I'm a strict believer in the scientific method. I observe, I hypothesize, I experiment, and then I draw a conclusion. I am going to step you through this method, which I used to explain the phenomenon that continues to perplex me of any reasonable outright explanation: Why does Tyra Banks continue to get air time in order to suck the fat out of women's brains and injecting it into their butts?
Here is a simple breakdown of my ponderance:
I. Observation:
Tyra Banks is a complete idiot and yet women continue to worship her as if she were the Queen of Sheba, as exemplified by this disturbing video clip.
2. Hypothesis
In mathematical terms:
Tyra = Idiot
Her fans = Idiots
Her fans= (Tyra)(x)
3. Experiment
I approach an open Tyra Banks fan and ask her if she likes Vaseline. She says yes. I ask her why. She says its because Tyra believes in it.
4. Conclusion
The general idea in chemistry that "like" dissolves in "like" can be proposed here. Tyra banks is an idiot. So are her fans. Therefore both phenotypes' airheads are capable of dissolving into each other, to create an even larger mesh of empty space within the confines of each individual's skull. This is all possible by the medium known as television, though the lack of essential nutrients within this medium makes me want to deem it an "anti-growth medium" rather than the more traditional "growth medium" used in cell biology.
To answer the proposed question, why this woman is still on the air, remains elusive. It is possible that she has rerouted her neural functions to another part of her body, thereby surviving instinctually via an uncharacterized nutrient residing in her adipose cells. Such neural focal points may be her gluteus or pectorals. This remains to be unstudied. We shall propose that study at a later time.
Thank you NIH.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Man, I'm Disgusting. Oh Well.
Last night, I found myself in a predicament. As most evenings go, I was starving but lets face it I'm usually too cheap to eat out unless I'm near death or need a picker-upper to help me recover from a mild case of depression. I step out of the gym, and book it to Whole Foods where I run inside and grab a banana and Pirate's Booty Bermuda Onion, my favorite.
I don't know about you, but I really love these what I can only describe as little kernels of joy. They are extremely puffy, have only a mild touch of flavor, and crunch AND melt in your mouth like some strange science experiment that actually went right rather than wrong. I immediately rip a bag open amongst all these people in the store and start stuffing the handfuls of these bundles of miracles into my mouth.
So I'm eating and eating and just wandering around the store. Sometimes a stowaway kernel would miss my mouth and get trapped in my scarf or fall on the floor. Poor thing. Missed its opportunity to come into contact with Meera saliva, a rarity for food and boys alike. I decide to buy some coffee while I'm at it. So I grab a bag and go up to the cashier to pay for both.
"How are you?," the cashier said politely. I try to talk with my mouth full. Unfortunately, most of the kernels in my mouth were not at full salivation yet and one of them flew out of my mouth and knicked him in the forehead. "I'm fine," I say. But it was too late. I had already assaulted him with Pirate's Booty. He wiped his forehead with a paper towel and avoided eye contact with me the rest of the time. Yea... I'd be grossed out too, but from this experience I learned that Pirate's Booty would be better for a makeshift assault weapon rather than the marshmallows that have gotten so popular lately.
I don't know about you, but I really love these what I can only describe as little kernels of joy. They are extremely puffy, have only a mild touch of flavor, and crunch AND melt in your mouth like some strange science experiment that actually went right rather than wrong. I immediately rip a bag open amongst all these people in the store and start stuffing the handfuls of these bundles of miracles into my mouth.
So I'm eating and eating and just wandering around the store. Sometimes a stowaway kernel would miss my mouth and get trapped in my scarf or fall on the floor. Poor thing. Missed its opportunity to come into contact with Meera saliva, a rarity for food and boys alike. I decide to buy some coffee while I'm at it. So I grab a bag and go up to the cashier to pay for both.
"How are you?," the cashier said politely. I try to talk with my mouth full. Unfortunately, most of the kernels in my mouth were not at full salivation yet and one of them flew out of my mouth and knicked him in the forehead. "I'm fine," I say. But it was too late. I had already assaulted him with Pirate's Booty. He wiped his forehead with a paper towel and avoided eye contact with me the rest of the time. Yea... I'd be grossed out too, but from this experience I learned that Pirate's Booty would be better for a makeshift assault weapon rather than the marshmallows that have gotten so popular lately.
Body Language
The other day, I was wandering around and found myself at a bus stop across the street from this burger joint.
I was just standing there, minding my own business while also feeling for the pepper spray in my pocket, when a man came out of the front door of this darkened restaurant. He just stood there in the shadows with his hands on his hips, staring in my direction. I just kept standing there, acting like I didn't notice him. He started waving his hand to say hi. I don't even acknowledge it. Then he started waving at me to come across the street in increasing tempo. I continued to not partake in this strange miming game. I did, however, uncap the pepper spray in my pocket.
He continued to try to get me over to his side of the tracks up until a few minutes before the bus pulled up. As I boarded, I yelled "Sorry, I didn't feel like getting raped tonight. Try tomorrow." He then went back inside the restaurant.
I was just standing there, minding my own business while also feeling for the pepper spray in my pocket, when a man came out of the front door of this darkened restaurant. He just stood there in the shadows with his hands on his hips, staring in my direction. I just kept standing there, acting like I didn't notice him. He started waving his hand to say hi. I don't even acknowledge it. Then he started waving at me to come across the street in increasing tempo. I continued to not partake in this strange miming game. I did, however, uncap the pepper spray in my pocket.
He continued to try to get me over to his side of the tracks up until a few minutes before the bus pulled up. As I boarded, I yelled "Sorry, I didn't feel like getting raped tonight. Try tomorrow." He then went back inside the restaurant.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Thank You!
So I got on a crowded bus one morning, which I hate because then I'm forced to stand and rub up against people I wouldn't normally want to rub up against or even smile at for the matter. Well that, and the fact that I'm usually lugging like 100 pounds of crap everyday. Then there are those assholes that just decide to sit on a seat and put their bags on the seat next to them, as if its some clever ploy to get people from sitting next to them.
Well, I'm standing and my back starts hurting. The guy sitting in the closest row of seats finally decides to take his bag and puts it on his lap. Relieved, I instantly take the emptied seat. "THANK YOU!," and I was indeed genuinely thankful. The guy looked back at me like "you want a crown with that princess?" Turned out that he just moved his briefcase to get a handkerchief from it to blow his nose. He did not sacrifice the luxury of having a personal desktop space on public transit after all.
People are assholes and enjoy making me look stupid. What else is new?
Well, I'm standing and my back starts hurting. The guy sitting in the closest row of seats finally decides to take his bag and puts it on his lap. Relieved, I instantly take the emptied seat. "THANK YOU!," and I was indeed genuinely thankful. The guy looked back at me like "you want a crown with that princess?" Turned out that he just moved his briefcase to get a handkerchief from it to blow his nose. He did not sacrifice the luxury of having a personal desktop space on public transit after all.
People are assholes and enjoy making me look stupid. What else is new?
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Idiots are leeches that suck the life out of me
Like everyone else, I run into idiots on a daily basis. On the bus. On the street. Yada yada yada. But then there are the kings and queens of the idiots that only manage to come swarming around me as if I have a bowl of honey hidden under my blouse and they're out to pollinate. Unfortunately, I ran into both your highnesses today. I wonder what the statistical significance of that is? Probably 1 in 100 trillion with one degree of freedom. Go figure that it happens to me.
Mr. Highness is a grown ass man in my physics class. He comes up to me today after he sees me loafing around. He goes "hey did you study for the test today?" I go "nope, need to do that." Then he goes, "well, I have a question" and starts whipping out his notes. Did he not hear me? I DIDN'T STUDY, you idiot. But he pulls out his notes anyways and goes "I don't know how to solve this. Could you show me." I peer over at his chicken scratch and I see something like this:
"How do you find the hypotenuse?" My jaw nearly dropped to the ground. At first, I thought this was a ploy to hit on me, but I don't find feigning stupidity attractive or even funny at all. "It's the Pythagorean Theorem." "Huh?," he says. "Dude the answer is 5 meters." "How did you know that!?" Fuck. I get up and pretend I need to go to class. "Listen, if you don't know how to do that maybe you should take a math class and take physics some other time." I start climbing the flights of stairs to get to my morning class. He follows me. "Wait wait, I have more questions..." I don't think I need to list off the questions I was asked during what I can only characterize as the 10 most miserable minutes of my life. Miserable mostly because they made me remember the awkward middle school years when I learned most of it.
It didn't end there. I thought he had lost my scent after he was forced to depart my company after I entered my classroom. I made an effort to find a cloistered space to study for the exam, which turned out to the be the topmost floor of the library. He found me. And the campus is not that small. I was sharing a table with 3 other people, and he would come up every 10 minutes and ask me some other dumb question. The last time he did this, I had a breakdown. I slammed my hand on the table and was like "Look, I'm trying to get through my own studying here. Maybe you should go find someone else for help." Everyone at my table looked at me like "what a bitch!". Great, I thought. Just great. I'm the bitch. Yea okay.
So I get up, pack my things and decide that maybe I should go use the restroom, splash a little water on my face, get back to equilibrium. I have a favorite restroom on campus, the only one that has gotten an A+ on my inspection checklist. No stalls with cracks where strangers can peep through, regularly cleaned, always smells nice, one room, etc.... I high-tail it over there, turn the knob, and... some girl is on the toilet. Now, I don't know about you, but LOCKING the bathroom door is something that can never just SLIP my mind. It is as automatic as eating and sleeping, not matter how 911-ish the situation is. But clearly not for this anomalous one. She'd like to take the risk and make other people uncomfortable with her stupidity. Great, I thought.
I spent the rest of the evening walking in the rain, wondering how much a private island would run me so that I can live on it alone for the rest of my life. I later wanted to go home and take a relaxing bath. Unfortunately, I already had a moron steam bath for the day.
Mr. Highness is a grown ass man in my physics class. He comes up to me today after he sees me loafing around. He goes "hey did you study for the test today?" I go "nope, need to do that." Then he goes, "well, I have a question" and starts whipping out his notes. Did he not hear me? I DIDN'T STUDY, you idiot. But he pulls out his notes anyways and goes "I don't know how to solve this. Could you show me." I peer over at his chicken scratch and I see something like this:
"How do you find the hypotenuse?" My jaw nearly dropped to the ground. At first, I thought this was a ploy to hit on me, but I don't find feigning stupidity attractive or even funny at all. "It's the Pythagorean Theorem." "Huh?," he says. "Dude the answer is 5 meters." "How did you know that!?" Fuck. I get up and pretend I need to go to class. "Listen, if you don't know how to do that maybe you should take a math class and take physics some other time." I start climbing the flights of stairs to get to my morning class. He follows me. "Wait wait, I have more questions..." I don't think I need to list off the questions I was asked during what I can only characterize as the 10 most miserable minutes of my life. Miserable mostly because they made me remember the awkward middle school years when I learned most of it.
It didn't end there. I thought he had lost my scent after he was forced to depart my company after I entered my classroom. I made an effort to find a cloistered space to study for the exam, which turned out to the be the topmost floor of the library. He found me. And the campus is not that small. I was sharing a table with 3 other people, and he would come up every 10 minutes and ask me some other dumb question. The last time he did this, I had a breakdown. I slammed my hand on the table and was like "Look, I'm trying to get through my own studying here. Maybe you should go find someone else for help." Everyone at my table looked at me like "what a bitch!". Great, I thought. Just great. I'm the bitch. Yea okay.
So I get up, pack my things and decide that maybe I should go use the restroom, splash a little water on my face, get back to equilibrium. I have a favorite restroom on campus, the only one that has gotten an A+ on my inspection checklist. No stalls with cracks where strangers can peep through, regularly cleaned, always smells nice, one room, etc.... I high-tail it over there, turn the knob, and... some girl is on the toilet. Now, I don't know about you, but LOCKING the bathroom door is something that can never just SLIP my mind. It is as automatic as eating and sleeping, not matter how 911-ish the situation is. But clearly not for this anomalous one. She'd like to take the risk and make other people uncomfortable with her stupidity. Great, I thought.
I spent the rest of the evening walking in the rain, wondering how much a private island would run me so that I can live on it alone for the rest of my life. I later wanted to go home and take a relaxing bath. Unfortunately, I already had a moron steam bath for the day.
I Heart Chicken
Some of you may wonder how I garnered the nickname "Juicy" everyone calls me. Ok, not exactly everyone. Just one person, but its a nickname nonetheless and a strange one to boot.
For those east-coasters out there, there is a little darling fast food corporate chain called El Pollo Loco scattered across every major highway in California. I love El Pollo Loco. I call it the ethnic KFC because its menu consists of an array of pseudo-Mexican delights such as rice, pinto beans, and corn. Then don't get me started on the roasted chicken. Absolutely divine. Man, if I could roast a chicken in such a corporate fashion and learned how to employ the techniques of artificial flavorings like that, I'd keep a chicken coop in my backyard and order a lifetime supply of flavor injectors from Pfizer. For real.
So one faithful night, I was on the phone with friend that was hitting up the El Pollo Loco drive through. He goes "hold up, let me order." I'm like "okay..." And then I hear him give his order. "Yea, I'd like the 2 piece chicken meal with rice and beans. Oh yea, and I'd like the chicken JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY... JUICY." He gets back on the phone. "What the hell was that?!," I ask.
He proceeds to explain to me that, and I can't make this shit up, he knew some Ethiopian guy that told him that he used to eat at El Pollo Loco on a daily basis and knew a little secret. Apparently there is a "JUICY" button on all El Pollo Loco cash registers and every time you say it during your order, the cashier presses the button and the cook adds an extra spoonful of juice on top of your chicken. Where this juice comes from, don't know. But it was juice nonetheless and it sounded delicious.
I got all hot and bothered about this new discovery. But I wasn't planning on going back to California any time soon. But I started having dreams about this juicy chicken, and my friends voice kept replaying in my head: "It is the JUICIEST chicken I've ever had in my life." That's it, I thought. I'm either buying a ticket to go visit the folks in LA or I'm straight up driving to the closest shithole city on the California border to get my dibs on it.
Thank god for modern technology because I soon discovered at El Pollo Loco's official website that there was a grand opening of a new one in Vancouver. (No not BC. Washington.) Eh, I thought. Driving to a shithole city across the Oregon border is a lot easier than driving to another shithole city on the California border, which would've required chains and a ski mask in the dead of winter. So I get all dressed in my Sunday's finest, actually crossed state lines with my sight glued towards the horizon, waiting for the El Pollo Loco sign to come up at the edge of my vision. And it did. I was nervous. I was excited. I was hungry.
I walk inside. Decided that I was going to go with the 3 piece chicken meal this time and I go up to the cashier. "Yea, I'd like the #3 with corn and salsa. Thanks. Oh..." I hesitate. It was the moment of truth. "And I want that JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY..." I couldn't stop. It was like word diarrhea coming out of my mouth. And as I kept saying JUICY in succession, the cashier got a more and more horrified look on her face. I finally calmed my mouth to the point that only the corners of my lips were quivering.
"Uhm... I don't know what you're saying." The cashier said. I peer over the buttons on her cash register and was like "Well, I heard you have a 'juicy' button or something." "No. No I don't." I wanted to explain, but it was too late. The only words that I could say were "Sorry, I'm from California."
I am sure that the cashier was close to pushing the hidden panic button they keep at all the registers nowadays, but she took mercy on me and just gave me their regular chicken that day. So now if you're ever walking down the street with me and someone yells out "Yo! Juicy!," no it's not because of my ass or my thighs though I wish it was.
For those east-coasters out there, there is a little darling fast food corporate chain called El Pollo Loco scattered across every major highway in California. I love El Pollo Loco. I call it the ethnic KFC because its menu consists of an array of pseudo-Mexican delights such as rice, pinto beans, and corn. Then don't get me started on the roasted chicken. Absolutely divine. Man, if I could roast a chicken in such a corporate fashion and learned how to employ the techniques of artificial flavorings like that, I'd keep a chicken coop in my backyard and order a lifetime supply of flavor injectors from Pfizer. For real.
So one faithful night, I was on the phone with friend that was hitting up the El Pollo Loco drive through. He goes "hold up, let me order." I'm like "okay..." And then I hear him give his order. "Yea, I'd like the 2 piece chicken meal with rice and beans. Oh yea, and I'd like the chicken JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY... JUICY." He gets back on the phone. "What the hell was that?!," I ask.
He proceeds to explain to me that, and I can't make this shit up, he knew some Ethiopian guy that told him that he used to eat at El Pollo Loco on a daily basis and knew a little secret. Apparently there is a "JUICY" button on all El Pollo Loco cash registers and every time you say it during your order, the cashier presses the button and the cook adds an extra spoonful of juice on top of your chicken. Where this juice comes from, don't know. But it was juice nonetheless and it sounded delicious.
I got all hot and bothered about this new discovery. But I wasn't planning on going back to California any time soon. But I started having dreams about this juicy chicken, and my friends voice kept replaying in my head: "It is the JUICIEST chicken I've ever had in my life." That's it, I thought. I'm either buying a ticket to go visit the folks in LA or I'm straight up driving to the closest shithole city on the California border to get my dibs on it.
Thank god for modern technology because I soon discovered at El Pollo Loco's official website that there was a grand opening of a new one in Vancouver. (No not BC. Washington.) Eh, I thought. Driving to a shithole city across the Oregon border is a lot easier than driving to another shithole city on the California border, which would've required chains and a ski mask in the dead of winter. So I get all dressed in my Sunday's finest, actually crossed state lines with my sight glued towards the horizon, waiting for the El Pollo Loco sign to come up at the edge of my vision. And it did. I was nervous. I was excited. I was hungry.
I walk inside. Decided that I was going to go with the 3 piece chicken meal this time and I go up to the cashier. "Yea, I'd like the #3 with corn and salsa. Thanks. Oh..." I hesitate. It was the moment of truth. "And I want that JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY..." I couldn't stop. It was like word diarrhea coming out of my mouth. And as I kept saying JUICY in succession, the cashier got a more and more horrified look on her face. I finally calmed my mouth to the point that only the corners of my lips were quivering.
"Uhm... I don't know what you're saying." The cashier said. I peer over the buttons on her cash register and was like "Well, I heard you have a 'juicy' button or something." "No. No I don't." I wanted to explain, but it was too late. The only words that I could say were "Sorry, I'm from California."
I am sure that the cashier was close to pushing the hidden panic button they keep at all the registers nowadays, but she took mercy on me and just gave me their regular chicken that day. So now if you're ever walking down the street with me and someone yells out "Yo! Juicy!," no it's not because of my ass or my thighs though I wish it was.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Meera's Got Game!
Ok maybe not. But I'm getting there. Lately I've been trying to find excuses to talk to cute guys for entertainment purposes. I just had an epiphany the other day. I was sitting at a park bench and turned my head and there was a creepy old guy that looked like a walrus that was staring at me. You'd think that he would turn away like any other embarrassed creeper would once they were caught in the act, but he just kept staring straight at me. Odd. But why the hell can't I do the same thing albeit in a more socially acceptable manner!?
So today I took the plunge. I saw a cute guy studying. He looked within my required age range (up to 10 years older or younger). The chair next to him was empty and he was seated in front of an electrical outlet. I shuffled on over to that chair, sat my stuff down, and slowly approached him. "Mind if I plug her in here?" He looks back at me all distraught. "What?!" he said. I look down at my feet. My line wasn't as smooth as I had envisioned it to be. "You know. Plug her in. Her. My laptop." He gives me a look that basically said "Why couldn't you just say laptop."
"Yea sure whatever." He was peeved that I disturbed his concentration. I was heartbroken. Not only was he cute, he was studious too!
So today I took the plunge. I saw a cute guy studying. He looked within my required age range (up to 10 years older or younger). The chair next to him was empty and he was seated in front of an electrical outlet. I shuffled on over to that chair, sat my stuff down, and slowly approached him. "Mind if I plug her in here?" He looks back at me all distraught. "What?!" he said. I look down at my feet. My line wasn't as smooth as I had envisioned it to be. "You know. Plug her in. Her. My laptop." He gives me a look that basically said "Why couldn't you just say laptop."
"Yea sure whatever." He was peeved that I disturbed his concentration. I was heartbroken. Not only was he cute, he was studious too!
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