Saturday, April 30, 2011

Things I love about you/us

-Your obsession with q-tips
-The way you smile sleepily when you wake up & see me a-creepin'
-Your ability to anticipate/predict all my thoughts
-"Shit dude..."
-When you read to Lilly
-You tell me you love me 800x a day because I'm a psychopath and you know I need to be reminded of these things
-Kissing you at red lights
-When you try to create new games but always revert to "chicken + _____" because it's your favorite one
-You always know which flavor of something I secretly want and let me have it even if you want the same thing
-Holding your hand for 3 seconds and then saying "EW I HATE HOLDING HANDS"
-Your willingness to participate in absurd endeavors, like collecting 2700 Slush Puppie points so we can get free things
-When we're sitting somewhere and you feel the overwhelming urge to squeeze the life out of me...and then you do
-Our overly dramatic performance of "textmewhenyougethome"
-The way your eyes look when you laugh

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Juice Newton

At the beginning of the semester, I sort of had a crush on my lab professor. He was appealing in an Alton Brown sort of way---knowledgeable, awkward, socially inept, unabashedly nerdy--and for this reason, I thought that we could get through the course with relative ease.

With each week, it became more evident that instead of being a quirky intellectual, this man was actually a serial killer. This assessment was confirmed by the 3rd class, when the girl next to me described a nightmare wherein he murdered the entire class.

Tonight, I went to lab. This was no small feat; it poured the entire day, which resulted in a driveway completely covered in worms. As we all know, I don't do worms. They're just not my thing, ya dig? They bring on panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, and the urge to put my feet on the steering wheel because I'm now convinced the worms have somehow made it into the car and they're going to touch me and OH GOD. Despite my handicap, I make it to campus. I even find a parking spot. I think "this isn't so bad." I walk into lab with the innocence of a spring lamb. And what do I find? An entire room FULL of jars brimming with various types of worms.

I quietly walk up to the serial killer. " have a worm phobia." He looks up at me with a raised eyebrow. After 60 years of silence, he finally replies "you won't have to touch them." I decide to try again. "No, but's really bad. Like, I like...panic. And stuff." He continues to stare at me as if he truly can't register what I'm saying. "Is there an alternative assignment I could complete?" He shakes his head and tells me I either have to stay or take a zero. I try to sit at my table, but there's a tank of leeches right next to me and one of them is clinging to the side of the glass and I start to itch. My lab partner has no idea what to make of me at this point. The clinging leech wiggles and falls into a pile of other squirming leeches, which I take as my personal cue to powerwalk my Richard Simmons ass the fuck out of there.

Due to the heartless, humorless nature of my serial killer professor, I now have a zero. No love. No compassion. No sympathy for my scoleciphobia. But you know what, professor? I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. So when I get home I Google you, trying to find something that humanizes you--a family picture, a blog post about your grandfather, a Facebook even--but all I find is your thesis.

About a paramecium.

So much for trying to cut people some slack around here.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


I've been OK for the past 3 weeks without a car. Despite being highly inconvenient, my parents and I have been making it work--dropping people off, switching around schedules when possible, etc. I don't have much of a social life, so that wasn't a big deal.

Three weeks ago, I was told it would be a week. Fine. A week passed. We called. It would be another 3 days. Fine. 3 days passed. We called. "It will be ready in another week." Now I start getting annoyed. I replace my frustration with hope. The new date is approaching and I'm looking forward to being able to leave immediately after I get out of work instead of having to wait for someone to pick me up like a 14 year old.

Today was judgment day. I sat down next to my mom on the couch. She picked up the phone and looked at me. "I'm going to be so pissed if it's not ready," I laughed. I was happy at this point because I figured "well, it's already been in the shop for approximately 70 decades, so there's no way it WON'T be ready today." We're put on hold. The mechanic finally gets on the phone. My mom's smile fades. She hangs up. "Well...the parts haven't come in yet. He says once the parts come in, it will be all set."

I start to pace around the living room. In a towel. I'm foaming at the mouth. Tears begin to spill over my eyelids. I run upstairs, seething with anger. I start laughing like a maniac.

And then I create this:

Oddly enough, I feel much better now.