Kindergarten Nostalgia Minus the Birdy Legs

My whole life I have preferred to be understated. I only shared my opinion when someone asked, avoided public speaking or performing. My mannerisms, my relationships, my personality, my wardrobe reflected this preference.

That's right my wardrobe was very modest. It consisted of grays, browns, blacks. But as of lately I’ve been craving a brighter wardrobe. Going through a little identity crisis where I want to jump out from the shadows and scream “I’m Here! And I’m bright yellow!”

Now I wear this crazy bright neon yellow shirt 24-7. I love it but I’m starting to have regrets.

When I wear this shirt every random person that walks by has to comment on it. One random called me a highlighter. When my mom picked me up from the airport she covered her eyes to block my radiating light (which she thought was really funny) then she said I look just like I did in Kindergarten.

Also let me just say when you all of a sudden get put in a situation where you want to fly under the radar, say in Vegas when a tacky butt rock cover band is grabbing people out of the audience to have a dance off and you want to look like a tree, well in that situation you don’t want to be as bright as Dr. Manhattan.

Before my identity crisis I also avoided skinny jeans, why? Because you have to have skinny legs to do skinny jeans.

(Side note: Why are all the talented artists and musicians crazy skinny? Artists are made for skin tight skinny jeans? There's only one incredibly talented musician whose collar bone doesn’t poke through his old vintage Tees and that’s Isaac from Modest Mouse.)

Anyways, I broke down with Chelsi’s help and got some sexy black Deisel’s. And I’ve been starting to feel confident wearing them. Well I see my Grandma, who I love with all my heart and her unwaivering honesty, and I’m wearing my skinny jeans and she says “Well you don’t have your little birdy legs anymore.”

Johnny

This was a scary moment for us and for Johnny, who we met outside the food coalition. He volunteered to help us. Johnny was so sweet and funny. Justin and I are still unsure of what happened exactly. I quickly got the impression this wasn't uncommon. It made me sad and it made me want to take Johnny home with me. I'm sure the roommates wouldn't mind.

I'm a Crazy Person Magnet

I’ve just recently finished a little video project to win a 2010 Ford Fiesta.


My project involved cardboard signs. I’m in the passenger seat putting tape on my window and Justin is outside my car setting up this great shot,when three crack heads emerge from the dark alleys and garbage cans. The first asks Justin if we can give him a ride and the other two smash their heads against my window. One of them says “I know what you’re doing!” and opens my door, grabs the tape out of my hands and starts messing with my window. The crazy lady with him opens up my backdoor and gets in my seat where my cardboard signs are. She says with a toothless grin “I see your SIGNS!!” Like she’s onto me, she found my cardboard beggar signs.

I get out of my car and in confusion I just stand there. How does one handle this situation? I’ve never had any formal training or even considered a plan of attack for when a crack head won’t get out of your car. My eyes and mouth are wide open and I look up at Justin for help. His face informed me he was in my same state of confusion.

I tried to reason with the toothless lady but was unsuccessful. I was so frazzled Justin said at one point I started clapping my hands and whistling for her to come out. Not a proud moment, however she responded well to the “come on.” She finally exited my car.

After that we took my camera to the food coalition. I met a really great guy named Johnny with long curly hair. He was so sweet and perfect and he agreed to hold a sign for us. The crack head who asked Justin for a ride starts yelling and cursing at Johnny for some unexplained reason. I started recording to get the shot and run. Next thing I know crack head runs into frame and takes a swing at Johnny. They exit the frame and you hear him yelling. He punches Johnny. I again try my best to be diplomatic and reason with crack head, but there is no reasoning with crack heads. You can hear me in the background going “uh okay…whoa…uh oh! Please don’t do that…oh my gosh.” Johnny gives the crack head the sign and runs away.

We really didn’t mean to cause such problems. It started out as a Ford Fiesta Movement video, but I might change it to a “Don’t do Crack” commercial.

Check back for an uploaded clip of the craziness. For now, here's my finished video

ihatemyDREAMlife.com

I hate my dream life dot com too. This dream must stem from feelings of inadequacy in my work place. I work at a ski resort. Skiing is definitely an elitist activity and since I can’t ski or snowboard I’m pretty much a worthless waste of flesh.

In my dream Bekah and Josh decided to teach me to ski. Josh insisted I use his nieces “special skis,” so simple to use even a child could ski down a mountain. With confidence I thought if a child can ski with these “special skis” then surely I could too. We drove to someplace comparable to the Deer Valley of my Dream Land. A day pass cost 100 bones! We journeyed for an entire day, from gondola to gondola, then we trekked on foot to the top of my Dream Land’s Mt. Everest.

There we were atop the Earth and I waited with anticipation as Josh pulled out my “special skis.” To my dismay Josh opened his hand to reveal two deflated animal balloons.

He said with enthusiasm, “these [pause] are the special skis”

“What?! I’m not skiing down this mountain with balloon animals strapped to my feet!”

This argument went on and on. Till finally Josh assured me everything would be fine and to trust him. I decided he was probably right. He inflated the balloons and carefully tied them to my feet. I looked down the snowy mountain, took a deep breathe then stood up.

POP…..POP

In my parallel dream existence I’m freezing on top Mt Everest, 100 dollars less in my pocket with deflated balloon animals tied to my frost bitten feet.

BLOOD BATH in the TREEROOM

Why? Because I had way too much energy bottled up and was ready to combust. Potential combustion plus absolute boredom behind the bar equated blood bath.

Started out whipping the towel “WHHPSH!” (uh that’s the sound of me whipping the towel at great speeds.) Then I grabbed my serrated knife and started stabbing holes with all my might into objects. Then I moved to juggling which as it turns out, I’m reasonable decent at. A natural juggler for sure. Next hackisacking with a lime which is stupid. Then I decided to start doing tricks with knifes. Which is why I’m almost missing a finger and I have blood all over my freshly dry-cleaned white work shirt.

It was blood bath 2009 Jason style (which I mostly saw on Friday the 13th…Classic. No screen writing and dialogue can compare with Jason movies)

Who Wants me Dead?

You all remember my previous post about being sick for 12 days, the will, the funeral plans? Well I recovered only to find my immune system failing me once again. Swollen glands, aches, headache, sore throat. I'm starting to feel like that poor, helpless, little girl from The Sixth Sense (Marissa Cooper) whose step mom kept putting poison in her soup to keep her sick. I'm the vomiting girl in Sixth Sense! Whoever is trying to keep me sick, I'm not into it.

This is a threat: If I meet my premature end, I will come back from the dead, cold and pale, in a pink night gown, hide out in your little red tent and under your bed and I will expose you! I know whats going on!

Updated Will:
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot Vinyl....Lacy

Mui Bien Tamale??

I would just like to publicly congratulate myself because I have just now and officially finished 24 tamales in less than seven days. I accomplish things. I have goals. Some people finish college, get real jobs, start families. Some people eat 24 tamales in less than seven days.

We have exchanged corpulence for starvation and either one can kill us.

12 Days and Counting....

…I’ve been sick. I think it’s an appropriate assumption to assume that my days here on this big blue and green earth are numbered. I’m dying. It’s a tragedy the plague cut my life so short. And even sadder I went out with out really contributing to the history books. Didn’t invent anything meaningful, or say anything profound. I didn’t even get my face in a newspaper. If I croaked now my existence could be forgotten and on my tombstone it might as well say “she settled for mediocrity.”

My Will:

All the cash in my wallet…Lone Tree Hill, the homeless Indian guy I met at Pioneer Park. (Please ask him to tell you the joke about the cow and the wife).

And this song will be played at my funeral:

Goodbye cruel world…Geeze you didn’t even give me and Lone Tree a chance.

Batman: Year One

If you know anything about living, you know that life recycles certain themes. For my roommate Lacy and I, it’s bad plumbing. If I didn’t have this blog I might have forgotten lessons learned from a previous encounter with bad plumbing. Read about encounter here. So what did I learn from the last time our plumbing threw in the towel? Peeing in the shower is better than peeing in the backyard and peeing at Smiths is better than peeing in the shower. The Rotor Rooter is still scary, as it attacked Lacy last night. An aspiring superhero, such as myself, prays for their big break into the super hero trade. This was my big break to save Lacy from certain death or at least devastation. In my moment of truth, I turned out to be a gutless coward and Lacy was eaten up by the Rotor Rooter and all the terrible things you could imagine coming up with the Rotor Rooter. Isn’t it ironic that a coward, such as myself, could be so obsessed with super heroes?

Meet my nemesis. My affliction. My plague and scourge. The Rotor Rooter.

You Remind me of a Winter Storm

It’s January 4th and the furnace has said its final goodbye as the heat slowly seeped out of the cracks of our house. In the winter I become a hermit to avoid the unforgiving cruelty of winter. I stay in my pajamas. I read a lot of books and comics. Watch a lot of movies. And do a lot of blogging. Anything that allows me to stay under blankets. I make excuses to not run any errands that involve leaving the house. Well my winter game plan has been spoiled with the slow death of our central heating. Right now I'm wearing every article of clothing I own. My bed is stacked high with every blanket I own. Lacy and I have consumed everything hot in the kitchen. I’m not sure how there were life forms before central heating. Surely everything existed after furnaces and cell phones. One other thing, I’m convinced nothing is more unattractive than long-underwear.


And my socks haven’t matched in years.

Christmas, The End of 2008 and The End of All Things (An ihatemylife.com Production)

The holidays were rather generous to me. Christmas was full of fancy salamis, warm, moist hand towelettes and Christmas cheer. It was especially generous considering we’re marching forward into economic desperation and recession. I’m glad I went out with a bang, not a quiet whimper.

There is no need for excess where we’re headed. I’ll have to pon off my satin sheets and ivory tusks. Sell everything and live the life I’ve always dreamed of: my tiny cottage with a fire place for warmth and a garden. Just me in my drop-bottom flannel full-body pajamas, a dusty book and an old record player. And I’ll eat porage. I’ll hang old socks with holes above the fire place next Christmas. I’ll be my own Tiny Tim story in 2009 and then I’ll understand its true meaning. I doubt it involves fancy salamis.

I don’t know what the future holds. My dark side, which embraces the spirit of chaos, couldn’t help but feel the curious hush and last whispers of American gluttony. And then my honest side thought, “Dude, how could I even breathe with out all forms of Comcast?!”
[Pushin the Drop Bottoms in 2009]