'Twas My Days Before Christmas

O' holy shiiiiit, the tree is all on fiiiiiiirrrre.

'Twas two weeks before Christmas
and all through our house,
all the kids were still sleeping,
had chloroform been doused?

No, school was let out
and the fun had just started;
so get up! Go shower!
It smells like you farted.

"Were there papers to write?
Any books to be read?"
I kept thinking to myself
just up in my head.

I realized the holidays were here
and each day was great!
Lay in my underwear
and eat solely cake!

The tree glowed with light
and stockings hung up all gaily.
"Maybe" I thought at midnight,
"I should start showering daily."

C-Day approached fast, 
The eve was nigh.
"If you aren't at dinner tonight," Mom said
"I'll stab you in the eye."

Gifts were exchanged,
snow fell through the air.
All threats that night
were kept to a minimum death stare.

Deck the halls with calls to Amber Alert,
fa la la la la, la la la la.

As the stars shone in heaven
like meth labs alight,
all the kids started bidding
each other goodnight.

"I think I hear Santa" 
I thought in my bed.
"I hope he knows weight-related-diabetes
will kill you real dead."

The sun came up early
just as you'd expect.
'Cept this time some man
broke in and left us effects.

Ritual set in 
for the siblings around
"Just one at a time," Said mother
"We WILL make this a round."

All the stockings ripped down
from the chimney now sparce.
All tempted to down candy
that'll make a fat arse.

Wrappings strewn on the floor,
chocolate smeared onto faces,
small comas commenced
each respective in places.

The day had come
and it went by real fast,
like a hit and run Grandma
hitting traffic cones she passed.

Every year we see joy
and smiles spread on faces,
because it's, "'Tis the Season!"
to be in good graces.

So I'll take what I get,
even when short-lived.
If some snow on the ground
means cheer will be gived.

So thank you good fat-man
and thanks to dear Jesus,
even if we only give each other
festivus cheeses.

So a belated Christmas here
and a belated Christmas there,
It's the thought that counts, right?
Because now I don't care.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays

To My Fellow Pants-Fighters

Dear Pants-Fighters that I know, don't know, kinda know, or maybe have just seen occasionally being clothed in public:

Today you all went out into your respective wards and church buildings clad in your two-legged butt coverings (or as some people call them, pants) and made a statement for you and what you believed in.

Some of you may have stepped into the doors with slight trepidation, some with a bolstering pride that shone like the thighs of a thousand red-haired men. Whatever entrance, you decided to strut your stuff through those doors and take a well deserved seat in your meetings.

A lot of you may have been given wide-eyed stares, possibly even the narrow squint of disapproval that is no easy thing to sit with.

I say to let them stare. To give them the satisfaction of you looking at yourself, doubting what you came to do in the first place, only strengthens their views of ,"I'm right, and they're wrong."

They: Those women (and men) trying to stand in solidarity with one another to promote more togetherness in a gospel that is centered around the very principle.

To those who weren't aware of the your panted oncoming, educate them. "So, why are all you young gals wearing those fancy pants to church today?" Old Widow Bates might inquire to you as you exit the sacrament hall.  Educate the wig off this woman.  Educate her so hard the tennis balls on her little walker fly off.

Not being a very religious person (but knowing general principles of Mormon doctrine), it saddens me to hear of all the hate that has been circulating over this day.  The very people speaking of love and understanding over the pulpit might very well be the person so afraid of this demonstration that they would actually use acts of aggression to preserve their views.

If they honestly believe that those putting their opinions out into the world don't deserve to be heard, they should just close their mouths as well. They should look back into history and look at all the times when their group was the underdog and the feelings that develop inside of them when they think of how if their small group of opinionators hadn't said anything, then where would they be now?

Also, if there's anything else I've learned from history, it's the small outspoken group that usually makes the most change. Often times they don't even think they've made an impact to their cause until they stand back and look at the completed project.

So some of you may think to yourselves that you didn't make a dent in your cause by wearing pants today. I say to that just because someone didn't explicitly accost you, grab you by the blouse, shake you with the force of one hundred 3-year olds, and tell you with how you personally changed their life, doesn't mean you didn't. Remember that there are a lot of quiet onlookers who just need someone to show them a new example.

In closing I am proud of all you pants wearing rock-stars.  You Stay-At-Home-Mom pants wearers, you single mother pants wearers, you working mother pants wearers, and whatever other manner of pants wearers out there, I am proud of you. Thank you for saying that you stood for something and thank you for your small bravery when entering a situation of unknown outcomes.

You're all making those first steps onto Everest where you aren't acclimatized yet. You throw up everywhere, but you keep going.  You keep going with your vomit stained shirt all the way up that damn mountain.

Also, thank you to the men out there that stood with these woman (because one needs not be a woman to be a feminist).

Just keep climbing past those squinty-eyed onlookers looking down upon you.  Eventually (and hopefully) you'll all be able to stand at the top together helping each other get there.

Rock stars, each and every one of you. You survived Pants-Gate, Pant-mageddon, Pant-pocalypse, or Pant-what? (as my dad said).

Ryan Goes to Court

I know what you're thinking; I finally snapped and stabbed some poor unsuspecting freshmen with a paperclip after they played farmville on the only available computer in the library during finals week.

I obviously have some street cred now and can say things like 'swag' or 'thug' (I'm pretty new, throw me a bone to what real gangsters actually say.)

Oh that's right, occasionally I mix up traffic court with a high security prison, oops.

Yes, it's true.  The "good" boy you all know was caught by the popo breaking the laws of the road in little Overton, Nevada about a month or so ago.  I may or may not have been going 30 miles over the speed limit (it's may, otherwise this story wouldn't have happened ya derp).  So, upon receiving my ticket, the officer informed me that I wold have to attend traffic court else they put out a warrant for my arrest.

The new children's book I'm writing.

In my head after he said this, I thought to myself what the life of a fugitive would be like.  Would I be able to suddenly grow a long beard to hide my true identity? Would aviator sunglasses be permanently glued to my face? I guess we'll never know...

So instead of dodging the law, about a week ago I traversed out to small town Nevada the night before my court date*, slept a few hours, and then got up and wandered the town a bit until I found the Moapa Valley Justice Court where I went inside and took a seat.

I was about 10 minutes early for my 7:30 hearing so I sat quietly in the chair next to the court door since what else was I supposed to do.  At this time, one other criminal was sitting two chairs away from me and apparently if there are only two people in court, this means that conversation must occur.

"So are you local or were you just passing through?" Jack the Ripper asked me

"Oh, I was just passing through and they got me."

"Yeah me too...you know, there are usually people lined up outside the door at this place." as Ted Bundy continued the conversation.

"Well I guess people are just staying out of trouble then." I said with a little smile on my face.

Wait a minute--how does he know there are lots of people at this specific traffic court when he said he was just passing through?  Yes, he specifically said that he was NOT LOCAL  I know what you're thinking: Ryan, he must have said these places.  No. No he said this place. THIS place.  I was obviously dealing with some sort of maniac-repeat-offender who was going to run me over with his death-mobile first chance he got.

"Hm, you know this court room sure is small..." said Jeffrey Dahmer as he glanced through the window of the court room door

Alright now it's official.  This man has seen far too many court rooms for twice as many reasons if he is comparing their relative size.  Was this small compared to the supreme court justice room?  I decided to just keep looking at the clock to avoid any more interactions with the Zodiac Killer over there...

"Oh look, here they all come."

Sure enough, outside the door, a slew of other traffic disgracers had shown up to plead their cases in a court of law.  The clock struck 7:30 and I was ushered into the courtroom after being scanned with a metal detector (you know, in case I brought my shiv from home).

What was sure to be my future home.

After the judge had us all rise, head, shoulders, knees, and toes, and sit down, he explained the rules of this game called "traffic court."  We could plead guilty, guilty with an excuse, or not guilty where a court date would be set for us later in the year.  He then explained if we chose not guilty with an excuse that the excuse couldn't be we didn't know what the speed limit was.  Shoot judge, you just ruined my day.

Next commenced the explanations of some interesting people.  One man claimed that he spun his wheels in a parking lot for 30 seconds because he "didn't know" how strong his jacked up truck was.  One woman was there for her son who had apparently had a drinking and driving incident (repeatedly).  Our mass murderer conversationalist man had apparently just done similar to what I had done but a few miles less.  Surprising, I was expecting the charge to be "mowed down an entire school yard with a tractor."  Finally, it was my turn.

Standing before the judge, he explained to me how lucky I was to have this taken down to a non-moving traffic violation and how thankful I should be.  At this point, I was not going to argue with anyone since I really just wanted to pay my fine and be on my merry way.  I pleaded guilty and thought that I had said I knew that this was my one and only get-out-of-expensive-insurance card but then the judge started to talk about a court date in January.

What?

January.

Say what now?

I stammered quickly to explain that I did not want to contest the ticket at all and I was sorry I misunderstood whatever he had said (because in my mind I was just supposed to keep saying yes). The judge gave me a look that said "ya' dumb" and I think I actually heard someone else in the courtroom snicker.  I awkwardly stood there as the judge grudgingly crossed out some writing on his pad (I guess he really enjoys contesting speeding violations and I ruined his day) and then I sat down with the clerk to pay my fine.

I did it.  I had evaded the law and avoided jail time where I would have surely become part of a large gang that crochets on Tuesday nights and Wednesday night is jailhouse stab-a-thon.  I am a criminal no more...or ever was really but let me have some small street cred.

Ryan Cardenas:  Fighter, fugitive, gang lord, and traffic violator.  Free at last.



*You may be wondering why I didn't just pay the ticket online. See, they told me if I showed up in person, since it was my first offense I would be able to have it taken off my record and turned into a non-moving traffic violation.  So yes, I drove very far to help keep my insurance costs low.

Dying and Final are Kinda Similar...

I'm sure you guys know by now that when I get really frustrated with any assignment I'm doing, I distract myself by typing out here.  What assignment is it today you ask? Personality Theory!

But theory aside, I guess I'm just going to empty my brain a bit so I can get back to focusing. 

What's going on this week? FINALS.  Just finals everywhere.  A final for you, a final for you, two for you Glen Coco, you go Glen Coco! 

I've decided that I really need to start getting my shit together you guys.  Due to some really poor diet choices and some really poor sleep choices, my body is deciding it no longer wants to function.  I'm sure you can all see how that is a problem when this paper is due at 5pm.  Yes, two hours away.  I'm almost done but I'm really afraid that I'm going to fall asleep at this desk and just die here in a pool of my own drool. 

Want to know something else? I actually had a dream last night about how I slept for 20 million hours, woke up at 5:30pm and started crying.  Full on tears down my face about how I missed my deadline and I would have to beg and plead to turn in my paper.  Funny thing was, to get over this tragedy, I decided to go see Elf in the Main Street theatre.  I'm glad my subconscious is so easily satisfied.

Why did I tell you that story?  To illustrate that even my subconscious is getting tired of my shenanigans and is trying to scare-tactic me back into line. 


...

I think this has woken me up enough to now get back to my paper.  If none of you hear from me for a couple days, please come locate my drool soaked body.  No autopsy necessary, we all know how it went down.
 

Sunday In-My-Head Day

I'm currently getting a little stir-crazy because sometimes I get into my own head too much.  It's that weird moment where you're sitting in the shower, having a nice relaxing time and your brain decides for some strange reason to jump to an incredibly embarrassing thing you've said or done.  So you sit there, water running down your back, and you get that distinctive awful chill accompanied with the sinking feeling of OH DEAR LORD HOW COULD I HAVE EVER DONE THAT.  Then you start to relax and hope that no one else ever remembers either (because most of the time the embarrassment is just in my head, right?).

So, to distract myself, I turned the handle to increase water temperature and decided to dive head first into my head.  You know, that sounded much better inside my head then right now.  Kind of like how when you read a book set in a country with a foreign accent and the narrator voice in your head talks in that accent.  Prime example being when I read Crime and Punishment was how everything said sounded like a gruff Russian man.  Occasionally if I read for too many hours and then actually talked, a little bit of Russian accent would sneak out.

"Teach that cat to shit in my garden..."

Let's veer back into what I was actually trying to get into.

My mind starts to get really off track, prime example above, so to distract myself from diving into a pool of self-loathing, I started to think of all the weird talents that I have.  Not things like "I can run marathons" or "I can hold a note for twelve and a half years" or "I can fit my fist into my mouth," but the weird things I think I have proficient skill in.  So here is my list (and no list would be complete without a picture of a 50's housewife cooking something).



Ryan's Completely Irrelevant Obscure Talents That Only Apply To Him and Are Only Being Used To Clear His Head As To Delay The Oncoming Insanity Down The Road List:

1. Ability to quickly memorize (and remember) the tune and lyrics to songs. Yes, I'm going to sing along in the car and I don't care if you like it or not.
2. Remembering people's names I meet once, only once, and never again.  The name stays forever.  People I meet multiple times?  Nope, out the window (mostly because I'm afraid I know it but I'm actually wrong, like Colton and Colter.)
3. A quick learner.  Not just quick as in I learn it in a week, I get that shit ingrained in a couple days.  Except math because math positively correlates with Satan.
4. Knowledge on how to properly launder different fabrics.
5. Only able to nap face-down and sleep face-up.
6. Liking animals.
7. I can fold better than you.
8. And your mom
9. Being over-prepared with clothing choices when I go on vacation.
10. Keeping shoes in a decent condition for long periods of time (I still have shoes from 7th grade).
11. Little fear of public bathrooms
12. Opening things with my teeth
13. Enjoying seeing movies (in a theatre) alone.
14. Remembering faces FOREVER. Run into you in random setting and don't know you? This explains why I'm staring at you. Sorry stranger.
15. Remembering how to spell the word vinaigrette since it was my losing word in a Jr. high spelling bee.
16. I will remember exactly how to get to somewhere if I've been there before. Don't be scared I know how to get to your house when you pointed it out that single time.
17. Making lists of more than 10 things but below 20


I think I now am contractually obligated to do the polar opposite now...

Things Ryan Lacks In Skill. Like Great Amounts Of Skill Since They Are Things Most People And Chimps Can Do...List:

1. Basketball
2. When asked what my "Strengths and weaknesses are"=mind blackout
3. Forgetting how to correctly form a speaking sentence during conversation.
4. Having "bitch-face" as my resting face--and I will NOT slap some painful smile on eternally to please you thin-skinned whiners who ask me why I'm "angry" all of the time. *throws chair through window*
5. Playing Call of Duty
6. Super Procrastination!
7. I will forget your birthday
8. I will forget your name
9. I will forget my name
10. Forever misspelling occasionally
11. When writing, putting the letters of the word in the sentence three words away in the word I'm writing.  If the sentence was "I'm going to go see a movie." I might write, "I'm going to gm." and then I writhe on the floor in shame.
12. Appreciating snow
13. Liking your ugly baby
14. Burning whatever I'm making just a little bit. This includes cereal.
15. Never being able to come up with a really good comeback until hours after the conversation had occurred.
16. Never making a To-do list.
17. Making a To-list once and losing it.
18. Having small meltdowns when I lose something completely replaceable and not really lost (e.g. wallet, phone, headphones, baby, etc.)
19. Tripping on the least trippable objects like miniscule pebbles and straw.
20. Spilling a dark sauce onto light colored clothing with no option to change for hours.

Mind distraction complete!

Turkey Turkey T-Day (and other goings on)

Oh, well hello there!

Yes yes, I'm still alive and I feel like I haven't talked to any of you in awhile.  How's your aunt doing with that rash thing?  Did Shirley's cake win state at the fair?  Did your brother get parole this time or stab another inmate again?  Your sister lost any of the baby weight yet?  ...Still pregnant? Yeesh, some people just need all the attention.

But really though people, I feel like it's been too long.  Would you like a quick update on my goings on?  Hm, let's start with singing and dancing to Marina and the Diamonds in the basement (namely, this song), writing papers, eating tacos (I don't think there's any way to NOT make that sound dirty), googling why cats purr.  You know, all the essential things us college kids do.  What's that you say?  They don't do that?  Well I don't know where you live but those things are all the rage here...in my mind.

I'm sure you are all thinking a few things.  First one being how amazed you are that I speak the English language with such fluency and finesse.  Well thank you kind sir/madam, one day if you wish hard enough, you can be on American Idol (since that's still relevant?) and become a washed-up and vapid reality star.

Second, I'm sure you're thinking that Thanksgiving just happened.  What aren't you telling us Ryan?!

Gosh, so needy internet, I'm going to have to get a restraining order unless you stop leaving horse heads on my back porch--I don't care if you say they're gifts from the neighborhood!

Well, like any Thanksgiving, there was food.  Yes food.  Food food food.  Was there? There was.

You know, I originally put off writing this due to the fact that school* has been a little daunting lately and I honestly had a pretty low key Thanksgiving.  Plural, I need to make that plural.

Not the country? Ohhhhhh...

Let's see, on the day the Great Turkey saved the Easter Bunny, I first had T-day with the family.  Things started out like any other Cardenas gathering: someone was late, someone was still in their pajamas, and something ended up in the freezer that was not meant to be in the freezer.  Aside from the small frozen jello situation we had a rather calm dinner.  May we discuss though, Robert Redford cake?  You see, my sister made this as an additional dessert to our dinner and I think about half the dinner conversation focused around the name of the cake.

Sibling: So why is the cake call Robert Redford?

Maker of Cake: Because if you grind up Robert Redford and make him into a cake, that's what he would taste like.

Other sibling: Wait, who's Robert Redford?

Mom: He was in a lot of Westerns.

Me: RobertRedfordRobertRedfordRobertRedfordRobertRedfordRobertRedford

Dad:...Who's Robert Redford?

Thank you Robert Redford, wherever you are.  Also, sorry about the mysterious butt-print someone made into the cake named after you.

Let's go to Thanksgiving numero two now: Enter the Nielson household due to the last minute invitation from my recently engaged friend Grace.

Ah Nielson's, how you spoiled me with another Thanksgiving while you bet on how late certain people would attend.  My second turkey, my second pie, my second family, just a whole lot of seconds.  Seconds that were well spent, I might add, since some members of the Nielson clan (and extended members) helped calm my qualms about taking the GRE in the spring.  I guess you could say I used them for their knowledge...just kidding Nielsons, you know I love attending T-day at your house, you guys are all pretty rockin'.  Your OCD and ADD and ACDC, all of it, every bit.

Black Friday: I went back to the 'crombie for 10 hours. Things were busy, we made money, enough said.

Thanksgiving #3:

We are the outliers, because the vast majority is
too mainstream.

A little later than the rest, my friends decided to get together on Sunday to celebrate a little feast of leftovers from our respective Thanksgivings.  Due to the fact that my family had already vacuumed up all our food, I made a new batch of stuffing and headed over to Max's house for the festivities.  We had stuffing, hastily made cookies, the other T-day essentials, and some very crispy rolls due to oven negligence.  But doesn't that just illustrate a group of college-aged
kids getting together for a meal?  Just burnt something.  I mean, this age group eats ramen for every meal, so I think we became outliers with our cool cooking abilities.

And I swear, in that moment, we were outliers...

With all that widespread turkey murder day passed, I returned to the Ceeds where I would lie face-down on my floor while my body tried to digest and recover from the past week of serious binge eating.  Whoop-di-doo.

So let's all collectively take a deep breath...deeper, deeper I say! Now exhale as we bring in the new month with all the new things that we can commercialize!

Thanks for the Thanks.


*I promise that I'm not going to vague drama-blog about how hard school is.  Yes, I'm aware it is stressful sometimes and there's no shame in acknowledging that.  Is there shame in bitching about it to strangers on the internet who aren't in your exact situation?  Yes, SHAME.  Feel no guilt for me since I'm the one giving this prostitute of a school my money and then they're slapping me in the face with the equivalent of...a brick? I think that works.  Us college kids can gripe with each other because we understand that sometimes things aren't ideal.  When the griping is excessive, it's like crying to the prostitute.  ...You know, I think I'm getting lost in my own example so I'm gonna stop now.  Although, pity in the form of edible goods will not go unappreciated *nudge wink*

Nodding Off

*sigh*

You know what? I'm a little tired right now. Sitting on my bed in my uncircumcised penis sweater*, listening to Lana Del Rey's most recent songs, and I'm TIRED. I actually fell asleep in class yesterday. Not just the kind of fall asleep where you start to nod (trust me, there were a lot of those nods), but the kind where you have absolutely no clue what is happening when your eyes open.

Wait, we're learning about me being a ninja and fighting Yoda who throws pizzas of death in my Psychology of Culture class? Oh right, that's my dream, calm down Ryan.

You know what else is happening right now? Or happened I guess--but the signing up for class war that happens near the end of every semester.  Midnight approaches on the fateful day that the freakin' internet will allow you to sign up for classes and I'm sitting there at my kitchen table, paper with CRN numbers in hand, and a twitching hand on my keyboard.
Midnight strikes (or 12:01 really).

No class for you.

I'm frantically typing numbers into little boxes and pressing buttons like a madman. Why have they made this a virtual hunger games? Students fighting each other virtually getting into classes and cheering; tears of joy leaving trails down some faces as they know that they are safe while others are doomed to death (or just their second choice class; either or).

 Hm, well this class got full really quick, what do I do now? Well I just switch these two clas--NO! How could it be full already I didn't even--WHY AM I NO LONGER ENROLLED IN SCHOOL. (Slight exaggeration)

So after I stopped beating my head against the table, I went to bed, woke up, banged my head into the table for another 24 hours and then fixed my schedule. It isn't exactly what I wanted it to be, but it will do.  That'll do schedule, that'll do...

The really odd thing is that this is my last semester at the good ol' SUU. Last. Semester. You know, I don't wanna get into that now, let's talk about something. Let's segue like when your 10 year old asks what a dildo is! (Can I say that here? Oh wait, THIS IS THE INTERNET, MUAHAHA)

Hey, do you guys want to know an excellent self-esteem boost? Well, after working at the school today (I talked about what I do here), I went and chatted with the receptionist who sets my schedule and do you know what she told me? Of course you don't, I'm telling you right now.  She told me that I looked like I had put on more muscle over the summer and that it LOOKED REEEEEAAALLY GOOD ON ME.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.  If there is anything better than having an older receptionist tell you that you look rather muscly, I don't know what it is.  It might not fix my jacked up sleeping schedule, but I'll take it.



*Ugh, fine I'll explain why it's called the uncircumcised penis sweater. You know, do I really have to? I mean, it's sort of self-explanatory. It looks like an uncircumcised penis around my neck basically or so one of my friends said one day and it stuck. Will I continue to wear it and call it that? Of course.

Tis The Season For Excuses

Fa la la la laaaa, la la. la. LA.

(In case you didn't get it, you were supposed to sing that to yourself. Getting in the holiday spirit is so FUN.)

Anyways guys, so the external hard-drive that I hook up to my lappy and contains every episode of How I Met Your Mother has decided to go on the fritz and not work. So you know what that means?! Yup, I'm totally eating in bed and crying. But you know, it's probably for the better. Kind of like the hard-drive is having a small intervention with me: "Ryan, you need to stop watching all these episodes of HIMYM and read a book, or at least wash your hair today." "No hard-drive! You can't make me!"

Seriously guys, I think I saw him filling out forms for rehab. Shit is getting real.

But do you know what I purchased at the grocery store two days ago? EGG NOG. That's right; the creamy, eggy, yellowy, fatty goodness that is egg nog has been delivered by the Nog Gods to once again grace the fridges of our grocery stores.

THE NOG

So of course you guys know what this means.

Yes, it's already empty and I'm licking the inside of the carton.

Oh, and that and the holidays are fast approaching.

I always found that instead of listening for Christmas music on the radio, I could just start to look for the Holiday food that starts to appear. The pumpkin flavored everything, packages beginning to adorn holiday themed decorations, hams as big as your crushed dreams, and of course, the egg nog.

This time always signals that time when I can start to wear all the sweaters I crave to wear all year since the temperature drops to below the love of your in-laws. Sweaters obviously carry the other holidays in with them as well.

An essential for all
holiday parties.

Let's see, we have Halloween (check), Thanksgiving, and Christmas. And for all you other people, Christmahanaquanzaka. All of which are filled with sweaters food! Oh, and social interaction*.

Honestly, I'm a little excited. This time of the year is usually my favorite since I find that the city seems to quiet down a little and that "holiday season bug" bites everyone and they force themselves to be nicer. I mean, even I crawl out of my cave, don a sweater, and attend a holiday party or two. But so help me if there is no food, I will light your house on fire. Only because I'm warning everyone not to come.

But you know what else these cold holidays remind me of? All the damn excuses I make for myself for everything I do.

Oh you don't have school today? Let's get out of bed at...NOON

You know, you only had three doughnuts yesterday, so two is an improvement. For lunch anyways.

Well, since all your other clothes are dirty, you obviously can't go out...NETFLIX!

As the snow starts to fall, so does my activity level and we all know that in Utah it's usually everywhere by now. I guess for some reason mother nature wants me to keep focusing on getting out of bed and making it to class instead of being a blanket burrito with my cat.

Which reminds me of all the resolutions I made that fell through. Technically I still have two months to try and get my shit together, but we all know that after the first week, we're all done for. Honestly, I wonder how many people actually follow through on all their resolutions. Guess what? Through the magic of the internet, a few clicks, and some typing, I discovered that over 80% of all people fall through on their resolutions. Guys, I got this from the internet, it must be true.

You know, what is it about this turkey season and wreath door hanging-ness make us all want to try and change ourselves and put ourselves in positions we usually can't follow through with? I don't see anyone on President's day peeing on the floor with excitement about how they are going to change their life. So of course we then justify our actions with, say it with me kids, wonderful wonderful excuses.

It's coming you guys...it's coming...

Big excuses! Small excuses! On sale excuses! Excuses that don't even make sense! Get them on SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY...

Ok, I think I might have gotten a little carried away, but I know that I do the same thing.

"Eh, I didn't have time to read a book, my cat looked really hungry today and needed attention."

"You know, I would have gone running more if the temperature had been between 69 degrees and 74 degress. Any more or less and I just can't make it."

"The internet."

Hm, well maybe the last one is real...

So I'm excited you guys. Excited for whatever excuses I give myself this year. Excited for the pumpkin nog and ham goodness flowing out your doors. Excited for the extremely nightmare-invoking inflatable snowmen in your yard (no one thinks they're adorable, give it up Cindy from accounting).

Even excited for the social interac--asd;lkfja;lkfds g;lkjfssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

...ugh, sorry guys, I had a small seizure and passed out. We'll work on that one.

Bring it on winter.




*Did any of you hear the audible twitch from me as I wrote that. Social Interaction. There it is again. I promise it's not your cat throwing up, listen closer. Closer. There it is, you got it.

Awkward Wednesday: You'll Ask Anyways

(Just an FYI before I begin: Over the weekend after posting my very naked post, I obsessed over how much I did not like it. Without the use of the internet for a couple days, I couldn't change it it all.  I even speculated at taking it down and rewriting the whole thing to something I would enjoy more, but by the time I had the power to change it, it had been up long enough I figured I would have to deal with what it was. I guess sometimes I'll write things and not be satisfied with the results no matter how much I change them, and that's OK. Thanks for enjoying it though.  I just felt like telling you all, so pretend like you never read this and go back to the original post. Pretend like I took your subway sandwich, added a little more turkey, and then gave it back. You ordered a meatball sub you say? Well what were you expecting from me, I've never worked in a deli.)



As far as people go, I'd place myself in the group that often doesn't know how to respond to a lot of questions. What kind of questions you ask? Well, the specific questions that make me (and the many others like me, I know I'm not alone) feel like I have no appropriate response.  Basically questions that I don't enjoy asking and don't think should be asked. Let's just dive in:

Why are you so tall?
Really? Really? You've known me for as long as you do and this is what you're going to ask me when I tell you that you may ask me any one questions about myself no matter how deep and personal?  You really need to rethink your life sir or madam.  But really, how am I supposed to go about answering this question?

Well you see, every night I strap my ankles to the door frame and sleep like a bat.  The force of gravity pulls my body and elongates my frame to the figure that I have today.  

Actually, I'm wearing stilts all the time.  I'm really only 4'5 and 4'8 if you're high.

God loves me more and wants me to be closer to heaven.

How the hell should I know why I'm tall? I assume that this also applies on the other side of the spectrum to you shorties out there and I bet some of you find it equally tiresome. Instead of spitting directly in your face though, I'll just laugh and smile while making a mental note to buy you Whoppers (the candy, not the hamburger) for Christmas. Then you can suffer passive-aggressively since no one should like that devil's vomit. JUST LET US BE TALL IN PEACE.

How can you not like ______?

But Ryan, why don't
you like me?

Well I'll tell you how I don't like whatever it is that you're convincing me is amazing.  I just don't. I'm sorry that you like it, but it obviously differs from my own personal tastes. If you keep shoving it in my face, it is not going to magically change my mind. Blasting Taylor Swift* directly into my ear drums will not make me a die-hard fan and sell all my internal organs to go see her live.  It will, though, motivate me to sell your organs so I may purchase a plane ticket to wherever YOU'RE not.

The exception to this rule for me is if someone hasn't tried something.  If I have delved deep enough into a certain category of whatever, please just let me have my opinions. If not, then you can bully me. Which makes a good enough segue into our next question...

How do you know you won't like _____?

I know I just said you guys can bother me if I haven't tried something enough for my opinion to be set in the subject and that you're all gonna throw out the hypocrite card.  Please, set down your torches and pitch forks and let me explain.

Look, I'm aware of the fact that one must explore and try new things in their life to gain experience and this "personality" I keep hearing about, but there are just places I will not go. Things I'm already aware of suck/related to something I've done.

Ow, my feelings.

This movie has Kristen Stewart. Please, set this 8 dollars on fire instead.

See how that insect has deadly fangs and an evil glint in it's eye thing? I'm not holding that until you kill it with fire.

You got a puzzle for us to do tonight? Yeah, I have a lot of...cats to wash right now...FIRE

Fruit cake (need I say more?)

(Apparently I have some subconscious thoughts about fire...)

I am going to stay far away from all those things I deem not suitable for any form of exploration. Why? Because I damn well please. Or any other sentences that sound like that. Please, attack me for me contradicting myself. But remember that Santa puts bitches like that on the naughty list.

So, why are you single?

When I get asked this, part of me knows that it's some kind of weird compliment. Kind of like the person is saying that I, of all people, should have been scooped up by now by some Prince Charming in a BMW and whisked away to his snazzy pad.  Of course, I hear: What's wrong with you that causes you to be undesirable?

All of my exes died mysteriously and it just keeps happening! *paired with crazy eyes*

I'm exclusively looking for old, ailing, extremely wealthy, men in the hospital.

Well I have this weird itch I can't seem to get rid of...

I hate everyone.

I think this is the one that stumps me the most. Hm, well I don't know why I haven't found that person yet. As far as I know, I'm usually not voluntarily being single but I'm also not voluntarily picking up everyone that comes along. Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I want to be single? Maybe my lover just died in a horrible cat grooming accident and you are exacerbating my wounded soul. Maybe I'm a sister wife. How do you feel now? Because I hope it's like shit.

Do you know what you're doing stranger by asking me this question?! You're making me think of all the decisions that have led up to this point and made me realize I'M GOING TO DIE ALONE. Or that I'm single. Either or.

I know this may be some weird flirting technique but realize for me (and those like me) you're hurting our brains. Ask me why I don't like T-Swift, I'll have much more to say.

So there you go, a few questions that cause me minimal anxiety. If you ever expect me to answer more than a silent stare or a slow, "I dunno...," then pick a different subject, like different cat breeds or how Crocs deserve to all be incinerated; then we can become friends.  I know that I'm not perfect and have probably asked something along these lines and have badgered you into liking something, but I'm trying, OK? You guys will probably just keep asking these anyways...

Do you guys have any questions that you feel like you can never answer very well? What are your favorite "answers"? Is it my fault for not thinking about these specific topics enough to myself or is it the person who is asking the questions? Please, let me know.

You all know how I have to have practice conversations with myself in the mirror to even get through a day.  Sometimes even the anxiety of that gives me a small seizure.





*I'll admit, gal has some catchy tunes, but overall I'm not a huge fan. Nothing against her and her success, just not my taste. So please don't judge me when I drive up next to you shouting "You Belong With Me" while crying and shoveling a Wendy's frosty into my mouth at 3 in the morning.  We all have our moments.

Eek! I'm Naked!

So, I thought that I'd try and get one of these out while my laundry is running and before I depart for family fun times for the weekend.  See how much I care about you guys?  Above laundry, below family, below any and all burritos.

Makes you wanna hug me, huh?

Anyways, I wanted to talk about my quasi-job since explaining it in public gets tiring.  I want this to be a kind of PSA, or a Sesame Street episode where we count to 20 and Elmo shows up and says something in-decipherable and any and all knowledge to be learned is absorbed through your subconscious.  Then we can eat rolled up cold cuts and cheese cubes!  Damn, I miss childhood sometimes.

Some of you might be wondering to yourselves, "Wait, you actually leave your basement sometimes?"  Yes, yes I do.  Despite the melanoma, poisonous insects, and deadly animals, I venture out of my sanctuary sometimes to do some work.  "What kind of work is this?"  Well, I'm usually naked. "PROSTITUTE!" No, internet, calm down.  "PORN STAR!" Eh, I guess you're getting a little close, but I'll just explain.

I sit for the art department at my university.  While they paint,draw, etc. my body.  Sometimes I'm naked.

"EW! How could you even do something so degrading to yourself and to OTHERS! They have to look at your...your stuff!"  My penis? Well yes, they do, it usually goes something like this:

So that's basically what a lot of people think happens when a person takes off their clothes in a public setting.  In all reality, it usually goes something like this:

(Please excuse the poor use of paint, I realize it looks like I'm dancing.  Or that people are casing spells.  THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS. Whatever.)

As you can see from my beautiful masterpiece, no one is crying in terror, vomiting profusely, or even for that matter, being offended.  You see, when you put yourself in the position of being a nude model for artists, everyone acts professionally.  This isn't the third grade where people are giggling at the thought of being naked and this isn't the 10th grade where some people consider this pornography.  It's just art.

What I always found weird about this was how I feel sometimes the artist forgets you're a person.  Not that they forget you're there or can physically act in any way, but they treat you like something to make into art.  For one minute, they'll be talking about the shadows crossing your back like you're not even in the room, the next they'll be asking you what your major is (when you're taking a break of course).

"But Ryan, isn't that awkward to be naked in a room full of people?"

Well, valid question internet person since I think that's really what people worry about.  People are looking at you naked.  NAKED.  Usually that's reserved for you and your MIRROR you perv.  Jk, looking at yourself in the mirror isn't pervy, talking to yourself in the mirror is.  

But yeah, a lot of people have seen my junk out and about but it's not like they're constantly staring at it.  The real purpose of these classes is to study the human figure, not to get some kind of kick at looking at people's gnads; and just let me say, these guys make me look way better in drawn form than I do in real life.  They're able to pick out angles I've never seen before and use colors to make shadows even more interesting.  What can I do?  Well I can make a pretty mean pancake in the morning if that interests you.  No?  Well marry an artist then, see if I care...please come back.

I guess that going into this, there is some level of confidence you must have with your body and some notions that you have to leave at the door.  I think they basically go hand in hand though.  Realize that, whatever you think of your body, these guys are going to make it something of their own and disregard your image issues.  What you see and what they see are completely different things.  Trust me.  

I actually had another friend do modeling at another university in the state and she wrote a very eloquent paper on the subject.  With her permission, I took a snippet of it to better illustrate my examples:

Personally, I found nudity as a means to relate some wonderful, horrible, emotional, uplifting, heart-wrenching, and ultimately THOUGHT-- PROVOKING themes from the artist to the viewer. Of course, some nudity can be shocking and I don’t suggest we shove it in the face of children. But imagine when we develop our children’s taste for the human form in an aesthetic, academic, philosophical, and/or natural way. Imagine when we study classic or modern art to begin a commentary on nudity, its representations both good and bad, the power it invokes in an audience, and its ability to translate the major themes of life.                                                          

                                                                         -Laura Taylor 

The major themes of life.  Because there is something about a naked human form that can display emotions in such a different way than what we usually see.  Nudity does not equal sex.

So next time you think that nude art is disgusting, please, give yourself a little slap in the face and remind yourself that not all nude art is pornography.  We don't have to giggle about it, or shun it from society deeming it "disgusting" in nature.  Or next time you see your friend who poses for nude art, don't ask them if it's awkward.  Why would they do it if it was that bad?  Are they being paid millions?  Millions of chicken nuggets (because then I might just do it 24/7)?  Usually not.  Like me, I bet they kind of forget that they're naked in the first place.  Until a cold breeze comes in.

But, if you guys get the idea that traipsing around campus al natural is ok, please realize not everyone will immediately sit down, pull out a canvas, and start painting you.  You'll probably get tazed.  By me.

Sidenote: To illustrate (literally) how great these people can manipulate a drawing tool, I'll slip one of the portraits of me in here.  Don't worry, it's clothed, you guys don't get to see my goodies.  I only do that when people pay me and paint me...SIMULTANEOUSLY.  *phew* Almost opened up a discussion if I did porn or not.

Spoiler: I don't.

Ooo, look at how my tank top is seductively falling off.
*Scandalous*

The Brownies of My Life

Do you guys know about avoidance tactics?  You know, the things you do (consciously and subconsciously) to help you get out of a situation that causes your brain anguish and discomfort.  Usually used when people are experiencing disgust, fear, anxiety, depression, etc.

WELL GUESS FREAKIN' WHAT?!

This is one, right now.  This very second.  This second too.  And this one.  Aaaaaaaaand--ok I'll stop.

You guys know that I'm supposed to be studying for my motivation and emotion test tomorrow so I'm using justification by using vocabulary and actual approaches to emotion while writing this.  See how I earlier explained avoidance with different approaches to emotion?  Gah haha, I'm so sneaky.  I'm secretly making you more learn-ed in the psychology field.  Kind of like how I make baked goods and give them to all my friends to make them fat  really really happy. Golly, I'm the best.

So since I'm avoiding more emotion jargon (and I will be throwing more into here), I obviously have something I'd like to spew out onto my laptop.  No, no more vomit on the laptop tonight, just finger taps.

Just yesterday afternoon, I had the chance to attend a homecoming of one of my good friends as he returned from his LDS mission.  Now, I often find these gatherings (apart from the religious aspect) to basically be big high school reunions.  Which got me thinking about how grown up I am.  Or the complete opposite.  Yeah, that one, definitely that one.

You know, I often look at myself and say, "Damn Ryan, you're lookin' mighty fine in that sweater vest today."

"Why thank you me, but you really need to learn some boundaries and stop stroking my knee."

 "Also, Ryan, look at how mature you are, you're the epitome of maturity with your well organized life and such."

"...Please stop talking to me like that, me."

Sometimes, I find that I put myself on some sort of snobbish pedestal and everything underneath it are the things deemed "too immature."  Things like going streaking in a cemetery, telling poop jokes, eating a whole bag of chips, and laughing at a kid falling down  (Think about it, you know it's a little funny. I heard you do a silent guffah.).

How did I get to this point? Thinking about it, I guess it would be the environment in which I am currently residing in.  Telling a poop joke in class is usually deemed inappropriate by my peers, especially if my mouth is full of a bag of Garden Salsa Sun Chips.  But are they really as distinguished as I think they are?

Which brings us back to Sunday.  Surrounded by my old friends, I found myself giggling at a kid falling on a trampoline and telling dirty jokes.  I FIT GYNECOLOGIST INTO A SENTENCE. Now tell me when that happens without awkward tones and a lot of use of the word "it" and "it's" involved.

I'm adding it to the list of accomplishments I have by my bed. The other two are knit a scarf and not slap a kid in class yet.  Shooting for the stars you guys.

I enjoyed all of this as well.  This wasn't some pained activity like watching a Kristen Stewart movie, but an more along the lines of baking a pan of brownies, waiting approximately three seconds for it to cool, and pouring the entire thing down my esophageal tract.

Ryan, doesn't that hurt?

Well yes, it does.  But here's the thing: As much as I love eating an entire pan of brownies, I can't do it everyday.  Along with the obvious obesity/diabetes problems I would probably incur (along with my burned throat), I would have to have a brownie fund as to not go into serious brownie debt.  Then the brownie mafia would come after me and bake me to a gooey perfection before breaking my legs.

...so I got a little off track there, but I think I understand myself.  Being goofy for a little bit is fun, even beneficial, but I can't do it forever. Where would I get if I didn't take any situation seriously? I would start to have diabetes of the life.

But these guys brought me back to that dirty 15 year old I was.  Or wasn't, I guess I get to be him now, I can't really remember.  We all got to join together and soak up each other's immaturity and realize how grown-up we aren't.  All of us were figuring out how our lives were going to play out and YOU KNOW WHAT? Our slight immaturity helped us to downplay life's oncoming shits.  Grad school applications are less daunting, job choices seem endless, and I can still eat anything I want. We all got to be Peter Pan for a time.

Until we had to return to reality.

I guess I'm just trying to illustrate how moderation is key.  We need to appraise the situation, deem it appropriate for whatever behavior we would like to exhibit, and then exhibit that behavior.  Paraphrasing Magna Arnold, we can appraise the situation or object, and assess what costs and benefits we can personally get from it.*

 Me every Friday night. Victory.

But knowing myself, I have a nasty sweet tooth that I haven't outgrown yet. So you know I'm going to down a pan of social "brownies" whenever I get the chance. Then I'm going to rub my chocolate stained face all over you and laugh like a kid seeing a dog poop on a baby.

Haha. Poop.




*BAM.  Look at me keep sneaking my test material into this post.  Like. A. Psychology. Boss (But-not-licensed-in-any-way-or-affiliated-with-the-APA-kind-of-boss).

Let's Take A Walk

I decided that the small town Cedar bug is starting to get to me.  One strain in particular that tells me that walking around any dark neighborhood at night is decently safe and that I'm not going to get murdered/mugged/________(insert maiming activity here).

Which brings us to our walk last week on Saturday night.

If I ever happen to venture up to Salt Lake, I always find myself generally going to the same place on Saturday night with a good group of people.  This night was no exception.

So, I found myself hanging out with some good friends and we decided to go to the club we usually attend on Saturdays.  Weird thing was, there was something not terribly fun about the flashing lights and loud music that night though.  You see, right before this, I had attended the film, The Master.  I had never heard of this movie and I only saw it because in line at the movies with my friend, we talked to the strangers in front of us who had just bought tickets for the next showing of that movie and they raved about how great it was.  Thus, we bought tickets, entered the theater, and took our seats.

Let's just say the next two hours and fifteen minutes were...existential.

That became the word of the night: existential.  Of all the movies (which this one I'd recommend to see) to see that night, it had to be the one that made me think. THINK.  About. My. Damn. Life. Come on world, the weekends are for turning off those thoughts that make me worry about what I'm going to do with my life.  I always just end up at death.  I skip everything else good that happens in your life and I'm just dead.

So here I am at a raucous place of sin, sitting on a chair on the patio thinking about my ultimate demise, so you can imagine why I wasn't having a spectacularly peachy time.  As the night wore on, one of my friends decided to head home so I volunteered to walk them to their car. You know, in case they broke their femur on the way or something.

With the quiet hum of an engine, my friend headed off into the night and I was left outside, hearing the steady beat of the bass from the music inside.  As I began to walk back towards the club, I stopped and started thinking. When the thinking starts, we all know it's going to downhill from there.

I continued to walk.  Past the club, down the street, and I just kept going. A few blocks later, I walked into a 7 Eleven, cursed that they didn't have the pina colada slurpee flavor, and settled for the largest size with a cherry flavor. I then took the opportunity to do a city smart thing to prevent me from losing my valuables.

Take note: Put your valuables such as phones, credit cards, and cash, into your underwear.  Most muggers won't check there since they'll ask you to empty your pocket and/or purse/bag.  Hence, why you wear tighter underwear to become mugger-proof.  If you're a mugger reading this, totally a lie. People don't carry valuables on them. And I might have pepper spray. And special-ops training.  But seriously, this shit works.

I'm sure you guys can see my gears clicking since I took the physical preparation of being mugged yet I continued to walk. I can't really explain it either other than the fact that I wanted some quiet time in nice weather to sort through my own muddled mind (and I didn't feel like paying to get back into the club).  My mind was determined to ignore all those public service announcements in my head that told me not to walk downtown* by myself.

Don't think I didn't have any thoughts of being stabbed by a hobo, but those thoughts were overpowered by the thoughts about life.  I began reflecting which is probably one of those building blocks of existentialism.  Where would I be if I had never moved out of Salt Lake? Can my major take me to where actually want to go? Where is that anyway, the place I want to go to? Am I happy with what I'm doing or deceiving myself by staying busy all the time? How religious am I or do I even consider myself religious? Who is this Mitt Romney and is his hair actually real? (Jk, we all know he's a robot. No? I gotta read the paper more...).

Of those, I contemplated my major the most or at least my plans for the coming months.  Graduating in may means if I'd like to attend grad** school, I need to take the GRE, which means I have to prepare to take that and if I fail that THEN I CAN DO NOTHING MORE AND MIGHT AS WELL FIND MY CARDBOARD HOME ON THE STREET I'M WALKING ON.  That, or pursue another degree in a field I like more where I can pursue a Master's in that field.

I began to feel insignificant in the city as I quietly sipped and walked along, the only noises far off being police siren's and the sound of my footsteps behind me. But we all have to get to this point, right? Where you questions yourself when you find yourself at these turning points.  Sometimes, you just have to sit at that crossroads for a little longer, especially if you have the time to do so.  Sometimes, you have to make that quick decision to get up and keep walking until you face an outcome.

I ventured onward and the only berating from a stranger I received was a few words in Spanish.  As a car passed me, they slowed down, stopped, and yelled at me in Spanish.  I stared, they stared, we all stared, and they drove on.

Potential kidnappings avoided in-counting: 1.

My face started to become wet suddenly and I looked up only to be sprayed in the face more by the sprinklers of the capitol building. I had walked into the avenues and here I was at the capitol building on a Saturday night, or Sunday morning really (it was about 2 in the morning by this time). At this point, my city senses turned backed on and I decided to hide sit behind a small wall that shielded the landing from the street.  I sat there until my friends called me, wondering where I had gotten off to. They then came and snagged me from my potential new home, ending my short existential adventure.  Probably for the best though, since any more reflecting and I might have become vegan or something like that.


Only slightly unfortunate since I had picked a nice spot on the hill for my cardboard mansion.

Sippin' on a slurpee hiding from the popo. Thug life, I think.

Hopefully now you (the reader) are thinking about your life and you probably hate me for it. The sick existential cycle continues! Please only send hate-mail in the form of baked goods.

*To get a feel of where I was, I think I started out on about 200 North and...300 West?  Not terribly scary, not terribly safe either. These are my best guesses since I wasn't particularly paying attention to the street signs, I was going off of landmarks.  We all know that is the best kind of direction keeping.  Just going in One direction.  Get it? One Direction, like the boy band.  I was trying to appease to any tween girls out there. I have a theory that if you shouted that into an elementary school loud enough you could start a full on riot.

**I automatically first wrote that as Grad school, not grad school.  You can see how I feel subconsciously about the idea of grad school. Like some kind of sacred idol.

Karmic Justice

It has become one of those Sundays.  You know, the ones where you attribute your laziness and lack of hygiene to it merely being Sunday.  For some reason, us lazies all universally think that the distance of the sun from the earth on this particular day makes us extra tired and IT IS A PERFECTLY LEGITIMATE EXCUSE.  Or not.  Maybe it's flying spaghetti monster magic or where Jupiter is in the sky, but I'm blaming all of the above because I finally dragged my sorry butt out of bed and made it to the library to attempt some study time.  We can all see how that's going, MUAHAHA.  *ahem*

Anyways, this was not, of course, before making four hot dogs and a hamburger.  I slightly regret this decision because of the sodium content.  Totally could have gotten more out of that bag of Cooler Ranch Doritos.  I'm pretty sure that's how nutrition works, you try and get the most out of your food before you get diabetes and get wheels for feet.  I'm also obviously aware of all the modern medicine techniques for loss of limbs (I gotta stop watching so much Mad Men...).  I do get my choice of rims, right?

But do you know what is great?  I can actually open my mouth to put this food in where it be digested and turned into bile.

Now gather up children and get on my magic school bus* where we travel back two weeks to a Friday morning when Ryan woke up and screamed.  I being Ryan in case you know anyone else by that name.  I yelled...very masculine-ly.  Grrrr, football and camping--ow my face!

Me before the incident.

Of course, my food-hole only opened about an inch since the scream incurred due to a sudden crack in my jaw.  For the rest morning, I tried massaging my jaw since this has occasionally happened before but this was on a whole new level.  Breakfast was shoved into my face so as to get some kind of energy into me since I was going to be traveling to the Salty Lake only hours later.

BUT PLOT TWIST.

All of this food that was shoved into my unwelcoming mouth and down my intestines was not sticking--in any sense of the word.  I was experiencing what one would call the "the shits."  Basically anything and everything that was going in was being blendi-fied and then I'd just sit and cry throwing my fists in the air and cursing everything that ever existed.

I can talk about my bowel issues with you guys, right?  I'm pretty sure we're close enough for that, internet friends forever!  *as I scoot closer to you and handcuff your wrist to mine...* NEVER LEAVE ME.

So basically my body decided that it wanted nothing in it all weekend since my mouth was locked up like a psychopath's basement and my other end had become a new Niagra.  I, of course, refused to have any of this and even attempted to eat a Chipotle burrito.  Because you know if you ignore a problem it goes away!

For those who have been to Chipotle, you know that the burritos have the circumference of a newborn baby's head and I CONQUERED...almost.  Which is frustrating considering I used to be able to almost fit my entire fist in my mouth.

With all this unpleasantness falling upon me at once, I began to wonder what I had done to deserve it.  It OBVIOUSLY wasn't something I had eaten or a stress condition, so it must be attributed to the universe and what I had put out there.  But who had I wronged?

Was it the kid on crutches I didn't hold the door open for?  In my defense, I honestly thought he was going in the opposite direction so by the time he hobbled to my door I had speed-walked by.

Maybe it was how curtly I had responded to a female student in my statistics class when she had asked me what a certain symbol was by drawing it in the air.  I also responded with an air symbol that was probably easier to read.  Just kidding mom!  I made her cookies and knit her a sweater with the symbol and it's meaning on it.

It must have been the time when I told my friend I couldn't hang out because I needed to catch up on some homework.  Did I have homework to catch up on?  Yes, but it's like the remote whispered sweet nothings into my ear and told me to just keep pressing play on my Netflix queue.  Next thing I knew, it was two days later and I had eaten half a box of Life cereal.  Literally, the box.

Oh, now I have it.  All the times I had taken my younger sister and sat on her, smothered her, thrown her, put my socks on her face, put her face in my armpit, or eaten her food, must have added up and come back to bite me in the ass.  By the way, happy birthday tomorrow smelly.

I'm all better by now though.  After a visit to the doctor and some heating pads/ice cubes on my face, my body has resumed its normal functions and I no longer fear being lactose intolerant.  All this pain at once just got me wondering whose toes I had stepped on to get everything at once.  It even made me consider being more observant of my behavior so that if I do receive some of that karmic justice, I might receive it in smaller doses.  Things like stubbing my toe or watching any movie with Amanda Seyfried in it.

But that way of life is literally impossible unless I tied myself up now and someone just had to feed me every day.  Even then, I'd probably be pissing off that guy.

So, I guess I'm just going to have to deal with the occasional flare-up of karma since that must be how it is for me.  Some people get the little ones dispersed over time, I get a large one for one weekend (and yes, my jaw locked for 3 days, I hated all food that wasn't flat).  Kind of like how some people go bald slowly and some drop it like it's hot.

I'm going to drop it like it's hot.





*Anyone remember that show and how your teacher would try and legitimately try and use it as a source of knowledge so they could maybe get 10 minutes of peace and quiet?  Bless those teachers and the creators of this cartoon for teaching me that learning doesn't occur unless you have a kooky red-haired teacher who wears earrings corresponding to the lesson.  I'm waiting for little guillotine earrings when A Tale of Two Cities is read.

I Now Pronounce You...

I happen to keep finding myself at wedding receptions recently.

That or receiving invitations, checking my schedule, seeing that it's full of watching Top Model and sleeping in gutters for the next year and I decide I can't go.  I don't know, they're the same to me.

I took pictures of myself just
to see how I'd look for my wedding.
Shmexy.

But to the receptions that I HAVE been to, there is some magic in the air.

No, I'm not talking about drugs.  No, not talking about all the lovey dovey-ness that is floating around at these shindigs.  What I am referring to is the strange phenomenon that I will dub:

THE MAKE OUT VIRUS

Now despite what you may think, this does not cause the victim to spontaneous start mackin' on everyone around them, it instead causes a state of deliriousness where the victim believes they want a significant other. That they can mack on.  And snack on.  And whatever else you do to people you date. How should I know, I have a cat.

But anyways, some strange feeling seems to come upon people and they feel the need to be kissed or kiss.  I came to the conclusion that it was simply the environment.  A person is being surrounded in a celebration of commitment and they go, "Hey, I think I want in on some of this action, bleeegghhhh." *SMACK* (that's the person going open mouthed toward any other person at the wedding and getting slapped like a ho behind on payments).

I'll admit, I've even slightly had a small outbreak of this.  Then I broke out in hives and realized I'm allergic to feelings.

Even my weird heart has felt some of these which I found weird.  See, I'm not the most commitment oriented person when it comes to...well, commitment.  I'm usually single because I choose to be since most of the time I think relationships are confusing, weird, hard, and scary.*  So then I take this thinking and apply it to everyone else.  I look at those people who are getting married all around me and think to myself, "AH, THEY'RE NOT READY, WHHHHYYYYY?!"  or "How can they think they can get married when they don't even know each other?  They're going to be unhappy really quick." or "They're just getting married to have sex."

As you can see, I'm a little pessimistic on the subject so far since a majority of the time I think people are getting married for the wrong reasons.  But then, I go to receptions and my mind gets all googly and I break out in hives and stab myself with an epi-pen repeatedly.

I walk upon two people who I deem worthy to call themselves "Married."  But why are they different from the other Joes and Nancys?  Somewhere in my mind I tell myself that these two are smart enough to know what they're getting into and the cynical little man in my head that thinks relationships are poo gets tied up and thrown into a cellar somewhere.  Then the rats chew on him until I leave the festivus of love.

I guess that I'm worried about people sometimes or what type of relationship will stem from being unprepared.

Homegirl was ready for this wedding. This is
for a specific fanatic (you know who you are).

So, by no means am I against marriage, I think it's pretty dandy under the right circumstances.  One day, I'll probably even head down that road of sharing a place of residence and dealing with smelly feet (you all know that's a concern, don't lie).  For some people, I don't think it's their time yet but who am I to judge when I don't know everyone terribly well.  Hell, I don't even know myself that well. Hence, still single.

But please, keep inviting me to these things.  I can't get enough of this free food.  Or stealing some of your wedding cake when you aren't looking.



*Can someone say commitment issues?  Well hopefully you can, you just read it.  Just sound it out.  There you go, I'm proud of you.  Now shutup.  Just shut your cake filled mouth.

Stop Touching Me

I promise that I am a friendly person, but ya'll gotta stop.

So recently, I've noticed that there are a few articles of clothing that a majority of the population cannot resist to touch WHILE THEY ARE ON MY PERSON.

You see, I'm going to explain personal bubbles right now:

Extrovert: Basically a piece of plastic wrap thick.  If you trip while in conversation with this person, you'll probably get to first base.

Normal person: Maybe about a foot, maybe less.  At least in American culture, you feel comfortable that they aren't going to try and feel ya up in conversation.

Introvert: Just give me 10 feet and we can talk through two cans with a string,

Me:  *Person makes eye contact* I begin frantically searching for a place to hide/die alone.

You guys get the point.

I have recently been out in several different social setting wearing different items that some people cannot resist grabbing onto or even taking off of me.

Suspenders, glasses, and bow ties.

The first, people decide to walk up and take a big pull and let the elastic whip back onto my chest.  Apparently when you wear suspenders, you basically tattoo on your forehead, "I WANT TO BE PUBLICLY ABUSED"

I understand that one slightly since, you now, when isn't physical humor funny (Cat falling down?  Baseball in the nuts?  Hicks on any type of motor vehicle?)?  But I'm still grasping the whole glasses thing.  Almost strangers* come up to you, reach their hands around your eyeball zone, and try to pry your spectacles off your face.

My natural reaction:  Some type of Rambo move accompanied by a small seizure.  My expression probably looks along the lines of "I just saw whisper sweet nothings to a mannequin," or "I just saw you lick a desk" or "you're wearing crocs."'

"But I just want to see if they're real or not." Stranger might say.

Now I know that my glasses might not be traditional looking glasses (and I do also own those kind and the same thing happens), but guess what?  THEY'RE ON MY FACE SO I CAN SEE YOU.  And then hide from you.  In my basement.  With some Oreos.  And some milk.  And a slightly open window so I can order chinese food.  Go away.

"Wow, you're really blind."  you say as you clumsily touch my face with your diseased hands, trying to put my glasses back on.  Stop it.

Now wearing a bow tie, people just like to touch it for the sake of touching a bow tie.  I guess there is either some luck in doing so or it's some social faux pas I haven't heard of, but it just happens.  "Oh, look at your cute little bow tie!" *touch touch touch* "Did you tie that yourself?" *touch touch touch*

Guess what you're doing to the small OCD guy inside my head while you do this?  He is breathing heavily into a paper bag while downing some xanax and contemplating the long term side effects of heroin. He tied the tie to sit straight, not be constantly barraged by greasy nubs.  Great, you killed him.  He had a heart attack and died.  LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE.  Like I have any idea what to do with this body...you guys are so rude.

Also, what is it with the Ceeds?  I'm walking down the street minding my own business and 50 million (give or take 10 million) people say hello or wave at me while I'm just walking to and from any destination.  These strangers feel the need to acknowledge my presence like we're some kind of neighbor or something.  I grew up in the "big city"**  where acknowledging a stranger on the street gets a knife in your gut.  Or hobo spit in your eye.  Or a drive-by.  Cedar, you're stressing me out, I don't even know how to react to all this friendliness. 

This is basically a plea for all you touchers out there.  Eventually, some of us who can't take the constant bubble invasion are either going to snap or seize and go into some kind of coma.  Do you really want to Million Dollar Baby me? 

All I ask is that you bury me with my rare Pokemon cards.

Now stop touching me.




*An almost stranger is a person that is probably a friend of a friend or somehow in your same social circle.  You may or may not know their name and for some reason they feel comfortable enough to molest your face with their fingers.

*Yes, I'm going to call Salt Lake a big city since it's the largest place in this state.  I know it's not rather large compared to other cities, but it's my big city.  Calm your tits internet.

Look, LOOK AT MY STUFF!

Now I usually don't brag about items that I own but I can't help it this time, I have to share.

Unfortunately, this isn't Pinterest or Instagram so when I share something like this it is totally self-gratifying and meant to make you jealous and all that other shit instead of just "sharing my life" with ya'll.  I'm basically jumping up and down on the internet screaming, "LOOK, LOOK AT MY STUFF, ASDKJFHF;KJ," like some crazed tweenage girl at a twilight movie premiere.

Oh, wait... *wink*

If you would like though, I'll make it like Instagram and comment on it.

"OMG, best shirt EVAR, ttyl xoxo"

...I don't actually know how Instagram works, bear with me.

All right grannies, hold onto your wigs, for lo and behold this piece of cotton that I now own:

OOOooo, Ahhhhh, I'm throwing up I'm so excited.
Ugh, now I have to wash my computer...again.

All right, let's discuss the awesome points in this shirt (and yes, I took this while walking to school):
1. It has the Deathly Hallows as one part of the design
2. It's red
3. Is that a Tri-Force I see hiding in there?! Why yes it is internet person, YES. IT. IS.
4. Smack dab in the middle of this orgy or awesomeness lies a Pokeball.  From Pokemon.  The show and video-game   That you watch and play.  ...I threw up again, I can't handle this.

Of all that is good and nerdly, this shirt is everything about my childhood.  The countless hours clicking buttons on a Nintendo 64 and gameboy while slowly developing carpal tunnel.  The recesses I spent huddled in a corner flipping pages while I pushed up my large glasses (which were Potter-esque).  Every introverted kids dream!

Excuse me while I down a bottle of Xanax so my heart won't explode.

I found this shirt after following some YouTuber vloggers (these guys, shep689), cause you know, I'm not creepy like that *peeks out blinds*.  I've known about this wonder for a long time but have only recently decided to invest in it.

Of course, I originally was going to talk about how people need to stop being so creepily nice here in the Ceeds and they need to stop touching me (that'll be next time kiddos). Oh, and also about how I'm going to be paid to be naked again*, but this took precedence when it showed up on my doorstep.

Yes, I wore it 30 seconds after it arrived.

Yes, I have worn it two days in a row.

No, I'm never taking it off.



*It's not prostitution if they don't touch you right? *wink, nudge*

Here's where I got this masterpiece: http://www.districtlines.com/52142--Nerdly-Hallows-Cranberry-Nerd/shep689

This Yogurt Tastes Like Poop

Yet I'm still eating it.  The mean thing is that is looks like whipped cream with strawberries, but it tastes like poop.

POOP.

I stupidly picked up the last carton at the store last night thinking, "It's not vanilla, but I'm sure it will taste just fine."  WRONG.  Now I must suffer through every single bitter bite until the carton is gone.  Or...here kitty kitty...

Just kidding, I only let my cat eat bugs and rocks.

This is really how you're starting a back to school post?  Yes, yes I am.  You know, I don't think talking about yogurt (yoghurt?) is the best way to welcome the new school year (it's definitely yogurt, spell check is getting angry at me.).  Shutup and go eat my poop yogurt me.

I guess I'm back in the Ceeds (I'm going to make it happen people) now and the school year has begun.  Joyous occasion?  Eh...let's start with new occasion, I can work with that.

I'm back of course after a 3 week trip to Salty Lake where I actually took the cat with me.  I made the mistake of letting him out of his cat carrier on the way there.  He immediately commandeered the car, held a gun to my head and told me I must go 60 to 80 mph or the car would explode along with a bus of school children. Did I mention I was driving with Keanu Reeves as well?  Let's just say I didn't make the same mistake on the way back to Cedar.

I guess I really could be talking about how excited I am to be back in school or how this is such an opportunity or I really need to burn the evidence in the backyard...YEAH, all that stuff, but I'm not.  I'm tired and it is day three.  THREE.  Uno, dos, THREE. Why can't my life be like a movie and college goes by in 90 minutes? I WANT TO BE REESE WITHERSPOON AND BE A SASSY LAWYER.  Wait, I'd rather be anyone in Good Will Hunting.  A Beautiful Mind?  So I guess now I'm going to wake up and realize I haven't actually been going to school for 3 years but have been sitting in my basement chewing on cardboard.

Is that a better alternative?  I'll let you decide.

All right, cardboard: check.  Cat joke: check.  Dated movie references: check.  Poopy yogurt: check.

Do I even have to talk about classes?  Fine: class class, paper paper, read read read, walking everywhere.  I think that did it justice.

I guess this is how school is going to start.  Can I use YOLO ironically or is that against some kind of rule I don't know about.  Whatever, the rules?  I break them.

YOLO FOREVER