Smile Pretty?

It seems I've developed a condition in which I can no longer smile pretty for a picture...maybe I never could. Instead, I've acquired a trademark mouth agape look. Many wonder at my psychotic need to always have my mouth hanging open like a possessed hyena. The answer is simple people. Mouth open = one step closer to ingesting food. Or maybe it's just that my normal smile looks forced and unnatural...nope I like the former theory.

So why this random post? Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, or so I've heard. Hi, my name is Bridget and I can't smile pretty, but hopefully in time I'll be able to at least keep my mouth shut.

Dilemma

God is always throwing gifts in our direction, but many times we do not recognize these gifts. As I roamed the third floor of our library I happened to pass by a desk with a lone half eaten bag of Skittles lying upon it. The desk's previous owner had just abandoned it, leaving the Skittles scared, alone, and most importantly uneaten. I saw the bag out of the corner of my eye as I passed and did a total back pedal to go back and examine the situation. I stood at the desk staring down and the little yellow one which had tried to escape the bag.

Would this be considered improper? Unsanitary? Borderline psychotic/pathetic? Maybe this is a gift from God. It's not nice to ignore gifts. I am pretty hungry...
NO! WALK AWAY! NOT GOOD! Maybe just one...NO! OMG! THEY ARE TROPICAL FLAVORED!

I walked away...Skittleless.

Unable to shake the image of the orphan Skittles I sought some sound advice on the issue. I asked Kenric what his thoughts were on eating the Skittles. After much deliberation he voted in favor of the Skittle's lives. No eating. He mentioned some mumbo jumbo about not knowing who had been eating the skittles prior to my discovery of them, whether or not that individual was a nose picker, and what disease he/she may have had. I restrained myself from bringing up the fact that I had witnessed him set his hamburger right down on the table (as in off of his plate and on the table) earlier today and the fact that the nasty rag we use to wipe down all of the tables and then dunk into a bucket of communal waste water probably didn't set the stage for sanitary eating). Instead I considered his advice and had just made up my mind to ignore it, when OBD crossed my mind. Yikes we have less than two weeks, and the one and a half ice cream cones consumed earlier today (yes Rob one and a half...Christina couldn't finish hers) has already gone against my code red regulations.

Needless to say, the Skittles we live to see another day.

Well, that is until the janitorial staff comes across them. Somebody is going to cash in on that God-sent.

And the pics...

It's picture time...confused? Read previous post.

Bleached and gelled:

The beginnings of the reverse mullet (or perhaps Cali Ryne):

Crazy hair in hiding:

The black afro:

The renunciation of hair product (brief period)

And of course, the "I'm a tool" pic (just kidding...but seriously what is that cheesy smile)

And then there was this phase...

Ryne, on a scale from 1-10, how much do you hate me right now?

Clinician's report: This outburst is what is commonly known as delayed onset bitterness. This response can be avoided by not being a crappy wedding date. If a girl invites you to a wedding and hooks you up with a free meal and piece of cake, you had better dance with her and not disappear with some drunk chick for the entire reception.

Evil Little Bridget

I am going to come clean here. I used to be an evil child. Shocking isn't it? I was what one might call a tyrant. To be honest, I think most of my satanic drive came from my fascination with the way people reacted when provoked. My sister Meghan, for example, is a very calm, quiet individual, but I managed to push her right over the edge on more than one occasion. In fact, I remember one such instance when she shoved me down a flight of stairs despite the full length cast which occupied my fractured left leg. This is the annoying capacity I am capable of. Naturally I did not limit my victim selection to family members, but reached out to other poor souls including the mailman (dog poop on the back of his mail truck), and all of my sister's boyfriends (it's amazing what a well planned out scheme of locked doors, open windows, and a couple of squirt guns can accomplish). Although I am half way sorry for all of those events, today I need to focus on an injured party near and dear to me, who apparently is still suffering the ramifications of my mean spirited childhood.

Meet Ryne:

Well this is Ryne 3 years ago. Ryne and I grew up together because our mothers are best friends. Ryne was forced to play with me on a daily basis when we were young and I took those opportunities to impress upon him my birth given superiority (I am, after all, six months older). Our common love for Disney movies and Muppet shows made us close fast friends. Despite this friendship, Ryne was not exempt from the tiny depraved person which summed up my childhood existence. I'd even go as far to say that he probably received the brunt of it all...you can thank him later. For some reason I have vivid memories of tormenting him during recess calling him, "Whiney Ryney." I believe psychologists call this guilt.

For quite some time I've been able to convince myself that Ryne survived his childhood unscathed from my evilness, but his latest hair style change has made me rethink the situation. Yes that's right, a hair style change. So simple, and yet so revealing. For the past three years, Ryne has changed his hair style about every six months. At first I attributed this to sheer boredom, but lately I've been suspecting a more sinister cause. "Perhaps Ryne has a reoccuring identity crisis," I thought to myself, "What might be the cause of this? Maybe someone tortured him as a child, who would have done that? Uh oh..."

It's time for an apology, and fast...before Ryne ends up dying his hair purple, shaving half his head, and combing the rest over (I'm pretty sure that's the only thing he hasn't tried at this point).

I'm sorry Ryne that your Bridget-induced-insecurities caused you to buy bottle after bottle of hair gel and/or mousse. I'm sorry I caused you to feel the need to bleach your hair, and then bleach and mousse your hair.

I'm REALLY sorry that I pushed you to the point where you actually believed that a reverse mullet was ok...that was very wrong of me.

I'm sorry I caused you to reject your natural hair color so much so that I don't remember what it looks like.

I'm sorry you feel the need the place a large black afro on your head from time to time.

I'm sorry you have to place a baseball cap on your head everytime your short hair goes "crazy."

I'm sorry that you had to dye your hair brunnette. Being one myself I should have told you that nothing will come of it.

I'm sorry that one week after you did that you decided you needed to cut and style it and take that ridiculous, "I'm a tool picture."

Forgive me and embrace who you are. You're perfect just the way you are.

I had a bunch of funny pictures to go with these apologies, but this stupid blog system isn't letting me upload them. Perhaps I'll post them in their own separate entry.

Emergen-C

Hold on to your oranges people! Put the OJ in the freezer! Vitamin C has reached a state of emergency. This is no joking matter. Earlier this week I saw a fellow classmate of mine take a shot of EmergenC, which is basically a little pouch of goop chalked full of Vitamin C. Apparently the idea of sitting through the last 30 minutes of International Health Care was enough to send her into a state of hypovitamin shock.

With a raised eyebrow I questioned the substance she had just ingested to which she replied, "It's Emergen-C, you know like emergency vitamin C."

No Alex I don't know. Emergency Chocolate Swirl Snack Pack...yes. Emergency Vitamin C...no.

Perhaps it was our discussion on the starving children of third world countries and their distended bellies which caused this psychotic need for a hit of vitamin C during class. Then I had a theory that Alex knows something that the rest of us don't. Maybe she knows that the South will be hit with an onslaught of terrible storms that will wipe out the orange fields and leave us with nothing. Best to stock up now and shock our systems with Vitamin C as often as possible. Or maybe she knows of a plague of diseases that will attack the UP and she is the only one who shall survive because of her deligent use of vitamin supplements. Darn it, I wish I had such foresight.

Why else would such a thing be necessary?

Ideas? Anyone?

Operation Bridesmaid Dress

I forget...who did I appoint to keep track of my schedule for me? Well whoever you are, YOU ARE FIRED! Why didn't you tell me there was less than five weeks left until my sister's wedding?! You've completely thrown off my plan of attack. Operation Bridesmaid Dress was supposed to be taken up a notch weeks ago. Instead I've been combating my stress levels with oreos, ice cream, and pizza allowing a friendly, yet unwelcome bulge to fester in my abdominal region.

I am not one generally concerned about my figure (made obvious by the quantity of food I consume throughout any given day), but the nice little Russian lady at David's Bridal took my dress in so much that it squeezes the breath out of me and slightly resembles what I might look like in a opaque cling on wrap. I stared nervously into the mirror as she pinned the fabric to fit my dress like a glove. Gloves are made for hands, not tummies Lady! "I cho you!" she kept saying, pulling my dresses taught in every which direction. I'd rather you "cho" less of me. She finished, and the result was that I left thinking that I need to put Operation Bridesmaid Dress in effect ASAP.

I had good intentions, but I also had a shit ton of studying and homework to do, which quickly took precedence. At the time that was ok with me because the wedding was so far off in my mind. Now it seems I've warped ahead to some alternate universe in which my time has twindled to a matter of weeks? Excuse me...but no, that's unacceptable. The only option for me is to upgrade OBD to RED ALERT, which ultimately means less (notice how I say less and not zero, because one can simply not do without) pizza, and more (comparatively speaking this is not much) exercise.

Wish me luck!

It's On Like Donkey Kong

I have just received the grade for my first Organic Chemistry Exam.
And so in a highly censored Bridget Jones fashion all I have to say is:

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuudge!

My first inclination was to vomit all over the place, and then it was to sob all the way home. I did neither.

Instead, once again, I turned to Miss Jones for some inspiration:

At times like this continuing with one's life seems impossible, and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable. I have two choices, to give up and accept permanent state of undergrad and eventual eating by dogs…or not. And this time I choose not. I will not be defeated by a bad Orgo class and a failure to memorize organic structures. Instead I choose vodka and Chaka Khan.

And so I say to you, evil demons of Organic Chemistry, I won't go down without a fight. Although I already devote hours upon hours to you, I am not afraid to take it a step further. If you learn nothing else from life, jot this little note down: Never piss off an over achiever who does not value her sleep.

It's on like Donkey Kong.

Birthday Induced Heat Wave

Last year around this time the weather was absolutely wonderful. It was sunny and about 75 degrees. I remember this because today is my eldest sister Aimee's birthday, and she came up to visit me in the tundra last year around her birthday. The weather had been crappy leading up to her visit so I warned her to bring her winter coat and boots just in case it started to snow. She arrived with her boyfriend Tom expecting freezing rain at the very least. Instead she got sunshine and an engagement ring.

Last week the temperature struggled to stay above 45 degrees and the rain was on and off all week. Suddenly all is well again. It's Aimee's birthday, the temp is in the sixties today, and the sun is shining.

Who says God doesn't play favorites?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AIMERS!

But Popeye Says I Should

Today is October 2nd! Do you know what that means? The spinach scare is coming to a close! I read somewhere not to eat the spinach with best sell buy dates up to October 1st, so I think that means spinach is ok again, or pretty close to being ok again. And thank God for that. Seriously I haven't eaten in like a month because spinach has been deprived of my diet. What's a girl to do? Oh how I love to eat leaves instead of real substantial food. Why would I want cake and ice cream when such a delectable treat awaits me in the produce section?

For those of you who know me best...yes this is a load of crap. You know damn well I don't eat vegetables, especially those endorsed by a misproportioned sailor. I was really diggin' the spinach scare, and I'm sad to see it go. It's fun to watch skinny people the world over cringe when they have to put...gasp...lettuce on a sandwich, instead of their beloved spinach.

Carnivores 1, Herbivores 0

And the award goes to...

Have you ever seen a bird fly right into a nice clean window and fall to the ground? Do you try really hard not to laugh because you know that sucker is probably dead or hurt pretty badly? I don't. I let that laugh right out, and I can't help but think, "What an idiot."

Have you ever seen a human do that? Probably in the movies right? I know it's a simple comedic trick, but it cracks me up every time. What even semi-functional individual slams into a door? How do they not notice the handle? Why would they assume the door has just been left open for them? I mean seriously, who does that?

Oh wait...damn.

I had a meeting tonight for the student athletic training organization I'm president of over at Julie's house, our advisor and program director. As I came up the walk, I could hear everyone already inside chatting amongst themselves, and when I neared the door I focused in on Julie's little hotdog of a canine, Skipper. "They really shouldn't have left the door open, this guy looks like the type that might make a break for it," I thought to myself as I reached my arms down to his level and greeted him. I was just about to scoop him up when...crack! I hit the screen door (yes screen and not glass...screen as in black mesh, not clear glass) with a force that knocked me back about 3 feet. Laughter exploded from my fellow SATO officers and I tried to laugh it off and enter the house, when I realized the door wouldn't open. "Unlock the door," I laughed, but it was not locked. Apparently I hit the door even harder than I thought and broke it. Not broke it as in knocked it off the tracks, but more like broke it as in "now we must remove the whole thing to let everyone out of the house after the meeting" broke it. Basically my worst fear was confirmed tonight, I am the biggest idiot I know. And with that hope of the existence of a more idiotic individual than myself, also goes my next invite to lasagna night.

On the plus side, it was totally a Bridget Jones moment, and had I mastered the accent by now and yelled, "Bugger, bugger, bugger!" after colliding with the door, my life would be complete.