Closure!

I got it! It wasn't quite packaged and ready to go in time for Christmas, but it came in the end! It's nice to end things nicely. No tears this time.

Chicken with Broccoli (for real this time)

Sometimes it's a little lonely (boring?) being a Jew on Christmas after your family has already finished with the tradition of eating Chinese food and seeing a movie and they've dropped you off at your empty apartment. And you're sitting at home alone staring at the computer screen because you're too lazy to do anything else and the boots you bought last weekend crushed your toes so you can hardly walk and you really want a hot pocket but that requires your feet to do the work of carrying you to the kitchen. And then you dwell on the lack of closure of [casual] relationships past and it makes you want that hot pocket even more cuz it's warm and gooey and fills the hole that past [casual] relationships never filled in the first place (not THAT hole, silly). I want that hot pocket. I'm fixating on it like Ralphie from a Christmas Story fixated on his Red Ryder BB gun with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time...

The Power of Suggestion

I am SO susceptible to the power of suggestion. Placebos work like a charm on me. The minute I start taking medicine to counteract the potential side affects of another medicine I currently take, I start squirming in my chair anticipating some time alone with my ~new~ computer tonight.

It's too bad my opportunities for real physical interaction ran out.

Anatomy and Physiology

I'm currently taking an online anatomy and physiology course and I'd be lying if I pretended not to LOVE it despite the hours of studying that it requires. But it's really fascinating and the online format provides a great opportunity for my classmates and I to share all of our medical histories with each other over the internet (I nearly jumped for joy when we got to the blood unit and I could flaunt my expertise on the perils of ITP and other forms of thrombocytopenia).

It's now almost the last week of class and we've moved on to the gastrointestinal unit. Considering my penchant for discussions of the bodily variety, I was very surprised to learn I did not want to read about how often my classmates have diarrhea (this might relate to the fact that I sort of dislike the majority of my classmates). And I should probably apologize for writing this blog, but as I learned in class...most people actually love to talk about all the awesomely funny and gross things their bodies do! So I will just do it here. And you don't have to read it if you don't want (except you, Kelsey).

Three Banquets a Day - Our Favorite Diet

I've noticed that broccoli comes up fairly often in my blog. That's probably because I love it. Unfortunately it makes quite a mess of my mouth, leaving me with a speckled green smile that I never notice until my next trip to the bathroom (which actually happens sooner than later at the rate I pee).

It's so unfair that so many of the best foods leave visible residue of their deliciousness. Fearing black spotty gums, I unsuccessfully tried to resist a poppy seed bagel this morning and succumbed to the lure of an oreo with its trail of crumbs left to line my lips. Spinach and powdered donuts are also particularly horrid offenders, though they're not as frequently present in my daily routine. And corn is also pretty bad. Not only does it require treatment with an immediate round of flossing, but kernels somehow end up on the far reaches of my face. Maybe I should take that tissue out of my nose and clean myself up a bit. (Ew. I'm disgusted that I even had that thought).

Raindrops on Roses

I have a cold. My nose is winning all sorts of championships for its long distance endurance running(And persistence? And annoyance?). So I sit with a pretty pink tissue jammed up my nostrils (medically called nares, I recently learned).

No one is home right now, so who cares whether I've got a Kleenex stuck to my face. But I worry about my return to work tomorrow. Obstructing the leak from my nostrils (kind of like a tampon, but for my nose...keep your eyes open for my new patented "Snot Stopper 2.0") frees up my hands for typing and prevents puddles from forming on my workspace. But oftentimes upon falling sick, I find myself hastily dislodging a tissue from my nose as my boss or coworker walks by. I hope I make it through tomorrow without being scolded for my unfortunate health and hygiene.

On top of spaghetti

I have a friend. He asked me a question (of the random variety). I answered, and he admitted that he didn't know why he asked the question, but that it had just pooped into his head.

Um. That's disgusting. Fecal matter inside the cranial cavity should not cause one to ask random questions such as "where were you when they found water on the moon?" Fecal matter should not enter the cranial cavity in the first place. It will give new meaning to CSF (cerebro spinal feces).

And then my friend left, asserting that he had to "go eat and shit." Yea...I know what you meant...

Shining, Gleaming, Streaming Flaxen Waxen

On Friday, I spent about half an hour pulling coiled up hair out of my vacuum cleaner. I even used scissors to cut it out because it was so entangled. And when I was finished, I was left with a mass of jumbled blond and brown hairs that resembled a small Pomeranian puppy lying on the floor of the living room.

Just the average size of the hairballs I cough up.

Oy vey

267 Days. Countdown over.

~*~*Happy Dance*~*~

Heave Ho

Last night, I threw up on the subway.

I had been in Riverdale visiting my grandmother when I began to develop a slight headache. Many people know that my slight headaches frequently build into migraines which threaten nausea and upheaval of gastrointestinal fluids. For this reason, a slight headache is usually cause enough for me to request Tylenol (passive aggressive side note: I often do this without verbalizing my reason). Unfortunately on this night I had not the foresight to ask for a painkiller before I set off on my hour-and-forty-five-minute journey home.

As the headache intensified, I did manage to buy a pack of Advil at the Duane Reade when I transferred from the bus to the subway (ADVIL! I even risked its blood thinning effects for my pain relief)but it was no use. As I sat one the 1 train approaching Manhattan, I knew I was in trouble. I managed to get all of the upchuck into the plastic bag I'd received with my purchase from Duane Reade, and I washed it down with the water I'd bought to accompany my Advil, but no one offered me a tissue or a napkin so...um...my scarf needs a run through the laundry.

Wow. I threw up on the subway.

Chicken with Broccoli

I just remembered the time my friend Katie asked me and Swiss to accompany her to the sketchy mall near school. So we walked behind her like bodyguards. Our names were Beef and Thigh.

Some people have beefy thighs.

The More You Eat the More You Toot

Everyone knows by now that I am über self conscious of the noises I make while I pee (haha! I used an umlaut). Mostly that just means I don't wanna fart on the pisser. On days when I've eaten too many fiber one bars, that's sometimes hard to avoid. But most of the time it doesn't cause any problems because in public bathrooms I can just wait until everyone else leaves or until the flushing in an adjacent stall drowns out my own music.

So what happens if, say, you have a friend whose bathroom is located right next to the bedroom. And the person is in the bedroom while you have to pee, and thus within legitimate hearing range? I can tell you what happens. You don't pee. You sit on the toilet, contemplate turning on the faucet, decide to just wait til later when your pee will come out with less exertion, flush the toilet (because your friend is totally expecting to hear the flush, right?)and pretend you're done. This is all well and good until it repeats 6 times in the course of one hour. And your friend thinks you're a psycho with a drug problem or an aversion to...nevermind.

I like to eat eat eat apples and...broccoli

Do you ever order food and find that you are disgusted by the portion you haven't already eaten? That doesn't mean you stop. It just means that you're nauseated for the rest of your lunch.

Generally this is a rare occurrence for me, but it happens frequently when I eat "create-your-own" salads. Every deli has a flavor. And sometimes the air in there is a seasoning of the most disgusting kind.

Whistle While You Work

In the past, I've exhibited a tendency to sing while I'm on the toilet, but I'm usually in the confines of my own home. Only my roommates could hear me.

Today when I was peeing at work, I heard the woman next to me mumbling frantically to herself. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but boy was I curious. I'd be embarrassed to talk to myself while I was peeing in a public bathroom. I'm embarrassed to make any sounds at all while I'm peeing in a public bathroom.

It's also weird when my boss talks to me while I pee. Or while she pees. I just can't focus on being professional in that particular situation! I'd rather sing.

Yum

I declare Hershey's Snacksters the best ever. THE BEST EVER.

(I have nothing else to say)

Jessie: 2; Opponent: 0

Life is punctuated by many challenges which we must overcome in order to successfully achieve happiness, self sufficiency and self satisfaction.

Tonight, my friends, I met one of those challenges. It was the second event in an epic battle I wage against an entire species (or bunch of species): the roach. I consider myself an appreciator of animals, but bugs are the exception and roaches I cannot bear. It is for this reason that when I found myself face to face with an enormous antennaed fuggernaut sitting at the foot of my bed I knew I had to fight. (Ok, maybe I hyperventilated and squealed to my roommate for 20 minutes first, but THEN I knew I had to fight).

My previous assault on a cockroach was a strenuous attempt to drown it in the bathtub at 4am, all the while suppressing my gurgles and screams so as not to wake the guests sleeping on the couch. After 45 minutes of chasing the creature with the shower head, the roach was effectively suffocated, damp and lifeless on the ceramic floor of the shower.

This time I had to be swift. I did not have 45 minutes of effort to spare. After deciding not to try to paralyze it with shaving cream, I put on my battle boots (one salmon colored cowboy boot and one shiny black galosh -- no time for matching!) and retrieved the bug spray from the kitchen. The roach only flailed its many legs for about three seconds before it was dead. Another victory for me.

So this kind of makes me feel happy, self sufficient, and satisfied. But I also feel a little guilty. At least now I have to wash all my sheets. And the mattress pad. And the comforter(s). Still, perhaps that's not a fair punishment for taking a life, even if it's the life of a roach.

NOM NOM NOM

You know you've eaten one too many cupcakes (and cake cakes and ice creams)when wearing your underwear begins to hurt. You know, because the elastic is digging into your burgeoning belly? But chocolate frosting covered in funfetti is totally worth it (Thanks Emma!). And it's an excuse to buy new underwear. I love nothing better than buying new underwear. Except chocolate frosting covered in funfetti.

Farewell, My Former Age Bracket

Good-Bye 24. You were probably one of the most significant years of my life to date. I think I might be kind of glad you're over though.

Here's to ending the canned pumpkin shortage as quickly as possible.

Thoughts thunk when I should have been thinking about work.

1) If popcorn were called poopcorn, would you still eat it?

2) When you floss your teeth, do you eat the stuff that comes out of the cracks? (That thought really turns my stomach. Which doesn't mean I've never done it).

3) I have lots of countdowns to and from silly things. How did I manage to find a silly thing to count down from (stop counting!) that occurred right on a certain hallmark holiday with its six-month mark landing right around my birthday? (no, seriously, I would have lost track if not for that!)

4) If I were a burger, I would be served with extra tomatoes.

5) Raw onion breath is significantly worse than sauteed onion breath, at least from the breather's perspective.

He did something with his inflatable beer bottle

K-Swiss recently found this email I had written to her in Junior year of college, when I was tremendously enamored with a boy named Charlie. It made me laugh so hard I cried:

Hey L-Swixzl!

What's up? I hop ou had a good night tonight. I'm sorry I ditched you
huys. Man. I blew another chanc. I'm not sure what to so about CHalir. I
got really drunbkj because tom mized me som tom-strngth drinjls. so i was
drunk and had a small laighting fit. Charlie was there. so hot. or cute.
or secy. or somthin along those line.s We didnt talk top much but he sorta
did somthink ith his inflatabl beer bottle. he lt m read the spansh parts.
cerveza mas fina. then tom was on the floor nd people were saying he was
dead. and i said "tom's not dead because he's speaking" and then charlie
said "you're soooooooooo smart". I dont know if he was mocking me or just
using it as an excuse to give me a complimnt. i think he wasnt mockingme
bcause he sounded drunk too. then we went back to da partie. and we didnt
really dance togethr. just nearby. and i lft to pee. and when i cam back
he put his hands in the air and said "yeah!" or something like that. im
not sure. and also one tim everyone left
and charlie pointed with his thimbs to th door. i dont know if he wasd
xcusing himslef so he could find everone or inviting me to come look for
them with him. i sorta followed but ddnt know what to do. nd i think he
was looking back for me but im so nit sure. i might hav iven him bad
signdals. Also, we kpt tossing balloons back andf forth. maybe that was
flirting. i hop so. ok anywa i will tll you this all again in more
coherenc tomorrow morning. sorry if you sdont want to hear it. Brunch
11:30 ish? Hope you had a goo dnight.
<3 heart jess

Looks like I haven't changed much since then. Pathetic. Hehehe.

Daily Menu

This morning at 7:53am I ate a lovely breakfast of a vanilla smoothie with chocolate granola and a piece of bread with spray-on butter (like spray-on tan, only tastier).

Then at 8:10am I packed myself a lovely bacon, zucchini and tomato sandwich (oh mayo, I love you).

At 8:30am I left for work.

At 9:30am I ate my lunch.

Sh*t.

My whole existence is flawed

I found this awesome Pr0n. I think I'm obsessed with it. It's like...really really awesome. Both engaging parties are extremely good-looking. The guy looks like a really-short-haired-almost-buzz-cut combination [blaspheme] of two men I find particularly attractive and they're both really into each other (the people in the pr0n. Not the men I find attractive. I don't think they know each other). And there are no exaggerated pr0n noises. Just a general good time.

So. If you're ever trying to talk to me on g-chat and I don't respond, there's a decent possibility I'm watching (merely watching) this pr0n. But I could also be studying for statistics.

(Who knows what song the title of this blog is from?)

She's into new sensations new kicks in the candle light.

Yesterday I went to get my eyebrows waxed (I love the way it feels!!) and when the woman was finished, she asked if she could do my lip as well. Normally I don't get this done, but whenever a waxer ASKS me, I feel her judgmental, disgusted stare boring into me like pencils gouging my eyes out (it's similar to how I expect to feel for the duration of my statistics class) and I acquiesce. The woman was so pleased with the job she'd done that she even insisted on showing me all the hair that came off.

Ew. Now my lip feels numb and slimy.

(Am I allowed to use song lyrics in my blog titles? This one's totally Ricky Martin. I give credit where credit is due)

Baby don't sweat it...who wants their hair done by a slob?

I am wearing a tank top today and about an hour ago, I scratched an itch in my pits. Half an hour later I noticed a fresh, clean, and soapy taste lingering in my mouth as I nibbled my fingertips out of boredom. I fear I may have ingested some deodorant that had unknowingly become lodged under my nails. I hope I don't get butane poisoning.

It's a World of Laughter, a World of Tears

I'm prone to fits of giggling. These fits often occur at the most inopportune moments. Like right before I went out for drinks with my coworkers and they ridiculed me for my immature displays of laughter the last time I was crunk. As we exited the world of non-profit drudgery, preparing to bask in the freedom of Friday, I promised not to repeat said behavior. But as soon as I stepped onto the crowded elevator I couldn't control myself. And since such expressions of nuttiness are contagious, my friend started in as well. We tried to suppress the laughter but succeeded only in violently hiccuping in the fight against audible emission of sound. Neither of us had had a single drink.

And then there was yesterday morning. The world seemed really awesome yesterday morning. And let me tell you, there was humor in EVERYTHING. I sat at my computer and laughed. I listened to music and laughed. I went to pee in the bathroom and laughed the entire way back to my desk. There are typically only three reasons I laugh in the bathroom: 1) I hear someone fart 2) I fart 3) I hit my head on the stall door while bending over to see if there's anyone else present. None of these things occurred on this occasion. And I laughed the whole day until I forgot why I started. But when I remembered, I moped. Oops.

Pretty Piece of Flesh

I don't like living without a roommate. I miss my roommate. Come back roommate.

That said, I'm trying to make the best of it and to that end, I've spent a lot of time naked. Or at least in my underwear. Dancing. To angry chick music. Without flushing the toilet (conserving water? Seems like a minor perk).

So don't worry Swiss, when you return I will totally put clothes on for you. But in the meantime it's been kinda fun.

Writer's Block.

I haven't been able to think of anything to write! I'm backed up (A-teehee). It's as if I've consumed one too many delicious delicious Fiber One bars! Although I've recently confirmed with some smart smart medical school friends that there's no such thing as too much fiber. Hooray for me and my bars! And their chocolatey, oatey, non-cardboardy goodness. My Fiber One bar supplier totally knows me by now. Just FYI.

Oh, and for all those keeping track (which is really just me) it's been 135 days and counting...

Bye Bye Birdie, Why'd You Have to Go?

A bird landed on my head today as I was standing in front of my apartment. Had I known how tiny and cute it was, I wouldn't have been so violent in my efforts to shake it off. Poor birdie. I think I gave it a fright.

Today I peed next to this girl that peed so hard she actually sounded like a racehorse. It made me pleased to have a nice feminine tinkle. Because if there's one thing I'm self conscious about, it's the sound of my excretions/expulsions (flatulence counts).

I'm glad that bird didn't excrete on my head.

TWSS

Today I was concerned by the itchy state of my head over the past three days. I decided that in order to cover all my bases, I would purchase a lice comb and some moisturizing Head & Shoulders on my way home from happy hour. Unfortunately I began to fear the scene I would make upon wobbling into the store as the effects of a solitary beer took hold on my infinitesimal tolerance. I told my friend that I pictured myself stumbling in, demanding that they "make my head moist" and HOLY CRAP did I just inadvertently utter an awesome That's What She Said. Yeaaayuh.

Charlie, that Really Hurt

Mosquito. Bite. On. My. Butt.

Gone with the Wind

Whenever I smell a fart in public, I assume it was mine. Yes, I have a tendency to blame myself for any and all things, but this especially. Because even if I don't remember doing it, I'm never sure if I'm smelling the delayed result of some gas I maybe passed half hour ago.

Good luck.

You will never believe what happened today! I was hit with some ferocious bird poo! I say ferocious because it literally attacked me. I was walking to the liquor store with two friends when we heard a thwack. The thwack of a thousand molecules of bird poo striking me on the arm and thumb as the bird dove across the sky.

They say it's good luck right? I was silently celebrating. I hope this good luck is indicative of the possibility that I might get l**d again sometime in the future before I die.

Monster

I have a monster pimple on my chin. It's the kind where for a few days you know it's there because it hurts you, but it remains silent and invisible. Then suddenly you go to sleep and it rears its mighty [ugly] head.

I popped it this morning, but I keep having to run to the bathroom and check that it hasn't returned. When I start talking to people and notice that their eye contact diminishes and their stares of horror are directed below my mouth, I know it's time for a bathroom trip. It's a persistent one, this zit.

The Itchy and Scratchy Show

I like getting itches in the corner of my eye. They're pretty easy to scratch and there's something satifying about the socket-thing forming a sort of receptacle for your finger as you scratch. Totally awesome. I like itches in my ear for the same reason. You can just stick your finger in and wiggle it around and the itch is gone.

I HATE itches in my heels. They're never on the surface, they're always about an inch deep into your foot. And MY heels are not very smooth, and scratching them gives me the same heebie jeebies as getting my nails filed or sanding wood. Plus I kind of have a fear of touching my feet anyway (probably resulting from when I caught plantar's warts in camp and a had case of athlete's foot that got infected in 6th grade. Laser foot surgery? Not so fun.) So usually I end up just stamping my foot around or slamming it on whatever surface I can find. And the itch rarely goes away.

A few nights ago, I awoke to an itch in both my heels. It kept me up for an hour.

I think I'm paranoid.

I noticed that when you walk up the stairs to my apartment, it kind of smells like mildew. Or pee.

When you walk up the stairs out of my subway station, it definitely smells like pee.

Once while walking on a subway platform I was surrounded by the stink of the other three-letter p-starting bathroom word. I walked away from it and the smell was still there. I tried the other direction, and still - gross. Naturally, I grew paranoid that the smell was coming from me. I checked my feet to see if I'd stepped in anything. I checked my butt (yes, because my paranoia is so strong that I believed it would have been possible that I'd unknowingly sh*t through my pants at some point during the day). I was walking in circles, trying to avoid the funk and thus determine that I was not the source of the odor.

My conclusion, upon entering a fresh* smelling subway car, was that it wasn't me. And I'm just a lunatic.

*The subway car probably didn't smell fresh. But it didn't smell like poo so it was fresh by comparison.

80 Days

Today it has been 80 days since I did that thing I've wanted to do for a really really really long time. When I was little I thought that 20 would be a good age to do it. Then, as I got older, I revised my thinking and decided 18 was perfectly appropriate. And then I was 18, and when I hadn't done it I felt justified by the fact that, y'know, at least I was sticking to the initial plan. But then I was 20 and what do you know? It takes two to tango. And I didn't get to do it until 80 days ago, when I was 24 and a half.

80 is a nice round number. It feels like a long time. It's just over 1.5 dog years. (I used the calculator on my phone to figure that out while I was riding the bus on the way to my dentist. Also on that bus was a lady whose hair was square. Really.) And if I've been alive for about 9,026 days, that means I've only spent .8866% of my life as...one of those people who has done that thing. That statistic isn't particularly relevant...I should really calculate the time I've spent...doing that thing vs. the time I've spent doing anything else but I'll spare you the details and...no. I shouldn't be calculating anything.

I should just be condemned as the sicko that I am. I hope I don't have to wait another 8,946 days to do it again.

Happy Birthday Swiss!

This post is dedicated to my awesome friend Kelsey who turns 25 today. Jen suggested I post it so she could write mean things in the comments section. So, in honor of you and your birthday, Kelsey, I negate whatever mean things Jen says. But I encourage her participation in cheering you (or drawing attention to you) on your day.

I wish you loads of Kashi bars and fat free cool whip and sweet potatoes and veggie burgers. In that order.

Popcorn and the Burnies

I have a compulsion to talk about food always.

I've decided that the best pieces of popcorn are the ones that are not fully popped. The corn is still mostly inside the shell -- kind of like a turtle! Only crunchy and delicious!

My favorite parts of most other food are what I like to call the burnies. The charred parts. The carbon. I love the burnies on burgers, veggies, and especially eggs. And it's a good thing I exhibit this preference, because I can't cook a darn thing without setting the smoke alarm off.

A correction perhaps?

A friend of mine (one of the five readers of this blog) claims that oatmeal is a solid food. I think that's debatable. I will concede to his second point, that the fiber in oatmeal produces lots of solids.

Do you ever have one of those days where you realize you haven't eaten anything solid?
Recipes for such a day include meals and snacks consisting of:
Smoothies
Yogurt
Pudding
Oatmeal
Soup
Applesauce
Probably some cool whip, slightly melty.

Hurry up.

I went speed dating but I somehow escaped without any horror stories. Some guy asked me how I managed to have hair as long as I do. And he suggested that if his hair were as long as mine, it would look similar. But that was the event at its strangest.

Going in, I was certain that some guy would tell me I had chubby arms or crooked eyes and it would lead to the development of a whole range of new body complexes and self image issues. But there was nothing remotely like that. Without any superficial/appearance concerns to dwell on, I think I'll just fixate on how boring this blog post is.

I really have to urinate. But I ate so much frosting and cool whip (to offset my craving for bread -- it's Passover) that I cannot currently heave myself up from this couch.

Rant!

I have a friend and he doesn't like gmail. In trying to convince me of its suckiness, he presented a variety of arguments related to bodily functions and the poo analogies were flowing. So here they are, for all [four of you who know this blog exists] to enjoy:

M: The User Interface. it makes me want to throw up...and then. In Gmail, the line for the email in your inbox has the contents of the email spilled out on it. like guts.

M: ...google won the search engine war back in 97 because they had an excellent clean UI vs. yahoo vs. msn. vs. altavista etc....and now it's like they have fecal incontinence. it's spilling ALL OVER THE PLACE.

M: I still like the search engine. it's still clean. But this gmail ....like they were saving up their load.

and just let it rip on this application.


Teeheehee does anyone else find this SO SO funny?

I hate getting runs in my stockings. But it has its perks. I love it when I apply the appropriate amount of clear nail polish to prevent the run from expanding. It dries to my leg and feels really good when you pull it off. I also like getting my eyebrows waxed, picking my toes, and pumpkin from a can.

Blech

Sometimes no amount of poo talk or sexual innuendo is enough to distract you from the stupid things you're feeling. I have an inkling this headache is less of a hangover and more of a result of the hour I spent squishing the sadness (in liquid form) out of my head last night.

I'm not even hungry right now. Granted I did just scarf down a Lean Cuisine but those things are small, and who in history has ever seen me eat a meal without already planning for my next?

So now this is just a public journal? Lame. Bring back the half-arsed vulgarity.

How honest do I want this blog to be? And how implicating?

I may or may not have been sitting on the toilet while I wrote that last post.

I'm kidding! I swear!

Hello

Hmm...so this blog is for Sh*ts and Giggles. I don't like to curse so I'll bleep them out if they ever come up. I'll probably use asterisks or maybe "8's." Alternate words substitutions may apply.

I talk a lot because I'm afraid of silence but I'm not sure if I ever make any sense. Some people say it's entertaining (and then they'll purposely avoid speaking until my maniacal ramblings threaten to explode my face) but sometimes I worry people think I'm just stupid. Some of that crazy stuff may end up here. I don't believe in TMI and thus the title of this blog. But I'm determined not to make this a daily ledger of my bowel movements. Maybe I won't even mention them at all. Except now. Starting now.