Friday, June 10, 2011

Statistical Studies Show...

I like science.


Personally, I'm more of a biology and zoology type science person (animal sciences is my major, after all). Even though most people couldn't get me to sit down and study physics or chemistry I certainly appreciate their value. A lot of wonderful advances in the world have been made thanks to the passion and determination that others have for those subjects - advances that I won't hesitate to take advantage of.

We learn new things through studies all the time. We are in such a scientific age that funding for any kind of study can be found as long as you find the right benefactor. Sometimes it's the government, sometimes it's a corporation that's trying to sell a product, sometimes it's just someone that loves science.

Recently some scientists did a study about cell phones. So long have we been hearing about cell phone waves causing cancer and OMG we're going to die because of these handy, addictive, useful, prolific (I've never used "prolific" outside of describing a serial killer, I thought it was time I did) gadgets.

The study results?

Cell phones MAY cause cancer. No one is sure yet but they might. So just to be safe you shouldn't talk on your phone for a "prolonged period of time". What is a prolonged period of time? We don't know. I guess that means as long as I don't describe any phone call I have as "prolonged" then I win. It's SCIENCE. You can't disprove it.

If I was on the phone and the person I was talking to say, "Wow, this phone call is prolonged" I would then blame them for giving me cancer.

I thought it was odd that instead of saying "inconclusive" the response was "we don't know but maybe so here's a bunch of crazy stuff you should do to avoid cancer". By odd, I mean ridiculous. Besides, EVERYTHING gives us cancer nowadays. You're going to die eventually - get over it.

Another study I read about was done how you can be successful as a waitress.

No, you didn't read that wrong.

Harvard got a bunch of science folk together and studied what behaviors earned more tips. The results lead to suggestions such as, standing close, smiling a lot, being cheerful, hygenic, attractive, talkative and efficient. Good thing this wasn't stuff that we all KNEW ALREADY or that would have just been a GIANT waste of time and money.

So, if you ever feel stupid or like you aren't amounting to anything, just remember - this is what people at HARVARD are up to.


Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Girls Like Shoes!

When I was sixteen I stopped wearing shoes.

Okay, so that's not entirely true.

Let's start at the beginning.

I was not raised in a family with a whole lot of expendable income. Don't get me wrong, my parents did absolutely everything in their power to ensure that Big Sister and I had a lot of extracurricular activities. It helped that we homeschooled through a charter school and one of the things they do is help pay for stuff that is school related. That meant we could spend decent money on my softball gear and once I got serious about softball I always had NICE cleats.

In our everyday life however we didn't have that luxury. Mom said that since Big Sister and I made so much money babysitting we could buy all of our own stuff. This was when I was thirteen. We bought all our own clothes, toiletries, food, etc. I was told I was lucky we weren't being charged rent. Everything else came out of our own pocket.

It wasn't too bad, my sister and I did make a lot of money for our age. This also allowed mom and dad to have money to pay big important bills and for my mom to do her dog related activities. However when it came down to it, shoes and clothes weren't as important to me as comic books and anime. The only time I splurged on clothes was if it was somehow related to something that I was a fan of.

I had one pair of sneakers, a pair of flip flops and my cleats. That's all I needed. That's all I wanted. I got the cheapest shoes I could find.

When I was sixteen I couldn't find socks to put on my sneakers and my flip flops had been MIA for a while. I was going to the store with my friend, Willow, and I wasn't about to miss out on that. I had grown to hate shoes anyway. Since I wouldn't bring myself to buy high-end shoes I often ended up with shoes that were plastic or didn't fit as well as they could and they left me with blisters, hangnails and discomfort.

So I went barefoot.

I loved it.

I loved the feel of the earth under my feet. I loved the grass, the asphalt, the dirt, the everything. Even in the store with the chilly vinyl I loved it.

So I stopped wearing shoes except in certain circumstances. Obviously in softball or when I went to work I wore them as required. If the day was really hot and I didn't want to burn the bottom of my feet and get blisters (again) I wore flip flops. Otherwise, I didn't wear shoes.

It became one of my connections to nature based religion which is still a defining part of my life. My feet became callused and tough on the bottom, but I didn't have bunions or misshapen feet or blisters that comes from cheap ill fitting shoes. My feet never smelled and my toenails were healthy and were a normal color.

One time while in the Michaels craft store an employee came up to me and said that I should wear shoes because sometimes there was broken glass on the floor. I informed her that she didn't have to worry, all glass did was get stuck in my calluses and I could brush it off. She was probably too disgusted to push the issue further so she left me alone.

Of course this habit left the bottom of my feet black at the end of the day after wandering around a bit. My boyfriend at the time hated it but I didn't want him sucking on my toes anyway and he cared way more about what strangers thought than I did. People warned me about hookworms and other diseases that I never contracted.

To this day I prefer to be barefoot. I kick off my shoes before driving and my life seems more filled with work, school, speech tournaments, running and other places that require I wear these society required torture devices.

I still fully appreciate the moments when I don't have to worry about shoes, when I can just wander through the grass and feel it squish between my toes.

I still don't get pedicures because I hate the feeling of someone scrubbing off my calluses and how that causes my feet to be sensitive and squishy until they build back up.

I still can't bring myself to spend more than $25 on shoes, even that is pushing it as far as I'm concerned.

I still have calluses and I still love them.

I hope one day I work in a place that will allow me the freedom to be barefoot all the time.

Except when I'm scooping poop. Don't wanna step in that stuff.


Thursday, May 19, 2011

Labels Labels Everywhere

I was so mad at first because it appeared my last blog post about skinny jeans and chat speak had evaporated but today I checked and BAM! There it was. I am okay with this and it has reminded me I should probably post something else.

Something that I was thinking about as I was having a conversation.

I remember when I was growing up I preferred the company of boys. I played mostly with boy toys and played mostly active boy games. I played with some girl toys like My Little Pony and Polly Pockets but everything was some giant battle. Sometimes with the ponies my sister and I would create bands that went on tour and sang along to songs on the radio. But mostly something awful always went wrong and the bad guys had to be defeated.

House was boring unless I was playing the dog or the evil stepmother (muahahaha)!

I wasn't afraid to get dirty and I quickly lost interest in make up for frilly things.

There was a period in my life where I tried to fit in and be girly. Then that got boring so I stopped.

I was... a tomboy. I still consider myself a tomboy. I figured a tomboy is a girl that wasn't a lesbian and wasn't interested in girly things.

Now this friend of mine - she's very sweet and funny. I enjoy her company. She is interested in outfits, hair dos, make up and all that stuff (including the color pink, ick). However she also snowboards, loves the lakers and listens to rap music.

Per my definition, she's not a tomboy... however in our conversation she revealed that she considers herself one. Simply because some things she likes are not traditionally girly.

I feel like her definition is too broad, her definition can apply to almost ANY woman and therefore makes the term "tomboy" completely pointless. It cheapens the word and makes it taste like watered down beer when I say it.

Worst of all, it makes ME less special.

And we can't have that, can we?


Thursday, May 12, 2011

Cowboys Don't Wear Them

There are a few things in this world that really get me mad. Just by existing. Every time I encounter one of these things it sets me off on a little rant (this happens in my head and out if there is someone nearby to listen).

Chatspeak is one of those things. I hate it in emails, over IM, on forums, via text message... there's just no good excuse to ever substitute "u" for "you". If your Y button stops working then don't talk to me until you fix it.

It's also really difficult to read. There have been many instances when I've had to ask other people to translate what some person is saying. It's incredibly frustrating since, seemingly, the entire purpose of chatspeak is to simplify the English language, not commit unspeakable (literally) horrors to it's very functionality!

Communication is important!

Another one of these things seems to be gaining in popularity. Skinny. Freaking. Jeans.

About 50% of the population insists on wearing these monstrosities and they are flattering for about 1%. These percentages are 100% accurate and are drawn from my head in the midst of a mental rant.

The problem with Skinny jeans is that you have to have narrow hips and thin, long legs in order to look good in them. Most girls don't have that, considering we're supposed to have wider hips than shoulders. Most guys don't have that unless they're prepubescent and haven't developed thigh muscles yet. Fat people especially do not fit in this category (for crying out loud, it's in the name! "Skinny" jeans) and usually what we end up seeing is a Dr. Eggerman lookalike rolling about.

Sometimes, and this is entirely baffling, I find that in order to fit ankles into these types of jeans, whoever is wearing it has to get a couple sizes larger in the waist which means someone is wearing baggy skinny jeans that accentuate the largeness of the rump area and make the calves look super bulky.

So unless you're a supermodel, don't wear them. If you're a guy, don't wear them either - unless you're some hipster type and then you're pretty much doomed to look like you suffer from lack of grooming and ill fitted anyway.


Monday, May 9, 2011

I'll Tell You Why I Can Be So Heartless

I know, it's been a while. Sparkles has been buggin' me to post.

Joe J Johnson III and I decided we wanted to go see Insidious the other day because we're such big fans of Paranormal Activity 1 and 2.

Of course, we can't go see a movie without getting some noms first. The availability of coupons (buy one get one free!) meant that we ended up at Burger King. When Joe J and I walked in we were closely followed by a group of tubby Mexican kids, probably about twelve or so.

Is it racist to point out that they were Mexican? I figure it's just kind of a fact, but if you've been to Southern California you probably realize this is a bit pertinent to the story. Or not. Whatever, it's a description.

They were just hanging out at the front of the store while Joe and I ordered and ate. At one point I needed to go up to the front to grab our food and one of the punks was playing on his scooter which caused me to bump into him since they weren't taught to get the hell out of the way in WALK AREAS. But I was nice, I apologized and said excuse me and got back to my table unharmed.

As we were walking out and I was filling the cup to go, the same boy that I bumped into mouthed something at me. Okay, so he didn't mouth anything but he was speaking really quietly so I didn't hear him.

E : "What?"
Tubby Kid: "Can I borrow a dollar?"
E : "No! What's wrong with you?!"

I was super annoyed. I pushed past him and walked with Joe to the car. The kid followed behind us for a bit but I kept looking back at him and he ran off once he got out the front door. I ranted to Joe about how it was BS that he thought it was appropriate to go around asking complete strangers for money when he was obviously well fed, well groomed and well clothed. Joe said he had seen the kid approach other people as well. This explained why the group of them were just hanging out at the front instead of ordering food and sitting down like normal people.

The more I thought about it the more angry I became. This fat little kid thought it was okay to beg for money when there are children in homeless shelters that don't get enough. He even had the audacity to ask to "borrow" money, as though he intended to repay it at a later date! He could benefit from a volunteering gig I assume.

Punk had newer clothes than I did.

Insidious was okay. I think I expected it to be better than it was.


Monday, March 21, 2011

A Few Changes

I've obviously customized my blog. Let me know what you think - I may or may not care.

I think my biggest problem with it is that you have to have the page maximized to get the full impact of the wallpaper.

Edit: Nevermind, I fixed that. /edit

This set up also means that I can't do the fancy font color change every time someone talks. I want to break away from that anyway. Of course this means I'm going to have to go through my old blogs and change all the colors.

I will probably make time for this when I'm not at work.

I'm usually at work when I write blog entries.

I know this is not ideal. For my employers. It's ideal for me because it's like I'm getting paid for blogging. Yes, this is cheating but how many of you can say you are paid to blog?



Too Late To Apologize?

I was recently out of town for a school function. It was the speech state tournament. Very competitive and we've been working for this for a long time.

My roommate was going to be the team mother - a strong black woman that I enjoyed very much. She is an ex-marine and a mom of three kids somewhere in her early thirties. Sometimes her mothering bled over into her interactions with the teammates but most of us enjoy it.

The first thing she asks me as we're unpacking is if I snore.

This is a difficult question. I sometimes snore, but not often. If I'm extra tired, sick (congested), stressed or drunk I will snore. The volume is dependent on how much of each thing is true. I told her as much and she told me not to worry, she had earplugs.

All is well until the final day. I wake up realizing I had slept through the wake up call and my alarms. It wasn't too bad considering I wasn't performing that morning, I was just supposed to watch others, but then I noticed Team Mom was up and dressed and being very quiet. This is unlike her. I immediately sense the awkward. Something is wrong, something is bothering her. She had been bugging me all weekend about practicing and I took it in stride and let her be all motherly and when I had enough I left.

As far as I knew there wasn't anything wrong since I hadn't said anything.

It wasn't until I was halfway through packing (I didn't want to ask her what was wrong, I didn't feel like playing that game) that she spoke up.

"You were snoring so loud last night."

I wasn't too surprised considering I had three of the four issues that usually make me snore. I blubbered an apology, offered to buy her coffee (which she turned down saying she already had some) told her she could have woken me up (which she claims she tried and it didn't work. I believe her) and I was so sorry. She nodded and kept packing until I ran out of things to say. We worked in silence for a while.

After a few more minutes I told her that I wish there was something I could do because I still felt bad.

"You should feel bad."

It was that moment that I stopped feeling guilty. It's embarrassing enough to snore but it's obviously not something I did on purpose. It's not like I went to bed the night before and cackled to myself about how I was going to snore SO LOUD that people in the room next to us would complain! I did everything I could to make it right, apologizing multiple times, offering coffee or breakfast and not once did she tell me it was okay, or it wasn't that big of a deal or even joking demand coffee for a month.

She was seriously upset with me over a condition that I have. It's not even like I snored all four nights, it was just that one and it wasn't even a night before we had to perform. I concluded she was being dramatic. I finished packing in silence, grabbed my stuff and left the room.

How DOES someone make that right? It's socially awkward enough to get caught snoring but to have it held against you? Is that okay? Was I wrong? Should I still feel badly and get her a Starbucks card?

I don't get people.


Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Classic Nerd Pride

I remember being eight years old and running around to all the kids on the playground asking if they wanted to play Pokemon with me. No one knew what I was talking about. You see, the other day my sister had come home with a cute yellow stuffed creature and told me that its name was Pikachu and it was a pokemon and there were a bunch of them. That weekend we watched the show, my first episode was the introduction of Vulpix (a fast favorite since foxes are my favorite animals).

Throughout most of my conscious life I was obsessed with reading, learning, fantasy worlds, anything off the beaten path really. When I was three my dad showed me how to install things using floppy disks so that I could play computer games. There were a couple stages of my life where I liked something because I thought that was what I was supposed to do, or where I would claim to not like something because it wasn't "cool" enough.

But I was always a nerd.

I had to suffer for my love and passion. I had few real friends and I carried a dictionary and book of Grimm's Fairytale's (the original stories, brutal as they were) with me. I was made fun of, picked on and bullied. I never felt like I fit in and I never understood why. Sometimes it would torment me - the stuff I liked was interesting! Why didn't the other girls like Gargoyles?

When I got to the point where I not only accepted my nerd status, but embraced it I finally made a couple real friends (including my sister). That didn't stop us from being alienated from everyone else. We got used to being called names and scoffed at for playing Yu-Gi-Oh cards or obsessively bantering about Harry Potter trivia and Lord Of The Rings.

We developed a complex - obviously those other people are idiots and don't know what they are talking about. We were the real cool ones.

As we continued to age into our late teens we noticed a growing trend. It was no longer difficult to find paraphernalia. San Diego Comic-con was becoming exceptionally crowded. Forums that were once practically bare became inundated with mindless babble that caused the true fans to desert. Things that were not "nerdy" so much as "trendy" became incorporated in what WE loved to do. Inuyasha, I'm looking at you.

It all reached a peak with Twilight at the 2008 Comic-con. Nerds everywhere got fed up.

I completely sympathize with this.

I suffered for my love and dedication. I spent most of my childhood and much of my adult life with select few friends because of my interests. Misunderstood and alienated because I dared to love freely. Now that it's considered "cool" to be a nerd it's suddenly okay for people to take over? I am stripped of my special status and being lumped in with them!?

When a so-called-fan can't even tell me what the Green Lantern's alter ego is named I draw the line.

You are NOT allowed to claim to be a nerd, or a geek if you didn't suffer. This a badge of honor! A purple heart! If you did not suffer you will never understand! You do not get to play Halo for eight hours and claim to be a nerd. You do not get to watch Star Wars, rip on Trekkies and then call yourself a nerd.

When it's no longer popular and you find yourself obsessing over Vampire Diaries you will know the truth, as will we all already do. You are not a nerd. We will go back to suffering in silence. We will go back to our pride and knowledge that the true fans... we are better than you.

You know who you are.


Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Random Cute

I was hanging out at my friend Joe J Johnson II's house while a few other people were over. A young girl that was the daughter of one of the other guests was there as well. We discussed random things.

Joe J: Did you know that race car backwards is still race car?
Little Girl: No it isn't! It's car race!


Last week as I was leaving school late, the sun was setting. It was particularly cold out. As I was pulling out into the street I noticed a teenaged boy standing on the corner in shorts and a hoodie holding a sign that simply said, "Be Happy!"

I smiled and waved - and I was happy.


Recently I was texting my friend, I let him know that I was on my way to a party where there would be drinking.

Deebles: So should I expect drunk tits from you?
Deebles: TEXTS! I meant to put TEXTS! Stupid autocorrect!!
E: Suuuure... I think that's what they call a Freudian slip.
Deebles: I'm so glad I'm not within arms reach or you would have slapped me.

He's full of it. I thought it was hilarious.


Next to my apartment complex is a ravine, and in it lives a homeless man. I call him "The Happy Hobo" because every morning bright and early when I leave for work or volunteer duty he's dancing and waving at the passing traffic while standing at the entrance to my complex. Seeing him always reminds me that happiness is an entirely personal thing to define.


Whenever I take a bath or shower my cats get really dramatic. They know how to open the bathroom door so they always barge in and start meowing and looking at me as though to say, "Why are you doing that!? There's WATER in there! You are getting WET!"

I just tell them they're overreacting.


Monday, March 7, 2011

Fireside Stories Of A Fangirl (Cont.)

I was so excited for the Kyle XY panel that I went in to the panel before it to make sure I had a seat. It was pretty interesting - the panel was hosted by BET and talked about black superheros and what an impact they have on today's society. I didn't pay too much attention though, I kept going back to the picture I drew and agonizing over whether it would go over well or if I should even bother. Maybe I should have just acknowledged that I missed out?

The panel started. The crowd, mostly girls, cheered when Matt Dallas was asked to show if he actually had a belly button (he does). After the hosted interview and promotions for the show the floor opened for questions. My sister and two friends urged me into line where I waited what felt like way too long for my turn. I went over and over in my mind what I would say.

My turn came and my preparation went out the window. Trembling, I shyly leaned into the mic, "Actually, I have more a request than a question."

The room went quiet and the host told me to continue.

"I... drew a piece of fan art for Matt. I was wondering if I could give it to him?"

The next few moments were insane. I was told that I COULD give it to him, but they didn't just have me walk forward and hand it to him, I was gestured to GO ON THE STAGE. Next thing I knew I was walking toward the most beautiful man I had ever seen as he stood to greet me. Still shaking I handed him the picture which he took and looked at for a moment.

Looking back up at me I immediately get caught up in his eyes. My first thought was that the camera just didn't do those eyes justice. He spoke. He spoke! I tried to pay attention.

"It's so cute, thank you!"

And then he hugged me.

On stage.

He smelled so good.

I couldn't tell if the other fangirls were cheering or screaming in envy, either way there was a lot of sound.

I left the stage and sat down next to my sister, still giddy and shaking. The rest of the panel was a bit of a blur. Girls around me kept glance-glaring back at me. My sister and friends teased me. The panel ended.

That was when my sister decided to share with me that she had recorded everything on her camera. Later that night when we watched it over we could hear other girls around us call me a "lucky bitch" and all sorts of colorful things along with exclamations of "Why her?!".

I was a bit proud.

That ends my fangirliest moment.


Thursday, March 3, 2011

Fireside Stories Of A Fangirl

I'm a pretty dedicated nerd. I'm not the kind of nerd that's hyper specialized but I like a lot of different things. When I really like something it's kind of ridiculous how into it I get.

When in my late teens I got into a show called Kyle XY. I loved the story, the acting, the writing and especially...

Matt Dallas.

I'm usually more attracted to guys with obvious flaws but I felt like he was so perfect. It was stupid how smitten I was with this guy that I had never even met. A completely unique experience, usually the guys that I felt this way about were fictional (anime character types).

Imagine my joy when I was at Comic-Con and learned that the entire main cast was going to be there. The suspense was killing me. I went to the booth to inquire about the autographs, I highlighted the panel I wrote a letter and drew a picture of me jumping on his back while he called for security. It was bad. So bad.

Saturday came and I eagerly went straight to the booth where the autographs would be held after the panel to double check. My world crumbled a bit when I was informed that they had already handed out all the passes for the autograph session. I was crushed and infuriated. I had been told that all I had to do was show up, that there was no talk of passes. I walked through comic-con until I found Big Sister and Willow. Unable to keep in the feelings anymore I hugged them and started crying.

They comforted me, assured me that at the panel I'd still get to see them. They said that when they open the floor for questions I should ask to give Matt Dallas my letter and picture since I wouldn't have a chance to talk to him. I was calmed.

To be continued....


Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Family Relationships: Sister

My big sister? She be CRAZY.

I know, I said my mom was crazy, and she is! But my sister? She. Be. CRAZY!

Big Sister and I are very close in age. With only fourteen months separating us we were often lumped together and expected to share everything. It wasn't uncommon for mom to buy us the exact same items, but in different colors. For example my favorite stuffed bunny was turquoise and I named her Angelica, whereas my sisters was pink and was named Baby.

Despite the closeness in age we were very different. My sister was outgoing, never hesitating to explore new places or walk up to people and try to make friends. For example when we were in a restaurant and Big Sister toddled up to a guy at the bar and said, "My mommy bought me new panties!" and proceeded to pull up her dress to show him, then ask where his mommy and daddy were.

I was more observant. I would sit back and watch my sister do things. If she got in trouble I never pushed it, but if she didn't get in trouble I would mimic and use the "But Big Sister didn't get in trouble!" excuse.

As we left toddlerhood some other differences became more apparent. According to my parents we were both tested. Big Sisters results were "learning disabled" and my results were "gifted". This is probably where our family split in relationships stemmed from. My mother, as I mentioned before, needs to be needed. She is drawn to situations, people and animals that will rely on her. She and Big Sister grew close. My father valued independence and growth. He and I grew close.

A rivalry developed between my sister and I. She had a lot that I was jealous of and I resented her lifestyle a lot. To me it seemed she got by with minimal effort and hand holding whereas I was held to a higher standard. I had to WORK to get anything. She was personable, sweet, charming and pretty whereas I was bossy, sarcastic, critical and chubby. I became angry, the smallest thing would set me off and I physically struck her a lot.

It wasn't until middle school that I came to the conclusion that the test results were bogus. I stopped lording over Big Sister that she was "disabled" whereas I was "gifted" (no joke, I was awful). I saw that how our parents treated us and what they expected of us as individuals probably had more of an impact on how we developed rather than anything some dumb test could tell us.

I saw that even though we didn't get along very well, we had a lot of the same interests. We fought over the same friends because we looked for the same qualities. It was at this point that a little part of me forgave her. Sure I was still jealous and resentful of how "easy" she had it, but I also realized that maybe I had a bit of a leg up as far as functioning in society.

We bonded. We bonded over Pokemon, Digimon, Dragon Ball Z, Yu Yu Hakusho, other anime. We shared friends and even worked together in our own babysitting business which allowed us to pool our money so we could share DVD's and graphic novels. I learned that Big Sister was incredibly creative and when she has an interest in something she has a ridiculous ability to retain information.

When I was eighteen I felt so guilty about bullying and hitting her all those times I pulled her aside and apologized. I think I was on the verge of tears and right after I hugged her spoke.

Big Sister: Oh that? Most of the time I was antagonizing you. I wanted you to hit me so you'd get in trouble.

I stared at her incredulously for a moment. It was just long enough for all my guilt to dissipate. I swore are her then punched her in the arm.

We both laugh about that to this day.


Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Some Sleepy-Time Stories II

As may be recalled in THIS POST I have some odd sleep issues.

There are some incidents that don't have as much of a story or background. Like when I woke up on the downstairs couch, or when I woke up outside the family front door at two in the morning completely naked, or even the time my (now ex) boyfriend told me I was rambling about cruise ships for refrigerators. Some do have more stories and those are the ones I will focus on sharing.

This one was told by my sister and happened when I was about fourteen or fifteen.

The family house was small and my room was a 10X10 box. The only way I was able to have both a nice big bed AND a desk is by having one of those awesome frames that has the bed above and the desk below. Somehow, despite this particular obstacle, I managed to climb down from the bed -while asleep- completely wrapped in my comforter and appear in my sisters doorway.

She was sitting at her computer and looked up at me. I blinked a few times then spoke.

E: Do you have a yield sign I can borrow?

Big Sista: What? E, you're asleep.

According to Big Sister I proceeded to look really confused and she walked over and started slapping my face. I protested and pushed her away, insisting that I was awake. I left her in the doorway then turned around and moved to the bathroom doorway across the hall where I stood like a freak for a little while. Then I dropped my comforter, walked back into my room, climbed back up the bed and went to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later freezing cold. I climbed down to find my comforter in the bathroom and Big Sister still awake where she proceeded to explain what just happened.

She still tells this story on a regular basis.

I don't know why I would ever need a yield sign. Or why I would think Big Sister would have one.


Monday, February 28, 2011

Meet The Kitties: Java

It's time for another installment of crazy-cat-lady-in-training indulgences!
Java was, to put it bluntly, an accident.

I was working at a self storage facility and had just gotten promoted to general manager which came with a nifty free apartment. I had Bunny and I thought that since I wouldn't have a roommate anymore maybe another cat would be a good idea to keep her company. I didn't want to just up and get another one before finding out how my baby reacted with other cats.

At the same storage company there was a customer, and we were on pretty good terms. She mentioned how she was going to be out of town and asked if I knew anyone that could watch her cat. I saw it as a perfect opportunity! I would watch her cat for two weeks and if they got along I could look into obtaining a kitty of my own once I had the funds and met the right match.

It was mid march when she came in with the cat crate. I should have known something was off at that moment. There was not one, but two cats in this crate (this second cat is Mary, but this story is not about Mary, it's about Java). So this girl told me that her friend had abandoned this second cat with her and she couldn't just leave her and would I possibly also watch the second cat as well?

I looked into the crate and two pairs of beautiful eyes peered curiously back at me. My heart melted and I agreed. It couldn't hurt, it was just for two weeks anyway. Then the second warning came about when she mentioned that I should be careful about letting them get outside because neither one of them was spayed.

"They're so beautiful I just think it would be sad if they never had kittens!"

Being adamantly against backyard breeding I wanted to say something but I held my tongue. It wasn't my cat, it wasn't against the law, it wasn't my choice. I took the cats.

Bunny did not like either Mary or Java (they called her Maui at the time. Like the Hawaiian island). Java was too bossy and didn't like to share. She would cuddle, but only when she wanted it. She liked sitting on peoples laps, but she didn't like people to pet her while she was sitting on their lap. She didn't hesitate to make her displeasure known by swatting at a hand that didn't know its place.

Her wide blue eyes spent most of their time narrowed in an angry expression, a warning that this was not a cat to be messed with. Over the two weeks she and I had grown fond of each other. She allowed me to pet her, pick her up and play with her. She liked curling up with her head tucked under my neck and it was very sweet.

The third week passed. I called the girls phone but it went to her voicemail. I left her a message asking her to call me back.

The fourth week passed. I called her again and it went straight to voicemail. I left her another message asking her what she wanted me to do with the cats.

The second month passed. I called her phone but the voicemail box was full. I was unable to leave a message.

The third month passed and I called her phone to find that it had been disconnected.

I came to the conclusion that she had evaporated.

I went upstairs (the apartment was conveniently located directly above the office for the storage facility where I worked) and I came home to Java (I hated the name Maui so I called her Java, since she's a javanese, thinking that it didn't matter so not a whole lot of thought went into the name). Her large blue eyes greeted me accompanied by a meow and a rub against my leg. I picked her up, kissed her nose and said, "Well, I guess you're mine now!"

I fed them, cleaned their litterbox and then sat down for some TV and cuddles.

Bunny and Java still don't really get along. They have a tenuous truce where they have spats but once one of them runs away they don't seek each other out. It works.


Friday, February 25, 2011

A Flavor. It Has One.

I was home-schooled from middle school on. Though I certainly have no regrets at all (I'm quite proud of it) I did miss out on a few things. One of those is slang. I don't know a whole lot of slang and while I've managed to turn it into a joke about how old I am ("I'm hip to the jive, yo." being one of my favorites) there's still a piece missing when I communicate with my peers. Or worse yet, with kids that are younger than me.

I am aware that slang is a very culturally reliant creature. It varies even from county to county though this issue has become less of one since access to the internet has increased. Internet has been able to develop its own languages (H@x0rZ, Lolcat, and my least favorite: chatspeak) that are fairly universal as long as the base language is the same.

This isn't to say that there aren't still some predominantly regional specific evolutions of language and this is what I struggle with most. I usually explain it away by understanding I spent the first seven years of my life in another country. Or, that my mother was a large part in my growth and development and she herself was born and raised in Germany. Europe is very different in many ways and it's clear the impacts my mother had on my sister and I.

I've managed to battle all of these shortcomings with one simple feat. I make up my own slang. If people can come up with nonsensical abbreviations and mutations of a language, why can't I? At least it'll make sense to me. Here's a few of my translations and the reasoning behind them.

Hobo Sandwich: I believe I went through about a year and a half of my life calling everyone and everything a Hobo Sandwich. I did this because if Jizzy to the nizzy can mean something (I don't know if that's real, but I'm sure something that sounds like that exists) why can't I make a term that is both confusing and a minor insult. It follows the same logic of the "your MOM" jokes.

Of course I couldn't just leave it as a nothing, I had to actually invent the Hobo Sandwich. A Hobo Sandwich requires a french roll or baguette of some kind. Next you need at least three different kinds of deli meats and three different kinds of sliced cheese. You roll up the cheese inside the meats, alternating the different kinds. You cut the roll or baguette in half, take a bit of the bread out of the inside (eat it or feed it to pigeons or ducks), spread mayonnaise and mustard in the inside and then put the meat cheese rolls in it and eat. It is noms.

Midnight thirty/Noon thirty: I am NOT the only person to do this. I started doing this because I had a strange sleep schedule that means I was up at both noon and midnight. Since saying "twelve thirty" could mean anything to me, I use midnight and noon to differentiate between the two. Many people have questioned my use of these terms. I don't know why, it's very clear. Thirty can be substituted for fifteen or twenty-three, whatever as long as it pertains to a time.

I thought it as pretty original based on the response I got but recently I've heard many other people use it as well so it must have been around before I started using it. Maybe I heard it subconsciously somewhere in passing, I don't know. It's unlikely people started using it because of me since I'm not exactly the kind of person other people want to emulate.

I don't use this word to only mean that something is literally shiny. I use it as a synonym for interesting. I cannot tell you how confused people look when I say, "that sounds shiny". As far as I'm concerned if "sick" or "ill" can mean something is great, then shiny can absolutely mean something is interesting. It even makes more sense since being sick is never awesome but shiny things are often interesting. You can admit it, I'm a genius.

Can I touch it?: So this isn't obviously slang, but it's technically slang. It functions as "Can I see that?" but on a literal level. I made it literal because I have always been ridiculously annoyed by the overdone and stupid joke in response.
Me: Can I see that?
other: Yeah, look, SEE IT?! Hahaha, I'm so funny.

I figured if I literally request to hold or touch something they are denied whatever sick pleasure they may derive from being a jerk and I get a straight up yes or no response. It functions brilliantly.

What flavor is it?: This is one of my favorites because no intentional thought process went into it. I've been asking this question since I was a kid. This isn't slang if I'm using it to ask about a flavor of candy or other edible item, but it is when I'm asking about a color or type. Of course there are times when I get the "it doesn't have a FLAVOR" response but I feel accomplished when people just get it and answer my question.

I very distinctly remember having an argument with my mom about whether or not chapstick was edible. I was about three and I had gone through half a tube of chapstick. She insisted that it was not food, but the product was very clearly labeled as cherry. Cherry is a flavor. Also, it was delicious.


P.S. Yes, I could read when I was three, no I was not a prodigy, my dad was just really good at teaching.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Feminist Feminine Femininity

I may have internal reproductive organs but I'm actually quite terrible at being a woman. At least, a woman as expected in today's society.

Sure, I still have the old fashioned bits in me. I tend to play traditional roles when I'm in a relationship. I prefer to do the cooking and cleaning, play house, all that jazz.

As far as being girly, I don't get it. I have terrible fashion sense. No joke, when I go to the store I make a beeline for anything green. Especially if it's lime green. I can't seem to help it, I find the color super attractive and everything else I miss. This is why I always need to go with someone else or I wouldn't have any other colors in my closet. I pretty much refuse to wear pink or purple most of the time.

I do have a sick fascination with stuff that's ugly but it's not supposed to be. I mean, when it's supposed to be ugly it's just not special enough. But when it's supposed to be attractive and it's hideous and the person making obviously is unaware of their ugly making skills I can't help but feel sorry for the poor thing. So then I usually buy it and wear it and rejoice in the ugliness.

When I was a kid I tried really hard to fit in. I liked things because people told me to like them. I claimed pink was my favorite color because girls like pink and since I'm a girl I should like it too. To this day I still have resentment toward that color. Misplaced rage I guess.

I don't do the whole "pampering" thing. I don't wear make up because foundation makes me sweat and I rub my eyes a lot so eyeliner and mascara get smudged. I save that for special occasions only. I don't go to someone to cut my hair, I cut it myself if I get bored. My concept of 'doing' my hair means I don't put it in a ponytail and while it's wet I put in some mousse so that the natural curls can reign free. I don't own a hair dryer or a functioning straightener. I don't like massages because I don't like strangers touching me. I don't like pedicures because I don't like my feet to be touched, I like my callouses, thank you much! I don't like nail polish because it makes my hands sweat. I don't file my nails, I bite them down to size.

I went through a stage where I wore acrylic nails and though there were some definite fun parts to that (I tapped everything obsessively, it's one of the greatest sounds in the world) just having them on my nails was uncomfortable. I ended up gnawing most of them off like a deranged ferret. That became my new hobby, tapping different stuff and gnawing my fake nails. I've since recovered and typing has been so much easier.

I watch Project Runway and all it does is remind me how bad my taste is, because my favorite designer never wins. My showers are quick and efficient. When I take my time and try to relax I'm still barely pushing fifteen minutes. I'm still working on my ability to successfully pull off a guilt trip without laughing because I think they're stupid.

The worst? I'm a logical beast. When people approach me with problems I listen, ask a few questions and finally offer insight and a solution and if I approach someone I appreciate the same in return. This works with most of the males I know but the women? Most of them get so upset with me. They don't want SOLUTIONS! They don't want ANSWERS! They don't want PERSPECTIVES! They just want to be mad, right and justified.

Even worse is when there is no solution or answer. Or if it's already been offered and they just keep on going and I'm stuck wondering what I do now! It's profoundly uncomfortable. Not too long ago another student felt that it was prudent to share with me how sad she was that she lost her boyfriend because she cheated on him. She just kept going on about regret and how she missed him. Eventually she paused and looked at me, expecting something. I stared back, panicked a bit before offering a brilliant response.




Tuesday, February 22, 2011

The Plan: Family Stickers

I cannot stand those dumb stickers that people put on the back of their cars. You know, the ones where you have a sticker that represents Mommy, Daddy, Timmy, Jane and even the little dog Spot.

These are usually seen on minivans or SUV's driven by mom and probably the only people in the family who care about it are mothers and young impressionable children. Everyone else in the family just shuts up and lets this type of person have her project.

That might be sexist, but I'm allowed to because I'm a woman. That's just how the world works.

Now, my disdain for this type of broadcasting goes beyond the concept of "NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR FAMILY" rage that has taken hold of fellow family sticker haters. I get that we live in a tech age where micro blogs like Twitter give people that idea that everyone in the world is enamored with every mundane bit of information that is vomited from the brain. It really comes as no surprise that eventually something like this would end up on cars in public. I mean, bumper stickers have been around forever, it was only a matter of time before this happened.

I always felt the difference between bumper stickers and Twitter is that bumper stickers have a political point or something funny and worth seeing (ideally) whereas Twitter is a bunch of "I had a ham sandwich just now!" and "Why does no one comment on my Twits?" (Hint: The answer to that question is the former example). Unfortunately now with these particular stickers everyone wants to share the same stupid, useless information.

Like I said though - I get that. My problem is from a safety perspective.

Sure the average person doesn't give two hoots about your kids. That doesn't mean no one is interested. Think about it, do you want potential criminals to know that you're a single mom with no dog? Do you want all the pedophiles in the area to know that you have three small children? Even worse is when the names and/or ages of everyone is below their sticker! "Hello Dorothy age 6, your mother Mary told me to pick you up and take you home today. Your dog Spike got lost and she's busy trying to find him" BAM - kidnapping.

So with all that in mind here's what I'm going to do.

I'm going to put a sticker of me on the car. Brandishing a bazooka. Then, I'm going to fill up the rest of my back window with as many different cat stickers as I can and each of THEM will also have different types of guns. What kind of person would kidnap me, or even break into my house? People will either think I'm insane or they'll think I have a thousand armed cats. It's better than any other home security system. Other than an actual shotgun of course.


Thursday, February 17, 2011

Which Is Worse?

Am I dead?

No, I don't think I'm dead.

I think I've gotten hella busy.

I'm going to continue being hella busy until Monday.

It's not that I've run of ideas. Oh no. Ideas. I have them.

On that note, I have gotten a few complaints from two of my *counts* six followers. That's 1/3 of you that actually care about my blogs. I'm so touched!

So here is what I have for you today:

As some of you may know I have begun a program called couch to 5k (C25K) so that I can train for marathons. I have been doing this... about a month and a half now. My progress is slow but steady due to some health and weight issues but these are not funny, or at least I haven't figured out how to make them funny, so I won't go into it.

This means I'm spending some time at the gym, running on treadmills. Don't give me the "Oh, you should run outside" bit. Running is a chore for me right now, and my abilities are limited. What basically gets me through is being in a climate controlled environment with a TV to distract me from counting down seconds.

Tangent: I'm so sick of when I mention that I'm exercising or dieting and people start immediately lecturing on what I should and shouldn't do. If I want your advice, I'll ask for it. Frankly, until then, I don't give a crap what you have to say. Unless it's encouraging. That's nice. /tangent.

My anxieties tend to be fairly common, though often the reasoning behind the anxiety may not be. I'm a fairly clumsy person and my balance is less than stellar. I tend to 'go' in the direction that I'm looking.

I am terrified of falling while on the treadmill.

It's not because I'm afraid of busting my teeth out of my mouth or breaking my leg. No, nothing like that. I mean, it wouldn't be pleasant. It's not that I crave injuries, I just don't live in fear of avoiding them more or less than the average person (I'm assuming).

It's because I'm super concerned about people seeing me fall. For me, the idea that people that I see every other day would show up and forever know me as that fat girl that ate it on the treadmill is terrifying.

One time not too long ago I got dropped off by a friend. I was returning from vacation and being loathe to take more than one trip back and forth I opted to carry my stuff piled high. I missed a step and fell, skinning my knees, shins and hands after I dropped everything. My immediate concern became "Holy beans, I hope my friend didn't see me do that." So I flipped around and sat on the step to see that by some miracle he hadn't pulled out enough to see around the garage where I was.

Seconds later he pulled out and I waved nonchalantly as though I had fully intended to sit on the step and that I hadn't ended up there by accident. As soon as he was out of sight I moved my items and tended to my wounds.

Close call.


Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Meet The Kitties: Rabbit

My friends refer to me as "The Crazy Cat Lady".

I maintain that I am not, in fact, a crazy cat lady, I am merely a crazy cat lady in-training.

I have three cats. That I love very much. I talk to them, make up songs about them, 90% of the pictures in my phone are of them, worry about them when I'm out of town, train them, the works.

The first one I'll tell you about today is Rabbit. I call her Bunny, Bunnyguts, Bunnycat, Bunnycatattack, The Great White Panther, ghost and a few other things but mostly Bunny.

I met Bunny when I was walking into Petco to buy some mice for my snakes. Most Petcos work in conjunction with rescues to allow adoptable animals to be displayed and I always stop and take a look. That particular day I see a tiny white kitten with big greenish yellow eyes and a patch of black fur on her head looking terrified. We make eye contact and she meows with all her might, scrunching up her face with the effort it took her to make the sound.

I call this the scrunchy-face-meow. It's very common in kittens.

At that moment, my heart melted and I knew it was meant to be. I immediately began talking to the person in charge of adopting them out and got her story. She was only eight months old and when she was tiny had been rescued from a horrible situation that left her terrified of people and new places. In her time at the rescue she had been adopted out three times and returned because she would not calmly submit to being cuddled and carried right away.

The man agreed to let me try and meet her. When he first opened the door she ran away from him and he wasn't able to catch her. I asked him if he would let me try and he agreed. I put my hand in the cage and just laid it on the ground with my fingers out. It took a few minutes as she smelled me and crept closer until finally she rubbed her cheek against my fingers and flopped herself onto my hand so I could scratch her behind the ear. I scratched and stroked her, keeping an eye out for any signs of distress.

Eventually I was able to pick her up and put her in the carrier so I could take her home. The person checking me out said he would see me in two weeks. That was how long the other homes had taken her before bringing her back.

In all fairness he was right. I was back in two weeks. I bought cat food.

That's how I got Bunny.

The past four years with her have been amazing and I have many more stories to tell about her that are funnier, but I feel like this gives a little insight into the crazy animal that is my Bunnycat.


Monday, January 24, 2011

Some Sleepy-Time Stories

Almost every person I've ever known has had sleep issues. Usually it's some form of insomnia, because that's what all the cool kids have nowadays. You aren't cool unless you're on your computer at 3am wondering why, in the harsh light of the monitor, your mind won't shut off and let you sleep.

Right now some of you are probably thinking "BUT I RLY HAF INSOMNIA! Y U DOUT MEE?!" and I don't care.

I don't often have a problem with sleeping unless there's something wrong. Migraines are really great at keeping me awake.

I certainly prefer to be awake early in the morning and late at night. I like to believe it's my Spanish heritage that makes me want to siesta. It's difficult for me to do anything between noon and three because really all I want to do is take a nap - especially if it's hot out. I'll sleep right through that if I have a choice.

When I was a baby my mom used to put my sister and I in the car and drive around until we fell asleep. This was great for her when she was a young parent and her daughters were being stubborn babies. This has had some strange side effects on me as an adult.

If I am riding passenger and I don't sit up straight I pass out. I could be really uncomfortable, just downed an energy drink or two and woken up for sleeping for twelve hours straight I will -still- konk out. It's not as bad when I'm the one driving.

Please note, I used the term "as bad". If I'm even a tiny bit sleepy my eyes will close, my head will droop and I won't even notice. There have been a few close calls. There have even been occasions when I looked up and I am ten miles past where I'm supposed to be and don't even know how I got there and time has magically jumped forward. It can be quite terrifying.

I still drive. So... beware I guess.

That's not the odd stuff though. I don't share a place with people anymore so I don't get as much feedback but here's a short tale to whet your appetite for coming blogs.

I was in Utah and spending the night with Moony. I woke up and my feet were on the pillow where my head used to be, while my face was by Moony's feet. I didn't think anything of it.

Upon waking I was informed that at some time in the middle of the night I had woken my friend by calling her name and grabbing her hand, while I was all flipped around so I was doing some crazy back bend exercise because obviously while I'm sleeping I lose the ability to look over my shoulder, looking at her as though what I had to say was very urgent.

Moony: What? What is it E?

E : I.... I like corn.

Then I went back to sleep.

It is true. I do really like corn.


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Just A Quick Note

I promised myself I would never be depressing, so don't take this the wrong way.

I am on a temporary hiatus.

Really temporary. A few more days and I should be fine.

My Opa passed away and it hit me a bit harder than I expected.

I'm not feeling too funny currently.

On Monday I promise a fresh, new, funny post.

Hopefully funny.

That's what I try for anyway.


Friday, January 14, 2011

Rage Against Invisible Walls

I fancy myself a nerd. I like comic books, manga, anime, cartoons, reading, video games, DND, sci-fi, webcomics, the works. If it's nerdy, I've at least dabbled in it.

When it comes to video games I generally stick to RPG's and adventure games. I prefer consoles though I also like online MMORPG's such as Ragnarok or WoW. I'm a huge fan of Nintendo, the only new console that I have is a Wii because Xbox and Playstation don't have enough games that I'm interested in. I also have a gold limited edition DSlite with a zelda Triforce on it that I play regularly.

I don't like the Halo franchise. I kind of hate it. I think it's overrated and has inundated the gamer world with posers that think because they play a stupid game like Halo they can officially call themselves gamers when a something like Ninja Gaiden would make them want to die (seriously, it's really hard).

I'm also really bad at first person shooters. That doesn't mean I don't try to play them. When I was a kid my dad used to play Quake all the time and Big Sister and I got him to teach us how to play. Even then I had a tendency to get distracted. I was more interested in exploring every nook and cranny and taking the time to make sure everything was dead and all secrets were discovered - even if it meant using cheat codes to enter godmode, walk through walls or even fly (don't judge me, I was eight).

I also thoroughly enjoyed Half-life (1 and 2), F.E.A.R. and Doom, but the fact remains... I have terrible twitch reflexes and when I get startled I panic, shooting with abandon (in game, I don't shoot with abandon in real life). I'm also an expressive gamer. I get really into games. I talk to characters, make faces, get emotionally attached, I'm easily side tracked, I have a terrible sense of direction in REAL life let alone in video games, the whole nine yards. All of this comes together and makes me really bad at first-person-shooters.

When I was fifteen a few friends of mine and Cousin D (who was visiting from Germany) and I went to a LAN up the hill from where I lived. We were all going to play Battlefield 1942, a first person shooter.

I was so terrible at this game I didn't even know what team I was on. I thought my friend sitting next to me was on my team so when I stumbled across an abandoned building with a flag pole and changed the flag color from white to some random (as far as I was concerned) color I leaned over to my friend and told him. He ignored me. He shouldn't have.

I had been killed so many times that even people on the other team ignored me if they saw me run by or staring at a wall. This meant I didn't die as much. I took the opportunity to try and learn how to fly an airplane.

I tried flying that airplane but I kept turning upside down, or crash landing so eventually I just started driving it along the ground.

I drove that plane along the ground to three different abandoned bases and changed all the flags to the random color that I had learned was my team color. Each time I leaned over and told my friend what I had just done. He continued to ignore me.

Suddenly the game ended announcing that my team had won, despite the other team getting more kills. No one knew how until someone mentioned that they had no idea how we (my team) had gotten so many flags. That's when I told them what I had spent my time doing.

That's also when I learned the guy that was sitting next to me that I had been talking to all along was on the other team.

Next example:

Mom, Big Sister and I were visiting family in Germany for the holidays and Cousin N and D were playing Black Hawk Down online. They invited Big Sister and I to play as well. I eagerly hop on and start exploring the war-torn town when I notice there is a BATH TUB in the window of the building in front of me.

It was over. I needed to find that bath tub and jump in it.

Someone shot me and I died.

I respawned somewhere else, but my past life still carried with me the memory of the bath tub and the desire to be in it. It became my mission to find that house again. It took me an hour of constantly dying and and coming back to life until I found that house. Overjoyed I ran through the house and into the room with the tub.

I stopped and stared at it reverently for a moment before I jumped to fulfill the final desire I had... and bounced off an invisible wall.

Shock took over. No... why? Why would the creators of this map do such a thing?! Why would they put a bath tub there that no one could jump in?! It couldn't be real!

I had entered the stage of denial, trying repeatedly from different angles, hoping that there would be a way around the damned invisible wall but there was no such luck. I tried bargaining, asking my cousins if they knew how to get in the bath tub. They ignored me.

Anger followed (yes, I go out of order when it comes to the stages of loss). I was furious that I had spent so much time dedicated to this task for something as stupid as an invisible wall to prevent me from succeeding. In a blind rage I threw a grenade at the tub. It bounced off the cursed invisible wall and hit me, exploding and killing my character.

I sat in the chair, not moving despite my character coming back to life somewhere random on the map. I felt sadness before I gave up and told my cousins I wasn't having fun anymore.

I don't think I've ever accepted it. It haunts me to this day.


Thursday, January 13, 2011

Family Relationships: Mother

I know a lot of people that think their moms are crazy.

But my mom is REALLY CRAZY!


My mother are I two very different and very alike at the same time. We both love animals and we both have a tendency to accidentally insult people by being blunt and tactless. However where I'm logical and straightforward my mother is emotional and chaotic. I'm independent and don't care what people think and my mother needs people to NEED her.

When I was younger and still living under my parents roof this caused us to butt heads constantly. Since I've moved out and stopped having dreams of murder we've actually gotten along quite well.

About eight years ago, my father had difficulty deciding what to get mumsie dearest for her birthday. She had been wanting a dog for a while since our family dog Lady had passed away, but my dad held out for months. I, very carefully, suggested that all she really wanted was a dog, so maybe the best present would be to get her a collar and leash and let her pick out a dog.

Soon Rylie was in the picture and my mom had discovered her true purpose in life. My mother realized the only reason she existed was to take care of her dogs. She loves those dogs more than anything on the planet. She made this clear to me on multiple occasions.

"That's why I love my dogs more than I love you - they don't steal my socks!" - after I had borrowed a pair of socks from her drawer because I didn't have any clean ones. In all fairness, I did not ask her permission. In all fairness (again), I didn't ask because I knew she would say no. This is also an untrue statement because the dogs totally stole her socks to chew on them.

"Emily, if you're sick... go to hell!" - in my recent visit to Utah my sister, mom and I were all sick. I was on vacation so I took on the attitude of denial and was sitting on the couch watching Dexter with my friend. She heard me hacking up a storm and was probably on the verge of saying "Go to bed" but knew I wouldn't so she changed mid-thought.

"When did you start this movie?"
"About fifteen, twenty minutes ago." - Me
"Well that's not fair! Why would you start a movie I haven't seen fifteen minutes before I come home?!" - My sister, friend and I stared at her in bewilderment for a few seconds. We had no idea she hadn't seen the movie, or that she was even close to home, or what that had to do with fairness.

"You have to be good at singing if you want to be a singer." - after I told her I wanted to be a singer WHEN I WAS THREE!

"You shouldn't cry, you aren't cute when you cry" - does that need more explanation?

I love my mom but the woman is crazy. I really feel like she'd be better than the Osbornes on TV. That or at least have a wiretap in the house and make a weekly podcast of stuff she says.

I mean, the woman stores pots and pans and other excess IN THE OVEN! Then she yelled at me for turning it on without taking stuff out? The oven is not a cabinet.

Did I mention she is German? As in, from Germany GERMAN? Yeah. I feel like that explains a lot.


Friday, January 7, 2011

What Becomes Of Snow?

It seems I've been missing since the 23rd of December.

I'd apologize but frankly I was on vacation with my family and only recently returned and got my life back in order. So I really can't say I'm sorry for not posting when I'm not at all. I had a blast.

I also got many blog ideas so I will not be slacking in that area.

It begins now.

I don't know if I mentioned this before but I spent much of my young childhood in Germany.

After that we moved to Southern California and since then I haven't really seen snow. Being so young in Germany I didn't care what snow looked like up close, I just wanted to do stuff in it like roll around and ruin it before anyone else did. It's a passion I hold with today.

A few years ago I had a brief stint in Utah when I followed my family and friends out there. That four months I was too busy spending most of it being an alcoholic chain smoker and working two jobs rather than do anything in the snow, even though I chose the winter months to live out there (though I still had a passion for wrecking undisturbed snow).

However this past year I decided that snow is AWESOME and I LOVE it and I could not wait to visit my folks over the holidays so that I could play in it! Sure enough the day after Christmas right while my mom and I were bickering I turned around and it had started snowing. Filled with childlike joy three of my moms dogs and I ran outside in circles. They were barking, I was laughing and mom was yelling at me for making a ruckus. I ruined as much snow as possible before collapsing and making a snow angel which the dogs promptly ruined by running all over it and me as I rolled around.

It was pure joy.

I also learned a few things about snow that I did not know before, having lived so long in such a mild, calm, temperate climate.

I was joyously shoveling the driveway, walkway and stairs for my mom (this being a novel and interesting chore I was happy to do it) when I got the urge to catch some snow in my gloves. After a few moments I realized with amazement that snowflakes DO IN FACT LOOK LIKE SNOWFLAKES! I thought maybe they were minuscule or romanticized by card makers everywhere because all I had ever seen of real snow was little clumps. Now that I was paying attention there were delicate, intricate details that I had cut out of paper when I was a child. I yelled for mom and showed her on my gloves.

Mom: What is it?

E : They really look like Snowflakes! Look!

Mom: ... You are so from California. Finish the driveway.

A few days later I shared another realization with my friend while we were shopping.

Moony: I hate the snow.

E : Are you kidding! It's amazing! I love it!

Moony: Because you don't have to live in it.

E : Well I did learn a few things.

Moony: That it's terrible?

E : No. I just wanted to have a snowball fight. But I learned that if you get snow, pack it together into a ball and throw it at someone it doesn't actually start a snowball fight. they just yell at you. I tried twice.

Moony: ....

E : I just wanted it to be like in the movies where everyone laughs and it starts a huge fun snowball fight.

Moony: You really need to stop living in a fantasy world.

I didn't think it was too much to ask for. I think it's perfectly reasonable. I also think those folks were rude for yelling at me and that the world still owes me an awesomely fun snowball fight!