Piggy Banks.

I love piggy banks. But they confuse me.
What are the origins of the piggy bank?Who created them?
Why the piggy?
To ease my mind, I did a Google Search, and my dear friend Wikipedia answered my cries for help:

'In Middle English, "pygg" referred to a type of clay used for making various household objects such as jars. People often saved money in kitchen pots and jars made of pygg, called "pygg jars". By the 18th century, the spelling of "pygg" had changed and the term "pygg jar" had evolved to "pig bank."'

Huh. Interesting. But I'm still a bit perplexed.

You see, I grew up using a piggy bank that was not, in fact, a piggy. It was a hippo. As it was not a pig, I never knew what to call my poor, ceramic friend.

My "piggy" bank.

He was so charming, his smooth, pink mouth always open, allowing me to slip my spare change down the slot in his throat. But what did I call him?

I fear that I am not alone. Apparently, some sick bastard thought it would be fun to make "piggy" banks in the form of numerous other animals (other than pigs) so he could screw with our minds, laughing at our anguish over what we refer to these strange, mutant banks as.

Brace yourself, for the following images of banks are, though ridiculously adorable, the work of a twisted mind:

So elegant!
$29.99 here.



This one reminds me of talavera.
$12.00 here.



It...has...a...mustache!!!
$19.95 here.

And this is perhaps the cutest thing I've seen in my life:

The picture's kind of small, but click here for an adorable video of this bank in action!
$33.00 here.

I'll conclude my post there. Nothing can top cute Japanese cat banks.

My Leg-Shaving Needs A Saving.

As a female, society tells me it is not socially acceptable to have hair on my legs. Because of this, I shave my legs. Actually, that's a lie. I shave my legs because I like them to feel soft and smooth and amazing. I'm kind of addicted to that feeling.

The point is, I shave my legs.

Like most women, I have been shaving my legs for many years. It seems like a fairly simple thing. For those of you who are not familiar with the leg shaving process, I have included a step-by-step guide:

1.) Acquire razor.
2.) Wet legs/get into shower.
3.) Apply shaving cream or conditioner to legs.
4.) Drag razor over legs.

Sounds easy, right?

Well it's not.

I am a redhead. Many redheads have sensitive skin. I have sensitive skin. Thus, whenever I get weird rashes and red spots all over my legs that FREAKING HURT. I am also a klutz. Thus, I get cuts all over my legs. This is a problem, because I love to wear shorts, and when I do wear shorts, I get tons of questions from people who want to know why I look like I've been attacked by a velociraptor. When I tell them what happened, they give me all sorts of advice.

"Use a different brand of shaving cream."

"Use a sharper razor."

"Use a duller razor."

"Go slower."

"Go faster."

And so on.

This has led me to the truth about leg-shaving; It is a magical power. You are born with the power to shave legs. Some have it, some don't. It's like Harry Potter. You get your letter to Hogwarts or you are a muggle. I am a leg-shaving muggle. I never got my letter to the Hogwarts of leg-shaving, and it's very likely that a school like that exists. That is the only explanation as to why I cannot shave my legs. I have about 13,000,000,000 scars on my legs from shaving them. The picture above is of my biggest one. The outline of it kinda looks like a heart. An evil, painful, makes-you-bleed, heart.

Now that scar is not that big. It certainly doesn't compare to Bullet Wound (my other scar who you will meet before long) but believe me, it was bad. The tub was so red, it looked like a scene from Psycho. I was in the shower for an extra 30 minutes waiting for the bleeding to stop. And it didn't for a whole freaking day.

But I got a sweet scar, so it's all good.

Adventures on Public Transit.

Today, I made the weekly 1 hour, 40 minute bus ride to campus for a robotics meeting (yeah, I'm a nerd and proud of it). After an hour or so, nobody had really shown up and we gave up for the day, forcing me to venture out into the heat--hey, 70 degrees is hot by Washington standards!--and endure another 1 hour, 40 minute bus ride home that would bore most city dwellers to tears.

But not I!

You see, up until ten months ago, I had never used the public transit system before. The wonders of a simple ride still fascinate me. The bus and I are kind of like newlyweds; the awesomeness that each of the two of us emanate is still a modern marvel to one another, for the magic that was created when we got together has not yes worn off. At least that's how I feel about the bus. But I'm sure it feels the same about me.

So I choose to view every bus ride as a life-changing adventure! I don't see creepy men, elderly folk, dirty floors and dirtier seats! No! I see the chance for enlightenment!!!

Today, however, was not incredibly enlightening, save for a small child, a boy of no more that four or five years. I'm pretty sure that whole dang bus was into what he was doing. Chatting to anyone he saw, squawking, and reveling about the great powers of trains. He even made a teen aged sk8er boi smile. Kudos! (And yes, that was an Avril Lavigne reference.) Plus, the women who appeared to be the boy's keeper was a redhead, and you know how us red heads stick together.

So thank you. Thank you little boy who made everyone on the 1 smile, even that skater.

And thank you, redhead women, for bearing said child of immense power (at least, I'm going to assume you did).

And sorry to the mailman, who just managed to complete his quest to delivering me my mail, even though I was wailing a Train song at the top of my lungs. I will remember to keep my front door closed from now on.

Art Schools Students.

It has come to my attention that art schools are funny things. While most art schools are very similar to "normal" schools, the way the two are viewed could not be any more different. At parties, the moment you mention you go to/went to an art school, the attitude towards you changes drastically. You are suddenly a celebrity, for better or for worse. You are now "The Art Student," and you will forever be remembered as such by your company. You must put up with numerous, outlandish questions about the school and how it did or did not prepare you for the "real world." In my past experiences, I have found that women are infinitely more affected by the presence of an art school student in the room than men. To men, people are people and thus should be treated equally. But to women, all newcomers must be judged based on all available information, and art school students are no exception.


When women encounter a female art school student, they react in one of two ways:

A.) They welcome the newcomer with open arms, complimenting her artsy clothing, hair and makeup, saying things such as, "I would have never thought to wear [insert articles of clothing] together," "I would never have the guts to [insert edgy fashion trend]," and "I'm not artsy enough to [insert art form]." They accept the other women in hopes that the attention she brings in their company will help them to stand out, and that she will share her artsy wisdom with them, as well as introduce them into the local hipster scene.

Or,

B.) They will shun the newcomer in envy while mocking her artsy clothing, hair, and makeup, saying things such as, "Can you believe she would...?!" "I can't believe she'd have the guts to...!!!"


However, when females encounter the elusive male art school student, they react in only one way: They glom on the the poor fellow, anxious to be the first female to be seen with him, laughing at his quirky humor that they don't quite understand, claiming to listen the music they've never heard of, and saying things such as, "Really?? I thought I was the only one who was into [insert strange art form]," "I've always appreciated the work of [insert artist or band's name]," and "When I was younger, I was constantly [insert art form -ing]."


In life, we all encounter art school students. Though the thought of approaching one of these strange creatures may seem intimidating, there are a few pointers that will help you steer clear of any uncomfortable situations:

-Do not try to act indie.
-Do not assume that all art school students are hipsters.
-Do not dwell too much on the subject of art.
-Do not claim to be an artist.
-Do not bring up Green Day.
-Offer the art student food and Arizona Iced Tea.

And always remember; art school students are people, too.