The Food Donations Continue

A certain theme has developed in my lifetime, a theme I'm not sure I should proud or ashamed of, a theme that I most assuredly benefit from, a theme, where complete strangers, regular strangers, and acquaintances alike feel the compulsion to bestow food upon me.
I was in my Popular Culture class (do not let the name fool you, this class is so boring it will not only put you into a deep sleep, but you may be in danger of a coma) this class happens every Tuesday and Thursday evening, promptly at 5:30p.m.  As I sat at my usual table, with my usual cohorts, a boy in the class selected the seat directly across from mine.  The fellow was tall, dark and strapping, a football player at my University.  As he sat and unbundled, he reached into his bag and a package of tinfoil appeared, which upon unwrapping revealed a half-eaten Chipotle burrito.  He dug into his dinner and my stomach rumbled in protest, my eyes the only organ of my body unjustly able to feast.  My mouth startled babbling away to my team members, as my eyes were unable to be torn away,
"That burrito looks so good."
"Guys, let's meet at Chipotle for our team project, I am so hungry."
"Does he have to eat it like that? Can't he see I am starving? Show some restraint, please."
As I continued to stare, and he continued to eat, the comments only grew more desperate and pleading.  Then, unexpectedly, the eating slowed, and then stopped.  He wrapped the tinfoil in on the burrito as if he were finished..oh the horror, the gall! My hand was thrown out to him in a mixture of pleading and warning--"Are you done with that..?"
The boy, taken aback, muttered a consent. And then, an offer. The burrito was slid across the table, into the loving hands of someone who truly cared for it, someone who would show it the respect it deserved. The boy was thanked somewhat gratuitously, and I think I told him "I would love him forever".

The next Popular Culture class rolled around, and that same boy walked into the class, a bit early like I was.  I turned to my friend laughing, "Every time I see that guy I think of Chipotle" as I turned back around, it was the boy's turn to laugh, as he revealed a second Chipotle burrito from his bag and stated, "I wasn't even that hungry when I bought this, and then I thought, well, I'll just give it to that girl if I can't finish it"
And that is exactly what he did.

Well This is Embarrassing.

Friday morning dawned cold and brisk in the foggy Southwest hills of Beaverton. 

I bundled up and trundled out to the bus stop where I watched in dismay as the bus bustled by, it's window's opaque with the breath and heat of its passengers.  

When the next bus lazily rolled to a halt in front of me, I boarded and chatted with the bus driver, paid my extra fees and found an empty seat. 

It was there in that threadbare seat, as I pushed a rubber headphone into my ear canal that I felt the first twinge of pain.  I pulled it out, confused, and pushed it in a second time.  Also, for a second time, pain.  

All during that first day, the uncomfortable ache just inside my ear swelled--
Until that night, it was uncomfortable enough that I couldn't sleep on that side.  

I grew worried. 

The pain grew. 

It was Sunday, two days into the affliction, when I realized that this was not any type of general pain, there was a focus.  The pain had an epicenter: a growth inside my canal that was..starting to impede my hearing. 

I called the clinic.  

On the phone with the nurse, I confessed: I hope it isn't, I donno, a pimple or something.  I would feel so silly. She laughed and scheduled me for that same day. 

My worry heightened.

In the room, the Physician entered, I tipped my ear towards the tiny pinpoint of light emanating from her otoscope  

She pulled my ear closer by the lobe, and squinted one eye to the magnifying lens, and stated simply, "I can't really see deep enought into the ear because of this zit that is in the way, it is pussing on my instrument".  She pulled her tool away and cleaned it off with her scrubs, her face scrunched in annoyance. 

-Sigh-

A Poem of Passion:

'Twas a bright sunny day, in my pretty town of Portland

I bustled down the street, my purpose important. 

In my arms, clutched tightly, I held my reverse-fade raw denim

In my mind, equally fixed-my dreams of stiches and hemmin'

I reached the Tailor's shop, the door thrown wide open

I strode in casually, confidently, there was no slow-pokin'

But to my surprise, as I looked left, and as I looked right

There was no one, not a single person in sight!

I awkwardly scuffled to the counter, looking for a bell

I wondered if the shop did indeed have its skills for sale. 

The search for help continued well past the counter

I spotted a back room, sewing machines, maybe the man with the power.

As I crept towards the setup, no sound had escaped my lips

My eyes, saw the Tailor's hands upon his seamstress' hips

She was pushed up against a wall, their intentions made known

From that tiny office, my feet followed by body flown.

In the heat of the moment (mine, not theirs)

My eye spied a motion sensor above that clothes' lair

In and out through that door my legs took me

In and out, trying to make that sensor see

Finally sensed, a loud beep sounded

The Tailor to the front, at last signaled, bounded. 

He was quite short with me, which I thought should be directed towards the pants

I shrugged, garment man--you get it where you can, who knows? It very well may be your last chance. 

Weirdest Day in the History of Weird Days:

It all started early in the morning, around 9:00 a.m..  I was sitting in my room, the heat of the day (a scorcher, 95 degrees, the hottest day in Portland recorded this year) already seeping in through the walls. My roommate entered my room, sleep evident in his drooping eyes and mussed hair.  He rubbed an eye with the back of one hand and the day began:
"The guy I had over last night stole my phone and my camera, and a bunch of stuff."
"Oh man, I'm sorry that really sucks, are you guys friends?"
"No, I met him at a party last night, he seemed like a chill dude so I invited him over.  When I woke up this morning, all my stuff was missing.  I have been tracking my phone online, I know where he is, would you drive me to go get him?"
"...oh, uh, yeah.  I am not getting out of the car."
--Important side note in story, I did not want to be involved in any sort of fight, and specifically did not wear shoes so I would not have to exit the vehicle.
And we were off! We ended up in a rundown part a town, at an intersection between two busy streets.  The offender was spotted at a bus stop, the car was pulled over, the roommate was out in a flash and confronting the thief.  I surveyed the entire spectacle in my rearview mirror.  As I inspected the situation, a thought flashed through my mind--man, that guy has a sweet bike.
No sooner was the thought conceived, the realization was also born--hey, that's my bike!
I sprang from my car, emergency lights ablaze, and stalked over to the guy in all my barefoot glory.
"This is MY BIKE.  You can't just take things that don't belong to you." (I have since concluded that confrontational statements need to be premeditated.) I walked my bike right back to my car and stuffed it in the hatch.
In the meantime, the man ran, the roommate followed, a punch to the face ensued, the backpack was searched, and the stolen articles were returned to the rightful owner.
We drove home, the roommate was subjected to a long diatribe about discretion on who was to be invited into our home.

The day continued at a summer work party of my cousin's held in Vancouver, where a balloon man approached me and told me he was about to engineer the best balloon structure I had ever seen, and I was not disappointed.

I then proceeded to win a cake.

Grape Eating Contest

The Rules:

No chewing

Whoever fits the most, wins. 

I have 15 grapes in my mouth. These aren't your regular home grown grapes, they are genetically modified monstrosities. He won with a whopping 17.

My coworkers (especially this one) take the cake.

Belly Buddies

Another work story?? (It's all I know)

A great thing transpired at work. A very great thing. I found a kindred spirit, a best friend of sorts, a belly buddy.
A large container of Jelly Belly's had been brought into the office, and the coworkers and I had been munching on them for weeks. We dreaded the day that we would enter the space with hopeful hearts and dreams of sugar beans dancing in our eyes only to find an empty container, and to experience the hollow thud that follows after a disappointed hand drops the canister to the floor. That day did come, although it seemed too soon, they were too young to go, and we were too young to understand their sudden disappearance.
On that day about two handfuls of belly's were left in the container, and I happened be chatting with a coworker as I held the plastic up to my critical eye, assessing the situation. I poured myself a handful, and poured the coworker a handful--we looked at each other and my eyes narrowed as I stated, "I will if you do" .
And at the same moment, we tipped our heads back, and poured the contents of our hands into our mouths.
I had never been so proud of him (as he constantly declines even one Belly, as they are "too sweet")
It was as though there was a fruit medley playing harmonious rhythms of fructose in my mouth.

I've Found My Limit

Well, it happened. I finally came upon a wall that I could not, try as I may, make myself climb.
I was hungry for some cereal lovin', and I entered my kitchen to pour a bowl. The second I saw that my Trader Joe's brand, Twigs, Flakes, and Clusters was all gone, that's when I should've given up the game. But, not one to give up too easily, I pushed onward. I convinced myself that the granola on top of the fridge was "the cereal my roommate said I could eat", and quickly poured a generous amount in my gratuitous bowl.
The granola and I traveled together up to my room, where we studied and laughed with the cast of Community, sang with the aspiring stars on Glee, and cried with Suki's friends over the loss of her innocence on True Blood. As the new episodes online became fewer and fewer, so did the milk and cereal in my bowl. As the realization that I would have to wait yet another week for new episodes sank in, I sighed, and my eyes dropped their gaze from the now-dark screen to the once-full and now almost empty bowl in my hands. My despair was quickly forgotten, when my sinking heart and eyes locked in disgust with the lifeless ones of the dead bug that was floating in my meal. I stared at the intruder, who challenged my boorish lifestyle with its mere presence. I wanted to keep eating. I wanted to not care. But I couldn't, my stomach was turning and I cursed the gluttony of the pest that had eventually done him in, and was now living a ghostly second life, upending my values, and forcing me to question myself as I reluctantly placed my dish to the side.

As you can imagine, the next few days were spent with long, questioning walks in the rain around the city, listening to angsty music, as I tried to figure out who I was, what this incident made me.
It wasn't until a few days later at work, that I was able to find myself again:
I had recently started my lady time of the month (my period, people) and at this point in time we find myself in the bathroom (which could happen even if it weren't my lady time). I had expelled a lady product in the toilet-which, as a side note, I have recently become aware that it is somewhat of a controversy whether or not tampons should be flushed. I have always flushed, apparently everyone else has not-and the toilet wouldn't flush it. Now, we have some pretty noisy toilets in the office, and the sound of the flushin' is audible throughout the space. I flushed a good six times, before I came out, red faced, but with a plan. I quickly constructed an "out of order" sign, and then scoured the office for a latex glove. Glove placed lovingly around my right hand, I reentered the bathroom.
Using my left hand to pull the glove up my arm, so as to avoid water entering the wrist portion, my hand was submerged in toilet water, the offending article was removed and thrown away, the out of order sign was shred into teeny tiny pieces, and meaning was restored to my life.
I'm a sick piece of work.