The Glory That Is Target

Imagine, if you will, a place.  A place free from the harsh judgement of the unforgiving world.  A place where you can go and find everything you need, and more.  A place where all of your dreams can come true with a turn of a shopping cart.  A place where every aisle is paved with endless possibilities.  If you are thinking, "I would love to go to this place, but it obviously doesn't exist," you're very, very wrong.  And I've been there, my friends. 

Target.

There is something about this glorious store that transcends age, gender (maybe not gender), religion, political views, and brings us together as Americans who all say, "Hey, I like cheap shit too."

I did not fully comprehend the extent of my love for this store until recently. 

I won a sales contest at work for which I was supposed to receive $35 to a restaurant of my choice.  When my manager came up to me a month later offering a $25 gift card to TJ Maxx and a $5 (????) gift card to Target, I was not offended by the fact that I was shorted $5 of my prize as well as denied the opportunity to select which restaurant I would like to enjoy.  I was offended that I was offered only $5 to Target, and an embarrassing $25 to TJ Maxx.

First of all, I do not want to appear ungrateful, but $5???  What is that, lunch money to a 2nd grader?  I almost would have rather had the whole amount to TJ Maxx, but I say almost because I wouldn't really. 

$5 to Target is better than $0 to Target.

A quick aside, I hate TJ Maxx.  I hate Ross.  I hate Marshall's.  I hate Loehmann's.  All of these stores plus any others I am forgetting are poor excuses for upscale thrift stores.  If you like thrift stores, I'm sorry and forgive me for offending.  And maybe skip this next part.

I hate thrift stores.  I used to pretend that I liked them because it was the cool thing to do.  I'd be all, "Ohhh I love vintage stuff and digging through a bunch of shit in hopes of finding one decent thing that I might wear once or twice more"- with everyone else.

I realize now that I was only lying to myself and I truly, hate them.  They smell, I am impatient and don't have time for them.  Also nothing ever fits.  Ever. 

Back to these 'versions' of thrift stores.  In each of these stores I do nothing but wander aimlessly, hoping to find something worthy of the gas I spent to get there.  I am disappointed, every...single...time. 

I couldn't even find anything in the Home Goods section, of "the good TJ Maxx." 

My reasons for this are twofold:

1. There is no "good" TJ Maxx. 

2. They all suck.

I guess that's really just one fold, but I feel like it is deserving of two folds of suckage because of how much it sucks.  It took me an hour to walk out with a medicine cabinet that I'm still thinking might have been a mistake.  It's probably a mistake.

I guess that wasn't so much a quick aside.

So anyway, when my (female,btw) manager handed me the TJ Maxx card for $25 and the Target card for $5 because, "It's always hit and miss for me at Target, so I figured you would like this," she may has well have called my mother a whore or insulted How I Met Your Mother.  Both equal cardinal sins in my book.

What.  Female.  Chooses.  TJ Maxx over Target?!?!?!??!  Just now I had to sit here for a few minutes and stare at the screen because I didn't know how exactly to express my rage and sadness through words. 

Let's talk about the awesomeness that is Target.

Where else can you find decently stylish clothes, super cute home decor, the least expensive CD's around, and a variety of other treasures?  All at a ridiculously low price that cannot be beat, except maybe by Walmart (but screw that place I'd rather watch football, so you know I'm pretty serious about never wanting to go there)?  Yes please!

Every shelf is adorned with a virtual cornucopia of knick knacks and surprises.  Every bar draped with new and interesting clothing that is getting better and even more stylish every day. 

At one point I was like, "the only way this store could get better is if they were also a grocery store so I would never have to leave."

And then they did it again.  They have answered all of my needs.  I can even buy alcohol at a low low price without leaving the comfort of this wonderful place. 

It's like Narnia.

That's right.  To me, Target = Narnia.

And  I never want to leave.

Except I have to cause I eventually run out of money.  And by eventually I mean very quickly.

Target, I salute you.



And you should probably hire me, because I would sell the shit of your store on my blog.

Sad Panda 8:(

Today I am inclined to explain one of the stupid things I say with frequency.

I think I pretty much just assume everyone I talk to knows what's going on in my mind and has all the inside scoop as to how I arrive at my word choices and/or comments.  That is dumb.  But since I will probably mention this particular reference at some (perhaps multiple) point(s) in my blog, I may as well explain it now and then just post a link to this entry.  (Genius, I know.)

So it all originated back in...I guess High School?  Junior High? 

The phrase is, "Sad Panda."

Sad panda can be used to express the disappointment, dissatisfaction, or just plain sadness.  It is totally stupid, but me and the majority of my friends for some reason find it hilarious. 

Sad panda is not to be confused with this panda:

Dancing Panda

Which also played a large role in my high school tomfoolery.

Or this panda:

Angry Panda

Which is so, so awesomely hilarious.

No, no.  This panda is a sad panda.  And here is its origin.

Sexual Harassment Panda = Sad Panda

So instead of saying, "You know, I'm not having the best day today.  In fact, I'm kind of sad."

I opt for:

"I'm a sad panda."

or

"Today, I am the saddest panda."

I even started making 'sad panda' text emoticons with my friend because of how often I say this.

Now if you're thinking, "God, I would give anything to know what these emoticons are, and how I can implement them into my daily life," fear not.

I am going to share them with all of you so you can spread sad panda like wild fire.  Together, we will take over the world, and maybe one day own a panda.

SAD PANDA EMOTICON 101:

8:( <----- This is your standard sad panda.  Notice the ears, and the sad face.  It's pretty unmistakable.  This panda says, "I'm here, I'm sad, and I'm a panda, get used to it."

8:'s <---- This is 'Sanda.'  A term my friend coined.  This simply shortens the amount of words you would need if you were texting sad panda to someone.  "Sad" = "Panda" = "Sanda."  Note the 's' for sad.  There's also a tear in there to make it extra sad.  Makes perfect sense. 

.....Though I just realized it takes longer to text than normal Sad Panda..... Frick.  (Shortcut fail.)

8:/ <------ This is 'Blanda.'  Blanda is when I am feeling 'Blah.'  It's a Blah Panda.  Sideways mouth for indifference with a *tinge* of disappointment.

8:D <---- This goes against everything panda related I have discussed, but this is 'Handa,' which is short for Happy Panda.  I pretty much never use this.  But I will let you make that decision for yourselves.

This blog was stupid.  I'm sorry.

And that makes me a saaaad panda.

Moving/Special Cat(s) Update

Well, it's finished.  Not the unpacking, but at least all my crap is in one place, and I am done with my Dana Point apartment.  I am beyond exhausted.  My wrist hurts, my back hurts...and I simultaneously want to unpack everything and nothing...ever.  I can live out of boxes and bags, right?

My cats are...adjusting?

Large Cat is having a lot of trouble with my new windows. 

Go on, you say?  Don't mind if I do!

The window in my DP bedroom had a sill on which one or two cats could comfortably sit and peer out at passers by and the running waters of the stream below.

New apartment is different.  There is a smaller window which actually has 3 panes of glass in order to cut down on noise (which I find unnecessary, it's not that loud?).  So here is the problem:

When the window is open, Large Cat can jump and barely (she's fat) sit on the tiny lip of the window sill.  BUT when the window is closed, the sill disappears.  And so does the ability for her to sit on it.

This is very confusing to a cat. 

The first time it happened I was laying in bed, exhausted from moving. I heard the blinds clatter and looked over in time to see her falling to the ground after a failed attempt to perch in the window.  "Aww poor Large Cat.  She'll figure it out."

She didn't. 

Attempt number two occurred about a minute and a half later.  Same result.  Epic cat fail.  Now it was getting sad.

The shock finally subsided and I went back to doing nothing.

About three minutes later I heard the blinds again follow by a loud thud....on the other side of the window.  Also unsuccessful.  Large Cat figured out that the right side of the window was clearly unavailable, but the left side had to work.  She was wrong.  And fell to the ground defeated.

She has done the same to my windows in my living room.  I am worried that her brain cells are rapidly decreasing with every fail.  It's like headbanging for cats.  Except without music.  And more running into windows with your head.  And it will make her stupider, which I don't need.  (If I can add photos later by being evil and waiting for her to fail, I will.)

<-------- :(  -Large Cat

Special Cat is having issues too (obviously).  With my ceiling fans. 

There is one in the bedroom and one in the living room.  I didn't understand why this was such a problem until I realized that my DP apartment did not have ceiling fans.  Special Cat is only about 6 months old and has only known the DP apartment.  So ceiling fans are an entirely new monster to her.

She spends a lot of time on the ground, and then on my bed, and then on the ground, and back on the bed, looking at the ceiling with her head cocked to one side, as if to say, "What, the, FUCK, is that???"

But she doesn't really say that.  Because she's a cat. 

What she does do is make all kinds of strange meowing (if you could call it that?) sounds that sound really sad and concerned.  I think she thought she knew everything there was to know, and I just threw a cog into that machine.  And her tiny little Special mind has been blown.

<-----  ???WTF??? -Special Cat

Finally, an update on my Dickhole neighbor.

I am sorry to report that things didn't work out the way I planned and I ran out of time. 

1.  I love Tuesday night trivia at Kitsch Bar way more than I hate my neighbor.  So there went that night. 

2.  Wednesday I didn't have help so I spent the whole day finishing getting stuff out of the old place and cleaning.

3.  Then I had to give my landlord the keys right then and there.

Balls.

BUT.  I am happy to report that the entire 5 hours I was in there finishing up and cleaning,  I listened to music at an inappropriate volume.  I listened to things like, Marilyn Manson, Ke$ha...you know, things I love but that would be annoying as hell to hear through a ceiling.  And I wore high heeled boots on the hardwood floor.  And he was home the whole time. 

I also left for an hour to go run and do a few things, turned the volume up, and left.  So that was great. 

And I do still work 2 minutes from where he lives.  And I do have the advantage of knowing where he lives and him not knowing where I moved to.

And if anyone feels so inclined, please, for the love of God, go and mess with him.

Dickhole Neighbor
33852 Del Obispo St Unit 109
Dana Point, CA 92629

The gate code is #1414. 
And you all know what his van looks like. 

Have fun and take pictures!!!!!

Top 5 Things That Annoy Me While Driving

Today I cut someone off.  It was totally my bad.  I didn't mean to, I just incorrectly judged the amount of I time I had to make the turn in front of the oncoming car that wouldn't make me an asshole.  The guy I cut off was not pleased.  He flashed his brights, honked his horn for an inappropriate amount of time, etc. 

But then I realized that all I had to do was let this guy know, "Hey, I messed up, and I'm sorry.  Let's be friends."  So I smiled and waved (which I realize also makes me look like a smug jerk, I am also ok with this-explanation to follow).  He was not amused, but I felt pretty good about it.  And that's all that matters!

So here is another Top 5 Blog.  This one is dedicated to things that piss me off about driving/other drivers/general shittiness about driving.

Warning: There will probably be a fair amount of swearing in this entry.  Cause these things really fucking piss me off.

5. Doing Something Douchey and then Avoiding Eye Contact

If you do something shitty to someone else on the road, the LAMEST thing to do is to pretend like nothing happened, and that there isn't an angry driver giving you the finger in the car to your left.  I'm just saying. 

Take ownership of your douchiness.

If you cut me off and I catch up to you at the light, maybe give me a little wave that says, "I fucked up, but I know it.  And I'm sorry."  Or, "Yeah, I cut you off, and I'd do it again!  DEAL WITH IT."  Either one I will respect.

What I do not respect is pulling up next to someone at a stoplight who totally just pulled a dickhead move on the road, looking over, and seeing a guy/girl staring off into space, pretending they don't know that my eye-laser beam of hatred is boring into the side of his/her skull.

4. Cutting Me Off, and then Slowing Down

Ok, look.  I get it.  For some reason, you really need to pass me- RIGHT NOW.  So you speed up like an asshole and cut me off.  If that's where it ends, awesome...and you're still a dick.  But don't make it exponentially worse by then slowing down.  You just cut me off because I wasn't going fast enough!  Fine! 

SO SPEED THE FUCK UP AND KEEP DRIVING.  Because if you don't, you're just an asshole.

3. Cat Calling/Leering/Honking at Me While Driving/at a Stoplight

Really guys?  Really?  What do you think is going to happen?  When did this become socially acceptable?  And has anyone ever really met someone through this?  Because that must be why it keeps happening, right???  Someone, somewhere, hit on a chick while driving and they hit it off and got married? 

No? 

Yeah-I didn't think so.

If I am at a stoplight, in your little minds, what do you foresee happening?

Guy:  Hey baby. ::honk honk::

Me:  ::Giggling:: Who me?  OMG!  You think I'm cute?  AND YOU DRIVE???  We should totally make out give each other hickeys!

Then I guess we pull over and do that?  Or maybe I just jump out of my car and into his. 

He's probably got candy and puppies in there.

And if I am driving, like freeway driving, what on earth am I supposed to do?  No really. Tell me.  I would love to hear these responses.

"Well, I'll say my phone number, you read my lips and decipher it, and then call me!"

"I will use sign language and sign my phone number and name to you!  Call me!"

"You should totally take the next exit!  I will also do that!  Then we will talk!"

"Put your car in neutral, exit through your window, I will totally catch you!  LOL!"

I should note that I am in no way interested, but am just wondering what the men who partake in this behavior are hoping to accomplish.  (Correct answer is nothing, btw.)

2. Not Using Your Turn Signal Before Turning

Because there is obviously no functional purpose for the plastic stick to the side of your steering wheel.  I mean, why did they even include that in the car?  It just takes up space and confuses people.

Except it doesn't.  And you should use it.  TO TURN!  Concept, I know.

It is especially bothersome when I am going straight, and you are turning (but I don't know you're turning because you're an asshole who doesn't use your turn signal), and instead of continuing to cruise along at 40 mph, I have to slam on my breaks to avoid hitting your dumb ass because I had no idea it was your intention to turn.  Which is, again: why turn signals were invented!

***1. Not Using Your Turn Signal Before Changing Lanes***

This is without a doubt, my biggest pet peeve.  I'm already in a worse mood for writing this blog - and now I'm just irritated in general.  I know I just wrote about turning without using your turn signal, but there is something about changing lanes without signaling that is the ultimate middle finger to me.

And I think I figured out why.

When you change lanes in front of me and use your turn signal, I think, "I'm so glad I could facilitate this (insert make and model of vehicle) in changing lanes.  I hope he arrives at his destination in good spirits and in a timely manner, also."

But when you do not use your turn signal, it is a different story.

Because when you change lanes in front of me without signaling, my brain interprets it like this:

"YOU JUST FUCKING CUT ME OFF.  IT IS ON!"

In all honesty, there could be plenty of room in between me and the next car.  It doesn't matter.  Because there is something that is triggered deep within my psyche and I immediately want revenge.  And I hate you.

My Neighbor, the Dickhole.

I moved in to my current apartment about a year and a half ago.  From day one I have had problems with my downstairs neighbor.  Let me rephrase: my downstairs neighbor is a crazy asshole and I have been dealing with it for a year and a half. 

I will go into detail, but the point of this entry is that I am moving out in 4 days.  And I want to leave him with a middle finger to remember me by.  I am going to come up with several scenarios and have people vote on what I should do in order to accomplish this.  This will be a long entry, but it needs to happen.

The day I got keys to my apartment, I went in to put some shelf paper in and do some minor things before I moved all my stuff in.  Within 30 minutes of being inside, I heard a knock at the door.

Encounter #1:

::Opened the door::

Me:  Hi

Him:  You moving in?

Me: ...Yep?

Him:  I'm in your carport.

Me: ...Ok...?

Him:  When are you moving in?

Me:  Well I won't be needing it until Thursday, so feel free to use it 'til then.

Him:  Ok.

:::Scene:::

So that was my first impression of him.  "Well, that was kind of awkward, but I'm sure it's no big deal."  Is what I thought.  I was wrong.

A few days later I was moving some of my stuff in.  I think I was carrying something fairly large, but I'm tough, I can handle it.

Encounter #2:

As I am about to head up the stairs...

Him:  Don't you have a boyfriend or a husband to help you with that? (I did not.)

(Also, creepy.)

Me: Nope!

:::Scene:::

About a week later I had my uncle over to help me put a few paintings up.  In addition, he cut a new rod to install in my closet to give me more space to hold the absurd amount of clothes that I have.  Well that apparently was a problem.  At 5 pm on a Saturday, the 45 seconds it took him to saw through the rod to make it the correct length became too much for my neighbor to handle. 

I was in my closet, but here is apparently what happened.

Encounter #3:

Dickhole enters my apartment.  My uncle walks out to find him standing in my living room.

Him: Don (my landlord) says he wants you to stop with the construction.  (Had been done for 10 min already.  Also had gotten permission from my landlord to do this.)

My uncle: Get out of here.

:::Scene:::

That was pretty much the only direct contact I have ever had with him.  After these encounters, I soon began to realize what kind of person I was dealing with.  Him and his girlfriend (?) never leave their apartment.  Ever.  They also smoke pot every single day, multiple times a day.  I have never walked up my stairs and not seen their TV on.  That is not an exaggeration.  I have literally never seen that TV turn off.  He drives a red VW stoner van, complete with floral window coverings and stickers everywhere (photo to be added later).  They have 2 little shitty dogs that are beyond annoying and bark constantly.  His girlfriend stares at me like him and I had some sort of crazy affair.

***Photo added as promised***

"Whatever."  I thought.  "A lot of people have issues with their neighbors.  I'm living in an apartment"  At this point, I didn't even really have issues with him, I just felt pretty uncomfortable, especially after he came into my apartment unannounced and uninvited.

Then the complaints started.

Let me preface this by saying, I work in property management at an apartment complex.  I deal with noise complaints and neighbor complaints all day, everyday, and therefore am extremely sensitive to being a quiet neighbor.  Also, I am a single girl, living alone.  I work 40 hours a week.  I spend a lot of those nights out with my friends.  I am rarely, rarely at home.  If I have people over, its a person.  I think one time I had 3 whole people there at once because we were eating dinner.  And they were all gone by 10 or 11.

My landlord called me to say that Dickhole was complaining that I have people over late, am extremely loud, etc.  The first time I was pretty shocked and explained to my landlord that that doesn't make sense, but I let it go. 

A few weeks later I was bringing home a painting.  It was late, probably about 1 in the morning.  I got up the stairs, opened my door, and as soon as I walked in - I dropped the painting.  "Crap."  I thought.  "Oh well." 

Then the banging started.  I dropped something by accident, and Dickhole began banging on my ceiling.

The next morning at 9 am, I get another call from my landlord.  "He says you were being really loud at 1 am."  "Don," I said, "I dropped a painting on my way in the door last night.  It was a split second.  This guy is crazy."  Don listened.  "This guy smokes pot 24/7, has his TV running constantly, has annoying little shits of dogs that bark all the time.  And I don't say anything.  Because I live in an apartment and I am aware of what comes along with that.  He needs to chill out and realize he chose to live underneath someone and buy a house if he has this many issues with apartment living." 

Don agreed.  He said he was going to call Dickhole and tell him he needs to back off and buy some ear plugs if he is that sensitive (which he did).

I felt relieved.  Finally this was over.

Wrong.

I should also add that this guy is a total pussy.  Everytime we pass each other in the common areas he avoids eye contact at all cost while I stare him down with my evil death stare.  I could totally take him. 

I left a small bag of trash outside my door a few times very briefly while I was preparing to leave for the day and take it out on my way out.  Dickhole/Dickhole's girlfriend snapped a picture of it, sent it to the HOA with a complaint so I received a nice little letter saying that "someone has complained about this issue and sent a picture of it."  I'm sure there are things I am leaving out, this is just what I can think of.

One night I had a friend over.  It was probably about 11 or so- again, only me and one other person.  We were just talking and messing around.  As a joke, my friend spit some water at me.  Of course, my natural tendency was to run away to avoid the water.

Apparently, this was another problem.

Dickhole banged on the ceiling.

Me and my friend were drinking so my friend decided to give it right back to him.  He jumped high in the air and came down with a loud thud.  The banging stopped. 

Finally!

Wrong again.

Because then "the music" started.

"The music" had happened before.  But only once or twice so I let it go.  I put "the music" in quotes because it wasn't just music.  This was one CD.  One awful, awful, CD that this guy played, over, and over, and over, and over again.  To make things worse, it's some terrible 90's rock that I never was able to distinguish.  It's like, Creed meets Guns N' Roses meets Nickelback.  Terrible.  I hope someday, somehow, I actually hear this CD for more than its bass line because I will know it immediately and it will be hilarious.

"We should go give him another CD so at least we get to wake up to something decent."
-my boyfriend at the time. 

He plays this CD at an insanely loud volume.  Like, wakes-you-up-from-a-deep-sleep-and-immediately-throws-you-into-panic-mode loud.  I finally decided it was some type of alarm that the music was set to, because it was always early in the morning, and always at an earth shattering volume.

I didn't want to complain because I don't like complaining.  But it happened a few other times, so I finally decided to email my landlord about it.  I attached the email if you have any interest in reading it.  If not keep scrolling down...

Hey Don,

　

I called you this morning, but I just figured I’d send you an email. I absolutely hate complaining, especially with all the issues I have had with my downstairs neighbors. I also am pretty understanding of apartment living and realize that there is going to be a certain amount of compromise as we have previously discussed. That being said, this morning I woke up to extremely loud music being played at 7:30 am. I mean, ridiculously loud. It woke me up from a dead sleep. I stood in the shower and the tub was vibrating. This has happened about 5 times in the year that I have been there. Sometimes it is even on my day off, which is extremely irritating. The first time, and obviously second, third and fourth, I just let it go. It is just completely inconsiderate and rude. It doesn’t happen often, but it prevents me from sleeping which I can only continue to be understanding about for so long. Usually it’s for about 30 minutes, today it was over and hour and was still playing when I left for work. In a normal situation I would just ask my neighbor to please play their music at a respectful volume at such a ridiculous hour, but due to all the issues with them I really don’t feel comfortable doing that. I don’t want to start anything, I really just want to be able to sleep in my apartment. If there is anything you can do to facilitate a solution to the problem, I would really appreciate it. Feel free to call me if you have any further questions as well.　 

I hoped this would be dealt with right away, but it was not.  And the music started happening at 5 am.  To make a long story short, it took Don forever to call this guy.  When he finally did, this is what happened.

Don:  So I called him..

Me:  And?

Don:  He's doing it on purpose.

Me:  WHAT????!

Don:  Yeah...he says he's doing it when he thinks you're loud the night before to retaliate against you.

Me:  So let me get this straight.  This miserable 40 something year old man is so unbelievably crazy that he is purposely trying to piss me off, when I am just living my life and trying to be a respectful neighbor?

Don: Yeah it sounds like it.

Me:  And there's nothing you can do?

Don:  Well I asked him to stop and he said no.  So you can go to the Home Owner's Association, but it's just going to be a he said she said issue.

Me:  Alright, well thanks I guess.

And that was that.  This asshole was doing this on purpose.

I began scheming about things I could do to get him back.  But I just gave up because I realized I am dealing with a child and nothing would ever come of it.

That is, however, until I decided to move.

And now, I am ready to 'retaliate.'  Because after Wednesday I will never have to see this douche again.  I have no idea how someone that is always high can be so vindictive and miserable.

***EDIT***

I forgot to add that on Thursday, Dickhole played the music and purposefully skipped all the slower songs.  So I didn't get to hear the ballad that follows the first offensively terrible song.  I was so confused until it happened with all the slower songs (I have essentially memorized the entire CD).  This means he was actually sitting there, pressing "NEXT," in order to annoy me to the fullest extent.

***********

So I am requesting your input.  And here is what I have come up with so far:

Scenario A:

• Don't do anything.  I'm obviously the more mature adult in the situation, so I should just walk away, and never think about this guy again.

Scenario B:

• Throw a rager on Tuesday night because I won't need to wake up there Wednesday morning.

Scenario C:

• Find some shitty CD to leave on his shitty red van with a note saying something to the effect of:  "I figured you might want some new music since the one CD you listen to will probably give out soon.  Thanks for being a great neighbor!  XOXO."

Scenario D:

• (This one was brought to my attention last night, but I am loving it.)  Go buy some piece of crap stereo, insert crappy CD, turn volume all the way up, lock door, leave forever. 

Submit your suggestion to me stat.  I have until Tuesday to make this decision.  I am leaning towards scenario C.  I will also include a photo of whatever I choose to do after it happens.  And don't feel bad, because this guy is a total dick.

Why I'm Afraid Of Sharks

(Other than the fact that they are the most terrifying thing on this planet.)

I know a lot of people have an irrational phobia to some degree, whether it is spiders, snakes, cherry tomatoes, carnies, etc.  Mine is sharks.  If you've known me for any substantial period of time you already know this about me.  And I'm not just "kind of freaked out by them and would really not like to be in the same room as one," I am completely terrified.  I don't go into the ocean.  I don't swim in lakes.  I avoid boat rides at all cost.  I know better.

When I attempt to trace this phobia back to its root I'm not sure I can pinpoint why exactly I feel so strongly, but I think this might have something to do with it. 

Before I saw the movie "Jaws" (ruined my life, by the way) I talked about seeing the movie "Jaws."  I think I am strangely attracted to things that scare the crap out of me...it's like a game of chicken.  And I always lose.  Always.  I like to see how tough I am and tell myself it's really not that scary, until I haven't slept in a week and look like death.  In any event, during my talking-about-seeing-Jaws phase (I'm thinking I was about 8), I mistakenly ran it by my mother.  Who told me I shouldn't see it.

Because there was a scene in which a little girl with dark curly hair (me) got eaten by a shark (holy crap)...

Through the toilet.

This is what I pictured everytime I tried to pee as a child.

Only the scene would be less cute and pink.  (Spoiler alert, this actually doesn't happen in the movie, my mom was just being a total bitch.)

The fact that I could be eaten through a small opening such as a toilet meant only one thing:

Nothing was safe.  I could be eaten, anywhere.  At any time.

Because there was probably a pool shark.

And a water park shark.

And there was probably a shark waiting for me in my shower.

I even convinced myself that it was possible that a shark could come crashing through my wall and eat me in the middle of the night, because as far as I knew our house had been sucked down to the bottom of the ocean while I was sleeping.

I would like to report that as an adult I am no longer paralyzed by this fear, but that would be a dirty, dirty lie.  When I was 23 I flew to Hawaii to celebrate graduating from college.  All I could think about was the plane crashing into a giant pit of sharks.

Now I'd like to examine and outline for you why being eaten by a shark has to be the worst way to die. 

I.  Inability to reason with the animal that is devouring your body

• This doesn't really need a whole lot of bullet points, but there is literally nothing you could do.  You cannot ask the giant shark to stop chewing on your torso.  Because he will not listen.  And he will eat you.

II.  You are being eaten alive.

• I mean really?  Does it get worse?  I guess it does when this sentence becomes past tense and you have been eaten.

III.  You are simultaneously drowning.

• Chances are if you are being eaten alive, you probably can't touch the bottom of the ocean.  And if you can, well it's pretty damn useless at this point.
• And don't forget you're still being eaten alive.
• Drowning while being eaten alive?  No thank you.

IV.  There is a lot of salt water.

• And it's rushing quickly into your open, gaping wounds.  (Um...ouch?)
• But it won't even matter I guess cause you'll be dead soon anyway.
• And you're being eaten alive.
• And you're still drowning.
• Also it's probably really, really cold water.

To sum it up, it's the worst.

I'm pretty sure this is a real picture and that shark is about to own her.  She obviously hasn't learned that you don't go into the ocean, ever.  Because when you do, this is what happens.

Me + Moving = Laziness

Tonight I realized something about myself: Moving turns me into the laziest human being in existence.

I'm pretty lazy as it is...I never got around to changing the crappy door handle that locks people into/out of my bathroom, I don't think I have ever dusted my apartment in the year and a half I have lived here, instead of buying a new vacuum that actually works I just borrow different people's vacuums when my carpet gets out of control due to excessive cat related things (not gross ones)...I didn't even put my Christmas tree up this year; instead I bought a poinsettia because it was easier.

But the fact that I am moving in a little over a week has taken things to a whole new level.

Now, even though my carpets are sprinkled with cat litter from the dance parties that my cats throw, I am telling myself, "Well I'm moving.  Why would I clean it now when I'm just going to be cleaning it again in a week?"

My dishes stare sadly and quietly back at me from the right side of the sink begging to be washed, "But why would I clean them now when I just have to do it all again in a week?"

My laundry is spilling out helplessly over my laundry bag..."I'll just take care of that next week...because of the moving.."

I finally realized tonight that this had officially spiraled out of control when one of my cats (we allll know which one it was) took a shit right outside of the litter box, and for a second, just for one brief second I thought, "But I'm mov- good God, what have I become?"

Of course I cleaned it up, don't worry, I'm sure you're all concerned and a little grossed out.  (Sidenote, I think Special Cat senses something is wrong, she has been especially special these past few days)

Disclaimer/Point of this blog: For the next week, I intend to do nothing but the bare minimum in order to get by and not be completely disgusting.  So ye be warned, all who intend to visit and bid farewell to my Dana Point apartment.  And watch where you step.  Also.


***EDIT***

I BOUGHT A VACUUM TODAY (1/18)!!!  THIS IS HUGE.  ALSO, I AM DRUNK.

The Creep Five

Today I retold a story that I have told many, many times.  So many that I decided to finally document this event and permanently enter it into annals of internet history.  This is the story of the creep five.

We've all had dating disasters- this story is no exception.  It happened about 6 years ago. I had been single for quite some time and was ready to get back into the dating scene after the end of a long term relationship.  To put it simply- I'm not good at dating.  It's awkward, it's uncomfortable, it's just not for me.

Enter, this guy.  Let's call him 'Schmaniel.'  I met Schmaniel at a friend's wedding.  We had a really cute story too- we both saw each other from across the room, each inquired separately about each other, yada yada yada.  We eventually began a conversation, and it turned out that we had a lot in common.  We quickly exchanged numbers and were extremely eager to begin the awkward 'getting to know each other' phase.

Over the following week we had several phone conversations.  These conversations got pretty serious, pretty fast, and always ended with me explaining that I am just getting over my ex boyfriend and will probably be slower paced about getting into another relationship.

Schmaniel lived about 4 hours north of me which posed a serious problem- we needed to see each other again- now.  Here is the plan we devised:  I was going to pick him up from the airport near me and drive him home (he was getting home from a vacation).  We would stay a night there, drive home to my house, stay a night there, and the following day drive to a concert that was conveniently located at about the half way point between our cities.

Here's how I was feeling at this point.

<------(Excited and hopeful)

And here is how it all went terribly, terribly wrong.

You know that feeling you get when you meet someone and you instantly connect, fall immediately into pseudo-love and you just cannot get enough of each other??  Well that feeling has an opposite: the feeling that the second you see this person you realize there is nothing there and you cannot get out of their presence fast enough.  I felt the latter. The second he got into my car.  Only instead of being able to walk away forever once the date is finished, I was stuck with him....for 3....whole....days.

I will not pretend that I am not partially to blame for the events that followed.  I could have stopped it.  I could have interrupted his, "Hi!  It's so great to finally see you again!!" with, "You know what?  I'm just not into it.  Let's just shake hands and I'll drop you off at home and we'll go our separate ways.  Good luck with your search!"  I did not do this.  I did not do this at all.

I would like to blame most of my temporary stupidity on the fact that I really, really, really wanted to get over my ex boyfriend.  It is not often that I am interested in dating someone, so in my mind, the part of me that wanted to be in a happy relationship was screaming, "Just give him a chance!  There was obviously something that you liked about this guy at the wedding!  Come ooooon!  You can do it!!!  WOOOOOO!!!!!" In other words I had a tiny squad of internal cheerleaders cheering me on.

So I should have told him I wasn't interested.  Instead I said this: 

"It's great to see you too!"  Fail.

The next hour was painful.  He seemed like a nice enough guy, I just didn't feel that I-don't-want-to-kick-you-out-of-my-car-this-second spark, you know?  Then, after about an hour of small talk he looked at me and said, "Sooo....do you want to be my girlfriend?"

No.  No, no, no, no, no I don't.

Is what I should have said.  

What I did say: ".....Ok?"  (Double fail.)  Now boys, maybe it's just me, but this is probably not the reaction you are hoping for when you ask a girl that question.  You are probably anticipating a, "I thought you'd never ask!" or a "Yes!  Yes!  A thousand times yes!"  Well that didn't happen.

Here's what did happen.  And if I didn't know that this wasn't going to work before, here's when I really knew this needed to end, stat.  Schmaniel looked at me, and then said, "Cool!......Now you ask me."

I am going to give this a minute to sink in to its appropriate and deserving extent.

...

..

.

Ok.  So not only do I really not want to date this guy, but now I have to REPEAT the question of monogamy back to him.  Here is where the fact that I was 20 and on the rebound comes into play.  Or at least that is what I tell myself to make myself feel better for actually doing what this fool asked of me.

Me:  "Um...do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Him:  "Yes!"

...

Him:  "Now let's high five on it!"

SIDENOTE:  Yes, this really did happen.  And yes, I wish I were making it up.

It's hard for me to even continue this story because with each word I type I am more and more mortified. But yes, I had just been asked to 'high five' in order to cement my newly founded relationship.  Ladies, gentlemen, if you are ever asked to 'high five' on a relationship, run away.  Run away as fast as you can.

So this happened.

.................

 <------ (Undeniable shame and embarrassment)

And here's how I felt inside.

Unfortunately, it gets worse...because here's what happened next.  As my hand touched his hand, something terrible happened.  Something that I didn't even know was possible.  

While I innocently subjected myself to the most humiliating high five I have ever received in my life, his fingers began to close around mine.  "no, no, No, NO, NOOOO!" - My tiny internal cheerleaders screamed.  Because, to my horror, this terrible high five had transformed into this:

And just like that, we were holding hands.  Awkward, uninterested, sweaty hands.  In the car.  We had high five-d on our relationship and now this was happening (refer to above picture).  The 'relationship' lasted 24 hours.  Which made the last 1.5 days of the trip extremely awkward (my bad).

And here's what I felt like.

From the moment it happened I knew that I would never live this down.  And so I decided to embrace it.  And tell whoever will listen.


And that, my friends, is the creep five.

Special Cat

About 4 months ago I got a new kitten to keep my super fat adult cat company.  Yes, I am inching slowly towards becoming a crazy cat lady.  I am stopping at 2, however, because as someone once said, "A 3rd cat means a 10th cat."  I concur.

I should have known there was something a little off when in the pet store she was standing on her hind legs screaming bloody murder the entire time I was in the pet store, but I chose to ignore it.  The result is, I now am the proud owner of Special Cat.

Special Cat does things like:

• Cry when she has to go poop because she still doesn't understand what's happening to her body.
• Poop on the litter box instead of in the litter box.
• Run around my apartment as if an invisible force is chasing her and threatening her life.

***The above point never, never ends.  Ever.  If you have met her, you know I am not exaggerating. ***

• Tackle Large Cat at all times, even when playtime is clearly over.
• Chase her tail, because she has still not figured out it is attached to her body.
• Tackle me in the middle of the night because she thinks I'm some sort of sheet monster.
• Meow incessantly while she does all of these things.

There are lots more that become clarified by spending time with her.  Just for fun, here is that picture again.  Now that you know a little more about her, maybe it will make more sense.

Please note the tongue.  And the fact that I had just finished cleaning the litter box because of one of her little episodes.  Oh Special Cat.  What would I do without you?  Probably sleep a lot more.

Ghosts? No Thanks.

Ghosts freak me out.  There is no way around it.  Last night I was reminded of how terrified I am at even the idea that they might exist and be able to communicate with or, in my case, scare the hell out of the living world. 

I actually think I had multiple experiences with some type of spirit/ghost/freaky shit while living at my parents' for the first 24 years of my life.  Especially in my twenties, I would sometimes wake up to a feeling of intense pressure, like something was pushing down on my chest- one night particularly more intense than all the others.  I could never see anything, but I knew I was awake and I know something did go down in that room.  Strangely enough, once I started talking about it to people, it pretty much stopped.  But any part of me that wants to pretend that there is nothing out there, secretly believes that's probably not true.

A little back story, my grandma passed away just over a year ago.  We were extremely close and her absence has left a gaping hole in my life. 

That being said: There is NO part of me that wants her to make herself known to me from beyond the grave if she is lingering around and keeping a figurative 'eye' on our family.

My mother however, does not feel the same.  If there is any way she can communicate with my grandma, she will figure it out.  She has even resorted to seeing a psychic, who incorrectly claimed I was pregnant (I was/am not).

Last night I had dinner with my family.  After dinner we decided to play a game that we all used to play with my grandma.  All was going well, until my mother looked up at the lamps above the counter and to my horror said, "Mom, if you're here, make the lamps move!" 

....

I could have killed her (::inappropriate rimshot::).  The rest of the night consisted of her creepily looking towards the lamps, waiting for something to happen, and me either pretending that wasn't happening, or yelling at my mom for envoking my dead grandmother's spirit right in front of me. 

Thank God, nothing happened.  Grandma, if you're out there, I love you more than you will ever know, but please, please, please, please, do NOT appear to me as a ghost or do anything creepy.

I miss you grandma.

Why Spongebob Squarepants Can Unintentionally Take Up My Whole Day

It's true.  That square-pantsed little sponge can make me disregard any number of important things I need to do.  Right now I am supposed to be getting ready for work.  But Spongebob is busy pestering Squidward and I have to see how it ends.

The show comes neatly packaged in convenient 10 to 15 minute episodes.  A perfect dose of commitment free, lighthearted humor.  So when I begin to watch, I tell myself something like, "Well I'll just watch one and then I will feed my cats."  What's 10 minutes of innocent, childlike joy???  2 hours later I have accomplished nothing except fueling my cats' spiteful secret plan to attack me in my sleep.  Because what I am 'subconsciously' ignoring is the fact that I know that at all times on Nickelodeon there is a Spongebob Squarepants marathon, which is apparently going to continue for all eternity.  And obviously, I need to watch them all.

It never ends.  It's on when I wake up.  It's on while I'm trying to leave for work.  It's on when I get home.  It's on when I wake up at 3 in the morning because I can't sleep- and my cats are pissed I forgot to feed them because I was busy watching it earlier that morning.

There is a possibility that it is not running while I'm at work, but I haven't tested that theory- because of that whole 'I'm at work' thing.  This would mean that Spongebob Squarepants is pretty much a conspiracy that is designed to render me completely unproductive for an undisclosed period of time.  I'm almost positive that's what's going on.

I consider myself a fairly intelligent and sensible woman with a healthy sense of humor.  That being said, I wonder if I am the only one who falls victim to this damn sponge.

Top 5 Worst Ideas

During my Blog Naming Crisis of 2010/2011, I briefly entertained the notion of doing a blog solely consisting of 'Top 5' posts.  Partly of course as a throwback to my love for High Fidelity, but also because I feel like I could actually successfully make that happen.  I decided against it for fear that I might someday resort to something ridiculous like a 'Top 5 cheeses I like' blog.  But now that is sounding kind of good...Dear Lord did I make a mistake??

See this is what happens, and what has been happening for months.  I am going to post another blog today because this is what originally inspired me to suck it up and pick a name. The Top 5 idea, that is.  The ridiculous thing is that I knew that I would be writing this before I even went out yesterday, because from the beginning it was a horrible, horrible idea.

So here are The Top 5 Worst Ideas I Had Yesterday:

Let me quickly explain that I am extremely sick.  I have some sort of evil cold that causes me to cough uncontrollably and is making my life miserable.  I'm pretty sure I have the plague or at least the black lung.  That being said, I decided it would be a great idea to go out to Disneyland last night until 1 in the morning.  I then asked myself, how can I possibly make this worse? 

5. Leaving My Peacoat in the Car

That's right.  In my presumptuous, sick stupor I decided that I would be fine in my thin leather jacket in the 45 degree weather (sidenote, I am typically cold even in 70 degree weather).  I justified this because I felt ok at the time- a.k.a. the moment I stepped out of the warm car- and had brought along a scarf and gloves.  Oh and P.S., the gloves were fingerless.  Brilliant.  So instead of wearing my J Crew peacoat with Thinsulate lining, I chose my cropped leather jacket that is pretty much the thinnest leather jacket out there.  Let me add that I had 2 chances to put the coat on: 

First, my friends convinced me- yes, I needed to be convinced- to simply bring my peacoat from my car into theirs so I could decide when I got there which one I wanted to wear.  Great friends.  Their advice was more or less lost on me, though I did end up bringing it in their car.  However, once we arrived and it was time to enter the park my faulty reasoning overpowered everything else.  It had to be the leather jacket.  There was nothing else.  "Well if that's the worst decision I make tonight, I guess that's not too bad..."

4. Drinking Alcohol While Suffering from the Plague

You know what a really good idea is when you're sick?  Stay in bed.  Watch movies.  Drink orange juice and convince one of your friends you're sick, but not too sick to let them come take care of you.  You know what a really bad idea is when you're sick?  Everything I did last night.  Especially this next gem.  I didn't just have a beer.  I brought a flask- of vodka.  Not my proudest moment.  And I followed the vodka with a beer.  And dancing.  I think my mentality was that the alcohol would numb me enough to forget that I was sick and have a great time.  Enough said.

3. Deciding to Go Out in the First Place


I will address more about this in number one, but really, it speaks for itself.  How I was able to convince myself this would be a good idea, I don't know.  Lesson learned (maybe).  If I am sick, I should not go drink and dance at Disneyland in a thin jacket.


2. Never Trying a Corn Dog Until Last Night


There are things in this world that do not make sense.  I experienced one of them last night.  Last night, I tried a corn dog for the first time.  Ever.  I don't know how this happened.  I have had a Disneyland pass since I was 18.  I probably go at least a couple times a month.  That's roughly about 450 Disneyland trips, and that's probably even on the stingy side.  How did I never try a corn dog???  I know there are many other life experiences that I might have also tried a corn dog.  But Disneyland has to have one of THE best corn dogs.  And I have been walking past that glorious red cart for all this time.  The severity of this mistake is noted by its rank.  Everything is the fault of my number 1 worst decison.


1. My Job

To be dramatic, my job has ruined my life.  To be realistic, it's kind of annoying and it makes me do weird things.  Allow me to explain. 

I work at a job where I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off.  In other words, that is my weekend.  That being said, I have been known to make comments like, "Today is my Saturday!" and such.  This was all fine until a few months ago at a stand up show when a comedian totally and unknowingly called me out with a bit that said something to the effect of, "What's with these people saying stuff like, 'Today is my Saturday?!?'  How egocentric!  The weekend doesn't revolve around you!"  Owned.  Dang it.  Let's be honest I still say it, but not with confidence.

Because of this weekend predicament, I had to make a choice:  Either don't go out with my friends on the real (yeah that's right, you all get italics because it's not the weekend for ME) weekends because I have to work in the morning, or get over it, go out anyway, and deal with the consequences in the morning-at work.  As a single 26 year old, I chose the latter.

It is this very line of thinking that I believe played into why I thought my mentality (plus positive thinking!) could overcome a cold:  "My job is not going to tell me when and when not to go out and have fun."  Fair enough.  A good idea?  Maybe, maybe not.  Until this happens:  "My cold is not going to tell me when and when not to go out and have fun."  Interjection:  YES, YES IT IS.  That is EXACTLY what it is going to do.  Or at least what it should do..

And that is why my job is ruining my life and my sanity.  And that is why my job is responsible for how I feel today.  And that is why this is my #1 worst idea.  I plan on going home tonight and falling into a Nyquil coma.  Or going to my friend's birthday party at a bar, I haven't decided.

So It Begins

Alright.  So here I am in Blogland.  After reading enough of these I decided it is time I get my own.  So far I'd say it's going pretty well.  I've picked out a color pattern, a template, and even thought of a few topics to write about.  I was prepared for the initial awkwardness of writing about my own thoughts and experiences.  What I was unprepared for was the existential crisis I went through while trying to pick out a name for my blog.  Really, that was the last thing I planned on. 

It began with simple enough questions such as, "What colors should I use?" "What should I write about?" and "What do I want this blog to say about me as a person?" These innocent questions quickly escalated to a philosophical apex as soon as I realized I needed to title my venture into the world of blogging.  And this title would stick.  ::::Foreeeever::::   Needless to say I was thrown into a downward spiral of melodramatic contemplation such as, "What does it all mean?" "Am I a good person??" and "Does God really exist???"  (Answers: still working on it, pretty good, and yes-have you tried cheese?)

To assure you that I am serious, I will tell you I created this blog about two months ago and have not touched it since because I have been pretty pissed off over the whole I-can't-come-up-with-a-title-therefore-I-don't-deserve-to-blog-or-possibly-even-live thing.  After thinking and deciding against far too many ideas, I finally settled on this one.  Let me reassure you: I am well aware I spelled the word 'basically' wrong.  The English major in me had an internal panic attack when I hit save, but the blogger in me is sticking to it.  Existential crisis for now: SOLVED.

The Back Story:  Last year, my mother was fortunate (or unfortunate?) enough to stumble upon one of my many childhood journals.  I use the term 'journal' loosely.  What this actually was, was a daily account of my mundane activities as a 12 year old.  I mean ridiculously mundane.  I went to the mall a lot, I swam a lot with my dog, and I won everything- every game I ever played, no matter how insignificant, is documented in this journal.  It was clearly imperative that I let my older self know that I won all of these things as a child.  I began and ended each entry with something to the effect of, "Today was a really good day......more stuff......and tomorrow will be an even better day!"  Apparently, the childhood version of me was an eternal optimist.

Since I am the person who wrote these things down (as if someone would actually want to read them at some point) it was mildly amusing to go back and read them as an adult.  What I didn't count on was friends and family finding my entries hilarious.  This might have something to do with what a precocious and pretentious child I was. I tended to use words and phrases that were very atypical of a girl my age, such as, "today was a very toilsome day."  Toilsome?  Really?  The only thing I can think of that might explain this, is that in sixth grade I was a witch in our school's production of Macbeth and chanted "double, double, toil and trouble."  That's all I got.  As a 26 year old, I still don't think I've ever used that word other than in that journal. 

Anyway, I will not bore you with further details (possibly more on the journal later) except to say that I consistently spelled the word 'basically' wrong throughout the entire thing by throwing an extra 'i' into the mix.  I should add that I used this word - a lot.  And that it has since become an inside joke among those who have read my journal.

Which pretty much sums it up.  And brings us up to date.  I am finally starting a blog.  As a writer and literature enthusiast I cannot believe it has taken me this long.  But I am pumped.  And you should be too.  Ok maybe not pumped, but I hope you are a step above bored.  And if you aren't, I don't want to hear about it.  Because this is my blog.  And I will win everything.