The Plan

Port-a-Potties-R-Us

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 10:19:31 -0400

So the first thing I am going to do in my post this week is be real and honest with you dedicated readers, you. It is NOT Monday, July 14th as the more astute among you may have noticed and there is a perfectly good explanation for why this post was started and only finished in this dismally, disgracefully tardy fashion: business is booming in the wilds of Northern Virginia Port-a-Potty country.

In lue of any speaking engagements for either my Olympic achievements or my chewing philosophies, Port-a-Potties have become my calling and career.

It’s really all for the best, I think. I didn’t want to say anything before but there was always something missing from my previous endeavors. A lack of hyphens maybe? But this time I really think I’ve found my life’s purpose. I already can’t imagine any other career really challenging and comforting me like this one has even in the few short weeks in which I have been involved in the potty world. Allow me to fill you in.

I happened upon my big break into Port-a-Potty maintenance purely by accident. A frantic friend needed immediate help with the Back Flow Main Shaft Valve Latches (in layman's terms: the locks) of her deluxe VIP units ASAP and didn’t know where to turn. Always slightly curious and awed by the majestic Royal Flush, I eagerly decided to lend a hand as best I could.

When I got to the site, the line of desperate people needing relief was longer than an outhouse is stanky. Not only that, but they were becoming unruly and dangerously close to resorting to alternative locations to suit their needs, i.e the lawn and shrubbery of our friends serene country home where they were graciously hosting a concert for us.

So there I was in the midst of an angry, bladder-full mob, a frantic friend, and two Port-a-Potties locked air tight. I went to work quickly, doing what little I knew how to do: jiggle the latch and ask if anyone was in there. As it turns out it was a problem of trained pandas having locked themselves in, an unfortunate drawback to a concert entitled Captain International and the Moody Sing-A-Long Pandas...

The accuracy of the details is unimportant but hence was my proficiency for Port-a-Potty maintenance discovered. The rest is history. I enjoyed the end of the concert, once the pandas were again in a singing mood. Then I went straight home and enlisted myself with the most prestigious potty company in the area: Port-a-Potties-R-Us (where more hyphens means more credibility). I’m already learning and excelling at a rate unprecedented in the potty community.

Not to brag, though. I empathize with all of you working on resumes and sending in applications. Or is it sympathize, since I don’t actually have to do any of that now and will probably never know what it feels like. Yea, I have it made. I only hope this brings you, recent college graduate, a little bit of solace in your resume/application writing and submitting. Because that’s what this blog is here for. For you’re consideration.

And in the meantime think of me for all of your Port-a-Potty needs. Call us any time day or night and we’ll put your portable bathroom troubles to rest at long last!

In Defense of Chewing

Wed, 2 Jul 2008 18:40:21 -0400

I’ve been getting a lot of speaking offers lately, but sadly none that are up to my high, prestigious standards. At first I thought I might just have to wait it out, but then I thought; “who waits?” Why wait when I could motivate?

That’s right, friends. I’m now diving into the realm of self-help. I aim to be a self-proclaimed guru by the end of the summer. My genre? Chewing.

I believe that a solemn minority of human beings actually chew their food. That is why I have taken up the ax, the war, the battle cry if you will, against ignorance in defense of chewing.

Chewing is a beautiful, natural process and a sacred right. Did you know that whole settlements of early humans had to invent chewing in the fledgling days of history? Through my extensive research and breakneck, Nicholas Cage-style archaeological scavenging I have unearthed ancient scrolls that describe in detail the art of chewing. Early societies had scarcely an idea as to the full range of the teeth as tools for breaking apart the food. Boy, were they shocked to find that their antelope and wooly mammoth were much more delectable chewed than manually grated into meat-mush. They also found that they could then eat more meat than before and hence their twiggy, stick-like figures were forever bulked, giving them the eternal advantage over the voracious, human-hunting saber tooth tigers. I see chewing as the sole reason for the survival of the human race.

As for my theory about chewing in the modern centuries, I believe that with a properly chewed meal, a person can conquer all their fears and anxieties. Each bite literally wipes away past mistakes and ushers in a new and promising future. On a grander scale, chewing can single-handedly bring about world peace and is essentially the key to life and death.

That’s why I’ve crafted the easy twenty seven step pathway to proper, fruitful chewing. With this radical (if I may say so) process, you too can have a healthy chewing life. From biting down and releasing to swallowing properly chewed food and even to calisthenic chewing exercises (see above), I will provide a well manicured path to the rest of your life. Welcome to your world chewed correctly.

Look forward to this and more in the upcoming and highly anticipated book In Defense of Chewing by lauded chewing activist Eva Gross. Available soon everywhere books are sold.

Olympic Dreams

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 20:23:25 -0400

I know you’ve all been wondering. Yes, my Olympic dreams have come true. I put my head in the game, gave 110%, and dug deep into my soul to unleash the intense focus, killer concentration, and hidden winning ability only a true Olympiad can power forth. I just went out there and saw what happened, visualized the goal and walked away with the gold. And a rather large stuffed animal. Mom, you shouldn’t have.

What sport you may ask? What event? You would rightly ask, Eva aren’t the Olympics not for another month or so? And I would tell you yes, but you are obviously not hip-to-the-lingo enough to know that the real, true, and rightfully awesome event of the Olympics is held right here in the backyard of a home in Leesburg, Virginia and is the pinnacle of Olympic success: The Mock Olympic Podium Photo Shoot In Which I, Eva Gross, Pretend To Put To Shame Two Much More Athletic and Competitively Minded Young Lads From Potomac Hills Youth Group, All In The Name of A New, Hip, and Hopefully Hilarious Youth Group Flier.

I’m not kidding you people, this event has been around for eons. Long before I was even born. I know, weird, that my name is already in the event title, right? Well, it turns out that this particular event has its origins in ancient Irken times when a small girl named Eva Gros`z picked up a stick and insisted that her father, who was a stone carver, chisel a likeness of herself holding the stick in a way in which it appeared that she had won an award in the prestigious Olympic games.

But enough with history, because that’s boring (though completely not made up). On to the present, in which I have claimed the highest honor and medal to prove I am “The Best”; the official, honored title coveted by many but held by so few. In fact, this event is so exclusive and strenuous that only the ancient, small girl and I have ever won. Sorry, Sam and Dan. I guess you’ll just have to train a little harder next time in order for me to not accidentally leave the door ajar so that your dog will run away down the street and I will only make things worse by chasing her. Better luck next time.

So I guess this means I’m set for life. Sure, it’s going to be hard having hit my peak so early, but I think for now, I’m going to take the advise of a wise sage and “just coast.” Maybe I’ll be given numerous honorary degrees and speaking engagements at college graduations. Yeah, that’s really all I need right now.

Plus, I’ll always have my llamas.

Eva’s World o’ Llama, Llama Wool Clothing Industries

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 17:40:27 -0400

I’ve been inspired. I have a new five year plan. Llama wool clothing. For both people and for the average sized llama.

So I’m going into business for myself. Be my own boss. Set my own hours. It’ll be great. I’m going to need some alpine mountain llamas, shears, and a sewing machine. Maybe llama food, too. I’ll have to remember to wikipedia that later.

I’ll start with a modest sized llama pasture and a step-powered spinning wheel just like in the olden days (if for nothing other than a nice vintage feel). I’ll bring the llamawool-less Americans of today the quality llama hair fabric that their delicate skin so desperately needs. Did you know that not only does llama wool have sun repellant qualities (if you wear enough of it) but studies have also shown that if you wear llama wool you will never age? That’s right. Never.

That’s why llamas love it so much. In fact, I’m thinking of starting a side business in clothing for actual llamas as well. That is, once the selling-to-people business takes off. I think animals have hearts and kidneys and rights just like any person. Especially the right to clothes shopping. Honestly, what would be more comforting to a llama than to find that llama wool clothing is even an option. I bet it would just make that poor, unfortunate llama’s day. He wouldn’t be poor and unfortunate anymore. And that ladies and gentlemen, is why I’m setting up shop in the rewarding field of llama wool clothing.

Well, fellow graduates, I leave you now to your own ponderings about the future. If you get too sad and depressed about jobs and...jobs, remember that llama wool also has anti-depressant agents and I’ll be open for business in only a matter of llama hair growth. Like I said, I’m inspired. I’m going to make the world a better place, one llama-clothed llama (and recent graduate) at a time.

Popsicle Farming

Mon, 2 Jun 2008 18:49:24 -0400

It’s time I got back to the land. I’ve always thought that Popsicle Farming was where I would end up after college. Some rugged manual labor before I head out into the work force to forge a career.

Not to mention the location. The best popsicle farms are obviously in the happiest places on earth. You can’t raise popsicles without some good mirth to get them tasting right. Sure, the process is arduous and taxing. The life of a popsicle farmer is a difficult one, but I’ve heard that the experience is so rewarding and I know I’m ready for the challenge.

After a world wide web search of the best and brightest popsicle farms in the industry, I chose a stellar Tasting Internship with Popsicles for Tomorrow, Inc. in the breathtaking mountains of New Zealand. Since it’s winter in New Zealand at the moment, the temperature is perfect for some grade A popsicle growing. The trees should already be frozen and in full bloom by the time I get there.

Which is where my internship comes in. With all the cultivating and careful growing done year-round, this is the time to test the final product. I’ll have to see when I get there, but from what I understand I’ll be tasting anywhere from two to two hundred new flavors per day. All done under a heat lamp so as to test the durability of the popsicle in a simulated summer atmosphere. This also helps stave off the brain freeze for us interns. I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it!

Well, I gotta go. There’s a Discovery Channel special about llama clothing I’ve been wanting to see. I’ll fill you in on the rest of my plans some other time. Meanwhile, stay strong, graduates. Soldier on.