Feast for your eyes.

I'm going to be busy the next couple days, and I might not be able to update every day like I've been doing until after Saturday. So, in an attempt to keep things entertaining around here, I took the suggestion of one of my best friends to post the video she made for me last year. Do your best to ignore my grotesque appearance. If you stab out your eyes Oedipus-style, don't say I didn't warn you.

I'm Like a Hot, Dinosaur Bath.

If you were to meet me in person, you'd realize a couple things pretty quickly. Well, maybe not quickly; I might have to explain things in a totally roundabout and confusing way first. But eventually, you'd come to at least one realization. Maybe.

When I was a kid, I loved baths. Especially bubble baths. Something about turning myself into a tiny, naked Santa Claus was too awesome to turn down. In a manner lacking any coordination, I would simultaneously throw my favorite bath toys into the tub, and then almost immediately after, throw myself in like I was an Olympic diver trying to beat out Soviet Russia for the gold, potentially furthering Cold War tensions but giving the folks back home something to cheer about. I never discovered the correlation between flooding the bottom two inches of the bathroom and my mother's inexplicable frustration that was directed at me the rest of the day after my baths.

Somewhere between my feet leaving the ground and my body breaking the surface of the water, I would realize that I was about to land on a bunch of pointy, plastic dinosaurs. And these dinosaurs were prepared to stab me like a bunch of knives, still pissed off at the universe for their meteoric demise. Looking back on it, this was really a dramatic reenactment of the dinosaurs' actual extinction. Or a really bad movie sequel, something called "Extinction 2: Revenge of the Velociraptors."

I did this more than once. I never learned. Every time I landed on the dinosaurs, I cried. My repeated insistence on impaling myself would truly be a wonderful case study in behavioral conditioning; more specifically, the fact that behavioral conditioning didn't seem to apply to me. But I was a resilient kid when it came to enjoying bath time; it didn't take me long to stop crying and start making hats and beards out of the bubbles.

Now, stick with me here. This analogy is going to make almost no sense, but it's the best way(questionable) I can describe myself and my sense of humor. I'm a lot like this bath scenario; at first glance, I seem really nice and calm beneath the surface. I am the bubbles that my six year old self coveted so highly, the bubbles that made me rip my Batman pajamas off at a rate that thankfully did not result in a career of stripping. As you get to know me, you realize...wow, his sense of humor is kind of mean. Ow. Wait, why does this hurt. Crap, did I seriously just land on an ankylosaur? You understand that, much like the toys, my sense of humor is all in fun, but it still sucks when your ass comes down full-force on a t-rex tail.

But the bite of my humor is quick, and you get used to it after a while. You get used to accidentally shifting onto a stegosaurus spike every now and then, and for the most part, the capacity to frolic amongst the bubbles and transform into some kind of weird, reptile-obsessed Benjamin Button is no longer hampered.

If that story did not help you understand my personality at all, then we're both having the same issue. I feel like I know myself worse now than I did before I started this post. 

On a side note, looking back on my time spent with inanimate animal-shaped objects, a lot of things make sense now; for example, I have a series of drawings of myself with my imaginary t-rex companion, Dante. 

Why I chose to name him after a lunar crater is some kind of unforeseen irony that I didn't anticipate at the time of Dante's inception, but it's too late now to change his name to something potentially less insulting to the history of his species.

On a slightly unrelated but completely astonishing note, check out a drawing I did of one of my best friends Johana riding a giant catfish:

She has an irrational fear of catfish, because apparently some of them get big enough to eat people or something, so I named it Spock after her favorite Star Trek character. I don't know if it made the catfish less frightening to her, but I thought the concept was worthy of some kind of Nobel Peace Prize for human-catfish relations. Though the reality of that idea is absurd, because from what Johana has told me, catfish are entirely opposed to rational discussion. But if they ever have a change of hear, I feel like my drawing has opened the door.

Things That Are Unsexy.

There's some seriously unsexy stuff in this world. By the made up rules to the fictional game in my mind, I'm required to post what some of these things are.

Sharks
Some people find power sexy. If you're one of these people, then maybe sharks are for you. Personally, I've never encountered someone with power that could be considered sexy; just take a look at the people comprising our country's legislature. The gaping mouth that looks like a toothed goatse and dead, soulless eyes push sharks so far into the unsexy category that they've almost come full circle to sexy again.

Sloths
Continuing on with the animal theme, perhaps in an attempt to reassure myself I'm not into bestiality, sloths are next on the list. Look at that creepy, almost human smile. It's like the sloth is trying to say, "I'm going to eat your soul. Haha!" I'm not cool with that. Not to mention the fact that they move so slowly, moss grows all over their bodies. No thanks, sloth. Good luck somewhere else.

Tumbleweeds
I'm not listing these in any particular order, but if I was, tumbleweeds would be near the top. They look like big balls of rolling pubic hair, which I find gross for a multitude of reasons. Someone needs to teach tumbleweeds the joys of personal grooming, because as it stands, they're more of a bush than a weed.

Courtney Love
Perhaps there was a time in our society's history when strung-out crack whores with a particularly aggressive strain of herpes were considered desirable, akin to the times when full-figured women were held to the highest standard of beauty and men wearing powdered white wigs and skirts founded the very first Chippendale's. But none of those times are now. Courtney Love has fallen far from the success she achieved back in the 90s, when she was famous for being Kurt Cobain's wife and maybe having a band or something. Speaking of her band, it forces me to often put the words "Courtney Love" and "Hole" in the same sentence, something that rivals ammonia and bleach in the "things that should never be combined" category.

Cat Litter
In this universe, there is almost nothing more disgusting and unsexy than cat litter. About ten years ago, my family was living in an apartment because we were waiting for our house's construction to finish. It was only two bedrooms, so my sister and I shared the master; the other room wouldn't fit two beds. My bed was closest to the master bathroom, which is where we were forced to keep a litter box for our cat, because the apartment was on a busy road and she wasn't allowed outside. The smell was the first thing that bothered me. The second thing was waking up night after night, listening to our dog eating the cat shit out of the litter box. The crunching sound haunts me to this day. I'm holding back vomit as I type this. If you had any illusions about the sexiness of cat litter before reading this, I hope I've swayed you to my side of the issue.




Modesto Junior College
The place I've spent too many years of my life. How can a college be unsexy, you ask? First of all, horizontal stripes aren't flattering. Neither is the color combination of orange sherbet and lemon meringue. Does it make me hungry? Yes. Is it sexy? Not unless you have some kind of dessert fetish, which I'm pretty sure doesn't even exist. I don't approve of the staggering number of "goth" hangouts, either. I'm pretty sure our mall has a Hot Topic, so spending all your time on a college campus is not only unnecessary, but it's not fooling anybody. 

Me
Pay no attention to Andrea, my incredibly sexy best friend. Or the fact that we're in a sushi restaurant, probably offending the restaurant staff. Potentially even offending the entire Asian culture. This is probably one of the more flattering pictures I've found of myself, since I typically either look like I just woke up or haven't bathed in days. Both are actually true on a pretty consistent basis, which should concern me far more than it does.