Impatient Rant of Insanity!

I usually don't buy anything on Black Friday. I hate crowds and people in general, so I don't go to stores. My discovery of the wonderful world of online shopping has not even convinced me to spend my hard-earned cash. But this year was different. I couldn't control myself, and I bought an iPad.

And it is taking so fucking long for it to get here!

I have been online tracking this sucker about once an hour. It's insane. It won't get here until Thursday, but I am still tracking it in the futile hope that at some point it will find its way to a mad genius who has invented teleportation and will bring it to me. Someone needs to make a gate scroll! Or a portal! Or something!

Anyway, it has been exhausting to be this excited, but I just found out that my iPad has finally made it from China to the United States. It's in Anchorage, but at least it's on the right continent! Finally! Three more days until delivery!

Update:

I'm also loving the fact that my iPad departed Chengdu, China at 5:08 AM on Nov. 26 and arrived in Anchorage at 9:06 PM Nov. 25. Time travel!

Update:

It's a day early! It's about twenty minutes from my house!

The Prostitute Christmas Tree

We had a prostitute Christmas tree in my house one year. Now, I am of the opinion that every Christmas tree is a little bit of a prostitute. After all, they stand up in a window somewhere decked out in flashy lights and ornaments just waiting for people to drive by and look at them. Sluts.

There are even different types of prostitute Christmas trees. There are what I call free-range trees. These are the Christmas trees that won't admit what they are. They stand around a tree farm, trying to look like regular evergreen trees, but we all know that it doesn't take much to reveal their true nature. All it takes is a saw and some elbow grease and that tree is laying down.

Then there are the Christmas trees who know what they are. They are displayed for your perusal in lots. Some of them are wrapped as tight as possible while some let it all hang loose. Their pimp prowls nearby, waiting to make a deal.

Finally, there are the fake Christmas trees. They are completely plastic. Sure they come in bright colors, and some people enjoy that. But they are not real, and they never can be. And you can shop for them online.

My family has enjoyed a free-range, slut Christmas tree for the past several years. We always go to the same place to pick one out. This tree farm is great. There's a petting zoo, sleigh rides, a gift shop, and Santa Claus. It's a wonderful family experience. Buying a prostitute Christmas tree.

We drove out to a promising looking batch of trees and began to wander around. My sister immediately started looking for the biggest tree that she could find. And boy did she find a good one. Fluffy and beautiful, its lush and curvaceous form called to us through all of the other trees.

My mom vetoed it immediately and led us over to a tall, thin tree. Protesting vehemently, my sister begged to know why we couldn't get the fuller tree. She pointed out that the tall tree wouldn't fit in our house.

My mom immediately reached for the price tag and declared, "It's the length that you're paying for!"

Yes. Yes it is.

And that is how we ended up with a very tall prostitute Christmas tree gracing our living room window in all of its glory.

Wine Ramblings

I have had quite a bit of wine tonight. Between the two of us my mom and I pretty much finished off two bottles. Which means we both pretty much had one bottle. Right? Am I good with my math? I don't even care...

Anyway, I have noticed a recent trend with some of my friends that makes me laugh hysterically. I fell off my bed a few minutes ago. Seriously don't know if that's from the wine or my laughter.

Maybe I only find this so funny because I am easily amused. I don't know. But this is what I have noticed.

Several of my gay friends have recently gotten cats.

Clearly they need pussy in their lives.

Bazinga.

The Hunt for Chocolate

I am usually a very easy going person. But whenever some sort of competition, or test, or chance to prove myself comes up I become a rabid maniac of focused determination. Every ounce of willpower I possess becomes centered on one goal, and I will achieve it no matter the consequences. This often ends with me being horribly maimed in some way because I will not give up. I'm like a zombie velociraptor on the hunt for baby flesh. Pretty sure I've used that simile before, but I don't care. It's an awesome simile.

Now, add this competitive streak to a lust for chocolate, and you have a powerful combination. I am unstoppable. This has led to some nasty instances of chocolate going missing in my house, and consequently my mother has taken to hiding it.

But hiding chocolate will not stop me. It only brings out my competitive side. I consider it winning to find the chocolate. Beating my mom is always so sweet (ya see what I did there huh? Huh?).

Unfortunately for my mother, she cannot rely on me becoming bored and giving up. I'm a patient hunter, and I play a lot of video games. I've been trained on Legend of Zelda and Resident Evil. I know that you have to search every crack and crevice to find the treasure. Your life may depend on it. Therefore, I will tear my house apart in my lust for chocolate. I'm sure I could accomplish a lot with my life if I put this much effort and energy into actually doing legitimate things, but, well...I don't. So there.

One day, I arrived home from work with a powerful lust for chocolate that had gradually begun to morph into bouncy insanity. And just the previous night, my mom and picked up a huge carton of the greatest chocolate treat ever: chocolate covered raisins.

I have no idea why I love these little Happy Pills. I hate raisins, but I will devour these faster than a starved T-Rex wandering onto a cattle farm. My sister is the same way, and with this in mind I flung open the door to her room, made an exaggerated bow, and requested her to accompany me on a quest.

We made a point of being as loud and obnoxious as possible so our mom would know what we were up to. She ignored us, foolishly thinking that she had hidden the prize too well for us to ever find. She did not take into account our lust for chocolate or the fact that I was in the middle of Skyward Sword and therefore at the peak of my training. Nothing would stop us.

We opened cupboards. We crawled under beds. We even checked the extra refrigerator in the garage. But the elusive chocolate covered raisins did not appear. Finally we made our way to the upstairs living room and began to ransack the cupboards. I started at one end, my sister started at the other, and we met in the middle.

It was like destiny. There was only one cupboard left. We each grabbed a door and pulled it open. We were sure to be as dramatic as possible. Inside, nestled on a bed of old bills, bathed in the golden rays of triumph was the carton of Happy Pills.

Our sudden silence must have alerted our mom to the situation. We could hear her hastily throwing things out of her way in the laundry room as she hurried to get upstairs in time to stop our chocolate madness.

We each grabbed a handful and then spent the next few seconds desperately searching for our own hiding place.

Our mom never found the chocolate. Revenge is sweet.

Something Political Part 2 (Kids Say the Darndest Things)

This will most definitely offend some people, and for that I'm sorry. But I just have to share what one of my students said this morning because it is one of the funniest images I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying in my brain. Seriously. I'm still laughing.

This student knows very little about politics. I'm not even quite sure if he's old enough to vote. But he told me this morning that he supported Obama because Mitt Romney looked like a conquering despot.

I kinda see his point.

He went on to say that if Romney had won he imagined him immediately roaring in triumph. He said that it would be like living under Jafar, and if Romney won we would be in a Disney movie. And then Obama would come charging up and slay him with a sword, protecting his people from the villainous usurper and reclaiming his rightful place.

What?

This is ridiculous, and this student is silly, but savor that image for a moment. If it helps, replace Obama and Romney with other people. I don't care. Just imagine Romney, arms upraised in triumph, and Obama charging him with a broadsword.

That's gold right there. Pure gold.

Anyway, I'm sorry if I've offended you, but kids say the darndest things. I just had to share.

Something Political

It's election day, and I've been sitting on some thoughts because, well, I really don't want to get flamed. I hate that. But today I'm going to say them anyway because some people make me want to bang my head against a wall. If you are only here to read my stories, then you might want to leave now. This could get ugly.

I only want to talk about one topic because it's the one that's been really bugging me: gay marriage. Let me start by saying that I am for gay marriage. And I really don't understand why it is an issue. Well, I do. I understand that people feel the need to protect their family values and integrity. And considering I watched V for Vendetta last night and was reminded of how important integrity is, I respect that. If you don't believe in gay marriage, then that's fine. But this is my blog, dammit, and if you are reading it then you have to deal with what I have to say.

Simply put, I am confused. I hear a lot of people saying that gay marriage should not be legalized because it goes against the canon of a religion, or the beliefs of a religion, etc. But don't we have a separation of church and state? Legalizing gay marriage will not make it mandatory for your priest or pastor or whatever to perform one. In fact, if anyone tries to force that issue, then they are just as bad as the people trying to limit marriage. People like me who are in favor of gay marriage are not trying to force you to give up or corrupt your beliefs. We are just asking that you do not force your beliefs on us. Agree to disagree as it were. And if me saying this means that I am going to burn in a lake of fire for all eternity, then that is for God to deal with. Not you.

Alright, following me so far? Let's address the issue of marriage being a religious institution. After all, simply suggesting that we legalize gay marriage means that we are going against religion because marriage is inherently religious. Not true. Look at history. And I'm talking way way way back history. The act of marriage, of binding two people together forever, is performed, not by a church or religious representative, but by the highest authority within a community. Now, most of the time this ends up being a person connected to religion in some way. A shaman, or a wise man, or what have you. But marriages have also been performed by headmen, chiefs, and ship captains. For a very long time, religious organizations were the highest authorities, but this is not necessarily true for some people anymore. This is why we have a separation of church and state.

Ok, so let's look at this separation of church and state. For some people, the church is the highest authority, so they want to get married within their religion. Fine and dandy. For other people, the state is the highest authority. And they can be married by a judge at a courthouse if they so choose. So why can't a judge at a courthouse marry a man and a man or a woman and a woman? Separation of church and state. Religion does not need to be involved.

The last thing that I want to talk about is the Minnesota amendment to define marriage as between one man and one woman. Though I hope the No votes win, I really am not concerned about the outcome. "Marriage" is just a word, and if people want to limit its definition, then we will find a new word. Gay marriage is inevitable. It is going to happen. It may not happen at this election, or the next election, but it will happen. Do you want to know why? Because our country is built on freedom, and the moment we start limiting that freedom is the moment when we are no longer Americans.

But that's just what I think. You are free to think and feel however you want to. And whatever you think or feel, please go out and vote. Don't take this freedom for granted.

The last thing I want to say is that I welcome your responses to this. Whether you agree with me or not, I would love to hear your thoughts. And if you can offer more research or information into my opinions, then go for it. Because I pretty much just word vomited this, so I'm sure it's convoluted and doesn't make a lot of sense.

Monster Attack!

I want to talk a little bit about something that affects all of us: bad days. Now, I'm not talking about those days when you have three finals and a thirty page paper due. I'm not talking about the days you go to work having stayed up all night taking care of a sick kid. Don't get me wrong, those are terrible days. But I am talking about the sneaky bad days. The days that start out normal and then pull you into a hell of anxiety and paranoia because you don't know what is going on. Those are the days I'm talking about.

I call these Monster Days because they are like a sneaky monster. You don't see them coming until you are caught and can't escape. At first you might think it is an innocent little fluffy monster. No big deal. You want to pet it. But then it latches on with teeth and claws, and you can't escape it!

Monster Days start out normal. Better than normal even. You wake up and you think "This isn't so bad. I don't mind getting out of my warm, comfortable bed." This is your first clue that a monster day is in the works, stalking you. Getting out of bed is rarely pleasant, even when you get to sleep in. And if you are waking up at 5:30 and thinking it's not so bad, then you definitely need to watch your back because the monster day is coming!

No one knows what turns an ordinary day into a Monster Day. It is a mysterious and unholy process that only the devil himself is privy to. One minute everything is going along just fine. The next, you find yourself in a vortex of absolute chaos that is pulling you down into madness.

The truly terrifying thing about Monster Days is that there is nothing that specifically goes wrong. It's not like you get a flat tire or wake up late or burn the house down. Suddenly something in the atmosphere just shifts and you find yourself in the middle of a swirling vortex of panic and doom. There's really no other way to describe it.

The only escape is to make it to your bed, curl up under the covers, and try not to shake. Go to sleep and start over. After all, everyone knows that if you have all of your limbs on the bed and tucked beneath the blankets, no monster can get you.

Stupid Things I Do To Myself

Anyone who knows me really well will tell you that I am a danger to myself. My clumsiness and the stupid injuries that I acquire are unbelievable. A lot of the time I am in situations that shouldn't cause me any injury at all. But I somehow always manage to stagger away half dead.

For example, there was one day during my junior year of college when I managed to spectacularly fuck myself up. And all I was doing was sitting in a chair. Yup. Just sitting. Not dangerous at all, right? So totally wrong.

In the chair's defense, I don't think this situation would have injured a normal person. I, however, am a swimmer. My shoulders are under a lot of strain, and the chair was nothing more than the straw that broke the camel's back.

All I did was lean back. I swear. I was in Spanish class sitting in one of those hard chairs that connects to the desk. I could feel a knot under my shoulder blade, so I angled the back of the chair to push against the knot. Somehow, I slipped. The back of the chair acted like a lever and popped my shoulder blade up.

At first I didn't think anything was wrong. It actually felt kind of good. But then it started to ache. When I got to swim practice, I couldn't move it without incredible pain. And thus was ended my illustrious swimming career. Brought down by a chair.

Another time I dislocated my elbow. How, you ask? By dancing.

I had gone with a group of friends to some clubs in Minneapolis. Unfortunately, I am not the greatest dancer when I sober. I am self-conscious, and really have no idea how to move my hips. Side note: one of the greatest benefits of a gay best friend is that he is very good at leading and I don't usually need to worry about it. Also, I am usually drunk if I go out dancing, so again I don't have to worry about it. But this time I was the DD.

I followed my drunk friends to a dance club. They immediately shimmied their way through the gyrating mass of people and staked out a spot in the middle of the mob. It was awkward. Not only was I not drunk enough to dance, but my friends were so drunk that they were fantastic! I felt like the awkward, clumsy, uncoordinated woman that I am while they were all sexy and provocative. I was so excited when we finally left and I got to be the coordinated one as I helped them stagger to the car.

The next day, I was in my bedroom doing some cleaning and listening to my iPod. A song came on that they had played at the club, and I decided to practice some dance moves in the safe and non-judgemental bubble that is my room. Next time I would be better. Next time my friends wouldn't show me up. Next time I would be able to dance with or without alcohol!

I really got into it. I was channeling my inner Beyonce as well as my inner hooker. I was hott. With two T's. That's how smokin' I was.

In a moment of goofy flamboyance, I flung my arms out wide, as if to embrace my awesomeness. My left elbow snapped out of place.

I don't remember much from the next few seconds. I know I was on the ground, and I was screaming. No one was home, though, so it didn't do much good. Somehow in my agonized gyrations, my elbow snapped back into place. I came to my senses entangled in a pile of laundry, panting and dazed. I couldn't move my arm without extreme pain.

For a few moments I thought I could suck it up. But after awhile I decided that I should probably go to Urgent Care if only to make sure that Best Friend (who is also going to be a doctor) wouldn't yell at me.

That is the tale of how I stupidly dislocated my elbow. The worst part is that I couldn't play Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword because I could do any abrupt motions that required my left arm. So no rolling, no stabbing, no spinning. It sucked.

And then there was the time I almost killed myself with a Sobe drink. I used to drink these all the time in college to stay awake. And because I kind of enjoyed the thrill of guarana rushing through my system like a T-Rex going after a two year old on a trike. But then of course I would crash and me dead to the world for the next ten hours.

There was one day when I was enjoying my Sobe while playing a video game with my friend. I must also note that Best Friend was in the next room. One of the characters in the game said something along the lines of "Oh look! Ew! It's so huge and disgusting!" This particular character happened to be a ten year old girl, so naturally my friend made a "That's what she said" comment. Right as I was drinking.

Usually if I laugh when I'm drinking, I spit the liquid out. I think this is how most peoples' bodies work. My body, however, decided that, for whatever reason, it wanted to die. Or maybe my kidneys dared my lungs to aspirate juice. I have no idea. In any case, I breathed the juice in instead of spitting it out.

My body immediately went into spasms trying to cough the offending liquid out, but to no avail. I couldn't get any breath in my lungs to cough. I ended up jerking around helplessly, completely unable to control my stupid body. Pretty sure half of the motion was caused by my kidneys laughing hysterically at my lungs.

After it became clear that I could not breathe, my friend called for Best Friend (who if you will recall is going to be a doctor). He was a freshman at the time, though, and knew nothing. There wasn't much he could do except stand by and helplessly watch me die an agonizing, horrifying death filled with fear and panic.

Finally my spasms managed to clear enough liquid from my lungs to draw a tiny amount of air. I began to hack and gasp. My lungs burned as they struggled to get rid of the nasty Sobe juice. I sank back onto the couch, clutching my chest as my friends prompted me to take slow, deep breaths.

This whole ordeal took maybe thirty seconds, but it felt so much longer. I really did think I was going to die.

The rest of the night was a blur of moments of hyperactivity followed my moments of passing out with my eyes open. It was an endless cycle of ups and downs that totally confused my system. Apparently guarana is absorbed into the blood much fasted when it is inhaled. I would bounce around the room uncontrollably for a while before sitting completely still staring at nothing for so long that my friends would have to ask several times if I was ok.

Eventually, this episode developed into pneumonia. But that is a story for another day.

I'm Now Ready for the Apocalypse

A terrible terrible thing has happened. And though I'm actually not surprised, I am disappointed in humanity. The world can get wiped out now. There's no more hope.

Click here for horrible horribleness.

Now, I will admit that I read the first two books in the Shades of Grey Trilogy. You can read my opinion of the first one here. I did not, however, buy these books. I refuse to contribute to the destruction of the literary art form. Some people may claim that I contributed by reading those "books." But I believe in knowing your enemy, and I find it just as loathsome when someone criticizes something that they haven't read. Or tried. It's like saying over and over again that you don't like broccoli, but then you try it and it's pretty good (someday I'll tell you that story). In this case, Fifty Shades of Grey was not good. It was a horrible mess of horribleness and one of humanity's greatest fails. Let's hope that our descendants do not look back on us with too much shame and revulsion.

Volcano Jesus of Hyrule

When I was in college, I was introduced to the wonderful world of video games. Believe it or not, I had never actually played a legit game before this time. Sure, I had played a few levels of Mario on my cousin's gameboy, but I had never completed the whole game, and I had certainly never played anything with a decent story.

I realized very quickly upon my introduction into the wonderful world of video games that I had been deprived. And I meant to make up for lost time.

Luckily, my best friend is a video game junky. He owns a lot of games, and he coached me through my first few games so that I didn't get frustrated by the puzzles. I hate puzzles. I usually make him do them for me because they just do not make sense in my head, and I think he realized that after I spent an hour trying to figure something out when all I had to do was step on a button. I may have driven him to drink with how frustrated he would get with me. Yep. I definitely drove him to drink.

There was one time when he was coaching me through a game that I ended up killing myself because I wouldn't listen to him. He warned me that the chest I was about to open was a bomb, but I was curious. So I opened it anyway, and everything went boom. I survived that one, but upon coming to another area I spotted another chest. Treasure? I thought. I couldn't resist getting things. I had my eye on some new equipment in the shop. My friend warned me that it was another bomb, but I opened it and summarily died in a fiery explosion of failure and regret.

Anyway, one of the games that he made me play was Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Now, even before I began playing video games I had had a special affinity for Link. And by that I mean that I actually knew his name. If I was coerced into playing Super Mario Smash Bros. I was always Link. I think I liked his green outfit. I would get really pissed off if someone changed it.

At first I was frustrated by Ocarina of Time. I ran around exploring the Kokiri village place, but I couldn't get to the Deku Tree. Why? Because some little punk said I needed a sword. I looked for a sword. It wasn't conveniently located in the shop where I could just buy it like the shield. Wouldn't that have been nice? I searched and searched, but I couldn't find the damn sword. I ended up in a scary place with a big boulder that rolled around and chased me. There was a chest in here, but I ignored it and left the area. I only had half a heart after the damn boulder, and I was not going to risk it opening a chest that I was sure would blow up on me. After another chunk of time spent searching, I gave up.

My friend walked back into the room from taking a shower and found me staring at the screen, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed in thought. In all truthfulness I was trying to use the power of my mind to make the kid blocking my way to the tree catch on fire so that I could pass without a sword, but it wasn't working.

After explaining the situation, I could see his desperation for a drink. He told me to just open the chest. I explained that I was afraid of getting blown up. He face palmed and told me to just open the damn chest. Concerned for his liver, I opened the chest. Guess what? There was a sword inside! Yay!

The game continued in this manner. I made a lot of stupid and frustrating mistakes. There were times when I think my friends gave up on me. But I persevered and eventually made it to the Fire Temple.

Remember the spider in my candle? If you don't know what I'm talking about, you should go here. I like fire. I like fire a lot. I am also very uncoordinated in real life, and, apparently, in the wonderful world of video games as well. I cannot walk a straight line to save my life. This caused problems in the Fire Temple. I kept running off the path into the lava.

Miraculously, though, I didn't get hurt. Usually you can run through lava or acid for a little bit, but you will lose hearts steadily until you can clamor back onto solid ground. Not me. I stood in the lava, untouched. My best friend was amazed. He said it shouldn't be possible. My other friend was just as shocked. They both said I should be dead. They didn't understand how I was able to walk through the lava.

This is how I became known as the Volcano Jesus of Hyrule.

Of course, a few minutes later we realized that some of my equipment was protecting me. I wasn't Jesus after all.

I Feel Special!

I am more excited than a small child stepping into an unsupervised candy store. For real. I am more excited than a tyrannosaurus suddenly having longer arms. Of  course, then he would overbalance and fall on his face...

Anyway, I am so excited because two people commented on my blog! Yay! That may not seem like a big deal, but it means a lot to me. It lets me know that people are actually reading, and that they have opinions. And that makes me happy.

So thank you, Rachel Von Arx and Rachel Davis! You have my eternal gratitude for making me feel special.

Dinosaur.

*Face Palm*

It is very dangerous to be single in a high school environment. Not so much because students try to hit on you. That's actually pretty easy to shut down. No, it's because students try to help you.

We've had a bit of a stressful week because we are being audited. But the stress definitely lightened when the hot auditor walked in. My coworker was immediately at my chair, elbowing me in the back and making comments about how cute he was and wondering suggestively if he had a ring on his finger.

*Face palm*

The next thing I knew a student asked me what I though about him. I was stunned into stammering, and she took that to mean I was interested. Before I knew it, she was mapping out a scheme for how to get him to notice me as he walked past my desk. A scheme which he partially overheard as he walked behind her.

*Face palm*

Hoping that the humiliation was over, I went to lunch. I returned to find my coworkers snickering around my desk. Apparently a group of students had gotten together and asked the hot auditor if he was married and would he be interested in going out with someone at the school.

*Face palm*

Next thing I know, a coworker is laughing with him, explaining that he shouldn't be surprised that the students are trying to set him up with a single teacher.

I spent the rest of my day trying not to look at him whenever he walked past my desk. Sometimes we made eye contact and it was awkward.

List of Completely Awesome Things

I am setting myself a challenge today. I am going to create a list of the most awesome things I can think of and see how long I can make it! Feel free to add suggestions.

1. Nutella

Enough said.

2. Reese's Peanut Butter Cups

Whoever decided to mix chocolate and peanut butter was a fucking genius.

3. Wine

There is nothing better on a fall day than kicking back in front of a fire with a glass of red wine. And nothing better in the summer than sitting on the deck with a glass of white. It's versatile and awesome.

4. Dinosaur Toys

Who doesn't love to play with dinosaurs?

5. Velociraptor Dressed as Santa Claus

This may be more terrifying than awesome, but if someone can actually get a velociraptor into a Santa suit, then that is awesome.



6. Ninja Easter Bunny

This one I swear is real. I have watched for my parents to hide eggs and I have never seen anything. But the eggs are always hidden!

7. The Doctor and Everything Associated Thereof

Doctor Who is awesome. So are a lot of other BBC programs. I'm addicted.

8. CFH

Casually awesome

9. Swim Team

Any swim team anywhere is automatically awesome. Ripon is just more awesome than most. And Anoka is awesome for creating The Weekend.

10. The Weekend

In addition to the pure awesome that is the regular weekend, we have the concept of The Weekend. And Tuesdays. And bank holidays. Free love!

11. Hugs

Hugs are pretty awesome

12. Cuddle Puddle

A good cuddle puddle will turn any day around. Did you know that there's a girl in New York who runs a cuddle business? She cuddles with people all day and charges something like $60 an hour just to cuddle. I may have to go work for her.

13. Completely Owning a Final Boss

Not when the boss is way easier than you expected and you dominate. No. This is an epic battle in which you pull off impossible combos, almost die a bunch of times, and finally emerge victorious. You feel like the champion of the world.

14. Same as 13 Except You Beat Your Friends at Soul Calibur or Something Similar

This is actually better than 13 because you get to rub it in someone's face. And hopefully watch them cry.

15. Brunch

Breakfast and lunch at the same time? Get at me!

16. Bacon

Bacon might just be the most awesomest thing in the history of awesome. It was probably bacon that lured the velociraptor into the Santa suit. That's the only way I can think of to do it without getting mauled. See, the velociraptor will either be so distracted by or grateful for the bacon that it won't protest to being dressed all in red. It's a theory.

UPDATE:

17. Denny's Cheese Fries

Oh. My. God. They are covered in cheese and bacon and there is ranch dipping sauce. Problem is that I'm sometimes too drunk to enjoy them properly.

18. Joss Whedon

Lord of All Things Awesome. I want to have his brain children. The things that he comes up with are just awesome. They are the epitome of awesome.

19. Failblog

Always has the power to make me feel better about myself.

20. People Who Bear the Name Rachel

Because they comment on my blog and make me feel special. As special as a chicken dinosaur hybrid. It's kind of epic. Take a look here.

I Am Ninja Zombie Slayer!!!

I get weird when I'm sick. It gets worse when I'm bored. Sometimes caffeine becomes involved, but sometimes not. Like right now, I feel like shit, but I refuse to let anyone know. So I'm taking it out on my rolly chair at work. I'm spinning. It's not really helping the sickness, but it is keeping me entertained. And right now, that's all I care about.

There was this one time when I was at Ripon when I was really bored and sick because I was the only person living in the dorm for an entire week. Everyone was home for winter break except me. I had to stay and student teach. It kinda sucked.

You cannot possibly imagine how creepy a college dorm is when you are the only one there. Every morning there is a panic attack as you wonder whether or not the silence is normal or caused by a zombie apocalypse.

There were days when I thought I was the only living being on the planet. I began to plan my defense. My room became a bunker totally devoted to survival.

In an attempt to hone the skills that I knew I would soon need, I took to running through the dorm with my Nerf gun. Now, this gun was special. I received it as a Christmas present during my Freshman year of college. All of my friends had Nerf guns, and I wanted one too. I was expecting a small gun, just something to defend myself with. But no. My father bought me a sniper rifle, and I thought it was the most kickass thing ever.

Until my friend told me that it was a shitty gun. I was devastated. It had no power, and the aim sucked. When we had Nerf wars, I was a joke because I couldn't hit anything.

Until that same friend told me he could mod my gun for me. Even now, I get a little shiver of evil glee when I think about the moment I had hope again for being a Nerf gun wielding terror.

My friend took my gun for two weeks. When I got it back it was so beast that I could barely use it. I had to brace it against my stomach and pull back with both hands to cock it. It could fire a dart clear down the dorm hallway. And it hurt like a bitch when it hit. It was legendary.

Overnight, I became feared. I became a god of Nerf pain and terror.

It was because of this that I assumed I would be able to hold off the oncoming zombie horde with my Nerf gun. But not without practice. I'm not that stupid. In light of the fact that there was no one else around, I decided to practice in the dorm. No way in hell was I going outside until I was good and ready. Plus there was lots of snow and I hate the cold and I wouldn't be able to run from a zombie through knee-deep snow. So I stayed indoors.

As I was loading my Nerf gun I realized that it would be way more fun to run around the dorm shooting things if I were dressed all in black. I would pretend to be a ninja! This idea was getting better and better.

I got dressed all in black, grabbed my gun, and stealthily exited my room. The hallway lights were off, so the only light was the bleak grey beams coming through the windows. I rounded the corner and fired. The dart flew to the opposite window and stuck. Grinning, I lunged into a roll through an open doorway and came up with the gun pointed straight into the faces of the two Asian exchange students who had not had anywhere to go for the break.

Apparently I was not alone in the dorm.

The two boys did not speak to me, but from their expressions I could tell that I was definitely an American freak.

A freaking zombie slaying ninja American freak!

Insane Rabid Zombie Velociraptors Are Not THIS Scary...

I have never been this terrified.

I am absolutely positive that I would not be this scared were I to face down a pack of rabid, zombie velociraptors that have been trapped underground without a source of food and are only now being released into the light of day (which is driving them insane because it is so bright), and I am the only thing between them and a maternity ward.

Think about that for a moment. Imagine that you are facing down insane rabid zombie velociraptors that want to gnaw on baby flesh. That's fucking scary.

But it is not as scary as the situation that I find myself in now.

It is sickness season. I work at a high school, and the plague has definitely arrived.

I might die.

Dinosaurs Are Cool

Sorry to disappoint you, but this has nothing to do with dinosaurs. It has to do with alcohol! Yay!

A student came to the front office today complaining about the workload and about how high school is so hard. A teacher commented that she wished we could just remove our minds sometimes and set them aside so we could stop worrying about the consequences and just get things done or enjoy life. In a moment of brilliance, I wrote "alcohol?" on a sticky note and gave it to her. Alcohol definitely removes your mind.

The rest of my day was shit, and so I am using alcohol to remove my mind. And look, no spelling errors! I call that a win.

The Story of a College Care Package and Heartbreak

Every college student knows that there is nothing more exciting than peering into your tiny little mailbox and seeing that bit of pink paper that means there is a package waiting. It can turn any bad day around, and makes every good day better.

When I was a Freshman in college, I got a care package at least once a month. This was not because my parents thought to send one to me. Rather, it was because I needed a prescription refilled every month, and my mom would use the occasion to shower me with love. It was awesome.

What was not awesome was when fucking Costco started sending my prescription in three-month amounts. One day I opened up my care package and there was a huge bottle of pills. It was pretty much the size of a giant cucumber, and it spelled the doom of my days of monthly love.

By the time I was a Junior I was only receiving packages on holidays. Where once I had been the envy of my friends, now I was ordinary. It was very depressing. I took to ordering things off of Amazon just so I could get packages once in awhile.

I hit rock bottom one day in February.

At the time, I was rooming with a very good friend who I had gone to high school with. She and I had been on the swim team together, and we were both writers and in the education program. What I'm trying to say is that we were tight. We were good friends who shared a lot.

This particular day, we were walking back to our room from class together. We stopped to get our mail, and Sara had the coveted little pink piece of paper resting delicately in her mailbox like a tangible promise of love. I was so envious.

My envy waned, though, when she admitted that the package was her new iPod that she had just ordered. I mean, I was still jealous that she got a new iPod, but it was much better than if someone back home had thought of her and sent love in a box. I didn't feel so alone in my Amazon habit.

We went to the pickup window, and the mailroom lady handed Sara a package wrapped neatly in brown paper. It seemed a little big for an iPod Nano, but who was I to judge? Maybe whoever had packaged it had anticipated a sad roommate and had included the appropriate amount of bubble wrap. Bubble wrap makes everything better. Especially when it's combined with wine. Well, really, anything combined with wine is better.

As we examined the package, I got a weird feeling. Like there was something obvious that I should notice, but didn't. In fact, I got the same feeling every time I looked at Christmas presents that were signed "From Santa" in my mother's handwriting. My eyes darted over the return address, barely registering at first that it was a very familiar address. The address, combined with the handwriting made my brain actually work. That was my address. That was my mom's handwriting.

Why was my mom sending my roommate a package? Had Sara's mom asked her to? The questions were piling up.

In a ridiculous state of confusion, we ripped open the package right there in the mailroom. We were like two velociraptors that had been presented with a piñata. We didn't really understand why we had it, but by god we were going to figure out what was inside.

After ripping through the paper and tearing open the box, we were greeted with the mana of college students everywhere: chocolate chip cookies. My mom had sent my roommate chocolate chip cookies. Gooey, chocolatey cookies.

Confused, I ran back to my mailbox. No pink slip had materialized. The tiny box was empty. I even wiggled my hand around inside just in case. Nothing.

By now I was convinced that my mom loved my roommate more than me, and I was fucking indignant. Have you ever been indignant and had a good reason? It feels awesome. You have all the power in the world over the person who has wronged you. It's that moment of anticipation when you are watching The Avengers for the second time and The Hulk is about to wail on Loki. You know justice is coming. And it feels good.

And so, with righteous indignation on my side, I pulled out my Phone of Justice, and called my mom.

Mom: What's up?

Me: Sara got a care package. From you. (I laid on the accusation. I figured excessive guilt would get me an even better care package. My mother would be so filled with remorse that she would send me the most awesome thing in the history of awesome. I had no clue what it would be, but I wanted it.)

But the conversation that followed did not go as I expected. Instead of being filled with remorse, my mother started laughing.

Convinced that I was no longer loved and would have to find a new family, I demanded to know why Sara got cookies and I didn't.

My mom patiently explained that it was Sara's birthday and that I was supposed to get cookies, but they had burned. And then my dad had eaten them. She claimed she was in the middle of baking me a new batch, and they would be perfect.

To this day I am suspicious. Did my mom indeed bake me cookies that were lost tragically to burning and my father? Or was she simply trying to cover up the fact that she sent a care package to my roommate and not to me? I doubt the mystery will ever be solved. But I did receive a delicious package of cookies two days later. And it was bigger than Sara's.

Adult Life (Featuring Wine, Feral Animals, and a Rampaging Horde of Stegosaurus)

Being an adult sucks balls. I mean, no wonder my parents were always so cranky after work. Who would want to deal with real children after babysitting the adult children at the office all day? This is a typical scene from my childhood:

Me: Mom!

Mom: ...

Me: Mom!

Mom: ...

Me: MOM!

Mom: Don't shout, honey. What is it?

Me: Can we go to Target?

Mom: Why?

Me: I'm bored, and I wanna see the Barbies! (I had an obsession as a child with walking up and down the Barbie aisle. I didn't want to buy them. Just look)

Mom: Honey, not tonight. It was a long day at work.

Me: But I'm boooooooored!

Mom: I'm just want to relax and watch TV tonight, Sweetheart.

Me: ...

Me: ...

Me: ...

Me: Mom. Mom. Can we go to the park?

Really, I'm surprised that I lasted into adulthood. Had my mother been an ordinary mammal, she would have killed and eaten me long ago.

I am not so magnanimous. I'm even planning not to have children for my own self-preservation. I don't want to go to prison for murder. See? I can think ahead when I want to.

After work each day, I am a dangerous entity. It doesn't help that I have to survive ten miles in rush hour traffic to get home. And when I do get home I have to make it past a dog and a cat that are convinced that it is time for dinner. It's not.

That's a normal day. On a normal day I want to go home, make dinner, and put my feet up in front of the TV until bed time. But today was not a normal day. Today was "Holy Fuck Crisis Day."

For about a two hour period of time this morning, there were constant crises that only I could solve. Three computers aren't connecting to the server? Better get Nikki. You're bleeding? Find Nikki! A horde of rampant stegosaurus has been beamed down from the Starship Enterprise and is careening down the street destroying everything in its path and eating babies??? Dear god go and grab Nikki!!! That's how my morning went. Except much much worse.

In the midst of the chaos I devised a plan. If I survive rush hour and the starving feral animals when I get home, then I am going to put on my comfy yoga pants (as opposed to my workout yoga pants which are not comfortable because they have the psychological effect of making me want to run), curl up in my comfy blue leather armchair, and cuddle with a bottle of wine while I play Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword. Yep. That's the plan.

I've started rambling...I had a point to make about growing up and how I should have enjoyed childhood when I could and blah blah blah. That will have to wait until another post. For now, adulthood is terrible terrible thing, but it's also not so bad because there is wine. Alcohol makes everything better...

That last statement makes me sound like an alcoholic, but I promise I'm not. Just a little goofy and high on adrenaline from single-handedly subduing that rampaging horde of stegosaurus.

You know what would make me feel better about my life decisions? If you all subscribed to my blog! Then I would feel special and there would be less of a need for a bottle to keep me company! See what I did there? I guilted you into subscribing.

Silly Things I Find on the Internet When I'm Bored at Work #1

So I had to be at work at 6 this morning because I had to get coffee and cookies ready for conferences. After I was done setting up, I had a couple of hours to kill. This is what I discovered:


When you get to the site, select that you are UNDER 21. Seriously. Oh my god.

http://blackacrebrewing.com/home/

Garfield Had It Right: The Terror of Mondays

Sometimes as you are waking up you have this feeling that you should just call in sick and stay in bed. I'm not talking about the way you feel every day when you are forced to crawl out from under the warm blankets and blinking step into the sun. No. I am talking about those rare occasions when there is an ominous sense of foreboding in the air, and you just know that your karmic number has come up. The world has chosen you to get covered by all the shit hitting the fan.

I should have listened to my gut instinct, curled up. and gone back to sleep. Even my cat knew that I should stay in bed. She came to cuddle with me beneath the blankets. She never does that.

Ignoring my intuition, I got out of bed and got dressed. I wore a new lavender top that I had only ever worn once. This is where the Universe decided to send me my first hint of impending disaster. For some unknown reason, my nose started bleeding. Gushing. Blood was everywhere. All over my new top.

By the time I cleaned myself up and changed clothes, I was running late. I scrambled to grab breakfast and my keys so I could eat in the car. Now, here was another hint. I should never eat in the car. I'm a klutz at the best of times. Add trying to drive through morning rush hour traffic, a driving sense of panic and impending doom, and a bagel and it is a recipe for disaster. Especially considering my luck and the fact that I had already demolished one shirt this morning.

I slid into the front seat and tried to turn the key in the ignition. It wouldn't move. It was locked. Panic set in, and my logical brain dissolved into a weeping pile of mush as I tried to accept that I was doomed. I would never drive my car again. How would I get it fixed? I couldn't drive it to the mechanic! Would they come to me? Surely not! The stupidity of my panic-stricken brain is embarrassing.

Now, had I been able to put two thoughts together, I would have remembered our old van. The Wookie-Wasp. So named because it made a disturbing sound like a Wookie, Transformers had just come to the big screen and my sister and I desperately wanted our own Bumblebee, and I like alliteration.

This old van had often had a problem in which the wheel would lock and the engine would die after it had been started. The brakes wouldn't work, and you couldn't turn it off to restart it because the wheel would lock, so you would find yourself unable to stop as you backed helplessly down the driveway. You had to quickly put the car in park, jiggle to wheel until it was loose, and then the ignition would work.

Why didn't I jiggle the wheel of my car? Panic-brain was too panicked.

Instead, I threw my keys on the counter with the intention of calling my grandpa when I got to work so he could look at the car. I grabbed my mom's keys, hopped into her van, and took off.

I arrived at work in a triumph of self-congratulation. I was just barely on time. Feeling pretty good about myself, I walked toward the front door. And realized that my key to the building was on my keychain. The keychain with my car keys. The keychain that I had thrown on my counter for my grandpa. I was locked out. Furthermore, I was the one with the master key. I was supposed to open everything for everyone else.

This is when I gave up. I plopped myself onto a picnic table, dug a granola bar out of my purse, and waited for someone to rescue me. And this is also when the side door opened behind me, and my boss asked what I was doing. For once, she had come early to get some extra work done.

So that is how my Monday morning went. The rest of the horror was the usual computers failing, not being able to get through to the system helpline, and being buried under fifteen billion things that need to get done. Thank god there was beer in the fridge when I got home.

Creepy Awesome Pandora

Oh, Pandora. You are awesome. You play all of the various, eclectic types of music that I like without the annoyance of commercials or songs that I despise. This is so much better than a radio station that does both of those things and will most likely only play music that I tolerate not that I actually like. You not only play my favorite songs from European bands that few people have heard of, but you also suggest new bands and songs that are similar so that I can easily find new music that I like. You are truly wonderful.

But, Pandora, it is creepy when I am singing a song in my head as I am pulling you up on my computer and you immediately begin to play that song. Especially because it is not a Top 40 song that is played every five minutes but an obscure piece of musical magic. It is even creepier when you do this as I am thinking about a remix and not the original song. Though I appreciate you trying to be helpful and play what I want to hear, your telepathy sometimes gives me nightmares of computers invading my brain. Please just play a mix and don't feel as if you need to go overboard to make me happy.

A Tragedy

This is an observation that I have recently made: Some people are way too focused on making money. Now, you may be thinking, "No shit, Sherlock. Were you born yesterday?" Obviously I wasn't since I have a job and am not rolling on a blanket making spit up and poop all day. I've made this observation before, but it hasn't hit home quite as much as it did tonight.

You see, I had a fantastic idea for a Christmas present for my sisters. I can't say what it is because both of them read this. Sorry guys. In my excitement, I took my computer to my dad and asked him to help me. He, of course, said sure. But then he asked me if I thought we could sell it online.

This floored me. I will not lie and say that the thought did not cross my mind, but I discarded it because it made the gift feel cheap. I wanted to make this to see the happiness in my sisters, not to make a buck.

I pointed out that selling it would be breaking copyright laws, and he said that that was fine. We would do it until we received a cease and desist letter. Now, I am sure he was half joking, but his recent obsession with trying to make money online is proof that he was also half serious. And that disturbs me.

How can someone sacrifice moral integrity to make money? I know people do it all the time, but I feel like that is part of the reason that our society has gone to shit. Money cannot buy happiness, and having a ton of money will not fill an empty life.

I for one refuse to sacrifice joy for cash. I prefer to have a rich life, not a rich bank account. I want to see my sisters smiling on Christmas day and know that I have given them a unique gift that no one else has. I am making this for them, not some stranger online.

Murder? Horror Movie? Zombie Apocalypse?

Things went very very wrong on Friday night. Very wrong. More wrong than they should have, and that's saying something because I was in downtown Minneapolis on Friday night, and we all know how that usually goes. In fact, that is part of the reason that things went so horribly terribly wrong.

It started because I am poor. I am poor and I can't afford booze at the bars. And when I start drinking I start to believe that I can afford booze, and then my credit card is worn out the next morning. My hungover conversations with my purse usually go like this:

"What the hell happened last night?"

"You drank."

"I can't have had that much."

"You whipped me out and started buying Liquid Cocaine shots for the bar."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yeah-huh."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

*Snort* "My great and mighty masters want your money. You will be indebted to them for eternity."

"But don't you have a limit?"

"My limit is when my barcode is worn away and I'm broken in half. Which, by the way..."

"Shit."

Ok, it isn't usually that bad. But there is always a shock when I get my bill. Except in Wisconsin. Drinks are cheap over there. Minnesota sucks.

So things started to get bad because I pregamed. I pregamed hard. I had two bottles of rum that were near the bottom, so I decided to finish them. Consequently, I had had five very strong drinks and was starting on my sixth when my friend arrived to pick me up.

I thought I was fine, but apparently not. I found out the next day that we stopped at a liquor store to pick up provisions. I have no memory of this, but apparently I was acting like a champ because I bought booze. Pat on the back for my acting skills.

By the time we got to my friend's apartment, I was definitely feeling hazy. I plopped myself at the kitchen table, had a shot of schnapps, and poured myself a glass of wine. I wanted to keep the haze going for as long as possible.

As I was sitting there, eyes unfocused, waiting for my friend to get out of the shower, my phone rang.
Now, my parents knew that I was going out. They knew that I would be partying. So this phone conversation should have maybe gone a bit differently.

First of all, I was confused because the Caller ID said "Work." For a split second in which my heart rate skyrocketed and panic flooded my every sense, I thought it was my current job. I thought I would have to somehow handle a complicated computer question that I was in no way capable of answering in my current condition. But then I remembered that my dad's phone was on the fritz and he was stuck using the office phone. Thank god.

I answered, and this is what I heard:

"Hi, Sweetie, I know you're out having fun, but I wanted to tell you not to worry about the blood when you get home."

WHAT???

You cannot even imagine the horror that those words inspire in someone who does not currently have the strongest grasp on reality. All I could think was that the zombie apocalypse had finally happened. My panic came surging back, and I desperately tried to figure out how I could get home. There was no way that I would be able to find my friend's keys in my current state, much less drive. Was the train running? How many miles was it? Did anyone have a bike?! I thought I saw one in the hallway, but it was locked up, so that brought me back to the fact that I couldn't stay steady enough to work a key. Oh god what was I going to do???

All of this went through my inebriated brain in about a nanosecond. There was barely a pause at all, but it felt like an eternity before my dad continued speaking:

"A picture frame fell on your mom's head. We had to take her to get stitches. She's fine, but it bled a lot, and the stairs look like something out of a horror movie."

Why couldn't he have led with that? To this day, I will never know. My panic calmed a bit, but I wanted to be sure that there was nothing I would have to worry about. Completely forgetting that I was partying with a medical fraternity and was in fact currently in an apartment with five doctors, I texted my best friend.

"How much are head wounds supposed to bleed?"

I expected a derisive text back, but my phone immediately began to ring. I answered, barely said "hello" before I heard his resigned voice:

"What did you do this time?"

I love that that was how he reacted.

That is the story of how my Friday night turned out to be way more dramatic than I expected. I didn't even see the blood when I got home, but in the morning I noticed the splatter all over the stairs. If anyone asks I will tell them that I shot someone infected with the T-Virus.

The Fiery Death of the Terrifying Eight Legged Thing From Hell

I need to preface this story by saying that I am terrified of spiders. In my opinion they are proof that Satan hates us. If I see one, I immediately search out the nearest method of extermination. Usually this is a shoe or a Kleenex, but I prefer to call someone to fetch a vacuum while I keep an eye on the unholy terror so that I can suck it up without getting close. Spiders are scary.

Do you know what the worst thing about spiders is? They hide in unexpected places, waiting to scurry away from you when you disturb them, pretending to be scared of you when we all know that they are laughing on the inside and plotting a new hiding spot. Bastards. Well one of these horrifying monstrosities finally got its due.

Like many of its kind, this spider decided to hide in an unexpected place. Namely, a candle. Can you see where this is going? Foolish arachnid.

Being a pit of a pyro, I was unreasonably excited to use the new lighter that I had found in the dollar section of Target. It was one of those wand lighters that would finally allow me to be able to easily light my candles. And, as it turns out, allow me to keep my distance from spiders that lie in wait in unexpected places.

As I lit the first candle, a spider scuttled out from god knows where. It was a big one, and I jumped backwards to the other side of my room, vaulting piles of laundry, books, and unpacked college crap. When my heart had slowed, I approached my dresser and cautiously peered into the candle. The spider sat on the wax, as far from the flame as it could get. Fortunately, it couldn't climb up the glass and escape.

I saw an opportunity here to get back at all arachnid kind. Arming myself with the lighter, I stood guard over the spider's pyre just in case it decided to make a run for it.

Now, this is where we come to the dumb broad (as my best friend would say) portion of the story. I wanted to be prepared in case the spider made a run for it, so I kept my finger on the trigger in readiness. What I did not realize is that my readiness included keeping the gas turned on.

The spider made a frantic dash up the smooth glass side of the candle, and I lunged forward to knock it back into its waxy hell. The gassy tip of the lighter reached the flame of the candle and burst into a terrifying fireball that singed my eyebrows and had me staggering back to the opposite side of the room once again.

At this point I had an epiphany. Both the spider and I had made stupid mistakes. It had foolishly crawled into a candle, and I had left the gas on the lighter. Clearly only one of us could survive, and it would be the one furthest away from that deadly flame. My new plan, then, was to wait it out on the other side of the room. If the spider somehow managed to escape the pit of the candle, then I would have ample opportunity to find some other means of extermination. I hoped.

I could almost hear the other hidden spiders in my room chanting for their brethren to escape the candle just like in The Dark Knight Rises. But it was not to be.

When the molten waxy lake had risen sufficiently for me to know that the spider had indeed perished, I cautiously approached the candle. The shriveled body floated in the wax. Blowing out the flame, I fished the corpse out of the goopiness and flushed it to a watery grave.

Update

I just found this on the Internet, and I feel like this may be my future...

http://cheezburger.com/6778827776

Blood Sucking Bastards

This is the harrowing tale of how I found myself in a drug induced coma for three days:

Last Saturday was the day of the incident, and the next Friday was the first day that I was actually alert and able to form coherent sentences without the danger of drool or nonsensical words. Or, god forbid, sloppy grammar. I actually ended some of my sentences in prepositions this week. I just did not care because I was so out of it. And it is all because of those blood sucking bastards.

It all started on Saturday night. Following the summer weekend tradition, I was at a friend's house for a party. There was the typical drinking and card games as well as a viewing of Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs that just happened to be on Cartoon Network. Let me tell you, we weren't drinking when we were watching that movie, but we were all confused and a little bit scared by it.

The night continued with Teen Wolf (a much better movie when you add alcohol), and eventually we found ourselves out on the deck. Now, I have lived in Minnesota for my whole life. I should have known better. We all should have known better. But little did I know the horror that was about to befall me.

When I woke up the next morning, everything seemed normal. I didn't have a typical hangover, but my usual "Oh God what did I do to myself last night?" feeling. Resigning myself to an unproductive day, I grabbed the fuzziest, warmest blanket that I own and unceremoniously plopped myself onto the couch for an all day Doctor Who marathon.

As The Doctor made eye contact with Donna through a window behind Matron Foster's back, I began to notice an itch on the top of my foot. I scratched it absentmindedly and went back to watching. About the time Donna started whining about not being able to save the people of Pompeii, my ankle began to torture me with insatiable itching. By the time The Doctor Donna saved the Ood, my feet were swollen and misshapen by twenty-six bites that all seemed to be located in the worst places. My toes, my insteps, my ankles, and my heels were torture.

I desperately tore apart the medicine cabinet searching for anti-itch cream. I slathered my feet with Benadryl cream and waited for it to take effect. It didn't. My mom had prescription strength anti-itch cream, and I covered my feet in that. It didn't work. I was in agony, but I refused to take Benadryl pills to knock myself out from the torture because I do not handle it well. Those pills knock me on my ass.

Finally, after getting only two hours of sleep because of the incessant itching, I resigned myself to the inevitable. I staggered out of bed and made my pathetic sleep deprived way to the medicine cabinet. By this time I was practically comatose already from exhaustion and painful itching, so I figured I may as well make it a drug induced coma.

And that is how I ended up sleeping for nearly three days. I took the Benadryl ungodly early Monday morning and continued taking it every four hours that I was conscious. The itching and the swelling were gone by Tuesday afternoon, but I continued to sleep until well into Wednesday. By the time two o'clock rolled around, I had had enough. I forced myself out of bed and made the world aware that I had not died.

Those damn blood sucking bastards.

Thong Used Confuse Ray! Dad Is Confused!

I can only imagine the horror of what occurred in my laundry room this morning...

I had been out of town for the weekend visiting friends and attending a wedding. Before I left, however, I did a couple of loads of laundry. I try to be productive sometimes. Of course, one of the loads featured underwear.

Now, usually my sister or my mom will take my laundry out of the dryer and dump it in a basket for me to fold later. Just like college, they clear out the machines for their own use, and leave the folding for the person whose laundry it is.

Not my father. Oh no, he thought it would be nice to actually fold my laundry. To his detriment.

Not realizing that what he was holding was a thong, he asked my mother why I had an eye patch in with my laundry. My mom then had to explain to him what the confusing article of clothing really was. I am eternally grateful that I was not at home to witness this and only heard the tale secondhand.

Fifty Shades of Meh... Not Impressed

Fifty Shades of Grey: The Verdict

Grade: C-

Warning: I will try to avoid it, but there may be spoilers!

I'm giving this book a C-. It was readable. Some parts were mildly enjoyable. But there was nothing gripping or engaging about it. In fact, the lack of professionalism in the writing was distracting enough to take away from a story that was weak to begin with. The characters are flat. The dynamic between them is good, even great in some places, but they themselves are nothing more than shadows. The plot is almost nonexistent. It is basically girl meets boy who is bad for her. Boy leads her down a forbidden path. Grease did better with this premise. And it had music! 

On that subject, music is an area where this book could have found some depth. The classical pieces that the author mentions are intriguing, and there is the possibility there to really explore the characters or the tone of the story. But again it falls short. No explanation or analysis of the pieces is chosen. In fact, it reads as if the author did nothing more than Google random, impressive sounding works to plop into the story. Truly disappointing.

The only reason that this book is being read so widely is because of the shock and awe value. Many people are uncomfortable with the notion of BDSM, and that has been the book's major selling point. Unfortunately, in this too there was disappointment. The few sex scenes that lean in this direction are fairly tame, and the only redeeming factor is the detail that the author puts into these scenes. Though even this detail could not bring life to flat characters. Typically when I indulge in reading an erotic novel I am left squirming, but not so with this one. Detail does not a sex scene make, and the predicability of each one quickly made it lose whatever surprise value it could have had because of the BDSM.

For a light read on the beach, this book is not bad. Especially if there is some good eye candy available when you get to the naughty bits. But there are far better books out there, books that are not only well written but that also have a plot. If you are looking for more of the BDSM, then try reading Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel's Dart. There is plenty of kinky sex, the story is of epic proportions, and the writing is graceful and beautiful. It is a work of art as well as a hot story. Another great kinky sex story is The Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by Anne Rice. This one actually had me blushing, and that is hard to do. 

In the end, Fifty Shades of Grey is ok. It is mildly entertaining. It belongs on a fanfiction website where it is a naughty form of diversion. It does not belong on bookshelves brushing shoulders with proper novels. Unfortunately, its popularity has put it there. I can only hope that it serves a higher purpose somehow by opening peoples' minds to the possibility of unconventional relationships.

Continue reading if you wish to know some of the thoughts I had while reading this book.

Thoughts as I'm reading:

#1

Wow. Couldn't even make it through the first chapter of Fifty Shades of Grey without commenting. That should tell you something.

First of all, this story reads like fanfiction. I feel like I should be reading it on a computer with a group of my college friends gathered round giggling at the naughty bits. The dialogue is unrefined and unbelievable. The grammar and syntax are good for a piece of fanfiction, but should have never made it past a professional editor. The fact that they did makes me weep for the writing industry. I know times are tough, but c'mon guys! Let's respect our craft a little bit.

There are run-on sentences. There should never be run-on sentences in a professional piece of writing. Run-on sentences are for my sixth graders when they get excited and just can't stop writing. And even they know enough to go back and fix the mistakes before the final draft. These sorts of errors are unacceptable in a professional piece and are a reflection of the lack of caring that the writing industry currently has for the art. It is all about making money, and Fifty Shades of Grey certainly sells.

But enough of me ranting about the lack of technical quality in this novel. I'll shut up and continue reading. I will try to save my opinions for when I have finished. Who knows, though. It's already pissing me off, and I have trouble keeping my mouth shut when I'm pissed off.

#2

Sigh. Long prolonged sigh. Here is another example of the lack of professionalism exhibited by this piece of what is rapidly becoming drivel. No one in America says "till." It's a cash register. If you are going to set a story in a place where you do not live, then at least have the decency to do a bit of research. That or change the setting. Personally, I think this story would be more believable and more natural if it took place in London. It is obvious that E.L. James has no concept of American idioms, and this makes the story stiff and laughable. Again, it reads like fanfiction rather than a professionally published novel.

Another example of this same flaw is that no self-respecting American college student ever uses the word "shall" unless he or she is being facetious. Or perhaps writing a paper. But that word went out of the American psyche a century ago. The protagonist should never be thinking it to herself. It's almost as if we have all of a sudden jumped to colonial times. Which we have not. Modern syntax is always something to be aware of.

No self-respecting American college student calls a bathroom a "powder room." It is a bathroom. Period. End of discussion. We may call it the powder room if we happen to be fancy women at a fancy restaurant, but this particular instance takes place at a bar. A college bar. This is a face palm moment for me, and I think I am going to stop harping on this writer's lack of knowledge about the difference between American and British vocabulary. Suffice to say if this was a real book (and I no longer consider it one even if it can be found on the shelf at Barnes and Noble), then it would be more carefully researched. In its current form, it is the epitome of laziness.

#3

I have never in my life seen someone show up to a photo shoot without dressing up a bit. Dry hair is a definite must. Now, I anticipate some people arguing and saying that Grey is so rich that he doesn't have to worry about what he looks like. C'mon people. Everyone in any sort of business knows that image is everything. A photo shoot is PR even if it is only for a college paper. This entire scene was just ridiculous.

#4

Got to the sex stuff. So far I'm not impressed. The only truly spectacular thing about it is the sheer amount. It's been eleven pages of nonstop sex. It actually got to a point where I was bored. With sex. Now I feel like a bad American college student... Bored with sex... Who would have thought?

#5

I'm such a child. There is a direct quote that says "Call me - maybe..." I just find that really funny. I seriously fell out of my chair laughing. It's not like this piece of dialogue was anything that I was going to nitpick, but I read it in singy Carly Rae Jepson voice and fell out of my chair laughing.

#6

This is really just a quibble. I have never known anyone to be able to make lasagna in 45 minutes. If E.L. James knows a way to make lasagna in 45 minutes, then I want her recipe. It takes me 2 hours to make the damn thing. One hour to prep and one hour to bake. I can't imagine lasagna taking such a short time unless it is from a box.

#7

Sigh. I cannot fully express my disgust at people who do not do research or proofreading. It is a fundamental part of writing, and there should be some pride taken in the craft. Now, I understand that the writer probably began working on this story years ago. In fact, she probably began writing it when Twilight was first available. That is no excuse, however, for not going back, rereading, and making changes to make the book work with the current times. MacBook Pros were available when I was a senior in high school. That was six years ago. Yet in the story, the MacBook Pro is new and not available in stores yet. Hmmm...someone clearly did not take the time to go back and proofread.

This is one of those things where people could defend the book by saying that maybe she intended for the story to take place over six years ago, but I maintain that it is laziness on the part of the writer and the editor. Most readers of a story such as this assume that it is either taking place now, or in the near past. There is no excuse for a time related faux pas such as this unless you are deliberately centering your story around a specific historical incident. Which is not the case here. Furthermore, the writer (I now refuse to acknowledge her as an author) chose to write the story in the present tense. Hmmm...

I've read some more and I'm coming back to this point. She dates her emails 2011. So ha! Laziness! It also occurred to me that she could be referring to a specific model of MacBook Pro, but then that should be specified. Currently this mistake detracts from the professionalism of the book. It's terrible.

#8

Again with the sheer lack of quality and proofreading. He blindfolded her. There was never mention of the blindfold coming off. So how is she now able to see? Laziness.

#9

Ah hell I'm kinda starting to like it... Crap.

The relationship between Ana and Christian is getting more complicated and slightly interesting. We'll see what happens.

#10

Aaaaaaaaand now I'm bored... It's the same thing over and over. They get upset with each other, they argue a bit, they talk about their feelings, they have sex. Wish all of my deep conversations ended like that...but alas. Even the sex is getting boring. E.L. James uses the same particular phrases over and over. "He rolled it down his impressive length" "I gazed in awe at his impressive length" "He found his release" It makes me wonder if Ms. James has ever had sex. Or if she just lacks the imagination to come up with different wording. Anyway, I can pretty much predict how each sex scene will play out, and I am not finding the amount of BDSM that I was expecting... This book is not that shocking, and anyone who has actually explored the glorious world of literature will know that there are far kinkier and better written books available.

Update: After finishing the second book, I am lowering my grade to a D. I was hoping that a plot would eventually develop, but no. No it just continues to be terrible. Won't be reading the third and final book. Waste of my time.

To Read Or Not To Read... Fifty Shades of Grey

For weeks now I have been hearing about this new book that is flying off of the shelves. Perhaps you have heard of it. It is called Fifty Shades of Grey and is supposedly a scandalous and erotic read. My mother continuously brings it up because everyone at her work is entranced by it. She even suggested that I read it. My mom. My very Catholic mom wants me to read an erotic novel. Ok then.

Now, I try not to waste my time reading smut. The occasional dirty book is fun, but I would rather spend my time reading a great story rather than hot sex scenes. Not to say that all erotic novels are lacking in story, but it is generally not the focus. I do, however, try to stay on top of what is happening in the world of popular fiction seeing as how that is the area in which I hope to someday excel. For that reason I decided to see what this book is all about.

But then I found out some of the background of this story. It began as Twilight fanfiction. Erotic Twilight. Ew. Ew to the power of ten. Any desire I had to read this book dried up instantly. No way was I going to waste my time reading something like that. Absolutely no way.

I kept this resolve for a grand total of two days. Then my friend posted a link on Facebook to the blog of a woman writing against the book. She gives fifty reasons why she will never read this book. It is hilarious, and I highly recommend that you check it out. The only problem I had with it is that, obviously, she doesn't read the book. In my opinion, it is impossible and unfair to rail against something if you have not experienced it.

I believe in knowing your enemy, and I believe that it is easier to debunk and mock something if you have experienced it. Hell, it's the same as trying new food. Don't you just get pissed off when you make something but someone won't try it because it has...tomatoes? Or mushrooms. For heaven's sake just try the damn thing! That's what I want to say, and for that reason, I am taking one for the team. I am going to read Fifty Shades of Grey. I may not get past the first chapter. But at least I will feel as if I can validate my reaction to it.

Look out for my thoughts and opinions as I read this book!

The Wild Grad Gets a Job

Well. It has finally happened. I'm not talking about the fact that I am finally back on this blog. No. I am talking about the fact that I have gotten a job. Yes. Me. The girl who spent the past five months lounging around her best friend's apartment doing nothing because she didn't ever want to leave college.

In February, I looked around in the vastness of the Internet and found a job writing for an online company. That first month I made big bucks and naively thought that I would live a cushy life writing articles for restaurants and clubs. The next few months, however, saw a steep drop in my pay. I just wasn't getting enough assignments to cover the expense of driving three hundred miles each month.

I next attempted to find freelance work. I got several minor jobs and a few large ones. The pay was great, but again the work was not consistent enough to live on. In despair, I realized that I would have to find a "real" job.

Even though I have my teaching license, I had no interest in finding a job as a teacher. I had given up my writing in college in order to focus on my education degree, but now I had the writing bug and I had it bad. I didn't want a job that would take up so much time that I wouldn't be able to write. I just wanted something to pay the bills so that I could continue to eat. I like to eat. Food is yummy.

I looked for office assistant and receptionist positions. I figured that I wouldn't have to take any work home with me and would be able to work on my writing in the evenings. This did not pan out. The jobs that were real were too boring, and the others tried to steal my identity. One almost succeeded. It was terrifying.

Finally I found an ad for a receptionist position open at a local charter school. It occurred to me that this could be perfect. I would be around students, but I wouldn't have to completely give up my writing in order to focus on them. I would be a part of the education community without being exclusively bound by it. So I applied for the job. And I got an interview the next day.

This was the first interview that I had ever done. I was terrified. I had never worked outside of my house, so I had very little experience to draw on. But I was calm on the outside. I was confident. I was brilliant. And I got the job.

Even more exciting than the prospect of full time employment was the reaction that my interviewers had to my qualifications or rather over-qualifications. Because I have my teaching degree, they want me to teach Reading every day for half an hour as well as direct the choir. I am getting experience towards getting a full time teaching position later in life while still maintaining time to write and earning a living. Win win win.

Long story short I am over the moon right now, and it's time to do some serious writing. The point of starting this blog was to have a place for me to post little anecdotes, story ideas, and rants about my complete consternation with the idiots of this world. Get ready for a wild ride because the Wild Grad has got a job and is taking on the world.

Samantha Brinks

Let's start things off with a trending topic, shall we? No reason we can't just jump on the bandwagon and throw our two cents into the Internet morass.

If you have yet to read these articles, here are the links: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2124246/Samantha-Brick-downsides-looking-pretty-Why-women-hate-beautiful.html

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2124782/Samantha-Brick-says-backlash-bile-yesterdays-Daily-Mail-proves-shes-right.html

Within the past couple of days, Samantha Brinks has become the talk of the Internet. Why? Because she posted an article that offended a number of people, and then she had the gall to post a second article boo-hooing her hurt feelings at the responses she received.

Grow up, lady. The article was egotistical and arrogant; no one has anything positive to say about a person who comes right out and claims that she is harassed at work because other women do not like her looks. Based off of this article, I would say that the negativity she feels from people is due to her attitude rather than her looks.

Grow up, Internet. The article rubbed a lot of us the wrong way, but that is no reason to viciously attack this woman. Go ahead and state your opinion, but don't resort to name-calling and verbal attacks. You disagree with her. Fine. Don't stoop to her level of annoying.

While my initial response to reading these articles was incredulity that someone would have the nerve to write something so full of narcissism, my ultimate feeling toward Samantha Brinks is pity. The woman has an over-inflated view of herself that goes beyond self-confidence. Clearly she needed to find some excuse as to why she has few friends and why she is the pariah of her social circle. Unfortunately, by clinging to this excuse, she will never be able to fit in and get along with the people around her. I feel like she is the spoiled child on the playground, always putting people down for having less, and then wondering why she is alone.