pin cushion

I am a pin cushion. This is a phrase I heard at least 4 times today.

Because I got 20 allergy shots today. I sat in the allergists office for 8 hours and I got 20 shots, 10 in each arm. Apparently the serum that was injected into my left arm contained mold and grass and the serum they injected into my right arm contained dust mites and dogs. It's weird. And now my right arm has a large welt on it because I am significantly more allergic to dust mites than anything else. And as you can probably imagine, being injected every half an hour into an arm that is increasingly becoming more welted, red, and itchy isn't pleasant. Plus they up the dose slowly throughout the day so my last few shots felt like they were injecting me with acid.

But like most things in life, it wasn't as bad as other things. Like getting shots into your gums. That shit hurts worse. Or... having teeth pulled. That's way more unpleasant. Having a mound of fire ants crawl onto your feet and then bite you repeatedly. Cutting off the tips of your fingers with a ceramic knife while attempting to slice pickles and getting pickle juice in your wounds. Irukandji venom? I've experienced everything except the last thing so I can assure you that all hurts a bit worse than getting 20 allergy shots.

But sitting in a doctors office all day is really interesting. I learned a few things, like mainly I learned that kids do not like shots. They do not like waiting to get shots and often begin to cry, mope, and scream before the shot is even close to beginning. Then when they are actually getting the shot, they really hate that. They begin to scream and cannot be consoled, no matter what their mother promises or the nurse says. I heard mothers promise pizza, games, naps, sponge-bob and chocolate banana milkshakes, and none of this consoled the children. Even after the shot was long over the children would begin to recall the whole humiliation of getting a shot and still they wept. One little girl tried to reason with her mom when the time came for the shot,"Mom, I don't want to do this. I really don't. Mom, can we not do this? I... I really don't... Mom? Moooooooommmmm?" And then she screamed and screamed.

But I finished a book. And afterwords I got a orange creamslush, because I was good and didn't scream or cry.

Now I'm going to bed, hopefully to dream of riding a Gypsy Electra Cruiser:

If I had 500 bucks...

tu me fais chat-virer

I don't have a job and I still suck at blogging. Oh well.

I'm wearing possibly the ugliest shirt I own that my dad gave me when I was in middle school, which has two cats and there are hearts above them and it says "tu me fais chat-virer." It's also completely polka dotted and looks for some reason like something one would wear in the hospital. The phrase means "you make me cat transfer," which I'm supposing is some sort of weird french slang. One of my teachers explained it once but I can't remember.

Actually, I think it just occurred to me. You know those word games where you will have separate words and then you just say them over and over until you come up with a phrase? I think chat-virer sounds like the word "chavirer" which means "to capsize." So you make me capsize. It's a pun, with cats (which happen to be my favorite kind). Oh those french.

Speaking of cats, I found this ice tray online that makes CAT SHAPED ice cubes. You better believe I'm going to buy it, that's too cute.

Speaking of....things... I have no job. And at this point it's sort of too late and so I probably will not be getting a job this summer. I've accepted this fact and now I'm actually relaxing instead of worrying all day about whether or not I'll be employed. I spend my time reading, going to the gym, and swimming. I recently discovered the joys of swimming underwater on your back so you are looking up and the surface of the water looks like a mirror. I don't know why it took me 21 years to find out about this but it's so fun it's addictive. I could spend hours swimming on my back underwater.

I also spend my time making ice cream. We have two ice cream makers so... how crazy is that? You can make two batches of ice cream at once! I know, I'm living the american dream right here. Lately I've been making really weird flavors, like cinnamon ice cream, champagne ice cream, and tomato ice cream. Tomato ice cream is disgusting and I wouldn't recommend eating it. But I hate tomatoes so I guess it was a pretty ill-thought out sort of thing. I usually give all the ice cream to ryan and his family since I don't know how to make low fat ice cream and I'm watching my waistline. The only complaint comes from his younger brother who wonders why I am incapable of making vanilla ice cream. Some people have no imagination.

On an unrelated topic, can anyone else not believe how old ira glass is? He's 50! He's got gray hair! He is only slightly younger than my mother! It's so creepy. I always thought of him as the voice of my generation, but he's old enough to be my dad. What a let down.

I hate to admit it...

but I kind of want to see this movie

I am the worst blogger in the wooorrrllldddddd

and i have no job and no prospects for a job since the manager of surfburger, the place I was assured I would have a job two months ago, called me today and told me in no uncertain terms that I would not be getting a job there this summer, then he yelled at me and told me to get dave, the owner and my dad's friend who was trying to get me the job, off his back. And I just stood there stuttering into the phone while this person who isn't even my boss bitched me out and told me how "pissed" he is at the owner and told me to get a grip and stop bothering him. I didn't mention how pissed I am that this manager strung me along for a month that I spent doing nothing because I thought I had a job. I didn't mention how pissed I am that I had to call several times because he never called me back no matter how many times I left my number, that I was blamed for not filling out an application even though every time I came by there were no applications and he assured me he had my number. What a nightmare.
So hello penny pinching summer!
To hell with this, let's all go to Russia. Let's take a night train ride out of Moscow, sleeping on bunks that feel like they're made of concrete next to a young Russian couple making out and a middle aged man with a pock marked face and a wary look. We'll wake up in Nizhny Novgorod and spend the day taking notes of boring peasant artifacts and the largest matryoshka in the world. At sunset we'll climb to the top of these stairs at and gaze past the Kremlin walls to the waters of the Volga. Let's drink some homemade honey beer and give a toast to the bride. За жизнью