I started housesitting for a professor who is out of town and in her house she has these adorable cats. I never really spent time with cats, I've never had any of my own (even though my biological clock is ticking and if I wanted a family, I should start having cats now, so they tell me). haha
Public Service Announcement
***I am literally, Always Joking. Don't take me seriously.***
So, the more time I spend with cats, the more I realize that they are just like me. When they are hungry, the circle the kitchen. So do I!
When they eat, they are very defensive about their food. So am I!
When they are finished, they want more. Me too.
They sleep all day, they play all the time, they want to be rubbed on and heavily petted. What. a. coincidence! Seriously, they nap all of the time. Dogs are such different creatures to cats....dogs take naps if you do, but cats take naps all of the time. All day, all night. Up for minutes, then they turn around a sleep for hours.
I like how snobby cats are. I want to play, so I throw a toy, then they look at the toy, then up at you, give you the stink eye then walk away. So snobby.
I never thought I would say this (because I am a registered Dog Person), but I like cats, or rather, I like these cats.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Stuff White People, like me, Like.
I read this book recently and it gave me an idea for a blogpost:
The Book: Stuff White People Like, which was based on a blog by a funny man.
Here's what is true for me (which may or may not correspond with the book):
1. Ipods. White people can't get enough Apple gear. My bff, Dr. W, we'll call her lost her Ipod and could not live another hour.
Don't get me wrong, I love music when I work out, but not to block out the sounds of oncoming traffic on my way to school. I need both ears to hear the squealing tires I initiated when I crossed the street without looking. Both ears.
2. Farmers' Markets. White people can't get enough of fresh veggies that aren't tainted by the scheming corporate America. This is also related to those reusable grocery bags. Whites love to carry around those bags, chock them full of 2 dollar uber ripe tomatoes and 4 dollar sack o' apples from local growers.
3. Religions their parents don't belong to. I know a lot of kids who converted to Judaism or became Buddhist or Athesist and as it turns out: they are all white and their parents are not those religions. Why? Who knows. Maybe it was because of their neglect and contempt and resentment for their parents' religions. Maybe it was because of their higher education. Maybe it was one to many hits off the old b***.
4. Yoga. This one was also in the book. People go crazy for crossing their legs and doing little to know actual exercise. Sorry folks, it's true. I could do yoga all day....in my sleep....while having tuberculosis....in three feet of snow. Yoga is too easy and white people love it. LOVE IT.
5. Another thing not on the list is having a show that no one else watches. For me, it's Star Trek, TNG. For others, it's Flight of the Conchords, may it rest in peace. For other groups of people, it's Mad Men (like my roomie). Even more people like to watch The Colbert Report. Some even watch Real Housewives of whatever-rich-place-the producers-came-up-with-this-season. All of the these are white people shows. Some people have a daily talk show they like to watch.
6. Having a strange disease or ailment no one knows about or can fix, yet said white person will continue to talk about ailment for weeks and years to come.
For me, I am lactose intolerant. No cure. No remedy, really. Yet, I still complain about it to anyone with ears....or another ailment they can relate to mine.
7. Drinks.
White people love their drinks.
Tea, chi, green, black, grey, cold, hot.
Coffee
Weird wine (this is my forte)
Beers, imported, exported, draft, ale, inhaled, exhaled.
Flavored waters
soda *aka pop, aka coke aka sodapop aka sugarwater*
smoothies--why do people even get smoothies. It's really not that much better for you than a milkshake....plus it tastes like chalk, when that chalk is rotten. Plus, people always add a shot of immunity boosting supplements. Why? really? Really. Why? Are you not getting enough vitamin c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j, k, l, m, n, o, p and zinc with your veggies from the farmers' market? Stop adding those chalking supplements to your weird combo smoothie. What is with those combos. Orange+strawberry+blueberry=gross.
The Book: Stuff White People Like, which was based on a blog by a funny man.
Here's what is true for me (which may or may not correspond with the book):
1. Ipods. White people can't get enough Apple gear. My bff, Dr. W, we'll call her lost her Ipod and could not live another hour.
Don't get me wrong, I love music when I work out, but not to block out the sounds of oncoming traffic on my way to school. I need both ears to hear the squealing tires I initiated when I crossed the street without looking. Both ears.
2. Farmers' Markets. White people can't get enough of fresh veggies that aren't tainted by the scheming corporate America. This is also related to those reusable grocery bags. Whites love to carry around those bags, chock them full of 2 dollar uber ripe tomatoes and 4 dollar sack o' apples from local growers.
3. Religions their parents don't belong to. I know a lot of kids who converted to Judaism or became Buddhist or Athesist and as it turns out: they are all white and their parents are not those religions. Why? Who knows. Maybe it was because of their neglect and contempt and resentment for their parents' religions. Maybe it was because of their higher education. Maybe it was one to many hits off the old b***.
4. Yoga. This one was also in the book. People go crazy for crossing their legs and doing little to know actual exercise. Sorry folks, it's true. I could do yoga all day....in my sleep....while having tuberculosis....in three feet of snow. Yoga is too easy and white people love it. LOVE IT.
5. Another thing not on the list is having a show that no one else watches. For me, it's Star Trek, TNG. For others, it's Flight of the Conchords, may it rest in peace. For other groups of people, it's Mad Men (like my roomie). Even more people like to watch The Colbert Report. Some even watch Real Housewives of whatever-rich-place-the producers-came-up-with-this-season. All of the these are white people shows. Some people have a daily talk show they like to watch.
6. Having a strange disease or ailment no one knows about or can fix, yet said white person will continue to talk about ailment for weeks and years to come.
For me, I am lactose intolerant. No cure. No remedy, really. Yet, I still complain about it to anyone with ears....or another ailment they can relate to mine.
7. Drinks.
White people love their drinks.
Tea, chi, green, black, grey, cold, hot.
Coffee
Weird wine (this is my forte)
Beers, imported, exported, draft, ale, inhaled, exhaled.
Flavored waters
soda *aka pop, aka coke aka sodapop aka sugarwater*
smoothies--why do people even get smoothies. It's really not that much better for you than a milkshake....plus it tastes like chalk, when that chalk is rotten. Plus, people always add a shot of immunity boosting supplements. Why? really? Really. Why? Are you not getting enough vitamin c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j, k, l, m, n, o, p and zinc with your veggies from the farmers' market? Stop adding those chalking supplements to your weird combo smoothie. What is with those combos. Orange+strawberry+blueberry=gross.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Bingo, prunes, AARP
In many ways, I have an old soul. Yes, in some ways, I am very child-like and playful. But, mostly, I have an old soul. I like oldies hits (hits from the 50s, 60s and 70s) and not in a cool, hipster sort of way. I like BINGO, I like to eat early and I definitely enjoy naps. I used to loathe laying down in the middle of a perfectly good day. My, oh my, have the times changed. I love to sleep.
I love to take naps. I get cranky if I don't sleep 13 out of the 24 hours in a day. I love to complain about "kids today" and talk about how "when I was your age things were different." I am an old person (but I am only 21 years old). I am THE stereotypical old person. I don't like rad, hip cars, I prefer Hondas and Volvos (even though I drive a Pontiac). I get irrationally mad at people playing loud music, I talk about their future ear problems because of the decibels of music pounding their young ears. I get choked up about the war and the good ol' days on the beaches of......
I talk about gas prices, I enjoy listening to NPR and I like to use coupons whenever possible. Plus, like many older gentlemen and ladies, I am immune to the cold. People have to tell me to use extra coats because my skin isn't as sensitive to the elements as they were when I was young.
Why am I so old?
I'm not complaining; this is fact. I probably have most 70 year old men and women beat for oldness. They really need to work harder. I aim to succeed in the old realm.
I can just imagine myself in fifty years---what will I be like then?? Worse???
Or: here's another option:
Maybe I am like Benjamin Button--I'm just getting younger as time progresses.
I love to take naps. I get cranky if I don't sleep 13 out of the 24 hours in a day. I love to complain about "kids today" and talk about how "when I was your age things were different." I am an old person (but I am only 21 years old). I am THE stereotypical old person. I don't like rad, hip cars, I prefer Hondas and Volvos (even though I drive a Pontiac). I get irrationally mad at people playing loud music, I talk about their future ear problems because of the decibels of music pounding their young ears. I get choked up about the war and the good ol' days on the beaches of......
I talk about gas prices, I enjoy listening to NPR and I like to use coupons whenever possible. Plus, like many older gentlemen and ladies, I am immune to the cold. People have to tell me to use extra coats because my skin isn't as sensitive to the elements as they were when I was young.
Why am I so old?
I'm not complaining; this is fact. I probably have most 70 year old men and women beat for oldness. They really need to work harder. I aim to succeed in the old realm.
I can just imagine myself in fifty years---what will I be like then?? Worse???
Or: here's another option:
Maybe I am like Benjamin Button--I'm just getting younger as time progresses.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Love
Recently, I have come to fully understand America's stance on love. Love. love. Big Love. regular love. Small love. No love.
We, as Americans are obsessed with love (and the lack thereof). We show love in cards, in gifts, in public displays of affection, in songs, in more songs, in poetry, in songs (all kinds of songs, really).
We also like to use metaphors and similes to talk about love. We, as Americans, love (here that word is again) to make huge generalizations about love. We also like to have cute, memorable sayings for love. For example:
Love is a battlefield.
All is fair in love and war.
Roses are red....sugar is sweet and I love you.
L...is for the way you look at me. O...is for the only one I see. Etc, etc.
Love will keep us together, think of me babe whenever.
Love your enemies as yourself.
Love; two minds, one thought. (WHAT???!?@?@????)
All you need is LOVE.
It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all (someone clearing who is a third party in a break up scenario....no one would say that if they are in the process of breaking up.)
Love the one yo' with.
The grandest one of all is those paintings that grandmas have in their bathrooms (my grandma has one in her bathroom) and it says: Love does not hope, love is kind, love is forgiving, love is not envy....etc, etc. By the time I am through reading all of those and analyzing my own love/life, I've been in the bathroom 36 minutes. I get so confused and my head gets dizzy---how am I supposed to remember so much from just one painting?? Ridiculous.
I like to invent my own.
Love is like a pineapple: Hard on the outside, sweet on the inside.
Love is like a pill. Difficult going down, once you got it, it's worth it.
Love is like a beach. Pretty rocky, expensive, you can find shells in the sand, you see grown adults half naked all of the time, someone there to get your back with sunblock. the end. (Although I've never been to the ocean, I am sure this is accurate)
We, as Americans are obsessed with love (and the lack thereof). We show love in cards, in gifts, in public displays of affection, in songs, in more songs, in poetry, in songs (all kinds of songs, really).
We also like to use metaphors and similes to talk about love. We, as Americans, love (here that word is again) to make huge generalizations about love. We also like to have cute, memorable sayings for love. For example:
Love is a battlefield.
All is fair in love and war.
Roses are red....sugar is sweet and I love you.
L...is for the way you look at me. O...is for the only one I see. Etc, etc.
Love will keep us together, think of me babe whenever.
Love your enemies as yourself.
Love; two minds, one thought. (WHAT???!?@?@????)
All you need is LOVE.
It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all (someone clearing who is a third party in a break up scenario....no one would say that if they are in the process of breaking up.)
Love the one yo' with.
The grandest one of all is those paintings that grandmas have in their bathrooms (my grandma has one in her bathroom) and it says: Love does not hope, love is kind, love is forgiving, love is not envy....etc, etc. By the time I am through reading all of those and analyzing my own love/life, I've been in the bathroom 36 minutes. I get so confused and my head gets dizzy---how am I supposed to remember so much from just one painting?? Ridiculous.
I like to invent my own.
Love is like a pineapple: Hard on the outside, sweet on the inside.
Love is like a pill. Difficult going down, once you got it, it's worth it.
Love is like a beach. Pretty rocky, expensive, you can find shells in the sand, you see grown adults half naked all of the time, someone there to get your back with sunblock. the end. (Although I've never been to the ocean, I am sure this is accurate)
Friday, February 5, 2010
Would the real slim veracity please stand up
There has been some question as the veracity of my blog posts. You know who you are.
All of my stories are real. I think I only embellished a little on a conversation (only for humor and dramatic appeal). The things I post are actual events. Let's face facts: Weird things happen to me. More weird things happen to me than to most people. I am a magnet for weird.
One time, I was in a college dormitory, checking my email (my house is living in the dark ages, without internet) and this strange girl is walking in my direction. This strange girl, you know the type. Probably weird in high school. Probably had a circle of weird friends. Fit in with her group, so not a loner, gets her kicks off of her unique sense of style. Wears a fedora hat, plaid pants, dyes her hair black. Well, anyway, she comes up to me and twists her body into an 'S' shape, like she's grooving, squints her face into an ugly squash, points her finger at me and says in a Gothic, British voice, "Helllll-OOOOO." It was reminiscent of the hunchback, from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Except, she was just trying to get a reaction from me. Here. I am the victim. She thinks I am some sort of uppity, sorority girl from the suburbs. Well. I have news for her. I am an uppity weird girl from the suburbs. HA!!! Fooled her, no?
Besides that, she has met her match for weird. I am the monster. I am the freak. She dubbed me WRONG. I am not some Marketing major (anymore) with a casual, usual, normal upbringing of conservative, orthodox normality. I am not normal. I am not the run-of-the-mill person you would run into. She has met her match for strange.
In response, the usual person would give her an awkward glance, scale the walls to pass by her and not (definitely not) respond. Normal people are hesitant to interact in any way outside their normality box. So, instead of being normal, I gave her a taste of her own medicine. In return to her saying, "Helllll-OOO," I said, "Why, Guuuuud Even'ing Govna. Top of the Morn on this merrrrrrry daye." (All in a goth brit accent and sly eyes with my own hunch back, snarling mouth and common temperment). Booyah, judge me at your own risk.
All of my stories are real. I think I only embellished a little on a conversation (only for humor and dramatic appeal). The things I post are actual events. Let's face facts: Weird things happen to me. More weird things happen to me than to most people. I am a magnet for weird.
One time, I was in a college dormitory, checking my email (my house is living in the dark ages, without internet) and this strange girl is walking in my direction. This strange girl, you know the type. Probably weird in high school. Probably had a circle of weird friends. Fit in with her group, so not a loner, gets her kicks off of her unique sense of style. Wears a fedora hat, plaid pants, dyes her hair black. Well, anyway, she comes up to me and twists her body into an 'S' shape, like she's grooving, squints her face into an ugly squash, points her finger at me and says in a Gothic, British voice, "Helllll-OOOOO." It was reminiscent of the hunchback, from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Except, she was just trying to get a reaction from me. Here. I am the victim. She thinks I am some sort of uppity, sorority girl from the suburbs. Well. I have news for her. I am an uppity weird girl from the suburbs. HA!!! Fooled her, no?
Besides that, she has met her match for weird. I am the monster. I am the freak. She dubbed me WRONG. I am not some Marketing major (anymore) with a casual, usual, normal upbringing of conservative, orthodox normality. I am not normal. I am not the run-of-the-mill person you would run into. She has met her match for strange.
In response, the usual person would give her an awkward glance, scale the walls to pass by her and not (definitely not) respond. Normal people are hesitant to interact in any way outside their normality box. So, instead of being normal, I gave her a taste of her own medicine. In return to her saying, "Helllll-OOO," I said, "Why, Guuuuud Even'ing Govna. Top of the Morn on this merrrrrrry daye." (All in a goth brit accent and sly eyes with my own hunch back, snarling mouth and common temperment). Booyah, judge me at your own risk.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Pet peeves
I got a long list of pet peeves and since I am in a pet peevey mood, I'd like to share them all in a passive/aggressive/assertive (only when absolutely necessary will I use assertiveness) way.
I, as an amazing and infallible judge of character, have excellent tastes in all things, especially food, drinks, people, events, activities, sports, friends and last, but not least, pet peeves. Here are only some of my pet peeves:
1. Kicking the back of my chair. I do not understand. There is plenty of ways to use your foot. I don't even mind if you kick your own chair. But, please. Don't tap on my chair all throughout class time. I probably have an inner ear problem, it makes me a little dizzy....and studies are inconclusive, but, I am sure that your tapping on my chair leads to me wanting to punch you in the kidney.
2. Leaving all the electricity on in a room or house.
My dad taught me this one. I learned it from corporal punishment. The sun is there for a reason. IT'S A NATURAL GIFT. This is actually not pointing to anyone in particular. I do this all of the time (hence, why I hate it so).
3. Saying, "I was just gonna say that..." before everything you comment on in-class. I don't know why this bothers me, it just does. For instance:
"Yes, Adam, I see that your hand is up, I am now calling on you."---teacher/professor/discussion leader.
"Oh, well, I was just gonna say that Napoleon was a badass but shouldn't have invaded Russia."---Adam.
_______
Later in the class...
"Yes Adam"---professor
"Oh, I was just gonna say that....women were treated as inferior, per usual."---Adam
_____
POINT IS:
Don't say it. It gets on my nerves, gov'na.
4. Unless you are entering a Podunk town's block party, stop spitting. I am not a fan of spitting. I think it is because it is ever expanding. You never know who is going to do it and where.
Also, every time someone does it (usually a man), another man-type feels they have to do it....BUT BETTER.
Spitting now becomes a sport for these saliva stockers. One must out-do the other by spitting faster, carry more distance and hold more loog in the loogies. Yeah, I said it. Loogie.
I fear for their immune system and intestines---aren't they dehydrated?? Just food for thought.
I'm sure I'll have more pet peeves that I will write about later. DON'T YOU WORRY.
I, as an amazing and infallible judge of character, have excellent tastes in all things, especially food, drinks, people, events, activities, sports, friends and last, but not least, pet peeves. Here are only some of my pet peeves:
1. Kicking the back of my chair. I do not understand. There is plenty of ways to use your foot. I don't even mind if you kick your own chair. But, please. Don't tap on my chair all throughout class time. I probably have an inner ear problem, it makes me a little dizzy....and studies are inconclusive, but, I am sure that your tapping on my chair leads to me wanting to punch you in the kidney.
2. Leaving all the electricity on in a room or house.
My dad taught me this one. I learned it from corporal punishment. The sun is there for a reason. IT'S A NATURAL GIFT. This is actually not pointing to anyone in particular. I do this all of the time (hence, why I hate it so).
3. Saying, "I was just gonna say that..." before everything you comment on in-class. I don't know why this bothers me, it just does. For instance:
"Yes, Adam, I see that your hand is up, I am now calling on you."---teacher/professor/discussion leader.
"Oh, well, I was just gonna say that Napoleon was a badass but shouldn't have invaded Russia."---Adam.
_______
Later in the class...
"Yes Adam"---professor
"Oh, I was just gonna say that....women were treated as inferior, per usual."---Adam
_____
POINT IS:
Don't say it. It gets on my nerves, gov'na.
4. Unless you are entering a Podunk town's block party, stop spitting. I am not a fan of spitting. I think it is because it is ever expanding. You never know who is going to do it and where.
Also, every time someone does it (usually a man), another man-type feels they have to do it....BUT BETTER.
Spitting now becomes a sport for these saliva stockers. One must out-do the other by spitting faster, carry more distance and hold more loog in the loogies. Yeah, I said it. Loogie.
I fear for their immune system and intestines---aren't they dehydrated?? Just food for thought.
I'm sure I'll have more pet peeves that I will write about later. DON'T YOU WORRY.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Reading
This post is going to be short and sweet. Just like....short and sweet things.
Anyway, I was reading at the library (again....again......again) and one of my classmates who is in more than one class with me comes up me and says: "Hey, how's it going? Whatcha up to?"
So I say, "Oh, not much is going on. How are you?"
"Pretty good. Have you read that essay for Class number one?"
Then I respond, "Yes."
Then he shoots back another question: "Have you read---"
"---Yes"
Then, "How about---"
"---Probably." (from me).
Moral of the story: I can't stop reading. I think I have read my life away thus far. I just read and then read and then read. I probably have thousands of tiny tiny paper cuts all over my hands from all of the pages I've turned in all of the books I've read. It's gonna burn when I take a shower tomorrow morning.
"AHHHHHHH, it burns......goddamn you History."
Anyway, I was reading at the library (again....again......again) and one of my classmates who is in more than one class with me comes up me and says: "Hey, how's it going? Whatcha up to?"
So I say, "Oh, not much is going on. How are you?"
"Pretty good. Have you read that essay for Class number one?"
Then I respond, "Yes."
Then he shoots back another question: "Have you read---"
"---Yes"
Then, "How about---"
"---Probably." (from me).
Moral of the story: I can't stop reading. I think I have read my life away thus far. I just read and then read and then read. I probably have thousands of tiny tiny paper cuts all over my hands from all of the pages I've turned in all of the books I've read. It's gonna burn when I take a shower tomorrow morning.
"AHHHHHHH, it burns......goddamn you History."
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