The truth is, things haven’t been all gloom and doom around here. It’s not like I’m sitting around in last week’s underwear listening to the Smiths on repeat while downing hot chocolate after hot chocolate. Not at all. Nope. I did laundry last weekend, am currently listening to the new Girl Talk album, and I  haven’t had a sip of hot chocolate in over 3 hours Yay me!

In other news I’m been geeking out in a major way the last few weeks. I haven’t spent a lot of time on the internets, but I have been spending a lot of time indulging in other things that make me oh so happy.

For instance, this weekend I was lucky enough to have some great girls join me on a wonderful musical adventure. I wasn’t sure it would be possible to have a night compare to the last time I went to see Joshua Radin, but -despite not making out with his drummer this time around (he had a new one who made weird sex faces when he played) it was pretty much the best night I’d had in a while.

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Per usual, Mr. Radin’s angel voice nearly made me faint.  I know I  wasn’t the only one by the way the crowd simultaneously sighed everytime he belted out a note. His new album is a little more rock-ish than I’m used to, but I actually dig it A LOT.

The real surprise of the night was his opener, Kelley James. I probably wouldn’t have been a huge fan of his music had I not seen him live but on top of having a knack for writing clever pop-culture related songs, the dude can really pump out some quality free-style- which is pretty much my favorite thing in the world. Seriously. I believe he shares a manager with Lil Jon, which basically makes us rapper cousins.

Well not really, but I did once challenge Lil Jon to a rap off at a nice Dallas eatery. After a few cocktails, I just couldn’t help myself. It didn’t actually happen… I’m pretty sure he thought I was joking, but I’m pretty sure I could have at least battled it out for 20 or 30 seconds before he Oh Yeahhhhed me outta tha’ place.

Here is Kelley James. I think we can all relate to this song a little. In fact, while he was doing the intro, my friends and I (all avid twitter and googlers) were ironically in the audience google stalking and tweeting at him like there was no tomorrow. Enjoy.

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In other non-related news, something huge has happened with my mouth.

You may recall the long time love affair that I’ve always had with ketchup? Well I’ve decided to have a serendipitous affair. With ketchup’s father.

Yeah I know, it seems a little bit gross. I always thought tomatoes were nasticular myself. I’ve spent hours upon hours of my life picking every single ketchup morsel out of pre-made salads. I’ve tossed many a tomato out the window after Wendy’s soggied up spicy chicken sandwich by ignoring my “hold the tomatoes” request. I’ve even grossed quite a few people out by spitting bites of chewed up tomato bits into my napkin.

Not only that, but I’ve always had a bit of an issue with the word “tomato.” I can never remember how it’s spelled. I always want to put an “e” on the end, making it “tomatoe.” Is that how the British people do it? Is that correct in some language? I don’t know. I do know that I also have gotten annoyed the way people say “tomato, tomahto,” and even more when people from my home state of Texas say tomater. Which is weird because I’m perfectly fine when people say potater. I don’t know, but I think it’s just because I always hated the food so much.

But now I say, “What the heck was I thinking?” Tomatoes are delicious, delicious I tell you! How did I go so long without them on my sandwiches, in my salads, plain with some pepper on top!???

I’m sorry ketchup, but you may not be as tasty as your father. I’m still up for a threesome though if you’d like.

Yummy tomato, get in my mouth!

Being the self-deprecating person that I am, I initially thought that writing on the subject of “something that I love about myself” would be quite difficult, but the truth is- I kind of rock.

Although I could still write a novel about all the things I would like to change about myself, I realized that there are quite a few things about me that I find quite enjoyable.

Unfortunately, most of the qualities that I love most about myself are also the same qualities that others find highly annoying… but I think I’ve finally come to a point in my life where I’m OK with that.

I’m not going to list all of the things that make me really, really, ridiculously amazing, but I think I can try to sum them up into one all-encompassing quality.

Basically, I love that I am kind of a child.

Not in the Forest Gump “kind of like a child sort of way, though some may beg to differ… but I do think that sometimes I have a bit of a child like outlook on life.

I’m not going to deny that I’m a little “jaded.” I don’t like the way a lot of things in my life are going. I despise men in graffic tees. I actually don’t like most things that have to do with men in general right now.

Regardless, after all the shit I’ve gone through the last few years with my family and personal mountains, I sometimes surprise myself by being so excited by life. I even like going through the darker times because I know it’s going to get better. I like to use that time to improve all of the aspects of my life. I love finding new projects, starting new hobbies and meeting new people. I love that I feel things so deeply. I love that I still have the ability to care about a person enough to get hurt. I love that I’m optimistic. I love that I have an active imagination. I love that I can emphathize with other people’s pain. I know so many people who don’t really do that.

On the other hand, I love that I feel emotions on the other extreme as well. I love that I’m constantly excited about what’s next. I love that I really miss my family and friends when they’re away. I love that I cry at Hallmark commercials and Lifetime movies. I love that I’m a hopelesss romantic. I love that I’m passionate. I love that I have the abilty to be truly moved by a song or a piece of artwork. I love that I can make any situation fun. I love that my heart flutters when I’m on a walk and I see something beautiful. I love that I dream big. I love that I like to sing loud. I love to laugh. I love life.

I know this all sounds as cheesy as an old Saved by the Bell episode, but it’s true.

I fucking love being me.

Today I feel like a have a valid excuse for not posting one of my 30-days-of-truth-posts. I had lots of highly important things to do.

Like…

-I had to put on a pair of tights and see how far I could slide across the tile floor without falling over.

-Catch up on This American Life and spend 58 minutes imagining Ira Glass was my boyfriend  personal nap-time story-teller.

-Try to retrace all the places I went last night in order to find my credit card.

-Refrain from hitting one bartender who looked at me and asked if I had long night.

-Cry over the amount of money that I spent last night.

-Get my retail therapy on at Target, where I bought 2 new hats to satisfy my newfound obsession with head clothes.

-Embarrass LA by singing Paul Simon’s “I know what I know” at the top of my lungs. (In Target)

-Eat about 17 saltine crackers dipped in remoulade sauce, followed by fish and chips and hush puppies.

-Head to the laundromat to do laundry.

-Unsuccessfully try to spin myself around in the dryer. Sighhh.

dryer vid

 That link probably will not work. I have no time. Too many activities. I’ll fix that later.

Yeah I’m one of those…

I don’t believe the people that say they aren’t afraid of death. The same people who claim to be OK with the fact that at any second they could cease to exist, will  claim to fear clowns, spiders and heights. I can’t tell you how often I’ve heard  something like “I’m not afraid of reaching my expiration date, I mean it happens to everybody… but put me in a room with a rabid tiger and I’ll shit my pants.”

While I can admit that the image of a giant cat foaming at the mouth with Cujo eyes scares the bejeezus out of me, what I’m really afraid of is what’s going to happen once those demon teeth crunch my body in half. Even though I’m a little scared of the pain that this situation is going to inflict on my sensitive skin, what really concerns me is what will become of me after it’s all said and done. It’s death.

A couple of years ago I came up with this theory that every fear- no matter how minute or irrelevant it may seem- is actually a manifestation of a fear of death. If a person says they are afraid of spiders, they are actually afraid of getting stung and dying. When person is afraid of “flying,” what they’re actually afraid of “crashing and dying.” When someone says they are scared of rotoscope animation, they’re are actually afraid that the anxiety that those rotoscope freaks of art gives her is going to cause her to have a heart attack and subsequently die.

Even as a kid I was obsessed with all things “scary.” My mom got me fixed on horror movies at the ripe age of five.  ”Fixed” really is the best way to describe it, because it becomes an addiction, doesn’t it? When I wasn’t sitting Indian style  in front of the television watching Child’s Play or Pet Cemetary 2  for the thirteenth time, I was in my room in the dark, willing myself to really believe that there was a giant slug  like creature under my bed, just waiting for me to let one of my limbs make it’s way over to the side of the bed so it could slurp me up with it’s giant snake like tongue.

Looking back, it wasn’t really the “slake” that I was afraid of. At that age, I wasn’t yet jaded enough to assume that every ugly creature was bad. I’d seen enough film to know not to  judge a monster by his appearance. I mean really. The filmmakers of my youth were really quite obsessed with pushing my generation to fall in love with the monster. They taught me that a shriveled, turd-like alien could end up being my best friend. They taught me that that a fire breathing Luckdragon might just be my ride to safety. They taught me to be aware that if I ever came across a deformed giant while searching for buried treasure, he was more likely to crave nut-filled candy bars than my own flesh and guts.

But for all of the monsters Hollywood has taught me to love, it also taught me that for every Gizmo, there are 500 Spikes.

Which is precisely why I never let my legs hang over the side of the bed. I didn’t know whether or not I could trust it. I was scared of getting eaten to death.

 I still crave fear, but my fears have shifted over the years. While the idea of monsters and ghosts  still get my blood pumping, I no longer have to leap five feet to get out of my bed in the middle of the night just to avoid coming Slake’s dinner.  Gone are the days when I would push the pee out of me as fast as I could and run back to bed without wiping or flushing for fear that if I sit there long enough, the toilet monster will chomp me up until I look like the result of bad hangover.  What used to scare me, now excites me.

Now I spend my time thinking about more grown up scary things that might lead to my demise. I fear that all those doodle bugs in LA’s bathroom are a sign that a brown recluse is living in my house, just waiting to kill me. I’m scared that I’ll get eaten by a shark if I go out too far into the ocean. I fear that a tornado will come and rip me to shreds and scatter me all the way to Wyoming. And I’m scared that a man in a mask will come and shoot me death when I’m walking to my car at night. (Especially that last one since it almost happened. )

But mostly I fear everyday not-always-scary things. Every time I go to push an electrical cord into a socket, I fear that I have forgotten that I have just washed my hands, and that I’m about to turn myself into bacon. I can’t step out of the shower without imagining myself slipping on a puddle and hitting my head on the toilet, then I somehow manage to catch myself with the shower curtain… but when I grab it I slip again and the shower curtain wraps itself around my neck and I strangle to death. Every time I prepare to walk down the stairs I just know that I’m going to slip and fall, coming to a skidding halt at the bottom of the stairs where my head will hit an unforseen giant nail and I will lie there slowly dying in my own pool of  guts while my roommate’s Bassett Hound gnaws away at my legs because she’ll eat absolutely anything.

Actually, that last one about falling down the stairs almost happened last week. It wasn’t the greatest fall I’ve ever taken, but it was the greatest fall I’ve ever had without an alcohol shield.

I was carrying a load of garbage downstairs before work, and was still wearing my so called “no slip” footies when I lost my balance at the top of the stairs. I hit my head on the first stair, and on every stair that followed. As I fell, I had one of those moments they have in the movies when your whole life flashes before your eyes. I swear. I saw my parents, my dog, my sister, my 9th grade Science teacher and a grilled egg and cheese sandwich. When the momentum of the front door halted my tumble, I lay there in complete quiet for a few moments to access my situation. I couldn’t tell if I was dead or if it was just dark because it was 5:30AM and I hadn’t turned on any of the lights yet. I was afraid to try to move bcause I didn’t want to find out that my soul was no longer connected to my body.

Death I tell you, it really gets to me.

But alas, it turns out I could move. My head wasn’t bleeding and there was no dog eating away at my spilling guts. Besides a few bruised ribs, I wasn’t even hurt at all.

Since I survived, I figure I should tell you my near death revelation that discounts my whole “every fear is actually a fear of death” theory.

While I was lying there, I realized that there was something that I feared that wasn’t a fear of death itself per se, but it was more of a fear of what would happen happen the fact.

I thought, If I’m dead, and Shelby gets full before she eats every bite of me up, and the Dexter people are able to figure out that I died after taking a great fall down the stairs… then all of my friends are going to get to say “That Carissa, I always knew she’d die falling down the stairs. HAHA oh that Carissa.”

 Holy mother of my soul, have you heard of Grace Potter?

If you haven’t then you definitely need to google that shit right now. Or here, check out a video. Prepare to have your face and panties melted off.

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The other day I asked twitter (as I so often do,) for some reccomendations on some new tunes. 3 or 4 people suggested this amazing woman. Her name sounded familiar, and I knew that she was playing at Austin City Limits in a few weeks, but I had never actually taken the time to listen to her. So I paid 9.99 for her cd on itunes, along with $89 worth of other music, and I had my mind blown.

A few days later I won 2 pairs of tickets to her show here in Dallas. I fell in love.

I mean really.

I’ve never had a lesbian thought in my life, unless you count my crush on Robin Williams as Mrs Doubtfire, but I found myself looking over at my friend Moops and agreeing when he said she was the hottest woman on the planet. She wore a sexy little sequined number that made me want to shake my booty.

I wasn’t actually being serious about having sexual thoughts for this woman, but that night I did happen to have my first lesbian dream, so there must have been something going on.

Granted, my dream was about an encounter with Meryl Streep- which was just oogie. Don’t get me wrong. I would probably get it on with Meryl Streep if she asked, because after all she is Meryl Streep, and who knows!? Maybe some of her awesomeness and talent would literally rub off on me, but she’s not exactly my first choice.

Moving on.

Besides seeing Grace Potter and having lesbian dreams, not much has been happening in the “”World o’ Carissa.” I kind of like it that way.

I realized that for the last 4 months or so, I’ve been going completley non-stop. Every weekend, I’ve either had a wedding or a birthday or an extreme depression due to heartbreak to deal with, and while most of that was fun, it has also been quite exhausting. I’ve tried to take the last few weeks to get back to the important stuff… you know… Me.

I went home this last weekend to visit my family, and didn’t do a damn thing other than eat, watch movies, eat, stare at a blank computer screen, eat, take a walk, and read old journal entries. Oh, and eat.

I did do a little bit of pondering while I was eating. I tried to stay away from any thoughts that would really disturb my good eating vibes, so I focused on things that have been bothering me for a while.

Specifically.

Mermaids.

OK. So we all know that mermaids are these beautiful beings that want nothing more than to be able to walk on land.  We also know that they often fall in love with human men, and presumably want to have sex with them.

Fine, I get it. You always want what you can’t have.

So we can presume that when a mermaid turns into a human she gets all the normal human body parts needed for reproduction and what not. Right?

But what I don’t get, what “they” never tell us, is how mermaids procreate when they are still mermaids. They are more than willing to let us know that mermaids have breasts, sometimes breasts that are only covered up long locks of hair. But they never even attempt to explain how mermaids make babies…. or even how they pee, for that matter.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s all a conspiracy. They want us to believe that mermaids are pure and beautiful, and that they don’t have anything akin to my roommate’s dog’s set of vag-tags.

Well I’m here to tell you now, IT”S ALL LIES!!!

I’m not sure what they have in place of human-lady bits; but I am positive that they have something. “They” just don’t want us to know about it for fear that mermaids will lose part of their magic, that and their marketing ability.

Like I said, I’m no expert…  but I do have plans to get to the bottom of this. For now, all I have is a hypothesis, and it looks a little something like this…

I wasn’t bullshitting when I said that I thought it was working.

Turns out though, that all the positive thinking in the world can’t ward off misery… especially when something happens that completely blindsides you. Waking up in the morning and telling myself  ”today is going to be a good day,” isn’t so helpful when a major part of the reason you were planning on having a good day just disapears from your life without a warning.

Only now that I can look back on the last few months, maybe I should have seen it coming. Maybe super-gluing rose colored glasses to my face wasn’t the best idea. Maybe I was so drunk on happiness and rainbows and music (and let’s face it, alcohol) that I didn’t see what was really going on.

It doesn’t really matter at this point.

 I can either continue to sit here with my bag of reeses peices and my glass of cheap pinot grigio with my arms in the air yelling “whhyyyyyy?!?” or I can end this pity party for one right now. I can recognize that I’m still the same independent woman who has never relied on a man for happiness. I can pick back up with where I was a few months ago, when I was growing as a person, on my own. I can recognize the positive that this relatonship has given me…and  that when I’m ready again, I deserve to be with someone who respects me. I can admit that I am attractive and confident and that while I still have a lot of growing to do, I have come so far in the last year.

And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

I know that it’s not going to be easy, but I don’t think it will be that difficult either.  I have so many people in my life who care about me, and I’m ready to embrace their support.

I even woke up this morning with Steve Winwood’s “Back in the High Life” stuck in my brain. I want to write again. More than that- I think I want to wash my hair for the first time since Wednesday. This could be a really good thing for me.

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So yes. It’s a beautiful day outside and I’m ready to go out, put on some Lady Gaga… and live.

Peee essss:

I just recieved a very humorous email from a future version of myself, telling me how much better things are about to get.

And that’s just one more reason that I love my friends.

Happy Labor Day!

OK that’s a lie. But mostly it’s not. I’ve really tried, and I think it’s working. I’ve been going to yoga every night. I’ve been meditating for at least 4 minutes before I start thinking about food. And more than anything, I’ve really kept most negative thoughts abay.

That’s a lie too.

Negative thoughts cross my mind all day long. I don’t know how to stop them. I DO think that I’ve found a solution though. Or at least a temporary fix. It’s simple. Every time I think of something negative, I accept it and then just justify it with something that I do feel positive about.

An example? OK.

You know what really sucks stinky poo?

When you get that dreaded email from your bank saying something like “You have asked to be alerted when your bank account drops below a certain level. It is now below that level.”

FUUUUDDGEEE. Seriously, where does all the money go? I mean I get paid week to week, so I know I can make it.. but still, I’m on a budget yo. I’m gonna have to have a baby for someone or quit buying songs on itunes or SOMETHING!

But you know what makes it all better?

Knowing that I spent my money in a wonderful way. The boo and I literally had our own Deep Ellum pub crawl. We went to every bar in walking distance and only had a drink at each. It added up… but so worth it.

You know what makes me want to kill small children?

When “Mambo No. 5 ” comes on my Pandora. Seriously. I like nothing even remotely close to this song. It hurts my soul and my heart and my brain.

But you know what makes me smile despite the fact that “Mambo No. 5″ has played twice in the last week?

Smile Smile’s new video for “Truth On Tape.” I still love them so much.

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You know what makes me want to scream expletives at my grandpa?

Pain. Human pain. Of the physical category.

But you know what makes me want to have Steve Buschemi’s babies?

Knowing that the pain came from a weekend of marathon getting it on. What qualifies as marathon you ask? Nineya yo business.

That and my new tattoo. I’ve always wanted a comedy and tragedy mask tattoo. I think it stems from my long love of the theater and comedy. But now that I’m trying to adapt to this new “positive thinking” style of life, I decided that I wanted something that was a little more positive. I wanted something that I could look at that would remind me how good life is. So I went with this…

You know what makes me want to eat a pound of cheesecake and cry?

The fact that the hair on my foot in this picture makes me look like a man.

But you know what makes that OK?

Nothing. I’m a lazy excuse for a woman. But then again, I think I’m OK with that.

Being sick.

You know what’s worse than just being sick?

Being sick that ISN”T  hungover. Cause if your hungover  then it’s at least a little bit worth it, right?

You know what’s the most worstiest of everything? (it’s a word)

Being sick on a VERY important week.

Duh duh. Duh duh. Duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh du…….

(Once again that was my very excellent version of the Jaws theme song, but you probably already knew that!)

No, I wasn’t talking about shark week though that is also very important. In fact, I deemed it so important that I sharked myself on the Discovery channel website.

I am not so good at sharking myself. But I think it looks like a zombie so I'm cool with that.

The term “sharking yourself” sounds kind of dirty doesn’t it?

I know, sometimes it’s like I’m 5  years old or something.

Actually that’s not true at all. A true statement would be “I act like I’m 5 years old or something.”

But what would really be accurate would be if I said “it’s like I’m 28 years old or something,” which is precisely what I will be on this Saturday. So… Happy Birthday me! It’s also my parent’s old (dead) dog’s birthday, or maybe that’s just what they told me when I was 8.

I’m really not so sure how I feel about this Birthday. Twenty eight seems like such an insignificant age, but then again they all sort of do from here on out. Except in my case, I’ll probably count myself lucky for any year that I survive after the age of like 35… in fact I think I’m pretty lucky to have made it this far.

But really… 28.

I had a bit of a freak out the other night when I started thinking about the fact that I am officially in my late twenties. I decided last year that 27 was definitely in the “mid to late twenties category… but 28… there’s no denying it. I really try hard not to dwell on these sort of things, but there are so many things that I thought that I would be by the age of twenty eight. I thought I’d be rich, famous, married to my friend Cameron, own my own zoo, drive a limo (I used to think that was better than riding in one,) have 14 kids, star on Saturday Night Live, and also princess of a far away country. Of course I thought all of this when I was in the third grade after a game of M.A.S.H., but still… Boy was I wrong.

I mean, if I can’t even afford to take care of a pet rat, I’m certainly not on the right road to owning a zoo. Then again, there are days when I really think I’ve done it right. I’m still figuring things out and I think that’s ok. I’m not entirely sure what path I’m on- but I’m still happy with the idea that I could move to Ireland tomorrow if I wanted to. Provided I win the lottery, that is.

Birthdays are a funny thing though. I never know how to act. There are days when I think that I would like to let it simply go unnoticed (LIKE THAT ONE YEAR WHEN I WAS TEACHING DANCE IN NEW YORK AND NOBODY CALLED ME, DON”T THINK I”VE FORGOTTEN BITCHES!) but when it comes down to it- I think I can be down right bratty when it comes to my birthday. It is after all, the one day that I can call my own. I really try not to get that whiny “but it’s MY birthday” attitude… but I’m afraid I’m not very good at that.

My favorite birthday of all time was the year I turned 10. My family got up real early and took my cousins and I fishing. I caught a huge fish that snapped my fishing pole right in half. It was a carp so we didn’t get to keep it, but I didn’t have to worry about things like baiting my own hook back then. When we got home, I was surprised to find that I had gotten my very own purple bicycle, with a basket and everything. The real surprise came when my cousin presented me with a pie in my face. Only it wasn’t a surprise at all, because I had been begging asking to have a pie thrown in my face for my birthday for like 3 years. I was a weird kid who watched entirely too much Nickelodeon.

Despite being sick, this week has already been a pretty smashing birthday week. I started celebrating last Sunday with a little bit of day drinking. We hung out at my favorite dive bar (Adairs, for those of you in Dallas) with a bunch of old guys who were jamming their guitars. I even got to hold one of their glass eyes. Then on Tuesday I won last minute tickets to go see Aerosmith, and he was every bit as sparkly as I imagined he would be.

This weekend my family is coming up to spend my birthday with me for the first time in years, and we’re going to see my favorite comedian of all time – Mr Michael Ian Black.

So instead of getting a pie in my face, I think I’d like to have a Michael Ian black in my face. Or in my mouth. Either way, I’m pumped. My mom also decided that she wants to film a zombie movie, starring me as a zombie- which I’m a little on the fence about. We shall see.

I also am requesting gifts I actually need this year. My list so far:

-3 light bulbs

-pens with a plastic chewable top

-new bed sheets

-a new lap top

-new phone (since I bit and cracked mine)

-my $665 TXU electricity bill to be paid (SERIOUSLY EFFED UP)

-A new car since mine is about to die forever

-John Cusack

So now I will shut my whore mouth and clean house so that my parents don’t find out that I live like a 14 year old boy. A fourteen year old boy who drinks copious amounts of wine.

CHEERS TO YOUR FACE!

PEEE ESSSSS. : I still plan on doing a giveaway for my blog birthday… but I decided to wait until after my birthday so I can give away the gifts that I don’t want for myself.

PEEE PEEE ESSSS (teehee pee pee) If anyone in the area is interested in joining in on some shenanegans this weekend (I’ll be out both nights) just tweet me yo.

Stay tuned.