I used to spend a lot of time trying to come up with content for this thing. I didn’t want to come across as too sappy, or too emo, or too over the top. I should probably warn you that I no longer care. Sure, the ultimate goal is to share something humorous yet thought provoking… in theory. But the truth is, I’m just happy I feel inspired to put finger to keyboard again. So if I feel like writing something, I will write something. And if you don’t like it, shut your stupid face.

This week I had my first visit with a new therapist. I figured it was time for some maintenance. Plus I really really like talking about myself to someone who is required to give me their undivided attention…. as if you didn’t already know this.

It had been about 6 months since I have had any sort of official therapy and I had nearly forgotten how helpful it is. I truly believe that ANYONE can benefit from talking to an unbiased someone every once in a while. It really puts things in prospective. Granted, 9 out of 10 times – my sister, my friends, and my coworkers give me the same advice that the therapist gives me… but somehow it’s different when you pay someone to listen.

Since it was my initial visit with a new counselor, we had A LOT to cover. Three hours worth, in fact. Three hours of me giving her the rundown of every idiosyncrasy of my character, and every hardship I have ever endured. While it felt good to tell my story, it was a bit exhausting- to say the least. But it did make me realize something.

I’m dramatic. I’m emotional. I over-think and catastrophize every situation. I have a bad case of ADHD.  I have major sleep anxiety. I have general anxiety in nearly every situation in my life. I have a bit of an inferiority complex. I have absolutely no control of myself when I drink liquor. I’m constantly teetering on the edge of hypomania. I have a major case of body dysmorphia. I will probably never have a comfortable relationship with food.

I could go on for days about my emotional and behavioral issues, but what I realized was that I’m OK with it all. In fact, somewhere over the last year, I’ve learned not only to accept- but also to appreciate some of my issues… or at least the fact that I can acknowledge them and work towards dealing with them.

In the very least, they don’t freak me out as much anymore. The difference between this session, and the first time I met with a counselor last year is unbelievable.

That being said, I can’t help but imagine a world where I didn’t have to worry about keeping myself in check. Where I didn’t have to use “tools” like mindfulness and meditation to calm my nerves or talk myself down from cliffs. And especially where I didn’t act on such impulse all the time. Like, can you imagine if you could program yourself with your own, personal panic button that would prevent you from saying and doing things that you immediately regret?

Por ejemplo: Oh yay! Bob Schneider is playing my at my radio show’s Christmas benefit! He’s my favorite musician in the entire world. I should walk up to him and tell him about how much I love him.. and keep talking for about ten minutes until he looks like he might take off running in fear.

ACTIVATE PANIC BUTTON

Carissa. Take a deep breath. If you want to say something to your most favorite musician in the world, fine. But for God’s sake, he doesn’t want to hear your life story, or how you once drunkenly wrote him a facebook message proclaiming your love. Just. Stop.

Por ejemplo #2: I’m at a co-workers birthday party drinking a little wine. Just the night before I decided to swear off liquor because SOMEHOW I ended up waking up on the bathroom floor of a boy’s apartment who I actually really like. Boss hands me a shot. Boy, I sure do love shots. Especially warm cinnamony whiskey shots. And it would probably make me a lot more fun to talk to.

ACTIVATE PANIC BUTTON

Hey girl hey. If you take that shot, it’s all gonna go down hill. You’ll end up making an ass out of yourself in front of all your co-workers. Then you’ll proceed to call that boy you dig and ask, no beg him to pick you up. And THEN you’ll call your dad 10 times telling him you don’t know where you are. So, no… Don’t take that shot.

Sighhh… if only.

Instead, I have to learn these things the hard way. Stupid human body, unequipped with panic buttons. But I guess then I wouldn’t have anything to work on.

So until someone learns how to reprogram my head- I’m just gonna embrace my poor decisions and nutso brain.

ACTIVATE FREAK FLAG

I’m sure all five of  you are just dying to know what the hell I’ve been up to for the past 6 months. I mean, it’s not like I could have spent EVERY SINGLE SECOND of my free time giving myself multiple nerdgasms watching Doctor Who.

Well I probably could have, but then when would I have found the time to watch Firefly? HUH?

So basically, some really shitty stuff that I had no control over happened in my life. When it did, I tried my best to take control over the things that I could. I made it my mission to try to “find myself.” To work out every day. To meditate. To eat healthy. In short, to be perfect.

Until that point, I had always maintained a sort of  “controlled chaos” lifestyle. But I made it my goal in life to change that. I no longer wanted to be the funny girl. I didn’t want to be the person that people told stories about. I didn’t want to be the person that got herself into horrible, ridiculous situations anymore.

The truth is-by trying to calm the chaos in my life, I somehow created the perfect storm.

The harder that I tried to define myself (or find myself)- the further I fell from the things in my life that defined me. The aspects of my life that I had been trying so hard to control, began to control me.

I found myself truly depressed for the first time ever. I quit writing and doing comedy.  I fell back into disordered eating. I withdrew from my friends family… and THAT’s when the obsessive Dr. Who-ing occurred.

The one bright spot in all of this, is that I was able to recognize that I was in a bad place and that I wouldn’t be able to get out of it alone. I’ll go into it more one day when it’s farther in my past, but I will admit that much of my free time the last few months has been spent in therapy, group therapies, support groups and doctor’s offices. It hasn’t been fun, but it has taught me a lot.

When I got laid off 2 weeks ago-  I was sure I was going to plummet even farther into despair. In those first bleak hours, I figured I would lose even more control and that I would spend the rest of my days flying in weird octagons over the cuckoo’s nest. I imagined my parent’s selling everything they owned and putting on benefit concerts trying to raise enough money to give me a lobotomy.

Amazingly enough, the opposite happened. (You can read more about this in my previous post) It could be just temporary, but I honestly feel more like myself the last three weeks than I have in the past eight months. I’ve been sleeping again; albeit odd hours since I’m not currently working normal hours. I’ve been eating again, normally… when I’m hungry and not obsessing over every single thing that I put in my body. I haven’t even worked out except for the occasional walk here and there, and mostly just to get myself to a destination. I’ve found that I can find a balance in the meditating, obsessive yoga aspects my life and the crazy chaotic ones- and that I like it.

Most importantly, I’ve been recognizing that there is still so much that I love about life… and THOSE are the things that define me.

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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Oh hells yeah, bring it on weekend.

Seriously. This has been one helluva week. I’m trying not to dwell on the bad shit and just remember that soon enough things will be settled and I’ll have a whole new set of problems to deal with.

I’m sure you’ve been wondering what sort of crazy ass shit could I have possibly gotten myself into that would cause me to be so absent from the interwebs, and when I do come around  tweet complaints left and right? (Because yes I do realize I’ve done nothing but complain the last two weeks or so and that’s not usually my nature.) (Sometimes, yes, I can be a nature-made complainer-but usually it’s in jest.) (I also realize the correct word for “nature-made” would be “natural,” but since yesterday was National Grammar Day or something I have declared that today the rest of my life will be “National Aint Usin Correctual Grammatized Wording Days”.) So HA! KELLYYY RIPPPAAAAAAAA!!!

And since it’s my blog and I can whine if I want to, whilst drinking wine I might add, that’s what I might do.

*I’ll start with the worst news first. I just found out that MY BOYFRIEND COULD BE CHEATING ON ME!!! Yes. Perez Hilton (that slimy cock-blocker) reported today that John Cusack is dating Brooke Burns. I don’t even know who she is but she looks like a man and I hope she gets herpasyphaghonnoraids something really painful that can’t be spread to my boyfriend… like a really bad hemoroid. Anyways, someone needs to alert the press that this is false information. Me and my Boyfriend John Cusack are doing just fine. Awesome, in fact. You don’t belive me? See for yourself.

Carissajaded and John Cusack 4-evah!

That pic was taken last weekend when we were just hangin around, eatin some cheese, watching Dumb and Dumber. Awesome day right!? I think we may have even taken it to pound town that day but we have so many times I can’t remember for sure.

Moving on. 

* Why won’t my stuff unpack itself? It has now been sitting in piles around my house for five days and I’m not sure what to do about it. I keep trying to use all the Jedi Mind tricks I know but they aren’t working in my new house. I’ve been contemplating sending a video into “Clean House” or whatever that reality show is called so maybe they’d come do it for me, but even they might be scared.

*My bank account is scaring me into thinking I might need to quit drinking so much wine. HAHAHAHA Just kidding. But maybe I need to stop eating or cancel my gym membership or something. After having to pay for all these moving expenses, I was flat broke. And then???? Yesterday we got our final gas bill from my old house and guess how much that was?  $800.00. EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS!!!! FOR GAS!? With the amount of gas that should have paid for in a month I should have been able to light a match down the street and blow that place up. Then who’d be laughing? Oh probably still not me. Turns out we were on some average monthly billing program so now we have to pay all the accrued monthly something or another. It doesn’t make sense to me. But if right now, you have an image of me bending over and being sexually abused by Atmos energy, then you’d be correct.

*My new house is haunted. I’m not joking, crazyness be happenin up in here.  At first I thought it was just a coincidence that I have had two brand-new light bulbs blow out on me, but then other stuff starting happening. Of course there are the weird slams, bangs and bumps (no I’m not talking about my sexual life,) but on top of that- our ghost is all about turning on appliances. Like Monday night. I go downstairs and the kitchen faucet is running full blast. I certainly didn’t do it. LA had been asleep for hours. I went and woke her up just to make sure. And then tonight? Right after I had spent an hour trying to convince LA that we needed to get that lady from the exorcist with a high-pitched voice to come over and cleanse our house,that damn spirit turned the stove burner on. It’s not like it could have just turned by itself. It was on level 6. That crazy bitch of a ghost wanted to burn us down!

But in case you’re reading this: Ghost, I love you. I love most ghosts!! In fact I’ve always wanted to be friends with one! I say the word bitch as a synonym for friend! Things have changed since you were alive. Anyway, so far I think you’re really pretty and cool. Please don’t hurt me.

*Mi coche es un PEICE OF TURD! For the thousanth time this year, my car broke down yesterday while I was driving on the highway. I heard a snap, the power steering went out, and then I sat on the side of the road for about an hour-calling everyone I know to ask them what I should do. As of now my car is STILL in the shop. This realllllly is not helping my moo-lah situation. sighhhhhhh

Well I’m gonna go ahead and forget all of this is happening, and rock on with my bad-self this weekend. And by rock-on I obviously mean that I will be sitting in the middle of my bedroom, listening to sad tunes, trying to unpack my things using only my mind. That’s telekinesis Kyle.

Don’t forget to leave your dare in the comments, fool! Heart.

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.

Yeah, that was me. Or so I thought.

Turns out I was wrong. Mostly…

I am laid back, and I will do whatever is thrown at me, and I am up to trying new things… just as long as I can fit those things nicely into my daily routine.

There. I’ve said it. It’s something I’ve been in denial of for the last few years. I haven’t even been able to admit it to myself, in my own brain. This week, however, I have had no choice because it has been repeating itself in my head like a big snare drum or my mother’s pet cockatoo.

I am a creature of habit. I must abide by the routine.

I haven’t always been this way. There was a time in my life when I was ok without a routine because my life required me to be. One day I would come home and eat and early dinner, and the next I wouldn’t eat until eleven at night. One morning I would have class at eight am and the next morning I would sleep until one.

I’m not sure if it was work, or starting to exercise  and drastically changing my diet, or just taking a little bit more control over my life that influenced it- but at some point in the last few years I became a habitual person.

Every week day, I wake up around 7am:15am and head to work at 7:30. I eat every day at 11:45. I leave work at 5:00 and head straight to the gym. After I work out, I come home, eat dinner, take a shower, spend at least an hour writing something and then either play on the internet or watch a movie. Every so often I forgo the gym and eating dinner at home, and will meet friends for drinks or go to the movie theater, but not often enough to where I feel out of control.

The last few days as I’ve been preparing to move, things have gotten crazy. I know for most people it probably wouldn’t be such a big ordeal, but for those of you who know me or have been following me for a while- let’s all think for a moment about the “hurricane” that is my life.

I know I just admitted here to all the internets that I do, in fact, have to have a routine- but there is practically nothing else in my life that is in order. When I say that my life is a mess, I’m not speaking metaphorically. I mean that the things in my life are a fucking mess. I promised myself that with this move, I would finally attempt to organize my “tangible” life, which is no easy task.

My car is a disaster. My jewelery is in knots. There are receipts, letters, keepsakes, and pieces of paper with random thoughts and ideas jotted on them- stuffed in drawers and piled in stacks around my room. I have had to do about 30 loads of laundry, and half of those clothes are 8 sizes too big and have been in the back of my closet for the last year and a half. I have at least 30 half-pairs of socks, which I just don’t understand.

I’m starting to feel a little better with each task that I complete, but at the same time peeps- I’m going freaking crazy!!! I’ve had to make several  trips to the store to get boxes or trash bags or cleaning supplies. I am extremely ADD so I’ve started a million different tasks that I haven’t yet finished, which just makes everything feel chaotic. Even when I’m not staying on task, I’m thinking about what I need to be doing- or most often, what I’m not doing that I would like to be doing.

I haven’t worked out in nearly a week, and I have eaten out (and off my diet) for nearly every meal.  I haven’t gotten to read or write much, and I have the opportunity to start writing for a really cool site and it really sucks that I haven’t yet been able to put the time into it that I would like.

I have been getting to bed even later than usual and I haven’t been sleeping very well. And now I have this pressure that I have put on myself to get my entire life organized- and I ONLY HAVE 2 MORE DAYS TO DO SO!!!

I know I’m not going to be able to finish everything, and that’s OK. I do want to make this move a new beginning of sorts. The last couple of weeks I have decided to step out of my “box”  and try new things and I want to continue to do so. But at the same time, I want to try to adapt to a more orderly “tangible” lifestyle.

I’ve realized that I’ve become immune to messiness, especially when I’m in good spirits. But when I am down, the disorder begins to suffocate me. I think this change could do wonders for my mentality. I want to take a little more time concentrating on the little things, and not so much time skipping over things just so I can live the way I’m used to.  Maybe instead of a “hurricane,” my friends will start to call me “tornado“… or “thunder shower.”

Yet here I am, venting to you guys in this non-though-out, probably incredibly grammatically incorrect post, because I HAD TO. I feel much better now, though I do feel slightly guilty that I have spent nearly twenty-five minutes sitting here in front of my computer writing utter nonsense.

Thanks for lending an ear, good people of the inter-web.

I most likely will not be back until Tuesday, and let’s all hope that by then- I’m a little more organized, a little more sane, and back into my (slightly adjusted) daily routine.

I think John Cusack (My boyfriend) will approve.

WORD.

And completely unrelated, there are quite a few of my lovah’s out there who have recently given me awards. Don’t think I have forgotten about you. One day, in the not so distant future, I WILL do an award post,

Lilu is out of town for a while, but she has provided us with a series of very special TMI Thursday post secret posts. Make sure to check them out…. And for more TMI than you could ever imagine, check out her TMI archives!

I’m doing TMI a little different this week. I have a friend “Moops” who has asked several times for me to talk about him on my blog.

Well sir, I’ll do better than that. You have officially been email roasted. TMI Thursday style.

The following are emails that I copied straight from an email  conversation that happened yesterday afternoon.

I wrote the first email to a group of my friends when I realized I was having a difficult time coming up with a post for today. Moops spent the better part of the afternoon traveling all over the country for work, so didn’t get to check his email until the damage had been done.

Luckily, he’s a good sport. (I hope.)

Hey friends,

Moops has been wanting me to talk about him in my blog for a while… As I am completely brain dead today,I was thinking that you guys could help me out with thinking of a good story.

I know there must be many stories out there that I could tell that would be considered TMI about our friend in question.

The first one that first comes to mind…

Remember when we were calmly talking in the living room, and out of nowhere Moops reached down his pants, into his butt hole and then proceeded to stick his fingers in my mouth???! Just because ” he had an urge!!!”

I almost had to kill myself by ingesting bleach.

I got him back on the river trip though. heeeheehehee

You got anything better?

____________________________________________________________

RE: TMI

FROM: SCUBA

This happened,

Outside the Coventry Apts. Justin met our across the hall neighbors in his tighty whitees.  He then helped the girl carry groceries from her car up flight of stairs in his undees.  He then slipped on the very top concrete stair and all of the groceries went flying out of the sack.  He was bleeding and scrounging for groceries in front of our new girl neighbor in his undees.  Her boyfriend then shows up as this is going on.

________________________________________________________________________

RE:TMI

FROM: CARISSA JADE

Orrrr……….Maybe I should switch gears and tell about the time Scuba pooed his pants. I was such a nice friend and told him I would do his laundry for him. I almost died when I saw the skid lake underwear in the laundry basket.

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RE: TMI

FROM: LA

How about the time Moops puked on my couch then had to be taken to bed? Fast forward three hours and he comes storming down the stairs yelling at me me. Upon his return back up the stairs he proceeds to trip and stumble back down to the bottom. To top it off, he jumps up, glares and points his finger at me and says, “Yoooooooouuuuuuu”!

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RE: TMI

FROM: KT

I have a quick couple…

How about the time Moops decided to tell us about his love for couches. He loves them so much that he use to have sex with them, sad but true. Moops use to masturbate by inserting his junk between couch cushions and go to town!

Or how bout the time we went to we walked into an apt. party of people we didn’t even know and Moops drank too much and as usual stripped down to his tightee whitees and the people were so put off they asked us to leave. We do and Moops begins to laugh. Of course we ask “what are you laughing at?” He then pulls out the tube of toothpaste he was so proud to have stolen. His grand revenge for getting kicked out was stealing toothpaste…

Then there is the time that Moops really impressed me. I had just moved in below him and had spoken with him a few times. My roommates were out so I went to go say hi. Moops opens the door and is unquestionably shit faced. We are watching T.V. and I’m telling him a story when he stops me and says “hold on.” He then leans over and pukes the smelliest blach puke onto his carpet, nearly getting it on his boy dog “Jager.” When done he looks at me and says “ok, go on.” Without blinking an eye! Bless his heart!

And then of course there is the time that he asked my somewhat crazy ex-bff to trim his pubes. She then convinces him that he should be blind folded for the event. She did this so pictures could be taken without him knowing. Blindfolded, naked, and holding a beer, Moops let this crazy woman near his manhood with a pair of scissors in her hand! Don’t worry she didn’t hurt him, she just trimmed, but it did make for interesting pics….

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RE:TMI

FROM: CARISSA JADE

HAHAHA I forgot about some of these! Speaking of the puking (not that there aren’t already enough puking stories) I just remembered about the time that I woke up to find a pile of puke at the foot of my bed. That fool woke up in the middle of the night, stuck his head over the foot of the bed, and then straight up went back to sleep.

The funny thing about that night that he stole the toothpaste, is that I’m pretty sure that was the same night we may or may not have dipped someone’s toothbrush and razors into the toilet. Oops.

Oh. And my favorite… (which really needs it’s own post) The night he peed my bed, thank goodness I was on the futon that night (poor shae) That wasn’t really even the bad part. He took the down comforter home and promised to wash it. Three weeks later I go to his loft and that thing was was in his closet with all the other “clean” blankets… and sure nufff …it had never been washed.

And KT. When you get a chance, you must send me those pube cutting pics. I have no idea what happened to my copy. I know it was in my glove compartment for a while- though I have absolutely no idea as to why…

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RE:TMI

FROM: MOOPS

Wow, all of this makes me sound like a really great guy!  I’ll get abnoxiously drunk, puke, piss your bed, might fuck your couch and I might ask you to get some of those hard to reach pubes.  I want to hang out with me!!

Scuba,  speaking of fucking things this one is for you…

I believe this story epitomizes TMI.  This came out of one of those story telling sessions where everyone was boozed up enough to share stories from their sexual past, the story didn’t necessarily have to involve another person, solo acts were admissible.  I’m on a plane and I don’t want the guy next to me to see what I’m writing so I have to make it quick.

So it begins, Scuba, the horny young thing that he was went about the house looking for objects he could have intercourse with, nothing too disturbing or out of the ordinary yet, right?  On his quest for pleasure a furry young thing catches his eye, why of course, what better sexual companion than your favorite over stuffed teddy bear (it might have been a panda).  But hmmm, how to make this lustful encounter logistically possible?  Cut a hole in it!  With near surgical precision (I’m sure) Scuba proceeds to cut a hole ample enough to receive his penis.  Then,  he fucked the teddy bear.

The funniest part is that his mom found the stuffing from the procedure; he told her that a kid down the street went into a rage and stabbed his bear.  So to this day if that neighbor kid is ever mentioned his mom says something to the effect of “ oh that so and so , he’s the one who stabbed your poor teddy.”

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RE: TMI

FROM: KT

It was a cow and he shared that story the same night you shared you love for couch cushions

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RE: TMI

FROM: CARISSA JADE

hahaha ok, thanks guys. I’m gonna have to use all of this…

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Oh yes, in case you were wondering… my friends definitely put the ass in class. Have a wonderful day!

My blog is entirely too easy to find.

For the most part, it doesn’t really bother me. I talk about it openly and even keep a link to it on my Facebook, one click away from virtually everyone who knows me. (I feel like “virtually” may have been a poor word choice, as I am talking about the people who know me personally, not just virtually…if that makes sense.) I have convinced myself that my family and anyone who has ever known me on a professional level are either way too busy to read my little ole’ site, or they just don’t care.

If you read this  and you know me in real life, you probably know that, even in person I am  extremely candid and am not afraid of sharing personal information when provoked, or even when I’m not.

And if you do know me and I get on your nerves, make you uncomfortable,  you think I’m too crass, or you think I drink too much, then you probably don’t enjoy reading my blog and therefore do not come here except to make fun of my life. If that is the case,  the pleasure is all mine because I live to be laughed at.

So basically what I’m trying to say is that I really hope y’all enjoy what you read and keep coming back for more, but if you don’t- then please do not tell me so because I like to believe everyone likes me.

Never mind.

However, I’ve recently realized there are a few instances where I believe that my beloved blog may be a teensy weensy bit of a problem.

The first thing I worry about is my career.

I purposely do not write about my work.  I’m mostly happy in what I do, but you never know when you’ll end up back on unemployment and needing to look for a job. If that happens, I’m not too excited about potential employees googling my email and finding this site. But I suppose I won’t worry about that until it happens.

The other instance in which I have found that my blog has been a little bit of a hinder, is in meeting new people, face to face.

While I may share way too much information with you about my own personal issues, I choose never to talk about my private relationships, more specifically- dating. This is mostly because that part of my life is incredibly boring and mostly inactive, but also I feel some things should be kept private.

Similarly, I’m not so sure how I feel about the fact that guys that I meet who have the potential for dating, are able to easily read about my idiosyncrasies, or about the time I took out a tampon whilst driving. I don’t want an anonymous blog and I like for my friends to be able to easily read, but I’m a little torn on this matter.

I guess this is something I’ll have to figure out for myself, but let me know if you have any advice.

In other news, I’m trying an experiment this week that may take me away from the computer a bit. Over the last few months I’ve noticed that I have been drinking a little more during the week than I feel is appropriate. Oh no, don’t go saying “I told you so, you have a problem.” This is not the case.

My problem is not of the drinking variety, so much as it is of the sleeping variety. A few hours before I go to sleep, I start to get extremely anxious- and come to the conclusion that I’ll probably never be able to fall asleep until 4 in the morning, I will miss work or be late, and then I’ll end up jobless and living on the streets feigning a crack addiction so I can get welfare. So as to avoid this scenario, I have taken to having a cocktail or a few glasses of wine before bed.

While it does help me to sleep, I don’t want to be one of those people who drinks every single night. I drink on weekends because I enjoy it, not because I need it to have a good time. I don’t particularly enjoy feeling the need to rely on alcohol for anything. And this is why I’m taking a break this week.

I know it’s really not that big of a deal, I’m only going until Halloween… but until then- not a single drop. I would really like to prove to myself that I can sleep like normal people. In order to achieve this goal, (as well as to fit into my Halloween skirt) I am also upping the gym time this week ten-fold. So bear with me if I’m a little grouchy and tired. Working out and not drinking can do that to a girl.

I will leave you today with a little gem from my email archives. A few months ago, one of my guy friends had a misunderstanding with his girlfriend. After many drinks, my friend left the following message on another one of my guy friend’s voice mail. Guy friend #2 then transcribed the message, for my- and now your, enjoyment.

“Fuck you not answering my call, I think you just fucking denied me.  I just wanted to talk about how girls are fuckin…….well they’re just fucking, i don’t know.  They’re just big fuckin vagina’s, i guess they do have vagina’s, but i like vagina’s.  But they’re just big fuckin bitches, a bitch bag, a big bag of douche.  I fuckin hate em, i’m just going to be asexual and jack myself off for the rest of my life.  I’d be a lot happier.  Hope your having fun…..Later”

Happy Monday everyone!

Make sure you check back to Lilu’s Archives… they are the best things you’ll read all week!

I’m not usually the type of girl who likes to kiss and tell. O.K., that’s a lie. But I’m not the type of girl who likes to talk about sexual experiences all over internets, especially on a site that my parents frequent. So today I’m going to tell you a story that happened to a, ahem, friend of mine.

Once upon a time there was a girl named… lets call her “Cari.”

She was young and naive and only a Sophomore in college.  Although she was not quite twenty-one, Cari had just began to get the full extent of how crazy night life in college could really be.

One night, Cari went to a bar with some friends. She had been kind of talking to a guy (lets call him Dave) who worked at a local bar, which was kind of awesome because he could sneak her drinks. By kind of talking, I mean that they had made out once or twice, but had yet to take it beyond first base.

At the time, Cari was still pretty naive when it came to sexual experiences. She had kissed her share of boys, but was not the kind of girl to go home with almost strangers.

This night, because of the ridiculous amount of drinks that she sneakily inhaled, she decided to make an exception.

Dave was quite a bit older and willing to take the drunken Cari back to his house to take care of her. He was quite the gentleman and even stopped to get Cari lemon lime Gatorade on the way to his house.

Once they got there, things got a little hot and heavy. Not to the point of actual intercourse, but to the point where clothes were taken off.

It was around this point that Cari passed out into a dark and dreamless sleep.

She woke up very early in the morning with a horrible cramp in her stomach. It was not the type of cramp that could be mistaken. She really had to take a shit.

At this point, Cari was still laying on her side under the covers. She wanted to try to sneak out of bed and into the bathroom so that Dave wouldn’t wake up to the sound of her using the restroom. She could feel his presence right behind her, and hear the sounds of his heavy snoring behind her head. She shifted to try to move without disturbing the hairy man next to her.

As she did, she noticed something very strange.

“What in the hell is that!?” she thought as she started to panic. It seemed to Cari, that there was something lightly resting upon her butt cheek.

“Nononononononono! This cannot be happening!” Cari thought as she tried to figure out a game plan.

You see, the pain in Cari’s stomach was so intense, that she had come to the conclusion that she must have laid a turd in this strange harry man’s bed. What else would be resting gently against her butt cheek?

She thought maybe she should just run out of the door, hitchhike back to her apartment, then convince her parents to let her transfer schools.

Tears came to poor Cari’s eyes as she realized that she had really done it. Her life was over. She was about to leave all of her new friends, and all because she decided to get drunk and poop in a well known bartender’s bed.

“There has to be another way,” Cari thought…. “AHA! Maybe I can just scoop it up and throw it in the trash without him noticing!”

Cari knew that this would be very difficult. From what she could tell, it was still in it’s solid form. She had been very careful not to lean back and damage it in anyway.

She finally gathered up the courage to very carefully reach behind her back and scoop it up.

Very slowly and carefully, Cari scooted her hand underneath the poop, hoping with all of her heart that she would not leave any remains  behind.

It was in that moment that Cari made the best discovery of her life.

What she held in her hand was not in fact a turd… it was in fact, just Dave’s penis.

Cari quickly woke Dave up and made him drive her home, where she was able to use the restroom in the privacy of her own bathroom.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end.

I’m still trying to figure out blogging, more specifically WordPress, and I finally started my site’s makeover last night. Tell me what you think! It still needs a few adjustments, but I have to give a huge thanks you to my friend L.A. for the header, and my roommate D.  for helping me with the technical side of things. As soon as I figure out how, I will put up one of those blog roll thingies with all of your sites on it. I’m also apparently in dire need of a RSS feed button, so if anyone has any input on how to do so, please let me know! I’m completely in the dark about all this technological bull crap!

OK. I’m done with my moment of sap.

Now for what I really want to talk about today.

Women do not go to sleep nor wake up looking like they are about to go to freaking prom!!!

Movies have always had a way of misrepresenting women. I can overlook most of these stereotypes, but this one in particular is really starting to get on my frickin nerves!!!

Women in film always go to sleep in pretty gowns. They swoop their hair up and pin it into place, where it stays put all night long. Their just applied makeup never smears to make them look like a zombie raccoon. And they never have to put zit cream on their face or retainers on their teeth.

I feel it is my duty to disclose to any of you men who might be reading this, who have constantly been disappointed with the way your partners look when they go to sleep, or even more so, when they wake up. If you’re searching for a lady that looks like a “lady” 24 hours a day. You are shit out of luck.

I’m sure there are some exceptions out there. There are probably some women who brush their hair  fifty strokes before they go to sleep. There are probably some women who go to sleep in their makeup and somehow manage to wake up without looking like Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands. And I am positive that there are some women who go out and purchase nice teddies and silk gowns to sleep in, especially in the beginning of a relationship.

As for me-most of my sleep clothes are stained, bleached, and belong in the trashcan.

My favorite sleep attire is actually a mustard yellow sweatshirt that goes down to my knees, and I have been wearing it since I was in the 3rd grade. The 3rd freakin grade. Back then it was a pretty yellow sweat dress that went down to my ankles. These days, I have chewed holes for my thumbs to go through, and there are spots on it that I do not want to identify. It has been washed so many times that it’s practically paper thin. It’s almost to the point where I’m afraid to sleep in it for fear that it will tear if I make a sudden movement.

Other choice nighties include a pair of my sister’s old shorts paired with my “I love Dinosaurs” t-shirt (L.A. said she had the same shorts in fifth grade,) my NSYNC concert tee with a pair of thin paint-covered cut- off pants (my mother has thrown these away at least 7 times but I refuse to give them up,) and an old black ankle length gown that must have been one of my mother’s maternity gowns- because it is a size XXL.

I have taken to showering before I go to sleep so that I don’t have to hassle with blow drying my hair. For this reason, I usually wake up looking like something that has recently been electrocuted.

I really try to be consistent about washing my face and taking off my makeup, but I will admit that I sometimes leave this task for the morning. This sometimes causes me to wake up and literally scare myself.

I have to admit though, that every once in a while… probably about once a month, I let those damn movie stereotypes get the best of me. I feel a little stir in my stomach and I want to feel like Claudette Colbert in “It Happened one Night,” or Audrey Hepburn in every movie she ever made. Even though I’m single and don’t have anyone I’m trying to impress, I sometimes want to pull out the silk nighty that is stuffed at the bottom of my underwear drawer. I blow dry my hair and will even go to the trouble of straightening it, while looking at myself in the mirror and singing Bye Bye Birdie’s “How lovely to Be a Woman.” I prance to my perfectly made bed and fluff  up the pillow before I put my night shades over my pristine face.

But only every once in a while.

Last year for Halloween, I went as Regan MacNeil from the Exorcist.

Which is pretty much what I look like most days upon waking up.