Predicting the Future

I'll be honest--I'd made plans for blog posts for the entire week.  But today was too stressful for too many reasons that I'll elaborate upon later, and I just couldn't make something with a narrative structure come together.

However...I did take an extremely long bath to decompress from the day.  And while singing The Dixie Chicks: The Hits (this doesn't exist, that I know of, other than in my head), I noticed that my hands were incredibly wrinkly and the lines in my palms were deep and prominent 

So, dear readers, I'd like to invite you to take a stab at reading my palms.  As far as I can tell from my reading on the internets during periods of extreme boredom, there are a few schools of thought with palm reading.  Some want to read the left hand, some the right.  Below, I've included both for your future-reading pleasure.

In the future, perhaps I'll visit an actual palm reader in Austin.  Because as all Girls fans know, this is where the magic happens.

Photo credit: http://25.media.tumblr.com/40a5123a068c7fd00388b583010db566/tumblr_mhdbu0Y6mv1qzv4fjo1_500.png

So here are my palms.  Predict away in the comment section, if you please.

Here's Righty:

Photo credit: http://www.verbalmigration.com/skeptic-palm-reading/skeptic-palm-reading.jpg

And Lefty:

Photo credit: http://www.chuanonline.com/images/palm%20reading%20diagram%20illustrated.jpg

If, and when , I do visit a palm reader, I'll post about the experience.  A gift goes to the person with the closest analysis of my wrinkly palms.

Post your readings below.

Pitiful or Awesome? The Shower Beer

Pitiful or Awesome? is an interactive post in which the reader gets to weigh in on whether the topic of the day is sad or genius.  

Today's Topic: The Shower Beer 

Photo source: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BPMyltrBErPAI1xD2X7O7wBZ-MAtaerdNMn-qsqmmkTvpsLVACTL83KJ_CxWwmmWSFe2HapulMUa6owTIpFF0E3lzkg0PIhVSaLzXRIg6qHuSG5ZMRX08-d2423Ybx0wrL68jK6m_ko/s1600/b.jpg

I first learned of the shower beer from a group of male friends the summer before my senior year in college.  It was a 100 or more degree scorcher, and one of them had just spent the day working on a new garden on the university grounds (worst summer job ever in Austin, if you ask me).  He'd been sweating so long that it seemed like he likely had no more moisture left in his body.  He looked tired.  And hot.  And worn out.

But relief flooded his face when he grabbed a tall cold bottle of Shiner (the beer of choice at that time in my life) and walked toward the shower.  When he came out, I questioned him about this action.  I'd never seen this before.  It struck me as something only an alcoholic would do, and I was concerned for my friend.  How would I save him from drinking himself into ruin in the tub?

He claimed that it was the most relaxing beverage you'd ever experience.  I was doubtful, but he donated a beer to me as I made my way back to my dorm room.

It just felt wrong.  The bathroom is not a place for imbibing or eating anything.  There are poo particles flying out of toilets, for goodness sake!  But I closed the lid of the toilet seat and held the open bottle away from the commode on my way to the shower.  I held on to it as the water warmed up from the faucet and held it at arm's length away from the spray of the shower head.

I just stood there for a while, letting the warm water hit the back of my neck and cascade around my curvy parts.  The heat enveloped me as I stood and sipped.  It was just a plain old Shiner from the fridge like I would normally drink hanging out with friends.  But it was magically transformed between the white shower curtain and three tiled walls.  The contrast of the warmth flowing around my neck with the cool bubbly tickle of the suds flowing down my throat was invigorating.  Had I ever even noticed the bubbles before?  I could feel the cool liquid flow all the way to my middle and slosh around before it warmed.

Eventually, I had to put the beer down.  I moved my shampoo and conditioner bottles off of the bath's ledge and positioned the bottle carefully in their place.  I did some of your normal showery things, and then went back for another drink of this new elixir.  I found the bottle sweaty with cool condensation, like the delicious insides of the bottle were trying to make their presence known.  Now the beads dripped down my hand, wrist and forearm, crossing streams with water from the shower.

I don't normally drink a beer in a matter of 15 minutes, about the length of my average shower, but a shower beer must be finished in the shower, which only added to the enjoyment.  There are all these different physical sensations, and they're only enhanced by the slight tipsiness that sets in about halfway through.

If you do an image search on Google for "shower beer" you'll see that my friends and I are not alone in our love for the shower beer.  The lady in the image below has the right idea.  See the condensation on the bottle?

Photo source: http://i.imgur.com/2Exqb.jpg

Now I'm not too sure how I feel about this person's shower beer.  I feel like there's too much risk for dilution and possible warming of the brew with a pilsner glass.  Also, it's rather precariously perched on that tile ledge.  That looks like a scene from Psycho waiting to happen, if you ask me; but, you know, minus all the murder.

Photo source: http://boardingarea.com/blogs/thewanderingaramean/files/2010/11/IMG_0472.jpg

An important note: it is a shower beer, not a bath beer.  A bath doesn't create the same balance between warm and cool, and there's not enough steam.  It's still good, but it's not magical.

In my opinion, the shower beer should be reserved for the end of a long day; however, I do know those who like to use it as a warm up for a long night of fun ahead.

Clearly, I believe the shower beer is awesome, but maybe you're like 21-year-old me who thought only alcoholics or sad people would do such a thing.

Give your verdict below.

Cuddle and Make Out Club: Join Today!

Welcome to the Club!  

Our bi-level clubhouse features many amenities for members*.

Upon arrival you'll be greeted at the door by our founder who will hand you your very own Snuggie and berry-flavored Chapstick (we hear if you're extra friendly when you meet her, she'll even throw in some face lotion for you ladies who meet men with beards).

Miss those days of teen make out parties with rousing games of Spin the Bottle and 7 Minutes in Heaven?  Lucky you, there's a room designated to each activity.  And if you've never played before, there are plenty of friendly members to help you feel it out.

Not a fan of team sports?  Enjoy one of our many lounge rooms with extra large bean bags made or two (or three if you're nasty).

We look forward to your visit!

*We are a smoke and alcohol free environment.

The Pity Party

The other day I was at Kohl's, hunting for items to use up the $50 gift card I'd bought for a friend who snubbed her nose at it, thus granting me the permission to shop for myself.  Recently, I've been spending a lot more time at home in the kitchen and have realized that my past failures (leaving pans "soaking" in the sink for a week, burning the bottom of pots, scrapping Teflon off the bottom of pots with metal utensils, you know...) have led to a lack of necessary tools.

It occurred to me as I perused the housewares section and looked at prices that most people my age already have a healthy stock of items like a mandolin, a garlic press, a salad spinner, fork tongs, and other devices that I've never purchased for myself.  I've been cooking for years with 1 frying pan, 1 13"x9" pan, 1 sauce pot, 1 soup pot, 1 ladle, 1 slotted spoon, 1 spatula, 1 whisk--you get the idea.  It's bare essentials in my tiny apartment kitchen.  The few extra items I own are a cheese grater and some plastic-like mat you put on the bottom of a cookie sheet to keep cookies from burning, both of which were purchased from the dollar bins at Target.

Suddenly, a wave of jealousy ran over me as I stared at different sized CorningWare.  All those lucky bastards who got married got to register for these items.  All those homeowners got to have housewarming parties and beg for these items.

But not me.

I remembered an episode of Sex and the City in which Carrie finally became fed up with buying her girlfriends expensive gifts for engagements, weddings, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, baby showers and housewarming parties.  She finally decided it was her turn and registered for expensive shoes.

I like her thinking.  But I don't just want the stuff, and a little payback from all those friends who I adorned with gifts for the last decade--I want the party.

By the age of, say, 35, people who are spouseless, houseless, childless and everythingless should be entitled to throw a pity party.  Our friends and family get to acknowledge that they actually do feel kind of bad for us.  And we finally get to acknowledge that the single life with all this freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be.  We get to register for the items that we never bought for ourselves, but more importantly, we get to have a huge blow out to celebrate the lives we've led without all of those other celebrations.

We can celebrate the nights spent curled up on the couch alone.  All the bills we paid all by ourselves.  The number of friends we've managed to find to help us move from apartment to apartment.  The animals who become our companions.  The technology that keeps us entertained and thinly connected to the outside world.  The fact that we've made it this far without breaking down completely or running away and going off the grid.  We can rejoice in it all and the fact that we've come so far with so little change.

And I, myself, will be the life of my own pity party.  Because, really, I'm the only one who knows how much there really is to celebrate.

In 2017, I'll be registered at Target and another to-be-determined location.  It'll be the party of a lifetime.  You're all invited.