Sunday, January 31, 2010
Stomach of Steel!
Last night I attended an Indian ceremony symbolizing for one of my friends. During the celebration, I found myself earning the label "hardcore" due to my unabashed ability to wolf down Indian food. I've never before been called "hardcore" unless it was related to Hanson! Rock!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Follow Your Nose
I recently dated this boy who seduced me with the way he smelled. In the sense that (Haha! Sense! Get it?) it was only after I got a whiff of him while we stood side by side playing an arcade game that I realized just how badly I wanted to erm...smell him.
Anyway, I'm not dating this boy anymore, and though it ended on good terms it's kind of too awkward to call him up and ask what cologne or soap he uses. (That IS awkward, right? Because I've thought about doing this...but so far I've kept myself in check). But damn I need to replicate that smell!
A friend told me that for a guy in his twenties, it could only be one of three things: Old Spice, something I forgot, or something else I forgot. And I also forgot who told me this...so please speak up if it was you. Yesterday I stopped into Rite Aid to sample their selection of Old Spice. Definitely not it. What do I do next?
Anyway, I'm not dating this boy anymore, and though it ended on good terms it's kind of too awkward to call him up and ask what cologne or soap he uses. (That IS awkward, right? Because I've thought about doing this...but so far I've kept myself in check). But damn I need to replicate that smell!
A friend told me that for a guy in his twenties, it could only be one of three things: Old Spice, something I forgot, or something else I forgot. And I also forgot who told me this...so please speak up if it was you. Yesterday I stopped into Rite Aid to sample their selection of Old Spice. Definitely not it. What do I do next?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I see London I see France
When I was in elementary school, I went to the bathroom on what seemed like a normal morning. Only when I pulled down my underpants to facilitate my pee, an extra pair of underpants fell to the floor.
More recently (four days ago to be precise) I put on a pair of underwear and followed with a pair of jeans. They felt a bit odd at first, as if a piece of the denim had folded up underneath itself. I shook my leg a bit, so as to un-stick the material and allow it to align itself properly. But after a few waves of my foot, a spare pair of underwear exited the hole where my ankle appeared at the bottom of the pants.
Shouldn't I have learned to dress myself by now?
More recently (four days ago to be precise) I put on a pair of underwear and followed with a pair of jeans. They felt a bit odd at first, as if a piece of the denim had folded up underneath itself. I shook my leg a bit, so as to un-stick the material and allow it to align itself properly. But after a few waves of my foot, a spare pair of underwear exited the hole where my ankle appeared at the bottom of the pants.
Shouldn't I have learned to dress myself by now?
Friday, January 22, 2010
Robin Joy
My friend Robin died on Monday. She and I had been classmates from kindergarten through 8th grade. In middle school I considered her one of my closest friends.
She was the first person I knew to join in my Hanson obsession. Her love of HITZ later morphed into an infatuation with the Dave Matthews Band, and as his lyrics suggest, "Celebrate we will, cuz life is short but sweet for certain." Robin had a short but sweet life, and her death made me think about the memories I shared with her and want celebrate them.
My sense of humor was born out of time spent with Robin. Like me, she took great pleasure in laughing at bodily functions. In sixth grade, we made up a song to the tune of "Let it Snow" called "Let it Spew" and by the end of the year, we had many of our classmates singing "All that vomit is flying out of your mouth let it spew let it spew let it spew."
That same year we also nicknamed any girl who had her period a "Dotty." I was the second girl in the class to become a Dotty and was teased (in fun) by Robin and our friends whenever I wore red, as it was interpreted to be indicative of my Dotty status.
In Seventh Grade we filmed a video for a history class, and neglected to delete the final scene of me and Robin and my brother dancing in fits of hysterics as I cleaned up a puddle of pee that my late doggy Misty had left at the top of the stairs. We were graded on this project, which we showed to the entire class, including that final scene. A!
On the last day of that history class, Robin and I convinced our teacher to play the MMMBop music video in front of our whole class. We both sat on the edge of our seats, salivating at the sight of Taylor playing keyboards in front of a giant pansy as the rest of our class groaned out of boredom and possibly disgust.
We both had a crush on David S. We called him Lobster because he used to rest his head on his hands, leaving giant red marks all over his face. When AOL was first released, we made our screennames Lobgrl1 and Lobgirl2 in honor of our mutual crush. (And yes, I was the one that found it necessary to engage in computer speak and omit the "i" in "girl.")
Robin was also one of my friends who was responsible for assigning me the role of "Purdue Mentor" in their oh-so-creative game of "Purdue World" where a bunch of chickens with human brains tried to take over the world in order to obtain everlasting youth and control of an oldies radio station. My role as the mentor was to be the singular character with a human body and a chicken brain. I had to teach the others how to behave like a chicken. And I also began to enjoy being the butt of the joke, as long as it was in fun.
More recently, after reading Robin's blog, I was inspired to start my own.
This post is getting super long, so I'll cut it off. But Robin, may you rest in peace. I am thankful for all of the ways you have touched my life and all the memories you shared with me.
She was the first person I knew to join in my Hanson obsession. Her love of HITZ later morphed into an infatuation with the Dave Matthews Band, and as his lyrics suggest, "Celebrate we will, cuz life is short but sweet for certain." Robin had a short but sweet life, and her death made me think about the memories I shared with her and want celebrate them.
My sense of humor was born out of time spent with Robin. Like me, she took great pleasure in laughing at bodily functions. In sixth grade, we made up a song to the tune of "Let it Snow" called "Let it Spew" and by the end of the year, we had many of our classmates singing "All that vomit is flying out of your mouth let it spew let it spew let it spew."
That same year we also nicknamed any girl who had her period a "Dotty." I was the second girl in the class to become a Dotty and was teased (in fun) by Robin and our friends whenever I wore red, as it was interpreted to be indicative of my Dotty status.
In Seventh Grade we filmed a video for a history class, and neglected to delete the final scene of me and Robin and my brother dancing in fits of hysterics as I cleaned up a puddle of pee that my late doggy Misty had left at the top of the stairs. We were graded on this project, which we showed to the entire class, including that final scene. A!
On the last day of that history class, Robin and I convinced our teacher to play the MMMBop music video in front of our whole class. We both sat on the edge of our seats, salivating at the sight of Taylor playing keyboards in front of a giant pansy as the rest of our class groaned out of boredom and possibly disgust.
We both had a crush on David S. We called him Lobster because he used to rest his head on his hands, leaving giant red marks all over his face. When AOL was first released, we made our screennames Lobgrl1 and Lobgirl2 in honor of our mutual crush. (And yes, I was the one that found it necessary to engage in computer speak and omit the "i" in "girl.")
Robin was also one of my friends who was responsible for assigning me the role of "Purdue Mentor" in their oh-so-creative game of "Purdue World" where a bunch of chickens with human brains tried to take over the world in order to obtain everlasting youth and control of an oldies radio station. My role as the mentor was to be the singular character with a human body and a chicken brain. I had to teach the others how to behave like a chicken. And I also began to enjoy being the butt of the joke, as long as it was in fun.
More recently, after reading Robin's blog, I was inspired to start my own.
This post is getting super long, so I'll cut it off. But Robin, may you rest in peace. I am thankful for all of the ways you have touched my life and all the memories you shared with me.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Warning: My Grossest Post Ever
My awesome friends Justin and Emma surprised me with a gift the other night. I tore open the pretty floral wrapping, revealing the words "What's Your Poo Telling You?" against the warm brown background of a hardcover book by Josh Richman and Anish Sheth, M.D. With illustrations by Peter Arkle.
I'm pretty sure this qualifies as one of the best presents I've ever received. It discusses the varied types of poo one may encounter (the book is exclusive to human feces...it tells you nothing about the kind that, say, descends from a bird in the sky and lands on your hand) including the "hanging chad," "soft serve," and the "log jam."
My favorite though, is the "clean sweep," defined as "rare and special occasions [when] you engage in the entire stooling process from engagement to deployment and note, in the cleanup phase, that amazingly there is no poo residue on the toilet paper." Because of some ~minor~ traumatizing experiences as a kid who couldn't spend less than 45 minutes on the toilet (my best friend's parents would often have to delay our dinner in order to accommodate my presence), I have learned to perfect the "clean sweep." You learn to recognize the feeling that proceeds this type of poo and take advantage of it.
Or maybe it's just all the fiber I eat.
I'm pretty sure this qualifies as one of the best presents I've ever received. It discusses the varied types of poo one may encounter (the book is exclusive to human feces...it tells you nothing about the kind that, say, descends from a bird in the sky and lands on your hand) including the "hanging chad," "soft serve," and the "log jam."
My favorite though, is the "clean sweep," defined as "rare and special occasions [when] you engage in the entire stooling process from engagement to deployment and note, in the cleanup phase, that amazingly there is no poo residue on the toilet paper." Because of some ~minor~ traumatizing experiences as a kid who couldn't spend less than 45 minutes on the toilet (my best friend's parents would often have to delay our dinner in order to accommodate my presence), I have learned to perfect the "clean sweep." You learn to recognize the feeling that proceeds this type of poo and take advantage of it.
Or maybe it's just all the fiber I eat.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Libra
I don't own a scale. I go to monthly meetings down the block when I want to get weighed and assure myself that binging on chocolate granola and fiber one bars hasn't driven me too far from my Weight Watchers goal. But I digress.
Sometimes, when I am outside of my home and I notice there is a scale in the bathroom that I am about to use, I weighh myself before I excrete. And then I weigh myself after I excrete. The aim of this exercise is to see how much weight I appear to have lost via urination and defecation. Or rather to see how much my pee and poo weigh. It's kind of awesome. Sometimes I wish I owned a scale just so I could keep tabs on these processes.
Sometimes, when I am outside of my home and I notice there is a scale in the bathroom that I am about to use, I weighh myself before I excrete. And then I weigh myself after I excrete. The aim of this exercise is to see how much weight I appear to have lost via urination and defecation. Or rather to see how much my pee and poo weigh. It's kind of awesome. Sometimes I wish I owned a scale just so I could keep tabs on these processes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)