Crazy Dream

Yes, I realize that other people's dreams are the last thing you probably want to read/hear about, and I would normally refrain from putting you through such torture, but last night's mental movies were far too bizarre to not share.

Story One: The "365 Days for the Earth" Girl

So in this segment of my dream, the first of various short stories stitched together, I was walking and spotted a girl that I knew back when I lived in Los Angeles. She started a conversation with me by saying "I only have four days left" and I responded "until what?" and she said "until I can shower again." So of course my curiosity was piqued and I inquired as to why she couldn't shower and she said that she was doing the "365 Days for the Earth Challenge" which required that she not use running water, electricity, or any technology for an entire year. I then noted that her hair "didn't look that greasy" and we went our separate ways. The most comical part of this is that she is probably the least likely girl to do that kind of challenge.

Story Two: The Dog that Could Only Eat Cheese

So the next little mini segment of my dream that I remember involved two of the children I used to babysit. Their parents had bought them a new West Highland White Terrier puppy and while I was taking care of them, they informed me that we had to feed him and he would only consume vast amounts of cheese so I kept cutting huge chunks of aged cheddar which would have far outweighed the dog and throwing it in his bowl.

Story Three: Tyrion Lannister, Beyonce and Jay-Z

Okay, later on, I was wandering down a street that I think exists somewhere in San Francisco with Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones. Not the actor who plays Tyrion, Peter Dinklage, but Tyrion himself. Apparently it was around Halloween because we were en route to a haunted house. Inside, there were a ton of celebrities. Tyrion greeted Beyonce first by saying "hey, Beyonce, what song you singing?" and she ignored him completely. Then we passed Jay-Z and Tyrion asked him what rap he was planning to preform and received no response again. That is all I remember about that segment.

How dare you ignore Tyrion, Beyonce in my dream!

Story Four: Returning the Food

Okay, this is the longest portion of the crazy dream that I remember, and probably the most bizarre. I had come into the possession of a Groupon for use at some mall food court, and I was hanging out with my boyfriend Alex and friend Molly and they both wanted Asian fusion but I, of course, wanted Indian. I went to the Indian place in the food court and they informed me that I could not use the Groupon on the lunch buffet, and I asked if I could order something to go and they said no. So I got all pouty and decided to go to the Asian fusion place. I ordered two really odd sounding items off of the menu because they said they were dairy-free and she handed me something that looked like a bowl of soup and a milkshake with a ton of whipped cream. Once we got in the car, some sort of odd convertible with the top off, I freaked out because I realized they gave me completely the wrong food. Alex said that I should just wait to bring it back until tomorrow because we were already halfway back to Boulder. The next day I took the food out of a refrigerator located in the conference room at a place I used to work, and as Alex and I were driving back to the mall to return it, the soup started sloshing all over the place and I began to panic saying that they would never take back the food in that condition.

The end. I guess that is what happens when you take 5-HTP and melatonin before bed (it's an herbal thing I swear). 

Pull Tabs and Bad Ads

Whoever invented those little pull tabs to open orange juice and other boxed beverages must have been trying to think of the best way to piss off every single human being who ever needs to open one in the morning. Morning Marisa, whether she is in the form of an excited, refreshed and charming girl following a restful sleep or an evil, scary creature that barely slept a wink, has a Hulk-like transformation when she finds an unopened half-and-half or orange juice carton at work. I am glad that no one has witnessed this side of me- I cannot think of a single more irritating and irrational piece of plastic in existence. There are only a couple of options when you stick your finger in the little plastic ring in a desperate attempt to pull the whole plastic seal out. First, which is my personal favorite (I hope you detect the sarcasm), the plastic tab could break off, making it a project that would stump a rocket scientist to open it. I usually become so frustrated, already sweaty, muscly, green and donning furrowed eyebrows, that I jab a steak knife through the plastic and swivel it around until I can get the juice out. The second option, which is ever so slightly better, is that the tab actually comes out in one piece, but doing this causes way more pain than is necessary to your finger wrapped around the plastic ring. Then the force of the removal of the tab causes the entire carton to shake, often spilling at least some of its contents on whoever just opened it.

I guess those tabs have one use- make them into jewelry 

...Or as a garden label 

So to all of the companies who use the pull-tab on their products (ahem, Tropicana, Silk and Horizon dairy to name a few…) please realize that doing this makes me never want to buy your product. I get that you want to make sure it is safely sealed for the safety of the consumer and blah, blah, blah, but why not just cover the spout under the lid with some foil or easy to remove plastic? Key phrase: easy to remove. Not like the safety seals on the vast majority of vitamins and supplements. You know to what I am referring, I hope- those circular plastic coverings under the lids with a plastic semi-circle that you are supposed to pull and it will theoretically pull the whole seal off in one fell swoop, which we all know is never the case.

Yeah, we all know how easy THESE are to open...

My arch nemesis 

Product flaws and obnoxious commercials are the greatest deterrents for me when it comes to deciding against products. I will keep this ranting blog as short as possible, but there are a couple of ads that I simply must name. The first is for Blue Bell Ice Cream. If you have not heard this commercial on the radio, I truly envy you, but you must listen at least once to understand what I mean. Please click HERE. 

The other commercial I cannot stand is the one for At The Beach tanning salon. It features this weird, anorexic looking chick with a voice so low and drone-like that you assume she is a post-op transvestite or a really convincing cross dresser. 

Last but not least, almost all commercials that feature excessive sound effects, someone yelling at me to take advantage of this “once-in-a-lifetime” deal, or repeating phone numbers 20 times more than would ever be necessary. Good job, commercial- you succeeded at making me instantly change the radio station or TV channel. 

Proposed Changes to the Boy Scouts

While on a walk the other day, I passed by an advertisement nailed into the grass in front of a church asking boys to sign up for the boy scouts (or more like, asking their parents to sign them up against their will). It showed an over-enthusiastic young chap eating a s'more and laughing with his friend next to a campfire. This got me thinking, as many random things do, far too in depth about the boy scouts and girl scouts. So, their main goal is to form young men and women prepared for any scenario, generally one which would take place in the savage wilderness.

Now, I think this idea is ever so slightly outdated considering the actual needs of today's youth. I'm not suggesting the full-on elimination of the scouting organization, simply the re-prioritizing of what members should learn. For example, the biggest worry of one lost in the wilderness today would be not having cell service. I imagine in the next ten years or so, even that won't be of great concern because there will be cell towers every half mile or so.

More important than sitting in a circle for monotonous hour after hour learning how to tie every knot ever invented (in case you are... I don't know...lost at sea?) maybe it would be more beneficial to learn when the directions being recited to you by the creepy robotic voice on your GPS are legitimate and when it is simply trying to lead you astray.

Okay, but WHY??

Wow, I just looked up the list of every merit badge that a scout can earn and while some of them do seem useful, for example the American Business merit badge, many of them just seem like an immense waste of time. Let me list just a few of the most ridiculous options:

1) Farm Mechanics. What little boy is out there saying "mommy, my dream when I grow up is to run my own farm!"? Well, I guess it may be relevant in some of the more barren states where agriculture still exists.

2) Pottery. In what scenario would this knowledge be helpful and prepare scouts for real life?

3) Pulp and Paper. Okay, what?! Considering paper will more likely than not be obsolete in a few short years, this one's inclusion in the list should really be reconsidered.

4) Bugling. I understand that learning how to play the bugle is a traditional all-American musical experience, but what are these kids, elk? And how is their knowledge of bugle-playing ever going to further their life path? I cannot name a single famous bugler. Buglist? See, I don't even know what to call one who plays the bugle.

5 & 6) Leatherwork and Metalwork. What is this, the middle ages? Unless these kids want to try out for a role on Game of Thrones, I do not understand the purpose of learning these skills.

7) Indian Lore. I have no words. I guess being cultured is good, but what a weird, random choice of "lore" to learn. Maybe it was selected out of guilt for kicking the Native Americans out of their homes. Well, they may be on reservations now but at LEAST we know their lore!

8) Reading. There is a badge for this? I hope it is only an option for young scouts...

I tried to look up the list of girl scout badges but found only a complex list of categories and subcategories and subcategories of subcategories of badges and pins girls can earn based on their ages and achievements. It was very confusing, but it for whatever reason you wish to look at it, click here.

The list of suggestions I have for whoever is in charge of merit badges could go on forever and, if I printed it on paper, could quickly earn a scout his "pulp and paper" badge. Here are just a few:

1) GPS merit badge. This would be earned when the scouts mastered the aforementioned skill of knowing when and when not to trust the oft-decieving piece of technology.

2) Blogging merit badge. This could replace the "pulp and paper" or whatever.

3) Outrunning wild animals merit badge. This seems important if and when you are ever lost in the wilderness. Especially outrunning your friends so you don't become the creature's meal.

4) Reading on a Kindle/iPad merit badge. This could replace the simple "reading" badge.

5) Helping your elders use technology merit badge. That takes some major skill and patience and could be put to use in a good deal of scenarios.

Six Going on Sixteen

Sort of like the song from The Sound of Music with skipping a decade. All of the common phrases dotting her diction always made Katie, one of the kids who I babysit, seem older than her true years. However, it wasn't until she uttered the phrase "yeah, that's some serious false advertising" when I pointed out that her guinea pig's "non-drip" water bottle was leaking that the comical nature of this fact truly manifested itself. What six-year-old knows about "false advertising"? Her favorite word, hands down, is "whatever" and her favorite phrase is "so what, who cares?". Today, when I mentioned to her that she was about to be the main character in my blog because of her attitude, she folded her arms, raised one eyebrow and said, "ugh, that is SO not true!" Of course, I instantly pointed out that what she just said completely validated my point. When I ask her what she did in school she just says "oh, stuff" and when I ask her to do things she says "yeah, whatever, I will!" with a prissy attitude. I actually love it.

Little Diva

Her older brother, eight-year-old Diego, is also mature beyond his years but in different ways. He actually out-grammared me the other day, which, for anyone who knows me well, is quite difficult to do. Out of the blue in the car, he spouts out "hm, Sunday is a compound noun. Did you know that?" and I said that I did, and that I was tremendously impressed that he did as well. Then we began listing other compound nouns, and he said "toilet paper," and just as I began correcting him in saying that it was not a compound noun because it was two words he retorted that yes, it was- it is an uncompounded compound noun. Man that kid is good.

These kids are also some of the first that don't go haywire for macaroni and cheese. Unlike other kids, they do not beg and plead for me to whip up a box of cheesy pasta or to take them to a restaurant serving mac n' cheese. Instead, they beg for fish tacos, Vietnamese pho or Indian food. They also don't miss a beat when hearing songs on the radio. They called me out when a band said "crap" during a song, and Katie's inquisitive nature perked up when she heard the singer from Cake mention that he wants a girl who wants "a car with a cup-holder armrest."She couldn't understand why a man would seek out that trait in his ideal woman.

They do love their dessert, watching cartoons, staying up late, reading comics and playing video games. They hate brushing their hair and bathing and doing chores. So, I suppose they are not fully little adults just yet. Give it a couple more years. Or whatever.

Kid-Appropriate Language?

As an occasional babysitter for numerous families, I have come across every method of parenting you can imagine. I am more than happy to adhere to the rules of different parents; THEIR kids are the ones I am caring for, after all. The one thing I wish they could all come to agreement on is the kind of language I am permitted to use around their kids and that their kids are permitted to use around me. It's more confusing than the conundrum debating whether it was the chicken or the egg that first made its appearance to try and keep straight when I can say "crap" and when it is considered the worst swear word known to man. I did not know it was possible to be opposed to "crap" until quite recently. 

The easiest kids to babysit are the ten-year-olds around whom I can say, literally, any swear word I want and they can reciprocate. Getting angry during video games is so much more simple when my mental filter isn't making me say ridiculous words like "shoot" and "drat" and "oh, fudge!". However, there is one catch to my sailor speech around these kids- I cannot use foul language in a manner that can be construed as directly insulting to the kids. That is kind of a no-brainer to me. I feel like anyone who calls a ten-year-old a "f***ing a**hole" is just asking to be targeted by social services. 

Thankfully, I can put up and tear down my foul-language barrier quite easily. Even some of my friends are more sensitive to certain derogatory words than others. It varies by nationality, too. For example, J.K. Rowling throws the "C word" around in her book The Casual Vacancy like it is no big deal whatsoever, an act which I imagine would shock most people from the United States. I learned that the "C word" is common vocabulary in Canada and Australia as well. 

Having the radio on around kids is another huge roll of the dice. Some stations bleep out the word "ass" whereas some leave the foulest of foul language perfectly in tact. I thought there were regulations on that kind of thing. If the kids are in the car and one or two swear words slips through the censorship cracks, I like to hope it is not the complete and total end of the world. I'm sure that people swore like sailors around me as a kid all the time in restaurants and other public places and I never registered it in my little brain. I don't consider myself permanently damaged, anyway. 

A Very Different Kind of Alien Abduction

This blog must begin with a huge warning that the following will contain so many spoilers for the movie Under The Skin (directed by Jonathan Glazer) that absolutely nothing will take you by surprise should you decide to see it; in fact, you may be struck by boredom and find yourself yawning uncontrollably. I have to warn you of this, as literally ANY information I give about the plot is a spoiler, considering the grandiose lack whatsoever provided by the trailer. Seriously, watch the clip below before proceeding.

Okay, now you know a grand total of absolutely nothing about the film except it looks confusing, creepy, artsy, and implies that Scarlet Johansson gets naked. After my first viewing of the trailer I was far from intrigued. My mind folded its metaphorical arms and shook its head like a stubborn child informing me that no way in hell were we going to see that movie. However, something in me kept wanting to watch the trailer over and over and I ended up watching it at least six times and greatly contributing to its number of views on YouTube. I felt like, although I expected a few sleepless nights to follow its screening, I would almost be more bothered if I didn't see it. I decided just to do it; how bad could it be (of course, this is exactly how I felt before seeing The Exorcist which made me unable to sleep or even enter a dark room unaccompanied for a good month)?

I am one of those "crazy" people who actually enjoys spoilers. I like being properly prepared for movies such as this so I know just what to expect. Is there going to be graphic, sick and twisted violence completely downplaying that in Game of Thrones? Will it raise so many psychologically disturbing questions that my mind teeters on the brink of explosion? Do I have to watch someone get castrated or skinned? Okay sorry, even typing that last bit was a bit disturbing. You get the point. But honestly, DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS POINT if you want the movie to remain a complete mystery and plan on seeing it. You have been warned. Twice, I might mention.

So first I went to Wikipedia which provided a brief paragraph explaining the plot, and the introductory sentence itself ruined the complete mystery in the movie. All it said was:

"In Scotland, an alien takes the body of an attractive young woman and travels the country in a van picking up men. As she lures her victims into a trap with the promise of sex, the men are immersed in a kind of preserving liquid and their flesh is harvested. She is monitored by another alien, who has the body of a male motorcyclist."

Reading this terrified me beyond belief. Harvested skin? Seriously? That seemed a bit beyond my ability to behold on the big screen. After this tidbit, I wanted to know more of what I was getting into, so I listened to some SoundCloud clip of two critics reviewing it and basically giving away every single plot point. They talked about how the alien played by Johansson leaves an abandoned baby on the beach, kidnaps a man with a horribly disfigured face but takes pity and releases him, eventually develops a curiosity about what it means to be human and tries unsuccessfully to have sex and at the end gets gasoline poured on her by a rapist-firefighter guy/park ranger after she peels off her face and skin revealing the alien underneath and burns to ashes. The end, now you know the entire film.

The floating bags of skin to be harvested were not nearly as nasty as I imagined they would be- they just resemble little scarves suspended in the "preserving liquid." I have to admit that I was far less creeped out than I thought I would be. In fact, I was a bit bored by the second half of the film but I attribute that to not being that invested or interested in artsy films. If you want to see Scarlet Johansson stark naked and that is enough motivation in itself, go see it. There is a lot of full-frontal male nudity as well though, so consider yourself warned. See it, don't see it, do what you want. If you like conventional Hollywood, skip it for sure. 

ANYTHING That Swims??

Today, as I was driving behind a seafood delivery truck, I realized how bizarre some slogans are. Plastered in gigantic font on the back of the aforementioned ice truck (Dexter flashback, anyone??) were the words "if it swims, we have it." First of all, what lame, lackluster marketing employee came up with that one (how embarrassing would it be if he/she somehow came across this post??)? It does not rhyme, nor is it witty, nor were there any accompanying graphics to catch the eye of the consumer. It starts off with the potential to be a great catchphrase. The introductory words "if it swims..." left me in suspense on the edge of the driver's seat. My mind went wild with the myriad possibilities that could follow.

The one redeeming quality of the aforementioned slogan is that it got my mental cogs spinning. However, the thoughts sparked by my firing neurons were not the ones the company would want me to think. My first emotion was skepticism. Anything that swims? What those creepy fish with the glowing orb hanging off its face that dwells in the deepest depths of the sea? Technically, people swim too (Michael Phelps as an entree??) and domestic animals, are THOSE hanging out in the back of the refrigerated truck, too? Okay, okay, I understand that I was being a bit literal.

I don't want to eat that

....or that

The same thing happens with me and song lyrics. The other day, the Bruno Mars song "grenade" came on the radio and for the first time I realized the absurdity of what he is saying. So, in the chorus he lists a series of insane things he would do on behalf of some girl who doesn't care for him in the slightest. He claims he would "catch a grenade," "throw his hand on a blade," and "jump in front of a train" all for this nonchalant chick. Okay, I'll just start with the first one. Is the theoretical grenade in this scenario active? Did someone pull the pin before chucking it at Bruno? I mean, that makes a pretty big difference. I would catch an inactive grenade for a complete stranger without a second thought. 

Okay, number two. He would "throw his hand on a blade." Is this a saying I have never heard before? Does throwing one's hand on a blade equate to taking up a sword and dueling for her sake? Or does it mean he would cut his hand on a blade as some sort of Game of Thrones-style blood oath? 

Time for the third- jumping in front of a train. Is he doing this because she is already on the tracks and he is trying to jump in front of her so that he gets hit instead of her? I'm pretty sure if a train is heading for you full force, they would both go down in an instant. Or is he just jumping in front of a random, moving train just as a gesture to demonstrate his love? Because unless he jumps out of the way last minute which would seem quite cowardly, he would die and not get to reap the benefits of her returned love earned by his heroic act. If he did somehow live, he would be a vegetable most likely incapable of love. 

Final one, and then my rant is over. The last thing Bruno claims he would do is "take a bullet straight through (his) brain." Not at an angle? Come on, only taking bullets through the brain at any and all angles shows true devotion. 

Wow, if any of you made it to this point in the blog, I applaud you- you're a trooper!

Not Blown Away by "Stars"

After closing the back cover of The Fault in Our Stars, the newly released paperback edition advertising that it was now a MAJOR motion picture and therefore plastered with photos from the soon-to-be-released film, I entered into a serious ponder session. For so many months, I passed bookshelves featuring The Fault in Our Stars by John Green where it was labeled a "staff favorite" or somewhere among the top ten best selling works of literature at the moment. I also noticed it in the rooms of friends and homes of acquaintances, peeking out from underneath a pile of other half-read or untouched novels or shoved onto a bulging bookshelf. Yet none of this constant contact with its lovely blue cover filled with seemingly endless quotes of praise intrigued me enough to buy, borrow, or download it.

Things changed when I arrived at the airport in Denver, void of any literature to entertain me for the plane ride, weekend, and return trip. I feel such a wave of desperation wash over me when I am book-less. Such a strong tidal wave that I would likely drop twice what any book is worth just to fill the void. Of course, airport bookstores thrive and prey on individuals just like me. I realize that the cost to download The Fault in Our Stars would be a mere fraction of that which I paid at the bookstore. However, I am an old soul. I like Frank Sinatra, and not only at Christmas. I like gin and tonics. I love the gritty feel of a real newspaper with ink that rubs off between my fingers. I love, and will always love, the feel of a physical book, the bookmark clearly displaying my progress, the bulkiness of the bound pages in my bag, and the ability to leave it behind at bookshops and coffee shops for others to read.

Now, the problem with praising a book so vastly is that the bar of expectation is automatically raised impossibly high for the next reader. Such was the case when I began to absorb word after word in the start of the novel. I expected a game changer. While, in my humble opinion, it could not be labeled as such, it was a pleasant enough read. To me, it seemed strikingly similar in tone to The Perks of Being a Wallflower (which they also made into a movie, I might add). The Fault in Our Stars follows the fleeting romance between terminal cancer patient Hazel and a boy she meets in support group, Augustus. We know from the get-go that this story will not end well. Perhaps it was this premonition that made not a single tear trickle down my cheek once I finished it. The fact that I didn't blubber like a teenage girl watching The Notebook for the first time actually disappointed me. It is a book about kids with cancer going through pains and tribulations that no one should ever face, and yet despite feeling sad, the words never quite moved me to tears. Perhaps it is because it took me awhile to come around to liking the characters. Initially, I felt they were pretentious and difficult to sympathize with, but around halfway through they completely converted me. Maybe Hazel's strength is what made crying feel like a useless act. She has to carry around a portable oxygen tank so her lungs can "suck less at being lungs" (as she puts it). She has to face her loving parents every day knowing that soon she will have a devastating impact on their lives by disappearing from them. Her list of acquaintances is full of individuals that will not last through the week. Yes, she is a strong character.

You know I actually hate when books put photos from the movie on the cover or, in the case, filling a few pages in the middle. It made it impossible for my own imagination to create characters based on their literary descriptions. At the mention of Hazel's mom, my mind's eye saw Laura Dern (regardless of my disappointment of having my mental character concoction ability stripped from me, I do concede that she is perfect for the role). At the mention of Hazel, I can only visualize Shailene Woodley (the chick from The Descendants). I won't post their pictures here in case you have never seen them before and don't want to tarnish your mind's ability to form its own images of Hazel and her mother.

I did enjoy The Fault in Our Stars. It would be a lie to say otherwise seeing as how I finished it in two days. However, I just don't think it's QUITE worth all of the hype it is receiving. It definitely has a plot scattered with memorable characters and quotes, like that time is "a slut that screws us all" and some listed below in the image. Just read it but don't expect your mind to be blown, opinions changed forever, and horizons broadened beyond comprehension.

Bucket List

Guess where I am RIGHT now?? I'm sure that is a bit of a head-scratcher since I have been all over the place lately. I'll give you a hint: Legally Blonde (the original, not the sub-par sequel about animal testing). Yes, I am currently sipping a latte in Harvard square, with my pinky raised and nose slightly angled upwards. Just walking onto this campus makes my IQ feel significantly elevated, or, perhaps simply my ego bloated. Despite my best intentions to look like I know exactly where I am going on the metro and to look like I truly belong at this Ivy League school, one slight faux pas gives me away, unfortunately. While packing, my mind was taken over by that of a teenage boy and convinced me that really, I only needed one pair of pants for three days. So, of course, day one I spilled mustard on my jeans. Day two, salad dressing. I'm now among some of the best dressed young people I have ever seen (which begs the question- with all of the studying and class work that probably makes them prefer prison at times, how do these students have time to perfect their wardrobes??) wearing stained pants. Next time I visit an Ivy League school, I will plan my outfit accordingly.

Cambridge is truly a lovely place. Harvard's campus itself gives off an air of exclusivity and mystery and the surrounding college town a vibrant and eclectic atmosphere. It is certainly my favorite spot in Boston and its surrounding areas so far, although Fenway Park is a close second. For whatever reason, eating a Fenway Frank at Fenway Park has always been a huge bucket list item for me. Quite literally- we had to make bucket lists in middle school (which seems a bit morbid, if you ask me). But right there, prominently featured on the list, is the phrase "eat a Fenway Frank at Fenway Park." So, naturally, the first thing I wanted to do upon arrival in Boston was to pay a visit to the Green Monster. I initially did not plan to see a game, but now have tickets for today. When I arrived at the field, giddiness and excitement washed over me, and I purchased and chowed down a strange blob of commingled meats surrounded by a bun. However, just as I felt overcome with pride at having ticked off an item from my bucket list, I began to worry. Did it count since I ate the frank outside the walls of Fenway? Do the gods of bucket lists really care? Of course, my strange nitpickings are not the only reason I bought a ticket to see the Red Sox play today- in all honesty, it just seems silly to visit Boston and NOT see a game.

I'm indescribably excited to see the team, sing Sweet Caroline, and feel like I'm in the movie Fever Pitch. Let's go, Red Sox!