Baby Got Fat

I have a question that has been on my mind for quite some time now. And by "quite some time" I am referring to the 30 minutes between the time I woke up this morning and the time I sat down at my computer to pose this question, as well as the last 7 years of my existence. Well, here it goes: What is so DAMN SEXY about boobs and a butt?

Stop me now if you already know the answer. Oh wait! You can't, can you? I get to just keep on going and going and going without any further interruption! Ah...the joy of writing.

Let's get into the scientific aspect of these two components. Boobs are what? Lumps of fat. Butts are what? Lumps of fat with a line down the middle.

A-HA! Alas! Eureka! Gigolo! It is all so clear to me now! Men are attracted to lumps of fat! If only I had known!

Wait...something is wrong here. Would a typical man be attracted to a 600-pound woman? A woman with infinite lumps of fat on her body as opposed to the mere 3 men have been settling for all these years? NO. No, he would not. Well that just contradicts my whole point. Shit!

I got it! Okay okay okay, stick with me here. Let's get into the physical aspect of these pieces of meat. Boobs what? Protrude from the body. Butts what? Protrude from the body.

A-HA! Alas! Eureka! Bon Jovi! I now hold all the answers regarding sex appeal! But wait...a nose protrudes. Are noses considered a big turn-on? No...and what if a woman had a third arm? Or a hunchback? Would QuazimotA be the next Marilyn Monroe? NO. No, definitely not. Dammit. This is proving to be more challenging than I thought.

How about we get into the functional aspect of the two, eh? Boobs do what? Release milk to feed infants. Butts do what? Release turds to feed toilets.

A-HA! Alas! Eureka! Cousin It! All my life I've been thinking men had absolutely no reason behind their obsession with these particular body parts, when really, they like the fact that they can get milk and feces from them!

Something tells me I'm a little off here...what could it be...could it be that you can get milk and feces from lots of different things? Yes, that must be it. Why would men like women for their milk and turds when they could easily get both of those things from a cow? Are men sexually lusting after cows? No...maybe in India, but this isn't India. This is blogspot.

Alright I know. Boobs belong to whom? Women. Butts belong to whom? Women. Boobs and butts do NOT belong to whom? MEN.

A-HA! Alas! Eureka! Fruit Loops! Men like this physical aspect of women because they do not have it. Men only want what they CAN'T HAVE. I've solved it. I'm genius.

Hold on. This can't be correct. Men don't have vaginas, either, and I don't see any men trying to cop a feel on a woman's va-jay-jay as he sneaks his arm around her shoulder in the movie theatre. (which, yes, would be quite difficult since he'd have to stand up just a smidge so he could reach down there and if he did do so everyone else in the theatre would wonder what the hell that guy was doing, but just because something is difficult does not mean it's not possible.) But men aren't getting hard-ons over a sexy-lookin vajeene. I don't see any men exclaiming, when sharing their sexual escapades with anyone who will take the time to listen, "Dude. She had the most bad ASS vagina. I couldn't keep my hands off of it!"

WAIT. It's coming...it's coming...hold on, I almost got it...

Nope, false alarm.

Wait...wait a second...

Nah I got nothin'.

Well then. I guess I have finally reached an answer to my question. There is no answer.

Wait! UNLESS...

Sorry, another false alarm. There really is no answer. What is it that men like about tits and ass?! I'll never know what. Or should I say...I'll never know "butt?" Oh, my wit.

Window Pain

People of the world! May I have your attention! If I had a wine glass I'd be hitting it with a spoon! Yes, I'm that serious right now! Attention, people, please, PLEASE if I could just have your attention for just a moment! Contrary to what many of you seem to believe, I keep my window open for the fresh air; NOT to hear what strangers have to say on the street! I repeat: I like the breeze and the sound of the wind, NOT what you random nobodies want to yell to the world because no one else will actually listen to you! I see now why they don't listen, but that does not mean I care to listen myself! It actually makes me care even less about you! And who, you wonder, does that include exactly? Well, I am here to tell you!

Angry Man

Angry Man, I do not keep my window open to hear you, as loud as you possibly can, bitch about the snow.

"EVERYBODY'S GOING FUCKING CRAZY CAUSE IT'S FUCKING SNOW! FUCKING TENNESSEANS!"

Hmmm...looks like you're the one who's going crazy there, buddy.

Drunk Girl

Drunk Girl, I do not keep my window open to hear your belligerently-wasted ass fall flat on that same ass and then alert the masses about it.

"I JUST FELL ON MY ASS HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

Doing things you'll regret the next morning do seem quite hilarious at the time, don't they?

Lost Boy

Lost Boy, I would be quite fine with you being outside my window if you were the kind of lost boy who wore a leather jacket and sucked people's blood, but you are not and never will be since you missed that chance back in 1987. You, unfortunately, are the kind of lost boy who is just plain lost, and who happens to be lost, and shit-faced, right outside of my window.

"Where's room 3..."

"Room 3?"

"Yeah, room 4..."

"Room 4?"

"NO GOD DAMMIT! I SAID ROOM 3!"

"Room 3?"

"3 or 4..."

"Uh, there is no room 3."

"I mean room 33..."

"Room 33?"

"WHERE'S ROOM 33 I SAID?!"

"There is no room 33..."

"Oh, well...room 333..."

"333?"

"Yeah, 333."

"There is no room 333..."

"I NEED TO GET TO ROOM 333 THEY HAVE MY ALCOHOL!"

I don't think you need any more alcohol there. Ya dumbass.

Puking Woman

Puking Woman, I know it happens to the best of us, but the best of us like to keep our puke to ourselves, not share it with the world.

"I need to puke."

"Okay, well we're almost to the room, just hold it in."

"No, no, I need to puke now."

"Our room is RIGHT THER---"

BLEH!

Hey, you managed to make it right in the smack-dab middle of the sidewalk! Good for you! It's not like sidewalks are frequently used or anything! It's not like anyone WALKS there or anything! At least not now, not after you poured your yellow bile all over it! You disgusting wench.

Horny Dudes

Horny Dudes, I'm sorry no one ever cared to teach you this lesson, but you don't get what you want by yelling it out to nobody in particular.

"DUDE I NEED SOME PUSSY SO BAD!

"YEAH MAN I KNOW WHERE THE FUCK IS THE PUSSY?"

"THERE'S GOT TO BE SOME PUSSY AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE!"

What an intelligent assumption. I'm sure a smart boy like you will eventually find what you're looking for. As long as you pay for it.

Friend Who Called Me

Friend Who Called Me, I know technically you do not count as one of the people outside of my window since my phone was inside, but then again, you technically were not in my room and so, yes, I assume you were in fact outside of my window, somewhere out there in the world. I am sorry I did not answer your call, but I was in the middle of making a pointless video just to hear myself speak in a random accent. I have NOT included this video because it was 6 minutes of rambling, but I promise you will see me speak in an unknown accent one of these days.

Putty Love

It has come to my attention that it may be in my best interest to not squander away my money on things such as silly putty. Now, while silly putty is a wonderful and joyous thing, when you are on a 25-dollar-a-week budget, you may find yourself at the end of the week painfully parched, and in the moment you stare perpetually at your silly putty only to realize you cannot drink it, it will occur to you that you should not have made that particular purchase, no matter how spontaneous you felt at the time or how heated the moment was when you first laid eyes on that putty that's silliness mysteriously intrigued you.

I, myself, was drawn towards some putty today while shopping at Wal-Mart, and though it took 10 minutes and 3 round trips around the store so I could casually come across the putty a few more times, I came to the decision to not buy it. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS? I am becoming an adult.

I could easily have nabbed that silly putty, swiped my debit card, and no one would have known about it, except me and my precious putty-wutty. I would have gone back to my dorm, shown it around its new home, stretched it, popped it, pressed it onto newspapers, kissed it, licked it, put it in my pants...and no one would have ever had the slightest clue that my hobbies include touching my putty.

But this time was different. This time, I refrained from touching my putty and instead touched a banana, which is now sitting in my kitchen.

Though the brisk walk from the silly putty was emotionally toilsome, since perhaps I was never to see that putty again, or its silliness for that matter, it caused me to wonder...am I the only individual my age with this problem? Am I bread outside of the breadbox? A crack whore in a nunnery? That one peanut who caused all the almond companies to put on their almond containers, "may contain peanuts?" Surely it isn't so! I could not possibly be the only person to randomly possess sentimental feelings toward material objects I happen to glance at while strolling through the aisles of Wal-Mart.

...am I?

Am I the only one who has haphazardly bought the soundtrack to Coneheads? Surely it isn't so!

Am I the only one who has impulsively purchased Batman trading cards from the '90's? Surely it isn't so!

Am I the only one who has unconsciously paid for a deck of Playboy cards? Now I know that isn't so.

College is a malicious place for those of us with tight budgets. If we must buy food and water for ourselves, how can we possibly purchase the things we thrive on for survival? How can we possibly purchase items such as mood rings! We need to know our mood, don't we? Or toe socks! Our phalanges need to stay warm, don't they? Or fanny packs! History tends to repeat itself, doesn't it? How can we possibly go day to day without any new things? Without anything to look at without having to shove it in our mouths? Or anything to play with without having to guzzle it down our throats? I'm sick of it, I tell ya, sick of it! I want to be able to go to Walgreens and buy a leopard-printed Snuggie! I want to feel guilt-free when I charge an orange-haired troll doll on my card! I want to sense no shame in purchasing a pair of wooden shoes just for the sake of owning some damn wooden shoes! Cause they're awesome!

But I'm an adult. I'm an adult. I'm an adult. Adults don't need fanny packs to put their things in. Adults need briefcases to put their things in. Adults don't need trolls to play with. Adults need vibrators to play with. Adults don't need wooden shoes to wear out. Adults need spouses to wear out. I'm an adult. I'm an adult. I'm an adult.

While repeating this mantra, I decided to research the history of silly putty. It was accidentally invented in 1943 by an engineer named James Wright while he was attempting to create a substitute for rubber during World War II yadda yadda yadda. But do you wanna know what else I found out? IT WAS A TOY FOR ADULTS BEFORE IT BECAME A TOY FOR CHILDREN.

I'll tell you one thing: screw adulthood; next time, I'm goin' with the silly putty.

Bye Bye Boredom!

I have returned to UTC only to be presented with the pleasant surprise of not having a new roommate. My initial reaction to this news?

WOO HOO!

As I jump up and down on my bed.

THIS IS GREAT!

As I jump back and forth from my bed to the currently-unoccupied bed, which I have now claimed as "the bed I never had."

FUCK!

As I fall off the bed.

YAY!

As it hits me that it is now quite alright for me to fall off of my bed since no one is here to see it.

After 5 straight days of sitting in my room alone, my reaction to this newly granted solitude dramatically changed.

"Hmmm..."

As I sit staring at my computer.

"Well then..."

As I sit staring at the wall.

"What to do, what to do..."

As I sit talking to my reflection in the mirror.

I don't know how the hell Thoreau did it. It's been a mere 5 days and I feel like I'm going mad. Soon I'll be yelling at my lampshade for not caring about my feelings and threatening to murder my blinds in the night. While I am perfectly alright with driving myself insane, I do not find it best to recommend it to any others. And so, simply because I care, I have compiled a list of things to do while you're alone. And bored. And have been staring at your reflection for two straight hours making the same 9 facial expressions you invented in the first 5 minutes of staring at yourself.

Bye Bye Boredom!

A Guide To Feeling Productive When Really You've Just Been Sitting In A Room All Day

by: Natasha Ferrier

#1---Do you ever think your vocabulary could be a bit more broad? Do you ever want to express a feeling but don't know the proper word for it? Do you ever feel as if you say the word "fuck" a lot? Well, sound like a moron no more! When you're alone, read the dictionary! Here are a few useful terms I myself have come across:

quibbling: consisting of quibbles

Well that helps, doesn't it! I would have never thought that quibbling had anything to do with quibbles! And even though I don't know what a 'quibble' is, I do know now that quibbling consists of them!

kumquat: a small, round or oblong citrus fruit having a sweet rind and acid pulp

Silly me! This whole time I have always thought that 'kumquat' was a synonym for, ahem, VAGINA, when really, it's just an oblong fruit that's juicy on the outside and acidic on the inside!

beyonce: ???

Okay, so this one is not defined in the dictionary, but do you know what is defined in the dictionary? "Taco." So what I'd like to know is how "beyonce" made it into t9 and "taco" did not. Please. Someone tell me.

#2---Ever wondered how many fingers you have? Well, when you're alone and bored, try counting them! It doesn't take long, and when you're done, you'll have immediate results!

#3---Place your bed directly alongside your window. Then, as you stand on top of your bed, look out of your window. ISN'T IT FUN?! If you stare long enough, you may even see some drunken jackass run into your car 4 times as they try to parallel park in front of it at 3 in the morning! Aren't you having a good time watching your 98 Vovlo get hit over and over again by someone who has NO IDEA you're watching?!

(Yeah. It happened. And yeah, I went out there to confront their wasted ass. But that story shall be saved for another day.)

#4---See how many pieces of gum you can fit into your mouth! It's such a blast! Especially when your mouth gets full and you start gagging, because then you'll slobber your chewed gum out onto the keyboard of your laptop, which now leaves room to fit some more pieces in your mouth!

#5---Make a video that has no purpose and is slightly inappropriate!

I hate to stop here; there are bountiful amounts of ways to fool yourself into thinking you're intelligently occupying yourself, but I'm on a tight schedule. And now, if you would excuse me, I have some walls that need to be stared at.

Not Quite Chevy Chase...But Close

Good evening, I'm Natasha Ferrier. And you're not.

I'm reporting live at the University of Chattanooga and it appears to be mating season here on campus.

Students are eagerly flocking to class, and yet still finding time to halt during their sidewalk ventures and lock lips with someone of the opposite sex.

"I've never seen anything like it before," says Julie Green, a sophomore year at UTC. "It's as if Cupid struck everyone with an arrow over the winter break."

Julie Green isn't the only one who is noticing the heteroclitic horniness; freshman Albert Cochran's curiosity was sparked as he was simply on the way to the cafeteria.

"I just wanted a hotdog, man, and everywhere I looked there were hotdogs, but not the kind I eat for lunch, the kind that bulge out of dude's pants, if you know what I mean."

Yes, Albert, I think we know exactly what you mean.

"I'M SINGLE," says Chelsea Woodard, a native Chattanoogan and Criminal Justice major. "I wake up, I'm in a good mood, and ready to start the day, and these MORONS are running around holding HANDS and gazing into each other's EYES and SMILING WITH THEIR TEETH and LAUGHING and GIGGLING and being HAPPY and it's just...it's just...oh...I...I want to be in love too...I HATE EVERYONE WAAAAHHHHH-HAHH-HAHH-HAHH---I'm sorry I'm a little emotional..."

Someone get her a tissue, please. Well, it is safe to say there is an evident range of emotions toward the romance that has blossomed over the holidays and brought itself here to this university. Chase Walker is here to share his opinion.

"Yeah. It's fucking disgusting."

Please don't say the f-word; we're on national television.

"Oh, sorry. It's f-u-c-k-i-n-g disgusting."

Thank you, Chase.

"No prob."

Annie Miller seems to agree.

"It's winter time. People's noses are running. All I want to do is walk to the cafeteria without seeing some girl mack on a guy's upper lip that's covered in snot. It's repulsive. Why do I have to see that? You think I want to eat lunch after seeing that? Doesn't she realize when her boyfriend's nose runs it goes down? It doesn't go up, does it? No. It goes down. And what's below the nose? The lips. And what do you kiss? The lips. So what does that mean you're kissing? The snot. The mucus. The thick liquid that's flowing with diseases."

"Thank you, Ann---"

"And you know what else is warped about dating someone in the winter time? Chapped lips, that's what. I keep seeing people with the most chapped lips I've seen in my life, and somehow they have someone right there, kissing them. Touching those two pieces of peeling skin with their own lips. Don't they feel the scratchiness? The excess skin? The dried up flakes of death? And some people's may not peel, but they get red. And fat. Do you know what I'm talking about here? It's like their lips grew twice in size because there's this 2-centimeter-wide layer of redness above the upper lip and below the lower lip. They look like a clown. A crusted up clown. And people are smooching these crusted up clowns and who has to look at it? I do."

"Annie, thank y---"

"And one more thing. The clothes. The layers and layers of clothes. You think a guy looks good, right? You invite him back to your room. You guys are kissing. You take off his coat. You take off his jacket. You take off his sweatshirt. You take off his hoodie. You take off his shirt. Then what? THEN WHAT? I'LL TELL YOU WHAT! He is a lot larger than you expected, that's what. These layers upon layers of jackets are the most misleading thing since erasable pens. You think I wanna sleep with you after that panis is revealed? You think I'd be "down" for that? You think I wanna suck your hidden di---"

AND that was Annie Miller! Enrolled students here are not the only ones who are baffled this season; scientists are joining them in their bewilderment. Zoologist Steve Zimmer joins us now to help explain this rare phenomenon.

Hello, Steve.

"Hi there, Natasha, it's great to be here with you today."

Indeed it is, Steve. Now tell me, what are your thoughts on this sudden female-male attraction that seems to be around every corner here in Chattanooga?

"Well, Natasha, it appears to me that a rare kind of evolution is taking place as we speak."

A rare kind of evolution, Steve?

"That's right, Natasha. Not in the physical sense, but in the mental sense. We, as humans, have always considered ourselves above animals, and it has affected our actions. But the truth is, Natasha, we are not above animals, we are just like they are, like squirrels, for instance."

Squirrels, Steve?

"Yes, Natasha. We are no different than your average squirrel. We want to hump and we will, and I think that is what is taking place here in Chattanooga."

You think humping is taking place here in Chattanooga, Steve?

"Natasha, I know humping is taking place. The only reason it has been private humping is because we are in the midst of winter season, and the climate is just too uncomfortable at this time."

Do you expect that will change once spring rolls around, Steve?

"Absolutely, Natasha"

And in what way exactly, Steve?

"Well, Natasha, private humping will become public humping."

Public humping, Steve?

"Yes, Natasha, just like the squirrels. The epiphany that we are no different from other mammals is erupting at this very moment, and in merely a few months we will have completely morphed into the squirrel mindset, and be satisfying our sexual needs in a more open manner."

Now, Steve, by "open manner," do you mean in public?

"I could mean a lot of things by "open" in regards to humping, but yes, Natasha, students may be kissing on their way to class now, but by April we should be seeing some full-frontal and/or bounteous-backside humping right here on this university's sidewalks."

Thank you, Steve.

"Thank you, Natasha."

And so you see, what seems to be a casual inflammation of young adult hormones should not be overlooked; it could in fact be a rare phenomenon that is taking place right before our very eyes. Some are saying mucus and dead skin are the new biceps and lesbians, the things that usually arouse women and men. Public pleasure becoming socially acceptable may be seen as unacceptable to the single type, such as Chelsea Woodard, but could also be viewed as a joyous celebration to those with self-control problems, such as PeeWee Herman. What is rumored to be named The Year Of The Squirrel-People could very well be a year that will go down in history.

This is Natasha Ferrier reporting live. And now, the weather.

Cuss-Filled Rants

I named my blog two years ago, at a time I felt damned to Hell and was incredibly fond of the word "damsel." It's a great word, damsel. And the reason I felt damned to Hell was because my parents had conducted a random search throughout my bedroom due to my "suspicious activity" and had in fact found a suspicious-looking plant in a little baggie.

(Search was conducted without my permission. Search was conducted without me ever knowing search was being conducted. Makes me wonder what my parents have found but have not confronted me about, such as my 1996 Diary in which I drew naked men with different types of facial hair, ex. Naked Man With Mustache; Naked Man With Beard; Naked Man With Afro And Giant Sideburns. He was my favorite.)

"Natasha, get downstairs right now."

"Coming!"

I innocently run down the stairs, only to find my entire family seated at the dinner table. But it was not time for dinner...this is when I began to worry.

"Natasha, I want to talk to you---"

BAM!

It hits the table.

"---about your marijuana."

After oh-so-casually tossing what had been a VERY WELL HIDDEN baggie on the table, me and my entire family sat there staring at it for quite some time. When I say my entire family was there, I mean my entire family was there. As in all of them. As in my 3-year-old sister. As in my 3-year-old sister was looking at me get busted for weed. That's just fucked up.

Shortly after watching my father sniff the little green ball that had been sitting in my room for a month, since I had no intentions on smoking it but felt oddly guilty about flushing down a 20 dollar pebble-sized nugget, my terms of punishment were agreed upon:

"No TV. No cell phone. No going out. No hanging out with friends. No driving. No radio."

NO RADIO GOD DAMMITTTTT...

"But."

"But?"

"You can blog."

"I can...blog?"

"You can blog."

And so I thought, why the hell not? (Rhyme intended.) A few people at first were mistaken, asking me who was this Adam Sel? And why am I damned to be him? I quite frankly told them I had never known an Adam Sel in my life, but perhaps if I did he would feel quite honored that I have named my blog after him and at the same time be a bit creeped out that I feel as if I am damned to be him. Well, I do not feel damned to be Adam Sel; I feel as if I have been damned to be a damsel, which, according to Webster's, is "a young girl." (It also said "a young girl of gentle birth," whatever the hell that means. I'm pretty sure there is nothing gentle about forcing an 8 to 10 pound sack of lard out of a hole big enough to only fit a finger.) (Or fingers, depending on the girl.) (Or fist, depending on the skank.)

Brief side note: I've always wondered, as the baby is coming out of the vaginal canal, is it's mouth open? Because that's ten different kinds of fucked up.

And so the name was chosen: Damned To Be A Damsel, because that's just what I am. I could easily have named it, "Cuss-Filled Rants," or "What's Pissing Off Natasha Now?", or maybe even "FuckFuckFuck," but none of these had the word "damsel" in them and I'm being serious when I say I was infatuated with that word at the time. Who would have thought that two years later I still would have been publicly bitching about people who annoy me, and the funny thing is, I don't plan on stopping. 2010 is the year, man. I will do everything in my POWER to put myself in awkward situations and make people hate me and keep an eye out for weird mother fuckers who could potentially kill me in my sleep, and then what am I gonna do? I'M GONNA WRITE ABOUT IT. 2010, get ready for some action.

(And the excessive use of the word "fuck.")