Ziinnnnnng.

Why does that feel so good? It’s got to be one of the world’s greatest mysteries. How can the 2 words – “Your Mom” be so amazing? Honestly, My mood is up like 14 notches.

But seriously. I’m fairly certain my liver is on it’s last limb, and I’m not entirely sure that I know the kidney’s actual function function but I’m pretty certain that it wants out too. I don’t know why I continue to do this to myself.

In truth, I really have cut down on “partying” the last few months. At least during the week. But every weekend there seems to be some  enormous event and I have no choice but to drink. Or I guess I have a choice, but that wouldn’t be much fun now would it?

Side note: The phrase “partying” when being used to describe drinking really really gets on my nerves. I have no idea why I used it, but I will leave it just to illustrate my annoyance.

Anybooze, yeah.. the last few weekends have been rough. Amazingly fun, and the best weekends ever to exist, but they have started to take a toll on my body. It’s kind of scary actually. There have been a few times lately where I seriously thought that I was going to die. Or maybe not completely die, but every time I have the urge to pick a scab I fear that I will start to crave human flesh. And I don’t want to be a zombie. Not yet anyway.

So yeah… My bodies a hurtin. But I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s no biggie that it’s 6pm and I haven’t peed yet today, right?

I might as well warn you, I’m going to stay on the topic of bodily functions for just a bit, so if that bothers you- skidaddle, mkay?

Well I mentioned that I’ve been dating someone, which is something that- to be honest ,I don’t have a whole lot of experience with. It’s nice though. Except for the fact that I feel like I need to really up my hygiene and femininity – which is not something that I really excel at. He says that he doesn’t mind either way, and I think I believe him… but  it has been nice to have smooth-ish, hairless legs for the first time in my life. On top of that, I have consistently washed my face at least every 3 days, and I’ve really been conscious about the fact that my facial hair should be less visible than his.

So basically- damn, I feel like a woman. The only part that I’ve really been uncomfortable with is when I’ve had to… yanno “go-go.” Since I haven’t exactly been treating my body like a temple lately it has been acting out in retaliation. It’s never fun to have to tell someone that they need to leave their apartment so you can spend a couple hours in their bathroom. It makes me cry.

Then again I have to tell myself it’s ok, because the night we met I mentioned I had a blog, and my friend Moops only wasted about .23 seconds before blurting out “she once shit her pants and wrote about it!!”

So yeah.. my friends are awesome.

In other shocking news, LA and I went to see Eclipse tonight.

****crickets***

I know. I thought I’d never see the day where I paid money to see sparkly vampires and Kristen Stewart. While that girl still seriously wears me out, I have to admit it wasn’t half as bad as at least 3 other movies I’ve seen in my life. I’m really not a hater by nature, and I tried to stay positive about the whole experience- and I actually did have quite a good time loudly guffawing at the cheezyness of it all.

Plus, LA and I decided to sport “Twilight” t-shirts and act like major fans a full month after the movie started. We thought about getting there a couple of hours early and camping out with sleeping bags, but I wanted to keep a least a little dignity.

My favorite part was the campout scene. There were a few lines where it was quite obvious that the real chemistry is happening between Edward and Jacob. I halfway expected a full on Brokeback Mountain type of camping scene, but alas I was let down. The one thing I don’t understand about the movie, and I’m no expert by any means- but isn’t Stephanie Meyers supposed to be all uber religious and Morman? I mean, she won’t let Edward and Bella do it until they get married, yet she writes Bella to be a whore and a half. I mean make up your mind already! And smile for goodness sakes!

And there goes anyone who was still reading.

Alright. Goodnight people. I’m off to dream of Jacob’s chest, I suppose. At least that will be better than the dream I had last night about two mini M&Ms getting stuck in my bellybutton. Or even better, maybe I’ll dream about John Cusack bringing me cheese.

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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Yesterday was my mommy’s birthday.

I won’t tell you how old she is, but since she has recently taken an interest in my blog, I have decided to dedicate a post to the awesomeness that is my mother. I mean she did create me, right? At the very least we can halfway blame that on her.

But really. I think I can honestly say that I can owe a lot of who I am (the better parts) to my dear mom.

When I was young, my mom didn’t work full-time until I was started high school, which was precisely the year that she started teaching again… at my high school. It could have been really bad if my mom wasn’t the cool person that she is. At first, when I thought all of her students hated her (and consequently hated me for being related) it was her idea that I use that as my “in.” So I did.

When the other kids would say things to me like, “yo, your mom’s a bitch, yo.” I started replying back with “Yo, I know… that bitch is crazy. But she wears big tall jockey underwear just so you know.” And they seemed to like it when I dissed her so they started liking me a bit more. My mom didn’t even mind. It didn’t hurt that I once had to be escorted by a security guard into her classroom.

To make a long story short, I had this biology teacher who was very mean. She also smelled of phemaldehyde, which made me want to vomit daily. I finally got the bright idea to put Bath and Body Works lotion on my hands so that I could put my hands over my face when she walked by so that I would smell Plumeria rather than dead rabbit. When the other students saw what I was doing, they all wanted to get in on my genius idea. Pretty soon, I looked around the classroom and every single person was covering their face with their hands which made me crack up uncontrollably. My teacher asked what I was laughing at, and I obviously couldn’t tell her, so I told her  ”it has nothing to do with you.”

For some reason this pissed her off, and she said to me “march yourself out into the hallway,” which is exactly what I did. I marched. Like a soldier… or a Rockette. My biology teacher REALLY didn’t like that so she had a security guard (my school was ghetto) escort me to my mom’s classroom, which was still  in session. Her students were very happy to see that I was in trouble, just like they usually were, and automatically thought I was a bit cooler.

In addition, I got to use her classroom as a locker and I stole all her caramel apple suckers and passed them out to her students when she wasn’t looking.

But I digress. Making me cool in high school is only one of the reasons I love my mom. And on a side note, these days, I don’t know any students who don’t love my mother. I’ve met many over the years, and they all have nothing but good things to say about her.

My mom, my sis and I: circa 1987

Here are just a few of my favorite memories:

* She took me to the zoo literally, every week. She let me get popcorn and peanuts and let me feed the animals even though the signs clearly read “Do Not Feed The Animals.” Even better, she encouraged me to tap on cages of the snakes and reptiles. She knew just how to make the papa rattle snake hiss. Last week when we went to the zoo for mother’s day, she proved to me that she STILL had what it takes to stir the rattlesnake into a tizzy. And she swears it was the same angry snake that we used to nag so many years ago.

* My mom never let me go without. Even though I know we couldn’t afford it, she always made sure that I had something cute to wear to all the important events. She also knew how to pick out the best earrings. I had a huge collection of earrings that included big coke bottle tops, sharks eating people, and huge eyeballs. Even later in life, she always encouraged me to dress how I wanted, even if it wasn’t in style at the time. She took me to vintage stores and instilled in me a love for retro clothing. When I was in Junior high, she even made me homemade bell bottoms with an old tye-dyed shirt.

*She taught me how to wrap houses. For those of you unfamiliar, wrapping is what some of you may have called “toilet papering” a house. She would drive my friends and I around to all the popular boy’s houses, and wait patiently until we were chased away with a water hose. Then, when we got home, she would wait with us in the bushes until they came over to retaliate.

*She gave me my intense love for music. I remember so many days when we would drive to school or swimming lessons with a cassette tape blaring The Beatles, Van Morrison, The Cowsills or Mr Big. She may now be a little embarrassed when I sing loudly in department stores, but she really shouldn’t be, for she is the one who taught me to sing loud and be merry. And I do, everyday.

*She instilled in me a love for all things scary, especially zombies. Some people may look down on the fact that she introduced me to scary movies at such a young age, but I wouldn’t have it any different. Some of my favorite nights in my life were the nights that we would spend cuddled up in her bed watching zombie movies. I remember many nights that my dad would put me to bed, and she wouldn’t even get mad when I snuck back up to play “Zombies ate My Neighbors” with her until late in the night.

Really, this barely puts a dent in all that she has done for me.

More than anything, my mom has taught me that it’s ok to be different. She taught me to laugh, and to embrace the quirky. She gave me a love for reading and dancing and always supported me through all of my endeavors. She has always had faith in me and has shown me a love that only a mother can do. She always believed in me and taught me to believe in myself, even when others didn’t. And she continues to teach me to be a better person every day of my life.

Mom, if you’re reading this- I forgive  you for all mornings when you woke me up blaring the Star Trek theme song. I forgive you for giving me a fear of boogers (threatening me with them when I acted up in the car) and for my fear of sharks (reading me shark attack stories on the way to the beach).

I know we’ve had some tough times, but in the long run, none of that will matter. What I will always remember is how you have always been there for me. You have always been a person I strive to be, and I look up for you for all that you have done with your life and for how many people you have touched. You are honestly the best mom and friend a gal could have. I love you so much and I hope that you have a wonderful birthday!

I love you!

Carissa

And as a bonus, I don’t think I mentioned how talented my mom is at making videos. You can check out some of her videos on her youtube channel, but I also want to share a video she made (we both filmed) when we went to the zoo on Mother’s day.

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Have a great weekend!!!!

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.

A few years ago some genius, and I do mean genius, created a site called “Jeff Goldblum is watching you poop.com. The site is no longer active, but from my extensive research- (one quick google search) it seems that the whole site was simply dedicated to this picture.

I think there was even a movement to try to get people to print out the picture and post it in bathroom stalls around the world. I know the site is no longer active, but I think I’m going to do it anyway. Maybe I can restart the movement… because goshdarnit, I would die of laughter if I went into a bathroom and Jeff Goldblum was watching me poop.

Or maybe I should switch it up a bit.

This might sound strange, but I’ve always thought that Jeff Goldblum looks nearly identical to Orlando Jones, yaknow- except for that whole skin color thing. So I’m thinking we intensify the whole movement and replace Mr. Goldblum with his identical non-twin…

But then again, my mom (always one to tell it like it is) once told my friend Moops that he looks exactly like Jeff Goldblum… So maybe I should go the obscure route and use his pic instead…

(Isn’t it incredibly absurd that 3 people can look so much alike-ish?!?)

So I think you should all print out that last pic and hang it up in restrooms worldwide. I’m thinking this could really catch on. Or not…

And just so you know…

Well recently my aunt (whom I love dearly) has posted a few pictures on my Facebook page, which you may have already seen if you’re my facebook friend. If you’re not, feel free to add me now…

These old pics got me thinking thinking that maybe I should take you through a little hot tub time machine of my life… the good, the bad, and the completely awkward. So ummm let’s all get naked and go for a ride, shall we?

I don’t really understand the concept of baby time, so I have no idea how old I was here… but I’m going to go with baby. Maybe even newborn. I do know I was born with hair… so possibly?

Here I must have been a little bit older. Still have no concept of age, but it looks like maybe I was taking a first step or attempting it? No clue. Still, I don’t look so happy to be wearing a weird jumper thingie.

I guess I should count my blessings none of my baby-pics were taken with me in an eyepatch….

What appears to be shy and innocent, is in fact -never shy and innocent.

Ugh. Yeah.. I was a girlscout. Or “Brownie” or whatever we called them. Those cheeks are evident of the fact that I ate a lot of cookies…

Check out those Keds. And also that feather.

I wan’t homeless… this was just an “Annie” costume.

Things only got more awkward from this point… If you look closely, I needed to pluck my eyebrows at the ripe ole age of 7. Awesome.

(5th Grade) No wonder I didn’t have any friends… EEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK What was I wearing mom? What was with that hair?

Ok… this was probably 7th grade. With the exception of the overalls…  I think I had a bit of an improvement.

I don’t have any pics to share with you at this time of me in between the ages of Jr High and Sr Year… but just imagine an awkward girl wearing either Umbros, Long Pepe shorts, or vintage clothes that had no business appearing in the mid-nineties, and you should get the picture.

The classic graduation pic. I can’t believe my 10 yr reunion is this summer. What in the hell?

So yeah. Thanks for viewing my lame post. I have shied away from posting old pics mostly because they’re awkward and yucky and I hate the and I think you probably don’t care… But I figured they were at my disposal, so why not?

And on a very similar subject, some of my bestest buddies, my old roommates whom (who?) (at this hour I don’t care) I miss  dearly just started a website, Relive the 90′s.com but it doesn’t seem to be working at this moment. So what you need to do is follow them on their twitter here.. and when the site becomes available, submit your favorite pic/memory/toy/movie WHATEVER you love and find near and dear… It was up and running earlier today, so hopefully it will be by now!

Happy Wednesday people!

I’m one of those people (some of you know all too well) who is likely to break out into song and dance anywhere. It’s not calculated. As soon as I hear a song that I like, I can’t help it. I grab the nearest item to me to use as a microphone, and I let loose, honey.

I really do think that theater camp may have a big something to do with it.You put a kid on stage and tell her to sing,  then tell her it was good, (because every kid in theater camp gets a part)  and after so many times, she really starts to believe it.

Don’t worry, I’ve been set straight since then.  I’m a mediocre very bad singer…. (you can quit telling me now, I get the point!)

I cannot carry a tune. But that doesn’t make me love it any less. I have realized that no matter where you are, it’s all about performance. It’s the emotion you put into it. I truly believe this.

I know there are certain people who don’t appreciate my ability to entertain an audience wherever the setting may be.

My mom, for instance. If you asked her what her most embarrassing moment of her life was, she would probably go into detail about the time she took me to the fabric store. She was right in the middle of discussing comforter material with a group of older ladies, when she she heard me bust out at full volume  with “the only one who could ever reach me, was the son of a preacher man”  from across the store. She acted like she didn’t know me until we were safely back in the car when she scolded me and told me that there would be serious consequences if I ever did that to her again.

I now use public singing as a “friendship test” of sorts. If we’re going to be somewhere together in public, there is a good chance I will I start singing  and it would be really awesome if you would join in, or at least not act like you would rather be on fire than be in my presence. You may be embarrassed at first, but there is nothing more liberating than a group sing a long at a hole in the wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere. (Right? I’m talking to you friends who went to the river! The Journey sing-along in  Health camp? Hells yeah!)

I have made venues out of grocery stores, movie theaters, zoos, and gas stations. But I have found a new favorite.

Parks and trails.

Oh yes. Although they are somewhat lacking an audience, there is really nothing like belting out a song while going on a walk. I discovered it a few years ago when I didn’t have a job and had nothing better to do than to go on 6 mile walks in the middle of the day. For the most part, you’re on your own. You can have your ear buds in, and can listen to any song of your choice. The best part is, there is no noise restraint. Even I know not to exceed a certain volume when indoors.

Even more so, when your out in the wide open, you can take it a step further.

You dance.

Not just a normal dance. You have to just completely let the music take you over, and what happens feels glorious. It started out as something I would do to embarrass my mother when we were on walks together, but now I just can’t help it. I’m talking about no dance that you would do under normal circumstances. I wouldn’t even like to do this type of dance (if you can even call it that) in a one mile vicinity of a mirror. What happens to my body is something truly worse than even the Muppet Babies could pull off. It’s like one of those exercises we do in improv workshops, where you just let the different parts of your body move without really thinking about it. I know I sound like a complete weirdo right now, but just try it when no one is looking, and I think you ‘ll see what I mean.

Tonight my roommates and I decided to go on a walk together. I put my ear buds in and went at my own pace. I started out belting a little Aerosmith, then switched to Death Cab, and made my rounds through Van Morrison and The Smiths. I had just started spastically moving and singing along to Mariah Carey’s “I don’t want A lot For Christmas”  (It’s November this is ok now) when my roommate, Jake, tapped me on the arm to tell me he and Denny were going to take the short route and head home to start dinner.

I usually would have just kept going without a thought, except for today, for the first time in months, it was pitch black at 6:30pm (fucking daylight savings) and the path we were walking on was through a very unlit patch of woods. And there was a giant full moon, which just put me a little on edge. I probably would have just turned around with the roomies, except I couldn’t shake the memory of me eating about 17 tortilla rolls and 10 mini kit-kats at around 4 o’clock on Saturday morning, and I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do something to ward of that repercussion.

The following conversation occurred:

CJ: What do  you mean y’all are going home?

Jake: You can come too… we just want to get a head start on the chicken…

CJ: But it’s DARK. I could get raped… or murdered!

Denny: Just keep singing and dancing the way you are now… no one would dare to come near you!

And that, friends, is exactly what I did.  I sung at full volume and spastically danced my way through the woods. It all went well until I came upon a group of skateboarders, one of which I couldn’t see clearly and I thought he was charging at me. I screamed very loudly at him.

I’m not sure which was more scary. Me yelling at a skater boy to fuck off and leave me alone in an extremely high pitched yelp or my approaching them using moves and a pitch my dad couldn’t even come up with.

Either way, I plan on continuing my tour through the woods, but only once I’ve purchased some high quality pepper spray.

I spent all morning writing a post that just disappeared to… I have no fucking clue where. Forgive me if this is grammatically retarded and completely un-pc, but I don’t feel like trying as hard this time around.

I actually started about 7 different posts that were potentially for today, but for one reason or another just never finished them.

I’m blaming it on the fact that I was just mega-slammed with work, and I  got a last minute call from Channel 6  News to be interviewed about my unnatural ability to do a hand stand against the wall for 8 hours at a time.

Ha.

Truth is, for the second time this week, I broke my “not drinking for almost a week” pact.  I only had a few much-needed cocktails, but I still feel like a big fat sack of guilty ass. Though I have no idea what that would actually look like.

The good news is that I kept my other pact to myself. I vowed that I would be completely committed to this little blog for the entire month of October… Meaning that, come rain or shine and no matter how boring the shit I threw at you was, I made a commitment that I would post every single weekday. Just to see if I could.

And check out that calendar on the side-bar over there—————————————————————–>

OH YEAH, BLOG! I Kellllly-Ripppppppad your ass!!!

And while this may not seem like a big deal to a lot of you, I have something inside of me that makes me  just want quit something as soon as I hear the word “commit.”

But alas, maybe these times they are a changin’.

So now I will continue with my visual presentation to the shit-storm that is my life… If you missed it, you can check out more visuals from last Friday’s post here.

Remember how I was just telling you about how I hate spiders?

I killed that mutha.

Well a certain little bugger  was sent from Satan himself to terrorize me this morning. Sure he was just a little thing, but nevertheless, he did his job well. At first I thought I was imagining things, (possibly experiencing the first signs of food poisoning that I’m sure to get after eating raw chicken last night) but after seeing a shadow repeatedly float across my computer screen, I knew he was there. I swear though, he was fucking with me on purpose. He used his nearly invisible web to cascade down from the ceiling, probably trying to get close enough to have a taste of my blood, and then as soon as I would notice him and attempt to take a swap, he would completely disappear!. I finally got him though. I would take a picture and show you, but there’s not a lot left.

Not only do I murder helpless creatures, but I steal shit too.

Does this count as littering?

Ok, so I don’t so much steal, (I’m not that tough) but I do accidentally take things quite often. I blame it on my severe case of untreated ADD. I’ll be focused and right in the middle of doing something….

I should totally go get fake eyelashes for tonight. Oooh, there’s a Target across the street.

Which is what happened at the bank a few days ago when I ended up driving away with that little thingie that they send you your money in. I have no clue what to call it, but if you don’t know what I’m talking about look at the picture above, ya dumbass.

Oh I’m feeling a little frisky this morning. Must have been all that sugar. Does anyone know how to make pumpkin dip? I really want some for the party tomorrow. I have a feeling that it is something like pumpkin pie, but I don’t know how to make that either.

Damn, see… happened again.

So anyways, I drove away with the thingie. I would have just taken it bac k, but I’ve already had to do that once this month, and I didn’t want to go to the embarrassment trouble. Hence the reason that I bowling balled that container right out of my car when I realized I had it. Always get rid of the evidence…. And then take a picture and blog about it… is what I always say.

Really, this is a philosophy of mine. (not the blog part) Chunk it out of the car.

Once, my college roommate accused me of taking her Outcast CD.  I denied and denied, because I don’t listen to Outcast.

About a year later I was going through my cd’s and came across that Outcast CD. I have no idea how it got there, but I sure enough chunked that shiz out the window in a moment of panic. And now, I’m blogging about it. (If you’re reading this… I AM REALLY SORRY!!!)

Have I already told you that I want to take wine behind the schoolyard and get it pregnant?

I’m pretty sure that I have.

My roommates and I have started collecting the wine corks and empty  bottles to use to make artsy things. They have even gone to the trouble of ordering glass cutters and candles and decorative rocks and such. Don’t worry, I’ll post pictures of our projects for you. Just as soon as we feel we have saved enough material to really get started.

Don’t hold your breath.

Have you met my roommate Jake?

Just your average night at my house.

For the most part I get along with all my roommates. Jake and I just have a…. special kind of friendship. Ok, I won’t beat around the bush. He is the only person in the world that has the ability to make me want to stab myself repeatedly in the eye. And I’m pretty sure he is committed to making me do so. He has the ability to speak my name at a volume that makes animals do crazy things like jump of cliffs and bite the hands off of small children. Oh the torture! Forget waterboarding, just send Jake. You’ll get all the answers you want.

Another example of his Jakiness? Last night, for no apparent reason, Jake decided it would be funny to reach his hand down the back of his pants and chase me around the house threatening to wipe butt juice on me. Luckily, I possess the only weapon that works on Jake (and most gay guys)… a vajayjay. Oh yes. Two can play this game. The chase lasted for about fifteen minutes and ended with Jake locking himself in the bathroom. I win.

On a side note, this pretty much works with anything when dealing with Jake. As long as I have the ability to drop my pants, I win!

I know you think otherwise, but I’m not perfect.

Note to self: wear a bra.

I know I’ve mentioned that my Halloween costume this year consists of a pair of saggy boobs that i ordered off the internet. Well last night, my other roommate Denny, ( who usually doesn’t give me trouble) asked me why I was wearing them a few days early.

FML.

HAPPY HALLOWEINER!

*Please imagine these “cheers” as being of the beer or shot variety. You know, the kind where you raise your glass, then tap it on the table before you take a sip. The other night my friends and I made the mistake of doing the “table tap” with a glass of champagne, and it just didn’t feel right.

Cheers to fall. And more specifically October. Tis one of the two months of the year where the weather is nearly perfect round these here parts. I love everything about fall. I love watching the trees change, I love not sweating my ass off when sitting on the porch, and I even like “watching” a football game every once in a while. Also, my hair seems to do particularly well in this fine weather.

Cheers to Halloween. Halloween, though it technically could fall under the larger umbrella of fall, is so awesome that it deserves its own cheers. In fact, some people really get into  decorating their houses for Christmas, but I would really like to push the less popular trend of decorating houses for Halloween. How great would it be to drive around looking at scary decorations? I’m thinking if you really put your heads together with your neighbors, every neighborhood could be like a giant Haunted house.  I also really love carving pumpkins. Scrap that. I like to watch as other, craftier people carve the pumpkins, but I like to be the one who pulls out all of the gunk.

Cheers to socks. I am the queen of flip flops, but there is nothing like the feeling of putting on a pair of fuzzy socks, a pair of sweats, and curling up under a cozy blanket. It’s finally the time of year where I don’t break out into upper lip sweat from just looking at socks.

Cheers to the Backstreet Boys. I’m not really a fan, but I have to give these boys some props for their comeback effort. I haven’t listened to pop music in years, but there is a little bitty section in the left corner of my heart that still has some boy band love. I really really had a thing for NSYNC, but I guess The Backstreet Boys is the next best thing. Plus, there is something about old guys singing and dancing like they are still in their late teens/early twenties that just makes me smile.

Cheers to New Kids On the Block. Because I can.

Cheers to getting to dress like a zombie. Ok, I realize I am getting a little specific here, but I  feel it’s my duty to  give these things the justice they deserve. Respect, people. I know most girls (and some boys I know) like to dress a little slutty for Halloween. I understand the logic behind it. It is after all, the only day of the year where you can go out scantily dressed without people actually thinking you are a hoe. I think it might be my upbringing, (I was started on horror movies at a very young age) but Halloween just isn’t as fun unless I dress scary.

Last year I was Regan Macneil from The Exorcist

I thought I had more pics on-line of Halloween costumes past, but I guess I deleted them. All you have to know is that I was pretty much dead or possessed for the last few years. This year my friends and I are dressing up as Ghouls Gone Wild. I asked my roommate J. how I should make scary saggy boobs for the costume, and he told me I should just go without a bra. Thanks friend.

Cheers to yummy beer. Can I raise a glass of what I’m drinking, to what I’m drinking? Sure I can. YAYYYYYYY beer! There is something about the weather change that really makes a beer more appealing.

The best beer in Texas... or at least the cheapest.

Cheers to good music on long walks outside. I know I’ve may have taken this “fall” thing a little far, but it really has been amazing. I get so sick of working out at the gym with all those chode heads, so it has been a really nice change to take advantage of the 9 mile trail by my house. Never mind that I will probably never be able to go all 9 miles without dying. Still, there is something to be said for walking outdoors, watching families play football and seeing all the cute puppy dogs. Yesterday I saw a guy on a bike whose bra was clearly visible through his white t-shirt. Yes, I saw a guy wearing a bro. That was possibly the best thing I’ve seen all month, but I don’t really see the problem with it. If ya got em’, support em’! I have to also raise my hand to good music on this one. There are certain songs that I literally have to stop myself from skipping along to. One of my favorites to work out to lately is Umphrey’s Mcgee.

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Cheers to old friends. I absolutely love my friends. Last weekend, my friend LA cleaned out her closet and gave me 7 pairs of Banana Republic pants that she has grown out of, and a pair of Sevens jeans. I literally didn’t have any pants to wear this winter, and she has saved my life. The company she works for, Philip Stein, is also announcing their sleep bracelet today which I am really excited about. You’ll have to google it yourself for the details, but from what I hear- it is a bracelet that has been compared to ambien in its ability to help you get some zzzzz. Doesn’t seem possible, but we shall see.  It was so nice to catch up last weekend with people who I haven’t seen in a while.

My friend Moops has recently been reading this a little more often, and I think he deserves a shout out. Don’t tase me for this, bro.

Ohhhhh... the moment you realize the shirt you tried to steal has Carebears on it.

Cheers to new friends. I’m talking to you, fellow bloggers and people of the internet. I am really beginning to love this part of my life. You have made me laugh so many times in the last few weeks, and I am really enjoying this new journey!