I feel like I have so much to update your faces with, but I really feel much more comfortable when I at least have a few complaints to mix in with this rare “life is good” post, and I really don’t have much to complain about besides the fact that my face is covered by gigantasaurus Everest-sized pimples.  I didn’t even have a major freak out  when my car decided to be a little bitch and  have a blow out earlier this week. Which is a major feat, this I promise you… especially when you know my history with cars.

So yeah, I’ll complain after all.

I’ve always had an extreme love/hate relationship with automobiles and the act of driving. And by love/hate relationship of course I mean:

I love: 1). That they get me from point A to B. (sometimes)

and 2). When other people are driving them and I get to be in charge of the music.

I hate: Everything else loosely related to driving or cars. I don’t know or care to know the difference between a toyota and an escalade, and I won’t even apologize if by chance those are one and the same. I hate driving, especially at night. I despise traffic. I hate the way my mom drives. I don’t like sitting in back seats.  I hate the fact that I’ve locked my keys in my car like 14 times in the last year. I hate that at least once every three months I end up stranded on the side of the road, which leads me to call my dad crying who is 2 hours away… which in turn causes him to get upset and yell “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT!?” Which leads to huge fight. And mostly I despise that I have horrible luck with them.

I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I have had more flat tires than any other person in the entire whole wide universe, twice in my life I’ve had another car on top of my own (either by landing there after a wreck or by drunkenly driving on top of it,) and my vehicles have had more breakdowns than Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears combined. My dad insists that it must have something to the way I drive, but I don’t think I can be blamed for the fact that Ford makes really shitty cars or that curbs keep getting in my way, or that drunks insist on targeting my car as their landing strip.

Luckily it didn't do much damage...

I feel like even the best case scenarios that involve vehicles, (which is of course gettin it on in one,) can only lead to 3 possible disastrous outcomes. I, ahem, of course only know one of these don’t know any of these  from personal experience but from what I’ve learned from the movies it seems to me that any time you hook up in a car – you either get caught giving head in a park by a cop, get pregnant, or if you’re in transit- then it is quite possible that you will experience death by a fiery crash.

My first car was an 89 Cutlass Supreme Oldsmobile.

Oh wait. I take that back.

Technically, my first car which I drove all of 3 days was a 95 Mitsubishi something or another,( pictured above). Shortly after the repairs were made from this particular accident, I totaled it into my house. I KNOW. And no I wasn’t drunk… I can’t even really explain what happened, except that I will tell you that I will never ever again drive a stick shift. I pretty much suck at life. My sister was sitting inside and said she thought it was an earthquake, while my dad sat on the curb and cried.

After that it took about a year and a half before I got the nerves and the vehicle that would make it possible for me to drive again. My parents certainly weren’t going to trust me with anything of value- so THIS is where the 89 Cutlass Supreme Oldsmobile (that I dubbed Cuddy) came into the picture.

It was a maroon, and it was the largest two door car you’ve ever seen in your life. And it was a pile of junk.

To sum it up: In place of air-conditioning,  my dad had installed a mini-fan that plugged into my cigarette lighter that did absolutely nothing but stir up the scent of stale cigarettes and rotting food.  It had a digital speedometer that you had to fist pummel in order to make it “work,” and when numbers finally did pop up they were backwards and up-side down. The car had no antenna, and therefore had no radio. Someone had tried to steal the cd player so it hung there by a wire, serving absolutely no purpose for the majority of the time the car worked.

The driver’s side door didn’t work, which was quite embarrassing when the cute football player from freshman history class walked me to my car and insisted on standing there until I drove off… which meant he got to watch me dive in and wiggle across the seat, ass out in a jean skirt.

The worst part about it was that Cuddy died ALL THE TIME at the most inopportune times. Especially before I got a cell phone. Like one time, it died right when my friends and I were trying to make a get away after toilet papering this incredibly rude older girl’s house. We had to go to her next door neighbor’s house and call for a ride. But then again, the fact that it died all the time was the precise reason I finally was allowed to get a cell phone. My parent’s started getting nervous after about my 3rd hitchhiking adventure and finally gave in.

Anyshitmobile batman, I could go on forever about my vehicle history, but I’ll save that for another day. If you’re a curious to read more you can always read about how talented I am at removing a tampon whilst driving. That was one for the books.

My original point was, I’m actually NOT completely hating my car today despite the fact that I recently had a blow out which caused me (or…erghm…my mother) (thanks!) to shell out 200 dollars, because of COURSE they convinced me that I needed two new tires. ( This actually has a story that is worthy of it’s very own blog post so I’m going to hold off.)

Yeah usually I would be pissed. But not today. Today I totally relate to those car bangers. Only maybe I don’t want to have sex with my car… but I sure could give it a hug right now.

You see, I’ve spent the last 3 months melting away because my air conditioning was broke and I didn’t think I could afford to fix it. I found out yesterday all it needed was a little frion, so I’m back, baby! No more sweaty pits! No more sweaty underboobs! No more sweaty fupa! I kid…

I’m gonna try to catch up on a million blogs over the next few days, and my goal next week is to get back to regularly posting, but I have learned never to make any promises.

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

First off, I want to start by saying that while this definitely goes into the TMI category, the following post is by no means written with the intent of solely being gross or disgusting. This is a topic that I have been thinking about for a while, and it is something I truly feel needs to be discussed.

Queef is one of my least favorite words in the dictionary, though I’m not even sure it is in the dictionary.

Hold on. I’ll check Dictionary.com…

Queef: No Dictionary results

Well damn, dictionary.com- get with the times.

Thank goodness we have Urban Dictionary to rely on.

The top entry:

1. Queef: an expulsion of wind from the vulva during coitus; a vaginal fart.

You see people, I have a slight problem with this. While technically, yes, a queef is an expulsion of wind from the vulva- it #1. doesn’t only happen during “coitus,” (who uses that word besides teachers?) and #2 I wouldn’t necessarily call it a fart.

While queefs are similar to farts in that they both are air escaping a cavity in our nether-regions, I think a queef is more of a distant cousin to a fart, if anything. Basically what I’m saying is that I think that for centuries now, queefs have been highly misunderstood.

Farts are the result of the food that you put into your body. The odor and air comes from a place deep down in your bowels where undigested food festers and rots. (I have no idea if this is correct, but it’s the way I imagine it, shut up.) Farts are capable of causing an odor, not unlike the scent that comes from a dumpster or food rotting in your desk drawer. Essentially, it seems to me that is precisely what they are. Your ass is the dumpster or disgusting desk drawer in this scenario, if that wasn’t clear.

I’m getting tired of using the word queef, so from this point on I shall call it by it’s homonym, a Ppfffsshhhhhh.

Ppfffsshhhhhs on the other hand, they are simply the result of extra air being released from a woman’s special parts. There is no odor unless you have a nasty wanana, or have been storing food items up there for reasons that I don’t want to hear about. They aren’t the result of a diet. They don’t mean someone is disgusting. And most importantly, they cannot be foreseen and they most certainly cannot be controlled.

I’m not bitching about this because I’ve had a terrible experience with ppfffsshhhhhhing or anything. Oh sure, I’ve experienced them, plenty of times, but it wasn’t really anything too drastic or embarrassing, and that’s kind of my point. I feel like most adults are to the point where they know there isn’t anything mortifying about ppfffsshhhhhing, yet there is still this stigma that comes along with the real word for ppfffsshhh. I feel like as we get older, it becomes not so much a big deal, but I remember hearing high school boys talk about it and I thought it would be the end of the world if it happened to me during sex.

Though it isn’t the end of the world or a deal breaker (I don’t think) I do still get a little embarrassed when it happens during sexy time. It’s either completely verbally ignored but dwelled upon, thus ruining the remainder of the tromp; or it is followed by an awkward giggle and the comment “ummm… that wasn’t a fart.”

To be honest, most of my experiences with ppffsshhhhhing haven’t even happened during sex. I was a dancer. There were times when we would have to lay on the floor with our legs above our head and one would inevitably escape. Even now when I do yoga, I’m quite sure that there is at least one ppffsshhhhh that occurs in every session by some woman in the class.

That is why I believe that ppffsshhhhhs shouldn’t even have a place in the TMI world. They need a new name that doesn’t sound so gross, and then they need to be de-stigmatized.

My motto? Shit happens, and so do ppffsshhhhhs.

So let’s all come together for the cause. Help me think of a new name for ppffsshhhhhs. We can enter it into Urban dictionary and do our part to change the world and make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire vaginal race.

A sample entry:

V:_____________ (syn) queef, pussy fart (homonym) ppffsshhhhh

1. An expulsion of wind from the vulva that can happen during coitus, stretching, Dr.’s visits, baths, or basically during any activity where any amount of air is pushed up into the vaginal cavity. Although______s do come out of a woman’s woohoo, there is absolutely nothing gross about them. They are usually the result of a pleasurable activity, and even Oprah Winfry, Michelle Obama, and Megan Fox have ______ed on many occasions.

***Feel free to add to that definition as well.

And also?

What has two thumbs and can ppffsshhhhh on command?

Oh yeah, this girl.

ALSO! It’s not too late to enter my Brentalfloss CD Giveaway. Contest closes Midnight on April 4th I will announce the winners next Monday, so get on it. If you are unfamiliar, familiarize yourself with this dude here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll tell you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ummmm… something smells REALLY bad in here.”

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

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

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

Awesome.

Which leads me to last night.

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

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

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

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

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

EWWWWWWW

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

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

All was right in the world once again.

My ass didn’t smell.

There was poo on my shoe.

WIN!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skid lake lay inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A  little back story.

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

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

But that’s a different story for another day.

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

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

She didn’t feel so great.

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

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

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

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

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

Understandable.

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

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

The rest of the drive continued in this matter.

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

And then it started.

“Blerrrrrrghgggjgjjggjgj”

Oh no. She vommed.

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

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

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

Queue in the dry heaves. “Blerrrrrrccchhhh”

I giggled thinking it was just a sympathy heave.

“blerrrrrrcccchhh” Ok maybe not so much.

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

I suppose it could have been worse…

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

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

Love you A!!!

Time out… Let’s take another look at my car and make sure you’re not in there.

No? Well we really can’t be sure, can we? You haven’t even seen the back seat yet. And I’m not going to bother with that because quite frankly it disgusts me to look at.

Anydisgustingness, I keep hearing about how this Craigslist world is such a magical place. I spent a million hours on it a day when I was looking for a jobby-job. As a result I never got a job, but I did go on many interesting interviews. However, it seems like everyone else that I know in the whole-wide-world has had magnificent success on Craigslist. I have friends who have sold cars in an hour, found great deals on iphones, and it seems some people have great success finding hookups. I’ll admit, I’ve spent quite a bit of time perusing the Men seeking men section. It’s quite amusing.

I know I’ve mentioned that I’m moving in a couple of weeks, and I have no idea where. Actually, there are quite a few things I need to work out in the next few weeks… I have  things to get rid of, I need a bed, and I’m not sure how I’m going to survive outside of my current living situation.

It’s very bitter sweet. I currently have 2 roommates, two of them being my two favorite gay boys in the world. Now they are moving off to live on their own, and while I’m super pumped about living with my BFF LA, who is going to blow dry my hair when I’m too lazy to do so? Who is going to make high-pitched pig oinks to deter me from eating a brownie? Who the hell is going to stop me from leaving the house looking like a homeless person?????  And once again… where am I going to live???????

In an act of desperation, I’ve decided to turn to Craigslist for answers. I know what I’m looking for may not exist, but if everything I’ve heard about Craigslist is true- I figure it’s worth a try!!!

Housing wanted: Looking for house/condo/castle/bungalow/log cabin/mansion

Location: DFW

We are 2 girls looking for housng for rent in the DFW area. We would like to be close to Fort Worth, but I work in Butt-Effing-North Dallas, so preferably something in the middle of the two. We could probably afford anything up to $1,300- but would really like to stay in the $600-$900 price range so that we have more money left over for booze and DVDs. We need a minimum of three bedrooms, a large back yard, a pool and hot tub (with a hot pool boy included,) a wet bar, 2 master bathrooms, jacuzzi tubs, a fountain, a statue somewhere in the yard, a two car garage, 2 living areas, an office, an exercise room, a wet bar, and a bidet.

Neither of us are very clean, but we promise to stuff everything in our closets if the land-lord ever needs to stop by. Actually we would prefer a land-lord that lives out of the country. Must be pet friendly as my roommate will be bringing her poop-eating Basset hound, and I will be buying a new rat in the near future. Or maybe a ferrett, I haven’t decided yet. I would reallllly like a monkey, but I’m not sure that is legal.

We are friendly neighbors, and expect the same out of anyone who lives near us!! To be more specific we would really like to live next to hot single boys. They must like to drink beer and know how to fix things and it would really help if they know how to cook.

On the other side, we would like to live next door to an old lady who likes to make ice tea and bring us left-overs.

We aren’t very loud but do like to sing and hold dance parties in our living room. We may not pay rent on time every month, but if we don’t, we promise to have super good excuses.

Can’t wait to live in your home!!

Roommate wanted: Looking for gay roommate to fill some  big shoes!!

Location: DFW

Heeeeeyyyyyyyy Lovahs!!!!!

Do you need a place to live? Do you like to clean and lot drink wine? Do you know every word to the Rent soundtrack?? We may be the roommates for you!!!

I am losing my gay best roommate, and I need a replacement ASAP.

Must love singing, watching Glee, and indulging my taste for cheezy romance movies. I sometimes forget to unplug things like hair rollers or flat-irons, so I need someone who will leave for work after me, and who will check for these things. Must be computer savvy, and know how to fix my phone when it freezes up. It is imperative that you like cheese… a lot. You must like/and know how to break in a pair of high heels in short amount of time. Must lovvvveeee to do dishes, or at least hate the way that I do them- so that you will do them yourself. It would be a great plus if you enjoy organizing things on shelves and know how to clean up an exploded toilet.

In addition your duties will also include: making sure I pay my bills, cooking all of my meals, blowing out my candles that I leave burning, figuring out how to put the tv on DVD mode, making the internet work on my computer, cleaning up glass when I drop my wine, ironing my hair with the clothes- iron when I want it really shiny, telling me when I’m being a bitch, reminding me to take back my movies, and telling me that you have all the symptoms as I do when I think I’m dying so that I don’t think I’m going to die alone.

I can deal with the bugs that need squishing, but I will need someone who will not tell anyone if I drunkenly decide to pee in an empty water cooler in the garage. I’ll keep your secrets for you too!!

Can’t wait play board games and sneak wine into art house movies with you!!!!

Jobs/Volunteer/Intern: Life Coach/decision maker needed

Location: DFW

I am a single, indecisive girl looking for a companion to help me through life!! You can be male or female, but I am (mostly) looking for a platonic relationship- so if you’re male it would be best if you’re asexual.

Job Description: Make every decision for me.

Details: Your job will be to make sure that I make no more silly mistakes in life, though if I do- you will be responsible for them.

Must be able to make quick, smart, decisions. These will range anywhere from big-life changing decisions (should I text, or should I not text) to small decisions that may or may not have an impact on my life (what should I eat for dinner.)

Skills: Nutrition, fashion, boys, social networking, facebook updating, dealing with drunk people.

Compensation: None.

___

Wish me luck!!

That being said, let’s do this shiz!

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

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

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

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

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

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

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

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

I am still planning on posting about each of them, but I figure I’ll start with the one that was both asked the most, and the one that will be the most difficult to recount.

So here it is for those of you who were curious: the story of how I was almost a contestant on The Biggest Loser (though it is not nearly as exciting as it sounds.)  I really hope I’m not gonna have NBC on my ass for talking about it, but I’m pretty sure that I’m in the clear after all this time.

I suppose I should start this with a little background. This is pretty much the story that I had to tell a million times during the audition process, so I suppose it is pretty pertinent.

I was never one of those kids who could eat whatever they wanted. I started watching my weight around the age of 10, and even more so when I got more into dance. It wasn’t that I was ever really “big” per se, it just didn’t come as easily to me as it did to others, or at least that’s the way it felt back then. I remember being in dance class and having to wear two piece outfits and feeling completely uncomfortable.

The older I got, the more uncomfortable I was with my body. We had to do monthly weigh-ins at dance, and there was nothing that plagued me more than the thought of gaining a pound or two and having it announced to everyone. Eventually my body image problems escalated into a full-fledged eating disorder. I am not going to go into details now, that might be better fodder for a TMI post, but let’s just say that eventually it got out of hand. Right before college I decided it was time to seek help.

I started out college as a dance major, which meant that I spent a lot of time in front of mirrors. At the same time I was trying to put a stop to my eating disorder, which consequently (and rightly so) made me gain weight. I knew that if I wanted to quit being destructive to myself, I would have to stop spending so much time examining myself.

I quit dance. I pretty much quit exercising altogether. I started eating and held it down. I learned to enjoy life without worrying about food and exercise and what people thought about the way I looked. I drank a lot. I ate horribly because I grew up being a terribly picky eater and really didn’t know any better.

And you know what? I had a fucking blast.

I was conscious, even at the time, that I was gaining weight at a rapid pace, but at the same time- for the first time that I could remember- I was really happy. I found new passions and I met people who didn’t talk obsess about their appearance. I found out that people liked me for more than my appearance.  I am aware now that I switched out one destructive behavior for another, but looking back- I really have no regrets. I don’t think that I’d ever be where I am now without going through that stage. I wish it could have been avoided but it wasn’t, and I’m a better person for it.

My first year after college, things started to get a little more difficult for me. I knew that I had gone to the other extreme, and I knew that I had to do something about it if I wanted to be healthy or if I wanted to live, for that matter. I noticed that people started treating me different because of my size. People can be really mean, and although I usually held my head high and shook it off, it hurt. Bad.

I’m a relatively small person (5’2″, or 5’3″ if you’re looking at my driver’s license) and when I went to the doctor and found out that I had reached 250 lbs I went into shock. I had completely avoided doctors and scales for the last 6 years, and although I knew I was big, I had no idea it was that bad.

I was working as an intern for a local on-line newspaper at the time, and when I learned that The Biggest Loser was holding auditions across from my office, I joked that I should try out. I had never seen the show, (it was only in the second season at the time, but I have still never watched it!!) but most of my friends watched it religiously. With a little encouragement from my closest friends, I decided that “all jokes aside,” this might be a good opportunity for me. After all, I did always want to be on tv (though not necessarily in a sports bra) and I knew that gut wasn’t going to lose itself.

When I walked into the first audition, I really didn’t know what to expect. I had filled out 20 pages of questions about myself, and was told that there would be a group interview. I remember walking into the restaurant (Dave and Busters, of all places) where it was held and being completely overwhelmed by all the… well the extremely large people. The majority of the people there trumped me in size by at least 100 lbs. I waited in line for nearly 3 hours before the first round of interviews.

They finally called my group of about 20 people into the “interview” room and sat us in a circle. I remember  being squished between two people and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be seen. They asked questions to the group and I was intimidated by all the loud, overbearing, (for lack of a better word) people fighting for attention. I didn’t do anything to stand out, I just sat back and waited for them to ask me a question directly, and when I answered I was nervous as hell.

And then after the interview as I was leaving the room, I tripped and fell, taking about 3 chairs down with me. I laughed and said something awkward, I’m sure… but afterward 2 of the casting people started laughing and talked to me a little longer.

A few weeks later I got a call that they were interested, and they asked me to make a video showing a glimpse of my life. I had no idea what to do, how to make a video, or how I should come across. So I got out my huge old camera and basically tried to do just what they asked. I filmed a little bit of my home life, some clips of me rapping at a bar, and made a spoof of an NBC “The More You Know” public service announcement.

After I sent my tape in I didn’t hear anything for another month or so. When I did, they asked me to go for another round of one on one interviews at a local fitness club. During this interview they had me tell my story and wanted me to cry a lot, which usually comes easy to me, but when put on the spot, it was nearly impossible. At one point the even wanted me to “dance” for the camera. I fell during this portion too… Not cool Carissa.

After another month that was full of phone interviews, background checks, and more paperwork- I was asked to go spend a week being sequestered in LA. I had to sign  (what seemed like) a thousand page contract and was not supposed to tell anyone where I was going. I was supposed to pack for 3 months, in case I got cast for the show.

The time I spent in LA turned out to be the most boring week of my life. They put me up in a really nice hotel room, but I wasn’t allowed to talk to any of the other contestants. I couldn’t leave without the accompaniment of one of the production assistants. Other than a 10 hour physical where they did everything but drug test my hair, and a few interviews and psychiatric evaluations- I spent the majority of the time dancing in my room with the air conditioning vent blowing on my hair whilst pretending I was in a music video. I started to convince myself that I wasn’t there for  The Biggest Loser after all, but for a reality show about the crazy things people do when they are trapped in a hotel room.

Every day they sent home more people. The production staff and casting directors all told me that the producers were digging on me, but I had no idea what to really think about any of it. Eventually the last day came around, and I was told that morning that in a few hours they would come to get me to take cast pictures and so I could get my t-shirt.

I waited…

and waited….

Finally, after several hours of pacing I called one of my favorite casting directors to see what was going on. She came up to talk to me in my room and I could tell it wasn’t going to be good. She basically explained that at the last minute they decided to go with another contestant. One of the producers was worried about the stigma that would come with having someone on the show that had previously had an eating disorder. She said that they really liked me and that there was a really good possibility that they would put me on the next season.

And yes, I basically went through the same process a year later… only to be told once again that “my story” wasn’t right for the season. I even got told at one point that if I could find a “bigger person” for the couples edition and make up a story about my relationship with them, that I would for sure get on.

The more this shit drug on, the more angry it made me. I am all about a little cheese and even a little drama, but I wasn’t going to lie on television. I also got sick of fake crying about my situation. I have been through a lot, but while I was a bigger person, I was still happier than I had been when I was sick.

To make a long story short, while the whole experience  pisses the hell out of me…  I still think I owe the majority of my weight loss to the Biggest Loser. After the last audition process, I grew really tired of waiting on someone else to fix my problems for me. I knew that if those people on tv could change their lives and lose  a ton of weight, then I could do it to… with or without Jillian Michaels.

And I have.

People ask me all the time “how I did it.”  I get really nervous every time I see someone that I haven’t seen in years because I know the question is coming. It makes me happy that people have noticed the changes that I’ve made, but I still get really flustered when it is brought up. I am proud at what I’ve achieved, but at the same time it kind of bothers me that it is such a big deal… even though I know it is.  I wish I had some magical answer. I hate when people say that their weight loss was just a result from working out a few times a weak and cutting down on cheese. I also get mad when people assume that I have had some sort of surgery or that I take diet pills.

The truth is, it wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. There are days when I feel weak and want to take the easy way out. There are days when I want to skip the gym. There are days when all I want to do is eat a pound of Reeses Pieces. And there are days that I do fall off the wagon and eat a good amount of Reeses Pieces, though now they are few and far between.

I’ve lost over a hundred pounds the last 2 years and there are times where I will see myself in the mirror and not recognize who I see. I’ve changed on the inside too, but all in all, I’m still the same person. I’ve been at both extremes and sometimes I am confused at where I stand. I still get really annoyed when I hear people making fun of  “fat” people, because in a way, I’m still that person. I can also now talk for hours about how addicting a healthy lifestyle is, and how much it can do for your mental state. I’m not sure I will ever be done with this journey. I don’t think it’s necessarily even a journey of weight loss, so much as it is a journey of figuring out how to make the most out of my life.

And there it is. Thanks for sticking with me throughout this ridiculously long post.  I actually feel better having talked about this, even though I don’t usually do so…. I think I’ll stay away from the serious for a while though. It hurts my head. Happy Humpalicious day people!

My brain isn’t on “write” mode just yet, but I will attempt to put at least a little information out there. “Attempt” being the key word here. I know, I know… it’s Tuesday… what the hell is wrong with me? I don’t know!!! I usually have the hardest time sleeping, but last night it was like someone, finally after 3 weeks, shut my brain off and tied my eyelids closed with steel. It was the first night in a long time that I’ve slept without either ambien or alcohol, which was great! Except for the fact that I am still exhausted today. I don’t feel like I’m coming down with anything, so I’m just gonna go with- the last month (or 3) have finally caught up with me, and that’s ok.

Bear with me, but first of all -I feel I need to play a little catchup on the goings on of my life, for those of you who are interested.

First off, I know I briefly mentioned it a while back, but last weekend I went down to Houston to see a dance show that my friend had written. This is a girl who I have known since I was about 9 through the community theater program in my hometown, but I hadn’t seen her in nearly 10 years. Craziness! She was always a great friend, but she really caught me off guard when she got in touch with me a while back and told me that she was now teaching dance and performing in Houston, and that she had written a dance show inspired by me! ME?

I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, and I’m glad I Jupiter or some other planet didn’t get in the way either. The story was based on a dancer named Carissa who along with her “soul,” (also named Carissa) takes a journey to a dark side and then in the end it appears she dies at a rave. I was a little sad that I died, but in the end she does appear to be brought back to life. My friend said there are several ways that you could look at it, but I’m choosing to go with she was just so tired after that crazy rave, that she decided to take a nap,  and her soul awakens her so that she doesn’t miss the new episode of Chuck. THAT I could relate to today.

The best part of the weekend was getting to catch up with my friend after all of these years, and also getting to spend some time with some of my other old friends who I don’t get to see very often.

Then this last weekend I got to spend some quality time doing nothing but laugh and watch movies with another group of friends that I don’t see often, even though they live fairly close.  I have realized that I have at least 10 people who I would fit into the BFF category, but it is sad how little most of these have to do with my everyday life These last two weeks have kind of made me nostalgic. It’s weird how much time goes by, and even though I’m conscious of the importance that these people have in my life, I rarely get the chance to tell them. I’ve also been thinking about how strange it is that people weave in and out of our lives, touching us in ways that they never have before with each appearance.

Anyways, I’m not trying to get all sentimental on your asses, I think I did enough of that last week.

So let’s move on to some post-it’s, shall we? For more great post-it’s check out Supah Mommy’s blog! It is the bomdiggity! or as it is more cooly said these days, the diggity!

Cocktimus prime

A limp Cocktus

Hard to believe that is the same fellah! Such a sad sad day.

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

(I know that not all of you can watch videos at work, but I swear on all that is great on this earth, this video is worth your time. )

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

Oh and both you Bill’s still have nothing on my boyfriend John Cusack. Though I do think Google is catching on to my evil plan to make this news known to the world. I keep dropping in Google searches, but I’m determined to make this happen. I will not give up. Suckas!

And this is a little unrelated, but that’s how I role. Lately whenever I’m feeling down, The Weepies have been my turn to music. I am not a fan of the puppets in this video, but I love love this song. And pretty much all of their music… Check it, fools.

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]