All Natural Continued.

 If you haven't read the first part to this, do that now.

We got back, and for a reason beyond me, parked as far away from the dorms as possible. I grabbed my stuff and waddled my ass to my room. I yelled bloody murder at my bathroom mate on the off chance she was showering. She wasn’t and I felt like it was a gift from god. I stripped out of my slippery gross clothes and jumped in the shower. The warm water hit me and I was in heaven. Little did I know this bliss would not last very long.

I began to wash my hair and immediately the mixture these people called paint started to drip down my face again. Once again I was forced to endure that salty bitter taste and burnt eye ball.

My eye is still angry at me but I was washing my hair, loving the fact that I would once again be clean and fresh.

I soon discovered my washing was not going as well as planned. I rinsed and realized there were still chunks of flowery goop stuck in my hair. Try as I might I couldn’t rid my hair of this caked on playdoh paint mess. It had dried into my hair and I shampooed and conditioned once more before I realized I would have to get my brush.

I jumped out of the shower, grabbed my brush and hopped back in. I began to brush. The pain, ooooh goodness the pain. It felt like somebody had pulled Velcro through every strand of my hair. Like rats were gnawing on my scalp.  Like Freddy Krueger was tickling my head. There isn’t really a popular description.

I was literally ripping hair out of my head, and still nothing was happening. I looked around my shower stall and realized I had spread the “paint” all across the shower. It covered the walls and the floors, it looked like a blue sneeze.

This process of brushing and washing and conditioning and brushing and washing and brushing went on for half an hour. I felt terrible to Mother Nature for using all her water. At least the pain was all natural?

Half an hour later and my locks were gunk free and I had washed down the shower. I was finally clean and missing a large chunk of my hair from the back of my head. I had learned an important lesson. Never, ever put watered down playdoh in your hair.

All Natural

I love my hair. It is a mane of beauty. Horses would be jealous of this hair. I can’t explain to you enough how much I love my hair. What I lack in a figure, I make up for luscious locks. It’s like an herbal essence commercial all the time. Not the old orgasm ones though. I don’t do that. I’m not crazy.

I also like to think that I keep up pretty well in the hygiene department. I have all kinds of good smelling things and essential oils. You name it. I bring this up because recently my hair and myself encountered something that completely ruined any security I ever had with my hair being clean. What was it?

All natural paint.

Ever seen what’s in all natural paint? Well neither have I, until it got thrown in my hair and all across my body. Now don’t be like, “well where the hell were you that you got paint thrown on you, that’s just stupid.”

Well guess what; stop asking questions, it’s my blog.

If you must know, I was at a paint war. Where you and a group of friends get paint and proceed to throw it at each other for a raucous good time. I, being that naïve thing I am, pictured something like this:

Instead, I got something like this:

There are a few reasons I would make a face like that.

First of all, I was under the impression that the day would be nice. No, I shouldn’t have been. And the reason is that I live in Sault Ste. Marie; where the weather has never been pleasant. Ever. In fact, as I type this, I can hear the potentially Gael force winds blowing my lecture room around. We have no windows so I’m going to ahead and assume I’ll be arriving in OZ any time now. I hope I don’t land on a witch. I don’t have the time for a lawsuit.

The day we went was pissing rain. Not a drizzle. A full on rain. But we thought, oh okay cool, well it’ll rain and we can have the paint wash off. Guess what! As soon as we started fighting, the rain stopped. Coincidence? No. The weather hates my guts.

Second of all, we start playing. Fun times! Everyone is having a blast. “Hehehehe, this is so fun guys!” We all yell. Jolly good times.

And then it hits me…

The paint: right in my face, my eyes, my hair, my nose, my mouth, and my ears. As it oozed down my face and explored every orifice it could reach into, I discovered what was in it.

Salt. So much salt. You remember when you would want play doh and your mom would bitch at you and say how she could make you it and it was just as good and blah blah blah but it totally wasn’t and always turned out an ugly colour and dried fast?  It was the same recipe.

Flour, salt, water, food colouring, but just more water than anything else. It was horrible. It burned, and stung and tasted awful and my one eye wouldn’t open for a good few seconds.

I stumbled around the place half-blindly looking for a sweater or something to wipe my eye out. Thankfully I found one and proceeded to have a darn good time. Ever so slowly though, everyone started to realize the true horror of this “paint”. They all got it in their eyes and mouths and noses and half an hour in we wanted to leave.

We were drenched in this foul tasting gunky, slippery mess that we called paint, trekking through mud and the rain to get back to our cars. Our faces itchy, dry and burning, our hair starting to dry up all we wanted was a shower. It wasn’t until we got back and started to shower that we realized the truth behind the all-natural paint…

fear#58293

Soooo I realized this blog has turned into something of a complain/fear blog, and I also realize that one of my first posts is me hating when people complain. Well you know what. Shut the hell up because who made you the boss?

Anyways, I’m sitting in Canadian History, staring at the back of this girls head with a strange braid and yellow fleece sweater thinking about having to go to the library and taking the elevator. I just figured I took the elevator because I was fat and lazy. But I thought about it and realized I really try to avoid them at all costs when going down them. I avoid going up them because I’m out of shape.

I thought about it some more and something dawned on me. I am frightened of going down the stairs. Not like one flight of stairs or anything, but an industrial type of stairs in a building,you know? I feel like if I were to gain any speed going down the stairs my huge front and tits will propel me forward and I would turn into some type of rolling flesh ball of death.

Also, have you ever seen a scary movie. I bet you have because we all know peoples asses get murdered in stairwells. Or raped. Or disappeared by a Japanese girl ghost out for revenge. I’m just sayin, nothing good ever came out of a staircase in a movie.

Furthermore! Why are all these stairs made of concrete and steel and shards of glass and spikes and the tears of children and blood? If I were to fall down these stairs, which Is quite the possibility, I would most likely die or have some terrible disfigurement. Or both.

People are terrified of the elevator. I for one celebrate the elevator; if I die on the elevator, guess what, it’s going to be quick. I will plummet to my death. I won’t bounce and bang and thrash to my possible death.  What I’m trying to say is, I like elevators..  

Dinosaurs...

While reading a comic on some website stumble gave me about a Dinosaur and Robot and not knowing what the hell it was about I started to think about Dinosaurs. I have a confession to make. Dinosaurs scare the shit out of me. I know, I know. You’re probably thinking…
“Steph, Dinosaurs aren’t even alive anymore.”

Well guess what, you clearly haven’t watched Jurassic Park. If you have, you’re a ninja and fear nothing. Those movies are terrifying. They taught me one important lesson about dinosaurs. And that lesson is: If you are near a dinosaur, you have no chance of survival and will almost always die. Dinosaurs are super lizards that didn’t die until a giant rock from the sky killed them. I can’t compete with that.

I should point out a few things about my fear of dinosaurs, this will be long. First off I would like to mention that saying I am not in the best of shape is a bit of an understatement. This causes a few issues if I ever need to run away and hide from a dinosaur. First of all, the idea of me running is optimistic to say the least. I don’t really run, I try to run and…well…have you ever seen a water balloon being thrown in slow motion? Yeah it’s kind of like that, but with legs and more sad. Second of all, my body doesn’t fit into small spaces for me to be out of reach of a let’s say, a Velociraptor!  Yeah you know what scene I’m talking about, where those kids hide in the kitchen in those cupboards. My ass is not fitting in one of those. No way in hell. Plus I’d be all out of breath from my waterballooning and we all know those bastards can hear from like a million miles away. They can smell my fear. And my inevitable b.o

“Oh but not all were bad, some were cute! Like the long neck!”
Really? Because I specifically remember it sneezing on that girl in Jurassic Park. Know what’s gross and nobody likes. Getting sneezed on by a human being. Know what nobody would like even more, being sneezed on by Diplodocus over here. Those little tiny lookin things?  Compsognathus, as Wikipedia tells me. They were little assholes and I can guarantee they would eat my ankles. Did you see the second Jurassic Park, where the little girl found them? You know what they did? They ate her. They ate her. Let that little tidbit of information sink in.

Another thing. Dinosaurs come at possibly the most inopportune moments and really just break all your shit. Beautiful backyard pool? Gone. Treasured family dog? Eaten. Let’s recap some of the movie scenes shall we? One man hid in a bathroom, although a stupid choice, it proves the point that dinosaurs will go out of their way to find you. They have no concern for what you’re doing or if you’re in that bathroom. And guess what, if you weren’t shitting before, I can guarantee if a dinosaur barges in you will be.
 

Plus I find it highly suspicious that that fat guys car broke down at the same time that umbrella necked, oil spitting lizard thing was stalkin around the place. Now mind you I haven’t watched this movie in a few years so this could be a bit off. We both know why I haven’t watched it, and I’m not about to for the sake of accuracy. I’m just saying, they may have automotive intelligence.

Furthermore!!! Those raptors terrorized those poor children in the middle of a delicious dessert treat. They were having a shitty time and found some sweet things to smile about. Enjoyed some cake, some jello, I don’t know what else, but you better believe they were lovin life! What does good ol raptor mcasshole do? Pisses on their parade. That’s what. I can’t respect anything that ruins dessert for a kid for the rest of their life.

I have nightmares about dinosaurs. And it’s no wonder why. I obviously think about them way too much.

Sloths...

Sloths: Nature’s most consecutively horrifying and slowest animal. I stumble a lot and I’m assuming because I liked a lot of cute things it in turn assumes I would love to look at sloths doing slothy things.

Slothy Things
Adj?
1. Everything a normal animal can do but slow and awful
2. Terrible in every way
3. Should be considered a national threat

That’s what slothy things means if you were wondering. I hate to break it to you people, but sloths aren’t adorable. They have terrible long gangly arms with claws that I know just want to reach for my eyeballs. I can’t even be reassured by the fact that they are so slow. That makes things worse. It’s like they’re stuck in a terrible loop of slow motion and I’m am part of a horror movie scene.

What brings up this topic you might ask? I’ll show you.
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xfq9a_un-paresseux-super-speed

OH MY GOSH IT LOOKED ME IN THE EYE!!
Did you see that? I did. It looked me in the eye and I knew then and there it hungered for my soul. Its face looked like it melted or something. Like some horrible puppet I would see in a haunted house.

There’s a sloth or two (I don’t know I try to repress the memory) at the zoo where I live. They’re in this dark and dank pavilion, it’s all blue and black lighting and all the scary shit is there: Snakes, spiders, horrible smelling monkeys, deathly sea anemones and then the sloths. Certainly this is where my association with sloths being demons of hell comes from? I don’t have an ending for this post. There is no ending. Sloths are still out there.