Foodsexual

This morning, I ate breakfast so aggressively that I found a Cheerio in my boot an hour later.  Whoops.

But this is not really atypical.  I would describe myself as a foodsexual.  Menfolk, I like you, but are you chocolate chip cookies?  Are you pesto or nectarines?  No.  You are not.  Nothing is more exciting (nudge nudge wink wink) than a sublimely prepared meal.  At college, I plan my whole daily schedule around which dining hall has the best breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  And I will walk miles out of my way to get there. 

What’s more, I look forward to the occasional fancy restaurant meal for DAYS.  I stalk the online menu, click through the picture gallery, look up dish names that I don’t know (they’re always some kind of Italian inside joke), and strategically starve myself on the Awaited Day.  There is a deep and barely appropriate pleasure in savoring every bite of really good food.  Especially when you scrape the dish, lick the spoon, and hoover up all the crumbs.  My plates go back to the kitchen cleaner than when they arrived on my table.

I think that I will spend all of my money on delicious food when I get out of college and become a real person.  Who needs furniture?  I have a sleeping bag and a desk lamp and a computer.  And some cooking supplies.  That’s plenty.  Just me and my food.  I will be at last, in the haven of a small dingy apartment, a foodsexual free to indulge her wildest fantasies.

Perils of online shopping

The other day, I spent several hours slumped over my computer looking at clothing online.  I had just found a site with an immense selection of discounted rubbish and many filters with which to refine one's search.  This made me very happy.  I was wading through the bathing suit universe when I noticed something odd.

Tease your littel brane

This Equation Analysis test was written by the astounding Will Shortz and put in Games Magazine in May 1981.  Instructions are thus:  Each question below contains the initials of words that will make it correct.  Find the missing words.  For example,  26 = L. of the A. would be 26 = Letters of the Alphabet.

When given five minutes to work on this puzzle in class, some of my classmates figured out as many as nine of the 24 answers.  I got four.  This made me have low self-esteem and possibly an emotional disorder.  So, I have added my own answers to some of the equations. 

If you can’t win the game, MAKE UP YOUR OWN RULES. 

You can doubtlessly find the complete test and answers online.

7 = W. of the A.W.

(Worms of the Associated Wormgroup)

12 = S. of the Z.

(Soups of the Zionists)

9 = P. in the S.S.

(Piñatas in the Space Ship)

18 = H. on a G.C.

(Humps on a Gouty Camel)

57 = H.V.

(Helio-Vacs)

1,000 = W. that a P. is W.

(Worries that a Poop is Wet)

200 = D. for P.G. in M.

(Dragons for President Gack in Morocco)

90 = D. in a R.A.

(Donuts in a Random Adolescent)

54 = C. in a D. (with the J.)

(Crumpets in a Diner [with the Jam])

Breakfast

Boggled

One day, I was playing Boggle in the common room with my suitemates and Pierre-Marie*.

Pierre-Marie lives nearby and is friends with Tiberius, Skyler, and Sal; he’s an honorary suitemate.  These guys are very serious about the way they play all games.  They know every strategy and they play to win.  So when they play Boggle, they make sure to write down words they see even if they’re not sure that they’re real.  And they have a tradition of Skyler being the first to read the list of words that he found in the Boggle dice.  On this occasion, Pierre-Marie was next after Skyler.

“Peas?” Pierre-Marie muttered.

“I got that too,” someone said.

“Paste?”

“Got it.”

“Tease?”

“Don’t have it.  Good one.”

"Sheep?"

"Got it."

“Wease?”

“What the hell is that?” someone asked politely.

“What a weasel does,” Pierre-Marie explained.


*I did not choose this name for him.  He did.

Wanted: Humor Filter

I wonder if there is a market for the job of “Humor Filter.”  Sites like StumbleUpon work pretty well in that they allow you to make a list of your interests and then present you with content from those categories, but of course, not EVERYTHING that turns up is as relevant or as amusing as you want it to be.  What if you could actually hire a person with similar interests to trawl the funnylands of the Internet and present you with the best finds?

Before I was really into 9gag, I simply creeped on the user page of one of my friends and looked at the things that he had Liked.  He has good taste.  I enjoyed having my humor filtered through a reliable source, and told him so.  Then I realized that I, too, was already kind of a Humor Filter for my dad.  He is a real grown-up and has grown-up things to do all day—but I don’t.  I’m a college student.  I live in a training wheels version of real life.  Spending all day scavenging the Internet for scraps of entertainment is perfectly normal.  When I find something that makes me weep and drool with laughter, I send it to my dad.  And he sends back words of appreciation.

I think this could be a very profitable job.  The trick is to find a client who has 1) the same sense of humor as you, 2) not enough patience to spend their entire life clicking “Next Page,” and 3) bags o' cash.

Even librarians commit ambiguities

Last summer, I worked at a music library.  I had a lot of time on my hands there.

Forgetful

(Texts to my parents.  I like to keep them updated on my exciting life.)

2:05 pm
I am so disorganized.  Went to the pool to aqua jog.  Remembered towel, clean shirt, pants.  Forgot undergarments.

2:07 pm
Oh wait.  Just found emergency undies in backpack.  I am a genius.

2:14 pm
And i can sort of dry my cold, wet sports bra under the hand dryer.  

2:16 pm
Almost makes up for also not having socks.

Suitemate Tiberius receives a Secret Santa gift

Three pages of colorless fun!

Suitemate Sal got a whiteboard

Fire Alarms

One of the great things about college is having fire alarms go off in your dorm at all hours of the day.  

It could be eleven a.m. when you’ve just gotten back from your first class.  You walk down the hallway, letting your shoulders slump because no one can see you, already mentally rehearsing your door code, reaching out to touch the handle, and BLEEEEP BLEEEEP BLEEEEP you are DENIED sanctuary.  Time to execute a prompt about-face and trot back outside until it’s “safe.”

But usually, the fire alarm goes off late at night.  Especially if you live in a freshman dorm.  Actually, if you live in a freshman dorm, the damned thing will be blaring and flashing pretty much 24/7.  Why?  Because freshmen are not house-trained yet.

Perks of frequent fire drills:  You’ll get really good at leaping out of bed, putting on your shoes and picking up your ID card in one motion, and running down a few flights of stairs and outside before waking up.  Fire alarms are social events.  There’s always someone who forgot her shoes, so you let her stand on your feet instead of in the snow.  There’s always a quilt-wrapped, two-person burrito talking to their friends, who are trying hard to hide their smirks.  There’s always a grumpy girl wearing a towel and suds in her hair.  And there’s always the cool guy who strolls outside minutes after everyone else, perhaps hoping for a dramatic and fiery demise.

So what the heezy are your fellow students doing to set off the alarm so often?  Mostly, it’s “DURR imma burn the shit outta my popcorn at 2 AM that sounds like a good idea hurr.”  There is no other explanation.

Hello

I have decided to start a blog for the duration of winter term.  This might be a bad idea.  We will see.