Last night, Aunt Bev and I were having a conversation via email. At some point, she casually dropped a line saying that the computer insinuated that she was stupid. One thing led to another, and I got these words back from her.
WTF!!!!!!! Smart Ass Computer!!!!! Settle down, Bev and go to bed. I won't be able the sleep now I'm so furious.
That's right, inanimate objects really can make you that angry. We now have proof.
Showing posts with label Adventures Of Aunt Bev and Mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adventures Of Aunt Bev and Mom. Show all posts
Friday, August 26, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Shut Up, Self!
I know I owe you all part two of the plumbing story, but let me just fill you in on the last week of my life. Or, as I like to call it, proof that I need to shut my mouth.
As you all know, I'm a psychic medium. If you don't know that, you're probably new here, and in that case, HI! Welcome. Look around, stay awhile, do a little dance, whatever. This little glitch in my hardware makes my life hectic as it is. Usually I shush up about it in person so that I don't end up running myself in ragged circles trying to help everyone and their mother, brother and sister. I get enough emails about this sort of thing and have enough lined up as it is that I don't need more things. With this in mind, I was clearly wearing my dunce cap last week.
The week started out with my friend having a case involving an ancient Indian creature bothering her sibling who was living on what was once land where Indians were massacred. It skipped right into the same friend having issues of the not so holy kind in her own home. So I had that to deal with going into the week anyway, and that just happened and was no one's fault. The rest was all my fault, so I should have quit the week with the paranormal while I was ahead. It was only Monday. We knew I was going to fall behind somehow.
I was doing good all day Tuesday and was still ahead, then Wednesday rolled around. I had to go to a dinner with the awesome Aunt Bev, so we decided while we were down that way that we were going to stop in the Historical Society and do some research on her parents' house, which has had all sorts of issues ever since Aunt Bev can remember. This was going lovely until the lady who worked there told me about a lady who had come in a day prior to research a property for paranormal reasons and how strange she thought that was that two people came in for that reason two days in a row. Then I realized it was my friend who had come in and that was all my fault, too.
When I feel like something is my fault, even if it's something odd, I start ranting. This is when someone needs to get a piece of tape like they do in those NoH8 photos and tape over my mouth. One way or another we got to talking about an old town here, the one where they had the really awesome reenactments of court cases from the late 1700s. One thing led to another and I ended up telling the lady from the Historical Society that I had felt someone watching over the one house there, someone with a hat, to which she laughed and said that was so funny because the former caretaker had died in the last few years and another medium had told them he was watching over the place. She turned me around and showed me a picture of him. He was wearing a hat. He always wore it.
This should be the part where everyone goes, "Oh, neat. Oh, nice." Don't do that, though, because the next thing I knew I was telling the lady that I can see the old town how it used to be in the 1700s with my psychic site, she was gleefully telling me that they had been trying to reconstruct the town to how it used to be but knew no one who could help them do it, and I was writing my name and number down on a piece of paper. The lady who is in charge of the town is calling me when she gets home from vacation at the end of the week. And I was assured that if I do a good job that they could use me for a lot of things. I'm going to just hold my applause.
If that didn't give me enough to do outside of my hours upon hours of emails and consultations with the paranormal a week, my mouth continued to make things worse for me. Friday, we decided to visit an old castle about a half an hour from here. I went prepared for spirits, because the original structure that still existed within the larger structure was built in the 1700s. Before that, there was a war waged on that land. As it turned out, that building wasn't my problem whatsoever.
With the town in disrepair, we struggled to find a place to eat there, and when we get hungry, you better get us to somewhere with food before you start looking tasty and we attempt to steal your lunch. It's a Mom, Aunt Bev and myself ism. We like food. There were rows and rows of buildings; a whole town's worth, but all were vacant and empty. Following signs and a tip, we drove a little ways outside of town to a super amazing old mansion that had a restaurant inside. I fell in love with the town, or lack there of, instantly, and was sucked into this house. It was so warm and friendly, and although it was clear spirits were there, it was a gathering place in life, as it was in death. There was nothing vicious, just a warm feeling that made me want to live in that house. I was sucked in.
While we were waiting for our food, the woman serving us let us wander around the entire house, which was to become a bed and breakfast, since we were the only ones there. This just enchanted me more. When we were done with the meal, she took us downstairs to show us the basement that used to be a pool, but was now turned into a tavern. I had kept my mouth shut about the spirits until one walked right past me. I got in a silent argument with my mouth in a sad and sorry attempt to get it shut, but it didn't work very well, and before I knew it I was asking the server if there had been any paranormal experiences in the house. Her exact words were, "Funny you should ask that..."
Also before I knew it, we had identified the man I saw by her showing me a picture and me saying, "Yes, that's him," and she was taking my name and number because the owners would love to talk to me about this. We were getting ready to leave when the owners just magically popped up, and just like that an hour and a half went by. In that hour and a half I learned that real alligators were kept in the basement, the woman whose husband built the house and had passed really hated one of their patrons, and the man who built the house and had passed really hated the whiskey they served since in life he made whiskey, but it was no longer available for sale. I also bored my mom and Aunt Bev and made the one owner miss an appointment. He was awfully cheery about missing that appointment though.
I'm going back this coming Monday to go through the house and tell them everything I am feeling and help them make the house a place where the spirits still want to be. They're awesome and understand that this isn't their house, they are just taking care of it. They welcome the spirits, as long as they're nice, and that house is filled with nothing but nice. They just want to make the spirits proud of what they're doing there, and since they're having weddings there, the original owner's wife couldn't be happier. I'm actually super excited about doing this, and I hope that the owners will let me come back from time to time. I loved them, I loved the house, and this is what I love to do. And hey, they even offered me free food. I don't charge for my services, but I will ALWAYS take free food.
I didn't even make it one more day before I opened my huge mouth again. Surprising, I know. On Saturday we were having a yard sale. Now, for those of you who don't know this about me, I'm convinced that yard sales spawned around the same time that Lucifer fell from Heaven. I just don't like them. So as the day is reining down on us and we have been sitting there for what felt like eight weeks, but was really more like five hours, we started to wonder if we were going to sell anything else or have to drag it back home. Just then, a woman in a red truck became our savior, and made me open my big mouth again.
Turns out, this lady was from a missing children's foundation in the local area, but they work nation wide. They were looking for any items we didn't want that they could sell to help fund the organization. I gave them everything I had left. In my line of work, I see a lot of kids go off the grid because the police run out of leads or their hands are tied, and this is where this organization picks up. This is something close to my heart, especially with my spirits that come through on a regular basis. A lot of them are lost souls because their bodies have never been found, and I have no idea how to approach the police about these girls without looking uber fishy. Being as people think I'm about seventeen anyway, fishy was not what I needed.
So, and I say it again, before I knew it I was telling this poor woman about my gift and dishing out my name and phone number. I was also telling her all about this one young girl that went missing locally of whose family I've been wanting to contact but didn't know how, and asked her if they could work on getting me in touch with the family or if they would help me follow up what I knew about the case. Ever since this girl went missing, I've wanted to bring her home so badly, no matter what capacity that may be in. I'm still waiting for a response.
The guy who runs the organization might think I'm nuts, but I hope he doesn't, because the lady all kinds of loved me. She assured me he would be in contact with me, and I hope is. I know I can be of help here, and I take responsibility for anything that happens on information I give, good or bad. I'm willing to be as hands on as I need to be with this. If he does decide to work with me, I have a feeling I'm going to be insanely busy like no one's business, and I hate dealing with families, because I never want to see anyone hurt. I can't imagine the kind of toll this will take emotionally, but if we can bring some kids home, that's all that matters. Sometimes they don't come home in the way that you want them to, but at least the families will never have to wonder any longer where their child is, and that's always been something I've wanted to be able to achieve with my gift. This could also open a lot of doors for me to get some credentials and be able to go to the police about some of my spirits without them thinking I'm all fishy and such. I help the dead, and if this can open up a door for a better way for me to do that, that's all that's important.
Let's pair this with the fact that I have LMCP and her person to tend to on a nearly constant basis. That situation is so messed up. I have a feeling sleep is going to turn into a luxury, and I'll never have to leave my couch except for a few times here and there and still end up entirely busy. Too bad this job doesn't pay, but I'd never, ever charge someone for something that came to me for free. So wish me luck, you guys, and pray that I keep my mouth shut more often...or something.
As you all know, I'm a psychic medium. If you don't know that, you're probably new here, and in that case, HI! Welcome. Look around, stay awhile, do a little dance, whatever. This little glitch in my hardware makes my life hectic as it is. Usually I shush up about it in person so that I don't end up running myself in ragged circles trying to help everyone and their mother, brother and sister. I get enough emails about this sort of thing and have enough lined up as it is that I don't need more things. With this in mind, I was clearly wearing my dunce cap last week.
The week started out with my friend having a case involving an ancient Indian creature bothering her sibling who was living on what was once land where Indians were massacred. It skipped right into the same friend having issues of the not so holy kind in her own home. So I had that to deal with going into the week anyway, and that just happened and was no one's fault. The rest was all my fault, so I should have quit the week with the paranormal while I was ahead. It was only Monday. We knew I was going to fall behind somehow.
I was doing good all day Tuesday and was still ahead, then Wednesday rolled around. I had to go to a dinner with the awesome Aunt Bev, so we decided while we were down that way that we were going to stop in the Historical Society and do some research on her parents' house, which has had all sorts of issues ever since Aunt Bev can remember. This was going lovely until the lady who worked there told me about a lady who had come in a day prior to research a property for paranormal reasons and how strange she thought that was that two people came in for that reason two days in a row. Then I realized it was my friend who had come in and that was all my fault, too.
When I feel like something is my fault, even if it's something odd, I start ranting. This is when someone needs to get a piece of tape like they do in those NoH8 photos and tape over my mouth. One way or another we got to talking about an old town here, the one where they had the really awesome reenactments of court cases from the late 1700s. One thing led to another and I ended up telling the lady from the Historical Society that I had felt someone watching over the one house there, someone with a hat, to which she laughed and said that was so funny because the former caretaker had died in the last few years and another medium had told them he was watching over the place. She turned me around and showed me a picture of him. He was wearing a hat. He always wore it.
This should be the part where everyone goes, "Oh, neat. Oh, nice." Don't do that, though, because the next thing I knew I was telling the lady that I can see the old town how it used to be in the 1700s with my psychic site, she was gleefully telling me that they had been trying to reconstruct the town to how it used to be but knew no one who could help them do it, and I was writing my name and number down on a piece of paper. The lady who is in charge of the town is calling me when she gets home from vacation at the end of the week. And I was assured that if I do a good job that they could use me for a lot of things. I'm going to just hold my applause.
If that didn't give me enough to do outside of my hours upon hours of emails and consultations with the paranormal a week, my mouth continued to make things worse for me. Friday, we decided to visit an old castle about a half an hour from here. I went prepared for spirits, because the original structure that still existed within the larger structure was built in the 1700s. Before that, there was a war waged on that land. As it turned out, that building wasn't my problem whatsoever.
With the town in disrepair, we struggled to find a place to eat there, and when we get hungry, you better get us to somewhere with food before you start looking tasty and we attempt to steal your lunch. It's a Mom, Aunt Bev and myself ism. We like food. There were rows and rows of buildings; a whole town's worth, but all were vacant and empty. Following signs and a tip, we drove a little ways outside of town to a super amazing old mansion that had a restaurant inside. I fell in love with the town, or lack there of, instantly, and was sucked into this house. It was so warm and friendly, and although it was clear spirits were there, it was a gathering place in life, as it was in death. There was nothing vicious, just a warm feeling that made me want to live in that house. I was sucked in.
While we were waiting for our food, the woman serving us let us wander around the entire house, which was to become a bed and breakfast, since we were the only ones there. This just enchanted me more. When we were done with the meal, she took us downstairs to show us the basement that used to be a pool, but was now turned into a tavern. I had kept my mouth shut about the spirits until one walked right past me. I got in a silent argument with my mouth in a sad and sorry attempt to get it shut, but it didn't work very well, and before I knew it I was asking the server if there had been any paranormal experiences in the house. Her exact words were, "Funny you should ask that..."
Also before I knew it, we had identified the man I saw by her showing me a picture and me saying, "Yes, that's him," and she was taking my name and number because the owners would love to talk to me about this. We were getting ready to leave when the owners just magically popped up, and just like that an hour and a half went by. In that hour and a half I learned that real alligators were kept in the basement, the woman whose husband built the house and had passed really hated one of their patrons, and the man who built the house and had passed really hated the whiskey they served since in life he made whiskey, but it was no longer available for sale. I also bored my mom and Aunt Bev and made the one owner miss an appointment. He was awfully cheery about missing that appointment though.
I'm going back this coming Monday to go through the house and tell them everything I am feeling and help them make the house a place where the spirits still want to be. They're awesome and understand that this isn't their house, they are just taking care of it. They welcome the spirits, as long as they're nice, and that house is filled with nothing but nice. They just want to make the spirits proud of what they're doing there, and since they're having weddings there, the original owner's wife couldn't be happier. I'm actually super excited about doing this, and I hope that the owners will let me come back from time to time. I loved them, I loved the house, and this is what I love to do. And hey, they even offered me free food. I don't charge for my services, but I will ALWAYS take free food.
I didn't even make it one more day before I opened my huge mouth again. Surprising, I know. On Saturday we were having a yard sale. Now, for those of you who don't know this about me, I'm convinced that yard sales spawned around the same time that Lucifer fell from Heaven. I just don't like them. So as the day is reining down on us and we have been sitting there for what felt like eight weeks, but was really more like five hours, we started to wonder if we were going to sell anything else or have to drag it back home. Just then, a woman in a red truck became our savior, and made me open my big mouth again.
Turns out, this lady was from a missing children's foundation in the local area, but they work nation wide. They were looking for any items we didn't want that they could sell to help fund the organization. I gave them everything I had left. In my line of work, I see a lot of kids go off the grid because the police run out of leads or their hands are tied, and this is where this organization picks up. This is something close to my heart, especially with my spirits that come through on a regular basis. A lot of them are lost souls because their bodies have never been found, and I have no idea how to approach the police about these girls without looking uber fishy. Being as people think I'm about seventeen anyway, fishy was not what I needed.
So, and I say it again, before I knew it I was telling this poor woman about my gift and dishing out my name and phone number. I was also telling her all about this one young girl that went missing locally of whose family I've been wanting to contact but didn't know how, and asked her if they could work on getting me in touch with the family or if they would help me follow up what I knew about the case. Ever since this girl went missing, I've wanted to bring her home so badly, no matter what capacity that may be in. I'm still waiting for a response.
The guy who runs the organization might think I'm nuts, but I hope he doesn't, because the lady all kinds of loved me. She assured me he would be in contact with me, and I hope is. I know I can be of help here, and I take responsibility for anything that happens on information I give, good or bad. I'm willing to be as hands on as I need to be with this. If he does decide to work with me, I have a feeling I'm going to be insanely busy like no one's business, and I hate dealing with families, because I never want to see anyone hurt. I can't imagine the kind of toll this will take emotionally, but if we can bring some kids home, that's all that matters. Sometimes they don't come home in the way that you want them to, but at least the families will never have to wonder any longer where their child is, and that's always been something I've wanted to be able to achieve with my gift. This could also open a lot of doors for me to get some credentials and be able to go to the police about some of my spirits without them thinking I'm all fishy and such. I help the dead, and if this can open up a door for a better way for me to do that, that's all that's important.
Let's pair this with the fact that I have LMCP and her person to tend to on a nearly constant basis. That situation is so messed up. I have a feeling sleep is going to turn into a luxury, and I'll never have to leave my couch except for a few times here and there and still end up entirely busy. Too bad this job doesn't pay, but I'd never, ever charge someone for something that came to me for free. So wish me luck, you guys, and pray that I keep my mouth shut more often...or something.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
A Day In the Mountains
Hello everyone! I hope you had a great Fourth of July. I cleaned and sat around with a bunch of cats and dogs. If someone makes a Twitter hashtag for lame, I'm sure I could lead up the fleet with that fact. But since that's a little depressing, I'm going to start out today's blog with one of my favorite pictures from I Can Has Cheezburger?
Am I really scrutinizing you with an intense scrute? One may never know. I just think this is the cutest thing ever, but I digress.
About a week and a half ago, us slowpokes finally got around to celebrating Aunt Bev's birthday by going to a nearby small town to peruse the shops. Because this involved Aunt Bev and my mom, naturally, I have stories, though Aunt Bev was particularly well behaved until we were on our way home. She didn't really do anything Aunt Bev worthy until then. I guess we're all entitled to our days of normalcy, no matter how disappointing that fact may be.
As we were leaving the house to head out, Aunt Bev shared her thoughts on the day. They were as follows. "I hope we see some dead people in this old town! That's why I wanted to go there!" This came just after I was saying that I hope the spirits are kept to a minimum considering the history of the town, because I didn't know how many more I could take at this point in time.
When we arrived at the town, we realized all the shops they advertised were really just one building with a bunch of stuff in it, so we continued about eight miles down the road to a bigger mountainous town that none of us had been to for awhile. As soon as we got into town, my mom and Aunt Bev did what they do best and announced they were hungry. Their stipulations were that they wanted to go somewhere different and that we should look out for anywhere that had a lot of bikers or truckers, because those were usually the good restaurants. I found them one, but they thought it was hinky looking and there were too many bikers, and they didn't want to eat there. My people are scared out of town restaurants. You can take them anywhere but out. We ended up at Ruby Tuesday, but not before I had a mishap of my own.
As we were driving back toward Ruby Tuesday, me still trying to find a different restaurant than what we had at home, I turned my head to the left and saw a place with both bikers and truckers, and that had several people sitting at tables near these big windows that made up the front of the building. I suggested we eat there, so we turned around to go back. It was a laundromat. I'll give you all a minute with that.
Look, in my defense, which I hardly have one, I didn't read the sign. I know I should have, but I was too busy looking at the people sitting at tables. What kind of laundromat has tables all in the front of it? You couldn't even see the machines because of them. Also, by the looks of the building, it used to be a restaurant that was turned into a laundromat. Look, I know I'm never going to live this down, which is why I shared it with you. You all may as well laugh too. It's fine. But someone out there, *points to Portia*, needs to stop comparing me to FIL. (Unless you're one of three or four people, you're not going to get that reference. I would prefer to keep it that way.) I am not as stupid as FIL. He does stupid stuff on a daily basis. I had a senior moment, no offense to seniors. That's just cold, Portia. That's damn cold.
After we ate our good, but expensive meal, we decided to go to a little shopping center filled with local shops and antique stores. This always sounds like a good idea in theory, but when you're a psychic medium, this never ends up being such a good idea. The first store was lovely, but I only got part way through it before I was hit by such energy that I couldn't continue into the store. It was very awkward, but it was fine, because I had these to entertain me.
For a brief moment, I wanted to buy them all and become the crazy lawn fairy lady. And by brief moment, I mean I'm still disappointed this wasn't feasible for me to do.
When those lost their sparkle and luster, I found this lovely little display. I sent this picture into Ellen Degeneres. I thought it was worthy. As Aunt Bev said, it's like the sign that says, "drinking can cause memory loss or worse, memory loss."
As we perused the rest of the shops, I found a lot of spirits that really wanted their stuff back or didn't give their kids permission to sell it through a consignment antique shop. Since nothing short of reclaiming their item and taking it back to their children and yelling was going to make them happy, I tried to ignore them, but also avoided some of the shops. That was until we came across a clothing store that sold only new clothes. I thought it was safe to go in there. I was wrong. This conversation erupted.
Mom: "Ooh, Dickies!"
Aunt Bev: "I LOVE Dickies!"
Then they wouldn't stop saying Dickies. Now get your mind out of the gutter, people. They were talking about these, but once we got out of the store, I can't say you would know that.
This incident was possibly only rivaled by us running into the people my mom works for, the people she never actually sees back home, but now that we're over an hour away, they were in the same desolate store as us. Someone has a sense of humor. I approve.
We knew we weren't in our town anymore when we walked around the shopping complex and found this as the backdrop. We were in the middle of nowhere and it was beautiful there. I instantly wanted to move, but realized that unless I was planning on living in a refrigerator box, lest I be lucky enough to snag myself one of those babies, it probably wasn't going to happen.
We headed out of that town without a shopping bag to our name and made our way back to the original town we had started in. The place was a neat old opera house and mill that had been made into twenty shops, which was really just shelves of stuff that apparently came from twenty shops, but it was neat. The biggest cause of ridiculousness didn't seem to be the dead people, though the place was well over one hundred years old, yet the lady in the parking lot who rode on our ass, pulled into the parking lot at lightening speed, cut us off, parked, left her car on and running and her turn signal on. This was understandable if Chicken Little had failed to deliver a message or she was at the hospital. The lady did all of that to buy a shirt with the name of the town on it. It took her forever to pick that damn shirt out, too. She almost broke something while picking said shirt out.
With all this excitement under our belts, we waited for shirt lady to leave and then headed back out of the mountains and toward home. We stopped at Dairy Queen, which seemed to be where it all went wrong, or maybe it all went right, depending on your view of things.
The trip to Dairy Queen started out with this sign, because it's Pennsylvania. We need signs for everything, except for road names. Those signs always seem to be missing, while these signs reign all over every dang there in the tri-county area.
I did, however, learn a very important lesson from this trip to Dairy Queen. I learned that you can't take old people anywhere to eat, and by old, I mean anyone allowed to hold their own spoon. Here's why.
We got our ice cream and headed out to the car to eat it. We're weird people. If we can eat it in our car, we will. It's cleaner there. As we're sitting in the car, Aunt Bev, who has a chocolate mocha shake, all of a sudden exclaims, "I just dripped something on me. I have no idea where it came from." We waited a few minutes. The wait didn't disappoint, because the next thing we know it, she says, "It leaked again! Where in the heck is it leaking from? I look like a slob!" She was honestly befuddled as to where the leak was coming from. To this day I suspect that shake.
But the best part of this might possibly be that my mom spilled something on herself at lunch, so they now had matching stains. By only the grace of God, we got home without further incident. I did manage to bring home a new spirit, though. She left kind of quickly. I guess I just wasn't her cup of tea.
Am I really scrutinizing you with an intense scrute? One may never know. I just think this is the cutest thing ever, but I digress.About a week and a half ago, us slowpokes finally got around to celebrating Aunt Bev's birthday by going to a nearby small town to peruse the shops. Because this involved Aunt Bev and my mom, naturally, I have stories, though Aunt Bev was particularly well behaved until we were on our way home. She didn't really do anything Aunt Bev worthy until then. I guess we're all entitled to our days of normalcy, no matter how disappointing that fact may be.
As we were leaving the house to head out, Aunt Bev shared her thoughts on the day. They were as follows. "I hope we see some dead people in this old town! That's why I wanted to go there!" This came just after I was saying that I hope the spirits are kept to a minimum considering the history of the town, because I didn't know how many more I could take at this point in time.
When we arrived at the town, we realized all the shops they advertised were really just one building with a bunch of stuff in it, so we continued about eight miles down the road to a bigger mountainous town that none of us had been to for awhile. As soon as we got into town, my mom and Aunt Bev did what they do best and announced they were hungry. Their stipulations were that they wanted to go somewhere different and that we should look out for anywhere that had a lot of bikers or truckers, because those were usually the good restaurants. I found them one, but they thought it was hinky looking and there were too many bikers, and they didn't want to eat there. My people are scared out of town restaurants. You can take them anywhere but out. We ended up at Ruby Tuesday, but not before I had a mishap of my own.
As we were driving back toward Ruby Tuesday, me still trying to find a different restaurant than what we had at home, I turned my head to the left and saw a place with both bikers and truckers, and that had several people sitting at tables near these big windows that made up the front of the building. I suggested we eat there, so we turned around to go back. It was a laundromat. I'll give you all a minute with that.
Look, in my defense, which I hardly have one, I didn't read the sign. I know I should have, but I was too busy looking at the people sitting at tables. What kind of laundromat has tables all in the front of it? You couldn't even see the machines because of them. Also, by the looks of the building, it used to be a restaurant that was turned into a laundromat. Look, I know I'm never going to live this down, which is why I shared it with you. You all may as well laugh too. It's fine. But someone out there, *points to Portia*, needs to stop comparing me to FIL. (Unless you're one of three or four people, you're not going to get that reference. I would prefer to keep it that way.) I am not as stupid as FIL. He does stupid stuff on a daily basis. I had a senior moment, no offense to seniors. That's just cold, Portia. That's damn cold.
After we ate our good, but expensive meal, we decided to go to a little shopping center filled with local shops and antique stores. This always sounds like a good idea in theory, but when you're a psychic medium, this never ends up being such a good idea. The first store was lovely, but I only got part way through it before I was hit by such energy that I couldn't continue into the store. It was very awkward, but it was fine, because I had these to entertain me.
For a brief moment, I wanted to buy them all and become the crazy lawn fairy lady. And by brief moment, I mean I'm still disappointed this wasn't feasible for me to do.When those lost their sparkle and luster, I found this lovely little display. I sent this picture into Ellen Degeneres. I thought it was worthy. As Aunt Bev said, it's like the sign that says, "drinking can cause memory loss or worse, memory loss."
As we perused the rest of the shops, I found a lot of spirits that really wanted their stuff back or didn't give their kids permission to sell it through a consignment antique shop. Since nothing short of reclaiming their item and taking it back to their children and yelling was going to make them happy, I tried to ignore them, but also avoided some of the shops. That was until we came across a clothing store that sold only new clothes. I thought it was safe to go in there. I was wrong. This conversation erupted.Mom: "Ooh, Dickies!"
Aunt Bev: "I LOVE Dickies!"
Then they wouldn't stop saying Dickies. Now get your mind out of the gutter, people. They were talking about these, but once we got out of the store, I can't say you would know that.
This incident was possibly only rivaled by us running into the people my mom works for, the people she never actually sees back home, but now that we're over an hour away, they were in the same desolate store as us. Someone has a sense of humor. I approve.
We knew we weren't in our town anymore when we walked around the shopping complex and found this as the backdrop. We were in the middle of nowhere and it was beautiful there. I instantly wanted to move, but realized that unless I was planning on living in a refrigerator box, lest I be lucky enough to snag myself one of those babies, it probably wasn't going to happen.
We headed out of that town without a shopping bag to our name and made our way back to the original town we had started in. The place was a neat old opera house and mill that had been made into twenty shops, which was really just shelves of stuff that apparently came from twenty shops, but it was neat. The biggest cause of ridiculousness didn't seem to be the dead people, though the place was well over one hundred years old, yet the lady in the parking lot who rode on our ass, pulled into the parking lot at lightening speed, cut us off, parked, left her car on and running and her turn signal on. This was understandable if Chicken Little had failed to deliver a message or she was at the hospital. The lady did all of that to buy a shirt with the name of the town on it. It took her forever to pick that damn shirt out, too. She almost broke something while picking said shirt out.With all this excitement under our belts, we waited for shirt lady to leave and then headed back out of the mountains and toward home. We stopped at Dairy Queen, which seemed to be where it all went wrong, or maybe it all went right, depending on your view of things.
The trip to Dairy Queen started out with this sign, because it's Pennsylvania. We need signs for everything, except for road names. Those signs always seem to be missing, while these signs reign all over every dang there in the tri-county area.
I did, however, learn a very important lesson from this trip to Dairy Queen. I learned that you can't take old people anywhere to eat, and by old, I mean anyone allowed to hold their own spoon. Here's why.We got our ice cream and headed out to the car to eat it. We're weird people. If we can eat it in our car, we will. It's cleaner there. As we're sitting in the car, Aunt Bev, who has a chocolate mocha shake, all of a sudden exclaims, "I just dripped something on me. I have no idea where it came from." We waited a few minutes. The wait didn't disappoint, because the next thing we know it, she says, "It leaked again! Where in the heck is it leaking from? I look like a slob!" She was honestly befuddled as to where the leak was coming from. To this day I suspect that shake.
But the best part of this might possibly be that my mom spilled something on herself at lunch, so they now had matching stains. By only the grace of God, we got home without further incident. I did manage to bring home a new spirit, though. She left kind of quickly. I guess I just wasn't her cup of tea.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Run and Tell That
It's that time of the year again, Squirrel Monkeys. That's right, it's Aunt Bev's 29th birthday...again. So in celebration of that, this post will be all about Aunt Bev and things having to do with Aunt Bev. Yay!
This is Willow. This is obviously a picture of Willow when she was a kitten, but this is still Willow.
Everyone say "aww." Did we all say it? Okay, good. Moving along.
Now, as cute as Willow is, she's a little, well...she's a little like the village idiot. Cute and well meaning, loved by everyone, but in need of a sign. Now I ask you to look at this cute little face again and believe it.
It's unbelievable, right? So let me tell you a few stories about this fun loving, confused gal. When spring started and lovely weather was upon us, Aunt Bev opened her front door so that the kitties could sit and look out at all the birdies in the tree just outside of her glass door. All the little kitties lined up and merrily watched all the little birdies bounce from tree to tree as happy as little larks, pun totally intended. And then there was Willow. Willow was as happy as a little lark, only she was turned with her butt toward the door, her head facing Aunt Bev in the kitchen, her expression saying, "This is cool, Mom. Thanks!" She totally missed the point of the door being open and the birdies outside.
This would be okay if it were an isolated incident and she did nothing else dumb ever again. Alas, that was not the case. When le kittehs were tiny, they would hang out in the mudroom at night, and then in the morning Aunt Bev would open the door and their tiny little bodies would slide under the door when she was opening it, and then jump up the step into the house. Now, they still hang out in the mudroom at nap time, but when Aunt Bev opens the door, their darling little heads are unable to clear it. All the little kitties duck their heads under the door and clear it, then jump up the step into the house. Not Willow. She just keeps moving backward with the door. She doesn't get out of the way of the door or duck, she just follows the door backwards while it opens, and then proceeds to try and figure out how to go around it to get into the house. Aunt Bev says she's dumber than two blocks of wood, a phrase that has become a good part of my semi weekly emails that are awesome. It's not only cats that are dumber than two blocks of wood. You can run and tell that.
Last week, I also regaled you with a story of the reverse shoplifting, accidental kleptomaniac situation that Aunt Bev and myself took part in. Well, now I have another similar story to share with all of you that Aunt Bev shared with me today. One time she was shopping and her bill seemed delightfully low. When she got home and checked her receipt, she realized the store had given her an item that was not on sale for almost free, and that it had been rung up incorrectly. Being the goody two shoes she is, she decided to go back and try to pay the store the right amount. The lady at the register just looked at her like she was nuts and told her nothing could be done and the situation couldn't be rectified, so take her discount and run. And now this is why Aunt Bev is afraid to try and return things she accidentally stole, because she's afraid they'll tell her to keep it and she won't feel right about it. So for all these reasons, wish Aunt Bev a Happy Birthday. I'll make sure she gets it.
This is Willow. This is obviously a picture of Willow when she was a kitten, but this is still Willow.
Everyone say "aww." Did we all say it? Okay, good. Moving along.Now, as cute as Willow is, she's a little, well...she's a little like the village idiot. Cute and well meaning, loved by everyone, but in need of a sign. Now I ask you to look at this cute little face again and believe it.
It's unbelievable, right? So let me tell you a few stories about this fun loving, confused gal. When spring started and lovely weather was upon us, Aunt Bev opened her front door so that the kitties could sit and look out at all the birdies in the tree just outside of her glass door. All the little kitties lined up and merrily watched all the little birdies bounce from tree to tree as happy as little larks, pun totally intended. And then there was Willow. Willow was as happy as a little lark, only she was turned with her butt toward the door, her head facing Aunt Bev in the kitchen, her expression saying, "This is cool, Mom. Thanks!" She totally missed the point of the door being open and the birdies outside.
This would be okay if it were an isolated incident and she did nothing else dumb ever again. Alas, that was not the case. When le kittehs were tiny, they would hang out in the mudroom at night, and then in the morning Aunt Bev would open the door and their tiny little bodies would slide under the door when she was opening it, and then jump up the step into the house. Now, they still hang out in the mudroom at nap time, but when Aunt Bev opens the door, their darling little heads are unable to clear it. All the little kitties duck their heads under the door and clear it, then jump up the step into the house. Not Willow. She just keeps moving backward with the door. She doesn't get out of the way of the door or duck, she just follows the door backwards while it opens, and then proceeds to try and figure out how to go around it to get into the house. Aunt Bev says she's dumber than two blocks of wood, a phrase that has become a good part of my semi weekly emails that are awesome. It's not only cats that are dumber than two blocks of wood. You can run and tell that.
Last week, I also regaled you with a story of the reverse shoplifting, accidental kleptomaniac situation that Aunt Bev and myself took part in. Well, now I have another similar story to share with all of you that Aunt Bev shared with me today. One time she was shopping and her bill seemed delightfully low. When she got home and checked her receipt, she realized the store had given her an item that was not on sale for almost free, and that it had been rung up incorrectly. Being the goody two shoes she is, she decided to go back and try to pay the store the right amount. The lady at the register just looked at her like she was nuts and told her nothing could be done and the situation couldn't be rectified, so take her discount and run. And now this is why Aunt Bev is afraid to try and return things she accidentally stole, because she's afraid they'll tell her to keep it and she won't feel right about it. So for all these reasons, wish Aunt Bev a Happy Birthday. I'll make sure she gets it.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The Oompa Loompa Bridesmaidzilla
I think back on my life and all I've been through, and realize it's not normal. Everyone has their hardships, and I'm hardly saying my life compares to the tragedy that a lot of people are feeling and experiencing. I wouldn't trade a moment of what I've been through for anything, because it's all been a learning process. If I could have anything be different, I would only want for my grandfather to still be here with me. There's nothing I've done or have had happen that I regret so much that I'd want to take it all back.
There is never going to be an easy path to take in life. Even for those people with everything handed to them on a silver platter, you don't know their life. Maybe they seem like they have it all, but friend them, and you'll often find out they don't. There's always those few lucky little jerks who truly do just have the best darn luck, but I guess that's not really their fault, so I won't go on a random rant blaming them and plotting to steal all their luck. I'm sure that would not only be impossible, but lose me some karma points.
There are days where you will find the right thing to do is far from the easiest, but please don't cave. You're worth more than that. There will be paths that tempt you to cave along the way, especially in this day and age with all the social networking and what not. It makes for too easy access to things. But don't be pulled in, because it's not worth it. Regret is the worst roommate you can live with. They just sit around, nagging you all the time, bringing you down, and they don't cook their own food or clean up the bathroom when they inevitably miss. Losers.
What I'm trying to say is to just stay strong. There will always be that song on the radio that will make you cry, regardless of your mood. There will always be those days that remind you of something or someone that is responsible for your scars. There will always be an always, and that's when it's okay to pair it with a never. Never turn your back on yourself and know that part of living is feeling everything, so let yourself feel it. It's okay to have walls, hell, I'm the queen of them, but that doesn't mean you have to keep them from doing what is best for you, as long as you do it in a responsible way. You are amazing, so just be amazing you. Being anybody else just isn't worth it.
And now that I've gotten the heartfelt, advice giving part of this blog out of the way, I don't want to bring down the room too much. I feel like sometimes I give speeches, and that's not my intention. Therefore, I shall grace you with things I've learned and weird shit that has happened, and I felt it necessary to post on Twitter. It's like my little reminder log of crap I want to talk about on my blog. I will do a post of just pictures later, because boy do I love my Twitter pictures. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, all those weird posts will now be explained. I'm sorry in advance.
Also, I've been a bit absent because I am busy as all heck writing that novel and working on some stories for my amazing online readers. My head, it's going to explode. I'm sure this blog will reflect that with my schizo thoughts from Twitter, which is an accomplishment, considering I am not schizo. But without further ado...
* For those of you who watch Ghost Adventures, am I the only one who thinks they need a female to go with them? They are afraid of the weirdest stuff. If a woman were there, the men would be running down the hall, while the woman stood there, confused and befuddled about why three large men are running from some little banging noise in the dark. They're grown men. Shouldn't they know all about banging noises in the dark? I mean, I love the show and all, but as someone who deals with the paranormal on a daily basis, I think I'm qualified to laugh a little, right?
* For years we've joked that Gary Busey must have some kind of head injury to act that messed up. Turns out he really does. Who knew? Now I feel like a jerk. An unintentionally and slightly snarky correct jerk, but a jerk anyway.
* Show of hands, how many of you saw Bringing Ashley Home? Oh, wait, it's the internet, I can't see your hands. Put them down. I know my readers and you all put your hands up. Aww, that's why I love you all. Anyway, wasn't it an amazing movie? Such a heartbreaking true story, yeah? Plus, why is it that AJ Cook is so classy and amazing in everything she does? She can come back to Criminal Minds anytime now. Stupid people who decided not to renew her contract, I do not like you. Why you no let AJ stay?
On the same note, check out Outpost For Hope, which was started by the real Libba Phillips when her sister Ashley went missing.
* Team Chelsea! What am I talking about, you ask? Dancing With the Stars, of course. Most people don't know Chelsea Kane, but being the twenty-five-year-old sixteen-year-old that I am, I've adored her for years as Chelsea Staub on the Disney Channel. I'm all kinds of rooting for her talented little self. How about you guys? Any favorites? Or am I really the only one in my age group that watches it? Because that seems to be the consensus. I'm okay with being that lame.
* On the same note, I love Kirstie Alley and sadly expected her to not be all that great, but she is awesome and rocking it! You go, girl!
* I have a rockin' bridesmaid story for y'all. A few weeks back, I went with my friend and two of her other friends to help her pick out a bridesmaid dress for a wedding. This is kind of one of those stories within a story, because the bride initially told her she could get any shorter styled dress she wanted as long as it was in the color Guava. Then the bride reneged and told her she had to get this certain dress that was expensive and looked like the eighties threw up on it and didn't fit anyone correctly. With a little bit of back and forth, the bride went back to her original thought. Enter us dress shopping.
Somehow it came about that the bride decided at the last minute that she wanted the same monstrosity of a dress again for all the girls. My friend, being the good little seasoned bridesmaid that she is and trying to beat out Catherine Heigl for the new girl of 27 Dresses, she decided she could make this work. Then she put the dress on. You guys, there are no words to describe how horrendous this dress was on. It was truly one of those that looked one hundred times more putrid on the person than on the hanger, and how many times does that happen, really? Not only was it obvious that the dress was made extremely on the cheap and poorly, having little plastic sparkles on it instead of beads, but I'm not sure who they made it to fit. It was an unusual length, the waist cut off right at the va-jay-jay, which is just disgustingly strange, had no boob support, but dipped really low in the back so there was no way you could wear a bra. And it just fit funny. Even with alterations, there wasn't a lot they could do to correct it because it was put together so poorly. And they wanted over a hundred bucks for this piece of junk...well over.
We took a picture of her in the dress and sent it to the bride and everyone else we could think of, including our moms. Everyone was hysterical over how bad this thing was; that's right, it wasn't even a dress, just a thing. The bride, however, thought it looked fine. To prove that it looked awful on everyone, we had three people of drastically different sizes with us that day, and one girl who was the same size as the bridesmaid. The two of us that were different sizes also went and put on the dress. We looked like a swarm of clown-like Oompa Loompas, and please just tell me how hard that is to accomplish, because trust me honey, Oompa Loompa is not an easy thing to be. The bride still insisted they were fine. We insisted we invent a Bridesmaidzilla, but my friend handled it with poise and grace, even though we were fuming enough for eight people, because now we were in the dresses to prove a point. Apparently the point ended up being that the bride was blind.
This brought on possibly the strangest and most gobsmacked two hours one could have imagined. It started in phone calls to the bride, then to the bride's stepmother, and then in the bride calling the stepmother and hanging up on both her and my friend. It ended in my friend no longer being in the wedding by choice. She was given the ultimatum, buy the dress or get out. The dresses were so bad and the bride so badly behaved over several things that had nothing to do with the dress, that so many weeks later she's still sure she made the right decision.
* I decided that if I continue to be as tired as I've been since my crappy medication messed me up, that I will have no other choice than to declare that the retirement home is trying to recruit me. I'm just not ready to go there yet.
* I came home the night after the bridesmaid dress debacle, being recruited to the old folk's home and found that Aunt Bev was here. She and my mom were filling out papers for a mobile medical check that they were going to go to. My mom filled out her end of the paperwork and handed it to Aunt Bev, who was going to send it in. Aunt Bev proceeds to read the following.
"Birth date: December 1, 2011. You're not even alive yet!"
And I wonder where I get my absentmindedness from.
* I was in the doctors office for the hoard of ear problems I've been having lately. There was this cute little seventy something lady who was there with someone that I'm guessing was her daughter. I'm guessing this because the lady was literally an encyclopedia of Hugh Jackman knowledge, and I don't know who else would stick around for that. She was all kinds of awesome, though. She knew all the movies he did, and not only that, but the reasons why, too. She even knew why he was unable to attend the Oscars and everything else. Can we say stalker cougar?
* I've threatened to sing the weather campfire songs several times in the past few weeks. Yep, that's how our weather rolls, and that's how I roll to try to get it back. It's useless to fight with weather, though, because it's ultimately run by Mother Nature, and since she and Father Time broke up, she's been a bit cranky.
* If we never make it as the "Storm of the Day" on The Weather Channel again, it will be too damn soon. I can not repeat that enough.
* Late and random, but RIP Elizabeth Taylor. The first movie I ever saw her in was National Velvet, and she sustained her career for all of those years. She will always be a true legend.
* I've learned over time that watching Ghost Adventures immediately makes me hungry for chocolate. I don't know why this is. My friend, Non-Bridesmaidzilla, decided that eating chocolate during that show was a direct reference to the hot guys on that show. I adore the guys on that show, but I don't think Non-Bridesmaidzilla and myself are watching the same show. I just like chocolate.
* The line that made my month: "Dude, you can not sit here alone in a car. You'll be picked up for mopery with the intent to creep." I love you, Psych.
* People of Wal-mart, I repeat, People of Wal-mart, the aisles are not driving lanes. You can go around me, as opposed to riding me so close that you should have to buy me dinner and mumbling about how I need to walk faster when we're the only ones in the aisle. Go around me. There's plenty of room. I'm not the stupid one here.
* Our cat thinks she's a dog and goes out into the dog pen with our dogs, and then scratches at the door when she wants in. I wonder if there's therapy for cats having an identity crisis.
* I was trying to help my mom figure out what comes across properly and doesn't in texts so that she doesn't accidentally send something inappropriate to one of her clients in all of her technology ineptness. She then texted me, "up yours." Needless to say, I don't think she understood the lesson.
* If you know where Alivia Christine Kail is, please call the police. All the information about her and how to do it is here. Seriously, even if you just think you see her, call. She's not Waldo and this isn't really funny. People are missing her and no one knows where she could have gone. Help if you can.
* I sent this video to way too many people to make it kind. But seriously, the funniest thing in the world to me is people falling. I do it all the time, so I think it's fair that I laugh at others when they do, and I welcome them to laugh at me. This video not only has people falling, but large men falling, sometimes by their own stupidity, which is even funnier. One guy (eh hem, Zak), even falls while reading bad poetry he wrote himself for a ghost, because he was not paying attention. No, I can't make this shit up. Why do you ask?
And I should probably clarify that falling is only funny if no one is hurt. If someone is hurt, I refrain from the laughter.
* Just monkeying around. @(*.*)@ Yep, I went there.
* Why did no one tell me about a glorious little show called Hellcats? You all know I'm basically sixteen at heart, and I feel like I dropped the ball on this one. I expected it to be some show about cheerleaders with no substance. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against cheerleaders. I was a flyer myself once, but it just seems like shows never understand how hard cheerleaders work, and the shows about them end up being kind of ditzy. This one has serious heart, and now that I'm finally caught up, I'm so sad I don't have more episodes to watch and have to wait for the new ones. It's a hard knock life. I kid about that last part, of course.
* I posted that I had to get out of a vaporizer to break up a cold I had, and that I was pretty sure that was one of those problems white people have. Folks, my black friend confirmed that my suspicions are correct. He would have just boiled water in a pan and stood over it. I love my friend.
* People who work for our state are all kinds of special. I was talking to a very nice woman on the phone and explicitly asked her if she needed paperwork from December. She told me no. Sure enough, a week later I got a snarky worded little letter in the mail about how we had talked about this, and I didn't alert her that I had paperwork from December, but I needed to send it. Somewhere, someone crossed a few wires in her brain, but at least she's not eating too many bitch cookies like the Social Security lady. She was a joy.
* Sometimes typing late at night is not a good idea. While working on my novel, I ended up with a very inappropriate typo that I was tempted not to fix. Instead of saying, "She didn't want to give away his horror and his pain," I typed, "She didn't want to give away his horror and his pants." I would hope she wouldn't be giving away someone's pants. Darn you, dirty story character. You weren't meant to be written that way.
* Gay guys are a girl's best friend. You can't deny it.
* I love my grandfather. I will always love my grandfather to the day I die and beyond. But he was a huge golf fan, and I just can't see the point in watching golf, other than if I need assistance falling asleep. I do, however, wonder what would happen if a small animal jumped out and scared the heebies out of a golfer. I'd watch that.
* While going through some of the area that I hadn't been since the tornado hit, we found a billboard that had been knocked over in the storm. It was advertising a business that could help you if you had an accident. That sign needs to call that business. Even nature knows and appreciates irony.
* I'm so confused about something. I adore Panic! at the Disco. It's also fitting with Brendon's personality that the exclamation mark came back. Brendon has consistently been one of the stronger male singers in a world of Justin Biebers, so color me shocked when I realized that all this time that he had been singing songs Ryan Ross wrote, he was amazing. Now that he's writing his own songs, he can't sing them live to save his life. How does that happen? Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying he's bad, but compared to how I'm used to him sounding with clean and strong vocals, it's a little jarring.
But, you guys, what is up with his hair? I get that he's losing it. I do, but this is like some newfangled old man comb over. He keeps the sides and back short, and the front long to comb over where his hair in thinning. I realize he has a tough family life, but can't someone volunteer to be his mother in this case?
* Predictive Google and myself have a long history of inefficiency. I'll just leave it at that.
* Mom: "It rains a lot in the Amazon."
Me: "That's probably because it's a rain forest."
* Answer me something. Do people really buy brand new wardrobes every season and throw out their old ones? Because that just sounds preposterous to me.
* Joe Mantegna was on The Talk the other day to discuss autism in children, since his daughter, Mia, is autistic. While he was on there, a man whose one child, a son, was also autistic was there. At the end of the show, Holly Robinson Peete wanted to give a gift to the man and his children, so she had them come out. His autistic son came and sat to his one side, his non autistic child next to Joe. She proceeded to pet Joe's arm. I love that little girl. She was maybe ten.
* Explain to me spending six hours a day on couponing. I get trying to save money, and I, too, am a fan of the coupon, but six hours a day? These women claim they have too much to do to work so they need the coupons to save money, but essentially clipping coupons for six hours a day is working. People are crazy, yeah?
* Men, afraid of shit that wouldn't faze a woman since the beginning of time. Where are my ladies at?
* The other day I realized that I've never, ever hurt myself doing anything dangerous. When I hurt myself it's doing something like walking, sitting, or opening an envelope. We're talking serious hurt, too. But I could probably sky dive, my parachute wouldn't deploy, and I'd hit the ground gently on my feet, defying all laws of gravity. That's just the kind of humor my life has.
* I've mentioned before that I detest the character of Ashley Seaver on Criminal Minds, but Rachel Nichols is easily the most adorable person ever. Seriously, follow her on Twitter. It's weird how I can hate a character so much and only know her for that character, but still find her delightful.
* Breakout Kings has grown on me and I look forward to watching it. Although I was upset that Philly got only one episode, I quickly decided that Erica was the highlight of the show. Her beating up Lloyd nearly immediately upon her entrance was a win. Plus, she just epitomizes the fact that men are scared of shit that wouldn't faze a woman. Team Erica!
* For some reason, I was watching Divorce Court today. Let's never bring this up again. The only reason I am is because the one guy who was on there was clearly the funniest guy in the world. He said, and I quote verbatim, "Every single day she act like me being short is something new." If his wife doesn't want him, I'll take him. I don't think I want to actually date him or anything, but I could use the laughs.
* If you ever buy one of those treadmills with iFit custom workouts wondering what kind of a workout it could really give you and laughing cheerily about how you're going to fly right through those workouts, immediately return it before assembling. I decided to try out one of their workouts for myself today. I did the full planned course in fifteen minutes, but I was sweating and beginning to think the machine was trying to kill me. It controls your speed and your incline, and I totally didn't realize you could get that kind of a workout from a treadmill. I mean, Non Bridesmaidzilla and myself walk three miles when we walk in the summer, no problem, no sweat, and there's not even any tears, but I almost surrendered to a treadmill on a seven tenths of a mile trail. That's illegal somewhere, right?
There is never going to be an easy path to take in life. Even for those people with everything handed to them on a silver platter, you don't know their life. Maybe they seem like they have it all, but friend them, and you'll often find out they don't. There's always those few lucky little jerks who truly do just have the best darn luck, but I guess that's not really their fault, so I won't go on a random rant blaming them and plotting to steal all their luck. I'm sure that would not only be impossible, but lose me some karma points.
There are days where you will find the right thing to do is far from the easiest, but please don't cave. You're worth more than that. There will be paths that tempt you to cave along the way, especially in this day and age with all the social networking and what not. It makes for too easy access to things. But don't be pulled in, because it's not worth it. Regret is the worst roommate you can live with. They just sit around, nagging you all the time, bringing you down, and they don't cook their own food or clean up the bathroom when they inevitably miss. Losers.
What I'm trying to say is to just stay strong. There will always be that song on the radio that will make you cry, regardless of your mood. There will always be those days that remind you of something or someone that is responsible for your scars. There will always be an always, and that's when it's okay to pair it with a never. Never turn your back on yourself and know that part of living is feeling everything, so let yourself feel it. It's okay to have walls, hell, I'm the queen of them, but that doesn't mean you have to keep them from doing what is best for you, as long as you do it in a responsible way. You are amazing, so just be amazing you. Being anybody else just isn't worth it.
And now that I've gotten the heartfelt, advice giving part of this blog out of the way, I don't want to bring down the room too much. I feel like sometimes I give speeches, and that's not my intention. Therefore, I shall grace you with things I've learned and weird shit that has happened, and I felt it necessary to post on Twitter. It's like my little reminder log of crap I want to talk about on my blog. I will do a post of just pictures later, because boy do I love my Twitter pictures. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, all those weird posts will now be explained. I'm sorry in advance.
Also, I've been a bit absent because I am busy as all heck writing that novel and working on some stories for my amazing online readers. My head, it's going to explode. I'm sure this blog will reflect that with my schizo thoughts from Twitter, which is an accomplishment, considering I am not schizo. But without further ado...
* For those of you who watch Ghost Adventures, am I the only one who thinks they need a female to go with them? They are afraid of the weirdest stuff. If a woman were there, the men would be running down the hall, while the woman stood there, confused and befuddled about why three large men are running from some little banging noise in the dark. They're grown men. Shouldn't they know all about banging noises in the dark? I mean, I love the show and all, but as someone who deals with the paranormal on a daily basis, I think I'm qualified to laugh a little, right?
* For years we've joked that Gary Busey must have some kind of head injury to act that messed up. Turns out he really does. Who knew? Now I feel like a jerk. An unintentionally and slightly snarky correct jerk, but a jerk anyway.
* Show of hands, how many of you saw Bringing Ashley Home? Oh, wait, it's the internet, I can't see your hands. Put them down. I know my readers and you all put your hands up. Aww, that's why I love you all. Anyway, wasn't it an amazing movie? Such a heartbreaking true story, yeah? Plus, why is it that AJ Cook is so classy and amazing in everything she does? She can come back to Criminal Minds anytime now. Stupid people who decided not to renew her contract, I do not like you. Why you no let AJ stay?
On the same note, check out Outpost For Hope, which was started by the real Libba Phillips when her sister Ashley went missing.
* Team Chelsea! What am I talking about, you ask? Dancing With the Stars, of course. Most people don't know Chelsea Kane, but being the twenty-five-year-old sixteen-year-old that I am, I've adored her for years as Chelsea Staub on the Disney Channel. I'm all kinds of rooting for her talented little self. How about you guys? Any favorites? Or am I really the only one in my age group that watches it? Because that seems to be the consensus. I'm okay with being that lame.
* On the same note, I love Kirstie Alley and sadly expected her to not be all that great, but she is awesome and rocking it! You go, girl!
* I have a rockin' bridesmaid story for y'all. A few weeks back, I went with my friend and two of her other friends to help her pick out a bridesmaid dress for a wedding. This is kind of one of those stories within a story, because the bride initially told her she could get any shorter styled dress she wanted as long as it was in the color Guava. Then the bride reneged and told her she had to get this certain dress that was expensive and looked like the eighties threw up on it and didn't fit anyone correctly. With a little bit of back and forth, the bride went back to her original thought. Enter us dress shopping.
Somehow it came about that the bride decided at the last minute that she wanted the same monstrosity of a dress again for all the girls. My friend, being the good little seasoned bridesmaid that she is and trying to beat out Catherine Heigl for the new girl of 27 Dresses, she decided she could make this work. Then she put the dress on. You guys, there are no words to describe how horrendous this dress was on. It was truly one of those that looked one hundred times more putrid on the person than on the hanger, and how many times does that happen, really? Not only was it obvious that the dress was made extremely on the cheap and poorly, having little plastic sparkles on it instead of beads, but I'm not sure who they made it to fit. It was an unusual length, the waist cut off right at the va-jay-jay, which is just disgustingly strange, had no boob support, but dipped really low in the back so there was no way you could wear a bra. And it just fit funny. Even with alterations, there wasn't a lot they could do to correct it because it was put together so poorly. And they wanted over a hundred bucks for this piece of junk...well over.
We took a picture of her in the dress and sent it to the bride and everyone else we could think of, including our moms. Everyone was hysterical over how bad this thing was; that's right, it wasn't even a dress, just a thing. The bride, however, thought it looked fine. To prove that it looked awful on everyone, we had three people of drastically different sizes with us that day, and one girl who was the same size as the bridesmaid. The two of us that were different sizes also went and put on the dress. We looked like a swarm of clown-like Oompa Loompas, and please just tell me how hard that is to accomplish, because trust me honey, Oompa Loompa is not an easy thing to be. The bride still insisted they were fine. We insisted we invent a Bridesmaidzilla, but my friend handled it with poise and grace, even though we were fuming enough for eight people, because now we were in the dresses to prove a point. Apparently the point ended up being that the bride was blind.
This brought on possibly the strangest and most gobsmacked two hours one could have imagined. It started in phone calls to the bride, then to the bride's stepmother, and then in the bride calling the stepmother and hanging up on both her and my friend. It ended in my friend no longer being in the wedding by choice. She was given the ultimatum, buy the dress or get out. The dresses were so bad and the bride so badly behaved over several things that had nothing to do with the dress, that so many weeks later she's still sure she made the right decision.
* I decided that if I continue to be as tired as I've been since my crappy medication messed me up, that I will have no other choice than to declare that the retirement home is trying to recruit me. I'm just not ready to go there yet.
* I came home the night after the bridesmaid dress debacle, being recruited to the old folk's home and found that Aunt Bev was here. She and my mom were filling out papers for a mobile medical check that they were going to go to. My mom filled out her end of the paperwork and handed it to Aunt Bev, who was going to send it in. Aunt Bev proceeds to read the following.
"Birth date: December 1, 2011. You're not even alive yet!"
And I wonder where I get my absentmindedness from.
* I was in the doctors office for the hoard of ear problems I've been having lately. There was this cute little seventy something lady who was there with someone that I'm guessing was her daughter. I'm guessing this because the lady was literally an encyclopedia of Hugh Jackman knowledge, and I don't know who else would stick around for that. She was all kinds of awesome, though. She knew all the movies he did, and not only that, but the reasons why, too. She even knew why he was unable to attend the Oscars and everything else. Can we say stalker cougar?
* I've threatened to sing the weather campfire songs several times in the past few weeks. Yep, that's how our weather rolls, and that's how I roll to try to get it back. It's useless to fight with weather, though, because it's ultimately run by Mother Nature, and since she and Father Time broke up, she's been a bit cranky.
* If we never make it as the "Storm of the Day" on The Weather Channel again, it will be too damn soon. I can not repeat that enough.
* Late and random, but RIP Elizabeth Taylor. The first movie I ever saw her in was National Velvet, and she sustained her career for all of those years. She will always be a true legend.
* I've learned over time that watching Ghost Adventures immediately makes me hungry for chocolate. I don't know why this is. My friend, Non-Bridesmaidzilla, decided that eating chocolate during that show was a direct reference to the hot guys on that show. I adore the guys on that show, but I don't think Non-Bridesmaidzilla and myself are watching the same show. I just like chocolate.
* The line that made my month: "Dude, you can not sit here alone in a car. You'll be picked up for mopery with the intent to creep." I love you, Psych.
* People of Wal-mart, I repeat, People of Wal-mart, the aisles are not driving lanes. You can go around me, as opposed to riding me so close that you should have to buy me dinner and mumbling about how I need to walk faster when we're the only ones in the aisle. Go around me. There's plenty of room. I'm not the stupid one here.
* Our cat thinks she's a dog and goes out into the dog pen with our dogs, and then scratches at the door when she wants in. I wonder if there's therapy for cats having an identity crisis.
* I was trying to help my mom figure out what comes across properly and doesn't in texts so that she doesn't accidentally send something inappropriate to one of her clients in all of her technology ineptness. She then texted me, "up yours." Needless to say, I don't think she understood the lesson.
* If you know where Alivia Christine Kail is, please call the police. All the information about her and how to do it is here. Seriously, even if you just think you see her, call. She's not Waldo and this isn't really funny. People are missing her and no one knows where she could have gone. Help if you can.
* I sent this video to way too many people to make it kind. But seriously, the funniest thing in the world to me is people falling. I do it all the time, so I think it's fair that I laugh at others when they do, and I welcome them to laugh at me. This video not only has people falling, but large men falling, sometimes by their own stupidity, which is even funnier. One guy (eh hem, Zak), even falls while reading bad poetry he wrote himself for a ghost, because he was not paying attention. No, I can't make this shit up. Why do you ask?
And I should probably clarify that falling is only funny if no one is hurt. If someone is hurt, I refrain from the laughter.
* Just monkeying around. @(*.*)@ Yep, I went there.
* Why did no one tell me about a glorious little show called Hellcats? You all know I'm basically sixteen at heart, and I feel like I dropped the ball on this one. I expected it to be some show about cheerleaders with no substance. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against cheerleaders. I was a flyer myself once, but it just seems like shows never understand how hard cheerleaders work, and the shows about them end up being kind of ditzy. This one has serious heart, and now that I'm finally caught up, I'm so sad I don't have more episodes to watch and have to wait for the new ones. It's a hard knock life. I kid about that last part, of course.
* I posted that I had to get out of a vaporizer to break up a cold I had, and that I was pretty sure that was one of those problems white people have. Folks, my black friend confirmed that my suspicions are correct. He would have just boiled water in a pan and stood over it. I love my friend.
* People who work for our state are all kinds of special. I was talking to a very nice woman on the phone and explicitly asked her if she needed paperwork from December. She told me no. Sure enough, a week later I got a snarky worded little letter in the mail about how we had talked about this, and I didn't alert her that I had paperwork from December, but I needed to send it. Somewhere, someone crossed a few wires in her brain, but at least she's not eating too many bitch cookies like the Social Security lady. She was a joy.
* Sometimes typing late at night is not a good idea. While working on my novel, I ended up with a very inappropriate typo that I was tempted not to fix. Instead of saying, "She didn't want to give away his horror and his pain," I typed, "She didn't want to give away his horror and his pants." I would hope she wouldn't be giving away someone's pants. Darn you, dirty story character. You weren't meant to be written that way.
* Gay guys are a girl's best friend. You can't deny it.
* I love my grandfather. I will always love my grandfather to the day I die and beyond. But he was a huge golf fan, and I just can't see the point in watching golf, other than if I need assistance falling asleep. I do, however, wonder what would happen if a small animal jumped out and scared the heebies out of a golfer. I'd watch that.
* While going through some of the area that I hadn't been since the tornado hit, we found a billboard that had been knocked over in the storm. It was advertising a business that could help you if you had an accident. That sign needs to call that business. Even nature knows and appreciates irony.
* I'm so confused about something. I adore Panic! at the Disco. It's also fitting with Brendon's personality that the exclamation mark came back. Brendon has consistently been one of the stronger male singers in a world of Justin Biebers, so color me shocked when I realized that all this time that he had been singing songs Ryan Ross wrote, he was amazing. Now that he's writing his own songs, he can't sing them live to save his life. How does that happen? Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying he's bad, but compared to how I'm used to him sounding with clean and strong vocals, it's a little jarring.
But, you guys, what is up with his hair? I get that he's losing it. I do, but this is like some newfangled old man comb over. He keeps the sides and back short, and the front long to comb over where his hair in thinning. I realize he has a tough family life, but can't someone volunteer to be his mother in this case?
* Predictive Google and myself have a long history of inefficiency. I'll just leave it at that.
* Mom: "It rains a lot in the Amazon."
Me: "That's probably because it's a rain forest."
* Answer me something. Do people really buy brand new wardrobes every season and throw out their old ones? Because that just sounds preposterous to me.
* Joe Mantegna was on The Talk the other day to discuss autism in children, since his daughter, Mia, is autistic. While he was on there, a man whose one child, a son, was also autistic was there. At the end of the show, Holly Robinson Peete wanted to give a gift to the man and his children, so she had them come out. His autistic son came and sat to his one side, his non autistic child next to Joe. She proceeded to pet Joe's arm. I love that little girl. She was maybe ten.
* Explain to me spending six hours a day on couponing. I get trying to save money, and I, too, am a fan of the coupon, but six hours a day? These women claim they have too much to do to work so they need the coupons to save money, but essentially clipping coupons for six hours a day is working. People are crazy, yeah?
* Men, afraid of shit that wouldn't faze a woman since the beginning of time. Where are my ladies at?
* The other day I realized that I've never, ever hurt myself doing anything dangerous. When I hurt myself it's doing something like walking, sitting, or opening an envelope. We're talking serious hurt, too. But I could probably sky dive, my parachute wouldn't deploy, and I'd hit the ground gently on my feet, defying all laws of gravity. That's just the kind of humor my life has.
* I've mentioned before that I detest the character of Ashley Seaver on Criminal Minds, but Rachel Nichols is easily the most adorable person ever. Seriously, follow her on Twitter. It's weird how I can hate a character so much and only know her for that character, but still find her delightful.
* Breakout Kings has grown on me and I look forward to watching it. Although I was upset that Philly got only one episode, I quickly decided that Erica was the highlight of the show. Her beating up Lloyd nearly immediately upon her entrance was a win. Plus, she just epitomizes the fact that men are scared of shit that wouldn't faze a woman. Team Erica!
* For some reason, I was watching Divorce Court today. Let's never bring this up again. The only reason I am is because the one guy who was on there was clearly the funniest guy in the world. He said, and I quote verbatim, "Every single day she act like me being short is something new." If his wife doesn't want him, I'll take him. I don't think I want to actually date him or anything, but I could use the laughs.
* If you ever buy one of those treadmills with iFit custom workouts wondering what kind of a workout it could really give you and laughing cheerily about how you're going to fly right through those workouts, immediately return it before assembling. I decided to try out one of their workouts for myself today. I did the full planned course in fifteen minutes, but I was sweating and beginning to think the machine was trying to kill me. It controls your speed and your incline, and I totally didn't realize you could get that kind of a workout from a treadmill. I mean, Non Bridesmaidzilla and myself walk three miles when we walk in the summer, no problem, no sweat, and there's not even any tears, but I almost surrendered to a treadmill on a seven tenths of a mile trail. That's illegal somewhere, right?
Friday, April 1, 2011
Behold! Slipper Ransom - The Conclusion
I never heard back from Aunt Bev after that last ransom letter, and although I wanted to continue to write ransom letters because I was just having far too much fun with it to be normal, Friday was the following day. You know, since it comes after Thursday and all. Thanks for that, Rebecca Black. Being as it was, I devised my last plan.
Taking the materials below, I cut up red and white thread that matched the slipper into little pieces.
I then placed the thread in a baggy so it wouldn't get loose and flee.
I placed the baggy inside of the envelope. This sounds very secretive and hinky, I know.
Then put Aunt Bev's name on the envelope.
Last, I set up a bunch of crazy, wacky pictures and made my last ransom letter to include them. I stuffed it inside before sealing the envelope. It is as follows.
My Dearest Beverly,
Oh, my dearest, instruction following disabled Beverly. The warning was set-forth, and I’ve given you all the evidence you’ve needed to know the ransom against your slipper was not a joke, yet you still refused to listen. I regret to inform you that the contents of the envelope are all that is left of you poor, unfortunate slipper that died an unnecessary death because of you. Shame on you! And just to prove it’s really gone, I documented the event for your torture.
First, I hung your slipper with green, unbreakable yarn. I know this will not kill said slipper, but yet I chose to place the yarn through the snowman’s throat, therefore counting him as deceased. As you can see, the real, live bear can smell a snowman turning to snowballs from a mile away and came to investigate. Soon, he found he could not resist and began to munch on your slipper. There was nothing I could do to stop him once he started.
Because I felt bad, I waited until the real, live bear was asleep and decided to extract his stuffing through his missing nose. When I did, I found no slipper, only the following; remnants of what could have been, if only you had met your ransom. After that was done, I re-stuffed him and I was forced to perform the painful procedure of sewing his nose back up before he ate me, too. He looks as good as new, which is good for him, but bad for your slipper. I’m sorry to see we could not reach an agreement, but it is what it is and the real, live bear is very full now. He says thanks.
I placed the envelope in my purse and hid the slipper inside another pocket of my purse, where Aunt Bev couldn't see it when I opened my purse to hand her the envelope. The plan was for me to give her the envelope, have her open it, see the pieces of thread and the ransom letter, and let her believe her slipper had met its maker. Then, I would pull out the slipper, while cackling loudly. Let's just say that's how things went down, you know, for the sake of the story.
In reality, I didn't have time to do that on Friday, so I threw the ransom letter and slipper in her hands and told her to look in the envelope first and pretend like she read the letter and I gave her the slipper second, and then left. I apologize for ruining my own climatic ending.
I then placed the thread in a baggy so it wouldn't get loose and flee.
I placed the baggy inside of the envelope. This sounds very secretive and hinky, I know.
Then put Aunt Bev's name on the envelope.
Last, I set up a bunch of crazy, wacky pictures and made my last ransom letter to include them. I stuffed it inside before sealing the envelope. It is as follows.My Dearest Beverly,
Oh, my dearest, instruction following disabled Beverly. The warning was set-forth, and I’ve given you all the evidence you’ve needed to know the ransom against your slipper was not a joke, yet you still refused to listen. I regret to inform you that the contents of the envelope are all that is left of you poor, unfortunate slipper that died an unnecessary death because of you. Shame on you! And just to prove it’s really gone, I documented the event for your torture.
First, I hung your slipper with green, unbreakable yarn. I know this will not kill said slipper, but yet I chose to place the yarn through the snowman’s throat, therefore counting him as deceased. As you can see, the real, live bear can smell a snowman turning to snowballs from a mile away and came to investigate. Soon, he found he could not resist and began to munch on your slipper. There was nothing I could do to stop him once he started.
Because I felt bad, I waited until the real, live bear was asleep and decided to extract his stuffing through his missing nose. When I did, I found no slipper, only the following; remnants of what could have been, if only you had met your ransom. After that was done, I re-stuffed him and I was forced to perform the painful procedure of sewing his nose back up before he ate me, too. He looks as good as new, which is good for him, but bad for your slipper. I’m sorry to see we could not reach an agreement, but it is what it is and the real, live bear is very full now. He says thanks. 
I placed the envelope in my purse and hid the slipper inside another pocket of my purse, where Aunt Bev couldn't see it when I opened my purse to hand her the envelope. The plan was for me to give her the envelope, have her open it, see the pieces of thread and the ransom letter, and let her believe her slipper had met its maker. Then, I would pull out the slipper, while cackling loudly. Let's just say that's how things went down, you know, for the sake of the story.In reality, I didn't have time to do that on Friday, so I threw the ransom letter and slipper in her hands and told her to look in the envelope first and pretend like she read the letter and I gave her the slipper second, and then left. I apologize for ruining my own climatic ending.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Behold! Slipper Ranson - Ransom Letter 3
Seeing as I was told to "put that in my pipe and smoke it," I knew I had to fight back hard. I'll admit, I kind of went with a low blow for my next ransom letter, but I kind of felt it was necessary since I don't even own a pipe and I don't smoke. And yes, the place shown at the bottom of this post really is where she takes her car to get fixed. It used to have a roof.
Have it your way, but I'm not sure Snarfalarfacus would agree. I warned you he was large, and you made him so mad that he went and did this.
These were innocent trees he killed just because you refused to even meet the ransom demands.
These were also innocent trees and innocent telephone pools. Now people are out of power.
More innocent homes and trees, all destroyed!
But in all that innocence, he made sure that it would affect you, too. If your car breaks down, you can't get it fixed. Snarfalarfacus says put that in your pipe and smoke it. He'll be over when you least expect it to break something on your car. Oh, and your slipper has been hung and fed to the real, live bear.
These were innocent trees he killed just because you refused to even meet the ransom demands.
These were also innocent trees and innocent telephone pools. Now people are out of power.
More innocent homes and trees, all destroyed!
But in all that innocence, he made sure that it would affect you, too. If your car breaks down, you can't get it fixed. Snarfalarfacus says put that in your pipe and smoke it. He'll be over when you least expect it to break something on your car. Oh, and your slipper has been hung and fed to the real, live bear.Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Behold! Slipper Ransom - Ransom Letter 2
When Aunt Bev never responded to my first ransom letter, I waited until after 12:07 a.m., the specified meeting time in the first letter, and sent her out a second letter. I wanted her to know that even though I was returning her slippers on Friday that I was still serious about the ransom.
Now, you would think this would be enough to threaten her into exchanging the now upped ransom for her slipper. This time I didn't even mention that we'd bring the slipper over on Friday. I wanted to trick her into thinking that we wouldn't to see if she'd come to her slippers aid. She didn't. Instead, I got this email.
I don't think she was taking me serious, nor did I believe that she didn't want her only pair of good slippers that she wore at work to not exist anymore in the absence of one. I had a remedy for that, but you'll have to wait for the next blog to see what all of that's about.
I waited for you for exactly thirteen minutes at the designated drop off location, until Snarfalarfacus confirmed that you did not show. Big Man Dan seconded this notion. I warned you to obey my demands or the consequences will be dire. If you thought I would not show up because of some silly tornado, you were wrong. What is truly important is your one lost slipper. Perhaps you didn't believe me the first time when I told you I had it. Therefore, I have attached proof of life so that you can further rethink your next misstep.
Since an attempt to collect on your debt was not made, I have changed my mind about the final fate of your poor, dear slipper. Maybe you will change yours. The cat holding your slipper below is Pie. Do not be fooled by her seemingly loving demeanor, for she was trained by the CIA(S), Cats Ignorantly Attack (SURPRISE!). Part of her training was to pretend to be like any other cat, lovable and trustworthy. This is merely how she lures her opponent in, and then, when they least expect it, she snaps. If you don't meet my demands, I will make sure she knows the slipper is the enemy, ready to unleash its wrath on the world by taking all of the catnip available, therefore not allowing it for distribution. You slipper can kiss its butt goodnight, then.
If you are one of the many fools who do not believe in the powers of the CIA(S), then I present you with a real, live bear. As you will notice, he is missing his nose. You should have seen the other guy. Let this be a warning to you. He's got the smell of your slipper under his nose and is ready to go at first cue. Nom.
And if a trained CIA(S) agent and a real, live bear are not enough to put the fear into you, I happened upon this person today. They believe in sparkly vampires that are afraid to come out of the closet. Surely they will have no problem destroying your slipper.
Your blatant refusal to show up at the designated point has forced my hand. If your slipper passes, this will be on your head for the rest of your days. You have one more chance to get this right. Here are your new instructions. Read them carefully. You have been warned.
My price has gone up. Along with the things that I've mentioned the first time, I would also like the following; three packages of Dingo dog bones. They must be the type with the red meat in the middle. You should also include a white bunny no older than eight months, with a gift card that will cover the cost of all the bunny's needs for the next eight years, with an Easter basket made of pure silver and three eggs of the bunny's choice, each filled with Godiva chocolates, plain. Don't go putting anything funny inside of my candy. All the new items shall be placed inside of that Easter basket. You shall take the Easter basket, along with the previously mentioned items to the back entrance of Dick's Sporting Goods. Ask for Dick. When the employees give you funny looks, insist that Dick must work there because it is Dick's Sporting Goods. Become more and more enraged with each employee until they finally call the police. Once the police get there, insist that you have been treated poorly by the employees of Dick's Sporting Goods and then try to press charges. The police will take you to the station and proceed to pull blood to test you and make sure you have no drugs in your system. They will have to lock you up while they await the results, but that's okay, because they take your personal effects before doing so. Like a ninja, I will sneak in and grab your personal effects, which are my ransom items, while you sit in the cell. Don't worry, once they realize you're drug free they will let you go. Your slipper will be taped to the door of the police station. I will be there promptly at four p.m. tomorrow. Show this to the police or refuse to show up and the slipper gets it by way of Pie, the real, live bear, or the Twilight fan. Or maybe by all three.
Since an attempt to collect on your debt was not made, I have changed my mind about the final fate of your poor, dear slipper. Maybe you will change yours. The cat holding your slipper below is Pie. Do not be fooled by her seemingly loving demeanor, for she was trained by the CIA(S), Cats Ignorantly Attack (SURPRISE!). Part of her training was to pretend to be like any other cat, lovable and trustworthy. This is merely how she lures her opponent in, and then, when they least expect it, she snaps. If you don't meet my demands, I will make sure she knows the slipper is the enemy, ready to unleash its wrath on the world by taking all of the catnip available, therefore not allowing it for distribution. You slipper can kiss its butt goodnight, then.
If you are one of the many fools who do not believe in the powers of the CIA(S), then I present you with a real, live bear. As you will notice, he is missing his nose. You should have seen the other guy. Let this be a warning to you. He's got the smell of your slipper under his nose and is ready to go at first cue. Nom.
And if a trained CIA(S) agent and a real, live bear are not enough to put the fear into you, I happened upon this person today. They believe in sparkly vampires that are afraid to come out of the closet. Surely they will have no problem destroying your slipper.
Your blatant refusal to show up at the designated point has forced my hand. If your slipper passes, this will be on your head for the rest of your days. You have one more chance to get this right. Here are your new instructions. Read them carefully. You have been warned.My price has gone up. Along with the things that I've mentioned the first time, I would also like the following; three packages of Dingo dog bones. They must be the type with the red meat in the middle. You should also include a white bunny no older than eight months, with a gift card that will cover the cost of all the bunny's needs for the next eight years, with an Easter basket made of pure silver and three eggs of the bunny's choice, each filled with Godiva chocolates, plain. Don't go putting anything funny inside of my candy. All the new items shall be placed inside of that Easter basket. You shall take the Easter basket, along with the previously mentioned items to the back entrance of Dick's Sporting Goods. Ask for Dick. When the employees give you funny looks, insist that Dick must work there because it is Dick's Sporting Goods. Become more and more enraged with each employee until they finally call the police. Once the police get there, insist that you have been treated poorly by the employees of Dick's Sporting Goods and then try to press charges. The police will take you to the station and proceed to pull blood to test you and make sure you have no drugs in your system. They will have to lock you up while they await the results, but that's okay, because they take your personal effects before doing so. Like a ninja, I will sneak in and grab your personal effects, which are my ransom items, while you sit in the cell. Don't worry, once they realize you're drug free they will let you go. Your slipper will be taped to the door of the police station. I will be there promptly at four p.m. tomorrow. Show this to the police or refuse to show up and the slipper gets it by way of Pie, the real, live bear, or the Twilight fan. Or maybe by all three.
Now, you would think this would be enough to threaten her into exchanging the now upped ransom for her slipper. This time I didn't even mention that we'd bring the slipper over on Friday. I wanted to trick her into thinking that we wouldn't to see if she'd come to her slippers aid. She didn't. Instead, I got this email.
Cassie,
You can just keep my slipper. No ransom will be forthcoming. So there! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Aunt Bev
You can just keep my slipper. No ransom will be forthcoming. So there! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Aunt Bev
I don't think she was taking me serious, nor did I believe that she didn't want her only pair of good slippers that she wore at work to not exist anymore in the absence of one. I had a remedy for that, but you'll have to wait for the next blog to see what all of that's about.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Behold! Slipper Ransom - Ransom Letter 1
Tonight I'm going to start a multi-post series called Behold! Slipper Ransom. If you know me, this isn't weird at all, although it probably does warrant an explanation. Last Tuesday, Aunt Bev was here. She always puts her slippers on while she's here, and in doing so, she left one behind. I could have nicely taken it to her when we headed past her house on Friday, but I decided that just wasn't funny enough, so I came up with the idea to write her ridiculous and bizarre ransom letters for shits and giggles.
I sent the first letter from my Blackberry on Wednesday morning. Don't be fooled, this was not my original idea, but a product of being bored on the hour car ride to the doctor's office and needing something to amuse myself with. Thus, the first ransom letter was born.
We have your slipper. We shall not return it until you meet our demands. We expect payment in the form of six Twinkies, three environmentally friendly reusable shopping bags, an original vinyl copy of the Beatles' song Hey Jude, and a crazy, funky hat.
This is how things will work. You are to put the requested items in a blue purse with dancing birds on it. The purse may not be of any other color, and the birds MUST be dancing. Musical notes coming from the birds' mouths will also be delightfully accepted, but are not mandatory. All items must fit in said aforementioned purse; you may not buy more than one purse to place the items inside of, no exceptions. You will drop these items off at exactly 12:07 a.m. at Gloria's strip club. Go inside, do a one minute hoedown in front of the first bouncer you see, and then ask for Big Man Dan. He'll be the one wearing the pink thong and leather stilettos. He may look a little shady, which is why you don't give the purse to him. He may be tempted to keep it for himself, and then you will never see your precious slipper again. Instead, you shall simply shake his hand three times, do the hokey pokey with him, and end in the handshake as seen by Will Smith on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, all without putting the purse down. Then, sanitize your hands. You will then go back outside and use the code word "Snarfalarfacus" to the three hundred and eighty pound doorman. You must not laugh as you say this, for it is his true name, and he will crush you like a bug. After he spends an uncomfortable amount of time comparing your face to the picture of you he will be given, you will hand him the purse, he will thoroughly check the goods, eat one Twinkie, and then hand you your slipper in an unmarked, plain black garbage bag.
Don't try anything funny and make sure the purse is zipped in case of inclement weather. If my Twinkies are soggy, I will be pissed, yo. In the event that you try to send someone else or everything requested is not present, you will be required to go on no less than six dates with Snarfalarfacus at the biker bar of his choice, and you will never see your dear slipper again. It will be donated to the Men and Women With One Peg Leg Foundation. I encourage you to choose your actions wisely.
But seriously, we'll be coming out your way Friday and will drop off your slipper.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have added the last part, but I was trying to be nice. Note to all ransom holders, it doesn't pay to be nice. Literally. You get nothing back. You become ignored. Thus why I knew I had to take action, prompting me to send a second ransom letter. More about that in the next post.
And for all of you wondering where Snarfalarfacus came from, the iPhone apparently auto-corrects "that's what she said" to "that's what she snarfalarfacus." I had to use it somewhere.
I sent the first letter from my Blackberry on Wednesday morning. Don't be fooled, this was not my original idea, but a product of being bored on the hour car ride to the doctor's office and needing something to amuse myself with. Thus, the first ransom letter was born.
We have your slipper. We shall not return it until you meet our demands. We expect payment in the form of six Twinkies, three environmentally friendly reusable shopping bags, an original vinyl copy of the Beatles' song Hey Jude, and a crazy, funky hat.
This is how things will work. You are to put the requested items in a blue purse with dancing birds on it. The purse may not be of any other color, and the birds MUST be dancing. Musical notes coming from the birds' mouths will also be delightfully accepted, but are not mandatory. All items must fit in said aforementioned purse; you may not buy more than one purse to place the items inside of, no exceptions. You will drop these items off at exactly 12:07 a.m. at Gloria's strip club. Go inside, do a one minute hoedown in front of the first bouncer you see, and then ask for Big Man Dan. He'll be the one wearing the pink thong and leather stilettos. He may look a little shady, which is why you don't give the purse to him. He may be tempted to keep it for himself, and then you will never see your precious slipper again. Instead, you shall simply shake his hand three times, do the hokey pokey with him, and end in the handshake as seen by Will Smith on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, all without putting the purse down. Then, sanitize your hands. You will then go back outside and use the code word "Snarfalarfacus" to the three hundred and eighty pound doorman. You must not laugh as you say this, for it is his true name, and he will crush you like a bug. After he spends an uncomfortable amount of time comparing your face to the picture of you he will be given, you will hand him the purse, he will thoroughly check the goods, eat one Twinkie, and then hand you your slipper in an unmarked, plain black garbage bag.
Don't try anything funny and make sure the purse is zipped in case of inclement weather. If my Twinkies are soggy, I will be pissed, yo. In the event that you try to send someone else or everything requested is not present, you will be required to go on no less than six dates with Snarfalarfacus at the biker bar of his choice, and you will never see your dear slipper again. It will be donated to the Men and Women With One Peg Leg Foundation. I encourage you to choose your actions wisely.
But seriously, we'll be coming out your way Friday and will drop off your slipper.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have added the last part, but I was trying to be nice. Note to all ransom holders, it doesn't pay to be nice. Literally. You get nothing back. You become ignored. Thus why I knew I had to take action, prompting me to send a second ransom letter. More about that in the next post.
And for all of you wondering where Snarfalarfacus came from, the iPhone apparently auto-corrects "that's what she said" to "that's what she snarfalarfacus." I had to use it somewhere.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Chicken Revenge Is NSFC
Hi, Squirrel Monkeys. Let's not talk about my health today. I spent nearly seven hours at the hospital, and I just don't want to go there. So let me regal you with a few tales that have nothing to do with each other, and some IMs, because that's all I have right now.
* My mom got bored the other day and started flipping through PPV channels and reading off the names of porn movies. If I never hear my mother say "busty blonde babes" again, it will be too soon.
* When this phase ended, she moved to the Polka Channel. Yeah folks, we actually get that. This is what we pay for. Actually, it's the most hysterical channel I've watched in my life. Picture it, women in country garb suited only for polka dancing, men with porn staches, and everyone looking like they came right out of the seventies. Oh, and did I mention most of them can't polka? Seriously, side splitting laughter occurs when we watch this channel.
* I think the issues with Bloglovin' have been fixed. (I hope.) I spoke with someone, and basically what I found out is that, when you have no followers on their site, they update your blog on their site when they see fit. They don't have your blog on any kind of feed so it automatically updates when you update. They physically do it whenever they want. I wrote them and asked them to take my blog off of their site, because I like to control when I update my blog, and I didn't think it was right that they could choose to put my updates on their site as they wanted. That's why I don't want involved in a network; my blog no longer becomes mine if they're updating it when they want, making it look like I don't blog often. I never received a response, so I looked today and saw my blog was magically updated on their site. I promise I wasn't trying to be a bitch, I just didn't like that my blog looked like it wasn't being updated because they were updating it on their site when they wanted. Hopefully this completely solves the problem, and I'd like to thank them for taking the time and effort to address the issue. So I guess, follow me on Bloglovin?
* There's a show on at prime time on the History Channel called American Pickers. It's two middle aged men driving around the country, going through people's junk, and seeing if they can resale it. Here's a few quotes from a recent episode, via the two stars of the show.
Skinny middle aged guy to round middle aged guy: “It’s kind of like you on a Saturday night...untouched.”
Same guy to same other guy: “I’m going behind you. Don’t fart.”
Skinny middle aged guy: “I was watching The Hills last night, and Lauren’s not even on there anymore.”
Round middle aged guy: “What’s The Hills?”
Skinny middle aged guy: “You don’t know what The Hills is? Lauren stole AMERICA’S HEARTS!”
Did I mention this show was on the HISTORY Channel? At prime time? Just checking.
Because I don't have a whole lot more to say due to the situation with my head, here are some extra special IMs with ridiculous pictures. I apologize for this in advance, because I was not myself the night these conversations occurred. I was trying to ignore my splitting head and overcompensated with stupid. And no jokes about them finally checking out my head to see if I'm crazy. We already know that. We're just looking for a blood clot now.
- There is nothing we do better than chicken revenge.
Awesome Australian Friend mentioned she didn't eat meat, but she hates chickens, so she eats them. She feels bad eating cows, but not chickens, because chickens are evil. I agree with this fully.
- Okay, I have a question.
- An awkward, dead end question.
- From the night of the awkward crazy.
- Howdy snoody.
- I admit I failed at being creative there.
- We should stick our tongues out at them in a mature manner.
- See what I did there? Total oxymoron.
- I always want to call it “Valley of the Dolls,” and I always know that’s not right.
- It’s as wrong as letting Squeaky Fromme out of prison.
This still irks me, y'all. I mean, she tried to kill the President of the United States AND was a member of The Manson Family. How does letting her out of prison ever seem like a good idea? Maybe those people need their heads scanned...and not for blood clots. For crazy.
- Do you think Jim Beaver would adopt me if I asked?
What? I love Jim Beaver. And then he went and put the most epic status ever on Facebook about keeping it classy in the bathtub, and I can't remember the whole thing, but I want him to adopt me. Now.
- “If only I could make that stupid human understand that I really hate when they wear that shirt, because it’s not cuddly.”
This is what Awesome Australian Friend and I imagined our cats really think of us. This is what we imagine they say to each other about we humans. If anyone speaks cat, please get in touch with me so you can confirm or deny this sentence.
- Then there’s our cat who will play with anything. He doesn’t need toys. There’s a bug in the house.
Well, at least we have less bugs to kill and clean up. He eats them, too. I know, I should really do something about that. *Sigh*
- OMG JOE AN DA CAT!
That was the original IM, typo included. I couldn't bring myself to fix such stupidity. Am I the only one who didn't take Joe Mantegna for the kind of man who owned a cat, far more dressed one up? His beautiful daughter, Gia, was Miss Golden Globe this year, and I feel a little bad for her that she can't bring people to her house, because then she'd have to explain that her dad dresses up his cats. I think Joe is the bee's knees for this.
- OMG, IS HE WEARING SLIPPERS? HE’S WEARING HUGH HEFFNER SLIPPERS, ISN’T HE?
Hint, the answer is yes. No, his socks don't match either, and he's wearing an ascot? I don't even know for sure that's not just a handkerchief that he's trying to pass off as an ascot. None of those things are important. I'm used to that. This was the first time I've seen him not wearing shoes, though, so obviously that's the important thing. Don't even get me started on Kirsten. Why is it that only one person in this entire cast can dress themselves? *Cough* Joe *Cough*
- I have a heart condition over here and I don’t know if I can take it.
- My way of helping goes over well out here in the East.
- The mom in me would just explode all over that situation.
- His parents are evil and I love them!
There is a guy who is famous in Australia. His name is Boo Boo. I love his evil genius parents.
- Sell me?
- For a dollar.
- Wait, no.
- Pay someone to take me.
- It’s official, my life is dead. I have not one.
- Someone out there has to know, and I’M GOING TO FIND OUT WHO!
- I am so sorry that I’m so weird.
- I forgot to take one of my medications.
In all my headache hell, I really did forget to take one. None of them alter my moods, so I had no leg to stand on here, but let's pretend I do. Otherwise, I can't explain myself.
- There is something wrong with that boy.
- OMG, if you could see me, I’m in this little ball laughing.
- You’ll hear me singing songs about farting unicorns or something.
- About cheese!
All I wanted to know was, why in the hell was I this excited about cheese? Is there ever a reason for this...especially when you're not eating cheese?
- Let’s pretend we’re British.
- And spell things funny because we’re British.
Zoe, do you think we Americans spell things funny?
- And did you hit that door last night, or did he jump out and hit you?
- Dear.
- DEER!
- DAMN ITTTT!
- I’m sorry a deer jumped out at you and went SURPRISE!
A deer jumped out and hit my friend's car one time. No lie. In this case, however, it was a joint effort. The deer did jump out in front of her (different friend), and she couldn't get stopped in time. It was the deer's fault, but she still technically hit him. He didn't jump right out onto her car like one did to my other friend. And in both cases the people and the deer were fine. The cars? Not so much.
- You know what gets me? They can send men to the moon, but we can’t get boyfriends.
- I mean, I’m at the point where I’m impressed when a man can do laundry.
- I’m so impressed, it doesn’t even have to be right.
- And he doesn’t expect anything out of you.
- Like you to have friends who can type at a sixth grade level or above.
If he did, he'd run fleeing from said friend I was talking to and it'd be all my fault.
- Or a NSFC (Not safe for Cassadee) warning.
* My mom got bored the other day and started flipping through PPV channels and reading off the names of porn movies. If I never hear my mother say "busty blonde babes" again, it will be too soon.
* When this phase ended, she moved to the Polka Channel. Yeah folks, we actually get that. This is what we pay for. Actually, it's the most hysterical channel I've watched in my life. Picture it, women in country garb suited only for polka dancing, men with porn staches, and everyone looking like they came right out of the seventies. Oh, and did I mention most of them can't polka? Seriously, side splitting laughter occurs when we watch this channel.
* I think the issues with Bloglovin' have been fixed. (I hope.) I spoke with someone, and basically what I found out is that, when you have no followers on their site, they update your blog on their site when they see fit. They don't have your blog on any kind of feed so it automatically updates when you update. They physically do it whenever they want. I wrote them and asked them to take my blog off of their site, because I like to control when I update my blog, and I didn't think it was right that they could choose to put my updates on their site as they wanted. That's why I don't want involved in a network; my blog no longer becomes mine if they're updating it when they want, making it look like I don't blog often. I never received a response, so I looked today and saw my blog was magically updated on their site. I promise I wasn't trying to be a bitch, I just didn't like that my blog looked like it wasn't being updated because they were updating it on their site when they wanted. Hopefully this completely solves the problem, and I'd like to thank them for taking the time and effort to address the issue. So I guess, follow me on Bloglovin?
* There's a show on at prime time on the History Channel called American Pickers. It's two middle aged men driving around the country, going through people's junk, and seeing if they can resale it. Here's a few quotes from a recent episode, via the two stars of the show.
Skinny middle aged guy to round middle aged guy: “It’s kind of like you on a Saturday night...untouched.”
Same guy to same other guy: “I’m going behind you. Don’t fart.”
Skinny middle aged guy: “I was watching The Hills last night, and Lauren’s not even on there anymore.”
Round middle aged guy: “What’s The Hills?”
Skinny middle aged guy: “You don’t know what The Hills is? Lauren stole AMERICA’S HEARTS!”
Did I mention this show was on the HISTORY Channel? At prime time? Just checking.
Because I don't have a whole lot more to say due to the situation with my head, here are some extra special IMs with ridiculous pictures. I apologize for this in advance, because I was not myself the night these conversations occurred. I was trying to ignore my splitting head and overcompensated with stupid. And no jokes about them finally checking out my head to see if I'm crazy. We already know that. We're just looking for a blood clot now.
- There is nothing we do better than chicken revenge.
Awesome Australian Friend mentioned she didn't eat meat, but she hates chickens, so she eats them. She feels bad eating cows, but not chickens, because chickens are evil. I agree with this fully.
- Okay, I have a question.
- An awkward, dead end question.
- From the night of the awkward crazy.
- Howdy snoody.
- I admit I failed at being creative there.
- We should stick our tongues out at them in a mature manner.
- See what I did there? Total oxymoron.
- I always want to call it “Valley of the Dolls,” and I always know that’s not right.
- It’s as wrong as letting Squeaky Fromme out of prison.
This still irks me, y'all. I mean, she tried to kill the President of the United States AND was a member of The Manson Family. How does letting her out of prison ever seem like a good idea? Maybe those people need their heads scanned...and not for blood clots. For crazy.
- Do you think Jim Beaver would adopt me if I asked?
What? I love Jim Beaver. And then he went and put the most epic status ever on Facebook about keeping it classy in the bathtub, and I can't remember the whole thing, but I want him to adopt me. Now.
- “If only I could make that stupid human understand that I really hate when they wear that shirt, because it’s not cuddly.”
This is what Awesome Australian Friend and I imagined our cats really think of us. This is what we imagine they say to each other about we humans. If anyone speaks cat, please get in touch with me so you can confirm or deny this sentence.
- Then there’s our cat who will play with anything. He doesn’t need toys. There’s a bug in the house.
Well, at least we have less bugs to kill and clean up. He eats them, too. I know, I should really do something about that. *Sigh*
- OMG JOE AN DA CAT!
That was the original IM, typo included. I couldn't bring myself to fix such stupidity. Am I the only one who didn't take Joe Mantegna for the kind of man who owned a cat, far more dressed one up? His beautiful daughter, Gia, was Miss Golden Globe this year, and I feel a little bad for her that she can't bring people to her house, because then she'd have to explain that her dad dresses up his cats. I think Joe is the bee's knees for this.
- OMG, IS HE WEARING SLIPPERS? HE’S WEARING HUGH HEFFNER SLIPPERS, ISN’T HE?
Hint, the answer is yes. No, his socks don't match either, and he's wearing an ascot? I don't even know for sure that's not just a handkerchief that he's trying to pass off as an ascot. None of those things are important. I'm used to that. This was the first time I've seen him not wearing shoes, though, so obviously that's the important thing. Don't even get me started on Kirsten. Why is it that only one person in this entire cast can dress themselves? *Cough* Joe *Cough*
- I have a heart condition over here and I don’t know if I can take it.
- My way of helping goes over well out here in the East.
- The mom in me would just explode all over that situation.
- His parents are evil and I love them!
There is a guy who is famous in Australia. His name is Boo Boo. I love his evil genius parents.
- Sell me?
- For a dollar.
- Wait, no.
- Pay someone to take me.
- It’s official, my life is dead. I have not one.
- Someone out there has to know, and I’M GOING TO FIND OUT WHO!
- I am so sorry that I’m so weird.
- I forgot to take one of my medications.
In all my headache hell, I really did forget to take one. None of them alter my moods, so I had no leg to stand on here, but let's pretend I do. Otherwise, I can't explain myself.
- There is something wrong with that boy.
- OMG, if you could see me, I’m in this little ball laughing.
- You’ll hear me singing songs about farting unicorns or something.
- About cheese!
All I wanted to know was, why in the hell was I this excited about cheese? Is there ever a reason for this...especially when you're not eating cheese?
- Let’s pretend we’re British.
- And spell things funny because we’re British.
Zoe, do you think we Americans spell things funny?
- And did you hit that door last night, or did he jump out and hit you?
- Dear.
- DEER!
- DAMN ITTTT!
- I’m sorry a deer jumped out at you and went SURPRISE!
A deer jumped out and hit my friend's car one time. No lie. In this case, however, it was a joint effort. The deer did jump out in front of her (different friend), and she couldn't get stopped in time. It was the deer's fault, but she still technically hit him. He didn't jump right out onto her car like one did to my other friend. And in both cases the people and the deer were fine. The cars? Not so much.
- You know what gets me? They can send men to the moon, but we can’t get boyfriends.
- I mean, I’m at the point where I’m impressed when a man can do laundry.
- I’m so impressed, it doesn’t even have to be right.
- And he doesn’t expect anything out of you.
- Like you to have friends who can type at a sixth grade level or above.
If he did, he'd run fleeing from said friend I was talking to and it'd be all my fault.
- Or a NSFC (Not safe for Cassadee) warning.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Surprise Singing Munchkins and Lawn Gnomes
I had quite a night last night, and after that, I found it hard to function properly today. More about that later. While trying to find something to watch on that horribly boring thing we call a television, my mom came across a show called Swamp Men. She said it looked interesting. This is how all of my ridiculous stories start.
Let me begin by saying that I have a tremendous amount of respect for these men. They not only protect wildlife, but in order to do that they have to deal with very dangerous wildlife, putting their lives on the line daily. They show is also education. In fact, in just one show I learned the following.
* Alligators are cannibals. They will eat the baby gators. I wonder if they raised Hannibal Lecter, or if he gave lectures at swamps across the world to introduce them to his wicked ways.
* When alligators flip upside down, vertigo causes them to pass out. If you ever see a gator upside down, he is unconscious. This doesn't mean you go near him, though. He will eventually pull out of it, and once he does, you don't have a prayer in September of getting away. He'll be on you like a duck on a June bug in three seconds flat. (I was just waiting to properly use the duck on a June bug quip.)
* It's perfectly acceptable to say clusterflop instead of clusterfuck. Doesn't that take the fun out of it, though?
That being said, I do not have the maturity to hold my laughter in, when, suddenly, three of four large guys pile on an alligator in a very compromising looking position. (3:47, and you're welcome.) For those of you who think football tackles look hysterical, you haven't seen a grown ass man straddling an alligator, legs splayed, while two or three other men hop on top of him, legs also splayed, in various positions. Not only does it look like they're making love to each other, but to the alligator or crocodile as well. Then they find themselves at the mercy of the one man who isn't piled on top of the gator and getting the rope to grab the gator with. If that guy thinks they look hysterical, he'll just take his time getting the rope, leaving them in what looks like a compromising position only to be shown on an X-rated channel. The one guy...he totally took his time and admitted it was on purpose. It's good to know even they think it's funny.
In other television news, I was desperate, so I had the news on. I'd rather read the news online and skip over all the Steelers stuff. However, the news proved itself comical today, if only to us. This time it wasn't even the newscasters' fault.
First, some football player on some team that I don't think was ours, but wouldn't have notice or cared if it was, ran ninety seven yards to a field goal. I commend him, but I'll be damned if I'd run ninety seven yards if there wasn't a donut at the other end. Priorities.
Second, today is obviously Martin Luther King Jr. Day. The least we can do is take a day to honor such an eloquent, amazing man. In fact, in a town here known for constant shootings, a whole fifty people marched down the street to honor fourteen shooting victims. At the same time my mom and I both said variations of "only fifty people honoring fourteen?" You have to understand, this is a large area with nearly twenty thousand people, and each year that probably drops by a hundred with all the shootings. I wish I was kidding, but no. There are a lot of shootings there. The odds of there being that many shootings in one area are almost negligible. It just seemed a little...awkward?
But seriously, guys, today is an amazing day honoring an amazing man, who, unfortunately, was far ahead of his time and it ended his life. It's good to see that his legacy lives on and is being honored.
In other news that has nothing to do with anything, my mom decided one of the ladies at work is her mentor. She just doesn't know it. That's how we do things in Pennsylvania. We make you surprise mentors.
There is no doubt in my mind that Helena is related to this clown. She was sleeping in the living room when I went into the kitchen. I bent down for two seconds and stood up to find her standing behind me, completely still and staring at me. There's a lot of things that don't scare me; dead people, snakes, singing munchkins and lawn gnomes, but she scares the hell out of me. I guess that means I'm left with nothing but holy. If she starts scaring the holy out of me, I'll worry.
The highlight of my very odd day, however, was Shemar Moore on The Talk. He's something of a playa-playa (I'm sorry, but I'm trying to get the lingo right. I know it's funny coming out of the whitest girl in all of the world. That's my trademark.), but my gosh is he gorgeous.
While he was on the show, I was emailing my awesome Australian friend about something that happened last night, and decided to tell her he was on the show. Not thinking anything of it, I titled the email Shemar Moore and Last Night. It took me several minutes to realize what was wrong with that, but once I did I laughed like a sixteen year old boy, or, you know, like myself, and then promptly hit send. Since nothing I say about the email title is going to be allowed on blogger or not get me in trouble with my mom and Aunt Bev, who would probably agree with it but never admit it, I'm just going to talk about last night to clarify that one had nothing to do with the other. However, if you thought it did, please come over here and rub off on me. You have a much more fabulous idea of my life than what is reality and I want it all up in my business.
Last night I was minding my own business and happily typing away while talking to my awesome Australian friend, when I very, very suddenly felt like someone had whacked me over the back of my head with something very hard. The pain was unreal, and for two seconds I blacked out. While blacked out, I got an image of a man, mid forties to mid fifties, wearing a black windbreaker jacket with cuffs like you would see on a sweatshirt. He had a large piece of wood, about four inches thick, a foot and a half wide, by two or three feet long. He took it and absolutely impaled a girl on the back of the head, right where I had felt like I'd been hit. It happened so fast, but the image was very vivid, and as soon as he hit the girl, I came to again.
When this happened, I felt blood just pouring out of my head, down my neck, and forward down my shirt and over my wonderfully perky ta-tas. My mind started racing. I put my hand up to the back of my head. It was wet, warm and gooey. I started to mentally freak out, wondering how someone got in the house, how the dogs didn't notice, where the person was now, why they would hit me over the head; my mind was racing. I pulled my hand away to survey the damage and...nothing. I looked down at my chest. Nothing. I put my hand back up and I felt it again, my head still throbbing and my vision going in and out. I got up, went to the bathroom, got another mirror and put it behind me and realized there was nothing wrong with my head. There was also no one in the house. I was fine, but I didn't feel fine.
My vision repaired itself slowly, and the pain lessened, but the feeling that there was blood gushing out of my head didn't. Eventually, I couldn't take the sound of any noise, so I turned the volume off on the television. I sat here for awhile, talking to said awesome Australian friend and trying to keep my wits about things. Talking to her was my way of knowing I was okay. Had there been anything actually wrong that would have otherwise caused the pain, I would have quickly become delusional, not been able to type, not been able to string sentences together, etc. None of that happened. For all intents and purposes, I was totally fine. Nothing at all had happened to me.
After about an hour, I still felt like I was bleeding profusely. It was so profound that every few minutes I would automatically put my hand up to my head and make sure that I wasn't bleeding. Even though I knew I wasn't, the feeling was just profound, so real, that my body subconsciously responded by checking my head. I was still sitting here minding my own business, perplexed but trying to talk about anything but that, when I heard someone screaming. This is exactly what I heard.
"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! You sick son of a bitch! Get it off!"
It was coming from my living room, so I thought nothing of it. The TV remote was next to me. I simply moved and hit the mute button and the sound came back on. I thought, holy shit, what show came on after My Fair Wedding with David Tutera? This is WE Channel for goodness sake. Then I looked up and realized mute was still displayed across the screen and another wedding show was playing. Not just that, but Greta must have heard it because her little fanny had left my side and was nowhere to be seen. My only response was, "oh my damn."
I had pretty much figured when I realized I was not actually harmed that this had to do with a new spirit. However, I had never been physically impaled this way. I have had aches and pains, sharp ones even, but it wasn't the same. One time I woke up and my kneecaps felt broken. Later that day a young lady by the name of Kara came to me. Her kneecaps had been broken. As soon as I saw her, my pain went away. A few times I have felt pain where the spirit, who was standing in front of me, had been harmed. But I had never been sitting there and actually felt like I had been impaled, and then having a flash of a man hitting a woman in the same place over the head, followed by the sound of a girl screaming in my living room with no explanation. But apparently it wasn't over yet.
I couldn't sleep. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was bleeding. I felt like the blood was gushing out of my bed even three hours later. I was awake, fully awake. Do you all remember how I said my ankle was hurting me yesterday for seemingly no reason? I had forgotten about it. The pain had thankfully gone away the longer I sat down. Just when I was unsuspecting of it, I felt someone grab my ankle. When I say I felt someone grab my ankle, I don't mean that I felt someone kind of lightly touch it. I mean I felt someone put both of their hands around my ankle with the severity of an angry abuser and then I felt this horrible, horrible pain, like someone had just snapped my ankle in half. The pain was dissimilar to the pain I had earlier in the day. It burned and it felt like my foot had been detached from my body. It was an hour before I could put any weight on it or think straight, and yes, I still felt like I was bleeding profusely from my head.
Eventually, I had succumbed to the idea that it was nearly five am and I had to try to go to bed. I got up, shut off all the lights, turned on only the back porch light, let Greta Hayley out, and turned around to see a girl standing across the kitchen from me. When I say I saw a girl, I mean that I saw her as clearly as I saw the table in front of me, as I saw Greta go outside, as I saw anything else in the room. No, I was not hallucinating. I was not that tired. I am used to being up extremely late. I saw a full bodied person who looked just the same as you and me, no transparency to speak of, or and, ifs or buts about it. And I didn't just see her for a second. I saw her for several minutes. I just stood there and stared at her, taking in exactly how she looked so that I could search missing persons, or deceased persons records for her, because, since she hadn't spoken to me and given me a name, it was all I had.
Although she wasn't standing next to me, I could tell she was somewhat tall, somewhere around 5'8 or so. She weighed around 125-130 pounds. She was very shiny. I know that sounds funny; it did to me, too. At first I thought she was wet, but I saw no water dripping off of her, so I couldn't tell for sure. She had long, dark, wavy, not curly, hair that looked like she had shellacked it in hairspray, as it was glistening and immobile, that fell around her breast line. She was pale skinned, had gorgeous cheek bone structure, but her cheeks themselves were full and naturally rosy. She was wearing red lipstick, and although she probably had other makeup on, she looked fresh faced, like she did not. Her eyes were a bright, seemingly unnatural color blue. She looked to be around eighteen or nineteen, but I had a suspicion that she could be older and she looked young for her age, as the way she was built indicated that she was probably more early to mid twenties.
She went away on her own and Greta was ready to come in. I let her in and we went to bed. After getting comfortable and cuddling into bed, shutting off the light, and hoping I could sleep when I felt like blood was pouring out of the back of my head, I started to hear a dripping sound. Frustrated, I got up figuring that something in my freaking bathroom, which is on the other side of the wall from where my head is at on the bed, was leaking or I hadn't turned a facet off well enough. After searching my bathroom, the house, and making sure it wasn't raining outside or nothing was dripping, I came to the conclusion that it was not an actual problem. This left me with the conclusion that the girl must have been wet, and although I couldn't see her at the moment, was dripping in my room. The sound never did go away, but eventually I fell asleep.
I woke up today feeling like my head was still bleeding, that I had been impaled in the back of the head, and like my ankle was broken. Thus why I didn't really do much with my day. It's unbelievable the kind of pain that comes with feeling like you've been whacked over the back of the head when you really haven't. I tried to make something out of my day, but my body was not having it at all. The less I forced myself to move around, the less it hurt. I can see fine and everything, but there's just this pressure on my head. I realize, though, that's it's not me having an actual problem. Like I said, if it was me, I would not be able to articulate anything and would be pretty sick and in the hospital by now, since this started nearly twenty four hours ago.
I have searched high and low and I believe I found my girl. This is the first time I've not been positive, because the only thing that isn't bang on about her are her eyes. They are a greenish-blue. However, her eyes seemed unnaturally blue when I saw her, so she could have had contacts in or been trying to tell me something. I identified her first by her picture, which I always do, before clicking on the picture and finding out any information about her. I want to be sure and not put ideas in my own head. This particular girl, however, is 5'7, one hundred and thirty pounds, fits bang on with who I saw last night minus the eyes, and was found drowned with her ankle broken and a bump on the back of her head where I felt like I got it, although the medical examiner will not release her official cause of death. I'm not sold it's this girl since I'm still feeling the repercussions of not actually getting hit in the head, but unless she gives me a name, or I find out otherwise, I'm going to assume it's her for now.
Guys, please be kind to others and please be careful. There are a lot of twisted people out there who have no regard for themselves, or human life in general. I don't want any of you to be my next special friend. Please, please be safe, be vigilant, but don't forget to live your life and don't paralyze yourself with fear. Just think and be careful. I love you guys.
Let me begin by saying that I have a tremendous amount of respect for these men. They not only protect wildlife, but in order to do that they have to deal with very dangerous wildlife, putting their lives on the line daily. They show is also education. In fact, in just one show I learned the following.
* Alligators are cannibals. They will eat the baby gators. I wonder if they raised Hannibal Lecter, or if he gave lectures at swamps across the world to introduce them to his wicked ways.
* When alligators flip upside down, vertigo causes them to pass out. If you ever see a gator upside down, he is unconscious. This doesn't mean you go near him, though. He will eventually pull out of it, and once he does, you don't have a prayer in September of getting away. He'll be on you like a duck on a June bug in three seconds flat. (I was just waiting to properly use the duck on a June bug quip.)
* It's perfectly acceptable to say clusterflop instead of clusterfuck. Doesn't that take the fun out of it, though?
That being said, I do not have the maturity to hold my laughter in, when, suddenly, three of four large guys pile on an alligator in a very compromising looking position. (3:47, and you're welcome.) For those of you who think football tackles look hysterical, you haven't seen a grown ass man straddling an alligator, legs splayed, while two or three other men hop on top of him, legs also splayed, in various positions. Not only does it look like they're making love to each other, but to the alligator or crocodile as well. Then they find themselves at the mercy of the one man who isn't piled on top of the gator and getting the rope to grab the gator with. If that guy thinks they look hysterical, he'll just take his time getting the rope, leaving them in what looks like a compromising position only to be shown on an X-rated channel. The one guy...he totally took his time and admitted it was on purpose. It's good to know even they think it's funny.
In other television news, I was desperate, so I had the news on. I'd rather read the news online and skip over all the Steelers stuff. However, the news proved itself comical today, if only to us. This time it wasn't even the newscasters' fault.
First, some football player on some team that I don't think was ours, but wouldn't have notice or cared if it was, ran ninety seven yards to a field goal. I commend him, but I'll be damned if I'd run ninety seven yards if there wasn't a donut at the other end. Priorities.
Second, today is obviously Martin Luther King Jr. Day. The least we can do is take a day to honor such an eloquent, amazing man. In fact, in a town here known for constant shootings, a whole fifty people marched down the street to honor fourteen shooting victims. At the same time my mom and I both said variations of "only fifty people honoring fourteen?" You have to understand, this is a large area with nearly twenty thousand people, and each year that probably drops by a hundred with all the shootings. I wish I was kidding, but no. There are a lot of shootings there. The odds of there being that many shootings in one area are almost negligible. It just seemed a little...awkward?
But seriously, guys, today is an amazing day honoring an amazing man, who, unfortunately, was far ahead of his time and it ended his life. It's good to see that his legacy lives on and is being honored.
In other news that has nothing to do with anything, my mom decided one of the ladies at work is her mentor. She just doesn't know it. That's how we do things in Pennsylvania. We make you surprise mentors.
There is no doubt in my mind that Helena is related to this clown. She was sleeping in the living room when I went into the kitchen. I bent down for two seconds and stood up to find her standing behind me, completely still and staring at me. There's a lot of things that don't scare me; dead people, snakes, singing munchkins and lawn gnomes, but she scares the hell out of me. I guess that means I'm left with nothing but holy. If she starts scaring the holy out of me, I'll worry.
The highlight of my very odd day, however, was Shemar Moore on The Talk. He's something of a playa-playa (I'm sorry, but I'm trying to get the lingo right. I know it's funny coming out of the whitest girl in all of the world. That's my trademark.), but my gosh is he gorgeous.
While he was on the show, I was emailing my awesome Australian friend about something that happened last night, and decided to tell her he was on the show. Not thinking anything of it, I titled the email Shemar Moore and Last Night. It took me several minutes to realize what was wrong with that, but once I did I laughed like a sixteen year old boy, or, you know, like myself, and then promptly hit send. Since nothing I say about the email title is going to be allowed on blogger or not get me in trouble with my mom and Aunt Bev, who would probably agree with it but never admit it, I'm just going to talk about last night to clarify that one had nothing to do with the other. However, if you thought it did, please come over here and rub off on me. You have a much more fabulous idea of my life than what is reality and I want it all up in my business.
Last night I was minding my own business and happily typing away while talking to my awesome Australian friend, when I very, very suddenly felt like someone had whacked me over the back of my head with something very hard. The pain was unreal, and for two seconds I blacked out. While blacked out, I got an image of a man, mid forties to mid fifties, wearing a black windbreaker jacket with cuffs like you would see on a sweatshirt. He had a large piece of wood, about four inches thick, a foot and a half wide, by two or three feet long. He took it and absolutely impaled a girl on the back of the head, right where I had felt like I'd been hit. It happened so fast, but the image was very vivid, and as soon as he hit the girl, I came to again.
When this happened, I felt blood just pouring out of my head, down my neck, and forward down my shirt and over my wonderfully perky ta-tas. My mind started racing. I put my hand up to the back of my head. It was wet, warm and gooey. I started to mentally freak out, wondering how someone got in the house, how the dogs didn't notice, where the person was now, why they would hit me over the head; my mind was racing. I pulled my hand away to survey the damage and...nothing. I looked down at my chest. Nothing. I put my hand back up and I felt it again, my head still throbbing and my vision going in and out. I got up, went to the bathroom, got another mirror and put it behind me and realized there was nothing wrong with my head. There was also no one in the house. I was fine, but I didn't feel fine.
My vision repaired itself slowly, and the pain lessened, but the feeling that there was blood gushing out of my head didn't. Eventually, I couldn't take the sound of any noise, so I turned the volume off on the television. I sat here for awhile, talking to said awesome Australian friend and trying to keep my wits about things. Talking to her was my way of knowing I was okay. Had there been anything actually wrong that would have otherwise caused the pain, I would have quickly become delusional, not been able to type, not been able to string sentences together, etc. None of that happened. For all intents and purposes, I was totally fine. Nothing at all had happened to me.
After about an hour, I still felt like I was bleeding profusely. It was so profound that every few minutes I would automatically put my hand up to my head and make sure that I wasn't bleeding. Even though I knew I wasn't, the feeling was just profound, so real, that my body subconsciously responded by checking my head. I was still sitting here minding my own business, perplexed but trying to talk about anything but that, when I heard someone screaming. This is exactly what I heard.
"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! You sick son of a bitch! Get it off!"
It was coming from my living room, so I thought nothing of it. The TV remote was next to me. I simply moved and hit the mute button and the sound came back on. I thought, holy shit, what show came on after My Fair Wedding with David Tutera? This is WE Channel for goodness sake. Then I looked up and realized mute was still displayed across the screen and another wedding show was playing. Not just that, but Greta must have heard it because her little fanny had left my side and was nowhere to be seen. My only response was, "oh my damn."
I had pretty much figured when I realized I was not actually harmed that this had to do with a new spirit. However, I had never been physically impaled this way. I have had aches and pains, sharp ones even, but it wasn't the same. One time I woke up and my kneecaps felt broken. Later that day a young lady by the name of Kara came to me. Her kneecaps had been broken. As soon as I saw her, my pain went away. A few times I have felt pain where the spirit, who was standing in front of me, had been harmed. But I had never been sitting there and actually felt like I had been impaled, and then having a flash of a man hitting a woman in the same place over the head, followed by the sound of a girl screaming in my living room with no explanation. But apparently it wasn't over yet.
I couldn't sleep. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was bleeding. I felt like the blood was gushing out of my bed even three hours later. I was awake, fully awake. Do you all remember how I said my ankle was hurting me yesterday for seemingly no reason? I had forgotten about it. The pain had thankfully gone away the longer I sat down. Just when I was unsuspecting of it, I felt someone grab my ankle. When I say I felt someone grab my ankle, I don't mean that I felt someone kind of lightly touch it. I mean I felt someone put both of their hands around my ankle with the severity of an angry abuser and then I felt this horrible, horrible pain, like someone had just snapped my ankle in half. The pain was dissimilar to the pain I had earlier in the day. It burned and it felt like my foot had been detached from my body. It was an hour before I could put any weight on it or think straight, and yes, I still felt like I was bleeding profusely from my head.
Eventually, I had succumbed to the idea that it was nearly five am and I had to try to go to bed. I got up, shut off all the lights, turned on only the back porch light, let Greta Hayley out, and turned around to see a girl standing across the kitchen from me. When I say I saw a girl, I mean that I saw her as clearly as I saw the table in front of me, as I saw Greta go outside, as I saw anything else in the room. No, I was not hallucinating. I was not that tired. I am used to being up extremely late. I saw a full bodied person who looked just the same as you and me, no transparency to speak of, or and, ifs or buts about it. And I didn't just see her for a second. I saw her for several minutes. I just stood there and stared at her, taking in exactly how she looked so that I could search missing persons, or deceased persons records for her, because, since she hadn't spoken to me and given me a name, it was all I had.
Although she wasn't standing next to me, I could tell she was somewhat tall, somewhere around 5'8 or so. She weighed around 125-130 pounds. She was very shiny. I know that sounds funny; it did to me, too. At first I thought she was wet, but I saw no water dripping off of her, so I couldn't tell for sure. She had long, dark, wavy, not curly, hair that looked like she had shellacked it in hairspray, as it was glistening and immobile, that fell around her breast line. She was pale skinned, had gorgeous cheek bone structure, but her cheeks themselves were full and naturally rosy. She was wearing red lipstick, and although she probably had other makeup on, she looked fresh faced, like she did not. Her eyes were a bright, seemingly unnatural color blue. She looked to be around eighteen or nineteen, but I had a suspicion that she could be older and she looked young for her age, as the way she was built indicated that she was probably more early to mid twenties.
She went away on her own and Greta was ready to come in. I let her in and we went to bed. After getting comfortable and cuddling into bed, shutting off the light, and hoping I could sleep when I felt like blood was pouring out of the back of my head, I started to hear a dripping sound. Frustrated, I got up figuring that something in my freaking bathroom, which is on the other side of the wall from where my head is at on the bed, was leaking or I hadn't turned a facet off well enough. After searching my bathroom, the house, and making sure it wasn't raining outside or nothing was dripping, I came to the conclusion that it was not an actual problem. This left me with the conclusion that the girl must have been wet, and although I couldn't see her at the moment, was dripping in my room. The sound never did go away, but eventually I fell asleep.
I woke up today feeling like my head was still bleeding, that I had been impaled in the back of the head, and like my ankle was broken. Thus why I didn't really do much with my day. It's unbelievable the kind of pain that comes with feeling like you've been whacked over the back of the head when you really haven't. I tried to make something out of my day, but my body was not having it at all. The less I forced myself to move around, the less it hurt. I can see fine and everything, but there's just this pressure on my head. I realize, though, that's it's not me having an actual problem. Like I said, if it was me, I would not be able to articulate anything and would be pretty sick and in the hospital by now, since this started nearly twenty four hours ago.
I have searched high and low and I believe I found my girl. This is the first time I've not been positive, because the only thing that isn't bang on about her are her eyes. They are a greenish-blue. However, her eyes seemed unnaturally blue when I saw her, so she could have had contacts in or been trying to tell me something. I identified her first by her picture, which I always do, before clicking on the picture and finding out any information about her. I want to be sure and not put ideas in my own head. This particular girl, however, is 5'7, one hundred and thirty pounds, fits bang on with who I saw last night minus the eyes, and was found drowned with her ankle broken and a bump on the back of her head where I felt like I got it, although the medical examiner will not release her official cause of death. I'm not sold it's this girl since I'm still feeling the repercussions of not actually getting hit in the head, but unless she gives me a name, or I find out otherwise, I'm going to assume it's her for now.
Guys, please be kind to others and please be careful. There are a lot of twisted people out there who have no regard for themselves, or human life in general. I don't want any of you to be my next special friend. Please, please be safe, be vigilant, but don't forget to live your life and don't paralyze yourself with fear. Just think and be careful. I love you guys.
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