I’m a smart person. Just ask me, I’ll tell you. I revel in my intelligence. I show it off (remember the SmartyPant’s post?) and I am hardly ever taken by surprise by some new snippet of intelligent thinking. I probably already thought it. I’m that damn good. Hell, I’m even smart enough to know when to not act smart.
So it’s with my smug smartness in mind that I sometimes have to scratch my head at some of the dumbass things I’ve done and said over the past few years, maybe longer. And since I usually whomp on other people, maybe I’ll take the time to actually whomp on myself with a little self-deprecation.
I tend to do dumb things.
It started back in high school, when my parents probably wanted to have me tested. For what? For everything. My dad was concerned I had a few screws loose, and my mother…well, she was sure of it but she took it in stride as a family trait. God bless her. But I remember arguing for weeks with my dad about how cars had a right and left tire. We’d go round and round, probably because he enjoyed listening to me sound like an idiot, about how if you put the right tire on the left side of the car, it would be inside out. Out in the drive way we’d debate this and for a while even the neighbor was following the goings on. Then one day I came home to see the floor jack and a four-way wrench in the drive. Hmmmm, if I were as smart as I think I am, I would have known right then and there I was about to be proven wrong. But no, not me, I took it as a chance to prove my know-it-all dad wrong. Friends, you probably know how the experiment ended and to this day if you bring it up to my dad, you’ll see a smile creep across his face. It was the day he shut his smartypants daughter up…for a little while.
More recently I’ve discovered that the old adage ‘if it walks like a duck’ really doesn’t hold water. Well, it kinda does hold water but I’ll explain that in a minute. I was kinda dumbfounded as to what to do with the gross insides of a roasting chicken. I had no problem with the disgusting organs. Feed ’em to the dogs! But the damn chicken neck really gave me pause. What the hell am I gonna do with this chicken neck? I looked at the neck and considered its general size and shape. The circumference of the chicken neck wasn’t all the great and hell, I’ve seen from the way chicken’s walk that their neck is pretty flexible. This is where the ‘walks like a duck’ thing comes into play. This chicken neck looked like a turd. My superior mind must have been firing on all its cylinders that day because I had the most fabulous of ideas. I would flush the chicken neck down the toilet. And just like a turd, it would go gurgling down the sewer pipes until the friendly sewer guys gazed on it in amazement at the treatment plant. ‘Brilliant!’ They would exclaim. ‘Why doesn’t everyone flush chicken necks?‘
Unfortunately, it didn’t exactly turn out that way and that’s where the ‘holds water’ analogy comes into play. We had a backed up toilet for two months while the goddamn chicken neck dissolved. And everyone made fun of Ms. Smartypants. I swear if I am asked one more time just what in the world ever possessed me to flush a chicken neck…
That brings us today, dear reader, as I sit here in front of my computer with a scaled bellybutton. Yes, it hurts, but I bleed for my craft, and if I have to endure some pain just to entertain you miserable people, then I’m going to do just that.
Here’s the latest…
For the last big summer blow out, I decided to go all out and actually cook. And I decided to make something my entire family likes. Pasta Salad. Easy enough. You’d think. Since I have no patience and I want to go out drinking tonight, I didn’t bother to finish up the dishes in the sink before starting my new project, pasta salad. And since I had some good dishes in the sink, when the time came to drain the noodles I didn’t want to spew boiling hot water all over them and risk the chance of breaking them. Smart me, I know you can’t subject glass shit to extreme temperatures all willy-nilly. Unfortunately that sound logic didn’t extend to the glass serving bowl sitting on the counter.
I don’t know why really, what makes me not understand that if the dishes in the sink can’t handle boiling water, the glass serving bowl can, but in my mind it all seemed to work out. It did not work out on the kitchen counter. It was sorta cool how that stupid bowl just split in three big chunks. It was fascinating to see the water spilling out and running down the countertop. It hurt like a bitch when the water splashed on me, scalding my bellybutton making it red and sore. (I got to the aloe before a blister formed.) I jumped and swore and then got really creative with the swearing. Intelligent people are masters at cursing. It’s our big brains.
Maybe there’s a misfiring synapse, some little glitch in my brain that when it comes to some pretty common sense thinking, I just fail. Epically. My family has come to terms with it, I guess I have too. But each time it happens, each time I pull a really dumb one, we all stand around and scratch our heads.
…and we thought she was so smart…