Concentrated Conundrums

Conundrum #43: Pussification

2010-08-13T11:48:00.007-04:00

So I was walking around my old stomping ground the other day hoping for a few nostalgia highs. What I found, however, was that not a trace of my childhood was left in the area. The danger zones I used to play in were completely replaced with smooth plastic, rounded edges and padded floors.

I recall my old elementary school playground was made out of the following things:
~Rusted chains
~Tires
~Hosed out oil drums
~A thing of sheet metal
~This splintering piece of wood (for jumping)
and
~Carpenter bees

I also recall getting the piss beat out of me by the landscape. Sharp gravel and tree stumps and such. And you know what? I turned out just fine. I think all the bee stings to the eye and the tetanus shots and the lock-jaw and the dog-bites made me a more well rounded individual. Hell, even the sunburns didn't harm me too badly. This new playground? Shit- there's a canopy over half of it. A CANOPY. I understand not wanting a finger stumpified by a poorly welded piece of sheet metal, but come ON, let your kids get a little color!

The world won't treat you as gently as your new ergonomically designed playground, little child. You can wear as many knee pads, helmets, saran wrap you want; You can eat your flintstone vitamins and bathe in hand sanitizer and go to socially and developmentally enriching after school programs; you're no more prepared to meet life's challenges than I am.

In fact, I'm pretty sure you're gonna die from the common cold.

I think that's why I loved old-school nursery rhymes so much. Gives the kinder a little taste of reality.

"The door flew open, in he ran,
The great, long, red-legg'd scissor-man.
Oh! children, see! the tailor's come
And caught out little Suck-a_thumb.
Snip! Snap! Snip! the scissors go;
And Conrad cries out - Oh! Oh! Oh!
Snip! Snap! Snip! They go so fast,
That both his thumbs are off at last."

Conundrum #41: Kindred Kinder

2010-08-02T16:21:00.001-04:00

When Boyfriend and I were perusing the scant music selection at our local Walmart Supah Centah, I noticed something both frighteningly amusing and frighteningly frightening.

Justin Beiber and I rock the same lesbian haircut.

Conundrum #40: Resurrection

2010-08-02T15:29:00.006-04:00

Don't you just hate it when the boring yet completely necessary parts of your life get in the way of the other much more exciting and amusing bits?

Nearly a year has gone by since I last posted; and the Sarah who is writing now isn't anywhere near the Sarah who last wrote- well, we share the same ovaries and such, but I'd like to think I've matured significantly since last we met.

But in all honesty, things were piling up so much I almost let this zine gig die in the dusty, untouched shadows of the internets. I mean, it wasn't as if people were actually READING what I had to say. I didn't even really know why I had kept going on for as long as I had.

But that was before I heard through a grapevine who heard through the grapevine that there was this small well of silent fans I that were sprinkled all over the world I had no idea about; mewling over my absence. Fans like my bus driver, who I didn't even know owned a computer contraption; and a guy I buy coffee from downtown, and my high school physics teacher; telling friends of mine to tell friends of mine to tell me to start writing again; "for her antics amuse me."

And, as anyone who knows me well will tell you, I can't ever ignore a dance-monkey-dance command.

So here I am. A little older and a little wiser... but mostly just a little older.

Also here's a picture of a rodent thing

Conundrum #39: I Love My Animals

2009-10-23T20:50:00.000-04:00

When I threw my bag onto the table at lunch today, a CD of photos slipped from a pocket, spun across the table and skidded into my friend's lap.

"What's this?" she asked, handing it back to me.

"Pornography." I replied.

"Oh really? What kind?"

"Guy on dog... on girl... on dog."

She giggled. "Oh, so like a five-way?"

"Yeah, like an interspecies five-way." I paused. "Wait, but I said four things..."

She cocked her head. "Oh really? I guess I miscounted a little."

I glared at her. "Jesus, you're a pervert."

Conundrum #38: God's Blasting Love

2009-10-18T22:28:00.000-04:00

"Wow, I can't believe how many interests we share. We like the same music, literature, ideals and sense of humor. You're witty, you're compassionate, you're seriously good-looking and very intelligent. I really, really like you and you seem to really, really like me. But... I'm kind of already dating God. Sssssorry."

Date God - Watch more Funny Videos

Conundrum #37: Generalizing

2009-10-08T20:19:00.000-04:00

I've always hated it how on standardize tests or job applications there's always a box to check one's sex, ethnicity and/or religion. Of course I always put female, caucasian, no religious affiliation- but I can't help but wonder how drastically different my life would have turned out if I checked Undecided Scandinavian Mormon on a few official certificates. I bet colleges practicing affirmative action would probably cream their pants at the chance to get a possible transvestite Northern European on their campus.

True story;
My mother was once presented with a form that said and I quote:
Please check one:
Which one of these choices describes you most accurately?

O Hispanic
O Non-Hispanic

Come on now, immigration employers. At least TRY to be sneaky.

Conundrum #37: Great Haberdashering Scot

2009-09-07T11:47:00.000-04:00

An acquaintance-recently-turned-friend named Lempy taught me a new word yesterday:

Niggle
"When you're niggling something, you're examining or inspecting it with an uncanny scrutiny"

After warning me about the usage of the word within the proximity of a black person, Lempy launched into a description of the physical incarnate of the verb as conceived by he and a friend of his. "Niggle is both everything and nothing, he is both all matter and no matter, he is both man, woman and neither, he is..."

And while all this sounded rather impressive, I ended up interrupting his monologue with;

"Lempy, I would like very much to niggle your breasts."

[I google image'd the word "niggle" and found this picture. *ahem* wtf, mate?]

Conundrum #36: Alien Torture Camp Not For Kids

2009-08-14T23:00:00.001-04:00

I saw the movie District 9 this evening. (One of the best movies I've seen in a while. If I could I'd give it a couple dozen thumbs up.)

Anyways, the movie is rated R for Regurgitatingly Violent and Vulgar ( I wouldn't have had it any other way.) It is generally known that, when one is an audience member of an R rated movie, swearing is tolerated throughout the entire duration of the film. If something explodes in your face and makes you jump, you can hiss "Jeeeesus Christ." and no one will slap their hands over their child's ears and shoot you a dirty look. I'm usually more comfortable being in a setting like that anyways. I don't have to worry about corrupting children like I do on a daily basis.

There is a point to this rambling. So I went to District 9 this evening. The movie is rated R. I was not ID'd. I purchased a medium popcorn. I told the lady to "slather it in butter crap" and she did. As I was inhaling my cholesterol for the day, me, Ewok (one of my oldest guyfriends. He's built like a linebacker but is as gentle as a newborn bunny), Boyfriend, and Ren (Boyfriend's nerdy roommate) found a row of seats towards the front of the theater and hunkered down to rip on the trivia slides looping before the previews started. Movie starts. It's incredible. There's a big gun. My mouth hangs open. Gun opens fire and zaps a man with a bolt of electricity and the dude literally pops like an over-inflated balloon. I jump in my seat and bury my chin in my knees and exclaim "Holy Fuckin' Shit-balls!" It was just then that I noticed the two children a few rows in front of us. They were little boys, one a little shorter than the other, and their dad (I assume) sat between them with a stringy mullet dripping loosely towards his shoulders. The kids were so small the backs of their heads barely peeked over the back of the movie chair. From what I deduced in that brief glimpse, they couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 years old.

It was just then that I felt terribly uncomfortable for my outburst- even though I wasn't the only one openly exclaiming their thoughts in such a way. After that moment, the entire movie was gauzy because of those kids. Their presence made me want to protect them from the scary monsters and big guns and swearing. The words "They shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be here." kept cycling through my skull. If there had been a sex scene, I think I probably would have flipped out and have the father arrested. Seriously. That's wrong.

Honestly though, how dumb can you be? If you see "Rated R for pervasive language and bloody violence" that's a pretty good indication that the little nuggets of human that used to be your sperm shouldn't watch that movie lest it harm their fragile little minds. It's common sense. They make laws about such things. Laws, dipshit, laws!

I mean, come on. If you don't want to do it for little Cletus and Deryll, do it for everyone else is in the presence of those children's innocent saucer eyes as they watch alien after human after alien get annihilated in various ways with enough Eff Words peppered throughout the entire spectacle to make things interesting.

It's a simple as a curtsey flush. Let's share this world without giving Sarah the desire to kill you.

Conundrum #35: Would You Like Some Low-Fat-Mayo With That Buuuuurn!!!!

2009-08-06T20:12:00.000-04:00

When I worked at Mother Subway, it didn't take me very long to realize that it was the place where displaced misery goes to stew in its own juices. Every one of us worked almost the same hours each week for the same wage; $7.30 an hour- except my manager who received a whopping $7.50. Two of my coworkers had families to support. They were mothers with dead-beat husbands and had kids in college and new babies to feed. There were also college students trying to make some extra spending-money between semesters. This one guy came to the beginning of his shift from another job and left at the end to go to a third job- all to pay his rent. Another girl was paying medical bills for her live-in boyfriend who had a "back problem."

I tried to convince her that he was mooching off of her and a month long relationship is nothing to be physically working yourself to death for- but she was kind of retarded... we were all kind of retarded. Especially us; the snot-nosed minors. Why were we here? Did we have electrical bills to pay? Did we have kids to put through school or backed up rent to bargain with? No. But I took my job as seriously as I could and worked harder than most. But it was inevitable for me to make tacit enemies amongst my coworkers- who believed with all their hearts I had no business working alongside them when they were working for "serious" means.

There was this one girl who was completely unreadable. She was the most negative person I had ever met or have met since. She was insecure with life itself, bipolar, and condescending. I'm guessing she was in her early thirties- but it was difficult to tell because of the 400 pounds of fat hanging from her frame and her incredibly conspicuous mustache. I still don't know if she liked me or not. She trained with me and giggled at a few of my quiet jokes, but besides those few moments, she had done nothing but bitch at me. Everything everything EVERYTHING was a to-do. She would talk about me to Gague-Girl and they'd snicker like school kids when I walked by. Honestly, I could care less what either of them thought during these immature displays. I mean, Jesus, did you forget that mustache? But I remember I was in a particularly bad mood and she started getting on my case, and I mentioned that the floors had yet to be mopped and if she would be so kind as to take care of that whilst I seasoned the bread it'd be much appreciated. She snapped back "Don't you tell me what to do, you minor. You can't talk to me like that! I was an assistant manager at Wendy's!!!"

"Wow, you must eat the breakfast of champions every damn morning knowing you have an accomplishment like that under your belt." I retorted.

Now, I'm rarely this quick- but damn it felt so good. As of that moment, I had never pissed off someone to the point of silence. She was my first. Her mustache trembled and I was afraid the bitchy gelatinous beast that dwelled under her skin would finally split through her hide and bite off my face.

Then something magical happened. She mopped the floor like I asked.
And that my friends... is called respect.

Now what did we learn? Jesus... just don't work for a fast food chain. Just don't. You will be hated by all branches of society. Even the fat mustached c-words.

Conundrum #34: And The Crone Said Unto Her...

2009-08-06T19:42:00.000-04:00

An elderly church volunteer stopped me on the street today. She pushed a flyer into my chest and mumbled something incomprehensible about church services. I smiled politely and stepped out of the way of the neon paper trembling in her leathery fingers. "That's okay, you save that." I said kindly. "I'm not religious." She paused and her grey eyes blinked behind her coke-bottle glasses. I swear I could hear the dry click of her eyelids snapping together. "You don't believe in god?" she asked in an adorably bewildered wheeze.

For a second I thought I should lie to save myself or to just keep on walking and pretend I didn't just shatter this woman's dreams- but as I mature each day, I find I no longer posses the urge to prove myself to anyone. Why lie when this little old lady will never see me again?

So, I said mildly in answer to her question, "Well... no I don't."

She surprised me by grinning a massive denture-grinding grin. "That's okay, honey." She said. She pointed a finger to the sky. "Because He..." She lowered her finger until it was pointing at my chest. "...believes in you!" She smiled wider and blinked some more. Click. Click. Click.

I felt my eyes widen slightly and I was at a loss for what to say. So I just smiled, stammered for a moment, and heard the words "uh... thanks" fall from my lips. I bid her good day and continued on my walk. When my mind had finally slowed and I was able to process the scene that had just transpired, I just silently shook my head in bewilderment and quietly blurted, "Sweet Baby Jesus."

Not as a religious revelation, mind you. But as a 'what the fuck was that?' revelation.

Conundrum #33: Less is More?

2009-08-02T00:10:00.000-04:00

You never realize how pinecone-like your toilet paper is until you use the bathroom in the home of someone who splurges on the really expensive-super-absorbant-tripple-quilted-rabbit-pelt toilet tissue. It's even better when you realize that they also supply you with little moist wipes so your asshole can get extra clean. You just know that family must have the nicest smelling butts in the county.

You know you've reached an elite level of awesomeness when you're sitting on their toilet thinking "God, it must be soooo awesome to shit in this house."

It also makes you want to hide under your pillows and cry... but whether it is out of shame or desire to dry your tears on their tissue... you'll never know.

Conundrum #32: What A Cluster-Duck

2009-07-26T20:29:00.001-04:00

Ages ago, I used to work at a little sandwich joint I lovingly referred to as Mother Subway. It was the first official job I ever had... and was the first job I ever truly abhorred. It wasn't the long hours piled atop my schoolwork, or the fact that customers treated me like shit (which is guaranteed if one works in food service; especially if you're working for a chain restaurant) nor was it my boss who was a tiny little turd-tool. It was, in fact, my fellow 'sandwich artists.'

There were 9 of us. We toiled together, we cleaned together, we cooked together, we smiled and said "Welcome to Subway™, what can I make for you today?!" together, and we hated each other... together.

But there were two maties in particular who always seemed to rub me the wrong way- regardless of what we were doing or what mood we were in. The first being Gauge-Girl, a 19 year old runaway who gave females a bad name. She was a walking stereotype of the 'typical teenage girl.' She had this mass of curly hair pinned under her Subway™ visor with flowery boby-pins and red, thick-rimmed glasses. On her first day, she strode into the store with her hips swinging in her black spandex and her Ugg™ boots squeaking on the floor. Throughout our awesomely epic bread-baking training video, she snapped her gum and texted on her sparkly cell phone with rapid machine-gun like clicks. She had this miserable valley-girl drawl and said things like "Like, yeah." And "Oh. Mah. Gaaaawwwd." and "You're nawt the boss of meh, Sarah." I saw her smile once in our entire relationship, and it was only because T-Bag, my other bestest co-worker friend, started flirting with her. She had virtually no ambition, and did nothing unless ordered to do so.

If one sees that the dishes are dirty, one washes the damn dishes. But Gauge-Girl would merely stare at the dishes until someone alluded that they should be done by a certain someone named "Gauge-Girl." She was like a robot who didn't run unless programmed, and shut down once that single programmed duty was done. I guess she was more cut-out for the job than I was. I guess both she and T-Bag were more cut out for Subway™ than I was. They're both working there as of today.

I don't know if I should be proud or ashamed of that fact.

Has your life ever seemed like a retardedly predictable movie with retardedly hydrogenous characters? It's experiences like the ones I had with T-Bag that made me glance around when no one was looking to search for the cameras. Is there a script I don't know about? Is this all a reality show? Now, Gauge-Girl was called such 'cause she had these huge gauges in her ears (because she's so damn conventional in her rebellion.) I refer to this boy as T-Bag because it is what I assume his favorite past-time is. He was from a rich white family, and lead a rich white life. He never had to work for everything a day in his life and developed an extremely sarcastically likable attitude. He was the epitome of arrogance and vanity. He had this shaggy bowl-cut hair style and was so in love with himself he'd offer to shine up the counters so he could stare at his reflection and check if his eyebrows were still perfect. Under his Subway™ shirt he'd wear a mesh-like wife-beater to show off his lanky biceps (or lack thereof). When he wasn't flirting with EVERY vagina in the joint, he was always extremely busy standing around trying to squeeze pheromones from his arm-pits by flexing. He'd say things like "You washing the dishes? You need any help? I have a washboard right here *gesture to abs*" He'd also say "Hey, Sarah, can you take care of this?" "Hey, Sarah, what goes in this sammich?" "Hey, Sarah... I... I forgot what I was gonna say."

The first time I met him at our orientation, he turned up the charm until the very atmosphere between us crackled with flirtatiousness. When I showed absolutely no interest, hidden-revulsion in fact, he convinced himself I was playing hard to get. Because who the hell COULDN'T be attracted to him? Ever since then, he'd allude to my secret crushes on him. "I know, Sarah, don't lie. You totally wouldn't want to go 'do inventory' in the freezer together."

To which I'd reply, "Too bad doing inventory means having the ability to count, or else I'd know you'd be able to help."

He'd just flash a smile and say a disgustingly teasing tone, "Ooooh that one hurt so good."

What a poet, right?

I soon realized that intelligent retorts merely egged him on. I began countering his advances with stares filled with venom. After that, with each shift, his charming little quips began to wane, until eventually he barely looked in my direction anymore.

Is there anyway to sum this entire little story up? How 'bout a bet.

In 5 years, if they're still working at Subway™ and their job hasn't been replaced by robots, I'll renounce everything I've ever known and become a servant of Christ.

Conundrum # 31: Shameless

2009-07-19T13:18:00.000-04:00

You know what?

It's my house.

I refuse to hide my bras under my desk and in my closet anymore when people visit.

If they're draped over the lamps and stereo, everyone is just gonna have to get over it.

Fight the power, motha fuggas!

Conundrum #30: Lets Go Ride Bikes!

2009-07-15T19:43:00.000-04:00

Sometimes when I scratch my cat's chin he stretches his neck so far back with pleasure he falls over.

I'm unsure whether or not that's a 'conundrum' or 'candundrum'...
But I have a weird OCD-type obsession with numbers divisible by 5; so I'll file this one under 'conundrum' to make an even 30.

30 is the atomic number of Zinc... which delays sexual maturation when rubbed on human gentiles.

Jesus I'm so tired; the necessity of segues suddenly seems so insignificant.

Here is a picture of someone who's opinions have been taken far more seriously than mine ever will:

What does he have that I don't? Seriously?
Note to self: Look up the definition of "segue." Even though you used it in the correct tense, you should probably learn what it means (and use a few) before you attempt to sound pretentious, you ADD-bitch.

Conundrum #29: Ultra-Clam Makes a Cameo Appearance!

2009-07-11T18:09:00.000-04:00

So I was trolling the internet looking for things to rant about and/or exploit when I stumbled across this gem of a movie trailer:

With such A-list actors as... uh... generic worried blonde girl and gravely-voiced guy! I think what that dude on the plane wanted to say at the end of that trailer (but was rudely cut off by the flying shark) was "shit."Which, coincidentally, describes the entire movie- but who am I to judge something I have never seen? It's movies like this that make the world of bit-torrenting so wonder bready. They're actually predicting people would pay to see this film and that tickles me beyond pink. Seriously, if they wanted to make that movie truly successful they should have stuck with the putting-snakes-on-things recipe.

Conundrum #28: But Sarah, This One Isn't Funny!

2009-07-05T23:53:00.000-04:00

You know, I always try to see the best in people.

I'm always passionate and loyal. I'm considerate, I'm logical, I'm blunt and I'm kind. I try to be a good person every day. I validate everyone I know. So many people are focused on their flaws and their mistakes, I've always thought they needed someone to tell them their beautiful, and I'd make that someone be me. I've been helping anyone who needed help. I've been giving all I could give to anyone who asked.

But mankind is a naturally greedy species. Everyone is simply take. Take, take, take. And I can judge them all as much as I want but who am I to claim I've never wanted to take anything? Maybe the only reason I do the things I do is so I can someday hope to take something from those I've given to.

I try to love anyone and everyone. I give every person the benefit of the doubt and try my damnedest to think the best of them unless they give me a direct reason to think otherwise.

But damn- sometimes I just want to kill people in a rain of fire and misery.

Conundrum #26: Interracial Hug Times!

2009-07-04T10:09:00.000-04:00

It's the 4th of July, 2009, and most Americans are downing their alkihawl, eating their burgers, waving their sparklers and screaming "Wooohooo let's blow some shit up!"

It's the 4th of July, 2009, and Kim Jong Il has a missile aimed at Hawaii, and is most likely sitting in his high chair sipping some warm saki and watching the entire episode unfold on a monitor once he presses the big red button, and screaming in his native tongue, "Wooohooo let's blow some shit up!"

Maybe... maybe we're not so different after all...

CANundrum #2: I AM THE BURGER QUEEN

2009-06-25T23:06:00.000-04:00

Yesterday me and a few friends went to the BK at 11:30 at night because we heard that they were giving out Transformer 2 toys and who in their right mind could pass up something like that?

The problem was I had no money. Well that's not true... I did have money. I'm not one of those girls who 'forgets' their purse and expects her friends and boyfriend to cover her. What I meant was I had no paper money. I had dimes. Dozens and dozens of dimes- so many dimes, in fact, I had to have someone cup their hands underneath my wallet to catch the runaways overflowing from the pouch when I unzipped it. But, since it was almost midnight, the BK was almost deserted. When I asked for a medium fountain drink I only had two friends bitching behind me as I counted my change again, and again, and again to make it exact.

When the chipper and friendly graveyard-shift-working-minimum-wage drones* slapped the empty cup in front of me I was surprised to see a pull-tab hanging from the side of it. I peeled it off and discovered a promotional scratch-off with a fifty percent chance of winning... something. That something could be as little as a frozen yogurt to something like a Camero painted like Bumblebee or even a million bucks. I love stupid little things like this- as if my fate rested in that little flap of plastic. Trying to choose between the Decepticon or Autobot symbol to scratch off made me feel like god. I used one of my million trusty dimes and went with the Decepticon because it's always more exhilarating to be the bad-ass.

This is where a better writer would insert a pregnant pause:

I WON AN APPLE PIE!!! AN APPLE FREAKIN' PIE!!!

I flipped shit in the deserted restaurant and cracked up the fry-cooks. "Optimus Prime has chosen me! Gimme my apple pah, mortals!"

One by one my friends started jumping around as well as they won things. A Whopper here, a breakfast sandwich there, a cheeseburger, fries, another drink, more pies, etc. etc. etc.

Once we all settled into one of the booths, our free food splayed before us like an awe-inspiring cornucopia of heat-lamp'd glory, Boyfriend declared in his big boy voice, "Tonight we feast like KINGS!"

I hadn't eaten anything at the BK in literally years. I don't know how it happens but eventually fast-food joints devolve from one's favorite restaurant as a child to a place one sits and feels depressed that they ingested such garbage. I honestly enjoyed eating every bite of my burger and pie... the fact that it was won made it all the sweeter. When we all had inhaled our impromptu midnight meal we sat back and peeked under our place mats to check the calorie count. Almost all of us were trying to watch what we ate (some of us were on a strict work-out schedules for college sport-teams) and in our hypnotic fast-food state we each ended up ingesting at least 1,500 calories worth of crap in five minutes. Doing that math seriously made my heart hurt.

Ooooh but it hurt soooo good.

*Don't think I'm being a superior little bitch here; I was once a drone myself.

Conundrum #24: Get Away Run Away Right Away

2009-06-23T21:23:00.001-04:00

Have you ever been talking with someone who you had only just sort-of met and they're looking at you with this warm smile and you think to yourself hey, this is kind of a nice guy and then your brain registers the words he's saying and you think hey, wait... this guy is actually a real dickhole and then in some weird god-driven ironic twist, this ass with the happy face turns around and starts chatting you up as if you were some attractive chick willing to jump his bones regardless of his former dickdom?

Behold: the most awkward 20 minutes of my day.

I was sitting on the sidelines watching Boyfriend play a faux tennis match against one of the best players in the entire state of New Yawk (I guess Boyfriend's father (who is a tennis coach) taught him everything he knows). Anyways so I was chilling out by myself absentmindedly twirling a tennis racket in my palm.

Enter 'Bob': The mustached and mildly obese father of a poor nugget of a son so desperate to prove himself worthy of his dad's attention his eyes are like liquid orbs of pleading acceptance. So Nugget and Bob are hitting a few balls on the adjacent court; I politely ignored them as one would ignore other people waiting in line with them at Walmart.

Nugget whipped a ball dangerously close to my head. I palmed it out of the way and smiled at him so he wouldn't feel bad. The father didn't say a word to Nugget, nor did he apologize to me for his spawn almost tearing off my face. Instead, he said to me with a friendly smile, "Ah, so you must be [Boyfriend's]."

I shrugged and flashed him a 'I'm-Being-A-Cute-Girlfriend' smile, "How d'ya guess?"

He continued bouncing tennis balls to his son and didn't feel like running with our pleasantries. Instead he asked, "So what are ya, a senior?"

I nodded and felt my hands retreat into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, a thing I subconsciously do when I'm uncomfortable. "Well, I have to finish up this year first." I told him.

"Oh, so you're gonna be a senior this year." He concluded. His beer gut swung with his racket.

"Last time I checked." I said.

He looked at me again. His eyes smiling. "'So what are you gonna do after that' I guess is what I'm asking."

"I'm going to Art School." I braced myself for the mildly incredulous smirk I usually get from people I tell that too- as if I've already failed. I retreated into the depth of Boyfriend's sweatshirt even more.

"Art School to do what?"

This guy just doesn't give up does he? "I'm going to be an animator, I guess. Make games... cartoons... movies... things like that."

His smile never left his wide face. "Ah well... it doesn't take much talent to be an animator nowadays. It's all done automatically on computers and stuff. CG-whatsit..."

My polite smile faltered then blared brighter with artificial intensity. What the hell did he just say? "CGI." I corrected him softly.

"Right. CGI. So where you lookin' at schools?"

"Uh..." My usually perceptive senses were not able to figure out this guys conversation issues. I listed my top school- the school Boyfriend happened to be accepted to and is attending in the fall.

Bob rolled his eyes at that. His constant smile mocking, "Oh, what a coincidence."

I ignored his accusations and listed a few more out-of-state schools. I ended on Pratt University in Brooklyn.

Bob paused at the sound of that one. "So.... does your family got allot of money?"

I had to stop myself from raising an eyebrow at that. Why did this guy make me feel like I had to prove myself to him? He's nothing but a fat, fake-smiling bastard. I found myself furiously shaking my head; my artificial, automatic I'm-being-REALLY-pleasant-right-now-ness veiling my defensive fire. "Naw we're actually dirt poor. But I'm part Iroquois so we might be able to play that card. And we'll get federal aid..."

"Scholarships and jazz like that?" He asked. Still lumbering from corner court to corner court like a bear in tennis shoes.

This politeness is freakin' exhausting, I thought. "Yeah... jazz like that."

He and I let the conversation trail off at that, thank Baby Jesus. But in the next few minutes there were at least 3 more balls accidently hit in my direction. The last one almost took my nose clear off. I caught it by sheer adrenaline. Bob lumbered over to me and held out his racket so I could place the ball on it. He smiled at me some more, mopping the sweat from his neck with a towel. "Sorry my boy keeps trying to kill you." He laughed.

I smiled back. "Aw that's alright. I'll mind once he actually hits me."

He paused and continued to awkwardly stare at me. "You know, you always end up hitting the ball where you look, as I'm sure you know."

I didn't know what he meant. (Derrrrrp.) But I nodded slowly anyways. I saw his eyes flick to my bare legs tucked under me, my sweatshirt almost hiding my cutoffs. He added over his shoulder as he turned to walk away, "I can't blame him for lookin at a girl like you."

Woah! Hey now! My eyebrows inadvertently raised to my hairline and I struggled to keep the corners of my mouth turned up. I stuffed my knees into the empty space in my sweatshirt and sat against the wall looking as frumpy as possible. Where are all these old guys hitting on me coming from?! They're everywhere now! Have they always been there or have I just never noticed?

It's as if there's this group of balding middle-aged men who, as soon as they sniff out a girl who just barely turned legal (depending on the state), signal to their other slimy friends and descend from the ceiling to crawl down the walls like those mountain orcs from The Fellowship.

When Bob left the premises he said something other than a terse goodbye but I didn't hear him. Probably a good thing. I think as soon as I get myself a paypal account I'm gonna buy myself a mace.

Not mace like pepper spray- but a mace to smash my perverted enemies back into the Astro-Glide scented shadows from whence they came.

Conundrum #23: I Guess Opposites Kinda Attract Sometimes

2009-06-22T00:13:00.001-04:00

Why do ugly guys date hot chicks? No seriously- why?

There was this guy in the movie theater today who had this hot little blonde on his hip and lemme tell you- coming from a female: he was freakin' REPULSIVE to look at. He had the obvious "I will hit you when I am drunk" eyes and the "I stab your uvula with my tongue when we kiss" mouth. He had these coke-bottle glasses like Ralphie from A Christmas Story and a t-shirt with a generic NASCAR race car speeding through his American flag'd chest flab. I did a double-take when they walked by and into the "17 Again" theater.

She looked completely smitten with him. That pink ball of tits giggled at every word that dribbled from his mush-mouth and wore his Bass-Pro cap on her platinum little head. I felt myself cock my head. How does this work? It's not like that mustard stain on his torn Wranglers implies he has a ton of money to give her. Why would someone like her go to the movies with someone like him. Was she paid to date him? Not likely if we reflect back on the mustard comment. Not only was I confused but I was surprised at my lack of surprise (if that makes sense). I see more sexy-on-fugly couples than I notice completely fugly or sexy twosomes.

I shifted my gaze to the boyfriend walking slightly behind me, playing with his taxi-driver's cap. He's quite good looking. Of course I think so because I'm dating him but I know I'm not the only one who thinks he's not bad. Now me, I'm not homely. I'm not drop-dead gorgeous but the mirror doesn't crack when I pluck my eyebrows. The point is; neither of us land at one end of the sexy-fugly spectrum. Are we in the minority? Handsome upon handsome against handsome upon disgusting?

Opposites really do seem to attract more often...

That's quite the noggin-scratcher, that one.

Conundrum #22: "The Most Powerful Position Is On Your Knees"

2009-06-21T23:31:00.000-04:00

I was driving with my friends earlier this evening (okay like 9 minutes ago) and was bumming along one of the many nameless back roads leading to my lair out in the sticks (I don't live in a town nor a village; but a hamlet- which is like a town's retarded cousin). We passed by the creepy windowless church sitting on the crest of the local hill. At the roadside was a typical backlit plastic sign with the interchangeable black letters spelling out cute little churchy sayings to attract attention. Tonight: "Lost? Try a G.P.S: God's Plan for Salvation."

After puking in my mouth over the saccharine dorkiness of that quip, the other side read: "Free Trip To Heaven: Details Inside."

My friends and I unanimously agreed the statement was certainly a creepy one. Bringing that up ultimately lead to a couple of priest-molesting-boy jokes which then dissolved into quotes from The Hangover (funniest movie ever by the way). On an opinionated note; I honestly believe in my lifetime at least half of the population will find christianity (if not all religions) obsolete. Margaret Whites are going extinct and I'm loving every minute of their decline. The positivity Christianity attempts to buff to its potential followers always end up being overshadowed by it's ostentatiousness and repulsive practices. That tired little church currently comparing God to a GPS will probably become a walmart in the next decade.

On a disturbing note, I feel I must share with you the priest joke told in the car. I have to get rid of the bad fuzzlies:

You know, priests are allot like acne. Right around when you turn 13, they both explode on your face.

There. All done. All gone. I can continue living now.

Conundrum #21: You Kids and Your Damn Technolers!

2009-06-21T09:53:00.000-04:00

My laptop just deleted a story I was writing.

It was the only story I ever thought was adequate enough to perhaps someday be published. Good thing the damn computer doesn't have a backup hard drive so there's no possible way to ever retrieve it! Huzzah for bad luck!

To think my laptop's only problem was that it wouldn't run unless constantly plugged in- kinda undermining the mobileness laptops are utilized for.

On the plus side, in theory, I can write the book again and again and again and forever feel the awesome power of redundant creation.

Yay for file corruption!

Conundrum #20: You Can't Escape It

2009-06-20T23:11:00.000-04:00

There's something magical about this song... I've been listening to it on loop for the past half-hour and it's beginning to piss off my neighbors.

Conundrum #19: Fleeting Ferrets

2009-06-20T22:49:00.000-04:00

My friends and I went to Pet Depot the other day to do nothing else but pet the puppies. I did not pet the puppies- they all had squishy puppy-shit on them. Instead, I played with a white baby ferret... and fell in love with it.

I was sure it was a female seeing as when I tousled it with my hand and it fell over I saw no fuzzy appendage suggesting otherwise... be that as it may, I wanted to name her Fredrick. She was probably the most viciously adorable thing I had ever seen. When I stopped playing with her, she would smush her nose against the glass and watch me. Then when I stuck my hand back in the tank she would leap upon it and sniff it all over, and then nibble at my fingertips and try to play with me again. My god, if that little Fredrick stayed little and smelling good- I would have stolen her.

But alas, little ferrets get big, and smell like crap and squeeze into outlets and fry inside your walls.

Not worth it. But it was nice to dream.

I'll always cherish our moments together before you were sold to a spoiled little girl and eaten by the family cat, Fredrick. Always.

Conundrum #18: Debbie Dipshit

2009-06-14T22:19:00.002-04:00

Warning: The following Blog entry is made by a very bored, very angry, and very vulgar Sarah. If you are at all offended by lewd and offensive language, stab out your own eyes and slap your hands over your ears to keep yourself pure and in good with my pal, Jesus.

Okay so I was on Videojug.com looking for good recipes to keep my boyfriend around longer when I saw this discussion-board-forum-thingy on the sidebar asking people who knew about relationships to give advice to people who did not. Naturally I thought, "Hmmm, I give great advice! There's no harm in checking it out I guess." *click* I couldn't believe my eyes
Number one. Top of the list. Hours old
Verbatim:

I Love An Boy Dat Loves Me Bak But Im To Young And He Iz To Old?wat Happenz Frum Der...
i met him wen i waz 12 and he waz 16 we stayed friendz for a while and hung out all duh time non stop,den he popped duh question bouut gettin to gether,den i turned 13 and he waz bout to turn 17,we waz really happy togeather,we nevered fought,we liked each other alot,he told me bout his problemz and i told him bout mine and we wuld help each otha alot!!..........his mom thought ma mom waz gunna lock him up for bein 16 bout to turn 17 but ma mom wasnt cuz she liked me and him together...so his mom told duh police and after dat duh police said to me and him it didnt matter if we waz together or havin sex in till he turned 17,so after dat we broke up and i went home dat nite and cried ma tears out and ever since i still love him and other ex's nevered made me feel so good like he did,even ma homeboyz didnt make me feel good,we waz perfect!!!HELP???please?

IS THIS FOR REAL?!?
NO HUMAN ON THE PLANET BESIDES A TEENAGE AMERICAN CAN SLAUGHTER THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE IN SUCH A WAY!
NO WONDER THE WORLD HATES US!

Z's where s's should be! A "dis" where "this" should be! What the hell is that about? I KNOW your T key isn't broken because you said "16 bout to turn 17" Do you have a cold, homegrl? Is that why you can't type out a 'TH' sound? You must type exactly how you speak? If that were the case, absolutely everything would be spelled phonetically. You wouldn't even take the time to type the E in "please."

You remembered two T's when you said "gettin." If you're typing two T's WHY NOT TYPE THE LAST 'G'?!

You're not saving time, Dipshit!
I truly despise people like you
You make me want to "cry my tears out."
I hope you die in some horrible body-mangling accident!
Then we can write you off as a victim of Natural Selection.

(and if you're wondering if I helped the kid- I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to. There are times when I am needed and times when I am not. And at the time, it was me who needed THIS BITCH to give me something to get pissed over instead of just burning my house down like I usually do when I get miffed.)

Conundrum #17: Custodial Honesty

2009-06-14T01:51:00.000-04:00

People often tell me when I spend too much time blogging my life away that "These are the best years of your life. You'll be begging for them when you're older."

I've held my tongue against such comments with the exception of this one time I was working spotlights for a Community Summer Theater Program (I don't know why that was a proper noun, I just want to make myself seem more important). The rehearsals were being held at the local high school because we have virtually no funding. Anyways, I got into a conversation with a stocky and honest Summer janitor with squirley eyes and a drinking problem. I was coiling miles of electrical chord at the time and he was sanitizing the balcony railing. Our pleasantries evolved into banter and our banter to conversation. He asked me my age (either to see if I was legal or because he honestly wanted to know) and when I told him he smiled and said, as I mentioned, "Ah, these next few years are going to be the best of your life. Don't waste a moment, ya hear?"

I sighed and said, "So... it's all downhill from here isn't it?"

He paused and his dangerously round eyes rolled around in his head as he thought about it. "Yup." He said tersely. "Pretty much. You're fucked, kid."

He hooked his spray bottle in one of his belt loops and nodded to himself ceaselessly until he waved goodbye to me and slammed the auditorium doors behind him. I imagined he kept nodding all the way to his mop bucket down the hallway.

Leave it to a janitor to brighten your day.

Conundrum #16: Outswimming Your Nightmares

2009-06-14T01:31:00.003-04:00

I went to a pool party today... well not really... there WAS a pool there. We weren't supposed to swim- but we did anyways because we're HARDCOOOOORE

Anyways so there was a pool and there was swimming (All clear? Good.). I was innocently splitter splattering around when I spied a spider floating with me in the diluted chlorine about an inch from my nose. I didn't freak out too badly, even though I despise spiders. I simply splashed it away and continued doggy paddling to the deep end to harass someone on the diving board.

All seemed right with the world... until the spider. Fucking. Swam. At. Me. It wasn't as if it drifted towards me on someone's diving ripple. It coiled its nasty little legs and swooshed them through the water to attack my young, yielding flesh. And yeah, I guess I could understand if its legs were built for survival to work with the retention in the water in case it accidently fell in a stream or something... but this spider had sank a little below the surface so it was specifically swimming... SWIMMING towards me.

For some reason, the fact that it was partially submerged freaked me out more than anything. It's as if nowhere is safe. The un-dead bugs floating on the top of the water are going to drift over and reanimate and bite you; the mutant pant-shitting swimming spiders are going to attack you from below. So, how you gonna die, asshole? With pride? Not likely.

Conundrum #15: Listening To Your Elders

2009-06-12T22:34:00.000-04:00

I have a friend who's grandma honestly and truly thinks Barack Obama is the anti-christ..

I don't have any witty social commentary to make light of this situation.

I just thought it was a fact worth noting.

Conumdrum #14: S is for Stereotypical

2009-06-12T22:14:00.000-04:00

Today I was perusing the social black-hole that is Facebook and wondering how many people used the word "perusing" as the third word in an opening sentence when I stumbled upon a picture of a friend of mine with her father. Now, similar to virtually 99.98% of my hometown, my friend and her father are of the fair skin breed (as in... *ahem* NOT BLACK.) Anyways, such a fact may seem irrelevant unless one notices the blatantly nonsensical gang signs they're flashing at the camera whilst puckering their lips like pimpin' Mo-Fos.

So I (like the hypocritical cynic I am) commented to the internets: "An ol' white dude and a white teenage girl flashing gang signs... that has got to be the most hardcore thing I've ever seen in my life and I think I just crapped my pants... that is all."

Conundrum #13: Gettin' Jacked

2009-06-11T22:15:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to trim up this summer like a fiend

I've been doing an ab workout every day for the past two weeks

I've drank gallons of water and jogged at least twice a week for the past three months

I'm not eating as much junk food

And I've hit a plateau.

My abs are almost nearly sexy... under all mah fat. I can feel them when I squish into my belly. Same with my thighs and ass. Nice and toned underneath the blubber.

Not fair.

I heard once you push past the plateau that's when your really start to burn off your fat cells-

So I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Maybe I can grow testicles and become a female body builder...

Conundrum #12: I'm Still Waiting For My "I Survived Swine '09" T-Shirt

2009-06-07T20:51:00.000-04:00

I realized today that I don't understand most things.

I thought I knew quite a plethora of things (if I may be so bold)... certainly more than many in my age group- most of whom have their noses pressed to their cell phone screens all night texting their booty call about the jonas brothers and how ttly not cool math class wuz 2day- boo hw <3.

I don't understand why it is standard protocol now (in my county at least), that if anyone goes to the family doctor's office, or campus infirmary, or nursing hut or whatever- if anyone shows up with even the slightest fever, they will be asked to wear a mask over their mouth until it is proven that they don't have *pregnant pause* THE SWINE FLU!!! *dun dun daaaaaaah!!!!*

They will then be asked to stay home from class/work/prison what have you, for a MINIMUM of seven days. Seven days that NO ONE, I have met, could possibly afford to miss.

That is a week without a salary,

That is a week without studies,

That is a week of limbo for one's psyche.

That is a week that does more harm than good in the prevention of what could be the worst epidemic to sweep the nation... NAWT!

When this entire notion was still in the forefront of our impossibly slow-witted and short-attention-spanned American minds, I would go on a daily tirade against the hysteria that was Swine Flu. Often, I'd get so caught up in my rants that on more than one occasion I had people grasp me by the shoulders to stop my frenzied pacing.

During one of these tirades, I was corrected by a blonde girl that it was not referred to the "Swine Flu" but was in fact now called the "H1N1 Virus." I blinked at her and said softly, attempting to control myself, "But... it's the same thing..." She promptly replied with pubescent condescension , "*guglk* (That's the noise girls make when they scoff at something to be a bitch) It's to be politically correct. Gawd, I don't get why you're freaking out about the whole thing anyway."

This had pushed me to a cool rage. "Politically correct?"

"Like... yeah."

"Politically correct?"

"*Guglk*"

"WHO THE HELL ARE WE OFFENDING? THE GOD DAMNED PIGS?!"

She replied with just as much fire. "You don't even know what you're, like, talking about! Don't you watch the news? It's *guglk* killing people!"

"What does that have to do with it's title?" My fire puttered out with utter hopelessness at her argument. I attempted to drop it but she continued;

"Hundreds of people died from it n' stuff."

I looked at her. "Yeah... in Mexico."

Her eyes widened. "That's not nice."

"I'm not trying to be kind. I'm not trying to be politically correct. Hundreds of people died from Swine Flu in Mexico. But you know what? More die in Mexico per year from poorly treated puncture wounds than from Swine Flu. It was their poor heath care system that caused the deaths of those people, not the flu."

My logic seemed to vacuum every brain cell from her skull and she just starred at me blankly. I awaited her rebuttal in an awkward silence. She finally ventured cautiously, steadily gaining momentum; "Well what about here? We have great doctors in the US and people have still, like, died."

I nodded. "Yes. True. People die from things. But you know what? More people die from good ol' influenza than the Swine Flu. The only reason this is different is that this strain is immune to traditional flu vaccines. This sends people into a panic. The media feeds of this spark and completely over-inflates the stories. People are ignoring the doctors publicly saying that The Swine Flu is nothing to be afraid of and are instead listening to dramatic news reporters telling us that we're all going to die. Schools are closing unnecessarily. Employers are so deep in hysteria they won't hire anyone who's had contact with someone with a flu-like illness. People are stocking up on water, cold cream and face masks for the upcoming pandemic. It's all complete bull-shit."

She gaped at me again. The gears in her mind turning painfully slow. "But... how could something that is such, like, a big deal be not really a big deal?" (This is what she said verbatim. I can't make this crap up.)

I had to stop myself from patting her head like one would do to a stupid child just discovering the absurdity of Santa Clause. I told her, "If I licked the hand of every person suspected of, or has a proven case of Swine Flu in New England, I promise you, I won't die."

She said indignantly. "Gawd, well why don't you do it then and, like, see what happens? It's still called H1N1 anyways."

She pretended she had a call to get away from me. It's a good thing she did too, I was about to throw some more statistics in her face.

As some part of me marveled at the parallel me and that girl had with logic and the American people, another part of me laughed in sadistic pleasure of completely owning her argument or lack thereof.

A friend of mine joked with me later:

"Sarah, Sarah, it's not called Global Warming anymore... it's called God Hugging Us Closer."

Conundrum #11: I Was Told To Throw The Chair

2009-06-02T16:30:00.000-04:00

I really enjoy watching Maury. It makes any problem I have in my social life seem miniscule by comparison.

Sure a friend of mine is being a bitch today and I stepped in gum in front of the school... but dayum- least I knows who mah baby daddy iz!

But what I don't understand is why some of these people agree to come on the show- especially the ones who claim "I'm tryin' to save mah relationship!"

"Hey, Significant Other, listen... uh I know we've been having some problems lately and things haven't been what they used to be... so... I think it would be best if we called the Maury show..."

I gave my boyfriend strict instructions to slap me accross my face if I ever came up to him with a similar claim.

I promised not to press charges

okay not really severe charges...

Conundrum #10: The Gift of Foresight

2009-06-01T21:49:00.000-04:00

You know what I think is a good idea?

Proclaiming how much you love your girlfriend/boyfriend as your senior quote in high school.

I don't understand why more people don't do that!

Conundrum #9: The Uselessness of Grammar

2009-06-01T21:39:00.000-04:00

I don't care what my freakin' teachers said!

The principal was never my pal!

I don't care if it makes me remember how to spell crap! Don't you people realize that my generation never has to spell anything correctly in the right context ever again? My computer KNOWS the difference between principle and principal!

So you know what? You can munch my mud pies with crayola-shaving sprinkles, you poop-heads!

Conundrum #8: Mystery Beatings

2009-06-01T21:14:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been skipping down the avenue in your new mini skirt only to notice people are horrified by your disgusting purple and yellow contusions dotting your freshly shaven legs?

(I'll give another example so as not to come of as favoring scenarios with females in them)

Have you ever donned your mankini only to realize there's a nasty dent in both your shins?

Have you ever felt more retarded (retardeder?) than when you realize you haven't the slightest clue where those bruises sprung from? Did you fall? Did you run into something? Did a hobo try to stone you?

Why can't you remember?

Is the only logical reason the notion that you were beaten so hard you can't recall anything?

Maybe it was your spouse? Was it your friend or some bad party somewhere (haha 'bad party', is there such a thing)?

I'm staring at the mother of all sneaky bruises on my right knee right now and I've no idea where I received it...

Oh wait... maybe it was when I wiped out when I was running around in one of those inflatable hamster-ball things last weekend at a party I went to...

*Ahem*

And now this entire entry is irrelevant....

Conundrum #7: Wipe That Pedo-Smile Off Your Face

2009-06-01T17:06:00.000-04:00

I was talking with a friend of mine, and, as usual, we found ourselves trading stories about the filth of males. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a boot and crew-cut wearing soap-box screaming feminist. I merely find it uncanny how evolution supplied females with a sixth sense warning us against sketchy rapists who probably want to take a picture under our skirts with his shoe-camera. It's as if Mother Nature was like, "Stop rapin' mah babies!" I hope She equips girls with lasers in their eyes next.

Anyways...

I remember this one time I was at a truck-stop in a strange state at three in the morning. After being rudely awakened and forced from my cozy budget-coach bus in order to refuel, the only thing my irrational mind could think was, "I want a red freakin' slushie." I followed the low whir of the churning slushie machine after closing the swinging door behind me. I wove my way between the aisles of lighters with bald eagles on them, little statues and knick-knacks of lawn gnomes sitting on mushrooms, and studded condoms which I thought at the time were funky water balloons. Like I mentioned before, it was three in the morning, so the only people in the building were the clerk, a few people from my bus wandering around sleepily and some truckers chugging black coffee. I slipped past two hairy and burly flannel-clad teamsters clogging the "Doritos. Beer." aisle, still making my way to the slushie machine (of course it's at the end of the store).

Right when I reached my destination, I sensed someone behind me. I fumbled for a paper cup and pulled the lever releasing the red, deliciously disgusting goo and sneakily looked over my shoulder at the same time. There was a man, a tall man, who seemed to be really, really interested in a shammy with an outline of the state of Georgia printed on it. He had his back to me, all I could see was his squirly rat-tail and his red and black checkered fleece. He was skinny with hairy arms, his shirt hung loosely from his shoulders.

I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up a little. The slushie dripped frighteningly slow into my cup. I heard the wheezing of the man behind me increase in volume as he turned to face my back. My cup was filled. I was anxious. I wanted to get away. I saw his shadow on the counter in front of me and he took a step forward. I fumbled for the lids, my hands were trembling. He wasn't wheezing anymore; he was holding his breath. The f****er was holding his breath. I snapped the lid on my slushie, red goo dripped onto the floor from where my shaking hands spilled it. He took another step and I panicked.

"ALICIA, THERE YOU ARE!" I screamed and trotted over to a friend of mine cocking her head at the candy bars. I scared the shit out of her, grabbed her arm and walked her out of the store with me. I didn't end up paying for my slushie. I never saw the guy again, but I didn't sleep the entire bus ride afterwards.

This came out less amusing than I originally anticipated

Who knew I couldn't make near-rape funny!

Conundrum #6: It's Like A Condom For The Sun

2009-05-28T18:34:00.000-04:00

I bought some new sunscreen the other day. It's in this fancy new spray can so I can have a "clear, no-rub, no mess" sunscreen experience.

I was taking a crap the other day (don't worry, this ties in) and found that there was nothing to read. So I, being the handicap I am, grabbed my new and shiny sunscreen to read the back of the can.

I found myself lolercoptering on the toilet from what I read;

"This spray can provides quick and easy coverage and is designed to reach hard to reach places."

Hard to reach places? I don't think I've met one person in all my life who was inept at putting on traditional sunscreen.

And what irony (to completely change the subject)! I'll just use this aerosol can to protect myself from the sun's harmful rays that are only harmful because aerosol sprays ate up the earth's ozone layer. I think if enough people use the sunscreen-in-a-can, the last bit of the ozone will be nibbled away and we'll need to bathe in sunscreen just to stay alive.

What a genius marketing ploy.

The sunscreen makes the sun more and more harmful

Which makes sunscreen more and more of a necessity

Genius!

DO NOT EAT

Thank God I saw that warning before using Coppertone as a salad spritzer!

"DO NOT SPRAY DIRECTLY ON FACE! Apply to hands and rub on face."

"DO NOT SPRAY DIRECTLY ON CHILDREN 6 MONTHS OLD OR YOUNGER."

Oh the pictures running through my head. A perfect family of five at the beach. "Hold on, honey, I have to get my face." Husband stands up, scrunches his face up, holds his breath and sprays himself with the sunblock for a good 5 seconds.

"Don't forget Little Timmy, dear!" He says after the usual coughing spazm.

"Oh yes of course!" Wife takes sunblock gases the swaddling child in her arms. "There! Now he won't die!"

What are you doing? It specifically says not to do that!

Conundrum #5: Modern Art

2009-05-21T21:36:00.000-04:00

I love art as much as the next person... perhaps a little more than the next person seeing as I'm an amateur artist myself. Sure I want to become successful one day. Sure I want my paintings hung in a gallery somewhere and worth piles of money... but that's not all I want. What makes art art is its ability to spark emotions within humanity by making an intangible human emotion or concept into something with the ability to be seen and appreciated.

There's no way I can continue further without completely folding back upon my argument and sounding like the biggest hypocrite on the face of the earth but I'll keep rambling anyways (who truly gives a shit but myself?).

I've been to galleries. I've been to exhibitions. I've been and seen and experienced enough of the art world to realize this single point: Modern. Art. Is. Bullshit.

I was recently walking through a gallery with an entire wing dedicated to "Lint Art" (giant suspensions of drier lint- yeah, dryer lint- spelling out things in morse code, stitched together to make massive quilts or made into fluffy overalls) I was gradually becoming more and more aware of the anger rising in my throat and settling between my shoulder blades. I wandered into the next room. The "White Room."

Guess what that one was.

It was a vast and empty room with a neat little table and chair and a fake ceramic fireplace all painted white. It was cold, it was stark, and, as the people twittered around me and the flecks of their over-excited spittle splashed on the hood of my jacket, "genius! Simply and completely genius!"

Genius? I walked through the exhibit and weaved between the table and chair. Cheap wood... the molding on the edge of the table didn't match the back of the chair. The fireplace was plywood with plaster sculpted into crude masonry, and, from what I could gather, there were only two coats of paint on everything. All in all... the project must have cost the artist no more than 40 dollars, assuming they BOUGHT the table and chairs and didn't find them in a dumpster on the curb.

The gallery bought the rights to the work for $6,000.

Anger turned to hopelessness in my belly. Genius? These people are geniuses?

I turned the corner into the next room. A blank 50 foot by 50 foot canvass towered over me. Blank- save for the few paint dribbles snaking down the sides of it.

Total cost of project: Estimated $80 for the cans of paint and huge square-footage of canvass

The gallery bought the rights to the painting for a mere $5,000

Anger again. Deep, deep anger. This shit isn't art! This is garbage! Complete garbage! These people aren't artists! They're conning us! They're minimalists with art-critics foaming at the mouth over their 'ingenuity' and 'style' and such. They're salesmen. They're gypsies (racism completely intended) who KNOW how to twist the descriptions of their shitty work to appeal to any mind, especially to the minds with the mullah.

The White Room was a representation of middle america and it's ever-decreasing trend of family unity, church-volunteering housewife. That's what it means to you.

The White Room was a clear illustration of post WWIII world- a war that will surly occur at the hands of our children if we don't save the wales, panda-loving PETA-nut. That's what it means to you.

The White Room is generic and unique in one simple statement. It mimics the styles of Elizabethan architecture with a rough blending of Australian cave paintings and the binge-and-puke methods of many Alaskan painters in the mid 19th century, Mr. Loves-The-Smell-Of-His-Own-Farts Art Critic. That's what it means to you.

Either way the exhibits are being sold. And the artists I despise are laughing all the way to the bank, scraping gum off the sidewalk on the way there to make a used-gum chess-board to be sold to the nearest gallery for $12,000 minimum.

But as I sit, and type, and sweat in the heat of this night, I can't help but wonder if that was the point.

Perhaps all of these exhibits are to subtly hint the absurdity of the art world (which has become lodged so far up its own ass it has begun to pop out artists willing to merely play the system instead of creating true art). To piss off starving artists like me and whisper, "This is how you make it, kid. Art today isn't about expression. It's about who you can impress. It's about how far you can twist your words around the heads of your fans, your inferior ant-like fans, and your critics, your lovely god-like check-book-holding critics. It's about how many zeros you can tack onto a price-tag of a shred of canvass with your name on it. It's about how many people you piss off."

In realizing that, perhaps I was wrong in not believing these people were true artists. I mentioned before that art is art when it makes you feel. Disgust is a feeling. Anger is a feeling, as is hopelessness for the world.

Perhaps my goal shouldn't be to become a great artist. Perhaps I should be thinking, "I wonder how many people will hate their lives once they find out my shitty 20 minute project made me more money than they'll ever see in their lives."

On that happy note, here is a link to a related story.

A two year old dupes the art world into thinking he's a revolutionary artist

This was painted by an elephant and is better than most of the paintings I saw hanging in that gallery.

CANundrum #1: Burn

2009-04-25T20:47:00.000-04:00

This kid came up to me and a friend of mine on the bus once.

He looked at us and said plainly, "I don't like you."

We gaped at him. "What?"

"I said; I don't like you."

I ventured, "You don't even know us."

"You guys are going to college right?"

"Why?"

He pointed at my friend. "What's your GPA? Two?"

"Is that how many parents you wish you had?"

He blinked. Paused. And said, "I didn't expect that..."

Life is good.

Conundrum #4: Cursed

2009-04-25T12:11:00.000-04:00

I have a 15 year old friend

She isn't the brightest tool in the shed.

She's kind of like a trowel.

Honestly, how many intelligent 15 year olds do you know?

Anyways, she once tried to complain to me about the spookiness of her phone.

"I think my cell is cursed." She told me. "It keeps turning on and off the same time the engine in my car turns on and off..."

I sighed and said dryly, "It's not cursed..."

Her eyes widened. "It's a miracle then!"

"Actually, you're just being subjected to the same mundane coincidences we all face each and every day."

She blinked. "... What?"

I blinked back at her. "I hate you. That's what I said."

"Oh."

Conundrum #3: Love Bites

2009-04-25T07:38:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I was walking downtown with no one but Cas Haley on my ipod and the spring sunshine.

I made it to the park next to the lake in the center of town and sat on a bench to observe the twitterpated ducks and old couples walking about. It was then that I noticed this one girl walking past with her boyfriend's arm around her waist. It would have looked like a textbook stroll in the park when I noticed the girlfriend was covered in love bites from her shoulders to her forehead. It looked as if she tried to cover it up with ab

out six inches of foundation but still looked as if she was attacked by lemmings. I kept in my laughs and continued watching silently as they passed and paused in front of the public bathrooms. The boyfriend gave Hickey-Face a sudden and remarkably loud public spank before walking into one of the bathrooms... the one for people with vaginas. I felt myself cock my head in mild confusion. Boyfriend reemerged a minute or so later and said to Hickey-Face, "The trash cans are out of bags, so I'll have to find a public one to throw this out."

He looked around and spied the trash can next to my bench. I was startled as he began to trudge toward me, so I pretended to have an unnatural

fascination with my ipod's volume. Boyfriend brushed past my bench and I was hit with the harsh and sticky smell of his piss-cologne. He dropped something in my trash can and trotted back to his girlfriend where he violently hip-checked her and caught her waist before she fell. She nervously laughed and they continued their jaunt.

I scoffed. I'd never let man treat me like that. That Penis is too controlling.

It was then that I glanced into my trash can in a sudden fit of curiosity.

He had thrown out a tampon wrapper. A super duper one for when one's pussy is acting like a bloody sprinkler. My mouth dropped open. I looked back at them, a good distance away from me now. He may have been wearing a flannel shirt and gone out of his way to further tangle his mullet and not pluck his eyebrows, but he and his girlfriend had the same delicate swing to their hips.

I sat back

with a humph of finality. Lesbians. What a twist.

Then my mind wandered back to the love bites and I cringed. Not because they were gay, but because of the period blood that may or may not been involved in the escapade that caused them. Bleeeeeerrrhg

Canundrum #2: Lolcatz

2009-04-23T19:55:00.000-04:00

I can feel my IQ draining from my ears the more I stare.

I'm wasting precious time... but it's as if some astral being is forcing my hand to continue clicking; Random. Random. Random. Random.

Some of them are absolutely handicapable (I'm trying not to use the word 'retarded' as an adjective as much). But damn, once in a blue moon I stumble across a picture that makes me borderline piss-pants with giggles. The cat above, for example, almost caused the destruction of my trusty iBook G4 from me bashing the table next to it with my skull.

But I digress. There is a reason I've ended up here to talk to myself about my dented and bloody forehead. I never realized that there was a comments section underneath each of these cat-caption pictures. Mind you, I'm not completely blind, I DID notice the weird grammar and letter substitution and phonetic spellings and such in the pictures of these charming creatures....

What I did not notice, however, was the community BEHIND these pictures. There are human beings... thousands of them... who write these:

Juss ben owt in teh kitchun maekin a chawklit caek. Made a HYOOOOOJ moyst sheet caek, u noe Peg Brakkenz I hate to cook cake, sooooo yurmmy. An haff ob it wif banilla frostin and udder haff wif chawklit. I haz carefullee plased teh 19 candlz along teh lenth ob it– it are 30 feet loooong! Mebbeh wii needz moar candlz…. OK, 3 setz ob 19 candlz, k? Needz halp haulin tihs caek owt, plz! Summbuddee gotz a tractor?

...

What. Did I. Just read?

DOES THIS PERSON REALIZE THE ONLY THING HE SPELLED RIGHT IN THE CORRECT CONTEXT WAS THE WORD TRACTOR??!?!??!!

Oh wait. Just wait. There are countless more:

U wur spoyled! we hads tew git up at free oclokz evury mournin an walk 5 miles to da cole mines an travul alls da way to da cenner a da Erf an collek a buckit (yesh, yu herd, BUCKIT) of cole an walk alls da way home wif it so’s we cood has breffist onna table.

The context of this one is childhood. I know they're joking. I know they probably don't talk like that in real life... I can take a joke. No really, I can. In fact, what you probably don't know considering that this is the second post, I am a rather funny person. People call me mildly hilarious. Not Carlos Mencia hilarious, or Dane Cook hilarious, but hilarious as in I have my own thoughts and opinions I often express in a witty manner.

But writing like these lolpeople... is... just... not... describable in any word in the english language.

Shall I break my vow?

It's retarded. Not merely retarded- but probably the pinprick that will eventually destroy the balloon surrounding humanity's natural urge to kill one another and wear their skins like royal cloaks whilst parading their heads around on pikes.

Black will be down and left will be Thursday. Babies will be making babies in the streets. Sanity as we know it will cease to exist and a new order of sanity will be put in its place. Peepl wil nevr tipe rite agayn.

And college profess

ors wonder why the grammar and penmanship of their students is steadily sliding downhill.

Curse thee, Lolcatz!

You will be the end of all things!

And you'll do nothing but sit on your invisible kayaks and lul.

Conundrum #1: It Ain't Easy Being Cheesy

2009-04-23T19:25:00.000-04:00

I freakin' love these new crunchy cheddar jalapeno Cheetos with their ferrous sulfate, maltodextrin and yellow number 5 which just makes them extra delicious.

But due to my retardedly low tolerance for spicy things, I can only eat two before putting the bag away with tears of pain rolling down my face.

I want to kick that beatnik cheetah in the fuzzy nuts for creating such a monster within me.

But in some weird way I also want to have his spotted children.

Chester- oh, Chester- why do you mock me so?