Monday, November 25, 2013

Wigs For the Chin

Studying with the Schizos
Like Dancing with the Stars - but for college students.

It was the night before my first final, and I had started to study. This would be a productive beginning if we were going by Webster's meaning of the word, who defines studying as "the pursuit of knowledge, as by reading, observation, or research." Well that's adorable, Webby. We're all very proud of you. I, however, study like this:

"I have to brew some coffee first."
"Let me just take a shower real quick."
"I haven't checked Facebook in a good five minutes..."
"Snapchat study time!
"Twitter #studytime!"
"My foot is asleep. I need to take a break to wiggle my toes."
"Who knew how satisfying it could be to stare at a wall?"
"I should stare at the ceiling, too!"
"Wall, ceiling. Wall, ceiling. Wiggle toes. Wall ceiling."
"#wall #toes #studytime!"

Just kidding. I don't actually have snapchat.

What I had ahead of me was a speech to memorize from any play of William Shakespeare, and a paper to write on how I memorized that speech and what I learned from the process. After much mulling, I finally decided on a sequence of lines spoken by Macbeth's Witches as they are in the midst of casting a spell. In case you're not familiar with the play, these witches have beards.

I mention this because my initial reasoning behind choosing to memorize a passage spoken by The Three Witches was simply because I had planned to wear a beard as I recited it to my class. After twenty-three years of attempting to grow my own, my constant failure to do so has left a void in both my heart and on my face. One might assume this inability to reproduce an abundance of clustered chin hairs has something to do with me being a woman, but I beg to differ. The lone, black hair that sporadically sprouts on the lower right side of my face poses no threat to the multitudes of bearded women frequenting Wal-Mart. Some may see such an individual as just another woman seated in an electric buggy, but I see her as a reincarnation of one of Shakespeare's most intriguing characters. Were William alive today, I believe he would see great potential in these aisle-blockers.

After it struck me that I do not own any clip-on beards, I decided to study the same passage, anyway. I had been studying the whole time, though. Not searching my apartment for clip-on beards. Not texting anyone to see if they had a clip-on beard they could lend me. Not googling nearby wig shops to see if they sold wigs for the chin. I was studying. Just studying.
But then this troll got in the way.

And then my camera fell into my hands, and my finger collapsed onto the button, and this picture was taken.

But I was studying. I was not posing children's 80s toys with tobacco products and firearms. I was studying.

I started writing down the lines I had to memorize to refrain from arming more dolls with things that cause cancer. It has always been my tactic in committing words to memory to write them on top of one another, creating overlapping lines of sentences to embed it into my brain without cheating and being able to read it. It looks like this:

You could either call this "modern art" or "early signs of schizophrenia." 

After writing it over and over until my hand turned into a shriveled nub (which I nicknamed "Prune Pinkies"), I tried repeating it out loud. I immediately ran into problems I wasn't expecting. Perhaps it was the fatigue, but for some reason I kept saying the wrong words.

The Three Witches: Cool it with a baboon's blood!
Me: Cool it with a baboon's butt!

The Three Witches: Those will make the younker madder!
Me: Those will make the younker's bladder!

The Three Witches: Liard, Robin, you must bob in.
Me: Robin, Robin, you must robin.

The Three Witches: Titty, Tiffin, keep it stiff in!
Me: Titty keep whaaaaaaa?

...this went on for hours. Until, of course, I had no hours left to spare, and it was time for me to get to class and recite these Witches' lines in the creepy-British-old-lady accent that I had been practicing all night. When I began, my classmates laughed at the accent as I hoped they would, but honestly - they laughed more when I said, "Titty."


Friday, November 15, 2013

I, Natashabot

While scrolling through facebook, I noticed a few posts about some generator that, with the click of a button, creates a status update that is something you would say based on words it pulls from your previous statuses. The posts are then signed by your "robotic self." Out of curiosity, I clicked on this to see what statuses this "Natashabot" came up with. This is what I discovered:

Natashabot likes romance.

I've added Pez dispensers to have a romantic night, baby.

A cold shower includes deepened breathing, blood circulation, and you.

I sucked Ronald McDonald's McDick.

Natashabot is a terrorist.

I have a Gun!

A bomb threat makes me feel better. 

I need to enslave about it.

Natashabot is already naked.

I'm already naked, but then I spelled Cher's name correctly.

I'm already naked, but then I got an autographed pair.

I'm already naked, but not when jizzing occurs strictly in pajama pants, and pajama pants. 

I'm already naked, but believe me, miss, are you?

I'm already naked, but believe me, beer and ramen noodles. That's right, bitches. WE DID.

Natashabot gives advice.

Never look at Waffle House. Share the Vagina Snatchers.

Let 'em be tossed. LEGALIZE DWARF-TOSSING.

Natashabot needs advice.

What's with my job applications? Under Physical Requirements, I request a demon-possessed plastic baby.

I could make a choice between two women in Chicago.

So far I've got an experiment. The more people fucking and running if your signature is legible?

May I request a choice of a Nicolas Cage thong or you?

I've been trying to make a choice between a den and FUCK and twenty-three cents.

Natashabot proves you can read.

You read. We're two bouncers.

You read. We're meant to be playing bumper carts.

You read. We're in the bachelor life!

You read. My vagina.

Natashabot is pro-urine.

Your ideal candidate for my pee rights.

You make me in the bathroom.

So far I've peed in Heaven.

Maybe next time I'll wet freshman.

And anti-pants.

Beware of PANTS.

Natashabot asks questions.

What's a light and happy chinaman?

Natashabot is fond of children.

Ooh I shouldn't think young girls could be good.

Give it one week of virgins.

Little girls um hewwo we are Anonymous Alcoholics.

I already had 90-year-olds, but then I decided to be saved.

Natashabot likes math.

There are 13 flavors of honeysuckles.

You are 13 flavors of judgment.

Natasha + wet hair = a part of hell.

Profanity > time to the beard.

Natashabot predicts the future.

The fanny pack at next year's Thanksgiving.

Screw frats is next year's resolution.

Googly-eyed vagina is next year's Halloween.

Hanging out with my Chlamydia will bring us both to the Belcourt Theater.

Natashabot gets sad sometimes.

I've been deemed the Garbage Dump.

I'll have no blood. I'd just love to be taller than you.

All life is an experiment. More bird shit on this.

Natashabot runs a brothel.

Especially with the women to buy you.

I request a unique installment of people fucking Nestle products.

I had a Miss Piggy. But lung cancer.

Three giant parking cones in my sister.

Natashabot already has.

I already had a dream I was impersonating a banana.

I already went strolling with his chicken.

I already saw a goat in a wheelchair wheeling over to graduate from college.

Natashabot loses her mind.

A terrible, horrible, no I anticipated some pasta, Whitey. Hi ho hi ho or hello is fuzzy! No one tell me.

...thanks a lot, Natashabot. It's so comforting to know this is what I sound like.

Friday, November 8, 2013

I Is Da Bride of Chucky

This Week's Conversations

Conversation #1

Subway Cashier: I love yo black hurr!

Me: Thank you!

Cashier: You look like Da Bride of Chucky!

Me: Uh...I think she had blonde hair...

Cashier: Nah, she had jet black hurr and fake lashes like you!

Me: I don't have fake eyelashes.

Cashier: Really?! Then you IS her! You IS Da Bride of Chucky!'s not everyday you get told you look like a demon-possessed plastic baby.

Conversation #2

Neighbor: (shouting from his balcony) HELLO!

Me: Hello!

Neighbor: I like your outfit!

Me: Thanks! I picked it out myself!

...good job, Natasha. Next time, be sure and let him know that not only do you dress yourself, but that you are ALSO potty-trained.

Conversation #3

Friend: I wish there was penis fabric. To make penis burkas.

Me: I'm quoting you on Facebook later.


Other friend: I saw you quoted Laura on Facebook.

Me: Sure did!

Other friend: Yeah...but why did you hash tag Thomas Edison?

Me: I don't know. It was late.

...but really it was because I was drunk. And drunk-me thought it was hilarious to associate the inventor of the light bulb with the inventor of the penis-burka. 


Tuesday, November 5, 2013

The Toaster Incident

How My Morning Started

1. I'm awoken by high-pitched squeals of children coming from outside my window. These aren't the innocent giggles you'd expect from little kids. Instead, I'm listening to incessant chanting of, "FAT GIRL ON A LITTLE BIKE! FAT GIRL ON A LITTLE BIKE!"

...that poor girl. But more importantly, poor me. I still had two minutes left to sleep before that fat girl decided to ride that little bike.

2. I rise to get out of bed. As soon as I put my foot down, I start rolling forward on an overturned Gatorade bottle that was lying on my floor. I roll straight into my closed bedroom door, slam my entire body into it, and fall down.

...this should've been a sign to go back to bed.

3. My cat, who doesn't care at all that I almost broke my neck, starts licking its asshole. then comes over and continues its licking - this time on my face. Now, not only do I have a bruised face, but I also have butthole-infused-bruises on that same face I mentioned earlier (my own).

3. I pick up the hat that I wore ALL DAY yesterday, and as I'm putting it back on for Day Two, I notice something inside of it.

...a pair of underwear.

So all day yesterday, I was wearing underwear on my head. For all I know, a bit of underwear escaped the rim of my beanie at some point throughout the day, leaving many passerbys wondering who let the crazy underwear-head-woman out of the asylum.

4. I get into the car with my roommate, who drives me to school in the mornings. As we're talking, he mentions that he has a toaster to bring into our apartment.

"A toaster?!" I exclaim, acting as if all toasters were as little and as brave as that One... 

"Yeah," he says, suddenly reaching in the backseat for it as we round a curve.

"AHHHHH!" we scream, as the car sharply veers off the road. We would have been screaming for our own lives - if it wasn't for some damn pedestrian in the way.

Damn Pedestrian, a young, long-haired backpacker, LEAPS out of the way, falling onto the ground. From his reclined position, he raises his arms and ejects both middle fingers, yelling something that I couldn't hear over my roommate's shouts of, "I'M STILL DRUNK! I'M STILL DRUNK! I'M --- COP!"

We then veer out of the way of a cop car we almost collide with and continue driving, anticipating the moment we get pulled over for going 30 miles over the speed limit, almost hitting a hippie, and almost wrecking a cop car.

Surprisingly, we don't get pulled over. Maybe the police officer went to see if the pedestrian had any broken bones (though his middle fingers seemed to be working just fine).

5. I'm twenty minutes late to class.

...this was a highlight to my morning.

One of my high school teachers once told me, "If you spill your coffee in the morning, it's a sign you need to go back to bed." I always followed that rule until this morning. Now, that rule has been revised: If you realize you were wearing underwear on your head all day yesterday, it's a sign you need to stay in bed forever.