Taste this and tell me if it tastes funny to you...

Before I even get into my asinine story, can we ponder why we ask for others input this way? I mean, really, why does the two week old Chinese food need to be confirmed "stinky" by two people? Is it that we like sharing unpleasant experiences that much? Given what I know about other people, yes.. I think we like finding someone to wallow in the mess with us. Or, from my past experiences, I like to measure exactly how stinky the expired milk is by their facial expression. That's always a fun experiment. It is somewhat like the little pain scale at the doctor's office.

0- Hmm, this milk smells delightful. Please pass the cheerios.
10- BLAHGJKLDJFA; Why did you get me to smell that? Why is that still in there? That is from last year. It's hard!

Anyway, on to the real story. I was home from college one winter break, and was on my typical "break" schedule of wake up late, maybe work out, and then watch TV while taking breaks every hour to see what my parents had to eat (like it was going to change from the last hour). During my first day home, I started my grazing immediately when I woke up. I came downstairs and laid on the couch for a while, and then started pestering my mom about food.

She let me know that we had some "Mississippi State Cheese" in our fridge.

No, this is not the joke in the story. We really did have some cheese from Mississippi State. It is a luxury my grandparents send us during the holidays and it is sommmmmmeee good. You should contact your local A and M and see what type of dairy delicacies you could be sending your loved ones this holiday season.

The words "Mississippi State Cheese" had me off the couch and into the kitchen immediately. I rummaged around in the fridge until I found the beautiful wheel. I cut off a few bites, ate them in the kitchen and then grabbed a hand full of crackers and headed back into the living room with some more hunks of cheese. I was a few pieces in when I realized that something was awry. Something was wrong with that cheese. It was just a little off.

I interrupted my mom's emailing again and asked her to taste a piece of cheese.
"Why?"
"Cause it tastes funny, that's why. Here- just taste it. Tell me what you think."

My mom took a bite of the cheese and looked at me with a mixture of pity and sheer humor.

I got impatient with this smarter than you/you are a dumbass look and demanded to know what it was all about.

"Leila, that cheese tastes funny because it's not cheese.

It's butter."

I immediately realized how greasy my mouth was and tried to spit out the nastiness with a couple of expletives as my mother cracked up (rightfully so).

In my defense (not like this is an appropriate time to try to defend myself, but I am stubborn and don't like to look too stupid), the butter I was eating was in the shape of a wheel. It looked like a stupid cheese wheel. It was the holidays and my mom was cooking a lot, and she decided to buy some fancy butter, which I then decided to eat...... like cheese.

That Time I Became a Jesus Lizard

I think it is fair to say that everyone has an irrational fear of something. For some, it is heights. For others, it is bugs. And for others, it is snakes. For me, it is sea creatures.

I HATE THEM. Anything that lives in the ocean. Alright, let me rephrase that. I hate to be in the ocean next to anything that lives there naturally. Dolphins and seals are cute and whatnot, but I will pay to stay my happy ass on the boat rather than swim with Flipper. Flipper can go screw himself.

The way I think of it is that these animals have a total unfair advantage over me. They can see well under water, swim fast, and can sneak up on you. I am not just talking about sharks. I am talking about the stupid crabs that you accidentally step on or the dumb needle fish that will nibble at your thighs while youre standing waist deep, non chalantly chatting with your friend, while also emptying your bladder, but pretending that it is just a "warm spot" that you just walked through.


I am afraid of all of them, but sharks really take the cake. You always hear of shark attacks and then the story is followed up with how rare attacks are, and how sharks really don't intend to chew on people. To be quite honest, I don't give a shit. I don't want to take my chance and bump into the one inbred, stupid ass shark that got kicked out of his mother's protection too early because he was too retarded for her to deal with. No thank you. That's all I can think about any time I wade into the water--- please god, don't let me meet the shark that is a few eggs short of a caviar tray.

They also say that sharks generally only feed at dawn and dusk. What about the shark that stayed up all night partying and woke up around noon and is really hungover and just wants a good piece of meat? What about that shark, hmm?

I've imagined every possible way that I can be defeated by sea creatures and take EXTREME caution when beaching it. I make as much noise as possible in the water when I walk out. I kick up a bunch of sand to let those dumb sting rays know to get out of my way. I also never turn my back to the great wide open. That just puts you in a vulnerable position. It's like "Hellllooo sea creatures, I am not paying attention. Come get my ass." Oh yeah, I also never go out alone. And I am also never out further than anyone else in my group. That old saying- you don't have to be the fastest, you just have to be faster than the slowest guy- I repeat that to myself anytime I am splashing around, trying to enjoy myself. (I realized that I have this thought even when it is me and the most loved of my loved ones. That's not good. But I guess that's why they call it irrational).

This extreme fear came to a head a few summers ago when I was at the beach on vacation with my family and some family friends. I was about 100 yards out with my then boyfriend and the youngest member of the family we were vacationing with, a 16 year old boy. We were just chatting and I was acting like I wasn't afraid to be in the water when I saw it. A big dark shadow. Dan and Harrison noticed it about the same time I did and before Dan could turn around to see my reaction, I was already half way to the beach. I'm not sure if I channeled my inner Jesus Lizard (cause we all know it is much more likely for me to channel a lizard and not Jesus), and ran on top of the water, but I got my ass out of there faster than you can say "holy shit- look at that shark swimming up to us."

When I made it to the sand, I crumpled over and tried to catch my breath. Through my gasping, I heard laughing. I looked up to see my mother laughing so hard she was about to cry. "Was it even that big of a fish?" she choked out to me. "Yeah, it was a huge fucking shark, Mom. And it was right by us." Apparently, my Mom and the momma of the other family were watching the whole thing from the beach. They watched all three of us see something, followed by our responses. The boys' was something like: "Hmmm... I wonder what that is" while my response was "OHMYGODIAMABOUTTODIEGETMETHEFUCKOUTOFHERE." And apparently, my extreme freakout was quite obvious from the shore.

All my mother could do, after I just saw "my life flash in front of my eyes," was laugh her ass off and ask me to go into the condo to make her another drink.

A Division of Labors of Parenting

Apparently, very early on in my parents wedded relationship, they made the deal that each one of them would tackle one of the "tougher" obstacles of parenting. My mom would handle the "birds and the bees" talk while my dad would teach me how to drive.

Unfortunately, I don't remember my first awkward "sex" conversation with my mom. I do, however, remember many other awkward conversations- not her explaining "it" to me, just her giving TMI about anything and everything (not just about sex... about any subject that there can be TMI about). I am a better person for those conversations.

While I don't remember my mom's end of the bargain, I certainly remember my Dad's.

Like most teenagers, I started working toward my learner's permit when I was 15. My parents knew this was on the horizon, so my dad started giving me brief lessons a few months before my 15th birthday. We would go to large empty parking lots, and I learned how to go and stop and go and stop. The key word in that sentence is 'stop.'

The first time I ever got behind of the wheel of a car was at my Uncle's house. My Uncle lives outside of the city in a very secluded, wooded area. My parents and I were hanging out there one Sunday afternoon when my dad offered his first driving lesson. I was really nervous but excitedly accepted, and we took off in his Ford Explorer. He drove down the gravel road leading away from my Uncle's house, to a large field. As he did this- he explained the necessary components to me- the gas, the break, and the wheel. Simple enough.

When we got to the field, we switched seats. I buckled in, adjusted the seat, grabbed the wheel and turned the key. And then I hit the gas. Hard. My dad started telling me to slow down. I completely panicked. Despite the size of the field, the tree line seemed to be coming at us fast. My dad's voice got serious "HIT THE BREAKS, HIT THE BREAKS!" I couldn't. I didn't remember how to. I didn't comprehend that all I had to do was take my foot off of the gas. Any reasoning and experience and life lesson and anything that made sense immediately left my 14 year old skull. I freaked the fuck out. My dad, realizing that the situation was a little out of control (or completely out of control, depending on your perspective... if you were the tree I was about to run into, it is fair to say 'completely'), reached across the console, leaned under the wheel, and slammed his hand on the break. All while emptying his full beer into my lap. We came to an abrupt halt.

I don't remember what happened immediately after, but I am pretty sure it involved a lot of crying. I was doomed. I would never learn how to drive. My dad and I switched seats and rode back to my Uncle's house in silence.

When we walked upstairs to rejoin the party, the rest of the adults took one look at us- me, with red eyes, looking like I peed my pants from my dad's spilt drink, and him- partly laughing, partly panicked, and partly relieved- and knew that my first lesson had not gone well.

I can't insert a mom quote here (because I really don't remember one), but I am certain it went something like "That's why I chose the sex talk."

"IM" me later...

True story. I am a nerd.

When I was in middle school, IMing (Instant Messaging) was big. We were all coming up with screen names so we could gossip with each other via the internet (it was a pretty big deal).

Mine was Chewiesgal.

Wookiewoman was taken.

"My nose itches."

"So someone must be thinking of you."

I never really understood this bit of superstition. I think it is right up there with kissing your hand and touching the ceiling of your car when you go through yellow lights.

Despite the lack of understanding, I have fully bought into the bogus idea and find myself secretly thinking "hmmm... I wonder who it is..." when I am scratching away at my nose (or picking a booger).

I recently spoke to one of my avid blog readers (that is... one of my avid blog readers that I am not related to) and she told me about a recent conversation she had with another one of my fans (another non relative- I am really racking up here):

"Do you think Leila knows when someone is laughing their ass off at her blog?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, deep down inside- do you think she senses it?"

I gave this some thought and figured that there probably is some cosmic shift that gives me a slight inclination that I am bringing joy and light to someone, somewhere. After pondering it for a while, I figured there could only be one thing that tells me this... a wedgie.

Now, you may be thinking that I am just making this up so I can feel good about myself next time I have to pull my high riding underwear down. But I am not. There is no other possible explanation for my wedgies other than my positive impact on someones life. It's just that simple.

I am sorry to cut this blog short, but I have to go. It is really hard to type and readjust all at the same time....guess I am just making someones life a little better.