Secret Sneezer

I've grown up with a wonderful, loving mother.  She's still wonderful and loving to this day! She's even a loyal fan of my blog and there's a good chance that she is reading this right now. Hello, mother!  As admirable a person my mother is, there is one small character flaw of hers that I have long since vowed never to inherit.  It is the way she sneezes.

It's not just the wild gesticulations but also the sudden cannon-blast of noise that strikes fear into the hearts of unsuspecting passers-by.  It also forces a measurable deal of embarrassment into the blushing face of her daughter (yours truly).

I was at the tender insecure age of middleschoolteen when I first acknowledged the burden of my mother's sneeze.  At that age, I was seldom in any company from which I would enjoy drawing attention.  As pleasant and thoughtful as a resounding "bless you" seems, to me, it has been a nuanced controversy that I find as embarrassing as it is outdated.  Seeing a need to avoid any further sneeze-related run-ins, I consciously began to alter the effects of my sneeze.  Mediating between the extremes of the sonorous and trite "ACHOO!" and the tiny parakeet-esque "pip", I developed the perfect sneeze without any vocals or theatrics.

I taught myself how to sneeze like a cough.

And not just any cough. No bells, whistles, or phlegm. I manage to sneeze out several miniature low-decibel coughs that one might attribute to a mere throat-tickle.  It's an amazing ability and luckily it is one that's far away from the snotsplosion of a previously mentioned relative.

For years now I've been able to fly under the "bless you!" radar.  I find that classes stay on better track and conversations flow with fewer interruptions.  Until now, only a few people have known my secret.  Such as my roommate, who finds my infrequent sets of mini-cougheezes quite hilarious.

And the loneliness from not being reassured that a higher religious power has saved me from a sneezely death? Negligible.

Unwanted Guest

I’m not one to self-diagnose, but I’ve spent the past few days talking myself into believing I have a tapeworm. 

I don’t know the symptoms of hosting such a parasite, but here are reasons that (in my opinion at least) logically support my conclusion.

1.  Weight.  As I reconnect with college friends after the past several months apart, they seem to believe I have lost weight, complimenting me on my skinny looks.  This baffles me considering I have actually gained a significant deal of weight this summer.  I would never call myself “fat”, but I just feel heavier, like I’m hefting around somethin' extra.  LIKE THE WEIGHT OF A TEN POUND TAPEWORM.

2.  Appetite.  I keep finding myself racked with hunger, yet the instant I start eating I lose the urge to take any further chomps, bites, or even tiny nibblies.  This occurs often enough to cause me great distress.  I haven’t really made any changes to my diet or exercise routine or lifestyle that would explain this.  EXCEPT PERHAPS THE ACQUISITION OF A TAPEWORM. Stealin' all my foods.

This presumptuous tapeworm may just be eating until it’s full and then selfishly telling my body to also feel full so I don’t keep droppin’ food on its gross lil head.

3. Uhh… bathroom.  To avoid gross details, let’s just say I haven’t been “regular” lately, and there’s been some ouchy cramps happening at odd hours. And it’s because my tapeworm’s dancing around, raising the roof at its own intestine-party, while stealing all the food matter from me so I have nothing solid to process.  What a despicable guest to which I could potentially be leasing my body. AND THE TAPEWORM ISN’T EVEN PAYING ANY RENT. What an unreliable tennant.

At this point, I have properly Google’d the symptoms of a tapeworm infection.  These three that I’ve listed above are apparently among the most common side-effects of a one-worm intestine-fest. 

Does this mean that the worst could be true?  I am currently pregnant with an intestinal parasite?!! Nahh, not really. I probably don’t have anything infecting me except pre-semester college-kid anxiety.

But was it fun to write and draw and research all this? Yes.  Yes it was.

Table of Grossness

I saw something recently that has puzzled me greatly and almost continues to do so on a daily basis.  Whilst leaving a rest area on another one of my summer trips, I noticed a nuclear-style family in the small park across the way.  The parents had placed a blanket-esque tablecloth on a picnic table and were laying their small infant atop it.

What was going to happen next was unclear from the distance I viewed it. Either they were about to devour their child...

Or they were going to change the baby's nastily-clad diaper right there on the table.

Both of these actions are quite unethical.  Infanticide is like tiny murder and cannibalism has always been frowned upon by society, yet changing a pootful diaper on a surface intended for food is just grossly irresponsible.

Because I am weird about babies (having no experience with them whatsoever), when I need to decide if a family is destroying their baby on a picnic table or destroying a picnic table with a baby, I have no clue which is truly more unethical.

Since I don't condone cannibalism of defenseless mini-people OR dining surfaces covered in latent crap, I'll probably just resolve this situation by never sitting at a picnic table ever again.

Remembering Petticoat Lane...

I do not ask you to understand. I only ask that you appreciate.

Lord of the Waterfowl

I didn't know apartments in my father's price range had the capacity for snazziness. Yet here I am, in a living room with a vaulted ceiling.  There's even a decent view from the balcony, which impresses me.

Usually, "decent view" in apartment talk means "not completely overlooking concrete". Luckily, this apartment's view doesn't even contain a single street. Though the balcony itself is not impressive in size, it overlooks a pond with an aesthetic variety of reeds, native cattail, and waterfowl.

The other day I grew guilty and weary of my internetting and decided to take a break out there on that balcony.  Not one to pass up a theatrical moment of somber self-reflection, I worked up my wistful stare and a majestic pose.  My concentration was soon interrupted by a low rumble of alternating quacks and honks.

The nearby ducks and geese were rushing as best as they can with those legs to surround my balcony.  I'm not sure if you've ever seen a web-footed stub-legged creature run (I use this description because I don't know if that is truly limited to ducks and geese only. A great aunt of yours, perhaps?), but it is fairlyyy ridiculousss.

After tiring their lil weirdo legs out and parking their tailfeathers in a crude semi-circle around me, they looked up at me expectantly, imploring some response with their subtle muted "henk"s and "uack"s. Silence fell and the focus was on me. I felt like some new birdish-goddess.

As always with quickly gained power, it was quickly lost.  You see, I did not do much to please my people.  I had no interesting morsels of wisdom or bread crumbs to share with these masses.  When no food fell to their greedy beaks, they lost interest in me and returned to the pond. 

A slice of toast, a slice of toast! My kingdom for a slice of toast!