I Think I Can Safely Say I've Eaten Too Much Kimchi

Recently at an STI presentation a 7th grader asked me when we know we’re going through puberty. That’s a tough question to answer, especially if you’re me and awkward and bumbling and not quick on your feet. I gave him some half-assed answer about how our hormones usually give us signals, like how we’re suddenly interested in people sexually, or get moody more often and can’t always figure out why. So the next day I was out lightly jogging, and I thought about his question again, and vividly remembered when I realized I was going through puberty. One June night in sixth grade, I guess I either dreamed it or I don’t know just thought of it somehow, but I heard in my head the song “One More Try” by Timmy T. (oh yes, had to Google that one*) and woke up SOBBING. S-O-B-B-I-N-G. The lyrics just broke my heart and I sobbed from about 3am through my alarm clock. Oh jes, that is puberty. Unless we’re counting the sex dream I had in third grade about scissoring Yosmendy in my powder room. Third. Grade. Sigh.
*Here is Timmy T c. 1991 and O M G thank me later. I love the Star Search-esque background, the obvious superior dancing skills of Backup Dancer on Left, Timmy’s extreme need for Clean & Clear’s Oil Absorbing Strips, his sharp enunciation…it’s just classic. TRY not to cry.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPLZIdetFSc

ART IMITATES LIFE

This happens to me ALL the time. In this case, we're using "art" loosely, although in all cases we use "life" loosely in my situation...anyway, my bra strap just broke and I was fixing it while listening to that heinous Drake (Jimmy! JIMMY!) song and suddenly he says "make your bra strap pop" and out loud I yelled "SEE?!THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS" Because this always happens to me. Ok bye.

Things that bother me for no real reason, and don't harm anyone at all, but still bother me, #3535

The way magazines MUST credit every scrap of fabric shown. It'll be an article about forehead wrinkles, right? So it's totally zoomed up to a forehead. But wait! WAIT! In the bottom right-hand corner, almost completely out of view, we see a blur of what seems to be the collar of a crew-neck tee. Gray, perhaps. But lest this go without credit. There WILL be a note: "Shirt, Gap; see 'Go Shopping'" and that's also what really irks me, I need Glamour's expert advice on WHERE TO FIND A GAP STORE? For a gray crew-neck tee? Okay, enough. It just really bothers me. Theeee end.

Whoever smelt it

Now this may only be a phenomenon known to me, but you know how sometimes you're in the shower and you notice a distinct scent of food or something not shower-related? And you briefly have a shock-and-terror feeling of "oh my GOD is this coming off me? Do I GIVE OFF this smell?" Although with me it's a feeling of power and grace because I'd love to constantly smell like meat/other odorous foodstuffs all the time. But tonight, it was egg rolls. And not a quick whiff of "hmm, that smells most like egg rolls." No. First there was that aroma of overcooked pork chunks. Then came the distinct layer of cabbage. And then, what's that? Delicious deep fried shell? Don't mind if I DO! (or smell).
So my new invention is shampoo, conditioner, body wash and shaving cream that smells like food. Not "Cotton Candy!" or "Brownie Decadence." I'm talking "State Fair Corn Dog" or "Brownish Slightly Burnt Area of Mac n Cheese."
Investors, speak up early.

To a man in the streets but a freak in the bed

I think I respect Ludacris the most of anyone ever...in the world. Only because of the way he insists on loudly introducing himself before he cuts in on any song. Seriously. Whether it’s “Heeeeeeey LUDA! (watch out for outfits ridiculous…)” or just the no-frills “LUDA!” in Justin Bieber’s newest chart topper, he makes himself known. I was thinking of this last night when I was in bed waiting to fall asleep (in retrospect, mentally singing along with rap songs doesn’t do much to lower the heart rate…), how weirdly jealous I am and how much I wish I could do it myself. Then I imagined this scenario: I raise my hand to contribute to the discussion in class, get called on and, “ALLISON! So I completely agree with Phoebe’s points but would also add…” and I think I laughed myself to sleep. God, everyone would think I had Tourette’s. Or Aspergers. Or something else other than a deep, heartfelt respect for the one, the only, Ludacris.

True Life: My GPS Is Trying to Kill Me

Yesterday it demanded I make a left turn. Down a one-way street. Then it took me up a huge windy, potholey mountain road with no outlet at the top. Surely so I would get a flat. And have to walk to find help. And get raped and die. Yep. It’s got an agenda alright.

Song Lyrics Come to Life

I just got off the phone with HP tech support and acknowledge that I am experiencing murderous thoughts. That I want to board the next plane to "The United States" and give "Erelin" a piece of my mind. Every time I nicely ask if it's possible to speak with a supervisor to solve my problem, please don't tell me this wouldn't be an issue if I'd just purchased the full-year plan at double the price. It's the grown up HP way of saying "naa naanny poo poo." AND I HAVE HAD ENOUGH. Hence, I decided to take the edge off with a little Diet Swiss Miss and Fun with Paint. This is my new de-stressor; I just open up Paint when I'm down, draw out my thoughts, and feel instantly better. And this is one I've been wanting to draw for awhile. You know how in "You Belong With Me" Taylor Swift sings "Walkin the streets with you in your worn out jeans" but it sounds so much like "Walkin the streets with you AND your worn out jeans?" And you start to imagine that scene in your head? And giggle? No? That only happens to me? Well...FINE THEN. I decided to draw it and I haven't stopped laughing since. It's hard to make jeans look worn out, okay? Enjoy.