Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused After graduating college into a world of unknowns, I began some soul searching. A week later, I did what any self-respecting individual with a bachelor’s degree, debt, and a dream might do: I joined the gym.
There is a certain intimidation factor that plays into joining a gym. The first day, I had visions of muscle - bound, shiny looking men in spandex and tiny women with perky breasts and bleach blond hair dancing in my head. We’re talking Mattel’s BARBIE line, personified, minus all of the pink. I was horrified to even pass through the threshold of the gym, for fear that the workout world would STOP and observe my lack of fitness in shock and dismay. Oh, the anticipation.
Upon entering, I was referred to a manager. Said manager is approximately 300 pounds of overgrown fraternity boy. I am still having trouble wrapping my head around that one. What this man has demonstrated is quite peculiar…think of it this way: it’s like working in a supermarket and going hungry because you forgot to pack your lunch. Your wallet’s there, but you’re just NOT buying.
More entertainment: on the visit after my first [henceforth known as the second visit] I faced a rather interesting horror. Not ONLY was my usual cardio machine taken, but I had the pleasure of doing 15 minutes of cardio behind a woman in her mid-fifties. Innocent enough, right? Nope.
She wasn’t wearing any underwear.
I know this because I could clearly see her crack through her too-tight pants, which were made of a magical material that becomes transparent when worn. Not for nothing, but I don’t like to see the moon before dark. And I PARTICULARY don’t like to see a moon that does not dwell in the sky. It was like I was running the eternal race to nowhere, only the proverbial carrot was a much less asthetically pleasing bait. Yes, it was rather like running towards a bucket of vomit. As a patron, I propose that the gym amend it’s policy to include mandatory wearing of panties. Panty checks at the door. Or, just wear sweatpants.
Possibly my favorite thing about the gym is the parking. When I went for my trial workout, the gym gods bestowed upon me a pretty sweet parking spot. Of course they would, being that the gods can sense when a wallet enters its sweat-ridden interior. Since then, this is not so. I listened to an entire song as I quested for a parking spot, circling the same area of the front lot, hoping to not have to park ALL OF THE WAY in the back.
Now, I am navigating my 93 Ford Monstrosity around a barely there parking lot, desperately trying to turn my corners in such a way that will not disturb any of the cars to my front, rear,left, OR right. As my song came to a close, I resigned and headed to the back lot for parking. The walk to the back doors of the gym seemed to last forever, and the other questors who had circled in the front walked with as disgruntled an expression as mine.
This is the gym, friends. We were all going to work out. What’s the big deal? Can’t we park just a little bit farther??? Popular opinion: The gym should be a marriage of convenience. In fact, I’ve got a novel idea - put the parking IN the gym. I mean, the place is so damned crowded with scantily clad middle-aged women, would anyone really be able to tell the difference? At least the cars would be a pleasant distraction from the guy running next to me, who eerily keeps checking my speed. We’re not racing, buddy. And, in fact, after seeing you about-face and walk backwards …. I’m not impressed, or up to the challenge.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused You know what really gets my goat? (Other than bad, unclear idioms?) Close talkers. There is not a doubt in my mind that at some point in your life, you have come across one. You know, these are the people who are always just a little bit too close.
Close talkers just send out the wrong message. There’s nothing that can ruin a possible friendship quite like a close talker. And the message is “I think you should feel the heat of my breath every time I talk to you.”
That’s the problem with close talkers. They also don’t KNOW that they are close talkers, which accentuates the problem. You know that you have been talking to a close talker at least once in your life. Your mind goes into panic mode, you start thinking, “I need to find a place in the conversation that would allot for an ever-so-slight step away from this spot, right here.” So, when the time comes (and never quick enough) you step away in a slightly awkward “I hope he/she doesn’t notice I am deliberately stepping away” kind of manner.
But, here’s the kicker: THEY STEP TOWARDS YOU AGAIN! See, they need to close the gap. They’re not close enough to converse anymore. Of course, you continue to make moves away, but it never really goes well, and by the end of the conversation, you are about a foot and a half to the right of where the conversation commenced.
And is it just me, but don’t close talkers ALWAYS have bad breath AND spit when they talk?
Yeah, thought so.
When will these people learn??? They won’t, that’s the thing. Sometimes, they make me just wanna scream “GIVE ME MY PERSONAL SPACE” and then indicate an acceptable standing distance.
The idea here is that in the course of a casual conversation, you should not be close enough to someone to spontaneously make out.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused You know what pisses me off? Toothpaste. I have come to realize that perhaps toothpaste is a reason that many people grow old alone and have many cats.
See here’s the thing. Toothpaste is messy. I’m not even going to lie about that. It comes in a tube, which you then squeeze. There is a bit of a science to the squeezing of toothpaste. Apply too much pressure, and it’s all over your hand like some premature-dental-hygiene-related-ejaculation. Then, before you can even brush, you need to clean all of the crap off of your hand- which needs to happen with soap and water, because if you TRY to do it with toilet paper, said paper will stick to your hand, making a strange, minty papier-mâché mixture on your person.
Conversely, if you don’t apply enough pressure, the toothpaste pulls a little prairie dog action on you: in and out, before you can even get your pea-sized amount on the brush. You could play this game indefinitely if you don’t figure out the proper pressure, and perhaps even pass into getting it on your hand. ‘Nuff said.
So, let’s say you’re an old pro by now, you know just what kind of pressure to apply to your paste. Me…I’ve got to squeeze ONLY from the bottom. There is nothing more annoying to me than a large, tell-tale thumbprint in the middle of my toothpaste tube.
I came to this conclusion over the summer, when my family ran out of toothpaste & I kindly loaned mine to the cause of dental well being. My mother, the fiend that she is, wrongly pushed the toothpaste of the middle of the tube, more than once. Not only that, she is apparently an oversqueezer, and left telltale minty debris over the top of the tube!
In conclusion, I clearly need to meet someone who is like-minded, otherwise I will life a life of constant annoyance, for about 6 minutes in the bathroom each day.
I challenge you to look up anal retentive in the dictionary. I guarantee you my face will be there.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused In more ways than one, I am your stereotypical college student. To me, Ramen & EasyMac are substantial meals, late nights are a must, alcohol is a frequent part of said late nights, procrastination is a way of life, I have a “blog,” and, of course; I am addicted to AOL Instant Messenger. Yeah, I am not exactly proud of this, particularly of the fact that I go into withdrawal-induced seizures when my computer is malfunctioning. But I also have observed the different “breeds” of AIM-ers, through the quintessence of all that is AIM:
The Away Message.
The way I see it, there are more than one type of away message people leave, and everyone seems to fall into one of the following categories:
The Literalist: This person always has their full itinerary in their away message. For some reason, they find it necessary to reveal to all who have them buddy listed exactly where they will be and when. Although helpful, this can be seen as quite superfluous in the grand scheme. Usually, I don’t even care where I am.
Here, we also see the Literalist with Flair. This indicates their itinerary, but spices it up with a humorous tidbit or song lyric. Sometimes, I have to admit, this is me.
The Idle-ist: An individual who doesn’t actually remember to put up an away message, so when they leave their perpetually powered-on computer, it eventually turns to their default idle message. Sometimes, this is a personalized message, and others, it is the Infamous AIM Default: I am away from my computer right now. These people are not only boring to me, but far too busy to be signed on.
The Lyricist: This avid AIM-er uses song lyrics to cleverly express their sentiments to the most compulsive of away-message checkers. These are probably the same people who include song lyrics in their profiles, and maybe even their blogs. For instance, I have noticed a personal favorite of my emo-loving crowd on a Friday or Saturday night is: Hey Lush, have fun, it’s the weekend. Clever lyrics such as these are able to hint at the activities of the AIMer.
The Quote-ist: Within this category, we see two smaller subcategories. The Wisdomist, who will use famous words from profound individuals and force thought-provoking concepts into the head of its reader. You will see quotes from famous authors and poets, controversial people, and even political leaders. The other is the Humorist. This is the person who will insert funny thoughts from movies, comedians, and even things their friends said the night before, in hopes of scoring a laugh from his/her friends. Essentially, it is only funny half of the time.
The Randomist: People who leave things up in their away messages that you can’t even wrap your head around, and thus feel markedly stupider after having read them. This is its own category, though the intent of the author might have been for another previously listed category.
Of course, there is flexibility within these categories. I myself am a Quote-ist, Lyricist, Literalist.
Anyway, I’ve got to go now. I need to pick a new away message.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused Have you ever bought anythiing that comes in a box or bag? I definitely have. And surely, if you have eyes and the ability to read, you have noticed the very small white bag full of something that feels a little like seeds on the inside. Perhaps you have even smelled it, who knows? You have definitely quesitoned its purpose, no doubt, as I have.
It is that tiny bag of Silica Gel.
Here’s what I wonder: is it really necessary to specify on the bag “DO NOT EAT!” Seriously? I never looked at that bag and thought to myself, “Wow, what a wonderful little while bag. It looks simply delicious, I think I shall place it in my mouth, chew upon it, and then swallow it for the mere purposes of digestion. Surely, something found inside a cardboard box which contains shoes is meant to be eaten.”
Honestly, WTF. I could see not wanting small children to eat that tiny bag, and labeling it for that purpose…but…small children who might put it in their mouth probably cannot read the admonition…
Food.
For thought, not for your tum.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused No, it’s not the title of a B-Quality action movie, but rather, a clever descritor for the journal entry you are about to read with regards to college students and their attendance in classes.
A lot can be said about when people show up & where they sit in class- it says a lot about their personality. Seriously, think about it, and use the following as a gauge for your very own reality.
The Early Kid:
This kid gets to class around 10-15 minutes prior to the start of class. In fact, he/she begins to set up camp: books are out, pen is out and opened, and he/she is working diligently in his/her datebook, trying to figure out how he/she can best arrange their lunch schedule so that early arrival can be orchestrated for the 1:15 appointment he/she has at the health center. This is the same kid that always asks 8,000 questions and gets an A on the test, despite the fact that “they didn’t really get it” till the last minute. Fuck off. Oh, did I say that????
The “Normal” Kid: Gets there about 3 minutes before the start of class, can deal with sitting anywhere, takes out books only when the professor arrives, and just generally takes the class. Yep.
The Latecomer: Kid always arrives after the professor, enters the class with a little bit of a blank look on his/her face while he/she sizes up possibility of seating locations. They are usually back-sitters, which I will touch on later. This kid is often me.
The Front-Sitter: Very close to the professor at all times. Proximity is like a mantra to these kids- if they are close enough to be spit on by the professor during the course of a normal lecture, they are close enough. Front-sitters, are rarely latecomers, in that if they were to come too late- there would be NO FRONT SEATS!!! Imagine that.
The Back-Sitter: As far away from the professor as is humanly possible without actually LEAVING the classroom. These kids like to do things other than listen to lectures- for example: read a newspaper, do other homework, make a written catalog of all of the DVDs they have in their room (what IS that one in the blue box again???), fall asleep. Good times.
….sure, I bet there are other categories- but this is what I see, as a college senior. Take what you will, leave the rest, and feel free to leave me a comment. I’ll be the kid coming late to class, and sitting in the back.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused There’s something about smokers. Nah, not talking about pot-smokers, just your garden variety cigarette smokers. I have been fortunate enough to observe the creature in its natual environment, and made some very keen observations on the subject:
Smokers have a certain quality of boldness that others lack. For example, a smoker would not think twice about asking a friend for a cigarette, even though it is very costly. In NY, where cigarettes are about $6.00 a pack, at twenty cigarettes in a pack, that is a good 30 cent investment right there. So naturally, you would think, said friend would NOT allow a cigarette to pass through their hands without payment. This is not so. Said friend either just gives the cigarette, or even JOINS the individual in smoking a cigarette. This way, not only are they meeting their nicotine quota, but also engaging in a social activity. Friend also now takes a secret mental note: My friend Bo-jangles lent me a cigarette, I can now bum one off of him in the future with little-to-no protest. Awesome.
Smokers have a flagrant disregard of infection. So, if smoker 2 does not have a cigaratte to give to Bo-jangles, they might just go outside and SHARE the butt. Or, in another situation, perhaps you just ask someone if you can take a drag off of their cigarette, not even stopping to think about what horrors live within their mouth at the current moment.
“Hey, Dude, can I get a drag of that?”
“Yeah, sure. (But seriously, man, I have gingivitis, and that is gonna be all up in your piece after that)”
::friend takes drag:: “Thanks, man.”
“Hey, no prob.”
Similarly, smokers will still smoke when sick. It’s crazy times!
Smokers NEVER have money.
“Man, I really need some gas, a pack of cigarettes, dinner, and I definitely need to do some laundry.”…………”I’m walking to the gas station for some cigarettes, be back in fifteen minutes.”
Ha.
Well, really, is this funny? Prolly not…unless you, or someone you know, is an avid nicotine junkie. Rock.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused There’s something very humbling about having a sheet for an entryway. I remember as a kid, having a sheet for a doorway & find it rather ironic that at age 21, everything has come full circle. Spending the summer home was, indeed a pleasant time, minus the presence of the blue-cloud sheet that served as a door due to a mishap of the return policy at Home Depot. (The door that is meant to serve in the entryway is resting nearby in the hallway; for nearly 3 months, mocking me, with it’s shiny knob & hinges)
One day, after being thoroughly annoyed, I entered my room & tried to slam my sheet. Naturally, this was detered by the nature of this cotton-jersey fabric. Instead, it billowed up into my face. At this point, I laughed in spite of myself. I started thinking about the reality of the sheet: minimal effectiveness.
Imagine your world with only a sheet as your barrier between the outside & YOUR space. Every time I was dressing this summer, I was horrified that my sheet would fall off of the wall, or worse, someone would open it unannounced (after all, who knocks on a sheet?!)
What if I had been entertaining a gentleman friend at any point? “Well, this is my room. You’re looking foxy, so let me create the illusion of privacy by closing my sheet.”What the hell is that, honestly? I think if I were that guy, I would be pretty threatened/intimidated by the presence of ONLY the sheet.
Short rant, but- long & short- your door shouldn’t be made of something that can be worn to a toga party.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused I’m a girl who’s picky about a lot of things- I am the first to admit it- I am not ashamed. So, needless to say, I have acquired a lot of pet peeves that developed a rather cynical views about- and you, my friend are reading THE very sounding board I use to piss off about stuff.
That said, let’s chat bagels and donuts. No, this is not the breakfast from high-carb hell (Atkins freaks!)…it’s a simple system of terminologies I have created to describe female body flaws (only donut translates to male, sorry gents). Both of these trends are the results of ill-fitting clothes. Allow me to describe the anatomical makeup:
Bagel (”bay-gull”): the fat depository surrounding the belly-button area. This can be present with or without improper clothing size, however, ill-fitting clothes will, in fact, accentuate this.
Donut (”dough-nut”): known by many of the baby boomer generation as the “spare tire,” or “love handles.” This is the fat around the waist which is created by ill-fitting pants.
Now that we have become familiar with the terminology, allow me to illustrate an example. I know a young landy, who I will call Shish-Kebab, is in the habit of wearing jeans that are approximately 1 size too small; in addition to fitted tees that appear to be made partially of lycra, or a similar slightly stretchy fabric. Now, of course, this here is a dastardly comibination! The tight pants cause an upward push of the body fat: resulting in the donut, and providing more defined, upraised shape to the bagel.
Problem #1: This COULD be counteracted by a more blousy shirt, which would not affect the donut, but the bagel would be well-hidden. But, as I said, Shish-Kebab wears fitted lycra hybrid shirts which actually accentuate the bagel. Who DOES this? Clearly, someone in denial. Size denial is a sad thing, kids- do you really want to be a walking dunkin-donuts combo meal? Look in the mirror, please, don’t be that guy.
Posted by KAJennings on Aug 17, 2009 in
Archives...Previously Confused Pardon the intentional pun in the title, but how hard is it to clean up a toilet seat if you pee on it a little?
This is clearly something that I only run into when I am in a public place. My main problem with this is…..LADIES….if you cover the seat and then sit down, you will not PEE on the seat. And then you save me the trouble of going into the stall going UGH…and then turning around and walking out bc you did not check to make sure you didn’t sprinkle on the seat. That’s just plain damned lazy. I know sometimes we leave the bathroom in a hurry….but seriously, it takes about 3 seconds to just turn your head, and make sure that you were clean about your business…..
Of course, this entry comes to you thanks to the ladies’ room on the 3rd floor of building G @ Nassau Community College.