Tag Archives: Peru

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?

A Piece of Advice: Don’t Mace Yourself in the Face.

28 Feb

So tomorrow I am leaving for a week long trip to Peru with my friend Carrie.  I decided that now, the day before I leave, would probably be the right time to start packing for my trip.  So, I burrowed into the closet and found my backpacking bag and pulled it out only to discover that I never actually fully unpacked the bag from my trip to India…a trip I took in the summer of 2011. In case you were wondering, that trip occurred approximately 2.5 years ago.  So, you know, clearly I am a responsible and reasonable adult.  Anyway do you know what I found in there??  Aside from my Chaco sandals and a pair of super old running shoes I discovered mace in a pink leather holster sort of thing gifted to me by my awesome and hilarious friend Kendra.  So now let us take a little trip down memory lane, shall we?

Kendra gifted me my stylish mace one night when we were out having a drink.  Or maybe she gave it to me and then I went and had a drink.  I guess it really isn’t important.  The important part of the story is that I walked to my house 10 blocks from the F and G stop with my mace, slightly inebriated, all the while wondering what I would do if someone were to approach me in an intimidating manner.  I decided that when I got home the first order of business was to make sure my mace worked and figure out how to spray a possible assailant quickly and efficiently.

Fast forward about 10 minutes.

I could hardly contain my excitement!  I got home, took the mace out of its cute little pink house, and looked at the instruction booklet.  It said not to spray the mace into the wind because it would be blown right back into your own face.  Not ideal.  It was a little windy and I didn’t trust myself, in that state, to figure out the direction the wind was coming from.  So, sadly, I put my mace back in its house and moped my way up the stairs.  But I had to know if it worked!  I just had to!  So you know what I did?  I went into the bathroom and sprayed the mace into the sink.

So you know something about sinks?  They are bowled which means that if you spray an aerosol thing into them the spray just sort of bounces off the sink and, you guessed it, goes directly into your face.  Do you know what hurts?  Getting maced in the face.  Do you know what makes you an idiot?  Macing yourself in the face in the bathroom.

So, just let that sink in (no pun intended) and remember:  I did this so you don’t have to.