Noodles: Tickly little threads...

Today I wore cut-off jeans. They had been cut directly above the knee, and, when unrolled, sported a casual fringe. A fringe of varying lengths. A fringe that, casually, brushed against my knees at intervals of twenty-three seconds throughout the entire day. To put that in perspective, that’s approximately 1,252.176 times over an eight hour period.

You’d think I’d get used to it.

You really would.

It really seems like I could figure it out and desensitize my squeamish little self.

But, no.

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...

Noodles: Just another downside of being a genius.

Since I’ve got a pretty long post in store for you a little later this week (and yeah, it’s Saturday, I know...so that means in about five minutes), I’m gonna make this quick and just share with you one of my finer moments. Possibly the most brilliant highlight of my entire career as a human, if I may say so. Recently I was trying to center a picture on what was supposed to be today’s post. Suddenly, my cursor...is that what the little vertical blinky line is called? If it is, wow, what an intense name for such an innocent little thingy. Anyway, you all know what I mean. We’ll just call it the cursor and hope for the best. Kay. So, my cursor started moving. It was traveling across the page all alone! It had a mind of its own! Because I’m super suspicious, my first thought was that someone had hacked my computer, since I was in a pretty crowded public place. There were some nerdy guys in the corner who looked cap...

Noodles: A lovelie story.

I learned how to lie when I was seven years old. There was a boy in my class who I hated. I’m not a name dropper, so I’ll just call him...“Jeremy”. “Seven years old!” You say, aghast, “and you already hated someone? Whatever for?” I’d love to give you a great answer, but it was probably for a very inconsequential reason. Possibly because he’d apparently made it his goal to throw a huge ball straight at my curly side-lined head every time all the kids except me played dodgeball (I remember sitting to the side and trying to convince teachers that no, I really did not feel left out, and no, joining the game would not make me feel better). Or maybe it was because he liked to dip goldfish crackers in Koolaid. Or maybe I took a random dislike to his haircut. Whatever reason, just trust me. I really hated this kid. He made my upper epidermal layer do unnatural things, like crawl. ...

The Password’s Lasagna.

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