Thursday, July 8, 2010

My Shot as a Paparazzo (or Stalker, you choose)

I flew up to Lincoln this past spring to visit the ole Cornhusker nation and visit my many friends and many many lovers past. One afternoon, my friend Addie and I went to sit outside the fountain and chitter chatter- you know about the usual stuff (meaning of life, her teetering sexuality, etc.). Whilst our friendly chatter, I spotted a couple sitting across the fountain from us reading and studying together. They both had their shoes off, feet in the water and the sun shone at just the right angle on these two particular lovers. At first we commented on how cute they looked together. They were very affectionate and both looked genuinely happy to be with with one another. It didn't take long before this observation made a 180. The events went something like this, I decided to take footage in case anyone had the nerve to doubt me.
Scene 1. Happy couple flirts and toys with one another while studying. The scene of them together looks like a romantic Nicholas Sparks film or novel excerpt.

Scene 2. The sun brings in more heat than Romeo can handle, thus he decides to remove his shirt. I can understand this. In fact, I'm growing a little steamy myself, perhaps I'll remove an article of my own clothing. Who can blame the guy? Heck, Addie here is already down to her loins!

Scene 3. Romeo and Juliet decide to put their relations on hold and get some worthy studying out of the way..that way they will have more time for their shenanigans later.

Scene 4. All this temperature increase really causes things to heat up. Romeo goes in for the kill and he and Juliet begin a soft core, ever so sensual make-out session. At this point I'm beginning to feel only slightly uncomfortable. I'm not one to look away when people kiss, instead I prefer to study them like my own sexual specimens. I watch their every move and critique their form. His hand on her face, her hand on his leg- they've really got this scene nailed..while still keeping their study materials at hand.
Scene 5. Juliet thinks that just because she and Romeo have shared one hot public make-out this means they are comfortable enough around each other (and the rest of the public world) to do some self grooming. So, like any other college student, she pulls out her Swiss army knife and begins trimming up her leg hairs. Who wouldn't do the same thing? Afterall, the less hair the easier it is to breath in this weather. Romeo doesn't seem to be bothered by this at all. I, on the other hand, am absolutely fascinated. "What kind of creature does this?" I ask myself. "I haven't shaved my upper lip today, perhaps I should ask her if I can borrow these mini-scissors and do a little trim-up myself?" "Am I missing something in Texas? Is this a normal Nebraska grooming technique that I failed to pick up on in my first 2 years of undergrad?" This leads me to reexamine my entire existence as an ex- fellow student of this hooligan.
--This is when things really take a turn for the worst. I decide to get a better angle. I crouch down in the bushes behind Romeo and his betrothed to get a closer look.--

Scene 6. After running into a friend's boyfriend politely asking me what the hell I'm doing, I catch the star crossed lovers engaging in a dermatological experiment. Just a little pimple popping- never hurt nobody!
Scene 7. This really revs Juliet's engine. Kiss kiss.
Scene 8. Back to the blackheads, let us move on to the right shoulder blade.

Scene 9. Mission accomplished- Juliet's leg hairs are in tact and Romeo's bacne has been taken care of- who needs proactive? (please notice Romeo's welts on his back from Juliet's picking and prodding)

Scene 10. Well, my job here is done. I leave Romeo and Juliet, lost in the moment.

God Bless Cornhusker Nation.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Maybe, Maybe So, Harriett, & Anne

Yes, yes I am in fact still alive and ready to blog. For all of my loyal 10 followers, please forgive my 5 and a half month hiatus. I have no doubt that you have been checking this blog day after day, hour after hour, to see what enchanting adventures I have been on lately. After rummaging through some old photos and videos today on my laptop, I wiped a thick globby tear from my eye after coming across the following pics.

It was the summer of 2008 when my first maternal instincts began to set in. Prior to this time- spring of '08 and earlier- I never saw myself as a very "sweet" person. Not to say that today I would describe myself that way (I would probably opt more for adjectives like alluring, ravishing, stunning, racy, titillating etc.) but after this particular summer I took one bound closer to being so sweet I could give you all (my 10 followers) a toothache. Long story short I started babysitting the most precious little being I could ever get my hands on. I rocked him to sleep, wiped his stinky little bottom, fed him messy mashed up carrots, and breast fed him from my very own teet. My falling in love with him led me to fall in love with humans and animals alike..which leads me to my blog plot.
When I was a sophomore at Nebraska I decided to try my hand at caring for another small creature in the same loving manner in which I cared for my almost-child from the summer before. Since I was living in the Theta house I would not be able to have a puppy or pussy cat, so instead I took a trip to PetSmart and purchased myself a gerbil and promptly named her Maybe (after Arrested Development).
Momma and baby. She slid out like a wet bar of soap!

Day 2 of Maybe's life: my dad surprised my homesick little self in Lincoln and when I took him up to my room to show off the newest member of the Munguia family, we found her corpse in the corner of her cage. (tear tear)
Well, thank goodness Petsmart has a 14 day exchange guarantee...(which came in handy more than once)
Gerbil 2: Maybe So. Maybe So lasted a good 4 days before death became her. After two down, I decided I better try my luck once more, this time using only bottled water and none of that tap-water crap.

Quite the exerciser! She's got her momma's thunder thighs..and flexibility!

Gerbil 3: Harriett Tubman (who dug fluff-tunnels like nobody's business) followed by Gerbil 4: Anne Frank (the sneaky, hidden one). Harriett and Anne had a three story loft with pink and yellow floor adornments and colorful walls.
The bottled water worked wonders as Harriett and Anne both survived the Nebraska fall and harsh winters. Like the baby from the summer before, I rocked them to sleep, sang them lullabies, and attempted to breast feed them to no avail. My love for them was unwavering...that is until their nightly racket kept me awake and forced me to take them to the Humane Society.

Oh sisters! As you can see, Anne was clearly having a fit over my snapping pictures as she got ready for their prom. Harriett was a nervous wreck, she resorted to chewing cardboard (like her Momma!)

Sisters quarrel. Go to your rooms!
Posted above are photos of my lost loved ones, the closest things to bearing (and losing) my own children. If you look closely, each of my little gerbils has a feature or two of their mothers.--Anne has my eyes, Harriett-my cute little tush, Maybe- that dreadful birthmark, and Maybe So, well she looks like her father.

RIP Maybe and Maybe So
I like to think Harriett and Anne are both still alive and well in the arms of some delicate little child of the corn.

Below is a video of myself lulling sweet Anne Frank to bed after a night on the town. Notice I delicately place her in the third floor loft, or "annex" as I called it after it became her favorite place to hide from me. Hiding from mom, what else is new? Kids will be kids!

Sunday, January 31, 2010

my day as a faux bride

After hours plopped down in front of the tv watching shows like Bridezillas, Rich Bride Poor Bride, Say Yes to the Dress, and Platinum Weddings, my roommate (Mary Anne) and I decided it was high time to get involved in all of this wedding hoopla. Now don't you be mistaken, we are not trying to get hitched. We are simply taking advantage of all the wedding resources around us. Like any starved college student, all we wanted was some free food, a little roommate bonding, and a dash of improv. And so it began. We printed off directions to a wedding show thirty minutes away, I slipped a faux engagement ring on my finger, and we were ready to go.
We decided I should keep my name and story as close to the real thing as possible so that we wouldn't get our story wrong. So my fiance's name was Joe (after my darling boyfriend) and we had known each other since we were in fourth grade (also true). Mary Anne would be my Maid of Honor. She continued to say things like "it's your day, this is all about you" (something I could get used to). Despite our expectations, the showing was much more personal than we had imagined, which meant more chit chat between vendors and thus more thinking on our toes. It was a small room filled with caterers, photographers, videographers, and florists all asking the same questions: Which of you is getting married? When's the date? (we're thinking fall) What are your colors? (my what?) How many guests are you planning on having? (oh, about 200 give or take)And so on.
The chocolatier in the back has the nerve to ask me where my fiance is. Who does she think she is? I mutter something along the lines of "oh, he's just out doing whatever". I'm not entirely sure what that means, but she gets the hint. Mary Anne then backs me up by saying "boys will be boys". It worked out well that my betrothed is doing "whatever" because Ms. Chocalate-pants gives me a miniature wrapped box of chocolates for me to bring him to sample. Unfortunately, the chocolates didn't get that far. In fact, they didn't even make it past the valet stand on the way out.
Each photographer pulls us aside and first asks who is getting married (Mary Anne tells them all matter-of-factly that I am and I smile shyly, trying to look pleasant and wifely) and then launches into why they are the best photographer for my wedding. I 86 the first man due to his bad breath. No one wants a man suffering halitosis to breathe right up their nostrils in the close-ups. I like the second photographer because he tells us he and his wife work together and I think it's cute. But eventually I decide to get rid of him after he fails to laugh at one of my jokes. Who needs a photographer anyway?

Interaction with the balding, portly videographer:
Mary Anne and me at once: Hello
Videographer: Did you two rehearse that? You two must spend a lot of time together. (Chuckles to himself)
Me: We've been practicing.
Mary Anne: She is my roommate, but not for long! (M.A. nudges me with an excited Maid of Honor's touch)
Videographer to Mary Anne: Are you getting married soon?
(Mary Anne holds up her bare left hand and shakes her head)
Videographer: Got a boyfriend?
Mary Anne: No
Me: We were hoping maybe she would find one here.
Videographer to Mary Anne (whom he has taken quite a liking to): So when are you going to get married then?
At this point we begin moseying away.
Mary Anne: Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.
Me: Story of your life.

Some cake samples, truffles, and a plate of barbecue later, we decide it is time to head out. With our stomachs full, a bag of flyers and freebies, and the rock on my ring finger causing my left hand to ache (oh,who am I kidding? It's a cheap and plastic tar-jay purchase), we head home. On the ride back I read off the wedding checklist I was handed at the door and peruse the rest of our gatherings. Among them: a heart shaped cookie, 2 "Just Married" luggage tags, 1 bridal bumper sticker, a couple bridal magazines, and plenty of business cards to look over with my husband-to-be...whoever he is. Ahh, a successful day as a mock-bride.