Wearing a Silver Ribbon

I've been jobless for a while now, no thanks to me and Mr. Fiance having to share one vehicle for more than half a year. His place in the military takes precedent over me getting out of the house, so, of course, I gained weight and got depressed. What else did I expect from myself? I'm not the type to make the most out of situations unless I have inspiration to. But I was in a new town in a small apartment, alone, with my friends and family four hours away, and I get destructive when I'm alone.

I tried to convince friends to visit, but they had their own lives to live back in Austin; they had jobs and bills to pay, and neither left them with many open weekends to spend at the beach. I was too embarrassed to open up about how I was feeling, because I was the one- while we were growing up- that "had everything" and had no right to complain.

My first run in with depression was when I was a freshman in high school. Sadness washed over me, and to be honest, it was startling. I was usually happy- emotional, yes- but happy. I made good grades. I was involved in school. I was getting noticed by the boys after constant harassment about my weight in junior high. I had every reason in the world to be happy, but I couldn't be. The day could offer me joy after joy and I would deny them. I don't know why.

The sadness became permanent when my ex-boyfriend died in a horrendous car crash just miles from my house. I'd never known mourning before. I'd never mourned anyone before.

Well, my friends used my constant sadness as a way to separate themselves from me, saying that I was a "downer". That's when the depression set in.

I can't quite describe what school was like for me that year. I usually spent my mornings with my friends in the front of the school, laughing and watching the carpool lane fill up with familiar faces being dropped off, people that I could greet for the day if we didn't have classes together. At first I walked the same way, but the glares and silence I received from the usual bunch made me consider a new route to class. So I went to the library. If they migrated to the library, I would hide between the shelves like a masochist and listen to every sour word they directed at me, and I cried.

Shortly after, my parents started fighting a lot. Shortly after that, I received a long email from an old interest that was dedicated to the effort of getting me to kill myself.

I couldn't talk to my parents about wanting to give up. I couldn't talk to them about the cutting. They would just send me to a shrink. So I reached out to those friends in an effort to make them realize that I wasn't just being a downer, I needed help.

"You're stupid. If you kill yourself, don't expect us at your funeral," they said.

I'm still not sure how I overcame that.

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I was optimistic at first, when Michael started using my Jeep to get from place to place. I spent most of my time reading and browsing the internet; I invested a lot of my time into my other blog. The redundancies got to be overwhelming though, and with trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, feeling guilty for every purchase Mike made on my behalf, losing my sense of independence, and dealing with the stress of his family being more than vocal with their opinions of me, I went a little crazy.

I woke up late in the afternoons and stared off into space until Mike got home. Sometimes I'd cry myself into a short-lived coma on the couch. I started avoiding mirrors so I wouldn't have to see the hopelessness in my face and the dark circles under my eyes. I insulted myself in casual conversation. Any trace of love I had for myself had depleted to almost nothing, just enough to keep me from hurting myself in ways I could only day dream about when left to my own devices. 

When I grew bored of self loathing, my mind wandered to more destructive things. I fell victim to the feeling of betrayal when Michael was working late. 

"Why would he want to date me? Why would he want to come home to this mess? Of course he would find love somewhere else, because I'm not worthy of him. I'm nothing. I wouldn't blame him for cheating. I'm disgusting." 

I couldn't even bring myself to have sex anymore. Too much energy involved- energy I didn't have.

(And I knew it had nothing to do with Mike. He was helpless through all of this and I can't imagine what it must have been like for him working full time at the clinic and coming home to another patient. He is the one person that makes me insanely happy and that's one reason why I'm marrying him this October, but depression made me feel like I didn't deserve to be happy. I'm just sad that I've missed out on and wasted months of that happiness.)

To make matters worse, I had lady part issues. I went to visit the gynecologist, who told me that I might have a disease where blood gets trapped in my pelvis during menstruation which could have been severe pains, and she put me on birth control. I didn't make the connection at first that maybe the birth control was messing with me, but my depression worsened. I didn't get out of bed at all. I stopped doing my chores and only left the bedroom to lay on the couch. I didn't want to leave the house. I grew angry and hostile everytime I thought about my friends and family, dwelling on moments in the past when they'd hurt me. 

I fantasized about dying like it was a game.

"What'll it be today? A noose? An overdose?"

Yeah, it was fucked up.

One day though, I actually willed myself off of the couch and got online to check up on life outside of the bubble of hate I had created, and found an article that changed my life.

"The Fight Goes On" by Jennifer Lawson

"If you follow me on twitter you already know that I’ve been battling off one of the most severe bouts of depression I’ve ever had. Yesterday it started to pass, and for the first time in weeks I cried with relief instead of with hopelessness. Depression can be crippling, and deadly. I’m lucky that it’s a rare thing for me, and that I have a support system to lean on. I’m lucky that I’ve learned that depression lies to you, and that you should never listen to it, in spite of how persuasive it is at the time. 

When cancer sufferers fight, recover, and go into remission we laud their bravery. We call them survivors. Because they are.  

When depression sufferers fight, recover and go into remission we seldom even know, simply because so many suffer in the dark…ashamed to admit something they see as a personal weakness…afraid that people will worry, and more afraid that they won’t. We find ourselves unable to do anything but cling to the couch and force ourselves to breathe.  

When you come out of the grips of a depression there is an incredible relief, but not one you feel allowed to celebrate. Instead, the feeling of victory is replaced with anxiety that it will happen again, and with shame and vulnerability when you see how your illness affected your family, your work, everything left untouched while you struggled to survive. We come back to life thinner, paler, weaker…but as survivors. Survivors who don’t get pats on the back from coworkers who congratulate them on making it. Survivors who wake to more work than before because their friends and family are exhausted from helping them fight a battle they may not even understand.  

Regardless, today I feel proud. I survived. And I celebrate every one of you reading this. I celebrate the fact that you’ve fought your battle and continue to win. I celebrate the fact that you may not understand the battle, but you pick up the baton dropped by someone you love until they can carry it again. I celebrate the fact that each time we go through this, we get a little stronger. We learn new tricks on the battlefield. We learn them in terrible ways, but we use them. We don’t struggle in vain.  

We win.  

We are alive."

I highly encourage you to read the rest of her story, whether or not you are or once were a victim. We're not alone. We have each other. We have the strength that depression told us we didn't have anymore. I know I found it, after months of searching. It was just a mouse click away.

And now I'm happy again. I'm getting married, I'm planning the wedding of my dreams, I'm losing the weight, and can hold onto my optimism for more than just a fleeting moment. I see sunshine now.

Thank you Jen. Thank you, thank you, thank you...

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.

A degree shouldn't trump happiness

Holy frig I've got so much to tell you, but my brain is being manhandled by the sound of plastic wheels against tiled floor accessorized with the wails of screaming children. A closed door cannot contain the madness. I haven't resorted to anything extreme just yet, but I assume that it will happen shortly. How my mother runs an in-house daycare is beyond me. How I have managed to keep my sanity since I moved in in January is also beyond me (apparently delusion is hereditary). You do not know what it is like to wake up to five screaming children at 7:00 on a Friday every week. Okay maybe you do. Thank the heavens she finally found the perfect building to start her daycare in.

...Let's hope I don't jinx it by posting the potential this building has on the internet. The web has the power to make or break you by harnessing the power of shit cloud, so I am really taking a chance on this one to tell you the details. You're welcome.

The other day, me and the parental units went to take a tour of an old firehouse down the highway that was up for lease. The first image that came to mind was a crowd of two year olds falling down the fire pole, so I thought the effort was doomed at the start, but I kept quiet. No reason to spoil it over the idea of dead babies... they are my mother's dreams guys. MY MOTHER'S DREAMS.

Gaping hole in the floor not suitable for children, or anyone really.

My fears were silenced when we saw the building. It was perfect, and I couldn't help but start visualizing the flow of children from one room to the other, me behind the desk, raking in the doe, looking all professional and shit. (I see a Mac desktop and more screaming children in my future!) Madre was even more excited. She was practically shaking with happiness, but Dad had warned her on the trip there not to scream for fear she would ruin his chances at negotiating prices. The man has mad haggling skills, I can't deny it. So the three of us toured, dreamed, and kept our outward expression to a minimum until we were safely in the car. Then the top of the truck blew off from the mushroom cloud of pent up elation being released.

"Jess! You and me, together! We're going to do this!" she said.

"DUH!"

...Just one problem ladies: University. (And wasn't I just complaining about noisy children?)

Alright. You got me. But that is why I am here, explaining this to you, because this dilemma was driving me up the wall. Let me ask you a question: "What would you do if you discovered the perfect job with the perfect salary and the perfect boss, but you'd only be hired on if taking on a nine to five shift everyday, but you are already a full time student (which you hate being with a fiery passion)?

Wouldn't most choose their education?

I must clarify something. To those of you who aren't aware, I am an English major with a Creative Writing emphasis, which makes me destined for teacherhood, a place I'd prefer to avoid going to. I'd rather freelance, blog, and do my own thing writing-wise, but that does not exactly bring in money (neither does teaching, but that is a dilemma all on its own). Hence the name of this blog.

I digress.

Let's consider the next stage of this frustration. Let's say I quit going to school and work for Mom. Michael is going to move here next month. If anything, I'd want to move in with him if school wasn't holding me back! So would it make sense to quit school and choose to work in a daycare instead of starting my life with Michael? What is a girl to do? I have been programmed to believe that attending college is my only gateway to success and opportunity, things I'd love to obtain... without a diploma. School has become this redundant chore that I find no joy in and that I've come to resent, and over time it has occurred to me that wasting years of my life trying to obtain a degree that is virtually useless to me in the long run is a huge a waste of time, especially if it does not make me happy.

Basically, I do not enjoy being a full time student with little options and little cash. So I approached my mom later about what it is that I am supposed to do, fearing the anticipated "no" and the expected cold shoulder. Surprisingly, the discussion went pretty well, and we both agreed that my best option at the moment is to invest my time in what could potentially be a family franchise. I could always continue with school later, if it suits my fancy. After she left the room, I felt like I could actually, for once, breathe.

Since that discussion, I have been dancing on cloud nine. I am happy. I've been working on standard things for the daycare, I have been buying things for Michael and my apartment on the beach, and I've been physically healthier due to the stress being lifted from my situation. Time to take care of the important things now: my health, my happiness, and my family...

...and my bank account. Never again will I have to make a box of cereal last me a week!

Links are better than whiskey (...wait.)

The other night I was trekking through some older posts from last year that were the same time when I was in New York, and I had to keep myself from crying. (I made the mistake of reading my December posts first). But the further I moved into the past, the easier it was to hold back the tears. Actually, the impulse to be a whimpering little baby about missing Michael no longer had a hold over me.

The content revolved around my time in Alaska with Michael, and reading it made me realize just how happy I was when I was physically with him. You can just feel it when you read it.

I was also laughing hysterically. There is some good shit that I wrote last November, some gooood shit. So, since I am going to be lounging around in the sun today with my coworkers and have very little interesting things under my belt to talk about, I've decided to present a list of my old posts for my newer readers (and old of course) to enjoy while I catch me some rays. Hopefully you will get a kick out of them like I did. I feel like most of them are too good to sit in the past collecting dust. Feel free to comment on them, despite the dates. Be good little readers until I come back!

A Man's Perspective: The Burial Edition

They really don't Mom

The man who would die for his beer

...but I like purple!

I hope the deer were in costume too.

Lucky number three

Fleas, crabs, and mutated cells all make a J-Roll

I suddenly feel like I've popped in a movie for my children to occupy their time with as I leave the house for a bit. Hmm. Better than whiskey. Oh, Grandma.

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.

No title can express what a picture can

I just received the most brilliant piece of artwork ever known to man in my inbox earlier today. This tops anything produced by Picasso or  Leonardo da Vinci and obviously has the potential to be the best thing ever produced by a human being in the course of our existence. Thank you Christine from "The New Adventures of  Christine" for taking it upon yourself to create a visual reference to the scenarios my boyfriend Mike dreams up involving me in a Playboy bunny suit massacring innocent pandas.

This in no way is a reference to my mentality or my view on pandas. I hold no hostility toward the littles guys whatsoever, but obviously Michael's subconscious believes me to be a mentally unstable hottie.

Confused? Click here to fully understand the reference.

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.

I swear someone slipped something into my cereal this morning.

My mind and memory are running a mile a minute because I feel like I haven't spoken to you guys about what's been going on in my life and that is what a blog is about so technically I'm not fulfilling my duty as a blogger and I should be ashamed that I haven't talked about half of the things that have occurred since last weekend other than getting a computer virus which has totally been taken care of and what on Earth is up with me not talking about the fabulous party I was able to attend because my boss took my shift I need oxygen oh my God.

Yeah, I'm in one of those moods today.

So I am going to cover the minor details first, then we can move onto bigger and better things-- like penis cupcakes, T&A cookies that went horribly yet not so horribly wrong, and a few awards that have been bestowed upon me by a few friends in the blogging community. Firstly, the good news. I have made some real progress on the dialog in my musical and am searching for volunteers to run lines with me soon so I can hear the words out loud and tweak them into perfection. So there is that, and that makes me happy. I hope to be finished by the end of May. When I'm feeling optimistic, I aim for the day I go to see Mike's graduation in California, which is toward the middle of May. A week is a big difference. You can get a lot done in a week. (Or you can PLAN to get a lot done then slack off like I do.)

More good news! I aced my first American Literature Exam and my boyfriend overnighted two dozen tulips to me for Valentine's Day, which I'll get into on a whole separate post. It totally deserves a post of its own.

Now for the shit news. I just found out that I can't cram the rest of my mandatory classes into the remaining semesters before graduation next Spring, so it looks like I'll have to wait an extra semester or two before Michael and I can live together. I'm sure that will make his family very happy. So I suppose in a way it's a good thing. It's like I'm suffering, but sucking up at the same time. I'm losing and they are gaining, so technically I'm gaining...

Always a brighter side to being hated! (Insert dramatic sobbing sounds here)

Now for more mediocre news. I have 49674 writing projects that I'm working on. It is so difficult having so many writing projects that I can't really talk about other than brief updates like "worked on the book today" and "too lazy to finish the short story last night." I wish I could discuss the content of these projects, but a wise friend with expertise in situations of a similar nature advised against it. So, with all of my willpower, I am going to listen, because if I ever hope to be a good writer, I've got to earn to take advice from professionals. Oh come on, it's harder than you think. I'm a stubborn little shit and I get excited about what I write, so I like to share. My blog is a perfect example of this. But even if artistic thievery weren't an issue, I feel like if I gave too much away on here, I'd be jinxing myself in the long run. No one wants that, especially me.

Well okay. I could think of a few people who'd enjoy seeing me fail. Let's just leave that list alone.

Let's get happy again. I have a new link up top, a tab I never imagined getting so soon in the game. "Awards." It's plural guys. That means that there is more than one. That means that more than one person thinks that I'm super. I sch'wear to God I didn't award them to myself. I'm just sch'o popular.

Thanks to TOAR at Thoughts of a Randomista, Andres Rio from Good Music, Bad Math and Christine from The New Adventures of Christine for the collection of awards! This is belated, but no less full of gratitude and a plethora of love.

So apparently, to receive these awards, you must abide by some rules (that I am currently hunting down so bear with me). Christine says that I must tell five things about myself and mix in a few lies. That sounds easy enough. I HEREBY ACCEPT THESE AWARDS BY LYING TO MY READERS. Best condition ever.

1. I met my boyfriend online about five years ago. We've been dating for about nine months now.

2. I collect lawn gnomes.

3. I fractured my elbow and wrist dancing in a Chili's parking lot.

4. My co-worker bumped me into the display case at work and bruised my vaginal bone.

5. I took a bubble bath in a hot tub with my boss and co-workers.

One fact is indeed not a fact. It is a deceiver. Don't believe what it tells you.

Onto choosing three people to pass this lovely .gif onto!

1. @Thundercat: Hands down the easiest pick. I don't need to explain how full of awesome this chick is.

2. @Freeflying: From the start she supported me and stuck with me as I developed as a blogger. Since then, every time I fly to see Mike, I wonder if I'll run into her. One of my favorite bloggers by far.

3. @JRuud: My first friend on 20sb. This girl lights up my life with her attitude. I see rainbows and sunshine after I read her cheery posts.

Dun dun DUN!

...God, I must have way too much sugar in my system. I'll post pictures from the party when I'm less of a spaz and more of a regular functioning human being. Of course it would also make sense to have the camera/memory card on me. Which I don't. I am so unprepared and too hyper to care. I totally just rhymed.

Fleas, crabs, and mutated cells all make a J-Roll

Day something: Your zodiac sign and if you think it fits your personality

I would firstly like to complain openly about how I am the only Zodiac sign who has two health conditions: cancer and crabs. At birth I was diagnosed with an STD followed by a life threatening disease. That is just wonderful.

But in all honesty, I wouldn't be any other sign but a Cancer. I have always been proud of my zodiac sign for what it stands for and how spot on it seems to be with my personality. Here is a little tidbit about Cancerians or whatever the Hell we're called.

"Cancer, the fourth sign of the zodiac, is a water sign, which signifies your highly emotional nature. Being under the sway of the element of water also makes you highly caring, generous and intuitive. You are highly evolved, even spiritual — the water signs are karmically (buh?) developed and refined in spirit.

Water is malleable and adaptable. You are very much like that. You adapt when you have to, but you much prefer to make changes on your own terms.

Like water, you are soothing and nourishing too. Life-supporting energies are at the heart of your character. You will act as a support for many people — in your own family and beyond. (Like in space!)

Oscar-winning actress Kathy Bates is a dedicated patron, funding a Beverly Hills hospital for women recovering from cancer. Guess what her star sign is? You got it — Cancer! (Really?! OMFG.)

You are for the most part a person of feeling and sensation. (Hot.) Often you will ignore your own judgment and rationality, and someone’s else’s reasonable advice, in favor of how you feel. (Not so hot.) You don’t care if you’re wrong, either! If your intuition tells you to do something, like reaching out to give someone a helping hand, you’ll just do it. (Nevermind, I'm awesome!)

Others turn to you when they need a shoulder to cry on — you’ll do well in any of the caring professions. This approach is highlighted by your key life phrase, ‘I nurture’. You find it difficult to turn away anyone in need. Anyone who knows you will agree that you are one of the best people to connect with if they need advice. Friends will turn to you if they are in trouble, knowing that your sensitive and compassionate touch will lighten their load. (...What load are we speaking of here?)

You are extremely receptive to your environment and the people around you, and will often ‘pick up’ people’s energies, moods and thoughts. (I can read minds?) This ability serves you well; your intuition about people is quite often correct. Your knack of knowing people’s issues before they even open their mouths attracts them to you. (Again. I can read minds?!) The difficulty with this, though, is that you can tend to absorb their emotions — negative as well as positive.

You reflect the qualities of the changing Moon. (I'M A WEREWOLF!) This means that at times your emotions get the better of you, and you swing from high to low. Family and friends will be well aware of this, but they will not doubt your loyalty and support.

Another aspect of the Moon that sometimes doesn’t work well for you is its maternal nature. (I'm a caring werewolf) You sometimes veer too close to the mothering/smothering lane, which can put people off. (I smother people with my emotions instead of pillows because I'm all about prolonging the process)

Back on the plus side, you love to mix with all sorts of people. (...Rum and Coke that is) Social activities are an essential ingredient in your development. You are a great success socially, because you can convey your wisdom to others so well (Beer before liquor, never been sicker kids) — Cancerians have very expressive faces.

(It's true)

Creative enterprises are a great way to make the most of your moods and your imagination. Music and writing are perfect vehicles for you. You can express the inner part of your being as entertaining literary, art or music pieces." -Astrology.com

And that is that folks. You heard them. I was destined to blog. Cancer and crabs don't seem so bad anymore.

Prepare to be spammed, blog.

I am here to announce to the world/internet that I am about to attempt what most buzzed, highly distracted, and chat room immersed young adults, like myself, consider to be the unthinkable. I am going to do my homework (I don't have class tomorrow so that makes me an overachiever) and catch up on the many blog topics that I have yet to post because I have been too busy being lazy chatting on 20sb. Can you tell that I am feeling productive today?

Plus, I actually feel like I've let my readers and myself down for not keeping to the challenge, so I figure now is a great time to commit to something I've already committed to, and what better way to do so by starting with the topic I have been dreading all week? Let the religious talk commence!

(Deep breath)
Day whatever: Your views on religion.

Honestly, I don't think I am ready to even be honest with myself about my own views. I am at a stage in my life where talking to someone or something that I feel has never heard my prayers in the first place is a little ridiculous. However, my want to believe in something is very strong. I expect that with time, I will find myself comfortable with a set of beliefs that suit me. Either I have to search for it or the faith will be delivered to me instead. Right now, I am more focused on finding myself and believing in myself.

If their is a God, I'm sure He is patient and will wait for me as I have been waiting for him. We just have to find one another at the right moment. Right now is not that moment.

I still get a sense of wonder and respect when I enter a church, and surprisingly, the feeling gives me hope that perhaps God never left me. I lose that hope during prayer though. I feel empty and even look forward to the Amen so I can stop pretending that I am speaking with God. I have not and never have experienced any connection with Him. When people tell me to thank God for my success and for what I have, I think to myself, "But I worked for these things, not him." Why give credit to something that has never seemed to help me before? As a step to being honest with myself, I have to admit that for a while I believed that religion as a whole was kind of silly. Now I crave a sense of spiritual direction and faith. I am tired of believing that you only have yourself in the end. I am just afraid that if I do end up believing in something, I'll just be let down and feel more alone than I had before.

For a long time I've followed blindly in the shadow of my family's faith because I feared that if I strayed, I would be looked at as the different one, the one that they all had to save from the flames. I didn't want all eyes on me and if all eyes ever were on me, I would hope that it would be for something they could be proud of me for.

But in the end, I guess what they have chosen to believe and what I choose to believe should not depend on or dictate the other. I just want to be at peace with this. Until then, I'm agnostic like I have been since high school, because humans all need labels and I'm sure whoever created this damn challenge had a label implied when they asked about our views on religion.

...And now I resent you challenge. Curse you for making me be honest with myself! I am going to finish you just to spite you!

True Life: Working at a Hookah Lounge

Clearly I am avoiding this religious post that I am supposed to write. Curse being binded to an imaginary contract of posting these topics! I broke the rules once and nothing bad happened, but I don't want to test my luck because I obviously have none. So before I move onto the Blog Challenge I so willfully am partaking in, here is a little taste of a typical shift at the lounge with Katie. Firstly, to encourage our customers to try mixes, we have an ever changing menu of staff favorites. So lately all of the members of the staff have been concocting mixes in hopes of having their names posted on the menu. It's cool when people approach the counter and ask for a mix of mine. Recently, Michaela and I created a banana flavor that I am addicted too. It'll be on the menu soon and I've been pushing for people to test it out. Here's what happened:

Me: "OH MY GOD KATIE."

Katie: "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Me: "I want you to smoke this, then I dare you to tell me that it's shit."

Katie: "It probably is." (inhales)

Me: "Well?"

Katie: "Oh God it's glorious!"

Me: "I know!"

Katie: "It's the best thing I've ever put in my face!"

Me: "That's what she-"

Katie: "Don't you dare."

Me: "I'm telling your boyfriend."

Later...

Katie: I want to create a flavor called "The Flying Dutchman."

Me: "That's a fabulous idea! It can taste like corpses!"

Katie: (laughing) "That's a great idea."

Me: (from the bathroom, my voice echoing) "...and treasure!"

Katie: "That can be the description. 'Tastes like treasure!'"

Me: "Everyone will order it. So many people... if we keep the taste of corpse on the down low."

Katie: "Agreed."

Me: "I wish half of the conversations we have back here were recorded. We could totally have a reality show. We are highly entertaining."

Katie: "Yeah, like Miami Ink."

Me: "I can picture it now. When people come in and order a flavor, they can talk for thirty minutes about how the flavor symbolizes a moment in their lives that they will never forget."

Katie: "...this flavor reminds me of my childhood."

Me: "Forever stained on my lungs. Like a tattoo!"

Later...
Katie: I wanted to create my own flavor with blackberry in it.

Me: Blackberry Margarita's never been done I think.

Katie: I thought so too! Until I saw Hoot post this Blackberry-Margarita concoction on Facebook. I was like, CURSE YOU HOOT."

Me: That man has a lot of time on his hands. He can read minds too I think.

Katie: And ruin my life.

Later...
(Katie is in the front room assisting customers. I have the sudden urge to sell me and Michaela's Banana Cream Pie flavor.)
Katie: "...If you like apple flavors, I highly recommend Fahkfahkina."

Customers: "That sounds good. We will-"

Me: (bursting from the curtain in the back) "DO YOU LIKE BANANAS!?"

Customers: (stare fearfully in my direction)

Katie: Oh my God, Jessica. Could you be anymore creepy?"

Me: "I'm helping!" (looking at the customers) "Answer me!"

Customers: "Oh, um, yes, uh."

Me: "Order my flavor instead."

Customers: (After they taste my flavor) "We'll go with the Fahkfahkina."

Me: "CURSES."

Katie: (strutting into the back with me) "That was a fail."

Me: "I don't want to talk about it. Clearly mine was the better of the two."

Katie: "That's why they ordered something else. ...That they've never tried."

Me: "...Bitch."

And that's my job folks.

I suspect that Stephenie Meyer is in cahoots with Google Ads

Becoming a werewolf. 

Now you don't have to be Native American to look this good.

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.

Save my soul later, I'm busy

The moment I got up this morning, I started cleaning. I was still a little loopy though, as I didn't give myself enough time to recover from the strange Tim Burton-esque dreams I had last night, so it figures that I wouldn't think before opening the front door when the doorbell chimed over the screaming vacuum. I say screaming because these boys haven't vacuumed since the last time I was here, which was in September. And they didn't do the cleaning. It was me.

So out of breath and without looking through the peephole, I open the door to find two people standing there with Bibles propped up in their hands. They had the biggest smiles on their faces. Their smiles were so big they were almost disturbing, with wicked, maliciousness. Smiles that communicated to me "You must be terribly busy, but we don't care!"

"Oh my God, it's Sunday?" I asked with horror displayed on my face.

"Everyday is the Lord's day!" They were either oblivious or just as sarcastic. They caught onto my game immediately, and I didn't even get to play. I then imagined myself backing away slowly with the same wide-toothed smile as to not offend the species until I was able to close the door without them tearing me about like rabid, mouth foaming, Bible preaching, door knockers.

"You must be busy. We won't keep you too long," one of them said, as if he were being polite. I was covered in sweat, I smelled terrible, and the look on my face must have displayed my disinterest, but I couldn't bring myself to treat them like telemarketers. "We don't want any! And...and screw you!" *CLICK* Or my favorite, "Sure! Let me just find my credit card. Can you hold on for a second?" Set the phone down and just walk away. They will give up after about ten minutes.

Those people don't have souls.

But these people were trying to save mine. So I stood there and dealt with the endless Bible verses for thirty minutes. I'm too damn nice for my own good. The entirety of their lecture consisted of my eye twitching, me playing with the door, and the occasional glance over my shoulder to the half-wiped windows that I needed to tend to. I assumed they would get the message, but they were persistent little buggers.

And now I'm sitting on the couch, typing this out in defeat, covered in pamphlets and notes with verses on them. I don't feel like my soul was saved, I feel like it was sucked out of me. And the windows still aren't done.

Ugh.

When guilt overrides the swoon

You know that you have yourself a keeper when the man volunteers to run to the store to get you feminine products and go grocery shopping. I was laying in bed, huddled into a little pathetic ball, cursing at Eve for picking the damn apple, and the man bundled up, asked me to write a list, reminded me that he loved me, and went out into the cold. Oh. My. God. Can you say alpha male?

Whenever my Dad is pestering me about something, all I have to do is grab at my pelvis and say that I'm cramping and the man is out the door with skid-marks from his shoes trailing behind him.

I'm sure I am going to receive polar opposite reactions from the different sexes on this one. I assume the testosterone pumped men are going to groan and say that the man has no dignity, that tampons are "ewwie." Oh, but the ladies-- the ladies are going to rejoice, for there is still hope in the world. A man that would do that plays the role as an oasis in the desert for the romantically starved. Luckily the majority of my viewers are female. I wonder what that says about me. Maybe it says that I talk about periods too much. That tends to drive men away, right?

I just destroyed my boyfriend's dignity and I'm bragging about it.

He's probably in the feminine hygiene aisle by now too. Poor guy.

...WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

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."

The man who would die for his beer

I would like to start this entry off with an important announcement, then we will continue with our regular broadcasting. Tomorrow is my last day in Texas before I dive headfirst into the biggest adventure of my life. This is relevant because I am going to be distracted from posting for a few days. So I figured that I would write now before a long day of packing and last minute exercising and make the post extra hefty to appease those who get on my case every time I neglect my blog for a day. Don't worry. I will tell you all about my travels after I get some much needed time with Mike. I really hope that FreeFlying is my flight attendant. Can you say cherry on top? 

So yesterday my family had a scare. Dad and I were visiting with my grandparents when I received a phone call from my Mom.

"Jess, you need to take your Father to the emergency room."

Now wait a second. I was sitting right next to the man. He was laughing, having a good time, was not bleeding profusely or giving birth. His skull was not cracked open and his limbs were all still attached. (Insert creative injury here) So you could imagine my reaction.

"Uh-buh-duh-whaaaa?"


My Mom had previously shared those little numbers that show up when you take your blood pressure to two specialists, my Aunt and the Mother of a little girl that my Mom takes care of. Both said that the numbers were so high that my Dad could easily have a stroke. That alarmed me. I looked over at him and imagined the whole thing playing out- the side of his face sagging, the collapse, the panic, all of it. And I immediately began to feel that sense of helplessness, even as he spoke to my Papa with that wide smile of his. Mom had already informed everyone in the family, but I was the only one with the power to act.

So I did. But we went to a clinic instead. Life's all about compromise, and sometimes you are forced to when emergency rooms are so ridiculously expensive.

They ran their blood tests, took their samples, hooked him up to machines, filled out charts, and medicated him. "Hypertension and extremely high cholesterol" they diagnosed. The doctor said that with an immediate and drastic change in diet and exercise while taking his daily medication, the problem would be taken care of. So we left the clinic with eased hearts, only Dad's was working harder than it should for a man in his early fifties.

As we headed home in silence, I took another long look at the man that raised me.

"Why are you so frustrated with Mom?" I asked.
"Because she made the whole family panic over nothing," he sighed.
"She reacted like that because she loves you. Remember when she had a bad reaction to that medical dye before her surgery? You popped a blood vessel in your eye."
"Yeah, I know."
"She told everyone because she knows that you won't listen to her about going to the doctor."
"I know, I know."
"Why did you listen to me?" I asked.
"Because you're... different," he whispered.

Me and Dad

I remember looking out of the window and sending out a mental thank you to whoever was worth thanking for giving my Dad another day to live.

Later that night, as I sat at my laptop and wrote out notes for my book, I could hear laughing in the kitchen. Dad was standing in the pantry examining labels of his favorite foods while Mom supervised. With each label he read, the amount of food in the house he couldn't consume began to gradually incline. "Sonofabitch," he'd mutter, and my Mom would laugh. Not that lighthearted chuckle, but a full fledged laugh from deep within her. I think she's as thankful as I am. Or she was mocking him with her hysterics.

Or both. I mean, she eats Halloween candy in front of him.

I don't know what kind of payback she seeks, but she is getting it.

Which brings me back to my trip to Alaska. I could not be leaving at a worser time. The man needs to be monitored. Just today he stole a piece of cake, drank a beer, and ordered a pizza. The moment I told him that he would be limited to one beer a day, I received the "Well you'll be gone soon anyway" eye roll. I suddenly feel like the suspecting parent who is leaving for the weekend and expects the house will be trashed when I return. Only instead of a house, it'll be his health. Beer or no beer, if it were up to me, he'd be living off of spinach leaves until his numbers improved.

Ah great, he's in the fridge again. "Dad, what is that under your shirt? And why are there crumbs on your chin?"


Gotta love him.

I hope the deer were in costume too

Yesterday was disturbing, even for Halloween. My close friend Michaela and I thought, while disregarding the nature of the holiday, that instead of dressing like naughty nurses and getting trashed in town, we would instead venture off into the night with a camera and take some night shots for her final before graduation. The thought of standing in the middle of nowhere with only the stars above me and the crickets singing to me was romantic and the urge to catch it on camera was even more appealing. So we drove about in search of anything that would make for an interesting photo. Along the way a few oddly grotesque and somewhat alarming things happened to us. Half of me does not care to remember. My saliva is already starting to taste bitter.

So we were traveling along this dimly lit back road that led to New Braunfels when Michaela noticed something interesting on the opposite side of the road. Since no cars were around, it was safe enough to take a U-turn. Just before the turn as she began to slow, her headlights reflected off of something that made my insides churn. Before I could speak a warning, her tires went right though the bloody mess. At first I didn't know what to identify the corpse as. After my friend rolled over it and got another look, she thought it was a porcupine. But our second drive by proved otherwise. It was a ribcage. A freaking ribcage that was all maggoty and shit.

We decided to keep going and surprisingly, we were still in high spirits. I don't know what the frig was wrong with us.

We rolled to a three-way stop where another car sat perpendicular to us. Michaela waved them on, so the car continued forward. As it passed in front of us, her headlights shined through the window and illuminated a mask that was looking directly at us. It was white with hollowed out eyes, like two large black holes on a skull, and a malicious grin. Blood was pouring from the eyes. Neither of us screamed, necessarily. We simply exchanged nervous glances while thinking with warranted repetition, "Do not like, do not like, do not like, do not like, do not like!" 

Now those kind of spooks were to be expected, but nothing like the next two that followed.

After taking a few shots in a nearby park, Michaela and I got back into the car and hit the highway again. I was telling some elaborate story that I cannot recall now, as I was too distracted by the next bit to even care about finishing it off. In mid sentence, both Michaela and I caught site of a decapitated deer head that was on my side of the road staring directly at me as we sped past. "...so then I wa- EW! HOLY SHIT THAT WAS THE MOST DISTURBING THING I'VE SEEN ALL NIGHT."

(Pause for me to make noises that I do not care to type out.)

The next one topped it all, and Michaela was the first to see it. We traveled through the park a second time for a follow-up shoot and ended up getting lost. After a few turns here and there, she pointed through my window and shouted, "OH MY GOD." Of course, being, well, me, I looked over to see what she was gaping at. There limped a deer, half of the bone in its leg jutting out through its skin. And it was still standing. Like. Walking on it. That was when I screamed.

You'd think that being born and raised in the South, where seeing a restaurant called "The Roadkill Cafe" is normal, I would be somewhat used to the prospect of viewing dead animals on the side of the road. But this was just ridiculously morbid. I was practically being forced into seeing dead animals over and over again. That mask just made me jittery, weakening my defenses before I saw the real nasty stuff. We decided to head home after that.

For once I feel sorry for my food. This must be what it feels like when you actually watch those videos on YouTube titled, "What Cruelties Happen to Animals Before Consumed." Only firsthand.

This is going to make me think twice about finishing off that venison meat Dad has stored in the freezer, and I don't even know who to blame.

Smiling So Much That My Face Hurts

Honestly I have no witty remark to start this post with, so let us move straight to the point. Today was fabulous. It did not start off fabulous as there is an unbelievable amount of tension in the apartment. My roommate is not pleased with my decision to go to Alaska and makes it a point to remind me of that with his silence. C'est la vie. I do not expect all of my choices to be praised.

Anyway, I went to work dreading the talk that I would have to have with my boss. I mean, asking off for two months is pretty much a big deal and not many employers would tolerate such late notice. Every Tuesday I work with both of the owners, so I had ample time to bring it up and beg for mercy.  However, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Fear was lodged in my throat for some reason. All I had to say was, "Hey guys, I just want to let you know that I will be in Alaska until next year. Mind keeping me on the payroll?" I mean, it sounded simple enough in my head. 

That's when opportunity came knocking on my door- and I let that bad boy in! The new girl on staff came in during my shift asking if anyone could cover for her this weekend because it was her Father's birthday and they wanted to go to the Renaissance festival. My boss looked perturbed. Messing with the schedule is one of his many known pet peeves. "Why didn't you ask off earlier?" he said. "I just found this out now," she replied sheepishly and continued to plead with him to find someone to take her shifts. All the while I stood in the shadows with this "could this be any easier" look on my face. If I had a cat handy right then I would have been stroking it. 

"I'll take them," I volunteered. Boss-man was thus pleased and the schedule was saved. (Muahahaha!) After that, my vacation time was given a thumbs up, as Boss-man's rage was still directed at new girl. Thank you new girl for taking the heat. I don't know how much more I could have handled. 

When I got home Mike gave me a call and I told him the good news again because texts simply could not do it justice. His smile was so big that it was audible. Holy cow this is really happening. 

So I carry a journal with me at all times now. I developed this habit after I started working on the book, so when inspiration strikes, I will be ready for it. Well, there was a to-do list written out right when I agreed to go to Homer. Most of it is checked off, including the "handle job issue" section, which was tended to immediately after speaking with the Boss-man. Tended to, as in me writing in big, bold letters "I GOT OFF!" I am so happy that I don't even care that one of the guys at work saw it on the counter and wrote a perverted comment on it. I pretty much set myself up anyway. Kudos, you sneaky little bastards. Kudos.