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The Time I Slept Through a Fire Alarm

May 31, 2013 2 comments

Lightning Strikes Jesus Statue

As covered before in this blog, I really like sleep. As in, I would gladly pay a stranger $100 each morning to allow me to sleep a few more hours. I would go bankrupt, but damn it, I would be well-rested.

To wake up for work, I have multiple alarms set up all over my room, and none of them work. I will get up in a stupor, walk to the offending alarm, switch it off, and fall back into bed without even realizing what I’m doing. I have snooze alarms as well, which are ignored each and every morning. As a result, my arrival time to work has been getting steadily later and later, but hooray, I haven’t been fired yet!

In junior high school, the smoke alarm went off in my parents’ house since my dad had burned some toast. I mean, the damn bread must have been a flaming chunk of wheat given how far away the smoke alarm was from the kitchen. In fact, the alarm was directly outside my bedroom. I blissfully slept through nearly the whole thing, though I do vaguely remember rousing myself slightly, thinking, “Hmm, that must be the fire alarm. Well, if it’s serious, my dad will wake me up,” and going right back to bed, the alarm wailing the entire time.

After telling my dad this, he said I had far too much faith in him. Evidently, he would’ve fled the house in his bathrobe, perhaps stopping to scoop up a cat, but nothing more. Sigh.

I also once slept through a tree falling on our house. A massive, full-sized Ohio beast of a tree which shook the entire house left not a single impression on me. My sister and her friend once bodily picked me up off a couch where I had been sleeping, dropped me from a few feet up, and I didn’t so much as twitch.

And yet a single tweeting bird these days will wake me up even with ear plugs, so I don’t know. I’m doomed to either coma-like slumber or the delicate sleep cycle of a paranoid insomniac. Lovely.

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The Time I Thought About Humans as Food

April 4, 2012 1 comment

Yes, this is a sandwich made of human placenta.

Somehow, my coworkers always manage to make me feel like some sort of freak.

Today, I mentioned that I often wondered what humans tasted like. Were they more like pork, or like beef? And what type of wine would you serve for the occasion?

A vegetarian coworker mentioned that she read somewhere (yeah, right, she’s totally a cannibalistic serial killer) that human flesh tasted rather like pork. Which means I would serve a white wine instead of a Chianti with fava beans. I know pigs are similar to us anatomically since they’re used so often in biology class, but does that mean our muscles taste the same, too? And now all I can think of are preserved fetal pigs, and the horrible smell that accompanies them when they’re slapped onto your dissection tray.

Anyway.

My coworkers were horrified by my musings, especially when I named who I thought would put up the least fight if we were stranded on a desert island. Sadly, all of us on the marketing team are rather bony by American standards, so the meat would be considerably less marbled than I’d prefer.

A quick Google search reveals quotes from cannibals of the past, one of whom compared the meat to “good, fully developed veal.” But most others seem have formed the consensus that humans do, in fact, taste like pork. Does this mean you could make human bacon from the belly of an overweight adult?

I have heard that some new mothers have taken to eating their own placentas. It’s practically a trend (yes, that’s four different links there), with scientists studying the phenomenon and actresses jumping on board. I can’t really think of anything MORE disgusting to eat than a placenta, but I’ve seen recipes where it’s made into tacos. TACOS. BLOODY FUCKING TACOS.

My mom actually saved her placenta after I was born, but not so she could make it into a damn casserole. I think the idea was that she would plant the placenta under a tree, which would then grow while being nourished by her own bodily fluids. This tree would become “my” tree after sharing a placenta with me. But it never happened since my mom put the placenta in the freezer after I was born (I was born at home), and it was forgotten amongst the hamburger patties and ice cream. By the time it was rediscovered, we were moving to another house, and it was a biohazard. Totally gross, but at least she didn’t EAT IT.

I hope to never find out what humans taste like myself, but I can’t help but wonder. Does that make me a terrible person? I don’t think so, but then again, my tolerance for the grotesque seems to be far beyond the norm, so I doubt I’m part of a representative sample.

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