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