Yellow Mustard Blog

You might have noticed a few minor changes to my blog format.
By "minor" I mean I have plastered every spare inch of bare space with ads and links and buttons. Yes, I have whored my blog out in every way I could find, in a feeble attempt to increase my "traffic". Do 6-7 readers count as "traffic"? I believe the hip kids are using the word traffic to mean "patronage of one's website". In that context, I think half a dozen visitors qualifies more as "charity". I need validation! My life is so empty!!

ahem.

In doing some research on how to increase the visibility of your website, I ran into a common idea: Your blog needs to have a theme. A purpose. A Thing That Makes Your Blog Worthwile. They gave examples like blogs on current political events, sports, philosphy and the hilarious hijinks of celebrity skanks.

So.
Anyway.

Instead of determining what the point of my blog writing is, I found myself questioning why I should have a point at all?

(As you may have noticed) I make a lot of references to humor, being funny, wanting to make people laugh, the homeless, etc. That is because....it's all I've got to offer. This blog is not informative. It isn't cutting edge. It doesn't make social commentary, or have profound observations on the state of humanity. It doesn't tackle controversial current events. It's barely grounded in real, actual fact. I don't post about my interesting life as a Peace Corp doctor or a nude traveling minstrel. My blog has no line of coherence; there is no main topic or event that glues all my random posts together. People don't read my blog to get educated or inspired. I think "mild acknowledgement" best sums up how one feels after reading my posts.

I really bring nothing of any value or demand to the blogsphere. I think this website is the equivalent to pouring a shotglass of water into a lake. It's a silly and pointless thing to do. But it's moderately funny if you are in the right mood!! That's me, baby!! Somewhat humorous under the right conditions in certain situations :)

I just like to write silly, pointless stuff. Why bother inserting "life lessons" or "substance" into any of my blog? That's what the self-help section at Barnes and Noble is for!! I write with the feeble hope that a few people will come across my blog and laugh. I say I am writing for others, but really I write for myself. I want people to think I'm funny...because...I think I'm funny.

It's embarrassing to even write that sentence. That's like saying you are an artist and then showing off the velvet marker posters of unicorns you have colored. Because stuff like "being funny" is so subjective!! Once you throw that statement out into the universe, you have to back it up! There is no standardized test with an essay section to license yourself as A Funny Person.
(Note to self: Create test for funny license. Include topics such as schtick, slapstick, satire and Adam Sandler movies).

But anyway, the reason for this entire post (another thing my blog lacks... a point) is that I started out today trying to get more people to visit my blog. And in doing that, I thought, why care about having people read your posts if you have nothing to worthwhile write about? That is the strange thing about having a personal blog. You want people to read how interesting you are so that you can confirm for yourself that you are as interesting as you want to be. Phew! How silly. Personal blogs are asinine.

But.

Lucky for me and you, being silly and asinine is the purpose of this blog!! Yay! I found a purpose. We've come full circle!! Thanks for bearing through that soul-searching rant. And don't forget to tell your friends about my blog!!!

Today I reached a new low:

My phone in my "office" is not working, so I went to my boss's (boss'? bossesses???) office to get the user manual for the phone. I had just spent the better part of yesterday compiling this phone manual, so the irony was not lost on me.
Anyway, I'm explaining to my boss that I'm having trouble with the phone....

Bosslady: You know, there was someone in here yesterday that did just a FANTASTIC job of explaining how the phones work...
Me: Oh really?
Bosslady: Yes, they figured everything out --
Me: Was it the Dr. of Dial Tone????
Bosslady: (begins to giggle) No, it was someone named Bai*
Me: Really?? Wow, what a coincidence, another person named Bai??? Can they come back and--- oh. Bai. That's me.
Bosslady: (convulses uncontrollably with laughter)

fin.

I think it's pretty clear from incidents like these that evolution is trying to tell me something. I think it's something like:
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, YOU CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO PROCREATE. THE PLANET CAN BARELY SUPPORT THE CRUSHING WEIGHT OF YOUR IDIOCY AS IT IS. SERIOUSLY. DO NOT SPAWN. TO BE HONEST, THE FACT THAT YOU'VE SURVIVED THIS LONG IS REALLY ASTOUNDING. HOWEVER, WE ARE FAIRLY CONFIDENT THAT DARWINISM WILL CATCH UP WITH YOU, POSSIBLY IN THE FORM OF AN ACCIDENT INVOLVING SAFETY SCISSORS.

Yes, evolution uses all caps. And tends to ramble.
With that, I'm off to enjoy my 4th of July weekend! I'm going to see how many lit sparklers I can hold in my mouth at one time. Should be fun!!!





*Names have been changed to protect the incompetent.

# posted by yellow_mustard_girl : 9:22 AM  0 comments

When your blogpost title has a tongue-in-cheek reference to a popular 90's rap song, you know this post is going to be terrible. Just...stop reading now. Trust me.

I need to stop referring to myself by my real first name and use my blog pseudonym from now on. The whole reason I redid the URL and my blog signature name was so I could blot out any reference whatsoever to my real-life persona. Yes, I have a persona. I also have a nom de plume, but it's embarrassing when it pops out in public. Anyway, the whole reason I want to erase any trace of my real name is so people like my sweet grandparents can't stumble upon this website while googling my name. Also, a guy from work mentioned that one of his colleagues visited my site regularly and really liked it. I don't know if I should have been flattered or worried. What kind of person does a web search for "young blonde college grad" and "yellow mustard on everything"????

oh well. On with the post.

Things that I am currently compulsively obsessed with:
1. Re-sale stores. I especially like the ones where hipster kids MUCH cooler than me donate their clothing. Then I get to try on their awesome clothes and dream of the day when I, too, can pull off black leggings, acid washed denim mini skirts, houndstooth newsboy caps and black lipstick.

2. Rock climbing. Top roping was the most fun thing EVER. Thanks to belaying, my pathetic upper body strength didn't stop me from physical activity! In fact, my weenie 115-lb body was actually an advantage for once!!! I also like bouldering. And chalk.

3. At The Drive In - Relationship of Command. I rediscovered this amazing album about 3 weeks ago. It has been especially perfect lately, now that I've upped my Radiohead listening to, oh, 16 hours a day. (Radiohead concert in 2 weeks!!!!) Whenever I feel my soul is being crushed by Thom Yorke's painfully gorgeous lyrics, I pop in ATDI and enjoy songs about one-armed scissors and killing hippies.

4. Fage Greek Yogurt. If you don't have a Trader Joe's or a Whole Foods near you, you might not know what I'm talking about. This yogurt is incredible. It's strained...I have no idea what that means but it makes the yogurt 100X thicker and silkier and deliciouser. Mix some maple syrup and sliced almonds in and you have a tasty orgasm snack...or "orgasnack" as I like to call it.

5. My wedding pictures. I can't stop looking at them. As one of the world's most unphotogenic people, I think I'm just obsessed with any picture that makes me look human. If you ignore the pictures with my zombie red-eye, my uneven eyebrows and my velociraptor face (the one I make when I'm laughing uncontrollably ... or about to dine on the flesh of a small rodent) there about about a good half-dozen pictures of me. Joy!

6. Post Secret. http://postsecret.blogspot.com I wish they would update this page every day, rather than once a week. I can't get enough of people's dark and painful secret confessions. I also really like rectangles, so post cards are fascinating to me.

7. The Bravery. I had heard of this band before, but lumped them in with other bands like Breaking Benjamin...or any band with a "B" in their name that is featured on TRL. I am a fool! I am in love with their sound...it's like The Killers mixed with Interpol. Of course, I think lots of bands sound like they have Interpol in them. Like the Editors. Maybe that's because all these bands are post-new wave darlings. And you know what? Pitchfork can kiss my white ass. I think formulaic new wave revivalist bands are AWESOME.

8. Cheap Target knock-offs of trendy expensive clothing. I'm all about the cheap knock-off. I don't care, I'll shout it from the mountain tops: "These peep-toe stacked platform heels are from TARGET! I paid 20 bucks for them! I'm not shelling out $150 for the designer Miu Miu version! Check out my awesome blue polo...it's not LaCoste! It's Mossimo!"I think I love Target because it's just like me: A dressed up version of Wal-mart.

9. Blogposts that require no creativity or thought. I could create lists of my banal opinions and preferences all day!

There are some stretches of time where I get the urge to do something worthwhile, usually after I've peeled myself off my kitchen floor and brushed off the remnants of a family-sized bag of Doritos bag that had occupied most of my previous night. I get the idea that maybe I can write for a living, and spend glorious days cranking out satire for The Onion and slowly building an adoring throng of socially ackward blog readers. I have a feeling that these dreams are due to the severe dehydration one experiences when consuming 2,500% of their daily sodium allowance in a 3 hour period. Once I've had some Gatorade, these thoughts usually turn into a strong urge to pee.

I've been entertaining the idea of writing a column for the SD Reader or some local newspaper. I've found that publications like these tend to hire professional people with a good grasp on English grammar. Since I'm still struggling with the concept of a dangling participle, I think I'd probably have to start out writing the lowest rung of newspaper articles. I can just imagine the sparkling wit and candor I will bring to such topics as "Local Kiwanis Club holds 3rd Annual Blood Drive/Three-Legged Race for Seniors", "San Diego Bike Cops teach course on How to Fight Off a Maglite-weilding Bum" and "10 Signs That Raw Sewage Has Yet Again Tainted Your Drinking Water".

But that won't make me happy. That's the problem. I want to start up at the top. I'm built for the high life baby. No human interest piece on the history of the corndog is going to satisfy my lust for exposure and fame. No, only a fourth-page bi-weekly column in the Life section of the Clairemont Bee will sate this journalism juggernaut.

Wait wait wait. Scratch all that. I don't want to write for any newspaper or circular or pennysaver. I just want to write stuff that will make people laugh. Not a belly laugh or anything, I don't want to be causing hernias. In fact, maybe not out loud, cause people might be chewing or something, and I don't want any choking accidents. Perhaps just a safe, inward chuckle, possibly while hugging a pillow. That's good.

Two posts in one day! Wow!

I am getting the tattoo itch again, and I think I'm going to get one (or two) for my birthday. The question is...what should I get?
I am one of those people that wants their tattoo to be completely unique and artistic, so they end up getting a tattoo of a star on their arm, only to find that EVERYONE, including their great-uncle from Poland, has a star tattoo. On their arm. Way to go, wunderkind.

My first tattoo, of Braque's doves was definitely unique and I'm proud of that. I also like that it's on the back of my neck, it's like my little secret :)
But lately I've been wanting something people can see, so I've been thinking about getting a design on my wrists. In keeping with my bird theme, I thought about maybe getting one of those sailor swallows on each wrist. No, you pervert, not the phrase "sailor swallows" but the actual drawing of swallows. Sailors used to get them tattooed on their arm when they had successfully traveled like, 5,000 nautical miles and back. It was a symbol of hard work and achievement. And of course, in my usual fashion, I am going to rape this time-honored tradition in order to look cool.

I have also heard that recently released prison inmates get swallows tattooed on their wrist. So maybe I'll look like a bad-ass!! I guess with my one piercing and two tattoos, I'm more like bad-ass lite...but it's a start.

I am also really interested in getting a textual tattoo...a word or phrase or poem written on the skin. Lately I've been obsessed with Pablo Neruda, and I think it would be cool to get a quote or poem of his...somewhere. I also so a girl with a tattoo that said, "I have a strong will to love you for eternity" written on her hip. That's a line from a book by Milan Kundera. (He wrote The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and I love his stuff too)
Would it be horribly wrong to steal someone else's beautiful tattoo idea and use it for my own? I have this fear (keep in mind, I am a neurotic loser) that when if I go to a tattoo place and ask for this, they'll be like, "Hey! This is the exact tattoo in the exact place as another girl. You tattoo plaigarist!!!"
Also, you walk a very fine line between "eloquent" and "maudlin" when getting a text tattoo. So I feel like whatever is inked on me better really really mean something.

Here are some quotes I am thinking about getting, please comment if you like. They're mostly about love (when using Pablo Neruda material, it's usually about love or pain) because I'd like to get something to honor my new husband :)

1.
"These are the things that I want:
A room made of books
A house made of flowers
A love made of us"

2.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;so I love you because I know no other way.
or
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that when your eyes close I fall asleep.

3.
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists
aromas, light, metals
were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me

4.
You gather things to you like an old road.
You are peopled with the echoes and nostalgic voices.
I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated
That had been sleeping in your soul

0r in Spanish:
Acogedora como un viejo camino.
Te pueblan ecos y voces nostálgicas.
Yo desperté y a veces emigran y huyen pájaros que dormían en tu alma.

5.
"You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.”

6.
"I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.”

and of course:
"I have a strong will to love you for eternity"

I dropped off some of my old clothes at Buffalo Exchange today. I'm not sure if they have that store on the East Coast? BE is a store that buys and sells used clothing. It's not really Goodwill type stuff though. It's more like clothing that hipster kids wear to make you think they are so ironic and clever to shop at thrift stores when actually they spent $50 for their "vintage" shirt. Damn hipsters!!!
Anyway, the store has a very LA feel about it, and I always feel more geeky than usual when I'm shopping there. But I really love the store in spite of it's power to lower my self esteem, so I figured I try and make some money...to spend at the store. Anyway, I take my big bag of clothes up to the front desk and the salesguy says they are looking for items that are really "hot" and in style or at least, vintage. Crap. Unless he means "circa 1997" vintage, I'm not going to get much here.
After ten excruciatingly long minutes of raised eyebrows and grimaces, the guy takes one pair of jeans. ONE item out of like, 25 articles. For some reason, I feel offended and embarrassed, like I'm the last kid to be picked for the kickball game. Really, it's pretty dumb of me to feel that way, after all, there is a REASON I am getting rid of these clothes. If I find them too ugly to wear anymore, then someone that can actually dress themselves attractively certainly wouldn't.

But at that moment, I was crestfallen; WHY wouldn't they take these crappy, drab clothes that reek of 9th grade angst and have been hanging in my closet for years?? (I literally have been lugging around some of these clothes since highschool. I don't know why. Maybe I was hoping to construct an apparel model of my stumbling journey through puberty?) The whole debacle was actually pretty funny; it felt like they were putting my fashion sense on trial when the guy rifled through my stuff. It was hilarious; I felt like I needed to give an explanation for each piece of clothing, as if to justify my terrible choices:

"I was young! I was still experimenting!"
"Everyone has owned a suede vest at some point in there life."
"I was going through a rough time, I used crushed velour peasant shirts to get through it! Please don't judge me!!"

So I have started to make the leap from comfortable, fluffy dreams to cold, hard reality. I am applying to graduate school for physical therapy. Eep. Actually, before I can even apply, I need to take some prerequisite courses...and take the GRE ...and earn about 200 hours of volunteer work under a licensed PT. Wow, piece of cake! A piece of broken glass-filled cake.

I am applying to three different schools for the PT program, to increase my odds of getting in, and also to prolong my misery. If I get rejected by one school, I have 2 more possible rejections to look forward to!! But I can't dwell on that idea too long...I get a stomach ache.
The pre-requisites for each school are basically the same, but each has a few variations that are put into the curriculum strictly so that idiots (like me) are immediately terrified and run away...thus decreasing the candidate pool. Classes like... Human Anatomy with Dissection Lab...Abnormal Psychology...Physics with lab including mechanics, heat, light, sound, and electricity (Does physics include anything else? I guess we're skipping the physics of magic tricks and embarrassing bodily functions). I'm particularly unhappy about physics. I sold my soul to the Devil in order to pass my honors advanced physics final in high school and I was promised by his minion (my physics teacher) that I would NEVER have to use physics again in my life. Aside from occasionally obeying the laws of gravity and time, of course. Lies, all lies!

So anyway, in order to ensure that I can apply to all three colleges, I need to take 17 classes instead of the basic 7. Doh.
That means I need:
General Biology with Lab
Biological Sciences I & II (this could be the same as General Bio...but they were listed as courses separate from Bio I...dammit!)
General Chemistry I and II
General Chem Labs I and II
Organic chemistry with lab
Biostatistics
Human Morphology (Anatomy)
Dissection Lab
Human physiology with lab.
Physics I and II with lab
Principles of Human Behavior
Behavior Disorders (or abnormal psych)
And if the grad schools for some reason don't except credits from Penn State, I'll need to take Calculus, Intro to Statistics and Psychology. AGAIN.

I am listing these classes in order to illustrate my panicked confusion about all of this, like....what the hell is biostatistics? What is the difference between human morphology and human physiology? Or biology and biological science???

What's that? Am I terrified, you ask?? Does the Pope where pants??
Of course he wears pants, that's not the point here. Focus, dammit!
So I'm intimidated, and not sure what to do. If I apply to only one school, I just need seven prerequisites. If I apply to two, I'll need nine. If I apply to all three, it's fifteen plus. What do I do?!? Is it better to spend more money and time getting more classes in just so I can apply to ONE more school? What if I don't get into any of the schools?? What if I find out I took the wrong prerequisites and need to take MORE?? What if I left my laundry in the dryer and someone is STEALING MY BEACH TOWELS RIGHT NOW?!?!? Sorry, sorry. I have too much on my mind.

I guess this isn't really a funny post, but I thought I'd feel better if I wrote all this out. And you know what? It didn't work. Whoever said writing about a stressful situation is stress-relieving in itself must have left out the part where you take massive amounts of codeine and let the monkeys in your hallucination do the typing for you. Now THAT's stress relief.

(Ugh, that last paragraph was awful. All this stress and worrying has turned my usually crisp and penetrating humor into asinine and cliched jokes. I think for now I should finish out with a couple of awkward sentences that trail off before making a point.)