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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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First we have to rewind a few weeks back.  I was at my parent’s house and decided I needed a few new CDs to listen to on my way back to Dallas. I was a little short on cash, so I decided to obtain them the free-est way I knew how… by purchasing them on my mom’s Itunes account. After I picked out a few that I couldn’t live without (The XX, The New Pornographers, Manchester Weekend) I synced them to my own Ipod. I’m not sure if you are aware, but this is the riskiest thing a gal can do. No less than 3 times have I deleted my Itunes library whilst trying to take music from someone else’s computer, or vice versa.

Since I’ve started the new job I have spent the majority of my music face time on GrooveShark.com, so last night was the first time I’d really given the new play-list a good listen. There was a strong smell of water-hose water in the air, which always  puts me in an excellent  mood, so I was really enjoying myself. After I had  listened to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zero’s “Home” about 3 times I finally let it move on to the next song in the mix.

When I synced up my pod I must have accidentally downloaded some of my mother’s music because it was a song I’d never heard before- but dude… it really made me want to dance-walk. I mean, I usually dance walk, but this song made me want to DANCE. I have rarely allowed myself to indulge in pop music since my “NSYNC” obsession ended, and I never listen to anything but NPR on the radio, but I swear… this girl had right about the same pitch as I do and within a few minutes I was singing “oooohhh baby, baby, baby” along with her at the top of my lungs.  I immediately started thinking of all the steps I would choreograph if I were still teaching dance, and started experimenting with a few of them right there on the street.

Without looking at my ipod, (I keep it on one of those arm thingies that make you “do the pretzel” just to look at it) I started the song over several times because there was this rap-part at the end that I decided I wanted to memorize.

When I finally looked down to find out who this new pop-chick was, I was freaking devastated.

It was – Justin. Fucking. Bieber.

If that’s not cool, I don’t know who is. And I obviously don’t…

I had seen his name on Twitter’s trending topics and once I looked into it, I recognized his face, but had somehow gone this long without hearing this song. The saddest part about it, is that I’m so late to the game. I KNOW people have been talking about him for months, and I simply ignored the whole fad. It’s kind of like I only recently found out what Crocs are, and last night I had to have my roommate tell me who Justin Cook AND Adam Lambert were… At least I think those were their names.

It kind of makes me feel sad and old all at the same time… It’s not like I have a crush on him or anything, I just kind of dug his sound.

HOLY SHIT!?! Is this the same thing that my mom did 15 years ago when she was obsessed with the Backstreet Boys and Nick Lache!? AM I THAT UNCOOL!???

I’m not sure what to do with this feeling I have. I mean, if I were 10 I’m sure I’d have his posters plastered all over my wall…

But I’m not 10 and I am admittingly kind of a music snob, and now I find out that I don’t hate this fifteen year old shim’s music?!?

Oh and I forgot the best part… When I was on the walk, after I decided to ignore the fact that Justin Bieber had given me the dancing fever and I decided to continue with my dance-walk, two hot boys who were running turned the corner and caught me in the act. Dancing and singing. To Justin Bieber. ( AND NO THEY WEREN”T 15)

I obviously rule.

It did make me feel a little better when I found out that I’m not the only person out of his target audience who has a case of Bieber Fever. I mean he did get nominated for a BET newcomer award.

You know what? I think I may just embrace it. I’ll probably lose my all my follower for this but oh well… I like that “Baby” song, and who knows… I may even like him more once I finish downloading the whole album. I might spend two hours making up dances in my room, and I may even post the videos of it on YouTube. But for now I’ll just do this.

AND YEAH. I  Did this too.

2-The number of times that I’ve washed my sheets since I moved in, or any of my clothes for that matter.  (We don’t have a washer or dryer)

2-The number of times I thought my roommate LA used her secret powers to dissapear since I’ve moved in. (We have really weird accoustics in this house so I can never tell where her voice is coming from. It’s really scary when you think you have known someone for 9 years and you’re just now discovering she has the ability to dissapear.)

9-The number of times that our ghost has scared the living daylights out of me since I’ve moved in.

148-The number of pimples that I have on my face due to stress and poor diet.

2-The number of bottles of face wash that I’ve owned in my lifetime.

8- The number of boxes I have yet to unpack. Most of them have books in them, and it’s only when they are all packed up and available that I actually want to read them.

45- The number of times that I’ve cheated on my diet since moving in.

45- The number of times that I’ve said “Tomorrow I’m starting my diet again, for real.” psssha

123,433,123- The approximate number of Jelly Bellies that I’ve consumed in the last 2 months.

3- The number of times that I thought that our new coffee maker was broken and was spilling water. Turns out that I was just ambien-preparing the coffee late at night, then woke up and made it again in the morning not realizing I had already prepared it the night before. For those of you who are unaware, when you put double the water in the coffee tank, the water spills out a little hole in the back, causing crazy people to believe that the coffee maker is broken.

9- The number of days since I’ve been on Match.com.

3-The number of times that I’ve signed on to Match. That shit takes up a lot of time, that frankly I don’t want to spend answering emails from strangers. I have gone out with one guy a few times which has been really fun… I just don’t understand how people have the mental energy and time to put into dating multiple people…

48-The number of times that I’ve gotten out of my current shower and had morbid thoughts that I was probably going to slip and crack my head open because I don’t have a bath mat.

135- The number of times in my life that I’ve wondered if Paul Rudd is actually a vampire. (That guy never ages, seriously)

4-The number of times in the last month that I’ve had weird dreams that somehow involved the Mac guy from the “I’m a Mac” commercials. I have no explanation for this one.

50- (At Least) The number of wine bottles that have been consumed since moving into this house.

3-The number of weeks since I have last gotten paid. I’m going on no monies at this point.

4- The number of times I’ve said that giving out massages with happy-endings might not actually be that bad of a moonlighting gig.

3- The number of big gigantic ketchup bottles that I have finished in 2 months.

2- The number of boys that I was not actually dating that have broken up with me in the last week. One was documented here, which I still feel a little guilty posting about since I’m a really really nice person. The other happened shortly after. It was actually the first comment posted on that particular post…

I have copied and pasted it below for you lazy bones who don’t want to go and see it for yourself:

___________

Jake 1 week ago

_______

For those of you who don’t remember, Jake is my gay best friend/ex-roomie. He’s the one who used to blow dry my hair and make the “whheeee whheeee” sound when I wanted to overeat. He used to break in my high heels and would  cook me dinner every night. I miss him. We weren’t so much peas and carrots, but we were definitely something like ketchup and baked potatoes.

I miss the way he used to sing “la la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la la la la .. ooooooooeeeeeeooooooooooooo,ooooooo ahhhhhhahhhhhhahhhhh (Lovin You, as performed in National Lampoons Vegas Vacation) No one, I mean nobody can hit that high note like he can.

On the same subject, if we break up, who will sing “I will Always Love You” at my wedding???? That is assuming someone will marry me of course.

I admit it has been hard to keep up a long distance (30 miles apart) relationship going, but I’ve had a lot going on… plus this thing goes both ways. I don’t see Jake coming to see me every weekend, or calling me every night. Isn’t the boy supposed to call the girl? Ok, Ok.. maybe the same rules don’t apply in a gaylationship. But still… I’m hurt.

Against All Odds

I thought it was a joke at first, but in the last week I have been getting numerous texts and Facebook posts that have lead me to believe that he is serious about breaking up. It upset me a lot, but it wasn’t until what went down on Facebook last night that I realized I needed to take action.

I have no idea how to do that thing where you screen shot facebook, but this is  how the status updates went down…

Jake ____ would like to officially announce to the world that I’m ignoring Carissa____. It’s been a long time coming…ooooooover “it”…whatever “it” is, or was!

Although this isn’t the first time that Jake and I have argued, it IS the first time that I have realized just how much of a serious problem us breaking up could mean.  Not only am I missing out on good times with my favorite goy on the planet. (Goy is my word for gay boy, duh.) But I am also potentially setting myself up for a scandal. It hit me like a thousand cactus pricks in my ass (no pun intended) that not only does Jake own the domain name for “CarissaJaded,” but he also has the sole ability to keep me from ever becoming president. Let’s be honest, I may not be the most obvious gal for the job, but I’d like to keep my options open.

So my response?

Just when I thought I had hit a massive wall, the internets once again made my world seem a million times better. Thanks so much for all of the encouragment…. as always, you never cease to surprise me. (in a totally awesome find 2 prizes in the bottom of the cereal box sort of way.)

I really try to stay positive, and as much as I know it feels good to vent, most of the time I try to stay away from the serious stuff here on the old blogster. It’s not  because I don’t want to share these things, or because I’m afraid of straying too away from the funny, but I mostly refrain from talking about the personal stuff because it forces me to deal with it… and I spend a great amount of my time avoiding things in my head. I hope one of these days I will get around to really getting some of this stuff off my chest, but for tonight I’m going to continue avoiding it…

Speaking of, I’ve gotten back into listening to podcasts, and I feel like I’m learning so much. My roomie LA just got me into this podcast called “Stuff you Should Know,” and boy I’m realizing there is so much stuff I didn’t know. Like did you know that there are real life zombies? Or that there are people who literally dedicate their lives in these modern times to figuring out who Jack the Ripper was?  Or that the guy who originally started McDonald’s actually has the last name Kroc? Or that the Amish allow their young people time to run free and live with the regular people and that most of them return home? I actually already knew that last one, but only because of that Harrison Ford movie “Witness.” It’s a really great movie, but I really wish the Harrison Ford character had been played by Jeff Bridges.

In fact, I think you could really take any of those middle of the road old-ish guy actor movies and replace the lead with Jeff Bridges, and you would have an exponentially better movie.

Take “Pretty Woman” for example. Now put Jeff Bridges in Richard Gere’s role. Not the Starman Jeff Bridges, but “the Dude” Jeff Bridges. I bet he would have had a lot more fun with prosty Julia Roberts. Or what about Twister, one of my favorite movies ever? Can you imagine if Bill Paxton was played by hippie Jeff Bridges? As the tornado swept in and took out that outdoor movie theater, he would have been all- ” Fuck no tornado, that theater really tied the whole fuckin town together. Fucccckkkk man.”  Or I dunno. Maybe my old-ish man crush on Jeff Bridges is really getting out of hand. I can’t stop listening to the “Crazy Heart” soundtrack, and I’ve watched “The Fisher King” like 4 times this month.

Don’t worry John Cusack, you’re still my number one. I’ve watched Serendipity pretty much every night for the last two weeks as I was falling asleep. I don’t care what anyone says, cheesy as it is… “Serendipity” makes my heart beat. AND it also influenced me to read my favorite book of all time “Love in the Time Of Cholera.”

Wow, I’m clearly random tonight. I guess that’s what skipping out on blogging for nearly two weeks will do to a girl. I have this whole notebook of things that I’ve been jotting down that I want to talk about, and I’m going to try my damndest to spread it out over time and actually put up some decent posts, but so far, not so good.

In other randomness, I tried something this weekend that may have changed my life. (And no I’m not talking about cutting off a fish head, though that DID HAPPEN!) More about that later.

THE EYES KEPT BLINKING EVEN WHIST DECAPITATED!!!

You see, I grew up being completely obsessed with chocolate milk. Not the kind that already comes mixed up for you, but chocolate milk of the Nestle Quick powder variety. Even as a toddler it was my favorite. Before I could even say “Mommy,” I could say “chocolate milk.” Not really, but I did say “dark Nah” which was my word for chocolate milk.I can’t explain to you the level of my love for chocolate milk, but I can tell you it used to be right up there with ketchup. In fact, I even drink it differently than I drink other drinks. It’s like I drink it from the back of my throat instead of out of the front of my mouth. Never mind, that all sounds kind of gross.

Regardless, Chocolate milk is a very important part of my “World O’ Happy,” other wise known as the things that are my most favorite in the whole wide world.

At least 2 times a day until I was 14 I would pull up a chair to the kitchen counter, get my favorite light blue plastic cup from the top shelf, and pour 4 heaping spoonfuls of chocolately goodness into my milk. It would never fail that at least one of these spoonfuls would end up on the counter, stuck in the cracks for my parents to wipe up later. At some point in my early teens when it became clear to them that I would never become a clean scooper, Nestle quick was banned from my house forever. One day, I went into the kitchen to stir up my favorite poison, only to find that my powder quick had been replaced by the syrup.

Nomaam.com. Syrup chocolate milk just isn’t near as yummy. It doesn’t provide you with a mustache that has a real-life grainy texture. You don’t get the same lumps at the bottom of the glass that you can lick out with your tongue.

I bought the powder Nestle Quick for the first time in my adult life not too long ago, and was really disappointed to find that it just wasn’t the same. The magic was gone. It could be partially because I can no longer drink real milk, so had to mix my quick with a soy substitute, which is great with cereal, but it just doesn’t seem to mix well with powder. It really sucks donkey ass.

So this weekend, as LA and I were loading up on liquids to cure our hangovers as we headed out for a long day of fishing at my family farm, LA got really excited when she came across a bottle of YooHoo.

She’s all like, “OH MY GOSH, I haven’t had Yoohoo in like a million years, this stuff is like crack.” I’m like, “EWWWW, that’s like fake chocolate milk without milk in it.”

“YOU”VE NEVER HAD IT, HAVE YOU!?!?”

“Nope… Why would someone drink fake chocolate milk? It’s like that Dave Chapelle skit where that kid wants “sugar water purple” instead of Sunny D.

So she finally talked me into trying it. I woman-ed up and tried Sugar-water brown… and it was delicious!!!! I’ve spent the better part of this evening googling recipes to find out how to make my own version, since I’m poor and also because I like to make my own versions of these things. Turns out there is a reason I like it so much, and it DOES have milk in it.. kind of.

All the recipes I could find look like this:

• 1/2 cup instant chocolate drink mix (Nestle Quik is best)
• 1 1/2 cups nonfat dry milk powder
• 3 cups water

Ahhh the magic of chocolate milk is back.

And so am I. Mostly.

I’ll be getting back to the dares and my regular posts very soon. I’m still getting used to my new job which is a thousand times more busy than my last job, but in a great way. My8 hour day feels like 3 hours. It’s going to take a little getting used to.

I know… I’m so white I don’t even need a night light… (I don’t even know what that means)

I’m so white, I make Queen look like Queen Latifa…

I’m so white, I make Casper shit his pants…

Ok I’ll quit.

So here I am quickly approaching day two of my Stay-cation. Did I mention that I’m off this week? Cause, yeah- I most definitely am. Friday was my last day of work at my old job, and next Monday I start a new postition that is much, much closer to home.That being said, for the majority of this week my web-presence is most likely going to be non-existant. I’ll try my best to read as many blogs from my phone, but I probably won’t be able to comment much. I’ve got quite a few things to take care of, plus- I’m spending the majority of my time watching movies and writing up some reviews over at Red Carpet Crash. So check it people!

Lets dive right into these stickies, shall we? For more awesome sticky note greatness, make sure you check out Supah Mommy’s page!

While I’m so super pumped about my week off, one of these days I would truly like a week off, where I have absolutely no obligatgions. More than that, I cannot express to you just how great this Rocky Mountain jalapeno popcorn is. I wish I was famous and could get some sort of endorsement or like 8 years of free popcorn or something, but I’m not. But still.. it’s the shitsizzle.

A few weeks ago, my roommate LA discovered this stuff, and I can’t decide if it is my heaven or my hell. Either way, I’ve been eating an average of 300000000 kernels a day, and so far, I think it’s worth it.

Isn’t it weird how you won’t smell something for years, and then all of a sudden you get a whiff of something that brings a whole life-time of memories back to you? Usually this only happens when I get a whiff of cafeteria food, and I’m brought back to the days when we used to have competitions in my elementary school (and then later college) cafeterias, seeing how many foods we could mix together and then eat. The winner got the best item from someone’s lunch at the table. Today though, I found an old perfume oil at the bottom of one of my old purses. I put it on, and immediately was brought back to my life 3 years ago. It wasn’t the most happy time of my life, but I vividally recalled a few moments that I wouldn’t had otherwise. I’m not sure of what my point in sharing this was, other than- be careful what you smell.

I’ve gotten the opportunity of the lifetime the last few days at the Dallas International Film Festival. I’ve seen quite a few films, and none have managed to disapoint, which doesn’t make for the best fare when you’re out to write reviews. My favorite moment so far? Meeting Clint Howard. I know most of you probably think he’s an ugly sonofabitch… but you know, I’ve always had this weird unexplainable fascination with the dude. So meeting him was pretty much euphorical…

OH GAWD I LOVE ME SOME CHEST HAIR!

I can’t eve start to explain to you how excited I am to be a member of BRTWOA (Bike Riders to Work Of America). I just made it up, but really I’m pumped. How awesome not to have to waste precious money on asshole gas.  YAY!

I also can’t tell you how excited I am about my newest purchase. I have many projects on the way, some of which include my roommate LA, and others which have to do with my dare project. Speaking of, you should really submit a dare, even if you have already. I’m planning on getting many of these dare up and going in the near future, and I CAN”T WAIT. All you have to do is dare me, bitch. I dare you.

I know you probably thought my absence from the web had something to do with the ants eating at my brain, and if you did- you were partially right.YAY for you. But seriously, thanks for all your suggestions on how to do away with my pesky little problem, I’m on them all. Tonight, I try cucumbers. We’ll see how that goes. Keep your suggestions coming, because obviously my traps aren’t doing a damn thing…

I really do. All I want to do right now is have 1 million hours to read everyone’s posts. I feel so out of the loop. I heart you and I hope you remember me in my absense. And maybe I’ll get a chance to get around. Yeah, not like that…

(Turn and face the strain)

Ah yes… David Bowie. I love that man.

I really do love David Bowie. I have so many memories as a  child dancing around to “Rebel Rebel.” I was a little scared of him when I realized that he was the same baddie from The Labrynth, but really, that “What Babe, the Babe with the Power” song really makes it hard to see him as a bad guy anyway. Then of course there is my all time favorite Bowie classic “Space Oddity.” It’s one of my top 10 favorite songs to do impression style, and I do have to say I’m quite good. (If you don’t have ears.) (That comment makes me feel a little guilty after yesterday’s video post.)

Anyway, the real reason I bring him up is because David Bowie is solely responsible for the fact that I cannot say the word “Change” without getting “Changes” stuck in my brain. I don’t mind really, except for it leads to sudden outbursts in the middle of serious conversation. I guess it could be worse. At least it’s a good song.

So change… There’s been a lot of it in my life lately. I moved. I have a new roommate, LA, who is actually an old roommate and it seems to working out fabulously so far. I’ve met a lot of cool new people lately, which is always refreshing. I’ve had to adapt to ants all over my house and in my cereal, which is not so awesome.

But most recently? I got offered a new job. And I took it!

I’m really excited about it. I’m really gonna miss the peeps I currently work with, and it’s not that I’m unhappy or anything… but change seems to be a good thing right now. Plus the new gig is about a mile from my new house (vs. thirty) and my crazy hyperchondriac ass is finally going to be able to rock some health insurance. This is a really really good thing when you consider that I do things like get  recreationally tasered or stair surf on a regular basis.

Then again there are some things that never change.

For instance.

*This weekend I saw Hot Tub Time Machine. Amazing. I’m still in love with my boyfriend John Cusack, even more than ever… Plus I got to see his ass for a split second which made my life pretty much complete. Also, if you’re on the fence about seeing this one, it really is hilarious. All things Cusack aside, even if he wasn’t in it- I would recommend it to you. I would probably even reccomend it to you if Greg Kinnear (who I think is the bee’s elbows, or whatever the opposite of bee’s knees is) played JC’s role.

*I may have told you this before, but I’ve been disappointed on every single birthday of my life. I always think that this will be the year that my mom tells me I am actually a witch and that I have powers. It hasn’t happened yet. But I have taught myself tarot, (half assedly) and I have tried to tune up my psychic abilties… but thus far I think I’m a failure. This past weekend I went to a Medieval Fair (in Sucklahoma) and even though it was cold and rainy, I got so excited when I saw all the fortune tellers. I didn’t actually get my fortune told, but it did remind me that my REAL goal in life is to have witch powers. So if there are 3 ladies out there who want to join my coven, I’m game. We can be those weirdos and go “Craft” on all of our enemies. Or at least give them a bad case of ringworm.

Ever since I’ve moved I have been a major-la-dee-slacker when it comes to working out. My drive home from work  is nearly 45 minutes, and by the time I get home I’m so tired, irritated with traffic, and hungry that all I want to do is eat a few chips and salsa, or what ever I can find in the pantry that’s not covered with ants (I miss my gay roommate’s cooking!!!!!) and veg out.  It seems to be a little bit easier to be lazy now that I’m living back with LA.

Back in college LA and I were constantly fighting for the chance to out-laze each other. We always did that thing where one of us (usually LA) would act like she was dying and needed help. I would sit in my room pretending that I couldn’t hear it for a good twenty minutes, until the yelling finally made me a little worried, so I would run to her room just to find out that she wanted me to turn off her light or hand her something that wasn’t in arms reach. Over the years, I ‘ve learned how to play this game as well. You might say that the grasshopper has become the master… or however that saying goes.

Tonight’s events were the perfect example. After 90 minutes of not being lazy in Bikram Yoga, we decided to celebrate our recent activity by watching “Brothers.” I actually prefer to say we were watching “Jake Gyllenhall,” because that is frankly all I cared about.  We were both already settled on the couches when we realized that the remote wasn’t working. Of couese neither of us had the energy and were too stubborn to get off our asses to push the play button on the dvd player. So we sat listening to the most depressing menu song in the world for a good 40 minutes. We didn’t even talk about it out loud. We did so via facebook status updates.

Eventually my need for a snack broke me and I said something to the likes of “FUCKSHITDAMNIT YOU LAZY FOOL I”LL MAKE SOME POPCORN.” LA said she would get up too since she had to pee. So after a dramatic count of three we both got our asses off the couch, made some popcorn and then got settled again, only to realize the damn “play” button STILL NEEDED TO BE PUSHED!

So yeah.

That’s how my night played out.

Next time I’ll win. It’ll be epic.

For more stickies, be sure to check out Supah Mommy’s page!!!

Also if you haven’t yet entered my awesome giveaway, you should really do so now!

I used to be the kind of girl that watched all sorts of shows. In high school, I had a daily line up of TV that I would “just die” if I missed. Daily, I would leave giant notes on the kitchen table, reminding my father to push record on the VCR at precisely 7:00pm so that I would get to watch “Beverly Hills 90210,” “Party of 5,” (I would have done ANYTHING to be a Salinger) “Friends,” or “Felicity.” I would rush home from dance class to catch up on “Dawson’s Creek” and “Louis and Clark Superman.” Every Tuesday night I was glued to the TV to catch the latest episode  of “Buffy.” I even managed to schedule my classes so that I could be home to watch the daily disaster of a soap that was “Passions.”

It was only recently that I realized that most of my friends still have their TV rituals… and I do not. Oh there are a few shows that I still watch and enjoy when I manage to catch them (usually on TIVO,) but there aren’t any that I would change my schedule around to watch.

Yesterday as I was eating dinner, I sat down to watch the second episode of “Parenthood.” I had managed to catch the first episode (on TIVO) and had really enjoyed it. About five minutes or so into the episode I got up to check my email, and never came back. I thought about it a few times, but finally decided that I would rather watch “Star Trek” for the 14th time than get involved in a TV show. Even as I was clear in my decision, it bugged me. Why wouldn’t I give this perfectly adequate show a chance?

And then it dawned on me. I have developed a relationship pattern with television that is nearly identical to the relationship pattern that I have with men.

When I was young and care free, I fell in love easily. I would watch any old show that came along, and I would watch it with passion. The shows that I watched didn’t have much depth, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they entertained me. Most of the shows that I watched in high school, ironically ended about the same time that I graduated. Either that, or I lost interest when I moved away and didn’t have cable. It was the first time I realized that shows ended. That made sad. I grew up with those programs. I learned from them, both literally and figuratively. Then they were just gone, some without warning, leaving a big empty gap in my life.

Some of the shows that I watched in high school ended up in syndication, which kept my interest for a while until they became redundant. Eventually I quit watching them all together as my taste in television began to change.

I had to try out a few different genres before I really figured out what interested me. There was a time when I was all about the drama. I liked the shows that would leave me with a cliff-hanger, having to wait a full week to see what would happen next. There was a very short amount of time when I really liked the trashy shallowness that reality shows had to offer. For a while,  I was even really taken with educational programming, and stayed glued to TLC and The Animal Planet, for no other reason but because sometimes it feels good to spend time with someone who watching a show that can teach you a little something. Eventually they all bored me.

Then I found myself in a long pattern of falling for the more “quirky” types of shows like “Mr Show” and “Greg the Bunny.” I became obsessed with “Arrested Development,” and  “Freaks and Geeks.” They were the unconventional types of shows that didn’t interest everyone, but I saw that they had something from the beginning. It took me a while, (probably right around the time that Pushing Daisies got canceled) before I realized the fundamental problem with these types of shows. For whatever reason, lack of self-promotion or maybe self confidence -these shows never last. They almost always leave me are canceled within 2 or 3 seasons, leaving me without any sort of closure.

I have finally gotten to the point where I am afraid of falling for a show and investing my time in it. I’m scared that as soon as I do, it will go off the air, leaving me wandering what would have happened next.  Even the shows that that I love that I have been more been more faithful to like “Scrubs” eventually become finicky. I  hear one week that they have been canceled, only to be renewed at the last minute, and eventually they will completely jump the shark. (God Bless you “Scrubs.”)

I think I finally know what I’m looking for. I want the whole package… something that is,  for the most part- thought-provoking, funny, and with just enough drama to keep me interested. The problem is that you actually have to invest a little time into something to know for sure if that’s what you have, and that is down right frightening to me. I know that I will never find a show that I love if I never turn on the TV. I also know that no show is perfect, but there is bound to be a television show out there that would appeal to me long term.

Maybe it’s time that I end this ridiculously long metaphorical post and go watch that second episode of “Parenthood.” Although please believe me when I  tell you that you should read no further into the title of that show. I was talking about boys here, not babies.

I’m not a fan of ending a post with a question, but have you ever felt this way? and how do you people get over this (for lack of better word) jaded-ness?

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.

The first pet that I (or technically my parents) had when I was a child was a Mutt named Mudd. I really don’t remember Mudd very well, but I have heard the story countless times of how Mudd bit me and they had to give her away. I never really held the fact that she bit me against her. The bone (haha) I had to pick with her is the fact that my “porn name” (first pet+childhood street’s name) was horrible, partly due to the fact that her name was “Mudd.”

Mudd Oakview, to be exact. Now that’s not very porny now is it?

But I digress. After Mudd, we had a Brittany Spaniel named Copper, who I loved dearly. She had a penchant for escaping our backyard and got ran over when I was still in Elementary school, and I was devastated.

After Copper passed away, my parents got another Brittany named Cedar, and I got a couple of my very own  mice- Hershey and Snowflake. It was around this time that I began to spend many of my afternoons hanging out at the neighborhood pet store- chatting with the owner and gazing into cages as snakes swallowed mice whole and Guinea Pigs hid in giant plastic tubes. My best friend and I even formed our very own “Animal Club,” where we would read books about animals and discuss our favorite species. I know what your thinking. And yes, I have always been this cool.

My pet “collection” began to grow at a very rapid pace. We got a Red Spectacled Amazon Parrot, who loved Cheetos but was bald because another bird plucked all of his feathers out. We got an iguana named Spike, who enjoyed whipping his tail at me if I tried to hold him. We had a box turtle (Strawberry Shortcake) who either got ran over in my backyard or eaten by my dog,  I can’t remember. We had an evil Sugar Glider named Sprite who would make this awful hissing sound every time I tried to get him out of his cage, and then he would proceed to fly on top of the curtain or to some other surface that I couldn’t reach where he would sit for days. On top of that, we had several frogs (I don’t remember their names,) a few other lizards, a couple parakeets (Blanco and Shreck,) a cockatiel, several hamsters that were all named Gizmo, a few fish tanks of fish both bought and caught with a sane at the farm.  Eventually the 2 little mice  procreated and so on, until we had at least 30. Needless to say, there were times when my room was quite smelly.

With each new addition, I would have a 3 month or so obsession over my new pet, until I set my sights on a new species and my attention would slowly wane.It wasn’t that I loved the pets any less, I just have always had a short attention span and I like to spread my love over a variety of different animals.

By the time I left for college, all of my pets with the exception of my sister’s beloved toy poodle with an under bite, BB, had either been given away, had died, or had been let go at my farm. I still remember the day that I looked around my room and noticed that my 30 mice and the many cages with plastic tubes connecting them were missing. I started crying and asked my dad what happened to them. He told me they had all died… which I believed for a few days until my sister told me that he had let them go at the farm. ***The same devastating thing happened with the rat that my parent’s inherited from me when I moved into a house with a bunch of cats, just a few months ago.

The first few years of college I was content with not owning an animal of my own. Most of my attention was spent on my new friends and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. There was no way I would have been able to remember to clean out a hamster cage or coddle a bird.

One day a friend of mine decided that she wanted a dog and recruited me to go with her to the local humane society to help her pick one out. A few of us crowded into her Jeep and got ready to talk her out of anything too crazy. It was my first time in a pound in many years, and I had no idea that it would hurt so bad to see so many dogs who needed homes. We walked down the caged hallways and I stopped at each cage to stick my fingers through and pet each puppy dog on the nose as I read to see how much time they had left before they would be put down.

This was when she was skinny.

I still remember the yelping. It was high pitched and painful. I looked around to see what kind of animal could be capable of making such a sound. I made my way down the row until I found her.

She was up on her short hind legs, and she was shaking… probably from the pain that her own screech caused her ears. She was skinny, and had a head that was much too large for her body. My friends all crowded around holding their ears, proclaiming that “that” was the ugliest dog they had ever seen.

As soon as we caught eyes I knew. It was an instant connection. I knew with certainty that there was no one else in the world who would want such a creature.

I asked permission to have a few moments with the Franken-puppy. The lady who worked at the pound seemed a little surprised, but she obliged. She told me that she was most likely a mix of Pit Bull and Dachshund, with perhaps a bit of Shar-pei. The weird little dog shook her butt violently as the lady put her on a leash and led her to the waiting area. After only a few minutes of holding the dog in my lap, I had made my decision. I told the lady that I needed to run out to my car to get my check book (yes check book) so that I could pay the $10.00 for the puppy. (What a bargain!!!)

As soon as I opened the door to go out to the parking lot, my new dog bolted and took off in a sprint across the field nearby. I took off after her, and yelled the first thing that came to mind: “STELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAA.”

Stella smiling with my sis

And so my new Picasso puppy had a name.

The first few months with Stella were a disaster. I kept her a secret from my parents while I attempted to potty train her and keep her from eating too many containers of roach poison. Stella ate everything and anything plastic, much like her momma. (What? I like chewing on pens!) She wet the floor every five minutes, and wouldn’t stop with the screech-bark. We had a couple close-calls with a razor and a few dozen Christmas ornaments, and I spent at least 30 minutes everyday chasing her around the neighborhood.

Eventually, as Stella and I grew closer and my patience grew stronger, she started learning how to behave- and I learned how to deal with her. We grew inseparable. She was literally my best friend.

My Stella bear and I on Christmas

A couple years ago I moved into a place where I couldn’t bring a dog. I had to take her back to my parent’s house for the time-being. I know, you are probably all thinking I’m a horrible Dog-Mom, but I swear to you this isn’t the case. I miss my puppy dog every day. More than getting home-sick, I get Stella-sick.

Lately, more so than ever. I had been contemplating bringing her to live with me when I move in a couple weeks, but she has spent the last few months out at the farm with my dad and her new best friend Penny, and now I think she really loves being a farm dog. Plus I think my dad really needs her right now.

My sister took this pic of my brave farm dog scaring off a cow!

I’m starting to have that “need-to-have-a-pet-itch” again, but now I’m worried that there are no other animals that will fulfill that void besides my Stella-bear. Who else could make me smile with their short little legs? Their Danny Devito body? Their dramatic personality!? (Stella cries like a baby when she gets a sticker in her foot, but I don’t blame her!)

What should I do??? Maybe get a Ferritt? A guinea pig?? Another pound puppy?

***SOBBB***

I  miss STELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

I think my dad and I are going to have to work out some sort of joint-custody arrangement.

Really my whole point is, there is a reason the Westminster dog show isn’t open to mixed-breeds… and that’s because Princess Stella Rosita Devito Tootsie Bertha Brown Jr. would win every year.

My boyfriend John Cusack would say the same, I’m sure.