A Very Dignified Story of Excrement

Inspired by Whinger, I have decided to share my own embarrassing poo story. You are all. so. lucky.

During the summer between sophomore and junior year in college, Meg was invited to a Texas wedding, and Christine and I* decided it would be fun to go along for the ride, drop Meg off in TX, and keep driving to Mexico. And so what started off as a joke turned into an actuality, and the whole thing was one big coming-of-age Northern Girls in the South and What's with all the Confederate Flags Down Here? kinda thing.

Anyway.

On our way down to the Lone Star State**, we decided to stop in New Orleans. This was partly for the drinking, because we weren't yet 21 and we figured that there would have to be a bar in NO that would let us in. But it was mostly for the antiques and the food. What can I say? Women's College. We might as well be gay men.

Ah yes, the food. I think of all the meals I've ever eaten, the ones I had in New Orleans were by far the best. However, you know what happens when you eat lots and lots of good food with names like jumbalaya, gumbo, muffaletta, and beignet? Yeah... it takes a toll on your "lower half."

So back at the hostel, which is just a big house that does not have hotel-grade super-duper plumbing, let's just say I had a slight issue in the bathroom that caused a short hiatus in the toilet's ability to be used by other people. I denied that it was me, walking out of the bathroom all, "yo! someone clogged the toilet!" but it was so me, and Meg knew it all along***.

And so a little while later, Maintenance Guy came up with a plunger, and as our room was adjacent to the bathroom, he looked in and said, "bathroom's fixed..." and also looked at me with a knowing glint in his eye. How did people know? Did I have toilet paper trailing from my foot? Did I have a sign on my ass that said, "Big Problems Started Here"??

Needless to say, that caused me to be very cautious when using the toilets there. And a little on edge when it came to seeing Maintenance Guy.

So later that night, someone is in the shower upstairs, and I need to pee. Just pee, I swear. (And really, why would I lie after what I just told you?) Downstairs they are having a big barbecue thing, except we're all shy and decide not to go****. But I do go downstairs to use the bathroom. And when I get down there?

Yeah. I walk into the bathroom. Shut and lock the door. Lift the lid. And yes, it is clogged. What possessed me to think that someone just forgot to flush? I don't know. But I flush for that person. And the water gets higher and higher until it is juuuuuust at the top and I'm sure my face is turning white and I am backing away from the toilet so I don't get dirty toilet water all over my flip-flopped feet, and the water stops. Just in time.

So since I touched the toilet handle and all, I had to wash my hands even though I didn't actually do anything in there. And then, just as I open the door to leave:

*Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!* (That is the sound of angels singing, not of me screaming. That comes later.)

Hottest British Guy Ever is standing in the doorway, just about to use the bathroom that I did NOT clog up, but that I am about to leave after flushing and hand-washing. This means, as he was standing outside the door waiting for me to come out, he heard some I-just-used-the-bathroom Sounds.

What's a girl to do? What's she to say?

How about, "THETOILETISCLOGGEDBUTITWASN'TMEIDIDN'TDOITISWEAR!"

'Cause that's what I said. I did not clog that toilet, but at that very moment, I definitely shit out of my mouth.

And Hottest British Guy Ever? He says, quite simply, "Oh. I was just going to wash my hands, really."

Oh yes. He did.

And as if it couldn't get any worse, I am then intersected on my way up the stairs by Maintenance Guy, who is now drunk and sweaty and with his shirt open, and he starts talking again about the clogged toilet upstairs. He is standing WAY too close to me, asking me questions about where I am going and "will you mail a letter for me once you get to Texas? I'll go get it and be right back."

At which point I ran up the stairs, shut the door, and did not make another public appearance until the next day, upon checkout.

Good thing the food in Texas isn't as good.

* I bet you didn't realize we were all like one big women's college sorority! Or, should I say, womyn's... Oh, and Al is part of it too.
** Lone because no one wants them
*** I could tell by the way she was looking at me. I don't know how she knew it, but she did.
**** I almost wish I could go back to that hostel so I could be more sociable with the other people staying there. We shared a room with two German travelers and didn't say two words to them the whole time!

Oh Canada

This morning our local news anchor said that Canada's new prime minister, Stephen Harper, may improve Canada's relations with the United States because his ideology is similar to that of the Bush Administration. I definitely heard him say the beginning of the word "ideology" more like idiot than idea. I'm pretty sure it was a Freudian slip, but really, how appropriate...

Copycat Blogger

Got this from Anika*, who got this from someone else who got it from someone else and so on and so on so leave me alone about not coming up with an original post, okay?

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Jessica!

1. South Australia was the first place to allow Jessica to stand for parliament!
2. In Chinese, the sound 'Jessica' means 'bite the wax tadpole'!
3. The Jessica-fighting market in the Philippines is huge - several thousand Jessica-fights take place there every day.
4. Apples are covered with a thin layer of Jessica.
5. Owls cannot move their eyes, because their eyeballs are shaped like Jessica.
6. There is no lead in a lead pencil - it is simply a stick of graphite mixed with Jessica and water!
7. Jessica can remain conscious for fifteen to twenty seconds after being decapitated!
8. The Church of Scientology was founded in 1953, at Washington D.C., by Jessica.
9. Plato believed that the souls of melancholy people would be reincarnated into Jessica!
10. Grapes explode if you put them inside Jessica.**

* Incidently, if you should want to try this yourself, you should click on Anika's link, because the html pasted all funky into my post.

** Have not tried this (yet).

Inside the Bubble (or, Just a Short Rant)

I was really a fan of that James Blunt song “You’re Beautiful” before I paid attention to the lyrics. Because before I listened to the lyrics, I thought it was about a guy who saw a girl on a train and didn’t have the guts to introduce himself and then just kept thinking about her and how beautiful she was and how he should have gotten her digits. And that’s sad, and usually I hate things about sad stuff and I change the radio whenever a slow song comes on and I won’t watch movies that don’t have happy endings. But I liked the song anyway because although it was sad, I liked to think that maybe one day he’d actually bump into her on the street or in the bookstore and realize it was her and since he didn’t ask her for her number before, and it bothered him enough to write a song about it, surely he would ask for it this next time!

But then I actually paid attention to the lyrics, and that’s not what it’s about. I mean, it’s sort of about that, but mostly it’s about how he saw her on a train, but she was with her boyfriend, and they shared a look, and although he realizes he will never be with her, it doesn’t bother him (Oh yeah, right, you wrote a song about it dude. It bothers you.) because they “shared a moment that will last ‘til the end.” And that just makes me angry because she has a boyfriend and now James believes she will just be secretly thinking about him forever. What if I was on a train and Boyfriend (um, you know, the one I don’t have) “shared a moment” with some chick, and while I was thinking he was in love with me, he was actually pining for TrainWhore? I find the whole thing quite sipid.

And it’s possible that I am taking this song too personally. But it’s also probably true that I take every movie and every song too personally, which is why I need to avoid All Things (with even a tidbit of) Melancholy. Because if I don’t, I’ll just be angry at nonexistent people like TrainWhore all the time. Which is why I continue to live in a happiness bubble.

Guilty Pleasures

I just bought the Legally Blonde Platinum Collection. It comes with Legally Blonde AND Legally Blonde 2: Red, White, and Blonde. Oh, um, and it also comes with magnets, a notepad and pen, and a collectible "clutch purse" outer box. But that's totally not why I bought it. I have this anal thing about having the boxed set (if one exists) rather than all of the movies separately. It's going to bother me a lot when the next Harry Potter movies come out and they don't fit in my boxed set. Yes. Loser. I know. But you won't think I'm a loser when I'm carrying around my DVD box purse! No you won't! Mark my words: They will be all the rage in 2006.

An Affair to Remember?

As mentioned by Whinger, the quest for a hairdresser who truly GETS you and your hair is a difficult task. I have found the same to be true for nail technicians.

Now, let me start off by saying, I used to be less girly. I think it was when I weighed lots more and I hated the way I looked, and I thought, why should I bother? Why get my hair dyed? It won't hide my back fat. And plus, roots look ugly. Why get my nails done? They look stupid and fake and are a waste of money, and they still won't make me look any thinner.*

As it turns out, losing weight, despite the fact that I never reached my goal weight (not yet, anyway) has made me the vainest (is that even a word? most vain? whatever.) person alive. And aside from vanity, I just love taking time for myself and being pampered. This now takes the form of both getting my hair dyed AND getting my nails "done." As in acrylic. As in every two weeks I have to wake up by 9am on Saturday so that I can get to the nail place by 9:55 so that I can sit outside in my car and wait for the OPEN sign to be turned on so that I can be the first customer in the chair of Sunny, the Asian God of Pink and White**.

The entire process of Pink and White, even this early in the morning, when I don't have to wait and when Sunny hasn't been doing nails all day, therefore not yet tired, takes about an hour and a half in which I am being pampered and daydreaming and listening to other women's gossipy conversations. Except. Okay, well here's the thing. I love Sunny. I really do. But like, you know how when you are in a relationship, and the relationship is awesome, and your significant other is really attentive and sweet and caring and thoughtful and you love him lots and Everything Is Perfect, except

He sucks in bed.

And that little bit is enough to almost not make it worth it.

It's like this.

Sunny is meticulous. He spends an entire hour on nail foreplay. He gingerly takes off the old polish, files down the surface of my nails, drills out the old white to replace it with the new white, fills in the canyon between grown-out acrylic and abused cuticle, files it all down again, and shapes the tips to make them the short length with rounded corners that I prefer (he really is so sensitive to my needs). He files them again with one of those buffer blocks, and I find myself being quite amused by the fact that he buffs each nail in the same rhythm of quickquickquick! stop. quickquick! stop. quickquickquickquick! I like to imagine he is singing the chorus to a song over and over in his head for each nail. Then he oils them up, and then he buffs them again with one of those silky buffers to make them super shiny. All of this leading up to the climax of any manicure:

The hand massage.

But well. While I'm getting my own nails done, I am also watching nail porn-- which is essentially seeing other hand massages taking place. The women who give the massages just know what to do. They use strong, slow massaging motions, gently rub down each finger, make sure to get the palm as well as the top of the hand. I can almost feel it in my own hands, and I anticipate it all through the foreplay. And then Sunny starts my hand massage, and truth be told...

It sucks.

He uses quick, wimpy motions. He does this weird popping thing to my fingers. He doesn't get every part of my hand. I just sit there waiting for it to be over so he can paint them and I can go sit with my nails under the dryer. The whole thing is very half-assed, and even the warm towel isn't all that satisfying. I get annoyed because there is no way to Fake It.

And so this begs the question: Is it worth it? Is someone who can make your nails look like this:



worth the disappointing anticlimax? Or should I realize the fact that women really are the only ones who actually know what other women want, and trade in my days of heterosexual nail connections for some girl-on-girl action?

I mean, he does make sure to pick all of the stray pieces of dried acrylic off my fingers, and he carries my coat and purse to the most boring part of my day nail dryer chair so I don't mess up my paint job... See what I mean? He's just so damn thoughtful***.

But man, what I wouldn't do for a nice, relaxing, un-having-to-reciprocate moment of bliss every now and then...

* My own self esteem issues, to which I hope no one takes offense nor takes seriously.
** If you don't know, Pink and White is a technique in which pink and white acrylics are used to mimic the look of a French manicure. Instead of the white being painted on top, it is worked into the nail.
***Plus, he doesn't want to fix the nick that I will inevitably get if I don't keep my hands far out in front of me for the next three hours, no matter how dry I think my nails are.

It's Great Being a Girrrrrl!

I love, LOVE, how when you are a female entering a very fancy restaurant*, men who are also entering said establishment hold the door open for you. It means you get seated** first, even though they got there*** first and were technically in front of you.

And while we're on the subject of food, my new favorite Starbucks drink is a Cinnamon Dolce no vanilla Carmel Macchiato. Try it. And don't forget how to say it, or you might get something different. Once I asked for a "carmel macchiato with Cinnamon Dolce instead of vanilla syrup" and she starting asking me all these confusing questions, like "do you want that upside down?" Um. Thanks. But then it might spill...

*Dunkin Donuts
** Served your medium coffee with cream and two Splendas and a nice fattening egg and cheese on a croissant (whateverI'mstartingadietMonday) in a paper bag
*** Stopped listening to Preston and Steve and got out of the car

That Was Quick!

So as I was leaving work today, I saw that someone left me a message and I apparently didn't hear my cell phone ring over the sound of growling and yelling 7 year olds. AND, it was John, who was calling from the company Dell hired to replace my computer screen to tell me that my part was in. Hooray!

And I called him back when I got home, and he said, "Actually... I'm just pulling onto your street right now. I figured I'd stop by and see if maybe someone happened to be home*." Uncanny!

And so it turns out John is pretty cute and buff. I show him to my computer at the dining room table (since, you know... that's the catch-all for Stuff We're Not Using Right Now But Certainly Not Dinner) and as he is unscrewing my screen, I start a conversation. John is also quite pleasant. He makes jokes about what my dad's watching on TV (Star Trek) and we talk about my computer, and for a minute I fantasize that this is actually the beginning of a porn, except he is a computer repair guy and not a plumber. And then my dad coughs and I remember he's there and that's just nasty and the little thought bubble above my head pops. And it's almost as if John could see my bubble, because at that exact moment, he mentioned his fiancee**.

Ouch.

But anyway, at least my computer is fixed. I've done all sorts of important things, like checking everyone's blogs, making sure my bank account is not overdrawn, uploading photos of myself (since I am the only thing I seem to have around to have to take pictures of), and checked the latest products on silverjewelryclub.com. Then I thought about doing undesirable things, such as writing lesson plans.

I decided to blog instead.

* Alison said that if no one was home, his plan was to burglarize us.
**The part of the sentence that included the words "my fiancee" was actually code for "although I find you incredibly sexy and intelligent, I am unfortunately engaged, and am of such strong character that I cannot take you right now, despite my intense, animalistic desires. Plus your dad is sitting right there."

Hi Y'all!

Youre Fired!
Originally uploaded by messiejessie81.

The screen on my laptop is broken, which is why you may (or may not) have noticed my recent blogging inactivity. I've been reduced to using my parents' computer, and don't really want to blog from there, cause... you know... parents reading your blog is weird. But anyway, this picture (should?) link to my photostream on flickr, where you can check out some of my photos from New Year's Eve and other random things. Hope all your 2006's are going well! I hope to be back to blogging soon!