Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
I don't think anyone would dispute his gender. I am grateful to my parents who are letting me borrow this truck until they feel like they want it back. We have a special new friendship, the truck and I. I overlook Pepe's weaknesses (general skunk-like appearance, loose driver's door that falls partially open if not locked, manual transmission, etc.) and try to focus on his strengths. I mean come on, he has a shell. The possibilities are basically endless.
Year of Pepe's birth: 1984
Days I have been in possession of the skunk truck: 3
Days of experience driving a stick shift all by myself: 3Number of successful trips: 3
Feet needed while stopped on a hill: 3
Number of stalls experienced total: 5
Number of stalls experienced on a hill or driveway: 2
Number of stalls experienced with a car waiting behind me: 0
Number of honks received for crappy driving: 1
Number of visible birds flipped at me: 0
Number of approximate non-visible birds flipped: 5
Number of near-collisions as result of me rolling backwards at a stop light on a hill: 1
Average increase in heart rate while driving: 50%
Vehicles or objects struck while driving: 0
Sense of accomplishment felt when I parallel park and walk away unscathed: Immeasurable.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
He was making small talk with his mom through the crack in the stall door when all of a sudden he paused and matter of factly proclaimed:
"Mom, its okay when I get poop under my finger nails."
No inflection or questioning. His mom looked at me embarrassed and I tried to reassure her by suggesting: "At least he isn't one of those kids that cries when that happens...."
To which the little tot replied: "Why would I cry?"
Thank you, little man. And uh, please wash your hands.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
You know. Windows and the such. The back of our apartments look like this:
Oh look! More windows! My kitchen window is about 20ish feet from yours. Your attempt at doing the robot was funny. I chuckled. I knew you could see me eating my chips and salsa. I thought, oh what fun neighbors we are! It was getting dark. My blinds were open. And so were yours. My kitchen light was on. So was yours. I was talking to my roommate. You were talking to yours.
And then, you decided to moon your roommate.
There you were, just wagging your white rump at whoever else was in the room. Kudos for doing a little dance while your bum cheeks enjoyed a little fresh air. They should really rethink the placement of windows between men's and women's apartments. Thankfully, I only caught a side view of your atrocious fanny flaunting performance.
And then, we decided to close our blinds.
You can kiss any neighborly feelings that may have ever existed between my eyes and your bum goodbye. We are through.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Every time I hear this song:
I picture someone like this:
Dancing and mumble-singing the song to himself. Minus the creepy bee head. You know how I feel about those...
I dropped my phone. Down a flight of stairs. Made of concrete. Outside. After dark. And I located it almost instantly to find that it had only one scratch on the side. It is otherwise in perfect condition. It was a miracle.
There is a "sculpture" on campus between the Museum of Art and the Fine Arts building that makes me giggle almost every time I walk past it. It is a giant black block adorned with a flaming stainless steel mustache entitled "Self Portrait." Oh, what's that? You don't believe me? Feast your eyes on THIS:
And we all know how I feel about mustaches. This may be an attempt at serious art, but to me it's kind of an ugly joke. Especially when people roast marshmallows on it. Because don't worry, its been done.
My family has a new puppy named Lady. Short for Lady GaGa. And she ADORES me.