Thursday, November 10, 2005
Real Life is Too Much
I got home from working out probably too hard and fast and I changed my clothes. My sister called out to me, "Emily, I have something to show you." I followed after her but stayed in the kitchen as she went to the garage and rummaged through an apple box. She pulled out two brown, long things and the first thing that came to my mind was yams. I thought she had some prize long, skinny yams she wanted to show me. Random, yes, but nothing could prepare me for the shock as she cried out "Deer legs!" like we were starving castaways about to stew the last of Earth's protein. She held them into the light so I could quease better -- er, uh see better and recounted the where-the-red-fern-grows story of a disemboweled deer running around BYU campus, adding emphasis when needed with hoof motions as her hands were correspondingly occupied. The severed tendons would bulge in and out of the fur as the hoof hopelessly waved at me, a motion like an unconscious drunk on a rollercoaster. At one point, fascinated with her own strange luck at being the recipient of two deer legs, she clicked the exposed bones together and said too honestly, "Em, when I watched them saw the head off I almost lost it." All I could do was hyperventilate and hold the bridge of my nose. Give me a break! I just worked out. Imagine what could be done with two legs of a deer...nightmares tonight
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Timberrrrrr
So, I was working out at 24hour fitness (I'm thinking of joining) and I ran into a famous person's friend. Well, this man didn't run into me, he came up to me as I was working my hamstrings, we'll call him Jan (with a German pronunciation so it sounds like "Yawn" but stiffer, ya know, cuz the Germans are stiff--and I can say that, I've been there). Jan, who is not German (...well, we never got around to discussing tribes), seemed like a jolly good chap and his opening line was not, "I'm the friend of a famous person," it was, "How tall are you?" I don't know which I'd prefer as an opening line, but I've heard the latter much more often than the former. Anyway, His famous friend is an NBA star that recently injured his wrist, so I hear. Since I'm "about 6'2" without the shoes" (I was wearing Z-CoiLs when I replied to his opening line) he figured I'm a perfect match for his famous buddy we'll call Clark. I've never seriously dated a guy under 6'2" so I guess I've been lucky to find some tall ones, or have some tall one's buddy find me working out at the gym.
So, Jan was on the left side of the machine and an old guy was at the leg machine to the right. The old man had spied my shoes moments before Jan's arrival and started flirtin with me. Clark already has competition. Anyway, after the arrival of Jan, the old man returned and repeated what he'd overheard, "You're going on a mission?" I'd told Jan, because it was true. I told the old man it was true. I turn in the papers tomorrow and so I hope that means I'll be getting a call sometime soon. I'll let you all know, of course. I don't think the old man will ever find out where I get called to. Who knows, maybe I'll see him at the gym again. I've derailed if ever there was a sensible track I was on.....oh well, really not much to say anyway. ta ta
So, Jan was on the left side of the machine and an old guy was at the leg machine to the right. The old man had spied my shoes moments before Jan's arrival and started flirtin with me. Clark already has competition. Anyway, after the arrival of Jan, the old man returned and repeated what he'd overheard, "You're going on a mission?" I'd told Jan, because it was true. I told the old man it was true. I turn in the papers tomorrow and so I hope that means I'll be getting a call sometime soon. I'll let you all know, of course. I don't think the old man will ever find out where I get called to. Who knows, maybe I'll see him at the gym again. I've derailed if ever there was a sensible track I was on.....oh well, really not much to say anyway. ta ta
Saturday, October 22, 2005
If I
If I were a spider I wouldn't last long. Instead of a web, I'd spin a hammock and gently sway life away.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
24 hour spot in the universe
Today I took my sister to the airport and went to my mom's shoe store. She likes me to work there when my sister (who's really the only one that knows what to do) and my uncle and my other sister and she and my dad can't. I'm definitely the last resort as employee. In fact, I don't know why she even lets me go in there as she basically fired me from there two summers ago. She got complaints from customers that the service was crappy and unprofessional. Then as I remind her that I'm worthless to her in this capacity, she says something like, "well, we all have to do things we don't want to and maybe you've gotten better...." Well, I thought I was doing just fine when, according to these customers, I was no better than a cardboard cutout. But guess what? I sold a pair of shoes. They're Z-CoiL shoes. They're very neat. Go to www.zcoil.com if you don't believe me. They work! I've got some myself. Very nice for running, standing, walking, etc. Nurses, you'll love them.
Also today I got a job as a substitute teacher. That's something I've never been before. I'm excited.
Last night I got hot under my covers so I kicked and pulled my p.j. bottoms off. For the life of me, I could not find them when I woke up. I tore my bed apart and looked through all the dirty and clean-ish laundry all over my floor and still no luck. I looked under the bed and found a plastic sandwich bag full of raw almonds.... I was in Alaska for five months, don't ask me how they got there. Anyway, when I went to get dressed to go running I redoubled my efforts in the search for the great white bottoms (p.j. bottoms, remember) and I lifted the big, deliciously soft body pillow on my bed and voila (is that how you spell that?) there they were. So, with a white shirt, dern white skin and white Z-CoiL Freedom 2000s now added to my white pants, I looked like a great white candy cane ready for a lickin! But who really got the licking was the spider I saw on my ceiling right before I left to go running.
I'm a murder, yes. If they infiltrate my habitat, they die. That's all there is to it. They've always been portrayed as evil and dangerous, and they startle me every time I see one. So, mostly for being so unfairly startling for their size is why they meet their death when they meet me. I know. It's so unfair.
Also today I got a job as a substitute teacher. That's something I've never been before. I'm excited.
Last night I got hot under my covers so I kicked and pulled my p.j. bottoms off. For the life of me, I could not find them when I woke up. I tore my bed apart and looked through all the dirty and clean-ish laundry all over my floor and still no luck. I looked under the bed and found a plastic sandwich bag full of raw almonds.... I was in Alaska for five months, don't ask me how they got there. Anyway, when I went to get dressed to go running I redoubled my efforts in the search for the great white bottoms (p.j. bottoms, remember) and I lifted the big, deliciously soft body pillow on my bed and voila (is that how you spell that?) there they were. So, with a white shirt, dern white skin and white Z-CoiL Freedom 2000s now added to my white pants, I looked like a great white candy cane ready for a lickin! But who really got the licking was the spider I saw on my ceiling right before I left to go running.
I'm a murder, yes. If they infiltrate my habitat, they die. That's all there is to it. They've always been portrayed as evil and dangerous, and they startle me every time I see one. So, mostly for being so unfairly startling for their size is why they meet their death when they meet me. I know. It's so unfair.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Some....Things
I don't really know the purpose of this post.
I went to my boyfriend's grandparents house and I really had to pee so I went......into their bathroom to relieve myself. I sat on the toilet. The seat was rimmed with a cream-colored memory-foam-life-vest-thing seat cover. It's a good thing memory foam doesn't collect memories. just sayin. it was intensely comfortable, plus my temporary throne was about two to three times higher than the average toilet. It's really no wonder that fragile-bottomed old people have cushy seats on their toilets. The bathroom is the third (a very-close second) most important room in the house so why not have a comfortable seat on which to relieve yourself? Ah, cushioned toilet seat, years it had been and hopefully years it will be before we meet again.
Still, I felt royal upon my flushing throne, so tall and grandiose. I'm about six feet and two inches from the floor, so tall stools (I know we're talking a lot of potty here, but not those kind of stools), tall chairs, tall cars and trucks, and even animals are a blessing. I love not having to bend over to get in or on or out or off of something. That's a lot of 'o' words. I get envious of little kids sometimes when they sit on a chair and can kick their dwarfish dangling legs. I love doing that when I get the chance. I couldn't dangle my legs from this toilet, and though I couldn't have the childlike wish of my heart, I still didn't have to stand up.... it was really just more of a step forward.
From Rexbug, Idaho to Raymond, Alberta, Canadia it usually takes about 7 1/2 hours. That's if bf speeds. We drove with a total of ten people in two cars. And he sped. We got pulled over because his car was missing a head light. The cop that took his license and registration looked really young, looked inexperienced to the ways of doughnuts, had no facial hair and innocent-type eyes. With my extensive experience as a detective I noticed the old, fat, mustached cop accompanying the young cop and figured this proto-cop at our window was in training. He asked if he knew why he got pulled over and bf said, "because I don't have a headlight?" That was the right answer. Did I mention that two hours earlier we hit a deer? It was crossing the road to our right, causing the car to lay down some sweet skid marks toward the left, but her butt hit the right front of the car, where she left some poop on the bumper, and her face whipped around to her right and hit the passenger side door where she drooled her last drool, and the impact broke at least her back right leg, and she died somewhere in Montana. With her life she took the headlight but left some dents that will forever remind him of the moment. It's an '89 Chevrolet Caprice beast; the poor dear didn't stand a chance. That's the first deer death I've been involved in. The second police pullover ("no, it's a cardigan!".....), and the third time I've been in a car stuttering to a stop for lack of life sustaining fluids. Yep, same trip we ran out of gas. Hairy story trimmed short, we made it to Canadia (I'm saying Canadia on purpose) eleven hours from the starting line.
I know you're not supposed to remove anything from National Parks in the USA, but I didn't know any better in Canadia. Nobody official-like knows yet, but I found something in Waterton National Park and now it's in Utah. Somehow it made it into my purse and back to Utah. And actually, now I'm the Queen of Waterton National Park. No one official-like knows that either. I'm not sure if I want to really assume any responsibility, but it's nice to know that I'm important in a foreign country. So, we were all skippin stones. I was unusually sucky at skipping stones so I sat down to just find the coolest one to take home with me. The sky above was clouded and aboot the time my eyes beheld my treasure, the heavens opened and a pillar of light shone upon me. I reached out and pulled a three-inch, plastic, gray sword from the stones. No joke. I always felt I was destined for dispensable, international semi-greatness.
I went to my boyfriend's grandparents house and I really had to pee so I went......into their bathroom to relieve myself. I sat on the toilet. The seat was rimmed with a cream-colored memory-foam-life-vest-thing seat cover. It's a good thing memory foam doesn't collect memories. just sayin. it was intensely comfortable, plus my temporary throne was about two to three times higher than the average toilet. It's really no wonder that fragile-bottomed old people have cushy seats on their toilets. The bathroom is the third (a very-close second) most important room in the house so why not have a comfortable seat on which to relieve yourself? Ah, cushioned toilet seat, years it had been and hopefully years it will be before we meet again.
Still, I felt royal upon my flushing throne, so tall and grandiose. I'm about six feet and two inches from the floor, so tall stools (I know we're talking a lot of potty here, but not those kind of stools), tall chairs, tall cars and trucks, and even animals are a blessing. I love not having to bend over to get in or on or out or off of something. That's a lot of 'o' words. I get envious of little kids sometimes when they sit on a chair and can kick their dwarfish dangling legs. I love doing that when I get the chance. I couldn't dangle my legs from this toilet, and though I couldn't have the childlike wish of my heart, I still didn't have to stand up.... it was really just more of a step forward.
From Rexbug, Idaho to Raymond, Alberta, Canadia it usually takes about 7 1/2 hours. That's if bf speeds. We drove with a total of ten people in two cars. And he sped. We got pulled over because his car was missing a head light. The cop that took his license and registration looked really young, looked inexperienced to the ways of doughnuts, had no facial hair and innocent-type eyes. With my extensive experience as a detective I noticed the old, fat, mustached cop accompanying the young cop and figured this proto-cop at our window was in training. He asked if he knew why he got pulled over and bf said, "because I don't have a headlight?" That was the right answer. Did I mention that two hours earlier we hit a deer? It was crossing the road to our right, causing the car to lay down some sweet skid marks toward the left, but her butt hit the right front of the car, where she left some poop on the bumper, and her face whipped around to her right and hit the passenger side door where she drooled her last drool, and the impact broke at least her back right leg, and she died somewhere in Montana. With her life she took the headlight but left some dents that will forever remind him of the moment. It's an '89 Chevrolet Caprice beast; the poor dear didn't stand a chance. That's the first deer death I've been involved in. The second police pullover ("no, it's a cardigan!".....), and the third time I've been in a car stuttering to a stop for lack of life sustaining fluids. Yep, same trip we ran out of gas. Hairy story trimmed short, we made it to Canadia (I'm saying Canadia on purpose) eleven hours from the starting line.
I know you're not supposed to remove anything from National Parks in the USA, but I didn't know any better in Canadia. Nobody official-like knows yet, but I found something in Waterton National Park and now it's in Utah. Somehow it made it into my purse and back to Utah. And actually, now I'm the Queen of Waterton National Park. No one official-like knows that either. I'm not sure if I want to really assume any responsibility, but it's nice to know that I'm important in a foreign country. So, we were all skippin stones. I was unusually sucky at skipping stones so I sat down to just find the coolest one to take home with me. The sky above was clouded and aboot the time my eyes beheld my treasure, the heavens opened and a pillar of light shone upon me. I reached out and pulled a three-inch, plastic, gray sword from the stones. No joke. I always felt I was destined for dispensable, international semi-greatness.
Friday, September 23, 2005
I'm [?] home.
[glad to be]
[finally]
[already being driven as a slave at]
and
For some reason, 923 or 9:23 (a.m. or p.m.) or 9/23 -- just anything to do with 923 -- is my favorite number. I don't know where it all began, but, though it's a little strange, it holds a special place in my heart. what fun, it's 9:23 on 9/23!
...well, my clock said 9:23 anyway. oh well, close enough.
[glad to be]
[finally]
[already being driven as a slave at]
and
For some reason, 923 or 9:23 (a.m. or p.m.) or 9/23 -- just anything to do with 923 -- is my favorite number. I don't know where it all began, but, though it's a little strange, it holds a special place in my heart. what fun, it's 9:23 on 9/23!
...well, my clock said 9:23 anyway. oh well, close enough.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
From Anchorage to Union (Oregon)
There are a lot of elk and black bears.
Did you know that if a drowsy driver nearly hits a black bear, their alertness is afterward refreshed for an hour or so?
You know that feeling you get like warm carbination being poured around your heart? It usually happens....like, when you're passing a semi truck on a road with no painted lines and you can't really tell if a car might be coming any second and as you get close to all the way past him he starts pumping his air horn. Yeah, I don't like that feeling.
Yakima is quite pretty...from a distance....at sunset.
After smashing a bunny rabbit under-tire, the experience of crunching on Almond Roca is never quite the same, although still quite enjoyable.
Ever been to Smithers, British Columbia? Coming from the north before entering town, I fell in love with Smithers. It's quaint, it's charming, it's lovely. It's a town like the ones on calendars that my mom hands around at Christmas/New Years time.
In 53 hours my sister and I drove approximately 2600 miles. My longest stretch was just over 12 hours straight. Hers was 14. She's got me beat. And I'll get back to ya on how much money I've spent on gas...I get kinda confused with how much I've spent in Canadian dollars.
I like Canadian money. I didn't know why until my sister expressed her dislike since it looks like play money. That's why I like it. On their dime it says "10 cents" and did you notice on our dimes it says "one dime?" Is that not so lame? I like "10 cents" better.
I don't know for sure, but I think I'd like the metric system better than whatever we've got. But it sure is nice to see 242 km and automatically think it's 242 miles and watch the number drop like you're going 80 miles an hour and not 80 kilometers and hour, which we actually did most of the time, 80 mph that is. 80 km is about 50 mph. That is no highway speed.
I'm not home yet. Union, OR (people live in eastern oregon? yes, my grandparents, in fact) is my resting stop. Good ol' gram and gramps. Then, on Tuesday marnin, I'm going to Rexburg ID from here for a night or two. And then I'LL BE HOME! It's been a while since I've been there, but it's still sweet still.
Ergo, more to come.
Did you know that if a drowsy driver nearly hits a black bear, their alertness is afterward refreshed for an hour or so?
You know that feeling you get like warm carbination being poured around your heart? It usually happens....like, when you're passing a semi truck on a road with no painted lines and you can't really tell if a car might be coming any second and as you get close to all the way past him he starts pumping his air horn. Yeah, I don't like that feeling.
Yakima is quite pretty...from a distance....at sunset.
After smashing a bunny rabbit under-tire, the experience of crunching on Almond Roca is never quite the same, although still quite enjoyable.
Ever been to Smithers, British Columbia? Coming from the north before entering town, I fell in love with Smithers. It's quaint, it's charming, it's lovely. It's a town like the ones on calendars that my mom hands around at Christmas/New Years time.
In 53 hours my sister and I drove approximately 2600 miles. My longest stretch was just over 12 hours straight. Hers was 14. She's got me beat. And I'll get back to ya on how much money I've spent on gas...I get kinda confused with how much I've spent in Canadian dollars.
I like Canadian money. I didn't know why until my sister expressed her dislike since it looks like play money. That's why I like it. On their dime it says "10 cents" and did you notice on our dimes it says "one dime?" Is that not so lame? I like "10 cents" better.
I don't know for sure, but I think I'd like the metric system better than whatever we've got. But it sure is nice to see 242 km and automatically think it's 242 miles and watch the number drop like you're going 80 miles an hour and not 80 kilometers and hour, which we actually did most of the time, 80 mph that is. 80 km is about 50 mph. That is no highway speed.
I'm not home yet. Union, OR (people live in eastern oregon? yes, my grandparents, in fact) is my resting stop. Good ol' gram and gramps. Then, on Tuesday marnin, I'm going to Rexburg ID from here for a night or two. And then I'LL BE HOME! It's been a while since I've been there, but it's still sweet still.
Ergo, more to come.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
On Me Dawning
I don't know why I didn't recognize it earlier. On their own, men and/or boys are rather intelligent, well-behaved and civil. Their manners are in the front part of the mind. Adding another male into the situation (probably excepting religious gatherings) and amazingly stupidity starts cracking through. It's mysterious, however it happens. Oh, it happens. Add enough females and it's cured. My, what power we have.
This morning I was driving a 55 pax motorcoach to Seward, AK from Anchorage, AK, and the Northern Lights (aurora Borealis) were pale green and slicing through the stars like a mad-crazed heavenly butcher was stabbing at the earth. They were switching and hopping and squirming a furiously sensuous dance. Did you ever think the sky might have a mating season, too?? I've heard the Elk's bugle call lately, so, ya never know... I even saw a shooting star.
That's probably the last time I'll drive the entire Seward Highway twice in one day.
This morning I was driving a 55 pax motorcoach to Seward, AK from Anchorage, AK, and the Northern Lights (aurora Borealis) were pale green and slicing through the stars like a mad-crazed heavenly butcher was stabbing at the earth. They were switching and hopping and squirming a furiously sensuous dance. Did you ever think the sky might have a mating season, too?? I've heard the Elk's bugle call lately, so, ya never know... I even saw a shooting star.
That's probably the last time I'll drive the entire Seward Highway twice in one day.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Ah, Another Day in Bikini Bottom
(About the title of this post, it has nothing to do with the post, I just like Spongebob Squarepants. He lives in Bikini Bottom and at the beginning of some episodes this french artist voice narrates "Ah, another day in Bikini Bottom." And I just want to say, "Ah, another day in the life of me.")
Most of us don't know it, but when a woman becomes a mother she is given unlimited access to orders of chill pills for her children. She can distribute them as she feels necessary with or without the child's knowledge, or just take them herself. Yes, mothers have inherent gifts, many of them, but some of their soothing capabilities do not come naturally. Only when they have children do other gifts readily develop sometimes quite mysteriously to most onlookers. At any rate, you're probably wondering how I found out. I found out today, actually, as I contemplated the tightness of the pooh holes of some of my roommates. They are sisters. I also live here with my sister and then three other girls. It suddenly became apparent that these two other sisters have never taken (or been given) chill pills. Now, just so you know, chill pills are taken orally, not anally; however, chill pills definitely affect the tightness thereof.
Here's what happened. My mom had some slightly tight children before me and I think she took a few chill pills herself while she was pregnant with me and then continued giving them to me pretty much daily until I have become quite the tyrant to schedule, order, and/or seriousness. This way I was drugged by my mother has caused the reason for today's post, and it happened like this.
I didn't load my dishes in the dishwasher because there was room in the sink, because I had to run off to work, because of something, and like an annoying pop-up came a sticky note above the sink soon after the practice had been occurring maybe some couple weeks. It said something like "dirty dishes in the sink are disgusting! We have a dishwasher, use it!" Growing up I really only saw an empty, clean sink on Sundays. So, I tried to conform to their non-disgusting preferences, but it gets kind of tiring squeezing the hole shut that much, so again, I reverted to the chill pill killed areas of my character. Up came this note, typed and printed (we have a computer w/internet at the house but not a printer, so they went to great lengths) on 8 1/2" by 11" with a picture of a football helmet(?) on the bottom:
A Few Friendly Guidelines for Living With 7 Other Girls
1. Do your own dumb dishes and wipe up your own messes...despite popular belief, no one wants to clean up after you or do your dishes... we have a dishwasher, so there's no excuses for anyone being the messy kid!!
2.Don't leave clutter in the living room, on kitchen counters or on the bathroom counters... these are community living spaces, and let's be honest, no one really wants to be stumbling over your belongings or picking up after you!?!
3. The bathroom is for showering and using the bathroom...so ease up on the long spa treatments, ladies! Get ready in the living room if others are around... and p.s.... clean up your own hair after you shower, and p.s.s... when you shower ALWAYS have the fan on, otherwise we'll have mildew taking over our lives...or at least our bathroom ceiling. :)
Many thanks for abiding by these simple guidelines... we love you all, and there are no other girls we'd rather be packed in an apartment like sardines with!! :) cheers!!
(football helmet)
I read it once; was rather disgusted by it. It was screaming with bossy "we only have three girls in our bedroom which is the bigger bedroom with a walk in closet because we make you give us your money for rent" ridiculous attitude all over it. (We have a two bedroom apartment, one bathroom, 7 girls. You understand the need for a few chill pills in this environment.) The bold items remained while all [items] were barred by permanent marker (black).
So I got my english-major, chill pill O.D. revenge on them. This piece of paper tacked in the wall above the sink that would never be read a second time in its original print was...edited. dun dun dun!!!
A Few Friendly [Guidelines for Living With 7] Other Girls
1. [Do] Your own [dumb] dishes [and wipe up your own messes...] despite popular belief, [no one wants to] clean up after you [or do your dishes... we have] A dishwasher[,] so [there's no] excuses [for] anyone being [the] messy [kid]!!
2.Don't leave [clutter in] the living room, [on] kitchen [counters] or [on] the bathroom [counters] ... these are community living spaces, and let's be honest, no one really wants [to be stumbling over your belongings or picking up after ] you![?]!
3. The bathroom is for show[ering] and using [the bathroom...so ease up on the] Long [spa treatments,] ladies[!] Get ready in the living room if others are around... and p.s.... clean [up] your [own] hair after you shower, and p.s.s... when you shower ALWAYS have the fan on, otherwise we'll have [mildew taking over] our lives...or at least our bathroom [ceiling]. :)
Many thanks [for abiding by these simple guidelines...] we love you all, and [there are] no other girls [we'd rather be ] packed [in] an apartment like sardines [with]!! :) [c]hee[rs]!!
(football helmet)
Well, the tight sisters read this wisely edited version of their well-thought, hard-worked list of guidelines with their bum cheeks getting closer all the while and the eldest stormed into her big bedroom with their shared double decker air mattress, complaining that it made no sense, in a violated tone. See what I mean? They didn't take it as a joke; they couldn't, quite frankly, and I pity them. As for myself, I was never going to read the rules again let alone follow them after the first time, so I figured making it funny would be, well, fun. But no, and life goes on, more stuffy and awkward than ever. Because I can chill and just do things their way for a month or two more (and out of fear just knowing I did a smart ass thing), I make an extra effort now to do my dishes and clean up my messes and let other people use the bathroom that's for showering using the bathroom....man, I was so sick of these: .... (I'll only admit that some revisions on paragraph three honestly make no sense.)
Most of us don't know it, but when a woman becomes a mother she is given unlimited access to orders of chill pills for her children. She can distribute them as she feels necessary with or without the child's knowledge, or just take them herself. Yes, mothers have inherent gifts, many of them, but some of their soothing capabilities do not come naturally. Only when they have children do other gifts readily develop sometimes quite mysteriously to most onlookers. At any rate, you're probably wondering how I found out. I found out today, actually, as I contemplated the tightness of the pooh holes of some of my roommates. They are sisters. I also live here with my sister and then three other girls. It suddenly became apparent that these two other sisters have never taken (or been given) chill pills. Now, just so you know, chill pills are taken orally, not anally; however, chill pills definitely affect the tightness thereof.
Here's what happened. My mom had some slightly tight children before me and I think she took a few chill pills herself while she was pregnant with me and then continued giving them to me pretty much daily until I have become quite the tyrant to schedule, order, and/or seriousness. This way I was drugged by my mother has caused the reason for today's post, and it happened like this.
I didn't load my dishes in the dishwasher because there was room in the sink, because I had to run off to work, because of something, and like an annoying pop-up came a sticky note above the sink soon after the practice had been occurring maybe some couple weeks. It said something like "dirty dishes in the sink are disgusting! We have a dishwasher, use it!" Growing up I really only saw an empty, clean sink on Sundays. So, I tried to conform to their non-disgusting preferences, but it gets kind of tiring squeezing the hole shut that much, so again, I reverted to the chill pill killed areas of my character. Up came this note, typed and printed (we have a computer w/internet at the house but not a printer, so they went to great lengths) on 8 1/2" by 11" with a picture of a football helmet(?) on the bottom:
A Few Friendly Guidelines for Living With 7 Other Girls
1. Do your own dumb dishes and wipe up your own messes...despite popular belief, no one wants to clean up after you or do your dishes... we have a dishwasher, so there's no excuses for anyone being the messy kid!!
2.Don't leave clutter in the living room, on kitchen counters or on the bathroom counters... these are community living spaces, and let's be honest, no one really wants to be stumbling over your belongings or picking up after you!?!
3. The bathroom is for showering and using the bathroom...so ease up on the long spa treatments, ladies! Get ready in the living room if others are around... and p.s.... clean up your own hair after you shower, and p.s.s... when you shower ALWAYS have the fan on, otherwise we'll have mildew taking over our lives...or at least our bathroom ceiling. :)
Many thanks for abiding by these simple guidelines... we love you all, and there are no other girls we'd rather be packed in an apartment like sardines with!! :) cheers!!
(football helmet)
I read it once; was rather disgusted by it. It was screaming with bossy "we only have three girls in our bedroom which is the bigger bedroom with a walk in closet because we make you give us your money for rent" ridiculous attitude all over it. (We have a two bedroom apartment, one bathroom, 7 girls. You understand the need for a few chill pills in this environment.) The bold items remained while all [items] were barred by permanent marker (black).
So I got my english-major, chill pill O.D. revenge on them. This piece of paper tacked in the wall above the sink that would never be read a second time in its original print was...edited. dun dun dun!!!
A Few Friendly [Guidelines for Living With 7] Other Girls
1. [Do] Your own [dumb] dishes [and wipe up your own messes...] despite popular belief, [no one wants to] clean up after you [or do your dishes... we have] A dishwasher[,] so [there's no] excuses [for] anyone being [the] messy [kid]!!
2.Don't leave [clutter in] the living room, [on] kitchen [counters] or [on] the bathroom [counters] ... these are community living spaces, and let's be honest, no one really wants [to be stumbling over your belongings or picking up after ] you![?]!
3. The bathroom is for show[ering] and using [the bathroom...so ease up on the] Long [spa treatments,] ladies[!] Get ready in the living room if others are around... and p.s.... clean [up] your [own] hair after you shower, and p.s.s... when you shower ALWAYS have the fan on, otherwise we'll have [mildew taking over] our lives...or at least our bathroom [ceiling]. :)
Many thanks [for abiding by these simple guidelines...] we love you all, and [there are] no other girls [we'd rather be ] packed [in] an apartment like sardines [with]!! :) [c]hee[rs]!!
(football helmet)
Well, the tight sisters read this wisely edited version of their well-thought, hard-worked list of guidelines with their bum cheeks getting closer all the while and the eldest stormed into her big bedroom with their shared double decker air mattress, complaining that it made no sense, in a violated tone. See what I mean? They didn't take it as a joke; they couldn't, quite frankly, and I pity them. As for myself, I was never going to read the rules again let alone follow them after the first time, so I figured making it funny would be, well, fun. But no, and life goes on, more stuffy and awkward than ever. Because I can chill and just do things their way for a month or two more (and out of fear just knowing I did a smart ass thing), I make an extra effort now to do my dishes and clean up my messes and let other people use the bathroom that's for showering using the bathroom....man, I was so sick of these: .... (I'll only admit that some revisions on paragraph three honestly make no sense.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
