Notions

I Just Can't Wait For Fall

2011-09-13T23:53:00.006-04:00

Warning: Very random post ahead. You're warned.

I love fall.

Quite simply, it's the perfect season. Just like Goldilocks, I prefer my weather neither too hot, nor too cold - and fall's weather lands perfectly in that lovely in-between.

Leaves die in a splash of color (because, I guess, if you're going to go out then you might as well make a spectacle of it, and even Mother Nature is entitled to be one dramatic bitch sometimes), Halloween is right around the corner, apples are ripe for the picking, and there's this delicious crisp quality to the air that just makes me tingle.

That's right. Tingle. Not to be confused with Tinkle, which is an entirely different notion.

Football, hockey, fencing. I semi-follow football, pretty much bleed black and orange when hockey season starts, and I couldn't tell you anything at all about fencing - other than it sounds kind of cool, and I can totally picture myself with a sabre.

Ok. Let's face it. I just like sharp, pointy objects.

Something else I happen to adore: fall clothing. Boots. I will totally hit up Marshall's (because, well, who doesn't love Marshall's?) and make Charlie Sheen look positively sane in comparison. My girlish squeals of delight will echo down the aisles, and passerby will avoid all eye contact. I don't care. God help any soul unfortunate enough to be between me and a fabulous pair of boots. I can be a bit of a slut when it comes to a good fall jacket (or hoodie!), and it is painfully obvious whenever I step into the gloriously air-conditioned interior of my local Marshall's.

I've decided to join a gym this fall. It's one of those "open 24 hr" deals - hopefully I won't get stabbed or raped or mauled on my way there after work. Seeing as how I normally work until 9 to 9:30 pm, a 24hr gym is necessary. Along with attempting to eat better, I'm hoping that it'll do my body some good. Updates to come.

Then there's also Captain America (the boy). At the risk of sounding disgustingly sappy, I'm excited to spend this fall with him. His birthday is in November. I'm getting him Pixies tickets. I totally couldn't keep my trap shut and (right before eating dinner with him) I was totally all "So...DOYOUWANNASEETHEPIXIESWITHMEONYOURBIRTHDAY?"

After a moment (which I assume he took so he could decipher my babble), he blinked. Then told me I was awesome.

I know Captain America. I am awesome. Thank you for noticing. :)

Apple picking has started. I think I'm going to attempt it this Sunday. Maybe make a pie.

A pie seems like a nice way to welcome in fall, right? Right.

Nyx's guide to a first date

2011-07-11T00:59:00.009-04:00

So, my bloggie buddies Dom and Andres have recently done a joint post here, advising members of the male portion of our species on how to woo the ladiez. I read it, loved it, couldn't agree with them more on certain points.

I'm totally stealing their idea. If anyone has more experience in fumbling, awkward boys I dare them to come forth with their stories. Do you hear that ladies?

I. FUCKING. DARE. YOU.

Nyx's guide to romance. Here you go, ~~fumbling~~ ~~awkward~~ boys. Enjoy. And even for you non-fumbling, non-awkward boys...you might be able to pick up a few pointers. I'm going to bitch a bit in here too, so be forewarned. Girls...you know what I'm talking about.

We want the Bad Boy...

Yes. It's true. We want the bad boy, the guy who is the Jim Stark to our Judy. We don't want a boy that we're going to have to defend. We don't want to be the man in the relationship - it's up to you to be the man. And, let's face it - if you come off too nice, we're going to think that you're a wuss. That said, being a complete jackass isn't going to make our lady-parts swoon either. Just be you - be comfortable and secure in yourself.

Don't be a conversational whore

Ok boys. I know that you are more emotionally invested in your game of Magick the Gathering than more people are in their children. I realize that it's hard to focus on anything other than what sweet awesome attack you're going to totally pwn your opponent with, and I realize that you totally want to share the details of that attack with whoever you go out with. I have three words for you, compadre:

Don't. Do. It.

That's like...a total date killer. Especially if the girl isn't into it. And even if she is...the first date is about figuring out the other person's personality. Not about rambling on and on about your card game. Or sports. Or...insert hobby here. Seriously. You're on the date to meet us and vice versa. Don't make it all about you.

Personal Hygiene

...I had thought this went without saying, however a friend of mine recently informed me that she went on a date and her date had B.O.

Ew.

Instant turn-off, boys. Please. Bath. Shower. Whatever. Just don't smell like that funk that's at the bottom of a garbage disposal. Also in line with personal hygiene: clean clothing is a must, hair (if you have it) is to be neatly groomed, never ever style the peach fuzz on your chin into a goatee, and please keep the neck-beard to a minimum. Also: certain men can wear scruff, and it's dead sexy. If you are not one of these men, please, for the LOVE OF GOD, don't attempt it. You'll wind up looking like a squirrel with mange.

Tip the waiter well

If you're paying, then please make sure you tip the waiter well. Nobody likes a cheap-ass, and yes - we are watching.

DON'T SCRATCH YOUR BALLS

Seriously. Really? This has to be said?

Don't fucking patronize us, listen to us

We're talking to you because we value conversation and want to make sure you aren't a mental midget. You lose more and more points every time you oogle our cleavage. You also lose points for sounding like an arrogant ass, and treating us like we're inferior.

Personality's a must

Don't just sit there staring at us through dinner. Don't expect us to make up all the conversation. Don't expect us to do all the work.

Participate. Share your views, your ideas. Show us that winsome personality. Just don't make us feel like we're out to dinner with a tree stump.

Have some pride

You're a nice guy. You don't think you've committed any grievous errors in judgement on the date, and yet...she didn't call you back! But you really liked her!

Sometimes, it just doesn't work. Move on. There's someone out there who will dig you, but to find her you're going to have to work a bit. I know what it feels like to be emotionally crushed. Trust me - if she didn't call you back, it's not something bad - it's just that you two aren't compatible. Work on finding someone who you are compatible with - you're a great guy, after all, and you deserve to find someone who can make you happy.

Squish

2011-06-22T21:37:00.004-04:00

I squished a lightening bug on my windshield the other day. As I drove, my eyes kept wandering to the florescent smear of the poor guy's insides, splattered onto my windshield as if to say "LIVE WITH WHAT YOU DID, BUG KILLER."

Anyways. So there I was. Driving. With glowing bug guts. I put on my windshield wipers and sprayed the hell out of my windshield in an effort to clean the distracting, glowing guts off of it. Didn't work.

Apparently, if you're going to murder an insect by slamming into it at a high speed, make sure it's not a lightening bug - that shit is impossible to clean off.

So there I was, in the humid (because...this is Delaware. And summers here are humid as fuck) night, cleaning bug guts off my windshield with a bottle of Windex and a not unsubstantial amount of paper towels. I had happened to have a crappy day, and I felt as if it were my own blasted insides that I was cleaning off that damn windshield.

I could hear children playing down the street in the summer night. I remembered when I was younger, teaching Leech how to catch fireflies and romping around the neighborhood with my buddies until all hours of the night. We were kind of invincible then, in our own little bubbles of self-assured childhood.

I miss that. It occurs to me that I've spent a good deal of time mourning my childhood. Somewhere, along the lines of life, I lost my innocence and wonder, and grew up and became responsible. I think it's a problem that a lot of people in my age bracket grapple with - finding their place in the world.

We all want to hold on to our childhood selves, we don't want to lose who we are - but we want to succeed. We want to stride forth in the working world and be individuals that are capable of standing out in the crowd, and yet in our pursuit of this we tend to lose who we really are. It's a tricky sort of paradox.

How many compromises do we have to make in order to succeed? Hopefully, not many. However, a good many of my friends have forgotten who they are in favor of fitting in with the crowd. I've even caught myself, a few times, losing who and what I am in an effort to assimilate.

And it's sad, in a way, that we're even being forced to make this decision (even if said decision is oft made subconsciously). It's sad that, in a culture that claims to celebrate and embrace individuality, we're all losing our own individuality in an effort to stand out.

What happened to just being me?

Father's day

2011-06-19T18:18:00.001-04:00

My dad is, and always will be, an irascible, opinionated buffoon. I can say this because I'm his daughter.

If any of you said it, it's be grounds for harsh judgement on my end.

My dad taught me how to use a chainsaw properly. How to take care of a fishtank. How to best annoy my mother.

He taught me how to make pancakes in the shape of a 's.'

I love my dad. Even though, more often than not, he frustrates the hell out of me with his old-world ideas on what a family is and how "ladies" are supposed to behave. Even though he eats his weight in ice-cream on a weekly basis, despite having diabetes. Even though he can be the absolute densest person on earth sometimes - which, quite frankly, is annoying as fuck.

He's still my daddy.

Happy Father's day, y'all.

20sb Vlog Day 2011

2011-06-08T14:21:00.001-04:00

So, over at 20sb they have this thing called Vlog day. And, of course, today is it! So, here's my humble little contribution.

And yes. I do have magnificent cleavage, thank you for noticing.

Lily and some robots.

2011-06-02T23:09:00.007-04:00

So yea. I get to have Lily for the second time in a row on my blog. Heh. Wahoo! This ring is shitty movie awareness club, or SMAC as we like to call it, and this month's feature concerns animated movies. Anyways, I'll just let Lily take it from here, since she's so much more awesome than I ever could be. If you'd like to see me rag on Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, check out Tit's blog here. Also, big thanks to Nugs for organizing this monster of a ring - we love you long time.

..................

Hi, and welcome to the June installment of Shitty Movie Awareness Club! This month’s theme is animated movies. And while, I love many animated movies, I have one to pick a bone or two with. I originally wanted to write about Disney’s Up. I quickly realized that despite the very depressing beginning to that movie, and how creepy I think it is that the old man travels around the world in his house with that chubby little boy …. I still LOVE Up and can never really say anything bad about it.

The Jetsons: The Movie. From the 1990’s. Not that I remember anything from 1990 (when the movie was released). I was only three, but I saw this when I was like six or seven and thought it was pretty stupid then, and I think it’s stupid now.

Firstly, the plot was dumb. How can someone as dumb as George Jetson get a super huge promotion, when according to Mr. Spacely, he’s a freaking idiot? To go from a Homer Simpson-esque position in Mr. Burn’s nuclear power plant to a Vice President position made my head explode. And the writers wanted me to believe that these cutesy wootesy little teddy bear thingies are the bad guys?! Yeah, NO!

Cute thingies can’t be bad guys! Plus they needed the sprockets, so screw you Mr. Spacely.

Everything’s just wrong with the stupid movie. It takes place it the near future. And while I guess in the 1950’s we thought we’d be a lot more advanced than we actually are… but that’s still no excuse (You hear that, Hanna-Barbera?). Here were my problems with this movie:

Problem #1: How do the Jetson’s live in the future and not have warm water? Even the Flintstones had warm water, and they were living in the Stone Age.

Problem #2: The people of the late 21st century have personal spaceships. But said ships have no breaks, and they have to break with their feet?!

The only thing that is semi-right is the robot maid thing:

Robot Maid meet Robot Maid.

Bloggerstock is here! Hosting Lily!

2011-06-01T00:04:00.003-04:00

People. It's bloggerstock time, and I. Have. The. Lily. AND I HAVE HER FOR MOVIE REVIEWS TOO! #stoked. Ya'll need to check out her blog, it's totally hilarious and full of everything I wish mine was.

Oh. Right. This isn't twitter, this is my blog. Silly me. Still though....#stoked.

Right. Onto Lily's post :) If you want to see mine, head on over to the fabulous Risha's blog (I know I say this everytime I post these things, but I so won the jackpot this time).

............

Hello Bloggerstock readers! I’m lily and I’m from Is it too early for a martini? Nyxy and I both signed up for two different blog rings, and by chance, I’m guest posting on her blog twice. And this is the first of the two.

This month for bloggerstock, we got a chance to bring out our old diaries and journals and reflect back on what we wrote. I found an entry that was short and simple… but I’m going to re-write is as an adult.

******

School today was boring. We didn’t do anything. We were supposed to start thinking about what we want to do it on. I’m not sure what I should do yet. It’s not really a competition type, so there’s no prize. And Mr. S ---- said he’s going to film us while we talk about our project. Weird.

After school, Luis walked me home. He told me he still liked me. I don’t know if I still like him. He said he wanted me to be his girlfriend. I told him I need to think about it. So I told him to call me later. Or I’ll just tell him on Monday.

How I would write this now:

I was being the typical underachiever today at school. I’m sure we were learning something we needed to learn … like the pythagorean theorem, or something like that. Our task was supposed to pick an experiment for our science project. Which - by the way - isn’t a competition like REAL science projects. What the fuck is up with that? I would so take this more seriously if I got some sort of ribbon, or even a certificate for this… but a trophy would be nice. Mr. S ---- told us he would be filming our presentations. Can you say CREEPO!? Who records 14 year olds talking about rotten bananas? Pedos. That’s who.

Luis and I walked home together after school. I mean, not like we don’t live in the same direction. He said he still liked me. And I don’t blame him. I’m the only girl in our class who doesn’t wear a training bra! Duh, he’s still going to like me. Then this little dipshit asked me out. Uh, yeah, no Luis. No. I don’t really like him anymore. He’s just really cute but kind of a douchebag. I told him to call me when he got home… because I have him wrapped around my finger. But, most likely on Monday, I’ll tell him, “No dice!”.

Grandmom

2011-05-23T23:29:00.004-04:00

My cousin got married this past Saturday.

It was a lavish affair filled with the type of insanity that my mother's side of the family specializes in. My mother is the second eldest out of six girls. I get the feeling that Grandpop just wanted one son - instead he got six girls. Of the 20-something cousins I have on mom's side of the family, I only have three male cousins.

All that estrogen is bound to make a family wonky.

The affair was lavish, the food spectacular. I wore a dress, and high heels, and managed to completely girl myself out without looking like a drag queen gone wrong, so points to me for that (I think).

Despite it having been my cousin's wedding, my grandmother is the one who shone.

She's 81 years old, has hair that adds a good two and a half inches to her height, and is a complete and utter diva.

So there I was, sitting at a table with one of my few male cousins, drinking whiskey and making awkward small talk. That is, making awkward small talk until I saw Andrew's mouth gape open and his gaze focus on a point somewhere over my left shoulder.

I turned around, and felt my own jaw drop. I'm sure my eyes widened marginally as well.

There, on the dance floor, was the beloved matriarch of my family, the woman who believes in saving yourself for marriage and is one of the most respectable people I've ever met...that same woman...

Was dancing to Beyonce's Single Ladies.

Hand motions and everything.

She then followed that up with a glass of pinot and a cherry bomb. She thought the bomb was a delightful drink.

My grandmother? Is Fucking Awesome.

She partied late into the wee hours of the morning. I seriously think she keeps her husband, my grandfather, alive by sheer force of will.

You have to understand, my grandmother is a classy dame.

I don't have a single bad memory of either her or my grandfather, and their relationship is everything that I hope for in my future. They got married when she was 19 (so they've been together for about 62 years), and they're still crazy in love with each other. They're that little old couple at the park, sitting on a bench together, that couple that makes hearts melt at the mere sight of their presence.

Except Grandmom wouldn't be caught dead walking around in a park. No, she's more likely to drag Grandpop to the movies, or dancing.

Grandpop hates dancing, but does it anyways because Grandmom loves it.

I hope I inherit her genes.

Pop Star Movie Review!!! Hosting Tits!

2011-05-02T12:17:00.003-04:00

Hey lovers,

So today I'm hosting the wonderful...the fabulous...(insert Oprah drama here)...Tits!

I am completely psyched for this, it's kind of embarrassing. Anyway, If you want to see my review, head on over to Krista's blog.

Enjoy!

Welcome to Shitty Movie Awareness Club for May! We co-opted the fabulous Mandy Moore into SMAC, so we choose to do Pop-Star movies this month. Because lets be honest ~~most~~ some singers shouldn't act, just because they are musically talented doesn't mean they should do anything else....ever.

Anyways I'm going after Willie Nelson and Jessica Simpson for the awful train-wreck that was the Dukes of Hazzard. Now i should note I have never seen the original Duke of Hazzard tv show, so i went into watching this movie with no preconceived notions of what it should be like except that Daisy Duke was a Brunette and OMG why did they cast Jessica Simpson in that role?

Frankly, the casting in general for the movie kinda sucked. Johnny Knoxville (Luke Duke) is playing the same stupid asshole character he seems to be in real life. Sean William Scott (Bo Duke) is typecast into another role as a blubbering idiot. Willie Nelson (Uncle Jesse) is just one big pot joke the entire movie. Jessica Simpson (Daisy Duke) was cast for the sole purpose of being pretty because her acting in the movie is most limited to her flirting her way into getting someone to do something for her. The only good casting in the movie is Burt Reynolds as Boss Hogg, because Burt Reynolds plays a good bad guy.

The plot is just as abysmal. Luke, Bo and Daisy run a moonshine business for Uncle Jesse. Luke sleeps with every available girl he can find, while Bo is in love with his car, the General Lee. Boss Hogg has an evil plan to round up the farms in the area and turn them into a strip ~~mall~~ coalmine. Of course the Dukes would never give up their farm so Boss Hogg plants a moonshine still on the farm and then seizes the farm under eminent domain. Thus the Duke boys are off to same the farm and the town from Boss Hogg, along the way they end up in Atlanta, Jail, the Hazzard County Road Race Rally, and finally the courthouse to stop the town from being turned into a coalmine. Its by far the most retard plot; It actually wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't keep making all these weird detours into side stories.

But lets get the main culprit here: Jessica Simpson. For a foray into acting, this was the lamest attempt ever. She didn't act; she strolled around being sexy for half the film. In the opening scene she beats the crap out of some guy for hitting on her even though she is wearing shorts so tiny you can see up her ass. In one scene she needs to get information from the local town cop for her cousins, so what does she do?

SKANK!

She shows up in a bikini to seduce the information out of him. I mean how fucking cheap can you get? The best scene in the whole movie for me is where Daisy has to get the roadblock moved so that the Duke boys can get through to save the town. So what does she do? She shows up in skin tight jeans and this tiny top with her boobs falling out to a roadblock claiming she has a flat tire and poor little her can't change it. It almost works too all the male cops are following Daisy until one butch lesbian cop calls them all the other cops out for being idiots who only think with their small heads. The face Jessica Simpson makes at that point is the most acting she does in the entire film.

Plus I will never forgive her for the awful things she did to Nancy Sinatra's These Boots Are Made for Walking for the soundtrack. I happen to love that song and Jessica Simpson ruined it. She took it from a powerful song about a girl being wronged and getting back at the asshole who did it and made it a song about how sexy she is. I mean watch this video and tell me if i am wrong. When i get to the part at the end where she is washing the General Lee, I just want to vomit. Way to set the women's movement back a generation. Willie Nelson is now dead to me for contributing to that trainwreck.

April Bloggerstock! Hosting Alex

2011-04-30T03:36:00.006-04:00

Hey y'all. I get the great pleasure of hosting Alex, from Ice Wolf's Ramblings. If you want to find my humble entry, head on over to fabulously Dapper Daisy's blog.

Anyways, here he is!!

Welcome to bloggerstock. This month the topic is "photo inspired." it just so happens that the image used for inspiration this month is one of mine. After my post I will tell you more about the image itself, but for now enjoy the ramblings inspired by it! I suppose my writing is probably somewhat influenced by the fact that I was there to capture the scene, but most of what I am writing is fiction.

•••••

The warm sun beat down on the cobblestones warming the streets as the small town bustled with midday activity. There was barely a cloud in the sky on the beautiful summer day. Snippets of frenetic conversations of friends and lovers drifted up from the sidewalk caves along with the mouth-watering aromas of lunch. People wandered the streets below, darting in and out of shops and stopping to see what the street vendors were offering today.

All this was happening below. Below the rampart walkway that overlooked the small harbour. A multitude of brightly colored sailboats sat resting at their moorings on the calm waters, the stillness broken every now and then by small rowboats carrying people to and from their boats.

No one bothered to look up, people rarely do. There was too much going on in the streets for most people to spare a moment to look up. Most of the people knew what to expect anyway, the rampart walk was were one would see young lovers walking hand in hand or leaning out over the walls together. It was a place for romance on warm summer evenings under the brightly colors clouds of sunset.

Today the walk was mostly empty, after all, it was a market day and it was lunchtime. No one noticed the little girl who just stood, watching. Ariadne wasn't running away or trying to escape, she just sought some solitude. She wanted some time to think. Most people wouldn't have thought that a girl her age would seek such solitude for her pensiveness, but she was not like other girls her age.

She stared out over the water in silent reverie, barely noticed by anyone around. Even with her golden curls glowing in the afternoon sunlight she almost blended into the background. This was how she wanted felt, how she wanted to be: part of the scenery and lost in thought. Even when passersby did notice her there, they didn’t pay much mind, the streets were full of little girls.

As she looked out over the water she felt a pull, a longing. Despite her age she felt like there was more, something that she was missing. Home was nice, but the world called to her. This was not the first time she stood on this walkway feeling this way. It wouldn’t be the last either. What she didn’t know was that this day was different. She had already seen something that would change the path of her life, but like her, it blended into the background. It had seen here to, but like itself she blended into the background. For now…

•••••

A few notes about this post. First off, in writing this, I think that I might pick this up as a starting point for more. It was kind of fun to write. So you might discover more of this on my blog in the future.

Secondly, about the photo. For all the participants in bloggerstock and anyone who was wondering, the photo was taken in La Rochelle, France. I don’t know who the girl was, I just spotted her there, alone for a while and then with another young girl. The walk is above the street level and does look out on a harbour.

Hope you are enjoying bloggerstock, make sure to check out the other posts for this month and if you are interested in participating in the future, visit the bloggerstock website: http://www.bloggerstock.net/

KBROD April

2011-04-13T22:17:00.006-04:00

Alright folks, it's time for (drumroll please) Karaoke Blog Ring of Death. As always, thankyou to the *FABULOUS* Sara. Seriously, without her we wouldn't have this whole ridiculous awesomeness.

If you want to see my ridiculousness, you can head over to Bianca's blog. Earplugs are recommended.

Today I have the great pleasure of hosting Ash. So put your hands together for her!!!

Here's her intro:

and here's the main event!!!

Enjoy!

Leech

2011-04-07T21:40:00.000-04:00

It's a miracle that my sister isn't a serial killer yet.

I put her through so much shit when we were little. When she was 5 or 6 (and I was 11 or 12), I once told her that she was adopted, and that Mom and Dad wanted to return her because she was defective. I put a stamp on her forehead, and had her out on the curb packed and waiting for the mailman, tears be damned.

Mom wasn't too happy with me then. I like to think she was laughing on the inside. Once Dad was done laughing (and after getting a quelling look from Mother), I was sent to my room (seriously, they thought that was a punishment? My books were in my room), presumably to think over my most grievous error in judgement and taste.

I schemed instead.

I remember romping around the neighborhood with my friends, Leech (my sister) trailing behind. We'd ride our bikes and she'd attempt to keep up with her brand new scooter, because she refused to learn how to ride a bike.

We outran her every time.

I taught Leech many things when we were little. I taught her how to dig for worms, where the best spot in the creek was to catch minnows, how to avoid crazy old Mrs. McCluskie's dog whenever cutting through her yard. I also taught her not to eat yellow snow.

She still hasn't thanked me for that.

We were raised differently. When I was younger, my family didn't have a lot of money. I remember the electricity getting shut off, or us not having any heat in the wintertime because we couldn't afford to fill the oil tank up. My father has his own business now, and it took off when Leech was young. So she never went through any of that (thank God). She never knew what it was like to do without. As a result, she's quite spoiled (I think my parents kind of overcompensated a smidge). I'm the frugal spendthriftyish one (or, as she likes to call me, the Scrooge), and she burns through money like it's going out of style.

As I write this, she's getting ready to go out with her friends. It suddenly occurs to me that my baby sister is growing up, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. She's in college - attempting to procure a business degree.

Her grammar still sucks.

We still fight. We still pretend to hate each other. And yet...there's a sort of camaraderie that wasn't there when we were younger. It's most unsettling.

So I'm watching her go out the door now, to go hang out with her "friend that's just a coworker" (that pays for all her food, movie tickets, etc). She's all grown up, and she can take care of herself now.

But if he hurts her, I have a hockey stick, and I'm not afraid to use it.

Bad movie review!

2011-04-03T00:56:00.003-04:00

Hey y'all. I'm hosting the *fabulous* Jes from Jesgettingstarted on here for this month's bad movie review, which is totally like winning the lotto. Once again, as always, thankyou Nugs for hosting this shindig - you're made of the same stuff ninja unicorns are made of. Incidentally, my review will be posted on Nug's blog (HOW THE FUCK DID I GET SO LUCKY? WOOT). Anyways, here's Jes with the review. Hey y’all this is Jes and I write a little blog called Jes Getting Started, well that blog and a couple of others. What can I say; I have a horrible time keeping to just one thing. I love Nyx to death because she is super hot and she lives so close we are basically neighbors and I totally peep in her windows so I am super excited to be invading her space. For another shitty movie review make sure you check out my blog to read TJ’s review of an actual shitty Nicolas Cage movie. So this is my first time doing the horrible movie review ring. What is the actual title of this ring anyway? How bad of me for not even knowing. For shame, for shame. This month’s theme was Nicolas Cage movies, and I kind of cheated a bit because I actually love my movie. And even own it on DVD no less. Just not the Nicolas Cage part of it.

Peggy Sue Got Married stars the amazing Kathleen Turner, who I have seen naked in real life, as a middle aged, divorced mother who faints after being crowned reunion queen. When she wakes up she has been magically transported back to her high school days and gets to relive the last few months of her senior year, where she can decide to relive it the same way or you know create havoc and have a better life. Nicolas Cage stars as her boyfriend/ex-husband. First off this movie was made in 1986 when Kathleen was 32 and Nicolas Cage was 22 so there is a little bit of an age difference there to both be playing 17-18 and then the 30-40 or how ever old they are supposed to be at the reunion. So this means ridiculous amounts of make up on Nick Cage to make him seem old and washed up. This was also the point in his life where he talked with that horrible, scratchy, pitchy falsetto voice. Oh and did I mention he sings? But oh I am forgetting the best part, Jim Carey is in it as one of his best friends/boy band members and he sings as well. The movie asks the question that many of us face about if we could relive a moment in time would we? For Peggy Sue not only does she relive it but she does everything possible to change it, even “inventing” things from the future, like panty hose. And no way does she want to get married, even though this time around three different guys propose to her. In the end Peggy Sue wakes up and realizes it all was a dream, or was it? Although Nick Cage is super annoying and super whiny and you really wish she would end up with someone else. It is a decent movie and there are tons of other parts that actually make it kind of endearing. There are lots of other familiar faces like Helen Hunt who plays their daughter, Sophia Coppola as Peggy Sue’s sister, and Catherine Hicks aka the mom from 7 Heaven, as Peggy Sue’s best friend. Next month I should probably do a movie that actually sucks.

99 things

2011-03-24T02:31:00.006-04:00

So I totally stole this from TJ. If you aren't reading his blog, you need to. Because it? Is all sorts of awesome. I don't think I've done a survey like this since my myspace days...

I mentioned myspace to a teenager the other day. He asked me what it was (I FEEL OLD). So, without further ado...a list. My comments are in italics.

Instructions: The post is a list of 99 things you could have done, and you are supposed to bold the ones that you yourself have done.

1. Started your own blog obviously.
2. Slept under the stars bring the bug spray.
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower I make it a habit to try to catch them. The Perseids are my favorite.
6. Given more than you can afford to charity Anything I give is more than I can afford.
7. Been to DisneyWorld Yep. I might have to blog about that trip. It's...amusing.
8. Climbed a mountain Yep. Done that. It was a little one though :-p
9. Held a praying mantis I love praying mantises (mantii?). I held a bit of a fascination for bugs when I was little...and even now I'll pick one up for the hell of it.
10. Sang a solo I don't want to talk about it.
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm One of my favorite things to do in the summer is to sit out on the back deck, with a cup of iced tea, and watch thunderstorms.
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch Photography. I used to rent books from the library about photography, and kind of stumbled into the rest. Watercolors and oils as well - learning is half the fun.
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning Another one I don't want to talk about.
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables I grow tomatoes in the summer, and tend to mix up the rest. Loose leaf lettuce, cucumbers, peppers. I like to grow herbs as well.
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight Uh, yea. You're missing out if you haven't.
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill You know you have. And if you haven't...you're lying.
24. Built a snow fort Every winter. It's one of my traditions.
25. Held a lamb I got chased by one once....
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse Of the heart!!!
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset Back when I was dedicated to my photography, I used to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to grab a sunrise picture. Yea. I was nuts.
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors Both the Irish and Scottish ones! Next up...English, Italian, German...crap. This could get expensive.
35. Seen an Amish community I live less than 40 minutes away from Lancaster. Seriously, why is this even on the list?
36. Taught yourself a new language Uh. I kind of sort of know Spanish. A mute first grader's Spanish, but it counts...right?
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied Working on it.
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing Kind of sort of. Since it wasn't technically rock climbing, I'm not going to bold it. But there was a sheer cliff face, and there was climbing involved.
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke Thanks Pumpkin. And Kandace. *Grumble*
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt Man. I really want to put a penis joke here.
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight I saw baby turtles!
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing We caught a few sharks.
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris-
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain And let me tell you. It. Was. Hawt.
53. Played in the mud Who doesn't?
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class Yep. I could totally kick your ass.
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching I don't suppose spending the day at Rehoboth counts?
63. Got flowers for no reason Yes. And it made me blush. Damnit.
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy Her name is Ashley. AND SHE HAS FEELINGS TOO, DAMNIT.
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been a passenger on a motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper I was like...7. And I was precocious and had an awesomely carved pumpkin.
85. Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve
86. Visited the White House Standing outside the gate and oogling the greeness of the lawn counts, right?
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Got a tattoo
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee Fucker.

I have joy.

2011-03-19T03:20:00.000-04:00

"Sara? Is Sara here?" I remember looking up from my desk during homeroom my very first day of high-school, with some trepidation and a bit of anticipation.

"Here." A single syllable, and one that was meant to be uttered truthfully. But if I'm being honest? I wasn't there. I was anywhere but there. I was too busy trying to figure out my schedule to listen to the teacher tell us the rules, was too busy thinking about the cute boy sitting two seats up to think about the morning prayer, and I was too busy thinking of all the things to come to realize that I? Wasn't there. I'll get back to this in a minute, so stay with me.

Anyways, high-school was a wholly terrifying experience for me.

I didn't quite know how to fit in. Underdeveloped, glasses that could have doubled as petri dishes, and an unfortunate habit of falling were among the least of my concerns during what is oft referred to as 'the best years of my life.'

I'm telling you, World. If those were the best years of my life I might as well just give the fuck up right now.

Seeing as how no lightening has struck me down yet, I'm gunna assume that the Big Guy has better plans for me and that there will, in fact, be better years ahead.

Anyways, the point is, I didn't exactly fit in. Everyone else in art class attempted to make artwork that reflected them. They tried to "express themselves".

I? Made dragons. Because c'mon now...dragons are kickass and kind of awesome. I remember my teacher walking over to where I was carefully laying strips of paper mache over wire.

"Sara. What are you making?" I leaned back slightly to look at her.

"Uhm. Dragon."

"Sara, that's not what the assignment was. You're supposed to express yourself - you need to let us know who you are. I suggest you start over." With a disdainful sniff and the clatter of her ~~cheap~~ ~~ugly~~ heels, she turned and went back to her desk.

I looked at my poor half-constructed reptilian friend, and dismantled him. Started over. Made something suitably expressive. Got an A.

That's pretty much how high-school went for me. Go to class, try to fit in, fail miserably. Go home. Wake up, repeat.

And then I hit college. All of a sudden I was exposed to people from other cultures, I had the chance to get involved in intellectual discussions, I was able to be myself without being looked at like there was something intrinsically wrong with me.

But I didn't.

I didn't step out of my box and get to know my classmates, and I didn't debate and cause hell. I went to class, stayed silent, took my notes and passed my tests. I met a few friends along the way - I even still talk to a few of them, and I'm lucky enough to count at least one as a good friend. I graduated with my BA in anthropology (perhaps one of the biggest ironies in my life thus far is that my degree is in the study of something that I never quite felt a part of - culture).

I had a few boyfriends through college and after it. I've learned something different from every one, and I have the great fortune of genuinely saying that they? Are all really nice guys. I don't regret a thing.

I found myself drifting recently. Depression set in, and I began drinking far too much. I contemplated doing something that I swore to myself that I'd never do to myself ever again. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw nothing. An absolute void of a person, with no notable accomplishments to date and no reason to exist.

I was wrong.

All my life I've had people telling me who I am, what I should do, what's appropriate and what's not. I've had people judge me based off my job, and I've had people tell me what I should think about this, that or the other. And I? Am sick of it.

I have plans. Big ones. And I will accomplish them in my own time. When I, and no one else, am ready for them. I'm so tired of sophomoric, needless drama that does nothing other than inhibit who and what I am - all so that other people can give me the great "benefit" of their "advice."

In short, I'm done with giving a fuck.

I am done with trying to be this person that I think people will like. I'm done with saying 'here' without really meaning it. I'm done with making a suitable facsimile of what people think I should be.

I'm going to be a mother-fucking dragon if I damn well want to be.

And it is in this revelation that I've finally found my joy. And my groove.

I finally got my groove back.

Time to accomplish something great.

KBROD March

2011-03-10T01:41:00.005-05:00

So I finally got roped into doing the karaoke blog ring of death.

That's right. I did karaoke. On the youtube. Where ~~tens~~ millions of people will watch it. You want in on the watching? Then check out the fabulous Tab's blog. She kind of rocks.

Big big thanks to Nips. Without her, this whole crazy bout of insanity never would have happened.

And y'wanna know who else rocks? Daniella. That's the lovely lady whose video is posted below. Mhm. Check her out. She's freakin adorable. I envy her eyes. Look at how freakin blue they are! JEALOUS. Anyways, Daniella sent me this little tidbit to put before her KBROD vid. And I couldn't agree with it more(and don't forget to visit her blog!)

So the best part about college is right here in this very song. So at 2am when I recorded it, completely sober, this is what I chose. Enjoy!

Music and Revelations

2011-03-06T00:42:00.005-05:00

Music postings. I tend not to do them. But, thanks to the fine folks over at 20sb, my dark cloud has been pierced by the wonderful sounds of their musical recommendations. Here's a few of my favorites:

Zaz. She's french. And sassy. And she looks like she just gets so much joy out of singing - it's just fun to watch her. Thanks Rawr, for suggesting her :) I'd heard of her before, but I kind of forgot her :P

Next up: Tom suggested this band. This particular song makes me want to spin...over and over and over again, until I'm deliriously dizzy. I adore spinning 'round and 'round.

Now, one of my favorite vocalists. I first saw John Faye back when I was at UD when he was singing alone for a charity thing...and I remember being absolutely blown away. I could just close my eyes and listen to him all. Day. Long. And all. Night. Long. I love this man's vocals, I really do. He's the lead singer of IKE, and I hope they're around for a while (they had a bit of a rough patch a while back I remember...and my heart almost died that day. I'm glad to see they're still around). Also, this song? Started out as a lullaby for his son. HOW ADORABLE IS THAT? *ovary explode*

Another fav from my UD days is The Canon Logic. Seriously, these guys freakin rock my socks off - I first saw them a few years ago, back when I was a photographer for the school paper. I was required to go to Deer Park (a bar...who likes to call itself a tavern) and take photos of them. They blew me away, and I was hooked from that moment on. Whenever I'm feeling down, they're my go-to band. Listening to them transports me back to when I was in college, a heavy backpack weighing me down with books, trudging across campus. Maybe stopping by the Scrounge to grab a quick bite to eat, maybe saying hi to a few friends/professors/acquaintances, going out every Thurs night to see the bands at Deer Park with my friend A, and avoiding all the skuzzy creepers as we rocked out to whatever band was playing (copious amounts of alcohol may or may not have been involved). And my fancy with this particular band has nothing to do with them being hawt. Nope. That's just a bonus. I mean, really. How can you NOT smile when seeing this video?

See. Instant smile. Admit it, you're smiling.

I've been having a horrible, no good, downright nasty week. I'd forgotten one of my principles - Just Be. I mean, I know it sounds simple and whatnot (and like something you'd find in some God-awful self-help book), but I think that we - more often then not - get so caught up in the little things that we forget about the big picture. We forget that life's too short to be mired in drama and unhappiness.

And thanks to the 20sb crowd - and a little bit of music - things are suddenly looking up, and I've remembered who and what I am. That's better than any therapy I could ever pay for.

Goodbye Drama. Goodbye Unhappiness. Goodbye bad feelings, lingering thoughts, and worries.

Hello Happy.

Hello world.

Rom-Com Blog Swap!

2011-02-01T23:31:00.004-05:00

Hey ya'll. Sorry if you were expecting a post from me (I know all you lurkers out there were...I know. I'm fabulous. *hairflip* If you want to find me, I'll be over at Christina's blog, Christina in Wonderland), but we've got the fabulous Shelly here on Notions today! I love this girl. Seriously. Her twitter? Keeps me sane during the workday. She's ridiculously funny, smart, and beautiful. If I were a guy, I'd totally bang her.

Without further ado....

I'm sure Nyxy Boo Boo has explained the blog ring to you (at least I hope she did, because I didn't either!) Oh well! Please be sure to check out my blog, Shelly's Musings, to read what Coyote Rose from Dancing on the Bar of Life has to say about her terrible Rom Com movie.

The movie I chose to watch was "What Happens in Vegas" starring Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz.

First I will say, I can't stand either of these actors. Ashton Kutcher is the stereotypical douche bag, and when I see him I just want to punch him in his perfectly sculpted six-pack abs. He's so annoying. Cameron Diaz is like an aging clown. Scares the living daylights out of me. Ack! On top of that, romantic comedies sort of bore me. Those of you who read my blog know I'm more of a sci fi girl myself. I love a good adventure! So this was quite a task in itself. But here we go!

The main characters of the movie are Joy and Jack. Joy (Diaz) is an anal retentive, planner who works 80 hours a week. Jack (Kutcher) is a carefree bachelor who has lots of sex in his nasty apartment. One night, Joy throws her fiance, Jason Sudakis (totally forgot the character's name) a surprise birthday party, complete with a gift of a vacation to Vegas! Only to her dismay, does he dump her before the SURPRISE! In front of everyone! Womp! Womp! So instead, Joy and her friend go to Vegas to have a GIRLS WEEKEND! SQUEEEE!

I sort of missed how Jack ended up going to Vegas, because I was busy pulling a frozen pizza out of the oven...but him and his friend (some bald guy) go as well. ANYWAY! Somehow, the four of them end up in the same hotel room. They all get drunk and party hard in Vegas. The next morning Joy wakes up to realize her and Jack got married. They bicker a little, and decide to divorce. Just as Joy walks away, Jack puts HER quarter into a slot machine and wins 3 million dollars. ...And let the shenanigans begin!

Conveniently, the are both from NYC, so they go to court for an annulment, which oddly, has no other cases, because they get in quick. The judge sentences them to stay married for six whole months and go to marriage counseling (Note, marriage counselor is Queen Latifah). No one gets any money until this sorts out!

So they move in together....the usual romantic comedy mishaps ensue...I sort of lost track of the movie, I won't lie. Between the pizza and cleaning up the kitchen, 20sb distracting me. The next thing I know is GASP! They're in love. Shocking I know. And in typical Rom Com fashion, there has to be a dressy scene. You know, where the male lead is in a tux, and the lady love is in some fancy dress. Naturally, it is some sort of dinner, with a Vegas theme, and they have their first dance and kiss. Sooo magical! After the wonderful dance, the twosome goes on a romatic walk where Joy tells Jack about her favorite place in the world...Some lighthouse by a beach. ...Yeahhh....

After that magical night full of what seems like love and the mixed feelings of "Can I really be in love?!" Drama ensues. Jack does something to upset Joy right before their six months are up. So at the divorce hearing, Joy gives up her half of the 3 million dollars and just wants a divorce. She really cared for him! She's heartbroken. Jack must make things right! Joy was the love of his life! He finds her lighthouse and proposes right there. Joy has a speech about how she never did anything for herself until him, and it felt so good, so she's saying "I DO!" And then say it with me...

Me?

2011-01-28T02:27:00.000-05:00

I'm not normal.

I've come to grips with this simple fact over the years. Due to events in my past, I've created walls between myself and other people, and I've developed a type of sixth sense as to why they do what they do. It's one of the main reasons why I found anthropology so fascinating.

I've also created personas for myself. I've been the brainiac, the ditz, the bookworm. I've been the ego-whore and the bohemian. The nerd and the sports fanatic. I am all of these and more, none overtaking the other, a veritable melting pot of crazy.

I remember when I was little, my grandfather used to sit me on his knee. He would tell me stories - stories about what it was like in the war, or about growing up in the Depression (apparently his mother made him bathe in the sink - she used the bathtub to make gin. See, it's inherited). Or, he'd just tell me about my mother and her sisters, and the hell they put him and Grandmom through. I remember that he always used to smell like pipe-smoke.

We had a lot of laughs, Grandpa and I.

I see myself in him. Or maybe I should say that I see him in me? I'm an interesting mix of my mother's sensibilities and my fathers absentmindedness. Late for everything, contrite about nothing, I don't know if my personality is inherited or was the result of freak chance.

I could do a post about nature v. nurture, but I'll be nice and abstain. I don't want this to be a lecture.

Who am I? I've grappled with this question for a while now. When I was with Ex 1 and Ex 2, I changed my personality to fit theirs. I pretended to be something I wasn't - I will never do that again. I did a pretty good job of remaining myself with Ex 3, but I never really fully opened up.

I have to work on that, and learn to stop hiding behind all my glass walls.

And so, World, you get to see the real me.

My name is Sara. I am 25 years old. I don't see the point in The Jersey Shore, but I am a total sucker for Bridezillas. I work in a pet store. Because of, or perhaps in spite of, my job I have an obsession with animals.

Seriously. Ask me anything about them. Odds are I know the answer. I'm a freak like that.

My favorite color is green. I also have a fascination with birds - always have, ever since I was a little girl. I used to like to picture myself flying (ok, I'll be honest - I still daydream about it sometimes). My favorite flower is honeysuckle - because when I was little we had a really large bush that would be covered by it every summer. I used to hide in there. It was like my secret hideaway, my place to go and hide from the world and live in fantasy.

That and I think they're pretty tasty.

I had more male friends than girl friends growing up. I still get along with boys better, even though I'll be damned if I understand them.

I adore reading. Literature is something I'm fascinated with. It - all at once - provides both an escape and a peek into another person's mind. And sometimes, if it's a really good book? It gives you a peek into your own mind.

Skeletons. I'm obsessed with them.

All of this and more are the itty bitty factors that make up me.

And y'know...I kind of like it. And I think I've come to the point where I'm ok with that.

52 books in 52 weeks

2011-01-16T23:25:00.004-05:00

So I'm doing the 52 books in 52 weeks challenge thingamajig.

Honestly, I read more than that, so the challenge portion of it is a bit of a moot point. But I'm going to spin the challenge and read books that I probably would take my sweet time reading otherwise, in addition to my normal load.

I'm a bit of a bibliophile.

I've read books ever since I was little. They were my oasis in an otherwise chaotic life. They were my friends and my obsessions. And they helped shape who I am. Oscar Wilde, Emily Dickenson, Mary Shelley. Joseph Conrad, Silvia Plath, Eric Carle. There's too many to list, too many authors whose works were a beacon in the darkness for me.

I love the smell of books. That slightly dusty aroma that slowly pervades the olfactory senses. It smells like home to me. Like pages that have yet to be read, ideas that have yet to be explored, creativity that has yet to be unleashed.

So, stay tuned for some book reviews.

Simple

2011-01-05T01:44:00.006-05:00

Life, as it turns out, never ceases to sneak up behind me and say "Boo!"

Sadistic bastard.

I was walking to my car today when, out of nowhere, a tree jumped in front of me. I, of course, smashed into it and fell backwards.

Go. Me.

Looking up at the sky (as I was now laying on my back in the cold, cold weather) I noticed a few birds flitting by. Hoping that they wouldn't shit on my prone body, I gingerly stood up.

And came face to face with Garage Cat.

His name is Nick. He first showed up about three or four years ago around Christmas time (hence the name Nicholas - not my idea, I swear). He's a behemoth of a cat - he weighs over twenty pounds and stands up above my knee. He's not fat. Just huge. And fluffy.

I swear he's got mountain lion in him. He lives in our garage. His digs include a heated blanket, water bowl, a magical refilling food bowl, and all the ~~crack~~catnip that his stupid little kitty body can handle.

So, as I stared into his eyes (which are a peculiar shade of green-yellow, in case you were wondering), I couldn't help but think about him and what he must do during the day. What a life.

He eats. He sleeps. He prowls. His needs seem very basic, very simple.

And so it occurs to me that I might need to simplify my life a bit. I think that I, too often, get caught up in the little things. I forget that life really isn't supposed to be that hard, that really I'm just stressing out over things that are inconsequential in the big scheme of things.

That really, I just need to realize I have the freedom to be me.

2011

2010-12-31T23:15:00.003-05:00

So it's almost fucking 2011. One more year to live, if we're to go by crappy John Cusack movies.

A little less than a year ago I posted my 2010 resolutions. Since then, I've lost a boyfriend, gotten a new job, lost a few friends, gained a few friends, appreciated alcohol, lost all hope of having a normal sleep cycle, and have found out who really matters in my life. I've started a new fish tank, haven't finished the 55 gallon that is (still) sitting in my basement, and have figured out a Plan. A Plan for my life. It's still in transition, but I know what I'm going to do. Which is pretty fucking fantastic, if you ask me.

I hope ya'll have a fantastic New Year's. And I hope that your hangovers aren't that bad.

And, above all, I hope that ya'll can appreciate the goods, the bads, and the absolute insanity of 2011. Let's make it a good year. That's my plan.

Raisin my whiskey glass

2010-12-24T22:30:00.003-05:00

The tree is twinkling. In that totally innocent and wholesome way that trees bedecked with little minature lights and ornaments do. Under it are carefully wrapped presents (none of them mine, because I? Still have wrapping to do. And mine wouldn't look that nice anyways). It's a Wonderful Life is playing on the television in the background, and people today have had a sort of bounce in their step. A silent and visual indicator that the Christmas spirit is upon us.

I don't remember when I started to transform into a Grinch. I loved Christmas as a kid. Lived for it. And now? Eh. Mneh actually. With a side of "Bah Humbug."

I finished the last of my Christmas shopping tonight. Let me tell you, it was a fantastic adventure. There is nothing quite like entering into a department store at closing time on Christmas Eve (yea, I know. I'm an ass). But, Grandmom and Grandpop got their sweaters (because wtf else am I going to get them? I'm not particularly close to my family, and gift cards are usually frowned upon for some ungodly reason).

I'm sitting here, surrounded by presents. Mountains of wrapping paper await them in the other room. Cookie dough waits to be baked into cute little gingerbread men, complete with icing buttons.

And yet, and yet, I just can't muster up the Christmas cheer.

I'm incredibly lucky to have the people I do in my life. I have the best friends anyone could ask for. I've got a supportive family. My debt is little. Life is good.

And it might be taking a new turn soon. More details on that later, since I can't say anything for sure yet.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my loves over at 20sb. Mollie, Kandace...Brian and Bobby. Ya'll rock. Seriously. Like Wowzies.

Kandace even gave me a lovely and shiny award :)

Do you see that shit? It's got a kitteh in it. I love kittehs. Thanks Kandace!

So I'm raising my whiskey glass to you tonight fellow bloggers. I hope Santa brings you something devilishly wonderful. Merry Christmas!

Risks?

2010-12-17T02:00:00.004-05:00

I'm stuck in an in-between.

I fucking hate in-betweens. They sneak up from behind and have the nasty habit of trapping ya. I can't move forward, I can't move back - I'm just stuck.

Maybe it's time to take some risks.

Dear Stranger

2010-12-10T19:42:00.004-05:00

Dear Stranger,

I don't know you. I don't know if I will ever truly know you. But you will change my life one day. We might meet on a bus, or at work. We might just happen to bump into each other on the side of the street, or maybe you know one of my friends. Maybe not. I don't know.

The circumstances don't matter as much as we like to think they do.

I've met others like you. People who have changed my fundamental being, people who have torn down my walls. People who have shown me what it means to be human, what it is to be someone. Some of them I've loved. Some of them I haven't. All of them have impacted me.

I thank them for that. And I thank you, whoever you are, for being you. Because without you, I wouldn't be me.

-Sara

Pour some sugar on it

2010-12-01T23:53:00.003-05:00

Sometimes you're the bug, sometimes you're the windshield. Mark Knopfler said some shit like that once, and I can't help but totally agree with him. Usually, I'm pretty good at balancing myself, but lately I've been more bug and less windshield.

My parakeet told me to snap out of it. Ok, really, all he said was "pour some sugar on me" (yes, he actually does say it, and no, I don't have that shit up on Youtube. Yet.), but I get the feeling that that's what he meant.

Bug's death-date is approaching. I feel like I should stop by her grave and give her some flowers or shit - but really, for someone who was as awesome as she is that falls a bit short. Far too conventional. Maybe if I set the cemetary on fire...she'd appreciate that.

Someone who I once considered to be a friend isn't talking to me (story of my life?). Christmas is here, so I pretty much have to force cheerful bubbly happiness out of every pore of my body while at work (gag). Seriously people. I am not cheerful. Rudolph can die in a hole for all I care. You remember the part where he was drifting on the piece of ice?

I always secretly hoped it would capsize.

Life would be boring if it were easy. I think. I mean, don't get me wrong, if I win the lotto I'm not going to be all "oh gosh, this is just too easy! Take back your evil money!" Hell no.

I'm totally takin that shit and going on a vacation. Several vacations, actually. I think I'll start in Spain.

If you never hear from me again, that's where I'm at. On a beach somewhere with Raymundo, soaking up the rays and sippin a Mai Tai.

Drumsticks on Fire

2010-11-29T23:55:00.005-05:00

Every once in a while, I look around and go 'huh.' A perpetual outsider, I've honed my skills for observing the natives. It started out as a survival tactic and grew to be something I'd do to amuse myself.

And, every once in a while, it shows me an aspect of myself that I never knew I had.

I feel like I need to precede this story with a few simple facts about myself:

1.) I don't dance. Ever. Not only because I can't (seriously, drunk badgers have better rhythm), but also because I pose a clear and present danger to all in my vicinity.

2.) I don't generally flirt. Never really felt like I had to - the only men interested in flirting with me (usually) are creepy old men. With man-boobs and sweat stains. Sexxxay.

3.) Singing is also a no-no. My broken warbling has been known to bring men to their knees, begging for mercy.

So yes. And these three facts have pretty much remained my status quo (yes, I know I'm boring). I'm the girl over by the wall, sipping on a Guinness and gently swaying to the music (I've found I'm a very good sway-er)

I went out with a coworker to see a band the other night. I enjoy music, and I enjoy beer. The fact that said band was playing in a bar was a plus. After repeatedly refusing a few buckets of rum (seriously, the bar serves rum buckets. It's a bucket filled with four or five different types of rum...how awesome is that?), I decided to settle in with my Jameson (ok, c'mon now...you didn't really expect me to drink some sissy fruity thing, did you?).

Long story short, after a few Jamesons, a few Yuenglings, and a Guinness or three, I was headbanging along with the band to Rage Against the Machine. There was also some jumping and sexy (!!! I almost achieved a sexy dance!!!) dancing. The drummer lit his drumsticks on fire. He also did a pretty sick solo.

I had a lot of fun, and I think I've resigned myself to doing things like that more often. Except maybe with less drinking, because really, I don't think my liver can take that on a regular basis.

Holiday cheer?

2010-11-27T22:17:00.003-05:00

The holidays are approaching.

I can feel it. The same way I can feel indigestion bubbling up from my gastrointestinal depths.

It's not that I don't enjoy the holidays, or that I don't like them. I do. Well, I like parts of them.

I like seeing my Grandmom and Grandpop (and I suppose the rest of the family isn't half bad either). I like giving presents away, and seeing the looks on other people's faces when I give them something that I spent time looking for (or, in some cases, making). And I love the food.

Oh the food. For those of you who don't know, I've been having a torrid love affair with food for the past 25 years.

I like the spirit of the holidays. What I don't like, however, is the crowds. I'm mildly claustrophobic at best, and and I hate people touching me.

Especially little old women who have no sense of personal space. Lady, you can have the sweater if it means you'll back the eff off.

People gets nuts, for some reason. Absolutely batty. Normal, perfectly nice people suddenly start doing remarkable impressions of the Incredible Hulk. Hulk angry. Hulk smash.

Part of me wonders whether or not the holidays are about pleasing others or one-upping them. And the other part of me is too busy pointing out that that's a very Grinch-esque point of view, and would I just stop being a stick in the mud already?

I think I'm going to hang some lights on the house tomorrow. Freezing the balls I don't have off seems like a good way to kick off this holiday season.

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T19:41:00.004-05:00

Oh Thanksgiving. I'm thankful for my friends and my family - without them I'd be lost forever to the dark dank hole of depression. I wouldn't be me without them. I'm thankful for my animals - they showed me what it's like to truly love another being with no strings attached. I'm thankful for all the teachers and professors I've ever had. Even you, Mrs. McClusky - I haven't forgotten how you said I was slow like molasses. Fifth graders have a long memory, it turns out. I'm also thankful for microwaves, cars, facebook, and underwear.

Tomorrow's Black Friday, and with it comes the insanity of the holiday season. I'm trying to stay upbeat - I'm nursing a slightly broken heart (Pookie and I have split up for good), but love isn't everything, contrary to what Disney taught me. And maybe it's a fresh start.

That doesn't make it suck any less.

I'm taking time this holiday season for me. It's about high-time I did. I'm sick of living life by other people's rules - it's time to grow up. I'm making the rules, and I'm not going to let other people's judgements about my job, or my living situation, or anything else dictate who I am.

Screw. That.

So many people get caught up in the stress and drama of life. It becomes a trap. They get stuck living so far in the future that they forget how to live in the present, and then they don't know how to function without the stress. So they seek it out, and forget what's really important. I'm not going to be one of those people. Don't get me wrong - it's important to keep the future in mind. But it doesn't dictate who I am.

I'm going to keep what's important to me close to my heart this holiday season. And I hope all ya'll do as well.

Happy Holidays everyone!

Nan

2010-11-16T22:51:00.000-05:00

My Nanny is dying.

She's my father's mother - a Catholic who married a Lutheran, lived through the depression, put up with weekly emergency room visits from her spawn, put the majority of said spawn through college, and still somehow managed to stay sane throughout it all.

She's someone who always snuck me candy when my parents weren't looking, she made me eat my carrots, and she used to sit quietly in the corner and smile to herself as she watched the chaos unfold around her. The eye of the storm, as it were.

That said, we aren't particularly close. With 20-something cousins (and counting), her attentions were always split among us. I also very rarely ever saw her but two or three times a year - I spoke to her maybe a time or two more than that. Sad reflection on today's society and youth, but there you have it. The facts.

Nanny has Alzheimer's disease. She's had it for a few years now, and she just keeps getting worse and worse. It's to the point now where she can't even finish a sentence - where she doesn't even recognize her own children, much less her grandchildren.

She can't walk anymore. She sits in the nursing home, vacantly staring at the television screen, avoiding eye contact with everyone around her. Some days she's ok. Some days it's like there's still a glimmer of her old self in there. Other days though...other days aren't so good. I don't know what's more heartbreaking, her presence or her absence.

My father's family is, understandably, crushed. They don't know what to do, or how to act. The last two years has been a shit-show worthy of the worst reality-television series. First there was arguing about which hospital to put her in when she had her heart attack. Then there was arguing about which nursing home to put her in. Then they started fighting over who would have power of attorney. How much to sell the house for. Who to sell the house to. What to do with her estate.

And now, they still argue. Oh no, we can't go up and visit - it'd be too many people. Oh my gosh, nobody ever visits, she's getting lonely.

My father's family, I've decided, bleeds their pain out through arguing.

And then there's me. Is it wrong to hope that Nanny dies? She's said multiple times that she wants to. She wants to join her husband in death.

I can only hope that she'll find solace in death. Because she's sure as hell not getting it now.

I don't know what that says about how much I care about her. I do. I think I love her.

I just hate seeing her in pain.

Special

2010-11-15T23:36:00.000-05:00

When I was thirteen, my parents decided to start visiting Oak Island, N.C. every year for our summer vacation. We'd wake up at three in the ~~damn bloody~~ morning, haul our suitcases in the mini-van, and get on the road.

Y'know, it sounds so inconspicuous when it's put out in writing. Chaotic would be the word that best describes what really went down on those trips.

My sister? Felt the need to pack no less than five suitcases (much to my eternal consternation - they took up my leg-room), Dad was screaming at us to hurry it the hell up because he (goddamn it) did not want to hit traffic, and Mom...Mom was doing her best to hold it all together and not smack her husband for being an idiot.

After many hours (ten, to be precise) of ~~cursing~~ delightful conversation, we'd arrive at Oak Island, N.C. It's supposed to take twelve hours to get there, but Dad liked to compete with the previous year's time - he once got the trip down to 8 hours (much to our horror).

It was nice and secluded. It was a nature preserve with a beach. Adorable baby loggerhead turtles used it as a nesting site, and whenever we went we seemed to see the little tykes hatching in the dusk and flapping their way towards the ocean (y'know, when they weren't getting run over by the tourists).

I...I was all over that shit.

Like white on rice baby. Like white on rice.

My sister, on the other hand, hated it. She was horrified that the nearest mall was over an hour's drive away, and she didn't like the "bugs, dirt, sand, ugly ocean water, and like, ohmigawd fish like, totally poop in there."

She's a special type of girl. Bless the man she winds up ~~trapping~~ marrying...poor sonovabitch.

I remember sitting on the deck in the morning while everyone was asleep, watching the pelicans fly by and listening to the waves crash. Oak Island is my special place. I remember sitting on the beach, watching old women with skin like leather sit and slather on suntan lotion like it was going to do something for them. Elephants have thinner skin.

I also remember the year that hurricane Charley hit.

I remember sitting in the backseat of the mini-van, watching the palm trees bend in the wind. They were nearly perpendicular to the ground, and I distinctly remember thinking that if Dad killed us on the way to the beach, I would totally kill him. Again. (I was in the middle of my "rebellion" stage - by this time I was a whopping 19 years old. Rebellion hit me later in life).

So after driving through the winds, we finally hit the eye of the storm. Both literally and figuratively - my mother had been peppering our ride with a colorful mastery of the English language that I, dear readers, have not seen an equal since.

So, we're down there in the coastal region of North Carolina, about to cross a bridge to get to Oak Island.

I didn't think Dad was suicidal up until that point. It became clear to me that he? Was going to take us all out in a hurricane-induced blaze of glory. So he's about to drive over this bridge and - surprise surprise - there was a cop awaiting for us at the entrance.

So of course the cop tells us to turn around. Dad's response?

"Sir, this is a Chrysler Town and Country. I think it can handle it."

Le Sigh. This is the type of class I come from people. I can only hope that one day my future children (if I ever settle down and decide to have the little poop machines) will know exactly how special their family is.

drunken ramblings

2010-11-15T21:09:00.002-05:00

It occurs to me that you, dear Reader, are horribly uninformed as to who I am.

So here's me rectifying that. It's also feeding my ego. But eh. Potato, potahto. I'm drunk, and so I've gotten the courage to write....25 things about me that you probably didn't know.

1.) I am, at times, a total girl. I love doing the whole chocolate and candles and sappy chick flick thing. But I can also totally kick your ass if you piss me off, and if you call me on being a girl, I'll totally deny it.

2.) Nirvana is a good book and the ability to curl up into a blanket warm from the dryer. It's also a pretty awesome band.

3.) I have a secret fetish for jackets, fine cars, and really well-made shoes.

4.) I adore flying. And travel. But sometimes, I like flying in a plane more than the actual destination. I love it when the plane goes through the clouds, and it's all murky, and then, all of a sudden, they clear out and there it is. The sun glinting off the top of little puffs of water vapor. It's enough to make me believe in magic again.

5.) Someday, I will travel to all the continents. Or, I'll at least get around to visiting most of them. Maybe.

6.) I let my emotions get the best of me most of the time. I usually wind up taking something completely insignificant and turning it into a gigantic ~~fucking~~ deal for no reason at all. I'm ridiculously insecure.

7.) Happiness is ephemeral. I truly believe that everyone needs a little sadness in their lives to counteract the happiness. Horrible of me, I know, but I'm a big supporter of the ying and yang of life.

8.) I secretly have a soft spot for country music. Don't get me wrong, if you stick me in a car for a few hours and force me to listen to it, I'll probably gouge out my ears with whatever sharp pointy object is available. But I won't deny that there's a small (infetestimally small) part of me that actually kind of digs it.

9.) I enjoy dancing. I suck at it, which is why I tend not to do it (unless there's copious amounts of alcohol involved), but I do enjoy it. The problem is, I usually wind up attempting sexy dancing, which..let's face it...is hilarious when a fat chick is trying to do it.

10.) In the same vein as #9, I also like to sing. Don't get me wrong, I sound like a dying cat when I do so, but it's a type of release for me. Better than punching and kicking at pillows, at any rate.

11.) I'm terrified of nursing homes. And clowns. I haven't found a connection...yet.

12.) I can't stand people. I'd be happy holed up in a house in the mountains, where my groceries are air-lifted to me, with a bunch of dogs and varying other animals to keep me company. At least I know that they won't backstab me. Then again, I also realize how lonely of an existence that would be, and so I'm kind of caught in that weird in-between.

13.) My secret fear is that I'm going to wind up alone with no one but a bunch of cats to love me.

14.) I'm in love with food. In LOVE. That wasn't a joke...it was a reality.

15.) I hate peas. If you try to make me eat them, I'll dump them in whatever conveniently located potted plant is in the vicinity. I don't care if it's your great-Grammy's recipe. I ain't eating them.

16.) So I don't drink much, but I do enjoy a beer or two. And I can hold my liquor up to a certain point. For the most part I'm a happy drunk, but every once in a while I can get a bit insecure and then...well, then I throw myself a pity party.

17.) I have extremely vivid dreams. When I was a kid, I had trouble distinguishing between reality and the dreamworld.

18.) Sometimes, when I'm alone, I'll practice my katas. It's been a long time since I was in karate classes, but I remember some of it. The repetition of them calms me down and brings me peace of mind.

19.) I still have nightmares. And they're so close to reality, it creeps me out. So much so that I refuse to even acknowledge them. But, regardless, they're there - lurking, waiting to wake me up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

20.) I'm actually a deeply religious person. I mean, I realize that everyone says that they're deeply religious, and I realize that more often than not people are just saying that in order to try to make people believe that they're philosophical and shit, but I honestly can say that I am. I love my God. And if you have an issue with that, step the eff back.

21.) I'm slightly drunk right now. It takes a while for alcohol to settle in, but give it a while and boy-howdy. My preferred drink is Jameson, or (in tonight's case) craft beer. I am not an expert in craft brews, but if you ask me when I'm drunk I'll be sure to assure you of my expertise.

22.) I actually like what I do for a living. I mean, it has its downs, but for the most part I enjoy it. As a permanent job, I don't think so, but it's a pretty sweet deal for right now.

23.) Sometimes my dreams come true.

24.) I love me some Jameson. And I love me some man-drinks. But more often than not, the fruity drinks appeal to me just as much.

25.) I am human. And as a human, I can recognize how other humans work. No one's perfect.

A rant about Voting

2010-11-02T23:20:00.002-04:00

Warning: semi-political rant ahead. You've been warned.

Oh hi internet. It's me again.

So, election day. First, let me start out by saying that if you didn't vote, and you're elegible to do so, you? SUCK MAJOR DONKEY BALLS.

You suck them like wowzie.

I actually had this conversation with a co-worker today (yes, us service people can actually have conversations that don't involved the words "can" "help" and "you"). He doesn't vote. In fact, he's going on 30, and he's never voted. Like ever.

WTF is up with that? I pondered it in my head for a little bit, then decided to ask him.

"Well," he replied in a slightly embarassed tone, "I never really saw much point in it."

It was at this point that I realized that I was picturing a little me inside my head. And little me was exploding.

People died for our right to vote. They. Died. As in, human lives were terminated for no other reason that they felt that we, the american people, should be able to choose who we will have in office to represent us. They thought that we should have the freedom to even choose whether or not we want to vote.

It's deep and ~~shit~~ stuff (I am attempting to clean up my language. So far it's been a losing battle).

I get where he was coming from - hell, I used to be there. I didn't "get" voting until I was in my early twenties (insert a tear for my lost youth here). I figured, hey, what's the point? I don't follow politics. I doubt my vote is going to be the one to turn the tide.

Oh...stupid, stupid me. Hindsight is 20/20 and blah blah blah.

Basically, it boils down to this:

Sure, one person's vote can't change the tide. It's like saving pennies. One doesn't make a difference, but many do. We are that "many." And honestly, if one's refusing to vote for a reason, then I can dig that. Say they don't like the people up for election - I'm all down with that.

But...if you aren't voting just because you didn't feel like it? That's lazy.

Republican, Democrat, Independant - I don't freaking care. In this case, it doesn't matter what party you support. I heard that they thought that there would be a 50% turnout of voters this year.

It's disgusting.

And shameful. We have what other countries can only dream of, and we throw it all away for no other reason than "we didn't feel like it."

Don't bitch when people you don't like get elected. And don't bitch when taxes take a steep upwards hike, or when your neighborhood fall to shit. Or when that annoying pothole up the street that never gets fixed decides to flatten your tire, or when your kids are flunking school and can't get help from the teacher because hey, it's not in her pay grade.

Voting matters.

Sand lines

2010-10-09T23:05:00.003-04:00

Material just sometimes presents itself.

I mean, I know I've been all sporadic with the posting recently (ok, so I've done next to no posting...bad Nyx, BAD), but I just haven't gotten my "write" on in a while. And, quite frankly, as I've said a billion times before - I'd rather post nothing than absolute dribble. I've done the dribble postings. I'm sure ya'll have noticed. It ain't pretty.

Anyways, material. It's quite good at presenting itself.

So I don't work at the big mega-billion dollar corporate petstore anymore. Instead, I slug away as minor management in a small family owned one now.

Gotta tell ya - it still sucks.

Anyways, the store I'm at now is in a rather wealthy portion of town. The part of town where a Lamborghini Murciélago is considered to be an everyday occurance.

Seriously. WTF do these people do for a living? Cuz I gotta tell ya, they're seriously lacking in the brain power department.

Like, wowzie lacking.

Anywho, there I am, being a nice little ~~overlord~~ low-level manager when a customer walked into the store.

Seriously, I'd like to know why people think they can return shit that's obviously years old. About 5 years old. According to the receipt that was so *graciously* handed to my assistant manager. 14 day return policy. Says so on the receipt. And on the register. And the sign above the register. And the back wall. And the front window. And right above the collars and harnesses. And...ok, I'll stop. You get the point.

I totally booked it out of there. Sorry Little One (the name I will henceforth use to refer to said assistant manager), but I was totally not going anywhere near that hot mess.

And so, as I was in the back room, I started thinking about all the jobs I've had in the past. Some were good, some were bad, and some just downright sucked donkey balls. For instance, I used to work in a kitchen.

My manager used to look down the girl's shirts, the cook went to jail for first degree murder, one of the other cooks had just gotten out of a 5-year stint in jail for drug charges (among other things), one of the women I trained ran after said womanizing manager with a knife, and us girls had to band together to avoid the clutches of Harry (an employee (who was, naturally, friends with the manager) that enjoyed hugging women from behind. And didn't like to let go.

Incidentally enough, it was the cook (the one that committed first-degree murder) that got him fired - he raised hell until that jerk was gone.

And so, on top of all that drama, we had 100 degree heat in the summer (as anyone who's ever worked in a kitchen with no air in the summer will tell you - it sucks) and a bunch of cranky old people to cook for. That was not a good job.

But, the cook? That went to jail for first degree murder?

Stayed home from the superbowl. The game he had tickets for - to see his favorite team, the Steelers - play. And why did he do this?

Because his mother was sick.

And that cook that had just gotten out of jail? For the drug chargers? Yea, he had discovered God during his time. He used to bring a Bible to read out of during his breaks (he wasn't a good reader - barely literate, he had flunked out of high-school and he delved deep into the world of drugs before his incarceration), and he would always be the first one to try to stop a fight if it started. I recall having deep philosophical conversations with him. It's not often you can find someone who can discuss the Daodejing in a reasonably intelligent way, and then flip around and talk about how many G's he used to pull down out on the street. Yo. (ok, so it's been a while and I can't exactly recall the exact conversation, but you get the general idea)

I don't have an excuse for the woman who lost it and started chasing after my boss with a knife, or Harry. Fact of the matter is, there's always going to be ignorant people out there. And there's always going to be good people out there.

But the lines in the sand aren't definate.

evil mad science

2010-09-22T22:38:00.002-04:00

I am going to make a robot.

I don't know what it's going to do. I don't know how the hell it's going to be made, since I know nothing about robot-making or mad-scienceism (well, I didn't know anything before googling the shit out of it).

But I'm going to make a robot. And it's going to move.

I'll rip out a few servos from my old toy cars...and Furby?

Furby's going down. He can kiss his infrared sensors goodbye.

So wish me luck, world. I'm going to be a momma soon...a momma to a robot! BWAHAHAHA.

Reconciled

2010-08-25T14:53:00.003-04:00

So y'know that last post? About hurt, and how I felt when Pookie and I up and quit on each other? And, let's face it, I was playing a bit of the blame game as well.

Yea, bout that. We're back. To being disgustingly happy with one another.

We aren't perfect. What couple is? But we're mending.

Our biggest problem, I think, is that we're scared to piss each other off. Whenever we get pissed, we have a habit of holding it in.

I, especially, have this problem. I don't like talking sincerely - especially about feelings. Ugh. It's not that I don't want to talk about them, specifically - it's that I can't. There's this sort of block that happens in my throat that makes talking near but impossible, and it's just so much easier to divert the attention to something less painful.

I'm much better at writing what I'm feeling.

I'm not going to go into all of what was said between the two of us - because some things are personal and should be kept so. But, long story short, I stopped by his apartment to drop off some of his miscellanous goods that I had lurking around my car and home (a tee shirt, an umbrella, random jar of nutella) that I couldn't stand seeing anymore. We got to talking, which led to both of us collapsing and crying like babies and eventually cumulating in him kissing me senseless.

It was all like...wowza.

Needless to say, he still makes my toes curl.

Hurt

2010-08-12T16:32:00.004-04:00

When I was a child, we had a cat named Lexington. A common barn-cat, he was a free kitten my parents had gotten in Virginia - so they had decided to name him after the town the barn was in. He was my first pet, ever, and lived to see the grand age of 21 (or 22, we aren't exactly sure how old he was. My parents had gotten him quite a few years before I was born). To this day I remember his soft black fur, situated in a pattern not unlike that of a tuxedo and his bright green (and sometimes all-knowing) eyes.

He taught me how to love.

He always found me when I was upset as a child. Whether it was from the hazing I received as from my peers, or my parents fighting, he always knew when to show up so I could hug him and be comforted.

I wish I had Lex now.

Pookie and I...we are no longer a "we." He has decided that he's no longer in love with me, that he only views me as a friend. That he's not attracted to me.

It's a bitter pill to swallow. I miss the way he held me, the way he smelled. The way he'd cheer me up when I was down. I miss his dumb-ass snoring, and his ridiculously long legs, and that little mole he had on his upper lip. I miss our conversations, his love of boats and wine and all things French.

I just miss him, point blank.

He's a good guy, and I have to give him props for letting me know and not dragging it out like boyfriend #2 did. But damn. I miss him.

It's been four days, and I keep expecting to get up out of this depression. Last night was the first night I've been able to sleep without having to down a bottle of alcohol. Four books managed to do it, and even then sleep came unwilling.

I woke up hugging my blankets again.

Logically, I know that I'm acting ridiculously. Logically, I know that there's probably some other bloke out there that I'll fall for, and I'll be happy again, and everything will be fucking perfect sometime in the distant future.

But I don't want him. He's not Pookie. He doesn't know me. He's not the one I've shared so much of myself with. He wasn't there for me when we had to put Rusty and Lili down. He didn't hold me when I told him about my grandmother's decent into madness, spurred on by Alzheimer's. He wasn't the one that I trusted with myself. All that was Pookie.

It's taken every bit of strength I have not to text him, call him, visit him. I'm like a freaking junkie going through withdrawal.

And, deep down I know that this? Isn't healthy or normal. My brain is telling me to move on - if it won't work it won't work. I can't control what he does, or how he feels. We're incompatible. And yet...I can't help but think that we are. We're totally compatible. Other people were disgusted with how compatible we were.

Well. Apparently we're not.

I'm angry. I'm so freaking angry that he'd just throw me away, that he wouldn't even try to work things out. That he didn't care enough to even put in the damn effort.

My previous breakups have left me totally and emotionally unprepared.

I hurt. And I can't stop crying. Just when I don't think I have any more fluid in my body to spare, something will remind me of him and I'll just start bawling my eyes out like a damn spoiled brat.

It sucks.

First Day Blues

2010-07-25T00:14:00.005-04:00

I quit my job.

Ok, well, I offically quit my job about two weeks ago (had to put my notice in), but you get the idea. My poor manager. He's probably still recovering.

I think I'm still slightly shaken up over it. I've spent almost three years in that store. I know it better than I know my own home. I helped make it what it is. And I was of the last three people there who held that store together.

I kind of feel like I'm copping out, y'know? Like I should have stayed there - tried to fix it somehow. My new job is basically the same as my old one, just with a title and better pay. And a whole bunch of strangers that I don't know.

I'm both excited and terrified. I know it's not a professional job, and if you had told me back when I was in college that I'd be where I'm at now, I'd have muttered some creative obscenities in your direction.

And now? Now I accept it.

I started said new job today. The day started bright and early, and I was given my first set of new shirts to wear. Much to my delight, they are of a tee-shirt fabric (rather than the burlap sacks I used to wear). Much to my disappointment (and chagrin), the shirts? Made me look like a cheap two-cent hooker. Woohoo.

I had been told that the shirts were a men's medium. I don't know if they're going by european sizes, or what the hell type of men they're using for sizing purposes, but the shirts? Are far too small in all the wrong places. It should be illegal. False advertising! Seeing as how my chest area is far from tiny (38C if you really want to know), I look like I should start dancing burlesque at any moment. Oy.

Free lap dances to people who adopt!

Also? The A/C was far from working well. So, there I am, in the middle of a brand new store, sweating like a pig with a skin-tight shirt on.

Let me tell you. It was hawt.

I feel like a fumbling fool. miss being able to joke around, and know what I'm doing. I miss being the one people go to for help. And I miss my customers. But, perhaps most of all, I miss my team.

I know most of that will come in time. After all, today was my first day, right? Eventually I'll get to that point where I'm familiar with people. I hope.

But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly terrified. Guess I'll just see how it plays out.

Cupcake Mania

2010-07-23T22:08:00.005-04:00

Cupcakes.

I don't get it. Everywhere I turn, it's like the local bakeries just up and quit and decided to be...

Cupcakeries? Ugh.

I don't have anything against cupcakes - hell, I've even been known to make a few every now and again. But this...this is insanity.

My sister is a fan. She thinks nothing of going out and spending 3 or 4 dollars per cupcake. Me? I think that hey, for 3 or 4 dollars I can make 24 cupcakes out of a boxed mix and slap some frosting on them.

Voila. Or something.

Maybe it's that they're cute. And individually portioned. Or maybe it's that people don't feel so guilty eating them. Maybe they bring back cherished childhood memories.

Personally, I miss the old style bakeries. Places that made things like this:

That, dear friends, is a tart I made the other day. And yes, it was delicious, thanks for asking. But I dunno, maybe it's just me or the area I live in, but I can't find things like that in a bakery anymore. I can't find things like Baba au Rhum, or Beignet, or even just a few standard breads.

Instead, they've been replaced by cupcakes, regular cakes, and maybe a scant assortment of cookies.

I'm in mourning for the traditional American bakery. It's ok, at least they aren't doing any themed -

Oh God. Why.

Tolerance.

2010-07-22T23:07:00.013-04:00

Tolerance. I think that's the word for tonight.

Sometimes, I think a relationship is more about tolerance than murmured declarations and whispered sweet nothings.

Everyone has that one thing that just absolutely pisses them off so completely and utterly that they get beyond the ability to think.

And if you don't have that thing then you just haven't found it yet. Don't worry, I'm sure it'll assert itself before long.

Tonight Pookie pushed my thing's button.

Run stupid boy, run.

I could blame the hormones. Right now, I'm a bleeding, raging bitch the likes of which Stalin would run from. I could blame that.

I could blame myself. I'm crazy on the best of days, downright depressing and stubborn on the worst.

Or, I could do what my gut is telling me, and blame Pookie.

But, honestly, what's the point? What's the point in blindly pointing fingers? What's the point in getting angry?

There is no point. And that's where that tolerance thing comes along.

I love Pookie enough to tolerate him when he does something so insanely stupid that even I, obtuse as I am at times, can tell he's in the wrong. And I love him enough to realize that fighting in the heat of the moment is only going to result in hurt feelings.

And so I wait. And I think.

And I realize that I love him enough to tolerate it when he pisses me off, and I love him enough to feel free to fight with him and be secure in knowing that we can work it out, provided that he's willing to work it out with me too.

And that's what a relationship is, isn't it? It's work. It's fucking hard work sometimes.

There's no other option for me. Because when you stop trying, and stop working, I kind of feel like that moment is when you fall out of love.

Ice Cream Memories

2010-07-09T15:59:00.007-04:00

You know that it's officially summer around these parts when the Jack & Jill ice cream truck's melody taunts you. In my neighborhood, one never really actually sees the truck since he just does a once around down the main strip. As a child I always attributed it towards laziness - now I know better.

He just hated children. An interesting paradox - one that I'm not even going to try to psychoanalyze.

Anyways, all of us kids would run towards the end of our block as soon as we heard the melody blaring out of a dinged and dirty speaker atop his truck. We would desperately race to the corner, hoping that we could beat him there - because if he moved faster than us, we could say goodbye to the popsicles that we had begged our mothers for money for.

He was interesting. A man of indeterminable origin, he had skin the color of a latte and I'm not entirely sure I've ever heard him speak - other than to shout at us in an unintelligible grunt for money.

We would grin up at him - his face hidden by a scraggly beard - and rip the plastic coverings off our goodies. I loved the feel of the plastic. Weird, I know, but I delight in the small things. The way the plastic crunched in my hands, the way the popsicle would melt in the summer heat - I loved it all.

He'd roll his eyes, move to the front of his truck, and squeal out of there as if the devil were after him, while all of us neighborhood kids ran down to our mothers to show them what prizes we had acquired.

I kind of miss those days, as I sit here with my low-fat sugar-free taste-free popsicle. Life was simple then. I only hope that one day life might be that simple for my kids.

Y'know. If I ever get around to having any ~~poop machines~~ ~~minions~~ children.

Support

2010-07-05T23:38:00.002-04:00

When I started this blogging "thing" I thought of it as a release. It was just a way to get my head out on paper, so to speak, so that all the little voices in my head would leave me the heck alone.

You know the ones I'm talking about. The sadistic bastards always jabber to me about my credit card payment, or my car loan, or my less-than-steller job status and accomplishments. They comment to me about other people, about interesting observations. And they NEVER SHUT UP. So I put them here.

Some of you are, no doubt, freaked out by this point (probably it's the "some of you" that know me in real life). Don't worry. I don't actually hear voices. It's more of a metaphor for my collective consciousness. I hope.

I never imagined what the world of "blogging" would open up for me. I mean, here I am, some dipshit from nowhereville, whining on the internet about my problems in some sort of display of ego-induced media whorism.

Whorism. Is that a word? If it's not, I think it should be. I'm making it a word. Please excuse my butchery of the english language.

I never realized that one could actually kind of "meet" other bloggers on the internet - and that those bloggers would be *real* people. People with problems. People who aren't perfect, people who are just like you and me.

Well, to be fair, I did realize that one could meet people on the internet. But my exposure to that concept was limited by the whole "social recluse/internet gamer phenomenon, and at the other extreme end of the spectrum there was the classic internet stalker/pedophile thing too.

I didn't realize there was a middle ground. Naive and regrettably narrow-minded of me, I know, but that had been my experience.

This last year (year!? Ok, to be fair, it's more like 9 months since I just took a little three month break) has let me in to see an inside look at some of the most amazing people's brains.

Thankyou.

Thankyou to the bloggers of the world. Thankyou to the internet geeks. Thankyou to everyone who has ever had the courage and spirit to not only write interesting material, but to offer up your inner thoughts and workings on a silver platter for criticism and degradation.

And, most importantly, thank you for caring.

Bugger.

2010-07-02T17:15:00.002-04:00

The last time I posted on here was on April 28th. I blogged about hamster races, of all things. A few things have happened since then.

I turned twenty-five. That's right, I'm now a quarter-century old. I had my little temper tantrum about it - refused to talk about it, refused to acknowledge that it was even happening. I didn't want anything to do with it. And yet...it happened, and it wasn't the end of the world. I guess I just figured I'd be farther along than I am when I reached this age. I figured that I'd have my own place, I'd have some big job that would be emotionally satisfying and, more importantly, that would matter.

Instead, I fell into the majority group of americans who are just trying to make ends meet with a job that they're overqualified for.

In the same vein, I got a job offer from another pet store. I took it - I start at the end of this month as a manager. It's not much, but it's a step up from where I'm at now and it pays more. Much more. I'd be a fool not to take it, so I will. I'm hoping it will beef up my resume - I'm told that management positions always look good.

Pookie and I fought. We waged a Cold War on one another, never outrightly fighting but rather passive-aggressively attacking each other until our nerves were frayed like the ends of two opposing wires. After three weeks of snapping at each other, we both broke down. We're working on getting back to where we were - but it's going to take work. And I'm going to have to open up, emotionally speaking.

I don't do well with talking about feelings. I never have. It's like some sort of block happens in my throat, and I just can't get the words out. Instead I usually wind up sputtering some sort of choked garbling sound. I'd rather not talk about the things that haunt my mind - it's so much easier if I don't.

Easier, that is, until I have a complete and utter break-down. It's not pretty.

So that's where I'm at.

And the races are on!

2010-04-28T22:06:00.003-04:00

Hamster Derby day has come and gone once again, folks.

Let me explain. Our store puts up a "derby" for hamsters to race in bi-annually. We set up four tracks in the middle of the store, and the contestants run their hamsters in heats. The kiddies love it.

Somehow every year I seem to get suckered into it. This was the third Derby that I've run, and every time I run it it gets more and more hellish. Let's look back at previous years, shall we?

October of 2008. It was me...and Amelia (one of our groomers). I glady let Amelia take over the bullhorn as I watched anxious seven year olds jockey for positions on the track. We set the tracks up in the only spare area of the store at the time - right in front of the cats to be adopted. I watched as the cats licked their chops, and probably contemplated consuming said rodents in a variety of delectable ways.

And that, World, was my first inkling that this derby thing? Was a steaming shitload of trouble for us associates. I looked around as the parents of the precocious children screaming at Fluffy to win glared at me. Apparently, the space was too small for them to satisfactorily videotape little Timmy's victory.

Opps.

So, fast forward to October of last year. We moved the derby to the middle of the store, in order to provide more room. Twenty minutes before the race started, we realized our General Manager (a loveable, cantankerous bastard) had THROWN OUT THE PRIZES. We watched as parents and children gathered with their chisel-toothed ~~monsters~~ darlings and took their positions in the track (luckily, the GM had shelf-yanked some prizes for the kids).

We made an error in the scorecard. You see, they couldn't make an easy and simple way to determine who would move on to the final races - oh no. After a few very convoluted minutes of staring at the roster-board in disbelief (and, in my case, terror), we announced that the last race would have to be redone.

Do you know what terror is, World? Terror is a fully-grown woman getting all up in your face screaming because damnit, Mittens was the winner and this was all some conspiracy to discredit her. Obviously that bitch Cinnamon's mother paid us off - what type of operation were we running, anyways?

So, it was with some trepidation that I was ~~totally forced into~~ persuaded by my coworkers to host this year's derby. We were holding it in April because the geniuses at corporate decided that this year we were to run two derbies. I hid the boxes that held the track and decorations - so as to avoid any accidental discarding. I painstakingly touted the derby to customers, and tried to psyche them up for the big race. Clipstrips were hung, signs were placed, and we had over 35 people signed up for the big day.

I should have taken the light-bulb that almost fell on my head as an omen when I was grabbing the supplies out of our stockroom. I, foolish human that I am, ignored it and hummed a light jaunty tune as I practically skipped to the sales floor.

I self-congratulated myself on a job well done as I linked the track pieces together, fully expecting this year's derby to be easy and carefree and wonderous for adults and children alike. I watched as children introduced their little fuzzy creatures to me, and I made the appropriate 'ohh'ing and 'ahh'ing sounds. And so, I began to call names for the first heat.

Only one child had shown up for that heat. I crossed out the other three names, and called some more. It turns out that half - that's right, half - of our contestants didn't show. It worked out for the best though, since we were able to do four heats of four. The winners were clearly called, and I had thought the show a success. Until one of little Jellybean's fans called out that we had made a miscall. He shouted that Jellybean was the rightful winner, that we made a mistake. Obviously Jellybean couldn't have been in second place - oh no. Jellybean was a true champion, a racer unparralleled by none.

As I stood there and watched as he berated my coworker, I thought to myself - what does it matter?

I mean, really. These people are loosing sight of the big picture. That person was so wrapped up in his own little world that he hadn't even seen the other hamsters cross the finish line. I kind of feel like we do that a lot in our own lives. I feel like we're all so busy trying to get to the finish line that we're not looking at what's happening all around us to others.

It's a lesson well-learned.

So about that diet....

2010-04-22T15:51:00.003-04:00

Warning: self-indulgent diet fit ahead.

I think I've killed my diet.

I had a whole 3 days of spectacular, salad-eating bliss with the occasional bowl of Farina for breakfast (shut up, I like it).

But the slope to grease and butter-coated goodness is a slippery one indeed.

You see, World, it started like this:

Pookie invited me out to happy hour with his coworkers. I figured I'd have a beer or two (ok, not exactly low-calorie food, but hey...I'm not a saint) and then maybe a small salad for dinner. Not exactly low-cal, but hey...it's better than a big greasy burger.

So, I got my salad (and my very delicious beer selection), and decided to dig in.

Oh cheese, how I missed thee. You see, this salad? Coated in cheese. A small factoid that I forgot to notice on the menu. You see, I thought I was doing well. Grilled chicken, pico de gallo, low-fat dressing.

And then there was the cheese. Cheese is, apparently, a bitch to avoid.

So, that's how it started. The next day, I indulged in a burger.

A homemade burger without all the grease and extra fat and preservatives, but a burger nonetheless. And the cheese? A nice lovingly melted slice adorned my ~~poison~~ slab of ground cow.

Let me tell you World, it was like my taste-buds were invited to the biggest frat-party of the season, and fat was their drug of choice.

Long story short, I believe that today I've reached the pinnacle of shame for dieters everywhere.

I had a Blizzard from Dairy Queen.

And if I don't watch it, I'm going to look like a Dairy Queen.

Fish for tonight. Going back on that diet.

A heavy weight

2010-04-15T16:07:00.003-04:00

I think it's time that I went on a diet.

It was my first anniversary with Pookie, and I was scrambling to find something to wear.

"Wear something dressy," he said. "But make sure you're comfortable."

Obviously Pookie hasn't realized that for girls? Dressy and comfortable do not go together. At least they don't for me, and never have.

So I decided to wear pants and a nice shirt. I lovingly tugged my sole pair of black dress pants out from the back of my closet (I usually hate formal functions, so I try to avoid them as much as possible) and tried them on.

It was then that I discovered that I? Have gained yet another size.

Oy.

After much frustration (curling up in the fetal position and crying like a baby), I sucked it up, pulled out a dress (urg), and climbed into that. I'd like to think that I was, at the very least, semi-classy and that I didn't embarass Pookie too much when we went for dinner.

I'd show you pictures of me in said dress, but...I'd have to kill you. Don't want to ruin my reputation or anything.

So I am going on a diet. I've really lost it in terms of keeping up with my exercise and making sure I eat appropriately (oh butter, how I love thee), so I'm going to attempt to lose some weight the right way.

As soon as my tax-rebate comes, I'm joining a gym.

And guess what World? You all get to laugh at my struggles.

I really do love me some butter.

So you'll get to ~~snicker~~ sympathize as I inevitably break my diet, horrifically torture myself at the gym, and attempt to lead a better lifestyle. And I'll post how much weight I've lost, and what I've eaten, and what I've done so far as exercise goes, and yadda yadda yadda. I know you're horribly interested.

Today's breakfast: 1 banana and a small glass of orange juice
Today's lunch: egg-salad sandwich on multi-grain toast, sliced strawberries, and steamed cauliflower.
Weight loss so far: 0. In fact, I may have gained some. Urgh.

Hey Bug

2010-03-18T00:50:00.007-04:00

Hey Bug,

It's me...Sara. I miss you.

I remember when I first met you. You were the mother of my then-boyfriend, and I was absolutely terrified of you. You came to the school to pick him up one day because his car needed to be serviced. As I walked out, I quickly said goodbye to him - but you would have none of that. You made him bring me to the car so that you could introduce yourself, and so that I could do the same.

Immediately breaking out into a cold sweat, I followed him as he tugged on my reluctant arm. You smiled at me, cackled slightly. I saw your hands - tiny, perfectly manicured, and laden with rings. Nervous, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"You have carnie hands!" Mortified, I watched as you opened your mouth in shock - or was it amusement? - and gave me a long searching look. I stared at you - your hair framing your face like a frizzy chestnut-colored halo - and prayed that a hole would open up and swallow me.

And then you laughed, and all was well.

Eventually you began to request my presence at your youth group. I attended mass with you, and I watched as you opened your arms to a group of kids that would, eventually, bring me back to my spirituality. I watched as they told you their woes, about all their teenage dramas and parental overlords. And I watched as you listened to them.

I watched as you found help for a few of those children who despereately needed it, for those kids who had no one else to talk to. I saw them foster relationships with each other - many of which still continue to this day - seven years later. I watched as those kids blossomed into young adults that you can truely be proud of.

You raised them well.

I affectionately nicknamed you "Ladybug." Eventually the kids picked up on it - and they began to call you that as well, despite your protests. And I eventually came to accept a simple fact about our relationship.

I love you.

I loved you from the moment you started laughing at my inappropriateness. I love you for your ability to forgive others instantaniously, for your ability to see past a person's outside straight to their inside. I love you because you saved me - you and that ragtag group of teenagers who will never know how profoundly they have influenced me as a person.

When your son broke up with me, I cried. And you leant to me a shoulder to lean on. You helped me get over my first real boyfriend, and you listened to my desperate sobs and wails of self-induced and egotistical frustration.

I am so sorry, Bug, that I lost contact with you. Two years ago I started dating a new boy - someone who was not religious. I lost my way, slightly. I was sick of the hypocrisy of varying Church leaders, and I was sick of the way our youth were being treated. I had grown weary of the Church yet again, and I left.

I never meant to leave you. It just happened - like friends who eventually drift apart, I found myself drifting from you. I am eternally sorry for that.

Eventually we found each other once again. After the boy (who I refer to as Boyfriend #2) and I ended our relationship, I found out that I had been living his life instead of mine - and that you and the Church had become essential to me. I had missed you greatly. We had just started to reconnect when it happened.

I texted you on Thanksgiving to wish you happy greetings. Your son called me back - he informed me that you were in the hospital. Pneumoia, he said. I was saddened by the news, but was completely unprepared for what was to come. I figured that you'd just spend a few days in there and then you'd be out.

You had cancer, Bug. You had stage four liver and lung cancer, and the doctor's prognosis was grim. I tried to visit you as much as possible, but it never occured to me that you would never leave that hospital. I brought you small gifts in an effort to bolster your spirits - but you never doubted that you were going to get out. This hospital thing, you said, was just a temporary stay.

And then your health declined. You were eventually moved to a hospice, reached a vegetative state, and then you died.

You died, Bug. On December 9th, 2009. That day will forever be etched in my memory.

God I miss you so much. I know that on some level that you're there, and that you can hear me. I know that you're watching over me and the kids.

I still miss you.

When people ask me why I do what I do, why I'm a member of a Church that is so obviously flawed, it's hard to describe. I do it because it's a part of my tradition. I do it because it's how I was raised. I do it because I, on some level, believe in the foundational principles of the Catholic Church.

But I also do it because a little Italian woman from Delaware believed in me. I do it because she was such an inspiration, and I do it because she dragged me out of my depressed and sometimes suicidal thoughts and showed me what this world really has to offer. I do it because she showed me joy.

And, in honor of her, I'm going to do my best to bring that joy to others.

I love you Bug.

-Sara

The boys in the video below are two members of our youth group. One created the video, while the one rapping in it created and performed the rap specifically for this memorial video. She very much considered him to be another son of hers.

The video may be a bit cut in half on the blog - I'm not quite sure how to fix that, so you might have to double-click on it to visit the YouTube site and see the un-sliced in half version.

Break

2010-03-13T23:25:00.003-05:00

It's been a while since I've been on Blogger and posted something. It has also been a while since I've read any of the blogs that I follow, and for that I am sorry. I needed some "me" time.

Relax, I'm not leaving the blogging world yet. I know that you all were anxiously awaiting my return, right?? (cue the cricket chirping)

I could make excuses here. I could blame the hormonal mess that I've become lately (I think far too much for my own good), or I could blame my computer (my normal computer up and died in a blaze of blue screen of death glory - the other one I use runs on Vista, which, if you've ever seen me use it, is kind of like a slug trying to figure out aerospace engineering).

Quite honestly World, I think I needed a break from writing. My blog posts have been decreasing in quality recently, and it's not a trend that I'm particularly proud of.

I think that sometimes a little break is a good thing. It enables one to truely appreciate that which has been cut off.

And I swear, if Vista decides that I need to use the mousepad for one more shortcut, then I'm going to have to throw this computer out the freaking window.

Dear Vista,

No, I DO NOT WANT TO PRINT.

<3 Nyx

So I'm back. Hope you're ready.

Craving

2010-02-21T23:13:00.000-05:00

**

I'm craving meat.

I gave it up for Lent, you see. Not fish though. My friend Mario was wondering what the hell the creatures of the sea ever did to me to warrent such exclusion. I just don't include fish in the 'meat' category - 'meat' to me is all things terrestrial. Fish is fish.

I know it's a weird distinction, and wrong on all sorts of levels - but there you have it.

So yes. I gave meat up for Lent. So I've managed to go a whopping four days without it, and already I'm ready to chew off my own hand and sautee it with garlic and extra virgin olive oil. Make a lovely pasta dish with it, perhaps.

Everyone asks me the same thing - why on earth would I give up something that I'd miss so much? Especially since I can't partake in all those lovely meat-substitutes made out of tofu (I'm allergic to soy)?

Well, the answer is twofold:

Lent is, and always has been, one of my favorite times in the Catholic Church. I revel in the ceremonies, and the traditions. They link me to the rest of the Church, and to the people in centuries past that engaged in the same sorts of traditions. I never really "got it" when I was a kid - I mostly just always figured that it was dumb and stupid and I'd much rather be out playing than sitting in some dumb church listening to some old guy preach on and on about sin and redemption. So when I did "get it," I started researching it.

And what I found kind of blew my mind.

There was a reason behind all of it! Golly gee wilikers, they hadn't been lying to me thoughout my fourteen years of good ole' guilt-inducing Catholic schooling.

I began to research the symbolism behind the Catholic faith, and what it really means to be catholic. To me, faith is something that is innately personal, and I had never really understood why anyone would want to worship in a congregation-type setting.

I still consider my faith to be a deeply personal thing, but I also see the validity in group worship. It's a way to stay connected to one another, to know that you belong to something that's bigger than yourself. It's a community.

To me, this is most evident during the season of Lent. Don't be surprised if you start seeing religion pop up into my posts here and now - I'm afraid that it's something that's been on my mind a lot lately.

You see, me and the Church have a love-hate relationship. On the one hand, I was raised Catholic, and I feel almost "at home" during mass. It's familiar to me, and I agree with the majority of the values behind the preachings.

However, I find that I almost kind of fall into a grey area. I am a (at times rabid) supporter of gay marriage, I believe in evolution, and I think that sometimes religion can cloud a person's judgement on what is right and what is wrong. I had a mini-falling out with the Church about two years ago.

I was on top of the world. I was a leader and youth minister to the high-school portion of our youth group, I was teaching confirmation classes, I was even starting up a brand-new group for the young adults of our parish. I was an "insider," someone who was privvy to the inner-workings of the parish.

And then it all went to shit. I began to see that the people around me - the leaders of the parish, all those people that I had idolized as a child - were flawed. They were petty and they gossiped and they engaged in behavior that was less-than-Godly.

They were human.

After a series of incidents that left a bitter taste in my mouth concerning the Church, I left.

And now I'm back. We're going to be starting a young adult ministry - something I was trying to get off the ground before I left. I spent eight months with my partner planning it - writing out lesson plans and coming up with material - since there was no published material that I could find on teaching and exploring Catholicism with young adults. And now they want both me and my partner back. And so I've gone back, and realized that I missed the Church while I was away.

Whatever happens, I think it was meant to be this way. I think that I should do this, if not for myself then for my kids (most of whom now fall into the over-18 crowd now - I feel so old!).

So here's hoping that this works out. :)

**Big thanks to Augapfel for letting me use the above image :)

You WILL be helped!

2010-02-10T21:00:00.006-05:00

So I recently came across an article about "qualities to cultivate within yourself." I read through it, amused as hell at the overwhelmingly arrogant attitude of the author.

She listed all sorts of nice things, like selflessness, loyalty, humility, integrity - basically all those qualities that Disney told you that you need in order to lead a successful life.

What irks me, what really really irks me is that well...not all of us can be perfect. And I think that it's incredibly high-handed for someone to sit there and write an article about what you, yes you gentle reader, need to do in order to 'better' yourself as a person.

Don't get me wrong. These are all great personality traits to have, and I certainly admire them in the people who have them. I'd even like to think that I have a few of them.

And that's where the crux of my problem with the article lies.

I think that most people already believe they have these qualities (whether or not they do is irrelevant). And so, what's the point of reading the article in the first place?

It's like telling a little kid to be good when they're sitting on a church bench. They think they're already being good because hey, they're in church and so far there hasn't been any major bodily injuries or furniture damage. From the parent's perspective though, the child's behavior is just a disaster waiting to happen.

I'd provide the link to the article in question, but it doesn't really matter. It's not the first article of its kind I've come across, and it's far from being the last.

And, quite frankly, I'm sick of reading article about how to improve myself from under qualified writers who provide no supportive backing for their thesises. Or is it thesii? Huh...note to self: look up the plural for thesis later, when I decide to give a shit.

I'm off for a snowball fight. I'll ponder the meaning of self-improvement later.

Inkspun

2010-02-05T18:50:00.002-05:00

So I'm sitting here, waiting for this storm to supposedly ravage Delaware. ~~The Weather Channel~~ Word on the street says that we could get up to two feet.

I'll pause while all you northerners laugh at our panic.

K, done yet? No? Ok, I'll give you another moment.

So I'm just sitting here, with nothing to do. I've already consumed The Fifth Element (stop laughing), and I'm working my way through Pearl Harbor and a bottle of wine.

I really need to update my DVD collection - I've been forced to watch what's on television because there's simply nothing else.

I bought a final fantasy game today (FFXII, for those who were interested). It looks promising. I was going to get a new Wii game, but I couldn't justify spending $44.99 on a new game.

So I grabbed a used copy of FFXII for a few bucks.

Anyways, I think ya'll should go visit my "other" blog.

That's right. I have another blog. It was just so full of the shiny objects, Blogger, that I couldn't resist. And I can't promise that there won't be indiscretions in the future.

Inkspun

Grandmother

2010-02-01T00:07:00.006-05:00

My grandmother is eighty years old.

Last night was her birthday celebration. And I do mean celebration.

It's not every day that one turns eighty, people! And so I was ~~forced~~ persuaded to dress in my ~~most uncomfortable~~ finest clothing and attend Effie's birthday party.

And yes. Effie is her real name. She hates it with a passion. As she puts it, her mother must have hated her to name her that. I think it's an adorable name.

She's my mother's mother, and I can totally see where both my and my mother's neuroses comes from. According to my cousins, all my aunts have the same issues too.

Oh yea, Grandma? She had six (SIX) daughters. Poor Grandpa - all he wanted was a son. He eventually gave up trying and settled for male dogs.

I love my Grandmom. She defines classy. She also defines 'strong-willed,' a trait that has been passed down through the generations. Even though she's a bit on the tough side (it's the Irish in her, I'm told), she always spoiled us.

I remember when I was little, she used to serve me these little ice cream cups. The type that were half chocolate, half vanilla, and had a little wooden spoon in the top.

I begged my mother to buy them, and she never did. She'd give me a bowl of chocolate/vanilla ice-cream, but I'd pout and throw a fit because IT WASN'T THE SAME AS GRANDMA'S.

I was a bitch like that.

She used to let me swim in her swimming pool, and eat as much candy as I wanted, and watch as much television as I could stomach. And it was because of her that I began my love affair with books.

I hardly ever get to see my grandparents anymore. When I was younger, we used to see them every few months - there was usually some reason to get together. In the spring we'd go to the country club and enjoy their annual picnic. I'd always be dressed up in some frilly thing (as would the rest of the cousins), and my best pat-and-leather shoes.

We'd ride the ponies and blow bubbles and cause all sorts of mischief and mayhem. Well, they caused mischief and mayhem. I was an angel.

Every Thanksgiving we'd attend the country club again. They would have it laid out buffet-style, and we'd pick and choose what we wanted. I was small then as well - I could barely see over the tops of the tables (I was a freakishly tiny child. I didn't hit five feet until I was in high-school). My cousins would run throughout the restaurant, but I never really connected with them. So, I would sit with my mother, or one of the aunts, or one of my Grandparents. I used to love to sit with my Grandpop - he was a wall of silent reassurance. He'd ruffle my hair, and give me his dessert (our little secret, he'd say).

In later years, they stopped going to the country club, and we started having the celebrations at my grandparent's house. However, as the years trickled by, things began to change. We dropped the Thanksgiving and spring get-togethers, and eventually we only met up with the extended family for Christmas. I began to look forward to Christmas, because I knew that on Christmas I'd get to see my grandparents.

My grandfather is a tall, strong man, who happens to be missing most of his hair. My grandmother is the love of his life, and even if she exasperates him to no end with her psychosis (it runs in the family, I'm told), he would do anything for her.

I saw this last night. I saw the love that was apparent in his eyes as he gazed at his wife - my Grandmother. He got up, gave a speech, and brought her to tears.

For once all the family drama was erased (and we've had our share of it the last few years).

For a moment, just a moment, it was like the old days.

For those who have animals....

2010-01-27T12:17:00.003-05:00

So, I just came across a few lists of plants and foods that are poisonous to both dogs and cats, and I figured I'd put it up here since a lot of you have animals. If you know of any other plants (or food) that's poisonous to animals, post it here! I got my information from www.ASPCA.org and www.peteducation.com

Plants:

Alfalfa
Aloe vera
Amaryllis
Apple seeds
Apple leaf croton
Apricot pit
Asparagus fern
Autumn crocus
Avocado (both the fruit and pit)
Azalea
Baby's breath
Bittersweet
Bird of paradise
Branching ivy
Buckey
Buddhist pine
Caladium
Calla lily
Castor bean
Ceriman
Charming dieffenbachia
Cherry (seeds and wilting leaves)
Chinese evergreen
Christmas rose
Cineraria
Clematis
Cordatum
Corn plant
Cornstalk plant
Croton
Cuban laurel
Cutleaf philodendron
Cycads
Cyclamen
Daffodil
Devil's ivy
Dieffenbachia
Dracaena palm
Dragon tree
Dumb cane
Elaine
Elephant ears
Emerald feather
English ivy
Fiddle-leaf fig
Florida beauty
Foxglove
Fruit salad plant
Geranium
German ivy
Giant dumb cane
Glacier ivy
Gold dieffenbachia
Gold dust dracaena
Golden pothos
Hahn's self-branching ivy
Heartland philodendron
Hurricane plant
Indian rubber plant
Janet Craig dracaena
Jerusalem cherry
Kalanchoe
Lacy tree philodendron
Lily of the valley
Mother-in-law's tongue
Madagascar dragon tree
Marble queen
Marijuana
Mexican breadfruit
Miniature croton
Mistletoe
Morning glory
Narcissus
Needlepoint ivy
Nephytis
Nightshade
Oleander
Onion
Peace lily
Peach (wilting leaves and pit)
Pencil cactus
Plumosa fern
Poinsettia
Poison ivy
Poison oak
Pothos
Potato plant
Purgatory bean
Primrose
Red emerald
Red princess
Red-margined dracaena
Rhododendron
Ribbon plant
Saddle leaf philodendron
Sago palm
Satin pothos
Scheffilera
Silver pothos
Spotted dumb cane
String of pearls
Striped dracaena
Sweetheart ivy
Swiss cheese plant
Taro vine
Tomato plant (green fruit, stem and leaves)
Tree philodendron
Tropic snow dieffenbachia
Weeping fig
Yew

Food:

Alcoholic Beverages - Can cause intoxication, coma, and death.
Baby Food - Can contain onion powder, which can be toxic to dogs. (Please see onion below.) Can also result in nutritional deficiencies, if fed in large amounts.
Bones from fish, poultry, or other meat sources - Can cause obstruction or laceration of the digestive system.
Cat food - obviously ok for cats, but not for dogs - it's too high in protein and fats to be fed on a regular basis for dogs
Chocolate - Contain caffeine, theobromine, or theophylline, which can be toxic and affect the heart and nervous systems.
Coffee - See chocolate
Tea - See chocolate
Anything with caffeine - See chocolate
Citrus oil extracts - Can cause vomiting.
Fat trimmings - Can cause pancreatitis.
Grapes and Raisins - Contain an unknown toxin, which can damage the kidneys. There have been no problems associated with grape seed extract.
Hops - Unknown compound causes panting, increased heart rate, elevated temperature, seizures, and death.
Human vitamin supplements containing iron - Can damage the lining of the digestive system and be toxic to the other organs including the liver and kidneys.
Macadamia nuts - Contain an unknown toxin, which can affect the digestive and nervous systems and muscle.
Marijuana - Can depress the nervous system, cause vomiting, and changes in the heart rate.
Milk - Some adult dogs and cats do not have sufficient amounts of the enzyme lactase, which breaks down the lactose in milk. This can result in diarrhea. Lactose-free milk products are available for pets.
Moldy/spoiled food - Can contain multiple toxins causing vomiting and diarrhea and can also affect other organs.
Mushrooms - Can contain toxins, which may affect multiple systems in the body, cause shock, and result in death.
Onions and garlic - Contain sulfoxides and disulfides, which can damage red blood cells and cause anemia. Cats are more susceptible than dogs.
Persimmons - Seeds can cause intestinal obstruction and enteritis.
Pits from peaches and plums - Can cause obstruction of the digestive tract.
Potato, rhubarb, and tomato leaves. Potato and tomato stems. - Contain oxalates, which can affect the digestive, nervous, and urinary systems. This is more of a problem in livestock.
Raw eggs - Contain an enzyme called avidin, which decreases the absorption of biotin (a B vitamin). This can lead to skin and hair coat problems. Raw eggs may also contain Salmonella.
Raw fish - Can result in a thiamine (a B vitamin) deficiency leading to loss of appetite, seizures, and in severe cases, death. More common if raw fish is fed regularly.
Salt - If eaten in large quantities it may lead to electrolyte imbalances.
String - Can become trapped in the digestive system; called a "string foreign body."
Sugary foods - Can lead to obesity, dental problems, and possibly diabetes mellitus.
Table scraps - Table scraps are not nutritionally balanced. They should never be more than 10% of the diet. Fat should be trimmed from meat; bones should not be fed.
Tobacco - Contains nicotine, which affects the digestive and nervous systems. Can result in rapid heart beat, collapse, coma, and death.
Yeast dough - Can expand and produce gas in the digestive system, causing pain and possible rupture of the stomach or intestines.
Xylitol (an artificial sweetner) - Can cause liver failure.

Poof

2010-01-26T21:05:00.005-05:00

Finding a good hairdresser is hard.

For the past few weeks, I've been wanting to cut my hair. Due to financial restraints (I really couldn't justify spending money on a haircut while my birds and cat were starving) I haven't had my hair cut in well over six months.

Since I've gotten a new job, I decided that the professional thing to do was to cut it the hell off. Long hair in the summer months? Far too much maintenance for this girl.

So my hair is gone. The new haircut looked good up until Crystal - the hairdresser of the day - decided to tease it. Oh joy.

She bumped it, teased it, curled it, moussed it, hair sprayed it, and all together styled it within an inch of its fine, flat, and otherwise ordinary life. On the upside, it added two inches to my height.

I look like a bad 80's porn star.

I'm hoping that the poof goes down sometime soon. 'Cuz this? Is totally not appropriate. I'm not going to post a picture, because honestly? I'd rather not subject you, dear reader, to the horror.

Maybe if I tie a bandanna in it and just start growling people will think I'm a pirate....

another new blog

2010-01-24T23:56:00.005-05:00

So I'm debating about creating another blog.

Yes yes, I know. I'm a fool. After all, I tried that Purchaser's Review thing a while back, and look at it now.

Bugger. It's on hiatus, I swear! Maybe. Mostly. Kind-of.

I could come back to it.

Anyways, I'm thinking I'm going to do a short-story blog. I'll probably use Wordpress for it since it offers a bit more customizeable features that even a technical idiot like me can figure out. I used it for my youth group blog, and I really liked how that one turned out. I'm even debating about switching this blog over to Wordpress, since...y'know. Google is the devil.

Anyways, I've been writing short little vignettes for Badass Geek's brainchild Fiction 500. The premise is simple - write a fully stand-alone story in 500 words or less.

A tad more difficult than it sounds. Especially for me, because I tend to ramble on and on (as if ya'll couldn't figure that out).

I really enjoy writing for it. A lot. However, now that I've gotten into this whole 'writing' mode, I think I'm going to start posting up more short stories on my own blog. I will, of course, still post to the Fiction 500 website, since I love it like Chuck Norris loves roundhouse kicks. But I've been writing some other stuff, and there's no way I can cram it into 500 words. So for those stories I think I'll post them up to the other site.

:)

I'll post a link here when I'm done creating it.

Twitter me this....

2010-01-19T23:06:00.003-05:00

So I've come to the conclusion that I'm addicted to social media sites.

I have two blogs (even if one is on temporary hiatus and I'm a horrible blogger), a facebook, a myspace, I'm a member of 20-something bloggers, the Savvy Source (and yes, I know...I don't have a kid! It's interesting anyways!), and I'm frustrated as hell that I can't get the internet on my cell phone (me and Mr. Nextel/Sprint are going to have a little...discussion...tomorrow). I won't even go into the six (SIX!!) e-mails that I actually use (WHAT ON EARTH DO I NEED WITH SIX E-MAILS?!).

To top all that lovely social crackism off, I've done the unthinkable.

I've joined twitter.

This media explosion has me a bit shaken up. I mean, five years ago I wouldn't have even thought to join these sites. I would have probably scoffed derisively.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Is this all just a big fat desperate cry for attention? Am I really that pathetic? Oh, I can write it off as me networking - after all, you never know where my next job offer will come from - but I don't think I'm fooling anyone. We all know what my problem is. Hell, if you're reading this, chances are you share the same addiction.

I constantly see Gen Y with their crackberries, or iphones, or various other phone/social gadgets. We're constantly plugged in. Why? What is this desperate urge to constantly fill our brains with useless information? Do I really need updates on Britney's marital status? And do I really need to know what the weather is like in Taiwan? And we won't get into my mommy (and daddy) blogger obsession.

If you're me, then the answer is, apparently, yes.

But is that necessarily a bad thing? Is receiving information at the speed of light a bad thing?

I tend to take it as we should take most things in life: it's fine in moderation. And it can come in really handy when you're at a bar at midnight and they're playing a 'guess the name of the song' game. It had prizes. And the DJ was totally wicked looking - and not in a good way. Think mountain man...complete with scratchy armpits and a plethora of facial hair. I think I saw him rub his nutsack once or twice.

Yes boys, we females do notice that. We're just too polite to say anything. Go to the bathroom next time. You don't see us scratching our underwires in public. Usually.

Oh, and if you haven't twitter-friended me yet (I'm sure that someone, somewhere has come up with a word for that) you totally should. Because I'm awesome and stuff. Nyx1331.

That...wasn't pathetic at all. Note the sarcasm.

Anth 410

2010-01-13T23:09:00.008-05:00

My favorite class in college was Anth 410.

It was my junior year of college and I had found myself in a 400 level class. It was drastically different than the auditorium style lecture halls that usually sat 200 people per class - there were only about 20 people in this one.

Human osteology.

Our professor was a world-renown forensic anthropologist, whose specialty was pubic bones. I remember waiting outside the classroom, wondering what awaited us - I'd never taken a 400 level class before. I sat down to a skinny brunette who had the largest doe-eyes I'd ever seen.

"Hi," I said, sounding somewhat inadequate to my own ears. She smiled at me, and asked if I wanted to be her study-buddy - she had, apparently, taken the class once before. And then immediately dropped it due to the work involved.

My stomach plunged and a cold sweat began. I was taking several other demanding classes at the time - would I be able to handle this? Before I could chicken out and walk away, a short, squat, and somewhat hairy woman walked by. She smiled (revealing slightly crooked teeth) and beckoned us into the room - this was our professor.

All twenty of us filed in, and we sat down at the tables that were strewn about. As we looked around at the skeletons and diagrams, our professor smirked.

She knew what we were in for.

The next day only twelve showed up. The other eight had, apparently, decided that they couldn't devote the amount of time needed to Anth 410. Our professor required that we be able to identify all the bones of the human skeleton blindfolded (she, of course, was damn near cackling when she informed us of this). We had to know every bump, crevice, foramen, sulcus, and protrusion, among other features. We also had to be able to estimate the age of the person when they had died, and tell our professor what side of the body the bone was in. She also liked to throw animal bones in our quizzes, just to spice things up a bit.

Thanks Professor. Really.

We kept a log of our hours spent in the lab outside of class, and we drew every bone that we studied in our notebooks.

By the end of the semester, I had logged over 800 hours. It was a running joke among the professors in our department - me and Lynn (the doe-eyed girl from the hallway, who I eventually became good friends with) were there more than they were. We had became fixtures.

That was, without a doubt, one of the most difficult and challenging classes I have ever taken. I, at times, hated it. I hated that I couldn't estimate the age of a person based off their teeth. I hated the foot bones. I hated that I had to spend 8 hours a day trying to memorize the names of things like 'linea aspera' or 'occipital crest,' on top of all my other coursework for my other classes.

And then, a change happened. There I was, going over the bones of the human skull for the umpteeth time, when it clicked. This was important. These skeletons were once real, actual people. People that somebody loved. People that lived their lives. I glanced over at the skeleton of a baby - whose baby was that? Was the mother heartbroken that her child had died shortly after birth? What about the other skeleton of the old man? What had he gone through in his life that his arthritis was so bad that the bones were damn near fused together?

I began to comprehend things, to understand that the femur bone fits in the acetabulum, which is part of the os coxae (a fancy word for pelvis), which supports the whole upper skeleton. If the femur is permanently compromised, the body automatically adjusts for it - muscle starts building in the other leg to make it stronger. The other leg gains bone to allow for the newly forming muscle to attach. It's like some awesome biological chain-reaction.

It all began to make sense. And I realized that if I looked at the skeleton, I could tell how a person lived. I could hazard a guess as to whether or not the person that skeleton represented was male or female, and if it was female whether or not she had given birth. I could tell whether or not he or she had certain types of infections and diseases, I could tell age, I could, effectively, guess as to how that person lived. I could figure out through the clues left on the skeleton who that person was. It kind of blew my mind.

That class remains a turning point in my life. It was at that point in my life that my passion for all things anthropological and biological began. Oh sure, I had already begun majoring in anthropology, but my reasons for that were pretty dumb - nothing else had caught my fancy.

When it came time for the end of the year, our professor declared that our class was one of the best she had ever had. Me and Lynn - we received A's. We were so proud of those, as we had worked our asses off for them.

And every class I took after that one? I began to see them in a whole new light.

I may not have a job in my chosen major. But my passion still remains. It may go dormant every once in a while, and I may get so caught up in the every-day grind that I forget about it sometimes.

But it's still there, silently analyzing humanity.

My Fifteenth Birthday

2010-01-11T01:38:00.006-05:00

I distinctly recall when I was fifteen - more specifically, my fifteenth birthday party.

I was an awkward child, all pudge and no curves. Brown hair that was far too thin to stay in a ponytail holder (and far too stringy to leave down), coke-bottle glasses, buck-teeth and an unfortunate habit of stuttering. I was, quite simply, a misfit.

Oh yea - lemme tell you. Had to beat the boys away with a stick.

Anyways, the term "awkward" didn't even begin to describe me. I was even once given an award by a teacher for blowing my nose the most.

Yea. Thanks Mrs. Leonard. Really. I can't tell you how much that endeared me to my fellow classmates. Nothing says "awesome" like a gratuitous nose-blowing award.

So anyways, there I was at the tender age of fifteen, with one friend in the whole wide world.

Louise.

She was loud, brash, and opinionated. She never stuttered, and I remember being in awe of her as she poured Jimmy Matlock's soda down his shirt during lunch.

He had been depositing his trash in front of me to throw away - like I was his servant. Louise took offense, and did what I was too scared to do - stand up and tell him to knock it off. Of course, she was one to do it by extremes, and I distinctly remember giggling all day as he walked around with bright orange soda staining his shirt. He never dumped his trash in front of me again.

She was the ying to my yang. We were complete opposites in personality, but despite that we somehow seemed to get along.

We were also born (almost exactly) twelve hours apart. Freaky, I know. She at 11:45 in the morning, me at 11:45 at night. And so we shared a birthday.

Anyways, I remember my dad dropping me off at Louise's house - she promised it would be a birthday I would never forget. I rolled my eyes when she said this - I was expecting some contraband alcohol, or some R rated videos.

Instead I got a seance.

We spent the night playing with an Ouija board - me, her, and ~~her~~ our friend Jorge. Around midnight, Louise decided to inform us of our plans - we would be staying up until three o'clock in the morning so we could trudge our way across the street to the cemetery in order to summon the dead.

Even at fifteen, I thought it was a stupid idea. When asked why she chose three in the morning, she explained that three o'clock was the devil's hour.

Uh. Huh.

However, Louise was not to be dissuaded (Jorge really didn't seem to give a flying flip), and so at three o'clock we bundled up some blankets, grabbed a crucifix and candle, and made our way to the cemetery. The old, non-named cemetery. It only had about twenty graves, and the majority of those were sunken in and falling apart.

So we set down our blanket, put the candle in-between the three of us, and Louise started chanting. Me and Jorge held the crucifix - I recall that his hands were shaking somewhat, and I even caught him saying a few "Our Father"s under his breath.

I also recall that my ass? Yea, it was freezing.

So after about thirty minutes of waiting for the spirits to intervene, Louise decided that she had had enough. Of course she could never say this to us, so she simply stated that she saw ghosts moving in the shadows.

Yea. Sure. I rolled my eyes, blew out the candle, and started hiking back to the house.

I also slept like a baby - which is more than I can say for poor Jorge (he was, apparently, very superstitious).

But y'know what? Even though it sucked beyond measure, and even though I caught a cold the next day and even though now I wince at the disregard to the little things like ethics and human dignity...

it was indeed a birthday I never forgot.

Edith

2010-01-08T00:24:00.005-05:00

I'm in love with Edith Piaf.

Pookie gave me one of her CDs for Christmas this year - and I can't stop listening to it.

The husky rasp of her voice in "Milord" to the damn near tear-wrenching twirls in Hymne a l'Amour...I'm obsessed. I'm always amazed by the beautiful music that can come out of other people's mouths, probably because I'm utterly incapable of holding a tune. And usually what's coming out of my mouth is exactly the opposite of music...banshee wails, maybe, but certainly nothing beautiful.

Ah. It's nice to just sit back and ride the music sometimes.

Goal for 2010

2010-01-02T21:24:00.005-05:00

So yesterday was New Year's.

Some of you (hi there, ~~Pumpkin~~ loyal readers!!) may have noticed that I haven't updated regularly. I've been busy trying to figure out who I am and what I am and what I want to do with my life. 2009 was kind of a bum year for me, and if you asked me in college what I'd be doing now, working at a pet store definitely wouldn't have been on my list.

But, shit happens.

I suppose that would be my motto for 2009 - shit happens. In no particular order, I lost a close friend, had my second mother die, had to put my ~~two best friends~~ dogs down, went to Ireland and Scotland, gained an awesome boyfriend who makes my toes curl, I started this blog, went to Buffalo (NY), and I learned that sometimes we just have to grow up, take the losses, and accept that life doesn't always turn out according to plan.

Phew.

I'm going to get better with posting - I promise! I kind of fell out of the habit since I pretty much got slammed with a whole lot of bad. Funny thing about that - I forgot to look at all the good things in life. Luckily, I was smacked back to reality on New Year's night - apparently I'm prone to epiphanies when I'm completely and absolutely inebriated.

I have a good life. I may not have a big fancy apartment by now, and I may live paycheck to paycheck, but I am far from in need.

But I have an awesome boyfriend who puts up with me (and all my whining), and a family that despite being rather insane is somewhat supportive. And despite my job kind of sucking, I have had the pleasure and distinct honor of calling a good majority of my co-workers "friends." I am truly grateful for them, as they put up with me and my malarkey every day, and they haven't killed me yet.

So, I think that for 2010 I'm going to try to focus more on the good things in my life. I know I'm going to have to deal with the bad as it comes, but just because there's bad doesn't mean that I should forget that I've got a lot of good as well.

Yup.

It sounds like a plan.

Fiction 500

2009-12-23T12:34:00.002-05:00

So I'm absolutely thrilled - my short story has been posted over at Fiction 500! The site itself is the brain-child of the Badass Geek. Basically, it's a collection of short-stories that are all under 500 words.

It's tougher than it sounds. Fleshing out a story in a measly 500 words is proving to be an interesting challenge.

So, if you're interested, go on and click that little button to the right labeled Fiction 500. Go on...dooo it.

Or you can just click on the link below :)

Happy readings!

Fiction 500

Snowfall

2009-12-20T19:42:00.002-05:00

It's cold outside.

I'm sitting here in my chair, exhausted after the month from hell, looking out the window. The snowplow has piled the snow up in huge piles (although, those from the north would probably laugh at how much us Delawareans are panicking), and it's actually kind of pretty. In a frigid way.

Of course, I had to work yesterday and today. State of emergency? Pft. People need their pet food!

So I'm sitting here, with a billion and one ideas to write about. I could write about the funeral. I could write about Bug, and what an amazing person she is. I could write about Rusty, Lili, or the dog that I want to get. I could write about social justice. About common courtesy. About my thoughts and feelings and ideas for the future.

I could write about any number of things, and yet I won't - because I am too emotionally exhausted to do any of those topics any sort of justice.

My mother ~~forced~~ requested that my father go to the store to pick up eggs, milk, and bread.

I don't understand why people rush out to get these three ingredients. I mean...what are people making with this stuff? French toast?

And so I'm here. I'm contemplating building a fire - there's something about the crackling warmth of it that just cheers me up (yes, I fully admit to my pyro status). Hell, there's something about just sitting down with a throw blanket and a hot cup of cocoa and curling up with a good book.

Or, in my case, season one of Lost (which I've recently gotten hooked on).

So, World, how have you been?

Argh!

2009-12-12T13:33:00.006-05:00

Warning: bitchy, angsty, whiny post ahead. Read at your own risk.

So, I realize that it's already December Twelfth, and I will admit it - I've been neglecting my blog. And my Christmas shopping. But eh.

I have a very good reason for this.

The month of December (and, if I'm being honest, probably the last half of November) has been absolutely crap-tastic.

First, my ~~best friends~~ dogs die. Both of them. Within a month of each other. Then, I had to deal with all sorts of work drama (well...more work drama than usual). I just noticed that my once-best friend (who, for some inexplicable reason, stopped talking to me) is now engaged to her jackass of a boyfriend.

And then, to make matters worse, the woman who might as well be my second mother, was hospitalized for cancer. So that prompted all sorts of visits to the hospital, and awkward run-ins with the ex-boyfriend and his ~~demon spawn~~ wife.

Then I got sick - with both a sinus and an ear infection. Fantastic. This prevented me from visiting Bug (the woman who might as well be my mother), because...duh. They tend to frown upon sick people visiting. She was later moved to a hospice.

And then she died. Two days ago, to be exact (I, of course, never said my final goodbyes, because I've been stuck in bed trying not to suffocate myself). Her funeral is on Tuesday.

It doesn't take much to make me go all berserker - and I think I'm at that point. I haven't eaten in five days. I haven't left the house in five days, and I sure as hell haven't slept in five days. I'm pretty sure my boss is going to try to fire me because I keep calling out sick.

If anyone so much as gives me the stink eye at that funeral, I will jam my pointy high-heel up their asses.

On the upside, I've lost ten pounds. Apparently not eating for five days tends to make one lose the bulge.

Great. I'll be skinny in no time. Now I just have to figure out how to kill the little man that's poking the back of my eyeballs with an ice-pick.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Aunt Becky's publicity stunt

2009-12-05T11:47:00.003-05:00

So, Aunt Becky's doing one of those ~~aweful publicity ridden~~ fantastic blog giveaway things. I figured that I'd enter it, because...

a.) She's kind of awesome (seriously, if you're bored with reading my crap and need something new to read, head on over to her place. You won't be disappointed), and

b.) I'm poor and in need of new reading material

So, she told all of us (her loyal ~~minions~~ readers) to answer a few questions in our blogs.

She also told us to open our whore mouths. Full of the love, that one.

Look, it's legit - she even made a button about it:

Let's get on with the opening of my whore mouth:

1) Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? Yes. And gummy bears. And chocolate chips. And cherries. My dentist hates me.

2) If you had to choose one word to banish from the English language, what would it be and why? I'm finding this one a bit difficult to answer. A word I'd want to banish? Huh. How about the word "Friskies." I'd say "Fancy Feast," but you said that it just had to be one word, and so I'm picking Friskies. I hate that cat food. WITH. A. PASSION.

3) If you were a flavor, what would it be? Cherry. Most definately cherry.

4) What’s the most pointless annoying chore you can think of that you do on a daily/weekly basis? Folding my underwear. I mean, really. What's the point?

5) Of all the nicknames I’ve ever had in my life, Aunt Becky is the most widely known and probably my favorite. What’s your favorite nickname? (for yourself) I don't have a nickname, really. My real name is Sara - it's kind of hard to shorten that. I was once likened to a Keebler Elf though....

6) You’re stuck on a desert island with the collective works of 5 (and only five) musical artists for the rest of your life. Who are they? Beatles - because...well...obviously. Nirvana, Ray Charles, Linkin Park, and Green Day. I think that just about covers a good portion of my musical cravings.

7) Everything is better with bacon. True or false? True. Absolutely true. Bacon is the reason I have a spare tire of fat banding around my thighs.

8 ) If I could go back in time and tell Young Aunt Becky one thing, it would be that out of chaos, order will emerge. Also: tutus go with everything. What would you tell young self? Shutup and stop whining - if you think this is bad, wait for what's coming!

Rusty's Shenanigans

2009-12-01T10:46:00.005-05:00

I remember the first time we tried to show Rusty. That's right, World, we showed our dogs.

In those prissy "run around the ring once again, please" shows. The ones that judge a dog's motion, gait, overall appearance, bone structure, personality, and so on and so forth. It was all a bit high-faluting for me, but I went anyways, because it was something my dad was interested in. Rusty loved being shown. Unfortunately for him, his personality wasn't exactly "show" quality.

He bunny-hopped around the ring. Whenever a judge went to touch him, his tongue lolled out and he'd squirm around trying to reach the judge so he could be petted. And, above all, he hated (with a passion) his handler (who also happened to be his breeder).

Hm, let me give you a few examples.

The first time he had even shown, we didn't know that we weren't supposed to feed him. Apparently, dogs get stage fright as well. Well...heh.

He peed on the breeder's leg. And then puked on her shoes.

Everyone was absolutely horrified (except for my sister and me - we were too busy laughing our asses off to be horrified). They had to postpone the show so they could clean up his mess. And that incident pretty much set the tone for Rusty's show career (which ended after a few short (or if you're the breeder, long) years). At less than six months old, my dog knew what was up.

I remember one show where he walked perfectly. Absolutely perfectly - he had the show in the bag. Guaranteed first place. But, in true Rusty fashion, he ended the last quarter of the show by bunny-hopping. All four paws left the ground. And then he stopped, and then ran out of the ring - with the breeder still attached to his leash. Her gorgeous pantsuit was ruined - green grass stains ran all down the front of it. Apparently that happens when one is dragged fifty yards behind a seventy-five pound dog (the little fences around the ring didn't even slow him - or her - down. He just jumped over them. She, unfortunately, went through them).

The judge was amused. The breeder? Not so much. We thought she was going to kill him that day.

My dog was a legend. People used to come to his shows not to see the competition, but because they wanted to see Rusty's antics. We were going to take him out of the shows, but he seemed like he was having so much fun.

And the breeder wanted to keep him in. She said he was an ill-mannered dog (wonder where she got that impression from?), and that she was going to fix him.

Ha. Needless to say, he won that particular competition.

That's my boy. Three years of showing and he has less than five ribbons, but many memories full of laughter. And, looking back on it now, I don't blame him one bit for hating the breeder. We got our other dog, Lili from her, at four months of age.

We later found out that the breeder's son beat dogs, and that Lili is the only puppy from her litter to survive. We, of course, had no proof (other than that she was terrified of men, and from what we had heard about the breeder from outside sources. The other puppies apparently died of an "infection").

My dad instead sued her for her breeding practices, won, and the AKC shut her down. She is no longer allowed to breed (although she does it anyways now under her husband's name).

Looking back on it now, I think Rusty knew what type of person she was. He never gave anyone as much shit as he gave her, and there have been a few instances where he's been an excellent judge of character. I wouldn't trust anyone he didn't.

My father used to bring Rusty with him to work. One day (after being suitably worshipped by the receptionist), Rusty was hanging out at a job site under the receptionist's desk. Well, in walked her boss, and Rusty growled - low and menacing. He came out from under the desk, and the next thing my dad knew was that the boss was backed into a corner, with our dog growling at him. Keep in mind here, Rusty was one of the most gentle natured and sweet dogs that most people have ever met (Lili was the mean one).

So, needless to say, this was unusual. My father grabbed Rusty, put him in his kennel, and once his work was done they left (the funny part about it is, all of the workers in the office came by the cage and gave Rusty treats after it had happened). A few weeks later my dad learned that the boss that Rusty had growled at had been arrested for embezzlement and spousal abuse.

I think that, sometimes, animals do know best.

One day at a time

2009-11-30T00:20:00.003-05:00

So, Bug (my ex-boyfriend's mother) seems to be stable. We are all praying that she'll (somehow) make it through the holidays. According to one of her regular visiters, she has maybe two months left in her. I've made a decision.

I'm not going to mourn her before she's gone. I'm going to take it all one day at a time, and hope like hell that somehow I'll still have some sanity left by the end. I'm going to try to visit her everyday.

It's the very least I could do for a woman who, almost singlehandedly, managed to bring me out of a deep and dehabilitating depression. I would do anything for her.

So, blogging world, I may touch on the subject in future posts, but because I'm not going to engage in preemptive mourning, I'm going to move on.

I think I'll tell you about happier times. I'm afraid that life right now kind of sucks - not just because of Bug, but also because of work.

You know that work had to figure into my bad mood, right?

Not to go into any details (because you never know who out there could be reading this), but there's a serious managerial problem at our store. Our assistant manager has been fired unfairly. The backlash from it (and years of upper-managment screwups) has been pretty severe.

That and my best friend, my sounding board, my emotional support has died at the ripe old age of eleven. Rusty is now among the deceased.

All of this adds up to Nyx in a pretty bad mood that rivals even the pissiest PMSing gorilla.

So yes, look forward to many stories about happier times, back when none of this existed and life was as simple as life can get.

Cancer

2009-11-26T22:51:00.004-05:00

Today is Thanksgiving. A day of joy, happiness, and above all, a day where we can all be thankful for what and who we have.

These words have never been truer.

Today my ex boyfriend called me. And today he informed me that his mother, a woman who I consider to be almost a second mother to myself, is dying. From stage four lung cancer. The doctors said that she had two days to two months to live.

He was crying to me on the phone. Somehow, a simple "I'm sorry" can't even begin to cover it - I sat there and listened as he told me about how he didn't know what he was going to do without her, about how much he loved her, about how he had to explain to his boss what had happened and how he's not quite sure how he's going to tell everyone else. I have never had to comfort anyone like this before.

I am speechless. Something so rudimentary as language cannot even begin to describe the overwhelming emotions I feel coursing through my body. She was there for me after we broke up - he was my first boyfriend and I was devastated when we broke up. She told me that I'd get over it, and she was right - I did. She brought me back to my religion, and helped me develop my moral compass. She's always been there for me, for almost six years now. She's seen me go through boyfriends, listened to my rantings about the injustices of the world, watched as I've become the person I am today.

What do I do?

I can't do anything. I'm still reeling from the death of my dog - arguably my best friend - a few days ago. And now this. This isn't something I can fight. This isn't something that I can win against.

This is cancer.

I will go and visit her tomorrow morning in the hospital. I'm not quite sure what is going to happen. She's pretty out of it, from what my ex has said.

For those of you out there that are religious, I ask of you one thing: please pray for her. If the Lord deems it necessary to take her from us now, then so be it. But a little prayer never hurt anyone. I'm sorry that my postings have been a bit sporadic lately, but I'm emotionally drained. What's worse is that everyday I have to paste on a happy face and act as if nothing is wrong.

Somehow, I think that doing that is going to be a bit more difficult tomorrow.

Back Aches and Swindling

2009-11-21T22:56:00.003-05:00

Very Random Post Ahead!

There is a little man who is living in my spine at the moment. He's running up and down, playing my vertebrae like they're some sort of xylophone, and every once in a while he grabs his little ~~ice pick~~ screwdriver and jams it between vertebrae and twists. I think he's trying to tune me. It hurts. He's been there since yesterday, but yesterday it wasn't nearly half as bad as it is now.

Why does it hurt so much? Because I'm a glutton for punishment.

So I woke up early today to go to work with my kids. I've been pretty psyched for this - we've been planning to do a service weekend for a while with the teenagers at my parish, but we've been rained out until now. I used to be highly involved with the youth ministry (see my post here), and I've missed it very much. Well, I don't miss the bullshit and drama that certain higher-ups may or may not have created, but I do miss working with my kids.

So I wake up at the ungodly hour of seven (urk...I am not a morning person, especially not after partying the night before), somehow manage to do what's necessary in the morning (shower, brush the teeth, try not to kill the dog as I trip over him...), and get my tush in the car and on the road. I make it to the church by the time we were all supposed to meet (a novel occurrence - anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm usually five to fifteen minutes late...to everything).

And I arrived to...old people. And the two other adults that were scheduled to be there. None of our kids had shown up...none at all.

Yep. Lace covered grey-haired ladies' heads like ancient cobwebs as they sat in the pews and prayed. Father Neil stood at the back of the church, waiting for the music to key up so he could walk down the aisle. He gave me a slight disapproving look as we snuck into the church and made our way towards our chosen pew.

Mass proceeded as it should have, and still none of the kids showed. So we made our way to the house we were to work on for the day, figuring that even if it was just the three of us, we could at least make a dent.

Which leads me to why I'm a glutton for punishment.

In hindsight, moving those pieces of drywall probably wasn't a good idea. Nor the old furniture. Or the television(s).

I arrived at work today (yes, I went to work after engaging in the ~~child labor camp~~ wonderful service opportunity) practically crippled. I hobbled my way into work, hand on the small of my back and moaning pitifully about how awful I felt.

And then my boss told me she was run over today by a truck.

I think my thunder may have been stolen slightly. Although, I gotta say, she had a damned good story. Apparently she was at the farmer's market, and some bimbo ran her over. Literally.

She was walking out of the entrance of the farmer's market, and some lady drove by her. She looked over, and realized that the lady had stopped, and put her reverse lights on.

Unfortunately, my poor tiny little manager (she might weigh 100 lbs soaking wet and weighed down with a few bricks) barely had time to jump out of the way as the dumbass hit reverse with all the enthusiasm of a madman escaping zombies. Or a tween who's spotted free Miley Cyrus/Jonas Brothers/Taylor Swift tickets.

And why? Because she saw a parking space she wanted.

Ridiculous. She clipped my manager, then sped away. And you know what the kicker is?

She damn well knew what she did. She waved at my manager and mouthed the word "sorry" and drove away.

Bitch.

So she was in worse pain than I was. All night long we bothered our co-workers, begging for any painkillers they might have on hand.

On the upside, I almost made two hundred dollars in donations today. We're running our donation drive for a couple of the local no-kill animal rescues until Christmas, in the hope that we might be able to help them out a little bit. Our store gets no profit from this, and 100% of the proceeds are going straight towards the rescues. I'm just asking people to round up their spare change - if they buy an item for $1.49, then they could donate $0.51 towards the cause, and then pay $2. It's working pretty splendidly - I've already gotten over $500 so far (and that's just my total...it doesn't include any of the other ~~slaves~~ worker bees).

Everyone at work rolls their eyes at me whenever it's donation time. I always look forward to it because a.) I'm fan-fucking-tastic at it, and b.) every dollar earned really does go towards helping an animal in need. A lot of the rescues now are really hurting for money because of the recession, and animals are getting dropped off in record numbers.

So, I hope that we can get as many donations as possible this year. Sure, I may remind some of a cracked-out cheerleader when this time of year rolls around, but mneh. I don't think I care very much, because every dollar earned is like a little mini-win for me - it means that one more animal might get the medical treatments that it needs. One more animal might be able to be adopted out faster. One more animal might be given a life that it was previously denied.

I would also like to give a special shout out to Twinkles, my co-worker's (Pumpkin) fiancee. He was an awesome sport and bought one of our calenders (yes, we're selling calenders and sweatshirts and tee shirts this year for the rescues). He, of course, told me I was swindling him. Pumpkin tried to convince him that they could use some of the coupons in the back of the book.

He glared at me as she mentioned wanting to get a new fish tank stand for a bigger fish tank.

Whoopsies. Sorry there Twinkles. It's all for a good cause...heheheh....

Picture Monday

2009-11-16T23:52:00.005-05:00

The majority of this week's Picture Monday pictures come from Martha's Vineyard. I was blessed enough to be the Maid of Honor in my friends Sarah and Sean's wedding this past summer. The only exception is the last photo, which was taken on the way to Buffalo last week.

I know I know...the horizon line isn't perfectly straight. I like it that way. I also particularly like the way the perspective element that the pier provides, and the way the flowerpot starts it.

It was the last night of my trip, and I decided to go see what I could capture with my camera. Someone had been having some sort of party, and the sounds of the guests drifted past my ears as I took this photo.

Ah...we partied all night long. I like this photo because it reminds me how drunk I got. And how much fun everyone seemed to have - I think that small intimate weddings are the way to go (unfortunately, I've resigned myself to a large wedding - my family is ginormous).

The bridal bouquets.

The promised picture. We were completely lost, and Pookie was all "er...I don't know where we are." My response? "Well how the hell am I supposed to know?"

ALL BETTER!

2009-11-16T12:16:00.004-05:00

Hiya!

Ok, so I may have recently been a bit ~~hormonal and psychotically obsessed~~ distraught over things that a certain friend of mine may or may not have done. If she's reading this, she knows who she is and what my feelings are on the topic (seeing as how I wrote a lovely angst-filled post about it). It's caused me to think a lot lately on the subject of friendship and what exactly a friend's purpose is.

This post will not be about that. I refuse to dwell on the subject any longer than necessary, and I've deemed it no longer necessary. Things and people change, including myself.

It'd be a boring world if it were static.

So, I'm rather cheery this morning. I think it's safe to say that the raging bitch inside of me is safely gone away to her little cubby hole only to return again next month.

My betta fish is looking rather cramped. I think that it's about time I set him up in a proper aquarium. I've been meaning to stick him in my R2D2 aquarium (what, you didn't think I was a geek? PFT!), but I haven't had the room to fit it anywhere. If I clear off the top shelf on one of my bookcases I think I can fit him there.

Maybe. The R2D2 aquarium looks like this:

Yea. It's full of the awesomeness. It retailed for $103.99.

I, of course, would never pay that price for it. I did what any self-respecting store ~~slave~~ employee would do.

I waited for it to go on clearance. And waited. And waited.

And wound up getting it for $13.

Oh. Yea. That was a happy day in Nyx-land. He's a neat lil' guy who moves his head around and has red, green, and blue LED lights.

I think that it would be a nice little tribute to a series that I grew up on (that and Indiana Jones...it's all my dad's fault).

More pictures to come tonight! And I may even (gasp) put a picture of myself up!

Why?

2009-11-13T11:50:00.007-05:00

I started this blog as a sounding board for my opinions, thoughts, ideas, and feelings.

Hence the title, Notions.

Well, I'm about to enter into very *depressing* territory here (at least, for me), so don't say I didn't warn you.

I feel as though my stomach has twisted in on itself. And no matter what I do, I can't seem to untwist it. There's this really big lump in my throat that won't go away. That's right...I think I might be a bit depressed.

See, I'm a bit PMS-y, which can and does throw my emotions off a bit. Usually everything is intensified (I can just feel all you guys out there who've had experience with this phenomenon wincing), and for all intensive purposes, sometimes I can go a bit apeshit.

Right now is one of those times. I recently logged onto facebook (I know I know...it's the devil), and saw that one of my friends has unfriended me. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal to me. But...she was someone who I've always held in high esteem, and who I had once considered to be my best friend.

Granted, we don't really talk all that often anymore. And yea, I don't exactly agree with her choice in boyfriend material. We won't go there though, and I think I've been pretty good at not ranting about it anymore (may have had a few rough spots in the beginning of their relationship, but whatevs...I figured it was all under the bridge). But we still contact each other on and off, and I have some comfort in knowing that she is simply a phone call away if I need her. That is, at least, until last night.

Damnit, it hurts. She was my best friend once upon a time, and I like to think that we helped each other out in some pretty rough spots. I used to be able to tell her anything and everything, and not fear recrimination or judgement. She was like a sister to me.

I think that we began to separate when we both started to get different friends in college. She made a whole lot of friends that were within her major, and I made a few that were in mine. From what I understand, this drifting is pretty normal for people who enter into the insanity of college life. And drifting is normal, and I even expected it. Regardless, we've always been very friendly throughout the years.

So why now? Why has she chosen to eliminate all traces of me from her life? I don't think I've done anything to offend her. And if it were just a matter of her "cleaning house" as it were on facebook (that is to say, unfriending all friends who she hasn't spoken to in a while), then she would have unfriended a whole lot of other people as well...people she hasn't talked to since high-school. Instead, from what I gather, she simply unfriended both me and Pookie.

I don't know why, and that kind of kills me. And I'm sure a lot of this hurt is caused by the hormonal condition known as ~~raging bitch syndrome~~ PMS. But 10 years of friendship (ok, 8 if you don't want to count the recent years where we've just kind of contacted each other on and off) is a lot of years to just flush away without a thought.

So I'm in a bad place right now. I'm hurting, and I don't know how to make it stop.

I think I'll start with some chocolate, and go from there.

Buffalo, Pt. Two

2009-11-10T23:06:00.003-05:00

I'm back!

I know all of you have been awaiting my return. Oh yes, gentle reader, I know that you have been anticipating this post with barely-contained anticipation. Just face it. My blog is the center of your world.

Right? Right.

Now that we've got that settled, let me tell you about my lovely trip to the land of Canada. Well...as canadian as one can get without actually leaving the country.

That's right! Buffalo! Home of the Buffalo wing, and beef on weck, and deep-fried cauliflower (incidentally, they have some of the best heart centers in the country).

The drive up wasn't too bad - we only had to stop for gas once. Woot.

I love my car sometimes (a 2005 Chevy Equinox...it's actually quite good on gas, surprisingly).

Seeing the slow agonizing death of millions of leaves has never been so beautiful before as we passed the scenic vistas of Pennsylvania and New York.

We hit some sleet on the way up (which led to me clutching the armrest and ~~screaming in fear~~ telling Pookie to please be careful with my ~~baby~~ car). Other than that, it was relatively uneventful (we plugged in Kathy Griffin's audiobook).

So we get up to Buffalo, and I met his grandmother for the ~~first time~~ almost first time.

See, she had attended his graduation, but due to circumstances beyond my control (drunken ~~wicked witch of the west~~ stepmother), I hadn't said more than a 'hello' to her. So this was almost my first time meeting her.

A few things struck me right off the bat about her. 1.) She was tiny. The woman is a midget, which is hilarious because Pookie is at about 6'5." 2.) She had a kick ass attitude. The woman's eyes lit up like she had just won the lottery when we mentioned that there was a bottle of Jack Daniels rolling around in the back of my car. She was so thrilled when we gave it to her at the end of our visit. 3.) She was very...VERY...catholic. Extremely catholic. Irish catholic.

I, of course, adored her.

We got along swimmingly. So when she suggested that we go the Basilica, I agreed. And I may have even enjoyed myself. And when we went to goodwill? I shopped the china. I even bought myself a cute little cordial glass (I love cordial glasses. Can't stand cordials, but I love the little petite glasses they are served in).

Pookie's uncle took us to go see the Sabres v. Flyers game. The entire time I was in Buffalo, I was getting shit for being a Flyers fan. His granny even gave me shit. But that's ok, because we beat Buffalo 5-1.

Ha. Take that, granny.

His uncle hooked us up with INSANE tickets - 7th row. I gotta say, I'm not much of an Emery fan (although, I wasn't a Biron fan either...I was a Nitty fan), but the Flyers put up a good defence and managed to score against Miller.

Although, if you know anything about hockey, that isn't all that much of an achievement. I'm pretty sure Miller couldn't manage to block for the pee-wee hockey teams that play at halftime.

Just sayin'.....

Anyways, we I had fun. After the game, we went to Duff's, which is arguably (or so I'm told) the best place to get wings in Buffalo. Sure, there's the Anchor bar, but I'm told that Duff's is where it's at. I've never seen chicken wings that big (here in Delaware (a major chicken supplier, for all you ignorant fools out there) we breed our chickens for breast size rather than wing size. Kind of like South Beach, but for chickens). MMMMMmmmmMMM.

And then, World, the trip started to take a turn for the worst.

That's right. Pookie got the swine flu. Oink oink.

I mean, me and his granny had a grand old time. We ate at Tim Horton's no less than five times during four days, and we discussed everything ranging from religion (I just don't understand why all these kids walk into the church with their jeans!) to Tim Horton's (You know, he was a hockey player) to family (let's just say that hints concerning marraige were dropped by Pookie's dear old granny. I pretended to be ignorant). Unfortunately, I didn't get to go to Niagra Falls, but I'm planning on going back when Pookie's feeling better, and then we can both go see the Falls.

Or, if he dies, then I'll just go by myself. Pretty sure Granny will let me stay with her. :)

The drive home wasn't so bad either. I mean, besides that time that I almost sideswiped the stupid little white Saab that some lady was driving.

She had the gall to get in my blind spot. Pft.

We made it home, safe and sound (and I got to sample the delicacies of pit stop cuisine).

So that was my trip to Buffalo.

So, the Garmin took us some really weird way down the road. I took the rainbow as a good sign.

I have an obsession about wind-energy. More specifically, the windmills themselves. I took no less than ten photos of these.

Ah, the Basilica. I now know Fr. Baker's entire life-history, and I got to see some pretty kick-ass statues to boot.

Yea. Our seats were *that* good. Be jealous.

Free beer never tasted so good.

Buffalo, Pt. One

2009-11-05T22:14:00.003-05:00

So here I am in Buffalo, NY.

How did I wind up here? Well, Pookie came up to me a few weeks back and was like "Wanna go to Buffalo?"

I, of course, said yes. Hey, ~~a free trip~~ an almost free trip is so totally worth it.

Nevermind the milage it's put on my car :P

But it's seriously pretty up here. We're staying with Pookie's grandmother. She's kind of three shades of awesomeness. I know this because her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree on fire when we told her I had a bottle of Jack Daniels hidden in the back of my car.

We plan on going to Niagara Falls soon - I'm ridiculously psyched about this. It's probably because I have a thing for waterfalls and everything pretty and pristine and touristy. We're also going to bullshit around with his aunt sometime during this trip - he owes her a cosmo.

So I have all that fun to look forward to (along with, what I'm sure will be, a few totally awkward silences during the greetings. "Hello, this is Nyx, she's my girlfriend." *cricket*)

I'm not looking forward to the temperature though.

Buffalo is fucking cold!!!

And so here I am. Sitting on a couch, with Pookie's arm around me, watching a small 24 inch television that only gets about five channels on it, operating on a 5.5mbps speed connection (I'm pirating the internet from some poor hapless fool) in his very Irish-Catholic grandmother's living room. I will, after we are done watching canadian television, go to Grandma's spare room and attempt to sleep on half a futon (because the hell if I'm going to try to drag that thing out and then re-fold it. It's like some sort of twisted origami project).

And y'know what? I'm loving every minute of it.

So, that's it for now. I'll be back on Tuesday, so don't expect any updates until then. I'll even put up some pictures from the trip.

See you then!!

Love

2009-11-04T12:16:00.001-05:00

Yea. It's kind of like that.

This video is (obviously) not mine. I'm not that talented :P

Picture Monday!

2009-11-02T23:50:00.003-05:00

This week's pictures come from Longwood Gardens again :) I've been in a pretty shitty mood, and looking at pictures of pretty things usually cheers me up, hence this week's selection. Enjoy!

Like it or not, Christmas is coming up. I love how all the stores just completely skip over Thanksgiving - I guess it's not as marketable.

So that's it for this week's Picture Monday!

Blah

2009-11-02T23:15:00.003-05:00

Warning: morose and broody post ahead. You've been warned.

So this week has been very "blah." I'm going to Buffalo with Pookie soon, and am looking forward to the trip. I need something to snap me out of the mood I've been in the last few days.

I keep on trying to cheer up, but if I'm being honest with myself I'm still a bit sick from the H1N1. I don't think that I'm still contagious (Lord I hope I'm not), but a stuffy nose still remains, along with an annoying persistent cough.

Work has been sucking lately - we've got a new general manager who can't manage worth beans. I'm trying to give him a chance, but he's absolutely awful. His management skills absolutely suck. He's pitting my coworkers against each other by recruiting a few of them as "spies." I don't understand why he would think that appropriate as a manager, but whatever. He's just the latest in a long line of managerial fuckups.

Everyday I go to work, I have to think up excuses not to call out. Honestly, there's only two reasons I show up every day instead of calling out and using up my paid time off - it would be irresponsible for me to pawn off all of my work on my co workers, and I need the paycheck.

Day in and day out I show up, and I'm absolutely exhausted by the end of it. People have been slacking, and I don't know how the heck to get their bums in gear. It's not my job to get them working - I'm not a manager, just a worker bee.

So I'm job-hunting, as I have been since I got my degree. I'm trying like hell to find a job, but let's face it - there are just no jobs for people with no experience. I find myself competing with people who have five, ten, fifteen years experience, and kick-ass recommendations to boot. Pookie is in much the same boat as I am. It's rather disconcerting. I realize that having a diploma isn't a magical golden ticket to the wonderland of employment, but I at least figured that it would count for something. I guess not.

The only thing that I can do is keep on chugging and hope to hell I can find a job that will not only pay the bills, but that I won't absolutely despise either.

So, I'm sorry if my updates are a bit sporadic - I'm just trying to figure things out. I'm also participating in NaNoWriMo (an online writing contest), and so I'll be focusing a good bit of my energy there (I have to write about 2,000 words a day...and I'm already behind).

So, that's what's happening in the land of Nyx. I realize that this post isn't full of the humor and sarcastic wit (ha!) that I usually present, but honestly I just don't have the energy tonight. I debated about not posting this, but that wouldn't be right. Life's not all happiness and sunshine and rainbows. Life's full of the nitty-gritty, and sometimes it sucks. And sometimes it's just "blah."

Matsui and Needles

2009-10-30T01:39:00.006-04:00

So, the Phillies lost game 2 of the World Series tonight.

It sucked. And I may (or may not) have thrown something at the television.

After all of that, I have one question.

How the fuck did Matsui hit that?! I mean, Jesus. It was so far out of the normal swing of things. Telekinesis, I say. Tele-fucking-kinesis.

Ugh. Ok. Now that I've got that out of my system....

I got my test results back from the lab today.

Positive for H1N1. Thank you test lab - it's so helpful for me to know a week and a half after contracting said disease that I have it.

Thank God my doctor isn't a nincompoop. She put me on the Tamiflu as soon as I complained, and it took care of me pretty damned well. I'm all better now! (mostly. If you ignore the hacking) So really, the test results do me no good at this point in time.

Well, that's not true. At least now I know I don't have to get the damned vaccine.

I have a *small* fear of needles. That is to say...I hate them. With an undying passion. You see, when I was a small lass (and by small I mean twelve) I had to get allergy shots.

I actually was ok with them...for a bit. And then the dumbass doctor kept on increasing the dosages - because they had to desensitize me. Ok, that's fine, I can get down with that.

And then he switched nurses. The new nurse (who, I'm pretty sure, was related to Hitler) never warmed up the fluid - she just injected it into me straight from the freezer.

Uh...OW? Bitch didn't give me a sticker either.

But ok, I can deal with that. It burned, but I kept telling myself that it was all for the greater, allergy-free, good.

They upped the dosages too high. On more than one occasion I broke out in hives as a result of the injections. And then they would decrease the dosage...and then start raising it back up. And then the hives would start again. Big, angry welts that were huge. That, coupled with the frozenness of it all....Well. It was all for the greater good, right?

Who cares if I left the office in tears because my arms WERE FUCKING BURNING LIKE HELL as the ice-cold liquid traveled through my veins. It was ok, because we were doing something, people! And for those of you who are thinking that it's just my 12 year old brain blowing things out of proportion, I promise you, it's not.

My mother (you don't mess with Mama-bear) ~~interrogated~~ questioned the nurses on more than one occasion about the welts on my arms. She also didn't understand why a child who was as ~~hardheaded~~ resilient as me would cry over something so trivial as an injection. I had never cried before for any other injections, after all.

They waved off her concerns and told her it was all for the eventual betterment of my "condition." (Ok...it's an allergy. It's actually a *lot* of allergies. I'd list them, but I don't want to put you to sleep. Just trust me on this)

It was like that once a week (one injection per arm) for two years. And then the dumbass allergist came up to me, and pronounced that the shots really weren't doing any good, and we should stop.

Uh. WHAT? Two years I endured that, and he couldn't have informed me of this sooner?

Oh, I was ticked. The experience has left me a bit...bitter.

So now I don't like needles. At all.

We're talking heeby-jeebies. I'm not as bad as some people (for instance, I don't scream and cry and moan about how aweful getting a needle is every time I see one), but if there's a way for me to avoid it, then you're damn sure I'll be exploring that option.

And before all ya'll start thinking that I purposefully contracted H1N1, think again. Even I'm not that crazy.

An Obsession

2009-10-27T20:09:00.006-04:00

I have a problem.

I'm trying to come to grips with it. And I've done a pretty good job of resisting up until now.

I lost interest for a while, and didn't want much to do with it. I would go whole days without thinking about it. I guess life just kind of got between us.

But now it's back, and I can't stop thinking about it.

Daily, I think about it. I think about dragging it out of storage and running my fingers along the sleek shiny plastic, listening to the shudder click and seeing the image pop up on the tiny LCD screen on the back. I miss messing around with different aperature settings and white balance options, playing with the shudder speed and f-stops, seeing which ISO setting works until I get that *one* picture out of the hundreds I might take that makes the entire trip worth it.

That's right world. I'm a picture whore. I'll do anything to get my shot - including hanging upside down from a tree limb (true story). I used to take photos for our college paper, and I wasn't half bad (if I do say so myself).

So why'd I stop?

Well, work puts a damper on the available times I have to take my photos. And weather is most definately a factor - if it's pouring rain, odds are I'm not going to be shooting in it (I'm clumsy enough as it is, with my luck my camera would fall in a puddle or something). That and, honestly, other things have kind of taken precedence up until now.

Well. Enough of that. I think I might drag out my D70 and my lenses, and see what happens when I get better.

What kills me the most is that I was good. I was damn good. My specialties are kids and landscapes. I love taking pictures of kids (and yes, I realize how creepy that can sound...). There's just something wonderful in the innocence that a kid can portray on camera. Pure, unadultrated emotions shine through - they're not trying to hide their real selves behind a thin veneer of sophistication.

Nope. They're living life. The good, the bad, the ugly, the wonderful - the camera catches it all. I would show ya'll some of my work with kids, but I don't like plastering pictures of other people's kids all over the internet without their permission.

Note to self: draw up some release forms for potential subject's guardians. Try not to freak them out too much.

So I think I'm going to start taking more photos, like I used to. Those who know me are probably rolling their eyes right now and moaning about how I take too many photos now. Well, I do, but the majority of them are candids. I need to get back to my roots.

I'm even creating a Flickr account :)

So, if ya'll were interested in my photo-stream, you can find me under my s/n there - Nyxy1331

I'll still be doing Photo Monday, but the Flickr thing is just a place where I can dump all my photos and go through them and have some fun.

Have a good night ya'll!

Most my photos will be from my college years. This one only seemed appropriate to put up.

The Ramblings of a Swine Flu patient

2009-10-26T23:24:00.008-04:00

Tonight's post is kind of just a mish-mash of stuff that's going around in my head at the moment. It's not really anything important, or especially hilarious. But I feel like writing, and my co-worker Pumpkin has been harassing me to update because her fiancee Twinkles needed story-time. He's probably wondering why I'm calling him Twinkles. It's because he's just so the opposite of everything the name Twinkles implies. So here I am, updating ya'll on what's going on with me at the moment.

So, I totally stole this from Cape Cod Gal's blog, Diamond in the Rough. It was so amusing to me, I just *had* to share. You're welcome.

Cock Shot from Invisible Engine on Vimeo.

Oh yes. The Cock Shot. Personally, I enjoy using my knee or foot, but think of the implications of this?

Got arthritis? No worries! Cock Shot has your back.

So, Beth over at The Confused Homemaker gave me my first ever award! Ok, she really gave it to me ~~weeks~~ a few days ago, and I'm just getting around to putting it up in its place of honor now, but ehhh....things happen. THANKYOU BETH! Rest assured, my inner media-whore is doing absolute somersaults.

So part of getting the award is having the fun of giving it to someone else. So, for the (untitled and unscripted but still freaking fantastic) award shown above, I'm going to give it to...(drum roll, anyone?)....

Aunt Becky from over at Mommy Wants Vodka. Because honestly, she makes me roll on the ground and clutch my sides in a desperate effort not to crack a rib from laughter whenever I read her blog.

Ah. Anyways. As some of you may know by now, I'm sick. Swine-flu sick, to be precise. I don't have a positive test yet (it apparently takes forever and a day to get the test results back), but this is not the case of a hypochondriac pretending to be sick to get out of work (no matter what you say Pumpkin).

Oh no. I wish it were the case. As it stands now I've probably managed to deforest an entire continent of trees with my tissue usage. I have a smoker's cough. I don't smoke. I'm vomiting and praying to the ~~porcelain god~~ toilet, and breathing has become a *bit* of an issue. I'm also being snappy with everyone because of the headache I've had for the last...four days. And did I mention the fever/chills? It's one hell of a good time kiddies! First, y'see, you get your temperature up to 103. Then, within an hour, it'll drop to 96. Doesn't that sound fun!? I feel shaken, not stirred.

I hardly ever get sick. Oh well...go big or go home, right? Heh. I'm chugging orange juice by the gallons, and sleeping far more than I should be (I'm giving the cat and my arthritic dog a run for their money).

Hopefully this thing will end soon and I'll be able to go back to ~~hating my job~~ ~~plotting world domination~~ delightfully assisting those in need of customer service. And I know Pookie will be relieved that I'm going to eventually stop bitching to him. Because, when I'm sick?

Yea. I make everyone around me miserable. I don't intentionally do it. It just kind of happens. Mostly. Sort of. Ok, fine, I know damn well what I'm doing. I have no remorse over it though, because when I'm sick I turn into a raging bitch. I'll probably feel bad later. Y'know, when I'm back to normal.

Well...as normal as I get.

Tuck (my one bird...see here for the full story) has figured out that if he sticks his little birdie head under the door that's above his food cups he can open the cage.

Great. Ash (the other budgie) knows how to open the big door (I tie that one shut). Guess I'll be fastening all the doors of the cage...*sigh* silly me for thinking that they wouldn't figure out the other ones.

It's ok. If he keeps doing it I'll just feed him to Rusty.

Picture Monday!

2009-10-26T00:04:00.005-04:00

So here's another round of Picture Monday. This week's round of photos are some more from Oak Island, North Carolina. Enjoy!

I don't know these people. I just thought that it was a touching scene.

This picture almost made the drive through Hurricane Charlie worth it. Almost.

Cockroaches.

2009-10-25T19:35:00.013-04:00

So I was sitting here, reading the news, until I came across this little tidbit:

Man stuffs mouth with 16 cockroaches in record bid
Sun Oct 25, 12:37 pm ET

LANSING, Mich. – A Michigan pet store employee got himself a mouthful of cockroaches — on purpose. The Lansing State Journal reported Sean Murphy on Friday stuffed 16 Madagascar hissing cockroaches into his mouth. He was trying to set a new Guinness World Records mark and said the old record was 11.

Murphy initially got 12 squirming cockroaches into his mouth, but then kept adding them until he got to 16. He says it was a "big surprise" since he's never fit that many in his mouth before "in one try."

The employee of Preuss Pets in Lansing says each cockroach was at least 2 1/2 inches long. Murphy says he might try for 20 next year. A video of the feat was posted on the newspaper's Web site.

Murphy's effort would need to be certified by Guinness for it to be official.

___

Information from: Lansing State Journal, http://www.lansingstatejournal.com

Thank you AP news, for that ~~disgusting~~ informative tidbit of news. War? Pft. Hunger and starvation? Ha! Who cares about that; there's a pet-store employee who can shove sixteen whole cockroaches in his mouth! Why do they even have this record in the first place....?

I hope the big boys over at the (mega million dollar chain) pet store I work at don't hear about this. I could see them whoring us out for a little free publicity. I had a rough enough time when I opened that box the other day from the janitor's closet....

You see, one of co-workers had asked me to go into the janitor's closet and grab her another box of bags. So I decided to be productive for once in my life, and help her out a little. I got the box, brought it up to the counters, opened it.

And tried to stifle the horrifying scream that wrenched its way up from the bowels of my heart.

Ok, it wasn't really a scream. More like a very small shriek.

That others happened to hear.

At least ten cockroaches crawled out from that box. TEN OF THEM. They crawled out and just kind of hung around. I swear the one winked at me as he cheekily twitched his antenna.

Fucking bugs.

I ran to go grab the nearest manager (Mario) and I forced him to inspect the box. Then I forced him to inspect the janitor's closet. I refuse to step foot in there alone ever again.

I can deal with the big cockroaches. Y'know. The giganto ones that everyone seems to be terrified of.

But the little ones? OH HELL NO. I felt like I had them crawling all over me for hours after opening the damned box.

Next time I go into that claustraphobic's nightmare of a closet, I'm making sure I give the little buggers plenty of time to scamper - away from me.

Gen Y

2009-10-24T22:49:00.010-04:00

"It is always the students that make change happen."

These words were spoken by one of my professors in college. He was a visiting professor from South Korea who was equal parts brilliance and kindness. Ironically, as we sat in that sterile classroom waiting for him to impart some world-saving knowledge into our young and impressionable minds, I had been coming to the conclusion that Generation Y was a lost cause.

All around me there were people who were concerned with the world's problems - and then there were the disillusioned teenagers and young adults who were more interested as to when they were next getting laid.

It just didn't seem right. There we were - in college, in the prime of our lives. We had been granted a magnificent opportunity to further our education and knowledge of the world around us. We should have been ready to take on the world. We should have been able to voice our opinions and fight for equality for all, fight for environmental good, fight for the end to poverty, to war, to oppression.

So why didn't we?

Why don't we?

Throughout the years I've tried to find an answer to this. And I think I've found one.

We're so busy trying to fix our own shit we can't fix anyone else's.

Sad, but true.

Maybe in a few years we may be able to become fully fledged contributors to societal good. But for now, we're busy.

It's an egocentric viewpoint, I know. And I don't speak for everyone out there - I'm sure there's a few Gen Y'ers that are saving the world.

That said, there are a few things that we could do to make things a bit better out there. We may not be able to put in the volunteer hours that are required of a superhero, but we can do something.

We can stand up for ourselves, for one.

The voice of Gen Y seems to be rather muted and quieted these days. Why? Oh sure, we'll talk to our friends about it, but protest?! Pft. I once protested with a group of my college professors, and you know how many students showed up? Guess.

Three. Including me.

I don't understand why we're so apathetic to the world's ills. We sit and we bitch about how bad everything is, and yet we don't do anything about it.

Don't get me wrong - I've seen Gen Y'ers in action, and some of them are the most compassionate and productive people I know. But as a group, as a whole, we leave much to be desired.

Which begs the question....

What type of precedence are we setting for Generation Z?

Smarmy Saturday

2009-10-24T00:34:00.002-04:00

So my Freaky Friday feature seems to keep on getting pushed back to Saturdays. So Freaky Friday has now changed into Smarmy Saturday. Woohoo.

I feel horrible. The doctor wasn't sure whether or not I have swine flu. Her response to my questioning? "Well, it could be swine flu. Or it might be something else."

Thankyou Doctor. Like I couldn't figure that out by myself.

Regardless, I now have a nice shiny new package of Tamiflu on the counter top downstairs. My body can't seem to make up its mind as to whether or not it wants to be hot or cold - I went from a 102 degree fever all the way down to 96.4 degrees.

That can't be good, can it?

So for Smarmy Saturday this week I decided to comment on some things that annoy the piss out of me. I'm usually critical as hell when I'm sick, so it fits my current mood.

1.) Miley Cyrus - When she stops stuffing her bra I may take her a little more seriously as an "artist." Or not. There was that whole pole-dancing fiasco a few weeks back....

2.) Swine Flu - Really, I don't see why everyone's panicking. It's a version of the flu. Get over it. Sure, people have died from it. But most of those people had compromised immune systems. That and I'm so freaking sick of hearing about it on the news.

3.) Small Unruly Children - Ok, listen mothers of the world. I understand that you've got a billion and one things going on in your lives. But I swear, if you don't get off your damn cell phone and stop your kid from pounding on the glass of our cages at work and terrifying my animals, I'm going to have to do your job for you. I don't think you want it to come to that.

4.) Banana flavored pudding - Yuck. Just...yuck.

5.) Homophobes - you may have seen my last post concerning gay marraige. Without going into too much detail, let's just say that the opposition kind of pisses me off. Everyone's entitled to an opinion, but when it harms people emotionally, spiritually, and sometimes physically then there's a big problem with it.

6.) Our new General Manager - yes, we have a new GM at the store. He's a lazy bastard. Thinks he's above actually "working." Pft...I give him about 3 months, maybe less, before he starts crying like a baby and decides to leave.

7.) Slow drivers - We won't go there. Let's just say that they sufficiently piss me off.

8.) Politicians - Stop being so shady and maybe the public would like you better.

9.) The Cold - Urk. I hate being cold, it's pretty intolerable for me. I get all shaky and shivery and my teeth clack. And then whoever I'm around at the time decides to be a genius and point out that my teeth are clacking. I'd move to someplace warm, but I still haven't won the lottery.

10.) Daytime television - I think this one speaks for itself.

So there ya have it...10 things that are presently annoying me.

A few thoughts on gay marraige

2009-10-21T02:50:00.000-04:00

Gay. Lesbian. Bi. Transsexual. Transgendered.

What do those words mean to you? I'm sad to say that before I met a girl a few years ago, I never really gave those words very much thought. Oh, I knew that "they" were out there - and I had met a few. I went to a Catholic high-school. If you were gay or lesbian you most certainly didn't talk about it, for fear of ostracism. Eventually my one friend from high school came out of her closet - however, by that point in time, I was distancing from her for other reasons. And so my first-hand experience with such things was minimal, at best.

I used to ride the public bus system to school every day back when I first started college. I would carefully select my seat in a location that would ensure that I wouldn't be bothered by any of the other passengers. Occasionally I'd have to share a bench with someone else when the bus got full, or I'd give my seat up for someone who was disabled or older. But usually I could just zone out and read a book, or work on an essay.

It was on that bus that I met Sarah. Bright red hair and pale features made her stand out as she would read her book. Everyday she took the same bus that I did, and everyday I would ignore her.

And then things changed.

She said hi.

I distinctly recall thinking that she must be insane.

So I said hi back and went back to reading. Somehow that initial encounter became a friendship.

We talked about many things on the bus system. Sometimes we chatted about the other passengers. Sometimes we talked about what we liked, and what we didn't. Sometimes we talked about the crazy ass bus drivers.

I remember that I asked her whether or not she had a boyfriend. She told me yes. I almost didn't hear her next sentence as she softly muttered it.

"Well, he's not exactly a guy. Merry's a girl, physically speaking." I looked at her, hard. I automatically came to the assumption that she was gay. I was ok with that - she was my friend. The girl who had come up to me on the bus and said hi and talked about silly inane things and important big things. We continued our friendship, and I met Merry - her girlfriend.

It wasn't until some time later that I understood the full implications of that conversation. Sarah and Merry opened me up to the possibilities. I didn't realize it then, but I understand now.

Sarah is not gay, nor is Merry.

Merry has since changed her name to Sean. Sean believes that he is a male that is stuck in a female body, and I (for one) believe him. I believe the term is transgendered. I think that he's looking into surgery options at the present moment.

Stranger things have happened.

Sarah was open enough to accept him and love him for who and what he is. I had the great honor of attending their wedding this past summer - after six and a half years of dating, they finally tied the knot. They have their ups and their downs, just like any couple. But they make it work, and their love is as real as any other that I've witnessed. I sometimes feel as if their relationship may be stronger than many heterosexual couples I know, since they've had to endure much ridicule and pain at the hands of the ignorant. They've been told that it must have been a "phase" that they were going through. That it wasn't real. They've had their relationship overlooked and dismissed (not just from strangers, but by family as well), just because they are (physically) two women.

However, the friends and family of many heterosexual couples I know act completely differently. Within a year of dating, usually hints concerning marriage will enter into conversation. Even if the relationship is not wanted, it is (at the very least) validated. None of my heterosexual friends have been told that their heterosexuality was "just a phase." Why would we make that assumption about others that do not quite fit our bill of normalcy? I don't know the answer to that question.

Of course, Sarah and Sean's marriage is not considered legal. For all of our talk about equality for all, we still engage in discriminatory and prejudiced practices.

Oh, right. We have civil unions. Let me tell you something about civil unions. It's not the same. The "separate but equal" stance didn't work for those who were "colored," and it won't work in this situation either.

Just face it. We're a prejudiced society.

Scream about it all you want. Tell me how it is considered as unholy. Tell me about how marriage was created for a man and a woman, and that's the way it is. Tell me how they're all going to hell, and how I'm going to be joining them. Tell me about how it's unnatural. Go ahead. Tell me. I've heard it all.

I don't care. The government has no business dictating who may and may not be married based off of religious views concerning marriage. Marriage is something best left to the churches, not the State. Only the most cowardly of hypocrites hide behind these reasons. It's not holy? Who are you to decide what is and isn't holy? Marriage was created for a man and a woman? Not that long ago, marriage was forbidden between whites and blacks. The rule was created with archaic viewpoints of society in mind. Besides that, what is the definition of gender? Is it physical or mental? Or both? We're all going to hell? Well...that's really not for you to decide anyways.

But that's just my view of it. I now have many other gay, lesbian, bi, and transsexual friends. Sean remains my only friend that is transgendered - however, I feel that this is only because to be transgendered is a very rare thing indeed.

So that's my viewpoint on it. Marriage (to me) is a sacred covenant between two people, witnessed by all and God. It's a promise to love, honor, and cherish. It's like you're telling the other person that even if they drive you nuts sometimes, you'll still love them. Even if you have to work at it - because marriage is work - you'll do it. It's also a sacrifice. You're giving up everyone else to be with this one person. And it's more - so much more. However, I cannot possibly try to sum up what marriage is into a few sentences. I am not, nor will I ever be, that good of a writer.

It's a promise that Sarah and Sean have made to each other, as well as countless other gay, lesbian, transsexual and transgendered people. And just because others out there may not see it as such, doesn't make it any less.

So that's what I think about that.

And thank you Sarah, for saying hi to me on that bus.

Picture Monday!

2009-10-19T22:08:00.004-04:00

Picture Monday has arrived!!! Tonight's pictures will focus on my dogs. I know, I know. It's the stereotypical "aw look at my babies aren't they just the most precious things you have ever seen" post.

It's my blog. Deal with it. Unfortunately, we had to put Lili down recently - read more about that here. A part of my world cracked that day, and a good portion of that crack still remains, gaping and open and somewhat raw. My other dog, Rusty, also has cancer. I live with the knowledge that any day now we may have to make the decision to have to put him down - he's living on borrowed time as it is. That said, they have to die sometime. I recognize this - but it somehow doesn't make it any easier. They're more than just my pets - they're my best friends. My confidents. I realize that I may be sounding a bit melodramatic here, but that's the way it is with me and my animals.

They're family.

This is Rusty. He's such a good boy.

And this is Lili. She was very skeptical of the human species.

Rusty loves to roll around in the grass - he still enjoys this (he's 11 now). Of course, when he stands up, there's a nice big spot of crushed grass left behind, that inevitably winds up dying. So then we have a big bald patch that usually winds up being covered by clover. At least it's green...right?

This picture was taken a few autumns ago. She really was a good girl - just a little rough around the edges.

He's actually not that dumb, despite his appearances.

Lili trying to ~~force~~ ~~dominate~~ persuade Rusty to play with her.

The squirrel lasted approximately 30.5 seconds before being torn in two.

So there it is!

Freaky Belated Friday

2009-10-17T01:24:00.006-04:00

Yes, another week's gone by and I've missed the Friday deadline for this.

Le sigh.

Sorry folks. It's not that I'm forgetting about the blog - I promise I'm not! But I work nights, and we (again) got busy tonight. It was not a happy night for Nyx. I had to deal with yet another crazy cat lady (this one is one of my most hated customers, I've already spoken about her here).

So anyways, before I turn this into yet another drama filled post about work, I'll get on with this week's Freaky Friday.

This week features one of my favorite websites of all time - People of Walmart. It's a marvelous site.

Ok...So he looks like he belongs in a Right Said Fred video for the elderly. I'm...too sexy for my...teeth.

I will have nightmares about this tonight.

There should be a law against this. Indecent exposure or something. Anything.

So that's it for this week!

Climate Change post

2009-10-15T23:47:00.002-04:00

The following is a blog post about Climate Change for Blog Action Day '09. It is a day where bloggers unite and write about a common subject. Due to a computer malfunction (in other words, the computer decided to rebel and shut itself down a couple dozen times while I was trying to write this), my entry is a bit late to the game. Whoopsies.

It's cold out. It's really freaking cold out. Colder than a witch's tit. So cold that when I walked out to my car tonight from work, I could see my breath and feel my fingers start to go numb.

Yep. It was that cold. I think I'm going to have to break out the mittens soon.

We've gone straight from summer to winter, with maybe about three or four days for fall.

Dear Mother Nature: bring fall back. I miss it.

So, what does my yearning for fall have to do with climate change? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But, it did get me thinking about the climate (that and I signed up for Blog Action Day '09).

There are so many variables that can cause climate change. Solar flare-ups, orbital variations, ocean variability, the human influence, continental drift...there are almost as many culprits as there are cockroaches in an abandoned Twinkie factory. Pick whichever you want, I'm sure they all are responsible for the changing weather in some way.

From what I understand of it, the Earth goes through various periods of rest and regrowth.

Every 10,000 years or so the Earth goes through what is commonly referred to as an "Ice Age."

Guess what? We're overdue. At least, that's what the geological evidence suggests.

So I'm sure that that is contributing to the PMSing state that the weather seems to be in lately. Do I think that the world is going to freeze over tomorrow? No. The evidence seems to suggest that it will be a gradual change occurring over a long period of time. Scientists can't seem to agree as to what quantity that 'long period of time' is. Of course, the "evidence" is only as valid as the people presenting it. Ironically, Science is oftentimes subjective.

What's my take on it?

I think that the reason that the weather has been acting so insane lately is a combination of human and natural causes.

Do I think that we've totally managed to fuck up Earth beyond repair? No. Do I think that we can? Yes. Call me egotistical, but I think that humanity, if it continues on its present course of action (or rather, inaction) can and will destroy our planet.

Does this mean that I think you should rule your life by the so-called "green" movement? No. But I do think that there are a few things that we can do that would help reduce our negative impact. Simple things. Like recycling. Conserving water. Planting a freaking plant every once in a while. Looking into alternative energy sources. All of these little measures add up when everyone does it. It's like whenever I run register during a donation run at the store.

Instead of asking for a full dollar contribution towards (insert favorite animal charity here), I usually ask people to please round up their change.

I once managed to raise well over 1,400 dollars this way. In two week's time. Believe me, it adds up. The same way that changing just the lightbulbs in your house to energy saving ones can. The same way that shutting off that faucet while your brushing your teeth can. The same way that choosing to recycle cans and plastic bottles can.

Edward Everett Hale once wrote something that best sums up my take on how humanity can help Earth.

I am only one,
But still I am one.
I cannot do everything,
But still I can do something;
And because I cannot do everything
I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.
-Edward E. Hale

So ok. Write it all off as a bunch of hippie bullshit if you want. But facts speak for themselves. With so many other factors affecting Earth, do you really want to contribute to its demise? The weather will change, there's no doubt about that. And it will change no matter what we do - it's a natural process. But I think it's best if we don't fuck with it too much. Because, really, I'd like the Earth to be around for a while. Even if it's not going to affect me, it'll affect my great to the umpteeth number grandkids. There's already so many factors stacked against us - why would we want to contribute to that list?

Picture Monday

2009-10-12T23:25:00.005-04:00

So I am still sick. I apologize for the lack of photos in this week's Picture Monday, but I'm too ~~lazy~~ sick to go out and take some. So, I'm going to show you a few I took a couple of years ago on Oak Island down in NC. They aren't the best, but like I said, I'm not exactly feeling chipper at the moment, and editing photos is the last thing I want to do right now.

I believe there is a little man behind my eyeballs. And he's dancing and playing with knives. He's feeling rather stabby today.

Sadistic bastard.

This one was obviously taken at an aquarium. I WANT IT.

We went out deep-sea fishing, and a few friends swam alongside the boat.

So there you have it. Next week I'll put up some better photos, I promise. For now...sleep.

Apples and Counting

2009-10-12T01:00:00.015-04:00

I am sick.

No, not Ted Bundy type of sick. Nor Gacy. In fact, I'm not sick in the head at all (although I am often accused of such).

Nope. I've got that sore-throat, miserably stuffy, nasal congestion type of sick. And I swear, if any of ya'll accuse me of having Swine Flu, I will personally find you and Kick. Your. Ass.

I did everything I could to avoid it - including chugging a few gallons of orange juice and religiously taking vitamin C pills. I know, I know - the human body is supposed to just piss out extra vitamin C. I don't give a shit - my immune system is like a well-oiled machine (I rarely get sick), and I attribute that to my habit of overdosing on orange juice.

However, despite my OJ chugging, I have somehow become sick.

Go figure. Do I let this slow me down? Oh hells no. Like the viral cesspool that I am at the moment, I decided to go out and share with Pookie. He knew what he was getting into. I did warn him.

So now we can be sick together. We went apple picking today at the orchards. I may have ingested a few of their ~~fucking amazing~~ scrumptious apple cider donuts. Here's a couple of pictures! Of the orchards, that is...not of the donuts.

Somehow, the fact that the guy driving the tractor was wearing plaid and a beat up baseball cap made it all the more "authentic."

That's Pookie. I said something ~~dumb~~ witty, and he ~~ran away screaming~~ sauntered down the rows of red delicious apples, marveling at my humor.

So I had a lovely day of apple picking. You, dear reader, may have noticed that up til this point, this post has been ~~lame~~ devoid of any type of mentioning about ~~that hellhole~~ my chosen place of employment. Guess why?

Come on...you'll get a cookie if you do!

If you guessed day off, you're wrong. Today was inventory day - so I didn't have to go in until six PM. My shift hours? Six PM to two AM. Yuck.

I was fortunate enough to miss last year's inventory day - a result of a horrifyingly scary car accident (we'll save that story for another day) that prevented me from driving at night for a year. I sure as hell heard the stories about last year's inventory though...oh boy, the stories.

We use a third-party counting company, and then we go back and re-check everything that they counted. It's boring work that a chimpanzee could probably accomplish.

Apparently last year's counters didn't have the intelligence of a chimpanzee.

It was, as my coworkers described it, fucking hell. So I geared up for tonight, fully expecting hell.

I was so ON TOP of everything, World! You would have been so proud of me. I got my dinner all together (cheap sub from Pathmark - because they're only $2.99), and I grabbed some of the apples and the ~~fucking amazing~~ apple cider donuts, and offered to share them with everyone. I even showed up early! Granted, it was only seven minutes early, but hey, that's better than my usual seven minutes late. I figured that I'd go in, and fix whatever the dumbass counters had forgotten, or missed, or just plain decided not to count.

My first sheet was not promising. I had to count the amount of flea and tick prevention - y'know, the really expensive stuff that actually works. Sometimes.

She missed 7 of our 6 month feline Frontline packs. That works out to approximately seven hundred dollars worth of stuff that was missed (and there's not even that much other stuff to count in the area). I figured I would be in for a long night, and me and Pumpkin (one of my most favorite co-workers ever) sighed in misery.

She said she reads my blog. Hi Pumpkin! (I have to admit, my inner media-whore did cartwheels at her declaration...the only other person that I know in real life that reads this is Pookie, and I think he just does it to humor me).

However, Pumpkin had work to do, so she waltzed off to go do her job.

I feel the need to interject something about the counters here. Whenever they can't figure out what an item is, they yell out "SKU check!" Ordinarily, this wouldn't be so bad. I can forgive one or two of these.

It was more than one or two, World. One particularly enterprising ~~old bat~~ young lady screamed it out at the top of her lungs, and I went over to help her. Apparently they get pissy if you don't show up promptly (wonder why...). She pointed to the item; I pointed to the corresponding label that was right beneath it. I think there was some comprehension in there somewhere, because she scanned it, grunted, and went back to work.

OOOOKAAAYYYY.

I got back down to business. With the exception of having to unlock a case for a woman (and hear all about how her mother has four dogs and how her husband was going to call the SPCA on her neighbor because her neighbor had his dog rigged up to an electronic fence but it was too damn dumb to move away from the boundary line, so it kept getting shocked, and blahblahblah...I guess it gets lonely counting for a living), I didn't have to do much but count.

Eventually I got to go on break, and I got to eat one of my perfect apples. I had what might be considered a Snow White experience. Except I didn't fall asleep, and there was no handsome prince (unless a toilet could be considered princely).

IT happened. That's right World - I'm about to talk about my gastro-intestinal issues.

I think I may have forgotten to wash some of that pesticide off, because about twenty minutes after I clocked back in from break I got an URGE.

I think you know what urge I'm talking about World. Uh-huh. It was bad. Note to self: SCRUB APPLES LIKE HELL NEXT TIME. Pumpkin asked me if I was ok - she said my eyes were watering. I'm not surprised with the way my stomach and intestines were suddenly clawing their way up my throat. Eventually, I did a quick little run to the bathroom (which I'm sure amused everyone in the immediate vicinity), and managed to avoid the disaster zone that my pants would have become had I not heeded the call.

I went back to counting.

And then realized something.

I was counting, fully expecting the counters to be wrong. Every time I would "ah-ha!" at the countsheet, and then double-check myself, I would be the one that counted wrong. Apparently counting skills passed by me in kindergarten, along with manners.

The counters this year did have the intelligence of a chimpanzee! And more! They freaking rocked it. We were out of there around 11:30PM, which if you compare that to our original 2AM deadline is pretty damned spectacular.

So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you counter people, for making my night drama-free and short. Thank you for not assaulting my ear-drums with whining about how much you hate your job. Thank you for not getting fired.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an apple to eat. Hopefully I'll have better results this time.

Viagra, porno, booze...and food stamps?

2009-10-11T11:27:00.004-04:00

Man, sometimes, you just can't make this shit up.

Feds: Food stamps swapped for booze, Viagra
Staff at Detroit liquor store face charges after allegedly netting $130,000

DETROIT - Viagra and pornography are not staples on the government's food stamp list. But authorities say a Detroit liquor store supplied them during a series of illegal deals.

Federal prosecutors filed fraud charges this week against three people who worked at Jefferson's Liquor Palace.

The alleged scheme worked this way: Food stamp recipients would get cash from the store in exchange for swiping larger amounts off their electronic cards. The store would then be reimbursed by the U.S. Agriculture Department.

And in some transactions, the government says the store provided informants Viagra, liquor and porn in exchange for swiping about $2,000 off food stamp cards.

The government says fraud at the store topped $130,000 over 2 1/2 years. The store is closed.

Thankyou, AP news, for putting this smile on my face today.

You mean that Viagra and booze aren't mandatory to survival? I dunno about that...if the government had to deal with some of the asshats that I have to deal with on a daily basis, they might reconsider.

And you know what kills me? That this happened for TWO AND A HALF years. WTF. Food stamps being used at a liquor store didn't send up any red alerts?! I mean...hellooooo. Even I could have seen this one coming.

Freaky Belated Friday

2009-10-10T02:01:00.003-04:00

So, I realize that this week's freaky Friday is a tad late. Thanks for pointing it out. I was a bit busy. It happens.

This week's freaky Friday is a list of some of the odder websites that I've encountered.

1.) YogaKitty - ok, I'm pretty sure this is a farce. 99% sure. But...it's a bad one. Sorry folks...the idea of a cat doing yoga? I don't find it funny. Maybe I missed the memo or forgot to drink the KoolAid or something....

2.) Die Screaming With Sharp Things In Your Head - A few points on this little gem. One: shorten the webpage title. Oh yes, it definately catches attention, but it's a bit of a mouthful. Two: whoever made this page must have had a seriously fucked up experience with Snow White and her band of merry dwarves.

3.) Aquariass - A toilet...and a fishbowl. Huh. So your fish can watch you take a shit. And you can watch them watch you take a shit. I can't think of a better place to put a fishtank (that, World, was sarcasm - in case you didn't get it).

So there you have it. This week's three weird-ass things that made me go "huh?" I'm sure there's more. Oh, I'm sure there's much, much more. But this is what I came across. :-p Happy readings!

Halp!

2009-10-08T12:29:00.003-04:00

Caution: Long Post Ahead

So yesterday was kind of a surprise.

I've been enlisted to help with a youth group.

Some backstory may be needed at this point to clue you in.

When I was the tender age of eighteen, I met a boy. And I liked him. And it turns out that he liked me. And so we dated. His mother worked in a church. So one day we had to stop by there because he had to drop something off to her. No big deal, right?

Oh World, I had no idea what was about to hit me upside the head. Somehow, dropping a piece of paper off to his mother turned into a three hour session with *gasp* teenagers.

That's right. The "T" word. Those rotten kids that have no sense of decency. Those kids who play their music too loudly, and wear their pants too low (I mean, really, we don't want to see your underwear), and dress in itty-bitty shirts and blow their money on things that are completely unnecessary.

And the attitude! My God, don't get me started on the 'tude these kids had to offer up.

So there I was, surrounded by 20-something hormonally overloaded punks.

I. Was. Scared.

So I just sat there, in the corner, hoping like hell that if I didn't make eye contact with them that they wouldn't notice me.

Guess what World? THEY NOTICED ME. But, it was for the better. I didn't know that it was for the better at the time (I was too busy shitting myself), but it was definately for the better.

And so I came back, after a good bit of those 20-something teenagers made me promise to. Because hey, I don't break my promises.

And so I went back. And then I went back again. And again. And this continued for four years. My kids grew and got older. They didn't necesssarily get wiser, but they definately got older. And they brought their friends to the group. And their friends brought their friends. And so on and so forth it went.

We accomplished a lot within those four years. Many of the kids needed emotional help - we were there for them. Many of them needed counseling - we hooked them up. Many of them were just looking for a place to fit in - and so we provided that.

But, the untold story of many youth groups is what changes happen to the adults. I can't speak for anyone else, but I am a different person now than I was before I entered into that group of hormonally-overloaded teens. Somehow, they brought me to religion. Most people aren't aware that I'm religious - I majored in evolution, I support gay marraige, I even *gasp* have a tattoo!

Yes, I know, this is where all you readers recoil in shock and dismay - "oh, she's one of *those* people." Yes World, I am one of "those" people - deal with it. I have my beliefs, you have yours.

They did more than bring me back to the Catholic faith (I am an admittably bad Catholic, but I am Catholic nonetheless), they helped me find myself. Through those kids, I was able to figure out who I was.

See, now, this is the part of the story where it all goes sour. Our CYM (Catholic Youth Minister...the person in charge of anything youth related) had resigned. And so we hired a new CYM. And all was good for a little while - until we noticed that she wasn't really doing very much with the kids. Suddenly, our classes had changed from thought-provoking debates and discussions about the issues that teenagers face in today's society to religious videos and games and snack-time.

That wasn't the only blow. Most of the original kids that had ~~forced~~ persuaded me into joining the youth group were now turning 18. That year the Diocese had decided to kick out anyone between the ages of 18 and 21 from youth groups - to prevent any 'relationships' from forming.

Just for clarification's sake, I'll put it to you another way - they were scared that some minor was going to get preggers from someone who wasn't a minor. Resulting in a probable lawsuit. I'm ok with their decision - I even completely understand it. It's just too much of a risk.

However, I do have some problems with it. Is a 21 year old (the age where they would be allowed back into the youth group, as an "adult leader") really all that much more mature than an 18 year old? Furthermore, where were these kids supposed to go? There was no young adult ministry. There was nothing for them. When I questioned the Diocese, the response I had gotten was "Oh, well, we're thinking of a few things that might work out in December." December! That was more than six months away at the time.

Naturally, this angered many of our kids. They didn't understand that it didn't matter that we had never had such a problem in our group - that it was just too much of a liability. That in combination with the changeover of CYMs...well....

We went from having 40-something kids to 8 in two weeks' time.

I bitterly left the group and the church, convinced that I would never return. I kind of entered a no-man's land of 'am I Catholic or am I not?'

I decided that I was Catholic - just a really, REALLY bad one. I believe in the spirit of the teachings. Anyways, more on my belief system later - I'm getting a bit off-topic.

So imagine my surprise when one of my fellow embittered cohorts contacted me for dinner about a month ago. We used to go out all the time back when we were in the group together, but life had kind of taken over, and we hadn't seen each other in some time. It had been nice to see her again.

She brought up a service project that our original CYM was going to start. I vaguely made sounds of approval, and I may have said that I would be interested in being involved.

Well, she called me yesterday. They were going to have an organizational meeting concerning this new service group. I wanted in, so I went, unsure as to what my reception would be - I had, after all, left on bitter terms. I dragged Pookie along with me for backup...I figured that if they tried to kill me, I could just throw him at them and run like hell.

I was pleasantly surprised. We have many different service projects planned for the upcoming months (we only plan on meeting with the kids once or twice a month) - the first one that's scheduled is to clean up an elderly parishoner's yard (if you knew her, you'd realize that it requires many many helpers to clean her yard up - it's always in shambles).

I plan on creating a blog for the kids to write in about their experiences. When I brought the idea up to the other people working on this, they were enthused - but clueless. Most of them didn't even know what a blog is. Oy.... I'm not sure how I'm going to create this - their posts would need to be examined before they were allowed to be made public. Is this possible? One thing's for certain - I'll be doing a lot of researching this weekend.

Picture Monday

2009-10-05T23:34:00.005-04:00

So for today's Picture Monday, I'm going to load up some pictures from Longwood Gardens. Enjoy!

Yes, I do realize that I am INSANELY lucky to live near here. If any of ya'll are in the upper Delaware/Kennett Square region...GO. Go see the wonderfulness.

Longwood Gardens

On Blogging

2009-10-05T00:27:00.005-04:00

So here I was, staring at the screen, watching the cursor blink. That's right World, I was suffering from writer's block - that aweful, God-forsaken brick wall that allows no one entry to the vast riches of inspiration.

Sitting here, I decided to try to mine the confines of my brain for something to write about. A memory. An observation.

Anything.

I know I'm supposed to only write when I have a topic to discuss. I didn't care - I wanted to write. I just didn't know what I wanted to write about.

So I started reading other people's posts. Some write about the everyday happenings of their lives. Some write about consequences. Some write about sports, about politics, about babies, about video games, about memories.

And so it got me thinking.

Part of me wonders why I do this. Am I simply looking for someone to validate my existance? Am I looking for a way to organize my confused and often chaotic thoughts? Or am I looking to simply unload some of the stuff that spirals through my mind on a daily basis? Maybe I'm trying to discover something about myself?

I don't know. I do know that the whole concept of blogging kind of blows my mind a bit. The idea that there are thousands (millions?) of people out there on this Earth, connected by a common interest. Not just connected by a common interest, but also talking about their experiences - their lives, their consequences, their sports, politics, babies, video games and memories. Millions of people, doing the same exact thing that I am. One big gigantic network, formed without even having had to meet any of them.

I have never met any of the bloggers I follow (with the exception of Pookie), and yet I know about them. I know that Aunt Becky bought her kid a pumpkin-shaped binkie. I know that Badass Geek finally figured out his allergy situation. I know that Uppity has a facination with cats. I know that the Confused Homemaker likes to bake. Dara's getting knee surgury, Cailyn is going to be a zombie for Halloween, and Emma watches the UK's version of Dancing with the Stars.

All of this I know, and more. I boggle over it every night, like a ten year old would over a particularly large arachnid.

Absolutely mind-blowing.

Freaky Friday

2009-10-02T00:15:00.003-04:00

So, this is my second edition of Freaky Friday. Oh Craigslist...you slay me.

Today's theme is based off of Craigslist's personals, more specifically the "strictly platonic" section.

1.) Stressed, & Need a Full Body Massage - Yea. That screams "platonic." I feel like I should go scrub myself clean after reading this...excuse me, "kleen."

I am a nice looking, lean, kleen single black male who is low on funds, stressed, & need a full body massage. Will you please be so kind to give me a free massage with a happy ending now? All I ask is that you please be pretty, slim, confidential, clean, & host this in & out session.

Thanks in Advance

No Bots or Dating Sites Responses...Serious Replies Only

Right. Only serious replies. That always cracks me up - people put up ads like this, and expect to get only serious replies. Maybe I'm a bit of a jackass, but I would so totally fuck with their minds.

2.) i want a bestie - hm. We'll let the ad speak for itself.

I am 22. I just moved to the area about a year ago. I am looking for a down to earth girl to be friends with. I work at a bank with nobody my age. I love photography, movies, shopping, going out to eat. I am seeking a bestie who is non judgemental. I am bi, but i will not hit on you, unless you like it lol. I am dating the love of my life. We are getting married in 2011. I need to get in shape before then. A work out buddy would be awesome. I hate super skinny girls that think they are better then me. I am the biggest girly girl and love love shoes. I am a reality tv junkie. Please respond with the word strawberry in the subject. To many weirdos on here. Hope to talk soon.

Because there are too many weirdos on there, she wants the replier to respond with the word "strawberry" as a subject. Uh...huh...girlfriend, you need to do some other activities rather than look for an easy friend and watching Flavor Flav.

3.) DO you ride? - ....

Married, 56 but look about 50 looking for someone to ride with once in awhile. If u want to play or something more then i am curious but it must be discreet

Apparently marraige means nothing these days. Neither does grammer.

So there's my top three "WTF" moments from craigslist's "strictly platonic" section. Granted, they may not be the weirdest of the weird, but they seem to be slightly abnormal to me.

Thankyou Dr. Sadistic

2009-09-30T00:24:00.006-04:00

Today I had a chunk of my toe ripped out from me while a sadistic little man cackled. I bled like a stuck pig.

No, I was not a participant of some deviant S&M act, nor was I captured and tortured.

I had an ingrown toenail.

Let's start with a little backstory, shall we?

A little over a year ago, in the wonderland that is my house, I slammed my foot into a wall. No, I didn't trip over anything, nor was I pushed into it. I just simply managed to hurl my foot into a wall like I was kicking a football.

I never claimed to be graceful.

So, after muttering a few choice words and rocking back and forth on the floor holding my poor abused foot and whispering 'it'll be alright' a few hundred dozen times, I picked myself up and went to work. Sure, my foot throbbed all day.

But hey, it was just a broken toe. I figured I could deal with it.

But that broken toe left me a little present. Yep, that's right - it's the gift that keeps on giving - an ingrown toenail.

At first it was just an itch. A minor inconvenience. And then that itch grew into a small pain.

And guess what world? I refused to go to the doctor for it. Absolutely refused. I didn't need to see a doctor. I could just clip it myself!

Er...wrong. So very wrong. And painful. I went on for a little over a year like that, performing little "mini-surguries" in the bathroom late at night lest the other occupants of my house hear my muffled screams of pain.

And every night I did that, I'd swear that I was going to call the doctor. And every morning after, I intentionally ignored my pleas from the night before and adamantly pushed forward in my work, week after week and month after month.

Which leads me to now. I finally couldn't take it any more and (with a little prodding from Pookie...with a cattle prod called "mother") decided to go and see the podiatrist.

I went into his office, fully expecting a little old man who had a shiny bald spot, greying hair, and maybe even a bit of an accent - german, perhaps? The waiting room only furthered my stereotype - magazines such as National Geographic, Better Homes and Gardens, Time - they all lined the walls and every available flat surface. Elevator music played in the background.

I was led from the waiting room to a small (and frighteningly sterile) room with two chairs - the patient's, and the doctor's. His assistant recoiled slightly when I showed her my now-infected and horribly disfigured toe. She gave me a grimace, and said the doctor would be right in. After several games of Bejeweled on my phone, he walked in.

Oh was I ever wrong. World, he was a hunk. He looked like he could have just walked off the set of Baywatch, or better yet, some sort of soap opera.

My mouth may have dropped open a bit. The Hoff had nothing on him. His pecs were somehow clearly outlined, even beneath his ~~labcoat~~ jacket. Wavy thick black hair was ever-so-perfectly styled, and I swear World, even the way he clicked the pen would have made you salivate (Author's Note: You're still number one, Pookie. He has nothing on you).

He glanced at my toe, nodded his head, and said "Yep. It's an ingrown toenail." Well. No shit. His next words halted my mental criticism.

"Well, just give me a sec to grab the needle for the shot - I'm going to have to stick you twice to numb you. Then I'll fix it." Er. WHAT?

No second visit? I had been under the impression that this was simply a consultation! Oh no, Mr. Achiever had decided to just yoink the troublesome nail right out.

Well. I'm nothing if not flexible, so I shakily nodded my agreement. Dr. Sadistic came back in with what was a ridiculously oversized needle for a toe - maybe he was compensating?

He stuck me. Twice. I got that part - he had to block the nerve. That's not what my problem was.

My problem came about thirty minutes later - when I was supposedly "numb." Halfway through when he was cutting away at the one side of my nail (because hey, I can't have a normal ingrown toenail - both sides were ingrown! Fun for all!), I felt a pressure.

And then the pain-fest began. I said to Dr. Sadistic "OW!?" and he stopped. And was all "Oh, so sorry, guess you're not totally numb yet! I'll massage it and that should take care of it."

It didn't. But I didn't have time to tell him that before he took his ~~torture instrument~~ ~~pliers~~ delicately-shaped tweezers to my nail and yanked. Hard. There was some twisting involved too.

Next thing I know, he was holding up about half an inch of bloody nail. With a nice big hunk of flesh still attached. Yum.

And then he repeated the process with the other side - that one wound up being about a quarter-inch.

He smiled, and gave me some instructions - keep it clean, soak it twice daily, etc.

He walked out, and I struggled to put my shoe back on.

As I sat at the counter and listened to the receptionist blather on (why can't they ever just get to the point?), I began to notice that my vision was darkening around the edges.

Oh joy. I decided to put my foot down (pun intended) and refuse to pass out. So I sat outside in the crisp autumn breeze, and called Pookie up and chatted with him until I felt better. He was (understandably) freaked out and was about to hop in his car and pick me up - but to hell with that. I drove myself there, I can damn well get myself home. No stupid toenail was going to get the best of me.

Getting home occured without incident, and I was suitably pampered.

Which leads me to now. I'm soaking my foot in a bowl of once-warm and now-cold bloody water that's got epsom salt in it, contemplating.

I should have just gone to the damn doctor that fateful day when I slammed my foot into the wall.

Ah. Ce la vie.

Picture Monday (on crack)

2009-09-28T23:55:00.007-04:00

So, for the second installment of Picture Monday, I decided to let ya'll in on what me and Pookie do on our date nights.

Keep in mind - at no point during the events depicted was alcohol consumed.

We were bored, so we decided to take a drive down to ~~slower~~ lower Delaware. Mind you, in Delaware-speak, this means below the canal. Pookie stole my camera and decided to take pictures of the clouds.

I find the below picture kind of amusing. For those of you who can't see, that sign says Wilmington. We have a yield, then a do not enter, then a sign depicting a U-turn to Wilmington. At the time it was funny.

Woohoo. There's less traffic fatalities this year. Go us? Y'know, this sign wasn't very encouraging to me.

Pookie decided to take more cloudy pictures. His sense of composition is not all there. (author's note: I love you anyways hun.)

We figured gas might be important. After a brief struggle at the pump over who would pay (it's my car, damnit, I can pay for it!) we gassed up and hit the road again.

Only to arrive at THE! RICHEST! WALMART! EVER!. Yep.

Their $5 DVD collection....

Was actually organized.

Although, it was obviously still a Walmart. I'm sure there's some huntsman-like people out there who think I'm weird for finding humor in the below picture. We also found gems such as "Buck Lickers" and "Acorn Rage." I want that job. Naming these products, that is.

When we got back home we decided to unleash our inner ten year olds and play with legos. I made a robot.

And a kick-ass car.

Pookie made a little ~~crematory~~ home thing.

Which my kick-ass robot destroyed.

But it all worked out in the end.
And no, Pookie didn't want me to destroy the lego masterpieces. Gotta tell ya hun...they've been dismembered so they could fit back in their box. Sorry.

Freaky Friday

2009-09-25T11:23:00.004-04:00

So, m'dear fellow blogger Dara Laine has started a thing called Freaky Friday on her blog.

I'm thinking I may start that here. On this blog. For shits and giggles.

Dara's is primarily job-focused, but I figure that I'm going to turn mine into a sort of "whatever amuses Nyx" blog.

Today's Freaky Friday (can we insert some sort of dramatic music here? How about Enter Sandman?)is concerning a few job listings that I found quite...amusing.

Thanks for the idea Dara!

Job 1:
"We Are Seeking a Dating Coach" - they call me Dr. Love......I don't even think I have to explain why this one is weird.

We are a new service company looking for ONE very special person to head this new program.

We are looking for a woman who is sexy, smart, classy and entrepreneurial in sprit.

Someone who can read men and women alike and understand the psychology of interpersonal relationships and communications when it comes to the “dating game”.

Your job will be to work with our clients, one on one and take them from what they currently show to as close to a 10 on the dating scale as possible by listening, learning, observing and then guiding and coaching them to success in finding their perfect match.

This is a new program for our firm, so we are looking for an idea person and someone who will lead and take this pilot program to a viable business unit which ALSO serves a need in a market which is too focused on numbers and not enough on success.

This will start out as a part time position and then with success, turn into a 6 figure income for the right woman.

Serious inquiries only please.

Ok, it wouldn't be that bad if only they told us WHO THEY WERE. What person in their right mind puts up that type of job listing and doesn't say who they are? Another thing that bothers me is that they say it's for a "firm." ...What exactly does this firm do, if they're seeking a dating coach? Usually people who hire dating experts are magazines or websites or something like that - not a firm. And I find it hard to believe that there's no job requirements - anyone can call themselves a "dating expert."

Hm. I'm getting a flashback to the movie Hitch...and strong feelings of a scam.

Job 2: 200 SALESPEOPLE NEEDED

Thousands of salespeople working with us around the world in over 30 countries!
Join us!
Call for more info
404 207-5091

Yea. Right. I'm going for the phone right now.

Job 3: Crabby Dick's

part time positions available for kitchen manager, line, expo and dish .must be over 18 years of age .
also hiring for serving must have abc card and be at least 19 years of age. the abc card may be obtained by contacting the delaware liquor control board.
also hiring marketing /events planner/administrative assistant
please contact crabbydicks@aol.com

Ok, this one isn't so weird. My dirty mind just couldn't get over the words "crabby dick's"

Job 4: Rewritters

I'm thinking this one takes the cake.

I am looking to hire 2-3 re-writers. I am looking to start someone as early as tomorrow. I pay $1 per 400-600 word article. With proven reliability and quality work, pay is increased after first month of employment. You will be paid once per week, within 24 hours of when you have completed your weekly project. If you would like more details about this position send me an email.

Wow! A WHOLE ONE DOLLAR! Man, sign me up. Right now. Get out the contract, I am all over it.

Pigeon

2009-09-25T00:27:00.005-04:00

Today was crappy. Nothing in particular was horrifying wretched - it was just a bad day. An aweful, lousy, and overwhelmingly pathetic day.

Ever had one of those? When you wake up and are just one miserable SOB? For me, that was today. I tried to rush into Newark to grab football tickets for the homecoming game, then realized that I was going to be late to work. Somehow that transformed into me being a failure at life, and I had a bit of a mini-breakdown. In my car.

So, as I was sniffling and wiping the snot traveling downwards from my nose, I turned the car around and headed towards work.

On my way, something happened. I saw a group of doves flying over Kirkwood Highway - pure white doves. I'm thinking that somebody was married today or there was some sort of ceremony.

However, in the middle of those doves was a black bird. A pigeon, I realized, as I squinted at the flock. He certainly wasn't supposed to be there.

But, the flock moved as one - pigeon and all. They twisted and turned in the air, riding the currents like they were just so thrilled to be alive. Almost acrobatic in their flight, I watched as they circled overhead with no real purpose.

And they didn't care one bit that they had a pigeon among them. Because do you know what another name for a pigeon is?

Rock dove.

It occurs to me that I may be able to learn something from this brave little pigeon.

There he was, surrounded by the beautiful white plumage of his relatives, and y'know what?

He didn't give a shit. He was just happy to fly.

Sometimes it's the simple things in life. Lately I've been so consumed with just the daily grind that I forgot. I forgot to look around and appreciate the simple things.

Life is what you make of it, right? If I can make the concious decision to have a positive day, then what's to stop me from having one? I forgot this. I forgot that I am a fully-fuctioning and capable human being. I haven't had any great tragedies happen to me. I'm just an ordinary human, just like the billions of others out there, trying to make her way in the world.

Thankyou, little pigeon, for reminding me of this.

Blog Action Day

2009-09-24T13:32:00.004-04:00

So world, I've signed up for blog action day.

This year's theme is climate change.

Expect my post on Oct. 15th about this topic. I think that it's great that there's an organization that's doing this - trying to get people involved.

We need more people to get involved with what ails the world. Too many have become apathetic, and it's a disease that's spreading rampantly.

The link is provided below if you wanted to participate, or you can always click on the nifty little badge I have over in the right column. Go on. Click it. You know you want to.

http://www.blogactionday.org/