Squirrel Thoughts

For my job as an events coordinator/news editor extraordinaire, I’m in charge of organizing the annual Easter Eggstravaganza on the UM Oval, which is basically a large-scale egg hunt on campus the day before Easter. (Please don’t hesitate to contact me with any of your egg-hunt planning needs! Wait, no. Please do.)

Over the past several weeks, I’ve been ordering candy and small prizes to stuff in eggs for the hunt, mainly online. When a came across a package of 720 temporary tattoos for around 30 bucks, I figured they were a great deal and ordered five packages. And because they were advertised as CHILDREN’S tattoos, intended for use by CHILDREN, it did not even occur to me that some of them may not be appropriate for, you know, CHILDREN. Boy, was I wrong. So very, very wrong.

Based on the following sampling, I’m guessing the folks over at Oriental Trading Co.’s Temporary Tattoo Department aren’t too concerned with quality control.

First off, there were several of these Japanese-character tattoos, but most of them said things like “tiger” or “dragon,” not this:

That’s right — if it weren’t for my observant co-worker who spotted this inappropriateness, the word “sexy” would be plastered across some 6-year-old girl’s arm after she found it in an Easter egg.

Next up, several tattoos that, on their own, might not be so bad, but collectively could maybe, just maybe, encourage grade-school children to take up recreational drug use:

OK, I know that’s actually a palm tree, not a pot leaf, but when combined with a mushroom, some eight balls and three bloodshot eyes (including one that apparently has its own appendages and another with a cracked-out face), you can’t help but wonder if the people designing these things have an ulterior motive or two. I mean really, how many variations of bloodshot eyeballs do you allow in the kids’ tattoo supply before you draw the line?

And then there’s this third and final example, which is just plain racist:

Yep, that’s a Native American with a red face. I’m not even going to start on this one.

Lucky we discovered these early and I could suss out the bad ones before they went into the eggs, or I have a feeling a might not be planning an Easter egg hunt next year. Wait a minute… ahh, screw it.

Last night, Zach and I went to Barristers’ Ball, aka Law School Prom, at the Hilton. I’d describe it in more detail, but that’s really all there was to it: It was like prom for law students and professors. Oh, and they had a “Dancing with the Stars”-type competition, with real judges as the judges. (Just think about it for a second. Slightly amusing, right?)

Anyway, I had a total of two glasses of wine at Law School Prom. Acquiring the first glass went off without a hitch, as I walked up to the bar and politely asked for a glass of merlot, and the bartender gave it to me.

A little while later, when I went to get a second glass, I walked up to the bar and again politely asked for a glass of the merlot. But because many underagers in Missoula now apparently try to sneak into Law School Prom instead of say, Stocks, the bartender decided she absolutely could not serve me unless she saw my ID. Despite the fact that it was at… Law School Prom.

OK, I get that though I’m nearly 25, I look young enough to be underage, and it’s perfectly reasonable for anyone serving alcohol to card me. But still, it irked me, mainly because: a) The bartender didn’t seem to be carding anyone else. 2) She’d already served me once. OK, it was dimly lit in there, and it may have been someone else the first time, but still… d) It was Law School Prom, for crying out loud!

The fact that this woman would dare card me at Law School Prom absolutely outraged me, as Zach can surely attest to. Now, of course, the fact that I had to go back to our table, grab my ID out of my purse, go back and wait in line again, and order a glass of wine from the woman I’m convinced thought I was actually trying to get away with something does not seem like a big deal now, but you could not have said or done anything to offend me more last night. I mean, I was wearing a dress and a cardigan, for crying out loud! A belted cardigan, no less!

Seriously, show me someone under 21 in Missoula who wears a belted cardigan after 9 p.m., and I’ll show you someone at  Stocks who’s over the age of 17. They just don’t exist.

I know, I know. I should appreciate it while I can. I have a hunch I’ll have plenty of time to do that though.

Aren’t you glad you don’t tell lawyer jokes?

First of all, I apologize to all you loyal Squirrel Thoughts readers for my lack of blogging the past week. I’ve been busy/mildly stressed out about other things, which I may or may not write about in the future. (All right, I realize that probably sounds sketchy, but it’s not, I swear. It’s just not something I can post on the Internets right now. OK, that still sounds sketchy, but I promise it’s nothing illegal or anything.  You’ll just have to take my word for it.)

Anyway, let’s get on to the hot topic at hand: my boyfriend’s obsession with “Battlestar Galactica.” I really wish I had better news to report on this, but unfortunately, I don’t. He’s officially an addict. There hasn’t been one evening this week when I’ve come home from work and he wasn’t watching it. (Some of you may quibble over the fact that it’s Tuesday, but that doesn’t make it any less accurate.) Over the weekend, he even forwarded me his e-mail from NetFlix confirming that the next disc would arrive on Monday. And he’s still on the first season.

Mmm… Cylon toast.

Now, in case you still aren’t sure just how geeky BG is, I’m posting the show’s description from the little NetFlix sleeve I found lying next to the DVD player:

“Join Adama (Edward James Olmos) and Laura (Mary McDonnell) as they lead a ragtag fleet of human survivors (from the destroyed colonies of Kobol) in search of a mythical planet called Earth. But beware, the robot race of Cylons is in hot pursuit… and it seems nothing will stop them… Dun dun DUN!” (OK, I added the duns for dramatic effect, but the rest is verbatim.)

Hey, hey, wait a minute, guysh. Thish show ish about a ragtag fleet of human shurvivors from the deshtroyed coloniesh of Kobol? I had no idea! SHWEET!!!

Wait… no. I want nothing to do with that.  But I do, by default. My only hope now is to keep making fun of Zach on my blog and shame him into not watching the show. Unfortunately, Zach is not easily shamed, so I’ll have my work cut out for me. Frak.