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.