Eunice VI

Life Update: I just used a Bane voice to proclaim, "It would have been nice to have some toilet paper," after noticing the distinct lack of toilet paper in my tiny, almost nonexistent bathroom. SOMEONE, not to mention any names, forgot to replace the stock of said bath tissue. I will of course mention names, and this specific name is resident Hallway Spider Eunice VI, my only roommate. Eunice is on her sixth incarnation because people keep heartlessly murdering her. Coincidentally, none of the Eunices have ever actually been inside my apartment. That's where the term Hallway Spider comes from. I thought that was obvious (!). Eunice is excellent company, except when she is dead, which is often. She is, however, terrible at remembering to replace the toilet paper.

Feet and Dr. Ron Swanson

            Warning: this story involves feet and foot related paraphernalia.

I hate feet. Or rather, I strongly dislike them. I reserve the word hate for more serious matters such as bad drivers, mannequins, ski lifts, and something I like to call “improper line etiquette” (which involves people who don’t understand what lines are and how to wait in them). My dislike of feet may stem from their inherent grossness or from my personally horrendous foot history; nonetheless, it survives in some deep, dark recess of my brain comparable to the fungus monster lurking under toenails in those awful Lamisil commercials.

I come from what I can only assume is a long line of Thompsons with weird, misshapen feet. I base this solely off the fact that my father and brother both have weird feet. This is another gift from the Thompson genetic pool in addition to my giant freak head that doesn’t fit into women’s hats. That episode of Seinfeld where Elaine becomes convinced her head is too big really hit home for me.

Slow Food

Dear Fast Food Service Employees-

Good fast food service is like (according to all I've learned from watching The Wire) a good drug deal. Quick, dirty, and with as little eye contact as possible. Both parties involved are ultimately left unsatisfied while a hidden third party at the top rakes in the monies. You heard me, Wendy. Yes, I am comparing that little red-haired Pippi-Longstocking-wannabe with Avon Barksdale, notorious fictional gangster with a troubled soul.

All I want from fast food personnel is for them to swipe my magic piece of money plastic and give me my greasy bag of shame so I can drive away as quickly as possible. Let it drench my entire car, still half filled with stuff I'm too lazy to move into my new house, with its potent fried aroma. But do not, do not, attempt to converse with me. Yes, the regular pleasantries are fine, such as, "Have a nice day," or, "Thank you," and please allow me to respond "thank you" to the latter because apparently I don't understand how language works.

But for Jeebus' sake, please don't do anything more. Being treated like a human being might just make me rethink the entire purchase.

CATS!

For some reason, I feel the need to gain approval of every cat I encounter. It's like cats are the withholding mother I never had (because my mom happens very nice). This is doubly bad because I'm allergic to cats. Some just cause a light smattering of eczema to appear on my eyelids and elbows (as everyone knows, eczema loves the letter "E"), while others cause my retinas to turn to sandpaper and my nasal passages to explode. AND YET, I still pursue the friendship of cats.

This morning, to congratulate myself for getting my circadian rhythm back on track, I decided to treat myself to a bagel in the park. As I was sitting there, eating my bagel and listening to a podcast of This American Life about crime scenes, I saw a most adorable cat meandering around a nearby tree. Said cat was seemingly stalking a rather chirpy squirrel hidden in the tree's upper branches.

 I rolled down my car window (What? You actually thought I got out of my car? Haha as if. I don't like to mingle with the common park people.) which caused the cat to notice my presence. It looked judgmental. I stuck a piece of bagel out of the car, waiving it invitingly for the cat to take because, c'mon, who doesn't love a good bagel? But all the adorable cat offered me in return was SCORN. It gave up its pursuit of Chirpy Squirrel and darted between some fence posts into the unknown.

Chirpy Squirrel was more than happy to receive the bagel bit, I might add. It took it right from my hand with its chubby little paws. (That's a lie, I threw it on the ground and the squirrel came and got it like five minutes later.)

The moral of this story is never share your bagel with anyone. Also, podcasts about crime scenes are really disturbing.

Things I saw on campus today

1. Some dude juggling plastic red bowling pins
2. Children in green shirts swarming the sidewalk, grabbing at my clothes with their jam covered hands
3. Four people and some guy with a megaphone calling themselves "Occupy KU". I feel like they missed the boat with that one. I'm also automatically inclined to dislike anyone with a megaphone.
4. An idiot trying to tie his shoe while riding a bike
5. One jillion (advanced mathematical term) blond girls wearing the EXACT SAME OUTFIT. They must coordinate these things. Should I dye my hair blond? Am I missing out on something amazing?

Yeah... so it's not the best list ever. But I skipped my nap time today. Don't judge me. 

The Pen Dilemma

I take my school/office supplies very seriously. By this, I mean I take somewhat of a perverse joy in buying them. Two weeks (minimum) before the start of each semester, I begin to stalk school supplies like the determined hunter of a Hemingway story. My prey: pens, notebooks, folders, and of course, tabs. Once, I spent the entire afternoon in an Office Depot.

This is why I was happy, nay, thrilled, to encounter a fellow pen connoisseur tonight at the grocery store, of all places. I was pretending my mini-cart was a scooter, semi-surfing it down the office supplies isle just like the faceless people on the child seat tell you not to, when I overheard a rather good looking young gentleman on the phone. He was standing in front of the pen selection, lamenting to his phone compatriot the difficulty he always had when choosing a pen. "The line can't be too thick and the ink can't smear, because then my writing just looks a mess," he muttered with exasperation. Okay, maybe he said "is messy" instead of "just looks a mess", but a girl can dream.

Needless to say, I was tempted to propose on the spot, or at least give him a crisp hi-five. But sadly friends, I didn't even say hello and share pen buying tips with him. Foiled again by this cursed shyness!

I know you are eager to hear what I consider to be the best pen after my years of searching, so I'll let you in on this most precious secret; my favorite pen is the Uniball Jetstream. I prefer a nice 0.7 point, but the 1.0 is good for those who like a bold stroke. No smearing, friends! Check-forging proof!

Also, it turns out Uniball is not owned by Lance Armstrong. I've also been told they don't appreciate tasteless Lance Armstrong jokes.

Isn't it beautiful?

The Mall

 Once in a while, I forget how ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE the mall is. My brain (the eternal traitor) convinces me I really need something only the mall can offer me.

If you go to the mall in my hometown, here are a few things you will find:

1.     An interesting variety of people, including the power-walking elderly and goth teenagers

2.     Mannequins with eyes that follow you like a painting from a Scooby Doo mystery

3.     People with fanny packs

4.     People with mullets

5.     People with mullets and fanny packs

6.     Voldemort behind the Clinique counter

7.     A friendly Asian woman who is ALWAYS cleaning the food court bathrooms, seemingly stuck in The Twilight Zone

8.     Children running amok and smearing their jam covered fingers on your nice sweatpants (children like jam)

9.     Sales people who will ask you multiple times if you want to sample their perfume, and then spray it directly into your face regardless of the answer

10.  SPANX. For women who enjoy feeling like a sausage.

11.  Someone from your past you really didn't want to see...ever

The mall is a cauldron of blatant consumerism and human misery. You can quote me on that.