Look at the blog, Larry. Just look at that blog.

This is gonna be about Band-Aids. It's pretty great.

Archive for the ‘Week 9: Promise’ Category

#53. Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit

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Hooray swearing!

But seriously, though. I knew this would happen. I have ten minutes left before the deadline, and a handy care-package of the last four posts I’ve been working on all morning, and everything’s ready to drop at precisely 11:57.

But I need one more post.

And I got nothin’.

I feel like I should be angry at myself for this. I promised myself I wouldn’t completely fuck this up procrastination-wise and have to do everything at the last minute. You’d think that anger would be coursing through my veins right now and I’d be this (puts hands really close together to signify that ‘this’ is a very very small measurement) close to screaming like some kind incredible hulk and throwing my computer out the window.

I’m not really that upset, though. Which is weird. Ignore the dammit dammit dammit part in the title- it’s like a ‘holy crap no time’ dammit rather than a ‘why am I such an IDIOT’ dammit.  And even though I’ve been churning out a ton of posts here at the endgame, I still feel like I put a whole bunch of effort into ’em. Maybe…. maybe not the Simpsons one. I just needed a break from blogging and figured I could kill two birds with one stone (Watch TV/Do homework at same time. You know the deal).

What’s weird, though, is that I knew, somehow, even though I promised I wouldn’t do this, that everything would come down to the last minute. So, I wrote out my very last ‘conclusions’ blog in advance, so that everything would have a finite cap on it even if I struggle through my procrastination-laden nature. So technically, this is my last blog post. Which feels reaaaally weird. Like, as I write a blog about struggling through Band-Aids and procrastinating even though I promised myself I wouldn’t, I can feel myself starting to relax. I feel relieved. I know, that even as I write about procrastination and screwing up, that I’m already at 335 words at this point, and everything’s basically set. So now I’ve got this weird combination of relief and anxiety in my brain. It feels super weird.

And you know what? At that, I think I’m done. So even though there’s one more post to go, this is, technically, the last thing I’ll ever write for this blog.

See ya.

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Written by mandudeman

May 4, 2011 at 3:56 pm

Posted in Week 9: Promise

#47. Scrub-a-dub dub.

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Have you ever done the dishes?

It’s an intense experience, I know. There’s sweat. Pain. Life-threatening injury. Doing the dishes is something that takes an unrelenting willpower, a fire that burns within. Personally, I measure dish cleanliness by the amount of my own blood pooled around my feet. But that’s just me. Some people, they get upset if a little water splashes on to them. Conveniently, I have something for that second group. Those like me, the ones that view dishwashing as a gore-drenched life-or-death struggle… we have no release from the constant agony of our nightmarish existences. But if you get a little bit annoyed when dishwater splashes up and gets on a shirt you just cleaned yesterday, then you should be fine.

This all came to me while I was washing the dishes… obviously. After some dirty dishwater befouled my favorite Mr. Show T-Shirt, an ingenious new idea popped into my brain: if I coated my clothes with Band-Aids, they’d never get wet! Band-Aids are totally water-resistant. I think. Probbbbbably. Because I hate getting soaked with that awful dishwater. But if there was some way I could promise myself no splashes would occur, I’d do dishes day and night. Maybe.

But yeah, now that the idea’s in place, it must be tested. And a-testing I will go.

First step: Cover portion of now-ruined Mr. Show t-shirt in Band-Aids.

Check.

Second step: Place shirt over head and onto torso.

Check.

Third step: Splash foul, unholy dishwater all over Band-Aided region.

Feeling damp and sad. Also, check.

And finally, Fourth step: remove Band-Aids to reveal soft, warm, undamaged t-shirt, proving that when I promise something will work, it always does, no matter what, under any circumstances.

Or... to reveal intermittent patches of splotchy dampness.

So clearly this didn’t work. Maybe it’s because the unspeakable power of dirty dishwasher can conquer any foe. Maybe it’s because I used cloth Band-Aids and not the latex ones, because they were the only box I had in my house.

It could be any reason, really.

Written by mandudeman

May 4, 2011 at 1:22 pm

Posted in Week 9: Promise

#40. Ring around the Band-Aid, pocket full of… Band-Aid.

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What exactly is a promise ring? I feel like it’s some sort of antique 1950’s tradition where you give a ring to your best girl as a promise that you two’ll be going steady forever. But I have no idea if that’s true. I’m actually just gonna Google it.

And after a quick googling, we’ve got four basic definitions of ‘promise ring’:

1. A terrible rock band from Milwaukee that broke up in 2002.

2. The debut single by R&B singer Tiffany Evans.

3. A ‘pre-engagement’ ring, signifying a monogamous relationship.

4. A ring signifying a pledge of abstinence until marriage.

Let’s stick to definition number three. Which, as it turns out, was actually kinda close to the weird, American Graffiti-esque fantasies I had carousing through my brain.

Now my original plan was to wear a Band-Aid on my ring finger for a week, as if it was some kind of promise ring, and then when I took it off it’d look like I just got divorced, ‘cuz there’d be a little band of tan-lined Band-Aid goodness and it would be, like, totally realistic. And in theory, I could have easily done this, because I wrote the first half of this entry a week ago and then forgot about it. Plus, I hold the world record for ‘Most Upsettlingly Pale Skin-Tone,’ so it would only take about six or seven minutes in the sun to burn a promise-ring mark into my flesh.

That actually sounds a little unpleasant, so let me just treat you to the basics….

In that, basically, I took a cool picture of my Band-Aided hand next to a lamp.

And already I'm as bronze as a Mediterranean swimsuit model.

Written by mandudeman

April 27, 2011 at 6:10 am

Posted in Week 9: Promise

#34. Totally awesome, hilarious title I can’t think of right now.

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Ok, so my idea for a blog post was to scour the internet (and my DVD collection) for a TV show I watch that has an episode with some form of the word ‘promise’ in the episode title. From there, I’d work that into something about Band-AidsThat didn’t work. I found episodes of Pokemon, Cold Case and Smallville, but none of those have enough… depth, I guess, for me to really wring something good out of ’em. There’s an episode of The Larry Sanders Show called ‘Promise,’ but I tried to work Band-Aids into that and ended up with absolutely nothing worth sharing with the world.

But then a spark went off in my brain- There’s a song called Broken Promises, that I’m pretty sure was used in The Big Lebowski. I could totally make a post out of that.

Turns out, I was thinking of a song called Dead Flowers. Noooooo connection whatsoever to the word ‘broken’ or the word ‘promise.’ At this point my brain was starting to hurt. So I figured I’d just write something about my total inability to come up with an idea for ‘promise,’ and eventually I’d have enough material to make a half-assed blog post with.

I’ve hit 200 words already, and there’s almost nothing of value whatsoever in the words I’ve written above. Nothing really linking Band-Aids to promises, and at this point my brain’s starting to unravel as I ponder just what promises a Band-Aid holds.

Technically, it can’t really ‘promise’ anything, right? i mean, if Johnson & Johnson promised that Band-Aids could prevent infection, there’d have to be a few cases where that didn’t happen, and at that point it’d be lawsuit time. This is America, after all. I guess there’s some implicit promise that when you use a Band-Aid, you’ll be reminded of when a loving parent soothed some horrible cut or poke or scrape. Other than that, though… I got nothing.

Written by mandudeman

April 13, 2011 at 7:02 pm

Posted in Week 9: Promise

#32. Caaaaaaaat. Cat. Cat cat cat.

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I am not a cat person. Not at all. Not even a little.

I have now, nor have I ever, had any affiliation with any cat of any kind. I find them too standoffish to be lovable. Dogs, on the other hand, are so stupid and fun and rambunctious that every time I pass a dog on the sidewalk I have to physically fight the urge to squeal “WEEEEEEEEEEEEE” and rub my face all over his (her) precious little dog body.

So why is this important?

My girlfriend has a cat. So now I must get to know (and eventually, befriend) that which I have sworn never to affiliate myself with.

So far, it hasn’t been too bad. Cats, apparently, do this thing called ‘kneading,’ where they scritch their claws into whatever they’re standing on and, for lack of a better word, knead it. When said cat is sitting in my lap, it hurts like hell.

Really, the whole claw thing just weirds me out. I’m… well, terrified that the cat is going to mistake my face for some kind of cat toy and claw at me. And the cat senses this. It’ll sit in my lap, and ‘knead’ my shirt, getting closer and to my precious neck.

I need my neck to live. And cat claws sinking into my neck are, at least in my opinion, the exact opposite of being alive.

Now so far, I’ve been promised that my feline friend won’t ever attack me, but I’ll never really know for sure. Because at any moment, that promise could be broken. And when it is, I will need a metric shit-ton of Band-Aids.

Don’t believe how terrifying cats are? I showed it a Band-Aid. The following pictures document what happened next.

 

Wait for it...

 

Ow.

Ow.

 

Ow.

I’ve said all I need to say.

Written by mandudeman

April 12, 2011 at 4:25 am

Posted in Week 9: Promise