Weed B Gone

Before I forget, just wanted to say hidey-ho to follower numero 8! Not sure if you are my dad Ken or my friend Ken, but either way, welcome and thanks for giving a crap!

Anyway, so just to give a rash-rehash...It's both better and worse. I haven't seen a new crop on my body in a day or two. However, they have instead chosen to appear...on my FACE! Woke up this morning rubbing my forehead and when I went to the mirror I noticed a bump on the right side of my forehead, another one just below my hair line on the left side of my forehead, one on my chin and (the kicker) right below my eye. I looked like freakin Woogie from "There's Something About Mary". They didn't itch as terribly as the ones on my actual body did (and sometimes still do) but instead looked like hive-things. I finally took some advice and used the plain Dove soap but I have no idea what the face-bumps are. So, the mystery goes on.

In any event, I wanted to mention my attacking of the weeds back on Sunday since I said I would, although thinking about it now, it wasn't all that terribly interesting. But I'll let you be the judge...

So the thing that's awesome about a yard is having basically an outdoor room. The thing that sucks about having a yard is that you have to actually maintain it. We've been having some rather soggy weather lately and Joe informed me that it's not good to mow the lawn when it's wet (as it causes the mower to buck and get clogged). And since Saturday we were wiped out from walking around Fell's Point, we decided to would work on the lawn on Sunday.

I took Georgia for a run while Joe mowed the lawn. When I got back he was just starting to do some weed whacking. Because we had never bothered with the weeds they had become quite jungle-like and overgrown. Normally it would just be a cosmetic thing, but as a neighbor informed me a while ago, we were the proud owners of some poisonous-berry weeds that were harmful to humans and possibly deadly to dogs if consumed (yikes!), so I was obsessed with chopping those down.

It wasn't long before Joe informed me that the weeds were too thick in the middle to completely cut through, so after he was finished I went about the yard picking up the weed entrails he did slice off and decided to do battle with the weeds still intact, man0 y mano. I slipped on some gardening gloves and approached my target, like Terminator. We have two patches of these berry weeds, so I decided to try the smaller one first. Luckily because of Joe's weed-whacking I was able to rip off the major strips with the evil berries still attached. Unfortunately, I was unable to rip out the whole thing, roots and all. I went over to the bigger patch, like the last level of a video game as I was about to come face to face with the Boss. I crouched down, still wearing my sloppy work-out clothes, and yanked and twisted, breaking off one arm after another. With determination in my eyes and sweat on my brow, I destroyed the invading branches that looped through the fence wiring and scooped up the clumps of berries hidden in the grass. Not to say the thing didn't put up a fight. I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed watching my struggle, as I got smacked in the face by branches I lost my grip to or when I nearly slipped on my ass.

But when I stepped back to acknowledge my work, it was indeed a shadow of it's former self. In fact, the feeling of finally getting to these berry-weeds inspired me to tidy up the yard with some weed-pulling elsewhere.

The other problem I face with having a yard that's ours and yet not ours, is trying to figure out what plants are meant to be there and which are not. I began yanking at some thin-stalked plants and was astonished at how easily they came up with their roots still attached and packed with soil. It almost seemed too easy. I then became somewhat paranoid that I had just tenaciously pulled up our land lady's prize flower bed, but Joe made the good point that as long as we rented there, it was technically our yard, and as long as we hadn't planted anything in it didn't matter what we pulled out.

So that was my first hand at weed-pulling, and it really was satisfying. I may do it again...dare I say to those berry weeds, I'll be baahck?

Urine Trouble

Yes yes I know, this may be the most tasteless blog I've written. But I figure, who am I kidding? I'm not writing The Grapes of Wrath here, and I have the rest of my life to be buttoned-up and old. I promise, I'll try to use as much innuendo and as many puns as possible. And if you still don't like it, well, I'm allowed to have a miss every now and then. And if you are REALLY offended, well...you prob don't get me.

So you with me? Let's begin.

Despite the fact that I'm not a fan of camping, bugs, or not showering every day, I still don't consider myself a girly-girl. I'm clueless with fashion, I don't have to get my nails and hair done every month, and with a few exceptions I have a small tolerance for chick flicks. However, when I've had to go, I'm not above doing it in the woods, behind a dumpster, or even off a building (yes, a building). And any of these times were done so out of absolute necessity. Allow me to explain...

One time my sister, cousin, and a few others I think were tailgating at PNC Bank Arts Center in Jersey for a concert. We ended up parking WAY beyond the center, pulled out some beers and chairs and began getting hyped for the show. After a few we realized we had to go desperately. Of course, the nearest Port-O-Potty was a good distance away; the woods however was only a few yards. So there we were, armed with a red cup and a person standing keeping watch. Not my classiest moment, but I can tell you I felt a helluvalot better. It was also the first time I really felt a break in the chain of being a "girl". Usually guys have the upper-hand (pun intended?) in peeing outside, but we proved it can be done.

The next time was on a return trip from dancing at the gay bar in D.C. My friends Lauren, Erica, Mike, and I huddled back into the car and began trying to figure out our way back. As luck would have it we realized we were getting lost. Meanwhile, I felt nature calling and it was not leaving a message. We pulled off into a gas station to gain our bearings, and I hopped out looking for the bathroom. We seemed to have found the only NON 24 hour gas station that exists, and after spending as many seconds I could finding the bathroom I ended up crouching behind the dumpster. Did I feel like total white-trash? Certainly. Did I feel better? Hell YEAH!

Finally, my proudest/most shameful experience was on the Fourth of July last year. Joe's friends were hosting a little barbecue on the roof of a building downtown. It was kind of a pain in the ass getting up there, but it was well worth it. We had a gorgeous view of the city, burgers on the grill, and of course, beer. After only a couple I started feeling the urge and began looking around for a solution. I could try getting down and going all the way through to the nearest bathroom (but if getting up there was scary, trying to get back down--with a small buzz going--seemed a little too treacherous). His friend suggested I just go ahead and pee over the side of the building since it overlooked an alley. At first I refused. But as the minutes, and urine, mounted I started getting desperate. To make a gross story short, I did what I had to do. And even though I might have lost a little self-respect, I saved myself from a dangerous climb down, as well as further damage to my kidneys.

It's not really fair that guys can go anywhere at anytime. Girls have just as many urges and we sometimes need to go wherever is most convenient too. Hopefully these tales will allow we girls to urinate united. And for anyone that wants to judge, let she who has not peed in a place other than a cushy bathroom cast the first roll of t.p.