Being the self-deprecating person that I am, I initially thought that writing on the subject of “something that I love about myself” would be quite difficult, but the truth is- I kind of rock.

Although I could still write a novel about all the things I would like to change about myself, I realized that there are quite a few things about me that I find quite enjoyable.

Unfortunately, most of the qualities that I love most about myself are also the same qualities that others find highly annoying… but I think I’ve finally come to a point in my life where I’m OK with that.

I’m not going to list all of the things that make me really, really, ridiculously amazing, but I think I can try to sum them up into one all-encompassing quality.

Basically, I love that I am kind of a child.

Not in the Forest Gump “kind of like a child sort of way, though some may beg to differ… but I do think that sometimes I have a bit of a child like outlook on life.

I’m not going to deny that I’m a little “jaded.” I don’t like the way a lot of things in my life are going. I despise men in graffic tees. I actually don’t like most things that have to do with men in general right now.

Regardless, after all the shit I’ve gone through the last few years with my family and personal mountains, I sometimes surprise myself by being so excited by life. I even like going through the darker times because I know it’s going to get better. I like to use that time to improve all of the aspects of my life. I love finding new projects, starting new hobbies and meeting new people. I love that I feel things so deeply. I love that I still have the ability to care about a person enough to get hurt. I love that I’m optimistic. I love that I have an active imagination. I love that I can emphathize with other people’s pain. I know so many people who don’t really do that.

On the other hand, I love that I feel emotions on the other extreme as well. I love that I’m constantly excited about what’s next. I love that I really miss my family and friends when they’re away. I love that I cry at Hallmark commercials and Lifetime movies. I love that I’m a hopelesss romantic. I love that I’m passionate. I love that I have the abilty to be truly moved by a song or a piece of artwork. I love that I can make any situation fun. I love that my heart flutters when I’m on a walk and I see something beautiful. I love that I dream big. I love that I like to sing loud. I love to laugh. I love life.

I know this all sounds as cheesy as an old Saved by the Bell episode, but it’s true.

I fucking love being me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE EYES KEPT BLINKING EVEN WHIST DECAPITATED!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU”VE NEVER HAD IT, HAVE YOU!?!?”

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

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

All the recipes I could find look like this:

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

Ahhh the magic of chocolate milk is back.

And so am I. Mostly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was when she was skinny.

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

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

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

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

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

Stella smiling with my sis

And so my new Picasso puppy had a name.

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

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

My Stella bear and I on Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

***SOBBB***

I  miss STELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

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

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

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

Anyway, back to you… I am hoping I will eventually catch up to all 900 or so unread posts on my reader… but I’m thinking it may take a while.

This weekend was kind of insane. On Saturday I got to catch up with a bunch of my college sorority friends at a baby shower.  (Love you Lydia and little Oliver who will be born sometime in the next 10 days) I’m usually terrified of situations that have anything to do with babies… mostly because babies scare the hell out of me. But besides the slight panic attack that I had in Babies R Us whilst trying to get someone to help me figure out what a Diaper depot was and where in this freak house of miniature things it might be found, I had a pretty rockin time.

I got all Martha Stewart on your asses and even made cream cheese tortilla rolls for the second event this month. I completely forgot to add salsa, which is apparently a major ingredient, but no one  said anything if they noticed.

I think the most shocking moment for everyone was probably when I held one of my friend’s babies. I did have to sit down first in the style of a 10 year old… but it wasn’t even such a terrifying experience. I actually really liked holding her. I had to admit  that babies are kind of cute and soft and I kind of started wanting to eat her up… or at least pet her obsessively. That came out a lot creepier than I meant it. What I’m trying to say is that- while I still don’t have baby fever in any way shape or form, maybe I shouldn’t be so scared of hanging out with my mommy friends a little more often.

We also drank a whole lot of champagne. I haven’t been to many baby showers, but I am quickly finding out that they even though the preggers guest of honor can’t drink, it’s perfectly appropriate for everyone else to. Afterward, a few of us hit the streets of our college town, and basically didn’t stop until around 10:30 on Sunday night. We gave Sunday Funday a whole new meaning, which basically led to a pretty miserable Monday. Except for one part…

Yeah I know what you’re thinking, because I was thinking it to.

With all these Oscar-worthy movies coming out in the last week or so, why would I go see Roland Emmerich prove to the world that his dick is smaller than Michael Bay’s?

For one, I had to get at least one more popcorn-blockbuster-type movie in before I start spending most of my free time in the Angelika, watching foreign and arthouse-ish type films through January.

Also, I actually like really really like end-of -the-the-world-shit-blowing-up-disaster type films. Who doesn’t? If you say you didn’t like Independence Day, I’m so calling bullshit. And not just because Bill Pullman pretty much made the sexiest-voiced president ever in a film. These type of movies do exactly what they set out to do, and that is to entertain and get you excited. Yeah yeah yeah, I admit that it was essentially one near death experience after another, but it definitely kept me on my toes. I spontaneously decided to forgo the gym and go see it by myself after work, but if someone would have been with me I probably would have spent the second half of the movie punching them in the arm.

I was planning on writing a full-on movie review, but I knew what that would turn into…

A post about nothing except for my love for John Cusack, and that can get old really fast. Just ask anyone that knows me in real life.

But seriously. I love the man… skewed political opinions and all. I don’t know what it is about this guy, but just seeing him on the screen makes me all giddy and butterflies in the stomach and all that nonsense that the thirteen year old me felt when opening up a Tiger Beat magazine that featured a pin up of Brad Renfro.

In complete honesty, I would probably love any movie that this man was in, (with the exception of The Contract, because that movie just sucked balls) and I completely blame John Cusack for the fact that I have spent the better part of my life single. How can a girl settle down with someone unless he shows up at your window with a boom-box and professes his love to through the musical stylings of Peter Gabriel? I’m still waiting!

And the thing that gets me the most about him is that he’s just so damn average. He’s good looking in a “guy that you see in your local grocery store” sort of way…  He usually plays these average down and out cynical characters, that are passionate about books and movies and music… but the dude always wins… and you really want him to.

2012 is no exception. I would much rather see the John Cusack continuously narrowly escape being blasted by fire balls and falling into the earth than Brad Pitt or George Clooney. You know they’ll escape. I would rather watch John Cusack do anything on the screen. Speaking of my favorite award night of the year, how has this man never been nominated?

See what I’ve done here? And I must stop. Mostly because I may need to change my panties.

Don’t be surprised if the next time you come here there is John Cusack wallpaper on my background. I will go there.

But until then… I’ve missed you and go see 2012!!! Now!

First off, I have a confession. I totally cheated on my “no drinking for almost a week” pact with myself. I have no excuse, except for I really suck at life. If it makes up for anything, it was only a few beers, and I still didn’t get any sleep. But i did have a good night.

Moving on…

Every month or so I like to take a looksie at the search terms people have used to find my page. I really hate for people to end up on my site looking for some specific information, only to leave dissatisfied and empty handed. Therefore, I will do my best share with you my knowledge about some of the more popular search terms used to get here.

If you came here by way of one of these terms, you’re welcome!

“hairy arse removal pads”

You’re not being very specific, but I am guessing that you are searching for ways to remove the hair from your “arse,” and not remove the hairy”arse” altogether (although I’m sure I can find someone for this as well.) I am no expert on arse hair, but I do have my experience (as you know) with hair on other parts of the body. If your arse hair is especially thick, I’m thinking you should stick with old fashioned shaving. If it is more sparce, you could try burning the hairs (in an open, well ventilated area) just be careful not to pass gas. You could also try plucking them, but you may need ass-istance, and that may be hard to find.

“carissa blog dallas”

There is a chance you actually found what you were looking for. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

“picture hand with red dot due to liver”

Why? Why would you do that to me?  You freakin bastard. I am already really paranoid about a little red dot on my arm and my liver. So sorry, won’t find any information on this here. I try not to think about it, maybe you should do the same. Or try out web MD. But if it makes you feel any better, my doctor said it’s nothing to worry about. But then again, I don’t trust that guy. He once falsely told me I needed gallbladder removal.

“free pant pee poo movies”

I”m not so sure how you ended up here on this one. I can’t provide you with what you are looking for, especially for free, but you may want to google a little word called “scat.” (thank you gay friends)

“do you know that demented person?”

I’ve been called crazy, eccentric, nutty, unhinged, and cuckoo… but never demented so I know that you came here by mistake. Perhaps you were looking for him,  or him, or  her….

“how to make a pair of saggy boobs for haloween costume” (this was how it was spelled)

This was a popular one. There were also a few variations of this search including “home-made saggy boobs” Making Golden Girl boob sag” and “homemade booby.” I am no expert here, but I do have an idea. I say take a pair of pantie hose and cut them off around the calf. Stuff them with sand bags then sew the open end to your shirt at chest level. It doubt it will work, which is why for MY costume, I simply purchased a pair of saggy boobs on the internet. Good luck!

“a dying bird on the road bit my feet”

How very unfortunate for you! First off, you can’t be surprised that a dying bird bit your foot if you were stupid enough to stand in biting distance. You must have been nearly on top of that bird. It’s not like that bird has arms to reach out and pull your foot to it’s mouth. And what did you expect? The poor thing was dying and needed to take it’s anger out on someone!

And yes, you probably have rabies.

“diarrhea every time i urinate”

First off, congrats on your superb ability to spell diarrhea, I never get that right! Second, so sorry to hear about your problem. I wish I could say I haven’t been there. I bet it burns. I’m no doctor, but I would say to decrease the burning sensation, try sitting on a cool washrag or an ice cube. Otherwise, quit drinking so much beer, try to eat some more veggies, and maybe try to squeeze to hold it in.

“effects of swallowing a spoonful of cinnamon”

It’s a good thing you asked before you tried. While this may seem like a fun party trick, I can tell you first hand- there is nothing fun or funny about it. When you first swallow a heaping spoon full, you think you’re going to be able to handle it. After the first little bit goes down, you start to wheeze a little, and small particles of cinnamon start to float around in your trachea. Then you will undoubtedly try to take a sip of water because you are nearly choking to death, which only solidifies the cinnamon into a mush in your throat. At this point, your best bet is to start trying to push it out the way it came in.

“carissa mustache facebook”

There is only one picture that I can think of that you may be referring to:

Unless of course you zoom in, then any of my pictures may apply.

“holy shit its james franco fuck me sideways”

I’m not sure why this brought you here, but I agree full heartily. In fact, I’ll expand on sideways, and go ahead and include any missionary, doggie, fuck! I’ll take any position in the book. I wish I could share him with you… but I can’t let you leave here empty handed, so…

Image by danzden via Flickr

“my pee hole dropped to my vagina”

If this did in fact happen, then bravo to you my friend. Ohhhh… I wouldn’t be too proud or go around telling potential boyfriends or anything (because you are a freak.) But dude! Go turn yourself in for medical research! You could probably make loads of money. And when you do, don’t forget who told you this golden advice.

“pooping”

This is a very broad subject. I think I’m just going to have to refer you to my friend, Dr John Dorian for this one.

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I am planning on making one minor adjustment though. I think I’ve been holding back a little, for fear of who may be reading this- and from this moment on- I’m making a vow to blog like no one’s reading. Which should be easy, since at this point- that’s pretty much true.  I also have been pretty bad at writing in my own personal journal, so I’ll use this opportunity to write the stuff that I would write only to myself. If that makes sense.  So, if you don’t give a crap about what happened in my day, then go away. I’ll get over it.

So far, this week has been pretty uneventful. I had kind of fallen off the working out wagon for a couple of weeks, and now I’m back. If you don’t know, I have lost about a bit of weight over the last 2 years- (96 lbs, but who’s counting?) and now I’m not so focused on losing more- but I am bound and determined to finally tone up. It’s either that or I need to find a new job where I actually have health insurance that would cover a tummy tuck that would probably rival that of Kate Gosselin. Note: The previous sentence is the only time in my life where I will ever compare any part of my life to that of any Gosselin.

The last 3 days I’ve actually run-walked (mostly walked) at least 5 miles, and did weights and crunches… and my body feels it. Even my hands are sore from gripping the top of the treadmill so hard. Seriously, it hurts to type. But I’m not risking falling off the treadmill again.

I did have a bit of an unusual situation yesterday. You know how you can put the treadmill on different settings like trainer, fat burner, cardio etc.? Well I usually don’t like to do those settings because they require you to enter your weight, and I don’t particularly want the douche-bag on the weight machine behind me to know just how much more I weigh than him-not that I care what he thinks. I have actually gotten over anyone judging me at the gym. You kind of have to when you accidentally wear a pair of light gray leggings to spin class. (Don’t try and tell me your butt doesn’t sweat…)

Anyway, yesterday I decided to try the fat burner setting on the treadmill. The other problem I have with the settings is that I’ve never had any luck with machines being able to read my heart rate. They either tell me my heart is erratically going from 150 beats per minute to 25 beats per minute, or that I have no heart beat at all. So I was pretty surprised yesterday when I noticed that there was a steady 123 where the words “Need HR” are usually blinking. It didn’t strike me as unusual that I had already met my target heart rate within my first 3 steps on the treadmill.

“Yay, target heart rate! I’m not dying of heart failure!,” were my thoughts, since usually I see my heart rate bottoms out at 14 beats per minute.

As I reluctantly switched the speed from 3.5 to 4.2, I kept a watchful eye on my heart rate. It stayed right around the 123 mark, which was interesting- but I didn’t really think too much about it. I was just happy to know that I had a heart.

After a few minutes I decided to really throw my figurative balls to the wall and raise the speed up to a slow jog, which is the only form of running I will attempt. I watched my heart rate go down to 121 then right back up to 123. It was around this point that I realized that I was running, and my hands weren’t even on the handles.

“Holy crappola! My heart must be so strong that the machine can feel it vibrate through my body!”

There was a short time when my heart rate disappeared completely. I slowed my pace and tried to put my hands on different parts of the treadmill, since I knew through the course of the workout my hands had been anywhere from the handles, to the sides (to hold myself up,) to the top of the treadmill. Just  as the person occupying the treadmill next to me returned from getting a quick drink of water, I quit fondling my treadmill and what do you know? My heart beat returned at about 67 beats per minute and gradually returned to the 123 mark.

I usually like to keep tabs on the time and calories burnt of the people around me (I know it’s not a competition,) so it is kind of surprising that I hadn’t noticed the bald guy next to me had the exact same exact heart rate as I did, until I was cooling down.

You probably think I have something wrong with me but I didn’t make the full connection until I was off the treadmill and the still machine was still showing my heart rate.

Damn digital heart rate monitors.  The only thing I can really say about the fact that I had spent an entire hour on the treadmill focused on watching my heart rate-which was actually the heart rate of the guy beside me- is that it worked as a good distraction. I guess it’s still up in the air as to whether or not I have a heart…

**this post was written yesterday (Monday.)

Today was a crazy craptastic sort of Monday. I woke up to thunder, forgot my lunch, realized my pants looked like hammer pants and my shirt kept coming unbuttoned. On top of that, I actually got called a mother-f*cker by a customer. ewwww.

So, I decided tonight there is absolutely nothing I would rather do than be nostalgic for my weekend. Which, lets be honest; except for a few things- was a pretty bad ass weekend. Here I’ll show you!

First off some of my friends and I went to see the Fray.  While they are not my favorite band in the world, we ended up having a blast!!

There is a good chance we got more of a kick out of laughing at drunk teenagers than we did out of the actual concert.

We certainly didn’t skimp on the 12 dollar beers at the venue.

We left the concert happy, and had a nice Michael Jackson/old rap song sing along to prepare ourselves for some karaoke. Some where along the way I lost a flip flop. This wasn’t the first time in the last month. or even the 3rd.

Unfortunately, We got there a little late to really get much singing in. Don’t think that didn’t stop me from joining a random guy in singing America’s “Sister Golden Hair onstage, as well as performing a dance along to a performance of  “All That Jazz.” The latter ended with a drunk old weirdo trying to crawl under my dress and one of my girlfriends almost kicking his ass. The first part part of this situation being rather disgusting, the second-pretty bad ass.

The  night didn’t end particularly well, and I won’t go into details. I’ll just say sometimes humans can be major assholes.

The next morning, I was in a particularly foul mood, and spent the majority of it feeling sorry for myself. In an effort to improve my mood, a few of my friends decided that what I needed was to jump the diet ship and go for a big delicious hamburger. In order to ensure that it was worth it, they drove me 50 minutes away to enjoy a burger at Carl’s Jr.

After eating, my weekend took a dramatic turn for the better. I decided it would be an excellent idea to buy a ten dollar scratch off lottery ticket. My friends disagreeing with me made it seem like an even better idea. Even though I’ve never won more than a free diet coke at McDonalds, I figured that the way my day was going it couldn’t get any worse.

And I was right! With every scratch I won another ten dollars to total a whopping $200. I know to some this may not seem like much, but to me- it was just as exciting as winning one of those convertables in the mall.

Needless to say, I became a little more chipper.

Oh yeah, I was still wearing the same dress from the night before, don’t judge.

Since I was in major need of some retail therapy (and have made a recent vow to see how long I can go only shopping at resale shops) I decided to take my newly earned lottery money and have some fun at the local Goodwill. Why I did not take any pictures of this, I do not know. We found some amazingly horrible gems that school teachers around the world (no offense mom) would have gone ape shit over.

A little later we made our way to one of my roommate’s mother’s surprise birthday party at a little dive in Lewisville.

Near the beginning of the night, I really didn’t think I would make it 20 minutes, I was so tired. Turns out, all I needed was a few cocktails before I was singing on stage with the entertainment.

I ended up pretty much staying on stage for the remainder of the evening. I have some pretty awesome (err) videos that I will upload as soon as I can figure out how. Some of the highlights include Jake and my rendition of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”, and Denny and I singing yelling “You’ve Lost that Lovin Feeling.” And of course I can’t forget (although I’d like to) my hour sing along to old George Straight songs with a drunk cowboy, or the all too embarrassing free style that I did to “Bust a Move.”

Here are a few other images so you can get an idea how our night went down. I’m not proud my roommate’s grandmother was there to witness this!

Eventually, It was time for me to be carried  and disposed of in our hotel room by our bartender Luke. He looked kind of like Kevin Smith, and wore a shirt that said “Ever rode a fat guy, want to?” Thank goodness I have friends who wouldn’t have let me endure that experience. Nevertheless, I must have been feeling a little frisky, bc at some point during the night I felt the need to undress. Thank goodness my the only other people who could have witnessed this were gay, and were too passed out to know anything was amuck.

I woke up in a panic when I realized I slept the entire night under the cardboard-ish motel sheets, that we all know are never cleaned, and knew that I had probably either contracted a bad case of lice or bed bugs… or worse.

We also woke up to discover we didn’t get a bargain on our hotel room as we had thought, but had actually probably over paid.

If that's not ghetto, I dunno what is

This didn’t make us very happy.

we didn't feel very well, naturally

We decided to make our selves feel better, with a big breakfast… in a little shanty. Our waitress told the family next to us that she did not like children, “Because they smell like shit, ther dirty, ther stupid, and i jist dont likem.” The little red head girl at the table didn’t seem very stupid, and didn’t seem very happy about this at all.

I ordered all of this. I almost ate it all. I am not proud.

=the a inch to my gut.

After this I spent a little time in the pool, where I had a slight relapse of depression, so decided to emotionally eat once again.

$30 seafood platter

By the time we left Red Lobster I had no choice but to go back on the dieting wagon, as I had no more lottery money with which to indulge myself. I watched the “Haunting of Connecticut,” (which was ok) took and ambien, and went to sleep. I don’t know if this weekend was a success or fail, but my gut is telling me to go to the gym.

I’m not sure which problem the check engine light is indicating this time. Though I guess it really doesn’t matter, since the only problem I’m focused on is the fact that my windshield wipers haven’t worked since March (around the exact same time my check engine light miraculously faded away,) and it is supposed to continue raining for the remainder of this week. I have had every intention of getting this issue fixed, but I never remember to actually do it until it is 7:30 am, it’s raining, and I’m late for work.

Dad- I know if you’re reading this, you are currently shaking your head and saying, “you should be thankful you even have a car!” I know you’re right. I know I should. And I really am, until the days like today, when it is monsooning down on me and I’m having to stick my had out of my car, Ace Ventura style. Days like today I’d much rather be riding a bus.

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