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.