The Man With the Fanny Pack

February of last year (post), my friend Alyssa introduced me to a cool artsy type of event called a story slam, in which normal people voluntarily go up on stage to tell their own true stories-- funny, sad, scary, meaningful, or whatever type of story they may be.

Back in August, I mentioned that I had gone on an apocalyptically awkward date with a man, his fanny pack, and his iPhone (post).

This March, Dave and I went to a story slam right here in St Louis. The story of the awkward date was captured on video, which is now up on the event's YouTube channel. (Link to watch the video!)

Photo opportunity with all the things that make St Louis great

These events are seriously so much fun. If you've never been to one, you really should give them a try!

Speaking of cardboard boxes...

Speaking of cardboard boxes, I was going through some old pictures as I packed and found this photo:

This was taken on one of the best mornings of my senior year of high school. The major project for our physics class was to build a boat entirely out of non-waxed cardboard (not even remotely waterproof) and Elmer's glue (deplorably water-soluble), which would sail two people for at least a half hour on a lake before dissolving to cardboardy mush and sinking them to a watery doom.

This was the super-sweet boat that my classmate, Jennifer, and I built. (Cool tangent: Jennifer's grandma was Otis Sealy, who was kind of like an honorary grandma of mine when I was really young, and who was also the first recorded survivor of the 1990's Hantavirus epidemic.) This boat took about 50 hours, 5 gallons of glue, and 45 cardboard boxes (some of which were those amazing 8-ply boxes they ship new coffins in -- creepy source, but sturdy boxes). It floated a half hour without even sloughing its outer layer. It paddled like a dream. Then, because all good things must come to a composted end, it was retired to a recycle bin shortly after this picture was taken. (I wonder if REI would be interested in the design plans for a "green materials watercraft"...?)

Strangely, just as memorable as the really great boats from that day (which I remember because it was amazing to see what could be made from mere boxes) are the really awful boats from that day. I think my favorite was the team that built their boat the night before the event and deliberately left the bottom thin. After they put it in the water, they stayed just offshore in the ~3 foot deep water, kicked a hole through the boat bottom, and stood there for a half hour holding their boat up around them so that it would look like it was floating. To this day, I can't decide whether they deserved points deducted for being cheating scoundrels, or bonus points added for devious creativity.

What's your verdict?

And in the bigger, more profound sense, what kind of boat builder are you?

Dumpster diving, discount liquor, and moving right along

My name is Sarah, and I'm a Move-a-holic.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

I keep doing it anyway.

I have lived at 15 different addresses in the last 12 years. I have moved all of my earthly possessions so many times that I've developed habitual packing strategies. For 2 years, I didn't even bother getting rid of my moving boxes -- I just flattened them out, stuck them behind the couch, then taped them back together and repacked them with the exact same stuff when the time came.

When I moved into my current apartment, I had thought I'd be staying for 3+ years. I threw away the boxes and rejoiced!

...but then it turned out to be secretly slum-tastic here, there's a fecal-death-mystery-stench coming from the apartment down the hall, and I found a great new place with a great new roommate, so I'm getting ready to move again next month.

I had to go find new boxes since I had thrown out the old ones, and after a long fruitless search of neighborhood dumpster options (just perusing, not outright diving in; not as gross as it sounds), I wound up at a bulk discount liquor store (neither as sketchy nor as random as it sounds; they have very sturdy boxes).

In a delightful and strange coincidence, as I was struggling to make a left turn into the liquor store parking lot during busy lunch-hour traffic, a kind oncoming driver stopped to give me an opening to turn through. On closer inspection, the kind driver was a Catholic priest who gestured politely and seemed eager to help me reach the liquor store in time to presumably get schnockered over lunch.

Also delightfully, most of my belongings are now packed in stacks and stacks of Captain Morgan, Sauza margarita, and Barefoot Wine boxes, which makes my apartment look like I spend all my time and disposable income drinking heavily. I don't. By the way. In case you wondered. At all.

Point being: This would be an excellent time for people to visit my current apartment and form a first impression of me.