The best thing you've ever done. Athletically.

If there's one thing that will warm your heart, it's hearing about the triumphs of my Winter Weekend.
I skied and lived to tell about it.
Complete with eyeballs intact.
Matt graciously instructed me and accompanied me up the chairlift (fear nearly conquered) to the big bunny hill. As he glided down the first few feet, I realized that all the terrors in my life could not match this instant (except possibly skiing with clowns, which will now surely give me nightmares). I was to experience that moment and that feeling over and over again all during our ski day.
Like when I ran into the trees in slow motion.
Like when I was going down a blue hill because (though I was certainly only a green-level) Matt suggested we follow this caution sign to see where it would lead.
Like when the operator had to change the speed of the lift to accomodate me and I still tipped off the seat.
I alternated between anger and tears when I began to feel threatened, spouting such explosive phrases as, "But I don't trust the inside leg," and "JUST GO ON WITHOUT ME," or the favored "I'm ready to go home! I hate this sport!!!"
But...I skied.
Thanks for not giving up on me, Matt. And thanks for letting me go home at noon.

YOUstress.

I am so ashamed.
I just had an email returned to me with the phrase (I HAD WRITTEN): "who want it there way or nothing at all."
THERE?!
I just had an "I'm going to die early due to distressing minutiae" epiphany. Maybe this is what you were talking about last night. I will convert this nasty distress into eustress by not being careless or dumb or SUCKING at writing.

Little Sister at the Laundromat

As dictated to me, this is her all-time low (which happens about once a week):
She put a $20 bill into the change machine without regard to the fact that it ALL comes out in quarters.
She opened the box of detergent which flipped itself over, spilling its contents onto the ground.
She wasn't sure what to do with the oxy-clean, so she put it in the machine, unwrapped (why read directions?).
The elderly samaritan who helped her watched her get out of her seat every 5 minutes to check on the progress of the washing machine said, "You know there's a timer on these, right?"

From the horse's mouth:
"Well I suppose that really sums up my first experience at the laundromat. Did I mention that the rug went from a 6'x9' to a mere 4'x6'? Sad day in the life of me. If anyone in the future needs help with their trip to the laundromat, make sure to bring along someone with experience...and I am not that someone."

Better luck next time.

Another story about pants-wetting fun

Went tubing on Monday. As I strained to hold on to my friend's ankles while flying down the hill, I realized helpless shrieks were coming from my mouth.
Tubing involves snow (preferred), a bloated inner tube (bigger is better), a rope tow (fricking awesome), and a sense of adventure (optional). Best of all, it can be done safely. SO MUCH SAFER THAN SKIING.
When you ski, there are long, pointy poles which could be haphazardly stuck into your eyeballs. Tell me that's not scary, and you lie.
Going to a ski resort this weekend. Will sip cocoa in the chalet, enjoying my eyeballs.

Do Read This

Luckily, my office is only three floors up; I don't take the elevator. However, I must appreciate the creativity of these "DO" advertisements. I really won't take the elevator now. And I'll totally walk the five pound weights around the city.

You ever have that?

This weekend my family began the long process of ridicule and alienation that I like to call "now we guilt you because you've aren't spending enough time with us."
My darling sister decorated a chair at the table with my photo and allegedly addressed it while I was out last night.
She then taped the photo to her shoulder and was still talking to it when I got home three hours later.

Maybe if I were FIVE

"Oop! I almost hit you!"
"Sorry," I say. I moved out of the way in time thanks to some cat-like reflexes and the ability to look forward.
The old woman chirps after me: "It's dangerous to walk by closed doors. I almost hit a lot of kids and I tell them it's dangerous to walk by closed doors."
In my mind, I tell her that since it's a Monday morning, I'm much more likely to walk myself AND OTHERS by closed doors.

I have nothing against the hearing impaired

It's just that old ladies who can't hear should not be phone people. Here's how my conversation went (again, names are changed to avoid implicating specific elderly as being bad operators). "Her" refers to the unnamed aged woman:
Me: Susan Osterson, please.
Her: Sorry?
Me: Susan Osterson, please.
Her: I didn’t catch that.
Me: Extension 118, please.
Her: Ok, just a moment.
[pause]
Her: Hello?
Me: Susan?
Her: Just a moment...

Things I Love

1. The victory-fisted arm pump.
2. Dooce.
3. The word "face" used as a nickname.
4. Bad wheel alignment.
5. Forgetting how slick the roads are as I'm driving to work, and then plowing into the decorative rock on my neighbor's front lawn when I take a curve too fast. Dang. I love that.

Ben or Noel? Who will she choose?

I spent the weekend wasting away my valued brain cells reviewing and re-emoting over a television series. I can't just watch the show; I must delve deeply enough into the characters' FICTIONAL lives that I am moved to tears during EVERY episode. Oh, the shame.
I actually had nightmares last night as a direct result of having watched too much Felicity in one day. This tremendous guilt weighed on me that I had not been there to protect Julie (who, in my dream morphed into three different people) from being attacked. I am not kidding.
It's not just that.
Honestly, this worry over brain atrophy becomes more significant the further I get from college (about 10 months. Who's overdramatic now, FELICIDAD?!). I fear (just typed "feer"--DEAR GOD) that mental decline is upon me.

Novocaine Nonsense

This morning I had a temporary speech impediment.
I decided to test out several things:
1. Spitting. A ridiculous act in which I stuck out my tongue and pushed air out from the sides of my mouth. At the same time, I spoke to myself in the mirror about how funny it was that I was attempting to spit.
2. Smiling. My bottom lip felt like a rising loaf of bread. I can't tell whether that sensation was from the perspective of the lip or my hand.
3. Leaving messages on my mother's work answering machine. Completely unintelligible. And I was laughing because at that point, I was not yet in pain.
As DDS filled my FOUR CAVITIES, he occasionally stopped to tell me about his progress thus slowing it down and increasing that brow-knitting, gag-inducing awareness of metal-on-tooth taste.
As for my progress, I'm currently experiencing the pain and the lack of bite togetherness I felt in my former life as a cavity mouth.

I blame the novocaine for numbing my mind.

If every student had the same name, they couldn't stand in alphabetical order.

Racing Toward the Center of the Earth

I have this habit of throwing my trash on the floor. It's purposeful. There's no trash can in my office (which is approximately a 4' by 8' and a story for another day), so I usually collect a hefty pile of papers and occasionally an orange peel before I take and deposit said items into a receptacle.
As I'm writing this, I realize that I do it at home, too. Only, at home it's clothes and receipts and purses and scarves and unbreakable Nalgenes.
EVERYTHING GOES ON THE FLOOR! IT'S GRAVITY!

hahahaha

This made me laugh out loud.
AND it's my first link!

Holy, holy crap

Two things:
1. People are psychotic drivers. Chemical imbalance as result of snow and SUV ownership takes over their brains; they believe they are invincible and go outside to test the theory (which reminds me...what's up Brown One? Remember how you thought the word was invisible? That still gets me.)
2. I cannot stand the sound coming out of the room adjacent to my own. If this office were a recording studio, I would document this in some audible form and download the shit into cyberspace so you might judge it for yourself and complain with me in a resounding chorus. Clarinets in attempt to reach the same pitch.
Violins pulling the devil's voice from instruments in unison.
Percussive little....bastard people.

Places to put stuff

If you were my teeth, you would have
A. zero cavities
B. no cavities
C. four cavities, or
D. not one cavity
If you were my teeth, you would be getting a serious lecture from
A. no one
B. me
C. the dentist, the hygenist, and the receptionist
D. both B and C
I blame my FOUR cavities not on lack of flossing or brushing, but a high count of sneakily selective drugs administered to me by my sister at dinnertime so that during the dead of the night, she may sneak into my room unannounced, pry open my mouth and strategially place sugar therein.
And I'll tell that to the insurance company.
And then we'll sue my sister.

If these words don't inspire, I'm not sure what will...

[This would be a good time to type something like "Tina, you fat lard, it's time for dinner."]
The best place to find a helping hand is at the end of your own arm.
It's simultaneously enchanted and annoyed. How can you refuse this opportunity to do something good for somebody else...IDIOT.

Heard

While I waited for my meeting to begin, I reaped the rewards given to all eavesdropping early birds: morsels of bizarre conversation.
I happened upon this...
-We're still offering a french fry. It's a trans-fat free fry. It will be a little more expensive. Let's just see if the popularity of this fry increases against the other, which will be available in the other line.
-I have a problem with that. We cannot be offering fries every day. It sends the wrong message. [with disbelief] When I visited, teachers in observation were eating french fries. What an example!
-Can you bake it?
-It's just a hydrogenated process.
And later...
-[with supreme enthusiasm] On the day that we do the beefy nacho, we're changing to a baked tortilla chip.

Bummer.

It's too bad when you select friends based on their laugh, because it's not even a sense of humor you are judging.
I'm sorry, Marge*, I can't be your buddy because when you laugh it sounds like bats are attacking me.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Be It Resolved

My New Year's Resolution:
SPECIFY.
Since graduating from college, I have noticed a considerable decline in my high level cognition (except when I'm wasted, which is when I do all my heavy reading and philosophizing). Based on my lack of impressive thoughts lately (I haven't been terribly drunk much) and my overuse of words like "thing" and "guy" to describe non-nouns, my goal of the year is to be more specific in speech.
I will not resort to profanity or simple terminology due to mental laziness.

Plastic Water

Aquafina's deliciously bottled substance actually takes on a plastic taste, thus substantiating its claim "pure water, perfect taste." For it is a commonly accepted truth among tasteographers that plastic is the gustatory zenith.