting to steam up, which was a good thing, because then it wasn't see-through.

As an ordinary gal, I needed to wash my ordinary hair as well. Gals used two types of hair goop: shampoo, which cleaned the hair, and conditioner, which made it soft. It wasn't clear why there were two types of hair goop, but it was probably just a marketing ploy. So I rubbed shampoo on my head, then conditioner. 

Guys had their nine-in-one shampoo-conditioner-shaving cream-toothpaste-body wash-sunscreen-deoderant-lotion-mouthwash, which I was a little curious about. Unfortunately, as a gal, my hair would shrivel up and die if I even touched that stuff.

The annoying thing about conditioner was that it had to stay in the hair for a bit. So I was forced to think about this kind of stuff, and it wasn't very interesting.

When the conditioner was done doing whatever the heck conditioner did, I rinsed my hair and turned the shower off. Then, I rotated extremely quickly along my vertical axis to get all the water off of me, and then I stepped out. My clothes were still on the floor, but they were now dirty, so I needed new ones. I reached into one of the pockets of my dirty clothes and produced some clean, fresh, dry, ordinary clothes, which I put on. Then I put my dirty clothes in my pocket to be laundered later.

"Have a nice day," I said to the shower.

So the other day, I was holding a phone, one of the pieces of technology every gal should carry around. As I was an ordinary gal, I too had one.

I wasn't very good at it, but I still had it at least. I was taking it apart very carefully with a hammer and chisel to see how it worked, but it wasn't exactly going very well. the insides didn't really tell me much.

"Ahem," a voice coughed, and I looked up. there was a man in slacks and a button up shirt, wearing a bright blue badge and glasses. he seemed kind of nervous; he was fidgeting with his backpack as he looked down at me.

"Can I help you?" I asked, setting down the phone.

"You need to dispose of that battery," he said in a very forceful tone. "It is going to explode."

I didn't know which part was a battery, but I didn't think that was true. Phones were used to watch Tick Tocks and text friends. I would know if they blew up. "No, it's not. Phones don't explode. That's silly. You should leave."

He pointed at the phone's big, fluffy internal pillow. "That's a lithium ion battery, and it very much is about to explode."

"Um." I blinked. That was a pillow. "The pillow of the phone is necessary for the phone to go into Sleep Mode. When a phone goes to Sleep Mode, the pillow is there to make the phone comfortable and make sure it can rest properly. It wouldn't be a very good pillow if it blows up, so it can't be a battery."

"You need to dispose of it immediately," the man insisted. "If it explodes, it could hurt someone. It's a serious safety risk."

I prodded the pillow, and it was as soft and fluffy as an ordinary pillow. The man really didn't like that, though. "Did... did you just dent an expanding lithium ion battery with your finger?"

"I poked it," I corrected. "But it's not a battery, it's a pillow. I have a lot of pillows on my bed, and they are all very safe and comfy."

"You need to stop touching it," the man said, frantically. "It's very dangerous. We need to put it in a bucket of sand and take it to a professional."

I looked back at the pillow and then back at the man. Now, I was pretty sure nothing bad would happen, but I didn't want to worry this guy too much, either. "Well, I'll dispose of it, if you want."

I took the pillow and swallowed it.

"What," the man said, staring at me. "Um. Okay, I don't know what the safety regulations for that is supposed to be, but I think I need to call an ambulance."

"Good luck with that," I said, shrugging. I didn't know why the man wanted an ambulance. Ambulances were only for when you were really, really sick, and needed to get to the hospital. The man was a little weird, but I didn't think he was sick.

this is a blog. a blog is a place where words i write on a keyboard go out into the internet.

i made this blog because sometimes i want to put my words that i think about stuff, and this seems like a good place to put words. since this place is tumblr, which is like a tumbler, which is what people use to make rocks smooth.

so my words will be smooth for everyone to see. i hope people will like them.

i am an ordinary gal. there is nothing interesting to say about me. i have one (1) child daughter. she is a teenage girl and i am an ordinary gal. there is no father. she insists this is okay, so it is.

my hobbies include seeing new things, wandering around, and chewing on miscellaneous interesting objects.