Confessions: 3D

I'm a compulsive liar. I figured I could use my blog to disclose my many falsehoods and ease this crushing guilt. 

A liar in three dimensions

HUMIDIFIER ENTHUSIASTS:

I didn't tell the entire truth. Apologies all around.

I spend like an eighth of my time talking about humidifiers. My apartment gets dry, okay? Whenever the topic is brought up (by me), I brag about how I have an adorable dragon humidifier and that the vapor comes out of its nose. It looks like it's breathing fire! So cute! Unfortunately, it isn't really true. I do have an adorable dragon humidifier, but the vapor comes out of its eyes. I lie about it because 'eye vapor' doesn't make any sense. I just want people to think I have a nice humidifier. Is that so wrong? In my defense, Target really should have made the mist come out of its nose.

Get on it, Target

Thug Life

People who have been shot love bringing up the fact that they were shot. This works out well if you are an MC because it automatically endows you with a certain level of street cred. If you're a regular gunshot victim, it just makes everyone else around you uncomfortable. If you keep talking about getting shot, you will lose all your friends. I might even go so far as to say that someone will choose to shoot you again. My Grandmother was shot during an armed robbery in 1977 and if you meet her, she will bring it up and make you feel weird.

Let us now travel back to a simpler time, 2006...the year I made the unfortunate mistake of seeing Step Up with Grandma. I will briefly recap the plot.

A Plot:

She's rich and he's poor, but they dance together. Society doesn't like it, but they don't care.

B Plot:

Tatum Channing/Channing Tatum/Chatum Tanning's friend Skinny Carter spends the movie committing crimes. While attempting to steal a car, he gets shot and dies in the street.






It was already embarrassing that I was seeing Step Up with my Grandmother, but 16-year-old me wanted to curl up and die when she started shouting in the theater. She kept movie-talking about how Skinny Carter wouldn't have been shot were it not for his poor life choices.

You can't tell from this homage to Mystery Science Theater 3000 but trust me, I'm super embarrassed.  Ironically, I am not embarrassed about this homage to Mystery Science Theater.

All the cool people I went to high school with were there...feeling uncomfortable/making fun of me.

Don't do this to your grandkids.

T-Shirt TIME

I recently read an interesting article from an older issue of Time that had been floating around the salon. It was The Optimism Bias, in case anyone cares. Yeah, I am just going to copy/paste the point I need to get across. Here it is:

Memories are susceptible to inaccuracies partly because the neural system responsible for remembering episodes from our past might not have evolved for memory alone. Rather, the core function of the memory system could in fact be to imagine the future — to enable us to prepare for what has yet to come. The system is not designed to perfectly replay past events, the researchers claimed. It is designed to flexibly construct future scenarios in our minds. As a result, memory also ends up being a reconstructive process, and occasionally, details are deleted and others inserted.

I just had to write DON'T WEAR THIS. IT'S UNFLATTERING. on my clothes because I keep forgetting how bad I look in certain outfits. Whatever, I'm sure my terrible memory would serve me well if I ever had to take down a sabre-tooth tiger.

Facecream Daydream

Humans have the ability to daydream so that our minds can go somewhere else when we're being tortured/eaten by piranhas/bored to death, right? When most people go to their 'happy place' it is something like stairs leading to the ocean or swinging in the forest.

Naturally my daydreams are super lame and weird. I have this recurring daydream that I've been visiting since childhood. I don't understand what's wrong with me but, for some reason, I am the villain in my own fantasy. I'm an astronaut, and I discover teeny tiny aliens on a faraway planet. Only I know of their existence, and I covertly bring them back to Earth.

There's a terrible secret hidden behind my smile.

I equip them each with miniature shovels and promise them that if they dig, I'll let them return to their home planet. I put them in jars of very expensive face cream and market it to the super rich with super pores. The minuscule aliens would dig for their promised freedom, clearing away all of the crap from your pores. You would then wash them down the sink, and unbeknownst to you, assist in the mass-murder of sentient beings.

Due to some intrepid investigative journalists, the public soon discovers what I'm doing and starts lobbying for alien rights. Activists infiltrate my face cream factory to inform the enslaved aliens themselves of the terrible truth. They organize and revolt. Sometimes the fantasy ends with them repeatly stabbing my eyeballs with teeny tiny shovels. I have a weird thing about eyeballs.

Poetic justice. I am blinded just as they were once blind to the truth.

Should I Get a Pet Octopus?

Pros:

It would open jars for me.

It would sit on my pillow and stroke my hair while I sleep.

It would ride around my apartment on top of the Roomba, helpfully moving cords out of the way.

Cons:

They need a giant/expensive tank.

I'm worried that it will slap me in the face with its tentacle, and that its suction cup will go directly on my eyeball.

I can't think of any good names.

White Trash Q&A

Q: What is the most white trash kind of bed?

A: Daybed

This is the kind of bed I had until literally last year when it dawned on me that I was an adult and could just buy whatever the frak I wanted. Daybeds offer the same versatility of a futon or sofa bed but unlike the two of them, you really cant get away with putting a daybed in your living room. I mean, unless you're white trash.

There were a few months when my family lived in a one-bedroom apartment, and my mother chose to take the bedroom for herself while my sister and I slept in the living room. I guess the logic behind it was that, unlike her normal-not-day bed, my bed could double as the family's couch (since obviously we didn't have one of those either). 

People would spend all their time on my bed, eating snacks and watching TV. When someone would stay over late, I couldn't go to sleep because they were sitting my bed. I often woke up covered in melted m&m's.

Don't do this to your kids.