Thursday, October 17, 2013

Beetle Mania

Just a quick little heads up that a couple months ago I got a smart phone. The excellent spelling and grammar you're all used to finding here might be a little less great than normal since I can't even see what I'm typing. I'm going to do my best, but I kind of really miss using my laptop. Unfortunately, my laptop is bulky and annoying and I've decided to just take my chances with my smart phone. Anyway, without further ado, let's get to the first real post I've made in months.

Most summers, my biggest problem is not the heat, but the spiders that the nice weather attracts. Every year I try to love summer. I take all of the precautions to keep spiders out of my home and my car. I spray the house with a repellent, I don't open windows that have holes in the screens, I never open the windows to my car unless I'm in it and driving.
Even when entering rooms, I scan the ceiling for spiders that are clearly waiting for me to walk under them. You may be thinking that what I do is excessive. That I'm overreacting. That I'm paranoid.
All of that is correct. But not without good reason.
When I was 16 I walked into my room to go to bed. It was a rare day that I had made my bed, and there, purched on top of my comforter, was a spider. A big, hairy wolf spider. Naturally, I screamed as if I were being attacked and my mom ran into my room. I pointed to where the spider had been, but it had scurried to the other side of the bed and was out of view. My mom thought I was hallucinating and told me to go to bed. I made her look for the spider she was so sure I had imagined, and she killed it.
That was only one of many bad experiences with spiders. Just a couple weeks ago I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth, didn't check the ceiling when I walked into the room, and when I finally did look up, I saw a spider dangling above my head. Twitching.
I'm fully convinced that spiders do all that they can to scare me.
Other insects, though? I try to give them the benefit of the doubt. If they don't bother me, I won't bother them.
But this summer I made a new insect enemy.
I had just returned from taking my grandma grocery shopping. It was 90º in June and I had my car windows open.
When I pulled into her driveway and parked the car, my grandma immediatly started to get out of the car and make her way inside. I rushed to help her since she's 87 years old and isn't very steady on her feet.
After I escorted her inside, I spent maybe five minutes helping her put away groceries before I headed home. When I got back to my car, I realized I had left the windows open for the first time. I opened the door to see a beetle about two inches in length crawling around the floor of the drivers side. I tried to get it out of the car, but it scurried under the seat before I could do anything. I thought to myself, what's the worst that could happen? It will probably just mind its own business and I'll worry about it later. It was 90º and I wanted to go home.
So I get in my car and I'm almost halfway home when my left knee feels a little itchy. I go to scratch my knee when I feel a lump.
No, I thought. There's no way. I thought it must be the seam in my pants that I was feeling. I told myself I was being paranoid thinking it was the beetle.
Then it moved.
I freaked the fuck out. Luckily, I had the windows rolled up, so no one could hear me screaming. I gathered the fabric of my jeans to trap the beetle so it couldn't move. Next,  I decided to take my pants off. When my car started moving I realized I should put my car in park first. Then I balled my pants up on the passenger seat, covering all possible exits so as not to let it out again. Then I drove home in my underwear.
Luckily, I live in the woods and exiting my car and getting into my house wasn't a problem. My only stroke of luck that day was that I wore underwear that looked like it could be a bikini bottom, so if my neighbors saw me it wouldn't look as weird.
Anyway, I got the beetle to leave my pants and I got it outside. Then I washed my pants.
At least only one beetle attacked me, right?
Only a week later, a beetle followed me into the office where I work when I had come in from being outside. It was going after lights at first, but then it abruptly charged at me and I dove under the desk.
I stopped hearing the buzzing, so I came out from under the desk and got back to work.
Ten minutes later, I go to scratch my back, thinking my bra strap wasn't where it was supposed to be, when I felt something hard.
It was on my back the whole time.
I started to take my shirt off, but then I remembered where I was and I went into the bathroom to get rid of it.
My summer was not super great.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

The Vagina Elevator

           Yesterday I had a gynecologist appointment and I realized for the first time how weird and awkward annuals are.
I’ve gone to this same doctor since I was probably 15 - about four years. But today the assistant lady stepped out for a minute and I had to make conversation with my doctor until she got back.
To be perfectly clear, I have an awesome gynecologist. Some girls feel weird about having a male doctor look at their lady bits, but I’m the opposite. I would feel weird if it were a female doctor. It’s hard to explain, but, with the exception of my eye doctor, I love all of my male doctors. I currently have no female doctors because I hated them all. Of course, my eye doctor is probably bitter because I broke his chair once. But that’s another story. And not a very good one. Moving on.
I was already in the weird sock bed chair with the paper on it. I had changed into the pink medical linen in the middle of winter (and doctors’ offices are never warm as it is) and I just sat there talking about my birth control and the weather and, whatever my doctor said, I couldn’t understand a word of it because he’s a very soft-spoken Asian, and, while accents are a lot of fun, he always speaks at a whisper, so I only get bits and pieces of what he’s saying.
So after that awkwardness is over, they start what I like to call “the vagina elevator”. Because for the first part of the exam, the breast exam, you’re sitting on something that’s more like a chair, but for the rest of the exam, it turns into a bed and brings your lady parts to the doctor’s eye level while he’s seated. Then all kinds of horror starts. I’m actually not bothered very much by the exam itself, but everything leading up to it is weird. I would prefer to chat when it’s done. I know they’re probably just trying to make me comfortable, but it really does the exact opposite. But then, I’m not normal.
My point here, is that elevators are never fun. They are tolerated because doctors can’t see very well hunched over and sometimes you need to get to a really high floor of a building and you’re running late and then the elevator would either get you there on time, or make you really late by breaking and then if you try to get out it might cut you in half. Which is why vagina elevators are way better than regular elevators.
Unless you get a C section. At least, I assume you’re on a similar vagina elevator in that case. I’ve never had one and never intend to. It’s something I would be content going the rest of my life without knowing.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

America's Next Top Model All-Stars Cycle 2

I’ve been in the list making mood lately. Believe it or not, I’ve been writing draft posts for the past few months, and they all either make no sense, or turn into a list. So here’s an intentional list of who I would pick to be contestants on America’s Next Top Model All-Stars excluding girls that were on the first All-Stars cycle. Because Allison, Kayla and Sheena can’t do three cycles. After losing twice, I can’t imagine they would say yes to going back again. Besides, Allison already won.

Shut up. She did.

In no particular order:

1.    Stacy-Ann Fequiere, cycle 10. Placed 7th.
2.    Katarzyna Dolinska, cycle 10. Placed 5th.

3.    Kim Stolz, cycle 5. Placed 5th.

4.    Melrose Bickerstaff, cycle 7. Runner-up.

5.    Analeigh Tipton, cycle 11. Placed 3rd.

6.    Samantha Potter, cycle 11. Runner-up.

7.    Bianca Richardson, cycle 13. Placed 9th.

8.    Jaclyn Poole, cycle 16. Placed 6th.

9.    AzMarie Livingston, cycle 18. Placed 9th.

10.  Toccara Jones, cycle 3. Placed 8th.

11.  Nnenna Agba, cycle 6. Placed 6th.

12.  Anchal Joseph, cycle 7. Placed 7th.

13.  Ashley Brown, cycle 18. Placed 10th.

14.  *Jane Randall, cycle 15. Placed 3rd.

*Sometimes there are 13 contestants instead of 14, but the first All-Stars cycle had 14 contestants.

Tyra, if you’re reading this, you know this would make an amazing cycle. And also, you should just declare Allison Harvard as the winner of America’s Next Top Model. She doesn’t even have to win cycle 12 or 17. She can just win.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Ana’s Guide to Not Being a Dick (Tourist Edition)

          Living in South County Rhode Island is peaceful for about 75% of the year. And for that 75% of the year, there’s pretty much nothing to do. So we Rhode Islanders look forward to summer so we can go to the beach, get a tan, and relax.

          But we can never really relax because the beaches get crowded with tourists. They nearly hit your car on the way there, they like to wear bathing suits that are too small, they bring their screaming children, and they usually don’t understand that the weather in New England can change dramatically with no warning.

          The worst kind of tourist we get is the “I’m from a big city” tourist.

          Let me set something straight about where I live: THIS IS A SMALL TOWN.

          You cannot drive the same way here as you do in New York. These houses aren’t for decoration. People live here. Don’t go speeding by houses, throwing your garbage into our yards, and leaving your shopping carts in the middle of aisles at supermarkets. If you have a shopping cart, take it down the aisle with you.

One of my friends goes to a house in Martha’s Vineyard every year, and tourists will sometimes wander onto people’s properties because they don’t think people actually live in the houses. Why would a house just be decoration?? Unless you see a sign that says it’s a museum, it isn’t a museum.

          I don’t even go to the store during the day in the summer. I wait until about 8:00 at night. Personally, I think there should be a special supermarket for tourists. That way, they can’t bother the locals.

          A few days ago, I was ranting about how much I hate tourists to my mom and she told me that one year there was a public service announcement that told the locals to stop being mean to the tourists. That’s how annoying they can be!

          Now, let’s look at New York for a minute. There are always tourists in New York.

          When I go to New York, I see the sights, go in a couple of tourist stores like the Hershey store, the M&M store, the giant Toys R Us with the ferris wheel, etc. I take some pictures, I eat some pizza and I get on the train and go home.

          And this is the problem; New Yorkers are used to tourists, but are not used to being tourists. Rhode Islanders are used to being tourists, but not used to having tourists in their town.

          So New Yorkers come here to use our beaches and forget that they have to pay attention to yield signs and speed limits and pedestrians.

          The nearest movie theater to my house is in Connecticut, so I’m basically a tourist whenever I want to go see a movie. But the way I look at it, Rhode Islanders aren’t tourists in Massachusetts or Connecticut because Rhode Island is so small and many of us go to Connecticut or Massachusetts on a semi-regular basis. And the only way to not be a tourist in New York is if you’ve lived there all your life.

          So, how can you go on vacation without being a total dick to all of the people that already live there?

1.            When you go shopping, less is more. You aren’t going to be living there forever. And if you do need a lot of things because you have some fucking babies or whatever, don’t just leave your loaded shopping cart wherever you want. Take that shit with you! Otherwise, you’re holding up the locals and creating a need for more PSAs.

2.            When you go to the beach, wear bathing suits that fit you. Being on vacation doesn’t mean you lost 70lbs. And if you’re a guy, don’t wear a speedo. I don’t care who you are, it isn’t a good idea.

3.            I’m sure you came here to relax and get away from the city and responsibility. That’s all fine, but if you’re going to drive around here, PAY ATTENTION. Obey yield signs, go the approximate speed limit, don’t act like an asshole in beach traffic, and don’t speed up when you see that someone is trying to get into the other lane. Do you know how many times I’ve missed my road because some asshole won’t let me get over? TOO MANY TIMES.

4.            If you live in a very popular tourist destination, such as New York City, know that we Rhode Islanders try very hard to walk quickly across crosswalks, and we only go when the little man shows up and the big orange hand goes away. Unless you have the right of way, please don’t try to run us over. We’re doing the best we can.

5.            If you ask a local where something is, prepare to be given the wrong directions. Tourists are almost never given accurate information.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Tie My Shoes

So, my full name is Anastasia.

And this is why I love Urban Dictionary. Honestly, they couldn’t have been more right.

But I think they could have done a better job on my middle name.


Come on, Urban Dictionary. How is this the number one result? I don’t really know what to say about the name Ariel either, but the other results aren't much better.

But my first name more than makes up for that.

Anyway, I hope to have a real post up soon. This is just kind of a transition post since I haven’t done a real one in a while. Sorry I’m a terrible blogger.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

My Grandma on Meds

I started writing a post about cats a few days ago that I wanted to post yesterday, but I’ve been a little busy and my mind hasn’t really been on a cat post.

Instead I’ve spent the past few days at the hospital with my grandma. It’s kind of amazing that I’m posting at all, but it’s nothing serious, so I managed to not be completely depressed about it.

My grandma has been kind of confused lately. Sometimes it’s scary because she forgets where she is, but usually it’s kind of funny, so I decided to share the things she’s said here. Of course, it’s only really funny because it’s temporary. Once she goes off the meds, she’ll be less forgetful. If it was permanent, it wouldn’t be funny at all.

But before I get started, my interview post is still in the works, so if you want to submit a question (please do!) details are here.

Grandma: “You wouldn’t believe what the operating room looked like!”

Mom: “Yes I would. I work here. I’ve gone down to the OR several times.”

Grandma: “It’s horrible! There were beams everywhere! It looked like a basement!”

Mom: “That was just the equipment. It wasn’t the ceiling. It was just the machines above you.”

Grandma: “No, that wasn’t it.”

Me: “So, what did you have for lunch today? Are you still on a liquid diet?”

Grandma: “The nurses brought in Chinese food and shared it with the patients! But there wasn’t really anything there that I liked. It was neat, though. There was so much Chinese food!”

The next day...

Nurse: “No, your grandmother must have just imagined it. No one brought in Chinese food. That sounds really good, though. Someone should do that.”

Me: “Grandma, they brought you some food. Do you want anything right now?”

Grandma: “Sure. I guess I’ll have some tea.”

Me: “Okay. Do you want any sugar?”

Grandma: “Yeah.”

Me: “How much?”

Grandma: “The whole package.”

Me: “Okay.”


Me: “Putting sugar in. Do you still want sugar?”

Grandma: “Oh. I’ve never seen anyone do it like that. I just put it in and let it seep.”

Me: “No, grandma. The bag is already in the water. This is the sugar.”

Grandma: “Oh. I don’t want that much sugar.”

Me: “Okay. How much sugar do you want?”

Grandma: “A spoonful.”

Me: “Okay.”

Grandma: “Well, no. That’s a pretty big spoon…”

She ended up having almost the entire packet of sugar anyway.

Housekeeping: “Hi. How are you doing today?”

Grandma: “Oh, fine I guess. I’ve got a broken foot.”

Housekeeping: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Grandma: “Yeah. I had to get my knee replaced.”

Housekeeping: “…Oh, that’s too bad.”

Grandma: “Yeah. But I broke my other hip a few years ago, so this one is easier to deal with.”

She actually broke her hip. Her leg was bruised, but her knee and foot were both fine.

Grandma: “Whose phone is this?”

Me: “That’s not a phone.”

Grandma: “My phone is over there. Why is this phone here?”

Me: “That’s not a phone, grandma. That’s something medical.”

Grandma: “What are these??”

Me: “Cords. You probably shouldn’t touch them.”

Grandma: “They’re all tangled!”

Me: “They look fine. Do you want some apple juice?”

Grandma: “Why would someone just leave their phone here?”

Me: “Grandma, it isn’t a phone. Please don’t touch those wires!”

Grandma: “Oww! These are attached to me!”

Me: “I know! Don’t pull on them!”

Me: “So…Do you want apple juice?”

Grandma: “I’m in a different room.”

Me: “What? No you aren’t. You’re in the same room you were in yesterday.”

Grandma: “No. This room is definitely different.”

Me: “No, you were in room 308 yesterday and you’re still here.”

Grandma: “No…The bed. The bed is definitely different.”

Me: “They moved the chairs around.”

Grandma: “Oh.”

Grandma: “I need to get up.”

Mom: “Okay, call a nurse and she’ll help you.”

Grandma: “I don’t need a nurse.”

Mom: “Yes you do. It’s their job. They’ll help you up.”

Grandma: “I don’t see why I need a nurse. I never needed a nurse before.”

Mom: “You just broke your hip and had surgery! You need a nurse!”

Grandma: “My phone is broken.”

Me: “It is? Let me look at it.”

Grandma: “It says it’s charged, but I can’t dial a number.”

Me: “Okay, press the ‘end’ button.”

Grandma: “Oh! It’s doing something!”

Me: “Don’t start dialing it yet, it’s turning on.”

Grandma: “Oh. You know so much about technology!”

As far as I know, she hasn’t had too much trouble with her cell phone before. The medication just caused her to forget how it worked.

Me: “They gave you tea, Jell-O, and two apple juices. Does anything sound good?”

Grandma: “I’ll have the Jell-O.”

Me: “Okay.”


Me: “Do you want anything else? You still have tea and apple juice.”

Grandma: “I’ll have apple sauce.”

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

College: A Wrap Up. (And Also Boobies.) Part Three!

If you made it this far, you’re awesome. This is the “boobies” part of my college/post college trilogy.

Unfortunately, the boobies aren’t until the end of this post. But no skipping! This material has never seen my blog before, and even if you know this story, you should still read it because I’m even bitchier in writing. Ready?

There were several factors that led to me dropping out of college after only one semester.

The main reason was that I’m terrible at making new friends on my own.

Even though I had moved to a new dorm with eleven suite-mates, I couldn’t seem to socialize with them very much. Out of eleven girls, only a couple talked to me. And usually they were inviting me to hang out with them somewhere on a night that I happened to be doing something else (that something will be made clear shortly).

Eventually, I decided to give up. Too much time had passed to make a good impression. They were never going to like me and I was sure they thought I was weird for hiding in my room and only emerging to shower, go to class, and play with my boy toy (there it is – that’s the something).

Another factor was that I didn’t care about any of my classes. Italian was great, but they cancelled my section for that semester. So that really left me with nothing.

But the final straw was absurd.

I thought maybe I could keep up this whole college charade if it meant sex.

Then the unthinkable happened.

The nerd I was hooking up with found someone else.

Of course, guys can be total assholes, so I didn’t find this out until a couple months later.

But let me go into detail about this guy so you get an idea of how unexpected this was.

I met him over the summer when I took a writing class (my idea of getting ahead in school) and I really didn’t think much of him then.

This really never changed, but I viewed him as easy, so I decided I would put the time and effort into getting him interested.

First I tested him. I made a blog post about my blowjob story and posted a link on facebook.

Bait set.

He “liked” it and soon made plans to hang out with me.

They don’t come any easier than that.

Anyway, after hanging out a couple more times, I decided it would be a good idea to start hooking up with him.

Normally I don’t hook up with nerds, but I decided it was a good idea for one very crucial reason.


And it’s usually expensive shit. Like laptops. So if I’m fucking a computer science major, chances are he’ll fix it for me if the unthinkable happens.

My laptop never broke, but I did almost brake his desktop.

Let me take a moment to explain to you exactly how funny sex with me can be.

One time we were hooking up on his strangely elevated bed, when I threw my shirt down.

Then I heard a crash come from the general direction of his computer.

After a moment of terror, I courageously looked over to discover that my shirt had only landed next to his computer, so the moment wasn’t completely lost.

But, because I’m me, this was not the last of the awkward (and, more importantly, hilarious) sex moments.

You see, there’s a light above his bed.

There have been several occasions in which we hit our heads on it. Despite our best efforts to avoid it, it was always in the way. I suspect it moved slightly just to ruin my night. That light is a failure.

Of course, I have one story that makes those look like nothing. And maybe they are. It isn’t that funny looking back, but that’s only because this happened:

Imagine you’re having sex and it’s all going pretty well.

Then there’s the climax.

And then you suddenly hear “I Just Had Sex” by Akon because his suite-mates have incredible timing.

Really. Imagine it. You just climaxed and then you hear a self-congratulatory Akon singing about his highest achievement to date.

It’s kind of the best thing ever.

And It almost makes up for what happened a couple months after that. But not quite.

After winter break, I spent one day in my new room and then I spent the next night in his room.

Then I didn’t hear from him in over a week.

I thought “Has he contracted a deadly virus that prevents him from texting? Did he have a computer emergency? Has there been a tragic death in his family? Is he dead?”

These were all incorrect, but it would have been fantastic if he had at least been mauled by a bear or something.

So, when I finally heard from him again, he broke off our “friends with benefits” relationship thing.

It was at that moment I decided I had to leave RIC.

Finding a new guy would have been easy if I wasn’t already completely upset with where I was at in life. But now I had something else to be pissed about and I decided enough was enough.

A couple months later he told me he had sex with another girl and I told him he was worthless and some girls have incredibly low standards. Or they don’t know anything about computers, which was the case with me.

Ready for boobies? I thought so.

A few days ago I applied for a job at a professional bra fitting company.

The first thing they asked was “Why do you want to work for us?”

And apparently the answer they were looking for was not “I like bras.”

I thought I was doing a good thing by being honest, but you never know with places like that. I really don’t know how that can be avoided, though. But what I do know is that it's completely freeing to say "boobs" in a professional setting.

After I finished my application, she asked me a couple more questions and then said “If you have time, bra fittings are free and you can get a better idea of what you would be doing if we hired you.”

I was all “Okay! That sounds great!”

So one of the girls took me into the dressing room and handed me a bra to try on.

Then she left while I switched bras.

As I turned to face the mirror I noticed a familiar face looking back at me on the wall.

No, it wasn’t my face.

Well, my face was there too, of course. It was in the mirror. But there were picture frames all around the mirror also.

And then I saw the face of my high school drama teacher on the wall.

I had always seen ads for the bra fitting company on the programs for drama productions, but it never occurred to me that my teacher was affiliated with them in any way.

So when the girl came back in I was all “I know her!” and I pointed at the picture.

I thought the girl would be all “That’s awesome! We love her! You’re hired!”

But of course nothing like that ever happens to me, so instead she was just like “Really? How?”

And I said she was my high school drama director/teacher.

She was all “Oh. I had no idea she did stuff like that.”

And then she brought me their entire selection of bras for me to try on.

I told her I liked push-up because my boobs weren’t very big.

Out of what looked like 82 bras, she pulled out 4 push-up bras.

I thought “Whatever. I don’t have to buy the product. I just have to pretend to like it so they think I love their company.”

So I tried one on and, to my surprise, it fit really well.

I checked the size.

It said 32D. At this point I had been in there for over an hour and I was even more confused about bras then when I had walked in.

And there was a picture of a former teacher staring at me the whole time.

I have always worn a 34B. Anyone that looks at me could accurately guess my bra size.

I was even more confused because a couple months earlier I had gotten a bra fitting at Victoria’s Secret where they tried to tell me I was a 34C. I thought “Okay, maybe. I mean, my boobs aren’t big, but maybe certain bras run larger than others?”

And then the girl gave me more bras in different styles and they were all huge on me.

So she gave me a 34B.

I thanked her for her time.

Anyway, the moral here is that boobs are really confusing and that even computer science majors can be assholes.

Basically, you can’t trust anyone. Not even your bra. But you should probably still wear one. After all, they’re really pretty. The fact that they’re so pretty completely makes up for the inaccurate sizing.

It’s okay, bras. I forgive you.

Also, my interview post is still in the works, so if you would like to submit a question (or more than one!) details are here. And you should totally do it. Seriously. You have no idea how much I would appreciate it.


Here’s Miranda Kerr. Her boobies are amazing.