There I am this morning, tapping out a blog entry on my way to work. Part of my effort to do something productive on my way to work instead of getting sucked into the Facebook. Granted, it was about poop, but still…I never said my MAX Blog Challenge entries couldn’t be frivolous.
The challenge of writing on a deadline is that you may miss the opportunity to really reflect on your topic and make the most of the opportunity.
Case in point…or two.
I’m unusually triggered by things in my day to day life that pull me back to the pop culture of my past. Or, the advertising campaigns of my past, I’m not sure those would fall under the pop culture umbrella.
I say “jinkies” more often than is probably cool. I’m pretty sure zero is the number of acceptable times a cool person utters jinkies. Here I’ve done it twice now in one paragraph.
I’m also unusually attracted to the absurdity – and probable 70s era unchecked misogyny – of feminine hygiene ads of my childhood. There’s two scenarios that frequently pop into my head. Things I rarely say aloud, but are there, bouncing around my head as potential rejoinders in conversation.
It’s ridiculous, the inside of my head.
The mother/daughter walk on the beach scenario that starts off with the daughter vulnerably asking, “Do you ever have that ‘Not So Fresh’ feeling?”
Yeah. That went through my head when my Needle Man was peppering me with questions about my digestion.
“What was that third one again?” – Me
Equally absurd is the response that makes a run for my lips when I’m asked at the beginning of each session recently, “How have you been?”
You see, I’ve been quite well. Pain, managed. Previously unbeknownst digestion opportunities are…solid.
So, when asked, instead of saying, “Things are great!” my brain attempts to shove the words “I can ride a horse!” out of my mouth.
Because, apparently feminine hygiene products of days gone by – I hope…if not, my apologies to any frustrated equestrians – restricted ones ability to ride astride.
Yeah, Xtopher…ask yourself what topic could possibly be less comfortable to discuss than poop; which, as I recall reading…everybody does.
Apparently, before “wings” things were a little leaky in the feminine hygiene world, making ballistic activities a little haphazard.
Nonetheless, if the products haven’t improved, at least the advertising has?
But, there I am, randomly mentally sideswiped by the urge to blurt out “I can ride a horse!” when a simple “Everything is hunky-dory” will suffice.
Cool people don’t say “hunky-dory” either?