Cockroach, A Wes Craven Film.

From: Dinsdale [fakeaddress@gmail.com]

To: Dinsdale's Dad [reallyboringaddress@somecompanyi'veneverheardoffrom1996.com]

Subject: Cockroach, A Wes Craven Film


So this morning I had to kill a cockroach. And it was really big and when I sprayed it it fell onto the window sill and I got it in the dustpan but then it started running all over the dustpan and I was screaming and I dropped the dustpan and I was all, "oh god it's trapped under the dustpan and I'm going to have to move it or maybe I could just leave it there until it dies I mean that can't be that long right like cockroaches can't survive without food for that long right and whatever I can just leave it there and avoid the living room for a week I mean who needs living rooms anyway they're totally overrated" except then it started crawling out from under the dustpan like it was some kind of mutant zombie cockroach and so I got it with the brush and somehow got it into the dustpan and then I ran outside screaming and I really hope none of our neighbours witnessed me in my dressing gown looking like a psychopath with crazy eyes screaming "DIE! DIE! DIE!" as I stomped it to death.


I expect a present for this.
 
 
 
Sent from my iPad*
 
 
*Totally lying

No Longer a Cautionary Tale.

Internet, I'm going to be straight with you.  As a kid, I had terribly teeth-brushing habits.  I just Could. Not. Be. Bothered.  I was also (this, I'm sure, will come as a surprise to those who know me) a ridiculously stubborn child.  One of my few memories from early childhood was being sent by my mother to brush my teeth, and being so damn contrary about the whole thing that I pretended for a good five minutes.  Wet the brush, used the toothpaste, ran the water - the whole damn shebang, except of course for the actual brushing part.

(This appalling habit may or may not be the reason I had my first filling aged five.)

Anyway, Internet, obviously I got over it.  As I got older I realized that maybe brushing your teeth was not the Chinese Water Torture I'd apparently thought it was.  Plus, you know, boys don't like girls who can grow penicillin in their mouths.  Floss and I even made an acquaintance, although I'm sorry to say our affair has been frought with difficulties and on-and-off passions: joyous meetings and indifferent partings.  (But seriously, does anyone actually floss twice a day? I AM USUALLY RUNNING LATE, PEOPLE.)

However, the point of this post (I know! There's a point! You totally weren't expecting a point, were you?) is not to disgust you with tales of why I'm lucky to still have all my teeth.  (Well, apart from my wisdom teeth.)  (And those other molars my orthodontist said were in the way.)  (And all my baby teeth, obviously, although they really didn't want to go.)  (You know, maybe I should tell you sometime about the reason I hate dentists.)  (Hint: It has to do with all those missing teeth.)

No, the point of this post is simple: mouthwash!*

Even as I finally got my shit together with brushing and flossing, I could never get the final part of the trifecta right: mouthwash.  Those people in the Listerine ads always look so damn happy to be gargling with that stuff, and I Cannot Figure Out Why.  They are essentially napalming their mouths.  Why are they smiling afterwards?  Is Listerine all part of some weird S&M thing I don't get because I went to Catholic school?

Listerine tastes like I'd imagine the chilli tequila I made some friends shot** tasted.  Which is to say: awful.  Horrific.  Like you have ingested fire, and not in the cool circus fire-eater way.  I have never been able to bring myself to use it, and I think my record for gargling it sits at about ten seconds.  Which, if you're a liberal arts grad like me and thus not good with numbers, is Pretty Far Away from the sixty seconds they recommend.

I'm so bad with mouthwash I even cheated when I had my wisdom teeth out.  The surgeon gave me a bottle of mouthwash (which was totally not Listerine, by the way, but some weird hospital generic stuff with only slightly less napalm).  I was told to gargle with salt water the first few days, then use the mouthwash for two weeks, until the stitches had dissolved.  Quite frankly, Internet, I was FAR more interested in the prescription for tramadol he also gave me, so I didn't really pay much attention.  I think I ended up using the salt water three or four times and the mouthwash maybe once.  It's a miracle I didn't end up as a Cautionary Tale of that girl who didn't follow her surgeon's instructions and her whole jaw rotted off.

But the other day, Internet, I was wasting time at the mall*** and wandered into the grocery store.  And ended up in the dental aisle, trying to figure out if they'd changed the packaging of the uber-fancy I-cost-three-times-as-much-but-do-the-same-thing toothpaste, or if there were in fact two pretentious toothpastes.  And it's then I made a discovery.

Listerine makes a mouthwash for kids!

I know, Internet.  YOU have known this forever; you kind of thought it was obvious.  But you have to understand, I had absolutely no reason to ever look at the mouthwash shelf; all mouthwashes are the urine of the devil, right?  So at some point in the last, oh, decade, they started making mouthwash for kids and I never noticed.  So I continued to only half-assedly commit to oral hygiene.  (Hee, oral! Yes, I'm twelve.)

Obviously, I bought some of this kids' mouthwash, if only to prove to myself that Listerine was torturing innocent children, or something.  And Internet?  It's good!  No napalm or anything!  I still don't last the sixty seconds, but I'm chalking that up to inherent laziness (sixty seconds is a LONG TIME, people).  The point is, I'm finally treating my teeth the way they're supposed to be treated.

Now, all I have to do is overcome my instinct to shot the Listerine.



*YES, that totally is a point, as you will see if you actually read the rest of the post instead of skipping down to the bottom.

**HAHA SUCKERS!

***Sometimes, Internet, I get in my car and then suddenly I'm at the mall.  I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW I'M GETTING THERE.

Stockholming Myself - Day Two

So as is usual with life, I'm writing this right before the deadline.  Thus, it's going to be pretty boring.  Suck it.

(Also? My supervisor emailed me this morning and wants to see me - with the outline of my essay that I haven't even looked at - tomorrow.  I'm working tomorrow.  So that's going to be a fun email to send!)

Anyway, photo time!

Yes, that is my bathroom. The hallway with the full-length mirror was in use.  And yes, that's a toilet behind me.  YOU HAVE ONE TOO, YOU KNOW.

A somewhat lazier outfit today, to reflect the fact I'm supposed to be working.  (Hah!)

Top, Madame Hawke.  Jeans, Abercrombie & Fitch.  Belt, Glassons (because I am poor) (Also: cheap).

Stockholming Myself - Day One

The theory behind Stockholming Myself, something I made up that is composed of absolutely zero science, is that if I take the dreaded full-length body shot picture every single day, I will either notice gradual change from my diet & exercise plan or, failing that, will learn to like what I’ve got based on continual, unrelenting exposure. - Temerity Jane

So one of my favorite bloggers, TJ, has a new project: Stockholming Herself.  And she wants other people to join in.  And because when I am procrastinating doing assignments, absolutely anything sounds like the BEST! IDEA! EVER! I decided to join in.

For me, in addition to the whole "acceptance" thing (which at the moment is, "I'll accept my body when it's 20 pounds lighter"), I'm hoping this will encourage me to put more effort into what I wear.  At the moment I'm really schizophrenic with my wardrobe - it's either "overdressed matron" or "homeless junkie".  I'd like to try to find a balance between those, so I look pulled together, but also age-appropriate.

(Plus, this might mean I actually get dressed on days I don't have to go anywhere!)

And... I've kind of run out of excuses to postpone posting the photo at this point.  Ugh.

You would not believe the number of photos I had to take to find one that wasn't so blurry I looked like I had eight arms.

Most of the other people participating in this project are full of optimistic "I look better in the photo than I

thought!" comments.  I'm going to blame the cheap mirror for the fact I look 10 lbs heavier in the photo than I did when I looked in the bathroom mirror.

Anyway, on to the fun part!  Top, World (several years old). Skirt, David Lawrence.  Shoes, Kors by Michael Kors (also several years old, and also the victim of a number of drunken falls, so, you know, they're a lot less fancy than they sound.)