Meet Alex

Returning home from college is like returning home from war. Granted, my meals are no Johnny Cakes and Cush, but dinners of FiberOne bars and frozen veggie burgers are arguably no better than MRE (Meal, Ready to Eat). My heart always melts when that big blue door opens to the aroma of freshly bake bead and simmering spaghetti sauce. The glow emanating from the fully stocked fridge always looks so divine. Is that the hum of a kitchen appliance or  the song of heaven’s angles?

13-year old brother: “Why are you on your knees? Are you crying? What’s wrong with you? ” 

Me: “We have pie, pizza and potatoes (The Holy Trinity of Carbohydrates)” 

13-year old brother: “You are so strange.”

He will understand how good he has it when he has the shower door come off the track and crush him while he attempts to clean two days of grime and the stench of coffee off himself under a stream of room temperature water so weak a wash cloth could ring more water pressure.

While even cleaning presents a challenge what I found with my particular residence (kind of a house, kind of hostel) the biggest problem does not seem to be the actual cleaning, but the keeping anything clean for any real amount of time. It is as if dirt emerges out of the woodwork. And literally, it does. Our landlord’s solution to fixing things is not to replace them, but to destroy them enough to put cheap replacements on top of them. So we have entire walls constructed from years of layering Plaster of Paris onto rotting dry wall. And the laminate floor, cut  by someone I can only assume is blind or incredibly awful at puzzles, just sort of lays in slightly fragment pieces on deteriorating wood planks (Do we actually have a floor? I am not sure). Needless to say our rotting house is continually spewing out puffs of dirt and creatures from baseboards, holes, and nests (or what they call in real houses, vents)

Other Complaints:

  • Our fridge self likes to spontaneously collapse
  • There are so many unpleasant smells the stove being left on may not produce a fume considered “unordinary” or “hazardous”
  • I cannot walk in our kitchen without shoes on
  • There are nuclear hot spots
  • The inconsistant heating system has created multiple biomes within one residence
  • We can’t turn on our carbon monoxide detectors…because they never stop going of
  • We have a dumpster in our front yard
  • The homeless people that shop in the dumpster sometimes take our stuff

But, on the plus side, the ambient noise is PRICELESS!

PAQUIN SLEEPMATE 2012

Are you tired of peaceful undisturbed sleep night after night? The Paquin Sleepmate 2012 creates a variety of sounds that completely disrupt all peace or tranquility. You cannot control tone or volume and sometimes the decibel will literally make your ears bleed.

Sounds include:

  • Car honking
  • Ambulance Sires Blaring
  • Homeless Harry (this sound also has many variations such as Harry rummaging through garbage or Harry talking to himself “Yeah she was a whore, but I saw an opportunity and I took it!” )
  • Carbon Monoxide alarm
  • Ceaseless banging
  • Women shrieking
  • Surprise murders sound (These sounds vary greatly but always produce the spine tingling fear someone is being murdered)

Bonus Feature: The new Fire and Ice feature is a temperature control that completes this sensory experience. Fire allows you to wake up  completely drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe while ice will surely provide you a wonderful teeth chatter and purplish skin hue.

Before I left for college I never thought home would be an escape, but I’m on hiatus and it is quite lovely. And look who I just found, my friend Alex.

This is Alex. Alex says hi.

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Cyanide & Sex and the City Reruns

Valentine’s day seems to be peoples favorite holiday to hate. While I am a girl whose most functional relationship has been with my mother and the cast of Cheers,  I have not had  passive aggressive loathing, depressive distaste or pretentious rejection towards Valentine’s day ever since Edwardsville School District 7 stopped forcing me to spend $15 dollars, and four hours writing my classmates names on a scantily clad picture of Britney Spears that says “You Drive me Crazy.” (I hope someone has updated these card with a picture of her bald. She really sings the truth)  And even then I always had a devilish time changing the messages on my cards:

    

Full Disclosure: It was after this “handy work” was distributed  that they started sending me to the school therapist.  Except…we didn’t actually have a real therapist. Instead, they enrolled me in speech therapy, and considered the problem handled. To be fair, it really is the same thing, according the teacher all I needed was someone to talk to (and tell me when what I was saying was “wrong”). With budget cuts, I am actually surprised they didn’t just hand me a broom and send me to shadow Janitor Dan. But, then again, that would not have been as socially traumatic as the loud speaker announcements “Lindsey Wehking, please report to room 606 for speech therapy at this time, thank you” 

Like I said, I have no issues with Valentine’s day, and I really only equate it to the the restocking of the candy bowls in doctor’s offices and on secretary desks. The Christmas (censored: Yes, I pride myself on having a politically correct blog) Holiday candy was really getting stale. But, as I came to realize once I became of dating age, the rest of the world refuses to accept this. Whenever people find out your single on Valentine’s day, and not doing anything people always act as if your dad ran off to Fuji with the housekeeper. “Oh, I’m so sorry honey, that is just such a shame, but don’t worry! You are such a great girl, things will get better” 

So this year, I put on my “hipster in a Wal-Mart” face and gave into the expected cynicism.

“JOE IS TAKING ME TO DINNER AT CHILI’S! IT IS OUR FAVORITE PLACE! What are you doing?” 

“Cyanide & Sex and the City reruns.” 

“That sounds like fun” 

Can you believe that! It worked! People are ridiculous, and I am including my own mother in this. I simply don’t understand why I am not allowed to be single and content with it. If I am not being forced to be angry and jaded by other women (this is not Hallmarks fault) then my mother is sending me books from “The Goodwill” called, Avoiding Mr. Wrong or 258 Great Dates While You Wait. And yes, the former confused me a bit..if this book is supposed to by my time till Prince Charming comes galloping in (Yes, I am just sitting around bored and waiting!), who am I supposed to be going on dates with? Then I thought maybe the book also came with a blind date hotline! Eeeee! That elation lasted until I got to the first page, and oh boy….

pg.1 WHY DO YOU WANT TO DATE? 

Have you ever asked yourself why you want to date? If not, ask it now. Go ahead, say it out loud. “Why do I want to date?”

There are many bad reasons to date: popularity, conquest, pressure from friends, nothing better to do. But then again, there are a few good reasons, too.

(1)You enjoy spending time and getting to know the opposite sex.

(2)You know you can have some good, clean, fun.

(3)You are attracted to him or her (God did that).

(4)You’re wondering what time of person you want to live with for the rest of your life, so spending time with several becomes a good way to find out what personality best fits your own.

Some adults believe that allowing teenagers to date is like putting a kid in a candy shop. They think, Teens are awakening to their sexuality and they are going to want to experiment. When they do, mistakes will be made and consequences will have to be faced- some deadly. It’s better not to let them date at all during their high school years until the are mature enough to handle the pressure. 

Frankly, this post has dragged on long enough, so instead of providing the incredibly witty stream of consciousness occurring while I read this page, I just bolded my favorite phrases! The commentary on this will be part of a larger set included in my stand up comedy routine. And by that I mean the jokes I tell already aggravated customers when my two liberal arts degrees get me that great job at McDonalds.

But, to sum this all up, I am not angry and, while I appreciate the literature, a book is not going to get you closer to the hoard of grandchildren you creepily hound me for, Mom! So this Valentine’s day, send me something eatable, and let me be content! I have a date with Ted Danson. =)

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Full Disclosure: Things I did while writing this blog. 

(1) Googled Britney Spears valentines to find out if phrases from her other songs have been made into children’s cards yet. I think “Hit me baby one more time”, “I’m a Slave 4 U”, and “Gimme More” all have a lot of potential. 

(2) Texted my mom. She just wanted to know if she could sell all my things and paint my room. I went ahead and let her know my childhood is 100% flammable and theres kerosine in the garage if that would be easier.  

(3) Hot glued a stick to my table lamp. I think it is important to integrate aspects of nature into the decor. 

(4) Burnt myself with the hot glue gun. 

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Lindsey Learns DSLR II

Part II: Uncapped and Untamed 

All I set out  to do was remember to take my cap off the lens and figure out how to take a picture with a Nikon D7000, but here is what I learned instead:

Frequently asked questions when carrying around  Nikon D7000: 

1. “ARE THESE GOING ON THE FACEBOOK!”

2. “You know…you can take my picture if you want…”

3. “Why are you doing that?”

4. “Stop.”

5. “Your not going to photoshop my face onto Hulk Hogan’s body are you?”

6. “Do you want fries with that” (Eh, okay, maybe that one didn’t totally have to do with the camera, but if I wasn’t taking pictures I wouldn’t have been by that McDonald’s!)

As well as…..

How to break into your own car

1. Find someone who knows how to break into cars

2. Become a girl (if you are already a girl you may proceed to step 3)

Note: if becoming a girl is not possible in your current situation please refer to the alternative step.

3. Smile

(Alternative) Throw rock through window.

Had I known the reaction a professional grade camera would solicit from strangers I would have started wearing one as an accessory, just to make friends. Some people threw their limbs out in exaggerated poses, others offered their unsolicited input on my content choice and one eyed me with McCarthy-esq suspicion while peering through a window. However, none were more helpful than the two ink artists from Tattoo You.

It was getting dark when my partner, Lauren, and I were trudging back to the car. My butt was a little wet from unnecessarily rolling around on the ground to get that “awesome” angle of that…..piece of trash. It had been a hard day of playing photographer, and we were ready to leave when I reached in my pocket for the keys, but all I felt was that piece of chewed gum I left in there last week. My heart sank as I peered into the window, and there they were, just lying on the seat of my locked car. Accompanied, of course, by  my cell phone, wallet, jacket, Lauren’s cell phone, and Lauren’s wallet. Apparently, we wouldn’t be eating anytime soon, good thing I had that chewed gum.

Between smart phones, Triple A cards and the invention of, oh whats it called, the spare key, this kind of situation was really not supposed to be feasible in this day in age. So, before Lauren went Neanderthal and threw a rock through my window, I decided to venture into the nearest establishment, Tattoo You. Their assistance can effectively  be summaraized in the following quotes:

“I can get it open for you.” (Tattoo artist 1)

“We have extra needle wire!” (Tattoo artist 1)

“I hope no one thinks were stealing this and calls the police.” (Lauren) “Ha, not in this neighborhood!” (Tattoo artist 1)

“Let me go get someone more experienced at breaking into cars.” (Tattoo artist 1)

“I haven’t done this in forever.” (Tattoo artist 2)

“This is such a handy talent!” (Lauren) “My parole officer didn’t think so…” (Tattoo artist 2)

Two types of needle wire and a determined “GOD DAMN, YOU WILL OPEN” later, the “more experienced” tattoo artist came back into the shop and tossed the keys my way! While I joke about the ease with which they aided us, I would like to whole-heartledy  thank those two men with words I thought I would never say.

Thank you, for breaking into my car. =)

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Lindsey Learns DSRL

Part I: A Flash from the Past

The Barbie Instant Camera was my very first camera, well, not mine per se, but Lisa would make me use it during recess to photograph her modeling on the monkey bars. Looking back, I may have been taken advantage of by a snotty, elementary egomaniac, while arguably responsible for the creation and circulation of  some slightly “indecent” (as Lisa’s mother said) photos of an underage girl, but I loved that camera! And those bonus flower stickers, they were all the photoshop a 6-year-old girl could ever need.

Unfortunately, seeing as my technical skills  never developed much past the Barbie Instant Cam, my hobby as a photographer remained in the 90s, wedged somewhere between my pogo stick and Atari. But, the time has come for me to embrace the digital age of film, and take on the Nikon D7000!

Wait! I am not ready, just one more flash back!

Okay, now I think I am ready. Deep breaths and…..CLICK! Woops, the lens cap was still on.

Stay tuned next week for Part II of Lindsey learns DSLR, Uncapped and Untamed.

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Intervention

Pretend journalist, Lindsey Wehking, reporting for duty.

Attention all journalism students at the University of Missouri’s School of Journalism, this is an intervention. Day in and day out I watch as you run around town shoving your recorder into the face of locals, barely able to keep it steady because the shakes are so bad. I hear you when you sit next to me in the library with your foot frantically tapping the floor in what sounds like the beat of CNN’s World News theme. I see you late at night, hidden behind a mound of cups with eyes blood shot, and drool seeping from the edge of your mouth while refusing to leave until you have perfected youre lead. And, worst of all, you just spent the last of your money on refillable mugs from RJI.

I know, as inspiring journalists, the neurosis is natural, but the amplified and abounding energy to act on such neurosis is detrimental to the heath of your peers, sources and yourself. Little journalists put down that cup of coffee and step out of the Starbucks! Many of you are already just a newspaper ball to the head away from cracking and this is not a vice you can afford.

If something is not done soon students will explode, sources will be forever scared away and Starbucks will have the media in their cup. Therefore, I will be encouraging Chandler Deaton to employ techniques of institutions past. Drink coffee, off with your head!

Together I truly believe we can beat this addiction and make the MU campus a more harmonious place for all. Below is an article stipulating the specifics of the “Drink Coffee, off with your head” movement and history.

NPR: Drink Coffee? Off With Your Head