Talking Speed

I am always being told that I talk really fast. To me it seems like I'm talking at a normal speed, but apparently everyone around me hears it like a sped up version of the rest of the world.

When I speak, I know everything I'm going to say three sentences ahead of my mouth. (Sometimes more depending on how excited or hungry I am.) As a result, I rarely say something that isn't carefully thought through in my mind before it comes out of my mouth.

Last week, I was explaining something about living in a small town to my psychology class and it all came flowing out at what I presumed was a normal speed. After class a couple of my friends informed me  I was talking incredibly fast. Apparently I talk like when you push the a button to jump past what a video game character is saying. It's just out and gone before you have a chance to know what was said. Or it's out and you have to slow down for a moment to catch up.

All throughout high school, I had issues choosing monologues because I would just say them really fast when I performed them. As fast as my speaking is when I'm making it up as I go along, when I've known what I'm going to say for weeks in advance it's even worse. For every play, acting exercise, and just about everything else, I always received the comment of "Sloooooow doooooown!" I finally managed to remedy that by choosing a monologue that was actually required to be recited at hyper speed and got a pretty good grade on it even though everyone commented on how they had no idea what just happened.

Most notable would be from my friend, Mike. "I didn't know what the f--k that was." I didn't know him until a couple weeks after the performance, so I got to hear his comments as an unbiased witness to my insanity.

For my acting class (a class that is slowly attempting to suck my creative soul) we are performing monologues. In college, I seemed to forget my predisposition to talk like an overwound motor and chose a really short monologue to avoid memorizing a bunch of stuff. This proved problematic. When I performed it, I spoke so fast I halved the time. I was done so quickly I had to cut myself because the class was expecting there to be way more.

When I'm having a conversation with people, I usually listen pretty intently (that is if they're actually saying interesting things), but my mind is still plotting my next move. By the time the other person has finished their statement, about three or four actions/sentences have gone through my head. I've analyzed them all and know which one I'd really like to say, but couldn't get away with, which one I'd like to say and may or may not get away with, which one will propel the conversation forward in it's current direction, and which one will make everyone laugh. Depending on my mood I usually pick the latter.

A lot of the time when I say something it comes shooting out of my mouth perfectly fine. Then there are times where it gets super jumbled into a giant ball of syllables and I just stand then stuttering over the letter "I" until I'm forced to slow down while the giant word paper jam sorts itself out. Which is usually when a person who just rips the words free and says the sentence for me.  That's usually my sister and I find it terribly frustrating. I kind of like finishing my own sentences.

When I actually do speak at what I'm told is a normal speed, I feel like I'm speaking way too slow. Like when someone is trying to make sure little kids really get it. I feel slow when I talk at a normal speed especially if I was just told to slow down. And sometimes even then I'm told to slow down more.

While I don't talk a lot, I do talk fast. Maybe that's part of why my mom doesn't think I talk. I just say it all at once and am done until I have something else to say.

Classic Disney Princesses

Since I'm doing a project on how media affects gender roles, I have invariably been watching lots of Disney movies and reading lots about them. There is no end to the bitching about the three classic Disney princess movies, Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty.

There is without a doubt a fair amount of sexism in the films, but to be honest there's not as much as you'd think. That is not counting Snow White because lets be honest all she does in that film is cook, clean, and wait for her prince (who has serious issues since he was willing to kiss an unconscious and presumed dead girl he doesn't know).

Cinderella, while having its sexist moments, is really not that much worse than modern movies. There are gobs of romantic comedies that manage to come out around this time of year that show bitchy people who are worried about appearance and their favorite passtime is fighting about clothes just like the step sisters do. Those two characters, who we're not supposed to like anyways, are total dumbasses and we very much want to stab them. That's sort of the intent. (Ella Enchanted does a similar thing as well.)

The step mother however is actually smart and we hate her because she's sadistic and enjoys tormenting Cinderella. She actually knows what's going on around her and does her best to gain her daughters some status. (It's almost sweet in an evil sort of way.)

Now there's the main character Cinderella. Sure she spends a good deal of the movie cooking and cleaning, but it's made quite clear its forcible and she hates it. When it comes time for the ball, she takes matters into her own hands. Granted it's because she might meet the prince, but think about it she's kind of just hoping to get away from dishes for a few hours. Unlike her step sisters, she's fantasizing about fun not necessarily just the prince. Instead of just sitting there passively she gets started doing whatever the hell it takes to go. She finds a dress, cleans the shit out of that house, and with the help of her mice friends, is all set to get the heck out of that house.

Then her crazy family, gets pissed that she actually managed to do what they asked and rips apart her outfit. She's rightfully a little upset I think. A night of freedom and fun was slammed right in her face. It's like if you were about to go to that thing you've been waiting for with such anticipation you couldn't sleep and your parents suddenly changed their mind as you were about to leave. And instead of just leaving it at a "no" that had to assault you as well. That's some pretty terrible shit.

Since it's a fairy tale, the fairy godmother shows up and produces the magic that makes the whole happy ending possible. Sure there's the fact that her rescue was by marriage. That is a bit annoying, but think about modern movies where that's still the case. I'm not saying it's a prime example of modern feminism or anything like that. I'm just saying it's not endlessly sexist either.

Okay there is that mouse that says, "Leave the sewing to the women." But hey, people still say things like that, so go make a sandwich and shut up.

Now on to Sleeping Beauty. This movie is actually not as sexist as you'd think. For starters it is almost an entirely female dominated cast (Cinderella also has one of these). The main characters are the three fairies. One could argue the blue one (is it Maryweather?) in particular if you want to get way into prominence. They are all quite smart, if a bit goofy and silly. They aren't shown with the inherent ability to cook and sew. In fact,they're damn right terrible at it.

Maleficent is highly intelligent. She's got her plans sorted out. She knows what she's doing and is enjoying it. Granted she has some terrible lackeys and that pesky human spirit proves to be quite an obsicle. Plus that whole bad guy thing is just destined to ending in a stabbing. (Usually in prison.)

Now for the main object of sexism. Princess Aurora herself. After we first meet her, it doesn't take long for us to here her fantasy about meeting a prince. Okay, be honest, how many of you people out there never day dreamt about something similar? Plus she's sixteen thinking about love (and other things along those lines) is essentially what your brain is programmed for at that age.

So then a prince just shows up and it's hormones everywhere. The princess actually has less irrational behavior in this case. She invites him to her birthday party, while he goes telling his pop that he's getting married.

That's when stuff gets serious. Aurora is all excited because she just met a cute boy (something that's not simple in the middle of nowhere), its her birthday, and she just received some cool presents. Oh yeah, then she's told her life is a lie. Boom! Just like that. You're a princess, you're getting married, you'll never return to this place, and we're magic fairies. That's a lot to take in. The crying and despair isn't exactly a terrible reaction. The fairies want to say that its because of the boy she just met, but think about it. Your life just took a drastic turn and as far as you know your future consists of birthing royal babies and acting proper. Sounds pretty bad to me.

So, Aurora's in a daze because her life is very strange all of a sudden and she doesn't actually know shit about the spinning wheel prophecy. Plus there's that whole glowing mind control thing Maleficent's got going on, so not ending up a damsel in distress is kind of difficult. Really you do better.

The main issue I have with these movies is the kissing unconscious people. Especially in Snow White's case (no pun intended). Princes have serious personal space issues. I can at least see Prince Philip's reasoning in Sleeping Beauty. He was at least told this would do the trick. Whereas the Snow White guy just decided to kiss some dead broad.

Running Gag

I realized something. I am the running gag in movies, TV shows, etc. I am the cabbage merchant, Seamus Finnigan, and the fat guy with the ice cream cone.

The reason I no longer attend Hogwarts.

1. When minding my own business, I am often the kid who gets hit with stray projectiles.

About a week ago while playing old racing games at an arcade, a giant squishy sticky ball from the prize booth came flying out of nowhere bounced off the screen and pegged me in the face before settling nicely on the game's dashboard.

Many times during high school lunch hours, I'd be doing my own thing and the apples, pencils, milk cartons (that is if I wasn't the one launching it), soda streams, and flailing limbs would manage to hit me. One time I got pegged in the throat by a kid's elbow and spent the rest of the day walking around with an ice pack and sounding like a boy going through puberty.

When the kids on the bus were throwing an unwrapped condum around, I got pegged with it (thank god it was clean). Same goes for the paper balls, wet maxi pads (just water), panty hose, and whatever the hell else middle-schoolers and freshmen found hilarious to throw.

Gym class alone could be classified as an excuse for my face to come into contact with solid objects. (Often thrown by the same damn person.)


2. I have been lit on fire multiple times.

At a 4th of July celebration in Newcastle, Wyoming when I was like six, a firework landed on my foot catching my shoe on fire. The old guy next to me kindly stamped it out. I wasn't burned at the extent of some old guy trampling my foot!

The other two times aren't as exciting. Got close to a candle burning my hair and caught the oven mitt on fire by tapping the ceiling of the oven. Also I have a serious issue of dropping hot pads into the oven and catching them on fire.


3. Pants do not believe that they belong on my body.

Why I don't play mini-golf.

They are often ripping in spectacularly obliteratory ways. Usually: when I'm in public or with small groups of people I don't know very well.


4. My birthday is often complete and total insanity.

With breaking my nose, rolling my car, or just the rainfall in my bathroom, I should probably just stop with having them.

In fact since the original outbreaks of these events on my birthday these things just keep happening. Except the rolling the car. That only happened once. (I tried to find a picture of a rolled Subaru Outback. Such a thing doesn't exist.) Making my nose, raining bathroom, and birthdays running jokes in and of themselves.


5. I am always the one that gets hurt, but rarely when I should be.

If I'm getting injured there's a 95% chance that I am doing something that should be exceedingly simple and not detrimental to my health. If I'm not getting hurt, there's a 65% chance I'm doing something that should be detrimental to health.

Just basic good old fashioned fun.

A death wish. (The dress part is a death wish for whoever tried to get me to put it on.)

Without a doubt I am the running joke. That person in the background who has unfortunate things happen to them. Unfortunately I'm not one of the less painful running jokes like the talking zebra that calls Candace Kevin, the floating baby head, or heck I might even take the guy with the cheese.

I wear the cheese. It does not wear me.

Cooking

I am an awesome cook. The fact that I was the one saying that is completely irrelevant. I can cook and I can do so well.

Okay, to be fair, me cooking isn't actually a pretty sight. The end result just makes up for it. No matter how I get there when I cook it turns out delicious. (There are exceptions on rare occasions.)

There are a few things I cook so often I am damn right awesome at it. These include: grilled cheese, eggs, pancakes, and a basic stir-fry. Anything else, I can cook, so long as I have a recipe and the stuff to make it.

Now getting from ingredients to culinary delite is what's interesting. Without damaging the food, I do a multitude of damage to myself and the area around me.

The sight of me cooking goes as follows:

1. I find a recipe and know I have the ingredients.

2. I get out the required pot/pan/bowl needed for said cooking.

3. I drop the bowl/pan/pot.

4. I pick up pan/bowl/pot and begin combining ingredients.

5. I drop ingredients. If using a knife is involved I cut myself or drop it dangerously close to my bare toes. When opening cans I cut myself, drop them, and spill things.

6. I begin the heating process. Usually not terrible, but I am prone to knocking the wooden spoon out of pans resulting in searing hot food and liquid flying across the room. If I'm using the oven I might bump my hand on the edge, either burning myself or bursting the oven mitt into flames. I might drop the hot pad and try to fish it free of the bottom of the oven using a wooden spoon while frantically hoping it doesn't catch fire. (As a result of this, I had to buy two new oven mitts and have one hot pad that's not suffering from third degree burns.)

7. After the heating, retrieving the food is dangerous. I might knock the pan of popcorn over and step on it burning my feet. Then sweep it up and throw it in the trash can only to melt the trash bag (an actual occurrence). Or all of a sudden my arms might just say "screw you" and I'll topple a pizza over on a chair.

8. Now once I've successfully finished making my food and it's safely on the table, I get to enjoy my food and it's delicious.

My actual cooking is an adventure in slapstick, but the result is well worth the injury.

I imagine watching my cooking is so unbearable to watch that people just walk away cringing. Then when they come back there's this beautiful meal on the plate and they have no idea where it came from. This might be why my mother for the longest time wouldn't believe I could cook.

For years, my mother kept telling me, "you need to learn how to cook." I'd inform that I did know how. She obviously didn't believe me.

At one point when I had a friend over, my mom called and I had a twenty minute phone call about making a burger. I was making one burger. She insisted I use a specific pan. Then she'd ask me to repeat back to her what she just said. Then she'd tell me how to cook the burger then to repeat back everything she'd told me. Twenty minutes of this went on before I could start cooking my poor friend his burger.

At one point I did convince my mom of my cooking abilities by, who'd have thought, cooking dinner.
Afterwards:
My mom: "Why do you say you can't cook?"
Me: "I don't. You say that."
Even though I have cooked many times, it took until I had almost moved out before my mom realized I had kitchen abilities.

My theory is that for years she just left the kitchen when I was in the throws of battle and assumed that when I presented a delicious plate of food to her that I had the KFC bucket stashed somewhere despite our living in the middle of nowhere (and my never having made fried chicken).

Bubble Bursters

Raise your hand if you're a bubble burster. (If you just raised your hand you probably look stupid and should be ashamed of yourself.) Bubble bursters are terribly annoying people. These are the people that when you're spouting nonsense about something that would be awesome have to pipe in and say some shit about physics. 

That smoke is your creativity, children.

While many are good decent people and I get along with just fine, they have this habit of reminding everyone of the real world. My older sister is  a bubble burster. Nothing against her she just always has to make sure people are talking about things that could possible happen. When I said it would be fun to name a child !!!, she insisted on reminding me that you have to have sound in a name for it to be legal. Don't get me wrong she's creative and awesome and fun to talk to, but her creative conversations insist on obeying the laws of the universe.  

Pictured: how you pronounce !!!
 (Also this show was awesome and you should know what it is.)

While I am full aware of the real world, I enjoy the fact that my mind doesn't have to be in it. Bubble bursters don't seem to understand this fact.  They are the people who can't watch movies because there are inaccuracies in them.  My dad is one of these. If you watch anything involving history he's there to tell you that the color of that sleeve is inaccurate for the time period portrayed. 

This movie alone would give him an aneurism.

I, for one, love cartoons. Especially old ones. Scooby Doo Where are You?, Loony Tunes, and Tom & Jerry are awesome! (If you even considered arguing otherwise you are wrong.) They of course don't believe that physics is a thing until you remember it is. My dad of course forgets this. I generally have to say, "It's a cartoon," more times during an episode of Scooby Doo than Shaggy eats food. He insists on informing me that a saw couldn't chase after Daphne across water.

Because the talking dog isn't a problem.

While I appreciate your concern for my worldly knowledge, chill out. I don't think it matters if the duck would die from a gun shot. The fact that his bill just spun around his face is irrelevant and you are supposed to laugh. 

To some extent everyone's a bubble burster. Myself included. Sure in some cases bubbles need bursting.

Exibit A: Bad idea

But when it's that the cowboys in Cowboys and Aliens would totally lose, no one cares. I am well aware I can't walk off a cliff and survive unharmed. I am also aware that physics is a thing, laws do apply to me, and that you can't re-inflate yourself after being flattened.

I also know this is a bad idea. Seriously, I would never give my cat a gun.

Rocking The Spaz: A Profile of My Best Friend

Being out of high school doesn’t change much if you’re still living at home. Holly Liley is an almost adult who lives with her father and has been out of high school since last winter. She is a master in the art of Spaz-Fu and will never cease to amuse those around her. Not a person alive rocks the Spaz quite like Holly.

Until she’s eighteen she can’t move out on her own. Her birthday’s in December and she’s passes the time with miraculous impatience.She almost moved out with a friend earlier in the year, but was unable to find an apartment in Boulder. She refused to look in Denver. “There’s nothing to do in Denver! I’m not moving to Denver!” When her prospective roommate became mad at her, she said, “I’m not moving somewhere I don’t want to be!” When she first intended to move out the question from everyone she knew was, “Do you think anything will happen between you and him?” Her response has commonly been, “Ewww! No! It’s Harry! Plus Katherine would kill me! And it’s Harry! Ewww!”

            

With two months to go until she’s eighteen, Holly passes the time by working at the Cave of The Winds. “People don’t tip. We’re leading their butts around all day and they just expect it.” (Like a person would a waiter, leave a tip for the tour guide.) After walking through the same cave multiple times a day with several less than brilliant tourists, she has heard many questions. People always ask what the blocked off area is. The answer (if there are no little kids in the group) is, “Oh, that’s where the Man Bear Pig lives.” That’s “Just in the off chance someone’s seen the South Park episode.” She has explained to her friends many times that “No the formations don’t all look like penises, but there is that one formation near the entrance that looks sooorta like a penis.”

            

While at work she endeavors to seem normal and not scare away tourists, in the real world she is more than likely to turn a few heads. Most everything that she does receives a very notable “what the hell” look. One fall afternoon, her and a few friends drove down to Colorado Springs. On a whim they decided to enter Micheal’s, the craft store, and wander around for awhile.  It wasn’t long before something shiny was seen out of the corner of Holly’s eye. Or was it purple? This required investigation. It was shiny and purple; a Halloween decoration. Not just any decoration either. It was a purple, sparkly, Halloween cat. It must be hers. It was a requirement of life. When she discovered that it fit on her head perfectly like a hat, she made a b-line for the check out. 

As they walked towards the counter, she told her friends, “I love my shiny purple ca…CHICKEN!” There just so happened to be bins full of toy chickens. “How can one pass up the opportunity to play with toy chickens?” Then out of the corner of her eye she saw it; the gleam of purple. The cat was calling her. She stood up and returned to her b-line. 

Back in the car, she wore her new hat proudly and said, “What should I name him? He could be like Rowdy from Scrubs!” “Rowdy was a dog,” replied one of her friends. “Then I’ll name him Rowdy Cat!” The rest of the day was spent with Holly holding her head out the window with Rowdy Cat on top of it and yelling, “I would whistle, but I can’t!” at passersby.

            

With her blond hair, green eyes, and lack of upper body strength, she is constantly in a state of mockery from her friends. Her deep seated loathing for camping isn’t helped by the fact that it takes her an incredibly amount of time to pound in one tent stake. It’s remarkable how useless she is when it comes to anything involving camping. She can’t lift water, coolers, or tents, she can’t start a fire, and she can’t cook. In general she’s just there for comic relief. Her description of a three day rainstorm during one camping trip goes as follows, “Most rainstorms are like, ladidadida. This rainstorm is like ladidadi F**k You! F**k You! F**k You! Ladidadida.” Her arms waved calmly during the ladidas with quick downward jabs for the f**k yous.

            

One would usually say that her spaziness would make even the oddest person seem normal. That is just not the case. Upon entering a store with a group of friends, she said to one of the more “hobo like” dressed friends, “So, Cassandra, what bridge did you live under? Anyways, I’m glad we picked you up.” This only turned a couple heads (granted there were only three other people in the store). For the rest of their trip through the mall it was discovered that there was a security guard keeping tabs on them. The “hobo” friend was of course blamed for this.

            

When she’s not falling over, trying to convince people that she’s not drunk, or informing her Shakespeare class that she “feels like a cat on a hot tin roof,” and if Tennessee Williams were still alive she’d write to him about it, she is doing something of similar nature. It is an incredibly rare occasion when she doesn’t do something of the sort. (It probably means she was replaced by a robot or alien.) While people who don’t know her will give her a raised eyebrow, open mouthed look, the people that do barely even flinch. (After you’ve seen her climb through a cat tunnel nothing much surprises you.) Like alcohol, liver, and anything she cooks (excluding grilled cheese), Holly is an acquired taste.  

Notes:

This was written back in October. Since then Holly has turned 18. She still lives at home and no longer works at The Cave of the Winds. She is however still as spastic as described above.

All of the above events are eye witness accounts from me. I, however, am slightly reluctant to admit that I was the "Hobo Friend." 

Food of the Week

For the past week, I have eaten two particular foods more than any others. For some reason I have wanted very little else besides peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and Mac & cheese.

The strange thing is that I never used to even like these foods. I spent my entire childhood avoiding them as though they had cooties. (Oddly enough I never actually thought boys had cooties.) I have seriously gone through an entire loaf of bread in the past week when usually I barely finish one before it goes bad.

It is absolute madness. I'm only one package of noodles away from making mac & cheese with ramen noodles because I'll be entirely out. If this keeps up I might just start eating pickles (a food that for years has made me gag).

All in all it's just a strange occurrence. Even right now, I am eating a pbj while my cat tries desperately to steal it. Who knew that it would take me 19 years to appreciate the awesomeness of mac & cheese as well as pbj?

Although, seriously, if I start eating pickles, I ask my friends to check into my well being because that thought is slightly terrifying.