Thursday, January 27, 2011


So I really am working on a nice long post about interesting things, I promise. I've just been a little sleep deprived and busy lately, and thus have been putting it off.

So while I make you wait for a real post, I have instead created this for you - my late night, rocking out, hyper-squirrel brain, dancing around my apartment in my PJs while my roommates sleep, headphones on, chore-completing playlist. There are some pretty great songs on here. Just so you know.
as a bonus, here is a picture of me, in my pjs. dancing. you're welcome.
1. I Just Had Sex (ft. Akon) by the Lonely Island
     - because it's hilarious. and inappropriate (don't listen, Dad). and I have some great dance moves for it.

2. Raise Your Glass by P!nk
     - such a feel-good song. weird people of the world, unite!

3. Fuckin' Perfect by P!nk
     - this one makes me go "awww... sniffle. yeah!"

4. Dust Bowl Dance by Mumford & Sons
     - Mumford & Sons rock my socks. they're awesome.

5. I'm Shipping Up to Boston by Dropkick Murphys
    - this is a bad-ass song. also it was in The Departed, which is a bad-ass movie.

6. Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas
    - do I really have to explain this one? I thought not.

7. Rolling In the Deep by Adele
     - she has an amazing voice, and it's one of those songs that makes me wish I could actually sing. so instead I pretend.

8. Sexy Silk by Jessica Cornish
    - this one makes me pull out my sexy walk. which is actually the opposite of sexy, but hey. I try.

9. Touchin' On My by 3OH!3
    - another good sing-into-your-hairbrush-while-performing-some-awesome-dance-moves song.

10. Billionaire (ft. Bruno Mars) by Travie McCoy
    - I wanna be a billionaire. so I relate.

11. Rockin' the Beer Gut by Trailer Choir
    - this one hearkens to my roots. yeeeeeah boyyyyyy...

12. Shut Up and Drive by Rihanna
    - ah, Rihanna. she actually got most of her moves from me. (that is a lie)

13. Can't Stand Losing You by the Police
    - such a creeper song. and I am a creeper, so this works.

14. Church (ft. Geo) by Macklemore
    - Macklemore is a Washingtonion hip-hop artist. and he's pretty awesome also.

15. Teeth by Lady Gaga
    - well of course the Ga has to be on here. duh.

16. TiK ToK by Ke$ha
     - ah, I am ashamed. but yes, on occasion I do wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy, so...

17. Peacock by Katy Perry
    - mostly because of this ChatRoulette parody video some dude in a purple wig made.

18. Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' by Journey
     - because they're Journey. and they're epic.

19. Crazy by Gnarls Barkley
    - this song was in Kick Ass. and so sometimes I pretend I am a superhero while I listen to it.

20. Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine
    - why would the dog days being over ever be a bad thing?

So there you have it. My late-night jam sesh has been revealed. And there will be a real post/story soon, I promise.

p.s. If you read my blog, and you enjoy it, you should subscribe, so I can be internet famous. But only if you feel like it.
as incentive, here is another picture of me dancing in my pajamas. this time I'm doing that snap-fight thing they did in West Side Story, but it's a little blurry. you're doubly welcome.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Late Night Blogging

For some reason my insomnia has been flaring up ridiculously lately. Which makes it sound kinda like an STD. But basically what I mean by that is that I keep going to sleep around 3:30 or 4 in the morning, because my brain has decided it would rather I stare at the ceiling and twiddle my thumbs than drift into sweet dream-riddled slumber. Stupid brain.
and I can't count sheep, because my sheep are very unruly, and I have to keep far too close of track of them lest they do something untoward. and that's not restful at all.
So, rather than actually staring at the ceiling, because that’s boring as shit, I’ve developed a penchant for watching TLC reality shows on instant streaming Netflix. I’ll watch like 7 episodes of LA Ink back to back, and then convince myself I have to get about 43 tattoos. This probably has something to do with the fact it’s almost light out again and my poor brain has been on overdrive mode all night, surfing the interwebs and laughing increasingly hysterically at people’s overly dramatic and douchey tattoo stories.
"the cat totally symbolizes my reconnection with my father. also how much I like cats." (says the dude who got this tattoo, and by that I mean definitely not me)
But I’m too much of a wuss to actually get all these tattoos, as well as being way too broke. Those things are expensive, you know! 

So now I’ve started watching Cake Boss. Which, as far as I can tell, is mostly just this huge Italian family running a bakery by screaming at each other. How anything gets done in that madhouse is completely beyond me. Seriously.
these are not good management skills.
They all chase each other around this giant 3 or 4 story bakery, screeching at each other in heavy New Jersey accents and sometimes possibly baking cakes for mobsters. Shaped like roulette wheels. Nobody actually said they were mobsters, but someone may or may not have used the phrase “fughedaboutit”. Also they played the Godfather music for the entire time, and kept making not-so-subtle allusions to gangster hobbies. Like somebody said “whacked”.
"Also, da boss requires you wiah da cake to explode. 'Cause, uhh... Little Tony likes... uh... surprises. Yeah. Do it. Boom. Fugheddaboutit. No really, we want you to fohget dis evah happened."
 So I’ve transitioned from wanting a ton of tattoos to wanting to eat a lot of cake. I don’t actually want to make cake, because I’m lazy and that’s a lot of work. And to be honest, I don’t really want to eat the cakes on this show, because they’re all covered with fondant. And fondant tastes like play-doh. 
yes, I do actually know what this tastes like, and no, it doesn't taste very good.
So I’d be content just to eat the leftovers. Or maybe the cupcakes. They look tasty, and they don’t have any nasty fondant all over them.
you know what? fondant and play-doh might actually be the same thing. Fischer Price has disguised itself as a baking supply store.

If I ever get married, and have a wedding cake, it won’t have any fondant on it. ‘Cause that shit is gross.  Maybe some nice sugar flowers. Or just chocolate works too.
seriously, just stick some of those little plastic bride and groom people in there and let's call it good.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

I Miss...

I have been many amazing places in my 19 years of life. I’ve been lucky enough, blessed enough, to travel so many jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring places. My travels have made me into the person I am today, and continue to shape who I will become. I won’t tell you that all this travel has been detrimental to me in any way- you wouldn’t believe me, and I would sound like a spoiled brat. Plus, it’s just not true. I wouldn’t trade my experiences and the places I’ve been for anything else in the world. Even if you told me I could have a magical sparkly unicorn with a horn made out of rainbow jolly ranchers named Major Awesome Sparkles, I still wouldn’t trade you.
not even for this.
Now let me tell you something you might not know. My dad- he misses people, and places. He, above anyone else in our family, will call you when he’s away on a business trip to say he misses you. Nothing else, just that: “I miss you.”
Though the rest of us kinda give him a hard time about it, I think I would miss his “I miss you”s if he ever stopped saying it. It’s a small constant in my life that I appreciate more than I’ll probably ever even realize.

And I think I’ve inherited part of this from him, though mine’s perhaps a little different. It seems like every new place I visit, I grow attached to. I take a part of that experience and that particular land with me when I leave, and I keep it with me. Gah, I know that sounds corny and romance-novel ish, but it’s the truth. Wherever I go, I can’t help but get attached. And then when I leave, I miss wherever I’ve been.
who wouldn't miss a place like this?
Sometimes I’ll flip through photos, or even just page through the memories stored in my noggin, and I’ll think “gosh, I’ve gotta go back there someday…” And it’s kind of a catch-22, because the more places I go, the more new places I want to see, and then, too, the more places I want to return to.

I promise you this isn’t me whining about how I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to so many amazing places. Far from it- I can only hope I will continue to be so lucky. I just wish I could win the lottery so I could afford to return to those places that hold the little bits of my wandering soul.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Not an Ax-Murderer

So I’ve introduced you to one of my roommates already, in the form of a sneaky spy picture I took of him in his parka in our living room.
why yes, I have read this book several times. however did you know?
We had another roommate, a friend of ours from last school year, and one of my roommates from dorm-living. However, in the middle of last month, she decided that she would rather go to school down in Centralia, and live with her boyfriend.
Which, needless to say, left my other roommate and me in a bit of a bind. It’s not like the two of us can afford the entire rent by ourselves, so we really needed a third person.

Unfortunately, it can be pretty hard to find a new person to move in, especially on such short notice. At first we just sort of poked around within our circles of friends, hoping to find someone who would magically need a new place to stay.
"Jeff, we are so excited you could move in so quickly! It's just fantastic! More apple juice for your tiny cup?"
When that didn’t pan out, I posted an ad on Craigslist. Which is always a little nerve-wracking, because there are some crazies on Craigslist. Like that lady and her overalls.

We were really hoping we weren’t going to get some creepy ax-murderer showing up at our doorstep with his collection of torture-porn under one arm and his rat tails shadowbox under the other.
"I's be Cleetus. This here's mah ax, Tito. Ah heer yur lookin' fur a roommate."
But then, when the first Craigslist ad didn’t work either, I posted another one, which probably sounded even more desperate than the first. Unlucky for us, Cleetus the ax-murderer had already found a place by then, and we were kinda freaking out. We literally would not be able to afford the rent by ourselves.

Then, as a last resort, I posted an ad on our college online housing board. And, wonder of wonders, within like two days, we found someone!

Anyway, now that the new guy has moved in, it’s been pretty interesting getting to know someone who you now live with. Better than living in the dorms, I suppose, when I shared a space the size of a breadbox with two people I’d never met . But still. It’s been a little weird.
almost as weird as when this guy introduces his new girlfriend to his parents
He just moved in on Sunday, and he seems like a really cool guy. He and my other roommate share a love of Call of Duty: Black Ops, which has been an excellent bonding tool for them. Another bonding experience for them was making fun of me while I play Black Ops, so that was nice as well.
things pop out at me. and then I shriek and cuss and spray bullets everywhere, and then I die.
I’ve been doing a lot of that awkward head bob thing you do when your conversation grinds to a halt, but neither of you is willing to walk away. In our case, it’s perhaps even more awkward, because we’re both sitting in the living room. I usually make some vague, all-encompassing hand gesture, say something non-commital like “Uhm-hmm. Well that’s what that is, ya know?” And then I put on my headphones and watch another episode of Miami Ink.
seriously, this shit is addictive. I love you, instant-streaming Netflix
But so far, he doesn’t appear to be an ax-murderer.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

That One Time When I Was Almost Eaten By A Bear

We were camping near the Carcross Desert in the Yukon Territory, Canada. I was -oh, probably ten or eleven. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day that makes me want to run around and dance in the sunshine under a cloudless blue sky.
my mum, in the middle of the Carcross Desert. not entirely sure what she's doing. wondering what those damn clouds are doing the in the sky, maybe.
And now don't get me wrong, I adore my family. But sometimes, when you've spent the last ten days trapped in a big black truck with all 4 of them (Mom, Dad, Cacky, and Bonnie) you can go a little stir-crazy. So I went for a walk off down this dirt road that ran parallel to the campground, perpendicular to the real road, by myself. I was probably talking to myself, too. But you already knew I did that.
and this is me, practicing my awesome cartwheel skills. also in the Carcross Desert. it was a pretty awesome place.
Picture this: it was a long, blank dirt road, scattered with bits of road debris but in relatively good shape. On one side of the road is a gentle roll of hill, covered with pine trees and scrub. Tucked into this bit of hill and trees is a smallish campground that at this point in time is fairly empty. On the other side of the road is a strip of fairly thick carigana-like brush hedge thing that separates it from the Carcross Airport, which is essentially another dirt road. But all official like. And then there's me, meandering along down the road, chatting to myself.
this is the "airport". so obviously the term is used with some artistic license.
Suddenly, I hear the noise of a car engine behind me, and I stopped and turned, a little wary. A purple station wagon of some sort putt-putts up along beside me, and slowed to a stop. The car looks packed full of smaller road-weary kids, and a friendly lady poked her head out the passenger window. "Hey!" she said distinctly. "Hey, are you camping back there?"
however, it may just be my imagination that has her wearing terrifying clown makeup.
All that ingrained stuff about not talking to strangers and saying no if they offered you a ride or candy or a Kleenex jumped to the forefront of my brain, and I squinted at her, then nodded slowly. She looked safe enough, what with all the kids in the back. Though maybe she stole them, too. I shuffled back a step, and then said, a touch defiantly "Yeah. But my mom and dad and sister and big dog are back there. I'm not far."

She gave me an understanding smile, and then said one of the most terrifying sentences I've ever heard anyone utter. "Ok, honey, that's fine. But maybe you should head back soon, because we just saw a bear down the road a little ways."
"...and it's probably rabid. You might want to just shoot yourself now and save yourself from the pain of being mauled, then dragged off somewhere to be eaten slowly. You did know bears enjoy your pain, right?"
And then she and her jalopy full of rugrats drove off and fucking left me there! On the side of the road with a goddamn bear somewhere nearby! I was petrified.

For those of you city-slicker folk out there, bears are nothing to be messed with. This part of the country, it was likely to be a grizzly bear. And grizzlies are even scarier than black bears. Bigger, too. My rather abundant knowledge of back-country lore and camping experience had me fairly well versed in what to do if I did see a bear, but most of my plans for actually seeing one while all by myself on a lonesome dirt road revolved around pepper spray (which I didn't have) or large semi-automatic weaponry (which I also didn't have).
too bad I forgot my handy-dandy anti-aircraft gun.
So I gathered my courage, and started heading back down the road toward the campground. I can only imagine the way I was walking probably called to mind someone who had to go the bathroom really, really badly. I sort of sidled along the hedge side of the road, jumping at every tiny noise and rustle. And then I crested a slight blip of a hill, and I saw the bear.

It was dark brown, and not as huge as I thought it would be (though it still was probably as tall as me at the shoulder). The less-pronounced hump on its back suggested it was a black bear. It was probably around 20 yards from where I stood, absolutely frozen with terror on the top of a ridge, and it was on the same side of the road as me. I stood there, immobile with fear, and watched it as it meandered along down the road, towards me and my pants-wetting fear (no, I didn't actually wet my pants). After maybe five loping bear-steps, it stopped and raised its heavy head and looked directly at me. Then it swung into the carigana hedge and disappeared from my sight.
but before it did that, it taunted me with its freakishly long bear tongue.
I'm not entirely sure how long I stood there, absolutely immobile with fear and adrenaline. I do know that I somehow found myself on the opposite side of the road, without any clear memory of sprinting across the stretch of gravel. I probably would have started muttering Hail Marys to myself if I wasn't such a failure of a third-generation Catholic. And then I heard my mother's cheerful whistling, and I saw her come around a slight bend in the road, with our dog Bonnie trotting next to her.

"Mom!" I screeched. "Mom, stop! There was a bear! Bear! In the bushes! A enormous bear! Bushes! Danger! Halt!" (or something to that effect).
"OHMYFUCKINGGOD I'm so not kidding right now! It might even have been a goddamn orc! I mean, few people know this, but the Uruk-hai are also native to this area!"
To which her response was "Call your dog!"
"Bears? What bears? What nonsense are you speaking, child?"
Clearly, I was not getting my message across. There was major fucking danger, possibly lurking in that hedge that my mother was now pretty much abreast of. What if she was eaten? I pretty much flew down that slight rise of hill, and launched myself at my surprised mom. The whole story came out in gasping pants as I tried to impress upon her how very close I had come to a terrible bloody death at the teeth of the great beast. I dragged her and the dog back to the campsite, babbling the entire way and stealing nervous glances at the foliage surrounding us, certain the bear was just lying in wait.

We didn't see the bear again, and my parents, though sympathetic, were slightly less impressed than I was hoping for. I did manage to tell and re-tell the story however, milking every last drip of drama I could possibly hope for out of the telling.
this is basically me. by the end of the story I'd probably been mauled like 8 times, and fought the bear off with my bare fists and saucy dialogue.
And so that's how I almost got eaten by a bear.