Saturday, August 24, 2013

Watering Your Ass Since '88

Random Tangents Concerning Randomness

Tangent #1

I'm waiting to check out at the bookstore when the girl waiting in line behind me strikes up a conversation. Immediately, I know she's a freshman. Only freshman are that eager to talk.

freshman: There are way more sororities and faternities here than I thought there would be!

me: I know. I know some really nice sorority girls, but I don't understand the whole Greek thing. It's like paying to have a social life. I don't need to buy my friends.

freshman: I'm in a sorority...

me: Oh. Sorry. Uh..."please, sir, can I have another?!"

freshman: What?

me: Animal House.

freshman: Is that a sorority house?

me: Nevermind.

Tangent #2

I walk into the bathroom and choose a stall (there's more to the story here - keep reading.) I find that I cannot use The Chosen Stall because someone has taken a giant dump and refused to flush. This is college, for crying out loud. We're all way too old to forget to flush. And whoever the culprit is needs to change their diet immediately. 

Then it struck me that I can never get away with taking an anonymous shit. It's my feet. They give me away.

"Someone is shitting. I can smell it."

"Where's the smell coming from?"

"That stall over there. Look under the door. The one with the bowling shoes."

"Oh, bowling shoes? That's Natasha."

I realized the culprit was innocent when I discovered that the toilets flush automatically. Do you ever reach down to wipe and the toilet starts flushing? Who the fuck invented the automatic flush? I'd much rather touch a handle that other hands have touched than have my own piss sprayed all over my ass and hand.

(Alright, so I just looked it up. Apparently the automatic flushing toilet was invented in 1988 by a Mr. Martin J. Laverty, Jr. Knowing this doesn't really solve anything except now I know who to blame every time a toilet suddenly turns into a high-powered bidet. "Martin, Junior: watering your ass since '88.")

Tangent #3

A bad relationship should be called a relationshit.

Tangent #4

guy: Hey...are you Natasha Ferrier?

me: Yeah! Wait, do I know you?

guy: Yeah, you went to Hillsboro High School. Mike Walker.

me: Yeah I know Mike Walker! My sister and I used to hang out with him! Do you know Mike Walker?

guy: I am Mike Walker...

...well this is just embarrassing.

Tangent #5

me: Hey! I was just calling to see if you were on campus.

sister: Yeah, I am! I have a two-hour break if you wanna meet up.

me: YES. I'm by the library right --- oh shit, I see you!

sister: (approaching me) ...Is that my dress.

me: What? No! I bought this dress last week.

sister: That's my dress.

me: OH, you mean you have this same dress?

sister: No. I had that dress. Then it suddenly went missing.

me: Uh...what are you implying?

sister: You know I had that dress. You used to compliment me on it all the time in high school.

me: High school? Dude, that was like six years ago. I don't remember you having this dress.

sister: (with a glare that could cause a genocide) That's my dress.

me: Look. I bought this dress last week at Collective Clothing for eight dollars. This is all just a coincidence.

sister: (glares)

me: Are you seriously implying that I stole your dress, kept it hidden for six years, and am now lying to you about buying it from the store?

sister: I don't know, are you?

me: No!

sister: (glares)

me: This is ridiculous. I did not steal your dress. We're not even the same size.

sister: (walks off)

me: Hey! HEY!

sister: (continues to walk off)

...I think 90% of all arguments between sisters would never occur if we all lived in a nudist colony. 

Friday, August 23, 2013

You Just Got Febrezed

It's only the first week of school and I'm already annoyed by people. Either I'm growing cranky with age or I am terminally hungover.

The Evolution of College

First year - you know no one on campus
Second year - you know a few people on campus
Third year - you know lots of people on campus
Fourth year - you talk to lots of people on campus
Fifth year - you avoid everyone

Despite my desire to remain unseen, I also have a strong desire to go to parties - this makes no sense, I know. What also confuses me is that I know how I get when I drink, so saying, "I want to go to a party" is the same as saying, "I want to embarass myself in public."

I went to my first party of the semester last night. Before arriving, I made sure to check off everything on my to-do list:

- drink a fifth of whiskey
- remove all fleas from clothing

After finding only two fleas, I knew things were going my way. If your bodily flea count is less than ten, you're going to have a good night. Some may call this "absolutely disgusting," but I call it being easily satisfied. Things could be worse, ya know. Just ask Jeff Goldblum. He knows.

ANYWAY let's get to the story - I go to the party. I'm guessing there were around 100 people there, though I can't be sure. I'm not Rainman. 

I didn't black out, but I don't remember how I acquired a cup of hunch punch. I had been routinely filling my cup from the keg, which was filled with beer, and out of nowhere my beer turns to liquor, which I didn't even notice until someone pointed it out.

friend: Hey, what's that you're drinking?

me: Oh, it's just beer.

friend: That's not beer.

me: What?
(I glance down at my cup.)

me: Oh're right.

friend: Where'd you get that?

me: I have no idea.

friend: Do you know what it is?

me: No. I didn't even realize the change in taste. Or that I was drinking something red.

This is probably when I should have stopped drinking.

I continued drinking, though, because you shouldn't waste alcohol. There are sober children in Africa.

The next thing I know, I have a can of Febreze in my hand. How it got there, I'm not quite sure. Did I grab the Febreze or did someone give it to me? I have no idea. But I did know what to do with it.

friend: Did you just spray Febreze on that girl?

me: Yep! (febrezes passerby)

friend: Are you just standing here febrezing people?

me: Yep! (febrezes passerby)

friend: And no one's said anything to you?

me: Nope! They don't even notice! See, watch: (febrezes guy's ass)

friend: (laughs) Where'd you get that?

me: Uh...I'm not quite sure, actually. (febrezes another guy)

guy: (pretending to be British) What in the bloody hell?

me: (also in a British accent) 'Allo ol' chap! There's some Febreze to go with your crumpets! Jolly good, lad, jolly good!

guy: (who apparently was not pretending, and was, in fact, British) Are you mocking me?

me: (realizing he was not pretending and has offended him) (thinking of how to respond) (speechless) (must go to last resort) (febrezes him)

guy: Quit spraying fucking Febreze on me.

me: But it's a party! I'm Febrezing everyone! (febrezes passerby)

guy: I don't give a fuck! I don't want that shit on me!

me: (febrezes him)

And then I ran away yelling in a British accent. You're welcome for the two bonus sprays, Big Ben. That's what you get for being an asshole. YOU JUST GOT FEBREZED, BITCH. Besides, who doesn't want to smell like "Bedroom Mist?"

Eventually, the can ran out and I no longer had any source of entertainment. Shortly after this disappointment, the cops showed up and everyone had to leave. As drunk as everyone was, no one reeked of alcohol.


Thursday, August 22, 2013

UTC Student Refuses to Graduate

CHATTANOOGA, TN. Natasha Ferrier, avid Pez collector and borderline munchkin, was sighted six times this week roaming UTC's campus. The 22-year-old states that she "still has one year left," but according to a fellow classmate of Ferrier's, "that's exactly what she said two years ago."

Ferrier enrolled as a freshman at UTC in 2009 and left after one year. There is no evidence of her existence from her professors except for one, who says, "She hit my car." Though Ferrier was able to remain anonymous to campus faculty, she was unable to do so with her peers.

"I saw her lying on her stomach in the middle of the sidewalk once," says a former classmate of Ferrier's. "I asked her if she was alive and she said she was taking a nap."

Ferrier returned to UTC in August 2012, confuting recent rumors that she "became a coke dealer."

"Natasha never mentioned plans to return," says a close friend of Ferrier's. "All she said was that she didn't break the microwave."

"That girl taped cough drops and condoms to our ceiling," states one of Ferrier's first roommates. "And she broke the microwave."

"Does she have any bananas?" adds Chris Blair, commonly known for stumbling into Ferrier's dorm room at 4 a.m. demanding the popular fruit.

Lubricated ceiling decorations aside, most are wondering whether or not Ferrier is academically prepapred. Two months into the 2012 Fall semester, Ferrier was seen "running around in velvet overalls" and "walking her cat on a leash."

During Winter break, Ferrier retreated to her reclusive tendencies to stay indoors, claiming that the cold temperature is "too painful for the nips."

Despite these questionable observations, Ferrier ended the semester with all As, which she adds, "includes an A in Alcohol," and is already approaching her fourth day of the Spring semester. She has been seen conversing with a number of people.

"This is her fifth year?" laughs a naive and impressionable freshman.

"She's obviously a freshman," says an obvious freshman.

"When she told me she was a senior, I laughed in her face," states another premature human.

After being asked how she liked her first year of college so far by six different people, Ferrier's academic performance has begun to decline.

"Her summary of the first three scenes in Romeo and Juliet was detailed, thought-provoking, and passionate," shares Ferrier's Shakespeare professor. "But all she wrote for Scene IV was Romeo is a whiny bitch."

"We were taking notes on Lord of the Rings," says one of Ferrier's classmates. "Our professor told us that J.R.R. Tolkien never meant his books to be for children, and as I was writing that down, I looked over at Natasha and all she writes is Roald Dahl pornography. What does that even mean?"

"We had a writing assignment today," states Ferrier's Nonfiction Essays professor. "Each student had to write a skill they were familiar with that began with each letter of the alphabet. For the letter V, some people wrote Violin-playing, others wrote Video games...Natasha wrote Vagina."

Though Ferrier denies writing down her vagina as a skill she is familiar with, she does admit to writing Wetting the bed for the letter W.

"But I do take school seriously," Ferrier insists. "I'm here to work. It's not like I'm just 'hanging out.' "

"I saw her yesterday outside the library," states a UTC Junior. "She seemed to just be hanging out."

The future remains unpredictable, but Ferrier remains optimistic. "I'm definitely graduating in the spring," she declares. "Anything to avoid the look on a freshman's face when I tell him I've been here longer than he's been off his mom's teat."

Whether or not Ferrier has bananas remains unknown.

Friday, August 16, 2013

Onion Night

Random Thoughts After Realizing that the Only Thing in My Fridge is an Onion

Thought #1

When did I buy an onion? I don't even own a knife to cut it. There is no useful purpose for me to have an onion at this time. Or a fridge, for that matter.

Thought #2

I was trying to learn more about my heritage the other day, so I googled "Croatian women." My research began well:

"Croatian women are known to be the most beautiful women in the world."


"They are tall and blonde."

Great. I am neither of these things. Thanks a lot for giving me such high standards to meet, Croatia. This must be how Liza Minnelli feels.

Thought #3

This morning's Facebook notification: Aadarshini Gupta accepted your friend request. (Zero mutual friends.)

...when did I friend request someone from India? Was this on Onion Night?

Thought #4

For the alcoholic on-the-go.

Thought #5

I keep accidentally zoning out during conversation at the worst possible times. One minute, everyone is talking about work, and then I get distracted by the floor, and I jump back into conversation to find that the subject has drastically changed. Here are the most recent examples:

"And then we --- blah blah blah blah --- but should I still do him if he has herpes?"

"But if you --- blah blah blah blah --- here's a video of me shooting a gun."

"She didn't --- blah blah blah blah --- exactly how many wet pussies?"

"So I --- blah blah blah blah --- I was wiping so much, I started getting blisters on my ass."

So then I'm completely lost and unsure how to chime back in. It's harder than it seems.

"I left and --- blah blah blah blah --- I always wear the healing stones of my mother."

See? If I don't know the context of this, how am I supposed to pitch in? 

"Well I always wear the kidney stones of my father." 

Which I did not say, because I wasn't sure if it was an appropriate time for humor. I think I'm slowly losing my social skills. Soon I'll have no friends except Wilson.

Say hello, Wilson.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Ace Ventura: Dental Hygienist

I read recently that the average human sleeps 33% of their lifetime. Here's some math for you: a third of a lifetime is 194, 821 hours, which averages out to 22.5 years, and 2 + 2 = 4. (That last equation has nothing to do with sleep. That's me proving to myself that there's still some math out there that I can do without a calculator.)

Despite the terrifying fact that I will sleep for more time than I've even lived so far, this also means that I will have 23 years of dreams, most of which I will forget. Presumably, that's 20 years of blacking out, which means my insomnia-fueled nights are balanced out by my liquor-fueled nights. See? There's a method to my madness. I just didn't know it until now.

I try to write down my dreams as soon as I wake up. When I say "try," I mean "try," which means "try" meaning "I don't." But at least the thought is there. Just not the pen and paper. They aren't there now, and they weren't there when I first decided to keep a dream journal. That was seven years ago. (That may seem like a long time, but it's nothing when you compare it to the 70 more years of chances I have to place a pen by my bed.) (What? IT'S HARDER THAN IT LOOKS. Pens come and go, man. They use you to release all their fluid and then they're out of your life forever. One minute, you got a Bic in your hand, and the next thing you know, the Bic is useless.)

I've mustered up three dreams I can remember that I've had recently, which I'm going to share with you. I'll also include the internet's interpretation of each dream, along with my own. We shall begin with Oprah.

1. Oprah Winfrey Goes to Summer Camp

I've been invited to go to Oprah's summer camp. I am told to meet my fellow campers at her mansion, which is just a pretentious thing for O-Cakes to say. Why not say, "Meet me at my house" instead of "Meet me at my mansion?" I already know it's going to be a mansion, I don't need the specificity. That's like if I sent out birthday party invitations, and instead of saying, "Come celebrate my birthday!" I said, "Let's eat cake in honor of my dad's successful cum shot!"

I get lost as soon as I arrive at her home, which was on foot, so I guess I walked there. I finally find a giant group of people my age sitting in a circle on the ground, listening to Oprah meditate. As soon as I sit down with everyone, Oprah opens her eyes and exclaims, "Alright! Time to get on the bus!" Everyone hops up and we begin walking up a staircase. The girl in front of me turns around, pushes me down the stairs, and says, "I don't like you. I don't want you here."

Despite the irony of such violence after peacefully meditating, I follow everyone outside to the giant yellow school bus that awaited us. Everyone piles in, and as soon as I'm about to get on, the doors close in my face and Oprah drives away.

According to the internet: "To see a school bus in your dream indicates that you are about to venture on an important life journey needed for your personal growth. If you miss the bus, it indicates that an aspect of your life is out of control. You need to slow down."

According to me: If you miss the bus, you were obviously moving too slow, which means the last thing you need to do is slow down. You need to speed up. Then maybe you'd catch the fucking bus.

2. Ace Ventura: Dental Hygienist

I arrive at the dentist's office to find Jim Carey waiting for me. He tells me he is my dentist. He never checks my teeth, but he does immediately point out the cluster of enormous blackheads that are on my neck. He tells me he had the same problem once, and he knows how to fix it. I nod and return to the waiting room where a laptop awaits me. I get on facebook and update my status to: "I'm being serious. Jim Carey is my dentist. This is not a joke."

According to the internet: "To dream that you are at the dentist represents your concerns about your appearance. Alternatively, it suggests that you are having some doubt over the sincerity or honor of some person in your life."

According to me: To dream that you are at the dentist represents your concerns about your dentist. Because he talks with his butt cheeks. Alternatively, it suggests you are having some doubt over the sincerity or honor of your dentist. Because he is not a dentist. He is Jim Carey.

3. And All of a Sudden I Was in the Middle of a Giant Goat Orgy

My sister and I are walking alongside a fence when we look to our left to see one goat on its hind legs, pinned against the fence, with another goat doing it from behind.

"Those goats are doing it."

"That's fucking weird."

"I didn't even know goats did it like that."

We walk a couple more feet to see another pair of goats on the fence, also doing it. This continues on for about six or seven pairs of horny goats. (Horny, get it? Horn-y? Cause goats have horns? Fuck it, nevermind.) (WHOAH. DO NOT FUCK IT. I JUST MEANT LET'S MOVE ON.)

Out of nowhere, there's a goat on our side of the fence, looking at me. We continue walking. It follows.

"That goat wants to rape me."

I look over to hear my sister's response, but she's disappeared. Now it's just me and Horny Goat Gruff. Or Billy Goat Up. Billy Goes Rough? (Look. It's 3 in the morning. I have no time for witty sexual puns. I only have time for shitty ones.)

The goat gets closer and closer until it is up against my leg, which is slowly begins to rub with its body. I try to step away cautiously, but then it tries to mount me, and then begins humping whatever it can reach: sometimes the air, sometimes my arm, and once on my nose. Yes. I had a goat dick on my face. And yes. That was the first time I've ever said that in my entire life.

According to the internet: To see or be involved in bestiality in your dream refers to raw sexuality and lust. Alternatively, the dream may indicate that you are experimenting with certain sexual acts that you are not fully comfortable with.

According to me: To see or be involved in bestiality in your dream refers to your need to stay away from goats. Alternatively, the dream may indicate that your sister is experimenting with certain sexual acts involving multiple goats, because where they hell did she go? 

"All men whilst they are awake are in one common world: but each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own." - Plutarch

Sorry, Plutie, but I've reached the conclusion that I'm okay with the common world. This "world of my own" involves Oprah sweat and goat rapists.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

The Princess and the Pringles

"Sleep is for wimps." - Margaret Thatcher

I'm laying in bed with a flashlight wiggling my toes to watch their shadows move on the walls. One went to the market, one wants roast beef, and I'm just wondering why liquor stores don't have a delivery service.

...this is what my life has come to.

Obviously I'm exaggerating. This is not what my life has come to, it's simply one night where I chose to stay in and am now deeply regretting that decision. I hadn't even wanted to go out, but now that I'm stuck at home, all I want to do is leave. It's kind of like "the grass is greener on the other side," but this grass is a pint glass and it's full on the other side.

...I have insomnia. I've had insomnia since I was 17 years old, and within these last six years, I've found that there are only two cures: 1) alcohol; 2) death.

To me, "chronic insomnia" has a negative connotation. I think it should be renamed to something more alluring, but it's hard to come up with one word to make the life of an insomniac sound more glamorous.

"You have insomnia?"

"No. My eyes are just always open to the world."

"But you can't sleep, right?"

"No. I just choose to live every minute of life that I can."

"So you just stay awake all day and all night?"

"No. Gods stay awake all day and night."


"Draw your own conclusions."

"The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world." - Leonard Cohen

Many people seem to see insomnia as a bad thing. But was it bad for Abraham Lincoln? Vincent Van Gogh? Napoleon Bonaparte? Marilyn Monroe? Benjamin Franklin? Mark Twain? Franz Kafka? Name-droppers? 

"Why are you still awake? It's 4 in the morning."

"I'm pretending to be Benjamin Franklin."

Imagine all the things that may not have occurred had these famous people not had insomnia. The lightning rod may have never been invented, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn may have never been written, Vincent Van Gogh would still have his ear and Marilyn Monroe would of had a lot less sex. The world would not be the same.

"Sleep is a symptom of caffeine deprivation." - Author unknown

The first thing my psychiatrist told me in high school was to eliminate caffeine from my diet.

"If you want to start sleeping, stop drinking coffee."

For anyone who drinks coffee as habitually as I do, you know this is the same thing as saying:

"If you want to stop having bowel movements, stop drinking coffee."

Basically, I had a choice between sleeping and shitting. I chose the latter.

Once my doctor realized that I was not going to give up caffeine, she started prescribing me things. We began with melatonin.

"It's a vitamin. It's natural."

You know what else is natural? The coca plant.

This didn't work, so we moved on to Trazodone.

"I'm putting you on an anti-depressant."

"But I'm not depressed."

"Not being able to sleep is a sign of depression."

Then Snow White must have been the happiest person in the world. And Prince Charming was just the asshole who ruined it for her.

After Trazodone failed to cure me, we finally moved on to the Big Girl stuff.

"I really didn't want to have to put you on Ambien, but we'll start you off with a small dosage and see how it goes."

This didn't work, either.

"Alright, we're going to up your dosage."

Still didn't work.

"Okay, I'm doubling your dosage."

It worked! Just kidding. It didn't. I just didn't want to sound so repetitive.

"So the Ambien still isn't working?"

"Nope. I'm only getting about an hour of sleep each night."


"Are we going to up the dosage?"

"No, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because Ambien is the strongest sedative out there. There are very dangerous side effects to taking too much."

"Like what?"

"The most common things people do on Ambien, which they never remember because it makes you black out, is drive, eat, and have sex."



"So is this why I've gained so much weight?!"

"Do you think you've been sleep-eating?"

"I've woken up with a soggy, half-eaten Pop-Tart sticking out of my mouth for the past two weeks."


"Last night, I woke up to a mattress made of Pringles."

They must be serious about the "once you pop" thing. It's no fucking joke. It's crack in a can.

"If you can't sleep, then get up and do something instead of lying there worrying. It's the worry that gets you, not the lack of sleep." - Dale Carnegie

So here I am, six years older and a quarter of an inch taller, making shadow puppets with my feet. Or there I was, since now I am writing at my laptop. I just opened a Red Bull, as well, because I don't like to half-ass anything, and that includes insomnia. And my shadow puppets. They were some damn good shadow puppets. I made my toes resemble all kinds of things...lima beans, ear plugs, cap erasers, someone else's toes...I can't remember the rest. There were just so many.

"Dawn: when men of reason go to bed." - Ambrose Bierce

I'm not sure what I'll do for the rest of my night, but I'm sure it will resemble the things I do during the day. Which does not include sleeping. Or Pop-Tarts.