I Need A Bigger Bathroom

GUESS WHAT?!! I got another award! I’m so excited, so let’s address this thing right away!

It’s the Sugar Doll award and it’s from Veritable Ally! 

Thanks, Ally!

Ok, so for this award I have to tell you guys 10 things about myself, so here they are:

1. I have a giant bruise on my bum from an awesome river trip, which you should read about over at BSquared’s blog Bow to Brevity (which, I just noticed, is also BSquared) because it was fun and hilarious and she added some awesome doodles.

2. I did most of my growing up on a dirt road.

3. I am a coffee fiend.

4. I just right clicked “fiend” to see what the synonyms are and got “evil person”, “brute”, and “beast”, and now I’m thinking that’s not the right word. I meant I’m like a crackhead for coffee.

5. I wish women’s jeans all came in measurements like men’s jeans so that I would always know what size I am.

6. I’m usually too lazy to wear makeup.

7. I don’t like milk, but I looooove ice cream.

8. My niece Chels is here visiting me for about another 10 days and we are going to have a bLAST hanging out together since I haven’t seen her since Christmas.

9. I also have a couple more weeks of homework before summer classes are over, so between hanging with Chels and writing about American Ethnic literature, I might not be able to post.

10. THEN, after summer classes are over, I will be going home to Michigan for my BFF Nic’s wedding!!! I’ll be gone for two weeks and I’ll be out in the middle of beautiful BFE for a majority of that time, and I won’t really have access to acceptable internet, so you may not hear from me for a while.  

Now, to pass this award on to others... who to choose, who to choose?

I choose some blogs that I like to read by my internet friends:

Mei at Diary of a Fair Weather Diver

Jitsy at Mind Starts Speaking

and some blogs I like to read by people I know in real life and I'm so excited that they started blogging:

Shannon at Sometimes I Just Feel Like...

Alyse at Narcissism & Other Adventures 

Brittany at Bow to Brevity

Congrats to all the winners!!!

On a completely different note, I need a bigger bathroom. Usually it’s not too much of an issue, since Breezy wakes up hours before my semi-comatose body would even notice an alarm clock going off, but some days we both need to wake up at the same time… and get ready at the same time… and our bathroom just isn’t big enough for the both of us.

We sleepily knock elbows and fight for the sink like two zombies going for the same brain. We’re lucky that neither of us have been hurt, yet.

And then there are the days where my morning coffee kicks in and I start using my hairbrush as a microphone and dance in front of the mirror. This is fine when I’m getting ready alone, but when Breezy’s in the room:

Breezy (mouth full of toothpaste): “What are you doing?”

Moi (hyper and happy from the coffee): “Singing Eminem.”

Breezy (confused): “Girls shouldn’t ‘sing Eminem’.” (He totally did the air quotes around “sing Eminem”)

Moi (feelings hurt): “Why not?”

Breezy (thinks he’s better than me): “Girls don’t have enough anger.”

Moi (continue to sing Eminem without anger): “You selfish bitch, I hope you fucking burn in hell for that shit.”

At the time I was too jacked up on my dark roast to think of this, but Breezy sings some songs around the apartment that he shouldn’t have the right to sing if I can’t sing Eminem.

Like when he was obsessed with Ke$ha:

PS: Eminem, if you’re reading this, I love you.

He Jests at Scars That Never Felt a Wound

I have a lot of scars.

I have one on my left arm from spying on boys with Apee on a dirt road. I flipped my bike and went skin scraping across the gravel, leg firmly secured in my bike chain.

I have one on my right hand from lighting fireworks and accidently throwing the lighter instead of the burning ball of physical pain, which I held safely in my small hand until it exploded.

I have one on my right arm from getting an alien spawn removed from just under my skin.

I have one on my forehead from tripping on a blanket, falling down a flight of stairs and bouncing like a ball the size of a small child directly into a table.

I have one on the back of my head from being born (yeah, I’m so awesome that I got a scar before I had fully made my entrance into the world).

The list goes on, but I think you get my point: I have a lot of scars.

Since making my initial scar-covered debut into this world, I have noticed that we all have scars. We may only have a few and they may not be as noticeable as a lightning bolt across our foreheads, but they are there.

Why am I writing about this? Because I’m thinking that if I asked you about your scars (which is actually one of my favorite “get to know you” conversations, and I’ll tell you why in a minute), chances are you’d be able to tell me how you got most of them.

I say “most” here because sometimes a scar happens before we have developed a conscious memory and therefore we would not know how we got that scar unless our parents told us about it (like the one on the back of my head). There is also the occasional drunk and disorderly scar that occurs while our conscious memory is smash-hammered drunk and blacked out while our bodies are still roaming around making asses of ourselves. We cannot be held responsible for the explanation of either of these scars.

However, the cool part about scars (and why I like to have conversations about them) is that they are physical proof of incidents in our lives. I hate to quote Papa Roach here (I really do), but our scars remind us that the past is real; just by looking at them we can relive that experience and even describe many of the details.

Ok, I am sorry. I definitely didn’t mean to get all deep on this blog, and I promise it’s leading to a funny story, but it is kind of interesting, right? Right?

[insert the sound of crickets here]

Ok, ok, moving on.

I also have a scar on my right ear, and here’s how I got it.

I was at cheerleading practice with Mrs. Kelley discussing the hotness of our athletic trainer. We were contemplating ways to ditch practice and go visit him in his office and just stare at him for a while (or, um, whatever).

One of the other cheerleaders had gone in to see him before with a pulled groin or something equally close to her “downstairs” and was bragging about how he applied the topical pain reliever, like Icy Hot, on her to fix it. We were all super jealous, until all of a sudden she started screaming like a cheerleader would if caught on fire, because what she forgot to mention was that the athletic trainer uses super mega ultra Icy Hot because he works with giant football players with brutal footballish injuries, not little old ladies with back pain.

So we were contemplating other methods which would not require intense pain, but would still result in a visit to the hot trainer.

Practice commenced and we were forced to practice a semi-dangerous dismount from a stunt, which we referred to as the Twist Cradle, against the will of our entire stunt group.

So, to lay it out for you, in case you don’t know, there are three of us girls holding up another girl above our heads with our arms fully extended. From there, we toss her further into the air, after which she would normally arch her body and then land all prettily in our open arms (cradle). Instead, we were supposed to toss her into the air, after which she would twist herself around in the air and then land chaotically in our open arms (twist cradle).

Here’s what happens when you force people to do this stunt when they are not comfortable doing it: all hell breaks loose and someone is getting kicked in the face, or dropped, or both. Cheerleading is a dangerous world, my friends. It is! It's actually statistically the most dangerous sport, at least for women. Anyway, so I bet you already guessed what happened next. I got kicked in the face. Now, many girls would bitch and moan and whatever whatever, but my stunt group was tough and we just went on for more forced practicing.

Until I reached up to pull my flyaway hairs away from my face and my hand came back covered in blood. I reached back up and felt that my ear was attempting to go all Van Gogh on me and detach itself from my head.

Mrs. Kelley took an up close look at the damage and diagnosed it as follows:

“Eew, it looks like a bloody vagina!”

Do you have any funny scar stories?

I Am Weak and He Is Strong

Recently I have noticed that I am on an extremely slippery slope to complete and utter weakness. I know that I am a girl and I am only 5’3” tall (and I get this intense loathing feeling every time I even think about milk because we just don’t get along unless it is in very small portions and complimenting my cereal or cake), so I can only be so strong, but come on, man! I used to lift people! I used to lift weights! I used to be able to do at least two pushups!

But now it seems as if all of that strength is just withering away and I am on my way to hiring a big, strong, personal assistant to follow me around and do all my heavy lifting and difficult opening. Hey now, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea! I will have to see if my student loans will cover this…

Back on track: I am weak (and not like my shit’s weak or anything, because it’s totally not), and I don’t know how it happened. I have succumbed to begging Breezy to do things for me because my feeble hands just won’t manage and it only takes him two seconds and he shows no sign of struggle. Quite frankly, it’s embarrassing. I don’t want my husband thinking I’m some weak and defenseless cunt who can’t even complete simple daily tasks.

I have decided to illustrate the crumbling of my strength with a doodle.

Enjoy, while I go find some dumbbells. Or maybe I’ll waste my money on a pair of those fancy shake weights…

Awards :)

Look, Mom and Dad! My internet friends gave me TWO awards!

I can’t seem to find a cash prize listed anywhere, so continue to smile and pretend that it’s the thought that counts, like at Christmas when someone gets you clothes that you’ll never wear (that one was for you, Daddy! “It’s a damn coat.” Haha, I love you.)

JUST KIDDING, internet friends!!! A few days ago I had no idea what a blog award was or how I could get my doodling hands on one, and now I have TWO! I am ecstatic. Just look at me:

You can tell I’m happy because my dimples are showing.
There were even fireworks celebrating my awards!
That may have been a lie, but there were fireworks.
Ok, and I couldn’t physically hold onto my awards, so I’m doing it virtually. Deal with it.

Without further ado, I present you my awards:

My first ever blog award is from lalalalauren over at lauren vs. reality.

This award is titled “the versatile blogger” and, though I’m not sure I deserve it, I haven’t done any poems (yet), lauren definitely does because she’s also the genius behind The Musical Advice Column. Check her out if you haven’t yet!

Ok, so the rules for this blog award (or herpes of the blogosphere, as lauren refers to it):

1. Thank the person who gave you the award

2. Share seven things about you

3. Nominate 15 newly discovered blogs

4. Let your nominees know about the award!

__________________________________

Here goes… something.

1. Thank you, thank you!!!

2. Seven things about me:

1) I am going to try out a poem or two soon, so that I feel better about receiving this award.

2) I went grocery shopping today and therefore feel like I’ve accomplished something.

3) I love Disney movies and when I have a baby I will hold it up like Simba for the world to see, but not like MJ over a balcony because that’s just not safe.

4) I used to take piano lessons and recently found a picture of my child self online posing for my piano teacher’s album cover in the most embarrassing dress ever stitched.

5) I learned a lot from my summer classes this session, but my grades are certainly not going to reflect it :(

6) I eat tomatoes whole, like an apple, and my husband thinks I’m weird because of it (if you eat your tomatoes like this too, please let me know in the comments, or email me if you would like to remain anonymous: thisfreckledlemonade@gmail.com)

7) I have a terribly controlling sweet tooth

3. 15 seems a little crazy to me, and I don’t like the term “nominees”, so I’m going to choose a few winners instead– that way the winners know that I truly like their blog and am not just trying to fill the slots.

1) You’re Lucky I Don’t Have a Gun @ http://thingsiliketoeatandothernonsense.blogspot.com/

2) Amber @ http://nostomanic.blogspot.com/

3) Gnetch @ http://thankgoodnessforthegoodones.blogspot.com/

4. I will let you know soon, I promise.

NEXT UP: my second ever blog award!!! Second only by like half an hour or something crazy like that.

This blog award is from You’re Lucky I Don’t Have a Gun over at Things I Like to Eat. A blog about eating? Now, that’s my kind of blog. And it’s not just about eating, it is about other things too. And it’s hilarious. Hey, she probably deserves a “the versatile blogger” award! Oh, wait, I already gave her one ;) Check out her blog – unless of course you are a dull and boring person and want no awesome in your life.

It’s the “You’re going places Award” and it has pictures of places that I have never, ever been! Hopefully that means that I will be going to those places!

There seem to be no “rules” to this one; I just have to explain where I see myself in 10 years, so this is it:

I have absolutely no idea. I mean, ask my 13 year old self where I thought I’d be in 10 years and I would have never been able to guess that I’d be where I am now. In 10 years I have gone from small town girl with braces and a million boy crushes (the hottest celebrity crushes taped to every available wall space in my bedroom) to moving 2,000 miles away from my friends and family and becoming the wife of one of those boy crushes!!! So, with that in mind, I will attempt to predict the future.

In 10 years I will have a teaching job that I love. I will have a house, or at least a nice condo. I will have a dog and possibly a child (if not, I will be seriously considering having or adopting on­e). I will [still] have a husband who loves me. I will have a published novel (whether it is one of the projects I have going right now, I am not sure, but it will happen). I will have a jetpack. Rosie from The Jetson’s will be cleaning my house/condo. And, perhaps most importantly: I will be me, only older.

Now, I’ll choose a few winners for this award, too:

1) lalalalauren @ http://trashrocktour.blogspot.com/

2) Stacy @ http://stacysaysblog.blogspot.com/

3) Johana @ http://the-mercurial-wife.blogspot.com/

That’s it on the awards for now. Be sure to check out all of the winners because they are all amazing (that’s why I chose them) and they will definitely make you laugh and leave you wanting more.

Thanks again for choosing me, ladies!!!

Oh, one more thing:

I just wanted to let you know that I made a page all about my wedding called “Happily Ever After”. Click that bad boy to check it out. There is also a link to it at the top of the page :)

Public Transportation

Has anyone else noticed how trying to be “green” sure feels like legitimately being poor?

I guess I can’t honestly complain, since the main reason I take part in public transportation isn’t to save the earth from global warming, ManBearPig, or whatever other looming apocalypses human day-to-day functions are causing, but because I am poor. No matter how much I like to pretend otherwise, my refrigerator is empty and my pantry consists of ramen noodles and cat food (because even if I can’t afford food for myself, those little fuckers have to eat).

Part of being green (or poor, whatever.) is this glorious thing known as public transportation. While there are a few different options available, they all pretty much suck.

First, there’s the ever popular bus or metro system. It sounds nice at first: air conditioning, seating, and will get you where you need to be rather quickly. But then the ugly side shows through.

Once you survive waiting for the damned thing in 100 degree heat (or the intense sprint you will be forced to complete if you are running late and therefore have to make a fool of yourself in front of everyone aboard by running like an idiot to catch a ride), consider yourself lucky if you can find an available seat that is not covered in piss or any other liquid. As the train/bus makes its way to your destination, you will no doubt begin to notice the usual victims of public transit:

From left to right:

Crying baby who may or may not have an adult present

Smelly homeless rock star

Head phone guy who apparently doesn’t understand what head phones are for because everyone on board can hear what he’s listening to, and it’s not pleasant

And a bimbo who won’t stop popping bubbles loudly with her gum

Another option is to ride a bike to and from your destination. This is a great choice because you can consider it a form of exercise for the day. Oh, and the wind on your face will feel pretty cool and you’ll finally realize why dogs stick their heads out of car windows.

PS: don’t try sticking your head out of a car window, no matter how good the wind feels. Cars go fast and it will hurt. Badly. You are not as badass as your dog.

However, in abiding by bicyclist rules of the road, you will be given a very small lane all to yourself. This sounds nice, but there are some drivers who just don’t think the standard sized car lane is wide enough, and will insist upon taking over part of your puny little bike lane as well.

Trucker Guy: “Nah, man. I think I need a bigger truck. This thing isn’t using up enough gas.”

If you don’t have a bike, and aren’t interested in obtaining one (even though they have some pretty cute/cheap ones at WalMart, which is where I got my cruiser for like $80), you always have the option of walking.

Walking may sound boring when it does not involve a mall, but trust me on this one: it’s pretty legit. Of course, you have to consider the distance to your destination, so walking may not be a good option for everyone. You will also want to find yourself an iPod or something similar because not only will you want to entertain yourself along the way, you’ll want to drown out this:

The sound of every Mexican (or any other ethnicity for that matter) man in a work truck honking and hollering at you, even if you look like crap and are not dressed in any way that would give them the idea that you would like to be hollered at. Now, I’m not from around here, so I don’t really know: are these guys just genuinely nice? Or are they actually trying to pick up chicks like this?