Jill of all Trades

Good God, I'm Moving.

2012-02-17T17:12:00.000-08:00

I'm moving 4,000 miles across the country. In a week.

And my car isn't even running yet.

My room is a mess of boxes, bags of old clothes, laundry to be put away, and empty food containers just strewn around. I still haven't gone through all of my things, and I don't even want to think about the stuff I have stored in a friend's attic (whose house is selling in June). My back is too weak to move half of my belongings, and being ruthless with things that were my grandma's or were mine when I was a kid or whatever is REALLY hard...I'm a stupidly sentimental person.

On top of having 100 things to do and only a week to do them in, everyone in the world wants to see me before I go. Which is amazing and wonderful and sweet...and impossible. I have a lot of friends. Someone is going to be disappointed. And that, you guys, sucks rocks.

I propose a plan:

1. Everyone who wants to see me before I go should just come over and help me pack/lift boxes.

2. Everyone should get Skype.

3. Everyone should save up to come visit me.

4. Everyone should come take some of this fancy stationery I'm getting rid of so that they can write me pretty letters.

5. Everyone should give me some money so I can fix my car before I go. Because wouldn't it be sad if I exploded, you guys?

6. I think I need hugs too. Lots and lots of hugs, maybe even kisses. Everyone should do those things.

7. Someone (if not everyone) should figure out how to make vegan brownies, cupcakes, and cookies. And then mail lots of them to me.

8. Someone should also store my little doll crib from when I was a kid for me, as well as a box of my old baby clothes. So that I at least have something to pass on to my children.

9. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, should make sure they're friends with me on Facebook, have my cell number, and know my email and Skype addresses before I go.

10. As usual, everyone should follow my blog.

The end.

(more later)

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So I Guess I'll Be The Hippie In Town...

2012-02-11T12:14:00.000-08:00

So...England was fantastic. But it will take me a million years to tell you all those stories, so give me some time. The England posts are coming, I promise.

Meantime...I have an announcement. I'm moving.

Across the country.

That's right folks, little Sam from Oregon is moving down south, to good old Charleston, SC. I'd have told y'all sooner, but I wanted to be sure first...and now I've officially given notice at work and I've taken a room in Summerville. Pretty crazy, right? I'm really excited.

I am also, however, fucking terrified. I mean scared absolutely shitless...I've had this nasty stomach-ache that keeps coming back for the last few weeks, I'm so nervous.

Things I'm nervous about:

-Charlestonians will think I'm a gigantic hippie. And I've heard they don't like hippies there. In fact...I've heard some rather nasty things that people thereabouts would enjoy doing to hippies, including things involving name-calling, shunning, and guns.

-I'm entirely un-religious, another unpopular opinion there.

Does kinda worshiping this guy count as religion?

-I'm reasonably free with my sexuality, I swear like a sailor, and I think like a man. Also I'm a feminist. And a liberal. And pro-choice. And in full support of the LGBT community and all their rights, including marriage. Again....unpopular.

There might possibly be other things that factor into my lack of popularity as well.

-I'm a vegan, and I have a feeling all I'm going to be able to eat when I'm out are side salads, and maybe fried green tomatoes.

-My best friend is a man, and a sailor to boot. Aaaaaand all his friends are male sailors. Which is who I'm going to be hanging out with. So I won't just look like a hippie, I'll look like a hippie who moonlights as a navy whore.

What...you don't recognize me?

-How the hell am I going to make friends?

-I'm not super worried about it, but good god, what if I can't find a job?

-I'm going to miss Portland like it was my right arm. Dead serious.

-Probably most of all, I'm going to miss my friends and family like crazy. More than I can fully describe to you guys. Especially the friends that I mostly have an in-person relationship with, like people who suck at communicating electronically or over the phone.

All that to say, however...

Things I'm excited about:

-Charleston, despite having a corncob shortage due to so many people having them stuck up their asses, has this thing in the air that is so laid-back and lazy...it's amazing. Portland actually seems to have a little tension in the atmosphere, and I'm excited to live in a place where the very air relaxes me.

-The history, man...the HISTORY.

-It's so close to everything! It won't cost me an $800 plane ticket to get to New York, or to Chicago, or to Boston. It'll be a day's worth of driving. I'll get to actually SEE my country, learn my roots. One of the best teachers I ever had told us that before we go out and explore the world, we should know our roots, and that stuck with me. So here I go!

Do YOU know your roots?

-My best friend in the whole world, James, is there, and I haven't gotten to live near him since we were like...sophomores in high school. We'll be able to do best-friendy things like going to movies together, and being each other's wingmen, and shit like that. Skype is an invaluable asset, but I'm kind of sick of seeing an electronic facsimile of his face while we're talking.

-Cheaper.

-More jobs.

-More hotels and bed & breakfasts.

I kind of doubt I'll stay for long. I mean James is only there for another year and a half or so anyway, and the point is to have a change and an adventure, not to find a place to settle. I don't know if after I'll move elsewhere or if I'll come back to Portland...but I think it's highly likely I'll be back here eventually. God help me, I adore this city.

Any advice anyone has about moving cross-country would, of course, be greatly appreciated. Feel free to email me if you don't want to post a comment.

More soon, including the story of how Josh didn't quite set off a bomb scare at Heathrow Airport.

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I'M GOING TO ENGLAND IN 3 DAYS! Also, a sweet story. Also, the contest winner.

2012-01-29T14:04:00.000-08:00

It's hitting me!!!!!

We leave on Wednesday. Can you guys even believe this? ME! TRAVELING! It's going to be epic, and I will try to take lots of pictures but not so many that it's disgustingly obvious that I'm an American tourist. I'd like to think that upon first glance one wouldn't be able to pinpoint where I was from.

See. Not obvious at all.

I also have a story and accompanying photo.

When I started 5th grade, I began halfway through the school year. I didn't know anyone. I befriended the one other new girl, and quickly we latched onto one another and became best friends. We did everything together, and relied on one another at recess.

One day, near the end of the school year, she straight-up ditched me for these other girls, and I found myself swinging alone, spiraling into what could have become a nasty little mini-depression.

But then this group of Asian girls that always played on the play structure right next to the swings came up to me and invited me to play lava monster with them. And several beautiful, life-long friendships were formed.

Not the least of which was my friend Catherine. We were best, best friends in middle school; we did everything together. We couldn't get enough of one another seven hours a day, five days a week either, so we would talk on the phone for hours at home (we called one another pretty much every day), and we kept these little notebooks that we would write to one another in and pass back and forth. We used to joke that whoever got married first would throw the other her bouquet, and that when we were old grannies we'd sit in rocking chairs together talking about the good ol' days. Catherine knows every single detail of every embarrassing thing I did or said in middle and high school, and she also knows the ins and outs of every hurt, every realization, every joy, and every change I went through.

Which is why when I got married, I did this:

The giggling one is Catherine. Also my long hair was badass, I'm just sayin'.

Catherine's birthday isn't for about a week more, but I'm going to be in England, and I thought it was high time she got some recognition on my blog.

I love you, CatL2890. (As a friend) ;)

-PG2

Oh!!!! Also, congrats to Allison, who won my vegan recipe contest!!! They were all awesome, and I can't wait to make them, but Allison's recipe took the cake. Allison, I owe you a picture of your choosing! Go ahead and email me what you'd like.

Since You Guys Seem To Like Hearing From Me Even When I Have Nothing To Say...

2012-01-26T13:32:00.000-08:00

Let's see, what's going on with me?

Still riding the high from the "nice legs" thing.

Only worked 2 days this week, so got things done like cleaning my room, sleeping and applying moisturizer.

Still vegan. Only cracked once, and had some cheese on my pizza. Otherwise I've been perfect.

Considering gigantic life changes, to be revealed at a later date.

Keeping up on the blogs I follow.

Dressing like an adult.

Acting like an adult.

Working through a bunch of my baggage, trust issues, and trauma.

Being confident, kick-ass, and awesome. Veronica Mars-style.

So there's a little update. Another thing: would you guys hate me if I put one TIIIIIINY little ad on this page? Like, in some subtle little spot where you'd barely even notice it? Email me or comment if you have something to say about it. I really want the feedback.

More soon. *kisses*

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Creepy Old Bus Men Say The Nicest Things

2012-01-23T16:49:00.000-08:00

"Hey Miss...uh, I don't mean to be embarrassing, but you have very nice legs. Very nice legs.

You know what, Mr. Creepy Old Bus Man? That definitely WAS embarrassing, given that you're a good forty years older than I am and that everyone on the bus heard you. But I will TAKE it, and thank you! Because I have been complimented by strangers on everything from my shoes to my tits to my hair, but never once has a stranger, even a creepy one, told me I have nice legs.

So thank you. Clearly I'm desperate if I'm accepting that compliment, but fuck it...it was nice.

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OMG Guys. I Got A Fucking AWARD.

2012-01-20T11:59:00.000-08:00

I guess bloggers do this? They award each other? It seems a little like chain mail, from what I can gather, except it's exclusive chain mail (not the kind you send to your grandma and your seat mate from 2nd grade and your cousin's boyfriend's sister). Also it's a way for bloggers to acknowledge one another's hard work and/or complete and utter genius.

Anyway, I got nominated by B (who is awesome, btdubs) for the Overlord Award:

Here's what I'm supposed to do:

Post the award and the rules on your blog.
List 3 things you would change if you were overlord.
List 10 blogs you think are worthy of world domination.
Leave them a message in their comment sections with a link saying you chose them.

So here goes....

If I were Overlord, I would change the following things:

1. Legalize gay marriage, because...I mean come on.

2. Schools would start serving healthy, fresh, delicious food, and there would be such things taught as cooking, dancing, interior decorating, legit home ec (meaning teach the damn kids how to pay their damn bills, do their damn taxes, and clean their damn fucking bathtubs), gardening, etc. Kids would get to have more classes outdoors, more field trips, more activity...school would involve studying books only about half the time, and the rest would be spent moving, being active, experiencing, living.

3. Firefly would get back on TV, and Veronica Mars would get a movie deal.

Now I get to pick ten other bloggers to give this award to, and keep the chain letter going! We don't hate these yet, you see...partially because it means we get awards and also because it's still fresh enough. I mean hate on them as much as you want now, every one of you was into chain emails in 1999, and in 1994 you were doing the same thing with paper letters.

*Drum roll*

1. The Concrete Loves My Shoes. Jason Simone is adorable, hilarious, and insightful. His blog is absolutely always a joy to read. And he has the best cocktail recipe ever, VodCake!

2. Awkward Sex & The City. This girl is super hilarious, and talks about sex all the time. Also she hates Dora the Explorer, which is a double win in my book.

3. Tristachio: Just A Family Of Nuts. Tristachio is fucking hilarious. She's one of my favorite bloggers, for realsies...I mean the candy blowjobs and Ben Franklin jokes alone are enough, and then she just keeps topping herself.

4. Smile Big And Pretty. Starting to notice a trend here? Yup. Hilarity. I like to read funny blogs. Jas is awesome, guys. Also adorable. Did I mention adorable?

5. The Sassy Curmudgeon. You don't even notice when she's talking about her baby. THAT'S HOW FUNNY SHE IS.

6. A Few French Fries Short Of A Happy Meal. Stephanie Iris=awesome. And super relatable. And hilarious. Seriously you guys, you really think I would read anything that wasn't funny? I'm not that deep on the internet. You really shouldn't be surprised.

7. From Parties To Diapers. A few things. 1. Hayley is super funny. 2. Hayley is just getting her blog up and running and could totes use some post ideas. 3. Hayley's my sister. AND BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER. (Does that saying even make any sense? I mean, I suppose it's a scientifically true statement, but....what's the point? I mean who was comparing it to water? And what does water have to do with it? Maybe blood is what you have in common with your family, and yeah, it's thick...but is water what you have in common with your friends or something? I mean, it really doesn't make any sense. I'm just saying.)

8. Brave Days. Sarah is pretty awesome, and sweet. She's funny too, like the others, but in more of a girlfriends-and-makeovers kind of way, which is refreshing even to someone who gets along better with dudes. Because who doesn't need girlfriends sometimes? Even dudes need to giggle and drink margaritas in their pj's every once in a while. True story.

9. A Beer For The Shower. Surprisingly enough, there aren't all that many male bloggers out there. But Bryan and Brandon are TWO of them, on the SAME blog! And they're funny. You guys should check them out.

10. Chicken Maker. Don't ask me why this is so funny. It just is. This guy just...draws chickens. In MS Paint. I'm for serial, guys. It's really funny.

Wheeeeeeeee I love promoting other blogs! This is really fun. It really is.

Y'all are the best. More soon, I promise. :)

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Winner TBA!

2012-01-20T10:41:00.000-08:00

Thank you SO much to everyone who participated in the recipe contest!!!

Winner to be announced shortly, and then provided with awesomeness itself in art form. Seriously. You're gonna want to hang this shit over your fireplace mantel, man. Up there with the trophies and your grandma's ashes.

Vegan Recipe Contest! Best One Wins A Personalized Drawing!

2012-01-17T15:13:00.000-08:00

I'm going to try out the vegan thing. No, don't make fun of me. It's a very practical health choice, as well as a stand against animal cruelty and the disgusting way we eat in this country. Click here if you want an idea of what I'm talking about. Warning: don't be eating when you click that link.

Also, Wilbur:

Uh...point made? I think so.

Anywho, I want recipes. Easy, simple, healthful vegan recipes. I am willing to pay for these. With a million dollars, a bucket full of jelly beans, a hand-knitted throw blanket with kittens on it, and a brand new iPod.

Just kidding. Best recipe wins a personalized drawing from me. You get to choose what I draw for you! And it will be yours, and you can get it put on a t-shirt or an apron or a button or even underwear, if that's how you roll, at Zazzle.com.

I searched Google Images for "funny underwear" and much hilarity transpired. This was merely the best of what I uncovered.

From ItsNotBadAtAll.com.

The Deets:

Deadline: 8 pm Wednesday, January 17 (that's tomorrow night, guys).

Rules: Must be vegan, meaning made with zero animal products of any kind (including meat, dairy, honey, etc). Must be healthful (meaning not crazy high in sugar, fat, or sodium). Must be reasonably simple (I'm not going to spend 5 hours cooking dinner for myself). If you win, I will draw you something of your choosing. I'm not a prude, and if you ask me to draw a giraffe penis chances are I will accommodate that. But I am reserving the right to deny any request on the basis of obscenity, hatefulness, or anything else I deem entirely inappropriate.

Recipes submitted to the Jill Of All Trades Facebook page will also be considered.

Protip: If you're going to submit a recipe, you can't submit anonymously if you want to win! It's very easy to comment with a Google account. :)

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Ugh. I'm Totes Screwed.

2012-01-16T16:55:00.000-08:00

I may be all powerful and awesome now, with a "They don't like me? Fuck 'em!" James Dean-ish badass attitude about life. But I'm still absolutely terrible at flirting. So I still periodically do some internet research on the topic, no matter how lame that sounds. You don't like that I'm lame? Fuck you! That's RIGHT, bitch!

I'm just kidding, you're not a bitch. But seriously, stop laughing at me.

Anyway, look what I found:

From:

How to Meet a Good Man in a Bar, from Hookingupsmart.com:

3. Consciously signal attraction.

Men looking to get laid like sexually aggressive women for obvious reasons. If you’re not making a spectacle of yourself, you may feel like an ugly duckling. Remember that you don’t want to waste time catching the eye of a player. Andrew Trees, in his book Decoding Love, lays out a nice summary of what the research shows about getting men to approach.

The short answer: eye contact with a smile. Not surprising, right? What is surprising is the amount of encouragement men need before risking an approach. It’s more than most women would feel comfortable with. According to a study cited by Trees, even making eye contact multiple times had a success rate of only 20% if it wasn’t accompanied by a smile each time. When women added the smile each time they made eye contact, their success rate increased to 60%.

I know one young woman who swears by the practice of staring at a guy until he approaches. She claims her success rate with this strategy is 100%. However, she admits that guys often assume that she’s DTF, and I know for a fact that she’s dated some real jerks.

...how depressing is that?

I mean, I thought that getting the smile and eye contact thing down was going to do me some serious good, but now I find out that doesn't even work most of the time?? WTF, internet? You have deceived me!

I don't know if my poor little reserve of courage can handle the staring.

I'm totally fucked. Or not, as the case may be.

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Looking Like An Adult Seems To Be Almost As Important As Actually Being One. Plus A Huge Epiphany About Life And Stuff.

2012-01-15T16:54:00.000-08:00

What happened to the days of old, when I looked 5-10 years older than I was? Hm? I remember being 11 when some lady at Costco thought I was married to my dad. Waiters have been accidentally seating me at the bar and then bashfully moving me once they realized what they'd done since I was about 15. Many of my guests at the bed and breakfast thought I was closer to 30 than to 20, and NOBODY believes I'm my mother's daughter and not her sister.

So why, in the last 6 months or so, has everyone suddenly started telling me that I look 16?

I mean, there are a few factors here that could be at work:

-I've lost some weight, so I really do look small and petite now, as opposed to short but estrogen-curvy like I used to. I have had a woman's figure, not a girl's, since I was 13. Now I have a slightly younger shape to my body.

-I'm healthier than I was 6 months ago, so it's possible my hair and skin have a more youthful appearance.

-I have been experimenting more with my unusual taste in fashion, and my tendency to go for feminine, old-fashioned skirts and dresses has been amplified big-time. In fact, I almost never wear pants anymore.

But I don't think any of those things are dramatic enough to make me look 10 years younger than I used to. And looking at pictures from a year ago, I don't think I look that different.

I hate it though. I already don't get taken very seriously--I mean I'm small, I'm a woman, I giggle, I'm clumsy, I have a high-pitched voice...I don't need to look childish too. Everyone keeps telling me I'll love it when I'm 30, but that doesn't do me much good right now. Age is power, and by telling me I look younger than I am, people are taking that power away from me. God knows I have little enough as it is. Oh, I know that most of them aren't doing it on purpose--most of the people who tease me for looking young are doing so good-naturedly. But some people do it to put me down. And that's not okay.

I meant for this to be funny, but I'm starting to get a little angry. You know why? Because I'm realizing that it isn't the only way people make me feel small. There are so many subtle things you can say to somebody, or do to them, or even tiny body language signals you can use, to put them down. And I must have "Gullible, insecure, and easily victimized" written across my forehead, because people use them on me constantly. Things like edging one's shoulders away from a person when they're trying to join the circle or conversation, or acting disinterested in everything they say, or ridiculing them for every falter and stumble, or gaslighting and making them feel crazy or irrational. Things like explaining away a person's emotions with "you're just being a girl" or "you're probably on your period." Things like constantly telling a person that they look young, or that they're small, or that they have no valuable experience in anything.

You know what those things are? They're bullying.

People who bully others are doing so because they're insecure themselves, at least 9 out of 10 times. It's a way for them to be on top. They saw that other people got on top by bullying them, so they mimick it. It's human nature, really, to observe how others survive and do the same for their own survival. But it's fucked up, and it's mean, and it's wrong.

And everyone should have learned that it was wrong by the time they were 12.

Who fucking cares how old I am? Does that have to be the first thing you see when you look at me? How about my strengths, huh? I'm very intelligent. Look into my eyes and tell me I'm not intelligent, and kind. I'm also pretty easy to talk to, and funny, and open-minded, and down to earth. I dunno, I think I'm kinda cool in my way. And I don't have to make you feel small to feel cool; I get those feelings because I do the right thing or make someone happy, or because someone gives me a compliment, or because I accomplish something I can be proud of. I'm a damn fine person to be around.

I guess I'm just sick of being kicked around, then ridiculed for letting myself get kicked around, and then being shoved back down every time I try to stand up. It's a mindfuck. It's been happening to me since I was a little kid, and I've spent all these years worrying and fretting and trying to figure out what was wrong with me that made people treat me this way.

I'm starting to suspect that there's actually nothing wrong with me, other than not realizing my worth and letting people push me around.

God damn it. The worst part about all of this is that I let them win. I let them get to me. I spent my WHOLE LIFE insanely fucking insecure, trying to figure out how to get people to like me, how to get them to talk to me, how to get them to stop being mean to me or worse, ignoring me. I wasn't the one doing anything to cut myself out! It's clear, really...they cut ME out, and not because I'm unlovable or even something below awesome. They cut me out because I let them cut me out, and snubbing someone made them feel superior. Simple as that.

And I'm a fucking adult, and still letting it happen.

This ends now.

I know I can't grow a full-size self-esteem overnight, but in the process of writing this post I've had quite the epiphany: it's not me.

It's not me.

Fuck. Anyone. Who. Doesn't. Agree.

Bam.

I declare, right now, that I'm going from this:

To this:

Fucking watch me.

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My Blogiversary Post: A Conglomeration Of Awesome

2012-01-14T09:17:00.000-08:00

Today is my one-year blogiversary. Exactly one year ago today I submitted my first post.

I AM SO EXCITED.

I really really want this post to be good. I’m starting it two whole days ahead of time. Which, for those of you who are unfamiliar with my writing habits, is WAY early. This is how it usually goes:

Normally, I pull it off. But the best posts are always the ones I put a significant amount of time into, and I want this one to be amazing!

You know why?

Because you guys are incredible. I really want you all to understand this. I want you to understand how much your support and readership and enthusiasm has affected my life.

You see, I’ve always struggled with a number of issues, not the least of which are the following:

-I am self-conscious and unsure of myself

-I have some nasty social anxiety that rears its ugly head way too often

-^^^^That, particularly in the arena of meeting and interacting with cute boys

-I love to write, but have found most of my attempts weak and/or lame

-I have a difficult time keeping up on projects, which negatively affects my self-esteem

Here are some ways that this blog and/or my followers (that’s you guys!) have helped with those things:

-It’s been a whole fucking year--a year filled to the brim with crazy shit, I might add--and I have never given up on this blog. In fact, I’ve never written fewer than 3 posts in a month, and it’s usually been closer to 10. Do you have any idea what an accomplishment that is for me? I feel like I’ve given up on almost every large undertaking I’ve ever experienced (e.g. school, my marriage, etc).

-I have 23 official followers, which is honestly more than I would have expected. I do very little to market my blog, and I write erratically and about weird shit.

-People think I’m funny, and look forward to my posts, and are thrilled when I write. I’m not even kidding. Even people who are really funny themselves. That’s INCREDIBLY supportive to my self-confidence.

-This blog has given me an amazing creative outlet, as well as a place to share my perspective, my sense of humor, my thoughts, my rants, and sometimes even my frustration.

-It’s been a great way to meet new friends, and to interact with people of similar taste and interests.

-It has given me a chance to work through a lot of my anxieties, worries, and stresses. You guys have helped me realize that other people feel awkward and embarrassed on a regular basis too, and that laughing it off is the best way to deal with it.

-You’ve also all helped me realize that there are people out there who like me exactly as I am, and that worrying about what people think and letting condescending or judgmental people get to me is only going to make me feel badly about myself. I am valuable, lovable, funny, unique, and smart--all in my own ways. Anyone who doesn’t get me or doesn’t think I’m cool enough isn’t worth my time. That’s REALLY hard to remember, and you guys remind me constantly.

Every time a post gets a Facebook like, or gets linked to, or gets a lot of page views, my confidence skyrockets. Comments are worth like 46 million points. And following me? That makes my entire day.

Anyone who appreciates Jill Of All Trades isn’t just enjoying something I’ve created: they are approving of a part of my soul. I can’t thank you all enough. And I hope you all will celebrate this happy day with me.

Here is a piece of celebratory blog cake:

And here are a few snippets from the highlights of the year:

I've also been told it's singles-central, and everyone is fucking everyone. My first thought was "omgsyphilis" but my second was "....you mean I could get laid?"

-From “My Chances At Being Cooler Have Just Risen Significantly”

Pregnant people like to dance. Especially in their first and second trimesters before they are the size of a barge.

-From “I’m Pregnant, Not Dead--A Guest Post By My Sister Hayley”

-From “Adrian, The Horny Little Bundle Of Terror”

-From “Stripping Bear”

My job sucks monkey balls so hard, I’m concerned about the monkey’s health and well-being. His balls might actually fall off.

-From “It Is Time For That Rant I Promised You”

-From “Steven Paulson. AGAIN.”

-From “Blogging Has A Bad Rep Because In General, It SUCKS”

Step 7: Get laid. Starting to feel a little desperate. Attempts to get laid sucking. Beginning to wonder if my standards are too high. Realizing how desperate that sounds, and insisting to self that I am worth someone I'm at least attracted to, but still secretly wondering because let's be honest, I haven't gotten laid for over a month and I'm starting to go a little bit insane.

-From “An Update On All The Disorganization”

In other news, my little sister called me a man-whore. Not just a man, not just a whore...specifically a man-whore.

-From “A Quick News Update”

-From “An Open Message To All The Men In My Life: I Don’t Bite, And I Didn’t Suddenly Become A Psychopath Out Of Nowhere”

Blessings to you all!!!

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I Swear To God I'll Be Funny Soon. I'll Even Draw You Guys A Picture.

2012-01-12T16:42:00.000-08:00

I promise. There will be one of my old-school Paint drawings in my next post.

My BLOGIVERSARY POST!!!! About which I am very excited. Two days!

Meantime, check out a few of the funny blogs I've discovered recently:

The Opposite Of That

The Concrete Loves My Shoes

From Parties To Diapers (Hayley's new blog)

Brave Days

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The Ever-Pressing Plight Of The American 20-Something

2012-01-12T15:12:00.000-08:00

What.

The fuck.

Do I want to do.

With my life.

Seriously.

I have all these questions floating around in my brain. Should I go back to school? Should I try a new field or should I stick with hotels? Should I take something I love, like writing, and try to make that a career? How important to me is money? What's the minimum amount I need to live the way I want? For that matter, how do I want to live? Do I want to travel? Do I want to live in Portland? Is it wrong not to live up to your potential? Is it wrong not to be successful? What does success mean? Will I look back on my life and be satisfied?

It's fucking intense.

On some level, I know the following things about myself:

-I like to live in the moment.
-Money is not very important to me.
-It is not difficult for me to live simply.
-I am much happier when I have more time to rest, to absorb the world, to spend with loved ones.
-I tend to get sick of my jobs. It's dangerous to do something I truly love for work.

But how long will those things be true? What happens if, say in 10 years, I decide I want children? Living the way I am now, I would be hard-pressed to care for even one child, and I certainly wouldn't be able to give it much in the way of comfort and luxury. Should I be preparing, working my way up somewhere, going to school...something to guarantee that I'll make more money by then?

Or is it more real and beautiful to raise a child in a life that makes you happy? I spent the latter half of my childhood in the suburbs. Beaverton was the name of the town, and I thought Veronica Mars' character Piz summed it up pretty well when he said "minivan in every driveway, chicken in every pot." Most of the people there had come from somewhere else. They settled there to raise children. And with good reason; Beaverton has the second strongest school district in the state, it's relatively safe, it's comfortable, it's community-minded, and people there are truly kind to one another. It's like fucking Mayberry.

But I always wondered this: did the fact that most of the parents settled give their children a less real experience?

It always seemed to me that the children you read about in books who have really unusual upbringings were the most interesting, deep people--and the ones who knew who they were and made an impact on the world. It makes me wonder if perhaps, to some extent, exactly the life I desire is the most ideal to raise my own child in. Maybe if I decide I want to travel a lot, it's a beautiful, unique experience for my child to be able to travel with me and see the world. Maybe if I want to live in SE Portland in some gigantic house with a bunch of roommates and a big organic garden in the back, that's a beautiful way to raise my child. Maybe a homestead or farm in the countryside is ideal. Maybe running a bed and breakfast. WHO KNOWS??? I'm just saying, maybe what's expected and "normal" might not actually be the ideal way. Maybe what's ideal is whatever is most real. Maybe being a happy, fulfilled parent is more important than being able to provide the security and idealism of money and the 'burbs.

The problem is that there is no solid answer to any of this. Now is the time of my life when the choices I make are actually quite important. They will affect my future very strongly.

God, I'm not even funny today. I'm too wrapped up in all this. These are super exciting thoughts, you guys. I mean they're important, and in some ways a source of stress, but they're not heavy or pressing in a way that is upsetting. Mostly I'm excited to figure these things out; to live and breathe and feel and experience. I always have been, but I feel like I'm coming to a point where I'm in the position to actually DO it. I have energy, I have strength, I have confidence. I have means and ideas and excitement.

I suppose that's all I can ask for right now. It doesn't do to focus so heavily on the future, especially when the questions you have don't have answers yet. *sigh* I'm so impatient.

As an attempt to make up for forcing you guys to read through THAT, please enjoy this status my friend just posted on Facebook:

'Friend: "Can I use your phone to call my mom?" ... Me: "Yeah, just press redial."'

Also, you guys rock. Having your support and your readership has been a huge part of what has made me keep up on this blog, and Jill Of All Trades has been an IMMENSE source of encouragement to me. My one-year blogiversary is in two days, and I will be writing a separate post about that, so I don't want to wax TOO sentimental just yet. But trust me, the gushing and love and reader appreciation is coming. Just wait.

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Some Ways 20-Somethings Suck

2012-01-06T19:26:00.000-08:00

Since I was very young, it has commonly been joked at that I was born 40. A nice way to put it is that I have an "old soul," but most people don't put it the nice way.

I earned this particular brand of teasing at around 13 by wearing old lady sweaters, carrying around a bible and my embroidery, and disapproving strongly of swear words.

The peak of awfulness in the Age of the Old Lady Sweater. Second from the left.

I then proceeded to make matters worse by getting married at 19, and then by becoming the innkeeper at a bed and breakfast. Shedding the sweaters and the bible helped a little. Swearing helped a little more. But I was still old and out of touch with my age group.

After Josh and I split up in August, it really hit me how fucking old I was. I decided to push myself to get out there, meet people, date, try new things...to act my age, in other words.

Wilderness pilates is, of course, on the list. I think it's required.

I have been overall fairly successful so far. I'm going out, building up my alcohol tolerance, dating, making friends, getting laid (rarely, but I'll take what I can get at this point), living in the city, going on spur-of-the-moment international trips, wandering all over town, and generally being quite adventurous and spontaneous.

But I'm thinking there's still some amount of old lady in me, because I just can't get over a few irritating things about 20-something culture and social norms.

-There's no such thing as a set plan. Neither spontaneous nor predetermined plans seem to be ever set in stone, and you must always have a plan B because your chances of being bailed on are quite high. At first you will start to question whether anyone really loves you or wants to be around you, because your self-esteem clearly still needs some work, but really it's just that people do whatever they feel like doing at any given moment and have little to no respect for plans of any kind.

-No one shows up anywhere on time. And by that I mean that standard arrival time is 30-60 minutes late, and anytime within 2 hours seems to be acceptable. I had always thought that "fashionably late" was 15-30 minutes after the party had started. I didn't think it meant that you show up at 10:30 when you said you'd meet someone around 9:00.

-People don't introduce one another. That may be an old-fashioned bit of etiquette, but I've always thought it made a lot of sense. It's really awkward to be the friend sitting there while the whole "Omg Helen! How are you? How's Frank? You broke up?? Emma's engaged, really? I thought she'd sleep around until she was 35 at least. How's your new job?" thing goes on without having been introduced to Helen. Even though you still don't know Helen or Frank or Emma and therefore will still be more or less excluded from the conversation, you at least know that your job is to smile and nod along politely and to say "nice to meet you, Helen" when she finally leaves. If your friend just turns around and ignores you for some random stranger named Helen for 5 minutes, you don't know whether to try to pretend you're participating in their conversation, or to stare at your lap, or to pretend to go to the bathroom...and if you're already a little socially awkward, it just escalates into a panic attack.

I'm sure there's more, but that's all I have at the moment.

I think it's also important to note that I could have included SO many memes in this post, but I didn't. For you guys. You're welcome.

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Young, Pregnant, And Single--Another Guest Post From My Sister Hayley

2012-01-02T22:26:00.000-08:00

Hayley's guest post had the 5th most views of all time of anything I've posted on this blog.

The most views went to my post about Logan Echolls, further proving the point that people love the guy. I was right, I'm just saying.

So, I've asked her to write another for me. There's a picture this time! It's totes adorbs, and it makes mine look good. ;) I'm just kidding. Except that it does.

Love you, sis.

Young, Pregnant, And Single

by Hayley the Mommy-To-Be

Last week I joined a prenatal water aerobics class.

I did this for 2 major reasons:

-I wanted to meet pregnant women like me.

-I wanted some organized, healthy exercise.

My first problem was that I didn’t know what to wear. Did they make special swimsuits for expectant mothers? If so, was this a necessary investment? As a single mother, I’ve tried to cut back on any expense possible. In the end I decided to wear my bikini (one of 9 that I already owned.). It couldn’t be that bad, right?

My second problem was that I forgot my flip flops. It doesn’t seem like a big deal all by itself, but I was already worried about my choice of attire.

More problems would come up, but I had to get there first. I got to the hospital that the class was held at and realized that I had no idea where I was supposed to be going. I looked around, but there wasn’t another pregnant woman in sight. Thanks to my one stroke of good luck all night, I ended up finding the pool with no problem.

I signed in and went to change. When I walked out to the pool and set my towel on a chair by the wall, I looked around nervously at the other women.

My initial observations:

-Everyone there was at least 25 years old.

-Most of the women were further along than me.

-All the women seemed to know each other.

-NOBODY was wearing a bikini.

As I got in the pool all the women seemed to be sending me either curious or judgmental looks. I realized at once that it was a bad idea to wear the bikini. I looked for the youngest looking person and found someone who looked almost as lost as me and hoped she was new too. She was. Together we figured out what we were supposed to do and got to know each other.

Basic pregnant woman questions:

-How far along are you?

-Are you married?

-Is this your first baby?

-Do you have family nearby?

-Is it a boy or a girl?

-How old are you?

-Did you have morning sickness in the first trimester?

As it turns out, the youngest girl in the class really was 25. I met a lot of other women that night, which was no easy task. I never thought that pregnant people had cliques. I wouldn’t be surprised if pregnant people altogether were a clique, but even these grown up women wouldn’t let me join their groups.

One thing I was sure of by the end of the night: I was the only under 25/unmarried woman.

Every time I told someone that I was 18 and unmarried (not to mention single), I moved further and further toward the deep end of the pool. It’s a good thing I’m tall.

Being single and pregnant is hard. Especially when we are young. None of our friends understand the position we are in. we need support more than ever. The last thing we need is to be judged and pushed away by people like us. Since that night I have made it my mission to find friends like me. Single, young moms who can understand how I feel and who wont judge me for doing things “the wrong way.”

I am just as capable of loving and raising a child as a 20-something married woman. Just watch me.

Hayley is a single mom-to-be, aspiring singer/song writer, innkeeper, and sister.

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Gave Up On The Internet Already, And Not Just Because It Sounded So Lame.

2012-01-02T20:43:00.000-08:00

Well. That was fun.

I have officially deleted all my profiles and given up on internet dating. Only took about 2 weeks.

I had the following experiences:

-Guy so gross and awful that I got on the wrong bus to avoid him.

-One-night stand guy who wanted to define the relationship the next day.

-Guy who was nice enough at first and then freaked out that I didn't want anything serious and called me "ruined."

-Guy who's actually super sweet and we're still friends.

-Guy from Craigslist who's now like my total bff.

-Guy who seems pretty cool so far, and makes a lot of hilarious and inappropriate jokes.

-Racist guy, as mentioned previously.

-A shit ton of "Hey baby" messages.

-A lot of dead-end conversations.

Perhaps most importantly, I've had a bit of an ego boost. I have realized that I'm totally cute enough to get dates outside of the internet...mostly because I'm cuter than 95% of the dudes online.

I've also now had some practice with dating, which is good (even though it sucked) because I didn't know what I was doing before at all.

I'm back to square one, in some ways, just because the same old "so...how do I meet people?" question has cropped back up. But I feel like I'm going into it with more experience, confidence, and discretion than I did before, even if there's no less desperation.

Also some really funny stories.

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Lifelong Dream Being Fulfilled. No Big Deal.

2011-12-30T11:22:00.000-08:00

Those of you who have known me since the days of the locket-wearing, bible-carrying and tea-drinking also know that I have long been obsessed with the beautiful country of England.

I called England home in a past life; I know I did. I don't just want to go, I miss her. I miss the air, the earth, the fog, the scents, the hills, the greenery, the people, the accents...I miss the soul of the place. Something in my being absolutely longs to stand on English soil and just breathe for a moment, absorbing as much as I possibly can.

And now, thanks to someone who loves me very much and wants me to be inspired...I get to go.

February, you guys.

Suggestions are welcomed. About England specifically or about travelling in general. Or, you know, other things. If you think I need it. Fashion advice maybe....perhaps you've been wanting to tell me for a long time to stop tripping over my words and just take a speech class already. Or to get a better haircut. Whatevs.

A quick tribute:

Oh yeah. Best of the best, man.

I've Decided To Be Madam Simza. It's Happening, Don't Question It.

2011-12-23T00:10:00.000-08:00

I want to be this chick. SO. BADLY.

She is Madam Simza, from the new Sherlock Holmes movie.

Which was truly awesome, by the way. Fantastic.

But THIS chick was a total badass. Her outfits were gorgeous and hot and functional all at the same time, she was quick-witted and strong, and her fighting skills were crazy good. Also, she sits and drinks like a man, without losing the feminine mystique. And she's a gypsy. And a tarot reader.

I've decided to be her...so I need to get me some long, heavy skirts, some coin-y jewelry, and some badass belts. And some fighting skills. And maybe a perm.

More pictures (I'm so excited about this):

So. Fucking. Cool.

Go see that movie.

I'm done now.

I'm Pregnant, Not Dead--A Guest Post From My Sister Hayley

2011-12-22T12:05:00.000-08:00

Please welcome guest blogger, and my sister, Hayley. :)

She's the cutest pregnant chick ever, btw. And also pretty good at the ranting thing.

I’m Pregnant, Not Dead

by Hayley the Mommy-To-Be

Since becoming pregnant, I have found that a lot of things change.

-You get morning sickness--which, in reality, is not just in the mornings…it’s more like morning, noon, and night sickness.

-You sleep more.

-You stop being able to fit into your on-the-town-clothes (or even your normal clothes for that matter).

-You can’t drink alcohol or coffee anymore.

-Sushi becomes poison.

The last thing I expected, however, was for my friends to change. At first everyone was excited and eager to meet with me and hear about my plans, and all the new and exciting changes to my body and life. Then, slowly, the normal daily texts and phone calls inviting me out with the girls stopped. At first it was just the nights they went to hookah bars, but I expected that considering that hookah smoke is bad for the baby’s health. Then I realized that I wasn’t invited to the Christmas tree lighting…then dinner…then parties…then coffee...

Here’s the deal:

-Pregnant people can go to parties. We just won’t drink alcohol (Not that I always did before I got pregnant anyway).

-Pregnant people eat dinner. In fact, if we don’t eat dinner we get sick.

-Pregnant people like tea. Just because you guys get coffee at Starbucks doesn’t mean that there aren’t tons of caffeine free options.

-Pregnant people like to dance. Especially in their first and second trimesters before they are the size of a barge.

-During the pregnancy is your best chance to spend time with us. BEFORE we have needy little babies to take care of.

Last but not least, pregnant people have feelings. We have to go to the doctor and stress about money and diseases and miscarriages. We could use a night out and the support of our friends. It is especially hard on us when we are the only ones our age having babies. We feel like we have a whole new set of issues that our friends don’t understand. Because of this, we need friends we can relate to about everything else even more. People who can take us away from the stress.

If you have a pregnant friend, don’t treat her like she is a different person. Enough things are changing for her already. She doesn’t need more.

Have you hugged a pregnant lady lately?

Hayley is a single mom-to-be, aspiring singer/song writer, innkeeper, and sister.

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Sam Turns To The Internet, Meets With Self-Confidence, Encouragement, Boning, And Also Some Racial Ignorance

2011-12-18T13:16:00.000-08:00

You guys all know by now how difficult a time I've had finding ways to meet people, especially people to go on dates with.

I'm so smooth.

Well...I did something I thought I'd never do, and I tried the internet.

*Cringe* Don't judge me!! It's common enough now; it's not nearly so predominantly creeps and weirdos like it was 5 or 10 years ago! I swear. Also I'm really careful.

Something I've learned from this is that, so far, I'm not actually as awkward as I think I am. I seem to be the one more easily willing to make eye contact and pleasant small talk, and I'm finding myself surprisingly self-confident and at ease. Kind of a "Well if he's not into me, he's not into me" sort of attitude...and no hesitance about being anything other than myself. Which is awesome. I feel so cool, like Samantha Jones or Helen Gurley Brown.

I didn't realize this was a thing for me because in real life, I always seem to wait until I'm head over heels for someone before I try to initiate anything. Which means I care what they think, which means *cue awkwardness.* This is a thing I have always felt rather unfair, because I get nervous and more likely to fuck up when it most matters that I do not.

C'est la vie. Maybe some of this internet-dating badassery will melt into the rest of my life as my self-confidence grows.

As a side note: To all you men out there, "Hey baby, I like your bone structure, want to grab a drink?" and "U r Arab? Let's have sex."?

Those don't work.

Scumbag Steve's internet dating username is HeyStrangerLet'sFuck.

A genuine, thought-out response to my profile and an acknowledgement of shared interests--that will earn you at least one response from me. Also, knowing the logic behind square-is-a-rectangle-but-a-rectangle-is-not-necessarily-a-square is important, especially when it comes to the heritage of the girl you are hitting on. In other words, Arabs are middle eastern, but not everyone from the middle east is Arabic. Armenians, for example.

Also, I will attempt to pass off fewer memes as pictures in the future.

Also, I got laid. (Whoo-hoo!)

Aaaand I'm out.

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My Chances At Being Cooler Have Just Risen Significantly, I Think.

2011-12-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

So living downtown is awesome.

Okay, not exactly downtown. But right across the river from downtown, and smack dab in the center of the area where all the young people live.

I had been wondering where they all were, and I found them. They're residing in the land of bicycles, flannel, bad haircuts, weed, makeshift basement bedrooms, no central heat, tubs that have never been scrubbed, organic food, and about 50 million awesome bars.

It's absolutely beautiful.

I've also been told it's singles-central, and everyone is fucking everyone. My first thought was "omgsyphilis" but my second was "....you mean I could get laid?"

I still haven't figured out the trick, though. I'm familiar with "Hey, wanna fuck?" because, you know, I was married. I've also completely mastered "Hey look, you're cute and I'm making eye contact with you!" But there must be some step in between that I have yet to understand.

I'm desperate enough that, yes, I will accept advice from the internet if y'all have any. Things like "when you catch that cute guy's eye at the pizza place, THIS is how you approach him and eventually coax him into bed," maybe.

That would be awesome. Thanks.

I'll keep you guys posted.

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Badassery, Defensiveness, And Self-Confidence Boosters, Among Other Things

2011-11-29T16:59:00.000-08:00

As you are all aware, I struggle quite a bit with insecurity and a lack of self-confidence. This has been made apparent by my very awkward self-deprecating humor on this blog:

You get the idea.

I've improved a lot over the past year, and these past 4-5 months most particularly. I can look at my naked ass in the mirror without wanting to crawl under a rock, I can get yelled at by a guest and come away unscathed, I can mess up on something without having a panic attack and apologizing profusely to everything and everyone within hearing range, I hold my shoulders straighter, I speak with more firmness, I make decisions with more certainty, and I know myself much better than I used to. All these things are great strides toward being, you know, a normal healthy adult.

However, I've realized something recently: I'm still extremely defensive.

My issue is that I care too much about being misunderstood, so if I feel even slightly attacked, I jump to defending myself before I've even given someone a chance to finish their thought. Not only is it really irritating to others, it forces me to wear my insecurity in big flashing neon letters across my forehead.

I have plenty of faults, but one of them is not laziness. I want to be the best version of myself I can be, and when I notice something that I don't like, I don't waste time helping myself improve. So, for inspiration--I've decided to compile a list of people I admire, both real and fictitious, for giving zero to few fucks. Then I'm going to do my best to emulate those people when I feel misunderstood, so that I stop caring what someone who doesn't even understand me thinks.

I think it's a pretty awesome idea.

So here's my list so far:

1. Stephen Hyde, from That 70's Show.

Hyde uses the stoner's approach to giving no fucks, mainly with the use of such phrases as "Whatever, man" and "That's cool." These things should be said lazily, and this attitude should be maintained no matter how shrill or mean the offending person gets. Added bonus of being very frustrating.

2. Queen Elizabeth I.

This woman not only ruled a country in turmoil, revolutionized the idea that a female could rule without a husband, defeated the fucking Spanish Armada, and ripped off King Philip II of Spain to help out poor William of Orange who had been fucked over by said king of Spain....she also spit and swore like a man while looking and dressing like a woman. She was absolutely a total badass, and gave very few fucks, if any, what people thought of her.

3. Harry Dresden, of the Dresden Files by Jim Butcher.

Harry Dresden is a wizard-for-hire in Chicago--in fact, he's the only wizard-for-hire in Chicago. Most people think he's a kook, most of the other wizards think he's a smart-ass, and someone is absolutely always trying to kill him. He's a little grungy, constantly misunderstood, and yet always does the right thing, whatever the consequences. He gives almost no fucks, and shows it mostly through smart-mouthing and punnery. Plus he can do magic, which is just awesome.

4. Veronica Mars.

Veronica goes to a school where pretty close to every person there hates her, and not just in a dramatic high school kind of way--several of these people have beaten up her car, spit date rape drugs into her drinks, tried to kidnap her, and even raped her. And yet she still goes to school every day, where she knows every possible kind of lie is floating around about her, and continues to be her badass, snarky, adorable little self, getting straight As, solving crimes both big and small, and generally being awesome. Quote: "Here's what you do: you get tough. You get even."

That's all I have so far. I feel like this list could get longer. I invite you all to post with your no-fuck-giving inspirations in the comments as well. :) We'll have a self-confidence party!

Yayyyyy!!!!

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A Quick News Update

2011-11-28T15:59:00.000-08:00

Recent Accomplishments:

-Find a place to live that is not with my parents. CHECK.

-Get laid. CHECK.

-Make successful vegan stuffing. CHECK.

-Get hair cut and colored (it's black now). CHECK.

-Spend no money at all on Black Friday. CHECK.

In other news, my little sister called me a man-whore. Not just a man, not just a whore...specifically a man-whore. Also my Mom gave me her bicycle, so my hipster-fication is nearly complete!

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Living With One's Parents, And How Lame It Makes One Feel

2011-11-17T13:02:00.000-08:00

Due to several recent events, I have been forced to move in with my mother.

This will be my holiday portrait this year.

I'm sharing a bedroom with my 16-year-old sister. She smells okay, but she's very messy, and she's also in high school so she has to get up at like crazy o'clock to get to school on time. Which means the light goes on and stuff gets moved around after I've only been in bed for a few hours.

It also means I have zero privacy. The one time I get to be alone at home is late at night after everyone goes to bed, but most nights even that is ruined because my little brother has sleep issues. He goes to bed at a reasonable time, and then at like 11 he'll get up again because he can't sleep, and he'll sit there on the computer while I watch tv and get frustrated that I can't pick my nose or sit like a man.

Also, I feel like a loser. In all reality I don't believe people are losers just for living with their parents, but...for me it's a matter of self-confidence that I've been taking care of myself completely since a week after I turned 18. What else do I have to be proud of myself for? I have a dead-end customer service job, I have no degree, my marriage failed, and I can barely even keep up on my lame-ass blog. But god damn it, I am an ADULT, and I'm GOOD at being an adult.

Which, much more than sloppiness or nose-picking in peace, is why I'm moving out.

I think I may have found a place off of SE Belmont, which is absolutely awesome, because it's one short bus ride to work and walking distance to pretty much everything else. It's also totally affordable (same price as the room I had in BEAVERTON, which is just 50 times less convenient/awesome/youthful). It also involves no family members of any kind, and no room-sharing. AND they not only are okay with me adding my touch to the place, they actually WANT me to!

Yay for moving on to slightly less lameness!

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Just In Case Anyone Was Wondering Whether I Lived This Down...

2011-11-13T06:05:00.000-08:00

...I definitely didn't. That's my business card box.

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Ahem

2011-11-03T23:27:00.000-07:00

Cutest thing ever.

I'm done.

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WTF Of The Week: Metaphor, The Tree Of Utah

2011-11-03T17:28:00.000-07:00

This hideous eyesore is called "Metaphor: The Tree of Utah," or otherwise, "Metaphor: The Tree of Life."

I saw it on the way from Salt Lake to Wendover. It is the only thing in existence for miles and miles and miles, randomly poking out of the endless stretches of desert and salt flats.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Seriously, what is this thing? Apparently it was designed by some Swedish guy? Even worse, there are people who take it seriously. Check out what the website Utah.com had to say about it:

'Art Critic Katherine Metcalf used these words to sum up the project: "...Like Kandinsky in the 1920s, so Momen in the 1980s combines his love of color, circles, and cosmic space in a personal hymn to the universe; and like Kandinsky, he is very 'romantic' and musical. The inscription on the trunk of the tree is Schiller's Ode to Joy, as sung in the choral climax of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony." '

Uh.......

Mom and I decided it looks a lot more like a gangrenous, melanoma-ridden cactus than like a "personal hymn to the universe."

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This Is How Much I Love You Guys, That I'm Posting On Vacation

2011-10-31T23:43:00.000-07:00

I'm in Salt Lake City, Utah as we speak. Mormon capitol of the world, home to the Utah Jazz basketball team, and famous for the most porn usage per capita.

Not kidding. Even though their porn here can't show penetration.

"Oooh baby. You like that there, the way I...kiss your neck? All naughty-like?" Oh yeah. That's some hot Mormon porn right there.

SLC is also home to a surprising number of Armenians. And not just because my family is here and my family is gigantic. I'm really not sure why.

But then...I'm not sure why anyone is in this godforsaken place.

I'm sorry, I know that's harsh. But you have to understand that I'm from Portland, and I'm a hippie, and while I make fun of myself for it, I'm also very proud of it and proud to call it home. People here don't recycle. Or take public transportation (there isn't much of any). Or drink good/fair trade coffee. Or eat organic/local/vegetarian food. Or dye their hair blue. Or get tattoos. Or swear. Or drink. Or have any fun whatsoever.

What do you mean? We're oodles of fun. Want to go on a chaperoned ice cream outing with us, and then afterward we'll go to a nice sexy bible study?

Okay, some people do have fun. But they're the minority, like my family. They're good, classy, friendly people, but they drink, swear and get tattooed like sailors. I like this. This suits me.

There also aren't enough hippie guys here. I saw like two hipsters downtown today, but they were major wannabes. They probably don't even recycle, or know about beer. Hardly attractive. I need a man who knows his microbrews, separates his plastics, and has a bizarre but oddly sexy fondness for wearing plaid. I could never get laid in Salt Lake.

Which is possibly the biggest drawback of them all, to tell the truth.

P. S. No whining that it's short. I just gave you guys a whole half hour of my vacation. Suck it up. Go read Allie's new post instead.

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Ways Sleeping Beauty Is Totally Effed Up

2011-10-27T09:34:00.000-07:00

1. She and the prince were matched by their parents. The day she was born. And he was like 12! Who the fuck looks at a 12 year old boy, and then at their newborn baby, and goes "....are you thinking what I'm thinking? Eh? Ehhh?" to his parents? Ew. Besides when she's 18 (this is giving the story-writer the benefit of the doubt here...more likely she was closer to 16), that makes him 30.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

2. She was raised in the forest with literally the ONLY people of her acquaintance being 3 old ladies. Yeah. That'll give her a balanced perspective on life.

3. She clearly has schizophrenia or at least some sort of hallucinations. All of her friends are personified animals. You see my point.

4. She marries a guy with necrophilia, or at least the thing that's not quite necrophilia where you like to make out with sleeping chicks. I'm not sure what it's called, and I'm a little afraid to Google the answer.

To summarize: What the fuck, Disney/Grimm Brothers?

That is all.

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Inspiration!!!!!!!!! No, seriously.

2011-10-23T10:30:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be dull today and share with you some awesome quotes about strength and confidence and courage that I've found recently. Sorry. Not funny, I know.

Uh...be inspired?

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.
-Winston Churchill

The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
-Ernest Hemingway

Only the weak are cruel. Gentleness can only be expected from the strong.

-Leo Buscaglia

Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of readiness to die.

-G.K. Chesterton

Tragedy is like strong acid - it dissolves away all but the very gold of truth.

-D.H. Lawrence

They are the weakest, however strong, who have no faith in themselves or their own powers.

-Christian Nestell Bovee

Aaaaaand one that proves my blog is officially making the world a better, stronger place (from Oregonian Ken Kesey, author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest):

You can't really be strong until you see a funny side to things.
-Ken Kesey

YES.

Names And Sam Being A Little Obsessed With Them

2011-10-17T19:50:00.000-07:00

I was just on 20sb the other day, and a fellow bloggess posted a question in the forums about baby names.

It got me thinking. Because for those of you who don't know, I'm obsessed with names. It's always been a thing for me, even just naming my toys as a child, but what really fueled the fire was when I started getting into writing at about 12 and I had to come up with a huge list of names for the little book I was working on. I swear to god, I spent more time on the names than I did on the plot. I'm being completely serious.

So I thought it might be fun to do a post about names! I'll do mine, and a few I really like, and maybe those of some of my recurring blog mentions; people you guys kinda know (like Cai and James) and then you guys can comment with yours too if you like!!! Or if you want to comment or email with a request, I'll do yours for you. :)

I'm going to do the name, what it means, its origin, its nicknames, its phonetic significance, exactly how it could be made fun of in grade school, and a famous person of the same name.

Samantha:

Means: She who listens.
Origin: Aramaic
Nicknames: Sam, Sammi

Phonemes: SMN.
In Summary: Quirky, complicated, and very sexual (*blush*).

Ways it was made fun of in grade school:
-Sam-I-Am (I do not like green eggs and ham...), Samolakins, Samamph
-Sam is a boys' name
-Saman-thong

Famous Samantha:

Samantha Stephens, Character from Bewitched.

Cai (funny poetry guy!!):

Means: Ocean
Origin: Hawai'ian
Nicknames: None

Phonemes: K
In Summary: Dependable, talented and strong.

Ways it would be made fun of in grade school:
-Cai rhymes with absolutely everything. You do the math.

Famous Cai:

There's pretty much just a historical Chinese poet lady named Cai. I couldn't find anyone else. Uh....props to Cai for having a unique name?

James (my bff!):

Means: Supplanter
Origin: Hebrew
Nicknames: Jim, Jimmy, Jamie, Jay

Phonemes: JM
In Summary: Bright, judicious, natural leaders, and a little condescending.

Ways it would be made fun of in grade school:
-Jim is an old man's name
-James and the Giant Peach, James Bond
-Jimbo

Famous James:

Bond....James Bond. (Sean Connery)

Brittany (my friend Britt, who put in her request before I even published this!):

Means: "Land of the Britons"
Origin: English
Nicknames: Britt, Bri

Phonemes: BRT
In Summary: Witty, energetic, conservative on the outside and secretly a little wild.

Ways it would be made fun of in grade school:
-Britters, Peanut Brittle, Bart, Burt
-References to Britney Spears
-"Britt is a twit"

Famous Brittany:

Brittany Murphy, poor darling. She's missed.

Veronica (my future firstborn girl's first name):

Meaning: Bringer of Victory
Origin: Greek
Nicknames: Ronnie, Vee

Phonemes: VRN
In Summary: Straightforward, spunky, and sometimes high-maintenance.

Ways it would be made fun of in grade school:
-Moron-ica
-Vagin-ica

Famous Veronica:

(If you know me at all, you saw this coming) Veronica Mars!!! (Kristen Bell)

Lily (my future firstborn girl's middle name, and also my own made-up middle name):

Meaning: Lily
Origin: English
Nicknames: Lill

Phonemes: LL
In Summary: Relaxed, Likeable, and a little smug.

Ways it would be made fun of in grade school:
-Silly Lily, Lily Pad, Tiger Lily

Famous Lily:

(If you know me at all, you saw this coming too) Lily Aldrin from How I Met Your Mother! (Alyson Hannigan)

Nathan (one of my favorite boys' names):

Meaning: God has given
Origin: Hebrew
Nicknames: Nate, Nat, Nath

Phonemes: NTH
In Summary: Thoughtful, strong, and very proud.

Ways it would be made fun of in grade school:
-You're-A-Nate (Urinate)
-People assume it's short for Nathaniel

Famous Nathan:

(Seriously, it's like you guys don't know me at all.) Nathan Fillion, famous for his role in Firefly.

Simon (another of my favorite boys' names):

Meaning: Listening
Origin: Hebrew
Nicknames: Si, Sim, Sime

Phonemes: SMN
In Summary: Quirky, complicated, and very sexual. Same as me!

Ways it would have been made fun of in grade school:
-Simple Simon met a pieman, going to the fair...
-Simon Says jokes

Famous Simon:

Simon Cowell, famous for being a total jackass and widely hated, mostly because he's always right.

So if you guys want me to do your name too, let me know. It'll be fun! : )

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Old Ladies And How Adorable/Hilarious They Are

2011-10-15T13:14:00.000-07:00

A guest left this novel in the breakfast room. There are so many adorable/hilarious things about it that I'm not entirely sure where to start:

Okay.

1. PURELY the fact that this is a mystery is pretty cute. Old ladies love mysteries. I know this, because I used to be one (long story).

2. Old ladies also love embroidery. THIS COMBINES BOTH THINGS, SOMEHOW. Getting this to work is like putting Kraft macaroni and cheese and Hugh Jackman (two of MY favorite things) as themes in the same novel. It's quite a stretch, in other words.

3. This book involves plenty of really corny embroidery puns, "Stitch Me Deadly" being the lamest of them; "Murderers can be crafty" being the best thing since Kraft came out with macaroni and cheese noodles shaped like Toy Story characters.

4. It's cut off in the picture, but underneath the author's name it says "Author of The Quick and the Thread." Which is also pretty damn good.

To summarize: Old ladies are adorable. And hilarious. Just like I said in the post title. Do you see now why I said that? LOOK guys, I make sense! I'm consistent! I stick to a theme!

Shut up, this is NOT new for me! Quit being so whiny. I entertain you for free. You have no right to be picky.

An Open Message To All The Men In My Life: I Don't Bite, And I Didn't Suddenly Become A Psychopath Out Of Nowhere

2011-10-11T00:19:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been such a dude that all the boys have let me into their no-girls-allowed clubs.

Seriously. Sometimes their excuse was that I had a boys’ name (Sam). Sometimes it was that I was cool and didn’t like “girl stuff” (which at the time, if I recall correctly, included Lisa Frank products, lip gloss, Lizzie McGuire, nail polish, and hopscotch). Sometimes they didn’t feel they needed an excuse, and sent the other girls off crying while welcoming me in.

And I was cool. I could (and still to this day can) whistle better than most of them, spit better than most of them, play marbles better than most of them, and do as many awesome tricks. At the time, I could also run just as fast (but their legs got longer…and mine stayed the same). I’ve always been able to tell poop and fart jokes with the best of them, and I have at LEAST as dirty a mind.

I like to think that the fact that my best friend is a man, as well as the fact that I still have most of those skills, despite clothing myself in dresses a lot more than I used to, makes me still that cool. I’m still awesome enough to be in the boys’ club, and until very recently, I was.

Here’s the thing that changed it: my husband and I split up.

Believe me, I didn’t expect it either. All my guy friends (except James, but he’s too awesome to count anyway) seem to be totally afraid of me right now, and it seems to be expected that I rely on my girlfriends for any and all emotional needs during this trying time in my life. And my girlfriends have been great…but I want and need ALL of my friends right now.

Reasons I need my male friends too:

1. Many of my closest friends, and many of the people I trust the most, are men.
2. Men get me in a way SOOOOO many women don’t.
3. Men are more tender with me.
4. While the women I know are strong too, men are strong in a particular way that I need at the moment.
5. Ditto comforting.

Here’s what I think their issue is. I think they’ve heard all the horror stories about women who’ve just come out of long-term relationships (think rebounding, pendulum-swinging, depression, wildness, partying, alcoholism, emotional dependency, bitchiness, ETC), and have been scared into thinking that even their perfectly reasonable, down-to-earth, DUDE-LIKE girlfriends will turn stark raving mad and attack at the first opportunity. I think all my guy friends are actually afraid that if they let me cry on their shoulder once or twice I’ll fall in love with them, latch on, grow insanely emotionally dependent and bitchy, force them to marry me, and then squeeze out a bunch of kids so they can’t leave me.

Oh yeah. THAT is definitely my master plan.

I’m just hoping it doesn’t take them all a million years to get over it, because I’m sick of pretending I’m doing awesome around all my male friends just so that they’ll talk to me. I’m worried if they see a tear, or if I say “Eh, I’ve been better” when they ask how I am, they’ll high-tail it out the door faster than you can say “fear of intimacy.”

Please, guys, understand something: I’m still the same cool Sam I’ve always been. I’m still honest, I’m still independent, I’m still awesome, and I can still out-whistle ALL of you. I’m just going through some hard shit right now, and I could use your shoulders to cry on if you can calm the fuck down long enough to let me. I won’t bite you, and I won’t force you to marry me. I don’t see you any differently than I always have. I’M NOT MOST WOMEN. Remember? You knew that, like, 3 months ago.

Please let me back in to the boys’ club? Please?

With love,
Sam

*

Don't Judge Me. I'm Sick. You Shouldn't Judge Sick People.

2011-10-08T11:16:00.000-07:00

I'm sick. And lazy. And exhausted.

But also bored.

So I found some random questionnaire on the internet that will give me a structure for my blog post today. So I don't have to think. I'm not awesome at that anyway, but when I'm sick...well let's just say all that I have in my brain when I'm sick is snot. At least I'm pretty sure that's where it's all coming from...I don't think I have room for it all in my snot glands.

Here goes:

1.What was the first thing that crossed your mind when you saw the word “Poke” on Facebook?

Dirty things. You know how in my blog description I generally put that if you, too, think like a 12-year-old boy, you might like my blog? There's a reason for that. Also a reason that I only poke people on Facebook that I feel very safe and have a long-standing, happy relationship with.

2.What percentage of friends do you “really” communicate with on Facebook?

Honestly? Legitimately? Most of them. There is a fair number of people on there though with whom I am only "friends" because I am interested in keeping up with their lives, and not because we're all that close.

3.Write the first thing that comes to mind on the words/phrases below. All your answers must start with the first letter of your answer. So if your answer to friend is Michael, then all the subsequent answers must start with “M”. Have fun…

Friend ____James_______

Boy ______Josh_____
Girl _____Julia______
Occupation _____Jabberwocky-Keeper______
Color ___Uh...I was supposed to not have to think.________
Clothing item _____Jewelry. Shut up, it counts.______
Food _____Juji Fruits______
Bathroom ____Uh...what?._______
Movie ____Just In Time*_______
Shout ____Jumping Jehoshaphat!_______
Music _____Jazz______
Drink _____Juice. Ha...this is easy...______
Animal ___Jacaranda! Oh wait, maybe that's a plant.________
Street ______any street that starts with a J? That's dumb._____
Verb ______Justify_____

4.What part of you body do you like most/ consider an asset?

Boobs=Power. But also I like my eyes.

5.What scares you most? An animal or a person?

Spiders, probably. But not because I'm actually afraid of them, I just have a horrible phobia. Things I'm legitimately afraid will cause me harm? Totally people.

6.What among gum, lip-gloss and IPod do you consider an everyday essential?

Gum=lame. Lip Gloss=What is this, an episode of Lizzie McGuire? And Ipod=awesomeness. I BELIEVE YOU HAVE YOUR ANSWER.

7.Would you rather have trust, passion or honesty in a relationship?

I can't have all three? Um....well honestly it's probably not passion. I love passion, but it's not the thing you can't do without. Trust would be nice, but it's not worth much without honesty. I'd rather actually have you cheat on me and then be honest about it than have you be faithful but lie to me all the time. So, honesty. I guess.

8.Success, health or love. Which of the three would you like to have before dying?

Success as Americans understand it is total bullshit to me. Not into that. I've never been totally healthy, so it would be nice to feel like I was for once, but it won't ever happen...too many of my problems are chronic. If by "love" you mean finding "the one" I say screw that, I'm a bit cynical about that shit right now. But if by "love" you mean "having people who legitimately love and care about you in your life and are a positive and helpful influence" then I'll take that one.

Well so much for not thinking. I totally had to think. But hell, at least I didn't have to be creative. I'm going to go blow more snot out of my brain now.

*Note: I cheated on using "Just In Time" as my J movie. It sounds like a movie title. I'm assuming it's a movie title. And I'm too lazy to open IMDB and check, so.

*

I'm Awkward, Yes...But Progressing

2011-10-01T10:55:00.000-07:00

You guys all know how awkward I am. It's what I rely on to make me funny.

I am fully aware that I am far from elegant, smooth, or mysterious. I'm blunt, I'm odd, I kinda stomp when I walk, I trip over my words constantly...but this doesn't mean that I can't have self-confidence.

I realized this recently.

And you know what I did with that new-found self-confidence?

There was this guy who worked at a cafe I used to frequent, and I'd had a little crush on him for months...so I went up to him a few days ago, told him I thought he was cute, and asked him if he'd like to get coffee sometime. And then handed him my phone number.

HOW BRAVE IS THAT?

Just wanted to boast a little. I think it was the ballsiest thing I've ever done.

Also, please click on this link to this hilarious flirting flowchart from Jezebel.

*

Another Update On The Disorganization/Crazy

2011-09-24T14:47:00.000-07:00

You know how desperation is hilarious?

Especially mine?

Well this sucks, because I'm actually doing kinda awesome. It limits my post idea supply quite a bit. It's not going to be as entertaining for you, but I'm going to update you on my to-do list. I'm banking on you guys loving me enough to be happy for me, and not care that my life is slightly less funny.

Risky, I know.

Where we left off:

Step 7: Get laid. Now, don't get me wrong...still haven't gotten laid, and getting more and more desperate by the hour. BUT I've gotten a few almost-offers for dates...so I'm getting somewhere. And also I haven't caved on my whole "standards" thing yet, so...surely that's a good thing and means I'm healthy or whatever.

Step 8: Start doing laundry at Mom's house again, and try desperately not to feel lame for doing so. I've decided that I feel way LESS lame doing laundry on my own, even if it IS more expensive and inconvenient. So...I'm taking this one off of my to-do list. SEE??? PROGRESS!

Step 9: Move to new apartment, purchase bureau for clothing, organize new bedroom and help Kiana and Eric organize the rest of the apartment (our living room is going to be a blanket fort...it'll be fucking EPIC). Get life/self in order. THIS IS IN THE PROCESS OF HAPPENING!!! I'm totally not even kidding!

Step 10: Save up more energy for blog...and other things that make me happy. Been amazing at my dieting habits (I've even gone vegetarian, and I've been perfect so far! And it's been great!). My sleeping habits have improved although still aren't ideal, but hell, I'm in my 20's. And I've been to the doctor, and I'm taking vitamins/herbs to help my hormones and my moods and my pain, and it's all working! I feel pretty damn awesome!

Step 11: Acquire better sense of self-worth. Still improving daily! I even legitimately think I'm pretty. And nice. And intelligent. And worth something.

I KNOW, RIGHT????

Step 12: Learn how to flirt. CLEARLY I'M GETTING BETTER AT THIS. I got a couple almost-dates, remember??? And certainly these people can tell that I like them, so at least I'm getting the message across. Also, I've gotten desperate enough (see #7) that I can't afford to be so shy anymore. I think that's seriously helping. And Internet...I underestimated you. You're awesome.

Step 13: Get out of the house more frequently. Have fun. Totally doing this. Like, regularly. And with a wide variety of people.

Step 14: Do things I'm good at, that make me feel awesome. In the past week, I have done the following things that I'm good at and that make me feel awesome:

-My job. Seriously, I'm getting better at it, and I love it. I'm happy when I'm at work.

-Blogging. I'm sorry, but I think I'm hilarious. Oh, I'm not always that organized, or consistent...but damn it, I'm funny. And I entertain myself greatly with this blog.

-Babysitting. Weird one, I know, but hanging out with my friend Joyce and toting her 2-month-old around and playing with her 3-year-old all morning was extremely rewarding for me. I'm good with babies, and they make me happy.

-Match-making. And apparently matches of all kinds...gay, straight, roommates, BFFs...you name it! I'm fucking AWESOME at it.

-Organizing/Putting things together. We're moving, and I put my bed together, and made it, and we're getting furniture in...and it's awesome. The art of organizing nestles perfectly into my OCD. I'm beyond good at it, I'm a little bit insane.

So YAY for getting better at life! I'm sure I'll have something funnier for y'all soon. :) I'm too happy about being stable to care that much, honestly.

How To Flirt With Guys...According To The Internet

2011-09-19T20:56:00.000-07:00

I mentioned recently how I got desperate enough to learn how to flirt that I Googled it. For real. I just went to Google and typed in "How to flirt with guys."

I figured that I should share what I learned. It's only fair. I mean, otherwise I'd have the advantage over the rest of you, and all the men would come flocking to me because of my new power-flirting skills and totally ignore the rest of you.

What the Internet says about flirting:

1. There must be a creepy amount of sustained eye contact.

2. Throw all feminism out the window.

3. Pay attention to your personal appearance (not that appearance is what matters!!!! Except it is).

You should also smell good, dance well, not be too shy, not be too slutty, and master the art of "breaking the touch barrier."

Obviously, I have all of these skills. Which is why you guys are totally screwed unless you follow every rule I've posted here.

Sites I cited (so I don't get yelled at for not giving credit or anything):

Ezine Articles
Relationship Black Book
Squidoo
Buzzle
Flirtzone

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An Update On All The Disorganization

2011-09-19T19:50:00.000-07:00

My life just keeps getting crazier, you guys. It really does. When I find myself swooping down that spiral into depression and/or lameness, I have to return to my list of things to do to snap me out of it. At the last update, I had completed the first 6 steps. Here's where I'm at on the next 5, and also a few more added in.

Step 7: Get laid. Starting to feel a little desperate. Attempts to get laid sucking. Beginning to wonder if my standards are too high. Realizing how desperate that sounds, and insisting to self that I am worth someone I'm at least attracted to, but still secretly wondering because let's be honest, I haven't gotten laid for over a month and I'm starting to go a little bit insane.

Well, maybe if I just close my eyes....

Step 8: Start doing laundry at Mom's house again, and try desperately not to feel lame for doing so. Yeah, I just sucked it up and found some quarters. But hey, at least I have clean, non-scaggy underpants.

Step 10: Save up more energy for blog...and other things that make me happy. Um. Yeah not yet.

Step 11: Acquire better sense of self-worth. Believe it or not, I'm working very hard on this and I think I may have made some progress today. Check out this exercise my doctor made me do:

We've all seen things like this before, you know? I mean they seem SO dumb. But really, this one made me honestly stop and think about what was bothering me, and how my outlook could (and maybe even should) change. Here are the core issues and their positive statements that I came up with:

"I'm not good enough" --> (I want and deserve; am ready, willing, and able; it is good for me and others, etc, for me...)...to believe in myself and my value as I am, and to have others believe in me as well.

"I am misunderstood" --> ...to know who I am and to have others see me for who I am as well.

"I am lost" --> ...to have purpose and goals for myself that are true to who I am and which I can have confidence in.

"I am a burden" --> ...to be able to rely on myself as well as others for the support and care that I need.

"I am vulnerable" --> ...to have confidence, strength, and boundaries, and to let these things show.

It sounds sappy and dumb, and maybe it is...but hell, it seemed to work. And I'm too much of a mess right now to deny something that works.

Step 12: Learn how to flirt. I uh...I don't know how to flirt. Anyone who's been the victim of my red-faced, flustered, shy, rambling, awkward, embarrassing behavior knows what I'm talking about. It's like I fucking FREEZE when forced to interact with someone I'm attracted to. This is all well and good when you're married and don't need these skills, most particularly to complete Step 7. Unfortunately, however, I am now in sudden and dire need of flirting skills. I'm so lame that I actually found myself googling "how to flirt with guys" the other day. *sigh* Aaaaaand let the teasing commence (but if you could throw some advice in there too, I'd totally appreciate it).

Step 13: Get out of the house more frequently. Have fun. I'm trying, I really am. I'm doing my best to keep busy, hang out with friends, meet new people, see new places, try new things. Hell, I even took a puff of my friend's Gandalf-style pipe yesterday. And I had never smoked anything EVER. That's pretty crazy, am I right?? Eh? Ehhhhh???? No, I know. Lame again. *another sigh*

One of these days, guys....one of these days I'll be as awesome as I know I can be. You'll see. I'll be a totally together, energetic, organized, flirting-capable, well-sexed, happy, confident woman.

Stop laughing. I WILL.

Rude People Irritate Me

2011-09-17T15:10:00.000-07:00

I'm a huge klutz. I spill shit all the time, I really do. But I feel terribly for it, attempt to clean it up myself, offer to help if I can't do it myself, and apologize profusely.

But some people are just incredibly rude.

Here's how my conversation with this dill-hole at the hotel just went:

DH (coming out of lobby, coffee in hand and on trousers): Uh, can you get someone with a mop out here?
Me (politely): Oh, is there a spill?
DH: Quite a spill.
Me: Oh sure, I'll be right out!

I come around the desk only to find him totally gone, and coffee fucking EVERYWHERE.

I'm sorry, dude...I'm none of the following:

A) your personal maid.
B) a maid at all, for that matter.
C) paid to serve you.
D) without feelings. I need thanks like any other human being.

DH was a prime example of why old, grumpy people with too much money to spend on hotels and not enough heart to spend on the people who work at them TOTALLY SUCK.

*

The Disorganization That Has Been My Life For The Past Several Weeks...Because It's Pretty Funny (Albeit Morbidly So)

2011-09-14T00:43:00.000-07:00

As most of you know, I've moved recently, and am now living with my best friend Kiana and her husband Eric. They're totally awesome, no joke. Problem is, we're moving into a downstairs apartment next week so we never bothered setting up all my stuff, including my bedroom. So my shit is just STREWN all over the place, and has been for weeks. Our living room is starting to look a little bit like a hoarder's attic.

Check this out:

My kitchen, in a box.

There's this:

My bathroom, in a box.

Aaaaaaand this:

THIS pile of shit alllll belongs in my bedroom.

Pretty lame, yeah? I'm going crazy. Do you know how hard it is to find a pair of socks in that pile of clothing?

Add on top of this the fact that my car is giving me trouble to the point of not even starting, so I've been taking public transit to work (2 buses, 1 train, and an hour and a half of armpits in your face instead of a 15-minute drive...hardly awesomeness). Also add the fact that it costs $3.50 just to run a load of laundry through the wash here, and that it must be in quarters (and seriously, no one has that many quarters) so I'm getting stuck wearing my fat clothes and old scaggy underpants far too regularly. Also add the fact that I am just the tiniest bit emotionally unstable at the moment, so one day I'm an empowered feminist, the next I'm a tough, worldly-wise woman, the next I'm a party girl, and the next I'm a crumpled heap of depression who has to crash on her friend's couch instead of going home because she's so stupidly afraid of being alone.

Thus, the disorganization.

Now here's my plan:

Step 1: Take car to mechanic who owes Dad a favor. Check.

Step 2: Talk to friend who loves me and thinks I'm beautiful. Check.

Step 3: Imbibe alcohol. Check. Aaaaaand a top-off...Second Check.

Step 4: Eat something highly fatty. Macaroni and cheese? That'll do. Check.

Step 5: Watch entertaining tv show. Scrubs it is (thank you, Netflix). Check.

Step 6: Do something productive. Loaded dishwasher! Check.

Step 7: Get laid. Working on it.

Step 8: Start doing laundry at Mom's house again, and try desperately not to feel lame for doing so. Also working on it.

Step 10: Save up more energy for blog...and other things that make me happy. Hopefully I'll start having more energy extremely soon.

Step 11: Acquire better sense of self-worth. Ha. We'll see.

I Was Drunk In Public Yesterday...And Did Not Once Fall Over.

2011-08-29T11:49:00.000-07:00

I've discovered that I am SUCH a lightweight that when I tell people how much I had to drink and then say I was definitely drunk, they tend to laugh at me. So I won't tell you how much I had at my birthday party last night.

But trust me, I was drunk.

I did NOT, however, fall over--quite the feat considering that I'm a dizzy drunk and I was wearing boots with heels on them (not an easy task for me even sober).

I also killed a shit ton of zombies and aliens and even a fucking gigantic spider (the party was at a classic arcade). And me and Cai (you remember Cai, guys...he wrote that awesome poem I put up that one time) TOTALLY DEFEATED this zombie game. It cost us probably 4 or 5 bucks in quarters, but we didn't even care because it was awesome.

I'd draw you some hilarious pictures of me being drunk in heels, or of me screaming as I shot furiously at the massive video game spider coming toward me, but...I'm at work. And I don't have my Paint app on my work computer. I'll see what I can do later though...the spider thing was pretty damn funny, and not just because we had a ton of beer in us.

Being A Real-Live Grown-Up, A Few More Interesting Nicknames, And Being Awesome At Getting Out Of Hangovers

2011-08-24T12:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my 21st birthday.

It was a hell of a lot better than my last few birthdays, most notably my 18th, on which I went to some lame Christian rock concert downtown, got heatstroke, and spent the next few days miserable in bed.

I did have to work, but I love my job, so it really wasn't that big a deal. I spent all morning working front desk, just me, one of the front desk managers, the GM, and the sales/marketing girl. The GM let us get pizza, and I got to pick what kind, which was cool. And the front desk manager, whom we will call Stanley (because I have a feeling he wouldn't like that name and I'm feeling vengeful), teased me all morning.

Mostly for being young, but also some for being short.

This is Stanley:

........

..................

...That's Stanley.

Stanley is about 35, which he seems to think puts him in the league of Gandalf and Dumbledore and Moses or something. He's always like "It's Sam's birthday. She's 19 today! Such a big girl!" and like "Who's going to go walk rooms? Hm? Who's going to be a big girl and go walk rooms?" And he called me fucking Munchkin.

I can't decide if I appreciate all the brotherly (albeit annoying) attention, or if I'm totally irritated. I'm pretty sure I just love Stanley, but it's definitely in an obnoxious-older-brother kind of way.

The funny one was when he was like "I was going to call you my Armenian Princess, but then I realized that sounded creepy." Which it TOTALLY does. I'm pretty sure that total stranger from like Morocco who tried to add me on Facebook called me "Princess." Ewwwwwwwww....

Also, I had a total of probably 5 shots last night (which is a shit ton of alcohol for me, being such a lightweight) and while I was extremely dizzy ALL night long, I woke up without even the slightest hint of a hangover. Know why? I drank lots of water while I was drinking, a little tip that someone who thinks he's better than me because he's been allowed to drink in public for longer poo-pooed just yesterday.

*Cough* Tom.

Ohhhhhh yeahhhh!!!!!!!! I almost forgot the best part of yesterday. Stanley was playing a game where he makes everyone at the office a different kind of bird, and usually the way those games work is that Stanley always gets the coolest one, but because it was my birthday....I got to be the velociraptor.

Which I wasn't sure was really a bird, but according to Google it can be either a bird OR a dinosaur depending on the definitions you use.

So I totally still win.

Samamph Update

2011-08-20T16:44:00.000-07:00

My little sister Mo is filling in at the b & b I used to work at, and she and I had an awesome conversation about it which I would love to share with you guys. If you guys remember, I wrote a post a while ago about Kiana and Eric and I coming up with Samamph, the superhero with crazy cape-rippling powers. If you don't remember, click here first.

Mo: How you worked at this place, for over a year, day after day, without sleep deprivation problems, and still having a social life is beyond me.

Me: RIGHT?

Mo: My GOD Sammi! You're...like...a fucking superhero! Samamph!

Me: Eeeee! Samamph has cape-rippling powers AND bed and breakfast powers!

Mo: She makes breakfast faster than a speeding bullet! She flips rooms with more strength than a locomotive! She's checking people out of the tallest buildings! She's SAMAMPH!!!

Me: There should absolutely be a comic book on that theme.

Mo: With Samamph wearing underwear over totally normal clothes...Lol and a spatula. :)

Me: Hahahahaha

My little sister is pretty damn hilarious. Also, validating. And awesome.

Achieving Goals, And Other Things High School Told Me I Should Probably Get Around To

2011-08-19T17:22:00.000-07:00

Hey guys.....I reached a goal today. :) It's kinda awesome. Wanta see?

And they really honestly weren't all from random websites that are totally unconnected to mine and which I have NO idea why they send me viewers.

(Seriously? Teeth whitening? Wtf?)

And it's alllllll because of you guys. Because you're awesome.

Also because of me a little. I should probably take at least a small amount of the awesomeness credit. I think self-actualization and a healthy self-esteem were some of the things I was supposed to get to after high school too. That and graduating college, but fuck THAT. That takes WAY too much homework and ramen.

Heeeeeeeyyyyyy.....So How Are You Guys......

2011-08-15T15:30:00.000-07:00

I am pathologically afraid of asking for things.

It's awesome when you're a kid and your parents never yell at you for bugging them to buy you toys and soda and pants and underwear and other unnecessary things like that. But it's kind of a problem when you're a grown-up and may or may not rely heavily on having blog followers to feel awesome and/or successful.

So I'm sucking it up and asking super nicely for a few things from you guys. In payment for your awesomeness, I will totally give you some legitimate blogs these next couple weeks. Like with all those epic, terribly-drawn little MS Paint pictures you love so much, and paragraphs, and possibly even some semblance of structure. How does that sound?

Here are a few of the things you can do, if you haven't already:

1. If you read my blog but haven't officially followed me, you can do so very easily with a google account. That would make me feel awesome about myself.

2. You can TOTALLY share links on Facebook (and Digg, and Twitter, and Google, and all those other awesome social networking places). Although, those of you who are FB friends with your grandma may want to avoid this one, unless she's an awesome grandma who is okay with the f-word and likes that's-what-she-said jokes. If this is the case, I totally want to meet your grandma.

3. If you know of places to list your website (like Digg, and 20sb, and Technorati), I could definitely use some suggestions.

4. Tell your friends!

5. You could even put up flyers, with one of my awesomest pictures in the middle. Maybe something like this:

6. You could throw it into conversations when appropriate. Like at funerals, or in wedding toasts. Or love letters. "My darling, I will love you until the sun no longer shines; until the tide no longer rises and falls; until Samantha at samantha-jillofalltrades.blogspot.com is no longer epically hilarious." It's perfect.

7. If you have post ideas or suggestions, or would like to guest post, email me at samanthapaigecox@gmail.com.

8. Most importantly, keep being awesome. You guys really are amazing, and it means a lot to me that you care about all the stupid things I have to say.

Yay! Aren't you proud of me? I asked for EIGHT WHOLE THINGS, and only two of them were jokes! I'll let you figure out which two I'm not totally dead serious about. (Hint: I legitimately hope someone will both put up my chicken flyers and write my blog into a eulogy. So guess again.)

This Kid Is Staring At Me...With Cream Cheese ALL Over His Face.

2011-08-15T12:03:00.000-07:00

I am at a bagel shop downtown, waiting for 1 pm which is when I go to the doctor to have him stab me with needles repeatedly and wonder why the hell I am letting him doing this, and then I remember it's because I'm in pain and it's actually worth getting stabbed just for the teensy tiny chance it could legitimately help.

*Sigh*

Anyway, so I'm at this bagel shop and I'm sitting by both a woman with two very messy little boys, and also this group of women who are clearly in a job-orientation meeting, and this OBNOXIOUS woman is going through the list of rules and shit with these two girls. She talks about a mile a minute and says "like" every other word and uses that teenager-who-thinks-she's-cute-because-she-says-"UM"-and-"LIKE"-all-dramatically-and-emphasized voice. She also uses a bunch of buzz-words and corporate lingo, as if she's like some high-class business woman...and I'm pretty sure she's just hiring them to sell makeup. Plus she's like my age. And she's sitting on one leg and wearing a slinky black mini-dress and has a little stud in her nose. I'm thinking she's been working in retail since her sophomore year of high school, got promoted, and then got stuck. And now she feels the need to act all buzzy and fakely excited and throw out all her little I'm-at-corporate-level words to make herself look like a career-woman and not like a glorified teenager. And these two girls keep gasping and acting all shocked ("People do that???") when she says things like "and like don't steal from the company, UM, I mean it's sad but people have done it..."

Gross. Maybe I'm just way too honest, but the fakeness of this whole conversation makes me want to throw up. In fact, I'm so irritated that I really didn't even make this very funny.

Sorry guys.

I'll try to make it up to you. Here, I found something:

Better?

My Favorite Joke. I'm Pretty Sure This One's My Favorite.

2011-08-13T12:31:00.000-07:00

Three ducks are on trial.

The first duck comes before the judge and the judge asks "What's your name and why are you here?"

The first duck says "My name is Quack, and I'm here for blowing bubbles in the park."

The judge says "Psh. That's not a crime! You're free to go. Next!"

The second duck comes before the judge and the judge asks "What's your name and why are you here?"

The second duck says "My name is Quack-Quack, and I'm here for blowing bubbles in the park."

The judge says "Seriously? This isn't a crime, you're free to go! Next!"

The third duck comes before the judge, and the judge, exasperated, says "Let me guess--your name is Quack-Quack-Quack, and you're here for blowing bubbles in the park?"

And the third duck says "No...my name is Bubbles."

...

.....

............do you get it???

I Always Recommend Brushing Your Teeth Before Bed. Speaking Of Things I Always Recommend...

2011-08-13T12:03:00.000-07:00

So I'm on my lunch break at my new job right now. I love my new job. Have I mentioned this yet? It's fucking awesome.

I think the best part about my new job is that we get to say things like "fuck" and tell that's-what-she-said jokes in the back room.

Also, it's fulfilling and a great opportunity and the work is the right balance of challenging and simple and stuff like that.

Really though, it's all about the dirty jokes.

For example, the other day a lady came up to me and asked for some help with streetcar directions. So I grabbed a map and showed her where to get on the train and where all the good restaurants were, and I recommended to her that if she'd like to see the Pearl district, she should--*giggle*--get off on Johnson.

My coworker (whom we will call Tom) could barely keep a straight face, and when the lady left and I looked at him like "what?" he was all "Do you always recommend getting off on Johnson?"

Insert furious blushing __here__.

He then told everyone else in the office, and they laughed at me for days.

It's an awesome story.

Drunk Talk Minus Alcohol Equals Really Dumb Nicknames

2011-08-06T19:13:00.000-07:00

So recently I stayed the night at my bff Kiana's house, and she and her hubby and I all stayed up till like 4:30 in the morning giggling and talking about random shit that basically amounted to drunk talk, except without the excuse of alcohol being involved.

It was highly entertaining, and I feel that there are parts of this that ought to be shared.

The most important part is that I have a new nickname.

Kiana was very, very tired and had begun slurring her words (again, we might as well have been drunk), and when making an attempt to address me, "Samantha" came out "Samamph."

This is my new nickname. Samamph. Suh-MAMF.

Oh wait...it gets better.

Samamph is apparently my alter ego, who is a superhero, and wears a cape and everything. Her superpower is that her cape is always blowing in the wind--get this--even if there's no wind.

Also, "Because Samamph said so" is officially an appropriate answer to any "why" question in the universe, with the exception of "Why is Kanye West such a douchebag?" for which Samamph takes absolutely no responsibility. Samamph has completely washed her hands of Kanye.

Anyone but Samamph herself can say "Because Samamph said so." If Samamph says it, she'll probably burst into flames or be smote (smited?) by a lightning bolt, or something like that. I'm really not sure...but I don't plan on finding out.

The only proof that this wasn't drunk talk was that we actually remembered it in the morning, and it stuck. Kiana and her hubby both call me Samamph now, and so does Kiana's mom (no, I really don't know why).

Is Samantha Becoming A Nerd On Top Of Being Awkward And Clumsy?

2011-08-05T21:45:00.000-07:00

So I'm a little worried, you guys. It's entirely possible that hanging out with nerds all these years is starting to really affect me. You see, I have a low amount of self-esteem and nerds generally have a low amount of female interaction, so I tend to feel better about myself when I make friends with people of the nerd variety. Which doesn't actually explain my gorgeous but nerdy female best friend. But whatever.

You see, though, the beauty of this situation was that I was pretty, reasonably stylish and reasonably cool--especially in comparison to all the nerds. So if I become one of them, it is no longer an ideal situation. Other than, you know, having friends with shared interests and all that bullshit.

Here are the nerdy things I've found myself doing recently:

1. I am reading The Lord of the Rings (and calling it LOTR, which is even worse), and I'm starting to remember why I had started to get SO into it as a kid. (I may or may not have written a poem in Elvish, made an Elvish gown and headdress, and been a hobbit for Halloween when I was 14.)

2. I watched all of Firefly, including the movie. And now I want to be as badass as Zoe, as beautiful and elegant as Inara, and as sweet as Kaylee all at once. I might also know all of the actors' names and have looked up every movie or show they were ever in.

3. I proceeded, after Firefly, to obsess over Joss Whedon's incredible genius and even tried AGAIN to watch Buffy, just because of that.

4. I rewatched Star Wars because I realized I wasn't catching quite all of the obscure references my friends and coworkers were tossing around.

5. I learned what MMORPG means.

6. I purchased a Batman t-shirt. And one with ninjas on it. And they're two of my favorite shirts EVER.

...so you see, I've begun the descent into nerd-dom. Someone should probably stop me, or I'll start to not be the cute girl who hangs out with nerds and instead become...one of the nerds.

Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

P.S. Someone just shoot me if I start watching Battlestar Galactica. Just...please.

So...

2011-07-30T19:21:00.000-07:00

So, is it obvious that I'm feeling both cynical and depressed right now?

Those are just doodles. I realized they were kinda morbid.

Have a laugh at my expense?

The Half Pint

2011-07-30T13:22:00.000-07:00

This was my chocolate milk this morning at work (we like the chocolate milk around here).

Okay, recalling fifth grade, I'm pretty sure there are 2 cups in a pint, right? So.......is it just me, or is "half pint" a really confusing way to write "1 cup"??

Is it just required that milk be measured in pints, so that it sounds all cute and old-timey and you picture a pleasant man in a milk truck delivering your milk to you in little glass bottles?

Does it make it sound like more?

Or (and I think this is the most likely) is it a hidden-camera episode of "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth-Grader?"

If so, I totally win. Just sayin'.

Samantha Self-Hates For A While And Begs For Forgiveness

2011-07-29T20:17:00.000-07:00

I am a horrible person. I really don't even have that much of an excuse for not writing lately. I mean, I switched jobs, so I can't blog literally at work anymore, but....really, I'm just easily distracted. And that I was.

I hereby offer my sincerest apologies. I will attempt to be better about posts. It will help if sometime eventually I could get internet at home. Then I can go back to writing posts in my ratty pajamas in bed while eating junk food, and not have to deal with things like brushing my teeth and putting on normal-people clothes and going in public just to write posts.

Love you all!

*Update* Don't panic you guys...my face isn't really green. That was totally an accident in the painting process...disregard that in the picture above. You can all relax, I'm perfectly healthy. CALM THE HELL DOWN, PEOPLE.

I Don't Deserve Shorts, Apparently.

2011-06-15T16:42:00.000-07:00

Fuck the mall. Fuck the fashion industry. Fuck America, and fuck summer.

I might have thighs, but damn it, they're sexy. And I'm actually in pretty decent shape. I'm small and cute, and have good taste--shouldn't it be easy for me to find clothes?

I'm finding it difficult not to ramble, because I'm furious. I'm furious that I woke up this morning feeling beautiful and sexy, but now feel like a cow. I'm furious that I tried on 20 different pairs of shorts in two different department stores and didn't find one thing that came even close to flattering my body. I'm furious that this happened to me, who is far below average size, and therefore it must be happening to the majority of other women as well.

This is the kind of bullshit that makes me want to learn how to sew, so I can make my own fucking clothes. And who the hell decided that size 0-4 with skinny legs and a tiny little butt was normal? That body type is darling, of course, but it's only one body type. And frankly, not a very common one.

I shouldn't feel like shit for not being that body type, and neither should anyone else. I deserve clothes too. I'm sorry for ranting--I'm bitter about this, and being furious is what helps the hurt. So fuck the mall. I'll wear skirts all summer, or learn to make my own shorts. I refuse to put myself through this anymore. I'd like to go to bed feeling the same way about my body as I did waking up.

IT'S COMICS DAY!!!!!!

2011-06-08T12:08:00.000-07:00

And that means you, my readers, have to get involved!!!!

I will share a few of my favorites, and give you one of my own, and then you post in the comments with some links to your favorites, or if you have your own to submit, email them to me and they might make it into the blog!!!

:D

Here are links to some of my favorites:

Cyanide & Happiness

White Ninja

Hyperbole & A Half (anything at all by Allie Brosh, actually)

And here is an original. It's not very good. But humor me, and pretend to laugh, okay?

Yes, I'm Writing One Of Those Grammar Nazi Posts. So Sue Me.

2011-06-05T13:16:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to rant about semicolons, or apostrophes, or the proper use of their/they're/there. Frankly, I'm too exhausted.

It's one thing to not know how to properly use all the fancy bells and whistles of English. Seriously, I only know like 3 people who know how to use who/whom. And, some people have legitimate issues with spelling--those with dyslexia in particular. But come on, people. We can't even get our own slang right?

Slang words people get wrong:

1. Y'all.

It's "y'all," short for "you all." It was made up by some dude in the South who was like "Dang nab it, them Mexicans have a word for all of you, and all we got is 'you.' That don't clarify the point at all. We oughter come up with our own slang fer that'n. How 'bout 'y'all?' " And thus it was born.

You dishonor that man's memory every time you write "ya'll." His ghost will eat you if you ever do it again.

2. Awesome.

It's "awesome." Not "awsome," "awsom" or "awsum." Because you are full of awe. There's an e in there, you guys. There is.

3. Hot.

When one describes another person as attractive in this day and age, the common term seems to be, almost exclusively, "hot." Which, if you'll recognize it, is also a word that means "very warm, such as Arizona in August" or "very spicy, such as this chili pepper I am eating" or sometimes even "very much freshly stolen, such as that TV I just sold you." And it is spelled h-o-t. Very simple. I have NO IDEA who decided to add the extra t to make it "hott," but it sounds like those girls on Facebook who add extra letters to the end of everythinggg. Seriously guys. Like for real. Please don't do ittt.

4. Escape, Especially, etc.

This one is more misspoken than misspelled, but I can't tell you how often I've heard "Ex-cape" and "Ex-pecially." THESE ARE INCORRECT. There is no x. Not one.

5. A lot.

It's two words, you guys. A lot. Just...please.

Please.

*

Stephen Paulson AGAIN. NOT EVEN KIDDING.

2011-05-31T16:36:00.000-07:00

My friend and I were at Fred Meyer in that town in which I last saw Steven Paulson, the one where he was wearing the black trench coat and shades, and we were coasting through the parking lot, when I yelled out, "Oh my god, is that...that's STEVEN FUCKING PAULSON. Look! It is!"

And she gasps and goes "Oh my god it IS!!! I could never forget that face!"

She was in that class I had with him in high school as well. We had banded together in an attempt to block out his creepiness. There could have been no one better with me at that very moment.

And there's more.

He was with his whole fucking family.

Yup. There was him, and fatter him (his brother) and a person I can only assume was his mother.

I'm being stalked by the whole Paulson family.

And, I see this as further proof that he has, in fact, moved closer to me. *sigh* I will never escape. I'm not even surprised anymore.

*

It Is Time For That Rant I Promised You.

2011-05-31T16:16:00.000-07:00

My job sucks monkey balls.

My job sucks monkey balls so hard, I’m concerned about the monkey’s health and well-being. His balls might actually fall off.

Here is why.

-There are five front desk agents, three housekeepers, and one sometimes-there, sometimes-not, when-the-fuck-is-he-going-to-be-here-because-all-the-toilets-aren’t-flushing maintenance guy.
-There is no manager of any kind, and the owner refuses to hire one.
-Each front desk agent only works one at a time.
-The owner lives in Seattle--a 3 1/2 hour commute.
-She has never run a hotel before.
-She barely speaks English.
-She runs two or three other businesses as well as this one.
-She micromanages like a crazy woman, even though she doesn’t know what she’s doing.
-She makes us (me and one other guy especially) do ridiculous chores that are SO not our job…like writing her emails for her.
-She never sleeps, and seems to expect the same from us.
-Because there’s only one of us on at a time, we don’t get breaks. Which is distinctly illegal and also makes me very hungry as I’m unable to go get food--I have low blood sugar and absolutely have to snack. No dizzy attacks yet, but just wait.
-On that note, we don’t even really get bathroom breaks. One time I was totally peeing when she called, so the phone rang like 25 times before I could get to it, and I said “Oh sorry, I was in the bathroom.” And you know what her response was? “Oh it’s okay, you can bring the handset into the bathroom with you.” Uh…not gonna answer the phone with my pants around my ankles. Sorry, I just refuse.
-She’s ordering uniforms for us…horrible polyester VEST things. Ew. I’m happy sticking with my very professional business-like attire, thank you…and I think it looks better anyway.
-There is HORRIBLE communication because despite all our attempts to make it work--leaving a communication book, and having each other’s phone numbers, and trying to communicate with the owner as well--we desperately need a manager. And the fact that the owner can’t speak English well doesn’t help in the slightest.
-She is trying to learn the system, so she keeps scheduling herself for weekend shifts…and then FUCKING EVERYTHING UP BEYOND ALL REASON. Worse, she schedules me for the shift after her, without fail, to clean up her messes. Messes like not running night audit until 4 pm the next day. Yeah, she did that.
-Due to the lack of a manager, and the lack of any sort of organization at all, there was no one to train me (or Josh, who works there part time too) properly. Both of us basically had to make it through the two (yes, two) computer system changes we’ve had in the last MONTH on our own. Kind of a nightmare.
-She really likes me for some reason. I think because I a) have hotel management experience and b) I’m still too fresh to snap at her quite as much as the other front desk agents. Everyone is totally fed up--I think I’m the only one who doesn’t really show it. Liking me would be awesome, except that it just gives me all the hard shit to do and all the responsibility.
-And you know what I get paid for this abusive pile of shit of a job? Minimum wage. That’s right, folks. Eight fucking fifty an hour. I’ve been looking around, and front desk ANYWHERE makes more than that. I think the only other front desk people who even start out at minimum wage are the Motel 6 guys. And we all know that Motel 6 is the hotel equivalent of that kid who plays Magic at lunch every day and never washes.

And that is why I am quitting. Just as soon as I can POSSIBLY make it work. I think I might go back to house-cleaning, so seriously guys, if you know anyone who needs it…I would KILL for a reference. And I wouldn’t even put them on my blog if they were annoying, I swear. Which they probably wouldn’t be if they were friends with YOU guys, because you guys are so sweet and beautiful and lovely. :D

Yeah, I’m sucking up. I admit it. Wouldn’t you be desperate too???

I also tutor and teach beginning flute lessons. Just sayin’.

*

Stripping Bear

2011-05-29T22:02:00.000-07:00

Because everyone needs to see a bear in tasseled pasties at least once in their lives.

Yay! I Kinda Have Someone Else To Blame This Time! Kinda!

2011-05-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

My friend James and I were having an argument.

He was telling me about his super-creepy people-finding abilities. It was one of those brotherly moments in which I refused to give him the last name of a jerk ex-boyfriend because I was concerned about the likelihood he would find the guy and beat him to a pulp. He told me that, taking only this guy's (very common) first name, he could find him and his address in a couple days at the most.

I was thinking "Psh, I spent years looking for my father on the internet, I know how this whole thing works. I've got tricks up my sleeve--I know how long it would take to find a person. And he's not on Facebook. There's no way." So, I challenged James. I told him he had two days, and if he found the guy, I would write him a story.

An hour later, he sent me a Google Earth picture of the guy's house.

Yes, I have creepy friends. So...don't stalk me, manipulate me, or lie to me guys. James will find you for me.

Anyway, writing his stupid story has been using up all my creative energy lately. Since it has distracted me from you guys, I thought I would at least share it with you. I'm not looking for any criticism, constructive or otherwise...I'll admit that right now. I'm insecure about my serious fiction (lol not the blog...bash away at the blog, I can take it) and I need support more than anything.

I would just like to note that despite the dedication at the beginning, none of these characters bear any sort of resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead. They are purely fictitious. The dedication is to honor an actual person, not to credit her for a character. :)

*Whew* I'm nervous, you guys...

Vera

***
For Lisa

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings
***

Alex licked his fingers.

Nothing like frosting.

He took a look at his freshly made and decorated batch of chocolate coconut cupcakes, and proudly sprinkled a bit of the leftover coconut on the top of each one. They were beautiful.

There was a knock at the door. Alex started, then looked in horror around his kitchen.

The evidence was everywhere.

In a panic, he began throwing muffin pans in the oven, scooping up all his icing apparatus and shoving it in a cupboard, and carefully transporting his beautiful cupcakes to the fridge. Who the fuck was knocking on his door at 8 pm on a Wednesday? What if they saw him baking?

Rushing to the door and answering it after, at the last second, shoving his apron under the sofa, he discovered two delivery men with a clipboard.

“I’m going to need you to sign here for the couch.”

Shit, that’s right! His new couch was supposed to be delivered today. How could he have forgotten?

He signed the papers and let the men bring in his new couch, heaving a sigh. This was exhausting.

“Hey…what’s this?” one of them asked, picking up a wrinkled yellow object from the floor. Alex turned in horror to see his chocolate-stained apron in the hands of one of the deliverymen, who had apparently been trying to move his old couch out of the way for the new one.

Shit.

Fumbling for an excuse, Alex muttered something about wives and losing things and “she’s a damn good cook though.” The man nodded at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Whatever, man.”

After getting his new couch put in place, Alex closed the door behind the two men, his cheeks a bright shade of pink and his dignity quite shattered.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. God, why did he have to love baking so much? Couldn’t he be a normal man, and be into golf or football or something? No wonder none of the guys at work wanted to hang out with him. Not that any of them would want to anyway. They hated him, because he was the boss, and he was terrible at it.

Oh, not that he didn’t have the experience or the ability. He knew he could do well at his job--he’d graduated Yale with a degree in business management and had run this hotel for 4 years now. It’s just--he hated it. He hated his job, he hated his life, and he hated his coworkers. It showed, so he had a hard time making friends.

He’d thought about leaving, of course, but this was fucking New York City--when you get a job that earns you $90,000 a year, has full benefits, and is only 10 minutes from your apartment, you don’t give it up lightly. Besides, what was the point? Work is work. It all sucks. It’s not like he’d be happier at some other hotel.

It left him exhausted, so he relaxed by baking. What was the big deal, anyway? A man can make a cupcake or a pie now and then, can’t he? Why did he constantly feel the need to hide frosting evidence and make up wives just to cover it up? Something must be wrong with him. Shouldn’t a real man be secure enough to decorate cookies without fearing judgement?

Alex didn’t want to think about it anymore. He turned on the TV and sat down with a cupcake on his new couch. By the weekend, there were already stains on it from 3 different colors of frosting.

***

One Saturday morning, Alex received an incoherent phone call from his mother. He was groggy and not quite awake, and had to rub his eyes and ask her to slow down.

“Mom…what’s going on? Why are you crying? You have to speak more slowly, I can’t understand you.”

“Alex,” she sobbed. “Your grandfather! He just passed. Heart attack…Grandma found him this morning…she’s okay, but I’m so worried about the funeral, and the will, and…everything’s a mess, I don’t know what to do, and Grandma can’t handle all of it, she’s too old…”
“Mom…it’s okay. I’ll come as soon as I can get a flight, okay? Let me call work and get Stan to take charge for a week, and I’ll call you when I have a plan. Okay? Tell Grandma I love her.”

“Thank you so much honey. Call me when you know, and I’ll send Dad to pick you up at the airport. I’m so overwhelmed, I just don’t know what to do!”

“It’s okay Mom, I’ll be there soon, and I’ll help you take care of things. Just calm down; drink some tea or something.”

“Okay, honey. Thank you so much. I love you.”

“I love you too Mom. See you soon.”

He hung up, in a bit of a shock. Grandpa died, huh? He should probably feel a little more upset. Somehow he couldn’t feel much for the old bastard. He never knew him very well for one, and on top of it something had always seemed a little off about him. It was like he didn’t feel anything for anyone, not even Grandma. And who could possibly not love Grandma?

He supposed that made him the right person to deal with the proceedings. Poor Mom sounded like a wreck. He wouldn’t mind seeing the family again anyway, and it would give him an excuse to let Stan, the assistant manager at the hotel, take over for a while and give himself a much-needed break.

He called in to the hotel and spoke to Stan, who it turned out was thrilled for the extra hours, and told him to take all the time he needed. He scheduled a week off, with a tentative note that he may need to extend it. He called the airline, then his mother, then packed his bags.

Late Sunday afternoon his plane landed in Connecticut. His dad picked him up in the old beat-up ‘94 sedan that they’d had since he was a kid, and they went straight to Grandma’s house, where Mom met them and they had a very quiet, very somber dinner together. He slept in Grandma’s spare room that night, and he heaved a deep breath right before he closed his eyes. His body found peace in his soul’s moment of freedom.

***

The funeral went about as well as one could expect a funeral to go. Alex organized the whole thing, and even baked the treats for the wake, although he made his Grandma promise to tell everyone it was her handiwork. He didn’t want even his parents to know--he only trusted Grandma with that information. She was the one who had taught him how in the first place, and she never judged him. Not even when he confessed that his greatest talent was for fondant roses.

After the service, Grandma sidled up to him, her head barely reaching his shoulder, and whispered, “Alex, dear. Could you do me a favor tomorrow? I want to go through your grandfather’s things in the attic, and all those boxes are so heavy. Will you help me?” He noticed her eyes were dry and her handkerchief, which she kept in her left hand, was unused.

“Of course Grandma. I’m happy to help with anything you need.”

She patted his arm. “Thank you dear. You’ve been of great help to me. And your mother is so pleased to have you here--I don’t think she’d have made it through planning the funeral alone. She’s devastated, you know. She loved her father very much. Sometimes I think she was the only person in the world that he really…that he really loved.”

Despite the break in her speech, Grandma didn’t seem personally hurt by the thought that her husband had only really loved their daughter. Which surprised him very much, because she seemed to be implying that he had never been in love with his own wife. She was a very fascinating lady--he had never really understood her.

The next morning, Alex got up at 6 am to start work on the attic. Grandma was already awake, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in her tattered blue bathrobe. The window was open and the sun spilled through it onto her wrinkled face, and it struck him suddenly that she was very beautiful. Age had done nothing to detract from her beauty; in fact the wrinkles and the wisdom in her eyes seemed only to add power to it. She smiled at him as he walked into the room.

“Good morning, Alex. Are you ready to get started?”

“Sure Grandma, whenever you want to. Let me grab some coffee and we’ll head up.”

They began in one corner and worked their way across the room, one box at a time. They went through knick-knacks, rifles, Grandpa’s old uniform from the war, box after box of clothes, and old tax documents and bank statements. Halfway through the morning they had made it through about two thirds of the attic, putting most things in a stack of boxes to donate to the Salvation Army, and putting the rest away neatly in the corner. Alex was going through a box of letters when he uncovered an old photograph of the family that looked like it had been taken in the late 60’s. His mother was only about 18 in the picture, and she was standing in front of the house (back when it was bright blue!) with Grandma, Grandpa, and some man who looked to be in his early twenties. Who could he be? He didn’t look familiar--possibly one of Mom’s old boyfriends? He puzzled over it for a moment.

“Grandma, who is it in this picture?” He brought the photograph over to her, where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by old books that seemed to have been stacked according to genre.

She took the picture from him, squinting at it. “Ah,” she said simply, the word full of something he couldn’t define. “That, my dear, is a tale which is long overdue to be told. Let’s take a break--we’ll have some tea, and I will tell you the story of that man.”

Intrigued, he followed Grandma downstairs to the kitchen, where they sat at the table with a pot of earl grey and leftover cranberry orange scones from the wake. What could she possibly have to tell him about this mysterious man that would require such ceremony?

Grandma took a sip of her tea and cleared her throat.

“As you know, your grandfather was in the war. When he came home, we didn’t wait to have children--I was pregnant within a few months. Our first child was a beautiful, beautiful boy. We called him Joseph.

Your mother didn’t arrive until a few years later. She and Joseph got along splendidly--they played together, they ate together; even their naps were perfectly synced. They used to sit with her tiny tea set and her dolls and they would both dress up in her little bonnets and ribbons. It was darling to see them together like that.

But your grandfather was a very religious man, and he thought that Joseph playing girl games with his sister meant he was on the path to homosexuality and, therefore, extreme sin. He tried very hard to get Joseph to play baseball at school, but Joseph never wanted to. He was much more interested in the school’s drama program, and he was in nearly every play and musical they put on. He had the voice of an angel, and could play any role and dress any part. He was spectacular. Your mother and I saw every last play he was in, but your grandfather refused to go. He was ashamed of Joseph, and they fought often. He called him so many names, some of which I don’t wish to repeat to you. Let me just say that the term “nancy” was used regularly in our household. Nothing I said to him made any difference, and he favored your mother strongly. He was always telling Joseph that his sister was the only good child.

Needless to say, Joseph was unhappy living at home, and when the time came for him to go to college he went as far away as he could--to California.

His first year away was very hard on both me and your mother. When he called to say he was coming home for Christmas, we were thrilled and we both worked especially hard that year to make the house beautiful for him and to make him feel loved and welcomed. Your mother missed him desperately, as did I, and when he arrived at the house on Christmas Eve morning we were all giddiness. We even took that family picture that you found in the attic. Your mother and I cooked all day for our Christmas Eve supper, and Joseph kept us company in the kitchen. It was just like old times. Joseph had changed a little though--there was an air of confidence and peace that he hadn’t had when he left, and I noticed it immediately.

The air shifted to the uncomfortable as soon as we all sat down to dinner, however. For some reason everyone became very tense simultaneously, as though we sensed something soon to come. Our fears were proven correct when Joseph told us he had an announcement.

He calmly asked us to please listen to what he had to say and his reasoning before passing judgement. We all closed our mouths and listened--even your grandfather, although I would say that he less closed his mouth and more pinched it shut. Joseph, it seemed, had never felt very comfortable in his own skin, and had decided to make a dramatic change in his life. He felt that he belonged in a woman’s body, and not a man’s, and he had decided to undergo a sex change operation. He said he wanted us to be the first to know, since he loved and respected us, and that he hoped we could support him.

Well, your grandfather didn’t like that one bit. He began to scream at him, calling him the most horrible things, and threw food and plates around in a fit of anger. Your mother and I tried to calm him, but we were frightened at his rage. He threw Joseph out onto the street with his bags--literally in the snow and cold--and told him to get out of his life, and that he never wanted to speak to him again. Your mother ran to her room in tears, and I begged your grandfather to give my son another chance, but he refused, and threatened me with violence if I should ever speak Joseph’s name to him again. He ran around the house in a fury such as I had never seen him in before and never have seen him in since, destroying items that were once Joseph’s, burning photographs, and yelling at the top of his lungs. I managed to save that picture you are holding, Alex, because the film was still in my pocket from that morning, and I secretly took it to the developer many months later. Everything else that reminded Grandpa of Joseph was destroyed or thrown out, and my own son was cut off from me.

As far as I know, your mother has never spoken with Joseph again. He always called me every mother’s day, and pretended he was my brother Jerry if his father answered the phone--so I have managed to have brief and minor contact with him, but that was all I have had. I considered leaving your grandfather many times because of that episode, and I still wonder sometimes if I shouldn’t have. But I think that would have devastated your mother even further, and I couldn’t do it to her.

Your uncle Joseph, whom I should call by his new name now, as a matter of fact--Vera--lives in Paris now and teaches music. I know she is happy, and that she misses me, but that is about all I know of her. I think you would like her, Alex. You’ve always reminded me of her.”

Alex came out of his state of shock to respond to her.

“But…Grandma. Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t Mom tell me? Why didn’t she keep up with him…or rather, her...secretly too?”

“I can’t speak for your mother, Alex, but I think it comes down to this: your mother has never been completely sure that her father wasn’t right all along about Joseph. Not that he was a bad person, necessarily, but that he was wrong for having the operation. I tried to provide another perspective on life for her, but your grandfather drilled his religious beliefs into her quite harshly. She respected him very much and idolized him, and while I think on some level she knew he was wrong to treat her brother that way, it was too difficult for her to believe he could fail in such a deep way.”

“I just can’t believe this, Grandma. I had an uncle all this time and didn’t know about him? How could everyone just forget he ever existed?”

“Not everyone did, darling. Your grandfather certainly did--he felt that Joseph was not only dead to him, he actually erased him from his life entirely. And your mother…well, I think that she prefers to forget that anything happened after things became unhappy. She has a rather selective memory sometimes, bless her heart. But I never forgot. And I kept Vera’s contact information for you--so that you could meet her someday, if you liked.”

Alex opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He stared at his Grandma’s calm, wrinkled face in shock. He had an uncle? His mother never told him? His Grandpa was a heartless bastard? Well…that one didn’t much surprise him, just made him feel better for caring so little about him. But…his uncle was a woman?? That he couldn’t wrap his mind around. He’d met transgender folks before, of course, but they were all prostitutes he passed on the street on the way to his favorite pizza joint at home. He had always assumed they were the only ones who did that kind of shit. The idea intrigued him, while also making him distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps the good kind of uncomfortable--the kind that makes you wonder why.

“Grandma,” he asked, “you said he lives in Paris now? As in Paris, France?”

“Yes, dear. She teaches voice lessons and leads a choral arrangement at a music school there.”

“Right, she’s a she. So…what does she look like now, then? I mean, like the man in this picture but with long hair? Or does she really look like a woman now?”

“One of the greatest regrets in my life, Alex, has been never to lay eyes upon her as Vera. I couldn’t ask her to send a picture, because if your grandfather found it…well, I don’t know what he would have done, but it wouldn’t have been pleasant.”

Alex realized suddenly that she meant he would have hit her. He was glad his Grandpa was dead already, because suddenly he was overwhelmed with a desire to kill him all over again. God, what a morbid, violent thought. He couldn’t help it though…the thought of anyone laying a finger on his darling Grandma was too much for him.

And Vera! Thrown out mercilessly onto the street, in the middle of winter, on Christmas Eve, suddenly without a home or a family. His heart burned, and his soul felt like ice. Anger boiled in him.

“Grandma. I want to meet her.” He said firmly. He didn’t know why he wanted what he wanted, he just knew it more surely than he ever had known anything before. It was almost a need. It screamed at him, his insides stirring deeply.

“Of course, dear. Let me give you her address and phone number. It’s in my handbag, in the wallet, behind the photograph of you and your parents.” He dug around in her purse, pulling out the wallet, and gently removing the small piece of paper tucked behind his family picture.

“Vera England, 42 Le Bois, Paris, France, 06-20-86-12-42,” he read.

“As far as I know, that information hasn’t changed in the past 2 years,” Grandma said, nodding.

“Grandma--I’m going to Paris. I have to meet her.”

“Like I said, darling--I think you’ll like her. You’ve always reminded me of her. You both have a special spark to you that I have never seen in anyone else. She’s learned to nurture her spark--I think you could learn how to from her.”

That left him a little puzzled. Special spark? He had a special spark that he wasn’t nurturing, or something? Sometimes Grandma could be a little too enigmatic.

***

Two days later, Alex was on a trans-atlantic flight from JFK to Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris.

He got to his hotel at 7 p.m., exhausted, and went straight to sleep.

He slept for 15 hours, not waking until 11 am. The morning sun shone through the lace draperies, casting an elegant, complex shadow around the room. He could smell coffee brewing from the breakfast room down the hall, and fresh, fluffy towels awaited him in the beautiful, pink wall-papered bathroom. He showered slowly, savoring the feeling of the hot water on his skin and the smell of the french soap. He dressed slowly, brushed his teeth slowly, and even stood at the window staring out at the city for 20 minutes. His room didn’t even have a view--all he could see was the building next door, some woman doing laundry and if he leaned his head just far enough he could catch a tiny glimpse of the street below, and the people walking past. A woman carrying a loaf of bread reminded him that he was hungry.

He decided it was time to call Vera, and ask her to meet him. He nervously dialed her number, which it turned out was her number at the school, and left a message with her secretary asking her to meet him at a cafe near his hotel that afternoon. Her secretary told him she’d schedule it for Vera’s lunch break, at 1 p.m.

That didn’t leave him much time. It was fifteen past noon already, and he wanted to bring her something. Flowers, perhaps? Surely those would be easy enough to find. He set out to find a place that sold flowers, marvelling at the difference between Paris and New York City. There were more sidewalk tables, markets, and people smiling here. And probably the biggest difference was the color. No one wore color in New York--the whole city was black and grey. But here, oh, here…there were colors everywhere, and tasteful ones too. There was an old, rich elegance about the entire city that looked to have rubbed off on its inhabitants.

Alex ended up buying a small bouquet of tiny pink and white flowers from a street vendor, and made it back to the corner on which the cafe was located right at 1 p.m. He looked around the busy place, trying to find her. Was she here yet? There were so many women here alone.

One woman looked up at him from a table in the corner. She had red hair that poured down over her shoulders, large brown eyes with heavy lashes, lipstick, and small, wise lines in the corners of her mouth. She entirely lacked awkwardness, her manner graceful and elegant. Her eyes were soft, her smile was gentle, and she seemed to somehow fit comfortably in a world that couldn’t possibly manage to live up to her. She was beautiful. He was instantly in awe.

He approached her shyly, silently offering her his measly bouquet. He was speechless; he could do nothing but stare into her eyes. There was so much warmth in them. It was as if he were staring into love itself.

“You must be Alex,” she said, her voice like music. He looked around the cafe, as if to ask, ‘Did anyone else hear that?’ “I’m pleased to meet you. Have a seat, have a croissant, have a cup of tea. We must get to know one another.”

He sat, his mouth stupidly half open. “I’m sorry--” he stuttered, “you’re just so beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

She laughed softly. “It’s sweet of you to say so. You’re a very handsome young man yourself. We must share a beautiful gene.”

“Well Grandma is beautiful,” he offered. “And so is Mom.”

“Yes, your Grandma is beautiful. And your mother is too, although I haven’t seen her since she still had pimples and braces.”

“She’s much more beautiful now, although she is very tired. Her eyes are sad, and she has terrible worry lines. Grandpa’s death didn’t help.”

Vera nodded. “Yes, Mother called to tell me. I hope everyone is okay. I know it must have been hard on you all.”

“It was. At least on Mom. Grandma seems fine, and Dad is more worried about taking care of Mom than anything else. Personally I couldn’t care less. He was a horrible person.” A dark feeling wrinkled Alex’s forehead.

Vera reached out a hand and placed it on his.

“It’s okay to grieve for him, you know. It doesn’t mean that you support his actions, or that you are betraying someone he has hurt. He was your grandfather--try to feel something for him. If not for his sake, then for your mother’s. She loved him deeply, and he loved her too. He can’t have been all bad if he had the capacity to love her so.”

He looked up at her in surprise. “But…after how he treated you…”

“I forgave him long ago for that. He wasn’t capable of understanding. It’s hard to blame him for too long once you’ve made enough mistakes of your own.”

“And the way he treated Grandma! He threatened her!” Alex was confused.

“I can’t say I’ve ever fully forgiven him for how he treated my mother,” Vera said slowly. “But I did realize it was her battle to fight, and that it wasn’t my place to involve myself. I tried to convince her to leave him; I even offered to bring her out here to stay with me, where she could be far away from him. But she always told me that she already lost one child--she refused to lose another. And she was certain that if she left Dad, she would not only be estranging herself from my sister, she would also be hurting and confusing her beyond repair. I never agreed with her, but I always admired her. She is a remarkably unselfish person. We were both lucky to have known her. And I miss her deeply.”

Alex looked at her sadly. “Do you ever regret it?” he asked, gulping. “Breaking away, I mean…taking such a risk.”

“Regret? Never. Doubt…every day. Perhaps if I had remained miserable, I’d still have a relationship with my mother and my sister. But what kind of relationships could I have, with anyone, if I wasn’t whole? And I wasn’t whole. I wasn’t myself. I was uncomfortable in my very skin, Alex--it was as if I were living someone else’s life. So I took a risk, and lost much, in order to live my own, and I have never regretted it. I have so many beautiful, deep, wonderful relationships now, and I know who I am, and I have the chance to love so deeply now that I can focus my attention on others and not on my own issues.

You see, Alex, there is no greater beauty in life than simply to love, and to love as deeply and as fully as you can. And that includes loving yourself. And if you live in misery because you are afraid to risk your feelings or even someone else’s, you aren’t really loving anyone--you’re actually limiting your own capacity to love. Make yourself whole; make yourself happy--then what follows is purity of heart and deep compassion for the world.

Because you are whole, you can help others to be whole. I have found no deeper joy than to share my passion for life with my students through music. I know no healing greater than that achieved by simply singing your heart out. And discovering the passions of others has itself become a passion for me. I can share with you no deeper truth than these, my dear.” She smiled at him.

“You’re the most amazing person I have ever known. How did you discover all this? Where did you uncover such wisdom?”

“When we are forced to change, Alex, we are also forced to delve deep into our souls for understanding. There is truth in there that I believe most can find if they simply search deeply enough.”

Alex bit into a croissant, more for something to do than because he remembered that he was hungry.

“Wow. Grandma said you had a special spark--I didn’t know what she meant until just now. Good lord, this croissant is unbelievable. This is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted!” He exclaimed suddenly.

She smiled. “Welcome to Paris, my dear.”

He gaped at her. “Is all food like this here?”

“Well…we have our nasty things too. In many restaurants here you can order steak tartare cheval, which is raw horsemeat. That wasn’t a pleasant accident to make. But yes, French cuisine is of course famous worldwide, and aspiring chefs come from everywhere imaginable to attend our cooking schools.”

“I suppose I knew that…I just didn’t realize why. And this is only a croissant. What must it be like to eat--oh my god--cupcakes, here?”

Vera cocked her head at him with a knowing smile. “You like to bake, don’t you.”

He blushed. “Well, I mean, Grandma taught me when I was young, so sometimes if I have to I’ll make cookies or something…” he trailed off. Her smile was getting bigger.

“I’ve stumbled upon a passion, haven’t I?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say a passion. It’s really just something I do in my spare time. It helps me relax, is all.” He was suddenly very defensive.

“Are you ashamed of it, Alex?” She asked gently.

“I…suppose I am a little, yes.” He replied, bewildered.

“Why?”

“I guess…I guess I’m afraid of being judged for it. People would call me names; I’d be ridiculed. No one would think I was very manly.” He blushed suddenly. “Oh…not that…I mean…” Shit. He had to have said the wrong thing. She was going to be pissed.

She smiled. “Alex. It’s okay. If anyone understands, it’s me.”

He sighed, his tension slipping off of him. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It is. Now I just have to ask you--have you considered that hiding who you are so they won’t think you’re gay is harmful not only to you, but also to everyone around you? If you lead by example, don’t you think that even the people insulting you will start to wonder, just a little, if maybe it isn’t normal for men to enjoy cooking? And the more people like you who are open about your so-called oddities, the more that wonder will turn to a real thought, and soon an opinion. And all the little boys who ever see you or hear about you will realize that if they, too, love to cook--perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.”

“I never thought of it that way. You’re right, of course.” His eyes started to well up. “Vera, my life is in a shambles.”

She looked into his eyes with genuine concern. “Is there something you can do about that?”

“There has to be. But I keep coming back to the same roadblocks and can’t think of what I could possibly change. I wonder…” he paused.

“I see an idea forming. What are you thinking?”

“Well,” he hesitated. “Well, it’s a little far-fetched. But what I’d love to do is go to cooking school, and become a professional chef, and then open my own bakery. And--I just realized this, and it surprises me--I don’t want to live in New York anymore. I thought it was the place to be, and where all the action and the living was going on, but I think I was wrong. There’s a lot of moving there, but not very much living, and certainly not very much loving. I might move back to Connecticut and take care of Grandma.”

“I know the dean at the culinary school down the street from where I work. You could train with the best cooks in the world.”

Alex looked at her suspiciously. “Are you real?”

She laughed, this time heartily. Even her guffaws sounded like music.

“Oh Alex, of course I’m real. And I’d be happy to talk to him for you. I could probably get you an interview while you’re in town. You could stay in my spare room while you’re studying--I’d love the company, I have had only a cat for a companion for several years now. And I’d love to have family again.”

“Vera--you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known.”

“Then, darling, you have a lot more people to meet.”

They hugged before they parted ways, and Alex felt the same love he felt from his Grandma. They were kindred souls, he thought.

***

Dear Grandma,

My first few months at culinary school have been incredibly difficult. Chef Fournier is very strict, but he has the driest, most hilarious sense of humor. He will be talking about how to beat eggs properly, and then slip in some dry, witty joke, and I’ll be the only one who catches it and laugh aloud, embarrassing myself in front of the whole class. It’s okay though, because I think he likes me. And I’ve learned so much already! Including some French words! Bon jour!

How’s Mom? Give her and Dad my love, and tell them I’ll be visiting for Christmas. I’ve enclosed a photo of Vera and I at our favorite cafe. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I think I’ve convinced her to come home with me this Christmas--keep your fingers crossed!

I’m missing you very much! I miss Connecticut too. But Grandma, you know something crazy? I don’t miss New York at all, or my old job, or my old apartment. Not a bit. It’s like that part of my life didn’t really happen, because I wasn’t really living. Every singly day is a new adventure for me now--an opportunity to learn something new or to experience some new beauty or to do something nice for somebody! I’ve made a habit of bringing cupcakes to Vera’s students. They love them. Especially my chocolate coconut ones.

Write back!

All my love,
Alex

***

Ils vécurent heureux et eurent beaucoup d'enfants.
(And they lived happily ever after).

La fin

Oh my god you guys, I'm SOOOOOO sorry...

2011-05-18T15:57:00.000-07:00

I will write soon, I swear.

And I will have a TOTALLY FREAKING PSYCHO JOB TO RANT ABOUT.

A job which I am leaving soon.

More later.

P.S. I kinda have an excuse for not writing, since I don't have internet at home. Just saying.

Stephen Paulson. AGAIN.

2011-05-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

Yes, friends...I saw him again. The oh-so-creepy Stephen Paulson, whom I had thought was gone from my life forever.

I hadn't seen him in quite a while--perhaps a year and a half? And then Josh, my dad and I were all wandering around trying to find a place to eat last night, and we saw him. Just sauntering along on the sidewalk.

IN AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT TOWN THAN THE ONE WE GREW UP IN. One that happens to be closer to the town I now live in. Yes...I moved 20 minutes away, so he moved 15 minutes away. 5 from me. WHAT THE FUCK.

He was, of course, being creepy. Wearing a long black trench coat and sunglasses at dusk, cheeks as pink and frightening as ever.

My depiction:

I've begun to wonder what the universe has against me. I didn't beat up that many kids and steal their lunch money in grade school.

B Shift, In Pictures

2011-04-28T22:41:00.000-07:00

B Shift: 3-11 pm.

By: Samantha Cox
04/29/11 10:20 pm

As you can tell, my physical drawings are even worse than my Paintbrush drawings.

But then...I'm tired. It's nearly 11 pm. I want to go home.

I just...fucking...want...to go...home.

Ugh.

*

Mopping, A Thing Which Guests Might Notice Is Done At Strange Times

2011-04-23T12:41:00.000-07:00

As my first week here at this new hotel is coming to a close, I've noticed a few things.

If you were a guest staying here for, say, a week, there are some things you'd begin to notice are done at strange times. Eventually you might get to the point where you decided to ask what the schedule was for this sort of thing.

For example--mopping the lobby. You might notice that it appears to be done only in the morning, and strangely enough, only when a certain girl with really cute shoes happens to be working. What can the correlation be, you ask yourself?

The answer to which is this: I am the only one who mops.

The real tragedy of this is that I have always been the Only One Who Mops, at every job I've ever been at (including on the chore list when I lived at home). I am sincerely afraid that I may be doomed to be the Only One Who Mops for the rest of my life.

A further tragic facet of this situation is that I am horribly clumsy, and should probably be the Only One Who Smiles At Guests or the Only One Who Answers The Phone, or something that doesn't require much hand-eye coordination. As proof of this, I offer up this embarrassing anecdote:

The other day I was filling up the mop bucket.

The phone rang. So I ran to the front desk to answer it, the laundry room door closing behind me. I was on the phone for at least five minutes, probably more like ten.

Yup. You guessed it.

It took me 45 minutes of sweeping the water toward the lowly little drain to get the stupid mess cleaned up. And keep in mind, the drain was like this:

That is why I should not be the Only Person Who Mops.

I think that's sufficient reason.

*

Viruses: The Creepiest Shit In The Whole World

2011-04-21T17:46:00.000-07:00

And not just because they kill people.

Have you seen a picture of one before?

They're fucking CREEPY. They're like little spiders. With really tall, bulbous heads.

And on top of that, they're kinda like robots/zombies. In that they're not technically alive, but still somehow have the will and the means to search and destroy.

What is the point of their existence? For that matter, what's responsible for their existence in the first place? Scientists aren't entirely sure, according to Wikipedia.

They are made up of genetic material wrapped in protein. Sometimes they'll have a protective outer layer of lipid material as well. And somehow this thing can move around, attach itself to our cells, and from there reproduce and carry out its evil plot to kill you, one cell at a time.

WTF.

WHY ARE WE NOT MORE FREAKED OUT ABOUT THIS?

Forget zombies. Forget ghosts. Forget aliens. Let's talk about these freaky, freaky little pieces of information floating around and killing people.

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Katy Perry's New Song And Why I Love It--Not That I Need To Explain Myself

2011-04-19T07:21:00.000-07:00

In case any of you haven't seen it, here is the video:

E.T. by Katy Perry

NOW. Why it is amazing:

-Serious points go to Katy Perry for originality. You may disagree, and that is your prerogative...but I've never heard a song about having sex with an alien before, and I doubt you have either.

-It's totally creepy. And confusing. And somehow that makes it good.

-Kanye West, while normally a complete and utter douchebag, doesn't actually suck too badly in it.

-The beat is amazing. Undeniable.

-The video is totally cool.

-It gets stuck in your head, but not to the point where you want to kill yourself over it. Unlike some. (*cough* anything by Ke$ha *cough*)

-Anyone who can take a song about SEX WITH A FUCKING ALIEN and still make it sound sexy and somehow not even that geeky deserves a medal. Fact.

The only thing that could possibly make it better is if (spoiler alert!) she didn't suddenly turn into a fawn at the end of the video. Seriously, Katy? A fawn? What made you think that would be cool?

I've always gone back and forth about Katy Perry--I can't decide whether I love her or hate her--but this time I think she's done it. I think I officially love her forever.

It has been spoken.

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What You Guys Searched For, But Still Only Ended Up With Little Old Me

2011-04-18T12:15:00.000-07:00

Men and The Crap They Hang Onto

2011-04-16T12:49:00.000-07:00

I will be the first to admit that I have TONS of shit I probably don't need. I have shit for my kitchen, shit for my bedroom, shit for my bathroom, shit for my hair, shit for my face, shit for some unknown future child, and even shit that I own just because I think it's pretty. But MY GOD people...NONE of my stuff is tacky.

And the same cannot be said for my husband. Or my dad. Or any other man I know.

As you guys know, I'm in the process of moving. Evidence:

That's my gigantic pile of crap, otherwise known as my living room.

You see, as I've been packing and unpacking all of our stuff, I've noticed some really, really hideous things that Josh has kept around, for reasons entirely unbeknownst to me.

Like the bird shelf.

I think THAT speaks for itself.

There was also this really awful holographic picture of Jesus knocking on a door. It used to hang all shiny and cheesy on the wall over Josh's bed when we started dating. Jesus stared down at us as we made out.

I finally got Josh to get rid of that one, thank God. Awwwwwkard...

Why do men keep this crap and think it's so awesome? I really honestly don't know. It makes no sense to me. I don't mind at all if he has stuff, even if I don't particularly like it...but why it all has to be cheap and crappy and just completely horrifically hideous???

I have NO idea.

I'm afraid the world may never know.

I Actually Have Kind Of A Good Reason For Not Writing Lately...Kind Of.

2011-04-12T08:21:00.000-07:00

Hey guys!

I'm sooooooo sorry it's been so long. You see--I'm moving! And also moving to a new job. Which I'm sure will be chock-full of new blog posts.

But I haven't had a second to write, even though I've felt SO guilty, because this is what things have been looking like for me:

April 3rd--spend evening applying for jobs. Get call back on one of them same night. Have interview set up for very, very early the next morning.

April 4th--drive half an hour to my job interview. All goes well. Pretty damn sure I got the job. Go to breakfast at Shari's to kill time until all the normal people in the world get up, during which time I give my boss my resignation, 2 weeks' notice, and promise him to work really hard to find him a replacement before I leave. Around 9 am, start looking at apartments in the area. See one I really like. Later that day, bring Josh to see it. That evening, begin packing.

April 5th--bring my mom out to see apartment. Continue packing. Like mad fiend. Continue finding replacement. Like mad fiend.

April 6th--pack some more. All the while tossing around ideas about who will replace me, who will live here, etc. In the running are various combinations of my mother, my sister, the owner's son, and the owner's sons girlfriend.

April 7th--pack some more. Sister, Son, and Son's Girlfriend all officially get job, to share. Son and Son's Girlfriend will get the apartment. All three will start coming over as often as possible for me to train them.

April 8th--pack and clean, both like a mad fiend. Also, begin to get tired. Look like shit. Go to friend's baby shower, still looking like shit.

April 9th--Sister, Son and Son's Girlfriend come over and help with breakfast, rooms, and laundry. Then, I pack some more. At some point, have total breakdown due to being exhausted and also to having spent so much time recently looking like shit.

April 10th--Sister comes over, makes breakfast practically alone (thank you for being so easy to teach!), then Mom, Sister and I all go to Saturday Market downtown, while I teach sister how to use bus system. Purchase lotus flower necklace at Saturday Market, which brings me peace and also makes me feel pretty. More or less reassured, and regain some self-confidence. Later that evening, pack some more. Also get in fight with Josh about how he never wants to do stuff with me and my friends, or go out, or something. Make up. Particularly because it was a really stupid fight anyway.

April 11th--start realizing how much packing is left to do. Pack like crazy all morning. Run a few errands. Pack like crazy again. Go out to dinner, at Josh's suggestion, because of making something up to me from our fight the day before. Still not totally sure, but it was really sweet. Look pretty damn cute especially with my lotus flower necklace. Very much reassured. Go to bed thinking "wow, this is my last night here!"

April 12th--wake up an hour early because eager to get this fucking day STARTED. Josh still asleep. Very antsy. Decided to write blog.

So...I'm moving TODAY. I have so much to do that I haven't even bothered making a list, because it would actually take me like 3 hours just to write it all down and I NEED that valuable time!

I will try to take some pictures during the move, and to remember anything hilarious or crazy that happens so I can give you guys all a decent story soon. Rest assured--part of why I'm taking this new job is so I can have more time and energy for my friends and my creative outlets. And, you know, so I stop getting sick from all the stress. But you guys should see more of me. :)

And I'm out! Next time I talk to you, I'll be living in a completely different place!

****P.S. Son and Son's Girlfriend got shoved into making a decision about all this stuff at the last minute, and therefore weren't sure what they wanted. They kinda went back and forth for a really long time, until finally this is what's happening: Sister and Son's Girlfriend are sharing the job, Son will help until he leaves this summer, and Sister will, in fact, get my old apartment. Just to clarify.****

Bite Me. And Other Fun Things To Say.

2011-03-27T22:55:00.000-07:00

After a lovely discussion with a friend of mine about our pet peeves and the things we'd like to say to annoying people who embody said traits, I got to thinking about how fun and/or satisfying it can be to tell someone to go fuck themselves. And I decided to compose a list of such things--partially for posterity's sake (this shit should most definitely be on record), but also in an effort to encourage some creativity.

1. Go suck a bag of dicks.

This is extremely, extremely fun to say and conjures up very different mental pictures for each person. It doubles as a great conversation-starter.

2. Bite me.

Old reliable. So satisfying, and so effective. And gets its point across quite sharply but without technically using any dirty words.

3. Your mom is a _____/I _____ed your mom.

Not all that clever, usually...but probably one of the single most satisfying comebacks EVER. Especially when you say it to your siblings. It's just that extra layer of irony that gets me every time.

4. Futtbucker.

Courtesy of Cai. I think it speaks for itself.

5. Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries.

This, too, speaks for itself.

6. I'd like to see things from your point of view, but I just can't get my head that far up my ass.

This I have never said, but oh, how I'd love to. Where's Sarah Palin when you need her?

7. Krisnera zhazh tan vred. Or, Let the rats ejaculate on you (Armenian).

This one is fun because not only is it a pretty BAD insult (I mean really, ew), it's also in another language, which of course makes it even more fun to say. I'm half Armenian, as most of you know, and I'm trying to pick up a little bit of the language. I sincerely hope there are lots more insults this awesome for me to learn, and I'm pretty sure there are. Armenians know how to curse, man.

Here are some more Armenian ones, which I found from Cracked.com:

"Glirit mortin hed sarma shinem" I'll make sarma with your penis skin (sarma kinda looks like an egg roll).

"Eshoon noor oodel chi vayeler" It's not pretty watching a jackass try to eat a pomegranate.

"Kak oudelic shoon" Shit eating dog.

"Eshu Koorak" Son of Donkey.

That is it.

Aaaaand a little something for the road:

"I would have been your dad, but the guy in front of me had exact change."

Oh yes.

****Update****

Okay, so I think maybe Cracked.com had some bad research, which is sad because they're normally so good about that. I'm not sure, of course, but several of my relatives told me that a. sarma doesn't look like an egg roll, really, it's made with cabbage...Armenian sarma, anyway. There were eggroll-looking pictures online, but apparently that's not the same thing, b. Armenian is almost never in English letters, and doesn't really make sense that way, and c. they'd never heard any of those insults before.

So...you should probably disregard the Armenian translation part. But in my opinion, "let the rats ejaculate on you" is pretty damn good, so you can still use it if you kinda pretend you made it up. And you can probably adapt the other one to "I will make egg rolls with your penis skin."

St. Patrick's Day Pinchers--And Why They Should Be Stopped

2011-03-17T14:00:00.000-07:00

You're a pretty lady, right? You decided St. Patrick's Day is probably the day to make an attempt at being social instead of going home and being a couch potato after work like you normally do.

So you call up a couple of your friends. If you're really desperate, maybe a family member. Like your sister or your mom. You make plans to meet them at a party/bar/restaurant after work, and figuring you can fix up your makeup when you get there and look passable, you don't go home and change in between.

What did you forget? You're sure you forgot something. Oh yeah. Green.

Oh well. No one will make too big a deal out of that, right?

Oh....you are SO wrong. Do you even KNOW what you've gotten yourself into?

Oh yes, my friend. There are many more like him out there. And some of them are Irish. And some of them like any excuse to mercilessly pinch a pretty lady.

My advice is to...well, I guess you could just wear green. But I think a better idea is to just have all the creepy pinchers locked into a closet until the day is over.

Adrian, The Horny Little Bundle Of Terror

2011-03-08T15:42:00.000-08:00

Adrian was in 2nd grade when I was his nanny. I’d pick him up at the bus stop, give him a snack, and watch him at his house for about 4 hours till his mom got home from work. His mom was the best boss I had ever had--super laid back, didn’t mind if I took Adrian with me places like grocery-shopping, and actually someone I considered a friend. As far as jobs go, it should have been the biggest piece of cake in the history of the universe.

But…it wasn’t. Adrian was insanely smart, with a good heart, and I honestly loved the kid to death--but he was a HOLY TERROR.

Seriously. Nightmare. The kid had some sort of developmental problem which made him antisocial, belligerent, angry, and violent. Physically he was in great shape--in fact, he was the strongest, most robust 8-year-old I’d ever met. I’m not 100% sure I was stronger than him. He was such a terror that his mom used to text me every couple hours just to make sure he hadn’t locked me in the closet and burned the house down. Her words.

One time, his mom called me saying the school had called her because Adrian had refused to get on his bus, and he needed to be picked up from school. So I piled in the car and drove the 5 miles to his grade school, and found him waiting outside with the principal.

I introduced myself, and we discussed what issues Adrian had been having at school that day while Adrian sulked and tried to break the bike rack with his tiny little boy feet. Then out of nowhere Adrian points at me and starts yelling, “THAT’S NOT MY BABYSITTER! I DON’T EVEN KNOW HER!! SHE’S NOT MY BABYSITTER! SHE’S TRYING TO KIDNAP ME!”

I could have strangled the little brat. Thank God the principal totally didn’t believe him.

Adrian, on top of being frighteningly naughty and smart about it, was also an early bloomer in the puberty department. He was already talking about sex and penises and vaginas with his fat little friend when they thought I couldn’t hear, and my own lady parts definitely didn’t escape his creepy little notice. One time he kept elbowing me in the boob while we were playing basketball, and he looooooved to wrestle and fight and get tickled. He also slapped me on the ass once.

Thank God his mom had a sense of humor, or I don’t know what he would have ended up like. If he’d been raised in my family, he’d have been squashed like a little bug at the first sign of raunchiness.

Probably my funniest Adrian story took place around the time Josh and I got engaged. This is how the conversation went:

Me: I’ll be Samantha Cox.
Adrian: Cox?
Me: That’s Josh’s last name.
Adrian: Samantha Cox…
Me: That’s not what it is now, but it will be eventually.
Adrian: Samantha McAllister…
Me: Why would my name be Samantha McAllister?
Adrian: ‘Cause I’m gonna marry you.

Yup. He proposed.

CUTEST. THING. EVER.

So I think, despite all his shenanigans, Adrian was more honey than vinegar. You just have to be the kind of person who can get over kidnapping accusations and ass-grabbing from an 8-year-old.

Some Funny Quotations To Tide You Over

2011-03-06T12:00:00.000-08:00

Hey guys...I'm working on a new post. I promise. I'm sorry it's been soooo long!

In the meantime, here are some entertaining quotations which I love.

"I don't like country music, but I don't mean to denigrate those who do. And for the people who like country music, denigrate means 'put down.'"    -Bob Newhart

“Revealing oneself as Wiccan to family, friends or colleagues is often termed "coming out of the broom-closet".”        -Wikipedia

"A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on."

"In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move." -Douglas Adams

"Men should be like Kleenex; soft, strong and disposable."    -Mrs. White (Clue 1985)

"When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity."   -Albert Einstein

"Karate is a form of martial arts in which people who have had years and years of training can, using only their hands and feet, make some of the worst movies in the history of the world."

Here is also a link which I very much think you will enjoy:

Hyperbole and a Half: The Scariest Story

Weekly Poetry Post!

2011-02-28T10:17:00.000-08:00

This is from Cai. I think he sounds like Shel Silverstein. :)

Housework

I said that I’d help out this time,
And Dad was very proud,
Instead I broke an ugly vase
Mom wasn’t even loud.
Then I dropped the lightbulbs,
That wasn’t very good,
Smashing up the radio,
My parents understood,
I dragged the ladder to the wall
and really scraped the floor,
The curtain didn’t look too good,
When the fabric tore,
My dad just held the ladder straight,
Since me, I’m not so tall.
I’m really glad this ain’t our house,
We’re robbers, after all.

Comment with...uh...comments, I guess. ;)