The similarities between...

Sometimes

Sometimes, when I walk down the hall to the vending machine for an afternoon snack, I envision a time long long ago when Indians were heading out to hunt game on the prairie. As I see the vending machine in the distance, I imagine an Indian spotting a buffalo. I draw my hand into my pocket and smoothly pull out my dollar bill. The Indian stealthly pulls an arrow from his quiver. I approach the machine and carefully place the dollar bill into the slot. The Indian draws closer to the buffalo and places his arrow in the bow. I stand quietly in front of the plexiglas screen, surveying every food item and calculating how each may make me feel if I choose to select it. The Indian silently crouches in the grass surveying every movement of the buffalo, calculating the best shot and feeling the adrenaline pumping through his veins. I point my finger and make a move towards the number pad. The Indian points his arrow and draws back the bow string. I select "1-4-5." The Indian releases his arrow. The metal curly-cue thing turns, dropping my peanut M&Ms. The arrow pierces the heart of the 1-ton buffalo and he falls to the ground. I reach my hand down, pushing back on the plastic door. The Indian approaches the buffalo, ready to slaughter it with his knife. I rip open the paper. The Indian rips open the buffalo. I take the M&Ms back to my desk to eat all of them myself. The Indian butchers the buffalo and takes it back to feed his whole tribe.

I am the Indian. The Indian is me.

Sometimes.

S.A.T. Sample Analogies (for Julia’s Life)

Grabbing a public door handle and walking away with a wet, sticky hand : full body shiver ::

a) Finding out the crunchy things in the vegetables you just ate were really worms : severe gag reflex
b) Not knowing much Spanish, but fully understanding that your neighbors just yelled out “Hey pretty pretty read head girl!” : overly-animated roll of the eyes
c) Scratching what you think is a mole, yet one day it falls off and walks away because it was really a tick : uncontrollable screaming
d) ALL OF THE ABOVE

The Biggest Gainer

NBC has so graciously given us the TV show The Biggest Loser, where a lot of overweight people have doughnuts staring them down, yet they do five-a-day workouts to shave off the pounds. However, why should just the overweight people of America get a TV show? That’s discrimination, and we just can’t have that.

I propose we create a new show. We’ll call it…The Biggest Gainer. This ingenious concept for a show would involve selecting a panel of extremely underweight people (this could be filmed in Hollywood, they grow ‘em skin and bones out there) who would be highly urged to gain weight. Different from The Biggest Loser, they would have rice cakes and watermelon staring them down, yet would be forced to sit on the couch and eat potato chips five times a day. Finally, in the end, the person who gained the most body weight and percentage fat would win. Then, for the NBC season-finale-blowout-extraordinaire, the winners of The Biggest Loser and The Biggest Gainer would duke it out head-to-head on the set of American Gladiator.

I should quit my day job and go to work for NBC.

Although, twenty bucks says they already have this show in the pipeline…

I saw this sign while driving down the road. I kind of want to pick up the hitchhikers so I can give ‘em a pat on the back and a “well done, buddy!” However, at the same time I want to stop paying my taxes because I am apparently NOT getting my money’s worth. Although, my taxes did get me this nice sign to warn me of some unknown impending doom if hitchhikers should happen to be lurking around. How thoughtful.

Scrubs

Whenever I see someone wearing scrubs in the grocery store, I vividly imagine what those scrubs may have come in contact with that day. Human excrements, bloody guts, brain chunks, bone shards, flesh-eating bacteria...you know, the usual. Then, as Mr. Scrubs and I reach for the same apple and his shoulder brushes up against my arm, I recoil, shiver a little, and back away slowly.

That apple is all yours Scrubby Man. Me? I’m going to take a shower.

The best euphemism I've ever heard, said to me by a country boy the other day:

"Man, my Right Guard done up and took a LEFT."

Mr. (Not So) Suave

A delivery man in his early twenties comes into the lab I’m working in. He sets down his boxes and instead of leaving like every other delivery man does, he proceeds to start looking around the lab. He sees me and three other girls and gets the brilliant idea to morph into Mr. I-Pick-Up-All-The-Ladies-With-My-Opening-Lines and decides he’ll strike up a conversation. Shoot, that’s how he picks up the ladies at the bar, right? Hmmm…what should he say to these women so that they’ll think he’s interested in what they do and think he's really smart? Well, Mr. Suave sees some diagrams of mice sitting there on the table and decides that it would be a good idea to start a conversation about this. He proceeds to ask the following question:

“So, is there really a difference between a rat and a mouse? Like, aren’t they the same animal?”


--silence--


Thoughts running through my head:
1) Um, what?
2) I know the phrase "no question is a dumb question," but…
3) If a rat and a mouse were the same animal, don’t you think it would be called by the same name?
4) Does this question keep you up at night?
5) Do you ever successfully pick up women?

Answers we give to Mr. Suave, followed by his responses:
1) US: “No, no. They’re different animals.” HIM: “Oh, OK. That’s what I thought.”
2) US: “Rats are huge. Mice are small.” HIM: --silence--
3) US: “They can’t breed together. It’s like a cat trying to breed with a dog.” HIM: “OH, oh yeah. Right, ok.” --starts heading towards the door--
4) US: “They even have different numbers of chromosomes.”
HIM: “Oh, that’s a big word.” --freaks out and leaves the room--

The question I’m dying to ask Mr. Suave Delivery Man the next time I see him:

“So…the type of mail you deliver…and email…those the same things, right?”

Braille

Braille in books. How special it is. It allows blind people to read. That’s awesome. Thank you, Mr. Braille, who decided to use tiny little bumps to change the world. Here’s my small tribute to you:
: . :: . : … : .:.::

Braille on signs. This is the worst idea ever. It does not make any practical sense, I do not get it. Why, oh why, would you put Braille on signs that blind people can’t even find in the first place?

Potential Real Life Occurrence:
Exhibit A: Man with 20/20 vision pulls up to a gas station and walks inside to use the restroom. 20/20 vision allows the man to not only find the restroom, but to also see the sign marking “Men’s Restroom.” While waiting to use the toilet, Man notices Braille on the bathroom sign. “Interesting,” Man thinks. “Now how would that work?” Man enters restroom, relieves himself, and continues on with life.

Exhibit B: Blind man walks up to a gas station (with the help of his seeing-eye dog) and goes inside to use the restroom. Blind man searches and searches for the restroom. Blind man runs hands along every wall; he knows that there is Braille on the bathroom sign. Blind man cannot find sign. Blind man continues to search. Blind man becomes frustrated and irate; he was told he could find restroom with Braille on sign. Blind man wets himself and leaves the gas station a physical, mental, and emotional wreck.

Julia’s solution to the blind-finding-the-restroom epidemic that may be sweeping the nation as we speak:
Slather bathroom door handles with bacon. The seeing-eye dog will be able to quickly and effectively locate the bathroom. No blind people will be forced to wet themselves ever again.

Lets keep Braille in books, people, and bacon on door handles.

Lotion vs. conditioner

One time I stayed at a hotel, and as I was tired and getting ready for bed late one night, I used the hotel lotion to moisturize the dry skin on my arms and legs.

The next morning I got up to take a shower and used the hotel shampoo and conditioner. After I’d washed my hair and gotten out of the shower, I had an epiphany...the conditioner I used was actually the lotion. Now I have lotion in my hair. In addition, that also means that the night before, I slathered conditioner all over my body and then went to bed.

Awesome.

Fire alarms

What is it about a fire alarm at work that causes us to immediately act as if it’s ruining our lives? We’re having such an “incredibly busy!” day and now all of our work is going to be delayed and our schedule is going to be so out of whack, when in reality you were just checking youtube for the newest funny baby-laugh videos. Fire alarms - WHAT A NUISANCE! You mean we have to get up and EXIT the building? And I have to use the STAIRS? You sigh loudly so everyone can hear, yet in reality you secretly relish the possibility of excitement and danger. What if this isn’t a false alarm? What if the building will be in flames in the next 5 minutes? (Is my computer insured?) Will the fire department bring the cool truck with the ladder and the man that has to drive the back end of the truck with a separate steering wheel? What would I do tomorrow if work didn’t exist? (I’d lay out by the pool, but I might have 3rd degree burns from the fire, and that would hurt, so maybe not.) You continue to think these completely random, implausible thoughts as you now quickly sprint down the stairs and forget that 1 minute ago you were annoyed with the whole situation. But, alas, in the end, the cool fire truck didn’t come, the building is all in one piece, you have to come to work tomorrow, and the loony that pulled the alarm did it because he burned a bag of popcorn in the microwave. And as you head back up to your office, you begin to hear loud sounds of babies laughing and think –

OH, CRAP.

The cheapest and most effective form of birth control

Screaming children on airplanes.

Movie previews

Somehow movie previews morph us into hyper-critical, overly vocal participants in the world of cinematography. As soon as the 30-second preview ends, we’re ready with our seething critiques which usually have embarrassingly poor vocabulary such as “really bad,” “stupid,” and “not scary.” Famous and brilliant Academy Award-winning actors are suddenly “trash!” and we declare that we would never pay “$9.25” to see THAT one. Then, as our movie begins, our self-imposed job is done and we can eat our junior mints; we earned them. Time to enjoy a truly good movie that contains substance.

Ice Age 3.

AN UPDATE ON THE JUNE 22nd “Guilt” POSTING

The advertising agency mailed me yet ANOTHER survey to fill out. They apparently liked my honesty in taking their $2 bill and actually doing what they asked (dangit) by filling out their survey. So, what do they do now? They send me $30 cold hard American CASH. 1) THIS IS AWESOME! 2) My conscious is of course going to make me do the survey again, just like last time (what else should I do…mail the cash back?) Guess what wonderful task I have now? I get to keep a TV-watching diary. Yes, that’s right. A diary. Like I had back in the 2nd grade. That I successfully wrote in for 3 nights. Total.

Here, I believe, is what my TV-watching diary will look like:


Dear Diary,

You just paid me $30. I like to watch Dance Your Ass Off.

Love, Julia

Walking the dog

An unknown, alternate universe forms out of thin air when you approach another human walking a dog just as you are. The dogs are fully engaged in normal social "conversation” before the owners ever do the same. Unlike all other human social situations, oftentimes nothing will be said by the owners to each other, yet each will talk to his/her dog. “Oh Sparky, don’t do that, be nice!” “Quit smelling his butt, Fluffy!” If pleasantries are perhaps exchanged by the humans, it’s to inquire about the name (if not previously mentioned) and breed of said dog. However, the humans could care less about each other’s names. Upon parting ways, the humans, who have played a strange role reversal with the dogs in this twisted canine universe, call each other’s dog by name when saying goodbye. The humans don’t even say goodbye to each other; there is no need, he/she is not important. There are more pressing matters at hand – like Sparky’s bladder.

The world's ultimate display of laziness

Go-gurt.

Signs from below

You know when you're flying on an airplane and you start your descent down to land, you see all the industrial buildings with words or pictures painted on their roofs? Some of them say the company name, some of them have a big ol' American flag, etc. Well, I've decided that I want to buy two industrial buildings next to an airport for the sole purpose of painting these messages on the roofs:

Wasabi

I like wasabi. It’s a little dangerous (just a little). Eat too much and WHOA! hey there sinuses, glad to see you could join us. I’ve learned that I can create quite the shock factor with friends by eating a huge glob of it all at once (I’m talking a tablespoon, yeah that’s right). I especially get a strange sense of joy when I do it in front of my Asian friend and she calls me crazy. Keep in mind she’s Asian....and so is wasabi...and she is shocked.

For some reason, that makes me do a little jig inside.

CLICK IT OR TICKET

The cops recently had a lot of fun with their famous “CLICK IT OR TICKET” campaign. I thought it would be helpful to give them some more clever phrases for future escapades into the world of “we’re going to get your money whether you like it or not, so we might as well make a catchy phrase to go along with it.”

“CLICK IT OR TICKET” will soon be superseded by:

GAS IT OR PASS IT
BEEP IT OR KEEP IT
TURN IT OR BURN IT
STEER IT OR CLEAR IT
KNOW IT OR THROW IT
SLOW IT OR SHOW IT

The meanings of these sayings are completely unclear, which is why they will be perfect for future law enforcement campaigns. Get out your wallets, drivers. DISPLAY IT OR PAY IT.

DYAO

There’s a new show on Oxygen that my remote control deceptively took me to. It was against my will, I promise, my finger SLIPPED. I was immediately so shocked that I sat in awe at what I was forced to see; I was helpless, I couldn’t move! The show, this show:

Dance Your Ass Off.

AREYOUKIDDINGME? NO, REALLY, ARE.YOU.KIDDING.ME. These poor, pitiful, (self-proclaimed, mind you) LARGE people are trying to dance their asses off.

Even the mental image that this title brings to my mind is disturbing to me. I’m envisioning normal people with normal anatomy that all of a sudden, after one quick tango or maybe a little rhumba, BAM! All that’s left are two giant craters. Where did their asses go? Well, they danced them off, of course.

So here’s how it goes down. One "professional" dancer with a normal-sized boo-té gets paired up with another person that apparently has some ba-donky-donk issues. They dance this hideously awful, choreographed, yet oddly free-style number that strangely gains the love and approval of both the judges and audience. Next is the trip to the scale where they’re weighed. Did they dance their asses off? Not this week, but STAY TUNED.

I think we should combine all of the dancing shows on TV just to get them over with in one fell swoop on one night, no need for this torture. We’ll combine Dancing With The Stars, So You Think You Can Dance, America’s Best Dance Crew, and Dance Your Ass Off and we’ll call it:

America’s Ass Thinks You Can Dance, Stars, So Best Dance Off.

I’d watch.