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.

alphabet catch up

Allo.

I realized that I yearned to get down n dirty with all the details on the cluster that is my life right now.

Immediately afterwards, I realized that I'm too tired for that shiz.

So here's what the fuck is up now.

A. my car still refuses, adamantly, to reverse

B. I HAVE A HEEL SPUR

C. mai birth control has made me gain weight (Kitty's working on words for the unjust-ness that is THAT, rest assured)

D. i need my hair colored, stat, pronto,  ewwy grey bangs are sic (unless you're into that whole "old" thing...)

E. mai favorite watch was broken, got fixed, (shanks, New boy) and has now broken again (boo for a bare wrist)

F. i got new headphones for christmas; this = happy kitteh

G. i miss stuff hard

H. i have zero resolutions for twenty-ten

I. mai toenails ABHOR me, because i do not pay them enough attention

J. our patio has a garbage stain that leads one to belive that we bludgeoned the stray cat that was shredding our trash last month

K. for the record, the cat is not dead

L. i love coffee                   ..                 ..           ....    (um..always and forever)

M. mai roomie and i plan on having an affair with the gym starting Jan 1. (an affair DNE a resolution, btw)

N. mai family is the total and absolute shiz. mai parents/brothers/extended family are rather HIP, from what i can deduct

O. i would give New boy his own bullet, but he reads this.... so i can't gloat on him w/o having to deflate his head later in the day (total J/K, he's humble as pie)

P.what i can give New boy is TWO whole bullets, because he's so dang sweet. ooo, I hope you smile a little, ninja.

Q. my bed has written me a love letter asking me to come back

R. i left my dang camera cord in missouri, whoot for 9.99 usb cords

S. i spent an evening with my 86 year old papa and his 86 year old new bride two days ago. sharp as tacks

T. i have been thinking HARD on my med school secondary applications

U. i am eagerly awaiting a coworkers head-zit, it's premature as of late

V. the past is the past, and there is no sense in being an ass about it

W. i got new running shoes

X. Mess with me, and I will do the total opposite of kiss you pink and softly fluff your soul with pillows
Y? Cause,

Z.  I am a rock, I am an island.

Oh, that's inappropriate.

OH hai. How was your Christmas? Was it inappropriate? Did you find yourself censuring your every topic of conversation whilst spending those limited hours away from the house and in public?

 Cue snapshot, Rolla Walmart 12:12 AM.

Catch the shocker in the background? Yeah, mom was too busy talking to notice we were snapping a photog.

Chatter..talktalk..blahblah..ohwait..no..that's..I'll get that tomorrow...forthe..blahblah...sandra...oh your aunt would love this...yadayadayada..chatter...where's the....with....remember...I had that thing.....the rolls.....rolls are near the cheese.....talktalktalktalk...Nick's got those at home....Sarah, come here and lookatthis,we had this last yeardidyoulikeitornot...nevermind....stay there.....hey,callconnorandtellhimtoruntotheothersideofwalmarttoget......um...the..wait, no....nevermind, it's right here....yada. yada. yada.   Literally. LIT UR ALLY. Literally.

   There was a running commentary on every thought in her mind that both did and did not pertain to the three of us that were acting as her GOPHERS for the night. Chris (stage left here) would pry his attention away from looking up raunchy jokes (WITH which to entertain us) on his iPhone long enough to glace in my direction to ask if she was talking at any of us in particular. (TO which the answer was always no)

But her running commentary wasn't the funniest thing about the midnight walmart adventure, na, Beezie, (stage right) kept another running commentary PARALLEL to my mother's. It consisted mainly of "that's what she said" 's, snarky asides pertaining to her inablility to finish thoughts, and completeing her sentences himself with what could only be considered mad libs. All for my listening enjoyment, folks.

And, OH the bowling alley. This actually occured before the trip to Wally World, but is second because it's comedic grade pales in comparison. the only thing that was really funny about this little event was the ball dance my OTHER brother, Billy (for BillyBadAss) felt inclined to do every time that house ball traveled down the lane. First of all, can we all apreciate what he's squeezed his nuts into? Yep, those are honest to goodness nut-huggers. They adore nuts, love em, stick closer to them than saran-wrap. Above that ball-debacle, he proudly displays a large belt buckle holding together a CINCH belt complete with metal studs, only lacking his name in burnt calligraphy...etc, etc. So when this skinny bitch wiggles his appendages and shouts obscentities downwind at the bowling alley, he tends to draw a lot of attention.

K then this also is bit more mild. My poor jack russel is getting a bit old. We used to hold him in this position when he was younger, and it was funny, because he was just a wee bit uncomfortable. Now COMMA it's just gross. His body has successfully aquired a FAPHA (Pronounced FAP-HA) ((Fat Around Penis Hole Area)) So his penis has essentially become an afterthought to his anatomy. Poor dog, as if imasculation after birth wasn't enough...

And then, because we can't take a family sibling pic without snapping a shot we can't show our grandparents, I leave you with this:

Bless your family, but mine is better :)

Kitty OUT.

Mi hermano, y cheer de xmas

Assorted holiday sayings via my brother and his talented single serving friends:

Get hay, get christmas, get nugs.
Spread Holiday Nugs, make girls dreams come true, real. One day at a time.
Peace, Love and Christmas nugs.
Merry Christmas and a happy holiday shmead.


You have a blessed ass-holiday. :)

Personal Essay Take 7, final

Hey, HO. I realize I'm going waaaay overboard on the December updates, but whatevs, I got shiz to say.

I realized, talking to New boy last night, that I hadn't updated this thingie on my status in the med school process. As a matter of fact, I realized, I hadn't even posted my final version of the personal statement I decided to go with. So here that is: 

Famous car capitalist Henry Ford once said, “Genius is seldom recognized for what it is; a great capacity for hard work.”  As a small overstatement, according to this I believe that I am the next Einstein. My background story is not one of pity or impossible tasks or anything that would make a good movie; but it is a good tale that might make you smile, and it is mine to tell, so tell it I will.

The best place to start would be junior year in high school in Rolla, Missouri. It is here in my life where a lot of things converged. For instance on any given Wednesday, I would open the pool at 5 AM for the assiduous lap swimmers, and guard them until I bolted for school at 8 where I soaked up the wisdom and knowledge until 3 PM. From there, I swung by my house to grab my cleats, a twenty dollar bill, and a sandwich from my mother quickly so that I could make the 2 hour drive to practice in St. Louis by 5:30. After practice was over at 7:30, ten dollars went into the gas tank, and ten dollars worth of food went into my body for the trip home. This was my regime three times a week for two years. If you know any high schoolers, you will realize just what a feat of endurance this was. Let me tell you the reality of necessity behind my drive. I needed the job because my parents had just divorced and money was short. I needed the elite training because I traveled to soccer showcases that exposed me to collegiate athletic scholarships. Lastly, I needed high school, to quell my urge to learn, to study for the ACT, and well, because it is illegal not to attend public school five days a week. For me, no other option than to go to college on a scholarship of some kind was available. So I was extremely aware that I needed to capitalize on every possible opportunity that I could in high school. In hindsight, I realize just how rare my mentality was back then. None of my friends put as much effort into their prep for college as I did, and even today I find it hard to muster the endurance that I enjoyed then. 

Due to the drive that led to my good grades, athleticism, and admirable ACT score, I was recruited to play soccer at Newberry College in South Carolina. The challenges I faced during this stage in my life, gave me more emotional and mental strength. While in college my grandmother was diagnosed with ALS, but she absolutely insisted that I stay in class. At the time I had decided to double major in Biology and Chemistry. This decision was a difficult one, heavily affecting much of my free time. Between my rigorous Division II soccer schedule, my classes and lab schedule, my days were literally non-stop. But, through her unselfish actions, my grandma taught me to work despite my emotion. She hardened my resolve that I should pursue a career involving heavy thinking. She passed away one month before I graduated cum laude and received a rather prestigious award. The W.L. Laval award is presented to one male and one female senior student athletes per year. Its winners are acclaimed to be outstanding in athletics, scholarship, character, and leadership. The award served as a reminder of how much work it takes to shine in crowd. 

Which brings me to now; a rather uncertain period of my life that is failing to fulfill my strongest yet unusual desires. Most of my peers want that rewarding job which yields the top salary, fancy cars and other tangibles. I, on the other hand, possess an insatiable thirst for knowledge; despite my inability to regurgitate such intellect on the MCAT. Nonetheless, success in life for me is defined by the daily pursuance and acquisition of a higher level of acumen.

I am used to putting the effort into a task and reaping the benfits.. My perseverance is being challenged in the application process for medical school. I have not been accepted for a couple of years now, which has been getting mentally, emotionally and financially exhausting. My desire and determination to be accepted has brought me back time and time again. Since graduating college I have been putting in a forty hour work week as well as a full time MCAT study schedule and I maintain such a rigorous workout schedule that I was able to complete a marathon.  I have shadowed numerous doctors, specifically surgeons such as Dr. David Lee, of Columbia, SC in preparation for the day that I am accepted into medical school. I am not certain of the exact qualifications of the people accepted, but I do know that a demonstrable ability to handle a stifling workload is smiled upon. Let me reassure you that my drive and ability for consistently going the distance and beyond is unwavering.  I have already prepared myself for the hardships that every matriculate struggles with. The only thing I ask of you is to recognize my potential and allow me be your next genius, as Mr. Ford would say.

More on the process of application paperwork later, when I feel like it.

Life and Times of Clawed

Everyone say hello to Clawed. He's about 15 minutes old here, and I'm sure there is no place he'd rather be than back on his stump some 200 meters downhill in the field.

This post is more or less an update on the lovelyness that is Clawed. A small biography on the thing that is now our personal air freshener/ ornament holder.  I first wrote about Clawed here. That post was more about the boy than the tree, but it was his first appearance nonetheless. I digest; you may have noticed something rather odd about the name that we chose to bestow upon our Christmas tree (Well, more likely, you're wondering why we thought we had to name it in the first place. For this, I have no answer, it just seemed like a cute idea at the time) However, I do have an explanation for the spelling. That is my doing, and I'd like to take a paragraph to  brag about it.

The question of what we should name it was posed, and I, of course, offered up many a great name, but was ousted, as usual, by the bubbly dictatorship that is my roommate. From the second the four of us began pulling odd names from our memory banks, mine were doomed to fail. And so it seemed that only three people were in the running for the best name for our dear tree. New boy hit the ringer first with a name that Roomie liked, thus, Claude it was. Little did they know that "Claude" it actually wasn't. In my head I mentally booted up how exactly I was going to have a say in this ordeal, and I came up with an annoyingly correct misspelling. I figured that since I was the only one of us that was ever going to write anything about Clawed, and everyone else would be merely pronouncing it, I had regained the upper hand.  Paragraph END.

Clawed had a rather rough trip back home. In the rain.

And once he was on the porch, becoming UN-soaking wet, he was met with yet another hacksaw because we had neglected to have the forsight to fall in love with a SHORT tree. Poor thing.

So yeah. Clawed is happy in our living room. He stands cosily between the TV and the wall, with a small sliver of window to peek through during the day. He is fed daily by New boy who's taken a liking to.. well.. all of our well-beings.

Worst picture ever, best FIRST tree ever. Woo. Go Clawed.

RUUNNINN

 I want to run again. I haven’t run long in months.

I have a heel spur that is really preventing me from getting into the zone.  It used to be so easy, just to lace up shoes in the morning, and walk outdoors. My mind didn’t want to do it, but my body was craving the endorphins.

Now I have to be at work at 7, usually before the sun rises, and I don’t fancy getting up at 4 in the morning to get my workout in. Seeing as I have to drive to wherever it is that I’m going to run, because the major road that I live on is/was known famously for prostitution and drive-by shootings, I can’t manage the wake up, the drive, the run, the drive back, and the shower all before it’s time for me to leave at 6:38 in the morning.

But oh. Those runs. The runs where the sun is just coming up. Those runs where ice forms on the back of your ponytail. Those runs where your legs and lungs begin to believe you’re strolling through the park when, in reality, you’re cranking an 8 minute mile, on mile 9. Those runs where your ipod dies and you don’t give a fuck because you’re already at that mentality; the mentality where the slap of your feet sounds better than any song that could rustle through your shuffle. Those runs where all you see in front of you are the bobbing heads of others as they run. Those runs where you return to the club house to see nothing but smiling, happy, genuinely elated people. Those runs where your mind and body begin to operate on the exact same wavelength, each one working in harmony with the other with such concordance it's nearly unbelievable.  Those runs that are so long you begin mapping out the state in your mind to see which towns you could make it to in a single day. Hum… I could get to Newberry on foot in three hours. Hmmmm….halfway to Florence, SC in four hours, or all the way if I got two good days of running in. Those runs where you feel, literally, like you have not a care in world because you are RUUNNINN.

Oh, geez. Those runs. I want them back

Christmastree-nut-in-my-pants-have-a-great-time-fest cues feministic critical analysis

Ah, ok, what is today? Wednesday December the ninth. Got it. I don’t  feel  funny today, but I do feel like writing. It’s a shame that those two feelings don’t go hand in hand.

So, here’s the latest in MY life.

I cut down a Christmas tree yesterday, for the first time in my life. It was jaunty and wet and fun. Where was my biological father to be found when that sort of thing would have been the highlight of my friggin YEAR? Peaced out. Might have been drinking.

I digress. As it stands, it definitely was the highlight of my MONTH! I had a great time yesterday, and it was all a part of a bigger more  ob⋅se⋅qui⋅ous⋅ly active plan than I had anticipated. He, as in, new guy, planned this Christmastree-nut-in-my-pants-have-a-great-time-fest, all by himself.

Recently I kicked the BF, the one that had the memory of a goldfish, to the curb. For a while, nobody really cared, I milled around for a month with my thumb up my ass wondering if I was going to adorn the back of a holographic deck of Old Maid cards in the year 2020. But then, poof, just like that I got noticed? (end that sentence like a question, because it is one)

Because really I had been seeing this guy every time I went out to have a good time. *wink*That, my friends, was intentionally misleading.  Hahaha, I am tricky.

But no, really, for a whole year, I saw him because he brought me every drink I ever ordered.  Some smiles, some ah, oks.  But nothing that a BARTENDER wouldn’t normally do for a tip.

Cue poof.

 Now… we are in like. We’re in some serious like. We are bordering  obsequiousity. ( not a word. Leave me alone, it illustrates a great point.)  From his region, not mine. This would usually worry me very much. I dislike it when someone likes me more than I like them because I feel, then, that I owe them attention or I owe them some ‘like’ in return. But I really don’t have any real ‘like’ for them so I use my backup supply of fake ‘like’ and that makes me feel guilty about the situation.

Never. Ever. have I had a guy go out of his way like this. I don’t have to use any of my fake ‘like’ on him. I genuinely, really like him. I don’t know what to think, what to say, what to do. It just seems that all the things that used to coincidentally piss me off when penises are in the vicinity, don’t make me as ill anymore.

1. I’m usually very prejudice about any guy girl relationship. I can have all the events up to and including the means and mode of breakup figured out, weighted and statistically analyzed for likelihood, before the appetizers are ordered on the first date.

2. I typically feel like I need to prove myself. I suppose to appeal to their evolutionary subconscious that I would be the best mate and mother of their children should a zombie attack threaten to wipeout normal human beings. (Look at me boys, I can run for hours, I can solve complex efficiency problems under anxiety-ridden, sleep-deprived circumstances, and I can also cook you lasagna out of leftover trashcan Chinese) I’m a total nug. Fo shiz.

3. I also have this superiority complex.  There are about a billion tasks that we as humans perform over the course of a lifetime. Things such as driving, fitness, cooking, drinking from the sink, cleaning a toilet, using adjectives correctly, yada, yada, yada. Out of these billion things, I must be better at at least HALF, or the guy gets the boot.  Like I have to win. At fuckin tying shoes. I literally must be more efficient and quicker with a tighter, less misshapen bow on my gaddamn tennis shoe, or I am ill. And the guy gets the boot if he’s new or a stern stink eye if he’s a regular.

These are a few of the gems that my dysfunctional twatty mind has defended over the years, but lemme describe how this guy has single handedly broken all the rules… almost without me noticing

He circumvented number one by all of a sudden deciding to glue his sweetheart hat to his head the same week I vowed to live in the moment. Lucky him. I did this purely out of breakup spite.  He doesn’t know that he is the official guinea pig of me planning only into the next 24 hours. This preferred method of handling things is working well so far, but if I begin to think further ahead, I get sick to my stomach, and wheezy. ( like I was ever THAT kid in elementary gym class!? Psssht, I wasn't. Which is why it's baffling now that I get queasy on cue of certian thoughts. I'm tougher than that, I assure you.)

He acts nonchalant about the fact that he is about the same size as me. He never tries to pick me up, or act like I’m light as a feather, and he doesn’t try to out lift me. He just kinda watches me, and seems to be thinking.  Perhaps it s admiration, perhaps it s irritancy. But I’ll never know. Because when he catches me looking at him, the fun is on again. He doesn’t outright EXPRESS his dire NEEEEEED to feel manly in front of me. Which totally quenches my need to prove myself worthy. I think he doesn’t do that because in some areas, he would lose. I’m a pretty girl and I have a nice toned figure/shape, but I am sorta manly.  I’m a manly nug. Uh HUH.

Lastly, about this superiority complex; it’s really the straw on my camel’s back. This is where I become very difficult to deal with. Because I have to be better at EVEN the arguments that are a result of such trifling matters. For example, he feels my boot in his ass or my stern look at him for doing something better than me is unjustified; we argue; I must argue like the best defense lawyer in the history of time.  If he’s a good guy, he sticks it out or he dissolves the situation by handing me a glass of wine. (I.E. SEE HERE) But THIS guy, makes it seem like this problem doesn’t exist, like it’s he’s running on 1 Cuil ALL THE TIME. Anytime I get a whiff of a feeling of this 'betterness' he cracks his back six ways to Sunday, the loud pops completely distracting my building fury. ? He uses a word I don't know... I get a pang of attitude... then he's handed me a coffee mug and we're each chewing on our lip rings watching the rain.  ?
Do you see how that kind of NONSENSE....doesn't even... like....come together in a complete thought??

I don’t even notice that the problem was a problem and isn’t anymore, until I sit down here and analyze the sitch. Then I see it. Refer to #1 here. Trying to live in the moment, for my own feelings, and no one else’s, right now.

But let’s break this down just little bit more. What does it mean for all these general rules to be circumvented all at once? Does that mean that I’m losing sight of the things that my evolutionary dating eye has made me remember over the years to avoid heartbreak? Does it mean that I’m doing something that I know I shouldn’t? Or is it going the total other way; that this bartender has potential? The fact that none of the rule breaking is bothering me would seem to vouch for the latter, that this may just be the sweetest thing that ever happened to me. But I don’t know. Because I’ve got the Great Wall of China up between my real honest to goodness, honest Abe, honest to Blog, down and dirty, it puts the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose feelings... and the feelings I tell/show everyone else. There is a massive, massive difference between what I attempt to convince myself my true feelings are, and my actual true feelings. Ergo, even I don’t know what I think about this situation.

I think, though, that it would be very best just to sit back and watch it all happen from behind a smile.

OH. Wow. It’s been over a month since I posted. Why is it that the best laid plans….

NM, doesn’t matter.

Here’s what the fuck is up now.

A.      Breakups suck

B.      Being mean intentionally sucks even worse

C.      Money is the root of all evil

D.      The MCAT will fuck your mind body and soul up irrevocably

E.       My thoughts are worth WAAAY more than a penny

F.       Love is hardly definable, let alone attainable

G.     Surgeons are too intimidating to have a normal conversation with

H.      I need new running shoes

I.        My car has LOST its reverse gear and I’m told it will never find it…

J.        My birthday was last week and I was a very irresponsible little girl

K.      We need new kitchen chairs because ours are too low

L.       Both of my big toes have massive blood blisters on them

M.    My chiropractor just got back from Egypt and if he ever leaves again, I’ll kidnap him home

N.     We have a stray cat that keeps ripping up our trash

O.     Dating is hard

P.      College boys rocked whist in college. However (COMMA) it seems that now they suck horse nuts for a living.

Q.     I had a nail in my back right tire for 3 months and didn’t take care of it

R.      I was the first responder on a 3 car accident a week ago. HUGE adrenaline rush.

S.       I have two jobs. I needed two jobs.

T.       Sugardaddys can apply, right here

U.     I plan on buying a pair of high heels from Wally World, tonight.

V.      We have been out of milk for 3 days.

W.    Life is a clusterfuck of crossroads

X.      I found some GREAT curl product last week, smear it is. Enjoy

Y.       I can’t get enough of Dane, Bob, Joe, and Ron.  They are my main-men.

Z.       I miss stuff. Hard.

A           Also, I had this in A,B,C format, because I'm fond of alphabetical lists. But I'm an idiot with little time so I will not be trying to fix this formatting fiasco, even though it might make the whole thing a smidgen betta