The country isn't as peaceful as you think

So apparently there is an air born disease effecting the wildlife in the area and my friend Chris told me to expect a horde of zombies to follow, so I should be prepared. Don't worry guys, my dad's display case of guns reassures my safety enough. It's like Left 4 Dead without med kits laying about. (Med kits are the only exception. We are a heavy medicated, well prepared family with war vets, computer techs, bikers and college drop outs. And yes, you may very well find a stash of pills in random places.) I am mostly concerned with my cat Emmy, who was booted outside for the presents she leaves around the house and in strangers' shoes. I thought it was funny. Dad, not so much.

It all started today, while I was in class when Mom saw a raccoon walking down the driveway.

In the middle of the afternoon.

They are nocturnal.

You catching on?

This raccoon was swaying back and forth as it progressed down the hill from the main road with only brief moments of normalcy. One second it seemed perfectly fine, the next it was spazzing out, all twitchy and shit. That is a no go. Obviously something was seriously wrong with it. Her first thought was rabies. Anyone who knows anything about anything would have thought of rabies. You have to know this shit when you move out into the country, especially when you have children.

Well, a phone call to the police and to animal control later, it was beneath the deck in our backyard. With my cat.

A little bit of me died inside when I typed that.

Ahem.

An officer and someone from animal control came out to the property, took one look, and said that they couldn't do anything about it. If they shot at it, there was a chance that the bullet would hit the brick of the side of the house, and that was a no go. They didn't even stick around or try to persuade it out into the open. They just left my mom there with a house full of children and a delirious animal under the deck. Yeah, way to do your friggin jobs guys.

When Dad got home, and this is why I feel very much protected during a potential zombie apocalypse, he went into his room, opened the window, took aim, and fired. (Of course we kept the kids upstairs and distracted them in hopes they wouldn't hear the gun shot.) God. That creature didn't stand a chance. My dad is a badass.

Now we are watching my cat for signs of this disease, a disease that is not rabies. My other animals aren't allowed near her. It's heartbreaking, and there is nothing I can do. I have to walk away when she stares in through the window and meows. It's like I'm sacrificing her for the good of the group or something. To top it all off, I now know that law enforcement and animal control can't do shit out here, and that really sucks. God forbid there is a break in or a hostage situation here.

"Well... the door is locked. We can't get inside. Let's go home boys."

"But sir..."

"There's nothing we can do."

Zombie animals, dead beat people who can't do their jobs...

I can't wait to move to Galveston.

Let's hope someone says yes, and soon

Remember how in my last post I made the word "excited" my bitch? Well, that was because I was genuinely excited about my mom's daycare. Y'see, I didn't think it would be difficult to get people to invest in the business because my thoughts fell specifically on my grandfather and my uncles, all of whom make excellent money. What I didn't think about was that they all tend to keep it to themselves, which is sad, because my mom didn't exactly have the best childhood, so the least they could do is make up for all of the shit they put her through as a child and help her achieve her dream as an adult.

Of course, they don't and won't see it from her perspective. I can't imagine what it must be like to be abandoned over and over and over again by your family. I've heard a plethora of horror stories from my mom and aunt about how they were treated when growing up. My mom moved away from home when she was sixteen-years-old, because she couldn't stand to live under the same roof as my grandfather anymore. That's really young guys. I moved out to go to school when I just turned eighteen, which is a ripe age in my opinion. The mentality gap between sixteen and eighteen is huge. You can learn a lot about the world in two years, but I'd imagine that my mom had been fantasizing about moving out since she hit the double digits, so I don't blame her for packing her bags so early.

Grandpa didn't seem to mind. He was ready with the paint buckets the moment she walked out of the door.

From my perspective, it is really hard picturing this loving grandfather as the person who torments my mom. Ever since I was born, I've loved him and have been loved in returned. He nurtured me, cared for me, and always made sure to give me a hug and kiss before every goodbye. But when I found out his true, hateful nature, I never viewed him the same again.

People don't completely change. I've learned that the hard way.

Back to the point. On Easter my mom was preparing herself to approach my grandfather in hopes that he would take an interest in the business that she has always wanted. She brought it up gently, mentioning how amazing the building was and that she would love for him to check it out if he had the time. But immediately, without second thought, the topic was dismissed. He deliberately changed the subject to show just how disinterested he was in helping her. When she turned to my grandmother, she shrugged and told her that my grandfather doesn't like getting involved in family's financial affairs. My aunt, who had witnessed what had happened, was not surprised. No one was. Not even my mom.

But later that night, when everyone had left and we were cleaning up, Mom seemed sluggish and had a hard time smiling. I immediately knew what was wrong and I'm sure I made it worse with my open rants about Grandpa, which I suddenly regret now. In my defense, watching the woman who birthed me's dreams slowly begin to deteriorate because of the man that made her life a living hell years ago just tore me apart. I was furious at my grandfather, who only uses his money to update his electronics and lets the rest sit in his bank account until grandma goes on one of her huge shopping sprees, which is usually like every week. It's selfish, just selfish. (Or maybe I'm being selfish. It is HIS money, but come ON). Oh, and I'm sure he'll expect Father's Day to be a big event that revolves around him. He's pretty needy on his birthday too. It's sad.

I'm glad I live an hour away from he who used to be my neighbor, because I don't know if I could hold my tongue around that man. But my mom, over time, seems to be more and more content with his answer.

"It's okay," she reassured. "When the zombie apocalypse happens, he'll be running to my door, and the first thing I am going to say is, 'So you need me now?'"

Oh Mom. I really hope someone helps you. I'd hate to have a heap of dead family members at our door when zombies inhabit the earth.

You're not doing it right

I hate it when I am obviously doing something, or nothing (mostly nothing), but it is still apparent how I am occupying my time, and some sleaze with ill intentions written across his face with jet black permanent marker leans toward me, whether it be at work or any other public location, and asks, "Whatcha doin'?"  This has always been a pet peeve of mine, but I usually handle myself well and manage to get the man who thinks that I am just passing the time by staring at the pages of a book to look smart to get bored with me and give up on his hidden agenda. It can be very tiresome.

Man with very high standards who takes a seat beside me: "What are you doing?"

Me with very low patience and has a purse beneath the man's ass: "...Reading a book."

Man: "What book is it?"

Me: (It is written on the cover that is facing you, asshole) "Eat, Pray, Love."

Man: "Is it about eating, praying and loving?

Me: (No, it's about cannibalism and necrophiliacs.) "Yep."

Man: "Do you need to learn to do these things?"

Me: (I will kill you.) "This is a story about someone else. It was not in the "Do It Yourself" section, if that is what you mean."

"Ah."

(Five minutes pass with my nose in the pages and the man staring at me until he grows bored of me and leaves, leaving my purse pressed into the seats, halfway hidden in the cushions of the couch.)

That same day, I went to work and did my usual clean sweep of the place, then sat down to enjoy a hookah until my shift was over at ten. Maeson was not in the best of moods, but said something that reminded me that I have brilliant friends. "I was a bitch today," she started.

"How?"

"I hate it when people ask me what I am doing when it is obvious what I am doing."

"I completely agree."

"So I am going to start answering them all the same way."

"How?"

"I am going to tell them to I am doing kegal exercises."

My jaw dropped.

"I tried it and it worked. The guy thought I was weird and walked away."

My jaw was so low to the ground I was in danger of getting rug burn on my chin. "It actually works?"

"So far."

I mean, the idea is incredibly inappropriate, but it was produced at work, a place with no boundaries. (Maybe that is why I don't make tips...) But I wanted to try it out for myself. So I set up a station at the front desk and waited to be approached by the same question that so many women hate.

"So what are you up to?"

I looked up from my book to find a mediocre looking freshman adorned with a hot pink polo and a tie. Oh God. So I tested the waters, confident that Maeson's knowledge of the world that had been passed down to me would surely work in my favor. So I replied as sarcastically as humanly possible, "Doing my kegal exercises."

"That is so incredibly SEXY."

Great Jessica.

"Do all women do that or just some?"

You picked a horny freshman to use as a lab rat.

"Oh my God I bet you are so good in bed."

Good job.

A 360 turned 180

I swear to God someone must have mass produced voodoo dolls of me, pins included.

Today I woke up with higher spirits than last night as consequence to putting my situation online. I guess in a way, the post was a good method for me to expel the pent up frustration so that I could move on. This revelation isn't new for me, so I am not sure why I haven't clued into doing it more often. Anyway, so I got out of bed with a voice of inner encouragement playing in repetitions in my head. "Today is going to be great. You are going to avoid doodling on your notes in class. You are going to smile until your face is numb. You are going to make the most of the next 24 hours." Of course, who listens to advice when it is your own? Obviously I do not exhibit self motivation in my actions.

My light spirit was maintained by the strangest American Literature lecture I have had in a while later that afternoon. Let's just say my professor ended the hour and a half of discussion about Emerson with, "Any last thoughts on Walt Disney's opium addiction, S&M, ejaculation, or baseball?"

Yeah. I was throughly delighted for the rest of the day.

When I got home, I didn't do half of the things I had planned on doing because I got too caught up searching for cool stuff on Etsy to buy for the apartment. Oh. Did I forget to mention that Michael and I decided on a new, kick ass pad on the beach to occupy this coming May? I would do the usual squeal of joy then leap from my seat, but I am in too much pain to execute such a reaction, hence my starting the post in the manner that I did.

I was on cloud nine with the thought of moving in with Michael, so when I got up to go to the restroom, I began to hum blissfully and spun in what I expected to be a successful circle. I only made it halfway before I collided with the metal shoe rack at my feet.

Let's just say that only one of us made it out semi-alive.

Doesn't Spring Break imply, well, I don't know... a break?

I am going to keep this post vague because I have little to no interest in going into detail about my terribly disappointing Spring Break. Basically, this week has been the shits. Instead of trying to salvage what little time I have left of it, I am trying not to allow myself to fall apart.

One of my best friends is leaving to Michigan in order to jump start her life. The family dog is seriously ill and in response to that my Dad fell apart. Michael is so busy with school we can only manage a real conversation twice a week if we are lucky. My job's pay is less than decent but I love the people there too much to find something closer to home that pays more.

But I shouldn't elaborate. I know you just got back from Cancun or the Bahamas or some other tropical destination with sand in your crack, liquor on your breath, a sweet tan, a rockin' bod and a sweet story to share and really aren't interested in a sob story that will ruin your glow.

I am not bitter at all.

Then again...

All it takes is a Skype conversation and all the bad goes away. You can keep your Spring Break memories. I've got this guy.

Cash or GTFO

I have never wanted to wail on someone's face with such an intensity that their bodies would puncture a hole into the floor with the sheer force of my fists. Yeah. That's right. I was beyond agitated at the girl and her friends who thought that it was acceptable to make me suffer for the cash register not working after the internet flickered out. Technology hates me and apparently that relationship directly effects whether or not I get tips. Because obviously it's in my power if the credit card machine works, because I am just an evil bitch who likes to make people suffer, which leads to me suffering, which makes no sense Miss "Just Turned 18 and Hates to Pay in Cash Instead of Using Daddy's Credit Card." Here is a little taste of why I wanted to turn her face into a crater.

(Group approaches the counter to cash their tab out)

Me: "I am so incredibly sorry. Our credit card machine is on the fritz. I can get you out of here sooner if you pay in cash, but if you can only pay with credit then you'll have to wait until I can get the register up and running again."

Girl: "So let me get this straight. You are going to MAKE me pay in cash?

Me: "Not necessarily. I should be able to get this fixed within the next few minutes if you don't mind waiting."

Girl: "No! This is bullshit!"

Me: "Ma'am?"

Girl: "I just think it's ridiculous that you don't know what the hell you are doing. How long has it not been working?"

Me:  (counting to ten in my mind) "It was giving us issues before, but then it started working. Now it's giving me trouble again."

Girl: "How long ago?"

Me: "About an hour ma'am." (Ma'am?! She's 18!)

Girl: So you're telling me that you had a whole hour to fix it and you are just now getting around to it? Bullshit.

Me: You know what is bullshit you ungrateful brat? You getting on my ass for something I cannot control. It's hard enough waiting on you and your friends when you toss your trash on the floor and knock ash all over the damn place when you pick up your tongs and start needlessly poking at your coal. Also, I let slide that you had your stank ass feet all over the table where people put their FOOD. Is this how you treat people who wait on you for minimum wage? Obviously you have never worked in the service industry. You don't know what bullshit is until you work in the service industry. I've been enduring you and everyone else in this room's bullshit for the last four hours that I've clocked in, so don't tell me that it is my fault for making this job harder than it already is. I'm not a masochist. If it was up to me, you would have been out of here an hour ago so I could clean up the big ass mess and disassembled hookah parts you left behind, along with the fifty cents you call a tip. I am the hostess here. I am the cook. I am the waitress. I am the bus boy. I do everything. I am running around all over the place trying to make you as comfortable as possible. The only thing I do not know how to do is FIX THIS FUCKING REGISTER. So, I guess I should learn a new trade in "how to avoid technology issues" because we all know that technology is the most reliable thing in the whole wide fucking world. Go drive your Daddy's Volvo off of a cliff.

Me: Yes ma'am.

...I didn't get a tip.

Ever since I started working at the hookah lounge two years ago I have a new appreciation for the people who tend to my needs. It is so incredibly hard working to serve others, then managing to remain polite when being dealt abusive insults like the ones exchanged above. The sad thing is, these encounters happen all of the time. Look, your servers may be strangers, but I ask that you be patient with them as well. You do not know what kind of trials they face, why they need the job, who they are supporting, or what kind of day they have had. Chances are that if you did, you'd think twice before pointing a finger in their face then leaving them empty handed. 

Little pieces of bad news can have huge consequences

When I first figured out what it was that I wanted to do with my life, I knew that there was a chance that someday I would be putting all of my effort into a project only to discover that someone managed to get the same idea out into the world before I could. But nothing can prepare a writer for such a disappointment, especially when they thought that their idea was one hundred percent original.

I found that out the hard way today when a friend of mine asked about my musical and revealed to me that what I thought to be a unique idea was actually the opposite.

I guess that I am going to have to look at the hours that I put into the musical as a method of warming up for a bigger project in the future, something even greater than this first attempt. But I can't help but feel an ache in my chest whenever I think about how anxious I was to get the musical finished. All of the deadlines in my schedule book are useless now I guess. No use continuing with something that will get me nowhere.

Once I finish the short story due in my creative writing class this Wednesday and midterms have passed, I'll focus on one of my other projects during Spring Break. Or I'll just read a good book. I haven't done that in a while.

This really sucks. But hey, life goes on.

Me-OW!

Today was the first day all week where the sun hasn't been hiding behind clouds full of sky urine. So I decided that I would take advantage of this lovely Sunday and would go outside to tan.

I was outside for less than ten minutes, and it wasn't because of the sun being unbearable or because I forgot the suntan lotion. No. It was because Dex decided that he would go to any length to receive the attention he had been deprived of all day. I was stretched out on the deck with a book, the only time I have managed to do so in a long time. I could hear Dex mewing across the yard but paid no attention to it in the same manner as the book. Instead, I closed my eyes and let the sun shine on my face, a sensation that reminded me of what it is that I am to look forward to this summer. A sensation that I will share with Mike.

I was so completely involved in thinking about the up and coming summer that it came as a surprise to me when I felt a set of claws digging into my ass. Dex had laid down on my legs and placed a paw on each of my cheeks. By instinct my first response was to reach back to tie my bikini top. But the more I struggled with it, the deeper the claws went into my ass. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry!

Like anyone being molested by an animal, I tried to get away. I put my hands beneath his paws, then started to inch toward the edge of the bench I was laying on. But my bikini top was still untied and if I managed to slide off of the bench I'd find myself topless and sprawled out on a deck that desperately needs to be sanded.

So I called out as loud as a could to the only person who could understand my predicament, the woman who birthed me. By blood I have adopted her clumsiness and her ability to find herself in situations similar to this one.

"MOMMY!!!"

She never came, which arouses the suspicion that shit cloud has returned. I really hope it leaves by next week.  Professors don't seem to take shit cloud into consideration when grading midterms.When I finally got away, I went inside feeling like I was just forced into experiencing a fetish as taboo as 2 girls 1 cup.

An hour later, a glimpse outside revealed a sleeping cat on the bench where I was laying. I guess he needed to recover from all of the ass he got. Literally.

Legally Motivated!

When all else fails, and no friends have a pill or two to spare that will keep my head focused on the books or on my workout, anything really, I pop in Legally Blonde. Because there is just something about a girl that no one takes seriously who kicks their asses in a court room that really motivates me to read Edgar Allen Poe. So I watched the movie, got hyped to do my homework, then read about murdering cats, an old man with a funky eye, and a wife. Then there was the repetitive theme of shoving their body parts into weird places throughout the house. I hugged Stella for a long time after I read it. A long time. I will never hang you from a tree my dearest feline. Please don't haunt me.

Speaking of animals, my new weenie got his ass handed to him by Dex, my parent's cat that they rescued from a fate of living off of wild mice and other things that carry diseases. At first he cried out and I thought nothing of it because he's a pansy, but then I picked him up and suddenly realized that maybe it was more serious than I thought because my white shirt was no longer white. It was dyed the color of, well, blood.

I could never be a doctor or anything dealing with bodily fluids on a daily basis. (But J-Roll! How on earth do you expect to be a momma bird in the future if you can't deal with stuff like that?) I'LL TELL YOU READER WHO ASKS OBVIOUS QUESTIONS!

When it comes to someone I care about, I go maternal ape shit. My niece spewed vomit all over the place and I was on it like no one's business. When Charlie was covered in metallic smelling substances, I took care of it! I can't claim that I didn't gag like, a million times AFTER everything was taken care of, but still. I won't be a parental unit who refuses to change a diaper or mop up puke or put pressure on a gaping wound.

...

Excuse me a moment.

...

Onto less grotesque news that makes me want to wear my toilet as a hat, I am almost finished with the first act of my musical! Say HUZZAH! and comment if you are just as excited as I am! Thank you Legally Blonde for motivating me to get my degree and for keeping me focused on important things like keeping my new dog alive, motherhood, and musicals.

Love overload. And viruses too.

Then... At midnight...

...my heart exploded. And so did Michael's news feed. And everyone else's.

Then!

And Michael, being Michael, decided that in retaliation to overdosing on love songs, he'd spam me right back.

And so he did. Then something unexpected happened.

So I clicked it, expecting something romantic on the other side of the link.

Thanks for the virus baby. Happy Valentine's Day.

To write, I must party.

I planned a party of sorts this weekend that I may not even be able to attend because I can't get my shift covered on Saturday. I'd list off every profanity in the book right now if that could communicate to you how I'm feeling right now, but my patience is withering away every moment I am not in the clear to go to this damn party.

So while my blood begins to cool from the simmer it was experiencing previously, I have decided to focus on one of my many writing projects. It is a musical of epic proportions. Before you scoff and remind me of how competitive and unrealistic the world of the arts can be, I am completely aware. You don't have to remind me. But this is not just something I am doing half-assed. I am practically putting my soul into this. Broadway, I AM COMING FOR YOU.

"Songs" and ladders

Before I start on my overdue blog topic the challenge calls for, I would first like to express to you how full of fail the other day was. I could not have put myself in a worse situation.

This calls for some background information.

I live near the Devil's Backbone in the Texas hill country. I drive down this winding road to get to school in San Marcos because it is a shorter distance than the highway route. Back roads are awesome. That is until you decide that driving as far as you can go until you pass the one gas station for miles halfway to your destination on very little gas.

Ahem.

So a few days previous to this one, Dad and I were going to haul all of my belongings from San Marcos to Spring Branch. I decided that driving up early was the best bet so I could attempt to organize before Dad showed up after work. The less stress on him is less stress on me in the end. My actions, however, made up for the stress I alleviated by showing up early.

Before I left for San Marcos, I helped Madre clean out the garage for the incoming junk to cram in there. Keep in mind, my bad luck and clumsiness was inherited straight from her. Only with our power combo could a set of stairs leading up to the attic almost kill the both of us. Don't ask.

After a family scavenger hunt for my keys, I left. Only when I was halfway to my destination without a lick of gas did I realize that my purse was not in its usual resting place in the seat beside me. After parking at the pump, I tore my Jeep apart in hopes of finding that one item that determines whether or not a girl is totally screwed. In this case, I was totally screwed. My purse was at home...

...in the garage...

...on the pool table...

...where I left it...

I was without a phone, without money and had to, by some unrealistic chance, get home and retrieve my purse. But even if I had a phone, who could help me? Mom runs an in house daycare. Like she could really leave the kids for twenty minutes. Come on Jess.

I was so panicked that I was shaking when I finally decided to chance it and drive back home. I was like this the whole drive home. Every slow car made my blood pressure rise, every stop sign made my blood pressure rise, every hill and every bit of traffic. I was pretty sure that if I had encountered just one more obstacle than I had previous to arriving home (I totally made it guys), I would have stroked out.

My Mom wasn't surprised when I sped into the driveway in a fluster. "Here," she laughed, handing me my purse. The rest of the day went swimmingly, that is, until I got sick. (This is me explaining why I haven't updated in a while). I'm still sick too. It's pathetic how out of it I am, actually. My funny bone isn't working to its full potential today.

Onto the blog challenge. I will be writing multiple topics throughout the day. I am going to start on an easy one, since I am a cheater and don't give a rat's ass what the challenge says what order I am supposed to go in, I'm diseased and my brain needs to rest.

Day "blah": Put your iPod on shuffle and write ten songs that pop up.

1. DJ Shadow- "Six Days"
2. Fastball- "The Way"
3. Iron and Wine- "Arms of a Thief"
4. The Beatles- "Yesterday"
5. Anna Nalick- "Breathe"
6. Slipknot- "Snuff"
7. Versa Emerge- "The Hider"
8. Fiona Apple- "Across the Universe"
9. Nancy Sinatra- "Bang Bang" Kill Bill Soundtrack
10. Muse- "Hoodoo"

OH! That's a good playlist. I'm impressed and slightly less sickly due to the pure awesomeness of this list of ten. The power of music can do wondrous things.

"Epic fail"

The other night, because I am a super awesome girlfriend, I made cookies and peppermint bark for Michael to add to the package of Christmas presents I planned to send to him in Petaluma. I sneaked a bite of each to make sure they were boyfriend quality... and also because I have a problem not consuming baked goods when they are placed in front of me. That's one reason why I consider the holidays the scariest and most regretful time of each and every year.

I went to the post office to send the package Mike's way and discovered that it would be cheaper to divide my rather large box into two smaller boxes. (That makes little sense to me, but hey person behind the counter, you're the boss!) So because I am frugal, I took the box to the side of the counter and began distributing Christmas presents, cookies, peppermint bark, and pieces of the disassembled steamer that I got him and folded the boxes up.

"Tada!" I said victoriously.

"Oh, you're not supposed to fold them on the bottom like that."

I looked at the boxes in shame, the glory of my speedy transferal ruined. I think I even pouted.

"Look, it's okay! I'll just..."

The man opened up the bottom of the box cautiously, taped it up, and began typing something on the computer. The other box was in my line of sight and a line was beginning to develop behind me. So I, trying to be time efficient, decided that I should work on fixing the other box while the man did his thing. Only when I opened the bottom of the box, parts of the steamer and cookies flew out onto the counter. Yeah. There were so many mental groans occurring behind me they were almost audible. I stared at the box in the same manner of defeat as before. When the man turned around he actually face palmed, and I followed suit. I reached forward to fix the mess that I had caused, but I was stopped when spotting the man's hand in the air. "No, no please. Let me."

"Thank you," I squeaked. I left with my head ducked down in embarrassment, though I usually laugh when I'm nervous. But I could have sworn, though it may have been my subconscious, someone whispered "epic fail" just before I left the post office.

Yeah. I got in my car real fast.

That's a lot of shit

For the entirety of this month I have felt like a black cloud was constantly overhead raining piles of shit on the top of me and on top of everything that I did. No matter the circumstance, shit cloud would find me. I am not superstitious or anything, but for it to get this bad, I must have walked under thousands of ladders and broken a plethora of mirrors. Yeah, a plethora. That's how unfortunate I am. But I think after what happened last night, shit cloud will give me a break.

Firstly, I love animals, especially cats. When I was little, I was constantly begging to keep strays, so most of our animals weren't from the pet store- we collected hobos. But now that I'm older, the things that used to excite me don't excite me as much anymore. Birthdays are days that signify just how close to death I really am. Easter eggs no longer have anything inside of them worth hunting for. Christmas can wait until I've had a decent cup of coffee. So you would think that Dad surprising Mom with a cat would be, well, ho hum. But I squealed, I ran to the door, and I bounced up and down until my Dad came inside. Felines bring out my inner five-year-old.

"He shit himself in the carrier. The cat is covered in shit," he announced, bringing a wave of the cat poo aroma into the house with him.

That's when my excitement wavered and I was suddenly an unenthusiastic adult again, because I knew that I would play assistant in the operation that was about to commence: Operation: Bathe Chocolate Covered Kitty. 

At first we tried to clean him outside, but the poo was all dry and stuck to his fur, so that was a vain effort. Instead, Mom and I moved the foul, yet completely adorable addition to our family into the bath tub, but not without a strategy. (A strategy that did not take into consideration that cats think that water is the Devil.)

First Mom would get into the tub with kitty and hold him down while I poured soap into her hands so she could wash him without having to let go. After he was clean, I would wrap him in a towel and dry him off. It sounded simple enough until Mom realized that she would be standing in poo soup for the majority of the operation, but that epiphany came to her a little too late. She probably didn't expect kitty to climb her either, but the job got done and we both came out alive. Only I could no longer breathe and Mom was bleeding profusely. I can't imagine how many shots she might need from all of that exposure to kitty excretion. That shit was all over the place. Literally.

Shit cloud is ruthless.

So kitty was clean and Mom instructed me to do my share of the work and grab a towel. I grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped kitty in it. By that time he was exhausted from fighting and just wanted to be out of the damn water and dry. So I'm holding kitty to me to keep him warm, snuggling him, not realizing that Mom is still standing in the shit water staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"That's the- ppffffhahahahaha!"

"What?!"

"That's the towel I carried him in here with!"

"BLARRRRGGGGGGG!"

No, I didn't throw up, but I wanted to. At that point, the shit cloud metaphor became literal.

I was covered in shit.

After all was said and done and everyone was sterilized, the energy died down as we decorated the Christmas tree and watched Elf. We managed to trap the poo smell in my parents' room and bathroom, which Dad wasn't too happy about, but I was just glad that shit cloud was quarantined. Maybe then I would have a little peace. But even though shit cloud was being held prisoner, another bad luck symbol of a different consistency but of the same nature was out to get my Mother.

All I could hear was the front door opening as she was letting the dog out and Mom screaming, "FROG IN THE HOUSE!" I, of course, burst out laughing and didn't help her because I am a terrible daughter and I deserve nothing but coal in my stocking. That's when the door slammed and she ran into the kitchen with her hands out in front of her.

"What?!" I cried.

"IT PEED ON ME!"

"OH MY GOD THAT SMELLS TERRIBLE!"

Yes. That was my response, accompanied by me running in the opposite direction of my Mother, who proceeded to chase me with the towel she wiped her hands off on after she washed them. I know, she washed her hands, but still. Ew. My first instinct was to run into another room and hide, which I did, only it was the room that smelled like shit. So the whole house smelled of frog piss and cat shit.

To summarize, Dad got my Mom a shit covered cat for Christmas.

There's nothing like claw marks and an active gag reflex to really kick in that holiday spirit.

Merry Christmas everyone, and may it be a shit-free one!

I found lemons, but the juice got in my eye

Well, I did what I said that I was going to do. I made myself vulnerable to the world by venturing out of my hiding place that was my parents' house. And even though it ended in disaster, everything leading up to it proved to be a much needed dose of freedom from the invisible chains that bound me to my room. The chains that bind me to my phone are still intact though. I'm working on severing those, but I feel like life's only given me a worn nail file for that job. So it might take a while.

I began yesterday morning getting ready to head into San Marcos to deal with some apartment issues, then planned on a necessary evening with my best friend Kat who would be treating me to dinner and a movie that evening. So of course, I sped through the chit chat about the apartment and decided to meet up with a friend and catch up until Kat came into town. We smoked hookah, watched a movie, and talked about why I was home earlier than expected. When Kat picked me up we went out for sea food on her, got some coffee, walked downtown and saw the lights, then saw a late night showing of Tron 3D. I want a motorcycle now, but seeing as my bad luck was reinforced last night, I probably should snuff out that dream and never seek to revive it again.

I said my goodbyes and got into my jeep. First thing I did was sit back and think about how nice it was to see my friends, and that maybe things would start to look up. That's when the supernatural decided that it was high time to mess with me.

On the back country road that leads to my folks' house, there was a dense fog. Now, I've driven through fog before, but in the Texas hill country, you have to watch out for stupid deer with bad timing. I was so, unbelievably paranoid. The first deer that ran out in front of me was smart enough NOT to stop in the middle of the road and stare at me. So that was nice. The next few appearances made my heart work so hard that I felt like it was going to give out and fall out of my ass.

In case you were wondering, I ended up surviving the fog, obviously, because I am here to tell you the story. When I drove into the driveway I felt lucky, like I had avoided something that was supposed to ruin my night. Little did I realize that the fog was just a warm up. I stepped out of the jeep, only to close the door and set off the alarm, because apparently car alarms are supposed to be triggered AFTER THE CAR IS STOLEN. I spent a good ten minutes trying to shut the damn thing off.

I discovered then that every sound is amplified in the middle of nowhere for that exact reason. Nothing is there! So I am nervously glancing at my parents' window, cursing at the Jeep, pressing button after button on the key chain. Eventually it died down, but I had realized a little too late that my shit was still in the passenger's side inside of the Jeep that hated me. So my paranoia took over. I knew that the alarm wouldn't be set off if I had opened the door, but I was positive that something was out to get me that night, so conclusively I wasn't so sure. I stared at my purse and my leftovers with a longing so profound, it could have been Shakespearean. 

I grew some balls and opened the car to get my stuff, then headed to the front door where the dog was stationed, ready to bark at me until I was able to find my keys, which I did find, only after his barking woke my parents up. Apparently the car alarm didn't. Stupid dog.

I managed the get the door open, only to find that the alarm was set. It was a catastrophe. I didn't press the buttons hard enough, so the alarm got louder and Mom had to rush out to help me. 

Then I almost dropped the left overs. 

I fell up the stairs too.

Then I tried to call Mike but he was asleep already.

Fuck.

I'll Be Home For Christmas: The Darker Side of the Tree

If you have been following my posts chronologically for the past few months, especially during the month of October when I was preparing to fly to Alaska, you'd be caught up on how difficult it was to communicate to my family that I was ready to start my life with Michael. I'm not a Mother, I've never been a parent or a figure of the sort, so I acknowledge the fact that I won't understand their discomfort with the idea until later on when I do decide to have children.

But when you are ready to break away from an adolescent lifestyle and actually make some big decisions about your future with someone you love, it's very hard to give the people who disagree with the changes the time of day. However, on this trip I have discovered that there will always be opinions that you may not agree with, but they still deserve a listening ear.

I have enough respect for the situation to not share all of the details with my readers, which I am sorry about, because there is a lot that I want to say that I really just can't. I will tell you that my trip to New York was unexpectedly cut short due to some family conflicts caused by a variety of miscommunications, but there is nothing I can really do about it now. I am back in Texas, doing my best to cope with what has happened, while Mike remains in New York with his family during the holidays. The worst part, other than the fear of his family disliking me, is the forced separation. I have never felt so much resistance within me when standing in line for security at the airport. When I passed the threshold, and Mike watched me walking away from a distance, I could feel an absence within me. Something left me when I let go of his hand. More left me when I saw his face. I don't know what I took home with me, but I'm convinced that it's not much.

Luckily there were some friendly faces awaiting me when I got home. I have great friends. It was also nice to see my Mom, who insisted that I share a bed with her because Dad is out of town and she missed me.

I have updated you the best I can without overstepping my boundaries, so I guess this serves as a warning that I might not be as peppy as I usually am. I think my blog and my readers will help me heal. Hopefully that happens before Christmas.

FML

The only downfall to adding my Father on Facebook.

Maybe I should change up my strategy when it comes to cheering my friends up.

The boy doesn't have cold medicine-- but at least he has super glue!

That's the last time I ninja out (ACHOO) into the middle of the night hopped up on wine and margaritas with the boyfriend's best friend. I don't care how bored or lonely I get when Mike's on watch and won't be home for a day and a half. I know enough to be aware that if you stick a certain breed of (ACHOO) Texan in the snow for hours, she's gonna get sick-- like, really sick. This certain breed of Texan actually likes the (ACHOO) heat. I do not enjoy having to wake up at 3 a.m to massage the life back into my fingers and toes.

No, guys, I am not exaggerating.

Can't write anymore. My fingers are starting to stick to the keyboard and I think my big toe just fell off.

You can eat around the debris

Delayed flight, body odor infested plane, screaming babies, man in front of me reclining his chair to the point of almost breaking it into my lap, sore neck, no more peanuts on flights, lack of working outlets in airport to charge laptop, sitting next to the bathrooms on the BO infested plane, lack of outlets on flight, stupid line cutters when boarding plane, having to check in again, not knowing where the heck to put my luggage in those tiny stalls in the public restrooms, running across an airport the size of Texas, almost slipping down the stairs after warned that it was "slippery".

Then I saw him standing there beside the door, hands in his pockets, his eyes lighting up when he saw me. And all the bullshit that I had to endure to get there was so unbelievably worth it that I would not mind doing it all over again-- from the friends that told me that long distance was ridiculous to the people that told me I should end the relationship before I get hurt. Yes, I would experience that shit over and over for him.

That was the first day, which sets us up for what happened last night.

Keeping in mind what was said previously, I was put to the test to make sure that it was actually true. It's easy to say that you are willing to experience distasteful things to be with someone you love. I mean, that's love. But I guess when I made a mental note of it in the Homer airport, someone heard me and decided, "What the heck? Let's test her some more!"

Yep. My bad luck was not left behind in the South. It followed me to Alaska. Then it developed into a more lethal strain of bad luck and became contagious rather than hereditary (sorry Mom).

Last night Mike and I were craving pizza, so we bundled up and went outside to heat up the truck. Well, taking into consideration that the last time Mike drove his truck, he was escorting me back to the house. The man was excited so I don't blame him for, uh, leaving the truck in drive.

I was in the process of climbing into the truck, as was Mike, when he started the engine. When the truck jumped forward, my leg traveled with it. Yes, it is still attached. Luckily I escaped and slammed the door before the truck slid into the ditch beside the porch.

We were just lucky that it was parked at an angle away from the house. If it had been straight, his truck would have flew straight into his roommate Marshall's kitchen. The only time that would have actually been acceptable is if we were coming home from picking up the pizza. We'd burst into the side of the house, open our doors dramatically and shout "OH YEAH." Kool-aid man style. No one would pay any mind to the gaping hole in the wall. Their minds would be set on the deliciousness of the pizza and the epic entrance.

At least that was what I visualized as Mike stood there in the snow in total shock.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Just a little disappointed."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Goodbye present from Boss Man

For my going away present, Boss Man has given me two shifts to cover tonight. At first I was not pleased with the news, as it is Saturday and all of the college hooligans will be roaming the Square in drunken stupor celebrating Halloween prematurely and I would have to deal with them on my own. Yet the follow up text message went a little something like this: "You'll get paid for both shifts as well as get 90 percent of the tips for the night. Fo' real." Can't complain anymore can I? Luckily it has been smooth sailing, and I'm reaping the benefits.

Yes, there is a lesson in this.

Even if something sounds unappealing at first, sometimes it can be a good opportunity waiting to be taken advantage of. Laziness is often my excuse for letting these chances pass me by. I'm glad that it all worked out for me tonight. Hopefully the rest of the week will be smooth sailing. Only good has come out of this week, so I can't help but be cautious. Maybe the next flower arrangement will ACTUALLY be a bomb.

Who knows.

Stupid question of the night: "Are we allowed to eat food and stuff in here?"
Of course not. We expect the food that we sell here to be consumed outside.
Really?