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*

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