Twig-Man = Not My Cup o' Tea

You're probably thinking of this guy:

(I loooove A Bug's Life!)

Well, I'm not.

I'm thinking of the guy I saw at the public library yesterday.

He had to be like 6'4", but he was so thin!!!

His clothes and his skin were just hanging off his stick-like bones.

I'm not gonna pronounce him unhealthy,

because I know some people just have miraculous metabolisms,

but oh boy, it didn't look good on him.

I sincerely hope he's okay.

It's like I told my mother,

"When someone holds me, I want to feel safe, 

but that won't happen if I can snap him in half."

That being said...

I definitely want to feel like I could be snapped in half.

I'm no twiglet, you see. 

Small, but not tiny.

So.... future Mr. Chester:

If you have some meat on your bones and smell like perfection

(to be defined at a later date as I determine what perfection smells like),

You and I will get along juuuuuuust fine.

Once Upon a Time...

There was a girl named Chess, but for the sake of anonymity,

we'll call her Marge.

Marge had lots of friends.

She had girlfriends and boyfriends 

(of the non-romantical sort)...

Some friends were tall, some were short, some were all bones and skinny, and some were much more cuddly to hug. Some friends had red hair, and some had brown, occasionally, some had black (but it was fake), and some were blonde. Some liked to laugh a lot, and some were quiet, some were prudes, and others liked to cuss and make off-color jokes. Marge was more of the laugh-a-lot-when-others-make-off-color-jokes type. After she decided to major in English, making her prudish roommates uncomfortable with off-color jokes was a talent she no longer wanted to hide under a bushel. 

Marge and her friends had heaps of exciting adventures,

such as hiking in the canyon at midnight, fishing at midnight,

hiking in the snow at midnight,

hauling hay at midnight, 

playing Ultimate Frisbee in the university's football stadium at midnight,

(lots of midnight activities--get your mind out of the gutter!)...

Then one day, all her friends decided that 

they liked members of the opposite sex,

and decided to get all romantical with them.

Even Marge had a romantical boyfriend for a little bit...

But that didn't last too long. 

Then everybody got engaged,

or planned on getting engaged,

And Marge got really tired of them,

because, let's face it...

Engaged people are super boring

and really crappy, flaky friends.

THE END

The Moral of the Story:  Romance is a disease. Also known as Friendship Alzheimer's. Symptoms include: bailing out on already-made plans, making your friend scramble to find someone else so she doesn't have to go to the fun activity alone; talking non-stop about your significant other and failing to notice that your friend is always listening, but cries herself to sleep at night because you are so selfish and don't return the favor; talking non-stop to your significant other so your roommate can't have a moment's peace; going home every weekend, and then chattering in the ear of your friend who is TRYING to study because, "OMG, I haven't seen you forever, how come we never talk?" and not noticing the ironic fact that YOU are the reason that "OMG, we haven't talked in forever!" and that while you were gone, your friend established her own routine that you are so rudely interrupting on the day of an important midterm. If you recognize these symptoms, for the love of all that is merciful and just, either break up with your significant other or go home on the weekends, but don't come back and pretend you care.

The Real Moral of the Story: Marge is being petty, annoyed, and sensitive, and really needs to get over herself. She is being whiny and apologizes. It's just hard sometimes. She's really sorry. She's usually a very sweet and not-so-hostile person who forgives easily and always has wide-open arms. 

I Said I'd Never Admit This....

but...

I'm creepy.

I'm a creeper.

Let me explain. That is, if you're still reading...

Are you? 

Good. Okay.

So I had to go see the play Love's Labour's Lost last night for Shakespeare class and I met up with my buddy from class. I don't know why or how, but he smells amazing. Seriously. I can't understand it. It's unreal. He smells so, SO, SO GOOD!! He also smelled good when a bunch of us went to see Alice in Wonderland, but last night was phenomenal. I went internally bonkers. I was so distracted, because every time he moved, a tantalizing waft of what I think is clean, fresh, Lever 2000 soap drifted over and prevented me from understanding the awful, fake Cockney accents onstage.

That's not the creepy part.

I'm creepy because I kept shifting in my seat and leaning slightly over the armrest so I could breathe it all in. The whole time I was at the play. Which was two and half hours long. I'm creepy because I just kept going. I even laughed out loud to myself when everyone else did, not because the play was funny, but because I knew I was creepy and didn't care.

Tip of the Day: Men--if you want to increase your attractiveness ten-fold, smell good (body and breath). Also, learn to play an instrument, like the piano or the cello (guitar and bass are also acceptable). 

So. If you know who I am talking about, keep it to yourself. If you are the person I'm talking about (and I highly doubt you're reading this because I know you make fun of people who blog), you might as well know. You smell so good. My question is, how come you never smell so good during class? Let me rephrase: How come you never smell AS good during class? (Because you never smell bad.) Why is it only outside of class? Does my nose only work during the nighttime?

Oh gosh. 

I'm blushing.

(Or I would be if I could blush).

I'm a blushing creeper.

Lift Me Up...

Remember how I was bragging about how I'm awesome at dancing?

I still am.

Haha.

Nah....

Here are some vids of a few of the lifts I can do:

(Sorry, they're a little dark...)

I Love My Aggies....

My dear sweet boys,

Congratulations, WAC Champs, three years in a row!!

I will miss you, come December.

I will miss the hoarse throats,

the ringing ears,

the sore palms from clapping,

the bruised shins from leaning against the seats,

the funny taunts that I relish,

the cruel chants that I only occasionally participate in.

I will miss cheering like a maniac for Matty Formisano

(who has amazing blue eyes),

I will miss singing the fight song, and the Scotsman,

and trying to get my friends on the kiss cam.

I will miss pretending that my one holler 

was the one that made someone miss a free-throw.

I will miss being so excited that I actually saw and recognized a foul.

I will miss doing the Tarzan yell when the other team has the ball.

I'll miss Wild Bill,

the Scoreboard chant,

and yelling, "Airball!"

I will miss jumping up and down 

and feeling the thunder of exultant cheers

shake the air around me and reverberate in my chest.

I'll miss the triumph, and the joy,

and the Spectrum Magic.

Because there is Magic.

There is.

And it's you.

I will just miss you.

Because you brought some of the most fun I've had

in. my. life.

Thank you.

Love, 

Chess

PS. I'll be back. I'll just be stealing someone else's ID card. :)

Hairy Chess...

....is the nickname I got freshman year of college...

back when I had long hair...

like this:

I told myself I would have long hair like that once more.

But then I went in for a trim and some purple today

and it ALL went out the window.

No. I'm not a BALDY.

I don't think there could be anything worse than Baldy Chester.

Unless there was Mullety Chester.

Like, for ewwww!

But I won't have long hair anytime soon.

That's okay though!

Say hello to Asymmetrical Chess!

Do you like it? I like it!

And no, I do not look like that all the time....

.......

Crap.

To those of you who are New Readers...

I apologize.

I am not cool.

I think you are cool though.

:) 

A Fool for You...

Yesterday, I made a really smart comment in my lit class. Well.

At least for me, it was smart.

What happened afterwards was SO NOT SMART AT ALL.

After lit, I went to sewing class where I cut out an apron out of denim. And I turned my fingers all blue. So after class, I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands, and I ran into my lit professor coming out of the men's room. He smiled at me, and said, "Great comment today in class." 

You know how confusing it is to see teachers outside of the classroom context? Well, for whatever reason, my brain decided to STOP because it couldn't handle the idea of a professor having bodily functions to take care of. Plus also, I am secretly terrified of him and his greatness. I'm also afraid that he will find out I am a member of his fan club on Facebook.

So I just stared at him.

And went,

"Uh-huh. Thanks?"

And stood there.

Confused.

And staring.

Poor Professor M. just looked at me funny and apologized, "Sorry, I didn't mean to stop you." 

To which I brilliantly replied, 

"I have blue hands." 

Then I stared at my blue hands, looked back up, 

saw him still looking funny at me,

 and ran like a panicked third-grader into the ladies' room.

O. M. G.