How's my Driving?

No, seriously.  Am I the only one to notice the little "How's my Driving?" stickers on trucks?  There's always a number, which one can call to report on said truck's driving.

Doesn't it seem at least a little strange?  It requires the caller to be using a phone while driving, which isn't safe at all and kind of defeats the purpose of enforcing save driving.  So maybe the stickers should say something more like "focus on the road" in order to keep people aware of safety instead of monitoring other people's driving. 

Short post today, just 'cuz. 

The Problem with Toothpaste

The problem with toothpaste is that it's white.  It doesn't matter if there are decorative blue, green, or red stripes through it, the base remains white, unless you use freaky blue toothpaste (if you do, you may be excused from reading this post to go do whatever it is you blue-toothpaste-users do). 

Anyway, the way I see it, the whiteness of toothpaste itself is a scam to make people buy more toothpaste.  They look in the mirror, and in contrast to the pure white froth of the toothpaste, their teeth look downright yellow and downright nasty.  So, we brush harder with our "whitening" toothpaste, but let me tell you something--that silly scrub isn't going to do a darn thing. 

So we buy better "whitening" toothpaste, and we buy whitening strips, and we go to the dentist and ask a professional's opinion on the matter, but don't you think the whole problem would go away if we just stopped using white toothpaste? (Blue toothpaste users, you might be on to something ...)

But then again, some blue toothpaste turns to white froth in the mouth, so it'll take some trial and error to find the toothpaste that makes you look good while using it.  Whoah, actually, that's a huge trial in and of itself, one I encourage you to drop this instant into a pile of smoking coals.  

Two bucks to the first person to send a self-portrait glamor shot of themselves brushing their teeth.  That, along with flying, it something we humans simply cannot do.  Do you see models on the runway with toothbrushes in their mouths?  That's just not happening.  Ever.

The iPad

I'm not going to beat around the bush--we've all seen that video about the guy using his iPad as a cutting board.  Well, I've come up with some unconventional uses for my iPad that are a bit more realistic (and less damaging to its psyche).

1. As a mirror in the bathroom to see the back of my hair (The screen needs wiped prior to use, though)
2. As a place to plug in my headphones so I don't lose them
3. As a handy lyrics looker-upper for after my computer's turned off
4. As an excuse to not check my Facebook (Well, in reality I don't even check Facebook on my computer)
5. As an excuse to type with my index fingers instead of properly
6. Playing Slender when my family decides to watch boring TV and I'm required to be in the room with them

So, if you need a new use for your iPad, go ahead and give these a whirl.

This blog, its author, affiliates, and any advertisers not responsible for damage to your iPad or its psyche.

Biology

I've been studying like crazy for a Biology test lately, and my best friend for the topic at hand is the Idiot's Guide to Biology (much different from Biology for Dummies).  Still, even at its simplified level, there are a few things the book cannot explain to me, such as why they didn't get a better editor before sending it off to printing.

Take note--they're explaining what makes a fish a fish.  Their list begins with this:

1. Jaws (except for the jawless fish)

If a fish must have everything on the list to be considered a fish, isn't the very first point kind of pointless?  That's like saying "Paper must be flat to be considered paper, except in the case of not-flat-paper." Or, "Socks must go on feet, unless they go on hands."  And maybe even, "A blog must be educational, unless it is just plain stupid." (That one describes this pretty well, actually.)

If I've got to remember all these strange paradoxes for the test, I might be out of luck.

Webcams

While I love my computer, I'll admit the installed webcam above the screen gives me the heebie-jeebies.  Simply put, what if it's secretly watching my every move and feeding the video to some remote squid farm in Canada?  What if I'm a constant source of mirth for a bunch of Canadians? 

Sure, a little light is supposed to come on when the webcam activates, and it always asks me if I want to access the webcam before I use it, but what if that's just a cover for what's actually going on? 

All I'm saying is it's pretty scary to think Canadians could be having drinking games on the style of my hair or placing bets on how long I'll go without blinking or laughing whenever I tangle myself in my unnaturally long headphone cord and have to stop to free myself.  And maybe they're totally judging me, especially on the online TV I'm watching.  We've established this: I'm no girly-girl, so naturally I'm the one watching cartoons/anime on the violent side.  And maybe, these Canadians have also tapped my screen, and so are getting to watch these violent shows, too.  And maybe they're getting caught up in the escapades of someone-or-other and just begging to see the next episode, but I've lost interest in the show and denied them of this simple joy.  Aaaaand, now I'm going to go finish every series I ever started just in case. 

On the other hand, what exactly are these Canadians doing with their time?  Don't they have squids to manage or something?  Ask anyone--watching me is less than gratifying, and if it's better than anything you're supposed to be doing, you might want to get a new job. 

Waitresses

If you're anything like me, you're socially awkward.  And, if you're socially awkward, some aspects of restaurants intimidate you.  Namely, that awkward exchange mid-meal when the waiter/waitress asks: "How's everything?"

Theses are the top 3 things I do when this happens:

3. Nod and smile.  The waiter is long gone before I find my voice to speak, though.  This is probably due to the fact that there are french fries lodged in my throat at the time.  Good thing I'm not prone to choking.

2. Conveniently vanish to the bathroom to avoid the question.  He's already asking me if the food's okay.  Does he really have to ask me if I'm choking?

1. Nod like an idiot with food in my mouth and shoot him/her a thumbs up.  Hey, it's the best I can do, under the circumstances. 

And yes, I know they're supposed to use that time to ask you if you need anything else, check your drink levels, etc., but the whole reason I try to avoid the question is because I'm socially awkward, remember?  So, if I'm too shy to even answer your question, do you think I'm really going to speak up and ask for some Heimlich for my french fries? 

Then again, maybe I'm just over-thinking the situation.  Sheldon Cooper much?

Or, maybe I just shouldn't leave my house anymore.

My Perfect Vacation Love Story

This post is dedicated to my aunt, who wanted nothing more than for me to engage in a lively vacation romance while in Florida.  Well, now that I'm back, I feel it's my job to tell y'all about my romantic escapades with a savory character who shall for now remain nameless.

My story begins in a wonderful town known as Daytona Beach, specifically on the oceanfront, in our 18th story condo.  I was sitting around when my family decided to go out for a stroll along the beach.  So we did.

Our journey lead us down to a quaint little shop whose name escapes me now.  They sold ice cream, fudge, and taffy, among other candies.  I strode in confidently, unaware that my Prince Charming was just around the corner.  (And yes, this is a true story.)

Well, my family decided to get toffee after being bewitched by a taffy pulling machine in the front window.  I got a bag and started filling it with one of each fascinating flavor that managed to catch my eye, e.g. caramel apple, popcorn, bubblegum, and Belgian waffle.

That was when I saw him--on the top shelf, between Margarita and Honey, was a big bucket full of maple-bacon flavored taffy.

Simply put, I fell in love.  Until he melted on the beach and ended up fusing my beach towel to my backside.  That was a royal pain to get through security, I'll tell you.

Disclaimer: My dearest aunt,
If this did not fulfill your desire to read a story designed to set your heart aflutter, nothing will.  I might suggest your local library for what some might consider more edifying entertainment, or you could just accept that maple-bacon taffy is more attractive than any surfer dude. 

Further Earbud Adventures

Remember my ear buds?  You know, the ones that are falling apart and hold themselves together with earwax and nothing more?  Yeah, those.

Well, they've returned for more adventures in madness.  It all happened about three nights ago, when I was listening to music on my iPad before bed.  I finally decided to go to bed, so pulled back the covers with one hand while holding my iPad in the other.  The ear buds, of course, were in use. 

Well, when I crawled under the covers, I happened to generate some static electricity.  Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem, but that night it was.

See, the static electricity traveled through the ear buds and INTO MY EARDRUMS.  Have you had your inner ear shocked lately?  Take my word for it: it's not enjoyable in the slightest.  I responded with lightning-fast reflexes, ripping the ear buds from my head.  When they hit the floor, though, they fell apart, so I don't think I accomplished anything. 

5 Second Rule

Is anyone else baffled by our so-called 5 second rule?  Recent scientific developments have shown that it is indeed something to take into consideration when you drop food on a relatively clean surface, but what those scientists didn't do is take the 5 second rule to the next level.  Here's my premise: lets say I drop a sandwich on the floor and pick it up within 2 1/2 seconds.  Now, let's say I drop the sandwich again and recover it within 2 1/2 seconds.  Does my sandwich have the same amount of germs on it as it would have if I'd left it on the ground for 5 seconds, and is it still edible? 

And if my sandwich is good for 4.99 seconds on my kitchen floor (which, for the purpose of this exercise, we'll say is freshly mopped), is it good for 1.99 seconds on a sticky restaurant table, or is the table just too grimy altogether and I'd be better off chucking the sandwich at my cholos hobo because it functions better as a throwing star than a sandwich? 

Returning to my first question, here's a follow-up question: do germs fade away eventually, meaning that if I dropped my sandwich and retrieved it within 2 seconds and let it sit in a corner for a few days before dropping it for 2 seconds again, does it have 2 or 4 seconds worth of germs? 

My most pressing concern, however, is how I even got that sandwich and how I'm clumsy enough to drop it 6 times during the course of this post.  I mean, based on my sandwich-making tendencies, someone either made me that sandwich or I bought that sandwich, and it seems awfully rude of me to drop a sandwich I didn't make 6 times.  (And for those of you who weren't keeping track, my sandwich is up to 15.98 floor seconds.  I don't think I will eat that sandwich.)

Calendars

Out of all the dumb things people buy at the beginning of a new year, calendars are--by far--the dumbest.  The logic behind buying a calendar is flawed at best. Calendar distributors around the world expect you to, for a whole year, remain thoroughly and irredeemably attached to whatever thing your calendar features.  Every month/day (depending on your tastes and calendar interaction level or CIL), you will see a new picture of the same thing and are expected to like that thing, January-December, without fail. 

Am I the only one who sees the major flaw in this line of thinking?  This especially goes for those pesky movie calendars--"Why, yes, I do intend to like Hunger Games and Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part II all year, or at least until early May, when I will once again find myself in desperate need of a Tony Stark/Robert Downy Jr. calendar."

And then you've got your Justin Bieber/One Direction/Hot Guys with Baby Animals calendars, which follow directly along the poster line of thinking. 

Anyway, I ended up with an Agent P calendar, which solved all my problems--he's a cartoon platypus, and never has any dialogue and therefore will never be ruined by cruddy TV writers, which will ensure his likableness until 2014, at which time I will once again embark on a ridiculous calendar journey.