Thanksgiving Leftover Haikus

Ode to the current state of my fridge:

Reddi Whip spray can
Happiness squirts to and fro
Mouth not closed since Thurs

White meat dark meat meh
Turkey I don't like you much
But I eats you up!!

Random chocolate cake
Bought you cuz Uncle Bob lame
WHO hates pumpkin pie?!

Mashed potato clumps
I saw what went into you
Butter was on sale?

Sweet potato mush
All day in the slow cooker
Hot tub- can I join?

Josh's applesauce
Made with bourbon...and lovin'
Maddie will get that

Stuffing made with sage
Crusty ends give me reason
Not to end my life

Cranberry relish
I did not eat you last week
Look like crime scene bleck

Karen's pumpkin bundts
You ready for this jelly?
She put crack in them

Fajitas from Fri
Grandma says they gave her gas
We so related

:(

I have not posted in awhile. This is not because I am a blog quitter. This is because my life has changed due to Thanksgiving activities. Classes canceled, babysitting nixed for the week, family coming into town and throwing off my exercise/focus entirely on myself schedule...what's a girl to do? Ahh yes, lose all her inspiration and become a grumpasaurus rex.

Things just get weird for me when I veer too far from my routine. I forget how to read for class. How to run. How to enjoy soup. Haha jk that would never happen. But seriously, I've worn jeans around the house for longer than the time it takes to get from my car to my bedroom, and that's saying something. How EVER will I survive Christmas break?

Pinkish-Purple Bedroom Confessions

Because I can't afford taxi cabs.

So I recently acquired a dandy refurbished iPod, a situation which I'll entitle "The best thing that has ever happened to my pathetic running career." With the motivation of music, I can now run 0.7 miles rather than 0.5 before my left knee breaks off and I melt into my own sweat and die. Let it be known I was not an iPod v-card holder before this magical occurrence. I had a first generation iPod that I got for my 19th birthday, and after a good three years of life, it pooped out. Convinced that I'm not one of those "music snobs" or "boring people" who constantly need tunes blaring in their ears because they don't have the mental capacity to create their own entertainment (because getting your jollies from staring out train windows and imagining people getting pizza pies thrown as them is mature and intellectual thinking), I didn't replace it. Read: I don't like to spend money on things that are not wearable or don't come in cheese-melted-on-bread form.

But on Friday, I remembered why I so adore the iPod. I always run with it on shuffle, but this time THE best playlist kept forming. And then I had what can only be termed a playlistgasm as, right after "Gimme Just One Night (Una Noche)" by 98 Degress (mmm hmm. Judge away) ended, I hear the one and only Sisqo telling me "Hold up" and I knew, I KNEW, it was Lil Kim time.

So yeeeep CONFESSIONZZ I'm a small little white woman from the suburbs, and my role model is Lil Kim. Why? Because she is a sexual mama and embraces it. Because she made a career for herself with lyrics that, when broken down, are basically just "GO DOWN ON ME FOOL!" And oh, fool will. Because Lil Kim gets what she wants; she can make a Sprite can disappear in her mouth, and that's my definition of power.

In my Human Sex class we learn how important it is to be a sexual person, to take pride in our sexuality and help others realize their own sexual potential. It's the only way to get what we want in bed (and some could argue in life). And the one and only Kimberly is not afraid to demand what she wants, without even the slightest blush. I mean,

"Puerto Rican papi, used to be a deacon
Now he be suckin me off on the weekend" ???

Pure. Poetry.

I used to argue with my super conservative ex-boyfriend constantly because he thought her music was terrible and slutty and distasteful and incredibly harmful for women. I argued the opposite, that if more women embraced the power of their sexuality and demanded orgasms 'round the clock, we'd be a happier and more productive society. And "How Many Licks?" is such a prime example! You get the melodious voice of Sisqo, a great representation of diversity (a white dude- his name was John, the Puerto Rican papi, the BLEEEP from down south, Tony who was Italian, and the black dude we'll call King Kong) superb descriptive language ("a hurricane tongue"- genius!), and, well...you get 15-year-old me and my friend Ali listening and looking at each other asking "Is this making you horny?" "...aaaabsolutely" and come on, every girl needs that sort of bonding moment.

If Lil Kim knew the fan she had in me she'd probably laugh and maybe want to jump me. And I think that makes me love her even more.

sigh

seriously? That was a pretty good would you rather.

Note to self: when coming home drunk and bingeing on mom's cookin, don't leave a note that says "Loved the eggplant parm, next time easy on the rosemary?" prob wont go over well we shall see.

Would You Rather?

I thought of this one in class. I'd love to hear thoughts:

Would you rather have the power to lightly zap someone when they're doing something annoying, or a tiny button on your abdomen that, when pressed, made the urge to pee go away for another 3 hours with no health risks?

Zap:
Pros include getting out your anger as well as training people to behave better in public. It's just a little zap, like the electric shock you might get in winter when touching a metal door, but it could condition people to quit their behavior if used wisely. For example, the guy on the train clippity clippin' those nails behind me? Clip ZAP. Clip ZAP. Eventually he puts two and two together and stops clipping for the moment. The annoying women who sit behind me in Research Methods and whisper constantly? Whisper ZAP. Whisper again ZAP. You get the picture.
Cons, for me at least, are minimal, BUT we have to consider that I might take too much pleasure in it and become a full-out sadist.

Pee-Control Button:
Pros include never having to race to beat the line at intermission during a show- you've got another three hours before you need to go! You can comfortably enjoy an entire baseball game or avoid a skanky bar bathroom. Long car trips can be planned to avoid stops, since you pee when you eat or get gas, never in between. No constant peeing when out on the town enjoying drinks. Never having to pee in a bush.
Cons include having a ridiculous button to explain to the man or woman you take home after meeting them at a bar and enjoying a blissfully uninterrupted 3-hour talk-and-flirt fest. And people thinking you are a robot. Or have really concentrated, goldenrod-colored pee.

So White I'm Almost Translucent

Slapping my forehead and grunting, "My GOD I am so white" has become a daily occurrence. Like when I find myself saying things like, "My dad gets so pissed when the cleaning ladies move his scale and the calibration gets all whacked out" or "I can't believe the dog groomer didn't put a bandana on Dodger- good thing we have three just lying around!"

Nothing makes me feel whiter than listening to "Sexy Can I" by Brandy I-Accidentally-Plowed-Into-Another-Car's younger brother, Ray J. The first time I heard the line "Sexy can I, visit you at work?" I immediately thought of this scenario*:

Ray J. enters his lady friend's office building hiding flowers behind his back. She sees him out of the corner of her eye from her cubicle. While taking off her adorable work glasses and straightening her blazer, she rushes towards him with a big hug/kiss for being so thoughtful.

Too bad the next line is:
"While you slide down the pole no panties no shirt." Right. Don't think Bob McArthur in HR would find that appropriate.

Next:
"I make it rain in the club." This was actually the first time I ever heard this expression, and the first thing I thought of was everyone frantically trying to cover their Chi-straightened hair after the overhead sprinklers came on, running and screaming and causing general chaos a la the Mean Girls scene after the Burn Book turns the junior girls into reglur ol' jungle animals.

Finally:
"Got a girl at the crib, we can take it to the mo-mo." At first listen I thought he was suggesting taking his date to the MoMa. As in the Museum of Modern Art. Mmm hmm. That's right.

WHAT THE HELL IS A MO MO?

*I'M NOT ACTUALLY RACIST ALERT*
Let it be known that I always imagined these scenarios taking place with Ray J. and his African American lady love. Let's just clear that up. I'm not trying to imply that only white people can do certain things like work in cubicles, receive flowers mid-day, visit museums and use Chi irons. I'm just tres naive for assuming an employed woman featured in a hip hop song isn't automatically a stripper. My bad.

My God I'm Uninspired

Nothing exciting has happened to me recently. Nothing even remotely funny or that I could possibly turn into being funny. I Googled myself and read some of my sex columns from college, which I now find remarkably un-funny, so I've lost all faith in myself to ever be funny again.

A really fat woman sat on me on the train while she tried to sit down. That's about it for any material I've got. If my left thigh was a rainbow, she woulda made Skittles. badumchaa

The $6 Offer Returns...

So yesterday in class my Intro to Health Ed professor reached into his pocket, grabbed his wallet and said "I'll give all the small bills in here to the person who can tell me what McGinnis argued and why" and he pulled out a FIVE and a ONE.








Ok that didn't happen, it's a complete lie, but my life is really boring these days so I thought I'd spice it up.

More!

I'm not the only one! Read this from the NYT complaint box. I came down to breakfast this morning and my mom had left it out for me with the simple note: "OMG". She knows me too well.

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/11/06/complaint-box-public-grooming/

Thoughts from the class?

Rather than post to my online discussion section (no, I am not 'a Phoenix,' I am a ghetto wannabe Lion who takes the Easy Way Out, which as a title was taken when I wanted to create this blog), I thought I'd present some discussion topics here that have been burning through the gray crevasses of my brain.

1. When two people get married it would make sense to get on the same cell phone family plan, right? Or at least, in my case, to cut the cord and break free from my family plan that I'm still on and that my mom still pays $9.99 a month for or something (thanks Shel!). But Joe and I are on different networks and I'm sure our contracts wont end at the same time. How can we ever combine plans without one of us lurching through life for a few months on a GASP pay as you go plan? Is there a special Marriage Waiver that allows you to break a contract as long as you show a marriage license from the past three months? DOES ANYONE ELSE EVER THINK ABOUT THESE THINGS? Thoughts?

2. Why is it physically impossible to take more than 45 seconds to eat a banana or a string cheese? You can actively try to slow yourself down but seriously, time yourself, that shit's gone in under a minute. THOUGHTS?

3. A vast amount of people today seem to think it is socially acceptable to clip their nails in public? What do you think has changed in American society over the past 50 years to let this travesty occur? How can we, as a clean and considerate society, fight back against this evil breaking us apart from within?

4. Ever since seeing "Man of the House" in 1995 at the height of my JTT-lovin phase, I've always been afraid of my brakes cutting out when conveniently coasting down the hilly streets of San Francisco, like what happens to Chevy Chase's character. Why am I a cognitive fartmonger? Discuss.

5. Are crevice and crevasse the same thing? Why or why not?

I hate dreams

Last night I had a dream that my Introduction to Health Education professor invited me over for wine and offered me $6, a five and a one, to be precise, to have sex with him. I can never go to class again.

Joe Arrives Tonight!

When I flew to San Diego to visit Joe, I was very clear that I wanted to be met at baggage claim with flowers. Because I am needy and I like pretty things and feeling loved. And I will not let Joe give up on romance before we're even married. No way Joe-say. So when Joe arrives this evening, I, being the true wannabe feminist I...wanna be...thought, why NOT meet him at baggage claim with flowers? Why can't we get equal loving treatment?

And then I thought...

But what if he gets off the plane from China and he's with an Asian woman and omigod he's clearly with her and now I have to pretend the flowers are for her even though golly woops how would I have known she'd be with him as their newfound love is a surprise!!! And then somehow I'd get punched in the face. And my life is produced by Bright Kauffman Crane.

Bringing Awkward Back

Everyone always talks about how socially awkward they are. And yes, at times, we all are. But I think I'm more awkward than most. Take my absolute inability to make eye contact. Or maintain a conversation about something other than myself without fumbling my hands or tripping over things or accidentally falling asleep. Or not blush when my name is spoken. Or the name Allison is ever spoken. "Gah, ME, WHAT?"
After a phone conversation with Planned Parenthood reps yesterday- you know, in an attempt to make a great impression and pitch my idea for my integrative thesis project, essentially deciding the fate of my second semester in grad school- that went something like this "HI let me immediately jump into my pitch giggle giggle OH you're just a volunteer answering phones hee hee snort nervous voice OH see I just don't even know if what I want to do is possible la la oh it is SUPER DUPER giggle breathy voice haven't stopped talking at all oh, you want my NAME? Oh hee hee sorry guess I should have told you that earlier!" ...so, yes, after this phone call, I took a breather to reflect on the awkward moments of my life. Not the embarrassing ones, as there is a difference (getting a bicycle wheel thrust between your legs while walking, then having it catapult you forward, landing in a heap in front of Tech, was NOT awkward, ok? It was humiliating. People confuse awkwardness with other emotions/acts, but let me be clear, awkwardness involves your being at fault, so here the bike wheel was awkward, I guess, or the bike rider who LEFT ME IN A HEAP and rode off, but hey, I'm over it...clearly).
And I came across what stands out in my memory as social awkwardness in its purest form. To this day the upcoming memory gives me chills and makes me blush:

When I was a sophomore I was pretty much massively in love with this guy Lew. After getting a mutual friend to give him my screen name with the implication that I Want His Bod, and us engaging in two months of endless IM bantering (I'm so much better online than in life, at...everything in life), we finally met up for a vodka-infused-get-all-the-way-to-second-base rendezvous at Jen's grandmother's friend's house. Anyway, the time finally came when Lew (who was a senior, and effortlessly cool, and had millions of friends in other places and absolutely no motivation to hang out with a lame sophomore who rolled her eyes due to an astigmatism and was a big ol' whoppin' virgin) made the plans to come over to my house when my parents were out. When the car dropping him off pulled up I broke out into nervous sweats, practically soaking through my mustard-colored "Ride 'Em Cowboy" Abercrombie shirt Lauren had gotten me for HannuChristmas that seemed so adorably appropriate for this night. (Note: I wasn't planning on losing my v-card to him and did not, but I was under the impression that no guy is immune from being turned on by mustard-colored innuendo). But Abercrombie shirts are notoriously tight in the armpit so you're really asking for it. So he knocks on my door, and completely I lose my cool. I had images of racily jumping on him and wrapping my legs around his waist in the doorway, or seductively running my hands up his scrawny bod while he pulled me close. Either scenario involved a quick journey to my bedroom. Did this happen? No. I opened the door, yelled "HI! WANNA GO ON A TOUR OF MY HOUSE?" And proceeded to take him all over, with a mid-point stop in the basement. The highlight of this, and what is memorable to me as an experience of my insane awkwardness, is when I took him even further away from the bedroom to show him our cedar closet in the basement.

That's right: "Here's the cedar closet! I like, didn't know we even had it, but it keeps off-season stuff smelling good!"
I vividly remember the look on his face. The look of boredom, impatience, confusion, wanting to shoot himself, pity towards me- the look of a guy who had clearly taken valuable time out of his night with the simple expectation of being fellated and is now face to face with a rack fulla winter coats.

Soon after that we had the "and thiiiis is my bedroom!" unsexy Vanna White moment and we proceeded to very uncomfortably get to third base this time. He left that night and we never hooked up again and I'm convinced the reason he didn't fall madly in love with me is because I'll always be The Girl Who Bragged About Her Cedar Closet in his head.

The end.