It's been a while. Sorry about that.
I have many stories, among them walking on a fat kid's back for 15 minutes. Don't worry -- it doesn't make any more sense once you hear the story.
Maybe I'll post these stories sometime.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
I am just waiting for the day ...
... when my cat headbutts me in the face so hard I get a nosebleed. It's pretty much bound to happen eventually, and on that day my life will have reached the Summit of Lameness. Hopefully after that I can get moving into the Valley of the Reasonably Cool.
Teenybopping
This is late, but what MK venture isn't? I am SO glad that Eve from Top Chef went home last week. I couldn't handle another episode of watching her mouth hang open. Shut your mouth, Eve! You may be the nicest person ever, and it seems like you might be, but you look stupid with your mouth flapping open. Gah. Add that to Jen and her GIANT gauged ears that went home in the first episode, and I can now handle watching Top Chef for the rest of the season without being unreasonably annoyed by aesthetics. If only I could get Padma to reconsider a few of her wardrobe choices ...
Speaking of ill-conceived clothing choices, I will be going to the Britney Spears concert tomorrow with my little. Big Brothers, Big Sisters was able to procure some tickets, so T and I are going to dinner and the show. Considering I also saw Hannah Montana: The Movie with her, I think I am turning into a teenybopper. Again. Didn't I have enough embarrassing Hanson and Backstreet Boys and MTV moments in middle school? Although I did secretly kind of enjoy the Hannah Montana movie (the guy was cute! Even though I looked him up later and he was 18 ... whoops. Just how I roll, I guess.) Maybe the Britney concert will be the same way -- not the way-too-young-for-me bit, but the enjoyable-in-a-guilty-pleasure-sort-of-way bit. What I really want to see, though, is a patented Britney shitshow, a la VMAs 2008. I will let you all know which one happens, or if it's secret option C) just annoying.
All right. It's late, I'm tired and I have to get lots of beauty sleep for Ms. Spears, or really in order to handle the swarms of screaming adolescents that will accompany Ms. Spears. Baby Jesus, grant me strength.
Speaking of ill-conceived clothing choices, I will be going to the Britney Spears concert tomorrow with my little. Big Brothers, Big Sisters was able to procure some tickets, so T and I are going to dinner and the show. Considering I also saw Hannah Montana: The Movie with her, I think I am turning into a teenybopper. Again. Didn't I have enough embarrassing Hanson and Backstreet Boys and MTV moments in middle school? Although I did secretly kind of enjoy the Hannah Montana movie (the guy was cute! Even though I looked him up later and he was 18 ... whoops. Just how I roll, I guess.) Maybe the Britney concert will be the same way -- not the way-too-young-for-me bit, but the enjoyable-in-a-guilty-pleasure-sort-of-way bit. What I really want to see, though, is a patented Britney shitshow, a la VMAs 2008. I will let you all know which one happens, or if it's secret option C) just annoying.
All right. It's late, I'm tired and I have to get lots of beauty sleep for Ms. Spears, or really in order to handle the swarms of screaming adolescents that will accompany Ms. Spears. Baby Jesus, grant me strength.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Never mind ...
I do have something to say. Even though I said nothing all of August, which is ironic considering August was the most eventful month of my life in quite some time.
But that aside, the something I have to say is this: it is good to be back at Emory, but I underestimated how empty Emory would feel without friends here. Not that I don't have younger friends, because I have a few, but without my close group, it really doesn't feel like the same place. It's almost like I am here for a job, and I have the advantage of already being familiar with the campus and the routine of school, but I still just have to slog through it. Maybe this feeling will fade, maybe it won't, but it's definitely here now and it's not fun. The good news is that is just regular not fun, not depressed not fun. Silver lining, right?
Oh yeah, and I have one more thing to say: I own the worst computer ever. I typed this post in between the screen flickering on and off, and it shut itself down for no reason during the middle of the previous paragraph. Anyone have donations to the MK's New Less Shitty Computer Fund (MKNLSCF)? Maybe I need to work on the acronym. It's not really as donatable as, say, UNICEF. Either way, though, I am currently working with a special-needs machine. Computarded is clever but not very PC (Ha, PC! Get it?), so maybe I'll say technologically challenged.
As my bro says, now it's time to make like a baby and head out. Good night, and thanks for stopping by. You stay classy, blogosphere.
But that aside, the something I have to say is this: it is good to be back at Emory, but I underestimated how empty Emory would feel without friends here. Not that I don't have younger friends, because I have a few, but without my close group, it really doesn't feel like the same place. It's almost like I am here for a job, and I have the advantage of already being familiar with the campus and the routine of school, but I still just have to slog through it. Maybe this feeling will fade, maybe it won't, but it's definitely here now and it's not fun. The good news is that is just regular not fun, not depressed not fun. Silver lining, right?
Oh yeah, and I have one more thing to say: I own the worst computer ever. I typed this post in between the screen flickering on and off, and it shut itself down for no reason during the middle of the previous paragraph. Anyone have donations to the MK's New Less Shitty Computer Fund (MKNLSCF)? Maybe I need to work on the acronym. It's not really as donatable as, say, UNICEF. Either way, though, I am currently working with a special-needs machine. Computarded is clever but not very PC (Ha, PC! Get it?), so maybe I'll say technologically challenged.
As my bro says, now it's time to make like a baby and head out. Good night, and thanks for stopping by. You stay classy, blogosphere.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The Stealth Bomber
Today, my roommate asked me if her guy friend could use my bathroom. I was suspicious, especially when she laughed and said, "We had Willy's burritos for lunch." But, being a generally charitable person, I said yes.
I should have known.
What ensued will haunt me for many years to come: a horrifying, 15-minute digestive symphony, complete with percussion, vocals and an odor, as my classy Aunt Kris would say, that could knock a buzzard off a shitwagon. All the while, my roommate traipsed around the apartment, laughing and joking with the carefree bliss of someone whose bathroom was not being destroyed. I sat cringing on my bed as the carnage continued, wincing every so often at an especially loud or fragrant blast.
And then it got worse. I heard several flushes, a plunger, a few more flushes and the frantic spraying of air freshener. The whir of the fan, the click of the light switch, and then the door swung open and the offender tiptoed out. He did not meet my eyes.
Guess what I did not hear?
Did you catch it yet?
The sounds that were so terribly, terribly absent were the splash of water and the lathering of soap. The sounds of proper hygiene. That's right: HE DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS.
After assuaging my nausea and allowing the bathroom to air out for several hours, I approached the scene of the crime. The aftermath was gruesome. I will spare you the details, but suffice to say I Clorox-wiped every exposed surface of the bathroom and swabbed the toilet with pure bleach. I wiped down the air freshener, the plunger handle, the light and fan switches and the inner and outer doorknobs, all the while thanking the gods of decency that my toothbrush was in a drawer instead of the open air. When I finally finished, I washed my hands three times. I was taking no chances.
I never saw his face, which is probably for the best. I would hate to throw up in public if I ever run into him on the Emory campus. But I hope that, wherever he is, he is properly shamed by his actions. If that guilt will shield just one other person from the psychological trauma of the Stealth Bomber, then he will not have shat in vain.
FML.
I should have known.
What ensued will haunt me for many years to come: a horrifying, 15-minute digestive symphony, complete with percussion, vocals and an odor, as my classy Aunt Kris would say, that could knock a buzzard off a shitwagon. All the while, my roommate traipsed around the apartment, laughing and joking with the carefree bliss of someone whose bathroom was not being destroyed. I sat cringing on my bed as the carnage continued, wincing every so often at an especially loud or fragrant blast.
And then it got worse. I heard several flushes, a plunger, a few more flushes and the frantic spraying of air freshener. The whir of the fan, the click of the light switch, and then the door swung open and the offender tiptoed out. He did not meet my eyes.
Guess what I did not hear?
Did you catch it yet?
The sounds that were so terribly, terribly absent were the splash of water and the lathering of soap. The sounds of proper hygiene. That's right: HE DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS.
After assuaging my nausea and allowing the bathroom to air out for several hours, I approached the scene of the crime. The aftermath was gruesome. I will spare you the details, but suffice to say I Clorox-wiped every exposed surface of the bathroom and swabbed the toilet with pure bleach. I wiped down the air freshener, the plunger handle, the light and fan switches and the inner and outer doorknobs, all the while thanking the gods of decency that my toothbrush was in a drawer instead of the open air. When I finally finished, I washed my hands three times. I was taking no chances.
I never saw his face, which is probably for the best. I would hate to throw up in public if I ever run into him on the Emory campus. But I hope that, wherever he is, he is properly shamed by his actions. If that guilt will shield just one other person from the psychological trauma of the Stealth Bomber, then he will not have shat in vain.
FML.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Spam blog?
So the other blog I write for on occasion, the SAS blog, has been locked and flagged as a Spam blog. Maybe because there were so many posts from so many different people? I really have no idea, but hopefully it will be unlocked soon.
In other news, I have a great many inappropriate crushes, none of them with any chance of going anywhere: the UPS guy, a tutor at work, etc. I guess to crush from afar is easier than to pick someone with a chance of working out? At any rate, it's fun to look.
Also, to create something of a running narrative (gasp), I almost told TWO people on my list of "things I wish I could tell you but I can't." However, they both said things during the conversation that made me change my mind at the last minute. Damn.
In other news, I have a great many inappropriate crushes, none of them with any chance of going anywhere: the UPS guy, a tutor at work, etc. I guess to crush from afar is easier than to pick someone with a chance of working out? At any rate, it's fun to look.
Also, to create something of a running narrative (gasp), I almost told TWO people on my list of "things I wish I could tell you but I can't." However, they both said things during the conversation that made me change my mind at the last minute. Damn.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
