Nini-von-Nimble

Stalking My Stalker

2009-07-28T19:32:00.000-07:00

Yes.

Though I won't give my secrets out, I successfully stalked my stalker. Name, address, even previous addresses in different states and names of relatives. My investigative skills took a whopping 25 minutes and 3 calls. Let this be a lesson to all those creepy stalkers out there who think they're pretty smart.

The only thing that sucks more than being stalked, is a stalker being stalked by his/her own "victim"

And like I said a few posts ago, here is the cell number: 623 313 5153. Please feel free to sign this number up for text spam such as daily horoscopes, sale specials, restaurants, gyms, whatever you can think of! Be creative :)

Thus is Life

2009-07-25T22:23:00.000-07:00

I've begun having vivid nightmares about my thesis. My deadline is the 13th of August, and as each day passes, the more worried I become. I fear on August 13th, I will hand the thesis to my professor, begin twitching, fall to the ground, and die.

The best part is, this written document single-handedly controls my mood, my eating or lack thereof, my sleep, my thoughts, pretty much my entire conscious life. It's the like the mistress I'll never have.

And it calls my name even now...

Go to Sleep, my baaaaaabyyyy....

2009-07-11T17:04:00.000-07:00

The insomnia is back, ten times worse. At least before, I used to busy myself at 3 am. Now, I can stare at the wall for three hours or read about the drilling predation on the paleozoic brachiopods without even a hint of sleep.

What I need to do is somehow prevent myself from thinking. I've brainstormed ideas. I could watch this until I fall asleep: http://www.badgerbadgerbadger.com/ but the music gets annoying so I'd have to listen to it without sound and I have a feeling I'd have nightmares about giant badgers attacking me. Ok, so cross that one off the list.

Next, I thought maybe I could focus all my energy into meditation. Just breathe in, breathe out, and think about nothing. Like yoga. At 3 am. On my bedroom floor.

It just might work.

Any other ideas for curing insomnia?

The Cluck Factor

2009-07-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

As luck would have it, after I was done grocery shopping this evening, I stopped at the entrance of the store to fish for my keys before walking into the parking lot. I always pre-fish for keys inside the store because my friend in undergrad told me it was safe. However, this friend also told me that if I was ever in a dark parking lot and a strange-looking man was approaching, I should drop on all fours, cluck like a chicken, and begin pecking at the ground. This, she informed me, would confuse the attacker and he would run away.

With my luck, if I was ever unfortunate enough to be in that position, my "attacker" would probably be a handsome, 6 foot, blond hair, blue eyed good samaritan who was merely trying to tell me I had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe and as I would be in the middle of pecking at the ground, he would call 911 and they would put me in a mental asylum.

Anyway, as I'm walking to my car, a woman appeared out of nowhere (no seriously) and asked me if I had "change for the bus." For a second, I wanted to roll my eyes and ask her if by bus, what she really meant to say was beer. She looked disheveled and tired and of course, the woman in me felt for her, but I was too scared to pull out my wallet in the middle of the parking lot. Luckily, one of the cart collectors was hovering around so I waved for him to come over, thinking he could take her inside and help her out. Unfortunately, I didn't relay this to the woman who, upon seeing me signaling, cursed me out better than a sailor ever could and walked away in record speed. She probably thought I was signaling him to call the po-po. By the time he came over, she was a dot in the distance. The cart collector and I shrugged at each other knowlingly as if to say, "Gosh, how about these parking lot loonies, huh?"

When I got into my car, the only thought running through my head was, God dammit! I should have tested out that chicken thing while I had her right there!

The Prank-Challenged Prank Caller

2009-06-18T22:16:00.000-07:00

I am honored to say, someone has found me worthy enough to stalk. I realize most of you would probably tell me I should change the locks on my doors and maybe call the local police station, and I would have, had it not been for the fact that my stalker is about as bright as black paint.

Here is what happened.

I received a call from an unknown caller and since I never pick up unknown calls, I didn't pick up this one. The caller proceeded to leave me a voicemail which was the following. "Hey Neeeeesh. This is Josie from lab. (insert babble here that I couldn't understand)" Then, while I am listening to the voicemail left by a girl who is clearly not Josie, but sounds more like a mix of a dying squirrel and Prince, I get an intercepting call by "Unknown." This time I pick it up and have the following conversation:

Me: Hello?
Stalker: Hello! This is Dominoes! Your pizzas are ready!
Me: Who is this?
Stalker: This is Dominoes!
Me: Really, what's my order?
Stalker: 300 pizzas!
Me: Who is this?
Stalker: Will you stop asking me the same fucking question!?
Me: (Hangs up)

As I'm pondering WTF just happened, I try to think what 14-15 year old girl would know my nickname and my lab co-worker. Not able to come up with anything, I realize someone else may have put her up to it. Possibly one of my friends. I couldn't think of any friends of mine that would have been immature enough to do that. I'm 25 for God's sake!

Ten minutes later I get a text from this number:

623 313 5153

With the accompanying text: "My dumb brothers got a hold of my phone and may have texted you. Sorry for what they did. My name is Willie and I used to have this number."

Finally, I realized my stalker was a retard. The voice on the other end of the phone was female, definitely. And if she was just some dude Willie's accomplice, how did she know my name as well as my co-worker's? And "Willie" did not have my old number. I know that for a fact because I kept getting calls for an Ana Godinez and actually got in a near brawl with the people at T-Mobile to stop her name from coming up on caller IDs when I called. I relayed this information to Without-a-brain-Willlie and all he texted back was, "It was a dude I swear!'

Ok. seriously? Douchebag gives me his number so I can trace him if I wanted, then has the brilliance to continue what he thinks is pranking me. So I texted him back saying "You're stalking skills suck. Let me help you."

That stopped the weirdness for a while, until last night at 11:40 pm, when I get a call from an unknown number. Intuitively knowing who it was, I picked up and said hello. The same girl from before screams, "THIS IS DR. SMITH!" (I don't answer and she pauses for a couples of seconds and continues.) "THE TEST RESULTS ARE BACK!' (Again, I don't reply, and she pauses and continues) "YOU'RE PREGNANT!"

At this point I say, "Yay! i'm so happy for me!' And hang up.

Seriously, I think I'm going to trace this number now. Hey, stalker, I hope you're reading this, because if I find you and learn who you are, God help you because I'm probably more psychotic than you are. AND, everyone who reads this. If you see my dead body on the news, you will know what number to give the po-po for information. Also, feel free to sign this number up for text horoscopes, foot locker ads, twitter, etc. Use your imagination!

Today is an Unwonderful Day

2009-06-10T10:13:00.001-07:00

How does one fall over on a treadmill...that wasn't even moving? How do you even fall over a freakin treadmill? I'll tell you how. You just need to balance a spray bottle of Windex and cleaning wipes in one arm, while reaching over the treadmill with the other arm in an attempt to open the blinds of the window behind it. Then, to gain leverage, you maneuver your foot so it rests dangerously between the base of the treadmill and the bottom of the side bar. Then you actually think this will all work and aim for those blinds by reaching over the side bar with your body weight. Then the next thing you know you are lying on your back wondering if you need someone to help pick up the remains of your body with a shovel.

Easy.

Also, I've become very paranoid about everything these past few days. First it was the possibility of illness-causing microscopic caterpillars in the lettuce at restaurants. Then, the OCD behavior of locking my car even though I clearly heard my car beep the first eight times. And now, I am paranoid that my neighbors let their children play on the trampoline at 2 am just to spite me. Like HA HA, we know you're an insomniac so we're just gonna rub it in by worsening it. Whatever. I can't wait until tonight when I don a monster costume, jump over the wall, and pelt the little bastards with gobstoppers.

The Bling Factor

2009-06-02T21:52:00.000-07:00

Thank you Anthony at Diamondcraft who created the PERFECT ring for me! Now, I get to promote the hell out of you.

Misc Blurbs

2009-05-24T18:28:00.000-07:00

Christie's Cabaret needs to put up a more visible sign off the freeway so that lost travelers (such as I) do not stumble into it to ask for directions thinking it is a family-friendly diner. Being greeted by a pair of Double Ds instead of a waitress is KIND OF shocking at 1 in the afternoon.

In other news, my friend Jen called me after three long days. After reading my post about shopping solo, she laughed for ten minutes and had this to say "I'm telling you, those pumps WERE seriously making you look lopsided. I only speak the truth to save your money. Let's go shopping again Wednesday night so I can do some damage control after you buy stuff...AGAIN!"

Note to all readers: NEVER GO SHOPPING WITH JEN UNLESS YOU HAVE THE SKIN OF AN ARMADILLO AND DON'T WEEP EASILY.

Speaking of other friends with the name Jen, my sista from anotha motha is coming in on the 28th and I'm beyond ecstatic to see her. We're thinking about recreating our Indian restaurant dinner before she left for rotations. Anyone know of any AMAZING Indian Restaurants in Scottsdale/Tempe?

China Saved My Butt (Literally)

2009-05-13T15:58:00.000-07:00

Due to the fact that the weather is once again a pleasantly hellish 104 degrees here in Arizona, all leather car seat owners know that sitting down in your car in the middle of the afternoon results in a string of curses followed by epileptic-type flailing and finally, third degree burns. Oh the cruelty.

But do not fear, fellow burn victims, the problem has been solved. By bamboo.

Let me explain.

I went to Asiana, a neighborhood Asian grocery/gift store and while there, decided to browse through those magical aisles of miscellaneous baskets and flowery ceramic plates, cups, and tea kettles as well as random pastel-colored plastic items with Chinese words written all over them. If you’ve never browsed through this section of any Asian grocery store before, you’re missing out in life. Seriously. Everyone’s 100 Things I do Before I Die List needs to have a #100: Browse through Asian grocery store’s random shit aisle to be blown away in amazement. It was within this aisle that in the past, I have found an amazing scrubbing utensil that I used on my bathtub and sinks, a hair towel that dries hair in a fraction of the time it takes to normally towel dry, and beautifully carved incense holder.

Anyway, I continued onward until I hit the front of the store whereupon I encountered stacks and stacks of what looked like folded up bamboo rugs. When normal people see bamboo rug-looking things, they probably don’t care. Apparently, when I see bamboo rug-looking things, I start freaking out. I grabbed one encased in a plastic covering and began ripping open the packaging right there in the store because, by God, I just had to know what this bamboo creation was. It was like Christmas, it was. Finally after turning the flat bamboo thing in twenty different positions, I figured out that it was a car seat cover.

A beautiful one piece, foldable, bamboo threaded, eco-friendly seat cover used to avoid seat burn. A cool surface that stays cool even when the temperature of your actual car seat is equivalent to molten rock. Also comes equipped with a protruding back rest and a tons of various belts and buckles that have no apparent purpose unless you are strapping this thing down to a rickshaw. All this for just a whopping $ 4 . 9 9!

My ass thanks you, China!

A picture of the awesomeness that is my $4.99 seat cover:

Shopping Solo

2009-05-12T23:20:00.000-07:00

I always shop alone. This way, I avoid all annoying persons standing behind me tsk-tsking at anything I pick up like it's giving them a disease.

Things I've been told before while making the mistake of shopping with a friend:

"Really, Neesh? Those pumps? I think your left leg is longer than the right, you look kind of lopsided...but I mean, if you really like em then TOTALLY get em!"

or my personal favorite,

"Try the green, you'll look curvier. Then that one friend of yours won't call you Somalian anymore! (enter fit of giggles here) Ok, ok, no seriously, (giggle, giggle), get the green."

Yes, this is usually the conclusion to every shopping excursion I've ever attempted with another human being in tow, so I've become accustomed to shopping solo. I tell this to people and they tilt their head sideways and look at me with deep pity in their eyes, perhaps wondering what loserish qualities I posess that repels friends from shopping with me. In fact, your head is probably tilted as you are reading this. It's ok. I really am a loser.

Either way, I went to the mall today with Someone to buy a birthday gift for another Someone and lo and behold everything I picked up I was swayed to set back down because it was either "Neesh, if you turn that thing upside-down it looks like a nude woman!" or "God, Neesh, if you were going to give her a plaid scarf you might as well include a houseplant and ten cats."

Dude, I don't need this crap. I'm clearly capable of shopping on my own. Like this cool chick who seems to know what she is doing:

Newest Addition to List of Things Going to Hell: Motorola

2009-05-03T20:09:00.001-07:00

I got my car washed a couple of days ago at a place called Danny's family carwash. While they do an excellent job of detailing, vaccuming, waxing, lubing, and basically everything just short of feeding your Accord chocolate-covered strawberries and serenading it with a guitar, I still have a complaint. THE PRICE. If you are willing to drop between $50-$100 which could mean you sacrifice other luxuries such as eating, then by all means go to Danny's because even though you will be starving, you'll be a proud owner of a better-looking-than-you car.

Anyway, did anyone hear about the Motorola boycott? Probably not, since we are all too busy shopping for gas masks and taking showers in barrels of hand sanitizer to fight the swine flu. Meanwhile, good ol' Motorola is busy creating illegal radar and surveillance equipment for the Israeli military that is being used to keep Palestinian civilians under constant watch in their own land...illegally. The company is also responsible for supplying the fuses used in cluster bombs which are either condemned or banned from many countries. Despite this fact, Israel has regularly used cluster bombs. The beauty of these bombs is that they continuously release small "bomblets" while in the air that do not explode on impact. Which means, years later, they can continue to kill innocent civilians. Way to go, Motorola! Screw trying to make the world a better place and fuck morals because we all know money talks. I don't know if any spokesmorons from Motorola attempted to defend themselves but I imagine a press conference would proceed something like this:

Journalist: Can you tell us why you are supplying equipment to Israel which is being used illegally to kill innocent civilians?
Spokesmoron: You see, here at Motorola, we strive to see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil. Our main goal is to provide our customers with the best technology that leaves children maimed SO efficiently you can hear Jesus weeping. Satisfaction guaranteed. If you need help in waging war, remember to put your trust in Motorola.

Because we care about our customers.

2009-04-26T11:21:00.000-07:00

P.S. SWINE FLU? C'mon , who didn't see THAT one coming?

Claymanship

2009-04-26T01:21:00.000-07:00

I painted pottery today at a place called As You Wish by the AMC 30 with my sister and three girlfriends. I was pleasantly surprised by how much fun I had. Pottery isn't exactly something people would associate me with. Like AT ALL. But the experience was definitely refreshing. The last time I went to a pottery painting franchise was in 9th grade for a friend's birthday party where I painted a clay frog with a giant open mouth. For years after that, the frog has circulated around various points in my house, sometimes serving as a pencil holder, sometimes a vase, and even as an entertaining party game called "Guess What the Hell Purpose This Thing Has."

Anyway, I created my masterpiece on a heart-shaped plate. I attempted to draw the back of a fairy perched on a mushroom with her arms in the air enjoying a rainbow and the forest around her. Somehow, this then got interpreted to the mind state of my friend F while she is high on vicodin. Fairies, and mushrooms, and rainbows. All very normal things to hallucinate about when high. I tried to create art, you guys. I can't wait to see the finished product after it is baked. It better be good.

I'm also really surprised at how exhausted we all were after we finished our pieces. I was drained. I think I also developed arthritis from holding all the brushes like a gorilla with three fingers. Serious hand cramp.

Still, I think everyone needs a little pottery painting in their lives. It's like a far more fun form of meditation. Therapy for the soul, if you will.

Stay tuned for a picture of the final product...

The Hazards of Test-taking

2009-04-20T20:39:00.000-07:00

The neuroanatomy exam is FINALLY over. I was so sleep deprived for the past two nights studying for it, I almost passed out when I got to #16. When I started seeing colors after #23, I had to lay my head down for a minute. The worst part about taking exams in lecture halls is that they are proctored by two faculty members who intently watch the students taking the exam. This is understandable when you think of the people who cheat, but for the rest of us whose biggest rebellion phase involved mixing Sprite with Fanta at a party, it is like having a dwarf attached to your shoulder. You can't ignore it.

Especially when you're trying to recall information. My natural tendency is to look up at the ceiling silently pleading with my brain to deliver the answer because God knows I busted my ass studying it the night before. But the awkward phase is when you happen to look up and make eye contact with the proctor.

Now, friends, making eye contact with the proctor is the worst thing that can happen to a student during an exam. Once you have locked eyes and then quickly looked away, the following series of questions and thoughts begin to arise in your head:

Does he think I'm cheating? Dude, why was he watching me in the first place? OMG. Do I look like a cheater? Dammit, I always KNEW my face sucked. Should I act casual? But what's casual? Do I look like I'm trying to hard to be casual now? Should I stretch casually. Crap! Does he think I'm stretching to look at someone's paper? OMG is he still watching me? Should I check to make sure? But if I look up at him again, will he be even more suspicious? OMG, he's WALKING OVER HERE! I knew it, I'm going to get kicked out of school! OMG OMG OMG OMG.

Then, he walks right past you and for the rest of the exam, you are a paranoid heap of all things useless, and afraid to look at any object besides your test form. And God forbid, you turn around in your seat to check the clock lest the proctor pulls out a semiautomatic and shoots you in the face.

Man, I'm just glad THAT's over.

This was me exactly one hour after stumbling out of the lecture hall:

Strategic Avoidance of Studying.

2009-04-17T23:10:00.001-07:00

Hellllloooo! It's been a while.

Sorry I haven't been writing in so long. I have an exam in Neuroanatomy on Monday and I think I've done everything short of flying into space instead of studying for it.

For example, today I got a massage. My masseuse kept saying things like "OMG you're back is SO tiiiight." And no, she wasn't hitting on me. Maybe it was the fact that my back probably felt like a series of hills, much like the landscape of Maryland. Every point along my spine she poked made me flinch. How's that for a messed up back? I need to stop this hunching over the laptop. My generation of people will all be in back braces and treating carpal tunnel by the time we're 40. Thank God, we still passed notes in class when I was in elementary school. I can only imagine the arthritic afflictions the younger generations will be facing from all this texting. They will be cripples of the hand in their twenties. Is it just me or do kids seem like they come attached with phones these days? No matter where I go, if I see a middle schooler you better believe I will see a phone in their hand. You mark my words, the next set of kids will have phones implanted in their necks. And society will give it the name of "Darwinian adaptation."

Anyway, the massage was successful and my back is happy and I am content and comfortable. After our massages, my friend N.Lou and I reported our experience to each other and after I had described mine, she looked at me and said "That's not a massage, darling, it's sexual violation."

Success!

OK, back to studying.

In case you wanted to know, an occlusion of the posterior inferior cerebellar artery causes contralateral loss of pain and temperature sensation from the body. Fellow hypochondriacs, rejoice!

Going Green the Psychotic Way

2009-04-10T19:39:00.000-07:00

When I was little, I used to pray to ask for cotton candy dispensers and trips to the zoo. Today, I pray for people of foreign countries immersed in innocent blood and the price of crude oil. My, a lot has changed since the days of crayons.

Speaking of the world, I'll be the first to admit, my contribution to the Going Green campaign has always been rather feeble and sickly. The extent of my help to the earth is limited to taking flyers stuck to my windshield and using them to spit out my gum as well as signing up for paperless billing because the sight of twenty envelopes on my counter makes me feel slightly dizzy and extremely broke. So, I've decided to try a new approach in curbing my eco-non-friendly habits by using psychology...on myself.

You see, now, before I throw away a sheet of paper in the nearest trash can instead of making an effort to look for a recycling bin, an image of a lush, green, rainforest comes to mind. Then, I picture macaws and capuchin monkeys. Next, I picture myself standing next to the tree they are perched on. Oh, what's this? I'm holding a gigantic axe. The cutest capuchin monkey looks at me with sorrowful eyes as she carries her baby on her back. And now, I see myself cutting down this tree and leaving two animal species homeless. The monkeys shriek in disapproval as they scamper away, and the macaw pulls out "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein and flies around my head reading it out loud. All because, I've decided to throw this piece of paper in the trash can instead of the recycling bin.

And just like that, BAM!

What happens? Well, the following thought process: I don't want to kill a tree, I certainly don't want to hurt a mother and her child, and I most DEFINITELY don't want a guilt trip from a literate bird. So, reflexively, I turn away from the trash can and save the paper until I get to a recycling bin. In a similar maner, I've conditioned and trained myself to keep the faucet turned off while I brush my teeth, unplug the kitchen appliances when I'm not using them, and to take shorter showers. I haven't yet gotten to the point of substituting my toothpaste with baking soda or anything, so let's not expect miracles here. Besides, I can't think of any psychologically traumatizing cause-effect scenarios for that yet...

To reinforce this brilliant Going Green "encouragement" I have devised, please show this to your children:

Mid-Week Boredom

2009-04-08T00:56:00.000-07:00

My back has been killing me for the past four or five months to the point where I have to sleep in the position of a mid-somersault. Ok, I'm lying, but seriously, the day is not far. I'm not sure whether it's the way I sleep or the fact that I spend a good 60% of my day in front of a computer. It's not like I can help it. My thesis isn't going to write itself. And besides, I'm THIS close to finding Josh Duhamel on facebook. I've finally set aside time this Friday to get a massage and I'm looking forward to it with the same giddiness a child has when he hears the sound of the ice cream truck getting closer. Planet Beach has some sort of spa gimmick going on right now that I'll probably fall for, so I'm excited.

My friend, J, experimented in trying to "fix" my back, which involved an intense session of poking and prodding along my spine and finally doing what is called a 'Kirksville Crunch' in osteopathic school. I think it's just a fancy name for essentially cracking my back, but since it will be her profession, I thanked her profusely for Kirsville Crunching me as I felt infinitely better and now I can once again sit in front of my computer, undoing all of her good samaritan work, and start the entire cycle over.

Anyhoo, today is Wednesday which means it is the most insignificant day of the week. It's the day right in the middle where half of your week has probably sucked and now you can look forward to other half of the week sucking just as much, if not more. All is not lost. I plan to go shopping today at the organic food store. I've always been convinced that organic veggies and organic milk taste different than the regular store produce and milk, but I think I'm just biased. We all know that in a taste test, if I was blindfolded, I'd be lucky to even guess what vegetable was in my mouth let alone whether it was in its organic form.

Either way, I'm on a fast food/caffiene/soda sabbatical which means the only things that are going into my body right now are healthy. I'd say the no fast food/caffiene/soda thing is going pretty well as I haven't shot myself in the head yet nor tried to shoplift a 2 liter bottle of Wild Cherry Pepsi under my shirt, so I'm taking that to be a good sign.

The Apocalypse

2009-04-04T02:17:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure the anti-Christ is swinging in a hammock somewhere in the Tropics right now sipping on freckled lemonade like "Dude, let's get this party staaaarted." I'm convinced the world is going to end in the next 20 years and my paranoia only strengthens with each passing day and CNN headline. News that would have been shocking for people ten years ago is like a blip in the shock radar. The number of senators and Congressmen found associated with hookers are like gumballs in a candy machine. Child kidnappings, billion dollar frauds, people killed at the Israeli/Palestinian border? Been there. Done that. And to think the OJ Simpson trial had millions of people glued to their TV's. Oh how I long for those days...

I watched a documentary the other day called Religulous, hosted by political comedian Bill Maher. The documentary serves to expose the ridiculous, if not completely lunatic side of organized religion through the use of religious leaders and interviews of followers of these faiths.

I spent the first fifteen minutes staring at Bill Maher's nose.

It's not a regular kind of nose. It's one of those BAM-IN-YO-FACE kind of noses that look ok when the rest of your face is covered up, but in the midst of other features, looks like Mount Kilamanjaro in the middle of Rhode Island. It's a fascinating nose, it really is...

Anyway, I rate the documentary 3 out of 5 stars. It made me laugh. It made me think. It even made me wonder how the people he was interviewing didn't punch him in the face. But it didn't make me an atheist which is what it set out to do. Probably due to the lack of counterpoint. He focused mainly on interviewing people who didn't know what the hell they were talking about half the time, and who were clearly mentally unstable at some level, so the interviews were a bit skewed. But DEFINITELY funny.

Maher's bottom line is evident when he says "Plain fact is, religion must die for mankind to live." Somehow, I find that contradictory. Religion is a source of security whether it's in the form of Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, etc. It gives a person direction, morals, and a REASON to live. However, when the general population of stupid people corrupts this with influences from politics, culture, and personal gain, the problems begin. If I were to rephrase Maher's statement I would have said "Politics and culture within religion should die for mankind to live.'

Maybe that's just me.

2009-04-01T11:10:00.000-07:00

Oh crap, it's April Fools Day! Better watch my back. Trust no one. It's the minute you let down your guard that a circus clown will pop up behind you with a knife and threaten to make you watch Cheers episodes. Or wait, that was my birthday... But you get my point.

The best prank EVER:

Illness # 1524516

2009-03-30T19:06:00.000-07:00

I think I have GGAD. Also known as Gossip Girl Addiction Disorder. I sometimes find myself wondering why I am obsessed with a show whose target audience is still in training bras. And here I am in grad school like, "Screw exams/homework/labs that I need to complete in order to graduate, get a job, pay back loans, and, oh I dunno, SURVIVE? Gossip Girl is on!" And once or twice in the middle of incubating cells in lab, I've even pondered why Chuck is an alcoholic and will he ever get back with Blair? As if I have Chuck Bass on speed dial and can ask him myself. One morning, over a bowl of Cheerios, I once began thinking about which financial companies could most probably dig Nate's family's out of inevitable bankruptcy. Then I realized he doesn't exist. This is not an ordinary addiction, my friends.

Whatever, I'm owning up to it right now. Hi, I'm Neesh Qu and I have a PROBLEM. Damn you, creators of this show and the delicious drama you come up with week after week! Anyone see the new promo for tonight's episode? It's Jenny's sweet sixteen! Rest assured that I'm 24, clearly lack a cool social life, and therefore will be watching it tonight.

Watch the promo for tonight's episode:

Shout Out

2009-03-28T16:07:00.000-07:00

Things I am wondering about:

1. My aunt just called me to announce that she has found me a wonderful man who has "rosy cheeks and pink lips like a flower." That is Indian women for you. The girlier the man, the better. Gosh, I hope his feet are like rose petals too.
2. Do my eyes look more like the just-woke-up bloodshot or hi-I-just-sniffed-cocaine bloodshot?
3. I seriously need a fridge next to my bed. Stocked with cheesecake. Mmmmm cheeeeesecake...
4. If I order a caesar salad at McDonald's, of COURSE I want Caesar dressing and not Ranch, moronic 12 am drive-thru employee!
5. If I sent out a ransom note to Girl Scouts in every state saying I will put Barbie in the microwave if they don't send me money, I wonder how much I'd make...

I woke up this morning only to realize I haven't spoken to my friend Pretty Damn Pretty longer than a green iguana's gestation period. This makes me sad because Pretty Damn Pretty kicks ass. So if you're reading this, Pretty Damn Pretty, I miss you!

2009-03-25T23:55:00.000-07:00

Seriously, construction in a residential neighborhood is like getting crapped on by a million pigeons all at once. There is no room to maneuver your vehicle let alone trying to back out of your driveway. Two cars had to swerve to avoid hitting me this morning because there were roadblocks outside my house. One of the construction workers, thankfully concerned for my life or just amused by my mouthing obscenities and waving my arms like a baton twirler at the Rose Parade, stopped traffic for me to make a right turn. The driver of the car he had stopped began honking like he was about to give birth and God forbid he stop for two seconds lest his water broke. Jeez Louiz. I think we all need to be forewarned about happenings like this around our area. Maybe a love note in the mail from the city saying, "As of Monday, please be prepared to die while making a right turn because of a gigantic crane and bulldozer that will block the view of passing traffic from seeing you." Or "please renew your insurance policy and tell your family members you love them before leaving your house."

You know, something like that.

You've got...RAINCHECKS!

2009-03-22T23:04:00.000-07:00

A raincheck, by definition, is the single most irritating thing that can happen to a person who is out trying to purchase something on sale only to find it is gone and instead, he or she is handed a lame piece of paper that says "Please come back later when the excitement of purchasing this item has dwindled, you have forgotten that this raincheck even exists, and when you do, it is after four cycles of cold rinse and 280 minutes of high heat." In other words, rainchecks can kiss my ass.

In other news, I wrote a letter to Toshiba that I am planning on sending via email. The theme is essentially, "I hate you all and I hope you die." After completing it last night, I read it early this morning only to undergo serious retro-cringe. I guess the part about attempting to kill the CEO in his sleep using only toothpicks and a family of woodpeckers may have been overkill on my part. However, it's now completed and ready to be sent off into cyberspace and most probably it will remain there while Toshiba is busy screwing over more customers, after which we all walk around looking like this:

Turns out, I'm not the only one who wants to set fire to the Toshiba building and its employees. After googling "Toshiba is crap" I came across a website called Toshibasucks.org. The website developer writes: "I am committed to spending double the time that Toshiba wasted for me with this computer problem. I estimate they wasted about 100 hours of my time (and counting) so I will spend 200 hours updating and promoting this website." Hell yes. Raw bitterness. How it soothes my soul and puts a warm glow in my heart to know other people are angered enough to waste 200 hours+ on nothing else but to bring down a company. You may think we're crazy now, but when your volume dial falls out of your laptop like a decayed tooth, and you can't get it fixed unless you sell your kidney, then you will understand.

I am also in love with a song called Mua Mua Mua by salsa-inspired singer Raul Paz whose voice is analogous to the creamy smooth vanilla filling in a Krispy Kreme doughnut. I dare you to not start salsa-ing.

Lady and the Janitor

2009-03-19T23:54:00.001-07:00

The janitor who works in my lab is easily one of the most interesting Latin women I have ever met. I've talked to her on a number of occasions, most of which involved me studying in the lab lounge the night before my exam. By studying, I mean running around in circles and screaming OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! while pulling out clumps of hair... I don't know her name yet, but she calls me Lady.

It all started the first time I met her in the hall next to the microscope room when she startled me by turning the corner. It was pretty late so I didn't think anyone human would still be on the premises. As she walked by me she said, "Hi, Lady." Just like that. It was very softly spoken, but with so much confidence that for a second it made me wonder if my name was actually Lady and not Neesh or if I was some other person altogether. She didn't even flinch. So naturally, the first time, I thought I had completely misheard. Or maybe I share so many features with the Disney cocker spaniel, she must have gotten us confused. I do like tramps so it is feasible. Either way, she now always attaches "Lady" when she is addressing me in the same resolute manner that a mother might use to call her child.

Hello, Lady, how was your weekend?
Good nite, Lady
How was your day, Lady?
Are you still using this room, Lady?

It's really bizarre but I'm too afraid to ask her why she calls me Lady, in case she folds her arms and glares at me like "Oh, WHAT, am I supposed to call you Maam? Is Lady not good enough for you? HUH? It's all about corporate hierarchy in the end isn't it? ISN'T IT!?!" And then I envision her pouring windex over my head and refusing to place those wonderful air fresheners in the bathroom.

I'm so used to being called a million different nicknames, one more can't hurt.

Um, Can Someone Tell Me WHY I'm Dieting Again??

2009-03-16T22:49:00.000-07:00

Lately, I’ve been constricting myself in my diet and actually engaging in activities that burn more calories than picking my nose. Apparently, there is a term for this and it is called being “healthy.”

I discovered this way of living two weeks ago in a dentist’s chair after Dr. Teeth looked at my X-rays kind of like he was reading his mother’s obituary for the first time in print. He shook his head and pointed out that my teeth were screaming for help and drowning in a pool of liquid acid due to my soda intake. He then made me raise my right hand and promptly delivered an oath which I took. The oath was to promise him that I stop drinking carbonated beverages forever. Yeah, still kicking myself for THAT one.

Now that soda has been completely eliminated and I am no longer high on cherry coke 95% of my conscious life, I feel a little bit more free, though the withdrawal symptoms of caffeine are troublesome. I looked up heroin withdrawal symptoms and was mildly surprised to find that the symptoms are quite similar. Except when I wake up on the floor of my bathtub, it’s because I fell asleep standing up during my shower due to the lack of caffeine intake, and not because I was shooting up.

Now instead of picking up a can of Pepsi, I find myself gnawing on foods I’d prepare for a rabbit. I don't even think I've even seen a jar of salad dressing in years. My diet on a daily basis is something like this: coffee, McDonald's, soda, candy bar, soda, pizza, water. God has given me what some people say is a great metabolism but which I know is actually some undiscovered thyroid disease which causes me to be skinny. Not skinny as in you're-so-hot-I-want-to-bed-you-right-now skinny, but more a cross between a tetherball pole and Gollum from Lord of the Rings skinny.

In addition to running, I’m also attempting yoga which has been a rather interesting venture thus far. Thanks to my friend Suds, I’m actually motivated to contort my body into questionable positions I would otherwise never do in public. I told “T” I better look like freaking Gisele Bundchen at the end of this and he laughed at me. Glad I could humor him.

But um, I was serious or I want the ten bucks I spent on a yoga mat back along with a super-size cherry coke.

The Missing Girl Who Probably Wants to Be Missing

2009-03-14T13:51:00.000-07:00

Ok.

Dude.

WTF.

Did anyone read about the father of the missing girl who married his 17 year old girlfriend, who was also the last one to see the missing little girl alive? Let's begin with background. The girlfriend, Misty, tucked Haleigh (the 5-year old missing girl) and her 4 year old brother into bed around 8 pm on Feb 9th. Misty then woke up at 3 am (because all normal 17 year olds wake up at 3 am of course), only to find Haleigh had disappeared and the back door was propped open by bricks, clearly suggesting Haleigh must have gone that way. Haleigh still has not been found, but in the meantime her dad has taken the most logical step to help with her retrieval during these tense times. He popped the question to Misty in the middle of, you got it, CHILI's and lo and behold the two are newlyweds before you can say KIDNAP. Then, the royal douche-bag of a father slams the media for focusing on his marriage rather than finding his daughter. We can clearly see his outrage as he poses for the media here:

What was he thinking?? Misty was the last person to see his daughter. That would spark a million red flags to go up and nightly visions of Misty paying hitmen if I was him. And even if you overlook that, HOW DO YOU CELEBRATE A WEDDING WHEN YOUR DAUGHTER IS MISSING? Then he gets his panties up in a bunch because the media is, boo hoo, focusing on his personal life. Someone seriously punch this guy in the face.

Misty said that her marrying Haleigh's father is something Haleigh always wanted. Right. Notice how Haleigh is now missing...I think Misty confused Haleigh's sentiments with "HELL NO, YOU AIN'T GONNA BE MY MOMMA."

Haleigh's grandmother, yet another competent and sane family member told Nancy Grace:

"Well, it is unusual for some onlookers, but those people didn't live with my two grandchildren. My grandchildren, both Haleigh and Junior, have very often said that they would love for their daddy to marry Misty and that they wanted Misty to be their mommy. And so I feel like they are just trying to fulfill a wish for Haleigh so that when she comes home she will have that extra happiness to come home to."

Yes, that's IF Haleigh comes home you pathetic excuse for motherhood. No wonder you're son is a failure of a father. Call me weird but I think Haleigh is probably wanting someone to find her right about now rather than waiting for her dad to exchange marriage vows. I'm sure she is sitting in a basement in Kansas somewhere with duct tape over her mouth watching her dad and his girlfriend on the Today Show holding hands, and I'm certain, like her grandmother said, she probably feels like the luckiest little girl in the world.

Jesus Christ, this is sickening. I actually hope Haleigh ran away from home and is being raised by a pack of wolves which would be a far more capable source of parenting. Extra happiness to come home to? MY ASS.

Pictures courtesy of CNN.com

Failing Four Classes

2009-03-10T19:27:00.000-07:00

I received a heart attack-inducing email yesterday from the dean of my graduate school telling me I needed to make an appointment with his secretary immediately to speak with him about the four classes I had apparently failed this past quarter. Let me copy/paste it for you here:

Hello MBS Student,
This letter is regarding the failures in four classes for the winter quarter. A committee meeting will be held regarding your student status later this week where you will most likely be placed on probation until further notice. Please call my secretary immediately to schedule an appointment. Please note that if you are unable to attend the committee meeting, you may write a statement to the committee explaining any unusual circumstances that may have lead to the failures.
Thank you.

The only problem was…I DIDN’T FAIL ANY CLASSES. Or at least none that I knew of.

After breathing into four different sizes of paper bags and getting my pulse checked every so often just to make sure I hadn’t fallen over dead and gone to hell, I tried calling the dean’s office and checking my grades online. Of course, my luck, I was informed that his secretary went home sick and the university website wasn’t working in my browser. OF COURSE. Two hours went by and I still didn’t know what I should do besides pace, consume half a dozen cupcakes without noticing, pace…

What classes could I have possibly failed, I thought to myself. Seriously, how do you even fail a thesis class? Like was there a hidden camera at my desk, checking to make sure I was writing up my thesis paragraphs instead of spending all my time on the net finding out how to mail-order a blow-up doll of Josh Duhamel? I hope they don't find out about THAT...

Finally, three hours later, I decided to set my 16th cupcake and my signed suicide letter down and send an email to my dean. I’d beg, I'd plead, I’d babysit his kids, and make him upside-down pineapple cake every day for the rest of my life, ANYTHING, to fix this. I logged in to my school email account and in my inbox in the form of an angel holding rice krispy treats was an email with a subject headline of: Wrong Student.

The email was as follows:

Dear (My full name as christened at birth),
Please disregard the previous email sent to you by my office staff.
Thank you,
DEAN.

Ok so did you really think that was it? HA. Wow. You think after something THAT big, that's all the dean would write back? Well, you're absolutely...RIGHT. Yep. That's it. That's all I got. Sixteen cupcakes and four drafts of a suicide note later, all I get is an “If you’re still alive, please forget the last three hours of turmoil ever happened. Oops.”

Welcome to my life.

Baby Momma

2009-03-09T01:57:00.000-07:00

I went to a baby shower yesterday, and am surprised that I made it back home. Not because I was lost for two hours on the 202 East wandering aimlessly because I think I’m too good for Google Maps or because the sound of adults speaking in baby babble was enough to drive me into a coma. It was because this event was in Gilbert and I was amazed to find this town serving as a habitat for human beings. Prior to my own journey there, I would hear stories of Gilbert and they usually involved cows and a distinct smell of toxic waste in the air. While both accusations stand true, Gilbert does indeed consist of gas stations and creatures that walk on two feet. Document this.

Either way, the get together was very sweet and cozy and I love going to baby showers because it only reminds me how blessed I am to be young, single, and childless. In fact, this is precisely why I go to them. The only con being I am in direct contact with motherhood to the hundredth power. To my left was one woman whose offspring was screaming like he wanted to go directly back into the womb of Satan from which he commenced and to my right was a mother wiping snot from her daughter’s nose and apologetically handing me the used Kleenexes like “Could you hold this while I go find myself an electrical socket to stick a fork in? Thanks.”

Meanwhile, we played a baby shower game called “Identify the Myth” where a series of old wives’ tales were put on a sheet of paper and we were supposed to guess which sex they applied to. For example, one question read, “If the baby’s heartbeat is greater than 140, the mother is having a __________.” I tried cheating off the lady next to me who was scribbling furiously, but when that failed after I leaned too far and almost knocked over her drink, I tried using my own womanly senses and after a long thought process could only come up with Well, clearly women were created with all the stress in life so DUH, it must be a girl. Needless to say, that was the only question I got right.

Yeah, it’s definitely going to be a while before this girl jumps aboard the baby train.

The YUMMY party favors:

Reunions That Don't Work

2009-03-06T20:21:00.000-08:00

I ran into a former classmate from high school who was a class younger than me and who I had playfully named Tomato. His real name is Justin, but he earned his name when we were partnered up in spanish class for an oral presentation. I found that the amount of time spent in conversation with Justin was directly proportional to the deeper shades of red his face would turn. So much so, that when he reached an alarming maroon, I'd have to stop speaking or look away in fear that poor Justin's head would explode from not being able to hold all the blood from his body in one place. Out of 1/4 curiosity and 3/4 evil, I pointed this out to Justin one day and watched in fascination as his color began changing like that horse from the Wizard of Oz. He was a wonder.

Almost seven years later, I ran into Tomato today at Chase bank where he apparently works. I wanted to go up to him and say something cool like "Heyyy, how's it going? Long time no see..." and do a cool wave thing. But woe is me because at the precise moment I got up from the waiting area couch a little girl circa age 3 or 4 comes charging in my direction for no obvious reason but to completely sabotage my plans of reuniting with Tomato. She runs up to my leg, trips on my foot, OF COURSE, and falls face-flat, looks severely shocked for a moment like "Did I just fall on my freakin face and should this hurt now?" and starts wailing. While lying on the ground. Touching my foot.

Needless to say, the entire bank turned to stare, checks froze in midair, Wall Street stopped functioning, and the earth stood still. Justin briefly looked my way before hurrying off with a customer.

Maybe next time when my life doesn't suck so much, I will reunite with Tomato. Next time...

Theme of today: Style Sense FAIL

2009-03-04T19:36:00.000-08:00

I was considering buying a top today which really had me flustered because it was one of those vague articles of clothing that make you subconsciously tilt your head and scrunch your eyebrows to look at. These types of clothes are impossible to purchase without a complete game plan like, ok, if I buy this, I can only wear it between the hours of 9pm and midnight, in huge groups so no one really picks me out to laugh at me in case I look like an ass, and on expensive heels to avoid having random people hand me their pocket change thinking I'm homeless. You know, the ripped and tattered shirt that looks like it had been attacked by a militant army of moths then driven over by a lawn mower to make sure it's at the level of shabby that hits cool. Or the tops that look like lingerie...until your glance then falls on the nearest mannequin that has it displayed snugly under, get this, a business suit and makes you really stop and wonder if Hilary Clinton might just be naughtier than we supposed.

But the shirt in question, was certainly not the above types. It was a black blouse with a net collar that could either look hooker-trying-to-be-classy or classy-trying-to-be-hooker. One of those. Since I usually buy clothes that all the other girls in the store look at briefly and say something like "what the hell kind of circus freak would wear that" and then quickly shove it under the rack so no one else has to bear the sight of it, I naturally picked this questionable shirt off the rack and tried it on. I don't know why I have this insane ego that I can pull off the most hideous garments created. Yeah, sure, that puke green sweater with the gigantic neon yellow bow on the shoulder, hand it over, because I'm Neesh and I think I can make life into art.

Anyway, I tried on the shirt and upon looking in the mirror, was greeted by a monkey wearing a black Hefty garbage bag.

EPIC FAIL.

Chipotle Gets the Crazy Award

2009-03-02T23:11:00.000-08:00

I had Chipotle today for lunch and while wiping my hands on one of the napkins, noticed an odd series of pictures and wording on the backs of the napkins. Upon closer inspection I saw this:

Although the first circle can easily be mistaken as the hands of the Pope administering alms, after much deliberation, I realized it's actually a picture of the Pope holding a burrito wrapped in...foil? But if it's foil, then why is it diagrammed on a napkin, rather than the foil itself? But if it's pictured wrapped in a napkin, then why in the world would you unwrap the foil only to rewrap it in a napkin. Hmmm....moving on...

Second pic. Here, the Pope is tearing foil/napkin off the burrito. Thank GOD for these instructions. I would never have been able to eat this complicated burrito without it. OMG so much foil! So many layers! WHAT DO I DO? AHHHH I'm freakin out!!!

And finally the third pic. The Pope has finally stripped the burrito and, by the superhuman powers vested in him, has taken a bite that has cleared away a quarter of the burrito. Success! The burrito can be consumed after all. Amazing how it took three pictures to demonstrate something that is as familiar to me as breathing.

And finally, I had NO idea napkins contained bleach. That's the last time I use McDonald's napkins to blow my nose in. No wonder my nose is lighter than the rest of my face! Shouldn't there be disclaimers on their napkins too? Like "This napkin may contain toxic bleaching chemicals that can penetrate your face like acid and leave you looking like you spent 3 hours in the middle of a house fire. Please use with discretion."

Thank you Chipotle for not using bleach in your napkins. Recycled brown is so much trendier these days anyway. And when did it become ubercool to call guacamole, "guac" ? Like how it suddenly became cool to say "Ridic" instead of ridiculous. When did that happen? Seriously, why don't I EVER get the memos cool people get? Oh I see...Ha...ha...really funny guys. Joke over, PLEASE ADD ME TO THE MAILING LIST! I'll give you my soap carving of Obama and my play-doh set.

Did I just analyze a napkin for half an hour? Memo to self: Check with doctor to see if my body is naturally producing an analog to ritalin...

Sunday, Darling, Won't You Stay a While Longer?

2009-03-01T11:51:00.000-08:00

Things I'm wondering about:

1. Why do my friends attempt to hook me up with men who say things like "So, I heard you have a garden. I mean, in your backyard...with trees and things, not like the other...i mean...ok never mind."
2. I don't really know why I felt the urge to buy 30 pairs of socks all at once, but that's the LAST time I go shopping high on pain meds.
3. I think I'm addicted to spider solitaire which is kind of pathetic. Yeah, I should probably make friends.
4. I need to do yoga for the hands. Or at least stop cracking my knuckles to prolong the onset of arthritis. I don't know which will be harder.
5. How come when the people in the instructional video do Tai Chi, it looks cool. But, when I do it, I look like a dying lizard in slow motion?

I went to the Arizona Fine Arts EXPO sponsored by Thunderbird Artists, INC this weekend. I got in free since one of my friends was presenting her artwork. Ok I'm lying. I'm not that cool. We actually had to sneak me in. When we got there, the Self-Important Check-In Man with Clipboard checked off my friend's name and appraised me to make sure I was qualified-looking enough to be there as well. Upon not seeing my name (I hadn't registered. It was a very spontaneous decision to say the least), he immediately became excited at the prospect that there may be trouble brewing at the art fair and he may need to save the day lest I try to, God forbid, do something crazy like run past him. Which would have been impossible anyway as even standing upright was already an immediate concern of mine in 3 inch heels.

"You're not on the list," he says, triumphant. "We only allow couples in without a ticket for set-up."
I look at my friend who gives him a sultry smile and slides an arm around my waist. "She's with me," she says, and WINKS!
He blinks then nods slowly with great understanding and says ""Ohhh..um..ok then...I'll just add in your name..." Fortunately he didn't wink back or else I'd have to kill him.
"OMG L," I say, practically skipping in high on the fact that I just snuck into the dorkiest event on planet earth, "we should pretend to be gay all the time!"
She rolls her eyes. "Yea, imagine the possibilities. Today, art festival, tomorrow, COSTCO!"

Unrelated: I cannot stop watching this and falling into a heap of laughter on the floor. It reminds me of why I hate myself for buying the completely unnecessary Sony Mylo 2 last year.

Tolerating the world

2009-02-28T22:49:00.000-08:00

I've just finished downloading at least 70 legal and illegal mp3's and I must remember to thank God tonight for the food I eat, the house I live in, and the internet. Speaking of issues relating to computers, I have come to terms with the fact that I have a handicapped laptop. An amputee, if you must get technical, as it no longer has a volume dial along the side. I still love it just the same...like the uncle who comes back from war with missing fingers. You cringe involuntarily when you look at him, but under the digitless exterior, he's still your uncle.

In other news, I had Panda Express today (really need to quit eating that stuff and no, that is not the news) and while in line encountered quite possibly the most obnoxious woman I've ever had the displeasure of encountering. She demands that the employee behind the counter let her taste-test EVERY entree dish before she cautiously chooses two for herself. Then, pointing at her kid, she says he too needs to try each entree to determine which dish is "spicy enough" for him, with no concern for us less worthy people standing in line behind her, hungry and tired. To top it off, she is speaking to the Mexican employee like the poor woman is retarded, in a slow drawl with exaggerated pointing and nodding. "Howww mmmuch is it withouuuut the kids meeeeeal?" she says crossing her hands over each other in an X. She picks up the drinking cup, points at it in the air, and says "I jusssst waaaant waaater." The Mexican woman rolled her eyes at the others in line when the lady attacked her son's face with a napkin, like "Should I tell her I speak English, or just humor her negative 20 IQ?"

Some people just suck more than others.

Toshibyebye

2009-02-26T21:47:00.000-08:00

As a follow-up to the Toshiba fiasco I encountered recently (the volume dial sprouted tiny feet and ran away from the system board of the laptop it was previously attached to), I spoke with Toshiba in the strangest, most hysterical conversation I've ever had with customer service. The laptop is only about six months old and under a warranty which can clearly be shredded and put to good use by fueling a fireplace at a homeless shelter rather than doing anything for the consumer it was made for.

Here is the conversation I had with the Toshiba case manager on Monday. His name is Ely. I prefer to pronounce it "I LIE." Last name, Tool. And I imagined him to look like this when we spoke on the phone:

Here is the bullshit he fed me. Someone hand this dude a prize for best douche-bag employee of the month.

Ely: Maam, the volume dial is not not covered by the warranty.
Me: Hardware is covered, though.
Ely: Uh yes, but...
Me: Is the dial not hardware?
Ely: Yes maam, it is hardware (WTF)
Me: Then, it's covered.
Ely: No maam. (WTF again, only this time you hear the sound of me pulling out all my hair and throwing kittens off a rooftop)
Me: Ok can you repeat what you just said? Seriously. Out loud.
Ely: The volume dial is hardware.
Me: Ok, you realize you're not making sense right? Hardware is covered by your warranty, the dial is hardware, so what is the problem, SIR?
Ely: No, because the dial is made of plastic maam. (Emphasis on the word 'plastic', as if he is informing me that instead of the flu, duh silly me, I actually have cancer)
Me: Plastic? WHAT does that have to do with ANYTHING?
Ely: Oh, well, we don't cover any plastics. That goes under the "cosmetic" category, which is not covered by the warranty. (Remember boys and girls, Plastic is to Toshiba products as Botox is to Janice Dickinson's face)
Me: Ok, how is the average consumer supposed to know what the volume dial is made out of?? It could be synthetic aluminum for all I know!! It could be alloy! And what do you mean by "cosmetic"? This isn't lipstick, it has a FUNCTION. It is the VOLUME control. (I am getting hysterical at this point.)
Ely: Yes maam, but when you buy the laptop in the store you can rub your fingers on it and feel all the parts-- ( Yes, because it is normal to rape the product in the store first)
Me: Ok, WHAT? Are you kidd--I'm sorry, can you stop? Can I speak to your supervisor, this is getting RIDICULOUS...
Ely: Unfortunately maam, this is as high up as it goes. I'm the last person who can help you with this.
Me: Do you own this company?
Ely: Um, no.
Me: Ok, so what do you mean you're the highest up? And what are you telling me? You won't cover the repair charges?
Ely: No, maam, unfortunately there is nothing we can do for you. You will just have to deal without it.
Me: What do you mean deal without it?! THIS LAPTOP IS 6 MONTHS OLD! I don't understand this at all. Cheap material, cheap warrantees, this is INSANE. Do you realize how Toshiba is cheating their customers? I'm a STUDENT. I don't have money flowing out of my ears--
Ely: Yes, maam, I understand. I'm a student too, I'm a consumer too, I understand what you are going through (...I'm a female too, I have ovaries too, I too wear size 7 1/2 stilettos, I can RELATE...)
Me: You realize your company is a total scam, right? The products are cheap and useless and you're refusing to take responsibility for it. Just so you know, I am NEVER EVER buying another Toshiba product again.
Ely: That's fine maam. Is there anything else I can do for you today?
Me: Obviously you aren't capable of doing anything useful.
Ely: Thank you maam for call--

And here I hung up hoping the sound of the click on the other end would be similar to the satisying sound of him getting slapped in the face. Unfortunately, two minutes later, I had to call him back to give him the service center's ticket number so he could call them and cancel the service. THAT was awkward.

Moral of the story: Toshiba = Crap= Don't buy it.

The Greeting Cards No One Wants to Keep...

2009-02-24T19:43:00.000-08:00

So I have two shoeboxes full of old greeting cards people have given me over the years. I'm not exactly known for my sentimentality. I keep birthday cards on my coffee table for about two days before I get annoyed and have to stuff them into these various boxes and shove them under my bed. Then, to guarantee that I never lay eyes on the sappy-ness again, I tie rubber bands around the boxes and store them in the garage since I don't have the means to blast them into outer space at this time. I just don't get the people who save things like placentas or ticket stubs from the Titanic. What is that going to do for you? You're probably wishing you never had that kid and ticket stubs? I don't even see how that is of any use to anyone unless it's in the recycling bin.

Maybe I'm a bit jaded though. I remember opening my mom's vanity one afternoon, only to find a ziploc bag of fine human hair. My heart jumped out of my body and ran around in circles before returning to my chest cavity. Meanwhile, I was busy scanning the room for a dead body. Just when I had mentally located the nearest shovel I could use to help my mom bury her murderous past, she lovingly took the bag from my hand and said, "Oh this is from your very first haircut! Your hair was so thick back then..."

HOLY. SHIT.

I can't muster up the courage to throw these cards out though, just in case the Hallmark gods decide to show their wrath in the form of shower curtain rings for next year's birthday, or worse, an empty envelope with no card, but more importantly, no accompanying check. That would suck toes. So I'll keep these useless cards and let more and more accumulate until they finally overflow into the streets killing innocent bystanders and the government has to issue a safety alert and a law that states all greeting cards must be thrown away five minutes after reading them. I'm just waiting for the day...

Chicks Dig Chivalry

2009-02-22T15:30:00.000-08:00

Things I'm wondering about:

1. If I can't stop tapping my foot when I'm sitting down, does that make me OCD? Because I kind of want to do it without worrying about whether or not I have a psychotic issue.
2. I think I will start calling lemons "yellows" from now on. It's only fair if oranges are called "oranges."
3. Why do I have an anxiety attack every time I try to wear toe socks? Seriously, am I the only one who has problems with cloth between each of my toes?
4. I have failed at doing the laundry this weekend. But at least I have succeeded in failing to do the laundry this weekend. Yea, go me!
5. Why is it that 4 oreo cookies are not filling enough but 5 feel like overkill? I can NEVER get it right, dammit!

Anyway...in conversation with my friend T the other day, the subject of CHIVALRY came up. My sentiments on this matter as seen by the last post, is that trying to find modern-day chivalry is kind of like trying to find Waldo from the moon. It's like men went from Prince Charming to Prince Dud in a matter of years.

And let's not confuse chivalry with the make-you-melt things men do like presenting you with flowers or showering you with compliments. While that's all lovely, it falls under the category of romance. Chivalry is the natural kindness and thoughtfulness that a man directs toward ANY person of the opposite sex, not just his own romantic interest, without any form of romantic intent. Things as simple as grabbing a shopping cart and handing it to the lady behind you or feeding a hospice patient by hand because she struggles when feeding herself.

T brought up the interesting point that a lot of guys do chivalrous things and girls don't even notice. For example, I've been known to have a guy hold open a door for me and instead of walking through it, I sudenly get this inexplicable urge to open the adjacent door all by myself while the guy blinks at me from the wide-open door like "Why don't you just castrate me?" Feminism? Or just plain oblivious? I don't know. But T says, "You girls wouldn't see chivalry if it hit you in the face." Whatever T. It's because we see so little of it, we can't tell the difference anymore.

Holla Fo A Dolla

2009-02-20T10:14:00.000-08:00

This morning, I decided to get my morning coffee from McDonald's. Cheap coffee. Decent taste. I guess I'm just conscious of this little tiny thing called a RECESSION going on that's threatening financial ruin upon most of the country. Even my favorite African employee, who I have named Yokumbo in my head, seemed a bit strained. He didn't ask if I wanted "ennie mo shugaah" and his smile was dimmed by a minimum of 50 watts. You and me both, Yokumbo. You and me both.

Speaking of money (or lack thereof), the President of the United States was in Mesa, AZ on Wednesday speaking to the concerned-as-hell citizens about their homeowning troubles. Hmmm..."troubles" seems like such a misplaced word here... More like CALAMITIES. The amount of mortgage defaults and depreciating home values flying around this state is like bullets on New Year's Eve. The houses in parts of Glendale that I've seen have depreciated by as much as 50% and I'm pretty sure the implementation of "buy 1 get 1 free" deals are on the horizon. But I guess, technically, that's what it is, right?

And as Obama comes down to try to advocate his "a lost home begins with a lost job" cause and his gazillion dollar plan, what do the smart residents of AZ do? Instead of dealing with the problem at hand, they protest completely irrelevant topics such as abortion, OF COURSE. I don't see the connection. Unless it's More babies + No house = Sucks to be you. The issue isn't abortion itself, it's TIMING. Anyway, thank you for your worthless input to the issue at hand, Arizonian protestors. Now if you could just position yourselves in front of oncoming traffic...

In other news, my conviction that chivalry is dead has only been multiplied exponentially by the fact that U-Haul has a policy of not allowing their employees to place a filled propane tank into the trunk of your car. It's true. It doesn't matter if you posess the XX chromosome, are prettier than the prettiest peach at the county fair, or the propane tank has an equivalent body mass index as you and the only way you can possibly lift the damn thing, let alone get it to your car is via crane, or even if you're so sick that day, you had to crawl there on your hands and knees.

Ain't no one puttin' that tank in your trunk, honey.

School, Please Die.

2009-02-17T12:16:00.000-08:00

It's only the early part of the afternoon and already my body is no longer made up of 60% water, but rather, 60% caramel latte, extra caramel no whipped cream. I'm on at least 4 times as much caffeine than my body can handle because I've got a shitstorm of things due tomorrow which I'm trying to finish by tonight. I've thought about it and am now convinced it would be significantly easier to perform cataract surgery on myself than write my thesis. I'm pretty sure this isn't a healthy state to be in and I have no idea how or when I became Coffee Bean's new mistress. Oh that's right. It's because Starbucks SUCKS. Why? Because its employees are waaaay too perky to be serving coffee at 5 a.m. I mean, seriously, are you a droid? Waking up at five in the morning on exam days is about as enthusiastic an ordeal for me as rolling around in cow manure. The last thing I need is oodles and oodles of loud cheerfulness 40 decibels above normal hearing range during pre-daylight hours. At least Coffee Bean values their customers' crappy morning lives and eardrums. That's very nice of you, Coffee Bean. Very nice, indeed.

With coffee in tow, I have been holed up in the school library for 4 hours of the morning before I naturally turned ADD and began daydreaming about what I should wear for Ninja's Happy Birthday this weekend. By the time I got midway through the rolladex of outfits in my head, I remembered what I was initially doing. As my attention span is clearly little better than a cricket's, I decided the best course of action to induce any form of focus would be to settle myself into a cozy cubicle, as I always do when wanting to study in peace, quiet, and a socially anxious form of isolation.

Unfortunately for hapless me, just like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, SOMEONE always comes about half an hour later when I've found that perfect comfortable position, and selects the empty cubicle next to mine. Not across from, not kitty corner from, but right NEXT to mine. And God forbid, it's someone normal. No. That would be too easy, like being handed a key and nudged toward Donald Trump's bank safe. That doesn't happen to me. It's always the guy with the abnormal breathing pattern or the cougher or the sobbing girl that makes things so awkward, you want to curl up in the fetal position and die. ALWAYS. And no matter how many other cubicles are vacant, these people will only chose the cubicle right next to mine. Makes me wonder if I'm an idiot always choosing the wrong cubicle when, obviously, the one next to mine is where the party's at. Well, I guess that's actually the story of my life now that I think about it...

And onwards through the misery that is my day...

The Toshiba Chronicles

2009-02-16T09:27:00.000-08:00

I bought my laptop just six months ago so imagine my surprise as I got up this morning to check my email and the volume dial became disengaged from the computer when I went to turn it. It slipped right into my hand, softly and without hesitation, like a newborn being separated from the womb. I stared at it in shock for a good ten minutes before falling to my knees and letting out a wail followed by a string of colorful metaphors. After reassuring my neighbors that no one had died and how would they know what a moose being slaughtered sounds like, I picked up the batphone and called Toshiba's customer service in a panic like I was calling 911 for electronics. I think in my frenzied state, the first words that came out of my mouth were: "PLEASE SIR! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SAVE MY BABY!!"

Fortunately, I'm under warrantee. Unfortunately, I own a cheap hunk of CRAP. Or fingers like The Hulk. Either way, to get the problem fixed, between today and tomorrow, I must now drive all the way to downtown which, when taking traffic into account, takes about the same time as traveling to the actual Toshiba headquarters in Japan. This will be a joyride. Wish me and my defective laptop good luck!

Pablo's Ponderances #1

2009-02-13T19:14:00.000-08:00

Hello, I'm Pablo T. Elmerfuddernickel and I am this blog writer's pet beta fish. (See my internet-leaked nude photo below). I used to have two roommates of the zebrafish variety named Laurel and Hardy who I mercilessly killed in cold blood within six months and pretended like I didn't. Don't hate. The fact that I got away with it just means you're half the fish I am. Months of working in Thailand's Freshwater Mafia as a drug extortionist has taught me to trust no one. Relieved of potential traitors, I now circle my tank bored out of my mind and with the extra time on my hands not spent on plotting gruesome deaths, I have decided to share with you my thoughts and feelings on life and what it means, based on my observations of fishkind. Before I die in about a year, I'd like to leave my legacy in the form of advice to improve the insignificant, pathetically predictable lives you lead lest you, God Forbid, also end up like the writer of this blog, whispering sweet nothings to the electric pencil sharpener and dancing like an epileptic salmon with a broom on Friday nights...at home...all alone.

So without any further ado, my observations of the week:

1. If you are the Douchebag of the School of Fish, you will ask the Professor irrelevant questions in class that not only have nothing to do with the topic at hand, but also incorporate big, confusing words which also give you the title of Kiss Ass to go along with Douchebag. These are questions formed as such: "Dr BlowFish, I know you said ALL we needed to know about blood pressure is the normal range, but can you please talk in extent about the clinical significance of abnormal ranges? And then, because I want to earn title of Kiss Ass Douchebag legitimately, I'd like to come to your office and discuss this interesting case study with you..."

2. The only thing more annoying than people telling me their dreams, is telling me their BAD dreams...about me. "Oh yes, Hardy, please tell me again about that one dream you had where I grew an extra fin in between my eyes and then got eaten by the neighbor's cat." I'd bring Hardy back to life just to kill that sucka again.

That's all for now. Tune in next week for more of my worldly observances.

Here I am in all my studly, fishy, splendor. As you can see, I drop it like it's wet. Call me, ladies.

Day Off

2009-02-12T16:43:00.000-08:00

I decided to randomly take the day off today from anything remotely having to do with term "school" and, not surprisingly, the only thing I have accomplished that required any form of motility was walking to the mailbox and back. In my defense, I had pound cake for breakfast which is the equivalent of ingesting a 400 lb block of cast iron. That, and I ran into my neighbor from 3 houses down. An old lady from an obscure European country who gives me dirty looks when I drive too fast down the residential road. However, due to failing vision...or possibly Alzheimer's, she doesn't recognize me when I'm OUTSIDE of my car and waves to me jovially when I go running. I sometimes wonder if I should reveal my horrendous dual act to her, but am concerned that would be trying to make life into art and I doubt she would embrace me and feed me those blueberry tarts like she does in my head when I fess up.

Besides that, I had lunch with a dear childhood friend of mine, F, who I adore and am saddened by the fact that she cannot be surgically joined to my neck. Her sarcasm is THAT delicious, you guys. We had lunch for 4 whole HOURS and exchanged pleasantries in the form of pent-up rage at the world. I heart her. The thing with childhood friends is that even if you don't see them for centuries, they are just as full of the unexplainable goodness, warmth and overall fuzziness as when you left them. There is no expiry date on these people!

Anyone watch last night's cringe-fest that was the Joaquin Phoenix interview on Letterman? What in flying flippity fluck was THAT? It was like he had been abducted by aliens an hour prior, groomed by the scientologists aboard the mothership, definitely hypnotized by Creepy Baby Suri, and then tumbled directly from the celestial heavens into the chair next to Letterman's desk. What solidified the crazy, is when he TOOK THE GUM OUT OF HIS MOUTH AND STUCK IT TO THE DESK! He might as well have stuck it up Letterman's nose or started shaping it into animal sculptures. Who does that? Let's all pledge an oath, friends. Next time someone gives US crap about OUR bubble yum, we're going to immediately spit it out of our mouths and stick it on the offender's face, unless we're on TV, in which case the closest inanimate object will suffice.

If you haven't already, watch what can only be called the most cracked out, facial hair malfunctioned, mono-syllabled interview of Mr Phoenix.

Chris Brown do NOT pass Go, Go directly to JAIL

2009-02-09T22:22:00.000-08:00

What on earth could this fight between Chris Brown and Rihanna have been that induced a WWF smackdown in the middle of a deserted road?

"Oooo no aya aya oooo yeah I'm so hot no aya aya..."
"Honey, your voice inflection is on the D minor that gives me a headache."
"Your face's inflection is on D minor that makes me throw up in my mouth."
"Oh...uh...don't get mad I was just--."
"Just WHAT?"
"Never Mind. Drop it."
"Drop THIS, Woman! AAAAAAA!!!"

As Rihanna looks on in horror, Chris Brown's head spins 360 degrees and old-school Batman word effects appear before her eyes: KAPOW! WHAM!! OOMPH!! DIE!!

Police reports say Rihanna was severely injured, bruised, sawed in half, organs were retrieved and replaced after being found strewn about in the shrubbery outside the vehicle, a makeshift IV bag in the form of a Prada bag hooked to Miss Rihanna's vein via her cocaine needle (Thank Goodness!), blah, more blah, bite marks, more bru--Whoaaaa, hold up. BITE? MARKS? Ok, I think Im getting stage 2 brain cancer just thinking about this. I'm envisioning Twilight. On acid. And the cast is African American. I think there might have been Oompa Loompas involved though. Those buggers are everywhere! Since when did Chris Brown convert to vampirism? Maybe the poor guy believed that when he performed the cover for Michael Jackson's "Thriller" he actually became a vampire. Happens to me all the time. Just last week I thought I was Michael Jackson too. I subconciously made him my mii character. Anyway, this behavior is totally normal and Chris Brown is perfectly healthy in the head. The rational explanation behind what has transpired between Mr Brown and his girl is the direct result of that satanic performance of Thriller, which led to his acquisition of invisible fangs, jaundiced eyes, and the thirst for female blood.

Poor Rihanna. All she wanted was life off an island, where she could sing to the masses instead of a pile of bananas. And look what that got her. Injuries possible only after 4 cycles of being in the dryer. No wonder she's going back to Barbados. At least the bananas don't punch her in the face when she opens her mouth...

Watch Chris Brown develop homocidal vampirish tendencies!

Zippity Doo Dah Zippity Ay, My oh My What a...

2009-02-07T09:44:00.000-08:00

Wonderful day! Aside from the fact that my bed might have shrunk. I woke up with 1/4 of my legs off the edge. I've heard of people falling off beds. I've heard of people waking up on the wrong side of beds. But this is the FIRST time I've ever heard of anyone sliding vertically off the bed. How does that even happen? Good God, leave it to me to slide vertically off beds. Oh yeah, that and right around 3 am each night, I believe my bed develops 5 foot metal spikes that jutt into and possibly through the whole of my back so that when I wake up, my body feels like I just went through a series of pulverizers. I wake up every morning in a panic attack, frantically feeling my arms and legs just to make sure I'm not paraplegic. It's THAT bad, yes. Just ask my neck which doth protests with a distinguished creaking sound effect when rotated 45 degrees to the left.

But other than that, today is rather lovely. Birds are singing, I got new car freshener, no news of any biblical plagues in Maricopa County, and 600,000 jobs were lost last month...oh wait...

I have finally made friends with the McDonald's drive-thru man who has been serving me my morning coffee for 6 consecutive days now. He speaks with a vague African accent and sometimes while I wait, I imagine him to be from a tiny village called Mamba District where he owns lush fields of cocoa and trains monkeys to pick beans and make ice cr--ANYWAY, he always says the same things: "Ennie mo shugaah?" and "Waat ailse ken ay gait for youuu?" He also smells of peony soap from Bath and Body Works and smiles at me a lot like we share an eyelash curler and favorite recipes.

And the Cap n Crunch in the pantry STILL has the toy in the box. Oh rejoice!

Yep. TODAY. KICKS. ASS

What Happens When I Intend To Study...

2009-02-06T17:15:00.000-08:00

Someone is wearing a cologne that makes me want to glue their body to my nose. I'm catching whiffs of it as I sit here at Glendale Public Library, and the three possible choices of sources are:

a) Man who looks to be about 400 yrs old, wearing flannel jacket, and reading a magazine with a picture of what looks like a gun or watering can on the cover
b) Skater Girl with plugs the size of frisbees in her earlobes (Possibly a boy. I can't really tell with these eyeliner-wearing, long hair-donning hybrid chidren anymore)
c) Someone's seeing eye dog that has curiously been left alone for the past hour in the lounge area and is staring at me like "Guess she wasn't blind. Joke's on me, huh?"

I think it's (c) the dog. I'm resisting the urge to wink at him and write my number out in lipstick. Clearly, he isn't doing anything later.

Remember that Liberty Mutual Ad from not too long ago where remarkably good-looking citizens of a completely non-existent on earth city go about doing good deeds for one another while a passerby has been taking in the whole scene and turns around and does a good deed for someone else? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMwoexR1evo

What a load of crippity croppity crap. I only bring this up because I love the delusion of how these companies win your favor by making it seem like perchance someone is out there who will pick up your kid's fallen raggedy ann and actually hand it to your kid in the middle of an insanely busy street without you worrying if they have herpes or them worrying about the various strains of streptococcus writhing all over the doll. Shocking news people, the chances of such a chain of beautiful acts happening are right around the same as you winning the lottery, marrying Ryan Gosling, and then winning the lottery again. And for all the furrowed eyebrows reading this, try it yourself. Start a chain, and if by the end of the day you're not totally screwed over, taken advantage of, manipulated, or completely ignored, I'd like to hear from you.

KISSES!

Woes and Rotten Tomatoes.

2009-02-03T20:02:00.000-08:00

Memo to self: NEVER EVER study reproductive physiology notes in PUBLIC. Especially when I'm standing in line at Coffee Bean at 9 am and there are taller people standing behind me with nothing else to do while they wait in line but look over my shoulder only to behold shockingly detailed diagrams of male sexual dysfunctions. I can only imagine the trauma I brought to their day.

"Hey, Bill, how was your morning?"

"Oh swell Todd, I got me a cup of Joe and learned all about priapism at the neighborhood coffee shop. Can't complain. How are the kids?"

The only reason I know he read my handout is because after I paid, I turned to find him wide-eyed staring directly at...well the HANDOUT. Reflex then made me curl the handout into a scroll shape only to realize that all of the explicit diagrams were now on display all around the outside of the scroll like a inside-out kaleidoscope...a very Rated R kaleidoscope. I might as well have taped it to my face or made extra copies and handed out flyers to everyone. Believe you me, if there was ever a time I wanted to drive a screwdriver through my forehead it was precisely at that time.

In other news, I went to go see The Uninvited today in betwixt "studying" and "considerably more studying" and I must say, after it was over I wanted to immediately go home and dropkick the people at rottentomatoes who gave it like a 30-something percent. Who are these "critics" anyway? I'm sorry you come home from a dead-end job after being shrieked at by your boss for a couple of hours only to seek some comfort in the movie industry, but WAIT! You gotta unload all that frustration somewhere right? So you get ants in your pants over little things like the movie didn't involve Nemo being Jewish or Tom Cruise looked more pro-Nazi than anti-Nazi, and you run to your little Dell, log in to rottentomatoes, write harsh words that would have made Hitler weep, and then ruin it for ALL OF US who actually want to appreciate cinema by giving ratings of 10% to movies I actually like.

Screw you guys. I am setting a parental control on my laptop for myself to ban me from ever even accidentally running across this horrid site ever again. I heart you Yahoo Movies. BTW, I give that movie a 70% and maybe half a cookie.

SoodStruck

2009-02-02T21:30:00.000-08:00

So the whole blogging thing on my part is rather sporadic. I write when I feel like it, and the intention is to make it routine like brushing my teeth. Get up, stretch, shower, blog, that sort of deal. But every day is a new day and starts with my getting up and usually ends with me in a random place like Wickenberg buying cactus figurines. Or in a telephone booth screaming "OH GOD I'M NOT BLIND!" So you see, every day is an alternate ending and I cannot promise sane or structured entries.

Anyway, so Rahul Sood, founder of luxury computer designer VoodooPC, messaged me on facebook today and said he liked something I wrote. I wish I could say it was Part 2 of Einstein's theories, but it was actually a two brain cell-requiring facebook survey. You know like the ones 98.26% of the population deletes. Either way, he said he enjoyed my survey answers and that I should blog. He was even kind enough to offer suggestions as to which blogs I should use. After I was done doing adrenaline fueled cartwheels of happiness off of various furniture items, I was all YEAH DUDE, why DON'T I write? So now I'm writing for Pretty Damn Pretty AND Rahul Sood. If this was a novel, they'd get the "Dedicated To" page, but it's a blog and it doesn't get any better.

Hi, I suck at first impressions...

2008-12-02T23:26:00.001-08:00

This blog really has no other personal purpose than the mere glimmer of hope that one day while Brangelina happen to be surfing the net for new children, they may perchance come across this shout for help: Dude, ADOPT ME you guys. (Economy looks rough, I've got student loans to return, and I'm the first girl over the age of 15 on planet earth ready and willing to call Brad my father. I'm also of Indian origin and look malnutritioned enough to make it look legit enough, promise.)

Until my impending adoption, I am basically spewing out whatever thoughts come to my head and really dedicating it all to my wonderful friend "Pretty Damn Pretty" who it seems has sadly mistaken my neurotic tendencies for writing talent. I've been called 'Random' only slightly more times than 'That One Chick' or 'Asylum Patient 378'. I'll answer to any of them. I burn brownies twice before I get them right, I dream about Chuck Norris in spanish with english subtitles, and I'm pretty sure I've seen at least five criminals from America's Most Wanted at either Disneyland or hired to trim my palm trees, but am too afraid to call in for fear they will decapitate me and my family members should the anonymous hotline turn out to be not quite so anonymous.

Oh yea. I also used to blog in undergrad, but unfortunately, it led to mass killings worldwide and then my dad read it which still makes eating at the dinner table a rather minimal and awkward ordeal. I'm Neesha and I really hope it's nice to meet me...