Time to mow the weeds!

One of the great things about living in a basement apartment is that we get to take care of our own house! (The other great thing is having a driveway.)

For example, I spent an hour on Saturday with a broom and a hose annihilating spider webs and crushing their grotesque hosts. I felt so manly, protecting my helpless maiden from the hordes of monsters invading our castle.

The only downside to taking care of a rental home is that the people there before you may not have left you with an easy job. When Dria started asking me to mow the back weed patch, I knew it was time to do something about this invasion on our turf. So to speak.

After a little digging on the internet, I discovered two things about killing lawn weeds. First, there is a variety of miraculous products that somehow kill weeds while leaving the lawn intact. Second, pouring a cocktail of poisonous chemicals onto an expanse of tender earth can lead to clubbing baby seals. Or something like that. I didn't really pay attention to the details, but it definitely involved mass destruction of nautical biospheres.

But since the only alternative to polluting the urban water table was weeding the lawn by hand, the weed killer was my only option.

After reading several reviews online and a quick trip to Walmart, I returned home armed with a gallon of Ortho Weed-B-Gon, a pump spray nozzle, and a herbicidal spirit, ready to go to work.

I began by carefully reading the instructions, which were conveniently hidden inside of the back label:

1) Aim at the center of the weed.

2)Cover the entire plant with a mist of the spray.

Amidst the thick underbrush of weeds, I discovered a colony of snails. It was only after I had sprayed the poor creatures that I thought about how the weed killer was supposed to work:

"This product works by causing uncontrollable and unsustainable growth..."

An hour or two later, I emerged victorious, having both sprayed the entire weedlawn and realized my dream of having Popeye forearms. I couldn't move my fingers anymore. Needless to say, I decided to wait a while before spraying the front lawn.

PS--I also sprayed a spider.

Pictures of our new apartment!

I figured you guys might like to see pictures of our new place, since I talked it up so much in Monday's post. Here you go!

This looks like a normal mirror, but it opens up to reveal...

... our kitchen!

Our oven is nestled in this little... alcove? Completely adorable.

The cabinets in our kitchen have windows!

We have a lot of these little clasp-lock things on the cabinets throughout the house.

I wish I had a legit old-timey key for our doors.

Here's our security system.

Guess I have brain problems!

When I was in elementary school, my dad created little slips of paper for my teacher to fill out that would reward or punish me depending on whether or not I focused in class. Apparently, I tended to drift off and make random noises while the teacher was talking.

I have since come to learn that I wasn't just a strange child who didn't care about school. I have ADD.

I recognized my problem the first time I saw the list of symptoms. High on the list were forgetting what I was doing, fidgeting a lot, getting easily distracted, and walking away while people are talking to you.

When I finally got diagnosed and started treatment, my focus improved drastically.

On the other hand, even after trying several medications, I still struggle with the side effects. The medicine that I'm currently using, although so far the best option I've tried, gives me one of the worst possible side effects a busy premed could have right now: anxiety.

Within a half hour after taking my morning pill, I start to feel like my life is going to transform into a whirlwind of chaos and destruction if I don't do everything exactly right every second.

Sometimes I feel this deep sense of dread, like something fatally terrible is about to happen.

Usually, I manage to convince myself that everything is going to be okay, and I can handle my anxiety.

Some days, however, my anxiety becomes so unbearable that I drown completely. A tidal wave of nervousness breaks over me and washes away, leaving an empty void of apathy in its wake.

On these days, I begin to understand how Dria feels. Nothing is exciting anymore. I don't feel like being productive, but I can't even stand the thought of wasting time with temporary diversions that would help relieve stress in normal situations.

I get irritable, cynical, obstinate, and passive-aggressive. I hate everyone (even though I know I really don't).

Today has been one of those days. Fortunately, listening to fun. and drawing these silly pictures has helped my mood a bit. I think I'm gonna try a different medicine, though.

Hungry like the wolf

For some reason, I couldn't quite think of song lyrics that would go well with this post.

When I was a small child, I had stuffed animal toy unlike any other--it was a purple, pregnant kitty called "Kitty Surprise." There was a velcro opening along her tummy that you could open (to simulate a very intense C-section, I suppose) to reveal several kittens nestled inside. To impregnate her again, all you had to do was put the kittens back inside her fabric womb and close the velcro.

As a 21-year-old, I'm not exactly sure what the point of this toy was. To initiate a conversation about how those little kitties really got there? To relive the miracle of birth over, and over, and over again? To play "Surprise Surprise," where the mommy kitty actually gives birth to...puppies? Dad's car keys? A sock? Pokemon?

Anyway, Happy Mothers' Day, all. Here are some pictures.

Who wouldn't want one?

The miracle of...birth?

I'm wide awake, it's the middle of the night...

My Spanish class forces me to do cultural activities every now and then, to help me become a more well-rounded person, I guess. Jordan and I decided to go to El Salvador Restaurante yesterday, because they apparently had a legendary food I needed to try, and I figured, Hey! Food=culture. Good plan!

So we went to this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and man. The atmosphere was sweet. Half the tables were legit booths, and the other half were the kind of cheap white tables you put on your patio.There were El Salvadorian decorations plastering the walls, in a weird-but-charming way, and the owner's kid/nephew/cousin was sitting in the corner, wearing an apron and coloring.

We ordered our food from a woman who spoke rapid-fire Spanish. I mostly understood what she was saying, and gave really good two- to three-word answers to her questions. All the while, I questioned myself: Was anything I learned in Spanish real? Do I sound like a total and complete idiot right now? Is anything I'm saying coherent or remotely grammatically correct, or am I just stringing together unrelated words in an unforgivable Spanish accent?

Apparently we did all right, because our food got to us, and I was so excited to devour it. We order "pupusas," which is Spanish for "a corn tortilla injected with the most delicious cheese, meat, and vegetables you've ever had in your mouth before." It also came with this shredded cabbage stuff that had been...marinated...in sauce. It was a lot better than it sounds.

After our happy mealtime, we got home, and within a half hour, my stomach said, "Dria. You made a bad choice today." And it proceeded to violently surrender its contents.

I suppose this means I had food poisoning. I was, in fact, food poisoned. Can you say it like that? Should it be hyphenated? I've never really understood what the term means. When people say, "Dude, yesterday sucked. I got food poisoning," do they really mean, "Yesterday I went to a shady 'authentic' restaurant and had the most amazing food ever, which I later threw up and now I never want to think about that place again, ever"?

Perhaps I'll never know what that phrase means, or if I was finally able to be an unwilling participant. I do know that I deserve extra credit on that Spanish assignment.