Rush Week

My friend Sarah recently asked me for an update on Night Time Thoughts. I was devastated to report to her that I hadn't had any I could recall in at least half a year or so! Oddly enough, once my subconscious was aware that something needed to be done, I had a new Night Time Thought* a mere few days later. The next day, I woke up to a strange memo in my cell phone application aptly named "Memos":

"Sorority house during rush wk"

For those of you who haven't been following Night Time Thoughts, this means I had sleep-typed, if you will, this idea so as not to forget it in all of its profound wisdom come morning. Essentially, it's a short dream I have that for some reason I feel, at the time, is INCREDIBLY important to write down.

Now, upon my first contemplation of this Night Time Thought, I was befuddled and mentally exasperated. As I lay there, trying to wake up while simultaneously reeling through my hazy memory of the previous night's slumber, I felt all hope was lost. Whatever ingenious idea I had come up with regarding sorority houses would never be regained. The future of Rush Weeks everywhere was simply doomed.

And then I remembered. I had envisioned "Rush Week" to be personified as a rushing wave of college girls LITERALLY rushing into a sorority house as a creature all of its own, wave like and with the force of a hurricane. My mind took a turn for the worse when I realized that this wave of girls was literally drowning the already sworn in (Is that what sororities do? Swear people in?) sisters and other pledges, ultimately resulting in whoever was left alive as being able to become a member of that particular house. Survival of the fittest, most blood thirsty, girls.

Yeah...I don't know.

I hope to never set foot in a sorority house for fear of having flash backs to this nightmarish Night Time Thought. Okay so I never wanted to set foot in a sorority house ever. I shouldn't blame Night Time Thoughts for that.

BUT I FEEL IT IS PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE TO BLAME THE FOLLOWING VIDEO (If nothing else, you'd be doing yourself a favor to read the viewers' comments.)

Feel free to submit your own Night Time Thoughts to me via Email. carsten.tice@gmail.com

*Night Time Thoughts need not occur at night. On the contrary. They can occur whenever one is mostly asleep and only awake enough to scribble down a quick note. Come on, people. It's just a name. Does Taco Bell ONLY sell tacos? Does Burger King ONLY sell burgers? No. No, I didn't think so.

Insane Aussie Grandmum+Cellulite+Full Bus of Horrified Onlookers=One Memorable Ride

One lovely night in Sydney, I was sitting on the 461 bus en route to downtown from the Inner West suburbs where I was living. It's not a very long ride; maybe 25 minutes or so; a ride I had taken many, many times, though none stands out to me like this one.

On this bus ride, I am accompanied by my friend and fellow American, Sarah, whom you may remember from previous posts. We are sitting in the very last row of seats, having a jovial time, anticipating the fun that would surely ensue at the party we are on our way to. But why should we wait for the party for the fun to start? Isn't life really about the journey and not the destination?

Yes.

And so, we meet our entertainment.

A twenty something enters the scene (bus). She is with her toddler-sized daughter, clad entirely in pink, complete with leash. Twenty Something's own mother, (the tot's grandmum) is also with them.

Upon noticing that Sarah's and my knees are about her height, Leash toddles over to us and embraces them (the knees) fervently. We do not find this especially strange or uncomfortable until Grandmum encourages Leash to sit on our laps. Somehow, we employ our body language to convey that we prefer Leash and her leash keep their distance. Leash begins flopping around like a fish out of water, rolling around under the seats. The leash is now completely superfluous. It is not securing Leash to anything whatsoever. Twenty Something and Grandmum don't seem to mind, though. Something else has caught their attention.

"You better get rid of that!" Grandmum screeches in our direction.

Sarah and I look at each other, startled.

"Get rid of what?"

Grandmum gestures to my exposed thigh. I am wearing a pair of shorts which is neither incredibly revealing nor horribly conservative.

"That cellulite!"

It is at this point that every passenger with a bottom jaw introduces it to the floor of the bus.

“Excuse me?” I reply.

“Look at your legs! That’s horrible! You need to get rid of that!” she barks on.

“MUM!” Twenty Something exclaims, embarrassed as can be at her mother's shameless declaration.

It's bad enough being insulted. Imagine being insulted by someone with an Australian accent about something you were completely unaware of about yourself, on a bus filled to capacity. At the time of these happenings, I don't even know what cellulite looks like. But that's neither here nor there. Cellulite or no cellulite, there are several things wrong with this scenario:

Good ol' 461

#1) The way I am sitting reveals nothing short of an average thigh. Nothing to be admired, but nothing to scorn.

#2) Even if I am the fattest person Grandmum has ever encountered, (which, at 65 kg, I am assuredly not) her behaviour is far from appropriate.

"What are you talking about???" I ask, urgently. "I don't see any cellulite...." (True as this statement was, like I said, I wouldn't have known what to look for.)

I look at Sarah for any shred of confirmation that my legs are not the epitome of all things hideous. She confirms.

Grandmum continues, “Well you have it and it's right there!”

Her hand makes contact with my thigh so as to better show me the "problem area." I abruptly inform her that I neither approve of such contact, nor such degrading remarks, regardless of their alleged accuracy.

Twenty Something pleads again for her mum to behave. Leash is still tumbling about among the other riders, every one of which is observing the Cellulite Showdown. Leash is probably the only being on board who is not paying attention. And that includes the driver.

Twenty Something pleads now for Grandmum to grab Leash's leash, as Leash is getting even bouncier, and Grandmum is much closer to her. Grandmum does not comply. She is far too engrossed (no pun intended) in something much more threatening than her granddaughter's potential head-trauma: the aesthetically displeasurable nature of a stranger's legs.

"Look at her legs!" Grandmum instructs Twenty Something.

Twenty Something follows her mother's lead, forgets about Leash, and focuses on my thigh. She appears to mull it over. Cellulite or no cellulite? That is the question. For a split second, I swear she wants to agree with Grandmum, but Leash needs rescuing, and Twenty Something abandons the thought of my thunderous thighs. I almost react as if I can't believe she would leave me hanging like this after all we've been through with her insane mum on this crowded bus.

Sarah and I think this can't possibly get any more bizarre. Then Grandmum sits down on the floor and begins demonstrating butt and leg exercises to me.

"This is the kind of thing you need to be doing! It's the only thing that works!"

Though this sounds comedic, I can assure you, she's quite serious and quite angry with me for not "keeping myself in shape." She is sincerely concerned for my condition. 

I must mention now that throughout this whole ordeal, though I am highly offended, I am also highly amused. I've never been more insulted, laughed harder, or felt more compelled to work out in my life. What an absurd assortment of feelings. Although, not surprisingly, I am now somewhat self-conscious about my legs.

Finally, the bus arrives at the three strange females’ stop and Twenty Something and Leash promptly make their escape. Grandmum isn't done with me, though. The driver is highly annoyed and waits impatiently with the door open for her to exit.

She growls at me again: “How old are you anyway?? I’m 47 and I’ve got better legs than you do! Look at this!” She smacks her ass in my direction. Twenty Something is watching from outside, horrified.

"MUM!!!!!! GET OFF THE BUS!!!"

She finally leaves, albeit reluctantly.

I feel like this family should invest in another leash.

This event took the cake for the most socially unacceptable spectacle I had ever witnessed. But then a few weeks later, we ran into some people having sex outside near Town Hall. And that's that.

The List

I want to talk about picking up chicks. I want to talk about this because so many guys seem to need help.

I shall now impart an inspiring anecdote.

One evening this summer, a girlfriend and I were sitting at Plymouth, a rooftop bar in Chicago. There happened to be a Cubs/Phillies game on TV which was both convenient and coincidental, me being from Chicago and Sarah, from Philly.

It was also quite convenient that our bartender was absolutely gorgeous. All I remember about him was that he was 28, born and raised in the city, and his name started with "J." But none of that is important. What is important is that he was stunning (even before I ingested several Long Islands), and more importantly, clever.

"Are you a Cubs fan?" he flirted, handing me the first drink.

"Yeah."

"Are you single?"

He did not miss a beat. Two thumbs up. This comedic timing was wonderful.

I laughed. "Yeah."

He produced a long piece of paper from his wallet that unfolded several times.

"How many of these other things are you?"

He handed me the rather involved handwritten list of qualities:

Attractive
Cubs fan
Priorities straight
Wants kids
Healthy
Fit
Nonsmoker
Doesn't do drugs
Good in bed*** (This one was starred, circled, bolded, and underlined.)
Positive attitude
Funny
Intelligent
Likes to go out
Confident
Athletic
Goal-oriented
Spiritual
Kind
Comfortable with herself
Honest
Trusting
Clean
Conscientious

As Sarah and I were cracking up at the ingenuity displayed before us, the female bartender came over to see what all the fuss was about. Naturally, she thought it was adorable too.

“You ACTUALLY have a LIST? A PHYSICAL list? And you CARRY it on you?”

“J” explained that this was absolutely necessary because he needed to start cutting to the chase and stop wading through the bullshit of dating relationships. If I remember correctly, I believe he had recently gotten his heart pwned by a woman. But that’s neither here nor there. This “list” was too hilarious. Every female that now surrounded “J” at the bar was highly impressed and intrigued.

I handed him back the paper.

“Well, so how many?” he joked.

I laughed again and reminded him that I was just visiting from California, but that I knew this tactic would yield desirable results for him eventually.

"Oh, I see,” he said. “So the real reason is that you don't date black guys."

"No, no, no,” I assured him. “The real reason is I don't date 28 year olds."

But the point is, if I did, I would.

Sarah and I abandoned the baseball game and "J" to meet up with another friend, but his forthrightness and wit did leave an impression. I mean, here I am, months later, still telling this story...

Hint: Try this, guys. You'd be surprised.

Night Time Thoughts

"I keep this notepad by my bed in the middle of the night, and I write down these ideas when I'm half asleep, and they never make any sense. ... And then I wake up, and I have these little notes that say things like, 'make everybody be twins' and 'electric toilet.' Those are not good ideas." -- Tina Fey in "Baby Mama"


First of all, this is one of the funniest movies ever. Second of all, this part of the film thrilled me because I like to keep track of my own "night-time thoughts". Deciphering them the next day is usually a challenge, but never a disappointment.


Here they are:


"Spherical wafers with chocolate in the middle."

When I awoke with this idea, I was so incredibly excited. However, I was discouraged in the daytime by friends when they informed me that such a thing already exists, and that I'd been enjoying the ones that most candy/chocolate companies already produce for years.


"Maybe God is hiding in the sun."

Absurd, yet worth looking into.


"Einige Dingen alte Leute nicht sehen wenn sie zu alte sind."

Not exactly sure why, but I wrote this one in German. At the time, it made perfect sense to do so. In English it says, "Old people not being able to see certain objects when they're too old." Let me clarify. This does not mean their vision gets worse. No, what I meant by this was that certain objects (books, chairs, what have you) become entirely invisible to people after a certain age. Like, cloak-status. Why? I couldn't tell you.


"Bean bag chairs shaped like sushi."

This one never made it to written form, as my friends were nearby when I awoke from a brief nap, and I was able to allow my stupidity to more easily be communicated through speech. In my head, these chairs were in an IKEA magazine, perhaps with some nice Japanese children sitting on them.


"Run For Your Life"

This was meant to be reminiscent of the "Realy for Life" fundraiser put on by the American Cancer Society. The twist in "Run For Your Life" is that amputees participate in a race and the winners are awarded with prosthetic limbs!


"If you picked up two ants, one in each hand, while they were in the middle of a conversation, and then pulled your hands as far apart as you could, could they still hear each other?"

With a notepad nowhere near my bed, this one got texted to me by myself in the middle of the night. In the morning, I read it, but since I don't have myself saved in my contact list, I was highly confused for a few moments as to who would text me something so ridiculous at such an odd hour. Again, I think the question is worthy of consideration, however brief.


"What if everybody's head was a giant egg and you could crack them to make giant omelettes?"

Courtesy of Sarah Garber. She texted this to me with the preface, "I think I just had a night time thought..."


"A drink made of blended strawberries and tennis balls."

Courtesy of Eddie Schmidt. This would assuredly be the world's most atrocious smoothie.



I hope you enjoyed this edition of "Night Time Thoughts" and please always keep a pen and paper near your bed!

And feel free to submit your own so that I can add them to this outrageous list.