I am Not Sure I Will Ever Really be an Adult

So most days I like to pretend that I am a put together adult... However if you have ever met me, you would know that is not even a little true. Yes, technically I am legally an adult, and I am in college and I work, but the rest of my life is a mess. Most days I am one auto-tune and hipster outfit away from being Ke$ha. I could probably deal with how awful I am about being responsible if I did not have real adults rubbing their successful put-together lives in my face.

So I work in retail in the Mall of America. I get to see tons of people every day, and many of the people who shop in the store I work in are these put together adults I am talking about. Women come in with perfect outfits. They have nice black pea coats that are spotless, they wear high heels and walk without looking like their feet are going to fall off, and worst of all they have nice manicures that are not chipped and there is never a single speck of dirt under their nails.

Then there is me. I am always covered in pet hair. It does not matter if I use that little lint rolly thing or not, there is always hair all over me. My jacket is missing two buttons even though I just had them put back on like three weeks ago. Did I sew the buttons back on right after they fell off? Hell no, I am way to lazy for that, instead I just tighten the belt on my coat and hope for the best. The worst part of me on any given day though is my nails. Because I have to peel stickers off of pricey sunglasses I cannot wear acrylic nails for fear of gouging lens, so instead I just paint my nails. No matter how nice of nail polish I use, the number of coats, or how careful I am about ten minutes after painting them they are chipped to shit. If I don't paint them, there is constantly dirt underneath my nails. I am not sure how the dirt gets there, but it always does.

Notice that every single one of my fingers has chipped polish.

Oh yeah and I am always the queen of wardrobe malfunctions. I am lucky if it only happens once a week, but it seems like every day I have my skirt tucked in to my tights or have my bra sticking out of my shirt. As someone who wears a skirt or dress every single day, you would think I 'd have enough skill to at least keep my ass covered. Nope (Chuck Testa). I remember the first day I started working at the doctors office. I was really nervous about what to wear. I had never had to dress in business causal before that and spent like two hours picking something out. I remember wearing a knee length black skirt and stockings. I walked to work that morning, feeling pretty confident that I looked good. As I got to the building, someone tapped on me on the shoulder to tell me that my skirt had twisted into itself. My entire ass was exposed. So as if it was not bad enough that I had walked HALF A MILE (yes half a fucking mile) without anyone telling me that they could see my Hello Kitty undies. What makes it worse is the fact that the person who finally did point it out happened to be the first patient I checked in to the clinic on my first day. Let me tell you, it was an awesome way to start a job... (I ended up hiding behind a rack of files every single time that patient came in, because I was too embarrassed to look them in the eye. )

Check out my bra sticking out. I am one classy mother fucker. 

My hot mess of a lifestyle extends further than just my sense of style. I make terrible life decisions.  For example, last week I had a final paper due, which was 100% of my grade for the class. It was a 12 page paper, on four books and needed about ten sources. I had not read any of the books and did not eve have a topic till one week before the paper was due. 

A week sounds like plenty of time to write a paper, right? I am sure if would have been, but that is not what I did. Here are the things I did with that seven days.

I watched the first two seasons of Sons of Anarchy, reorganized my bookshelves, played Batman Arkham City, started Phantasy Star Zero, watched 3 movies, went to the bar, read 2 books that were not related to my paper, went to work, and browsed the internet for hours. (Fuck you Reddit). So instead of having a week for my paper, I had 18 hours..... (I ended up getting a B-. Go me.)

I think I need to get a life coach or something to shape me into an adult. Maybe MTV will let me be on that show Made.... They can make me into a real grown up. 

Who knows, maybe next year I will get my shit together. 

This Might Be TMI: How a Doctor Made Me Feel Like a Giant Whore

So if you actually know me, you have probably have heard me bitch about how I always get the weirdest illnesses.  I don't really get common colds or the flu... but I do get things likes inflamed lung tissue and upper respiratory infections. My current affliction is no different...

I have a staff infection on my skin.... everywhere that I shave. I am not contagious, it is not deadly, just ugly and itchy.

 Well the first time I went to the doctor, they gave me antibiotics and told me not to shave for a week. The pills did not work. Perhaps it was my fault, maybe because I sucked at taking them on time or maybe because I did not stop drinking, who knows. I do know this, one week later I was still itchy, the only difference was that I was hairy and annoyed.

So Tuesday I went back to the doctor to finally get this ugly rash off my knees. I get into the office and they ask me the normal whirlwind of questions. 

"Do you smoke?"

"No"

"Are you pregnant?"

"No"

"Is anyone hurting you?"

"No"

"Do you drink?"

"Yes"

"How much?"

"I don't know? A couple of drinks a week?"

"More than 3 on any given night?"

"Uhhh...I guess sometimes?"

"Are you aware of binge drinking?"

"Yes...."

Well that goes on for a while...  After the questions are done, I feel like a grade A shit bag and an alcoholic. Anyway the next step is me stripping down to my undies so that the doctor can look at my gross ass rash first hand. 

What happens next requires some back story. I look like a walking abuse case right now. I am one clumsy motherfucker. I can barely walk around my apartment with out running into a wall, or my couch, or a table, or anything else that it is physically possible to crash into.... So between how often I run into things, fall down drunk (currently I have little skin on my left knee because I feel off the stripper pole at Sneaky Pete's), and have my cat walk over my chest I am covered head to toe in bruises. 

This is the pole that stole all of my skin

So anyway, I stripped down. Because the rash is on both my knee and my underarms, I had to see the doctor in just my panties and bra. With that much skin showing, it was pretty apparent that I am covered in bruises.  The doctor took one look at me, and quickly asked once more, "Are you sure no one is hurting you sexually? Do you feel safe?"

I tried my hardest to express that I am great and that my only problem is that I covered in itchy bumps. So finally we move on to my nasty ass rash. I was just expecting a visual exam or maybe a swab, but I was not that lucky. Suddenly my doctor whips out a black light, and tells me that it will some how help that her figure out what to do.... I can not remember what her reasons why it would help because all I could think was oh shit, this is going to be just like an episode of Room Raiders, only I was going to be the bed....

There are only three times in life that involve black lights. One, you are like 13 and own a black light poster from Spencer's Gifts.

Two, a forensics team is searching for blood.

And three someone is looking for semen. 

As I am not a black light poster or a corpse, this black light test made feel like I was being searched for semen. I knew that there was nothing on me, but still I started to panic....

Let me tell you this, there is nothing in the world that makes you feel more like a dirty whore than standing on a medical examination table while someone runs a black light over your body after being called a lush to your face....

This is my life.

How Komodo Dragons Saved my Life

I have been wanting to write this post for some time now, but I wasn't exactly sure how to go about doing it. I was recently inspired by my favorite blogger Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half. She wrote a post about her battle with depression and how something stupid saved her. So I am going to try and be honest about what happened to me, let's see how this turns out.

So today I am feeling pretty bummed out. I do not have any particular reason to be sad. Over all my life is pretty stellar. I love my friends, my jobs, and I have plenty of reasons to be happy.

But instead of being happy, all I am capable of doing today is moping, making this face, and crying while I watch My Girl and The Princess Bride. 

I am really hoping that this will pass in the next day or two. Only once in my life has it lasted for a sizable amount of time. And let me tell you it was probably the worst time of my life. Four about seven months I was crippled by a severe depression. I barely had the strength to get of bed. I failed two classes. I was drunk almost every day. I stopped smiling and wearing perfume. I didn't want to read, or watch t.v., or play video games. All the things I loved lost their luster. I know that I was no fun to be around. I am not sure how my friends put up with me.

 If you had looked up "fun" in the dictionary my picture would have been in the antonym section. My friends did not give up on me. I think that says a lot about my friends and how amazing they are. However, they were not the thing that pulled my out of the labyrinth of self pity that I was stuck in. No, it was not the wonderful people I know, or my adorable dog, or anything off of the long list of things that make me happy. It was, in fact, how much I hate Indonesia. 

I know that sounds a little crazy. First of all, out of all the things to hate in the world I hate Indonesia? Secondly how could this hate pull me out of this world shattering depression? Sit back and let me tell you the tale. 

Let me bring you back to last February. It was like every other shitty February day. It was cold, and I was at the level of depression where I hit an unparalleled level of apathy. You think that Honeybadger doesn't give a shit? Well if you knew me last fall and winter, you would scoff at him and tell that he needs apathy lessons from Master Heather. So anyway, I was sitting with Lauren on her couch because it was too cold do anything else, not that I cared about what we did. We had been watching something on tv, but then it ended we were too lazy to switch the channel, so we just left as background noise. 

What was playing was a documentary on Komodo dragons. We weren't really paying too much attention to the show until a dragon chased down a water buffalo or some other big ugly animal that out-weighed it by like 400 pounds, and ate the shit out of it. 

This got our attention. We started watching the show, and it turns out that Komodo Dragons are major badasses. They can kill anything, and there is no known cure for the venom. Thank Batman that they are only native to five places in the world, all of which are islands in Indonesia. One of these islands is actually a preserve for dragons, which means that it is ILLEGAL to kill or hurt a dragon there. This would be the island of Komodo. The island is not close to other islands of Indonesia, and has less than 2,000 people living there. That is less people than my fucking high school.

Remember how I said that the dragons can kill anything? Well that includes people. 

"What do you want to eat today Mr. Dragon?"

"Hmmm, how about Johnny?"

So Lauren and I are sitting here watching this show. These people are telling a story about how last year a dragon walked up and ate a six year old boy right in the middle of the village. The cameras show dragons just chilling around the village, hanging out in houses and strutting the streets. Why are these people living on this god-forsaken island? I mean it is not like they are living in a modern city, it really is just one step above a shanty town. 

Seriously? You are letting dragons eat you for this????? There are 17,508 that make up Indonesia. Just move to another fucking island! Build a new shanty town!!!!!

By this time in the program I am starting to scream at the tv. I can not believe that these dragons are just walking around like the own the fucking place, eating people and stealing shanty houses. But wait it gets worse. The documentary then goes to the local cemetery, where we find out that they have to build little walls around all of the graves because the dragons will dig them up and eat the corpses. 

Turns out that while young dragons can climb trees, adult ones cannot because they are too heavy. And get this, all dragons can not climb vertical fences.  I REPEAT, THEY CANNOT CLIMB FENCES!

So by this time I am standing on the couch screaming at the tv.

"Motherfuckers! Why do you not have a fence around your whole tiny shanty town so that the dragons stop eating you?!?!" 

I am irate, Lauren is laughing, and these people are still getting eaten. The show ends. I make a decision right then and there that I will watch e-how videos, learn to make a fucking fence, go to Indonesia, and take it the fuck over. 

And then I realized, for the first time in months, I felt something. Not only did I feel something, but I was passionately affected by this documentary on Komodo Dragons. And with that, day by day I got better. I was smiling and laughing again. Then it happened again, I remembered what it felt like to be happy. 

So I have how much I hate the stupid fucking people of the island of Komodo who just get eaten for mid-afternoon snacks to thank for my mental health. 

Try as I might, I can not find this video anywhere; and with how bummed out I feel right now, I could really use it.

Creative Writing!

So something pretty exciting happened to me today! I got into the creative writing senior seminar. I am super excited because only seventeen people get in to the creative writing capstone, out of about 125 people. I am hoping that through out the next semester I will write my first screen play. Well I know this is not a real post, but I am writing it for a reason. If anyone is interested in reading the piece that got me into the class, click the title to read my short story, Showers and Sacred Spaces. I would like to say thank you to all of my wonderful friends who helped edit my story. I would for sure not gotten into the class without your help! You guys rock my world. If you do read it, let me know what you think. I am always interested in improving my writing.

Survey Says Most People Do Not Think I am Funny.

So I have what can at best  be called a quirky sense of humor. I live for long thought out jokes. I can patiently wait for the opportunity to arise. One time I memorized all of the lyrics to Katy Perry's "Hot N Cold" and then waited for a guy to freak out so that I could speak them as my own words...It took four months.

Do you know what it is like to have someone look at you and ask, "Why the hell are you trying to order a tumbleweed on the internet?"

I know what that feels like. I have this plan, for what I think will be the funniest joke of all time. I want to get a tumbleweed, attach it to a string then go to a very public place and do this. 

Step 1: Have two people (myself and someone else) walk past each other, then suddenly whip around and make eye contact. 
Step 2: Suddenly have this music start playing very loudly.
Step 3: Have aforementioned tumbleweed pulled slowly between the two people. This whole time have the two people keep glaring After the tumbleweed has cleared the area, have the two people resume walking as if nothing happened.   

However as badly as I want this to happen, it is damn near impossible to acquire a tumble weed in the state of Minnesota. I have found just one in the last 4 years, and it was on my first day of a new job. I figured if I showed up carrying a tumble weed on my first day I would be fired for being a complete lunatic... So I did not take it but, planned to stop back for it on my way home, sadly it was gone by the time I went back.

Also it is not possible to buy one on Ebay... I have tried multiple times.

See I think that is funny... Other people thing I am crazy.

This brings me to today and the super awkward thing that happened to me today. 

As I was leaving my last class of the day, I encountered two younger men handing out samples of 5-Hour Energy. They were standing there literally saying "Try the latest energy drink!"

There was only one possible reaction I could have possibly had. So I practically yelled, "I ain't gonna be part of your system Man! Pump that garbage in another man's face!" as I took the drink from them and threw it on the ground as hard as I possibly could.

Now I thought this was super funny. But apparently no one in the surrounding area got my reference. The two guys just stared at me, one even had his mouth open and his eyes popping. People walking near us either sped up to get away from me or stopped walking all together to stare. So instead of making other people laugh, I just stood there looking dumb as my face turned several shades of red. After about 10 of the longest seconds of my life I bent down, picked up the little bottle, stuffed it in my pocket, and then walked way as quickly as possible.   

This is what a bottle of 5-Hour Energy looks like after if hits the ground.

Bah, I am one awkward girl. 

Cable: My Long Lost Love.

Hi, my name is Heather and I am a television addict. I love tv. For the first 18 years of my life I had fancy cable, so I became accustomed  to watching whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. When I moved out at 18, I gave up my cable because I would rather have beer than 900 channels. I have been okay for the most part between Netflix, Hulu +, and sketchy internet sites where I get my fix of shows/movies.  However there is one thing I truly miss about cable; infomercials.

I love infomercials. I always have. I think it is a mix of my night owl personality and my love of shopping. I have spent many hours just watching wide eyed as some guy with an over enthusiastic smile tries to convince me to buy a product that will completely revolutionize my life. And let me tell you, sometimes it really works.

I dream of owning Magic Bullets, Miracle Blades, Slap Chops, and that cake pan where you can bake a cake that looks just like a watermelon! You know for someone who can't cook, I sure seem to lust after a ton of kitchen accessories.

All I want to is acquire those knives, cut through a hammer, slice a pineapple in half mid-air and then still make paper thin tomato slices!

 I want to get some OxiClean and polish my dirty copper pots. I want that tricked out blender that destroys everything that you put in it! I want people to love my nuts!

I missing laying on my couch at 3 A.M. flipping between channels, listening to how Tony Little's Gazelle will change my life and how The Buzz is the best collection of 90's alt rock that has ever existed. I want to hear the demos from Malt-Shop Memories (which I own) and dream the 50's sock hops I will never get to go to. But no, when you don't have cable, you don't get late night infomercial time.

Instead I have to try and get my kicks on Youtube, but it is not the same. You have to fight your way through bad quality uploads and auto-tuned clips.... It is just not worth it. Also then you are that weird person with all of your recommendations coming up for infomercials and people look at you like you are on crack.

So now every time I go back home to see my family, which is like twice a year, I do not sleep. I just veg on all of the infomercials I can soak up in one night. I know I sound a little crazy... but I don't even care.

My Pants Off Promise!

So chances are (if you have met me)  you can count the times you have seen me in pants on one hand.  I hate wearing pants, absolutely loath it. Every time I don a pair of jeans I feel so uncomfortable that all I can think about is rushing home to change into a dress.

As it is quickly becoming to winter here in the great state of Minnesota the temperatures plummet and we look toward the sky for snow, I notice all of the skirts and dresses are being traded in for jeans and Ugg boots.

 I will not succumb to the the pressures of winter. I will not let Mother Nature force me into pants. FUCK THAT! I will remain true to my love of skirts and dresses. I have started to stock up on tights and I am getting my coat re-buttoned this weekend. I have big plans to buy some wool socks, and Lauren just clued me in to fleece lined leggings. I can do this.

Last winter I had to wear pants all of the damn time because I was taking a biology course, and it was legally required to wear pants in the lab for "safety reasons" (bah). But now that I am science free, never again.

So here is my promise to myself, this winter I will not wear pants once! From now until the last day of spring term of school, I will not put on a single pair of jeans. Let's see if I can do this. I will keep you all posted :)

*****Side note, occasionally I am required to wear pants to work. This does not count against my promise because it is not of my own free choice.

 This is how I plan to dress all winter!

Give me no pants or give me death!

How Ringbacks are Ruining my Life

If you looked at the title of this post, you are probably like, "WTF Heather, how can a ringback ruin a life? That does not even seem possible."

Oh, but it is possible and it is happening to me, and I am going to tell you how. First let me start off by saying this is not a post about me being a music snob, because trust me, I am not. I am sure many of my friends would tell you that I have some pretty crappy taste in music. They know it, I know it, and I just do not care. I love my crappy music. Pop, Pop Punk, and Oldies rock my world. And perhaps you think I am being a tad bit self deprecating telling you about my low brow taste in music, but again I am not. Here are some examples of you can find on my Ipod: Motion City Soundtrack and Brand New (two of my favorite bands), the Backstreet Boys Greatest Hits, all ten discs of Malt-Shop Memories (I am such a sucker for Time Life informercials), Jock Jams (yeah that cd from 4th grade gym class, sometimes I like to be pumped up for the start of my day), and every single Punk Goes insert some other genre here. See I listen to some really classy stuff.... So I am not judging other people's taste in music, just the fact that they are forcing it on me.

So while I may jam to t.A.T.u's All the Things She Said while I am walking to class, I do not want to here a static-y version of Fireflies when I have to call you. One would think that ringbacks would be avoidable. I could just text or avoid calling the friends who have them, but not possible for me. I have a job where on a daily basis I am required to make phone calls to people I do not know. And about three times a week I am unfortunate enough to encounter someone with a ringback.

When this occurs, one of two things happen. One is that it is a song I really dig (this rarely happens) in which case I immediately start to jam out, the second (more common) thing that happens is that it is a song that I hate so much all I can think about is how much I hate the song. Either way, both of these situations lead to the same embarrassing result. A fucked up phone call. Normally I have become so engrossed in what is playing that I forget why I am calling in the first place.

"Hello?"

"Errr, what? I mean, Hi this is Heather..... uh from Dr. Blank's office. I was calling because uhhhh?....."

Awkward city right? Normally I am a superstar on the phone. I mean I seriously have a killer phone voice and sizable vocabulary, but the moment I hear a ring back, I regress to those awkward middle school years and act like I am calling a boy I like for the first time ever.

 Who wants to get that phone call  from the person who is in charge of scheduling their appointments and calling in their prescriptions and taking their messages? I would not trust someone who sounds that stupid and can barely form words.

But what is actually worse than that is when some asshole records a song as their answering machine. Not only do I have the same brain fart that happens when I hear a ringback, but now it is being recorded for some unsuspecting soul to listen to later at their leisure... but wait there's more....

The few times that someone has paired both a ringback and a song message, I lose my shit. The first thing I do ever single fucking time is hang up the phone as soon as the song changes. I don't know why I do it, but I can assure that I always do. Every rational part of me understands that it is just going from annoying type of ring to a message. But every time I panic about the fact that I have called the wrong number so I slam down the phone to check what I just called. And then I just have to make the call again, so two missed calls with the same number...

And the cherry on top is even after the failed call and all the prep time I have had to make this message perfect in my head, it still comes out garbled and incoherent.

How I Got Saved at the Mall of America and Almost Shot in the Same Weekend

This last weekend was an adventure to say the least. It all started Friday night after work. Friday I got off work at 7, but Lauren (my good friend and ride for the night) got off at 9:30. After we were both off we planned to head to downtown Minneapolis to meet up with a party bus for our friend's birthday. Because of the time constraint I decided to change into my going out dress at the mall. It was a little risque, but I would not say that it was too distasteful. However paired with my dark make up and the fact that I was covered in glitter, I apparently looked like sin incarnate.

So as I was kindly minding my own business, well I was reading a book on pornography and perversion (True Lust), sitting on a bench on the third floor. I noticed a couple walk by, it was a woman dressed in a heavy sweater and large cross necklace and cross earrings and I man that I did not get a very good look at.  The couple was quietly arguing, the man had this head down and was gesturing pretty emphatically. They make it about ten paces away from me when suddenly the man walks over to the railing and looks down to the first floor. The woman on the other hand, turns around, storms up to me and drops to her knees.

This woman puts one hand on my arm, looks me dead in the eye and asks, "Do you think you are going to heaven?"

I was a little taken aback, but I learned long ago that the best course of action was just to agree to everything they say so that they will leave me alone. (Side note: this does not always work, I have been dodging calls from the U of M Mormon church for about the last nine months.)

So I say, "Yes I do believe I will."

She asks, "Why do you think that?"

Fuck, now I have to make up some reason about why I am getting through those pearly gates. I should mention that I have atheist parents and when I saw Jesus Christ Superstar last year I had to ask my grandma to tell me who Judas was, because I was under the impression that Judas was the one that stabbe Jesus....  (If Lauren ever reads this I am sure that will kill her).

"Because I am a good person who does charity work, give change to the homeless, and I always try to stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves."

She looks me square in the eyes, shakes her head and responds with, "None of that matters."

WTF, me being a good person does not matter? Okay loony mc-touch-my-arm-a-lot, then what does?

"Really?"

"Yes, the only thing that matters is that you accept Jesus in to your heart as your Lord and Savior. Nothing else but that matters. Have you accepted him?"

"I am not sure." At this point the woman is starting to freak me out with her death grip on my arm and her awkward amount of non-blinking eye contact. I shift my gaze to her partner who is still standing about five feet away, I can tell that his face is beat red and he looks like he would rather jump off the third floor railing than listen to his partner try to save me any longer.

"Well you need to. If you die tonight and have not accepted him you will go to hell. Pray with me we can accept him right now."

"I am sorry, I am not really comfortable with that. Sorry."

"Do you mind if I pray for you?"

"Uh... sure."

At this point she whips out a pamphlet and starts reading a prayer from it. And by prayer, I mean total propaganda, because the few times I have been to churches, this is not what the prayers sounded like even a little.

After she finished up, she gave me the pamphlet, and went about her merry way looking pretty confident that she had put me on the path to salvation.

I have in fact now heard the good news.

Now on to the second part of my weekend. Saturday night I went out for a girls night with Lauren, Sherry, and Rin. We hit downtown a little late, probably about 11:45 p.m. Also, it was Monster Club Crawl that night so downtown was packed! (I did develop a new favorite game that night though. I call it "Hipster or Costume?") 

 We look tough don't we?

Due to the fact it was jam packed downtown we parked in a different lot than we normally do. It was right next to the Central Library and a little more sketchy than or normal spot. This was not really a problem at 11:45, however when we were returning to our car at about 2 a.m. shit got real. 

On the way back to the car, we turned down the alley to get in to the lot. We made it about 20 feet down the alley when we noticed that two guys were full out running out of the alley way pretty much screaming. About another 40 feet down from us, right at the doorway to the parking garage, another guy just whipped a gun out of the pocket of his large sweatshirt. 

"Run you punk ass bitches," he shouted as he wildly brandished his gun about.

Now doesn't that sound like a line out of cheesy detective novel or a shitty Lifetime Movie? But I am not fucking kidding when I say this is my life. Thank god I was in charge of my full mental facilities. We all stopped walking and I commanded that we turn the fuck around. 

As soon as we got out of the alley we flagged down a cop car and tried to tell them that someone like 60 feet away from where were standing had a gun. But for the most part we were not taken super seriously.  The cop just kept asking, "What did he look like?"

I don't fucking know, like he had a goddamn gun. I did not take a picture. We got our asses out of their as fast as possible. So anyway we walked up the drive up ramp to our car. As we were leaving we saw flashing lights and heard a manic scream. Lesson learned, do not park there and leave  before 2:30 am.

This is my life.

I have been Saved and almost shot. Here's to next weekend. 

Why I Don't Think I Will Ever Be a Cat Person

So I spent the past weekend weekend in Las Vegas for my birthday. It was awesome, I had a great birthday. I was there with three of my best friends and we had a blast. But my trip is not the point of this story. The point of my story is that I own a cat and that I am not sure that I will ever like owning a cat. 

(Okay just one picture of my Vegas trip.... Now it is time for my cat story)

Now how did my Vegas trip lead to me deciding that I am not meant to own a cat? Well that starts with me coming home from my trip and being re-affirmed that I am a total dog person. 

I have two pets Doodles and Boris. Doodles is my 7 year old Chihuahua-Jack Russell mix and Boris is a cat. I have no idea what type.

Now before I continue about how I am not a cat person, I should clarify that I like cats in general. Many of my friends have cats that I absolutely adore (Shout out to Jack, Pigeon, and Darmok). But I am not meant to have a cat. All of my life I have had at least one dog, literally my family got their first Rottweiler the day before I was born. Most of the time I have more than one dog, but I have never had a cat before. 

About a year and a half ago I decided that I wanted another pet. I decided that I could get a cat, because many of my friends have cats and I enjoy playing with them whenever I get a chance. I love reading Extra Ordinary Comics (Shoelace is like the coolest cat ever). I decided that cats are awesome! So I get Boris. 

From the first day, I knew it was not going to be the kitty dream that I had in mind. Boris camped out on top of my refrigerator hissing and attacking anyone that came into the kitchen. He stayed there for 3 days ensuring that no one entered his domain. He has gotten slightly better over the last year, but every now and then he just randomly bites me. Needless to say it owning a cat has not been a hug-fest rainbow party. 

So back to my current story. I arrived home Sunday at about 6 pm from what felt like the longest flight ever. (Fuck the Arizona airport). When I walked in Doodles flipped a shit. She was so happy that she ran in circles and climbed all of over me and licked my face. It was like I had been gone for three years not three days. It was awesome. Doodles is the love of my life.

Boris, however I did not see. Later that night I was in bed and Boris came in and sat on my back. He dug is claws into my skull then bit my arm before jumping off of my back so fast that left a large scratch  right next to my new tattoo... (That would be the second tattoo he ruined if it had been an inch higher). He then tore through the apartment ripping my clothes out of the suitcase and knocking over everything in his path. 

People told me that his actions were his way of showing that he was happy that I was home.... WTF! How does that translate to I miss you? To me that means, "You should sleep with your eyes open because I am going to murder you with my giant kitty claws later tonight". Throughout the whole night he terrorized the entire apartment, he switched back and forth from attacking me while I attempted to sleep, destroying my possessions, and throwing litter out of his box. 

(He bit me as soon as the flash went off)

I just do not understand cat affection. I will stick to excited puppy kisses any day. 

Secret Nerds Unite!

So if you have ever talked to me for more than five minutes or have been to my house you will know that I am a giant nerd. I have two anime tattoos, I own seven video game systems, I geek out over film and literature (hopefully in the next year I will have a Murakami tattoo <3) I attend Anime Detour and have a $600 Sailor Moon Costume. I watch Xena when I am in a bad mood and have seen all of Buffy twice. My dog's full name is Doodles Zeddicus Spock Sookie-Bill Safe to say, giant nerd.

(Proof of my nerdy household)

However for as nerdy as I am it is not something that I necessarily flaunt in my everyday appearance.  Most of the time I aim for a put together look. I don't wear t-shirts because they make me uncomfortable, so that eliminates a main stage for showing my love of all things nerd. I also am not big into things like buttons or key chains to again another platform.

So most days all I have to represent my inner nerd is my Sailor Moon tattoo on my left shoulder.  Most people don't recognize it, so there I am, nerd incognito. One of my favorite things that happens to me is that I meet another nerd in disguise, and that is exactly what happened to me today.

So today after work I stopped in to the Betsy Johnson to look for a dress to wear for my birthday in Vegas. I had already found and bought a dress at Forever 21, but after finding out that it is a super conservative company that actually includes prayers on every bag, I felt that maybe I needed a different dress. I am pretty much in love with Betsy Johnson, but unfortunately I did not find a dress. I did get some perfume, but more importantly I made a friend of sorts.

As I came out the fitting room, the sales associate who was working asked me if my tattoo had any particular meaning. I gave normal answer which is to somewhat sheepishly answer that is from a 90's cartoon called Sailor Moon. As I was sort of blushing and looking awkwardly at the ground, she had sort of a geek out moment. She told me "That's what I though! I know Sailor Moon, I have to admit, I am a bit of an anime nerd, I go to conventions and all that."

I was pumped. This girl did not look like your standard anime fan girl. She was dressed super cute in a professional manner and I would have had no idea that she too was a nerd incognito! We talked for about 45 min about all things nerd and how many times we had been at the same place or thing, all of the people we both know. I know now that she is going to Bluma, Stocking, and Barberlla for Detour. I told her about my Princess Mononoke costume. We are going to keep in touch and I am pretty excited about this.  Meeting her was awesome.  She totally made my day. I can not wait until my meeting with a member of the secret nerd club.

If I Were to Grade Today, it Would Get an F-

Today was one of those everything sucks days. I mean where not one thing goes right, and by the end of it your are a ready to murder something bigger than you or cry under a blanket with about 9 million gallons  of Chunky Monkey. Nothing super bad happened to me today, but a collection of small negative moments teamed up to utterly ruin my day. My favorite blogger Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half has the best description of it that I have ever read( Sneaky Hate Spiral ). So my day consisted of ripped tights, a rainy day, a math class, a failed Russian test, and the crappiest day at work I have had in a long time. Now I am home, but not fun for me because I have a stack of homework taller than I am, although that is not all that tall.  So before I get to my exciting night, I am going to crack a bottle of cheap white wine (not kidding) pop in Hot Tub Time and write this blog.

Just to remind myself that I do in fact have an awesome life, I am going to list 50 things that make me happy, drink my wine, and then hop to my homework.
1. Wine
2. Doodles the world's best little dog
3. Video games and all seven of my systems
4. Urban Decay make up
5. Fall fashion
6. The color pink
7. My hair stylist
8. The fact that I am going to Las Vegas
9. Going to the movies
10. Books, especially Haruki Murakami books
11. The fact that I will editions of 1Q84 from two different counties in less than a month
12. Netflix
13. My friends
14. Danny Wylde
15. Sunglass Hut
16. Literature jokes
17. My new apartment
18. Hyperbole and a Half
19. Jenna Marbles
20. Motion City Soundtrack
21. The Lonely Island
22. Drinking vodka waters
23. Smiling
24. Laughing
25. Dressing nicely
26. Cute boys
27. Going dancing
28. Hot chocolate
29. Beer
30. Mario Kart
31. Perfume, specifically Coach Poppy
32. Watching porn
33. 90's Tv (Buffy, Melrose Place, All That. Hey Arnold and many more)
34. Playing trivia
35. LMFAO
36. Glitter
37. Anime Detour
38. Halloween
39. Historical tours
40. My tattoos, all four of them.
41. Chocolate covered potato chips
42. Shopping
43. Cute underwear
44. PUPPIES
45.Oasis
46. Did I mention PUPPIES!
47. Hello Kitty
48. Sailor Moon
49. Twitter
50. Writing

See I feel better already, might be the booze, might be the trashy tv I am watching, or Doodles sitting on my lap. But I feel better and that is what matters. So now it is home work time. If anyone is reading this, what are fifty things that make you happy? What is good in your life? Making this list is easier than it looks. :)

Hello Bandwagon, I am Jumping on You and Writing a Blog.

So for the first time in my college career I am not taking a creative writing class. At first I was excited to not be forced to write or meet deadlines or read awful stories I could not care less about, but then the first three weeks passed and I realized I missed writing and all that comes along with it. So here I present to you, my so far non-existent readers, a blog about my life. I cannot promise that I am super interesting, funny, or wise. However this is what is going on with me, your average college student.

And now, my first actual post: How a lunch box and a porn star made the best week of my life, in that order.

A long long time ago, way back in the month of May 2011 I pre-ordered The Lonely Island's newest cd, Turtleneck and Chain. I bought the digital download with a special lunch box + thermos option. The tiny caption next to it said that the lunch box would not ship until June at the earliest, but most likely July. I thought to myself "I need that more than I have ever needed any that has ever existed ever. I want it, I want it, I WANT IT NOW!" So I pre-ordered thinking a month and a half is not that long. Now because I have the patience of a 4 year old on a the first sugar high of their life, and the four broken links I had received for my digital download, I should have realized this would not be the instant gratification purchase that I desired, but ever the optimist I patiently, but eagerly awaited the arrival of my soon to be favorite possession. I suppose I should mention my planet size crush and Andy Samberg, which made the wait so much worse. But I tell myself 45 days is not that long....

Well Junes rolls by.... and then July whizzes past and still not a word about my box. I start to panic, on Aug. 31st I had to move out of my apartment, and I was worried that I would some how miss my package. I had to send about 9 billion emails to some unknown person named Miranda (Who I to this day believe is a robot) about changing my shipping address. Finally come Sept. 12th I get word from UPS that a failed delivery has occurred twice, and that I have one more attempt before my holy grail of a lunch box is shipped back to Miranda-bot forever. First panic arises, then rage. Where was my notice of the first two attempts?

Now being a full time college student and working two jobs I am not ever home between the hours of 8 am and 8 pm. I call UPS and try to kindly explain this, but we all know that a simple conversation would be way too easy. So I call and after being put on hold for 26 minutes, I get to talk to a rep named, I shit you not, Shaniqua. After she introduces herself, it takes ever fiber of my being to not explode into awkward belly laughs and roll around on the floor.
Me: "I have a package coming for a final attempt, and I know that I won't be home to claim it. I am gone from 8 to 8 everyday. Also I have not received any of those little door sticks from the driver."
Shaniqua: "I am sorry hun, I can add an extra day on that delivery."
Me: "Thank you, but I also won't be home for that. I am out everyday."
Shaniqua: "So you don't want that day? Would you like to pick a day that you will be home?"
Me: "I am never home. Can I change the delivery address to my work?"
Shaniqua:" Sure thing, what is the 9 digit code on the missed delivery slip."
Me: "I told you I don't have that."
Shaniqua: "You don't have either of them?"

This goes on for about 10 minutes. Finally She tells me that I can pick up it up between the hours of 8 am and 12 pm Monday through Thursday. I am not sure why she thought that would be possible as I can not even manage to be home between those hours but I agree. Four more calls to UPS later, my friend can pick it up for me. So now four and a half months later I finally have my lunch box, and I will let you know a turkey sandwich with extra pickles has never tasted so sweet.

The other greatest thing to happen to me this week was that I got to talk to my favorite adult star, Danny Wylde. I know it is a little weird for a girl to admit to having a have a favorite star, but when one of your jobs includes writing reviews on adult films, it happens. (Scream XXX is where it is at, combing the two best things ever. Wes Craven's 1996 Scream and the world's cutest porn star) But my job is a story for another day. So I have been Twitter stalking Danny Wylde for a while, but this week got the courage to mention him in a tweet. To my surprise he responded and actually re-tweeted what I said (Is it possible to be a porn nerd? Because if it is, that is definitely what I am). This made me so excited that I forgot where I was, my non porn related job, and I told everyone that was around me. Long story short they all think I am crazy. But I do not care, I had my TLI lunchbox and my giant porn crush has a least some idea that I exist as a person.

FTW I love my life sometimes.