Just a couple random vacay pics

Here are a few random pictures from my vacation that I forgot to send to myself via my cell phone. I'm such a dork with technology, really.

My grandfather's dog, Brandy. She's a real cuddle-bug. Sweetest dog ever.

Meet Goldie. FATTEST. CAT. EVER. Loves belly rubs.

I found me a couple stray horses! LOL I stumbled upon these guys after crossing my second mountain pass, to see a Palomino colored horse literally trotting down the highway. He didn't get pictured, as he got pissy, tried to kick my car, and darted off the highway.

Psycho Roomie, Part XII: Suzi and Boyfriend

I'm not kidding. This chick somehow managed to somehow get a boyfriend. Still can't figure out how. I'm pretty sure Witchcraft may have been involved. Possibly blackmail. Maybe some (a lot) of liquor. Perhaps a severe head injury.

When I first met her, she had a boyfriend. She then got herself summarily dumped because she gave him an ultimatum - she wanted to be engaged by Christmas or she wanted him gone. He left. Sort of. He was still on lease for their apartment, so she was forced to live with her ex-boyfriend for an additional six months. Serves her right, in my humble opinion.

At some point during the fall semester (our first semester of living together), she mentioned that an old friend was coming to visit. She somehow knew him from when he used to live in San Jose or something. At the time this took place, he was a firefighter in Colorado. So, really, this boy should have seen the signs and known to stay as far away as possible. Staying Colorado would have been a good start. However, Joey was being forced to use vacation time, and so he thought it would be awesome to come visit an old friend. She kept touting how hot he was, and of course the fact that he was a fireman made him that much hotter. She finally showed me a current picture of him, and I wasn't overly impressed. He wasn't unfortunate looking, but I've seen many firemen that were way hotter than he was. Her standards of "hot" were obviously different than mine.

I believe his first visit came sometime in November. Possibly early December. He stayed at our place for a week. For some reason, Joey seemed smitten with Suzi. I never once had a problem with him - he was a nice guy and we got along. The biggest flaw I could find was that he was smitten with Suzi.

Within a few days of him being in town, they decided to become an "official" couple. One evening, hours after Joey left from his first visit, she came to my doorway. I remember sitting on the floor of my room, working on classwork for my Reproductive Physiology class, when I felt her evil presence and turned my head to look at her. The following conversation ensued:

Me: Did Joey leave already?
Suzi: Yeah . . . I miss him so much already.
Me: I get that. Long distance relationships are really hard. (FYI, I did that. For a long time.)
Suzi: Yeah. I wish his visit had been longer.
Me: Are those pj's new? (I had noticed her firemen pj's)
Suzi: Oh yeah . . . we got matching pajamas the other day.
Me: (Alrighty then. Freak.) Oh that's nice.
Suzi: And we each got a plush dog (Dalmation). Mine's name is Dal, his is named Mation, and when we get married, we're going to get a Dalmatian and name it "Dalmatian."
Me: (blank stare) Awww. That's cute. (OMFG, gag me - somebody . . . anybody . . .)

When she left me alone, I nearly beat myself to death with my Repro-Phys book. I mean . . . REALLY?! It's like naming a Dalmatian "Spot", or a Chihuahua "Spike" or "Butch", or a Bull Mastiff "Tinkerbell".

Come January, she went off to Colorado for a week to visit him just before school started. It was a blissful week. It was so freakin' awesome to come home, just knowing she wouldn't be there. Such freedom! Too bad it didn't last longer.

Spring semester was dotted by several visits from Joey. Spring semester started at the end of January, and Suzi had gone only the week prior, and was back the day or two before school started up again. Joey, visited a week in February for Valentine's Day. A week in March for our Spring Break. A week in April for Easter. And the entire month of May so he could support Suzi for her college graduation. (I'm so not kidding on that last one) The only thing that really miffed me about him visiting so often was that, as far as I'm aware, he never once offered to help pay for anything whilst visiting. Especially during his long visit in May. I have no idea if he offered anything to Suzi and she refused, but he never said anything to me. He could have pitched in a bit for rent, cable, and PG&E, considering he was "living" there for a month.

Unfortunately, Joey visits also meant Suzi's parents would be visiting. Oddly enough it wasn't to ensure their daughter's virginity. Joey always flew into the San Jose airport, where Suzi's parents would pick him up. They would drive him up to Chico (which is about a 3-ish hour drive each way). They would drive back to Chico to pick him up, and drive him to San Jose airport where he flew out. Like Joey couldn't rent a car and save everyone the trouble? Like Suzi couldn't do some of the driving herself?

During one of his visits, Joey had an interview with a local fire chief. Luckily I was home to save him from utter failure and embarrassment. He came out of Suzi's room in wrinkled slacks and white button down shirt. I told him he could not go to a job interview like that, traveling be damned. No one would even think twice about him looking like had just rolled out of a suitcase. I said something like maybe his girlfriend (who was standing right there) could iron his clothes for him. I found out that day, that Suzi had no idea how to iron anything. I told him to change and I would iron his clothes for him, considering he, of course, didn't know either. I attempted to iron the clothes, with no luck. Suzi started mocking me, that I couldn't get the wrinkles out. Bitch, at least I tried. Of course, I still had one trick up my sleeve: The infamous Fluff Cycle. I stuck the clothes in the dryer for 15 minutes of "fluff" and - Wha-la! not a wrinkle left! This is how Suzi found out about the fluff cycle. But she never used it, even after I explained what it was. And how it saved money. (In the end, Joey did not get offered a job with the Chico Fire Department).

Over time, the long distance seemed to wear on the relationship. Apartment walls are fairly thin. And doors are excellent listening tools. Also, it helps when your psychotic roommate is rather loud. I heard several phone conversations in the last couple months I lived with her late at night. I could only hear snippets, which bugged me, as I wanted so badly to have super-hearing to hear both sides of the conversation. Many late night phone calls were late night phone fights. I could hear things like, "Why are you jealous? You have nothing to be jealous of!", "No, I don't regret giving myself to you!", "I'm not going to let anyone treat me like this!". And so on.

Now, Suzi is the type of girl who, in my mind, would try to make her boyfriend jealous. I wasn't really around her a lot while she was with the first guy, so I didn't really get to witness to much there. At the beginning of the fall semester, she befriended this guy in one of her classes. We will call him "Bob" simply because I can't remember his name. Nice enough guy, though definitely not my type. She lead him on. They studied together, a lot. I saw her lead him on - the things she said, did, etc. He finally brought her some flowers, and suddenly she called him a stalker, and told me that if showed his face at our door to call the police. Prior to Bob, there was another guy-friend of hers that she hounded until he practically had to get a restraining order on her. She would call him, text him, and email him so much that she pushed the guy away. And she the balls to complain to me (this was just before I moved in with her . . . should have been my first clue, huh?) about his behavior. How he'd shown all sorts of interest in her and the second she showed interest he ran away. Um. Honey, you weren't showing interest. You were a relentless, stalking, jealous bitch.

By the time the end of May rolled around, and I was preparing to run off to Florida for 9 weeks, Suzi and Joey were engaged. I thought it was rather quick, but I wouldn't be surprised if Suzi laid on the pressure. The kind of pressure that she had laid on her ex that she wanted to be married before going off to vet school.

When I came back from my internship, and cleaned the apartment with her, I did not see the engagement ring that had been on her finger when I had left. During the next year, when she would sporadically grace me with her evil presence at Petco, I never paid attention. However, I'm pretty sure that Joey finally saw the light, and dumped her sorry ass. Or possibly, she dumped him and he probably went out to celebrate the fact that he longer dated a psychotic bitch.

And as far as I know (though no one has really seen her much recently), I really don't think she's married yet.

Vacations and Decisions

Finally, I get around to talking about my vacation! Well, it definitely wasn't long enough. But then again, they rarely are. I'm apologizing in advance, as this turned into quite a lengthy post, but I just wanted to get it all out; I didn't want to do it in parts.

It was a nice, relaxing weekend. The weather wasn't always great, and when they have visitors it's almost like a vacation for them, too. I helped my grandmother feed and she explained her morning ranch rituals. I helped them move their main herd to new pasture, and sorted out a bull that no longer need to be with them. He proved to be easy, he sorted himself into a corner and we just shooed the cows into another pen before leading them to new pasture with a bale of hay on the feed truck to entice them. And my grandmother on the ATV behind the herd so we didn't lose any cows along the way.


My grandfather, who also puts out a monthly publication, started showing me little things about it. I learned that apparently, when it comes to publishing, everything is done on Mac. Hmm. I own a PC. Macs are expensive. PC's can be relatively cheap. Anyway, he handed me a couple pieces of paper and a pencil and told me to make up an ad for a local restaurant that doesn't advertise in his publication. I've never made an ad before. I'm just glad he gave me a pencil. We'll leave it at that.

Later he showed me how he does it, and he makes it look easy. And his looked way better than mine. Of course he's been doing it most of his life. He could do this stuff in his sleep! Then he asked me to write an article or story for his publication, the history of another north-eastern California town. I agreed, and he gave me some stuff to use for resources. I shall begin work on that today, as it's my night off and I can actually focus on something instead of worrying about what time I need to get to bed by. I'm hoping to have it done and emailed to him by Monday so he has it in plenty of time for the December edition of his publication.

It stormed all day Sunday. Like, heavy winds and pelting rain kind of storm. We stayed inside and watched recordings of The Closer. Had a potluck lunch of leftovers from the previous couple days. For dinner we went to the hottest restaurant ever. I don't mean hottest, as in "it's the place to be!"; more like, wood stove heat kind of hottest. I nearly had a heat stroke before my dinner arrived. I practically ran outside when it was time for us to leave. When I awoke the next morning, I found snow in the mountains near their house. There hadn't been a drop of snow until that night. Explains why I couldn't get warm my last night there. Because it was freakin' freezing. And the first pass I had to climb over, was that frozen, snowed in pass. Yeah. Lovely.


Now, here comes hard part. If you haven't read my previous post regarding a very important matter I've been toiling with, please read it here.

All of your comments on that post meant so much to me. (even those that commented about it on Facebook). I didn't respond to them because I couldn't. I didn't know what to say. I still don't, actually. They made me shed more tears - not in a bad way. But all of your thoughts echoed in my head. I honestly cannot express how much I have thought about this and how many tears I have shed.

Mostly because it scares me. Dropping everything I have here in Sacramento, and making such a life-changing move. Not that I have a ton here in Sac-town, anyway. Like I've stated before, I live paycheck to paycheck. I work graveyard, which throws a nice little curve ball in my attempts at a social or dating life. I'm not overly happy with my job. While I like most of the people I work with, and I kind of like what I do (I'm still helping animals and veterinarians), I don't love my job and there are several people that have a tendency to bring out the bitch in me. And overall, I'm not particularly happy where I am.

I wasn't in my grandparents house more then 15 minutes before my grandfather started asking me questions regarding this possibility. The possibility of moving to cow-ville and taking over one or both of the businesses. I wasn't expecting it so quickly, and I felt a little like I was on a job interview . . . that whole being put on the spot thing; a little out of place. We talked a little bit about it, then my grandmother came back from working on an ATV. They told me their ideas and what they'd been brainstorming, and wanted my input.

They took me to the trailer, which is a mobile home they purchased awhile back and is used as a guest house. According to them, this is where I would stay. (Sorry, I really didn't take any pictures of it, because you can easily use your imagination). I would get the master suite, and the second bedroom would still be used for guests. They would allow me to live there, rent-free, in exchange for help on the ranch and their publication. This place is quite large. Now, here's where the imagination comes in: the 70's called and they want their decor back. Not kidding. The rotary phone is older than I am. (And if you have no idea what a rotary phone is, Google it. This also means you're far too young and sheltered. Also, side note - when did Google become a verb?) The carpet and linoleum are new. Wood paneling everywhere. The paneling in the master bath is white with gold inlay. Yeah. But it has double sinks, because every girl should have two sinks. It has a huge bathtub, and wait for it . . . the tiniest shower on Earth. The "family" room or eat-in area overlooks the ranch, which is kind of cool. The spare bath has a baby-shit yellow shower/tub. There's a nice little storage area just off the back door. A nice little carport for my car, just off the back door. A huge formal living room/dining area that can be completely shut off from the rest of the house. It has a nice front porch, and a little lawn (which gets mowed happily my grandmother's dad).

The things we hashed back and forth was that I would require at least a part-time job somewhere in order to make my car payment, and insurance. I pay an arm and a leg every month, so this is my biggest concern. Not that I'd have to drive to the ranch to work there, the trailer is about 5o yards down the road. I could help out on the ranch, my grandmother would welcome the help. My grandfather's health prevents him from helping as much as he used to. They would teach me the ropes of the ranch, and also their publication. I would help write stories and possibly attempt to sell ad space and meet the people with which he has formed relationships with over the years. I would help distribute the publication all over north-east California, and they would give me the Redding route so that I could visit with my family there.

They also said that they would help with my car payment and insurance until I could find a job. You could have knocked me over with a feather. When I tried to sputter out that they shouldn't have to do that, they basically wouldn't take me arguing it at all. Jobs aren't overly easy to come by in this economy, even in Sacramento. Moving to cow-ville and it's surrounding cow-towns, jobs are even more scarce. Where they live, it's sparsely populated agriculture area - farms and cattle ranches. There are so few people in this county that all households have the same prefix. Not kidding. Redding alone has about 4. At least. And that's just one city.

At lunch one day while up there, my grandmother asked me, "Going off your gut feeling - just your gut - what does it tell you?"

My answer?

"Move up here."

So, that's where I'm leaning. It scares the shit out of me. It will be a huge lifestyle change for me. But this is not something I have taken lightly. I didn't think about it for 5 minutes before I gave any kind of an answer. I thought about for a month. And to be quite honest here, this idea (or something similar) has crossed my mind off and on since I was a small child. I just never acted on it. Even as I wrote this post, I shed tears. And I'm sure they won't be the last I'll shed over this agonizing decision. I know my family and friends will support my decision, even if I decided to stay in Sacramento. All they want is for me to be happy, which is all I want for me, as well. But when I look out my sliding glass door into another person's apartment, I don't like the view. When I looked out the sliding glass door at the trailer, I saw my grandparents ranch; the horse pen right across the street. I woke up to see my horse, O'My, every morning while I was there. That alone made me smile every morning. That alone made me start crying again. (Someday I shall tell you about my horse.....)



By February, I could have a new address. And a day job. More than likely.

My Response to Your Responses

I would have just commented on my last post, however, I doubt it would have allowed that many characters! LOL

First off, I'd like to thank you for your thoughts and opinions on pets vs kids.

Secondly, I finally got "anonymous-ed". I've been wondering when it would happen. I find it annoying that someone who had a valid point would choose not to attach their name to the comment. I'm not angry or annoyed by their comment, only that they chose to be anonymous.

I do want to reiterate that I don't see pets as children substitutes. I see them as "members of the family", as in I care about them and don't want any harm to come to them. In all honesty, how can you keep something around the house for 15 years and not love it like a member of the family? My thoughts were that pets are like children in a lot of ways. Not that they are children. Because, lets face it, that's one step away from the nice men in white coats. I had a friend comment on Facebook, that there's another difference: apartments don't charge kid deposits nor kid rent. However, they feel free to charge out the wazoo for pet deposits and pet rent. Really? Pets are the only ones who can damage an apartment? The adults and kids are damage-fee zones? Ridiculous.


So, let me go through your comments and I shall respond in kind.

Juniper said:

I agree that those of us with pets love and care about them in all the ways you've said; and like you say, those of us who are child-free (another debate right there) can appreciate and understand the parent-child relationship. BUT it annoys me if someone says my dog is a 'child-substitute'. No, he really isn't. He isn't 2nd best to having a child; I don't want children. He is a dog who I love *as a dog*.

HAHA - let us not start the debate on those who want children versus those who don't. However, like you, I can understand and appreciate the parent-child relationship. Animals shouldn't be subjected to living their lives as the kids someone couldn't or chose not to have. Love it, cherish it, but don't take it to Target and shop for back to school clothes. Pets are wonderful to have around the house. For me, it's nice to come home, knowing it's not devoid of any kind of life. There's a cat waiting for me sit down so she has a lap to purr on. I love my cat, but I don't love my cat. LOL

Anonymous said:

Here is the thing--yes pets are like children, we groom them,take them to the vet etc... plus they give us comfort. However, pets do not need attention all the time, lock the front door and go to work. You do not plan the pets college education. You do not have to change the cats diaper, bathe them nightly. Meet with the pets educators or counselors. As a mother, you must continue to keep an eye on their basic needs of food, clothes, shelter, education, attention and safety. This is our priority ALL DAY AND NIGHT 365 DAYS A YEAR.We can not even have a conversation with anyone without thinking about the kids. We can not go to the grocery store without the kids or making sure they are safe with a sitter. We can not even have relations with our spouses without making sure the kids are asleep. There is more to raising a child than a cat or dog. Children learn and grow, cats grow and sit on a chair. Dogs chase balls, throw some food in a bowl good to go. Their is absolutely no way a pet is a child. Only a mother can answer this and understand the importance of raising a child vs raising a cat.

First off, I want to say that you make a good point. Valid. But I wonder why you choose to be anonymous. Curiosity. You state at the end of your comment that "only a mother can answer this and understand the importance of raising a child." Begs the question: Could a man (father) answer this? Being that the child did not grow inside him, can he truly know? Anyway, debate for another day. I never said that a pet is a child. Only that they are like kids in several ways. In the ways that I described in my previous post. I understand that I won't be able to fully understand what a parent goes through until I finally become one myself. However, please don't assume that those who don't have them can't understand or imagine or actually know (i.e. nanny) what a parent goes through. There are those who simply won't understand simply because they don't want to. I fully "understand the importance of raising a child vs raising a cat", as you are raising your children to be good human beings that will become productive members of society. My cat is currently licking her ass. That is how she spends her days. All I care about for her is that she doesn't ruin my furniture and that she's healthy, and that she loves laps. You are right about pets having some amount of independence. However, let's remember that they spend a fair amount of time around humans and learn to love our company and if you just "toss some food in a bowl and go", they do learn to miss you and the love you give them. (thus separation anxiety sets in). Obviously kids need more supervision. Duh. And if there is anyone who has money set aside for Fido to go to college one day, someone needs to them a favor and call the nice men in white coats. Same goes for those that leave gobs of money behind to Fluffy because she was a good cat. What's the cat going to do with a million dollars? Piss on it, that's what. Oh, and if you've never had the pleasure of having to raise lambs in the house for FFA/4-H . . . then you've never had the pleasure of changing their diapers - cutting the tail hole and all on a 50lb, 4-legged critter. You've seriously missed out on some awesome times.

Jewel's said: I don't have any children of my own...nor do I have pets of my own anymore. When growing up we always had dogs, hampsters, rabbits, lizzards, birds, fish...you name it we had it. By far the dogs were more a part of our family than any of the others. I loved my childhood dog SO much! Here's the thing though...when I think of the passing of one of the kids I nanny for (God forbid) or my niece and then the passing of my parents dog...yeah...NOT the same. When I think of a child and a dog/cat in the street and a car coming...I'm going for the kid! When I think of money being tight and only being able to feed a kid or a pet...I'm picking a kid. Pets are pets. Sure we love them and care for them...but they are not human substitutes. I have a friend who has a cat and EVERY freaking phone call she takes a break from talking to me to talk to her cat...then tell me in detail what it's doing...I don't give a flying F**k! It's an animal! Now, I'm an animal person...but come on...there is a line! Sorry if this is a bit harsh...but it's something that makes me nuts. Sure they are a big part of your life and you bond with them...but they are not kids, humans, or of equal status in my mind.

I completely agree! I've had all sorts of animals, and I've loved and cared for them all. But if I have to choose between saving the kid or the pet, I'm sorry, the kid wins out. As sad as it for a pet to get hit by a car, they are replaceable. The loss of a child is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. Parents should never have to bury their child. And I, too, have known people who talk about their pets like you described - full on annoying. I'm happy to tell the story of some of the nightmares my cat has woken up from, because it's hilarious, but I don't talk about her all the time! If I start doing that Jewels, you have my permission the call the nice men in white coats, okay? LOL You're view is not harsh at all. You have a firm grasp of the line that people shouldn't cross. The people of which I speak are those that sit in Petco trying on raincoats and sweaters on their dogs so they won't get so cold when they go outside to potty. Um, really? People seriously spend hours doing this and it's enough to drive a store employee nuts because they have to straighten up the disaster later. First-hand experience. It's sad to lose a pet. My mom recently lost a cat suddenly - a cat that she poured her heart and soul into to rescue it and save it. We cried because it is sad. However, to lose a person (family, friend, etc) it's not the same. You're right.

Canadian Blogger Girl said: Totally agree that pets are like kids! Before my daughter we had cats and a dog. Let me tell you I miss them all so very much (the cats died and the dog was given to a loving older couple because she bit my daughter unprovoked).

Oh, when pets bite kids - that's a definite no-no. I see a lot dogs like that at the rescue I volunteer for. It's sad when owners have to give up their pets for various reasons, but sometimes it's necessary. When I was "petless" I missed having them around, too. It's nice to come home to a dog who has been waiting on pins and needles all day just to jump on you and lick you to death so that maybe you'll toss a ball for them.

It's Debatable

I'm not typically one to start a debate. I'm not typically one to finish a debate, either, for that matter. I was never on the debate team in school. Hell, there are times I can't even answer questions properly regarding how or why I got the results I did on a research project. I don't always think superbly under pressure. However, last night at work, a co-worker said something to me and it made me think. We kind of argued the point, and then abruptly stopped as it hadn't been her intention to spark a debate.

She said that her friend's cat didn't come home, and that her friend was really worried and made the statement, "My cat is like my kid." Or something like that. My co-worker's debate was that if you don't have any kids, then you don't know what it's "like" to have a kid. I see that; it's a valid point.

I disagreed. Just because I don't have kids, doesn't mean I don't completely understand what it's like to have kids. I know what parents go through. Obviously not through firsthand experience.

However, I know that for most pet owners, pets become members of the family. Most equate them to children, seeing as how you pay for them and they never leave home. Most people raise their pets from a few weeks of age to the day they pass away. In some cases, you "own" them from conception. You raise them, you train them, you feed them, in some cases you clothe them; you pour your heart and soul into them, hoping they turn out okay. You take them to the veterinarian for their immunization and booster shots, health checks, and when they get sick. You take them when you travel, and if you can't, you find a "sitter". If they get sick (whether it be cancer, arthritis, colds, etc.) you give them medicines until they get better. You cuddle with them, you coddle them, and you yell at them. You'd ground them if they understood. You take pictures of them and put them on your fridge, your hallway, your office desk, your wallet, and also on Facebook. You tell stories of things they did that were cute, funny, stupid, crazy, or even smelly.

Just like kids. Or crazy Uncle Bob or Aunt Sue. Or that cousin that's 4 times removed.

So, I put this question all of you out there. What are your thoughts on this? If one doesn't have kids, can they believe that their pets are like their "children"? Is it wrong for one to think this? Or is it right? Or is it just plain weird? Or, is it all of the above?

My blog is finally legal!

So, I noticed just before I went on vacation last week that my blog now has 21 followers. Well, official followers anyway. I'm thinking that makes my blog "legal". I know that I have several more followers that don't officially follow, family and friends who read me via Facebook. Therefore, I must give a shout out to my newer followers for "following" my blog - Thanks for reading! I hope you continue to enjoy.

Obviously I'm back from vacation. I thoroughly enjoyed myself - very relaxing. I was spoiled enough that my mom rubbed the knot in my right shoulder until it was pretty much gone. Of course it hurt like Hell for a couple days, but it did feel much better! Also, I got to watch a couple great baseball games - Giants vs Phillies. And WHOOHOO! The Giants are in the Series!! Sorry Jewels that your Phillies didn't make it, they played a good game. But YAY Giants!!!! I did a major happy dance at the end of Game 6, I seriously thought Wilson was going to give it up and the Phillies would take it at the bottom of the 9th. But as Giants baseball is usually torture, they dragged it out but finally threw that final strike to end the game.

I will blog more later in detail about my vacation, when I have some more time.

But I am home with my cat, who obviously missed me since she has yet to let me out of her sight. And I attempted to get caught up on blogs, but my eyes started hurting. Seriously . . . ya'll had to go and blog out your ears while I was away, didn't you?! LOL I'm just glad I don't follow 50 blogs because I'd never get caught up! So, look forward to a real blog in the future. Until then, happy blogging. :o)

A quick rant, a quick thank you, and I'm off!!

I clocked out of work at 7:30am, and it's official - I am on VACATION. For the next five days, I don't have to clock in or out of work, deal with workplace drama, or get yelled at my boss.

Which, oddly enough, happened last night. I pretty much got my ass chewed and then handed back to me on a silver platter. I honestly don't think I should have gotten the attitude I did. How was I to know she had decided to come in at 2:30am instead of 12:30am? (yet still didn't get in until 3am). How was I to know three people would be out sick? And all it takes anymore is one person to call in and we are screwed. (But according to corporate, we're over-staffed. That still confuses me.) How was I to know anyone on our shift knew that the boss had changed the time she was coming in? How was I to know the boss had meetings the next morning, hence the reason for coming in late? If she had yelled at me at the end of the shift for my OT, I would have lost it.

Anyway, I am off at some point this morning to drive a couple hours to my parents house as a pit stop for the night. My mom is making me spaghetti (YUM!!), and hopefully I'll be able to stay awake to watch the Giants kick some Phillie ass (sorry, Jewels! lol). Thursday I'll be heading to my grandparents 400 acre cattle ranch for some much needed peace and quiet. Plus, I'll get to see my horse, O'My - my 4 legged child.

I also wanted to send a thank you to everyone who has been commenting on my more recent posts this month. I love reading all of your comments. You've been so very supportive when I'm down or confused, and you make me laugh like a crazy woman with the comments on Psycho Suzi. You're support and comedic timing are absolutely to be commended!

I won't have much in the way of internet access whilst I'm away (which is actually kind of nice), so I'll have to catch up on everyone's blogs next week when I get back. And when I get back, I'll share my vacation with ya'll, I'm sure.

Until next week, happy blogging!

Psycho Roomie, Part XI: The Laundry

Just so we're clear on this, I had no idea when I started this that I'd end up with eleven parts thus far. But I figured I've got ya'll hooked, and I've come this far, so it's not like I can stop until I tell you about moving out.

Suzi made every day life things complicated. Laundry, for instance. I've never seen someone wind up with so much laundry. I've also never known anyone else to drag it on for eternity. Seriously.

My first two years at school, I has to use the laundry rooms provided by the apartment complex that I lived in. The machines were coin-operated. I learned extremely fast that you don't do laundry on the weekends if you expect to get it done in a timely fashion. After my first week of laundry, I then picked a day during the middle of the week to do my laundry and always had my pick of washers and dryers. And I think only once in that time frame did I walk into the laundry room to find that someone had removed my laundry so they could do theirs. It gave me the creeps to think someone else had touched my laundry, and almost did it over. But I probably didn't have enough quarters.



One of the two perks of living with Suzi was that our apartment had a washer and dryer in it. (In case you were wondering, the other perk was having my very own room). When it was originally three of us living there, I figured we'd all just wind up picking a day to our laundry and that would be our "day". I could typically get mine done in a couple hours if I was at home and stayed on top of it.

It was unfortunate when I learned that would never happen. Even when it was down to just me and Suzi. I found it very hard to get to do my laundry. Why, you might ask?

Because this chick never stopped doing laundry. Seriously.

She would put a load in the wash, forget about it for a couple days, then stick it in the dryer and promptly forget about for a few days. However, every day she'd remember it, and would turn on the dryer again and would promptly forget about it. I shit you not, she'd "dry" dry clothes half a dozen times before she would finally take them out to fold them. Only to repeat this cycle with the next set of clothes she would put in it.

I would even ask her in person or leave her a note on the white board in the kitchen regarding the laundry. Something polite like, "Suzi, I'd like to do my laundry on Wednesday. I'm running out of unmentionables." Many times she'd at least finish what she had already started, and I'd squeeze in for a two or three hours and do my laundry on the day I requested.

Every week we went through this. Every week.

There were a few occasions that I knew she'd be heading out of town, and she wouldn't finish her laundry. So I would remind her every day to please finish so I that I could do my laundry. She would get all rude on me and complain about busy she was and she would do it when she had time.

I'm going to digress for a minute here and say that she was no busier than myself. I worked a minimum of 30 hours a week, I had 5 or 6 classes - all of them lab classes, I had study groups, I had friends that wanted to hang out, and I had family to visit, too. She worked barely 20 hours a week, had 4 classes, and if she wasn't hanging out with her friends, she was talking with them on the fucking phone. I was lucky to see my friends on a social visit, it was usually at a study session. Now, I will admit some of her classes were tougher than mine, being that she was Pre-Vet. However, if she had put as much effort into actual studying as she did on the phone, she might have actually gotten in to vet school. (insert evil laugh here)

Back on topic. (ahem) Sorry.

Now, even though I would ask her several times to please finish her laundry (I always said please and everything because I didn't want her to beat me with a wet sock in my sleep), several times it didn't happen. She'd leave for the weekend, laundry still unfinished. Sometimes she'd be walking out the door and say, "Oh and I didn't have time to finish my laundry, so you'll just have to wait." The first time I heard that, I said out loud as the door shut behind her, "Oh fuck that shit." I immediately turned around, pulled her (5x) dry clothes out of the dryer and dropped them on her bed. I then moved her wet clothes out of the washer onto the hall floor. Now, I hate having to touch other people's laundry. So I had to, um, put socks on my hands to touch her clothes. Shut up. My mom insisted that I drop the wet clothes on her pillow to teach her a lesson. I almost did. I actually walked to her pillow with clothes in two and then I had an image of her getting me back somehow. Like with poison or suffocating me with her underwear. Either way, it wasn't pretty and I didn't want to die. So I didn't do it. I actually regret not doing that.

I would get my laundry done and put her wet clothes back in the washer. Now, unless she was a complete idiot (which most times I did think that), she had to know I moved her clothes to do mine. She never said anything. And each time she left for the weekend, we went through this.

I must also tell you something else. It shocked the shit right out of me when I found this out, because I couldn't figure anyone who actually did laundry didn't know this.

She'd never heard of the "FLUFF CYCLE". So, when she kept turning on the dryer every day because she'd suddenly remember she had clothes in there, she would turn it on the HEAT CYCLE for another hour. No wonder the PG&E bill was high. Each load she "dried" at least three times. When I said something to her, she said she'd never heard of a fluff cycle. She'd been at that apartment for 3 or 4 years by this time and had never see the "Fluff" mode on the dial. Nor had her super-brilliant mother (gag) ever taught her daughter about the fluff cycle.

And one other thing she didn't know how to do: iron. She didn't know how to use an iron, how to handle one, anything. I may not be the world's greatest when it comes to ironing, but I can do it. I hate it, but I can do it.

Seriously, did her parents teach her anything?? I mean, besides how to be a stupid bitch?

Strange the impact a few words can have on you

A few hours after posting about how I was loving yesterday - the clouds, the rain, watching Psych and laughing for hours, and cuddling with my cat - it took a turn. An odd turn, to say the least. Slightly upsetting. I called my BFF and cried on the phone with her and felt better in the end making each other laugh. I also started chatting with my cousin, and she helped me feel better, too. All the while, I was getting play-by-play text messages from my mom regarding the Phillies/Giants game. BTW, the Giants better pick up their game and kick some Philly ass. (no offense to those Philly fans out there!)

In a previous post, from about a month ago, I spoke about WB. I had been trying not to chat with him much on Facebook recently, considering I realize how not into me he is. Except for last night, I was in a good mood, and felt like chatting with someone, so I started chatting with him. We talked about work, my internal struggle regarding possible opportunities, and whatnot. He tells me that he unfortunately broke a girl's heart recently, but she wasn't right for him and he didn't want it to drag on. I know for a fact he wasn't speaking about me to me, considering we've never had that discussion. Then he says he's thinking of doing something crazy: proposing. Talk about your 180.

Now, oddly enough, while this proposal idea isn't what bothered me, it did shock me. Rationally, I knew he wasn't talking about me. Turns out he wants to propose to a woman whom he's dated off and on for nearly 20 years. I told him to go for it; that if in his heart he felt it was right, that he should do it. He thanked me my good advice and answered my questions about how and where, and told me that he'd tell me the results. I remember him mentioning he was going to bring her roses, as apparently he's the only man to have ever bought her roses. I thought about that for a second, and had a very small epiphany and told him that only one boyfriend had ever bought me roses - my very first boyfriend, ages ago.

WB then pulls another 180 and says this to me:

"You are an attractive gal. I especially thought that the last time you stopped by when my friend and I were working on his truck."

Several things happened at once. I felt a chill, a shudder . . . and then I started bawling. I cannot tell you how long it's been since someone has said that to me. Someone not being a family member or best friend. It was a double-edged sword that ran me through. I know he meant it as a compliment, and that's how I took it and understood it. And in a sense, I guess it told me that, at least for that fleeting moment when we 'dated' this spring, he had been attracted to me. At least for a moment. Although, I'm still not sure how take him saying it to me . . . between the conversations I had with my cousin and BFF, and me not being able to wrap my mind around it, all the while crying over it. I have a feeling though, that he had no idea what kind of an impact that would have on me.

I wasn't lying when I told him I hope it all works out for him. I want him to be happy. But, it really sucks when the so-called "man of your dreams" tells you you're attractive whilst telling you he's planning on proposing to someone else.

(sigh) Boys. (shakes head)

Psych!

I know, I know, two posts in one day. I must not have anything better to do. Well, your sort of right. I could continue my house cleaning and laundry. But I think I will stop for now.

I am currently witnessing my first rain of the season, and I'm loving it. I got off work this morning, and saw it was overcast, and remembered hearing about chances of rain today. During the previous chances of rain, I was either asleep or at work, and then heard people commenting about it on Facebook. Not fair.

I stopped my cleaning and sat down to enjoy listening the rain on the rooftop, and watch some episodes of one of my favoritist shows ever. Psych.

I'm thinking the rest of the afternoon/evening may go like this. Watch Psych and laugh my ass off while listening to the rain. And cuddle with my kitty, Miss Harriet. I know I will be going on vacation in two days, but I don't care. It's my night off and I'll do what I want. Besides, the cat won't be coming with me on vacation. She does not travel well. Trust me.





If you haven't seen the show Psych, I find it to be one of the funniest shows on. The premise is this: A guy who was trained by his dad (former cop) to pick up minute details often missed by normal people, pretends to be a psychic to help the police solve crimes. Often, this guy, Shawn, and his friend Gus, get themselves in horrible situations. They are often stupid, witty, sarcastic, and are both just a couple of idiots. But funny idiots. These two guys think they are the coolest dudes ever, when in fact they usually aren't. But did I mention they're funny? I adore the show's theme song, and each year the credits tend to get funner - especially when introducing the two main actors, James Roday and Dule Hill.



Off to watch more. Enjoy the montage of the boys screaming like little girls. ;o)

Let's talk personal . . . hygiene that is.

So, I realize everyone out there has their own ideas about personal hygiene. I would gather most people are at least in the same chapter, if not on the same page. Unfortunately, there are those who do not share in those beliefs. I'm not necessarily saying it's wrong . . . but I'm not necessarily condoning it either.

For some people, it could depend on the kind of job they do every day. If you're a large animal vet during a very busy breeding season . . . for horses and cows . . . showering every day is a must. Even though there's a glove on that arm, dude, it's still nasty. I know. If your a garbage man - showering daily is not an option. But if you work from home, and breaking a sweat isn't on your daily agenda, showering daily might be a option instead of a necessity.

However, I admit that 99.9% of the people that I know, shower on a daily basis. Some, go for twice a day if they feel the need. Most people I know use soap. Most people I know wear some kind of perfume or cologne. And most importantly (although maybe second to soap . . .) is deodorant.

Bottom line here is this: the general populous doesn't want to stink.

Now, I'm not saying everyone who has high standards for personal hygiene smells like a peach. Some perfumes or cologne's simply don't agree with the nose on my face. But at least they're clean. Right? Right.

I know someone who at best showers every other day. I know what this person does for a living. And uh . . . well, it surprises me that this would come out of their mouths. But then I realized, that partially explained their appearance. Or the fact that I often have to not breathe in while in their presence. I don't want to know details as to why they feel this way. If their trying to conserve water, kudos, but uh, seriously, there has to be something else they can do.

I once worked with a person who smelled like a liquor cabinet. With a hint of pot. And B.O. It just seeped from their pores. I found out that even the boss had to mention to this person that many of their co-workers felt uncomfortable with their stench. This person didn't give a shit. Literally. Which grossed me out even more.

In general, smokers smell to non-smokers. Hey, it's your choice to suck on the cancer stick. The smell just goes right along with it. To a non-smoker, that's a smell that you really can never get rid of, unless the smoker quite smoking. And gets a post-smoking wardrobe. And home. And furniture.

Now, in my world, there are times I know I smell bad. And I mean bad. And I would keep away from people on purpose. Reason being was that I had been out in the summer heat, working my ass off and I was nasty-sweaty-gross. Plus, my thinking is this: If I can smell me, then it's bad. I just wish others felt that way, too. I'm even considerate enough, that a few weeks ago, when I stopped by to a see friend after being around horses for nearly 4 hours (and smelled like one, too), that upon hugging them hello, I warned, "I probably smell like a horse." Luckily, I knew they didn't mind anyway, but that wasn't the point. He warned me that he smelled of truck grease and sweat. I didn't really mind that either. The mere fact that he's adorable cleared him of any wrong smelling. The point here, is that we were considerate enough to "warn" the other person that you might not like what your smelling if you get too close.

Because, whether or not I like you . . . I can't stand you if you smell bad. Especially if I find it's not because I hate your perfume/cologne, but because it's your (ahem) lack of personal hygiene standards.

So, please, shower daily, use deodorant, and spritz/slap on that perfume/cologne, and go out into the world smelling like Calvin Klein. Or whoever. As long as it's not your body odor coming to greet me.

Psycho Roomie, Part X: The Cereal Box

Shortly before Christmas of 2002, my mom drove to Chico to come help me do my Christmas shopping. It's a tradition she and I have. She knows or has ideas as to what I can get people, and it's a good excuse to have a "girls day" and some fun.

I was getting ready that particular morning, and walked out to the kitchen to get something. Possibly a drink of water. Possibly breakfast. I have no idea. All I recall is needing to go to the kitchen, so I did. I saw a box of Suzi's cereal on the stove. We had burner covers, so it wasn't like it was sitting on a stove-top burner that was on and she was trying to burn down the apartment building or anything. Although, after the whole hot dog thing, I'm not sure I would be surprised if she did that.

I pick up the box of cereal (I believe it was a box of Cocoa Puffs), and find that it's empty. Completely devoid of cereal or the bag that holds said cereal. I'm pretty sure I had a look on my face that resembled this (although, maybe not quite so exaggerated):



I looked the box over to see if maybe there was a game on the back she wanted to play. Nope. I looked the box over to see if there might be a recipe of sorts she wanted to use. Nope. I looked the box over in case I saw something she wanted the proof of purchase to send in for. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing of interest in or on this box of cereal. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why this box was sitting on the stove. I figured it was trash, so I tossed into the garbage. (Now, she was home at this stage, so I could have just asked her but, that would have meant I would have had to talk to her.)

Upon going to my bathroom at the front end of the apartment to do my make-up, I noticed another surprise. A mess of DVD's on the living room floor. It may have been Dawson's Creek. Since they were in the main walking area, I went ahead and moved stuff towards my tiny entertainment center so no one would accidentally step on it. There was no way in Hell I would spend money on that horrid show.

I finished getting ready in my room, probably checked emails and whatnot. I eventually needed to go back into the kitchen. Or walked through it or something. Either way, I noticed something. Something that looked oddly like the cereal box I had tossed away. I walked up to the stove, and my eyes were not playing tricks on me. Suzi had obviously been in the kitchen since I had, and taken the box out of the garbage. And set it directly on the stove where it had sat previously. I just stared at it, thinking maybe the box my psychically tell me why it was sitting on the stove. Again. Well, shocking as it might be, the box told me nothing. If it had, I would have needed the boys in white coats to take me away. I put my hands up like it held a gun on me, and backed away. For whatever reason, I looked at the living room, and I'll be damned if that mess of DVD's wasn't exactly where it had been prior to me moving it - right smack in the middle of the floor.

By this time she was gone. She hadn't said anything to me about either the cereal box or the mess of DVD's. I decided that since she went through the trash to get that cereal box back, she actually needed it for something.

When my mom showed up, she first saw the mess of DVD's lying in the middle of the living room floor. She asked me about it and I told her what happened. She moved the DVD's like I had, closer to the TV, out of harms way. I told her that it would back in the middle of the floor when we got back. In the kitchen she sees the empty cereal box, and asks me about it. I again tell her what happened, and told her I was just going to leave it there. She tossed into the garbage. I tell her that it will be right back on the stove when we get back.

We spent most of the day shopping. Had a wonderful time.

When we got back to the apartment, the DVD's were back in the middle of the living room floor and the cereal box was back on the stove. Not joking. The look on my mom's face was priceless.

Eventually, mom left, and it was back to just me and Suzi. I never asked her about the cereal box or the DVD's, and she never said anything. I didn't move or toss anything, because I had a sneaking suspicion that it would be moved back again anyway.

A couple days after that shopping day, the cereal box was in the trash. Suzi had finally thrown it away. Being that it was on the top, I picked it up to see if anything had changed about the box. Nope. Not a single thing. And once she was done watching Dawson's Creek, it finally got packed up, too.

I'm thinking that those nice boys in the white coats should have been called in regards to her.

Hot Men. 'Nuf Said.

Since my last blog was more or less a rant, I think I'll do a fun one. This is partly inspired by Jewels.

This will be my "Sexiest Men" list.

Harrison Ford

My all-time favorite actor. And he's one of those men who stays sexy as he gets older.

Tom Welling

He looks older when he's not smiling. When he smiles, his boyish charm just shines right through. Enough to make one go weak in the knees.

Josh Turner

While this guy is hot, I'm more in love with his voice than anything. I'm a sucker for a deep voice. Enjoy one of my favorite of his songs.

James McAvoy

I think this picture speaks for itself. (wipes up drool) Ahem - he's usually a geeky sort of guy, but Wanted was definitely a whole different side to this guy.

Colin Firth

I love the character of Mr. Darcy to begin with. And Colin Firth did the character justice.

David Duchovny

This guy made the X-Files soooooooo worth watching. There's just something about him.

Russell Crowe

He was in top form for this film. Not many men can pull of a skirt but he did it quite well.

Hugh Jackman

No words. Seriously. (wipes up more drool)


And a final note: I dedicate this song and video to my friend Jewels, who recently had her feelings hurt by someone who is apparently a waste of air. Jewels, this song will make you laugh, and the video is pretty cute, too. I think of this song anymore when people piss me off or hurt my feelings. I hope this works for you, too. :o)

Observations : The odd, and the annoying.

I'm not really sure if this is more like a pet peeves rant, or just an observational one . . . I guess it's just a random rambling post.

I went into Ulta today to grab a couple items (make-up) that I was running low on, and while I know I had the money in my account I wanted to snatch them up before I ran out. Of the items and the cash. I went in, found my two items and promptly went to the check-out counter. And there was a . . . well, a she-male, I guess. I'm not sure. I'm pretty sure it at least used to be a full-fledged male. Otherwise it looked like quite a manly, flat-chested, 6 foot tall gal. By the name of Reggie. She-he was very nice and was obviously new as she-he kept introducing themselves to other employees. I don't know anyone personally who has gone through any sort of gender alteration. I'm not exactly sure how to "be" around someone who has. Everyone behind the counter kept referring to Reggie as "she", so I'm guessing that if that's not what she started out as . . . that's what she is now.

The other day, I was in (shudder) Wal-Mart doing my grocery shopping. I don't believe in debarking (dogs), but I suddenly became a fan of debarking children. One in particular. First off, I'm walking down an isle, minding my own business, when I hear two people running full-on at the end of the isle, in front of the meats (bacon, sausage, etc.). I turned the corner and one of those people turned out to be an adult, the other a small child. Both were old enough to know way better than to go running through a busy store. And let's face it, Wal-Mart is always busy. After the running incident, the little girl starts hollering a name. Repeatedly. At first I can't understand what she's saying, but it's on my last nerve and everyone is staring at this family for allowing their child to be so damned rude. I finally figured out what she was yelling. "Carmen." I think it was the gal who was running with her earlier. But she wasn't just saying "Carmen", she was drawing it out. So it was more like, "Caaaarrrrmmmmmeeeeeeeeeennnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Over. And over. And over. I'm not sure if everyone with her was ignoring her, prompting her to continue to yell. But, the whole damn store heard this kid. And this was a Super Center, so it's a big freakin' store. Seriously people, shut your kid up. People aren't staring at you because you're fucking gorgeous, okay? They're staring because your kid is being rude and annoying as fuck.

Also, the other day, I had gone into Target for a couple things. Let's face it, Target is so much nicer than Wal-Mart. Although, sometimes, stupid people shop there, too. I was in the check-out line, the gal ringing up my stuff. Behind me was a gal with a young child, a toddler. Was she sitting nicely in the cart, like she was supposed to be? No. She was basically laying on her tummy in it, feet out one side, and her head out the other. Pushing her mother's items all over the conveyor belt, and hollering that she wanted chocolate. "Mummy!! I want chok-lit!!" (was how it sounded). This kid nearly tumbled out of the cart half a dozen times. Even after the check-out gal told the girl, "to be careful". What was Mommy doing during this? Picking out packs of gum. Yeah, because that is sooooo important. More important than your child's safety. Obviously, because she didn't notice the 4 other people around her staring at her child balancing precariously in the cart. Maybe you should stop with just the one, sweetheart.

I'm very curious to know why parking lots are designed the way they end up being designed. Does someone think, "This will look so pretty!". Because it's a death trap waiting to happen. Who in their right mind think it's a brilliant idea to create blind spots in a parking lot? Who's brilliant idea is to plant big-ass trees or tall shrubberies at the ends of the parking aisles? And who decides it's a great idea to make them wind around and be all curvy? It's hard enough to not hit someone else in such close proximity - parking lots don't offer a ton of "personal space". So why on earth would you make it harder? Because it looks pretty? Seriously folks. It doesn't need to look pretty. It needs to be a place to park my damn car whilst I spend my money. That's all. It doesn't need to be a death trap.

Survey Says . . .

Today's post comes from Simple Dude - the Inside the Actors Studio questions. The ones that James Lipton asks at the end of every interview before turning over the actor to the students. I thought, hey that's not a bad post idea - in fact those questions are fun! This way I don't have to wrack my brain for a post idea today. So, without further ado.

1. What is your favorite word?
"Dude." You can literally have an entire conversation with one word. Awesome.

2. What is your least favorite word?
It's actually 3 words - my full name. Oh man, when I hear the full name, I know I'm in trouble. If I had a tail, that's when it would go between my legs.

3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?
Laughter and respect. Odd combination, I know. When I'm around someone who respects me as a person, and be made to feel like being "just me" is perfectly fine - that's awesome. And being able to laugh with people - good, honest laughter. The kind of laughter that's contagious to those who have no idea what's funny.

4. What turns you off?
Lack of respect. For yourself and your peers/elders. If you can't respect yourself, you can't respect others, and vice versa. No one likes being treated like dirt. But if you treat me that way, I'm sure as shit going to treat you that way.

5. What is your favorite curse word?
Ohhhh, easy. Fuck. I agree with Simple Dude - it's so versatile.

6. What sound or noise do you love?
Horses. A barn-full or a pasture-full of them.

7. What sound or noise do you hate?
Screaming. Like fighting kind of screaming.

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Teacher/Professor.

9. What profession would you like not to do?
Just about anything that Mike Rowe winds up doing for the show, Dirty Jobs. Especially the tanning factory - OMG. Grossest. Thing. EVER.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"You did okay, kid. Now get your ass inside have some FUN."

Psycho Roomie, Part IX: The Hot Chocolate Incident

I was spoiled by my first roommate experience. I have to admit. When it came to sharing things, we typically didn't mind. We tried to be considerate about it. Like if she and her boyfriend used the last of my butter, they'd buy me some next time they grocery shopped. Her boyfriend often asked me for stamps. He actually would give me exact change for each stamp he took. If I ate some of her crackers, I'd buy her a new box next time I was at the store. Often we'd ask before we took anything, but there times we'd have to say something after the fact.

During college, my first three years anyway, I lived close enough to campus that I walked. I enjoyed my walks to campus. Mornings were always nicest, in the summer it was before the heat of the day. In the winter, the crisp air was nice even if it did sting my eyes. In the winter I often walked with a travel mug of hot chocolate to help keep me warm. This was in addition to a sweater, a coat that goes to my knees, mittens, scarf, and a hat. No I didn't attend school in the Mid-West where temperatures can often be below zero. It's still California, but for those that live in the Northern part of the state, winter can get cold.

With my first roommate, I'd often "borrow" packets of hot chocolate if I ran out. I'd replace them. She didn't have to ask me to. I did it on my own, out of consideration. That and Karma's a bitch.

The winter I lived with Suzi, I, at one point, ran out of hot chocolate. I hated buying cups of hot chocolate at school, because even though they tasted awesome, it got expensive. Plus I would burn the taste buds off and the roof of my mouth with the first sip, so everything felt and tasted funny for the rest of the day. You can stop giggling at me now.

The morning I realized I was out of hot chocolate, she had already left for the day. I decided I'd take a packet. I had every intention of making sure I bought her more - I had to go to the store in a couple days anyway. It wasn't like she drank it near as much as me; I rarely saw her drink hot chocolate. She used the Nestle brand, with the marshmallows in it. I used, and still use, Swiss Miss. It's cheaper and you get more packets in a box.I left her a note on the whiteboard in the kitchen that I took a packet, just in case she kept inventory. It wouldn't shock me. I made it up, and ran off to school. When I came home, my note was gone. She had written nothing in return. When we were home together she didn't say anything, either. I figured she didn't mind.

Next day, same thing. On the third day I finally made it to the grocery store. When I picked up a box of her Nestle hot chocolate, I discovered it was twice the amount mine was, and she got less than half of what I got packet-wise. I hadn't noticed a taste difference. And the marshmallows got in the way of the sippy-hole of my travel mug. I still bought the damn box, because I had every intention of giving her the whole box to repay what I took.

I got home, groceries in tow. Her mom was in town for a couple days. Again. While she came across as nice, the woman was a hoverer. Way more than the average mother. She was constantly worried if we kept the front door locked, as "some stranger from the street could just show up" since we lived right on the road. If she was so worried about her daughter's safety, why didn't she have Suzi move? In fact, we weren't in a bad part of Chico. That's what I didn't understand. Minus the random dumpster-diver, we had no trouble at all.

Sorry, I digress, again. Suzi and her mom are out for the time being. I start putting my groceries away, and I opened up a cupboard. What I find is rather upsetting.

It was a box of Suzi's hot chocolate, with torn pieces of binder paper taped all over it. In Suzi's mother's handwriting, it said the following, "Suzi's Hot Chocolate!", "Suzi Only!".

I was more than offended. I had left the bitch a note regarding the hot chocolate. And she has her mommy go out and buy her a new box because I took 3 packets?! WTF?

I grabbed the box I bought for her and nearly tossed it. Instead, I took 3 packets and rubber-banded them together with a sticky note that said: "Here are the packets to replace what I took. I had every intention of replacing them". I had intended on giving her the whole box. Oh hell no. Not now. I stuff the remaining three packets into my box of Swiss Miss that I had just bought. I stuff the box down into the bottom of the garbage - out of sight.

A few weeks later, it was Christmas. She had made us stockings to hang outside our bedroom doors and put presents in. I put shit in hers. Whoa. Not literal shit. Just shit. I bought stupid kids toys and she was in love with them. Second childhood my ass - she never left her first. What did I find in my stocking?

A fucking box of Nestle Hot Chocolate with Marshmallows.

I got bitch-slapped without being touched.

I think and I think . . . yet, am still uncertain.

A few blogs back, I mentioned something (a mere snippet) about needing to mull something over myself. I've been wanting to blog about it, yet I'm still not sure if I really know what to think. Is that normal? To think something over, then you think your over-thinking it, so you try to stop thinking about it, then you start thinking your not thinking enough. Good Lord, it's enough to drive a person bat shit crazy.

Since I've started blogging, I know I've mentioned that money is a wee bit on the short side, and how I'm having to seriously budget myself. I've been doing okay, making it without having to go beg my parents for money. I have forbidden myself to participate in the United Way campaign at my job, simply because I don't have the spare money to donate for 8 weeks in a row. Or one week, for that matter. I've cut down on my random spending. Before I put something that I "want" versus "need" in my cart, I put it back on the shelf and tell myself that when I'm done shopping for the things I require and I have extra money, I will get it. Hasn't happened yet. I've cut down on my eating out - which was mostly convenience as I really don't care for cooking. Seriously, they shouldn't make eating out so accessible. It ought to be a crime.

I've blogged about my job. Little bits here and there, sometimes about the pressure (United Way, anyone?), the nights from hell (hand pumping water for 8 hours) , and the silly (hello stainer conversation). I've blogged about working graveyard shift, which in case you were wondering, still sucks after working it for 6 years. My parents once told me they that they had given me something like 6 months of working graveyard before I'd quit. And I did quit once. I found another job, working normal 8-5. Turned out, it wasn't a good fit. Turns out the job description was a generalized description and had nothing to do with my actual job. I had to pay for parking, union dues, and better benefits. In the end, I got paid less and I took a step backward and was bored to the point of self destruction. It lasted about 2 full months. I left that job and went crawling back to my old one. And there I've stayed.

During my parents most recent visit a couple weeks ago, they mentioned a possibility to me. A possibility that has been mentioned to me before off and on by my grandparents for the last few years. My grandfather owns a cattle ranch, and also has a publication. They've tried to get me up there for years. I was always on a new lease with an apartment complex. I knew I wouldn't get paid what I do at my current job (which I still feel isn't near enough, but I'm a peon so what's it matter?). There was always some excuse I had, even though part of me wanted to go up there and give it a shot.

What if that opportunity came knocking now? I'll be going up there in a couple weeks to visit, and I'm sure it will come up. Especially considering the conversation my parents had with me a couple weeks ago. My parents had just come back from a few days with my grandparents and from what I can tell, the subject matter came up. From what I gather, my grandfather would like me to take over his business(es).

Am I ready to drop everything here? To move to a place where I know two people (my grandparents)? To move to a place where (single) men are rather scarce? A place that boasts one 4-way stop in town, and it's not out of place to see a 10yr old driving a Dodge Ram in town? A town that has like, one restaurant in town? A place where not even Wal-Mart exists?



But was I ready to move to Sac 6 years ago? I never really liked big cities, and Sac was more than big enough for me to get lost in a dozen times my first few months here. I knew two people when I moved here - the sister of the guy I was dating and her boyfriend. Not that I hung out with them without the boyfriend around, so really, I didn't know a soul here. I've never really had a proper life here. Most of the people I know are people I work with. That was just another reason for me starting to volunteer down here - to meet people. My hours make any attempt at a social life just that much more difficult. Between my hours and my shyness, men are just as scarce in the big city. Plus when I do meet them, they're city boys, not country boys.

Truth is, I love going up there to their ranch. It's peaceful. It's almost like going back in time. People wave at you as you drive through town - even when they don't know you. I like it when they put me to work up there. I usually learn something, and I enjoy being outdoors. I'm not afraid of hard work. I haven't been very happy for a long time. While I like my job and that fact that I have a job, there's too much that goes on that eventually wears on you. Makes you all "snippy". While I like the majority of those I work with, there are some that I have lost all respect for - this includes members of management. I live paycheck to paycheck, and my rent payment is what some people pay for their mortgages. I deem that slightly unfair.

My parents told me that 25 years ago, they were in a similar spot. They wanted to get out of the city and back to where they grew up. My grandfather (my mom's dad) helped them out. He asked my parents how much money they had saved up. Their reply? Five dollars. Not a far cry from where I currently sit.

I have no idea what I'm going to do. For the first time, things could actually work. I might be able to go to a place where I'm happier, and have a job I enjoy doing. Is it possible? Could I really just up and leave? I've been chewing on this for a couple weeks. I've shed tears over it, trying to figure things out for myself. All I've ever wanted was just to be happy.

And right now, I know I'm not.