The Most Important Date in the History of Your Being

Happy 100th Deeyanher Land!!!

Thank-you, oh gosh, thank-you. I'm so flattered.

Happy 22nd birthday!!!!

Aw shucks, you remember everything. Really, thank-you. You are tooo much.

Happy awkward silence!--

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...

...Apparently I'm supposed to make a speech here? Let's see, what topic is as explosive as these two historical landmarks? Ah yes, eggs. I have an idea. Let's make January 31st, 2004, a triply important day with the first installment of:

Cookin' Tips from Deeyanher's Kitchen

TIP #1 - Egg Boilin'
We all know that it would take an idiot not to know how to boil an egg, right? I mean, there are only three ingredients--egg, water, and pot--four, if you count the stove, and there are only limited combinations of things you can do with these three/four ingredients. Only one produces a hard boiled egg, and it's not hard to figure out which one. Sure, you could use the stove to heat a pot of water big enough to take a bath in, and you could eat the egg raw, straight out of the shell, while taking the bath, but you obviously would be missing the point of this cooking exercise and should consider having the problem-solving portion of your brain examined by a brainologist. So it would have been really stupid for me to have looked up "how to boil an egg" in a cookbook a few days ago, wouldn't it?

The answer is NO because there's one ingredient I forgot to consider, and that ingredient is time. Does it take five minutes to boil an egg? Does it take thirty-five minutes? Does it take just one? The answer to all of these questions is also NO, especially for the lower numbers.

I don't remember how long I boiled my two eggs for, but I know it wasn't long enough. When I opened one of the eggs up, it was bright yellow and squishy in the center. Naturally I assumed the center of the other egg was in the same condition. How was I to remedy this problem? I had already peeled the two eggs and cut one of them. Well, NOT WITH THE MICROWAVE should have been my first guess.

Unfortunately it wasn't, so I opted for the microwave, a potentially hazardous decision. Would you like to know how eggs handle being microwaved? Yes, yes you would, if for no other reason than to prevent future injury.

I put the two partially boiled eggs on a fine China, ahem, paper plate, one dissected into two equal pieces, the other peeled but uncut, and these were the makings of a beautiful science experiment. I inserted the plate into the test environment (microwave) and precisely set the cooking time at 1 minute and 11 seconds, start. Beep.

I turned my back to the microwave, a good move on my part (since I don't like face lacerations), and I started cleaning up some dishes. Suddenly, my body was shaken by the deep thud of a sonic boom. The high speed prickings of egg shrapnels into hard surfaces quickly followed the explosion. I rushed over to the microwave and turned it off (even though most of the damage had already been done), not knowing that another silent bomb still lay there, counting down the seconds.

I was astounded by the mess I pulled out on the plate. It was only the open egg that had splattered its yellow contents about the microwave. The white parts sat there completely unharmed, as if they never even knew they housed a yellow part. How peculiar, I thought. Only the yellow part of a cut egg explodes upon microwavization. The uncut and unexploded white orb of an uncut egg still stared up at me, a little deprived of attention, but construing its master plan to get back at me for sending high energy waves through it at 3x10^10 cycles per second (30000000000 Hz).

So why, based on what I saw happen to the halved egg, did I decide to slice the other uncut egg, this shiny moist oval with very agitated insides, in half as well? I believe I have already established that I was not thinking that day, seeing as how I did not bother to look up how long it takes to boil an egg, so that is my excuse. Also, I seem to have a knack for making things explode.

I picked up a metal knife and slipped it through the fattest part of the egg. "BAM!" Another mini-explosion. I could have lost my hand.

So what have we learned from today's lesson, children? Is it:

a) Don't eat raw eggs.
b) Don't put eggs in the microwave, unless you like explosions, or
c) Don't use eating utensils on eggs?

If you guessed (b), then you correctly figured out today's magical Cookin' Tip from Deeyanher's Kitchen.

All birthday presents can be forwarded directly to my apartment door.

You Whine Too Much.

"Audrey, I am feeling hurt and betrayed. You don't write as much anymore."

There there, sissy pants. I am merely holding out for a birthday blow-out extravaganza coming up on the 31st, but after that I will resume maintenance on my weekly quota.

"Audrey, I am worried about the smelly young man who is fixing the ceiling in your bedroom."

Meeeee too.

"Audrey, is there life after death?"

You are very annoying.


Tomorrow is Old Dude's birthday, and I have no idea what to get him. If anyone has any suggestions, please transmit them to me. You know, like AIDS. Or in Spanish, like SIDA.

He is turning 23, and next Saturday I'll turn 22, so for a brief eight day period, there will be two years between us. Mr. Reganomix also has a birthday coming up, if I am not mistaken, and if I am not mistaken, it's the day before mine, if I am not mistaken. That means that for a beautiful 24 hour period, there will be two years separating us as well. I hope that Old Dude and Reganomix do not decide to form a club against people who are two years younger than them during this time.

I must purchase yet another text book now because I am made out of money.

That's me smelling my fat stack beside my sister/daughter/aunt.
Ain't nothin' wrong with some inbreeding.

Wow, You're Teeth Are So... Gooolden.

Here is the thing about bug bombs. People set them off in their houses and then run away screaming to avoid having their flesh eaten off. Everything living in their house dies, and then two hours later, the people come back to live in that house much happier with its condition now than before they filled it with poison.

Completely unrelated, I've decided to take summer school. Booo! Hiss! Yes yes, I was all excited this past summer when I realized that I would be able to graduate in the spring, but it's not worth having my brain implode to take this many terrible classes. We'll blame it on the damn language requirement.

It feels like my teeth are wearing sweaters. I guess it's time for the weekly brushing. According to my nephew, if you don't brush your teeth each night before you go to bed, your teeth become a lovely shade of golden. Some people say yellow, he says golden. A little embellisher in training, I suppose.

You know what we haven't had in a while? Clip Art. Here is a stuffed deer with a real deer in the background for your viewing pleasure:



I wonder how long the photographer had to wait, pointing that heavy camera at the stuffed deer, before a real deer wandered into sight. I tried it this afternoon with my sock monkey, but a real monkey never showed up, and my arms got really tired, so I gave up. Wouldn't you know a real monkey went running down the street the second I put my camera up? No, you wouldn't know cause it didn't happen.

Mother Fuckers

I have spoken of my upstairs neighbors and their affinity for drumming. I have discussed their probable use of three-legged race as a means of traveling from one end of their apartment to the other, and back. I have even compared them to the cast of Stomp. I'm sure that I am not the first person to offer such complaints; upstairs neighbors are loud, annoying pains in the ass. However, I win when it comes to having the All-Time Worst Neighbors in the Whole Goddamn World.

Last night I was trying to fall asleep early because classes started early this morning. My upstairs neighbors had other plans. It was about 1:00 in the morning, and rather than sleep or perform some quiet activity, they decided to build an ark, or something along the lines of that, judging by the various power tools I heard buzzing and dropping to the floor.

Then my ceiling caved in--as in I used to have a ceiling, and now I have a double floor.

I may exaggerate about some things, but this proves that my neighbors really are capable of shaking the house down. They probably have a gant chart with the dates marked off for the destruction of certain parts of the house. The first seven months were for loosening up the century-old apartment building, and starting last night my bedroom ceiling became the first piece on their chart to actually be knocked down--January 13th, mark Audrey's bedroom ceiling off the list. The plumbing is probably next.

Yeah right, they're too stupid to understand the abstract idea of time on paper. There is no gant chart; they're just a bunch of ignorant monkeys who chose the apartment above me for their playpen.

When I threw on my coat, stomped up the outside stairs, and banged on their door with the intent of letting out a semester's worth of pent-up anger toward their disregard for other human beings with a new injection of sudden outrage over my ceiling, two of them slowly pulled the door open with the dull, open-mouthed stares of potheads. This weak beginning did not dampen my resolve to chew their fists off.

"WHAT THE *&%#$@! ARE YOU DOING!?!" I croaked out, as if my non-existent bawls had just been Judo-chopped.

"Uh," one of them pulled from their vast vocabulary, "There was a pole."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. A pole! Okay, well never mind. I didn't know there was a pole involved. I'll just let you two get back to your POLE REMOVAL!!!"

Alright, I didn't say those words exactly, but the real ending is not so exciting. I simply gave the young whippersnappers a stern remindin' that some of us old foagies have 8:00 classes and the such. What's that? Why yes, there probably is only a one year difference in our ages. Mental capacity, on the other hand, is a different story.

After that I went back down to my dilapidated, danger-zone, shattered plaster, asbestos-filled, construction site room, where I tried to fall asleep to the sounds of their soft floor-drumming. Normally I would complain about their floor-drumming, even this new softer version, but not last night because with the broken ceiling, each one of their light tappity-taps sent fairy dust delicately floating down upon me. In such living conditions I can't help but feel like a princess.

Do You Like That Sweet Soul Music?

I love writing about retarded TV and radio commercials on here because commercials are so easy to make fun of, and I have no talent. Today's fleecing will be performed on an ad for an oldies radio station played on that same oldies radio station. (Apparently if people are listening to a station, they need to hear advertisements for it so that they will go out and listen to that station.)

The commercial is short and sweet. The male announcer's overly rich voice sings, "Do you remember pretending like you were smoking on cold days when you could see your breath? Do you remember walking barefoot on the carpet and stepping on dried pine needles from last month's Christmas tree? Then Magic 105.5 is for you."

Here is my translation: "Do you remember pretending to take drugs when you were underage? Do you remember stepping on sharp things? Then Magic 105.5 is for you." How do these two "memories" relate to being a kid fifty million years ago? Beats me.

As for Big Fish, which I mentioned going to see in the last entry, I thought it was very good. Go out and watch it. Just don't listen to any oldies station on your way to the movie theater.

Skiing

Holy moly oly, I want to go skiing again. It was totally tubular. We went to Perfect North, and it totally kicks Paoli Peak's aaaassssss. Next year I'm getting a season pass or bust.

I'm fixin' to go see the new Tim Burton movie Big Fish. I think it looks interesting.
Yes, fixin' to.

T Plus

I am going skiing in T minus two hours, and you are not.

Body Soil

There's this commercial on TV right now that I hate/love. It's for Clorox Bleach, and as the guy on it takes a nine foot leap into the air toward his bed, Superman arms extended, the narrator freezes him and says, "Stop! Next time you dive [do acrobats] into your bed, think about what you might be diving into. If you didn't wash your sheets with Clorox Bleach, you might be diving into body soil." And here comes my second favorite part of the commercial: The surface of his bed suddenly turns into bubbling mud! Aaaah! Body soil. Aaaah! If my "body soil" looked like that, then I'd be using something a little stronger on my sheets than Clorox Bleach, like fire.

So what is my first favorite part of the commercial? Well, under the bed of icky globby bubbling mud that has obviously been magnified 500 times so that only two mud bubbles take up the entire surface of the bed, it says "Dramatization." Whew! There's a load off my back--literally! Ha ha ha ha ha!! Ha ha ha ha ha!! Ha ha ha ha ha!!

Nag Nag Nag

I threw out two tons of old school work and bills and other random shit from my closet and backpack yesterday, and I realized that college is pointless. Reading over my old assignments, I discovered that I have just as little of an idea what they are about now as I did then. The only thing I have really learned from college is how to make myself endure countless hours of torture--like, for example, waking up at six-thirty repeatedly or covering a cheat sheet in tiny physics and calculus formulas that have no meaning to me. All a degree says is, "I will be a puppet for you," with a small print disclaimer at the bottom that reads, "...as long as you pay me at least 40k."

I get kind of freaked out when I have a break from school. I was thinking I could lay around and relax, maybe watch some movies (even though there are none I want to see), but instead that little clock-watching mechanism college created in the back of my mind keeps jumping out every three minutes to ask if I've accomplished a whole long list of things that don't have to be done for a while. I'll be eating potato chips and scratching my butt and wiping my greasy fingers all over someone else's couch, and then that little voice will pop up like an alarm clock and scream in my ear, "Did you get those grad school recommendations!@?" Yikes, back off. I'll get to it. "Did you wash the dishes from this morning!@?" Jesus, the last pile sat for two months; I don't really think two hours will make too much of a difference on the mold count in that room. "Did you turn in your degree requirements and change your schedule and find out when the tutor meeting is!@?" FUCK YOU, VOICE IN MY HEAD!

On less of a multiple personalities note, I think I'm going to make a quilt today with 60 and 30 degree triangles out of mismatched fabrics from old clothes and crap like that. OR, maybe I'll get the fabric cut out and say, "This is boring," and arrange it in a neat little pile on the kitchen table where it will sit for the next two months and add another item to the list of things that voice in the back of my head can nag me about.

Happy R-r-r-r-r-New Year!

It's a little overdue, but I thought I'd give a list of all the things that made 2003 sthuper for me. Here they are in order:

January - Breaking a lease from a second-story apartment to move during a snow storm and saying, "Just hand the foosball table to me over the rail of the balcony!"
February - Busting my forehead on a bathroom mirror while observing just how well-lit it was
March - Writing the beginnings of a book in Mircrosoft Works
April - Leaving chocolate Easter eggs on the stove beside an open window in the reach of a thieving squirrel who owned very muddy feet and a load of poop
May - Cooking on the burner of the stove where said squirrel left its load of poop
June - Renting an apartment with drummers as upstairs neighbors and homeless heaven below from an ex-crack dealer with a fifteen page lease
July - Continuing a conversation at Shakespeare in the Park with, "...EAT HER PLACENTA" before realizing that everyone had gone silent for the National Anthem
August - Squeezing a light bulb out of a slightly too small ceiling fan light cover and thinking I could squeeze one back in = glass in skin
September - Asking myself, "Eh, how much trouble can a few fleas cause?" instead of bug-bombing the house RIGHT AWAY
October - Avoiding an entire side of my room for two days so as not to be attacked by a multi-colored cricket which had apparently passed away
November - Cursing the dark recesses of my kitchen at night for five months before finding a perfectly visible lamp above the sink
December - "Fixing" the falling shower curtain while taking a shower

Happy 2004!
Oh yeah, I bought a cd burner today.

It's Like This

I babysat my 5-year-old nephew all day for four out of five days this week, earning a bitchin’ $30, and I learned a lot of things about the world from him that I did not previously know.

For example, there are two categories of people in this world: Us, and Pirates. He has an uncle who drives a boat, but that uncle is not a pirate. Old cars were driven in the year One Hundred and Fifty. When he is my age, I'll be oooooold, like probably one hundred. When playing Crazy Eights, the dealer gets to look at each card and decipher who gets it, unless the dealer is me. Godzilla was a cross between a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a mutant lizard who encountered some green ooze in the sewer. And finally, pretty soon all of us will die and be dead.

These are the workings of the world.