Contemplations of the Q-tip

I’ve had something on my mind lately, and it has been driving me crazy.

Q-tips, the loveable go-to instrument for the cleansing of the ear hole, explicitly states on their packaging that a Q-tip is not to be used in the ear canal.  

Then, to make an even more ludicrous declaration on it’s label, it goes on to suggest what you can use a Q-tip for instead. 

A variety of uses!!

Let’s see.. applying ointments and cream – maybe.  And that’s more of a maaaaaaaybe than a maybe.  Or I don’t know, am I the only one who puts Neosporin on with my finger?  Hm, cleaning my keyboard –  nope, I don’t think I would buy a box of 500 hundred Q-tips for my bi-annual precision dusting of my laptop’s keyboard. And finally, household cleaning, demonstrated by a Q-tip enlarged 10x relative to its surroundings, lingering over some dirty bathroom grout.  Really, Q-tips?  Is this your attempt at humor?  No one in the history of this world has ever scrubbed a dirty bathroom with a freaking Q-tip.  This is just laughable.  I estimate the usable surface area of a Q-tip is about 15mm².  And I estimate the cleanable surface area of a bathroom is at least 2m², or 2,000,000mm².  So you see, Q-tips, it does not make sense to use a Q-tip to clean something 133,333 times its size.

COME ON, Q-TIPS. I know you know people are buying you because they clean their ears with you. All these silly excuses for alternate uses of the Q-tip is obviously a front.  You remind me of the mafia-owned coffee shop next door to where I used to work.  It was clearly not an establishment for purchasing coffee and pastry delights.  Yet still, I once made the mistake of dropping in for coffee, which was microwaved and handed to me.  And there I sat, for the longest 5 minutes of my life, awkwardly drinking my coffee.  The girl at the counter glared at me.  Large Italian men kept walking into the shop, and they would glare at me and disappear into a mysterious back room.  It was like a clown car, but instead of clowns, dudes in the mafia, and instead of a car, a dingy back office.  I felt unwanted there.

And now here I am 4 years later and I feel like I’m back at square one.  Q-tips, you make me feel unwanted.  I buy you for your one forbidden purpose.  I feel so conflicted.

GTFO

I think it’s hilarious what my requirements for a potential man friend have become lately.  I mean, from an objective point of view, it really is a little ridiculous.  Allergic to cats?  Get the fuck out.  No literally, GTFO.  You have no business being around me or my cat hair laden attire.  Don’t like cats?  Why are you even talking to me?  Do you think I would ever trade the most beautimous Minnie for your sake?  Just leave.  However, if you like cats, this is a whole different ballgame.  If you like cats, step a little closer please. Have a kitty of your own? Think this white cat hair on my pant leg would nicely complement your lapel?  Fancy the Fancy Feast for your feline?  Ah, it's a glorious thing.

But seriously, it’s not because I’m some sort of psycho cat lady (enter: Intervention?).  I have realized that having a cat, or any sort of pet, is much like having a child: the people in your life have to be open to this other being in your life.  And vice versa.  I once broke up with a guy because he was mean to Minnie.  He shoved a burrito in her face.  Picture some dude forcing a gigantic burrito up her petite and gorgeous little nostril just because she had been curious to see what we were eating.  He took that paper wrapped goodness from Benito’s and rubbed that shit in her face and guffawed.  GTFO.  That was the last time I ever saw him.

Obviously, liking cats is not my one and only requirement for potential gentlemen friends; it is only one aspect of my life that happens to conflict somewhat frequently with other peoples’ lives. Education, aspirations, propensity for eating delicious (junk?) foods – these are all also vitally important features of a mate that must be screened for immediately.   And it’s tough, too.  I mean, what are you supposed to do with a guy that seems to have it all except in one department? What if he is great in every way, except he never wants kids, or has an imaginary friend, or is scared of dentists? You then have to decide if these are traits you can tolerate for X amount of time in the future.  And the hard part is, you never really know what the value of X is going to be.

Sigh, dating can be so confusing.  

This Just Seems Cruel

I understand this is meant to be "art," but it seems more like they are just rubbing it in the poor piglet's face. "Hey Piggy, I believe your only purpose on this earth is to be eaten. I will make a mockery of this and reconstruct you using your cured body parts.  Yes, this is what you lost your life for."

Pig, from Sophie H Powell

I mean, are they at least planning on eating it afterwards? Because then it wouldn't be SO bad.

So The Adventures Begin..

Well, I’m single again.  Hey all you girls in relationships, remember what that’s like? Hanging out with your girlfriends all the time, calling your mom every day, dressing up and going out every weekend?  It feels young, but sadly I am feeling older.  While being single is fun and makes you an awesome independent lady, it’s also a little scary.  Dating again? Getting to know someone, both the good and the bad? Risking more heartache?  Ach, the thought of it makes me nauseous. Seriously, I am actually nauseous right now because I made myself think about that.  It is all horribly daunting, but I guess it is part of what life is all about – taking risks in hopes of finding something great. 

So I guess I am “dating” again.  Well, I’m not really dating anybody in particular, but I’m open to the idea of dating, rather.  I have been on one date, with a most memorable gentleman.  The date commenced with taking shots of vodka at a local douchebag eatery and ended with the gentleman peeing in front of me and a family gathered in front of their TV.  What a scene! I am thrilled that this event has kick started my fabulous and glamorous new dating lifestyle.

True story.

The good news is that perhaps now this blog can return to its underlying theme of the past: adventures in dating, now in a new city!  Let’s see how Boston does. Gentlemen...

The Papilla Monster

I was told I have a large papilla today.

I was running through the clinic, trying to find my instructor before the mad rush of PM appointments.  As I passed an older faculty member (with whom I've had very little interaction), he called to me. 

“Hi!” He said.

I stopped in my tracks and pivoted on my heel towards him, unsure of what to expect of this impending encounter.

“Where are you from?”

“Los Angeles,” I answered, even though I knew that wasn’t what he meant.  He was Persian.  I had been identified as a fellow Persian.  He gave me a frown-y glance, so I gave in and said, “I’m Persian.  Half.  My dad is from Tehran.”

“I could tell.  You know how I could tell?  It’s your eyes.”

“Oh.. thank you?”

“Yes, it’s your eyes.  You have a large papilla.” He attempted to demonstrate with his hands, curling his index finger and thumb together to form a quarter sized void.

My papilla is… what?  How do I respond to such an unusual statement?  He was not giving me a compliment. He was not trying to be funny.  He was simply telling me I was identifiable as member of the Persian community because my papilla was apparently the size of a quarter.

So I gave him the most polite awkward laugh I could manage and thanked him.  I tried to think what a normal person would say next in a conversation like this, but, at a loss for words, I ended up just poking at my giant papilla while standing there staring at him blankly.  “So…” 

Finally he excused me to run off to wherever I was running earlier.

As I was hurrying off I heard him call to me, “Tell your father I say hi!”

Persians.

RIP Marmalade

You were the coolest cat I knew.  I'll miss you.

Happy Friday!

I'm taking Bolt Bus to New York for the weekend, and I'm stoked. I left my computer at home, packed a few dresses and got on the bus. It's great, sitting by the window, amply spacing out, and watching the world pass by while listening to some good music (currently: Washed Out. Girls, I'm gonna DB it for you when I get back.) The awesome thing about looking out the window on the bus is that you literally don't have to do anything - you don't have to watch the road or follow any kind of plot line (does this mean I'm lazy? ...yes.); you just sit and enjoy the constantly changing scenery. You can let your mind take you where it wants to go.

My favorite thing to do while riding the bus between New York and Boston is looking for Bigfoot in the dense forests we pass. I haven't spotted him yet, and maybe he is supposed to live in the northwest, but if I ever do see him, I'll be sure to take a blurry picture on my iPhone and post it on this blog as proof.

Anyway, typing this out on my phone sucks and my toes feel like they are going to freeze off, so I'm going to cut this short. I hope everyone had a good weekend! :)

Sent from my iPhone