Opt Out

I've found another term that I like...to "opt out." Recently, I took the 32 catalogs that the Ancient One decided she no longer wanted and went to a groovy website called, Catalog Choice http://www.catalogchoice.org/ They will stop any unwanted catalogs from coming to you in the mail and it's FREE! It's very user friendly and quick too. Can you BELIEVE I'm doing a public service announcement...ME?

Anyway, this term got me thinking like I often do, and I decided that it's apt under so many other circumstances. Sometimes don't you wish you could just opt out of uncomfortable conversations...you could just look at the person with whom you are speaking and simply say, "I am going to opt out here...just carry on if you feel you must." You don't even have to walk away, just stand there and watch the look on the face of that person. It's deliciously awkward isn't it? I can't wait to do this!

We could all opt out of having to pay taxes...no, that's not a good example,never mind, but we could opt out of ever having to serve on a jury. The simplest way to do this is to tell the lawyer when you're interviewed that you HATE LAWYERS and are involved in some nasty litigation at that very moment. You'll feel the wind in your face as they RUSH you out of the room. This really does work, trust me. Unless you ARE a lawyer, in which case, I don't feel sorry for you. Sorry.

When I was in my twenties, I found myself in more than one scenario where I had to decide whether to opt out of my clothes with a one-night stranger. Opting out under those circumstances was a LOT easier with a twenty-something bod and no conscience than it might be today. Thank Gawd for lighting, right?

I hate the game of opting out of one line that I'm standing in for another, shorter-looking line. Invariably, the line I was in becomes shorter as I opt out again and try sheepishly to slide back to my original line. This game can go on for a long time depending on the length of the line, but everyone plays it. It's a better game with two people except that it can be awkward when their line is winning and they won't let you come over. Even when you do go over, you've got to smile at the people behind your partner in line. They're never very happy about this.

After spending years using my anal retentive, obsessively organized and compulsive left brain to make a living, I have opted out of that world for the more fluid, creative, scary, unorganized, flowery right-brained schematic. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to opt out of this decision again since it's infinitely more fun, keeps the adrenalin flowing and carries even more potential than the other.

In these days of computer speak, I think the word, "unsubscribe" means the same thing. If I had a nickel for every time I've clicked that word. This word might work when dealing with your computer-literate children. Now, I don't have children, so here is just one more problem that I do not have, BUT...maybe you could say something like, "I"m going to unsubscribe to your argument here and opt out of ever hearing it AGAIN!"

Let me know how that works for ya!

KK

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I have opted out of trying to be normal. I have unsubscribed to the politically correct way of thinking and am opting to be who I am even if it scares the average Four Seasons restaurant diner. Seriously, all I ever wanted for forty five years was to be able to contain myself and stop from saying things that made people look at me like I belonged in the inane asylum (that is not a type-o). I could always see from the perplexed looks on the listener's faces that I had done it again. I could also tell from KK's snot-spitting laughter and inability to keep a straight face after such unintentional fopahs.

Actually, I can't say that I have unsubscribed to the politically correct way of thinking because I was never able to do it in the first place. It's just that magnificent compulsion again; the instincts and impulses of a born actor. If I hear an Elvis song I have a tendency to stand up and gyrate in an imitation of how The King would have performed that song. It doesn't matter that I'm jammed in an elevator like a sardine in the can with twelve 'suits' getting off ten floors early so as to get away from me. I don't give a shit. I'm dancin'!

Every once in a while KK will give me that wink of hers as we enter one of those flashy buildings downtown for a meeting. It's the, 'you can do this' look that means I must try to make it through the meeting without breaking into an imitation of Jerry Lewis (Hey, Lady!), accidentally laugh-spitting my raspberry/chamomile tea (so nicely provided by the office intern) all over the fake, burled wood, meeting table in the face of some pretentious-'I'm important and you're not' asshole who thinks we behave ourselves in public or dropping peppermint candies from the twelfth floor 'Women's Room' window to see what happens. KK was in on that so she can't wink me on that one.

So, I guess I must opt out of trying to be normal anymore but I'm a happier person for it. Every now and then it's just good for a person to step back and smell the TexMex tacos. And I think you can tell from our videos that my little sister is even crazier than I am. She thinks she's normal. I believe that's what bonafied crazy people think.

SalGal