Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Was My Great Grandmother a Ghost?

I just got back from Mexico. It was mostly awesome, except that I got sunburned. Since I have Casper-white skin, this should not have come as a surprise to me. Except that I spent half my time there in the shade and wore SPF 100 (not exaggerating, that's really a thing and I applied it several times a day). And I still burned.

I swear, if I didn't have brown eyes, I'd be entirely convinced that I was albino. As it stands, I'm only about 90% sure. Is it possible to turn into an albino? Because that might be happening to me. How can you be sure if it's grey hair or a sudden genetic defect stripping melanin from the body? Short answer: you can't.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Your Kids Are Dumb, Deal With It

Children are stupid. All of them. This is a fact. No matter how well they know their ABCs, they have preposterous notions about the way the world works. You were no different. Neither was I. Here are some of the ridiculous things I believed to be absolutely true at various points in my childhood.

--Traffic lights are controlled by guys who sit inside of little huts located inconspicuously at every intersection

--If you keep eggs in your fridge beyond the expiration date, you risk having them hatch in your home

--If you look into a mirror at night, you risk seeing a ghost

--The ice in your ice cube trays is what makes your freezer cold

--Kidnappers are people who can't have their own children and want to avoid the bureaucracy of the legal adoption process

--Pat Sajak and Vanna White are a happily married couple

--Penguins are birds who flew south one winter, but ended up stranded on Antarctica when it floated too far away from land

--Lavender is a pale shade of green

--Chocolate milk comes from brown cows

--A pregnant woman's unborn child can move freely about the inside of her entire body

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

The Third Worst Night of My Life

One night last year I stepped onto my balcony to have a cigarette. It was about ten o'clock and forty degrees, so I smoked fast. Then the worst thing ever happened. I pulled in vain on the door handle, and my mind flashed back to the night before when I decided to lock that door for literally the first time ever.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I scanned my surroundings for possible entry points and anything that could be useful in breaking in, but my home proved tragically burglar proof. I looked to my neighbors for help, but both of their places were dark. I started to realize just how fucked I really was. For a second I thought about just jumping. I mean, it was all over for me anyway.

That's when I saw the light on the balcony directly below me. I tossed down my shoe to get their attention, but they must not have noticed. I threw down the other one and again got no response. My last hope was a gorilla-gargoyle I had chilling in the corner. When it shattered on their balcony, the couple came out to save the day.

Unfortunately, my front door was also locked so they couldn't just come up and let me in that way. So they called a locksmith for me. But the locksmith had to get their guy on call since it was late. And he had to get up, get dressed, and drive in from, like, the farthest away suburb there is. So you know, just sit tight Marie.

And there I sat. Wearing sweat pants, the boyfriend's track jacket, and no shoes. In near freezing temperature. For just over an hour. I curled myself into a little ball and managed to stuff most of my body into the track jacket. But by the end of it, I was so cold my skin was aching and I seriously couldn't feel most of my toes. When I finally saw the locksmith guy walking through my living room toward me, I think I heard angels singing a little bit.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

I Missed That Episode of the Patty Duke Show

Apparently twins are circus freaks and need to be investigated by professionals, so since we were nine, my sister Amy and I have participated in the University of MN Twin Study. Every few years, they would arrange for our family to come down to Minneapolis and spend the day at the university.

Half the day was spent being interviewed where we were asked every single question about every single topic ever. The other half of the day was spent in the lab, which was definitely more fun. We wore brainwave caps and then performed different tasks so they could measure our brain activity. I always found it all very interesting.

There was just one part that was a little bit Clockwork Orange-like. We had to sit in a chair, facing a screen, wearing headphones, with a button under our thumbs. On the screen was a countdown from ten to zero. The idea was to press the button when the countdown hit one, but before it hit zero. If you missed it, the worst sound in the world was blasted really loudly through your headphones.

Sometimes, the numbers on the screen would turn red. Then it didn't matter if you pressed the button or not. You were going to get the noise either way. And that part was incredibly anxiety inducing. I'm not a scientist or anything, but I'm pretty sure I'm lucky I didn't get electrocuted from all the fear sweat I got on the electrodes.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Did PBS Damage Me Psychologically?

I didn't get to watch a lot of Mr. Rogers when I was little. I guess my mom found him unbearably annoying, so we weren't really allowed to watch it. All I can remember about the few episodes I did see is that there was some sort of a puppet king and he was terrifying. Like, I recall getting really anxious when I knew the trolley was approaching the king's stop along the route.

As an adult I also found the king from Burger King terrifying. Those commercials were straight up unsettling. The stuff of nightmares, practically.

I must have some deep rooted phobia that's carried through from my childhood. Unfortunately, I don't really have a lot of experience in animated kings beyond those two, so this can't really be verified. But just to be safe, I'm going to align with my mom against Mr. Rogers. I don't care if he is dead. Wait, he's dead, right?

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Oops. It's a Boy.

Today marks the three year anniversary that the boyfriend and I got our dog. Like a lot of children, he was mostly the result of a very drunk night.

Yeah, well you're adopted!
We were with some friends at this rodeo that we go to almost every year. (Shut up, it's awesome.) At this rodeo there was a woman who was selling a litter of puppies. And I was already pretty drunk when I saw them, so I was immediately obsessed and couldn't leave them alone.

Since I had been missing from the rest of the group for a while, the boyfriend came looking for me. When he found me, I scooped up the cutest puppy and ran over to him.

"Give that lady a hundred dollars," I told him. "This is our dog now."

The puppy was f-ing adorable and the boyfriend was also pretty drunk by then, so he obliged. And that is how we accidentally got a dog when we were drunk at a rodeo. Even though this was about one week after we had talked about getting a dog but determined we weren't mature enough for that kind of responsibility.