The Continuing Adventures of Oatmeal Girl

I woke up the other day and found my house infested with young people. I wasn't especially thrilled about this development, as I dislike youth on principle, what with their vitality and hope for the future and all. But I assumed they belonged to my roommate somehow and thought nothing of it. After a quick shower, I wandered into the kitchen to get some water and found myself confronted with a young girl, maybe 16 or 17, who as best as I could tell was wearing nothing more than a blanket. I think she was my roommate's sister, who I'd only met once in passing when it was very dark out, but I didn't have time to confirm this suspicion. As I entered the room, she held out a bowl and asked, "Is...is this what you use to make oatmeal?" Extrapolating from the packets of oatmeal on the counter and the almost boiling pot of water, I read the intent of this question as "is this what I should eat oatmeal out of?" Horrified by the prospect that I was in the same room as a half naked and potentially underage girl who hadn't mastered such complex concepts as how a bowl works, I said "it could be," and left.

That was my first encounter with Oatmeal Girl. The next day, I was getting out of the shower when I heard the bathroom door creak open slightly. Again, I thought nothing of it, as the door hasn't closed enough to latch since I moved in, so I figured a draft must have nudged it a bit. But when it creaked further still, I decided to have a peek outside to make sure nothing was out there preparing to murder me or sell me encyclopedias or anything. Peering around the edge of the door, I found myself face to face with Oatmeal Girl, who appeared to have been spying on me as I was toweling off. She apologized and asked for a bar of soap, which I awkwardly handed her while hiding my shame behind the door.

When you realize that the only person to have seen you naked in the last few years is quite possibly the dumbest, unskilled, underage voyeur alive, it's difficult to argue that life is going according to plan.

-TC

Hockey

Last night I joined some friends in watching the Olympic gold medal hockey match between The United States and Canada, and I must say I found myself astounded. Just when I thought sports couldn't get any more boring, I was amazed at how incredibly little I could manage to care on the highest of international stages. It took many years of hard work and dedication, but I think I have finally reached the apex of human achievement in putting on such an unparalleled display of herculean disinterest. If only there was a medal for that.

-TC

Snow Storm

I lived in Phoenix for about eight months, and it was probably the most consistently awful eight months of my life. I had no friends. The ceiling in my cockroach infested apartment leaked rusty algae from time to time. My job involved destroying people's lives by looking at pictures of backed up toilets and decapitated horses all day long. I went on a single blind date with a woman who turned out to only have a single leg. In short, I came away with absolutely nothing positive to say about the American Southwest.

And yet somehow on days like this when I never see the sun, can't control the heat in my apartment, and am plagued by an ever increasing number of wet socks, I can't help asking myself, why did I leave the desert again?

-TC

Valentine's Day 3: Day Harder

When I was a boy, Valentine's Day was a day for friendship as much as for love. We'd tape brown paper bags to our desks, and walk around giving Ninja Turtle themed cards to anyone we could stand. I'd always open the package of cards, pick out the second best card for my best friend, keep the best one for myself, and divvy up the rest amongst my classmates, less as an exercise in appreciation for the people I gave them to than an exercise in spite for the people who weren't even worthy of false sentiment.

But oh, how times have changed. As adults, Valentine's Day is exclusively for the purpose of showering appreciation on people who have low enough standards to take their clothes off for us in hopes that they will continue to do so. If you're in a relationship, it's a day of love, sex, and rapidly depleting cash reserves. For me, it's usually a day of twiddling my thumbs while I have no one to talk to because no one else in the world seems to be single. But this year, I don't want to be left out of the festivities, so I've been trying to come up with a series of activities for one that will be both productive and romantic so that I may make the best use of my alone time without feeling like I'm the only person in the world who isn't in love.

Thankfully, another flash of inspiration struck when I woke up this morning. I live in New York City, where the opportunities for romantic activities are endless. But one of the time honored traditions for young couples in this city is the good old fashioned horse drawn carriage ride through Central Park. So, as a token of appreciation for myself, I'm going to get gussied up, head on over to Central Park, rent all the horse drawn carriages in the city, and pay them to run over anyone they see holding hands.

And then, if I'm in an especially jaunty mood, I might steal their chocolates.

-TC

Valentine's Day 2: Electric Boogaloo

Since I am lucky enough to be single this Valentine's Day, I've been planning for how I will spend my day. Pretty much no one I know is single, so I won't have to worry about regular social obligations. And as I am blissfully unattached, I won't have to worry about some chocolate and rose crazed harlot trying to have her lustful way with me again and again all night long until the sheer repetition of it causes me to pine for the fresh originality of the tenth season of M*A*S*H. Instead, I'm trying to come up with romantic yet productive activities for one to keep me busy while the rest of the world is engrossed in gazing lovingly into each others eyes. Thankfully, another flash of inspiration struck today. While all my friends and neighbors are out enjoying fancy dinners, carriage rides, or whatever it is that people in love are supposed to do to avoid conversation, I'll put on my fanciest suit, light a few candles, then break into their homes and steal their stereos. The proceeds should be more than enough to buy a Valentine's Day hooker.

What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic.

-TC

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is this weekend, and like most single people, I'm trying to come up with plans for how to make the most productive use of my time while everyone else is stuck sitting through tediously romantic dinners, exhausting romantic walks, and unnecessarily passionate love making. As I'm not unfortunate enough to have my life fettered with such humdrum obligations, I'm going to have the quintessential single man's Valentine's Day. I'll be going out in search of the most romantic restaurant filled with the most happy young couples, and I will be setting it on fire. It's a sparse itinerary, but I think it will be a rewarding one all the same.

-TC

Maple Candy

My first job out of college was in a maple candy factory, perhaps the most successful application of a liberal arts degree to date. Now, as a good Vermonter, I am a huge proponent of all things maple. Maple syrup, maple candy, gay marriage licenses notarized with a maple stamp, you name it. I lived and died by the code of maple. That is, until I got the factory job and ate maple candy non-stop for the better part of a year. My shameless gluttony coupled with coming home every day in maple soaked pants (not to mention working with a drug dealer who regularly threatened to stab me) was enough to make the very thought of maple candy absolutely revolting to me.

When I went home for Christmas, I bought a maple leaf from my old factor as a little present for someone, but it never got delivered. So I've been looking at this maple leaf on my dresser for a few weeks and wondering, is four years enough time that I can finally put the past behind me and stomach the idea of maple candy again? Well, today my sweet tooth got the better of me and I decided to give it a shot. The verdict? The sickening sweetness of the candy was only offset by the bitter memory of folding thousands of these boxes as I opened it.

Maybe in another four years...

-TC