Did I Really Just Say That?

Scene; Me, at work, doin' my sandwich thing, adorable as usual.


A boy, we will call him "Mr. X," comes in to get lunch and chat with me for the third time (maybe it's the glasses, maybe it's my amazing personality...possibly the sandwiches, but he keeps coming back). During our conversation, he finally asks me if I would like to go to coffee with him sometime. Yes, of course, so we agree on Sunday. I tell him I get off work at 1:00 that day.


Mr. X, "So 1:30?"


Me, "Well, on Sundays I have to work way too early in the morning, so I tend to just roll out of bed and come into work..."


Mr. X, "Okay..."



Inner monologue; "Stop talking."


Me, out loud, "So can we make it 3:00 so that I can go home to shower and not smell like a deli?"


Inner monologue, "Stop it. Stop talking about how you don't shower. Stop."


Out loud babble, "After all, it's N.S.S! No Shower Sunday."


"Oh my God."


"I mean, I'm not gross or anything. I brush my teeth..."


"Well, that's it. You're done for. Point of no return. Might as well start talking about your period and how you are afraid of commitment."


With a slight smirk, Mr. X says that yes, 3:00 would be fine. I suppose that since he had already asked me to coffee, he couldn't really take it back at that point, although I wouldn't have blamed him if he did.

The worst part of this story is that this isn't even the worst of the many awkward conversations that I have gotten myself into. Stay tuned for when I get up the nerve to write about those...

Platform for Presidential Campaign (when I decide to run)

• White socks will not be sold. Only brightly colored socks with fun patterns.




• Sonicare toothbrushes will run for 3 minutes, not 2.




• Unhealthy foods will be taxed. That money will go to organic farmers to enable the price of fresh fruits and vegetables to go down.




• Annoying songs such as "I Got a Feeling," "Birthday Sex" and "Kiss Me Through the Phone" will be banned from all radio stations.




• 25 hour work weeks, maximum.




• All medicine will be in ice cream form.



• The pterodactyl will be our nation's bird (sorry bald eagle).



• All military funding will be put toward public education and libraries. There will be no need to worry about our safety though, because I will have befriended all the leaders of other nations, as shown by our monthly Game Nights.


• Socks will not have seams.


• Everyone will be given a piece of candy and a hug on Wednesdays.

"Can't Trust a Chicken"

Spiders are all over my apartment. That's fine. Live and let live.

Snakes are freaky, but I rarely come into contact with them.

Rodents, gross. Their weird little hands and bare-skinned tails are too much for me to handle. If I ever encounter one in my place of residence, I will pack up and move.

Monkeys, however, are in my top two creepiest animals category. I don't remember much, if anything, from before the age of five, except vivid images of monkeys in my closet (I think Family Guy owes me some money for this). Before I went to sleep at night, my dad would have to come in my room and check under my bed and in my closet for these flea-ridden animals. Thank God his search always came out negative.

The second on my list is birds (are birds?). Not necessarily all birds, but quite a few. Chickens in particular. Crows, sparrows, pigeons...these all make the list as well, but chickens and roosters are at the top.

Picture me, age eighteen, at my dad's house. The kids would always refuse to take out the garbage, claiming that the rooster would attack them. "Right guys, I know you are just trying to get out of chores." Then one day as I was feeding the horses, the crazy rooster jumped out of the rafters and landed directly on my head! Screaming, I threw the chunk of hay at him, ran out of the barn, lost my shoe in the process, and took sanctuary outside. The rooster followed, with an evil look in his eyes and a thirst for blood on his beak. The dog then starts growling at the crazy rooster in attempts to save me, but the rooster in turn, tries to peck the dog. Finally, I grabbed the hose and sprayed the crap out of the creepy little bird, which scared him off long enough for me to finish feeding the horses, reclaim my shoe, and get the heck out of there, never to return (until after he was the main course one night at the Anderson house).

My new motto? "Can't trust a chicken." Because you can't. Their creepy little beaks and crazy little feet are enough to back this up. Just look at Henny Penny. She lead everyone to believe that the sky was falling, but was it really? I think not.