It's My Birthday Today, But This Post Has Nothing To Do With That

My personality is very…off.  In case you didn’t catch it in my earlier post, I’m going to Europe.

I’m a grad student in the college of International Hospitality, Restaurant and Tourism Management—which ultimately means, international travel.

The dean of our college has given me and a friend full paid grants to study in Italy and Austria for two weeks; however, as the plane tickets are paid for by the college, we’ll be going earlier and staying later than most of the other students.

The friend that is going with me—for all intensive purposes—you guys can consider her my sidekick.  Her name is Kristin; however, for this blog, I’ve decided to call her ‘Patsy’ so that her role in our friendship is clearly defined.  And in case she’s reading this, and she more than likely will… I just have to say, “This is what you get for not making me a homemade cake on my birthday, Patsy.”

Now, back to my original point.  My personality is off.  Why you ask?

I’ve NEVER been on a plane.  EVER.  Which is rather unsettling.  So in order to better prepare myself for the reality of boarding and surviving several different flights—two of which will be across the Atlantic Ocean, I decided to watch Snakes on a Plane, which I had never seen before. 

That is correct.  I said Snakes on a Plane.

So, when the mother-fucking snakes attack the mother-fucking plane, I’ll be ready.  Except, I watched it on television—so… when the monkey-fightin’ snakes attack the Monday-to-Friday plane, I’ll be ready.  By the way, TNT, that was a lame edit.

But nonetheless, I’ll be prepared.

What to pack:  one can of hairspray and a lighter (for a makeshift flame thrower), 

small dog (to distract the hungry anaconda), 

olive oil (to suck out the venom), and How to Fly a Plane for Dummies (for when the pilot dies of multiple snake bites).

Next, I think I’ll watch that episode of the Twilight Zone where the guy looks out of the window and sees a monster on the wing of the plane.

I need to know the best way to react in that situation as well.  Hey, don’t give me that you-are-so-freaking-paranoid look. I just want to be prepared for all possible scenarios.

P.S. -- It really is my birthday, so make any birthday checks payable to cash...

Last Time on The Cheshire Cat's Out of the Bag...

…we left our heroine battling a giant sea-panther with only a conk-spear and her natural charisma. 

Okay, not really, but here are some updates that I meant to give earlier.  I’m sorry I didn’t let you know about them sooner, but I either got busy, wrote a different post, or just plain forgot.

First, with regards to Jet, I have joyous news.  In case you don’t remember Jet, he is the psychotic dog who declared war on me and my clothes.

After a long a tedious battle —with many casualties—Jet finally made a fatal mistake that cost him the war. 

When I first arrived at this apartment, the living room area was devoid of all signs of life.  No posters.  No paintings.  No wall art.  No photographs.  No throw pillows.  No curtains.  Absolutely nothing.

Well, I convinced Jet’s owner, Jasmine, that it would be best if our apartment had some personality; so, we went 50/50 on decorations for the apartment.  One of those decorations happened to be floor length hanging curtains.

As the window, and thus the curtains, are near my room door, Jet mistaked the curtains for one of my possessions and peed on them.  This happened to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Jasmine, tired of Jet’s pee escapades, sent him back home.

Viva la Tiffany.  Suck it Jet.

The second and final update that I have pertains to Skittles Vodka.

After making the Skittles Vodka, I decided that I was going to taste the rainbow.  I got five different shot glasses and filled each with a different color.  I then began.

I downed them in order red, orange, yellow, green, and then purple. 

After shooting red, I had to continue with the rest quickly, or I wouldn’t have had the strength to continue.  They were AWFUL.

Red = Robitussin

Orange = Ipecac with an Orangy-Zest

Yellow = Lemon Dish Soap (Yes, I’ve had my mouth washed out before)

Green = Pine-Sol

Purple = Grape Cough Syrup

So even though they predominately tasted like medicine and/or cleaning products, the only effects they had were upsetting my stomach and then making me feel disgusted and dirty.

Two "HORS" and a "HO"

Today, my roommates and I decided to shoot some basketball—the only problem is that I haven’t played basketball in about 5 years.

The basketball court is surrounded by apartments, so while we were playing, people took it upon themselves to go out on their balconies and watch our horrible progression. 

I know it must have been funny to watch, as we played Horse.

In case you don’t know how to play Horse, I’ll explain.  If Person A makes a shot, then Person B must make that shot as well or take a letter—H.  If person A misses, then Person B can shoot from wherever they want without penalty if they miss.  If they make it, however, then Person C has to make the shot or receive a letter.  This pattern simply continues in circles until one of the players misses so many shots that they have spelled out H-O-R-S-E.

So, as I said, it must have been funny to watch us play as we continued to call each other by our prospective points.  For example, “ ‘HO!’ You can’t make that shot!” or “You are such a ‘HOR.’ “

As my skills slowly came back, I began to dominate.  In fact, I won every game.  I took personal pleasure in calling both of my roommates “HORS.”  In fact, most games, I was a “HO” while my roommates where the “HORS”—that is, until I won and they became the “HORSE.”

The only thing that upset me about today was that by the time we finished, we had an audience of guys, sitting on the sidelines, giving us pointers on how to play and then laughing at us as we played.

By the time we left, I wanted to patent the basketball bazooka.

That’ll teach you for criticizing my “shooting.”  I may not be as good as shooting hoops as I once was, but I’d still like to consider myself a good shot.

How to Ruin Someone Else's Day While Still Providing Amusement

Today, I decided to go onto my balcony area and relax.    I took a good book and intended to read and get some sun.  This isn’t what happened.  Instead, I had to vacate the balcony in a fit of giggles and odorous vapors.

Here is the set up.

I live on the third floor of my apartment complex which is beside a marshy pond area and a huge farm—and my room is the one on the corner, so from my balcony, I have an uninhibited view.  It’s one of the best views in Columbia—at least I think so.

Today was a B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L day.  Not too hot.  Not too cold.  Not too windy.  Not too humid.  Gorgeous.  So who wouldn’t want to go out onto the balcony and enjoy the day with a good book?

Now, it’s a good thing that I have a sense of humor, or I might have been slightly upset by the disturbance to my relaxation.  Instead, I couldn’t stop laughing.

After sprawling myself out on one of the chairs outside, I began reading my book.

Then, just as I got comfortable, I heard someone from the room under me come outside onto his/her balcony.

*face blurred to protect my unknown neighbor*

I’m not stingy.  I don’t mind sharing my perfect day with another person.  However, that was until I learned the downstairs neighbor’s intent.  As soon as I heard their balcony door close, they let one rip.  I guess they didn’t realize I was upstairs.

Now let me explain.  It wasn’t just a small toot.  Oh, no.  It was a horrible, wet, squishy fart.

I tried to suppress my laughter—as the person downstairs obviously went out onto the balcony to hide the fart from his/her roommates; however, when the toxic fumes reached me, I could barely contain it.

I ran back inside my apartment and fell onto the floor in a fit of giggles.  I really hope the person downstairs didn’t hear my laughter, but I tend to laugh whole-heartedly.  As people who know will attest, my laughter can get extremely loud and out of control. 

And this was one of those occasions.

I’m sorry downstairs neighbor—but even though you destroyed my plans for the day, you also made my day with your impromptu fart.  Therefore—thank you... I guess.

Wonderland?

The only time I’m ever near the “magical” bathroom is when I’m at work.  Therefore, it’s extremely difficult for me to spend as much time as I want exploring the bathroom.  That’s right.  I went back.  And this time, I opened the door.

Yesterday, while I was working, I decided it would be a good time for a bathroom break.  I didn’t have any more filing. I’d finished most of my research tasks.  I had some free time.  So down the hall towards the bathroom I went.

I didn’t really need to use the bathroom all that bad, but I figured I’d get that out of the way before I went up the staircase.

 After my transaction was complete, I washed my hands (because that is important) and mentally prepared myself for the journey ahead.  The mantra constantly repeating in my head:

—What’s behind the door?—

—What’s behind the door?—

—What’s behind the door?—

I moved around the side hallway and into the room full of mirrors. 

—What’s behind the door?—

I even did some disco moves for old time’s sake.

—What’s behind the door?—

Step by grueling step, I climbed.

—What’s behind the door?—

I reached my hand out to touch the door knob.

—What’s behind the door?—

I firmly grasped it and gave it a twist.

—What’s behind the door?—

I flung the door open and…

Now here is where I’m going to stop for a minute and explain something to you.  This is my magical place, and I almost don’t feel like sharing.  Because it wasn’t a janitor’s closet, it was something else. 

I’m only going to tell you now because it would be extremely rude for me to build up anticipation and then let you down.  Besides, that would hardly encourage viewers to follow my blog.  And the more people that follow my blog, the more I feel the need not to disappoint them. 

It’s a vicious cycle.  But I digress…

Now where was I?

Oh yeah…

I flung the door open and entered into the magical bathroom realm.

I’ve decided that the door no longer leads to Narnia, but instead has more in common with Wonderland.

After entering the room, there was a small square roomish area full of five different closed doors—not including the one I’d just come out of; so, there was a total of six doors.  The only other object in the room (no it wasn’t a table with a key on it) was a large drink machine.  And as I stared at the drink machine, I couldn’t help but have Lewis Carroll’s words—“Drink Me”—pop into my head. 

I swear that if there was some money anywhere on me at that moment, I’d have bought a Coke and prepared to shrink. However, it was fortunate that I didn’t have money to waste because in hindsight, I need to save my money for my Grand Tour of Europe.  Every dollar counts.

However, it was at this moment, I realized that I didn’t give myself enough time to explore this magical bathroom world.  I honestly hadn’t expected there to be anything so potentially vast behind the door.  So as my bathroom break was now pushing into indecent limits, I had to return to the office.

Besides, I didn’t want to get lost by going further down the rabbit hole.  If I’d gotten lost, it might have taken hours to get back to work, and I can only imagine the trouble I would have been in. 

Also, there was the nagging notion that maybe I’d end up somewhere I shouldn’t and the Queen of Heart’s would have my head removed.  So before I could forget which of the six doors I’d entered through, I went back into the bathroom and returned to work.

Next time, I think it would be best if I went to the bathroom after I’m finished with work for the day.  That way, I’ll have time to explore without feeling the need to return to work.   Unfortunately, I’ll probably never remember to think about the bathroom when I get off of work, as I’m too busy trying to run out of the office before someone stops me.

Assault and De"Battery"

Sorry I haven’t written in a while.  I’ve been consumed with my schoolwork, and on top of that, I received an all expenses paid grant to study in Italy and Austria over the summer.  I’ve had to get a passport and fill out forms so that I’ll be ready to travel in May.  

After my allotted time in Italy and Austria, I plan on staying longer and getting the full European backpacking experience.  Whenever I get free time, I’ve been planning my Europe trip.  However, in order to fund this excursion, I’ve had to start saving/making money.

Right now, I’m sitting in my grandmother’s living room in the middle of a giant yard sale.  So far I’ve made about $200; however that isn’t my problem.

Does anyone remember Furbies?  Those annoying furry bird-mammals that say random nonsensical phrases. 

Well, there is one out there.  It wouldn’t bother me if it were turned off; however, my 6 and 7 year old cousins continue to turn it on.  So whenever I’m not expecting it, that demonic thing starts talking and scares the crap out of me. 

I hate it. 

They have a little bake sale area outside, where they sell cookies and lemonade.  Except when they take him over there, the stupid Furby starts sneezing.

“AHCHOO!”

I don’t want fake Furby boogers all over the cookies!

And then when they get bored with selling cookies, he’s left over there.  So when I’m walking around—selling different items—I forget that he’s there.  He has a motion sensor, so when I walk by he goes off.

And in case you don’t know what a Furby is, they have these creepy high-pitched voices that are terrifying.

BUT WAIT!  What’s this in my pocket?  Batteries?  Where did I get these?  I’ll tell you where I got them.

When my cousins got distracted and Furby was left defenseless, I snuck up behind him and—I’m ashamed to say—I mugged him.  I ripped his insides out and left him dead and bleeding.

What can I say?  Even though this neighborhood is predominantly little old ladies, you got to watch your back.  You never know when your going to be the victim of an assault and debattery.