I go through phases. Sometimes I’m all about discovering new bands and feeling on top of the world because I found something amazing before the rest of the world got a hold of it. Other times I like to delve into genres that I wouldn’t ordinarily listen to- like country, R & B or soul. Lately though, I’ve had the urge to fall back on some of the music that has gotten me through the tough times and the best times. Lately I can’t seem to get enough of it. I’ve been walking around with ear buds stuck in my ears, singing like there’s no tomorrow. I get home from work- and instead of turning on the tv- I put on some Paul Simon and dance around my house like I did when I was a kid. I can’t wait to work out, because I know for at least an hour, I’ll have some quality ear-time with my ipod. I’m a nerd that way, but I don’t care. It makes me feel alive, and after the last few months- I need that more than anything.

I also mentioned a couple weeks ago that I’ve been keeping track of all the things in the world that truly make me happy. About 90% of those things have been music related. The other 10% have been nerd-tv related, but that’s a completely different post.

Since I’ve been on a cheese-fest here lately, I’ve decided to share some of my all-time-favorite happy songs. These are all songs that have meant something to me at some point in my life. Not all of them are “happy” in the most obvious sense, but they all have the ability to move me.  Most of the songs that made the list are ones you know, and probably seem cliche. But so is your face.

And now, in no particular order:

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Huey Lewis and the News: Power of Love

Before ipods and all that shizzle, there was a little thing that we called the “the mixed tape.” I made many. Most of them were made with songs that I taped off of the radio. Sometimes I would even record my voice in between the songs and pretend I was a radio DJ. Shut up. One of the mixed-tapes that I remember with the most clarity, was one that I labeled “Put On A Happy Face” in purple magic marker. This is the song that inspired that mix. Later, when CD’s and MP3′s were all the rage, I made a mix titled “Happy Go Lucky.” The first song among a very random NSYNC/Rolling Stones/The Beatles/ Belle and Sebastian compilation was, once again, “The Power of Love.” I don’t know whether my love for this song stemmed from my love for “Back to the Future” or whether it just struck a chord with me somewhere along the line, but to this day- I cannot hear it without smiling. A few months ago, I had a pretty rough break-up with a guy who had a major hard-on for Huey, and I was a little scared that this song would somehow lose it’s… ahem… “power.” But alas, it still does it for me.

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The Cure: Mint Car

BAHHH!!!! I’m listening to this now and I can barely type because I’m dancing in my chair. Just hearing the first chords makes me want to skip down the street and pick flowers and have a down feather pillow fight and roll down a steep green hill. I’m a HUGE fan of The Cure in general, but this song really does it for me. Even when I’m not feeling particularly happy about relationships, this song somehow manages to give me hope. I hope that one day I feel half of what Robert Smith felt when he wrote this.

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Meatloaf: Paradise By the Dashboard Light

This song isn’t about a happy situation. In case you’re not familiar, Meatloaf wants to get laid, and he wants it bad. He promises this chick the moon and the stars and a wedding ring if she’ll just drop her panties. When she finally does, all he wants is out. It’s actually quite hilarious. This is one of my favorite songs in all the land. Not only because the story makes me laugh, but it brings back memories of when I taught dance at a summer camp  during college. I was the leader of our “summer olympics” and made up an epic parody of this song about our “white team.” It was greatness. And we won. Or at least came in second out of three, I can’t remember. But I do remember all 8 minutes of the original lyrics, and I sing them at any chance I get. It’s fun for me to annoy people sometimes.

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Peter Gabriel: Solsbury Hill

I don’t have much to say about this song, except for it makes me smile. I think that Peter Gabriel wrote it about when he was leaving Genesis. It’s all a little bitter sweet. He knew that it was a tough decision, but he also knew what was best for him at the time. I feel that way a lot. People don’t necessarily understand why I do the things I do. I don’t always make the smartest choices in life; but I rarely do anything without putting a lot of thought into them. No matter what I do, things seem to fall into place eventually. I think that’s what this is about. And I love it.

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Billy Joel: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

Ahhhh… Billy Joel. I love him with all of my soul. And I like rhyming. But honestly, “The Stranger” is one of my all time favorite albums of all time. Again, I don’t think most people would say that “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” is necessarily a “happy” song all the way through. It’s about reminiscing about happy times though, and sometimes that’s almost as good as actually living in a moment. Sometimes events seem better once they have some time to settle in. The other day, one of my facebook friends described this song as being a sandwich. I think that’s exactly what it is. A beautiful, delicious, piano-man sandwich. I want to eat it up over and over again. Especially the middle part with all the good stuff.

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Steve Winwood: Back in the High Life

This is, without question, the first piece of musical ear candy that I turn to when I’m feeling down. I know it’s cheesy. I know it is a bit cliche. But dude, it’s instant medicine for your soul. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found myself driving down the street with my windows down with this song as the soundtrack. It’s about opportunity and hope and all the good things about life. A couple weeks ago when I was feeling down, my roommate called to tell me that I had to watch the latest “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” episode, which was just a given. They used this song in a scene and LA was like- ” this will make you happy.” And sho-nuff, it always does.

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John Prine and Iris DeMent: In Spite of Ourselves

John Prine writes good songs. That’s a given. But this has to be the best love song of all time. It’s funny, it’s honest, and it makes people happy.

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Paul Simon: I Know What I Know

My Lord, I could probably make 3 posts just about the Paul Simon songs that I love, but that would get old really quick. This is one of those songs that I don’t really understand. I think it’s about just living in the moment and taking things as they come, but I could be completely wrong. It doesn’t really matter. This song reminds me of being a kid, of dancing around my room to one of my favorite albums (Graceland), and  that in itself, makes me ecstatic. I recently re-downloaded the album and have listened to it non-stop the last few weeks. It makes me dance like a crazy mad-woman and I love that.

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Hall and Oates: You Make My Dreams Come True

Well if this isn’t as cliche as they come, I don’t know what is. This is another one that reminds me of my childhood. I remember my mother popping in a “Hall and Oates” cassette tape on the way to swimming lessons and rolling my eyes at my mother’s obsession. Secretly though, I loved it. It’s another band that I could go on forever and a day about but truly, I think Marc Webb portrayed this song’s meaning best in “500 Days of Summer.” He showed the world what this song has always meant to me. It makes me want to snap my fingers and high-five strangers and now I’m officially a gay-wad. Is that word PC? Who cares? This song makes me not care about anything!!!

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Bob Schneider: Big Blue Sea

Again, not an inherently happy song, but one that has a history with me. Bob was kind of our guy in college. In high school it was Pat Green, but in college my group of friends were all Bob- fanatics. We went to as many of his shows as we could. We listened to The Scabs while we were getting ready and drinking Natural Light. He just reminds me of the best times. Two of my best friends in the world recently got engaged at a Bob concert. They are planning to walk down the aisle to 40 Dogs. I love that. I really don’t have a favorite song, but Big Blue Sea is always one of my go to’s when I’m feeling down.

Alrighty folks, that’s enough for tonight… but this post will be continued. Maybe not tomorrow, because I am a commitment-phobe… but soon. Sleep tight mutha ucka’s. And sing pretty.

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

Remember how a few weeks ago I told you that my friend Moops has been wanting to start a blog? Well he’s been working on it. He’s even written a few posts, but nothing is live yet- and he’s not sure he wants me to reveal him to the world just yet. However, I did convince him to write a guest TMI post for me since my life has just gotten absolutely crazy the last few weeks. Maybe after reading his awesomeness you can help me convince him that he needs to go public!!!

And without further adieu, I present to you: Moops…

I am about to share a most pathetic tale of over indulgence; this story goes down as one of the worst nights of drinking I have ever had!  Wait a minute, who am I kidding?  I have a resume full of bad nights…with references.

Let me preface the detail of this story with the fact that I am not a delinquent, I have a good job, I contribute to society every now and then, and all in all I’m a pretty decent individual; I just get really drunk from time to time.  I’m about to be 30; I feel that I am fast approaching (or have long past) that threshold where getting boozed up and stripping down to my boxers can be considered acceptable if not slightly amusing behavior (not that that sort of conduct is ever acceptable). In my opinion, drunken behavior is on sort of a sliding scale. For example, when you’re in college, you can get naked and jump on a pogo stick in the front yard and it’s cool; but as age increases, even the slightest drunken mishap can be highly inappropriate and or embarrassing, and for me- this seems to happen at an exponential rate.

And so the story goes.  Halloween 2009.  At the time I was dating a girl who’s birthday was at the end of October. It so happened that her roommate’s birthday fell right around the same time, so they decided to throw a sort of joint birthday/Halloween party.

The night went like this- keg beer, lots of keg beer, my consumption could probably have been measured in gallons; this was supplemented with a cornucopia of shots, you name it I drank it; and then there were the few games of flip cup I participated in. PERFECT, I was ready to go, nothing could stop me, time to hit the bars.

Bar # 1 – I was now at the level of intoxication where I think I am inherently wealthy and feel the need to buy a round of shots for everyone within a 10′ radius of me. I remember the first shot, rupplemintz – GREAT IDEA!

I don’t remember much of the bar scene after that initial round; but from some forensic investigating I conducted in the days that followed, mainly examining my three separate tabs (all different cards,) subsequent bars were visited and many shots consumed.

Fast Forward – A couple of hours later we were back at the house for the after party – yeah, this thing doesn’t stop.  I start emerging from my self induced anesthesia, good, I made it back in one piece, I even somehow managed to make it to the couch and lie down, WAY TO GO!  But wait a minute, it seems that the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed over the last 12 hours combined with my horizontal position on the couch was making me a little nauseous, make that a lot nauseous, yep I was about to puke.  My body seemed to be paralyzed, so there I was, on this girls nice white couch vomiting a vile substance while a host of characters looked on. Some watched in amusement but most watched in horror (when I say characters I literally mean characters…it was Halloween).  29 years old, and I just puked on myself, just wait it gets better.  I was then thoroughly scolded and clumsily escorted upstairs and thrown into my girlfriend’s bed.

I did attempt one more trip downstairs for an alcohol fueled spirited conversation with my girlfriend, not sure what prompted this one.  There was one eyewitness account that I actually fell up the stairs (vs. down the stairs), pretty impressive.

My first lucid moments the next morning were a bit of a sensory overload; my head was pounding, my mouth was completely dry, my contacts were shriveled up like little raisins in my eyes, my body was totally void of any hydration and my pants were wet, OH SHIT!  MY PANTS…I PISSED THE BED!!!!!!!  At this point I quickly gathered my things, walk downstairs past all of the girls sleeping on a pallet and left, didn’t say a word to anyone.  AWESOME night!  Not only did I puke in front of everyone, but I pissed the bed too, definite high point!  It’s on my way home, with quite possibly the worst moral hangover ever, that I pulled my phone out and tried to make a call; it wouldn’t turn on, great.  You see, my phone was in my pocket when I passed out, it was around the pocket region of my pants that there was the highest concentration of urine; hence my phone not working.  I think I am the only person who has ever pissed on their own phone rendering it useless.

A side note:  Two days prior to the incident I had moved into a new apartment by myself, literally all I had was a bed (I do have furniture now – FYI), so not only did I not have any furniture or cable- but now I didn’t have a functioning phone either. Hungover- this is particularly  lonely and depressing state to be in.  I was forced to go to the Fiesta grocery store down the street to use the pay phone.

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

I’m gonna try to keep this short today, mostly due to the fact that I’m busy packing for my move next weekend. Just kidding. I haven’t started packing yet silly face. I’m just extremely ADD and have been sitting here in front of my computer for the last 4 hours, checking facebook, twitter, and watching stupid tv shows… and now that it’s 11:15 and I’m already ambiened up,  I don’t think I have many coherent minutes left in me.

My senior year of college I took an extensive Spanish class, which basically meant 3 hours of non-stop Spanish, 3 days a week. It was miserable.

What could possibly make 3 hours of abburido espanol even more excruciating?

I’ll tell you.

It was one of the first weeks of class, before I had spent a million hours with my fellow classmates and didn’t know anyone very well yet. I sat down, and as usual- attempted to quickly copy the answers from the back of the workbook. Which is something that I don’t understand, but I won’t get into that today.

So I’m sitting there when I notice a peculiar scent. A very pungent scent. To be more exact, it was of the “came from the ass region” variety.

I looked around, not sure whether I should bring it up, as I didn’t know who, or what, it had come from. It was pretty clear from the fact that it wasn’t waning, that someone hadn’t just broke wind.

I examined all of my neighbors, trying to figure out which one of them would be most likely not to wipe very well.

As I looked around the room, I could tell that I wasn’t the only person who was offended by the poo smell. A few people around me were snickering and looking around for the culprit.

I finally decided to speak up, and I asked the boys next to me, jokingly, if they had shit their pants. After a few minutes, pretty much the entire class was talking about the awful smell.

The teacher eventually asked what all the chatter was about. Everyone started laughing, and leave it to my big mouth to speak up.

“Ummmm… something smells REALLY bad in here.”

It was about that time that the quiet boy sitting behind me finally decided to speak up.

“Uh.. well it’s probably because you have a whole load of poop on the bottom of your shoe…”

I looked down at the foot that I had crossed around my knee, and sure enough… that sumofabiznitch was correct. There was a big load of dog shit on the bottom of my shoe.

Awesome.

Which leads me to last night.

I’m sitting here, at my computer, one leg up on the seat with my knee hugged against my chest like I always do… typing up a post- just as I am now… when I smell something rancid. My two boy roommates were both in the room, so I go ahead and assume it was one of them.

After a few more minutes the smell did not dissipate. I came to the conclusion that it seemed to be coming from me!

I hadn’t passed gas that I was aware of, but I decided to sit for a few more moments just to make sure.

I keep my shit clean people. I mean that as much as one can mean that. I may not shower EVERY day, but I’m clean.

Even so, the scent was coming from somewhere so close to my, well my nether-region, that I was sure of. Eventually, I decided to suck it up and bend my head down to get a closer smell.

EWWWWWWW

Something wasn’t right. I went to the bathroom to check things out, as anyone would in my situation, and came out even more confused. I smelled just fine.

I came back to my desk and assumed my position and the smell was back. Suddenly, I remembered the Spanish class incident and checked my shoe.

All was right in the world once again.

My ass didn’t smell.

There was poo on my shoe.

WIN!!!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be writing this right now, as it is after 12am and I just had an awesome time out with some great Dallas Bloggers, but I’m gonna attempt it anyway.

I just got off the phone with one of my best dude friends, and got permission to tell this story, which has already been briefly mentioned before, but I feel that it definitely warrants a TMI story of its own… but I’m gonna keep this short…

So my friend, “Sam,” (that’s what I’ve called him before) and I have been really good friends ever since college. I can’t remember whether he didn’t have a washer because he lived in his fraternity house, or if he was just too lazy to do his own laundry, but quite often he would bring his laundry over to my house for me to do for him.

Please take note gentlemen: I am not the domestic type. I would not do laundry for just anyone. This boy is not only one of my best friends, but at the time- I was pretty much in that stage of “OhMyGodILoveYouAndYesIWillDoAnythingYouWantMeToDo.”

So he brings over a big load of laundry and I got started. I begin putting the clothes in the washer, when I came across a pair of shorts that was heavier than it should be.

I’m pretty sure at least that it was the weight that made me look twice, and I wish I hadn’t.

I pulled the shorts apart to see what was making them so heavy… and oh yeah…

Skid lake lay inside.

I screamed and called my roommate to come help me out.

His explanation? He had eaten too much Taco Bueno and then had to move all day. Yeah… and I should have gotten over this one right then… notsomuch.

As Lilu always says: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

Last week I gave you a video blog of all the things in the world that make me want to vomit.

This past weekend I was reminded of one that I left out… a very important one.

A  little back story.

Sometimes I can’t believe my friend A, is my friend. While she is one of the most fun and awesome people that I know, she is definitely more of a lady than some of my other friends. I could probably think of a ton of TMI stories about most of my friends, but not many about her.

Of course there was that time on her wedding day that I literally had to perform my Maid of Honor doodies and wipe her ass because her dress was too poofy to do it herself.

But that’s a different story for another day.

So last Saturday, my friend A and went out and got a little crazy. We met up with a bunch of our friends for a Birthday shenanigan… eventually I passed out, she woke me up and peeled my head off of the coffee table that I had passed out on (like she always does,) and we went back to her house where I slept on a little couch (while there was a big bed 40 feet away) with my legs propped up.

The next morning I woke up feeling surprisingly chipper. I was ready for a bloody mary and to start the whole adventure again.

She didn’t feel so great.

I could tell from the queezy look on her face, and because I kept finding her sprawled out on the cold tile floor, that she really wasn’t feeling it.

But like I said, she’s a trooper, and decided to join me for day two of drinktivities.

I think I’ve told you this before, but I rarely drive. I’m not very good at it, my car is a disaster… and frankly I get even 10 times more nervous when other people are in my car. Sunday morning, I had no choice in the matter. A’s car was at the bar that we were returning to, and we had no other way of getting there besides my car.

Before A got in my car, I tried my best to brush all the wrappers, empty McDonalds coffee cups, and loose change out of the passenger seat. I turned the ipod onto the calmest music I could find, and I told myself over and over “don’t be jerky, drive smooth,” as I could see that the girl was capable of tossing her cookies at any moment.

After a few seconds of being on the road- she switlyy put her foot up on the dashboard. She said it was because Dashboard Jesus was vibrating all over the place and it was making her nauseous.

Understandable.

After a few more seconds I could see that A was taking very deep breaths. She unrolled the window to get some fresh, freezing air.

I stiffened my shoulders and didn’t say a word.

The rest of the drive continued in this matter.

Just as our destination was in site, the mood shifted. A’s breaths grew quicker and more desperate. As I was pulling up, I could see A digging around through all the empty water bottles and papers and she came up with a plastic bag. At first I thought it was for her to breathe into, but then I remembered you’re supposed to do that with paper bags.

And then it started.

“Blerrrrrrghgggjgjjggjgj”

Oh no. She vommed.

I turned my head out the drivers side window and tried to imagine John Cusack riding toward me on a white horse. Wasn’t working.

With every lurch I could feel my body tighten. My senses were working on overload. The “blaerrethhrrrsaasrrsschhh” sound of wretched vomiting hit my ears like a tornado siren. The sound of the vom hitting the plastic baggy reminded me of a really fat person jumping slow-mo on a jumbo-tron. And in the split second that I looked over to make sure it was landing in the bag, the chunks that flew out of her mouth reminded me of the time that I ran into a glass door while carrying 2 gallons of curdled milk/old beer mixture) and it exploded all over my face. (Also another story)

I could feel my mouth starting to water and my arms start to shake. I tried to put it all out of my brain but the sounds, the smell…. it just wasn’t working!!

Queue in the dry heaves. “Blerrrrrrccchhhh”

I giggled thinking it was just a sympathy heave.

“blerrrrrrcccchhh” Ok maybe not so much.

I opened my door, and for the next ten minutes, A barfed into that plastic bag, while I heaved out the drivers side door. When I was finally able to compose myself, I looked at A and we both had tears in our eyes. Not a word was said. She wiped her hands on her pants, gathered that walmart bag that luckily didn’t have any holes in it, and took it to the dumpster. I wiped my lips and took a couple more deep breaths.

I suppose it could have been worse…

A said she would meet me at the next bar… and she did. The Drinktivities continued on for another 5 hours without another glitch. We didn’t speak of our barf-o-rama at the time… and we probably won’t mention it again until I get married and she pays me back for the vomit story that I told in my maid of honor speech at her wedding.

But it happened. And it was Legend- wait for it- dary.

Love you A!!!

That being said, let’s do this shiz!

As Lilu always says: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!
Due to the fact that I wrote a novel yesterday, I decided to settle for  video blogging, so I don’t have to make you read any more (but mostly because I didn’t feel like writing.) I’m not sure how many of these you have to do before you start feeling comfortable in front of the camera, but I’m still not there yet!

For the first, I present you with the top 10 things that really make me want to vomit.

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And even more embarrassing than a simple video blog, I present you with an extremely embarrassing video of me singing a parody that I wrote of “A Few of My Favorite Things,” called “My hated Things.” My boyfriend John Cusack probably won’t like me much after this one. Enjoy, and I’m sorry.

***This is fictitious, and I have not necessarily experienced all that I mention.

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And in case there are any of you that have stopped by that can’t watch the videos because you are at work or what not… I told one of my friends about the subject matter mentioned in my videos, and she sent me a picture of her boyfriend’s toenail. Nosir.com

Yesterday though, I woke up, took a shower and even took the time to fix my hair and put on make up before leaving the house. For some reason I really felt confident with everything going on in my life and my appearance, which rarely happens.

After work I decided to take my bad self out for a little treat and headed over to the Shops of Legacy in Plano where I used to live. If you aren’t from Dallas, this is a very posh little area that is just amazing around Christmas time. There are lights everywhere and a huge Christmas tree, and I really miss living there. Also, my favorite little store  is located there, and I hadn’t been in a while.

This little shop is one of those little “worldly” boutiques where they sell all sorts of jewelry and “evil eyes “and weird little trinkets. I always leave smelling of incense and patchouli, which I absolutely love. In addition, I have had this huge gigantic crush on one of the Turkish brothers who owns the shop. He is just plain charming. He has an amazing accent and deep mysterious eyes, and has the ability to make me spend hundreds of dollars on useless things that are made to look at.

We’ve had several conversations in the past, but it’s been a while… and since I have lost over a hundred lbs in the last 2 years he definitley did not recognize me when I went in there last night. He was still his charming self, and sent me into a fit of nervous giggles with his first sentence to me.

At one point he grabbed my hand and took a deep breath. After a few awkward second of holding my hand, “Deed you know, that djou haz the abiltitee to make me druznk weez your hand. Djou must bze a healer or zumding.”

Sighhhhhhhh

Yes I realize it is cheesy as hell, and I would usually run at a comment like this… but I’m telling you I’ve been smitten on this guy for years. He then proceeded to ask for my number and told me I am the first girl he has ever gotten a number from while at work. And then he asked me to hug him.

I know… creepy right? And he was clearly lying, I’m sure he has gotten millions of girls numbers whilst working.  But you haven’t heard his ACCENT!!! Or seen those eyes that perform magic on my soul!!!! What has happened to me, oh cynical me… come back!!!

So yeah… I gave up my digits.

After I sold my soul to the devil, I went to see “Up in the Air” at the Angelika, which I really enjoyed. Until the end. There probably aren’t a lot of people out there who have seen this since it is still in limited theaters, but it’s basically about this dude (George Clooney) who lives his life out of a suitcase traveling the country to fire people for other companies. He lives by the philosophy that you don’t need anyone or anything, everyone dies alone anyway. I won’t spoil the movie, but I will say that there were a few twists, and by the end I was starting to feel a little lonely sitting there by myself.

As I left the theater, I noticed that there wasn’t anyone else who was solo at this showing, which normally wouldn’t bother me, but due to the message of the movie- it did just a tad. As I walked out into the winter wonderland, everywhere I looked there were couples holding hands and laughing.

It didn’t really change my current positive attitude, but it did shake me a little. I’ve become so accustomed to my current state of cynicism that it takes a lot to shake me, but I started to question whether or not I’m really happy.  I’m not going to go into that right now though, or I’ll be writing for days.

After the movie I exchanged a few texts with Turkish hottie, and we tentatively made plans for this evening… but I’m not holding my breath. I’m not sure I even want to go… I don’t know if I want to ruin the fantasy, you know?

Which brings me to the Post Its, hosted by the fabulous SupahMommy! Check out her site for many more post its!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

Ok guys, so I have been incredibly scared to try out this “Vlog” nonsense, but I finally caved in… partially due to the fact that I was too lazy to actually write anything. So now I present to you myself, in all my glory  (wearing my pajamas and no makeup except for wine lipstick) telling yet another embarrassing story of my life.

I may not ever do this again, so please enjoy.

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I accidentally published this before I was ready, I’m an idiot.

As Lilu always says: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site today for her special post secret TMI edition, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

***Carissajaded here. As today is my best friend LA’s Birthday, and I am poor, I granted her the only wish I could. Oh yes, I have handed my blog over and given her the opportunity of a lifetime, to tell the most embarrassing story she can about me. And she knows a lot. I am not allowed to edit this story in any way. I now hand the mic over to LA!

It might have been a regular hungover Sunday afternoon.  Either way, it’s a great story.

I should take this one small moment to say, this is not a CarissaJaded.  I was given an opportunity today to “guest blog” because it’s my birthday. I’m taking full advantage.  Karma is a bitch.

And without further ado… I need to start at the beginning.

We had a friend who was soon to be married.  I know, I know… To many, that’s the scariest part of the story - it gets better – trust me.

We, of course, did what every best friend does and threw a bachelorette party.  To mix things up, we decided to go to the River Walk in San Antonio, TX.  There were 8 of us in total and I will leave it up to your imagination as to whom the star of this story is.  However, this is obviously CJade’s blog so I’ll go ahead and make the point that she was definitely a witness to what happened (insert dubious smile here).

It was a wonderful night filled with stories about exes, “do you remember the time you”, and about twenty or so shots.  You know?  The norm.  At around 2am we went back to the hotel because it was closing time.  Everyone, of course, cozied in for the night.  (Note to the reader: I may or may not have omitted some key moments that occurred this evening.  Excessive drinking may or may not have occurred after 2am.  Because I have not chosen to write a blog about my life, I do not necessarily want to share those things with the world.  I am, however, giving you the option to read between the lines and use your imagination about what could have possibly happened… until around say…5am that following Sunday morning.)

We all awoke that Sunday, hungover and wishing we were dead bright eyed and bushy tailed.  It was a 3 and 1/2 hour drive northward – not a big deal- and we were all at that point in a vacation where you just want to be home.  This is when it gets scary.

We had an hour left to go.  Wait, did I forget to mention that at hour 2 we stopped at the “Beef Jerky Farm” to buy a pound of habanero beef jerky?  Who wouldn’t?  Duh!

We’re cruising right along (45 minutes left) when I notice that something isn’t right.  My nostrils are twitching. They have somehow caught wind of something that my brain has yet to catch up to.  It’s unmistakable.  It’s a fart.  Yes, I said it.  It’s a fart.

I immediately do what EVERY person does when one is laid in their car.  I roll down the windows and yell.  “Eeeeew!!!! You are soooo disgusting!!!  You have to warn me before you do that!!!  What did you eat (habenero beef jerky)???”  And after a few seconds of us laughing and fake vomiting, I roll up the windows.

The windows are up.

My nose begins to twitch again.

I’m confused.

I look at her curiously.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

She looks at me with a look of horror.  “OH MY GOD!”

The look is unmistakable.  In that one instant I knew what she could not say.

I yell, “LIFT UP! LIFT UP! DO NOT SIT ON MY SEAT!”

She says, “PULL OVER! PULL OVER!”

I say, “GET SOMETHING! PUT SOMETHING UNDERNEATH YOU!”

And I did.  I pulled over to the nearest exit.  And she did.  She grabbed the paper sack the beef jerky came in.

I should also mention that there is a third party in the backseat at this time, the bachelorette, who has been laughing so hard that her her shrieks and tears could easily be mistaken for those of someone in labor.  Mine however, could not be.  I was of course, very worried about my light beige cloth seats.  Neither one of us, the bachelorette or myself, are of any help at all.  All I can do is yell and shove my passenger from my car.  All the soon-to-be-married girl can do is gasp between her laughter and tears.

And this is where the story ends my friends.  I pulled over at the closest, yet most inconvenient place.  She got out and changed her pants using my car door and the nearby dumpster as her cover.  We met our friends who were driving in front of us (and wondering about the hold up) at the Chili’s that was an exit ahead of us.  ”She” passed on the queso they’d just ordered.  Amidst her embarrassed tears and nervous laughter she retold the story just as I’ve now told you.

I love you friend for allowing me to put this story out for all to read.  And oh yeah, you deserve it.

I’m not sure what the copyright laws are regarding blogging about google images (this is probably something I should research,) but something seems afoot with the one google currently has on its home page.

Today was H.G. Wells‘s birthday, and the above image is Google‘s way of honoring the man. If you are not aware, H. G. Wells is the man one of the men responsible for scaring the shit out of a bunch of people when his Science fiction tale, “The War of the Worlds,” was read on the radio by Orson Welles. Many people took it as real news and believed that they were under attack by aliens.

It’s quite an interesting story.

Google thought so too, and for the last few weeks have been confusing users with their cryptic home page images. First there was one of a flying saucer blasting off which started all sorts of conspiracies about aliens making contact.

Then there was one with the letters of Google being formed with crop circles.

They finally revealed today with their latest installment, that this has all been an homage to H.G. Wells.

But what I find to be even more interesting is the fact that every time I’ve gone to google’s home page today, I have to do a double take.

At first glance,this picture looks exactly like a turd.

Oh those nerds at google always know how to make me laugh.