New Beginnings

My New Year Resolutions, described by musical lyrics!

1) “I’m running through a stop sign, living so it feels right…Don’t wanna slow it down.” (The Ready Set): No regrets

2) “We may only have tonight, but till the morning sun you’re mine. Play the music low and swing to the rhythm of love.” (Plain White T’s): Live in the moment

3) “Whoa-oh, whoa-oh, stuck like glue. You and me baby, we’re stuck like glue.” (Sugarland): Find a way to get this damn song out of my head!

4) “Life is very short, and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend.” (The Beatles): Don’t leave angry

5) “A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I’ll sell them for a dollar. They’re worth so much more after I’m a goner.” (The Band Perry): Speak your mind

6) “My shiny teeth, I love them and they all love me. Why should I talk to you when I got thirty-two? My shiny teeth and me!” (Chip Skylark): No cavities!

7) “And we found ourselves in the sea. Deep underwater we both found that we could still breathe, so we spent the day submerged and we swam the evening away.” (Sky Sailing): Continue scuba diving and find time to swim laps

8) “Lazy old day, rolling away. Dreaming the day away.” (Enya): Take more breaks from life

9) “So you dare tell me who to be? Who died and made you king of anything?” (Sara Bareilles): Don’t take crap from anyone

10) “Cause I need more time. Just a few more months and we’ll be fine” (Needtobreathe): Find the time to do all of these things

Caroling

This afternoon, my dad gave me a most important mission: bring home extra straws from the restaurant. It’s not as random as it sounds. Trust me.

So as I’m sitting in the restaurant, sipping my own carbonated beverage and stuffing extra straws into my purse, my friends and I got a tad carried away in our conversation. One thing led to another, and, well, here is my own spin on a classic Christmas tune…

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:

Twelve bendy straws

Eleven cheese nips

Ten curly fries

Nine toothpicks

Eight milkshakes

Seven buttons

Six bundt cakes

Five onion rings

Four spotted cows

Three sofas

Two purple umbrellas

And an owl in an apple tree!

Fits right in there with "Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg. The bat-mobile lost a wheel and the Joker got away. Hey!"

Sushi

The little guys didn’t stand a chance.

My co-worker swept the fish net through the tank. A lucky few swam fast enough to avoid it, but the majority got trapped in the mesh-like fabric. And there wasn’t any Finding Nemo mastery going on here. No working together to “swim down” and rip the net from the oppressor’s hands. No. These fish were lost, confused and pulled out of the water before they had time to hold their breath.

While struggling to breathe, the fish were transferred to the freezer bag I held in my hands. Their tiny fins beat against the plastic prison as they flip-flopped around, but there was no escaping. My co-worker picked up the acetone bottle, and squeezed its contents into the bag. And I stood by and watched as the acid snuffed out each tiny life.

They told me it was necessary. That there was no way I could take one of them home to safety.

They said it was humane. That the other option was to simply smack them against the wall.

But drowning in acetone is no way to die. And being thrown into bleach the next day isn't any better.

I can no longer hide from the truth of these actions.

I am an accomplice to fish murder. And I can never forgive myself.

Let's Pretend...

Soooo, it’s been awhile. And I do have an excuse! Finals are all-consuming. Anyone who has experienced the horror of college-level-end-of-the-quarter-testing will know what I mean.

Anyway, I figured in honor of the end of general Biology classes (at least for me…I’m sorry to all of you who still have to endure the agony of phylogenetic trees), I’d dedicate this post to life. Pretty vague, I know. I shall clarify…

The other day, my Bio Professor told the class: “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.” Granted she was referring to manhandling grasshoppers to get a good look at their trachea, but the overall message is what you should focus on.

I have been told countless times that I am a five-year-old at heart. I’m not denying it. I take way too much pleasure in watching cartoon movies meant for little kids (but come on, Up was epic!). My point though, is that I’m not ashamed of this quality. I love that I have been able to hold onto this part of me, and not have it driven out by, dare I say it, adulthood (duh, duh, DUH!).

And why not have giggle-fits all afternoon? Why not stomp in every puddle you see? Why not watch an old Disney movie every Sunday? Even if I’m not five, I still get the same enjoyment from all of these activities. And there isn’t a rule that says once I reach the age of eighteen I have to put all of these “childish” activities behind me (or at least to my knowledge…that would be pretty sucky if there was such a rule).

So I say embrace your inner child. Even if you’re forty years old. Because, let’s face it, childhood is one of the best times of your life. No deadlines. No doubts. No pre-conceived judgments. No care in the world but to have fun!

Now, let’s all go find that grasshopper. Turn it upside down. Watch it hop around. Or if you had a more violent childhood, pull out the magnifying glass and melt it. Either way, hold your inner child’s hand and sing “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up” all the livelong day.

I'm Dreaming of a PINK Christmas!

It’s time to get into the Christmas spirit! That’s right, it’s December. Not October. Not a few weeks before Thanksgiving. No. December. The actual month of Christmas. Now if only all of the local stores would get with this schedule of events, I would be much happier (I’m sick of hearing “White Christmas” playing on the loud speakers, two months before the holiday).

Anyway, at the moment, our apartment is pretty bare in terms of Christmas decorations. And it’s not like we could do much if we wanted to. Can’t put up Christmas lights because we share the roof/balcony with three other people. Nowhere to put a tree (unless it’s a Charlie Brown tree, but that’s just sad). And mistletoe wouldn’t work, because it’s just me and my three girl roommates who live here (and I’m not that kind of person).

So I took it upon myself to find a suitable decoration for our place. And my cousin had given me the perfect idea. She introduced me to Magazine Christmas Trees. You take any random magazine (preferably one you’re not reading), and after some fancy folding techniques…viola! A makeshift Christmas tree! Ideal for college students on a budget.

However, the only magazine available to me was the Victoria’s Secret Winter Catalog, which had been mailed to the wrong address (Sorry Lou Chang, but your magazine was now mine for the taking!). So as I was folding each and every page into my tree, I couldn't help but notice the various ads displayed in front of me. Besides the obvious sale pitches for fancy panties, the overwhelming PINK color and pictures of half-naked women (“Oh! My bra just happened to fall off!”), there were ads for nail polish, boots and even jackets! And not just teenage-girl-sweatshirt jackets, but really nice, suede jackets. I didn’t even know Victoria’s Secret sold something other than really expensive underwear!?! The things you can learn while making Christmas decorations.

In the end, we had a pretty nice looking mini magazine Christmas tree, with a pretty pink paper star on top. It’s sitting on our TV cabinet now, for all to see. Just don’t look too closely…

Cheeseburger Guy Part 2

So I’ve decided to dedicate a post entirely to the random quotes I’ve been collecting from the Cheeseburger Guy in my English class. Sort of a farewell, if you will, since the quarter will be ending and I will no longer be entertained by his whimsical musings.

Make what you will of them…

Girl in class: For a second, I thought they were both going to fall off the ledge, and I was about ready to cry.

Cheeseburger Guy: I would’ve laughed out loud!

Girl: What? But why?

Cheeseburger: It’s just so morbid!

* * *

Girl in class: Well I thought this character was really charming. I could definitely relate to her.

Cheeseburger Guy: Charming!? She’s charming in the way a one-legged turtle is charming. Always spinning around in circles…so stupid!

* * *

Cheeseburger Guy: I disagree. A fire extinguisher is a legitimate weapon. They’re pretty heavy, so if you hit someone with the right amount of force, you could cause some serious damage.

Guy in class: You know this from experience?

Cheeseburger: ...Maybe...

* * *

Girl: So all of these fish heads were just floating down the river. It was disgusting!

Cheeseburger Guy: I would've thrown 'em at cars. Especially convertibles. You know? Walk out onto a bridge with a big bucket, and just chuck them over the side.

Fun In Food Science Part 2

The fun continues…

Kagit: My story is gross. XD

Me: Already?

Kagit: Ooooooh yeah.

Here is Kagit’s masterpiece from Food Science:

Green Goo

“I can’t believe you would actually do that!” Her normally calm voice was raised in shock. He let the high pitch wash over him, and grinned. She claimed she was hard to upset, but this was too easy.

He took another finger full of the green slime and slowly licked it off of his finger. He made small noises of pleasure, relishing the gagging noises that came from her. “Yum! Still tastes like peas!” He put the open jar on the counter quickly to free himself for the oncoming assault.

She took a threatening step forward and hit him on the arm. “Seriously!? You don’t know what’s in that. We just found it in the basement. Who knows how old it is?” Her voice had kept its squealing shock, but now he could tell there was an undercurrent of anger in it as well. She wasn’t so much disgusted anymore, as she was angry with him for deliberately acting against her advice.

“Hey, hey,” he deflected her next blow gently. “The top still popped when I opened it.” He grabbed one of her wrists to stop her from hitting him again. “Baby food that’s good for your grandpa a hundred years ago is good for me now.” He grabbed the jar with his other hand and started to wave it in front of her face. “Open wide, here comes the choo-choo train!”

“Augh!” she screeched, and twisted away from him. He let her wrist go, and chuckled. Just as he was about to chase after her with the jar, his pocket began to jingle. He pulled out his phone and saw his buddy’s name lit up. He sighed and left the jar back on the counter.

“Huh, leave it to Chuck to know when something gross is going on…” He absent-mindedly answered his phone with some one-syllable word, and watched as she took the sun-faded jar from the counter and dumped its contents down the sink. A loud whirring noise started up so that she could make sure that all of the nasty green goo was gone.

He hung up the phone and walked over to the sink to stand next to her. “Aww, there goes my lunch,” he mumbled sarcastically.

There was still tension in her voice as she asked, “What did Chuck want?”

A small flicker of surprise passed through his thoughts before he realized that his phone was set to a particular jingle for when Chuck called. “He wanted to come over here and crash our movie night. I told him to go make contact with aliens instead.”

All of her hostility finally drained from her system, and she allowed a small laugh. She elbowed him good naturedly, and said, “You are nasty, did you know that?”

Pride radiated from him in a large grin. “Snips of snails and puppy dog tails, my dear. I am nothing more than what I am.” He put an arm around her back and tried to pull her in close.

She again twisted away and pointed a finger at him laughing, “Ooooh no. Not until you shower and brush your teeth and bathe in hand sanitizer!” She turned and dashed out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“Giganto Germ is coming to get you!” he called, and began to chase after her. Before he could leave the kitchen, however, his stomach twisted violently and he collapsed to his knees. As quick as the pain came on, it vanished.

Chuck busted through the back door and called out, “Oh lovebirds! Anybody home?” He jumped into the kitchen with a stupid grin on his face. It soon fell away when he saw his friend lying on the floor. “Gah! Alien!!”

Fun In Food Science

It’s that time of year again. Not Thanksgiving. Not Christmas. Not really a holiday at all. Nope. We’re coming up on finals. Ick.

But there is some good news to this! Good news for me, at least. My Food Science professor has done some Hocus-Pocus-Grade-Magic and I know longer have to take the final!

However, since I’m actually paying for these classes, I can’t just ditch the remaining lectures. Wouldn’t feel right. So I wake up early as usual and head off to class. This doesn’t mean I actually have to pay attention…

My friend, who shares the misery of food science with me, also managed to beat the grading system. So today, instead of taking notes and listening to our professor drone on about water activity, we decided to have a bit of fun.

The following is a conversation between us through Skype.

Me: Yo. You there?

Kagit: Wanna see who can write a story in this class period? XD Aqui.

Me: What do ya mean? Like a short story about the class?

Kagit: No

Me: Or just a short story in the class

Kagit: Speed short story ONLY written in the time period of the class.

Me: OMG YES!!! Do we have a prompt?

Kagit: READYSETGO

Me: Maybe like a theme we have to stick with. Like food.

Kagit: Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Me: Since we’re in food class.

Kagit: Fair enough. We’re TOTALLY not paying attention! =D

Me: Who cares?!?!?!?

Kagit: I DON’T

Me: Yay!

Kagit: READYSETGO

Me: Okkieday

Kagit: I’m starting now.

Me: Yes.

Kagit: I HAVE A SENTENCE!

Me: I have nothing.

So here’s what I ended up with:

Cravings

Mikey sat on the couch with a bowl of Cheetos balanced on his chest. The orange residue coated his fingers and dusted the top of his shirt. A trashy reality show played in the background, but Mikey had lost track of who cheated on who when the bowl of Cheetos was placed in front of him. This was the good life. Lounging on the couch. Eating Cheetos. Not caring.

Mikey reached down into the bowl for another cheesy snack. His fingers scraped against plastic. The bottom of the bowl. Mikey’s worst fear had been realized. He couldn’t have eaten through the whole pack already, could he? No. It wasn’t possible! There had to be more.

With a considerable amount of effort, he pulled himself into an upright position so as to better see into the bowl. He peered over the rim, only to find a few stray crumbs amongst a sea of orange powder: a faint reminder of the cheesy goodness that had been there moments before. So much for being an unlimited supply.

But all was not lost! Mikey looked down at his fingers, and at the cheese that had lodged itself underneath his fingernails. He greedily started to suck Cheeto remnants off his fingers, relishing what was left of his afternoon snack.

However, his fingers were soon sucked dry. He needed more. And he needed it soon.

Mikey looked around the apartment, searching for any hidden Cheeto packets. The kitchen! Of course! With a sudden burst of energy fueled by his Cheeto craze, Mikey was off the couch. He rummaged through the cabinets. Graham crackers? No. Tortillas? No. Peanut butter? Maybe if it were with Cheetos. Pickles? Hell no! Goldfish? It’s just not the same.

Mikey turned toward the fridge. It was unlikely they’d be in there, but it was worth a look. The door cracked open and a fresh wave of rotting vegetables enveloped him. On second thought, they’re probably not in the fridge. Nowhere even near that fridge.

Mikey was at a lost. Where could they be? He had made sure to buy at least a week’s supply on his last shopping trip. And that was three days ago. Mikey thought back to that day, retracing his steps like all the good detectives do.

It was raining, but he had shielded his grocery bags from the water with an oddly angled umbrella. He might’ve been soaked through, but at least his Cheetos were safe and dry. He burst through the apartment door, intent on breaking open a few bags before dinner. He set the extras on the table. As he turned toward the couch, a pair of hands reached out to grasp the grocery bag…

Billy. There was no denying it. Face set and hands clenched, Mikey stomped off toward the bedrooms. Without bothering to knock, he threw open the door. His roommate was plugged into his computer, headphones emitting a high pitch squeal. Orange fingerprints covered his keyboard. And there, on the desk next to the Pepsi can, were three empty plastic bags with Chester the Cheetah staring back at him.

Billy froze mid-chip when he noticed Mikey in the doorway. His eyes widened, and he tried unsuccessfully to hide the bright orange Cheeto he held in his hand.

“Hey man, I can explain,” Billy started. He shot furtive glances toward the contraband so carelessly placed on his desktop.

Mikey took a moment to collect himself before smiling down at Billy. “There’s nothing to explain.” Mikey slowly closed the door behind him, and took step forward with murder in his eyes.

Old Habits Die Hard

I have fidgety hands. I can’t help it. I play with my hair. I twiddle my thumbs. I tap my fingernails. I do NOT crack my knuckles (that’s just gross). But I do flip pens. All the time. Especially in lecture.

However, I don’t think I’d qualify as a professional pen flipper. I can’t do that fancy twist-a-roo thing that all the Asians seem to have mastered overnight. I can try. It just doesn’t end well…

Incident #1

Chemistry morning lecture. I’m tap-tap-tapping my pen against my notebook, willing Dr. KY-netics to speak something comprehensible. I’m keeping in time with the song going around in my head (“There you go making my heart beat again, heart beat again, HEAT BEAT AGAIN!”). Suddenly, the pen is no longer hitting paper. The tip catches on the metal binding, sending my pen flying (oh! I rhymed!). The pen re-bounds off of my friend sitting next to me, soars across the aisle way and lands several feet away. I stare at it for a few minutes. And then I take out a pencil.

Incident #2

Biology evening lecture. I’m twisting the cap on my pen: off and on, off and on. It makes a fancy clicking noise when I shove it back down over the ballpoint tip. I stop to jot down a few notes on synapomorphies and then resume my game. Off and on. Off and on. It gets more entertaining as the lecture wears on. I start to see how fast I can click it. Off and on. Off ‘n on. Off’non. Offonoffonoffonoffon. Off. Completely off. Flying through the air off. And it lands right in this guy’s lap. Interesting turn of events. I freeze, unsure of what to do. I can’t just go and grab it back now, can I? So I smile. Hold out my hand. And switch to a pencil.

Incident #3

In-between classes. I’m in our super-secret, super-awesome hideaway, doodling to pass the time. My pen cap won’t come off. It’s stuck on. I grab both sides of the pen, one hand holding onto the end with teeth marks all over it, the other hand gripping the battle-worn cap. I pull, and smack my hand against the windowpane. The cap is off. But it’s not here. Nope. It slipped through the gap between the window and my cement bench (of all places, right?). I hold up my cap-less pen. For a while I just sit there, glancing back and forth from the gap to the now worthless writing utensil. I set it aside...and pull out another.

Magical Midterm

It’s a known fact that midterms suck. I mean, who wants to have to remember all that information they throw at you in lecture? Not me.

The sad truth: you have to take the midterm anyway.

So when I walk into Food Science this morning, silently reviewing the hydrogenation of cis bonds, I expected the “midterm routine”. Take out your #2 pencils. Write your name on the top of the Scantron. No, don’t actually write “Your Name”. Turn your phones off (aka – on silent). Sit every other seat. DON’T TALK TO ANYONE! Put away your notes. And begin.

This time was different.

A movie clip comes on the projector. I recognize the pre-teen versions of Emma Watson and Rupert Grint, all dressed up in purple and gold scarves. That’s right. My professor is playing Harry Potter before our midterm.

I stare at the screen in awe, momentarily forgetting I had to recall all sorts of Food Science crap in a just a few moments. And then, Alan Rickman appears on-screen in his awesome Snape-cape, and says: “Someone might think you’re…up to something.”

That just made my day.

The Point of No Return

I woke up this morning at 9 AM (which, in my world, is sleeping in). I felt great! I ate some breakfast. Sunk into the couch in my fluffy bathrobe. Read my fun book, and not some English assignment. I even fit in a workout later on.

You would think, “Wow. What a great day off!” And yes, the beginning was great. I would’ve sworn that it was Saturday until I headed off for work. And that’s the problem with having a day off in the middle of the week: it messes with your mind! ALL DAY LONG!

Turns out my day off wasn’t so much of a day off. Being the brilliant professor that he is, Dr. KY-netics scheduled a Chemistry midterm the VERY. NEXT. DAY. Oh joy.

Cue a frantic Chem Study Party. Four hours straight. It starts off all fine and dandy. You vaguely remember that lecture from two weeks ago. Your study buddy has got your back. But then you cross the Point of No Return.

If you’re anything like me, you tend to spread out while studying. Textbook open to page 1024 on the chair. Notes scattered across the floor. Calculator by your feet. Various practice problems scribbled onto any paper you can find. At this point you have to get all the way up from your cozy spot on the floor to reference Chapter 14, and then backtrack to make sure your notes match up.

This is the beginning of the end, my friends. The Fear. It should be your first warning sign.

After flipping back and forth, back and forth through the notes you’ve skimmed over a hundred times, you still can’t find that thing. That one little factoid that’s on the tip of your tongue. As you continue your search you wonder, “Maybe I didn’t write it down.” You make the next mental leap: “What if this is on the test?” The mental leap expands into one giant step for mankind: “What if all the questions are based off of this one topic? What if my entire grade in the class depends on finding this one thing?!?!?!”

Beware The Fear. It only gets worse.

You’ve calmed down enough to focus on the practice problems at hand. Things start to make sense. This is a false sense of security. DON’T FALL FOR IT! Before you know it, you’ve entered into The Craze. Everything is funny. That doodle heart you drew on top of your notes looks like an up-side-down butt. Your study buddy has already succumbed and is crying from laughter. You have the sudden urge to shout “NEGATIVE LOG!” every five seconds because Chemistry has become the answer to everything. You’ve gone Chem crazy.

And finally, The Crash. The point where you can no longer retain any useful information. Forget chemistry. You can’t even remember how to make toast! You’re already on the floor; why not just stay there? Stare up at the ceiling. Make paper airplanes out of your notes. You start singing show tunes you haven’t heard in ages. Chem is no longer on your mind, and you don’t care.

But despite your relapse into La-La land, and your total disregard for anything educational, you’ve still got to take the midterm the next morning. You have to realize that negative log won’t solve all your problems, and all those minuscule details from lecture actually are important.

However, the moment you turn in your test, you can breathe. It’s over. Your grade is what it is. All of the studying madness suddenly seems worth it. Because now, you can enjoy that day off. Now, you are allowed to forget.

Cock-A-Doodle

Alright. Another Monday. Yipee! I can just see the people walking down the street, clicking their heels up as they start the day.

No. This is the real world, where Mondays suck.

And so it’s back to school. Back to work. Back to life. Gah! That’s too much pressure to handle in one freakin’ day!

But what makes this Monday somewhat better than most? A wake-up call, that’s what.

My friend and I are hanging out in our super-secret, super-awesome hideaway after class this morning. We had almost accepted the fact that we couldn’t rewind time back to the weekend, when a rooster call echoes through the building. That’s right. An actual “Cock-A-Doodle-Doo”. In the building.

One thing you should know about our hideaway is it’s a pretty secluded spot (or as secluded as you can get on a campus with thousands of students). Random outbursts of sound aren’t really that common, so to hear anything at all would have been odd. But a rooster? That’s just…inconceivable!

We decide to investigate. Having traced the sound to the second floor, we start walking past lab doors, waiting for the next clue as to it’s whereabouts. We were almost ready to give up when it sounds again from behind us (scaring the crap out of me!). Peeking through the small window of the locked door (go figure), all we could make out was a fume hood and a couple swivel chairs (swivel chairs…that’s a whole story in itself!). And out of the darkness, came the rooster call. It was like it knew we were there, on the other side of the door. So, being the creepy rooster that it is, it hid in the darkness and continued to crow. Stupid little bird was mocking us!

Now you have to wonder what a rooster was doing in this building in the first place. Was it someone’s pet? A science experiment gone wrong? Maybe it’s not a rooster at all, but a mutant bird beast, intent on taking over our minds with it’s deadly crow!?!??!

The world may never know.

Hung, Drawn and Quatered

Ok. This, in my opinion, is the worst form of torture out there.

It’s cold. It’s windy. A nice warm cup of hot chocolate is just what you need. So you head over to the brand new campus Coffee House. You stand in line (once you’ve found the end of the line). The pastries taunt you from behind the glass counter, but they are not what you came for.

You order. You put the cardboard cup holder around the cup to keep from burning your hands. And you place a lid over the steaming hot chocolate.

But, when you go to take a sip, the molten liquid burns a hole in your tongue, and your forced to put the cup down. It’s still cold outside. And windy. And the hot chocolate is mocking you from the table. You hold it between your hands, but you CAN’T. DRINK. IT.

What’s worse is that the first sip you had is turning your tongue into cotton. You scrape it against the roof of your mouth to try to bring feeling back, but it feels like the taste buds are being rubbed against sand-paper.

So you wait. Wait for the damn hot chocolate to cool down. Just enough so that it is still warm, but not too cool that it turns into fancy chocolate milk. Otherwise you’ve just wasted two bucks.

Meanwhile, you’re freezing.

Torture, I tell you.

Bus Ride

So I was sitting on the bus today, staring out the window waiting for the trainee to stop hitting the brake so I could get home sometime this century, when we pulled up to a bus stop. No surprise there. But waiting to get on the bus was a little old man on one of those scooter-assist motor vehicles.

Let me take a moment here to address the awesome-ness that is the old person’s scooter. My Grandmother is a proud owner of one. And I have taken my share of laps around the living room on one of those bad-boys. I tell you, the thrill of pushing that speed dial all the way up from “Turtle speed” to “Bunny speed” is what a racecar driver must feel everyday!

Anyway. I’m on the bus. The ramp is lowering to let the old man scooter on up. People vacate the Senior citizens section. And I have a front-row seat for the show.

The old man makes it into the bus all right, but he doesn’t stop there. Oh no. He starts careening off the ramp, right into the inside of bus! Must be that sticky accelerator.

He jerks to a halt and starts to reverse (Yeah, that’s right! These things have a reverse!). The trainee is backed into a corner, not sure if she should help out or stay out of the way. The old man tries again. This time he slams right into the seats in front of me. He reverses and crashes into the other side of the bus. I can tell he’s trying to turn the thing around but it’s just not working out! Every time he moves, he either hits the bus or almost runs over the trainee.

The old man continues to go back and forth, back and forth, not really turning at all, for about five more minutes. This is when he decides he’s had enough and actually gets off the scooter to twist it around. The trainee stares blankly for a few moments before helping out (if by “helping”, we mean shuffling around the front of the scooter and letting the old man do all the work).

Finally he has it facing the right way, but he still hasn’t maneuvered it into, what I call, the “wheelchair car seat”. So he crashes into the side of the bus a few more times, before deciding he was close enough.

You know when you’re learning to parallel park, how you always seem to end up a few feet away from the curb? This old man had a good twelve inches between him and the wall. Poor trainee had a tough time making that secure.

And while the trainee finished tying him up to the bus, all I could think was: Man, it sucks to be old! Not only are you too damn tired to actually walk anywhere, but your depth perception is gone, and you have to deal with driving a scooter onto a bus full of judgmental college kids. God! What a nightmare! If I were him, I’d have half a mind to wack a few of those kids with a cane, or at least “accidently” run over their flip-flopped toes with my bad-ass scooter!

One thing is for certain. When I’m old and have my very own scooter, no matter how many things I crash into and no matter how many people I piss off, I’m keeping that dial turned all the way up to Bunny speed!

Cheeseburger Guy

English discussion.

October 25, 2010

5:45 PM

My teacher puts up a picture of two college guys. They are on the beach and holding up fish.

She receives many blank stares.

Prompt: Pair up. Write a dialogue between these two people.

So what do you get when you pair up a very conservative girl and the smart-ass of the class?

A very entertaining class discussion.

Each took the point of view of one of the fish-holding “dudes”, and then switched off talking to one another…

Smart-ass: Dude. You want another smoke?

Conservative: Um. No thanks. I quit.

Smart-ass: What do you mean you quit?

Conservative: I mean, I don’t smoke.

Smart-ass: I don’t think you understand. I asked if you want another smoke. As in, you’ve already been smoking. Did you just decide to quit mid-smoke?

Conservative: It’s bad for my health.

Smart-ass: No, no, no. You can’t do that! That’s like eating a cheeseburger, stopping halfway and saying “I quit cheeseburger.”

Conservative: So?

Smart-ass: So? So! YOU CAN’T QUIT CHEESEBURGER!

Words of wisdom, my friend.

Yer Lovin' State o' Affairs

As I was Facebook stalking a few people the other day (yes, I admit to it. But I’m not alone!) I noticed something rather odd. One friend of mine (who I will not name here so that they might walk away with some dignity intact) changed his status from “Anchored” to “Marooned”.

I should probably mention here that I have set my Facebook to Pirate language. No joke. Instead of friends, I have “Me Hearties”. You click on “Cap’n’s Log” to reach my personal info. And when I write a comment, I’m notifying people “What be troublin’ me”. The list goes on and on. Half of me still gets excited every time I’m told to enter my ‘Lectric parrot to sign in, while the other half still doesn’t understand how to change my settings back to normal because it’s hidden under words like "Yarr Vessel" and "Ye Ship’s Rigging".

So imagine my confusion upon seeing a “Marooned” status on one person’s “pirate plank”, supposedly describing a relationship status as single, but having a “Sailin’ Solo” status myself. How, one may ask, can there be two types of “single”? You’re either single, or you’re together. End of story, right? No, my friend. There is so much more.

After some investigative work on my part, which included hacking into my friend’s account that is in English, I discovered the shocking answer to my question. For women who are single, you are “Sailin’ Solo”. For men, you are “Marooned”. (And here’s where I stared blankly at the computer screen for a few minutes not completely believing my eyes).

For one thing, why differentiate at all? Being single is a little depressing in itself. But now they go and give it a name that just screams, “No one loves me!” And men have it worse. At least when you’re “Sailin’ Solo” you’re going somewhere, but where you’re “Marooned”, you’re stuck, pretty much abandoned on a deserted island. So we go from single and ready to mingle to dumped and alone. Just a tad bit discouraging. And the Facebook overlords have it all wired. Pre-programmed into our online identities.

Are we to assume then that being single is as bad as being ditched on an island for attempt at mutiny? Kind of a hard message to accept, but it’s true. It’s drilled into our brains since that very first “And they lived happily ever after” fairytale story. The Princess always finds her Prince, because she would be incomplete without him.

I guess what I’m getting at is be single and be free! No strings attached. No shame. No more picking petals off daisies in the hopes that it will solve all your problems. You won’t be single forever, but you don’t have to live in misery until the right person comes along. I’m not going to settle for spending the rest of my single days on a lonely island. No way in hell. It’s all Yo Ho’s and a pirate’s life for me from here on out!

Repeat After Me

“There you go making my heart beat again, heart beat again, HEART BEAT AGAIN!!

There you go pulling me right back in, right back in, RIGHT BACK IN!!!!

And I know I’m never letting this go (oh-oh)

I’m stuck on [THIS FREAKIN SONG]”

*Song compliments of Sugarland

What is it about some songs that make them so obnoxiously catchy? A tune comes on the radio, and before you know that you’ve been possessed by the Music Gods, you’re singing along to the high-pitched, breathy voice of Lady Gaga.

You switch the radio off, and the song echoes around inside your mind. It’s always there, sitting just on the edge of your consciousness. Even when you think you’ve replaced the mind-numbing lyrics with another tune, the same old song strikes again! It catches you unprepared and unaware, always on the lookout for the absolute worst moment to take over your brain: the middle of a midterm or the few minutes before you’re about to fall asleep.

Do they study the rhythmic tunes of guitar riffs to decide which one is most likely to get trapped in your mind? Or is it just chance that a musical group stumbles upon their oh-so-captivating lyrics? Maybe they’re just as hooked on the music as we are! Forced to play that funky music till they drop dead of repetition.

That settles it. Music is a drug. And it’s addictive as hell.

Origins

A familiar vice rings out: “Free the snow globes!”
I rush back to Dulcie, who is standing in a puddle of sparkly water and escaped lobster toys.
“What are you doing?” I plead.
“Freeing the snow globes. Wanna help?” There’s a wicked gleam in her eye that scares the crap out of me.
“No, I don’t!”
“Suit yourself.” With the flick of a wing, Dulcie wipes out a whole row and then another, until the dirty linoleum is awash in small plastic mermaids, floating towns, seashells, and tiny white pellets that stick to the floor like fake snow.

-Libba Bray, Going Bovine

You know the story. You’re in Disneyland, Legoland, Marine World…whatever. You need a reminder of the fun times you just had (as if the thousands of pictures you just took weren’t enough). Or maybe your nephew, twice removed, would never forgive you if you didn’t bring back a souvenir. So you stroll into the gift shop (one of many, conveniently located on every corner). You bought a shirt last time. You’d never wear the Mickey Mouse ears in public. You’re keychain is too full.
But wait! Over on the freshly cleaned countertop, you spot it. The sparkly snowflakes catch your eye. The glass half-circle fits perfectly in your palm. A smiling palm tree looks back out at you. It’s the vacation memento you’ve been searching for. And it’s on sale.
But what of the lonely palm tree trapped behind the glass? What of its cries for freedom? Is its only purpose in life to decorate your bookshelves and collect dust? Hell no! All of those palm trees, snowmen, unicorns and famous Disney characters imprisoned behind the snow globe’s glass wall deserve liberty and justice for all!

So what is my mission you might ask?

1) Free the world of all you snow globe hoarders (you know who you are)
2) Document all the random crap we call everyday life
3) And jot down anything else that may come to mind (that should be interesting…)

I hope you’re ready for it.