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.

... 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.

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.

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.

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.