What did I ever do to America?

U Street in DC on a Friday night. My friend and I were out on the sidewalk when a cab pulled up in front of us and deposited an exuberant young man. He triumphantly yelled out to the cosmos: 

He saw me looking at him and faltered in his enthusiasm. 

He pondered for a moment.

And then he decided:

Time for America. But not for me.

Cacophonous Vomit, Or: Having an Older Sister Builds Character

I stayed home sick this past Monday, and it reminded me of when I was little and would get sick. On quite a few occasions, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and run to the toilet to throw up. Much to my sister's displeasure, I wouldn't close the door behind me. Awakened by my vomiting, she'd gently offer this suggestion:

Granted, my upchucks sound a lot like a Wookie getting punched in the stomach.

The next day, I'd stay home to leisurely enjoy my intestinal purging, and I think my sister resented this vacation that she didn't get to share. She'd sometimes call into question the authenticity of my illness:

My sister was so compelling in her rhetoric that I'd often wonder myself whether I was indeed faking it. 

Nowadays, I still hear my sister's voice in the back of my head when I call out sick, and I wonder, "Am I really and truly sick? Is it really so bad that I can't go in to work today? Or is my sister right? Am I, as I've always feared, a faker?"

But then I say fuck it and go back to bed.

It's Been Awhile.

Sometimes my cat Archibald sits in the sink and watches me poop.

It's times like these that make me feel like I have less control than I should.

I should be able to poop without having my cat judge me;

I should assert my authority over him.

Instead, here I cower.

It is he that has the power.

And he slyly grins

While I shit.

Perk of Being a Shameless Attention Whore #93

Birthday parties are a perfectly acceptable time for demanding compliments. 

Last weekend my friends threw me a surprise birthday party. Besides strong-arming guests into complimenting me, I sang a song with the lyrics "Me! Me! Me me me! This is a party for ME!" 

It's testament to how awesome my friends are that anyone stayed for cake.   

Celibacy by Rejection

Horses Are Such Majestic Creatures

My friend and I recently went camping on Assateaugue Island. There are wild ponies on Assateaugue Island. One morning, a wild pony came very close to our tent while we slept.

It was the loudest sound I've ever heard.

Pop Quiz: What kind of dater are you?!?!?!

After a terrible date, do you:

A.) Seek solace in a tub of ice cream.

B.) Drunkenly text ex-boyfriends.


C.) Decide human interaction and companionship go against your nature, forsake the world and everything you've ever known, and abandon the ones you love in order to take on the mantle of the people's crusader, specializing in rescuing women in the midst of terrible dates and relocating them to a safe space where they can eat ice cream and text their exes.

More food jokes!

 A few nights ago, I came upon the following tableau in my living room:

 

My roommate K was laughing hysterically while my other roommate T looked at her with an expression of uncomfortable puzzlement. While K wept with her uncontrollable laughter, T told me what had happened:

"I was making my lunch for tomorrow and all I had was a bowl of quinoa I had made earlier. So I asked her what I could add to it, how I could 'dress up my quinoa.' And she said, 'You could make them tiny tuxedos.'" 

At this point, the narrative was accompanied by K's shrieks of "Tiny tuxedos. Tiny tuxedos!" She was very proud of herself.

Now, this was a funny joke. How to dress up quinoa? In tiny tuxedos!

Quinoa tailors have tiny, nimble fingers.

What was even funnier, though, was my roommate's reaction to her own joke. Others may have never experienced this particular kind of self-inflicted meltdown, but I have. I was at work, surrounded by my three office-mates when I tried to explain why the phrase "Swiss Chad" is the funniest joke in the history of the world. I got as far as saying, "Swiss Chad! Swiss Chad!" before I broke down into hysterics. With very little poise, I ran out of the office--tears streaming down my face--leaving my three co-workers bemused and slightly terrified, I think.

I give my office-mates plenty of reasons to ask each other, "What the hell is wrong with her?"

What they failed to understand was that "Swiss Chad" is how someone with a Boston accent would say the name of the leafy green vegetable "Swiss chard."

I imagine a guy named Chad in the Swiss Alps, his arms full of chard. Some Boston tourists come across Chad with his chard and proclaim, "Swiss chard!" which sounds like "Swiss Chad!" Chad from Switzerland is very confused as to how these strangers know his name and his nationality. 

See? Hilarious.

Perk of Being Rude #29

You never have to discuss topics that don't interest you.

Vegetable Astrology

When the spoon is in the Hollandaise 

And vegetables lie on the grill

Then peas will grow in gardens

And mouths will have their fill.