Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: humor writing

  • The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    We all have those mundane tasks that, for some reason, turn our brains into philosophical whirlwinds. For me, it’s laundry. I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But something about the rhythmic whirring of the washing machine, the endless sorting of socks, and the existential dread of discovering another rogue red sock amongst a sea of whites, just sends my mind on a tangent.

    The Great Sock Mystery

    Seriously, where do they go? It’s like there’s a tiny black hole in my dryer specifically designed to devour socks, leaving behind only their lonely counterparts. Do they achieve sock nirvana? Are they living their best lives in a sock-only dimension? I need answers.

    laundry, it’s like I’m playing a high-stakes game of sock memory. I find myself staring intensely at two seemingly identical white socks, trying to decipher subtle differences in texture or shade that would justify pairing them. The pressure is real, people.

    The Life Cycle of a T-Shirt

    Folding a freshly laundered t-shirt is an unexpectedly introspective experience. I find myself tracing the lines of wear and tear, each faded stain a silent testament to a memory. That spaghetti sauce splatter? A reminder of a delicious (and messy) first date. The grass stain on the knee? A testament to a particularly epic game of tag with my niece.

    Each garment holds a story, a tiny thread in the tapestry of my life. And as I carefully fold it and place it in the drawer, I can’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude for the journey we’ve shared.

    Finding Zen in the Laundry Routine

    Hear me out on this one. While laundry can feel like a never-ending chore, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction that comes with it. The act of taking something dirty and transforming it into something clean and fresh is oddly therapeutic.

  • The Time I Tried to Teach My Grandmother to Use Emojis (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Time I Tried to Teach My Grandmother to Use Emojis (and Failed Spectacularly)





    We’ve all been there. You’re texting with a friend, effortlessly tossing out strings of emojis like confetti, when suddenly you remember… Grandma. Sweet, loving, technologically-challenged Grandma. The woman who still calls to ask how to “Google” something.

    Grandma’s First Foray into the World of Emojis

    It all started innocently enough. I was visiting my grandmother, scrolling through pictures on my phone, when she leaned over and peered at the screen. “What are those little faces?” she asked, her brow furrowed in a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

    “Those are emojis, Grandma!” I chirped, launching into a passionate explanation about the wonders of these digital hieroglyphics. I showed her the dancing ladies, the heart-eye faces, the ever-relatable pile of poo (hey, you can’t deny its versatility). She watched with an expression of polite bewilderment, like I was explaining the finer points of quantum physics.

    Screenshot of a text message with a red heart emoji and multiple question marks.
  • The Great Sock Monster Strikes Again! (And Other Laundry Disasters)

    The Great Sock Monster Strikes Again! (And Other Laundry Disasters)




    The Great Sock Monster Strikes Again! (And Other Laundry Disasters)


    We’ve all been there, right? Staring into the dryer, a look of bewilderment on our faces. Where did that other sock go? Did it sprout wings and fly away? Did it join a sock circus in a faraway land? These are the questions that plague us, my friends.

    The Case of the Missing Sock (and the Incredible Shrinking Sweater)

    Just last week, I did a load of laundry. Simple enough, right? I even managed to separate the colors from the whites (a rare feat, I assure you). I tossed in my favorite cozy sweater, a mountain of socks, and hit start.

    Fast forward to the “folding and putting away” portion of this tale (let’s be honest, the least enjoyable part), and things took a turn for the strange. My once-oversized, wonderfully comfortable sweater now resembled something fit for a Chihuahua. A very small Chihuahua. And the socks? Well, let’s just say the sock monster had clearly stopped by for a snack, leaving only a handful of lonely survivors.

    A laundry basket overflowing with clothes in various shades of pink and blue
  • The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry




    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry


    There’s something about the rhythmic hum of the washing machine and the hypnotic tumble of the dryer that seems to unlock a hidden compartment in my brain. Suddenly, I’m not just someone transferring socks from the hamper to the drawer – I’m a philosopher, a comedian, an existential detective, all rolled into one.

    From Lost Socks to the Meaning of Life

    It all started innocently enough. I was folding laundry, lamenting the mysterious case of the missing socks (seriously, where do they go?), when it hit me: life is kind of like a dryer. We get tossed and turned, clinging to whatever we can, hoping we don’t get too staticky. And sometimes, despite our best efforts, we still end up lost, forgotten, or worse – paired with a completely mismatched sock.

    laundry into a rainbow spectrum before washing, does that make me an artist? What does it say about me that I find the gentle scent of fabric softener oddly comforting? These are the questions that keep me up at night (or at least, keep me entertained while I’m folding).

    The Great Laundry Basket Time Warp

    Another thing about laundry: it’s a fantastic way to track the passage of time. Remember that adorable tiny onesie with the duckies on it? The one you swore you’d keep forever? Yeah, well, now it’s stretched and stained, and your “baby” is asking for their own laundry basket (the horror!).

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. You know, that moment when you’re surrounded by laundry piles that resemble Mount Everest, your diet consists primarily of instant ramen, and you haven’t watered your plants in… well, you can’t quite remember. It’s in these moments of utter chaos that I swear my seemingly innocent houseplant, Herbert, stares at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment.

    Herbert and the Crumbling Takeout Container

    It all started innocently enough. I brought Herbert home from the plant store, a vibrant little peace lily promising to add a touch of serenity to my apartment. I imagined us becoming the envy of plantfluencers everywhere. We were going to be that good.

    photo of a healthy peace lily in a terracotta pot | Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

    However, life, as it often does, got in the way. Deadlines loomed, social engagements piled up, and Herbert’s once-perky leaves began to droop lower than my enthusiasm for doing laundry. One particularly rough evening, as I shamelessly scavenged the fridge for leftovers (spoiler alert: there were none), I caught Herbert’s eye. Or at least, I imagined I did. There he sat, stoic and green, silently judging me from atop the fridge as I demolished a week-old takeout container with the finesse of a starving raccoon. It was then I knew. Herbert had seen too much.

    The Curious Case of the Neglected Watering Can

    Time marched on, and while my life choices didn’t necessarily improve, my ability to ignore Herbert’s judgment did. That is, until the Great Watering Can Debacle of 2023. I’d optimistically filled the watering can days prior, intending to quench Herbert’s thirst. But, alas, that was before the three-day Netflix binge marathon commenced. As I sat there, bleary-eyed and questioning my life decisions (again), my gaze fell upon the neglected watering can. It was dusty, bone dry, and positioned just so that a particularly judgmental sunbeam could illuminate its emptiness.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Navigation (And Why I Break Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Navigation (And Why I Break Them All)




    The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Navigation (And Why I Break Them All)


    The Produce Aisle Standoff: An Avocado Showdown

    Have you ever found yourself locked in a silent standoff with another shopper in the produce aisle? You know the one: you’re both eyeing the same perfect avocado, each pretending not to notice the other while subtly inching closer. Yeah, me too.

    It happened again last week. I was on a mission for guacamole ingredients, and there it was: the Holy Grail of avocados, perfectly ripe and just begging to be mashed. But wait. Another shopper had also spotted the prize. We circled each other like wary predators, our carts our chariots in this absurd territorial battle. Finally, I cracked. I reached out, snatched the avocado, and flashed a triumphant grin (okay, maybe it was more of a grimace). The look on the other shopper’s face? Priceless.

    Navigating the Dairy Dungeon: The Cart Conundrum

    We all know the unspoken rule of the dairy dungeon: Thou shalt not block the dairy aisle with thy cart. It’s a tight squeeze in there, and lingering too long while deciding between 2% and skim milk can feel like holding up a line of caffeine-deprived commuters.

    And yet, I confess: I am a dairy aisle dawdler. I can’t help it! The sheer variety of cheeses, yogurts, and milk alternatives sends me into a decision-making spiral. So, I’ve learned to embrace the “park and grab” technique. I park my cart perpendicular to the dairy aisle, creating a makeshift barrier (sorry, fellow shoppers!), and then I dart in and out, grabbing my dairy delights with the precision of a ninja.

    [IMAGE_DESCRIPTION: A person dramatically raising their arms in victory after successfully using the express lane with too many items]
  • The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)

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

    My Personal Elevator Everest

    The other day, I found myself in an otherwise uneventful elevator ride when it hit me: I am an elevator anarchist. Not in the sense of prying open the doors between floors or anything (that would be dangerous, kids!). But in the subtle, subversive ways I reject the unwritten code of conduct we’ve all come to accept in these metallic boxes of vertical transport.

    It all started with a harmless whistle. I was in a particularly good mood that day, sunshine radiating off my face like a personal spotlight, and a jaunty tune escaped my lips. The reactions were instantaneous: eyebrows shot up faster than the elevator itself, heads swiveled away like I’d sprouted a second head, and the air thickened with disapproval. It was like I’d committed the ultimate elevator faux pas.

    The Silent Treatment (and Other Elevator Etiquette Atrocities)

    We’ve all been there. Packed like sardines in a metal box, desperately avoiding eye contact and pretending the person mere inches away doesn’t exist. It’s the unspoken rule of elevator etiquette: thou shalt not acknowledge thy fellow passengers. But why? Is a simple “good morning” really going to shatter the delicate fabric of elevator reality?

    And don’t even get me started on the button-pushing protocol. Heaven forbid you accidentally hit the wrong floor button! The judgmental stares, the heavy sighs, the audible gasps of horror—it’s enough to make you want to take the stairs for the rest of your life.

    Here’s a revolutionary thought: what if, instead of treating elevators like moving sensory deprivation chambers, we actually, you know, acted like normal human beings? Imagine a world where brief, pleasant exchanges weren’t met with suspicion, where a simple “going up?” could brighten someone’s day.

    My One-Woman Elevator Etiquette Rebellion

    Look, I get it. Elevators can be awkward. We’re all crammed together in a confined space, silently judging each other’s choice of footwear and desperately hoping nobody smells our coffee breath. But I refuse to let these anxieties dictate my behavior. I will not be silenced! I will not be cowed by the tyranny of the “close door” button!

    These days, I make a conscious effort to break the mold. I smile at strangers (gasp!). I hum along to the elevator music (the horror!). I even—brace yourselves—engage in small talk (cue the dramatic music). And you know what? The world hasn’t ended yet. In fact, I’ve even had a few surprisingly delightful conversations in that most unlikely of places: the elevator.

    So, I Ask You, Dear Reader…

    Are you with me? Are you ready to join the elevator revolution? Or are you content to remain trapped in the suffocating silence of social convention? The choice is yours. But remember, life is too short for awkward silences and missed connections. So go forth, my fellow elevator rebels, and spread the gospel of human interaction, one floor at a time.

  • 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 Phone Charger: A Modern Greek Tragedy (and Other Tales of Tech Treachery)

    My Phone Charger: A Modern Greek Tragedy (and Other Tales of Tech Treachery)

    My Phone Charger: A Modern Greek Tragedy (and Other Tales of Tech Treachery)

    phone chargers to outsmarting autocorrect’s questionable vocabulary.

    The Neverending Struggle with Phone Chargers

    We’ve all been there. That moment of panic when your phone screen dims to black, displaying the dreaded low battery symbol. You frantically search for your charger, only to find it tangled in a knot worthy of Houdini himself.

    Just me? Okay, maybe it’s not a universal experience, but my phone charger and I have a love-hate relationship that would make even the most dramatic reality show jealous. It’s a constant battle of wills, and let’s just say, the charger usually wins.

    The Case of the Vanishing Wifi

    Of course, my technological woes don’t stop at a tangled charger. Oh no, that would be far too simple. There’s also the mysterious case of the vanishing wifi. You know what I’m talking about. You’re in the middle of something incredibly important – an online meeting, a tense game of Wordscapes, watching the climax of your favorite show – and BAM! The internet decides to take an unannounced vacation.

    Cue the frantic restarting of the router, the desperate pleas to the wifi gods, and the inevitable descent into mild panic. And then, just as suddenly as it disappeared, the internet returns, leaving you blinking at the screen in disbelief, wondering if it was all a strange dream.

    Autocorrect: Friend or Foe?

    And let’s not forget everyone’s favorite technological frenemy: autocorrect. This little feature is like that well-meaning but slightly clueless friend who always manages to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

    I’m sure we all have a collection of hilarious autocorrect fails. Like the time I tried to text my friend “I’m on my way!” but autocorrect, in its infinite wisdom, decided “I’m on my walrus!” was a more appropriate message.

    Or the time it changed “Let’s grab coffee” to “Let’s grab crocodiles.” (Honestly, who even talks about crocodiles that much?)

    Autocorrect, I appreciate the effort, but sometimes you’re just making things weird.

    The Tech Struggle Is Real, But So Is the Laughter

    So, there you have it, a glimpse into the chaotic world of my technological misadventures. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels like they’re engaged in a constant battle with their devices. But you know what? As frustrating as these tech fails can be, they also provide endless fodder for laughter and stories to tell.

    What about you? What’s your most hilarious tale of technology gone rogue? Share your stories in the comments below because misery loves company, and laughter is always the best tech support!

  • The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Etiquette (And Why I Break Every Single One)

    The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Etiquette (And Why I Break Every Single One)



    My Cart, My Chaos: Embracing Grocery Shopping Anarchy

    Okay, picture this: It’s 7 p.m. on a Tuesday, the witching hour between work and dinner. I’m at the grocery store, famished, and my shopping list is a sad collection of scribbles on the back of a receipt. I’m pretty sure “bananas?” is on there somewhere.

    We’ve all been there, right? But here’s where my story veers off the well-paved path of grocery store decorum. You see, I’m that person. The one whose cart is a chaotic jumble of produce, toiletries, and a rogue bag of gummy bears (don’t judge). I’m a walking, talking violation of every unspoken grocery store rule, and frankly, I’m not sure I care.

    grocery shopping: going the wrong way down a one-way aisle. Oh, the shame! The glares! The passive-aggressive throat-clearing!

    Listen, I get it. Efficiency is important. But sometimes, you just need that jar of olives from the top shelf, and the thought of navigating an entire loop of the store feels like climbing Mount Everest with a shopping cart. So, I break the rules. I smile apologetically, I execute a graceful (or maybe not-so-graceful) three-point turn, and I grab my olives. Because life’s too short for aisle-induced anxiety, am I right?

    The Siren Song of Free Samples: My Grocery Store Weakness

    Ah, samples. Those tiny, tempting morsels of culinary delight strategically placed to lure us in like moths to a flame. We all know the rules: one per person, maybe two if you’re feeling bold. But me? I have the self-control of a toddler in a candy store.

    Mini quiches? Yes, please! Tiny cups of mango salsa? Don’t mind if I do! I’m pretty sure I’ve single-handedly kept the sample lady employed on more than one occasion. Is it wrong? Probably. Do I regret it? Not even a little bit. (Okay, maybe a little bit when my stomach starts making questionable noises.)