Tag Archives: humor

Eat, Eat, Eat.

22 Jul

Today, a cab driver told me that the men here in Buenos Aires understand that Argentinian food is the best but the women are too busy dieting to appreciate the cuisine. Believe me, I’ve been too busy stuffing my face with chocolate covered churros filled with dulce de leche, glorious glorious meat and empanadas to even consider holding back. Who needs to diet when you can just put on the pants with the elastic waistband? I’m basically having an “Eat, Pray, Love” experience minus spiritualism, minus the romance. Yes, my travels are less cathartic than they are caloric.

(Meat) sweatpants

This doesn’t mean, however, that I’m not deathly afraid of returning to the States, looking like the small cow that I have undoubtedly consumed over the past week. And as this is obviously not the time and place for dieting, I must resort to exercise to remain human-shaped. Fortunately, our apartment complex has a rooftop gym. Unfortunately, this otherwise lovely building is home to the crappiest treadmill in the entire world.

Crappiest? That’s an awfully bold statement to make, you say? Well, trust me. If you had to run on it, you’d be on my side. I don’t particularly enjoy running and this treadmill isn’t sweetening the deal. First of all, the display doesn’t work, which means that you can’t tell how far or how long you’ve run.

This face accurately depicts how I feel about this treadmill.

But hey, we know that rate x time = distance, so as long as you carry your own watch you should theoretically be able to calculate your distance, right? Who needs a working display? I do…unless someone can tell me how fast a “fat burn” pace is.

The devil machine's speed adjuster.

Plus, unless they have their own personal televisions, treadmills, in general, bore me. This particular treadmill does not contain a TV but it does face a floor-length mirror. This way, I can admire my sweaty unattractiveness while suffering excruciating boredom. The other day, I literally had to yell (aloud) “KEEP RUNNING!!!” to keep myself from quitting. Mirror Courtney was looking pretty beat.

Is Argentinian food really worth all this trauma?

Decorative "sugar" crystals? Nope, it has to be meth. It's the only reasonable explanation as to why these churros are so addicting!

Why yes, yes it is.

iPhone? Soooo over it…

10 Jul

I blame my miniature blog hiatus on my recent trip to New York City. Unfortunately, the concrete jungle where dreams are made of deprived me of all creative inspiration and instead, motivated me to spend my days shrinking my wallet and fattening my waistline.

NYC was exactly how I imagined it would be - a life-size Gossip Girl set and therefore obviously, a dream come true. Please refer to me as "C" from now on.

I learned a few important life lessons on this very educational trip:

1) New Yorkers think it’s creepy if you smile too much. (Don’t do it!)

2) Your friends think it’s creepy if you constantly text them random pictures of cats (with captions like, “Meow! Thinking of you at the Met!”)

3) “Cash Cab” is apparently a hoax. (There goes my innocence and child-like wonder.)

4) If you tug on the ears of the Mickey Mouse mascot in Times Square, he WILL curse at you and flip you the bird. (For the record, I was just a witness in this scenario.)

5) Smartphones are really really useful.

You see, I have yet to jump on the smartphone bandwagon. I swear it’s not my fault. My parents refused to get a computer until 2001, and we were using dial-up until 2005. I’m a just product of my environment. It wasn’t until this past week, that I truly understood the necessity of owning one of these gadgets. Apparently, a smartphone can provide you with directions to show your cab driver. It can help you Yelp a new restaurant in Little Italy. It can even lead you to said restaurant, sparing you the exhaustion of aimlessly wandering the streets after your brother abandons you. But, I’m sure you already know all this because you, unlike me, do not flee from technology.

2005's finest!

Instead, I’ve been using my cousin’s friend’s old LG flip phone. (Thanks for hooking it up, Shannon!) While it’s incredibly reminiscent of my first cellphone, it allows me to call, text and even take low-quality pictures (of cats.) It’s good enough for me, but it’s no smartphone. Consequently, I was surprised to receive so many compliments on it in New York. After a few “cool phone” comments, I picked up on Lesson #6: There are A LOT of hipsters in New York. I’ve concluded that they must think I’m using the phone ironically…which I’m not. And this is why (contrary to the title of this post) I need an iPhone.

The Weedle Position

27 Jun

The world is a frightening place. I am always afraid, afraid that the commissioned oil painting of my sister and mom running together means I am not actually the favorite child, afraid that my Beanie Baby collection isn’t worth thousands of dollars, despite what my 1998 official handbook suggests and afraid of somehow becoming a cat lady because frankly, felines intimidate me. Talk about being a scaredy cat.

As a blogger, the thought butchering the English language in front of the critical eyes of the blogosphere also strikes fear into my heart. I already know that I most likely harbor many flagrant misunderstandings about the language. This became especially apparent in college. The dorms were each equipped with a peer health adviser who not only distributed band aids, Advil and condoms, but also decorated the bathrooms with educational health articles. One week, the topic was “What does your sleep position say about you?” Now I’m a pseudo woman of science not a woman of pseudoscience, so I felt inclined to ignore this article and the hocus pocus it propagated. But, just as I can’t resist reading my daily horoscope in the paper — my Gemini dual personality can make me somewhat of a hypocrite — I couldn’t help but read the health report.

At the top of the article was a diagram depicting different sleeping positions (see right.) As I glanced over the illustration, I noticed “fetal” labeled under the first position. I love finding printed spelling and grammar errors (which is why I deliberately scrutinize every page of Chinese restaurant menus) so I was feeling pretty smug.   “Fetal,” I thought to myself. “Someone did not proofread th..the the hell?!?!”

It had dawned on me. For the past ten years, I had incorrectly referred to the curled up human form as the “weedle position.” You know, like the bug Pokemon. (I do realize that I referenced Pokemon in my last post but I can assure you, it’s purely coincidental and not at all reflective of a secret obsession.) However seeing the labeled position on the chart, I could clearly see the connection between the fetal position and a fetus’s positioning.

In my defense, it’s a perfectly reasonable misconception. As you can see from my scientific diagram, the weedle’s curvature is highly reminiscent of the fetal position’s form. It’s therefore entirely feasible that a Pokemon was named after a bodily position, a position named “weedle.” Can’t you also imagine someone rocking back and forth in the “fetal” position, quietly chanting “weedle, weedle, weedle”? No? Just me? Then, can I also point out that “weedle” and “fetal” are practically homophones, which could be another source for my confusion?  Come on…wee-dle…fe-tal. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if other people make this mistake.

(FYI, this is the least disgusting picture of a fetus that I could find. You’re welcome.)

If I messed up weedle…I mean fetal position, who knows how many other words I’m unintentionally mutilating? I’m terrified of unavoidable future language fouls.

On another note, I am now also in the market for new friends. I obviously can’t trust any of my old friends, who were either too cruel, too dumb or too indifferent to correct me and for ten years, allowed me to get away with, “Saw II was so scary that I spent two hours in the weedle position!” So, if you have an above average command of the English language and aren’t afraid to show it, feel free to apply to be my friend. The position starts off as an unpaid internship, with potential for full-time employment and compensation in the form of Beanie Babies.

Let the record show that I used to be a good person.

22 Jun

Living at home for the summer, I sometimes have to give in to my mom’s ridiculous requests by doing dishes, showing her common respect, and not operating a meth lab from our basement. Welcome to my suburban oppression. In compliance with her latest demand, I dutifully started to clean my room last night and uncovered my elementary school yearbooks. I, of course, had to abandon my chores and leaf through every page of all seven volumes of my childhood. I evidently have a firm grasp on my priorities.

The fifth grade was the year of the millennium so the entire yearbook followed the theme of “the future.” Completely uninspired, right? I would have dedicated the book to the impending apocalypse or more realistically, to Pokemon. I’m pretty sure that I was ignorant of the Y2K scare because I was preoccupied, trying to convince my friend to trade me her Charizard for three trainer cards, four energy cards and a Weedle. Anyway, back to the future…theme. Mrs. Johnson decided that our class should document “our dreams for the future.” Though I obviously should have aspired to be a stand up comedian (come on, my “Back to the Future” joke was gold), I told Mrs. Johnson that I wanted to teach in a foreign country, because it sounded so terribly romantic. She suggested I join the Peace Corps.

So let it be written, so let it be done. Well…not exactly. My friends taunted me and my parents (unsurprisingly) discouraged me from realizing this dream. At the time, I was utterly baffled because I was under the impression that striving to improve global education was an admirable ambition. I also still didn’t completely understand the mission and operations of the Peace Corps, which further magnified my confusion.

Today, I still have unanswered questions, namely, why weren’t the other kids’ goals ridiculed? In retrospect, my wish was fairly achievable (and not to mention practical), when considering that two of my classmates aspired to be Dr. Doolittle and another had delusions about living in Atlantis. Read the other ones – it doesn’t get much better. Sure, their ideas were cute, but at 10 years old, we were a little too mature for cute.

Maybe I’m being a bit cruel, heckling 5th graders and all. Unfortunately, this is who I have become, and I am now far from the kind, altruistic person that I could have been. Sorry World.