So, I have since moved out of Hippie Sister's house. She had her new baby, and I know enough to know when I'm getting in the way. I called up some friends and offered them service as transportation (since none of them have a car and live on the edge of town) and as a cook (because OHGOD do they need help) in exchange for a place to live, and they eagerly accepted.
So now I am sleeping on what has to be the world's most comfortable couch, enjoying very good company that doesn't scream, cuss, or stress me out. My very good friend Bret, his brother Leo, and Leo's lady, Mary. They're awesome peoples, and amongst them, they think I am the awesomest thing in this house.
Yeah, cuz that totally doesn't stroke my ego to overwhelming proportions.
I gotta say, life has drastically improved over the past week. I'm getting used to freedom again, and oh how I missed it. I don't have to answer to anyone except the roomies, who ask very little and are just about the most laid-back bunch of weirdos I know. I spend my time with good company, which means spastic conversation and lots of laughing at inappropriate jokes not for polite company, and oh yeah, I'm not being accused of sleeping around every other week. Whoo!
More updates when shit actually starts to happen. Stay tuned!
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
[Five Finger Death Punch - Bad Company]
I have an idea for a tattoo. I just don't have the skill to draw it up myself. Why don't you pull up a chair and listen to me describe it? Who knows, one of my readers might be able to do it for me. Stranger things have happened.
I am from Texas. And no matter how much shit people around me may give me about it, I am proud of that fact. Don't like it? Go fuck yourself, see how much I give a shit.
Anyway. Since I doubt I'll grow old and die in Texas, and I can't always go around with horns on my car to prove I'm from Texas in THAT way, what's the next best way?
Yes. Ink.
What I have in mind sounds... sorta simple, but really isn't, because of one thing. Let me describe it.
I want the outline of Texas on my shoulder, and I want it filled in with the Texas flag. Sounds simple, right? Not so much. Instead of a plain black outline, I want it to look like scar tissue. Burns, in particular. A Texas-shaped brand, to be perfectly specifice. Complete with the appearance of skin stretching and the shadows of burned flesh contours.
Yeahhhhh, now we're getting somewhere, aren't we? Thought so.
Anyway. Branded outline, Texas flag colors filling it in, and in the appropriate lettering (which I haven't found yet), I want it to say "Don't Mess With Texas" around it. Part above and part below, to be specific.
Anyway. That's the idea I have in my head. Let's see if I can pull it off. Who knows, I might be able to.
And when I can find the right person to draw it up, I'll get it done, and I will finally join the masses of inked freaks.
It's all about the pain. The picture is just a souvenir.
I have an idea for a tattoo. I just don't have the skill to draw it up myself. Why don't you pull up a chair and listen to me describe it? Who knows, one of my readers might be able to do it for me. Stranger things have happened.
I am from Texas. And no matter how much shit people around me may give me about it, I am proud of that fact. Don't like it? Go fuck yourself, see how much I give a shit.
Anyway. Since I doubt I'll grow old and die in Texas, and I can't always go around with horns on my car to prove I'm from Texas in THAT way, what's the next best way?
Yes. Ink.
What I have in mind sounds... sorta simple, but really isn't, because of one thing. Let me describe it.
I want the outline of Texas on my shoulder, and I want it filled in with the Texas flag. Sounds simple, right? Not so much. Instead of a plain black outline, I want it to look like scar tissue. Burns, in particular. A Texas-shaped brand, to be perfectly specifice. Complete with the appearance of skin stretching and the shadows of burned flesh contours.
Yeahhhhh, now we're getting somewhere, aren't we? Thought so.
Anyway. Branded outline, Texas flag colors filling it in, and in the appropriate lettering (which I haven't found yet), I want it to say "Don't Mess With Texas" around it. Part above and part below, to be specific.
Anyway. That's the idea I have in my head. Let's see if I can pull it off. Who knows, I might be able to.
And when I can find the right person to draw it up, I'll get it done, and I will finally join the masses of inked freaks.
It's all about the pain. The picture is just a souvenir.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Bad Ass Merit Badge
So. I have a car. An itty bitty little four banger.
Yeah, that's her. One 2001 Mitsubishi Mirage. I call her Mira.
Itty bitty, yanno. You get what I'm saying.
So yesterday, on my birthday (which I forgot to leave a blog post up about, my bad), I went out to my buddy's house to see him and his mom and his friend who just got out of jail. They were all broke, and I had nothing to do all day. All my fun was gonna start after the sun went down, yo.
But I was bored and they were broke, and in Sedalia some ~30 miles down the highway, there was a place that bought scrap metal. Bret, Joe, and Bret's mom Perry all live out on farm land.... With rusted hunks of steel that hadn't moved in over fifteen years.
DING!! Idea!
We spent a couple hours going through a garage that looked like it was going to collapse any minute, a pole barn full of old tractor parts that you needed a tetanus shot just looking at, and cannabalizing a twisted ball of steel that may or may not have been a car half a century ago parked behind the hay shed. And then Perry and I laif the back seats down in Mira and her station wagon, and we loaded up. And then we had to do some shuffling. The station wagon held all the big pieces and my car had all the smaller bits... Which were denser and heavier.
My little car is a trooper, though. Almost 400 pounds of metal in the back end down the highway, struggling to maintain a 60 mph speed, and once we got weighed, unloaded, and paid, didn't bat an eyelash about the ordeal. Nary a mechanical issue.
I got my gas tank filled and nommy Starbucks treats because I'm a spoiled brat, and Perry is taking me to lunch at a little Cajun place in Sedalia Friday. I'm hoping it meets my standards.
Even though I didn't actually DO anything but drive, I had a lot of fun hanging out with good friends. Lots of laughs, lots of fun.
My little car earned her Bad Ass Merit Badge.
Yeah, that's her. One 2001 Mitsubishi Mirage. I call her Mira.
Itty bitty, yanno. You get what I'm saying.
So yesterday, on my birthday (which I forgot to leave a blog post up about, my bad), I went out to my buddy's house to see him and his mom and his friend who just got out of jail. They were all broke, and I had nothing to do all day. All my fun was gonna start after the sun went down, yo.
But I was bored and they were broke, and in Sedalia some ~30 miles down the highway, there was a place that bought scrap metal. Bret, Joe, and Bret's mom Perry all live out on farm land.... With rusted hunks of steel that hadn't moved in over fifteen years.
DING!! Idea!
We spent a couple hours going through a garage that looked like it was going to collapse any minute, a pole barn full of old tractor parts that you needed a tetanus shot just looking at, and cannabalizing a twisted ball of steel that may or may not have been a car half a century ago parked behind the hay shed. And then Perry and I laif the back seats down in Mira and her station wagon, and we loaded up. And then we had to do some shuffling. The station wagon held all the big pieces and my car had all the smaller bits... Which were denser and heavier.
My little car is a trooper, though. Almost 400 pounds of metal in the back end down the highway, struggling to maintain a 60 mph speed, and once we got weighed, unloaded, and paid, didn't bat an eyelash about the ordeal. Nary a mechanical issue.
I got my gas tank filled and nommy Starbucks treats because I'm a spoiled brat, and Perry is taking me to lunch at a little Cajun place in Sedalia Friday. I'm hoping it meets my standards.
Even though I didn't actually DO anything but drive, I had a lot of fun hanging out with good friends. Lots of laughs, lots of fun.
My little car earned her Bad Ass Merit Badge.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
No Blog For You!
Snarky is going out north of town to a friend's farm to go fishing today. She may or may not take pictures of her friend, affectionately known as the Pet Alcoholic. My camera has been feeling woefully neglected here as of late, so I'll rectify that situation.
The weather is beautiful, I have gas in the car, $20 in my pocket, and a full charge on my iPod. Life is good right now.
More later.
The weather is beautiful, I have gas in the car, $20 in my pocket, and a full charge on my iPod. Life is good right now.
More later.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
My Brand Of Parenting
Overheard in a conversation on Yahoo Messenger with the lovely NinjaMedic:
NinjaMedic: you know,I just love it when my kids restart the router without telling me
Snarky: Throw a shoe at them
Snarky: lol
NinjaMedic: it just makes my fucking night.
Snarky: Is it sad that I can't wait for Daniel to be big enough to do shit like that?
Snarky: "Why you throwing stuff at me?!"
NinjaMedic: I yelled instead. they said 'oh. sorry'
Snarky: Cuz you're being a little shit head!
NinjaMedic: hahahah!
Snarky: You're just like your father. Now go brew me some coffee.
NinjaMedic: haha!
Snarky: "I'm six, I don't know how to use the coffee maker!"
Snarky: WELL IT'S TIME TO LEARN, BITCH.
I win. NinjaMedic shot coke out of her nose.
NinjaMedic: you know,I just love it when my kids restart the router without telling me
Snarky: Throw a shoe at them
Snarky: lol
NinjaMedic: it just makes my fucking night.
Snarky: Is it sad that I can't wait for Daniel to be big enough to do shit like that?
Snarky: "Why you throwing stuff at me?!"
NinjaMedic: I yelled instead. they said 'oh. sorry'
Snarky: Cuz you're being a little shit head!
NinjaMedic: hahahah!
Snarky: You're just like your father. Now go brew me some coffee.
NinjaMedic: haha!
Snarky: "I'm six, I don't know how to use the coffee maker!"
Snarky: WELL IT'S TIME TO LEARN, BITCH.
I win. NinjaMedic shot coke out of her nose.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Going Mobile
Well, Blogger has this thing you can do: mobile blogging. And given how many random ass thoughts I have during the day, where I immediately think, "Wow, that's pretty cool, I should blog that later."
And then, yanno, I forget.
So, I'm gonna set up the mobile blog thing, and every now and then, BAM! Snark's Mouth content on the go.
Means you don't have to follow me on Twitter, cuz I know how irritating some people find it. Now, you can just check back here to see what I'm pondering/doing/whatever during the day when I'm away.
Neat, ain't it?
And then, yanno, I forget.
So, I'm gonna set up the mobile blog thing, and every now and then, BAM! Snark's Mouth content on the go.
Means you don't have to follow me on Twitter, cuz I know how irritating some people find it. Now, you can just check back here to see what I'm pondering/doing/whatever during the day when I'm away.
Neat, ain't it?
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Babble babble...
I cannot seem to stay awake for the entire day. Nor asleep for the entire night.
Matter of fact, I napped a couple of times yesterday. Ended up falling asleep around 10:30 last night, only to wake up roughly around 1 AM this morning. It was still 1 AM at the time, the clocks on the phones hadn't jumped forward an hour yet. Woke up and crawled out of bed just as there was a knock on the door.
Ninja had finally gotten off work and had shown up. He texted me earlier in the night, asking if we'd still be up when he got off. I knew I wouldn't, but the Redhead would, so I told him to come on over.
Ninja hung out for a while, listening to music and bullshitting with us. That's how it goes. Around what would be 2:30, he glanced at his phone and went, "Oh. Time jumped forward an hour. It's after 3. I should go." And off he went.
Redhead and I piddled around for a while longer and ended up curling up around 4, snuggled down and ready to sleep some more.
Then a thunderstorm rolled in ahead of a cool front and woke me up around 5:30, 6 AM. I woke up and watched the lightning flash, rain battering against the window for the better part of an hour, listening to the rumble of thunder overhead.
God damn it, I am tired.
The storm slacked off and I fell back asleep, waking up around 9 AM. I laid there for an hour, trying in vain to get back to sleep before giving up and getting dressed. I should know by now, I really should. No matter how little sleep or how restless, my internal clock won't let me sleep later than 8:30 or 9 at the latest. It just doesn't work that way.
So, I did what any hungry pregnant lady did. I got dressed and walked my happy ass to the gas station to buy smokes for Redhead, drinks for both of us, and something to nibble on. Donuts for him, cheese danishes for me. Yum. I was also displeased to notice the price of cigarettes, even the cheapest of the cheap, Dorals, had jumped a dollar overnight. Redhead would not be happy about that. And then I sat down and proceeded to write the post about Iced Earth, while listening to a wide variety of their songs to inspire me. It was nice.
Also, I thought about my cat, Ping. Crazy little fucker. Love him to death. He'll be 11 years old this summer. Getting on in his years. I've had him since he was six weeks old, and he's gone through everything with me. And that's been a lot.
I've really started paying attention to some of the quirkier things he does here lately. He grows increasingly more affectionate as the days go by. Used to, he would just curl up next to my feet while I slept, occasionally wrapping his paws around my ankle. Now days, he's either directly next to my shoulder, tail flicking against my nose, or wrapped around my head on the pillow, as seen here.
Total mama's boy, Ping is.
And, like most cats, he's prone to random fits of insanity. He'll go from snoozing peacefully to a streaking blur down the hallway of the apartment, nearly kicking his litterbox over as he attempts a 180-degree turn on the linoleum, and back into the living room, bouncing his shoulder off the door frame and sending him into a roll on the carpet. He definitely doesn't feel his age, it seems.
Or yesterday. Yesterday was comical. I was attempting to clean and get some stuff organized, and wandering from room to room in the little apartment. Every time I stepped into the living room, though, Ping would stop whatever he was doing, whether it be attacking the draw string on a hoodie on the floor, or chasing a golf ball, or just cleaning his paws, and he would immediately tuck his shoulder in, rolling in that preciously cute way that cats have onto his back, back feet kicking in spastic little fits. For no reason. And I would stop and rub his belly with my toes, then move onto whatever I was doing. And he would climb back onto his feet, and carry on with whatever task I had interrupted him in.
But here lately, it seems like he's got an odd little personality quirk. Well, odder than usual.
He doesn't like closed doors. At all. If you go into the bathroom and lock him out, he will sit at the door and cry and yowl and paw, desperately trying to open it himself or get you to open it, until you either finish your business and come out, or give up and lean over to let him in. Either way, the second the door is open, he blinks at you, and runs off again to do whatever it is he does.
Or if somebody is at the apartment, and I lay down to sleep... He'll instantly curl up next to me, no questions asked. And since Redhead is usually watching TV or listening to music, I'll shut the bedroom door. Granted, the apartment is in an old house that's settled, so the door doesn't quite close right, which means... Yup, you guessed it. Ping paws it open, then immediately comes back to lay next to me.
I'm beginning to think he's claustrophobic. It explains a lot of his behavior the past few years. The smaller the place to live, with doors closing him off from whatever room (and therefore limiting his space), the louder his cries became. When I first moved in with the Redhead, after returning from Texas, Ping was insane. It was a very small one-room studio apartment, with an impossibly small kitchen and bathroom. Not a whole lot of run-around space for a spastic kitty. And he would keep Redhead and I up at night, crying over nothing.
When we moved in with Ex-Roomie and Princess, he was immensely happier, with an apartment he could actually run laps in. Amazing! Then they brought a puppy home. A puppy that's only goal in life, it seemed, was to try and swallow my poor cat's head. Said puppy was not allowed in our bedroom, for the simple reason that we didn't like the stupid mutt, and she was nowhere near housebroken. She proved that, sneaking in when Redhead hadn't closed the door completely and pissing in the middle of our bed.
She got a sound beating for that one. And I don't want to hear any cries of animal abuse from anybody. A dog is not going to be disciplined if you don't hit her in some way. Ex-Roomie doesn't believe this, insisting on merely yelling "Stella, no!" at her. No wonder she doesn't listen... and her behavior doesn't improve.
But anyway. Nobody cares about that stupid dog. I'm talking about Ping. So, to escape the wrath of a dog that nobody paid any attention to, Ping started staying in the bedroom with Redhead and I most of the day and all through the night, with occasional excursions out into the rest of the apartment while Stella was locked away.
And it went right back to the way it was at the old place. Crying all the time, shedding horribly, and just everybody being generally unhappy.
We moved into our current place just in the nick of time. Now he's back to bouncing off the walls, running hell-bent for leather after God only knows what, rolling around like he's a kitten, and just being a lovable, playful little minx.
But seriously... Can cats be claustrophobic? The smaller the space, the louder he gets... And if you close a door, he'll make sure it gets opened up, even if he has no interest in going through it.
I should call a vet and ask them that. Very weird.
Matter of fact, I napped a couple of times yesterday. Ended up falling asleep around 10:30 last night, only to wake up roughly around 1 AM this morning. It was still 1 AM at the time, the clocks on the phones hadn't jumped forward an hour yet. Woke up and crawled out of bed just as there was a knock on the door.
Ninja had finally gotten off work and had shown up. He texted me earlier in the night, asking if we'd still be up when he got off. I knew I wouldn't, but the Redhead would, so I told him to come on over.
Ninja hung out for a while, listening to music and bullshitting with us. That's how it goes. Around what would be 2:30, he glanced at his phone and went, "Oh. Time jumped forward an hour. It's after 3. I should go." And off he went.
Redhead and I piddled around for a while longer and ended up curling up around 4, snuggled down and ready to sleep some more.
Then a thunderstorm rolled in ahead of a cool front and woke me up around 5:30, 6 AM. I woke up and watched the lightning flash, rain battering against the window for the better part of an hour, listening to the rumble of thunder overhead.
God damn it, I am tired.
The storm slacked off and I fell back asleep, waking up around 9 AM. I laid there for an hour, trying in vain to get back to sleep before giving up and getting dressed. I should know by now, I really should. No matter how little sleep or how restless, my internal clock won't let me sleep later than 8:30 or 9 at the latest. It just doesn't work that way.
So, I did what any hungry pregnant lady did. I got dressed and walked my happy ass to the gas station to buy smokes for Redhead, drinks for both of us, and something to nibble on. Donuts for him, cheese danishes for me. Yum. I was also displeased to notice the price of cigarettes, even the cheapest of the cheap, Dorals, had jumped a dollar overnight. Redhead would not be happy about that. And then I sat down and proceeded to write the post about Iced Earth, while listening to a wide variety of their songs to inspire me. It was nice.
Also, I thought about my cat, Ping. Crazy little fucker. Love him to death. He'll be 11 years old this summer. Getting on in his years. I've had him since he was six weeks old, and he's gone through everything with me. And that's been a lot.
I've really started paying attention to some of the quirkier things he does here lately. He grows increasingly more affectionate as the days go by. Used to, he would just curl up next to my feet while I slept, occasionally wrapping his paws around my ankle. Now days, he's either directly next to my shoulder, tail flicking against my nose, or wrapped around my head on the pillow, as seen here.
Total mama's boy, Ping is.
And, like most cats, he's prone to random fits of insanity. He'll go from snoozing peacefully to a streaking blur down the hallway of the apartment, nearly kicking his litterbox over as he attempts a 180-degree turn on the linoleum, and back into the living room, bouncing his shoulder off the door frame and sending him into a roll on the carpet. He definitely doesn't feel his age, it seems.
Or yesterday. Yesterday was comical. I was attempting to clean and get some stuff organized, and wandering from room to room in the little apartment. Every time I stepped into the living room, though, Ping would stop whatever he was doing, whether it be attacking the draw string on a hoodie on the floor, or chasing a golf ball, or just cleaning his paws, and he would immediately tuck his shoulder in, rolling in that preciously cute way that cats have onto his back, back feet kicking in spastic little fits. For no reason. And I would stop and rub his belly with my toes, then move onto whatever I was doing. And he would climb back onto his feet, and carry on with whatever task I had interrupted him in.
But here lately, it seems like he's got an odd little personality quirk. Well, odder than usual.
He doesn't like closed doors. At all. If you go into the bathroom and lock him out, he will sit at the door and cry and yowl and paw, desperately trying to open it himself or get you to open it, until you either finish your business and come out, or give up and lean over to let him in. Either way, the second the door is open, he blinks at you, and runs off again to do whatever it is he does.
Or if somebody is at the apartment, and I lay down to sleep... He'll instantly curl up next to me, no questions asked. And since Redhead is usually watching TV or listening to music, I'll shut the bedroom door. Granted, the apartment is in an old house that's settled, so the door doesn't quite close right, which means... Yup, you guessed it. Ping paws it open, then immediately comes back to lay next to me.
I'm beginning to think he's claustrophobic. It explains a lot of his behavior the past few years. The smaller the place to live, with doors closing him off from whatever room (and therefore limiting his space), the louder his cries became. When I first moved in with the Redhead, after returning from Texas, Ping was insane. It was a very small one-room studio apartment, with an impossibly small kitchen and bathroom. Not a whole lot of run-around space for a spastic kitty. And he would keep Redhead and I up at night, crying over nothing.
When we moved in with Ex-Roomie and Princess, he was immensely happier, with an apartment he could actually run laps in. Amazing! Then they brought a puppy home. A puppy that's only goal in life, it seemed, was to try and swallow my poor cat's head. Said puppy was not allowed in our bedroom, for the simple reason that we didn't like the stupid mutt, and she was nowhere near housebroken. She proved that, sneaking in when Redhead hadn't closed the door completely and pissing in the middle of our bed.
She got a sound beating for that one. And I don't want to hear any cries of animal abuse from anybody. A dog is not going to be disciplined if you don't hit her in some way. Ex-Roomie doesn't believe this, insisting on merely yelling "Stella, no!" at her. No wonder she doesn't listen... and her behavior doesn't improve.
But anyway. Nobody cares about that stupid dog. I'm talking about Ping. So, to escape the wrath of a dog that nobody paid any attention to, Ping started staying in the bedroom with Redhead and I most of the day and all through the night, with occasional excursions out into the rest of the apartment while Stella was locked away.
And it went right back to the way it was at the old place. Crying all the time, shedding horribly, and just everybody being generally unhappy.
We moved into our current place just in the nick of time. Now he's back to bouncing off the walls, running hell-bent for leather after God only knows what, rolling around like he's a kitten, and just being a lovable, playful little minx.
But seriously... Can cats be claustrophobic? The smaller the space, the louder he gets... And if you close a door, he'll make sure it gets opened up, even if he has no interest in going through it.
I should call a vet and ask them that. Very weird.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Fuck you, Missouri!
So. We survived the weekend (for the most part). Friday afternoon, we got the lease signed. Redhead was a wee bit ticked about having to pay a $100 non-refundable pet deposit for the cat. Oh no! $100! The world is coming to an end!
Until Former Roomie informed him that they were having to pay a $400 pet deposit for their idiot dog. Whom I glad I never have to see again. *happy sigh*
That, and it's better than the landlord stopping buy to pick up rent one month and seeing the cat, and... Hey, wait, you didn't pay a pet deposit... you lied about having pets... default on your lease!
So, yeah, a hundred bucks. Not that bad, all things considered.
Anyway. Redhead had to work until 3:30, so we set up an appointment to sign the lease at 4. Roomie had to be at work at 4. Huh. How are we gonna pull this off?
Oh yeah! Drop a text to the ever-faithful Marcus, our circle's Guitar Guru and generally all-around awesome party d00d (who still hates us because we were front row for Metallica, whereas he was way up on the 17th row... and Redhead and I got to shake James Hetfield's hand... never mind, I can see why he wants to punch me in the vagina on some days), because Marcus was recently laid off from the biggest factory in town, and he has a truck! Hooray Marcus! You saved the day! My hero!
Ahem.
I spent Thursday and Friday both doing laundry, and folding it, and generally attempting to pack. Didn't go over so well. So, about an hour before Redhead got off work, Marcus came over with his bubbly personality (and very pretty, I'm so jealous of the bitch) girlfriend, Dez. Whom I do adore, don't get me wrong. I'm just jealous because her face has the natural beauty that mine lacks. Damn her! Where was I? ... Oh yeah. Packing. Marcus and Dez came over and they helped me pile stuff in boxes.
Then came time to run pick up Redhead. Quick stop by the store to get certain necessary items (like a shower rod and curtain, because Redhead always showers as soon as he gets home), then we picked the Redhead up. Signed the lease. Got the keys. Dropped him back off at work because he had a safety meeting at 4:30. He was cranky about the pet deposit, but after he told me "You owe me" and I got a text saying "I hate my life", and I snapped it off in his ass as far as money issues goes... he settled down. To the new apartment we went, which I unlocked, showed to Marcus (Dez stayed back at the old place because there wasn't enough room), pulled in the first load, and back to the old place we went.
Repeat.
Ninja showed up while we were all sitting around taking a breather, and kept me company when Marcus and Dez ran to go get some quick food. Never say that your goofy friends who don't pay attention to anything don't care. The second they realized Preggo Lady hadn't eaten all day, off they went!
They came back, we loaded up the final load of small stuff, and back to the apartment. Redhead was off work. Ninja carried more people in his car than Marcus' truck could, and more comfortably, so we followed in the Cadillac.
So we had Marcus, Dez, Ninja, and Phace, who we somehow picked up along the way, but I don't remember when. Plenty of people to help move shit in. Cue insanity!
But it all went really rodeo when Phace brought the TV in. One of the A/V cables was still plugged into the back of the TV. I did not realize this. Phace stepped on it while going up the front walk. The cord yanked out, the peg broke off in the plug in the back of the TV.
Redhead went nuts. "It's ruined now! It's useless! Might as well throw the fucking thing out in the street!" I ignored him and went back out for another box. I came back inside to discover... him kicking the TV. Apparently, he was hell-bent to break it. Only cracked the plastic casing, though.
At some point, everybody ran out of cigarettes. So Redhead and Marcus went to the gas station to buy some. Marcus asked me if I needed anything, to which I barely heard Redhead reply, "I'm not buying her a fucking thing." She's got her own money, dude... "Yeah, and I gave it to her. Ungrateful bitch." Twitch... twitch... Don't kill him... have no place to hide the body... Can't get away with it in this town...
His mood swings really annoy me. His over-dramatization... it's a wonder I haven't killed him yet! Me, being me, and knowing how close I was to giving him a black eye (be proud of me, I haven't done it yet), I went for a walk. Down to the gas station, buy a soda. Call Ducky! Ducky-Mom always makes me feel better. And she did, of course, by offering to buy me kitchen stuff of my very own and making snide comments about my boyfriend's manhood.
I love my mother.
While on the phone with Ducky, I got a text from him, wondering where I was. Must have calmed down. Still not going home, though! Screw that noise. I told my mother about the TV, too. "What a dipshit. All he needs is a coaxial cable, it'll do the exact same thing as the A/Vs. Now you have permission to beat his ass, for just being stupid."
Thank you, Mommy Dearest! Why didn't I think of that? But oh well, time for me to get back to the apartment. It's cold out, and I'm only wearing a hoodie. Not enough to keep my assets warm.
I walk in to the apartment, and they have music playing on his phone, sitting around in a circle, smoking. Okay. Everybody seems for the most part calm. Marcus and Dez are laughing, Ninja and Pat have gone... somewhere, who knows. Dez needs to go home for something, her mom called. Marcus goes to take her home and says he'll come back for me. I tell Redhead about the coaxial cable.
Bad mood instantly gone. "Um. Honey. I told you the TV wasn't ruined to begin with." Didn't hear me. His TV will still be usable! Hooray!
Marcus texts to say he's on his way back over, so we can go get the last load of stuff from the old place. Namely, the bed, the cat, and the bathroom stuff that I completely spaced and forgot to pack. Redhead informs me that a friend of ours a few blocks away has a bottle of booze that he wants to gift to us. Housewarming party, anyone, and would Marcus and I mind going to pick it up? No problem. If he's in a good mood, I'm down. Too bad I can't drink. Muttermumbleassholepregnancymutter....
So, Marcus picks me up. We drive a few blocks. I climb three flights of stairs (What fat black man in his right mind lives on the third floor, and makes a pregnant woman climb all the way up to the top?!), get the bottle, stand for a minute and chitchat because I haven't seen the Token Black Friend in forever (and yes, I did just call him my Token Black Friend), back down the stairs, into the truck with Marcus, and back on the way to the apartment. Get to the end of the street, stop at the sign, go to turn left... and the truck lurches forward, wheels grinding, but not turning.
Marcus: "What the fuck?!?!"
Me: "I told you your truck was a piece of shit, dude. What the fuck is wrong with it?!"
Jack into reverse, back up (on the wrong side of the road, no less), and get out to examine. One wheel was turning faithfully to the left, and the other... was not. What the shit? But they both turned fine in reverse.
Me: "Uh, Marcus. I think you have a problem. The truck ain't going anywhere. You got a license?" Nod. "The truck insured?" Nod. "Any warrants out for your arrest?" Shake. "Okay, then call the cops, let them know what's going on. I don't want this thing getting hit, or you getting hurt. It is, after all, Friday night, and you are kinda parked on the wrong side of the road. I'm gonna walk back to the apartment, because the cops would frown on a couple of minors in possession of a bottle of tequila."
Yeah, we're delinquents. What of it? Not like I was drinking any of the stuff. Start hoofing it the three, maybe four blocks back to the apartment. And it was COLD.
Got back to the pad, and Ninja had reappeared. But there was no way our bed would fit in the back of his Cadillac. Not happening. When all else fails, call Roomie! He just got off work, and our bed WILL fit in the back of his SUV. Hooray!
Ninja held down the fort while we went and got everything, Ping included. Ping still hates car rides. By the time we got back, Marcus had reappeared, with Dez, complaining about having to pay fifty bucks to have his twenty-year-old piece-of-crap truck towed. Poor thing. But we were grateful for his help nonetheless. Roomie also busted out his little tool box and pulled the plastic casing off the TV to show Redhead... look at that, it's fixed. I TOLD YOU IT WASN'T COMPLETELY DESTROYED!
Just because I have a vagina does not automatically mean I don't know anything.
We set the TV and the PA system up, plugged the laptop in, and started playing music. And they started drinking. Whoo!
I don't remember when, but at some point Ninja took Marcus and Dez home, and I passed out. Redhead ended up going up to Country Kitchen. All in all, the night was a success.
Saturday morning blew chunks, though. Woke up with six inches of snow on the ground, and more falling.
WHAT THE FUCK?! It's the end of February, March 1st is the following day, and we're getting the first (and hopefully only) heavy snowfall of the season NOW?!?!
By the end of the day, we had almost a foot of snow on the front sidewalk. Roomie had taken me to WalMart to buy a few necessary items (like food and drink, and some paper plates and plastic cups to use until WalMart had my order of site-to-store dishes, glasses, silverware, and cookware that my mother ordered). Marcus, Dez, Ninja, and Phace all showed up again, this time carting the XBox, and a good time was had by all.
And now, I'm just hanging out, basking in the glory of having a new place, MY FIRST, all to myself. Redhead is asleep, Ping is curled up next to me, and I have several episodes of House, MD, calling my name.
But worry not. The next blog post will not be such drivel as this one was. I'll be talking about differences in lifestyles, mainly as the result of a real in-depth almost-interview with a friend of mine who, while married and with four little ones, is hiding out from her family... and the cult that raised her.
Tune in next time! Same Snark time, same Snark channel.
Until Former Roomie informed him that they were having to pay a $400 pet deposit for their idiot dog. Whom I glad I never have to see again. *happy sigh*
That, and it's better than the landlord stopping buy to pick up rent one month and seeing the cat, and... Hey, wait, you didn't pay a pet deposit... you lied about having pets... default on your lease!
So, yeah, a hundred bucks. Not that bad, all things considered.
Anyway. Redhead had to work until 3:30, so we set up an appointment to sign the lease at 4. Roomie had to be at work at 4. Huh. How are we gonna pull this off?
Oh yeah! Drop a text to the ever-faithful Marcus, our circle's Guitar Guru and generally all-around awesome party d00d (who still hates us because we were front row for Metallica, whereas he was way up on the 17th row... and Redhead and I got to shake James Hetfield's hand... never mind, I can see why he wants to punch me in the vagina on some days), because Marcus was recently laid off from the biggest factory in town, and he has a truck! Hooray Marcus! You saved the day! My hero!
Ahem.
I spent Thursday and Friday both doing laundry, and folding it, and generally attempting to pack. Didn't go over so well. So, about an hour before Redhead got off work, Marcus came over with his bubbly personality (and very pretty, I'm so jealous of the bitch) girlfriend, Dez. Whom I do adore, don't get me wrong. I'm just jealous because her face has the natural beauty that mine lacks. Damn her! Where was I? ... Oh yeah. Packing. Marcus and Dez came over and they helped me pile stuff in boxes.
Then came time to run pick up Redhead. Quick stop by the store to get certain necessary items (like a shower rod and curtain, because Redhead always showers as soon as he gets home), then we picked the Redhead up. Signed the lease. Got the keys. Dropped him back off at work because he had a safety meeting at 4:30. He was cranky about the pet deposit, but after he told me "You owe me" and I got a text saying "I hate my life", and I snapped it off in his ass as far as money issues goes... he settled down. To the new apartment we went, which I unlocked, showed to Marcus (Dez stayed back at the old place because there wasn't enough room), pulled in the first load, and back to the old place we went.
Repeat.
Ninja showed up while we were all sitting around taking a breather, and kept me company when Marcus and Dez ran to go get some quick food. Never say that your goofy friends who don't pay attention to anything don't care. The second they realized Preggo Lady hadn't eaten all day, off they went!
They came back, we loaded up the final load of small stuff, and back to the apartment. Redhead was off work. Ninja carried more people in his car than Marcus' truck could, and more comfortably, so we followed in the Cadillac.
So we had Marcus, Dez, Ninja, and Phace, who we somehow picked up along the way, but I don't remember when. Plenty of people to help move shit in. Cue insanity!
But it all went really rodeo when Phace brought the TV in. One of the A/V cables was still plugged into the back of the TV. I did not realize this. Phace stepped on it while going up the front walk. The cord yanked out, the peg broke off in the plug in the back of the TV.
Redhead went nuts. "It's ruined now! It's useless! Might as well throw the fucking thing out in the street!" I ignored him and went back out for another box. I came back inside to discover... him kicking the TV. Apparently, he was hell-bent to break it. Only cracked the plastic casing, though.
At some point, everybody ran out of cigarettes. So Redhead and Marcus went to the gas station to buy some. Marcus asked me if I needed anything, to which I barely heard Redhead reply, "I'm not buying her a fucking thing." She's got her own money, dude... "Yeah, and I gave it to her. Ungrateful bitch." Twitch... twitch... Don't kill him... have no place to hide the body... Can't get away with it in this town...
His mood swings really annoy me. His over-dramatization... it's a wonder I haven't killed him yet! Me, being me, and knowing how close I was to giving him a black eye (be proud of me, I haven't done it yet), I went for a walk. Down to the gas station, buy a soda. Call Ducky! Ducky-Mom always makes me feel better. And she did, of course, by offering to buy me kitchen stuff of my very own and making snide comments about my boyfriend's manhood.
I love my mother.
While on the phone with Ducky, I got a text from him, wondering where I was. Must have calmed down. Still not going home, though! Screw that noise. I told my mother about the TV, too. "What a dipshit. All he needs is a coaxial cable, it'll do the exact same thing as the A/Vs. Now you have permission to beat his ass, for just being stupid."
Thank you, Mommy Dearest! Why didn't I think of that? But oh well, time for me to get back to the apartment. It's cold out, and I'm only wearing a hoodie. Not enough to keep my assets warm.
I walk in to the apartment, and they have music playing on his phone, sitting around in a circle, smoking. Okay. Everybody seems for the most part calm. Marcus and Dez are laughing, Ninja and Pat have gone... somewhere, who knows. Dez needs to go home for something, her mom called. Marcus goes to take her home and says he'll come back for me. I tell Redhead about the coaxial cable.
Bad mood instantly gone. "Um. Honey. I told you the TV wasn't ruined to begin with." Didn't hear me. His TV will still be usable! Hooray!
Marcus texts to say he's on his way back over, so we can go get the last load of stuff from the old place. Namely, the bed, the cat, and the bathroom stuff that I completely spaced and forgot to pack. Redhead informs me that a friend of ours a few blocks away has a bottle of booze that he wants to gift to us. Housewarming party, anyone, and would Marcus and I mind going to pick it up? No problem. If he's in a good mood, I'm down. Too bad I can't drink. Muttermumbleassholepregnancymutter....
So, Marcus picks me up. We drive a few blocks. I climb three flights of stairs (What fat black man in his right mind lives on the third floor, and makes a pregnant woman climb all the way up to the top?!), get the bottle, stand for a minute and chitchat because I haven't seen the Token Black Friend in forever (and yes, I did just call him my Token Black Friend), back down the stairs, into the truck with Marcus, and back on the way to the apartment. Get to the end of the street, stop at the sign, go to turn left... and the truck lurches forward, wheels grinding, but not turning.
Marcus: "What the fuck?!?!"
Me: "I told you your truck was a piece of shit, dude. What the fuck is wrong with it?!"
Jack into reverse, back up (on the wrong side of the road, no less), and get out to examine. One wheel was turning faithfully to the left, and the other... was not. What the shit? But they both turned fine in reverse.
Me: "Uh, Marcus. I think you have a problem. The truck ain't going anywhere. You got a license?" Nod. "The truck insured?" Nod. "Any warrants out for your arrest?" Shake. "Okay, then call the cops, let them know what's going on. I don't want this thing getting hit, or you getting hurt. It is, after all, Friday night, and you are kinda parked on the wrong side of the road. I'm gonna walk back to the apartment, because the cops would frown on a couple of minors in possession of a bottle of tequila."
Yeah, we're delinquents. What of it? Not like I was drinking any of the stuff. Start hoofing it the three, maybe four blocks back to the apartment. And it was COLD.
Got back to the pad, and Ninja had reappeared. But there was no way our bed would fit in the back of his Cadillac. Not happening. When all else fails, call Roomie! He just got off work, and our bed WILL fit in the back of his SUV. Hooray!
Ninja held down the fort while we went and got everything, Ping included. Ping still hates car rides. By the time we got back, Marcus had reappeared, with Dez, complaining about having to pay fifty bucks to have his twenty-year-old piece-of-crap truck towed. Poor thing. But we were grateful for his help nonetheless. Roomie also busted out his little tool box and pulled the plastic casing off the TV to show Redhead... look at that, it's fixed. I TOLD YOU IT WASN'T COMPLETELY DESTROYED!
Just because I have a vagina does not automatically mean I don't know anything.
We set the TV and the PA system up, plugged the laptop in, and started playing music. And they started drinking. Whoo!
I don't remember when, but at some point Ninja took Marcus and Dez home, and I passed out. Redhead ended up going up to Country Kitchen. All in all, the night was a success.
Saturday morning blew chunks, though. Woke up with six inches of snow on the ground, and more falling.
WHAT THE FUCK?! It's the end of February, March 1st is the following day, and we're getting the first (and hopefully only) heavy snowfall of the season NOW?!?!
By the end of the day, we had almost a foot of snow on the front sidewalk. Roomie had taken me to WalMart to buy a few necessary items (like food and drink, and some paper plates and plastic cups to use until WalMart had my order of site-to-store dishes, glasses, silverware, and cookware that my mother ordered). Marcus, Dez, Ninja, and Phace all showed up again, this time carting the XBox, and a good time was had by all.
And now, I'm just hanging out, basking in the glory of having a new place, MY FIRST, all to myself. Redhead is asleep, Ping is curled up next to me, and I have several episodes of House, MD, calling my name.
But worry not. The next blog post will not be such drivel as this one was. I'll be talking about differences in lifestyles, mainly as the result of a real in-depth almost-interview with a friend of mine who, while married and with four little ones, is hiding out from her family... and the cult that raised her.
Tune in next time! Same Snark time, same Snark channel.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Situation Awareness
So, Friday morning. Got up at 6 AM, got dressed, took the Redhead to work. It's the only time I ever get to drive any more, so I tend to slow down, obey the speed limit, and enjoy the drive. Roomie keeps six CDs in the multi-disc changer now, because he's a delivery guy, so he spends most of his work days in the car. Good reason for me rarely getting to drive anymore. Also explains why I am usually trapped in the apartment all day, and desperate to get out and do something as meaningless as sit at Country Kitchen for hours on end and surf the internet. Let my brain leak out of my ears for a few hours, it's okay.
No, I don't have internet at home, either. So if I wants 'Net access, it's off to Country Kitchen to stuff myself full of either coffee or soda for hours on end and socialize with everybody that walks by. Swear to god, Country Kitchen is the best place in town to talk to people. Screw Pine Street (where ALL of the bars are). Forget the university campus. Country Kitchen, all the way, baby! There's a cult following, I swear.
Anyway, where was I going with this? ... Oh yeah. I'm gonna sound random and off-the-wall for a few more minutes before actually making a point with this post.
If you haven't noticed, I read blogs to entertain myself most often. When I find a new one that catches my interest, I go AAAAAAALL the way back through the archives to the very first post. I did this with the very first blog I became addicted to (Ambulance Driver), and have since then been linked to LawDog and Matt G, to name a couple. Of course, there are a handful more in my sidebar over there, but those two are the first that come to mind. I'm currently working my way through the archives of the ever-lovely Cranky Professor, and she has a LOT for me to read.
The reason I mention Matt and LawDog in particular is because they are police officers. Don't get me wrong, I don't prefer cops over all others, nobody takes second place to them in the heirarchy of folks whose words enrapture me, none of that (AD, you know you're still my favorite anyway!). No, their being officers of the law enforcement variety means... Just like in the nurse blogs and the AmboDriver's blog... they blog about what they know, and what they encounter.
They also offer advice and whatnot to the people that read them. They've made posts about women who carry concealed, CCW in general, all sorts of things. If you have a question for them, leave it in the comments, and if it's of a good topic that deserves to have some light shed on it, they'll answer.
They've also posted about situational awareness. Matter of fact, in the past week or so while availing myself to Matt's archives to catch up on him, I came across a post explaining it and warning people (women especially, because apparently in the eyes of critters everywhere, the fairer sex is still easy prey, and I can understand that, with today's society in America. "Just give them what they want." No. Fuck you. I refuse to be victimized.)
Take note of your surroundings, people. It could save your friggin' LIFE. And after yesterday morning, after dropping the Redhead off at work, this subject really hit home with me. Nothing bad happened, thank god, but after I came into my apartrment (and took care to lock and bolt the door behind me, for once), the alarm bells were still going off in my brain something fierce. It kept me from getting back to sleep, kept me from getting even remotely comfortable, and it kept me edgy for most of the day.
Now. I live on a dead end street. There's a round little cul-de-sac on each end, and the only way to get onto the street is to follow the winding, bendy-ass road that T's into it, after navigating your way through one of the higher-end neighborhoods in this dinky little town. Don't ask me how I managed to land in this apartment, but after being used to living lower-middle class slums most of my life, being surrounded by nice houses and fancy cars makes me a little... nervous, for some reason.
ANYWAY.
Each building holds four apartments, with a small parking lot for each. I live in the second building from the end closest to the street out. Okay. So I stop at the stop sign and as I start to turn, I see headlights coming towards me. Slowly. I start to pay a little more attention, coming out of the trance I feel when I can drive and relax. I turn onto my street, flip on my blinker to let Other Dood know which parking lot I'm pulling into... and he pulls into it ahead of me. Parks next to my neighbor's Mustang and kills the engine. Parks right next to the only... open... spot. Shit.
Cue the alarm bells starting to sound. I was officially nervous and none too happy about it.
In Houston, where I hail from, this is the way that Bad Things happen. It was a quarter til seven in the morning and it wasn't even light out. The horizon was just starting to brighten in anticipation of the coming day. And there is some strange dood whose car I had never seen before, parked next to me. Had I been one of my weaker-willed relatives or friends, I may have had a panic attack at that moment.
But, nonetheless, I was sitting in my roommate's truck, fifteen feet from the front door of my apartment. Hell, I'm five feet from my own bedroom window. With some weird guy I don't know in the next car. And I'm cursing my roomie's Mazda, because there is no way to turn off the interior lights when you open the door. I have tried. The windows aren't tinted at all, so Stranger Man would be able to see when I got out of the car. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I was getting myself really worked up over this, can you tell?
I ended up getting out of the car, keys in my fist. I loves me some stabbing implements. Yay. And I hear the guy get out of his car. My mind is going absolutely nucking futs by this time, let me tell you. The guy comes around the back of the Mazda, and meets me when I'm halfway to my door.
Stranger Guy: "You live here?"
Snarky: "Yeah."
SG: "Which one?"
S: "This building right behind me."
SG: "Oh. Well. The bank is foreclosing on this building today, and..."
At this point, he steps even closer to me. Granted, when he first started talking to me, he was a good three feet away. All I could see was the receding hairline, glasses, and dark-colored polo he was wearing. Still wasn't light enough. But he stepped forward, and I stepped back.
Snarky: "Please, stay where you are."
SG: "What? I'm not gonna hurt you, lady."
Snarky: "I don't know that. Stay where you are."
He stayed. Thankfully. He went on to say that he was looking for information about the buildings, like how many bedrooms in the apartments, what appliances they came with, what rent ran us each month. Told me that if an investor bought the building, we might not have to move. If the bank kept it, then we'd have sixty to ninety days to relocate. He gestured to the rest of the buildings on the street, telling me "There's obviously plenty of places to move."
The realtor we rent from owns all the buildings on the street. If the bank was foreclosing on one, wouldn't they close on ALL of them? Or at least more than ONE building? Not to mention, not once did this guy identify himself, who he was with, or anything.
He said he was looking for information on the buildings, but didn't want to go knocking on doors. No shit, sherlock. Get the fuck out of my parking lot and away from my home, lest I start screaming and call the cops.
If I see him or his car around here again, I'm definitely calling his plates in.
No, I don't have internet at home, either. So if I wants 'Net access, it's off to Country Kitchen to stuff myself full of either coffee or soda for hours on end and socialize with everybody that walks by. Swear to god, Country Kitchen is the best place in town to talk to people. Screw Pine Street (where ALL of the bars are). Forget the university campus. Country Kitchen, all the way, baby! There's a cult following, I swear.
Anyway, where was I going with this? ... Oh yeah. I'm gonna sound random and off-the-wall for a few more minutes before actually making a point with this post.
If you haven't noticed, I read blogs to entertain myself most often. When I find a new one that catches my interest, I go AAAAAAALL the way back through the archives to the very first post. I did this with the very first blog I became addicted to (Ambulance Driver), and have since then been linked to LawDog and Matt G, to name a couple. Of course, there are a handful more in my sidebar over there, but those two are the first that come to mind. I'm currently working my way through the archives of the ever-lovely Cranky Professor, and she has a LOT for me to read.
The reason I mention Matt and LawDog in particular is because they are police officers. Don't get me wrong, I don't prefer cops over all others, nobody takes second place to them in the heirarchy of folks whose words enrapture me, none of that (AD, you know you're still my favorite anyway!). No, their being officers of the law enforcement variety means... Just like in the nurse blogs and the AmboDriver's blog... they blog about what they know, and what they encounter.
They also offer advice and whatnot to the people that read them. They've made posts about women who carry concealed, CCW in general, all sorts of things. If you have a question for them, leave it in the comments, and if it's of a good topic that deserves to have some light shed on it, they'll answer.
They've also posted about situational awareness. Matter of fact, in the past week or so while availing myself to Matt's archives to catch up on him, I came across a post explaining it and warning people (women especially, because apparently in the eyes of critters everywhere, the fairer sex is still easy prey, and I can understand that, with today's society in America. "Just give them what they want." No. Fuck you. I refuse to be victimized.)
Take note of your surroundings, people. It could save your friggin' LIFE. And after yesterday morning, after dropping the Redhead off at work, this subject really hit home with me. Nothing bad happened, thank god, but after I came into my apartrment (and took care to lock and bolt the door behind me, for once), the alarm bells were still going off in my brain something fierce. It kept me from getting back to sleep, kept me from getting even remotely comfortable, and it kept me edgy for most of the day.
Now. I live on a dead end street. There's a round little cul-de-sac on each end, and the only way to get onto the street is to follow the winding, bendy-ass road that T's into it, after navigating your way through one of the higher-end neighborhoods in this dinky little town. Don't ask me how I managed to land in this apartment, but after being used to living lower-middle class slums most of my life, being surrounded by nice houses and fancy cars makes me a little... nervous, for some reason.
ANYWAY.
Each building holds four apartments, with a small parking lot for each. I live in the second building from the end closest to the street out. Okay. So I stop at the stop sign and as I start to turn, I see headlights coming towards me. Slowly. I start to pay a little more attention, coming out of the trance I feel when I can drive and relax. I turn onto my street, flip on my blinker to let Other Dood know which parking lot I'm pulling into... and he pulls into it ahead of me. Parks next to my neighbor's Mustang and kills the engine. Parks right next to the only... open... spot. Shit.
Cue the alarm bells starting to sound. I was officially nervous and none too happy about it.
In Houston, where I hail from, this is the way that Bad Things happen. It was a quarter til seven in the morning and it wasn't even light out. The horizon was just starting to brighten in anticipation of the coming day. And there is some strange dood whose car I had never seen before, parked next to me. Had I been one of my weaker-willed relatives or friends, I may have had a panic attack at that moment.
But, nonetheless, I was sitting in my roommate's truck, fifteen feet from the front door of my apartment. Hell, I'm five feet from my own bedroom window. With some weird guy I don't know in the next car. And I'm cursing my roomie's Mazda, because there is no way to turn off the interior lights when you open the door. I have tried. The windows aren't tinted at all, so Stranger Man would be able to see when I got out of the car. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I was getting myself really worked up over this, can you tell?
I ended up getting out of the car, keys in my fist. I loves me some stabbing implements. Yay. And I hear the guy get out of his car. My mind is going absolutely nucking futs by this time, let me tell you. The guy comes around the back of the Mazda, and meets me when I'm halfway to my door.
Stranger Guy: "You live here?"
Snarky: "Yeah."
SG: "Which one?"
S: "This building right behind me."
SG: "Oh. Well. The bank is foreclosing on this building today, and..."
At this point, he steps even closer to me. Granted, when he first started talking to me, he was a good three feet away. All I could see was the receding hairline, glasses, and dark-colored polo he was wearing. Still wasn't light enough. But he stepped forward, and I stepped back.
Snarky: "Please, stay where you are."
SG: "What? I'm not gonna hurt you, lady."
Snarky: "I don't know that. Stay where you are."
He stayed. Thankfully. He went on to say that he was looking for information about the buildings, like how many bedrooms in the apartments, what appliances they came with, what rent ran us each month. Told me that if an investor bought the building, we might not have to move. If the bank kept it, then we'd have sixty to ninety days to relocate. He gestured to the rest of the buildings on the street, telling me "There's obviously plenty of places to move."
The realtor we rent from owns all the buildings on the street. If the bank was foreclosing on one, wouldn't they close on ALL of them? Or at least more than ONE building? Not to mention, not once did this guy identify himself, who he was with, or anything.
He said he was looking for information on the buildings, but didn't want to go knocking on doors. No shit, sherlock. Get the fuck out of my parking lot and away from my home, lest I start screaming and call the cops.
If I see him or his car around here again, I'm definitely calling his plates in.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Random Crap With A Lot Of Pics
Okay, so this is gonna be an off the wall post, just to give you fair warning. We'll be covering stupidity, friends, baby crap, aaaand... I haven't quite figured it all out yet. I tend to play my posts by ear most of the time, so if I have ANY READERS WHATSOEVER, you should be used to it by now.
Yeah, I know. Nobody reads this but me. But I can hope, right? Right. Moving along...
First off, though. BABY STUFF!
I'm finally starting to get excited about being pregnant. I'm finally starting to get used to the idea of the now-undeniable fact that in a few months, I am going to go through a whole HELLUVALOTTAPAIN, and have a life to mold and hope I can meet the challenge (to paraphrase a friend's thoughts on the subject, because now I can't find the conversation archive it was said in). The maternal instincts are kicking in, and I've already started snapping at Redhead about certain behaviors that will come to a full stop once the baby gets here.
But that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is how Redhead and I have been worried how we are going to pay for all the things we'll need for baby Daniel, and suddenly, most of the bigger, more costly items have been provided for me. My mother and Mamaw have been going crazy in Texas, buying stuff for me. A lot of stuff. We've already come to the realization that she's going to need a Uhaul trailer to get all of it to me. It won't all fit in her little Mazda, no way in hell.
A crib, a little bouncy seat thing, TWO strollers, a little ducky costume (because my mother's nickname is Ducky and she couldn't resist getting a VERY early Halloween costume), a battery-powered swing (because winding the old swings up was way irritating), one of about two dozen outfits they've bought, and the quilt from a bedding set that originally cost $180 dollars that my mother bought from a friend. Said friend was expecting a boy, and at the last minute discovered that her daughter was having a girl. Sheets, quilt, mobile, all kinds of crap.
My family has gone nuts buying stuff for the first grandchild in the entire family. They're very excited, obviously. Lots of stuff.
In other news, my friends are being dorks. This is my buddy, Ninja, for instance.
Somebody gave him a really big stick, and for some reason, thought he looked like a Muslim or something. And there was a whole room full of people debating this fact. So, one of the geniuses took a picture with his cell phone and sent it out to everybody, asking if they all agreed. My answer was the best, and earned a personal text "thank you" from Ninja himself, and laughter from the rest of the idiots:
"No, it just looks like you made a big mistake and gave Ninja a really big stick. Wow, you're a dumbass."
Yeah, these are the people I hang out with on a daily basis. It sounds a lot less amusing here than it really was, I swear.
And we're an easily amused, bunch. Somebody found a website (I am yet to find it) where you can make your own highway sign, welcoming traffic into a town. This one was created and sent around. The most amusing part is... this is generally the attitude taken by the townies around here. And in this town, you're either a Townie or a College Student. If you're not a student, but you've moved into town and become a regular face, you are an adopted townie. Much like me, the Redhead, the Roomie... the works. But the sign amused me to no end.
That's all I got right now. You'll have to suffer for a while more until I can come up with a REAL quality blog post. Enjoy.
Yeah, I know. Nobody reads this but me. But I can hope, right? Right. Moving along...
First off, though. BABY STUFF!
I'm finally starting to get excited about being pregnant. I'm finally starting to get used to the idea of the now-undeniable fact that in a few months, I am going to go through a whole HELLUVALOTTAPAIN, and have a life to mold and hope I can meet the challenge (to paraphrase a friend's thoughts on the subject, because now I can't find the conversation archive it was said in). The maternal instincts are kicking in, and I've already started snapping at Redhead about certain behaviors that will come to a full stop once the baby gets here.
But that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is how Redhead and I have been worried how we are going to pay for all the things we'll need for baby Daniel, and suddenly, most of the bigger, more costly items have been provided for me. My mother and Mamaw have been going crazy in Texas, buying stuff for me. A lot of stuff. We've already come to the realization that she's going to need a Uhaul trailer to get all of it to me. It won't all fit in her little Mazda, no way in hell.
A crib, a little bouncy seat thing, TWO strollers, a little ducky costume (because my mother's nickname is Ducky and she couldn't resist getting a VERY early Halloween costume), a battery-powered swing (because winding the old swings up was way irritating), one of about two dozen outfits they've bought, and the quilt from a bedding set that originally cost $180 dollars that my mother bought from a friend. Said friend was expecting a boy, and at the last minute discovered that her daughter was having a girl. Sheets, quilt, mobile, all kinds of crap.
My family has gone nuts buying stuff for the first grandchild in the entire family. They're very excited, obviously. Lots of stuff.
In other news, my friends are being dorks. This is my buddy, Ninja, for instance.
Somebody gave him a really big stick, and for some reason, thought he looked like a Muslim or something. And there was a whole room full of people debating this fact. So, one of the geniuses took a picture with his cell phone and sent it out to everybody, asking if they all agreed. My answer was the best, and earned a personal text "thank you" from Ninja himself, and laughter from the rest of the idiots:
"No, it just looks like you made a big mistake and gave Ninja a really big stick. Wow, you're a dumbass."
Yeah, these are the people I hang out with on a daily basis. It sounds a lot less amusing here than it really was, I swear.
And we're an easily amused, bunch. Somebody found a website (I am yet to find it) where you can make your own highway sign, welcoming traffic into a town. This one was created and sent around. The most amusing part is... this is generally the attitude taken by the townies around here. And in this town, you're either a Townie or a College Student. If you're not a student, but you've moved into town and become a regular face, you are an adopted townie. Much like me, the Redhead, the Roomie... the works. But the sign amused me to no end.
That's all I got right now. You'll have to suffer for a while more until I can come up with a REAL quality blog post. Enjoy.
Friday, January 16, 2009
MORE F*CKING QUIZZES!
I know. You want to kill me. But these are way more amusing.
Find out which porn star are you at LiquidGeneration!
Find out if Sarah Palin would bang you at LiquidGeneration.com!
I'm such a pimp.
Find out Which Movie Hero Are You at LiquidGeneration.com!
Find out if You Are Paranoid Or Is Someone Really Trying To Kill You at LiquidGeneration.com!
Find out Which Marvel Superhero Are You at LiquidGeneration.com!
Find out What Type of Fighter Are You at LiquidGeneration.com
Find out What's Your Jedi Name at LiquidGeneration.com
Find out what drunk celebrity you are at LiquidGeneration!
Find out if you are a freak in bed at LiquidGeneration!
Wait for it... wait for it...
Yup, still ashamed of myself.
Find out which porn star are you at LiquidGeneration!
Find out if Sarah Palin would bang you at LiquidGeneration.com!
I'm such a pimp.
Find out Which Movie Hero Are You at LiquidGeneration.com!
Find out if You Are Paranoid Or Is Someone Really Trying To Kill You at LiquidGeneration.com!
Find out Which Marvel Superhero Are You at LiquidGeneration.com!
Find out What Type of Fighter Are You at LiquidGeneration.com
Find out What's Your Jedi Name at LiquidGeneration.com
Find out what drunk celebrity you are at LiquidGeneration!
Find out if you are a freak in bed at LiquidGeneration!
Wait for it... wait for it...
Yup, still ashamed of myself.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Quizzes
It's true. I'm addicted to these lame ass things. Here's a handful of mildly amusing ones, at least. Check it out, bitches!
And it's true, too. I fucking LOATHE MySpace.
92%DRUNKARD
60%
$4490.00
69%
(Figured I'd have learned a little bit more, as addicted to George Romero films as I am. Shame on me.)
63% Geek
I am ashamed of myself.
And it's true, too. I fucking LOATHE MySpace.
92%DRUNKARD
60%
$4490.00
69%
(Figured I'd have learned a little bit more, as addicted to George Romero films as I am. Shame on me.)
63% Geek
I am ashamed of myself.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Post-Holiday Musings
Well, Christmas has come and gone. As far as gifts go, it was a sad attempt at a holiday, but that's alright. I just wish I could have seen my family back home. Oh well, nothing can be done about it now.
I gave the Redhead a shiny hookah for Christmas. That was the only gift I bought for anyone. That was really the only thing I could afford. And boy, does he love that thing. He's big on Indian and Asian culture, and that was right up his alley. He adores it. I'm happy about that.
His mom was nice and bought me some shoes for Christmas. God knows I needed them. Roomie got me a gift early, still in November, he upgraded my phone. Probably the best gift I got, but I don't care. It set him back a bit on finances.
Then from the family came various gift cards, all packed neatly with things for baby. My Granny sent me a pack of receiving blankets, my mom sent me a baby t-shirt that the child will be wearing when we leave the hospital. How could I ask for anything other than my child be sporting the words, "All Daddy Wanted Was A Blowjob"?
Couldn't ask for more than that.
Christmas was an interesting day. I spent all that day and Christmas Eve both cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. Redhead was freaking out about the apartment being clean because otherwise his mother would throw an ever-loving fit. So I cleaned. And I cleaned. And I cleaned. Which was no surprise, considering I had been cooped up the in apartment for three days while Roomie and Princess were out of town visiting their family members. God, I hate being cooped up.
Also, nobody in the apartment cleans but me. So nothing had been done in about a week. I went on strike. Didn't work. Oh well. So I cleaned. The dishes in the kitchen alone took me four and a half hours. FOUR AND A HALF HOURS!!! Then there was scrubbing down countertops and the stove and the microwave and the tables and dusting and vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom and oh my GOD will it never END?!
Keep in mind, before I started cleaning, the Redhead had told me several times, "We need to clean the apartment." And because he sleeps until no earlier than noon when he doesn't have to work, whereas I wake up around 8 AM every day, I got a healthy head start on him. The first day of cleaning went okay, and I got most of the apartment done. He didn't wake up until four o'clock in the afternoon, and we immediately left. Roomie had to work on Christmas eve, so I had driving privileges. Yay. Off we went. No more cleaning for the day.
Wake up on Christmas and get back to cleaning. Also, discover the turkey is not thawed out. Oh dear. So I start doing everything I can to thaw that bitch out, while continuing my cleaning regimen.
Scary.
Redhead wakes up at noon and discovers the same thing I did. Turkey is not thawed. He starts throwing one of his trademark bitch fits. ON FUCKING CHRISTMAS. Take a deep breath, Snarky, and go take a shower. If he hasn't snapped out of it by the time you get out, you can knock his teeth out. Thankfully, he was calm.
I commented as such to him after I got out of the shower. I told him, in no uncertain terms was he to make my Christmas even worse. I was 800 miles away from home, unable to see my family while everybody else around me gets to visit with theirs. I was NOT. HAPPY.
The turkey eventually got thawed. And it even turned out okay when we cooked it, no less. Amazing. We also made some stuffing and mashed potatoes, and Redhead's mom brought brownies and some rolls. And then Big Sister took forever to get to our apartment and pissed everybody off. She got there twenty minutes before Redhead's mom and other sister had to leave. They, sadly, had to work.
But.... overall it was okay. The turkey disaster got righted and Redhead got to spend some time with his family, with me bouncing around the apartment looking all pregnant and fat. Scary scary.
In other news, the Princess had a job interview today at WalMart. Hooray for her. She came home and looked like her head was about to split in half, she was so happy. She has a job.
That leaves me as the only person in this apartment that is NOT employed.
What I can't figure out is.... I went out every day for two months, filling out applications and checking back to all the places where I had turned them in. I was doing it non-stop. For TWO MONTHS.
She's gone out job hunting TWICE in the past month and a half. Twice. And now she has a job.
WHAT THE FUCK, OVER?!
The world hates me. That's the only logical answer I can come up with.
I just don't get it.
I gave the Redhead a shiny hookah for Christmas. That was the only gift I bought for anyone. That was really the only thing I could afford. And boy, does he love that thing. He's big on Indian and Asian culture, and that was right up his alley. He adores it. I'm happy about that.
His mom was nice and bought me some shoes for Christmas. God knows I needed them. Roomie got me a gift early, still in November, he upgraded my phone. Probably the best gift I got, but I don't care. It set him back a bit on finances.
Then from the family came various gift cards, all packed neatly with things for baby. My Granny sent me a pack of receiving blankets, my mom sent me a baby t-shirt that the child will be wearing when we leave the hospital. How could I ask for anything other than my child be sporting the words, "All Daddy Wanted Was A Blowjob"?
Couldn't ask for more than that.
Christmas was an interesting day. I spent all that day and Christmas Eve both cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. Redhead was freaking out about the apartment being clean because otherwise his mother would throw an ever-loving fit. So I cleaned. And I cleaned. And I cleaned. Which was no surprise, considering I had been cooped up the in apartment for three days while Roomie and Princess were out of town visiting their family members. God, I hate being cooped up.
Also, nobody in the apartment cleans but me. So nothing had been done in about a week. I went on strike. Didn't work. Oh well. So I cleaned. The dishes in the kitchen alone took me four and a half hours. FOUR AND A HALF HOURS!!! Then there was scrubbing down countertops and the stove and the microwave and the tables and dusting and vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom and oh my GOD will it never END?!
Keep in mind, before I started cleaning, the Redhead had told me several times, "We need to clean the apartment." And because he sleeps until no earlier than noon when he doesn't have to work, whereas I wake up around 8 AM every day, I got a healthy head start on him. The first day of cleaning went okay, and I got most of the apartment done. He didn't wake up until four o'clock in the afternoon, and we immediately left. Roomie had to work on Christmas eve, so I had driving privileges. Yay. Off we went. No more cleaning for the day.
Wake up on Christmas and get back to cleaning. Also, discover the turkey is not thawed out. Oh dear. So I start doing everything I can to thaw that bitch out, while continuing my cleaning regimen.
Scary.
Redhead wakes up at noon and discovers the same thing I did. Turkey is not thawed. He starts throwing one of his trademark bitch fits. ON FUCKING CHRISTMAS. Take a deep breath, Snarky, and go take a shower. If he hasn't snapped out of it by the time you get out, you can knock his teeth out. Thankfully, he was calm.
I commented as such to him after I got out of the shower. I told him, in no uncertain terms was he to make my Christmas even worse. I was 800 miles away from home, unable to see my family while everybody else around me gets to visit with theirs. I was NOT. HAPPY.
The turkey eventually got thawed. And it even turned out okay when we cooked it, no less. Amazing. We also made some stuffing and mashed potatoes, and Redhead's mom brought brownies and some rolls. And then Big Sister took forever to get to our apartment and pissed everybody off. She got there twenty minutes before Redhead's mom and other sister had to leave. They, sadly, had to work.
But.... overall it was okay. The turkey disaster got righted and Redhead got to spend some time with his family, with me bouncing around the apartment looking all pregnant and fat. Scary scary.
In other news, the Princess had a job interview today at WalMart. Hooray for her. She came home and looked like her head was about to split in half, she was so happy. She has a job.
That leaves me as the only person in this apartment that is NOT employed.
What I can't figure out is.... I went out every day for two months, filling out applications and checking back to all the places where I had turned them in. I was doing it non-stop. For TWO MONTHS.
She's gone out job hunting TWICE in the past month and a half. Twice. And now she has a job.
WHAT THE FUCK, OVER?!
The world hates me. That's the only logical answer I can come up with.
I just don't get it.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Cop Humor
Some of you, those who talk to me away from ze blogosphere and know of my history from more than what I've posted here, know that I was born into the Brotherhood of Public Service. My father was a paramedic, with his best friends being firemen and police.
So, it should go without saying that any little jokes about paramedics, firemen, or cops... really crack me up.
I hijacked this little gem from LawDog. Thanks dude!
Read on...
Man walks into a pet store in Austin and is looking around when he spots a chimpanzee in a cage marked, "$1000". Man looks a little closer and discovers that the chimpanzee is wearing a tie and a hat and is twirling a set of handcuffs around his finger.
Curious, the man summons the shopkeeper and asks him what the deal is with this thousand-dollar monkey.
Shopkeeper says, "Sir! You have discovered our Police Monkeys! This one is our basic Patrol version. It's got a TCLEOSE Basic certification; can fire 'Expert' with a Glock, Remington 870, or an AR15; knows the Penal Code and Traffic Code by heart and is up-to-date on Cultural Diversity and Active Shooter Response. Very good value for a thousand dollars!"
The man is suitable impressed and moves to the next cage, which is occupied by a gorilla -- also wearing a hat and tie, but is gnawing on a pen instead of the handcuffs. The price on this one is $5000. Shopkeeper exclaims, "Ah, sir! You have discovered the Sergeant model! This one has a TCLEOSE Advanced certification, is capable of training any other monkeys in basic firearms skills, mechanics of arrest, physical training, investigation and small unit tactics! It can even type! Very good value for five thousand, sir!"
Impressed, the man moves to the next cage.
Inside, he finds an orangutan, dressed in the same hat and tie as the others, but holding a coffee cup.
"What does this one do that he's worth $12,000?" asks the man.
The shopkeeper clears his throat, "Ah, sir, well .... we've never actually seen him do anything, but he says that he's a lieutenant."
*gigglesnort*
So, it should go without saying that any little jokes about paramedics, firemen, or cops... really crack me up.
I hijacked this little gem from LawDog. Thanks dude!
Read on...
Man walks into a pet store in Austin and is looking around when he spots a chimpanzee in a cage marked, "$1000". Man looks a little closer and discovers that the chimpanzee is wearing a tie and a hat and is twirling a set of handcuffs around his finger.
Curious, the man summons the shopkeeper and asks him what the deal is with this thousand-dollar monkey.
Shopkeeper says, "Sir! You have discovered our Police Monkeys! This one is our basic Patrol version. It's got a TCLEOSE Basic certification; can fire 'Expert' with a Glock, Remington 870, or an AR15; knows the Penal Code and Traffic Code by heart and is up-to-date on Cultural Diversity and Active Shooter Response. Very good value for a thousand dollars!"
The man is suitable impressed and moves to the next cage, which is occupied by a gorilla -- also wearing a hat and tie, but is gnawing on a pen instead of the handcuffs. The price on this one is $5000. Shopkeeper exclaims, "Ah, sir! You have discovered the Sergeant model! This one has a TCLEOSE Advanced certification, is capable of training any other monkeys in basic firearms skills, mechanics of arrest, physical training, investigation and small unit tactics! It can even type! Very good value for five thousand, sir!"
Impressed, the man moves to the next cage.
Inside, he finds an orangutan, dressed in the same hat and tie as the others, but holding a coffee cup.
"What does this one do that he's worth $12,000?" asks the man.
The shopkeeper clears his throat, "Ah, sir, well .... we've never actually seen him do anything, but he says that he's a lieutenant."
*gigglesnort*
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Know some more!
Okay so I'm back. Miss me much? Oh yeah. You know you did. Don't lie to me.
Hmmm. Less about the past and more about the present, shall we?
As I said, I am 20 years old, living in Bumfuck, MO, a little college town with a base population of about 17k people. I got the very typical interests of a 20-year-old female, of course. Reading, movies, music, writing, video games, and the always fun.... sex.
Yeah, I bet you saw that one coming, huh? Thought so.
I am happy, with a cute little red-haired boyfriend who stands about two inches shorter than me and about a hundred pounds lighter. And, like I said, with red hair and a lot of freckles. Damn ginger kid! But he's precious.
He's got the same sense of humor I have, with a touch of twisted satanic evil-ness. No wonder I lurve him to no end. He's intelligent, with strong interests in religion and politics. How the hell that's possible, I have no idea. He's Wiccan, and like a lot of people I've met, he has problems with some aspects of Christianity. But hey, everybody bitches about something. As far as politics go, he believes in the spirit of our founding fathers, and he is hoping that Prez-Elect Obama can finally get this country back on track.
I just don't like how he brings up the two most taboo conversation topics... in every single conversation. Tch... But what can you do?
On October 1, I discovered I was pregnant. I'm due May 24, and my days alternate between being excited and being scared shitless. Bet you saw that one coming too, huh? Oh yeah.
My favorite thing to do is drive. I love cars, I love driving. I want to learn how to work on them some day, but it's a way off in the distance. I couldn't make a living doing it, because I'd have to deal with customers who, for the most part, don't take care of their cars. And then would blame me when their car breaks down and costs a small fortune to fix. Hmm yeah, I don't think I could deal with that for too long. So I'll settle for learning, and being content to work on my own car.
I have recently made the decision that, after the baby is born, I want to get into class to get my EMT-Basic and EMT-Intermediate certification. I want to become an EMT, and follow in his footsteps. I honestly feel that I could really handle the pressure, the pain, the glory, and make something of myself in that career. But... baby steps first.
Literally.
You know, suddenly, I don't feel the urge to get long-winded, like my last post. Dunno what's up with that. But it's okay. I'll survive it.
And sooner or later, my small handful of readers will get another post of me either celebrating or bitching about something.
Because I never half-ass anything.
Hmmm. Less about the past and more about the present, shall we?
As I said, I am 20 years old, living in Bumfuck, MO, a little college town with a base population of about 17k people. I got the very typical interests of a 20-year-old female, of course. Reading, movies, music, writing, video games, and the always fun.... sex.
Yeah, I bet you saw that one coming, huh? Thought so.
I am happy, with a cute little red-haired boyfriend who stands about two inches shorter than me and about a hundred pounds lighter. And, like I said, with red hair and a lot of freckles. Damn ginger kid! But he's precious.
He's got the same sense of humor I have, with a touch of twisted satanic evil-ness. No wonder I lurve him to no end. He's intelligent, with strong interests in religion and politics. How the hell that's possible, I have no idea. He's Wiccan, and like a lot of people I've met, he has problems with some aspects of Christianity. But hey, everybody bitches about something. As far as politics go, he believes in the spirit of our founding fathers, and he is hoping that Prez-Elect Obama can finally get this country back on track.
I just don't like how he brings up the two most taboo conversation topics... in every single conversation. Tch... But what can you do?
On October 1, I discovered I was pregnant. I'm due May 24, and my days alternate between being excited and being scared shitless. Bet you saw that one coming too, huh? Oh yeah.
My favorite thing to do is drive. I love cars, I love driving. I want to learn how to work on them some day, but it's a way off in the distance. I couldn't make a living doing it, because I'd have to deal with customers who, for the most part, don't take care of their cars. And then would blame me when their car breaks down and costs a small fortune to fix. Hmm yeah, I don't think I could deal with that for too long. So I'll settle for learning, and being content to work on my own car.
I have recently made the decision that, after the baby is born, I want to get into class to get my EMT-Basic and EMT-Intermediate certification. I want to become an EMT, and follow in his footsteps. I honestly feel that I could really handle the pressure, the pain, the glory, and make something of myself in that career. But... baby steps first.
Literally.
You know, suddenly, I don't feel the urge to get long-winded, like my last post. Dunno what's up with that. But it's okay. I'll survive it.
And sooner or later, my small handful of readers will get another post of me either celebrating or bitching about something.
Because I never half-ass anything.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Okay, So You Wanted To Know?
As promised, and not too long ago, to boot, a post entirely about myself.
... That's the wrong statement to make. It's a blog that's going to be to a certain degree about myself, isn't it? My thoughts, my experiences, information on things that pertain to my life (somehow or another)... Anyway, not gonna argue semantics.
I am a 20 year old female from the suburbs of Houston, Texas. And when I say Houston comma Texas, most people think, "Well, duh, there is no other Houston out there!"
Wrong.
I'm currently living in the middle of Bumfuck, Missouri. I know there's a lot of Bumfuck towns out there, so I had to clarify. But there is also a small town in this God-forsaken state called Houston. In Texas county, no less.
Irony much?
I'm the daughter of a highschool-dropout-turned-career-bartender and a paramedic who slaved for Rural/Metro for 22 years. Number three of my mother's total four children, but the first-born angel for my dad. And I do mean angel. He adored me and hoped some day I would follow in his (figurative) footsteps to become at least an EMT, if not a paramedic.
I say figurative footsteps because my dad really left none. He left tiretracks a-plenty, being confined to a wheelchair by cerebral palsy. Paralyzed from the waist down. But he hauled himself, a wheelchair, and all the supplies he needed out of the back of his rig on a daily basis, and the only reason he retired is because his boss forced him to when my mother and him split. Shortly thereafter, he did a month-long stint in Houston's very own psych ward at Ben Taub Hospital. Not pretty.
But after a week of daily visits, his three-year-old daughter knew which elevator to get on, which button to press, what hallways to go down, and which door was his room so she could see her Daddy every day.
Now... I was your typical teenager indeed. I rebelled. Like a motherfucker. At the age of 16, I "dated" a 27-year-old that resulted in me moving out as soon as I hit the legal age to (17 in Texas). I hated how Dad confined me to the house, wouldn't let me hang out with my friends at the mall, or anywhere else for that matter. Hell, from the time I was 10 years old and on, I only slept over at a friends' once.
So... I chafed at my restrictions. That goes without saying. Most kids do when they reach the teenage years, or so I'm told. I don't know, I became anti-social for the most part. My dad did well in the whole "instilling his child with common sense" department. I read a lot, I studied anything and everything I could lay eyes on, and it was obvious to any teacher (or adult, for that matter) that I was intelligent. I loathed the lazy, dramatic, angst-ridden children that surrounded me on a day-to-day basis, with nothing more to worry about than what kind of car Mommy and Daddy would be getting them for their Sweet 16th.
And yes, I was an angry personality. I still am. Only now, throw violent mood swings into the mix.
I'm such a ray of fucking sunshine, aren't I?
The relationship with the... considerably older man did not last. Of course not. After moving almost a dozen times in a year and a half, several beatings and a broken nose, I finally bit off my pride and moved home. That was six months after I turned 18. I was working when the boyfriend-type-thing allowed me to leave, which cost me more than one job. He would stand in front of the door to whatever slum apartment he had rented for the month and threaten to kill himself because he was so damned sure I was leaving to go to another man.
On several occasions, he did slice himself up. And instead of the swooning female he expected to get, he got greeted with scorn and open distaste.
And guess who treated his cuts? Yup. The daughter of the crippled paramedic. My Daddy taught me well. Before I was 12, I could clean and bandage damn near anything you put in front of me. And when really pressed, I could even do a rough stitch-up job. Did that on a couple of his deeper cuts.
And when he swallowed a bottle of pills? I dropped him off as his momma's house and told her to deal with the idiot, because I had better things to do than to cater to his over-inflated ego and self-esteem issues. And the sad part?
She agreed with me.
This man broke into his own mother's house to steal anything valuable he could lay his hands on, and pawn it. For beer and coke. Wow, do I pick winners, or what? Not bad for a very first serious boyfriend!
Did I mention he was a recovered heroine junkie with a background involved in attempted murder, drug trafficking, (the obvious) breaking and entering, and armed robbery?
Oh yeah. I'm an intelligent little heifer, alrighty.
Of course, I wouldn't listen to my father when he said the man was bad news. Daddy didn't know anything, and I was desperate to be loved. And get sex. Horny teenager symptom, that one. Not too bright.
He Who Shall Remain Nameless got me into the lovelier side of life: kinkier sex, alcohol, pills, and pot. I wouldn't touch powder or anything you smoked in a lightbulb. Oh fuck no. But pills? Me as a bored 17 year old who's boyfriend wouldn't let her leave the apartment, I loved pills that would knock me flat on my bored ass. Passed the hours.
And when he discovered just how much they knocked me out, and had come to the point where I detested the thought of him touching me, he got the bright idea to sex his girlfriend in the night.
Resulted in pregnancy. And I left.
Not like that stopped him. For six months, he stalked me. Calls all the night long, following me around town, tried to break into my house one night when he was drunk. Knocked out a tooth of his when he pulled that.
Then came the call when he discovered I had a boyfriend, and at my stout refusal to leave him, the death threats. And from a man with his reputation, my family took it seriously. I wasn't allowed to leave the house without at least my father and brother in tow. And if my dad couldn't come with, he at least made sure one of his several police officer friends followed me. There was always a cruiser following my van.
But anyway... enough about the negative. More about the positive, shall we?
My father, having been a paramedic for 22 years, had witnessed some ghastly things. He had been one of the men to scrape brains off the pavement after a motorcycle wreck, just one of many instances. I can understand wanting to shelter me from the world. But... maybe it wasn't necessarily the smartest thing to do? But whatever.
My dad had a shit ton of friends who were cops, paramedics, EMTS, and firemen. All of 'em, and long after he had retired. After I moved home, I became adopted by the Texas Town Volunteer Fire Department. I went through a Citizen's Fire Academy that my father organized for the department, I got my CERT certification immediately thereafter. I went to breakfast at least three mornings during the week with some of the guys, chewing the fat in a hole-in-the-wall taqueria and occasionally pausing to listen to the pagers tone out for which districts to respond. Good times.
Fire department cook off? Hell yeah I was there. And the Chief himself gave me a beer. Oh yeah. I was definitely part of the family. I loved it.
When my father passed away this past March, on Good Friday no less (what could be called irony by some), two-thirds of the fire department and all of the fire marshalls attended the funeral. They were his pall bearers, and after the funeral they flocked to my grandmother, and to me. They were the first ones to the house when the call went out that he had passed, and for the rest of the night, we had at least two firemen keeping my grandmother and I company.
I love my firemen. They are my adopted fathers, the dozens that keep in touch with me especially.
I now live, like I said, in Bumfuck, MO, with my boyfriend of a year. No, he's not a druggie, drunk, or abusive. Matter of fact, he's smaller in stature than I am, matching in mood and temperament, and no matter how big of a fight we have, he never lays a hand on me.
I love this man. Probably why I have no issues with bearing his child.
I'm due in May.
That's all for tonight, folks. I've been typing for over an hour, and my hands are starting to hurt. But that gives you a pretty good insight as to the type of person I am. More to come soon...
... That's the wrong statement to make. It's a blog that's going to be to a certain degree about myself, isn't it? My thoughts, my experiences, information on things that pertain to my life (somehow or another)... Anyway, not gonna argue semantics.
I am a 20 year old female from the suburbs of Houston, Texas. And when I say Houston comma Texas, most people think, "Well, duh, there is no other Houston out there!"
Wrong.
I'm currently living in the middle of Bumfuck, Missouri. I know there's a lot of Bumfuck towns out there, so I had to clarify. But there is also a small town in this God-forsaken state called Houston. In Texas county, no less.
Irony much?
I'm the daughter of a highschool-dropout-turned-career-bartender and a paramedic who slaved for Rural/Metro for 22 years. Number three of my mother's total four children, but the first-born angel for my dad. And I do mean angel. He adored me and hoped some day I would follow in his (figurative) footsteps to become at least an EMT, if not a paramedic.
I say figurative footsteps because my dad really left none. He left tiretracks a-plenty, being confined to a wheelchair by cerebral palsy. Paralyzed from the waist down. But he hauled himself, a wheelchair, and all the supplies he needed out of the back of his rig on a daily basis, and the only reason he retired is because his boss forced him to when my mother and him split. Shortly thereafter, he did a month-long stint in Houston's very own psych ward at Ben Taub Hospital. Not pretty.
But after a week of daily visits, his three-year-old daughter knew which elevator to get on, which button to press, what hallways to go down, and which door was his room so she could see her Daddy every day.
Now... I was your typical teenager indeed. I rebelled. Like a motherfucker. At the age of 16, I "dated" a 27-year-old that resulted in me moving out as soon as I hit the legal age to (17 in Texas). I hated how Dad confined me to the house, wouldn't let me hang out with my friends at the mall, or anywhere else for that matter. Hell, from the time I was 10 years old and on, I only slept over at a friends' once.
So... I chafed at my restrictions. That goes without saying. Most kids do when they reach the teenage years, or so I'm told. I don't know, I became anti-social for the most part. My dad did well in the whole "instilling his child with common sense" department. I read a lot, I studied anything and everything I could lay eyes on, and it was obvious to any teacher (or adult, for that matter) that I was intelligent. I loathed the lazy, dramatic, angst-ridden children that surrounded me on a day-to-day basis, with nothing more to worry about than what kind of car Mommy and Daddy would be getting them for their Sweet 16th.
And yes, I was an angry personality. I still am. Only now, throw violent mood swings into the mix.
I'm such a ray of fucking sunshine, aren't I?
The relationship with the... considerably older man did not last. Of course not. After moving almost a dozen times in a year and a half, several beatings and a broken nose, I finally bit off my pride and moved home. That was six months after I turned 18. I was working when the boyfriend-type-thing allowed me to leave, which cost me more than one job. He would stand in front of the door to whatever slum apartment he had rented for the month and threaten to kill himself because he was so damned sure I was leaving to go to another man.
On several occasions, he did slice himself up. And instead of the swooning female he expected to get, he got greeted with scorn and open distaste.
And guess who treated his cuts? Yup. The daughter of the crippled paramedic. My Daddy taught me well. Before I was 12, I could clean and bandage damn near anything you put in front of me. And when really pressed, I could even do a rough stitch-up job. Did that on a couple of his deeper cuts.
And when he swallowed a bottle of pills? I dropped him off as his momma's house and told her to deal with the idiot, because I had better things to do than to cater to his over-inflated ego and self-esteem issues. And the sad part?
She agreed with me.
This man broke into his own mother's house to steal anything valuable he could lay his hands on, and pawn it. For beer and coke. Wow, do I pick winners, or what? Not bad for a very first serious boyfriend!
Did I mention he was a recovered heroine junkie with a background involved in attempted murder, drug trafficking, (the obvious) breaking and entering, and armed robbery?
Oh yeah. I'm an intelligent little heifer, alrighty.
Of course, I wouldn't listen to my father when he said the man was bad news. Daddy didn't know anything, and I was desperate to be loved. And get sex. Horny teenager symptom, that one. Not too bright.
He Who Shall Remain Nameless got me into the lovelier side of life: kinkier sex, alcohol, pills, and pot. I wouldn't touch powder or anything you smoked in a lightbulb. Oh fuck no. But pills? Me as a bored 17 year old who's boyfriend wouldn't let her leave the apartment, I loved pills that would knock me flat on my bored ass. Passed the hours.
And when he discovered just how much they knocked me out, and had come to the point where I detested the thought of him touching me, he got the bright idea to sex his girlfriend in the night.
Resulted in pregnancy. And I left.
Not like that stopped him. For six months, he stalked me. Calls all the night long, following me around town, tried to break into my house one night when he was drunk. Knocked out a tooth of his when he pulled that.
Then came the call when he discovered I had a boyfriend, and at my stout refusal to leave him, the death threats. And from a man with his reputation, my family took it seriously. I wasn't allowed to leave the house without at least my father and brother in tow. And if my dad couldn't come with, he at least made sure one of his several police officer friends followed me. There was always a cruiser following my van.
But anyway... enough about the negative. More about the positive, shall we?
My father, having been a paramedic for 22 years, had witnessed some ghastly things. He had been one of the men to scrape brains off the pavement after a motorcycle wreck, just one of many instances. I can understand wanting to shelter me from the world. But... maybe it wasn't necessarily the smartest thing to do? But whatever.
My dad had a shit ton of friends who were cops, paramedics, EMTS, and firemen. All of 'em, and long after he had retired. After I moved home, I became adopted by the Texas Town Volunteer Fire Department. I went through a Citizen's Fire Academy that my father organized for the department, I got my CERT certification immediately thereafter. I went to breakfast at least three mornings during the week with some of the guys, chewing the fat in a hole-in-the-wall taqueria and occasionally pausing to listen to the pagers tone out for which districts to respond. Good times.
Fire department cook off? Hell yeah I was there. And the Chief himself gave me a beer. Oh yeah. I was definitely part of the family. I loved it.
When my father passed away this past March, on Good Friday no less (what could be called irony by some), two-thirds of the fire department and all of the fire marshalls attended the funeral. They were his pall bearers, and after the funeral they flocked to my grandmother, and to me. They were the first ones to the house when the call went out that he had passed, and for the rest of the night, we had at least two firemen keeping my grandmother and I company.
I love my firemen. They are my adopted fathers, the dozens that keep in touch with me especially.
I now live, like I said, in Bumfuck, MO, with my boyfriend of a year. No, he's not a druggie, drunk, or abusive. Matter of fact, he's smaller in stature than I am, matching in mood and temperament, and no matter how big of a fight we have, he never lays a hand on me.
I love this man. Probably why I have no issues with bearing his child.
I'm due in May.
That's all for tonight, folks. I've been typing for over an hour, and my hands are starting to hurt. But that gives you a pretty good insight as to the type of person I am. More to come soon...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
