A Cross Between Sweet Valley High and Ginger Snaps*

                   
I've got the bloat, the bitchies, the munchies, the crankies...

I'm consuming disgustingly vast quantities of popcorn, chocolate, potato chips and french onion dip (contrary to what you think, dip isn't always eaten alongside chips. It can be eaten straight out of the jar. With a spoon. Not that I know anything about that...)

Parts of my body are currently 5x their normal size. You know, my butt, my gut, my boobs, my ankles and my cheeks.

I have lost all sense of personal hygiene, meaning, I may or may not have stopped showering, brushing my teeth, brushing my hair, shaving, wearing deodorant**...

I may or may not be wearing these pants (click to enlarge)...

...holed up in my room and avoiding going out in public at all cost (hello! Did you see what I was wearing?)

If you don't know what any of this means, I can only assume that you are male. And not having sex on a regular basis. Meaning you must not have a woman in your life right now. Or else you would totally understand.

You're probably wondering what this all means to you, right? Well, not that much, but I thought I would mention it. I also thought I should mention that in a few days I will be venturing to my sisters house for a week. We have big plans. Mainly, the LOST series finale on Sunday (yeah, I'm driving 5-6 hours for a TV show. What of it?). There will also be tons of nephew bonding, a game night, and a party for a 3rd birthday.

Unfortunately, my sis does not have wireless internet, which means I can't use my laptop there and am limited to her desktop that lives in the upstairs hallway. Which means, I can't promise much in the way of posts for a week beginning on Sunday. I'm trying my hardest to pre-write and schedule some posts, which is going well seeing as I have no intention of venturing out into the real world until the bloat is over (one of the only bonuses to being unemployed).

Can someone please remind me that I've got shit to do on Friday. You know, that whole you're-a-smarty-pants award thing? Thanks.

For your entertainment, I present to you, my toe wound (you're going to be tempted to click on this image to enlarge it. For the love of god, don't do it! You've been warned.):

Incidentally, the toe is starting to smell a little. And it no longer looks like this as I took this pic on Monday. I'm slightly concerned. Especially since the skin flap is starting the shrink away from the edges of the gaping wound, which, although you can't really tell from this pic, is quite deep. I'm thinking I might have to preform some surgery here in the near future. *sigh*

UPDATE: I just managed to drop a knife on my toe (yes, that toe) while making toast. I am, by far, the most consistent uncoordinated person EVER. 

UPDATE ON THE UPDATE: And then I proceeded to trip across my bed (yes, across my bed. Don't ask) on my way to post this update and dragged my toe across the bed. That skin flap is so toast (haha).

So, in conclusion, my gut feels like Mount Saint Helens***, my toe smells like Limburger, and I'm on the verge of becoming a super-hairy, super-smelly, hermit/recluse. Or maybe something more like this:

(Original source)

And furthermore, what is up with the world being sans PMS-meds right now? Seriously, that shit should be handed out like candy to every woman anytime we walk into a drug store/grocery store/post office/coffee shop/liquor store...

* See here and here if you didn't catch the meaning of this post's title.

** If you're new to this blog, at this point you're probably imagining how seriously freakin' hot I am, right? And you would be right. I am smokin'!

*** This site says Mount Saint Helens is a volcano that "erupted in 1980 and wreaked havoc on the people once again." I was born in 1980. Coincidence? I think not.

Thesis writing is bad for your health (and undoubtedly, your sanity)

 

I'm taking a break from thesis writing to tell you about how writing a thesis could, quite possibly, kill you. Or at least destroy your health and drive you insane. 

For the record, not that anyone cares, I am now 59 pages into what I expect to be a 120 paged thesis. I have three and half chapters left to write and one chapter still in need of some polishing. (If you're keeping score, I have two chapters completed and half a chapter in second draft stage, for a grand total of seven chapters. I'm done boring you now.) 

I will graduate in May, I will graduate in May, I will graduate in all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy*.

Back to my point, thesis writing is bad for your health. 

For one, you will be chained to your work space of choice for most of the day. You will, most likely, be seated for a majority of the time, thus resulting in some horrible tushy expansion. If your work space of choice happens to be your bed (mine is) you will spend all of your time there. Not only will you be sleeping and typing in your bed/work space, you will also be eating there. 

Eating while thesis writing is sloppy work, what with the whole typing with one hand while trying to shove food in your mouth thing. You will soon tire of this task and the resulting mess and stop eating altogether. Unfortunately, since you long ago stopped cleaning your room and laundering your clothes you have a work space situation that now looks like this:

and like this:

You will soon discover ants in your bed. Most likely attracted there by the bagel crumbs and salsa spills from two weeks prior. (you stopped eating, remember? That filth has been there for awhile.) It will then occur to you that you should do some laundry. 

At this point you will be faced with a dilemma; do you A) spend the entire day washing the eight loads of laundry piled up on the floor** in the small washer in your basement, or do you B) haul your laundry to the laundromat and get it all done in a couple of hours? This is a no-brainer. B it is, however you're now faced with another dilemma. 

Going to the laundromat requires that you go out in public. Do you A) take an hour to shower and put together some semblance of an outfit, or do you B) say fuck it, go dirty but brush your teeth and throw on the first articles of clothing that look (and smell) fairly clean? No-brainer again. B it is, shit, it's not like you can even remember the last time you showered at this point, so what's one more day? (seriously, I've been wearing my hair in braids for the past three days and I've had a hat on for one, maybe two. Not a good sign). 

 Aren't I purdy? In case you're wondering, that paper clip is there for safe keeping. I lose them (and the one pen I have in my room) all the time. I may or may not have ripped my room apart looking for a lost paper clip. And my pen. (maybe I should raid my car)

So, you pack up the laundry and hit the road. Of course, you're going to need quarters. Lots of quarters. You take a quick trip to the grocery store to get coffee, water, a roast beef sandwich, a Glamour magazine and $20. (my bank doesn't have a branch or an ATM in my town. Back off.) Despite the fact that there is a customer service desk AND a bank branch in the grocery store, you head off to another bank to get your $20 exchanged for quarters. (past experience has taught you that the snippy teen at customer service doesn't like to part with quarter rolls and the bitch at the bank won't exchange your money unless you have an account there.)

You arrive at the laundromat, load up the entire wall of super-speedy, heavy-duty washers with all the clothes, towels and bedding you own. (hey, you're desperate and you've got shit to do. You can't be waiting around for slow, shitty washers all day. Plus, it's a Tuesday morning and you're the only one there.) The laundering process is pretty uneventful, aside from the nasty-ass coffee you drank, the questionable roast beef sandwich you scarfed down and the nasty green spider you grabbed a hold of while unloading your wash. 

On your way back home you notice a stench in your car that you earlier mistook for the smell of scuzzy, dirty clothes. This is when you realize the travel mugs of coffee you left in the car three weeks ago are still chilling in the cup holders. You arrive home (gagging and cursing the asshole who hit a skunk in the road in front of your house and the bus driver who just ran over the mutilated carcass for the millionth time), grab the two travel mugs, your bag of thesis work and your duffel bag of laundry (you'll go back for the basket and the water later) and head inside. 

In the process of unlocking the back door, you manage to drop one of the precariously balanced coffee mugs. You watch in horrifying slow motion as the mug tumbles out of your hand, smashes into the door, bursts open, and spills coffee chunks all over the entryway, and worse yet, your bag of thesis work.

You spend the next fifteen minutes cleaning up curdled coffee, trying desperately not to barf. Having cleaned up the mess, brought in the rest of the laundry, popped open a beer (hey, it's 5:00 in the UK), put away the laundry, recovered from having your closet shelf come crashing down on top of your head, you finally settle back into your work space. You get set for another afternoon/evening of thesis work, all the while scratching at the ingrown hairs that have sprouted (or not, I guess) on your legs, which haven't been shaved in about two weeks. Oh, and now your two-years worth of blood, sweat and tears smells like a dead baby. (I'm assuming dead babies would have a sickly-sweet, nauseating rotten milk smell to them)

See? Thesis writing is bad for your health. I should get hazard pay for this or something. Okay, time to pop a vitamin (it's all about sustenance, people!) and get back to work. Sleep, after all, is a luxury while thesis writing. Only five more weeks, folks. Five... more... weeks... When you look for me at graduation, I'll be the zombie/mummified skeleton in the ant-infested gown, dragging herself up by her broken and crippled hands (typing is a bitch!) to get her diploma. 

Be proud. Me? I'm seriously disgusted by myself, but I know it's only temporary (right? RIGHT!?) and all will be well again soon.

*  For the record, I try to refrain from wielding my axe while on my crazy, drunken, reclusive genius tirades. Just looking out for the housemates.

** This photo was taken a week or so ago, so you can't really get a good idea to what extent the clothes pile grew. I was half expecting Marjory the Trash Heap to raise her snooty head out of it. 

It's Laundry Day!

    

By the looks of it, I think it's pretty safe to say it's been awhile seen I've seen a washer and dryer. And here I thought I'd be spending my day writing another thesis chapter...

Remember last laundry day? Remember how much fun that was? Gee, I hope I strike it rich again this time.

But I thought everyone had this stuff in their cars...

No?

I recently rode in a friend's über clean vehicle (we're talking new car clean), which, I gotta tell you, impressed the shit out of me. I mean, this is a person who drives to work everyday, and on top of that, is male! My mind is blown everyday.

At any rate, riding in my car this morning I couldn't help but notice the excessive amount of crap I have in my car. I mean, I would be über embarrassed to have anyone ride in it with me (which, thank God, is rarely a problem). Let's ignore for a moment the inch-thick layer of dirt and dust and unidentifiable fluffy white stuff on the dash, and let's ignore for a moment, the piles of dirt and pebbles lurking in the corners of the car floor; there is a TON of crap in my car. I have, very conveniently, compiled a neat little list for you in support of my argument (if I had had my camera with me, I would have taken photos... well, maybe).

1. an E-Z Pass (okay, well that's normal. many people have them in their cars.)
2. a parking permit for work (perfectly appropriate. I use it every weekday. no problem here.)
3. a parking sticker for a place I lived two, possibly three, residences ago (okay, well, that could and should probably be removed)
4. 9 pens (yes, I counted. apparently this is where all my missing pens have runaway too. I mean, one or two pens in the car is very convenient, but nine? could be considered overkill.)
5. a fishing lure (yeah, I'm confused by this one too. I don't fish.)
6. 2 coffee travel mugs (I was wondering where these had wandered off to, and not-so coincidentally, now I know where that weird smell is coming from)
7. medical papers (in my defense, I move ALOT, so my car is probably the best place to store important paperwork, so...)
8. a road atlas (none of those fancy GPS gadgets for me. I'm quite proud of the fact that not only can I read maps very well, I can also find my way anywhere or out of any {ahem} "detour" with a road atlas. which I may or may not have had to do. numerous times. and in Jersey no less. If you don't understand the gravity of this accomplishment, you've obviously never been lost detoured in Jersey before. it wouldn't surprise me to learn that people spontaneously combust while trying to find their way around Jersey. I'm just saying. there's something not right about that state.)
9. a pair of sneakers
10. a collection of CDs (for those times when I forget my iPod and I wander into radio station dead zones)
11. a first aid kit (huh. I forgot that was in there. good to know. you never know when you might need one.)
12. glow sticks (huh. I forgot those were in there as well. good to know. you never know when you might need one.)
13. hand-written directions (for those times when I need to travel locally and the road atlas won't cut it)
14. cryptic hand-written notes (I can only assume these are coded instructions for finding the answers to all the puzzling questions in my life. and apparently a guy named Don holds the key. here's an illustration of one. you tell me, what is this?)
    
    
    
15. skis, ski boots, ski poles and a ski jacket (because hey, you never know. incidentally, no ski pants. seems I've misplaced them during one of my moves. bummer. they were very cute with this pretty little embroidered flower right above the left butt cheek.)
16. garbage (lots and lots of garbage. and no garbage bag. I need to remedy this. pronto.)
17. a beer cap (there's a story behind it, I swear. it's not just another random piece of garbage. and I don't drink and drive. at least not at the same time. anymore. I promise.)
18. a colorful plastic bead bracelet (made for me by one of my former students. it has turtles on it, which I like. I miss teaching.)
19. junk mail (a nice big pile of it in my back seat. receiving junk mail always indicates it's time to move again because THEY. FOUND. ME.)
20. lotion (the pump kind. I don't know why this is in my car. could be leftover from my ceramics days?)
21. a pair of underwear (don't worry, they're unworn, and still in the package. in fact, I just found these and now I feel bad because I made the people at Victoria's Secret send me another pair when I thought they had shorted me a pair in my last order. the operator blamed the mishap on machinery designed by men, which was funny, and they sent me another pair very promptly, which I was happy about, but now I feel guilty because I was wrong. on the plus side I have a new pair of underwear!)
22. two pairs of flip flops (I ♥ flip flops and cannot wait for the weather to be nice again so I can wear them)
23. a wiper blade (still in the package because I couldn't get the old one off and didn't have a man around to convince to do it for me.)
24. jumper cables (because you never now when you might need them. I have this fantasy of coming across some poor man who needs his car jumped but doesn't have cables. then I'll whip mine out and he'll be über* impressed by the cute, prepared blonde girl who came to his rescue. I'll save the day and drive away into the sunset feeling good that I am a strong and independent woman. of course, I don't know exactly how to use them, but that's besides the point.)
25. fuses (I do know how to replace the fuses in my car. I know this because one blows all the time. it makes me feel really good about myself to get all dirty and grimy switching out the fuses. I rock!)
26. a stick (I know there's a story behind this, I just can't remember what it was.)
27. a pocket mask (you know, the kind you use for CPR so you don't actually have to do mouth-to-mouth but mouth-to-mask instead, because, you never know. maybe the guy with the dead battery needs to be resuscitated too. and maybe he has a nasty cold sore. you're gonna be very happy to have the pocket mask at that point.)
28. an empty eye glasses case (empty because the glasses I wear for driving broke about four years ago. okay, well, they didn't break, they're just missing the screw to one of the arms. but I lost the screw and delayed taking them in to get 'em fixed. and then I lost the arm during one of my moves. I know I still have the glasses somewhere...)
29. a Bose iPod speaker (what? that's not where you store your stereo equipment?)
30. a blanket (preparedness, folks. come on.)

How nice. I unintentionally ended on a nice round number. Maybe in Sassy Curmudgeon-style, I should rename this post "30 Useless Things I Discovered in My Car When I Was 30." Or maybe not. 

How about you? Do you have any weird and/or embarrassing things taking up residency in your car? Please share.

* apparently über is our word of the day, kids.