Super Female

Last week in my Bio lab, we learned about different birth defects (woohoo!) that occur in humans, mostly focusing on syndromes that take place with abnormalities in the 23rd chromosome pair, or the sex chromosomes. One such birth defect my lab partners and I found to be very intriguing.

An egg with two x-chromosomes that is fertilized by a sperm with one x-chromosome yields the karyotype xxx. The consequent offspring is, apparently, called a super female. For all of the other syndromes that were listed in the lab manual, there were also descriptions. Super female, however, did not have a description. Since we finished our lab early, my lab partners and I discussed the super female and what it could possibly be:

"I think a super female would be born wearing a cape and wouldn't cry at all, and she'd, like, cut her own umbilical cord with laser vision or something."

"I think only one super female ever existed, and it was Wonder Woman."

"For some reason, I just envision a mullet."

"I think it would be the female form of Chuck Norris."
"Ha, yeah. She'd give birth to herself, round-house kicking her way out of her own uterus."

"That's literally terrifying."
"What if Chuck Norris and the super female had a baby?"
"We'd all die."

"I think, if you're a super female, your future only holds starring in pornos."
"Wait, what? Why?"
"Well, her karyotype is XXX. Like for porn."
"Ooooooooooooooh."

(There was, of course, a sandwich-related explanation. Ladies, I sincerely apologize and would like to point out that I do not support the sandwich-making stereotype of women. I mean, I make sandwiches like a boss, and I'm not a woman.)

"I think a super female would be able to make you a sandwich with whatever you wanted on it without even having to ask what you wanted on it, and she'd know exactly when you want it, and how you wanted it cut, and, even if you were at work, she'd get it to you exactly when you wanted it."

This is pretty much why we should be allowed to leave once we finish our lab.

Sugar Cereal

I love sugar cereal. Some of my favorite foods are sugar cereals. Think about that for a second. Off the top of my head, I can think of three sugar cereals that are among my favorite foods. Three of my favorite foods are from the same category, and that category's target demographic is young children. You know how some adults don't eat sugar cereal? I'm not going to be one of those adults. I don't know what the threshold is for when one starts to eat healthy cereal, but I'm never going to cross it. One of the reasons why I want to have kids is so I have an excuse to buy sugar cereals. I know that there's not a rule where an adult needs children in order to buy sugar cereal, but it just looks a lot less suspicious if I have kids with me when I buy it. Until I have kids, I think I'm just going to pay kids to accompany me to the store. No one else will know the level of creepiness that entails because they'll have no idea I paid them to go to the store with me. So, when everyone looks at me in disgust, I'll just say, "Oh, it's for my kids," and everything will be fine. Also, when I actually have kids, I don't think I'll allow them to eat sugar cereal for two reasons: 1. Less sugar for them, and 2. More sugar cereal for me. My kids will be like, "Daddy, can we have some Reese's Puffs?" and I'll say, "No. You can have some when you're older." Then they'll ask, "Why do we have five boxes if we can't eat any?" and I'll say, "For motivation to live into your twenties. This is why you shouldn't drive 70 mph*," and they'll say, "We can't even drive, Daddy!" and I'll say, "Valid point," and then pour myself a heaping bowl of Reese's Puffs.

As good as the cereal is, the milk left in the bowl is easily the best part about sugar cereal. Like I said, I love sugar cereal, but I am at my happiest after I finish a bowl of cereal and get to drink the leftover milk. My friend and roommate, Ryan Ackman, came up with the greatest idea I've ever heard if you don't count like five other ideas. He conjured up the concept of bottling and selling the leftover milk from a bowl of cereal. I would totally buy that. And drink it.

*My sister, Claire, actually said the bit about not driving 70 mph, and only that part. I came up with literally everything else outside of "this is why you shouldn't drive 70 mph." I know it's not exactly an integral part to the post, but it's there, and I have to give credit where credit is due. So, look at that, Claire! You're pretty much famous, now!

Mr. T Hates Me

When I was younger, I wanted a pet turtle more than anything. To this day, I still do not know why I so desperately wanted a turtle of all things. I have always been a sucker for reptiles and amphibians. Also, can we just combine those two animal groups, yet? Lizards, frogs, snakes, turtles - they're all pretty similar. We'll call them reptibians. Or amptiles. I like reptibians more. Anyway, one day, on his way home from work, my dad stopped by a Petsmart (I still am not sure if that's "Pets Mart" or "Pet Smart." I think that was their plan the whole time! Those sneaky executives...) and bought me a turtle. I was ecstatic. At this point in my life, I was horrible at coming up with names (I'm the best at it now. Seriously, ranked #1 in the world at coming up with names), so I decided on Mr. T. The "T" stood for "turtle." It wasn't until a few weeks later that I made the connection between Mr. T and the Mr. T. I then decided that I named my turtle after Mr. T.

One day, Mr. T's container was dirty, and needed cleaning. "Container" is the best word I can think to use. He lived in a big, plastic tote, filled with sand and water in such a way that it resembled a beach. Well, maybe if you've never been to a beach in your life. Regardless of beach quality, it wasn't like a little tiny container. I guess I could've said "Mr. T's tote," huh? Oh well. His habitat was dirty and smelly, so my dad said it would be a good idea to clean it. I took the tote outside, set Mr. T down in the grass, and cleaned his home for him. As I was rebuilding the "beach," my dad came outside and said, "Hey, come dry the dishes off for me."

"What about Mr. T? He's roaming free in our backyard."

"He's a turtle - he won't go far."

"Good point. Okay."

I was gone for maybe five minutes. I came back outside, and Mr. T was nowhere to be found! I even looked in our neighbors' lawns. Apparently he had been to a beach before and decided the one I created was not adequate.

And that's the story of how my pet turtle ran away. I pity the fool.

True Pessimism: Waking Up

I've been told, quite often, that I am a pessimist. I always respond with, "No I'm not - I'm a realist," or, "It's not pessimism if you're always right." However, lately, I've also been told that I am an optimist. I respond to those accusations with, "lol," "Usually, I'm actually pretty pessimistic," or, "It's a lot easier to be optimistic about other people's problems than your own problems." With that said, I still think I'm a realist. However, with that said, today I had a revelation. A very, very pessimistic revelation.

Waking up is the worst way to start a day. However, it is literally the only way to start a day. Isn't that sad? Every day that I will ever experience will start out horribly. Not just horribly, but the worst way it could possibly start. I'm never happy the moment I wake up. Ever. That means I never start a day out happy. That's why I don't understand morning people. Why are they so happy? They've recently stopped sleeping - that's no reason to be happy. See, I'm a mourning person. I mourn the loss of my sleep. The best time to do that, of course, is in the morning, when I wake up. I'm not looking for sympathy; I'm just trying to spread my pessimism. You know what they say - misery loves company.

However, I could look at this from an optimist's point of view, too. I mean, I'm not really a pessimist - I'm a realist. The fact that waking up is the worst way to start a day isn't pessimism, it's reality. Anyway, the optimist's point of view. Well, every day starts out terribly by waking up, but every day also ends perfectly, by going to sleep. There's no alternative way to end a day, just like there's no alternative way to start a day. I can't think of a better way to end anything than by falling asleep. Sleep is the best. When someone says, "I fell asleep during _______," most people are like, "Haha, that sucks," or "Wow, you're lazy." Not me. I think, "Lucky!" and then wish I was asleep. That's how awesome sleep is, and everyone gets to end every day by sleeping. So, to those of you who don't believe in happy endings - your move. Your happy ending will come as soon as you choose to end today.

Wow. That last statement was hardcore optimistic and hardcore pessimistic.

Super Bowl? More Like Pooper Bowl

Amiright? No? Okay, well, hear me out. Or read me out. Eh...just read what I'm writing and try to understand, please. For the second consecutive year, two teams for whom I truly do not care are vying for the rights to be called the best team in the NFL. At least this year neither team is being let by a (alleged) rapist. That sure made it hard to cheer for them. Now that I think about it, I feel bad that I rooted for the Steelers and not for the Packers. As a Vikings fan, that hurts to say, but I mean, rapist v. arch rival. I feel like I should choose arch rival every time.

But I digress. This year's super bowl pits Tom "Pretty Boy" Brady against his rival, Peyton Manning....'s younger brother, Eli "Derp" Manning. "Derp" isn't really Eli's nickname, but he just looks and sounds like a derp so, that's what that's all about. The only nickname I've ever heard given to Eli was "Sheli," like "She-li," like she's a girl. It made me laugh.

I'm getting pretty side-tracked with very mundane things right now. I'm sorry. As I'm typing this, I'm simultaneously trying to make mini corn dogs for the game tonight. So, there's also that going on which is pretty distracting. Anyway, I have to break this game down and predict the outcome!

I'm going to come right out and say it - I think the Giants will win, which is surprising, because I'm rooting for them. If there's one thing I've learned from being a Vikings fan, it's that the team I root for usually loses. Let me explain why I think they'll win. There's really only two reasons.

1. The Giants can pressure the quarterback. They can pressure the quarterback very, very well. I've watched two Patriots games this year, and I noticed that, most times, Tom Terrific just stands still in the pocket, never having to move, until he finds an open receiver. I don't believe he'll be able to do that against the Giants, and the pressure on him will prove to be problematic.

2. The Patriots cannot defend the deep ball. The Giants can throw the deep ball, again, very, very well. I believe that the trio of Hakeem Nicks, Victor Cruz, and Mario Manningham will be too much for the less-than-stellar secondary of the Patriots to handle.

Given those two reasons, I believe the Giants will win, 31-21.

So, um, take that, I guess.

Homemade (Root)Beer

Root beer is a delicious beverage. "Delicious beverage" is a category in which I rank only the tastiest of drinks, such as chocolate milk, coca-cola, most fruit juices, and root beer. So, when my roommate, Krsnak, decided to home-brew some root beer, I was all for the idea. He invited a bunch of friends over to help in the process. He also went out and bought two 2-liter bottles of root beer, so he'd have something in which to keep the home-brewed root beer. Clearly, not the greatest of plans. We drank the four liters of root beer in pretty quick fashion. Krsnak then made 4 liters of "instant" root beer. It's not actually called instant root beer, but it only took like five minutes and, compared to the other root beer we made, five minutes is pretty instant. The "instant" root beer was pretty okay. Someone brought ice cream over so we made root beer floats. I'm not sure if, at that point in time, there was a root beer capable of ruining a root beer float. After the "instant" root beer was completed, Krsnak started on the long-term brew. I think the original plan was to have everybody kind of help, but instead, we all sat in my other roommate, Ackman's, room and watched him play NBA 2K12. Honestly, that was probably more entertaining than making root beer. Krsnak still went ahead and made that long-term brew of root beer. Two liters of that stuff is supposed to ferment for 2-3 days. Krsnak was filling a 5-gallon jug. I really don't feel like doing math right now, and nobody did then, either, so we just decided that letting it ferment for two weeks would probably suffice. Well, four days later, Krsnak figured that he had waited long enough, and decided to unseal the fermenting root beer and see how it tasted. I helped him open it. We smelled it. It didn't really smell like root beer. At that point, Krsnak became a little hesitant to taste it. I, however, had just gotten home from playing basketball, and was thirsty for pretty much anything and said I'd try it. And by "try it" I apparently meant "fill a giant glass to the brim and chug it." It tasted like beer. Not root beer - beer beer. Now, I'm about the farthest thing from a beer connoisseur one can possibly be, but I know what beer tastes like, and it tastes like what this root beer tasted like. Well, kind of. This root beer tasted like the lightest light beer known to man mixed with water, in which two drops of root beer had been added. So it was established that this root beer was not good. Remember before when I mentioned that there wasn't a root beer "in that point in time" that could ruin a root beer float? This root beer could definitely ruin a root beer float. Krsnak thought that meant we should keep it, though, so he found two gallons of water and dumped them down the drain so we could keep the root beer. What? Yeah. I died a little inside. I know you can get water from any faucet, but to sacrifice two gallons of store-bought water to save two gallons of home-brewed nasty? That's unheard of!

A couple weeks later, nobody in our house had touched the root beer in our fridge. I was thirsty, though, and had forgotten how bad it was. "Surely it wasn't that bad where I'd never drink it again!" I thought. So, I opened up one of the jugs, poured another huge glass of root beer, and chugged. Surprisingly, it hadn't improved in flavor since it last touched my lips. Realistically, it probably had gotten worse. And that was the last time I ever drank root beer. Or beer beer. I guess I'm not sure what that actually was...