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: I’m not easily suede, butt...

My house is currently being shown by a realtor to an average of two potential buyers each day. They come and they go, and, in real estate as well as trail etiquette, they take only photographs (as far as I can tell) and leave only footprints. Technically. Not to abruptly change the subject, but have you ever sat on a suede* couch? If you did, I bet you drew pictures on it with your finger, because the material shows light when you brush it one way, dark the other. It’s a very impressionable fabric. I have one of those couches. It’s tan-ish, it’s comfy, and I like it very much.** It’s in my living room, because it’s a couch and that’s where couches seem to prefer to live. They like it dry and temperate with a little bit of soft lighting and a nice view of their territory, as well as easy access to the street in case they have a conflict with the armchair*** and need to make a quick getaway. But I digress. All you rea...

Noodles: Cake.

I once read that humorists live small, pitiful lives. Which is true, if you think about it. It’s hard to joke about, say, sacrificing your life for the common good of your fellow humans. Great people are rarely funny people. Even when they have a sense of humor, what will they laugh about? “Today? Huh huh huh yuk yuk....Todaaay, I hugged TWENTY LEPERS and prayed soft prayers with them in the candlelight and three of them experienced miraculous healing! IS THAT LIKE NOT THE MOST HYYYSTERICAL THING YOU HAVE EVER HEARDDD??? I mean, com’on!!!!!!” On the extreme other end of the spectrum, you have, for example, me. I will probably never pilot a spaceship to Mars and bring back a strange new mineral that cures all diseases. But I will, with alarming regularity, experience trivial little setbacks in my journey up the vertical glacier of social acceptance. Take today. We had cake in the ...

The Password’s Lasagna.

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