Keep Your Blood Off the Furniture!

Sometimes, entertaining people come over. And by that I mean my roommate's friend and his cousin. His cousin just makes fun of my roommate and talks about how glorious he and skydiving are, and my roommate laughs, and then her friend bleeds. Yes, bleeds. It started like this. We needed some almonds for the salad. We had just obtained an ulu knife (an Alaskan (as in Eskimo) knife design) which is a rather strange (and thus exciting) knife. So my roommate began cutting almonds, but then took a phone call. So her friend says, "Here, I have two hands. Let me do that." She looks away. She looks back. He's only using one hand. She says, "What happened to your hand?!" He says "Nothing." She says "Don't lie to me." He says, "It's fine, really." She says, "False, let me see your hand!" So he finally lets her see it when it's clear that the bleeding will need to be stopped, as it is coming forth from his clenched hand. i.e. he really did cut it and could no longer deny. She takes him to the bathroom, they wash it off, are glad he still has a fingertip (mostly), yada yada yada. And then life goes on, we eat dinner, he keeps a tissue on his finger for most of the night because it won't stop bleeding. And then I step in something. And it's red. I say, "Dude, no bleeding on my floor!" and his cousin is all, "Oh come on, it's BBQ sauce." False. Twas blood. And then I go into my bathroom. Blood. On the toilet, on the sink, in the garbage. I have the greatest of sympathy for his almost decapitated finger. But dude, blood on the floor, fridge, toilet, counter, in the almonds.... Keep your blood off of the furniture.

It's Disneyland! It's Christmas! It's an Antiobiotic!

To the tune of "It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman!" Basically, I have not been so excited for something for quite some time. What is this excitement about? Antibiotics and steroid creams. You might ask why that would be exciting. Let me tell you (those of you who are sensitive may want to skip this....). I have recently acquired a skin disease (called dishydrotic eczcema) where your body leaks protein out of raised bumps on your hands and feet. And they crack and bleed and are super gross. And then it spreads, and you totally look like a leper. And then it gets worse and worse, and then there's a bacterial infection too, and you can no longer move your fingers because they're so full of nasty crap, and every movement is painful, and life is horrible. And so then, after years and months and decades of agony, you get prescriptions for it. And I have not been so excited for a long time. And not just like, "Finally, this stuff will go away," but like, "Glory be and oh joy! I get to start my medication tomorrow! :D" And that's how I've been feeling. Taking pills has never been accompanied by so many smiles...

Three Times A Sock

Once upon a time I was coaching gymnastics (this is not on infrequent occurrence), and we were discussing the recent (as in in the last few years)  fad of wearing mismatched socks, because my associate was wearing one black ankle sock, and one long striped one. As a result, she was not truly "hip" because the "usual" way to wear mismatched socks is to wear thin, neon colored, ankle socks. I mentioned this to her. She spoke on how it didn't matter, because she wore shoes except at gymnastics. And socks do what socks do, matched or not. I found this to be quite profound. And thus it occurred to me, that a sock is a sock is a sock. Thrice a sock, as it were. Which brings me to this poem:

I am three socks, I know,
For thinking, believing, and for saying so,

In poetry, so filled with literal truth.

But what wise man, would not be a sock,

If he would not deny it so?

For wisdom is but naught
Unless with difference it is fraught.

Through rhyme and prose,
The philosophies of this world doth go,
And I thought that through the verse,
I might fetter this mental dearth.
It seems to be so, as now, I am but two.

Though not quite like Moses,
Who doth suppose that his toeses,
They are roses, I do suppose erroneously.
For I suppose us to be as socks,
and Twice at that.

And as this poetic prose goes on,
I, like a pair  of socks,
So low in the scheme of clothes,
Which was two, am reduced to one.
Only once a sock, and nothing more.
There is but little else for me to do,
But to find a foot on which to dwell.
I think I'll look for Moses',
For I hear they smell well.

(inspired by John Donne: The Triple Fool)

Which seems to conclude my discourse on socks. I seem to have exhausted the supply of sock related issues for the moment, but I do hope that you have the happiness of finding matching socks and wearing socks without holes. May the goblins not steal your socks, neither the left nor the right. May the dryer eat a whole pair instead of just one, and may your feet ever smell of roses.

It'll Be Okay, Little Leper

Mostly, that's a hilarious sentence. So I had to entitle something that. And there are beautiful truths embedded in it. You should find them. And my apartment smells like chickeny deliciousness. And I wonder if anyone READS this. It's my theory that people accidentally click to it and then leave as soon as possible. Why? Because MONEY! False, actually. That's the correct response for all questions in history and economics. And health care. Also! Sometimes you delete your facebook. And then your friend (who is also your brother's ex-girlfriend) who essentially lives at your house, doesn't even tell you that she's in a relationship! And so you find out via your roommate (your brother's other ex-girlfriend), who sees it on facebook. And then you realize, that over the course of your college experience, that not only have your social skills and flirting abilities been reduced to absolute zero, but you also apparently don't exist! It would seem one must have an electronic presence to merit attention. Or information. And ignorance is bliss. Thus, I am slowly becoming incredibly happy.... Without my knowledge. But hey, that makes me even happier. Gee, I feel myself sinking into indescribable bliss as we speak. I really hope someone somewhere is laughing right now... Every time I write a blog post I debate about what I can say about who because I don't know who a) does read it or b) who might at some future date. So... then I usually don't. Which is probably for the best. Besides, it keeps the world at large in ignorance, thus increasing the world wide supply of bliss. Ahh, I feel so much better about my non-contribution to society.

At Least It's Not Flesh Eating Bacteria

Some days are just out to get your soul. You can't wake up, you didn't get any of your homework done, nobody loves you, you look like a leper because of your multitudinous skin diseases for which there seem to be no explanation or cure, you're in pain, people mistake you for the wrong gender, you forget to bring your dance shoes, you lose an earring, you don't understand the calculus, your backpack decides to have technical issues, and you're hungry and tired all day. And your car is behaving strangely. And there are too many people to take care of at work. And then you're trying to be a good person, but people make it difficult without even telling you, and then you're just grumpy. And even though all you want to do is eat ice-cream, take a hot shower, go to sleep, and ignore the world, it's not all that bad. In fact, it's days like these when your better nature has to rise to the occasion. At times like these we must hold our heads high, and tell ourselves to be grateful. Grateful I tell you, for all those things that went wrong, because there are alternatives that could be much worse. You just have to be grateful for the little things. For instance, that your little sore throat in the morning isn't cancer. Or that your car's transmission didn't blow up, it just acquired a new idiosyncrasy. Or that at least you have a job to be dissatisfied about. Or that you had earrings to lose, you're getting an education, and you have the ability and the resources to remedy things like being tired and hungry. It is on days like these when we must remember that there are people who have it worse, and that our problems are not really bad, or sometimes that they're not even a problem. And that even if they are, so what? It'll be okay. Soul-eating days are all good; they make non-soul-eating days much better. Life is all about perspective, see? Bad things can be bad, or they can be learning experiences (oh the clicheness! It's leaping off the page to strangle you!). When your salsa partner decides to ignore you for forever, when no one responds to your texts, when your roommate makes you make dinner, and you feel like you look like a teenage boy from 80's, when you're hands feel like they're going to fall off; there is always a bright side, because it could be worse. Because at least it's not flesh eating bacteria.

Cease Your Incessant Kissing!

Why do I bring this up? Spring of course. The time of year when people's hearts and minds turn to love. In all fairness, there's no guarantees that it's actually spring yet, as it tends to snow randomly into June, but people are hopeful. The effect is the same. I was thinking about this, as I walked around campus. There are substantially more smiling people, substantially more male to female interactions, and substantially more hand holding and the like. But why? What about spring makes us all so twitter-patted? Some say it's just the good weather. People are happy and coming out of the winter blues, and that equates to romance and increased social interaction. Others say spring is the time of love and it's just the way it is. I have a different theory. It's because we're reminded what each other look like. Classy as fall and winter fashion is, it's not the same as spring and summer. That is not to say that people are wandering around falling out of their clothes. But all of a sudden, the weather is warm, the coats, boots, hats, scarves, parkas, and face-masks go back in storage, and we go, "Oh yeah! That's what a male/female looks like!" We remember and then we like it. And thus, we all go ga-ga and get twittered-patted and pathetic. Nothing to do with beauty and romance and hopeful ideals. Nah, our hormones just remind us what we like about the other sex. Now. Spring, love, romance. Kissing. I accidently sat across from an engaged couple in a study area. This, was a bad plan, as I did not yet understand the consequences of my actions. Little did I know. I understand that they're madly in love, that they do not see each other much or often, and that they must wait to get married and that life is hard and stressful and love is beautiful and exciting. But! If I were to dictate their conversation it would go something like: How was your day kiss It was fine kiss How was your day kiss You seem stressed kiss Do you want to talk about it kiss No I'm not stressed kiss Did you call your parents kiss No kiss You should do that kiss Probably kiss Do you want to take a trip between this time and this time kiss Meh kiss and etc. Point is. There is no punctuation, as the kissing fulfilled that function just fine. I admire their love and stuff and stuff. But I've decided kissing is an incredible annoying noise. Not when oneself is engaged in the activity; it's kind of in the back of your mind. But when you're trying to do calculus, it's incredibly frustrating. And so, to all those engaged or newly wed couples, sitting on top of each other and punctuating your conversations with kisses in study areas and places of the sort, I would kindly ask you, to cease your incessant kissing.

Chapter 18: In Which I Get Locked Out of My Apartment Again, and Look Forward To Chemical Failure

I still have not taken that chemistry test. But I have to. I have no option. But let me tell you story.

I moved to an apartment to go to school. Yippee. Turns out that people lock their doors or something. I understand that people do this. I understand that they always have. I just never did, and so it was something of an adjustment to me. So much so, that sometimes I forget that our door locks. So a few weeks ago, I ran outside to my car to check for my vegetable jar (in which I carry my daily vegetables) which I had not been able to find in the apartment. I am fortunately wearing clothes and shoes (which is unusual for me if leaving the house for the day isn't happening in that next 10 minutes). I go to my car. I do not find my vegetable jar. I run back up to my door. I cannot open the door. I try. In vain. For several minutes. I finally give up. My roommate is gone at work, and has a big presentation that day. All of my books, homework, assignments, my computer, my phone, a jacket, food, and most importantly, my keys, are all in my apartment. I have no access to them. So after standing about freezing for a minute, I run over to apartment 27. This is where, "the boys" live. My friend from high school was going to come hang out with me that day. I now had no way to contact them. I was going to work on a lab report with my chemistry group. I now had no way to contact them. I needed my lab report. And my notebooks. I now did not have them. So. I asked if I could borrow a phone. I called my roommate, she didn't answer. I sat about. I hadn't even brushed my teeth yet. This was ridiculous. I had been going to meet with people at 11, it was now 10:30. So I went to my (unlocked) car, got a pad of paper, a pen, and a pencil out of the glove compartment. One of "the boys" was kind enough to give me gum, another kind enough to let me use his phone, and still another kind enough to give me a ride to the school. I call my high school friend and tell him to meet me in the chemistry building. I run over there, and meet up with my lab people. They are kind to me, and print me a new lab. And... make fun of me. I take notes on borrowed paper, I send my friend on a wild goose chase, earn his everlasting hate, use random people's phones, meet up with my roommate, and steal her keys. In the end, I made it home, made it into my apartment, got my lab turned in, and I got to work. All's well that ends well, and it's a pretty entertaining story. I made a quasi-vow that that would never happen again. But then.... it turned Tuesday again.

Let me tell you another story.

I have a big chemistry test. I am not prepared for it. I need to sleep, accomplish studying, and do peripheral homework for other classes. Instead I take cake to "the boys", and teach my roommate basic Latin dancing. Then I go to bed, and try to get up in the morning to study. I fall back asleep, and feel sick. I try to study. It sort of works. I fall asleep again. I listen to more Latin music. I try to study. I walk outside in my slippers (I'm wearing clothes already, hoping that somehow being clothed will equate to academic motivation. It didn't.) to relieve my mounting insanity. The door closes behind me. I stand. I breathe. I turn to go inside. I can't believe myself. I stand about, trying to open the door, yet again, in vain. I run over to apartment 27, and no one is home. I have no phone, again. I have no car, again. I have no computer, no books, no nothing. There is a kind young man fertilizing the lawns of the apartment complex, and I ask to borrow his phone. My roommate answers, sounding confused. She tells me she will shoot me if I tell her I got locked out again. I'm glad she has no gun. She, fortunately enough, had not yet gone to the testing center to take her test and turn off her phone. So she said she would be home in approximately 20 minutes. Excellent. I have no shoes, no jacket, no one in the apartment complex I know who's home. So what do I do? What anyone does in that situation. Go lie on the sidewalk in the sun, and take a quasi-nap. Which I did. And I am fairly certain that the people who hear me sing constantly (and loudly), watch me carry/pull around my giant backpack, watch me jump down the stairs, listen to me talk to myself, and find me lying on the sidewalk in the middle of the morning in my slippers, think I'm freaking insane. Which I might be. Anywho. Roommate let me in, I ate food, changed out of my dirty sweater (I'd been lying on the ground in it for 20 minutes or so), and prepared myself to leave. And now, here I am again, trying to study, but not. The predication for the end of the story goes like this:

I get no studying done. I go to calculus for the last 15 minutes so I can take a quiz. I go to work, where frustration and inefficiency abound. Then I rush to the testing center to take the chemistry test, where I spend three hours furiously trying to not fail. But then I do. And then I go home, knowing that I deserve every percent I got wrong, and instead of going to bed like I should, play solitaire for hours on end and listen to Latin music. Then wake up and hate myself the rest of the week. Good thing I don't eat cake.

Dear Reader, I love you, and I hope your day is going well :)

Chapter 17: In Which I Most Lilkely Fail A Chemistry Test

Sometimes, I really just don' wanna. Today is one of those days. Or nights maybe. I have a chemistry test to take, and no desire to study. Which would be alright if I were better prepared. But I'm not. Obviously... In any event, I'm sitting at my computer, thinking about studying. But it's my roommates birthday, so now we're going to go feed males cake. Which is good, cuz I certainly can't eat it. Which is  a gluten intolerance issue, not a must-stay-skinny issue. You know what they say, you can't have your cake and eat it too. Obviously, as we have cake, and I can't eat it. But I have it. I always thought that was a dumb saying. This might make it dumber... Who knows. Anywho. Roommate, the ancient two whole decades age today. Age is weird stuff. No matter how old I get, someone who was the age I happen to be always seemed older. And I think that will forever be the case. I'll always be young, merely because someone else got there first. And then I'll die of old age and wonder how it happened... And now we feed people cake.