Extemporaneous Resolutions

Spontaneous Resolutions:
Rules:
-must finish in 25 mins
-can edit but not delete ideas
-must use no names/brands
-rules cannot have back stories, that would take too long

1. I will do something athletic every day. minimum being 20 push-ups and 20 sit-ups, even if I'm sick
2. I will call my mother at least 3 times a week, if only to leave a message
              a. my brothers once a week, if only to leave a message

Helen of Troy

3. I will leave more messages, even if it is just to sing along to the radio for that person
4. I will respect and honor sunrises, as they are the most prolific metaphor I can understand

5. I will begin to read medical textbooks for fun.
6. I will assume innocence until otherwise proven, instead of the opposite.
7. I will try to be more patient.
8. I will cry when I want to be mean, as a form of social non-dominance
9. I will find the time for video games.
10. I will learn how to make Beef Nugs.
11. I will enroll in personal training courses.
12. I will quit my job for something better.
13. I will NOT develop cellulite.
14. I will make up a name to refer to the entity I thank for my family, my life and my fortune.
15. I will educate myself in the art of sketching.
16. I will eat one piece of fruit a day, no matter what.
17. I will fast for one whole day, to try and better understand hunger.
18. I will throw out anything of mine I find that hasn't been used or thought of in 2 years.
19. I will take more pictures.

20. I will frame more pictures.
21. I will capture more of people's lives.
22. I will become more captivating.
23. I will finish my wall board.
24. I will resist being pushed around.
25. I will submit to humble request.
26. I will be more humble.
27. I will take care of my car.
28. I will not take for granted the bed in which I sleep.
29. I will not take my athleticism for granted.
30. I will not take my beauty for granted.
31. I will abuse my right to use legal drugs, because one day my health won't allow me the option.
32. I will learn how say the alphabet backwards.
33. I will become more creative.
34. I will make all mandatory hygiene an obligatory habit, because it's about damn time.
35. I will exercise the muscles in my eyes and ankles once a week.
36. I will sing more loudly.
37. I will go above and beyond to realize medical school.
38. I will take the LSAT if medical school does not happen this year.
39. I will clear HALF my credit card debit.
40. I will be a better gift giver.
41. I will remember ALL of my immediate family's birthdays.
42. I will work with so much passion, that people will cry at the amount of slack they have to pick up when I leave.
43. I will make medical school #1, health #2, and mental peace #3.
44. I will use less commas when I write.
45. I will write more often.
46. I will buy as many savings bonds as I can afford. Minimum, one a month.
47. I will take care of my feet and toes.
48. I will not bite my nails or cuticles anymore.
49. I will find the time to clean my bathroom at least once a month.
50. I will put more effort into folding my clothes.
51. I will try and be more kind to people who may not deserve it.
52. I will try not to pass judgment. mmhm
53. I will be less selfish with my inner monologue.
54. I will tell people more exactly what's going on in my inner monologue.
55. I will keep better contact with those that are far away.

Beezie

Helen, Me, and Slick Nick

Beezie

Billy Bad Ass

Helen of Troy in Muskrat

Thor (Biological Father) in surgical scrubs?

Papa Animal Slayer . Uncle John (no nickname available)

Papa Animal Slayer in AFRICA killing LARGE GAME

Action Jackson 2004 (after I got him alone for an afternoon) Helen was PISSED

Old man Action Jackson in his highwater comfort bed, years after the pink wore off

56. I will be less critical of myself.
57. I will develop a lifestyle that allows me to consistently weigh 135.
58. I will appreciate conversation more.

Done.  Now I shall add humor... The list came first, the links came later...

Kitty out :D

The one where I write about music as if I know anything at all about it: I can't even read it

So about a month ago, I was sifting through my google reader, as I often find myself doing while waiting on my carry-in lunch to warm up in the microwave, I found a funny entry about a baby carseat-dancing. It sounded interesting, but my work does not allow us to pull up any streaming thing, so I couldn't listen/see it.

When this happens, I usually email myself the link, and look at it the next time I access the interwebs from home. That doesn't happen all that often, because, ironically, I only have my work computer set up for massive time-wasting links that occupy my day. My home computer is really only used for function, and is thusly not equipped with anything like Echophone, StumbleUpon or Universal Amazon wishlist. It barely has foxtab, and even then it doesn't have all the tabs that my work computer has.

SOO, when I got around to looking at the video I was delighted with the way it made me feel, but I was twice as delighted to discover a song I had previously overlooked. I clicked off the video and immediatly looked up the song and fell in love with it. *yay*

Florence and the Machine: Dog Days Are Over

Everything about this little ditty makes me wanna wear nothing but a really expensive pair of jeans and a ruthlessly hot VS bra, rent an empty warehouse flat, shake my curly hair out of its oppressive bun and sprawl-ed-ly dance away the day until I become so dehydrated I puke.

Her voice is just so rich and brassy and golden. It carries the song through most of the slow parts. ( I can't stand slow parts of songs, they lose me if they're too build-uppy ) And then when everything picks up and Florence is singing and the harps and drums and pianos all get a goin, ( might be a chorus?) I feel like that happy scene in every woman-triumph movie where she's arms akimbo up at the sky and either snow or leaves or glitter or rain is falling towards her smiling face as the camera pans away. It takes a movie an hour and a half to suck me in to the character's development enough to care about the triumph over some seemingly insurmountable pitfall so that that last scene is what it is! It takes Florence and her Machine a little over two minutes to create the exact same soul-filling sensation in me.
It also reminds me of the scene in 500 Days of Summer where Tom meets Autumn. It is then that you put together that Tom, this amazingly sensitive, hot, geeky, masterpiece, will be ok without Summer. That fact makes you feel all gooey with shit-eating grin energy. Because you're SOO sucked into Tom's psyche by that point in the movie, you're thinking exactly like him, like life will never be well until you/him find that person, that ONE person, and what if you've already met that ONE person and let them go, or the person you have IS the ONE, ( but then that scares you), and then BAM he meets Autumn, and you're like  "OH THANK GOD THERE IS HOPE FOR ME AFTER ALL!!" 

But I am afraid.
I have a terrible habit of killing a song as soon as I find it. The only time this hasn't happened is with "I Love the Rain the Most" by Mr. Joe Purdy. ( that song will go down in my history )
I want to keep it whole and pretty like it is forever.

I haven't looked up the lyrics, and I've been hiding it from my ipod, so I can't put it on replay and ruin it.
But I got the inkling to hear it at work, and I looked it up, and now I have access to that MySpace Player that I linked up above.

I think the end is near, and I'm so sad about it.

Stringsnip

I know what you're thinking here...

I know I posted like two days ago, and am thusly not due for a post for about a month and a half.

BUT

There are some things I need to say before I forget how to say them.

snip

So I'm at my hood, and the sunlight is hitting me full on, this would normally piss me off, cause it's hot, but today was different. An unusually annoying/guilty pleasure song, Natasha Beddingfield's "Strip Me" was playing over my ipod, when the chorus hit, something snipped the string that held me to the ground.

It was pretty cool, and I don't know exactly what caused it, but I'll recite what events have transpassed since the last time I wrote, not so much for anyone's viewing pleasure, but so I know that it's here, that I can read it, see it, come back to it, remember it, and love it... when I'm too old to remember how good I had it.

Thursday morning, the 18th, 6:25 AM YAY I wake up

After successfully brewing coffee (which, apparently, is not a given with me, as I have been standing in the kitchen prepping breakfast, turned, and stepped in a puddle of coffee that had started growing ten minutes beforehand, shortly after I neglected to push the coffee pot all the way under the brewer) and getting my fat ass out the door with lunch coffee and my cellphone, I ran around at work like a squirrel on meth until 4.

I ran back home, arriving around 4:15. I took my laptop into the bathroom (for exactly what reason you thought of when you read that) and played World of Goo for an HOUR... fully knowing that I was supposed to be napping before my 6:45 step class. Once I reached the appropriate done-ness/level passedness, it occurred to me that I was supposed to pick up a bottle of Bailey's BEFORE step class because we are in the south, and they don't sell liquor here after seven, EVER. But I hadn't even gotten to hop in my bed yet :( Realizing this made me realize that I had to round up gym clothes, take my Jack3D, wash my face, and get out the door in the next 15 minutes. I SOOO felt like napping at this point. But I did all those things, including arriving early at Step class with a bottle of Bailey's in my passenger seat, because I am a grown up, goddammit, and that's what we do... WE.GET.SHIT.DONE.

No, I cannot live a lie...we all know I act nothing like a grownup, with the exception of my respectably clean car interior. I took the Jack3d first, then I sat down on my bed, mentally deciding what to wear while that amphetamine-based shit kicked in...

So, STEP was AWESOME,  as per usual.

We came home, and turned it to channel five, ( to catch Grey's OF COURSE) after changing the channel we both stood in front of the pantry miffed with the fact that we were very hungry but nothing looked remotely appetizing. So, I put my apron on and made Jiffy Cornbread in a breast cancer awarness pan in the shape of a ribbon. Actually, there was no apron, but I did add REAL corn, and threw some rosemary on top of half of it.. just to try it out. It made the apartment smell wonderful.

Then, during Grey's the first 3 of our nine-party Harry Potter premiere group showed up. Then another, then another. Then the last two.
To describe the my BFF's among them would take me too long.
Let's just say that they know exactly who I am. Exactly. Every word, every moment, of any day. They accept me for who I am, what I might say, and what I always do.

So, midnight Harry POTTER was AWESOME, as per usual

So, after the show, after we were all home, and 5 of the nine had left to go back to college town, I found myself curled up in bed with the two BFF's  giggling over one of our old assistant coach's accent. All three of us in sweatpants and T-shirts, no makeup, Mandi with a green St. Pat's pom-pom beanie on, and Griff with the characteristic absurdly messy pony. It was 3:45 in the morning. I had to be at work at 7:30. I got comfortable, snuggled down and got ready to mentally begin to fall asleep. One final peek showed me both of their faces illuminated by the light of the TV, animation in their eyes as they looked over my head.

I don't think I'll forget that. If I live to be 100 I think that I might just cherish that one mental snapshot as a prime example of what it is to live, and to be connected to something that didn't grow in you for nine months.

and then... all of 6 minutes later... my alarm was going off, and I was getting up for work, having had a startle because I woke up with a head tucked under my shoulder... bed buddies...*rolls eyes*

After COPIOUS amounts of coffee pre-leaving the apartment, (most of which I slurped as fast as I could with a straw) I was REALLY REALLY ready to go to work. Really. I was totally sleep deprived. My system was shocked.

But I was all happy n shit. like.... if you knew me... and you saw me that day... you'd be like... "o jesus... she got some last night...now I'm gonna have to ask if she was safe... and who the guys was..." Friendship's got a greater hold on me than any guy ever could. Well, THIS friendship does. I've known these girls for 6 years of my life. that's a LONG time.

So, back to where I started. I'm at my hood, dancing to a song, cause I just lived through  ^^that^^ and I'm still in a good mood. NOW, I get to drive to GA to rake leaves, see a GIANT chicken, see a movie, and  hike a mountain with one of those BFF's that was cuddled in the bed with me Thursday night.

I just felt, free. For a few minutes there in the sun; there was peace and smiles and tiny kittens in casts mewing for attention. I felt grateful to the universe that I could be a string in a net of friendship that has caught most of the best memories of my life.

These are the days

Kitty OUT

wtf is up?

Like, hey man, what's happenin?

Well Monday, the 15th, I came to work. And I was busy all day. Like, REALLY busy. busywork busywork... but that was ok because I remember distinctly that it felt like a Friday. And we all know that anytime you can get a Monday to feel like a Friday, you're doin alright. Then I took my fat ass to the gym... only to realize mid-change, that the only footwear I had thought to make available to myself was a pair of rubber flipflops. So, pissed off and hyped off jack3d, I went back to the apartment and took out all the trash in the abode, folded up all the cardboard from weeks of my roomie's cereal obsession and marched it down to the recycling container.

By that time I was starting to feel lazy, but no less AMPED. Also, my emotions were askew, as they are most of the time, and I teared up telling my roomie about my day? Because I knew I'd gotten myself a little too riled up I put on my comfy clothes and curled up in bed to watch some reassuringly mind-numbing TV. Roomie came in on two separate occasions, once to get a snickerdoodle, and once to update her ipod off my computer.

I was bound and determined NOT to go to the gym, but every time I get all good n serious about shit, it usually ends up how I don't want it to. If you've correctly deduced from that sentence that I went to the OTHER gym, (the one near my house) and made sure I had fuckin tennis, then you would be correct. Nice job. Not only did i go to the gym, but I kicked my ass at the gym. I didn't even feel like exercising, and I look down at the treadmill and I'm kickin back 4.2 miles on 7.0, which is an 8:15 minute mile? And then I do lunges and side squats and side jumps and some other stupid-looking plyometrics and somewhere in there I pull a groinadductorhammie? That I only notice I'm limping from when I see myself in the mirrors by the free weights.

Cut scene to me waking up Tuesday, the 16th.. feeling as if I have not, IN FACT, been sleeping but have been made to chug warm Guinness and cling to fireman's pole with only my legs all night long. My first thought wasn't a good one.. I'm pretty sure it was something along the lines of, goddamn DOMS. And then I remembered that my DOMS is ALWAYS ALWAYS worse on the second day and my next thought was even more unpleasant than that. But I went to work. yes, I did. I pulled my whiny-hat on tight, took an ibuprofen, and went to work. I was busy again...but it did not feel like a Friday, so it sucked ass for that reason alone. But, my batch passed, so I was so-so. It was around this point that I lost my patience. I've kinda had it with this subject, and there's no way to fix/solve it, so I *apparently* just bitch about it NONSTOP evidently, every. day. all day. No, that's not really what happened, I just had to put on my big-girl hat and talk like an adult to a person whose "step one" in the manual reads, 1. Resort to anger.

After that was through I did about 20 three-step things and was late getting out of work. Then I told myself, Self, it's not really gonna matter what you do today, it's gonna hurt. Run, sit, curl up in bed, hurt, hurt, hurt when you stand. So I choose to download World of Goo 
AND PLAY IT ALL DAY LONG. UNTIL 11
It made me happy, what can I say.
I made some Indian-spiced rice in the middle somewhere... and finished off with some Mini-Nilla Wafers during a particularly difficult puzzle level.

and then I went to sleep.

and I, again, for the third night in a row, had the most crazy, fucked-up in the science-fiction head gravity-defying, movie-star, role-playing, Rainbow Brite colored dreams

kitty out

Jack of All Trades

Jack of All Trades is the description that I usually reserve for myself, seeing as I really hold no innate talent other than my genetic athleticism. However, I now think that unless you literally do something new and different each day, there is no way you can be a "jack of all trades." The reason is this: you do something, SOME THING a majority of the time. You have to...by default. Even if that thing was sleep, all your friends, and most certainly your parents would consider you, loosely, an expert on comforters, black-out curtains and mattresses.

For example, if I wanted a better grasp on the high-school psyche of insane electronics trends or disrespectful lingo, I would ask my friend, Mooley, who is a high school teacher. She sees them every day, she hears them talk. She confiscates phones, gaming systems, and PDAs until the end of class. She hears most of the snide remarks they make under their breath. She walks down the hallway with them, is capable of character analysis, and can most likely pin a student's personality just by what they're wearing. ( not that that's all there is to a high schooler ) She's been around it, has an "eye" for it. Yada, yadaa.

To continue, if I wanted to know which glue could fasten a brass plate to a corrugated sheet of paper, I'd call my Mam. She spends about 70 hours bi-weekly scrapbooking. She freaking STOPS TIME to scrapbook. I know, hard to accept that it is my mother who is in control of all time and space. But it's the TRUTH. She doodles, and sprays, and glues, and heats, and dabs, and stamps, and cuts, and well she can fashion anything you want out of anything you have, lets put it that way. If she weren't 1000 miles away, I would ask for her aesthetic opinion on my more ambitious art projects more often. She is my ultimate authority of all things tangible and 2 dimensional. End of story.

Now, even though my mother and Mooley do other things throughout their day, and because they have other interests, like boyfriends and husbands to tend to, and rent and bills to pay, they default a lot of their day to OTHER PEOPLE. Because they just don't have the knowledge to make the perfect decision. They consult other people who do their "thing" a majority of the time, because those people are the "authority" on that THING. My Mam has a Mary Kay lady that keeps her face shiz in line. Mooley calls her mother (who raised like, 7 kids at once on a limited budget) for anything around the house.
SO!
IF, THEN
A car salesman were to walk into Macy's in Times square and proceed to confiscate some poor fashionista's clientele appointment. He would be not only be out of line, but also the "less high authority." He is out of his element. He doesn't pour over Vogue magazine daily, or go to catwalk shows, he sells cars. HIS authority would probably be somewhere in the realm of profit margin and commission boosts.

SO when you are in the presence of someone who HAS AUTHORITY on the topic at hand, let them have the fucking table. LET THEM HAVE IT. It is theirs. They didn't spend countless hours doing whatever it is that they were doing just to learn NOTHING, and have no recollection of past times, right or wrong. They KNOW what they're talking about.

Going from vague to specific. If you wanna talk biology, being a feminist, or certainly fitness or chemistry, be prepared to hand me the fucking table. IT IS MINE. I haven't been reading Shape and Fitness, Runner's World and Women's Health for somewhere around a decade to improve my goddamn eyesight. I LEARN. Lord knows I didn't piddle around in various gyms for an average of 30 hours a week since I was 13 for the DATING POSSIBILITIES. (meatheads are pathetic conversationalists) I absorbed shit while I was there.

So quit with the ruse, everyone, and hand the table without dispute to whomever it is in your presence who has the authority.

KITTY OUT

the one where I think I'm all funny and stuff, but really I just typo the bejeesus out of some thoughs of mine

You know what words are fun? the funny ones. Yeah, great job on that one, I know. But really,

hornswoggle: terrible thing, lying, cheating someone. the word, as it rolls off the tongue is funny. woggle within a word is a winner, it stands alone

bo-peep: not really a word I guess, but rather a character name from one Pixar's most famous movies. No I will not tell you. great because it has little pops and soft bumps throughout it. Not unlike infant language attempts, which are cute and funny.

shat: gross, I know. And totally non-sequitur, but funny, cause it's past tense slang. Slang is funny because, well, it's SLANG it was created out of necessity in the midst of fun. (N/M I shouldn't have defended that, if you're arguing against me in your head whether or not slang as a whole is funny, you're an idiot, and you should leave, because there is nothing here for you) Taking it one step further and PAST-TENSERIZING IT is like going one dream-level deeper into the fun. And, shat has the added bonus of harboring a common sounding word, "at" within it, doesn't mean much, just an observation.

cankles: here is an instance where it is not the word itself that is funny, but the image the word evokes within your mind. charadeslookslike...knees calves feet, in that order, all the way down. It's unfortunate, yes, but all part of the fun. I mean where would the Olympic sport of people-watching be if not for cankled women attempting high heels. HEYOO. cankles are FUNNY...if YOU are not the one lugging them around. (HAHA I just felt karma's missile system target-lock on my head) I have a feeling that I would not find them as funny if they were the crux of my own personal complex.

rooter (something that routs): charadessoundslikerooster. Is NOT rooster, cause those things are smelly and annoying. Is not Rooter, like a FOOTBALL FAN, cause those things are also smelly and annoying. Rooter, base word, rout. cause things that "rout" are funny. Like dirt dogs goin all catnip status at a hole in the ground. Like small hamsters flinging cedar chips into the sidewall of their cage trying to get as deep as possible to sleep. The word, it's inevitable mispronunciations AND to actually rout are all three funny. soo. total winner there in my book

Ha. good times with words.
I didn't even feel like saying anything of importance tonight.
Kitty out

therapeutic

Whoa, jeezus christ, is this still even a blog? It's more like a quarterly report.

It's not that I've been terribly busy, or that I've not had anything I can write about, it's that I haven't really felt like writing. There you have it plain and simple. I am blerg. All of you don't care, and the one dedicated reader I have is like, "NUH UH, I am not takin the fall for THAT too." To which I say DON'T PANIC.


I would be more original, but Douglas Adams needs a shout out about as often as I need to be reassured. Which is to say, often.


So, sit back, relax, take a deep breath, and allow me to safely, securely, vent my anger and spill my guts in such a way as to hopefully amuse you.



MOTHERFUCKING-BITCH-ASS-AX-MURDERING-SON-OF-A-CUNT-KIND-OF-WEEK.

GOD. DAMMIT. ALL TO HELL.

Three times this week I sat in my car and screamed with such ferocity that my heart raced and my face flushed. Twice this week my eyeballs were afloat with tears at work, and once this week I got unsolvimatically ill with Le Mien.



So, a week that creates this kind of running aneurysm-risk to a person with a considerable tolerance for stress really needs no other explanation/definition besides the symptoms of the victim. Which I just gave you in handy dandy lil 3-2-1 expressionism.


I turned my Med-School application in among all of this. Good idea? Probably not, but I have deadlines to meet and the med school bus, I have come to find out, waits for no one.


And to put the maraschino on the proverbial sundae, I am once again, chillin alone on my own deserted mind-island. I used to have company, but the stress of my mind-island is not for everyone. This is not some woe-is-me, you poor little girl, did you forget about the starving in africa, oh Ye of a million problems rants. NO this is one of my middle-class white female nobody understands me rants, and I am allowed one of these quarterly. Everything up until that last sentence was merely a stage-setter.



Am I obscenely unique? Is it too hard to get along with me? To understand my thought process? To be as happy as me? That’s right, get out your tiny violin and play for me the saddest song in the world. For fucks sake, I have a naturally delightful persona. Everyone I’ve ever worked with, notwithstanding the total aspergers jerks, has deemed me animated, happy and easy to get along with. WHY THEN is it so goddamn hard to be in a relationship with me? I keep to myself, have other interests, I have a nasty habit of caring for others more than I care about myself, and I strive to maintain a more-than-touchable body. All that is a bit ambitious, I admit, sue me.



Sarcasm, and my other defense mechanism, acting like I don’t give a fuck, overshadow those finer qualities of myself. EVIDENTLY?! The fact that I can analyze that statement as such pisses me off even more because the whole reason I created the defense mechanism of acting like I don’t give a fuck was because I was tired of having an expectation of care that was always, always shattered. You can’t feel hurt, and be told you’re being too persnickety or dramatic for bringing it up if you shut out the fact that you’re hurt (circular logic is always fun). I’m tired of having an unrealistic portrait of love painted for me and then jerked out from underneath me like a rug on hardwood. Can you blame me? Can I really be held accountable for a manifestation of my personality protecting me?


What scares and hurts me the most though, is that I had stopped doing these things. I stopped defending, because I believed that there was nothing to defend against. BUT, as it turns out being mentally overridden and pigeonholed into non-intimacy is something worth defending against, because I have been subconsciously defending against them for over four weeks now, or so I’ve been told. And it’s a crying fucking shame, because it’s only in response to feeling disconnected alone and unloved.




Solutions? Eh. Time? Eh. I suppose honesty, but I suppose a lot of things which are never taken seriously.



Patterns fucking disgust me. Hey, here’s a light-hearted shout out to the man who made this whole psychosis possible. Rick? Rick, stand up and give us all a wave, will you? Safely assuring your daughter would piss off all men in a 2 mile radius was a clever chastity belt, gotta hand it to ya man.




The title of this post when I started was 26 things. Cause there are at least 26 things that pissed me the fuck off this week that would have been worthy of writing about. Instead, as I wrote, the title morphed into therapy. Although, I’m not really sure it’s had that effect on me either.

Kitty OUT

The beginnings of a tradition: Part 1

So, I've been meaning to say a few words about da momma to me and my two crude, yet well-adjusted brothers.
First off, she amazing. She birthed us and raised us, and that in and of itself isn't much, but when you factor into the equation first, that she was usually preggers while trying to deal with a two year old (i.e. we were all born just a hair less than two years apart) and second, that ALL three of us could have been considered at the very least mildly ADD-ic, her struggle for just under 27 years in getting us all happy and ready to leave the roost is nothing short of a miracle. I'm not gonna rag on my dad here too much, but from what I've heard from her over the years, he was sometimes a help in the sitch, but mostly an anxiety infuser. I remember once whilst sitting down to a family meal in Junior High, that there was an all out brawl because the mashed potatoes were cold. OH mighty MAN who toils at the BLOCKS all day, heaven forbid your mashed potatoes are cold, never mind that all of your children have their homework (nearly) done, are sat down at the table and there is a buffet of other nutritional and time-consuming food on the table. DON'T EEEEEVEN GET ME STAAAAAARTED. CHEESE AND RICE. 

So MAM, yeah she's the shit, and my brothers and I know it. SO, to begin a tradition, my brothers and I decided that it would be nice to give her a little three-way call.(all possible through the iPhone, thanks Beezie) The plan was to call her at 12:00 her time, just seconds into Mother's Day. YEAH, we might be waking her up, but CAN it here, we're trying to show that we're on top of our mother's day shiz. There are little things that come into play here that make it all the more special. Thing #1: I live in a different time zone, and thus had to wake up a little before 1 my time to call her at 12 her time. Thing #2: most of us were in different states. Me in SC, Beezie in STL, MO,  Billy Bad Ass in Cola, MO, and mother hen, HELEN in Lawton, OK. Thing #3 This was the first time that the three of us, Beezie, Billy and I, had attempted a three-way call since the night our grandmother, Neenie, passed away. She is another mother in our great line of upbringers who inspired and instilled in us the things that made us who we are today. A moment of silence for the N-Bird.



We love you Neeners :D

SO, those three things made for a little bit of a stir! WELL, that and, Billy was already 10 deep  at 11 o'clock when Beezie reminded him that he needed to pick up a very important call in an hour. So Beezie got us two on the line, and then called Mom. She didn't pick up on the first call, but we decided that it would be appropriate to call her until she answered. She picked up on the second call, and Beezie said "Happy Mothers Day Mom!" awww her little voice wet with sleep and happiness gave a warm thank you to Beezie. Once she had finished, I said, "Happy Mother's Day Mom!" hehehe, she let out a little gasp of surprise and joy, and thanked me too for wishing her a happy mother's day. Then, once she finished, Billy chimed a brusk and deep, "Happy Mother's Day Mom!" and she said, "Aww ALL my babies are on the phone!!!"
That was so friggen special to me that it had been a special surprise to her that my eyeballs could have popped outta my head. *pop* *pop* two eyeballs, just rollin around on the floor.

What then followed is something that I began to take notes on. Why you ask? Because I didn't have a GD taperecorder, that's why. That stuff is priceless. I don't know if you've read any other posts on my blog, but it would befit you to mosey on over to my christmas post to get a better idea of the way my family converses. It's amazing. We, as a collective total, have more wit, spunk, humor, quips, quotes, jabs, and jokes than any one professional comedian out there. I knew that I wanted to blog about it because I knew it was gonna be fuckin FUNNY.

There is a part 1 attached to the title of this post for a reason, and that's because I didn't think that I could do full justice to both the setup and the conversation in one post. I only have enough snark to make it through so many words a day, and I am not a girl of few words when it comes to telling stories. I'm just like my mother. So, then, as a tease for the next post, I'll throw a few bones/quotes to you guys from the convo.

In reference to an air mattress tucked away in a college house closet:
Helen: Just pull it out and see if it's still usable.
Beezie: I am not braving that spider-infested hell hole to pull out a mattress that leaks.
Helen: Well, pull it out and let the spiders run away.
Beezie: You. are outta your mind.

Before we even get on the phone with my mom, all three of us are on the line
Beezie: Wait! I gotta plug my phone in.
Billy: What!? You called US! (in drunken deep timber cowboy slur)
Beezie: Gotta be ready.

Ok, admittedly, that second one will only be really funny to those reading who've heard Billy talk. It's situational really, because it was a little touch and go there as to whether Billy was sober enough to converse pollitely.


Kitty out.

oh sweet memories...

So, just some FYI, from here on out, new boi will be referred to as "le mien" not too hard on the fingers, short enough to chop to Mien if need be, and so cutthroat and to the point in depicting my grabbing wonder as to how I get him all to myself. MMK movin along here.

Le Mien and I were chit chatting at lunch, as we often do the latter days of the week when I work all day, and he works all night, and we don't get to converse as much as we would like, and the topic of memories came up. Well, I brought it up. Mainly because the amount of information I know about Le Mien could fit into a large salad bowl (if we were engraving facts on dominoes, that is). OH, don't get me wrong, I've been entertained by stories of past girlfriends and parents, sisters and Penn State "twins" but very little actual ooey-gooey-lemon-square-sunshine that really makes a person who they are in present time when you meet them. But! I know you're thinking... "well that's the part that you hear about over time, in the course of a few years, little by little through everyday anecdotes" well you can just put your anecdotes where the sun don't shine, because it's like I got JUST the answer to a very long quadratic equation. Well, yeah, that might do me some good if I'm trying to hit an old refrigerator, (can I hit it or not!? #twhs) but I'm a SCIENCE major. I need to know the HOW and WHAT, the gears behind the machine, the cause to the effect!

yeah, so, memories. He told me a few, and they were pretty funny, one had a sled, one had a messy bedroom and a nagging mother and a girl... and that really made a dent in the pre-me stories about him :) I'd rather not divulge the full top-secrecy of the memories, not only because I respect his pseudo-privacy, but also because to anyone else, they might not mean a darn thing... pretty much opposite of what they mean to me

BUT,  I actually had brought up the subject for two reasons, not just the knowing about him more, but also to share one of my own. Unfortunately for him, I forgot then the one that I had intended to tell all along. That story involves a booger. Yes, a booger. HA  the memory/story is this. I was in 4th grade. How I know this is by mentally placing the room and the tennies I was wearing. The room was in a counselors office in the second elementary school that I attended. I transferred there for reasons I don't remember, but there were only grades 1-4 there. I remembered that indirectly because I know that the middle school I attended next ran grades 5-7. And the tennies, well, they were obviously a thing of the early ninetys no sooner, no later. So I was taking this test, I'm pretty sure it was some kind of intelligence test to see if I qualified for a smart person program they had there called Quest. Dumb fuckers didn't let me in. Wonder why? Anywho, I was in the middle of this pencil and paper test and I got bored. Ever happened to you? happened to me.(Ron White) I happened to be looking down at my tennies, wondering if my ankles looked good (yup, that was one of the thoughts that crossed my mind during a TEST. I know now why I had such terrible trouble on the MCATS, but would make a wonderful trauma surgeon) when I noticed something on side of my right shoe. I thought to myself, how could something fashion it's little way on the outside, side of my right heel? my tennies weren't dirty, I hadn't sunk into some filth that was marring the pristine whiteness between the item and where my tennie touched the ground. That, at least, would have given some clue as to how that particular item had traversed it's way from someone else's NOSE onto the out sole of my SHOE. Then, as all 4th graders would do, I reached down to investigate. Yes, I touched it. Yes, I then brought it closer to my face. No, I did not put it in my mouth, as I am so fond of doing with things. ( yes, I did type all that so I could then type, you nasty reader I am not, in fact, making an allusion to dicks ) I, as a matter of principle it seems, put objects into my mouth without a wisp of a thought as to what I might contract. ew, I know, lets move on. So as I squished the increasingly icky object between my fingers it dawned on me what I was toying with. And I was grossed out. Not a lot does this. I'm a rather gross girl, if you hadn't noticed two lines up, I do gross things. I think that's why this memory sticks out in my mind.

It has just NOW literally, as I'm writing, come to my attention that ALL of my pre-middle school memories are GROSS. Seriously. The thought crossed my mind just now to tell you THE MOST GROSS story of my life, (I will NOT ever be divulging that little gem here) and it happens to occur before middle school as well. There is also the time where I vomited in front of my entire extended maternal family AT THE DINNER TABLE, and IT TOO was before middle school. ee gad my mind is a virtual icky trap. Why couldn't I remember nice butterfly barbie bumblebee hums in the middle of summer stuff?

So, in summation, my knowledge of Le Mien's life, if engraved on dominoes, has increased to fill a family-sized dinner salad bowl, and I have come to the conclusion  waaaay too late that my memory only sees what's stuck on the HEPA filter of my mind.

sic KITTY OUT.

word: swagger so bright, I don't even need light -lil wayne (of course, because I'm a lil wayne typa chicka)

I'm so hot you prolly catch a tan around this muthafucka.


haha, no not really, but if you stick around long enough, you'll prolly catch a mean tongue slashing.
Cause that's how I roll.
You know how else I roll?
With words, lots of them. Me and words, yes, you could say we are "tight." We used to be tighter but then I all up and got a life, stopped reading books so much, and lost about 1/10 of my total intelligent vocabulary. It's a shame, I know, but with all that free time on my hands I learned the valuable skill of putting eyeliner on, and I wouldn't trade that shiz fer nothin'. BUT more close to the topic at hand;  I err on the side of more rather than less.

When it comes to words, my lil blag will attest that I go on and on. I use run on sentences as if my sixth grade teacher had done nothing but let us play checkers the whole year long. Bitch, my sentences so long and verbose with such inflated adjective clauses that any no class ho get lost in the middle. I like to explain myself, I like to be heard, I enjoy easing someone's mind with multiple reiterations of the same basic idea. I like to see how many different ways I can come at things.

But the most important reason that err on the word vomit side rather than the zipped lips side is so that, if everything is right, the listener will have a thourough and comprehensive understanding of MY understanding on the situation. Becuase ( I learned in conflict resolution class) it is the SPEAKERS responsibility to make sure that the message is conveyed in the proper form with the proper connotation. On the flip side, if something is wrong my listener will have a greater chance of picking up on the fact that I really don't have their point clear if I say what I'm thinking in more than one way. i.e. I reiterate, i.e. I repeat, i.e. I summarize, i.e. I verbally outline.
Point. made.moooove along
 I told you that story to tell you that I'll tell you another story sometime later about this story. The second story is WAAY better than this one, and/but the names and ages of all involved have been changed to protect identities
Now I'm just being obnoxious, and I'll stop, because nobody likes obnoxious girls.

Like WHOA

Imma try this again...hopefully with more results.

Whoa, it's been a long time since I posted. Holy shit. lots to tell.
The really short story is that I'm a idiot
The short story is that I'm a happy idiot.
The story is:   I broke up with new boi to go back to the gold-fished memory dude.Goldfish was verbally abusive/mentally corrupting/ checking my phone records/ getting back at me? and it took me approximately four weeks to figure all this, and the fact that I was IN LOVE with new boi out. All the while, new boi was patiently boding, misery-sifting his way through life, due in part to me. For that, I am sorry.

SO.


Me being a mean girl kinda takes a whole new sort of relevance in this position, doesn't it?
Shall I, with all that said, take a moment to describe what all it took for me. ( one girl from one hometown, with one huge superiority/feministic take on the world ) to fall in complete and utter love with ONE boi?
I shall.
Lets  go back and start with this: all the bad shit that I put up with/created with Goldfish. Everything. Literally all five years of our relationship was one HUGE compromise on my part. It was, I suppose, all I ever wanted for him to like me. ( could have stemmed from my atrocious father/daughter relationship in high school, we'll never know) But for that reason, I got into everything that he was into. Hunting, fishing, gathering a plethora of social copycats worth mooching off of in certain aristocratic circumstances.. etc.etc. And I never demanded that he get into the sort of stuff that I was into. ( this I can deem, with confidence, is anything that the social layman might categorize as "weird" anything from brute force Japanime to knitting bags out of recycled walmart sacks) This compromise made me put certain aspects of my personal self on hold and forced me to create a new person of compatibility. Little did I know that this was just as much my doing as it was his...
So, as the years passed on, I quit doing all of his homework in college, and began to seed a resentment for him making me into a different person altogether. When, in all reality, I was the bigger factor in the relationship. But, at that point, things were too far gone in the way of me looking for other potential mates to reconcile things, and the relationship began a slow downward spiral of betrayal and regret, hate and animosity to the point of a irreconcilable disconnect between either of our wants and needs. I broke up with him (the first time) because he was always gone and never made good on his promises when he was near me.

After going back to him, I soon realized that I was NOT in love with Goldfish, and hadn't been for quite some time, but was superfluously living in the past of my life. He made the decision for me, to quit him ( once more ) very easy by getting rather violent and aggressive. New boi then was there with grace and amazingness, and only a great demeanor on which to lean. Never in my life have I been so set at peace as I was that night.

That fateful night:
I had been ( forcibly! ) made to drive away from the downtown area from which my roommate was drunk and needing a ride to cater to drunk Goldfish. Once I returned from dropping drunk Goldfish off at his abode of choice I luckily found my roommate walking alongside the side of the road, intending to make it all the way to the other side of downtown, where her boy was expecting her ( she wouldn't have made it ) I picked her up and we made our way to his bar.
There, oh there was new boi. Quietly surveying my mood and the situation. Never pushing or expecting, only looking to improve my sadness in any way possible.
It was that night that he displayed the qualities of the man with which I could and would stick. He earnestly had my selfish and unreasonable life on a pedestal despite all that I had put him through. It was this kind of dedication and love that the feministic slice of my life had been yearning for.Someone who could love that slice for all that it was worth, all it could produce and what it had been created from. Someone who would like me through the shit that I would inevitably force him into. I had filed the thought that I was in love with him until that night in the "something that could happen" folder, given certain circumstances. It had potential... there was definite love in my heart. But it wasn't until that night that my heart gave my mind the green light to fall beyond all circumstance. He told me, at one point, after my adamant refusal to stay and converse through the sunrise and into the following Starbucks americano that would inevitably ensue that,
                                        " THIS, between you and me, is not over... "

And lemme tell you something folks.

If you have EVER in your head or heart or genitalia felt a sense of romanticism....

1. Multiply it by ten.

2. Then divide it by one-eighth.

2 1/2. (Please tell me you got that. Do the math. please, it is important).

3. Then,  Define: Pervade : to become spread throughout all parts of

4. Then, ask me how I didn't take him to bed and make his baby right then and there. Because that, even with the little story I have let you be witness to, is some serious stuff. The stuff of movies. The stuff that gets a full five minutes of EDITED reel of Hollywood film. That is the stuff that girls swoon to during the day, and masturbate to at night. That stuff made me (albeit cliche -ly) weak in my knees for the first time in my 24 short years of existence. I was moved beyond all scientific and emotional reason. Rendered effectively a Helen Keller for a full 30 seconds, not for want of choosing one of ten things to say ( as I usually am when rendered speechless ), but rather having lost the ability to think at all.

Chew on that.

We started with something bad. Lets end this with something good.
My chiropractor ( spare me ) has been seeing me every week since September, and thus has seen me through most of the ups and downs of the hellhole I've been alternately jumping down into and digging myself out of for the last six months. I 'd say he's a relatively objective statute of my demeanor. He told me lately that while my attitude and personality were regularly positive, there was something here now that was just off the charts. Was there something different in my life?
And, with a large SHIT-EATING grin on my face I said... 

 UM... yeah Dr. G.
Kitty out.

frustration

Of all of the things

I think and I am;

All of the things that

I knew to be true.

Why is it that here,

Now, in the present,

That mistakes and faults

Seem to accrue?

Struggle, struggle, try

But my minds not there.

Grasping and flailing

But finding thin air.

My work and my life

Seem to melt and rest.

Why did I settle?

Why can’t I stop?

Science can’t fail me

Yet how has it not?

I’ve fought the hard battle

Worked through all the thoughts.

I was born to sift

And conclude the facts.

But I’m never the one,

anyone, to this test.

Cause I’m sick and frail

Deep inside my mind.

I’ve pushed off alone,

Left others behind.

Fought hard with my heart.

But it never wins;

It leaves me whining

With a look of chagrin.

This is not a feat

It is no Everest.

But the climb, for me…

Just short of epic.

Each day a step, just

a step up the mount.
This test, that day,

this time, will count.

ya know what?

I'm a mean girl
That's really all there is to it.
I was gonna blame the environment. Like my homelife. And my nazi-ass father's drinking problem.And that I was fat in Junior High. And the droves of guys who took just enough of my feelings to be able to hurt me... hurt me...then gave them back. (read: I am now a tough-ass and you hafta have balls of steel to court me)

But that's the easy way out. Deflect, (you feel me, PANTZ) and you don't have to analyze yourself.

Instead going to blame my genetics.
and my analysis has come to this conclusion,
I am genetically designed to get all pissed off and fight.

Here's how:

I have low blood pressure by nature, which allows for a considerable rise in said pressure without any ill effects.
I'm naturally very muscled, which would come in handy if the sitch came to fisticuffs.
My brain is huge, allowing me to procure biting comebacks with ease.
I yell the. absolute. loudest. ever. ( anyone who knows me knows this is true beyond a shadow of a doubt)
My eyes are already naturally squinty, making the "I hate you" look even more easy to throw out there.
My scientific nature makes me a quick deducer of the situation, which enables me to jump to conclusions EVEN faster.
My attitude typically rests on "happyohiforgot" meaning that I think only about the things that make me happy, and then only for a few minutes before my ADD scoots me along. This makes it seem like I hold the grudge from hell. I have found it drives people bonkers.
My hip flexors are a sight to behold. ( read: all the better with which to kick your nutz , dear)

So, then, it would be in my very nature to get all pissed off and fight. Which is probably why I get my feathers ruffled about something at least once a week.
But to be totally honest, I don't really like fighting. It makes me all sweaty and nervous in the pants.

 **HOWEVER COMMA if your name rhymes with Yeast, rest assured that you're already at the top of my ass-beating docket. Your reign of idiocy is up.**

the one where I get all Boondock Saints with my blog and take down evil for the greater good.

A friend, lets call her Ell, thought it might be nice to invite a couple of her friends over last Saturday for lunch. WELL, lunch and scrabble. Chili and freindly competition. Words and food. It sounded like fun, cause, I mean, who likes to play scrabble a. besides a few of us and b. with anymore than.. oh 4 people? No one, because it draws on like Monopoly, next thing you know, it's nine o'clock, everyone forgot the fuckin gym that day, and dinner is still frozen in the deep freeze.

Guest list was as follows:

Ell ( hostess ) just one of her many outfits

Boobookittyfuck ( me ) ready for scrabble

Missfuzzypantz ( rudedog )

fuzzypantz

To preface: Simple story, LARGE MORAL LESSON

11:20 ish

    Pantz text me and asked me when I would be going over to Ells. Since I was on my way back from a grueling saturday morning at the gym, and had to stop and pick up ranch mix (for the taco chili). I stated, rather assuredly, that I would be at Ell's house after a half bath, and a change. That, ladies and gentlemen takes me all of 15 minutes. It takes me longer to drive to Ell's house than to half bath. So Pantz jokingly stated that she'd better start the process of peeling herself out of the bedlinens  getting ready. I jokingly stated that that would be wise.

hahaha

12:15 I arrive, dressed, washed and happy, ranch mix in hand at the front doorstep of Ell's house.

12:25 Pantz texts Ell that she's out n about, has to run oooone little errand ( I quote ) and then she'd be over.

12:26 Ell and I begin our game of scrabble. (because we know better)

12:27 I win the draw off, and my first inaugural word is BONER.

12:28-13:20 Ell and I eat chili, refer to the scrabble bible for verbal guidance and poo poo our last week at work

13:24 Ell kicks my ass. wins. We hold a ceremony for her, she gets a cookie and trophy.

13:25 I thank Ell, give her a squeeze, and I leave to meet new boi at the theater to watch a flick

14:00

15:00

16:00

**

17:00

** I believe.. somewhere in this space-time region is when Pantz decided she ought to text Ell to politely let her know she might not be making an appearance.

How is that NOT rude dog?!?!!!!11?!

[as a side story, my mother so reverently described anyone who cut in line at the bank, took her parking spot, raised their voice to my grandmother, as a rude dog. It was also reserved for me during my especially troublesome and bitchy teenage years as I repeatedly disrespected her. I guess dogs don't know any better, and they're around more often than other animals, so they tend to get in the way...or are more rude to humans then the rest of the animal world?]

OK, OK OK.... you're saying to yourself.. "Why on earth is pantz being thrown to the wolves here? She simply forgot the time.."

To compel this large moral lesson even further, a couple of aside facts,

Fact one:   Ell waited BY HERSELF IN A RESTAURANT for ONE WHOLE HOUR on Pantz ( and + 1 who happens to be another late-o-holic). 60 minutes. for Pantz!!

Who waits for even their MOTHER for an hour?! I'd be like, fack this mom! Where are you?

Kicker to fact one: Pantz text saying she'll be right there cause she was checking out at the MALL.

So, recapping fact one..... Pantz and (+1) made Ell wait for them (at their pre-designated mutually decided  time and place) to do their personal mall shopping. That is rude dog.

Fact two: It is one thing to text that you'll be there in 20 minutes, it is a whole other ball game to text you'll be there in 20 minutes FULLY KNOWING IT IS A FALSEHOOD.

Kicker to fact two: She tweeted in the midst of not informing Ell she wasn't comin over at all. That she was drunk...drinking...yadayadayada. So she can TWEET, but can't throw a text Ell's way? Hmmmph. High and mighty much, Pantz?

So, recapping fact two. She lied? white lie, little lie, rude lie, bald-faced lie, small falsehood. WHATEVS, saying she'd be there shortly wasn't the truth and she knew it IS THE SIMPLE FACT OF THE MATTER.

Well, that little hour-by-hour scrabble ramble paired with those two other facts tie up the present-o-rudensss quite nicely, don't you think?    

 I just HAAAAAAD to. I'm not the type of person to  get all up in bidniss of others n sprout funny stories about it objectively build a rather compelling case against someone based solely on their actions via an outsiders point of view, but I couldn't pass this one up. especially after I passed on this twitgem:

 ALERT

missfuzzypantz   Bad news: someone tried to break into my mom's house. Good news: perks of living in *#*#  is quick po-po repsonse time & they caught the jerk

about 3 hours ago from Tweed
missfuzziepantz  @missfuzzypants @A#od#eSon let's hear it for the nosy neighbor!! [...]34 minutes ago from web

This is what I WANTED TO TWEET:

Boobookittyfuck  @missfuzzypants Thank god that nosy neighbor didn't call you.... A five hour response time and then merely a text wouldn't have caught anything

But, this is what I ACTUALLY tweeted:

Boobookittyfuck         [ nothing ]

( because I'm a non-confrontational pussy ) (wellll.. I'm actually more of a passive aggressive va-jay-jay)

Now, I haven't been friends with Ell long. Matter of fact I haven't been friends with Ell half as long Pantz has. So Pantz and Ell are tight. But to tell you the honest truth. I can't tell why after this long Ell still puts up with it. I have only been witness to the rude-late-o-riffic-ness twice, once in the summer with a boat, and then this time, for scrabble. And the last 200 lines are witness to the fact that I will not put up with that kind of shiz. NOR will I tolerate anyone being rude to my chosen friends, if I can have any kind of say about it.  


Soo I guess what I'm saying here is don't be intentionally rude to anyone, especially and most importantly the people who have been there for you; (and certainly don't try to explain yourself away after the fact) unless you want someone, somewhere to write a perfidiously objective blog post about you.

non-ergo, to make a nice little sopapilla of happiness out of this post, I saw the COOLEST surgery on Monday. pass the honey, please :D

Kitty OUT.

EFF

AND FAILED! F

Quiz Created By Auto Insurance.org

This is to be accepted, I'm ok with it. But I'm sure there are a couple of people that I know and/or read my blog that will be totally taken aback as to how someone with my caliber of intelligence can fail so miserably at a subject that I am exposed to every day.