Swedes

Do not worry, I come bearing awesome england tales.

But they will have to wait.

Today I flew from manchester to marseilles. First of all, there was no way of telling whether or not my dad knew this. Montpellier and marseilles are alliteration kindred. But the catch here is that my bag had to weigh 30 pounds (not 50). In order to orchestrate this miracle, I bought a huge carry-on to put heavy things in. It weighed at least twenty pounds. When I got to the airport, my suitcase was still over. So I had to put more stuff in the carry-on. Not a rolling bag. A shoulder bag. So I check my suitcase and proceed to become a human packmule. The catch HERE is that a carry-on bag can only weigh 15 pounds.

Mine weighed about thirty.

So I avoided security personnel successfully (somehow) and boarded the plane.

But now came the real challenge - putting it in the overhead bins.

I needed to do this with ease and no assistance, lest people know my secret. I was offered assistance, which I declined. I tried to lift it with no success. Then I realized what I had to do - use leverage. So I rested my giant bag on my face and pushed. My face was the closest thing to the bin. It worked. But everyone on the plane either thinks I’m weird or weak. Win win?

When I got back to grau du roi, I was forced into activity without showering or even bringing my stuff inside. One such activity was renting one of those pedal cars that they have at the beach. Called “rosalies” here. I went with the little ones and my aunt to get it. Olivia and sophia were basically the ones who rented it, because I don’t exactly speak rosalie french. I drove and motorcycles tried to run me over. We picked up my stepmom’s parents, who only speak swedish, and let them drive. Our mission was to find my dad and carina. We almost hit three police cars, went the wrong way on many roads, and came close to running over citizens of all ages. All the while, my aunt and I are yelling to hit the brake. Which they do not understand because we are not speaking swedish. As fun as it is to pretend to speak swedish, it is in fact a real language. As we are screaming in fear, they are laughing their heads off and saying things like “hiya hoora svinger dinger!!! Ya”.

Then Olivia spoke English for the first time this whole trip.

“Oh my Goddd!”

Back From England

Babysitting.

“what would you like to destroy first?”

‘a pointless question, since they do not speak english and there is nothing here worth destroying,’ I think to myself as I pour another glass of wine.

An hour of artwork and listening to pop music has passed.

I’m getting a little drunker.

This has led to a seminar on hairbrush singing and an attempt at making a music video.

The video was going pretty well, and they were even beatboxing (spitting everywhere) until they started taking clothes off.

Not that kind of video.

Although on second thought, that is a completely logical conclusion after hearing the words “music video”.

I’d like to shower but there are scissors in the vicinity so I guess not

Back Like Eminem

“au revoir, madame kaka!”

Yup, I’m with the fam. In france.

In case you didn’t know, that means “goodbye ms. Poop!”

Little sisters are chaaarming.

But really it’s not so bad here. Sometimes sophia (the mean and bossy one, 5) will hold my hand and sing songs for me (about poop). Then olivia (8) will ask me when I’m getting married, and I’ll say never, and she thinks I’m an old hag.

But working on my tan amongst half-naked, skin-cancered, saggy-titted old french women IS priceless. Oh and accidentally seeing my dad’s butt as he exits the bathroom and pretending not to. For my sake, not his. 

However, all of this dims when I come upon the miracle of miracles - that grau du roi, a town designed for old drunkards, now has ONE bar with wifi access. Pronounced “weefee”. I guess they realized that even McDonald’s (“MacDo”) was ahead of the game. So, I’m back again, folks.

Today I realized I’ve never blogged about a certain local harrisonburg gem - the medical community. We all make fun of the health center and its shortcomings, but there is even more disappointment and adventure to discover outside of those freecondombasket-adorned doorways.

I’ve had four distinct experiences within this realm.

1.

Emergicare. Or Emergicrap. This place really blows. Never go there. Although their radio ad sounds quite tempting (“the fastest and most reliable medical care available in rockingham county!”), do not be fooled. The last time I was there, I knew what was wrong with me and didn’t need a diagnosis - just a prescription. (Hint: when you find yourself in this situation, just go to the health center and beg for some roids. It is honestly the better route).  I proceeded to wait for not one...not two...but THREE hours for what claims to be the most elite assistance in greater jokeville. Once in the examination room, I waited for another 30 minutes to be seen. Then it took me 5 minutes to be diagnosed and leave with a signature soon to provide me with drugs across the street at cvs (don’t even get me started on them...avoid port republic at all costs). Failcare.

2.

Ah, the dentist. This story is not even about me, but too good to pass up. Enter joe scott, who is having pain after getting teeth pulled. So I drive him to the dentist. And wait. When he gets back in the car, there is an overwhelming aroma of...ferns? “get that shit OUTTA here! What IS that?” ...then I come to find that instead of giving him painkillers, they mashed up some mysterious herbs and shoved them into the crevices that once held teeth. I made fun of him and said he’d smell like an evergreen tree for the rest of his life. I wasn’t that far off - for the next two weeks, joe smelled like a bad camping experience during the yuletide season. Chewing wintergreen gum accentuated it in a pleasant, earthy way. But the infection my car suffered was not worth it. Need I say, wtf harrisonburg? Oh, and I think he got all of this for free. I doubt  they want to advertise their underground drug trafficking via dental work.

3.

One fateful day during a time of desperation, I went back to Emergifail. However, “no physician was on duty”, aka their one doctor was missing. Mysteriously. Probably some dissatisfied customer gagged him or something. Anyways, they kindly recommended me to another local care center. “Colonial Creek Healthcare” or something. So I get directions and head over. I see some houses, but no healthcare. So I hopefully enter a chiropractor’s office. The lady at the front desk informs me that one of those houses was indeed the place I sought. Huh? So I go by the houses again, and sure enough - there lies my diagnosis location. A sign out front tells me that no insurance is accepted. Just a $50 flat rate. Already suspicious, I go inside. I find myself in the lobby. Which is someone’s kitchen. Yeah, refrigerator, baby pictures, dirty dishes, the works. An old woman approaches me, hands me a clipboard, and directs me toward the sitting room. Rocking chairs, quilts, curtains, old people stuff. What? This is someone’s HOUSE. They LIVE here. I fill out my info. The doctor, an older man wearing...jeans, comes to fetch me and invites me to the back room. This is where most people leave and wait for the Emergicare doctor to be rescued or replaced. But for some reason, this voodoo doctor has me transfixed. I follow him. I’m in a regular household office with one of those crinkly paper tables that I have to sit on awkwardly. This guy is the best doctor in the burg. He is a total suspect and probably a reliable source for marijuana or ecstacy, but it always takes him five minutes to know exactly what is wrong with me and write a hefty prescription, complete with refills so I don’t have to come back. And he calls to check on me! Which is, yeah, creepy, but also a little bit awesome. One time I had a yeast infection in my mouth and he knew what it was. Who knows all of this stuff? Which is an entirely separate question from “who the hell gets a yeast infection in their mouth? ...and how?!” well, I’ll leave that to your imagination since I, myself, am at a loss.

4.

This story is too long to put into words, but next time you see me, feel free to ask about the gynecologist.

So if you’re ever bored of the same old begging for antibiotics at jmu’s worst idea, feel free to do some exploring throughout town. Acupuncture, anyone?

Yo

biddiewatch is taking what will probably be a three week break due to european travels to places where a toilet is the height of technology. see you soon!

Bagel Cravings

today i bring you the top three best license plates in greater rockingham county.

1. BTCHPLZ

seen only twice, but definitely a local resident. keep your eyes peeled for this rarity!

2. 

yup...quilt maker.

3. WVFARM

(a cry for help?)

you may have once read a post in which i reviewed 3D chalk, the trippiest toy since lite-brite and rainbow-brite. really, anything with the word brite. 3D chalk is, in fact, awesome.

3D movies, except in the case of theme parks and drug use, are NOT. i say this because some of the worst movies recently manufactured have tried to use awesome 3D technology to lure the unknowing consumer into the depths of regal/amc bankruptcy. i'm talking about beowulf, my bloody valentine, and...

final destination 4.

why? is the only coherent thought i have when i see the preview for this sequel to an originally bad idea. i could probably easily turn this post into a hateblog about sequels in general, but let me stick to FD4 (my use of an acronym does not imply any fondness for the film). it has really gone too far. i understand that horror films are running out of original plots (ex: drag me to hell, whose title is only trounced by the plot basis of a creepy one-eyed woman GETTING DENIED FOR A LOAN, and subsequently, well, dragging people to hell...). BUT. i would at least appreciate a change in title, or an add-on such as "final destination four: we've gone too far again."

i'll let this whole thing slide if they throw in a commemorative holographic slurpee cup, but i don't envision this movie producing a lot of revenue.

what disturbs me is that decent movies are starting to jump on this 3D bandwagon, when their quality alone is enough. "Up" is probably the best film i've seen in theaters since lord of the rings. but it is featured in 3D in select places. unnecessary and sad. i'm sure the creators of up were not interested in viewing the aforementioned crapgore movies, but i'm surprised they didn't do ay research on the success of this. and by success, i of course mean failure. i understand how this marketing technique is kid-friendly. but even as a child, the only 3D experience i ever really enjoyed was the muppets one at some theme park. granted, the other one i saw was about the deep sea and sharks at an aquarium and a tv show that i didn't understand (remember those good old "find some glasses in a cereal box and watch at 8 pm/7 central!" days? ...well, they were brief.). but still. the most recent 3D kid's film i can think of is "shark boy and lava girl".

just take a moment to think about the quality of that film.

...exactly.

although whats-his-face did grow up to have a half-naked career in the limelight of twilight's disgusting success. (it beat dark night for best film?!?! get it together, mtv.)

but what's worse is that the next disney-pixar release, "g-force", is ONLY available in 3D as far as i can tell.

and guess what?

it doesn't look that funny or awesome.

and it's about rodents.

Huts and Such

pictures of the week:

seen at a funeral. why go formal when you can wear an appropriately stylish leather vest with chain closures?

seen in my front yard. considering the only people that live in my house are cats, i'm not surprised that it's gone completely wild. grass growing in the corners, families of assorted wooden creatures, and hunting remnants really make me feel at home.

i've always found that my ikea shopping experience is never complete without the sighting of a red, white and blue mustache.

that really must have taken some effort.

so i haven't written in a while. this means that i have way too much material to put into one entry. so i will leave you with this charming tale before i take a 24-hour break.

needed to get my passport renewed, which is something i should have done roughly six months ago. i like to live on the edge. it would have expired while i was abroad, an adventure that was somewhat tempting.

but my friends and family did not see my procrastination in the same light, so i was peer-pressured into responsible action.

went to the county courthouse in my gym clothes and booty shorts. the sign on the door said "do not enter if not dressed appropriately". i felt pretty professional, so i swaggered on in.

about to go through metal detector. but the security guard asked for my purse. i wasn't carrying one. i double-checked. then i held up my wallet, wordlessly, and looked at him. he said "please, may i have your purse?"

my wallet?

my wallet has receipts hanging out of it. and some membership cards to books-a-million. not even any money, definitely nothing dangerous or exciting. but he rifled through it for five minutes, and now knows how much i spent at walmart the day before and maybe that i bought some lunchmeat.

nosy.

i go in. avoid the good-looking male receptionist. because i'm sweaty. grab some forms, fill em out. then i find out i need my checkbook.

i walk back to my car three blocks in pouring rain to get the stupid thing.

i return and hand the lady some crumpled papers. she says it'll take about six weeks.

"oh haha, no, i want to expedite it."

seemed perfectly logical.

"oh we don't do that here."

YOU ARE THE PASSPORT OFFICE.

?!

she hands me a small piece of white paper that says "post office" on it and a phone number. no address. nothing. i call and find out they close in 30 minutes and that they are 30 minutes away. aka 3:30. i buy a gps app for my phone and type in the addy and start some reckless driving.

i see a huge post office. feeling home free, despite my gps politely telling me that i was not in the right place ("make the next available u-turn"), i go on in and wait in line. it's 3:26. 

wrong post office.

at least i know the gps works.

so i get back on the road with 4 minutes to go.

gps says i've reached my destination.

which turns out to be a small wooden hut with a broken post office sign and no parking. i park by the dumpster. which was really a small trashcan. hoping not to get towed.

i run inside. 3:31. i stand at the desk while the lady gets off the phone. i'm feeling pretty good right now, even though this adventure was pretty disappointing and a complete and utter waste of time.

the lady comes up, i tell her confidently that i want to expedite my passport.

she apologizes for being a bit shaky due to the phone conversation she just had.

i, being the considerate human being that i am, ask if she is okay?

NO. I HAVE CANCER!!!!!!!!!!

i make a noise that sounds like i was punched in the stomach, and then drool a bit. i selfishly worry she might file my paperwork wrong, and then just stand there awkwardly while she puts stamps all over things.

this situation was not ideal.

i left as soon as i could and mumbled god bless.

i drove home in silence and got my passport a week later.

man. cancer really sucks. it even sucks when you don't have it, but someone shouts in your face that they do. yikes and a half.

Twitter is Stupid

More things that are real that shouldn’t be:

I bring you Juicy Juice Brain Development.

http://www.juicyjuice.com/Products/Brain-Development.aspx

"Her brain will triple in size by the time she's two."

a. ?!?!?!

b. apparently only works on female babies...

i sense sexism.

c. THIS IS JUST NOT OKAY. i do not want my child to have an unusually large brain. she will look deformed and may or may not explode at an early age. where are the warnings for this product?

d. what happened to the days where i at LEAST felt safe around juicy juice...is nothing sacred?

e. i seem to remember the wrinkliness of your brain being more important than the size. but i could have fabricated that years ago.

So, I’m channel surfing during commercial break and stop on a CW drama crap-type show.  I’m not really paying attention until all of a sudden they look really scared.  Pan to the elevator.  THERE IS A DEMON INSIDE IT.  A really fake looking, angry demon.  It is tearing apart the elevator.  I am laughing too hard to hear the dialogue, so I’m still really confused.  And impressed.  Because the demon is now climbing up the elevator shaft.  But I wonder...why was he ignoring the two very easy targets only a hallway away?

I had to watch Glee, so I dunno what else happened.  But that’s two solid minutes of quality television for my day.

And now, picture of the week:

I always find that the best place to floss is in the middle of the street.

What I meant is that I always find floss on the middle of the street.

Josh just walked in. “Can I use your oven?”

Hello to you, too.

So I dropped my french class, to popular acclaim and picked up health. Online. So far everything in the syllabus is elsewhere contradicted, so I never know what I’m supposed to be doing. But all of this is entirely made up for by the textbook.

Let me give you a little taste, via the first sentence:

“Interested in improving your health? Concerned about the water you drink, the food you eat, or catching SARS?”

...

Why yes, I am VERY concerned.

My other class is equal mix of dissatisfaction and moments-that-are-worth-it.

The good:

My teacher is rather old and somewhat senile.  He thinks that a “modern-day” example of an inductive reasoning is about pokemon cards.  He was really happy about it.

Also, our syllabus is about “reaching for our dreams, and achieving new goals”. Via math. Which is impossible.

The bad:

Everything we do is boring beyond all get-out.

The ugly:

My teacher has absolutely no idea what he is doing.  One of the most clueless teachers I have ever had.  Today we spent 40 minutes while he dug himself into a hole with an easy problem.  We had to take a break so that he could try to figure it out...again.  I stayed after class to try to understand a hw problem that made no sense AND was based off of something we’ve never learned.  He did not know the answer and spent fifteen minutes reading MY textbook trying to understand any part of what was going on.

My question is: How am I supposed to pass any test? Also, why should I even pass if my teacher can’t do any of these problems? We'll find out tomorrow...

ps - i apologize for the use of capitalization in this post. it's not really my style, but i typed this in word last night...

nerd alert.