QotD - Shotties

"If you're not down with shotguns, you're not down with jesus."

- PDB in the #GBC

Morning giggles. <3

Global Warming, My Ass!

You know what's fucked up?

When it's 57 degrees in Boston, MA, but only 40 degrees here in Houston.

Fuck my LIFE, but I hate the cold. I think I spent the entire day bitching, at the top of my lungs, of course, about it.

I'm too thin skinned for this cold shit. Oh well, at least it doesn't snow in Houston. Most of the time, anyway. And if it does, it's not enough to bother me: the Death Star doesn't act stupid on minor amounts.

Giving Thanks

This year, I'm thankful for mine and my son's continued good health. It's so easy for something like that to be taken away without a moment's notice. My little man is a pistol, to be sure, but that is proof enough of his continuing to terrorize me for many years.

I'm thankful for my family being there when I needed them most, emotionally and financially. Without them, I'd probably be struggling in a homeless shelter in Missouri. They're the reason I'm back in Texas with loving family surrounding me, helping me get my feet back under me.

I'm thankful for the job I just got. It's a part time gig, but even for that, it pays decent and will help immensely.

I'm thankful that the Death Star is (somehow) still running. Don't ask me how, several mechanics have been amazed it hasn't gone out in a fiery blaze of glory. They're *especially* amazed that it drove 1200 miles in approximately 48 hours with nary a hiccup. The Death Star, man. Damn thing is like the Energizer Bunny from Hell.

I'm thankful for my son. Without him, I probably really wouldn't have a whole lot of reasons to give a fuck. About anything, really.

And I'm thankful for you guys, my friends that I can't see or hear, but I know are there to talk to me when I'm down or laugh with me when I'm not. Thanks, guys.

Happy Thanksgiving. Now, go have yourself a turkey coma!

AKs, ARs, and Mosins: the Differences

Stumbled across this little gem on the internet, and while I know that I'm not educated enough in long-arms to truly understand the humor, I've heard enough from my crew in the GBC to get a giggle out of it anyway. And now I pass it on to you fine folks for a lol.

The difference between an AK47, an AR-15, and a Mosin Nagant.

Is it bad...

... That the only time my two year old will say "please" is when we have candy of some sort? He's particularly susceptible to the lure of Skittles.

And of course, he'll say please for one piece, and then another. Sometimes if you're lucky he'll feel nice enough to say please for a third Skittle. But after that, he's like "Fuck saying please, just gimme the god damned candy!"

Oh, the epic temper tantrums that ensue...

If It's Not One Thing It's Another

In which I scream and rage at the heavens as uselessly as possible, because the world is conspiring against me.

Me and mine live in a house with a roommate, the lady that rents the place. She's lived here for almost fifteen years, it's her place.

She just got a job. I just got a job. Both of us have part time jobs. My other half hasn't worked in three weeks, and there's no foreseeable work in his future.

My mother, out of the kindness of her heart, has been supplying me with gas money for my truck, and cigarettes for me the the Other Half. And occasionally a little bit of play money. Occasionally. Because until now, Other Half has had at least a little bit of money to throw for rent.

I woke up this morning with a text message from Biker Roomie saying that, not only do I need to give her some tampons because she's out, but I also need to talk to my mom about money for the water bill. Cuz she ain't got any.

I have a big fucking problem with this.

I provide transportation (because I have the only working vehicle), at no cost to Biker Roomie - she hasn't given me a dime in gas money for all the running I've taken her to do. I've nearly run out of gas on more than one occasion because I've taken her to run errands, then I haven't had gas to do what I need to do.

I also provide food - I'm on food stamps because I have pretty much zero income and a child. The entire house eats and gets around because of me.

Also, thanks to the kindness of my mother's heart, me and mine always have cigarettes. Biker Roomie usually does not, and I end up providing cigarettes for her, too.

And now she expects me to call my mom and say "Hey, can I have a wad of cash for the water bill?" In addition to giving her tampons when I'm not going to be able to afford a new box of them when I need them before too awful much longer.

I have a big problem with this. And now I'm fucking pissed.

Great way to start the day.

Teh Cute, It BURNZ!

Wee Idjit is totally in love with the movie Happy Feet now. And every time there was a penguin dance scene, he was running in circles and jumping and squealing and just having a blast.

Totally makes the bad day I've been having a little less god-awful.

I'm a Genius

So, I haven't had a job since early in May, when Big Company On Campus laid me (and everybody else) off for the summer.

Yeah, I found one yesterday. Applied and got hired on the spot at a hospitality staffing place. I need to get a cheap tux for banquet work, but I'm so not going to argue with $14 an hour to wear a penguin suit.

(I was originally told $10, but I was corrected today. Holy shit!)

Well, last night, Boss Lady called Biker Roomie at about 8:30 PM for a certificate number and said "And tell your roomie she's working tomorrow."

Uhm. Problem, boss? I just got back to the house after coaxing my mother into giving me money to buy the clothes and shoes and such needed for work. All the stores I need to visit are closed, and I wasn't going to drive to Pasadena to go to Walmart.

So, I was a bit late today, because the closest store that sells shoes didn't open til 9. We were supposed to be there at 9.

Yeahhhhh.....

And then, I got paid $9 an hour to work a concession stand. And did I mention how much that sucked? Cuz it sucked. Horribly.

Okay, I have not worked for MONTHS. And I also haven't had an excuse to spend almost nine hours on my feet. OR worn actual shoes, as opposed to flip flops or open-toed wedge heels.

My feet hurt. My calves hurt. My knees, thighs, and hips hurt.

And I am such a whiny little puss when it comes to pain that until it stops hurting, I won't stop making noise about it.

Zero pain tolerance, people.

Lolwut

Lolwut?

Silly black people....

*readies herself for oncoming cries of RACIST!!*

Gone

Sunday night, I got word from Missouri that my cat had died. To say I was upset over the news is a massive understatement.

Ping was 13 years old. I got him when I was 10 years old. He was six weeks old and itty bitty. Bright yellow, too. Not the smooth chocolate coloring he sported for the past few years.

And unlike most of the animals that had existed in my home until that point, this one was mine. He inherited his mother's looks, a dark-colored Himalayan named Ling, but his stray tom father's shorter hair, so I just named him Ping. It ended up suiting him, as he bounced off the walls like a ping-pong ball as a kitten and young cat. I took to calling him Ping-Pong or Ping.

He was an affectionate cat. But he wasn't a pushy-lovey cat. He'd walk up and nudge your hand and then just lay down next to you and wait to be noticed, content just to be close to you until you saw him and scratched behind his ears.

My dad made the decision to have him declawed at the same time we got him fixed: early on. So while lacking sharp pointies with which to gouge at an annoyance, he still packed a hell of a punch. Literally. On more than one occasion in the past couple of years when Daniel would get a hold of his tail, he'd turn around and plant a firm slap upside his head to get his attention, and in that moment of infant confusion, Ping would haul ass.

As he got older, he became more affectionate. He would spend hours parked on the arm of the couch next to me as I surfed the internet or read or watched a movie, or across the back of my giant black chair.

This cat went through a lot with me. When I first moved out of my dad's house and in with my first boyfriend, he moved with me nine times in a year and a half. Nine times. For about eight months there was another kitten I called Squeaker, do to her very high pitched squeak of a voice, that he tolerated well enough, sometimes even allowing her to curl up close and snuggle against him for warmth.

When I was 19, I made the decision to move to Missouri, and my dad had joked at the time "I'll ship you along too, if it will get rid of that damn cat of yours." Dad wasn't fond of Ping because he went after Dad's many birds. Didn't have claws, but he'd slap a bird stupid, hard enough to stun and sink his teeth in. Never say that he was hindered by not having any front claws.

Ping went to Missouri, all right, same as I did: cramped and uncomfortable for twelve hours in the back of a 2-door Chevy Cobalt. I'm not a tiny girl, and while I didn't have a whole lot of things to move, it still filled what little cargo space was available. Ping's cat carrier was crammed half in the back window of the car, the other half resting on top of a giant box of small odds and ends on the back seat next to me. He cried the whole way there; my roommates were not pleased about that.



Once we made it and got settled in, he became part of the household: and we had a household. A bunch of young adults, pretty much striking out on their own in a college town, banded together as peers, and a gay cat. Oh yeah. The shenanigans that ensued. He made himself very popular amongst my roomies, with his stunning personality and vocal opinions. Damn near every one that came into contact with him fell instantly in love with him. Redhead used to sing his praises often, stating that he was everything people liked to have in a pet cat: affectionate, not reclusive, liked to sit in windows and be visible, inquisitive, and vocal about his wants, needs, and desires.

Of course, once I moved out of the big house with numerous roommates and in with the Redhead, I really did learn what hardship was. I spent a summer basically squatting in a house with no power and no gas, no money for food, and Ping was left to scavenge. I got a job, Redhead went back to work after being laid off in the summer, and we both relocated to stay with a friend so we'd have power and a way to survive until we had enough money saved up for a new place to live. Our friend was very anti-cat, and Ping had to stay behind in the dead house. I visited often and brought him food once I started getting paychecks, and he cried whenever he heard me walking up and cried as I walked away. It was enough to break my heart.

Ping survived my pregnancy, when I was an unholy demon to any who came near me. The entire nine months of hell, he slept curled up on my pillow around my ears. I was grateful for the extra warmth; it was a winter pregnancy. Thaaaat sucked.



I spent a lot of time laying around the apartment that winter, absorbed in loud music and those strange thoughts that highly hormonal women think. And Ping would lay nearby, just purring contentedly while I stroked a hand up and down his back. On more than one occasion, especially when I started approaching ginormous sizes, he would lean over and sniff at my stomach, twitching his long, white whiskers whenever my gut twitched at him.

When Daniel was born, the apartment was suddenly full of ten tons of baby stuff and a screaming wiggly pink thing and OH MY GOD WHAT IS GOING ON! It rolled right off his back. The first couple weeks Daniel was home, he slept in the bed with me. Ping stood watch at the foot of the bed, with his very regal pose. Redhead and I usually ended up with almost opposite hours, but he said that whenever he stuck his head in while I slept, Ping continued to sit.

That cat was a very big part of my life. He was there through everything I went through, all the ups and all the downs. Pretty much the only real constant thing in my life since I was 15. I called him my first-born fur ball for a reason.

Safe journey, big guy. Momma misses you.

Wanderlust, Part 2

I want out of Houston. Duh, half the people in Houston want out of Houston.

Alan, I'm looking at you.

The thing is... I don't know where I'd want to go. Do I go back to MO, where I know people and have friends and pretty much a life (albeit not a fabulous one) waiting for me to step back into it?

Or do I want to go someplace new? Completely start over, in a foreign town where I am known by absolutely no one. Make new friends, build a new routine, start a new life.

Am I insane for contemplating this? Or just young and foolish?

Maybe it's that romantic-at-heart thing I got going on.

All I know is I'm bored with this routine. I really am. But I am nowhere near close to being ready to handle a cross-country move, financially or mentally.

What if someday when I can do that whole "cross-country road trip adventure" thing, I take notes of all the places I visit? Maybe when I'm there, look up the statistics on unemployment, research the cost of living. And once my spirit settles down and I feel I know who I am again, I decide from my notes which place would be best for me to move and start up at again?

Yeah, that idea has merit. And I wouldn't be going in COMPLETELY blind.

Hmm. Must ponder on this a bit more.

Wanderlust

I have been seized by wanderlust.

The past couple of weeks, every time my attention is not firmly held by the task at hand, I find myself imagining what it would be like to spend time in Alaska. Or maybe Oregon.

Driving through vast deserts in Nevada, perhaps. Or redwood forests up and down the west coast, perhaps?

It's a very distracting phenomenon. That's what I think of it as, anyway. That whole "ADD-Brain" can seriously backfire when this happens. It's not unusual to find me sitting somewhere with a glassy look in my eye; quite obvious that my brain is elsewhere...

But oh, the money that would be needed for such a venture! Least of all being a massive overhaul on the Death Star. *sobs* That thing is so torn up that I'm amazed she still runs most days. I'm getting my head on straight and hunting for a job, dutiful as ever, but the fact that I don't speak Spanish is a major hindrance.

But it would be nice, you know? Cooler full of pepsi and snacks, food, a duffel bag full of clothes, an iPod full of music, a netbook and camera for blogging, and a giant road map. Probably as close to "an adventure" as you can get these days, but it would make great memories to comfort me when I'm old.

I'm not making any sense, am I? What else is new!

Who knows. Maybe someday I will.

Eff You In The Face

When you live in a major metropolitan area (like, oh, say... Houston?), your wheels are the key to freedom. If you're lucky (like me), you have your own vehicle and do not have to rely on the Heel-Toe Express or public transit. This puts you a step ahead of a lot of the unlucky ones.

Now, say your vehicle has one foot in the grave, due to you being broke and unable to afford repairs and maintenance, like me. You know some of what's wrong with it, and things are finally starting to come together so you can get it fixed. In my case, it's the fact that my little brother is going to school for autotech, and they are more than willing to work on cars brought in by friends and family for the cost of the parts. Hooray, that saves a whole fuck-ton of money.

The first thing that needs to be replaced in the Death Star are the tie rods. They are going to give out and bend any day now. Every time I drive it, you can hear them creak and groan and protest with every turn. It makes me nervous to go anywhere in it. But hey, the parts themselves aren't that expensive, it's usually the cost of labor that kills you.

Now, the arrangement I have in my life is this: my boyfriend works, and I stay at home to watch Wee Idjit, because I have nobody to watch him for me so I can work. This has worked out just fine until now. And Boyfriend knows the truck needs work, he comments on it just as much as I do. He knows the tie rods need to be replaced; he was the one who told me to start babying the truck when I drive. And I have.

But when he gets paid, and pays rent, and then tells me, "We're going to hold off on getting the truck fixed until next week, because if we buy the parts today, we won't have enough money to get through the week," in favor of being able to buy beer to drink after work? Yeah, I get a little pissed.

Those tie rods are going to give out. And then he's going to be walking to work, not to mention repairing the truck himself because we can't afford to tow it across town to the college Little Brother goes to school at. Or better yet, he's gonna keep putting it off until the truck is beyond repair and the only option will be to scrap it and neither one of us have transportation until there is enough money saved up to buy another vehicle.

I'm very, very pissed off right now.

New Project

Yes yes, I know that I said a few months back that I was embarking on a project and actually asked you guys for some opinions, and then nothing came of it.

And I know, my blogging has been horridly light here as of late. I know. I am just a terrible blog mistress. But then again, there isn't a whole lot to blog about.

On to new business!

For those of you that know me well, you know I am a massive Star Wars geek. I am one with the Force, motherfuckers, embracing the Dark Side and all the powers promised therein.

Neeeerd!

Yes yes. I know.

Continuing on...

Well, since my mind is wrapped up quite firmly in a galaxy far, far away, I decided that, in lieu of actual content HERE, you could check out a new side project being written not only by myself, but along with my good friend Blaidd Drwg, a real-life friend from back home in MO!

He got me started on Star Wars stories and books, not to mention games coming out of my ears, so when the Force spoke to me, whispering the words "Letters from Korriban... a Sith blog...", I was compelled to obey, and immediately sought him out. He would know what to do.

And he did. And thanks to him, Letters From Korriban is now online. If you're a Star Wars nerd, or you're looking for something different to read, go over and click the link in my side bar for a fun little read.

Hope you like it, and may the Force be with you!

Holy Smokes

I breezed through the dining room the other day while my darling Granny was watching the news, on my way out for a cigarette break, and saw something on her TV that made me stop and stare.

Holy Smokes, LLC.

Yeah. You read that right.

Now, it seems like a really cool idea for serious outdoorsmen and hunters and the like. Or very staunch supporters of the 2nd Amendment and gun rights.

I don't know if anybody else has heard about it yet, but what are your thoughts on it, bloggers?

8-Bit World

And if my game ain't startin', baby feel free to blow on my cartridge!


This afternoon LOL brought to you by YourFavoriteMartian, one of my favorite geeks on Youtube. Some of his songs make you shake your head, but others are made of pure WIN!

Heroes

I know I posted this song not that long ago, but the message applies here as well, and the only way I know how to cope with pretty much anything is to lose myself in the music.

These are pure thoughts, not planned out, not particularly well-written, but from the heart on this solemn day.




I'm just a step away
I'm just a breath away
Losin' my faith today
(Fallin' off the edge today)

I am just a man
Not superhero
(I'm not superhero)
Someone save me from the hate

It's just another war
Just another family torn
(Falling from my faith today)
Just a step from the edge
Just another day in the world we live

I need a hero to save me now
I need a hero
(Save me now)
I need a hero to save my life
A hero'll save me
(Just in time)

I gotta fight today
To live another day
Speakin' my mind today
(My voice will be heard today)

I've gotta make a stand
but i am just a man
(I'm not superhero)
My voice will be heard today

It's just another war
Just another family torn
(My voice will be heard today)
It's just another kill
The countdown begins to destroy ourselves

I need a hero to save me now
I need a hero
(Save me now)
I need a hero to save my life
A hero'll save me
(Just in time)

I need a hero to save my life
I need a hero
Just in time

Save me just in time
Save me just in time

Who's gonna fight for what's right
Who's gonna help us survive
We're in the fight of our lives
(And we're not ready to die)

Who's gonna fight for the weak
Who's gonna make 'em believe
I've got a hero
(I've got a hero)

Livin' in me
I'm gonna fight for whats right
Today I'm speaking my mind
And if it kills me tonight
(I will be ready to die)

A hero's not afraid to give his life
A hero's gonna save me just in time

I need a hero to save me now
I need a hero
(Save me now)
I need a hero to save my life
A hero'll save me
(Just in time)

I need a hero
Who's gonna fight for whats right
Who's gonna help us survive

I need a hero
Who's gonna fight for the week
Who's gonna make 'em believe
I need a hero

I need a hero

A hero's gonna save me just in time


You've seen a lot of posts today delivering the same message: Never forget.

Everybody remembers where they were, what they were doing. How could you not? American society shut the fuck down when those planes hit the towers.

I'm not going to say never forget. Because you won't.

A lot of people have talked about the heroes the day, and in the days, months, years following it.

411 men and women in various uniforms, running into those buildings to try and help pull workers and visitors out.

2,977 people, going about business as usual. Their average day-to-day.

Almost three thousand lives lost, because of monsters out in the world who hate us because of our way of life. Our liberties. Our freedoms.

And countless soldiers around the world, fighting to protect our freedoms and bring to justice the bastards that would continue to bring us to our knees, out of fear of them.

Average men and women, and in those moments, they stepped up and became heroes.

Remember those men and women. Remember those they saved, those they tried to save, and those they lost their lives trying to save, trying to protect.

Who's gonna fight for what's right
Who's gonna help us survive
We're in the fight of our lives
(And we're not ready to die)

Who's gonna fight for the weak
Who's gonna make 'em believe
I've got a hero
(I've got a hero)

Livin' in me
I'm gonna fight for whats right
Today I'm speaking my mind
And if it kills me tonight
(I will be ready to die)

A hero's not afraid to give his life
A hero's gonna save me just in time

Where was I? I was in school. English class. Bored out of my skull. Then somebody stuck their head in, told us to turn the TV on, and everything stopped. The bells still rang, we still moved from room to room as if part of the every day routine, but nothing was accomplished. Books were not opened, lectures not delivered. We all watched as it unfolded.

Within two hours, almost 70% of the students at my school had been picked up. I lived less than a block from school, and my dad later told me that his coming to get us would not have helped. If any more attacks would have happened, being at home would not have been any safer than us being at school.

And my dad? He sat at home in his room and cried. He was a retired paramedic, his best friends were cops and firemen. He felt everything they did. And raising me to hopefully follow in his footsteps, I did too. It took a few years for me to comprehend more, but I feel the same way now that he did then.

Today, my mind has been replaying the images I saw. The planes. The people. The fire, the smoke. The anger, the fear.

Now it's just anger, for those injustices. And sadness, for those lives lost.

I will say it. Never forget.

This is for the heroes of that day, and the days following it.


A hero's not afraid to give his life
A hero's gonna save me just in time

Kilted To Kick Cancer

That's right, it is September 1, and September (as you all know, because if you read me, you definitely read the more popular kids I hang out with) is Prostate Cancer Awareness Month. And I, like many friends of mine, are taking part in the Kilted to Kick Cancer fundraiser.

September may be Prostate Cancer Awareness Month, but for me, it's about all sorts of cancer. Both my parents had cancer; one survived, one didn't. So this month, this event, really hits home for me.

I may not have a kilt quite yet, but I will have one shortly, and rest assured, I will be *rocking* that thing for the whole month! Pictures will be posted often, in a wide variety of mocking (and not so much) poses. You'll enjoy it, I know.

No lie, the prizes are awfully damned tempting, but that's not the whole reason I'm doing it. I'm doing it because my mother survived cancer. I'm doing it because my dad didn't.

I'm doing it because every day, hundreds of people get diagnosed with prostate cancer. I'm doing it because every day, prostate cancer takes away a father, a son, a brother, from his family.

I can't think of a better reason to raise funds for it. Can you?

If you wish to donate through my blog, click either the KTKC badge below, or in the sidebar; it will take you directly to my personal fundraising page for the Lance Armstrong LIVESTRONG foundation.

For full details, cancer facts, rules, and prizes, visit Ambulance Driver's contest page on his blog. He words it much better than I do, after all.

Get kilted!

Police

So, as you all are probably well aware, there is a certain Canton, OH police officer who, ah.... for lack of a better term, FUCKED UP while the dash cam in his cruiser was recording. He acted way out of line, and most people across the World Wide Intarwebz are of the opinion he is in desperate need of a psyche eval and the promise of never wielding any sort of authority, EVER.

Really, though, after I watched Ossifer Dipshit's atrocious behavior, it brought to mind something that has actually been bouncing around in my head for a few days now, since I'm back home.

Growing up as my father's daughter, we rubbed elbows with a lot of police officers and such. He was friends with a lot of badges. In addition to that, you're taught as a child to trust the police. If something bad happens, go to the guys wearing badges and guns, in the cars with the pretty red and blue lights and they'll help you.

Then you grow up and you realize... not so much. Stories like the one out of Canton, OH and many others like it come to light, and you don't trust that badge so much. Or if you're like me, you watch the way the cops act in your town towards people, or you know people who get into trouble, and you become a lot more edgy. Cops ask a lot of questions these days, with their power trips, and they abuse that power.

You don't trust the cops. You don't trust the government. Hell, half the time, you don't trust anyone.

Or maybe that's just me. All I know is since I moved out at the tender young age of 19, I haven't trusted a single badge. I've avoided them at all costs. Hell, with the Death Star not being street legal (and the fact that in Springfield, MO, if the cops stop you, they run *everybody's* ID, and seems like everybody up in Missouri that I know has warrants out for this reason or that), I've become quite adept at dipping out on police officers when I see them anywhere near me in traffic.

And maybe that's just negative thinking, or a wrong lifestyle choice as some might say, but... I don't want to interact with the police. More and more I've come to realize that they aren't going to protect, they aren't going to save me, they aren't going to help.

I have to look to myself for that.

Texas

So, being back in Texas as I am, I am confronted by the fact that I am reverting back into my old self.

I'm turning into a homebody again. I sit at home all day and play on the computer or on a console. There's no place to go hang out, no friends for me to socialize with, and nothing to do.

I'm turning into a piece of furniture, yet again.

FUCK. I hate it here.

So Anywayz...

So, in the news of "O God My Life" (Sorry Squeaks), I actually have a job. Yeah, it makes no sense.

I spent months on end looking for a job in Missouri, and I've been back in Houston for a grand total of two weeks and had one land in my lap. And it wasn't even a case of "Come in for an interview". It was a case of the day after I gave them my application, they called and said, "Come in for training tonight."

Well okay then.

It's a simple cashiering job, and helping package up food for deliveries and take-out. I work at a Chinese restaurant, whoo. Free food. Except I'll always be hungry...

But, on the plus side, this means I'll actually be able to get the paperwork straightened out on the Death Star (Long, stupid story), and then get it legal again (Hahahaha, me, drive a legal vehicle? That's funny). AND I can get it fixed and running good, which would be *awesome*. I'm debating whether or not I want to get it fixed up and just sell it for something smaller and gas friendlier... which to be honest would be the SMART choice.... but when have I ever claimed to be smart?

That's right. Never.

See, I like my Death Star. She may be a little older, and she may be a cantankerous old whore, but you know what? She's big enough that she won't crumple like a soda can, without being too much vehicle for me to drive, and she has personality. She has a true character to her, a charm that only something directly related to me could achieve.

So I'm also contemplating getting my chariot fixed up, and then continuing with upgrades to make her even more awesome. Maybe a new coat of paint? I know for sure I'm gonna get the dashboard fixed from when those tweaker bastards broke into it, and then I'm thinking a new stereo and some speaker upgrades. New tires are a must, and maybe some new rims to look awesome? And don't worry, I'm not going to do something stupid like in a previous post. Just some rims that look good without being ghetto fabulous. Can't be having that stupid bullshit.

I mean, come on. I'm white and I know it. I don't want to be and never will be GANGSTA. And my truck will reflect that. I'd be more inclined to get a lift kit on it, except I'm of the opinion that unless you're driving a full size SUV like an Excursion or a Suburban, that lift kits and off road tires look ridiculous. But I am definitely, DEFINITELY not lowering it. That shit's just stupid, keep that kind of nonsense away from me and my truck, mmmkay?

Okay, brain vomit complete.

Bring the Lulz

FOR THE LULZ, YA'LL!

Lulz

So, it occurs to me that, being back in Texas, and back in a house where there is *nothing* to do in a TOWN where there is *nothing* to do, my mind will automatically find everything around me that is even remotely blog-worthy.

And this happens right after I announce I'm going on hiatus. OF COURSE.

So much for that idea.

Have a picture of the Wee Idjit (with shorter hair, no less) looking like a hood rat. Sleeveless shirt, baggy jeans that hang past his knees, and work boots. And before you ask, my mother is the one that said he looked like a hood rat, not me.

Bonus redneck points for sitting in a Cars lawn chair thing.

Hero

Presented without comment...



Okay I lied, have some comments.

A friend played me this song once months ago, and I thought it sounded pretty fucking badass, to put it simply. And then I didn't hear it again forever. And then they played it again last night, and I thought it was still pretty fucking bad ass. And neither one of us had seen the video, so I pulled it up on teh Intarwebz and watched it this morning.

I make no secret of my pride and support for our troops. And soldier songs, hero songs similar to this one, strike a chord in me. My favorite songs include "Indestructible" by Disturbed and "No One Gets Left Behind" by Five Finger Death Punch. Both are songs describing the working life of someone in our armed forces. And after watching this video, I liked the song ten times more for the tribute and respect it pays to the men and women of our armed forces, our public servants (the good ones, not the politicians), doctors, nurses. People whose lives are in the thick of it and sometimes in danger, whether it be directly or indirectly.

So yeah. Another new favorite for that one.

Stay tuned.

PSA

Dear JACKASS IDIOTS:

Just a word for the wise, mmmkay. This thing here?



This thing? IS FUCKING STUPID.

Jesus tittyfucking christ, pull your heads out of your asses. That is quite possibly the STUPIDEST fucking thing I have ever seen. In what fucked up world does that seem even remotely attractive, or cool, or what? I mean, come on.

If I have to look at one more car like that, I may have to stab somebody in the taint.

Christ on a crutch!

Tired

So, you guys probably won't see any posts in this corner of the internet for a while.

I'll probably leave the blog up, just for shits and giggles, but don't expect me to actually put anything out worth reading.

The past couple months have been really dry around here, I know. Living in Springfield, trying to find a job, and then TSHTF in my personal life.

I suddenly find myself living in Houston, TX once again. And I hate it.

There are not words enough to describe just how pissed off I am. I left this state for a reason, and I most certainly did not want to come back. But hey, it was either drive all the way home, or be homeless with a two year old.

But... as for the reason I'm calling it quits? I'm pissed. I'm depressed. And I'm pretty sure you guys don't want to read me bitching about working a dead end job, or being unhappy with my life, or how I wish I was back in Springfield, or any of that nonsense.

So. When my situation changes, and I hate my life a little bit less, you'll hear from me again.

Until then, stay safe.

Luck

Or more appropriately, "The Mixed Bag Of It That I Get".

I say mixed bag because, when it comes to car, I seem to have really shit luck, followed by "Okay, here, it's not so bad"-luck.

Night before last, my truck got broken into. My dash board got yanked out because the genius tweakers started to tear it apart before realizing "Oh hey, the stereo isn't bolted in, it just slides right out!"

I'm a little pissed.

The good side of the story is that they caught the assholes that did it within four hours of me filing a police report. Which really surprised the hell out of me, considering I am still yet to come face-to-face with a badge. I filed a police report over the phone (Fuck you and your lazy cops, Springfield PD!).

The part I'm starting to get irritated about, though, is the fact that I was told I could pick up my belongings from the property room the next day (today). Property room tells me they need verification from the officer in charge of the case before they can release it.

Guess who's not in the office today.

I want my god damned stereo back!

An Open Letter

To All My Friends Who Are Dudes:

Hey. Remember me? Yeah, you do. I'm that one chick with the huge tits and long hair. Yep, that's the one. Yeah, the loud one. Oh yeah, I cuss like a sailor too. I'm pushy and opinionated and sarcastic and cynical.

I'm the dickless guy friend. You remember me. And you love me because I play that role very well.

It's the way people expect me to act. They think of me, and they already have a pretty good idea of how I'm going to react to just about any situation. They also know that I tend to keep my head down and personal shit to myself. Don't be bringing none of that in here.

I am the dickless guy friend. I play video games, go bar hopping just to get drunk and party, likes tattoos, drives a truck. (For those of my male friends that this does not apply to: most of my crowd fits this description.) I have successfully been a female wing man. Most of the time, I don't even have to back up whatever charm my dude friend is trying to pull off. I just exist in his vicinity.

Can I let you in on a little secret, though?

I'm getting tired of playing this game.

People expect me to behave a certain way. I almost feel like there are rules to follow for how I act. It's real fun watching those rules collide with "voice your opinions/feelings/thoughts on this subject".

I'm tired of being the dickless guy friend. Because being the dickless guy friend is interfering with me being ME, and being comfortable with my life. And right now, I really need that.

I need for my mind to quit overanalyzing every word spoken to me, every personal interaction, everything. When you see me with a blank face, staring at nothing? I'm not spaced out, having an ADD moment. No, my mind is kicked into overdrive, going over a particular day, appointment, conversation. Dissecting it and examining every angle.

And I can't stop it.

No wonder I'm always high-strung and agitated.

Let me be me, people. Not the gunblogger, not the dickless guy friend, not the fighter or crazy driver of the Blazer from Hell.

Me.

Please.


Sincerely,

Snarky

A New Project

Okay kids. I think I need to call upon the vast wonders of the internet and all you freaks and geeks on it for a bit of assistance.

I have an idea for a new project to fill my idle time (because I seem to have an overabundance of it). Except I need outside opinions for this project.

So, from time to time, starting NOW, I will ask questions of you lovely folks. If you could be so kind as to leave your answers in the comment sections, it would be greatly appreciated. Also, refer friends to any post needing opinions and feedback: I want opinions of people from all walks of life, not just any one clique in the world.

As I said, the feedback would be greatly appreciated, and I can promise you updates on this Sooper Sekrit Project as they become available, and you folks will be the first to know once it is completed.

But for now...

When you think of a tattoo parlor, what is the general train of thought you end up with? What emotions strike you at the thought of walking in, what do you expect to see, and what do you think when you do see it?

Leave your answers in the comment section below, and thanks bunches for participating!

Holy Crap!

So. I've been a very busy girl.

I've pretty much relocated to Springfield, MO. Bigger town, better jobs, MORE jobs, and more trouble for me to get into on weekends. Oh yeah. I went there.

You can blame Stud Roomie. He had a bad week at work and decided he needed to start drinking again. So I brought him down, because he used to live down here. And it was just a 32-hour whirlwind of beer and shenanigans.... no beer in me, thanks, I had to be sober to figure out WHERE THE FUCK I WAS.

And then we stopped by a tattoo parlor to visit a friend of Bret's, and instead found his tattoo artist. Who I immediately hit it off with.

Say hello to Ink Slinger, my new favorite person.

Oh, he's a fun one. A little off in the head, but tattoo artists usually are. That's what makes them fun, right?

He's a good person. That's a first for me: someone who respects and appreciates me? WOW! The world must be ending!

Wait, what's today's date...?

*snerk*

More later when I can organize my thoughts just a wee bit better.

Pffft!

So, I've been drinking (terrible stuff), aaaand I'm home alone, and I'm depressed and kinda pissed off at some situations in my personal life that I would rather not vent here to you guys, but I do have to blow off some steam soon or I'll lose my fucking mind.... Anyway.

Life sucks. But you know what?

At least I look hot.

*snrk*

Three Years

Three years ago, a man died.

This man wasn't the best-looking, or the smartest man, but he did okay. He moved around a lot when he was real young, and that just makes any kid's life unpleasant.

But it was more than just that.

This man was in a wheelchair, growing up back in a time when he was made to ride the short bus, and be in the special ed classes. Yeah, that really helped him in the social department.

This man had one hell of a temper, and would throw some epic fits. The things you have nightmares about.

This man was given a chance, though, to do everything the "normal" kids did at summer camp, and that taught him to think past the lot in life that society, at the time, had given him.

So he's in a wheelchair. Big fucking deal.

This man was a paramedic from that chair. He joined the local chapter of the Lion's Club and gave back to the community and disabled children growing up in the same streets he did.

He had two children that he did his best to raise. Sure, he lost his temper every now and then... but they got the message he was trying to convey. And for the most part, they're not total screw ups. They're both pretty smart kids, doing the best they can in the world today.

This man taught me how to drive. How to do my best to be self sufficient. How to carry myself tall, and to never take shit from anybody. He is responsible for my arrogance and twisted sense of humor. For my pride in my home, and in things that I accomplish.

He introduced me to video games at a young age, never fearing that I would try and re-enact scenes out of Doom 2 or Duke Nukem. He didn't try to protect us from the horrors of the outside world... he just didn't want to see his kids do something stupid and get hurt.

This man was my father. Daniel. My son is named for him. And until the day that little boy was born, this man was the most important person in my life.

Three years ago today, I had to say goodbye. Three years ago today, my father died.

I miss you, Dad.

Brain Vomit, pt. 4602

So it's time for some brain vomit. This should be interesting.

I'm currently sitting home alone. There's thunder outside, which is having a very interesting effect. I live in a trailer (yes, and it's cramped and I hate it here), so loud, rumbling thunder RIGHT overhead in a tin box... With my odd mentality, I notice mental effects of things like that. I'm big into sensation. Smells, taste, sounds; certain things trigger a mood swing. The all-around *feel* of thunder in this place falls into that category, apparently.

And now I'm all nice and talkative, and I know I have been woefully neglecting you folks of a good, meaty post you can really sink your teeth into, so here I am, babbling to give you folks on the internet something to waste five or so minutes of your life.

In all honesty, instead of listening to music and blogging about absolutely nothing, I really should be cleaning, but on days like today, it's just *really* difficult to find the motivation. Rainy days are for lounging around doing absolutely nothing. And while Wee Idjit is currently with the Redhead, I'm going to enjoy an hour or so of me time.

I don't know if I have mentioned this yet, but Nerd has moved out and back in with his mom. He was watching Wee Idjit during the day while everybody was at work, and I started noticing some major errors on his part. We butted heads is putting it lightly, and he fled. Apparently when I'm mad enough, I don't put the fear of God into pepole.... I put the fear of me into people. Androgynous didn't care, for she dumped him several weeks ago, and Stud was a little irked (it is his big brother, after all), but isn't holding it against me. Nerd was, and all parties agree, an all around useless fuckwad.

Since Androgynous is so rarely here, that just leaves me, Stud, and Wee Idjit. And with personal politics and the drama llama that follows them, my life has been turned upside down. To quote a guy I know, a day in my life is like an episode of a really bad soap opera. But at times, it's entertaining just because of the sheer insanity, when you stop and think about it. You don't think so? Eh, maybe it's one of those "you had to be there" type situations.

I'm currently trying to find a better job, which is a Bad Day. I mean, jobs are so freaking scarce in this town, it's damn near impossible. Right now, I'd even settle for an equally shitty job, just so long as it gave more hours. Making ends meet on this part time, minimum wage bullshit is exactly that: bullshit. And yes, I have tried finding another part time, but my current work schedule doesn't play well with ANY other shifts that exist. Not to mention taking Stud's schedule into consideration, since part of the living arrangement agreement was providing transportation.

And I can't write up a blog post without mentioning a bit of good news, kids. A guy I dated in high school has recently resurfaced, thanks to the wonders of Al Gore's Intarwebz. He found me through Facebook and my little brother, and we have recently begun talking once again, with the glorious knowledge that he lives in Springfield, a mere two hours from me.

I see many weekend visits to Springfield in the near future, since it's close enough and only takes half a tank of gas to get there. Whoo!

This could be entertaining, ya'll.

Overheard in Texts

Discussing the debauchery that all young adults in college towns, much like myself, get into when they hit a weekend and have zero responsibility for 48 hours, a coworker of mine, Troy, told me that he was never drinking tequila again, for he had woken up in an awkward position with two ladies of the, ah, easily persuaded nature, in his room mate's bed.

Troy: I'm never drinking tequila again. That was entirely too crazy a night for me.
Snarky: Dude, that's why I drink tequila. Tequila opens up doors of opportunity for new and exciting ways to get in trouble.
Troy: .... Your quotes will make history one day, girlie.
Snarky: Yeah, I know.

Because I truly am that sharp-witted and charming, kids. Accept no substitutes.

Stylish Blogging!

So, because this guy over here tagged me for this award for STYLE, ya'll, and there has been a depressing LACK of content, and it's easy filler..... You get the picture.

The rules are name seven things my readers probably don't know about me, then tag fifteen people to do the same. Simple enough.

1 - I make a lot of noise and act intimidating, but I have never once gotten into a hands-on fight. My dad subtly taught me that growing up. I'm obnoxious as all hell, and I'll get in your face and possibly shove you, but when the circle closes around you and the fists start to fly, I am a spineless coward and will run the fuck away.

2 - As a teenager (and a very anti-social one at that), I participated in sports. Not in high school, though. Fuck no, that would require me actually getting along with people, and we all know I'm no good at that. No, all the sports I participated in were in a wheelchair. With my father being the president of the local Lion's Club (who is known for their involvement with the (handicapped? Disabled?) community) and the fact that he himself grew up in a wheelchair due to CP (More irony that Mike tagged me here and I ended up talking about my dad...), it's no surprised I grew up playing football, basketball, and rugby strapped in a chair. It kept me out of trouble, and I made a lot of friends that really shaped the way I live my life.

3 - I have got some big fucking feet, for a girl. I wear a women's size 11.5 shoe. It makes finding a comfortable pair of shoes a bitch, and finding comfortable shoes that I will actually wear and can AFFORD (Cuz I'm a broke bitch, ya'll) damn near impossible. It's amazing at all that I found my favorite pair of boots for less than $50 after shipping, and they fit me *perfectly*.

4 - I am a coffee whore. I could not make it through the day without drinking multiple pots of it. And I'll drink a pot of coffee and immediately go to sleep. But I'm a snobby coffee whore. I'm always on the lookout for the next delicious bag of liquid heaven that I can't afford. Because I'm difficult to buy gifts for, my family has taken to just giving me Starbucks gift cards, and I'll go find a flavor that piques my interest. I'm not saying Starbucks is the be-all, end-all of coffee. Truth be told, I love Gloria Jeans the most... but they're all the way up in the mall in Independence, and that's a lot of expensive gas for my truck to burn.

5 - I was raped when I was 18 that resulted in me paying a visit to Planned Parenthood for an abortion. I was living with a man who I lied to myself and told myself he loved me. He was a raging alcoholic and developed a drug problem after I moved in with him, but I desperately did not want to live under my father's overprotective restrictions, so I dealt with it. I dealt with a lot of abuse and kept convincing myself to stay, but one day he came home from work with two coworkers, all boozed up. They tied me up and raped me, and instead of calling the cops after they untied me and left, I called my mother to come get me, and I moved home. I didn't talk to anyone for months, and I rarely left my bedroom. I think my father was considering having me committed. Neither of my parents ever knew this happened. This also explains my *intense* dislike and distrust for Mexicans. The other two guys were illegal.

6 - I will be straight-forward, brassy, and bold when I talk to a new person for the first time. And being the nerd I am, this is usually on the internet. But the moment you meet me face-to-face, I will clam up and turn quiet and shy. Blogorado was a perfect example of this: that first night, I was quiet and shy and stuck to a corner and tried not to interact too much because I was terrified of somehow managing to offend all these people that I admired so much. And we're not even going to get into the implications of tension when I'm in this situation with a guy.

7 - I am all about texture and the sensation of touch. I can't eat greasy foods because of this, and certain fabrics drive me insane and I can't wear them. All those chicks that love the feeling of crushed velvet under their fingers? Yeah, get that shit away from me, it weirds me the fuck out.


That was way harder than I thought it would be.

Okay, so let's see if I can come up with fifteen people to tag... Hmmm....

Salamander
Crystal
DaddyBear
Rauðbjorn
JRebel
MattG
pdb
Squeaky
Wai
Sabra


Okay, I tried to tag as many people as I could that hadn't done this yet. Everybody in our circle is pretty damned stylish, yanno?

Happy blogging, folks!

COOOOOKIEZ

So, seriously, it becomes a Big Fucking Deal when I step into the kitchen to bake the best fucking cookies EVAR. People flock to my place to visit and snag one of them. I have seen people get in FISTFIGHTS over the big ones, drawing blood for the Last One.

Stud has resorted to bribery to get me to bake them again. Red Velvet is his personal favorite, and he has bugged and badgered me for days until my willpower finally dissolved. Can't resist the puppy dog eyes forever.

So when I did finally agree to make them, word got around quick. A friend from work came over to my place to see what the big deal was all about, Androgynous appeared as if from nowhere, Stud and Nerd's mom came rolling into town in her new car, the USS Silver Lining.

Everyone sat around and waited with bated breath... except for the Coworker, who had never witnessed such delirium over mere *cookies*. Stud was damn near drooling on himself, twitching with excitement.

I made a double batch on a small cookie sheet, ergo smaller cookies... I'm going to end up with a *lot* of cookies. But I don't know how long the whole batch will last if the first dozen sets a pattern. The first dozen, warm and gooey and delicious from the oven?

Yeah. Gone inside of five minutes.

This is gonna be *fun*.

Send Ambien

My sleep schedule has been ALL sorts of muffed up here lately.

Since I moved in with Stud and Nerd (since Androgynous is pretty much *never* here), I have been inclined to stay up later into the night. They are my friends, and I feel the urge to be social. God knows I never got any social interaction with other people when I was living with the Redhead.

But yes. I enjoy the conversations with Stud, and from time to time, even Nerd can hold my attention for more than a few minutes without creeping me out. He's pretty damn creepy, yo. He has DATERAPEFACE. Don't ask me to describe it, it's one of those things you'd have to see to understand.

But... I stay up later in the evenings, talking and listening to music and just generally enjoying pleasant company. Relaxing. Doing absolutely nothing of importance, but CONTENT with that fact. Another difference between living with the Redhead and living here.

The only problem is the fact that the alarms start going off at 5:30 in the morning, to wake Stud up for work. Stud doesn't wake up, so I'm forced on a daily basis to go drag his ass out of bed.

5:30 would not be such a miserable early hour... okay, so it probably would anyway... if I had been going to bed before midnight. Except I'm kinda stupid like that, and I never learn, so I KEEP staying up late and not getting enough sleep.

My diet's been off, as well. I'm dropping weight, need to buy new pants. Nothing fits right, everything hangs off my ass. Kinda disappointing. But alas, I will survive.

No sleep, barely eating, kinda twitchy and prone to random outbursts of ZOMGWTFRAGE... you'd think I was on drugs.

No, no drugs here. Just getting used to freedom again.

But I really could use a three-day nap.

Serious Up, Internet

You know, everybody is happy for me that I've left the Redhead. They keep telling me I did the right thing for myself and Wee Idjit, yada yada yada, et cetera, ad nauseum.

And while I'm aware that they're all correct in pretty much every way, it doesn't change the fact that I've been having an INCREDIBLY difficult time dealing with life in general here these past few weeks.

I'm very lonely. I've been keeping close company with Stud, because, well... he's a very good friend, he's very pretty, he understands what's going on in my head (on more than one subject) better than anyone else I know. When Redhead and I had problems, Stud was a foundation of sanity for me. He is continuing to be so now, when I don't have to burn a lot of gas to get away to see him. It's convenient that we live under the same roof.

I'm not going to deny I still love Redhead. It'd be stupid of me to try. I was with him for three years. He took care of me, I had a kid with him. A lot of the time, things were good. He had mental issues and lashed out, blaming everyone but himself for things that were eating his soul from his childhood. And he refused to seek help, or admit there was a problem. That's why I left. That's why I'm not going back.

But god damn am I lonely. And of course, I decided to voice my opinion on these issues on Valentine's Day. That does not bode well for any and all parties involved, does it?

Revived Cute Kid Pic

I know, I'm a terrible blogstress, we have established this.

BUT LOOK! CUTENESS!!



That is Wee Idjit, obviously, being kept amused and occupied and (most importantly) QUIET by the Stud Roomie. He adores Stud, and Stud is just tickled pink by his being there. Makes life a lot more amusing and unpredictable, sez he.

And we can't be having a predictable life, now can we? Makes it all boring'n'shiz.

Quote of the Day - Sexy

"For me, sexy is more a matter of personality and brains.... On the flip side, though, you can't motorboat a personality." - Raudhbjorn

That's something lol-worthy at 6:30 in the morning, right thurr.

Quote of the Day - Baby Jesus

During a conversation with the inimitable Munchkin Wranger, opining on how much I hate snow and the lack of drivability the Death Star offers on it...


Snarky: Rear-wheel drive makes Baby Jesus cry.
Munchkin Wrangler: Baby Jesus cries over damn near anything. Little fucker needs to toughen the fuck up.


I love the internet...

Drama-Llama Warning

Intertubes, I have a bit of a problem.

This is another one of those posts that is more of a journal entry than it is informative of... anything, really. So, if you want to avoid a whole mess of personal drama, I'd suggest clicking anybody in my sidebar over on the right. They usually have something important/amusing/thoughtful to read, and it will keep you from an overdose of OH GOD WHY.

As you read a few posts back, the Redhead and I have parted ways. I stayed with Sister for a while, but once her newest little one was born, I was underfoot, and I know when I need to make myself scarce. I'm now living with the previously mentioned Bret, Leo, and Mary (henceforth known as Stud, Nerd, and Androgynous, respectively).

Well, it goes without saying that Redhead, in his typical fashion, utterly loathes Stud’s existence. He is so very convinced that I was sneaking around behind his back with Stud for the past year and a half, and the fact that I am now living with Stud just confirms it! Le gasp! He was right!

Not really, but you all know how paranoid conspiracy theorists can be, I’m sure.

Redhead and I both returned to work yesterday. I have been dreading that very thing for the past two weeks, since I moved out. We work in the same building, with him making food on one side of a rec center’s food court, and me working a cash register on the other side. In the past, whenever he has been mad at me for any reason, and we’re both at work… I sit at my register and check out customers, minding my own business. Redhead constantly walks over to my register to hiss and cuss and be insulting and degrading in every way possible.

You can see why I would be apprehensive about returning to work.

Then, the heavens smiled upon me, and a lot of people did not show up for corporate training for the new branch of Einstein Brother’s Bagels we just opened on campus, so those that had any training got pulled to work over there. Which meant Redhead was out of my hair! Hooray!

Except he would wander over to the rec center on his lunch break and hover around my register for half an hour, making me uncomfortable. He was being nice and cordial and making small talk, but his very presence made me extremely nervous. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to his behavior, that I keep expecting an explosion.

Well, when I saw him today, I told him I needed to come by after work and pick up my monster boots. I have to park across campus, and yesterday we got a ZOMG Snowpacolypse. The monster boots are one of two pairs of shoes that I own, the others being soft leather loafer-looking things with slip-proof soles, for work and job hunting. Needless to say, they do not do well when having to crunch across parking lots that have not been visited by the MoDOT Plow Fairy. Not to mention my pants get wet and then I’m just a cranky bitch.

He wanted to know if I would be bringing Wee Idjit with me. No, says I, because it is ridiculously cold outside and I do not want to expose him to that. That’s just mean. Besides, I’d be coming straight from work. He just kinda walked off…. And one of our mutual coworkers immediately sought me out to find out what I said to piss him off. Oh, the old women at work are LOVING the juicy gossip my existence seems to provide.

Look, I understand wanting to see Wee Idjit. I have no problem bringing him over so you two can spend time together. I want you to see him. You’re his father, and a child needs his father. But getting mad at me because I refuse to expose him to dangerously low temperatures multiple times? No. Don’t play that game with me.

Then he called me a few hours later. Told me he was tired of hearing about life with the roommates. He wanted more than anything for me to come home.

It’s too late for that now. This is the third time we have broken up for any amount of time. The first time, I was gone for a weekend and came back. The second time, I was gone for three weeks, in Texas. This time, there is no coming back. Third time’s the charm, as the saying goes. I will not be lured back into the same old routine with promises of change, of less screaming. More nights where I can fall asleep peacefully, without snide remarks and whispered words of hatred because I’m not the little ass-kisser you want me to be.

This is where I make a stand. This is where my life changes. And there ain’t a fucking thing you can do about it. So pull up your big boy pants, if you got them, and learn to deal with it. You can either take me and Daniel and the way we live, the way it is, or you can get angry and throw a fit about it. Makes me no never mind.

This is where the real change begins.