23

May

Out of Shape… Still

I’m in my early twenties but my injuries are already healing slower than they used to and older anatomical issues nag constantly – like what I imagine I will be like as a wife (sidenote: stereotypes are bad, but are sometimes funny). Every time I run, I feel the ghosts of these  injuries past.  It’s sort of like those ghosts in Pac-Man that bear down on you until they consume you and you die what I can only assume is a slow, painful, and pixelated death. Those very ghosts bore down on me today. Old stress fracture sites, old ankle sprains, terrible knees – they all combine together to form a perfect storm of misery. It almost makes me regret that the words “contact sport” were ever in my vocabulary. (Just kidding, sports = the best.)

2cat

So, anyway, today, I tried to run up a hill, into the wind and, well, it wasn’t so successful.

At first, I felt like I was in a Nike commercial. This was my hill, I was going to get over it. I was going to conquer this hill. But then the hill kept going. And going. And then, I made it!!  Over the  first crest from the vantage point of which I could see the many other hills that lay before me. And that’s when my commitment to getting over the hill faltered like a fading star in the night sky. Nah, it was more like an asteroid on a collision course with some other galactic body. CRASH AND BURNNN.

I slowed to a walk and of course, other runners chose that particular time to appear out of nowhere and pass me. They all gave me judgmental looks and I stared right back, defiant. Nope, I didn’t. I just looked at the ground. Dignity in failure is not one of my strong points.

1cat

I’m supposed to sign up for a half-marathon soon because clearly, I’m masochistic and want to slowly grind my joints into a fine, chalky powder. I hear once you’re mostly powder, you can’t feel pain anyway!! So, that’s my goal. My “hill,” if you will.

- Daughter

About these ads

1 day ago Short URL 1 Comment

Humor/Fail/Fitness

///////

22

May

Somebody’s Drunk in the Kitchen

I have a recipe that I hold near and dear to my heart. It was passed down for centuries in my family. It represents health, community, and spiritual well-being within my clan. Not really. I just found it this year on a Google search. But that doesn’t make for a very good story.

Anyway, during the last four months of college, this particular recipe has been a staple. It became comfort food. What is it, you ask? Kale and shrimp. It doesn’t sound impressive but this recipe is seriously magical. And, the best part of it is that it is impossible to screw up.

Unless you’re me.

I have made this recipe probably one hundred times. There are less than ten ingredients. It takes a maximum of thirty minutes to prepare and make. You’d think I’d have it down pat.

Mais, non.

I was so excited to cook this meal for my family because for once, I knew what I was doing. I confidently sauteed the kale and shrimp. I disregarded the directions a bit because I added more kale than the recipe called for. Ah, well, I should make more sauce to balance it out!! So, I added more vinegar to the sauce. Worst. Decision. Ever.

Immediately, the steam coming up from the pot turned into a noxious gas that made my eyes water. Well, maybe it’s one of those foods that tastes better than it smells! 

Nope, it wasn’t. I put a small sample in my mouth and I might as well have taken a shot of vinegar. Now my mouth was burning in addition to my eyes.

Luckily, my mom came to the rescue and was able to water down the sauce to less terrifyingly-vinegary levels. Nobody died after eating it so I guess I made something edible. Checkmate.

- Daughter

2 days ago Short URL Comments

Fail/Family/Humor

//////

21

May

Unpacking < Packing

I felt very optimistic when I woke up this morning. I set up my mom’s juicer and juiced the sh heck out of vegetables and fruits indiscriminately. The resulting juice was the color of toxic waste but it actually didn’t taste that bad considering it was mostly kale and carrots. I felt like a hippie as I drank this disgusting-looking liquid but there are worse things in the world than feeling like a hippie.

This juice thing is supposed to replace my go-to beverage in the morning: coffee. I made the impulsive decision to stop drinking coffee and today is day 1 of what I foresee to be a very Poor Life Choice(tm). I already got a migraine-like headache from the lack of caffeine and felt distinctly less energetic and jazzed about life. To be honest, my will power is only so-so currently. We’ll see how long this lasts before I break.

After I was thoroughly juiced up and sans-coffee, I started the process of unpacking. It felt like forever as I opened box after box without any visible progress or improvement. I looked at the clock, expecting it to be a few hours later than when I had last checked, but no, it was only THIRTY MINUTES past when I had started. I dramatically laid on the bed with my hand on my head and re-enacted the scene from Gone with the Wind when Scarlett O’Hara says, “I’ll think about that… tomorrow.”

I didn’t realize I had so many clothes until I opened up those nifty vacuum-seal bags they were all stuffed in. Every time I broke open the vacuum seal I wanted to yell out, “RELEASE THE KRAKKEN!” Instead, I sighed as the small bag suddenly expanded with overflowing garments and sheets.

It was kind of like the OPPOSITE of Christmas morning: I didn’t want to open any of these bags or boxes and unleash the hellfire within. But, I persisted and now the unpacking is about halfway done. My room looks less like a storage locker and more like a room where somebody might sleep.

And tomorrow, the unpacking continues. As does my misery.

- Daughter

3 days ago Short URL Comments

Fail/Humor

/////

20

May

Road Trip Diaries: Homeward Bound, Part VI

Dad’s Version  of the Events:

Day Five:  The Final Frontier.

These have been the Voyages of the Crew Cab Pickup, Frontier.

It’s five-day mission:  To explore strange, new roads; to seek out new family members and their new idiosyncracies; to boldly go where Daughter and I have never gone before . . . .  Whooooosh!!!

That “whoosh” was not the sound of the warp drive engaging.  Rather, it was the Mistral-like trade winds that buffeted us in the face every mile of the way since we left Dallas early Sunday morning.

And today was different, in that the hot, humid Texas heat was replaced by the searing, dry New Mexico and Arizona heat.  Why do people live in such places?  I’ll never know.

All I can say is Thank God for modern air conditioning and cruise control, which meant for us that our daily distance was more a function of our bladders and bleary-eyed fatigue than any sort of truck-dependent mechanical factors.  For the past couple of days, I reminisced to myself about the long-distance drives of my youth, in a Chevy Vega, no less.  You see, I had plenty of time to think to myself, since Daughter was usually good for one solid driving stint per day, with the balance of her other time spent napping, staring at her iPhone, and standing Tarp Watch.

But back to the Days of Yore, it was no air conditioning, no cruise control, no problem.  In my foolish, youthful long-distance driving zeal, I even used to roll up the passenger window during those incredibly hot and long summer journeys, thinking what I lost in perspiration was more than made up by improved aerodynamics.

What a bunch of crap that notion was!  No way, man.  It would have been better to have driven naked with all the windows down compared to what I actually put myself through otherwise.  However, I find those past experiences a useful context to judge how easy it is for me now.  Instead of worrying if I’ll blow an engine or have a flat, I’m more concerned about how far off the Interstate the next Starbucks happens to be.

It’s really sickening, when I think about it, but I will leave the pain and denial in my life to my gardening adventures (that damn clover!), while I prefer my driving to be comfortable and relatively stress free.

Never one to leave well enough alone, though, I induced stress on this latest trip by initiating a series of questions (historical) and transportational (practical) to gauge both Daughter’s general level of awareness and as well as her basic competencies in both areas.  Of course, best of all, it also offered me the chance to impart generational wisdom.

The results were mixed.  On the one hand, Daughter is a very intelligent and sensitive young woman, who has much to offer to the world which, one day, will award her a Pulitzer Prize.  On the other hand, she has a hard time figuring out miles per gallon and doesn’t react very well to the question/phrases, “Well, what would you do if I weren’t here?” and “That’s just an observation; not a criticism.”

In the end, we made it home safely today; we’re still talking to each other, though I don’t understand a lot of what she says; we still enjoy each other’s company (most of the time); and we both have an inherent dislike for Left Lane Bandits and Other Morons of the Open Road (of which there are plenty, and increasing daily, it seems).

Years from now, when my great, great grandchildren ask me about this trip and the most important lesson learned, I will slowly wipe away the spittle from my lower lip, adjust my diaper, and look deeply into the eyes of whichever kid I can focus on and grumble, “Never use yarn to tie down a tarp in a pickup truck bed.  It really sucks and doesn’t work for shi very well.”

Thanks, Daughter.  Now I have something to look forward to!

- Dad

——–

Daughter’s Version of Events: 

We made great time today because Dad fell asleep for a long stretch of the trip and after a quick risk assessment, I took liberties with the speed limit. The speed limit on a two-lane interstate is mostly a guide anyway, n’est-ce pas? As usual, semi-truck drivers and people who must have been in and out of R.E.M. sleep behind the wheel were great dangers on the road. But, to be fair, I’m also a hazard to myself because I get very competitive with semi-trucks who try to pass. They put on that blinker and it signals me to speed up while waggling my finger angrily at the driver. Usually, this is enough to discourage the driver from careening into my lane. It gives me a sick sense of pleasure depriving trucks the ability to cross into my lane in front of me. Maybe this is because I inherited the jerk gene. I hear it gets passed down through the Y chromosome only…

Today, other drivers were not a huge issue. I had bigger problems to worry about, like the giant dust devils that appeared out of nowhere and swept across the road without warning. Dad was asleep when one decided to cross the road right into the truck and I was temporarily thrown around a bit. Luckily, the truck was weighed down my pounds and pounds of my belongings so there was no way I was going anywhere. I was briefly terrified which helped to keep me awake. Maybe I should just watch horror films while I drive. I would be distracted, sure, but I’d be awake!

We also passed a lot of border patrol stops today and my father tested out some new material he must have been working on:

“Okay, Daughter, try not to look too Mexican. Think about being white.”

“PUT DOWN THE BURRITO.”

“Graci- I mean, thank you!!”

When we finally got home (the last hour was torture), I immediately forced my younger sister into indentured servitude and had her carry boxes from the truck. It turns out she is stronger than me. She’s only 11 but she has the bicep strength of an adult Slovakian wrestler.

My room is currently full of unpacked boxes and I am full of the promise of new tomorrows!! No, wait, I’m just full from dinner.

- Daughter

4 days ago Short URL Comments

Family/Humor/Road Trip

////////////

19

May

Road Trip Diaries: Homeward Bound, Part V

Dad’s Version of Events:

Dante’s Inferno had nothing on us today.

I have seen The Apocalypse, and its name is Southwestern Texas. We awoke this morning to a cool breeze in Dallas, which lulled me into thinking the heat and humidity we drove into yesterday had broken.

Cruelly, that was not the case.

Not only did it turn out to be as miserably hot again today as it was on Saturday, a gale force wind worthy of The Perfect Storm reared its ugly head – in our faces. All day.

It was intimidating.

But let me return to the heat. How hot was it? I noticed several cars driving in the opposite direction (with the wind) with those heat-reflecting shields partially deployed in their windshields.

I imagined the associated conversation thusly:

“Good, God, the sun is burning my eyes through the windshield. Dear, please grab that aluminum foil heat reflector thing and pop it up on your side, would you?”

“Isn’t that going to affect your view? I mean, don’t you need to see out the front of the car?”

“Nah, it’s the passenger side. Not much happens over there and, besides, you’ll warn me if something’s about to explode or run into us.”

Yep. Something like that.

And I’ve never, ever seen people deploy their shield while driving. Parked; of course. Driving? Come on.

I am happy to reveal that I did not witness such behavior on our side of the Interstate but, then again, Daughter’s crap sh belongings pretty much obscured my vision anywhere to the back or side of us.

And the wind. My God, the wind!

Big rigs were weaving all over the place. Dust devils danced through the landscape around us. And occasionally a gust threatened to blow open one of our doors.

Well, not really on that last point, but it sure seemed like it, at times.

Prior to this leg of the journey, my trusty pickup was averaging almost 22 mpg. But today it plummeted to 17.5 mpg. Ladies and Gentlemen, that’s a head wind.

Out in the middle of nowhere, between the garden spots of Odessa and El Paso, there were actually two bicyclists laboring along the shoulder of the Interstate. They were clearly in the middle of some masochistic bike “adventure,” since they were festooned with sleeping bags and panniers. As we sped by them, I estimated they were tootling along at about 1.73 mph, with 24 miles to the next town of any significance. I thought it was illegal to bicycle on an Interstate Highway, so if there are any law enforcement officials reading this post, please note the location of these two cyclists.

Even though it’s been about six hours since we passed them, I figure they are still out there and have maybe managed to cover all of two miles in that time.

I’m telling you it was windy.

There were two essential highlights today. The first involved passing through an immigration checkpoint. When we realized what lay ahead of us on the road, it sparked a flurry of inappropriate comments from me to Daughter, such as:

“Be sure to turn the Spanish language radio station off when we roll the window down.”

“Remember to say ‘thank you’ instead of ‘gracias’ to the Border Patrol officer.”

Things like that.

The second highlight and, perhaps, the Tenth Festivus Miracle of the year was that Daughter was almost bright-eyed and bushy tailed for much of the drive, until she “hit the wall” later in the day and asked me why I wasn’t tired.

(Note to self: When traveling with Daughter, plan on a minimum of three coffee breaks before noon if there is any expectation of consciousness from her after 3:00 p.m.)

And tomorrow? If Allah and the Dust Devils are willing, we should roll up in front of our Home Sweet Home at some point in the afternoon, assuming:

1) We leave the hotel before 9:30 a.m.

2) The Tarpaulin Gods accept our sacrifice of Hampton Inn Shampoo and Conditioner.

3) We don’t get pulled over for an expired State of California license plate.

4) There are enough foo-foo coffee joints between New Mexico and California to keep us both focused and jazzed.

If all those things come true, we have a chance. If not, well, Hope Springs Eternal and Tomorrow is Another Day.

Or is that Tomorrow Never Dies?

I get it confused sometimes if I haven’t had any coffee.

- Dad

———–

Daughter’s Version of Events:

Miles and miles of.. nothing.

Miles and miles of… nothing.

I got up early for reeealsies today: 7am. Essentially the crack of dawn in my world. But I got up. My dad was probably pleasantly surprised that he didn’t have to drag me out of bed. Oh wait, nevermind. That’s never happened because I am the one always awake first on this road trip.

We made our way to Starbucks in the morning before hitting the road as per usual. I prefer local coffee places but my father has developed a taste for large corporate coffee with no personality. He loves to make fun of me for getting a soy latte which he terms “foo-foo” but I’m not the one who is constantly asking, “So, where’s the nearest Starbucks?” He is an addict.

I don’t love the coffee there but it’s drinkable and sometimes delicious if I use the powers of my imaaaagination. I like to call it Starbutts because it’s just immature enough to annoy my father. I don’t think I’ve actually said it out loud to him and to be honest, he probably wouldn’t notice if I did because he can’t hear most of the things I say.

Anyway, today I may or may not have angered the barista at Starbutts by asking if my drink was coming because it took longer than usual. I mentally berated myself because I was being the customer I always hated when I was working there. Sorry, hapless barista! I was just grumpy because the sun was waaaaay too close to the horizon for my liking.

After successfully acquiring coffee (I pray it was free of spit), we got back on the road and I fell asleep almost immediately. But then my turn behind the wheel came all too soon. It was incredibly windy so my usual multi-tasking was a no-no. I put my DJing, Starbucks-finding, and e-mail-checking to the side in order to keep the truck from blowing off the road. My Dad doesn’t know how to use my iPhone so I had to find Starbucks on my phone only at stoplights or slower portions of the road. Safety first!!!

Speaking of safety, my dad has avoided sleeping when I’ve driven the past four days because he doesn’t trust me or something. However, I happen to be a fantastic driver. I am the Danica Patrick of this road trip. And my dad is… he’s like the Ricky Bobby.

Well, anyway, today he stole my FaceTent(tm) and actually slept. Because of this, I had to rely on myself for two hours’ of entertainment. I sang songs with questionable content and  used the opportunity of him sleeping to push the speed limit a bit. Not a lot but enough to feel like I was James Bond or something. Going three miles over the speed limit is definitely equivalent to how James Bond feels.

Dad, stealing my idea.

Dad, stealing my idea.

As the day wore on, I got more and more tired. My eyes started to dry up and when I went to rub them, I accidentally got sunscreen in them. So, they ended up being dry and also burned with the intensity of one thousand suns (ironic considering it was, you know, sunscreen that caused this). I decided the best way to resolve my temporary blindness was to pour bottled water directly into my eyes while in the car. Surprisingly, it sort of worked and I was able to both see and blink without excruciating pain – success!!!

Not that there was much to see...

Not that there was much to see…

Tomorrow is hopefully the last day of driving. 9 or 10 hours of driving left! My dad is already asking if there’s a Starbutts around here.

- Daughter

5 days ago Short URL Comments

Fail/Family/Humor/Road Trip

//////////////

18

May

Road Trip Diaries: Homeward Bound, Part IV

Dad’s Version of the Events:

Fab Fam Time in Dallas today — the southernmost tip of the Great Plains, which has been converted into an endless landscape of concrete, heat, humidity, and cookie cutter McMansions.  We declared a Unilateral Pajama Day, which seemed relevant, since I have been beset by restless slumber since the onset of the trip, and it really would be more appropriate for me to wear bed clothes since I’m half asleep most of the time.

The first attack of the Sleepless Nights occurred at Daughter’s apartment before we left.  In her admirable zeal to pack and be ready to rock and roll down the road, Daughter’s remaining unpacked bed linen was seemingly sourced from a local Salvation Army Drop Box.  That is to say, the pillow case on which I rested was made of near-burlap, and the covers had seen better days in the 1950s, from whence they came.

Subliminally or no, they put me in a restless stupor, which led to a funk, which led to an almost sleepless night — broken only by short naps where I dreamed I was in a concentration camp.

Fast forward to the wonderful abode of my lovely Spouse’s Sister, where we parked last night.  We all love spending time together, but there are hidden secrets which lurk throughout her picture perfect home.  For my part, I was looking forward to a quiet night catching up on some zzzz’s so that I could face the balance of the journey relatively refreshed and in sound state of mind.

Unfortunately, my attempts at slumber were interrupted on a continual basis after the lights went out.  The culprits?  A family of squirrels that was busy setting up a wi-fi transponder in the walls of my bedroom.  They were running cables and wires for most of the night, and I swear they took a smoke break around 3:00 a.m.

Clearly they were Union Squirrels.

Still, we all had a great time together there, when not bothered by rodents (Are squirrels rodents?), while Daughter napped and ate and napped.  For me, I managed to play some golf with Granddad  – well, he really played, while I rode in the cart, hit some balls, and gave the appearance of playing.  I did find four golf balls during the round, however, so I consider it a success.

We ended the day at Family Stop Number Two — my Bro’s house — with a Texas-size cookout and a house full of people I didn’t know, but who smiled a lot and reminded me, again, how dismal and sarcastic I really am.

We have truly been treated like royalty by our family here.  Well, the kind of faux-royalty present in some minor dukedoms and municipalities, but royalty nonetheless, and we are very appreciative and thankful.

Almost thankful enough to extend our stay, but, no.  We must attend and depart for our own Home.

So, kind of refreshed and somewhat rested (not really), we have committed to an early start in the morning on Sunday, and we are going to try to make San Diego in two days’ time, Allah Willing and if foo-foo coffee is available.

Time will tell if we can manage to stay on schedule, but the road beckons.  And don’t forget the Tarp Zombie Wars.  Sis-in-Law made a major Bungie Cord Investment, and we will put the new apparatus to the test in Southwestern Texas.

Yee-haw!  I have high hopes!

- Dad

————

Daughter’s Version of the Events: 

It felt good to stay off the roads today again for the sake of spending time with family. Well, I actually don’t know what I spent more time with today, my family or my pillow. I slept a lot. That reminds me, I should really look into Narcoleptics Anonymous. But then again, maybe not. I should probably just use that time to sleep some more.

Not the car.

Not the car.

What I realized seeing my cousins and other family today is that I’m really, really white compared to everyone else. (But also that I love my family! Of course.) You would never know that I’m second generation Persian. I look like any standard-issue European something-or-other. Spending all of winter inside because of East Coast Weather didn’t help matters; I have turned mostly transparent. It would be funny except I have realized the make-up powder brand I use does not make a “snow” color so I have had to make do. I now just rub flour into my face and call it a day. (And if I add a little yeast: PRESTO, bread.(?) I am not a baker, I don’t know.)

Also not the car.

Also not the car.

Anyway, I woke up today at ten and then lazed around. I made some toast and “researched” classes for next fall. Looks like I’m going to be taking art classes! I guess my school is only going to give me my degree after I complete the college requirement of finger painting. Only then am I educated.

After such hard work, I was naturally tired. So I napped to rest up before we took a thirty minute trip down to Southlake, TX. (I didn’t drive, but believe me, navigating for my father is an energy-expending task.)

We left in the evening and  as much as I wanted to withhold information while I navigated the roads, I knew that would be disastrous for both of us. (When I say ‘navigating’ you should know that I mean ‘reading MapQuest directions’). You would think that printing out directions instead of relying on my undependable phone and blindly following the print map would help cut down on arguing but we found a way to work in a disagreement nonetheless:

“YES DAD, STAY ON THIS ROAD”

“YES, THIS ONE”

“NO, NOT THAT ONE.”

“THAT ONE WE PASSED BACK THERE WAS ACTUALLY THE TURN.”

I was smug about being right about directions. Until we missed a turn. Even so, we got to my aunt and uncle’s house and I got to catch up with family I hadn’t seen and some family I hadn’t even met. The most entertaining family member is probably my aunt who is very Southern; the South seeps into just about everything she says*:

“Bless her heart, she is never going to find a man with that hair.”

“Butter my butt and call me a biscuit!”

“Y’all, it’s time for a hoedown! Grab the pitchforks and dancing partners!”

- Daughter

* My aunt didn’t actually say any of these things. I just like to think she did.

7 days ago Short URL Comments

Road Trip

//////////////

17

May

Road Trip Diaries: Homeward Bound, Part III

Daughter’s Version of the Events (and the only version because Dad has gone to bed):

How being in the car makes me feel.

This morning, I got up before my Dad who seems to have absorbed the Southern pace of living: slow as molasses. Slower than Paula Deen trying to finish a marathon. Slower than a Southerner “driving.” Slower than a Southerner saying anything. I’m technically originally from the South so I’m allowed to make fun of it. When you are born in a Southern state, you get a set of rules along with your birth certificate that grants you permission to make fun of the South. And then, the barn hands hospital workers hand you a stick of butter and you deep fry the stork that brought you into the world.

But I digress.

Today, we left Little Rock, Arkansas behind. Of course, the trip started with trouble. The tarp covering all of my belongings was flapping around like an angry goose so we had to stop and adjust. The first time, I insisted that my Dad tie the tarp down tighter but he said, “No, let’s just go.” Well, lo and behold, not more than thirty seconds later on the interstate we were on the verge of losing the tarp again. Part of the problem is that the string my dad picked up is approximately the same thickness as dental floss. It turns out that dental floss is a less than perfect tie-down material.

My dad added another string, screwed around with the tarp, and then decided that his efforts were good enough. I was not convinced and took matters into my own hands, tying knots to secure more things as my dad sat inside the cab, leisurely sipping coffee.

After a shorter length of driving (5 hours) we made it to my aunt’s house in Texas. However, my father tested my patience by withholding navigational information purely to irritate me. I think he thinks he is somehow preparing me for the “real world” by refusing to communicate directions.

Me: “Did we miss the turn?”

Dad: “I don’t know, what would you do if I weren’t here?”

Me: “Well, that isn’t the case, so did we?”

Dad: “Yeah, and now we have to turn around.”

Me: “What? Are you serious?”

Dad: “No, you’re fine. The turn is not for a while.”

Despite the arguments about directions, we got to Texas in one piece. How I leave Texas, however, is another matter.

I went Razor scootering with my cousin who enjoyed the fact that he could bike a million times faster than I could scooter. Unfortunately, I did not wear shoes and when I went careening downhill and applied the brakes with my foot, the metal immediately heated to a molten lava level temperature and burned my foot. And then, after I realized I would be unable to use the brakes with my bare feet, I settled for using my foot to periodically hit the ground while I rolled downhill. So then I got road burn in addition to a metal-induced burn.

My grandparents came to join us for a home-cooked dinner of Chipotle and we spent time catching up while shoveling vaguely Mexican food into our gaping maws. My grandmother’s first words to me were, “Oh, you’ve gained weight!” Ah, yes. Grandparents.

After dinner, I played badminton with my grandpa and cousin until I messed up one too many times and sat myself down. At which point, my dad picked up a dead snake and chased me around with it while I screamed. Naturally.

Can’t choose your family.

- Daughter

 

7 days ago Short URL Comments

Family/Humor/Road Trip

////////////

15

May

Road Trip Diaries: Homeward Bound, Part I

Dad’s Version of the Events:

Let me start by saying that, though late to pick me up at the airport yesterday and forcing me to contort to a space in the truck’s passenger seat better suited to a Capuchin Monkey, Daughter did an exemplary job of preparing for the trip home.  She had already packed 97% of her stuff and had actually loaded most of it in the bed already – with the exception that she allowed for exactly three inches of leg room for both the front seats, she done good.

However, because of said space restrictions, a quick reallocation of physical assets was called for.  The criterion was simple:  If Daughter could afford to lose whatever item or box we were considering, it went back into the bed.  After all, for someone to steal some of the junk we’re hauling home, they clearly must be one step away from impending homelessness.

And, Presto!  We suddenly had room to stretch.

The Next Big Idea concerned the weather forecast and protecting her crap junk belongings in the back from the elements.

“We need one of those covering things,” said Daughter.

“A tarp.  It’s called a tarp.”

“But it’s 10:00 p.m.  What’s open at his hour?”*

(*Not the verbatim dialogue, but pretty close to it.)

Target, of course.

I’ll spare you the details of finding the Target, finding the tarp, and finding rope/twine/string – “We don’t sell no string anymore at Target, sir.”

But we did manage to source everything, and after a mostly sleepless night, we started out tired and fatigued this morning at the crack of dawn about 9:30 a.m.

We managed all of five minutes down the Interstate before making our first stop to adjust and secure the tarp.

Sufficiently satisfied, we began again and racked up another ten minutes before pulling over again to screw around with reconfigure the tarp.

Clearly, we are better suited to interpreting spurious GPS displays than we are tying down anything.  After all, I was given a choice between sports and Cub Scouts, and because I chose the former, I’m still paying the price in the “Life Skills Department, subtitle, Tying Knots.”

Our dilemma called for some real innovative thinking.  I decided to put my suitcase on top of the tarp and tie it down instead.  The only risk was that if anything went wrong, instead of losing a five dollar tarp, I would lose all my most valuable possessions in the bag.

“Dad.  Isn’t your suitcase going to fly off the back?”

“Nope.  And if it does, then the Universe needed it more than me.”

Whatever, it worked.

We wound up travelling nearly six hundred miles today, and I witnessed Daughter taking only one fitful nap.

I call that a success.

As an aside, many years ago when we first moved to Southern California, I asked a colleague at work about his experiences with the State’s law enforcement personnel on our local freeways.  He compared the likelihood of being pulled over akin to being that one unlucky wildebeest in a herd of thousands, singled out and dragged down by a constabulary pride of lions.

I took that story as a license to be prudent, diligent, and speedy, when safe to do so.  My last conversation with a policeman was sometime in the 1990s, and did not result in a ticket, so I guess the strategy worked.

I am happy to report that on the first day of our Father-Daughter (or is it Daughter-Father?) return journey to the Best Coast, we were not targeted by the pride.  However, I experienced a smidgen of Schadenfreude when I witnessed an older couple in a Cadillac SUV (New York plates) talking to the Virginia State Police on two separate occasions not more than twenty minutes apart.

I would think they would have gotten the message the first time.

As for us, when you’re rocking down the Interstate on cruise control, with a zombie-like passenger who looks ready to pass out at any moment throughout the day, while constantly focused on a petulant tarp out back that is billowing so much you think there were zombies underneath trying to escape, exceeding the speed limit doesn’t even enter into the equation — finding the next foo-foo coffee place does, but we don’t need to speed to get there.

- Dad

—————

Daughter’s Version of the Events:

Well, I woke up at 7am like my dad demanded only to twiddle my thumbs for an hour while I waited for him to wake up. Eventually, I had to wake him up and he immediately said he didn’t sleep and that’s why he didn’t wake up at 7. Ah, well, neither did I. I guess I’m just, you know, DEDICATED and RESPONSIBLE.

Anyway, after briefly stuffing last minute items into the truck bed, I drove my dad to my favorite coffee shop one last time. He complained about the price, of course. (Am I surprised? No. This is somebody who brags about finding pennies like they’re buried treasure and he is Long John Silver.) I found it ironic that he complained about the prices considering he is a very regular patron of a small, independently-owned coffee shop. You may have heard of it… Starbucks. However, he didn’t see things my way and continued to grumble about the high price of the coffee. I helpfully reminded him that he could not put a price on my happiness.

What do all these shapes and lines mean??

After that brief breakfast, we hit the road. The GPS died despite numerous attempts at revival. CPR just wasn’t enough to save our TomTom. One less navigational tool is honestly probably better for us, anyway. Now, with the GPS out of the picture (R.I.P.), there are less contradicting directions. This is the sort of thing that happens when we have too many navigational tools:

Dad: “What highway should we take?”

Me: “Well, the GPS says to take the 83. The AAA map says to take the 77. My phone GPS says that this road doesn’t exist.”

Of course, our trip had a snafu or four. We had to pull over multiple times because the tarp covering the mountain of belongings in the truck bed kept flying up like a magnificent sail. Well, it’d be more magnificent if it wasn’t in danger of flying off and then landing on someone’s windshield and causing a fiery crash worthy of a Michael Bay film.

Sidenote/humanity-affirming moment of the day: because we were in the South, a guy stopped on the freeway when we were struggling with the tarp and in his deep Southern drawl, asked if we needed help. I forget that people care about other people in some places!! I’ve been in Philly too long, clearly.

Anyway, my dad and I took turns driving today but Dad ended up taking on the bulk of the driving because my eyes were drying up into raisins. I tried to bring back FaceTent ™ but without a heavy black coat to mask out the sun, it was futile. Other materials let in sunlight and therefore, blind you even with your eyes closed.

All in all, it was a successful day. Well, besides the barista putting a boy’s name on my Starbucks cup instead of my actual girl name. And my dad yelling at me to find a Starbucks faster on my phone that had no signal. And when my dad yelled at me for not being able to see a semi I almost merged into. And when my dad told me I was driving too fast. And when my dad told me that I am now in charge of making sure my sister is an upstanding citizen. (HEAR THAT, SIS? I know you read it, little one.) But yeah, besides all that, it was a good day.

Nope, that's not my name.

Nope, that’s not my name.

Who are you trying to convince, Bristol?

Who are you trying to convince, Bristol, TN?

I bet you didn't know there were castles in Tennessee.

I bet you didn’t know there were castles in Tennessee.

- Daughter

 

 

10 days ago Short URL 1 Comment

Family/Humor/Road Trip

///////////

14

May

Pre-Road Trip Thoughts

Tomorrow morning my dad and I will begin a 2800 mile journey back across the United States to get back to California. DEJA VU.

I have been stuffing my belongings into the truck with care and lovingly cleaning everything like the tone-deaf, Americanized Mary Poppins I truly am. Except, not. It’s been like a reverse episode of Hoarders in my apartment the last few days. The answer to “what should I do with this?” is always “GIVE IT AWAY!!!” or “toss it.” I prefer to think of throwing things away as making an offering to Oscar the Grouch (not to be confused with my father, who responds to the same name). It makes me feel better when I associate a muppet’s identity with the action of throwing away because it assuages my guilt of contributing to a giant, ugly landfill where some poor seagull will probably get killed by mutated quinoa that I threw out because it went bad. And we all know that when quinoa goes bad, it goes bad fast. Murderously so.

Anyway, today I picked up my dad from the airport but not before first getting lost in the back country of PA. And getting honked at. Getting honked at always makes me feel like I’m a cat or dog getting sprayed in the face with a water spritzer. Except it’s completely different. But the feelings – the feelings – are the same – shame and embarrassment. Because of the honking, my anxiety went through the roof and I gripped the steering wheel like I was Lindsay Lohan on her last bottle of Adderall the rest of the way.

Luckily, my dad was there to make me feel better. JUST KIDDING. He called from the airport curb and so I told him I was almost there. He responded with an audible, exasperated sigh and replied, “You’re just like your mother.” And then I said, “Cool, Dad. Be there soon. I’m driving, can’t talk.” When I finally retrieved Mr. GrumpyPants (Dad), he proceeded to eye the truck with great suspicion and weariness. Then, he sat in the passenger seat and assumed the position of a hunchback. But not for funzies, as I first assumed. In my enthusiasm for packing up the truck, I seemed to have only left about three inches of leg room on the passenger side. Whoops. Well, I was just trying to encourage my dad to be flexible, but literally, you know? It’s important to be flexible, after all. In response to the yoga position that the seat forced him into, my dad said, “No, this isn’t going to work.” Luckily, I had food with me to distract him. I have learned that the best way to deal with my dad is to make sure he is full and chewing on either gum (ugh, he pops it, kill me) or eating food. That way, he can’t make mean comments about my driving, packing and general life-ing abilities (which are amazing, I assure you).

Stay tuned for the SEQUEL to Road Trip Diaries: A Father-Daughter Epic tomorrow!!

- Daughter

10 days ago Short URL 3 Comments

Family/Humor

///////

13

May

I Was on a Boat

This week is *~Senior Week~* for my school, so naturally, I crashed it. REBEL ALERT: I’m officially a “junior” because of that whole “year off” thing – I didn’t choose the thug life, the thug life chose me. Anywho, today’s college-sponsored event was the BOOZE CRUISE!! Well, that’s the unofficial name. The politically correct name is the Harbor Cruise. Basically: 260 graduating women (from a lesbian cult), 20 socially-awkward faculty, 2 bars, 4 decks, and 1 giant boat. 

My friend and I started off the cruise in the ladies’ room. Not because we were seasick, it just happened to be when nature called. Unfortunately, this was the same time that the boat pulled away from the dock. Being a land-loving lass, I wasn’t familiar with the rumbling gurgles the engines made as they turned on in advance of our journey downriver. Nope, I had no clue what was going on. All I knew is that it sounded like the boat was exploding from the inside out and that the walls rattled like they would cave in very soon. I internally panicked. I really didn’t want to die but I especially didn’t want to die in a bathroom stall. I may or may not have run out of the bathroom. Eyewitness accounts are inconclusive. 

After that initial terror, I calmed down and spent a lot of time wandering around the boat and re-enacting scenes from Titanic on the deck. Unfortunately, being out on the deck and exposed to the elements had its limits considering the low temperature. It was 40 degrees and windy. Not exactly weather that allows prolonged re-enactments. Besides Titanic-related activities, there was also a good amount of questionable dancing and a general lack of voLUMe ContROL.

The highlight of the entire cruise was when one of my friends asked if she could drive the boat and stupidly surprisingly, one of the crewmen thought that it’d be a mighty fine idea. So, near the end of the cruise, he came down to get us and we got to sneak into the operating room (is that what it’s called? I don’t know, I didn’t graduate from college yet so these things are intellectually elusive for me). My friend took the helm and I helpfully stood  over her shoulder (mostly to assuage my own fears that she wasn’t steering the boat into other boats or the shore) and chatted with one of the crewmen who wore glasses. Naturally, I started calling him Glasses because I’m mature and a people-person. 

This is an actual conversation that I had with him, not a dramatization:

Me: “Glasses, did you go to school around here?”

Glasses: “Temple.”

Me: “Did you go to boat school?”

Glasses: “..No”

Me: “Did you go to optometry school, you know, because of your glasses?” 

Glasses: “No.”

Me: “Are there any icebergs we should be aware of, Glasses?” 

Glasses: “..um”

Another crewmen was chatting with us as well and he explained the different horn rhythms and lengths and their meanings. Again, maturity was at the forefront when I asked: “Is there a horn sound that means a swear word in boat language?” 

Eventually, I tired of watching my friend gently guide the boat along at a slow speed: “Glasses, where’s the turbo drive on this thing?” 

Shortly thereafter, we were ushered out so the crew could dock the boat without having inane questions being hurled at them every five seconds.  

A good night was had by all! In fact, my college president who is a 70-something lady who wears neon pantsuits, got down with her bad self on the dance floor. I am unsure as to whether the memories of her dancing will lead to humorous dreams or nightmares. Only time will tell. 

- Daughter

 

11 days ago Short URL Comments

College/Humor

////////

10

May

The Never-Ending Story of Undergrad

Who knew getting an education would be so utterly impossible? I am TWO credits away from getting a Bachelor’s degree. Those two credits will be obtained in the fall (hopefully) in California. At which point, I shall be “educated” according to society’s standards. Although, I’ve heard now you have to separate yourself from the crowd by getting a master’s at least. Well, I laugh in academia’s face.

My old life plan was to leave undergrad after four years and immediately enroll in a PhD program. However, I am not the child genius I thought I was nor do I have the drive to become a child genius. There were a few times this year during which I felt brilliant and like I was just brimming with intelligence (how, I imagine, a child genius must feel). My thesis advisor probably interpreted my academic confidence with ego and so she did her best to cut me down. This is how most of our meetings went this semester:

Advisor: “So… I read your rough draft…”

Me: “Yeah! I provided an outline and thought we could discuss some of my ideas.”

Advisor: “I didn’t really follow the draft… at all. I’m confused.”

Me: “Oh.. about what?”

Advisor: “……. Everything.”

I think that being trapped in the ivory tower has made me antsy to communicate with people who don’t want to discuss and debate gender theory every three minutes. In fact, I feel a strong urge to watch Jersey Shore in order to eradicate all of these extra brain cells I grew from being smart because they are constantly giving me headaches (that’s how it works, right?). I’m ready to be a plebe again.

I now have all summer to putz around and not be academic. Largely, I plan on rebuilding my lackluster savings account by obtaining a JOB (yep, Dad, a JOB!!), writing marathon-long blog posts to make up for my half-a shorter blogs posts as of late, and generally enjoying being back on the best coast.

I’m currently trying to get a PAID internship this summer. Which is basically like trying to find a needle in a haystack where the needle doesn’t even exist. Trying to get a paid internship involves me begging various people to hire me. I mean, I understand that’s how most job searches and job inquiries go, but I’m really putting it all out there. I now walk around with a sandwich board boasting my many, many skills and positive qualities.

But really, hire me.

- Daughter

15 days ago Short URL Comments

Humor

//////

07

May

I Got into a Fender Bender! Rhyming Makes Car Accidents Better!

On Sunday, I was a passenger in a car that was rolling (no gas, nothing – no, Dad, not me driving and not your truck) when a car backed right into it. The other driver immediately got out of her car and started yelling because she thought we were speeding. I’ll admit, the car had four college students in it so it probably didn’t look good. But honestly, we were innocent!! And not Lindsay Lohan “innocent.” Like, for real innocent.

I was ready for a rumble because this lady was being verbally aggressive so I got out of the car with my roommate and went up to her. I had no weapons beyond my hands but I knew that the time had finally come to settle this the only way I knew how: through dance.

However, my strategy changed quickly. When I saw her up close, I knew dance would be no match for this foe. I was confused by her but also hypnotized. She was wearing a shockingly blue polyester jumpsuit with a gold chain across the midsection. She also had a serious case of what I like to call “looney eyes.” I could just tell this lady was a bit of a kook. And man, I was right.

She started the interaction by pointing out the various spots on her car that had body work because she had gotten into other accidents. Clearly, she was no stranger to crashing into things.

Immediately, I thought to myself: Wow, so this lady should not even be on the road. She literally cannot drive without hitting other objects. I mean, I don’t blame her. If I were her, I would be distracted by the amazing tragedy and comedy that is the jumpsuit she is currently wearing. 

 I was pretty sure this lady was living in a blue-jumpsuited fantasyland where the accident wasn’t her fault but she surprised me and apologized. My friend’s poor car suffered some scrapes and dents but luckily because we were going at a breakneck speed of negative four miles-per-hour, all passengers survived and went on to win the Nobel Prize etc. etc.

However, this lady kept saying we were in her blind spot despite admitting the accident was due to her negligence and general inability to operate a motor vehicle. Now, let me explain something to you. She was backing out of a parking space and clearly, the only way we could have been in her “blind spot” is if she wasn’t looking at all behind her and was focusing on what was lying directly ahead of her. Yeah, she was blind. BY CHOICE.

You are not Stevie Wonder. Stop trying.

- Daughter

17 days ago Short URL Comments

Humor

///////

06

May

The End of an Era

Yesterday was my college’s end-of-term festival. As such, we did the usual things college kids do: commune with lesbians, dress up in all white, drink al juice, sing the songs of our foremothers bashing the patriarchy, bounce around in giant bouncey things, and just generally conduct ourselves like the  cult members we are and will forever be.

It was a hot day and the festivities attracted members of the surrounding community and even – dare I say it – boys. It was quite a scene. There was a circus performer (whom I was very weary of) who entertained the crowd during the day. He juggled flaming torches and made funny faces but mostly, he scared the living daylights out of drunk college students. Nobody was sure whether he was just some crazy old man who stumbled onto the festival or if he had been legitimately hired by the college (and, if that was the case, two words: BUDGET CUTS).

At one point, he was juggling his flaming batons and dropped one of them ONTO THE GROUND WHERE THERE IS FLAMMABLE, DRY GRASS. Luckily, this didn’t end in our entire college being burned to the ground as he swiftly picked up the baton and continued on his merry way like the consummate professional my college obviously thought he was.

There was also a lot of drinking games but they mostly made me feel bad about myself. Beer pong reminds me that I will never be an NBA star. (I’m sorry I’ve failed you, Dad.)

At the end a long day of running around and being an extremely mature young woman, I settled down at my apartment and wished upon a star that tomorrow would bring more members into the cult, so that it will forever brainwash the young. Carry the tradition, ladies! And may the flaming batons be with you always!

- Daughter

19 days ago Short URL 1 Comment

College

////////

02

May

How to Build a Box

Well, don’t ask me. Look how mine turned out…

 

The saddest part about this box is the fact that I am so proud of it. The handles were cut with a jigsaw that I was terrified of using. It turns out that being terrified of the tools you’re using does not make for controlled cuts in wood. It actually makes your lines horrible and askew. Despite the failings of the box, it is a box I created with my own hands and carpentry prowess. My carpentry professor approved of my construction and even went so far to say that, yes, “it definitely looks less crappy than when you started.” That’s a success in my book.

So, while I have spent the last four years of my college education learning some pretty obscure knowledge about things I will (probably) not have to use again, this seems to me the most practical and humbling course I have ever taken in college. Who knew that five pieces of wood could take multiple hours to put together? Who knew that screws make a terrible nails-scratching-across-chalkboard sound when they go through a high density material? Who knew I was capable of using a saw without chopping off limbs? Well, I know now. Sort of.

Unrelated: I have decided to give up my dreams of a career in writing to become a carpenter and inspire others to build boxes.

- Daughter

 

23 days ago Short URL Comments

College/Fail/Humor

///////

01

May

The End is Nigh

It is close to one in the morning here as I sit looking at these stupid portraits of Lindsay Lohan that I chose to focus on for my thesis. I wish I could travel back in time those six months ago when I chose these images and give myself a nice slap in the face. (And also go back a bit farther in time to stop myself from dyeing my hair such hideous shades of blonde. Ugh.) I’m not sure why I thought Lindsay Lohan would be a good subject for a 30-40 page paper, but at some point, I was really into it.

That point is long gone.

My thesis is due Friday. Which is tomorrow. It has been a long, hard road to get to this stage. I have burned through a lot of ink and friendships have been put to the test by the bad mood that inevitably occurs when I have to work on my thesis (all of the time).

I like to think of myself as the Lindsay Lohan of thesis writers. I had so much promise in the beginning, then I fell into patterns of irresponsibility, and now I’m scrambling to put the pieces back together. I am hoping that my thesis turns out better than LL’s current life. I believe she is now going on a 90-day court-ordered rehab stint? I’m not going to rehab that I know of, so I guess that’s good! Hey, look at me, Dad! I could be Lindsay Lohan going to rehab but instead I’m really smart and am writing about her!

You done good, parents.

Also, I’m sorry that I burned through my money this semester. I blame Lindsay Lohan.

- Daughter

 

 

23 days ago Short URL Comments

College/Humor

//////

30

Apr

Liberal Arts Majors are Useful

When they make your coffee.

I guess that’s a tired, used-up joke by now. Yes, yes, liberals arts majors are going to live on the streets and slowly de-evolve back into apes because of their lack of practical skills.

Potential Employer: “Are you familiar with content management systems and SEO?”

Liberal Arts Major: “No. May I ask you a question?”

P.E.: “…Sure.”

L.A.M.: “What is the sound of one hand clapping?”

P.E.: “YOU’RE HIRED!!!!”

The above scene did not happen in real life. Nor will it ever. Unless you’re interviewing to become a Buddhist monk or nun, a potential employer is unlikely to be impressed with your knowledge of Zen Buddhist philosophy riddles. Usually, hiring managers are more interested in, say, actual skills.

However. HOWEVER. HOOOOWEVER. I find them useful. Especially because my dear old dad is one (and also because I’m one..). I know he secretly pines for the moment when his skills of the English language are called upon. Consider this your bat signal, Dad!

I called up my dad today and asked him to correct a sentence for my thesis that I had been reading for approximately an hour over and over again. I read it so much, in fact, that I started questioning what language it was in. The letters started morphing into crude shapes and then I fell down a rabbit hole. But that’s a story for another day.

Well, I read the sentence out loud to my dad and he immediately honed in on the grammatical error and discussed the structure of the sentence in a way that suggested he knew what he was talking about. He justified the correction using big words and it sounded authoritative so I went with it.

After all, if there’s one thing being a liberal arts major has taught me, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.

- Daughter

25 days ago Short URL Comments

College/Humor

///////

29

Apr

The Last Monday I Will Ever Spend at the Lesbian Cult

It is raining which is par for the course at this point and fitting for the current state of my mood.

Me.

 

This is the last week of classes and as much as I resisted getting sentimental about the end of my time at the Lesbian Cult, there are telltale signs of emotions bursting forth. It started yesterday when I was in our school’s community art studio happily painting on a scrap of cardboard with a good friend. It suddenly hit me: I wouldn’t have this for very much longer. My friend is going to go on to live in New York and I am headed back to California. I slowly put down my piece of cardboard and looked at her. She was busy painting projects for a class but then she noticed I was staring at her with a sad expression.

Me: “EMILYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. OH MY GOD I’M NOT GOING TO SEE YOU AFTER THESE TWO WEEKS.”

And then we would both nod solemnly and continue on with our respective work.

Ten minutes later, another attack of the feels would come on and I would get quiet and then repeat with a whine: “EMILYYYYYYYYY. AHHH fkajfioaju98uraifhiasf.”

I am always pleasantly surprised when I feel real, human emotions  like a normal person (?). I was not expecting to feel emotional about leaving undergrad because my college experience has not been the most… traditional. Nonetheless, I find myself very attached to the people here (all lesbians, because obviously). I’m also attached to Philly because it’s in this city that my groundbreaking thesis about portraits of Lindsay Lohan was written. And my local town’s hidden gems I will miss too – whether it’s over-enthusiastic spin instructors or bars that are inhabited solely by jerks - it’s a cool little place.

Ah, yes. Feeeeeeeeeeelings.

Now I’m going to go put on Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” and cry for a bit.

- Daughter

 

26 days ago Short URL Comments

College

///////

25

Apr

Job Searching is Demoralizing

Oh gosh, I hope he calls me back. I would die of joy if he called me back. Literally, I might die so be ready to call 911 because dying is a distinct possibility. 

No, these are not the thoughts of a lovelorn person, this is me, waiting to hear back from a job. I am just waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Nay, not just waiting. PINING. Literally, pining. I’m pining so hard I turned into a pine tree. (That was so bad, sorry.) I have checked my e-mail every five seconds for the last week to see if the job people will tell me *thumbs-up sign here* or *thumbs-down sign here*. I sent a follow-up e-mail today with no response so far. I mean, seriously, this is the worst. THE WORST.

I have all these made-up plans in my head that just gets worse when I have time to daydream about what will happen in my life if I actually got the job. Psychological torture.

If the job people – you know who you are – happen to read this, I just want to say that I am super smart and have a way with kittens and homo sapiens. I am also adept at burning things in the oven and painting my nails. I successfully pulled out my own tooth twice at ages 8 and 9, respectively. I once saved four people from a life of boredom by showing them the wonders of YouTube cat videos. I can order takeout without messing up the order that much. I can almost follow directions half of the time. Sometimes, I pay attention. I am real, real good at grammar and such. I have a special fondness for really fancy water with bubbles and herbal infusions. I don’t know how to use a staple gun, but I try, and that is what counts. I’m a fun-first, safety-second type of person. I’m funny to some people on the internet. AM I HIRED, YET?

- Daughter

 

30 days ago Short URL Comments

College/Humor

////////

23

Apr

Witty Professors

I got a paper back today from my carpentry professor. The paper was describing a partner project in my carpentry class that involved lots of headaches and general stupidity (on the part of me and my untrusty carpenter pal). We had to build a device that dropped snow from the ceiling of our theater onto a hypothetical actor below.

My professor was there to witness it all. In fact, he was right there when I couldn’t figure out how to use a staple gun. In case you didn’t know, a staple gun consists of a trigger and an end where the staple comes out – that’s it. I guess my education in the liberal arts only gets me so far these days.

Speaking of education, and back to the main story, my carpentry professor SCHOOLED me via essay feedback today. He left this zinger on the paper:

“Oh, you two. Thanks for remaining enthusiastic during your many trials and errors.

Ultimately, you made something resembling a snow drop which somewhat effectively made snow fall. So congratulations!

Your collective senses of humor were, I think, your greatest asset during this project. MY sense of humor is your greatest asset to your grade. A”

I put a copy of the actual paper below so you could see the proof for yourself.

 

A for effort!! But really, it was an A for effort. It definitely wasn’t an A for execution.

You know, I may not have no dignity or real life skills, but I have an A and that counts for something. Somewhere. Maybe.

- Daughter

31 days ago Short URL Comments

College

////////

22

Apr

Settling for Less

As I have mentioned before, I am really out of shape. Because of this, I congratulate myself for the smallest of efforts. Today, it got a bit ridiculous.

I vowed that I would exercise today as it seems to help me sleep and feel better about life in general. So, I did.

Sort of.

 

I guess you could call what I did working out. I ellipticalled while watching the Food Channel… seems sort of weird to have that channel on in a gym but I digress. As I watched people shove donuts down their undiscerning gullets on the tv, I ellipticaled my way into fitness history.

Actually, I didn’t. I made it to about fifteen minutes and called it a day. I patted the elliptical with affection and washed the non-existent sweat off the hand-holds (I didn’t stay on long enough to actually sweat) and moved on to another machine. I told myself that I wasn’t actually tired from being on an elliptical for only fifteen minutes, I was simply “bored” of being on it. I like to give myself the benefit of doubt.

I moved on to some strange machine that was vaguely elliptical-like but more exciting. Because of the excitement factor, I thought I would be able to go for a longer period of time and actually work out. But no, a minute in, and I realized that, no, I wasn’t bored. I was tired. I made it to five minutes and then called it quits.

I proceeded to lay out a yoga mat with the intention of doing ab exercises. Good intentions were not enough to get me to actually complete any ab exercises, however. I half-heartedly stretched for probably a total of thirty seconds and then laid motionless on the mat in the yoga position I call “beached narwhal.”

- Daughter

 

33 days ago Short URL Comments

Humor

///

18

Apr

That Moment When Your History Professor Starts Talking About Star Trek

Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.

My history professor: “Well, let’s think about the production of history, you guys. Let’s think about travel. About exodus. About the ephemera of life. About the absences and silences in the system of history…. Has anybody seen Star Trek?… Any Trekkies here? Where are the nerds at?”

Class: *almost everybody raises their hands except for me and a few others.”

Prof.: “So, let’s talk about Star Trek. I’m a Trekkie.  Are we talking about colonialism when we talk about Star Trek? What does history mean in this scenario? Do the members of Enterprise feel obligated to explore and conquer? Are they colonialists? Are they the conquistadors of the stars?”

Me, in my head: “LOLWHATISHAPPENING.”

But actually, I am a fairly nerdy person. I enjoy reading. I enjoy nerding out with fellow students occasionally about different ideas. This? Too much. I wish I could have posted the rest of the lecture here from my professor but it was based on a particular episode of Star Trek and therefore, I didn’t listen. Because she was speaking some sort of alien language.

- Daughter

37 days ago Short URL 2 Comments

College

//////

17

Apr

How to Interview for a Job

A company likes me a tiny bit! Enough to want to discuss a possible position over the phone. Is this what real life feels like? Is this aura and halo that suddenly appeared the mark of a True Grown-Up Person? I don’t know. I’m either a grown-up or Jesus.

Anyway, this is my plan for my interview, and one I recommend for all interviewees everywhere.

1) Don’t giggle uncontrollably unless the interviewer makes a joke. In which case, laugh. Your job depends on it.

2) Speak with a British accent. It is proven that people like accents (?). They will hire you just to hear you talk.

3) Sound educated. It doesn’t mean you HAVE to be educated, it just means you take out your folksy talk.

4) Do not pass out. It interrupts the flow of the interview.

5) Do not fall asleep. It interrupts the flow of the interview.

6) Name-drop. Preferably, work in some connection to Oprah.

7) Nod a lot.

8) Use the word “ambidextrous”. It’s provocative and thoughtful.

9) Do not say Ke$ha at any point.

10) Brag. “Yeah, I can really turn in some mean essays.” “Microwaves? Yeah, I guess you can say I’m an expert on them.” “I went to Canada once.”

And, hopefully, you will get a job. Because Canada.

- Daughter

38 days ago Short URL Comments

College

///////

16

Apr

The Hamster Wheel of Misery

I like to think of myself as a hamster sometimes. And the never-ending to-do list that has consumed my life and my very being is the hamster wheel that compels me to run, run, run and GO, GO, GO. My little hamster feet get tired but the wheel doesn’t care, hence: “The Hamster Wheel of Misery.” This sums up my life as of late.

Self-Portrait as Hamster.

Self-Portrait as Hamster.

I am constantly trying to just get one thing done at the expense of other things. Sometimes, that thing is a shower. Sometimes, it’s socializing with human beings. Sometimes, it’s calling your dad back …

As a result of pushing various things aside to give attention to more immediate concerns, mountains of undone work have built up until I give up and go to bed. (Usually, I stress-eat wasabi crackers and then sleep, actually. I digress) I’ve started to have nightmares from stress. And it’s the same nightmare every time: a favorite professor comes up to me and shakes her head slowly from side to side and says solemnly, “You are a great disappointment.” And then I wake up screaming until I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am a speshul snowflake.

I have also sprouted gray hairs from stress. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about the salt-and-pepper look. I just thought I’d have a few more years before I rocked that. Apparently not! I got all excited when I first caught the extra shiny hair glittering in the bathroom lights because ALRIGHT, HIGHLIGHTS!! Upon closer inspection, it was a silvery hair. I pulled it out and examined it. In this little hair marked four nights of endless restlessness as I turned in one essay after the other in a rapid procession. It was a keepsake, really! But I try to avoid collecting  tsotchkes at this point in my life.

So, yes, Dad, this is my direct response to your post that I’ve been radio-silent. Well, yes, I have. But not without good reason! Your daughter has been attempting to fend off fire-breathing deans, thesis advisors, and professors. All of whom seem to have a personal vendetta against me this semester. I’m not sure whose death they are avenging, but they are pretty intent on killing me regardless.

Also, Pops, I’ve been, like, sending in job applications everyday. I’m trying to be a Real Person ™.

Yes, Dad, I know this is an entire post where I whine, justify it, and then whine more. It’s how I roll, Dad. Speaking of rolling, t-minus thirty days until we roll right on out of here! Couldn’t be a moment too soon. I’d rather not have to dye my hair to cover the gray…

- Daughter

39 days ago Short URL Comments

College

////////

15

Apr

No Rest for the Weary

The title of the post is a lie. There IS rest for the weary. Although, this wasn’t the case when I was a freshman in college. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (I’m a squirrel?), I walked onto my college campus ready to take on any academic work that came my way. I was going to do anything necessary to get my work done. And not only would I get my work done, I was going to do it well. I read every book, article, page, paragraph, sentence, word, syllable, and punctuation mark that was assigned. Literally, not a single semi-colon or essay was safe; I was all over it.

I pulled all-nighters so many times it became second nature. In fact, I’m pretty sure I grew fangs at one point and hid in dark recesses but that is a story for another time. The point is, I was immune to the effects of all-nighters. I was Night.

Fast-forward to yesterday when I had looked at the amount of work that needed to be done for my thesis and resolved myself to my fate: an all-nighter was necessary. I knew things were going downhill when 11pm rolled around and I was already at the point where my face was on my laptop instead of my hands. Typing with your face is not efficient. It’s good for laughs but doesn’t make for good syntax.

Somehow, I got past the various slumps and make it to 3:30 am. I decided to reward myself with a  ”nap”. I knew this wasn’t a good idea but I lied to myself and decided I definitely had the self-control to rouse myself from a dead-sleep to finish a much-detested paper.

Turns out, I hit snooze and slept until I had a handful of hours of sleep under my belt. Whoops.

Luckily, I scraped by finished everything on time.

There is rest for the weary. You just have to hit the snooze button first.

- Daughter

40 days ago Short URL Comments

College

//////

11

Apr

Being an Idiot in Carpentry Class

Today, my technical theater carpentry professor laughed at me. A lot. And I took it with my tail between my legs because frankly, I deserved it.

I'm really creative. At failing.

I’m really creative. At failing.

 

Let my preface this by saying I am in no way connected to the theater arts or activities-during-which-you-build-things, but every other single person in the class is a techie (not to be confused with Trekkie) who knows the basics of theater, scenery, etc. Then, there’s me. A lost little lamb in a storm of power tools and staple guns. 

My partner and I had to draft a 2D model and build a 3D model of a structure that would successfully drop snow on-stage. Naturally, I ended up drafting the most complex piece of machinery I could think up – I literally might have just accidentally built a computer. That’s just how I roll. When we were presenting our ideas, all of the other students had these brilliant, simple ideas that looked completely feasible.

And then I presented my draft which had about 10 different arrows annotated with specific instructions all over the page. My professor looked at the draft, cocked his head, and said, “That’s certainly… creative.” Guess I’m going to fail this carpentry class. Cool. I’m literally going to fail a class because I have no actual life skills and can only read books. 

Well, today was the real test. I had to build this wildebeest of a project. I started out with a basic little wooden frame that I was very proud of – my professor even came over and said it was, “Cute!” And I said, “Yes, that’s what I was going for. It’s very applicable to my post-college life. When I’m being interviewed and the hiring person asks for my resume, I’m just gunna show them THIS *proudly raises up wooden frame like it’s Simba from The Lion King*” He chuckled and I kept building. And then I hit a roadblock. I had no idea how to get my complicated machine to work… and on top of it, the staple gun wasn’t working.
My partner went up to ask my professor about the staple gun who assured us that, yes, there were plenty of staples in it. But it just was not working. I was trying to staple fabric onto the frame but to my dismay, no staples were coming out. He came over to watch me use it so he could see firsthand why it wasn’t working.
Me: *presses on staple gun, nothing comes out* “SEE? It’s not working.”
Professor: …… *suppresses giggle* “….. that’s because you’re pushing on the wrong end of the staple gun… it’s upside down, not broken you idiot. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
I about died from embarrassment. I sat there laughing at myself but also shaking my head in disbelief at my stupidity.
And, as I was leaving, my professor couldn’t help himself and said, “Make sure you don’t forget how to use a staple gun between now and our next class.”
Who needs dignity and self-esteem anyway?
- Daughter

43 days ago Short URL 1 Comment

Embarrassing Stories/Fail/Humor

//////////

Blog at WordPress.com.
Theme: Esquire by Matthew Buchanan.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 382 other followers

%d bloggers like this: