Thursday, June 27, 2013

I Wish I'd Asked to be His Friend

The second time I visited my friend Jacob in L.A, we went out in West Hollywood. People are weird there. I saw a guy on the sidewalk who was about seven feet tall and had bright pink hair. He was wearing an unbuttoned police shirt that he had fashioned into a vest, aviator sunglasses, and really short jean cutoffs. And he was dancing his face off to no music. It was awesome.

P.S. I survived my trip to Texas. I didn't even see a chainsaw. And San Antonio actually seemed like a pretty cool city.

I don't trust it one bit. I got my eye on you, Texas.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

The End?

Tomorrow I am doing something I swore I would never do. I am going to Texas.

From what I understand, based on T.V. and movies of course, Texas is filled with two things: racists and chainsaw massacres. And I am terrified by both of those things.

So, wish me luck. This may be my last post.

Friday, June 21, 2013

It's u'r, Not ur

It drives my crazy that there are so many otherwise high functioning adults who do not know the difference between the words "your" and "you're."

What pisses me off even more is when they try to argue that it doesn't even matter. "You know what I meant," they reason.

But that's the very problem. Yes, I know exactly what you were trying to write, and I watched you fail at it. And now I'm judging your overall intelligence.

Here are some very compelling reasons to study your grammar:

My next what?

Keep hustling, homie.

Here's a rogue apostrophe. And regret. Probably a lot of regret.

Defeated by illiteracy.

Getting warmer...

Tutor me, Obi Wan Kanobi.

Now go read a book.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

You Just Can't Keep a Good Dog Down

Remember when I told you that my dad had to bury the same dead dog twice? (Don't recall? You can take a quick refresher course here.) Anyway, I figure it's about time I fill in the details on that one for you.

When I was growing up, my family had a Pomeranian named Tiki. My dad tried to ignore him, but he eventually caved after Tiki spent a year making it clear that they were going to be the very best of friends. And then he spent the next fourteen years with a fuzzy little twelve pound dog following him everywhere he went.

So he was pretty sad when he eventually had to make the decision to have Tiki put down. Afterwards, he went down to the woods behind the shop where he works and built a little tomb, where he buried Tiki with his favorite tennis ball.

Then, a couple weeks later, Dad got a call from the police station. "Mark, did you bury a dog back behind the shop?"

Now, my dad is a pretty smart guy who I'm sure had a couple of brushes with some petty crime back in his day, so he wasn't about to admit to anything right away. "I'm not sure," he said. "Let me check."

"Well, did you or didn't you?" they asked.

Again he answered, "I'll have to check."

I guess they got tired of going around in circles, so finally they told him to just come down to the station and pick up his dead dog (who was still wearing his collar with our home address and phone number).

It seems a little girl who lived on the edge of town was playing in the woods that day and stumbled upon Tiki's tomb. She opened it up, dragged out the dead dog inside, and brought the carcass down to the police station. (Probably whistling a tune and expecting to get some sort of medal for solving a case as high profile as canine abduction/homicide.)

And so Dad had to go pick up his furry little buddy (who now had considerably less fur, especially around the eyes and mouth), and re-bury him. This time he included an epitaph that read:

R.I.P. Tiki

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Free Bird: Not so Much

Some people are total free spirits. They live these romantic lives, blowing in the wind and just going wherever the world takes them. Sometimes I like to think that I could be like that.

A couple of weeks ago, I met a girl from Paris who was couch surfing at my friend Bob's house. We went out for dinner and some drinks, and she told me about how she's spending the summer here in the U.S. to teach French to kids at a summer camp.  She also talked about the time she recently spent in Greece. And like a year ago, she was in Brazil and Argentina for a while, studying meditation and yoga.

I was in awe. This girl's life sounded f-ing amazing. I imagined having that kind of life myself; quitting my job, traveling the world, and just embracing the adventure.

But then I started thinking things like: So wait, just no contributions to your 401k for a while? And I wonder how health insurance works in that situation. You'd have to go home somewhat regularly, though, right? Like, to do your taxes and renew your license and stuff. To what address would you even have those kinds of documents and notices mailed?

And I think that was the day I fully realized that I am a god damned adult. Sad face.

Friday, June 14, 2013

America Can Be a Confusing Place

We got new paper towel dispensers at work. And they have this on the side of them:

I get that the symbol on the right is for the battery level, but what the F is the one on the left? Are paper towels strictly forbidden in Montana or something? I don't get it. And the mystery is haunting me. Please help.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

At Least Say It Behind My Back

People seem to have a need to compare and label twins. They always ask things like, "Who is the dominant one?" and, "Which one's the evil twin?" Twins are always getting stacked up against each other.

Unfortunately, my twin sister and I were naturally prone to these kinds of comparisons. Amy has always been more active and social, while I was definitely more cerebral. By the time we reached middle school, and with a little help from our peers, we fell into the categories of "the smart one" and "the pretty one."

Smarty Pants and Barbie Doll, a couple years back
One night back in college, some friends and I were discussing people's need to compartmentalize the world in this way. I mentioned the sort of socially imposed self-fulfilling prophecies that my sister and I had experienced.

And then it became painfully clear that the point of that conversation went right over one guy's head when he said, "Well Marie, obviously you know your sister is a lot prettier than you." And then it got really quiet and uncomfortable for a little while.

Oh, and did I forget to mention that I was currently dating that guy? Because, yeah, I was. Well, not for much longer after that.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

"Somniloquy" Makes it Sound Classy

One out of every 20 people talk in their sleep, but I'm told that I take it up a notch. Apparently, I often yell, super loud, in the middle of the night. Which, admittedly, sounds super unpleasant for anyone who has to sleep in my general vicinity.

The boyfriend was out of town last week, so my parents came down to stay with me for a couple of days. I guess both of them were woken up at like 6:00 on Saturday morning by my shouting. I screamed something like, "Hurry up, it's back! I can't hold it, I can't hold it!" (I actually remember the dream that prompted that one: I was holding a sandwich and all of a sudden there was a baby snake in it.)

I also yell at our dog in my sleep all the time. The boyfriend is constantly getting woken up by me shouting, "Gordy, stay!" And most I nights babble about nonsense like "squishing kitties in my hood" and "getting all the birds out of the plastic bag." I wouldn't share any of the blankets with him the other night "because he didn't know how to work the control panel."

Poor boyfriend; I feel really bad for him. Between me and the dog, who whimpers and dream-runs at night, he claims he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since aught nine.

P.S. This guy is the most hilarious sleep talker in the world. And his wife is kind enough to record all of it and share the gems:

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

The Ultimate Enabler

It's been raining here in Minnesota everyday since the beginning of time. (Replace "beginning of time" with "beginning of May" and that's a mostly true statement.) And people have been complaining about the rain a lot. I usually just agree with them because people like you more when you have things in common, but I secretly love this weather.

It's because the three things in this world that I love more than anything else are books, Nutella, and Netflix. And all of those thing are best enjoyed while lounging on the couch, wearing sweatpants, for hours at a time. And sunshine just makes a person feel guilty about shit like that.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Want to See Inside My Brain?

I can't think of anything to write about, so here is a sampling of the totally random thoughts rolling around inside my head:

-- I could lose my entire left arm and probably not even notice.

-- They always say the key to happiness is doing what you love. As a 29 year old white girl from Minneapolis, it's going to be really hard to become a rapper. So, shit.

-- I have literally never washed my car. That's not a point of pride or anything, just a lazy, terrible fact.

-- I once had a dream that I was in a porno out of desperation and necessity. The director kept telling me, "It's never going to be sexy if you won't stop crying."

--The greatest thing I've ever done for anyone was introducing the boyfriend to sweatpants. He had never owned any before I convinced him to buy a pair; and obviously, his life hasn't been the same.

-- I am ridiculously bad at both tin foil and Saran wrap. Like, laughably bad. It's probably my biggest weakness. Can I start using that for job interviews?

-- When I have a lot of ones in my wallet, I worry that people will think I'm a stripper.