When I was a little kid, I followed a strict nightly ritual.

My parent’s house used to belong to my great grandparents, so it was quite old, even when I was a child. My sister and I shared a pink tiled bathroom that didn’t have a shower so we always took baths. After a dinner of either cheese and crackers or chicken nuggets, I would spend an hour or so soaking in the tub, playing with My Little Pony’s or pretending that I was a mermaid named Christina.

After my bath, I was allowed to watch about an hour of television. I was never much into cartoons, so I usually chose to watch something on Nick At Night. I would sit through “My Three Sons” or “Leave it to Beaver” if I had to, but my favorites were the ones that had a magical quality to them like “Bewitched,” (the fact that there were TWO Darrens always confused me) “I Dream of Jeannie,” or my all time favorite, “Mork and Mindy.”

After pleading “tennn morrree minutesss” at least 3 times, I would finally sulk my way to my bedroom, where I would put on a long nightgown and a pair of socks, one of which I would inevitably lose at some point in the night. I then went around to each of the dolls and toys around my room, kissed them, told them I loved them, then made sure that their faces were turned away from my bed so that they wouldn’t be able to see that I had chosen a different toy to sleep that night. I always slept with a brown teddy bear that my Grandma had given me, along with one other doll, which was usually my Mork doll. What can I say? I guess I had a thing for funny weird guys, even at an early age.

At this point, one of my parents would either read or tell me a story, but my dad always had the honor of tucking me in. We would start with a prayer. If I remember correctly it went something like, “Dear Jesus, Thank you soooooooooooooo  much for everything. I love you soooooooo much. Please take care of my mommy, my daddy, my sister, my grandaddy, my grandmommy, my other grandma, my other grandpa, my cousin Andi, my cousin James… ect ect ect. Thank you sooooooo much for food, school, dance lessons, Mork and Mindy, Teddy Ruxpin, my daddy, my mommy, my sister, my grandaddy… ect ect ect.” At the time I was actually quite sincere with my praying, but I also have to admit that I may have been using my time with Jesus to evade sleep just a little bit longer.

In the telling, this part gets a little weird, even by my standards. Not creepy weird, but weird as in my nightly tuck-in ritual was more of a secret handshake between my father and I than your standard “hug and kiss” tuck in. There were a few times I can remember when my dad was out of town and my mom would attempt to fill-in but it was never the same.

Big hug,  little hug. Big kiss on the left cheek, Little kiss on the left cheek. Big kiss on the right cheek, little kiss on the right cheek. Leg hug. Butterfly kiss with each eye, and then lastly, Eskimo kiss.

He would then prop the door open with a large rock (my dad is a geologist so we have them lying around everywhere) and that’s when my real night would begin.

I would lie in bed, still as a corpse for at least ten minutes, or until I heard my parent’s shut their bedroom door. I had learned early on to keep a heavy stock of flashlights that I found in various drawers around the house hidden in my room. I would tip-toe across the room, grab one, then run-tip-toe back to my bed where I would either play pretend that I was camping in the wilderness, or I would read. Even before I really even knew how to read, I would make up stories to go with the pictures, partially because I knew that my parents (the cool kids) did in their bed.

After about 30 minutes or so, my dad would come in and check on me. Usually I was able to turn off the light and feign sleep quickly enough, but quite often he caught me in the middle of an intense Indian invasion and I would get a stern talking to, and be put back in bed.

Once I was caught or had grown tired of playing pretend, I turned off the light and genuinely tried to sleep, but even then it wasn’t easy for me. Life got about 3,000 times more tricky once the lights went off, because that’s when the monsters came out. Duh. I had to roll my self up in my comforter because I lived in constant fear that a monster would eat off my limbs if I left them out in the open. Whenever I went to the bathroom, I had to do jump as far out from my bed as I could get so that the monster under there wouldn’t grab me and pull me under. And then once I got to the toilet there was no time for wiping or flushing, because of course there was also the monster that lived in the toilet that would pull me in if I sat there for too long. Then I would retreat back to bed where I would eventually fall asleep, and dreamt mostly of cock roaches or the Jabberwalky.

As I grew older, I started losing bits and pieces of my nightly ritual. Five minute showers replaced hour long baths.  I started watching Beverly Hills 90210 instead of Nick at Night. My dad stopped tucking me in, and goodnight stories and shared prayers were replaced by a quick “goodnight.” All the toys and dolls were boxed up and stored in the attic.  Long, frilly, nightgowns were replaced with shorts and a t-shirt. Instead of staying up with hidden flashlights, I stayed up on hidden phones that I plugged in and talked on for hours on after my parent’s went to sleep. The monsters were still there, but in the form of worries about school, boys, and whether or not I would get a part in the community theater play.

In more recent years, the last remnants of my nightly ritual have all but disappeared. I’ve spent many nights playing board games, writing in journals and blogs, watching movie marathons,  and drinking until late in the night. I usually sleep in a t shirt and whatever dirty pants are in eye sight when I crawl into my bed. I don’t say goodnight to anyone, except occasionally my roommate or to the internet via twitter. I’ve spent most of my nights making sure that I’m too tired to have a thought, much less worries by the time I hit the hay.

The last few weeks I’ve been trying to get back into a ritual. I’ve gotten back into working out. I’ve started reading and taking baths again. I’ve refrained from drinking during the week. I’ve started painting and watching movies on a nightly basis. But still they’re there. Those damn monsters. My fears of life, money, decisions, and what the next day… the next year… the next decade will bring. I’m not sure how the normal people fight these thoughts, but I’ve made it my goal to conquer them once and for all.

So bear with me if I’m a little moody for the next few weeks, as I am likely to get much sleep until I figure out how. But for now, I’m going to get into bed and read the bedtime stories that my grandfather has written out for me. I’ll probably share a few of those too.

Goodnight world. And Let’s just hope tonight it’s a dream about my boyfriend John Cusack and not one about my current financial state.

And only slightly related, a scene from one of my most favoriteist movies of all time… The Science of Sleep…

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A few years ago some genius, and I do mean genius, created a site called “Jeff Goldblum is watching you poop.com. The site is no longer active, but from my extensive research- (one quick google search) it seems that the whole site was simply dedicated to this picture.

I think there was even a movement to try to get people to print out the picture and post it in bathroom stalls around the world. I know the site is no longer active, but I think I’m going to do it anyway. Maybe I can restart the movement… because goshdarnit, I would die of laughter if I went into a bathroom and Jeff Goldblum was watching me poop.

Or maybe I should switch it up a bit.

This might sound strange, but I’ve always thought that Jeff Goldblum looks nearly identical to Orlando Jones, yaknow- except for that whole skin color thing. So I’m thinking we intensify the whole movement and replace Mr. Goldblum with his identical non-twin…

But then again, my mom (always one to tell it like it is) once told my friend Moops that he looks exactly like Jeff Goldblum… So maybe I should go the obscure route and use his pic instead…

(Isn’t it incredibly absurd that 3 people can look so much alike-ish?!?)

So I think you should all print out that last pic and hang it up in restrooms worldwide. I’m thinking this could really catch on. Or not…

And just so you know…

We noticed that they had moved in about 3 weeks ago, just a few days after we ourselves had moved in… but for one reason or another (we are lazy, lazy, human beings) we decided not to do anything about it. I don’t even think it came up in conversation until the day that there were over fifty in a swarm on our kitchen counter and they could no longer be completely ignored.

Even then, we sprayed them with a bit of Windex, because that’s what we had available, and we went on with our day.

A few days later, I went to the pantry to get some cereal for a midnight snack.

They had gotten to it first. They were devouring our delicious granola cereal. Those nasty, selfish, tiny little vicious creatures had ruined my cheat food of the week.

Still, we didn’t take action. Oh sure, we threw out the food that they had taken over and we moved the rest of our food to a counter across the room, but I guess at that point we decided that we would give this new co-habitation one more shot. And also, did I mention that we are lazy?

But in the last week or so the situation has gotten exponentially worse. They have multiplied and migrated to other areas of the house. They’ve taken over my bedside table where the 5 empty glasses of wine from the last week have been sitting. I could probably let that slide. Hey! They have good taste.

Only it turns out, not so much. They’ve also taken over my bathroom, and I mean taken over. Every time I sit down to pee, which takes all of 30 seconds, these tiny little bastards scatter like zombies (fast-moving 28 Days Later zombies, not the ones from The Night of the Living Dead) and inevitably at least 5 make it up my thigh. I then spend at least 10 minutes of my precious time on my knees in my bathroom with a wad of toilet paper, squishing the shit out of as many of those little fuckers as I possibly can. It’s like a miniature game of Whack a Mole.

I’ve finally come to the end of my rope. We got off our asses… or actually… picked up our phone and called the land lord to inform him of our new, unwanted house guests.

4 days later he came over bearing poison and traps. They don’t seem to be working though. They are still running around and ruining my existence.

 In other scary news, this weekend I saw the most terrifying thing of my life. Even more terrifying than the time that I was lying on the cold floor taking a hangover-power-nap, and I opened my eyes to find that my roommate was standing over me in her bathrobe, legs spread. I saw her beating heart, I swear. It was funny later, but at the time I was scarred.

Anyhoohoo, my sister and I went out to my family’s ranch to go fishing and such. At the time, we were actually letting her pet turtle go in the creek, because she has this thing about keeping animals in captivity until they are full-grown and accustomed to snacking on chocolate and fresh strawberries, and then deciding that life would be better for the animal if she sent them out into the wild to let them try to fend for themselves.

So there we were, watching Rex the turtle sit in the exact same spot on the bank of the creek for forty-five minutes. My sister tried to coax him into the creek by throwing weiners into the water (which my dog promptly jumped in and ate) and saying things like “Go on Rexy, go into the water… you’ll love your new home.” We were fully engrossed in watching the turtle do nothing, when all of a sudden we heard a loud swoosh.

We both looked up just in time to see it  submerge from the water in all of it’s horrifying glory. I still don’t know what “it” was, but I’m telling you- it wasn’t a creature of God.

It was furry, at least four feet long,  had a very long tail, and I swear I saw red eyes and giant fangs. It only came out of the water for a split second, but it was enough to make me nearly drop my video camera in the water, and even my non-swearing sister said “Holy fuck what was that!!???”

After the initial panic ceased, I came to the conclusion that our eyes had been blessed with seeing a mythical water chupacabra.

But my sister? She said “maybe it was a sea lion.” In a fresh water creek.

Who knows though. Her guess was as good as mine.

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!

As I sit here writing, I am actually extremely close to having a TMI experience. My stomach is churning. I’m not sure if it’s because of the antibiotics I’m currently on, or because of the nearly 2 cups of peanut butter I spread over celery sticks last night in an effort to wain my sweet/carb tooth. Or it could be the gigantic bowl of beans I just ate. It’s most likely a combination of all of the above.

Refraining from eating carbs and drinking wine this week has resulted in my overindulging in protein in a not so healthy way. I’m not sure if this lifestyle is any better.

But that’s not my story. I’m gonna try to keep this short, because I may have an episode of emergencias de frijoles one way or the other in the near future. EEEEEK.

This particular tale occurred once again back in my days o’ college, or back when I was a still drinking. Which if you’re paying attention, was anytime before this Monday.

My friends and I were out in our college town, having our typical college night full of chugging nickle-natties and blasters. (Blaster= Fry St. code for Jager Bomb.)

I started out the night in typical “Hurricane Carissa” fashion- by dinging my best friend LA’s brand new (I mean within the first week brand new) car door against another car. She was a little peeved, but after the first few drinks and a few rants, she let it go.

On this particular night, we (read: I) were particularly boozed up. We made our way around all the bars and shortly before they closed at 2am, we decided it was time to call it a night. LA was playing designated driver for the night, mostly because she wanted a chance to drive us around in her new ride, but also because after the first bar it was apparent that neither I, or our other friend KT would be able to do the job.

Before we had even gotten to the parking lot, I made a loud announcement… “I have to pee.”

KT and I lived only a few blocks away, so they both quickly waved away my announcement and continued towards the parked car. Just as we were arriving at LA’s new car, KT’s ex-boyfriend spotted her in the parking lot. The details are blurry, but I do know that a heated argument started up between my friends and her ex’s group of friends. I stood a little behind the group, trying not to fall over as I looked longingly over my shoulder at the bars across the street, where I knew I could find a toilet street to squat over.

At some point during their argument, a couple of cops approached our group and started asking questions. Knowing I was not in a particularly good state of mind, and also that I didn’t have the best luck with the fuzz, LA sternly told me to go and get in the back seat of the car and to stay put.

“But I really have to go to the bathroom! Can’t I just run into one of the bars real quick,” I slurred. Or something to that effect.

“Absolutely not. Go and get into the car,” LA told me again as she pushed the clicker thing to unlock the door. “And do not get out of the car, no matter what.”

It all seemed a little dramatic, but at that point, I knew that my friend probably had better judgment than I, so I decided to follow her orders.

I got into the back seat of LA’s new car and settled in. I kept myself low in the seat as to not call attention to myself. The last thing I needed was to be interrogated. After about 5 minutes of waiting, I started to get a little restless… and my level of having to pee reallllly started escalating. I remember looking  out the back window and saw that the cops were now making my friends do the standard drunk tests. Walking the line and what not. Or at least that is how I remember it.

I contemplated getting out of the car and running to the nearest bar to relieve myself, but I knew that probably wouldn’t end well, so I ultimately decided to stay put for the time being. At this point I was going between squirming unrelentingly, and literally holding my crotchal area, trying to keep it in.

After about 5 more minutes I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had no choice. It was either pee now, or pee now. There was no longer the option of forever holding my pee.

My options were limited. I couldn’t run for a bar, I would surely be stopped en-route. I couldn’t get out and pop a squat, that would surely end with a public urination ticket, though at this point I hardly cared.

I crawled up into the front seat and started rummaging around.

AHHHH AHHHH AHHHH (heaven sound effect)

There it was, sitting in the cup holder… glowing in the dim light of the parking lot.

A 32oz wide-lip bottle of Lemon-Lime Gatorade.

I could do this.

I carefully unzipped my pants and pulled them off where they settled on the floorboard of LA’s new car. I put both feet up on the back seat, and shuffled then out until I was in frog squat position. I positioned myself so that my face was away from my group of friends, who were still talking to the cops.

And then I positioned the bottle.

Just as I was relaxing into my squat and gearing up to make careful aim, I heard a loud bang from behind me that caused me to lose my footing. Luckily, I hadn’t yet completely relaxed my urinal muscles.

I turned to see a cop shining his light through the window, where only seconds before my bare-behind had been. I quickly pulled my pants back on and hung my head in shame as I opened the back door.

The cop grabbed me by my arm and asked if I had managed to “do anything.” I told him that I hadn’t, and that I still really had to go. I think he must have felt bad for me, because at that point he swiftly drug me over to my friends, looked at LA and said “I’m not even gonna tell you what she almost just did in your car, but yall need to get her to a restroom.”

Everyone was so relieved that they were finally able to leave that no one even mentioned what the cop had said about me. We quickly left, and LA drove us home where I was finally able to pee.

We all lived happily ever after.

Until a few months later when LA was telling the story about the cops in the parking lot to another one of our friends. It was all fun and laughs until she got to the end. She stopped abruptly and looked at me with fire in her eyes.

“What DID you almost do in my brand new car????”

Oopsie. But you know what? It was not as bad as it coulda been.

-John Cusack’s girlfriend.

If you missed my vlog a few weeks ago where a tell a story in which I wasn’t so lucky, check it out here.

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I posted this yesterday, but not many people responded so I’m posting it again.  I’m stubborn like that!!!

I’ve been thinking a little bit about the future of my blog. I’m  close to 200 posts and will hit my 6 month bloggaversary in a few weeks, and I want to try something a little different. I have often been told that I have a story for pretty much every subject (that’s just my life) so I think in order to get me writing about things other than John Cusack, I would like to ask you to do a little blog assignment.  I give you dear readers, the task of asking me any questions you want to know about little ole me (and I will answer with complete honesty unless you’re a dick) , stories you would like to hear extended versions of (My 100 things post might give you some ideas,) or any other subject matter that you would like to know my opinion on (or a poem about)…. and if I don’t have an opinion on the matter, I’ll get one!!! Just send an email to me at carissajade@gmail.com, tweet me, or pop it off my comments. Thanks and I love you guys!

I also plan on doing a giveaway in the next few weeks, so keep your eyes open. I promise I won’t be giving away one of my decoupage art pieces. Unless you want one I could decoupage something of your request.

Anyhow, I really have been enjoying reading the “Post It” Tuesdays, but really don’t think I could condense my bitching into a single post it note even if I tried. Though I would love to try if someone would be willing to tell me where you get these “post its.”

I guess for now I’ll just go with “slightly longer than a post it note Tuesday.”

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Dear bloggers who do post-it Tuesdays,

How do I do this? And by how, I mean where do you get the post it’s? I’m sure it is very simple, but I am computer illiterate.

Please and thank you,

Wants to be a member of the cool kids post-it club

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My beloved dog Stella,

As much as I love you and love to cuddle, I cannot really be expected to do so when you smell like sour milk. I am not sure whether or not you have been sprayed by a skunk out there in the country, or if you have been purposely rolling around in cow patties all day, but either way… your scent has become intolerable. Even after putting you through the struggle of a bath, you have continued to smell of rotten cow carcus. I have no choice but to exile you from my bed.

Your ex-cuddle bear,

Cold at night

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My bathroom,

Please get your shit together.The bottom of the toilet has been leaking for weeks, my make up drawer is straight up hanging there by a tiny piece of wood, and the shower takes about an hour to drain. I try to treat you with respect and you just keep on making my life more difficult. I really can’t afford the time or effort needed to call a plumber or to fix your problems myself.

I suppose will take blame for pouring the hot wax down the sink causing it to get clogged,

Mistook hot wax in a candle burner for hot oil!!

_________________________________

Dear Pizza Hut Delivery guy,

How dare you?? My sister, my dad and I drove around for over an hour looking for a pizza place that was open on Thanksgiving night. We finally gave up and settled on Denny’s.  Precisely 2 minutes after I ordered my biscuits and gravy, you walked in holding a stack of warm, fresh, pizzas. My Thanksgiving was already on the shitty side, and you had to come in and rub your deliciousness in my  face.

Shame on you,

Didn’t need it anyway

___________________________

To screenwriter J. Michael Straczynski,

I hear that you been given the task of writing both the remake for Forbidden Planet as well as the very anticipated screenplay adaptation of World War Z. Don’t fucking blow it. Please.

Trying hard not to judge you by your work on Ninja Assassin,

Film nerd

__________________________

Dear purse,

I know people talk shit about the state in which I keep you. I do it for both of our own good. One of these days I will be able to fulfill my master plan of being able to pay rent from the change that collects at the bottom of you. Either that or spend an entire day playing Photohunt and Tic-Tac Trivia at the bar.

-Doing everything for a reason.

____________________________

Impulse buy facial mask,

You promised to moisturize my skin while leaving it more firm and with less wrinkles. As far as I can tell you are a scented wet paper towel with holes cut out for the eyes and mouth. Speaking of the holes, the ones on your masks are not designed to fit the facial structure of any human. I can’t get it to stay on  my face unless I lie down, and frankly, I feel it made me look like the dude from Silence of the Lambs.

Why did I buy 6 of you!?

-Buyers remorseful

______________________________

Dear Kitchen,

Thank you for letting us destroy you this weekend in a massive food fight. That was the most awesome time I ever had in our house, though I’ll never be able to eat off your counters again without imagining smears of gravy and mashed potatoes.

Sorry, (not)

Still has potatoes in her hair

I spent all morning writing a post that just disappeared to… I have no fucking clue where. Forgive me if this is grammatically retarded and completely un-pc, but I don’t feel like trying as hard this time around.

I actually started about 7 different posts that were potentially for today, but for one reason or another just never finished them.

I’m blaming it on the fact that I was just mega-slammed with work, and I  got a last minute call from Channel 6  News to be interviewed about my unnatural ability to do a hand stand against the wall for 8 hours at a time.

Ha.

Truth is, for the second time this week, I broke my “not drinking for almost a week” pact.  I only had a few much-needed cocktails, but I still feel like a big fat sack of guilty ass. Though I have no idea what that would actually look like.

The good news is that I kept my other pact to myself. I vowed that I would be completely committed to this little blog for the entire month of October… Meaning that, come rain or shine and no matter how boring the shit I threw at you was, I made a commitment that I would post every single weekday. Just to see if I could.

And check out that calendar on the side-bar over there—————————————————————–>

OH YEAH, BLOG! I Kellllly-Ripppppppad your ass!!!

And while this may not seem like a big deal to a lot of you, I have something inside of me that makes me  just want quit something as soon as I hear the word “commit.”

But alas, maybe these times they are a changin’.

So now I will continue with my visual presentation to the shit-storm that is my life… If you missed it, you can check out more visuals from last Friday’s post here.

Remember how I was just telling you about how I hate spiders?

I killed that mutha.

Well a certain little bugger  was sent from Satan himself to terrorize me this morning. Sure he was just a little thing, but nevertheless, he did his job well. At first I thought I was imagining things, (possibly experiencing the first signs of food poisoning that I’m sure to get after eating raw chicken last night) but after seeing a shadow repeatedly float across my computer screen, I knew he was there. I swear though, he was fucking with me on purpose. He used his nearly invisible web to cascade down from the ceiling, probably trying to get close enough to have a taste of my blood, and then as soon as I would notice him and attempt to take a swap, he would completely disappear!. I finally got him though. I would take a picture and show you, but there’s not a lot left.

Not only do I murder helpless creatures, but I steal shit too.

Does this count as littering?

Ok, so I don’t so much steal, (I’m not that tough) but I do accidentally take things quite often. I blame it on my severe case of untreated ADD. I’ll be focused and right in the middle of doing something….

I should totally go get fake eyelashes for tonight. Oooh, there’s a Target across the street.

Which is what happened at the bank a few days ago when I ended up driving away with that little thingie that they send you your money in. I have no clue what to call it, but if you don’t know what I’m talking about look at the picture above, ya dumbass.

Oh I’m feeling a little frisky this morning. Must have been all that sugar. Does anyone know how to make pumpkin dip? I really want some for the party tomorrow. I have a feeling that it is something like pumpkin pie, but I don’t know how to make that either.

Damn, see… happened again.

So anyways, I drove away with the thingie. I would have just taken it bac k, but I’ve already had to do that once this month, and I didn’t want to go to the embarrassment trouble. Hence the reason that I bowling balled that container right out of my car when I realized I had it. Always get rid of the evidence…. And then take a picture and blog about it… is what I always say.

Really, this is a philosophy of mine. (not the blog part) Chunk it out of the car.

Once, my college roommate accused me of taking her Outcast CD.  I denied and denied, because I don’t listen to Outcast.

About a year later I was going through my cd’s and came across that Outcast CD. I have no idea how it got there, but I sure enough chunked that shiz out the window in a moment of panic. And now, I’m blogging about it. (If you’re reading this… I AM REALLY SORRY!!!)

Have I already told you that I want to take wine behind the schoolyard and get it pregnant?

I’m pretty sure that I have.

My roommates and I have started collecting the wine corks and empty  bottles to use to make artsy things. They have even gone to the trouble of ordering glass cutters and candles and decorative rocks and such. Don’t worry, I’ll post pictures of our projects for you. Just as soon as we feel we have saved enough material to really get started.

Don’t hold your breath.

Have you met my roommate Jake?

Just your average night at my house.

For the most part I get along with all my roommates. Jake and I just have a…. special kind of friendship. Ok, I won’t beat around the bush. He is the only person in the world that has the ability to make me want to stab myself repeatedly in the eye. And I’m pretty sure he is committed to making me do so. He has the ability to speak my name at a volume that makes animals do crazy things like jump of cliffs and bite the hands off of small children. Oh the torture! Forget waterboarding, just send Jake. You’ll get all the answers you want.

Another example of his Jakiness? Last night, for no apparent reason, Jake decided it would be funny to reach his hand down the back of his pants and chase me around the house threatening to wipe butt juice on me. Luckily, I possess the only weapon that works on Jake (and most gay guys)… a vajayjay. Oh yes. Two can play this game. The chase lasted for about fifteen minutes and ended with Jake locking himself in the bathroom. I win.

On a side note, this pretty much works with anything when dealing with Jake. As long as I have the ability to drop my pants, I win!

I know you think otherwise, but I’m not perfect.

Note to self: wear a bra.

I know I’ve mentioned that my Halloween costume this year consists of a pair of saggy boobs that i ordered off the internet. Well last night, my other roommate Denny, ( who usually doesn’t give me trouble) asked me why I was wearing them a few days early.

FML.

HAPPY HALLOWEINER!

Actually I should rephrase that- I was reminded, once again why I hate drinking and then having to use the restroom at public events.

Port o potties are the devil.

No really.

Can you think of a more disgusting  area to experience a few seconds worth of having nothing between your special parts and bacteria-filled air?

In case it has been a while for you, or you live in a part of the world where port o potties garner enough respect for people not to take advantage- I’ll go into a little more detail about what the state of the port o potties looked like outside of the football game.

To begin with, people seem to lose all inhibitions when they are in line for a port o potty. I think as a rule people lose about 4 levels of class when they are waiting in line for a bathroom after drinking- but for a port o potty they automatically drop to  about a level 8…1 being the classiest, 10 being a contestant on Jerry Springer.

For  example, there was a very drunk girl behind us who was continuously yelling at people to hurry up.

“I’m 34 years old people! 34!! I can’t hold it like the rest of you.. Hurry UP! Respect your elders!!”

At one point, after vehemently criticizing my friend for smoking menthol cigarettes, she grabbed the cigarette from my friend’s hand and started smoking it. And she had a very large something gross on her lip. Ewww.

The line was never shorter than a twenty minute wait. After my fourth beer or so, I was pretty much just drinking one beer, then going to wait in line so I wouldn’t have to do the “pee dance,” or worse- do the “peed in my pants dance.” The port o potties were on a slant so that the corners of the stall were at least 5 empty beer cans deep. Of course you cannot flush a port o potty (unless there is a secret button that I don’t know about??) so the stench was just awful. After only a few hours, there wasn’t any toilet paper to speak of, so the smarter people were taking paper towels in with them, and presumably just tossing them onto the floor. There was also no sink, so I couldn’t look at a person without imaging a layer of gunk on their hands.

As bad as this sounds, the worst part of the situation was the layer of people’s business that was all over the floor… and on the seat.

Even early in the day, it was apparent that people were unaware of where their pee was going, but once it got dark, it became a bajillion times worse.

This is a particularly sensitive subject for me, as I will admit that I have had my own problems in this particular aspect of using a port o potty.

I’m not  proud of this moment, but I have shared way worse information about myself, so what the hell.

It was a few years ago at the local St. Patrick Days parade. I was in a very long line, and had been waiting for close to twenty minutes. The urge was really starting to get to me and I was getting into that crazy state of mind where I was no longer thinking about what I was saying or doing. The only thing that was going on in my brain were visions of waterfalls and swimming pools, and toilets. Shiny clean white toilets with candles lining the sink nearby.

As I got closer to the front of the line, I noticed that one port o potty had a slight river flowing out from the small opening at the bottom. After a few seconds of watching it flow, I started tapping nearby strangers shoulders and goofily pointing to the port o potty that was leaking. I was quite tipsy at this point and probably started yelling phrases like “That girl is peeing the Amazon and missing toilet!!” I was partially jealous at the amount of liquid that this girl was emitting from her body when I wanted nothing more than to have my turn, but the more abrasive part of myself was content with laughing loudly at the fact that she had so obviously miscalculated her squat.

As she exited the bathroom, the crowd started laughing and attempted to give the girl high-fives,  but she ran away in what I can only imagine, was a drunken shame.

Well you know what they say, karma’s a bitch.

When I finally got my turn, I went into the stall and had to deal with the difficulties of being a girl in a bathroom where sitting down would be an eternal sin. By this point I had to go very very badly… Add in the logistics of squatting in a very enclosed space where there is nothing to hold on to… and the odds are against you.

I guess I must have used a little too much power and simultaneously pulled  my shirt down a little too far as I put my hands on my knees, because what happened in that little box of filth was enough to send anyone into a fit of tears.

Yes, it’s true.

I somehow peed my shirt. The entire bottom half of my shirt was wet, and I had no sink in which to play it off as water. And by making myself the center of attention by making fun of the river pee-er, there was no way I could walk away unnoticed.

So you can see why, after my port o potty pee fail, I really try to avoid them at all costs… for more reasons than one.

Excuse me while I go hang my head in shame.

If you have been here more than once, there is a good chance you already feel that you know too much about me. Regardless, I’m not really feeling the creative juices a-flowing this morning, so I figure I’ll fall back on a meme… Plus I haven’t done one yet, and I really like to talk about myself.

1. Jade is actually my middle name. But Jaded is actually  an emotion that I often feel.

2. My dog Stella is half dachshund and half pit bull, with a little shar pei thrown in. I have no idea how she was made.

3. I got to book 3 of the Twilight series and book 4 of Harry Potter. I guess I’m a quitter. But I’ve read every Ann Rice and Stephen King book ever written.

4. Holy shit, I’m on number for of this list, and it is way harder to come with stuff than I thought it would be.

5. My favorite food in the world is mandarin oranges and cheese. I also really like blue applesauce.

6. It has been a few months since my last show, but I have been doing improv for over 5 years.

7. I once owned a pet sugar glider, but it was never very nice so I gave it away.

8. I once owned over 30 mice at once, but they smelled so bad my dad eventually let them out at my parents ranch.

9. I recently owned a pet rat named Bogart, but my dad let that one go too.

10.  I wrecked my first car into my house before I even got my license.

11. My second car was an 89 Cutlass Supreme Oldsmobile. It had no speedometer, no antenna, and no air conditioning.

12. My car’s name was Cuddy.

13. I have seen While You were Sleeping over 50 times.

14. I’ve lost 100 lbs in the last 2 years.

15. My first major in college was dance.

16. I was also RTVF and Public Relations before I finally decided to get my degree in Creative Writing.

17. Once I drink a little bit, I think I can rap and sing.

18.  My go-to karaoke song is Total Eclipse of the Heart, Old School style.

19.  I grew up only taking baths. I didn’t have a shower in my bathroom, and I still prefer to take a bath when possible.

20. I have a bad habit of leaving empty shampoo bottles in the shower. I know that drives my roommate crazy, but I still leave them there thinking I can squeeze a little more out.

21. I also open squeeze my toothpaste from the middle.

22. I live with one girl and a gay guy couple. I have no pets here but between them they have 3 dogs and 2 cats.

23. I have lived in 8 houses in the last 10 years.

24. I was almost a contestant on The Biggest Loser. I went all the way to the sequestering level in LA.

24. They wanted me to cry more on camera. I refused.

25. I put ketchup on everything…

26. And I keep a bottle of Tabasco sauce in my purse.

27. If you have an accent and I’m talking to you, chances are I’ll accidentally start trying to do your accent, horribly.

28. I have kept a diary in some form since I was about 7.

29.I grew up across the street from my grandparents,  and I am very blessed to have them in my lives.

30. I still don’t like my arms or legs to fall over the side of the bed, for fear of whatever might be under my bed.

31. I have a fear of boogers. I will literally throw up if someone wipes one on me or I see one hanging out of someone’s nose.

32. I have an addiction to iced  tea. I like un-sweet tea with lemon the best.

33. Unless I’m at my grandparent’s house. In that case, I use sugar, mint and lemon… and always out of a turquoise glass.

34. My favorite toys when I was growing up included crayons (not to color with, but to make them talk to each other.)

35. Although I got my degree in English, I am sometimes  pretty careless with my grammar.

36. If I could meet anyone dead or alive, it would probably be Gene Kelly.

37. I hate hate hate Nickelback.

38. Chad Kroeger, the lead singer of Nickelback once told me “fuck you” because I didn’t recognize him and asked him to take a picture of my friend and I. He thought I wanted him in the picture with us. He was way wrong.

39. I’m pretty outgoing in real life, but I am a horrible public speaker. I hate mc-ing shows, and can only do it if I create a character to speak in.

40. I have one chin hair that keeps coming back. That’s a lie. There are two.

41. I know the lyrics to every Beatles song ever written.

42. I also know the lyrics to every NSYNC song ever written.

43. I met Joey from NSYNC 4 times in my life. The first time he asked to see my boobies. I considered doing it, until he said he was kidding.

44. I’m the type of girl who cries at Hallmark commercials.

45. I have also seen every single Lifetime Christmas movie.

46. The Jerk is one of my favorite movies in the world and I can probably recite the whole movie.

47. I still like to build forts in my living room.

48. I’m deathly afraid of dying in a car accident and I really freak out when I’m next to an 18 wheeler on the highway. This may stem from the fact that I didn’t drive on a highway until I was 21.

49. I still have no idea how to use WordPress, or how to add apps or widgets to my site.

50. I don’t really like smooshy food consistencies.

51. I am a one stripe leg shaver. Basically, I’m 3 phases away from ape-dom.

52. I have always really wanted to own a pet monkey. I got my sugar glider because I needed to satisfy my pet urge and owning monkeys are illegal.

53. When I paint my own nails, I say that a kid that I was babysitting did it. I’m that bad.

54. I once talked my sister into eating snails and dog food.

55. Until about 3 years ago, my diet consisted solely of cheese and crackers and sausage biscuits.

56. I really wish I was talented at art. I have attempted everything artsy. The only thing that I have any talent at is decoupaging.

57. My friend and I went to New York for my 23rd birthday on the day of the infamous blackout. Everyone I know is convinced my black cloud is the sole reason for the blackout.

58. I have been tasered. For recreation.

59. My friends and I sometimes play a game called indoor varmint hunting. This consists of acting like we are the birds in duck hunt, then getting shot in the back with a bb gun.

60. I have drunkenly written fan letters to Seth Green and Keith Coogan. Keith responded and I’m quite embarrassed about the whole situation.

61. I have fallen down so many flights of stairs in my life. I literally wake up everyday and thank God that I don’t have brain damage.

62. I WILL go on one of those tornado chasing tours, as soon as I can afford it.

63. I think my voice sounds really pretty when I sing “The Best Part of Waking up, is Folgers in your cup.”

64. It has been confirmed by dozens of others, that it actually does not.

65. I always give cab drivers a back massage in hopes of getting a discount on the ride.

66. Roto-scope animation (Charles Schwab commercials ) gives me the heebie jeebies.

67. When I was a kid I thought my dolls came alive and moved around the room.

68. I would kiss each of them before I went to sleep so they wouldn’t murder me.

69. I found out later it was my cousin who moved them. It scarred me for life.

70. When I’m in my car listening to music, I always sometimes like to pretend I’m in a movie, and whatever song is on determines what kind of scene I’m in.

71. I spend 90% of my work day with a pen cap in my mouth.

72. I never sit with my feet on the floor. At my desk, at a restaurant, it doesn’t matter. I’m always either indian style, or something like it.

73. I love love love the colors purple and turquoise.

74. At the age of 11, my life-long dream of meeting Jonathon Taylor Thomas was fulfilled.

75. My choice alcoholic beverages are wheat beer, red wine, and vodka and grapefruit.

76. I can kick your ass at touch-screen trivia.

77. I can also kick your ass at a game of bones.

78. When I get upset, I find myself re-categorizing my DVDs. Sometimes I organize them by Genre… sometimes alphabetical.

79. I most recently organized them by director.

80. I just got my first haircut since January! That’s really bad…

81. One time I discovered all the little white hairs all over my face and thought there was something wrong with me. I naired my whole face which resulted in a severe burn.

82. I have had pink eye more times than I would ever like to admit.

83. I had to wear an eye patch as a child to correct a lazy eye.

84. I think my eye still looks lazy in photographs but nobody else can see it.

85. If I could go back to school and get a different major, I would probably get it in meteorology or Disaster Preparedness. I am fascinated by natural disasters!

86. My biggest celebrity crushes are on John Cusack, Bill Pullman, Jack White, Jim Carrey and Ben Gibbard.

87. I’ve never played any sports growing up, unless you count dance or Cheerleading.

88. I can’t roll my rs.

89. I pretty much go to the movies every Sunday. And usually by myself. I love going to movies by myself.

90. I cry at Hallmark commercials. I cried watching the NFL draft. I pretty much cry at everything.

91. For the last 3 years, I have watched every movie nominated for an Academy Award, prior to the awards.

92. The night of the Academy Awards is my favorite night of the year. I almost always dress up and drink champagne in my living room when I watch it.

93. If I ever get married, I want my wedding to be Academy Award themed. When I walk down the aisle, I want it to be down a red carpet.

94. I got obsessed with listening to Conservative talk radio before last years election. Now I pretty much only listen to NPR.

95. My motto when it comes to politics, (and life) is “I may vote conservative, but I bleed patchouli. ”

96. I broke an arm last year. To be more precise, I broke my roommates arm last year. I won a games of darts and high kicked in celebration. The heel of my boot hit his arm and broke it in several places.

97. I still haven’t watched the last episode of Party Of Five because I’m too sad.

98. I read my horoscope every day and carry tarot cards with me at all times. I don’t really believe in that stuff… but I can’t give it up.

99. I do believe in ghosts.

100. This was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be.

Not only is it Friday, but I get to leave work at noon today to head to Austin. The only thing that could make this better would be if it were  a payday Friday, and if I didn’t have to drive 4 and a half hours just  to get to Austin.

There is one other thing that’s kind of been bothering me today.

(I almost told this as this week’s TMI story, but realized it was more of a FML tale. So, at least for today- consider it FML Friday.)

I was in the restroom at my house last night, doing my business, when I noticed that my feet were wet. Wet feet in the bathroom are never OK, unless someone has recently exited the shower. (We all know that guy who doesn’t pay attention care where his pee might fall.)

After I had successfully finished my business, I dried off my feet, and bent down to get a closer look at the floor.

Oh. No. The water was coming out from the bottom of the toilet.

I have seen this before, and the outcome is never good. And believe me, I know. I’m the queen of toilet incidents.

The first time I saw water leaking from my toilet, I was a junior in college. I shared an apartment with two other girls, and we were all at the peak of being college alcoholics. I had noticed for a while that our toilet had a little wiggle to it. Every time you sat down you could feel the base rocking, just a little bit. Just like in my current bathroom, a little bit of water would escape from the bottom whenever we flushed. I can only assume that it was damaged by a combination of our drunkeness, and our asses.  Because when you’re a drunk- you have a tendency of just “plopping” down on the toilet with no abandon.

We have to remember that toilets are practically just made out of thick  glass. You have take care of them. You can’t just put anything down them. And you definitely can’t throw all  100 -and- something lbs of yourself down backwards onto the seat of the toilet in a drunken stupor.

Which is exactly what I did.

We had at least ten people over at the time, (because you never do stupid drunk things when you get dropped off at home by yourself) and to be honest, I was really way too gone to remember all the horrible details. All I know is that at some point during the night, I stumbled into the bathroom. I’m not sure if I was actually trying to sit down, or if I slipped on the bath rug and fell into the toilet- but either way it happened.

My fat ass broke the toilet at the base.

Like I said, I don’t remember details- but the way I’ve heard it, (and believe me- I’ve heard all sorts of versions of this story) I ran through a living room full of people  with my pants down around my ankles, ran into my room, dove head first onto my bed, missed, and landed on the floor with my bare ass facing a room full of very confused people.

Next thing they knew, water was gushing into the living room. I don’t know what happened next, but from what I hear- I cried in my bedroom while all of my wonderful friends cleaned the mess. I do know that the carpet had to be replaced and there were giant fans airing the place out for about a week.

That could be a funny story to look back on and laugh about later.

Except…

A couple years later I moved to a new city for work and I was living alone.  I didn’t have many friends  yet, except for a group of very fun, very loud gay boys (who I love to pieces.) One night, after about 6 Mi Cocina Mambo Taxis- we went back to my one room loft apartment, mostly because I didn’t care if people smoked inside.  I guess I should mention that my toilet at this apartment also had a shaky base.***

We were all extremely toasted and playing game of Cranium. I had to pee very badly, but wanted to hurry so I didn’t miss anything. I ran to the bathroom, and attempted to pull down my pants on the way there to save time. As I approached the toilet, I slipped backwards.

And Yes.

I fucking broke the second toilet of my life.

This time I cried in the closet while the gays, very thoroughly, cleaned up the flooding bathroom.

So now you know why a little leak at the bottom of the toilet can really freak a girl out.

We all know bad things happen in threes.

***ok, i admit it. the second incident didn’t involve a shaky base. it was a brand new toilet, in a brand new apartment. my fatass simply broke it. i have no excuse.

F.M.L.

I’ll  leave you with a little more FML this lovely Friday, because you know how I can completely understand body hair issues…And also GloZell is hilarious!

Happy Friday yall!

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