Meccanized

You know what really grinds my gears?  People who shamelessly self promote.

But I can handle grinding my own gears (and, by definition, I am kind of already Meccanized), so here goes:

I wrote a post for my company’s blog describing a cool PR experience I recently had with a client.   Check it out!

http://tinyurl.com/cotgje

Just a quick post before I go to sleep.

“Hearts of Palm.”  It was an item on my grocery list yesterday, important enough that it had its own line on my note pad.

I go to Mollie Stone’s.  I get my hummus without incident.  My yogurt with no problem.  My quarter pound of pesto parmesan ham sans difficulty.  All I have left to buy is one damn can of hearts of palm …

… which, of course, is on the highest possible shelf in the canned vegetable area.  I stare at it for a second, wondering if there is some way I can safely knock one down without hurting myself.  After vetoing that idea, I notice a 40-something man a little farther down the same aisle.  Like any civilian in need, I explain my predicament and ask him for assistance.

His response (before even getting me the can)?

“Wouldn’t this be a great story to tell our kids someday?  That mom and dad met because mom couldn’t reach a can of vegetables?”

An uncomfortable few seconds ensued.   I stood drinking in the proverbial big cup of awkward, a frozen half-smile on my face (a relic from the happier, normal times a few minutes before).  He made no attempt to pluck the can in question from the shelf for me.  I finally couldn’t stand it anymore, mumbled “oh, I forgot I need this,” grabbed the first can within my reach from the shelf and skittered away with my basket.

I just wanted some hearts of palm.  Instead, I got an unsatisfied craving and a can of creamed corn (yuck) that now sits on my counter silently reminding me of the discomfort of the afternoon.

I’m not even sure what grinds my gears about this.  Asking for help and instead getting an unwelcome pick-up attempt?  Asking for help and not actually getting help?  Having to go through my weekend without my hearts of palm fix?

All of it.  Meccanized.

From philosophical, back to petty and trivial:

Strangers (and friends … cough *Shelly* cough) who criticize my sandwich as I am having it made, you are Meccanized.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about timing (which I have Meccanized over and over again pretty much for my whole life).

This past week in particular, there has been a lot of timing snafus — I’ve felt like Little Bobby Buttons (i.e. Benjamin Button, for those of you who aren’t a certain industry analyst who misnamed the movie) fairly frequently. Some good (narrowly avoiding getting rained on because I opted to sprint across the crosswalk rather than wait for the next light, thereby making into my office building before it started pouring) some less than good (more just-missed busses than I care to admit, hearing things in the present that I wish I had heard years ago).

It’s sad to think how many things don’t happen or don’t work out because of a few ticks around a clockface. Then again, it makes the things that do work out that much more special, because you appreciate how close you could have come to never experiencing them at all.

You know what really grinds my gears?  When you slip/trip and fall on the wet pavement outside of a restaurant (and drop your groceries) and the diners inside press their sausage fingers and fat faces against the window to try to get a better look as you flounder helpless and wet to collect your food before it rolls into the street.

I was hurrying back from the store to avoid getting soaked when I had a foot malfunction on the wet pavement and ended up on my butt, on the sidewalk, in an inch of water, with my paper grocery bag (never have I hated SF’s no plastic bag law as I did in that moment) tipped over and flooding next to me.

Fortunately, a very nice homeless man who had asked me for change minutes before came over and helped me up and helped me pick up my spilled items (he was unable to salvage my pride, which by then had leaked out of my body and into the gutter on California street).  He refused to take anything but a thank you, and I would like to De-Meccanize him — for helping me and for restoring my faith in humanity.

However, wet pavement and the collection of people at the Curbside Cafe who looked on as I hit a weekend low (and the ground), you are Meccanized.

I need a hug.  And some dry pants.

Pet owners who dress up their animals grind my gears. This, however, makes me happy beyond belief (and I feel fits with the spirit of Meccanized.com quite well):

http://petswhowanttokillthemselves.com/

Enjoy!

Some guy half-sat on me on the bus just now! Do people not see me?!

Maybe I should Meccanize myself for being too small (or, you know, cloaked in invisibility).

Update: I think said gentleman saw that I was typing this because he just got huffy and stood up. Passive aggressive mission accomplished!

I hate making them.  I hate dealing with the fallout of making them.  And I really hate the insecurity that follows making them.

And today, I got to experience all 3.  Yuck.

Rookie mistakes, you are Meccanized.

(I have cheerier things to Meccanize that will be covered in due time, but I just needed to vent.)

I just discovered I live around the corner from a dog spa. There is a big pink and purple advertisement on the sidewalk that I walked past a few minutes ago. And there were people going in and out with … Ugh, I can’t even write the words … puntable dogs with sweaters and shoes and little hats. Oh, the humanity (doganity?).

Does it even need to be said? Dog spas, you are Meccanized.

Or, perhaps less dramatically put:

Sickness grinds my gears.

I was super pumped to go to Kirkwood and finally learn to ski (though I am beginning to think the Universe doesn’t want me to learn to ski, given that every time I have had a trip lined up something always has come up), and instead I am lying on my couch with a 103 degree fever and a throbbing headache.

If I sound bitter … well, that’s because I am.  I look like the belle of the ball right now, too (If I sound sarcastic …).  Frizzy hair, old sweatshirt, ski socks (oh, the irony) — woah, stand back, gentlemen!

Ah, well.  I don’t wear bitterness particularly well, so I will leave you, dear readers, with this: illness of indeterminate cause, you are Meccanized.

Also, donations of soup, movies, and TLC are accepted/appreciated:)