Slow it down buddy!

Eating contests, in general, tend to really freak me out. Perhaps it was the milk chugging contest on the Real World Road Rules Challenge I saw as a preteen that really turned me away from such activities. The thought of ingesting 25 hotdogs to prove personal worth is a little far-fetched and puzzling, but maybe that's just me.  The world record to date is 59 franks in 12 minutes, which is held by Joey Chestnutt of San Jose. This astounding feat was accomplished at the Southwest Regional Hot Dog Eating Championship in 2007. Who knew that competitive eating contests had such esteemed titles? Southwest Regional? Does this mean only residents of the southwest region can participate? I never knew of such exclusivity.

Another question, at what point do you decide that you will begin training to win hot dog eating contests? Is it like running a marathon? Slowly working up from 20 to 30 to 40 dogs as the big day nears?  I guarantee Joey is an all-star at playing Chubby Bunny, [which is an event that will most definitely be included in me and my roommates' summer field day games.]

Side note: If you're in Austin this summer..get excited. We're talking potato sack races, egg on a spoon,and 3-legged races. With booze. 

Truth Behind the Mask

There is probably a general consensus among most of us about clowns, but after seeing one in broad daylight at a local Starbucks, I wanted to devote some time taking a closer look in to a very confusing profession. Last Saturday morning, I was peacefully sipping on a skinny vanilla latte when in he walked. Painted face, red nose, polka-dotted pants, the whole enchilada. Granted, an odd feeling usually accompanies seeing people in costume out of their usual work-environment (ie: Mall Santa in grocery store), but there was something especially creepy about this sighting. I find myself struggling to pinpoint where such discomfort comes from. What is it about these seemingly cheerful characters that gives us goose bumps? The best conclusion I have reached is somewhere between the domestic animal abuse in Airbud and the fact that no one REALLY knows who’s under that mask…

Side note on photo: Regretfully, at age 10, I agreed to be transformed in to a clown in front of my 5th grade class. My second grade teacher, aka Giggles, occasionally posed as one at various school events and birthday parties and chose me as her subject. Weird.

Wishing you a merry-achi May 5th.

In light of Cinco de Mayo tomorrow, I would just like to express my love for Mariachi bands. Really though, who doesn't love a flock of jolly spaniards?...A united band of middle-aged men wearing oversized matching bow ties? Forget Danity Kane..this is what I like to call showstoppin.

Cheers to an underrated holiday! 

Rest Easy

Whenever Cristina and I are on our flights back to San Diego, one of our favorite activities is looking through the infamous SkyMall magazine. For those of you unfamiliar with this publication, it is a catalog that consists of overpriced and useless items that you have thoughts of really wanting, but never actually buy. We're talking everything from time-sensitive cat feeders to lawn gnomes and one piece footed pajamas [for adults] . I'm almost positive SkyMall featured the Snuggie before making its big debut in the infomercial world. 

Anyways, I came across one of my all-time favorites the other week, which is definitely blog-worthy... I'd like to introduce to you the SkyRest.

Ok so, first I'd like to applaud the SkyRest makers for excellent ad placement. Talk about relevant receptivity! But really, has anyone ever seen someone with this on a plane? I can only imagine the kind of person who would purchase this. 

After going through the hassles of long security lines and an unfriendly welcome by bitter stewardesses, you sit down next to the nice looking man wearing a cheesy hawaiian button-up. As he begins the necessary airplane small talk, ("Why are you headed to Philly?") he pulls out a folded up SkyRest...and as you reply, "Well, I'm actually interviewing for a job at..." he begins blowing up his inflatable wedge-shaped pillow, immediately destroying any chance of normal conversation . 

I imagine that it is similar to blowing up a pool raft, which makes most people red in the face and out of breath. Whoever actually indulges in the SkyRest, first off, has no concern for personal space, and secondly, has really high confidence and needs a serious reality check. Yikes. 

Here comes the bride... unfortunately

Just wanted to provide some quick, visual evidence to how horrific bachelorette parties are (see loathe list item #36). Coincidentally, this was the second one I saw that night though I was uncomfortable taking a picture with the bride-to-be holding a large, blow-up, naked man doll. Honestly, who wants to spend their last official outing as a single woman wearing a pink wig?

Strange Things Revisited

If any of you have been following my "Strange Things" album on Facebook (which you should), then you have probably seen this picture already. I was debating reposting it here, but realized that it epitomizes the exact obscurity that Lauren and I seek for our blog. Let me preface this photo by saying it is 100% real. This picture was in all seriousness taken in 1994 as my first grade, end of the year tap-dance class picture. I believe we were in the midst of intense preparation for our recital performance to "Rockin' Robin," which was of course, one of the most highly anticipated days of the year for most of us. Anyways, if you hadn't guessed already, I'm in the top row to the left of the girl with the blue scrunchi. No one else is too important to note in the picture other than the 6 ft. tall black chick to my left. It's strange to me because to be honest, I can't remember ever thinking it was unusual that a girl twice my age was in the beginning tap dancing class among 8 other 6-year-olds. Furthermore, what was her mother thinking when she opted to force her noticeably over-aged daughter to be sized for a blue polka-dotted costume and bow-tied tap shoes?

Bless you... or... not?

I was put in a situation the other day which although I have experienced a number of times, still found myself wondering how to react. It's such a simple, everyday habit: Sneezing. Im sure you've probably been in the same boat a time or two. Someone near you sneezes. Naturally, you offer up some sort of response (hopefully not "Gazoontite" because that word is teetering on making my loathe list.) Now in some cases, if your lucky, thats the end of the story. My question is this: What are you supposed to do if that person continues to sneeze? It's only minimally awkward if you have to repeat yourself once, but you know there's been instances where the frenzy continues on for several more. Not only do you feel uncomfortable for making the decision to continue on for four "bless you's," but the other person is also frantically trying to stop in embarrassment for forcing you to do so. Surely mankind has experienced this enough to have come up with some relatively uncomplicated answer. Do you respond once? Do you stop after 3? Do you nervously laugh after realizing you have indeed gone too far? Or do you just ignore the germ-spreading convulsive expulsion altogether? Life sure is complicated... 

The Middle Finger

The other day I was "channel surfing" and stumbled across a trashy TV talk show... In hindsight, I have NO idea which one it was, but an important discovery was made while watching. 

I was in the midst of getting ready when I heard the start of an outrageous TV verbal fight, which as we all know consists of half shouted words, unnecessary anger, and obnoxious beeps. When I peered at the screen, an overweight red-faced man was giving the ol 'one finger salute'  to the audience.. It was in that moment when I began wondering, why does TV deem it necessary to blur out the middle finger? I mean, thank god that they do...that hovering blur over the entire hand definitely excuses the 'f**k off' connotation it was supposed to give off.  

At least with the beeping out of bad words, its all so loud and convoluted that we have no f**king idea what they're trying to say.

Which brings me to my next point....those BAD words I just 'starred' out...why? Why is it necessary that we use mini stars? Is it more polite?  Now I'm not going to go DESTROYING Cristina and I's reputation in the blogosphere by dropping the F bomb, but it really is confusing. Almost as questionable as people who put stuffed animals in their back car windows...

Oh, you know them well... the poor Beanie Babies and Teddy's faded from years of sitting in the sun. Its like a small museum exhibit for people walking by...Pretty considerate gesture if you ask me.  I think I will die and go to heaven the day I see backseat Beanies still preserved in crystal display cases...those were the absolute best! People were so eager to show off their obsession with TY... Bear after bear sitting on the top shelf in personal plastic cases. Amazing. I'm still waiting for Beanie Babies to be worth the millions that the TY corporation ever-so-kindly forecasted to our parents......Personally, Twig the Giraffe was my fave.

I'm about to go too far....signing out! 

Curiously Uncomfortable

After stumbling upon this photo the other day, I realized how we often feel compelled to forward seemingly adorable animal pictures to other pet lovers. Truthfully, I don't find anything endearing about a giraffe licking a squirrel. 

Unnecessary Things.

Ok, so I think it is finally time for me to open up about a family that I nanny for here in Austin. It's difficult for me to speak about them on a positive note, seeing as last time I babysat I spent my saturday night being drop-kicked by Satan--otherwise known as Dillan. Quick summary of Dil--He is 7 years old and in the midst of repeating Kindergarten. He cries. A lot. And his nails are like teeny switchblades that he tactfully whips out with any mention of the word 'bedtime'. He's the child you see in the grocery store, and say to yourself--"Wow, I never want to have kids."

But back to my Saturday night... I was going to the bathroom for probably about the 5th time that evening--a similar hobby we all passionately pursued during 9th grade history class. Let's just say I wasn't tooo eager to get back to hearing a 6th grade boy talk about his day-long Latin competition. 

Now, as I was walking out of the bathroom, I

stopped dead in my tracks, only to find THE 

thinnest door I had ever seen. I was taken aback, and strangely my first reaction was to snap a picture of it on my phone and send it to Ali. (She is well informed about this mind-boggling family) I was so curious. I mean this door isn't even wide enough for a small satanic child to hide in. Anyways, I opened it to find approximately 3 outdated coats hanging. Excuse me, what?! I'd like to contact the architect here and discuss the planning and blueprint of this strange house. "Now this small space here will be for each family member's favorite coat."  Question mark.

Unnecessary things in this world never seize to baffle me, and this small sorry-excuse-for-a-closet only adds to my confusion and misunderstanding. 

Goood night.

 

Honk if you like girls in spandex...

As Lauren and I were explaining our history to someone today (the periodic, "How did you two meet anyways?") I realized that this photo is the closest documentation I have of our friendship commencement... a mere eight years and two sets of braces ago. 

Undeniably photographed in the early stages of middle school at a club volleyball tournament, Lauren and I are both sporting what seemed to be acceptable trends at the time. Perhaps you are having a difficult time spotting the two of us. If my obnoxiously long and pale legs don't give it away, I'm the one on the far left, two in from the girl wearing embroidered jean capris. I'm fairly confident that I am sporting some brand of knock-off Rocket Dogs and a pair of sunglasses to keep my poofy, air-dryed hair off of my face. Lauren is one in from the girl wearing long overalls with a nude-colored Brass Plum lycra tank. Hair parted down the middle, her red sweatshirt is covering what I believe were white denim shorts. 

Luckily, our random, rekindled friendship (via Myspace) 6 years later was a little more successful than our volleyball careers...  

Things that will forever confuse me..

1. Snakes on a Plane

2. America's obsession with crocs

3. William Hung

4. Pageant mothers

5. Amy Winehouse and her beehive

6. Eiffel 65's song--Blue

7. Long John Silvers

8. The Honda Element

9. Lava lamps

10. Flavor savers, soul patches and mini goatees

11. Unicyclists at Town Lake

12. Speaking of Town Lake--the day Cristina and I saw a couple pushing a small goat in a stroller. Perplexing, really.

13. Whoopi Goldberg (Although I'm a huge fan of the Sister Act soundtrack)

14. Ear plugs

16. Boba smoothies

17. Guys that drive VW bugs

18. Paul Giamatti

I'd like to clear up any confusion by saying that the aforementioned listed items are not things I hate...Do not mistake them with the loathe list (i.e. I loathe when girls refers to themselves as guy's girls, but I don't loathe Whoopi G. She just is  [and always will be] a confusing individual.) See the difference? I might even go as far to say that these are fascinations...

and with that being said, I'd like to end with an endearing photo of Deloris Van Cartier otherwise known as Sister Mary Clarence..the sassy black nun we all know and love..