Dry Spell

Fuck that. Dry spell is a euphemism. I am in a drought.
Now I understand that I put up with so much turmoil in my last relationship because I wanted steady sex. The human body and brain are hardwired for steady sex and the stability and sensory input that accompany the steady sex. I would love to believe that casual sex is enough...but no strings attached is a myth contrived by men.
I saw a cloud in the sky over the weekend. It was my beloved holiday, Halloween. My roomies and I threw a party.
The first was Officer Dangle who came in through the backdoor (of my house) to the party. Real name: Charkie, strike one. He also spoke very little, strike two. And, he owns the white cat that hangs around our house with the fucked-up eyes, strike three. He was quite nice, but not bump-n-grind-n-go material. He added me on Facebook way too soon.
Then there was Hugh Hefner who was trying quite obviously-too-hard to get into my tutu. He ended up sitting on my bed, uninvited, and petting my cat. He wanted to pet my other cat really badly, but tiny dancers have standards. When he walked into the party, he was with his darling roommate who I invited. After talking with me for a few minutes, he whispered too-loudly to his roommate if he had dibs on me. (Ew.) He was foul and obviously without 7 girlfriends at home. Honestly, dressing up as Hugh Hefner and not getting laid is fallacious.
Then there was Franzia Box Wine. He had a spout at the bottom of the box that actually contained wine. I had a glass, or rather, Solo cup of the stuff and I swear to God that I do not know if it was Pinot Grigio or piss. I think that he may have had his wiener coming out of the spout. (Too much?) He wasn't really flattered that I asked him if that was the case, because I implied that he was a complete pervert since I wasn't laughing when I asked. He didn't know anyone at the party and still didn't want to talk to me much after that.
I can't believe that I consider these encounters "clouds in the sky" during the longest drought of my sexually active life.
When I went to the mountains on a Fall Break camping trip, I fell in love. When I went to the doctor for a cold, I fell in love. When I met a guy at a bus stop, I fell in love. I cannot follow through with anything. I become infatuated for a day with a person who I meet once and never speak to again. But for the day of unprovoked infatuation, I am blissful in the ficticious life that I share with this stranger.
It was just so wonderful that the creepy, awful Hugh Hefner actually wanted to get in my tutu. What the fuck?

The Spartan Chariot

It's getting so cold in these northern parts, I have resorted to taking the bus to school. I wasn't certain that I would be able to manage the responsibility of taking public transportation. For some reason I doubted that the bus would actually show up at all, and then I doubted that it would stop for me, and then I doubted that it would be on time, but when I actually stood at the street corner and waited for it, the Spartan Chariot appeared at the horizon and came barreling towards me in all Her glory.
The bus driver is out of his damn mind, but in a good way. He guns it once you sit down, he runs yellow lights and he even turns right on red! But since learning doesn't wait for stragglers, I respect his devotion to getting us Spartans to school on time.
I was the most pleasantly surprised when he used the microphone to address his passengers. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is Robert, your bus driver. How is everyone doing today?" He got a weak response. "Again, let me hear how you're doin'?" A more enthusiastic response. "Now I want you to turn to your neighbor and tell them "Good morning, have a great day.'" And then everyone on the bus turned to the person next them and said it! It was the most beautiful thing that could have happened at 10:30 am. Robert then said, "Now, as you go about your day and bump into all kinds of different people, I want you to remember that everybody is _________." And everyone on the bus (except for me as a first-timer) said "somebody". The guy sitting next to me told me that he does that every single morning.

Welcome to North Cackalacky

The people here are far more normal than the slang name for the state suggests. It may be because I am living in the college town of Greensboro, or it may just be that the toothless stay at home.

The architecture from the 1930s on Bruce Street is far from normal.

It was when I saw the size of my closet that I decided to turn my life over to God. And then again when I went into the Tag Agency and was overwhelmed by the Got Jesus? state issued licence plates. The state government here thinks the First Amendment says "Separation between church and every state besides North Carolina." There is no doubt that this is the bible belt. I can hardly sleep for the church bells. I don't know how those overzealous members expect the congregation to get to church on Sunday with all that chiming every fifteen minutes. When I really got pissed was when I was flipping through the local radio channels and started listening to an unfamiliar song that I almost liked. It was when the chorus hit that I realized that I had, for a second, liked Christian Rock. But seriously, a Holy Roller couldn't even hang his Sunday suit in my closet and close the door.

And then there is the bathroom. It's like something out of a teen slasher flick. The front part of the house is really pretty with high ceilings, molding and big, old doors. But the back part looks like someone split a trailer in half and attached it to the house to add a kitchen, laundry room and extra bathroom. That bathroom has wood paneling, a low ceiling, and carpet. Not just a low ceiling, but one that slopes and goes from about 7 feet high over the shower and swoops down to 4 feet over the toilet on the other side of the room. Upon move-in, I declared that I would not be using that bathroom. I mean, maybe I seemed a little spoiled, but whatever, I'm not going to risk having my throat slashed just to have a told-you-so moment with my new roommates. No, thanks. I'm here to study and become a nurse, not die in a creepy gnome bathroom.

I haven't even officially started staying in that house. I have been at my parent's place in the next town over. The lovely, hazy Winston-Salem. This is Tobaccoville, baby. Get-your-fix-here, NC. I've been in limbo because my parents are too cheap to buy a new bed. They have an extra one in a storage unit that is 20 feet long. The bed is on the far wall, held in place by 20 feet of boxes of shit. In order for me to have a bed in my new house, I would have to muster up the tolerance to hang out with my dad all afternoon in blazing heat to get that thing out. Thus, I am sleeping in my parent's guest room with my cat and his litter box in the same room so that their puppy won't eat the litter.

Charlie is still adjusting here and he doesn't know yet where to sharpen his claws. He had taken a liking to my parent's dining room chairs for the job. My mom wasn't having it, so last night, after Puppy School, we went to PetSmart and bought Soft Claws. This will sound inhumane but it's really better than the alternative (declaw). Soft Claws are rubber claw caps that you glue onto the cat's real nail with (cringe) super glue. They stay on for 1-2 months and then you have to replace them. As I type, Charlie is lying next to me, sporting hot pink rubber nails (they come in 6 different colors). I think I will take him to get 'em air-brushed when I get my next pay check. It's crazy though, because he picked at them for about 5 minutes, then lost interest and passed out which is not typical according to the instruction manual that warned of 5 days of non-stop crying and bad temperament. He returned to his homeostatic disposition of Mama's Sweet Boy within a day. It might just be me, but I think he's sittin' prettier than ever.

Things are pretty dull overall, but dull is what I have been craving.

Two Weeks Notice

I mean, yeah, a company needs 2-6 weeks to replace an employee but I cannot imagine that since giving my two weeks notice that I could be any less productive. My output is around 20% and rapidly declining. I have my phone set to DND (Do Not Disturb) which means that it won't ring at my desk, so that I can type this post. I have had about 4,000 calories to fill in the time between bathroom breaks and I am practically sore from the office aerobic exercises that I do at my desk while watching the youtube instructional videos.

Fortunately, I have been able to square things away in preparation for my move. I have delegated most of the cleaning and packing from the comfort of my cubicle.
This job is definitely a nitro-boost of motivation to get a degree but I will miss a few small and rare aspects of my position of ECG technician at the Institute of Veterinary Specialists.

1. I have an 888 number that I can give to clerks when I am buying things and they ask for a telephone number. Just a little something different that I like to do at Macy's.
"Can I have your telephone number?"
"Sure, it's 1-888-pause-844-1413"
"Is that your home number?'
"Yes."

2. I have had a great time as Party Planner Extraordinaire. The Ambush Cake Presentation being my signature move in which streamers and balloons are placed at the cubicle of the Birthday Boy/Girl and the cake rounds the corner in less than 60 seconds. Then the birthday song is sang by Kristi and I and we leave the birthday person to eat cake alone. That's what all degree-seekers have to look forward to. (On my 20th birthday here at the office, I cried so much and so hysterically that I was sent home before 9:00 am since I wasn't using the mute button and clients were complaining. I just couldn't believe that my life had come to this.)
Moving on...

3. I have enjoyed Kristi's outrageous stories as she prepares to get engaged to someone 3 years younger than her and 10 years more mature. Her b/f is supporting the two of them on an EMT's salary, yet she won't accept anything smaller than a 1 ct Princess cut on platnium. Ehem, queen in the cubicle. Her antics are always enlightening. One morning, her eyes were really puffy and she proceeded to tell me what happened: She said that she was sitting on the floor confessing the immense amount of love that she has for her boyfriend and got so excited that she started crying 'happy tears'. She then realized that she had never cried happy tears in 26 years of living and began crying sad tears. She said it was such a moving experience to be so happy and sad at the same time. She then said, "I can't really handle gravity bong hits."

4. It is virtually impossible to get fired.

5. My boss's 9 month-old English Bulldog that lives at the clinic. I lovie love heem sooo maschh!

6. There are communal nail-clippers. It makes for such a nice family atmosphere to share something like that with someone.

7. That one time when the hospital tech euthanised the Cairn Terrier and they couldn't figure out where to keep the body overnight because the cremation service was closed. So they put the dog in a plastic bag in the cardiologist's freezer since he was out of town...

8. I know all lyrics to Jimmy Buffet's "Boats Beaches Bars and Ballads".

9. I am well informed of all possible sudden-death situations threatening pets since I call many, many vet clinics and listen to hold music that sounds like this: "Fruit is a great snack for adults and kids, but did you know that grapes can cause deadly kidney failure in dogs?" No, I didn't.

Good times. ;-)
Time for the next chapter in my lovely life.

This is love.

This is my mom with her new pooch. His name is Duncan. He's a Pembroke Welsh Corgi and he was adopted on Mother's Day by two people with hearts much larger than his ears. Since my brother and I are 24 and 20, respectively, it seemed appropriate that a new baby be given to her on Mother's Day.

That's my dad on the right with Baby Duncs on his belly. That look on my dad's face is one of pure love.
I have yet to meet two people who so completely give their love away.
Not that love is given away, rather it is energy and never dissipates, just changes form. The more that you give away, the more you have yourself.
If you can imagine that they love their dog in this deep, unconditional way, just imagine the love cast upon their children.
Frank and I were born with hypothetical silver spoons. We weren't given fancy things, just simple toys and meals, but we were given this ability to love without reserve. A deep understanding that loving relationships yield the enormous satisfaction of a meaningful life.
Growing up, the best Saturday nights were spent in our living room, listening to Van Morrison in the summertime. The windows open and the humidity abound. The sounds of crickets in the creek drifting in through the open windows. My mom and dad in their appropriate chairs with their books and my brother and I laying the the floor with the dogs, just soaking up the thick love that is felt during shared relaxation in the heat of summer. I slept so well on nights like those.
We spent our last night in that house where our parents nourished our hearts about two months ago. It was May-something. My parents strapped the childhood couch onto the top of their Subaru and drove it over to my brother's house. Frank drove the old lawnmower to the neighbor's house about a mile away and my parents followed in the 'Ru with the old couch tied down. At some point during the trip, my mom was confused as to why my brother kept turning around to look at the car. She asked my dad, "Do you think he knows that it's us?" My dad straightforwardly replied, "How many Subarus do you think there are on this road with couches tied to the roof?"
The relationship that my family shares makes daily trials and tribulations transparent. They're always with me.

If FML posted novels

As a form of therapy, I decide to have this awesome frozen yogurt, Mochi, which just happens to be owned by Bento where I worked for 2 years and left on horrible terms. Too bad I am completely obsessed with Mochi and have had it 3 days in a row despite the cold looks from the staff. At Mochi, it's set up for self-service and you are charged by the ounce ($0.45 per ounce). It's super delicious; the flavors are mostly ethnic sweetie flavors: Taro, Green Tea, etc. and then you top it with fresh fruit. So I do up my bowl, I call it MochiTherapy, and go to the register to pay my old boss who I never told I was quitting; just never responded to her texts. She weighs it and charges me.
$9.03. 18.8 oz of Mochi. That is over a pound.
I swerve all over the road eating my Mochi in the car.
There are times when I am driving and being alone in the car couldn't be lonelier.
My gas tank: empty, cell phone battery: in the red, check engine light: on, trash: everywhere.
Every song on my iPod is sadder than the last.
(Think Warning Sign by Coldplay)
Every song reminds me of being in the car with someone who I no longer ride in the car with.
I am so lonely because I have been abandoned by the resources that I surround myself with to keep me company when it's necessary to ride in the car alone.
Then I decide to go to Hollywood Video for a romantic comedy to cheer me up.
I choose Wasted which is on heroine use among American teens and Children of Men, on infertility in the UK set in 2026 and the struggle of a pregnant fugee.
I go to pay, there is a hold on my account for 9 late movies, totalling $79 in late fees.
I know that as someone who blogs, it's expected that I exaggerate. And sometimes I do. I wish this were fiction. This couldn't be more true. Except that I only had $60 in late fees, but still.
I've been in this haze of self-pity.
At a high school graduation party (I am a should-be sophomore in college), I am standing alone and who walks in but the loneliest mother fucker on the planet and guess what? He's had a crush on my for years. There we were, observing the high school seniors who have their high school skinny and their diplomas and 4 great years to look forward to in college. And here I am, a 1st year drop out with 30 extra pounds and a full time clerical position. It's not funny. It really isn't. But I can't stop laughing.
I was yelled at in the DMV today for going to the wrong room to get a duplicate ID, to replace the one that was in the beautiful Sabina bag that I lost when drunk last Monday. I went to the room where the driving tests are taken. I stood there and looked around in my jogging shorts and tank top like I was probably in the wrong room. Then the lady who calls the ticket numbers yells to me, "I said to go to the last room on the right, ma'am."
I don't miss anything in my purse except for my old ID in which I was 16, playing soccer and weighed 125 lbs. When I showed it to people, they knew I'd had a rough time and had gained a bunch of weight lately. Sometimes old black men in Chevron shirts who call me "Baby" would throw in a free lighter when I bought cigarettes with it.
One morning a few days ago, my hangover was interrupting my sleep so I decided to swim laps at the pool in my neighborhood. I had major hysteria because I couldn't even swim 2 laps without getting winded. I decided to lie down in a lawn chair and think because it was one of those days when I was nearsighted by my thoughts. I ended up in tears thinking of this tragic life that I have been living so I tried to pray for guidance and at the thought of myself in a lawn chair at a public pool, crying in a one-piece and praying to God at 9:00 on a Sunday morning, I ended up laughing and going inside to call my friend and tell her of my nonsense.
This is so unbelievably comical and so pathetically factual.
Sometimes in my mind, I am a Bohemian princess who casts spells on men with charm and makes my cat's life worth living.
Today, I am a train wreck.

It all falls

It is easier to admit that I know nothing than to defend that I know everything.
Living stuck in tar, in need of a rubdown.
The tap flows, the nights go by.
Time passes and life expires.
Every day I curl up and go to sleep.
People mesh and then retire.
Bodies decay with cracks and holes.
Sags and tears,
rips and mold.
Excel the process, day by day.
Get cancer,
have a seizure.
This is drama.
A coronary creeps up behind you and takes away your breath
You grab your chest and collapse.
A jolt of electricity revitalizes you.
You're welcomed back with flowers and candy.
You just weren't ready, were you?
And life as a lamb in the flock continues.

Poop humor has no expiration

We're expected to mature on a schedule.
There are many phases in our lives, adolescence being one of them, (obviously) and you enter each phase, stay a while, then progress, leaving the characteristics of the phase behind. But what happens when you're stuck? I mean, not completely stuck, but you carry a characteristic into each subsequent phase and you just can't rid yourself of the pesky burden of the church giggles when you have a silent fart in an inappropriate situation and it stinks to high heavens. You know other people smell it, but they left their poop baggage back on the adolescent train. And are passing a little judgment as you begin to choke on your everlasting chuckles.
I cherish my inner child. It's my guiding light. But this maturation process seems to be more difficult for me than the average 20-year-old. I think "outer child" is way more appropriate when labeling my personality domain.
And sometimes, I just do stuff that is so stupid. I can't phrase it any other way.
Today I had a scrub top on at work that had strings in the back to tie and show off my curves when covered in dog hair and dander (sexy). The top is a little big anyway, but the strings are like XL. They were hanging past my rear, which was unbeknown to me, even though the office cats were swatting at them all morning. This should have been a clue to readjust to avoid a wardrobe malfunction.
Anyway, I didn't readjust. I'm not good at picking up on things that most people naturally do unconsciously. Oblivious, you might say.
So, I go for my post-Fiber-One-bar-doodoo in the client bathroom. It's a morning ritual. Quite tranquil and gives me a little break during the rush. The client bathroom and I have a thing.
I do my biznass while staring at the creepy picture of a lion that's always there to join me. I go back to my desk and my scrub pants are wet in the back. Strange. I'm 20-years-old and an expert wiper. (front to back). What could this be, I wonder. Then I reach up a little and realize that the strings are soaked in my poop water! I pooped my own shirt at my big girl job! Humiliating.
It didn't go unnoticed by my co-workers as I was hoping.
So I had to tell. I had to go to the equivilant of the lost-and-found in the nurse's office in elementary school and wear the ugly-ass clothes that no one wants.
For the rest of the day, I sported a dark green jingle-bell scrub top with the Sexy Green and punk-ass Red M&M. In the middle of May.
The soiled scrub top sat in a ball by the filing cabinet. The office cats swatting at the strings off-and-on until close.
Live and learn.

Office emails.

I feel totally lame with a capital L but seriously, these office e-mails CRACK me up.
Here is an example of the Dwight Shrute of my office in a tissy:

Hello all,
As some of you may know, there has been an issue with 911 being called in our clinic. We have been trying to rule out our equipment as the problem. Earlier today, Dr. Corbett dialed a long distance phone number and was instead connected to 911. Further information is needed to pinpoint the problem.

If any of you dial a clinic and are instead connected to 911, please do the following:
(note: if I am in the clinic, please feel free to transfer the call to me.)
1. Explain to the 911 technician that there is no emergency, and that we have had an ongoing problem with 911 being called from our location which is currently being addressed.
2. Ask the name of the 911 technician on the phone.
3. Ask the technician what their caller ID is indicating. (what phone number from us dialed 911.)
4. Ask the name of the business/individual listed under this call. (what is the name calling 911)
5. Write down the time and date that this incident occurs.


Please alert me as soon as this incident occurs.

As always, if there are any questions or concerns, please e-mail or see myself or Keri.

Thanks all!

Justin

Here is the decoded version:
Hello Morons,

As some of you idiots may know, there has been an insignificant concern with 911 being called in our clinic. We have been trying to rule out our incompetent child-labor as the problem. Earlier today, Dr. Corbett dialed a suicide hot line and was instead connected to 911. Further information is needed to pinpoint the exact location on this serious problem.

If any of you minions dial a clinic and are instead connected to 911, please do the following:
(note: if I am in the clinic, please feel free to transfer the call to me, for I can handle this difficult task much more thoroughly than you.)
1. Explain to the 911 technician that Dr. Corbett is approaching you with a knife, and that we have had an ongoing problem with 911 being called from our location which is currently being addressed by our techie, who is extremely advanced for his time, position and salary.
2. Ask the full name of the 911 technician on the phone and what they are wearing so that we can asses the likelihood of pursuing an affair with a 911 technician.
3. Ask the technician what their caller ID is indicating unless of course you hide our number before dialing any clinic to protect our identity which I give you kudos for. (what phone number from us dialed 911; if they say my (Justin) extension, hang up immediately.)
4. Ask the name of the business/individual listed under this call. (what is the name calling 911 (I know that your literacy is below 4th grade))
5. Write down the time and date that this incident occurs so that your Dear Diary is accurate and you will not forget this historical event.


Please alert me IMMEDIATELY when this molarky occurs for this is an URGENT situation and if you keep this to yourself you jeopardize the integrity of the company.

As always, remember, you are insignificant. No one here cares about you. If you have questions, please email someone who knows more than you.

Thanks all!

Renegade

Abnormal

My bubba. Lost a bet one night and 2 nights later came over to my house for a buzz cut. The end result: a flat top fade, but still an upgrade. Business in the front; party in the back. I love the toilet peeping around the curtain in the bg.

It's not everyday that you go about your morning business; make coffee, shower, listen to NPR on the way to work and arrive to see this: A TRUCK IN A DRESS. It was like a car cover sent from God to remind me that the people in my office have a sense of humor after all. It is subtle, but I can tell that the hospital technician from the boondocks had my morning chuckles in mind as she stood in the parking lot on this March morning and put a canvas sari on her Silverado.

on handling rejection

In the bedroom...
I am a force to be reckoned with.
Last night, I was ----- this close to getting laid.
But the man with braces said no. I mean serious adult brace. With colored bands. Orange.
I should really be ashamed, but I'm overwhelmed with gratitude and appreciation of his resistance... which must have taken a lot of will power. Kudos to him. Most people can't muster that kind of strength under such circumstances. Rejection happens, moving on and learning from the past is more important than dwelling on that two-letter word that I was introduced to last night.

I woke up with a smile on my face however and, today I went shopping to make myself feel better and bought the same swimsuit that lauren already has so this will probably be my last entry cause I'm gonna get murrrdah-d.

I'd say that it was a successful night. As "successful" as going out to a party can be. It was mainly successful because I accomplished something. I have been very paranoid about my interactions with men so I had Frank watch me from a distance, then critique me on the sidelines. We decided that I am quick to move onto the subject of physical surroundings whereas it would be more straightforward to talk about nothing but myself and get right to the selling points. But really, after last night, I'm gonna sit the next few out.

More importantly...look at this as a public service announcement:
I was in the car with my roommates, brother and thomas. Frank had really stinky breath, like maybe early onset of halotosis, so i told him to get some gum. Megan was driving and handed him some gum. Thomas said can he actually have two, if we don't do something soon, we'll have to call the septic drainer and have him clean this thing out. so genius. Bad breath as a negative thing is completely underrated. It's absolutely terrible and definitely a deal-demolisher, rather than breaker, no matter how attractive one might be.

The Grind

PostSecret is my favorite blog to read.
This Sunday (the 8th) a postcard was posted that read, "I pretend to be a captain on the bridge of the Enteprise to deal with the sheer monotony of my crappy job."
I think the sharing of the secret with help me deal with the...sheer monotony of my crappy job.

Sometimes I turn the volume of my phone up and imagine that it blows my hair back every time that it rings.
Our office cat had an ultrasound because she was having an upset tummy so her little belly was shaved and yesterday I picked her up an blew a raspberry on her belly.
I also like to chew ice up into small pieces and blow them at the bumps in the texture in the wallpaper.
Whatevah it takes, son.

Our office secretary sounds like a porn star but looks like a 12 year old, 4'9" Cambodian with hair to her knees and high-water pants. I imagine that men who speak to her on the phone imagine her as a Tahitian beauty in red lipstick with a pen in her mouth. They'd be so shocked if they were to meet her for dinner. She's in love with one of the other techs, though. Their witty banter screams affair worse than messy hair and torn panty hose.

Today I heard that a previous employee went into the pharmacy in the clinic, filled a syringe with morphine and injected himself then and there. He then went about his day as he'd been in the breakroom eating canned soup. He was only busted because there were cameras in the pharmacy. I guess that rules that option out.
I can wait to quit but I can't wait too long. I can only entertain myself so much before the reality of the grind dampens my wit.
This is why I have chosen to go into entymology. When working with insects, I think their diversity and the vastness of species will keep things entertaining. I hope for more to change from day to day than the date. Please, and thank you.
Ugh.

like Romy and Michelle

^Lauren and I circa 2007

Lauren got her wisdom teeth out. And I'm jealous because she'll outdo my birthday gift to her last year. I think for her b-day i'll give her my kidney and then she can never outdo me.

4:26pmLauren

but i found two rouge shards of tooth in my mouth at different points today, but they were tiny so i didnt mind if i remember where i put them i might designate a space for them in a tiny jar or locket
haha
im kidding, but that was my actual initial thought

4:26pmSara

HAHHA
i feel a b-day gift coming on
4:26pmLauren
you wish.
haha
4:26pmSara
your tooth shards would complete me
4:26pmLauren
there are two pieces i could give you one i guessmy mom probbably already threw them aways because whenever i find one i go look at this! and then just sit it wherever im standing...kitchen counter...in table
4:27pmSara
hahhaa
4:28pmLauren
shes not the type to put up with that, but she wouldnt say anything because I was recently under the knife