To The Frisky Virgin - I came across something . . .

I came across this picture at Love is in the Smog, and laughed my ass off. This was apparently taken in San Francisco, according to the blog. I have no idea why someone (or what company) would post such a banner. Or why they think virgins need "help". I'm a little clueless on that.


I hope you find this is as comical as I did. If not, I hope I didn't upset you - not my intention!

So, I guess if your "friends" give you more hard times about your decisions - which in my humble opinion they are yours and they need to get over themselves - you can honestly that there is "help out there". LOL

You can save this picture and use it later if you just want to rant about why people have such a problem with those that have chosen to wait. If you do, I look forward to reading it. :o)

Psycho Roomie, Part VIII: Suzi and the Hot Dog

Okay, so here comes one of my favorite Psycho Suzi-stories. No, seriously.

A wee bit of back story for this story: Suzi made lists. She made a "To Do" list every day. She made a weekly list of what she would have for dinner each night. I'm not saying lists are bad. I myself make lists sometimes to help keep myself on track. Sometimes she wouldn't start her daily "To Do" list until she was already sitting in class at 9am. I've seen it. But it always started the same, and I couldn't figure out why the following needed to be on the list.

1. Get up.
2. Shower.
3. Get Dressed.
4. Eat Breakfast.

This is stuff we do every single day of our lives. Does it really need to be on a "To Do" list? No. But that's my humble opinion. Half the time, I couldn't survive without a planner. Some semesters were so crazy busy that if I didn't have all of it written down, I'd go insane. But I never once had to make sure those 4 things were on my list. It's kind of like brushing your teeth. You do it every day.

Now, for her dinner lists, they were pretty much the same foods every week. She might switch the days she ate said meals, but still, they were pretty much the same meals. I didn't have much room to talk, I ate a lot of the same meals myself, but I didn't make a list for the week.

Also, as I mentioned before (possibly my Intro to Suzi blog), Suzi's cell phone was permanently attached to her. The phone was always clipped to her pocket. She had the ear piece with microphone that came to the mouth. (Obviously this was pre-blue tooth). This girl talked on the phone all the damn time. The only time I never saw her on the phone was in class or when she was sleeping. While at home in my room, I could hear her across the hall, talking while she was studying. It's no wonder she took forever to get her shit done, because she was talking all the time! One day, I remember hearing her talking-talking-talking . . . FLUSH . . . talking-talking-talking. I was horrified. I'm sorry. No matter how long I know you - even married - I never want to hear the fucking toilet flush while I'm on the phone with you. EVER. I know everyone uses the bathroom and what goes on in there, but I have no intention of getting front row seats. Thank. You. Very. Much.

Okay, so on to the real story I'm blogging about. Sorry, it's so easy for me to digress on this.

One evening, I was sitting on the most uncomfortable couch in the universe watching a TV show I loved. Possibly X-Files, but I don't remember what day of the week this took place. I had decided to grab a pizza and salad from Round Table after school/work. Suzi was in the kitchen, talking away on the phone with her mom, while cooking dinner. I really have no idea what her and her mom could talk about several times a day, unless it was Suzi's daily activities down to the minute. Anyway, I was trying not to pay attention to her even though she was loud enough I had to keep turning the volume up on the TV so I actually hear my show. When I hear this, I'm eating some salad. This is what I hear from Suzi:

(in kind of a rude, annoyed voice) ". . .Hey, Mom? How do you boil a hot dog?"

(I literally stop with a forkful of salad an inch from my mouth, my mouth wide open ready for the salad. The salad never made it to my mouth. With forkful of salad still in the air, my mouth still open - although now it's in SHOCK - I turn my head to the left to see her in the kitchen with a SERIOUS look on her face.)

(still her even ruder voice): ". . . Well I'm busy, Mom, I don't have time to remember these things."

(You don't have the time to remember how to boil a hot dog? WTF???)

I shit you not, this girl asked her mom, at the age of 22, how to boil a hot dog.

Now, I want you to keep this in mind: She's done this before. Without help. All the time I was living with her, she had a hot dog maybe once a week. Because she was one boisterous bitch, I knew I had never heard her ask this before. It took me a full 5 minutes before I could continue eating.

Now, fast forward a week - same day of the week. I'm back on the most uncomfortable couch in the universe to watch my favorite show. No pizza and salad for me this time, I was eating in. Suzi was in the kitchen cooking while on the phone with her mom. With my sandwich on the way to my mouth, this is what I hear:

(in her rude, annoyed voice): "Mom, how do you thaw a hot dog bun? . . . Mah-om, I'm to busy to remember this stuff."

Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Myyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Gaaaaaawwwwwwwd.

Please keep in mind that the previous week, she did not ask her mom how to thaw the hot dog bun. She did that one all on her own. This is yet another task that she had done all the other times she'd cooked a hot dog without any assistance from me or anyone on the phone with her.

This was just one of those instances where it shocked me, that at 22 she was still alive and kicking. One of those conversations was bad enough.

Two of them made me wonder why she didn't wear a fucking crash helmet.

Friends: past and present

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.

This post is actually inspired by Jewels' post from yesterday, regarding childhood friends. In her case, she was talking about one particular case.

I often remember my childhood friends with fond memories. Some, not so many fond memories. But more of than not, they are fond. Most of them I no longer talk to. I guess we just grew apart, in some cases emotionally and in others, a physical separation was the start.

I don't remember most of the kids I was friends with when I was really young. Mostly, it's the friends I had from about the time I was 8/9 years old forward. My first "best" friend that I remember was Pearl. She was the first friend I made after we moved to Redding. We were practically inseparable for awhile. Eventually she moved to Palo Cedro and we stopped seeing so much of each other. After 7th grade, when my family moved, Pearl and I really never saw each other after that. We would talk on the phone once in awhile, but that was it.

In the same years I was friends with Pearl, I was friends with two other girls that I remember - Lacey and Brandy. Neither one was a very good friendship. We kept trying to turn someone on the other, and Brandy liked to steal small things from me - gum, Barbi clothes, etc. Probably things she thought I wouldn't notice, but I did. Brandy was always more concerned what time of year the pool would be ready, then anything. Eventually, enough drama happened between the three of us that my parents basically forbade me to see either girl again. While it sucked to lose two "friends", I'm not sure it really bothered me all that much, seeing as how much trouble I often got into with them.

The friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you.

In junior high, I had a group of friends that I hated leaving when I moved just before the start of 8th grade. Many of them came to my 12th birthday party, the largest slumber party I ever had. I mostly remember all of us sitting in a group at lunch and sharing our lunches. It seems we just passed food around, talked, gossiped, and laughed. These kids even threw me a surprise going away party. Well, they tried. Half the guests showed up late! But it was the thought that counted, and thus far, they are only ones who have ever tried to throw me a surprise party.

In 8th grade, I started a new school, and eventually became friends with Heather. I hung out with a few other girls as well, but Heather and I became "best" friends. We were all through high school. We did skits for Dinner Theater together, we had sleep overs, enjoyed Disney movies together, went to D.A.R.E. camp, played volleyball, and went back east for a school trip together. In high school, she fell ill. Long story short, she had to have brain surgery - well, on her brain stem, but it's still considered brain surgery. The last couple months of her freshman year she was spent in a dark room due to killer migraines. Our Sophomore year she missed more school than she thought she would. I would make cards on the computer and go around to all our friends and have them sign so she'd know people wanted her better and missed her. I took her her homework. I would visit with her in whispers so as not to hurt her head. She still missed a lot our junior year. And just as much our senior year. Whatever she had the doctors didn't much about it, but did know that the symptoms could reoccur for up to ten years. A month or two before we graduated, she sat with me and our other two close friends and told us she wouldn't be graduating with us - she'd simply missed too much school due to her illness. She was being forced to drop out and get her G.E.D. A year after high school, she stopped talking to everyone. Her older sister had passed away unexpectedly and the last time we saw her was at the funeral.

A true friend is one who thinks you are a good egg even if you are half-cracked.

During high school, I had two other very close friends. One I don't really talk to much except for the random email. The last time I saw her was our 10 year reunion a couple summers ago. But the other, Magan, has remained to be my bestest best friend ever. She knows me as well as I know myself. Sometimes better. I met her because she transferred into my English class our junior year . . . Mrs. Bitchley's class. We don't get to see each other as often as we'd like to anymore. We live nearly 2 hours apart and have full-time jobs. The last time we met for lunch, we wound up hanging out for 8 hours. We had to have dinner, too, because we got hungry! We talk about everything. We're there to lend support where others have been judgemental. We've both survived crazy/psychotic roommates. We've offered that shoulder to cry on. We're there for each other when life hands you nothing but lemons. We go to concerts together that no one else we know would go to. When we get good news, we can't wait to tell each other. When we get bad news, we know we'll get hugs. For a lack of better terms, she's my sister. And as far as I can see, that won't ever change.

Now, as an adult, I don't get to "hang out" with friends as often as I'd like. Mostly because now I have friends that have families of their own. We all have jobs that keep us busy. Some are in school for various degrees. And some are just busy. But I know I have friends who will be there for me if I needed them.

A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us to be what we should.

All of my friends have shaped me into who I am. They will continue to shape me as life goes on. Hopefully they will continue to shape me into a better version of me. We learned a lot from each other. I hope to continue to learn from them. All of my friends (even the ones not mentioned), are/were friends for a reason. It's always hard to lose friends for whatever reason. Distance (physical or emotional), time, personalities, arguments. It's never easy to let them go, because at the time, you think nothing will ever separate you. It's the ones who won't let you go no matter what you do or where you are that are the "lifers". The one that has been by my side the longest, I hope she will always hold that spot. It's forever reserved for her.

The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart.

Workin' nights

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned in more than one previous blog that I work graveyard shift. I've probably also mentioned how much it sucks. Let me explain to you just how much it does suck. In case you were wondering.

Here are the pros to working nights:
1. No traffic going to work or going home afterwards.
2. If you go grocery shopping after work, the stores are nearly empty, clean, and freshly stocked.

That's pretty much it.

Here are the cons:
1. You're pretty much always a day behind the rest of the world.
2. The rest of the world operates on a normal 8-5 schedule and they don't work with you.
3. Telemarketers wake you up, making you wish you could use Voodoo on them. Or those that try to sell stuff door-to-door and give you a heart attack by knocking on your door or ringing your doorbell. Voodoo . . . seriously.
4. Garbage trucks, moving trucks, delivery trucks, and the Para-Transit bus make noise. A lot. Especially that damn garbage truck. Especially if one of the dumpsters is right outside your window.
5. Learning how to sleep while the sun is out - not easy.
6. If you want a day off, you have to usually take an extra day off before, so you're actually awake for the reason(s) for your day off.
7. In the summer, one's electric bill is astronomical because you require coolness while you sleep.
8. It can wreak havoc on the attempt at a social life.
9. Potential boyfriends are often put off by your "opposite" life and use it as an excuse for not being able to hang out with you.
10. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are no longer relative. Considering "breakfast" is now at 8pm, "lunch" is at 2:30am, and "dinner" is now at 8am. Seriously, WTF?
11. When the alarm goes off, you still don't want to drag your ass out of bed. Especially in winter, because it's still cold outside those covers.
12. You become jealous of anyone you know that works normal hours and has what you would consider a "life".
13. You get an "ice cream"-like headache (for an instant) when you walk outside after work in the morning because it's bright outside.
14. When you get off work, instead of saying, "See you tomorrow"- which is what normal people say - you say, "See you tonight." It's just wrong. But true.
15. Gardeners are suddenly much louder than they ever were before, making you want to sabotage their lawn mowers, leaf blowers, and hedge trimmers. And anything else that makes noise.
16. You get the pity look from anyone and everyone you have to tell that you work graveyard.

Now, I have that long list of grievances, but don't get me wrong - I'm glad to have a job. A decent one. Especially in this economy. I've come to terms with my lack of a life, the fact that I have to keep all phones on silent until I wake up, my new meal times, my sleep schedule, and my summer electric bill (although it still makes me want to pass out).

Besides, that con list could get longer.

Those are just from the hours (i.e. time of day) I work.

P.S. I'm so freaking tired, I literally dozed off for like 5 minutes. I'm going to bed. And it's 9am. So sad.

Psycho Roomie, Part VII

Last time I mentioned that Suzi and made up a "sign off" sheet for house cleaning. I assume because verbal communication was obviously not an option. We kept it taped up on the side of the kitchen cupboard, for all to see. That way, they could all see that it was my initials only on any of those stupid sheets. The first month, she actually pitched in. We signed stuff off, and went on our merry little ways.

However, when November showed up, she didn't print up a new copy. I let it go for a week or so, and then finally made my own version. I know what your thinking: why? Because I knew if I didn't, it would come back to haunt me when it came time to move out that I couldn't "prove" I had helped clean house. Believe me, these people would have argued that point. So, every month I kept it up. I vacuumed the living room, hall way, and my room (our respective rooms weren't on the list, although the third bedroom was). I dusted. I wiped down the stupid washer and dryer. I cleaned up the kitchen. I swept and Swiffered the floors. I refused to go even in inch into her bedroom with the vacuum. I didn't touch the third bedroom because it was all her crap in there to begin with. The only thing of mine in the third bedroom was my bike.




I signed diligently every week, like a good girl. I was a brunette version of Cinderella. A version that didn't sing because I can't carry a tune in a bucket. Every month until I went on my internship, I posted a new sign off sheet. I kept all the old ones in a folder in my room, hidden away for future use if necessary.

Her initials appeared sporadically on these sheets. Nine times out of ten, she signed on the following week, the day after I cleaned. So, if I cleaned on week 1, say November 1st, the next house cleaning should be on week 2, say, November 8th. I would sign say, November 1st for the 1st because that's when I cleaned. She would come in, clean her stupid blind-hairless-fugly rat's cage and mess up my beautiful living room, vacuum up her mess then sign for vacuuming for November 2nd, on week two. She would only sign for stuff I had already done. Needless to say, I don't think she ever lifted a finger. Once a month she'd randomly sign the stupid sheet.

I never once in my year living with her cleaned any of her animal cages. And I'm not talking about the stupid mice for her research project, either. By the way, those stinky mice lived with us probably until near Christmas. At least. She had a male "fancy mouse" as the father to all the baby mice she needed for her research project. She had Gus, her hairless-cysty-fugly rat, the 1oo or so mice, and then in the spring, took a rabbit off her friend. Now, the rabbit, was cute. I don't remember his name, but he was a large lop-eared rabbit. Adorable. And litter-box trained. It was awesome. I felt bad for him, though, because after a week, she lost all interest in it. She never let him out to roam, she barely paid attention to him. I didn't clean the cage, that was her duty. But I'd find fresh veggies for him, pet him, let him roam a bit, and give him some much needed attention. Especially since she set him the third bedroom, so for her, he was out of sight-out of mind.




And I have yet to mention her stupid gold fish. Oh dear. She had a ten gallon tank that sat on the kitchen counter, directly behind the kitchen sink. These poor suckers never stood a chance. Actually, it's a miracle anything lived with her taking care of it, since she did manage to kill cacti and Aloe Vera plants. I'm so not kidding. How the fuck do you kill desert plants??? That takes a lot of work and some serious talent. Anyway, she went through a few gold fish. At one point she bought some fancy fan-tail black gold fish. I think she might have had a few too many in the tank, I don't really remember, but the two gold goldfish were mean little suckers and killed at least one of the black ones. Did Suzi fish it out with a net and flush it? Nope. It sank to the bottom of the tank, and decomposed. I finally said something to her and she was like, "Oh, I never noticed it." Seriously? It's only on the freakin' kitchen counter for the world to see.

So, yes, my apartment smelled lovely. We had at least 100 mice in the apartment, a rabbit, and dead decomposing fish.

Why, hello, Febreze. I love you.


Now, I must say, that luckily, I did not have to use the old "sign off" sheets to "prove" I lifted a finger. I'm thinking only because the subject never came up. I find it a bit that it didn't, considering everything else at the end when it came time for me to leave.

Take a picture, it'll last longer.

On my way home from work today, I stopped by the grocery store for one particular item - sour cream. I had forgotten to purchase some during my last grocery shopping escapade because I'm a ditz and I really needed some. I parked my car, went in, bought the sour cream, and got back in my car. As I got in my car, a car pulled in the space directly in front of me. I continued to get ready to go home - I put my seat belt on, turned the car on, etc. This guy in the space in front of me just keeps staring at me. I wasn't staring at him, so I couldn't figure out why he was staring at me. I put my car in reverse and looked every which way to make sure I don't wreck my gorgeous new car.

As he gets out and locks his car, this guy is still staring.

I doubt he heard me, but he might have been able to read lips when I said out loud, "Dude, take a picture, it'll last a lot longer."

But it got me thinking. People do this. They stare at you. Why? I have no idea. But it'll freak you out. Makes you wonder if you have a booger the size of Rhode Island hanging out of your nose. Or if you somehow have "idiot" written on your forehead. Lipstick smeared across your face. Toilet paper stuck to your shoe. Anything. It doesn't matter. All that does matter is some random stranger is staring at you while you're in your car.

It could be in a parking lot, like this morning. It could be at a stoplight. It could be anywhere.

Stop it. It's unnerving. And creepy.

"Why can't every day be just this good?"

Today was a good day. For starters, I left work on time this morning. I went to my volunteer gig at the dog place. Then I met my parents for lunch. That's it. That's all it took to make it a good day.

Of course, as I type, I'm icing my bum knee as it's not handling the week very well. However, walking is over-rated. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I also try to tell myself money is over-rated, and then the damn bills show up. Again. Like bad pennies, I'm telling ya.

My parents had decided to come pay me a visit. It's the tail end of their two week vacation (most definitely earned), and I don't think we'd seen each other since I went home to surprise them when Granny was in the hospital at the beginning of September. I met them at a local restaurant for lunch and visited there for nearly an hour. Then decided to go to Kohl's, and I apparently got two Christmas presents early - I won't see them again until Christmas. More than likely I will forget about them, so I won't actually be faking surprise. Then went for a Jamba Juice and sat outside to enjoy the beautiful weather - and of course visited a lot more. Had a few good laughs, and some serious conversation about moving options. Once I've thought about that some more, I'll probably blog it out. But for now I need to mull things over myself.

Of course, I was thrilled to get Mom and Dad Hugs, as I really needed them. And I know they did, too. If a stranger saw us hugging, they would have thought we hadn't seen each other in years. That's the kind of hugging I'm talking about. But the cherry on top was the care package they surprised me with. (And don't think you're getting a "magical" glimpse into my bedroom, either. It's simply the cleanest room in the house at the moment, so by default, this was the picture room. lol)



It's kind of silly, it includes 3 rolls of paper towels, 3 boxes of Kleenex, a bottle of Spray 'n Wash, a bottle of 409, a box of mini-bagged microwave popcorn, a 36-count case of Pepsi (which isn't pictured because I got lazy and didn't want to haul it into the bedroom and lift it onto the bed. lol), and a new set of pajamas (which according to Mom was a Christmas present, but Dad said go ahead and give it). Such trivial little things and my face lit up like a freaking Christmas tree.




So, now I think I'm going to sit back, watch a little X-Files on Netflix, pop some popcorn, and enjoy my night off work. I shall also continue to ice my bum knee so hopefully I can walk without trouble tomorrow at my horse thing, and then stand all night at work (which is partly why my knee is being troublesome - too many nights standing with a foot with no arch on the same leg as the bum knee - horrible combo).

FYI - I've been texting my mom since they left town. Seriously, the visiting never stops. LOL

Oh, and bonus points if you know the song the title is from or even the artist. ;o)