Tag Archives: beets

Don’t You Wish You Were Cool Like Us?

22 Mar

I know that a while back I wrote a blog post about how much I love my friends.  Maybe some of you think that one post on such a topic would be enough but I disagree.  My friends are just really super awesome.  By the end of this post you are (a) going to think me and my friends are all incredibly weird and you’ll thank your lucky stars that you only read about our antics on the interweb, (b) you will want to come hang out with us all the time because we’re funny (c) you will oscillate between those two things, which is normal, but eventually will you come to the dark side AKA the side where you are friends with us or (d) you will be totally grossed out and never read my blog again.  Anyway, here is why my friends are awesome:

So yesterday I spent the day sort of rewriting an article for a magazine I occasionally contribute to.  (You can read my past article here!  It’s about consent!)  I had to rewrite it because my editor was, shall we say, displeased that the direction my article took was only (in my estimation) 70% related to the proposal I had sent her back in January.  Apparently when you write for other people you can’t just write about what you’re interested in at that exact moment, you have to somehow get back to what you were interested in months prior.  Live and learn, right?  Anyway, so I had to do some fine-tuning so that the article I wrote better reflected the approved topic.  I spent the better part of the morning/early afternoon working on that and then I decided to take a stroll to visit my friend Heather at work.  She is nice and fun and you should all love her.  Also, she is apparently gifted in the art of cleaning eyeglasses.  I digress.  On my walk to visit Heather I texted one of my friends to see how her second week of work at her new job went and I received the following reply:

“Things are getting busier and making more sense…. (smiley face)… best part of farting in my own office is that I can open my own window.”

I replied that having my own window that I could open at my leisure, but especially after farting, was my new goal in life.  Not in so many words but she got the point because she, like, gets me.  Anyway, no more than a half hour later, and out of nowhere, I received a g-chat from a different friend that led to the following conversation:

Friend: can you remind me tomorrow that I ate beets today?
Me: Yes.
Friend: Thank you! (You understand.)
Me: I had beets on Wednesday night and set myself a phone alarm for Thursday morning.

If you don’t understand why that last conversation was funny then you don’t pay even nearly enough attention to your bowel movements which, in my personal opinion, is ill-advised.  Also, you clearly don’t talk to your friends enough about poop which is unfortunate.  I have this sort of friend-o-meter whereby I know that I am really, truly friends with someone when we can talk about poop together.  And not just like, me telling stories about my own poop but us having a real and honest exchange about it.  I have a lot of poop stories.  I think talking about the embarrassing bathroom things that happen really sort of demystifies the whole thing.  Let me tell you a story about what happened to me recently (you might never look at me the same again or touch my left hand, FYI).

So recently I was in Peru for a trip with one of my friends.  And we were at this cafe and I had to use the bathroom because I pretty much always have to use the bathroom. I inherited my dad’s stomach, something I am not in the least bit thankful for.  Anyway, I went up into the little art/book/miscellany store above the cafe to use the bathroom and realized, too late as it turned out, that there was no toilet paper.  Not only was there no toilet paper, but there also were no paper towels.  Catastrophe!  So I did what any well-traveled individual would do:  I wiped my ass with my left hand.  So there I was, wet and clean butt, wet and unclean hand, pants down, standing in this teeny tiny little bathroom above a cafe on a random street in Lima.  What to do now?  Obviously, I had to wash my hands but here was the little trick: I somehow had to dry my ass without using any paper products because there weren’t any.  Luckily, I had managed to keep my right hand both clean AND dry and there was the leftover cardboard tube from the paper towels sitting to the right of the sink.  Oh, happy day.  So I, by turning the tube inside-out, managed to semi-dry my ass with that and my dry right hand (more absorbent than you might suspect!) and then use my right elbow to turn the water on as hot as it could go to wash my hands about 12 million times.  I then went downstairs, looked at my friend and said:

“You might want to bring napkins up there when you go.  There was an…incident.” I think looked meaningfully at my left hand.

She understood immediately.  And that is why my friends are awesome.  (And also why journalists really need to not complain about the fact that they had to, GASP!, throw their toilet paper away in a garbage can next to the toilet instead of in the toilet while covering the Sochi Olympics.  I think probably they have done worse and that there were more pressing social issues surrounding those games than plumbing that can’t handle an influx of paper.  Just sayin’.)  Oh! And this one other thing.  Sometimes my dad tells jokes and my one friend does this with them.  Don’t you wish you were cool like us?

Rules for Life

22 Jan

The other day I looked in the mirror and discovered that I have a weird red, scaly, dry patch just above my right eye.  It doesn’t hurt or itch or anything, it just looks a little weird.  Also, two days ago I accidentally scratched it and it was terrible.  I don’t really know what it is but I am pretty much convinced that it is going to take over my entire face, slowly at first and then more aggressively as it builds confidence.  I will go to sleep Rebekah and wake up the next morning in a new form:  LizardRebekah.  I was informed by my friend Beth that if I in fact turn into a lizard my cats will cease to recognize me and will probably eat me because cats eat lizards.  She knows this because she lives in Arizona.

Okay, okay, okay, so maybe I am overreacting.  But seriously, where did this thing come from?  I woke up one day and there it was!  So I did what I always do when something creepy happens, I broke one of my “Rules for Life.” There are, up until this point, only three Rules for Life although a new one can be added at any time.  I have actually been working on a rule concerning the consumption of airplane food (it should never be eaten!) but I haven’t managed to get the wording exactly how I want.  Anyway, the existing Rules are as follows:

1.  No fighting in the car or other places from which you cannot make a speedy escape.
2.  The nose is an out hole.  The only exception is for the use of Neti Pots and Nasonex.
3.  Never diagnose yourself using the internet because you pretty much always get diagnosed with some form of cancer.

Obviously, I broke the third Rule for Life.  I always, always, always break that rule.  It’s like, I simply can’t help myself.  One time* I ate beets and was convinced the next morning that the fact that my shit was a weird color was due to the fact that I was obviously dying from some sort of stomach cancer.  The internet agreed.  I wasn’t, obviously, but I really scared myself.  I was about halfway through dialing my parents’ house to tell them about my life-ending illness when I remembered dinner.  Come to think of it, I should probably make a rule about setting some sort of reminder following the consumption of beets.

Anyway, so I broke the rule and I started looking through WebMd and it doesn’t say anything about a dry skin patch slowly taking over my entire face, maybe even body, and morphing me into a lizard.  It mentions psoriasis which is scary but that doesn’t come on the face. It mostly impacts elbows and knees and hands and stuff.  Also, eczema.  Same thing.  So I have come to the conclusion that either I have a new, fatal skin disease that has never before been diagnosed or else it is just a dry skin patch caused by exposure to the elements.  I will put lotion on it and see what happens.  In the mean time, my cats will be locked in the closet.**

*I am being really generous saying this happened one time.  I think that this panic happens about 50% of the time that I eat beets.  Embarrassing, but true.

** I am totally kidding about that.  I love my cats, even if they do want to eat me.