About that.....

I've been thinking about the weight of my last post since I made it all those years ago. I've thought about the hate in it, and the simple cut offs that happened between people who used to mean something to one another. People don't end like that and there are reconnections, old feelings that are embers smoking under the surface. I know that's corny, but it's the only image I have because it's the only one that fits for me. I miss this blog and my band of friends who were my only readers. I miss feeling funny and navigating adulthood as a naive girl growing into a woman.

I have lost touch with a lot of people to my right.
Todd and I don't speak. And he doesn't speak with Jaccob, or any of the other guys to the right.
Alura and him divorced.
Kyle and I continue to intermittently talk. We piss each other off and then reconnect as if we didn't wish the other died.
Jaccob and I are still together and engaged.

I quit Target shortly after that last post. Had a string of dead-end jobs and now I work in storage.
If I had kept up this blog and wrote about my two-year stint when I worked at Super 8, this blog would have become viral. I have so many stories of police, drugs, sex, etc.... A missed opportunity.

One more semester in college and I will graduate after eight years of trying.

River is still my little truffle pig. We have traveled to Colorado with her via car, and Panama City Beach, FL via car. (She didn't like the ocean.) She's now nearly six-years-old. She's curled in the nape of my leg, snoring.

That last post had so much sadness and deadends. Life isn't that way. I have come to see that. I learned that through the endless amount of medication doctors prescribed me before, I found out that I wasn't bipolar, I was just anxious. I had too many feelings, and like a child, I couldn't translate them well. After years of therapy, I'm a little hippie. I listen to people. I don't say to people to wait for their kids to die. I want people to live. I actually write about poverty and its effect on masculinity, femininity, and gender. I want to learn about intersectionalities, and what makes a person's decision. If we are quiet and listen, we learn from people. I think the Dali Lama said that or something. I wish I could have done that then. I hardly remember those first couple years after my father passed away. I just remember this secondary emotion: anger. I just could never figure out what the first one had been. I think sometimes it was jealousy that my friends were just normal. They didn't have any afflictions and they could sleep and they could go to parties and enjoy themselves. And sometimes, it was my sadness.

It's funny, I still hear my dad sing along to our favorite songs, but I also hear his screams if I make a mistake. The dead are with us in memory, the good and bad.

I'm nearly 30-years-old. When I made that post I was in my early 20s and still navigating what adulthood meant.

The take away from all this is that I hope you all can look in your past and learn from all the hate you've had and wonder where it came from. Mine came from confusion. And I don't ever want to feel that hate again. That anger. I want acceptance.

Fucking Body Image Part 2

I got to thinking for months that I think it's wrong to post how women should love themselves, and want to it better for health, not a skinny body (that's not permanent). So, I'm posting my own story:

I remember looking in a mirror, staring at my naked body. I felt the curves of my waist, the rolls of fat jiggly there in my grip. I watched my stomach move and asked myself, "Who would find me attractive?" I have stretchmarks, and bags under my eyes, and rough feet, and no boobs? There was never any intention of it being answered; it was a completely rhetorical question. There cannot be an answer, unless you want one.

I put my arms down at my sides, and tilted one foot, to look at my ass in the mirror. It was red from my skin tone. Red bumps that women get, fat rolls where the indention of my bra remained, and two thighs with no air between them. I sighed, asking myself, again, "Who would find me attractive?"

Then the question didn't seem less answerable.

I remember smiling. Some smile you would give in polite conversation when you quite didn't hear the joke all the way. "Me," I whispered, smiling at my reflection who gave me the same smile back.

I remembered when I was a little girl. Below fourth grade, I thought I was pretty. No one had called me ugly yet, except the ones flirting and all. Somehow in the midst of my childhood, the times were changing outside my little world. Then they started to invade my classmates before it reached me. They were all about body image and what guys might find attractive. Even in fourth grade I was seeing girls trying to make themselves look like The Spice Girls, or something. All that make-up and sex appeal starring a shred of cloth stretched up on breast, waist, and ass.

Boys from then on teased me about my short, stubby fingers; about my chubby stomach (that was only matured with me through adulthood); and about how I ate too much at lunch. I tried to change who I was. One time, in my Junior year of high school, I wanted to impress a boy. I knew he only liked skinny "chicks." So, before the school bus would arrive around 6:30AM, I would wake at 4:30AM to run and try and be skinny so he would like me. I did try. Really hard. He just never saw me as anything. He's married now, growing kids somewhere in the states.

I let them tell me if I was attractive or not. I had always thought I had been, looking back. Despite the false livlihood of my classmates and peers, I always wondered WHY I wasn't pretty. I had everything I felt attractive in. Even I embraced my stretch marks, never having lost my virginity until my early-twenties because of the fright I would be even more horrosome.

Ladies and gentlemen, I will put something very personal, so let's supress our giggles and laughter. When I masturbated, I even loved the feel of my own body squirming, sweating, just moving in those special ways. The special ways I never felt with someone else until I lost my virginity. Instead of feeling the scalded opinions of pop culture, I felt attractive in bed. I always wanted to know why another human being couldn't find what I found in my own body. I was ashamed to feel anything uplifting about my appearance, humliated to never be esteemed enough to wear a skirt or a dress, or even a shirt that slightly gave a hint of fat. God forbid.

I faced the mirror again and thought of how my body must seem to my boyfriend. Took me a good month to take off my shirt during sex. And two months before I gave him head (afraid I would awful at that as well). Even after I gave oral, I still had a hard time being on top. He took this with immense patience. I adore him for it. With me afraid of even dressing in front of him long after we began having sex. All the times I hid away and he would ask why, I would just joke it off. But, to really hone in on all the little details, I never noticed him NOT being attracted. He was always hard, even if I walked in the room naked. He loved touching me, not caring about the rolls or the stretchmarks. He even made me feel as sexy as when I touched myself.

Now, I do chores naked in front of him. Let him do what he pleases without apprehension. I try moves I saw in a porn once and wanted to try. And knowing he never cared about those imperfections I saw in the mirror, helped me realize that I shouldn't have either. He is of a different string of male, meant for a distant planet and not here, on earth. A few are stranded here and what a rare treasure they are. My epiphany comes from him: never be ashamed to love your body. I don't care if it's falling apart, growing, flaking, smoking, or combusting, you should already have a predetermined view of yourself and don't allow for the invasion to begin; I hear it's really hard to recover from.

Father's Day

No, this isn't a post about my father, may he rest in peace, but it's about what modern society is doing to itself.

Out of all the Father's Days I have celebrated, I used to buy my father so much shit. So much of it that it becomes worthless after awhile, half the stuff people have to remind me I bought it for him. Everything does, if you think about it, in some prophetic way. I just want to say that I regret buying anything, despite being a person who loves homemade gifts and just spending time with friends on my day of any kind.

I see all the cards.
I see all the ADs being prepped for the last week before Father's Day. See, I prep the next week's AD at Target and its theme is Father's Day. Hell, we even have graphics everywhere there can possibly be about "buying this for your father, make it worth his while!"
Honestly, it kind of makes me sick.
In my new found maturity of how to perceive things better than when I was a spoiled cunt, I see that I shouldn't have bought him anything, but probably his and mine's fishing licenses. He tried for years to get me to fish with him. He tried for months before his death to have a father-daughter day (like we did when we were kids). He tried so hard for me to go learn about cars (that I now see he was preparing me for the hardness of life after he wasn't there to be overprotective). My father was a very intimidating man. And he never had the best attitude. And, you know what, despite the typical teenage angst, despite our fights (are very serious, hard fights), and our special way of hardly talking so we wouldn't argue, I regret not having more fights, more disagreements, and more complaints working on my car -- to learn about it for future's sake.

As a human, we don't typically believe the future will ever reach us. Hell, I never thought I'd live to be 23-years-old, and I can't believe I'll ever see fifty. I never believed, either, that my dad would be dead at 42-years-old, at 2:25PM in a really nice afternoon of cool November weather.

It makes me sad all these people rushing to get to stores and show their love through their gifts that were on sale, because that's what "the man" makes you believe he wants.

I say, what he really wants, because if your dad truly loves you, he'd be happy teaching you something, fishing, driving, playing a game he likes for you to join him. Parents love their children. Hell, I love my sister. We are two different people, probably wouldn't be close friends if we weren't family, but if I get to do anything with her I'm happy. I'm happy because I love her and it makes her happy. I HATE watching movies through their entire playing time. And I do it, for her. I watch them because it makes us happy to do it together.

That's the message I'm trying to get across.

Do something with your parents, on any of their days, that they're interested in. Let yourself see the gleam in their eyes from talking about it, showing it. Let a smile they don't realize they're giving make you smile. Even if you hate it, find it the most boring thing in the world, let them show you their love for it, how it calms them down. Learn about your parents. They were kids once. They had hopes, and they, too, did the same thing with their parents.

I wish I hadn't been such a fucking cunt-face toward the end when my dad was trying to mend our relationship. I regret that the most and it makes me angry how selfish I was.

Please, ask them what they want to do with you. Anything they want, just like they ask you when you're sick, having a bad day, your birthday, or just to spend time with you.

How Grief Changes One Person

WARNING: This post is completely depressing and will ruin your mood.

People have this generalized misconception that grief is like what it is in the movies. No one falls over each other or has a epiphany within the first month of said death. No. When I found out my father died at 2:25PM on November 21, 2012, I was stunned. The first thing I did was look at my family. My "grandparents," my cousins, my aunt (who watched her brother die), and my cousin who I think of as an Uncle (who also held my father as he took his last breath). My mom put her hands over her mouth and my sister's face turned so red that I didn't think she was breathing.

Someone said, "Oh God, oh no," and I continued to listen to the awkward nurse who was training someone that day. The someone silently stood behind him, with such a blank face that she could've been mistaken for a mannequin.

My father was a strong man who never believed in hospitals. They always treated him with utmost care since he was born with a heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot. He didn't like the attention where they gathered every intern to hear his heart. It sounded so strained. I remember as a little girl seeing his chest vibrate with each heartbeat, or hearing it in a quiet room. He always said to not worry about it, that he would live to be an old man and escape from the home I would put him in and be at my breakfast table, ready to eat. Even the page said most people die around the age of twenty. My father lived to be 42-years-old. His whole life the doctors said he wouldn't live until he was five, or seventeen, or twenty-six. He made it to my twenty-third year.

And we waited. We waited for up to an hour so the coroner could, by tradition and law, tell the hospital that he was definitely dead. During that hour I took to being out of my family's sight. I went to the empty rooms around our quiet, little area. I picked up streets of different problems that the ER uses (I thought about stealing some). I looked through the see-through fridge that held medicine. I spun around in nearby chairs. My aunt came out once and said I didn't have to be like my father, I didn't have to be the strong one. I couldn't cry. I refused (which causes major sinus problems for the next month and headaches that crippled me some nights). I couldn't let my mother worry about one more thing. She, too, was holding herself together, trying to calm my sister whose face was still blood red.

My uncle came to sit next to me to tell me, too, that I didn't have to be strong like my father -- that no one would care if I cried. He cried. My entire family cried. I didn't. Sure, a few tears fell, but I cursed myself for them. In some strange way I felt my dad and I didn't want him to think I was weak, despite the death. My dad had always been on me for crying, just me. I guess I was the closest thing to a son he had. He always tried for me to fish, play chess, card games, work on cars, or weed eat as he mowed. I always said no. I didn't want to spend time with him. I was a spoiled little bitch who never got what real love was, or what it means to a person to be there for them. I never got my dad was trying later in life. We didn't get along for some of my life, but he was trying in his last few years and I couldn't pull myself together to see it. I regret that. I don't even remember the last "I love you," we said to each other. Not at all. I try to remember, but I just end up crying.

We were still waiting. All I did was wait at the hospital. They give you so much time to think which is horrible. Simple things are torture. I waited for the ambulance to arrive when I heard the news, with no information where the fucking thing was. No one knew. They all thought I was crazy trying to rush out words, but being calmly polite at the same time. All the nurses did was stare at me as I took a seat in the waiting room, hearing cars and other ambulances. I waited for ten minutes alone, watching fat fucks stuff their faces with more candy than their stomachs could hold, Ricki Lake in the background with more white trash. All of this was staring at me, wondering what I was doing there.

Not until my "grandparents" showed up did someone wait for me. But we said nothing to each other. I knew he was dead the moment my mom called me crying that he collapsed at work. I couldn't get anything from my aunt. Her phone was either busy or she was crying too hard to understand.

When the ambulance finally arrived with my father's already dead body, did the nurses start to care for me, and their stares turned to pity.

We were all still quiet and still thinking as I tinkered around the small place, trying to pull myself together for my family in case my mom couldn't handle it all. But she did. She spoke about his heart condition, she talked to the coroner, and she took care of all the paperwork, despite her husband of twenty-three years being dead. I've never been more proud of my mother than I have ever been in my life.

The walk to the room where his body laid was long and the stares of all our red faces were being judged it felt like. Every single person looked up. Every single person turned their normally happy expressions to the mannequin look the in-training nurse had. I walked ahead of everyone, to see the blow first in case I needed to warn my mother. And I had to too. I walked to the room and the awkward nurse pulled back the blue curtain and there was my father. Slightly reclined on an unpleasant table with the tissue paper, with the table, and stainless still glinting in the poor lighting surrounding him. He was pale, his lips a stronger blue than they normally were. His hands were over the cover they had on him, palm facing up to the sky. He was limp and slightly slack-jawed, since he couldn't keep his mouth closed anymore.

I stepped back and told my mother in a very serious tone, "Prepare yourself."

Everyone stopped walking at my words, hesitating for the worst. But then my mom and sister stepped up and my sister took one look and had to sit outside of the room. The mannequin nurse got her a chair. I held her head against my stomach until she stopped shaking. Then we both went inside the room, my father's body still waiting and she cried against mom.

Mom had a brown bag, breathing into it as she stared down at him. Around his mouth was bruised from the breathing tubes and mask. He didn't have on his shirt (they ripped it off, trying to save him at the job site). I saw my mom put a hand where his heart should be and the words slip from her mouth very quietly, "I don't know what I'm gonna do; I've been with him for so long."

I glanced at her and moved to the other side of the bed, spotting all his personal items in a plastic bag on the counter. I took it. Just grabbed it. Didn't ask if I should. His boots, belt, nasal spray, knife, wallet, keys, and his hat. He always loved hats. I have his dark green fedora now. I still don't know where his straw hat he used for mowing is. I think my mother packed it away with the rest of his clothes. I sat down on the bench to his right. I sat there awkwardly with my bag of his things, the last of what he wore. His boots were so heavy. He always complained about his feet hurting.

I stared at him, trying to not look at my mom and sister who were crying and holding one another, so I took his hand. I thought it would be the right thing to do, to touch him like I never did when he was alive. I was always afraid of my father. Although he was only a couple of inches taller than I, he was still a very strong man. He was intimidating. I guess I was afraid of him in some ways. But whenever I had touched him, cuddling against him as a child, or sitting next to him at home, I could feel his body heat. It would make me sweat or move seats. He always just said, "I run hot." But his hand, as soon as I touched it, was cold. Like he was out shoveling snow without gloves.

I didn't let go, but looked at his face, wondering if he'd open his eyes or close his mouth. Nothing happened. I adjusted the bag of his items on my lap and took my other hand to his wrist. Cold. I moved it up to his elbow, and it was slightly warm. His heat was receding. I could almost see it start to retreat from his hands, trying to keep, maybe, his heart still warm.

That moment changed my life. I think about it when I'm alone. I think about it at night before I go to sleep. I think about it at work, on the toilet, in the shower, fixing food. My father's dead body just slackened in the reclined seat. It was traumatizing in a sense that's hard to explain. Yes, I can still function, but it sparked something in my head. It told me to grow up; it told me to live life; and it told me that, one day, that will be me.

I did tell my father that I loved him that day, when my mom and sister left the room and I was finally alone. I told him I was sorry. What else could I say? I wanted him to hear, in some atheist way, that he was my father, despite what we had been through.

Since he died I've had trouble sleeping alone. I think of everything I never got to do. I think of the tiny box his ashes are in. That strong man that intimidated me, who scared me, was in a small white box. Nothing else in my life mattered at that point. Still doesn't. I try to have anything that bothers put in that box. Sometimes it works, but I still can't stop caring about being alone, about not saying "I love you," about now showing how much I care for a person.

I tried putting my control issues in that box, but it just keeps getting worse.
I tried putting past relationships in that box, but they're like a slap in the fucking face.
I tried putting friends who don't understand in that box, but they're so fucking loud.
Although he changed me, even in his death, I am still the same. His death disarrayed who I was. Now, four months later, I'm trying to put myself back together, one piece at a time. I don't know who I am now. My identity has changed. My moods fluctuate at a tortuous level. I just see things in a more enlightened view. That girl that I was on the twentieth of November died with my father. Now I'm a woman and I'm trying to find my niche in life just so I can function again.

And figuring out who you are again takes patience, not only from myself, but others. I'm shifting through my childhood, through his stories, and through adulthood. He always tried to make me the person I am now, so I'm shifting through that guilt too.

All I want to conclude is that I'm no longer the same.
I'm sure everyone has seen the slightest difference in me although I try not to show it.

That's all I want to say. I could say more about how I missed him, now I miss his body, but this is too long already. I just want people to know that four months isn't enough. Four months is nothing on that life scale.

24-hours of Animals

Micheru had this really great idea of writing down a list of animals all around the present-day world that I would like to be for an hour. So, in a course of 24-hours I can be 24 different animals. Of course we're all consciously aware of what we're doing.
Ha.
I told Micheru, "You know if this could really happen, we'd never be the same coming back. Whether it's good or bad."
So, here is my list and explanations as to why I would like to be them. Starting at...

12AM - Tucan. I want to fucking be a bird in the rain forest. And hopefully guard some fruit loops. I'm sure there's a treasure trove of the shit.
1AM - Dolphin. I would like to make air bubbles to amuse myself, along with having sex for pleasure. And get to make that awesome E E E E E E E sound at people. Of course I would want to be a wild one, but that's beside the point.
2AM - Lemur. They're just cool.
3AM - Wolf.
4AM - Bullfrog.
5AM - Tarantula.
6AM - Gorilla. Need I say more?
7AM - Panda. It would be nice to wake up and yawn, stretch, eat some fucking bamboo. And to be that cute.
8AM - Flying snake. Because if I had to be any snake I would want to be one that flings itself between trees.
9AM - Fire ant. I really want to see a colony. I'm sure fire ants would be fucking serious about theirs. They're the "Fire Nation." Ha.
10AM - Brown Bear. They're just so cute. And I want to catch salmon.
11AM - The parasite that swims up urethras. It's okay to grab yourselves, guys. I mean the whole reason I want to do it is so I can hurt a man in the most painful way possible.
12PM - House dog. I stole this from Micheru because it would be cool to see the point of view of humans in the dog sense.
1PM - Sperm Whale.
2PM - Prairie dog.
3PM - Tortoise.
4PM - Banana Slug.
5PM - Anaconda.
6PM - Dung Beetle. I really want to know what it's like to crave to roll up shit in a ball.
7PM - Leopard.
8PM - Swan.
9PM - Vulture. I really want to know what it's like to crave dead, rotting flesh.
10PM - Butterfly. Like a Monarch. I guess that's obvious because of my love of the Venture Bros.
11PM - Giant Squid. Get to know their environment, you know?

The Arena of Losers

So, I'm in the kitchen and I began to play You Took The Words Right Out of My Mouth by Meatloaf. My sister was all, "Shut it off! You have headphones! That song sounds completely gay!"
(I used all those exclamation points to make her seem gay.)
So, I finally go get my headphones because she won't shut up about it.
A little while later, as she's leaving, I hear her lowly sing, "You took the words right out of my mouth...."
I stopped, turned around and said, "OOOOOOOOOOOH!"
Then me and my mother began singing it.

Yesterday I had some advice for guys that I inadvertently said to Fallon:
Fallon - So I was thinking of Christmas presents the other day.
Me - And?
Fallon - I miss when my husband used to write poems for me.
Me - I just wish he'd more corny. I hate admitting that. Because if he fucks you then he should put out emotionally.
Fallon - Lol.
Me - I know I'm right. And although some girls put up a rough front, they love a little emotion. I'll admit that's why I love yaoi.
Guys, heed my advice. I'm always right. Jaccob will agree, won't you, HONEY BEAR?

I should be studying for biology but I can't figure out how. Sad.

I am now listening to some old school Big Bang.

I was over at Todd's and said something about not going to class tomorrow because of how tired and behind I am in certain places. He said he could write me a note. I said, "Oh, please, daddy?!"
Below is what ensued:

Sadly, I had to leave shortly thereafter and I received an e-mail from Todd saying:

Let me start by saying Jake is fast asleep.  Below is his note.

Dearest Supervisor or "Boss,"

My dear son cannot report to duty on November 8th in the Year of our Lord, 2012.  Many factors play into his inability or preform menial labor for subservient wages.

First, he's as close to having a venereal disease as possible without actually having one.  his new girl has been riding him hard of late, bruising and chaffing him to vicious degrees.

Secondly, there is a certain dildosity to the team which he cannot always tolerate.

Thirdly, he has been grief stricken by the current state of political unrest aka the election.

Surely you can understand that this vile combination of raw dogs, dildos, and failed political dreams could ravage anyone's drive to work.

God bless!
Daddy

High-five, Todd, high-five.

Waiting for 日本語のクラス we were all discussing Minecraft. Then I said I could build houses for hours on SIMS. Someone said something about Woohoo on SIMS.
This dude spoke up with he never played SIMS enough to know about that.
Me - You've never had sex on SIMS?
Dude - No. I think I played SIMS 1 and burned my waffles. Then I got pissed. I just went to my neighbors, pissed them off and then excommunicated myself from the community because I burned my waffles. If I hadn't of burned my waffles then I would probably be playing it right now.

Today the wonderful Fallon helped me with my math. I LOVE YOU FOR IT. And all the while she was using her phone as a calculator. Suddenly this random song lowly played in the background. She then stops speaking in the middle of her sentence and checking all her pockets. She starts to panic and then checks her jacket pockets. She then says, "Okay, give me a minute, I need to find my phone."
I give her a confused look and then slowly scoot up her phone clearly on the table to her. "You mean this, right here?"
She stops and does "headdesk."

SCIENCE DID THIS ON A LEAF.

AWESOME ANONYMOUS DID THIS AT WORK.

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN.

I Am Exhausted

I would like to start from today so I can put all I remember in order... Well, backwards order.
Jaccob invited me over, despite the football game being on. Dolphins versus... Wow, some team in blue - I can't even remember their name. I studied a bit for my Japanese vocabulary test. Then the game went off. Finally thinking we had alone time, another game came on Steelers VS NY Giants.
I was internally cursing.
I wanted alone time with him.
So, I just started distracting him with kissing his neck, touching places, and pressing my body against his. Of course, he eventually caved. But we agreed if we were going to have sex, that he could turn his head and watch it whenever he wanted.
Guys, he did.
While having sex, he was watching and yelled, "TOUCH DOWN."

Then we went to Haven with Scotty, Alan, and their friends. One girl brought Cards Against Humanity. Hilarious fucking game. I want to own that game.
Christmas ideas.
Jaccob won of course. He told me I was going to hear about it all the way home.
So I did my mocking voice, "Oh, honey, do you remember when I won that game?"
A guy liked my comment because I'M FUCKING HILARIOUS.

The other night I came over and Jaccob and I were making out.
Then he started to strip me. I said, "Hold on, who said I was ready?"
He scoffed, "Whatever, I cough and you're ready."
. . .
I can't help it, Jaccob.

On Halloween night Jaccob and I got airborne (thanks to Todd for this word).
We were standing outside his window after climbing out of it for the hell of it. He said something about his room being the Love Room. Then I thought of how one might say that in Japanese.
"Ai no... What's room? Geez, would it be lovely room?"
So, when we eventually went back inside I got on google translate. It said, "愛の部屋."
I stared blankly then said, "Ai no... whatever that is."

On Halloween there was also confusion about someone not having on a condom and the other person not knowing until they stopped to put it on in the first place.
Bam.

Jaccob tried to match our noises to a song from The Lion King.
No, not Hakuna Matata, but The Lion Sleeps Tonight.

I like interrupting makeout sessions with, "Jaccob, what do you like most about me?"
He would laugh.
And I would stop again with, "I'm serious."
Every girl is now nodding and smiling.

IN OTHER NEWS....
I'm tired of Bananas being the more fragile fruit. I put it in my backpack; it gets slightly bumped and the whole fucking banana is bruised. Never met something with such an iron deficiency.
If I want that shit in my locker at work the peel is a soggy brown four hours later on lunch. Fucking metal. Fucking banana.

Saw Wreck-it Ralph! Was awesome.

I am now officially pooped out.
Ha, pooped.

Crawdaddies

Bio Lab was a good Bio Lab.
We got to man-handle some crustaceans (see title). Although I never did touch one because every time I had the chance, it was submerged in some liquid so we can see the respiration patterns. Anyway.
Andy (the submarine guy) was talking to the group and he said something about a secret:
Andy - I would tell you guys what it looked like but I would have to kill you.
Me - Go ahead and we'll battle royale it out.
Andy - That's funny.
Me - I have a lot of glassware around me. *points to beakers* I'll even take this thing *points to biuret* and stab you with it.
Andy - I'll take the base and hit you with it.
Me - I'll stick a crawdaddy in your mouth to choke you to death.
Andy - I'll just stick it down your pants so you'll have crabs.
All five of us stopped and looked at him.

Japanese class is awesome.
Last Japanese class Megan called me a "baka."
So, on the back of an index card, I wrote, "Baka na hito [バカな人]," (stupid person) with an arrow pointing to her. She never knew about it.

This Japanese class, my sensei was asking us random questions blah blah blah.
So, she was asking the class, "hanbaagaa o tabemasu ka?" (Do you eat hamburgers?)
Most of the class replied, "Iie, tabemasen." (No, I don't.)
As she shifted the picture she mumbled, "Wow, I thought Americans loved hamburgers."

And, I forgot about how I drew facial hair on all my characters:

Every time someone looked over they made a comment.
I wanted to draw Godzilla in the background, but I figured that wouldn't blow over well with my sensei. I wanted a building and everything in its mouth. Maybe have a giant moth alongside it, with sound waves breaking windows and causing "Takeshi-san's" eyes to pop. But I digress...
But you guys have to admit that Godzilla in "Mearii-san's" little bubble is sporting that curly-q.

You guys are my baka na hito.
Just so we're all clear on the thin ice we all stand on.

Boo! I Scared You

Soooooooo.
Fallon, Rebecca, Stephanie, and I went to the Waverly Hills in Louisville last night.
Close those jaws of being stunned and impressed.
The haunted house sucked. Really sucked. It caters to pre-teens who had water bottles of vodka and one-hitters that looked like cigarettes. Public Announcement: YOU'RE NOT BADASS.
End transmission.
Two things were awesome about it:
1. Frankenstein. (I thought he was fake.)
2. This giant snake head.
The best thing about Waverly was the anticipation. They hype the shit out of you. Wait, they don't, the crowds do.
So, we drove two hours there.
Waited to even see the parking lot for about half an hour, maybe more where people walked, girls hung out of cars, and annoying teens trying to pass Rebecca on a one lane road.
Waited two hours in line.
Had a fifteen minute haunted house walk through and then out of there.
THE BALL IS OUT OF THE FUCKING PARK, GUYS.

So, here's the in-between.
Before we left Bowling Green we saw a parked hot air balloon. Everyone, geez, stop being jealous.

On the way there Fallon and I amused ourselves with our smarts. As we're talking, I kept trying to move around to get comfy. Rebecca said, "Heather, what're you doing back there?"
"Oh sorry, I'm only sitting behind the tallest person in the car."
Rebecca turned to Fallon, "Fallon, that was a bitch move."
"Yes it was, since I'm taller than you," I said with a matter-of-fact tone.
Fallon gave me a face, "You're not taller than me."
Me, "Uh, yes I am, shorty." (I added that nickname in so I can seem funnier.)
"Oh, really? How tall are you?" Fallon asked with a snarky undertone.
"Five six," I said, satisfied.
"Ha! I'm five seven."
I rolled my eyes, "I don't believe you. You're always wearing fucking heels and shit."
"Well, you're only taller because of your hair," she flatly said.
The haters come to the surface.
These curly locks get me out of tickets, air fare, and the occasional assignment. And they give me my greatest super power of all: Persuasion.
If I wish hard enough, it might come true.

When we arrived we waited and waited. When we got to the parking attendants, the guy said to move forward to the lady. Rebecca asked what. He repeated himself. As she drove forward, where his finger was pointing, she asked what he had said. Stephanie and Fallon said, "Go up to the lady."
So, with all the windows down and the man in arm's reach, I screamed, "HE SAID LADY, BECKY! GO TO THE LADY!"

In line we saw the so-called casket rides. They had little cameras inside to watch the people being so fucking scared inside. One dude was talking on his cell phone.

In lines to the bathroom, a random dude, he was definitely not on payroll, was walking around, dancing with people, getting pictures, getting right in faces. He was gyrating his hips in the air and everything.
I am hoping he was on something.
More than half the crowd was.
I think it's safe to assume he was.
But his mask was awesome along with his enthusiasm.

Really didn't feel like rotating this clockwise.

That's the ticket. As we waited there, they were playing awful punk rock music. Your kind of music, Jaccob. My ears were trying to commit suicide by killing off all my hair cells. 

And then THE WAVERLY HAUNTING.

It was bland.

Inside they have you line against an obviously fake wall. We did and the guy said, "Now, the actors are not to touch you, and you are not to touch them. We have had complaints of hair pulling and such, but those are not the actors!"

Fallon laughed.

The guy looked at her but continued.

DUN DUN DUN the pictures on the wall came down and all the scared people screamed and I was trying not to have my head on that guy's arm.

We walked through shit, people screamed in our faces.

The guys in front of me were so stoned or hallucinating off acid or something. I don't know. They weren't sober or drunk. It was amusing. One fell to his knees in fright once. He honestly wasn't acting because I wanted to high five him for it.

In the last part, this dead soldier wouldn't let Fallon and I through. So I said, "Fallon, let's create a wall and walk forward." 

We did and he started to back away.

I then stepped away from Fallon and put out my arms to touch both walls and walked forward. He broke character, smiled, and then stepped aside.

We left and on the way home the GPS lead us to a cemetery. Stephanie was getting so scared. Fallon said she was going to get her. Rebecca overheard:

(I'm taking this directly from Fallon's blog:)

Becky: Don't make her scream while I'm driving, it'll be bad.
Heather: Don't you wreck and make me die a Virgin.
Me:  Ooooh she'll come back and haunt you Becky, and when you are having sex she'll scream terrible things at you.
I could so see Heather doing that.

Funny part is, it's true. I totally would. Her husband wouldn't be able to get it up for the rest of their lives.

The haunted house would be so much better if they did timelines of historical events of Waverly's history instead of already cliched scary movies.

I am genius, I know.

But, I'm sorry guys, I have to go.

It's been nice.

As nice as realizing you perioded all over your bed in the morning.

Oh, those are the mornings.

Fucking Body Image

I am a strong liberator of a female's body image. I say female because age has everything to do with it. No matter if they are three months old to a century, I care what a woman thinks of her body. Right down to the slightest imperfection such as a freckle in the wrong place.

See, image is everything for a society that places so much on what catches the eye.

But that's the problem: Catching the eyes.

The media tries very hard to draw our eyes to their ads, all trying different techniques. That's right, different. Yet the same. They're all bright, shiny, blinking, yelling, snarky, and sometimes (very rarely) unique. The underlying theme here is to see that it's all a cover-up. To cover-up the real product that normally isn't good at all. It's all a show to make money, to make what they want in life - to be rich and famous.
Which, those terms can be applied loosely.

Rich and famous say false happiness and attention.

That's all they ever want under all the make-up, the growling stomachs, the quickly aging bodies that can't keep up with their appearances. It all falls apart. Like food rots, like seasons change, like the dirt loses vitamins, like Pluto isn't a fucking planet anymore. It is all dispensable, all fucking wasting away until it's forgotten under centuries of the new image females are to live by.

And who set these standards? Who placed this useless pressure on strictly women to look a certain way?

It's just like the Master asking his slave to walk around naked in his presence.

Why do women submit to this pressure? Why do we feel guilty for not resembling, excuse me, for not being one certain image for a gender that obviously has no idea how a human body works. They're the ones leading science, telling us what we should and should not eat on a grocer's shelves. You tell me why the same gender who were so innovative back in the day because women hardly had the right to co-live alongside them are so hard on us?

Let me tell you, females, STOP HATING YOURSELF. Each female is beautiful in many different ways. We are all dimensional. We are just made to feel bad for the functions of said body.
I refuse anymore to feel bad because I am not pleasing passersby.
I refuse to feel bad because a person hates how I look.
Is one person to sit there and feel depressed because a stranger who knows nothing about their past life or who they are? They know nothing of how wonderful a person you are, how you take in friends, how you high five after dorky jokes, how your hair is naturally straight, how you help anyone when they ask, how you have a loving, but smartassey husband, how you love penguins to a freakish point, how you love practically anything purple, how you love cupcakes, how you love heels and socks, how you can't cook, how you have cloaks and dresses, how you go to nerdy festivals, and how you love everyone.
I fucking hate when you don't feel good enough to have someone see your face.
People love you and those people know you.
No one with you right now is judging you on what catches their eye because you're not fake.
You are a genuine person.

This blog is dedicated to Fallon who posted this.

君は僕のｖａｎｉｌｌａ！

Yes, I'm listening to some old school Gackt. And if you know who he is without looking him up, then I'm very glad we're friends.

Drunk half a pot of coffee now, but not in an impressible amount of time.
I am going to assume if I drink enough coffee that I will eventually burn off all my taste buds. I don't know whether to be excited or worried. Downside to no taste buds is that I could never be blindfolded and taste something. Would I even be able to feel the texture? Did it really damage the nerves? Upside, I could go on shows like Fear Factor and win a small amount of money (after taxes). I think the former would be more of a problem since my friends would stick fucking animal balls on my tongue and giggle excessively to one another.
I say, if I'm not getting paid to put balls (of any species) on my tongue then it's a no-go.

So, I had this large water I took with me from work to class. After class, I poured it down the drain while Micheru and I were finding stalls. As I poured it out, I said, "Mmmm, all those oxygen and hydrogen bonds going down the drain, mmmmm."
Micheru laughed and asked, "Are you okay, Heather? Having a water-gasm over there?"

My favorite part of Autumn? When all the chloroplast dies.

The other day at knitting lessons at Barnes-and-Noble, I bought 14 FRAMABLE PRINTS of dinosaurs with all the facts and time period of their roaming on the backside. I'm excited about posting them around my room within the next week. I'm gonna have T-rex right under my skeleton so SHE can be my protector. Judge not, folks.
Also, thou shall not covet. So, take that into consideration when you want to copy me.

Princess is being a little bitch.
One minute he wants in my lap and forces himself there.
Then he wants off and scratches me in the process.
BUT DAMN HIM FOR BEING SO CUTE AND TINY.
Or maybe he just likes Guns-n-Roses.
Whatevs.

This literally made me laugh for the next five minutes.

Spread the news everyone.

I have nothing else.

Next weekend will be big hopefully. I am looking forward to it.

Tomorrow is The Voice with two trolls.

Wish me luck answering their riddles to cross the bridge.

I have one.

Wait, I lied.

Jaccob's Birthday

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JACCOB!

It has been an almost normal day. 

Except one young man turned another year older, another year closer to death.

 I baked him evil cupcakes.
No, kidding. Wish they were evil. Wish they could walk, talk, and have their little drawings come to life.
Life is not funny like that.
However, they're done and everyone loved them (which they told me, wish I had telepathy).

I promised him an entry to himself, despite me baking him cupcakes and despite me trying to light 23 candles which didn't work (laugh if you will, bitches) and despite me buying him the Doctor Who book he hasn't read. He gets one more thing from me and that's the key to all the little drawings above (no pun intended with the key drawing).

Okay, the ones in parenthesis are his interpretation of the drawings. Which was sad. Which Todd guessed all of them correctly.
(From top left, to bottom right.)
1 - Peanut from the nut conversation I've posted before (I don't know.)
2 - Chocolate conversation ensuing from the "Damn Skippy" comment (It's plain?)
3 - From when he forgot my name (Uh, my name?)
4 - He made a comment about the keys fitting right in the vagina. It was a "femineedist" comment. (Obviously a Kingdom Hearts reference.)
5 - A piece of candy where they (Todd and Jaccob) throw them at one another. It was quite hilarious. (Because I like candy.)
6 - We always argue if I'm 100% right. I am. (Because I'm 100% always right.)
7 - It's supposed to be a child since we both kind of made a dead kid joke in front of co-workers. Not our brightest moment. (I don't know.)
8 - The actual Kingdom Hearts reference.
9 - It was a book. Granted that it was hard to artfully interpret through icing.
10 - Harry Potter reference. (He got this.)
11 - It's a table. I've gotten "It looks like a swiss roll with legs" or "looks like a log with legs." From when we moved Todd's furniture. (I don't know.)
12 - A mic for when we all watch The Voice. (He couldn't interpret the picture.)

Hope you had a great day, Jaccob.
And you're still not as funny as Todd.

Walking Furniture

Let's see if I can push through the nausea to write one post that has a lot in a short amount of time.

Let's get it started... in here. (Sorry, couldn't help myself.)

I went to the movies yesterday with Todd and Jaccob. We went to see Looper (I love saying that in a french accent). It was pretty bad. Don't get me wrong, I liked a lot of aspect that I won't dive into. Of course, I called out that it would be bad since the trailer, but the guys seemed to enjoy it, the trailer I mean.. Told you so. It was such a manly movie though.
Manly, Heather? How can you even fucking say that when you, yourself, are trying to blur the lines of gender?
My definition of "manly themes" are as follows:
1. Boob shots for the sake of having breasts.
2. Guns. No need to shoot of a gun sometimes, or hold one, but it's there and it's fun so why not?
3. Explosions. Hell yes. I like this one for the sake of liking it.
4. Drugs. A cool idea for drugs but I want to know if the person would eventually become blind.
5. Falling in love with that woman who lets you fuck her ass, but nurses your addict ass back to health.
6. The idea that women weren't cool enough to have simple action scenes.
7. Cool cars. The definition of cool here is loose, very loose (like the women).
8. Long, sweeping coats. Check.
9. Women stereotyping in general: very mom-esque (caring, loving, willing to stroke your hair then null the prostitution contract).
10. And one old man that all the other boys look up to because he's so calm in such a big position of power.

But the fun didn't stop there.
We went to Steak-n-Shake where the table beside us had older, late twenties, guys. One kind of did this snarling howl at a college girl walking by. There was some tension in the air, mostly because it was awkward and discomforting.
And our waiter sucked. Which was understandable because there were two and the whole restaurant was packed with sororities and fraternities (if they weren't, God shoot me down now). But, when we were all checking out I made a comment that I wasn't going to tip because he did suck. Yes, I've been a waitress, but damn. Then, as Todd walked out, Jaccob loudly said, "Heather, aren't you going to tip?!"
He said it was payback because I ruined an ending to one of his stories he had to tell Todd. Jaccob didn't get his guy time. Ha, Jaccob, ha.
Then Todd invited us back to his place.

We all talked for an hour and then Todd wanted to go crash for the night. We waited and then Jaccob turned to me and said, "Do you want to rearrange Todd's house?"
There were a few things I learned that night:
1. Jaccob can't carry furniture. He was fucking picking up the kitchen table by the legs. Holding the legs when it was upside down. Jesus, his furniture must be wobbly.
"Jaccob, pick it up from the bottom."
"Why? The legs have screws."
"They have a fucking weight limit, Jaccob."
"They're doing fine."
"Oh my god, just rest it down and pick it up from the bottom."
We put it down and then....
"Don't pick it up by the legs again!"
It was a looper moment.
2. I don't know how Todd got his couch in the den because we couldn't fit it through the doorway. We tried to wedge it but we gave up and pretty quickly too.
3. That with enough board games stacked on one another the boxes start to give.
4. Jaccob can't stack kid chairs.
5. Todd's house has a lot of shelving.
6. That I'm not really a bitch because I wouldn't rearrange DVD discs to different cases.
All in all, a very enlightening experience.
And we just ended up putting the kitchen table and chairs into the den, turning the couch around and stacking whatever you see in the picture below.

Then we stood and talked. I mentioned something about running. Jaccob mentioned that I just run on a treadmill. I said, "Well, I sweat in odd places so I don't want to go outside."

There was a slightly longer pause before he said, "But if you don't have like a giant," he took his hand and made a giant circle around his crotch, "sweat stain here that looks like you're peeing..."

I cut him off, "Uh, I wasn't talking about my vagina."

"Oh."

He said something else that related to my nether-regions and I told him that wasn't the direction at all.

It ended up with him telling me to run in a tank top since the way my shirt lays, it just looks like my shoulder-blades sweat. Quite embarrassing. I do, but I have a thing for tank tops so I don't buy any that I could ruin. So I have to buy some.

The other morning it was raining. Everyone has their windows up, so I figured I could actually listen to my radio as loud as I wanted so I wouldn't get as many stoplight comments. I was wrong. Sort of.
I was playing Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden at a stop light. Now, I pulled up making sure both the two cars on both sides of me had their windows up. They did. It was just playing and I look around to see what traffic was doing and I noticed that the van beside me had rolled down his window.
I looked at the guy and he was leaning upward to meet my stare and just nodding with the music. He started to open his mouth.
All I could do was do my side-grin and look away.
That man looked like he knew his way around a needle (I told that exact description to two people, ha).
People think it's rare, but for me, these little moments, and more, happen whenever I have my music loud. It's annoying.

Her description was just funny. And that's me sick all day. My hair is awesome.

When I say sick, I mean sick of you all.

Loopholes

So, a dorky mom was in the men's section and was looking at the "funny" graphic tees. One of them had a potato looking surprised at a thing of fries. In a bubble above the vegetable's head, it read, "Is that you, bro?"
She laughed and the son asked for an explanation.
She said, "Because the fries used to be its brother."
It took me a bit because I wondered why this woman would give more backstory to a caption that deserves no other thought. Then it hit me, like a sack of fucking potatoes: She thought "Bro" literally means brother, and no other connotations other than that - just an abbreviation for brother. I was thinking, "Damn, I don't want to be that lame."
Too bad I will be.
And too bad I can't wait to be.

(Before I get to the actual background of this picture, I would like to give a conversation that happened five minutes ago for this said background:

Me - Mom! How old was I when I bought that Harry Potter wand?

Mom - Uh, 13 or 14.

Me - *pause* Uh, I wasn't that old.

Mom - *slowly smiles and then starts laughing* Oh, yes you were.

Me - I was not! No way I was that old and bought that. *starts to walk away*

Mom - Stop being in denial, you were... Because we made you a Harry Potter cake for your birthday in your Freshman year.

Me - Oh yeah! *runs back to the kitchen* And my friend was like, "Really, Heather, really?")

So the wand (see above) I bought when I was in my early teens. As I walked through Barnes and Noble the other day I noticed that they just had boxes of them sitting on the HP focal. Made me reminisce. So then I realized I had bought one, went home, asked my sister where it was - she got it. I then took a pic (see above) and here we are.

When my sister handed it to me, she gave me a story:

Amanda - I hated it. You began tapping my knee with it, saying, "Crucio!" When you realized it wasn't doing anything, you started to jab my knee and scream, "CRUCIO!"

Me - *laughs* Man, I'm awesome.

Amanda - Then I wrestled it from you and stabbed you with it while yelling, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Me - I'm still awesome.

Amanda - Then mom came in and yelled at both of us to stop before we hurt one another.

Ahhh, a story with double meaning at the end.

Okay, now that's out of the way....

I was watching Beauty and the Beast for the millionth time in my life the other night (right before Micheru and I began talking about it) and I had a thought...

Now, if all the servants were changed into a piece of equipment by their corresponding chore then who emptied the chamber pot?

Belle certainly didn't empty it herself.

So, I'm guessing that the poor bastard who did empty it was changed into one. Can you imagine someone shitting IN you for the entire magical lifespan? 

And think about the Beast's shit. Imagine how big and frightful that must've been. Of course, he was an animal, so he probably scratched and sniffed outside. Which brings me to that Belle really must've loved him because she probably walked outside on that a couple of times. Love overcomes any hurdle, shit, a massive pile of feces that a shovel would have to get up and scoot out of the way in the yard.

Speaking of Disney....
My sister has these stickers... Now, what's funny is, I don't know how she has these stickers. So, I come home and I see Pluto's head with that note. It's still there because it's fucking adorable. She handed me Dumbo the other day, it's on a notebook beside me.

 And speaking of more Disney....

I'm done and have homework.
c wut u bitches doo 2 me?

Shit-on-Ho

Saturday was pretty okay.

I went to work where the ad was easy (because I'm too smart for it, really).

Got off, went to run but the treadmill kept fucking with the breakers in the garage (they don't get along). So, I only got fifteen minutes in.

Let's see, what else....

I feel like I met someone at Barnes and Noble. Geeez, fuck, who was it? It was a he, but feminine. He was sort of tall and can be construed as a jack ass. He doesn't deliver punch lines well and thinks he's a punk. Oh yeah, Jaccob... I went to Barnes and Noble with Jaccob.

He was trying to find a book and I wanted to recommend one but my books are kind of on the "I'm proud a woman" side and most of them don't have slaughter or really weird ideas with horns, because that's what he bought. So, we walk around and mingle in the Christian section. He tells me what the book covers mean (mostly obedient women to their husbands) and then he comes up with, "Hey, we should buy books that we'll hate."

And we bought one for each other.

His was a great choice:

In Praise of Stay-at-Home-Moms

In case you couldn't tell, we drew on her... Although that is probably her true form. I drew the ears, cool facial hair, and the weird ears. Scotty drew the background and the horn (The Last Unicorn inspiration).

I've been highlighting and taking notes. When it's finished, I'll maybe write some down, but depends how pissed this woman makes me at the end.

Then I went to Todd's to watch them game and take notes for the "leader."

It was good -- too bad I wasn't in the game for comedic relief.

Then Jake took my phone and texted Alan with it... This is the conversation we all worked on below.

*IF YOU'RE SQUEAMISH AND EATING, DON'T FUCKING READ IT*

Upon seeing that, I exclaimed at Alan, "One out of six fucking pages?!"

(And for those who are observant, I finished the screen shots this morning -- that's why the time stamps are different.)

Then, soon after, I became so tired that I believed I was going to start hallucinating. I was actually, at one point, scared to drive home.
Then the little bit of adrenaline I had kicked in and I made it, but damn, the drive home at 230AM was very rough. Almost like I was drunk driving home -- that's what it felt like.

IN OTHER NEWS....
My stomach lining is a little bitch and can't stomach a beer anymore. FUCK YOU. That's okay though because I still have my lungs.

So, I decided I'm going to carve a fucking pumpkin. First on the list... Get a fucking pumpkin.

HALLOWEEN NEXT MONTH.
Decided that, for my costume, I'm probably going to be a 1950s housewife - create a theme for my life. Have a pin that has a book on it with a red line through it... Books make chicks think.

I think therefore I am ending this post.

Slice of Pie

Scotty - I try to be a good influence; not great, but just a slice of decent.

So, with the above statement, I just thought of this pie chart. Thought it'd be halfway decent to give Scotty an official blog post.

Psychokinesis

Me - Why not have something like Agatha Christie?
Todd - Is that your roommate?
Me - Ha, I said AGATHA CHRISTIE.
Todd - Oh! I thought you said "I have a friend name Christie."
Me - Ew, I would never have a friend named Christie."
Todd - *stops scanning and looks at me* That's the dumbest remark I've ever heard.
Me - What? Is she going to spell it with an 'ie'?
Todd - Really?
Me - That's the same reason I don't have any friends named Brittany.
Todd - Probably the same reasons they don't have friends named Heather.

It's been a rough few days.
I had to go to campus and find my classes. I was sweating like I had my own personal rain cloud above my head, trying to shower me off. Embarrassing. I just sweat, despite all the water I drink and the less salty foods I try. I think it's in my genetics since my father sweats easily too. I could be at a comfortable state and someone turns up the temperature by one degree and then I start sweating. It's awful -- just like my blushing.

Now my blushing is something that I sometimes can't control. I sometimes talk about sex and have that unflattering shade of red creep up my cheeks. I don't even know until someone points it out. This is on record: More than half the time I don't know I'm blushing.
Oh yeah.

Anyway, my calves became so sore that I couldn't run for the past two days and work was so painful to bend over and get those shoes. I was grimacing with each lunge.

You know what's sadder than the above statement about my calves?
I needed my phone to send my email pictures of Todd's b-day gift (below) and it was a stretch of an arm away on the coffee table. I was seriously regretting human evolution and it not having me to have psychokinesis.
If humans were to have psychokinesis then wouldn't we be like the "future-humans" off Wall-e?
I would stand in one spot to finish all of my work, to finish everything.
Huamns would eventually just be immobile and our conscious the only viable thing in existence.
One conscious would try to harvest the others for more power, the energy to have more power, and then we'd have a war and all die because no one can run away.

DUN DUN DUNNNN... TODD'S B-DAY GIFT TO MEEEEE.
(That was all meant to me in a sing-song voice.)

How thoughtful was that?
I told Jaccob that when Todd gave it to me that I was going to act like I hated it... You know, until he cried, and then just say, "I was fucking with you." And then put my camera away.
But I liked it too much.
The pigs were thoughtful and then the fucking Japanese dice. Oh yeah, I'm popping those bitches out in Japanese 101. Getting all the haters on me.

So I was lying beside my mother in bed yesterday and I went to text someone. I turn it on and my mother asked, "Wait, what was that?"
"What? The picture of Princess cleaning himself?"
I showed her and we both awed at the picture.
My father shook his head and then turned back to his computer.
This is the picture:

Uh, yeah. I couldn't think of something clever to say about my room.
BUT, last night I let Princess sleep with me despite his nagging in the middle of the night to have me awake.  He did really well until 5AM. That exact time too, because I checked.
He kept meowing and headbutting me.
Soon I put a pillow over my head to block out the noise and his big head nudging me.
Yet, in my half-awake state he brings his head into my air hole and smells me for some reason. I let it go and go back to sleep. Next thing I know, his paw is on my face, lightly padding me to get up.
SO FUCKING ADORABLE.

Todd is 37, I am 23.
Todd - *walks by and sees American Gods on my table* That was a good book when I read it fifteen years ago.
Me - You know, fifteen years ago, I was eight.

The Struggles of Hormones

(I got this from Scotty and I don't know where he got it from.)

I do have a great bunch of friends (which will be embellished later on in the next post because I want this separate). The downwind of Aunt Flow's visit swept over my body and created such havoc that I want to personally, and publicly, thank all the people who managed it this month. Although they are fantastic and they try to act like they understand, it's just no man can understand until they have all the hormones fall at once, almost flatline, without warning. Men get a steady stream of all their hormones, making them appear more even tempered. They have this nice line that just cradles their emotions and has their life seem more important than the overemotional female.

-insert eye roll.-

As a female, the promise of an even-tempered period is rare, almost obscene, and is usually caused by lack of triggers in their surrounding environment. But for the woman who can't walk across a room without being affected by the way sunlight hits their floor are the ones who seek help. Most of the time it's birth control.

Of course, BC isn't covered by insurance companies because of men telling women how to live their lives. (The lives they're helping are the ones they destroy -- men purge their dick everywhere they can without repercussions, the women have to incubate theirs.) OR, if they can afford BC, their bodies don't like it and it's better to remain off it and have these emotional bell curves in their lives.

That's me.

I usually handle it by cuddling with Princess, watching cheesy romance flicks, or eating my weight in chocolate (because of the serotonin in it, it tricks our body for having that moment of happy hormone). Just for the record, when the cravings hit, I will kill you for a piece (see what low serotonin can cause?).

For fun, I thought I would list the triggers that trigger me into knowing PMS (remember, that PRE MENSTRUAL SYNDROME, my period has yet to come) has hit.

1. When someone scrapes the fucking coffee mug while stirring. Just scrapping that fucking paint off with their teaspoon because they think the liquid fucking adheres to the ceramics.

2. When I'm watching a movie for background noise and a part with an uplifting part that would normally make me laugh brings tears to my eyes. "She's so supportive!" I'll say and wipe my eyes. I then stop and curse at myself.

3. When my dog trips over her own feet and I start to cry.

4. When my sister washes dishes. She washes them one at a fucking time without a sink full of water. In which case, it gets water every-fucking-where.

5. I can't stand to be around guys. Not men, boys and guys. Half the time they talk about other women, and the other half they're being guys and that somehow gets on my nerves surprisingly.

6. The people I grin and bear it with and the ones I hide from.

7. Smells. Different smells each time, but some make me want to vomit.

Yeeeaaahhh, I'll end it there because I'm pissing my own self off here.

Huffing Something (Spray paint!)

Well, well, well, we meet again. And on fine circumstances I must say. I have returned from my busy weekend and now have a long-ass post to post because I want to post and use the word post for this post. Post.

Look at my cool purple converse, not at the cool lace. No, look at my laceless converse for the girl on the go. Okay, now look at the cabinet door. That's the finished pattern. Isn't it awesome as shit?! Fallon received the idea from pinterest. I helped some. I did take two cabinet doors off (the others' screws were too stripped to remove... Strangely, not from me). We even sprayed her drawers and I wish I had a picture but I didn't want to post her house without permission.

I looked damn good with a screw gun though, oh yeah.

During trying to take all the cabinets down, Fallon was cooking. She asked me to cook the chicken. It wasn't all the way thawed, but it needed to happen. So, with the light-grease in the pan hot, I stood over it and asked myself, "Is food worth third degree burns?"

Then I decided it wasn't, so I asked the powers of the universe to absorb into my body so I could be lightning quick. I dropped one chicken breast into the pan and ran for it. Seemed like grease shot three feet in the air. I made a mess and felt horrible about it. But, eventually, both breasts were in the pan safely and I wasn't burned! The power thing worked.

We started this activity at around 10PM... It ended somewhere in 11PMish... Fallon asked me within that span at least three times if I was still okay, if I was getting tired. Ha. "I'm on granny time." Wish we have cabinet we could do this to. It's so pretty. I would do pink just because Fallon HATES the color. That's right, drama with the all caps. (Btw, Fallon, did you notice I gave you the pink glass at Becky's?)

Later that night, when we were all settling for the dream world, Sean reminded us that there was a meteor shower. You guys know I was there. Saw a few actually. Halfway in, Fallon decided to get a quilt, cover, and pillow. We laid on the ground and watched the sky. Never did that with other people. Of course, I did it when I was alone and drunk. Well, I stood in the middle of my yard, mumbling angry words at my neighbor's security light, look to the sky, and turn back, ha. Anyway, it was a fucking beautiful night.

The next day went to Becky's and helped celebrate her birthday.

Of course, it was not problem to help celebrate with her husband on the grill and with the birthday cake.

Fallon revealed her b-day gift to me:

I fucking love the ducks. They're on my shelf now, chilling with the other three, getting to know each other, exchanging numbers and their twitters (ha, get it? Wait, quakers? Naw, I need to make an oatmeal joke to make that one work).

The card says some special things that I won't post, but it did have 20 bucks. Ca-ching! Kidding. Fallon, love it, I truly do. It meant a lot to me, you have no idea.

Next, Becky revealed unto me the gift for, uh, me: 

There's a tie in there to knit, along with a chess board, and some sweater vest that I will be on like white on fucking rice. I fucking love it. This book will come to great and wonderful things. Oh, the cyborgs from Doctor Who, soooo going to knit that once I get a chance.

Fallon and I then played Battleship. Never did play it before and I enjoyed it. Lost miserable. It was as if I was sending all the wrong vibes for Fallon to guess my locations.

Man I have a big day tomorrow too. Turning a year older and all.

Oh God, 23-years-old tomorrow. I never thought I'd see this old.

Which reminds me.

I want a globe. This has been an official note to self from Heather.

This post is subject to change.