the invisible killer

i eat so much garlic that you can smell it through my pores the day before i consume it. in fact, i am waiting for evolution to kick in so that i will either be able to absorb garlic in a more humane manner, or walk around with my own personal force field in which i can breathe, fart, and perspire to my heart's content and escape the fate of being self-gassed through highly suspicious gills that will have developed along my neck. in lieu of nature's irritatingly slow progress, i have been known to cancel a shift at work, a night on the town, or a religious event housed in a confined religious building. when flight is not possible, i spend the entire time breathing only when i am in corners of the room and reserving whatever oxygen is left in my lungs for those times when contact with other human beings is absolutely necessary. today at work i was disturbingly close to passing out just so that the people near me would not be gassed. and people say i am not considerate.

on running out of girl implements

the number of pads in my house can be given by this equation: n x 6 (3 maxi pads + 3 regular), where n is the number of females in the house. given that there are FIVE GIRLS living here, there should be, oh, about a billion packets of pads to be opened, sat in, and thrown away at any given point in time. imagine my surprise, then, when my vagina explodes this morning and there are no pads or pad-like materials to be found. what the fuck? are people eating them or something? do they taste good with ketchup? did mum use them to seal up the roof during those ten days of constant rain about a week ago? and more importantly, why was the roof more important than my vagina?

with a waddle and a grimace, i had to buy a packet of pads in the chemist at nine oh five am with a wad of toilet paper in my undies. (stay tuned for a probing analysis of the controversial "wings vs. no wings" debate.)

vanity

the first thing that you will notice on this website, second only to the sensational web coding and dirty looking background, is the inclusion of a photograph of me and my rather prominent proboscis. what i hope that you don't notice is my similarly prominent fivehead, which while awkward and a waste of space, i honestly believe will come in handy one day. actually, you won't notice it at all because i have strategically omitted that body part. you can take this piece of information in several ways:

(1) that my self-esteem is approximately ankle height,
(2) my forehead is a secret government location to base aircraft,
(3) that i censor the fuck out of myself, but will try to have a good time while doing it on the internet because limiting my embarrassment and awkward conversations to real life is, like, so selfish.