I was browsing Facebook and my friend shared this article about how the “Texas Butthole Tickling Bandit” was finally caught. AND THEN I DIED OF LAUGHTER, RIP ME.
I don’t care if it’s real or fake, this made my day. No, it made my life. I’M STILL DYING OF LAUGHTER. It only got better when I looked it up and found this other article about it, too, from last year. It’s anustonishing. The best line? Right here:
We spoke we Richard Nays who lives near 3 of the “B*oty ticklers” victims homes and he told us “Fam I slept on my back everyday, I can finally sleep on my stomach again”.
Okay, so, I didn’t technically travel through time. That’s impossible. And if it weren’t I would have changed a shit ton of things that has happened or I would have accidentally screwed it all worse. But I didn’t, I promise. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could though? (Travelling through time, not accidentally screw everything up.)
A few days ago, I purchased a new bookcase because my old one just wasn’t doing its job. My books have been stacked on my computer desk and my laptops have been sitting on my ottoman. I probably should have gotten a new bookcase forever ago, but my laziness if my greatest quality. But now that I finally got a bigger one I have been going through my boxes for books to fill it with, except I didn’t just find books and journals. I found memories from my childhood that I have saved for what feels like ages.
First I found this old, beat up book about Rain – the female horse from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron – and was brought back to a time when I was, like any little girl, obsessed about horses. I had books on horse facts, a ton of the Breyer figures, and a ton of Spirit merchandise. I never left home without my Spirit and Rain backpack and I always had to bring my VHS tape. It was one of my favorite movies (in other words, I watched it over and over again until it was conveniently “lost,” according to the grownups), until I moved on to The Lion King.
I actually remember the night I ordered this watch. My birthday was coming up, so I picked out this watch and a Cradlin’ Cub Nala from the Internet back when it was still a toddler (the Internet, not me). I loved The Lion King more than I loved any movie. I would play with my plush cubby Simba and Nala’s as if they were going on epic adventures across the savanna; my bed would be covered in stuffed animals and figurines until it was time for bed. I’d watch the movie and its sequel over and over – and I didn’t even like a lot of things about the sequel, so that’s how you know I was dedicated. I knew all of the songs by heart and kept a Hakuna Matata spirit (until puberty hit and worries were EVERYWHERE). It’s still my favorite Disney movie of all time. The Lion King is what led me to finding out fanfiction existed and meeting one of my best friends (hi Sian).
I asked my youngest brother to draw an alien or a monster for me about 11 or 12 years ago, some time after he was diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. I don’t know why I had suddenly asked him to draw something for me – I just knew that I wanted it. And then I put it inside my Disney princess photo album, which it where it has remained ever since. Now it is old and torn (and dirty from being old and torn and thanks to glue and dust), but I still wouldn’t throw it out for anything in the world.
I also kept this Valentine he had given me when we were little, too. I’m 97% sure that our mom made him give us each a card, 3% sure he just wanted to act like he was a little celebrity signing autographs. He’s still as stubborn and sassy as ever.
I found this necklace, too. It was given to me when I was about 9 or 10 by my great-aunt. I vaguely remember her telling me that it was given to her by a woman with cancer, so I kept it safe and sound. I’m not sure if I’m remembering correctly though, but that’s what I have vaguely remembered since she gave it to me. Even if I’m wrong and she had just made it herself I’ll still take care of it and it’ll still be important to me.
These were also in my box full of memories and junk. They were from my first vacation ever – a very traumatizing vacation full of Jesus posters, deer getting punched in the nose, and a trip to the emergency room. Seriously. It was what taught me that vacations aren’t as glamorous as the movies made them out to be. Also, we technically kidnapped our grandfather – and by kidnapped, I mean tricked him into thinking we were going on a short drive and ending up in North Carolina; at least he enjoyed himself – but that’s a story long enough to be its own post. Maybe I will write about it next week. Maybe not all the memories were so great, but they certainly give good stories to tell.
I’ve kept a lot of things throughout the years even though they were just pieces of memories that have since passed. They’re full of moments that I will always cherish – moments I’d like to share someday as I create new memories.
I recently got a new SIM card so that I could go back to using my iPhone instead of the prepaid phone I have been hating with a passion using. Since I’m totally against wasting anything, especially food or electronics, I gave the prepaid phone to my brother because he didn’t have one. He finally set it up and received a shit ton of late text messages that were meant for me, so I guess y’all might know where this is going…
Most of them were just confirmation texts, but one that stood out was a text from a number containing nothing more than a silent video of gel pens. This led to an interesting conversation:
Brother: What the crap? Who texted me? *checks texts* It says it was sent on the 18th. So who texted you, your girlfriend?
Me: Wait, what? What’s the message? *still not exactly out and still unsure if he saw my coming out post, but I knew it wasn’t one of those types of messages (AND BY THAT I MEAN IT WASN’T A ROMANTIC MESSAGE, you perverts)*
Brother: *hands me the phone* It’s either your mother, one of your little Internet buddies, or your girlfriend. I bet it’s probably your girlfriend. I don’t know who it is, but I know it’s some type of woman in your life!
Me: … Shut up.
Brother: See? You’re not denying it. Hurry and text her your new number so I don’t get lovey messages from your girlfriend!
… And then I hit him with a pillow.
By the way, it was our mom who sent the video. I asked her to check what gel pens were in stock. So technically he was right when he said it was our mom/a woman in my life. But then he went on about it being a girlfriend and he lost the guessing game.
HE LITERALLY DOES THIS ALL THE TIME SO I KNOW HE’S SURE THAT I’M GAY, BUT I HAVEN’T 100% CONFIRMED IT YET BECAUSE BABY STEPS, SO I SERIOUSLY DON’T KNOW IF HE READ THE POST OR NOT.
Something that not too many know about me is that I like to refer everything – even the most mundane of tasks – as adventures. Going shopping? Have a dentist appointment? Taking your dog on a walk at 6 AM? Congratulations! You are going on an adventure. Doesn’t that sound fun? Yes? No? Okay.
It might sound like I am just getting excited over these things or that I enjoy going to the dentist or waking up early, but in reality I just call them “adventures” to actually get myself to do it rather than stay in bed and hide all day. Besides, who doesn’t want to say that they went on an adventure?
My latest adventure was at a place that I usually dread going to: Walmart. You know, the place where the employees tend to disappear as soon as you need one. The place that is almost always out of that one thing that you always run out of. The place full of screaming children, teenagers having buggy (don’t look at me like that – in my hometown shopping carts are referred to as buggies and that is what I always knew them to be, so shhhh) races, and people who leave their buggies in the middle of the aisle as they walk off to grab something (because they just couldn’t bring their buggies with them and prefer blocking the aisle off). The place with almost no check-out lanes open so that customers can line up until they’re all the way in apparel. Yeah, that place. My mom likes to refer to it as hell, but I keep trying to remind her that hell is actually warm and Walmart’s heating sucks, so unless hell had to do some cut-backs or its heating system broke, Walmart isn’t quite hell. It’s similar, but it still isn’t that bad. Sometimes.
The funny thing about Walmart is that, oddly enough, the most strangest things seem to happen there. Or at least that is how it’s like at my local Walmart. You never know if a guy is going to run around the store in only his underwear (yes, it did happen and there are pictures) or if a guy is going to take a knife into the bathroom, cut his neck with it, and then buy it while the employees call him an ambulance (I swear I am not making this shit up). You might even come across a hearse that’s being used for an ice cream truck (SERIOUSLY PEOPLE). Maybe you will find a can of cookie dough hidden inside a slipper or an empty Coke can inside the pocket of a shirt you was thinking about buying (now that was just laziness). Or even a baggy holding a questionable green substance in the parking lot (I’m pretty sure we both know what that probably was). Perhaps you will even come across the same thing I did last night: Tablet cases with penises “drawn” on them.
I actually didn’t notice the penis-covered cases until I heard two girls laughing nearby, saying, “Oh my God, only at Walmart!” I was nosy curious when I heard that, so I walked towards the direction of the endless giggling. It went like this:
Girl 1, cackling away: Oh my God, only at Walmart!
Girl 2, almost in tears: I love this city!
Me: *creeps nearby to see what the commotion was about*
Girl 1: Wait, let’s take selfies with it!
Girl 2: Good idea– hold on, this one looks weird. Let me fix it.
Me: *TRYING SO HARD NOT TO LAUGH MY ASS OFF*
Girl 2, after fixing the deformed penis and taking selfies: I wonder who did it– *notices me* I didn’t do it, I swear!
Girl 1: *CREASING*
Girl 2, crying from laughing so hard: I swear I didn’t!
We might not have spoken or became best friends, but there is no doubt that the three of us bonded over those penis-covered tablets for a moment, and that is something I will always cherish. In the meantime, after the girls had left and my mom finished talking to a customer, I pulled her aside and, in the most dignified voice I could muster while trying to keep a straight face, said, “As a concerned citizen, I have something to show you.”
I walked her to the area with the penis-covered tablets – partly because I knew someone would eventually come and complain and partly because I knew her reaction would be hilarious – and didn’t even have to point them out. The first words out of her mouth? “GOOD GOD, PEOPLE. WHY WOULD ANYONE DO THIS– I bet it was [friend].” While it could have been anyone, I wouldn’t have put it past her friend to do that. Or the other employees who OBVIOUSLY SAW THE PENISES ON THE TABLET COVERS AND IGNORED THEM AS THEY WALKED BY. Or anyone in the entire city because we’re all kind of goofy and immature, but in a good way (mostly).
Alas, the penises were removed, but the true question is for how long? I will be sure to keep you all posted on if I see them back or not.
My next stop was the toys department – it wasn’t going to be my next stop until my mom walked by with a cart full of huge Nerf guns that someone had left laying around here and there in electronics. Suddenly I needed one. Why? Because you can’t call yourself an adult unless you have a giant Nerf gun just in case there is ever a Nerf war or if zombies rose from the ground and were weak enough to be killed (again) by Nerf darts. That’s just commonsense.
I didn’t end up getting one, but I seriously thought about it. And it’s the thought that counts, right? Or does that only apply to greeting cards and gifts? Either way, I thought about it. And I picked up a few that I am still thinking about getting (ANOTHER ADVENTURE, WOO). Did you know that they all have a warning label that says to not look in the blaster? What do they even plan to accomplish by that? It was literally the first thing I did after I read the label. And I probably wouldn’t have if not for the warning label. NOT SO SMART, ARE YOU? (Says the girl who literally looked into the blaster after the warning label said not to. What can I say? I’m a rebel.)
I probably spent most of my time on this adventure in the arts & crafts section. I have been feeling rather crafty lately, so I probably went in and out of the coloring aisle a dozen times while looking for a colored pencil sharpener and maybe some new colored pencils to color You Are Here with. Did I get the pencil sharpener? Yes, and it was great until it screwed up my pink colored pencil.
However, out of the arts & crafts section, much more than the coloring aisle, I spent most of my time in the journal and notebooks aisle. For some reason I just love getting new journals and notebooks, but I almost never use them. Seriously. I have about 14 of them in my room that have never been touched. Why? Because I don’t know what to put in them. I don’t want to just use them for Math scribbles or to write down random things like phone numbers or confirmation numbers. That’s what my phone and tablet is for. I want to write stories and even about really personal things. Writing is the one way I can open my heart without fears or worries. It’s the only way I really let all of my feelings and thoughts out. Sometimes it’s just through characters, acting out how I feel (but in totally different scenarios). Sometimes I just literally write down how I feel or things that have happened. By writing down, I mean typed. But lately I have really wanted to push pen-to-paper and write out both of these things. And I think that is something I am going to start doing from now on. So I got one last notebook and some pencils (they have cute foxes and owls and raccoons on them!) to write with, and that is exactly what I am going to do.
My last stop before checking out was the trading card aisle because my brother wanted me to look for WWE dog tags. Spoiler alert: There wasn’t any. I did, however, find candy. And this time it wasn’t Pez in collectible containers.
What will happen on my next adventure? Who knows. I don’t* even know when my next adventure will be.
* I lied. My next adventure will be tonight when I go out to watch Beauty and the Beast. But I probably won’t write about it unless something happens that can top penis-covered tablet cases. And honestly? That’s pretty hard to beat.
Not that I really technically met her – I just went to her book signing (is it bad that this is the part I chose to explain first?) in Louisville a few days ago. It was amazing (seeing Jenny, that is, because the rest of the night sucked cacti), and now I get to tell you all about my day.
It all starts with my deodorant breaking off mid-use and landing on the shirt I was going to wear. If anything were to indicate that my day would be a doozy, it would probably be that. Also, I learned that it does not show up clear on black clothing, so now I have an excuse to try a different brand of deodorant (because the fact that it broke off in the first place even though it was brand new wasn’t a good enough reason).
Then I forgot my earphones before I went out, which meant I couldn’t shamelessly listen to my favorite songs while I picked up dinner for everyone because it’s seen as “uncivilized” and “rude” to play Panic! At the Disco’s Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time or Britney Spears’s Make Me on my phone while shopping (okay, I guess I can understand why that would be a problem, you party poopers). Usually I get upset when I forget my earphones because they’re like a fortress of solitude while I’m shopping – some may call it a security blanket for introverted people/people with anxiety, and they wouldn’t be wrong – but not this time. If I had remembered my earphones, I wouldn’t have heard this gem at the check-out lane:
*Venus by Bananarama starts playing*
Guy 1: *starts singing along*
Guy 2: *hums while Guy 1 sings*
Guy 3: *ignoring the other two* You know, I use to work around here. I was the guy who went to all the stores and changed the magazines every week.
Guy 4: Uh-huh. … Man, this song reminds me of shampoo.
Guys 1 and 2: *having their own mini concert*
Guy 3: Shampoo? Yeah, I guess it was in some shampoo commercial.
Guy 5: *cuts line to get with the other four guys* Hey! This song is amazing.
Meanwhile I didn’t have the heart to tell them that it was actually used for a women’s razor commercial… But who am I to stop a brotastic concert and other guys thinking about shampoo?
That was probably one of the highlights of my day, but it was short-lived after we dropped off the food and the long drive to Louisville began. Imagine, if you will, being in a car with your mother for about three or so hours while she starts mentioning painful moments of your childhood. Yeah, no, no, nope. There are some things that should not be discussed on a long car ride, and painful childhood memories are one of them. If that wasn’t enough, there was a moment when I had a stomach cramp and panicked that my monthly monster was arriving. While we were driving in the middle of nowhere. You could imagine the thoughts running through my head, but the most prominent one was, “I swear to God, I will never forgive my vagina if it does this.” Thankfully it was just from where I hadn’t eaten in a while.
Soon enough we were almost at the Gallery (though I guess it wasn’t really soon enough, was it?) so I could have a moment to recharge and relax alone for a moment. Yeah, that was short-lived, too, but I would rather not talk about it here.
Finally, we arrived at the Tim Faulkner Gallery! And there was no place to park so I had to walk through what is considered a shady area alone as it snowed. I froze my boobs off, but it was worth it because the room for the book signing was unlike any place I have been.
The whole place was full of art. Statues, paintings hanging on the walls, paintings on the walls. For $350, you could get a painting of a blue demon guy with his “little man” dangling about (because it’s not really porn if you call it art) or a painting of a naked woman looking away (she looked distressed, but wouldn’t you be if you were naked). I guess I should have put “genital paintings” instead of painted genitals, because now that I read that again…
Also, for $7,500, you can purchase a huge mural of Obama. And yes, I probably would get something like that. I miss the Obama family.
For a group of people who, most of which, would probably rather be at home hiding under their blankets, the room was full of chatter and good vibes. Strangers rejoiced, friendships were made, and awkward moments happened. Or maybe the last part was just me, because I certainly managed to embarrass myself. I had gotten up from my seat for a moment to get something only to find someone else’s copy of Furiously Happy in my seat. I wasn’t sure who’s it was, so I started to ask a girl behind the seat if she saw who left it so I could return it to them. Then it happened. I realized she wasn’t the girl who was sitting behind me before I got up. In fact, that wasn’t even my seat. The chair I was sitting in was actually a few rows up. DOY. Suddenly I understood why the girl a few seats down from where I was standing was looking at me like I had two heads. And now that I read this, I feel like you guys might get the vibe that I’m like Sheldon Cooper when it comes to seats…
I finally felt at ease when Jenny Lawson took the stage and started speaking. That was when everyone got excited, happy, and even a little quiet, all at the same time. You know it’s going to be amazing when the first words out of someone’s mouth is, “Holy shit, guys.”
I was instantly cheered up. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I got to see one of my favorite authors, who is also one of my greatest inspirations to start blogging, in person. Other than AkaiCon, I never really get to have moments like this so it was a huge deal to me. What made it even better was how funny and sweet she was. The whole room would respectfully go silent as she spoke, but whenever she finished a joke the room was full of laughter and clapping. It was amazing, and I really needed those laughs.
After starting off and thanking the Tim Faulkner Gallery and Carmichael’s Bookstore for hosting and setting up the event, Jenny started reading to us pages from her new book You Are Here: An Owner’s Manual for Dangerous Minds. It was whimsically hilarious and insightful. As she read it and explained why she made it, I realized it was something I needed. And this time I’m not just saying that like the times I say I need white chocolate Reese Cups.
While Jenny first started telling us about You Are Here on her blog, she would write about how she has/had been in a long depression. It was a time when I noticed more and more people online and around me’s depression showing. It was a time when I, too, had fallen in a long depression. Between that and everything in the world going on at once, I felt like I just needed to breath and hide away from the world, and I did by shutting everyone out. I didn’t open up about it or talk to anyone about it – I didn’t want anyone to know. I think almost no one at the time knew how I was feeling because I kept it to myself while I kept to myself. Which was hard to do when one person says, “You have the saddest eyes I have ever seen,” and when your own mother asks if you’re depressed. But instead of admitting to it and opening up, I did what I always do when I’m on the spot and feeling a rush of nervousness and anxiousness mixed together: I erratically made jokes and played it off, then I changed the subject to something ridiculous, like asking why old guys like golf or explaining the difference between anime and cartoons.
This was something that lasted for several months, and sometimes it still rears its ugly head my way. But not as often or as much as it did last year. In fact, I would like to think that it’s finally starting to go away now (and by now, I mean for now because this shit never really goes away). It was a long and difficult time, which is why I needed You Are Here. Because I was there then, and I am here now, and I need to remind myself of that. It might just be a coloring book, but it’s also a book full of moments that a lot of us have unknowingly experienced together (well, maybe at different times) whenever we were having a hard time or when our brains felt busted (maybe not literally busted, ouch).
After Jenny read the pages and the footnote (if you ask me all coloring books deserve at least one footnote), she did a Q&A with us. We learned that, yes, she finally got her bag of drugs from the police. And that Wil Wheaton is still collating. She also tried the “Hot Brown.” (IT’S A SANDWICH AND NOTHING LIKE THE CLEVELAND STEAMER WHICH WAS WHAT SHE SAID THE NAME HAD REMINDED HER OF. Then she told us not to look it up and like a rebel I did it anyways. WHAT THE HELL.) She even gave us some advice on writing and recommended that we listen to the song Die, Vampire, Die! which was nothing that I expected it to be, but still awesome.
All in all, it was a fun event that I am glad to have attended. The place was interesting, Jenny was amazing, and now I have a new coloring book that I’m in love with. The rest of the night might have been full of arguing and hatefulness at home, but at least there was a moment when everything was okay, and I’ll take it. Everything is calm now, though that doesn’t make it okay. So, for now and until things happen, I will color.
I will color my thoughts, my anxiety, my depression, my feelings, my fears, my joy, my pain, my wanders, and everything in-between. Here are the ones I have finished already. They’re messy and far from perfect (in the pictures they may look okay, but in reality they are all out of the lines and full of smudges), but I’m happy with how they turned out. I seriously recommend getting this book, especially if you have a dangerous mind.
You know those games of tag that we all played when we were little? Why do we stop doing that as we grew up? That game was amazing, especially if you were faster than your opponents. Speaking of playing tag, my blogging buddy (hey, Katie, we totally need matching temporary tattoos of the words “Blogging Buddies”) Carrots in My Carryon tagged me with a game of #MyFirstPostRevisted.
It’s actually very simple: those who are tagged are given the task of reposting their FIRST blog post ever. There’s also some other rules:
No cheating. (It must be your first post. Not your second post, not one you love…first post only.)
Link back to the person who tagged you (thank them if you feel like it or, if not, curse them with a plague of ladybugs).
Copy and paste your old post into a new post or reblog your own bad self. (Either way is fine but NO editing.)
Put the hashtag #MyFirstPostRevisited in your title.
Tag five other bloggers to take up this challenge.
Notify your tags in the comment section of their blog
Feel free to cut and paste the badge to use in your post.
Include the rules in your post.
See? Nothing too major. I totally have this down. There is no way I could screw this up (here’s hoping). Now I should probably get to it… Oh God. I’m nervous now. You guys are going to read a post from when my blog was a fetus.
So today was my 21st birthday. Well, yesterday technically. But still, isn’t that exciting? Usually when people (in the US) turn 21 they celebrate by joining friends at a bar or club and getting wasted. I celebrated it by eating ice cream cake, ordering cheesy bread from Domino’s, and starting my own blog. This might seem kind of dull to a bunch of you, but for my introverted self this was the perfect way to celebrate such an occasion. Well, I would not have minded getting a little tipsy, but now that I am 21 I can do that another day. Yay.
Why gift myself this blog? Well, the truth is that I have been thinking about doing this for a while now. I just wanted to put it off until my birthday so I might have something interesting to write about. Which, I almost launched this blog earlier this month while I was participating in GISHWHES. It was a strange experience, but a wonderful one as well. And even though I was very tempted to start this blog exactly 8 minutes and 34 seconds (as stated in the “GISHWHESCommandments“) after the Hunt ended, I decided to just keep waiting as planned. That did not stop me from writing about my experience with the Hunt, which you can find here.
On my 20th birthday, I decided to start a diary to write about all of my 20-something experiences and memories. And when that went down the toilet, I started a new one on New Year’s Day of this year for pretty much the same reason. It also included a list of resolutions that I swore I would complete. Did I actually complete anything on my resolution list? Nope. And I can live with knowing that quite fine, thank you very much.
Anyways, I decided to start this for a lot of the same reason that I started those diaries. Except this will be a lot less personal and more of just me talking about random crap that no one really cares for. Maybe some of you will relate to what I talk about and want to keep reading it. Or maybe you will just be curious and stumble upon my blog whilst browsing through the Internet abyss. For whatever reason, thanks for checking it out. I promise it will get better. Or worst. Let’s just hope that I actually keep up with this though. If not, feel free to challenge me to a water balloon fight until I drag myself out of bed to update this.
Oh, and I know that this title is kind of lame. Sorry about that. It actually took me about 30 minutes to come up with it. And as I have written this, my indecisiveness is making me want to change it to something a little more interesting and witty. But at the same time I am getting pretty sleepy and my brain is not ready for that kind of pressure right now.
I guess I should hit the sack right now. Actually, why do they call it that? I don’t want to hit my bed. I want to dive in it and get lost in the covers. Shame on whoever is hitting their beds.
Well, that wasn’t so bad. I expected my first post to be a lot more cringe-worthy, but I guess I should give it time to embarrass me considering I only started writing here less than a year ago. Give it another year and me some more blogging experience and then I can gush about how awkward my posts were/are.
Fun Fact time!
I actually started this blog because a girl I was really into had suggested that I start one about my dreams (suddenly I sound like a generic teenage boy trying to impress the ladies, ha) and because I had started following Jenny Lawson’s blog (I got to meet her a few days ago and I will tell y’all about that later!), which inspired me to start planning out a blog of my own. I spent nearly six months deciding on a domain name, what content I would write about, etc. I still have the outline of things I wanted to write about and what day I was going to post it (none of which I even followed) saved on my computer. Yeah, I am a much more serious planner than blogger.
If you haven’t noticed yet, most of my blog posts lately have been on the dreary and anxious side. Between trying to find the right moment to come out to my family and dealing with personal problems, I have been feeling super anxious and down lately. This has led to me shutting people out and trying to spend as much time alone as possible (though the latter is partially from introversion).
Instead of just dwelling on negatives and wallowing in a pool of self-pity, I have been relishing the two things that never fail to make my day: Fuzzy socks and a good book. More specifically, fuzzy socks with a grey cat on them and the late and great Carrie Fisher’s The Princess Diarist. I cannot recommend it enough.
Man, I miss Carrie Fisher. Not that I was ever lucky enough to meet her – it would have been an honor to have just been remotely near her location. Like most people, I grew up knowing her as Princess Leia from Star Wars. As I got older and the Internet became a thing in my life, I learned there was so much more to her than the fictional character I had idolized; Carrie Fisher was a voice in so many things, especially mental illness and addiction. She spoke and wrote about it all so elegantly, with beautifully, well-thought humor. I look forward to reading her other books.
A lot of things might be hard right now, but we should always bask in the glory that is fuzzy cat socks and books.
It was time for Max and Boo to each get a “beauty treatment,” and the results are hilarious.
Let’s be honest, neither of them were thrilled about going to the groomers. Hell, a car ride alone was enough to have the poor little pooches shaking and crying. I felt sorry for them for a moment, but they needed a haircut and nails clipped.
I had expected Max to growl at the employees, but he was too shocked to be the 5 pound entity of anger that he usually is. We also expected Boo to cry bloody murder and wee herself as soon as a stranger picked her up… Instead she was literally scared shitless. That was a mess that no one expected.
We picked them up a couple of hours later, and holy crap. For five minutes we had to contemplate whether or not we were picking up our dogs or little aliens. It wasn’t until Boo started whining to be held by my mom and Max went on a barking frenzy at a cat that we knew they were our little monsters of awkwardness.
Boo isn’t fond of losing all her fur and she is still traumatized from her journey, so she has been laying on the couch all day while cuddled with my jacket for warmth. Max, however, has been playing more than usual and happily showing off his new ‘do.
All in all, at least they’re more comfortable now. Here’s hoping the cats will actually come around them instead of freaking out over the strange-looking dogs sniffing them.
Even though I like to pretend otherwise and act like everything is great, the stars are always there to remind me of everything I try to ignore. Well, unless it’s cloudy. Then it’s the howling wind that figuratively knocks me down.
There is something about nighttime that is so intellectually and emotionally freeing that, while it may seem like a good thing, manages to make me overthink or even release all of the emotions I had been desperately holding in. Maybe it’s because there are less distractions, or perhaps it is because that’s the one time throughout the day that I’m left alone with my thoughts. Personally, I’d like to think it’s the freckles of the sky that evoke what I spend the day ignoring.
For the past couple of days I have been in a good mood, but it always goes away just as the sun does. Then I realize that the good mood has been nothing but me hiding how I really feel deep down; a scrambling tumbleweed of bitchiness, fearfulness, and even pain from recent events. Even I get fooled by this charade of jokes and giggles, but when I look up at the stars in the sky it all begins to hit me. It’s easy to get caught up by the burst of emotions and thoughts when you know that they are just meaningless specks; just a small and insignificant moment compared to the rest of your life and that of the stars. Suddenly it’s okay to cry or be mad or to be in a momentary frenzy because that’s all it is. This is something a friend and I had talked about for a bit while I was tipsy (and that might be the most adult sentence I have written in 2017 so far).
Last night, before it started storming, I went out on a walk and gazed at the stars. This is something I do every night, but this time was one of the moments where I had one of the previously described emotional tumbleweeds come up from its hiding place and rear its ugly head. And I finally let it out. I cried a little, hugged my pillow, and had a few Oreos – then I wrote a letter that I will never send to someone who will never read it about things I will never say to them – all before going to bed early and having a crazy dream that I have already mostly forgotten (aside from the fact that the Obama family were in my zombie apocalypse group, which was actually pretty cool).
It felt good to actually let it all out for a moment. I guess I just need to crash and burn for a couple of days and get it out of my system instead of shoving all my problems in the back of my closet (I told you guys it was getting cramped).
On a lighter note, does anyone else watch the stars every night? Because none of my immediate family does and neither does most of my friends, so I’m curious.
I am gay, and I am definitely not happy. I guess this is me coming out here. Usually I try to make some sort of pun or joke right about now, but this is something seriously important to me.
My sexual orientation is important to me; it’s part of who I am. It is a part of me that I have hidden from my family for nearly four years now. That and the fact that I, a 21-year-old, talk to people on the Internet that I have never met in person despite my mother being strongly against it. I feel like I live a double life, and I am sick of it.
All throughout my childhood I never really had crushes on boys. I was never flustered or had that moment of puppy love – I didn’t even crush on that one popular boy or that particular kid actor around my age. I wasn’t obsessed with the musicians and singers in boy bands – just their music. I didn’t try to hold hands or fantasize about getting my first kiss by guys in my classes. I would blush when my friends tried to pair me up with a guy because I was embarrassed, but never because I was interested. I never felt like I fit in, and it took me most of my short life to realize why. And then it made sense.
I am a lesbian, and I am proud of that fact. It’s part of who I am and who I have always been, even before I realized it. I am tired of hiding pieces of myself from everyone. I am tired of being treated like a child and living this double life. I am tired of being afraid of showing my prideful colors on online accounts with my name attached. But most of all, I am tired of not being true to myself when I am offline. I have always thought that living in a laundry-filled Narnia would protect me, but all it has ever done is hurt me.
I might not come out to my family just yet, but it’s coming. I know that my brother had found this blog not long ago and that he will probably show everyone if he sees this, but I don’t care. Maybe coming out won’t be the smartest thing I could do, but I feel like I need to or else I might just explode. But maybe, just maybe, it could be the very change I need to be able to live my life a little happier and a little more worry free. It’s scary and hard – I know the reactions will probably hurt – but I need to do this for me.
So when I am ready, if my brother does not do it already, I’m coming out.