long – Page 12 – The only certainty is bad grammar

Haunted things scare the poop out of me.

Published: October 26, 2009 / Updated: October 26, 2009 Crystal great america, humor, long

I would like the official record of all records to show that I TOLD THEM I was scared of haunted things.

I clearly explained to my two friends that I don’t watch scary movies. ever. that I haven’t been in a haunted house in at least 12 years. and that I DON’T LIKE WALKING DEAD PEOPLE.

But they didn’t listen. or maybe they didn’t believe me. or maybe they like watching me have panic attacks amongst strangers who later tell their friends about the crazy girl in the fuchsia jacket they saw at great america.

whatever it was, a few hours into our trip to Fright Fest, I was walking through a haunted trail. The kind of trail that you wouldn’t think would be very scary in the broad freaking daylight we walked through it in. The kind of trail that’s supposedly so un-scary that it’s not even the main attraction. No, it LEADS to the main attraction – a $10 per person haunted house. (you can bet your sister’s trick-or-treat candy I didn’t go in that crap)

umm, HOLY MOTHER OF MOTHERS AND FATHERS!!!!!

Deep breath Crystal. It’s ok now. It’s all over. You’re safe at home. You’re safe. At home.

Ok. Sorry. I’m back. All right, let’s start with the people dressed as bushes.

They flipping jump out of nowhere in a way that should be illegal. One’s sitting on the side all “look at me. You can see me. I can’t scare you. I’m a nice man-bush.” and then.

BAM! (that’s right. BAM!. in bold).

another man-bush on the right jumps out of freaking nowhere. literally. he uses a nowhere-appearing device and then jumps.

Luckily, the people behind me were well aware of this though, because I kindly screamed louder than a bullhorn to alert them.

Call it the Christian in me. I don’t know. I guess I’m just nice like that.

Moving on.

There are people dressed as murderers who follow you around.

Well, mostly they just followed me around.

but MURDERERS?!!

what the crap?

And one of my friends actually said, “Crystal, the more you freak out, the more they are going to bother you.”

And I was all “Umm, kind sir, I’m pretty sure we left logic and common sense on the ground back at the man-bushes, so just GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

At one point a woman with a frying pan that may or may not have been inserted into some of her organs realized that I was freaked the F out and started following us. And I swear to Halloween that I panicked so bad that I don’t have a full memory of what I’m told I did next.

I thought that I kindly walked past a crowd of people and ran for my life.

Apparently though, I barged into a random couple, pushed the girl away with strength usually reserved for lifting mattresses and then grabbed the guy’s arm for protection.

In my defense, I kind of thought I was about to be killed by a bloody frying pan.

For real.

I did.

The random girl was not so much sympathetic though. And umm, I do kinda remember looking back at people as I ran away and wondering why they were giving me looks of damnation, when I had clearly just saved myself from an impending death and warned them of theirs.

AND THEN!

the stupid frying pan murderer pointed me out to her stupid murderer friends.

SHE POINTED ME OUT!

How the crap am I supposed to live through this trail when they are conspiring against me?

There was the random olden-time girl who, I swear to you, came up and whispered “I want to kill you.”

WHO SAYS THAT?

I’LL TELL YOU WHO!!

A MURDERER!!!

what the crap? This is a FAMILY attraction.

Then, I had to get past the man who passive aggressively explained that he wanted to cut off my head and then use my hair for some sort of wig.

Again. FAM.ILY park.

When I finally made it out alive, I promise you I was sweating like someone in a sauna, and my heart was beating faster than vertical velocity and I couldn’t breathe.

and HOLY CRAP THAT WAS SCARY.

alas, my tale doesn’t end there. No. they had stupid scary clowns just walking around scaring people near the Batman ride at night.

Let’s just say I ran into the Johnny Rockets restaurant and sorta started crying.

For real.

And I would have jumped behind the food counter if I’d had to in an effort to get away from those clowns. I am not even lying one single ounce.

Calm. Deep breathe crystal. It’s all going to be all right now.

Basically, I’m saying that all that crap you hear about facing your fears and taking a leap is just that.

Crap.

Panic attacks are just not worth it.

Unless of course, I’m trying to convince you to go on a roller coaster. Because if you’re scared of that, I’ll likely have to call you a lame-0 loser behind your back.

True story.

let’s have an honest talk about how your voicemails suck

Published: September 29, 2009 / Updated: September 29, 2009 Crystal blackberry, humor, im cool, long, sh*tty things that happen to me

So, ya. I’m pretty sure that in about 3 minutes we’ll all have Google Voice – which magically types out voicemail messages – and this whole post will seem old-fashioned.

But that three minutes is going to feel longer than a bad city council meeting if we don’t go over some things in the meantime.

Sure, sure, in the beginning it was cute to leave looooong messages. Giving a play by play of your day, telling me what to get at the store, or even signing a song was all just super fun.

But those days are over.

Over.

At first I hoped social norms would just kick in and we could avoid this awkward conversation all together. Alas, it’s been at least 18 years since you got voicemail, and yet you still don’t understand.

It’s ok though. I’m here to help!

There’s just a few things you need to learn and with a little training, I believe we all could be living in a better voicemail world by Halloween Christmas.

Let’s start on a positive note. Here’s how you should leave a voicemail:

Hey. This is Crystal, from [insert in ONE word about how you know this person. i.e. church, work, Madagascar]. My number is 234-567-8912. Just wanted to call and touch based on that project we’re doing. Give me a call when you get this. Again this is Crystal from [insert how you know this person one more time] and my number is 234-567-8912.

See what I did there? I stated my name in the beginning. Then BAM, a second after that, you get the answer to your next question – Crystal who? Oh! Crystal from Madagascar. Duh.

After that you get my number. Right there at the beginning.

It’s kind of amazing.

Then, I BRIEFLY explain why I’m calling. One 12- word sentence is all you need. Promise.

Then, once more – who I am, where I’m from and what my number is.

Bing.

Bam.

Boom.

This should not be hard.

Alas, it seems to be for you.

Here’s an example of a BAD voicemail:

Heeeeeyyyyyyy. How’s it going? I was just calling to ummm let you know that I had some questions about the power point you sent. I’m wondering why you choose the color blue for the front page, and ummmm why you like Ariel font. Wait. Nevermind. That’s Times New Roman. Oh. And ummm, where did you get that clip art from? Was it online or from your computer or somewhere else? I just wanted to know because I used to make power points professionally at Power Points R-Us back in 1997, and I’m really good at it, so I thought I would ask you why you made those decisions. I’m going to be on an airplane from ummmm about 5 to umm, oh about 6 tonight, so if you need to reach me then you’ll probably just have to leave a voicemail. Hope to hear from you soon though. Oh and ya, my number is 234-567-89.

Wow. Ok. There’s a couple (a million) problems here and although names and details have been changed to protect the guilty, I swear to Verizon that I get voicemails like this from TONS of people. (You).

Let’s discuss.

One. Why does it take you 7 seconds to say “Hey.” It’s a one-second word people. ONE. SECOND. I could use those extra seconds to Twitter, or take a vitamin, or apply hand sanitizer.

But no. I had to listen you extend the “ay” sound in hey for an extra six seconds. That’s six seconds I’ll never get back.

And while we’re on the topic, what is up with the Ummmms? Stop saying umm. It’s ANNOYING.

Moving along.

Why did you not tell me your name?!

WHY?!!

Are you so selfish as to think you are the ONLY person ever to work on a power point with me? You’re not. I need to know if you’re someone from work, or someone from church, or someone from Madagascar, because I work on power points with people from all three of those places. But you didn’t leave your name, and you kind of sound like that hot guy I meet Friday night, so now I’m just confused.

Also, why are you leaving three million questions (some with your own answers) and a line from your resume on my freaking voicemail? Just tell me that you want to talk about the power point and I will call you and THEN you can ask your stupid questions about font and color choice. Trust me, I’m not going to remember what the heck you were talking about three minutes later when I call you, and then you will just have to repeat yourself.

Trust me.

And finally, after I wasted 4 minutes and 27 seconds to get to your freaking phone number you LEAVE OFF TWO DIGITS!!!

DO YOU HATE ME?

I FEEL LIKE YOU HATE ME WHEN YOU DO THAT!

In the future, you should know that leaving your number at the beginning and the end will help avoid this problem. And then I will not hate you. (win-win).

Now, obviously there are exceptions to all of these rules.

For example, boyfriends and best friends can say whatever the crap they want on my voicemail, because I actually care about everything they say. And they don’t have to ever leave their number ever. Also, moms and roommates don’t even need to leave a voicemail at all, because chances are I’ll just talk to you within a few hours anyway.

Oh, and if you’re leaving me a compliment, I usually can overlook a drawn-out Heeey.

And obviously if there’s a situation involving a hospital, a winning lottery ticket, johnny depp or time travel you can talk as long as you want.

If none of those things apply to you though, please just stick to the color-coded example voicemail above, press pound for more options, or 4 to repeat your message, and have a fantabulous day!

Beeeeepppp.

I wouldn’t take his name because it’s hard to pronounce / I now love b.reith

Published: September 26, 2009 / Updated: September 26, 2009 Crystal god, humor, im cool, long

At first, I was kinda worried I’d somehow been talked into going to a Christian headbanging concert last night.

Not that I don’t love the headbanging-for-Jesus set or anything, it’s just that it hurts my neck, and I don’t really like jumping up and down for 37 minutes straight to express enthusiasm – I’m more of a clapper.

Lucky for me, it was SO much awesomer than a headbanging concert. Rather, there was this one band, and this other band, and a couple other bands AND B.Reith.

(pronounced B.Right). (I think).

musical sigh.

I love him now.

Not only are his lyrics rockin, and not only is he kinda from the area (Milwaukee), and not only is he Christian, but people, he’s ALSO hott. (complete with the extra t.).

His style is a mix of Eminem (if Eminem loved God), Weezer and Gym Class Heros (I’m not sure if either of them love God – but if they did and they mixed their sounds with Eminem, they’d sound like B.Reith).

My favorite line of the night went something like “How’d I get so popular? I blame my face. opps. I mean MySpace.”

I felt like dancing in the aisles during his set. No joke. (I didn’t though because that would make me seem crazy. Duh.).

Immediately after he got off stage I started concocting ways to meet him. My first plan included a bag of coffee beans, a cigarette and a bottle of water.

Then I remembered that he’s barely famous and opted instead to just wait in line near his merchandise table.

I wanted to say something along the lines of:

Hello. My name is Crystal. I thought your performance was downright amazing. Your mad writing skills blew me away. I got your jokes, saw your point of view and was inspired all at once. Would it be at all possible for you to sign my CD? Really. Great! Ya, it’s C.R.Y.S.T.A.L. Oh, and I loved the joke you made about MySpace. That was hi.larious.

I wish you only the best! Also, I love Milwaukee, and I hope you have a good time with your parents tonight.

Instead, I waited about 10 minutes behind a line of girls who couldn’t get a legal drink, and then when I got up to him, said:

Hi!!! Ummm. Can you sign my CD?? C.R.Y.S.T.A.L! I liked your joke about your face and MySpace! He. He. OK. umm. Thanks!

Flying between clouds I was after that though people. Just floating around and loving life.

It was glorious.

And I immediately went over to show my now-prized CD to Lynn (the friend from church who’d taken me to this concert in the first place).

She’s never satisfied though.

Although she was semi-impressed by the autograph, she decided I needed to get a picture with this man.

I’m not sure she clearly understood how crazy I had already looked though, so I insisted on not bothering the poor guy with such a request.

As a compromise we decided to have her stand in front of him while I stood about a foot in back of him. The plan was for me stare at the camera and wait until he happened to turn toward her and then FLASH!, she’d take the picture, and it’d kinda sorta look like I was standing next to him and we’d run away so as not to seem crazy.

Strangely, that didn’t work too well.

After trying to casually look over his shoulder for about 8 minutes, I finally decided to just tap his back and ask for a freaking photograph.

I figured that because he’s Christian he had to say yes.

And while he was awkwardly putting his arm around me (he-touched-me sigh) I told him that I happen to write a funny blog and Oh. Here’s my card. (Hey B. Reith,if you’re reading this – Facebook me!).

Ok. Ok. Here’s the picture. Note how I’m smiling like I just got a $5,000 bonus check AND learned that Oprah likes my blog, while his smile is more “I thought I already signed this girl’s CD. Man. Fans are so weird. (fame’s-hard sigh)”

I don’t care though. Because that guy right there is my future husband, and I need photos like this for the grandkids.

Also, because I know you’re too lazy to YouTube him yourself, I have inserted one his videos into this post. Hit play, and remember to thank me next time we hang out:

You LOVED IT! right? Well, here’s one more. (It has more God in it) (you’ll have to excuse the random man singing “do do do” around the 2:05 mark).