100 Things I Don’t Particularly Like

By: April Edwards

1. Cheese burns.
2. Old people’s hands.
3. Dry hands.
4. Computer classes.
5. Mutton chops.
6. Dogs.
7. The way paper feels on my hands.
8. The way chalk dust feels on my hands.
9. Beets or borscht.
10.Skinheads or the KKK.
11.Wearing a bra that doesn’t fit.
12.Socks with holes in them.
13.White people that don’t know they’re white.
14.Potpourri.
15.Drunken frat boys.
16.The promotional cards in magazines that always fall out.
17.The Hills.
18.Extreme PDA.
19.Beady eyes.
20.The names “LaTasha”, “ShaTasha” or “DaTasha” (What's wrong with "Natasha"?)

21.Snakes.
22.Wheat bread that’s really white bread in disguise.
23.Stale coffee.
24.History.
25.Food left in the sink.
26.Getting a recorded tape of Irish ballads for Christmas.
27.Overly enthusiastic lotion salesmen.
28.Screaming children.
29.Razor burn.
30.Having to share a lap lane with an overly enthusiastic swimmer.
31.Excel.
32.Progressive car insurance commercials.
33.Sugar alcohols. They fool me every time.
34.Snapping turtles.
35.Reading.
36.Fake laughter.
37.Fake cheese.
38.Too much rosemary in food.
39.Grated carrots.
40.Tsunamis.
41.Avocados.
42.Justin Bieber.
43.The way a spray tan smells.
44.Aluminum foil.
45.Dungeons and Dragons.
46.Sappy movies.
47.Gorilla Glue getting on my hands.
48.Waterproof mascara.
49.Crotch-less panties.
50.Cliques.
51.Library security guards.
52.Cheap headphones.
53.Tattoos of cartoon characters.
54.Warm soda.
55.Warm milk.
56.Cheesy license plates.
57.Extremely long acronyms.
58.Leopard print tights.
59.See-through sunglasses.
60.Permanent makeup.
61.Microsoft.
62.Overly romantic behaviors.
63.Getting pancake syrup on my hands.
64.Screaming babies.
65.Cleaning eggs off of a skillet.
66.Drama queens.
67.Getting sand in mouth.
68.Analog clocks.
69.Yellow cars.
70.Getting $0.99 in change.
71.Swimming in murky water.
72.Knuckle hair on women.
73.Cheap water bottles.
74.Cheap pens.
75.Grass stains.
76.Unibrows.
77.Salisbury steak.
78.People who eat baby octopi in Japanese restaurants.
79.The texture of oatmeal.
80.The color Olive.
81.Saying “in the floor” instead of “on the floor”.
82.Hummers.
83.Grown women who act like they’re still in high school.
84.Tape residue.
85.Mice that come out of nowhere.
86.Robot Chicken.
87.Skype. It never runs smoothly.
88.Dirty carpets.
89.Changing the vacuum bag.
90.People who play with their tongue rings.
91.Subtitles.
92.Folding shirts.
93.Knee socks that won’t stay up.
94.Skim milk.
95.Emotional hangovers.
96.Dull knives.
97.Getting popcorn stuck in my teeth.
98.Obvious plastic surgery.
99.Body odor.
100.Miley Cyrus and her alter ego.

The Magical World of Online Dating

The Magical World of Online Dating

By: April Edwards

"Athletic build, tan, 5'11'' and ready to commit to you!" I read this description expecting to meet Prince Charming. Granted, this guy had a deep golden tan and a nice ride (Mercedes to be exact), but that was about all he had going for him. Out of the Mercedes stepped a man who, to my horror, was dripping with sweat and approximately 200 pounds heavier than he was in his pictures (which are still floating around the internet somewhere fooling young ladies into an extremely awkward situation). I have nothing against obese men. I've struggled with my weight on and off throughout my life so I get it. That doesn't mean I want to have sex with one.

And so I moved on to bigger, better things and found a man that I KNEW would sweep me off my feet. Apparently, I didn't look at his picture well enough. He and his friend pulled into my driveway and I stepped into the car. I turned to the driver and immediately began babbling on about our intimate internet conversations and how he looked so much better in person. Turns out, his friend was driving the car and my date was sitting in the backseat. But the awkward date commenced. Later I learned that he had a drinking problem. He was actually quite proud of the fact that he didn't eat and spent his rent money on beer. He boasted about the time he got "wasted" and set someones car on fire and how he almost got herpes but somehow avoided it. I've had experience in the "alcohol-induced insanity" department as well so, again, I get it. This doesn't mean I want to marry an alcoholic.

My third date seemed like he had his priorities straight. He had a great job selling hospital equipment and was seriously invested in his health. His pictures depicted a perfectly manicured lifestyle: traveling around the world, touring on his boat, and scuba diving with dolphins. We met over dinner and enjoyed some casual conversation. He spoke of his travels and luxurious lifestyle and made quite a compelling argument defending the honest intentions of pharmaceutical corporations. It all seemed to be going well. But after five glasses of wine he slid a hotel key in my direction and winked. I will not be treated like a prostitute.

And so, after numerous disastrous attempts to find love through this "dating site", I decided to throw in the towel. I figured I'd be better off alone. Then one day I was contacted by a man who had reached the same peak of frustration as I had. 

"All they want is my body," he commented. "I feel like a piece of meat." That was the first thing we had in common. I suggested we meet up at a local Starbucks. I arrived half an hour late, and because I had nearly sprinted a mile to get there, I was the sweaty one this time. We sparked up causal conversation and I learned that he drank nothing that contained caffeine (which made my Starbucks idea completely irrelevant). But I guess he saw passed that. We've grown quite fond of each other and still enjoy spending quality time in irrelevant coffee shops. You find love in the darnedest places.

50 Ways To Escape Reality By: April Edwards

50 WAYS TO ESCAPE REALITY 

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

      At some point in our lives, it is crucial that we retract from the reality we reside in (example: discovering your husband's pornography collection or realizing you forgot to wear pants). It is a tried and true survival technique; ignore the circumstances and they will disappear. To make your life a little easier, we have compiled a list of the top 50 ways to escape reality. These methods have been scientifically tested and have proven time and time again that reality is best dealt with by not dealing with it at all.

Reality Escaping Techniques:

Wear sunglasses.
Get reverse laser eye surgery.
Imagine what life would be like if you talked through your belly button.
Dress up like an old person.
Speak only in Shakespearean language.
Paint freckles on your face.
Paint freckles on your body.
Paint freckles on other people.
Shave your dog.
Break into your neighbor's house and pretend you live there.
Sell your children.
Glue your eyelids shut.
Play hide and seek.
Play hide and seek with your grandmother.
Paint your house orange.
Make jewelry out of teeth.
“Steal” complimentary toothbrushes from the dentist.
Wear a Halloween mask 365 days in a row.
Live off of nothing but Pepto Bismol and Gatorade.
Learn to communicate maturely with your partner.
Keep a horse in your basement.
Refer to PSA: 25 WAY TO BRAKE.
Shave your eyebrows.
Have a kid.
Have another kid.
Make clothes out of Mylar.
Learn “dolphin.”
In your household, replace fabric with cardboard.
Read the news.
Surround your house with fake owls.
Imagine the person in front of you has no ears.
Catch up on the latest conspiracy theories.
Go to Church.
Drink bleach.
Levitate.
Walk backwards all day.
Live off of welfare.
Don't talk to strangers.
Read the phonebook.
Pretend every day is St. Patrick's Day.
Grow a mustache.
Wear a corset.
Wear thimbles on your fingertips.
Peyote.
Wash your fence.
Stare at yourself in a mirror for 24 hours.
Stare at the wall for 24 hours.
Design a staircase that neither goes up or down.
Watch Children of the Corn.
Join a cult.

      We hope that in providing you with this list, we have managed to help you cope with everyday stressors. In today's world, it is imperative to take care of yourself both physically and mentally. Those who practice these techniques remain stable and unnerved in intense situations, and find it easy to function in today's society. You can easily point out an “escaped” citizen by their distinct glassy-eyed expression and lack of intense emotion. Make sure you stop and inquire about their lifestyle so that you, too, can start to utilize the tools listed in this PSA. However, don't be surprised if they point you in the opposite direction with a thimble-clad finger; they may be utilizing coping skill “38”, "Don't talk to strangers".

25 Ways To Brake By: April Edwards

UPDATE: 25 WAYS TO BRAKE

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

      We've heard the complaints over and over again. “I get so BORED when I drive,” or “Braking just isn't fun anymore”. Well, we're here to solve the problem. Over our driving careers, we get used to the old routine: start the car, gas it up, stop, and shut her down. This leads to zombie like drivers who cruise around town with little to no expression or enthusiasm. This is a major problem. Our mission is to put the spark back into your driving career like igniting the flame on a deteriorating marriage. It's that important.
      One way we plan on doing this is by giving you alternate methods of using your brake. This tiny detail could make a world of difference and put the “fun” back in driving “fundamentals”. Let's take a look.


Braking Techniques:

Tap brake repetitively to the beat of your favorite song.

Brake suddenly, rousing your sleeping spouse in the passenger seat.

Brake suddenly, throwing your misbehaving children into the back of the front seats.

Use the emergency brake.

Begin braking exactly one mile from your stop.

Use your hand.

Throw a brick on the pedal.

Set your small child on the pedal.

Set your small dog on the pedal.

Use a crutch.

Use a cane.

Use a stick.

Use your boyfriend's face.

Develop a pulley system.

Practice Morse code.

Practice your tap dancing routine.

Use a bow and arrow.

Use a plunger.

Brake at every yellow light.

Brake at green lights instead of red lights.

Brake every time the radio announcer says a proper noun.

Use a gun.

Practice your Telekinesis.

Brake with your big toe.

Don't.

   With this set of new and exciting techniques, you will be on your way to braking success. Your family will appreciate your transformed attitude, and never again will they hear you complain about driving two blocks to the nearest grocery store. Our mission is to change the face of the average driver, one brake at a time.

The Life of an Unromantic By: April Edwards

      Most women dream of living the “Romeo/Juliet” fairytale where their suitors proclaim their undying love from beneath a vine-laden balcony; a sweet symphony is heard in the distance, the sun is sinking below the horizon and the smell of roses lingers in the air. For me, however, this would invoke a fidgety, uncomfortable response and a bout of nervous laughter. So I'm on a mission to discover why romance creeps me out.

      I believe it is forced and faked. It takes a lot of time to spread rose petals on the bed, light candles and shop for massage oil. On the surface this may seem well-intentioned, but I have to wonder what motive is behind the situation. It feels to me, that if two people really love each other, elaborate gestures aren't necessary. There shouldn't be a need to “convince”.

      Secondly, if in the midst of a passionate rendezvous, a candle could be knocked over and ignite the new lingerie. The elastic would melt to my skin, my significant other would panic and smother me in a blanket, the massage oil would feed the flame, and the evening would be ruined. We'd spend our Anniversary in the emergency room. To top it all off, the nurse would probably be modelesque, so in addition to being covered in gauze to protect my fresh elastic burns, I would be red with jealousy, nonchalantly keeping an eye on the interactions between my lover and the medical goddess.

      Thirdly, I never witnessed a romantic or even affectionate exchange between my parents so it wasn't particularly modeled for me as a child. But what I did pick up was that yelling is a perfectly reasonable means of communication, marriages don't last, and that staying married after eight years of separation still legitimizes weekly conjugal visits. Needless to say, I've had a hard time maintaining healthy relationships.

      Although a frothy display of devotion may seem appealing at times, I realize that it is like a mirage in the desert; drawing you in with empty promises of hydration and fulfillment. In the end, you leave unsatisfied and disappointed. What really matters to me are the little things. Nothing says “I love you” more than my decaffeinated boyfriend fixing a pot of coffee right before I wake up. From across the table I lift my mug as a gesture of appreciation and slide him the sports section of the newspaper. Now that's true love.

A Thank You Letter To The Most Boring Class On Earth By: April Edwards

To Whom It May Concern:       4/25/11
This computer class has been nothing more than a pearl of joy in my life. The time I've spent casually browsing the internet and writing meaningful essays has benefitted me greatly. I have researched many useful things such as self-hypnosis and the rattlesnake population in Arizona. I have improved my fitness routine through helpful health and wellness sites. I have learned to browse the internet without keeping Facebook up and running. Most importantly, I have rediscovered my appreciation for writing. When I'm able to turn a mundane subject into a captivating masterpiece, I feel like a literary genius. Not many are capable of turning words into art. It's a gift I had forgotten.
In addition to being able to explore my artistic horizons, I have gotten acquired to the fascinating and charming program of Excel. Nothing excites me more than opening up a blank spreadsheet. I see the rows and columns of empty cells and picture the treasures I could fill them with; budgets, payrolls, grade reports or even calendars! I feel as if the world is my canvas. I appreciate the simple design of the Excel program. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the multitude of format and formula options, I felt at ease and capable of achieving great organizational skills.
Lastly, this class of computer literacy has enabled me to step up an appropriate email address for professional communication. My current email address, Just.Wanna.Jump@gmail.com, could potentially raise questions about my mental stability. Of course, this wasn't the connotation I was trying to achieve. I did not, in fact, want to jump and hopefully will never reach that point of suicidal desperation. So in mending this confusing issue of interpretation, I have created an email address that does not reek of emotional turbulence; simply, Aedwards0311@gmail.com. If I were an employer responding to a job inquiry, I would surely appreciate the simplicity of such an address.
I would like to thank Gene, our instructor, for being so accommodating to our personal needs. Without him, my computer skills would be lacking, and I would never acquire the cubicle-confined, nine to five, repetitive office job that I am destined to have. A great many doors have opened. Thank you.
Sincerely,
April Edwards

My Backpack By: April Edwards

 My backpack holds many dear items: big blue binders, shiny green folders, multi-colored pens and lengths of vibrant ribbon. The folders are nestled comfortably between my big, blue, plastic, fantastic binder and the crisp fabric of my “pack”. I don't go anywhere without my backpack.

      My backpack is dirty. Not because I neglect the blue sack of elements, but because it has so much purpose in my life that I can't bear to risk it being torn to shreds in the washing machine. It has been a constant, devoted companion on my travels; never complaining when I trudge through rain and snow while lacking an umbrella. My backpack consistently keeps my precious folders and binders dry and safe from the elements. It has served me well.

      Out of respect for my stand strong “pack”, I will remain faithful until the very end. Only until the zippers stray from their track or the bottom falls out will I then replace my handy backpack, ever remembering what it has done for me. Faithfully and without resistance.

Starbucks: The Vicious Cycle By: April Edwards

A Tall Caramel Frappucino is a delicious treat after a long, tiring day. The icy combination of coffee, caramel and whipped cream sends chills to my pleasure centers in my brain. If I am watching my carbs, I ask the friendly Barista to create a sugar-free version. For a caffeine-free day, I choose the sweet and rich Vanilla Bean Frappucino.

      Despite the alluring façade of the high-life coffee shop, I have realized that Starbucks will forever be a trap to average, middle class folks such as myself. My theory is that the coffee shop has alterior motives. It sucks you into a whirlwind of coffee addiction while draining your wallet six bucks at a time.

      Every time my bank account slipped into the negative, it was because I underestimated the amount of money my boyfriend was spending at Starbucks. Everyday he snuck out to score a hot beverage, leaving me clueless and in eternal danger of financial drainage. When my bank statement arrived every month, my eyes would widen in shock as I read one by one the transactions that supplied Starbucks with a substantial amount of financial backing.

      Needless to say, the relationship ended with a heavy resentment, and in the end, Starbucks won once again. There will never be an individual powerful enough to override the malicious tyranny. Starbucks will forever reign king in the desperate, coffee-addicted world, as we fall deeper and deeper into this vicious cycle.

Homeward Bound (My Search for the Perfect Residence) By: April Edwards

 Throughout my twenty-one years, I have yearned for one thing: a home. An early separation of my parental unit ensured that for the rest of my dependent years I would travel between two households, never establishing a firm root system in one home. It was, in all aspects, a deteriorated family life.

      At the age of 18, I decided that I was ready to thrive on my own. Little did I know, life in the real world is a cold and terrifying thing when you are naive and haven't the first clue on how to survive. And so my downward spiral began.

      Between the ages of 18 and 22, I resided in a total of four apartments, one townhome, five houses, and two treatment centers. Needless to say, none of them stuck. I would either find myself bored, financially strained or evicted. My childhood pattern of home bouncing stuck strong.

      Today, I am tired of living the life of a gypsy. I crave a stable environment where I can thrive and a place to call my own. But before I can do that, I first have to establish an independence that will withstand the tremendous trails of volatile relationships. Hopefully, the future will hold less explosive and unstable unions. I am creating a life where I don't combine relationships and residences in the first month.

      During this self search, I have thought about the perfect place to reside in. At first I decided I craved the hot weather that lasted all year long. As I started thinking about it, I wouldn't particularly enjoy Florida, as it is known for Hurricanes and large reptiles. California is known for its Earthquakes. Mexico's water isn't safe for hydration. Arizona, New Mexico and Texas have scorpions and rattlesnakes. Jamaica is known for its pot, and Hawaii has volcanoes. If I decided to venture towards the seasonal areas, I would have to put up with flaky weather in Kentucky, the stench in New York, anime conventions in Arkansas, racism in Alabama and meth labs in Tennessee. My last option would be Alaska, where I could potentially be attacked by a polar bear or mistaken for a Harbor Seal and speared by an oblivious Eskimo.

      In conclusion, I have yet to find the perfect place to live. Until I do, I will continue to bounce from home to home and state to state. Eventually, I will realize that home is where you make it, and not a single place will provide me with happiness, as it comes from within. I will always be unhappy with myself until I venture inside, no matter my geographical location.

I Was A Liar By: April Edwards

      As a young child, I had a wild, vivid imagination. The everyday life of an eight year old wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped. I pictured tiny gnomes slaving over the construction of their intricate underground infrastructure. I once told my best friend that down the road, a strapping fellow that resembled Elvis Presley was swooning over me, and helped me up after a graceful fall. Obviously, the moment entailed a vibrant sunset and frothy romantic appeal.

      Unfortunately, I couldn't keep these ideas in my head and compulsively told detailed but fictitious stories to hide the fact that my life, too, was mundane and ordinary. Either my friends were extremely gullible or were tired of arguing with my extraordinary theories. Either way, my stories developed into uncontrollable entities that I could not control, and eventually came back to bite me on my behind.

      One instance in particular included an “unexpected sighting” of two ghostly apparitions. The house that we inhabited at the time was older than most on the block, and in my head, was perfect for sightings of the afterlife. I told my mother that I had awoken from a deep sleep in the early morning hours and was on my way to the kitchen when I spotted something white out of the corner of my eye. I turned and to my horror, I saw a little girl beckoning me towards her and an Ectoplasmic baby with half a tongue crawling in my direction. Needless to say, this dramatic tale won me a trip to a Psychologist once a week.

      Either due to this unfortunate consequence of my habitual lying or the simple fact that I grew up, I have become disenchanted with leading a fairytale life. I realize that lies will get me nowhere and that fiction is best kept on paper. Today I have enough excitement to keep me busy, and life is certainly good at throwing curveballs and surprising me at every corner turned. And in conclusion, I have found that indeed, truth is stranger than fiction.