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July 23, 2005
Red-Faced Confession
I have an embarrassing confession to make publicly:
I have started watching Big Brother 6. I came across it last Saturday night while flipping through the channels, and I deliberately watched it tonight.
Who knew Ivette had a girlfriend? I sure hope she was ready for the world to know she was gay, because it's all out now...
I about peed my pants when Kaysar spun the food wheel and it landed on peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. I knew that was going to happen.
Sheesh. I need a life. It'll be good when classes start again. At least I won't feel guilty for reading textbooks on experimental educational design.
I give you permission to ridicule me in the comments. I never thought I would watch Big Brother...
Posted by Anna at 07:39 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
July 19, 2005
Heed My Advice
Note to readers: Beefaroni at midnight=heartburn and nightmares at 3 a.m.
Did I think about the consequences of eating that before I got the midnight munchies? Apparently not.
Don't do it. Resist the Chef Boyardee urge that late at night. Your esophagus will thank you. Also, you won't dream about giant elbow macaroni surrounding you and flattening you as they steamroll over your body.
Posted by Anna at 12:30 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 17, 2005
Genetics as Explained by a Kindergartner
I just got back from a mini-trip to Wal-Mart for some much-needed Claritin. While I was there, I swung by the dairy department for some yogurt.
In the dairy aisle with me was a mom and her son, about 6. She was selecting a tub of sour cream when another mother and her teenage daugher entered the aisle. The daughter, around 15 or 16, looked incredibly bored (as I would expect a teenager forced to follow mom to look). She also had hair that was fire engine red on the left side of her head and vibrant purple on the other side.
I knew the boy, who had been chattering the whole time, would have something entertaining to say, so I stood and pretended to ponder my yogurt choices while I waited. Sure enough, he didn't disappoint.
Boy: Whoa! Mommy, look at that girl's crazy hair!
Mom: Ssshhh! *glaring at the boy with a warning look*
Boy: It's red on one side and purple on the other!
Mom: Sshhh! *glaring again*
Boy: That must be her mom with her. She has brown hair.
Mom: SSHHHH!! *whispering* Stop staring!
Boy: So if her mom has brown hair, that must mean the girl got her hair from her daddy. Do you think he has purple hair or red hair? Or do you think he looks like Cruella Deville just like that girl?
Mom quickly grabs a tub of sour cream and pushes the questioning boy out of the aisle. She must've been muttering something at him, because as they leave I hear, "What did I say? Did I do something wrong?"
I must say, genetics through the eyes of a kindergartner is pretty enlightening!
Posted by Anna at 03:20 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 14, 2005
Dear Johnny Depp
Dear Johnny Depp,
You kind of frighten me in your new movie. I've only seen the previews of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but I'm not sure I want to see it despite my liking for the book. Even though I think of Willy Wonka as a kind soul, you look creepy and not at all the way I think Willy Wonka should look. Matter of fact, you kind of remind me of Michael Jackson--not a person I would want to encounter in an enchanted confectionary factory. I suspect he might want to do dirty things in the chocolate river with Charlie, Augustus Gloop, or Mike Teevee.
I do want you to know, however, that I love your purple Chocolicious Wonka Cakes. I purchased them on a whim tonight, and I was very pleased. Some colors do not work well with food; for example, blue ketchup was not acceptable and I'm not a fan of green eggs and ham either. But Hostess cupcakes frosted with purple and yellow and filled with purple cream...well, that's a winner.
Sincerely,
Anna
Posted by Anna at 10:45 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
July 13, 2005
Leaky Roof, Tampons, and Bologna
Dang. The roof in my office is leaking. I guess the construction combined with Dennis's rain was too much for the roof. Wonder if I can plug the hole with a tampon like the girl in the commercial...
Thinking of that Tampax commercial, I think it's a little vulgar. (I tried to find a clip but I couldn't--for those of you blessed enough not to have seen it, it's a sickeningly romantic commercial of a couple on a boat ride. The boat springs a leak and the woman, naturally, whips out a tampon and plugs the hole).
The commercial in itself is probably innocent enough and maybe even a little clever, but personally, I find the implied comparison of a woman to a leaky dinghy a little overboard.
Heh. Overboard. No nautical pun intended there.
It irritates me almost as much as the pooping bears on the Charmin commercials, which I posted about in January.
Commercials are just getting weird. What ever happened to the simple commercials like "My bologna has a first name..."
Whoa--I started this post about a leaky roof and I ended up ranting about commercials. Well, it's a brief stream of consciousness display for you, I guess.
Posted by Anna at 01:29 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 07, 2005
Many Mini Misadventures and a Word Game
I’ve promised a little word game at the end, and I will deliver. Stick with me for a few minutes to read my story, though, OK?
I woke up leisurely and blissfully late this morning. I had the day off except for a paid experiment over in the psychology department. I enjoyed my morning and then headed out for the experiment. I took my clothes basket with me; it seemed like a good day to do laundry. My day ended up being far from typical, though.
Following are mini-chapters of my misadventures. They’re in chapter form to help you play the word game!
Better Than a Lashing With a Wet Noodle
I prefer the electronic spinning toothbrush to the traditional toothbrush. I’m not convinced that the spinning action cleans teeth any better, but it makes me feel like I’m being more proactive in my dental hygiene. I squirted my toothbrush, put the brush in my mouth, and clicked the switch to “on.” Immediately I knew something was wrong.
It seems there is a bristle on my toothbrush that is coming loose, because it is sticking out further than the rest (of course, I didn’t realize this until too late!). Note to readers: a longer bristle on a spinning toothbrush becomes a smaller version of a Weed Whacker. Before I could do anything about it, that spinning bristle had become a dangerous weapon, lashing my gums. Long story short, I got several small cuts on my gums from the bristle. Oh, and mouthwash on cuts—not pleasant.
Really Troubling Images? Sign Me Up!
I went to my experiment. It was actually one of the more interesting experiences. It involved a series of landscape photographs, flashing at lightning speed (something like 10 images a second). One of the pictures was turned sideways, and my task was to indicate with the keyboard if the landscape was rotated clockwise or counterclockwise.
Part of the experiment (according to the informational sheet I had to read and sign before beginning) was supposed to include “disturbing photographs.” I think the experiment was measuring if seeing frightening pictures included in landscapes affected one’s ability to focus on the landscape task and still process the rotation.
The experiment started out fine. About halfway through, though, the computer beeped and up popped an informational screen. I got the student assigned to monitor the test administration. She came in, clicked the mouse a few times, and said, “Well, looks like you’re finished.” So I got paid…but I didn’t see any of the disturbing images I’d been promised. I’m not really complaining, but, well…maybe I am. I’m curious about what images are classified as “disturbing.”
I’m Not the Best Person To Ask…I headed to the laundromat. I’ve never been to this particular laundromat before, but it was just down the street from campus, so it was on my way home. Started my laundry; all was fine. I took along my book of word puzzles (my inspiration in including one in this entry) and was busy on some cryptograms when an older Asian man walked in. He came up to me, pointed at a hand-drawn map, and said, “No English.” Apparently he didn’t realize that I am completely navigationally-deficient (you can check out this entry to prove it!). I did the best I could to point the direction he needed to go. He bowed a few times, then exited the building. He stood in the parking lot for a few seconds, then came up to the window, tapped on it, and pointed out a direction. I nodded, he bowed again, and took off. It wasn’t until I left the laundromat that I realized I had pointed him the wrong way. Poor guy. There’s some older man wandering the streets of downtown Nashville in the heat who doesn’t speak English. I felt terrible.
Reba Washes Here?
All along the walls of the laundromat were photographs signed by country music stars. While this isn’t unusual in Nashville, the fact that the pictures were in a laundromat was a little weird. During the wash cycle, I walked around and read them. Just a few: “To XXXX, thanks for the fluff and fold.” “XXXX, the place that gets my clothes clean.” “My favorite laundromat in Nashville.” Yeah, right. Like Randy Travis or Dolly Parton are going to walk in with their dirty underwear.
Exactly Whose Butt is Prohibited?
When my clothes were washed and ready to be dried, I put them in one of those wheely baskets and pushed it over to the dryers. Saw a sign on the dryer: “Please, no butts in the dryer.”
I’m sure that someone had somehow put a cigarette butt in the dryer (though why is a mystery!), and the consequences merited a note. Maybe a note clarifying what kind of butts aren’t allowed would be helpful. Or even better, maybe a sign stating that no butts of any kind are allowed. Just to clear up the confusion, of course. You know I was tempted to drop my pants and give my butt a fluff-dry.
All About Mary Katherine
After I transferred my clothes to the dryer, I left the facility for a few minutes to drive something over to my brother (he’s in town on a mission trip for the week; you can read about it in some of the blogs on my sidebar). When I got back to the laundromat, a cute little old lady met me at the door. I don’t think she worked there, but she was certainly being hospitable to all the patrons; she greeted everyone and told her life story to her captive audience. (Oh, and she’s one of 9 children, but she’s the only one alive. She’s got a 34 year old son named Rob.) Around 10 minutes into her story, I started figuring out that something wasn’t quite right with Mary Katherine.
She had come over to me several times and patted my hair. She kept saying, “Oh, baby girl, you’ve got pretty hair Oh, you look like a little doll with hair like that!” After the first time, I started getting uncomfortable. I was relieved when she went over to the ladies on the other side of the building and talked to them. When my clothes were finished, I went over to the dryer and heard what she was doing, though. In between telling about her son and her dead relatives, she would poke any lady near in the gut and say, “So when’s that baby due? I had a baby myself, you know.” She was disappointed to learn that none of the ladies were pregnant. She still proceeded to tell her son’s childbirth story, though. In fear that I would too be poked like the Pillsbury Doughboy, I threw my clothes in my basket and took off. Didn’t even fold ‘em—too big of a hurry to escape Mary Katherine’s finger.
Zebra SkinningFinally, I reached the parking lot. I saw something right behind my car that looked like a furry dead animal. I was afraid I’d run over something somehow, so I but down my basket and squatted down by the fur. Well, it wasn’t an animal. It was…a hairpiece.
Not the toupee variety, but a hair extension. A lady’s extension; black with magenta streaks. Well, more like stripes. Like some sort of mutant zebra got skinned and then made into a hairpiece.
I suppose the kind thing to do would be to advertise it. I’m not sure of the cost of hairpieces, but this one appears to be made of real human hair. I picked it up. I had to. I couldn’t stop my fingers. And since I hadn’t seen anyone in the laundromat who would’ve worn it (the group was older women, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have looked good on any of them).
You wanna see the hairpiece? I’ve still got it, so if it’s yours, let me know and I’ll mail it to you if you pay for shipping. (I know, it’s a longshot…but I’ll take a chance)
Now, click on for the word game...
Now, the word game. Take the first letter of the first word in each chapter title. Unscramble the six letters correctly and you’ll find a word describing my day.
Posted by Anna at 06:03 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
July 05, 2005
Blushing and a Weird Nipple Sensation
I just realized that I somehow put my bra on inside out this morning. It's been that way all morning at the office.
You would think the backwards-hooking and the unusual, um, texture against my bosoms would lead me to question why...but it didn't.
Sheesh. And the stalls in the women's bathroom are so tiny one can hardly fit their feet in, let alone take off one's bra. And there's always a line, so I can't do it in the sink/towel area...
Posted by Anna at 10:19 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 04, 2005
Fireworks in the Bedroom
I woke up to a very strange sight early this morning. Below you will find a transcript of what happened and my thoughts:
Inside bedroom: Zzpt! *brilliant flash of light* Zzpt! *another flash of light*
Me: What the heck?
Inside bedroom: Zzpt! *flash of light* Zzpt! *flash, flash*
Me: Oh, it’s July 4th. I guess the fireworks started a little early this year.
Inside bedroom: Zzpt! Zzpt! *flash, flash, flash* Zzpt!
Me: Urg. Just go back to sleep.
Inside bedroom: Zzpt! Zzpt! Zzpt! *multiple flashing, almost creating a strobe light effect*
Me: (burying head in pillow) Aaack! Stop it!
Inside bedroom: Zzpt! (sound getting more urgent) Zzpt, zzpt! *flash, flash, flash, flash*
Me: (sitting straight up in bed) What is that?
Inside bedroom: Zzpt! *flash* Zzpt! *flash* Zzpt! *flash*
Me: (something lands on my nose) Dag nab it! (swatting thing that landed on my nose)
It was then, finally out of my stupor, that I realized what was happening. My bedroom had somehow been invaded by lightning bugs/fireflies/whatever you call them in your area. Ha! Solved that mystery!
I wonder if my landlord would complain if I hung up a BugZapper…
Posted by Anna at 01:08 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 01, 2005
Must've Stepped on a Frog...
Do you know what is remarkably funny, even though I'm 25 years old and in grad school?
When someone in a position of authority farts. OK, farting in general is funny. But it's especially funny when it's someone that you don't even really view as human.
I was at work and a nationally-esteemed professor wandered in my office looking for my boss.
When he turned around, he farted. Super loud. Long and drawn-out. No possible alternative interpretation. It was a fart.
As a little girl in one of my classes would have said, "Oh, scooze ooh! Ooh tink!"
Wish I would've had a witty comeback. Instead I bit my lip and tried to keep from laughing.
Posted by Anna at 12:04 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack