Until We Meet Again

I've spent my life being a big believer that people are put in your life for a reason. When you find the person who teaches you what love is and what it feels like to be cared for unselfishly, you don't let that person go. Now I know that sometimes that's just not true.

Sometimes you can be so close to someone, rely on them and them rely on you, and one day it's just gone. Sometimes it's your fault. Sometimes it's not. In the end, fault doesn't matter. One day you will realize that if you've gone two years without seeing that person, and the only time you talk is through social networking sites, there is no relationship left to salvage. You know you can't get together with that person and see that person for reasons and demons that plague both of you. You lie to yourself and say the relationship you have will be fine. It's not fine. It's not fair.

It's really easy to tell yourself things will change, or things are fine, or a million other little lies. But the truth is, when it starts to hurt, it's time to let go. You can keep that person around in your life forever, and you can hope something changes. Maybe it will, or maybe you'll continue down the same path you did for four years with no avail. Or you can just let them go. You've tried it once before. You wondered and you came back. This time you have to be stronger; if not for anyone else, for yourself. You'll cry, and it will suck, and you'll know that you'll never really get over it or be okay with it, but it's what you have to do.

If someone else told me the same story of the situation I find myself in, I'd be honest. I'd tell them it was over. I'd tell them a million things that I, myself don't want to hear. It's hard to ignore that I'd tell them that, because it's me, it's him, it's different. But it's not different. The pain isn't different.

So how exactly do you say goodbye to the person who literally saved your life when you couldn't do it yourself?

Not a Psychic, Yes?

I'm sorry it took me a few days to post this. We've had issues with our neighbors and our internet...again, and this time it's taken me a few days to fix it. This time the actual company we get our internet from had to get involved in order to undo some of the things the neighbors had done. If only there was a way you could get your very own internet without having to consistently hack your neighbor's... Oh wait, there is. I wish my neighbors would just pony up the money instead of taking it out on us, who pay for our own internet.

On Monday, my mom's entire office had to go to a company rally. The company also required for said office to be open while everyone at the office was at the rally. I'm not sure who this made sense to, but considering the company my mom works for, this kind of logic surprised me not. It's pretty par for the course for them. The office manager was smart enough to see the failed logic in this, but had no idea who was going to watch the office if they all had to be at the rally, therefore, he asked Boobie for suggestions. She suggested me.

Now don't get the wrong idea, I wasn't there to work. Literally all I had to do was sit there in a chair for a few hours. That's it. Just so they could say someone was in the office. I even took my laptop and wrote. I was told I didn't even have to answer the phones if I didn't want to, that I just had to sit there. I answered the phones anyway, because I like me some fun. Everyone told me it would be a boring morning with absolutely no ridiculous or urgent phone calls occurring. Because Monday was a holiday in the US where most people were off work, and because it's me and my life dictates otherwise, I had a feeling the morning would be crazy ridiculous if I just answered the phone. It did not disappoint. Figuring this was going to happen, I took notes.

* The first call I got contained lots of people talking in the background, but no one actually saying anything to me. I felt like I was butt dialed.

* I got a call from one of the ladies who works at the office. She is in her seventies, so we'll call her Miss Seventy. Miss Seventy was calling to see if she was supposed to be there working that morning. I told her that she was not, and that I was one of the agent's daughters who was just sitting and watching the office until everyone got back from the rally. She said, "Oh my word, well I'll be, I forgot all about that." Then she asked me a bunch of questions about said rally that I really couldn't answer, and wondered if ten minutes gave her enough time to get there just a little late, when she was traveling a half an hour to forty five minutes away, traffic depending. She's so cute. Apparently, she decided that did not give her enough time, because I later found out she never showed. I hope she's not lost out there somewhere.

* A man called wanting to talk to one of two people; the agent who sold him his home or Boobie. I told him that neither was there, and I was just watching the office while they were at a rally, but I would be more than happy to transfer him to one of their voicemails. He then says, "maybe you could help me," and launches into this whole thing about how he lost his mortgage papers and wants to know if I can get new ones for him, as he really needs them. I explained again I was just watching the office and did not actually work there. It didn't phase him. He was quite dejected that I couldn't run over and just magically get his papers that he really needed. Then he told me that he wasn't even sure it was his mortgage papers he lost, and maybe I could help him figure out what papers he lost. No, Sir, I promise I can not help you with that. God Bless his heart, because he was a nice enough guy, but please don't lose your papers, Sir. Please. I beg of you, especially if they're papers you need right at that second. He eventually conceded to leaving a message.

* While looking over the agent extension sheet in order to transfer a caller to voicemail, I saw that one of the agent's last names was Hornicak. I'd like to think that's pronounced horny-cak for my own sick amusement, but I don't actually know.

* A man called because he was on the agency website and found a house that really had him interested, yet there was no address to said house. He wanted the address because he wanted to ride past it, right now, today. I, again, explained I was just watching the office and didn't work there, but would be glad to transfer him to the selling agent's voicemail. He said that would be fine, but he also wanted the address before I did that, as he had the MLS number. I mock slapped my head against the keyboard of my computer, unsure of what he wanted me to do. Plus, if the address wasn't on the website, I had no way of getting it even if I did work there, unless I was the selling agent, because all I would be able to do is go into the website and look at the listing from there for an address via the MLS number. Basically, I would be doing the same thing he did. He finally agreed to let me transfer him, although he was upset because he wanted to ride past the house now and didn't want to wait for her to call him back.

* A lady called and didn't even say hello. She said, and I quote, "Is Secretary there? Thank you." Secretary was not, but I transferred her, because she didn't seem to want to talk to me whatsoever. She called back a few minutes later and went through the same thing. This time I explained that the secretary wasn't in and she'd just have to leave a message. That wasn't good enough for her, but she had no choice. People frighten me.

* A woman called for Boobie. I went through the same schmiel with her as I had with everyone else. She stops me as I'm telling her that I do not actually work there, interrupts, and tells me that she wants to go with the agency's insurance, however, she needs said insurance in place in a week and a half, so she has to talk to someone now. I reiterate what I was trying to tell her when she interrupted me and told her I'd send her to Boobie's voicemail. She asks me if Boobie is going to be back soon, because she needs to talk to someone now. I tell her she will be back later, but I'm unsure exactly when. She asks me if I can just help her. I tell her no. She sighs and lets me transfer her. I don't understand why this woman waited until the last minute to call about the insurance, when she obviously knew she was going to need it, and then got all in an uproar because I couldn't help her, and the person who could wasn't there at that moment.

* Possibly my favorite was a woman called wanting to speak to the agent in charge of a house she was interested in. I asked her who the agent was and she said she didn't know. She said she did, however, have the address, which did me no good. I explained her that I was just watching the office, but if she would like to leave her name and number, along with the address, I would find out who the agent was and have them give her a call later in the day. At least that's what I was in the middle of saying before she got upset and hung up. I'm unsure of what she wanted me to do if she didn't know who the agent was. It seems reasonable to not assume the person on the other end of the phone of an office with twenty or so agents to be psychic, yes?

* The last call a got was a lovely woman calling for Boobie. When I told her how I was just watching the office due to a rally, she just started laughing. Apparently she works for the agency's closing company, was inside of the office she works out of alone, since she was with the closing company and not an agency, therefore not having to go to said rally, and she already knew Boobie wouldn't be there. She was cracking up at herself for being, and I quote, "honestly so stupid." I loved her.

* Then there were your general calls from people wanting to see a house right, at that very moment. When I told them that I apologized, but I was just watching the office and did not work there, but would be happy to transfer them to the selling agent's voicemail, they got very upset with me. They told me that I didn't understand, they were off that day and had to see the house that day. I apologized again and transferred them. Honestly, they knew today was a holiday. They knew they'd be off work. They knew since last year when this was a holiday and they were off work, but they picked the day of to call and try to make an appointment, because they had to see it that day. That makes no sense. I thought it, but I didn't say it.

I promise I am super nice on the phone. I never say what I'm thinking, but sometimes I wonder what people are thinking. Either way, I'm almost glad they're thinking it, because it's quite entertaining when you think about it. You have to make your own fun somehow, just not at anyone's expense. I hope everyone's panties who were lit on fire got quickly extinguished upon talking to the people they wanted to talk to.

Also while at the office, I was reading our local city magazine. I was appalled by the spelling mistakes and sentences that were clearly missing more than one word, having it not make sense. Some sentences were missing punctuation, and other such things. I had to stop reading it, because half of the time I couldn't make it what they were trying to say. I was even more appalled when I found out the same woman edits the entire magazine herself. Everyone has a margin for error. I know I've made errors on this blog before; stupid ones at that, but this went beyond that.

Someone has to write these articles, then turn them over to someone else to edit. For these errors to pass through not only one, but two people, is insane. The spelling errors were out of this world. Something would be spelled right in one paragraph, and then misspelled in another. One of my favorites was when they were talking about the Trib Total Media Center. It went from being called the Trib Total Media Center, to the Trib Totla Media Center in the next paragraph. What irked me is that every computer has an F7 key. Every word processor has a spell check. Was it that difficult to use it? And to miss entire words, sometimes two or three in a row, so that nothing made sense, was just unforgivable in a printed press magazine that people are paying for.

Said editor is also a writer for some of the articles. It's bad. It's just bad.

Last but not least, speaking of the above where I mentioned the issues with my neighbors getting into my internet, we've often questioned who exactly is doing it. We know what house the hacking is coming from, but there's the neighbor girl and her boyfriend living there. I've long said it was the boyfriend, and he possibly taught her how to do what he's doing, but he started it. I think yesterday said neighbor girl proved why I think it can't possibly be her that figured out how to do so. She happily posted on her Facebook via her phone that she had locked her keys in her car for the third time that week. It was only Wednesday.

Don't Let Me Down

I have so much to share with you all, but tonight I'm going to leave you with so little.

I've learned that life is funny. Sometimes you can walk away from someone; you can do it a hundred times, but if they really matter in your life and they are there for a reason, they'll just keep coming back around. It may be accidental, coincidental, or something bigger, but it always, always happens. In the case that it was someone you truly cared about, sometimes it's really difficult to figure out what line to draw and how to handle it. I find myself stuck in the in between, wanting more than I have but knowing I shouldn't even go there again, because I will end up hurt.

As for the title of this blog...

Trolling the Troller

As I've mentioned an infinite amount of times before, I hate Craigslist. I hate selling stuff online. I really can't stand people's stupidity, and I know they can't stand mine. I could go on, but then I'd just be a cranky pants and that I do not want to be. I promised I'd never, ever, post anything on Craigslist again, but I already had this ad up and figured I'd just wait for it to run out. No one would bother me. It would be cool. I lied to myself. Instead of being cranky about it, telling them to peddle their spam elsewhere, or just ignoring it, I decided if I can't beat a troll, join them.


I never heard back from the person, so I guess they didn't want to write a story with me. Bummer. I thought we were onto having a wonderful, beautiful friendship.

I can't really explain the next thing. It just happened. I don't know why this was the first thing that came to my mind as a response. I am concerned for my mental status, so don't feel bad if you're feeling that way, too. Also, if I've never mentioned nine million times before, no, I do not take drugs. This is all me.

As always, click on the pictures to enlarge them.

Postcard From Paris - Or From My Living Room. Whichever.

I had a interesting day yesterday. It involved Mormons, crying over puppies, and sewing curtains for a lady my mom works with. This may not sound like my day was filled with ridiculousness and emotional stupidity, but I promise I can change your mind on that. Read on, my friends.

Yesterday, I had promised the woman my mom works with, the one who we call Boobie because she had breast reductions surgery, that I would go to her house with my newly tweaked sewing machine and sew her curtains. Realizing I had no thread in the color of her curtains, yet had a coupon for the craft store, my day turned into a whirlwind of "I may as well just do this while I'm here."

I had my alarm set, but was instead awoken when I heard the sound of voices in the dining room. I knew we weren't expecting anyone, so I listened in carefully before making the decision as to if I should exit my room or not. It took me about two seconds to realize one of the voices in the dining room was from The Mormon Lady. Let me tell you a bit about her.

The Mormon Lady is the nicest lady in the entire world, she really is. She comes to our house every couple of months with her little booklets to preach the word of God per Mormonism. She stays and tells us all about her life, and it's sometimes an hour until you get rid of her. Did I mention we're not Mormon?

We have nothing against Mormons, but we've made it very clear to her that we're not them, yet she still keeps coming, taking up our chair and talking our ear off. As horrible as this is, we try to avoid her if we see her coming, but my mom didn't get out from in front of the window in time yesterday. I wasn't about to go out there, and apparently, as I learned later, she brought a friend with her this time. It took about ten minutes for Greta to come back and cry at my door. She also wanted to hide from The Mormon Lady. I let her in my room and we cuddled on my bed and pretended like we weren't awake until she left.

Horrible, maybe, but seriously, we are not Mormon. We have no interest in changing our religion. She knows this, yet she comes and stays forever. Boobie suggested we tell her we changed our religion to Jewish and hang The Star of David on our door. Her parents, having the same plight when Boobie was a child, eventually did this, and the Mormons stopped showing up at their door suddenly. Hmm.

After that, I got up, got ready and left the house. The plan was to go to PetSmart to pick up cat food, dog food, litter and some treats during their huge sale, go to Wal-Mart to stock up on a few things I had coupons for, and then go to the craft store for thread and tailor's chalk, before heading to Boobie's to sew her curtains. This should have all taken about an hour, an hour and a half, at the very most, total, except I forgot to factor in two things; everyone and their brother, sister, and third cousin twice removed and once jailed were out, and there was a really cute puppy up for adoption at the pet store.

I went to the pet store first, grabbing a buggy and going to the dog food. The place was busy, and it did not help that it was a surprise dog adoption day and they had set the animals up in front of the dog and cat food, making it really difficult to get to. I was fine after I ran at least thirty people over and no animals to get to the dog food. I even held it together while I had to walk the whole way around the store to get to the cat food that was only twenty feet away from the dog food, because I couldn't get through. (Did I ever mention that I hate when people do stupid things like put animals in front of the products they're selling? I love animals, I do, but I also love to feed my own.) When I reached the cat food, however, I lost it. Right next to the bag of cat food I wanted was this.


It's obvious that this dog was one of the cutest doggies in the entire world, which isn't what set me off into a mild crying fit in the middle of PetSmart. It was the fact that we once had an amazing little puppy named Rodeo, who, due to health problems that couldn't be fixed, passed while he was still young. This is him.

That darn cute little puppy in PetSmart just reminded me so much of him. Then I made the mistake and went and petted her, and she had the same demeanor as Rodeo, which really helped my trying not to cry in the middle of the store. Not thinking clearly, I made the mistake of telling my mom about the cutest little puppy that reminded me of Rodeo and made me cry. The next thing I knew I was launched into an hour of my mom mentioning considering adopting the puppy, asking the lady at the shelter a billion questions, and ultimately deciding that if no one adopted the puppy, we might go to the shelter and get her.

I love puppies, I do. All of them. They're all adorable little angels. I would love to bring the puppy home and hug her and love the living crap out of her. But although we have one dog who would really love a friend to play with since the girls teamed up against him, we have three dogs. We don't need another dog. But the puppy is so darn cute. So darn cute. Kill me now.

By the time I got out of PetSmart, I had spent as long there as I had planned on spending in all three stores. I skipped Wal-Mart, but still had to go to the craft store to get thread and tailor's chalk. Apparently every other creature in the world with opposable thumbs decided the same thing. I waited longer in line to buy those two under-five-dollar items than it took me to drive from the store to Boobie's house. That is never right, no matter how you look at it.

When I got to Boobies's, she assumed I had gotten lost or sick on my adventure there, as, due to the debauchery of cute at PetSmart, I was running later than I told her I would be. Not that much, but enough to worry her. When I got there and decided to start on the curtains, she told me she needed to run to the local herb store and wanted to know if I wanted to go. Being as I needed things, I shirked my duties go with her. As my mom said upon me telling her what was going on and asking her if she needed anything, "I see how this sewing thing is going to go."

That was about the extent of it, too. Between the pit stop, having material that was difficult to work with, and having the machine run like a whole different machine, therefore having to adjust it six ways from Sunday, it took me over five hours to cut two curtains in half and hem the bottoms. Sadly, this is not an exaggeration.

However, Boobie is a hoot and a half. We talked about the Kardashians, how awesome it was that Justin Bieber bit it on CSI, and made obscure comments about the original version of the movie True Grit that was playing on the television around us. Playing with her two little pekingese dogs was certainly not a downside either. The one even escorted me to the bathroom, waited for me, and then would go down two steps, wait for me to catch up, and go down two more until we reached the bottom of the steps. I almost put him in my pocket and brought him home, although I don't agree with stealing, and we've been over this already, we have enough dogs. And cute ones, at that. That dog though; total gentlemen. There are no men as polite as him, I am convinced.

In other real estate news, my mom was on the real estate multi-list site and came across a house that had the feature of 1 gamer. Yep, 1 gamer. We have no idea what that is, but we're left to assume that the owner is leaving their son behind, along with this xbox that he refuses to depart from. They gave him the ultimatum of it being them or the xbox or they were giving him away and they took it too far. More power to them.

I'd also like to share a cute little song with you all today. If you don't like cute or country, do not click on this link. You have been warned.

Shane

Here in Pennsylvania, we are known for odd news stories, as I've shared before. I would like to share two more with you, both that were reported within the same half an hour newscast.

* A guy was found dead this morning in someone's front yard. He had been shot. Upon being sent to the medical examiner, it was quickly determined he had been dead for several days.

Let me just ask you something real quick. How do you not notice the dead guy in your front yard for days? DAYS! The people whose yard he was in apparently had nothing to do with killing him, if that helps clear anything up for you. And by clear anything up, I mean if that confuses you more and makes you wonder where their glasses have been for DAYS!

* Two cousins were arrested in West Virginia for stealing a mass amount of beef jerky that they had planned to sell for gas money.

Dear West Virginians, please stop wondering why there's a specific stereotype attached to you. You covered more than one stereotype in this alone.

In the midst of texting these news stories to Original Becky who, sadly, was trapped in the work lunchroom and had no way of hearing these exciting news stories, she texted me the following.

"My friend loves Shane. Please kill me."

I sat there trying to figure out who in the heck Shane was and why I cared that her friend liked him for several minutes. Then I remembered this. (Paraphrased so you don't have to sift through the junk.)

Original Becky: I don't know if you like Lady Gaga or not...but I don't, lol.
Me: I hate her.
Me: She's certifiable.
Me: She's not Shane.
Me: *sane
Me: No, she's not Shane either.
Original Becky: HAHAHAHAHA MAYBE SHE IS!
Original Becky: OR HE!
Me: MAYBE SHANE IS HER REAL NAME!
Me: OMG, WE'RE ON TO SOMETHING!
Original Becky: WE DISCOVERED IT!

Just in case you were all wondering about her true identity, Original Becky and I just fixed that for you. You're welcome.

When I first saw this video, I was horrified. I had this happen to me in April of 2008. I had not felt well, my vision was blurry, I had a headache and a sharp pain in my left side behind my heart. I thought I was just tired, or having an off day. Then I went to answer the phone and couldn't say anything at all. Everything I wanted to say didn't come out. It was like I was watching what happened to myself happen to someone on live TV. I was mortified for her. Then they diagnosed her with this. Two weeks ago today I was diagnosed with the exact same thing. Every time in the last two weeks that I've told people many of my issues are coming from migraines, they've looked at me funny. Now, as sad as the situation may be, there's heavily covered media proof that this does happen from migraines. I'm sorry it took this happening to this poor girl, as I know she had to be scared, too, for people to stop thinking migraines aren't a big deal.

As promised, a continuation with said pictures of the week.

The Penis Cookie Debacle (Obviously NSFW)

Last night I had a dream that my friend and I were going to take a road trip from Australia. We saw nothing wrong with this idea.

Now that I've gotten your attention with a totally true story, I shall fully tell the tales of which I had hinted at before, with proof and everything.

Back on good old June 5th of last year, my friend posted this quandary on her Facebook. I hope I helped her discover the true answer. For some reason, no one believes me when I tell them I actually wrote this. Do you all not know me well enough by now? Oh, and I'm Amy. Remember, kids, Cassadee Willows is just my pen name, but you can call me it. I go under that now on Facebook, you know, in case you want to friend me because I love everybody...usually...sometimes. Anywho, without further ado, I like to call this screen cap "Not a Lawyer."

Also as previously mentioned, I hang out with some extremely mature people. I mean, all we do is sit around talking about books written in French, drink tea with one finger gingerly sticking out as we properly hold our cups, and eat crumpets.

Just kidding. We do stuff like this.

Yes, those are penis cookies. We made them for a friend of a friend's bachelorette party, a friend of whom I've still never met. We had two boys of whom neither of us were involved with helping us. The one really took to decorating the cookies just so, and if we got in his way, he would nicely shove us out of it and then hoard all the cookies to decorate. Obviously we're both still friends with him. The other guy was the guy who cried because someone texted him and told him he was an asshole. That story speaks for itself.

To add to the maturity that comes with being the penis making cookie kind, Patrick went after Becky with some flower and made her into a big penis. All puns intended.

As promised, the picture continuation for this week.

My Valentine Is Chocolate

Today is Valentine's Day! Since the more boys I meet, the more I love my animals, I decided to take lot of yummy pictures of them so that they could wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day.

I started with Helena, but all she did was stare at me. Being the good human that I am, I thought it would be a rather dandy idea to explain to her just what Valentine's Day was. I told her it was a day when cute little friends walked hand in hand and gave each other huggles and kisses. This was her reaction.

Obviously, she thinks Valentine's Day is mushy and boys are gross. Agreed, Helena. Agreed.

Despite this, she still agreed to take place in the photo shoot to wish you all a happy day. A few of the other animals cried foul and insisted she was just a fame whoring photo hog. The jury is still out on that, and a few animals are still in an uproar.

Either way, here is Helena with my hand made Valentine's Day card. The photo whore theory is starting to look more and more viable.

After being picked on about her photogenic ways, she decided she would go and lie down next to her grandma and pretend like words didn't hurt her. Aww, poor Helena.

Turns out it was all false humility. As soon as I went to take a picture of someone else, she was right there photobombing Greta's picture. Oh, Helena. No wonder the other kids think this of you.

After I shooed Helena away, I tried to take a picture of Greta with the card. The first time she ran. The second time, this was all the closer I got before she got that look on her face, telling me if I came any closer, she would not let me hug her tonight. This would make me very sad. I didn't come any closer.

I set the card down and tried to take a picture of just her, but she was on to me, remaining skeptical about this whole rigmarole.

I waited until she wiped that look off of her face and tried again. Alas, she was too smart for me.

To make up for being a silly puppy, I asked her to do something cute. She was quick to concede to this, giving her little sister, Paramore, a great big Valentine's Day kiss and declaring her, her Valentine! Aww!

And of course Helena's head had to be in on this.

After the girls expressed their Valentine love in photographs, it was time for Leo to share the love. The only problem was that Leo had gotten a toy from Cupid earlier in the day, as had the girls. The only difference was that Leo decided to make his toy, of which he calls Elfy, his Valentine. He refused to take a picture unless Elfy could be in it. *Sigh* Animals are such divas.

Leo was extremely passive about the entire situation. The card, not so much. Without any help from Leo itself, it decided to try and run away from all the love.

Eventually, the card found that the love was just too much for even it and disappeared, never to visit Leo and Elfy again. Leo and Elfy couldn't have cared less.

Paramore seemed like the next viable victim...er, I mean model, for this Valentine's post. At first she loved the heck out of that card.

Then she changed her mind. She already had a Valentine with Greta Hayley. She didn't need a card trying to love her up, too. She isn't a whore.

While Stitch was sleeping, I decided to sneak the love in there. He still doesn't realize he's been photographed, nor do I think he cares.

Jorja took four photos until we reached this one. It was pretty, so I took it and left her to go back to sleep. She's a large cat and I value my face.

Lila also slept through my sneaky photography. She'd still be sleeping if someone didn't try to sit on her. Here's looking at you, Leo.

Play and Booger were cute little Valentine brothers as they chose to snooze on. You'll be happy to know that Play has refused to move, while Booger has moved to the other side of the couch.

The rest of the animals decided that they would not be part of this photo shoot, and claimed that I was breaching their rights to privacy. Whatever. They're just lazy divas.

Also, as promised on Saturday, I am continuing my week of bare naked pictures. Have a happy Valentine's Day everyone, and remember, it's a scary world out there, so dodge all the candy hearts you can. In all seriousness, though, single or not, go out there, have some fun, and don't do anything that Phineas and Ferb wouldn't do. All right? And if that fails, there's always chocolate.

Bare Naked

I decided to do something a little different with this week on my blog. Lately, more than ever, it seems like photoshopped pictures of celebrities, and articles about how we should look, are cropping up all over the place. It's discouraging. I've decided to go out on a limb and post some pictures of myself totally makeup free, nothing retouched except the backgrounds, because no one wants to look at my room. I am not perfect, I am far from it. I just want all girls out there to know that they should be empowered to be bare naked, and comfortable being themselves. Those girls in the magazines show us an unrealistic, twisted sense of reality. Just be yourself. That's more than enough.

The Epic Parking Garage Adventure

I am long overdue for a blog post, guys. I was trying to get some issues resolved with Bloglovin' before posting again, but obviously they're just going to ignore me, so I'm going to continue to post, and argue with them separately. It's stupid to let a few people riding the short bus bring down the blog. And boy do I have stories for you guys.

In the last post, I mentioned my mom and I had ourselves an adventure last Friday. Don't worry, I took notes, and now I am fully prepared to regal you with the entire story, all the details in between involved. Ready? Okay!

Last Friday was the day I made the trek to the headache doctor to see why I was getting those severe pains in the back of my head. The first two times they happened, I fully believe Melanie/Krissy was responsible for it, only because of the events surrounding what happened. When I started getting them constantly, and they started to feel just a little different, I knew she had triggered something else going on with my body by accident. I refrained from telling the doctor any of this. I thought not getting committed would be fancy.

Long story short, the doctor was able to deduce several of the medical problems I'm having to a very complex kind of migraine. They can cause anything from false seizures, to stroke like symptoms, to parts of the body becoming numb, to passing out spells, to never feeling like I have a clear head, and slurring of speech. For the first time, it seemed like someone had a possible answer for what was going on with me. He was also able to explain some of the really erratic, crazy symptoms I've had that no one else could, and nothing was clarifying itself in tests for said symptoms. He still believes I have autoimmune problems, but he thinks these headaches are a huge part of what is keeping me from being able to live my life. He feels this stems from a severe serotonin imbalance in my brain, although there is no accurate way to test for how much serotonin my brain is making since the body absorbs it so quickly.

The doctor was direct, confident, and informative. I learned long ago to not get my hopes up about anything, but I also don't dismiss anything either. I will try anything to get better. Imagine my surprise when he changed out some of my medications and I actually started to feel better. It's such a luxury, you guys. I've only been on them six days, but so far I've actually been able to think past my nose, feel awake, not slur words, and feel more like myself. I haven't felt like myself in a very long time. We'll see how they work in the long run, but I'm hoping and praying that this solves a large piece of my health puzzle, or at least enough to allow me to go back to work. Fingers crossed.

After the appointment we were doing what any other person in a hospital would do. We were trying to get the heck out. This is where the epic adventure begins. We got into the elevator, intent on going down two floors to phlebotomy to get my blood pulled. Upon getting in the elevator, we were greeted by an overzealous security guard, who was a little too excited about the Super Bowl. He got off on the next floor down. We were also on the elevator with a man who was afraid to go to the airport that day, because he had to fly somewhere and they were having a huge Super Bowl party at the airport. He was going to the garage.

For the record, Pittsburgh lost the Super Bowl and the public schools still let the little suckers have a two hour delay the following day, because the Super Bowl is apparently more important than education. It's like how the schools close here for the first day of hunting season, but I digress. Only in Pa.

We got off at our floor, leaving airport man behind, only to find that the phlebotomy lab was closed...in a hospital. Confused? We are, too. Because we had planned on using the restroom in the lab and there wasn't another one on that floor, we had to go back up to the floor we came from, go to the bathroom, and then head down to the garage. I know this doesn't seem like it's important, but it ate about seven minutes of our time, which will be important soon.

When we arrived in the garage, we couldn't figure out what it was that we were supposed to do with our parking ticket. In the other garages, we take our ticket to the gate and pay there. However, there was a machine for parking tickets inside the little room the elevators were in inside of the garage. Did we pay there? Did we go to the gate? Did we cry? We looked the machine over and it seemed to only want to take our regular parking ticket, and not the validation ticket we had gotten from the doctor's office. Add that this garage was shared with a hotel next door of whom didn't have validation tickets, and we were confused. We may or may not put too much thought into things.

While we were debating this, a man around one hundred and ninety years old came along with his family and proceeded to use the machine effortlessly. We watched him intently, realizing we were getting shown up with modern technology, by someone who could be our grandfather and great grandfather. It was awesome. He was the cutest old guy ever.

One hundred and ninety year old guy left and we approached the machine to flawlessly repeat his process. That's when my mom started to wonder if we couldn't do what he just did because his validation ticket was white and ours was yellow. I did what the old guy did anyway. It worked. For the record, the directions on the back of said validation ticket regarding how to validate your parking...they were wrong.

As we were leaving the little room with the elevators and ticket machine, the same man we had been in the elevator with who was afraid to go to the airport, came walking into the room. He then proceeded to ask us how to use the machine. Apparently he had spent the last twenty minutes wandering the parking garage for some help. As soon as we showed him how to use the machine, he looked at us and the tickets of which the machine spit back out at us, and asked us if if made a difference that our validation ticket was yellow and his was white. Yep, that happened.

We weren't done being stupid yet. When we went to leave, we couldn't figure out which machine to put our ticket in saying we paid, to lift the gate. There were three. One was for the hotel, one was the one we needed, and one was for something or another that we never figured out. As we're both focused on finding the right place to put the ticket, the security guard, the same overzealous one from the elevator, nicely pointed out that the gate was open.

The morals of the story.

* Old guys will always beat you with technology. Not literally, but he'll show you some of his mad skills.

*We fail at paying attention.

* We should watch our backs when we get in elevators. We haven't seen the last of our fellow elevator patrons.

From the hospital, we realized we were hungry, hungry hippo hungry (bonus points to whomever knows what show that line is from), and went to get something to eat. During lunch, a family of three came in that made us nebby and curious. The bride seemed to be a mail order bride, which I have nothing against, as long as the women are being treated right. Either way, this got us talking about how average the guy was and how gorgeous the girl is. My mom decided we should buy us some mail order husbands. I think I'll pass. Do they even have those?

My mom was back and forth over what she wanted to order. The one thing she really wanted had mushrooms. She hates the look of mushrooms, but if she accidentally eats one she doesn't mind the taste. I told her to get it without mushrooms. She proceeded to tell me one always slips in there. Conspiracy theory.

Yesterday, we spent an entire shift, as the staff would put it, in the store buying my mom new clothes. She happened to try something on a hoodie and then proceeded to say, and I quote, "It just adds to the humongous." I told her I was going to draw a hippo wearing a hoodie with that caption, however, I find that even my advanced drawing skills are unable to tackle that one. If anyone wants to go right on ahead and draw that and then share, I won't object. My mom is waiting to laugh at it.

There are certain days where you just get awarded for a good deed. Yesterday, I was my mom's clothes hauling and opinion bitch. Today, I got it back tenfold in the form of irony on The Price Is Right. I don't usually watch this show, but I was glad I caught it today, because the big guy in the sky knew my sense of humor and the show just played on that.

First there was a lady called down whose last name was couch. I don't have the maturity for last names that are also things. My real last name is Byrd and I don't have the maturity for it, either, so I think that's fair. The first thing I said to my mom when she was called down was that I hoped she made it onstage and got to play for a couch. One person later, she made it onstage. Her prize? A couch. She didn't win, but that really didn't matter at this point. I was in love with the irony.

A few people later, all four possible contestants were bidding on a line of skin care products, bath gels, and otherwise girlie stuff. I told my mom I would fight the flaming gay guy for the skin care products when he won them. He won them. He was far too excited about this. It was great. Forget a game show, this sucker was a comedy.

One last thing that has nothing to do with anything else, I'm sincerely disappointed in Lifetime TV. An interview on AOL revealed that the network never asked permission of the parents of the victim to write about their daughter's murder prior to making a movie about it. They didn't even know it was being made until commercials started rolling, revealing the story of her murder. Also, the network never retrieved permission from the alleged murderer to do the story about her either. How low do you have to be to do something like this; to write a movie about people without asking their permission? To dredge up the last moments of someone's death and splash it across the screen for the world to see, making a family mourn all over again. Both parties are seeking legal action against Lifetime, so for that reason I won't bring up what movie it is. Google "American student murders roommate in Italy."

Today, In a Backwards World...

We had ourselves an adventure Friday. Unfortunately, said adventure pooped me right the heck out, so as soon as my brain catches up to the amount of awesome in Friday's story, I will be sharing it all with you. For now, just a few things that have nothing to do with each other.

I felt it okay to say all of these things at some point in the day.

- "I look like a man without a padded bra" needs to be the name of a song or a band.
- OMG! It should be a band that names a song that, too!

- That was like unicorns, and Care Bears, and puppy dogs with cute little bows in their hair.

- You're going to laugh at me, but the girl in this movie is so unbelievably gorgeous that I'm considering watching it.
- That's worse than it sounds, right?

I worry about me sometimes. There was nothing on, so I turned on this movie with the absolute worse description I could find, because you all know how I like myself some really shitty movies. When nothing is on, I find the movie with the worst description, but for the first time I think I found one that was just way too ridiculous for me. It was as follows, and I quote, "stranded friends encounter supernatural scarecrows at an isolated farmhouse." This from the girl who watched a movie with a description about a camp counselor with a sex change who murdered people. And laughed. I know, guys. And it's always the horror movies that are the funniest, but I digress.

I turned the scarecrow movie on to find it actually had good reviews online upon looking it up, which, despite the too stupid description, made me not want to watch it, but there was nothing else on. I was trying to convince myself to shut up and watch it, but the guys weren't cute. The girl was unbelievably gorgeous, though. I mean, I'm straight and I thought that. I still didn't really watch it because, as it turns out, the movie was actually pretty decent and I wasn't in the mood for decent, and, again, I'm also straight. If I were a guy, I would have watched it. Oh, and for the record, the girl bit it first in the movie, as in the first couple of minutes. The girl never bites it first. She was the only girl. I'm very confused.

- Call me stupid, but I just realized I'm sitting on the floor for no reason. There's room on the couch.

Stupid. There, I did it for you.

- Aww man, they're bleeping out all the good words in this movie. The girls just said, "He tried to me, so I kicked in him the."

- I've noticed if I hear a really bad country song sung by a male, I make fun of it, unless it's by Garth Brookes, then I respect it.

- When I die, I'm not going to come back and touch people.
- Move their things around and annoy them? Yes. Touch them? No.

I watched the cutest movie ever today. The description made it sound really stupid, but I decided to turn it on since it was on Hallmark. Look, the only bad movies I like are horror movies. Otherwise, the movies are just bad and not funny whatsoever. Color me pleasantly surprised when the movie actually ended up being the cutest movie I've seen since the last really cute movie I've seen.

After I realized that scarecrow movie really was too good for me to watch, I found some movie that I thought for sure would really suck. However, I watched about five minutes of it and realized it was based on actual events, so I immediately had to leave it on. It was a highly fictionalized version of it, highly, but this did actually happen.

In the late forties, a group of children on their way to school were struck and killed when their bus stalled on the tracks. The urban legend is that if you go to the tracks and put your car in neutral, it will roll back down the hill and away from the tracks and those are the children pushing you. I hate to burst everyone's bubble, but it's actually an optical illusion that the road is flat. It slopes downhill, but the foliage slopes uphill, making the road seem even. This was investigated thoroughly. You all know I love a good ghost story. Hell, they love me, too, but this one was purely gobbledygook, even though those poor children did pass.

What I like about the movie is that they added several different elements to it that actually made sense and worked with the original, true story, which made it interesting and was well done. Damn all three of you movies for faking me out with your bad descriptions and promos! I expected bad movies and you gave me good! I don't know what to think of this!

I was a victim of auto-correct today. I'd like to say the unfortunate victim, but I actually think it was a little fortunate because it made me laugh. Last night, Original Becky was telling me about an episode of Law and Order: SVU where this little kid thought his dad was sick because his mom said he had "dirty whore." He thought dirty whore was a disease. I love that kid. Anyway, Original Becky texted me to fill in me in on a mistake she made in presenting the storyline to me last night, and here's what happened.

* Ooh. Ooh. Okay, but still. Damn dirty shore disease.

Yep, my phone doesn't like the word whore, so it decided shore was better. Luckily, I thought I recovered from it quite nicely.

* Damn auto-correct. Too bad it didn't correct the first word to Jersey, because that show is a horrible disease.

Last, but certainly not least, I am going to answer Zoey's question left in the last post's comments. The Superbowl, or the pooperbowl, as I prefer to call it, is the end of the season football game. US teams play each other until the two best teams are left, and they face off against each other in what is called the Superbowl. It's like a religion here. I don't particularly like football, so I just plan to do things during it knowing no one else will be out. I also secretly hope they lose so I can actually hear the news the following day, instead of listening to a full newscast of coverage about all the Superbowl win parties. Oops, the secret's out.

Ringo Was the Drummer

Each day, I find myself continually amazed by the ridiculous that is bestowed upon us by my grand ole' state of Pennsylvania and by myself. Even though I poke a little fun at Pennsylvaniaisms, I have also fallen victim to them myself. I am not exempt. We are super special people out here in Pennsylvania.

There is a chain of restaurants that spreads Pennsylvania, Eastern Ohio and Northern West Virginia. They are a Pennsylvanian owned and based private company. They are open twenty four hours a day. This is not excluding Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter. However, they sent out a mass email today informing us they would be closing Sunday so that the employees could go home and watch the Superbowl. So what they're saying is that spending holidays with your family is not important, but watching football is? I'm so confused.

Directly after that, I had an epic fail of my own. One of my favorite websites is Very Demotivational. Some of these are knee-slap funny. On the same hand, some bite, but it's worth sifting through the ones that bite for the ones that are truly hysterical, such as one containing an article about The Beatles. It said something along the lines of, "George was the spirit, Lennon was the soul, Paul was the heart, and Ringo was the drummer." This was from a real newspaper article. The caption beneath it said "Ringo: He was the drummer." Anytime I find a lull in a conversation, I'm just going to say that Ringo was the drummer, and then laugh hysterically, while the other person just stares at me like I'm a loony toon. But I digress.

There was also a picture on there with a colored gentleman, who was passed out on the sidewalk, in a position that made him look as though he had overdosed, surrounded by a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket, a McDonald's soda cup and watermelon. The last one confuses me, too. He was also well dressed, except for one thing, he was wearing white shoes.

This is the part where I feel I must explain to any new readers that I'm not racist. If you read this blog enough, you'll learn I'm the furthest thing from racist. I just have a habit of saying stupid things that therefore make me sound stupid, and then I share them, because once you get to know my sense of humor, you realize why I think it's funny when it's probably really not.

In fact, let me take a moment to tell you all about two of my favorite people in the world before we go and do something crazy, such as get back on subject or something. My one friend is a six foot something, intimidatingly built black man. He is terrified of horror movies and will not hesitate to literally lunge himself under the seat in a theater if a scene comes about that even looks as though it may be frightening. He will openly admit to this quark, too. He is friends with another one of my friends who is a five foot eight, at best, nerdy white guy with nerdy white guy glasses, whose weight probably rivals a pipe cleaner. When people try to push him around because of this, instead of getting angry, he looks at them and, with a very serious face, says "Is this because I'm black? It's because I'm black, isn't it?" This becomes especially effective when he does it while said black friend is standing next to him and commenting on how that has to be the reason. Then, they both calmly claim they are brothers and walk away. It's fantastic. You can see why these two are two of my favorite people.

So when I first saw this picture and thought the white shoes on the man were actually a cast on his leg, I thought this was totally normal. When my mom looked at me as if I had unicorns growing out of my ears, I explained to her that, since the man was black and wearing all dark clothing, I assumed he'd wear shoes to match so that they didn't stand out. I know now that I don't have a leg to stand on here, and am apparently a terrible, terrible person. In my defense, my black friend never wears white shoes because he thinks they stand out too much, so take that, accidental racial profiling! Take that.

Just a little while ago, my mom was flipping through the television for something to watch. She was upset that Billy the Exterminator wasn't on, and joked that his brother was hot. God, I hope she was joking. Anyway, she finds this show that I take it was on Discover or something to that effect. It was a documentary. It sounded strange, and just as I was about to inquire about it, she started telling the television off. Yes, telling the television off. Apparently it was a show chock full of historians trying to prove that aliens actually wrote the Bible in an attempt to take over humanity. She thought they were kidding in the description, so she turned it on to see. They were not. They were all very, very serious about this.

If you believe that aliens wrote the Bible, more power to you, but I'm not about to break out my tinfoil hats just yet. Not that all alien believers wear tinfoil hats. I mean, I believe there's life on other planets; just a personal opinion and all, and I don't wear tinfoil hats. They never match my outfit. And there I go accidentally offending an entire group of people's beliefs again.

Suggestions? Comments? Otherwise?

I am having issues with Bloglovin' again. I will get into this in more detail later, but I've asked them twice to remove my blogs from their site due to this. They can't follow instructions to save their lives because they're all still on there. I am pissed.

Due to this, I am blocking the content on all my other blogs until they're removed. I'm unsure of what to do with this because I have decent traffic on this blog and I don't want to block my dear friends who don't have a Blogger out of it. Any suggestions?

I Like Ducks

There's not a whole lot to report today, so I'm just going to bring on the most random things I can think that have happened in the past twenty four hours and call it a day.

* My mom has a new client whose house is extremely messy and dirty. The lady won't clean it because she is unable, or so she says, but she goes bowling every week, sometimes more, with her bowling league. My mom was concerned it would chase buyers away. Today, another agent had a showing of the house. The people walked in and pretty much walked right back out. It's still up in the air over if it was because of how dirty the house was or not.

* My neighbors keep trying to get on my internet...still, but I am able to block them before they get access. This doesn't stop them. They stopped trying for awhile, but now are back at it and failing every single time they try. Each time, within three minutes of me blocking them out before they worm their way in, I hear them out there slamming their house door, stomping down their wooden steps, and slamming their car doors. If I look out my window, they're all in a huff. That's right, bitches, go get your internet elsewhere or decide to pay for it. Pick one, but stop using mine. However, if you want to keep trying, you will keep failing because I have this under control now, which is great for me because I find it really funny when you get angry and leave because you can't get into something you're not paying for, when you could just pay for it and get it over with. They probably waste more in gas leaving to go somewhere that they can get the internet, than they would just paying for it themselves. People make me lol.

* I don't think Bloglovin' and I are going to get along. I thought we had resolved things, but I think they were pretending like they resolved things thinking I wouldn't find out they didn't. At first, they updated my blog every few days all nice like. Now they're more than a week behind, the original post dates are all wrong, and they're seven, soon to be eight posts behind. Oh, and because they're not updating my blog on their site, the number of posts I have a week are going down. Why is this? Because they're not updating on their sight, even though I'm updating my very own blog, so now it's looking like I don't post as much as I do because they're lazy. I would have no problem with this site if it was on a feed, but the fact that they physically update my blog on their site when they feel like it seems really ridiculous, and also makes me feel like it's not my blog anymore. I never gave them permission to physically post my blog on their site. In fact, I have asked them twice to take it off, and they pretended to update it and now have stopped pretending.

I know it seems like I'm making a big ordeal out of something little and stupid, and maybe I am, but I like to have control over my blog. They're my words, my way of connecting with all of you out there, and it's deeply personal to me. When another site places my blog on their site without permission and then proceeds to do whatever they would like with it, therefore altering it to come up that I don't post when I do and what not, I just don't appreciate it. I like my little blog in my own personal world, with my own control over it. Maybe that's childish and protective, but this blog is my heart.

* I got Bolt browser for my Blackberry since the one that came with it kept locking me out, not loading pages, etc. It is all kinds of awesome!

* I was filling out the paperwork that was mailed to me for a new doctor's appointment today. They asked me all kinds of questions that I thought they needed to buy me dinner before asking. Some of them had absolutely nothing to do with my medical condition at all and were strictly personal. My favorite was my marital status. I understand that they ask this, and then proceed to ask you for your spouse's information to contact in case of an emergency, if applicable. Only, they didn't do that. They just asked me my marital status and that was it. What does that have to do with my health? In close second was when they asked me what I was coming to see the doctor for. He is a headache specialist. His practice is called The Headache Center. Obviously, I was going there for va-jay-jay pain. I yelled, swore, and then by the end of it concluded that filling out that paperwork was like being anal probed by over enthusiastic aliens.

* Dr. Phil totally said, and I quote, "He took his mic off, threw it down and told me to do something that isn't anatomically possible." Instead of telling people to go eff themselves, I'm now going to tell them to go do something that isn't anatomically possible. If it's good enough for Dr. Phil, it's good enough for me.

I'm Sorry, Taylor Swift

My dentist's office is harassing me. Not the office itself. It stays put like a good little office and its cement walls speak not a word. The employees are a different story.

As I mentioned before, a few days before Christmas I had my root canal tooth pulled, as it took over a year and a half for the root canal to be completed due in fault to another dentist. It had issues, an infection that didn't want to leave, and we weren't friends anymore, so it had to depart. That day when I got home there was a card from the dentist's office reminding me that I was due for a teeth cleaning come January first. To be honest, I saw it and disregarded it, momentarily figuring there was surely no way it would be good to get my teeth professionally and deep cleaned that soon after getting a tooth pulled, especially when the dentist told me to forgo brushing with my electric toothbrush for at least a month to six weeks so that it could heal. I figured they understood this and already had the notice in the mail prior to me coming in to have the root canal tooth pulled. I also figured it was up to me to call them for an appointment. I was wrong, so, so wrong.

The first Monday in January, the dentist's office started calling me to make an appointment to get my teeth cleaned. I've never had a dentist's office call me regarding this, especially after sending out a notice. It was cool, though, because we told them that I'd schedule an appointment later, after my root canal tooth healed more, because I wasn't comfortable getting my teeth cleaned yet when the area was still so tender. The calls never stopped. Two and three times a week for the next few weeks, they continued to call me. We, again, told them to stop, but they didn't. I finally made an appointment with them, which I later had to cancel. When I did so, I told them I would call them when I was ready to come in. The calls didn't stop, still two and three a week. With the medical issues I've been having, I ignored the calls, having told them three separate times that I would call them when I was ready to make the appointment. I couldn't deal with them on top of my actual medical problems, and my gums were still healing.

When they called today again, that was the last domino. They were all lying tenderly on the floor, freaking Mr. Monk out from the whole way across the country. It's been nearly a month of them calling two or three times a week, and I've already been over this with them...I will call them when I am ready to come in. I'm not sure what's so difficult to understand about that. I called them, I reiterated the former to them, went into a rant about my health problems, and told them not to call me again because, as I told them before, I would call them when I was ready. They said they promised not to call me. Who wants to bet I hear from them before the end of the week?

Any ideas on how to make this stop? I'm afraid that the next time they call I'm going to tell them that I don't let anyone ride me that close unless they buy me dinner first. (I kid, I kid. Dinner doesn't do it for me. I'm not easy. But I would tell them that in hopes that it would freak them out.) I promise I am going to go there to get my teeth cleaned, but for goodness sake, it needs to be when I can get in there, and I happen to think my medical problems are more important than getting my teeth cleaned at the moment. This has made me consider going to another dentist, but as I've mentioned before, decent dentists here are very few and far between. I'd like to stay with him, but not if they're going to harass me. Maybe I'm panicking, but I'm starting to worry that if I look behind me, I'm going to see the blonde girl who works at the office standing there, cleaning equipment in hand, with a crazy grin on her face.

Speaking of places of fail, have any of you ever seen the commercial for America's Best Eyeglasses, where they advertise two pairs of glasses for $69.95? Every time I see that commercial, I think that there has to be some kind of crazy catch. Today, I decided to look up reviews on them to get to the bottom of what was really going on over there. I wasn't interested in going to them, I just wanted to know. Squirrel Monkeys, I seriously have no life. This head issue; not helping. I fell over three times today just while trying to make my bed because of it. I'm better sitting. When I sit, I have to amuse the hell out of myself or I get bored and start singing songs about farting unicorns. It's disgraceful.

As I'm looking through the reviews for America's Best, I realize they are nicknamed America's Worst, and why. Apparently, the lowest price anyone in over one hundred reviews had been charged was $211. The most was $507. Most people didn't take the glasses after the total came up. The store claimed an ass load of reasons that all contradicted each other from store to store for the up charge, but basically, it's a lie.

But that's not why I'm writing this. The truth is, I like to look up reviews on places. The things people say crack me up, and about three percent of the fails are done by the consumers that have no idea they were the idiot party. Also, there's tons of reviews with zero punctuation and most words are spelled incorrectly, so I disregard those usually. However, today I read them anyway and I found the best epic customer fail ever, and the person was angry and oblivious. I had to share, but with my own words, because if I were to copy and paste their review, it would take you reading it at least ten times to realize what in the crap they're talking about. I'm saving you the trouble of deciphering moron.

Essentially, this person admits up front that they had a five o'clock appointment with America's Best. They then go on to tell you that they were late. When they got there, the staff were getting into their cars to leave. This is, of course, a travesty. Said late person proceeded to admit they angrily approached the staff and started yelling at them about how they couldn't leave. They had an appointment and they had a forty five minute drive. The staff told them that they were late, they thought they weren't coming, so they closed up. How awful of them! This has to be reported! This is poor business that someone won't sit there and wait for them after closing time, because they had a forty five minute drive and were really, really late! They turned them into the Better Business Bureau and were calling the news!

Seriously, people? Seriously? They took no responsibility. They were angry and blamed the place for closing after they admitted they were late. Honey, I wouldn't stay open for you, either. If you can't show up within a reasonable amount of time after your appointment, I, too, would assume you weren't coming and close up shop on your ass. Ever heard of a phone? It may have prevented this.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Demons I get, people are crazy. If you're going to react so absurdly, at least lie and say you were on time. If these people were to ever become criminals, they would surely win The Darwin Award.

Greta is on her forty millionth nickname. Every three to six months, I come up with a brand new stupid nickname for her. I feel bad for her, I do, but then I can't help myself. Her current nickname has been Snoonarrifica, or Snoon for short. Today I began to call her Bunny-Hop. I mostly call her Greta Hayley, but occasionally the pet-name will slip out, no pun intended. By the looks I get from her, I'm pretty sure she thinks this is a form of animal abuse. If the animals cops arrest me, you'll know why.

There is a Taylor Swift song called "Sparks Fly." It is a cutesy, wootsy little love song filled with bubble gum, happy face clouds and pink hearts. It's just the most adorable little song and I love it. Therefore, I find myself singing this song all the time and driving others crazy. And by others I mean my animals. I'm not sorry. Today, while drying my hair, I was singing this song. All of a sudden, something sounded funny. I paused, thought about what I just sang, and then busted out laughing. The song goes "kiss me on the sidewalk." I sang "kick me off the sidewalk." I'm sorry, Taylor, for making your song about violence.