Practicality

It’s raining outside and I don’t believe in sharing umbrellas.

There are three things in this world that really shouldn’t be shared: boyfriends, umbrellas, and *hymn books.

I mean consider the outcomes of umbrella sharing: you both get wet. That generally is the only outcome. And then there’s the whole walking in sync thing during which someone’s elbows always get in the way. Really, it’s okay, we don’t have to share; I’ll sacrifice someone for total dryness. Even myself.

So . . . unless you’re height allows you to get your hair totally wet under my super short showerhead . . . one of us (you) should wear a hood. Because the day I share an umbrella with you is a special day. Consider it my sign of true affection.

As a disclaimer. . . I’m really not that selfish. One time I shared my Reese’s Puffs.




* stop giving me looks when I don’t take a corner!

mine over matter

5 years ago, if there was one place I never thought I’d be with one outfit I never thought I’d wear, it was in the bottom of an open pit mine with a hard hat and prison-orange vest.
Guess what? Last weekend I shattered all my expectations and did just that. I was in a mine, with some very unfashionable sailor-mouthed geologists, who drove big trucks with little red flags on them. I trudged through wet, sticky muck (official mining word) and stood next to a scary machine with wheels as tall as two of my abnormally tall little brothers. It was an adventure.
We like to lick rocks in geology. Some are salty and some stick to your tongue and sometimes you just need to know. And in the mines there were quite a few rocks I couldn’t keep my tongue off of. However, I learned one very important lesson about using your taste buds as chemical indicators. In case you ever happen to be in the bottom of a mine, let me share:

This is chrysocalla.


Totally lickable. It sticks to your tongue or, in some cases, really sweaty palms.
(also a source of copper, super cool!!!)

This is realgar.


See how pretty?? I know you’re salivating, but don’t lick it! Just don’t! It’s 90% arsenic (something I knew) and can poison you (something I didn’t believe). Totally not lickable. Still take-home-and-show-your-friends-who-probably-don’t-care-able.


So there’s your geology lesson for the day. You can thank me later.

The Chronicles of Chloe's Nose: Part Two

For the record, this blog is by popular demand. I don’t really intend to gross you out with detailed descriptions about nose excretions. But consider this your warning.

Ok. So. Gummy bears are great right? It’s a fruit snack on a sugar high, as well as being shaped like an animal. 75% of people prefer food that is shaped like an animal. Why else would anyone eat animal crackers?
Thus, one day, as in today, I decided to eat a pack of gummy bears. With like 100g of sugar per bear, it was good sustenance for my chemistry (aka the happiness vacuum) study session. I happened to be at work in the weight room, sitting at the attendant’s desk, which to paint the picture, is a square fish bowl, complete with 4 glass walls so I can gaze out dreamily at the buff men lifting weights.
I’m not really sure how it happened. One minute I was chomping on the gummy bear herd trying to figure out which color was so pleasantly sweet, when something went awry in the esophagus region. I inhaled at the most unfortunate time and then felt it. Gummy bear had definitely gone up my nose. It was most assuredly lodged.
On the seriousness scale from paper cut to heart attack, gummy exposure is a 7. Maybe you haven’t felt it yet but it’s like something experienced at the dentist. Painful. I got a drink of water and cleared my throat a few times, but the gummy bear remained, sending sharp pings through my sinus cavity. I could feel the gummy bear getting comfortable as my own discomfort increased and I wanted to take a hammer to my head. I huffed a little more, trying to act normal in the square fish bowl. The stubborn gummy bear just wasn’t budging.
I blew my nose. I blew it again. And one more time. And then I felt it. A great satisfying “whoosh” followed by pieces of green gummy bear in my tissue. Yes. It came out my nose.

It’s disgusting, I know.
Beware of the bear.

Let your ____ so _____

I was recently the victim of two do-gooders in one week.

The first incident was on a Monday. I had just finished taking a test. After I retired my stressed-out eraser, I was greeted on the staircase by an odd group of happy people. One of these happy bunch asked me “Did you just take a test?” with a bit much too enthusiasm than a conversation about exams merits. I hesitantly wobbled my head in the affirmative. The happy crowd then burst into flames, I mean applause, and gave me 3 “you did it!” ‘s and 2 “congratulations” and handed me a cookie. They did the same to the other suffering test-taker walking behind me.

It felt . . . good. And I got a cookie.

I was struck again the next day by a phantom bed-maker. I came home and noticed my flattened sheets. I stared quizzically at them like one of those art history people looking at a painting. I will never be one of those art history people, but I did conclude that it was not I who made that bed. Someone had definitely done those tight corners for me.

So thank you to all the do-gooders out there who I may never meet or who may live next door. I’m glad you stopped looking at your facebook, or doing whatever else we/I do, to think about me instead. :)

an ode to skidmore sustenance

Instant breakfast comes in can or it comes in a pouch.
You don’t have to do much, just empty it out.
Pick up a spoon
And you’re likely to croon
As you taste the sweet goodness it’s all about.
It’s fast and it’s easy -- no bowls and no plates
Maybe that’s why I’ve been drinking for 8 years straight.
It’s chocolate, it’s milk, it’s in a glass
So hurry, get up, and don’t be the last
To wake up. Really, trust me, don’t over sleep
Or else you’ll get stuck with the shredded wheat.

thoughts as a ukelele is played outside my window.

What is it with this guitar that didn't drink it milk?

I hope other international instruments become popular too.
Like the didgeridoo.
I actually spelled that right on the first try.

But look,



It almost has the same chick appeal.

Juice Press

One of my professors recently said that the best questions are the ones with no answers.
The best questions are the ones with no answers.
Huh. Maybe it’s just me, but I was blown away, and sat there in class ignoring the geologic history of Utah and instead trying to think if I’ve ever asked a “good” question. Because, call me crazy, but I rather like having answers. They’re warm and fuzzy and fit into neat little compartments like a plastic bead organizer.
It’s like this one time, in math, one of the nerdy -“I love pi” T-shirt -wearing TA’s did a proof that showed 1 +1 does not equal 2. It left me fidgety and uncomfortable, because he basically told me that everything I ever thought I knew was actually wrong.
Anyways, I’m moving my lawn chair outside the box now, and have recently compiled a list of life-changing questions to which I have no answer.

(Not all original thoughts, so sorry if I stole yours)
 Why is processed meat in cylindrical form (i.e. hot dog, sausage) acceptable but not in cube form (i.e. Spam)?
 Why do you grow up thinking there are only two kinds of apples?
 Whatever happened to the scrunchie?
 Are Elvis and Michael Jackson in the same place?
 Why are girls in large groups incapable of making decisions?
 Why does it require scissors to open a new pair of scissors?
 Why hasn’t someone installed the no-touch bathroom door yet?

That’s all I’ve got for now. Send your unanswerables my way.