Noodles: Tra-comic procrastination.

Hey World!

I spent half of this week on a trip home (or, there and back again), which means I’ve found myself with four blog posts to publish in one day. Fortunately I’m a super genius and wrote them all ahead of time. Except this one. And the other ones. Lettuce just say that this morning I found myself frantically pounding out words, trying to think of funny stuff that wouldn’t leave you drooling into your keyboards. This desperation led me down the age-old path of self-searching that all humorists encounter at some point in their lives...that is, asking myself, “what have I done lately that was very, very, very stupid?” There were a terrifying amount of options, but the first to come to mind was this: I’ve been meaning to mail a Christmas gift to a friend since before Christmas. It’s been sitting on my counter, wrapped and taped and addressed, for the last month. And yet, I have not sent it. Why this negligence, you ask? I will tell you. I am procrastinating for one reason, and one reason only: I haven’t had any cash on hand, and am not sure if the post office takes checks (why I use checks instead of a card is another topic for another time...ha ha! Not! This isn’t a finance blog, sucker!). Anyway, I can’t see why the post office wouldn’t take checks. But I would have to ask. And they’d say “yes”, and that’d be an end of it. Still. Asking a total stranger a question is just a little more social interaction than I can handle on any given day. I didn’t tell you this was going to be a funny story. It’s more of a tragi-comedy. Is that a thing? Or is it a comic-tragedy? Does everyone die, and then it’s funny, or is it funny until everyone dies? Which leads to the question, if we have “rom-coms”, why don’t we have “tra-coms”? It’s not catchy, I get that, but it seems like favoritism to me. Life isn’t all bubbles and puppies.

Comments

Noodles: It’s autumn, all of you.

Hi world. It’s me, your favorite super sheltered, extremely Scandinavian, strangely endearing pile of soggy, tomato-drenched crinkly noodles! Otherwise known as Baby Swedish Lasagna under an Inadequate Tent. The reason I bring up my origins is this: I grew up without hearing anyone say “y’all”. I believe the contraction never crossed my path outside of a book until middle school, when it became trendy among my equally sheltered, pale-skinned friends. I started saying it often, with little understanding of its pronunciation, spelling, or proper usage. At some point, perhaps in a fit of cultural sensitivity, maybe after the madness of middle school had seeped out of my neurons, I stopped using it. Except in emails. Yes, my friends, I am an email y’aller. It just works for the already-awkward group conversations. There’s honestly no equivalent in northern dialect. Check it out. “You guys.” Offensive to feminists. “You girls.” Offensive...

Sauce: Peeved - A Ditty.

Hello world, welcome to the dumbest thing I’ve ever written. It helps if you sing it with gusto. (Hint: UIKEYINPUTDOWNARROWgive “favorite” and “chocolate” three syllables.) Dun dun dun... ...If you’d rather eat spaghetti With butter, And if petting armadillos makes your bitty heart flutter, If you wear twenty-three inch plugs And you snack on creepy bugs, And you turn off the radio before Your very favorite song ends, If you dance to rapping only And you never just be lonely, Then I think we cannot ever quite be friends. If you like to play the tuba And get thrills at going scuba Diving with a pack of grumbly-tumbly sharks, If you stick Q-tips up your nose And knit socks for all your toes And deface all the bathrooms in the parks, If you get joy from picking peanuts Out from every tin of mixed nuts And don’t laugh at jokes that center on Depends, If you run away from cats And feed cho...

Noodles: There are just some things you can’t ask your doctor.

So you turn instead to Google and let your questions be seen by all the world, including snoops like me. I happened to look up a strange sensation I’ve been experiencing lately (yes, I do it too, and yes, I’m probably on the brink of death) that involves a crawling sensation on the back of my scalp. Since it’s not tick season, I assume it’s a tiny person attempting to scale my head in order to have a look around. Unfortunately, I wear a lot of hats this time of year so even if they make it to the top, they aren’t likely to see much. But that’s not the point. If you ask Google to give you any information involving tingling sensations and your own head, it will immediately throw at you a list of questions asked by similar unfortunate individuals, along with the all-knowing answers provided by an unspecified internet friend. Some of them make you shake your head in pity, such as this sad, lonely soul, who asks, “Can I test myself for a brain tumor?” The answer is undecided...

The Password’s Lasagna.

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