I Have No Rant to Give

I LOVE to rant. I have rants on everything from organic local produce to (awesome) TV shows. From consumerism to that kid in my 102 class who won’t laugh at my jokes. (Hate that kid.) I can rant on anything and everything.

Except Valentine’s Day.

I have zero problems with St. Valentine’s Day.

It’s the holiday almost everyone has beef with, the most socially accepted holiday to hate, and I have nothing to say.

Dr. Doofenshmirtz doesn't hate Christmas, I don't hate Valentines day. We are alike in so many ways.

Dr. Doofenshmirtz doesn’t hate Christmas; I don’t hate Valentines day. We are alike in so many ways.

It’s not that I am some big- eyed hopeless romantic (I have rants on big- eyed hopeless romantics). I have always been single for Valentine’s Day and wanted/ expected anything more.

Growing up, Valentine’s Day meant my Dad would buy each kid a box or two of those little heart candies and chocolates or flowers for my Mom; it was simple, sweet, and fun. And I always liked the cheesy class valentines with cartoon characters and candies taped to them that were exchanged between my elementary classmates and I. Even in middle school you could send orange sodas to others and I always sent one to each of my close friends.

When I think Valentine’s Day I think sugar, not romance.

…Which is probably why I have no problems with it…

Happy Valentine’s Day, whether you love it, hate it, or are filled with a burning apathy, I hope your day is great!

Singing- while- Driving

I talk to myself while driving sometimes. occasionally  often. Today I had full- out conversations with myself. Enjoy.

“To-the-bank, to-the-bank, to-the-bank. Toooo the BAAAAAAAAANK!”

*after a police car passes by, strikes up imaginary conversation* “What? Of course I wasn’t talking to myself officer. Haha…. I was, uh…. bluetooth! Yeah people still have bluetooth, right?”

“To the bank? To the bank! To-the-bank, to-the-bank, to-the-baaaaaank!”

*neh, neh, neh, Well you can suck my dick! Ugh, I hate when people get all senstive about that like, ‘Oh, I didn’t know you had a-‘ IT’S METAPHORICAL BITCH!”

*lady drops her cigarette in the middle of the street^ “Oh nice lady, real nice. Couldn’t go the extra 10 feet to the trash can- ash tray …thingy… they still have those right?”

Inappropriate Places to Fart

If you’re human you probably flatulate on a regular basis.

However, if you’re anything like me I only flatuate when it is the worst possible time to do so. The following are some of my favorite fart stories.

Forensics

My Junior year I was at a speech competition where I made it to the third round of competition. It isn’t very far but the room was extremely competitive, also, it had three judges all ages 60- 70+. This would have been fine if my monologue wasn’t a dark comedy about a crazed first- grade teacher (which is apparently on YouTube somewhere but no one will tell me how to find it!).

Anyways, in my piece there was a part where I screamed and then paused (took a “beet”) for comedic effect. As you may have guessed, when I reached this part I went through the usual motions of jumping, screaming, and then silence, this is when I farted. There’s no real way to know how loud the fart was (the first row defiantly heard it), but to me it may as well have been a canon blast. Into a megaphone. That smelled. After a brief moment of internal panic, I continued with my piece as normal and practically ran out of the room after the round was over, and laughing recounted the tale to my teammates. That room never knew what hit them.

Play Practice

This year, as a senior in high school, I took a Beginning acting class though the local university. Part of the curriculum was that we were cast in these 10 minute plays directed by the Beginning Directing class, I was cast in 3 of these. One evening we had rehearsal we had on a Sunday evening after it had been lightly snowing all day. Basically, the temperature never rose above 7 and all we had to show for it was a light layer of powder on the ground. Because of this I spent the day in braided pigtails, a less- than- flattering sweater, and mom jeans. I went to play rehearsal unaware that we would be trying on costumes that day. I ended up in a little black cocktail dress with a hot pick lace. With tube socks, braids and tennis shoes. To make matters worse, I had a healthy helping of fart- incing foods before I left the house.

Yup. Rocking it.

Yup. Rocking it.

All these elements added together as I walked on stage to say my line and ripped one. Loud. Oh, did I forget to mention that all the other actors were men? Whoops. Needless to say this got one guy laughing, which got us all laughing and breaking character, much to my directors discontent. Thankfully as they all had deep hearty laughs, this gave cover for another fart which passed by unnoticed.

Thankfully these wonderful stories have taught me to never take myself too seriously as I laugh at myself now.

P.S.- Spell Check is trying to tell me that “flatuate” isn’t a word. Which it is. I don’t care what you have to say, Spell Check!