Kaplan and Tennille

My neighbors had some frat boys over, and our walls are thin.

Frat boy #1: *Cuts hand in kitchen* Ow.

Frat boy #2: You’re a dumbo, bro.

Fb #1: Whatever.

Fb #2: You’re a dumBRO.

Fb #1: Haha! Nailed it.

Shirtless Men Freak Me Out

Fair warning: This one is kind of weird and embarrasing. Also embarrasing? Can’t spell “embarrassing.”

K you’re still here, guess we’re really doing this. Last chance. MENSTRUATION. Still here? Seriously? Fine, you can stay.

First of all, I am a grown woman. Some people would argue that 21 (and 8 months!) is not a truly “grown-up” age, but bear with me. I’m so close to independent car-renting it would be a shame to bow out now. Second of all, I think shirtless men are gross. I mean, objectively, some shirtless people ARE gross, but I’m more-so talking about general half-nudity here.

For the most part, my physical, psychological, and emotional selves all crossed the threshold into adulthood without too much objection, but one small part of me remains in middle school frantically gluing moss to my homemade California mission. And that part is intimacy. I just can’t get over the fact that boys have cooties. Kidding, I know they’re not called “cooties.” Okay, two parts of me are stuck in middle school. (The other part is the sense of humor. You guys got it, right?)

I don’t really know what the problem is. Friends point to pictures of Channing Tatum and Ryan Gosling with their magically invisible shirts, and it’s just painful. I feel like I’m violating these poor guys. They didn’t directly give me permission to look at their dripping-with-sweat abs, and I feel like I must be breaking some sort of law. By the way, why are these guys so hot, temperature-wise, in all of their photo shoots? Are their agents keeping them hydrated on set? Do they need a turkey sandwich or something? I could make them a turkey sandwich real quick if they need one. Let me know, guys. I also have soda and grapes. And protein powder. It’s whey, is that okay?

It’s not a question of sexual-preference, though. I like men. I just much prefer a fully clothed John Krasinski to a shirtless anyone. Is it so wrong to like cardigans? Side note: I also think kissing is a slightly gross. Let’s be honest, objectively, lips are probably the worst body part. Not only are they pompous with their decorative shapes, but they are also cursed with the thinnest layer of protective skin. They are see-through! Who does that?! I don’t want to see what’s underneath my arm skin; why do I have to glance at my face innards every time I brush my teeth? You know what? I’m not even comfortable calling the lips an organ. They’re not worthy of such respectful categorization.

Back to shirtlessness: Are Timberlake and his shirtless friends trying to prove they are human by constantly showing us their belly buttons? Can’t we just sit with a guy on the couch, enjoy a couple of DVR’d Jeopardy episodes, maybe do some online cardigan-shopping, and give him a quick peck when it’s all over? If I buy a nice sweater for Bradley Cooper, is there any way I can send it to him? These are the questions I ask myself. Also, I’m a nun.

Smelly Sunday

I’m sitting next to someone at Barnes and Noble right now who, how do I say this, smells really bad. He hasn’t showered in a while. B.O. Bridges. Very very stinky.

I’m not getting up. It’s been 25 minutes. I’m not moving. What does this mean? Is this rock bottom? I just don’t want to pack up all my stuff and move down a few tables. I would have to re-acclimate to all of the people in that south section of the café, and I’m not sure I’m going to gel with them. I’d have to throw away my empty coffee cup, and then it would look like I’m loitering. I don’t really know what that word means. There could be another smelly dude over there. No way to know. I would basically be walking into an abyss, and I can’t say that I’m comfortable with change or the unknown or the dark or abysses in general. I can’t see the area that well, anyway, so I’m not even sure if there is sufficient table space available. Would you take that chance?

At least next to smelly man, I know I am safe. I am near the window. I can watch people stroll by. Fat, skinny, about to drop a greasy bag of Chipotle chips, drinking chocolate milk while wearing an “I Love Sweden” shirt, leaving the hair salon. Someone just passed while on a run. Shit. This was not part of the deal, window.

I am literally facing the pastry case. Barnes and Noble really goes crazy with the food selection. I have never noticed this. They have three different kinds of pretzels, cheesecake, chocolate cake, red velvet cake, cookies, paninis, PIZZA, soup, rice krispie treats, cupcakes, bagels, scones, chips, quiche. Quiche? No. I was on board until quiche.

Oof, smelly guy, are you getting worse? I thought I would acclimate to your stench, but that is not happening. Not at all. You are reading a car magazine. How can I use that against you? Looks like it’s time to replace your mODOR.

There are a lot of people in vests here.

Why are they selling boxed chocolates? There is a whole section devoted to Godiva: bars, boxes, caramels, other varieties that I cannot name.

The cops are here! They got free re-fills! Good for them.

I have a couple of papers to write. What time is “Three Stooges” playing tonight?