Artistically Untitled

So... I went to McDonald's today...

2011-08-04T16:35:00.001-05:00

McDonald's HWY 72: Don't waste your time.

I know I've said this before, but I am really surprised that my picture isn't hanging up in fast food restaurants as a warning to DO YOUR DAMN JOB.

Some people choose things to get good at, and some people just end up good at things. I am good at being a very powerful magnet for incompetent hourly workers.

Today I went to McDonald's. McDonald's (just a little recap for everybody) is not good food, it is cheap food and more importantly (and more advertised) it is FAST FOOD. If you've ever had McDonald's you know that FAST is the operative word in that sentence and FOOD is more just a lack of a better word.

Oh yeah, also they "love to see you smile!"

Alright, back to the narrative:

I go through the drive through, and a pre-recorded voice comes on and tells me that the drive through is broken to please come inside. Now, keep this in mind, THE DRIVE THROUGH IS CLOSED THERE IS ONE LESS VERY BIG THING FOR THE EMPLOYEES TO BE BOTHERED WITH.

When I walk in their are two cashiers and two customers. One cashier is a manager and is taking the order of another employee she puts it in, walks away. The other cashier is taking the order of a customer, he puts it in, walks away.

Um... guys?

So I wait. And wait. A line grows behind me. I wait. Five minutes later, the cashier returns.

"I need a chicken nugget Happy Meal with a Coke and a cheesburger."

"So that's two Happy Meals?"

*blank stare* "No, a chicken nugget Happy Meal and a cheeseburger."

"Oh, I thought you meant the cheeseburger was a cheeseburger Happy Meal."

I say nothing, I'm in no mood after my waiting, to deal with incompetent logic. Does this mean when someone orders a Big Mac he thinks they mean a Big Mac Happy Meal?

He says the total and I swipe the card in the card swipey thing like I do every time I go to a McDonald's.

He says the total again.

I hold the card up, "Card..."

Receipt. Wait.

Wait.
Anddd wait.

Ten-minute montage:

Random lady I never even saw order gets her food.
Woman and two tweens behind me order. Food comes out.
Man behind them orders. Food comes out.
Old lady orders for her and old man. Food comes out.
Woman and two teenagers order. Food comes out.

Finally, the saggy pants manager comes over and sits my food up on the counter and says, "Here's your food."

I walk up and go to pick it up. No drink.

"Where's the drink?"

She turns around and brings up my order on the screen, because, you know, that whole drink coming with a Happy Meal thing, that's new. Not everybody knows about that, especially not management.

She snatches the cup and slam it down on the counter. I pick up my food and give her my best ennui eye roll.

As soon as my back is turned (because that's how punk ass bitches roll) she goes, "YOU'RE WELCOME!"

My response is immediate but in my head there is this slow down where the world stops and a voice goes, "Oh, I know she didn't..."

I turn around, "Oh sorry, I forgot, THANK YOU for the HORRIBLE service!"

"LIKE I SAID, YOU'RE WELCOME! BYE!"

Bitch, no you did not. DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM. DIDN'T YOUR ASS HEAR ABOUT THE HARDEE'S MASSACRE OF 2011.

Woman, do you KNOW the leading cause of unemployment in this city?

I ask for the District Manager's phone number and it gets very quiet. Cashier boy who can't understand orders looks away. Fry girl who looks like Anne Hathaway looks away. Saggy pants manager keeps on keepin' on. So I say it LOUDER so that EVERYBODY including the staff at the Taco Bell next door can hear.

"CAN I GET YOUR DISTRICT MANAGER'S PHONE NUMBER?"

"You can call the number on the receipt!"

"Oh, and what was your name again, I didn't catch your name?"

"IT'S TIFFANY! DO I NEED TO SPELL THAT FOR YOU!?"

"No, I can spell, that's more than I can probably say for you!"

I called the DM and left a message. I went on the website and submitted a complaint. And I'm calling the health department too.

There was trash spilling out from a dustpan in the kitchen onto the floor of the restaurant. Employees were bringing trash in through the customer entrance. All around nasty. Not surprising seeing as the manager can't even pull herself together enough to keep her pants off the ground at her place of business. Lookin' like a fool with your pants on the ground.

I can put with poor service if someone is polite. Polite tells me, "I realize I or somebody have fucked up and given you service less than what is advertised. I recognize that and my polite demeanor is the first step in fixing the problem."

But a BAD ATTITUDE when you've already given me a substandard experience? That tells me you have not highlighted the problem and that it might need to be pointed out to you while you're looking for another job.

To recap: drive through is closed so the store is LESS busy. It takes 15 minutes to order and get my food. Even though I don't say anything rude to employees who can't seem to wrap their heads around their job some 18 year-old sloppy-ass shift manager calls me out for not thanking her for FINALLY BEING ABLE TO DO HER JOB in double the time that it should be done.

Now.
Who wants to help me make some Uncle Sam style posters of me pointing to go and hang up in any and all fast food joints?

Cocktease weather.

2011-03-31T13:12:00.006-05:00

It's Alabama and the seasons sort of run like this (starting with summer): "OH MY FUCKING GOD ARE WE IN HELL? WHY GOD WHY WON'T THE SUN JUST DIE". Then, "Oh, well this is pleasant, if it could only not go from hot to tolerable to freezing in 2 months..." In Winter, "Thundersnow, are you kidding me? I think this might be the apocalypse." And the that brings us to Spring: "Nice nice nice nice, tornado, nice nice nice, tornado, freezing rain, sudden tunda."

And that, boys and girls, is how I ended up with this in my bathroom:

There has been relentlessly cold and rain for a week now and I only own a washing machine. I had gotten accustomed to the reliable warmth or Spring and was caught off guard (with two loads of laundry) when the cold started up again.

For three days my bathroom was like that. A little bit of laundry each day to keep it under control.

Then today, I woke up late, around ten.

It was sunny.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I need to do all the laundry NOW and get it out on the line so it has enough time to dry.

Gather. Dump. Detergent. Run.

Sigh of relief.

I came back in the bedroom and got online to check e-mail and Facebook, what have you... and I brought up the weather.

Forty-five fucking degrees... and I haven't seen the sun since, I think I might've dreamed.

What can I do now? I have a probably overfilled washer of laundry (now very much wet).

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Thursday:

UAH: letting you do what you mom never would.

2011-03-30T15:55:00.007-05:00

Last semester, UAH enforced a $400+ meal plan on every student unless you were married or had children. It did not matter if you lived on campus or on your own, whether or not you already had a meal plan, or whether you were damn well old enough not to need the school plan your meals.

To comply with students who only ate organic or had religious reasons for not eating this crap or who just plain out didn't want to eat 4oo dollars worth of cafeteria food, UAH opened a couple of the shittiest coffee bars in America, an on-campus Chik Fil-A and Papa John's, and a small over-priced convenience store.

First, let me just remark on how incredibly counterproductive it is to choose a food chain (Chik Fil-A) that isn't even open all 7 days of the week.

Second, I never want to eat Papa John's pizza again.

Tripp and I buy groceries and cook meals and generally eat outside of campus, because, we live outside of campus, aren't in the Greek system, and have no desire to participate in school activities like this is fucking high school. But, in an attempt to use up this "use it or lose it" meal plan we started ordering Papa John's all the time. I simply cannot eat this shit anymore. We don't eat at the cafeteria because a) we're not frehsman and b) I can cook anything on the buffet home-made and we get to be at HOME when we eat it.

Here it is about 4 weeks from the end of term and Tripp still has 150/400 dollars left. And we have eaten A LOT of pizza.

So today he decided to go into the convenience store and go crazy. He filled two bags full of candy and frozen foods and still only spent $60.

This is what it has come down to UAH, our mothers would be so ashamed... 23 years old and tonight: CANDY FOR DINNER!!!

...and let's face it, with sixty dollars worth, tomorrow will be: CANDY FOR BREAKFAST!!!

On a more serious note: UAH enacted the meal plans in hopes to bolster campus activities. Seriously, UAH, if you want a more vibrant campus life here is how to do it:

-stop building everything JUST FAR ENOUGH APART so that you can never park at one building and walk to all your classes.

-get a team, this is a state school and the reason nobody cares is because it's motherfucking Alabama and we have a goddamn hockey team.

-there is more to your student body than engineers, Christians, and RAs. Cater to someone else for a change. The only people that really followed the meal plan the way it was meant to be followed, eating on campus, with friends were people who were already stuck up each other's butts to begin with.

Your scientific method is flawed.

2011-03-28T13:21:00.006-05:00

A few weeks ago the library was looking for an errand boy. Seriously, the job description was dusting shelves, signing for packages, emptying waste paper baskets and generally being mind-numblingly OCD.

Hello...? Have you met me?!

Sure it's a scut job, sure it pays less that I could make panhandling, but money is money and this would be like getting paid to do what I do for free everyday anyway. And there would be books!

So I sent in my resume and their little Staples-bought application.

I got a confirmation e-mail that my application had be received and that I would be contacted.

I was never contacted.

Then today, I got this e-mail phrased as if I had been contacted and led through some interview process that required me to be let down gently:

"Thank you for your interest in the position of Library Aide at the Huntsville-Madison County Public Library. While your credentials are impressive, we have concluded that another candidate’s qualifications more closely match the requirements of this position.

We wish you the best in locating the career opportunity you deserve. In the event you see other positions posted on our website in which you are interested, we welcome you to complete another employment application.

Sincerely,

Karin Voellmer-Brumbaugh, PHR

Human Resources Director"

I don't care I didn't get the job. It's been over 3 weeks since I applied so I wasn't really expecting I was who they'd picked. My problem with this e-mail is that is gives the feeling that I was truly ever considered. I wasn't called. As far as I know my references weren't called. I wasn't interviewed. They know me as a piece of paper and really aren't qualified to say whether I stand out less or more than someone else.

I decided since they are so challenged in understanding that I would let them know:

"Interesting. I find this hilarious as I was never contacted for any sort of interview and this leads me to wonder how you could accurately assess whether or not your new hire is more qualified than me.

Your scientific method is flawed. I thank my lucky stars you are looking for a cure for an epidemic. What a world of trouble we'd all be in.

Sincerely and still well-qualified,

Cassidy Anderson"

Yes, I am qualified, and also, probably smarter than you.

It's not like I ever intend on applying at the library again anyway.

How Pandora works...

2011-03-02T21:10:00.008-06:00

I've been using Pandora for a few months now, and I think I've finally come around to how the music genome project works...

The first station I made was a Tom Gabel station (lead singer for Against Me!). Pandora heard me, and played lots of nice southern punk rock music and a good bit of Irish punk... this lead me to make a separate station for a band called The Briggs.

Pandora heard: "Oh you like Irish punk rock, here's some Rancid."

No, Pandora.

Pandora: "Oh, you don't like that Rancid song? How's this one."

NO, PANDORA.

Eventually Pandora would give up and play a Briggs song or another song I had thumbs up... then it would use a secret camera to see when I left the room and I'd hear some terrible shit coming from the other room. I'd return to Pandora being like, "I know you said you didn't like Rancid, but I thought I could slip it in on you."

GODDAMMIT NO, PANDORA! NO FUCKING RANCID. EVER.

I had gotten it under control for a while, then one day, Pandora won. A song came on (of course when I was away from the monitor), I found it pleasant and returned to see that big, blaring awful word: RANCID. I could hardly bear it, but I had to thumbs it up.

Pandora came all over itself, I imagine if it had a face, it's eyes would've teared up and a huge incredulous grin would've crept across it's face.

I can't use that station anymore, because the station is now, "OHMYGAWDZ YOU LOVE RANCID! RANCID RANCID RANCID!"

I started watching Glee. Then I made a Glee playlist - which with my theater history and obsession with Rent SHOULD'VE flowed perfectly.

Pandora heard: YOU WANT SONGS SUNG BY PEOPLE OTHER THAN THE ORIGINAL ARTIST!!!

That was okay, for a bit, but I don't need to hear three versions of Hey Soul Sister and God knows how many of Hallelujah (besides no one will ever beat the Leonard Cohen version and that's just how it is).

I started thumbing down the cover bands. Especially the bad ones. (Read: Colbie Calliat LEAVE MICHAEL ALONE!)

I decided to "Add variety" with Hairspray.

Pandora, "Oh, you like musicals, here's some music from Disney movies."

After slowly training Pandora that Disney is unequal to Broadway musical, it seemed to catch on a bit. The station started playing Rent songs, songs from Hairspray and a few of my favorites from Guys N Dolls (and a smattering of actual Glee songs).

The problem, Pandora apparently thinks each music has only two songs. So, after hearing I'll Cover You and You Can't Stop the Beat a mind-numbing TEN THOUSAND TIMES I had to click "I'm tired of this song."

So Pandora goes, alright musicals are the right track. HOW ABOUT WICKED AND MAMMA MIA!

NO NO NO NO NO FUCKING NO. No Abba, no fucking fad musical about veganism or whatever shit that stupid play was about (however I did end up liking Defying Gravity and Pandora somehow has learned that I will only listen to THAT ONE SONG from Wicked).

So... then we move onto to me thumbing down EVERY ABBA AND MAMMA MIA SONG (including Dancing Queen but not limited to Take A Chance - hey, it's catchy).

Now Pandora basically craps itself and breaks and starts playing some random folk music by bands only ever heard of by the lead singer and his mother.

I figure, I need to push Pandora in the right direction, I decide to add Glee's Christmas album to the mix (expecting that Pandora will focus on GLEE instead of CHRISTMAS.)

Pandora happily replies, "CHRISTMAS FOREVER AND EVER!!!"

It took weeks to deprogram... it just started playing the actual versions of pop songs that Glee covered and I just let it play because I eventually reach a point with Pandora where I need to conserve my thumbing down and shrug and say, "Meh, well at least it's not Hark-those-fuckin-Angels Sing again." (By Rancid)

Yesterday I heard it play Key-dollar sign HA! so I can only assume it has degenerated to Top 40 although it still has random hiccups of Jingle Bells and songs about a wagon wheel or whatever terrible unwashed folk bands sing about.

Tripp wanted to start a Smash Mouth station. Fantastic. The only thing I can see going wrong is that it will make it a ska orgy like it did with a failed indie station we made in the beginning. I decide for good measure to mix with Blind Melon and Spin Doctors...

...oh, Pandora.

There shouldn't have been any way this could go wrong. Pandora thinks, "Ah, you listened to the radio in the 90s... here's every crappy one hit wonder of your childhood - and Nirvana."

That was the end of that. I don't know how to fix this. Although, it's the only of my 10+ stations that NEVER plays Lady Gaga (Glee and Eminem play more Lady Gaga than the Lady Gaga station oddly enough).

All of that being said, I am pretty sure from these experiences I can gauge how Pandora's algorithm works.

Hypothesis number one: Janis Joplin radio.

Pandora thinks you like female singers - plays Evanescence, Avril Lavigne, Peter Paul and Mary, Paramore, Katy Perry, Diana Ross, more shitty current pop girls, and ONE Janis Joplin song.

Hypothesis number two: Queen radio. Variety: Creed, Hanson, Mandy Moore, failed American Idol winners, Christian rock.

Pandora thinks you like music that gets you made fun of and plays: LINKIN PARK.

Hypothesis number three: Beatles radio. Variety: soft indie rock with odd female vocals, Train, band you've only heard of because you Googled some lyrics stuck in your head.

Pandora thinks your musical knowledge is based off Apple commercials and plays this song for the rest of your days or until you switch to Songza.

2010-12-20T23:47:00.005-06:00

When I still had any sort of spirituality, in its last dying breaths, in high school I had one thought left about it all that I found comforting.

I had somehow convinced myself that a heavenly afterlife involved the happiest aspect of your life shaped into infinity. Now this is as ridiculous as religion itself, but it was the only thing I found comfort in when I thought about death. Partly because I think the idea of a Christian heaven is contrived, and partly because I think the idea of heaven is dull, and I'd be more miserable than in any sort of hell if eternity was white robes, gold sidewalks, without a want for anything, watching the living.

I figure it was all tautological, the idea I had of a heaven would be my heaven. And my heaven would be the greatest most fulfilling part of my life, forever intensified.

When I was a teenager I thought when I died I'd be in that theater forever. Surrounded by THOSE theater people. That time was magical for me. The stage lit me up and gave me every other happy cliche feeling you can dream up. It was my breath and my life and my happiness and my rock. For a few years after high school I fell into community theater, trying to reclaim that, thinking it was about the craft.

It was never the craft.

It was that exact situation. It was that stage, those rickety chairs, that scene shop, the odd backstage rooms that had only a women's dressing room and no men's, the dark space over the audience where the lights were hung that too this day (backed by many dreams) that I swear has a secret room with a mattress and an oriental rug. It was those people, those leads, those parts, those plays, those rituals. It was the testosterone dance which featured "Hammer Time," and lipsticking the prop kids, it was the fear of the word 'cut,' and the Applebee's dinners after opening night (and Hooters the night after that). I cannot reclaim these nuances anywhere else.

Even there I was the odd one out. My penchant for humor always failed me around other talented people. I always felt sub par or too big, or too small, or untalented. I loved it and it killed me all the while. It was my adrenaline and it was my dopamine overload. It was the drug that got me high and then brought me down. It could all the while made me doubt my self-worth. It made me a star and schlub, and snob and scared little girl.

I don't regret one minute of it.

Sometimes I catch a moment of that feeling in my chest, it's like the rush of adrenaline in between falling out of the tree and actually hitting the ground. It's that spark when someone unexpectedly kisses your neck, or that firecracker the moment you realize that the eyes you are looking into are the eyes of the person you love.

I go into a little circular dance in that moment. I want it back. But I know that no alternative can ever make me feel that way again, not about theater, not about MY stage. I can't live in the past.

Shortly after all that, my belief in anything eternal faded. There was no afterlife hope or ponderance or really any thought at all because the thought of the lacking was a scary and stomach churning as trying to figure out the actualization. The only thing scarier than the afterlife was no afterlife.

If you asked me a year and half ago what the new defining stage in my life was, I'd at least have an answer. This is a step up from the first three years following high school when I was scared, stumbling, and lacking a passion. Last December and the 8 months before... if I had died and fallen into my self-fulfilling heaven, I would've been caving with Adrian, James, and Sang.

It would have made for a very interesting eternity, as cold and wet as it is, and I can't say that I think the heaven aspect would make it more comfortable, I think the cold, wet inconveniences would have to stay or it wouldn't be the experience that resuscitated me.

I had a great eight months, I had some times that I can't even describe. I can talk about them, I can recite every moment, every word, but even with all my pretty phrasing, my immaculate vocabulary, my ability to emote and paint pictures with words, I can never give to you what I felt there. I was a better person than ever when I was there.

Finally I truly understood life and death responsibility. This isn't showing up for a job, this is holding another person's life in your hands. This is holding your life in your hands - or at least being much more aware that you control your own fate than ever before. This made me conscious, alert, sober, in shape. I was smart, fast-thinking, problem solving. I was facing fears and breathing down panic attacks. It's one of the times I've been most proud of myself. I learned so much about so much. It wasn't just technique and facts, it was a mindset and a personality and it was one I knew and loved and felt confident in.

There was nothing I couldn't do.

But this, like the stage, is still my love, still something I would return to, something I share with others. And yet, it is, somehow different without those ideal beginning circumstances. I've taken Tripp with me, and I love him and the time we spent down there was amazing, but it's different.

There aren't the inside jokes, he doesn't know my cues like they do, he's never seen me fall 25 feet or had to talk to down from a panic attack when I've been sixty feet in the air. He hasn't ran blindly down the creek bed with me in swim shoes at 2 AM. He hasn't been contacted by search and rescue (when there was need for neither search nor rescue). It's fun still, but it's safe. The risk taking is gone, the wow factor is old. There were all these times before where we got ourselves into a mess and we got ourselves out. We survived. There was a time in my life I could watch a survival show and say I KNOW HOW TO DO THAT AND THAT MAN IS DOING IT WRONG.

In a way, I'm glad it's safer now, I should be living for something and choosing a life-threatening hobby was probably an extension of my sabotaging personality but it's just another one of my heavens that I can't have back.

In the last year I have had (if possible) even less of a belief in a god and a want for the opposite more than any other time in my life then when I was very small.

I don't want go into nothingness now that I have someone to leave behind, and I don't want him to go knowing that I will never have him back. This is not a heaven that I am willing to give up.

This part of my life, my eternity would have been with Tripp with no upsets. But more and more I wonder if even in an ideal controlled environment if we could exist, even metaphysically, with no upsets. The bigger question is would I even be happy without these interruptions.

Who would he or I, or us together be, without all of this. The truth is, I have no idea, and why sometimes I'd desperately like this world to turn into that heaven and not have any hurt anymore, this would still be my heaven even if i remained the same.

If I died now, or in the middle of an argument, or with my heart broken over something, when I got to that yet to be imagined area when my eternity takes place, it'd be me and him for the rest of forever and if I got there and we were the same mess that we are now, I wouldn't be any less happy or any less surprised.

This place is far more precious than my other heavens and at the same time, far more sustainable. All I have to do it remain me and keep him in my life and this eternity can be mine now. It is ridiculously hard sometimes and when I started on this piece I didn't know where it was going, I just had all these emotions about theater from watching Glee and the smell of mud in my nose from recent dreams about vertical caving. I realized about halfway through that I was going to talk myself through this experience and where this piece was going to end up. Nothing is perfect, not even the best times in my life.

I never fit in with theater and it was only a small window of my life that could even be that way.

Caving was amazing and dangerous, hard to keep up, seasonal, and offered far more drama (and the eventual implosion) then anyone would imagine.

Tripp is Tripp, he is wonderful and stupid and amazing and infuriating and to say that all of that is what makes me love him is both true and untrue. I love him because of who he is, and sometimes he really hurts me, and I don't love that. But I can't have both and I know that now, and I knew it before, it just took several paragraphs and seemingly unrelated anecdotal rambling to make me see it.

Road trip themes idea.

2010-08-23T14:07:00.005-05:00

I'm going to start a series on themes from the eight-day road trip. It's going to suck, because I will be including pictures from all of it and as you can see from previous posts I am terrible at embedding pictures.

Some themes that dominated our vacation were:

-fiberglass animals

-penguins

-Legos

-dinosuars

-Motel 6

-wind turbines

-cows (such is life when you drive through Wisconsin)

I'm not going to start today because I have a headache and an obnoxiously short keyboard cable.

Oh, and we had a Slip N Slide party which surely must be documented in blog form. Also, I'll be bashing another blog for it's unintentional hilarity and ability to make being a pill-popping whore out to be viable circumstances for having a child.

Less than three.

2010-07-13T11:44:00.003-05:00

This is my 100th post, which I feel like is a fitting milestone but today is also 6 months with the most amazing boyfriend ever.

:)

I'm not going to go into more detail because in retrospect, re-reading my happy posts makes me want to vomit.

Nobody wants to read about rainbows and sunshine, it much more fun to go outside and get those things yourself.

Did she or didn't she?

2010-07-13T11:18:00.003-05:00

It just occurred to me in random thought that this girl I went to high school with might have been fucking around with one of our theater professors.

It was my senior year and I went to a high school that had magnet classes for the arts. We were in a prestigious theater program that you have to get into based on auditions and grades. She auditioned late in our freshmen year and never really fit.

Seems she always had roles a grade below everyone else. Roles were usually given to seniors first, then juniors, etc... but it seemed when we were sophomores she was getting freshmen parts... and often times she was just never there, or our theater teacher forgot about her.

I remember a time or two when she had to be worked into a piece later because he simply forgot she existed and cast around her.

The end of my junior year our long standing theater teacher retired. In his place he left this brown-nosing, overeager, method-acting putz who made us all walk around in white masks for an hour and learn to "lead with your pancreas!" "lead with your knees!" "lead with your tonsils!"

We were nationally acclaimed thespians. The year previously we won Best Ensemble at the national level and he wants us to work on teamwork and "fake" acting. Stanislavsky. Puh!

One kid seemed to get where he was coming from, he made her his assistant director. Which was fitting, because the rest of us were never used to her having an important role anyway.

We're all gung-ho for this hilarious farce play in the fall, usually we never did a play before fall competition but this guy was ambitious and even if he was an oaf it was nice to get our hands dirty.

Everything with the cast was moving along great. We were all off book, blocked, excited... but on his end... sets were lacking, tech was behind, he didn't seem to be sure what he wanted from us.

One day, two weeks from opening the magnet chair and our tech teacher call us all in the theater. In the night, our exalted new theater teacher had abandoned our program to take a college job. He left in the night to travel over state lines to teach at a school that no one even thought had a theater major (he would later tell all this to an acquaintance on a plane saying that he tried to "rescue" this small high school organization to no avail - the man would reply that he'd heard of our recognitions but, what was that college you said you were at now again?)

In the night, she quit our school as well.
She was previously notorious in the gossip circle for having a relationship with her karate teacher (who was some 10 years her senior) and it only occurred to me today that her disappearance alongside the theater teacher that only she liked was a little odd.

I don't know what my point was with all of this, I just needed to put it down somewhere.

2010-05-21T12:32:00.022-05:00

I think it's time to take a break away from my slow-moving novel attempt. (Ha, that sentence made me laugh - nevermind). Anyway, in Alabama summer is here. And sometimes not here... but mostly here.

In the true fashion of my Alabama summers it's road trip and extreme adventure time. Before I go into what's going down already this season let's take a look back at last summer's adventures:

Caving.
Camping.
Cliff Jumping.
Urban climbing.
Pink elephants.
Rafting.

This season, we knocked out rock climbing back in April. We've got a jump start on the partying and Tripp has taken the lead on the cliff jumping at secret place but we really kicked it all off last weekend with a road trip down to a little place called Mt. Cheaha.

We were late leaving Huntsville and should've made it to Talladega National Forest around seven... then we got lost.

To get to Mt. Cheaha from Huntsville, Alabama you take 431 down... down... down... down... down. You're supposed to continue down through Gadsden and then head east on 20 until you see signs. The problem is that 431 is one of those bitches backwoods highways that turns at red lights when it goes through a city.

Coming through a small town called Attalla we noticed that everyone in the city was having a yard sale. EVERYONE. It all culminated in a huge flea market in town square. At that flea market we should've taken a right. We didn't take a right.

We're now heading north on a highway I've never head of for an hour or so before we realize the sun is on the wrong side of us. After driving through two more towns because nobody in podunk Collinsville has apparently ever left (obviously because they don't know the way out) we are told by a man in Fort Payne to, "go back down through all them towns to Attalla."

After we get back on track in Gadsden we realize we will not be making it to Cheaha at seven... eight, maybe.

Anniston takes forever and the drive up the mountain is hell in the dark. (Mt. Cheaha is the highest point in the state.)

We make it there at nine, pitch the tent, and go to sleep. At 6:30 the next morning we get up, pack up, and head to Death Chair. Death Chair is an odd rock formation jutting out of the side of themountain at a sheer drop off overlooking, well, everythingAfter the general store finally opens up we go to the observation tower and get sent on a wild goose chase for a water fall by a very sweaty old man who had rode twenty miles up the mountain on his bike. After the hour or so of being lost on mountain roads looking for High Falls we decide to leave this damned place and get on with these roadside attractions we were looking forward to.

Back through Anniston I wanted to stop at the yellow elephant (no doubt a cohort of my pink elephant friends) and this really cool old motel sign from the 50s.

Well, we get lost... somehow we're on some road where the numbers saying what highway it is just aren't right. However, this road leads us to another road, which leads us to another road, which will lead us to the road on which we should be traveling. On this another, another road we pass the abandoned drive in and the five cent wishing well before making it back to 431 and Smiley Express where we stop for Purple Stuff and push pops.

Finally, back in Attalla we read the one roadside attraction we most wanted to visit. On the wrong road down we passed an abandoned building which upon this inspection we find to be a school.

It was so amazing only pictures can tell:

Chapter 1 beginnings.

2010-02-26T13:05:00.004-06:00

***it's not supposed to make much sense just yet***

There are those times that you just know. When you meet someone sometimes you just know. You bump into a stranger on the street and you both politely smile, you know they'll be a friend for life. You see that woman dragging her screaming out of the grocery while yelling obscenities back at him and you just know you'll see that security tape footage on the news. You get pulled over and from the way the cop walks to your door you know you'll be in traffic school within the month. You lock eyes with a grocery clerk across the produce section and you can see your entire courting, break-up, make up and restraining orders flash before your eyes. Sometimes you just know. It's like that feeling before a storm or that slight awareness you have when you become vaguely awake just before your alarm clock goes off. It's a blinking voicemail you know isn't pleasant or the look on your boss's face when you're back from "sick" leave. Some things don't need explaining. Sometimes, you meet someone and know you're doomed to love them, and sometimes you meet and know you're destined to hate. And once in a thousand lifetimes, you meet someone, and you just know, that they're God.

God was sitting in his old worn-out rocking chair. It was a rickety woodbent rocker, those kind that never last. The whole contraption looked like an ostentatious cursive "L" and had a velvet upholstered back and seat. The wood was splintering and God sat precariously on it, rocking slowly making every piece of it shift and creak. He took a drag from his cigarette. Next to his chair sat a small table with one perfect glass of iced tea sitting there. It was in a tall glass with ice cubes that never melt and filled to the brim with the most appetizing-looking iced tea ever known to man. Above that was one perfectly sliced lemon wedge so delicately on the lip of the glass next to a little pink paper umbrella and a bent plastic straw. God rocked back and forth once more and took another drag from the cigarette and ashed into the iced tea. He looked at his surroundings, this damp dingy roller rink, empty and trashed, and wondered what he must of been smoking when he created this corner of the world. He continued to rock and smoke and think and ash as a janitor came by and swept up the mess with a wide broom. God stared out onto the abandoned roller rink and then looked toward the janitor who threw up a half-hearted wave as God took a sip of the iced tea.

God is funny and seems to like tie-dye.

2010-02-11T12:02:00.001-06:00

Last night, I had a dream that Tripp and I met God.

Now, I don't remember what God looked like, but I do remember everything else from being chashed by a big angry black man (whom for comedic purposes I shall call "Samuel L. Jackson") to a labyrinth of chutes and ladders to God's rocking chair seat at the roller derby.

When it started we were in the lobby of some sort of dormitory, though the campus was not UAH, I did recognize it. I think it's a recurring scenario in my dreamscapes. We're walking out of the lobby and there's Samuel L. Jackson (in a tie-dyed t-shirt shirt) and he gives us this threatening look and we take off running.

For a moment or two we don't think he's following, and I have no idea what we thought he would chase us or why he did indeed start chasing us, but he did. Tripp grabs my hand and we take off through the parking lot, sure that we can out run him. But man, he was really a lot more in shape than we anticipated.

We hit some grass and I'm losing speed because apparently I'm still asthmatic in dreams. We jump down some sort of concrete amphitheater and our enemy begins throwing things at the back of Tripp's head. TENNIS BALLS. He's throwing tennis balls, seriously?

There's a sidewalk leading to a gigantic McDonald's playplace and we stop wondering how we will stay ahead of him in this contraption. It becomes clear at this point that Samuel L. Jackson will not hit a girl so after a brief argument and some slight of hand Tripp takes off into the playground and I stand at the opening waiting for Samuel L. Jackson to catch up.

When he arrives he just stops in front of me. He tries to throw another tennis ball past me into the entrance to the play structure but I catch it and step toward him threatening to hit him in the balls with it. (Clever, huh?) Somehow Tripp left with me a knife and some mace. This is odd because I can't see any time when he would be in possession of a knife and mace but whatever, it did come in handy.

Here we stand two feet apart and Samuel L. Jackson dons a golf club. I grip the ball tighter and his eyes dart down ready to block. In this moment of weakness I mace him and turn and take off after Tripp.

The playplace is enormous and it circles and some surfaces are slick and everything is tie-dyed. There are inclines that feel like they're going downward and climbs that go in circles. We are lost in her for a very long time and it becomes clear to me near the end, that I know the way, and we've been here before. We come to a treacherous climb and I'm sure of what will happen when we reach the top, and I'm right.

We come out at the peak of a huge slide that pans out into the open no longer enclosed by tie-dyed walls and more passages. It goes up and down and up and down again and then spans out into a huge flat area where we slide back and forth working off pent up momentum.

When we come to a stop all is quiet and I peer over the edge. There sits a man (I think) in an old-fashioned rocking chair like the one in my mother's bedroom. He sits at the edge of a roller rink that I recognize from previous dreams. He is alone although the area has the aura that many other people have been there and have simply all gone home for the day. Next to him in an end table with an overly cliché-looking glass of iced tea, complete with perfect ice cubes in a tall, slender glass, a lemon wedge precariously perched on the rim and a straw bent at that quintessential glass-of-good-ol-sweet-tea angle. He is smoking.

I get Tripp's attention and he looks over the edge as well. Somehow, we both know this is God and exchange glances as suggestions of what to say. Finally, after a few moments of this I call over the edge and say, "I like your rocking chair, I bet it's very comfortable."

God looks up, not startled by my voice (he, of course, knew we were there all along) and sadly and as if he had given it some thought he replies, "It's not, but I can't complain as it is my own creation."

And I laugh.

2010-01-20T10:17:00.000-06:00

I'm being very careful, as I don't want to remake the world.

Paratrooper Palmettos.

2010-01-06T22:54:00.002-06:00

I know I usually go into detail in my installments of how killer Palmetto bugs are stalking me...

...but I don't need to say more than this.

I'm at the new house. I'm sitting here by light of the computer monitor surfing through fan pages on Facebook when *plop* on the keyboard lands a Palmetto that has DROPPED from the ceiling.

I'm wearing a hat from now on.

You can never use too many commas.

2009-12-19T14:04:00.002-06:00

The worst thing that can happen to you drunk is when you navigate your car to Taco Bell and once trapped in the drive-thru discover you have no idea what you did with the money.

Also, let me give a shout out to whomever was in the Buick in front of me, giving me a "thumbs up" out the window. I don't know what I did to warrant that, but, party on, Garth.

Maybe... just MAYBE... its a bad idea to accept the offer of a swig of moonshine in the RV parked in the bar parking lot.
Hey, but who am I to say what's right or wrong?

Oh, there seems to be a spammer commenting on my blog with links I'm not comfortable clicking on.

2009-12-15T01:44:00.004-06:00

After an ill-timed nap I am painfully awake. However, it is a wonderful humid December night in Alabama. The sky is red with the lights of the city and the dead trees protruding into the light look like garish silhouettes of Lovecraftian creatures.

I love the nighttime. I love to walk around when the world is dead and the road is empty and everything is mine.

Tonight, the pavement is wet and the air is quiet. The world sits so still that even the swings on the playground don't creak.

My playlist right now if full of music that I'd be embarrassed for you to know I listen to. But it's pristine, it fits perfectly in this moment. It was created weeks ago and the reason remained unknown to me until tonight.

Tonight is the explosion of so many events in my mind. Suddenly, I grasp these past weeks. My mind is tired but working very quickly and the rest of me must move in sync.

It is going to be a shitty end of the year, but for this moment I cannot be bothered with that. I feel strong, awake, and unshakable. The night air really empowers me.

These nights in the winter are so much more intense for me. The summer burns me out of the nice nights with the good playlist and the thinking and wanting to kick the sky, but the winter, I never get this in the winter.

I cannot contain my excitement.

And just like that... I feel very tired again.

If I could think of a witty title, I'd put that shit right here.

2009-12-14T21:32:00.004-06:00

My New Year's resolution is going to be to live life a little less to the fullest. At least, in the aspect of night life. I'll keep the thrill seeking, the caving, the having to call search and rescue, hell, I'll even keep the dancing on the bar (a gal can't turn down penny beer). But this going out every night...

...I'm getting too old for this shit. I don't ever know the days of the week anymore. Except Thursday, penny beer sticks in my mind.

Winter always does this to me. I can't stand the cold, and I can't stand staying in, so it's go out and get drunk or stay in and drink until I can't feel cold and then go out and do dumb/awesome shit.

I guess, if alcohol is keeping me from having seasonal depression than it's okay, right? Right?

I really intended to come write beautiful things about life, love, friendship, and alphabet soup... but I just can't focus on anything but being exhausted.

-empty promise that later I'll post a real entry-

2009-12-09T18:41:00.000-06:00

I Konami'd my blog.

Try it out :D

2009-11-15T18:47:00.002-06:00

The day before yesterday, driving somewhere, I passed a school at recess time. Friday was a particularly nice November day. Warm, sunny.

I remember how exciting recess was on days like that. You weren't expecting it. Come this time of year you'd be prepared to just accept some free time in class or to be taken to a smelly gym to play with worn out equipment for 10 minutes of recess.

You really appreciate the time you have then. That half hour or so in the sunlight. I wish I could still appreciate something that intensely, even if for a short period of time without wondering when the next thrill will come.

Meteor shower tomorrow, maybe that will do the trick. Either that, or it will make me feel incredibly lonely and small watching it alone.

2009-11-12T12:21:00.000-06:00

I feel like I'm making plans, day to day, never slowing down, like I'm killing time until something passes or something happens.

I feel like there's supposed to be this big sign at the end saying something like, "It's okay now, you can calm down."

But I know that's not true, and I don't want to live like this forever.

The monster that lives under my bed.

2009-11-09T18:03:00.003-06:00

(Painting by Matthew Dail. Self-portrait.)

You are the monster that lives under my bed.
I hide you from myself, so that I may sleep sound.
Your eyes penetrate, looking up through the mattress below.
I can feel them on me,
But I can't tell what you're saying anymore.
Why are you watching?
You don't want me anymore.
So look away now.
Why are you still watching?

You are the monster that hangs on my wall.
Garish and orange with daisies for eyes.
A cold-hearted skeleton, rotten and broken.
Masquerading as something beautiful.
Something soft.
Can you see me now?
With those petals over your eyes?
Can you see me now?
Or does your indifference render you blind?

You are the monster that lives in my head.
You claw and scratch inside my skull.
I can feel you when you wake me from my peaceful slumber.
You're clawed out from under my bed.
Crawled into my head and laid eggs in my ears.
Like some childhood fear.
What do you see on my insides?
Scars burned in the pattern of your face?
Can you still see inside me?
Or has it become too dark?

You are the monster that lives under my bed.
Skeletal and barren, your soul is chipped away.
You are ghoulish and grim and I feel your fingers on me at night.
I dream you drag me back to your lair and suck out my heart.
Why are you living under my bed?
What else can you take?
Are you looking for my heart, to replace the one you're missing?
Why must you haunt me at night?
Are the days not enough?

He'll always be beneath me, alone, and in the dark.
This monster under my bed. This monster in my heart.

I wrote this today after stashing all of my "relationship" stuff under my bed until I felt more equipped to deal with it. But, it was still like the negative energy was permeating the drawer and coming out after me, like a monster under my bed. Then I thought of this painting Matt did for me. It's the only thing I didn't stash. I wanted it out, as a reminder. I look at it and think how much I love it, and all that it could possibly mean. I find it beautiful, until I really think about the premise and realize that it is ghoulish and awful. Nightmarish. I want it to hang on my wall and remind me that people are funny that way, and that we see the beauty when we want to see the beauty but ultimately the cursed skeleton inside them will come out and wreak havoc.

2009-11-08T23:40:00.002-06:00

Life around me has become very dark.
I look at the people from my past. High school lunch mates.

They are dark and lost and broken as well. Not even all of us together would constitute a whole person.

I have this image in my mind of me and these people that keep me sane, we are all cast in shadow. Actors head shots taken during a blackout. Soft light from a setting sun filtered through a dirty window barely illuminating one side of the face. Just enough for you to recognize each of us, by name, but not to know our smiles. Or our eyes. How they used to sparkle.

Youth is dead.

I see the people that hurt us in my head. Frozen in action poses I associate with their sins. Brilliant light cast on them. The star of the show. The wax museum exhibit. Frozen in time. This, their greatest trespass, to always be remembered.

The things you do in your life to hurt other people will always brand that person far longer than any other achievement you make. Your job. Your award. Buy a house. Build a picket fence. Have a kid.

Someone sits in the shadow. Still. Waiting. Waiting for the ties that bind them to this chair to be cut.

Ties woven of the hurt others have caused. We are held down by your sins.

I'm still trying to figure out what holds us together. As if identifying it will strength it. Identifying it will just make it something else that can be taken away.

I hurt.
I hurt so badly it has all given in to numbness.
I don't know how I'm still here, if I did, it could probably be taken away from me.

2009-11-08T22:23:00.001-06:00

I would have rather been abused.

I would have rather been abused, talked down to. Hit. I would have rather been miserable these months. I would have rather been paranoid, mistrusting, uneasy, aware.

I would have rather been sick with hurt day in and day out.
I would have rather been prepared.

Anything is better than this.

Waiting to finally be calm...

2009-11-07T21:44:00.007-06:00

Everyone's so touchy about suicide.

I accepted long ago that all my life will be is controversy and contradiction. The sooner everyone else accepts this, the sooner we can all laugh at my overly-morbid jokes.

Elliott Smith stabbed himself in the chest. That's a hardcore way to go. I used to look at Elliott Smith and think what a badass, now I look and feel sorry for him. I don't feel sorry for Elliott Smith like the masses would. The masses being the mentally healthly. The logical. The "you'll get over this with time" bunch. I don't look at him and think "Poor Elliott, if only he had gotten help." I look at him and think, "Poor Elliott, all the help in the world couldn't ease the pressure." That pressure in your chest. When it gets like that, you don't think that jabbing a knife in there will kill you, you think it will open you up and all the tension will flow out of you, and you can breathe. You get choked up from anxiety and can't breathe and a slice across the throat doesn't sound fatal to you, it sounds like the key to oxygen. You get so beside yourself you can't move and all you think is sleep will do you some good. You don't think about the cocktail being too strong or the pills too many. You just want to be a warm ball in a land of nothing until things are looking up again.

Everyone thinks it gets better, with time. That is partly true. You move on, but you don't get better. It just gets old. Faded. Lost among all the other hurt and broken pieces floating in your wake. It becomes less fresh.

I pick at scabs. Constantly. Everything behind me is like that raw skin underneath. I pick and pick hoping that removing the ugly scar tissue will make me whole again when all I do is expose a stinging underbelly. Glaring red and staring at me saying, "You never were the patient type."

Eventually, I get a new wound and the others heal over, lost because of my diverted attention.

Nothing gets better. It just goes into remission. It turns up months, years later in your colon. Eating away at precious tissues. Taking little bits of your livelihood until you piss and shit into a bag everyday.

It only gets better for a little while. Something else will arise. Hurt you again. Remind you of how hard it was last time. Certain things make you stronger, while others break you down. Many come out of a depression and think, "I am happy to have lived through that," whereas I fall back in and think to myself that perhaps the decision to come out in the first place was a bad move on my part.

I understand that I am morbid, and I am a defeatist. But, I have a certain type of logic that grounds me. So long as I can articulate this, I am safe. I am broken and I am lost, but I have a rope (and it's not tied into a noose) and it will bring me to a surface. Maybe not the surface... it make pull me up in some alien world full of things I don't understand and girls painted up for guys who will trade them like silk and opium. Full of people who ask for the truth when it's the last thing they want and present the lies they live as truth for so long that no one could argue that none of it is reality. The world is fluid and lost and everything is malleable in everyone's mind and every time I come back to the surface it's another world again.

I am suspended. I feel as if I am the boom on a film set. Hanging there, just out of sight, recording every word. Knowing that all of it will be stripped away and cut and edited until everything becomes someone's twisted idea of perfection.

Suicide, in it purest form is never a plan. Most of the time, if you have the time to think about you, you get out of it. You wake up, get distracted, cartoons are on, the phone rings, I have to pee. I can't drink this vodka and take these pills if I have to pee. That's too much pressure on top of what I already feel.

It's the panic that brings it on. And it isn't about death, it's never really about death, no one in that position would want to give death the satisfaction. Death would win, and no one can win but you. You have to make it stop. You can't be like this. You have to control you. And you do whatever you feel like will make it stop and make you calm.

You want to be the one everyone sees you as. You want to be okay. You're just trying to be okay.
And nobody gets that. You can't explain it. I'm sure I haven't explained it. I'll still be "dramatic" and "contradictory" and "irrational".

Like I didn't know those things before.
I'm not trying to die, I don't want to die. I just want it to go away. Nothing is ever perfect and some people die making it go away, but people need to understand and most never will. Maybe they're better than way.

I'd rather feel this way and know. It makes me write, it makes me paint. Draw. Tell people things they deserve to know, that I'd be too scared to tell them if I didn't feel I had nothing else to lose. It makes me broken and it makes me whole. I feel like one of those kitschy countertops made of smashed up dishes grouted back down to make something someone considers worthwhile. Maybe I don't want to get better. Maybe I'm fine this way... if I keep coming out of it. And if it eventually beats me down and kills me: at least I'll still have my looks.

I intended for this to be more darkly funny and descriptive rather than preachy.
I still find it funny, but let's remember: I'm the sick one.

Le sigh.

2009-11-06T12:30:00.001-06:00

I know the way things work is we're supposed to find out who we are as we grow up. But I'm really starting to think it's the other way around.

Caving: Kennamer and Kenna Pit

2009-08-20T15:15:00.004-05:00

Dear Lord, it's been a month or so since the last post. Sorry about that, I got distracted.

So... caving. Last I posted about a little cave up on Green Mountain. Well, we finally (started tackling) the 9-hour monster that is Kennamer Cave in Woodville, AL. The first trip has been over a month ago so it's hard to detail but the few moments that stand out are falling 15 feet and gashing my leg open and a novice spelunker bitching half way through and demanding to be escorted out the way we came.

It's gargantuan. We didn't make it all the way through because well, fifty feet of rope doesn't get you to all the places you need to go. We've finally invested in 230 ft. of rope. The maiden voyage with the new rope took us down a 170 ft. pit... and then back up again after we found the passages flooded. This was another part of the same cave, it has 6 entrances and exits and this pit is one of them.

Ascending in a cave is some task. It involves two pieces of equipment that can only be pushed up the rope. You hang your foot in a loop hanging from the top "ascender" and then the bottom one it attached to your harness. You slide the top one up and then stand in the loop and the bottom one slides up with your body... or... it's supposed to.

You would think hanging several dozen feet in the air on a teeny tiny rope would be scary... but not really.

Anyway, that's a post to get back in the habit of posting. Next two entries: Atlanta road trip and unemployed in a recession.

I just realized...

2009-07-09T12:47:00.003-05:00

...that I'm still pretty terrified.

It wouldn't be the fourth without some third degree burns.

2009-07-05T14:57:00.003-05:00

Working on the Fourth of July is not as bad as one might think. My boss, usually a meticulous neat freak was so annoyed that she too had to work that she basically said, "Fuck it."

She even bought me ice cream and told me about how she used to go camping all the time as well.

Afterwards, I went straight to my dad's house. When I got there everyone was splitting off to go watch the fireworks and dad and Audra were fighting. I loaded some family in my car and we found a good parking lot to watch the fireworks. Me, Jessie (my brother's girlfriend, and my sister (Kat) almost immediately accidentally set the grass on fire. Twice.

My cousin almost shot my sister in the stomach with a roman candle. It was like a bad Three Stooges skit. She was yelling at him that he wasn't even supposed to have one and he turns to her to yells back and turns the (lit) candle with him.

Then Shane (my sister's boyfriend) hit the car and a few people with a "dud" bottle rocket. Then we had to explain to my youngest sister, Breanna and my cousin why we weren't going to let dad know about this little accident.

Everyone seemed to have a good time. Kat has been in an especially good mood lately. It's almost like we're ten again. The best part of the evening, however, was driving home with Shane and Chris (my brother) in the car throwing poppers out the windows at pedestrians.

Oh yeah, illegal mischief. That's what my family does best.

The reason I got an "F" on my 9th grade English character analysis...

2009-07-01T23:29:00.006-05:00

Earlier Chris and I were talking about... well... shit, really. Somehow we starting discussing his want for making a Mega Man comic strip (like a for serious one) where they give Mega Man depth... and well... I had been joking about making a bad webcomic and to prove my point I tacked our conversation to the shittiest paint picture I could make and called it a success.

Caving.

2009-06-29T10:52:00.002-05:00

Finally I'm going to put down some words about caving. Mainly, because I have a rant planned for later.

Caving was awesome. I mean, it's pretty hard to describe rocks, rocks, more rocks, and mud. But these were some pretty awesome rocks and mud. I got completely covered in mud from trying to climbing up this weird muddy incline and also from some drills we did.

By the time we got everyone back out of the cave it was getting dark and we split up for the hike back. Our group got a little lost and ended up in somebody's backyard where we had to switch our headlights to red light and sneak past the people's angry dogs.

I didn't end up home until 10:30 or later and as sore as it all made me I cannot wait to go again.

I know this post was lame, but it's been nearly a week since this whole adventure went down and all the witty thoughts I had immediately following have since went out of my head.

Our trusty guide, J.J.

2009-06-25T12:33:00.004-05:00

I'm ignoring the urge to bitch some more and finally following through on the camping story.

Let me start about by saying that take everything the GPS says with a grain of salt. At one point we ended up traveling down a dirt road (in a minivan) because the GPS said it was CR-28 and that the actual CR-28 was not a road at all. It also dead-ended us in someone's driveway later.

We did make it to the proper location after a lot of getting lost, taking a route way more complex than needed and pulling up next to a run down shack in the middle of some guy's own personal junk yard with like ten hunting dogs.

Rather than tell about the whole weekend in great detail, I'm going to just talk about one aspect of this trip: J.J.

J.J. was a little dog that met us in the parking turn-off and led us down the trail to the falls. She kept up with us the whole way (stopping to piss and shit) and then led us past the falls and to a clearing suitable for camping. There was already a fire pit built and some fire wood gathered. We can only assume J.J. prepared for our arrival.

She followed us back up to the falls. She ran around the [fucking cold] water while we swam and followed James and I up the rocks partially.

After we returned to the campsite we fed J.J. and she ran off and disappeared. We wondered where she had gotten off to. Then on the hike back the next day as we neared the parking turn off and family came hiking down accompanied by J.J.

After seeing us greet the dog a member of the family looked at us and said, "Do you know who he belongs to?"

"No, but she'll led you to the falls and show you a good place to camp."

Bitching.

2009-06-25T00:48:00.004-05:00

Alright, so I know I promised an entry yesterday on camping. (And in my head I promised an entry today on yesterday's caving). But I promise a lot of things, so deal. I'm in one of my angry headstrong moods and I need my tried and true friend the blog to listen.

I lack emotion. I lack empathy. I am capable of much guilt and I do care, I care a lot. But I care from a distance that does not involve me. I am uninvolved.

That being said, I do not want to be cared about. I do not want worry to be generated toward me. I attribute worry and care as control. It traps me. My guilt makes it trap me. I care that there is worry and that impairs my ability to be me.

I've been through so much ridiculous shit in the past 2 1/2 years. Car crashes and broken friendships. Engagements and common-law marriage. Fist fights and protection orders. Crazy meth heads and harassing whores. So much drama. So much shit.

This is why I do not care anymore. I cannot and will not care. I do not get involved.

I have no justifiable reason to pursue romantic relationships. I no longer believe in marriage, I am in great doubt of love, and I do not wish for another person to make me happy.

I have no interest in sharing my life, or even really letting anyone else in. I have finally gotten to a point where I am happy and I'll be damned if someone else is going to weasel their way in and fuck that all up again.

Never let it be said, that Cassidy Anderson does not learn from her mistakes.

I have had so much... structure and monotony hold me back in the past years. I want for nothing that has a plan or purpose. I care nothing for the future, because that future is not coming.

There is here. There is now. It is Summer and there is shit to be jumped in, on, and from. There is exploring to be done.

The past few years of my life, in the way of relationships and emotions, have been so intense and melodramatic that it all seems a farce. All the rules and the reason and the caring seems laughable and ridiculous to me and for the life of me, I can't make myself be one more player on that stage anymore.
My curtain call is over.

Hmm...

2009-06-22T15:09:00.001-05:00

I need...

...to think about some things.

New post on waterfalls and road trips tomorrow. Cross my heart.

Back to thinking...

The General has his army tailing me.

2009-06-10T21:16:00.003-05:00

Tonight I felt like driving around for a bit, just to kill this restless feeling in my heart.

I decided to stop at Barnes and Nobles and visit the books. I like to go visit the books. Then I walked down to Petsmart. But, my 2 minute interaction with one of the cats almost made me cry and since crying in Petsmart over a random cat would be a new low for me, I left.

When I got back to my car, I opened the door and threw in my purse. It had gotten more humid out in the past hour so I went to take off my jacket and as I did I saw it. Sitting pristinely on top of my car, was a Palmetto bug.

Oh shit, they've found me.

Had my windows been rolled up, I would've just jumped in my car and said, "Fuck it." But, both of my front windows were down and I had the fear that driving off would cause the bug to fly into one of my windows. I could not take that chance. I could also not roll up the windows because then I would have to turn my back to the bug and this simply was not happening.

I paced around my car, still, with the driver's side door opened and my cell phone in my hand. People in the parking lot were giving me strange looks but they just didn't understand my predicament.

I opened the back hatch and looking in my highway emergency kit for something to diffuse this situation. This was, in my opinion, a highway emergency. All I have is some ponchos, fix-a-flat, an SOS sign and a flashlight. Then, as I walk back to the front of my car I see my savoir in the side panel of the door.

I have some of that car odor eliminator stuff to get rid of the smell of cigarettes, Jager, Taco Bell, disappointment and shame. I begin spraying the bug with this. He does that thing that bugs do where they act a little annoyed and walk about six inches and stop. I keep spraying and spraying, running back and forth to either side of the car trying to make him run in one direction. Finally, he takes off towards the back of my car and disappears over the edge. I run to the back of the car to issue my final blows that will make him fall off the back of my car and to the pavement.

When I get there...

...he is gone.

That's when I noticed the little break between the top of my car and where the hatch meets. I wonder if this means he can get IN my car. I crack the hatch and then begin to try and kick it all the way open. It just seems safer to take that approach.

After getting the hatch open while looking like a crazy person I inspect the area where the bug must be hiding as closely as I can without fear of said bug flying into my face. I can't tell if he's there but I discern that if he is, there is a pretty good chance he can't get in the car. I shut the hatch before he gets any bright ideas and drive home at warp speed. I had no fear of pulling over, I would simply explain to the officer that a bug was holding me hostage and I had to get home to safety.

I made it home without incident and came in and locked the door behind me so that he does not come after me.

This is getting ridiculous. I'm afraid to drive my car because of the possibility of an odor-eliminated bug in the crevices.

Standing on the rooftops, everybody scream your heart out.

2009-06-09T23:23:00.005-05:00

Tonight I was feeling mighty bored and restless. I felt like I might perhaps want to write but also felt as if I had no topic. I decided to go out and make myself a topic.

I threw on some black clothes, study shoes, and a backpack carrying a flashlight, graphite pencils, sketch pad, notebook, and iPod. Then I set forth downtown.

The world just looks so much more peaceful from the roof of an abandoned building. I climbed my favorite downtown building. The old health department. I sat there for a while in the nearly pitch dark (seems I should have checked the batteries in my flashlight) drawing what I saw in front of me. Mainly, the edge of the building and the outlines of the buildings just past it with the backdrop of a mostly full moon in a cloudy sky.

The drawing is less than par, I really could've used that flashlight. However, the scene does vaguely remind me of that picture of Van Gogh's bedroom. It's sloppy in such a way. This does not necessarily please me as I am not an avid fan of Van Gogh.

I am happy with the sketch nonetheless. That building is soon to be demolished and now I feel as if I have my own little piece of it.

I wandered downtown looking for more things to climb but the amount of people in the area was making things quite difficult. Not to mention the fact that I wasn't exact blending in, what, with being dressed like a member of Project Mayhem.

I gave up and headed back to my car. Just as I made it to parking lot I saw a Palmetto bug. Then two more. Then two more again. Then another and another. At first I was taking pictures (to show Megan the harsh danger I had encountered) but I quickly became overwhelmed and went running down the sidewalk to the safety of my car.

Speaking of my car, I need to write more on that later.

I willing admit I ran from Palmetto bugs.

We all have our weaknesses.

(Oh, in case anyone was wondering about the dead Palmetto bug I gave one square foot of car to rather than risk picking up. He is still there. I fear he may have a saving throw and I don't want to get near him. I am considering constructing a Rube Goldberg machine to rid me of his corpse.)

My job is to deal with humanity's rejects.

2009-06-08T12:02:00.005-05:00

It's be a while since I've worked in retail atmosphere and had to interact directly with the customers rather than being behind a table in a bakery with an icing bag in my hand. I had forgotten how much it makes me hate people.

People are idiots.

If one more person can't figure out how to swipe their credit card and then snaps at me like it's my fault they're an embarrassment to modern society I am going to beat them over the head with my "next register please" sign.

It makes me feel like people are just lazy when they stand directly in front of an end cap stocked full of sunblock and ask me where the sunblock is located. Really? You didn't even try at all.

And children... it makes me hate children. It makes me hate parents even more. I can only be so mad at a kid for running around pulling things off shelves and screaming before I have to look at the parents and be like, "What the hell are you doing?"

That's all I have for now... I work tonight, so I'm sure I'll have many more complaints this evening.

Don't tell me I actually ENJOYED swimming...

2009-06-03T00:43:00.004-05:00

Swimming is actually starting to grow on me.

We spent a long time at secret place today. I didn't feel much like cliff jumping, so I swam to the inlet we jump into and climbed various rock faces and jumped in from there.

These guys that got there shortly after me were throwing floats into the water to swim with after they jumped. One guy accidentally lodged his between the rock face and a tree growing out of the side of the cliff.
After they left I scaled the wall and retrieved it. Mine now. I like to earn my life-preservers.

Adrian and I tried to fish. Yes, it was a joint effort. The brim are too small to bite at my rooster tail on my rod (although they find it interesting and linger around it) but they are not dumb enough to come near a net with no bait. So, I dangled my line in the water (while floating on my stolen floatie) and Adrian sat in the rock seat with the net catching the fish I distracted. And by "the fish" I mean "one fish" that I named Terrence and told Adrian to set free.

I get way too attached to my kills.

Then I floated out unto the middle. This surprised me. Usuallly, I hate the idea of being trapped in an area surrounded by water but today I didn't give a fuck so I rocked out that floatie and casted out my sister's Scooby Doo fishing rod. Caught... nothing. Who cares? It's all about the story.

We all swam and floated around for a good while longer and watched some dumbass rednecks consider jumping from impossible points on the ledge and talk about how a 30+ foot cliff is, "Only 'bout 14 feet."

It was a good day.
And... sunburn free. (I would usually hyperlink to my posts on sunburn, but I think I did so like five posts ago, so I'm good for a while).

Battle for The Living Room: The War Continues...

2009-05-27T00:28:00.008-05:00

Last night when Megan and I got home a sneaky little bitch of a Palmetto bug ran in the door with us.

I got Marla and Demetri and let them chase it around the living room for a few minutes. Then I got Emo when things were taking too long. (These are cats, by the way).

Then, we (all) lost sight of this particular roach nemesis. Megan and I decided it was far enough from the bedrooms that we should give up and just give it that corner of the house. So we did.

Later I got up to pee (or something else that makes sense as to why I would be up) and all the cats were in the living room keeping watch over something I couldn't see.

Today, I decided to clean the house (yes, even my bathroom) and in the living room floor... there it was... the DEAD Palmetto bug. I tried to vacuum it up, and it was a no go. I have determined that a dead Palmetto bug gets one square foot of floor space that it can have. It will continue to have that floor space until somebody else comes here and gets it out of the floor for me.

This is the post I left on Megan's Facebook to let her know of recent developments in this case:

"So... I thought I should tell you, the cats did their jobs. I found a dead Palmetto bug in the living room floor this afternoon. Also, in case you ever need to know, a vacuum will not pick up a big dead Palmetto bug.

So... there's still a dead Palmetto bug in the living room floor. I'm giving him that square foot of carpet (and writing a blog about it later, of course).
But... on a related note I think this incident should be included in that book 101 Reasons a Cat is Better Than A Man. It's not really making the cat better than the man, though. However, it does prove that a cat can do one of the five things we've deemed boys useful for (you know those five things).

In closing, I'm thinking of settling down with a boyfriend for the summer... just to take care of the "killing Palmetto bugs" part of my life. I might even make an eHarmony thing and put it on my profile.

Thoughts?"

(Also, for interested parties the "Five Thing Boys Are Useful For" are sex, opening jars, killing bugs, beating hard levels on video games, and fixing cars.)

Vague description of the weekend.

2009-05-26T14:28:00.005-05:00

The big bonfire was finally pulled off Saturday night. Some of the boys collected wood all week and spent the day setting it up. Then we all went down that night, poured some gasoline on that bitch, and lit it up.

Photos.

Unfortunately, the flames compromised the structural integrity of the pile of wood and it quickly collapsed to a smaller fire. Who would've seen that coming?

It was nice. The fire was so big and so hot that you couldn't really get within 30 feet of it without being severely uncomfortable. It made for nice swimming, though.

The next night there was the Memorial Day party... which I do not remember most/a lot of. I was soberish for the boxing matches and at least one Jager shot... but the night quickly got fuzzy.

I woke up at Adam and Aaron's house with a tally of my shots as well as some guy's name written on my arm. So, I friended him on Facebook. Then it took me two hours to find my keys.

I think I had a good time.

Kittens sent from Heaven.

2009-05-20T17:46:00.002-05:00

Yesterday while I was in Five Points Candace called and said somebody had left two kittens in a shoe box on the doorstep of her church.

So... I go get them. Mom didn't want me to bring them home. But I knew all I had to do was let her see them and it would be over. I feigned taking them to the Human Society and "stopped by the house on my way there".

The kittens are at my house now. Mom wants to keep one and we found the other one a home.

I'm getting far too good at cat rescue. I feel like the kitten pimp.

We're clever but stupid and we have beer and lighter fluid.

2009-05-17T21:20:00.002-05:00

Somehow it became a good idea to try and do a bonfire in the middle of a thunderstorm.

That didn't work out so well.

So instead we did it in an abandoned building.
There's an old building up at the secret place that's all concrete and metal with really cool (and some not really cool) graffiti everywhere. It's three stories tall but all the stairs are gone. We decided to have the fire on the second story.

The took some fancy climbing. Meaning, I was pushed up high enough to reach the former stairwell supports as was James. Then James had to climb through a whole that was probably eight inches by eight inches to retrieve a rope that had been tied there for God knows how long.

Getting everybody else (and the beer) up after that was pretty easy.

Ventilation didn't work as well as we thought it would so we put the fire out after the room filled with smoke and then just sat around for a while talking.

It rained all day. This makes the alternative exit (a corn field) difficult terrain for any vehicle that is not four-wheel drive. Lindsey, Daniel, Tabatha, and I were all crammed in Daniel's truck (with Brian in the back sitting in a lawn chair) and James, Adrian, and Danny were in James's truck. James got stuck.

We were in the field for probably thirty minutes trying to get James out. The tires generated so much smoke that when you rolled down the windows you could smell popcorn.

I am not even kidding.

All in all it was a hilariously fun way for every single plan we had to fail.
Now... if this sunburn would just go away.

And our days were numbered by nights on too many rooftops...

2009-05-16T14:07:00.002-05:00

It's funny how a friendly challenge can lead to the roof of a five-story building.

I love rooftops. Ever since I was really little and my dad used to let me come on the roofs of house when he was doing shingle work, I have loved rooftops.

The way I used to go about getting on rooftops was knowing somebody who knew somebody. In high school, the roof access was located in the theater so just knowing a techie with a master key was enough (or climbing the fencing that surrounded the staircase). Getting on the roof of Lowe Mill, Hollywood 18, and EarlyWorks was all a matter of knowing somebody. Getting on roofs of Elementary schools just involved a little sneaking when there for volunteer work. Five of us ended up on the roof of Lincoln Elementary school once because somebody left the access unlocked and we were there preparing for a small show to be performed for the after school day care class.

The only roofs thus far that had involved any work were ones in Birmingham. Usually, somebody who knew the layout better would do some fancy climbing and then unlock door.

The other night, it was all fancy climbing and sneaking. I must say, a rooftop is much more satisfying when you've worked for it.

The first building we climbed was easy. You just went up three flights of stairs to a balcony that was right next to the roof of another building and then hopped the railing.

The one after that was 4 or 5 flights of stairs and then scaling the side of a locked fire escape.

The last one, is hard to explain. It has that weird 60s style architecture that makes no sense. The front porch has an overhang with a big hole cut in it for no good reason and the front face of the building is done in decorative brick where some bricks protrude.

Protruding bricks make a great rock wall... and there are so conveniently located beneath the opening in the overhang. That puts you on the first level of a three-tiered building. After that you have to hoist yourself up over a rusty, rickety rain gutter onto another level.

This is where the roof access leads to if you're inside the building. There's a door with a small overhang and a deteriorating bench. You have to stand on the bench and turn a funny way to climb to the top. Then you've reached the highest point.

I was so tired and sweaty after this whole escapade but it's the most fun I've had downtown since drinking in the park. And it sure beat going to Sammy T's.

But we've had some times I wouldn't trade for the world...

2009-05-15T19:43:00.008-05:00

After a night spent on rooftops and a day spent jumping off cliffs I think I might be becoming an adrenaline junkie.

After the rafting incident I did not want to THINK about water in any way, shape, or form. I didn't want to think about bathtubs, or pots of of water, or even a glass of water. Some how in the last month I've gotten over that because here I sit again sunburned and feeling like I have just had the greatest shower I've ever had in my entire life.

I was very tired and quite sore this morning after some random acts of trespassing last night. Including: scaling a fire escape, treating a brick wall like a rock face, and trying to climb a church. I didn't feel well this morning. I didn't sleep well last night, but apparently doing something I normally dislike can turn that whole mood around.

I know I've talked before about how I feel about swimming. I dislike it. I don't see the point. It bores me quickly.

Somehow, I end up in situations involving water a lot. Today I ended up the quarry. (No link needed since I've posted about the quarry so much that anybody even slightly paying attention should know what I'm talking about).

Long story short... we found a cliff and decided it would be a good idea to jump off it into the water.

And for once... it was a good idea.

It was so hard to get up the nerve to jump. You basically had to psych yourself out and force your body to do it because there really was no talking yourself into it. Adrian and James took the route of watching Daniel and Lindsey off in the distance and not looking down and just going. I approached it the same way I do with heavy drinking. I always get to that last shot that I don't want to take because I know it's a bad idea and I basically have to become detached and surprise myself with all the sudden having alcohol in my mouth.

That's how the first jump was. The first few seconds (although it was probably all less than a second) was my mind catching on to the fact that I was no longer standing on a rock. Then there were a few tense seconds as I waited... and waited... to hit the water. The all the of the sudden, I have the wedgie from hell and I realize, oh, there is also water around me. Perhaps I should swim.

Adrian, James, Joe, Sang, Brian, and I all ended up jumping at least once. Each taking our own great (or not so great) amounts of time to get the nerve up. There should be some really great picture and video coming as well.

It was so invigorating. It took me completely out of my bad mood and mild depression and just made me really appreciate that I was alive. Also, I can swim now... not well... but I can not die.

I was so tired (and sunburned) when I got home. The shower I immediately took was the most amazing shower. Every shower after this for a few days will suck as this sunburn is so bad that wearing clothes hurts.

It was great. I will need a day or two to recover, but it was worth it.
And Adrian said something today that really sums up a lot of what I've been writing on recently, "If you die, at least you died living."

I will probably write in more detail about rooftops tomorrow.
I do love rooftops.

I intend to deserve it.

2009-05-10T23:13:00.006-05:00

Since I liked to break my updates up into themed segments I figured I'd write about the two drunken nights before I wrote on the one sober one. Also, now my migraine is mostly gone and I can concentrate on a longer and more intelligent post.

Last night everybody decided to have a bonfire at the secret place. Well, we all get up there and can't really get the wood to catch fire because of all the rain and all of the brush being damp. Finally, we get rained out and leave.

I know, exciting story. But, this story isn't really about the bonfire. It's about riding in the back of a truck.

On the way in, riding in the back of the truck at a pretty good speed someone makes a smart-ass comment about this being a bad idea and how we could die.

Really... if I have to die (and my sources are saying I do) I'd want to go out having a blast in the back of a truck with some of the coolest people I know. Maybe that's crazy, but it's sure a better story than dying in my sleep.

I intend to go out with a bang (or a crash, boom, kablam, I'm not picky).

My life was not unexciting, and I don't want my death to be.

On the way back the ride was even better. There is nothing in life comparable to riding in the back of a truck in a field at night with rain pouring down on your face. Not matter what you achieve in life, there's no way to recreate that feeling.

That feeling... and swinging... all I need in life. :)
(and my cats).

This post is so easily summed up in this picture from A Softer World

Two drunken nights.

2009-05-10T18:53:00.005-05:00

The drive to Auburn is merciless. It was worth my while though.

I love driving. I love how this time of year the whole world smells like honeysuckle. Auburn is always weird when I go there. I've only went twice, but both times have been weird. And really, I don't want to go into anymore than that but to say: you should always avoid laying in your vomit, glowsticks and Honey Nut Cheerios are awesome, and sometimes the best conversations are the ones you can barely remember.

The drive back from Auburn is also merciless, except more so, because of that thing called a hangover.

The "ocho de Mayo" party (or whatever it is we finally started calling it) was much more fun than I anticipated. I was in a mood when I got back from Auburn of not wanting to do anything. At all. Ever. But... Lindsey talked me into going and after a lot of circle of death with a side of never have I ever I ended up sitting in the kitchen floor with Monica and Lindsey while Lindsey drank tequila from the bottle. We all sat in a circle screaming, "I'M NOT REPUBLICAN! I'M NOT REPUBLICAN!" while thrusting.

Now... if that's not a good night, I don't know what is.

I spent the next day being hungover. Fair trade.

My pink elephant research continues...

2009-05-06T12:20:00.004-05:00

Alright, I think it's time revisit my pink pachyderm friends.

Thus far I have found nothing but pages on Roadside America of various people spotting various elephants. I did however, find this site.

It doesn't tell much history about the elephants, mainly what has changed about them over time from where they stand now and it mentions something about ARCO gas stations that I couldn't find anymore information on. What's nice about this site though, is that in condenses all my elephants in one place so I can easily look and find their locations. It also provides links to other roadside oddities (like a rooster made of Volkswagen bumpers on 231 that I will see if I drive down to Auburn tomorrow).

All this really does is confuse me more. It just highlights (because all my elephants are presented side-by-side) how similar they all are. They have to have some common history. I know this is a silly expedition, but I will find the common anecestor of these elephants, be it an ARCO gas station or a no-extinct chain of liquor stores, I will find it.

The Battle of the Bug

2009-05-05T11:31:00.006-05:00

The other night I was up late on the phone with all the lights in my room turned off and the TV on. My cat, Marla, was sitting on my desk and began slapping at a poster. I notice that some off the letters on the poster are obscured by a large dark spot. Before I even turn on the light, I know what it is. It's that time of year again.

It's a palmetto bug.

I know I write a good bit about what I would miss if I left Alabama, more specifically what I miss about the summer time. The palmetto bugs are not one of those things I would miss.

They come around in the summer, you never really deal with an infestation, just a few pesky ones sneaking in your house to get out of the rain or escape the heat. I think this particular one came in through my attic, which seems to be flooding.

Palmetto bugs (also known as the American cockroach or waterbug) are not the dainty little cockroaches you kill with bait traps (those are German cockroaches). This is America, and when we do things, we do them big. These bugs get to be about an inch and a half long, but when you're looking at them in fear, they seem so much bigger.

Oh, and did I mention they fly?

Every encounter I've ever had when one of these fuckers is vivid in my mind. I can remember being eleven and my sister and I spotting one on the wall near our bed. Even after dad killed it, we slept in the living room. The same summer one came in through the back door and was on a shelf in our room, we sat our cat, Checkers, up there and she ate it.

I can remember being six, and coming home one night with mom (I was barefoot for some reason) and as we opened the door I stepped on one that had crawled under the door. He flipped on his backside and his little legs were tickling my feet. I still shudder to think about it.

They used to live on the tree I liked to climb in my best friend's front yard growing up. They are abundant on the sidewalks in front of Publix and when I worked there I had to fight them in the bakery. I distinctly remember thinking I had killed one, sweeping into a pile with some other trash and then it miraculously coming back to life when I went to sweep everything into a dustpan.

This one last night was a force to be reckoned with. As soon as I turned on the light it scampered up towards my window and hid behind the curtain. I went and found something long enough to lift the curtain from far away and verified where he was.

Once I knew the bug's location I went back to talking on the phone. Killing a giant flying bug is a big task that I did not feel like undertaking at that particular moment. I figured knowing where the bug was, was enough.

I accidentally fell asleep. I woke up about an hour later, panicked, I knew I had let my guard down and the bug could be making his attack. I immediately spotted him above the window on the other side. I watch him for just a few seconds before he disappears again. I can't fall asleep. I don't know where he went and I can't fall asleep.

I make an executive decision, and I give him my room. I go and sleep on the couch.

The next morning, after a few hours of sleep, I know I need to find the roach but I'm just not up to it. I avoid my room until midday my mother and I decide to tackle the problem. We find him squished in a crack on the two-by-four above the window. After unsuccessfully trying to force him out with a fly swatter we take to pouring rubbing alcohol in the hole until he falls out. Then we flush him.

It is safe to return to my room now.

I figure this is the last I'll have to deal with these bugs, I don't see them a lot in the summer. It's always been a few random encounters.

Later, Demetri (another on of my cats) is sitting on the counter in the kitchen. He is staring at the wall where is meets the counter and once again before I even look I know. It's not a spider, or a ladybug. There's no regular cockroach, no ants. He is watching another gargantuan devil roach.

Right when I grab the flyswatter, Demetri bats at the roach and it flees across the counter top and slinks behind the dishwasher. Demetri stood guard for an hour or so, but I don't think he ever caught it.

So... now they have the kitchen.

Me: 1, Roaches: 1.

They're gaining territory.

Making amends.

2009-05-04T12:42:00.005-05:00

Let's start with I'm sorry.

I'm not going to pretend to know what all started this because I am honestly still confused. But I know that I am responsible for this getting so out of hand. You are probably not interested in my motives so I won't waste time with all that. But I am truly sorry. I don't exaclty understand what Adrian was trying to convey to me, but I know he did not mean it to hurt me. I know that now. I am sorry I reacted in such a way that I did, and let this get so out of control. I hope, that we can continue to discuss this now that the air has cleared and prehaps come to a better understanding.

Maybe, I don't understand because I don't/didn't want to, but that will be something to be tackled later, for now, here is my apology.

I understand that Brian was defending Adrian. I feel like things got out of hand there as well. I am sorry, Brian, that for whatever reason you did not bring up your anger towards me sooner so that it would not have exploded. I want you to know that what you did really hurt me, because although we have our moments of aggression, it was my understanding that we are (were) friends. I guess we aren't, and I'm sorry for that. I don't really know who's fault it is. Maybe it's nobody's, but I'm sorry that we can't seem to work past this. I'm going to ask you to take down your note(s) about me, this is purely your decision. But I hope that you're still nice enough to do that. I know you are.

To everyone else:

I know what has happened has been a crazy inconvenience. I can't begin to explain how it happened it's just one of those things that starts with a miscommunication and spirals out of control. I want everybody to know, that if you have a problem with me just talk to me. Please? That's all I ask in all this. I am so sorry this went down like it did, and let's try and all be honest with each other in the future and maybe it won't happen again.

I don't want to lose all my friends over something that can be avoided so easily. I love you guys and I hope we can still hang out. I'm not angry, I'm not even still really upset, and I want you all to know that if you want to talk about this, we can, whenever you want. You all know I don't really have anything better to do.

I wish I could make that last part more personal but there are so many people I need to speak to and I have something very different to say to all of you, and I will as soon we talk again.

Let's talk about sex... oh wait, I can't. If I do, I'm a whore.

2009-05-03T18:50:00.004-05:00

There is a double-standard that exists for women. (Well, there are a lot of double standards, but let's just touch on one).

A man can talk about sex, one night stands, how hot girls are, etc etc. on and on with his friends (male or female) and nothing is thought of it. But, the moment a women puts into this conversation with a personal anecdote or a joke, she is a whore, or rather "advertising as a whore."

Yes. Somebody seriously said this to me. Furthermore, it was suggested that in a group where conversation is already flowing and it is me and the boys, if the conversation turns to something of this nature, my input is not welcome.

I should talk about girls. The way girls act. The way they think. I guess this is to offer help. I know nothing of girls. I do not ask them to advise on boys.

The way am to understand it, after a lot of arguing, is that I should remain just one of the guys in all aspects including but not limited to: getting hit, inappropriate jokes, gaming, insults, and enduring mindless boy conversation but I am not allowed the freedom of talking about my sexual history (or even my making out history) or else I should know that when I am (what I thought was) jokingly called a whore, I deserve it.

I don't feel I should limit myself or give into the bad to not get the freedom. I don't think it's fair to say, "We don't have to treat you like a girl but you have to act like one." That makes little to no sense.

I also don't appreciate being attacked over all of this and told what I need to CHANGE to be better accepted. I should either be accepted or not accepted. If I cannot be accepted outright, then, as far as I see it, there is no reason we should be friends. And furthermore, if we are friends, and you think I'm a whore, you shouldn't tell me. I think negatively of a lot of my friends, but that's my business and my opinion and I don't tell them, because that would be rude.

You do not tell me how to be who I am. You do not tell me how to live my life. You do not tell me precisely what paramaters to abide by in which and what friendships. I will be who I am.

You can take it or leave it. All of you.

I'm seeing pink elephants...

2009-05-03T14:51:00.004-05:00

On our way to Chicago we stopped at an exit just south of the Kentucky state line in a little town called Cross Plains, TN. There, across from Sad Sam's fireworks, was a dilapidated antique mall with a large fiberglass pink elephant next to it. The elephant was holding a martini.

In my internet travels yesterday, I came across talk of another one in Cookeville, TN. This one was painted with a bikini and sunglasses. I felt the need to Google search this topic now.

Since then, I've come up with one in Kentucky, at least two in Tennessee and Wisconsin, one in Virginia, one in Georgia, and four or five more scattered across the country. What struck me as odd, is apparently this one in Cross Plains used to have glasses. Most all of these others brought to me by Google are wearing glasses and some are also holding martinis.

At least two that I know of are located outside antique stores. This leads me to believe that perhaps some chain of something or other used to have these outside (kind of the like the Big Boy) and now they have been sold off to random people, some making their way to the antiques circuit. I figure the one that was repainted was sold to someone who did not value it as an antique but saw it as useful for their particular business.

It is now my quest to research these pink elephants. I want to find where they came from, what they used to represent, and where they all are now.

Then...

I want to go see them!

Oh, at least we know - that if we die, we lived with passion.

2009-05-02T12:45:00.003-05:00

I'm really proud of my newfound ability to text while drunk. I'm also proud of how I handle new information when drunk, which is, not handling it until I'm sober and thinking more clearly. Except for that whole kissing a girl thing, but sometimes the party just takes you places. Whatever.

I feel like my life is flying by, weeks are going by all too fast and it seems as I am doing nothing and everything with my days.

I don't want to wake up thirty and realize that I have gotten nowhere in my life, but at the same time, I don't want to wake up and realize that I never really lived. I'd rather be nowhere with some good stories and some great friends. (But perhaps with a few less Jell-O shots).

A moment of your time...

2009-04-30T13:14:00.003-05:00

I don't have enough material for a post, but I'd like to relay something I heard yesterday:

"It was once said that a black man would take office when pigs fly. One hundred days in, swine flu."

Also, for anybody that cares, Raiden from the Metal Gear Solid series is a whiney bitch. "Wah! I can't fight, I have an internal struggle!" Does he not understand the plot structure of being the hero? I mean, c'mon.

Up shit creek without a paddle.

2009-04-27T13:31:00.011-05:00

It was decided for Daniel's birthday that it would be fun to float down a creek in some rafts.
At the last minute "creek" was replaced with "Flint River."

Let's explore this further.

At noon on Saturday I got a call from Adrian asking was I coming rafting. After staying out all night the night before because of my own bright idea to watch the sunrise from the mountain I was exhausted, but oddly enough, I decided to go anyway.

We all carpooled out to a drop off point on the Flint off Hwy 72 and began inflating our rafts and floats while a few people drove to Hwy 431 to leave a truck and the end point, somebody told the boys while they were dropping off the truck that the distance in floats would take six hours to cross. We don't feel at all discouraged by this. We were on the water by three and things seemed fine. The end point was supposed to be down river at a walking bridge. You can't miss it, was the general consensus as on the other side of the bridge it becomes sewage overflow and you can't go any farther.

The water is still ice cold this time of year, but in Alabama the sun is already sweltering hot so the cold water really isn't that bad. We ended up with a group of thirteen people spread out amongst nine rafts. On a four person raft we had Preech, Solaimon, and James (with a cooler tied to a rope lagging behind). In three two person rafts we had six people in pairs: Lindsey and Daniel (and some beer), Ashley (Solaimon's girlfriend) and her friend Tabatha, and two younger girls Charolette and Ashley. Danny and Brian were each in single inner tube like rafts (each equipped with TWO cupholders). Joe was in an inner tube with a picture of a pink rat on the side that said "River Rat". Adrian was in a single person raft and I was in a tiny child's raft with cartoon kids drawn on the side.

I'm not going to both to describe the order in which we were tied together because it changed so frequently. The first three hours went pretty well. There was some pretty funny occurrences like when the river first forks there were some men fishing on the shore and Solaimon yells to them, "Where is the Flint River?" and the man yells back, "You're on it!" Then Solaimon points down the direction the current is taking us and says, "Does it go this way?" and the man yells back, dripping with sarcasm, "Yeah."

The view is nice and the river is pretty calm. We hit a few areas of fast current and they're a nice change from just floating. It's a beautiful day to spend floating downstream.

The river is COLD. I end up in Adrian's raft with him after a lot of switching around and a lot of people getting in and out to swim. The ride starts to get miserably cold halfway through.

We got seperated in two parties a number of times in that first three hours and our group, who was ahead, finally had to stop off when Charolette and Ashley (our martyrs who kept getting stuck on EVERYTHING) managed to get their raft draped over a log, poking a hole in it.

The first half of the journey had been uneventful (other than Lindsey apparently falling face first into the river - which I missed) we hadn't seen any wildlife - with the exception of a dragonfly that followed us for a while and the only signs of civilization we had witnessed were some kiyakers and a submerged truck in the water. The only mishaps thus far had been just about everybody who had cigarettes, losing their cigarettes to the water, and I think maybe a cell phone was taken under in all that.

We stopped off at a clearing on the bank to try and patch and re-inflate their quickly defating raft while everyone took a bathroom break. The other group had stopped off sometime back, and they had the air pump, so we waited for their arrival. We they float up, we can't get the pump to work so we start doubling up and end up with people all switched around.

At the break we could see a road, and for a moment considered walking back because we had already been on the river for so long. We decided to forge ahead.

Eventually Adrian, Joe, Brian and I tie off seperately. Danny remains untied and floating freely, and the others tie themselves together.

Let's examine for a moment Danny. Danny remained untied from everybody for the majority of the trip. He floated along in his single, recliner-shaped raft with a beer in his hand for hours never showing any concern for the terrain or current. It was hilarious.

The river gets more winding on the second half and provides more obstacles of dams and fallen trees. After a series of odd forks, most blocked by dams we come to a fallen tree the reaches across the whole river. We float up, get on the tree, move our rafts over, get back in, and continue onward. The second group, with more people, bigger rafts, and more alcohol consumption, gets hung up here and this is where the largest seperation occurs.

We float on for a while with no sign of the end point and really no concern for that fact. Then the sun starts to set.

Previous to the sunset we come through two sharps turns in the river caused by fallen trees damming up part of the river. Since our group was so small we were able to successfully maneuver through this without injury to us or our rafts and end up on the other side as it continues to get dark.

We knew, of course, that this journey would end in the dark but at the same time we were thinking the journey would be less tiring than this. We being paddling to try to speed up our progress. Eventually, we're in total darkness and we can see and hear beavers splashing around us.

We're freezing and feeling like we've gotten lost on a river that flows in one direction and we come to a serious fork in the river. It's dark and we have no idea where to go. We pull off to the side and climb up a steep incline through tall grass and end in a field. We can see a neigborhood and a road, presumably 431 and it's maybe three miles from the river. To the left of the field we're standing in the a flooded swamp-like part of the field with a thicket of tree and brush behind it, seperating it from the river.

We have no cell phones, no lighter, and no idea where anyone else had gotten to. We decide our best course of action is probably to pull out and walk but we can't leave the others. So, we stand on the bank clad together trying to warm up and then retreat back to our rafts to follow the voices of our friends that we can hear down the river. As we float out to the center to try and be visible we can hear them better and start to see faint outlines of their convoy in the distance. Adrian yells that they need to tie to us so we can make a plan without everybody floating off and James yells back, "We can't tie to you, our rafts are busted."

In the minutes that follow, we learn that at the final sharp turns we hit as we were losing daylight they came through in near complete darkness and were thrown up against the dam of trees by the current busting their largest raft. At this point they start swamping each other's rafts and four of their people: Solaimon, Preech, and the two younger girls jump ship onto the bank.

We're down far too many rafts to double up anymore and even if we were considering continuing in the water, this was no longer an option. We tie up and pull ourselves to shore but have floated farther down then the first stop we had made and end up in a trecherous area of land.

Right as someone makes it to the top and sees that we are now IN the thicket that was previously to our left, the last people our bailing out of the rafts and everything is being cut loose. We take everything out of the rafts and decide what we can deal with carrying and what we can deal with leaving. Everybody leaves something. I leave my pants, they are soaking wet and I have previously shed them to keep from being any colder and it's not worth the effort to bring them. At the top of the hill the leaders are debating whether or not we can make it through. Word gets passed down that we can't go this way, as it hits the bottom the hill, James yells back, "We have no choice, I've let the rafts go."

With no choice but to go on, we start climbing through this thicket with is made primarily of thorns. We're close enough to the city that the sky is purple so visibility is not completely lost but you still can't really see more than three feet in front of you. Everyone is trying to yell back to the others as to what they're encoutering, "Thorns to your left," "Duck under this," and "Watch underfoot."

Right as you come out of the thicket the first thing to greet you is the squish sound as your foot lands in warm swampy water. You forgot about the swamp, didn't you? The only up side I can about the swamp water is that it was warm. It was so warm like bathwater, but it smelled like sewage. I took my flip flops off because the suction of the mud was going to take them if I didn't trek through barefoot. Lindsey lost her shoes to the swamp because she didn't hear me yell back to go barefoot.

The water gets to be waist deep at the worst point and I think that, for me, was right around my breaking point. It is very hard to stay calm when walking through warm, swampy, smelly water clad only in a bikini and a tank top. Right as I come of the swamp I step into a sink hole and fall backards into a thorn bush and almost go completely underwater. Luckily, Brian caught me.

After the swamp is some muddy rocky uphill climbing and then cutting through a field of hard sharp grass. As we make it out of this field onto a makeshift trail we hear Solaimon yelling. He is too far to make out anything he's saying, and vice versa, but we do realize that he's on the OTHER SIDE of the river.

There's some arguing about whether or not to go back, and should we all go back, who should go back, or just to keep moving forward. We decide the best bet is to head for that lights and find a phone. Adrian and James run ahead to find the way and then come back to guide the rest through. The first people to make it out are me, James, Brian, and Ashley. Ashley and James start running up to houses as Brian and I enjoy being on pavement as opposed to bare Earth.

We all assume Adrian has went back to guide the others and Ashley finds someone who answers the door. After a few moments of the woman acting like we're lepers she calls the police to come and help us. Brian and I sit on the sidewalk and enjoy not being in a swamp. The woman's husband and her three kids (who couldn't be more excited) go off with a flashlight to help everyone else out of the field and by the time they get back we're all giving our names to the cops as well as the names of the missing. This is when we learn that Adrian went back alone to fine the Solaimon, Preech, and the girls.

Search and rescue is called and the original lost four are found almost immediately. By this point, we're all in the back of cop cars heading toward a central meeting point. The cop my group was with was insane. He gave Ash his last cigarette and told us he'd offer us some vodka and Mountain Dew but he was on his last little bit. He also cussed his Sargent for going to wrong way out of the neighborhood, "God help him, you gotta love him but he's dumb as shit sometimes," and told us how he could really go for a Lorcet right about now. Search and rescue says they have voice contact with Adrian and he is across from them on the river. They tell him to stay put but shortly after cannot find him.

They reunite our parties and everyone sorts out their stories while search and rescue hunts for Adrian. We sat in the search and rescue vehicles for what seemed like forever. They wouldn't allow anybody to leave, but one of the younger girls' mother showed up and left to get us drinks and some sweatpants and t-shirts. Finally, they release Daniel, Lindsey, and James to go pick up the vehicles at the drop off point. Shortly after, we get a call from the three saying they have found Adrian.

He swam back up river all the way to the drop out point and started a fire under the bridge while he waited for us to return. Eventually, we find out that he couldn't understand what the rescue party was telling him to do, and to him, they seemingly just disappeared.

After the police report everyone is released and we all start heading home, at midnight.

Not one person got bit by a snake. It's amazing, through the miles of river, yards of tall grass, and brief stent in a lukewarm pond, no one even saw a snake. Everyone is scratched up. Some have poison ivy. Some have sun burn. Some have been half eaten by mosquitos. But no one went to the hospital, no one died, and everybody pretty much agreed that this was still a lot of fun.

So so much to say... and not nearly the time nor the server space.

2009-04-23T21:07:00.007-05:00

I had a wonderful moment of clarity last night and thought of something beautiful, profound, and not depressing to write. I dueled with myself for several minutes over whether or not to take a physical, on-paper note of it rather than risk forgetting it. Finally, I settled on that this was too amazing for me to forget before the morning.

I forgot.
I did not even recall having anything to say until twenty minutes ago when I had the whim to write. Then it occurred to me, what was it I had to say last night?

I may not remember this blissful idea or peace of mind I had once, but I know it happened and that gives me a lot more hope for my own healthy mind than anyone would imagine. I've proven I can be okay, if only for a moment, and I may not know why, but I know it happened.

I have so much to say. I will never say it all. There will always be something hiding behind my frontal lobe, waiting, for the time to be known. I will die with a thought there, and, well, a girl's gotta have her secrets. Everyone should die with a secret.

I want to write about the nice side of mental illness. And yes, there is one.

The book I've been reading on borderline personality disorder (though wonderful and full of insightful information) demonizes the binges of a borderline. I will not say the promiscuity and drug binges are good things. (Quite the opposite). But it's not about that sometimes. Sometimes the reckless abandon you feel in those moments - those moments where you have to be something else than what you're letting yourself be - amount to nothing more than the need to run into the middle of the road on a beautiful night and scream like that lets out everything that's holding you back. There is something beautiful in these moments. There is something so pristine and intense in the manic side of insanity that healthy people will never be blessed to understand.

To you, it is just a car ride with some nice music. To me, it is a car ride that defines my life.

A lot of people say life is about the little things, but most who say that, do not know how much that really means. Life is very much about the little moments. The little moments feel so grand to me, because I know that calm feeling I have is fleeting and I have to hold on to it for the maximum amount of milliseconds because I don't know when it will be back again. This is not a curse. This makes the stupidest and most unimportant things into the memorable parts of my life. They keep me alive. They get me through.

When you die, you may not remember those two seconds looking at Venus. I will. In comparison to the three weeks I can spend on the couch watching nothing but Rent and eating my feelings, that moment looking into the sky is stark.

I can die worthless, having made no contribution to the world and I will be happy for the compilation of awesomeness I hold in my mind.

I hold onto all this so fiercely. I know the bad times are bad so I force to good times to be the best they can be. Everybody takes their lives for granted. You will remember being bored, or having more fun another night. I will remember that for this night, I was alive, and I was okay, and I was not at home alone reading The Bell Jar and worrying about the cat I gave him.

I was okay once and that will always let me know that I can be okay again. People need to realize that being mentally ill is torturous and terrible at times, but that the intensity of feeling also applies to the good times, and that more than makes up for the bad.

This is going to be my manifesto. This will be that book I always talk about writing. It will take a long time, because the good sometimes comes sparingly and it's hard to write about the good when you're engulfed in the bad.

This will happen.
Aren't I getting better at writing about good feelings?

I finally feel like I belong, and I really never thought I would.
I will work out everything else, because I know I am safe to do so. I will fall, but I will not break anymore.

Good mood.

2009-04-23T17:47:00.001-05:00

How odd it is to be living a life where each night is better than the last.

This will probably hurt when it all crumbles to the ground. But for now I'm going to enjoy video games, bonfires, dance music, flags, 20-sided die, and riding in the back of trucks.

If it all crashes down, it will look amazing. If I die before I wreck it, I will die on top.

Never gonna know you now...

2009-04-21T20:52:00.002-05:00

I hate my ability to remember every single person I've ever met.

Turns out, I knew one of the kids in the fatal car crash last weekend. Well, I didn't KNOW him, but in reading all the things online I kept thinking I had met him, I knew this kid. Finally, I went to his Facebook to try and see why the hell I feel so strongly that I've met this person.

He worked at Advance Auto Parts. Last time Megan and I were there together (when I walked next door to CVS to get a Snickers - told you I have impeccable memory) he was the one who waited on us. Meg was buying a battery and was severely bummed out when they sent a girl out to put it in (of course she wanted to flirt with the boy).

It's just weird, like, I didn't know him but he died and I had once had contact with him.

I have not experienced a lot of death, most people I know that have died, died when I was young. Anyone else since then, people from my school in the bus crash, or things like that, I had never met.

I wonder if my feeling of obligation to go to the funeral is weird.
I'm really saddened now.

So fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. (I'm just playing.)

2009-04-20T12:54:00.004-05:00

I find it interesting that I can write pages and pages of beautifully articulate prose on depression, sadness, disinterest, ennui, and a slew of other synonyms for shitty, but when faced with a situation where I am in a good place for a minute the only words I can concoct are, "I am really happy."

Why is my contentedness so contrived?
Perhaps, from lack of practice.
My God, that's depressing.

Also, who is anonymously commenting my blog?

Brief vagueness.

2009-04-19T13:02:00.001-05:00

I have to wonder if I am not actually still perturbed over the events I've recently been through and that I am not really in a good place now but rather hiding it from myself. Perhaps, I am quite depressed over my wrecked life and I distract myself with thoughts of happiness.

Just wondering.

I can't think of a witty title for a post about anxiety over musical discussions.

2009-04-17T21:08:00.003-05:00

I hate discussing bands I like with other people. I don't know if my extreme anxiety that affects everything from boys to breathing to bra straps to bottle rockets is the culprit or if this is a mutual feeling with most people.

My fear, when discussing music is that my music is not cool enough. I almost feel as if there is some dark secret about a band I listen to hiding in the shadows waiting for me to name drop just to burst out and make me look like an idiot. I also hate it when anyone asks me if I've heard of a band, if I haven't it makes me feel lame and if I have it opens a million other doors of anxiety (ex. my opinion about said band, remembering song names, mispronouncing a band such as "30H!3" or "Saosin").

Whenever I confirm knowing about a band it's like the asked immediately assumes I KNOW about this band. Just because I've heard of a band, or even heard a song by them does not mean I know anymore than just that.

I know nobody ever means bad by these conversations but they really exasperate my anxieties. It really sucks, too, because I love music.

I don't really know where any of that came from, I was thinking about Warped Tour and it dropped into my head. Am I alone in thinking people secretly judge my musical choices.

One lost sock.

2009-04-09T15:12:00.004-05:00

I want to start a website that only sells socks singularly.

It came to me in a dream. (And I totally call dibs so no site like this better crop up!)

It'd be just a regular on-line store type thing with pictures of socks. It's existence would serve to replace lost socks rather than just forgetting about them or buying another pair (because who needs THREE of the same sock?) It would eliminate waste in a very small and probably irrelevant way.

I really feel bad for perfectly good socks that get forgotten about or tossed aside when their mate goes missing. I want to stand up and fight for those remaining socks!

I imagine it would work well for one-legged people and people looking to make sock monkeys or sock puppets as well, but that's not the main demographic.

I'd include a forum so in case you could not find the sock you were looking for you and other users could chat to determine exactly what this sock looks like and then petition to get the sock included. Really, the forum would probably be more mundane than that. Stoners, up at 3 AM on OneLostSock.org (yes, we'd be .org) talking about how awesome socks are.

Sock ARE awesome.

I'd include links to other socks websites: people that hand make socks, collectible socks, and sock memorabilia. On the homepage we'd feature a new sock everyday. I would charge membership for the exclusive areas of the site (all my clients would probably be people with foot fetishes).

I know this is probably crazy and way far-fetched but at 6 in the morning I thought it was a really good idea. Probably because I've been tossing the same two mismatched socks in every load of laundry I do hoping they will recognize their mates and bring them back from the lost sock abyss.

It's a black and white striped sock and a solid black sock, if you happen to see them. I think they ran off and got married.

It'd probably be really hard to keep up with all the socks every and try to meet everyone's demand but I'm willing to try. Not that I know the first thing about internet entrepreneurship...

I just had to talk about my sock idea before I forgot it.
And I'm serious, take my idea and I will fucking sue you.

You can't save them all.

2009-04-08T12:15:00.003-05:00

Back in September we had taken in a cat rescue kitten. Or rather, stole a very sick kitten from some irresponsible fucks that don't deserve to have animals.

After a month or so of intimate care, antibiotics, and close supervision we placed the kitten with a permanent owner.

Little Kitten died. Mom called this morning, she had run into the woman we placed him with. Apparently, when she took him into the vet to get fixed she had blood work done and all sorts of things and he was perfectly healthy (I do good work). But when they put him under anesthesia he didn't wake up. The vet thinks he threw a blood clot. It's really a one in a million chance in a very routine procedure.

It's depressing, really, but at the same time I feel okay about it. He would have died had we left him, and it would have been a miserable death of starvation in the cold. He lived a lot longer after our rescue operation and at least he died in his sleep.

Ramblings...

2009-04-07T23:20:00.004-05:00

I'm incredibly bored and have no topic in mind thus I am just going to ramble.

Dreams are so weird. I always have really vivid (slightly disturbing - okay, really disturbing) dreams. I have those shitty dreams where people turn into other people and the worst situation always presents itself. I always wake up convinced this is all real and that I have all these tasks to attend to now. I hate dreaming. I have always hated dreaming since I was very small. I think that's probably because if I did the math at least 80% of the dreams I have are not good. And the 20% that are good? Well, they're the kind of dreams that are nice 95% of the way through and then they turn on you and go, "Just kidding!"

That was a lot of math just to talk about dreams.

I'm trying to write about things on my mind, I think the things on my mind must be very boring.
I bit my lip in my sleep the other night. Now I'm doing that obsessive-compulsive thing where I chew on the wound and it hurts (but I kind of like it) but it doesn't heal and I end up feeling like I've been clenching my jaw all day from the muscle strength I've put forth to chew on my lip.

Wow. That may have been the most mundane four lines of text I've ever written.

There's this strange compulsive feeling being emotionally attached to another person gives me. I don't especially like it, because checking 500 different internet applications in search of some form of communication is tiring and makes me feel weak and needy.

Eh, maybe I am. So whatever. My apathy is at a whole new high tonight. I hate referring to "apathy" in the possessive form "my" because when run together it sounds like "myopthy" and that is just downright confusing.

My phone is acting really odd. It says I have no signal but still sends and receives texts and as far as I know I can dial out...

...whatever.

I've started playing Dungeons and Dragons... I'll refrain from talking about that. Even if it was freakin' awesome. (Yes, it was quite awesome).

Ramble
Ramble
Ramble...

It's too fucking cold to be Alabama in mid-April.
That makes me think: when I was little and, you know, believed in God, I used to think that Mother Nature was God's wife. (Shows you how much I ever got taken to church). When the weather did not suit, I used to pray to God to ask his wife to make it better.

I was one weird fucking kid.

I really have to pee but getting up seems like a waste of energy.

Storms a-comin'

2009-04-02T20:52:00.004-05:00

I don't think I could ever really leave Alabama. I would miss the sound of tornado sirens far too much.

When I was little I hated tornadoes, stormy weather, and Spring in general. The truth of the matter was that I just hadn't lived here long enough. Nobody in Huntsville takes storm warnings seriously anymore. Tonight, as the sirens were sounding, people were speeding down Drake in the pouring rain. They don't care.

I distinctly remember being 5 or 6 years old and they had canceled school due to severe weather and my grandmother had picked me up. It was raining really hard. It was daytime and it was the kind of rain that makes the whole world look white with the density of the water. Before going home to her house (3 blocks from school) we drove 2 miles away so she could go to a store. I waited in the car. I remember being worried and her telling me to not "worry about the lightning, the car has rubber tires."

I can't imagine moving here from someplace that does not have tornado warnings. It would be oddly confusing since a "tornado warning" does not necessarily mean that there is a tornado.

I like bad weather now. It's a good reason to be introverted and sit inside stealing music. Living here this long has made this unpredictable weather predictable to me.

I remember some comedian once saying that in the south you know the four seasons: "Almost Summer, Summer, Still Summer, and Christmas." I really think of it more like "Summer, Still Summer, Christmas, and Tornado."

I'm really starting to find a lot of humor in living here and that frightens me even if it does make for interesting topics to write. My mother did the thing today. You know the thing.
"I remember when we had that tornado on April 3rd of '74. It was over where the Wal-Mart is now..."

This story actually ended with, "there was a trailer park there then."

A lot of stories around here end like that or something similar ("then" becomes "now"). Hell, a lot of stories BEGIN with a trailer park.
I don't like to read those stories.

The news seriously now has people everywhere that are "trained spotters" to find the tornadoes. I'm not sure, but I imagine this to be like a 3 hour class in the Holiday Inn and at the end you get a little laminated card...

...sadly, I kind of want to go to that class.

The times they are a-changing.

2009-03-29T22:41:00.005-05:00

I hate how quickly my moods change. I don't know what I want from one moment to the next and usually end up confused and surfing the internet. I set my standards out hours before and say how tough I will remain and I breakdown before bedtime. I'm weak and pathetic.

I feel like I care about everybody and nobody all at the same time. I think it's that I want to worry about everybody but I'm so exhausted from taking care of myself that I can't process anyone else's hurt. I feel - fuck I forgot the word.

Alienated? Something like that. And I'm doing it myself.
It just occurred to me that since Sunday night I have not done anything without depending on someone else, I have sought out interaction up until complete exhaustion and then slept my problems away. Now, I'm home. I have little to no interaction (I have the possibility of it but I avoid it, why?).

Tomorrow is going to be hell. It will quite possibly be the hardest part of all of this and I have no clue as to how I will react. I'm so terrified that I can't put it into words or convey it to another person. (And if I can't find words, I know I'm fucked.) I'm so afraid that I can't handle it. I don't know how I'm going to get through the day (or through tonight if I can't get rid of these thoughts). Then I have to deal with tomorrow night... and then the day after that... and I have to start doing all this without depending on somebody else to hold my hand and walk me through it.

It all seems so overwhelming.

Fuck the person who decided co-dependent was a bad thing. I'm know co-dependent, I'm selectively extroverted (selective about WHEN I'm extroverted, that is).

I wish that I could go through the entire day tomorrow with my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears going, "Lalalalalalalalala I can't hear you!!!"
I'm thinking that might come off as a little childish though...

I think I listen to too much music (or too much EiB) because everything I think seems to draw back to a song lyric. My feeling now remind me of a song of Fall of the House of Even called "Sassafrass Hoyden" it goes, "She has to walk alone, that doesn't mean she won't hold hands."

I know I have to do this alone, I have no other choice.
But I need my safety need and my support team. If I do fall, which I probably will, I have to land somewhere that's not sharp and pointy.

I have to face this. I just wish that I didn't feel so constantly panicked.
I can't be strong. I'm not strong. It's all an elaborate ruse.
(And another song lyric plays in my head.)

Moving out and the art of avoidance.

2009-03-29T20:01:00.003-05:00

The title is about as descriptive as this entry is going to be, because, I still don't want to talk about it. That's the beauty of it being MY blog. I can just so daintily gloss over the nasty bits.

I find that driving home from Birmingham is never as nice as driving into Birmingham. Even if I take into consideration that this time the drive in was dark, wet, and without anti-lock brakes and the drive home was sunny, warm, and full of excellent music. I think the drive into town always mean something too me like it's a destination or a great escape and the drive home is always just going home. Don't get me wrong. Home is good. Home is nice. Home has exponentially less pollen and exponentially better cats but it's still just home nonetheless.

I don't know how I'm going to deal with things but I know that I have to, and I think that's a good enough place to be right now.
Tomorrow, I'm taking my fucking life back (and possibly the fucking cat).

I feel a lot more directed than last week. I think I might be able to handle some of the bullshit (whereas previously I did not think I could handle any).

Goddammit, I hate it when I write vaguely but if I wrote this post literally it would seem really dull and depressing.
However, if I continue in this fashion it comes off as strong and defiant. Hell yes.

I need to bring forth hellfire.

Self-absorbed meanderings and mutterings.

2009-03-21T18:12:00.003-05:00

I utterly despise when I wait too long to write an entry and so much has happened it seems unfair to dedicate a post to just one item. That's the way I like to organize my blog. Each entry is one story, one anecdote, one experience.

But... I haven't updated in something like forever and it's too overwhelming to post just one thing or to post everything.

Ian and I went to Chicago for the Even in Blackouts break-up, which, aside from it being the band breaking up, was one of the greatest experiences of my short life. We spent a good deal of time in Bloomington, Indiana with his extended family which I greatly enjoyed.

Now I am back home and everything is the same and getting worse (getting worse seems to be part of 'the same').

I don't know if I have an asshole magnet attached to my head but I seem to attract the shadiest companies and employees of companies I have to deal with and it's getting tiring. I am seriously considering filing for bankruptcy just to get around dealing with a sea of idiots. That wouldn't really be the best solution seeing as I don't necessarily owe all this money but it seems the best course of action to preserve my mental health.

I can't get a handle on what I need to be focusing on, I feel tired constantly. I want to sleep. I want to sleep a lot.

I wish I could be in that basement in Chicago watching that show for the rest of my life.

I miss Birmingham. I think that's because I use Birmingham as an escape and right now I can't go to Birmingham and even if I could part of what I want to escape would be coming with me. That's not really correct, it's not that I want to escape certain things it's just that they're stressing me and I want to go back to not being stressed.

"It's not the way that brings me down
The awful way. You treat me, you treat me okay.
It's just that I don't think, you see me, you see me, you see me at all."

^That's the first part of the first song on EiB's new album and it speaks to me a little more than I feel comfortable with right now. I really don't want to feel like that. I really can't fathom feeling like that right now, but nonetheless, I do. I am not happy. I could be happy, but I need something more.

I do not see the solution clearly. In fact, I believe there is no good solution. I don't think what I'm feeling is a state of permanence I think it is the current circumstances and I am hoping those circumstances revert to the past rather than expanding on this path. If that can happen, if I can just get through this drought, then all will be well. But if it continues with no rain, I will die of dehydration.

Dehydration is a hell of a way to go, even if you go out fighting.

I miss the ability I used to have to choose apathy over giving a damn. It was a nice superpower for a while.

I'm in that place where I ponder the most absurd things. Like, if today I died some horrific and morbid death, I'm talking a gruesome CNN headline demise, I'd be wearing my "I'm too sexy for my socks" socks. I find that hilarious. Now, most of the modern and sane world would not find that funny. Morbidity amuses me often.

This album is amazing.

New post.

2009-01-26T22:21:00.002-06:00

I feel like writing a new post but at the same time I really don't feel like writing a new post.

So, I'm writing this. I'm creating a wonderful procrastination limbo. A lazy man's catch-22, if you will.

Dear readers (who do not read this), I promise you a full-bodied, beautiful post no later than Wednesday. You never know, if you're good I might include a picture or two, maybe some happy fun links.

Eh, who am I kidding. I'll write about the overnighter to Birmingham and call it day. Let's all be real here.

This post looks so weak and anemic but I'm tired and want to go watch Food Network in my pajamas.

Road trip.

2008-09-30T16:56:00.001-05:00

This is going to be a really long post. So long, I am dreading writing it.

I decided last Wednesday to pick up and go to Birmingham to meet up with Megan and Bryan to eventually go to Auburn for Maureen's baby shower.

So, I pack up my shit, clean out my car, put some oil in it, clean the windows and leave. I love a good long drive so going to Birmingham was really just what I need it. I find driving down I-65 incredibly relaxing. I was running way ahead of time and knew Bryan would still be in class so I stopped at the Ave Maria Grotto in Cullman and wandered around. They have a really neat little chapel and the stations of the cross. I walked through the cemetery and saw and monk and then drove around Cullman for a bit. Cullman is so tiny, it was almost shocking that people were driving at all.

I got back on the road and was in Birmingham within the hour. I got lost in the city, well, I didn't get lost. Bryan told me he lived on 11th Street when in actuality he lives on 11th Avenue. There's a big difference and once he realized the mistake and told me what the actual location was I had no problem finding it.

I had car problems coming in. Once I was in city traffic, like stop and go, my temperature gage would spike and the car would want to overheat. I just assumed I was low on coolant and since I was not going to have to drive again until I left on Monday I just parked it and figured I'd put some water in it later.

Bryan and I hung out for about an hour before Meg got into town. Megan and I changed out of our driving clothes and went over to Andrew's apartment. This was a bit awkward at first as Andrew and I used to have a somewhat (and my somewhat I mean very) romantic relationship and he numerous times left his girlfriend because he thought he wanted to be with me or vice versa. She was there and this was actually the first time she and I met face to face even though we've had a lot of mutual friends for years. It was not as awkward as it could have been but still awkward enough that drinking a lot of vodka seemed like a really good idea.

Andrew is diabetic so like the only thing he had to chase with was diet Coke. I'd much rather chug vodka straight then have to take a sip of diet Coke. He however ended up having this disgusting energy drink that was bright green and tasted like a highlighter looks. I was too concerned with getting shitty to think of the possible repercussions of drinking an energy drink with alcohol.

So I drank and we made pizza and played Beautiful Katamari, which, if you don't know, is a game where you are basically a ball of gravity and stuff sticks to you. At first you can only pick up things like bottle caps and bouncy balls but the bigger you get the more things you can get. It's right up there with Bubble Bobble as far as great games to play when you're drunk. The caffeine in the energy drink (which even tasted hyper) made me get drunk a lot faster than usual and also kept me from sleeping and made the hangover more of a bitch.

The next morning we made biscuits and played more video games before Bryan had to go to class. After getting lunch at the Subway on campus Bryan called his friend Brandon to sign us into the dorm since he had to go to class. Megan and I took our time taking showers and getting on Facebook until Bryan got home. Then we went with Brandon and Bryan to GameStop and Taco Bell. When we got back to the dorms Bryan wanted to take a shower and Brandon wanted to play his new games. We didn't want to sit in the freezing cold dorm again so we walked around the campus taking photos of and with all the sculptures. Bryan finally meets up with us and takes us up on the roof of a building and to hang out on the green then we decide we want to see Mr. Patrick.

Mr. Patrick is like a racist cartoon character and I love it. He says things like "How ya during?" and "chillrens." He once seriously said to me, "I don't care what anybody says, I think lil' pickaninnies is just as cute as white chillren." He told me this time that, "Them things is cuter than white chillrens." Everybody who knows him says the same thing, that they can't tell if he's serious or not but at this point they really don't care. He did tell us once that he's "not racist" and that he "loves them things like they was my own." He actually owns the banned Disney movie Song of the South and let us watch it when we got back to his place. We had met up with him at this Greek place in Five Points where I discovered that I love falafel. Then we walked around the area for a bit before going and hanging out and Pickaninny Patrick's apartment. We got home really late and had to get Bryan's dorm mates to go down and consent to him having overnight guests.

We woke up at 10-ish the next day which I guess can be considered early since we weren't in bed until 3:30. This was the day we had to drive to Auburn to see Maureen. We get on the road and hit a Wal-Mart to pick up baby gifts then then head on to Auburn. The drive to Auburn is so boring, 280 is a long, desolate, empty road. Then we get there and the town in TINY. I never imagined it would be so small. I liked it, it was cute, but it was just so little. We get to Maureen's and see her and meet her fiancé, David. He's cool. He's perfect and wonderful for Maureen. Megan and I agree that he's never what we would have expected but that that's probably a good thing. We go and get some Mexican food and then see some of their friends before attempting the arduous task of getting back to her apartment.

It was game day in Auburn and Maureen and David live about five minutes from the stadium which you would think would mean it'd be easy to get home before we'd be going the direction that like nobody is going. It's not that simple. In Auburn they close down a lot of roads to let traffic out so you basically drive around looking for a chance to turn right. We finally make it back and Maureen gets in touch with my friend Dan who says we should hang out later. This is actually my rooftop friend that moved away.

Maureen, Megan, Bryan, and I get into talking about all the people we went to high school with and man, was the gossip good. I know it's childish but sometimes a couple of hours of bashing everybody you ever knew is fun. Drew, a friend of Maureen's, comes over while we're waiting on Dan and he is already drunk from the game. Dan gets there with a bunch of people who's names I can't remember and then calls over a couple of friends to meet us. I ended up talking to them later so I remember that their names were Dylan and Libbie.

Dan, Bryan, and I run into the little brother of somebody we graduated with buying beer with a fake ID when we walk down the street on a beer run. Maureen eventually needs to get some rest and Dan wants me to drink so badly he goes to the liquor store since I don't drink beer. We relocated the party to Dan's apartment. Dan starts force feeding me vodka out of tea cups until we start drinking with his neighbor who owns a shot glass. Bryan passes out on the couch and the people I don't know as well as Dylan and Libbie leave. Dan tries to drunkenly play guitar for me and Drew and I talk about 4chan. Eventually we all try to get some rest but I wake up an hour later with Drew tugging at the sheet I'm sleeping with claiming he's cold. So I give him the sheet and go to get another but when I get up to go get one I think that maybe sleeping in the living room with Drew and Bryan isn't the best idea in the world. The rest of the apartment is freezing cold though and I can't find where Dan keeps the extra linens and I really don't want to wake him because of this weird conversation we had earlier. So I decide to wait for Drew to fall back asleep and go and get in the chair that he was SUPPOSED to be asleep in the the first place. Well, I'm not there five minutes before he starts tugging at my clothes. I just push him away and pretend to be asleep and he tries again so I get up and go to the bathroom. I send Dan a text that says, "You need to fucking get up before I get date raped in your living room." I try to sleep in the bathroom but I've sobered up enough to not be able to deal with it so I get my shoes and my purse and just walk to Maureen's since by this time it's nearly seven in the morning.

I get to Maureen's and David lets me in. Megan is already awake so I tell her my horrible tale and how much fun it was walking to Maureen's. Where Auburn is a college town the party scene is amazing. The walk home was littered with red Solo cups, beer bottles, and a couple of unopened cans of Bud Light. I fall asleep there for about three hours and then we get up and go over to Dan's to get Bryan. Drew has mysteriously disappeared and Dan and Bryan are sitting on the porch. We all go to IHOP and then drop Dan back off. Megan and I take turns showering and Maureen leaves to go get ready for the baby shower.

The shower was weird. A bunch of Maureen's Auburn friends stood around talking about how they were "so jealous" and "can't wait to get pregnant." Megan and I missed pin the pacifier on the baby and hung out on the porch with some guy named Seth. We left for Birmingham that same night. After having dinner at Al's (which may be my favorite place in the world), writing on the bathroom wall, and dealing with a short practical joke by Bryan we still wanted to see some of our other friends in town so we gathered some liquor from Bryan's dorm and headed over to John and Matt's apartment.

I didn't intend to drink but this was one of those nights where I felt like sneaking drinks even though by the time I was "sneaking" the drinks I was too drunk to be effectively sneaky. Megan finally took my last shot of rum from me. It was a shot I was taking forever to take because I had to talk to it. If I talk to the shot, then I can beat the shot. The conversation goes something like this, "I know this is gonna fuck me up, but I have to do it. I'm better than this. I can take this. You're just a shot. Like, an ounce. Alright I can do this," then you have to repeat some variation of "I can do this" for 20 minutes or so. But, like I said, Megan took it from me and then I spent the rest of the night asking her if I could have my "coconut water" back. This was by far the most drunk I have been without puking and one of the first times that I truly have trouble remembering what the hell happened. Later in the night I could vaguely recall a conversation but I was sure I had to have dreamed it even though I knew I hadn't slept. Megan later confirmed that this conversation had indeed happened.

The night ends up with me and John laying in Matt's bedroom floor talking. I think I had been on the way to the bathroom but gotten distracted by laying on the floor. Matt comes in to go to bed and I realize that Bryan probably fell asleep with his shoes on and the rules are that if you fall asleep with your shoes on then you're fair game so I drew a penis on one cheek and the letter "g" on the other. I was in the process of writing the word "gay" when he woke up. I don't remember how I got back upstairs but John and I stayed up for fucking ever talking and I only got like two hours of sleep before I woke up and was confused as to where I was.

We spent the next morning getting motivated to be productive and I put some water in my car and then we hung out with Andrew for a little while before we left. Bryan went class, Andrew went home, and then Megan and I made our way to I-65 and then split up on our respective routes home.

My car was still overheating in city traffic but the amount of wind creating by driving down the interstate kept the radiator cool enough not to overheat my engine. I got it fixed today. Since my air conditioning doesn't work they re-routed the fan from the AC to blow on the radiator as well. Even though my timing is off and I need an oil change and my car is 23 years old I still got 30 miles to the gallon on the way home.

I miss it, a lot. I almost feel like I'm supposed to be in Birmingham and even though it's only a hundred miles and I already know a hundred people there, it's still a really big step. For now, I will just try to go back more often.

In case you were wondering here's an update on Christmas Carol. I got cast, with a speaking role even. But due to some theater community animosity they didn't cast Dave and the whole idea was to do it with my friends so I really can't decide if I want to stay in the show or not. It's something I have to think on.

For now I'll end here with some links of trip photos. Expect an update when Megan finally adds the photos from the Auburn portion and that Sunday night.
First night's partying.
On campus.
On campus II
On campus III
On campus and in Five Points.

I need to go unpack, I've been home for over 24 hours and I haven't really done shit.

Birmingham.

2008-09-29T22:39:00.000-05:00

Long post.
Tomorrow.

Now... sleep.

Christmas Carol.

2008-09-20T18:04:00.000-05:00

I let Dave and Erin convince to audition for A Christmas Carol for the fourth time in a row. I've never gotten in. I've never even made it to call backs.

Today, I made it to call backs.

Apparently, since I chose the use a Cockney accent over proper British (because Dave told me they always need people who can do that) they loved me. Also, Barry told me that the fact that I look like a slob worked to my advantage since it fits with the part I'm trying to get.

I stumbled through my song, of course. I'm known for doing so. I'm actually known for crying during my song. I didn't cry this year. I'm very proud of myself.

I'm looking forward to doing this show, I'm looking forward to call backs.
I really need this.

Oh, and I decided that talented little kids are creepy. You know the ones I mean. Tap-dancing, singing, jazz hands kids. They're terrifying.

Taking a little trip down south.

2008-09-15T20:18:00.000-05:00

Today I went to the gynecologist. I worry myself sometimes with the amount of humor I find in these situations.

First off, I love the waiting room. I go to the local health department to get my birth control and annual pap smears done because they do it for free. The health department is also where you go for STD tests and all sorts of nasty business so the waiting room is just bursting with many fun forms of sin and depravity.

They do rounds of tests on you when you go. It's their responsibility to check in all the nooks and crannies for rabies, scabies, and anything else gross and wrong.

I got there a little earlier and set up camp in the main waiting room with my iPod and a book. I have no signal AT ALL in that building so it's pretty much me and whatever literature I bring along. I'm not sitting there long when they call me back to do my paperwork. Has your address changed? Still the same phone number? What did you come in for today? Yada yada yada.

Then they send you back to the next waiting room. This one is the one I love. This one is the closest I can figure a physical manifestation of purgatory. I've always imagined purgatory as a waiting room with bad magazines. I mean, that's really what it is, the waiting room to Heaven or Hell. The reason I define the health department waiting room as purgatory rather than perhaps a dentist office waiting room is because of the vast amounts of sin and depravity I mentioned before. Everyone seems guilty here whether they are or not. You avoid eye contact. You worry about seeing someone you know. Though really, what could they say to you? I thought of this while sitting in the waiting room and had to hold back my giggling.

It's chaos there. That's also while it's like purgatory. Purgatory wouldn't be purgatory if I were allowed to sit contentedly reading and listening to music in a quiet waiting room. I'm reclusive, I could do that for all eternity. No, it's not a soothing quiet waiting room. There are children screaming everywhere. I really do mean everywhere. They're in front of me, in the chair next to me, I can hear them down the hall. The room for immunizations in adjacent to the waiting room so I'm guaranteed a little screaming Susie or Bobby every ten minutes or so. At one point there was a child laying face down in the hallway and all our shameful bubbles were momentarily popped by a confused nurse asking it this child belonged to any of us. I learned over in my chair (as I was on the other end of the waiting room) to get better look. I do love this sort of dark humor.

The nurse looks my way when she sees me move and says, "Ma'am is this your child?"
At this point I've seen the way this child is laying and I'm choking back laughter. He looks as if he were fleeing down the hall from enemies and has been shot in the back. In reality he's thrown a tantrum and has done that weird catatonic thing that kids do after a fit. I look at the nurse, smirking, and shake my head no.

What I found almost as funny was that she'd ask me after I learned in for a closer look if it was my child. Why would I need to lean closer to identify my child? It's not really an "oh that's not my kid" wait let me get six inches closer "you know what I was wrong, he is mine" type of thing. But whatever.

They finally call me to take my vitals. For some reason, I really like getting my vitals taken. It's like a little chunk of science related directly to me and let's face it, I'm never going to turn down being the center of attention.

My vitals were, much to the distaste of the nurse, as I expected. My iron was low (What are you doing to combat you're anemia, Ms. Anderson?) My blood pressure was low. (Do you eat right, Ms. Anderson?) Actually, aside from those two things I was relatively healthy. I've grown an inch, which was shocking to me. I've also lost five pounds. I wasn't thrilled about that, neither was the nurse.

Then she takes some vials of blood to test me for HIV and Syphilis. I refrained from telling the nurse how fascinated I am by Syphilis. It didn't seem appropriate. Giving blood does not bother me at all. It confuses nurses. I'm tiny, I look like I should be scared of needles going into my tiny veins. I have a high pain tolerance for needles apparently. I didn't even remember that they had taken blood last time I was at the doctor (the nurse assures me that they did) that's how inconsequential it is to me.

Then they send me back to the waiting room which is now half as full as before. It makes me think they're killing off people or something.

I sit for a while and read and let myself be annoyed by screaming kids despite the fact that I have my music. Then they come get me for my exam.

I go into the exam room and there's another nurse and then the gynecologist. The fact that the actual doctor is there makes me a bit nervous, usually you just see a nurse practitioner. The fact that the aforementioned doctor looks like Mrs. Claus makes me warm and cozy deep inside but we'll get the that in a minute.

This is the time in the appointment where the nurse asks you questions that make you want to slap her so hard her scrubs come off. She asks if I'm a prostitute, if I have oral or anal sex, if I have multiple sex partners (which if you answer 'yes' just makes you feel like a whore), when was the last time I had sex...

Seriously? Wow, way to remind me that I'm not getting any. I couldn't even remember. She gave me a calendar, like that would help, like I'm counting back weeks or something. No, it's too far back to count weeks.

Well, that's done so now it's time to talk about Mrs. Claus who is chillin' over at the computer. This was the most matronly looking doctor I've ever seen. She looked so sweet that it confounds me that she says 'vagina' in her everyday conversations. She looked as if she should teach third grade or be a nanny. She looked like she'd be an accomplished baker. I half expected her to pull a try of cookies out of my vadge.

I undress and do the routine bit, she feels on my boobies and has me scoot my ass down so she can take a look-see. Yes, I got felt up by Santa's wifey. Let me tell you, it's hard not to laugh when you're convinced she's Mrs. Claus and she's asking you about "vaginal discharge" and whether or not you have trouble "peeing and pooping". And yes, those were the words she used.

On the bright side, she listened to my lungs and despite my asthma and the fact that I've had both walking pneumonia and bronchitis in the last year my lungs sound "wonderful".

Victory!
Oh yeah, and all seems well down south, too.

Up, up, down, right, left, right, left, right, B, A, select, start

2008-09-08T11:44:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer #1: The title code won't do anything in the games mentioned here. It's for Contra. Also, no codes in that format are for games made by anyone else than Konami. Just so you know. (If you're bored, hold down 'select' in Tekken II).
Disclaimer #2: I am a huge geek.

For the last 24 hours I have known about this site.
It now runs my life.

This is a website where you can download emulators for gaming systems including the NES, the SNES, Commodore 64, Atari, and many others. After downloading an emulator you can search through ROMs of old video games to play. Not all the games you would ever want are in their database. They are definitely lacking a few NES staples including Metroid and the Super Mario Brothers set but those are easily found on other sites and transferable to the emulator.

Last night I got the ROM for this game my brother and I never could beat called Uninvited. Honestly, the game is pretty dull but it was quite challenging when I was eight so of course I had to try and beat it now.

Basically, you are wandering through this haunted house looking for your sister and you can take, use, examine, and open almost anything you find. For the longest time last night I was carrying around a salami and a mop for no good reason. You of course have to find ways to use these things during your mission. For instance, you spray "Spider Cider" on a rail to kill a spider which you in turn take and then throw at an arachnophobic apparition.

I appreciated this game when I was little because it was hard. Hell, it still is hard. I had to Google a walk through to beat it last night. It was also a bit ahead of it's time. This was right at the release of the SNES but still the ability to interact this much and have this many options was a huge stretch. You can literally use anything you find. Find a knife? Use it on yourself! I wouldn't advise it but you always have the option.

I appreciate this game now, because the game is a smart ass. There's one point where you're in a greenhouse with a watering can and you have four very dead plants and one pot of soil. If you choose to water the dead plants the text will pop up and say, "Water pours from the watering can into the dead plant, and surprisingly, nothing happens."

At another point, you're in some type of place of worship and a trap door opens. You can choose to go down the door but each time it will warn you about a giant spider. If you try three times it will let you down the door and you die as text pops up and says "Well what do you know. It's a giant spider."

If you try to use the "No Ghost" spray on a ghost and you don't open the bottle first it will treat you like an idiot. "Nothing comes out. You didn't open the bottle." And then you die.

I just like it because it's clever, there are a lot more easter eggs than in other games. Tombstones in a maze pay homage to programmers, a phonograph plays music from another game in this trio, and a Macintosh apple sits on a table.

Since beating it last night I've been playing Metroid. I may have to call my brother, he always beat the hard levels for me so I really need him here.

Bucket list.

2008-09-06T18:07:00.000-05:00

I want to make a bucket list. I have a lot of ideas for things I'd out on the list but I'm afraid that in making the list I will see how few of the things I want to do that I have actually done, and it will depress me.

For now watch this:
Evolution of Dance.

Cats and dogs and horses, oh my!

2008-09-04T14:54:00.000-05:00

This kitten we rescued is kind of gross. After consulting a vet we've found that to get rid of the wolf worm in his head we're going to have to coat it in Vaseline and wait for it to come out and then grab it with tweezers and kill it.

It's like something out of Alien.

I can't believe our idiot neighbors let a kitten this small get this sick and still made it stay outside to fend for itself in this Alabama heat.

All of this has got my mother and I thinking about opening an animal shelter. We'd have to find a plot of land or perhaps a house and get tax-exempt non-profit status from the IRS as well as getting on board with a vet's office that would be willing to donate services to animals we take in.

At first the idea began that we'd open a cattery but after thinking about it we decided we could never turn down somebody needing to find a shelter for an animals. Now we're thinking we'll take in cats, dogs, horses and livestock, birds, and really anything we can.

We're hoping to get some preliminary volunteers and start raising funds or seeking a backer to perhaps donate or fund a location.

It's odd that after over a decade of taking in stray and neglected cats we're actually just now considering the possibility that we could do this on a large scale. I think I should name this kitten so that at a later time I can name the shelter program after him.

It's getting a little too "Steel Magnolias" 'round these parts.

2008-09-02T17:23:00.000-05:00

It's getting a real down home feeling around here lately. I don't know if it's just recently happened or if I've just recently accepted it.

I've been noticing it more and more. It began with a neighbor bringing us a big pot of some ambiguous dish she called "stew" and few months back. Then, it became more noticeable when it occurred to me how many people in the grocery store I know by name and conversely they know me by name. Come to think of it, some of them have known me since I was four or five years old.

I can't go to the store anymore without hearing who split up, got married, got knocked up, dyed their hair some atrocious color, planted some tacky plants, or wrecked their car after drinkin' too damn much. It's not gossip, either. It's just common knowledge. It's the town forum.

Today I went to get a tire changed and has a nice ol' chat with the owner about a Chevy Vega he used to have on his property to sell. He told me he sold to it to "an ol' boy up in Lacey Springs." After fixing my flat I went to put more air in the other tires where I ran into a manager from an old job who told me how he liked how I was wearing my hair and asked where I was working. This prompted a discussion on my rheumatoid arthritis affecting my work which drew in other gas station workers nearby that I also happened to know.

I left there to go by my mom's work to possibly go have lunch. I was cut off by somebody in a Yukon on Washington St. and when I looked over to flip them off I saw that it was the clerk from the meat department of Kroger.

Gas stations I frequent know me.
Blockbuster does not charge me late fees because they know I'm always a day late.
The lady in the used book store knows that I come in once a month and buy ten books or so.
People always have some "extra work you could help 'em do".

You can't go anywhere anymore!

The adventure to my mother's work is always country feeling. Those people have known me forever and some don't even call me by my real name. The first time I ever got paid for working I got paid eight dollars for filling flower tubes with water after school one day when I was nine.

Everything seems slightly more southern lately. My family always has been this way but lately they seem amplified. I won't even go into that because my fingers may fall off from exhaustion if I type that much.

If it wasn't redneck and Steel Magnolias enough these days the stray kitten I've taken in has got "wolves."

Wolves, generally 'round these parts, are known as what you gotta worry about the rabbit you done shot to eat having. They're a type of fly larvae that an animal can digest or come in contact with through an open wound. It will cause an abscess under the skin until the larvae matures and pushes through a small opening.

They're not even actually called "wolves" that's just a colloquialism like calling cicadas "katie-dids". They are often called wolf worms or bot fly larvae and the only reason we found out the that that's what was wrong with the cat is that somebody at my mom's work who's from the country told her that it probably just had "wolves".

Ya'll come back now, ya hear?

Pac Man, pumpkins, and things of that sort.

2008-09-01T13:55:00.000-05:00

It is the first day of September which means I can start thinking about Halloween. I'm am a Halloween fiend. I hate horror movies but I love Halloween. I love all of Autumn. I plan to write a longer, more in-depth entry on that subject once the leaves start turning and I get more in the mood.

For now, I'm going to post the album of last year's Jack-O-Lantern creations:
Carvin' Pumpkins

Here's some highlights from last year:

I get anal-retentive about pumpkin carving and really can't be trusted around other people because in my concentration I will bite their heads off. I never use those kits, either. A plain kitchen knife and a manicure kit works best in my opinion.

Also, I wanted to write about the rest of my day yesterday. I was so excited about the swamp when I got home I completely forgot to mention being stopped by the train. I have a love/hate relationship with trains. Due to a number of childhood nightmares as well as a family friend's death I have a terrible fear of trains. What I do love, though, is the wonderful canvas they are for graffiti.

I actually know a little more about graffiti than I should, like what is a tag, how certain techniques are performed, and whether or not something is garbage. I really enjoy watching train graffiti. The best one I ever saw was when Megan and I were shopping and gallivanting around Decatur one day. The whole train car was done as a parody of Ms. Pac Man. It was amazing. We couldn't get the camera out in time and I can't find any photos online from anyone else who may have spotted it. None of these yesterday came anywhere near the caliber as Pac Man graffiti, though, there were some nice Anime touches.

The one thing I hate about train graffiti is that I never get to see what is on the other side.

I ended up going back to the mountain alone yesterday afternoon. I downloaded the KML file of the trails for Google Earth and really wanted to see Panther's Knob which takes you to the so-called highest point.

The trail is overgrown and narrow and at time indistinguishable from the rest of the wilderness. It is unmarked after about the first 8th of the trek. I was very angry with the entire excursion. I never got to the top (though I could have if I had known I'd have to forge my own trail) and I never even got far enough where I couldn't see the road. I was very upset by all of it.

I would've made a damn good boy scout.

2008-08-31T15:34:00.000-05:00

I took Dingo hiking up on Monte Sano today at LandTrust. Last time I went was in February with my other dog, Zippy. When Zippy and I went I did not look at the map too closely and ended up on the other side of the mountain on a road three miles from my car.

I paid more attention this time. I noticed this time on the map that there are certain landmarks highlighted on certain trails. One of which is the old chimney from a building that burned down ages ago. Another is Three Caves Quarry. quarry turned cave, turned possible fallout shelter. Then I notice higher up on the map parallel to the trail that got me lost previously is another quarry. I think I can say you know my thing with quarries without citing previous entries. But I'll site them anyway:
August 4th, 2008
August 9th 2008
August 11th, 2008

I decide to take the trail Zip and I took before, Bluff Line Trail, but instead of heading straight through (which is what I thought was the right decision last time) I'll take the fork to High Trail at the top of the mountain. High Trail circles the quarry and leads back out onto Tollgate Trail which will take me to my car. I should've done the math as this equals to about six miles.

Bluff Line Trail sucks. It's a beautiful trail but since last weeks storms there were two trees down on the earliest leg of the trail. Not to mention that about halfway through it stops being beautiful and starts being uphill. Not only that, once you've climbed high enough on the mountain there is no shade. High Trail meets Bluff Line and that perfect place; the place where you think you're going to fall over from physical exertion and die in the woods. High Trail is narrow and fairly flat and actually doesn't have much to see for the first half besides trees.

What's a little spooky about these trails is unlike Railroad Bed Trail which runs closest to the parking lot, Alms house which is barely a mile long, and Tollgate which runs parallel to the road, is that for miles around you know that there are only trees. Seriously, nobody could hear you scream.

Eventually we come to a few dried up creek beds and I let Dingo drink from the remaining puddles of water. This creeps me out because the rocks smell like caves and ever since I saw The Descent I haven't been able to look at caves the same again.

Near the last third of High Trail the path becomes almost exclusively gravel, if I was not expecting the quarry up ahead I would find this odd.

We reach the quarry and the trail that circles it. This quarry is probably barely 2 acres and is swampy. It's an odd site in the middle of the trail. There is a path that is part of High Trail that circles it but I don't bother with using it since it looks like no one has walked it in a a good three years or so. I do get close enough to see that it is indeed swampy and not just a trick of the vegetation surrounding it. I'd like to get closer to examine to depth but I can tell I'm in water moccasin heaven.

The whole hike I have seen no wildlife outside of these strange grasshopper/butterfly hybrids and various spiders. I see more wild animals in my house on a daily basis. As far as spiders go I've seen a few Wolf Spiders and about a thousand Daddy Long Legs which are nothing to cause me to give them any special attention. But, down near the swamp, in a gigantic web is a Golden Orb Weaver which looks something like this:

I want it. It's huge, it's yellow, and it will totally freak my mom out. It must be mine. I have nothing to carry it in for the remaining mile or so I have to walk and while I'm sizing up whether or not it would break the poor things legs to put it in my empty water bottle Dingo walks through it's web and it scampers away.

We finish out the last leg of the journey down Tollgate Trail. Tollgate is a particularly rocky treacherous downhill trail that is not challenging so much as irritating. I can see no good reason for using this trail expect as a short cut to the quarry or Panther's Knob or as a quick exit to the parking lot.

There were a few times today where I almost found myself lost again. A running theme with LandTrust is that they get lazy on the last third of every trail and just give up on hanging trail markers. Last time was cloudy and overcast and I couldn't remember which side of a tree moss grows on. Today, I knew which direction I was headed in at all times and at any time cut have cut blindly through the unmanicured wilderness and made a bee line for my car.

Now, I am tired as hell. I really wish I'd thought to take a camera.

Sick days.

2008-08-27T10:53:00.000-05:00

I hate taking time off work. I mean, I enjoy an off day. I look forward to off days, plan for them. I hate having to take extended time off work. The doctor at the hospital told me that I can't work for three days due to the problem with my hand which he so sweetly called, "arthritis." I haven't yet sat down and analyzed my thoughts on this doctor encounter. That is, I do not know whether I think he is full of shit or not.

This time off was needed. Originally, I was slotted to work from last Sunday through this Monday and until the new schedule came up I would not know when I was off. I had a lot of things I needed to get done as well. A month's worth of clean unfolded laundry got taken care of yesterday. I also began the work on that whole blue hair undertaking. I have other things of a much more curious nature to occupy my time as well but that's another tale for another time, lads.

I do have to say, that for the first time since I made the decision to make my life better have I actually felt better not having certain people in my life. I've let go of that security blanket and I don't think I'll need that sort of superficial fake acceptance again.

Now I just need to get my shit back. Damn.

Bug rescuers down under.

2008-08-21T23:26:00.000-05:00

Remember the Giant Agave Bug that I was so mesmerized by? Well one of his female adult counterparts flew in the drive-thru window at work today.

I had to save her.

She was just hanging out on the inside of the window, confused as to how she got in and even more confused as to how to get out. I was the only one willing to do anything about it.

By the time I got to the window she had slipped down and oddly enough, fallen into some sticky fly paper in a bug trapper that had been taken down and laid by the register.

I hung the bug trap outside the window and managed to unstick her from it with a straw. I felt so bad her in the 45 seconds she struggled to get free. I was afraid I was going to have to leave her stranded on the bug mat to die or have to break her back legs off to set her free. I know bugs have no feeling if their legs break but it still really upset me. I can't imagine not having the analytical thought to process how or why I can't move the back half of my body.

I am glad she survived. It very much made my day.

Ice cream dream.

2008-08-19T11:33:00.000-05:00

It's been a really long time since I've had a job I actually enjoyed doing. In fact, I'd venture to say that I've never had a job that I enjoy. I like this job.

This job has lead me to my next great idea: a morbidly themed ice cream parlor.

I'd open an ice cream shop, but unlike Bruster's, you'd actually be able to walk in and there'd be a dining area but it'd all be decorated like a haunted house. Well, maybe not so over the top as a haunted house, but still, it'd be fucked up.

All the treats would have clever names. Like, a strawberry sundae would be called a Bloody Sundae. Black Forest ice cream would be called Black Dahlia. Chocolate Lover's Trash would be Chocolate Entrails or something or the sort. I haven't thought all this through yet.

I'd open up shop next to a tattoo parlor or an alternative hairstyles salon. I'd have to open it somewhere around people who would appreciate the humor.

I do love my job, though. I'm not sure why.

Religion and lack thereof.

2008-08-18T17:13:00.000-05:00

I hung out with someone the other day who "has religion". I don't have religion. I have not seen religion in a very long time and I don't imagine I'll be in the vicinity any time soon.

Being around someone filled with God's love and what have you made me re-examine my own religious beliefs. Not like, in the way that I think I might believe in God again, but in a way that makes me wonder why so many Christians have such a hatred of Atheists.

I don't hate Christians. I will admit, though, some of them annoy the hell out of me (maybe that's their way of getting the demons out of my soul, get it?)

Then again... some Atheists annoy the hell out of me. Generally, people annoy the hell out of me so when somebody who believes in God irritates me I never think of it as having to do with what they believe unless it is directly related to them trying to jam some form of their belief down my throat.

I don't try to convince people that there is no God or anything like that. I really could care less what anyone believes so it really gets to me when other people take a stand against what I believe. Beliefs, are like music, you can't change someone's beliefs and you can't convince them to like a certain kind of music. If God does have a plan, it was never in His plan for me to believe in God.

I remember back when I used to go to church. I believed in God, not as devoutly as some, but still, I had the fear of the Lord in me. It took me sometime to shake that fear. When I started doubting the existence of God I would become scared that God would punish me for even considering that He does not exist. It's a vicious cycle. I'm out of it now. I am shocked that when I enter a church I'm not set ablaze. I don't think I'm a bad or evil person I just think that I am so far from being changed that if there is a God, in His eyes, I'd be one of the worst.

I don't think I'm a bad person. That simple thought ties into what I set out to write today. Back when I was still in church we had a youth group sermon once about how no one can ever be a truly good human being if they are not filled with Christ's love. That sermon really upset me, and this was back when I believed. I recall, a close friend of mine, one of my oldest friends, responding in horror to a short documentary we watched. Somebody had gone around asking people on the street if they though they were good people. My friend shrieked in awe, "I can't believe that one man thought he was a good person when he was standing there wearing a shirt that said 'Atheist' on it!"

Now, I didn't know the man in the video so I can't really venture to say what kind of person he was. I'm thinking though, that he probably doesn't go around kicking puppies. I doubt he's murdered anyone. He didn't seem to be strung out on meth or have the intention to molest the young girls walking around on the sidewalk behind him. Not knowing him I can't say that he's an above average good person but he didn't appear to be a bad person by any means.

I rescue animals. I don't kill bugs. I give bums rides and food when I can and I obey traffic laws when I do it. I try to respect other people's beliefs. I try not to curse or be blasphemous in front of people who love God. If I have to be in a church I behave respectfully. I was raised Catholic so I'll take communion in the church if I don't want my party to feel uneasy. I'm not malicious without very good reason. I try not to lie unless to avoid hurting someone. I think that makes me a decent person.

I think that the fact that I don't kill bugs makes me a notably good person but I am more proud of the fact that I am respectful of those who believe differently than me. I think that everyone has a right to what they believe and it's your basic idea of liberty, they have that right until their right starts to infringe on the rights of others. I'm not going to ever bash anyone's beliefs. That's not how or who I am and I can't bring myself to be that way. Maybe I think TOO equally, but what can I say? That's also all I ask of others. Don't spew hate speech at or around me about the problems you have with mine or anyone else's ideas. It's awkward, disrespectful, and the mark of an uneducated ill-informed child.

Let's all be grown-ups.
I really pride myself in that. Not that any of this came up in my encounter yesterday, it didn't. Actually, the fact that there was no confrontation is what made me start thinking on all this again. It was such a radical change from the usual annoyance, it was nice to feel relaxed.

I imagine I'll get hate comments from Google searchers though...

Anxiety at midnight. Yay!

2008-08-14T23:49:00.000-05:00

I vowed to myself not to blog while depressed. It's never a good idea. But, let's all be completely honest, I've never really been the picture of self control.

I've been staring at old photos on my bulletin board all day. I don't know why. I wonder about these people in these photos. I used to see them daily. Now, I don't know where some of them are, and the ones that I do, I talk to intermittently on the internet. This one girl with stringy brown hair and blue eyes; I wonder where she went. I don't talk to her ever anymore.

Although, some days, like today, I get the feeling she's trying to talk to me. I really don't want to hear what she has to say. I know what she will say. I am a disappointment. Although my life will make a wonderful Holden Caulfield tale if I ever write it all down, it's still nothing like it was supposed to be.

I hope all this is making sense. I feel detached from my thoughts right now. Everything feels distant. I keep trying to pin down the words and I get lost inside my mind.

It sure is dusty in here, my mind, that is.

I wonder if that girl can even still talk, or if I've taken away her voice. Or worse, if I've let somebody else take away her voice. If she can still talk, she and I obviously don't speak the same language anymore.

Something is happening to me. I don't think it is good. I don't like it. I want it to stop before if hurts me or anyone else. I love my job and yet I can't feel any motivation to go there. I don't hate it, I just don't want to go. I don't want to do anything. I know I am trying to put my life back in order but I don't feel like I am actually doing anything. I feel like my life is doing it all own it's own and I'm just along for the ride.

I'm worried. I really do wonder about all those people. I look at all the old photos and notes from the past, old cheap Ninja Turtle Valentine cards, put-put score cards, and little drawings my friends made for me. That life looks so happy. I wonder what happened to it, and how I got so far away from it all and away from that girl. I wonder most, why I still have all these things hanging up. I wonder if I'm trying to fool myself into thinking that it's still all like this.

I do declare, she may have caught on to my plan!

I wonder what or who made me this way. I worry that I have let other people make me this way and for the life of me I can't, out of all the horrible and traumatizing experiences I have had, pin down one that suddenly made me change.

The greatest movie ever.

2008-08-14T12:56:00.000-05:00

Grand Theft Auto would be an awesome movie.

Now, I don't mean make it about what the plot is in any of the games, that's doing too much. I want GTA to begin with the character standing on the street and we just follow him around.

No dialog, really, except when he beats people with a baseball bat and they yell. It'd be awesome.

I'd want it to be a long movie. I'm talking Titanic long. Three hours and fourteen minutes of some random guy picking up hookers, doing them, and then killing them to get his money back. Imagine all that he could do in three hours. There are pigeons to be shot, helicopters to be downed with a missile launcher. There are cars to blow up and people to run down.

Maybe I'm just easily amused or maybe this is the greatest idea in the world.

We could watch our hero steal cars, mopeds, boats, trucks, motorcycles, bicycles, police cars, fire engines, ambulances, and helicopters. We could watch him beat and kill people with molotov cocktails, baseball bats, various guns, knives, grenades, rocket launchers, and all kinds of other fun things. We'd watch him run down pedestrians, barricade himself in a building and blow up S.W.A.T. members, he'd go to strip clubs, and beat up bums.

This is why I think my plan is genius, everyone likes action movies (well that's an exaggeration but I need it to make my point) but who wants to sit and watch something with a badly written plot and poor catch phrases. GTA equips with the tools to ignore the story and go for the kill, literally.

And Chuck Norris should play the hero. But that's a given.

I got thrown out of a bar...

2008-08-12T11:42:00.000-05:00

Sadly, it was not in New York City. Really, I wasn't really thrown out. I wasn't even exactly asked to leave. It was just implied. In fact, this story would not bear repeating if not for the events leading up to it.

Remember that night Megan and I got shit-faced. If you recall from that post we ending up in our favorite bar The Voodoo Lounge.

Last night, I was bored and close to succumbing to cabin fever so I decided to go watch Phillip and James play at Voodoo. I'm in Voodoo for maybe five minutes when this bulldyke of a bartender walks over and says, "Do you have your ID, sweetie?"

Sweetie.
I reach in my purse to retrieve my wallet and say, "You guys are still 19 and up, right?"
"No, we had an incident a few weeks ago."
"Oh."
"Something with you and your friends."

I just give her that 'what the fuck are you talking about' and 'how dare you accuse me of something' look and say, "Excuse me?"
She attempts to dull her accusations by saying, "Well, some people you knew or something."

I'm just like, okay, and I leave.

They haven't become 21 and up. Megan's little escapade on the sidewalk wouldn't have changed anything because she's 21, and since I was puking in a bush two blocks away, no one had any evidence of my age.

She recognized me. I got thrown out of a bar, for being me.
The thing that gets me, she didn't have to balls to say it plain and simple.

Photos

2008-08-11T19:18:00.000-05:00

I finally have some pictures of the infamous Google Earth quarry.

Photo time!

Bad moods and sick days.

2008-08-10T17:30:00.000-05:00

I haven't done anything of importance all day. I feel like hell.

The worst part of being sick, to me, is not the actually physical aspect. It's the fact that it leaves me helpless with nothing to do but let my mind wander. I've been pondering all the shitty things to occur over the last year and if being sick didn't already put me in a foul mood, thinking about all those things sure did.

Being sick also allows me to reflect on past times when I've been ill and lying in bed, lonely and bored. When I was young fevers made me delirious so illness was not so dull. If I lay there long enough I'd see cartoon characters walk by. That stopped being fun that one time when I thought I was a grasshopper. That terrified me to no end.

The last time I had pneumonia I sat in bed playing snake on my cell phone and picking at my skin enough to cause several scabs that wouldn't heal for weeks. The time before that I had bronchitis. I lost my voice and spent my days texting people and conning Coke slushies out of weak-willed friends before eventually having to go the hospital when I was pumped full of so many steroids that I couldn't drive back home. A year or so previous I had some mystery ailment right during the production week of Talking With when I was doing plays with Renaissance. I spent that week of sickness willing myself to be well again while intermittently appearing on stage and somehow managing not only to walk in high-heeled leather boots but also twirl a baton. I remember very little about that week. I always remember very little about being ill. When I was younger I would venture out of my bed on a quest for nourishment or refreshment but along to way would become too exhausted and take a nap in the middle of whatever room I happened to be in.

Then there are the times when I am stuck at home, mentally ill, due either to some anxiety or a bipolar episode. I spend those times either weighted in bed, unmovable or cutting up magazines into tiny bits of paper to be glued on a collage.

Today, I am sick from sun exposure. Go figure. I've spent the day playing internet mahjong and poking my skin to watch the sunburn go away and the slowly reappear. I called into work. Walking more than five feet at a time gives me headache and makes me dizzy.

I'm never going in the sun again.

Confessions of a Sunburned Drama Queen

2008-08-09T21:13:00.000-05:00

I haven't been sunburned in probably five years. Actually, the last time I recall the sun having any effect on my skin color was five years ago and I didn't even get burned that summer in Florida.

I guess it's more precise to say, I haven't been sunburned in OVER five years and to go on and say, I'd forgotten how much it sucks.

-side note: even with my vocabulary as extensive as it is, and even on my good days, I cannot find one word that can hold a candle to the nice connotation I find in the word "suck"-

This sunburn isn't as awful as it could be. It's not like one of the more notorious southern burns I've received in years previous. Anyone who's spent a summer down here equipped with an SPF any less than 20 knows what I'm talking about. It's that sunburn that hurts so bad even a light cotton shirt feels like a chimerical of razors against your skin. I can recall sunburns so horrendous that if it were a windy day out I'd stay inside (standing, of course) because the mere blow of the wind against my overly rouged skin would cause me to wince in pain.

Sunburn also makes you sleepy. It makes you hot and cold at the same time. It's an evil two-faced bitch of a condition that is most definitely something only hell could hath wrought. Whatever deity is responsible for Chinese water torture and the soggy biscuit game is also to blame for sunburn.

Sunburn makes you heavy; limbs like molasses. It makes me recall a very specific time in my short life. It brings me back to certain summers at my dad's house. Dad had this canvas swing. It wasn't one of those wooden slat swings on an A-frame. It was those cheeky newer models for the patio-loving families that were keeping up with the Jones' backyard. This swing was comprised of a steel frame with canvas stretched over it and topped with cushions. Cushions, which mind you, were quite impractical for a backyard swing. Every time those fabulous tornado watches hit north Alabama my brother and I were forced to run out in the backyard to retrieve those precious cushions which lay unprotected by the canvas canopy that finished out the contraption.

I used to take naps on that swing. In the middle of the summer, afternoons mostly, when the sun was setting and shining straight into our backyard and into my little cove of a swing, I would sleep there. I would lay there all cozy and warm with no concern for mosquitoes, ticks, or any other six-legged beast that roam the backyard. It's odd that I never got sunburned doing this. This was before I was the person I am today, moping about in fall clothes even when our temperature tops out at 104. I was in shorts and usually some sort of t-shirt or tank top. Hell, some days I was in a bathing suit (I can't imagine why, what with my hatred of swimming).

There's no real point to this anecdote. I've been laying heavily in my bed since we arrived home and the only other memory I have from a feeling such as this was when I was 14 and got full blown heat stroke somewhere between the Savannah River and the Atlantic Ocean. That story really is much more entertaining but it incites great anger in me due to the lack of intelligence on the part of a hospital in Arlington. How I got to Virginia to be in a hospital in Arlington to begin with is a whole different tale. It's also not a story I felt like writing out this evening seeing as it involves much description of bodily functions on both ends, and that's just downright unladylike to discuss.

Sunburn in The Secret Garden

2008-08-09T15:29:00.000-05:00

Today we revisited the quarry lake with bottled water, bathing suits, food, floats, and the dog. My mother wanted to go swimming, so she did. I mainly stayed out of the water or in the kiddie raft I bought on the way there. I wanted arm floaties or a life vest but they didn't have any. I really don't swim well enough to want to be in water of unknown depth. Dingo, my dog, had a fantastic time catching, then eating, large minnows and guppies. I was sort of disgusting.

I'm exhausted though. I was already tired from a hilarious late night drunk dial (and numerous drunk text messages) I received and being out in the sun didn't do much for my lack of energy.

I am also sunburned because for some reason, even with how pale I am, the only sunblock we have is SPF 4. I think would have done better just to politely ask the sun not to shine on me.

We had a decent time. We took a camera and got a bunch of shots from both sides of the lake and of the dog having fun. We were the only people there. That's probably because for some reason nobody really knows about that place. We stayed there undisturbed for 3 hours sans one instance when a dump truck driver came down to turn his truck around at the bank. It's like The Secret Garden almost. It's the odd, beautiful place that no one seems to know or care about. It's wonderful.

That's all I've done today. I imagine I will once again have somebody attempt to coax me down to Auburn in the middle of the night this evening. The lack of gas in my car will cause me to decline and I'll seek out other plans since I can be out late tonight. (Yay.)

When it rains it pours.

2008-08-07T12:47:00.000-05:00

I just got a new job working at a small ice cream shop. They pay as much as I made at Publix for me doing a quarter of the work. They appreciate me and the fact that I cake decorate. I can eat ice cream and drink soda all shift. There's a flexible schedule and I get a good number of hours. I like my bosses and my co-workers. I love the job.

I just got called back about another interview I had, they pay 2 - 3 dollars more an hour, but I'd get less hours. The drive would suck about the same and I'd hate the job. It's retail, hanging up clothes, folding shirts, basically what I was doing at Target but at a plus size store. I really don't belong anywhere near a plus size store.

I don't know if I should even call her back, I hate saying 'no' but I have to turn down one of these jobs.

I hate deciding.

Why Google Earth is bad.

2008-08-04T19:43:00.000-05:00

***the photos automatically cropped to fit the blog format, the links to the full size photos are below each picture***

It started with a cow.

Jordy and Auty are driving cross-country from Alaska to West Virginia. Along the way Jordy has being texting me all kinds of crazy road trip information. One of which was the giant porcelain cow 30 miles outside of Bismark, North Dakota. So, naturally, I had to see this phenomenon from space. Well then I decide that I might text Jordy some more amazing sites along the road and I find that on Google Sightseeing you can search for sites by state. After finding a few worthy locations I decide to Google my state. Alabama. Which has FOUR sites. FOUR. Tennessee has eleven but half of them are nuclear plants. This is where it all goes downhill.

Well if Tennessee can have nuclear plants as their Google Sightseeing oddities why can't we? I know of one just off the interstate in Hollywood, Alabama. We pass them on every trip to Chattanooga. In the process of getting to Hwy. 72 on Google I end up on Hwy. 53. I see this right off the main road, the road I drove almost everyday to campus, the road that is the back way to the big mall:

Full view.

It's a quarry. A quarry where one side has been abandoned do to the fact that they've hit an underground spring.

We do have a quarry in town, I can never quite recall where it is and I at one time remember my mother saying she had swam in it. I figure this is the place. So I get my mother's input and she says not only is this not the quarry she swam in (it's in a different county) but this quarry is on the wrong side of Hwy. 53 to be the one I know of in Huntsville. It says it's on top of Oakwood Mountain. I've driven over this "mountain" a million times and never knew it was considered a mountain. I didn't even really think of it as a hill. The trees that surround it are as tall as the mound itself, which I figure now, is because the quarry has degenerated the top of the land mass.

Then we come to the only logical solution to this mystery. Drive up there and see. We get there and find that the place is Shelby Contracting. They make asphalt. There are no "No Trespassing " signs. We pass a guy in a dump truck that is unperturbed by our presence. Once we get to the top of the mountain, it's the most beautiful clear blue water that I've ever seen. And it's huge. You can see where the trucks used to do work before the spring filled in the hole. What look like two large sandbars underwater mark the paths the trucks used to take from ramp to ramp. It all makes me nervous. It's so vast. There are parts of the water near the banks where you can see rocks to walk on and then it just drops off. I have a great cyptozoological fear of these situations. Being pulled down in this bottomless blue water only to be massacred by strange prehistoric creatures that lurk beneath.

It's obvious other people know about this place. There are camp fire remains and graffiti of high school football teams dating back to 1984. This place has been deserted at least a quarter of a century yet no one has ever mentioned it. It seems like the type of place that teenagers would go to drink and party and someone would have a few too many and climb up the rocks and announce his intentions before jumping into too shallow water killing himself. Then they'd put up a fence. There was no fence.

After walking all around this behemoth spring, taking pictures with our cell phones and examining the strange flora, we decided to head back out. We stop to explore the deserted and decaying former foreman's booth from before this end of the quarry was closed. There are beehives crafted into holes that has somehow been knocked into the side of the concrete. Graffiti covers the inside.

One the way back down the "mountain" the gas light in the truck comes on, that's no big worry. The water is literally 3/4 of a mile off the road. The problem is, we get to the end of the road, and the jerk in the dump truck locked the gate behind him. After seeing us drive in, and obviously not seeing us drive out, he neglected to check the premises and left us locked into the quarry.

If you take a closer look at the picture above, you can see a dirt road leading off the southwest side and hitting a road near a track. That track is on Oakwood College campus. I don't actually think that particular photo, but that path hits a track. When first looking at that road before we left it occurred to me that it may just be a path cut in the trees for telephone polls. On almost every mountain in the state you can see paths cut down mountains for power lines to mountain-top businesses. We end up passing a water tower (that'd be the green dot on the west end of the picture) and that road eventually leads to a path cut for power lines and at this point we assume that's the road from the map. We pass two open gates on the way down both leading into neighboring cornfields. One has no outside path around the field (most crops do, you'll know that if you're from around these parts) and the other appears to have a path but we can't see where it leads or how far and we're almost out of gas. Previously, we tried a long wooded path that lead to a very strange Hills Have Eyes-esqe lumber yard that left us at a dead end. We park the truck and call a ride; our plan being that I would drive my mother back before work in the morning to retrieve her abandoned vehicle.

After we get home it occurs to my mother that where she parked her truck is blocking the gate. We have to move it. Before we leave I re-examine the area on Google Earth and I see (as you can see) that the telephone pole path was NOT the dirt road. We almost made it to the road from the quarry but the terrain was rough and we couldn't see a way around. I see a way now. I want to find the dirt road. I want to retrieve the truck now. This is how we do things. I would've busted down the gate had I been able to locate my baseball bat. The steel was corroded and withering away. A few quick hits and we'd have been free. But the I decided to take the high road; literally. I also notice that the path around the cornfield does feed out to the main road but I can't recall from driving down Hwy. 53 (Jordan Lane) if there's any sort of fence barring it.

In my car we set out to find this dirt road and see where it leads, if it looks promising we'll put some gas in a gas can and fuel up the truck to follow that road out. Turns out, just in the last month, Oakwood College has blocked off Oakwood Road. The only road that leads to the dirt road. They have blocked it off from all four possible entrances. Believe me. I checked. And if I didn't drive a sub-compact we'd have Dukes of Hazarded that shit. I had a lot of Thelma and Louise ideas about how to get out of this predicament.

We decided to give up and just move the truck out of the way of the gate, just on a whim, I pass the location of the truck and check to see if a fence borders the corn. It doesn't.

We go get gas, fuel up the truck, and set off for off-roading. We head straight down the corn field path to Hwy. 53; stopping, of course, to pick an ear of very dehydrated corn that we brought home for the chipmunk.

Here's a labeled photo of the map and all the routes we tried:

Full view.

Funny thing is, the dump truck guy had to have known he locked us in. It's really going to freak his ass out when he gets to work in the morning and there's no stranded truck on the property. This is excursion was slightly terrifying, also. You'll know why if you've seen The Descent, Deliverance, Children of the Corn or Wrong Turn.

People on the highway gave us the weirdest looks when we came rolling out of that field, you have to remember, a mile from the secret spring is the city. But this my friends, is why Google Earth is bad. It was so hot and we hadn't brought anything to drink, we had an almost empty gas tank, and were definitely not dressed for the occasion.

And I STILL can't find anything about this goddamn place on the internet.

Swimming?

2008-08-03T17:00:00.000-05:00

I've never really taken much to swimming. I was never good at it. In fact, I was so shoddy at it that after not swimming for several years, I don't seem to be able to do it anymore. I don't care. I never liked it anyway. I mean, I understand the whole "beat the heat" concept but really I thought that's what central air was invented for. Swimming is primitive and if you can't do it well it just seems pointless. Hell, even if you can do it well it seems pointless. If you swim well then all there is to do is swim laps or go back and forth across the width of the pool. That's just tiring.

I can't bear swimming, it seems like I should be doing more. I get in the water and then it's like, "Okay. Now what?"

Demetri Martin has a joke where he says that it's difficult to tell the difference between swimming and not drowning. Which, of course, is rooted in truth. Swimming is keeping your head above water in order to not fill your lungs with fluid until they explode or you die of asphyxiation. Damn, I can just as easily not drown by not getting in the pool. I can sit at home and watch T.V. and not drown all day. I can sit on this blog and not drown. Actually, you guys may not realize this, but I am swimming right now. That's right, I'm sitting here, typing, not drowning, and therefore, swimming.

I can beat the heat sitting inside doing a crossword puzzle or reading a book. Do I really need to submerge myself in chemical-infested water that strangers pee in? Not to mention, I live in Alabama, June bugs regard swimming pools as their own personal lagoons.

I was talked into getting in a pool today. I got halfway in, hoisted myself onto a float and there I stayed for maybe five minutes before I was just like, "And... done."

Then I went home to wash off the gallon of sunblock and the chlorine residue. Disgusting.

It's a bug eat bug world out there.

2008-08-02T22:43:00.000-05:00

I found a cool bug today. And yes, I am so easily amused that it was blog-worthy. This bug is called the Giant Agave Bug.

It was riding on the wind shield wiper on the car. Then it got up and I thought it was going to leave but it just moved and used it's back leg to scratch it's middle leg. I guess it didn't have a good angle on the itch because then it switched to the front leg. When it was done it moved back to it's original position and continued to ride.

Coolest. Bug. Ever.

But, can bugs really itch?

One day we'll look back on this and laugh, and that day is today!

2008-07-31T17:33:00.000-05:00

-click the title to see this story in photograph form-

Last night Megan and I had an ingenious idea. Well, it seemed ingenious at the time. Bryan had to drive to Nashville and we couldn't go along with him so we were pretty much left with nothing to do. This is when the epiphany occurs: we can put vodka in water bottles and wander through the park downtown drinking. We won't worry about driving home, we'll just stay there until Bryan drives back into Huntsville late and get him to pick us up. Genius, right? This is why I am the self-proclaimed and never challenged perpetrator of bad ideas.

We go and get another liter of vodka because there was barely two shots in the liter we still had and then we get some of those old timey glass bottle Dr. Peppers to use as chasers. Unfortunately, 16.9 ounces of vodka requires more than 12 ounces of Dr. Pepper. Which meant that after we started drinking we'd need to go into a bar and order some sodas to make up for the difference.

We get to the park and set the plan in motion, preparing our sickening cocktails. Then we go and sit in the gazebo where we struggle for ten minutes to open our glass Dr. Peppers before beginning to drink and take stupid photos. After about three shots we decide to make our way towards a local bar that's about four blocks away on the square. Voodoo Lounge. This seems the perfect plan, my friend James is playing there tonight, it's a19 and up venue so I can get in but I just can't drink.

On the way, we stop at a few strategic locations to drink some more and take more photographs. There are actually pictures of us drinking on the steps on the courthouse. Pure insanity.

Once we get to Voodoo things take a turn to the dark side. I quit matching Megan drink for drink because I can tell I'm on the verge of driving the porcelain bus. She ends up finishing off her bottle of "water" (a whole half liter of vodka) while we're there. Most everything else is quite foggy. I remember talking to people and dancing. I remember James playing. I remember Megan being drunk enough to knock things off the table. So I pick up our shit and tell her, "Let's leave. We need to go!"

Where I thought we were going, I have no idea. I just knew that even though we did know the bartender there that us making a scene could still lead to trouble. As we go up the steps (Voodoo Lounge is an underground bar) Meg loses her shoe and a nice girl named Blair (I think) helps me pick up the stuff I'm dropping out of my purse and hands me Megan's shoe. Megan meanwhile is crawling up the stairs and out the door and won't come and sit on the bench. She crawls out into the street and rolls around on the curb. I'm just sitting propped up against this little newspaper kiosk telling these very sober guys that are trying to get her back on the sidewalk to "just bring her over here, she be alright.... just... just..."

Bryan had called as we were getting out the door of the bar. He had went to our friend Mindy's where we had been earlier, looking for us, and Mindy told him simply, "Oh, they went to get trashed in the park." He calls, worried, wanting to know where we are and when I tell him he says he'll come get us. So really I just want Megan to come sit down, our ride is coming.

And then the cop pulls up. At this point, I'm far too drunk to even attempt to feign sobriety and I am also still under 21 and, in retrospect, believe that if the cop asked how I got alcohol, I'd blurt the whole story out in one long sentence. There I am sitting with an empty water bottle and one about a third still full of vodka, wondering why I have Meg's shoe and where my Dr. Pepper went when the cop arrives. I leave the bottles and her shoe and try to walk away and sober looking as possible.

As soon I get around the corner I call Bryan and tell him that the cops showed up but that Megan should be cool because there's no shady appearance to walking out of a bar, when you are legal drinking age, drunk. I tell him I'm going to hide and he needs to go pick her up and call me when he's got her.

Somehow I end up at Constitution Village which is basically a fake 19th century village and museum type area. I sit down on the steps, drunk. Then I decide I'm too much in plain sight so I get under the bush. Then the vomit comes. I have no idea how much I puked. I was on the phone at the time as well and all the shit in my purse kept falling out.

Bryan finally calls. They're taking Megan to the hospital. She at some point fell and busted her chin and he wants to know where I am. All I can muster is, "bush."

"Bush where?!"
"I'm at Constitution Village."
"Why don't you go somewhere that I know where it is."
-I vomit some more-
"Cassidy?"
"Mm-hmm"
"Go where I can see you."
"Nuh-uh."
"Why not?"
"Then they can see me."
-then I hear Bryan's obnoxiously loud car and am able to steer him to where I am-

Most of the getting in the car and the talking to Bryan is pretty fuzzy. The next thing I can really recall is hanging out of the passenger side of his car, puking, while him and his dad talk about how the cable guy needs to come out and fix the satellite cable. Andrew (Bryan's 15 year-old brother that we take out drinking quite often and Megan and I so affectionately call 'Baby Bear') brings me bread to try and soak up the alcohol.

I'm far past bread being of any help. My whole body is numb. I eat it anyway. It was yummy. I go inside and vomit some more vodka and then I begin to vomit my yummy bread. I eventually end up laying on Bryan's living room floor talking to his mother about Barack Obama while Bryan heads to the ER to check on Megan.

She was O.K. No stitches. No stomach pump. She faired well for a bout of alcohol poisoning and a wound from a drunken fall. But the whole time he was there she was still blacked out so they couldn't discharge her. Bryan came home at about 5 AM and gave a still very drunk me the update.

Also he filled in some of the blanks of the night. Somehow in the five minutes between me wandering off and him driving up, another cop car, a fire truck, and an ambulance came to Voodoo Lounge to get Megan. Megan, at this time, could not remember her last name and told the cop that she was 19. Megan is 21. She is very much 21. So much 21 that she bought the shitty vodka. But... she had given me her ID at the beginning of the night to put in my purse and at this time I am under a bush, throwing up.

We're all alright though. She's out of the hospital and currently at Bryan's house laughing at the photos I took of her rolling around in the downtown streets. I'm alright, too. A bit hungover and my insides are so toxic my piss looks like highlighter. But it's a great story.

The ice cream on top? According to www.canidriveyet.com neither of our blood alcohol content levels are going to be low enough to be considered complete sobriety until at least 6 AM tomorrow.

Can I drive yet?

Megan:
Your blood alcohol content is 0.376

Wait 17 hours before driving

You have 22 hours until total sobriety

BAC: 0.376. How are you still alive? You should be dead with a BAC this high. Call a doctor.

Me:
Your blood alcohol content is 0.282

Wait 20 hours before driving

You have 28 hours until total sobriety

BAC: 0.282. By law it is illegal for you to drive. Stop drinking and check again in 20 hours

Unfortunately, I did not drunk text anyone last night. In Voodoo, with it being underground, I have no signal and by the time I was out of there I was too drunk to recognize the difference in my phone and Megan's shoe. James did call when he finished his set. I was in Bryan's car at the time. James wanted to know if we were alright. James is sort of an alcoholic, so we must have been in a bad sort to prompt him to check up on us.

I will go down with this ship.

2008-07-30T17:32:00.000-05:00

I'm in a state of perpetual annoyance. Annoyance over being unjustly judged based on my appearance and the fact that I'm not a retard when it comes to speaking to people. Annoyance over that fact that I am not allowed to defend these accusations. Annoyance over everything surrounding this situation.

People think I'm being darkly hyperbolic when I say I will get angry at someone and completely cut them out of my life. It's like magic. You never existed and I will seriously not give a shit. I seem to have that capability, to suddenly stop caring. This is why I warn people not to get attached or expect anything of me because I know what I am capable of. I read somewhere in a book recently where one character tells another that she is crazy. The person she says this to decided to believe her on the basis that: "Mama always said that if someone says they're crazy, you better believe them. After all, they know themselves better than you do."

I pride myself on still being sufficiently childish enough so that when properly provoked I can initiate and storm of drama and then disappear discreetly leaving chaos in my wake. It is the devil in me. I don't try and fight it, either.

I also think there is little respect for people that will say something behind your back but not to your face. I have no problem being disliked but I expect you to be an adult and back up your convictions. Stand up for them. If you can say it to my face then you are entitled to it. If you can't then you are too scummy to even be in my presence.

I usually don't rank people on a social scale. I don't seek out that pecking order that other females fight for. I am comfortable being on the same level as every other girl in the world until one of them proves they are not worthy of being on my level. Then I defend my level with great vigor. I will also destroy anyone who gets in my way.

I would make spectacular trailer trash if I only set my mind to it.

I'm wary of talking about this, mainly because I have now been coaxed into discussing it in another forum simultaneously.

Sitting in the mornin' sun, I'll be sittin' when the evenin' comes.

2008-07-29T11:32:00.000-05:00

The only time I ever get voicemails, they are from bill collectors. I guess that's probably because those are pretty much the only calls I never answer.

I need to find a new job. I know I need to find a new job. I am having trouble mustering up the want to find a new job.

I need to find a new motivation.
I bored out of my mind. There's plenty I could do. I need to clean. Organize. Give the cat a bath. Find a new job (but I think I mentioned that one already). But I can't seem to tear myself from the internet, and if I do I am pulled like a magnet back to the bed. If I make it out of the bed, I do anything and everything I can just to get out of this God forsaken house.
I'm restless.

I believe I will set my mind to cleaning and organizing today, perhaps waking up tomorrow to a clean house will somehow inspire me to clean up the rest of my life. I'll work in my daring escape tonight, as a reward for a lemon-scented and dust free home.

I need to tie up loose ends with people. Organize my mess that is social engagements. I need to quit picking up stones when I can barely hold the ones that I have in my hand.

I will not come back to this blog, this dormancy, this resting place, until I have thrown out the old newspapers, made a list of jobs I need to call about, put up the two baskets of dirty laundry, swept up all the dog hair floating about, cleaned out my purse, put on some pants that actually involve the use of a zipper and button, and made up the bed.

Of course, I may have to visit this blog periodically to take a gander at that list. : P

*UPDATE*
The newspapers are thrown out (with the exception of today's paper which I have yet to read), the dog hair is swept, I am wearing pants that require both a zipper and a button, and I threw out a bunch of old papers but somehow everything is still a mess. : /

Ugh.

2008-07-29T00:29:00.000-05:00

I want to write something here but I just feel confounded.

Balls.

You can sleep when you're dead.

2008-07-28T12:15:00.000-05:00

I'm utterly exhausted from a night of bar-hopping, Waffle Housing, parking garage vandalizing misadventure. I spent the evening with the one friend I made before getting fired from Target. He's moving back to Auburn in something like 5 days so we hung out and did our thing, which is apparently, nothing.

I find it interesting how when it comes to friends I somehow subconsciously seek out other crazy people. We spent a lot of the night talking about anxiety and manic depression. Not to say that it was all depression and The Bell Jar. We also spent a great deal of time telling hell-worthy jokes and making fun of pretty much the rest of the population of Huntsville, Alabama.

I didn't get home until 3:30 this morning and I arrived with a list of bands I must download and Something Awful articles I must have a look at.

I think it was a wholly productive night. Then again, I haven't been out of my house in weeks (except to get shit-faced at Bryan's house which really doesn't count) and it was nice to have new companionship. It's great to meet someone new that you have a lot in common with because you feel like you learn so much when really they're just repeating things you already know. Even so, it's still really comforting to know other people are crazy too.

It sucks that all the decent friends and drinking buddies I meet ending up living or moving 1 - 4 hours away. On the bright side, it's given me another weekend road trip destination.

My karma ran over your dogma.

2008-07-27T19:37:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I ran into Kathryn and Matt in Petsmart. Well, ran into them is a bit of an overstatement. That would really imply that I spoke to either one of them. Everyone involved knows that Kathryn would never condescend to speak to me and Matt would never be so stupid as to speak to me in front of Kathryn.

She saw me, of course. Women have a sort of radar that alerts them when arch nemeses are near. She gave no indication that she saw me, however. Such is the way of the bitch. Women also come equipped with a detection device that allows them to know when they have been spotted. She turned her head a bit too quickly. More than likely fearing eye contact. Since she claims she is trying to make things right with all the people she fucked over, eye contact would mean she'd have to initiate a painful faux-friendly conversation. Better to pretend she never saw me, then if ever questioned she can feign ignorance. Not that she'd ever have to feign such a quality so ingrained in her character...

Matt didn't see me. Men have no sort of internal tracking devices and even more than that easily forget that they can actually run into people they know in public. That sort of knowledge would mean they some concept of social awareness and hierarchy. Matt has none of this. Matt needed to see me. As he walked past me at the end of the aisle I barely reached out my index finger and touched him so slightly on the shoulder. He looked around innocently, obviously his lack of social confrontations had lead him to believe that only a friend could be seeking his attention in Petsmart.

The look following his eye contact with me is the greatest look of terror I have ever seen in a non life or death situation. I said nothing to him. I gave no indication that I was going to shatter his world by telling his now pregnant girlfriend all his dirty little secrets. Nor did I actually shatter his world with said secrets. I did not mention to him or her the many saved messages and AIM logs I could so easily bring forth. No, why waste that jewel in the Adoption Center of Petsmart when Kathryn will so soon be in labor and therefore in a pristine state to accept the truths lurking underneath the lies.

I did not say one word to him, but still I imagine he did not breathe normally again until I left the store.

I really am a terrible person. But there is some sort of evil hilarity when running into an ex secret lover in such a brightly lit and non secluded place as a pet store. There is something even more hilarious - to the point of ejecting this situation straight into farce territory - that he is accompanied by his once girlfriend (who's mere existence in the past made my title of the "other woman" necessary) who is now his girlfriend again (and only by the shitty luck he has of trusting a crazy woman who says, "It's okay not to use a condom, I'm on the pill").

And let my last word on this subject be, if they were having as much trouble as they seem to be controlling their dog in the pet store, how on Earth are these two going to manage a screaming, shitting, puking infant?

Numero dos.

2008-07-27T17:00:00.000-05:00

I think I've finally messed with this blog enough where it is sufficient to write in.
Now I have a headache.

I'd really like to concentrate to write a long and vaguely meaningful entry but I can barely focus enough to finish this sentence. I think it is time to break away from the keyboard, put on something other than pajamas, and go visit the outside world for a few minutes. I hear that on the outside you can actually communicate with people face to face and rely on body language rather than comma placement. That's just a rumor, though.

Maybe by tonight (when I undoubtedly won't be able to sleep) I will be relaxed enough to string together enough words and sentences to make up paragraphs. I feel dirty and sticky, like I have internet goo all over me. Yuck.

Cheers and jeers to new beginnings.

2008-07-27T15:20:00.000-05:00

Did manipulating HTML become harder than I remember? In beginning a new blog it's been a series of opening and subsequently abandoning blogs trying to find a site with decent customization options until finally landing here.

Well, that's about all I have to say as a first post. Believe me, if I think of something more interesting to say, I'll be sure to write it down.