I am currently obsessed with this song. And the music video (quite strange for me, because I usually never watch music videos). Oh, and pay close attention to the lyrics, I love the lyrics.
"Somebody That I Used to Know" by Goyte (featuring Kimbra)
This is one of the few videos I've seen that actually compliments the lyrics of the song. So, while it is visually interesting on its own, paired with the lyrics, it paints (pun intended) a very interesting picture of the two of them as a couple, which I think is fantastic.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Not for the Faint of Heart
In the summer after the fifth grade, I grew six inches during one summer. BAM, I went from being tiny Laura to being TALL LAURA and also SURPRISINGLY SKINNY LAURA. Suddenly, I looked as if I was suffering from a chronic disease, like tuberculosis or maybe some other form of wasting disease.
With the height increase, I developed a bit of a problem, which was that I no longer had any body fat. Well, I had a little. But hardly any. How thin was I? Let's just say that, on a ride down the water slide, I got twin bruises on either side of my hip bone. With matching abrasions. And my rib cage stuck so far from my stomach, I looked like the victim of a war crime.
At the time, I had no idea why people kept opening doors for me. But last year, I was digging through some pictures, and I found one of me and Paul at the zoo, and I was in the Terrible Haircut phase of the summer, with a cut so bad, it was literally untameable and horribly short in the front, so I took to embracing the trend at the time, which was wearing a scarf over the hair, like a kerchief, which would have been great, but in the picture had the effect of making me look bald. Which means that I was horribly, dangerously thin-looking, extremely pale, and had my hair covered all the time, meaning people probably thought I had some kind of cancer. Oops.
At the same time, Dad was preaching at this church in a nearby town, and the church, like most in the area, was in an old building and had no air conditioning. It was also nearly the hottest summer I can remember.
I would stand up and sit down, sing, and stand and sit some more, but by the end of every service, even with the little paper fans in the pew, I was feeling overheated, weak, hungry, and very strange.
I was lightheaded, I was shaky, like micro-shakes in all my muscles. A person couldn't see the shakes at first, but I could feel them all over. And the world had this sparkly feeling, like there was a fuzzy wall between my eyes and the rest of everything, and with the shakes came a tingling sensation, and altogether, it felt like my world was made television static. And so was I.
Naturally, this came before my dropping to the ground like a rock and waking up moments later with no memory of several seconds, which I had spent unconscious.
Low blood sugar, the doctor said, was the cause. See, my body was still trying to grow, so it was gulping down every form of fuel it could get, which may have included several important organs.
So I ate more. And still, I would get the fuzzy strange feeling. And then I would sit for twenty minutes with my head between my legs, trying not to pass out.
And Paul had swimming lessons (I had taken all of them but the lifeguard course, and I was too young to be a lifeguard), so we would go to the pool and he would swim, and I would sit in the humid chlorine heat and wait. But one day at the pool, I got this strange sensation again, only stronger than ever before, and I just wanted to lie down. So Mom got me a Pay Day bar and I gulped it down, and she started walking me to the car so I could lie down, but I could not so much walk, so she had to hold me up and--
The next thing I knew, I was staring at the stars. And they were like The Lion King stars, I remember thinking, because they were glimmering and moving in a pretty way. And I could hear voices talking, like Mufasa but different, and then I was looking up at my mother and some strange man (the lifeguard) who had come to my mother's aid when I passed out while walking and clamped down my teeth on her shoulder, vampire-style.
Swimming lessons were cut short as Mom drove me to the doctor's office. I remember waking up a few times on the way.
And they poked and prodded and proclaimed me normal and sent me home. By that time, I felt great*.
I never felt that strange again, until last night.
I had arrived home from work and felt good. I'd had a sweet tea, so naturally, I was in a happy mood, because sweet tea makes me happy. I went to my room, put on jeans and the magic hoodie, and started up my laptop to continue watching The Vampire Diaries, because I am keeping a massive spreadsheet tracking how many deaths take place in that show, which is quite a challenge**.
And then I started getting the micro-shakes and Mom came in and I said, "Mom, I am feeling bizarre. I need food."
She came back with her yummy imported shortbread cookies. But at that point, I was shaking so badly, I could not hold the glass of milk she brought, so my mother ended up feeding me. And then I ate cookies. And then I got a peanut butter spoon with Craisins all over the peanut butter, because I was feeling well enough to walk and I know that when I get shaky, I need to have protein, not just sugar.
"I don't like this," Mom kept saying. And I wanted to say, "Gee, Mum, you think I do? No one likes this." But instead I kept eating. And I Googled.
You see, I have a sinus infection (yes, AGAIN), so I was given this medicine to kill the sinus bugs. And it is working. But it says on the bottle to "take with a full meal." And I had, but it occurred to me that, with my crazy-fast metabolism, my idea of a meal might not live up to the bottle's idea of a meal. My idea = healthy serving sizes. Bottle's idea = portions akin to The Cheesecake Factory's entrees.
And there it was, listed in the side effects along with some other unspeakable things like skin falling off and internal bleeding and death. The point being, I now have a blanket excuse, through the end of the week, to eat anything I want at any time.
So tonight I am making Saltine Toffees.
* Or as great as a girl can feel after a complete physical.
** I have no life, and I love spreadsheets. What--that surprises you?
With the height increase, I developed a bit of a problem, which was that I no longer had any body fat. Well, I had a little. But hardly any. How thin was I? Let's just say that, on a ride down the water slide, I got twin bruises on either side of my hip bone. With matching abrasions. And my rib cage stuck so far from my stomach, I looked like the victim of a war crime.
At the time, I had no idea why people kept opening doors for me. But last year, I was digging through some pictures, and I found one of me and Paul at the zoo, and I was in the Terrible Haircut phase of the summer, with a cut so bad, it was literally untameable and horribly short in the front, so I took to embracing the trend at the time, which was wearing a scarf over the hair, like a kerchief, which would have been great, but in the picture had the effect of making me look bald. Which means that I was horribly, dangerously thin-looking, extremely pale, and had my hair covered all the time, meaning people probably thought I had some kind of cancer. Oops.
At the same time, Dad was preaching at this church in a nearby town, and the church, like most in the area, was in an old building and had no air conditioning. It was also nearly the hottest summer I can remember.
I would stand up and sit down, sing, and stand and sit some more, but by the end of every service, even with the little paper fans in the pew, I was feeling overheated, weak, hungry, and very strange.
I was lightheaded, I was shaky, like micro-shakes in all my muscles. A person couldn't see the shakes at first, but I could feel them all over. And the world had this sparkly feeling, like there was a fuzzy wall between my eyes and the rest of everything, and with the shakes came a tingling sensation, and altogether, it felt like my world was made television static. And so was I.
Naturally, this came before my dropping to the ground like a rock and waking up moments later with no memory of several seconds, which I had spent unconscious.
Low blood sugar, the doctor said, was the cause. See, my body was still trying to grow, so it was gulping down every form of fuel it could get, which may have included several important organs.
So I ate more. And still, I would get the fuzzy strange feeling. And then I would sit for twenty minutes with my head between my legs, trying not to pass out.
And Paul had swimming lessons (I had taken all of them but the lifeguard course, and I was too young to be a lifeguard), so we would go to the pool and he would swim, and I would sit in the humid chlorine heat and wait. But one day at the pool, I got this strange sensation again, only stronger than ever before, and I just wanted to lie down. So Mom got me a Pay Day bar and I gulped it down, and she started walking me to the car so I could lie down, but I could not so much walk, so she had to hold me up and--
The next thing I knew, I was staring at the stars. And they were like The Lion King stars, I remember thinking, because they were glimmering and moving in a pretty way. And I could hear voices talking, like Mufasa but different, and then I was looking up at my mother and some strange man (the lifeguard) who had come to my mother's aid when I passed out while walking and clamped down my teeth on her shoulder, vampire-style.
Swimming lessons were cut short as Mom drove me to the doctor's office. I remember waking up a few times on the way.
And they poked and prodded and proclaimed me normal and sent me home. By that time, I felt great*.
I never felt that strange again, until last night.
I had arrived home from work and felt good. I'd had a sweet tea, so naturally, I was in a happy mood, because sweet tea makes me happy. I went to my room, put on jeans and the magic hoodie, and started up my laptop to continue watching The Vampire Diaries, because I am keeping a massive spreadsheet tracking how many deaths take place in that show, which is quite a challenge**.
And then I started getting the micro-shakes and Mom came in and I said, "Mom, I am feeling bizarre. I need food."
She came back with her yummy imported shortbread cookies. But at that point, I was shaking so badly, I could not hold the glass of milk she brought, so my mother ended up feeding me. And then I ate cookies. And then I got a peanut butter spoon with Craisins all over the peanut butter, because I was feeling well enough to walk and I know that when I get shaky, I need to have protein, not just sugar.
"I don't like this," Mom kept saying. And I wanted to say, "Gee, Mum, you think I do? No one likes this." But instead I kept eating. And I Googled.
You see, I have a sinus infection (yes, AGAIN), so I was given this medicine to kill the sinus bugs. And it is working. But it says on the bottle to "take with a full meal." And I had, but it occurred to me that, with my crazy-fast metabolism, my idea of a meal might not live up to the bottle's idea of a meal. My idea = healthy serving sizes. Bottle's idea = portions akin to The Cheesecake Factory's entrees.
And there it was, listed in the side effects along with some other unspeakable things like skin falling off and internal bleeding and death. The point being, I now have a blanket excuse, through the end of the week, to eat anything I want at any time.
So tonight I am making Saltine Toffees.
* Or as great as a girl can feel after a complete physical.
** I have no life, and I love spreadsheets. What--that surprises you?
Friday, February 10, 2012
At Home with My Family
I was calmly brushing my teeth yesterday when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye.
Really. What more could I add?
Really. What more could I add?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
A Nice Hot Bath
I am allergic to my own hair.
No, really. See, when I get my hair cut, the little bits of hair that are snipped off? The ones that land on your skin and your clothes and the floor? Yeah those ones. Wherever those little bits of hair touch my skin, I get hives.
No joke.
So when I got my hair cut today, I came home and ran a lovely bath, so I could get rid of the little bits and be hive-free.
As I lay in the water, I thought, "Gee, this is a nice bath."
But because I am me, that thought was short-lived.
I turned the water back on to run some flaming hot water into the bath, because a bath isn't really a bath unless you are scalded lobster-pot red. But because of the whole safety-first thing, I put a hand out to steady myself, so I would not fall forward and smack face-first into the faucet, knocking out half my teeth.
And as I leaned that hand against the wall, something happened. Something BAD.
The wall MOVED. And at first, I thought it was my hand, what with it being wet and all, but NO. The wall moved, and it moved IN. My hand dented the wall.
So first I thought, [WORD REDACTED].
Then I thought, "This couldn't happen when I wasn't all slippery and naked."
Then I thought, "What are the chances this isn't as bad as I think it is?"
Then I got out of the bath and (when sufficiently covered) went to get Mom (You don't get Dad in these situations. He tends to react badly).
"Mom," I said. "Could I borrow you for a moment? There's something you should take a look at."
And Mom came. And then she grabbed a nearby screwdriver and started ripping out tile while I stood there in my fluffy pink robe, my hair still dripping gently on my shoulders.
From what we can determine, there was a leak somewhere in a pipe that connects to the faucet of the tub. The leak slowly spread out from the faucet, causing a section of wall, about the size of my laptop, to become...structurally unsound.
Luckily, we have plenty of extra tile and were already planning on replacing the faucet.
Unluckily, this meant we had to call a plumber, and the plumber would come in who-knows-how-long, and he would fix the problem. And we had to tell Dad. Yeah.
So Mom got Dad.
"I hate to show you this now," she said sweetly. This was happening five minutes before his bedtime (and that is possibly the WORST time to approach him with a problem). "But better now than to have you walk into the bathroom tomorrow morning and see a bathtub filled with tile!"
The next thing I heard was a strange crumbling noise. And when I peered in to investigate, I saw Dad using his bare hands to rip tile off the wall. And then he tore out wall. He was like the Hulk, only smaller and less green.
Mom, meanwhile, went into her bedroom closet, because in the closet there is this little wooden panel that pulls away, revealing all the pipes and whatnot for the tub. I went over to see if there was a massive quantity of mold back there, a wise move for someone as violently allergic to mold as I am, but hey, I was curious.
As I stood behind Mom, I saw a hand reach through the wall and into the closet. This was especially freaky due to my viewing of The Woman in Black last Friday.
Then I withdrew to my room, leaving my parents conversing through the hole in the bathroom wall. How Shakespearean of them.
"You aren't listening to me," I heard Dad say.
"I am listening."
"You AREN'T LISTENING."
"I am.*"
Then I heard the sound of Dad pounding off into the living room. He lasted less than five minutes. He panics when things go wrong.
So now, we have no bathtub that we can use, because there is a gaping hole in the wall. The shower in the basement is infested with spiders as big as my hand, so that is a terrifying option.
When I mentioned to Mom that this meant we couldn't use the tub until the plumber came, she looked at me calmly and said, "Well, you're clean now, at least!"
Behold, the hole in the bathroom wall.
More tile will need to come out to remove all the plaster that was water-damaged. The affected area is mostly visible on the side of the wall in the room where a Very Angry Guy Who Should Be Left Alone is sleeping, but you get the idea.
*For the record, Mom is so much nicer than I am. And she was so totally listening.
No, really. See, when I get my hair cut, the little bits of hair that are snipped off? The ones that land on your skin and your clothes and the floor? Yeah those ones. Wherever those little bits of hair touch my skin, I get hives.
No joke.
So when I got my hair cut today, I came home and ran a lovely bath, so I could get rid of the little bits and be hive-free.
As I lay in the water, I thought, "Gee, this is a nice bath."
But because I am me, that thought was short-lived.
I turned the water back on to run some flaming hot water into the bath, because a bath isn't really a bath unless you are scalded lobster-pot red. But because of the whole safety-first thing, I put a hand out to steady myself, so I would not fall forward and smack face-first into the faucet, knocking out half my teeth.
And as I leaned that hand against the wall, something happened. Something BAD.
The wall MOVED. And at first, I thought it was my hand, what with it being wet and all, but NO. The wall moved, and it moved IN. My hand dented the wall.
So first I thought, [WORD REDACTED].
Then I thought, "This couldn't happen when I wasn't all slippery and naked."
Then I thought, "What are the chances this isn't as bad as I think it is?"
Then I got out of the bath and (when sufficiently covered) went to get Mom (You don't get Dad in these situations. He tends to react badly).
"Mom," I said. "Could I borrow you for a moment? There's something you should take a look at."
And Mom came. And then she grabbed a nearby screwdriver and started ripping out tile while I stood there in my fluffy pink robe, my hair still dripping gently on my shoulders.
From what we can determine, there was a leak somewhere in a pipe that connects to the faucet of the tub. The leak slowly spread out from the faucet, causing a section of wall, about the size of my laptop, to become...structurally unsound.
Luckily, we have plenty of extra tile and were already planning on replacing the faucet.
Unluckily, this meant we had to call a plumber, and the plumber would come in who-knows-how-long, and he would fix the problem. And we had to tell Dad. Yeah.
So Mom got Dad.
"I hate to show you this now," she said sweetly. This was happening five minutes before his bedtime (and that is possibly the WORST time to approach him with a problem). "But better now than to have you walk into the bathroom tomorrow morning and see a bathtub filled with tile!"
The next thing I heard was a strange crumbling noise. And when I peered in to investigate, I saw Dad using his bare hands to rip tile off the wall. And then he tore out wall. He was like the Hulk, only smaller and less green.
Mom, meanwhile, went into her bedroom closet, because in the closet there is this little wooden panel that pulls away, revealing all the pipes and whatnot for the tub. I went over to see if there was a massive quantity of mold back there, a wise move for someone as violently allergic to mold as I am, but hey, I was curious.
As I stood behind Mom, I saw a hand reach through the wall and into the closet. This was especially freaky due to my viewing of The Woman in Black last Friday.
Then I withdrew to my room, leaving my parents conversing through the hole in the bathroom wall. How Shakespearean of them.
"You aren't listening to me," I heard Dad say.
"I am listening."
"You AREN'T LISTENING."
"I am.*"
Then I heard the sound of Dad pounding off into the living room. He lasted less than five minutes. He panics when things go wrong.
So now, we have no bathtub that we can use, because there is a gaping hole in the wall. The shower in the basement is infested with spiders as big as my hand, so that is a terrifying option.
When I mentioned to Mom that this meant we couldn't use the tub until the plumber came, she looked at me calmly and said, "Well, you're clean now, at least!"
Behold, the hole in the bathroom wall.
More tile will need to come out to remove all the plaster that was water-damaged. The affected area is mostly visible on the side of the wall in the room where a Very Angry Guy Who Should Be Left Alone is sleeping, but you get the idea.
*For the record, Mom is so much nicer than I am. And she was so totally listening.
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