Tuesday, September 20, 2011

A Tale of (Actual) Triumph

This is the inspirational story I was hoping would happen with the post office incident, where lots of people would see me beat my anxiety and act like a functioning human being. Well, we all know how that went (if you don't, click here); this tale of triumph happened in my bathroom, while everyone in my apartment was asleep, so no one could appreciate my heroic defeat of my fears. I was going to write this out in my typical fashion (and post a picture of what it looked like, but I can't bring myself to Google images of this thing), but then I told it to someone who knows me amazingly well via Facebook chat and thought this was a good opportunity to show that no one takes me seriously (for good reason) and that I really couldn't make this shit up. So without further ado, my Facebook chat with TheSemen:

Me: OMG! I have to tell you

Semen: wut

Me: I killed a roach today in my bathroom…BY MYSELF
       (begin heaping of praise)

Semen: did you really?!
            I don’t believe you

Me: I did!

Semen: you hired a team of assassins to take it out most likely

Me: I went pee and as I was washing my hands I caught sight of it on the wall, shrieked and fled
       I finished rinsing my hands at the kitchen sink

Semen: lawl you’re so funny

Me: then I realized id left the water running! so I went in and shut it off and assessed the roach's position then I closed the door, making sure to barricade the crack at the bottom with a towel and went and put my sneakers on, and grabbed another sneaker for roach crushing. I went back in the bathroom and repeatedly hit the wall with my shoe, yelping like a retard each time it made contact. Then I had a stroke of genius and went to look for roach spray. Found some under the sink, sprayed half the can on the roach, sprayed a little more on its carcass (to prevent any zombification) and VICTORY! I killed a roach myself

Semen: I can picture this

Me: I know you can! That’s why I had to tell you ’cause you know me so damn well

Semen: do you think that maybe the half of a can was a bit excessive?

Me: I don't understand the question
        the roach was alive, now it is dead BY MY HAND
        I fucking win!

That's the epic roach story! I felt fucking invincible after the fact, and then couldn't fall asleep thinking about where the hell they keep coming from and then reassuring myself that "it's not a big deal, this is only the second one (you've SEEN) and the first one was when DH was still hanging around, so you're probably OK." Disclaimer: I know from my time spent on message boards that DH is an accepted abbreviation meaning 'Dear Husband' on this blog it means 'Dick Head' and is the name my illustrious mother attributed to the last man-boy I had hanging around. 

Yes, I said 'OMG' I'm really fucking lame, OK? Anyway, just in case you don't know TheSemen and I's relationship, that was totally a sarcastic 'you're so funny.' By 'funny,' he usually means 'should be institutionalized' so no worries, people who have known me for years don't think I'm funny either. 

Also, I know it looks like I asked a chimp to format this for me, but it was just me and blogger hates me, so this is what it looks like. I know, it makes my OCD act up too.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Winning. [Updated]

I know it is super overused, but once I tell you about the plan for tonight the only appropriate response is going to be "hell, that's BIwinning." 

Tonight is the premiere of the Roast of Charlie Sheen and we (Cupcake, MillerTime, and myself) decided that this historic event needed to be heralded in some way. Plus, we really didn't want to miss the bat shit craziness that is bound to be spewing forth tonight. So, we are having an Epic Winning Fiesta! (do not ask why Mexican was our default theme(OH! because we love tequila)) This shindig will feature Face Melting 7 Layer Dip, 7 Gram Rock on the Rocks and, the pièce de résistance, Tiger Blood Margaritas. You're right! It does sound awesome and I wish you could be there too!

For you to recreate the experience, our drink recipes:

7 Gram Rock on the Rocks:

                            Seagram's Ginger Ale or 7 Up (we aren't picky, either is in theme)
                            A Shit Ton of Vodka (whatever you can handle and still be coherent by 10pm)

Pour over ice and congratulate yourself on being more stable than Charlie Sheen.

Tiger Blood Margaritas

                            Margarita Mix (pre made, what the fuck do you think this is?)
                            Tequila (the less classy, the more on theme you are)

Mix it all up, serve on the rocks or frozen, and celebrate being able to party like Charlie Sheen.

I legit cannot wait for this thing, I was up all last night. This is like Christmas morning. 

UPDATE: It's the day after the sheen roast. I am hungover. The party was a success! Also, one *tiny* adjustment to the 7 Gram Rock on the Rocks recipe: The Albertson's didn't have any super good deals on vodka yesterday, so we used...Everclear instead. Definitely more on theme and also more painful. I hope everyone else enjoyed it too! It was all I hoped it would be. Only one joke made us all look at each other and say "too soon" so I'd say it was a success! BTW, anyone else notice that Mike Tyson is like a 5 year old whose parents gave him a mic at a family wedding? Reminds me of a family memory... 

Sunday, September 18, 2011

A Tale of (Almost) Triumph

I'm a few days late, so in the interest of full disclosure: whenever I say "today" it translates roughly to "3 days ago when I was going to post this, but got distracted by wine."

Today, when I pulled up to the post office, saw that it was packed, and STILL went in anyway; I thought to myself "I'm triumphing over my anxiety! I'll be able to write an inspiring tale on my blog tonight!" Alas, that is not meant to be.

It all started out well enough. I was there on a mission to mail a pillow back to a guest that had forgotten it. We didn't have a big enough box at the hotel, so I was literally standing in a HUGE line of people holding nothing but a stranger's pillow. Now, maybe this seems like no big deal to you well adjusted folk, but here's where I tell you that I have my name on my shirt and a hideous scarf accentuating hips that have no business being accentuated (mine).

So, I'm feeling good, still congratulating myself on getting out of the van and into the building. I'm serendipitously perusing the packing materials and glancing fervently at the people at the counter, hoping someone will take pity on the weirdo in the ugly scarf holding the dirty pillow. Then I realize (read: remember from past experiences) that the employees at this post office are the least helpful people on the planet (except for 'cute post office guy' who wasn't working, of course) and that I better get my shit together before I got to the counter.

This is where the triumphant moment where I walked up to the counter and inquired as to how to send this goddamn pillow would have gone, had I actually done that. What actually happened? Glad you asked.

I walked out. I went to Walmart, bought a box ($.94) and went back to the hotel. While I packaged the pillow, I rambled out a lame story to my coworkers about how the post office employees were dicks to me (I know I lied, but let's face it, had I balled up and asked for help, they totally would've corroborated my assumptions(and that's how prejudice works)). Then, I took my fancy packaged pillow and went BACK to the SAME post office, waited in line again, and finally sent that godforsaken pillow back to the pit of hell from whilst it came.

The moral of this (too damn) long post?
*Don't leave your shit in hotel rooms, because an anxiety-ridden hotel employee can only venture this close to the edge of her sanity once...per week.*

If you stayed for all of that, you're probably my mom and I probably could have just written "I went in public today" and she would've deduced this whole saga.

Also, if you're still here, check the sick parentheses within parentheses shit up there ^^ mad skills: I've got them

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Let's Move to the Country

That title is also the title of a great song by (smog) <<that is not my use of parentheses, that's how it's marketed. Check it out.

Anywho, I spent my day today in the very small town of Alachua (hence the title) and actually enjoyed it immensely! I usually hate outdoorsy-type places, but the city is just so freakin' cute! I found an awesome little book shop and traded in some books, I ate at a little mom & pop type place, and I even found a courtyard with benches and did some reading. All around, it was a pretty great day. I was surprised with myself for having a good time despite not having anyone to go with me; I really, really enjoyed just having a quiet day.

I always describe, and think of, myself as a social person, but lately I've been super jaded about interpersonal relationships. I'm just suspicious of everyone's intentions. Probably a lesson about myself buried in that confession, but I'm pretty lazy. Also, I'm realizing that I don't have anything funny to say today! I'm trying to think of something, but I've just been super mellow all day. So, I'm going to pour a glass of wine, put on The National (listen to this), and read me some new books. I promise to be more entertaining next time.

P.S. Seriously, listen to that National song, it makes me want to be in love with someone and have them break my heart just so I could feel what this song is feeling. (it's not really sad though I promise, just awesome)

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Aw man, I thought I was experiencing emotional growth

So, this is my first blog post. Not the first ever, but the first one on a blog I am (marginally) serious about keeping up with; and hoping people might actually read it.

I won't spend a lot of time on what this blog "is" or "will be" because, frankly, i have no clue. You can expect some nonsensical musings about my everyday existence, quotes from my friends (who are way funnier than me), and some self righteous ranting thrown in for flavor.

A tiny bit about me:
                  I've lived in Florida my whole life, but only in this city for a year; I still get lost quite frequently. I'm an English major officially, but I only take classes intermittently and, therefore, am nowhere near being done. I work full time at a hotel, and I used to be a CNA; so my disgusting stories of incontinence and stupidity are limitless (and the one might not be coming from the job you think it is). I love to read. An English teacher in high school once called me a bibliophile; I am OK with that distinction (the first step is admitting you have a problem). I am a grammar Nazi of sorts, and have recently discovered a penchant for parenthesis (get used to it). That's enough for now, we'll all learn more in the course of this journey.

So now, onto a pseudo real post!

Today, I used the phrase "got on well" in everyday conversation to describe my relationship with someone. That may seem like it is not worthy of note, but I think it is AWESOME when something like that comes up organically; I get this amazingly rare opportunity to sound fucking classy (and then negate that by describing it as 'fucking classy') Also, I was tipped in change today; which is a good metaphor for my entire week. It wasn't bad (I got a tip!), but it wasn't great (in nickels!). I got to say 'got on well,' but I also got stood up. The Bloggess & The Weed followed me on Twitter (the highlight of my month, legit), but so did some porn stars. I guess that's just life, huh? Awesome times and shitty times broken up by 'tipped in change' times, which I guess is just living.

I leave off tonight in the sincere hopes that I'll follow through on this thing...and, also, that someone might read it. Have a  fantabulous night!