Sweater Weather

Yesterday, September 14th, was the first day of sweater weather this season. I have mixed feelings about this because while I love wearing sweaters and boots, getting them all out again means that winter is eminent and I will have to put away my flip flops and skirts. (Except on Sundays as far as the skirts go.) And we all know how we feel about winter, right?

Okay, let me explain something to you about sweater weather. It gets to you. It really does. This isn't an exaggeration. At least, not for me. The first week of sweater weather, you're excited and refreshed that you don't immediately sweat off your makeup when you step outside. The crisp, cool air fills your lungs and you never want to exhale. The second week of sweater weather you have forgotten the significance of putting on your sweater. The third week of sweater weather you start to grow agitated with the static in your hair. The fourth week fills you with dread and the fifth week... by the fifth week of sweater weather you feel the hope slowly slipping away from you, bit by bit, piece by piece, until large chunks of it fall off into your hands and crumble into dust.

Maybe that is just a little bit dramatic. but after a month of the static, tangled hair and dry, itchy skin, I'm already sick of it. And by that point there are still 3 months of it to go. 3 more months of the underside of your hair being tangled into a ratty mess from rubbing against the wooly sweaters. 3 months of chapped lips that make you look like a Kool Aid junkie. 3 more months of having to apply moisturizer to your face every 2 hours so it doesn't flake off.

This makes me nervous because sweater weather has come particularly early this year. By like... a month. And it stayed really late last season too. Which means the year 2011 will have 9 months of sweater weather and 3 months of "I wish I didn't have to wear anything" weather. Someone riddle me this: When am I just going to be COMFORTABLE?!

I had to wear my coat to work last night. I came home with chapped lips, tangled hair and a windburned face. It reminded me of the very beginning of the season, when I wanted to die every night.

In short, I guess sweater weather is back. To which I have this to say:

Balls.

Idea of the Day.

Okay, you guys. I'm pretty much a freakin' genius*. No seriously. I consistently have awesome* ideas. For instance, today I came up with this great new product: pre-made banana splits. Is that already a thing? I've never seen it before so I'm taking credit. Like it would be in a cute little plastic container. You just pop it open and BAM! Instant banana split, yours for the eating! Brilliant, right? You could call them... "In A Split!" or "Let's Split!" Split no longer sounds like a word, does it? Anyways, banana splits, ready to go. Available in the ice cream section. You're welcome, America.

I also had this idea the other day to pre-drill all my shoes for taps and then carry a set of taps in my purse in case I need to bust out an impromptu tap dance routine. Because like seriously. When WOULDN'T that be helpful?

I'd like to point out that my genius* ideas have gotten progressively more feasible as I've matured. Ideas that used to be "magnetic dog" now are ideas like "banana splits to go." (Ignore the tap dancing idea... that was just for personal use.) Come to think of it, though, a lot of my ideas have to do with magnets. Like sewing magnets into the hems of your shirts and then the waistband of your jeans so your shirt wouldn't ride up. I'm sure airport security would love me for that one.

Okay. I'll stop before I make your heads explode with how awesome* I am.

Wait... I really like this website. Go go go!

Now I'm done.

*or insane

Why Do People Talk to Me?

No, seriously.

I just... like, what is wrong with me? Why can't I be serious about anything? I can, if I try hard enough, but I'm really not down with that whole lack of charisma thing. Why would anyone marry someone without charisma? It's beyond me. But it happens all the time. But that's neither here nor there.

Wow, look at that! I somehow managed to work marriage into the conversation yet again! Someone needs to just propose to me already. I mean... what?

Oh, right. I'm a crazy person. I'm sure you've already figured that out by now, but I am just now realizing the extent of it. Like for example, this email I sent to my English professor:

Hi, my name is [Glory Allegory] and I'm a procrastinator, which is why this email is being sent, past midnight, on Monday. Also because I just remembered. I'm in your English class on Mondays and Wednesdays from 12-2. I sit front and center. You can't miss me. I have bangs. Anyway, you said to email you but I'm not sure what this email is supposed to be about. I'm just wingin' it. Most people probably didn't even say anything which I consider to be impolite. But now I've probably made this awkward.

Now I'm going to ask you a legitimate question. Would it be okay if I used my blog for journal checks? I'd use my real journal but 50% of the time the pages are either a list of things I hate or a page full of swear words, neither of which I would consider to be up to my usual standard for my writing. You can ever READ my blog. No really, please read it. The only other people who read it are this guy who is friends with me on Facebook that was foolish enough to let me borrow his really nice camera once and also my neighbor. Anyway, you can let me know in person or via email.

This has been sufficiently awkward. Probably. Not really for me because I'm used to people thinking I'm crazy. But now you likely think I'm insane and have terrible grammar. I don't. I promise. I just write like I think sometimes. My papers will be much better.

Sincerely,

Glory Allegory

First row, third seat from the left (and right)

You see what I mean? Most people were just like "here's your email" and sent it without having to be socially challenged about it. But OHHHH NO. Not me. Gotta take every opportunity to demonstrate my insanity and run with it. In my teeth.

What's my point? I have no idea. All I know is that everyone thinks I'm funny when I talk. Even when I'm not trying to me. My mom laughed at me when I said I should have killed myself today. Granted I WASN'T serious, it was in reference to a burrito, but still. How many mothers would laugh at something like that? Okay, this was a bad example. My mother is wonderful and loves me very much and knows I would not try to kill myself. It was simply the delivery of the line that was comical, I guess. Wow, I'm digging myself a hole.

Anyway, forget it. I'm not making any sense at all. Here, look at this picture I drew in Adobe Illustrator!

It's a dinosaur in an astronaut helmet! Do you like it?!

Sigh. I'm gonna go look at pictures of space on the internet.

I didn't get a new backpack this year.

Every year before school started I used to get a new backpack but this year I didn't. I'm using a suede and leather briefcase/messenger bag thing from 1994 or something that my grandma found in her garage and I swear if you call me a hipster I'm going to kill you in the most obscure way anyone's ever heard of. (Get it?)

I'm going to tell you about my first day of school. I know this post is kind of late-seeming but I work on my own time table. Time is nothing but a string of moments anyway, drifting towards... you know what? Screw it, hippies, I'm just gonna tell you about my day.

For some reason when I printed off my schedule it was listed in reverse order. But I didn't realize that at the time, as I lack all foresight and common sense, so basically I just went to the first room listed. It wasn't until 10 minutes into the class when I realized it was Psychology 1010 instead of History 3200. "Balls," I though. I considered just sitting there the whole class period and not doing anything about it, but that seemed like it would be a huge waste of everyone's time. Plus how was I supposed to explain to my history professor that I just sat through a completely non-essential class for an hour and a half or something. The professor asked for us to introduce ourselves and then asked for volunteers. My hand shot up. She called on me and I said, "Hi, my name is Glory, and I'm not supposed to be in this class, so I'm just gonna go. Byeeeee." And I got up and walked out. And everyone laughed. But in a good way. I think.

Then I find my REAL first class. I take a deep breath and open the door and... oh crap the door is locked. And the reason I know this is: when I pulled on the door, it wouldn't open. So I just ended up falling over backwards. In front of everyone. And then they opened the door for me and the only seat available was....

In the front. I shoved by a few people and took a seat and could feel everyone judging me. The only saving grace is that I looked pretty decent. I wasn't in sweatpants and a baggy tank top toting a Victoria's Secret bag around. Not that there's anything wrong with that... I'm just saying that at least I looked sort of more interesting than that.

Nothing interesting happened in that class, aside from gaining the knowledge that pork is the most comparable meat to human flesh. I'm sure all of you were dying to know that. Nothing terribly interesting happened in the next class either but at least the professor seems cool. WAY better than my last English Comp 1 professor, who was this horrible skinny girl who didn't know Thoreau from Jesus and wouldn't shut up about her cat.

Sometimes it's frustrating to be surrounded by idiots. I should have gone to one of the hundreds of REAL colleges that were dying to have me. (Am I being sarcastic or not? You'll never know. Anyone remember what my ACT score was?) Anyways.

Then the last class I had that day was.... well, my professor told us all his life story very animatedly until I pointedly said, "I'm sorry, but that's Westside Story." And he was like, "Yes! Thank you! I've been waiting for someone to catch that all day!" And I smiled uncomfortably and tried not to look at him the rest of the class. The girl I sit next to is 17 years old. She's been dual enrolled since she was 15. And she's probably going to graduate before me.

You know, it's really miraculous that I don't just give up, what with me being the epic loser that I am. I really honestly think that all I'm good for 99% of the time is a laugh. My mom was like, "You're the female David Sedaris without the homosexuality and screwed up childhood!" And I was like... Sighhhhhh.

Anyway. That was basically my first day of school. This semester isn't terribly exciting but at least I'll more than likely ace everything. My Illustration class is really fun though. That's all for now. I'm gonna go take my clothes off and roll in glitter to the throbbing beat of a slutty techno song. And by that I mean I'm going to go have some yogurt.

Out.

Shuck this! or, A Nebraskan's Guide to Sweet Corn

As a born-and-raised "cornhusker" I feel the moral obligation to explain to everyone how wonderful corn is. Because seriously you guys, corn is the best thing ever. Not even kidding. It's summer and it's sweetcorn season here in the heartland. (Or... it was.) And now, here's my guide to Nebraskan sweetcorn. I could go into history and identification and all that but I'll spare you. Ready? GO!

First of all, the best way to guarantee you get good corn is to buy it at the right places. And all good corn consumers know that this "right place" isn't at a grocery store. You want to buy it directly from the farmer. That is to say, purchase your corn from roadside stands. Guys with pickup beds full of corn are way more legit than any grocery store. Always buy it still in the husk. Ask what variety it is. If they say "peaches 'n' creme," buy it. Bicolor sweetcorn is the best. So when you get home with your plastic bag of 12-for-$3.50 corn, it should look like this:

Now you'll need to shuck it. Like this:

Break off the remaining stalk at the bottom (this comes with practice, I'm a pro) and pull off all the silks (stringy stuff). I usually snap off that top part of the ear too. Don't freak out if there's a worm. Seriously, don't be a girl about it. It's fresh-from-the-fields. Just take a paring knife and cut out the affected portion. And squash the worm if you desire. Now that you've shucked your corn, let's take a look at your ears. There are 2 general types of ears you'll get:

Can you spot the difference? Which one is better? The first ear is overgrown:

The darker color and crowded, uneven rows of kernels tell you that the corn wasn't picked at its prime... and won't be as sweet and tender. This corn is just right:

The even, tight rows of kernels and light color tell you that this corn will (generally) be awesome. Then you discard your husks:

Then you cook it. I boil my corn... no longer than 8 minutes (I do about 6 usually) in boiling water. Remove with tongs, slap it on a stick of butter and roll until it drips, throw on some popcorn salt and EAT THAT SUCKER!

I'm so Nebraskan sometimes it's not even funny.

You are welcome.

An Actual Conversation that Took Place at Work Today or, WHAT THE FETCH IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE

There are a lot of moments in my workplace that I just want to be like, "seriously, America?" but I can't because part of my job is to be really fetchin' polite to everyone. Moments including guys depositing a large pool of spit on the sidewalk for everyone to see/step in, people asking me to screen them for colon cancer and women who wear heels to baseball games. But today I had an encounter that really took stupid jerk to a whole new level. Here's approximately how it all went down:

Man approaches me looking angry. I smile at him in a friendly manner which seems to darken his mood even more.'

Man: I bought these tickets over the phone and paid like forty bucks and they're not what I asked for.

Me: Oh, not what you asked for? I'm sorry, which tickets did you ask for?

Man: The guy on the phone said there'd be air conditioning.

Me: Oh, well in that-

Man: There's no air conditioning.

Me: Not in your seats, no, but in the indoor club area-

Man: there's no air conditioning in there.

Me: ...um... yes, I think there is...?

Man: (growing more angry and irrational) NO THERE'S NOT.

Me: (confused and growing impatient) There is supposed to be...?

Man: It's like 80 degrees in there-

Me: ...and 104 out here.

Man: I asked for seats inside in the air conditioning, I paid $40, the man on the phone said I'd get that and my seats are behind home plate.

Me: ...those are really good seats.

Man: There's no air conditioning.

Me: (annoyed) Well no, they're outside and you can't exactly air condition the outdoors.

Man: I didn't get what I paid for.

Now at this point I'm pissed. It's hot as balls, I've been outside for six hours sweating and this idiot is yelling at me for his own stupidity.

Me: Actually, YEAH, you did get EXACTLY what you paid for. I'm guessing since you're complaining about spending $40, you aren't going to want to drop the cash for a nightly suite, which runs $645. Without spending that, the club seats are the only thing that is going to come close to that. Sorry. I don't know what you're asking me for. I don't know what to do for you.

Man: Well then fine. Maybe I just won't come back.

Me: Well that's just fine because I never want to see your dumb-ass cheapskate moron face around here ever again.

Just kidding. But I did say this:

Me: Ok, or you could talk to my manager like a rational adult.

And then I called my manager who had to deal with him. And then he ended up storming out of the park anyway. Hey, man, if you want air conditioning, don't come to a baseball game. They're played OUTSIDE. I don't know who peed in his cheerios this morning but the way he was acting he probably had it coming 12 times over.

Cows, Corn and... Cannibals?

[I wrote this yesterday before I found a wireless hotspot. Keep that in mind.]

Hello! And welcome to small town America. I’m your host, Glory, and we’re going to talk about Erie, Kansas, population 1150. Aren’t you sooooooo excited?! I know I am!

We came to Erie to see my family; my 88 year old grandmother lives here and so does my great aunt. I’ve been coming here for 20-odd years and I feel like there is less and less to do every time except just be cynical and confused by other peoples’ life choices. Right now, for example, I’m watching a game of chinese checkers. Why? Because there is no internet, no cable, no phone service and it’s hot as balls, what with it being Kansas in July. The mosquitos are bigger and meaner, the sun is hotter and the air is wetter. In short, it’s like Nebraska but worse.

Erie is the kind of town where people don’t lock their doors and leave their sheds open but makes me personally paranoid that I’m going to get taken by some crazed lunatic who wants to make my skin into a pair of assless chaps. I’m afraid to go outside at night because NOTHING GOOD HAPPENS IN SMALL TOWNS AT NIGHT. Believe me. Watch the movies. Children of the Corn, anyone? How about Signs? Amityville Horror? You see my point.

I was wondering. Do they have weird small towns in other parts of the country or is it just the midwest? Seems like they just lend themselves to the midwest so well, with all the farming communities and cornfields and far away neighbors.

(Sidenote: I can’t WAIT to have a family so we can all get our portrait taken together that will make everyone feel REALLY uncomfortable in coming years.)

So here I am, and here we are. I’ll stay for about 48 hours, eat some really bad-for-you food and maybe go walk along the side of the highway looking for someone to take me back to their trailer and get me pregnant. Oh, did I say that out loud? What I meant was turtles. Looking for turtles. My bad.

Why am I so gosh darn cynical?

Anyway, I'm also making you all a video, taking you on a tour of the sparkling midwestern gem that is Erie, Kansas. You'll get to enjoy that in a later post.

Love,

Glory.

EDIT: Just kidding about the video. I lost interest after about the first clip.