Sunday, June 27, 2010

To blow or not to blow, that is the question.

What a weekend I had. I am currently exhausted from my weekend of expeditions and half asleep. This entry is a medical miracle. Friday a few of my “sisters” and I went down South for the weekend, like geese. We stayed in Saxon because June has a house there. Saturday we went to Holm for a memorial for Susan. We are all given a chance to talk to Susan’s mom, Mrs. Barri. It was exactly what I needed.

Saturday night when we got back to Saxon we all decided to go out on the town like we were Destiny’s Child. I’m Beyonce. We went to some sketchy bar with approximately 400 beers and guidos on tap. When entering the bar, the bouncer had a scanner and my license wouldn’t scan. The no-necked bouncer beefcake asked me where my “real” ID was. I assumed this was a trick question since I am actually 21, in the legal sense. I offered to show him 50 credit cards but then retracted my statement to 5. He wouldn’t take it. Before I knew what was happening my ID was gone. Another no-necked character skulked away with my one and only ID. I asked him where he was going and he replied with a quick, “I’m a cop.” I jumped back.

This “cop” or so he claimed to be was definitely not sober. He kept asking beefcake if he could bring his funnel into the bar. Classy. Before he called my ID number in, he asked if I had any warrants out for my arrest. I said no a little too quickly to suit myself. I racked my brain for any prostitution or concealed weapons charges. Nothing. After about 15 minutes of these shenanigans I started to lose my patience. My buzz was wearing off and I needed a drink… and fast. Half under my breath and half in audible speak I said, “Am I going to need to call my dad? He is a lawyer.” I received no cognitive response.

Finally, the call was received that my ID was, in fact, a real ID. Who knew? The “cop” said to beefcake, “Your scanner’s broke.” My need for a drink was so considerable that I ignored this misuse of the English language completely.

After several drinks on my part throughout several hours we decided to go home. Being the good comrade she is, June offered to sober drive. On the way home we were unknowingly driving into a death trap. A road block. I panicked slightly but then realized I wasn’t driving. This is how the story goes:
Cop: Let me see your license. Whose wine is that in the back?
June: Do what?
Cop: Who does the wine belong to?
Anna: Me.
Cop: Who has been drinking it?
Anna: Me.
Cop: Have you been drinking tonight?
June: I had a beer 3 hours ago. (WHAT?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!!?!)
Cop: Oh ok, well let’s just see what the Breathalyzer says.
(June takes hold of the Breathalyzer after admitting to drink and without objection to this test.)
Cop: Don’t hold it. You might run away with it. (This is so sexual I can barely contain myself.)
(June blows and the cop laughs. Apparently she isn’t as good as the previous blower.)

This really happened. Error #1: I didn’t cover the half empty double bottle of wine with a cork in it. Error #2: June admits to drinking to a cop during a roadblock. Really? Error #3: June takes a Breathalyzer without question or hesitation. Error #4: Borderline fellatio request made by police officer. The laughter after the blowski just took the cake. I don’t know what this means but either this cop had an extremely strange sense of humor or June’s blow exalted something worthy of laughter. Maybe he liked her enthusiasm.

These interactions with the policemen of our nation have disturbed me. These men are not what I would call “heroes.” I would instead call them “zeros.” One might even refer to these men in uniform as clowns. I’m not impressed. Maybe the firemen will give me a run for my money.

Until next time…

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Trying to make sense of it all...

Yesterday I heard horrible news, just horrible. A family friend and neighbor of mine passed away. He was only 20.

I was volunteering at Vacation Bible School when I heard this awful news… by email, I might add. My heart is absolutely broken for this spectacular family. They should not have to suffer in this excruciatingly painful way.

I know God has a plan for all of us, but sometimes it is hard to understand why He does the things He does. I have become stronger in my faith since Susan’s death, hoping to find answers to the many questions I have. After almost a year and about a million tears, I have finally come to the realization that Susan isn’t coming back. I always knew that she was gone but for some reason I expected to see her again. I had hope that death wasn’t the end of our friendship. I have peace knowing Susan is in heaven and with God now.

I have tried to understand and explain and rationalize why these young, beautiful people are taken away from us so suddenly. It can’t be explained; this is all I know.

Today I was working in the kitchen at Vacation Bible School and was talking to one of the priests and another woman named Betty that I was working with. I explained to them that I was going to Susan’s memorial this weekend and I have been feeling overwhelmed. I told them that I couldn’t make it to my neighbor’s funeral because I was going to Susan’s memorial. I told them that Susan’s older brother had died ten years before in a similar way. After the priest left, Betty told me that she had lost her first son in a car accident and her second son three years later to a skiing accident.

I felt so cruel talking about these people that I knew that had died, when she had suffered more than I have ever (and hopefully will ever) known. I told her how sorry I was and she calmly said that it was ok. “Whenever something like this happens, I feel for the parents,” she said. How could she not? She could more than sympathize for them; she could empathize. I asked her how she ever got on with her life and got over it. This wasn’t the right phrase but she knew what I meant. I have thought about Susan’s parents every day since she has been gone and wanted to understand how they might be coping. “You don’t ever get over it,” she said, “You just have to move on with your life. They would want me to live my life and be happy. I know that God is walking with me every day and I take comfort in that.”

This woman’s experience and story helped me today. I understand that I will never be able to know all the answers: how, when, or why someone dies. I believe in the afterlife because I have to. It would all be too painful without heaven.

All the strength and prayer I have in my body goes out to this family that is suffering so greatly now. I can only hope that they will be able to find comfort through knowing that their precious son is in heaven, with Susan.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Today fireworks, tomorrow the world.

This weekend I found myself traveling to strange outer limits of the universe.  The place I traveled is a land called Arkansas.  Rarely do people go to this land of wild boar noises and cut off tees, but I grappled with this adventure.  Most people seem to be in a bad mood.  This would be reason 5,678 why I didn’t go to college there.  Maybe there’s something in the water.

While adventuring in this land crawling with the danger of ex-boyfriends in every corner, I learned something about myself.  I DO NOT want to have too many children in my later years.  I became frightened when cornered by three children aged eight and ten (the eight year olds are twins) with nowhere to turn.  They wouldn’t take no for an answer.  They began crawling up my bare legs.  I had no choice but to make cheese dip.  The one good thing about Arkansas is that it is the number one consumer of Velveeta in the world; therefore there is always cheese around.  The cheese saved me from an untimely death.

I came to the realization that it is only possible to have more than two children if a parent is either a polygamist or a three-headed creature.  Thank goodness I realized this before I shot three kids out and obviously became an alcoholic, with nowhere else to turn.

While in Arkansas I took a roll on the tube.  For those of you who are uninformed the tube is an inflatable device that is built to ride on water.  I was quite the tube enthusiast back in my day and decided to take it for a whirl with my nephews.  My dad used to go easy on me, since I have a Y chromosome, but this time no mercy was seen or felt. 

I am currently waiting to make an appointment for a kidney transplant since I no longer have working kidneys and I hear they are important.  I flew off the tube like a floppy Frisbee.  Legs spread, elbows out, I tried to stay on.  Several times, I was nearly successful until the unspeakable happened.  My swimsuit bottoms began inching down.  Any schooled woman knows when such a thing happens there is no chance of survival.  You have two options: lose your bottoms or let go of the tube.  I chose the latter of the two.  I couldn’t sacrifice losing my pants and my dignity in front of these males.  I have to wear the pants in this family.  Literally.      

After exiting this crime scene of a seven year old, a four year old, two eight year olds, one ten year old, four fourty-somethings, two sixty-somethings, and an eighty-something (also known as my cluster-you-know-what of a family) I ran as fast as I could.  Just like the gingerbread man.  My family is normal most of the time, but sometimes it’s just too much.  I need my space and when I can’t get it I turn into Ursula from The Little Mermaid.  Children fear me.  After spilling wine on my dad’s boat I knew it was time to flee like the Jews.  A girl can only be so frazzled.

I found myself in another godforsaken town, this time in Mississippi.  I went to visit my boyfriend, Jake.  He is currently living in a camper and working at a fireworks stand that is conveniently located next to a Texaco.  I can’t say EWWWWWWWW enough times.  Gross.  No running water.  Small amounts of air conditioning in sweat-your-balls-off weather.  If I had balls, they would be gone.  No question.

I’m very proud of Jake for putting up with these shenanigans for as long as he has.  I couldn’t do it.  It’s just not for me.  I like my air conditioning, bathtub, and Internet, not to mention civilization.  All the folks around these parts were very nice but not quite the hottest firecrackers if you speak my lingo.  Their use of the English language was astounding.

However, there was a light at the end of this tunnel heated by the fires of hell.  I was inspired to go above and beyond my means of creativity to develop a show.  A fireworks show. 
Every summer I go to my lake house for the Fourth of July.  This year is going to be spectacular.  I have already decided.  I am going to put together an amateur fireworks show.  Perhaps if I do this well, others will pay me to do the same for them (I need some doll hairs to support my binge eating habit).  I’m currently doing research on what types and how I should do this.  If I blow off a finger or singe my eyebrows off I will be pissed.  At least I could get some nice little pain pills for that.  I’m always looking on the bright side.  I envision my fireworks show to be bigger than the average Joe’s but slighter smaller than that of Disney world.  I am also planning to be prepared if I have a rival.  If they try to one-up me I will show them who the fireworks boss is.  Never one-up a one-upper.

June and I need to go get McDonald’s.  Fat camp is next week.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

If you liked it then you should have put a drink on it.

Recently my life has been more greatly filled with drama and going out on the town than it usually is.  Usually, I am a plain old glazed, now I am a jelly filled delight.  In donutting terms.  Summer is filled with far fewer people than during the school year.  The small groups of people herd together and form strange alliances that are explored in the late hours of the night.

On Monday night, I found myself, once again, going out with all my single ladies.  Not being a single lady myself, I have found myself occupying my free time through a variety of pointless pastimes.  One of the most successful, I have found, is going out.  Now let me explain to you what going out is like in this town.  As one of my friends, Marilyn, so beautifully put it, most people go out to have a drink or listen to some good music.  Here, we don’t do that.  We go out and drink heavily until we are forced to leave the bar that we so gracefully inhabit.  This may sound borderline alcoholic binge drinking behavior and perhaps it is.  At least it isn’t every night.  That’s what freshman year was for.  We are responsible for keeping the economy up here.  I do what I can.

On this very special Monday night I found myself in an old favorite bar that wisely markets $2 pitchers of beer on Monday nights.  Genius, I know.  When we were forced to leave we walked to one of my friend’s place of residence.  (My house is too far away to walk.)  I decided I was hungry, which I have been continuously ever since my stomach virus.  Will I ever be full again?  This is quite the opposite of what Scarlett O’Hara declared so many years ago.  By and by, I was hungry.  As you might remember, a nocturnal creature encountered me a few nights prior to this.  I decided to use this information to my advantage, as any weathered businesswoman would.  I called Dominos Pizza.  I told them I had information they might find “interesting.”  I explained that I would keep the information on the vermin entering their whereabouts from the “press” if they would give me a free pizza.  A fair deal, right? Wrong.  I spoke to the manager and he said I could tell the press.  I wasn’t getting a free pizza.  Close but no cigar, as my Dad always says.  Such a wise old elf.

Why did I think this would be a smart approach?  Obviously I was trying to save some money.  Before hanging up I told the manager, “You’re mean,” and hung up.  I ended up getting McDonalds.  They were much more friendly.

My dear friend and roommate, June, has warned me that I am going to alienate each and every pizza company here.  I believe this is a false statement.  There could be no such day.  I keep the pizza business going in this town.  They couldn’t live without me… at least I hope not.

I have recently entered the category of being morbidly obese because I have been eating my feelings since I have no boyfriend around these parts.  To curb this weight gain that is ominously approaching I have been exercising quite frequently.  Today I did kickboxing.  At first, I thought I was going to trip on my own toes and knock out my very expensive teeth (5 years of orthodontia adds up), as my Mother so kindly reminded me before this adventure.  However, once I got the hang of it I was going like Kirstie Alley to McDonalds-which is what I was going to be if I didn’t engage myself in this exercise torture.  Surprisingly, I found it to be successful on several different levels.  I burned several hundred calories which is always torturous but then allows you to eat even more-Yippee!  But it also allowed me to air punch all my frustration.  It was beautiful.  I even made a few grunts as the leader suggested.  I’m a follower.  My grunts were ladylike though, not to worry.  Not Serena Williams, more like how Ryan Seacrest would squeal or rather, squall. 

I feel as if my muscles will turn to rock tomorrow.  At the very least, I hope to feel a burn in the chicken fat area of my arms.  These Oprah arms have got to go.

Until next time my fair-weather friends.  Parting is such sweet sorrow.    

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Tom and Jerry: Dominos Edition.

This morning I woke to ask myself several questions: where am I, where are my pants, and why does my hair smell of pizza?
These questions were quickly answered. I was at my friend Samantha’s house in her spare bedroom. I had stayed there after hours. My pants were on the floor. I took them off to sleep comfortably. My hair smelled like pizza because I ate an ENTIRE cheese pizza from Dominos. Dreams really do come true.
The most interesting tidbit from my night was how I acquired that juicy, saucy, cheesy morsel of deliciousness. I was hungry after I went to the bar- why wouldn’t I be? I called Papa John’s and they answered, “Papa Johns, we’re closed.” That really rubs me the wrong way. Don’t answer to a starving partially drunk girl and then taunt and tease her with what she cannot have. I even tried to get a pizza by telling her I was pregnant (which I am not) but she hung up on me. How RUDE. On I went to Dominos. After picking up my pizza I opened the door to walk out. In strolled a tiny little friend, one that was not welcome in those parts. A mouse. He walked in, sniffed the air, and then swiftly exited. A fine performance if I may. I watched these moments transpire before my eyes and after about 5 seconds screamed bloody murder. What’s a girl to do?
In other news, I got a twitter. I’m not entirely sure how to work it properly but I’m getting there. Possibly the most exciting moment of my day has been that Sara Shepard, author of Pretty Little Liars now follows me on twitter. What a life I’m living. When I received the notification for this splendid news I was nothing short of jubilant. Perhaps she will dance her way across the highways of the World Wide Web and stumble upon my little ole blog (said in a Scarlett O’Hara type voice, obviously).
When I woke up this morning I was instantly worried about the kittens; Emily Dickinson and Jane Austen AKA Emmie and Jane. I came home and called my parents. When I later spoke to my mom she said she had been worried I had been slipped a “Mickey” since I was up so early.
A Mickey? What is a Mickey? Mickey mouse? Donald Duck?
Apparently this strange vocabulary means what we call a roofie. The cultural differences between our generations are astounding.
I felt so gross after sweating my balls off in a bar last night for three hours that I bathed myself thrice today. A bath this morning to wash off the stale sweat, gross I know, but I don’t sugarcoat. A shower this afternoon to reinvigorate my hair that looked like, as my mother would say, “a cat sucked it.” This is actually a viable possibility now that I have two kittens. However, this was not the case today. I believe the copious amount of sweat my body released super soaked my hair and, in turn, my hair retaliated, as it often does. My third bathing experience was an hour ago, to try out my new bubble bath. It was lovely.
I have had a hankering, if you will, to bake a cake. It was at first a small bubble that entered my brain and now has consumed my thoughts. Maybe Bree van de Camp got inside my head while Desperate Housewives was on during my nap today. Or perhaps it is because my boyfriend, Jake, is living far off in a distant land… two and a half hours away. Maybe my brain is playing tricks on me (as it often does, especially during tests) and wants me to take this as an opportunity to brush up on my domestic skills. I’m fairly domestic in the cooking side of things- I have several specialties- but I do need to brush up on my baking. It’s much too mathy and scientific for my brain to understand it. Any suggestions for recipes I should try? I want to blow his socks off next time I cook for him. Who knows when that will be…
I couldn’t go out tonight. My liver needed a break. I will be going home next weekend, which will provide plenty of stories, I am sure.
Keep it Real.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Talk is cheap.

This is my first post. Obviously.
This blog is going to be my traveling partner throughout my last year at a dazzling college in the South. I may find myself writing part fiction/part reality but sometimes that happens. I am who I am. I'm changing all the names by request of my friends. They think they're celebrities... maybe they are.
Last night was my first night out since recovering from a massive stomach virus. The good news is I lost 10 pounds... okay, 7. I told myself I wouldn't drink too much but I'm kind of a lightweight nowadays. Especially since I puked my guts out for 5 days straight. It wasn't pretty. I believe my kittens were frightened for their dear lives, and mine.
I ran into one of my former flames. Oh boy did he have a mouth full for me. Riddle me this: do guys think that when they talk to you about how they don't want to hang out while simultaneously eye sexing you they are going to be successful? This is a serious question. I want an answer. I don't get it. To top it all off I even slipped in a tidbit about having a boyfriend and he said, "Well you should get rid of him pretty soon."
Really?...
I quickly retorted, "That will NEVER happen." As far as I'm concerned it won't.
I don't want to get too sappy here but I love my boyfriend. I do. Does this strange creature that slightly resembles a mountaineering beast think that he will be able to pull me away from this wonderful man? Wrong.
Before all of this awkward tango that I encountered at the bar (which was hotter than a baboon's backside, by the way) a little trick was played on me.
My friend, Charlotte*, sent me a text message of a picture. The picture was her left hand. I was temporarily blinded by what stared condescendingly at me from her ring finger. That’s right, and what a beauty it was. My breath caught in my chest, goose bumps (or as Pepaw calls them, goose pimples, which really grosses me out) arose on my arms and legs, and one glistening tear came to my eye. I instantaneously called her. A laughing voice answered me. I was bamboozled. She got me. Now, I pride myself in being a seasoned trickster, April Fools being my specialty. Charlotte got me.
I thought that maybe her boyfriend, who recently entered remission from testicular cancer, saw the light and realized what a gem this friend of mine is. He loves her, this I know, but it would be fun to help her plan a wedding.
In lieu of weddings, I got some fun news the other day. There is a reality show going to my hometown. This is shocking news to me. I never thought there would be anything reality-worthy going on there. The producer from “Cake Boss” contacted several women who work at a bridal boutique (which also sells dresses) and asked if they would like to participate in a reality show. I’m green with envy. I want to be famous. Maybe this blog will prove fruitful...?
Today is the 10 month anniversary of when one of my dearest friends left us. Susan. There's no need to change her name because her name said everything about her. Sweet, simple, and loving. Nothing less, but so much more. I miss her everyday and I know I'm not the only one. I wish everyone in the world could have known her. Her breath gave us life. I miss her so.
That’s all for now. I’m going out tonight so I’m sure there will be much to write about.
Au revoir.