Floridians

As a last hoorah before school begins at the end of August, my siblings and I decided to take a sibling vacation. Where you ask? The southern haven for snow birds, long borders, beautifully sculpted men and women (as well as their unfortunate, blobby counterparts), and all other manner of cold-loathing, sunshine-seeking specimens of the human species. So, Florida.

Venturing this deep into the South means that paying a visit to my Great Aunt and Uncle is inevitable. My Great Aunt is a square angel. No, really, she is the shape of a square. We call her Spongebob. 

The Uncle, though... a true boob of a man. Unknowingly insulting, lazy, stupid. So. Stupid.

That potato is a glorified version of my Uncle. Whenever we see him he says, "You'll have to come up and visit us sometime!" Like I live in Cuba or something. I'm from upstate New York. His name. Ready? His name is Great Uncle Dick. Never has a human being been more appropriately named.

An example of Dick's stupidity: Upon arriving at my Aunt's house, which is bright pink, a black lab greets us at the door. I notice her milky eyes and ask about them.

"Oh, that's Alice. She has diabetes and poor thing is blind from her cataracts," my Aunt explains.

"Yeah, that's Alice. She is a great watchdog, aren't ya Alice?" Dick says.

I'm like....

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Pretty sure that dog is blind, Dick.

Next, we meet Ranger.

Ranger is obese, arthritic from his obesity, and often will simply look at you from the floor and whine. It's sad, really.

"Oh, yes, we are trying to get Ranger to lose some weight so his arthritis doesn't hurt him so much," Spongebob declares.

"Yep, big guy gotta lose some weight! Ranger, come here. Come. Come. Ranger, come. Come.... He's not one much for walking," Dick cackles. Eventually, Ranger comes.

"Don't you dare, Dick," Aunt Spongebob spits, her eyes boring into his soul.

"He's hungry, sweetie," Dick muses as he gives Ranger the rest of his plate of bacon, eggs and sausage.

"Your'e gonna kill that dog." Spongebob is terse.

"Honey, I--"

"Shut up, Dick."

I'm like...

He really just doesn't get it. And that's basically how I was the rest of the visit with my Aunt and potato.

Anybody else have ridiculous family members that just drive you to be like...

Hitting Low Points

It's that time in the semester when things start to get annoying and life starts to get messy. In this time, my body and my mind are subject to primal instincts and cravings, regardless of what is socially acceptable.

I have a ridiculous class from 6:45 p.m. -10:00 p.m. on Mondays. Well, it's not that ridiculous because it's an acting class and we literally start each day with group stretching, breathing, and cooperation exercises. Pretty relaxed, so we can all say:

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 The point is, when this class rolls around, I have been in class since 12:45 p.m. During my rushed one hour break, I run back to my apartment (12 minutes) eat and run to class, which is in the depths of this wretched city (20 minutes).

My limited amount of time to eat leaves me largely unsatisfied and I crave something more... but what? With one foot out the door already, it clicks and I run back into the apartment in a beeline to the automatic m&m dispenser (wave your hand underneath, handful of m&ms). I wave my hand three times.. and put all the m&ms in my coat pocket... and eat them like popcorn as I walk.

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8:30 p.m. rolls around and we are granted a brief ten minute respite. I reach into my coat pocket when I assume no one is looking and feel what's left of my desperate snack. What comes out of my pocket is a color-stained couple of fingers and a dirty-ish clump of what was once m&ms. DAMN IT, I curse to myself.. it had been 'freezing rain' while I was walking and some must have found its way into my addict-snack-pocket. The worst is yet to come.

A guy just a couple of chairs down from me asks me a question as I raise the stale, chocolaty mass to my mouth. I also notice a hair stuck to the clammy shell of one of the m&ms and eat them all anyway. Imagine a cute, dry golden retriever. Now, make that golden retriever wet, muddy, and smelly. He's still cute, so you want to pet him but when you do, you regret it because it's awful. That's essentially the sly trick these chocolate morsels played on me.. I felt sick the rest of the class.

New Year's Resolutions

Hello, friends. Since it is now February, I thought it might be a good time to check in with everyone and see how those resolutions are going. We have had over a solid month to get going and settle into a new routine to better our 2013. I'll share my progress: absolutely god damn nothing. While I have made almost zero attempt to fulfill my resolutions, I will share them with you anyway.

1. Read for at least an hour a day

This I have been able to accomplish. But does it count if I'm reading stuffy textbooks that talk about market demographics and how you should change the way you speak to get a fucking job? No. No it does not count. That's why I purposely cut into textbook time by enjoying Compendium One of The Walking Dead or a little Lord of the Rings. Ooh boy, when I get to read The Walking Dead:

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2. Write for at least an hour a day

This I sadly have not done. I'm simply a failure in this category. When I write, it's in confused 15-20 minute bursts. Then, I get distracted by Facebook or a hangnail or have to pee as soon as I have a good idea. God hates me.


3. Get a job

I was all pumped this semester because I am rather proficient in French and just finished my minor in it. So, I thought a good way to keep my language up and to make a little money would be to tutor those degenerates who just couldn't grasp a foreign language. All proud, I sent a polite email to the tutoring center explaining how I had spent my last semester abroad and had completed my minor and far exceeded the qualifications listed on the tutoring website. Turns out they have no need for any French tutors; "check back at the end of the summer." Mother fuck. I will obviously never be her:

Image Source How could I resist this?? Look at that neck!!

I dig what's in her hands, but, sweet beaver, look at her neck.


4. Exercise at lest three times a week.

Just no. In lieu of going to the gym, I have taken up chewing my food much more vigorously to burn calories.


5. Paint at least one thing a month

Well, January is over... but I did paint one thing in December and that was before the New Year started, meaning that I took initiative... so I am going to just carry that over for my January painting.



I am just so bad at resolutions. I hope you have all done a better job than I have.

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Winter Specimens

If you're a dumb ass like me, you chose to live somewhere unnaturally cold, gray, dry and blustery for, what seems like, year-round. Every day is like walking into a lung-incapacitating vortex that threatens to cripple you where you stand.

Now that the scene is set, let's explore the type of people who inhabit this deathly wasteland.

1. Unidentifiables

I like to pride myself with belonging to this group. We are the select class of winter-goers who hate life and show it by the way we dress. GIANT parkas, hoods that triple the size of our heads, boots that could walk through the River Styx and not be affected, mittens that hideously deform our hands into penguin flippers, and scarves that leave only our squinting eyes left visible. Trust me, we wish we could wear eye-muffs if such a thing existed. The best part is, no one knows who the fuck you are and thanks to the parka, you can walk and fart to keep warm. Basically, by the time you get to where you're headed, you're sweating and you're fucking proud of it.

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2. Sexual Illusions of Warmth

These are the people who wear sexy, wool coats that hug their lovely shoulders and slender arms and hang to the mid-thigh. Son of a bitch, these motherfuckers are classy. They may casually toss a knock-off Burberry print scarf over their shoulder and haphazardly loop it around their neck. They often beg the question, what's a hat? because their hair is so ungodly beautiful as it somehow resists the whipping winds of icy hate. Instead of looking like they have rosacea, their cheeks only adopt a lovely pink warmth and their lips retain all their color and plumpness instead of shriveling up into what appears to be an old woman's chapped vagina. Such horrid beasts they are.. they wear fitted leather gloves that allow them to have all of their fingers instead of some sad imitation of a flightless bird's wing plus a stocky thumb... I like to think that they are beautiful, yet hating themselves every second for how cold they are. Quite frankly, they are a majestic, snowy animal:

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and I am..

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..fat.. and confused.

3. IDGAF - I Don't Give A Fucks

Then there are those who just... don't get it.

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My Many French Faux Pas

I thought I would take this opportunity to memorialize what a dumb ass I sound like in french. I sit here typing this from my bedroom while the cleaning lady and host mother speak rapid french. She just asked if the french dog was finished barking - funny story about that dog, he's deaf - the vacuum was started and then a french baby began to cry. I'm also rather certain she screamed, "are you done vomiting!?" See the chaos I put up with? Things are bound to get lost in translation and I inevitably look like an American fuck.

1. This instance is not so bad, but my Mom and Dad visited me here, bless them, and my host mom gave my vaginal birth mother a nice book of the region. A couple days after my parents had left, my host mom asked if my real mom had looked at the book. Now, mind you, I had no idea if my mother had looked at the book, but I went ahead and said that she had thoroughly enjoyed the book. While she sat on top of the plane..

2. My horrific mistake of telling a six year old that my favorite animal was a baby seal. Now, the word for seal in french is phoque, aka, FUCK in english. I have this little blond six-year old looking up at me saying FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, ton animal préféré est un bébé fuck. I wanted to to pull a Russel Edgington again and shoot the phoque up into the sky.

Image Source..and my brilliant text addition

3. For about two months now, I have been saying "salut" every time I walk in the door. It's friendly and informal enough for family so I'm not saying, good day to you ma'am every time I come home from school. Apparently my American accent bastardizes the shit out of that little word "salut" and makes it sound something like sah-low (phonetically). In french, however, sal-oh, which is actually the word "salop" means something very different than "hey." Let's just say I've been calling my wonderful 70 year-old host mother who takes care of me, cooks for me and loves me a man slut since I got here. Oh, let's not forget that I've been calling the six year-old a man slut, too.

4. I had known that a friend of my host mom's and said friend's husband were no longer together. I assumed divorce, naturally. Aparrently my American ears didn't catch the whole story.. while at dinner one night, we are talking about this friend and her life and how her story is depressing as fuck and whatnot. So, I venture into being sympathetic and trying to generate some conversation.

"Well, do they still speak?" I ask innocently. My host mother looks at me with quizzical eyes and draws back like I've just attempted to stab her with a fork. Feeling awkward and feeling the need to fill the silence, I continue and try again. "Do they still speak? Even after divorce people can have friendly relationships." I let it hang, I feel supremely awkward.

"Do they still speak?" she asked.

"Yes, yes!" I say, excited that she finally understood my question.

"Well, he's dead," she says.

"Ah." I grab my water as quickly as I can and take a drink to excuse me from having to say anything more.


4. Body language in its purest form. The toilet is right next to my host-mother's bedroom, where she slumbers and snores like an asthmatic bear. You all know how we feel about using public bathrooms, friends' bathrooms, etc. here at Quimsical Audecdotes, and if you don't, you can find out here, hizzere or maybe even hurr. Trust me, they're all worth a read. So, I'm naturally apprehensive about using the toilet to hershey squirt next to her bedroom and I can tell by the outrageous size of my stomach that I am about as full of gas as this hiphopanonymous:

 

Nonetheless, I creep down the creakiest stairs known to man, there is no hiding my descent. I use my iPod light to guide me to the door that plainly reads: toilette. She is snoring deeply, I may proceed quietly. I open the door and it makes a creak akin to a fart. I pause... she's still snoring. I enter fully and immediately rip my shorts off and sit myself down. GAH, the door is still slightly open. I reach forward like Mufassa trying to save himself from falling off of the cliff and then I realize: my own ass is my Scar.. I ERUPT in a horrific cacophony that I attribute to the canned lentils I ate earlier in the day and I can only describe the force with which air exited me as "farting hurricanes." It's gale force winds that could bestow flight upon a blue whale. Once mine ass has had its say, I freeze, screaming silently and listening. She has stopped snoring.. PHOQUE. I console myself by knowing that I can blame it on the six year old if I have to, in much the same mentality as this creepy ass little girl:

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Planning for the Zombie Apocalypse

I'm not a normal person. For a couple years now, I have been unnaturally excited for the inevitable zombie apocalypse, thrilled, in fact. As you know, I've been spending my days watching The Walking Dead and drawing zombie me, which clearly does not help my zombie apocalypse fever. Hence, this post in which I will outline my plan for when the flesh eaters finally show up.

1. We all know you need a mode of transportation during this time or you will be fucked. Especially if you can't run because you look like this:

Stay away from tubs of mayonnaise. Image Source

We all know you're gonna need something that is fast, powerful and obviously bad ass (this is my one chance to steal any car I want! Yay pillaging!!)

Mercedes G AMG

Badass, right? Yes, of course I have thought of strapping a bike to the back of it, I'm not a fool. God forbid this beast broke down, I wouldn't want to be running through hoards of zombies, hence the bike.

2. Like it or not, you're gonna have to kill some shit and you shouldn't try to do it with your bare hands - scratches do just as much as bites, people. Man up, or grow some lady balls, and pick up a weapon. Guns are great but I've never shot one and I would probably end up shooting my foot, one of my car tires, or someone in my PAWP (post-apocalyptic wolf pack, duh), so I am going to stick with other things.

A. Samurai sword

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This, more than effective (although I'm sure it would be) is convenient for me because I have one sitting in my room.. it is also in line with the badass theme.

B. Crossbow

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It's quiet, it's effective.

C. Bag of blood

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I find this brilliant, if I do say so myself. Smear some of this somewhere and all dem fuckers are distracted for a good 10 minutes while you escape.. in your G Wagon.

D. One person you don't care much about and who is slower than you.

This seems self explanatory to me.

3. You need a plan so you don't just wander around until you die.

A. Avoid large cities.
B. Find some food, you WILL get hungry, you shit.
C. Head toward the barren wasteland that is the Midwest or try to find a boat and float in the ocean until something happens.
D. Make sure you're with someone you can have sex with so you're not that person who masturbates all the time. Post-apocalyptic sexual frustration will probably be the reason we all die.
E. Grab some medical supplies so when I shoot you with my crossbow on accident, you can have a band-aid.
F. No matter what chaos is ensuing, BRING A TOOTHBRUSH AND TOOTHPASTE.
G. Find an abandoned bar and take all of the hard liquor. For the obvious: Molotov cocktails and silent raves.
I. iPod - for silent raves. (I happened to be iPod... they both start with "I" :3)
J. Bring your dog for Christ's sake! A companion and defender.
K. Despite what a good idea it may seem like, just don't go into a shopping mall. Zombies errwhere. I promise you won't look good in the Marc Jacobs you stole if half of your face is ripped off.

Okay, my brain has exhausted all of its life-saving tips but, alas, I'm sure there are many more. What is your plan? Weapons? Transportation?

To end, here's a little treat:

I wasted my time making this. No regrets.

Effects of Laziness: YouTube Rabbit Hole

You know those days when your parents drop you off at your host mom’s house at 8:30 in the morning because they have a flight to catch back to the States and you clearly can’t go with them, so you just lay in bed from then until 8 at night watching The Walking Dead, Modern Family and other  shows until your eyes hurt and you question your existence? 

Yeah, me either.

No, but I totally do because that has been my life ALL day today. I'm pretty damn sure I'm near developing bed sores from my level of inactivity. I'm making Stephen Hawking look like a gold medal gymnast.

So, what have I done with myself other than watch too much of The Walking Dead (there is no such thing) and stare longingly at the jar of peanut butter on my desk?? I have watched an unhealthy and unfathomable amount of YouTube videos. Things I don't even care about, like a 16 minute makeup tutorial that I only endured because it was done by Jenna Marbles and I love her. I sat through a 13 minute video where some questionable gay (no h8) and this British girl laughed at how they pronounced words differently. In fact, right toward the end, my internet quit unexpectedly and you know what I did? I found that damn video again because I was so intrigued as to how the British girl was going to try to read a sentence from The Hunger Games in an American accent. She was awful. I happened upon some quirky science experiment videos, magic sand, magnetic putty, and somehow found my way to Honey Boo Boo...

So what's my point? here it is - holy shit, my door just opened on its own.................. now that I'm safe, my first thoughts were that it was either a zombie, and I would soon see a hand reach through the crack, or it was the turtle that inhabits this fine residence. The uncomfortable reality is that the turtle is more likely.. or is it?? Sorry. Huge distraction from "the point" - when you have literally nothing to do, not a god damn thing, and you subject yourself to hours of YouTube videos, you will get sucked down a rabbit hole. A very uncomfortable and furry hole where rabbits claw at your eyes and try to disembowel you with their horrid, yellow teeth.

I would say that my worst rabbit hole experience was today, when I began my YouTube expedition with the Marry the Night video by Lady Gaga. She is not the most normal person, granted, however, I never thought I would end up where I did after I regained consciousness in reality.

I want you to guess. Are you guessing?

Live horse births.

Yes. I got from point A: Lady Gaga, to point 'whatthefuck:' live horse births.

I can't unsee that. I mean, just imagine a horse coming out of another horse. It's long bony legs and hooves! I didn't JUAN to see that! Nonetheless, I watched. I even scrubbed backwards at one point to be like, "huh, how the hell did that come out of there and end up over there?"

My point is, friends, don't be a fucking loser like me because you will develop a headache and end up witnessing live births. I consider myself lucky; live horse birth seems relatively tame compared to what else you could stumble upon. God forbid you had to watch an aye-aye give birth or be born because they are the absolute ugliest creatures that mother nature has ever thought up. I'm pretty sure they're the hate child of a bat and Wormtail from Harry Potter.

 

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Now, the only thing that would be worse than watching that be born is watching it eat its own placenta. Gah, imagine if it tried to hug you!?