Posts
It's been a bit since I've updated. I've just started back to school today and been pretty busy lately.
On to business...
We've all experienced bad kissers at some point in our lives. Regardless of if you were kissing a man or a woman, there are just some people who are epic failures in the smooch department. I encountered a guy, years ago, who must have taken lessons from a Great Dane on how to kiss a girl.
After polite conversation and a beer with Davey, we were watching something boring on TV and I was pretending to be interested all while desperately hoping one of my girls would call me and bail me out. He must have sensed my desperation to turn off what I think was the World Series of Poker, and flipped the channel to something that started conversation. Again, we started chatting and we were really enjoying each other's company. As the natural course of dates like this seem to go, Davey leaned in for a kiss before I left.
Now, everyone loves that first kiss with someone. That first time you lay down the good kisses that you've probably practiced with your hand or your mirror 100 times as a teenager makes you get butterflies. If that person is a good kisser, you feel even better and kind of giddy and all. But, if that person is a bad kisser, you wish that the 182,138,880,000,000 to 1 odds of a meteor landing on your home would happen while this kiss was taking place.
So this guy makes what seems to be a weird CPR-esque seal around my mouth with his teeth against my lips and starts shaking his head back and forth. I wasn't sure if he was trying to do some exfoliation technique my lips with his teeth or what, but my mouth was feeling disgusting being covered in saliva that wasn't my own. But the fun didn't stop there. As I tried to pull myself away from this wretched kiss from hell, he must have mistaken this gesture as a "please, kiss me more" plea and decided to put his tongue in my mouth. This is where things get even more confusing.
He literally used his hand to pull down my jaw while he was kissing me and flopped his tongue in my mouth and didn't move it. He went "oooooohhh" and started, again, shaking his head in a very confusing fashion. I was so bewildered that I didn't know what to do. I was desperate to leave. I actually started playing with the volume buttons on my phone to make it ring and jumped up screaming "OH! my mom is calling I have to go!" *Thanks for bailing me out, friends LOL
Needless to say I never spoke to him again. He called, but I never answered. When I saw him in public, I pretended not to recognize him. How could you ever face someone again knowing you kissed them that way? How has he survived this long with such terrible skills? Truth be told, he was in a several year long relationship that had ended about 5 months before we hung out. I pity that woman and it is very clear to me why she left him.
There was drool all over my face and the couch when I left. There was none on my shirt because the distance between him and myself was easily a foot, as I was desperately trying to escape the kiss that even the most lonely and depressed wouldn't accept.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Orlando Airport
Every year in July I fly down to Orlando to help run a martial arts tournament with the USBA/WBA Breaking Team. They're pretty much the best team of people ever, and they're wonderfully kind to me. Well, last year, like normal, they are flying me down to run this tournament, but I'm still not in the best of physical conditions after hip surgery. My surgery had been in April, and as I was off crutches for average everyday walking, I was concerned that at the distances I'd be needing to walk at the resort and at the tournament my hip would give way. So, here I am with crutches in tow.
My mom drops me off at the airport in Columbus and I check my bag and move slowly with a large, bulky, yet wonderfully fashionable carry-on from Victoria's Secret. It's a white duffel-esque bag that is large enough to fit a 5 year old inside with his or her favorite teddy bear. It goes over the shoulder or has two handles for those who prefer to carry their bags by hand and look cool. I, however, had the bag on my butt, slung over the shoulder, and my crutches were hitting it every step of the way. It was miserable! I boarded the plane and got to Orlando without incident. From Orlando I decided against walking myself, as I had to get my checked bag to take the the resort, so I used a wheelchair service to get downstairs and get to the shuttle. The people at the airport that push you in the wheelchairs do NOT want to wait in line with you under any circumstance, and as it's mandatory that you wait in line to get your stupid pass to the Disney shuttle, the attendee was frustrated and anxious. He eventually dropped me off at the shuttle waiting area and hurried along to his next tip-bearing cripple.
Being at Disney was just fine and I managed to get around quite well given my condition. The resort was very understanding and worked with me to ensure I was as close as possible to the convention center. Being at a martial arts tournament on crutches gets you some strange looks, but the people there presume you're badass enough to beat them to death with your crutches.
On the way home to Columbus my trip was not so pleasant. I was desperately tired and my body was in pain. I boarded the shuttle in the sweltering heat of the Orlando July, and 30 minutes later arrived at the airport where I went to check in and check my bag. I was provided with a wheelchair instantly when departing the shuttle as the gentleman driving the bus had radioed ahead that I was gimp-tastic. The gentleman pushing my chair to the check area left me and another man took over to get me through the check point to my gate. This second man was totally creepy. These guys wear little radios to be directed to where they need to pick up another wheelchair-bound guest, and when they don't respond to the man speaking in a foreign language through their walkie-talkies they get in trouble. So, the foreign man was yelling at my "driver" and he said to me "excuse me, I need to take this page and make a call to him." I didn't think much of it, but we had just exited the elevator and we were in the main thoroughfare of the airport where people go from the gates to get their baggage. So, here I am with the driver and suddenly he stops and runs off to my left. HE LEFT ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WALKWAY.
I'm sitting in this chair clutching my crutches and he's left my carry-on behind me. I can't get to it to scoot myself along so I can get to the gate myself. So all these people are passing me by looking at me like I'm a lost child or unattended baggage. Or maybe they're looking at me like "bitch, get out of the way!" I couldn't tell, but what I did know was that I wanted to go home. So, in the midst of all this chaos, I called my mom. I told her I had been stranded in the middle of an aisle by a man that spoke no discernible English and that I wanted her to come get me right now before I started crying. She's talking to me like mom's do and calms me down, meanwhile the awkward glances are only increasing because now I'm not only in the way, but I'm in the way on my cell phone.
Finally 10 minutes or so goes by and the driver of my wheelchair shows back up and literally says "I'm not waiting with you through the gate, someone else will come get you if you need them." At this point I was about through with trying to ease the pain and burden on my hip, so I just told the guy to get me to the checkpoint and I'd do the rest myself. Of course my crutches can't go with me through the gate, so I have to let them get scanned, then go through the metal detector, then go through the metal detector with metal crutches. Well, the scanner goes off (obviously) with my metal crutches, so they take me to the side and try it again and scan my very obviously metal crutches AGAIN, then they checked my hands for explosives. Yes, like I'm going to have explosive crutch material on my hands they swabbed me down. I hobbled down to my gate, which was the one farthest away from everything and sat down. Then our gate got switched. I picked up my goods and walked about 5 minutes away to the new gate we would be using. As I'm approaching my gate a different guy pushing a wheelchair tries to scoop me up and help me out, but I was out of cash and I don't want your help now as I'm like, 5 feet from where I need to be! He was displeased that I didn't want his services.
It has come to my attention that I'm going to be flying on crutches again, but this time I'll be coming home from Colorado after surgery. Hopefully they are a little more helpful in the wheelchair department and they don't leave me awkwardly placed in the middle of a very, very busy walkway.
So the moral of this story: If you have to travel with crutches, bring cash and patience.
My mom drops me off at the airport in Columbus and I check my bag and move slowly with a large, bulky, yet wonderfully fashionable carry-on from Victoria's Secret. It's a white duffel-esque bag that is large enough to fit a 5 year old inside with his or her favorite teddy bear. It goes over the shoulder or has two handles for those who prefer to carry their bags by hand and look cool. I, however, had the bag on my butt, slung over the shoulder, and my crutches were hitting it every step of the way. It was miserable! I boarded the plane and got to Orlando without incident. From Orlando I decided against walking myself, as I had to get my checked bag to take the the resort, so I used a wheelchair service to get downstairs and get to the shuttle. The people at the airport that push you in the wheelchairs do NOT want to wait in line with you under any circumstance, and as it's mandatory that you wait in line to get your stupid pass to the Disney shuttle, the attendee was frustrated and anxious. He eventually dropped me off at the shuttle waiting area and hurried along to his next tip-bearing cripple.
Being at Disney was just fine and I managed to get around quite well given my condition. The resort was very understanding and worked with me to ensure I was as close as possible to the convention center. Being at a martial arts tournament on crutches gets you some strange looks, but the people there presume you're badass enough to beat them to death with your crutches.
On the way home to Columbus my trip was not so pleasant. I was desperately tired and my body was in pain. I boarded the shuttle in the sweltering heat of the Orlando July, and 30 minutes later arrived at the airport where I went to check in and check my bag. I was provided with a wheelchair instantly when departing the shuttle as the gentleman driving the bus had radioed ahead that I was gimp-tastic. The gentleman pushing my chair to the check area left me and another man took over to get me through the check point to my gate. This second man was totally creepy. These guys wear little radios to be directed to where they need to pick up another wheelchair-bound guest, and when they don't respond to the man speaking in a foreign language through their walkie-talkies they get in trouble. So, the foreign man was yelling at my "driver" and he said to me "excuse me, I need to take this page and make a call to him." I didn't think much of it, but we had just exited the elevator and we were in the main thoroughfare of the airport where people go from the gates to get their baggage. So, here I am with the driver and suddenly he stops and runs off to my left. HE LEFT ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WALKWAY.
I'm sitting in this chair clutching my crutches and he's left my carry-on behind me. I can't get to it to scoot myself along so I can get to the gate myself. So all these people are passing me by looking at me like I'm a lost child or unattended baggage. Or maybe they're looking at me like "bitch, get out of the way!" I couldn't tell, but what I did know was that I wanted to go home. So, in the midst of all this chaos, I called my mom. I told her I had been stranded in the middle of an aisle by a man that spoke no discernible English and that I wanted her to come get me right now before I started crying. She's talking to me like mom's do and calms me down, meanwhile the awkward glances are only increasing because now I'm not only in the way, but I'm in the way on my cell phone.
Finally 10 minutes or so goes by and the driver of my wheelchair shows back up and literally says "I'm not waiting with you through the gate, someone else will come get you if you need them." At this point I was about through with trying to ease the pain and burden on my hip, so I just told the guy to get me to the checkpoint and I'd do the rest myself. Of course my crutches can't go with me through the gate, so I have to let them get scanned, then go through the metal detector, then go through the metal detector with metal crutches. Well, the scanner goes off (obviously) with my metal crutches, so they take me to the side and try it again and scan my very obviously metal crutches AGAIN, then they checked my hands for explosives. Yes, like I'm going to have explosive crutch material on my hands they swabbed me down. I hobbled down to my gate, which was the one farthest away from everything and sat down. Then our gate got switched. I picked up my goods and walked about 5 minutes away to the new gate we would be using. As I'm approaching my gate a different guy pushing a wheelchair tries to scoop me up and help me out, but I was out of cash and I don't want your help now as I'm like, 5 feet from where I need to be! He was displeased that I didn't want his services.
It has come to my attention that I'm going to be flying on crutches again, but this time I'll be coming home from Colorado after surgery. Hopefully they are a little more helpful in the wheelchair department and they don't leave me awkwardly placed in the middle of a very, very busy walkway.
So the moral of this story: If you have to travel with crutches, bring cash and patience.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Men.
Let's begin with a little bit of idle jabber today about the weather. (This could be an indicator that I'm getting old...) I'm sitting in my glorious (and heinously messy) bedroom with the windows open and the blinds clear at the top! It's 65 degrees and beautiful out today, and nothing makes a person feel better than fresh, radiant energy spilling into a downtrodden winter's room. The only downside, the kid from a few houses down appears to be urinating in the trees in his back yard while giggling and yelling to his friends on the other side of the trees. I hope this isn't a new game of hide and seek.
Let's got back in time by about a week and a half. I had just gotten off work from the pharmacy and it had been a long, but pleasant, night. My hip wasn't in the worst of shape that evening, so I decided to seize the opportunity and call up some friends whom I knew were going out. The girls, Kelly and Megan (keep in mind, I like to change up some names), and I hit our favorite local bar with the intention of having a few drinks and enjoying the evening.
Upon arrival at this bar, it was evident that the night had potential to be a tragic evening full of creepy guys making pathetic advances. Sometimes your gut instincts should be listened to. I didn't feel much like drinking when we went into the bar, so Meg and Kel ordered a drink and we sat down at a table. We chose the table nearest the bar, but this table was also a central crossing point for access to every location. You had to pass this table when you came in the door and were approaching the bar, it was passed when heading to the restrooms from the other tables, and it was passed (and looking upon) the area where the pool tables are and the exit to the patio. Needless to say, this table was at the end of the path from the door to the bar, the bar to the pool tables, the bar to the toilets, and the bar to the exit; we were visible to the entire bar and we were vulnerable.
When a wounded gazelle stands out from the rest of the herd, it becomes a meal for the nearest predator; we were a table of wounded gazelle.
Kel and Meg were sitting across from me, facing the bar, and we were sharing humorous stories and enjoying the liberating "girls night" feeling invoked by our giggles and drinks. I noticed a man about 6 feet tall walking with a purpose toward the door. Every 4 or 5 steps he would shoot a glance over his shoulder, apparently looking to see if a friend was in tow, but continued his forward progression. When he got to the exit, he turned around and was evidently looking for a friend, but passed through the door and stood on the other side of the glass windows waiting. Not even 5 seconds later a significantly shorter white gentleman began to make his way past our table. He was roughly 5'6" with huge, baggy jeans secured only to his body by a belt and his hand holding the crotch of the jeans. He donned a white T-shirt, some sort of light jacket, and another heavy leather coat atop that; he had nice looking Timberland boots and a straight-billed hat on sideways. His huge, seemingly cheap or fake, cross necklace swayed with each drunken step he took. Just as he began to pass our table, he stopped. His eyes were barely able to stay open, but he was determined to make his presence known, and fighting the droopy eyelids he tilted his head pretty far back and said "Hey laaaaaadies.... how you all doing tonight? I'm Kevin. What are your names, lovely ladies?"
We politely introduced ourselves in the most brief and uninterested fashion possible. He didn't seem to get the hint and this is where the "fun" began...
Kevin: So, what are 3 lovely ladies like yourselves doing out tonight? You girls are beautiful! What are you up to, gals? Are you having ladies night? You know, having a few drinnnnnks after work or whatever, doing that girls thing and enjoying yourself. I know what it is! I bet you girls are doing girls night. Yeah you girls are beautiful... three beautiful girls doing girls night. Hell yes. So, what are you girls doing?
Me: We're just, you know, enjoying some drinks this evening. We're having girls night. It's been a long week and it's only Tuesday.
Kevin: Oh girl I know! So, do you girls live around here? Do you come here often? Where you girls from?
Me: We're Ohio State Students. We never come here. Ever. This is it, you'll never see us here again. (I was hoping my lies would deter him from asking to see us again...)
Kevin: Oh no way! I am taking some online courses through Ohio State. Yeah, let me tell you. I'm taking care of myself, ya heard? I'm taking classes online. Get this! I'm taking classes in Business Management while focusing on, get this, finance. Yeah, I want to learn more about finance. So what about you? What's your major? Mine is business management focusing on finance...
Me: I'm getting my undergrad in micro. (Realizing that generally only biology and other science-based majors understand "micro" is our way of saying Microbiology, I decided to clarify so he didn't assume I mean microeconomics or something.) Microbiolgy, I mean. Then I'm heading onto Pharmacy school.
Kevin: Biology, huh? That's cool. I love to study biology. But, hon, I think you mean MACRO biology. Yeah, you know, the study of like genetics and shit. Genetics and like the chemical structure of stuff. That's Macro, honey! The big picture is what you're studying, that's Macro. Micro, shit, I don't even know what that would be about! hahahaha Maybe it would be about the study of the gazelle or something.
Me: (I'm angered with this douche because I think I would know what my major is, but moreover, I just want him to go away so I'm agreeing with everything...) Yeah I guess I never thought of it like that. You're totally right about the study of the genetics. Regular Biology is the study of the gazelle, Micro is the study of the organism living in the gazelle's butthole. You're totally right about Macro.
Kevin: Yeah that's so cool. The little organisms, man, those are the big pictures! I dunno why they'd tell you it's micro. That's just crazy. Let me ask you something, let me ask you something. Girls, let me ask you something.. (In a lower, more whisper-esque tone) You ever heard of Darwin?
Now, at this point I'm experiencing a lot of different emotions. I want him to leave, I want to stop talking to this guy about my major, I'm offended that he's correcting the basis of my education with drunken babble, but now I'm just confused. Could this guy be brilliant and I'm the one who is retarded? Have I ever heard of Darwin? Is this a trick question? Is there some NEW Darwin I should know about? When I look over at the girls, they have this look on their faces that SCREAMS "HELP US" mixed with a dash of "what the hell is this guy talking about?"
Me: Like Charles Darwin? Yes. I'm very aware of him.
Kevin: Ohhh! Ohhh! You girls is so smart! Damn, pretty and smart! All 3 of y'all! Damn girls! hahaha Well, see, most schools don't teach about him the right way because he's got a different view. This Charles Darwin, man, he's got shit all wrong! Listen, listen, listen (puts his fist to his mouth sideways like he's going to clear his throat and tell us a speech with information that will blow our minds; like all he needs to do is regain his composure and clear his throat and let it flow...) I gotta tell you this. That Darwin, get this, he said that evolution happens over like, you know, generations. Like a mutation in a gene happens and then you can see the change over time but sometimes right away. He was saying that, you know, your genetics change and then you change, but he was saying the genetic mutation just happened from nothing! Like there was no genetic code there, then BOOM there was this mutated code. Ok, for real? How does something come up out of nothing? Like, a code must have been there for it to be mutated, right? Am I right? haha You know, girls you know! haha Anyway, he was saying that evolution happens on the macro level with microscopic effects on things. That's crazy! I mean, there is no evidence of evolution right now. Ok, humans have been around for a lot of generations and we're not evolving! You know what, I'm saying, girls? No proof of evolution in humans! I mean, I could understand if like, by babies will be slightly evolved to be faster, better, smarter or whatever, but they're not showing the kind of evolution Darwin was talking about! I mean, listen... it only takes 1 day to have a baby, so why aren't we seeing evolution every day? Because he was wrong! You can't have evolution on a micro level where things weren't before! I mean, that's like saying I will go to sleep tonight and something in my genes will mutate and I'll be a frog in the morning...
Me: (bored and absolutely mind-boggled at how one individual could have been let down so badly by the education system.) Yeah... waking up a frog... that would be a bad day...
The girls laugh at the "that would be a bad day" and I think he assumes that means it's time to lay it on heavier... we wanted to die.
Kevin: Yeah, for real. So, I'm just saying, Darwin didn't have his thing right! Schools need to teach it right, man! You know, it only takes 1 day to have a baby... But anyway, listen girls, I want to tell y'all I have a baby and another on the way and I'm supporting my babies. I'm getting my education and I'm working and I'm taking care of my babies. You know how it is. I take care of them. I have a successful rap career going right now, you can check me out at (he lists the website that I had no intention of ever remembering...) and get my album. I've got another one coming out here soon. You girls are so beautiful! You are! Smart and beautiful! You girls know about DARWIN! Damn! I take care of my babies! I tell you what. I want to finish up taking these classes online, make some big money and give my babies a good life. You know! Girls, it's been great talking to you. I'm Kevin! I take care of my babies. I want you to know, man, that if you put your love in The Jesus Christ anything can happen. I love The Jesus and I've got two great babies. The Jesus Christ is the one who made evolution, not Darwin. The Jesus is the man, and if you put your love in him, all things are possible! The Jesus makes it all happen. You girls have a good night! Enjoy your girls night! Get you some drinks on, get your dance on! You girls are beautiful! Love The Jesus. Be safe!
The girls and I are speechless. We have NO idea what to say to something like this. We looked at each other for several minutes in silence and finally someone spoke up and said, "what the hell was he talking about?" None of us really knew what happened, but what we were very certain of was that 10 minutes or more of our lives had been spent listening to someone refer to Jesus Christ as THE Jesus Christ, as if there was another one I could have confused him with, and babble on incorrectly about evolution and it's processes. I was dumbfounded. Kel spoke up shortly thereafter with what seemed to be the best idea of the night: Let's move to the corner of the bar where we're not noticeable. We quickly grabbed our coats, drinks, and handbags and made our way to the far corner of the bar where we assumed we would be out of sight. Roughly 15 minutes passed without incident, but as a female you can never hide in a public place when men are on the prowl. It wasn't long before the queue of men began forming and purchasing drinks and trying with all their might to hit on us. We were as polite as we could be about the whole thing, but it was one of those nights where the creepers were out in numbers. We were 3 of maybe 7 girls in the bar; we were the only ones under the age of 30; we were the only ones wearing makeup. Looking back on that night, I know I only purchased 1 round of shots for the girls. At the end of the night, however, 10 more drinks had been placed in front of my person, most of which I didn't drink and none of which I purchased myself. I guess there's something to be said about being a wounded gazelle in a room full of lions; it's the best way to have a few drinks during the recession...
Let's got back in time by about a week and a half. I had just gotten off work from the pharmacy and it had been a long, but pleasant, night. My hip wasn't in the worst of shape that evening, so I decided to seize the opportunity and call up some friends whom I knew were going out. The girls, Kelly and Megan (keep in mind, I like to change up some names), and I hit our favorite local bar with the intention of having a few drinks and enjoying the evening.
Upon arrival at this bar, it was evident that the night had potential to be a tragic evening full of creepy guys making pathetic advances. Sometimes your gut instincts should be listened to. I didn't feel much like drinking when we went into the bar, so Meg and Kel ordered a drink and we sat down at a table. We chose the table nearest the bar, but this table was also a central crossing point for access to every location. You had to pass this table when you came in the door and were approaching the bar, it was passed when heading to the restrooms from the other tables, and it was passed (and looking upon) the area where the pool tables are and the exit to the patio. Needless to say, this table was at the end of the path from the door to the bar, the bar to the pool tables, the bar to the toilets, and the bar to the exit; we were visible to the entire bar and we were vulnerable.
When a wounded gazelle stands out from the rest of the herd, it becomes a meal for the nearest predator; we were a table of wounded gazelle.
Kel and Meg were sitting across from me, facing the bar, and we were sharing humorous stories and enjoying the liberating "girls night" feeling invoked by our giggles and drinks. I noticed a man about 6 feet tall walking with a purpose toward the door. Every 4 or 5 steps he would shoot a glance over his shoulder, apparently looking to see if a friend was in tow, but continued his forward progression. When he got to the exit, he turned around and was evidently looking for a friend, but passed through the door and stood on the other side of the glass windows waiting. Not even 5 seconds later a significantly shorter white gentleman began to make his way past our table. He was roughly 5'6" with huge, baggy jeans secured only to his body by a belt and his hand holding the crotch of the jeans. He donned a white T-shirt, some sort of light jacket, and another heavy leather coat atop that; he had nice looking Timberland boots and a straight-billed hat on sideways. His huge, seemingly cheap or fake, cross necklace swayed with each drunken step he took. Just as he began to pass our table, he stopped. His eyes were barely able to stay open, but he was determined to make his presence known, and fighting the droopy eyelids he tilted his head pretty far back and said "Hey laaaaaadies.... how you all doing tonight? I'm Kevin. What are your names, lovely ladies?"
We politely introduced ourselves in the most brief and uninterested fashion possible. He didn't seem to get the hint and this is where the "fun" began...
Kevin: So, what are 3 lovely ladies like yourselves doing out tonight? You girls are beautiful! What are you up to, gals? Are you having ladies night? You know, having a few drinnnnnks after work or whatever, doing that girls thing and enjoying yourself. I know what it is! I bet you girls are doing girls night. Yeah you girls are beautiful... three beautiful girls doing girls night. Hell yes. So, what are you girls doing?
Me: We're just, you know, enjoying some drinks this evening. We're having girls night. It's been a long week and it's only Tuesday.
Kevin: Oh girl I know! So, do you girls live around here? Do you come here often? Where you girls from?
Me: We're Ohio State Students. We never come here. Ever. This is it, you'll never see us here again. (I was hoping my lies would deter him from asking to see us again...)
Kevin: Oh no way! I am taking some online courses through Ohio State. Yeah, let me tell you. I'm taking care of myself, ya heard? I'm taking classes online. Get this! I'm taking classes in Business Management while focusing on, get this, finance. Yeah, I want to learn more about finance. So what about you? What's your major? Mine is business management focusing on finance...
Me: I'm getting my undergrad in micro. (Realizing that generally only biology and other science-based majors understand "micro" is our way of saying Microbiology, I decided to clarify so he didn't assume I mean microeconomics or something.) Microbiolgy, I mean. Then I'm heading onto Pharmacy school.
Kevin: Biology, huh? That's cool. I love to study biology. But, hon, I think you mean MACRO biology. Yeah, you know, the study of like genetics and shit. Genetics and like the chemical structure of stuff. That's Macro, honey! The big picture is what you're studying, that's Macro. Micro, shit, I don't even know what that would be about! hahahaha Maybe it would be about the study of the gazelle or something.
Me: (I'm angered with this douche because I think I would know what my major is, but moreover, I just want him to go away so I'm agreeing with everything...) Yeah I guess I never thought of it like that. You're totally right about the study of the genetics. Regular Biology is the study of the gazelle, Micro is the study of the organism living in the gazelle's butthole. You're totally right about Macro.
Kevin: Yeah that's so cool. The little organisms, man, those are the big pictures! I dunno why they'd tell you it's micro. That's just crazy. Let me ask you something, let me ask you something. Girls, let me ask you something.. (In a lower, more whisper-esque tone) You ever heard of Darwin?
Now, at this point I'm experiencing a lot of different emotions. I want him to leave, I want to stop talking to this guy about my major, I'm offended that he's correcting the basis of my education with drunken babble, but now I'm just confused. Could this guy be brilliant and I'm the one who is retarded? Have I ever heard of Darwin? Is this a trick question? Is there some NEW Darwin I should know about? When I look over at the girls, they have this look on their faces that SCREAMS "HELP US" mixed with a dash of "what the hell is this guy talking about?"
Me: Like Charles Darwin? Yes. I'm very aware of him.
Kevin: Ohhh! Ohhh! You girls is so smart! Damn, pretty and smart! All 3 of y'all! Damn girls! hahaha Well, see, most schools don't teach about him the right way because he's got a different view. This Charles Darwin, man, he's got shit all wrong! Listen, listen, listen (puts his fist to his mouth sideways like he's going to clear his throat and tell us a speech with information that will blow our minds; like all he needs to do is regain his composure and clear his throat and let it flow...) I gotta tell you this. That Darwin, get this, he said that evolution happens over like, you know, generations. Like a mutation in a gene happens and then you can see the change over time but sometimes right away. He was saying that, you know, your genetics change and then you change, but he was saying the genetic mutation just happened from nothing! Like there was no genetic code there, then BOOM there was this mutated code. Ok, for real? How does something come up out of nothing? Like, a code must have been there for it to be mutated, right? Am I right? haha You know, girls you know! haha Anyway, he was saying that evolution happens on the macro level with microscopic effects on things. That's crazy! I mean, there is no evidence of evolution right now. Ok, humans have been around for a lot of generations and we're not evolving! You know what, I'm saying, girls? No proof of evolution in humans! I mean, I could understand if like, by babies will be slightly evolved to be faster, better, smarter or whatever, but they're not showing the kind of evolution Darwin was talking about! I mean, listen... it only takes 1 day to have a baby, so why aren't we seeing evolution every day? Because he was wrong! You can't have evolution on a micro level where things weren't before! I mean, that's like saying I will go to sleep tonight and something in my genes will mutate and I'll be a frog in the morning...
Me: (bored and absolutely mind-boggled at how one individual could have been let down so badly by the education system.) Yeah... waking up a frog... that would be a bad day...
The girls laugh at the "that would be a bad day" and I think he assumes that means it's time to lay it on heavier... we wanted to die.
Kevin: Yeah, for real. So, I'm just saying, Darwin didn't have his thing right! Schools need to teach it right, man! You know, it only takes 1 day to have a baby... But anyway, listen girls, I want to tell y'all I have a baby and another on the way and I'm supporting my babies. I'm getting my education and I'm working and I'm taking care of my babies. You know how it is. I take care of them. I have a successful rap career going right now, you can check me out at (he lists the website that I had no intention of ever remembering...) and get my album. I've got another one coming out here soon. You girls are so beautiful! You are! Smart and beautiful! You girls know about DARWIN! Damn! I take care of my babies! I tell you what. I want to finish up taking these classes online, make some big money and give my babies a good life. You know! Girls, it's been great talking to you. I'm Kevin! I take care of my babies. I want you to know, man, that if you put your love in The Jesus Christ anything can happen. I love The Jesus and I've got two great babies. The Jesus Christ is the one who made evolution, not Darwin. The Jesus is the man, and if you put your love in him, all things are possible! The Jesus makes it all happen. You girls have a good night! Enjoy your girls night! Get you some drinks on, get your dance on! You girls are beautiful! Love The Jesus. Be safe!
The girls and I are speechless. We have NO idea what to say to something like this. We looked at each other for several minutes in silence and finally someone spoke up and said, "what the hell was he talking about?" None of us really knew what happened, but what we were very certain of was that 10 minutes or more of our lives had been spent listening to someone refer to Jesus Christ as THE Jesus Christ, as if there was another one I could have confused him with, and babble on incorrectly about evolution and it's processes. I was dumbfounded. Kel spoke up shortly thereafter with what seemed to be the best idea of the night: Let's move to the corner of the bar where we're not noticeable. We quickly grabbed our coats, drinks, and handbags and made our way to the far corner of the bar where we assumed we would be out of sight. Roughly 15 minutes passed without incident, but as a female you can never hide in a public place when men are on the prowl. It wasn't long before the queue of men began forming and purchasing drinks and trying with all their might to hit on us. We were as polite as we could be about the whole thing, but it was one of those nights where the creepers were out in numbers. We were 3 of maybe 7 girls in the bar; we were the only ones under the age of 30; we were the only ones wearing makeup. Looking back on that night, I know I only purchased 1 round of shots for the girls. At the end of the night, however, 10 more drinks had been placed in front of my person, most of which I didn't drink and none of which I purchased myself. I guess there's something to be said about being a wounded gazelle in a room full of lions; it's the best way to have a few drinks during the recession...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
in prison you find that "fist" can be a verb
Hello world. I'd like to share some stories with you this evening. I don't really want to blog about my life in a "Dear Diary" form or one of those "this is what I did today.." deals, what I want is to let everyone into my brain and relive my past (and present and future) through humor, sarcasm, and blatant disregard for being politically correct. Let's begin now...
******
Since I was old enough to understand the concept of a person being a minority, I've been interested in finding the best minority out there. This may sound strange to everyone, and probably offensive to others, but it has been my experience in life that whenever someone "does" something or "is" something, there's some other person out there doing it better. For example: Just when the world thought Lindsey Lohan was the biggest and best train wreck to ever grace the cover of our smut magazines in the check-out lanes of Wal-Mart, Britney Spears sinks to unspeakable lows by breeding with an individual who goes by the name "K-Fed" not once, my friends, but twice. It was presumed that our sweet little ginger, Lindsey, would be the most glorious disasters, but Britney proved that shaving your head, lip-syncing, and "dancing" on stage in boots when you're giggling will somehow always trump any other epic fail that could be consuming America's desires for celebrity drama.
Lenny Kravitz came onto the scene years and years ago with his edgy style, suave moves, and that thing that made every girl want an all American bad-boy. He's very openly Jewish and, obviously, black/bi-racial. These are two groups of minorities. Now, the wheels in my head began turning when I started thinking about minority groups; there are so many minority groups, but there has to be someone who fits into a plethora of these groups at once. Then, it hit me! That "ah ha!" moment where everything makes sense seemed to fall upon me like a wave of refreshing water, and I knew what minority I wanted to someday find. Brace yourself, readers, it's intense. If this woman should exist, she might be one of the people that is doing the minority groups better than anyone else. She is the trump card! Just like when Shrek came out and the whole world thought it could never get better than that movie, BOOM, there's a Shrek 2 and 3 and Justin Timberlake is in it!
I want to know if this woman is out there, the woman who is the biggest minority:
A black, Jewish, lesbian, midget who is left handed and has two different colored eyes. Come forward, friend! Show the world you're the one who is doing it better than everyone else. If you're hiding, I can totally understand. Should you go public and make your gifts known, you'll have to do an interview with Oprah, and God knows nobody wants that.
There are a lot of tales that I have to share with all of you at some point; recent tales from the bars, tales from the stores, tales from public restrooms and God only knows where else. I want to try to blog every day, if not twice daily, to start putting these stories out there. Some are humorous, some are tragic, some are stories that will make you scratch your head and go "are you frigging kidding me?"
My best friend, Becky, has always said "Danielle, freaks, geeks, and assholes are all that seem to be attracted to us! We're like MAGNETS!"
I'm hoping to use that line as a precursor to my next entry... The Freaks, Geeks, and Assholes of My Life
Sleep Well...
******
Since I was old enough to understand the concept of a person being a minority, I've been interested in finding the best minority out there. This may sound strange to everyone, and probably offensive to others, but it has been my experience in life that whenever someone "does" something or "is" something, there's some other person out there doing it better. For example: Just when the world thought Lindsey Lohan was the biggest and best train wreck to ever grace the cover of our smut magazines in the check-out lanes of Wal-Mart, Britney Spears sinks to unspeakable lows by breeding with an individual who goes by the name "K-Fed" not once, my friends, but twice. It was presumed that our sweet little ginger, Lindsey, would be the most glorious disasters, but Britney proved that shaving your head, lip-syncing, and "dancing" on stage in boots when you're giggling will somehow always trump any other epic fail that could be consuming America's desires for celebrity drama.
Lenny Kravitz came onto the scene years and years ago with his edgy style, suave moves, and that thing that made every girl want an all American bad-boy. He's very openly Jewish and, obviously, black/bi-racial. These are two groups of minorities. Now, the wheels in my head began turning when I started thinking about minority groups; there are so many minority groups, but there has to be someone who fits into a plethora of these groups at once. Then, it hit me! That "ah ha!" moment where everything makes sense seemed to fall upon me like a wave of refreshing water, and I knew what minority I wanted to someday find. Brace yourself, readers, it's intense. If this woman should exist, she might be one of the people that is doing the minority groups better than anyone else. She is the trump card! Just like when Shrek came out and the whole world thought it could never get better than that movie, BOOM, there's a Shrek 2 and 3 and Justin Timberlake is in it!
I want to know if this woman is out there, the woman who is the biggest minority:
A black, Jewish, lesbian, midget who is left handed and has two different colored eyes. Come forward, friend! Show the world you're the one who is doing it better than everyone else. If you're hiding, I can totally understand. Should you go public and make your gifts known, you'll have to do an interview with Oprah, and God knows nobody wants that.
There are a lot of tales that I have to share with all of you at some point; recent tales from the bars, tales from the stores, tales from public restrooms and God only knows where else. I want to try to blog every day, if not twice daily, to start putting these stories out there. Some are humorous, some are tragic, some are stories that will make you scratch your head and go "are you frigging kidding me?"
My best friend, Becky, has always said "Danielle, freaks, geeks, and assholes are all that seem to be attracted to us! We're like MAGNETS!"
I'm hoping to use that line as a precursor to my next entry... The Freaks, Geeks, and Assholes of My Life
Sleep Well...
CockChucks
Last night, even though I was running a fever and feeling less than optimal, I went out with some of my girlfriends to a local bar for a bit. Now, I didn't anticipate knowing anyone there except for the handful of people I was going with and those that work at the establishment, but sometimes the best things aren't anticipated (pregnancies probably aren't on that list of "best unanticipated things").
I went into the bar last night with the preconceived notion I would be leaving in thirty minutes or less, that it would be a moderately boring night, and I would be asleep by midnight. I walked into the bar wearing the dress pants and sweater I had worn to work, and to my surprise there was a gentleman at the bar whom I love to talk to. The gentleman, Ryan, and I exchanged hugs, greetings, and "it's been forever"'s, and sat down to catch up on life. Now, Ryan is one of those guys that is just absolutely amazing to talk to. He's edgy, funny, witty, and has a great laugh and great smile. He's got an unabashed kindness to him, and has a deep and passionate appreciation for life and it's gifts and subtle nuances. He's got some piercings, tattoos, and is pretty much the most unique person I've ever met. I would say the one thing he and I most have in common is our sense of humor.
As conversation progressed with Ryan last night, I learned that he has a thing for ninjas and ninja paraphernalia. I dismissed it at first, and began to give him a hard time about the music the DJ was playing. Both Ryan and one of the bartenders were singing every line to some old-school rap song that was playing. When I exclaimed that I didn't know the words to the song, nor had I ever heard it before, I was gazed upon by both boys with a look of shock mixed with a pinch of disgust. Ryan exclaimed "it's Warren G!"
Imagine the shock on the faces of the individuals around me when I asked the obvious question: "is he of any relation to Kenny...?"
Thus began the night of harassing me for my taste in music. Now, to set the record straight, I'll listen to just about anything. I love country, rap, R&B, rock, blues, bluegrass, electronica, pop, screamo, death metal.. I think you get the picture. In a nutshell: I'll listen to anything except polka. Now, Ryan has a taste in music that is eclectic but far less main-stream and of much more obvious talent than what one could ever find on MTV. So every time I would sing the words to some new pop song and say "I love this song!" Ryan would say "you would" and simply put his head in his hands and laugh.
This went on all night, but in some turn of events we began discussing beating people up and martial arts. This is where we come full circle to the ninja discussion. Somehow or another we were discussing the different types of nunchucks he owned. He was going through the list of swords and nunchucks until he said something that triggered my smart-ass sense of humor. He said, "I've got those clear acrylic nunchucks."
My reply: "They make dildos out of that, too."
Immediately Ryan and I started laughing, but something was slightly amiss in the laughter. Suddenly Ryan and I had that moment that everyone shares with someone else in the course of their life; that moment where everything makes sense and you're both thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time. We both stopped laughing and we had smiles on our faces but the wheels were clearly turning. Our eyes were on each other, but neither was aware of what we were looking at; we were lost in thought and enraptured by the visuals racing through our minds. Ryan finally broke the silence and said to me, with the funniest tone of voice I've ever heard, "I have never, ever thought about that until this very moment." I knew what he was thinking, for I'd never thought of it before, either. He said, "in my head I see these nunchucks with these huge dildos on them!"
It was precisely what I was thinking to. Of course my head wouldn't stop there, no no, I went on to explore the mental image and set a scene in the moment where one could see, with clarity, the vision we were having. I said to him, "imagine being that guy that got beaten to death or to near death with nunchucks with acrylic dildos on the end of them. I mean, how could you even file a police report and explain to the officer you were beaten to a pulp with sex toys on a rope. It's like adding insult to injury. I can see some short, Asian man wielding nunchucks and preparing to fight. From his belt he draws them, swinging them with fury and rage in his eyes, then he stops and with one in each hand extends his arms and lets out a loud yell! All you can see is two gigantic, dangerous dildos attached with a rope. That would make for an epic movie..."
That's how the night went for me. Nothing more, nothing less; just a mere discussion of hybrid martial arts weapons. If the pornography industry is looking for a bailout, consider a merger with the weapons and oriental weapons industries; something is bound to pop off.
I went into the bar last night with the preconceived notion I would be leaving in thirty minutes or less, that it would be a moderately boring night, and I would be asleep by midnight. I walked into the bar wearing the dress pants and sweater I had worn to work, and to my surprise there was a gentleman at the bar whom I love to talk to. The gentleman, Ryan, and I exchanged hugs, greetings, and "it's been forever"'s, and sat down to catch up on life. Now, Ryan is one of those guys that is just absolutely amazing to talk to. He's edgy, funny, witty, and has a great laugh and great smile. He's got an unabashed kindness to him, and has a deep and passionate appreciation for life and it's gifts and subtle nuances. He's got some piercings, tattoos, and is pretty much the most unique person I've ever met. I would say the one thing he and I most have in common is our sense of humor.
As conversation progressed with Ryan last night, I learned that he has a thing for ninjas and ninja paraphernalia. I dismissed it at first, and began to give him a hard time about the music the DJ was playing. Both Ryan and one of the bartenders were singing every line to some old-school rap song that was playing. When I exclaimed that I didn't know the words to the song, nor had I ever heard it before, I was gazed upon by both boys with a look of shock mixed with a pinch of disgust. Ryan exclaimed "it's Warren G!"
Imagine the shock on the faces of the individuals around me when I asked the obvious question: "is he of any relation to Kenny...?"
Thus began the night of harassing me for my taste in music. Now, to set the record straight, I'll listen to just about anything. I love country, rap, R&B, rock, blues, bluegrass, electronica, pop, screamo, death metal.. I think you get the picture. In a nutshell: I'll listen to anything except polka. Now, Ryan has a taste in music that is eclectic but far less main-stream and of much more obvious talent than what one could ever find on MTV. So every time I would sing the words to some new pop song and say "I love this song!" Ryan would say "you would" and simply put his head in his hands and laugh.
This went on all night, but in some turn of events we began discussing beating people up and martial arts. This is where we come full circle to the ninja discussion. Somehow or another we were discussing the different types of nunchucks he owned. He was going through the list of swords and nunchucks until he said something that triggered my smart-ass sense of humor. He said, "I've got those clear acrylic nunchucks."
My reply: "They make dildos out of that, too."
Immediately Ryan and I started laughing, but something was slightly amiss in the laughter. Suddenly Ryan and I had that moment that everyone shares with someone else in the course of their life; that moment where everything makes sense and you're both thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time. We both stopped laughing and we had smiles on our faces but the wheels were clearly turning. Our eyes were on each other, but neither was aware of what we were looking at; we were lost in thought and enraptured by the visuals racing through our minds. Ryan finally broke the silence and said to me, with the funniest tone of voice I've ever heard, "I have never, ever thought about that until this very moment." I knew what he was thinking, for I'd never thought of it before, either. He said, "in my head I see these nunchucks with these huge dildos on them!"
It was precisely what I was thinking to. Of course my head wouldn't stop there, no no, I went on to explore the mental image and set a scene in the moment where one could see, with clarity, the vision we were having. I said to him, "imagine being that guy that got beaten to death or to near death with nunchucks with acrylic dildos on the end of them. I mean, how could you even file a police report and explain to the officer you were beaten to a pulp with sex toys on a rope. It's like adding insult to injury. I can see some short, Asian man wielding nunchucks and preparing to fight. From his belt he draws them, swinging them with fury and rage in his eyes, then he stops and with one in each hand extends his arms and lets out a loud yell! All you can see is two gigantic, dangerous dildos attached with a rope. That would make for an epic movie..."
That's how the night went for me. Nothing more, nothing less; just a mere discussion of hybrid martial arts weapons. If the pornography industry is looking for a bailout, consider a merger with the weapons and oriental weapons industries; something is bound to pop off.
Standard "Greeting" Post... how boring.
So I've decided to take it upon myself to begin blogging. I've blogged before, via Myspace and LiveJournal, but those got old after some time. I've tried keeping that whole "Dear Diary" bullshit, but if nobody is around to read it, why write it down? I don't suppose the best autobiographies were the ones never read.
Quick background on myself:
I'm 24 years old, I'm 4'9" (yes, giggle if you please, I'll be the first to make a short joke.. lol), I've had 2 hip surgeries in the last year and a half (and a third scheduled for July), I'm a student at The Ohio State University, and I work in a pharmacy. I'm pretty boring, overall, but the most amazing things seem to happen to me. Many of the tales in my life aren't really great stories where everyone comes out happy, smiling, and excited, but I wouldn't take it back for the world! My life may not be the best right now, being a gimp and all, but I'm making the best of it! I love to go shopping, I love fashion, and I love things that most girls are not interested in. I am passionate about Buckeye Football, MMA, Boxing, and very obscure sports like World's Strongest Man. I love trucks, tractor pulls, rodeos, cowboy hats, Chanel bags, high heels, and anything with diamonds!
Quick background on myself:
I'm 24 years old, I'm 4'9" (yes, giggle if you please, I'll be the first to make a short joke.. lol), I've had 2 hip surgeries in the last year and a half (and a third scheduled for July), I'm a student at The Ohio State University, and I work in a pharmacy. I'm pretty boring, overall, but the most amazing things seem to happen to me. Many of the tales in my life aren't really great stories where everyone comes out happy, smiling, and excited, but I wouldn't take it back for the world! My life may not be the best right now, being a gimp and all, but I'm making the best of it! I love to go shopping, I love fashion, and I love things that most girls are not interested in. I am passionate about Buckeye Football, MMA, Boxing, and very obscure sports like World's Strongest Man. I love trucks, tractor pulls, rodeos, cowboy hats, Chanel bags, high heels, and anything with diamonds!
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