Thursday, October 27, 2011

I really just want to blog about smells right now...

We were talking about memory cues in my cognitive development class the other day, and our teacher asked us to think of certain smells that cued specific memories for us.

My number 1 memory inducing smell.....

Whatever cologne [the guy] was wearing on the worst date I've ever been on. I don't know what cologne it is, but any time I get a whiff of it from a friend or a random passer-by, I am filled with panic and horror. Images flood my mind: Pina Coladas. Pianos. Dinosaur park. Mini van. Our height difference. Falsetto singing voice. Seriously. Combine all those things and that wasn't even the half of it.

And that was amusing to me, so I tried to think of some more smells that reminded me of things.

Saw dust: My childhood. Home. Dad building things. Unfinished walls. Spiders. Really bad hair cuts.

Alcohol wipes: Every time I smell alcohol wipes I pretty much black out because I've permanently coupled that smell with getting blood drawn or having an IV put in. I feel wobbly just thinking about what alcohol wipes smell like. Seriously, if someone wanted to render me defenseless (you know, like for kidnapping) all they would have to do is hold an alcohol wipe up to my nose. It makes me all dizzy and gooey. And there's a good chance I'd barf. But hey, good luck carrying my dead weight kidnapper man!

Other smells that remind me of my childhood in general:

Home depot.
That cinnamonny smell in most craft stores.
Gun powder. (You know.. from like... when Dad used the nail gun to put in flooring. "Fire in the hole!!")
Pencil lead.

Well. That's all I can think of. BYE.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Spider. I hate you.

I just slayed the mightiest arachnid that has ever walked the earth. I was already late for work when I spotted it, but I couldn't just leave it there. I knew it would be gone by the time I got home tonight, and knowing a spider is lurking somewhere but not knowing where it is is one of the worst feelings ever. It was just so huge. I actually first saw it in the reflection of a mirror on the OPPOSITE side of the room. I could see it's weird feeler fangs from like 10 feet away. I tried to take a picture of it but my phone camera isn't the best at small scale photography. Not that it was small. Anyway. I sprayed a ton of "natural" spider killer on it, and it started freaking out, but it just. would. not. die.

In my desperation, I put a sticky trap on the end of a spare curtain rod and smacked it. Of course it didn't stick, because it was SO HUGE. So then it fell to the ground where it ultimately curled up and died. Gudfjklgkdfkl. Sick. I shudder just thinking about it.

Tonight operation Aragog will commence. I pity the spider who tries to enter my bedroom and live. Actually I don't.

Friday, October 21, 2011


Flula. The proof is in the pudding. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Rock paper scissors. It's like shooting fish in a barrel. Daddy long legs.

As (native? I wish) Americans we don't really question these seemingly normal phrases. For Flula Borg, chaos ensues. I will not cheapen this with any more words.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Musical Injustice

So, I decided to download Aretha Franklin's "Natural Woman" from iTunes the other day. I love that song and for whatever reason it's not in my current iTunes library. So I searched for it in the iTunes store, but there were so many versions (vastly inferior, I'm sure) of the song that I was having trouble finding the one I wanted. So. I decided to sort the results by popularity. Surely, Aretha Franklin's recording would be number 1. What I then beheld shook me to my very core:

Um. Excuse me? Do my eyes deceive me? Carole King?!

Don't get me wrong. Carole's got it goin on in a very 1970s white-girl way, but this is a travesty.  Carole helped write this song for Aretha Franklin. It was written with Aretha's voice in mind. Carole didn't even record her version until Aretha's had already been out for years. People OBVIOUSLY do not understand that Aretha's way is the only way. I feel sorry for them. They don't know what they're missing.

Until you have experienced the joy of singing along with Aretha's "version" of this song (the only version there ever SHOULD have been...) in the shower or on the freeway or whilst doing the dishes, you do not know what it means to truly live. You just don't.