Life is a bed of roses-- remember to watch out for the pricky bits

How is it that life can completely and utterly suck ass and such, but one is not to take life so seriously? I find myself conflicted about this almost daily. How can it be? I am a jobless (because I can't find a stinkin' job, not just cause I like chillin at home day after day after day after day after....well, you get the idea) 30 year old chunker with a measly associate of the arts degree and a car that has developed an unhealthy aversion to temperatures over -5 degrees. And yet, I just can't seem to properly wallow in round-the-clock self-misery. That's not to say I don't have the short-lived pity party now and again, but overall, I just keep figuring everything will work out one way or another. I mean, c'mon--I'm on good standing with the big guy, I'm a fairly decent human being who is kind to most children and animals (with the exception of the slimy, icky, mean ones) and I figure I've already had my share of crap sandwiches in life and such---so it has to work out, right? It always does, one way or another.

Why is it that folks say happy as a clam? Do clams really seem like overly cheerful figures to some? I personally think clams might be more of a snarky sort. Wouldn't you be snarky if your entire life was waiting to be picked up by an animal or human, only to have them beat the holy livin' crap outta ya, rip your insides out for their din-din, then chuck your sad little shell aside like garbage? Sheesh, I think that'd be annoying as heck. No wonder they suppossedly spit at ya. ( I can hear it now, "So there! Take that--right in the eye you foul beast!") I hope they aim.

I am now taking a double dose of this pay attention medicine. I feel that I can safely say it not only isn't working, it's making it worse! I have been in the middle of a sentance--in the middle of a word, and I completely forget what I was talking about. And I keep getting distracted by things that even I can normally ignore/resist. Like the birds outside my window or the BeBe's kids that live two houses down from my apartment. I should probably call my doc and bring this to his attention. But I'll probably forget. It's already fading.

Hot Fuzz looks like such a good flick. I can no wait until me and my bitter buddy can go forth and see this righteously awesome film. Wow---that sounded cheese-head-dorky-beyond-comprehension, even to me.

Who on earth came up with the title chitty-chitty-bang-bang? Or tiki-tiki-tembo-no-sae-rembo-blahdy-blakdy-blahdy-blahdy-blah? I know I dig weird names and all, but come on. I would never get a pet and name it something like horse-radish-shovel-doo-doo-loo-loo-boolly-woolly-grits-remote-control-shiny-chicken! That would be just plain wrong. What kinda whackos are these people? Good grief!

Asta luigi!

Me vs. the bat

Bats are fascinating creatures. And kinda cute in a strange, twisted sorta way. I know a lot about bats--I watch the discovery planet and animal planet and such. I know that they very rarely actually carry rabies and that they are intelligent and they don't suck blood and they don't particularly care about humans in general. See, very knowledgeable and analytical--in theory. In reality, not so much.
Several years ago I had a bat get into my apartment. In theory, I should have found a humane and non-traumatic way to simply guide him out the back door. Didn't happen. That tiny little bat swooped in front of my TV and I freaked. I pulled the blanket over my head and screeched like a little girl. So, I'm under the blanket and I'm thinking "It's just a little bat you big pansy! Calm down!" Well, I didn't listen to me very well but I did try to quit screeching like some deranged school girl.
Gradually, as my brain began functioning beyond primitive sissy girl level, I started forming a plan. I decided that I would wait for the bat to land on my blanket, throw the blanket over it, wad up the blanket and chuck bat and blanket out the door. Yeah, sure--great plan, right? Again, didn't happen. The second my little winged visitor landed on that blanket I started spazing out entirely. My hands and feet started flapping like beached fish and I resumed my high-pitched ear-drum-piercing screeching. It is likely that I scared the ever lovin' crap outta that poor bat. And anyone who tries to give me that crap about the bat being more afraid of me than I was of him---not a chance in hell dude. That bat probably spent the whole night laughing at my chickenshit-ness.
For the first time in my entire life, I slept with the blanket pulled over my head. I didn't even do that when I was 6 and absolutely convinced that the boogeymonster was lying in wait under my bed for cripes sake! But I did it to hide from a bat that was roughly the size of a matchbox car. I have mentioned the chickenshit gene flowing strongly and cheerfully through my veins, right?
The final insult was that the bat disappeared by the time I woke up the next morning. I tantrumed my boyfriend and my landlord into searching the entire apartment for that little bugger. They found no trace of him--and told me so while giving me looks that clearly stated they thought I was imagining things. Darn bat.

That there shiny chickens mast head thing totaly rocks!

Dori kicks ass! She made me the beyond awesome shiny chicken header thingy...the mast head. That thingamajig is sooooooo cute! TY Dori!!!!!

Had my grad party today. It is absolutely exhausting to spend an entire day being pleasant and sociable and kind to all the rotten little snots running around everywhere. I must say, yet again, I LOVE MY CATS. My cats do not steal water balloons from one another. They do not go around showing their winkies to girls. They never, ever push each other on a merry-go-round fast enough to cause tummies to kick into unhappiness mode. I am extremely proud of myself for not injuring any rotten little snots today. You have no idea how much self restraint I had to call on for that feat. I now have a giant spork thingy and I find it extremely comforting-- kind of like my life line.

I am so tired. I didn't do much of anything, so I don't really know why. Except for that whole being pleasant stuff. But I am so tired I could just drop. Oh yeah, and my feet are killing me. I wore my lime green cheapy flip flops today. And they beat up my feet. The bullies. I actually have big ol' bumpy/knotty things on my feet from those diabolical flips. It hurts to walk. That sucks alot. What am I supposed to tell people when they see me hobbling around like some old cripple? Flip flop injury? How embarrassing would that be? Only me, these weird injury things only happen to me.

Later gators!

Why I do not plan to live in the country--ever.

I stayed with Rae Thursday and Friday night. She lives in a teeny-tiny little town near a slightly bigger tiny town. She lives in a cute little house right along the river. It is, in theory, the perfect place to live. I don't agree in the least. For one thing, I have seen a snake chillin' in the weeds, just waiting to sink it's evil fangs into innocent ol' me. And then there's the noises. People who carry on about the "quiet living" in the country---full of crap. It is noisy out there. And the noises are scary noises. Like fighting raccoons screaming at each other and pigs screeching in unhappiness and unseen creatures rustling around and stuff splashing into and out of the water. I do not care for these sorts of noises--not even a little. I'll take sirens and speeding cars and people yelling over those sounds any day. Quiet living my aunt fanny.

Another unpleasant faucet of country living is the numerous smells, many of which are downright vomitus. Between the skunks and the farm animals and the road kill and the hillbillies--the smells are enough to make your sense of smell contemplate making a run for it. Just yuck. And stuff.

Gravel roads suck ass-- 'nuff said.

I find bugs ucky. There's lotsa bugs in the country. Makes me all itchy just thinking about it. *shudder*

Waving. Everywhere you go some goober's waving at you like you're their best buddy. It's real friendly and all but, well, it's just not something I can summon enthusiasm over. I mean, jeez. I feel so dorky with my hand bobblin' around at someone while my face is clearly saying, "Who the hell is this goober I'm waving at? And why am I waving at them?" It's kinda like being one of those hula bobbles except only your arm is bobbling.

And what's with all the fresh air? Did you ever stop and think that maybe, just maybe, a little pollution smog mix is good for ya? I mean, ya gotta toughen your lungs up somehow, right? Maybe clogging them up with the pollution and such makes your lungs nice and sturdy. Okay, I'm reaching a bit. But still, fresh air in the country is a myth. Remember the smell issue mentioned above--there is nothing fresh about the smell of roadkill and pig poop and rotting fish and cow dooky and skunk stink. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

And it is really dark out there. I like streetlights---lotsa street lights. The dark is kinda unnerving actually. Don't like the uber dark found out in the boondocks. Scary noises are even scarier in the uber darkness. My chicken shit gene has convinced me that that kind of dark is bogeyman enticing dark.

Thank God I'm a city girl.

Procrastination Rocks!

In homage to a fellow procastinating, ADD-suffering, just plain wacky blogger--Dori (aka: Nessa) I will relay my similar method of avoiding neccessary duties.

Tomorrow is my much dreaded ASL final. I should be studying for it and I am aware of this fact. And I intend to do just that....when I have absolutely no choice. As an alternative to doing this vile, destestable task, I have busied myself with many pointless time-passers. Here is my list of things I've done to avoid studying for aforementioned ASL final:

1. Play spider solitaire at least 75 times because I just have to play untill I win and then when I do win I must play until I win again....and so it goes.
2. Cruise the web as though I actually have some sort of purpose there.
3. Watch mundane television shows about people who reproduce like bunnies on steroids.
4. Stare blankly at nothing for long stretches of time while contemplating the meaning of life: is there more to life than shiny chickens, my cats and spider solitaire?
5. Chat with my cats as though they give a rat's ass what I'm saying when the word food is not involved.
6. Drink excessive amounts of mountain dew and koolaid.
7. Run to the bathroom frequently to donate processed dew and koolaid to the porceline god.
8. Set up an elaborate battle between my stapler and my cutsie desk decor toys.
9. Re-read a mystery novel even though I remember not only who-dun-it, but how as well.
10. Blog about pointless frivolities.

So there it is, the procrastinators list of how not-to.

Later!

Cadaver Day was soooo cool

This morning I willingly woke up at 7 and was showered, dressed and out the door by 7:45. My good buddy Bitter Boy asked his instructor if I could join their Human Bio class for today so I could take part in today's lesson. You see, in my Human Bio class we never saw any actual human stuff--we got to see a baby pig disected and a rat heart, no human junk at all. Bitter Boy's class was going to see a human cadaver and the instructor dude let me tag along. It was soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo cool! It was like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one! So anyway, we trooped up to the cadaver room and crammed into the tiny space to crowd around the table. On said table was The Cadaver.
WARNING: the following sentences may be a bit much for those of you with wimpy tummies. The Cadaver's skin had been removed from most of the body to allow viewing of the muscle structures. I'll sum this up as much as possible so that y'all don't get too icked out. Instructor pointed out various things, explaining an abnormality in one lung and such. Myself and 3 others stayed after the rest of the class had left to examine things a bit more closely. I got to examine the heart, lungs, intestines, gall bladder, liver, diaphragm, spleen and so forth. By examine I mean poking around and such. I found out that the gall bladder is green and that a belly button looks downright weird when there is no tummy skin around it. Coolest morning ever in my book.
Okay, welcome back to the wimpy tummy folks! When the instructor had finished pointing out stuff he announced that people could leave if they wanted or stick around for further explanations and the like. I crap you not, that room cleared out as if he had announced that he was preparing to detonate a nuclear warhead. It was hilarious, only like 4 people stayed--including me and Bitter Boy.
Well, that's it for now. Blog at cha later!

Um...huh...this could be cool

Well, I suppose this could work for me. Kind of a boring look though, wouldn't you agree? I mean, geesh--no obnoxious colors or anything. Bet I can fix that eventually though. Maybe make it that pink that leaves your eyes feeling blinky and scorched....hm...the idea has merit.

I have to scoot though, Nia has some little kid school singing thing. I'll write more later.

Toodles for now!