Monday, December 19, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
I work in a library where my job is primarily to put books away. (Let me tell you, I know the alphabet like mad-hot BEAST now. And I'm more familiar with the dewey decimal system than I am with my grandparents. I can basically hold a million books at once. No joke.
I looked up from my row of books. There he was. Watching me as I was watching him. A mere 12 inches from my face was the furziest, puffiest, largest jumping spider I had ever seen.
I slowly sank to my knees and hid behind my cart of books. Yes, I had felt a connection to that sucker, but he was still a spider. And yes, while I have more height than him, he has more legs than me and there it just no getting around that.
Periodically, I would shove a row of books apart to sneak a peak at the overly-appendedged guy just to find him watching me right back. (I suppose it would pretty hard not to see me, I mean, when you have 8 eyes, you may as well use at least one of them to keep tabs on the bumbling 5' 7'' beast in front of you.)
Eventually he crept across a couple books and hid behind the shelf against the wall. Because I know the general public has a burning hatred or at least a discomfort for arachnids, I'll advise you not to choose a book written by an author with the last name of "Swierczynski" in the library where I work.
All that aside, I felt as though I made a special connection with the little guy. I returned to that corner periodically throughout the day for various reasons, but every time, looked out for him. I don't know where he went, but I wish him well.
And then I went home to find a nasty spider chillin' in my tub. So I drowned the life outta him with scalding hot water. Things with more than 2 arms/legs ought not be hanging out where I do not wear clothes.
Several of you know this, but my sister does nearly all the drawings for my blog. In preparation for this entry, she and I were chatting over Facebook about what she should draw. She wanted to know what one of my book carts looks like. Since I couldn't explain it to her well, I drew it out in Paint and then sent it her way; and this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I do not illustrate my own blogs.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Me: "Oh yeah, I've got tons of friends hiding in closets throughout the house just waiting for my cue. After you leave, they'll pop out and we'll have a big phat party fest."
Dad: "Oh, how I wish you were telling the truth."
My parents have a better social life than me.
Anyway, the point is that I like having the house all to myself. Know why? 'Cause I can sing as loudly as I stinkin' want to! And this is exactly what I do. I wander aimlessly around the house, busting out classics like To Love Somebody by the Bee Gees and I Heard it Through the Grapevine by Marvin Gaye.
There was one particular evening that I had the place to myself and was in the kitchen (great acoustics) singing the "National Anthem" at the tippy top of my lungs. I hit the high note in "for the la-and of the freeeEEEEEE!!!" and then broke out laughing hysterically because my voice sounded like the noise an ironing board makes every time you open it.
Our doorbell is broken, but we don't bother putting up a sign that says so, so people come to our front door and try to ring it regardless. We just definitely don't answer the door though. This is because we don't know they're there. As was the story at this particular moment. Clearly, the boy had rung the doorbell who knows how long ago and had been waiting patiently, a mere 12 feet away from me and my warbling wind pipes.
I squealed and ducked under the kitchen counter. I couldn't answer the door! But there was no way he didn't know I was indeed in the house. It would take a deaf person that lived in a different country not to hear me singing in the kitchen. It was at this moment that I had to come up with a plan that would involve me answering the door and not being humiliated by the attractive boy on the porch.
I crawled from the counter to the front door, not wanting him to possibly see me through the window. (Luckily, there was no evidence that he had been watching me, but the window was open and he had to have heard me.)
I stood up in front of the door and yelled, "Freaking Chanel! Stop with the singing already! Our great nation knows of your undying patriotism!" I then opened the door and did my best impression of a girl slightly exasperated with her sister. "Ha, sisters!" I said to the boy, as if it was the kind of problem he dealt with everyday--sisters that sing too loudly about America.
Nothing really happened after that. The boy was there to see my dad and since dad was gone, there was nothing left between the him and me. He left and I shut the door and then squealed really loudly and shook my hands because that's the only thing I can do to get pent up energy OUT of me.
Since then, I've watched my back before opening my mouth.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
A few nights ago I went to a jack 'o lantern-carving contest. It was just a small, non consequential activity with about 20 people that I know.
Since pumpkins were limited, some of us were encouraged to buddy up and share. Several partnerships formed and since I was feeling unusually territorial, I zeroed in on a lone pumpkin.
The only carving device I had was a butcher knife so I maliciously went to town on that pumpkin, stabbing sporadically around it's stem. (I had already come to peace with the possibility that I might return home with less fingers than I'd begun with, but this miraculously did not happen.) It was at this point that I noticed somebody watching me. *John.
John was slowly inching towards me from across the room.
After gutting the beast, I looked down and realized that my shirt was inside-out. How I managed to go an entire day without noticing that blessed mistake is beyond me. In that moment of distraction, John took a knife and pressed it to the shell. (This all happened in slow motion, I'm pretty sure.) Remember how I said I was feeling strangely territorial? This bubbled forth as I grabbed the wrist of his knife-clinging hand and held it over my head.
I swear I'm not normally psycho like this. Apparently when it comes to cutting through the flesh of vegetables, I get art-rage.
"WHAT are you DOING?!" I proclaimed. My eyes were probably blood-red and bulging out and I wouldn't be surprised if my hair stood on end.
It turns out that John was going to stab out the initials of his favorite university, but I was a controlling goblin and ended up carving a mustache instead. School pride? Nahhhh… I choose facial hair!
Monday, October 24, 2011
There are certain things in my life that never fail to bring unrest to my heart. For example, every single time somebody on a bike or skateboard is sharing the sidewalk with me, I will almost die.
You know when you accidentally run into someone in the hallway face to face and when you try to go around them, they go in the same direction?
It's like my brain shuts off and isn't able to tell my feet to go in the opposite direction of the biker. No, no, no. When my feet are left with no master, they do exactly what they're not supposed to do. (Which, in this circumstance, is to walk right in front of the biker's path and then stop and stand awkwardly until the biker either crashes or hits you.) Luckily, I'm normally walking with somebody when this happens, and they have the brains to pull me out of the way. Anyway, that wasn't the point.
Along with bikers, getting touched on the neck, and the thought that I could someday accidentally bite my tongue completely off, driving fills me with utmost dread.
I was asked to pick up something for my mom at the store. This meant I had to take the car. I had to drive, alone. (It's actually best that I drive alone because I narrate the entire ride aloud to myself to calm down.)
Once I got past our bumper-eating driveway of death, I had to actually deal with the big road and other drivers. You know those drivers you hate because they're in front of you and they refuse to turn right when they have time to? I'm that driver.
So I was already nervous and trying to remember the difference between turning left and right and which pedal means "GO GO GO FASSSST NOWWWW" and which one means "STOP FOREVER STOP STOP NOW." (When I get flustered, I forget which one is which. That oughta strike some confidence into your hearts.)
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Thoughts from the shower:
"I think my entire DNA has changed since Saturday."
"Is it morally wrong that I'm singing "because your kiss, your kiss, is on my lips" to the cat?"
"Nobody knows what's best for me. Only I know what's best for me. And what's best for me would be finding my nail clippers."
"I think all the weight I lost in pee I gained back in pants."
"I can tell this is gonna be a day where I regret not being a camel."
"If I put my mascara on in the shower I would save so much time. I would also look horrible and probably end up blind."
"Rapping would probably actually be a pretty simple thing for me to master because I like to end every word in the English language with "cat." Just this morning, I've said "Buttercat" like three times."
That last thought about rapping and cats inspired me to make a video blog. (I am a vlogger and have been since 2006.)
Feel free to visit my YouTube channel for more vlogs! You can click the crud out of this link! www.YouTube.com/iArielle