I know what I thought of instantly. My question is, did you think the same?
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
My life is... Magical.
I know what I thought of instantly. My question is, did you think the same?
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The porcupine's ate your food!
Alaska. The last frontier. Who doesn't, on some level, wish to explore the state that has 640 square miles of land for every mile of paved road?
Fortunately, I was able to fulfill this desire recently. In fact, I came to know Alaska on a very personal level very quickly.
As my plane headed out of Seattle in the evening, I anxiously awaited the moment the tires would touch the tarmac. That was when I knew my adventure would begin. To kill the time until that moment, I began talking to my seat mate. He was headed to the same area I was, and we began talking about our plans for the summer. It came up that we were both going to be heading out of Juneau in the morning, and that I had no place to stay. Through some slight miscommunication, I had embarked on my journey without having anywhere to stay as I waited for my ferry in the morning. I figured it would be ok; people sleep in airports all the time right?
Wrong. Our plane landed in Juneau and we got off to a party waiting for us. No, they weren't our greeters. No, they weren't our friends. It was a party of workers. Apparently the Juneau airport closes at night, (who knew this actually happened?) so finding a corner somewhere where I could crash was out of the question.
Well, plan A was out. On to plan B. Finding a hotel. Not realizing that Alaska is number 3 on the list of states with the highest cost of living, I walked across the street to the closest hotel, asking for a room. They told me sure (Great! Why wasn't this plan A?) and that it would be around $200. WHAT. For one night? And at 11o'clock at night? Don't they discount these babies if they aren't all filled up?
Not knowing what else to do, I gave in to the bureaucratic hotel system and handed over my card. Which they promptly handed back, saying it had been "declined." (Side note: That word is the worst word in the world. Not only does it bring about an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment, it brings about a great deal of panic and stress.)
The lady at the desk looked at me with pity in her eyes, asking "Is there anyone you can call...?"
Hm. Let me think about this. It's 11o'clock in Alaska. Anyone I know is at least two hours ahead of me. Meaning it's one in the morning for them. And I'm sure they'd be more than willing to help out, but, I'm stubborn and independent. So... "No. There isn't. Do you know where the ferry station is?"
The lady at the desk handed me a map, telling me that it was just up the road about five miles, and that it would be on my left. She drew on the map, starring about where she thought it would be. Thanking her, I left the comfort of the hotel and walked out into the drizzling rain of Juneau. (Is it ever not raining in Juneau?)
Armed with my map, backpack, carry-on, and checked baggage, (all weighing over 100 pounds) I embarked on the real part of my journey. I began walking up the highway, which, let's be honest, was really just a skinny road through the middle of the forest. Being in fairly good shape, walking the five miles in the rain while pulling my luggage wasn't entirely unbearable. It was also made more bearable by knowing that my other option was to sleep in the forest, where an attack of a bear was surely imminent.
Finally, I made it to the ferry station. I sighed a sigh of relief, and... Had no idea what to do. It was now around two in the morning, 42 degrees, and still drizzling. So I did what anyone would do. I looked around for a place to sleep for the night. And lo and behold, what should I find but a covered bus bench? Naturally, I curled up on that bench and settled in for the night.
Unfortunately, my rest was short-lived. First of all, I'd been quite warm as I'd walked, but the longer I sat, the colder I got. I opened up my suitcase and began putting on layer after layer, trying to stay warm. While the cold almost put me over the edge, the final straw were the porcupines.
I'd had some food for my travels, and some porcupines decided that they would now stake claim to it. After shooing them away and putting my food in a more secure place, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep there any longer. By this point I still had a good four hours to go before the ferry would be leaving, and had absolutely nothing to do. It was too cold to just sit on the bench. Nowhere was open. There wasn't anything I could do, other than go exploring.
I walked down to the docks and looked at all the boats there. It was about this time that I realized that I was standing next to a building. A building with a bathroom. A bathroom that was more than likely heated. I rushed to the door, only to see a sign saying that the bathrooms would be locked at 9 pm every night. Ignoring the sign, I pulled on the door, and by some miracle, it had been prevented from latching! I was in! Finally, somewhere to rest.
But wait. A bathroom? Did I really want to sleep in a bathroom? Ok, who am I kidding. I didn't even think twice about this. I was just so grateful to be out of the rain and cold that I didn't even care where I was. I pulled my luggage into one of the shower stalls, curled up on top of it, and settled in for what was left of my night.
A little before 7 the next morning, one of the boat occupiers came in for her morning shower. After she got out, I called over to her, "Hey, is this where the ferry comes?"
"No... It's actually a couple more miles up the road."
What. You've gotta be kidding me! My ferry was scheduled to leave at 8, and it was now a little after 7. I grabbed all my luggage and wheeled it out, beginning to practically sprint up the road. Not knowing just how far I had to go, or how long it would take me, I was stressing. I just kept praying that someone would have pity on me and pick me up.
Finally, after panicking for 10ish minutes, someone pulled over and offered me a ride. I jumped at the chance. I climbed into their truck, and they informed me that the ferry had a new rule that everyone had to be loaded a half-hour before they took off. If these kind people wouldn't have picked me up, I surely would have been stuck spending yet another night in that blasted bathroom.
Fortunately, I was able to fulfill this desire recently. In fact, I came to know Alaska on a very personal level very quickly.
As my plane headed out of Seattle in the evening, I anxiously awaited the moment the tires would touch the tarmac. That was when I knew my adventure would begin. To kill the time until that moment, I began talking to my seat mate. He was headed to the same area I was, and we began talking about our plans for the summer. It came up that we were both going to be heading out of Juneau in the morning, and that I had no place to stay. Through some slight miscommunication, I had embarked on my journey without having anywhere to stay as I waited for my ferry in the morning. I figured it would be ok; people sleep in airports all the time right?
Wrong. Our plane landed in Juneau and we got off to a party waiting for us. No, they weren't our greeters. No, they weren't our friends. It was a party of workers. Apparently the Juneau airport closes at night, (who knew this actually happened?) so finding a corner somewhere where I could crash was out of the question.
Well, plan A was out. On to plan B. Finding a hotel. Not realizing that Alaska is number 3 on the list of states with the highest cost of living, I walked across the street to the closest hotel, asking for a room. They told me sure (Great! Why wasn't this plan A?) and that it would be around $200. WHAT. For one night? And at 11o'clock at night? Don't they discount these babies if they aren't all filled up?
Not knowing what else to do, I gave in to the bureaucratic hotel system and handed over my card. Which they promptly handed back, saying it had been "declined." (Side note: That word is the worst word in the world. Not only does it bring about an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment, it brings about a great deal of panic and stress.)
The lady at the desk looked at me with pity in her eyes, asking "Is there anyone you can call...?"
Hm. Let me think about this. It's 11o'clock in Alaska. Anyone I know is at least two hours ahead of me. Meaning it's one in the morning for them. And I'm sure they'd be more than willing to help out, but, I'm stubborn and independent. So... "No. There isn't. Do you know where the ferry station is?"
The lady at the desk handed me a map, telling me that it was just up the road about five miles, and that it would be on my left. She drew on the map, starring about where she thought it would be. Thanking her, I left the comfort of the hotel and walked out into the drizzling rain of Juneau. (Is it ever not raining in Juneau?)
Armed with my map, backpack, carry-on, and checked baggage, (all weighing over 100 pounds) I embarked on the real part of my journey. I began walking up the highway, which, let's be honest, was really just a skinny road through the middle of the forest. Being in fairly good shape, walking the five miles in the rain while pulling my luggage wasn't entirely unbearable. It was also made more bearable by knowing that my other option was to sleep in the forest, where an attack of a bear was surely imminent.
Finally, I made it to the ferry station. I sighed a sigh of relief, and... Had no idea what to do. It was now around two in the morning, 42 degrees, and still drizzling. So I did what anyone would do. I looked around for a place to sleep for the night. And lo and behold, what should I find but a covered bus bench? Naturally, I curled up on that bench and settled in for the night.
Unfortunately, my rest was short-lived. First of all, I'd been quite warm as I'd walked, but the longer I sat, the colder I got. I opened up my suitcase and began putting on layer after layer, trying to stay warm. While the cold almost put me over the edge, the final straw were the porcupines.
I'd had some food for my travels, and some porcupines decided that they would now stake claim to it. After shooing them away and putting my food in a more secure place, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep there any longer. By this point I still had a good four hours to go before the ferry would be leaving, and had absolutely nothing to do. It was too cold to just sit on the bench. Nowhere was open. There wasn't anything I could do, other than go exploring.
I walked down to the docks and looked at all the boats there. It was about this time that I realized that I was standing next to a building. A building with a bathroom. A bathroom that was more than likely heated. I rushed to the door, only to see a sign saying that the bathrooms would be locked at 9 pm every night. Ignoring the sign, I pulled on the door, and by some miracle, it had been prevented from latching! I was in! Finally, somewhere to rest.
But wait. A bathroom? Did I really want to sleep in a bathroom? Ok, who am I kidding. I didn't even think twice about this. I was just so grateful to be out of the rain and cold that I didn't even care where I was. I pulled my luggage into one of the shower stalls, curled up on top of it, and settled in for what was left of my night.
A little before 7 the next morning, one of the boat occupiers came in for her morning shower. After she got out, I called over to her, "Hey, is this where the ferry comes?"
"No... It's actually a couple more miles up the road."
What. You've gotta be kidding me! My ferry was scheduled to leave at 8, and it was now a little after 7. I grabbed all my luggage and wheeled it out, beginning to practically sprint up the road. Not knowing just how far I had to go, or how long it would take me, I was stressing. I just kept praying that someone would have pity on me and pick me up.
Finally, after panicking for 10ish minutes, someone pulled over and offered me a ride. I jumped at the chance. I climbed into their truck, and they informed me that the ferry had a new rule that everyone had to be loaded a half-hour before they took off. If these kind people wouldn't have picked me up, I surely would have been stuck spending yet another night in that blasted bathroom.
This is what happens when you spend more time at the library than at home.
Remember my gum addiction? Well, when I'm trying to focus or am stressed, my gum intake increases exponentially.
Yesterday I was a combo of both. As I sat in the library, I broke out the fruity gum. (Which, we must admit, is only fun to chew for two minutes anyway.) Slowly but surely, over the course of an hour, I demolished that pack of gum. Yes, the entire pack was gone within an hour. After I finished, I felt a bit sheepish, and thought to myself, "Gee, that guy over there probably thinks I'm some sort of freak for chewing this whole pack of gum. How embarrassing." But, since he was a stranger, I didn't worry too much about it.
Unfortunately, the same type of people frequent the library. As I walked into the library today, who should I see but the man who'd witnessed my attack on the pack of gum the night before? I sat down and began studying (this time without the fruity gum) until I heard a voice.
"Excuse me, are you the girl who went through an entire pack of gum last night?"
Shoot. He'd noticed. And he was confronting me about this. Shoot shoot shoot. "Oh shoot. You noticed?" I replied.
"Well it was kinda hard not to..."
Oh boy. Talk about embarrassing. We chatted for a minute, introducing ourselves, (his name was Benjamin) and he left. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. I flipped it open to a text from my friend (who apparently is friends with Benjamin) that read, "So I hear you can pound a pack of gum like no other."
Shoot again.
Yesterday I was a combo of both. As I sat in the library, I broke out the fruity gum. (Which, we must admit, is only fun to chew for two minutes anyway.) Slowly but surely, over the course of an hour, I demolished that pack of gum. Yes, the entire pack was gone within an hour. After I finished, I felt a bit sheepish, and thought to myself, "Gee, that guy over there probably thinks I'm some sort of freak for chewing this whole pack of gum. How embarrassing." But, since he was a stranger, I didn't worry too much about it.
Unfortunately, the same type of people frequent the library. As I walked into the library today, who should I see but the man who'd witnessed my attack on the pack of gum the night before? I sat down and began studying (this time without the fruity gum) until I heard a voice.
"Excuse me, are you the girl who went through an entire pack of gum last night?"
Shoot. He'd noticed. And he was confronting me about this. Shoot shoot shoot. "Oh shoot. You noticed?" I replied.
"Well it was kinda hard not to..."
Oh boy. Talk about embarrassing. We chatted for a minute, introducing ourselves, (his name was Benjamin) and he left. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. I flipped it open to a text from my friend (who apparently is friends with Benjamin) that read, "So I hear you can pound a pack of gum like no other."
Shoot again.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Does my face just scream, "CREEPERS! Come talk to me!"?
Case #1
I'd just turned 16. As I was wont to do on a nice day at that age, I'd gone on a bike ride. I rode up to the reservoir, where I was sitting on a rock by the water, contemplating whatever a regular sixteen-year-old contemplates at that age.
Suddenly, a random stranger is walking up to me from across the reservoir. It's quite obvious his purpose is to talk to me, but I try to ignore it for as long as possible. Finally, he gets within normal speaking range, and he begins to ask me questions. Why? I had no idea; I'd done nothing to solicit this behavior! We get through all the basic, "How old are you?" and "Where are you from?" questions, (and when I say "we," I mean he'd asked me all of those questions, to which I gave fragmented responses) when he finally asked me, "So do you think you'd want to hang out sometime?"
Um. What? Really? Is my body language not blatantly saying, no, screaming, "GET AWAY AND LEAVE ME BE"? Have I said or done anything that would make you think I would want to hang out? Have I even looked you in the eye for more than three seconds during this painful five-minute, mostly one-sided conversation?
Well, since those clues obviously weren't enough, I was forced to reply with a polite, "Um... Not really."
Sorry sir for hurting your ego. Perhaps you will pick your battles more wisely next time. And maybe wear an actual shirt, not just a wife beater.
Case #2
It's my first year at college. Being the starving college student that I am, I take on the first job that I can. Unfortunately, it's a cleaning job. Even more unfortunately, it's from 9:30-1:30... In the morning. In taking the job, I had to promise my bosses that I'd travel to and from work with pepper spray in my pocket (I didn't). Unfortunately, they didn't warn me about creepers IN the building.
I was cleaning the big glass doors one night when I see a man's face through the glass. After getting over my initial shock, I open the door to the poor man who, "Just needed to go to the bathroom." I let him in, receiving a promise from him that he'd be out in just a few minutes.
Well, true to his word, he comes walking back down the hall a few minutes later. That, naturally, was when he decided it would be a good time to engage me in a long, drawn out conversation. Now that might seem like normal social interaction, and in fact, it would have been.
If I didn't see him everywhere.
And by everywhere, I mean he follows me sometimes.
He figured out where and when I take my breaks, and sometimes he'll come there and try and catch my eye and "hopefully" strike up a conversation.
He (obviously) knows where I work, so sometimes he comes and walks through the halls and stares at me, sometimes being brave enough to speak a few words.
He even started studying where I study. (Changed that one quickly!)
It's been over a year since our first interaction. And he still crops up at random times in my life. He's a really nice guy... I'm just not exactly into the stalker type.
Case #3
I'm now in my second year at college, and obviously have progressed into the much cooler stage of "sophomore." No longer a freshman, I, naturally, strut around campus, feeling like I own the place.
On one such occasion, as I was strutting around, listening to my music, I walked past a group of *obvious* freshmen. Ignoring them, I walked on. Suddenly, I heard a somewhat muffled (because of my headphones) clattering from behind me; almost like someone had dropped a phone. Well, since my phone was in my backpack, it couldn't have been me, so I continued on. Until I felt a tap on my shoulder.
One of the freshmen that I'd just passed by was talking to me, and gesturing to a phone in his hand. I took my headphones out, and listened to him as he asked if I'd dropped my phone.
Me: "Uh... Nope. That's not mine."
Him: "Oh, are you sure?"
"Yeah... I think I'd know my phone."
"Oh. Well..." *Presses buttons* "It's broken anyway."
"It is?"
"Yeah... See, it doesn't have your number in it." *Hands me phone*
Oho boy. This one was a winner. With a line like that, how could I not give him my number? I punched it in, then walked home, chuckling to myself.
And yes, he has texted me.
And called me.
A few too many times.
Case #4
Tonight, as I worked at my janitorial job, (maybe it's the job that attracts the creepers?) I was suddenly approached by a creepy-looking young man.
He stopped me and said, "Hey. What's your name?"
To which I replied, "London. What's yours?"
"Pedro. Look, I got this tonight." *Hands me a fortune*
I look at the fortune, which reads, "Pay attention to the color purple. It will bring you luck throughout the week." I look down at my shirt, and, sure enough, I'm wearing purple.
Shoot.
"Ha ha (nervous chuckle) what a coincidence!" *Hands fortune back to Pedro*
"I was just standing over there talking to my friend about this fortune, wondering what it could mean. He told me that maybe it meant I was going to meet a girl..." (Let me interject by telling you that, at this point I'm wondering, what the color purple has to do with meeting a girl) "...And then you walked by wearing that shirt!"
Um. Ok. What? That's sound logic. He rambled on for a few more minutes before saying, "Let me get a look at you!"
He steps back and looks me over, head-to-toe, for a good 15 seconds. I stood there wondering if I should twirl, do a dance, or simply run away. After he'd thoroughly inspected me, he said, "I like your hair. Well, at least, the color."
Thank you for saying that my hair looks like crap, Pedro.
"Well..." I say, "I better get back to work."
"Oh yes. Go. It was great to talk to you. I'm sure I will talk to you again sometime. Your name was... Purple?"
"Uhhhh... London."
"Ok well I just remember nicknames better. So I'm just going to call you Purple."
Uh, sure, whatever. You can call me Purple. It's kinda like London. I guess.
I'd just turned 16. As I was wont to do on a nice day at that age, I'd gone on a bike ride. I rode up to the reservoir, where I was sitting on a rock by the water, contemplating whatever a regular sixteen-year-old contemplates at that age.
Suddenly, a random stranger is walking up to me from across the reservoir. It's quite obvious his purpose is to talk to me, but I try to ignore it for as long as possible. Finally, he gets within normal speaking range, and he begins to ask me questions. Why? I had no idea; I'd done nothing to solicit this behavior! We get through all the basic, "How old are you?" and "Where are you from?" questions, (and when I say "we," I mean he'd asked me all of those questions, to which I gave fragmented responses) when he finally asked me, "So do you think you'd want to hang out sometime?"
Um. What? Really? Is my body language not blatantly saying, no, screaming, "GET AWAY AND LEAVE ME BE"? Have I said or done anything that would make you think I would want to hang out? Have I even looked you in the eye for more than three seconds during this painful five-minute, mostly one-sided conversation?
Well, since those clues obviously weren't enough, I was forced to reply with a polite, "Um... Not really."
Sorry sir for hurting your ego. Perhaps you will pick your battles more wisely next time. And maybe wear an actual shirt, not just a wife beater.
Case #2
It's my first year at college. Being the starving college student that I am, I take on the first job that I can. Unfortunately, it's a cleaning job. Even more unfortunately, it's from 9:30-1:30... In the morning. In taking the job, I had to promise my bosses that I'd travel to and from work with pepper spray in my pocket (I didn't). Unfortunately, they didn't warn me about creepers IN the building.
I was cleaning the big glass doors one night when I see a man's face through the glass. After getting over my initial shock, I open the door to the poor man who, "Just needed to go to the bathroom." I let him in, receiving a promise from him that he'd be out in just a few minutes.
Well, true to his word, he comes walking back down the hall a few minutes later. That, naturally, was when he decided it would be a good time to engage me in a long, drawn out conversation. Now that might seem like normal social interaction, and in fact, it would have been.
If I didn't see him everywhere.
And by everywhere, I mean he follows me sometimes.
He figured out where and when I take my breaks, and sometimes he'll come there and try and catch my eye and "hopefully" strike up a conversation.
He (obviously) knows where I work, so sometimes he comes and walks through the halls and stares at me, sometimes being brave enough to speak a few words.
He even started studying where I study. (Changed that one quickly!)
It's been over a year since our first interaction. And he still crops up at random times in my life. He's a really nice guy... I'm just not exactly into the stalker type.
Case #3
I'm now in my second year at college, and obviously have progressed into the much cooler stage of "sophomore." No longer a freshman, I, naturally, strut around campus, feeling like I own the place.
On one such occasion, as I was strutting around, listening to my music, I walked past a group of *obvious* freshmen. Ignoring them, I walked on. Suddenly, I heard a somewhat muffled (because of my headphones) clattering from behind me; almost like someone had dropped a phone. Well, since my phone was in my backpack, it couldn't have been me, so I continued on. Until I felt a tap on my shoulder.
One of the freshmen that I'd just passed by was talking to me, and gesturing to a phone in his hand. I took my headphones out, and listened to him as he asked if I'd dropped my phone.
Me: "Uh... Nope. That's not mine."
Him: "Oh, are you sure?"
"Yeah... I think I'd know my phone."
"Oh. Well..." *Presses buttons* "It's broken anyway."
"It is?"
"Yeah... See, it doesn't have your number in it." *Hands me phone*
Oho boy. This one was a winner. With a line like that, how could I not give him my number? I punched it in, then walked home, chuckling to myself.
And yes, he has texted me.
And called me.
A few too many times.
Case #4
Tonight, as I worked at my janitorial job, (maybe it's the job that attracts the creepers?) I was suddenly approached by a creepy-looking young man.
He stopped me and said, "Hey. What's your name?"
To which I replied, "London. What's yours?"
"Pedro. Look, I got this tonight." *Hands me a fortune*
I look at the fortune, which reads, "Pay attention to the color purple. It will bring you luck throughout the week." I look down at my shirt, and, sure enough, I'm wearing purple.
Shoot.
"Ha ha (nervous chuckle) what a coincidence!" *Hands fortune back to Pedro*
"I was just standing over there talking to my friend about this fortune, wondering what it could mean. He told me that maybe it meant I was going to meet a girl..." (Let me interject by telling you that, at this point I'm wondering, what the color purple has to do with meeting a girl) "...And then you walked by wearing that shirt!"
Um. Ok. What? That's sound logic. He rambled on for a few more minutes before saying, "Let me get a look at you!"
He steps back and looks me over, head-to-toe, for a good 15 seconds. I stood there wondering if I should twirl, do a dance, or simply run away. After he'd thoroughly inspected me, he said, "I like your hair. Well, at least, the color."
Thank you for saying that my hair looks like crap, Pedro.
"Well..." I say, "I better get back to work."
"Oh yes. Go. It was great to talk to you. I'm sure I will talk to you again sometime. Your name was... Purple?"
"Uhhhh... London."
"Ok well I just remember nicknames better. So I'm just going to call you Purple."
Uh, sure, whatever. You can call me Purple. It's kinda like London. I guess.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Public restrooms are indeed public.
I love listening to others conversations. If I'm involved in the conversation, I have to feign interest. However, in listening to conversations that I am in no way involved in, I am able to ridicule to my hearts content. Take this conversation I overheard today in the bathroom being yelled between stalls.
Girl-behind-door-one: "I just wasted 45 minutes watching Pan-Am. Have you seen that show?"
Girl-behind-door-two: "No... What is it?"
"It's just this show. It's really dumb actually. I just watch it for the clothes."
"Oh, that's a good reason."
Now, if this last sentence had been said sarcastically, I would understand. In fact, I would probably say something like that. However, it was said in all seriousness. Because apparently watching a pointless show is more productive when you're just watching it for the clothing.
Girl-behind-door-one: "I just wasted 45 minutes watching Pan-Am. Have you seen that show?"
Girl-behind-door-two: "No... What is it?"
"It's just this show. It's really dumb actually. I just watch it for the clothes."
"Oh, that's a good reason."
Now, if this last sentence had been said sarcastically, I would understand. In fact, I would probably say something like that. However, it was said in all seriousness. Because apparently watching a pointless show is more productive when you're just watching it for the clothing.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Little Jack Horner
Almost everyone wants to know what their future is going to be like, right? It's even gotten to the point that people make a living off of being "predictors" of the future.
But how many people actually believe that what a fortune teller tells you is absolute?
Better yet, how many people believe that what a NEEDLE tells you is absolute? (Yes, you read that correctly.)
See, apparently there's this game. You tie a string around a needle, tap it against your hand, then let it spin above your palm. This is supposedly going to predict your children--how many you'll have and what their gender will be. If the spin pattern of the needle is oval, it's a girl. If it's a straight line, it's a boy.
Absolute hooey, right?
Unfortunately, when I heard of this game, I was not in the company of those who agreed with that statement. In fact, these people put 100% of their faith in this needle. One girl even went so far as to say, multiple times, that she didn't WANT to have seven kids, but the needle had told her, so it must be true.
Oddly enough, these girls didn't seem too pleased when I refused to "have my children predicted." Fortunately, I was able to save face by claiming that "I'd rather just wait for the surprise." Apparently, this answer was acceptable, considering that one girl said she didn't blame me, because it WAS rather freaky.
I just bit my tongue and continued to laugh silently to myself.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
I guess he really just wanted to see his surroundings.
Unfortunately, those surroundings were limited to... Me. Who is "he"? Oh, just the Indian man I saw in the library today. Yeah, he was making out with some girl and staring at me simultaneously.
No big deal.
It's not like it creeped me out much or anything.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Sometimes I feel like my life is just one giant fart.
This morning began as any other Monday/Wednesday. Jeffro and I awoke at 8am to the soothing sounds of Bon Iver. I reached over to the nightstand, picked up my phone, and texted the bus to see how much longer I had to sleep in. After a minute or so, the bus texted me back and said that I had 10 minutes to get ready. I informed Jeffro, then dragged myself out of bed, putting on a jacket and some shoes (so what if I go to school in the same thing I sleep in?) and throwing my hair up into a ponytail. After brushing my teeth, I looked at the clock and saw that 4 minutes of my "get-ready time" had gone by, leaving me with 6 minutes before the bus would be at my stop.
Or so I thought.
Just as the countdown clock hit 5 minutes, we surprisingly heard what we thought were the sounds of the bus. Usually, when we hear the bus we have enough time to walk to the stop before it gets to us. So, on this day, we sauntered casually outside towards the stop, expecting to have plenty of time. Imagine our surprise when we got around the corner and saw that the bus was already waiting at the stop, loading the last of its passengers. And we still had to cross the fairly busy street!
Jeffro and I darted out into the middle of the street, forcing cars to stop. We made it across one lane, but the cars in the other lane weren't stopping for us. We could see that the bus was getting ready to pull away, so, panicking, Jeffro decided to take matters into her own hands. Holding out only her right hand as a buffer between us and the oncoming cars, we raced across the lane and towards the bus. Just as we rounded the corner of the bus and thought we were home free, the doors started to close. Fortunately, Jeffro had the sense to run forward and grab the doors with her hand, preventing them from closing. We climbed aboard the bus quickly and attempted to avoid the looks we were getting from those who had witnessed our somewhat amusing journey onto the bus.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
... And then I looked at him.
Lately I've discovered that I end an awful lot of my stories with that line.
"So I was walking with so-and-so and they said such-and-such, which sounded really dumb, so I just looked at them."
"Today some dummy sitting next to me in class was chewing their gum super loudly, so I just looked at him."
I guess one might refer to me as "passive-agressive", considering that my favored way of expressing disgust in someone is to merely look at them. Consider, for a moment, just how effective this method of chastisement might be.
*Man trods on London's foot*
*London looks at him*
Or perhaps:
*Man steals all of London's money*
*London looks at him*
Maybe one of these days, when I'm feeling really risky, I might just add a "Hey!" under my breath.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Confession #3
I have a SERIOUS gum addiction.
The average American chews 300 pieces of gum a year. Over the past three years, I've chewed approximately 5,475 pieces of gum, which equates to 1,825 pieces a year. Fortunately, this addiction is less costly than smoking would be. It's only costing me around $160 instead of the $300 the average smoker spends a year on cigarettes. If I'm ever in public without a piece of gum in my mouth, I start going crazy and feel like I must cover my mouth if anyone comes within a 3-foot radius of me. If I (through a sad misfortune) am forced to go more than a day without gum I feel like I've lost my best friend--and I start going through withdrawal. While gum can be a good thing, I get the feeling that my addiction is not so great.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Cold Gravy
"Are those Ugg boots?"
"Uh... No."
"Good. Cuz Ugg boots are Ugg-ly!"
My boots:
Ugg boots:
As my co-worker said this to me, the thought that went through my head was "These look basically the same as Ugg boots. But Ugg boots are outrageously priced so I went for the knock-offs." So... My boots that look exactly like Ugg boots were cute because they were from Old Navy, while the real deal is ugly? Is anyone else seeing a flaw in my co-worker's logic?
Swess Pants
You mean you haven't heard of them? Apparently they're all the rage these days. Dress pants made of sweat pant material. No worries, no one will be able to tell you're really wearing sweats, for with the pleats down the front and the belt loops at the top, you have all the comfort of sweats and the dressiness of slacks.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Disclaimer: I love my grandma. A lot.
My grandma is a small woman. At her prime, she was 5'2" and weighing 90 pounds. However, aging was unkind to her. She has shrunken down to 4'8" and those 4 inches that she lost vertically invited some of their friends to come join them horizontally.
(That's a nice way of saying she's put on a few pounds.)
Anyway, on to my story. Seeing as my grandmother has a large girth and short limbs, many things people think of as "simple" are difficult for her. Add arthritis into the mix and the poor lady's doomed. Walking, reaching, and getting into a car are just a few of these "simple" things that cause problems for my grandma. Naturally, she's an independent lady, and hates being helped with these things. (So don't think I'm a horrible person for standing by and watching her struggle!)
While watching her struggle through most of these tasks is rather sad, one of the most comical things to watch my grandmother do is put on her seatbelt. After the painful process of getting into the car, (step one leg up, grasp the handle, pull herself onto the seat, bring the other leg in, reach and reach and reach and finally get ahold of the car door to close it) she must begin securing herself in the seat. First, she reaches her relatively short left arm across her body and grabs the seatbelt. Then she must use all her strength to pull the seatbelt over to the left side of her body, where the buckle is located. Halfway through pulling the seatbelt across her body, she switches it into her right hand. After switching to the right hand, she begins attempting to latch the seatbelt into the buckle. Because of her large girth, she is unable to see the buckle, (as made apparent from the attempts to see it and only succeeding in seeing her shoulder) and because of her relatively short arms, she cannot feel the buckle either.
At this point in the process, we are halfway to our destination. My grandmother has gotten the buckle over to the latch, but now the problem is getting them to click together. She begins blindly searching with the buckle for the latch, hitting it 50+ times before finally making it into the hole. Finally, just as she latches it, we pull up to our destination and she begins the slightly less difficult process of getting out of the car.
Indicisijig
We've all experienced it--walking towards someone thinking they're going to go right so you go right...and they go left. Then you go left...and they go right. This bobbing and weaving "dance" is usually over in a few seconds, but is incredibly awkward for both parties involved. However, for the silent observer, this experience is one of joy and happiness.
Thank you, patrons of the library, for providing me with an exhilarating break to my economics reading.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Biological Clock
Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
Oh hey. That's just the sound of my biological clock going off.
Kids? What? No. I want a puppy.
Seriously though. There is just something irresistible about a little puppy stepping on too long ears with paws three sizes too big. Anyone want to make a donation to the "Puppy for London" cause?
Monday, January 24, 2011
I have a pet. His name is Peeve.
Kind sir sitting behind me in the library, please look over my shoulder and read what I am writing; for it is a message for you.
Your spasmodically whistling breath is annoying to those around you and we would appreciate it if you would stop.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Vegamilk, part 3
Which brings us to the third saga in the tales of Vegamilk and the havoc it wreaks. I don't know how we've gotten this far, since Vegamilk probably should have been stopped in its tracks after the first encounter--but, here we are. Fortunately, for the sake of Jeffro's reputation, she wasn't the one who drank the vegamilk.
I was.
And I wanted to kill myself.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
An Adventure Filled With Thanks
"Hey, wanna come to my cabin for New Years?"
Uh, of course?
"Here are the directions . . . Just follow them until you get to a gate, and then wait there. We'll come open the gate every hour on the hour, so just wait for us."
Unfortunately, the last direction said turn right on Causey Drive, which may or may not be a snow-covered, windey road that goes on forever until it finally comes to the gate of a BOY SCOUT CAMP which is definitely not where your friends cabin is hiding. Oh wait. It didn't say that last part. But it should have. Because that's the truth.
After we followed those directions (the ones that led us to the boy scout camp) we decided (more like Jeffro decided . . . never trust someone who drinks vegamilk multiple times) to walk past the gate up the road a little ways further to a cabin to ask directions. In the freezing cold. Perhaps the cold made common sense set in for Heidi and me, for after we had walked up the road a ways, we turned on Jeffro and decided her idea was crap; one we shouldn't follow anymore. Fortunately, Jeffro decided that that was her cue to become an incredibly pessimistic person and think of everything that could go wrong.
"London, did you lock your keys in the car?"
"Guys, what if we don't ever find Lancelot's cabin?"
"Oh my gosh what if a midget eskimo suddenly jumped out of the snow and broke into your car and started it and drove off so we were stranded here? Don't worry, I'd sacrifice myself so you guys wouldn't starve tonight."
Thank you, Jeffro, for those great words of encouragement.
But, despite Jeffro's disturbing predictions, we made it back to the car safely and started to backtrack. We came upon a turnoff and, notwithstanding the dire looking snow-covered road, decided to turn there. We drove for quite awhile, feeling very fortunate that my car had 4-wheel drive, until we came across some people on a four wheeler, who, we soon found out, were on their way to pick us up and take us to the cabin. Apparently the road was so covered in snow that we wouldn't have been able to make it to the gate.
Thank you, Stan, for those great directions that would have led to us being stuck in the snow had we not been intercepted by someone who knew what was going on.
Fortunately, just to add to this adventure, the next day we got back down to our car only to discover that it was dead. Evidently a light had been left on all night, running the battery down.
Thank you, skis of Dallin, for causing the light to be left on.
Vegamilk: Part 2
There shouldn't be a part two, should there? Jeffro should have had that taste of vegamilk ingrained so deeply in her mind that it wouldn't happen again. But it did. Twice more. Jeffro drank the expired milk. And not just a tiny sip either. No, she somehow managed to not notice that her milk was bad until after the third sip.
Am I the only one sensing a destructive pattern here?
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