A senryu is a three-line Japanese poem that's similar to a haiku. Like a haiku, it's unrhymed and based on human nature. Lines one and three are five syllables, and the second line is seven syllables. However, a senryu is usually satirical or ironic.
Baby It's Cold... Err Actually Kinda Hot... Outside
Summer rays beam down
As I search through my dresser
For my fuzzy socks.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Day 94: Stop. Focus. Click... On Ridiculousness, Part II
Welcome to a second edition of "Ridiculous," which is my place to vent about the ridiculousness of this world. (Read about the first Ridiculous here.)
It's Sept. 2. As in nearly four MONTHS until Christmas, and they have the Christmas decorations out. R
SEPT-ember. Ridiculous.
Riding the train at night never ceases to be entertaining. However, at times it's just irritating. Like this guy who was sprawled out on this girl's lap for nearly a half an hour with his legs resting on the railing while she squeezed and popped stuff out of his face.
They were sitting next to this guy who was lying down with his legs stretched out into the luggage portion of the second floor of the train, snoring. Ugh, disgusting and obnoxious. Yet another reason to catch something other than the last train to the suburbs out of the city. Ridiculous.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Day 93: Remember the Time... I Sunbathed Topless Incorrectly
Remember the time that I apparently didn't sunbathe correctly on a topless beach?
I know - how can you do this wrong? You just take your top off and lay out in the sun, right? I guess you could do it incorrectly if you took off your bottoms because you thought it was a bottomless beach instead of a topless beach, but it looks like I did it right, doesn't it?
But no, apparently I didn't sunbathe as the native Europeans do when I was on this beach in Nice, France, according to Brent.
What I did was put down my towel, sat on it, took off my top, put on sunscreen, and then relaxed with my magazine.
I know - how can you do this wrong? You just take your top off and lay out in the sun, right? I guess you could do it incorrectly if you took off your bottoms because you thought it was a bottomless beach instead of a topless beach, but it looks like I did it right, doesn't it?
But no, apparently I didn't sunbathe as the native Europeans do when I was on this beach in Nice, France, according to Brent.What I did was put down my towel, sat on it, took off my top, put on sunscreen, and then relaxed with my magazine.
What I was supposed to do - according to Brent, who spent hours watching topless European women on the beach, so I guess he would know - was act somewhat modest and take off my top while lying on my stomach. Then, after 15 minutes, I was supposed to nonchalantly roll over to get some sun on the girls.
But hey, I was in France on vacation, and I'm sure no one noticed. And if they did, I'm sure they appreciated the fact that I didn't worry about modesty. That or roll their eyes and say something along the lines of, "Ugh. Stupid American tourist."
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Day 92: If I Ruled Lichtenstein... Carrots Would Taste Like French Fries
It's hard to eat right and maintain a healthy weight when there are so many delicious calorie-laden options out there. While some healthy foods are quite good, no one ever says that their favorite food is broccoli or salad.
No, people point to French fries, chocolate, pizza, and tacos as their favorite foods. Yes they're unhealthy when eaten all the time* or in large quantities, but are fine in moderation. The only problem is once you take one bite of a grease-dripping slice of pepperoni pizza, you only want more.
*I could eat pizza every day for every meal if my health and waistline wouldn't suffer.
No, people point to French fries, chocolate, pizza, and tacos as their favorite foods. Yes they're unhealthy when eaten all the time* or in large quantities, but are fine in moderation. The only problem is once you take one bite of a grease-dripping slice of pepperoni pizza, you only want more.
*I could eat pizza every day for every meal if my health and waistline wouldn't suffer.
In Lichtenstein, our brilliant scientists have developed a way to make healthy foods to taste exactly like unhealthy foods without any harmful chemicals. I could tell you about all the science behind this technology, but I don't want to bore you.
Therefore, when you eat a carrot, you'll still be eating a carrot, but it will taste like a French fry. Or when you're eating a slim slice of whole wheat toast, it will taste like a donut. And the list goes on and on.
You can still eat carrots that taste like carrots or toast that tastes like toast, of course, but there will always the option to buy their French fry/donut-flavored counterparts that are delicious AND healthy! It's win/win, which is what Lichtenstein is all about.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Day 91: What Did Batman Say To Robin... About The Dominant Species
Holy squishy animals Batman!
I love all things squishy stress ball-related. So I have a lot of them at my desk at work, and by a lot I mean about 15. They range from fruit to animals to sports balls. Some are meant for their actual purpose of relieving stress, but most are there because I think they're fun and adorable.
And I like to see the way other people interact with them, which is why I display my animal stress balls on the ledge of my cube walls - a rhino, bear, bull, and pig. Whenever anyone comes over to talk to me, they inevitably either pick one up and absentmindedly play with it or rearrange the animals into a parade or couples with their noses touching.
(I'd much prefer that they play with the animals instead of a few of them moving every. single. thing. in my cube over one inch to the right every day for the last three days, confusing the hell out of me until I was like "Wait a minute... why is my computer so far over?" to which my cube neighbors replied, "Oh thank God you noticed. Moving everything every day for the past three days was getting tedious." I have to give them props, though. Well done Heather and Erin.)
This, however, took my squishy toys to a new level. This is how I found them when I came back from my meeting, and lasted as long as I didn't move at all at my desk, which was about 1.3 seconds.
So my question is, obviously, "What the heck is going on here?"
This whole thing started with the black bear. He was talking shit to the bull about how the lions may be king of the jungle, but bears are king of the world because they can rip a human in half and don't need any tools to fish. To prove his point, he climbed atop a globe.
The bull wasn't impressed. So the bear started going on about how humans may think pigs are the smartest animals, but it's truly the bears because they coax fish to come to them for meals. Plus, the smartest humans who can survive in the wilderness are named after their species (Bear Grylls, for example). To prove this point, he balanced an over-sized brain on his back.
But the bull still wasn't impressed. So the bear went even further and started boasting about how bears are the strongest species because they can knock down tall trees by simply repeatedly pushing on them. And to further emphasize this fact, he hauled a small car and balanced it atop the huge brain.
And as he's smugly bragging about how bears are the smartest, strongest, species in the world, the bull simply trots over and this photo is snapped just as the bull is about the nudge the bear so he loses his balance and the car topples onto him.
"Smarter my ass," the bull says as the bear looks up at him dazed from beneath the car. "If only I were stronger. Than I could help get that car off of you."
Oh, and nearby there was also a female rhino balancing on a golf ball to prove that rhinos are more athletic than pigs, but the male pig didn't give a crap about who was more athletic because he was smart enough to know that a first kiss is so much better when it's unexpected.
I love all things squishy stress ball-related. So I have a lot of them at my desk at work, and by a lot I mean about 15. They range from fruit to animals to sports balls. Some are meant for their actual purpose of relieving stress, but most are there because I think they're fun and adorable.
And I like to see the way other people interact with them, which is why I display my animal stress balls on the ledge of my cube walls - a rhino, bear, bull, and pig. Whenever anyone comes over to talk to me, they inevitably either pick one up and absentmindedly play with it or rearrange the animals into a parade or couples with their noses touching.
(I'd much prefer that they play with the animals instead of a few of them moving every. single. thing. in my cube over one inch to the right every day for the last three days, confusing the hell out of me until I was like "Wait a minute... why is my computer so far over?" to which my cube neighbors replied, "Oh thank God you noticed. Moving everything every day for the past three days was getting tedious." I have to give them props, though. Well done Heather and Erin.)
This, however, took my squishy toys to a new level. This is how I found them when I came back from my meeting, and lasted as long as I didn't move at all at my desk, which was about 1.3 seconds.
So my question is, obviously, "What the heck is going on here?"
This whole thing started with the black bear. He was talking shit to the bull about how the lions may be king of the jungle, but bears are king of the world because they can rip a human in half and don't need any tools to fish. To prove his point, he climbed atop a globe.
The bull wasn't impressed. So the bear started going on about how humans may think pigs are the smartest animals, but it's truly the bears because they coax fish to come to them for meals. Plus, the smartest humans who can survive in the wilderness are named after their species (Bear Grylls, for example). To prove this point, he balanced an over-sized brain on his back.
But the bull still wasn't impressed. So the bear went even further and started boasting about how bears are the strongest species because they can knock down tall trees by simply repeatedly pushing on them. And to further emphasize this fact, he hauled a small car and balanced it atop the huge brain.
And as he's smugly bragging about how bears are the smartest, strongest, species in the world, the bull simply trots over and this photo is snapped just as the bull is about the nudge the bear so he loses his balance and the car topples onto him.
"Smarter my ass," the bull says as the bear looks up at him dazed from beneath the car. "If only I were stronger. Than I could help get that car off of you."
Oh, and nearby there was also a female rhino balancing on a golf ball to prove that rhinos are more athletic than pigs, but the male pig didn't give a crap about who was more athletic because he was smart enough to know that a first kiss is so much better when it's unexpected.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Day 90: Never Have I Ever... Gone to Cosmetology School, So Why Are You Letting Me Go Near Your Head With Scissors?
"Seriously, are you mistaking me for Brittany or something?" I ask Brent as he's settling into a chair he put in the kitchen atop the wooden floor. Near him on the counter is a brand-new haircutting kit, complete with an electric trimmer.
"I trust you," he said, handing me the trimmer. "I'll walk you through it step by step. You just have to do a number four on the top and fade it to a number one in the back."
"What's a number four?" I asked him, eying the detachable combs, two of which were labeled right and left. "Do you use these based on whether you're right- or left-handed?"
My sister was the one who went to cosmetology school. She's the one who attended classes to learn how to cut hair. The most I've ever done is trim my sister's hair about a quarter of an inch when we were kids.
But since moving to Illinois, Brent has had one horrific haircut. He came home from this haircut with uneven hair on top, an uneven shaved line in the back, one sideburn, and a cut on his head. His barber was apparently blind.
The second haircut he went to cost him more than he was used to paying in midtown Manhattan, and the back of his head looked like a piece of notebook paper with all the lines in the back.
So asking someone with exactly no experience to cut your hair from now because you're sick of bad haircuts seemed like the obvious choice. Oh boy.
Never have I ever cut a guy's hair, and I most certainly have never used those electric clipper things. I told Brent that I'd be happy to try and cut his hair after Brittany showed me how to do it step by step if I felt comfortable doing so.
He promptly ignored that request and told me he was ready. So I took a chip clip and pinned an old towel around his neck, stuck my tongue out of the corner of my mouth, and followed the instruction manual on "How to Cut Hair."
Brent kept telling me I had to keep the clippers flush with his head, but I was so scared of either cutting him or cutting the hair too close, I kept lifting it higher than it was supposed to go and asking him if I was cutting too much. Cutting around the ears was nerve-wracking. And making the hair fade from a number four to a one seamlessly in the back took awhile. And I felt like I had to brush the blades free of hair after every pass.
But when I was done, I have to admit that it looked better than either of his Illinois haircuts. Sure, as the day went on, I noticed that I could have faded the hair a bit better on the left side and trimmed the sideburns a bit more, but I was quite proud of myself. All in all, it just looked like he got a normal haircut. Well, normal for somewhere other than Illinois.
"I trust you," he said, handing me the trimmer. "I'll walk you through it step by step. You just have to do a number four on the top and fade it to a number one in the back."
"What's a number four?" I asked him, eying the detachable combs, two of which were labeled right and left. "Do you use these based on whether you're right- or left-handed?"
My sister was the one who went to cosmetology school. She's the one who attended classes to learn how to cut hair. The most I've ever done is trim my sister's hair about a quarter of an inch when we were kids.
But since moving to Illinois, Brent has had one horrific haircut. He came home from this haircut with uneven hair on top, an uneven shaved line in the back, one sideburn, and a cut on his head. His barber was apparently blind.
The second haircut he went to cost him more than he was used to paying in midtown Manhattan, and the back of his head looked like a piece of notebook paper with all the lines in the back.
So asking someone with exactly no experience to cut your hair from now because you're sick of bad haircuts seemed like the obvious choice. Oh boy.
Never have I ever cut a guy's hair, and I most certainly have never used those electric clipper things. I told Brent that I'd be happy to try and cut his hair after Brittany showed me how to do it step by step if I felt comfortable doing so.
He promptly ignored that request and told me he was ready. So I took a chip clip and pinned an old towel around his neck, stuck my tongue out of the corner of my mouth, and followed the instruction manual on "How to Cut Hair."
Brent kept telling me I had to keep the clippers flush with his head, but I was so scared of either cutting him or cutting the hair too close, I kept lifting it higher than it was supposed to go and asking him if I was cutting too much. Cutting around the ears was nerve-wracking. And making the hair fade from a number four to a one seamlessly in the back took awhile. And I felt like I had to brush the blades free of hair after every pass.
But when I was done, I have to admit that it looked better than either of his Illinois haircuts. Sure, as the day went on, I noticed that I could have faded the hair a bit better on the left side and trimmed the sideburns a bit more, but I was quite proud of myself. All in all, it just looked like he got a normal haircut. Well, normal for somewhere other than Illinois.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)