Mutant Centipede

Tonight, I took a shower. A normal experience on any other day. 

But not this day.

I haven't showered at my apartment since before Thanksgiving break, and apparently one week is enough time to breed a fucking rainforest.

As I was puttin' the 'poo in my hair, I tilted my head back and noticed a very large spider in the ceiling corner above my shower. I did not like this, but he was on the side opposite my head, so I figured I would just grab my swiffer after I got out and murder him. No big deal. 

Side note: I was actually very proud of myself for this, as I have a strong dislike for spiders. I thought it was a phobia, but then I felt a fear like I have never experienced before.

As I went to put the 'poo bottle back in its rightful place, I saw a creature which, even after confirming that it was in fact there, I still do not believe can exist on this planet. I cannot accept that a life form so disgusting found solace in my shower. 

Look at your thumb. Back to me. Back at your thumb. Back to me. Your thumb isn't really that big in the grand scheme of things. But it suddenly seems bigger when it is comparable to the size of a centipede. 

I have never gotten out of a shower faster in my life. I'm pretty sure I still have conditioner in my hair. I have just confirmed: I do still have conditioner in my hair. 

I'm trying to be lighthearted about this, but I honestly did not realize just how terrified I was of those things. I never understood paralyzing fear until I saw the thumb-pede. That sounds ridiculous. And I feel ridiculous. But it's true. I had a legitimate panic attack and hyperventilated for about ten minutes, almost threw up, and somehow got dressed and made it to my couch where I am not moving from until Matthew gets here, which could be hours. 

I kind of have to pee. And I need chapstick. And deodorant. But all that will just have to wait. 

IT WILL JUST HAVE TO. 

Awesome sex

My neighbor's name is Ryan.

How do I know this?

Ryan apparently got himself a girl who forgets all other words when aroused. Oh, and the F word. That one is in there a lot. Ryan and his lady enjoy having very loud and vigorous sex frequently for extended periods of time.

It's pretty exciting.

It was the perfect ending to the chapter of Wintergirls I read last night.

It was a terrific soundtrack to get dressed to before I left for work this evening.

My life has been enhanced by the sound of the amazing, mind-blowing fuckery that has become the surround sound of my bedroom. A porno home theater for free? Who doesn't want that?

Thank you, Ryan and lady friend, for the auditory gift of your coital endeavors. I hope that she is literate and can actually say more than two words so that whatever children may result from these escapades will be successful in the world. Worry not, Ryan, I have no resentment for your shocking 40-minute endurance. It is indeed impressive. I only hope that your female will not wear out over time.

That is all. I hope your evening holds as exciting a soundtrack as mine certainly will.

Regarding Neighbors

I love my new apartment. It is large and decorated just how I want it and clean and peaceful. I am not kept up at night by crazy parties and loud music anymore.

But.

I do live on the downstairs floor, which inevitably has its drawbacks...

So, here is a poem I wrote about it.

Upstairs Neighbor

The neon green numbers on the microwave tick another minute away.

1:10 a.m...1:11 a.m...1:12 a.m....

It begins.

Tuesdays, Mitch makes wine.

His bare feet slimy with grape innards,

he stomps and smashes,

enjoying the feeling of the slick juice

sliding between his toes.

Wednesdays, Mitch conducts a morbidly obese marching band.

Left, right, left, right. Crash, bang, boom.

Tasseled hats and wool jackets form perfectly straight lines

and weave, creating a star, a square, a circle,

spelling out simple words.

Thursdays, Mitch holds a late-night rehearsal.

His Celtic friends lace up black shoes.

Tap tap tap t-tap tap t-tap.

The members of Riverdance need no fancy practice space.

They prepare for their reunion tour on 750 square feet of plush carpet and tile.

Fridays, Mitch demands private showings of Cirque du Soleil.

Bright pink scarves float from his range hood,

fluorescent lights, the arms of a leather sectional.

Electric blue leotards leap and dance,

performing trapeze tricks from the chandelier,

balancing on a tightrope between the Frigidaire and the bar stools.

Saturdays, Mitch walks his pet elephant, Daisy,

inside, of course, so as not to cause a ruckus in the complex.

She gets extra peanuts if she does her jump trick.

Her wrinkled gray skin jiggles

as she rears on her hind legs

and paws at the air.

Sundays and Mondays Mitch needs a break.

His muscles ache and burn.

He climbs into his $15,000 reflexology bed,

snuggles into Egyptian cotton and a down comforter,

and turns the massage vibration to extra high.

Aww isn't she cute??

Have a lovely, quiet night!

Honest Hostess

A funny video for you inspired by the events of this past weekend...

I'm a regular Bill Shakespeare.

My immune system has decided to remind me again of how much it TOTALLY SUCKS. Like I forgot or something. I didn't, immune system. I could never forget about you. 

The little throat scratchies started two nights ago, and then yesterday (the day boyfriend and I were going to see Muse, of course) I woke up to my throat trying to burn me alive. I survived by eating copious amounts of ice cream for breakfast; don't worry.

And it got even worse today. I didn't think that was possible, but damn, immune system, you gotta show yourself up every time, huh? So now I can't breathe. Or swallow. Or hear. It's awesome. 

I went to the doctor because no way in hell was I walking across all of campus to go sit in class and disturb/gross out everyone with my constant nose blowing. And I got medicine and all that good stuff.

So, the point: I was super sad about missing my creative writing class, because it's AMAZEBEANS and I wrote what I thought was a really good dialogue for class today and I didn't even get to share it :( but my teacher emailed me our assignments, and Huzzah!! We're writing a sonnet for next class. I have a special affinity for sonnets. So I'll share two: the one I wrote for my current creative writing class that's due Tuesday, and one I wrote in high school just because I felt like it. 

No Class Today

My nose is red and raw from being blown.

I’ve blown and sniffed and hacked to no avail.

This mucus wants to make itself well-known,

And who am I to try and make him fail?

I’ve only one request of you, Herr Phlegm:

Don’t stay too long; I’ve got to go to class,

And when my throat’s on fire from your swim,

It’s hard to make myself get off my ass.

But, Lo! What here? I’ve found a Mucinex!

I’ll wash it down with chicken soup and tea.

It seems this battle’s come to its apex.

You’re no match for this medication, see?

So go on, leave me now for someone else.

You’ve 19,000 noses left. Mach schnell! 

Ex-Boyfriend

Your face, it fills my soul with much disgust.

It oozes from the porous realms inside.

It fills my soul and coats my lungs with rust

Each time I accident'ly catch your eye.

Why must you torture me so with your voice?

Why not just stick a knife between my ribs?

My ears have never heard such horrid noise,

Aside, of course, from your incessant fibs.

So please, for my own sake, leave me alone.

For goodness' sake, I don't want to be friends.

Nope, douche cake's not a cake that I condone,

So take your cake, douche, we can't make amends.

Don't kid yourself. You know you're just a play'r. 

You'll die alone one day without a pray'r. 

How to Freshman

Goooood morning fellow people! For those of you who don't already know, my "baby" bro started college classes yesterday. Which makes me feel approximately 90 years old. And it brought back all those memories of starting college, which made me feel even older (we're talking in the hundreds here) because I'm a senior now. You know what that means. I am a fountain of college advice. It's true. But not like, a wishing fountain, so don't throw pennies and shit at me. 

Here are some pro tips for all you new collegiate freshman.

To quote the speaker at my freshman commencement, "Go. To. Class." You (or more likely, your parents) are paying an exorbitant amount of money to take classes. If you skip them, you might as well throw $10,000 out of your small dorm room window, assuming it actually opens. Also, think of the poor professors. Most of them are passionate about their subjects and want you to learn and experience as much as possible. Don't waste their time, yo. It's rude! 

This is probably too late, as classes have started at almost every university, but living on campus for at least a year is the thing to do. It's like a fashion trend but for housing. Seriously, if I hadn't lived on campus I don't know how in the hell I would have met people. And going potluck on a roommate, though scary, can be such an excellent experience. You get to know so much about not only your roomie, whether random or not, as well as your dorm mates. And it's nice, because you're all simultaneously excited and scared shitless so you have a lot to talk about. 

Budget. Budget. Good lord, budget. This is something I totally suck at, so I can say from experience that it is a TERRIBLE idea to not budget. Set a limit for things, like groceries or shopping or eating out or whatever, and just don't exceed that limit. I don't know about y'all, but I feel like an idiot having to go to my parents and asking for monies because I ate at Olive Garden too many times this month. Because I'm an adult, dammit....sort of....and I want to be thought of that way! 

Pay your rent. That seems like a total "duh," I know. But for real, if you don't pay it on time, you get charged late fees, and then more late fees, and then it all adds up and suddenly you're getting evicted for not having paid rent for three months. OK, maybe not. But still. It happens the first of the month, every month. You know when it's coming, so as Scar would say, "Be prepaaaared!"

Rent your textbooks. For some reason, I thought it was a good idea to buy all my textbooks for my first year and a half. Then suddenly, I realized I was selling them all back at the end of the semester (selling here meaning receiving approximately 1/10 of what the book was initially worth. Those things depreciate faster than cars) and not keeping them. And why pay $200 for a book only to get $20 when you try to sell it back to the bookstore? Rent it used for $40 instead. You don't make anything back, but at least you're not $180 in the hole. I would strongly suggest Chegg. They have the lowest prices and get your books to you in like four days, tops. It's awesome. 

Finally, stop focusing on the future so much. I'm a chronic worrier, so of course that's what I always do. My eyes are always on the prize. But I tell you what, you miss a lot that way, and then suddenly you're a senior graduating in December and about to become a real person and it is FRIGHTENING. It's cool, you got time. I mean, don't waste a bunch of money taking classes you're not sure of, but if you have to take core classes for two years while you figure out a major, it's not a big deal. And if you change major three times, you can still graduate on time, maybe even early. Trust me, I know from experience. 

So, take these tips as you will, and go be the freshman that you are—clogging up food lines for two weeks at the beginning of the year until you realize you're spending all your dining money too quickly, forgetting to set alarms, staying up too late and subsequently drinking far too much caffeine, and trying out all those cool new college things like parties and drinking and one night stands. Whether you hate it or love it, it's all about the experience, and other cliches of a similar order.

You'll figure it out. 

The Biggest Baby in the World and the Madness that Ensued as a Result of its Largeness

You guys. I’m pissed. I’ma tell you a story.

The Background:

For those of you who don’t know, my family recently relocated to Chattanooga to rejoin my dad, who’s been working down here for a year. He got a position on the medical faculty at UTC and practices at Erlanger hospital and presides over OB/GYN residents.

The Incident:

Today my dad had a delivery, and it appeared that the lady would have to have a C-Section (due to her oh-my-god excessive weight and the oh-my-jesus-gracious-goodness-ouch size of her unborn baby). The chief resident was supposed to come induce labor and then do the C-Section as well. Instead, though, Mizz Chief Rez sent another resident to do the induction and then figured she’d pop over to do the C-Section. But that wasn’t the plan. So my dad just let the resident who actually showed up when he was supposed to do both.

Then Mizz Thing gets her panties all in a twist and comes out and goes off on my dad, embarrassing him and disrespecting him in front of his colleagues and other residents.

The Reaction:

A) I’m sorry, bitch, but you must not realize how incredibly lucky you are to have one of the BEST OB/GYNs in the state of Tennessee (that’s not just me speaking, that’s the state speaking) as your mentor. He gave up an amazing practice in Knoxville where he was adored by all his patients and coworkers to come here because he loves teaching.

B) Where in the HELL did you get the idea that it’s OK to speak to your superior like that? This man is not your colleague; he is your PROFESSOR and your presiding doctor. He is essentially your boss man while you’re doing your little residency thing here. You will go nowhere in the workplace speaking to people above, or even below or on the same level as, you like that.

C) That’s not how being a doctor, or any professional for that matter, works. You don’t send someone else to do your dirty work and then just show up for whatever it is you really wanted to do. Especially at this level, when you’re not actually a real freaking doctor, you might want to watch how you present yourself.

D) My dad ain’t some hobo on living under a bridge that you can talk to however you want and get away with it. He is very influential in his workplace, and guess whom he talked to about this little incident? The dean. Guess who’s got a suspension coming her way?

I hate seeing my dad upset about something that he genuinely loves to do and something that he is very, VERY good at. He is an amazing teacher and mentor. He is far too intelligent for any earth-dwelling being to be and relays that wealth of knowledge to all of his students and residents. It’s not fair to him. It’s insulting to him AND to the program to talk to him that way at all, let alone in such a public setting. Thank goodness justice will be served to this idiot girl.

Brief tangent relating this incident to my generation in general:

Here are some pro tips from someone who wasn’t raised by Sandy Douche Nozzle and Billy Ass Hat about how to go about your life in general, not just in the workplace.

1) Punctuality is important. I hate hate HATE when people are late, because there is just no reason for it. Leave yourself enough time for any accidents and incidents that may happen. God forbid, that might mean you arrive a little early. Don’t disrespect people’s time.

2) Respecting your elders isn’t just an old saying; it’s how you should live your life. The fact is that people who are older than you have more life experience. That’s how time works. Listen to what they say. If you have a question or a complaint, there’s a way to bring it up politely. And for goodness’ sakes, don’t just whine about it. Offer a solution or an alternative. Otherwise there is no reason to be talking about it.

3) Be responsible. I guess that’s kind of a catch all category that would include the first two…but still. Clean up after yourself. Dress and present yourself well. Learn to write and express yourself clearly, professionally, and concisely. Do things you aren’t asked to do. Take initiative. Don’t be lazy.

This isn’t to say that everyone around my age is like this; these things just tend to be stereotypes about my generation. I surround myself with people who are responsible, polite, and hardworking. I know so many people who work multiple jobs and pay for everything themselves, and some are younger than I am. Now, you don’t have to go out and get three jobs to be a respectable person….it’s just…what I’m trying to say here is….the basic point of this rant and all these tips is:

4) Don’t be an asshole.

Life in Shitside

I have done it. I have somehow managed to gather all of my horrible experiences in Creekside and condense them into a single review which I will subsequently post on every apartment review website I can find in the hopes of saving other poor innocent souls.

Without further ado, here tis: 

Creekside of Auburn claims to have the best pool and amenities in Auburn and to be “student living redefined.” Their definition of student living, however, did not live up to its advertisement.

Firstly, what they boast as the best pool in Auburn is ever crawling with non-residents and is usually dirty. Oftentimes people who come to the pool don’t even know anyone in the complex (I have no idea how they get in). Adding to their being unwelcome is the fact that they, along with actual residents, throw empty beer cans and cigarettes into the pool, making it disgusting and completely unable to be used.

Creekside also advertises itself as a gated community. Unlike other gated complexes, however, Creekside uses a barcode scan system, which is usually broken. Thus the gates are open 24 hours a day, including weekends. If the gates are closed and the scanner is broken, there is no code to open the gates, which led to three broken gates because of cars driving through them in the year that I lived there. Why they chose a system with no backup way to get in is beyond me.

Creekside is a magnet for irresponsible students who love to party loudly. I did not understand how there could be such a high concentration of people with such habits, but then I discovered that much of Creekside’s advertising involves half of drink specials for residents and other alcoholic incitements. There were obnoxiously loud parties that could be heard two rows of houses over and up the street nearly every weekend and even on weekdays. These parties were rampant with underage drinking and lasted until four a.m. or later. The courtesy officer never picks up his phone, so the police usually come. This is an inconvenience and an annoyance for the officers, especially since Creekside hired someone who is supposedly responsible for taking care of such noise disturbances.

The Internet is abysmal, and it is nearly impossible to get someone to come out and fix it. Our Internet didn’t work for three months, and the management refused to give us a refund on the portion of our rent that went toward cable and Internet. They also refused to let us get our own router.

Management threatens to fine its residents constantly, but never follows up; therefore, what looks like a beautiful complex from outside the gates is full of porches that are littered with beer cans, cigarettes, trash, and beer pong tables. Any complaints about the state of the porches will go unnoticed.

All in all, Creekside is a place for rich kids whose parents don’t care if they drink excessively underage and blow off classes in the morning due to a midweek party. Were I a parent, no matter how much money I had, I would avoid investing in a unit in Creekside like the plague.

Diagnosis: Old Lady

Here is a story for you. 

So remember how I sang you that song about how I hurt my back?

Right. So, I thought it was getting better but then two nights ago, Satan inserted his knife of pain into my lower spine. And boyfriend and I were watching Breaking Bad (OMG AUGUST 11 IS COMING I CANNOT EVEN) and I was just laying flat on the floor, 800 mg of ibu profen on board, just crying like a pathetic thing that is pathetic because it hurt so bad. Like, I honestly thought I was gonna vom cause I was in so much pain.

So I was like, OK OK I'll go to the doctor.

So I set an alarm for 9 a.m. cause that's when the Orthopedic Clinic opens and I called them and I was like, "Look, I'm in a whole lot of pain. Can you please see me today?" And somehow I received an appointment at 10:30.

I got there after a few wrong turns (stupid Opelika road) and was chillin in the waiting room and there was this dude sitting next to me, a black guy in his mid-30s I would guess, and he asked what was wrong. And I told him and we started talking and I told him I was from Chattanooga and they have really good sushi there (this will be important later). 

Anyway, he gets called back, and then I get called back, and they tell me they're gonna do an x ray so I have to put on these SEXUAL shorts:

Oh yes. I kept them.

And then doctor man comes into see me, and he gets like halfway through saying, "Hi, how are you, my name is--" and then he lets out this LION'S ROAR of a yawn. Like, how rude right?? I was like, really? You're not even going to muffle it? Nope, he just opened his big ole mouth and let it out. 

And then he sort of tapped around on my reflexes and pulled on my legs and finally was like, "Yeah, so you slipped a disk."

Which I already suspected, but then it was officially confirmed. I was diagnosed as a lil old lady.

So I took my hothothothot shorts and my pain med prescription and left Lion Man to go take a final. And I'm walking out, and I hear someone yelling at me. It was waiting room man. The following is a rough transcript of our conversation:

Waiting room man: HEY. HEY. So....*heavy breathing from running to catch up with me* what did they say?

Me: Oh, I slipped a disk.

WRM: Oh man, I know that hurts. I hope you feel better.

Me: Thanks.

WRM: Man!! You are GORGEOUS.

Me: .....Aww....well thanks.

WRM: You got a boyfriend?

Me: Yeah I do.

WRM: How long y'all been together?

Me: Two and a half years.

WRM: Wow. So I guess I can't give you my number.

Me: Uhhh...probably not....

WRM: Damn. I was gonna ask you to go get dinner. We could get sushi!

Me: Well you should still try it! It's great.

WRM: But I wanted to try it with you!!

Me: Well....sorry....nice meeting you....

And as I said, this dude is like approaching middle age, and in the waiting room we were talking about his job in Columbus teaching and I just assumed that he had, you know, a family and kids and that we were just talking but I guess he was hitting on me?

Oh well. It was still flattering.

And I guess, really, I would have been the cougar in this situation, not him.

HA. See, some old ladies still got it goin' onnnn!

82

Hey guys....soooo here's nice video for you of me singing a parody I wrote of Taylor's Swift's song "22," inspired by my recent back injury.

The lyrics:

It feels like a perfect night to just wear my jammies

And snuggle up in my flannel sheets, oh oh, oh oh

It feels like a perfect night to go to bed at 10 p.m.

To give up and just turn in, oh oh, oh oh

Yeah,

My back, my joints, please pass the aspirin and the heating pad

I’m so miserable it’s laughable

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night I have to sleep in a straight line

Stupid spine

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22

22

It seems like one of those nights

My house is too big

Can’t make it up the stairs, oh oh, oh oh

It seems like one of those nights

I’ll ditch the bedroom

And end up sleeping

In my living room

Yeah,

My back, my joints, please pass the aspirin and the heating pad

I’m so miserable it’s laughable

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night I have to sleep in a straight line

Stupid spine

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22, 22

22, 22

It feels like one of those nights

That I just can’t move

It feels like one of those nights

Couldn’t if I wanted to

It feels like one of those nights

This looks like bad news…

Can’t bend and can’t move

Can’t bend and can’t move

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22, 22

22, 22

It feels like one of those nights

That I just can’t move

It feels like one of those nights

Couldn’t if I wanted to

It feels like one of those nights

This looks like bad news…

Can’t bend and can’t move

Can’t bend and can’t move