Yeah I’m one of those…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death I tell you, it really gets to me.

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

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

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

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

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.

I am in serious awe at the speed that this year has flown by. It feels like just yesterday I was getting tasered on the Fourth of July, and now it is officially the second day of November. If the Mayan’s are correct,we have approximately 3 years left before the shit starts to hit the fan. Which means I really have to get my ass in gear if I want to reach my goal of completing AFI’s 100 years 100 movies list. Though I am well on my way.

But back to more exciting things, like my past weekend.

Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday, and this year was definitely no exception. LA and her roommate threw a party this year to celebrate both of their birthdays, and of course Halloween. After hosting the party last year, I had an idea as to how crazy things could get- but what ensued surpassed any of my expectations.

I now present you with the highlights.

**I am having an extremely difficult time writing anything today. My entire body is bruised, can’t feel my butt, I can’t turn my neck, and I’m missing skin on my elbows and thighs. Why you ask? Because this genius decided that stair-surfing on an ironing board would be an awesome idea! AND IT WAS!!! At least until LA and I rode together and experienced what will now be known as the Great Crash of 2009. I wish I had footage, because it was soooooo worth this pain.

Friday night, a group of us got together to start decorating the house and carve pumpkins. I didn’t actually carve any myself, (because the last time I tried I ended up with a bloody finger and a pumpkin that resembled Sloth from the Goonies) but I somehow ended up with the task of scraping the goo out of everyone else’s pumpkins. I still have orange underneath my nails.

Doobie-lantern??

How old are we?

all in a row

Moving on to the party. Turns out there are some pretty crafty things you can do with food. Someone even tortilla chips in the shape of ghosts, cats and other scary creatures.

chips, how crafty.

egg devils. I wouldn't have had the patience.

My awesome contribution. Whoever said I can't cook?

Most importantly, you must see our costumes. Heed the warning above.

GHOULS GONE WILD

LA and I close up. have I told you how much i love making this face?

The most interesting man in the world.

"muff diver" was the technical name of his costume.

Eventually got tired of the signs. FAKE BOOBIES!!

Nothin but teeth.

Bill and sookie

???

Kiss

Overall? Definite success.

My blog is entirely too easy to find.

For the most part, it doesn’t really bother me. I talk about it openly and even keep a link to it on my Facebook, one click away from virtually everyone who knows me. (I feel like “virtually” may have been a poor word choice, as I am talking about the people who know me personally, not just virtually…if that makes sense.) I have convinced myself that my family and anyone who has ever known me on a professional level are either way too busy to read my little ole’ site, or they just don’t care.

If you read this  and you know me in real life, you probably know that, even in person I am  extremely candid and am not afraid of sharing personal information when provoked, or even when I’m not.

And if you do know me and I get on your nerves, make you uncomfortable,  you think I’m too crass, or you think I drink too much, then you probably don’t enjoy reading my blog and therefore do not come here except to make fun of my life. If that is the case,  the pleasure is all mine because I live to be laughed at.

So basically what I’m trying to say is that I really hope y’all enjoy what you read and keep coming back for more, but if you don’t- then please do not tell me so because I like to believe everyone likes me.

Never mind.

However, I’ve recently realized there are a few instances where I believe that my beloved blog may be a teensy weensy bit of a problem.

The first thing I worry about is my career.

I purposely do not write about my work.  I’m mostly happy in what I do, but you never know when you’ll end up back on unemployment and needing to look for a job. If that happens, I’m not too excited about potential employees googling my email and finding this site. But I suppose I won’t worry about that until it happens.

The other instance in which I have found that my blog has been a little bit of a hinder, is in meeting new people, face to face.

While I may share way too much information with you about my own personal issues, I choose never to talk about my private relationships, more specifically- dating. This is mostly because that part of my life is incredibly boring and mostly inactive, but also I feel some things should be kept private.

Similarly, I’m not so sure how I feel about the fact that guys that I meet who have the potential for dating, are able to easily read about my idiosyncrasies, or about the time I took out a tampon whilst driving. I don’t want an anonymous blog and I like for my friends to be able to easily read, but I’m a little torn on this matter.

I guess this is something I’ll have to figure out for myself, but let me know if you have any advice.

In other news, I’m trying an experiment this week that may take me away from the computer a bit. Over the last few months I’ve noticed that I have been drinking a little more during the week than I feel is appropriate. Oh no, don’t go saying “I told you so, you have a problem.” This is not the case.

My problem is not of the drinking variety, so much as it is of the sleeping variety. A few hours before I go to sleep, I start to get extremely anxious- and come to the conclusion that I’ll probably never be able to fall asleep until 4 in the morning, I will miss work or be late, and then I’ll end up jobless and living on the streets feigning a crack addiction so I can get welfare. So as to avoid this scenario, I have taken to having a cocktail or a few glasses of wine before bed.

While it does help me to sleep, I don’t want to be one of those people who drinks every single night. I drink on weekends because I enjoy it, not because I need it to have a good time. I don’t particularly enjoy feeling the need to rely on alcohol for anything. And this is why I’m taking a break this week.

I know it’s really not that big of a deal, I’m only going until Halloween… but until then- not a single drop. I would really like to prove to myself that I can sleep like normal people. In order to achieve this goal, (as well as to fit into my Halloween skirt) I am also upping the gym time this week ten-fold. So bear with me if I’m a little grouchy and tired. Working out and not drinking can do that to a girl.

I will leave you today with a little gem from my email archives. A few months ago, one of my guy friends had a misunderstanding with his girlfriend. After many drinks, my friend left the following message on another one of my guy friend’s voice mail. Guy friend #2 then transcribed the message, for my- and now your, enjoyment.

“Fuck you not answering my call, I think you just fucking denied me.  I just wanted to talk about how girls are fuckin…….well they’re just fucking, i don’t know.  They’re just big fuckin vagina’s, i guess they do have vagina’s, but i like vagina’s.  But they’re just big fuckin bitches, a bitch bag, a big bag of douche.  I fuckin hate em, i’m just going to be asexual and jack myself off for the rest of my life.  I’d be a lot happier.  Hope your having fun…..Later”

Happy Monday everyone!