A Letter for Far In The Future

My mom is the best mom ever. She’s the main reason I want to have kids someday. So today I sat down and thought about what I could say to my future kids. I can’t tell them how I met their father because I don’t know yet. But here the jist of what I want to tell them.

Dear Beloved Baby,
I don’t know you yet. I don’t know when or if I’ll ever have you. What I do know is that I love you already. I don’t know if you’ll be a scholar, athlete, musician, artist, or any combination of the four or something that hasn’t even been invented yet. I don’t know if you’ll look like me or if you’ll have my genetic quirks. I don’t know how  many temper tantrums you’ll have, but I do know you’ll have them. I know I won’t be as perfect a mom as I want to be and I know the whole time I’ll be scared my actions would land you in therapy. I know you might get mad at me when I tell you no. Just know I love you, even now, years before I meet your father (if I haven’t yet), years or decades before you exist. I love you with ever fiber of my being. I chose nursing over medicine so I would be able to be there with you more, so the debt would not separate me from being there and present in your life. I want to be there for you ever step of the way. I never want to miss a moment. I want to be there when you lose your first tooth, to be there to bandage you up, whether it be a serious thing or just startled. I want you to never, ever doubt that you are loved and that I would do anything for you. I love you so much my dear child and you don’t even exist yet. I will always be there and nothing, not death, finances, anger, tragedy, or disagreeing with my disbeliefs will ever stop me from loving you. Even if you never exist, I will still love you. I want to do well in school not just for me, but for you. Your life will be better for every good choice I make. I want you to have it all, everything and anything. I want you to value people over things and know the value of hard work and its rewards. I want you to laugh, to love, and to know joy. I want you to learn that true strength is not letting the tragedies of life taint your spirit and how even in the darkest of times, God is always there and has a plan that is far better than we can imagine. I want you to know the bitter are the ones who are scared of being looked over again or hurt again and how they need to be shown love. Remember no person is better or worse than each other, they each have their own battles and demons. Always show and demonstrate kindness, it is free and can mean the world to someone. I know that it does for me. I want you to be able to come to me about anything and everything. There so many other things I can’t even think of now, but just know that no matter who you are, I already love you.
Love,
Your future Mommy

Leo, The Lionhearted

Ok everyone, I’m back to being myself. And boy, do I have some serious stories for ya’ll. Let us begin with a recap of le weekend:

Saturday: Joined le family for a jaunt to Seattle to go see King Tut. WHICH WAS AMAZING.

King Tut. There was actually a cat-sarcophagus there. And tons of awesome stuff. And this is a Steve Martin SNL skit/song, so youtube it if you don’t know.

Eventually meander home.

The rest of the week has been rather unremarkable. Discounting the ultimatums about deciding I wanted my books and things back from the cocreator and the minor disaster that happened with it. But that is for another story. This weekend I met someone. And it went well-sh. However, I am turning into an accidental flirt in my age of nondating. I have been exiled (self-imposed) for a couple of years. Mainly because I haven’t found any one that makes me go “OOOH THIS ONE THIS ONE THIS ONE.” It’s like finding the perfect blazer or outfit. You look at it, imagine it, try it on (as in go on a date, pervs), but something about it just doesn’t seem right. Maybe the jacket fits wrong on one arm, the pants have a frayed hem, the shirt has a tiny hole. Just something feels wrong. Maybe you imagined it’d better fitting, more flattering, less obnoxious. Just whatever it is you want, you know this is not it. Maybe it doesn’t really thrill you. Maybe you’re just unsure. Maybe it looks perfect but it’s so uncomfortable or trendy that it’s not you. Just whatever it is you want, you know this is not it.

Thus has gone my last few years. I haven’t been searching actively, merely window shopping. If the window looked particularly appealing, I’d maybe step in the shop, get to know the person as more than just a friend while keeping a close distance from both the dressing room and the register. Cause that register is where shit gets real. I mean, I may have daydreamed about the walk to the register, parading my new outfit to everyone I know saying “I LOOK SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU BITCH”  unless I like them and then it will be a squeal accompanied by a “BE JEALOUS OF MY OUTFIT” to which any good friend dutifully replies “Oh my gosh WANT ONE JUST LIKE IT IT’S PERFECT FOR YOU I HATE YOU” kinda thing. If your people are civilized, your exchange will be less profane and less satisfying than mine. My people are loud. Like me. We say what’s on our minds. We try to lovingly, but when in doubt, cut to the chase.

So basically, I’m not looking to settle down. I feel like I need to proclaim this to the mountain tops every time a friend of mine gets engaged or meets the guy she’s definitely going to marry (Friend number 273498274982734872, I AM LOOKING AT YOU.) (She doesn’t know it’s her. We all know though.) Because what do people do at weddings? Be selfish, of course. I also would have accepted drinking as an answer. They start thinking about their own lives. I get scared when I start thinking that way. I panic and run out of whatever imaginary shop I’d looked at in my imagination’s imagination.

That’s right, I WENT THERE.

But seriously, I want to graduate nursing school with good grades, get a job, pay off my debt, travel, do something nice for my family, start saving for my little sister’s college fund (Mom, if you tell her I will be upset at you. And with you. That upset.), get pets, buy a house with a huge yard, and maybe eventually get married. EVENTUALLY. IF. THIS IS NOT A WHEN, IT IS AN IF. However, I do know I want to be a mom so we’re presented with the above issue again.

Look at the poster. You know you want to. It’s Leonardo DiCaprio for crying out loud. WITH JOSEPH GORDON-LOVETT. I love that man. And I think I misspelled his name. Whooooopsie.

There was a point I was making here. Oh, wait, wasn’t making a point, was telling a story. So I’m chilling with friends at some guys’s house off campus (friend of my friends) and there was this really cute guy there. They were playing FIFA soccer when all 5 of us got there, 2 other guys showed up later, so you know it was like 10 people total. Anyways. So to backtrack, I did in fact see the Bayern/Chelsea game but only at the behest of Vase Friend and a foreign SPM. I was in their city visiting them. I have never played soccer, I did want to once, but my mom did me a favor and said no to that bandwagon. I was doing a bajillion other things, would’ve been too much. I did in fact pay attention to this game, because Vase Friend and I played basketball and we were maaaybe making fun of a bit. BUT THEN IT GOT SUPER INTENSE. MORE INTENSE THAN MY YELLING RIGHT NOW. So we were laughing at the foreign SPM who was right next to the screen was nearly crying because Bayern lost by one penalty kick, which was pretty weak sauce if you ask me. So back to the story of this weekend: one of the FIFA teams is Chelsea. So without even thinking, I open my loud mouth and say “Oh Chelsea, I watched them play Bayern in the Euro Cup finals this summer. That game was heartbreaking.”  And the RCG (really cute guy) whips his head towards me and says in almost awe “You know soccer?” To which I should’ve been honest and said “Not really, but could you explain it to me?” No. My big mouth says “Not a ton, but I’m definitely a Bayern supporter. Chelsea isn’t bad, but they’re kinda like the Lakers of the soccer world.”

This is the extent of my soccer understanding except that no one can use their hands unless they are the goalie (pardon me, keeper) or tossing it in bounds. Please don’t rip my head off, I’m new here.

THE RCG THINKS I AM AMAZING AND REMEMBERS MY NAME. He never forgets it the entire night and he forgot pretty much every one else’s names at least once. But nope, not me. Because I know soccer and am a cute girl. In shorts. So he ends up putting an arm behind me on the couch and I’m thinking “What is he doing?” Not in a “ERHMAHGERD CURT GUIII MERKING A MERVE”, in a “Does he have space issues with everyone or just me?” type thing. Because I in my non-looking mind frame am not noticing the attractive level of this RCG, nor that he is super intelligent and we’re having deep conversations about things unrelated to our immediate surroundings or that  he keeps finding excuses to get into my conversations with others (not that he’s butting in, just observing) or even that his arm goes behind where I’m sitting (on the top of the couch again pervs). I simply do not notice. Because I am not looking. And I am an idiot and have never been good at this in general. So suddenly, this random arm gets around me. And in a semi-tired state, I look at it and ask myself “Who is the hell does this belong to?” Look over. RCG is shyly grinning at me. So I think “meh, what the heck. My guy friends so this sometimes. Maybe he’s just being friendly.”

Yes Past Self, you are a dumbass. He was soooo making a move. A jump that was kinda like the Pacific Northwest to Libya in 2 seconds for all the likelihood that my brain would recognize it. He ends up kissing me. Which was nice but meh. So I’m just a bit bemused by this whole situation and joke to him “You only like me because I know soccer.” To which he says “No, but it doesn’t hurt.”

Let’s cue the facepalms for my stupidity. Ready? Go.

eeeeeeven more facepalms. I am Major Oblivious

So I make an excuse to leave when one of Friends does because my awake brain kicks in and goes WTF JUST HAPPENED HERE GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE SO WE CAN PROCESS THIS. Friend is kinda surprised I’m leaving because apparently she and the rest of the world noticed he’s seriously attractive. And ripped. And intelligent. Basically, he looked great in the window of that imaginary store. However, I personally am not thrilled about an outfit that throws itself at anyone remotely good looking that knows soccer. So  I resolve for that to be The End Of THAT. And promptly crawl into bed and fall asleep. Unbeknownst to me, RCG has decided that is not the end and his friend is texting Friend 2 for my number to give to RCG. The problem with that scenario is that Friend 2 and I just because friends recently and Friend 2 and Friend are roommates, which is how we met. So Friend 2 asks Friend for my number to give to RCG’s friend to give to RCG. Apparently he is being semi-obnoxious about it too. Friend, being my friend, thinks it’s sketchier than a cartoonist in 1740 to give out my number without my permission (ATTENTION ALL: THIS IS A HALLMARK OF A REAL, SANE FRIEND. HAVE AT LEAST ONE.) and texts me asking for my “ok” to give it to Friend 2 to give it to RCG’s friend to give it to RCG. However, I am sleeping. When I am sleeping, NOTHING can wake me up. Well, 4 things: my cat, my mom, my alarm clock, and maaaaaaaybe a lion roar. So this message doesn’t reach me til the next afternoon and I check my phone. The RCG realizes his friend is being obnoxious and just tells him to give Friend 2 his number for her to give to Friend for her to give to me.

Old fashioned game of telephone,  anyone?

So I wake up to the fact that he wanted my number and that I have his. Being an awkward person, I have not a clue what to do with this information. Do I call? Text? Run around screaming “WHAT THE HECK?!!!!!” So being firmly entrenched in a “This won’t matter in 5 minutes because he won’t respond”, I gather up my nerve and say “Hey, this is Aurora from last night.”

And I’m right. There’s no reply. Until three hours later. I’d already beaten him mentally and moved on to doing so to Friend for telling me I needed to go for it when I get a text apologizing how late he is responding and he tries to strike up conversation. I am wary, but we chat off and on all day. And yet when I got stuck “babysitting” two drunk people that night, all I could think was “I’d so rather be hanging out with RCG and the people from last night instead of being at this loud, crowded, ‘awesome’ party.”

May I specify this as weird behavior? Suuuuper weird. I had to pinch myself and recite my curse words so I knew nothing had happened to me. Wish I’d had a token (Cough Inception Cough Cough). So when the fire alarm goes off, I think “LUCKY BREAK” and me and Friend head back to the house, where there were a few people chilling and he was one of them. Since he’s legal, I can officially say that he was a bit drunk on the night previous, which is why I teased him and didn’t take any of it seriously. So when he contiues flirting with me when he’s sober, albeit shyly and embarrassed, I start thinking “Wait, maybe he’s not just a drunk guy who thought I was cute. Maybe he legitimately thinks I’m cute.”

For me, this is a lightbulb moment. Resume facepalms for my frequent inability to distinguish flirting from friendly.

So I’m sitting next to RCG and there’s six of us or so who are sitting on the couch chilling and chatting while the television is on and suddenly there’s a hand holding mine. Now, I’m still not a propenent of the sneak attack method by guys because I did accidentally hurt a guy once because he caught me unawares. But this was sweet. So we held hands and chatted with everyone and I was kind of touched that he just wanted to sit next to me and hold my hand. I’d forgotten that people like to do that.

He hasn’t really talked to me since I left there with Friend a little while after that, but really that’s okay. Because while this jacket didn’t wear the exact way I want it to, it reminded me that I look good in jackets. Not just my straight jackets (Har-dee-har har). I don’t really need him to. I don’t want to buy anything or try anything on. But this was a good window shopping experience even though it started off weird.

Memo to guys: Buzzed kissing is better for you than her. She will probably not be feeling it at all. If you want your first kiss to have impact, be a man and do it sober.

Anyways, now when I hear all these things from family and friends of who’s having a baby, who’s engaged, when the date is, and start to feel like I haven’t done anything, I know I have. I’m thisclose to beginning nursing school and then graduating and having a real job. And if the thought-demons head towards the relationship front and try to tell me I’m lonely, I can say “I’m not lonely, I am happy. Besides, I just ruled out another outfit.”

Go forth and be brave in spirit.

I feel like a preacher and like I should say Amen.

So Amen.

Love,

Aurora

On A Serious Note

So this blog is basically a place for me to vent and ponder, if you all haven’t noticed. The thing that is on my mind today is abandonment. This a serious post and I promise I’ll get back to the funny pictures and random comments soon but for now, I need to talk about this.

As I have referenced in my previous post, I am not close with one of my biological cocreators and it’s not my brilliant, lovely, amazing mother. It’s the sperm donor.

He left my mother and I in the lurch when I was four years old. He left her with a new house, two dogs, two cats, and a four year old. She was a stay at home mom. They had moved here from hundreds of miles away when I still in utero and she had no real family or true friends here. She could have gone back home. She could’ve done so many things. But because she herself grew up without a father, although hers was lost to death, not because he wanted to leave. She was strong. I am so very, very proud to come from a long line of tough women who when faced with adversity, they pull themselves up by their bootstraps and carried on. We do what has to be done. We keep on.

When he left, he broke her heart, but not her spirit. She kept on. She needed to for me. She could’ve gone home. Some days, I wish she had. I would have grown up tan and of official beach-babe status. I could’ve met some rich kid and gone off into the sunset and taken all the money in our divorce and lived happily ever after as the rich ex-wife. I could’ve grown up with all my normal family there, loving me and me growing up close to them. On the other hand, I could’ve gotten seriously messed up.

I always tried to never ask for anything I didn’t absolutely need. I’m still in the habit. I turn down things I would love and try to minimalize what I wanted. I didn’t want to be a burden. More than I already felt I was. My mother was living with a rampant undiagosed disease and had a lot going on. Money has always been tight. I never wanted to ask for anything, stemming out of guilt and independence.

 

My daddy is amazing. By my daddy, I don’t mean the man who sired me, I mean the man who stepped up to be there for me. He taught me to ride a bike, dried my tears, taught me how to change the oil in my car, met the boys I dated, was at every game and meet he could be at, knew what I liked and what I hated, knew my thoughts on my teachers and heard my off-the-cuff witticisms, and has always, always been there for me, even when I didn’t want him there. He doesn’t sleep well until I come home at night if I stay out late. This man is my daddy. This is the man I want to walk me down the aisle if that ever happens. This is the man I want involved in my future kid’s lives. This is the man that I think of when I say my daddy or dad or even father.

My cocreator can only name the last boy I dated because we were together for almost two years. He doesn’t know what classes I’m taking this term or how scared I am for nursing school next term. He doesn’t know my favorite color is yellow and he doesn’t know where I live or who I live with. He doesn’t even really care. Whenever I tried to to connect with him, he ignored me or threw money or things at me. He did this to assuage his conscience. If he has one. After analyzing all his behaviors, he could be categorized as a Malignant Narcissist according to the Brits, or as we Americans call it, a sociopath. He seems normal, but he can’t tell truth from fiction. When I was seven years old, I geared up the courage to ask him my he left my mother and I. He denied it flat out and said he didn’t leave, that my mother left him and I. This was a blatant lie. I knew it was untrue for several reasons: one, I remembered. Two, if I hadn’t, then the fact that I lived with my mom would’ve been different. Three, if she had left, she wouldn’t have kept the house. When I built up the courage to the confront him about this nearly two years later, he flat out denied he ever said that.

I am so, so tired of the lies. I am tired of not being wanted. I am an amazing person. My mother’s friends always told her how jealous they were that I never misbehaved and was a reasonable kid who listened and the biggest “disobeying” I ever did was over a can of soup (I asked Mom, she said I didn’t have time. I was starving and asked my dad who said yes. They thought it was hysterical and I fessed up. Mom was right though, I didn’t and was two minutes late. But seriously, it was worth it). I was involved with everything in high school and still in college. I am a hard worker, clever, smart, pretty, and most of all, I have spirit and courage. I am a wonderful person and he should have been fucking proud to be my cocreator. He should have been fucking involved. Because the consequence of his self-centeredness is he has no clue how fucking amazing I am. And I am. I am so wonderfully treasured and brilliant and shiny. My friends are glad to have me. My mother loves me deeply and so do my daddy and my siblings. Even his second-ex wife (still my stepmom, don’t care how many times he gets married) is still active in my life because she wants to know me and she wants my young half brothers to know me. This bastard is missing out. And even though I know I’m not missing anything, I am angry at him for missing this opportunity. He will never known me as a child. He never knew my as a teen. And now, as I am a young adult, no matter how many times I try to reach out to him, he still won’t know me. I am merely there when convient to him. He is not my father. He is not my dad. He is merely my cocreator, a genetic coincidence.

And now, after two decades of ignoring me and verbally assaulting me by trying to tear my self esteem down with either words to that exact fact, the lies, or the deafening silence that told me how unwanted I was, this bastard is moving a block and a half away from me. Now I get to be ignored in a more convenient location. Hoo-fucking-ray. This was after I confronted him this summer and told him he didn’t know who I was. He said he wanted to change that. Did I mention he stood me up on Sunday when I was supposed to hang out with him? He is on leave currently until this weekend and has he made any effort to see me? The child he claims to want to know and be a dad to?

 

Of course you know the answer. It was no. He rescheduled me to tomorrow after my little brother’s birthday celebration at my former stepmom’s house. Five bucks says it falls through too. I have no faith, no trust, and no respect for this man. But I love my daddy to death. And some part of me wants to love this cocreator too. And that’s okay. I can love him and try to respect him. But this really isn’t about the quality of who I am and it never has been. This is all his own issues. Someday, he’s going to sit down and say “Holy Shit, I missed out on my child. Who is she??” And he’ll regret it. Or maybe he never will. And that’s okay. Because I have people who love me. And most importantly? I love myself. I know my shortcomings, but I still love myself. I don’t every day and there are moments I’m not proud of. But if I don’t love me, then no one else really counts. So if you are someone who reads this and says “I have someone absent in my life”, maybe the absent person really is you. Do you love yourself? Really. Not “of course I do”, do you value yourself? Do you know that you deserve better than what you have? Whether it be in a relationship, small or large scale, or work, or anything, would you want what you have for a friend? If not, why would you tolerate it for yourself?

 

YOU DESERVE BETTER. And in scenarios like mine, you may not always be able to change that person’s actions. What you can do is change your expectations and know that it really and truly, no matter what they say or think or believe, has nothing to do with you. It’s their issues. Now, go forth and love yourselves. Do one thing that you want this week that you would normally call an overindulgence. It can be small or big, up to you.  Me? I’m going to break out sketchbooks and spend my time at my brother’s party sketching his happiness. Maybe I’ll take a bubble bath. Or make myself a hot chocolate in the morning.  The thing that kills me is that my brothers are going to realize the truth about our genetic father soon enough. The older probably has. But they’ll have something I didn’t: someone who knows exactly what they’re going through, same person and everything. Maybe I’ll even break this out and show them.

Until a more funny note comes to mind, I hope you all learn to love yourselves. Keep me updated on your ideas,

Aurora

Unda Da She!

Alrighty people. Get over it, I don’t update when I say I will. Sorry, I’m in a “knocking yo doors down in mah stilettos and beating the beejeezus outta ya’ll” mood. For which I will explain. However, let’s recap our Tuesday through Friday notes, shall we?

Tuesday: Class. Work. Unremarkable.

Wednesday: Class, where I try not to jump up and strangle the theater prof who somehow decides that I’m getting half credit on an assignment because I DID IT THE EXACT WAY HE SAID. We’ve turned in four of them and this is the first one I’m getting back. Did I mention that I tried not to strangle him? So worn out by this that after classes I go back to the apartment and take five hour angry nap. Group dinner for the building, we have some pretty cool people. MET TWO OF THE RHINOS UPSTAIRS. THEY DID NOT EAT ME. This however made me like them for they seemed okay…

Thursday: ….Changed my mind. New opinion:

Because seriously, who the hell plays loud music at 1:00 AM?!!! ON A THURSDAY/FRIDAY?!!!!!!

Work again, which just went worse. The girl who was my same shift was fine, but the closer? OOooooooh LORDY. Gurl came in, brand new and still wet behind the ears. Not dressed for work or anything. Just a little tiny freshman thang who comes in all cocky and loud. So I was originally inclined to smack her but she grew on me. Like Mold. UNTIL I DISCOVERED SHE COULDN’T MAKE A SMOOTHIE TO SAVE HER LIFE.

So yeah. Our smoothies are super easy by the way. Literally, just follow the instructions that give you ounce and scoop measurements.  They’re usually a bit on the short side, but not much. THIS GIRL MADE AT LEAST FOUR HALF SMOOTHIES AND ONE SMOOTHIE SO BAD I HAD TO REDO IT ENTIRELY. HOW THE ^#$()* DO YOU MESS UP A SMOOTHIE THAT BADLY?????!!!!!

Gerrrr. And she’d just laugh like “Oh, haha isn’t this funny?” And not make any effort to correct it.

ALL THE FACE PALMS.

Oh, and she tried to put the paper we put the sandwiches on with the sandwich through the toaster, which is something I figured she would be smart enough to get without me telling her. Coworker (not new girl) had to stop the machine and yank out the paper which was now the same temperature as the sun out with her bare hands. Well, plastic-y not-latex gloves, but still, those things do NOTHING for temperature. After work, I can’t feel the tips of my fingers for hours. Still can’t, actually, over 24 hours later.

Anyways, work on Thursday was more interesting than just a new idiot I had to train. No, I accidentally got slightly intoxicated at work. Seriously, it was an accident. You see, we have the option for salt and pepper and oil and vinegar. Our vinegar is raspberry (holy shit, did NOT KNOW THAT WAS HOW IT WAS SPELLED. Always thought it was “rasberry.” MY LIFE IS A LIEEEEEEE) something so it’s red. At work, since yours truly is Gluten Free (GF) I often make myself a “salad” in our giant 32 ounce cups because the GF wraps are tiny. Like 100 calorie bite sized. And I may be tiny, but I eat. Just ask my grocery budget. And since I don’t have to buy food (within reason) when I’m working, I eat all I can. Let me repeat: STARVING COLLEGE STUDENT. So I load this thing up and since I learned in Nutrition that vinegar is better than you for oil, I overload on the stuff. Seriously, I overload, there’s usually two standing inches of it at the bottom I chug. So, you see where I’m going? I come to work hungry, then when I make my salad, I overload on what LOOKS like our vinegar. I inhale salad and notice it tastes a bit different, but am not really paying attention.  So I finish my break, and am back to working (maintence stuff: fill turkey, sweep, clean….mainly waiting for the next customer and watching TV) and suddenly I feel super relaxed. Just relaxed and chill. And then everything seems funnier than I know it should be. My voice is louder than it should be. SO I start thinking “WTF IS WRONG WITH MEEEE?!!” Except the actual thought was “Whoa man, this is weird, hahahahaha!”

Yeah.

Then my boss comes out and hold the “vinegar” to me and says “Smell this.” So I do. Because I am “one of the guys” and have a lot of best guy friends and I abide by the smell code. And that? That does not smell like vinegar. Which I think is funny. Because unbeknownst to me, I am the tiniest bit drunk. That is when my boss identifies it as red cooking wine. And then it all makes sense. Fortunately I am somewhat of a hard weight, I may have been buzzed but I wasn’t showing it. If my boss had seen, there’d’ve been some deep shit to wade through. Specifically, “how did our underage employee get drunk at work?!!!” And I hate paperwork. So no to that. Did I mention we’ve been serving this on sandwiches to underage kids? Fortunately, I’m the only person on campus who knows and does the salad thingy. So I’m the one who actually raised my BAC level. Not amused. Soooo very not amused. Now it’s actually hilarious, but to my relaxed mind then, it was a “soooo not cool, man. Don’t know who you are, but I will find you and hang you upside down by your big toe from a Redwood while you wear black spandex and I slap you with week-old dead fish when I start caring about all of this again.”

In this scenario, I am Liam Neeson because Liam Neeson is my generation’s Chuck Norris and ERMAHGERD ITS LIAM NEERSON

So yeah. That was interesting.

Friday: Sleep late. Go to class. Try to go to play for assignment, but it is sold out. Oh, and Sperm Donor (Biological Co-creator) calls (we don’t have a great relationship and he’s been in Afghanistan, he’s home on temporary leave) (not the actual military because that would be Noble.) and oh, guess what? HE’S MOVING TO MY NEIGHBORHOOD. TWO STREETS AWAY. Soooo unamused, ALL THE UNAMUSEDS. I AM SO ANGRY I MISSPELLED UNAMMUSED AT LEAST FOUR TIMES. SEE I DID IT AGAIN!

Let us be clear: I do not have Daddy issues, because my actual Dad is my stepdad. He is the Dad. That is the cocreator. Because even idiot/assholes have good ideas sometimes.

So today’s been pretty crazy. Although I did go grocery shopping and I ate a whole bag of brussel sprouts and now I feel better.

I’ll have more details about the weekend and various other rants soon. If there’s a topic any of you want me to rant about, let me know in the comments

Okay, so I really need to get going, but I’ll go into more details about the whole cocreator scenario and everything that happened today soon, that was a quick recap.

Hope you all have unaccidentally drugged and nonjerk crashing weekends!

Aurora

Marco? Oh, Marco fell into a cement mixer full of quicksand

First things first, I need to apologize to you all. I promised many things I did not deliver. I followed Cogsworth’s advice.

“You know, the usual: flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep.”

So,  just a quick airing of my shame: Went onto pinterest to hopefully find that exact meme. Spent so much time on pinterest I had to log back in to blog. Le sigh.

A recap of le weekend, picking up where we left off:

Friday: Ending up going sundress and flats. Mainly because when Friend came back to apartment, the exchange went like this:

Friend: Soooo, everyone’s wearing sun dresses and flats.

Me:….damnit. Which dress should I wear?

(For the record, I have like 4 sundresses, either black or white, three patterned and one pure white that my lovely Mom brought me back from her trip to Rome. No way was a wearing a white dress to a Mexican restaurant, so my options were slightly limited.)

Friend: Umm. That one.

Me: Ok.

So then we all pile in cars and go to this cute Mexican place in Town and call it good. I however, totally and completely forget to get a picture of my tortilla soup because I am an idiot. Plus, it was tortilla soup. I can make better tortilla soup, one preferable without green onions. Staff sings Happy birthday to Friend 2 and put crazy awesome somebrero on her that she gives back, despite my pleadings for her to keep it. Go back to Friend, Friend 2 (Birthday girl), and Friend 3’s apartment (they live together) and have ice cream cake where I intentionally gluten-ized myself. It was on accident at first, because I wasn’t even thinking about it. But it happened. My body and immune system must’ve been in a forgiving mood because I didn’t have a vomiting migraine or anything the next day. However, I dare not put my life and ability to go 2 minutes without running to the bathroom at risk ever again. Plus I hate migraines. Proceed to go back to Apartment and watch Arrested Development for hours.

SO EXCITED FOR NEW SEASON AND MOVIE. SO EXCITED.

Saturday: Wake up late. Missed message from Mom saying “weren’t you coming home this morning?” Whoops. Wake up. Pack. Drive home. Help pressure wash house. Go hang out Friend. Be background support for Dante’s Inferno levels. Go to see “Memphis” the play with Uncle G (short for Gibbs. He is Gibbs. More later) and out to a FANTASTIC DINNER where I could have taken food pics, but since it’s a Morton’s, the whole looking like a noob thing is frowned upon. Get home.

Sunday: Sleep. Help paint. Dance with family and sing along to DISNEY PANDORA. Go spend day with Friend. More Dante, walks, make dinner, jokes and laughs. Head home. Chill with family. Pick up Guy who needed a ride back to school, go back. Get back. Relax.

Monday: Migraine ate my day. Until around one, when I finally started feeling better. The problem is now I’m up. Because I slept. Covered for Friend. Ran errands. Yay.

By the way, new favorite song between family and I and Friend. Check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSBFehvLJDc

I’m trying to think of something to rant about, but really can’t think of anything. When I was trying to put some bucket on a shelf, the bucket fell back off and hit me only in the nose. This should tell you something about my face. My mother quipped that she didn’t think I was Barbara Streisand when I told her. Hardee-har-har.

Umm. I have to sing part of The Do-Re-Me song in Beginning Vocals tomorrow. This should make for an interesting post. So in summery, today’s post is somewhat not exciting, but the one Wednesday will be awesome. I do intend to keep this promise. I will even post food pics.

Til Wednesday,

Aurora

Niner to Tower, We’re out of Fudgesicles

Well, I thought I’d have all these interesting stories to tell you all. But the only interesting things that happened today were that I did my laundry, went to Stats, showered (that is interesting, actually. My hair is so long washing it takes a good fifteen minutes), nearly watched my Stats prof pass out, and put on make up. The sad thing is that me actually putting an effort into my appearance other than brushing my teeth and stuff like that IS an excited thing. Friend popped into visit the apartment before we go out for friend 2’s birthday in about half an hour and said “Oh my GOD what’s the occasion? You have makeup on and look HOT! Where were you going today?”

This is me, realizing that putting on makeup (just the basics, mascara, tiny eyeliner and powder), cute clothes. and brushing out my hair now means that I’m going somewhere important.

Today, I finally did one of those pinterest work outs I have pinned in a fit of “I gotta get back in shape!.” It’s called the Brazilian Butt Workout and IT HURT. Not terribly, but ouch. Mainly my knee. May have to get that checked out again. It mainly sucks because there’s not even a guy making me weak in the knees, then it’d be semi-acceptable. But nooooo. Naps make me weak in the knees.

The other semi-interesting thing I have to report is I went (again for Theater. I think I have a 200% in that class now, and if I don’t I will find the professor and yell monologues at him until I do) and volunteered in the Set shop. So I painted things. Which is slightly ironic because not this summer, but the two before it I painted house semi-ish-prrrrrrofessionally (rolled r). All the ones I worked on turned out beautiful, that’s all I’ve gots to say about thats. But I did get paint all over my face and self so I guess I’m out of practice.

Alright, I’d better start looking for the perfect combination of clothes for tonight. Friend and I had a great deal of confused exchanges about what exactly we should be wearing to friend 2’s dinner out. It went like this:

Me: So is it formal?

Friend: I don’t really know. She said casual formal.

Me: Sooo dresses with flats? Jeans with heels?

Friend: Something like that, I think. I’m wearing my dress with flats.

Me: Okay, I’ll do my jeans and heels? But I have these huge ass blisters…(shows)

Friend: EWWWWWW.

Me: I KNOW RIGHT?!

Friend: Wear flats.

Me: But then what do I do?

Friend: WEAR YOUR BLAZER I LOVE THAT BLAZER.

Me: Oooookay.

Friend: I’ve gotta go, see you soon! (leaves)

Me: What just happened here?

Silence.

B: You wanna go with me to Big 5?

Me: Umm, I have the dinner thing. What’s at Big 5?

B: Shoes for running (I didn’t quite catch the first thing) and socks.

Me: Socks?

B: Yeah, I figured that’d be the best place in town to get them.

She’s totally right. B, remind me to get fudgesicles.

Oh wait. She doesn’t know this exists. Damn. Okay, you all remind me to get fudgesicles while I spend the next 20 minutes figuring out what to wear and redoing my hair and make up. I look like I just rolled outta bed. I’m sure friend 2 would be okay with this, but I already promised friend 1 and she may kill me if I don’t put in effort.

I’ll post food pics from the place. That counts right?

Aurora

Or Ask The Grinning Bobcat Why He Grins

So, don’t know if ya’ll have heard, but this loverly Sara over at http://nopurplewalls.wordpress.com/ had her baby! Super excited for two reasons: one, she’s back to blogging and this is one of the three women who inspired me to finally make my own blog. Plus she made me laugh for three minutes straight one time. It was timed. And second: ADORABLE BABY PICTURES. Because I love kids. Kids are ADORABLE. Especially when I don’t have to take care of them. Mainly when I don’t have to. The tiny humans are a handful, and as I already have a hard time managing myself, the addition of one is not likely until waaaaay after I con some poor hopefully not SPM into marrying my handful self. Besides, there’s no 20-almost-21 and pregnant television show so I couldn’t make any money off of it.

If you read and understand math, you might be curious about the other two bloggers who inspired me to get my own. One of them is Laura, She of the Flying Monkeys. ALL HAIL THE MONKEYS. Seriously, this woman is hysterical and I adore her. My uncle jokes that if he was ten years younger, he’d have assasinated J and already be wining and dining her. Laura, he doesn’t actually want to kill J, he just thinks you’re perfect. So check out her blog here : (warning, she curses. I do too, but still.) http://www.fetchmyflyingmonkeys.com/

The last one is my own dear beloved mother. She’s very badass. She mainly blogs about quilting, her unaverage life (face it, I’m one of her daughters, did you think she’d have a normal life?), our six cats and a dog, and gives a seriously awesome book review. I adore her and find all of her jokes to be amazing and while this is technically sucking up, I adore her so GO CHECK THIS OUT: http://bethstrand.wordpress.com/

So these ladies are my inspiration for blogging. Now that I’ve done the shoutouts, I can get down to business to defeat the Huns. Or tell you about my life.

Oh crap, almost forgot: This was the fourth inspiration. All I can say is check out her blog http://seriouslythisreallyhappened.blogspot.com/

So, to catch you up: FRIEND ADORED VASE. ADORED IT. CALLED IT ONE OF THE BEST GIFTS HE’S EVER RECEIVED AND HE DON’T SAY STUFF LIGHTLY. So HIGH FIVES ALL AROUND!!!!

YOU ALL GET BATMOBILES. Just kidding. You get emotional batmobiles. Which is slightly better than a participation trophy. Although you did not spend hours making and obsessing over that vase. Anyways…

This is THE VASE. Not the cows. I wish I made the cows.

So this week has been crazy and I don’t mean “oh, this is a crazy day because I couldn’t get my hair to cooperate or my closet combusted.” If this week was a person, it’d be on American Horror Story. So, let’s recap, starting with last Friday:

Friday: Go home, give Friend vase. Friend adores vase. Watched friend play Dante’s Inferno (I actually love watching people play video games. I can’t play them very well, except Cow Racing on the Wii and Nazi Zombies I am improving on). Went to parent’s home (mine too) and chilled. And slept. Rescued toad from one of the cats.

Saturday: Chill with family. Head back to apartment (about an hour away). Sing like a banshee in the car and dance like I’m having a seizure. This is what I do every time I get in the car, doesn’t matter if I’m driving or if I’m not alone. It happens. My mom usually joins but my little sister (she’s 13) gets embarrassed. Which I love. So I keep doing it. Different friend from home, in celebration of her 2 weeks of summer comes down to go out partying with me and our friends at school. I, still feeling down and having lived in sweats for the past two weeks and having been single for a while decide to wear booty shorts and a tight shirt. I looked DAMN good. Like, DAYUM. If I do say so myself. I needed to wear my hot-girl disguise (Jenna Marbles shout-out).  And I do say I looked good. It paid off too. In probably two and a half hours, got asked to dance by over 10 guys (that was maaaybe an hour in, stopped counting after that), had my ass grabbed (something I thought only happened in movies) three times, and was hit on A LOT. Considering how I’m usually the girl with the oversized glasses and sweatshirts or the one working behind the counter, it was a nice change. And I met a SPM. Not that I actually know if he was, but still. It didn’t go well.

Sunday: Sleeeeeeeeeeep. Chill with friend. Friend leaves. Do homework. Make Dinna.

Monday: Read the play I wrote in Intro to Theater. THEY LOVED IT. Take that, writing peoples. Quilted while listening to rap like an awesome person. B still not feeling great.

Tuesday: Giant five hour nap for me and B. We both slept for a small eternity.  Russian vocal prof yells at me for giving an answer in class (he asked!) and actively ignores me. Screw him, went to work and PLAYED DISNEY PANDORA AND HAD AN AWESOME TIME LIKE A BOSS. B eats soup and sleeps.

Wednesday: In order to get extra credit for said Theater class, auditioned for one of school plays. Did fairly well. If I get cast, I might keel over in shock. Got called into work, but as I was auditioning got it an hour late. Because something is wrong with me and I’m a workaholic, I went in anyways just to hang out. There, we wrote things on the sleeves. Awesome things. Like this:

Can I mention we were bored? We wrote like 50 of them. And these were all my ideas.

B feels like she’s been hit by a truck. I get a headache.

Thursday: Today. Ok, so in my Human Sexuality class (I’m a nursing major and it’s an easy class) we got to see a British video of naked men checking themselves for testicular cancer. So I’ve seen more penises (penisi? peni?) today that a proctologist. Which is saying something. To top things off, I woke up later than I would’ve liked in order to get to this class that is across campus. So I had to make the decision between brushing my teeth and putting on socks. I keep dreaming my teeth are going to fall out so I chose the teeth. So I’m booking it to class and thinking “Dang, this kinda hurts” but dismiss it. Walking back, I was going “Did my quilting pins get in my shoes or something? Cause it feels like tiny gnomes are trying to mine my ankles to get to blood.” Get back to apartment: BLISTERS THE SIZE OF GOLF BALLS. ON BOTH ANKLES. NOT AMUSED. Tried to be good and not pop them. Had lunch. Went to Vocal class, where I swear to GOD until today, this prof hated me. He loves everyone else. This has never happened to me. I was always the teacher’s pet or they at least passively liked me. I put in effort, I’m smart. I may be chaotic, but I know what I’m doing. To backtrack a bit, this prof is Russian and about 6’2″ which to me isn’t tall anymore but still is impressive. He has the Russian mob accent. So today, we’re singing along and he still hates me and suddenly he says, “Okay, raise your hand if this pitch starts feeling straining”. And it hurts my voice like swallowing a porcupine. IT IS HIGHER THAN A KITE AND I COULDN’T GET IT. So I fess up and raise my hand. So does one other girl, kinda. You know, that half-hearted “oooooh, wellllllll, kiiiinda? I don’t want to be noticed though” kinda raise. You know the one, we’ve all done it. Anyways, so he says “You. Sing this.” So I do. He plays other things. He does minor corrections. I sing them better. (I am and always have been a band kid, so the singing thing is kinda new). He looks at me and declares I probably a mezzo and goes on a rant about “Mezzos are rare” and other stories. And all of the sudden, he was nice to me. BECAUSE I’M SPECIAL AND NOT JUST SPECIAL ED. HE LOVES ME BECAUSE MY VOICE IS RARE. TAKE THAT BITCHES. So, having a prof hate you (and on last Thurs, tell me “I know what to do with you” (scared me half to death. I told my mom in case I went missing that my prof did it)) and suddenly not hate you because your voice is special is super bad ass. I LOVE IT. MUWHAHAHAHA HEAR ME LAUGH IN MY SPECIAL VOICE.

Okay, so after classes, went to work. La-dee-da. New kid’s taking the closing shift which starts at 6:00pm. NEW KID DOESN’T SHOW UP TIL 7:40  PM!!!!!!!!!! THE PM IS CAPITALIZED BECAUSE  I AM STILL MAD. And of course, he’s not dressed for work and has not a clue what to do. So my coworker (who was filling in for someone else) gave him the basics and I taught him the rest. SPM (the kid) shows up,  not a clue what to do) and legitimately the first thing I asked him was if he was the guy who was supposed to be working now and he LAUGHS. This muthableeper LAUGHED. I pointed him to the supervisor’s office and said he’s better go talk to them because I couldn’t deal with him because I was about to strangle him. This is what I actually said. Word for word. He turned out to be decent and I’m sure working with him’ll get better. He’s also a freshman. That explained a lot. I also texted my mother and considered asking her to get my credit card number available for bail money. I didn’t want to scare her though. I did tell her I was going to strangle someone though. She was alarmed. And then my phone died. Let’s give my mommy a round of applause for dealing with my neuroticness.

Okay, I feel like you all are sufficiently caught up. This weekend promises to be just as interesting.

Ooooohkay. So, next couple posts will be the adventures of online dating, how to do the vase (I promise I will), the weekend, and a food porn one for…..check out Laura’s blog, you’ll get it then.

Adios!

Aurora

Pinterest….You win.

So in a spirit of generosity, I have decided to invest the length of a short relationship into making this birthday present for my friend.The friend has been going through some rough times, so I wanted to do something that invested time instead of a gift card. Plus I’m a tightwad and found something cool on pinterest. Oh! Okay, side note: my mother, the wonderful woman that she is (not buttering up to you, Mom) went to a writers conference a while ago and there, the Wondermom learned a lesson I’m going to implement on this blog. One of the instructors stated when you write people you know in fiction, give them a quality that will make them believe it’s not them. You can exaggerate their flaws or some various other thing. For men, give them a small penis. Then NO ONE will come forward to identify themselves because no guy wants that. I have one thing to say about that:

GENIUS. 

 

A little bit more genius than this.

 

 

So, all men are going to be known as SPM (small penis man) unless they have some other flaw that I can semi-good-naturedly rib on them for and girls…I haven’t figured out that yet. But this will be your reference point. This is entirely unrelated to what I’m posting about.

 

Okay, so the birthday gift. I spaced the before picture, but I saw this kickass idea on pinterest where you take a globe and print off paper copies of pictures and glue them all over it. Super badass and cheap, so I was like “EXACTLY WHAT I’LL DO FOR THIS KID’S BIRTHDAY!” So I high-tailed it to Goodwilll. Where there were no globes. Crestfallen, I was thinking of alternatives when I suddenly spotted…..

 

 

A GIANT GLASS VASE.  Which I decided was close enough. 

 

After grabbing printer ink and some glue that not even Superman could break, I got back to the apartment and started printing pictures. Stayed up relatively late (for me) working on it because I was having so much fun. I’m not done yet, but here’s a semi-finished picture. 

AH! That would’ve been dumb. I’ll post pictures once I’m finished.

Anyways, this vase is going to be a supermodel of vases. Vase Gucchi and Vase Calvin Klein and Vase Dior would be going all Chain Saw Massacre on each other over this vase. If I do say so myself. And I do say so.

Since I know you all are dying to hear about my work dramz, my supervisor decided to cut my hours EVEN FURTHER so I can keep working the whole year. While the fact that they want me around longer is nice, it still doesn’t do my wallet and my savings for paying for school any favors. So with my newly refilled printer, I’m going to print off a bunch of resumes and get all glam-ified and go around to businesses and drop off my resume. Let’s hope it works.

Additional note, went to a class to fill out the add slip (wouldn’t let me do it online) and THE PROF DIDN’T SHOW. Massive annoyingness. Did I mention the last day to sign up is Friday? Yeaaaah. 

 

I’ll post pictures of the vase and the reaction it got from mi ami—wait. From my Friend (haHA!) on some time over the weekend. Or Monday. 

Have a great professor-showing, vase decorating day! (P.S. If you mention the vase thing to someone, I can’t find the pinterest link. But I’ll do a tutorial soon because I found my new stock gift).

Aurora

Nose to the Grind. Until You End Up Like Michael Jackson. Then you’ve gone too far.

Well, Labor Day weekend was  super relaxing and chill. I hope it was for everyone else. Just for future reference: if you actually did a ton of labor, you did it wrong.

In other news, my Intro to Theater class is causing me to write a small novel. In my naivete, I assumed that “Hey, an intro class means super easy, right? Right?”

It’s like this. Except instead of a cute, adorable, snuggly giraffe you see a MEAN VELOCIRAPTOR ABOUT TO PRANK YOU. Or eat you. Either or.

 

So, tomorrow morning, I have a small novella due in that class. Have I finished? (Mom, don’t read this. You don’t want to know.)

 

Allllllmost. And what am I doing? Updating my blog. Why? Because I can get the creativity part done and that was right the crap that I have to right. Don’t get me wrong, I like this class. A lot. If it was a condiment, I’d put it all over my sandwich. I just don’t want to wrte right now. Yes, laugh at the irony. The smart alecks out there might point out I am typing. To which, I give a giant pouty face and a deep sigh combined with several eye rolls. Yes, my eyes are talented that way.

 

In other news, I picked up my new glasses today. They look rather like Carl Fredricksen’s glasses from the movie UP! If you haven’t seen it, go watch it. This instant. I’m not joking. I cried like a baby in the first two minutes because it contains possibly the greatest love story ever told. That’s right, suck it Titanic. What was I saying? Oh, that’s right. GO WATCH UP. The reason I bring up (hahahaha) the glasses is that at least four people have asked me in they’re real in one afternoon. I wanted to slap some of them with fishes.

They look like his glasses. Except I am a girl. And single. Although I did meet a super cute guy when I was working today but being the awkward single girl with the Yips (a How I Met Your Mother reference. Great show), did not get his name. Although we did have a semi- conversation which is more than I can say for myself in the past.

In other news, my boss decided I am working entirely too many hours and discovered my evil plot to run out of hours early. I don’t recall saying evil plot (you  HIMYM fans get it). Here’s how it works: federal work study gives you a certain amount of money that the government says “Hey, we’ll give this to the college so you can get a job and get paid and get like itty-bitty taxes you have to pay on it.” College says “We’ll pay you when you get a job.” The problem with this is you are only awarded so many dollars in work study money. So you have limited hours for the whole entire term. Say I was awarded $1300 in work study. Sounds like a lot right? But I was originally scheduled for 21 hours a week of work for our whole term. Ok, I don’t feel like going into it for the math because you on earth does math for fun, but even after they cut me down to 17 hours/week, I was still going to run out early. The easy solution would be to give me more money, but since they did that last term because I ran out, I don’t think they want to. So they’re taking another 4 hours out, putting me to 13. They wanted to take more, but I put my foot down (actually, I just asked nicely). I still will run out early, but this time I’ll run out of hours slightly before Thanksgiving instead of in October. Teehee. I still win. Although since they’re cutting my on my hours, I’m going to apply for the local coffee places here in town. Might as well get some extra cash, right?

Maybe not though. That’ll put me at 17 credits and two jobs. Meh, I’ve done worse. You shouldda seen me in high school!

Anyways, gotta stop procrastinating. Plus I think B’s getting sick of hearing the clacking of my keyboard while she’s studying.

Til later this week (probably tomorrow),

Aurora