Fried Chicken

I now know how fried chicken feels, if it could feel that is.

Last night at work I was changing the oil in the fryer and I caught my arm on a greasy pipe. It was hot. My arm turned a really cool shade of red. Of course, this was at the beginning of my shift. Woohoo.

But as the night went on my arm kept on burning, it felt like my skin was sizzling. Gross-tastic.

So now today my skin is bubbling up and actually looks like it has been fried. It makes me want to puke a little.

The end.

The Story of My Life

This sort of thing happens to me. A lot.

Recently I was talking with one of my guy friends when he popped into my apartment to say hello or something. He kept hesitating in saying this, telling me that he wanted to tell me something but he didn't know how to word it right. Now, when anyone says this sort of thing, especially when they add in that they are trying to say it so it sounds like a compliment and not something offensive, I just want them to SPIT IT OUT. I'm not that sensitive. I like to laugh. I can laugh at myself. I can laugh at other people... or with other people...?

Anyway what he finally told me was something like "If our personalities were different, I would totally be interested in you..." BAH! The funny thing is, that if our personalities were a little bit different, I would probably be interested in him too. We kept talking for a little bit and I looked at him and said, "(friend's name), maybe someday our personalities will be different..." We looked at each other, and busted out laughing.

I think that it was funny that he felt the need to tell me that. He's funny. I'm glad that we're friends. But, this sort of situation seems to come up a lot in my life. There's always that one "something" that is preventing things moving anywhere. Any insights? Please share. Please. Awkward moments gravitate toward me.

Ratigan

So tonight I reminded myself of Ratigan, from The Great Mouse Detective. For those of you who have not seen it, hang your head in shame. This movie used to (still does) terrify me, simply because of the Rat. Here is his theme song. I am not kidding. My ugly mean side reared its nasty head. Don't worry though. I turned back into Basil of Baker Street. Okay, so maybe a little less self-absorbed. But, now that I think of it, perhaps I am more self-interested than self-absorbed... maybe both. Who knows.

Ratigan, The World's Greatest Criminal Mind

Basil of Baker Street, The Great Mouse Detective

Hair Booger

For the past month and a half, one of the bathroom sinks has been spewing back all of the water that we try to put down it. It was disgusting. The sink would get totally coated in this yellowy brown film and it smelled. No use trying to spit toothpaste down that sink.

Last night, I braved the sink, thought I would just clean it, so it wouldn't make me gag if I dropped something in it. Again. I looked down the drain and saw something in there that looked unusual. I looked in the other sink and it looked clear. So I grabbed a plastic fork from Del Taco that we had been stashing in a drawer and dug it out. What I found was seriously disgusting. Beyond grotesque.

It looked like this. About that long too. But what made it worse was that it was COVERED in a blue-green sludgy slimy skin. Naaaaaaaaaaasty. Of course I had to show my roommate that was home.

But now the sink drains and it doesn't matter where the toothpaste falls, as long as it is actually in the sink.

Moral of the story: Hair is gross when it's stuck in the drain.

Buillon, Bands, and B-

Buillon - Prank on Roommate #2 was going to be good. So good. I put a cube of chicken buillon in the shower head. She was going to smell like chicken all day. I cut the cube up into a few little pieces because our shower head is weird and you can't really take the whole thing off. So, I stuffed the crumbles into the holes and then put the bigger chunks into the water pressure screw-thing. However, my evil plot didn't work because the water pressure was weird when she tried to take a shower, and of course no one knows how to fix it so the big chunks of buillon fell out. But the crumbles had to have gotten her a little bit, just not as much as I had hoped.

Now my roommates all know of my plots, so I am going to have to take a little break from the pranks, just to save myself. Roommate #1 has been sneaky lately. She tried to plot with me to make sure she would be able to save herself from pranks, but I found out that she made the same deal with Roommate #2. Oh, she should have known. I am too smart for these games. I will rule. Bahahahahaha!

Anyway, I have an idea for prank on Roommate #3. It's too funny. She's such a deep sleeper, I can pull it off. Hehehe.

But I have to be careful, because Roommate #1 has threatened the way I smell. She said that if I did something mean that I wouldn't smell like myself for a long time... Creepy. Besides, I wouldn't ever do anything really mean. Just funny. Duh.

Roommate #1 is still a little miffed by her IcyHot bumbum. Ahahah. I'm so glad it was her that popped that squat!

Bands - I am learning to play the guitar. Mostly because I think it will improve the quality of my life. I'm a rock star. Basically.

Bah! If the shoes don't make me famous, I will be famous in some other way. This can work.

B- - Okay, I have a mattress in my living room. It's great. I think it's the best spot to sit in the room. So, I didn't really have anything to say about the B-. I just wanted to write it.

Oh. I have a job. It's seriously going to make a dent in my social life. a) Because I smell like fried everything and a hot dog (the buns are HUGE) b) I work every freaking Friday night c) I work by myself d) it's in a bowling alley e) I wear a hat.

My job's redeeming quality is that it pays me. Not very well, but it pays actual money and not in bartered things. I'm okay with that.

I will be looking for other jobs, and additional jobs. Maybe this job isn't B-. It is C-. Probably.

Let the Games Begin

I guess if you don't know there is IcyHot on the toilet seat, it burns more. Bahahaha.

Roommate #1 never knew what hit her. But she figured it out, that only made it better. This is gonna be good. Oh so good.

One down, two to go.

I've Been Tagged

How could I not honor a tag. Especially from Breezi.

The rules: Answer the following questions with one word answers and pass it on to seven others.

Here are the questions:
1. Where is your cell phone? bed
2. Where is your significant other? somewhere
3. Your hair color? Blondish
4. Your mother? wonderful
5. Your father? wise
6. Your favorite thing? life
7. Your dream last night? bizarre
8. Your dream/goal? shoes
9. The room you're in? front
10. Your hobby? music
11. Your fear? stinking
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? happy
13. Where were you last night? home
14. What you're not? old
15. One of your wish-list items? dog
16. Where you grew up? Pennsylvania
17. The last thing you did? cooked
18. What are you wearing? blue
19. Your TV? Nonexistent
20. Your pet? Taz
21. Your computer? handy
22. Your mood? mellow
23. Missing someone? always
24. Your car? wishful
25. Something you're not wearing? socks
26. Favorite store? Anthropologie
27. Your summer? interesting
28. Love someone? yes
29. Your favorite color? orange
30. When is the last time you laughed? today
31. Last time you cried? Thursday

sadly, I don't know seven people (that have a blog...) so, if you want to do it, be my guest.

Portfolio

I have started to really work on my portfolio. And now, I'm quickly realizing that my talent is fading. So. I'm determined to reteach myself how to draw. And paint. Etcetera. (I've always wanted to spell that out but I didn't have the guts to do it until now)
I don't want to do anything but draw or rub my hands around in my paints. I have tried using watercolors with my hands. I don't think it will work.

I've done some drawing and painting recently but I know that if I'm going to actually turn this in, for people to judge whether or not I can get into a competitive program, I am going to have to work my tail off.
Anyway, I think I like art more than some people. Okay that might be a little severe, but, well, definitely true in some cases. Once I get started on something, I just want to be alone in my purple leggings and just... do. I love it. But I don't think it's good for my social life. That's okay. I'm still young. I'll make sure to take breaks. Maybe.

There's no looking back. I'm going to get better. I will love it. I already do. I'm happy with where my life can go. BUT. I have a lot of work to do and I can't take any art classes unless I decide not to apply for Industrial Design.

This is all for shoes. And it will definitely be worth it. I'm sure.

Fudge. Yum.

I made fudge. It is almost gone. Less than 5 hours and a huge batch of fudge. Peanut Butter and Chocolate. Out of my apartment and into the stomachs of other people. I am going to have to make another batch.

The Brittany Apartments are going to have one fat fall season. I'm that good.

Good Goo

Ace. I've come to the conclusion that oatmeal and cream of wheat make me a better person in the morning. Who knew. I like it though. I'm full of warm goo and at 10 am, I'm a nicer person. High-fives and A+ all around.

Rubber Cement

I love rubber cement. I found mine yesterday and since then I have been happily rubber cementing. It's gooey and sticky and you can roll it up into little booger balls. It's great stuff. Who wouldn't like it? No one that I know. This is one of the things in the world that helps me to know that "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause." No. Not really, but it does make me happy. It smells SO good! Okay, I haven't been sitting around smelling rubber cement.

Rubber cement smell is definitely up there with gasoline, go karts and clean laundry straight from the dryer.

I remember when I was in elementary school and some kids I knew in the "smart" classes would sit around smelling the rubber cement and permanent markers. I remember thinking, no lie, "they're getting high..." That's why I was in the "smart" classes.

Side note - this is the kind of rubber cement that I have.

It's the simple things in life that really count. Honestly.

Missing Grime

This mural is a few blocks away from my house. (Isn't it amazing?) I really miss the murals in Reading. (Yes, I'm from the city)
Okay, I don't really miss the ghetto all that much, but I do miss the eastern side of life. I miss reggaeton music blaring out of car windows. I miss the grime. I miss parallel parking and tiny yards and rain puddles. I miss my family and my friends that are far away. I miss my dog. I miss familiar smells.

I'm very happy that I grew up in Reading. I know that I can handle myself in a lot of different situations. I know that I can take care of myself in... strange situations. I know that not everyone you meet on the street is going to give you a hug and a plate full of treats. I know that life isn't easy for everyone. I also know how to be sassy (my favorite part).

It's so different out here, and I think I'm ready for something else. I am aching for a change, or maybe something a little more familiar. I want to do something, or go somewhere where I can really find out what I'm made of.

So maybe I'm not homesick. I'm nostalgic, in a good way.

Oatmeal

I am eating oatmeal and I feel that my life is improving. It's great. Who knew that warm goo could make your life feel oh so good? I didn't, but I do now. Oatmeal is the way to go.

Today, I was walking across campus and I saw this guy pick his nose. I gave him the stink eye. He knew I saw what he did. How nasty. He glared at me, like I did something gross. I wasn't the one walking across a crowded campus digging for gold.

Okay, honestly I don't care if you pick your nose, I just don't want to see it. And maybe have a tissue on hand. In hand. At least around.

Aging

I am not old. But when I am old, I certainly have to right to be an old wrinkly and crochety woman. Seriously, I grew up on the East Coast. That automatically gives me the right to be a crotchety old woman whenever I become so inclined. Honestly. I am only 20. No one can predict what kind of old woman I am going to be. However, I do plan on being extremely foxy and have great shoes. But the shoes goes without saying. What if I really wanted to be crotchety? I can be sweet and crotchety while simultaneously baking a five layer cake with homemade frosting, it will of course be delicious. I'm just amazing like that. Besides, being old entitles people to be able to be a little crotchety once in a while. And crotchety people do know how to have fun.
Okay, so I have to confess that just being crotchety, in and of itself, sounds a little fun...

My Face and Math

I am taking a math class right now. This is what happens to my face when I think about math. Anything with math. Counting. Subtracting. Dividing. You name it, I think it, my face does... this. It's great.

I just hope my face doesn't get stuck like this one day. Grownups always said that if you make weird faces, someday your face will get stuck like that. Well I guess we'll see what happens. This is what I get for taking a math class.

Sugar Daddies...

So, quite a few years ago, one of my teachers asked me what I would do after I graduate besides marry old men for their money. I thought it was weird that he would ask me that, after all, I looked perfectly innocent, okay probably not.

Anyway, I am pretty broke right now, and I keep looking for jobs but no one calls me back. But I was trying to think of ways to get money, and hello, who doesn't want a good ol' sugar daddy?! I like to get presents, not gonna lie. So, I was talking to some friends and we got on the subject of sugar daddies. One of my friends told me about a website where you can sign up, kind of like a dating website, but for... sugar daddies, sugar mommas, and sugar babies. It's very sweet.

So, I thought it would be funny to see what kinds of people actually sign up for these things, and I created an account. Then I was looking, and some of the guys were kind of creepy, but, I have to admit, that 68 year old was quite the looker... whoop. Just kidding, by the way.

Sometimes when you don't have good luck with dating in your own age group, you have to expand. But personally, I will stick to guys closer to my age than my dad's. I just think it's a good idea.

Anyway, I tried to cancel my account with SugarDaddyForMe.com and it wouldn't let me! Can you believe it?! And then, tonight I got mail from some sweet Sugar Daddies... Oh fun. One was like, IM me please, and the other guy said that he really liked the way I described myself, of course, I have no idea what in the world I wrote on there, and I can't figure out how to look at my profile... whoops. Sadly I couldn't read their whole messages because I never paid for my account, and I was not about to give them my credit card information just so I could read some wealthy men's messages to cute little me. Tempting, but no. Besides, with my luck, it would be someone like this guy.

I suppose I will have to find another way to get money other than being someone else's Sugar Baby. Oh well. Sorry to dash the hopes of my 9th grade history teacher. He was a great teacher though. I never could figure out why he thought that I would be the one to marry old men for their money.

Don't judge me, this was all a joke. It was funny. Until I started to get hit on.

Cracky Elbows

Once again, personal hygiene has failed the 20-something year olds. Why is it that my generation is so inept when it comes to taking care of themselves, particularly when it comes the those pesky little elbows. It’s a simple thing, really. When you are in the shower, take that washcloth, mitten, loofah, or whatever you scrub yourself with (hopefully you scrub), and have a hayday with those elbows. I wouldn’t normally recommend doing this every day, but for most of my peers with crust-laden elbows, today I will insist on using some good old fashioned elbow grease and make your… elbows smooth. Then, when you are dried off, put some lotion on your elbows. Yes it is the desert, but that’s why science has brought us the miracle of LOTION. No one wants to wonder whether or not your skin is going to fall off in large chunks and maim them. Believe me.

The Grading Process.

I think that it is important to say that I've been giving pretty much everything a letter grade. Usually it's A+. But, recently, things have been getting other grades...
I like a lot of things, and I really like to say A+. It makes me feel good about life. Try it. You'll like it.
A+

Stinky Feet

Okay, so I am not a foot hater. I just want to make that clear. But, I do hate what some people do, or don't do, with their feet.

I honestly used to think feet were way cool, at least, I used to draw them all of the time, they were hard to draw and I was determined to become the MASTER at foot drawing. I am not sure if it worked or not, but I was certainly the guru in my highschool art class, at least in my mind. I thought I was A+. Basically.

Anyway. When I was little I came across a few stinky feet. It's expected, little kids don't always have the best personal hygiene. But now, I've lived a few years, and you know, it's something that you would think would be common place for adults to have good personal hygiene. Even when it comes down to feet. I have run into more excruciatingly and painfully smelly feet since I have been in college than I had ever before encountered. Seriously, just because Mommy isn't here, doesn't mean you can't wash your feet. I understand that sometimes the smelliness can't be helped. But the lingering smell can. I know it can.

There are so many products to help those with stink-tastic feet not be offensive to others.

For instance, soap. Take a deoderant soap, plenty of water, and scrub those suckers. You can soak your putrid feet in rubbing alcohol if they are really disgusting. Of course then your feet will smell like rubbing alchohol. But in the case of smelly feet, you take what you can get. Almost anything is better than smelling feet. Gross.

Free remedy. Put orange peels in your shoes. It really works. I have tried it before. I had a friend with very smelly feet, and I secretly put orange peels in her shoes when she was away for an extended period of time. It helps. A lot.

But really, if you are going to insist on not doing anything about your smelly feet that stink through your shoes, do not insist on putting your feet near me. I smell everything. I definitely smell your feet. And shoes. And it makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry.

Maybe it's not that severe, but close. Stinky feet = F-

Blogging. It's official. I am blogging. Mostly because I think that my thoughts are pure gold. Bahahah. I'm not kidding. I'm a genius. Anyway, I think that I might not lose my mind as quickly if I have an outlet to let my thoughts flow freely from my brain out into the unsuspecting world. Here goes nothing.