Annnnd now you have a Backstreet Boys song in your head. Win for me.

The last week has been so crazy I don’t know my ass from my mouth. No wait. That’s a little weird. But it’s true. I may have lost my mind a little. You might say it’s somewhere up my ass.

It’s not like I’m literally shoving cinnamon toast up my butt or scratching my mouth or anything, but I honestly haven’t had a second to get a grip on what’s going on in my life. My phone was dead for three days straight and I have spent as much time on twitter and facebook as I have watching trashy reality shows on MTV, which is not at all.

It all really started going high speed last Thursday night. I had to work on Friday night, so Thursday evening I turned on my reserve used only in emergencies energy mode. The movers (my parents) were supposed to arrive at my house at 8am on Saturday so I had to have everything ready and packed.

In the past, I’ve always treated a move like a getaway. I usually spend about an hour running around stuffing things into black trash bags with absolutely no organization tactics. Sheets and shoes and roller clips and the random dirty pair of underwear would be smooshed together with a package of incense and a game of monopoly. Which, really isn’t a bad way to go as long as you never have to unpack.

This time though, I really wanted to do things differently. I’m tired of living a life of clutter. I’m sick of never knowing where anything is. I hate that I only wear 10 out of my 200 t-shirts.

And so I did.

It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t fun- but it’s something that I’ve been needing to do for the last 8 years.

I literally cleaned out my life.

And it feeelllllllsssss good.

I went through every item of clothing, every shoe, every ratty pair of underwear- and I threw everything out that was old or didn’t fit, or that I hadn’t worn in ages. I threw out the 3 year old box of chocolates from a Valentines Day past. I tossed the napkins that my ex-deaf boyfriend and I had used to communicate on on our first date many years ago. I let go of the scratched mixed- cds that I kept hoping science would come up with a cure for. I gave up my old vintage purses that I haven’t used in years. I found notes and cards that were stashed away in the bottom of my drawers and in between the pages of my favorite books- I gave them one last read- and I tossed them (most of them).

I realized I had been holding on to so much that I didn’t need. I’ve always been bad at letting go; but it was time. Most of the stuff I threw out was trash, but a lot of it were things that I was holding onto for sentimental reasons. It’s not that I want so many THINGS in my life, but I think I’m just an emotional hoarder.  I don’t ever like things to really be over. I hate saying goodbye. Even when something is finito- I don’t want to lose the proof that it happened.

But you know what I’ve realized the last few days? Every time I picked up an item that I’ve kept to remind me of something- I either already clearly remembered the moment, or it was something that I would have rather not remembered. Things come and go for a reason. The important memories stick with us even if we don’t have a t-shirt to commemorate the event. I don’t need to keep a ticket stub to every movie I’ve ever gone to. I’ll remember the good ones, and I’ll push the bad ones from my mind without even meaning to. I don’t need a letter to remind me of a relationship that I don’t even want to remember. I don’t need to save every shirt I’ve ever loved. I got to say a happy and healthy goodbye to all the things in my life that once were so important, and now I feel better.

And even more, for the first time in ten years I can shut my dresser without having to put my entire body weight into it. I can open a drawer without having to sit in it first to push it’s contents down. I can open a box without seeing every broken relationship staring me in the face. I finally feel that I can truly take the next step in my life.

As usual, I broke into an audible cry as I drove away from my old house. Even though we were only there for 8 months, we had a lot of good times there. But as I unpacked, I started feeling better and better about the things that are to come. I’m excited about starting my new, clean life. I’m ready to start collecting new memories. I’m happy.

Life- I hope your wearing a sturdy cup- cause I’m ready to grab you by the balls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home. All by my lonesome. For eight entire days.

With the exception of course of the seemingly semi-friendly ghost and my roommate’s Basset Hound, I will have the entire house at my disposal, and I’m not sure that is a good thing.

I actually kind of feel like the young Kevin McAllister. My feelings of being alone lie somewhere in between being really excited about having some much needed “me” time, and being completely frightened about what might happen.

Growing up, my grandparent’s lived across the street from me so I was rarely left alone. I had a friend who’s mom frequently left us alone until our peanut butter and popcorn cooking experiment nearly left their house in ashes. She eventually trusted us to stay there alone again, but then we literally tried to reenact the Home Alone movie, so her trust was short lived. Then there was the one time in high school that my parent’s let me stay home overnight unattended. Of course that was the night I decided to watch Event Horizon and ended up sprinting across the street to my grandparent’s house at 3 in the morning, head down, pants nearly soiled, and had to ask if I could sleep in their spare room.

It’s not that I don’t like being alone, I actually quite enjoy it. It’s just been forever and a day since I’ve had more than a couple of nights without at least one roommate around, and I’m not sure what to do with myself. LA works from home so she usually takes care of most of the cooking, which means that I’ll be living off of a diet of beans and chips and salsa this week… which is exactly what I lived off of last week out of poordom, so it’s really nothing different.

I plan on spending my nights taking long leisurely baths, reading, watching movies, painting and writing a bit… so that’s really nothing new either. The one major difference is that I won’t have someone calling to get me to watch all the good parts of shows and I won’t have the background noise of LA crying during Grey’s Anatomy or Gossip Girl. But I do have the freedom of playing my music as loud as I want, as late as I want (and I’m totally NOT listening to the Bieb-meister)… which is pretty cool. Maybe it will drown out the sound of gunshots in my neighborhood, which I haven’t heard since last week and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the gangsters don’t know that I’m on to them.

I actually lived alone for an entire year before I moved in to my last house with my four roommates, a house which I now affectionately refer to as the “rainbow house.” Aside from being the most miserable and lonely year of my life, living alone wasn’t so bad. I typically stumbled home from happy hour, ate a huge bowl of ramen noodles, and drank wine whilst mowing my way through the entire Netflix library.

Oh and I almost burned down the apartment complex, twice.

The first time could have happened to anyone. Anyone with a gigantic gray cloud following them around, that is. Ever since the time I caught fire to the Thanksgiving table by half hazardly throwing a table napkin down on a candle, my grandmother has warned me that I’m not the sort of person who should keep candles around in the house. Of course candles are pretty much my favorite thing in the universe besides John Cusack movies and ketchup, so I never thought to heed her advice. The night in question was a particularly stormy night, so I naturally wanted to light every single one of my one-hundred candles to set the mood. I then opened the porch door so that I could hear the storm, and settled into a bubble bath with a glass of wine. I had no idea the storm was such a windy one, but luckily my head was above water to hear a ginormous gust knock over about ten of the candles. Luckily I was able to grab a towel and nakedly whip the fire out before they caused too much damage.

The second fire I almost caused also happened when I was in the bathtub. I cooked something that I can’t remember but I’m sure was of the pasta variety, and once again got into the bathtub, only to be rudely interrupted about ten minutes later when the building’s fire alarm started sounding. I knew the fire was coming from my kitchen before I even grabbed a towel. There was smoke everywhere and I went into full panic attack mode. When I got into the kitchen I found that I had left a stove burner on, and had accidentally thrown a dishtowel on top of it, which had caught on fire. Luckily, I’m a quick thinker and threw a pitcher of iced tea over it, and batted out the rest of the flames with my towel. I’ve occasionally wondered why I don’t have any towels, but I’m now realizing that I’ve used the majority of them to put out fires. After putting out the fire, I grabbed a blanket from my futon to cover myself with and ran into the hallway shouting that the fire was out and not to panic, which I was clearly still doing.

I also wondered why none of the neighbors wanted to be my friend, but thinking back it was probably because they knew me as the type of person who started fires ran around in nothing but a leopard print blanket.

And there was also the time I woke up in a fever with no power and knocked on every door on my hallway claiming the world had come to an end, but that’s an entirely different story.

Tonight I will be lighting no candles, and I’ve already checked 8 times to make sure the burners are off so I should be OK. But send me some good juju just in case.

Oh and also, I’d like to go ahead and let you know that I wrote this entire post while naked. Because I can.

(LA if you’re reading this… I am in your chair, but don’t worry…I’m sitting on a towel.)

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.

As you may remember, I started a new job a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve abso-loving it so far. The people are great, I love how close it is to home, and my days FLY by! Seriously, before it felt like I was living in the land of 18 hour work days, and now I barely even have time to reach for a kleenex when I sneeze. I said barely people, gross as I may sometimes be- I do reach for a kleenex most of the time when I sneeze, especially when I’m in public. I even keep a bottle of hand sanitizer near-by for those close-nose-calls.

Although, speaking of sneezes, there was this one sneeze in my life that I am particularly proud of. We were at a house party so I made LA accompany me to the bathroom so we could have old-fashioned gal-potty time and discuss the actions of all the Douchengoyles at the party. (Julie mentioned it today, but just in case you missed it- “Douchengoyle” is basically the best word ever! It’s a combo of 2 of our favorite terms for ass-hat boys, “douchecanoe” and “gargoyle”.)

Anydouche, whenever I drink I usually have to sneeze a million times. Actually, I have to sneeze about 5 times after anytime I consume mostly ANYTHING. I have no idea why that is, but it’s quite annoying. I’m starting to think I have a wheat allergy, because it mostly happens when I drink beer or eat anything bready.

So I was sitting on the toilet (#1) when a giant sneeze started to arise from the deepest dark embarrassing parts of my body. I sneeze often, but I rarely have the types of sneezed that literally take over all of my abilities to do or think about anything else. This time though, the sneeze was all encompassing. I’m not sure if I had finished peeing at the point of combustion, but if I hadn’t it definitely shook my blatter clean. I’m fairly sure I didn’t even have to wipe for the next week. One hand was incapacitated with my drink, and the other with toilet paper, so I had no way to cover my mouth, or in this case, my nostrils. After all was said and done, I knew that a fair amount of mucus had made it’s way out of my body, I just couldn’t find where it landed. That is until LA reached for the doorknob to leave the bathroom. Ah yeah… it flew right across the room and landed perfectly square on the doorknob. I probably shouldn’t be so proud, but I kind of am, so judge if you want.

In other news, LA and I finally found some time to unpack a few boxes this afternoon, namely the ones with all of the books in them. It’s weird, for the last few weeks I have felt an emptiness inside of me that couldn’t put my finger on. It wasn’t until tonight when we finally got all of the books up on the shelves that we spent so many hours painting, that I finally realized that I was really missing my books. It’s been over 2 months since I’ve picked up a book to read, which is absolutely crazy for me… It’s not that even I miss reading all that much, although I suppose I do a bit, it’s more that books make me feel good, they make me feel comfortable and at home.

I grew up in a home where books were super important. There wasn’t a room in the house that didn’t have a bookshelf except for the bathrooms… though there were always plenty of books lying around in there as well. Both of my parents are huge readers, and there were weekends when I can remember everyone in my family sitting around in our perspective comfy-spaces with a good book. Even when it was time to eat, or if someone had to go to the bathroom, there was no need to put the book down, we would simply walk around with the book in hand, bumping into walls and each other as we tried to make our way around the house. I probably don’t own a book that isn’t stained with ketchup.

When I was a kid, my mom worked part time at a half-priced bookstore, so I spent much of my summer vacations and weekends there. It was the coolest little place. Each genre had it’s own room. The walls were covered with book and movie posters, and there was a huge section just for comics. I also spent a lot of time hanging out at the headshop next door, but that’s a whole nuther post.

So yeah… books make me feel good. Just having them around me. Plus there is something about owning a collection of anything, and books and movies are my two favorite things to collect. Whenever I get upset or anxious, I will spend hours reorganizing my books and DVDs.

But there is something else about books that I have missed, and since I’ve already gone to a TMI place tonight, I figure I’ll continue on with that.

JOHN CUSACK, If you’re reading… please stop now!

You see, I never really have problems with going… number 2. I keep quite a regular schedule, especially since I’ve changed my eating habits. But lately I feel that things have been a bit off… Then I remembered about the secret magical power that books have for me. I mean… All I have to do is look at a book and I feel like all my assues are solved. I literally cannot walk into a Barnes and Nobles without having to go-go. I have never been able to figure out if it’s the fact that I associate reading with going, or if it’s the smell of coffee… but it is the most natural laxative EVER!

Anyone else have this problem amazing miracle cure with books and bookstores?

And since we’re not on the subject, but ever so slightly related… I read about this really great product today. Whether you have a man or a dog, I think it could really be helpful…

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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.

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.

Writing out the title of this post just brought me back to those uber-dork days. Just thought I’d share that.

My dad’s family has a really amazing farm out near Crawford, TX. My dad recently started staying out there, and I have to tell ya’ll, despite the fact that there is no heat, there is a lot of poison ivy, and there is always the possibility of being eaten by wild hogs-I’m a little bit jealous.

The place is absolutely beautiful and some of my most favorite memories happened out there. There is a lot of land, your typical barn house,  and a little white house that is surrounded by a picket fence… and a creek called “Hog Creek” runs through the land and as a dam and everything. It’s perfect.

Da house

Hog Creek

My sweet grandparent's in front of my favorite tree in the world.

A Cow.

When I was young, my family would spend the weekends out there and my days would be spent catching trees fish, wading in the creek or a metal tub, or walking the grounds playing pretend or trying to get the horses to eat grass out of my hand. Even now my family goes out there quite often to shoot guns and fish.

If you had any doubt I was a true Texan, I hope I cleared that up.

My family decided long ago, that if there were ever any nuclear wars or zombie attacks, the farm would be our meeting place. Besides being near the likes of George W…. I do think that it is the ideal place for an emergency.

I always thought it would be kinda fun to have to live out there on nothing but wild animals and beer.

I think I could survive. I’m sure it would be a little tough, but I could handle it. I mean… I wouldn’t even have to shower very often, or maybe ever. How awesome would that be? I’ve even already learned some very important rules about living off the land. Like a few years ago, my friend LA decided we would paint our faces with the juice that comes out of the pretty fruits that grow on cacti. Not a good idea. Those little fruits have many invisible, yet painful tiny little stickers that will stay in your skin for weeks.

ANNNND I won’t try that again.

But moreover, I yesterday as I was perusing facebook all day for a few moments in my spare time at work- I remembered the main reason that I could never live out at the farm. You see, I saw my dad’s newest facebook profile picture….

Someone in my family tree

Yes. My father decided to change his profile pic. to be a picture of one of my ancestors. I really feel bad not knowing who he was exactly as I’m sure I’ve been told many a time, but regardless-we are related.

Harmless enough, right?

WRONG.

You see, when I was a kid I have always had a very vivid imagination. When I was a child I was scared of monsters under my bed, monsters in the toilet, monsters in the closet, zombie pets, moving dolls, spiders, aliens, the Jabberwalkie from Alice in Wonderland… and a wall in my farmhouse that has pictures of several of my ancestors hanging on it. This being one of them.

I know, I know. They’re just pictures of people whom I share my blood with, but ya’ll don’t understand the fear that their faces put it in my heart. Whenever I walked around the house , especially at night- I could feel their presence. Their eyes follow you around the room. And they all look so sinister. I guess I was afraid that they would crawl right out of those photos and beat me with a wooden paddle or something.

I got my dad to take pics of the others and send them to me. They aren’t the best quality, but you get the picture. hehehe, no pun intended.

OK so this one is a little handsome....

I bet she would wash my mouth out with soap.

This is my favorite. Clearly we are related.

Ok so they aren’t as scary here on this page. But I’m telling you people, in the house, at night… It’s a whole different story!!!!

I wonder what John Cusack’s ancestors look like. Since I am John Cusack’s girlfriend and all.

And don’t forget to ask me questions (in the comments, email, or tweet me bitches!!!) Anything on any topic… and I will answer! Or make something up. I will start answering them next week. Thanks for those who have already submitted some!

Have a humpalicious day!

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

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

___________________________________

Dear bloggers who do post-it Tuesdays,

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

Please and thank you,

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

________________________________

My beloved dog Stella,

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

Your ex-cuddle bear,

Cold at night

___________________________________

My bathroom,

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

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

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

_________________________________

Dear Pizza Hut Delivery guy,

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

Shame on you,

Didn’t need it anyway

___________________________

To screenwriter J. Michael Straczynski,

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

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

Film nerd

__________________________

Dear purse,

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

-Doing everything for a reason.

____________________________

Impulse buy facial mask,

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

Why did I buy 6 of you!?

-Buyers remorseful

______________________________

Dear Kitchen,

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

Sorry, (not)

Still has potatoes in her hair