I had a breakdown at the end of my first senior year of college. I had just finished failing algebra for the 4th time, and I was looking at an entire summer of leftover classes and working at the job from hell, literally.

Ironically, the job that the devil built had the clever facade of being a “Christian Costume shop.” Meaning: they played nothing but Christian music, hung up fliers about God all over the store, and rented church groups costumes at a deeply discounted rate. But they didn’t fool me. No sir. From the first day, I could feel the heat in that place.

The owner was one of those men who worked hard to make a good first impression. He would offer a “God Bless you” at the end of a sale and would fake-laugh his way through conversations with elderly women trying on wigs for a Senior Citizens ball;  but anyone who had the terror of working for him knew better.

The first day I was there, he informed me that I had “the handwriting of a five year old” and that “that was a sign of stupidity in women.” The second day he told me that it was inappropriate for me, as a woman, to hold such lengthy conversations with the male customers. The third day, I overheard him call his wife an retarded bitch in his back office. The fourth day I showed up in a jean skirt and he informed me that the vaccum cleaner had broke, and that I would need to get on my knees and pick up every sequin on the floor… IN A COSTUME SHOP. The fifth day, he decided to berate me in front of a customer. He came out and apologized to the customer for me being an idiot, and continued to talk down to me. The customer, a lovely older African American woman, asked to speak to him in private and when she walked proudly out of his office,  she  looked at me and loudly said, “MMM girl. Don’t you ever let any man talk to you that way again. If I was you I’d walk out of here right now. ”

The sixth day, he was extremely angry with me for embarrassing him. I tried to stay out of his way, straightening and re-straightening the costumes on mannequins, and organizing the piles of fake mustaches and prosthetic bloody noses into stacks. I tried hard not to let him see that I was crying when he told me he was surprised I was a college student because I “had to use a calculator to figure out the tax on a tuxedo rental.” Then I realized I was really in trouble when I went to the bathroom and found out, that unfortunately; my womanhood had struck once again at a very inopportune time.

I only lived a few blocks away, maybe a 5 minute drive there and back, but I knew he wouldn’t just let me run home to grab something real quick. So I decided to be honest. I approached him like I would a king or a really mean teacher- with my head down, and simply asked “I am having woman issues, would it be OK if I ran home for a second and changed clothes?”

He looked at me like I had asked him if I could take a body shot off of his man boobs, and said “No. You’re going to have to deal with it. You should have known that was going to happen today, or are you some sort of whore?”

At that point, I could no longer hold back my tears. I made my way to the bathroom and proceeded to have the biggest break-down of my 23 years. I cried audibly, and didn’t care if the customers could hear me. And then, I sat down on the dirty bathroom floor and called my dad. I told him I just couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t spend the summer being talked to like I was an idiot. My dad, being the amazing person that he was- told me to do whatever I felt I needed to.

I didn’t want to walk out and admit defeat; but the truth was- I was broken.

Looking back, it wasn’t just the job. At the time, I was heartbroken that a boy that I had been in love with for four years was now in a serious relationship. I was jealous that so many of my friends had graduated and were taking real jobs, some of them had even already moved away. The end of my college career was close, and I still had no idea what I really wanted to do with my life. So I packed up everything I could fit into my car, and I drove home.

It may sound rash, but it ended up being the best decision I ever made in my life.

The second I got home, I started applying for summer jobs with more tenacity than I had shown in my previous 4 years of college . I didn’t really want to stay at my parent’s house for 3 months, but I only had limited work experience, so I applied to jobs that I knew I could handle. Within a week, I had a handful worth of phone interviews with summer camps.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten that my voice mail was a rap that said – “Hi you’ve called Carissa and she’s not here, she’s probably out studying or drinking some beer, so leave her a message or call her back- but if you don’t then that is whack, wicca wicca wicca.”

Luckily, I eventually landed a summer job teaching dance at a camp in upstate New York, (which is really another story in itself) but it was amazing.

Until recently, I had forgotten how invigorating it could be to take things into my own hands. For so long, I’ve let myself fall into a pattern of “I’ll change things when the time is right.” I thought that it was fine to continue with the same  mundane jobs, the same happy hours, the same nightly patterns of watching Netflix on my computer… I figured that eventually, life would hand me the opportunity that I needed to make things right.

And in a way it did.

When I first found out I was laid off, I was devastated. I bawled until I couldn’t breathe. I concentrated on the fact that I would no longer have health insurance and I wouldn’t be able to see my therapist, AND OH MY GOD HOW AM I GOING TO PAY FOR MY $140 A MONTH YOGA CLASS???

And then I took a step back and realized that life had handed me what I had been asking for for so long. For the first time since my first senior year of college, I wasn’t tied down with a lease, or a boy, or life I didn’t want to walk away from. I was free. So I took it. I packed up my bags, spent a weekend with my wonderful inspirational aunts, and started applying for jobs with a vengeance.

That was 14 days ago.

Today I started my first day at a new job in a new city and I couldn’t be happier. I’ve been doing comedy workshops and RIGHT NOW I’m writing for the first time in 6 months. I’ve been reconnecting with old friends and making new ones.

Long story short, I have no idea where this decision will take me, but I’m nothing but excited. I can’t wait for tomorrow. I freaking love the liberation of being free!

What the hell 2010? Where did you go? Last time I checked it was spring and I was getting ready for a long summer boat rides and camping trips…

Seriously though, I think I’m OK with the fact that my life has literally flown by before my eyes. At least October is over. October was a little bitch this year. Actually, looking back it was a bitch last year and the year before too. I think next year I’m just going to ignore October all together.

November though, now that’s a month I can deal with. There are so many things happening. So many things to take in. So many things I need to get done before the years over.

November, I hereby pronounce you my bitch. I’ll treat you well and in return you will keep me happy and busy and sane. OK? OK.

I really wanted to try to do that #NABLOHOMO thing, or whatever those letters are that you ambitious people  use to state that you are writing a novel in November. However, since October was an ungracious assholio that left me withering and crying on the floor begging to be hand-fed Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I’ve decided that I’m going to start with just trying to write a little something everyday. OK not EVERYday, but most days… either here or on the other place that I write. I’m also going to try to start reading blogs again. I know… this is all completely out of left field and seemingly drastic given my recent track record, but I’m going to at least try.

On top of trying to write and read like the scholarly person that I am, (HAHAHA) I’ve decided to set some other lofty goals for myself this November.

Movember: It’s a special time of year… A time that I love, not only because of the cause that’s behind the “mouvment,” but also because I really have an affinity for the mustache. Don’t get me wrong, they can be really creepy, but mostly they can be hot. Even when they do happen to be creepilicious, they give me something to laugh about, so basically the mustache is a win/win.

Creepy/Funny/Hopefully ironic mustache.

Good Mustache

(Huge thank you and a giant chest- bump to @Hipstercrite for reminding me that the above image of Burt exists, and so many other awesome things as well. I haven’t been able to comment much lately on anyone’s blog, but this lady’s blog has kept me very entertained the last few weeks.)

Anyway, I could go on about the mustache for days, and I probably will in an upcoming post, but this one is supposed to be about me.

As manly and handsome as they may be, I’ve got my own plans this Movember. Yes it’s true, I’ve decided that this month I will try my damndest NOT to grow a mustache. I know it will be hard, but it can be done. It’s no secret that I’ve been in a bit of a slump these last few months, but it’s time to pull myself together. It’s time I start brushing my hair, make a dentist appointment, and pull out my old friend Nair. It won’t be fun; it will be painful… but it CAN be achieved. If you want to donate money to me for every day that I maintain a womanly, un-ape-like appearance, I’ll gladly give a percentage of it to prostate cancer. Otherwise, I’ll just be doing it for the sake of woman-kind.

A Do-Run Run Run, A Do Run Run: My grandmommy always told me that “hate” is a strong word, so I reallydo  try to refrain from using it. However, I not only like to use the word “hate” when I’m talking about running, but I like to use it often, and usually in the sentence “I effing hate running.”  In fact, not only do I hate running, but I really detest it, and I’m pretty sure detest is a stronger synonym for the word “hate,” which makes the fact that I’ve decided to become a runner all the more Twilight Zone-ish.

I don’t actually know what has come over but I figure it’s time I set a fitness goal for myself. I keep saying that I want to get back to working out every day, but I can’t seem to find the ambition to do so. I figured that if I pick something completely ridiculous, like run a half marathon in three months, and announce that I’m doing it to the internet, that I will at least make an effort not to fail.

I started training for the run tonight. I’m afraid I didn’t get off to the best start.  I put on my running shoes, stuck my ear buds in, and took off down the block. I only got about fifteen yards before I realized I had forgotten to put on a sports bra, which you ladies know is a rookie mistake. I decided not to turn back, but instead turned up the volume on Paul Simon’s “Graceland,” and dance-walked my ass off. I swear, that Paul Simon makes my bootie shake somethin’ else.

So tomorrow I start running, for reals.

Not Drink:

…….

……….

*Crickets*

…….

Oh come on. Yeah right.

Well kinda.

Basically, I have decided to refrain from drinking during the week. It’s already been over a month.. woohoo! I made a little deal with myself. Rather than spend money on bottles of wine, I’ve decided that for every week that I go without drinking, I get to buy 3 (or 4) albums on itunes. For now, I’m sticking with the classic rock genre. I’ve decided that there are too many bands out there that I appreciate well enough, meaning I’ve collected all of their “Greatest Hits” and “Essentials,” but I’ve never really taken the time to delve into their albums.

This week (so far) I’ve been pleasuring my earballs with the aformentioned “Graceland,” and George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass.” If you have any suggestions of “must-have” albums, please let me know.

Alright, I’m spent. Thinking about all these things I’m supposed to do this month has made me really tired.

I miss your faces and am excited about rejoining the land of the living. (I’m also excited about watching “The Walking Dead,” again next week because that show is badass!)

As I approached my 28th Birthday, there were several times when I caught myself thinking of all the things I have yet to accomplish. In fact, I spent the last few weeks laying in bed at night freaking out because I’m STILL not where I thought I would be in my life. I don’t have the ideal income, I’m not completely self reliant, I drink entirely too much, I still have a bit of an inferiority complex, I’ve quit going to the gym daily, and I’ve found that I occasionally still slip back into old bad habits.

Today, though, I made a decision. I’m not sure whether or not it’s because I’ve been clear headed and sober for 48 hours, but while I was on the treadmill today, thoughts began pouring out of my brain before the blaring sound of LCD Soundsystem on my ipod could block them out.

I’m ready to quit focusing on all that I haven’t achieved. I’m ready quit putting myself down for lapses in judgment that I’ve made in the past. I’m ready to stop dwelling on all of my forgotten goals, and I’m ready to stop pretending that I can just sit here idle and the world will magically fix my problems.It’s time to take action.

First I want to congratulate myself on what I have achieved in the past year. Twenty-seven may have not been the best year of my life, but I think I’ve endured a lot of changes, some of which have helped me become a stronger person.

During my 27th year I changed jobs. I changed houses, changed cities, and changed roommates. I watched my family fall apart and had to learn to play the role of an adult with my parents. I helped to bring my family back together. I let go of relationships and learned that I deserve respect from others and from myself. I’ve had arguments with close friends and am learning how to compromise. I became a blogger and realized though at times I may go a little too far, I enjoy putting myself out there and love to write like no one’s reading. I’ve made new friends and reconnected with old ones… and I’m starting to understand the importance of friendship and communication.

But if 27 was a year of change, I think 28 needs to be the year of growth. I’ve decided to set some goals for myself, but I’m also not going to be too hard on myself ifI don’t meet them all.. because after all, I’m not perfect.

I want to be more reliable, and in turn not take people for granted.

A close friend of mine told me the other day that in just the last two months she has noticed that I am not near as flaky as I used to be. She told me that she had started to hold me more accountable to things that I say I will do… and while on one hand that scares the bejeezus out of me… it also made me proud. I used to enjoy being the person that no one could count on. Not because I didn’t want people to like me, but because I was lazy and wanted to be able to flake out of situations without people being surprised. For a long time I didn’t mind when people said, “Oh that’s just Carissa.. she probably just forgot.” After years of this behavior I’m sure that people have just come to assume that I’ll be the one who forgets to RSVP to weddings. People have come to expect that I’ll be the one who will arrive 2 hours late to the party, if I even show at all. I don’t know how I went so long without caring that I was “that” girl. I have come to realize lately that I rather enjoy it when people can count on me. It makes people respect me, and want to behave the same way in return. I plan on making 28 the year that people can count on me for a change.

I want to choose my battles… but also my apologies.

I’m not one to argue much with friends. I don’t like confrontation, but even more than that- I’ve always had a difficult time standing up for myself. Over the last few years I feel that I’ve made some head way in that regard. I’ve begun to feel passionate about my stance on my ideas and care a little more about sticking up for them, and I believe that this is a positive change. However, I’ve gotten myself in a few situations where I’ve gotten involved and I probably shouldn’t have.. It’s good to share opinions, but just like momma always said (your mom, not mine) there are times when things are best left unsaid. Sometimes it’s best to just let things play out and I think it’s important for me to understand that time is the best cure for some circumstances.

That being said, I still feel that one of my greatest weaknesses is how quickly I am to take the blame…. to say “I’m sorry.” I’m not saying that I shouldn’t apologize when I am at fault, but I should definitely recognize the times when I’m not. I spend entirely too much time feeling guilty over situations that I have absolutely no control over. I can’t be there for everyone all the time. It’s not my fault if my friend’s argue with each other, or if their relationships don’t work out. I can’t feel bad about not being able to be at two places at once. I can sympathize with situations, but I can’t always do something about them, and I need to learn to be OK with that.

I want to fill my time with things that make me happy, find new hobbies and get more involved with old ones.

I have a lot of passion for a lot of different things, but I feel like lately I’ve let a lot of them fall by the wayside. I want to spend this year getting back involved in the things I love. I want to perform more, and not be afraid to try new things. I want to improve my writing, and do it more often. I want to take advantage of opportunities. I want to embrace my talents and start looking to using them for my future. I want to join my sister on a birding adventure, ride the bike that has been sitting in my garage for 4 months, and start swimming again. I want to take one of the art classes in my neighborhood that I’ve looked into 5 times but never thought I had the time for. I want to meet some of you people and have some good conversation. I JUST WANT TO DANCE!

I want to live a healthier lifestyle, both physically and mentally… have respect for myself and treat my body like the temple that it is. Basically I want to be the best me.

When people I know see that I’ve lost over a 100 lbs, a lot of people assume that I am the epitome of good health, that I must have have mastered self control.  This couldn’t be further from the truth. Sure there are days, even consecutive weeks when I will work out 5 days a week, watch my portions, and count calories. But there are also days where I am so terrified that I will gain weight, that I will consume almost nothing so that I can drink a bottle of wine at night. There are other days where I will completely jump the wagon and not even care that I just ate an entire weeks worth of Chinese food, but will stress about it for days after. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I know this is something that I’ll probably always struggle with, but I want to find some consistency. My healthiest months are the ones where I am the most happy, and I want to feel that way all the time. I don’t want to be the kind of person who is always concerned about my appearance, or that people are going to judge me…. and for the most part I’m not. I want to get to the point (and some days I’m there) where I’m not concerned if I gain a few lbs, where I know that I will still feel comfortable and confident in my body no matter what size I am.

I want to stop smoking, and I’m only 2 days in but I think I can do this. I want to cut down on drinking significantly, so that I can remember the good times… so that I can enjoy the quality of my life. I want to brush my teeth every night and go to sleep early enough so that every once in a while I can get up and enjoy a sunrise walk.

I want to be more confident in myself. Sometimes I think I was more confident when I was bigger, probably because I had to be. I want to be able to walk into a room and KNOW that I’m fabulous, even if other people may not agree.

I don’t want to be so insecure in my relationships. I want to trust. I want to have more faith in people and human kind as a whole. I want to have the same faith in myself as I think some people have in me.

I want to enjoy everyday of 28, and not get bogged down by the little things. I want to make the most of this wonderful, wonderful life.

Thanks for sticking with me through 27, and through this ridiculously sappy post. Even this girl gets sappy every once in a while. I LOVE YOUR FACE!

Guns don’t always scare me. I’ve shot them from time to time, and I’ve actually enjoyed it. I am from Texas  after all.

I do however, have an extremely deep seated fear of being shot with one, despite the fact that  (Mom, Auntie Linda, and P.J.) please skip over the next sentence) I once played a game of indoor Human Duck Hunt- a game where my friends and I shot each other in the backs with a BB gun.

I can actually pin point the exact moment when my fear came along, and as jokey as I might be whilst telling this story, you have to realize that this was, quite literally, scariest moment of my life.

A few years ago on St. Patrick’s day, a few friends and I went to a bar in Ft Worth that was in walking distance from LA’s apartment. There was a patio out back, and we spent the night drinking green beer and having a blast. A few of our guy friends decided to take off a little early, but LA, Moops, Sally and I all decided to stay back and have one more drink.

By the time we left, we were all quite tipsy… or if I’m really honest, we were down right drunk. We stumbled out the door and proceeded to make our way across a dark parking lot towards the apartment complex. When we were about half way there, LA and I, in our usual fashion, started hitting each other with our purses. Every once in a while, when the moon is right, we are struck with the desire to wrestle, (don’t get happy boys) for entertainment purposes only. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw 2 people walking toward us, but I didn’t think much anything of it at the time.

By the time they approached us, we were so caught up in seeing who could de-foot the other first, that we didn’t get any weird vibes from the two. In any right state of mind, one of the four of us would have thought it strange that the two young people who were not wearing green were standing uncomfortably close to our circle. But no, we kept right on laughing and swinging our purses like drunken asshats.

When one of them tapped me on the shoulder, I assumed it was someone who Lauren knew. I laughed and casually slapped  their shoulder, thinking they were just enjoying the show. After a few more seconds I finally realized that Moops and Sally were laying on the ground, belly down, and one of strangers were standing above them.

I was about 2 sticks away from being this naive.

It wasn’t until saw the gun that I truly realized what was happening. From that point, everything started moving in slow motion. I saw then that they were both holding large, silver guns, and that they didn’t look happy. There was a boy and a girl, both in their twenties. The girl was wearing a large sweatshirt with the hoodie pulled over her face, and the boy was wearing a beanie low on his forehead. Just as I started taking it all in, the girl put a gun up to LA’s head and demanded that she hand over her purse. I watched dumbly as she quickly followed her directions without a protest.

I was then the only one left standing. I can’t remember who, but one of my friends grabbed at my ankle and angrily whispered to “get down.”

“Gimme your purse and get on the ground,” the guy demanded.

Even though I knew what I was supposed to do, I couldn’t make myself move. When I finally remembered how to make my arms work, I struggled with getting my new Beatle’s purse, which had been tightly wound around my wrist for the fight, loose.  When I got it free, I had the thought that I should retrieve my credit card before handing it over. Making what could have been the dumbest decision of my life, I slid my hand into the purse, grabbed the card with my cupped hand, and swiftly put the card in my pocket before thrusting the clutch in their direction.

The guy robber asked me angrily if I had taken something out, and I shook my head to say no before I got on the ground. Luckily they believed me. As we all lay on the ground, the robbers stood over us for what felt like an eternity. Even though my eyes were tightly closed and I couldn’t hear anything except for my own heavy breathing, I could feel the burning of the gun on my back. I was sure that every second would be my last.

After what felt like an eternity, LA shouted  “RUN!” and took off. She was halfway to the gate before the rest of us had even gotten off the ground, but we all followed quickly behind her. I was roughly 250 lbs at the time, but I ran faster than I had ever ran in my life.

Once we were in the apartment, we all got quite emotional. One of my friends who had left the bar early was quick to call one of our stolen phones. The mugger answered and some words (that I won’t repeat) were spoken. The police came and our cards and phones were cancelled.

Looking back, it was quite funny that in the short time it took us to cancel our phones, rap song ring tones had already been purchased and downloaded.

You can bet your sweet ass that none of us slept that night, or slept easy for many nights to come.

So you can probably understand why I got so freaked out when I heard a loud bang out my window the other night. Within seconds LA had rushed out of bed and met me at the office door.

“That was a gun shot, I’m sure of it,” she said.

I screamed something like “OHHOLYFUCKINGSHIT” and ran to the hallway where I slid butt first to the ground. “GET DOWN AND DUCK!!!!”

LA stood above me and calmly told me to get up. “It’s not a drive by, it was just a gun shot. I’m calling the cops.”

So I got up off the ground and dramatically tweeted that gun shots were being shot in my neighborhood. LA went back to bed and I sat up for hours fantasizing about the dramatic shit that went down just across the street. When I drove home for lunch the following day and a moving man and about 4 men mowing the lawn and moving stuff out, I’m pretty sure I was right in my conclusion.

I don’t know the details, but if my imagination serves me correctly, the scenario involved a midget, some drugs, the CIA, and an underground sex tape. I hope I’m wrong.

That being said, I’m really not looking forward to it, especially now that I no longer have a pool and my air conditioning in my car is about to go kaputz. That, and I can already see the thousands of Facebook and Twitter updates from my teacher friends who get to spend a few months doing nothing but reading and sitting by a pool. But for now, I’m trying not to think about summer and instead I’m attempting to focus on the fact that the last few weeks have been abso-fricking gorgeous around these parts. It’s been so glorious that I kind of want to take Mother Nature out behind the school yard and get her pregnant in order to create lots and lots of days just like this, incestual as that may be.

The last few days I’ve really been trying to get the most of this nice weather, because I know it’s fleeting and that in a week or two I won’t be able to move without breaking out into a sweat. As a result I am likely to spend the next few months smelling like a kid after recess, which if your wondering is the mixture of grass and Taco bell. Speaking of, I’ve never understood why parents wait so long to introduce their children to deodorant, but if I somehow end up with a child I swear on sharp cheddar cheese that I will make my kid start wearing deodorant at the age of 5.

Oh yeah, the weather. It makes me really wish I had a hammock. Or some trees in my backyard. Or green grass. Or at least grass that wasn’t covered in stickers and dog poo. This weather always makes me want to be in my grandparent’s front yard. If I were there right now I’d be sitting in one of their butterfly chairs under the giant oak tree, sipping iced tea garnished with home-grown mint leaves out of a bright turquoise glass. If you’ve never drank iced tea out of a turquoise glass, I suggest you go out and buy one stat, because it makes it taste a thousand times better.

I actually acquired a few of my own just a couple of weeks ago. I was having an emotional break-down and went over to my grandparent’s house (across the street from my parents) to let them cheer me up. My grandparents are the best people in the world for cheering people up. If you don’t have your own, I’ll let you borrow mine for an hour or two… but since their the best g-funk parents in the whole wide world I’m kind of afraid you won’t want to give them back. But I trust you… so, maybe.

Any-g-funk-era, a weeks ago I had a lot of drama in my life, and all of their usual tricks weren’t working. My grandmother rubbed my back; told me stories about her own hard times;  fed me graham crackers with marshmallows, a few prunes and a cut up orange; let me pick out a song to play on the Juke Box (Sweet Georgia Brown,) and finally in a moment of exasperation she started trying to give me things. As much as I have always loved her gifts, I really hate when she starts trying to give me stuff, especially when I think her motive is to make me feel better… I guess it makes me feel guilty. I went ahead and accepted a couple books, (one was an 1890′s Guide to Good Girl Ettiquete!!) and then she pulled out a set of turquoise glasses that, as many times as I said no, she insisted that I keep.

They aren’t really so much a set, but a bunch of different ones that she has collected from antique stores and such over the years. Each one is a little bit different, but they are all beautiful!

And let me tell you, I’m glad I finally accepted. I have been drinking out of them every day, and liquids have never tasted better. Even the liquids that aren’t tea.

So please, get yourself a turquoise glass or two and you won’t be sorry!

Wowsa. When did life get so cray cray? Ohhh it seems about 2 months ago, and it just keeps getting faster and harder to keep up with.

This wekeend was one of my BFF’s graduation from GRAD SCHOOL! Yes, I have some smart mofo’s in my life. I was really bummed that I didn’t make it to meet up with a bunch of local bloggers, but when it was all said and done I just booked too much for one day. Plus after grad-party numero dos, it would have been detrimental to put me out on the streets, or even around people who don’t know me and love me unconditionally.

And luckily my friends love me lots. Although I’m pretty sure LA didn’t want to be my friend for about 5 minutes when I told a group of strangers about how she once performed an enema on me. We heard later that it started a very in debth conversation between a group of girls, and I’m always glad to be a conversation starter (or ender) so I don’t feel so bad. Plus I always let LA tell lots of stories at my expense, so all was equal in the world. Or something like that.

So we spent the majority of the weekend in Denton, and it’s always a blast to go back. Plus, (even though I missed the busting of it) she had a pinata with mini-tequilas and shot glasses in it. Have you ever heard of such a thing?! Have you ever heard of a more genius idea??? After the party we made our rounds to all the local bars, and I have to tell you, I did something that I feel very, very, VERY embarrassed about. Which, I can’t believe that after telling strangers about my enema that I had the ability to be embarrassed by anything.

The first person that I saw, and recognized when I walked in was one of my favorite movie bloggers. No big deal, right? No. I made a very big deal about it. I pretty much cornered him and oogled him and I probably would have told him my ten top favorite movies if he would have let me. But alas, I think he was very scared, and rightly so. At some point after I proclaimed my fandom, I took a nap in the car, and somehow woke up alive in the morning, although I am still missing a bit of my dignity, about 200 dollars, and about half of the items in my purse.

Speaking of graduations, my little sister  is graduating from college next weekend. I can’t believe it. My little sister is all growed up and she is so smart and I’m so proud I want to squeeze her until it hurts. Not only is she graduating, but she is getting a DOUBLE MAJOR in BIOLOGY AND PSYCHOLOGY! Seriously!? Even in my smartest days when I used to take adderol I couldn’t even get through a biology class, much less a whole bunch of them. Although I have to say that her love for bugs has really rubbed off on me.

 A couple of years ago my sister and I went on a bug collecting expedition which was one of my favorite times ever. We spent the day at my farm collecting all sorts of weird bugs and soaked them in alcohol and put them up on a styrophome board with pins. It sounds all sorts of nerdy but it was actually really cool, until I woke up in the middle of the night to see that this gigantic huge moth that was supposed to be dead was flapping it wings like a madman with a needle through it’s heart. I screamed bloody murder and spent the next week feeling sure that I had caused  some sort of mothman prophecy and that I was going going to go crazy and start drawing weird pictures and then, you know, die.

Oh I got way off topic there… Back to my sister. She definitely got the smarts out of the family, and she is making all of the men in the family proud by following their lead and getting her degree in something science related.

Did I ever tell you I come from a long line of scientists?

My grandad is a chemist and is one of the guys credited for inventing kiss-proof lip stick, and that is just one of the reasons why he is amazing.

Then you have my dad, the geologist. Besides giving him a free pass to wear tye-died t-shirts and cut-offs to any public event, it also means that I had the most awesome rock collection of any girl on the block. Also? I had really good stuff to sell. Other kids on the block were selling lemonade and homemade brownies from cardboard tables on street corners, but I walked around the neighborhood with a radio flyer full of hand painted rocks, and actually made about 4 bucks total in three years.

I’ve been thinking of taking it up again to make some supplental income.

The only downfall to the fact that I was brought up as a rock-lover is that now I have to lick them all the time. I know it sounds weird, but it’s something I have to try really hard to resist.  I think it’s because my dad used to quiz me on my rock collection, and the easiest one to guess Halite because it tasted like salt. Now I have the urge to see what other rocks taste like, and mostly so far they just taste like dirt. But one day when I find some rock that tastes like ketchup or cheese cake that no one has ever thought to taste, and I’l be famous and all of you will also want to taste my rock.  

This weekend also made me recall my college graduation, which was what I set out to blog about but seeing as how I have already novelled this post,I think I’ll save that for another time… So stay tuned!

Also congrats to my friend Julie for grad-yee-ating last week. You make me proud!

Oh and.. I still love John Cusack. ( I’m losing steam on the google searches so I thought I’d throw that in there)

Per usual, here I am the night before the money is due, AND I STILL HAVE NO IDEA!!!!

I’m sure there are those of you who are going to tell me, “Sure Carissa, what do you have to lose? You’ll end up having a blast!” And you know what? I’m sure that when it is all said and done, that I WOULD have a blast, but we can’t discount the possibility that in order for that to happen I would have to be so balls- to- the- wall wasted that I wouldn’t remember it.

But I’m also fairly sure that there are some of you -who like me, are either on the fence about attending your own reunion, or decided not to go because you felt it wasn’t worth the effort or the money. I’m not even sure if this is how I feel. I don’t know how I feel anymore. I JUST CAN”T DECIDE! SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT TO DO!

Sorry for yelling. I’ve just been thinking long and hard (TWSS) about this one, and it’s a toughie. On the one hand, there are a lot of people that I would love to catch up with. I haven’t kept in good touch with most of my friends from high school and I think it would be real freaking awkward nice to see everyone again. Even more so, I feel like I’ve gotten to “know” a lot of the people who I wasn’t so close with by stalking their Facebook pages, and shizzles, it feels like I was missing out on some really awesome people back then. On top of all that, damn I look good and I want to show off! I kid… No but for real, while I’ve lost all this weight, most of the people I knew back then don’t even know I gained and lost a hundred pounds in the last 10 years, so I feel like that isn’t a good reason to go.

I guess my reservations are probably like a lot of peoples. I’ve heard that the 10 year reunion is kind of like a “show off” parade, where people talk about all of their accomplishments, show off pictures of their children, and talk about their career advancements. Don’t get me wrong great peoples of the nets, I’m proud of what I’ve done over the last ten years, and I have no shame at showing up single at an event like this. (although if John Cusack or Ketchup wanted to go with me, I’d be bout it bout it.)  I am aware that my goals are probably different from most people who I went to high school with, and that I’m not exactly on a “conventional” life path. I am perfectly fine with the fact that most people would probably raise their eyebrows at the amount of pride that I take in the fact that I have performed comedy, that I have been published, that some people actually read my blog, or that I am in fact, content being single. (At least 79% of the time.)

I feel that I have gone through so many changes since high school, and despite living in a world of complete (controlled) chaos, I like who I’ve become. I still have a long way to go, but for the most part (Yay) I’m a hell of a lot more comfortable with who I am today, and I’m a much over all “better” (despite my faults) person than I was back then.

Here’s my thing. I like who I am now. I like my life now. And while there are some things that I enjoyed about high school, I would much rather bring them to me, than take a roller coaster down memory lane back to that time of my life. I would like it better if I could magically just pick a few things that I liked about my high school life and apply them to my life now. Like the ability to wear overalls without people thinking I was a farmer. Or glitter. Or getting ready with a big group of girls before a dance, that was fun.

But you know what was WAYYY better than high school?????

Certainly not Junior High. That was even more awkward. I had like 30 pet mice,  wore nothing but vintage clothes, and really and truly believed that I could communicate with ghosts.  Which was cool, but back then I cared a lot about what people thought of me so I nixed out all of the awkward from my life as soon as I realized it wasn’t cool.

Let’s take it back a little further, shall we? Elementary School. That time of my life was made of awesome. I didn’t care what anyone thought of the fact that I wore Umbros and hand painted t-shirts everyday. Life was fun! I know it had it’s downsides, (like when I wasn’t invited to Brooke’s slumber party, or when some guy called me a one armed pirate because I had my arm in a body cast and an eyepatch on at the same time) but all in all, life was pretty care free. Again, I wouldn’t necessarily go back there- but I’ve been thinking about the 5 things from my personal Elementary experience that I would like to have in my adult life. So let’s do this.

TOP 5 THINGS FROM ELEMENTARY SCHOOL I WANT IN MY LIFE NOW!!!!!

My Tree-House: I had the best. tree-house. evah! While it wasn’t too big, it was perfectly adequate for my needs. (TWSS!!) But seriously, two of my favorite pastimes include making badass forts, and drinking on patios. Drinking in a treehouse would basically be the perfect cocktail of the two. Especially if I had cute boys next door that we could spy on. If that was the case, I would definitely remove the “NO BOYS ALOUD” (I was a poor speller) sign from the wall.

The School Cafeteria: I’ll admit it, while some of the best times happened there, so did some of the worst. I have a clear memory of walking through the cafeteria with my tray and crossing my fingers that someone at the “cool table” saved me a seat, but either way- fun times ensued. One of the worst times in my life was when my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Honzel, force- fed me green beans and made me drink her tea with red lipstick on the cup, to wash it down. But then I have to remember “The Game.” “The Game,” was almost as fun as the bug game. Everyone at my table would take an item of food from their own lunch, and contribute it to the community tray, then we would mix it up good, and each take turns trying to stomach it. I think it landed a few of us in the principals office… but TOTALLY WORTH IT! Maybe if I go to the reunion I will try to organize a rendition of this particular game… only maybe with drinks. IN ADDITION. Not that I’m as interested in these things these days, but do you remember that a Star Crunch cookie was only five cents?? Or that a NuttyBar was only 10 cents? Or that they served delicious square pizza??? #IWonderWhyIWasFat

Nap Time: Dude, this really needs no explanation. I used to hate it when my teachers forced us to take naps. I would do anything to resist the nap. I’m pretty sure I LITERALLY held my eyeballs open just to prove a point. But if my boss came to me now and told me “Carissa, you must force yourself to shut up and go to sleep for 45 minutes,” I would probably clip her toenails with my teeth. Seriously. Make me take a nap! PLEASE!

Recess: Another given. Fun and beneficial. Can you imagine if we got recess for thirty minutes every day? And I’m not talking about a cigarette break in the back of the office, but a recess where everyone was forced to go outside and “play?” I would be a thousand times more productive. Not only would I have the chance to hone up on my four square skills (because, yes, I was am-haze-ing) but I could also take out some much needed aggression on my co-workers in a friendly game of dodge-ball, or “tie your head up in a teather ball string.”

Talent Shows: I’ve talked a lot about this today, both on Facebook and on Twitter, and I was being quite serious. I’m sick of all these shows that showcase talent. You can take your “American Idols” and “So You Think You Can Dance” and shove em’. (Although I really do love SYTYCD) The real fun is where there isn’t any talent. I wish I had a way to post some of my early talent show videos for you… dancing to Debbie Gibson and Kris Kross… Singing to Night Fever… Lip Synching to New Kids on the Block. Wobbly Arms and no rhythm… THATS where the entertainments at. I would so spend hours making up a dance to Britney Spears, even today.

So basically what I’m saying is that we should have a talent show. What would you do? There’s no rules here.

And also, SHOULD I GO TO THE REUNION!?!?!?

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.

Well probably you don’t, but just in case you DO – I have compiled a list so that you can be just as awesome as I am!!

*** Do not try to achieve “hot-mess” status unless you have some good friends around to make sure you don’t take it too far. You will also need some people that you can count on to help put your life back together once it is all said and done. You also will want to surround yourself with patient friends, who know how to have a good laugh.

*Start out your Friday night by jinxing yourself. It’s pretty fail-proof if you utter the remark “I’m not drinking very much tonight,” that you will actually drink that much and probably more.

*Begin the night with double vodka soda’s.

*Supplement drinks with shots.

*Do a few performances at a karaoke bar, including the “always a crowd pleaser” “Total Eclipse of the Heart” – Old School version.

*** A karaoke performance is not complete if you don’t include a leg kick at some point.

*Talk to any person who is willing to talk to you, and tell your entire life story.

*Make your new bar friends look up what you proclaim to be the “funniest blog in the world,” (mine) (which I know is certainly not the case) and make them save it to their phone.

*Go back to the microphone and sing “What A Wonderful World,” in the voice of Louis Armstrong. Again.

*End said performance by saying something like “SORRY IF THAT SUCKED AND IF YOU THINK SO WELL THEN EFF YOU BITCHES.”

*Wake up in the morning 30 minutes before you need to be somewhere that is forty-five minutes away.

*Realize that you left your phone at the bar.

*Realize that your wallet is also missing.

*Scratch that.

*YOU HAVE LEFT YOUR ENTIRE PURSE AT A BAR.

*Drive back to bar and recover your life.

*Arrive at new landlord’s house  to sign your lease 45 minutes late so that he is no longer home.

Put your money in his mailbox, call and leave a message to let him know that you’ve done so.

*Don’t hang up phone after you leave message, and accidentally record yourself saying something to the likes of “this effing blows, we get up early to get this shit taken care of and he isn’t even effin here.”

*Meet up with a friend and drink two of her mother’s Mikes Hard Lemonades.

*Proceed to go to lunch and have 2 bloody marys.

*Take a 3 hour nap.

*Wake up and go to a bar for dinner and drinks at about 6, having not showered and wearing the same clothes you wore the night before.

*Text people that you definitely have no business texting, and that you shouldn’t even be talking to.

*Get your phone taken away by a friend, but it’s for the better.

*Leave the bar at around 10 and pass out on a friend’s couch while everyone else is watching a movie.

*Wake up at 8 with a dead phone,  having no clue where you are.

*Luckily, you will still have time to make the sausage biscuit breakfast at Whattaburger.

*Go to see Valentines Day, looking, feeling, and smelling like three day old dogshit.

*On a Sunday afternoon proclaim with pride that “I haven’t showered since Thursday night!!!”

*Get in your Hurricane car and drive back to hurricane room, where you will ponder on these events and then the ones that you don’t remember so much about.

*Blog about it all so that the whole world has the opportunity to read about your awesomeness.

*Do things to help you forget your night/s.

*Relive it all again when a friend posts pictures of you in your worst state possible.

That. Happened.

There you have it, somewhere around 30 easy steps to be a hurricane.

Happy Monday folksters!!

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.

______

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.