I have amazing readers and friends on here, so I am appealing to you all today as friends, as daughters, sons, nieces, nephews, moms, dads, aunts and uncles. My friend got some very terrifying news today, some unexpected news, while at a doctors appointment, at the young age of twenty five. She is someone’s daughter, niece and friend. She is loved, and we are worried for her. I know that there’s a lot to pray for now, especially with the horrible devastation that the tornadoes have left in various parts of the country and are continuing to leave. But, please, I am asking you to save a prayer for her. Thank you.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
So Very Spring
There's two things you should all know about me. I am sew crafty and so terribly punny. That being said, I would like to share my latest adventures in crafting with all of you. With spring in full swing, though it hardly feel like it here, I thought I'd do a special feature to get you all in the springtime mood.
As with every spring, everything starts to bloom, the warm air feels swell, and crap needs cleaned, especially if it's outside crap that's sat through a long winter of neglect. In our case, it's our covered porch and all of the lawn furniture that belongs on it. This year, we had two main problems when scrubbing everything down. The first one problem was the butterflies that hang on the lattice of our porch. Some of the paint was chipping off of them and, in general, they were quite dull. Never being one to know a dull butterfly, I decided to spruce them up a bit. There are three separate ones, each featuring a shot from the front and from above so that you can see the hints of color that were intertwined to make these butterflies pop. Just for the hell of it, I'm going to name the butterflies, because I wouldn't be me if I stopped naming inanimate objects now.
This little baby butterfly shall be Brooke. She looks like a Brooke, right? Right? (Amuse me. You know you want to.)
This butterfly looks more like a Julianne to me. Sweet and pretty.
Last but not least, we have Serinda. If any of you have caught on to the show I'm referencing, then high five and cookies all around. Only, I don't actually have cookies, so they're pretend cookies. Sorry for the false advertisement.
Next up, we have this very lovely chair. This chair has been a bone of contention for awhile now. Mr. or Mrs. chair here had some old, worn out, stained, ugly cushions that had seen better days, but whose insides were in fine shape. The obvious answer to this was to get new cushions, but after years of looking at all times of the year, we realized that we'd have to harvest one kidney each to pay for them. Have you ever priced those suckers? They're uber expensive. For that price, they better clean my house too, but I digress.
Not able to take the cushions anymore, even after scrubbing them until the neighbors began to think that instead of the crazy cat lady, I was the crazy cushion lady, I decided our only option to save them was to cover them with fabric. That was, if we could get the right kind of fabric cheap enough. I set off to Joanne Fabrics (Who I am not associated with, by the way), and started going through their sale fabric. Since they were having a half off sale on the sale fabric (The irony of this was not lost on me.), I was able to find an outdoor fabric for three dollars a yard. For that price, I was able to get enough fabric to cover the two cushions and make a matching tablecloth, all for just $15. That was less than half of the price of one store bought cushion. Win!
Our chair was primarily the color it is in the picture, only the paint was old and worn, and it was cracked and faded. I threw on two coats of Mod Podge and covered it with some outdoor paint. Then I added the newly made chair cushions and VOILA! We had a chair that looked nearly brand new. And, as I'm sure you can see from the picture, this chair and its cushions have been animal approved. They're already adorned with hair and bunched up from the animals making themselves comfortable. Rawr.
The last thing I did for the porch was the tablecloth. I swore at least twelve times and threatened suicide at least thirteen. The tablecloth was an easy sew, but because the tablecloth was so big around, it took me forever to sew the whole way around it. I debated both eating and taking a nap in between sewing it. I even ran out of thread at one time and had to rewind the bobbin. I was happy with the finished product, though. I just didn't feel like ironing it after all of that sewing. Lazy for the win.
As with every spring, everything starts to bloom, the warm air feels swell, and crap needs cleaned, especially if it's outside crap that's sat through a long winter of neglect. In our case, it's our covered porch and all of the lawn furniture that belongs on it. This year, we had two main problems when scrubbing everything down. The first one problem was the butterflies that hang on the lattice of our porch. Some of the paint was chipping off of them and, in general, they were quite dull. Never being one to know a dull butterfly, I decided to spruce them up a bit. There are three separate ones, each featuring a shot from the front and from above so that you can see the hints of color that were intertwined to make these butterflies pop. Just for the hell of it, I'm going to name the butterflies, because I wouldn't be me if I stopped naming inanimate objects now.
This little baby butterfly shall be Brooke. She looks like a Brooke, right? Right? (Amuse me. You know you want to.)
This butterfly looks more like a Julianne to me. Sweet and pretty.
Last but not least, we have Serinda. If any of you have caught on to the show I'm referencing, then high five and cookies all around. Only, I don't actually have cookies, so they're pretend cookies. Sorry for the false advertisement.
Next up, we have this very lovely chair. This chair has been a bone of contention for awhile now. Mr. or Mrs. chair here had some old, worn out, stained, ugly cushions that had seen better days, but whose insides were in fine shape. The obvious answer to this was to get new cushions, but after years of looking at all times of the year, we realized that we'd have to harvest one kidney each to pay for them. Have you ever priced those suckers? They're uber expensive. For that price, they better clean my house too, but I digress.Not able to take the cushions anymore, even after scrubbing them until the neighbors began to think that instead of the crazy cat lady, I was the crazy cushion lady, I decided our only option to save them was to cover them with fabric. That was, if we could get the right kind of fabric cheap enough. I set off to Joanne Fabrics (Who I am not associated with, by the way), and started going through their sale fabric. Since they were having a half off sale on the sale fabric (The irony of this was not lost on me.), I was able to find an outdoor fabric for three dollars a yard. For that price, I was able to get enough fabric to cover the two cushions and make a matching tablecloth, all for just $15. That was less than half of the price of one store bought cushion. Win!
Our chair was primarily the color it is in the picture, only the paint was old and worn, and it was cracked and faded. I threw on two coats of Mod Podge and covered it with some outdoor paint. Then I added the newly made chair cushions and VOILA! We had a chair that looked nearly brand new. And, as I'm sure you can see from the picture, this chair and its cushions have been animal approved. They're already adorned with hair and bunched up from the animals making themselves comfortable. Rawr.
The last thing I did for the porch was the tablecloth. I swore at least twelve times and threatened suicide at least thirteen. The tablecloth was an easy sew, but because the tablecloth was so big around, it took me forever to sew the whole way around it. I debated both eating and taking a nap in between sewing it. I even ran out of thread at one time and had to rewind the bobbin. I was happy with the finished product, though. I just didn't feel like ironing it after all of that sewing. Lazy for the win.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
A Canary Yellow
I created a Tumblr. I have no idea where I'm tumbling to or what I need it for, but I caved to the shiny, prettiness of it all. I couldn't help myself. This is what happens when I stay up too late; things I normally would know I don't have time for become good ideas.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Acceptance
I always bare my heart on this blog. Sometimes I wish I knew why, and others I don't bother to question it. I'm afraid of what the answer may be. It's sometimes scarier to know the truth than to create your own lies. The following is something that I didn't know if I was going to share at all, far more mass share. I think five people in my life know about this, and only because one has abilities much like mine and figured it out, the other person has shared this journey with me on a more personal level, I went to my logical friend for advice, the other for a shoulder to cry on from a girl who is just like me in this world of paranormal things, and the other was a new friend who I felt in my heart was someone who I could tell this to and should. Basically, I didn't tell anyone without a specific reason, and now here I am telling everyone.
But the truth is, although I don't know that this belongs on a public forum full of personalities, opinions and friendships that create my little space, I'm going to share it for exactly two reasons. One: I don't know how to get this out of me, and I don't know how to deal with it. I don't think that I ever will know how to deal with something like this correctly, whether it be true or just a mirage. I have tried everything to deal with this, but I feel like something inside of me is closed off, and this is the only way that I know how to open that door. Two: You all have been with me through this saga as well, so I'm going to put this out there for you and trust that I know my readers and my friends as well as I think I do.
I don't know if I've talked about this before, but I have dreams, very vivid ones, that usually end up being precursors to something that is going to happen, if not a window to what is happening while I sleep. When I get these "dreams," they're very different from everything else, and I know without a doubt what they are and know what to expect.
I once had a dream that I was another woman who was jogging through the woods, when I was attacked by someone and killed. The details were very specific. I was her. I knew everything about her, right down to what she was wearing and exactly how she died. Four days later I saw her face on a news source, and I knew who she was before I had even heard the reason for her face being plastered there. Then they said how she died and when. She died while I lay asleep, having gone to bed very early, in a time zone three hours ahead of hers. It was still light where she was when she died. She had gone for a late evening jog. She had died during the same time, on the same day that I had the dream. She died while I was having the dream. I know this because I woke up flustered, sweating, looking at the clock for answers, just fifteen minutes after they had estimated her time of death to be. That wasn't a coincidence.
Another time I had a dream about children dying, seven of them, in a fire. I was in there with them, an adult, but not myself, helpless to save them. At first I thought they were in a school, being that there were so many kids of different ages. They were all dressed Amish, so it wasn't weird to me that small kids to teenagers were in the same, two floor building. When I woke up I could still feel the heat on my skin. I rolled over. It was half past six in the morning. When I watched the evening news, there had been a house fire that had killed seven children, ages ranging from toddler to teenager, all Amish, in their home that morning. The fire had happened at quarter past six.
There's been many other "dreams," too many for me to dismiss them, in my life. If I tried to recount them all, I'd spend the next five years of my life doing so right here, writing about them. Those are just two examples. I know the difference between these "dreams" and regular dreams. I never feel like I've slept when I have these "dreams." I don't know what else to call them, though, when they're not really dreams, not traditional ones, at least.
I hadn't had one in awhile, nor had I thought about them. I was sleeping soundly and enjoying it far too much to waste my time thinking of the horror that could await me one night when I shut my eyes, and the newscast that would inevitably follow and prove me right. I don't anticipate them and I don't enjoy them, but I know there's a reason that I'm the one to get one. I always accepted them, I was always okay with it happening to me, because I knew there was a purpose. And then last Tuesday happened, and I don't feel like I know anything anymore. My world crashed down around me and left me reeling in confusion, trying to figure out what's truth and what's a mirage.
The night had been a hard one. I hadn't slept well; I woke up over everything. I tossed, I turned, I kicked, and I didn't know why, because that's not particularly normal for me anymore. When I woke up at just past seven to let Greta out, I decided to go back to sleep since I felt like my legs had run a marathon and my brain a fast sprint, all while I was attempting to sleep. I shouldn't have gone back to sleep. I should have waited it out. I should have stayed up anyway. But I didn't. I regret that now.
When I laid back down, I was quickly swept under, drifting into a heavy, almost coma like sleep, and this is how my dreams always start. My dream felt real, as they always do. There was nothing about it that made me feel like I was sleeping. Sometimes I was subconsciously unsure that I was.
Please bear with me, because this is difficult for me to talk about. I may tell this badly, it may be confusing. The truth is, I won't know how this is going to come out until I'm done writing it, something that I'm not used to. I plot, I design, I plan my stories and my posts so that I know what to expect, and it settles my heart. This time that's not the case.
It was mid morning. There was a chill in the air, but not enough of one that I had to put long sleeves on, though I was wearing pants. I threw on my boots, the only shoes that don't have to be tied, just like I always do and walked to the mailbox. I opened it and pulled out a letter, one single letter was all that was in there. The envelope wasn't white, yet a slight cream color, although I could tell it wasn't an old letter. The name on the front was mine; there was no return address. I flipped it over and opened it up. Immediately, I wished I wouldn't have.
When I put my hands on the letter, pulling it out and exposing the writing, my finger sliding over some of the words, images rushed through my head, an entire scene playing out in less than five seconds, but too vivid for me to ever forget. In those images, that scene, I saw Friend kill himself. I won't go into details, I can't. When I came to, I was still standing on the side of the road at the mailbox. I knew what I saw. I knew how I felt.
Confused, scared, humbled, upset, and ready to explode at a second's notice, I raced up to the house, letter in hand, shaking. Home alone, I put the dogs outside, leaving only Greta Hayley in so that I wouldn't be bothered. She sniffed around the letter, and then took a place on the couch next to me while I read it. The letter was specific, highly personal, containing things no one but he and I would know. I wept my way through it; I was a mess. I couldn't get over just how personal the letter was, how detailed, how much it sounded like him. How much it was him. It was, for all intents and purposes, a goodbye letter. It didn't explain a lot, it just revealed things to me, things I knew, some I didn't, and left me knowing, wishing, that I would have said the things I should have said.
I woke up in a panic, but I wasn't done panicking. I was trying to breathe. Somewhere within this state I was in, Greta, who had previously not been in my room, having been let outside and my mom waking up for the day when I let her out. She usually doesn't come back in with me in the morning, but she was there. I took a few deep breathes, told myself it was just a dream, and then flipped over. He was sitting at the edge of my bed.
I was awake, I knew I was. He didn't really say anything, but it was the way he reached over and touched me that let me know that what I hadn't told him, he knew, and it was okay. Just as he touched me, Greta woke up and started flipping out in the direction of where he was, not looking at me, but instead at him. He stayed for awhile; she had always really liked him. When I heard my mom come back the hallway to see what all the chatter was about, I got up, letting Greta out of my room, which is what she decided she had wanted when he didn't go away immediately. She didn't understand. My mom asked me if everything was fine, I told her it was, went to the bathroom, and went back to sleep. I slept until later in the afternoon. I couldn't function or understand what had just happened.
To this very moment on this very day, I remain confused about what happened. I spent until Friday barely able to function, holding back tears so no one asked me what was going on, and faking smiles. I clocked out. I didn't want to know what had happened and if what I had seen was true. I didn't want to think of Friend like that. I pulled myself together around Friday and decided I had to know, but that's been a journey with no answers. I keep hitting walls like they were built there specifically to keep me out.
I don't know if I'll ever fully accept that I may never know what happened to Friend, or if what happened to me that morning in my room was something much darker, much more sinister playing with me, tapping into my worst fears and playing on them. I've never had that happen before, but I guess there's a first time for everything.
The people I've discussed this with have been helpful. One told me she was sorry about my friend killing himself, and was there if I needed to talk, before I was even sure if he had or not, which brings up a lot of issues for me, a lot of fear. She's a lot like me. Another assured me that she had a feeling I knew the answer to my own dream, because she knows how accurate they are, and so do I. The list of things that were said to me goes on, but none bring me comfort.
Friend may still be out there alive and fine, and I'm over here practically having a coronary and diving into episodes of Breakout Kings like I dove into Criminal Minds when my grandma died. I watch them on repeat and pretend the world doesn't exist. I build up my own little world of magic. I block everything else out. It keeps me going until I can start making it without faking it, until I can move on. I just wish I knew the truth.
I haven't talked to friend in months, nor had I thought of him in awhile, not because I don't care about him, but because I'm still in love with him and handled it how I had to. I don't think I ever won't be, but that's my problem, not his. I have a big mouth and a big heart, but that mouth gets me in trouble. In order to keep from telling him how I feel, which is unfair to both him and his girlfriend, and foolish and rude on my part, I had to stop talking to him and delete him on Facebook. This makes me a hypocrite, I know, but every time I saw his status updates, I was jealous. I was jealous because he had someone and I couldn't have him. I was angry because I had missed my chance to be with him. I hated myself for not telling him how I felt. But mostly, I just knew that no matter how much I loved him, or he me, we would never work out because our lifestyles were too different.
None of us are wrong in the way we live our lives, but there's a large gap in the way we do it, too much for us not to end in heartache. I had to do what I had to do in order to not continue to salt my own wounds and confused and upset him. Because of that, I couldn't give him a reason for why I was bowing out of his life again. I had done it too many times because I was scared, and frankly, he deserves better. But if I gave him a reason, I'd be admitting my feelings, which would only make me feel better, and this isn't about me. Doing what I need to do in order to be able to breathe without feeling like my heart was falling out of my chest was one thing, but taking down him with me was another.
So I guess my message to you in all of this is one that you hear on TV and it sounds cliche. I can assure you as a girl who has lived, loved and learned, but will keep learning and being confused until I'm 93, say what you have to say, no matter how afraid you are. That way, you'll have no regrets. You'll know the truth and you'll learn how to deal with it. It's always better to know than not to know.
There's a lot of things I should have said to Friend, and I have a feeling that's going to haunt me, literally or not so much, forever. I should have told him I loved him, but had enough guts to either try with him, or know that it would never work and be mature enough to just be friends. I didn't. I kissed him and ran like a scared little girl in the school yard. But I was scared. It still didn't make it right. Because of the decisions I've made, things snowballed out of control. I keep thinking of the what-ifs. I know if I wouldn't have been scared and we would have been together, his life especially could have gone in a totally different direction. A lot of really bad things happened to him, and I do blame myself for some of them. I had my chance with him, and if I would have taken it, he wouldn't have met the same people he had, had the life he had, done what he had done to himself because of things that had happened to him. But it is what it is now. Decisions have been made, but I will never forget things he said to me, things that chilled me to the core, but let me know that I loved him. Things that let me know I could love, because I always wondered about that.
I don't really know the real reason why I felt I had to post this. Maybe it's because I wanted to let you all know what happens when you don't say the things you're afraid to say. To let you know what fear can do to you; that it can turn into more fear and land you in an unending circle of it. Maybe I just needed to get things out. Or maybe, just maybe, somewhere down inside I'm hoping that someone who knows Friend will see this and confirm or deny if he's alright. But under no circumstances do I want him to know about the dream if he is fine, because he knows about my gift and it will ultimately do no good. So I guess in the long haul, it's better that someone he knows doesn't find this, doesn't see and run back and tell him. I guess it's better if I find a way to move on without ever knowing, and always wondering if it happened or if it will and I simply knew something ahead of time. I've never been able to stop what I've seen before, and I guess the lesson here is to learn that God is in control and nature will take its course, and there's nothing I can do. I just have to sit back and accept life as it is.
But the truth is, although I don't know that this belongs on a public forum full of personalities, opinions and friendships that create my little space, I'm going to share it for exactly two reasons. One: I don't know how to get this out of me, and I don't know how to deal with it. I don't think that I ever will know how to deal with something like this correctly, whether it be true or just a mirage. I have tried everything to deal with this, but I feel like something inside of me is closed off, and this is the only way that I know how to open that door. Two: You all have been with me through this saga as well, so I'm going to put this out there for you and trust that I know my readers and my friends as well as I think I do.
I don't know if I've talked about this before, but I have dreams, very vivid ones, that usually end up being precursors to something that is going to happen, if not a window to what is happening while I sleep. When I get these "dreams," they're very different from everything else, and I know without a doubt what they are and know what to expect.
I once had a dream that I was another woman who was jogging through the woods, when I was attacked by someone and killed. The details were very specific. I was her. I knew everything about her, right down to what she was wearing and exactly how she died. Four days later I saw her face on a news source, and I knew who she was before I had even heard the reason for her face being plastered there. Then they said how she died and when. She died while I lay asleep, having gone to bed very early, in a time zone three hours ahead of hers. It was still light where she was when she died. She had gone for a late evening jog. She had died during the same time, on the same day that I had the dream. She died while I was having the dream. I know this because I woke up flustered, sweating, looking at the clock for answers, just fifteen minutes after they had estimated her time of death to be. That wasn't a coincidence.
Another time I had a dream about children dying, seven of them, in a fire. I was in there with them, an adult, but not myself, helpless to save them. At first I thought they were in a school, being that there were so many kids of different ages. They were all dressed Amish, so it wasn't weird to me that small kids to teenagers were in the same, two floor building. When I woke up I could still feel the heat on my skin. I rolled over. It was half past six in the morning. When I watched the evening news, there had been a house fire that had killed seven children, ages ranging from toddler to teenager, all Amish, in their home that morning. The fire had happened at quarter past six.
There's been many other "dreams," too many for me to dismiss them, in my life. If I tried to recount them all, I'd spend the next five years of my life doing so right here, writing about them. Those are just two examples. I know the difference between these "dreams" and regular dreams. I never feel like I've slept when I have these "dreams." I don't know what else to call them, though, when they're not really dreams, not traditional ones, at least.
I hadn't had one in awhile, nor had I thought about them. I was sleeping soundly and enjoying it far too much to waste my time thinking of the horror that could await me one night when I shut my eyes, and the newscast that would inevitably follow and prove me right. I don't anticipate them and I don't enjoy them, but I know there's a reason that I'm the one to get one. I always accepted them, I was always okay with it happening to me, because I knew there was a purpose. And then last Tuesday happened, and I don't feel like I know anything anymore. My world crashed down around me and left me reeling in confusion, trying to figure out what's truth and what's a mirage.
The night had been a hard one. I hadn't slept well; I woke up over everything. I tossed, I turned, I kicked, and I didn't know why, because that's not particularly normal for me anymore. When I woke up at just past seven to let Greta out, I decided to go back to sleep since I felt like my legs had run a marathon and my brain a fast sprint, all while I was attempting to sleep. I shouldn't have gone back to sleep. I should have waited it out. I should have stayed up anyway. But I didn't. I regret that now.
When I laid back down, I was quickly swept under, drifting into a heavy, almost coma like sleep, and this is how my dreams always start. My dream felt real, as they always do. There was nothing about it that made me feel like I was sleeping. Sometimes I was subconsciously unsure that I was.
Please bear with me, because this is difficult for me to talk about. I may tell this badly, it may be confusing. The truth is, I won't know how this is going to come out until I'm done writing it, something that I'm not used to. I plot, I design, I plan my stories and my posts so that I know what to expect, and it settles my heart. This time that's not the case.
It was mid morning. There was a chill in the air, but not enough of one that I had to put long sleeves on, though I was wearing pants. I threw on my boots, the only shoes that don't have to be tied, just like I always do and walked to the mailbox. I opened it and pulled out a letter, one single letter was all that was in there. The envelope wasn't white, yet a slight cream color, although I could tell it wasn't an old letter. The name on the front was mine; there was no return address. I flipped it over and opened it up. Immediately, I wished I wouldn't have.
When I put my hands on the letter, pulling it out and exposing the writing, my finger sliding over some of the words, images rushed through my head, an entire scene playing out in less than five seconds, but too vivid for me to ever forget. In those images, that scene, I saw Friend kill himself. I won't go into details, I can't. When I came to, I was still standing on the side of the road at the mailbox. I knew what I saw. I knew how I felt.
Confused, scared, humbled, upset, and ready to explode at a second's notice, I raced up to the house, letter in hand, shaking. Home alone, I put the dogs outside, leaving only Greta Hayley in so that I wouldn't be bothered. She sniffed around the letter, and then took a place on the couch next to me while I read it. The letter was specific, highly personal, containing things no one but he and I would know. I wept my way through it; I was a mess. I couldn't get over just how personal the letter was, how detailed, how much it sounded like him. How much it was him. It was, for all intents and purposes, a goodbye letter. It didn't explain a lot, it just revealed things to me, things I knew, some I didn't, and left me knowing, wishing, that I would have said the things I should have said.
I woke up in a panic, but I wasn't done panicking. I was trying to breathe. Somewhere within this state I was in, Greta, who had previously not been in my room, having been let outside and my mom waking up for the day when I let her out. She usually doesn't come back in with me in the morning, but she was there. I took a few deep breathes, told myself it was just a dream, and then flipped over. He was sitting at the edge of my bed.
I was awake, I knew I was. He didn't really say anything, but it was the way he reached over and touched me that let me know that what I hadn't told him, he knew, and it was okay. Just as he touched me, Greta woke up and started flipping out in the direction of where he was, not looking at me, but instead at him. He stayed for awhile; she had always really liked him. When I heard my mom come back the hallway to see what all the chatter was about, I got up, letting Greta out of my room, which is what she decided she had wanted when he didn't go away immediately. She didn't understand. My mom asked me if everything was fine, I told her it was, went to the bathroom, and went back to sleep. I slept until later in the afternoon. I couldn't function or understand what had just happened.
To this very moment on this very day, I remain confused about what happened. I spent until Friday barely able to function, holding back tears so no one asked me what was going on, and faking smiles. I clocked out. I didn't want to know what had happened and if what I had seen was true. I didn't want to think of Friend like that. I pulled myself together around Friday and decided I had to know, but that's been a journey with no answers. I keep hitting walls like they were built there specifically to keep me out.
I don't know if I'll ever fully accept that I may never know what happened to Friend, or if what happened to me that morning in my room was something much darker, much more sinister playing with me, tapping into my worst fears and playing on them. I've never had that happen before, but I guess there's a first time for everything.
The people I've discussed this with have been helpful. One told me she was sorry about my friend killing himself, and was there if I needed to talk, before I was even sure if he had or not, which brings up a lot of issues for me, a lot of fear. She's a lot like me. Another assured me that she had a feeling I knew the answer to my own dream, because she knows how accurate they are, and so do I. The list of things that were said to me goes on, but none bring me comfort.
Friend may still be out there alive and fine, and I'm over here practically having a coronary and diving into episodes of Breakout Kings like I dove into Criminal Minds when my grandma died. I watch them on repeat and pretend the world doesn't exist. I build up my own little world of magic. I block everything else out. It keeps me going until I can start making it without faking it, until I can move on. I just wish I knew the truth.
I haven't talked to friend in months, nor had I thought of him in awhile, not because I don't care about him, but because I'm still in love with him and handled it how I had to. I don't think I ever won't be, but that's my problem, not his. I have a big mouth and a big heart, but that mouth gets me in trouble. In order to keep from telling him how I feel, which is unfair to both him and his girlfriend, and foolish and rude on my part, I had to stop talking to him and delete him on Facebook. This makes me a hypocrite, I know, but every time I saw his status updates, I was jealous. I was jealous because he had someone and I couldn't have him. I was angry because I had missed my chance to be with him. I hated myself for not telling him how I felt. But mostly, I just knew that no matter how much I loved him, or he me, we would never work out because our lifestyles were too different.
None of us are wrong in the way we live our lives, but there's a large gap in the way we do it, too much for us not to end in heartache. I had to do what I had to do in order to not continue to salt my own wounds and confused and upset him. Because of that, I couldn't give him a reason for why I was bowing out of his life again. I had done it too many times because I was scared, and frankly, he deserves better. But if I gave him a reason, I'd be admitting my feelings, which would only make me feel better, and this isn't about me. Doing what I need to do in order to be able to breathe without feeling like my heart was falling out of my chest was one thing, but taking down him with me was another.
So I guess my message to you in all of this is one that you hear on TV and it sounds cliche. I can assure you as a girl who has lived, loved and learned, but will keep learning and being confused until I'm 93, say what you have to say, no matter how afraid you are. That way, you'll have no regrets. You'll know the truth and you'll learn how to deal with it. It's always better to know than not to know.
There's a lot of things I should have said to Friend, and I have a feeling that's going to haunt me, literally or not so much, forever. I should have told him I loved him, but had enough guts to either try with him, or know that it would never work and be mature enough to just be friends. I didn't. I kissed him and ran like a scared little girl in the school yard. But I was scared. It still didn't make it right. Because of the decisions I've made, things snowballed out of control. I keep thinking of the what-ifs. I know if I wouldn't have been scared and we would have been together, his life especially could have gone in a totally different direction. A lot of really bad things happened to him, and I do blame myself for some of them. I had my chance with him, and if I would have taken it, he wouldn't have met the same people he had, had the life he had, done what he had done to himself because of things that had happened to him. But it is what it is now. Decisions have been made, but I will never forget things he said to me, things that chilled me to the core, but let me know that I loved him. Things that let me know I could love, because I always wondered about that.
I don't really know the real reason why I felt I had to post this. Maybe it's because I wanted to let you all know what happens when you don't say the things you're afraid to say. To let you know what fear can do to you; that it can turn into more fear and land you in an unending circle of it. Maybe I just needed to get things out. Or maybe, just maybe, somewhere down inside I'm hoping that someone who knows Friend will see this and confirm or deny if he's alright. But under no circumstances do I want him to know about the dream if he is fine, because he knows about my gift and it will ultimately do no good. So I guess in the long haul, it's better that someone he knows doesn't find this, doesn't see and run back and tell him. I guess it's better if I find a way to move on without ever knowing, and always wondering if it happened or if it will and I simply knew something ahead of time. I've never been able to stop what I've seen before, and I guess the lesson here is to learn that God is in control and nature will take its course, and there's nothing I can do. I just have to sit back and accept life as it is.
Friday, May 13, 2011
If It's Not Inappropriate, It's Not My Flavor
Okay squirrel monkeys, ladies, and that random gentleman or two that may or may not be reading my blog, but I don't want to exclude just in case, I have a lot to share with all of you. First, just let me start off by saying that if you follow me on Twitter, I'm sorry for my posts this entire week. I am usually not the snippy tweeter, but it happened this week and I'm sorry. Eventually I will open up about what went wrong this week, but for right now I have a lot of things to figure out. That being said, let's move on to bigger and better and more fun things. Since my week has otherwise been uneventful, I will just share the crazy little quips that have happened, and then we're going to talk TV shows awesome sauce style.
* I did one of those things this week that I think only white people do, and I went to Family Dollar. Now, I get that I'm from exactly in the middle of nowhere, so what I'm going to say next sounds really hick-ish, but that's par for the course for the area. Family Dollar is way cooler than Wal-Mart. Granted, it's smaller and you can only find certain things, but it was much cheaper, and then I had coupons. Okay, go ahead and judge. I'm cool with that.
* My friend, Jo, decided I would be the best worst psychologist ever. I'd be the best because I say things how they are. Unfortunately, that's why I'd also be the worst. I'd be like that guy from the Geico commercial. If that happens, I just have to remember to use the words namby pamby and jack wagon. I wonder if I can program that reminder into my phone.
* I am trying to be more open about being a psychic medium and help people, therefore, I've joined a forum and have been honest about what I am on my social media pages. So far, it's been a good thing, because a lot of people are asking me for help. It's time consuming, but I'm doing what I want to do with my gift. However, psychologists keep following me on Twitter. Bring it on, guys. All you're doing is amusing me. I'm game to be friends if they are. I've got no crazy to hide.
* I have met the coolest people within advertising my gift. To keep everyone anonymous, I will not go into detail, but they are awesome and if they see this, they will know who they are.
* This event is kind of a double whammy. My friend posted something on her Twitter about hanging out with two other friends after work. The three of them are all kinds of crazy together, so I always joke with her about getting arrested when she hangs out with them. But seriously, if they were to get arrested for anything, it would be something stupid like jay walking or laughing too loud. I joked with her that when she got arrested, I was going to bail her out, but not until I wrapped her car in a thick, steady cover of Saran wrap. I was posting from my phone and it proceeded to correct Saran wrap to Satan wrap. I don't like it's language.
* Our neighbors, oh, our neighbors, have just gotten even more special. This summer, it seems as if there's no longer a question as to if the neighbor girl's boyfriend has moved in and they are now living above her grandparent's garage together. That's all well and good aside from the internet stealing, the screaming fights, and the talking on the cell phone outside so loudly that we can hear them from nearly a football field away. We've gotten used to that normal douchebaggery. What really gets me is that the boyfriend will let the dog outside and not watch it, because he's too busy talking on his cell phone. When the dog takes off, which it inevitably does, because it's still but a puppy, he will scream, yell, raise his hands to it (but not hit it) and call it every name in the book in a volume far above stadium level. I feel bad that he sincerely thinks it's the dogs fault he doesn't watch it. There's no responsibility there.
* For those of you who didn't watch the Kentucky Derby, there were people who named their horses My Wife Knows Everything and My Wife Doesn't Know Everything. I love those people.
* While in Joann Fabrics, a young and adorable little husband and wife were walking around in the store. When I happened to pass them, the husband, completely exasperated, looks at the wife and yells, "You're NEVER bringing me in here again!" Is a fabric store really that bad for men?
* From Joann's I went to Ross's. The store wasn't even half as awesome as what I expected, so I sped on out of there, but not before three college guys made my day. They were looking at pans and skillets and trying to figure out why they came in different sizes and what pan did what. I was tempted to help, but I didn't think I'd be much help. They were so cute and so confused and so amusing. Yes, I'm horrible and should have helped them like I helped the guy in the spices aisle the day before Christmas.
* The song Friday has become such a disastrous event that our weatherman spent the Sunday newscast trying not to say Friday when giving the weekly weather report. He would point to the name of the day on the screen, and he would say every day up until Friday, and then just stop and point. It was obvious even he was avoiding the Friday curse. I don't find it coincidental that this is Friday the 13th.
* Dear Dog, You are approximately ninety bagillion inches bigger than a cat. You can reclaim your bed. You can do it! But you never do. That is all.
* Dear Cookies, It can be three am and I can be fast asleep, but if someone has one of you within a mile, I will know and fight them for it.
* While my mom was texting, she asked me how to spell snot. I'm not really sure what happened in that text, but I feel like ignorance is bliss.
* Me: "Her name is BJ? I bet she was popular with the boys." Mom: "I don't get it."
Yeah, guys, that happened.
* I realize my problem with dating. I have more balls than most guys, and it bothers me more than it bothers them. They think it's fine. This will come in handy later when we talk about TV shows. This should never come in handy anywhere, I know.
* My dog and my mom are both stuck in the couch. Win! < That's my exact tweet. When my mom reads this, I'm sure she won't agree that it was a win, but from across the couch and minding my own business, it really was.
* Great name for a B horror movie: Have You Been In the Basement? And by great, I mean awful. Just awful.
* I have to stop liking much older guys. People only know I love them when I tell them I love them as much as I love old guys. It's sad. It's also true. And sad. Did I mention that this was sad? I just have no interest in guys my age. I don't even find them attractive anymore. I try, but i just have nothing in common with guys my age. Where is the retirement home recruitment team when I need them? No, I'm not that gross. I don't like guys that old. I'm kinda digging the mid thirties to early forties crowd.
I think that pretty much sums up the boredom that was my week. I'm sure it would have been a much more eventful week had my ankles and knees not swelled up and forced me to painfully waddle like a penguin everywhere I go. But it's fine, I like penguins, I just never wished to be one. Can't win them all, right? Because of this, I've watched my share of television shows this week, so let's talk about of these shows.
- Let's start with the least exciting of these shows. Like a ninety year old who had been recruited by a retirement home, I was watching the show Baggage on the Game Show Network. All of the contestants were gay guys. It was simply the most delightful half an hour of TV I've sat through in a long time. I wouldn't make a point out of watching it, but I was that bored, in that much pain, and that was the only thing that I could find that was on. I'm so glad I watched it. It made my world go round; at least that particular episode did. Gay men are so catty and honest. I think every girl should have three or four.
- Is anyone watching In Plain Sight this season? Because I'd love someone to geek out and talk about the show with. I'm iffy on this season because last season didn't kick butt like the others, however, I love the new, peppy, muffin making girl. I'm just waiting for her to do something bizarre and awesome that freaks Mary the heck out. Not that it would take much...
- I am loving me some Hellcats. Of course, was there ever any doubt that I would? I love all things sixteen year olds love when it comes to TV, and both Ashley and Aly are from Disney, so where could it go wrong? It's saucy, sassy and a little risque without being overboard. I love the characters; they were well thought out. The relationships intertwine nicely and adding Aly's (Marti) real life sister to the show to play her sister is just a win. Plus, we got this quote out of it. "I'm a sad loser with acute daddy issues. At least I can dance." Just one request, the show needs more Dan. Oh, come on, he's eye candy, ladies. Don't judge me. I think he's the only person under thirty that I find remotely cute right now. I don't get out much.
- Oh, Criminal Minds, anyone have thoughts on it? Because the first four seasons were pure, heartfelt awesome sauce. Last season seemed to be hit or miss, but this season has been a *whispers* total disaster. Between the new writers who had no idea of who these characters were and had obviously never seen the show, and the unfinished story lines, or random story lines that went with none of the character's pasts galore, it's been a mess. I miss when things made sense on the show. I miss when the writers double checked the character's back stories so that nothing got written that didn't fit with them. I watched one episode and noticed eight errors, eight glaring errors for any fan in the first half an hour of the episode. I tuned out on that episode after that. I've been watching it, and there's been a few episodes that have been killer and right on, but if you look, those are the ones that are written by the old writers. I love that JJ is coming back, and possibly Emily, but I hope they're enough to save the errors in the show. Also, what's with Reid's headaches disappearing? Take it from someone who has migraines, they don't just look at you one day and decide they don't love u anymore and flee. Someone, please save what used to be my very favorite show. I don't like having a new one.
- Okay, so for our big finale, let's talk about my new favorite show that I totally thought I was going to hate the pants off of when it started out, but decided to give it a chance only because it was on in place of Criminal Minds on Sundays and was interrupting my night. Let's talk about Breakout Kings. As I said, when this show started, it was rocky, there were issues, the show wasn't exactly a new concept, and then they switched out a character I really, really liked right off of the bat. I sat through the first three episodes out of pure laziness of changing the channel. Okay, truth, there was just nothing else on. The show finally hit its stride and hit it hard around the fourth episode, and the errors that were apparent and threatening to mar the show in the first few episodes had disappeared. So as long as DirectTV doesn't come in and decide to take A&E like they did Bio, I will be a very happy camper. And then the show will go on break...and you see where this is going. But let's focus on the happy camper part.
In order to properly talk about this show, we're not going to talk about Lloyd. Every single article ever written about the show dotes on Lloyd. We get it, Lloyd is the breakout character, and I appreciate Lloyd and the guy who plays him, I do, but he tends to play the same part in every show. Plus, he's a lot like Spencer Reid on Criminal Minds, although their likeliness is getting
less and less as the show goes on, at least personality wise. But we're not talking about Lloyd. So since the characters make the show, let's gossip about everyone else.
Let's start with Shae. I started out liking Shae, and now I'm sketchy on him. I always root for the bad guys who are really good guys. I think Shae may just be a bad guy, and it concerns me because I started out really liking the guy. Thoughts?
On the other hand, Julianne had the opposite effect. I started out thinking she was a lame, boring attempt at recreating characters like Penelope Garcia and Abby Sciuto in a different, fresh way, but as the show went on, she, too, has made her character really stand out. You can't help but like her as she takes Lloyd's advice little by little and starts to tell the cons just how it is, yet she's so fragile that you don't think she's being a bitch. I'm still unsure about how I feel about her liking Ray and Ray just being completely ignorant to the whole thing, but I kind of like her with Lloyd. He has what she needs to get through life, and she has the understanding to pull his ass into the real world. I like the dynamic.
Charlie is one of those characters that I really want to get into, but he kind of sits in the middle for me. I don't love him, I don't not like him. I don't want him to die or anything, but I just don't care all that much either way. I'm neutral. I want to really get into his storyline since he's a nice, family guy with a heart issue, but I feel a disconnect with him. I also feel like, in a show of very strong characters, he gets overshadowed easily by being a bit more mundane.
Before I talk about my two favorite characters, let me just put this out there. I miss Philly. I don't know what it is that I liked about her. Maybe it was that her name was Philomena Rotchcliffer; I won't even put her nickname on here. Maybe it's how they presented her; Miss Idaho 2001 / Con Artist - 1999 to Present. Maybe it's just because the girl took over the situation and had some serious guts, but was a little bit of the girl gone bad that I liked. I don't like when guys go bad. I like when girls go bad. I realize that someone out there thinks this makes me sound like a lesbian, and you just shut up over there and stop laughing. I'd be laughing, too, but that is NOT where I'm going with this. She was my favorite right out of the gate, and then they went and replaced her, and I couldn't help but think, who in the hell is this new bitch?
That bitch ended up being Erica. Erica does not get enough credit on this show for being anything but pretty. I love her character. The concept of her being a bounty hunter's daughter who avenged all but one of the men who killed her father, but only got arrested on weapons charges just brings a lot to the table. I can see why they swapped Philly out for her, because, in her own way, Erica is a cop in herself, even though she's really a con. She knows the procedure and she isn't afraid to hop in and back the Marshals as if she were one of them, too. She's an important part of the show, but I happen to like a good con artist, and I think they could benefit from a character that can run a con to catch a con. I think they're trying to stay away from that as not to be too much like Leverage, but I hope they give Erica a chance to at least try to run one con on a con man they're trying to catch. I like the dynamic, and I'd like to see the Marshals' reaction to her character doing something like this.
And then there's Ray. Ray could be a television show in himself. At first I didn't like Ray, because I thought he was inappropriate, and I usually like the inappropriate people, so that was awkward. As time has goes on, he's not only become more inappropriate, but he's become an unintentional comedic relief when Lloyd isn't around to also be unintentionally comedic. Plus, you know what I was saying earlier about guys and balls? Ray has balls for miles. I know that doesn't sound right, but there's never going to be a way to make that sound right, so you just shut up. (I know you readers all too well.) But seriously, he will do and say anything he has to in order to catch a con, and he's really good at it. His informant is even a transvestite that is so clearly a guy but dresses like a girl, and the two are buds. Once I saw that, Ray won me over. I like the rough demeanor, but you can tell he's a really nice guy at the end of the day. I think he wins over Charlie for me because there's several sides to him, whereas Charlie is a fairly one sided straight shooter. I like my characters complex.
But my favorite thing about this show has to be that it is inappropriate in an appropriate way. It's not Jersey Shore. You don't avoid watching it because you know it's full of bitches, hoes and oompa loompas fighting over guys with fake tans. You know they're going to drink and say things that aren't anywhere near what any person under thirty but above thirty five should hear. With Breakout Kings, the inappropriateness, which, granted, normally comes from Ray, just pops up out of nowhere when you think there's no way for them to make the scene inappropriate, and then it's just all kinds of funny. There was even a scene that made me wonder how in the heck it was allowed on prime time television, on a channel that bleeps out every single swear word and things that seem like they could be a swear word. I would like to share that scene with you now. Since I don't have a video, I'll just tell you about it, but still know that it's not appropriate for work or people under thirty or above thirty five. Basically, it's not appropriate for anyone reading this blog, but I know you're all going to read it anyway, so have at it.
In one particular episode, they were, as always, chasing down a prison escapee, a runner, if you will. This runner had tried to murder Charlie's wife and was a threat to Ray's daughter, so they wanted this guy bad. In order to get to the runner, they had to track down another guy to find out where said runner was. They found the guy, but the guy didn't want to talk. They tried everything, but he wasn't having it at all, and they were running out of time, because they knew the runner was planning on bombing a federal building the following day and were trying to stop it. In a last ditch effort to extract information out of this guy, Ray asks Charlie if he's ever wanted to be gay. Charlie says no, and Ray agrees. With that out of the way, Ray unzips the guys pants, grabs his junk and threatens him with the cigarette lighter in the car. Needless to say, the guy talked faster than you can say sabotage.
The next scene skips to them going to where the previous guy told them they could find the runner. When they get there and open up the underground bunker and enter, Ray steps on a trip wire. Charlie is trying techniques on the bomb that he learned from the movie Spaceballs, and surprisingly, this is just not working out. So Ray starts to say something, and Charlie says to him, "I'll tell your daughter you love her." All of a sudden, Ray gets exasperated, as if Charlie just said the stupidest thing and fires back with, "No, she KNOWS I love her." Then his voice goes into a whisper and he says, "If I die, don't tell anyone I touched that guy's penis." To top the scene off, Lloyd happened to pop his head into the bunker at just the right moment, hear this, and begin to question what he just heard, as opposed to caring that he may get blown up by a bomb if he continues standing there. I don't know how those scenes made it on air, but they made my night. Inappropriate jokes are never out of style.
* I did one of those things this week that I think only white people do, and I went to Family Dollar. Now, I get that I'm from exactly in the middle of nowhere, so what I'm going to say next sounds really hick-ish, but that's par for the course for the area. Family Dollar is way cooler than Wal-Mart. Granted, it's smaller and you can only find certain things, but it was much cheaper, and then I had coupons. Okay, go ahead and judge. I'm cool with that.
* My friend, Jo, decided I would be the best worst psychologist ever. I'd be the best because I say things how they are. Unfortunately, that's why I'd also be the worst. I'd be like that guy from the Geico commercial. If that happens, I just have to remember to use the words namby pamby and jack wagon. I wonder if I can program that reminder into my phone.
* I am trying to be more open about being a psychic medium and help people, therefore, I've joined a forum and have been honest about what I am on my social media pages. So far, it's been a good thing, because a lot of people are asking me for help. It's time consuming, but I'm doing what I want to do with my gift. However, psychologists keep following me on Twitter. Bring it on, guys. All you're doing is amusing me. I'm game to be friends if they are. I've got no crazy to hide.
* I have met the coolest people within advertising my gift. To keep everyone anonymous, I will not go into detail, but they are awesome and if they see this, they will know who they are.
* This event is kind of a double whammy. My friend posted something on her Twitter about hanging out with two other friends after work. The three of them are all kinds of crazy together, so I always joke with her about getting arrested when she hangs out with them. But seriously, if they were to get arrested for anything, it would be something stupid like jay walking or laughing too loud. I joked with her that when she got arrested, I was going to bail her out, but not until I wrapped her car in a thick, steady cover of Saran wrap. I was posting from my phone and it proceeded to correct Saran wrap to Satan wrap. I don't like it's language.
* Our neighbors, oh, our neighbors, have just gotten even more special. This summer, it seems as if there's no longer a question as to if the neighbor girl's boyfriend has moved in and they are now living above her grandparent's garage together. That's all well and good aside from the internet stealing, the screaming fights, and the talking on the cell phone outside so loudly that we can hear them from nearly a football field away. We've gotten used to that normal douchebaggery. What really gets me is that the boyfriend will let the dog outside and not watch it, because he's too busy talking on his cell phone. When the dog takes off, which it inevitably does, because it's still but a puppy, he will scream, yell, raise his hands to it (but not hit it) and call it every name in the book in a volume far above stadium level. I feel bad that he sincerely thinks it's the dogs fault he doesn't watch it. There's no responsibility there.
* For those of you who didn't watch the Kentucky Derby, there were people who named their horses My Wife Knows Everything and My Wife Doesn't Know Everything. I love those people.
* While in Joann Fabrics, a young and adorable little husband and wife were walking around in the store. When I happened to pass them, the husband, completely exasperated, looks at the wife and yells, "You're NEVER bringing me in here again!" Is a fabric store really that bad for men?
* From Joann's I went to Ross's. The store wasn't even half as awesome as what I expected, so I sped on out of there, but not before three college guys made my day. They were looking at pans and skillets and trying to figure out why they came in different sizes and what pan did what. I was tempted to help, but I didn't think I'd be much help. They were so cute and so confused and so amusing. Yes, I'm horrible and should have helped them like I helped the guy in the spices aisle the day before Christmas.
* The song Friday has become such a disastrous event that our weatherman spent the Sunday newscast trying not to say Friday when giving the weekly weather report. He would point to the name of the day on the screen, and he would say every day up until Friday, and then just stop and point. It was obvious even he was avoiding the Friday curse. I don't find it coincidental that this is Friday the 13th.
* Dear Dog, You are approximately ninety bagillion inches bigger than a cat. You can reclaim your bed. You can do it! But you never do. That is all.
* Dear Cookies, It can be three am and I can be fast asleep, but if someone has one of you within a mile, I will know and fight them for it.
* While my mom was texting, she asked me how to spell snot. I'm not really sure what happened in that text, but I feel like ignorance is bliss.
* Me: "Her name is BJ? I bet she was popular with the boys." Mom: "I don't get it."
Yeah, guys, that happened.
* I realize my problem with dating. I have more balls than most guys, and it bothers me more than it bothers them. They think it's fine. This will come in handy later when we talk about TV shows. This should never come in handy anywhere, I know.
* My dog and my mom are both stuck in the couch. Win! < That's my exact tweet. When my mom reads this, I'm sure she won't agree that it was a win, but from across the couch and minding my own business, it really was.
* Great name for a B horror movie: Have You Been In the Basement? And by great, I mean awful. Just awful.
* I have to stop liking much older guys. People only know I love them when I tell them I love them as much as I love old guys. It's sad. It's also true. And sad. Did I mention that this was sad? I just have no interest in guys my age. I don't even find them attractive anymore. I try, but i just have nothing in common with guys my age. Where is the retirement home recruitment team when I need them? No, I'm not that gross. I don't like guys that old. I'm kinda digging the mid thirties to early forties crowd.
I think that pretty much sums up the boredom that was my week. I'm sure it would have been a much more eventful week had my ankles and knees not swelled up and forced me to painfully waddle like a penguin everywhere I go. But it's fine, I like penguins, I just never wished to be one. Can't win them all, right? Because of this, I've watched my share of television shows this week, so let's talk about of these shows.
- Let's start with the least exciting of these shows. Like a ninety year old who had been recruited by a retirement home, I was watching the show Baggage on the Game Show Network. All of the contestants were gay guys. It was simply the most delightful half an hour of TV I've sat through in a long time. I wouldn't make a point out of watching it, but I was that bored, in that much pain, and that was the only thing that I could find that was on. I'm so glad I watched it. It made my world go round; at least that particular episode did. Gay men are so catty and honest. I think every girl should have three or four.
- Is anyone watching In Plain Sight this season? Because I'd love someone to geek out and talk about the show with. I'm iffy on this season because last season didn't kick butt like the others, however, I love the new, peppy, muffin making girl. I'm just waiting for her to do something bizarre and awesome that freaks Mary the heck out. Not that it would take much...
- I am loving me some Hellcats. Of course, was there ever any doubt that I would? I love all things sixteen year olds love when it comes to TV, and both Ashley and Aly are from Disney, so where could it go wrong? It's saucy, sassy and a little risque without being overboard. I love the characters; they were well thought out. The relationships intertwine nicely and adding Aly's (Marti) real life sister to the show to play her sister is just a win. Plus, we got this quote out of it. "I'm a sad loser with acute daddy issues. At least I can dance." Just one request, the show needs more Dan. Oh, come on, he's eye candy, ladies. Don't judge me. I think he's the only person under thirty that I find remotely cute right now. I don't get out much.
- Oh, Criminal Minds, anyone have thoughts on it? Because the first four seasons were pure, heartfelt awesome sauce. Last season seemed to be hit or miss, but this season has been a *whispers* total disaster. Between the new writers who had no idea of who these characters were and had obviously never seen the show, and the unfinished story lines, or random story lines that went with none of the character's pasts galore, it's been a mess. I miss when things made sense on the show. I miss when the writers double checked the character's back stories so that nothing got written that didn't fit with them. I watched one episode and noticed eight errors, eight glaring errors for any fan in the first half an hour of the episode. I tuned out on that episode after that. I've been watching it, and there's been a few episodes that have been killer and right on, but if you look, those are the ones that are written by the old writers. I love that JJ is coming back, and possibly Emily, but I hope they're enough to save the errors in the show. Also, what's with Reid's headaches disappearing? Take it from someone who has migraines, they don't just look at you one day and decide they don't love u anymore and flee. Someone, please save what used to be my very favorite show. I don't like having a new one.
- Okay, so for our big finale, let's talk about my new favorite show that I totally thought I was going to hate the pants off of when it started out, but decided to give it a chance only because it was on in place of Criminal Minds on Sundays and was interrupting my night. Let's talk about Breakout Kings. As I said, when this show started, it was rocky, there were issues, the show wasn't exactly a new concept, and then they switched out a character I really, really liked right off of the bat. I sat through the first three episodes out of pure laziness of changing the channel. Okay, truth, there was just nothing else on. The show finally hit its stride and hit it hard around the fourth episode, and the errors that were apparent and threatening to mar the show in the first few episodes had disappeared. So as long as DirectTV doesn't come in and decide to take A&E like they did Bio, I will be a very happy camper. And then the show will go on break...and you see where this is going. But let's focus on the happy camper part.
In order to properly talk about this show, we're not going to talk about Lloyd. Every single article ever written about the show dotes on Lloyd. We get it, Lloyd is the breakout character, and I appreciate Lloyd and the guy who plays him, I do, but he tends to play the same part in every show. Plus, he's a lot like Spencer Reid on Criminal Minds, although their likeliness is getting
less and less as the show goes on, at least personality wise. But we're not talking about Lloyd. So since the characters make the show, let's gossip about everyone else.
Let's start with Shae. I started out liking Shae, and now I'm sketchy on him. I always root for the bad guys who are really good guys. I think Shae may just be a bad guy, and it concerns me because I started out really liking the guy. Thoughts?
On the other hand, Julianne had the opposite effect. I started out thinking she was a lame, boring attempt at recreating characters like Penelope Garcia and Abby Sciuto in a different, fresh way, but as the show went on, she, too, has made her character really stand out. You can't help but like her as she takes Lloyd's advice little by little and starts to tell the cons just how it is, yet she's so fragile that you don't think she's being a bitch. I'm still unsure about how I feel about her liking Ray and Ray just being completely ignorant to the whole thing, but I kind of like her with Lloyd. He has what she needs to get through life, and she has the understanding to pull his ass into the real world. I like the dynamic.
Charlie is one of those characters that I really want to get into, but he kind of sits in the middle for me. I don't love him, I don't not like him. I don't want him to die or anything, but I just don't care all that much either way. I'm neutral. I want to really get into his storyline since he's a nice, family guy with a heart issue, but I feel a disconnect with him. I also feel like, in a show of very strong characters, he gets overshadowed easily by being a bit more mundane.
Before I talk about my two favorite characters, let me just put this out there. I miss Philly. I don't know what it is that I liked about her. Maybe it was that her name was Philomena Rotchcliffer; I won't even put her nickname on here. Maybe it's how they presented her; Miss Idaho 2001 / Con Artist - 1999 to Present. Maybe it's just because the girl took over the situation and had some serious guts, but was a little bit of the girl gone bad that I liked. I don't like when guys go bad. I like when girls go bad. I realize that someone out there thinks this makes me sound like a lesbian, and you just shut up over there and stop laughing. I'd be laughing, too, but that is NOT where I'm going with this. She was my favorite right out of the gate, and then they went and replaced her, and I couldn't help but think, who in the hell is this new bitch?
That bitch ended up being Erica. Erica does not get enough credit on this show for being anything but pretty. I love her character. The concept of her being a bounty hunter's daughter who avenged all but one of the men who killed her father, but only got arrested on weapons charges just brings a lot to the table. I can see why they swapped Philly out for her, because, in her own way, Erica is a cop in herself, even though she's really a con. She knows the procedure and she isn't afraid to hop in and back the Marshals as if she were one of them, too. She's an important part of the show, but I happen to like a good con artist, and I think they could benefit from a character that can run a con to catch a con. I think they're trying to stay away from that as not to be too much like Leverage, but I hope they give Erica a chance to at least try to run one con on a con man they're trying to catch. I like the dynamic, and I'd like to see the Marshals' reaction to her character doing something like this.
And then there's Ray. Ray could be a television show in himself. At first I didn't like Ray, because I thought he was inappropriate, and I usually like the inappropriate people, so that was awkward. As time has goes on, he's not only become more inappropriate, but he's become an unintentional comedic relief when Lloyd isn't around to also be unintentionally comedic. Plus, you know what I was saying earlier about guys and balls? Ray has balls for miles. I know that doesn't sound right, but there's never going to be a way to make that sound right, so you just shut up. (I know you readers all too well.) But seriously, he will do and say anything he has to in order to catch a con, and he's really good at it. His informant is even a transvestite that is so clearly a guy but dresses like a girl, and the two are buds. Once I saw that, Ray won me over. I like the rough demeanor, but you can tell he's a really nice guy at the end of the day. I think he wins over Charlie for me because there's several sides to him, whereas Charlie is a fairly one sided straight shooter. I like my characters complex.
But my favorite thing about this show has to be that it is inappropriate in an appropriate way. It's not Jersey Shore. You don't avoid watching it because you know it's full of bitches, hoes and oompa loompas fighting over guys with fake tans. You know they're going to drink and say things that aren't anywhere near what any person under thirty but above thirty five should hear. With Breakout Kings, the inappropriateness, which, granted, normally comes from Ray, just pops up out of nowhere when you think there's no way for them to make the scene inappropriate, and then it's just all kinds of funny. There was even a scene that made me wonder how in the heck it was allowed on prime time television, on a channel that bleeps out every single swear word and things that seem like they could be a swear word. I would like to share that scene with you now. Since I don't have a video, I'll just tell you about it, but still know that it's not appropriate for work or people under thirty or above thirty five. Basically, it's not appropriate for anyone reading this blog, but I know you're all going to read it anyway, so have at it.
In one particular episode, they were, as always, chasing down a prison escapee, a runner, if you will. This runner had tried to murder Charlie's wife and was a threat to Ray's daughter, so they wanted this guy bad. In order to get to the runner, they had to track down another guy to find out where said runner was. They found the guy, but the guy didn't want to talk. They tried everything, but he wasn't having it at all, and they were running out of time, because they knew the runner was planning on bombing a federal building the following day and were trying to stop it. In a last ditch effort to extract information out of this guy, Ray asks Charlie if he's ever wanted to be gay. Charlie says no, and Ray agrees. With that out of the way, Ray unzips the guys pants, grabs his junk and threatens him with the cigarette lighter in the car. Needless to say, the guy talked faster than you can say sabotage.
The next scene skips to them going to where the previous guy told them they could find the runner. When they get there and open up the underground bunker and enter, Ray steps on a trip wire. Charlie is trying techniques on the bomb that he learned from the movie Spaceballs, and surprisingly, this is just not working out. So Ray starts to say something, and Charlie says to him, "I'll tell your daughter you love her." All of a sudden, Ray gets exasperated, as if Charlie just said the stupidest thing and fires back with, "No, she KNOWS I love her." Then his voice goes into a whisper and he says, "If I die, don't tell anyone I touched that guy's penis." To top the scene off, Lloyd happened to pop his head into the bunker at just the right moment, hear this, and begin to question what he just heard, as opposed to caring that he may get blown up by a bomb if he continues standing there. I don't know how those scenes made it on air, but they made my night. Inappropriate jokes are never out of style.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Hot Glue Gun Debacle
Greetings. I've had an absolutely ridiculous day. I don't know about you guys.
I lost my hot glue gun. I know this isn't exactly anything that should cause a person consternation, but after three hours of searching for it, I was consternated. I know that's not a word. Shut up and let me believe it is anyway. And, for the record, spell check keeps trying to change that to constipated. I don't like its language.
Anyway, after three hours of searching, no exaggeration, I called Aunt Bev as a last ditch resort to see if I lent the glue gun to her. This would normally be the part where you all would predict I did, roll your eyes, sigh, and shake your heads simultaneously, and usually you'd be right. This time, however, you couldn't be more wrong. She didn't have it.
While she had me on the phone, we started talking about her email, and that's when I found my hot glue gun...behind my dresser. Look, I've done some stupid things, but flinging my glue gun behind my dresser and going "yeah, this is an awesome place for it," isn't one of them. Now, I suspect I know what happened, but I guess I can't accuse blindly, so I'm going to plead my case to you all and let you decide.
Miss Paramore Wednesday, kitty extraordinaire, has been doing something sneaky lately. When I go to close the door to my room, she sneaks her little paw into the back of the door, making it appear that it has closed, but catching it right before it latches. Then, when I least expect it, and she thinks enough time has passed that I won't notice (and is usually right), she pushes her way into the room and slides under my bed in hopes that I won't notice. I later come back to a kitty sleeping happily in the middle of my bed, conked out and pretending to be all innocent. But I don't think she's innocent. I can't prove it, but it's just an inference.
After I was reunited (and it felt so good) with my hot glue gun, I was able to finish the projects I wished to have had done during those three hours I spent looking for it. I plugged it in, waited for it to warm up and immediately succeeded in burning the skin off of my arm. Never in my many years of using a hot glue gun have I so much as burned myself, even when I was a child crafter, but today I managed to burn skin off. Yep, hell in a hand basket, here I come.
It's fine, though, because the last week has been leading up to the fail of today, and it tried to warn me, but I just didn't listen. Earlier in the week, Penelope Lola (my car) proved to have a leak in her trunk, because why wouldn't her butt leak? Also, while I was trying to clean her back window, I got up on her trunk and proceeded to fly right off the back. I landed on my feet, avoiding an America's Funniest Home Videos worthy moment, but it was my own fault because just that quickly I forgot I had waxed her two days before. I had that coming, I know.
I also realized that, if I were to go to a shrink, I'd need two. What? I'd have to have someone to complain about my shrink to.
But the number one thing that kicked off my week is as follows. As I mentioned before, I helped my mom with an open house Sunday. What I didn't tell you is what happened after. We went back to her office to eat food that was provided by the office manager, because we like free food, and the office manager decided to have a meeting while a lot of people were there. In the middle of the meeting, one of the agents got up and started to interrupt him. When the agent would not shut up, there were comments and office mumblings about if the guy was drunk, since he always interrupts, but shuts up after awhile when he's sober. Since he never shut up, everyone assumed him drunk. And then he came over and tried to be my best friend. Yep, I should have seen today coming, and the week isn't even over yet. Lord have mercy.
I lost my hot glue gun. I know this isn't exactly anything that should cause a person consternation, but after three hours of searching for it, I was consternated. I know that's not a word. Shut up and let me believe it is anyway. And, for the record, spell check keeps trying to change that to constipated. I don't like its language.
Anyway, after three hours of searching, no exaggeration, I called Aunt Bev as a last ditch resort to see if I lent the glue gun to her. This would normally be the part where you all would predict I did, roll your eyes, sigh, and shake your heads simultaneously, and usually you'd be right. This time, however, you couldn't be more wrong. She didn't have it.
While she had me on the phone, we started talking about her email, and that's when I found my hot glue gun...behind my dresser. Look, I've done some stupid things, but flinging my glue gun behind my dresser and going "yeah, this is an awesome place for it," isn't one of them. Now, I suspect I know what happened, but I guess I can't accuse blindly, so I'm going to plead my case to you all and let you decide.
Miss Paramore Wednesday, kitty extraordinaire, has been doing something sneaky lately. When I go to close the door to my room, she sneaks her little paw into the back of the door, making it appear that it has closed, but catching it right before it latches. Then, when I least expect it, and she thinks enough time has passed that I won't notice (and is usually right), she pushes her way into the room and slides under my bed in hopes that I won't notice. I later come back to a kitty sleeping happily in the middle of my bed, conked out and pretending to be all innocent. But I don't think she's innocent. I can't prove it, but it's just an inference.
After I was reunited (and it felt so good) with my hot glue gun, I was able to finish the projects I wished to have had done during those three hours I spent looking for it. I plugged it in, waited for it to warm up and immediately succeeded in burning the skin off of my arm. Never in my many years of using a hot glue gun have I so much as burned myself, even when I was a child crafter, but today I managed to burn skin off. Yep, hell in a hand basket, here I come.
It's fine, though, because the last week has been leading up to the fail of today, and it tried to warn me, but I just didn't listen. Earlier in the week, Penelope Lola (my car) proved to have a leak in her trunk, because why wouldn't her butt leak? Also, while I was trying to clean her back window, I got up on her trunk and proceeded to fly right off the back. I landed on my feet, avoiding an America's Funniest Home Videos worthy moment, but it was my own fault because just that quickly I forgot I had waxed her two days before. I had that coming, I know.
I also realized that, if I were to go to a shrink, I'd need two. What? I'd have to have someone to complain about my shrink to.
But the number one thing that kicked off my week is as follows. As I mentioned before, I helped my mom with an open house Sunday. What I didn't tell you is what happened after. We went back to her office to eat food that was provided by the office manager, because we like free food, and the office manager decided to have a meeting while a lot of people were there. In the middle of the meeting, one of the agents got up and started to interrupt him. When the agent would not shut up, there were comments and office mumblings about if the guy was drunk, since he always interrupts, but shuts up after awhile when he's sober. Since he never shut up, everyone assumed him drunk. And then he came over and tried to be my best friend. Yep, I should have seen today coming, and the week isn't even over yet. Lord have mercy.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Hannah: The Cutest Three Year Old Ever!
Yesterday, my mom had an open house, and I helped her with it. It was one of those town wide type of mass open houses that her company planned, prepared, and advertised for, so she didn't know how many people she was going to get, therefore, she had me come and sit in the chair next to the table of home information wonders. I ended up being needed, but that's not really the point of this, because cute kids came to the open house, and cute kids are the point of everything.
There were a few babies and a few loud boys with a little girl who was bad, but barely said anything. Although all were super adorable, none dazzled like my new little friend of whom I will call Hannah for her protection and just because it's a cute name, and she is cute. Hannah started out a bit shy, but once her parents really got into looking at the house, she ran right into the living room and befriended me by asking me what the Easter Bunny had brought me. I obliged to her conversation and told her in exchange for her telling me what she got. (A great big chocolate bunny and a ball to bounce around.)
If that wasn't enough, we talked about Santa, too, which segued nicely into talking about dogs. She informed me that when she got a new house, she was getting a dog. She wasn't getting a big one, though, just a regular sized dog. And when I asked her what color and kind of dog she wanted, she again informed me that she wanted just a regular dog. I should have taken down her phone number, providing she knew it at the age of three, just to see what her definition of a regular dog was. She was too cute.
When that was all said and done, she told me about all her stuffed animals and which one she sleeps with. (She has a bear named Sunshine and one named Grumpy, and then she had a dog she slept with, but unfortunately I can't remember its name.) She asked me if I had any stuffed animals, and I told her I did, which led to me telling her about all the different kinds I had. Then the kicker came. I told her that I was twenty five and still slept with a stuffed animal, too. That conversation went something like this.
Hannah: *Little Kid oh-no-you-didn't expression* "Are you kidding me?"
Me: "No."
Hannah: "Is this a joke?"
Me: "No, I'm serious, I do still sleep with my stuffed animal. I like to cuddle, and a stuffed animal is all cuddly and much cuter than people, especially boys, who have cooties. He's a dog, and his name is Sandy." (She didn't respond to the cooties comment, but I just wanted to make sure that at the age of three, she was getting a healthy dose of the truth.)
Hannah: "You're weird."
Me: "I agree."
Hannah: "Then I still like you."
We got into some semantics, like why my dog slept with me, but I didn't cuddle with her (she gets too hot and uncomfortable), and why I'm so old (because God said so.) Long last, she and her cute little light up shoes (Of which she has two pairs; the pink ones she was wearing, and her pink and blue ones.) were whisked out of my life forever. Of course, she didn't go without a fight. We were in the middle of a very fascinating conversation, and her mom had to force her to leave, because she didn't want to split up our conversation. I'd like to think that although I'll never see her again, I made a new best friend. Cute little kids are totally my crowd. (And if any of you just had a sleazy thought, knock if out of your head. I love kids in a very platonic, motherly like fashion. Sheesh!)
There were a few babies and a few loud boys with a little girl who was bad, but barely said anything. Although all were super adorable, none dazzled like my new little friend of whom I will call Hannah for her protection and just because it's a cute name, and she is cute. Hannah started out a bit shy, but once her parents really got into looking at the house, she ran right into the living room and befriended me by asking me what the Easter Bunny had brought me. I obliged to her conversation and told her in exchange for her telling me what she got. (A great big chocolate bunny and a ball to bounce around.)
If that wasn't enough, we talked about Santa, too, which segued nicely into talking about dogs. She informed me that when she got a new house, she was getting a dog. She wasn't getting a big one, though, just a regular sized dog. And when I asked her what color and kind of dog she wanted, she again informed me that she wanted just a regular dog. I should have taken down her phone number, providing she knew it at the age of three, just to see what her definition of a regular dog was. She was too cute.
When that was all said and done, she told me about all her stuffed animals and which one she sleeps with. (She has a bear named Sunshine and one named Grumpy, and then she had a dog she slept with, but unfortunately I can't remember its name.) She asked me if I had any stuffed animals, and I told her I did, which led to me telling her about all the different kinds I had. Then the kicker came. I told her that I was twenty five and still slept with a stuffed animal, too. That conversation went something like this.
Hannah: *Little Kid oh-no-you-didn't expression* "Are you kidding me?"
Me: "No."
Hannah: "Is this a joke?"
Me: "No, I'm serious, I do still sleep with my stuffed animal. I like to cuddle, and a stuffed animal is all cuddly and much cuter than people, especially boys, who have cooties. He's a dog, and his name is Sandy." (She didn't respond to the cooties comment, but I just wanted to make sure that at the age of three, she was getting a healthy dose of the truth.)
Hannah: "You're weird."
Me: "I agree."
Hannah: "Then I still like you."
We got into some semantics, like why my dog slept with me, but I didn't cuddle with her (she gets too hot and uncomfortable), and why I'm so old (because God said so.) Long last, she and her cute little light up shoes (Of which she has two pairs; the pink ones she was wearing, and her pink and blue ones.) were whisked out of my life forever. Of course, she didn't go without a fight. We were in the middle of a very fascinating conversation, and her mom had to force her to leave, because she didn't want to split up our conversation. I'd like to think that although I'll never see her again, I made a new best friend. Cute little kids are totally my crowd. (And if any of you just had a sleazy thought, knock if out of your head. I love kids in a very platonic, motherly like fashion. Sheesh!)
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