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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Yesterday was my mommy’s birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My mom, my sis and I: circa 1987

Here are just a few of my favorite memories:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you!

Carissa

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

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Have a great weekend!!!!

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.

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

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

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

Da house

Hog Creek

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

A Cow.

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

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

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

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

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

ANNNND I won’t try that again.

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

Someone in my family tree

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

Harmless enough, right?

WRONG.

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

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

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

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

I bet she would wash my mouth out with soap.

This is my favorite. Clearly we are related.

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

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

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

Have a humpalicious day!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

As I sit here writing, I am actually extremely close to having a TMI experience. My stomach is churning. I’m not sure if it’s because of the antibiotics I’m currently on, or because of the nearly 2 cups of peanut butter I spread over celery sticks last night in an effort to wain my sweet/carb tooth. Or it could be the gigantic bowl of beans I just ate. It’s most likely a combination of all of the above.

Refraining from eating carbs and drinking wine this week has resulted in my overindulging in protein in a not so healthy way. I’m not sure if this lifestyle is any better.

But that’s not my story. I’m gonna try to keep this short, because I may have an episode of emergencias de frijoles one way or the other in the near future. EEEEEK.

This particular tale occurred once again back in my days o’ college, or back when I was a still drinking. Which if you’re paying attention, was anytime before this Monday.

My friends and I were out in our college town, having our typical college night full of chugging nickle-natties and blasters. (Blaster= Fry St. code for Jager Bomb.)

I started out the night in typical “Hurricane Carissa” fashion- by dinging my best friend LA’s brand new (I mean within the first week brand new) car door against another car. She was a little peeved, but after the first few drinks and a few rants, she let it go.

On this particular night, we (read: I) were particularly boozed up. We made our way around all the bars and shortly before they closed at 2am, we decided it was time to call it a night. LA was playing designated driver for the night, mostly because she wanted a chance to drive us around in her new ride, but also because after the first bar it was apparent that neither I, or our other friend KT would be able to do the job.

Before we had even gotten to the parking lot, I made a loud announcement… “I have to pee.”

KT and I lived only a few blocks away, so they both quickly waved away my announcement and continued towards the parked car. Just as we were arriving at LA’s new car, KT’s ex-boyfriend spotted her in the parking lot. The details are blurry, but I do know that a heated argument started up between my friends and her ex’s group of friends. I stood a little behind the group, trying not to fall over as I looked longingly over my shoulder at the bars across the street, where I knew I could find a toilet street to squat over.

At some point during their argument, a couple of cops approached our group and started asking questions. Knowing I was not in a particularly good state of mind, and also that I didn’t have the best luck with the fuzz, LA sternly told me to go and get in the back seat of the car and to stay put.

“But I really have to go to the bathroom! Can’t I just run into one of the bars real quick,” I slurred. Or something to that effect.

“Absolutely not. Go and get into the car,” LA told me again as she pushed the clicker thing to unlock the door. “And do not get out of the car, no matter what.”

It all seemed a little dramatic, but at that point, I knew that my friend probably had better judgment than I, so I decided to follow her orders.

I got into the back seat of LA’s new car and settled in. I kept myself low in the seat as to not call attention to myself. The last thing I needed was to be interrogated. After about 5 minutes of waiting, I started to get a little restless… and my level of having to pee reallllly started escalating. I remember looking  out the back window and saw that the cops were now making my friends do the standard drunk tests. Walking the line and what not. Or at least that is how I remember it.

I contemplated getting out of the car and running to the nearest bar to relieve myself, but I knew that probably wouldn’t end well, so I ultimately decided to stay put for the time being. At this point I was going between squirming unrelentingly, and literally holding my crotchal area, trying to keep it in.

After about 5 more minutes I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had no choice. It was either pee now, or pee now. There was no longer the option of forever holding my pee.

My options were limited. I couldn’t run for a bar, I would surely be stopped en-route. I couldn’t get out and pop a squat, that would surely end with a public urination ticket, though at this point I hardly cared.

I crawled up into the front seat and started rummaging around.

AHHHH AHHHH AHHHH (heaven sound effect)

There it was, sitting in the cup holder… glowing in the dim light of the parking lot.

A 32oz wide-lip bottle of Lemon-Lime Gatorade.

I could do this.

I carefully unzipped my pants and pulled them off where they settled on the floorboard of LA’s new car. I put both feet up on the back seat, and shuffled then out until I was in frog squat position. I positioned myself so that my face was away from my group of friends, who were still talking to the cops.

And then I positioned the bottle.

Just as I was relaxing into my squat and gearing up to make careful aim, I heard a loud bang from behind me that caused me to lose my footing. Luckily, I hadn’t yet completely relaxed my urinal muscles.

I turned to see a cop shining his light through the window, where only seconds before my bare-behind had been. I quickly pulled my pants back on and hung my head in shame as I opened the back door.

The cop grabbed me by my arm and asked if I had managed to “do anything.” I told him that I hadn’t, and that I still really had to go. I think he must have felt bad for me, because at that point he swiftly drug me over to my friends, looked at LA and said “I’m not even gonna tell you what she almost just did in your car, but yall need to get her to a restroom.”

Everyone was so relieved that they were finally able to leave that no one even mentioned what the cop had said about me. We quickly left, and LA drove us home where I was finally able to pee.

We all lived happily ever after.

Until a few months later when LA was telling the story about the cops in the parking lot to another one of our friends. It was all fun and laughs until she got to the end. She stopped abruptly and looked at me with fire in her eyes.

“What DID you almost do in my brand new car????”

Oopsie. But you know what? It was not as bad as it coulda been.

-John Cusack’s girlfriend.

If you missed my vlog a few weeks ago where a tell a story in which I wasn’t so lucky, check it out here.

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I posted this yesterday, but not many people responded so I’m posting it again.  I’m stubborn like that!!!

I’ve been thinking a little bit about the future of my blog. I’m  close to 200 posts and will hit my 6 month bloggaversary in a few weeks, and I want to try something a little different. I have often been told that I have a story for pretty much every subject (that’s just my life) so I think in order to get me writing about things other than John Cusack, I would like to ask you to do a little blog assignment.  I give you dear readers, the task of asking me any questions you want to know about little ole me (and I will answer with complete honesty unless you’re a dick) , stories you would like to hear extended versions of (My 100 things post might give you some ideas,) or any other subject matter that you would like to know my opinion on (or a poem about)…. and if I don’t have an opinion on the matter, I’ll get one!!! Just send an email to me at carissajade@gmail.com, tweet me, or pop it off my comments. Thanks and I love you guys!

I also plan on doing a giveaway in the next few weeks, so keep your eyes open. I promise I won’t be giving away one of my decoupage art pieces. Unless you want one I could decoupage something of your request.

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

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

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Dear bloggers who do post-it Tuesdays,

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

Please and thank you,

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

________________________________

My beloved dog Stella,

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

Your ex-cuddle bear,

Cold at night

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My bathroom,

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

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

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

_________________________________

Dear Pizza Hut Delivery guy,

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

Shame on you,

Didn’t need it anyway

___________________________

To screenwriter J. Michael Straczynski,

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

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

Film nerd

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Dear purse,

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

-Doing everything for a reason.

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Impulse buy facial mask,

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

Why did I buy 6 of you!?

-Buyers remorseful

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Dear Kitchen,

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

Sorry, (not)

Still has potatoes in her hair

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?

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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.

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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!

Not only is it Friday, but I get to leave work at noon today to head to Austin. The only thing that could make this better would be if it were  a payday Friday, and if I didn’t have to drive 4 and a half hours just  to get to Austin.

There is one other thing that’s kind of been bothering me today.

(I almost told this as this week’s TMI story, but realized it was more of a FML tale. So, at least for today- consider it FML Friday.)

I was in the restroom at my house last night, doing my business, when I noticed that my feet were wet. Wet feet in the bathroom are never OK, unless someone has recently exited the shower. (We all know that guy who doesn’t pay attention care where his pee might fall.)

After I had successfully finished my business, I dried off my feet, and bent down to get a closer look at the floor.

Oh. No. The water was coming out from the bottom of the toilet.

I have seen this before, and the outcome is never good. And believe me, I know. I’m the queen of toilet incidents.

The first time I saw water leaking from my toilet, I was a junior in college. I shared an apartment with two other girls, and we were all at the peak of being college alcoholics. I had noticed for a while that our toilet had a little wiggle to it. Every time you sat down you could feel the base rocking, just a little bit. Just like in my current bathroom, a little bit of water would escape from the bottom whenever we flushed. I can only assume that it was damaged by a combination of our drunkeness, and our asses.  Because when you’re a drunk- you have a tendency of just “plopping” down on the toilet with no abandon.

We have to remember that toilets are practically just made out of thick  glass. You have take care of them. You can’t just put anything down them. And you definitely can’t throw all  100 -and- something lbs of yourself down backwards onto the seat of the toilet in a drunken stupor.

Which is exactly what I did.

We had at least ten people over at the time, (because you never do stupid drunk things when you get dropped off at home by yourself) and to be honest, I was really way too gone to remember all the horrible details. All I know is that at some point during the night, I stumbled into the bathroom. I’m not sure if I was actually trying to sit down, or if I slipped on the bath rug and fell into the toilet- but either way it happened.

My fat ass broke the toilet at the base.

Like I said, I don’t remember details- but the way I’ve heard it, (and believe me- I’ve heard all sorts of versions of this story) I ran through a living room full of people  with my pants down around my ankles, ran into my room, dove head first onto my bed, missed, and landed on the floor with my bare ass facing a room full of very confused people.

Next thing they knew, water was gushing into the living room. I don’t know what happened next, but from what I hear- I cried in my bedroom while all of my wonderful friends cleaned the mess. I do know that the carpet had to be replaced and there were giant fans airing the place out for about a week.

That could be a funny story to look back on and laugh about later.

Except…

A couple years later I moved to a new city for work and I was living alone.  I didn’t have many friends  yet, except for a group of very fun, very loud gay boys (who I love to pieces.) One night, after about 6 Mi Cocina Mambo Taxis- we went back to my one room loft apartment, mostly because I didn’t care if people smoked inside.  I guess I should mention that my toilet at this apartment also had a shaky base.***

We were all extremely toasted and playing game of Cranium. I had to pee very badly, but wanted to hurry so I didn’t miss anything. I ran to the bathroom, and attempted to pull down my pants on the way there to save time. As I approached the toilet, I slipped backwards.

And Yes.

I fucking broke the second toilet of my life.

This time I cried in the closet while the gays, very thoroughly, cleaned up the flooding bathroom.

So now you know why a little leak at the bottom of the toilet can really freak a girl out.

We all know bad things happen in threes.

***ok, i admit it. the second incident didn’t involve a shaky base. it was a brand new toilet, in a brand new apartment. my fatass simply broke it. i have no excuse.

F.M.L.

I’ll  leave you with a little more FML this lovely Friday, because you know how I can completely understand body hair issues…And also GloZell is hilarious!

Happy Friday yall!

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(Make sure you check out Lilu’s  TMI Thursday archives, to read some of the funniest stories you never wanted to hear.)

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Well, since last week I managed to mortify my recent self with a period story, I decided this week to take a stab at a much younger, much more naive version of myself.

The summer after fourth grade, my parents decided to let me go visit some family in New Mexico for a couple of weeks to celebrate my tenth birthday. When we arrived at the airport, I remember telling my parents that my stomach hurt. My mom assured me that I was just having “first flight jitters,” and that as soon as I got there I would feel just fine.

Was she ever wrong! I remember feeling like complete butt (the 9 yr old me wouldn’t have said “I feel like shit or ass”) for the first few days. All I wanted to do was curl up on the bed in pain, and I had no idea why I was dying inside. Why had I thought it was a good idea to go on vacation without my parents?

I tried really hard to act as if everything was ok. I forced myself to go on bike rides and to join in games of football, even though it felt like someone  was jabbing a pogo-stick  up my hoo-ha. I was with my boy cousins and was going through a bit of a tom-boy stage, I didn’t want them to think I was a prissy girl.

About two days after I got there, I was crouched over on the toilet in pain. After I managed to squeeze a little pee out, and I wiped (front to back, just as I was taught.) Then, just as any other normal human does, I took a looksy at the toilet paper before I dropped it in the pot. I remember a feeling of dread passing through my body, even when I first saw it.

Fuck me sideways! (I would have actually said something more along the lines of Holy uh-oh Batman! )

There was totally poop coming out of my pee pee hole!!

I checked several times to make sure I hadn’t mistakenly number two-ed a little bit. Nope, the back end was clean as a whistle.

I may have been young, but I knew something wasn’t right. I also knew there was some sort of connection between the feeling that my uterus was trying to jump out of my vagina, and the fact that my vajayjay was having a horrible case of diarrhea.

Over the next few days, it only got worse. Every time I went to the restroom, I would see the dreaded brown poop spots in my panties. I was in a state of panic. I didn’t want anyone to find out that I was plagued with something that made poop come out the wrong hole, so I denied my strange behavior, stating that I was just home-sick.

Every time I went to the restroom, I would remove my soiled panties, crumple them up into a tight wad, and tuck them into the large pocket on the front of my suitcase.

At the ripe age of  (nearly) ten years old, I began spending a  good portion of my day excavating my private areas, searching for a reason why in God’s name this could be happening to me.  This may have been the beginning of my current recently conquered state of hypochondria, but I began to obsess over what kind of disease would cause my vagina to doo doo.

After a few days, things returned back to normal and I was able to actually enjoy my birthday.

A month later I was back at school, having a grand ole time- when it came back. Once again, I was in fear of  dying, but mostly I was scared that someone would discover  that I was a freak of nature.

For the next few months every time  my symptoms would return, I would carefully tuck my dirty underwear away into my suitcase to ensure no one would accidentally come across them. I took to folding up toilet paper and and putting it in the crotch of my underwear to yield some of the damage. I never let on to my friends or family that I was probably dying from a poopie vagina. It wasn’t until around Thanksgiving when my family was getting to ready to go out of town again,  that the truth finally came out.

When my mother approached me carrying my suitcase in one hand, and an armload of panties in the other- I immediately burst into tears.

“MOMMMMMYY !!! I’m so sorrry!!! I’m so sorry!!!! I’m dyyy-sob-ing!!!”

She hugged me and tried to calm me down. When I was finally composed enough to talk, she asked me why I thought I was dying.

“I poop out my peepee hole…. not all the time… I didn’t want to tell you…”

My mother smiled and gave me a huge hug while I stood there confused.

mom:“Honey, you’re not dying, and that’s not poop. You’ve just become a woman! You’ve started your period!”

And this, my friends, is why I am a huge advocate of sex-education in Elementary School. Do your kids a favor, tell them about the birds and the bees before they convince themselves that they crap out their pee-holes.

I haven’t left the couch except for a quick trip to the doctor, which was pretty boring… except for  when a lady ran through the waiting room demanding medicine- and she wasn’t wearing any shoes. The whole waiting room burst into laughter; and for the first time ever in the history of health care waiting rooms, there was a brief break in the awkwardness. I’m sure there aren’t scenes like this in real doctor’s offices. The kind of doctor’s offices where people who actually have health insurance go to.

Then I came back home, put my pajamas back on, and took my place on the couch-where I still sit.

I  just finished watching Awakenings with Robert De Niro and Robin Williams. This was the first time I’ve seen it and I was pleasantly surprised. For a brief moment I pondered the fact that De Niro didn’t win an Oscar for his role, but then I realized it was probably because he went full retard.

It also provoked my friend and I to enter into a deep discussion about Robin Williams, and whether he is attractive or not. She says she wouldn’t do him… but I must confess that I have always had a crush on him. It must be leftover from my childhood obsession with Mork and Mindy. Until I was about 9 years old, I truly thought that I would grow up and marry Mork. Sad as it may sound, I even had quite a deep love affair with my Mork doll. I think my crush may have stemmed from Mork’s awesome taste in clothing.

After Awakenings,  I flipped through the channels an landed on Twister. Once again, I couldn’t make myself change the channel until it was over. I don’t what it is about Twister, but it’s definitely the crack of film. TNT plays the shit out of that movie, and I’ve probably watched it every other weekend since February. And it really, really blows- no pun intended.

I am rounding off my Saturday afternoon movie marathon with a thousanth time viewing of The Jerk.

Later I may try to watch another  movie that I actually haven’t seen a million times.

Congratulate me on a wasted weekend.

And also, does anyone know anyone who can install a toilet into my couch? I really have to pee but I don’t want to get up.