Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: funny stories

  • The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)

    Let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. It’s 7:00 PM on a Tuesday, you’re starving, and the only thing standing between you and a semi-nutritious dinner is a trip to the grocery store. We’ve all experienced the unique brand of chaos that unfolds within those fluorescent-lit aisles. But amidst the overflowing carts and frantic shoppers, there exists a secret code of conduct, a set of unwritten rules that dictate the grocery-getting experience. And me? Well, I’m here to confess – I’m a serial rule breaker.

    The Case of the Rogue Sample-Taker

    Ah, the free samples. Those little beacons of culinary delight strategically stationed to lure you in. But here’s the unspoken rule: take one, maybe two, and move along. I, however, operate under the firm belief that the limit on free cheese cubes is a figment of society’s imagination. Have I shamelessly hovered around the mini-quiche station, accepting one too many toothpicks full of deliciousness? Maybe. Do I regret it? Not one bit.

    Express Lane Exposé: 15 Items or Less? Please.

    The express lane: a haven for those seeking a speedy checkout. But it comes with a caveat, a commandment etched in the grocery store tablets: “15 Items or Less.” Now, I consider myself an optimist, a glass-half-full kind of gal. So, when I’m juggling 17 items (okay, maybe 20), I choose to believe that those “items” are open to interpretation. A bag of limes? One item. A container of blueberries? Also, one item. Never mind that they’re nestled amongst 18 other “single” items. Who am I to dismantle this perfectly logical system?

    The Art of Strategic Cart Abandonment

    We’ve all seen it – the abandoned cart, stranded in the middle of the aisle like a shipwreck in a sea of cereal boxes. An obstruction of epic proportions. And while I wouldn’t dream of leaving my own cart haphazardly blocking the path to the Oreos, I’ve been known to engage in a little…strategic maneuvering. Let’s just say that sometimes, when faced with a particularly stubborn cart blockade, I channel my inner race car driver and execute a skillfully evasive maneuver (or two). Is it wrong? Possibly. Is it efficient? Absolutely.

    The Verdict: Guilty as Charged (and I Wouldn’t Have It Any Other Way)

    So there you have it, my confession. I break the unspoken rules of grocery store etiquette, and you know what? I’m okay with it. Because sometimes, you just gotta embrace the chaos and grab that extra mini-quiche. After all, life’s too short to follow all the rules, especially in the wild and wacky world of grocery shopping. Now, tell me, dear reader, what unspoken grocery store rules do you secretly break?

  • The Unexpected Joys of Being a Terrible Singer

    The Unexpected Joys of Being a Terrible Singer



    Let me paint you a picture. I’m standing in the middle of a karaoke bar, microphone clutched in my sweaty hand, a spotlight searing my retinas. The opening chords of my carefully chosen power ballad begin to play. It’s my moment. And I completely butcher it.

    My Karaoke Catastrophe

    Okay, “butcher” might be an understatement. Let’s just say the audience looked like they were witnessing a musical crime scene. My friend, bless her soul, tried to sing along, but ended up looking like she was desperately searching for the fire escape. It was a disaster. A glorious, ear-splitting disaster.

    terrible singer: you develop a certain… resilience. An immunity to cringing.

    The Freedom of Embracing Your Off-Key Tunes

    The beauty of being tone-deaf is that absolutely no one expects you to be good. You become the underdog, the court jester of the karaoke bar. People don’t judge, they laugh with you (mostly). And there’s a certain liberation in that. You’re free to belt it out with reckless abandon, to hit notes that don’t exist, to truly embrace the emotional rollercoaster of a song, no matter how mangled it comes out.

    Plus, let’s be honest, a terrible rendition of a classic can be infinitely more entertaining than a pitch-perfect one. There’s a reason why “bad singing” shows are so popular, right? We love to see someone who’s fully committed, who’s not afraid to put themselves out there, even if it means sacrificing a few eardrums along the way.

    Building Unbreakable Bonds Through Bad Singing

    There’s a strange phenomenon that occurs when you’re a terrible singer: people bond over it. It’s like a shared secret, a badge of honor worn proudly by those who can’t hold a tune to save their lives. I’ve had complete strangers come up to me after a particularly harrowing performance and confess their own vocal shortcomings. We swap stories, we laugh, we solidify a connection forged in the fires of musical mayhem.

    And then there’s the shared laughter with friends. Oh, the stories we tell! Like the time I attempted to hit the high note in “Bohemian Rhapsody” and nearly passed out from lack of oxygen. Or the time I accidentally unplugged the karaoke machine mid-song with my flailing dance moves. These are the memories that make friendships strong, the stories we’ll be recounting (and embellishing) for years to come.

  • The Weirdest Thing I’ve Ever Won (And What It Says About Me)

    The Weirdest Thing I’ve Ever Won (And What It Says About Me)

    The Weirdest Things I’ve Ever Won (And What They Say About Me)

    Life is full of surprises. That’s a good thing, right? Sure, until you find yourself holding a winning raffle ticket… for a prize you don’t want. From a year’s supply of sauerkraut to a taxidermied squirrel, join me as I recount the strange prizes I’ve won and what they might reveal about my personality.

    Life is Full of Surprises (and So Are Raffle Baskets)

    We’ve all been there, standing awkwardly at company picnics or school fundraisers, clutching a flimsy raffle ticket and hoping against hope that our number gets called. Most of the time, we walk away empty-handed, maybe with a slightly bruised ego and a renewed appreciation for the law of averages. But sometimes, just sometimes, the raffle gods smile upon us. And then, well, sometimes they hand you a taxidermied squirrel wearing a tiny cowboy hat.

    That, my friends, is how I ended up winning the weirdest prize of my life. But before we delve into the furry, beady-eyed details of that fateful day, let’s rewind a bit. Because, as it turns out, my history with bizarre winnings is more extensive than I’d care to admit. And you know what they say—if you’re going to be bad at something, be memorably bad.

    A Year’s Supply of…Sauerkraut?

    It all started innocently enough. I was at a local food festival, lured in by the promise of deep-fried Oreos and live polka music. (Judge me if you must, but that’s my kind of Saturday.) As I wandered past booths overflowing with handcrafted soaps and artisanal cheeses, a sign caught my eye: “Win a Year’s Supply of Sauerkraut!”

    Now, I’m not opposed to sauerkraut. In fact, I consider it a perfectly acceptable condiment on a hot dog or Reuben sandwich. But a year’s supply? That seemed a bit…ambitious. Still, the competitive spirit in me (fueled by one too many deep-fried Oreos) kicked in, and before I knew it, I was filling out an entry form.

    You can guess what happened next. Weeks later, a very large, very heavy box arrived at my doorstep. Inside? You guessed it—enough sauerkraut to last me well into the next decade. My family was horrified. My friends thought it was hilarious. And me? I learned a valuable lesson that day: never underestimate the power of impulse decisions made on a full stomach.

    The Curious Case of the Taxidermied Cowboy Squirrel

    Fast forward a few years, and we arrive at the aforementioned squirrel incident. It was a silent auction at my niece’s elementary school, and the prize in question was…well, it was a sight to behold. Perched on a piece of driftwood, sporting a miniature cowboy hat and a look of perpetual surprise, was the most unsettlingly lifelike taxidermied squirrel I had ever seen.

    I won’t bore you with the details of how my “winning” bid came to be. Let’s just say it involved a miscommunication, a generous aunt, and a healthy dose of liquid courage. The point is, I was now the proud owner of a taxidermied squirrel named Buckaroo Bob (don’t ask).

    Buckaroo Bob now resides on my bookshelf, a constant reminder of my questionable decision-making skills and the bizarre twists and turns that life can take. He’s become something of a conversation starter, though I’m not sure it’s always for the right reasons.

    What Does It All Mean?

    So, what do these strange winnings say about me? Am I a glutton for punishment? A magnet for the absurd? Or maybe, just maybe, I’m simply someone who embraces the unexpected, even when it comes in the form of fermented cabbage or taxidermied rodents.

    What about you? What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever won, and what do you think it says about you? Share your stories in the comments below!

  • My Love-Hate Relationship with Voice Notes (and Why I Still Send Them)

    My Love-Hate Relationship with Voice Notes (and Why I Still Send Them)

    My Love-Hate Relationship with Voice Notes (and Why I Still Send Them)

    The Day Voice Notes Almost Ruined My Life (It Wasn’t That Serious)

    Picture this: I’m elbow-deep in a bag of chips, engrossed in the latest true crime documentary, when my phone buzzes. It’s a voice note from my best friend. “Ooh,” I think, “juicy gossip!” I press play, expecting a thrilling tale of romantic mishaps or workplace drama. Instead, I’m subjected to three minutes of incoherent rambling about a sale at the grocery store. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friend, but three minutes of my life I’ll never get back! That, my friends, is the double-edged sword of the voice note.

    Voice Notes: The Good, the Bad, and the Hilarious

    We’ve all been there. Sometimes, a voice note is a godsend. Need to relay a long, complicated story on the go? Voice note! Want to share your excitement about finding the perfect avocado at the supermarket? Voice note! However, like any powerful tool, it can be misused.

    Take, for instance, the time my dad sent me a voice note instead of just answering my question. “Hey Dad,” I texted, “what’s the wifi password again?” What followed was a 47-second audio odyssey, complete with dramatic pauses and heavy breathing, as he navigated to the router and read the password out loud…one agonizing…character…at…a…time.

    And then there’s the infamous “accidental voice note.” We’ve all sent them (or been on the receiving end). Those snippets of background noise, muffled conversations, or worse – embarrassing singing – that make you want to disappear into the floor. Yes, voice notes can be a minefield of awkwardness.

    Why I Still Hit “Send” on That Voice Note

    So, why, you ask, do I subject myself and others to this emotional rollercoaster? Well, despite their pitfalls, I can’t deny the appeal of voice notes. Here’s why:

    • They’re personal: Hearing someone’s voice adds a level of warmth and connection that text just can’t replicate. It’s like a mini-conversation, without the pressure of real-time responses.
    • They’re efficient (sometimes): Let’s be honest, typing is so last century. Sometimes, it’s just faster and easier to blurt out your thoughts into the void (er, I mean, to your friend).
    • They’re entertaining: Let’s face it, some of my most hilarious conversations have been immortalized in voice note form. From silly accents to dramatic retellings, they’re like little audio time capsules of laughter.
  • The Great Phone Number Mishap: Why I Can’t Order Pizza Without Using a Fake Name

    The Great Phone Number Mishap: Why I Can’t Order Pizza Without Using a Fake Name







    My Life as “Benedict Cumberbatch”: The Wrong Number That Started It All

    Let’s be honest, we’ve all had those days where we feel like we’re living in a sitcom. You know, the ones where you trip up the stairs, accidentally spill coffee on your white shirt, and then somehow manage to lock yourself out of your apartment – all before 9 am. But my friends, I’m here to tell you, sometimes life throws you a curveball so absurd, so unbelievably funny, that you can’t help but laugh (and then immediately write a blog post about it).

    It all started with a simple craving. It was a Friday night, I was exhausted from a long week, and all I wanted was a big, greasy, cheesy pizza. I’m talking extra pepperoni, extra mushrooms, extra everything. So, like any sane person would do, I grabbed my phone and dialed up my trusty local pizzeria.

    “Is This… Pigeon Rescue?”: A Wrong Number for the Books

    Now, here’s where things get interesting. Unbeknownst to me, I had accidentally typed in one wrong digit in the phone number. ONE. DIGIT. Little did I know, this tiny error would have hilarious and long-lasting consequences.

    The phone rang a couple of times before a very confused-sounding man answered. “Hello?” he said cautiously.

    “Hi there!” I chirped, completely oblivious. “I’d like to place an order for delivery, please. Can I get a large pepperoni pizza with extra mushroo–”

    “Hold on,” the man interrupted, his voice laced with bewilderment. “Is this… Pigeon Rescue?”

  • The Day My Inner Voice Became an Actual Person (and Why I Now Need a Restraining Order)

    The Day My Inner Voice Became an Actual Person (and Why I Now Need a Restraining Order)



    The Day My Inner Voice Became a Person (and Why I Need a Restraining Order)

    We all have that voice inside our heads, right? That little narrator who provides a running commentary on our lives, offering unsolicited advice, witty comebacks we think of too late, and a whole lot of judgment. Well, mine decided to become a corporeal being. And friends, let me tell you, it’s been absolute chaos ever since.

    “You Should Really Get More Fiber” – My Inner Voice, Now Personified

    It started innocently enough. I was at the grocery store, agonizing over which brand of almond butter was ethically sourced and wouldn’t break the bank (adulting is hard, okay?). Suddenly, I heard a voice say, “You know, peanut butter is cheaper and has more protein.”

    I assumed it was just another grocery store philosopher, because those seem to be everywhere these days. But when I turned around, there was…no one. Just then, the voice whispered in my ear, “And you should really get more fiber in your diet.”

  • The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the People Who Break Them)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the People Who Break Them)




    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (And How to Avoid Breaking Them)


    My Personal Elevator From Hell

    We’ve all been there. Packed into a metal box hurtling through the floors of an office building, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with strangers. Yes, I’m talking about the dreaded elevator ride.

    Just the other day, I found myself in an elevator situation so awkward, it could only be described as a scene straight out of “The Twilight Zone.” Picture this: I’m squished between a guy loudly discussing his fantasy football league on speakerphone and a woman who seems to think her perfume is a superpower.

    elevator ground to a halt between floors. The speakerphone dude’s triumphant roar (“Yes! Touchdown, baby!”) was cut short, and even the perfume lady seemed fazed. We were trapped.

    This experience got me thinking about the unspoken rules of elevator etiquette, those subtle social contracts we make to survive these short, strange journeys together. So, for the sake of humanity, let’s break them down, shall we?

    Rule #1: Respect the Elevator Bubble

    Personal space. We all crave it, especially in the confines of an elevator. Yet, some people seem to forget the concept of a personal bubble the second those elevator doors slide shut. They stand too close, their backpack smacks you in the face, their loud conversation invades your thoughts.

    Remember folks, an elevator is not your personal phone booth or karaoke stage. It’s a shared space, so let’s try to maintain a respectful distance and keep the volume down.

    Rule #2: The Elevator Button: A Sacred Duty

    Ah, the button pusher. The designated hero of the elevator ride, responsible for ensuring everyone reaches their desired floor. This is a position of power, not to be taken lightly.

    Don’t be the person who frantically presses the already-lit button for their floor. Don’t be the person who tries to squeeze past everyone else to reach a button when someone closer could easily do it. And for the love of all that is holy, do not, I repeat, DO NOT hold the elevator door for your buddy who’s running late while everyone else watches in silent agony.

  • The Unexpected Joys of Being a Terrible Singer

    The Unexpected Joys of Being a Terrible Singer




    My Life as a Vocal Catastrophe

    Let’s be clear: I couldn’t carry a tune if it came with handles and a team of Sherpas. I’m talking tone-deaf, pitch-challenged, the kind of singer who could clear a karaoke bar faster than a fire alarm. My voice is a unique blend of a strangled cat and a rusty gate hinge. And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

    I vividly remember my first (and last) audition for the school choir. I belted out what I thought was a soulful rendition of “Amazing Grace,” only to be met with stunned silence followed by the choir director gently suggesting, “Perhaps the drama club is more your speed, dear?”

    singer: no one expects you to be good. This is incredibly liberating! Karaoke night? Belt it out, my friend. No pressure to hit those high notes or impress with vocal acrobatics. In fact, the worse you are, the more entertaining it becomes.

    People actually want you to sing, if only to witness the glorious train wreck of musicality that is about to unfold. They’ll laugh with you, not at you (mostly!), and you’ll be the life of the party without even trying. It’s like having a superpower, only instead of X-ray vision, you have the ability to make people snort their drinks out their noses with your singing.

    Unexpected Benefits of Being a Terrible Singer

    Beyond the entertainment value, being a terrible singer has other unexpected perks:

    • Stress Relief: Want to unwind after a long day? Sing your heart out, even if it sounds like a dying walrus. Trust me, it’s therapeutic.
    • Confidence Booster: When you embrace your terribleness, you’re essentially saying, “This is me, take it or leave it.” It’s a surprisingly powerful feeling.
    • Unforgettable Memories: No one forgets the person who fearlessly butchers their favorite song. You become a legend, a cautionary tale, a source of endless amusement. And hey, isn’t that what life’s all about?

    So, the next time you’re feeling self-conscious about your singing voice, remember this: you’re in good company. Embrace the joy of being terrible. Sing like no one’s listening, even if it sounds like someone’s strangling a goose.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging Me (and Other Tales of Domesticity)

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging Me (and Other Tales of Domesticity)




    The Side-Eye From a ZZ Plant

    “Did you water me today?” My boyfriend asks from the living room. I glance up from my laptop, squinting suspiciously at the large ZZ plant in the corner.

    “Maybe?” I reply, my voice laced with feigned innocence.

    He chuckles, used to my, shall we say, flexible approach to plant care. But here’s the thing: I swear that ZZ plant just gave me the side-eye. You know the one – a subtle tilt of the…leaf? Stem? Whatever. The point is, I could feel the judgment radiating from its vibrant green foliage. It’s moments like these that make me question if my plant has silently appointed itself the guardian of my domesticity (or lack thereof).

    Dust Bunny Rebellion

    Speaking of guardians, let’s talk about the dust bunnies. They’re not so much guardians as they are a mischievous army, constantly plotting to overthrow my semblance of order. I swear, I could spend an entire Saturday cleaning, and by Sunday morning, they’d be back – bigger, bolder, and multiplying at an alarming rate.

    I’ve tried everything: dusting sprays, microfiber cloths, even attempting to befriend a particularly fluffy specimen (it didn’t end well). But they persist, a constant reminder that in the epic battle between me and household chores, the dust bunnies might just be winning.

    The Case of the Missing Tupperware Lid

    And then there’s the mystery of the missing Tupperware lids. This, my friends, is a phenomenon that has plagued humankind since the invention of plastic containers. I’m convinced there’s a black hole somewhere in my kitchen, a vortex that sucks in Tupperware lids and spits out unmatched bottoms with reckless abandon.

    I’ve tried implementing systems – stacking, organizing by size, even labeling (yes, I know, I was desperate). But alas, the lids remain elusive, their whereabouts a mystery that may never be solved.

  • Why I’ll Never Again Ignore the ‘Close Door’ Button on an Elevator (and the Awkward Encounter That Ensued)

    Why I’ll Never Again Ignore the ‘Close Door’ Button on an Elevator (and the Awkward Encounter That Ensued)



    We’ve all been there. Trapped in an elevator, silently willing the doors to close faster. But me? I’m usually the one patiently waiting, a picture of politeness, as someone scrambles towards the closing doors. “Hold the elevator!” they shout breathlessly. And like a chump, I smile and oblige.

    The Day My Elevator Etiquette Backfired

    This all changed last Tuesday, thanks to an encounter that can only be described as “peak awkward.” Picture this:

    I’m in my office building’s elevator, heading to a meeting on the 10th floor. It’s just me and my reflection, momentarily enjoying the peace and quiet. The doors begin their slow, graceful close when suddenly… BAM! A hand shoots through the shrinking gap, stopping the doors in their tracks. Relief floods over the mystery person’s face as they squeeze through.

    Elevator Nightmare

    “Thank goodness!” the newcomer exclaims, slightly out of breath. I offer a polite smile, secretly hoping they’re going to the 9th or 11th floor. No such luck.

    This is where things take a turn for the weird. The person is carrying not one, not two, but THREE enormous gift baskets. We’re talking overflowing-with-goodies, decorated-within-an-inch-of-their-lives kind of baskets.