Apocalypse now. Part One.

My roommate recently brought up the idea of fasting. I’m not entirely sure when or why this became the center of conversation. I know it had nothing to do with religious ideals, but, if I remember correctly, it might have had to do with health? Actually, I take that back, I just asked him—he’s just never done it, and wants to try it. Regardless, aside from that: the roomie and I eat a lot. We’re talking third and fourth-dinner here on some nights. We also share a love of sweets, particularly ice cream and/or chocolate chip cookies. We just enjoy food. And luckily for the roomie, I occasionally delight in cooking. Grocery shopping has become one of my favorite things to do; it’s like browsing a book store, there’s just so much and you want a little of everything to take home with you.

So back to fasting. It has recently come to our attention that maybe the reason why we eat so much is because we’re bored. I mean, it’s not like we sit around in our tiny apartment on our arses all day, but we don’t exactly have bustling social lives either. Our idea of a wild Friday night consists of sharing a large pizza and eating a pint of ice cream each; and if we’re feeling really saucy, a beer or two might get thrown in the mix! Ooh! We are pretty healthy eaters though, just to clarify any possible misconceptions. And we’re active. (I know at this point one might be picturing the cast of South Park in the WOW episode when they all become little, fatty, butter balls—I am at least, and neither of us looks like that.)

Anyway, so now, seriously, back to fasting. The roomie has decided to fast tomorrow (or rather today, depending on what time this gets posted), and just for the hello of it, I said I would too. Of course, I was only being half serious, but now I’m being held to it—and not by a very confident fellow faster I might add! He thinks I’ll be cheating the moment he turns his back (and maybe I will as soon as he leaves for school—I need my coffee!). I figure, as long as I don’t get a debilitating headache, I’ll be fine. And with the roomies low confidence in my fasting abilities, it’s become more of a serious challenge. There’s really only two rules to this fasting thing: 1. No eating (duh) and 2. You’re only allowed to drink water.

This might just end up being a “who can be crankier” contest. I’ll let you know how it goes…

Most girls have stems, I have trunks.

I am pale. I know this because whenever I decide to show my legs in public, both friends and acquaintances alike point out how “white” I am. I wish I could remember when people started to notice how pale I am, and when I started to worry about being pale, and others noticing. But I can’t. Growing up in Southern California, I should have realized right away how important it is to be tan; but I guess I didn’t catch on very quickly. Or I just didn’t hang out with people who cared? The closer to the beach you get though, the more important it becomes; and unfortunately, right as I got into middle school, when image (I think) starts to become really important, is when my family and I moved closer to the beach. Luckily for me, I was still fairly unaware of this tanned image I supposedly was to uphold. I’d say the real trouble came when I got into high school, although, for the first two years, I was too goth to care.

Anyway, at some point, I decided that I wanted to fit in, and therefore proceeded to lay in the sun half naked, on the beach, in the summertime, ultimately giving myself what felt like third-degree burns, and looked like lobster skin. All I wanted to do was drown in a sea of aloe. I eventually gave up on this dream to be tan—it was completely unrealistic and a rising skin cancer scare started to sweep the nation—the only other thing to do was accept my speckled, porcelain skin for what it is—white and freckled (not to be confused with those who have freckles and are able to tan).

Circle Stories

Remember in, oh, I don’t know, elementary school when you would sit in groups, have three or so minutes to start a story and then pass it to the person on your right who would then read what you wrote, and continue the story for the next minute, while you did the same with the story of the person on your left? And this continued until you got your story back and wrote an ending to it. Well, this is what I have been doing to get over my fear of letting people read what I write. A friend suggested it, and at first I was against it and thought that I needed to have a few drinks before even trying. However, having now completed many circle stories, I find it to be an enjoyable experience!

To show my love for circle stories, I have decided to share one of the many I have in my possession. Let me preface it by saying that parts of it are actually based on a true story and that this particular story was written by 6 different people. Also, please excuse any grammatical errors. I’m just going to copy it like I see it.

One evening, a girl went to a party. She took the bus, and when she got there she noticed that the black man sitting across from her on the bus looked a lot like the man she had seen making a ruckus in the grocery store a few months back. He had been pushing a cart in the store with all of his belongings in it, and in front of everyone he began making strange comments to the store security guard, “Are you gay?!” The guard said, “No,” and the man said, “Than why are you lookin at my penis?!” The security guard pulled his piece out and shot the man in the chest. He went on solemnly living his security guard life until a group of minority teenagers barged into his store wearing ski masks.

“Hey, you kids!” yelled the security guard.

“Yeah?” asked the kids.

“Are you gay?”

“Not really,” said the kids. “I mean, kind of, but–”

“Then why are you looking at my penis?”

The teenagers pulled out their guns and shot him. It was weird. And then, at the same time the kids and the security guard realized that their guns weren’t real at all. In fact they were squirt guns. The black man, the kids and the security guard started laughing uncontrollably and united together in a group hug. They let go from their embrace.

“I have a great idea!” said the black bum.

“What is it?!” all the other guys asked in unison.

“Let’s have an ice cream, pizza social!”

They all looked at each other in excited wonder, smiles from ear to ear.

“And then let’s have a squirt gun fight,” said the security guard.

And they all skipped away, arm in arm into the sunset.

The end.

Only in San Francisco.

Blogging is scary.

So, I had the brilliant idea of proposing the following to a friend: If I make a blog, and write in it at least once a week (or a minimum of 250 words throughout the week) that said friend would do the same. However, I’ve decided that this is much scarier than previously anticipated. So frightening in fact, I can’t even finish this…

Continued on March 3…

So, I had actually written this ridiculous blurb about how blogging wasn’t really as scary as I thought and that I’m just afraid of being judged and uncool, even though only one person that I actually know will be reading this, and blah, blah, blah. But then my computer freaked out and decided to take a mini vacation and restart itself, losing everything I had just written. Isn’t that terrible? What I had written was so bad, my computer felt the need to restart and lose it. Oh well.