Things I Learned Memorial Day Weekend

Just to set the scene, on Saturday and Sunday I went to Bombfest in Hartford, Connecticut. On Monday I went to the beach in CT, then go-karting, and then mini-golfing.

Me and Aparna: twins

♥ A single Mentos is a "Mento."
♥ If you're wearing the exact same outfit as someone, you're twins. For example: If I put the AA Skater Dress on myself and my friend Aparna, we are then twins. If I do the same with my cat, we are also twins.
♥ Connecticut is brotastic.
♥ Everything in life is better when there's a body of water nearby.
♥ Everything in life is better when there's pizza in my mouth.
♥ If you can't decide whether you are hungry or have to go to the bathroom, you should really make that decision before you enter the Porta Potty.
♥ Snoop Dogg is adorable.
♥ If you have longish hair with bangs, and you painted your whole face so that it had a mouth on it and then put a nose and a pair of eyes on top of your head, you'd look like a man with a huge, long mustache (e.g. Yosemite Sam).
♥ If someone is jokingly mocking you, and you think they're just being annoying so you start mocking them, you are mocking yourself.
♥ Children/young adults should not be present during most competitive sports or games. I have a foul mouth and cannot contain myself when I'm 18,047 over par in miniature golf.
♥ Sea glass is the shit.
♥ Go-karting is still awesome, but the "no bumping" rule makes me sad because I'm violent.
♥ Sock puppet handjob blowjob: if you give yourself a handjob with a sock puppet on, you are also getting a blowjob from a sock puppet.
♥ If you hold up three fingers on each hand and move slowly, you're a three-toed sloth.
♥ If you hold up two fingers on each hand and move slowly, you're a two-toed sloth.
♥ If you hold up one finger on each hand and move slowly, you're E.T.
♥ Pantomiming rubbing chapstick all over your body can get confusing.
♥ Coheed and Cambria sound like a hive of bees being smashed by a rock that sucks at music (this was Sam's addition, but I wholeheartedly agree).
♥ EDITED TO ADD: Seinfeld sucks and is just about white people in New York complaining about soup.
♥ Kazoos are stupid.

This may be edited later because I am currently so tired that I can't remember half of the things that happened this weekend. I do know for certain that I ate a lot of mini donuts though.

Sloths

People own sugar gliders and poison dart frogs and all sorts of weird exotic pets that probably should never be inside of a home. Yes, sloths are endangered, but that doesn't mean I can't take one that's already in some sort of slothy foster home, right? I mean, there's a pet shop in Florida that sells sloths and it's not like those sloths will get released into the jungle of Miami if they aren't purchased. They'll just stay in the pet store forever until they die. Unless I buy one for $2,000 (yes, that is the actual price), take a plane to South America for $5,000 (no, that is not the actual price), and return said sloth to the Amazon Rainforest, I'm not actually going to be helping with the whole endangered thing. I should probably just go to Florida and get a pet sloth, right?

Do you know that sloths only go to the bathroom once per week?! I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING. I did my research and internet sleuthing and this is a fact. Not only do their outsides move slowly, but so do their insides (i.e. digestive tract). Also, they have to climb down from their tree and go to the bathroom on the forest floor because I guess they don't like to poop where they do nothing productive. This leaves them incredibly susceptible to predators since their "fight or flight" response is more like a "just flight, but very slowly" response. It seems that because of these reasons, they've adapted and evolved over time to only excrete waste once per week. This means that they are the BEST. PET. EVER. My bunny, House M.D., shoots little BB poops out his butt about every five seconds. A sloth would be a definite upgrade on my pet-related fecal clean-up (even though there is no word on how large this once-a-week doodie [best word ever] break is).

From reading various sloth-owner stories, I found out that sloths love to cling onto you like they're hugging you. I can't even deal with the abstract idea that I could have a pet that's this affectionate. Normally, I just beg my cat to come to me with kissy noises while she sits just out of reach, staring at me mockingly. That, or I pet my rabbit while he looks at me with robotic, unfeeling eyes (if you ask me, rabbits are just above fish on the affection scale). Also, sloths can barely cause any issues with destruction like most other pets. Think of how many times your dog has eaten or peed in your shoes, how often your gray cat pukes everywhere (oddly specific), or that time your bunny ate your roommates' new headphones and then she yelled at you (even more oddly specific). Would that have happened if they were moving just a fraction of the speed that they normally do and hugging your torso? Probably not.

Anyway, moral of the story is that I need a sloth. NEED. I woke up the other morning, bleary-eyed, and asked my boyfriend (Sam, as some of you may know him) where sloths come from. He started going on about how when two people love each other very much something something something and then suggested we practice sloth-making. I'm not really sure what he meant so I just ignored him and did my slothy research. That's how I found out about that pet store in Florida that sells sloths for two G's and now I know exactly where my bonus money is going!!!


In addition to that Bradypus variegatus (that's "sloth" in science talk and I'm also thinking that I'll name my sloth "Bradypus" now) tangent, I discovered some news about my blog today:

Upset most of the time?! Well, now I am! Thanks a lot. Not only that, but I'm only 24. The analyzer not only told me that I was a whiner but that I'm an old-ass whiner. Way harsh.

I guess it's not as bad as Sam's analysis though:

Now that is just plain hilarious rude.

I Spit on Myself In My Sleep

Not once, or even twice; I've hock-tooied all over my own face at least three times this year alone. Before you become concerned, it's not a matter of extreme self-loathing. Last night, for example, I dreamed that someone was feeding me loose powder makeup and then I woke up to me spitting all over myself. It's like some unintentional, recreation of a Flavor of Love episode except I don't even get to fight anybody.

This picture sort of looks like it could be from a dream.

These aren't the only recurring dreams I have that affect me in real life. I have zombie dreams at least once a week, if not more. That probably has something to do with the fact that I am constantly talking about zombies. Why? Because I heart them and I can't wait for the zombie apocalypse. The dreams, however, wake me up and then leave me paralyzed in fear because my brain makes me think I'm still participating in the zombie apocalypse and that I fell asleep on the job. Suddenly, my roommate who got up to go to the bathroom is a rabid zombie ready to bite my face off and here I am, NAPPING.

I'm not sure if this post really has a point, other than to tell you that I spit on myself in my sleep sometimes and love zombs. I guess it could be worse though, right? I've definitely had dreams about peeing and pooping and have yet to wake up covered in my own excrement (thank God). But at this rate, who knows? If I can spit on myself while I'm unconscious, what awaits me in the future?