Episode 8: Summer Lessons

Howdy bitches,

Ahhh can you smell it? The freshly sharpened pencils, the crisp dead trees formed into sheets and the ever growing desperation of lingering assignments.

Yes, tis time to say goodbye to the 4 months of summer and hello to the 8 months of the 7th circle hell. I cannot wait. Seriously. Because this blog may have gone to shit had summer lasted any longer (or maybe it already has...or was it ever really not shit?)

Anywho, as the school year begins we all like to reflect back on the memories of summer. The cool drinks, the bikini lines, the sun tan lotion, the inhibition of running free in shorts and a t-shirt  and most of all the memories we made and the lessons we learned.


So in honor of this I have complied a list of things I learned this summer. Lessons that I will carry with me for the rest of my days. Okay maybe that's an overstatement but at least I'll remember them fondly for about a month.

1. Find a job BEFORE summer begins: Okay so my summer started off a bit rough. I have the worst skills at planning things out. I left my job search until after summer started. Well because I live in a town that is over run with underpaid university students finding a decent job became like finding waldo in a sea of waldos (you know the waldo picture I'm talking about...with all the waldos? But you know Waldo is in there somewhere?). Anyways I spent almost a month applying to jobs. Okay well maybe not EVERY day...but at least every third day I thought about sending out resumes.

2. Put the right phone number on your resume: Now perhaps I may have found a job at least a month earlier if I had actually double checked my resume. I don't know if it's the cavalier sense of "who gives a fuck" in me or just complete stupidity but I figured "Psssh who needs to double check their resume!? Not I! How could I screw up something THIS important on the first try?" Yeah well I did. Fuck me there goes a whole month of resume handing out. I may or may not have cried. And called my mom in hysterics (I'm not really sure what I was hoping she would do in that situation...)But I can neither confirm nor deny those events.

3. Never become so desperate you take the first job offered to you: Okay so I began this summer promising myself I wouldn't work at another coffee shop (yes...I have actually sunk to the classic university student stereotype...being a "barista"). But as desperation began to sink I may have dropped off my resume to a couple coffee shops. Yeah well, I got a call back from one. And it was at the lowest point of desperation. I instantly accepted the position. It wasn't until after I hung up that I realized I was in the same position I had been in the last two years. Oh man.

4. When tanning make sure to apply lotion to all areas in case you want to " Burt Reynolds" on the beach: So I have a friend. He is a great friend and was a part of making the summer great. Now one day boyfriend and I met him at the beach. It was hot and sunny out so we all decided to just lay on the beach and tan. Now my friend didn't really apply sun screen to all the important areas. Then (the following are his words) he "Burt Reynolds" it on the beach. Yeah well Burt Reynolds-ing + the poor application of sun screen = The worst and most hilarious sun BURN I've ever seen. I'm talking one huge red spot right across his stomach. And no where else.

5. When your boss starts acting crazy, get the fuck out: Yeah...all I'm saying is when you start having to work at least 6 days a week and rack up 92 hours in each paycheck because your boss will not stop firing every person who works for her... you should probably run as far away as you can and not continue to work there for 4 months while your soul is slowly being sucked from you. (= really long run sentence).

6. Pick an awesome song that will always remind you of that summer: Not much to say but this 

7. Request summer song at every outing: Yeah, my friend and I requested this song at a lot of places (or maybe just one place). And danced to it. Possibly even pulled out moves from the video. all I'm saying is...awesome.


8. Hit up at least one skeevy concert: My roomie and I went to Dirt Nasty. Probably the best concert I've been to in a while. No jokes here. We somehow managed to hold our place in the front row, get our hands licked by Dirt Nasty himself, I witnessed a girl pull off her thong and throw it on stage where Dirt Nasty then proceeded to put it over his face and into his mouth... then sing. WHO IS THIS MAN????

9. Throw a birthday weekend no one will forget: Yeah did that. Even if it isn't your birthday you should just throw a weekend in which you party with your friends the whole weekend and end up in a Dennys wearing sunglasses and no underwear under your jeans. Not saying these events happened, but they totally did.


10. Finally, quit the stupid job you ended up taking. Seriously...don't hesitate on this one. You'll thank me later

Episode 7: The First and Last Time I Ever Sing To Someone

Howdy there ladies and gents,

Again sorry for the hiatus on the postage. But to be totally honest anytime I've spent on the computer has been dedicated to watching Supernatural until my brain hurts. Yeah that show with the 2 brothers who hunt supernatural things? '67 Impala...good classic rock...bad writing. It's an addiction that cannot be treated let me tell you.

Now for a long time I wasn't really sure what to post about. I had hit a writers block. Or just a very dull point in my life (which I suppose in itself could be a post.) I had considered titles such as "Why I Was Hitler In My Previous Life" and "What Happens When Supernatural Takes Over Your Life". But none of these seemed quite the right fit.

Until the other day, inspiration hit. Actually just my stupidity hit and then afterwards came the inspiration. And I have to thank Enrique Iglesias for this story.

also if you look up ANY picture of Enrique...this is the look you get

It isn't a long one, nor is it as classically funny as my obsession with Jasmine. It's just a simple story to give you a taste of the everyday life for me. Which isn't all Jasmine and Bret Michaels

So one day my boyfriend and I went camping. Woo! Big story! Anywho...we were driving home after  and he decided to let me pick the music. Big mistake.

My music is the kind of music a tween would love. I'm talking pop hits galore on my ipod. Yeah...well I was searching through my list of songs trying to pick one that wasn't overly sappy or country (both of which my boyfriend has banned from his truck). Fine. I can work within those parameters.

Or I can choose to ignore them entirely.

Which of course lead to my song of choice. I looked over at him and said "I found one you'll really like"

I could tell from the look on his face he had already guessed it wasn't going to be one he would like. But without a care in the world I hit play and cranked the speakers.

This is what played

I looked at him and without inhibition I began to sing to him. With all the soul of Aretha Franklin. The pain of Enrique. I imagined I was the one hopelessly dying in the rain due to gang members. Burning hundred dollar bills. Defending my scantily clad bitch(Jennifer Love Hewitt) against Mickey Rourke (I know, that's what I said. How in the frick did Enrique get all these big names?)

In hopes (I think) to drown me out he turned it up(correction: according to him he actually likes this song). I sang louder. I pulled out all my passion as the chorus began. I wasn't even drunk.

We pulled up to the stop lights. Oh did I mention our windows were open? Key point there.

Anyways, as we pulled up to the light an S.U.V. with a mother and her two daughters pulled up beside us. I was belting out the chorus at the top of my lungs. It was at this moment I opened my eyes and realized that I would never sing in public again.

As I looked over the vehicle beside us I see the mother rolling down the window for both her daughters and her to hear to my heartfelt song to my boyfriend.

And. They were LAUGHING.

They literally rolled down their windows simply to watch me make a fool of myself.What kind of devil woman promotes bullying in her children?

I suddenly felt a surge of tween-like self-consciousness and instantly ended my heartfelt display of musical prowess. Enrique would have to go it alone for the rest of the song. (Which lets be honest, up to that point I really did carry him).

Lesson: Singing to your boyfriend...embarrassing. Having small children watch while you sing to your boyfriend and then laughing...so much WORSE.

Small children are mean these days. Perhaps that is where my desire to teach stems from. Now don't get thinking it's because I want to stop kids from bullying. No it's to get back at those little demons and to take out all my pent-up childhood memories of being bullied on them. Then they will know how it feels and I'll inadvertently get back at every bully I've ever faced! Such a healthy compromise.

You watch your back spawn of Satan...I'm coming to get you and you will regret the day you ever laughed at Enrique.

Episode 6: Why Being Bret Michaels For A Night Equates To Awesomeness

Okay so this is me feeling bad and writing another blog post. My guilty concise guilted me into it. I couldn't sleep at night anymore. I became a raging insomniac like a guy who is in constant fear of being caught by the Irish mafia leader he ripped off...

Okay okay, it may be that my boyfriend is busy and my friends/roomies are out for the night and I am utterly at a loss of what to do. I have watched Boogie Nights, painted my nails, played video games, watched half of So I Married An Axe Murderer and even in a last ditch attempt at entertainment I washed the dishes. So here I am, sitting shamefully in my sweats looking for some sort of confirmation in a blog I kind of forgot about for a while. 

So feel free to judge me you assholes. I know you are, but fine, a question must arise here...why are you sitting here reading my pathetic blog anyways? Why arnt YOU out doing something? Oh yeah, its because you live an even sadder existence then I.

Wow, if I hadn't lost all my fan base after my hiatus, by now it must have dwindled to my mom and the old ladies who stumble across these sites in their attempts to find oxygen tanks online.

But I am done insulting you to make my sad existence seem better. I do in fact have a story to tell. And it is one I promised I would never re-live. But as it has its own comedic value to it; and realistically I can't NOT tell a story about Bret Michaels on this blog (he is my life idol after all).

Now this story has a lot of greatness packed into one tiny night. And I can't promise that it will hold the same feeling as it did while it was happening. But to me this night was as legendary as the breakfast that followed it the next morning.

Now first I'm going to remind you who Bret Michaels is. Lead singer of Poison. Oh you don't know who Poison is? Perhaps you should look up the song "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" and then carefully study this picture.

Oh yeah, you know who I'm talking about. Now, this story all starts with a good friend of mine throwing a "trashy rockstar party". Not just a "Rockstar party" but a "TRASHY rockstar party". Therefore I had only one option to dress up as...my dear, sweet Bret Michaels.He was a clear choice because no guy who has a show called Rock Of Love in which the women are forced to kiss each other, strip, get naked and cat fight could possibly be anything other than a trashy rockstar.  

So I loaded on more eyeliner then I have ever worn in my life, got my friend to scribble on a snake/heart/sword tattoo and pulled on my skeeziest wifebeater/ripped jeans/ripped flannel vest combo and headed out with cider in hand.  It was a long bus ride down, and armed with Courtney Love, Kurt Cobain and a local Lust Boy we looked like motely crew of awkward teens in the early 90's. Once we reached the party it was an instant feeling of awesomeness.

Now, it was at this point I should've taken my own learning experiences (Read: Episode 5) and used that to gauge my ability to consume copious amounts of alcohol. But instead I went on empty stomach hoping to get the best bang for my buck and prayed to the god of debauchery to love and protect me that night.

The evening was going awesome. We drank cider till we were tipsy and danced like it was 1998. I think I had reached a comfortable drunkeness. I was fooling myself into believing that I could pull off a night of puke free bliss. But then came the decision that turned my night from being an "Amber" night to a "Bret" night. I decided to switch drinks with my friend, who was mixing fireball with coke, and lets just say he pours with a heavy hand.

Alright I was doing okay. Feeling a bit weird (I think I may have laid down for a minute..passed out, got back up and started dancing again). Okay, still a good night. Now kiddies: when you reach this point of drunk...walk away. Pack it in and call it a night. DO NOT ACCEPT SHOTS OF VODKA AT THIS POINT.

Yup..I did it. I pounded some shots of Vodka and kept partying. Then you get that feeling. You know the one. That feeling rising in your drunken stomach that makes all senses freeze and everything becomes a desperate need for a toilet to stick your head in. Yup.

So in the least drunken voice I could muster I turned to my roommate and whispered "I need to vomit". She then had my head over a toilet so fast it was probably recorded as a world record. At this point I once again lost consciousness for about a few minutes. I somehow then ended up in my friends bed (who was throwing the party) and woke up to vomiting into a plastic bowl/pail thing. And at this point I started telling my roommate witty jokes (because I am at my comedic best when I'm so hammG'ed I am throwing up).

After this went on for hours (okay probably 5 minutes) I passed out again. Then I re-awoke to my phone buzzing beside me. It turns out my roommate and her boyfriend had locked themselves in my friends scary/ creepy attic closet and couldn't get out. Their only saviour was me. Yeah....I had at this point convinced myself I couldn't move my legs. The attic thing was literally 2 steps away from.

So what does one do? I phoned my other roommate (who was downstairs) and begged her to save our friends from their certain death inside the closet. After witnessing their safe return to the outside I promptly passed out. I then awoke the next morning to being spooned by my friends (their was three of us in the bed).  It was horrifying and I might admit a little awesome.

Now my story gets awesome here. I had promised to meet a guy for brunch the next day. Never again. I rallied my friends for brunch and we fumbled out of the house smelling of vomit and self-loathing. We rode the bus in stricken silence. We rolled into the brunch place, they gave us that "look" one gets when they show up anywhere smelling of alcohol and day-old vomit. Oh and we were all wearing the clothes from the night before. Yeah, we looked like rockstars. Trashy ones at that.

Yeah we roll it classy like that. The best part of brunch was that the guy I was meeting showed up smelling of clean and looked great. I think he felt kind of ashamed for sitting with us. Oh and the great thing about being sick from drinking? You wake up so hungry that even greasy eggs and spinach on a buttered bagel becomes the greatest breakfast of your life.

Bret Michaels would've been so proud.

                 

The Weekly Nugget

From my roommate:

On Men 

"He Is A Little Bitch!"

Episode 5: An Apology And Drinking Advice

Okay...so I am feeling a bit sheepish posting here. I'm like that guy who played Urkel. I was only popular when I could hike my pants up real high and pull off multi-colored suspenders. But now that I'm older and I lost my puberty voice I have reclused myself to only doing terrible movies (Watch: Crococaurus Vs. Mega Shark).

So I apologize to my many readers out there. I have become involved in my extreme effort to become a deadbeat for the summer. In fact, I think I succeeded this weekend when I spent all weekend at the beach, eating bar-be-que and drinking heavily. But I have come to you bearing a gift about my life and some helpful advice to those of you who are feeling the need to drink heavily this summer and how to avoid some serious mistakes.


Now this story does involve some of my friends whose names I will not reveal here due to the secretive nature of this blog and the fact that I may or may not be speaking to one of the parties involved. In fact I think we arn't even friends on Facebook anymore. Well I know that certainly means we are officially not friends.


When I was younger and stupider...AKA last summer...I had made a decision to stop drinking, trust me when I say...WORST DECISION EVER, because of a certain relationship I was in.  This meant I had gone quite a few months without any liquor in my system. I had completely detoxed myself from my previous lifestyle of heavy partying and binge drinking. Okay maybe I'm being a bit dramatic, more like I stopped going out every other month for a friends birthday. But that didn't sound quite as fucking awesome did it?

Anywho, this fateful summer I was showing my horse at Spruce Meadows. Now it may look like a place of good clean family fun, but I kid you not Spruce Meadows is an enforcer of debauchery for the riders. In our gift basket things they willingly bestowed upon us a card that would get you into the skeeziest bar in the city for FREE. It was pretty much like giving an ADHD Kid 8000 pounds of sugar then setting him loose in an antique shop. Only bad things could come of it.


Anyways, my friend and I kept putting off using the free coupon. I mean we could have just not used it but realistically you can't just pass up free liquor. Now I had one problem. My boyfriend at the time was not a fan of drinking nor was he a fan of me drinking. I, however,  in this one instance of physcotic decision making, decided that both my friend and I would head out to the bar. Now, not to be rude or anything I invited him along, and offered to him that he should bring a friend.

This is where things get messy.

As per usual everyone had serious problems getting their shit together so we didn't end up leaving till late. Once we reached the bar, after a series of trains and walks, the line was insane. I'm not talking you have to wait five minutes kind of line, I'm talking like you ain't getting in tonight kind of line. But we soldiered on.

3 hours, 8 frozen toes and 4 huge hot dogs later we finally reached the front door. By this time we had gathered a new posse. One, a huge douche, you know the type, dressed in a suit jacket to hit up a club? Spiked hair and possibly just laid down some cash to get freshly frosted tips. Yeah, that kind of huge douche. The other, a more interesting man who wouldn't reveal to us where he lived or for that matter anything about him. I'm pretty sure within the hour he told his lived in 2 different cities.

Ahh the people you meet in lines at clubs. You know the kind.

After pestering the bouncer enough, we at last entered the club at 1.  We instantly realized we needed to be far drunker to even rationalize the thick of smell of desperation in the air. Without wasting time on coat check or even speaking to each other we got up to the closet bar and ordered about 20 drinks.

My Ex was less than impressed at me by this point. My friend and I started pounding shots of about every kind of alcohol. I'm not even kidding. It was perhaps in this moment that I may have told myself to slow down, but the frat boy in me was convinced that we were gonna make it out alive. Did I mention that most clubs close at 2? Yeaaaaahh.

Even after all those shots my friend and I were sure we hadn't had enough to drink. It was at this point in the night that things started to take a turn for the worst. We started stealing drinks. I should be ashamed, I should hang my head in complete embarrassment.  But the longest part of the night hadn't even started and my friend and I were already complete messes. It wasn't until the club closed that the true moral of this story reveals itself.

As we headed out of the club, my friend and I started to truly feel the effects of the liters of alcohol we had just consumed. We were stumbling around like grandma at Christmas after to much wine and the world became like a game to us. As we made our way back to public transit, distractions were abound. I remember the two of us sitting cross-legged under sprinklers and dancing around in the water. My Ex's friend attempted to jump a median (keep in mind he had also tried to keep up with us) and let's just say his ass paid for it.

My Ex, being the only sober one, tried to wrangle us into heading towards the station. We were like a group of 2 year-olds with severe ADHD. When he finally did get us into the station, my friend and I fumbled for change for tickets exclaiming "I CAN'T READ THIS SCREEN!!! IT'S BROOOOKEEEENNN!!!!!!" Then breaking into hysterics. Meanwhile, my ex's friend was already boarding the bus without another thought for the rest of us. It took a while but we finally managed to purchase tickets and get safely onto the train.

Now public transit at 2:30 in the morning is a scary and interesting place, kind of like an insane asylum at night. As we rode in silence, each contemplating the previous events, our night took it's final turn. As we neared our final stop, I looked directly into my ex's eyes and in a dead serious tone I said "I don't feel so good". The look of horror on his face told me one thing, our relationship would never recover from this night. He simply said "Throw up in my sweater". I shook my head like a pouty 5 year old and prepared to heave my dinner all over the train. In a grace of God we reached the station and my ex quite literally picked me up and ran me to the nearest garbage where I proceeded to vomit. My friend and his friend both left, while he held my hair back and I apologized profusely between dry heaves. It turns out his friend went and got in the car with my dad and my friend was just kind of wandering around the station.

After I had finished heaving my guts(at least 15 minutes), he asked if I was okay to move. I nodded, moved two steps and then cried "NO!!!! I can't do it!!!!" and started crying. Here he took matters into his own hands and picked me up dramatic style (imagine that final scene in season 3 OC Ryan carrying Marissa) and carried me up the stairs where I continued to vomit into another garbage. Finally, my friend re-appeared and helped me to the car. I promptly passed out.

an actual picture of me passed out

From this point I am going only from stories I heard. While my dad drove us home, my ex and his friend discussed how good McDonalds would be ( you know you've eaten McDicks when you were drunker then a skunk and woken up the next morning wondering what ever possessed you to buy that Big Mac or Blizzard). This conversation then prompted my dear friend to become violently ill in my Dad's truck and outside the truck.

I woke up at this sudden stop and upon seeing her vomiting I to then began to vomit up whatever was left in my stomach. My ex quickly jumped out to hold back the hair of both of us. My dad looked over at my ex's friend and prompted him with "shouldn't one of us get out and help?" my ex's friends response was this "Yup". Needless to say my ex had to go it alone.

I must interject and say, I had promised my ex earlier that night that I wouldn't drink "that much" and it was "more of social outing".

When we finally made it home, my mom was there to heckle us about our drunkenness. As we both headed downstairs my ex and his friend left. We have finally reached the lowest point in our story kiddies.

I made my way to the bathroom to go pee. I had the locked the door out of habit, and my friend at that moment suddenly had to vomit. I heard the angriest knocking at the door and while still on the toilet my friend burst in, proceeded to vomit in the bathtub and we both sat there looking at each other with vomit on our shirts and in the corners of our mouths.

Moral of the story: So by this point your probably to disgusted to ever read this blog again. I understand that. But if you take anything away from this blog let it be this. NEVER EVER bring your religious boyfriend out for a night of drinking and then get so raging drunk you can barely walk. Oh and never try to play "catch up" with an entire bar.

By the way, those tickets (you know, the whole reason we went) didn't even work by the time we got to the door of the club.

God has a sick sense of humor.

The Weekly Nugget

From Mulan



On Life

" You must be swift as a coursing river. Be a man"

The Weekly Nugget

From my mother



On Looking Awesome


"Most women don't check their butts out before they go out. Don't be one of them. You'll never know if you look stupid from behind"

Episode 4: Physcial abuse and why it's funny

Hola Bitches,

So I realize I haven't really posted in a while....like perhaps over a week? And yes I do feel terrible because I know how many of you were waiting patiently by your computers just to simply find that feeling of meaning in your life again while reading one of my most awesome stories. Well don't get your panties in a knot, I'm back from essentially saving the world single-handedly.

Now I recently visited home and was reminded of a certain story in my past that I thought would kind of be a topper to establishing the essence that is moi. But first I need to state a disclaimer here. My parents never EVER actually physically abused us...which in truth demonstrated their Jesus like patience. Seriously. So don't get all excited thinking your getting some story about how I became hardened at the age five due to my tough life on the streets with a mother who didn't care and daddy who was never there. This ain't no west side story, yo.

Okay...I should also mention I wasn't exactly involved directly in this story, I was merely an observer. But, I don't really feel okay if this story wasn't mentioned on this blog at least once. It demonstrates the family dynamics perfectly. Now, you have to have an understanding of my brothers deference to authority. He had this keen ability to do exactly the opposite of what you asked him to do. In fact, he still has this ability.

This story all begins with satan. Yes, satan. In the form of multiplication tables. Seriously, who invented timed multiplication tables? What kind of sick person thought this was a great idea? It was probably an old man looking for a good time or...Satan. Yes, Elizabeth Hurley in a red dress came up from the underworld and decided that to curse man she would invent the multiplication table. To make matters worse, most NORMAL people arnt good at them. And by normal people I mean people like me, so for those of you who are good at multiplication...you are some biological mutation of humanity.

For those of us who don't understand what is happening, there are these "magical" places that teach us multiplication tables...through torture. They lock you in a cell type room with others of your kind and force you to do never-ending sheets of multiplication. By the end your soul has been sucked from your body and you become a blob of soulless mathematics. And all for what? If you complete all your questions AND get every single one right (99% right does not count as I was so rudely informed by the old hag who handed out stickers like she was God bestowing the holy light) you get an owl sticker saying "100%!" and you can stick it on the front of your stupid binder like some war hero medal, as a symbol you may one day be awarded your soul back.

Not only did this place have "in-class" torture...you had take some home to. Yes, they had tests you completed at home that were timed. Just so you could "keep up" with the work they were dealing like cheap drugs.

It was on one of these fateful test nights that an event happened that perhaps brought our family closer together. My mom was crazy when it came to me understanding math. I think she kind of felt sorry for me because of how poorly I did in math. So on this night she made sure no one was going to fuck with my ability to get that goddamn sticker. She set the timer, gave me a glass of water and ever so politely told my brother that he better get his ass downstairs and keep it there or he wouldn't live to see the morning light. Well, that's where the problem all started.

My brother, being the sweet and loving child he is, takes this warning as a cue to push the limits. My mom set me loose on the test and like Braveheart defending Scotland, I ran blindly into battle shouting war cries at the top of my lungs. It was about 5 minutes in when my brother came slinking up the stairs, my mom eyes were instantly filled with fire. My brother quietly explained that he just needed to "get his science binder". Instantly, I became distracted, like a bird to shiny things I forgot that I was defending my honor and became fascinated by the movement.

Then shit got real.

My mom tried to hurry my brother out of the kitchen area where I was, but my brother had other plans. It was like Hades himself possessed my brother in that moment and all hell broke loose. He grabbed his binder, my mom shooing him silently, but instead of quietly exiting back down the stairs he transformed into a monster of destruction. He started yelling "WOOOOOO WOOOOO WOOOOO...(Imagine this continues for a while) and running blindly around the kitchen. My mom's fury was like that of the Red sea by this point and all mothering instincts were abandoned. She began chasing him, holding her arms out in what seemed like a desperate attempt to strangle him.

But she was no match for the whirling dervish that is my brother. He suddenly remembered he had a way out. The Stairs. The only problem was that my dad was headed upstairs just as my brother decided to go down them. What I witnessed next is equivalent to what I imagine world war 3 will end like.

My brother took off towards the stairs, but he had to slow down before he could fully regain balance enough to take on the flight of stairs. This gave my mother the advantage she needed and she quickly made up time between her and my brother. As my brother descended the stairs, my mom released what I can only begin to describe as a ninja kick right at my brothers head. I'm not really sure what would've happened had it connected. It missed by inches. However, not to be deterred she used her only ally in this battle of wills. Seeing my dad so innocently ascending the stairs she yelled to him in what I can only imagine was her last ditch attempt to end my brothers life...

"KICK HIM IN THE HEAD GREG!"

 My dad, being the innocent party to all this, made a poor attempt to grab my brother but decided that upon catching him, he would have to turn his only son over to my mother. Which at this point may have been like willingly ending your family name and the only hope of passing down your genes.

Luckily my brother managed to escape with his head and his life intact. However, our family still speaks about that night like a legend. It has been passed through generations and will continue to be. I cant remember if I received a sticker for that math shit, or if I hopelessly failed it. Either way, the lesson I learned that night could not have been taught on paper...

Don't fuck with my mother.

The Weekly Nugget

From My Roomie


On Life


-"Shit only happens if you make it happen"

Episode 3: My First Boyfriend

 ***DISCLAIMER: Any men who follow me, I am sorry in advance for some possibly derogatory speak towards your species. I do in fact love men. Please just understand it's all in the name of being a woman. Sometimes, we are allowed to act like men. Jut like sometimes you guys wear our underwear while we sleep. It's okay, I promise we don't judge. So just skip this post if you take great offense to women bashing your sex. I promise I'll write a woman bashing post to***

Hola Bitches (no derogatory connotation intended, why DOES everyone take this so seriously?),

Alright, I know your all probably sick of my everlastingly boring childhood. But it is this childhood that made me into the awkward and crazy person that I am.  However now that University is over I am kind of lacking in the weirdo department.

But when worse comes to worse in awkward situations...once can just always talk about internet porn and men. (This seems to be a default setting for my roomie)

Which is why I'm writing this post. Okay maybe it's not about internet porn, don't get all hot and heavy on me. I'm talking about men here. The simple, wonderful and always available entity that is a man....oh sorry I WAS talking about porn. If men were that easy to understand, you know turn it on when you want to see it, fast foreward through the annoying parts, and shut it down when your done with it, life for females would be so much more awesome. (at least from what I've heard about porn. Personally I don't indulge in such things, but hey everyone's got their something)

My experience with men started early. I had my first boyfriend in kindergarten. I can tell you...it set up relationships for the rest of my life.

Perry was his name and he was one of those charming types. I remember him bringing me a music box as a present for my birthday party. Our relationship was like that of Romeo and Juliet, Tristian and Isolde, Noah and Allie. Seriously, Nicholas Sparks would have a cheesy romance novel hard-on for the cuteness that was our relationship. I realize that perhaps saying a grown man would have a hard-on for the romantic lives of 5 year old children would make him sound like a pedophile. I'm sorry Mr. Sparks.

Okay I exaggerate. Perry and I were not star-crossed lovers. In fact I don't even know if he's alive anymore. But  can tell you he was the reason I have no trust for men and I get walked on like a doormat by 98% of the male population. Okay maybe like 98.%. Thanks Perry. Asshole.

Alright, so Perry and I were all 5 year old couple. Now Perry had this insane jealousy issue. Of everyone. I literally was not allowed to hang around with anyone. Except Perry. My kindergarten class had these stations. You know the ones, home station, play-doh station, block station, sports station etc. Everyday Perry and I would be partners and I would be forced to play with him and only him. However, I made a critical and tactical error one day. I instead want to another station with my friend. Not the home station with Perry (you can guess he liked to pretend we were married).

Perry wasn't having any of this shit. He first tried the typical man thing. Pouting and being passive-agrressive to me to try and get me to change my ways. When this failed, he went for a more dramatic and much more manly route. He started crying like a little girl. Then he made it personal.

He told the teacher I had been mean to him and had ignored his polite attempts to get me to go with him to the station he wanted. Of course, I was traumatized. Perry's jealousy had forever changed me into a welcome mat for men. His insane jealousy had destroyed my feminist ideals. I think I have not made myself clear enough here. He was insanely jealous at the age of 5. Don't worry I didn't get in trouble. My teacher quickly saw the issue for what it was and corrected Perry's misguided thought that he owned me.

Dear Perry's current girlfriend,
Your boyfriend has insane jealousy issues. Enough to tell an adult on you if you fuck up. He will destroy you. Do not take this warning lightly. Run...run like a Zimbabwe man in the Olympics (AKA really really fast).

Sincerely, Amber

Damn you Perry, Damn you. 

The Weekly Nugget

The weeks nugget comes from my roommate:



On Sex:

" Two Sex Camels Don't Make A Right"

 

Episode 2: Where All Fear Begins

Before I start in on my wonderful blog post: I have a birthday to attend to.

Happy Blogaversary to my Roomie's blog The Prowl! It's been a year of good advice, hilarity and all around awesomeness, so cheers to that and here is to many more posts! If you haven't read it yet, read it now.


Okay, today's blog post is about my first ever fear. Now I've been afraid of a lot of things. The dark, snakes, sharks, zombies ( which in turn correlates to this story), cute puppies and one eyed monsters under the bed ready to jump out and consume my heart.

But by far my biggest fear has been: Dinosaurs. They scare the shit out of me. I have some perpetual fear that they will rise up from their fossily graves and chase me down and eat me.

I think where it all started was my loving brother. He captialized on my fear a lot when I was little (as most big brothers are entitled to do to their little sisters). As mentioned earlier, who do you think made me fear zombies? I have this distinct memory of my brother chasing me around with his eyes rolled back making weird half dead sounds. I'm not gonna lie people, this was some scary shit.

But there was one fear my brother instilled in me that will never leave my subconscious even as long as I live. It is this terrible nightmare that still afflicts my normally boring dreams of shopping at toys'r'us and running machetes through some of the people in my *ahem* past (you feeling me ladies?). Often these dinosaur dreams start off pretty normal. Like I'm busy saving the world and all of sudden my dream is filled with this sense of dread and I'm being chased by a gigantic T-Rex with it's heart set on consuming me a la Jurassic Park.

I probably watched Jurassic Park to young. Thanks to my brother. I witnessed people getting ripped apart by the claws of a Raptor when I really should have been watching magical trolls dance around the rainbow of friendship. So I had a bad start with dinosaurs. But my loving older brother was crazy about anything dinosaurs. And seeing the fear in my young eyes as the t-rex consumed the man in the porta-potty, he knew instantly that his whole purpose in life was to capitalize on this fear.

my brother and I

Everyday my brother would tell me that scientists were getting closer to extracting DNA from the infamous amber and they would soon be making dinosaur eggs and breeding vicious, scary monsters. I didn't sleep for days. I wasn't raised religious but every night you can be damn sure I was down on my knees praying that scientists would never find the DNA and if they did that maybe they would lose it again.

To this day, I still have Ornithoscelidaphobia. Yes I did look up the scientific name for fear of dinosaurs. See reading this blog isn't a COMPLETE waste of your time. You learn something. I still have nightmares about dinosaurs and I only just watched Jurassic Park last summer for the first time since I was little. And if you must know...it was horrifying.