Whoops...

When I am this hungover and did something that bad last night, I only find comfort in fast food, my cat and textsfromlastnight.com.
I came home today with a serious hangover, dropped off at my parents by an NFL draftee who just finished his last season at Wake Forest in my parent's town, Winston-Salem (yeah, I'm seriously bragging about a ONS...and yeah, I have abbreviated one-night-stand to ONS).
I had to go to church, since it was Easter and I stayed out all night partying so I had to crawl out of the hole I dug last night and hopefully meet sweet Jesus at the top. I walked in the back door and my dad said, "Put on your dress, grab some water and I'll be waiting in the car for you."I seriously wish that I were Catholic so I could go to confessional and make the priest squirm.
So I walked upstairs to change, feeling pretty crappy, and in came Charlie, happy as hell to see me, even in my worthless state. He rubbed against my calves and purred 'cause baby, his love is unconditional. He's like, "Hey! I missed you!", and I'm like, "Oh, you were the best thing that ever happened to me, sweet boy." And we are blissful.
I haven't been to church in years. I don't have much in common with the Worshiping Kind. I have never felt like I really needed to repent, and I actually didn't know what that feels like, until today. The expression, "sweating like a whore in church", well, I felt like it applied to me today. The sermon droned on and the house was packed. I think that this priest crammed in every original idea about life into his sermon because he didn't know if we'd ever be back in church. And he was right, we won't.
I don't really know what I did last night (aside from a bar and a football house -- ick in retrospect) but I know that I was outrageous with my vocals and probably the content of my vocals. In this state, I take such comfort in reading the submissions to textfromlastnight.com. I think that even though I don't know the people who wrote those, we're united in our hangover. It's hard to believe how often during most people's college career, they have outrageous nights that involve booze, sex and lots of shit-shooting. Or maybe that's just life.

The Underworld.

I went down the rabbit hole for a week.

I don't understand why Alice went back to England when she had the option to stay in the Underworld. Money wasn't an issue, love was a possibility and the environment to which she returned was monstrous. She matured and returned to her responsibilities, but I am certain that Alice questioned her decision. Of course she did.

Once experiencing Central America, there is no way I can wrap my mind around being in school in North Carolina for 3 years. Ignorance is bliss. Before I traveled, I was in love with this place.

Everyone thinks about it, plans it and considers running away to a foreign country. Someplace different enough to stimulate all senses of wonder and curiosity but similar enough to quickly adapt.

Everyone travels and returns to their home with a bit of post-vacation grief. Most people probably even plan to move to the place that they loved so much.

I have to go back.

I have restless dreams of being back in Costa Rica. I've had dreams of being there, in that dirty hostel, with the same people with me. Then I wake up and go to class. I had a dream that I was running all over this strange place that seemed like a parking garage. I was running faster than I ever have and with intense urge to get to where I was going. I was barefoot and there was trash, urine and hypodermic needles on the ground, but I kept running. Then I awoke in my bedroom and forced myself back to sleep so I could reach my destination but I never made it. I slept through class trying to get there.

My main goal isn't to go and explore the countryside, although it is beautiful and wild, something to be admired. I want to go to this hostel, during the rainy season and sit outside when it is pouring. I want a dirty bunk bed and to share a cold shower with strangers. The freedom that comes with no schedule or restrictions is bliss. Activities and goals are simple during the day but the stimulation of people coming and going, the weather wild and wonderful, the art and music never-ending, it is plenty. Fruit is cheap and delicious, it easy to live on fruit, rice and beans.

The logistics are not so simple...

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.