Simply Not OK

I like toilet paper. The deforestation of countless square miles of pristine natural landscape is completely justified if the end result is toilet paper. My prolific use of said toilet paper is something of which I am both aware and unashamed. However, this week my appreciation for toilet paper has not only dwindled, but has been the sole cause of great distress and confusion. Unfortunately, someone in my household broke all unspoken sanitary rules by purchasing….single-ply.

I’ve never thought of myself as a toilet paper snob, but apparently I am. I don’t need high-end paper with six layers of ring spun cotton laced with silk beaded lotion and lavender fragrances, but your basic two-ply Angel Soft or Quilted Northern is a positive economic alternative. Single-ply is simply not ok. Here is our usual paper and our new single-ply paper:


And here is what happened when one drop of water was placed on each paper:

I’m not sure how to handle this situation. At first I tried to have a good attitude and thought, “Just deal with it until it runs out.” But seven days later there was still just as much left on the roll as when it started. The stuff is going to last forever. I share a bathroom with several roommates, one of which graciously purchased toilet paper for everyone. I don’t know who the supplier was and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings by openly addressing the single-ply issue. I have considered several passive aggressive ways to rid my bathroom of the paper. I could secretly swap it out for all of Anna’s paper in the other bathroom. I could accidentally leave my hair straightener plugged in and touching the extra rolls in hopes that they will burst into flames. I could take it all to chapel and try to think of an object lesson involving horribly thin toilet paper. I even considered loading up the car and rolling someone’s house. In any case, unless I am in a third world country, a porta potty, or the woods, where the mere existence of toilet paper is a luxury, I will not continue using single-ply.

Roommate, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but your single-ply has been donated to a good cause.

Teacher of the Year

Me. This week:

“I need each of you to pretend there is a bird sitting on my head. Please stare at the cute little bird and do not quit staring until I finish giving instructions…keep staring…thank you. If you are not going to pay attention, I will at least teach you how to pretend you are paying attention. It is a life skill, you will need it. Please keep staring….good job.”

“If I threw a giant handful of toothpicks in the air, would they organize themselves in mid-air and fall into a perfect log cabin on the floor? Of course not. Scientists have a very big word for that, but I’m not sure what it is.”

“If you’re not Jewish you’re Gentile. All of us in this room are Gentiles….well, yes, you could become Jewish, but you wouldn’t be like real Jewish. Like, if I moved to Mexico, I would officially be someone living in Mexico, which would make me Mexican, but I’m not like real Mexican.”

“It’s like that little red riding hood story. Remember her? She was headed to Grandma’s house with cookies and she went walking through the woods, and the wolf asked her about the cookies then ended up going to the house and…wait, did he eat the grandma? I can’t remember what exactly happened, but little red riding hood shows up and the wolf is dressed like the grandma and…wait, does he eat little red riding hood? I can’t remember… Isn’t there something about a woodsman and an axe? Ok, nevermind, this story is creepy.”

“If God told Adam and Eve not to jump up and down and squish watermelons with their feet, and they decided to jump up and down and squish watermelons with their feet anyway, that would be sin. Eating apples was not the problem, the problem was disobeying God. Apples are good, we serve them here at school.”

“Ok, I’m going to teach you a new game. Everyone stand in a giant circle. Now, you have to take turns pointing across the circle and saying the name of the person you point to. If you show your teeth at any time, you are out. You are not allowed to cover your mouth with your hand. Ready, I’ll start…" (yes, made it up on the spot, but we ended up laughing so hard that our faces hurt.)

Thanks Lilly Perkins

Last week, I dropped an entire glass bottle of olive oil on the floor in the pantry. For some reason, as I gazed upon the massive oil spill, images of these guys entered my mind:

On March 24, 1989, 10 million gallons of crude oil were dumped into the sea when the Exxon Valdez rammed into something off the coast of Alaska. I remember feeling sorry for those little oily birds. Instead of reflecting on the random images in my mind and recalling the overwhelming ecological devastation to land and sea, my only thought was, “I’m glad I don’t have a dog.” It would’ve taken much longer to clean up olive oil if it would’ve fallen on a dog or a baby or something. Anyway, I googled how to clean up olive oil spills. I am consistently impressed with people like Nancy, Steve, or Carol, typically from the Northeast, that have taken the time to type answers to obscure cleaning questions. The general consensus was to soak up the oil with paper towels then scrub with hot soapy water. Lilly Perkins from New Hampshire suggested dumping oatmeal onto the spill, but I don’t have oatmeal. I could’ve used my roommate’s oatmeal, but I have been making a concerted effort not to eat other people’s food. We don’t share food at our house. We each buy our own groceries and cook our own meals. I, however, eat everyone else’s food when they are not home. I usually go grocery shopping on Sundays when I have great resolve to eat right and exercise, so I end up with fruit, vegetables, fish, and chicken. Then, by Friday of the following week, when I have fallen off the eat-right wagon, I am forced to borrow brownie mix and tortilla chips from my roommates. Recently, I have been on a Quaker Caramel Rice Cake rampage.

Trish had a huge bag, which I ate. So I replaced her huge bag and actually bought my own bag. Before she ever noticed, I had eaten my bag and her replacement bag and had to buy a replacement for the replacement. The madness only stopped because I had eaten so many caramel rice cakes that the roof of my mouth hurt, kinda like when you eat too much Captain Crunch cereal. Anyway, I didn’t dump Anna’s oatmeal all over the floor to clean up the olive oil. I used Trish’s paper towels instead. I felt a little bad because they were brand name (see photo.) I will replace them, but probably with TowelPro, or some other disintegrating non-quicker picker upper.

Oil spills are a bummer. I steal food. Two clearly connected thoughts.

Just Chicken on Plate

Aside from the obvious misplacement of Florida, the chicken breast I cooked for dinner tonight had an uncanny resemblance to the United States.

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R.I.P. Albi

I’m not a huge fan of reptiles in general, but a massive flesh-eating 18 foot crocodile at the zoo is my preference to the tiny pink gecko in my living room. Please know that I had no intentions of killing the little guy. It was an accident.



I was in the driveway at midnight, as most people are, just as Trish arrived from work. We walked in the house and saw what appeared to be one of those rubbery plastic lizard things you buy at Dollar Tree. Trish even said, “Is that a fake lizard?” The question itself made me laugh, since we don’t typically have fake lizards lying around the house. However, this particular night we had a family with a young boy staying at our house, so it was possible. As we stooped close to investigate, the gecko dashed full-speed under the couch. Those little guys are fast, creepy fast. I feel like the translucent pink albino geckos are much faster than the green lizard sort. Anyway, given the option of catching the gecko and releasing him outside, or being attacked by the gecko while sleeping, we decided to catch him. Clearly, the best way to do this is with a Rudy’s cup. So Trish grabbed the couch and threw it across the living room as I chased the reptile and tried to trap him under the Rudy’s cup. The process took about 10 minutes; the Gecko darting to different shelters, Trish throwing couches, me running around with a Rudy’s cup. I tried to justify waking up the 8 year old boy in the back room and asking him catch the lizard, but then I thought it was probably poor form to wake up your houseguests at midnight to help remove reptiles from the living room. We eventually caught him. So then he was trapped under the cup, but what next? I sure wasn’t going to put my hand over the cup just to have him escape and run up my arm. Trish handed me a magazine to slide over the opening. This is where I’m afraid Albi lost his life. In an effort to keep pressure on the Rudy’s cup while sliding the magazine between the carpet and the cup, I think Albi may have gotten compacted. Thinking he was still alive, I tossed the magazine and the Rudy’s cup out the door. Albi did not dash to freedom as I’d hoped. Instead, he glided effortlessly to rest on the sidewalk below. Effortlessly, because he was dead as a hammer. I’m sorry this happened to him. Next time I will use better judgment and wake the 8 year old. I don’t hate geckos, but I am a little disturbed when their soft white underbellies are scampering across the kitchen window screen or across the living room floor. Dearest Albi, my apologies, please rest in peace.

Salmon and Chicken Jerky

I learned in elementary school that penicillin was discovered when Sir Alexander Fleming accidentally overcooked a bunny rabbit he shot while hunting. He analyzed microscopic charred bunny parts and discovered antibiotic healing agents that have revolutionized modern medicine. Please keep this in mind.

I overcook things. I do not overcook some things, I overcook most things. Like water. I recently decided to steam broccoli with one of those cool foldy metal vegetable steamer things that you put into a pot, then you fill the pot about a fourth full of water, then you let it boil and it steams the vegetables. Anyway, I forgot I was steaming broccoli and returned to the kitchen a couple TV shows later to find the kitchen full of black volcanic smoke. The water had vaporized and the Teflon coating was boiling and creating huge cancer clouds in the kitchen. I don’t even like broccoli. I was just eating it to be healthy.

I love salmon, but the odor while cooking dominates household airspace. In an effort to be considerate of my roommates, I have started grilling out. We have a real grill, but I’m a little jumpy around propane and fire. So I opt to simply unplug the George Forman and plug him in outside.

Typically George does a great job, and grilling out is a fine solution, but sometimes the lack of overwhelming salmon smell causes me to forget I am cooking. Hence, salmon jerky. I turn lots of things into jerky on the George Forman. I do not recommend this. The taste is less than desirable and the fat-grilling machine is notoriously hard to clean. When I have not charred anything, I find it easiest to stick the whole thing in the sink and scrub as though there are not really electrical components. However, when I char salmon on the mini outdoor grill, I have to let it cool before transporting it to the sink. This causes salmon oil and burnt chunks to harden on the grill. Since it’s much easier to get burnt chunks off the Teflon surface when the grill is hot, I then plug in the grill by the sink in the kitchen. Burnt salmon aroma begins filling the house, and I just apologize profusely to all my roommates. Total catch 22.

I almost always boil water over after adding noodles. Noodles are high-maintenance. I usually burn the last few pancakes of a mix and the last batch of cookies. By then, I am already eating and have lost interest in the stragglers. I burn grilled cheese sandwiches, but only on one side. I do not know what a sienna is, but I liked the burnt color as a kid.



Note: Upon further biomedical research (aka I asked Paul,) it was determined that penicillin was indeed not discovered by a man overcooking a bunny rabbit. The more I teach, the more I am convinced that elementary teachers sometimes make up stuff.

Friends and Rivers (Episode 2)

I love my Friends. I love Rivers. I love New Braunfels in the Summer. The first day of Summer, we loaded up the tubes and headed to the river. We threw the tubes in the truck, jumped in the river, floated for a couple hours, and walked back to the car. Then we headed to the local barbque joint and filled up on sweet tea and barbque turkey tacos. It was the perfect start to Summer. Then I went to Mexico.

There really is no way to fully capture the New Braunfels River floating experience. I will try in the next few days to paint a picture, but I will not do justice to the phenomenon called New Braunfels tubing. You just have to experience it for yourself. This is your invitation to visit. Anyway, Mexico was fun, but now I'm back. I look forward to sharing thoughts I have not had time to share in the past couple months. It's been a crazy season. :)