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Ahhh.. “Highhhhh Hopes, yes he had- highhhhh hopes. That song makes me happy. My mom used to sing it to me when I was a kid. I’m trying to remember that ant. Right now.

Last week everything seemed possible. I had some majorly high hopes that I could get back into a strong routine of writing and working out and being healthy and all that nonsense… Then, somewhere around mid-week, life sped up. It’s not all bad, it’s just hard to keep control with so much happening right now. I was shocked, I’m telling you SHOCKED when I realized that Thanksgiving is THIS WEEK.

I’m happy about it, because of course it means I have an excuse to see my family, take a few days off, and eat some well deserved pecan pies pie. On the other hand, I have to face the fact that this break is going to be very short lived and reality is going to hit me smack in the face again in about 4 days.

I’m working two jobs right now, which is great, on the one hand; but on the other I’m a little bit stressed. When I’m not working I’m trying to meet some other obligation that I’ve set for myself. I’m trying to maintain friendships, get to know new people, and see every live show and movie that I come across on a very limited budget. There are also vacations I want to take, books I want to read, and stories that I want to get down on computer- stat.

Have I mentioned I’m moving again next week? Again? Yeah it seems like I just moved.

Oh, probably because I did just move, like 6 months ago.

Not only am I moving again, but my best friend in the world/roommate has decided to leave me forever and take off for the far-away and foreign land of New Yawk.

That bitch.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her. I know she’s doing what’s best for her right now. But I’m also jealous of her, and super angry that she’s leaving me all alone.

Which brings me around to Day 4 of my 30 Days of Truth. (I’m taking this super slow, shut your stupid face.)

Something I have to forgive somone else for.

It may seem a little contrived that I’m using my best friend moving as the one thing that I have to forgive, but right now it’s a huge thing for me. There are other people that I probably should make a movement to forgive, but the bitch in me just isn’t ready yet.

LA and I met the first day of sorority rush before my freshman year of college. Her first impression of me was seeing me trip and fall, then subsequently laugh loudly and introduce myself. She told me later that she didn’t want to join a sorority if everyone was as fake as I seemed. She quickly learned that my gregarious nature wasn’t an act… for the most part I am an overly friendly person. Sometimes annoyingly friendly.

Shortly after that first introduction we became fast friends. We’re opposites in nearly every way, but we’re alike in the ways that make a friendship work. From the very beginning we had something strong. I’ve never had someone in my life that wasn’t family, that I knew I would love unconditionally. We are partners in crime. Cohorts in catastrophie. Acclomplices in adventure.

A lot of people probably think our friendship is a little bit unconventional. We argue about everything, but that is something I truly appreciate about her. There aren’t many people in my life who I can express myself to without worrying that I’ll hurt their feelings. LA knows my deepest darkest secrets without me even having to tell her. We’ve gone through some really tough times, but have shared our happiest moments of the last decade together as well. She’s one of the only people who I can sit with for hours without anything, and still be completely entertained. We live together now, but don’t rely on each other to live the way some other friendships do. That’s kind of a lie, because I rely on her A LOT. She keeps me in check when I’m down. Tells me there’s no sense in worrying when I’m upset, and tells me everything is going to be OK when I insist that it isn’t. And somehow I believe her. Sometimes, even now, we go days without talking but I know that she’ll be there in a heartbeat if I really need her, and I hope she knows I’d do the same for her.

She’s taught me a lot about myself and has helped me grow. She’s taught me how to be strong, assertive and confident. Even in her weakest moments, I look up to the way that she handles situations. I know that I’m an independent person, and that she’s helped me a lot in that department, but it scares me to think that in a few months she’s not going to be just a short drive away to help me regain my sanity when I start losing it.

Blargh. LA- just so you know. I’m crying right now with glass of wine in one hand and your laptop in my lap. If you were here right now you’d tell me to be careful not to spill my wine on your computer. At least I know I still have your voice of reason in your absense. I can’t express how sad I am at the thought of you moving. Alas, I am happy for you. I’m here for you if you’re ever feeling lonely. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve ruined your shoes and lost your jewlery. I hope you can forgive me for that. In return, I won’t hate you forever for leaving me to fulfill your dreams. Love your BFF, Carissa. DON”T FORGET IT. AND P.S. IF YOU FIND A NEW BEST FRIEND IN A FEW MONTHS THEN SHE BETTER BE COOLER THAN ME. (Though I know that won’t happen.)

Yeah I’m one of those…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death I tell you, it really gets to me.

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

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

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

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

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.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was – Justin. Fucking. Bieber.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I obviously rule.

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

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

AND YEAH. I  Did this too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Jake 1 week ago

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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?

We noticed that they had moved in about 3 weeks ago, just a few days after we ourselves had moved in… but for one reason or another (we are lazy, lazy, human beings) we decided not to do anything about it. I don’t even think it came up in conversation until the day that there were over fifty in a swarm on our kitchen counter and they could no longer be completely ignored.

Even then, we sprayed them with a bit of Windex, because that’s what we had available, and we went on with our day.

A few days later, I went to the pantry to get some cereal for a midnight snack.

They had gotten to it first. They were devouring our delicious granola cereal. Those nasty, selfish, tiny little vicious creatures had ruined my cheat food of the week.

Still, we didn’t take action. Oh sure, we threw out the food that they had taken over and we moved the rest of our food to a counter across the room, but I guess at that point we decided that we would give this new co-habitation one more shot. And also, did I mention that we are lazy?

But in the last week or so the situation has gotten exponentially worse. They have multiplied and migrated to other areas of the house. They’ve taken over my bedside table where the 5 empty glasses of wine from the last week have been sitting. I could probably let that slide. Hey! They have good taste.

Only it turns out, not so much. They’ve also taken over my bathroom, and I mean taken over. Every time I sit down to pee, which takes all of 30 seconds, these tiny little bastards scatter like zombies (fast-moving 28 Days Later zombies, not the ones from The Night of the Living Dead) and inevitably at least 5 make it up my thigh. I then spend at least 10 minutes of my precious time on my knees in my bathroom with a wad of toilet paper, squishing the shit out of as many of those little fuckers as I possibly can. It’s like a miniature game of Whack a Mole.

I’ve finally come to the end of my rope. We got off our asses… or actually… picked up our phone and called the land lord to inform him of our new, unwanted house guests.

4 days later he came over bearing poison and traps. They don’t seem to be working though. They are still running around and ruining my existence.

 In other scary news, this weekend I saw the most terrifying thing of my life. Even more terrifying than the time that I was lying on the cold floor taking a hangover-power-nap, and I opened my eyes to find that my roommate was standing over me in her bathrobe, legs spread. I saw her beating heart, I swear. It was funny later, but at the time I was scarred.

Anyhoohoo, my sister and I went out to my family’s ranch to go fishing and such. At the time, we were actually letting her pet turtle go in the creek, because she has this thing about keeping animals in captivity until they are full-grown and accustomed to snacking on chocolate and fresh strawberries, and then deciding that life would be better for the animal if she sent them out into the wild to let them try to fend for themselves.

So there we were, watching Rex the turtle sit in the exact same spot on the bank of the creek for forty-five minutes. My sister tried to coax him into the creek by throwing weiners into the water (which my dog promptly jumped in and ate) and saying things like “Go on Rexy, go into the water… you’ll love your new home.” We were fully engrossed in watching the turtle do nothing, when all of a sudden we heard a loud swoosh.

We both looked up just in time to see it  submerge from the water in all of it’s horrifying glory. I still don’t know what “it” was, but I’m telling you- it wasn’t a creature of God.

It was furry, at least four feet long,  had a very long tail, and I swear I saw red eyes and giant fangs. It only came out of the water for a split second, but it was enough to make me nearly drop my video camera in the water, and even my non-swearing sister said “Holy fuck what was that!!???”

After the initial panic ceased, I came to the conclusion that our eyes had been blessed with seeing a mythical water chupacabra.

But my sister? She said “maybe it was a sea lion.” In a fresh water creek.

Who knows though. Her guess was as good as mine.

(Turn and face the strain)

Ah yes… David Bowie. I love that man.

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

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

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

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

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

Then again there are some things that never change.

For instance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So yeah.

That’s how my night played out.

Next time I’ll win. It’ll be epic.

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

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

I’m going to be honest with you. I am by no means a “gamer”  and I very rarely dip my toes into anything game-related. That’s not to say that I didn’t play my fair share of “Super Mario World” and “Zombies ate my Neighbors” as a kid, but I would put my knowledge at anything past “Zelda”, elementary at best. So when  brentalfloss passed on the tracks of his new album (you can pre-order it now!) so that I could do a review for you-I was a little nervous that I would have no idea what any of the songs were about.

Not the case at all.

While the majority of the songs are video game parodies, the lyrics are catchy and fun, and for the most part – not over my head. Plus this dude is so musically talented he could sing about poo and farts (which he sometimes does) and I would be thoroughly entertained.

The Breakdown:

Ducktales with Lyrics: Since I’m pretty much a complete idiot when it comes to video games, I was happy to hear the album start out with something that I was familiar with. Ducktales is definitely one of the catchiest songs on the CD and a great tune to put you into a nerd-tastic kind of mood. It’s also one that you can’t help but clap along to, in case you want to ensure that you look like a really cool person in your car.

Gypsy Tetris: A nice little ditty that serves as an intro to “Tetris,” and is just one example of Brent’s ability to take on practically any genre.

Tetris: This has always been my favorite brentalfloss video, and the album version is still probably my favorite. If you’re unfamiliar, he has somehow managed to write a song about how Tetris is a game made for “chics” without  coming off as a giant asshole. Only now that I think about it, he doescome off like a giant asshole but I like it anyway. I guess that’s because I have a vagina and I’m just innately interested in all things Tetris. Well you know what Brent? You can suck it. I’m proud of the fact that I play Tetris on my phone every time I use the restroom. And by restroom, I do mean taking a shit because girls poo too!

Corey: Awwww… such a great  love-ish ballad. I don’t know who this Corey chick is, but she has inspired me to take up video gaming in hopes that I can one day have a video-game loving Youtube sensation write a song about me. Or not… but I play Tetris? In all seriousness, I really love this innuendo-filled tune. Any song that contains the lyrics “I could plug right into your XBox, and you could mess around with my Wii,” is an automatic win.

Final Fantasy Victory: This song kind of makes me want to kick my own ass for never having played Final Fantasy. A victory song this fun could only be inspired by an awesome game.  I asked Brent where he gets the inspiration for his lyrics, and he told me that he used to sing along and narrate the games while he was playing. This particular song starts out with “Now you’re dead, you’re dead cause we killed you…” I can picture little brentalfloss singing something similar as he kicked a bunny’s ass.

Good Example: Dude. Brent can rap? I mean… Dude! Brent can rap!! I had to do a little research to figure out where this song was coming from, but apparently it was written about a contest winner on his Youtube channel. I love rap songs that talk about extremely average things. It made me recall Jon LaJoie’s “Everyday Normal Guy,” only the fact that this was written about fan made it a million times better. One of my favorites, for sure.

Mega Man 3 With Lyrics: This might make anyone who is already a brentalfloss fan stop reading, but I had never even heard of Megaman until recently. I think I actually asked Brent who Megan Man was when I met him and he yelled at me. Regardless,  it seems that this video is one of the “brentalfloss- fan-favorites” and I don’t think the cd-version will disappoint. From what I can tell from the lyrics, Megaman is one of the bad-assiest of all video game characters. As with most of his songs, the lyrics give a great description of the game and characters so that even me and the other 15 clueless people in the world can get into it.

Bubble Man With Lyrics: I have absolutely no idea who this Bubble Man fellow is, but he sounds like one scary mofo. This song is chock-full fart jokes and I absolutely couldn’t stop laughing. Hilarious.

Final Fantasy Classic: This song makes Final Fantasy sound like a game full of magic and comradery… an anthem of sorts. It kind of made me wish that at some point in my life I could be a ten-year old boy, spending hours drinking Mountain Dew with my friends while  the fate of the “world” relied on the gifts of my strategy and my fingertips. There are a few references here that I’m sure you have to be familiar with the game to get, but lyrics aside- the electric guitar (I think?) has a very “Top Gun” feel that pretty much rocked my soul.

A Boy and His Blob Mini-Lyric: A short song about a boy and his blob, but you probably got that by reading the title. Very weird. But the absurdity of it was enough to make it enjoyable. It also inspired me to look up this game and give it a quick play online.

Gotta Run/Be the One- feat. The Megas: Dude. Wow. I’ve never heard either of these songs separately,  but this track seriously melted my face off. I listened to it about 6 times in a row and couldn’t believe that I was in my car singing along to a theme from Mega Man (no offense). Loves it.

Paperboy With Lyrics feat The Koname Kode:Yay! Another game I actually played, and by far one of the most catchy parodies on the album. The lyrics had me laughing and really amplify just how ridiculous (yet enjoyable) Paperboy was. Plus there is this really awesome bluesy breakdown, which is just glorious.

Mario Piano Medley: A beautiful piano medley of all my favorite “Mario” songs… what more could I ask for? Nothing, except maybe for brentalfloss to do a stint on Chatroulette.

Final Fantasy IV Love Theme With Lyrics: Spot on impression of Eric Cartman + beautifully played melody+ lyrics about sucking balls= WIN.

The Roommate Song: Another one of my favorites,  “The Roommate Song,” recounts the poignant tale of  a man constantly catching his roommate taking himself to pound-town. These are seriously some of funniest lyrics I have ever heard, and I can’t imagine there is a person out there who wouldn’t enjoy this tune. Except maybe my grandparents.

Dr. Mario With Lyrics: I’ve always had an inexplicable dislike for Dr. Mario (probably has something to do with my fear of Doctors) so I went into this track with somewhat of a negative outlook. I was quite surprised at how much I actually enjoyed it.  For this song, Brent has done an excellent job perfecting Dr. Mario’s accent. I’m not sure how he does it, but in about 30 seconds he manages to fit in every disease that my hypochondriac brain has ever diagnosed myself with.

Introspective Duck In Space: Another great instrumental piece, nearly brought a tear to my eye.

Mushroom Kingdom: Holy mother of my soul, this one came out of no where. I totally wasn’t expecting a “Sister Christian” parody and it made my heart happy when I realized that’s what it was. Even better, it’s about Mario so it was something I could really get on top of. (That’s what she said)  Right near the beginning he pops out with a “Oh Poop, It’s King Koop,” which is something that will definitely be worked into my daily vocabulary, whether it makes sense or not. I know I’ve already had about 10 favorites, but this one might just take the cake. Heart. Plus this might sound stupid, but until I looked up the lyrics to Sister Christian, I thought the chorus was “Motorhead-what’s your price to fight?” -so I really enjoy that I can sing along to the correct lyrics on this one.

Zelda With Lyrics: Yessssss. An awesome rock-out version of my favorite video game of all time. Brent has a major “Tenacious D” vibe going on in “Zelda,” which I really love. He really brings light to the true goal of the game of  Zelda-  a chance to have sex with her. This song really brings me back to some good times, but I think even those who aren’t huge fans of Zelda would love it.

The End?: The final track contains a few outtakes from the making of the CD. I got a few laughs out of it, though I accidentally skipped over it the first time around, so don’t make the same mistake.

Overall:

Nerdgasm on a disk. Take it from me, whether you are already a fan of brentalfloss, or if you have no knowledge of the gaming world (like me) this cd rocks!  Basically, if you are a fan of Tenacious D/Weird Al/Ben Folds/musicals/videogames/comedy/music in general/or getting ear fucked in the best way possible, there is something here for you. Pre-orders are available until April 4th, and every pre-order will be signed- so do it, do it, DO IT! I’ve never steered you wrong before! Also check out his YouTube Channel, for more awesomeness.

THE GIVEAWAY:

I am giving away 2 free brentalfloss cds! You can enter the contest multiple times, so listen up!

The Terms:

1 entry- Leave a comment here on my blog saying how much either brentalfloss and/or I rock.
2 entries- Follow me in your RSS reader and leave a comment to let me know that you are doing so (or that you already do)
3 entries - Subscribe to brentalfloss on Youtube, leave a comment on his channel letting him know you came from here. Something like: “I came here from carissajaded for a chance to win a free cd!!.” If you are already a subscriber leave a comment mentioning this giveaway on his channel. Also leave me a comment letting me know that you did so.
4 entries – Follow both @brentalfloss and  @carissajaded on twitter, and tweet something about how badass this giveaway is. Leave the URL of the tweet or what you tweeted in the comments.

The winner will be chosen using Random.org, and the contest will close at midnight on April 4th. Spread the word!

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.