Call The Media, Tell Them We’re THROUGH

Alright. I will admit I was fully prepared to blog today about the charms of SP2 (We’re going to call him Brad Pitt, because there is an ever so slight resemblance. THIS IS NOT THE REAL BRAD PITT). I was going to wax on and on about his charm, and even though he can be very, very charming, he has an issue with figuring out that just because we’re casually dating doesn’t mean I’m going to go picking out engagement rings like he thinks it does.

So yes, Brad and I went on a date. And we even had plans for a second, despite dealing with his off and on again-ness. However, we are now “playing it by ear.”

I wish I was joking. I really do.

He wants me to be waiting to possibly drive two hours round trip to go see him. A day when all of my friends there would be out of town. Now, if this was a for-sure date with a man who had never ran away from the idea of being with me, and an all day date, I would consider it. But seriously? You want me wait around like some sort of 1800’s housewife whose entire existence is dependent upon her husband’s whims?!! I THINK NOT SIR. I THINK NOT.

So I bid an almost adieu to Brad Pitt. While things looked very promising between us, in the end, I’d rather not have you leave me after many years for some big-lipped skank, even though the entire world would choose me over you.

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

Let’s Get This Show On the Road!….aaand then head right back. Then we’ll really go.

Officially, I am in my junior year of college. My apartment with B is all pretty-fied and decorated with Where’s Waldo posters, mustaches, a “Believe” poster for Sasquatch, and a bajillion other random awesome things. Maybe I’ll post pictures. But for now, below is our shower curtain.You can get your own from Urban Outfitters:

Anyways, The Place Where the Awesome People live is on the first floor, which was such a miracle when moving stuff in, especially since I have been living on the third floors of buildings with no elevator. Also had to move in mini-fridges. Not fun. But not this year! This year is magical. No mini-anything to move in, we have a dishwasher, a kitchen and laundry machines you don’t have to walk the gauntlet and the Mojave desert to get to, and NO STAIRS. Let me repeat, NO STAIRS. This may be slightly more exciting to me than you, so let me explain. Last year, I partially dislocated my left knee. While this may seem less severe than tearing something, IF YOU TEAR SOMETHING THEY CAN DO SURGERY TO FIX IN. If you FULLY dislocate it, they can pop it back in and you’re fine. If you partially dislocate, you are up Coffee Creek without a stirrer stick. So they sent me home with an exoskeleton and the instructions not to do a ton. Then I’d start Physical Therapy. So yeah, stairs were evil is the moral of the story.

Back to the apartment. So this apartment is perfect. Not tiny, not so big I’ll get lost or it looks empty. There is only one down side to this place. And that is that WE ARE ON THE FIRST FLOOR. Yes, this is counterproductive to my point before. But that was before I heard the party monkey-screechers who live upstairs. I swear they had a herd of horses galloping around up there last night. I was not amused. Since classes haven’t started yet, I can see their side, but if it happens every weekend, I WILL go all Evil Queen on their asses. Like this:

Actually, this will be nothing in comparison. Anyways, even with the trampling dinosaurs upstairs (notice I am not calling them elephants because I love elephants. I also love dinosaurs. Except velociraptors, Those were ruined for me by Jurassic Park. So they’re now velociraptors), the apartment is spectacular….

Okay, seriously velociraptors, it’s not even noon. No drum circles. This blog is so turning into “Dear Assholes above me”.