Stupid Shit That Makes Me Cry

So since I’ve created the glossary, it seems my brain doesn’t want to play word substitution any more. Or maybe it’s gotten so good at it, I don’t notice now. I apologize insincerely if that has happened while talking to you. And no, that wasn’t a word placement.

I started thinking, “Maybe I should track something that happens a LOT and will probably keep happening.” I mean, the worst that could happen is that I decide to track that thing and suddenly I stop doing that thing. While I don’t think tracking each time I haven’t won the lottery will work the same way (I didn’t win in the last one, by the way), we’ll see for what else might change in my life after tracking, like

The Stupid Shit That Makes Me Cry.

I’ve talked about this before in a previous post, so go back and read that one to get caught up here. I’ll wait. No, I won’t. ADHD, remember? If you don’t get the gist of it, these are things that make me super stupid emotional for some reason. Usually a stupid reason.

Tonight’s Stupid Shit That Made Me Cry, Pearl Jam’s Unplugged performance of “Porch” in 1992.

I told you this was stupid shit.

In my random Youtube wandering, I stumbled into Pearl Jam’s Austin City Limits performance of “Just Breathe,” which led me down the rabbithole. Had to watch the whole episode, of course, and they ended it with “Porch,” which reminded me how much I love the song (hey, it’s been 31 years since release) at which point, I looked it up through the lyrics (since I rarely remember the actual names of Pearl Jam songs) and pulled it up on Spotify through my phone so I wouldn’t lose my place in Youtube on the TV.

Oh, I was also cleaning and conditioning the fretboard of one of my ukuleles because I’m getting back into playing and am in the process of re-stringing it to better play the songs I want to play.

So I listened to it on my tinny little iPhone speaker and had to at least pump it through the surround sound. So I looked up Pearl Jam Porch and the first hit was the Unplugged appearance. When Nirvana did Unplugged, they did Unplugged. When Pearl Jam did Unplugged, they did Pearl Jam. Check that. They did PEARL JAM. And holy shit did they push the rocking beyond the bounds of their little acoustic guitars. And who can forget the Sharpie coming out during the jam band section? Just a little reminder that Pearl Jam has always been willing to be political and that women have always been getting screwed over.

So, yeah. Tears. I don’t know if I’m going to make this its own section like the Moondoggie Dictionary, though the name “The Waterworks” just ran through my head so I might have to do that. Until then (come on, you know how I am), I’ll just tag appropriately.

I’m Doing It Again.

Now granted, I’ve had a hectic almost-two-weeks since getting back from the Georgian Business Trip and I’m currently sicker than a dog (since Phoebe is healthy, other than moping around because Mom & Dad are sick). However, I’m falling into the same old pattern. “I can’t do a post about this thing ’cause I haven’t done a post about that thing yet. And I haven’t gotten the site all together yet. And I haven’t beefed up the ukulele section yet. Or even TOLD people I’m playing it yet! OMG! OMG! OMG! Peeeeeeeee.”

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Another crazy morning. Literally. As in “insane.” Seriously.

This is the Tune Tech TT500 Backlit Clip Style Tuner which keeps my ukulele sounding so gloriously in tune:

Tune Tech TT500 Backlit Clip Style Tuner
Tune Tech TT500 Backlit Clip Style Tuner

It’s a relatively small device, no more than a couple of inches at its longest dimension. However, this small device has the full potential to destroy your morning.

This is our last day at the Home Office in Smyrna, GA. I woke up before my roommate and spent the time between then and when he finished his shower getting everything packed. I was all packed (except for my shower stuff) by the time he was done, so I had a leisurely morning ahead. I took my shower, got dressed, packed all of my toiletries and thought to myself “Oh yeah, last night I was going to make sure my tuner was packed with my electronics rather than with my ukulele (so there would be no reason to search the uke case at security).”

I checked the case – no tuner. Perfect. For once I did something when I thought about it, rather than waiting until the morning of, and I was proud of myself. Until…

It occurred to me that just that morning I had repacked my electronics bag to make everything fit right, and I couldn’t remember putting my tuner in there. You probably know where this is going.

I checked the electronics bag. The pocket that was in. The other backpack pockets. The pockets of all the pants I wore (since I couldn’t remember what I wore yesterday). I checked the electronics bag again. I checked the microwave. The refrigerator. The bathroom. All the drawers. I stripped the sheets off the bed. I found a way to pull the bed away from the wall. I took the pillowcases off the pillows. I completely emptied my backpack and all sub-bags inside it (including the electronics bag for the fourth or fifth time). At that point, I was 30 minutes behind schedule and I knew my ride and roommate had both been waiting downstairs for me that whole time. I resigned myself to the fact that either the tuner was lost, or it was in the one bag I didn’t check because I couldn’t imagine how I would have put it in there.

That’s right. I checked the microwave, but didn’t check one of my bags because it “didn’t seem likely.” I was so worked up and sweaty by that point, I had to bring that bag into work, since it’s where I put my few remaining clean clothes. As we’re walking down the hall, I suddenly picture the tuner. How last night I decided to put it in a brown plastic bag along with my fretboard stamp because “since it’s with my other ukulele stuff, I’ll know where it is.” I pictured me putting that bag in the small bag this morning as I thought “This brown bag only has my fretboard stamp, so I’ll put it in the checked luggage.”

I get to the conference room, pull out the top two layers of clothes (including a new shirt), and there’s the brown bag. With my fretboard stamp. And my ink pad. And my frickin’ tuner.

Son of a bitch.